There comes a time when the motivation monkey is happily swinging from branch to branch with the wind in his face and the world passing beneath him, when, out of nowhere, he loses pace, grabs some rotten foliage, and promptly plummets to earth with a thud.
If he has a particularly lengthy fall he might be left feeling a bit tender. A bit unsure. Looking up, he might see an epic, mountainous climb. Looking down, he might see a soft bed of leaves.
I know what I’d choose.
Does your motivation monkey lose the battle of wills when he takes a tumble? Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Mine is so used to falling off track he’s developed a habit of catching some lower branches to cushion his descent—a toolbox of helpful techniques I try to deploy before he reaches ground zero.
First off: why do we lose motivation?
Boredom. Big yawns all round! Who wants to clean the house or cook dinner when you could be reading… or doing whatever it is that flicks your switch.
Distraction. When YouTube distracts… this is like diving into a rabbit warren for me. I could waste hours on YouTube under the guise that I’m learning something. Usually, I start off with something educational and related to my story building—a little philosophy, or perhaps a historical documentary on the rise of the Third Reich… two hours later I’m glued to videos of animals being rescued from abuse, while I eat ice cream and cry uncontrollably.
Overwhelmed. Christ Almighty, I have gazillion-and-one jobs I NEED to get done each week. What’s the answer? Do none of them and pretend they will all go away! Feeling overwhelmed is the biggest motivation killer for me.
Laziness. Come now, don’t be ashamed, laziness is okay in small doses. I like to think of my lazy episodes as holidays from reality. We all need a break now and then. Don’t beat yourself up. However, if people start to comment on your personal hygiene it’s probably an indicator that you’ve taken it a step too far. Now, go and wash!
So what’s the answer?
Well, I had a gigantic list of things I’ve used written down in my note book: from hypnosis and meditation to self-help books and taking regular walks. But I won’t be penning these techniques here.
There are far more eloquently put examples and excellent motivational experts out there (check out some of these videos here and here).
In the interest of brevity, I’ve whittled it down to one question I ask myself when I lack or lose motivation:
If I do it, will it count towards enhancing my life and those around me?
If the answer is no, I find something else to do. Chances are it isn’t all that important, and there will be something else with a higher priority that I need to achieve. Anyone who has been to my house will be able to witness this question in action. I still have walls without plaster… it’s been two years since we moved in.
If the answer is yes, I do it. Well… most of the time. I might need an extra mental boot up the behind. And that comes in the form of addressing my own mortality—recognising that you have a finite amount of time is, without a doubt, the best motivator around.
So, don’t put things off. Get your motivation monkey back up into the tree canopy and start swinging! Because the next time you drop off and dawdle in that comfy bed of leaves, there might be a hungry tiger waiting for you to fall asleep.
Our cat, Dave Lister The Smeg, is a total tiger.
If you happen to have any techniques of your own, please let me know. I like to acquire information with the same passion a person with collectomania gathers possessions.
Illustration by A. Gristwood. You can find her on: https://www.facebook.com/A.Gristwood.Art/
Following my Vampire exposé a few weeks ago, it was brought to my attention that the fishy folk of the sea (aka ‘Mermaids’) have been mobilising forces. Battalions of these enigmatic water walkers have been gathering presence on the internet. And people are worried.
I have taken on the task to reassure you… to help settle down those needless and unsubstantiated concerns.
Remember people: fishes are friends. Flippers, fins or feet… discrimination will not be tolerated.
Truth from Tale...
Pre-political correctness, mermaids were more commonly known as Clamantes Acerbus (that’s Latin for ‘Tannoy Tart’). I know, what an awful classification! But this isn’t my doing. I’m here to spread facts, not fiction.
‘Tannoy Tart’ was likely coined by the seafaring men (and their wives) to warn naïve sailors of the seemingly dangerous beauties donning the coastline, with nothing but shell brassieres to protect their scandalous bosoms.
Half fish/half human, speculation has dogged the origin of mermaids since they were first spotted.
Were they a product of magic? Did they evolve from an amphibious lizard-like-fish that crawled out of the sea four million years ago? Or, had a fisherman taken a different kind of interest in his ‘catch of the day?’
No one knows for sure where these slithery seductresses appeared from; one thing we do know: they are real and some have adapted to life on land.
‘Why?’ I hear you ask. ‘If I were a mermaid, I’d never leave the sea.’
Well, if you’re straight and looking for love, then you might not have much choice.
