Big Money: A Dream Writers Must Let Go Of

In addition to writing, I enjoy other interests. Key among them is working, although truth be told, if I were to happen upon the Lotto jackpot, I would retire from the time-sucking Day Job and write full time in a heartbeat. I also enjoy gourmet cooking, gardening; I paint, I sew, I make twisted things out of wire and gems. I play guitar and violin (badly).

I argue that anything one can do in life can be elevated to art. Even the time-sucking Day Job.

Even *gasp* menial tasks.

I think back to when I started writing “seriously” in 2007. I’m pretty sure making money was the furthest thing from my mind. I know for a fact that my seedling of a story had no outline and no intended ending. Getting it all down on paper was the goal, and it was a huge one. Once you’ve achieved the goal, the next step is editing. Re-writing. Polishing. Weaving subplots and intricacies into the story. Editing and polishing some more. And then of course, querying.

I’m constantly amazed by writers who think they can make money from the writing venture. I suppose there are some who can pump out volume after volume and sell – sell big time, even. They talk about platform, social media, marketing. It’s all necessary. Even the big houses aren’t paying for publicity anymore, so the author is expected to peddle – I mean, sell – their own work.

When you add up the time creating, fold in the time and expense of editing, and cap it off with the time marketing, most writers make about 2 cents an hour. If that.

Obviously, one cannot look at writing as a money-making venture.

I liken writing to my jewelry making venture: it’s something I do, and do well. It’s something I enjoy. I love creating art, whether it is visual, wearable, or readable. My output is unusual, quirky and, well… artistic. It appeals to some, but not to the masses. I have reconciled myself as a jewelry artist with any dreams I have of being able to live off my work. I can’t.

My son has a degree in piano performance from a prestigious music conservatory. He’s a fabulous pianist, truly an artist when it comes to playing the piano. But there are hundreds, no, thousands of fabulous pianists within a twenty-mile radius of his house. He’s great, and he can barely live off his work.

I belong to writing associations and go to conferences. Some think that book sales in the 2-3 thousand range is great. It’s not enough to live on, but it’s respectable. You might break even. If enough people love it, your agent might want you to produce more of the same, therefore ensuring continued success.

But are you kidding? There are literally thousands and thousands of great writers. I have a To-Read list that threatens to crush me. Some of the books were recommended; others were given to me to read for review. Many were self-published. Not everyone can do a decent job of writing a book, but believe me, there are plenty out there that do a kick-ass job – and they don’t have contracts with big houses.

As an artist, I recommend the following: let go of the Big Money dream. It’s nice to have for the occasional foray into pleasantville, but the reality is that even with self-pubbing and e-pubbing, the best you can do is small money and some recognition.

As an artist, I thoroughly recommend honing your craft. Study. Make use of information – there’s a ton of it out there. Make a few mistakes, and don’t be afraid of trying something new. Approach writing as a learning experience. Your artistic work is and should be your primary focus, not snagging an agent or getting a contract. God forbid, not hoping for the big pay-off.

After all, you have a better chance of hitting the Lotto.

Global Search and Destroy: A Writer’s Big Gun

You can say many things about Microsoft Word, some of which are kind, others disparaging, but the one GOOD thing is the capability to search your document for certain words or phrases.

Why is this so important?

If you write like I do (right off the top of my head, and like I speak), many troublesome redundancies may appear in your writing that will cause the reader to cringe, become bored, or out-right begin to hate you and your story. I also tend to write as fast as I can, one, to get it all down before I forget – as I am pre-Alzheimery, and two, because my writing time is severely limited.

My speaking voice loves descriptors, or adverbs and adjectives. I’m afraid this was the result of my upbringing. My father tends to lean the same way. He once used the word ‘evidently’ so much, I began using it too. I was once so flowery in small claims court, that the judge admonished me to shut up. (I won, but not before putting a muzzle on my mouth.)

Some writers are completely anti-adverb and anti-adjective. The ‘-ly’ words are devils! Too many petals on your prose makes it purple! While on the subject of punctuation, too many ‘!’ are a no-n0, and italics are to be used sparingly.

For those of you who have met me in the flesh or know me because they are unfortunately related to me, I am a passionate person. When I’m angered, I can go on a tirade that withers most steely men to the consistency of wilted spinach. My peeps, I speak in exclamation points. I dream the thesaurus. I observe the world in super-Technicolor. My spoken voice is littered with italics. When I began to write, I peppered my prose with lots of ‘-ly’ words – thanks to Roget’s – and plenty of exclamation points.

Too many.

The first thing my friend and nag, the Little Fluffy Cat, did when she read my first chapter of my first novel was to tell me to get rid of the prologue. And the adverbs. And the exclamation points. And the dead words, like ‘well,’ ‘huh,’ ‘no.’ And the ‘-ing’ words. Why? If you need to get your point across, show don’t tell. Adverbs are unfortunately telling words. Writers must show. Dead words don’t add to the conversation. Many readers’ eyes won’t register the words at all. Why have them if they’re useless? Prose is stronger without them. ‘-Ing’ words are passive. You want your writing to zing. Take all of this garbage away and you are left with a meaner, cleaner piece of work.

LFC taught me to use the ‘Find’ (and ‘Replace’)  feature of Word. With just one click of a button, I can locate where a word is used, and Word also counts the number of times I’ve used it. (I’m so dumb; there is a ‘Find/Replace’ feature?) With that, I eliminated all of my ‘-ly’ words, which deflated the 170K manuscript by about 8K words.

But this was only the beginning.

I personally don’t like seeing the same descriptor in the same paragraph or on the same page. I don’t know why; it just bothers me. As a reader, it’s irritating. As a writer, I think I can do better.

