The Emotional Journey of an Author in the Process of Writing a Book

Ruth Ann Nordin's Author Blog

I can’t speak for all authors.  I can only speak for myself.  But I have a feeling there are others out there who experience similar joys and fears while writing and publishing a book.

I thought I’d share this because I know some of you who read my posts are thinking of writing a book or are new to writing, and maybe it’ll help to know you’re not the only one who goes through these things.  So maybe it can help encourage you.  I find a lot of encouragement when I know others go through something similar to me.

Phase I: Starting the Book: Panic and Excitement

You’d think by now since I’ve reached the 50th romance book milestone, I wouldn’t feel a panic when it comes to starting a new one, but I do.  There’s a part of me that wonders if I have it in me to write…

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PenAStory Love Contest Entry #4 – FAITH EKABUA

was like a murderer being set free on a fifteen naira bail. A whole year’s bad debt was written-off with this ‘fun-undertoned’ statement of divine forgiveness.
(Love the wordplay here)

PenAStory

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“Hey Fred, I’m Boo-less”,  I  broke the news via whatsapp less than 3 hours after the breakup occured.  Here I was, same spot again. Craving to be in the warm arms of the one who loved me with everything he was/is. Having thrown his love back to his face for seven years (the seventh year had the love ball wrapped with subtle but deep insults), whatever gallon of verbal acid awaited my football-shaped baby face, I deserved it. I just wanted to talk to my best friend. Someone who has loved me through all my seasons; a proverbial Hosea,made to love a proverbial Gomer, faithfully obeying the words in Hosea3:1.

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Poetry Play #12

Nature and nation may succumb to you

But your charmed circle cannot encircle my craving…

Watch me move with grace and beauty

Watch the sashay of hips

The fluttering of lids

The movement of lips

See the darkness in my soul

And the light within

Then say to me again

“Your charmed circle cannot encircle my craving”

PenAStory

poetry play

Samuel Oluwatobi Olatunji and Torera Adesina

 

T:

The stars bleed for me

The winds howl my name

S:

Even the hearts of men pound in your presence

As if the drumstick of your legs beat on them

T:

My scent intoxicates them, drags them in

Even the rivers call for me

Long for me

S:

Nature and nation may succumb to you

But your charmed circle cannot encircle my craving

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Of All The Girls In Lagos (BLURB)

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Luxury Resort, also known as Governor’s Park bragged an artificial lake, a park, a golf course, a restaurant and a museum. The lake was fed from the nearby Oludo River, one of the Atlantic Ocean inlets in the southern part of the city. Two army patrol trucks were stationed at the North and South entrances each and few plain clothed security men walked about unarmed but with walkie-talkies hoping to keep the peace and rules as much as they could.
Lade’s taxi pulled up at the southern gate which was closer to the lake. She’d never been to this part of Lagos ever, in her ten years living in the city. Business never brought her here as Sting’s trade was frowned up in the premises, and she rarely had her own time to explore. As such, she’d been thrilled when Peter’s text message directed her to the resort that evening. She paid her taxi man and alighted in a silver gown and red four inch heeled shoes. She wore the jewelry set Cindy had bought her and her natural dreadlocks were tied to a ponytail behind her. Lade looked around her surrounding to take in the beauty of the place. The adverts she’d seen on cable didn’t do justice to it.
The sun was yet to set that evening and the sky seemed clear enough for an outdoor date. The garden was very tidy and several couples were sitting on blankets on the smooth grass just close to the water. A flock of birds were flying low over the quiet water. The path to the restaurant was slopy, graveled and wide enough for two cars driving abreast. It led to a small parking lot outside the one story glass restaurant building. You couldn’t see inside from outside, but Lade could bet the insiders could view anyone walking outside. The thought of being watched crossed her mind and she looked around and saw Banks sitting on the hood of a Mercedes convertible with one hand poised behind him. He had parked in line of sight of the southern gate and smiled when she spotted him. She smiled back and walked towards him already feeling exhilarated.
Banks’ eyes never left hers as she made her way up to him. The gleam was already in his eye by the time she got it halfway – as if her beauty never ceased to amaze him. She shivered at the thought of being so desirable. Of course she knew she was, but… The hand behind him suddenly appeared with a single stalk of rose flower when she was a couple steps away. The shit-eating grin that lit up her face was one that had not been on her face in a very long time.
“Peter! A flower! Come on!”
“All yours! And don’t start this your forming.” Peter said and handed her the flower.
She took the flower with a smile and. She raised it to her nose and inhaled the fresh rose scent. “No one ever bought me flowers.” She said.
Banks alighted from the hood of the car. “Well, I’m glad to be your first,” he replied alighting from the hood of his car. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“I promised. Besides, I’ve never been to governor’s park.”
“Really! You’ve been in this city longer than I?” He asked, an incredulous look appearing on his face.
“Eight years, yeah, why are you surprised? And whose luxury car have you borrowed to impress me?”
Banks blinked. “It’s not a luxury car! It’s…just a two year old Mercedes benz.” He said shrugging.
Lade scoffed. “A convertible,” she said. “I’m not looking to be impressed by you, PB.”
Banks took out the car remote from his pocket and locked the car with a beep shrugging at her. “F.Y.I. the ride is mine. But I’ll do my best to be modest,” he replied with a mischievously grin at her amazed face. He took her hand. “Meanwhile, here we are. What would you like to do? See a movie? Early dinner at the restaurant? A few drinks? A walk in the park?”
Lade mused a bit, the smile never leaving her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out on a date. A real date. “How about…we skip the movie and do the rest in the same sequence?”
“Dinner and a few drinks and a walk in the park!” he shrugged. “Okay. Have I told you what a gorgeous lady you turned out to be?” He asked as he led her towards the restaurant building. “You’re so beautiful, Lade.”
And despite hearing it a million times from a thousand and one guys, Lade looked away to hide the crimson staining her fair cheeks. This wasn’t some guy paying Sting for a few hours with her. This was Peter Bankole, her college crush.