Mermaid’s aesthetic beauty is world renowned; however, there’s much to be said for their male counterparts…
Or, as they are more commonly known: Squamea Convolvens Limus (that’s Latin for ‘Scaly Slobs’).
These Jabba The Hutts of the sea spend most of the day sleeping, scratching their genitalia and farting (ever smelled a merman’s fart? Trust me, you’ll never breathe properly again afterward!).
Mother Nature is a cruel beast—for every twenty mermaids, there is only one merman. Imagine!
With their male genetic pool dwindling, mermaids turned to humans for help.
What Went Wrong...
Rumour spread that mermaids tempted sailors into the sea with their beautiful song for the sole purpose of drowning them. And this is simply not true.
Yes, mermaids have had a number of ‘run-ins’ with sailors over the past few hundred years, but this is due, in part, to a long built-up frustration within the mermaids pitiful and stressful circumstances with the mermen.
The sailors had an answer.
These sirens of the sea weren’t luring anyone to their death. How were they to know that most sailors couldn’t swim? I mean, come on. Who travels across oceans and can’t even produce a doggy paddle if they fall in?
Mermaids were simply trying to get their hands on the bottles of rum sailors had stashed in their ships. They were looking for a little bit of alcohol-induced escape.
We’ve all been there, right? Absent fathers, screaming kids. Well, mermaids needed an outlet too. And they found their solace at the bottom of the bottle.
It’s been a while since the last confirmed mermaid sighting, but, if you know where to look, you’ll find them (I saw one last week and had a nice cup of tea with her. I can’t tell you where, though, I pinky-finned a promise to keep shtum).
What I can divulge is that some do come ashore. They possess the ability to shed their tails (a secret process even I’m not privy too) to spend time with us walkers.
Ever seen those Instagram pics? You know the ones, just a pair of legs sunbathing by a pool or the sea. You guessed it, they’re a secret nod between mermaids. Next time you see one floating about on the internet, take a closer look… you might catch a glimpse of a sparkly scale or two.
From NEW YORK TIMES Bestseller Mimi Jean Pamfiloff, Comes Part One of Mr. Rook’s Island, a Sexy, Dark, Romantic Suspense.
He’s Enigmatic, Dangerously Handsome, and COMPLETELY OFF-LIMITS…
The women who vacation on Mr. Rook’s exclusive island are looking for one thing and one thing only: to have their wildest romantic fantasies come to life. Pirates, cowboys, billionaires—there’s nothing Rook’s staff can’t deliver.
But when Stephanie Fitzgerald’s sister doesn’t return after her week in paradise, Stephanie will have to pose as a guest in order to dig for answers. Unfortunately, this means she’ll need to get close to the one thing on the island that’s not on the menu: the devastatingly handsome and intimidating Mr. Rook. And he’s not about to give the island’s secrets away.
This review won’t contain any spoilers—because spoilers ruin EVERYTHING.
However, it will contain points on why I think this book is an absolute winner. Because although Mr. Rook is primarily a romance, it managed to tick more boxes than a data entry clerk. Mystery. Romance. Paranormal. Heartbreak. Humour… the list goes on. And, I bloody loved its unpredictability.
Stephanie is grief-stricken after the disappearance of her sister, Cici. Stephanie isn’t a weak-willed wallflower, sure, she might be heartbroken, but she’s a tenacious risk-taker who needs answers and closure. And those answers can only be found on the mysterious fantasy island where Cici was last seen alive—owned and run by the equally secretive and enigmatic Mr. Rook.
The island is like nothing I’ve ever read about before. It’s a place where all your fantasies can come true. There are moments where I laughed out loud and moments where I thought, Christ-on-a-bike I want to go. It’s a cheeky romance lover's heaven… at least, on the surface, it appears that way. *cue mysterious music*
Who. Is. Rook? He’s suave, sexy, controlling, attentive, arrogant, sweet, thoughtful… Rook has more contradictions than a politician (in a good way, of course!). The picture of who he is, and how he and his ‘paradise’ island are linked to Cici’s disappearance begin to unfold throughout the story; at the same time, like a potent concoction of dangerous and exciting illegal substances, the chemistry between Rook and Stephanie begins to mix and sizzle.
BOOM. An unexpected curveball smacks you right in the nose.
If anyone is familiar with Mimi’s work, they’ll also be aware that she’s a demon with twisty cliff-hangers, and this novel is without exception. Don’t worry, if you loathe dangling on the precipice, there is hope:
1) you never have to wait too long for the next book.