Novel #1 is now down to a reasonable 113K, but in writing, re-writing, and editing, I found the same (annoying/blah/overused) words keep popping up. While in a momentary lull last week, I searched out a few of them. I found 92 instances of ‘family’ were about 72 times too many. I eliminated more ‘well’s’ and ‘mmm’s’ from my dialogue.

So if you, as a writer, are suffering from writer’s block, pull out your manuscript and try the ‘Find’ feature. (Under ‘Editing’ – ‘Find’) Play around with it a little. See if you can eliminate your garbage/fluffy words to make your writing stronger.

Using Real Life Angst in Writing

Real Life might get in a writer’s way. In fact, that’s the common complaint for those of us who write on the sly. Commitments are a bitch. Time is a precious commodity; making time to write is a monumental task, up there with moving mountains with a hand shovel and ants carrying a thousand times their weight. But Real Life does provide a wealth of opportunity for the writer, especially if your Real Life situations involve a lot of grief and angst.

Certainly, Real Life can be ugly. No one wants to experience, pain, heartbreak, financial distress, loss, failing health, death and/or any other number of things that can cause the mind to go crazy and the heart to palpitate.

I’m only mentioning this because there have been a lot of trying personal setbacks I’ve had to deal with in the last month or so. It’s not just the holidays, although for some reason, Christmas seems to bring out either the best or the worst in people – usually the worst. It’s not the upcoming birthday, the date on the calendar wagging an accusatory finger at me. (F*** off, birthday.) It’s not the SAD I’m experiencing, although the revelation that the Detroit metro area only sees about 70 days of sunshine per year is enough to make me jump out of my window (where I would land on the sidewalk, broken but not dead). It’s not the recent full moon, or the feeling I have that the stars are not aligned in my favor this year. (I saw 2012. We’re doomed. Although John Cusack can save me any day. In fact, I’d prefer John Cusack over any superhero out there. Please send John Cusack.)

When I started out writing poetry, I found using my personal anguish as a creative outlet was extremely therapeutic. Plus, the best writing is sprung from disaster. I don’t know about the “real” poets out there, but my best poetry was born out of hardship and anxiety. It was the case then and is probably so now that I can’t write poetry at all when I’m happy.

Writing prose is a little different, but not much. I have to be manic to write sassy stuff. It helps if I’m majorly pissed off when I write opinion pieces. And I must always be in the throes of a near meltdown to write anything else.

There’s a fine way of incorporating your heavy heart into your writing.

First tip: get a notebook. I’m partial to small ones that can fit in my bag. These days I like pretty ones, although it doesn’t really matter what the cover looks like. Carry it and a pen with you at all times.

Second tip: at the apex of your distress, whip out the notebook and begin to jot a few things down. These don’t have to be complete sentences. They don’t even have to be pretty thoughts, just record. How does your heart feel? Can you breathe at all? Does your head hurt?

Third tip: expand on your observations. If you felt like crying, what prevented you? If you did break down and sob, what did that feel like? Try not to use the old cliches, like “it felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.” Find a new way to describe your discomfort. Play with words; your thesaurus can be a goldmine, but not until you get out the pick axe and start digging.

I’m employing this technique right now to enhance the emotional description I’d already laid down. It is more likely that you’ll take your notebook and tuck it away, like I did – until I’d unearthed it.

Make use of your angst. It’s a valuable tool.

How an Editor for Life Made Me a Writer for Life

I’ve been dying to (and trying to) write this post for a month. You know how it is. December = holidays + end-of-year-tax-queasiness + noticeable lack of sunlight. End result, many trips to CVS for stomach relief medicine. One of my resolutions – besides the standard lose ten pounds, exercise more, and WRITE – is to contribute to the blog more than once in a blue moon. More like once a week. Here goes:

When a person decides to write something more substantial than a blog post or article, something epic, like an actual novel (many thousands of words, many hundreds of pages, many characters and plot twists), it’s like a journey to another land.

Transcontinental. By covered wagon. Through a summer Death Valley and a winter in the Sierras. Alone. (Well, except for the one horse.)

Despite the fact that there are educational institutions, libraries full of reference books, conferences and seminars galore, critique groups, writing friends, and of course, the vast Internet, the writer is flying solo. Or in my case, walking alongside the covered wagon solo.

A few years ago, I decided to enlist in professional help. I’d completed two novels. I have plenty of online writing friends, many published authors, who have cheered me on and slapped me silly. I joined a local critique group. But something was missing.

First of all, I can only bother my online writer friends just so much. They are busy writing. Some had paired up with others for mutual in-depth critiquing. This happens best if both writers produce in a similar genre. I will BETA read other genres, sometimes for pleasure, sometimes I’m asked, but I know from the get-go that my favorite reading material is women driven, contemporary, and literary. And it’s a lot to ask someone to be your crit bud for life.

Second, writing, like many artistic endeavors including music and the visual arts, can’t be self-taught, despite all of the reference books out there. My library is a testament to writing reference. If it was printed, I bought it, from Donald Maass to Stephen King to Noah Lukeman and beyond. Sure, the creative juices are yours and yours alone, and you’re the master of your creation, but without (superior, constant, personal) guidance, one might fall back on easy and bad habits.

I’ve been in a few critique groups, some temporarily. I’m fairly intelligent, have a decent grasp of grammar, punctuation, and of course, am a stellar speller. I don’t need a line editor or proofreader. What I’m looking for in a group critique situation is similar to what I expect from my online writer friends: brutal honesty on story development. If I wanted sycophantic praise, I’d have given my material to some sympathetic BETA readers I know. I knew my writing was lacking something, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I could tell my writer friends were patiently annoyed by my requests. Books can only give so much information. The critique route wasn’t working. I had to do something else.