*

The date wasn’t a disaster, more like a prolonged visit with the in-laws, with the numerous guarded moments and accompanying awkwardness. Lade had her first plate of steaks and together with Banks, had drained a bottle of 1992 Chartreuse, while they reminisced about college and their teenage years. She had pumped Banks full of questions about his private life and school and learned about his talent and proclivities in art school. However, each time Banks sent the ball to her court and broached the subject of her life, she skimmed the topic off the top and quickly switched the conversation back to him.
By dessert time however, she was a mess and desperately needed a cigarette. She turned down her plate of salad because she wasn’t sure she could hold her cutlery steady enough. The slight tremor on her wine glass hand was noticeable. She was sure Banks was only pretending not to notice. She fled to the bathroom with her purse twice. The first time, she found herself an empty stall and had spilled half the contents of her purse in search of the folded cloth that contained a little quantity of white powder. However she couldn’t bring herself to take a sniff. She’d been afraid he’d notice. She’d been afraid she wouldn’t be lucid enough. She fought her need and succeeded. She splashed water from the sink on her face and dried up. Ten minutes later, she was back at the still vacant restroom stall. She just needed a little relief, she’d convinced herself.
The sun had gone down when they left the restaurant. Lade was as plastered as freshly poured concrete. Her smile was pasted and never wavered. She looked okay, but Banks was sure something was different after her second trip to the bathroom. She seemed high-strung – talking a bit louder and laughing a bit easier.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked for the umpteenth time.
Lade giggled. “I am. Don’t I look okay to you?”
“You do! Just making sure.” Banks replied.
“Dinner was great, thanks,” she said and leaned in to peck his cheek. She giggled at the look on Banks’ face.
Banks began walking in the direction of the bar but Lade pulled at him to stop. “I thought we said…”
“That wine was enough drinks for one night. I don’t want a beer to spoil its taste in my mouth.” Lade said giggling.
Her tongue seemed looser, Banks realized. He looked around them “Well, we’ve got a full moon and no clouds tonight. How about that walk, before we call it a night?”
Lade shrugged. “Of course!” She replied.
The air was cool because of the evening breeze from the lake. They walked hand-in-hand in silence. There were security lights placed at strategic positions to illuminate the walk around the circular lake. Few couples and groups were littered everywhere.
Lade took it all in. “This is the best evening I’ve had in a long time, Peter.” She said.
“My friends always talked about this place. This is my first time here too.” Banks replied.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah? I’m surprised you haven’t taken a picture with your phone yet.”
Lade shook her head but didn’t say anything. Banks pulled her close to him while taking out his blackberry. Lade leaned into him as she felt his arm encircle her waist. Banks opened his camera application.
“Give me your sweetest smile baby,” he said and took an accurate selfie. He looked at the picture and smiled in satisfaction. “Good enough for instagram?” he asked, passing the phone to her.
The picture was perfect. She chuckled. “I wonder what explanation you’d give your girlfriend.”
“There you go again.”
“What! You really want me to believe your cock-and-bull about Jennifer being just friends with you?” At her insistence, Banks had told him about Jennifer albeit reluctantly. She felt Banks stiffen against her and tense up. He removed his hand from around her waist and stopped walking. Lade stopped too and searched his face. His eyes were unreadable. “What’s the matter?” She asked.
“Nothing!” He replied a bit too quickly. “I…” He paused to think. “Well, I don’t seem to have any trouble believing you aren’t avoiding or omitting things about you.”
The smile faded from her face. The truth in his accusation almost stung. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just…your family’s sudden rise to affluence…your art studio…you’re a far more interesting topic than I am.”
Banks wasn’t impressed by her smart reply. They both stared at each other, standing by the lake with the moon high above them. Their eyes spoke volumes. Lade’s wished the ground would open up to swallow her. She hated lying to him but was having fun as it was with him. She wasn’t yet ready for him to judge her.
