Lots of people have asked about my writing process the past few years. I try not to laugh out loud – come on, are they implying I’m organized enough to have a process? Aside from wishing I had some scholarly-sounding answer that would ensure my identity as a high-brow literary maven henceforth, I usually smile, mutter some inane answer, and move on to the next question.

Yet, with each new novel (five? I’ve managed to write and publish five whole novels? Wow, caffeine is powerful.) I become more aware that, unbeknownst to me, a process has formed. I’m certain it’s the little gremlins that live within the gray matter betwixt my ears. They are responsible, after all, for the five million and one plots – large and small – that compose my life story. They work in a dark, quiet corner of my mind, rubbing their little hands together and chortling with glee. Their voices are so tiny, though, I hear them only as the occasional ringing in my ears.

But I was telling you about the process. Thus far, it typically goes something like:

1. Sign contract to write novel and promise to produce it for publishing house in three months.
2. Promptly thank God for yet another miracle.
3. Dance around the house singing, “I’m a rock star! I’m a rock star! Somebody’s handing me money to tell a story!”
4. Assure children Mommy has not lost her mind. Decide they’re too young for that harsh reality.
5. Call friends and family to answer their oft-repeated, “When’s the next book coming out?”
6. Go to bed with new characters yammering for attention in my mind. Tell them to hush, we need our sleep, for tomorrow we craft Their Story.
7. Wake up, consume gallons of caffeine, get husband off to work, son off to preschool, and pray baby sleeps in while I settle in to my comfy desk chair.
8. Pull up first three chapters of manuscript that were written for the proposal and re-read them. Decide they’ll do for now – hey, they got me the contract! – place cursor at beginning of chapter four.
9. Stare at computer screen.
10. Tell characters, “Okay, y’all can talk now. What were you telling me last night?”
11. Wait for characters to speak.
12. Remember advice of Scholarly Research and Writing Book to write, even when the muse is silent. Type, “I wish you people would talk to me.”
13. Stare at computer screen.
14. Feel chastised by Scholarly Research and Writing Book for not typing more and amend to, “I wish you people would talk to me now.”
15. Hear baby crying, sigh, get her up and dressed. (In years before daughter was born, this was, “Hear dog whining to go out.”) Go back to laptop.
16. Stare at computer screen.
17. Decide the problem is that I’m worried about what work isn’t getting done in my main job and resolve to check my inbox.
18. Lose 2.2 hours to inbox.
19. Pull up Word doc again and see I have only typed one sentence for chapter four. Delete stupid sentence. Go back to main job’s work.
20. Completely forget to think about manuscript the rest of the day. Comfort myself with, “Well, you have three chapters already. You only need about 75,000 more words. You can do that closer to the deadline.”
21. Proceed to repeat these words for the next two months, resulting in the addition of only 15,000 words to the manuscript.
22. Look at calendar. See deadline four weeks away. Calculate needed word count to complete 60,000 more words within that time period.
23. Divide needed daily word count my gallons of caffeine in house. Determine a dangerous shortage exists.
24. Go to grocery store. Stock up on caffeine. Resolve to begin writing in earnest the next morning.
25. Re-resolve the next night.
26. Re-resolve the next night.
27. Re-resolve the next night.
28. Re-resolve the next night.
29. Re-resolve the next night.
30. Re-resolve the next night.
31. Re-resolve the next night.
32. Approach husband in blind panic. “I’m never going to finish in time! I can’t write! There are too many distractions in this house! I’ll be the laughingstock of the publishing house. Of the industry! Of the world! Of the universe! I’m a fraud. A sham. A nobody who thought she could write. They’ll want the advance back and we’ve already spent it. I’ll drive us into the poor house. We’ll be bankrupt!”
33. Consider slapping smile off husband’s face until he says, “I’ll watch the kids this weekend. You go away and write.”
34. Decide husband is Best Man to Ever Walk Planet.
35. Saturday morning, pack up laptop and head to local library.
36. Find empty desk, plug in iPod, pull up manuscript.
37. Write 20,000 words. Go home.
38. Write 10,000 words while hubby watches sci-fi show and kiddos sleep.
39. Sunday afternoon, pack up laptop and head to university library.
40. Find empty desk, plug in iPod, pull up manuscript.
41. Write 20,000 words. Go home.
42. Write 10,000 words while hubby watches History Channel show and kiddos sleep.
43. Check total word count and realize am now within required word count. Write final chapter.
44. Type, “The End.”
45. Sit back, stare at screen, feel fog lift and realize a real world is still spinning and that I have finished a novel, thereby proving an astounding truth: God still performs miracles.
46. Go to bed happy.
47. Wake up, saunter off to desk. Turn on laptop, pull up manuscript. In the fifteen million hours between pressing power button and pulling up manuscript, decide it’s too awful to send.
48. Read first sentence of chapter one and enjoy the surprise that it’s pretty okay.
49. Read through entire manuscript. Wonder why I don’t remember typing half of this. Blame it on the gremlins.
50. Email manuscript to editor.