I’ve been thinking and talking a lot about my writing process recently, and have come to think of it as a giant puzzle that I need to put together—say, a thousand pieces or so—without benefit of a picture to see what the finished puzzle should look like.

The process is, in short, a frustrating mystery to me, something designed to make me want to occasionally pull my hair out by the roots.

But there is one thing I’ve figured out: I always have a tiny moment of panic when I’m two-thirds of the way through the book. A moment of wondering, what the hell happens now? I think it has something to do with being within striking distance of the end of the book and wondering about all those loose ends that still need to be tied. All those elements that I threw into the book, thinking that they’d lead somewhere and I’d figure it out later, when the lightning bolt of inspiration finally struck me. Only later is now here and I still haven’t figured it out. Two-thirds of the way through is when I start thinking about word count and all the things that still need to be crammed into, say, a hundred pages.

Two-thirds is when I ask myself what I was thinking with this book. Why did I think this book about these people was such a great idea? The synopsis is no help, because of course the synopsis, as I’ve already discussed, is a patchwork of cobbled-together ideas that lead nowhere helpful.

Two-thirds of the way is where I get hopelessly, frustratingly, maddeningly STUCK.

If you’re wondering why I’m whining about this now, I’ll tell you. It’s because I’m two-thirds of the way through my February, 2009 book, A Friendly Love Affair, and I am … wait for it … stuck. Like a saber-tooth tiger in a tar pit. Like a fly in a Venus fly trap. Like a bear with a paw in a trap.

STUCK, I tell you. Stuck, stuck, STUCK.

The good thing is that, having been through this so-called process several times before, I know that being stuck right now is normal for me. I will get myself un-stuck. I’ve done it before and will do it this time, even if I can’t, at this very moment, see HOW.

Somehow, I’ll get it done. But until then I’m … yeah, well, I’m just stuck.

My Harlequin editor has e-mailed me to say that I need to trim forty (yes, FORTY—do not adjust your screens) pages from my October book, Tender Secrets, on account of the new, reduced, word count. Oh, sure, I knew about the new word count, but I foolishly assumed it applied to books turned in after March. No dice. That’s what I get for assuming things, I suppose. And me, a former lawyer. You’d think I’d know better than assuming anything.

*Hanging head in shame*

And do you want to know the worst thing? Do you? Huh? I’d already trimmed and slashed about forty pages to get the book down to the old word count. Where’m I gonna find ANOTHER forty pages to trim? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Pray for me, okay?

So now I’m sharpening my knives and getting ready to kill my babies, which is what Stephen King calls it when you have to go in and get rid of all the extraneous, though beloved, stuff in your book. It’s for the greater good, right?

And I’m thinking maybe I can turn this lemon into some lemonade. I think maybe I’ll add a members-only page to my site for readers to see all the stuff that doesn’t make the final cut. That could be good.

This snafu has got me thinking, writers … what’s the most painful edit you’ve ever made? Do tell so I don’t feel like the only one out here suffering in the wilderness.

Today I’d like to post a witty blog about the writer’s life, something thought-provoking and, hopefully, enlightening, but I don’t have time for any of that on account of my tight reading schedule. No, I’m not, ah, reading my stack of books for the RITA contest. I’m re-reading (for the dozenth time, I think) The Other Boleyn Girl in preparation for the movie adaptation, which comes out on February 29^th.

I love this book. LOVE it. I remember the first time I saw that cover and that title in a bookstore and stopped dead in my tracks. A novel about the Boleyns and Henry VIII? He of the six wives, two of them beheaded? My fascination with them is a leftover from my elementary-school-days obsession with all things royal and violent. In one history lesson you get love, hate, betrayal, violent death, and beautiful costumes. What could be better?

So I bought the book and disappeared into the world so brilliantly created by Philippa Gregory. For hours at a time I would immerse myself in the life of the book’s heroine, Mary Boleyn, and the intrigues, hypocrisies and betrayals of court life. The book is so powerful, so interesting, so evocative that I would look up and blink at my living room, or wherever I happened to be reading at the time, surprised that I was not, in fact, at the palace with the court.

Needless to say, I have high hopes for this movie. Natalie Portman is Anne, and since I loved her as another Queen—Padme Amidala in the second Star Wars trilogy, of course—I feel confident she can handle this role. Scarlett Johansson seems plausible as Mary Boleyn, and, as for Eric Bana as Henry VIII, well, let’s just say I think that was a brilliant casting move. I can’t wait to see the visual re-creation of these characters that I’ve spent so much time with. What will the castles look like? The gowns? The block? I’m counting the days…

So the producers of this movie had better not mess it up. That’s all I’m saying.

Anyone else out there anxious to see this movie?

Today I’m blogging about my love for chocolate over at Access Romance. If you stop by and leave a comment, you’ll get a chance to win a gift card to one of my favorite candy stores, Cincinnati’s The Fawn Confectionery.

If you’ll be in the Cincinnati area this Saturday, February 9th, please join me at the Reader’s Appreciation Day Signing at the Streets of West Chester Barnes & Noble. I’ll be there from 1-3 p.m. signing Sweeter than Revenge. Several other local romance authors, including Jennifer Crusie, Lori Foster, and Anne Stuart will also be signing their latest books. Lots of fun will be had by all, so I hope to see you there!

If you write and you hang around published authors for long enough, they’ll spout advice to you that usually goes like this: “protect your process.”

They mean well. They really do. What they’re trying to tell you is this: write the book your own way. If your own way means hanging upside-down like a bat from three to five a.m. while writing longhand on a brand new legal pad with a purple Sharpie, by God, don’t let any other writers tell you that their process is better.

