Today’s guest, Amy Ruttan, is the very first TRW member I met way back in January 2007. Since then we’ve discovered we have more than just a love of writing in common. Back in 1978 we lived in the same town — for about a month. You see Amy was a newborn while I was preparing to get married. In the very same church that Amy ended up marrying her hubby in 25 or so years later. Which leads me on occasion to refer to her as my daughter, and she refers to me jokingly as Mom. (We’re not really, but I’d be proud to have Amy in my family.)
Amy’s one of the writers I turn to when I need advice on my writing, especially since she writes erotic romances with Ellora’s Cave, and Linden Bay. This last year she’s been hard at work on another project – those of you who follow her on Twitter (@ruttanamy) know all about ‘the bump’. Well, I’ll let her explain what–or who–the bump is…
And I’m not referring to the 1938 classic with Carey Grant and Katherine Hepburn; I think that a leopard, in comparison to the newest member of my household, would be a breeze.
I’m talking about a newborn. YIKES, and a real newborn, who is only a couple of weeks old.
When I first wanted to pursue writing, when I first turned my thought to really going after my dream my second child was about a year old. I sold in 2007, I had a toddler and a preschooler and writing came easy peasy … because I had a day job and a lunch hour and I’ve only just realized it now. Writing became more prominent in my life, and the day job went bye bye … there were no plans for a baby.
*sigh* How I tempt the fates. In the middle of writing a series, WHAM, the little stick turned blue and my brain and my muse said “See ya later honey.”
I couldn’t think, couldn’t write. I was this quivering giant mass of hormones. The bump, as I affectionately called my fetus, was the focus of my life and I wondered if I would ever write again? I’m sure I was boring my Twitter followers and blog followers, and as the bump grew larger I couldn’t get online, as in my lap top no longer had a lap.
My new addition came, another boy, and suddenly my muse showed up in my hospital room. Really, seriously? You’re coming back after all these months of desertion with a crying, pooping, demanding little thing stuck to my nipples and giving me all these great ideas for erotic romance. SERIOUSLY?
I realized then that my muse is warped, very warped indeed, because the last thing on my mind was the very thing that got me into trouble in the first place.
Yet, here I am two weeks in the trenches, the slave to a demanding man (yeah my daughter seemed to be easier) and during the night when he’s attached to my poor bountiful heaving bosom, I’m making notes. While he’s filling his diaper and sleeping in his bouncy chair or bassinet and my other two are happily engaged in activities I run for the computer.
Bringing Up Baby seemed to be the cure for my writer’s block, for the few moments I have to write and leave behind smelly diapers and sour milk is precious. Writing is a joy a pleasure and not my job.
Of course I don’t recommend this as a cure of writer’s block, unless of course you really want to, but my writing is coming along again. It’s like I found the joy when I was a fresh new writer, those first sun kissed days were there were no bad reviews, promotion and other assorted fun things which gave my muse her own little bump to haul around.
Since this is my last guy, I’m going to enjoy the few stolen moments I have to write. The words are flying on the page, since the water retention is gone and my fingers are back up to their 70 wpm. As for the rest of the time I’m going to enjoy Bringing Up Baby, because frankly they grow way too fast for my liking. I may resent the sore nipples and sleepless nights now, but I’m sure one day I’ll miss them.
Just don’t tell him that! 😉