Since last week’s I AM WRITING, GOSH DARN IT post, I have been . . . writing! Yay!

Not to mention doing the other things I do, such as taking care of my son, my husband, the house, my addiction to Scramble, the odd financial detail and therapy. What–you thought my neuroses were organic? Heck, no, they’re carefully cultivated!

Anyway, in therapy, we’ve been discussing low frustration tolerance, the tendency for someone to seek “immediate pleasure or avoidance of pain at the cost of long-term stress and defeatism.” Apparently, I have it, because I try to fix things as soon as they are uncomfortable for me.

While I try to sit with the uncomfortable feelings for longer than I have been able to in the past, I’ve also been thinking about LFT in terms of my writing; specifically, my need to make everything better for my characters. Which, oddly enough, results in pretty boring plots. I mean, who wants to hear about someone who has a hiccup in their life that’s solved easily in the next chapter?

My answer to that would be: “No one.”

So while I’m adjusting my LFT in real life, I’m also examining my plot to make sure I sustain uncomfortable moments for longer so the resolution is ultimately more satisfying. To that end, in my current WIP, I am going to kill off a beloved character (well, beloved by me, at least) because it serves the story better, even though it makes me sad.

How’s your FT? What books have you read where the uncomfortable feeling has been well-sustained? At what point in the books you read or write do you like to resolve things?

Um . . . hi all.

Last night I had a heart-to-brain talk with my spouse, who’s always been super-supportive of my writing. I told him I’d had a mini-panic attack that day because I actually had plans to write, which I haven’t found time for lately.

You have to write. We’re–all of us–sacrificing so you can follow your dream, he said.

Gulp.

But it’s so hard, my whiny inner voice said (thankfully, I did not utter that out loud. Scott works 50+hours a week, PLUS does freelance writing).

A whole book? Writing a whole book? Again?

And then I put it in perspective; say I wanted to make movies. I’d have a camera, maybe a few friends who would tolerate being ordered around, and a few ideas. I couldn’t ever make the movie of my dreams, not without a whole lotta money and some clout.

If I wanted to paint, I’d need a dedicated workspace, a lot of oil paints, training and someone willing to exhibit my work. Not sure how long it takes to paint a painting, but I bet it’s a long time. And I am guessing the art world is harder to break into than the book world.

Or music; okay, never mind, it’s easier to distribute music these days. But would I make money? (not with me singing, my son would be happy to point out) Probably not. And I would need to work with other musicians, and have time and training and expensive instruments and recording equipment.

But a book?

I can write the book of my dreams on my own (I’ve already got a computer. And an imagination). Theoretically, of course.

So today’s post is short, since I’ve got to finish other work, and then get to writing. I’ve got a dream to follow.

Thanks for putting up with my whining,

Megan

A lot of writing guides say to ‘write what you know.’ In my case, my heroines tend to be insecure, slightly neurotic, smart, witty and acerbic. So? What’s your point?

But one way, I’ve realized, that I don’t write what I know is in my heroine’s appearance. Namely, her boobs. See, I’m not so busty. I used to be, about twenty years ago, then I lost a bunch of weight and realized I wasn’t really all that much. But my heroines? They are stacked. Their breasts are gorgeous. My heroes notice their bosoms, too, which is fun to write about–a female fantasy, if you will.

But oddly enough, in my contemporaries, my heroines are built a lot more like me (but cuter). They’ve got some junk in their trunk, and not so much on top. I hadn’t really thought about it much, but when I figured it out, I think I decided it’s because my historical books are way more fantastic world-building, whereas the contemporaries mirror my own life much more. Because, see, I haven’t been to Almack’s in forever.

Anyway, it’s fun to create a person who is who you’d like to be, in appearance at least. I guess that’s why most of those ’80s sturm und drang romances had impossibly beautiful heroines, which rings so false to current readers–those authors were creating a total fantasy, writing a heroine who was perfect–too perfect–in many ways. We’re a lot more realistic now, but I’m still going to write a heroine whose cups runneth over.

Which heroine would you most like to look like? If you were writing a super-heroic you, what feature(s) would you change?

Megan