Before I
was publishing and still working on my craft, I could write for hours and
hours, not even stopping to eat. Stories poured out of me, and I was really
using my weekends and free time to put words on the page.
During
that time, it was just my husband, Kevin, and me, so I didn’t have much in the
way of obligations or distraction other than a full-time job. My free time was
my own, and I could use it how I chose.
Needless
to say, a complicated, high-risk pregnancy and the premature birth of my son
effectively threw a wrench in all of my writing time.
I’ll spare
the gruesome details, but Desmond was born at only 27 weeks gestation and
stayed in the NICU for five months before coming home from the hospital. I had
to quit my full-time teaching job to take care of him, dealing with oxygen
tanks, feeding tubes, and a slew of medical equipment. He is a completely
healthy, rambunctious six-year-old little boy now, but the road to normalcy was
long and complicated.
So was my
way back to writing.
I tend to
lose myself in my writing, so it really took some adjustment to get where I am
today. I teach high school English full-time and have a husband and child but
still manage to write several books a year.
Basically,
I had to completely rethink the way I was writing and adjust my schedule,
habits, and most importantly, my mindset. For someone who was used to working
on fiction for hours, teaching myself how to write in short bursts was
challenging, but necessary for my process.
It took a
lot of tweaking, but now I have a great system in place for writing sprints.
Here is how I write while balancing work and family:
● Monday-Friday: Work, cook dinner, family time.
After I put my son to bed, I do writing sprints from 9-10:30 p.m.
My goal is typically 1,500 words, and on days when I am
unmotivated, I set a 90 minute timer.
This does not always happen. Realistically, there are nights
when I listen to my body and pass out at 8:30 in order to survive the week.
● Saturday: Three-hour writing sprint.
● Sunday: One-hour writing sprint.
● The
Finish Line: When
I am getting close to finishing a book or am approaching a deadline, I take
full advantage of my weekends.
My husband (who is so supportive of my writing) will take our son to do something fun for the
day--the park, a visit with his cousins or grandparents, or a trip to an arcade
or movie.
This enables me to get my work done, and while sometimes I
feel like I’m missing out on some of the fun, it really circumvents the mommy
guilt because I know Desmond is having fun, and he and Kevin are getting some
one-on-one time that is really so valuable.
● After
Publication: When
I have finished a book, I always take a short break to get in some valuable
family time after being so busy.
For example, when I finished The Thorn Princess and Heir of Iron Hearts, we took a weekend
trip free of social media and work. We hit a few arcades and rode roller
coasters at Dollywood, which is about two hours from where we live.
Nothing is more rewarding than riding roller coasters and
eating ice cream with my favorite people!
This
set-up has worked wonders for my writing career. It has helped me stick to a
pretty strict release schedule and has actually created a strange sort of
structure within my family. Balancing family, work, and writing is daunting,
but I feel like we have finally found a system that works for us. Learn more
writing tips and follow my author adventure at bekahharris.com
The Thorn Princess
The Iron Crown Faerie Tales
Book 1 of 6
Bekah Harris
Genre: YA Fantasy/Fairytales
Publisher: Dreamlake Media
Date of Publication: March 1, 2019
ISBN: 1796394653
ASIN: B07NDRHYLC
Number of pages: 268
Word Count: 57099
Cover Artist: Ana Bazyl
Tagline: What is Ivy Hawthorne?
Book Description:
Ivy Hawthorne has always felt like an outsider, but now she is starting to wonder who—and what—she really is.
She can see people’s auras. Animals watch her wherever she goes, and worst of all, sometimes her dreams actually come true.
But recently, things have gone from strange to downright bizarre.
The animals have started following her. Strangers have started watching her. And when she gets angry or upset, inexplicable things are bound to happen.
But the craziest thing of all is the sudden arrival of Barrett Forbes, a mysterious transfer student who finds her fascinating.
