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Browsing Tag: writing

Just Five Questions with Orly Konig

I’m going to be honest with you: Orly Konig is one of my favorite people in my writing world. I met her through our organization, the Women’s Fiction Writers Association, which she helped found as its first president, and I would’ve asked her to be here with Just Five Questions even if she didn’t have a new book coming out early next month I wanted her to talk with you about. Orly is a consistent cheerleader, my unofficial writing life coach (not even kidding), volunteer early reader, and a calm voice in the crazy tumult that sometimes comes with publishing. She’s also a fantastic mom, talented crocheter (is that a word, Orly?), and well-versed in the languages of espresso and red wine (languages I will happily speak with her). After years of pushing the creativity boundary in corporate communications, Orly decided it was time for a new challenge and made the switch to fiction. Now she spends her days chatting up imaginary friends, drinking entirely too much coffee, and negotiating writing space around two over-fed cats. In addition to being the co-founder and past president of WFWA…

Rough Start

It’s Tuesday, and I’m sitting in my dark office. It’s about eight o’clock in the morning. I’ve been up since 5:30 but that just means I’m only on cup of coffee #2. David has left to take the girls to school, and Cian is still asleep. It’s completely quiet in here save the ticking of a little clock I keep on a table and the soft sound of the rain falling against the porch roof out front. I’ve a salt lamp switched on. That warm glow is like inside sunshine on a day like this. Most days we all need a little sunshine, manufactured or not. (Salt lamp, do your magic.) I’ll also tell you something else: we had family over to celebrate Easter on Sunday, and yesterday I was too occupied with the kiddos to worry about clean-up. So right now? My office is the only room in the house that’s truly clean. I might very well be hiding. I wandered in here with my coffee to do something after the garage door closed, but I&#8217…

Procrastination

There is a fat bluebird outside my office window. The shepherd’s hook on which he perches shakes under his weight. He’s eyeing the feeder that hangs below, recently filled to brimming with seeds. My writing space is in the front of our house. It’s a house we bought so that my husband could work from home–his office is tucked into the back, on the exact opposite side from where I sit, behind the garage and off the kitchen and laundry room. It has a door, but he can hear us moving around at meal times (and snack times, and washing-the-dishes times: so, all the time), and we can hear him pacing, his arms moving as he takes conference calls and leads presentations from his small space in this quiet suburb of a small city. I was lucky to commandeer the space in the front of the house–it’s a formal living room, closed off save for a narrow arched doorway to the front hall. I still haven’t painted it, though I’ve the color picked out. We hope to eventually knock a large hole…