Going back to school was instantly nixed. I own a business (several) and I don’t have time to commit myself to college. Plus, I’m just too old. I can see myself in a class room with a bunch of teenagers…NOT!

For me, there was only one alternative, and that was to pay for professional help.

I know what you’re thinking. Pay? Money? For an editor? Was I out of my mind? Was what they say about teachers (those who can, do; those who can’t teach) directly applicable to editors?

Well, how was I to know? Unless I looked around.

I’d met several professional editors along my rutted wagon trail way, some online and some at the San Francisco Writers Conference. (Hey, there are worse things than talking to professional editors at a conference…for free.) I’d struck up a rapport with a couple. Some are outrageously expensive (albeit, these are the gurus, the top guns of the industry) and others seemed to be dirt cheap. Those on either side of the spectrum worried me. I’d used a few to help me with beginning chapters, and one to assist with all of VIRTUALLY YOURS. Some were easy to work with, some not so.

Mr. ED (of VY fame) approached me with a novel *punny* idea: That is, he suggested a tailor-made program for me. Editor for Life.

I’ll have to admit, the ED for Life thing sounded a bit off the chart. It was expensive. In case you didn’t know, I’m cheap. We all know I am a cynic. But I did enjoy working with him. He got my vision, yet wasn’t afraid to tell me when I wandered way off track. I returned his offer of lifelong help with many questions. Serious questions, including provisos in case either one of us died. (Honestly. Either one of us could get hit by a bus tomorrow and then where would we be?) I thought, and I thought some more, and I finally agreed. (In installments. I’m not fabulously wealthy.)

There is a moral to this long, twisted tale of me and my writing covered wagon, and I’m getting to it.

Once I made the commitment to ED for Life, my outlook on writing changed. I became a WRITER for Life.

That’s right. Since signing on the dotted line, I’ve been writing or editing nearly non-stop. Almost daily. No longer did I suffer writer’s block or depression over my work. I’ve been pumping out words like there’s no tomorrow. (That’s because theoretically, tomorrow might never come. Plus I want to get my money’s worth.)

The writing tables have turned. Now I have two horses hitched up to my covered wagon. The journey will be bumpy, but at least I have a navigator.

Where Was the Battle of the Log Lines on This One?

I hope everyone’s Christmas (or whatever you choose to or decline to celebrate) was merry and bright. That goes without saying.

Last week, the Query Tracker blog featured a must-read post on log lines. For the new writer or others out of the loop, a log line is a one sentence explanation of your book (or movie) meant to hook the audience. Think bubble blurbs under a channel you have surfed to, or for those who remember TV Guide, a comprehensive yet pithy summary of this week’s episode. An example from one of my favorites, That ’70′s Show:

Stone Cold Crazy

Donna takes some “creative” photos of herself to send to Eric, but unfortunately they end up in the wrong hands.

One sentence. We know who is experiencing the dilemma, and we can deduce what “creative” means in the sentence (racy? pin-ups? NUDE?). From there, the imagination takes us on a course of possible plot twists that might result from the shift in story line. There is enough information there to either tease a fan to flip the channel (or put in the DVD) at the appointed time. For those who despise the program, there is also enough for the hater to make a decision to pass.

A log line is the basis of the standard elevator pitch, where the author has three to five minutes to convey the essence of their work to an agent. Sometimes we pitch via email, but more frequently the pitching is done at crowded conferences where every wannabe author is nervous and perspiring. Been there. You could chop through the anxiety with a machete and build huts for the homeless with the resulting debris. Building a pitch is much like writing a news story. Start with a solid log line, then attach the next most important sentence, and the next. Make the first 25 words the best you can and read it out loud. And then of course, you’re going to edit that baby until it sounds professional, and you’re going to practice it so many times, you’ll be blurting it out in your sleep.

In my case, on my first effort, I found it nearly impossible to get the gist of my story down to 50 words. I had a hard time getting it under two pages. Thank goodness, with some coaching from my cheering squad, some great reference books, and years of practice, I’m doing much better now.

This isn’t the only reason why, but writers should practice crafting log lines, and pitches, even as you struggle to write to those magic words “The End”. Your novel might be the next New York Times best seller, but in order to sell it to an agent, your pitch, whether written or verbal, has to be totally outstanding. Even if you decide to self-publish, if your blurb doesn’t catch the eye of your potential reader, you might as well go home and start over. If the premise doesn’t sound massively appealing to you, how do you expect it to sound to a stranger? You might also want to practice log line writing in order to test your story. Is there something about your novel that sets it apart from the others in your genre? If the premise is the same old formula (for example, boy meets girl, they fall in love, there’s conflict, they get back together and live happily ever after) (or, for those action lovers, man goes to work just as the world is beginning to end, the government enlists him to help save the world, there’s conflict, but he saves the world and everyone lives happily ever after), how is your log line/pitch written so that it transcends stereotypes and sounds fresh?

I am musing today over log lines, because this weekend, after a marathon of cleaning, a massive consumption of food, and the requisite present opening, I had the opportunity to catch two movies. Both were released in 2011. Each starred a former actor from That ’70′s Show. Both were cute, light, romantic comedies. And both were basically the very same story. Blatantly the same.

One was No Strings Attached, the other was Friends with Benefits.

Or, boy and girl suffer from bad relationships, decide to hook up with unsuspecting friend for relationship-less sex-capades, but eventually – and despite many denials to the contrary – fall in love with the booty call, and live happily ever after.

Watching these movies made we wonder if the same writers were working on both projects. Or if Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis discussed their simultaneous projects in friendly phone conversations. (Maybe they don’t talk to each other anymore?) I then wondered if anything could be done to either one to make one movie stand out from the other. (No. The only thing that could have been done was to release one of the movies a year from now.) Maybe Kutcher and Kunis should have done one of the movies together, leaving Justin Timberlake and Natalie Portman to do the other.