The more she gets to know Barrett, the more she learns about the dark truth behind her lonely, isolated childhood. As she digs deeper into her past, Ivy discovers the shocking realities about her lineage and where her destiny lies.
Filled with magic, romance, and mystery, The Thorn Princess is the first book in Bekah Harris’ captivating new series, the Iron Crown Faerie Tales.
Excerpt:
Ivy Hawthorne
could feel its eyes on her.
An
old screech owl was common enough in the mountains. What wasn’t so common was
the way it watched her, its huge yellow irises round as saucers, its head
moving to follow her figure up the path to the dining hall, where breakfast was
already underway.
Ivy
had always been good with animals, but sometimes, the way they focused on her
was unsettling. Like right now. It was almost seven-thirty. The owl should have
been roosting in its nest, settling into sleep for the day.
She trudged past
the tree where it perched, its downy brown and white feathers puffed out
against the cold, as the main buildings of the Kingston Academy campus rose up
in the distance. The series of towering stone buildings loomed over her like
sinister shadows as the near-hidden sun touched a bleak winter sky. Locked away
from the rest of the world, the students who attended the historic boarding
school were protected in the safe arms of the campus by a tall iron gate that
separated the school from the treacherous mountain terrain and wildlife that
surrounded it. The spindles were too
close together for even a child to slide through, and the fence was too tall,
slick, and sharp to climb. Which was just how the parents and administrators
wanted it.
Unless you were
a squirrel or bird, there was no going in or out without getting stuck. Or
impaled if you managed to climb high enough.
The morning was
still and quiet. The only sounds were the rattling of naked tree branches and
the crunching of Ivy’s boots in the frozen snow. On mornings like this, Ivy
resented the school uniform requirement at Kingston. The wind tore through the
thin black leggings she wore beneath her pleated skirt, as she readjusted her
heavy bag that drooped toward the ground.
The
lone owl hooted as Ivy left it behind. Unable to help herself, she turned,
stopping to watch it for a moment. Her gaze connected with the owl’s, its
wizened expression examining her with a fixation that made her wonder if it
could see her future. Or maybe even her past. When she was a little girl, Nan
used to tell her stories about birds and other animals that could see into a
person’s soul. Nan believed it like gospel, but Ivy had always figured they
were just old wives’ tales. Folklore from the superstitious mountains where
they lived. But the owl’s penetrating gaze was enough to make her question
those beliefs.
Checking
her smartwatch, Ivy shook off the eerie feeling and hustled up the path until
she reached the sidewalk, which, mercifully, had been shoveled and salted. She
stomped the snow from her boots and rushed up the stairs to the dining hall.
When she opened the door, the smell of frying bacon and maple syrup filled her
senses, as she absently handed her meal card to Rhoda, the cashier who smiled
and said “Good morning,” just like any other day.
But Ivy’s nerves
sloshed in her belly as she approached the dining room. She had dreamed about
the dining hall last night. Like any of the places she saw in her dreams, she
was wary to enter. Taking a deep breath to calm her irrational anxiety, she
stepped into the room and scanned the scattering of round oak-colored tables
and chairs.
Most
of her classmates weren’t early risers, so in twenty minutes, they would be
scrambling from their beds and rushing to their eight a.m. classes. But Ivy
usually woke up early after a night of tossing and turning between restless
dreams, which had been the case that morning. The dreams were becoming more frequent
lately, just like her animal sightings.
This morning it
had been an owl.
Yesterday, she
had seen a cardinal, which wasn’t altogether strange.
But the way it
had flitted behind her from tree to tree until she had walked inside had been
odd. A few minutes later, it had perched in the windowsill of her lit class,
peeking inside.
“There
you are!”
Jules McKinnon, Ivy’s best friend since the
early years at Kingston, waved at her from their usual table. She gestured to
the untouched plate in front of the empty seat beside her. She had piled on
French toast sticks, honey, and apple slices. Ivy’s favorite. Just as her
stomach growled, she stopped short, examining Jules. Her textured black pixie
was sticking out in all directions this morning, rather than being swept softly
to the side.
