Becky Flade, Author

I love words. I love food. Today I'm using my words to blog about, you guessed it... FOOD. I generally despise eating in restaurants by myself. There is something inherently sad about one person sitting at a table dressed for two or more eating a silent, solitary meal. I take a book and use it as a shield. "See? I'm not alone. I have all these imaginary people keeping me company." Somehow that's worse. I've taken to photographing my meals with my cell phone and sending the text pics back home. "See? I'm not alone. I'm digitally sharing my meal." Yeah, not much better. This trip I took my meals in my hotel suite. Lonely yes but privately alone is preferable to publicly so. On this, my last night in Washington D.C., I decided to venture out to a restuarant. I'm so glad I did. Pizzeria Paradiso on Dupont Circle ( http://www.eatyourpizza.com/ ) offered not just a wonderful meal in a warm friendly setting but I even got a show. The place...

I dislike travelling. I don’t sleep well in hotels, all the noise in the hall keeps me up. Worse I hate not having access to the internet whenever I want it. I’ve become terrifyingly attached to my digital dependency. But the hours of uninterrupted writing time each evening? That’s something I’m enjoying. Oh yeah, I like that a whole hell of a lot. In fact, last night I sat and wrote in a word drunk stupor, a frenzy of free-writing just letting my characters and story drag me along with them. It’s great that way; I love it best when it goes that way. But that’s not the only method. When I have to write something for work or school, critical writing as opposed to creative, I outline first. So…what works for you?

I’m writing this afternoon from a train on my way to Washington D.C. for a week long business trip. I’m not looking forward to the business end of the trip or being away from my family for the week. I am slightly pumped about the sheer number of uninterrupted writing hours I’m going to log. But right this very second I’m having flashes of one of my favorite Agie’s “Murder on the Orient Express” mixed with the incredibly funny movie “Throw Mama from the Train.”   Whoops, I’ve added a bit of Hitchcock to the mix.   I have stuff I’m already working on: First, a series of erotic novellas I’m revising in an attempt to make them longer; they’re too short for publication purposes and I’ve decided I want to try to get them published. This is proving harder than I thought as I loved them as they were. Second, a sequel to the paranormal romance I recently submitted [quick note: I received an offer on that book late last week. Information I’ve been secretly hoarding till I receive t...

I should point out, that as I haven’t finished the book yet, this is not a review. Last night I cracked open Storm Dancer (Dark Epic Fantasy) by my Twitter pal Rayne Hall.   You see, I haven’t read fantasy of any genre since David Gemmel’s passing. Sufficed to say, I took his death hard.   The worlds he’d crafted were vivid and I was enveloped by the characters. His were not the only fantasy books I read but they were my favorites. Since his death, my friends and family have recommended several different books and series, good ones I hear, like Game of Thrones, for example, but I have categorically refused them all. Till now. I chose to break my fast with Storm Dancer for a truly shallow reason: the depiction of the hero on the cover resembles my fiancé only with brown eyes instead of blue.   Regardless of my reasoning, I am so glad I decided to take the plunge back into fantasy. I’m enjoying the story very much so far. The world is well-defined as are the char...

The crowded train was full of wet, cold, tired people trying desperately to get home from another bleak day at work.  Jocelyn gripped the overhead rail tightly as her body swayed with the rocketing train; she grimaced as the man behind her intentionally rubbed his body against hers and nodded absently at the false apology he muttered.  She knew what he was really thinking and he wasn’t sorry, he’d meant to do it.  She knew what they were all thinking. Their thoughts clambered for attention inside Jocelyn’s mind; and Jocelyn, too exhausted to block them as she normally did, simply rubbed her aching head and prayed the train would hurry to her station before this guy got another cheap thrill.  His thoughts were mean and sexual and Jocelyn, though no prude, was mildly disgusted by the fantasy he’d concocted.  Unable to take it any longer, Jocelyn made her way into the next car, offering pardons as she made her way and ignoring the rude comments people’s minds ...

Yesterday, I did something scandalous.   Something that I tell other writers to never, ever do… I gave up.   "I know." she giggles behind the back of her hand; eyes darting around the room to see if anyone has noticed, but the gleam in them suggesting that she hopes someone has, “I’m bad.” The story that I quit working on, frankly, I hated it.   At first I didn’t, obviously or I wouldn’t have begun writing it, but eventually, yeah. I wasn’t digging the characters. I found I couldn’t care less if they ended up together and that’s kind of not a good thing when you’re writing a contemporary romance, just saying. As I reviewed what I had so far, I found the pacing was torturous; it felt forced.   Truly, it was a stinker. I gagged on a stench so thick it burned my nostrils and brought tears to my eyes. I write for my own enjoyment. Writing takes time from my fiancé, from my children, from sleep, from eating, from the laundry (I hate doing the laundry bu...

pssst... hey, it's me.  

I've got the lyrics to Staind's "It's Been Awhile" in my head cause it's been SO long since I've posted on my blog.  But that song is fairly sad and I'm in too good a mood to go with a sad soundtrack.  I want to bounce my head and shake my bottom while grinning like an idiot with a tummy full of crayolas. My hand is doing much better.  The partial plaster cast did come off; but then they put me in a full fiberglass cast for several weeks.  Now I'm in a soft (and thank the Gods, removable) brace and undergoing physical therapy which will probably continue for at least another month, maybe two. I turned 35 on Monday, and I was not thrilled about it.  In addition to hitting a crappy landmark, I thought the day itself was a bit of a let down but thinking about it later: I can't complain. I got to have a nice bbq dinner with my family on the patio out front of our house in beautiful weather with my, newly returned, dog at my fee...