As a writer, I think of my stories as completely unique. But is anything really unique? The challenge is to write the best story you possibly can, and use your log line as a tool.

The Art of a Creative Real Life

I am guilty about complaining about Real Life.

How can I not complain? I’m a busy girl, with lots of interests. I love learning about new things. I consider myself an artist. Ever since I can remember, I’ve had a pen in my hand, or charcoal, or paints, or guitars, yarn, violins, hand shovels, fabric, beads, wire, jewels, or exotic food. I’m learning Japanese, in my car and via Rosetta Stone. I read like there’s no tomorrow, not only fun novels and engrossing literary fiction, but history books and biographies. The tired old adage of not having enough hours in a day doesn’t begin to describe the frustration I feel as minutes tick by and my List of Things to Do is not even approaching completion.

Let’s face it: mundane Real Life, with its responsibilities and drama, often keeps me from my Creative Life. There’s a lot of items on the “CON” side. I have kids – yes, they are grown, so what? grown up kids often have grown up problems – and a business – several, actually – and it all sucks up my time. I have a house (huge) and a yard (even huger), both of which require constant maintenance. On the flip side, the Real Life gig does pay the bills, a huge plus on the “PRO” side.

My one defense in the fight against Real Life doldrums is to approach Real Life with a different perspective. It’s really not so hard; you must be creative in order to obtain a creative Real Life.

It’s easy to find inspiration when you’re young and unattached, moody and naive, and infinitely more difficult, albeit not impossible, as you are weighed down by things like paying the rent and starting a family. When my kids were very small, I tapped into my creative side. I used to make their clothes, and of course, cooking is a wonderful way of crafting edible creations.

Soon my days became more harried and time evaporated, but I strove to make every action a creative one. I’m sure my son’s second grade teacher, Mrs. Siciliano, did not appreciate my heart-felt and inspired apologies for his abhorrent behavior, but hey, you do the best you can with what you have.

I’m flabbergasted by the number of people who sit in front of a device and play games or who are otherwise ‘entertained.’ Granted, I’m a huge offender. It’s easy to get sucked into the vortex of Facebook, TV, or video games (or a number of other mindless distractions) and spend their precious time wasting it away. I’m constantly amazed by people who see what I’m doing and declare, “I’m not creative at all!” I want to shake them silly and say, “Yes, yes, you are! Give yourself a chance.” A person doesn’t have to accomplish a task with pinpoint accuracy; the main thing is to try. The only way to get the juices stimulated is by making the attempt, or in my case, the many attempts. Learn from your mistakes; correct them, and move on.

My time is limited, but I don’t let the lack of it limit me. If the phone’s not ringing at work, I will twist up some wire while I wait for the action to begin. As much as I strive to carve out a niche of quiet for myself, I often don’t have time to pound out a chapter in one of my novels. If that’s the case, I might open one of my blogs (as I’m doing here) and write a few words, or take out my notebook and read what I’ve written in the past and jot down new ideas. I’ll use bits of time to research, update, and catalog.

Living a creative Real Life isn’t a given. It takes dogged determination and a desire to make everything and anything you might endeavor to do a work of art.

Isn’t that what life’s all about?

Vacation Over, Back to Work

The end of NaNoWriMo brings forth many emotions. If you were successful in clocking in 50K words, you’re heady with excitement. If you somehow didn’t make it (I refuse to say ‘fail’ – let’s just call it a momentary setback), you are kicking yourself in the posterior.

This year, I made it. True, the ‘finished’ product is far from a finished novel. In fact, this particular pile of slop doesn’t even have the words “The End” attached to the last page. But…the story is all there for later mucking.

After the marathon writing, squeezing in paragraphs during slow minutes at work, up early, up late while my husband was out of town, I was spent. It’s how it goes. So it’s not unusual for a certain amount of decompression to take place after all that effort.

Need I say it? The last nine days were spent in literary vacation. Oh, I read a lot, on a round trip to Colorado, especially, I just didn’t write anything.

I have pronounced the vacation officially over; it’s time to get back to work.

First off, I have a contest or two to enter, so I need to go over my intended manuscripts and make changes before the end of the month. Then I have Cadence to edit, which is now coming back to me 20 pages of edits at a time. I need to finish re-editing Virtually Yours, and also finish up Clementine.

(Note to reader: I am talking to myself. Excuse me.)

Added to my list of things to do is Christmas. Oh, the dreaded December. My daughter has decided to come home for the holiday. There’s massive cleaning (construction workers in the house, it’s terribly dusty), and other Real Life stuff, but I’m going to try my best to adhere to the wonderful schedule I managed to come up with during NaNoWriMo. Hint to other writers: it’s not so much the schedule, it’s making the most use of your time. Write as fast as you can.

That’s the entire purpose of NaNoWriMo – not to finish a novel or craft a best seller. It’s to instill a rhythm of writing.

I’m busy. How about you?

Another Successful 30 Days

Do you hear the celebratory cheering? The hoorays? The clink of champagne glasses?

No? Then you must not be in tune with the results of this year’s NaNoWriMo, otherwise known as National Novel Writing Month.

See?

At about 10:30 a.m. Eastern, I decided to test my Word’s word count feature and try to validate my NaNo novel, the sequel to Virtually Yours – NaNo winner of 2009. (Also known as Virtually Yours, a Love Story in Thirty Days.) I call the new book VY2. (The new working title is Virtually Ours, a Wedding in Thirty Days, but I don’t know how that’s going to play out once I finish the book. Things can change.) As writers know, the word count feature can be flawed, so I wrote more than I thought was necessary. To my pleasant surprise, my official total was more than what was necessary: 50,149.