Oh, no.
If Jules had
actually made the effort to fix her hair, then she’d been up for more than the
ten minutes it took to throw on her uniform, brush her teeth, and walk to the
dining hall. Which also probably meant she’d been up for hours and hadn’t been
tempted to hit snooze five times. It meant she had been wide awake and
obsessing over something.
Ivy focused,
narrowing her eyes in an effort to see Jules’ aura, a fuzzy light that emanated
from most people in a variety of colors determined by their emotions. Ivy had
possessed the strange ability for as long as she could remember, though it
wasn’t something she advertised. Sure enough, Jules’s aura glowed in a dark
yellow halo that shone from her head and shoulders. She was worried. Probably
about her grades. Ivy learned a long time ago that, as smart as Jules was, she
would always freak out over tests, quizzes, grades, and her GPA. All the women
in her family had gone on to Hollins University, and Jules was determined to get
in, too, even if it caused her to have a nervous breakdown in the process.
“I thought you
were never going to get here. I fell asleep studying last night like a
narcoleptic dumbass and am now doomed to fail Crenshaw’s lit quiz this morning.
Thank God I woke up at four. Anyway, you’re good at all this poetry crap. Tell
me…” She looked down at her notes. “What are the underlying Romantic elements
of the Lady of Shallot?”
“First of all,
it’s Shalott,” Ivy said. “Shallots are a type of onion.”
She dunked a piece
of French toast in honey, chewing while Jules went into full-on panic mode.
“Oh my God, I am
so screwed. I thought last year’s phi lit class was awful. But this semester?
British Poets? Just kill me! Crenshaw is
going to see to it that my four-point-oh is a pleasant dream of the past,
achieved and maintained for ten years but snatched away in an undignified
attempt to interpret poetry.”
“Dramatic much?”
“Not cool, Ivy.
Can’t you see I’m desperate? Why couldn’t this be calculus? I get math.”
“Poetry is
mathematical,” Ivy said. “It’s about structure and pattern, rhyme, meter, and
rhythm. Anyway, stop freaking out. Just remember that the Romantic philosophies
of the day were about…”
Ivy lost her
train of thought. Her stomach cramped and twisted as he walked in. The boy from
the dream. She watched him as he moved past her with a confident gait and sat
at the fourth table from the coffee bar. Just as she had dreamed. Ivy blinked,
shaking her head. She tried to look away but couldn’t.
“About…?” Jules
glared impatiently until she followed the direction of Ivy’s stare. “Ah. I see
you’ve discovered Kingston’s latest flavor of eye candy.”
The boy was tall
and thin, but lean, not skinny. He looked completely out of place in the
required gray blazer and khaki pants. With skin the color of porcelain and dark
black-blue hair, he looked more like a leather jacket sort of guy than a prep
school student. His aura glowed from him in a soft red. Confidence. Strength.
It took a lot of
concentration, but Ivy had been seeing auras since she was a small child. Nan
called it “the sight” and had taught her how to read them. Had taught her never
to tell anyone that she could see them.
Just like he had
in the dream, the boy was surrounded by a red glow as he sat down. Her dreams
always seemed so real, and when she woke, Ivy always had a sense that she had
been to a different time or a different reality. But she didn’t often stare
down her dreams in the daylight.
About the Author:
Born and raised in the mountains of East Tennessee, Bekah Harris has been writing since she could hold a pencil. The beauty of her home in the Appalachian Mountains, along with the legends, myths, and folklore of that area, is what inspires the unique plots and settings captured in her young adult fiction. In addition to her love of all things fictional, Bekah is also a freelance writer and editor, as well as a high school English teacher. When not working, Bekah can be found at home making art with her son, as well as drinking coffee and watching Netflix with her husband.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/bekahharrisbook
Website: https://bekahharris.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/bekahharrisauthor/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17157949.Bekah_Harris
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17157949.Bekah_Harris
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