“So, what do you want to know?”
Banks went straight for the jugular. “What do you do for a living?” He asked. “And who is Nicky? That ugly guy called you Nicky. Before that, Jerry too.”
The M-moment. To her credit, Lade kept her expression straight above the raging inferno in her head. She even indulged a smile and looked around her as if searching for a place to hide from his quizzing glare.
“I dance,” Lade said. She cringed inward at the lie as she walked away from him towards a stone bench to sit down.
At its best, the lie represented how low she’d truly fallen. The last time they’d been close, she was leaving for tertiary education at the University of Lagos. She had bigger prospects back then, so how had she ended a dancer?
At its worst, the lie stank. She definitely wasn’t the Lade they both used to know – almost the inverse version. Yet the feeling was the same and so he went to sit beside her even though he knew she was lying.
“Dance! How come, Lade?”
“I don’t strip or climb poles and give lap dances or anything of the sort. No. I just dance professionally at CRASH. You know the place?” She gambled that he didn’t. And lost.
Banks frowned. “CRASH! I’ve been there a few times with my friends! My cousin Andy and his girlfriend love the place. I’ve never seen you there before.”
Lade shrugged. “Me neither. It’s a big place you know. And I never said I work every day.”
Banks just sat there staring at her. She returned his stare but looked away first. Banks got to his feet. “It’s alright,” he said in a gruff manner. “It’s not really that much of a big deal anyway. Come, I’ll drop you off. It’s getting late and we’ve got to get going.” He looked at his wrist watch. Lade hesitated and got a glaring stare from Banks. “Hurry up,” he said. “I’ve got other things to do at home.”
Lade was reluctant to get to her feet, but he didn’t wait. He was already retracing his way back to the parking lot. She’d lied so brazenly to his face and she knew he was walking away for good. The thought hurt like a stuck knife twisting in her chest. “Wait!” She called almost breathlessly, but he didn’t stop. “Peter wait!” She called again and hurried after him.
Banks heard her approaching footsteps and stopped, and waited for her to catch up with him. He turned to watch her approach. Fear and anxiety were written on her face like graffiti on a slum wall. What the hell happened to her? Why wouldn’t she just tell him about it? Why wouldn’t she trust him to be objective?
She was sweating reluctance when she arrived and he let her catch her breath. “I lied,” she began. “Almost everything I’ve told you about me is a lie.”
“I already know that,” Banks said, not giving her any quarters.
Lade nodded and looked down to hide the fact that she was blinking back threatening tears. “I am sorry. I’m really sorry.” She said in a quivering voice. “I am torn between my private shame and the fear of… of not seeing you again. The truth…you probably will not want to see me again.”
“Your lies are already making me think like that.”
She looked up at him and noticed his face soften a bit when he saw her misty eyes. She looked anxious. “I am not proud of the person I am. Or what I do for a living.” She continued. Banks regarded her with some curiosity but folded his hands. “But when we are together, I feel… worthy… like… like I can retrace my steps out of this thing…I am on. Like I could clean up my act and get my life back to normal. You used to be proud of me…of our friendship. But I’m not that person anymore and I lie because I’d hate to see you judge me.” She looked down at her feet again.
His heart was beating wildly too. She had all but confessed to his suspicions. What if Vanessa was right? Did she do drugs too? He refused the urge to check her arms for needle marks. “What about your father, and Godwin?” he asked instead.
Did she just stifle a sob? He looked at her more closely. He put an index finger under her jaw and lifted her chin up to see her face. The tears welled up in her eyes and his alarm meter shot through the roof. He knew the answer before she opened her mouth.
“There was an accident.” She said. “The car brakes had been tampered with. They…they…”
She started sobbing. The tears welled up Bank’s eyes too as he pulled her into an embrace. Her body shook with her sobs and he could feel his t-shirt soak up. He hadn’t imagined this. He was shocked to his roots. She had no immediate family anymore. Her uncle who lived up north was a no-brainer. He was one of those fanatic Muslim converts who never came back home. She was truly alone, he realized and his heart went out to her. He ran his hand up and down her back and listened to her cry. “I’m sorry Lade. I’m so sorry. Oh my God! Oh my God!” he kept muttering. He kissed the dreadlocks at the top of her head. She felt so soft and warm in his embrace and in that moment, he wished he could kiss all her troubles away, no matter what it was.
