This past weekend I went to a big race car event. Why? My boyfriend is an engine builder and this was the high light of his year. I am crunching trying to meet my publisher’s deadline on my upcoming book, Hooked-In.
So what to do? In the middle of extremely loud funny cars, race cars, and other type of roaring vehicles I set up my office in my boyfriend’s truck. I put up sunshields, sweatshirt, and pillows in the windows to block the heat and onlookers. Then I climbed in the backseat of the truck, plopped my feet up on the console and began to rewrite for the third time the last few chapters.
I time myself on the hours I put in so I met a certain hours a week writing goals. I spent over twelve hours just on the rewrite of those last few pages alone and I’m still not done. When I was burnt out of doing that, I’d climb out of the truck, hopped onto the back of the four wheeler and buzzed around with my boyfriend who was stopped almost every four seconds, cause he’s a celebrity in these parts.
As soon as the conversation grew boring, which took approximately two minutes, I’d whip out my manuscript and begin working it. As more and more people approached me, asking how I could focus in the midst all the chaos, I realize I am probably one the world’s few novelists who writes her books at a race track.
