Titles to Guilt

It has been frustrating trying to find a title for my second book.  I have rejected so many and my publisher assures me that on re-reading the book I will think of the perfect title.  He is right up to a point.  I have come up with a better title, however it just doesn’t hit that satisfaction button quite hard enough to make me feel I’ve completed my task.  But I’m hoping it will grow on me. 

It is ridiculous to get so worked up over a title I know, but I think of all the books I was drawn to because of their title and I want people to be drawn to my book in the same way.  But then, again, I think of all the fantastic books I’ve read that had silly, ridiculous, idiotic or downright awful titles (I shan’t name them here).  The converse has also been true.  Some excellent well-thought and poetic titles but the book was dire (I definitely won’t name them here).

So, I have decided to stick with the title I have chosen because it is a) short, b) to the point, c) brings together/highlights three different scenes and d) is core to the personal problems the heroine has.  The book is called Banishment and I have no doubt that at some point I shall be able to post a link to the purchase page. 

I’m now writing my thrid and fourth book both of which have frivolous titles for identification purposes.  Frivolous is good.  Only when the book is complete do I think seriously of the title because only then do I see it as a serious piece of work.  Were I to name if beforehand the pressure to make it work would be too great.  Until then it is a book that I can discard/leave if it isn’t working for me.  I have several books like that.  Unfinished manuscripts because the momentum was  lost.  One of my main problems is that I write at the dining room table and my family are in and out all the time.  I constantly lose the thread of a juicy thought or bounce out of an emotional scene, unable to recapture it.  I ought to find somewhere quiet to work but I feel too guilty to secret myself.  Do any other female writers feel that tear between their need to regurgitate their thoughts and be a ‘Mum’?

Please tell me how you deal with it.  Ignoring my husband and sitting in a closed room for three hours is not a problem because he understands, he supports my need to write.  But the children are another matter.  I do not want them to understand, I want to be there for them, I want to share their childhood. 

Even the title of this post is ridiculous.  But intriguing…