“Take your time, okay! I won’t leave you, Lade. I’ll wait. Whenever you want to talk about it…I’ll be here.” he said.
Lade stiffened when her foggy mind cleared enough to understand what he just said. He was taking a chance with her. She pulled out of his embrace and looked up at him with her teary and surprised face. “You’ll do that for me?”
“Yes,” Banks replied nodding. “But don’t ever lie to me again Lade.”
Lade smiled an apology and leaned in to give him a soft peck on his left cheek. She looked at him darting the tip of her tongue to wet her lower lip. Banks looked down at her lips – full and sensuous. The same lips that could part into the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. He remembered he’d always imagined what it’d feel like to kiss them and knew it was about time he found out. She brought her face closer to his and he leaned in to erase the rest of the distance that separated them. He had no more thoughts except one – pleasing her.
Their lips touched lightly and she breathed in the scent of his cologne again, his breath and his very being. Her heart skidded to a halt as the soft brush of her mouth against his turned her senses into a whirlpool. She closed her eyes when she felt his tongue creep out and when it touched her lips, she opened her mouth willingly.
She felt the spark of heat sear through her and her face flamed hot from the emotions that ran over her. She tilted her head and sent her tongue after his invader. She shivered at the first touch and her fingers slid up to grip his arms as she melted into him. Nothing in her experience with men prepared her for the sensuousness of his kiss. Her knees buckled with a strange weakness and she felt like a virgin having her first kiss. His fingers interlaced with her locks to coax her head closer to deepen his onslaught. She shuddered and wondered if she was giving him as good as she was getting.
Their mouths crushed each other’s and their tongues went to full blown war, both wanting to feast on what they had denied themselves. Lade clung to him as her head twisted to the right, then to the left, seeking the perfect angle to send her tongue deeper into his mouth and taste his core. She had her reply when she heard him groan into the kiss. The kiss ended abruptly and she quickly hid her flushed face and swollen lips in his strong chest, and attempted to catch her breath.
“Wow,” came a female voice close by. They both turned to find a voyeur couple with smiles on their faces. “That was hot to watch,” she said and smiled at her boyfriend who mouthed the word “sorry” at Banks and Lade. He tugged his mate after him and both went off in another direction.
Banks took Lade’s hands in his and kissed the back of her right palm. They smiled at each other like they’d just discovered a secret they both shared. Lade’s phone suddenly rang in her purse and the mood was gone. She unzipped her purse and took out her phone. It was Cindy calling. She smiled at Banks.
“My friend, Cindy. I have to take it.”
“Of course. Go ahead dear.”
Lade smiled at the endearment as she answered the call. “Hey Cindy!” Her smile disappeared the next instant and was replaced by a scowl. “Okay, I’ll meet you there on time…no problem…not now, bye.” She ended the call and looked up at Banks.
“Curfew?” Banks asked. Lade nodded. “I have to go, even though I don’t want to.”
Banks shrugged to hide his disappointment. The night was still young. Lade smoothed the crease on his forehead with her thumb and leaned into him for a quick kiss. Then, she rested her head on his chest and felt his hand encircle his waist. So they stood for a full minute.
Were they using each other? Or did a just rekindled relationship take a step closer in the right direction; an old friendship uninhibited this time, and by time. Banks’ head was a quagmire but he sighed in concession and again took her hand in his.
“Come,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.”
“No!” She said in surprise. “I’ll take a taxi. It’s…safer this way.”
Banks nodded reluctantly. “Then, I’ll drive you to a junction where you can get a taxi easier.” Banks said. Lade nodded. There was gratitude in her eyes and she realized that she was right about him. They shared love and passion, and she was the happiest woman alive that night.