As I pointed out in the previous post, I’m most successful with NaNoWriMo when I have a plan, and this year I had a dilly of a plan. In fact, I began plotting this book back in the summer. I was also infused with a swell of ambition, not something this ordinarily lazy person has most of the time. I wrote nearly every day, and found myself feeling awful if I didn’t make time to write. I hope I can carry this work ethic beyond today.

While the book is far from finished, I’ve managed to formulate the story lines, strengthened the characters, and added the requisite twists and turns. There are several Big Reveals, none as big as the original, but I hope they’ll do. I tried something new this year; I wrote each POV separately and merged them all together this morning. I found that I could keep the separate stories more separate that way, and wasn’t as apt to repeat myself.

The next step is to print everything out, cut the scenes apart, and rearrange them in the order I want them to appear in the final book, fill in the color, correct my mistakes. And add the rest of the ending.

For a preview hint of what’s in this one, there’s the upcoming wedding of the decade between a NYC socialite and a romance novelist, their Internet friends (the Virtual Moms), an impossibly too small Vera Wang gown and an antique corset, reminiscing, a death, a runaway, a sex kitten next door who means to take one of the husbands, a sex-cort job offer, a hyper-self-conscious heavy woman who won’t say yes, a wildly popular talk show, the snowstorm of the century and displaced travelers, and the Little White Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas. Oh, and a mad blogger.

Whee! I’m so happy. You really can’t hear that celebration? or are you deaf?

Strategies for NaNoWriMo

Holy cow, is it November again?

Yes, I am again participating in NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, even though I have been waist-deep in an edit/re-write and have a hundred other items on my list of things to do.

Why, do you ask, would I NaNo? Well, the main reason is I’m lazy the other eleven months of the year. I need November’s NaNoWriMo to kick my ass.

I know, I know, I could levy a self-imposed deadline such as NaNo’s race to complete 50K words in thirty days any other time – let’s say in February or September – but I have little willpower. Plus I am easily distracted.

In order to cross the 50K finish line this year, I’m going to take some pretty severe actions. Here they are in no particular order:

1. Get off Facebook. Should be easy, especially since the recent Facebook upgrade, which made visiting there and hanging out a major pain in the butt. Plus, it seems that every time I sign in, some bug locks up my computer. Another good reason to stay away.

2. Minimize Twitter. That used to be easy until I got an HTC EVO phone. Looking at tweets is entirely too simple these days. I know, I’ll turn off my phone!

3. Stop wasting time with meals and meal preparation. I see a lot of ramen noodles, tuna fish and take out in my immediate future.

4. Get up early. I need to do this to complete my Real Life chores, but with the extended Daylight Savings Time and my oncoming SAD, I’m finding that difficult. It’s still freaking dark at 7:30! Perhaps next Sunday when it will FINALLY be Daylight Savings Time, I will be able to report myself in better humor.

5. Suspend working on my re-write. This will be tough, but necessary. It’s good to put a little distance, particularly since I’ve been at it full bore since the end of August. I have a feeling the 30 day vacation will yield positive results.

6. Use Write or Die. This is the ultimate cattle prod for reluctant writers. If you’re a procrastinator with ADD tendencies, I would strongly recommend this program. Using it I’ve whipped up a thousand words in twenty minutes or less.

6a. Download Write or Die on every computer you use. That’s right, even the work computer. Once you pay $10 for the computer version (the online version is free), your payment entitles you to unlimited downloads of Write or Die. Two words: Do it!

7. I’m also going to join the local NaNo group. There’s nothing like a community flogging to get your butt in gear. Reach out to other writers who plan on marathoning this month.

As for the mechanics of NaNoWriMo (or the mechanics of writing any novel, period), try making it easy on yourself. Here are some things the fledgling writer can think about while dreaming of penning the next breakout novel:

1. Have a plan. For real. A novel must have three things: a beginning, a middle and an end. Without those three things, you don’t have a story, you have stream of consciousness writing. There’s nothing wrong with streaming – actually, my first NaNoWriMo effort was a unruly stream that resulted in the completion of my first novel. Streaming may give you ideas for story lines, but if the goal is writing a book, don’t forget the beginning, middle and end.

2. Outline. This is hard for me, and I never did it before, but it makes perfect sense. Most people don’t jump into the car and drive away without a road map, they have a map and money for gas to get them to their destination. Figure out before you sit down at the computer where your characters are going and how they’re going to get there.

3. Write everywhere. Give yourself the luxury of little notebooks for those times you’re not close to the computer/typewriter/notepad.  Use your iPad. Since my story includes a blog, I have set up my fictional blog online, and plan on contributing to it every day this month. Hey, what can I say? Words are words.

My goal is to get ‘er done, peeps.

This year’s effort is the sequel to VIRTUALLY YOURS, yet unnamed (so far referred to as VY2). And yes, I have a game plan, story lines, unknowns, and the requisite Big Reveal toward the end of the story.

It’s early (7:31 a.m.) but I have to get on the move. See you in December.

The 20 Percent Solution

I have a novel that is very nearly ready for the big time – the Big Time being self-publishing online. I even have a cover for said novel, and am attempting to convert the insides to a format the web will accept.

The next step (well, once it’s ready to launch), is getting the word out.

However, you can hear me whining from across the room. “I’m a writer, why do I have to sell? Shouldn’t I be writing?”

Yes, I should, but I’ve come to believe taking your work to the next level is really not that difficult. Even if you’re picked up by an agent, they’ll expect you to do some of the work. Anyone pitching a book (and a few other things I can think of) will need two things – a passion and a plan.

