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I don’t know if I’m a complete weirdo, or if everyone envisions their perfect day of just the right amounts of family quality time, productivity, health consciousness, and relaxing. When I took complete control of all the hours in my day (24 to be precise), I failed miserably in all arenas. I thought not being at work for nine hours a day would magically turn me into the productivity fairy, sprinkling creative writing dust around my home office while laundry and dishes and dinner took care of themselves.

Yeah, that was total crap. Apparently, if I don’t have a plan and deadlines and a list and alarms on my phone, I get zilch done. I don’t even know what I do with my time! I have a feeling vast amounts of hours were being sucked up by social media and articles on how to be productive and opening my fridge 37 times to see if anyone had put anything new in there in the last 15 minutes.

Finally, when I realized that having the time didn’t mean I would use it effectively, I had to get tough with myself like a parent of a teenager with self-destructive tendencies (aren’t they all self-destructive?).

My perfect day now looks something like this.

9 a.m. Get ass out of bed.

9:10 a.m. Cheerfully scamper down to the home gym and workout for 45-mins to an hour. Feel human.

10 a.m. Enjoy a protein shake full of delicious fruits and veggies would be ingested as well as 10 to 15 minutes of meditation practiced

11 a.m. Answer emails, hang out with the readers on social media, catch up on whatever non-writing stuff needs addressed.

Noon. EAT! Best part of the day. Also, remember to take my a.m. vitamins.

12:30 Start writing in one-hour increments and hit 1,000 words an hour. My word count goal is 3,000 every day so on my PERFECT days I can be done in three hours of writing.

Afternoon between hour-long sprints. Prep dinner, throw in a load of laundry, respond to texts, put away clothes, yell at the cat, go outside and smell flowers.

5 p.m. Triumphantly save my work in progress in three places, slam down the lid of my laptop, and cockily announce to Mr. Lucy that I’m done for the day.

5:05 p.m. Walk back in my office, open the laptop and tackle anything that came up since my morning perusal of the world. Return phone calls. Drink a martini. Shop online for things I’d resent if I had to leave the house for. Hone my craft by reading blogs and books and articles. Take care of normal human being things like yelling at my insurance company, calling my parents, activating credit cards. Really at this point in my perfect day, the world is my oyster.

7:00 p.m. Either make dinner or go out to dinner. Remember to take the rest of those vitamins that give me nice fingernails and regular heart beats.

9 p.m. Hit the couch (or bed) with a book and Mr. Lucy (just Mr. Lucy) and entertain ourselves (do “research”).

Midnight: Wind down before official bedtime. More meditation and the satisfaction of a day not wasted.

Perfect day, right? OK, so here’s how my day actually goes (which should be noted is a VAST improvement over 2016). What can I say? I’m a work in progress.

9 a.m. Ignore alarm.

9:30 a.m. Check texts, email, and social media through the one eye that deigns to open in the morning.

10 a.m. Drag ass out of bed. Trip over cat on the way to the bathroom. Then make the fatal mistake of sitting down at my computer before working out. Get distracted.

11 a.m. Drag ass downstairs to work out.

Noon Feel marginally better. At least I accomplished something. Even if I did have to skip meditation. Maybe I should give it five minutes… Nope! Now I’m starving. Stuff face or say “Yes, please” when Mr. Lucy suggests going out to lunch. (That’s also a fatal mistake because we tend to procrastinate really well together so a lunch out can last up to four hours depending on how many tasks and errands we can come up with to keep us from our actual work.

2 p.m. Start writing. Battle for the first hour. Feel dejected. Wonder why I don’t know what I’m doing yet. Whine to Mr. Lucy about everything. Then remember that I left load of laundry in the washer three days ago.

3 p.m. The washer is running again. And it’s time to write. It goes much better because my self-loathing tells me I can’t possibly be a writer with the way I use my time. “Oh, yeah?” says my rebellious streak (the only thing stronger than that obnoxious self-loathing). “Watch this!” I write like it’s a job that I’m really good at. Take a few breaks to wink suggestively at Mr. Lucy.

7 p.m. Wrap it up. Immediately wonder if I wrote anything decent or if it’s all a steaming pile of crap. Who cares? That’s what the second draft is for! Celebration ends when I realize I forgot to schedule my oil change, put the clothes in the dryer, figure out why I can’t log into my credit card, and water the plants AGAIN. OMG, dinner.

9 p.m. Pretend I’m super cool and urbane for eating so late. Hope I don’t get heart burn when I go to bed.

10 p.m. Collapse on couch. Remember that I forgot all my vitamins. Eat a frozen Snickers and take half of the vitamins. Plan to do better tomorrow.

Get ready to head back to Blue Moon, folks!

There’s a new release heading to Kindles everywhere. You can expect to download your copy of Not Part of the Plan onto your Kindle on April 11!

Let’s talk details… this is the fourth book in my Blue Moon series. Each book can be read as a standalone, so if you haven’t picked the first ones up yet, you can jump right in with Not Part of the Plan.

For the record, Blue Moon books are sexy AND hilarious. They’re set in the small, idyllic town of Blue Moon Bend in upstate New York. Taken over by wandering hippies after Woodstock, the town still clings to its sixties roots with a heavy dose of nosey small town mixed in. The men are sexy alphas and the women are complicated, confusing, and charming.

In this sweet and sexy story, Nikolai Vulkov is a famous, womanizing fashion photographer whose life has suddenly lost its appeal. He decides an extended vacation with his best friend Summer Pierce and her husband Carter will be just the cure. Spending a few weeks on a farm in the middle of nowhere with twin one-year-olds? If that doesn’t make his old life more appealing, nothing will.

And speaking of appealing, when Niko meets Emmaline, the fiesty, no-nonsense brewery manager, he senses a challenge.

Emma’s not into bad boys or flings and lets Niko know it. She likes an orderly life, a plan, a direction. But once in the friend zone, Niko works to wear her down. Emma starts to wonder just how bad could one night with him be? How good could one night be?

The rest of Blue Moon reassembles for this book, picking up their stories nearly a year after the last book ends. Catch up with your favorite Pierce brother and all of your eccentric Blue Mooners and their hippie ways. There’s a Knit Off, Clementine the goat strikes again, and everyone’s favorite dead head Fitz reveals a very interesting side career.

Here’s a handful of my favorite snippets from Not Part of the Plan…

“What’s a dildo, Mama?”

 

“Crap. Four seconds in my house and we’ve already ruined your very nice Tom Ford. Sorry about that. Fluids just fly constantly around here,” Summer apologized.

“I figured that’s how you got twins,” Niko joked.

 

Carter glared at him and stroked a hand through his own beard. “I thought you hated facial hair.”

“Where did you ever get that idea?” Beckett asked innocently.

Carter threw his cards down on the table. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because of every snide comment you’ve ever made about my beard in the past five years?”

“What are you talking about?” Beckett feigned confusion. “I’ve said nothing but nice things about your beard.”

“Bullshit!” Carter shouted, pointing at his brother. “Bull. Shit. ‘Don’t get beard hair in my food, Carter.’ ‘You look like a wookie, Carter,’” he mimicked in a falsetto voice. “Bull fucking shit.”

Check out Chapter One here to wet your whistle! Can’t wait for April 11th! Sign up for my newsletter here to make sure you never miss a hot, new release.

xoxo,

Lucy