WRITER-FOR-HIRE GONE SOUR – 3 LESSONS I LEARNED

I think, but am I?

Cheated?

First of all, I’ll love to apologize to my readers for the inactivity on this blog since recently. For the past eighteen weeks, I’ve been pre-occupied with a screenwriting project. I was contracted in mid September last year to create twenty six episodes for a new TV series, of which I was happy to oblige. I was given till New year day to turn in the screenplay (I’ll create a post on the major problems with Nollywood, from a writer’s perspective before the month runs out). Hence, all my attention was tasked in order to meet the deadline. There was no time to blog.

Like any other hurried creative endeavors, my output was chaotic but salvageable and my client was quick to go into pre-production. Trouble came with payment-time. I didn’t have a written agreement with the client and so I ended up without my full payment.

Cheated? Definitely! Nevertheless, I came home with three distinctive lessons.

1. It’s a safe bet to be of the position that the client intends to defraud you – the writer. These filmmakers all preach trust a lot. In Nollywood, trust is such a far fetched idea, that without concrete measures like written contracts and Memorandums of Understanding, simple scriptwriter-for-hire transactions will almost always end up in disagreements. As such, access to immediate legal expertise prior to the undertaking is in a writer’s best interest. If they want to hire you to write, they should either give you a written contract or send them an M.O.U to sign.

2. As a professional, every job is an addition to your portfolio. It therefore stands to reason that any writing jobs which fall outside the brackets of your comfort, of which you’re positive that the end product won’t be the best possible version of your writing standards should be frowned upon. I was practically forced to turn in two episodes every week so as to meet my deadline. Initially, the client had asked for five a week and after much discussion, it was reduced to two episodes each week. By the time I got to episode ten, I got sick and tired of the entire process. Telling a story should be a savored experience, like tasting vintage wine. Connoisseurs could spend an hour on a half-filled glass of wine. Good writers take their time going through the motions of a story despite deadlines and a client’s impatient anticipation.
A good instance is George R. R. Martin’s postponement of the release date of Winds of Winter (Game of Thrones book six) despite pressure from HBO’s optioning and his eager fans. HBO can go ahead to shoot season six of the movie without his input, the author is busy with creating Winds of Winter to the standard he envisaged it.
As such, uncomfortable deadlines should be discussed, and if can’t be adjusted, should be steered clear of. Trust me, no one would ask about time frames and deadlines if you have sub-standard products in your resume. You’d simply get re-classified.

3. Compromise will always leave you dissatisfied in the aftermath. On a personal level, we love our clients and want to satisfy them so that they return with more jobs. We want our business relationship with the client to be transformational and not transactional. Nevertheless, the instant we allow ourselves to be served with bullshit for breakfast, don’t expect to end the day without a running stomach. B.S is when you fulfill a client’s expectations but he or she doesn’t fulfil hers, no matter how plausible the excuse is. Always put your foot down and refuse to be taken advantage of, because (and trust me) if you let it happen once, say because of your love for your client, it is bound to happen again. Don’t forget your writing is your business. If it’s freelance, then you’re self employed. You’re answerable to self, and the self disappointment in the aftermath is worse than any berating you might’ve received from your boss if you worked for someone.

And that’s it. Three lessons I learned from the WRITER-FOR-HIRE gone sour I recently experienced. If you too have gone through something similar, dear reader, why don’t you share with us on the comment box. Thank you.

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