Concentration Troubles

Oh boy.  

I mean… Hi there.  How are ya?

I am much better than I was on the weekend.  I did a good job of hiding how sick I was eh?  *laughs*  It’s easy in text, not so much in person when I couldn’t uncurl my body.  I had an extreme reaction to a new medication, which led to a trip to the emergency room, which led to another new medication.

Okay, mostly new, it’s been 5 years since I’ve been on it.  Long enough that it took me 2 or 3 days to remember that I’d been given it before.

But I am getting better now.  Almost back to normal.

My issue is that I’m having trouble concentrating.  I know part of the problem is having my chat programs open.  I can’t close them though and the people who need me to have them open know that if I’m writing it’s better to leave me alone as much as possible.

Part of the problem is facebook.  That’s easy.  I close it, it’s gone.

And I still can’t concentrate.

“Woman, you’ve been sick, let it go.”  Sure Val and Tee (in stereo no less).  But it was a problem before.  I’ve been kind of write, write, wri- 











In the last 2 weeks, this is all I’ve written:

They woke up together the next morning and Anna faced the burnt shell of a bedroom with a sigh.  She leaned against Liam as he came up behind her and then bolted forward and whipped around.  “Liam!  Caspian’s things.  We never sent them back.”

Liam facepalmed.  “I’m sure he’ll understand our delay.  You did wonderful work on it all, he will be grateful.”  He kissed the tip of her nose.  “We’ll get it delivered today.  One of the Omegas can take it up.”

They set about packing for the trip to Glen Coe and it took some debate but Liam stayed behind this time, to supervise the clearing of their suite and attend to some other business.  Liam began to insist on who Anna would take with her.   Marcus, Doug, Jane, Brock and – “We’re not invading the place, Lee!  These four will be enough.”  Anna smiled up at him.

Liam growled softly and his brogue thickened with worry.  “Ye’ll be away from me.  I want a call every two hours to let me know yer safe and still bloody alive.  I want a call at bedtime and when ye wake.”  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her insensible.

“Aye, my Alpha.  We’ll make sure that she does.”

Breaking the kiss, Liam lifted his head and glared at Marcus.  “None of ye had best be in her bed when she wakes.”

Marcus knew better than to let the mirth in him escape and merely nodded.  “Of course not, my Alpha, but we’ll be close by.”

Liam broke the glare and looked down at Anna, his eyes all soft and loving.  “You be safe, remember your shields and let this lot protect you as is their duty.  You hear me?”

“Yes, my love.”  She kissed him again and refrained from reminding him that’s exactly what he said before she went shopping and was attacked by snakes in the botanical gardens.

Liam watched as they left with misgivings niggling in the back of his mind.  He sighed as they turned the corner out of the driveway then took himself back into the house to pay bills.



Chapter Thirteen


January 1st, 1793, almost a century post massacre, Glen Coe

The tiny blonde Russian Vampire, Liliya, rose from the double-wide coffin Alasdair had insisted upon in some insipid romantic gesture and checked the time.  She slapped Alasdair on the chest and yelled, “Get up you lazy ass!”  She would never admit to yelling, it was undignified and unladylike.

The Vampire in question jolted into consciousness and sat straight up. “What!  Who’s there?  Wh…Oh, Sweetling, what is the problem?”

Liliya’s fists curled at her side, hidden in the folds of the silk chemise she wore.  “It is New Year’s Eve and there is a party at the palace to attend.”  Liliya had recently managed to ingratiate them into Empress Catherine’s court in St Petersburg.  With the charm she’d taught – beaten into – Alasdair and her cold, calculating manner of being whatever she needed to be, it had been easy to get them into the Court.  “And I have told you not to call me that.  Ever.”

The Vampire’s now easy grin curved his lips as he climbed from the coffin that was deep in the large house they’d rented near the palace.  “Radost’ moya, ti takaya chudesnaya.”