2) there are some brilliantly insightful ‘extra chapters’ at the end of the novel.
3) Given that her backlog is twenty-something books long, there’s plenty to keep you going in the meantime.
But, hey, patience is a virtue, right? ?
I started reading Mimi’s books when the ‘Accidently’ series was first published, but, I’ve missed out on a few releases over the past two years (what can I say, working in a library can get a little distracting); however, after reading Mr. Rook I headed over to Amazon and bought every single book I hadn’t read. Like a Netflix binge-fest, I’m preparing for a Mimi-marathon. Tea and cake are at the ready to carry me through… I’m so excited!
Don't take my word for it. Click on the links below to get your hands on your own copy.
Amazon UK: https://goo.gl/rw3Z90
Amazon CA: https://goo.gl/fGmVnY
Amazon AUS: https://goo.gl/M7Ymlq
Alternatively, if you're undecided, why not click the rafflecopter link to be in with a chance of winning a paperback instead.
Mimi Jean Pamfiloff is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of Paranormal and Contemporary Romance. Both traditionally and independently published, Mimi has sold over 900,000 books since publishing her 1st title in 2012, and she plans to spontaneously combust once she hits the one-million mark. Although she obtained her international MBA and worked for over 15 years in the corporate world, she believes that it’s never too late to come out of the romance-closet and follow your dreams.
When not screaming at her works in progress, Mimi spends time with her two pirates in training, her loco-for-the-chili-pepper hubby, and rat terriers, Mini & DJ Princess Snowflake, in Arizona.
She continues to hope that her books will inspire a leather pants comeback (for men) and that she might make you laugh when you need it most.
I've signed up to be part of a blogging group who post a question the first Wednesday of every month. I'd highly recommend writers of any genre to click on the link and check out their insightful blogs.
Insecure Writer’s Support Group
June 7 Question: Did you ever say “I quit”? If so, what happened to make you come back to writing?
In short, no.
But, in keeping with my propensity for prattling on, I’m going to expand and say: sometimes… kind of.
Writing is like any other form of creativeness—whether you spend an hour on your hair each day or a month decorating your house in Las Vegas style lights ready for Christmas—we create because it brings us joy.
But we’re social creatures. We like to share.
So, there comes a time when most of us take the leap, strip naked and show off our stuff (metaphorically speaking, of course); however, what we hope to achieve when bearing our most intimate creations, doesn’t always transpire.
And that’s where problems can start to make you wobble.
Primarily, I write because I get a kick out of putting words on paper. I love making things up—when life gets a little tough or when the world’s news sounds like some late-night horror listing, writing makes it all go away. I don’t just bury my head in a rusty bucket of earwig-filled sand, I get to transport myself onto a sun-kissed beach where anything I want to happen happens—I’ve never actually written about a beach, and my stories tend to involve death, but, you get the idea.
It’s all about escapism. And your imagination’s the limit.
Because I love what I do, I want to share it. It’s a little like sharing photos of your kids on social media— you’re proud of those little critters, and you know someone else will see their cute hilarity too, right?
However, creating and sharing don’t always walk serenely hand in hand—sometimes, they end up running, kicking and screaming, in opposite directions. Sometimes your kids, no matter how cute they are, just don’t appeal to others.
If someone doesn’t like what you’ve made/written/drawn/built, then it sucks. There’s no poetic way to put it that doesn’t come off as a little self-absorbed. It. Just. Blows.
Let’s get the awkwardness out of the way, you can call me Narcissistic-Nelly if you like, but I cannot think of anything more gratifying than having someone get that same buzz I feel when I read a good book.
And if they don’t like what I’ve written?
I begin to waiver. I gear myself up to dive into the abyss of self-pity whilst wailing ‘what’s the point in it all?’
Luckily, I have a husband who finds these moments funny; he also happens to have no problem in telling me I’m acting like a dick (he usually does an impression of Stewie from Family Guy and asks how my book is going to hammer the message home). And his humour is a welcome slap to the senses.
There will always be a tonne of people better than me. There will always be people who think my stuff is smellier than a week-old cat turd (everyone knows that cat poop stinks, right?). But if other people’s opinions make me want to quit, then my perspective is seriously skewed and off-track; so, I have a firm word with myself, watch a bit of Family Guy, and trace my steps back to my original motivation for writing: the love of it.
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