The passion part is easy. I really, really love my book. I like how I took a tiny piece of my Real Life, folded in a ridiculous premise, stirred gently with some over-the-top characters, added a few unlikely situations, and voila! VIRTUALLY YOURS  was born. I must have the passion. I’ve entered VY into contests and placed. When asked about my hobbies, I mention, “Oh, yes, I write novels in my spare time.” (!!! What spare time???) I go full bore into the story line, which isn’t hard to do. I’ve been elevator pitching anyone with ears since I wrote the last two words “The End.” The positive feedback is that I’m often asked when it will be coming out or could they read it.

But I know my passion isn’t going to see me through. It’s going to take some work, hard work, the kind of hard work I am loathe to do.  The kind that starts with an “S”.

Selling. Ugh. Do I really, really have to?

In a word, YES.

I had lunch last week with my MR ED, who is really excited about my book. No, really, almost as excited as I am, if that’s even possible. I wimped and whined about selling… There’s such a used car salesman stigma to selling your work. After all, in their heart of hearts, any artist believes that the work is so uniquely special it should sell itself.

Right.

There is also the “pushy” factor. No one wants to be known as that person. It appears gauche to pepper the Twittersphere with “Buy My Book” pleas, or to toot your horn (too loudly) on Facebook. If the recipients are anything like me, with too many blasts, they’ll drop you like a red hot tater and buy something else.

This is not to say I have never purchased a book from a friend or writing ally. The difference in the pitch is the delivery.

But let’s face it, now that you’re releasing your book to the masses (hopefully more than those dozen people who are related to you), you are now departing the world of the arts for the world of commercial enterprise. There is a fine line between tacky and thorough.

As for TIME (which is all important), Mr. ED came up with a boffo solution: The 20% solution. It’s a fabulous plan.

The best part is that it’s painfully easy. Take 80% of your time and work on the creative. Write to your heart’s content, or discontent. I would consider such items as classes or workshops in this category. Stretch your brain when you hit a writer’s block.

The remaining 20% is for the those tasks no writer wants to think about. The first thing that comes to mind is the technical aspects, like maintaining a blog, trying to convert your novel, or the dreaded selling your book.

It’s actually a pretty good solution for a common problem. Compartmentalizing your tasks might also help you stay on task, which is my biggest issue. I don’t need huge, nebulous deadlines, I need small, easy-to-reach deadlines.

I’ll give it a go and let you know.

The First Post

I am setting this WordPress page up as a preliminary outing before setting up my blog www.joannehuspek.com.

I have always been a writer, and I’ve spent the last two years toiling tirelessly. (That’s not true. I’m surprised I have time to write out checks, much less anything else!) The thousands of words that I have saved on various computers at home and work are enough to boggle the imagination.

You can catch me at Blog Critics, Associated Content and G-N-N Online.

Romancing the Page

With a fair amount of trepidation, I recently attended the San Francisco Writers’ Conference, held the weekend of February 13. After all, I’m not a “real” writer, just a wanna-be, intimidated before I arrived with thoughts that my recently completed novel wasn’t worthy of rubbing elbows with some of the top agents and editors of the publishing world. I was pleasantly surprised to find everyone genuine and helpful.

There were many workshops to choose from, and it was difficult to decide which ones to attend. Since my novel is about a woman who faces many changes in her life, I thought I would attend the workshop on romance writing. This, even though my book is not what you’d call a romance novel – it’s dark and goes places most people wouldn’t want to visit – but I was a writer looking for a niche.

I have to admit here that I do occasionally read romance novels. Call it a guilty pleasure, like my occasional binges on Godiva chocolate. The books are especially handy to have on long airplane trips, because they are usually in paperback, are small and easy to read. I can dust one and a half romances off in the time it takes for me to fly from Detroit to California.

The term “romance novel” has long suffered a negative connotation. The term conjures up legions of bored housewives looking to spend an afternoon reading about a heroine who is saved from distress by someone who looks amazingly like Fabio. (That’s how he started the modeling game, posing for book covers. Personally speaking, Fabio has way too many muscles for me. I like my men scrawny but smart.) Romance novels are known for their “trashy” covers showing men and women in the midst of lustful frenzy.

Romance novels have been pooh-poohed as being literature not worthy of reading. They were deemed hastily written and shallow. While it may be true that some prolific writers pump out three novels a year, it’s a false assumption to think that the modern romance novel lacks depth and character. In fact, it may be more difficult to write a good romance novel, since the story has to move along at a rapid pace.

What qualifies as a romance novel? Well, there’s a woman, a man, and plenty of conflict. Something keeps the two apart, even though what they really want to do is tear each other’s clothes off. This could be a real conflict, or one in the woman’s head, and some force that keeps the two apart. All romance novels end the same way, there’s a happy ending and a hook up. There doesn’t have to be marriage, and if the hook up is absent, then there must be a promise of a future in the distance. Optimism is what romance novels are all about. Romance novels are seldom over 120K words, and most hover between 75K and 90K words.

What amazed me about the romance novel workshops I attended was that there are many sub-genres within the genre. “Romance” also includes “serious” women’s literature, which my particular work would fall under. In my case, the woman has a happy ending, but there’s no hook up.

Chick-lit refers to a light, saucy treatment of the story. The best description is the Shopaholic series. There’s definitely hook up in this type of novel. Contemporary romances concentrate on small town settings and values. There are romance novels that revolve around ethnic cultures like Loving Gabriel, and interracial relationships, like Unfinished Business.

But hold on to your bonnets, it doesn’t end there. There are teen romances and paranormal romances. The wildly successful Twilight is considered a paranormal teen romance. In the area of historical romances, there are sub-subgenres which include Scottish, English and Irish historical romances. Super-sexy romances include erotica. There are inspirational or Christian romances where there’s much soul searching and the sexual content is played down. There are mystery and suspense romances, military adventure romances, Navy Seal romances, western romances and gay/lesbian romances (Romentics). There are even Amish teen romances, which I gather is a real hot seller.