If you like to plot your book first, they say, then plot. If you like to fly by the seat of your pants and discover what happens as you’re writing the scene, thereby letting large chunks of the book be a surprise to you, then fly, little bird, fly.

And don’t worry that Nora Roberts or Brenda Jackson or (INSERT FAMOUS AUTHOR NAME HERE) does it some other way. The right way for you is the way that gets the book written. Period.

Isn’t this brilliant? Doesn’t it make perfect sense? Doesn’t it give you the freedom and permission you’ve been searching for so desperately all this time?

*SNORT*

What they never tell you, all these wise and wonderful authors, is that:

1. You may not be a pure plotter or pantser but rather some weird hybrid of both;
2. You may not discover what your process is during the actual writing of the book, but only months later, after long periods of introspection;
3. The process that helped you write THAT book may not help you write THIS book; and/or
4. Your process may up and change on you without prior warning, leaving you floundering and desperate as your deadline approaches.

Let’s examine these points in more detail using an author chosen at random.

Anyone? Anyone?

No? Well, then … why don’t I volunteer?

Here’s how I used to write a book:

1. Come up with an idea and a blurb.
2. Outline the whole book on enormous sheets of paper and/or storyboards using colored markers and Post-It Notes.
3. Make laborious notes on the characters’ archetypes so I’d know how they should behave.
4. Write a synopsis from all these notes.
5. Begin writing the book.
6. Start at the beginning and write until the end, editing the previous day’s work in the first half-hour or so of each writing session.
7. Write every day while the kids are at school AND after dinner AND on weekends.
8. Demand absolute silence while writing because I can’t stand noise and focus better in silence.
9. Print out the first draft and edit it.
10. Write a second draft (or, in the case of RISK and TROUBLE, umpteen drafts).
11. Print and edit subsequent drafts.
12. Send it in and pray.
13. Start working on the next book.

THAT was my process, and it worked just fine for my first five books (including my first, unpublish-able, book).

But then things changed. I’m not quite sure when they changed, how, or why. All I know is that they DID. Here’s what I do now:

1. Come up with an idea and a blurb.
2. Play with colored markers and paper.
3. Outline parts of the book on the computer (or not) using the highlight function with different colors as needed (or not) for different subplots.
4. Wonder what happens in the numerous blank spaces on the computer screen.
5. Begrudgingly work up a synopsis and hope neither my editor nor my agent notices that there are plot gaps big enough to drive a caravan of semis through.
6. Write the first fifty pages.
7. Send the proposal off and pray someone buys it.
8. Wait an excruciatingly long period of time while continuing to pray someone buys it.
9. Panic when someone buys it.
10. Think, what was this book about again?
11. Re-read the first fifty pages and synopsis and remember the characters and plot.
12. Begin at page fifty-one and go till the end.
13. Write every WEEK day while the kids are at school.
14. Write at my favorite coffee house because I waste too much time at home.
15. Listen to my iPod while at the local coffee house because I can’t write in silence and focus better with noise.
16. Think about writing every night after dinner but ultimately decide against it.
17. Think about writing every weekend but ultimately decide against it.
18. Wonder what should happen in a scene as I begin to write it.
19. Resist the urge to check my e-mail.
20. Decide what to do with the scene.
21. Resist the urge to check my e-mail.
22. Write the scene and do something totally different than what I’d decided to do with it.
23. Don’t print the manuscript.
24. Edit the first draft on the computer.
25. Edit the second draft on the computer.
26. Send it in and pray.

I have, as you can see, gone from a silence-loving, at-home-writing plotter to a music-loving, coffee-house-writing semi-pantser.

This, then, is my new process, which I expect to last for only about three days now that I’ve figured it out.

God only knows what my next process will look like, or when it will show up.

Would any other writers out there care to share their CURRENT process?

LaShaunda interviewed me about Sweeter Than Revenge at her blog over at Shades of Romance Magazine. Check it out if you have time.

Join me tonight at 9 p.m. EST as I chat about Sweeter Than Revenge with the fine folks over at NovelTalk. They’re always lots of fun to hang out with, and I’ll be giving away a book or two …

Today I’m hanging out with my friend and chapter-mate Kay Stockham, the award-winning author of several novels for Harlequin SuperRomance. Stop by her blog if you get a chance.

Help me, somebody. Please.

I love my children. I really do. Love, love, love, love, LOVE them. Let’s get that on the record right now, for all time. They are wonderful people, and I am very proud of them.

I’m just not sure I need fourteen-plus days of Christmas break togetherness time with them.

I had all these grandiose plans about how I’d use this time. Ready for a laugh? Here goes:

• Paint their rooms (*SNORT!*);
• Clean and organize the closets;
• Read about 20 books on my TBR;
• Complete the normal number of pages on my WIP.

Ask me how much of this I’ve accomplished. Go ahead. Ask. Ask me how many books I’ve finished. Ask me how many words I’ve written. Ask me how many closets have been organized. No, wait. Don’t ask. I’ll tell you:

NONE.

That’s right. NONE.

I have no idea where the time has gone, or what I’ve done with it. All I know is that I feel like I’ve regressed to those newborn days, when survival is the only thing on your mind and you look around at, say, two p.m. to discover you haven’t even showered yet.

The end seems to be in sight, thank goodness, and I can hold on a little while longer.

I just pray that Monday isn’t a snow day.

Anyone else out there getting a little, ah, frazzled?