“You stupid Scottish sheep!  You still cannot speak Russian without an accent.  Telling me that I am beautiful will not get you anything!”  She turned her back on him.  “We must get ready.  Where is that girl?”

“Sophie is aware of the time you wake, she is waiting upstairs.”  Alasdair came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.  “We’ll make it on time, milaya moya.  Don’t worry.”  He used a tried and true method to get her to calm down – he nibbled on her ear.

True to form, she softened.  “Yes, angel moy, if you say so.”  She turned in his arms and lifted her mouth for a kiss.  She allowed a passionate kiss and then pushed him away.  “Go get dressed.”  She headed up the stairs yelling for her maid.

Two hours later they were ensconced on in a comfy place near Catherine the Great sipping something from crystal glasses that looked like red wine.  Liliya was nodding with sympathy as Catherine explained the plight of the orphans that populated her castle.  Alasdair was eyeing the young ladies, the ones just hitting puberty, with lust in his eye.  One reminded him of his sister and that threw his mind back into memories of the first few weeks after the massacre. 

As the only surviving son of the massacre he’d been thrust into the role of Chief.  He’d pretended reluctance and mourning but had taken over his father’s position.  He’d spent the next twenty years helping them rebuild.  He had managed to find a way to put white streaks in his hair – it was some combination of lemon juice and something Liliya refused to disclose – but he had found it impossible to hide that his face wasn’t aging.

So they had faked his death on a hunting trip and left.  By that time the stories about by he refused to leave his house until the sunset, even to ride out to check the crops, were getting stronger and he was losing the respect of his people.  There were stories of children disappearing and others becoming sickly and dying, especially in homes Alasdair and Liliya had dined in.  The old died of inexplicable illness.

And yet, for two decades they managed to keep their secret.  Once every three months they had taken trips to other towns, visited other clans and cities.  To his clan, Alasdair had called it keeping political ties in good balance.  In private, Liliya called them hunting trips.

Since they left Glen Coe they had been traveling.  They had gone back once, thirty years ago, claiming to be long lost relatives.  They’d proven kinship to Alasdair’s father, son of a bastard son, and lived as guests of the Laird until the stories began again.

Now, as he stared at the girl with the dark hair and big green eyes he was suddenly homesick.  He wanted to see the big rolling hills again.  Liliya had promised him power and wealth and so far it wasn’t coming through.  He couldn’t rule his clan and he was stuck following her around the world. 

A scowl creased his face.  He quickly wiped it off and settled his features into a placid, politely bland expression with a hint of what looked like pain around his eyes – the only expression of his sudden fury.  He bowed low in Catherine’s direction and waited until she looked at him.  “Most beautiful Empress, something suddenly distresses my belly, if I may be excused before I embarrass you or myself…”

Catherine looked up and gave him a brittle smile.  “If you must.  Perhaps your wife should accompany you.”  Then she turned her back on them both, dismissing them.

I have to tell you, Liliya is furious.  And she’ll let him know.  I’ve been trying to get this chapter finished since… well this blog.  And since I know what’s going to happen now it should be an easy finish.  I know the next chapter too. 

I’ve been sick.  I know.

November is coming fast.  I have two months to get back into the habit of writing AND do a bunch of research and note taking.  Some plot outlining.  

So my question is this.  When you need to concentrate – and need to be on the computer (leaving the computer doesn’t count Val) – what do you do?  Maybe I should make it a habit to turn off my chat programs while I’m writing?  At least until 11 or so.  

People know how to reach me by email if they REALLY need me, right?  

That leaves me with less distractions but does that mean I’ll actually write?

Maybe I need a test run.

Hmmm….Or maybe I should start writing when I get up and not stop until I’ve hit my word count?  Nah, that doesn’t work, I have to stop to make breakfasts, lunches and get my daughter to school.  We’ll figure it out, somehow.  Suggestions are always welcome!

Also:  Kids are back in school on Tuesday!  Routine will be in place again.  That will help I’m sure.  So you get this song because of this one line: “Yo, ring the bell, school’s in, sucka”




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