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Saturday, August 25, 2012

Anniversary Blog Fest: Tiffany N. York



The beginning of summer is like New Year’s Day for me—an opportunity to set goals. I had a lofty writing goal this summer: Finish my current work-in-progress, a contemporary romance, or some may say, actually write it, since I was only at 20,000 words. No problemo. I had the entire summer ahead of me…

Three glorious uninterrupted months of my creative muse spoon-feeding me chocolate mousse and rubbing my tired shoulders whenever I became stuck. I had the days to sleep in late in order to “replenish the well,” and the nights to dress in my most luxurious dry clean only lingerie, while tapping away at the keyboard, listening to sultry jazz in the background, a glass of chilled Riesling by my side.


I’m a single mother of a ten-year-old boy. We have a diva Chihuahua, three cats, and two parakeets. And an invisible sign tacked up on our front door that says: “All kids welcome.”

Here’s an example of a typical day:

“Mom, wake up, the dog pooped in my room again.”

I stagger out of bed in my boxer shorts and ratty T-shirt to clean up said mess. The cats swarm around me, demanding to eat. No sooner are the cats fed when one promptly throws up on the carpet, not the floor right next to the carpet.

“Can you help me clean this up?” I shout to my son, who’s in his room playing video games.

“What? I can’t hear you, Mom, my game’s too loud!”

Next-door neighbor kid walks in my front door without knocking. “Morning.” Diva Chihuahua begins to bark furiously despite seeing this same kid every day.

“Can you make me breakfast, Mom?”

“Will you please help me—?”

“Can’t hear you, Mom, the birds are squawking too loud!”

A knock at the door. It’s another one of my son’s friends. Diva Chihuahua growls, spies one of our cats making a beeline out the front door, and takes off after her.

After rounding up the Diva and making breakfast for everyone, I eat whatever scraps my son has left on his plate, clean up the kitchen, throw in a load of laundry, grab a second cup of coffee (or third, or fourth), and finally sit down at my computer to write. It’s almost noon. I have a sex scene on the agenda.

My office is the dining room, without any doors. “All right,” I tell myself, “time to get in the mood. Think sexy thoughts.”

I start to type…

His fingers caressed the inside of her bare thigh—

“Mom, I’m hungry!”

—slowly creeping up to discover she—

“Mom, what are you going to make me?”

—wasn’t wearing any underwear. Her smile gave him—

“Mom, can you make a sandwich for my two friends also?”

—permission to venture further. But first he planned to slowly undress her and—

“Mom, come on! What are you doing?”

—carry her to the bed where he’d—

“Mom, we’re hungry. Come on!”

Heavy sigh. —just f**k her without any foreplay. The End.

Multiply this day times June, July, and August, and you have my summer.

About the Author:
Tiffany N. York writes sassy, sexy contemporary romance. Her debut novel, The Accidental Cougar, will be available 11-23-12 from The Wild Rose Press. Visit her website at


Ingeborg said...

That was hilarious, I'm still laughing. Thank you, I needed a good laugh.

Catherine Lee said...

REALLY??? That was my first thought when I got to "dry clean only lingerie." Who lives like that? LOL. I don't have kids, but the cat stuff hit very close to home. We have 4...and a neighbor cat who also comes for meals. And, YES, they do have a knack for puking on the carpet, right next to the weeks worth of newspapers that are strewn about the carpet. Just once, I'd love it if one of them hit the newspaper!
catherinelee100 at gmail dot com

Hywela Lyn said...

LOL - the best laid plans somehow never seem to work do they? I had similar aspirations when I stayed at my sister's home in Wildest West Wales to house/animal sit while she was away. Between dog walking, chicken and rabbit wrangling, entertaining passing visitors and calling out the vet to a sick horse I got very little of the current WIP done - I did so enjoy it though!

Jean MP said...

I laughed reading this post, can relate to the throwing up part, it never is on a part of the floor that is ever easy to clean, animals seem to have that uncanny knack.

skpetal at hotmail dot com

Debby said...

Great description! Reminds of those days.
debby236 at gmail dot com

Kappa no He said...

This post is hilarious. My writing space is the dining room table too. However, my days aren't nearly so colorful or funny. All the best, Tiffany. I look for to reading more from you.

Karen H in NC said...

LOL...I'm still laughing over your post! Summer time and the living is easy? your dreams! And I've often wondered what actually goes on in the background while the author writes those hot sex scenes! How do you keep your kids from peeking at the screen while you write?

kareninnc at gmail dot com

Kell Andrews said...

So funny! I barely even tried to write this summer, so kudos for you for getting any words on paper amid that mayhem.

Jennifer Yaffar said...

I've known Tiff all my life and her humorous outlook on life continues to make me laugh! Keep at it, Tiff, for all us girls looking for that sexual fantasy in the midst of daily doldrums ;-)

Dee Garretson said...

At least you're the cool mom. That's a good thing, though you'd have more time if you got the label of either the crazy mom or the crabby mom. I love that you have a diva chihuahua.

blk04lightning said...

I totally love your sense of humor Tiff! I always laugh at your blogs while also educating me to some of the sad realities of a single working mother.
As one of your male readers I always look forward to your perspective.
Keep up the great work and best of luck!

Stacey Joy Netzel said...

Tiffany, that was awesome. For us, at least, not you x3 months. :) Here's hoping you have many days of uninterrupted writing once you get those 3 little words I blogged about...

Back To School.


Tina Moss said...

Love the post. Summers are such a time suck for me. Getting anything done is almost impossible. Thanks for your story. Made me smile.

tinamosswrites (at) gmail (dot) com