Any work can be turned into a romance with minor tweaking. As I read Dan Brown’s The DaVinci Code, I thought “Boy, this is close to a romance novel. He writes like a girl.” Plus there is that lingering hint that he and Agent Neveu might get together after the mystery is solved. Some of the greatest classics ever written, such as Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice can also be considered in the romantic vein.

To prove the point, that night I told my son and his girlfriend about the romance novel workshop. We came up with some crazy romance subgenres, including Intergalactic and Interspeciel Romance. The next day, I happened to run into the editor who held the previous day’s workshop, and when I mentioned our dinner time conversation from the night before, the editor’s eyes lit up. “He should write that!” she said.

For all those avid readers who need a change of pace, I would recommend grabbing a romance novel. They’re interesting, entertaining and not just for bored housewives anymore.

Rewrites and Re-Rites

After returning from the writers conference, I took a short break from Finding Cadence to work on the next novel, Oaks and Acorns. Cadence was full of angst and suffering, which is probably why it took me two years to write, and O&A is completely different. It’s going to be chick-lit all the way — fun, sassy and sexy.

One of my online friends from across the state, Jessie, is helping me with the “pre-edit” — that is, my rewrite before I send the book on for more serious editing. Both of us have “real” lives, so she’s sending me a couple of chapters at a time. Heck, do I mind? I’m getting input and advice for free. Thank you, Jessie.

This week, I’m going to deconstruct Cadence. I can’t let it wait any longer. At 175K words, it’s a monster. I learned at the conference that no one is going to publish a book of that size, unless the author’s name happens to be Joyce Carol Oates or Pat Conroy. Unfortunately, I’m saddled with my own name.

I somehow got into a great groove writing Cadence. It took me almost two years to find that groove, one where I will sit down and write at least a thousand words a day. I credit NaNoWriMo, because during November I managed to write 50K words in thirty days. Before that, I would maybe work on it a couple times a month.

The last month has been a vacation of sorts. I played with my new characters, and played on the computer far too much. I have fallen back into my past bad habits of laziness and procrastination. But, I promise to snap out of it, starting today, and to post regular updates.

In the meantime, I’ve made out a list of the technical problems. I have some things happening in the beginning that don’t appear later. These should be thrown out. Then I have some things later that should really be mentioned in the beginning. And Chapter Two has to go. Well, for now. I’m saving it for possible use later.

Getting in the Mood to Write

I’ve been thinking about Cadence a lot in the last week, although not really working on the book. I have definite plans and want to play with them in my head before I sit down and get to work.

If I’d only known then what I know now. I’m sure it wouldn’t have taken me a little under two years to complete this work.

The truth is, Cadence wasn’t easy to write. It wasn’t fun, because this woman goes through an incredible trauma. In order to get to the emotion I wanted to convey, I had to go into a deep dark place inside myself. Going there was treacherous.

I had to get there to write a reasonably true account. But in the meantime, while I was there, these dark shadows would spill out into my “real” life. I was moody, sad and reflective, and though I tried to keep those things on the page only, it was difficult to divide my feelings.

That’s why the first four chapters of Oaks and Acorns was such a relief. Each time I closed my laptop after working on it, I felt playful and buoyant, not depressed.

I really believe in Finding Cadence, in the story and its message, and I want to see it to its fruition in print someday. So it’s back to the drawing board, back to the salt mine, back to work.

To get back into the darkness of Cadence, I wrote a disturbing story over the weekend about a woman who contemplates jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. It was strange, but such a depressing subject actually felt good.

Wish me luck.

The First Query

I sent out my first query for Finding Cadence yesterday by Internet. I twittered and posted that I’m waiting for a rejection. Hope that doesn’t sound self-defeating. I know there will be plenty of rejections in my future, and while I have faith that I’ll be published (someday) I’m just keeping a level head. It’s also important not to take rejection seriously.

I guess I’ve been used to that all my life. This is what I believe, don’t expect too much and life will never let you down.

Back to editing and re-write…

Slash and Burn

Okay, I’ve spent the last three days mulling over the first three chapters of my epic women’s book. It has to be pared down from 175K words to somewhere around 100K.

The easy part was getting rid of the adverbs. LY words are appearing everywhere I look. They are the obvious sore thumbs.

Chapter 3 bit the dust completely. No one understand dream sequences anyway, and I can reinsert some of them at the appropriate times later on.

At the time I started writing, which was two years and two months ago, I had only a vague idea as to what my message was going to be. I was also into flowery prose and 300 word sentences. (Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but thanks to my friends, I have learned the finer points of using my words wisely.

I can see my confusion from back then glowing in the dark. This made it somewhat easy to chop, slash and burn away. Even so, I’ve only reduced the word count by 5K. Of course, I still have 32 more chapters to go, and if I continue on the same path, that means I will have weeded out 40K words. (I’m hoping more than that, but who knows?)

On the flip side, I’ve been neglecting WordPress and it shows. My stats stink. But, consider this, I am on a mission (from God?) and I want to have my rewrite complete to ship off to the real editor by the end of May. I’m sure he is looking forward to the income, and perhaps the entertainment.

Don’t Forget to Read This One!

http://www.associatedcontent.com/user/39420/joanne_huspek.html

Careful Crafting and the Mozart Theory of Creativity

As an opinionated wag (and I’ve been that forever), a lover of words and someone with a head full of ideas, I’ve long held the belief that a good story can sprout from one’s brain with little or no anguish as to the finished product. An embarrassing amount of my published work has been never been edited. I’ve been able to write in just such a way ever since I picked up a pencil.

