Relentlessness, Otis, and the Batman Signal

I’m about a third through the first draft of my new novel, A SPANISH SUNRISE, and things are coming alive in my head. Today, I wrote an important scene that kicks my characters, Baxter and Mia, into act two, which is akin to Luke Skywalker leaving Tantooine after discovering his aunt and uncle have been killed. 

Things are getting interesting as this father/daughter duo travel to a famous, yet crumbling olive estate in southern Spain to meet the family they didn’t know they had. (If you read my last email, yes, olives are a fruit.) Mia is embracing the Spanish culture, but her dad is a complete wreck. Oh, you just wait, Baxter. It’s going to get so much worse. Your creator loves to see you suffer.

I have a draft due to my agent on May 7th, so it’s on right now, no excuses. As is typically the case during the first-draft process, I’m a complete madman. (Thank you, my dearest wife, for not kicking me out yet). Before I talk about Otis popping up in my dreams lately (that’s right!), I thought I’d share the wackiness that is in my brain right now, if for no other reason than to draw a smile out of you at my own expense. 

This morning, I didn’t feel like hitting my typical 3000 words, which is admittedly why I took some time to write you. Considering I had no choice but to forge ahead, I needed to find a way to light the fire. I complained to my wife for a while, did every other task on my to-do list, and searched almost the entire internet for things that didn’t matter before I finally decided it was now or never. 

But then I thought I’d better get psyched up since it was such an important chapter, so I unrolled the yoga mat, turned on one of my favorite self-help audio books, Unfu*k Yourself, and commenced to find the courage to get in front of my computer and keep telling this story. It’s not that it’s not fun; it’s just hard work, a serious level of focus required. Once I get rolling, it’s the best drug in the world. 

Something the author said while I was on the mat got me fired up, and it might hit home for you too. By the way, he’s Scottish, so the audiobook is just lovely. He talked about relentlessness, and how, sometimes, it’s all you have. 

And that’s all I needed to hear. Sometimes, you have nothing in the tank and you have a million distractions (not gonna lie, that Oprah/Megan interview looks interesting), a million other things to do, a billion excuses, but it’s the relentlessness that puts your arse in the chair, or wherever it is you go to embrace your calling. You get up and do the work, period.

I wrote something in my Boo Walker Readers Facebook page the other day about procrastination that will further reveal my lunacy:

It’s sooooo easy to procrastinate when you’re writing a novel… or, I suppose, doing anything that requires intense focus. It’s the challenge of being present, but being present in an alternate universe, one that you’re making up as you go. And it’s so fun but it’s so hard to get started some days.

I don’t want to write at the moment, it’s too much work. My coffee isn’t quite kicking in. Please, just not right now. I have other things going on. What if I wait until later? Maybe then, I’ll hit 4k words and find the energy to rework that one piece I’m missing in the plot. I’m just gonna read this for a minute and then check this and…. gosh, I forgot to look into this. It’s okay, Boo, enjoy the morning. It is Sunday after all, lighten up. Oh, what’s happening with the news? Wait, is that my old friend on Facebook sharing travel pics? I’m gonna look at those. I should reach out to him soon. Dang, I really want to go to Vietnam. COVID just sucks. All I want to do is travel. And the mask thing, I’m OVER it.

Did I eat anything yet? I’ll write better with something healthy in my body. And then I should brush my teeth, probably dress for the day. Maybe a crisp button-up, that will make me feel like a writer. Something about dressing like a washed-up professor from Oxford motivates me. Where did my plaid cardigan go, the one with the holes in it? 

Now that I’m sitting back down, I should restart my computer, the ultimate procrastination ritual. Oh, crap, I forgot the lime for my Pellegrino! [Boo gets back up.] Now, that I’m back, I’m gonna tag a few writer friends just to have something else to do before I start writing. I wonder if I’m the only one that goes through such strife and turmoil. Then it occurs to me my romance writer friends have no issues hitting their word count. In fact, it’s three in the morning in the US and they’ve probably already crossed over 5k. Hand smacks forehead. Enough, Boo. STOP.
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So about Otis… I have to tell you about an image that keeps creeping into my head, but I must preface it with a GIANT disclaimer, though. I make no promises that another Red Mountain book will come to fruition. In fact, I’ve just signed another deal with my publisher and hope to work with them for eternity. But maybe, just maybe, before I kick the bucket, we’ll see more of Otis, Margot, Brooks, and the gang. I certainly appreciate all of your notes asking for me; it means the world.

SPOILER ALERT: don’t read any further if you haven’t finished the Red Mountain Chronicles. Last we heard from Mr. Otis, he rode off in his RV with Joan, the horn playing “La Cucaracha.” It’s been a year now in this dream I keep having, and Otis and Joan are down in Miami. He’s in Birkenstocks and shorts and a white short-sleeve button-down, and it’s unbuttoned liberally, revealing his wild gray chest hair and a blingy gold necklace. Miami has clearly gotten to him. He and Joan are on a rooftop sipping Mojitos. It’s late at night. Suddenly, Joan points up, and Otis lifts his gaze. Like the signal that Gotham uses to call Batman, a red triangle is glowing in the night sky. In his head, he hears the song dogs of Red Mountain calling out, howling for him. Awwwwwhhhhoooooooo! He turns to Joan and says in his English accent, “It’s time to go back home, my love.” He kisses her madly. “It’s time to go back home.”

I keep wondering why he needs to go home. What do you think? What’s happening on Red Mountain, and why is it calling him? I don’t think it’s COVID. If we were to ever revisit the good ol’ mountain, who would you want to read about? What loose ends need tying up?

When there’s nothing left in the tank, remember that you always have your relentlessness. Get up and do the work and quit talking about it.