A (real, shameful) day in the life of a romance author.

Writing books for a living is nothing to complain about: I work from home, I
spend my days largely uninterrupted, and then, you know, there are the champagne
parties, the ball gowns and the book launches parties with cake pops because oh
my God I never really got over the cake pop craze and it's become a little
embarrassing.

I live on a military base, so my alarm clock is less the soothing sounds of my
local radio station, and more the sound of five aircraft taking off about 500m
from my bedroom window. I roll over, stretch and then remember my deadlines. An
empty pit opens in my stomach.

I get out of bed, put my glasses on and go into the bathroom. Too much. I remove
my glasses and everything looks much better - good enough for me to think that
last night's make up will do for the day too.

The first celebration of the day is when I realize that my dog hasn't pooped in
the kitchen. Fist pump. It's going to be a good day, and obviously the pup is
feeling better too. Win-win.

After coffee, I give the dogs a quick walk. The looks that people are giving me
make me realize that there was no way yesterday's make up still looks good. I
make a note to myself about it that I will immediately forget.

I come back inside to write. But first, I need more coffee and a few minutes to
check Twitter and Facebook.

Four hours later, I realize that I haven't started to write yet, so I grab some
blue index cards on which I've written my plot points. I shuffle them around,
make sure they're in the right order, and lay them down on the dinner table.
God, I’m hungry.

I should eat. I can only get my creative juices going with food. An author
cannot write good words fueled only by panic and coffee. I grab a sandwich of
mustard and cucumber, lament the lack of food in the house, and make a shopping
list that I will be inevitably be "too busy writing" to actually go out and shop
for.

My husband calls mid-afternoon. The conversation will go something like this:

Him: How’s your day?

Me: Good thanks – just doing some cleaning (this is a lie).

Him: How much have you written today?

Me: A couple of thousand. Doing well (also a lie).

Him: That’s awesome. Keep going! I’m proud of you. See you in a couple of hours!

I put the phone down, panicked that I lied to him about my word count and
urgently needing to write 2k so that it becomes the truth, and notice for the
first time that the kitchen is a mess from last night, and that I’m still in my
pajamas. I take a second and acknowledge that maybe the odd looks I got this
morning weren’t just to do with my second-day make up.

Within the space of an hour, I’ve showered, changed, washed my face at last, and
tidied the kitchen. Now I have to write a few thousand words by the time my
husband gets back.

I go up to the office and see I have an email that I’ve been waiting for: A USAF
Major who flies F-15s has found a few minutes to answer some questions about her
experiences. She prefaced the email by telling me that the only reason she had
time to write was that she was procrastinating about doing something else. It
makes me feel a little better about my accidental Facebooking morning.

Her email inspires me to get writing. The heroine in my new book, ACES WILD, is the pilot of an F-16, and is as bad-ass as the Major emailing me. I become so absorbed in the story that I don’t even notice the dogs leave the office to greet my husband.

At the end of the day I’ve netted 3k words, a clean face (eventually), a glass
of wine (or two), and I’m a little closer to my deadline. We’ll see what
tomorrow brings, but for goodness sake…if you see me on Facebook, feel free to
slap me.

What’s the worst/most embarrassing thing you do when you’re home alone? Tell me, and make me feel less ashamed, and be in with a chance to win two signed Alpha Ops books + swag, and maybe even some English candy!