Let’s call it the Mozart Theory of Creativity.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, an amazing composer, pumped out a wealth of music in his short time on earth. A precocious child, he began writing music while still a toddler. I’m not talking tra-la-la nursery school level pieces. These are short ditties I had a hard time mastering when I first took up violin. Mozart’s genius was so great, it is said he penned  his many works without a single re-write. Imagine. Without a single re-write? And when you listen to his work, it’s intricate, God-like, perfect. What’s to re-write?

Many artists including writers suffer from the Mozart Theory of Creativity. They are so invested in their work, they believe it sprouts from the mind in flawless condition ready for mass consumption.

But it’s not so easy.

As a high school student, I thought I was damned good artist. I had my own ideas and was loathe to listen to my teacher (sorry, I forgot his name). Then I went to college and learned there were lots of good artists. Scores. More than I thought.

I had two options. One was to continue on my own path and produce the same doodles I had been making for years. My creations were good enough as they were, damn it! Or were they? The other option was to listen to my professor when he suggested different approaches to my work and consider other perspectives. Guess which path I chose?

I am finding it’s not much different in writing now that I’ve finished my novel and have dived into the re-write.

My story was complete, not perfect, but I thought it was good enough. Or close to good enough.

I was wrong. Thank goodness I have a posse of writing friends who have gently nudged me into looking at my work and pointed out my flaws. Thank goodness for the writers conference I attended. It opened my eyes to a wealth of possibilities and energized me. And thank goodness for the Internet and all of great blogs and web sites I’ve found devoted solely to my task at hand: The Re-Write.

Not everyone is Mozart. In fact, there was no one like him before or after. I’ve read many books on my favorite composers, and all of them suffered a great deal of angst over careful crafting of their work. Sometimes symphonies were tweaked for years before being played in public.

There’s a certain amount of agony that goes into creating anything beautiful.

That’s where I am now.

Flash Fiction

This month’s been busy, unfortunately not in the world of crafting words. That’s because Real Life beckons and who can ignore the stylistic rantings of getting the bills paid?

In the meantime I’ve tinkered with a couple of new short stories and fussed with a couple of old ones. I plan on submitting a couple for contest consideration. Time to get out my best words!

One of my friends turned me on to “flash fiction” as a way of consolidating my ideas into a minimum of words. Here’s a great site to consider. I spent most of yesterday morning looking around, it was that fun.

Most flash fiction short stories are less than 1,000 words. That’s not much to play around with.

I’m the type of person who suffers from too many words. An embarrassment of words.  Narrowing them down is a great exercise, one that will help with the re-write of the Epic Novel.

I’ve done the 50 Worders, and that was murder. (Hey, that rhymes!) A word limit is a great idea, one that I wish I’d have turned on to before I began writing Epic Novel.

As for non-writing news, my oldest graduated from college last week, the youngest is home for the summer, and it’s getting hot and sticky. There’s a huge world out there and not enough time to get it all down.

Writer’s Block and My Writer’s Bloc

I have to admit this last month has been terribly unproductive. What with one kid graduating from college, another flying back into the nest for the summer, the “day” job launching full force into the busy season, and the gloriousness of springtime in the yard, it’s been tough to find a few peaceful hours to work on the book.

I’ve given myself a short-term goal, and that’s to enter the Esquire Magazine short story contest this year. As usual, I have too many words, and the first draft sounds a little girly. I need more punch and less emotion. I also need a friend to offer an ethnic take on it, since I’m writing as a black man (both things I’m not).  I can tell already the re-write’s going to be a bear.

As for the rest of it, I’ve been on a hiatus. Call it my siesta/fiesta, my vacation from my imaginary world. It could be, but I wouldn’t say that I’m suffering from writer’s block. Oh, I have plenty of ideas floating around. Too many, in fact. My brain is so full of stuff, I can barely keep it all organized.

As an example, I haven’t written a congressman an angry missive in months, and I’m plenty upset and dismayed over the world. What’s up with that?

When in doubt about your craft and writer’s block, it’s best to turn to your neighborhood writer’s B-L-O-C.

My bloc of online critics, helpers, friends and cheerleaders (with cattle prods) are my salvation. When I know I’ve been bad, a quick email or Twittery tweet and they get me going again.

If you don’t have a writer’s bloc, I suggest you begin to cultivate one. Go on any number of writing web sites and introduce yourself. Querytracker.net is a great resource. From there you can subscribe to the blogs of other would-be and established writers. Comment on their blogs, read their work. Twitter your favorite writers or your targeted publishing house to keep up with what’s current.

Most writers (and wannabes) are friendly, and they will offer constructive criticism as well as encouragement. If you’re like me and don’t belong to a tangible, in-person writing group because you don’t have time to commit or are isolated, an online writer’s bloc could be just the resource for when you have writer’s block.

Clubbing Agents Over the Head with a Kick Ass Elevator Pitch

Before a writer can get her foot in the door, she has to find an agent. Finding an agent is not all that easy. There are thousands of them (check out QueryTracker) specializing in every genre known to mankind, and a few that I’d never heard of.

Don’t ask me how to land one, because I’m still in the Realm of the Lost and Looking for Representation.

Most writers send out query letters. I haven’t done this yet, because I’m not finished with Book Number Two and Book Number One has to be eviscerated and the first thirteen chapters rewritten. However, I have done the elevator pitch during a foray in speed dating at the recent San Francisco Writer’s Conference.

It was scary. It was enlightening. I realized my pitch was sorely lacking and my synopsis too wordy. Agents, it seems, are looking for a shred of creativity. They are looking to be amazed, dazed and literally clubbed over the head. The book I pitched that got the most response (well, okay, the only response) was for my Siouxy story, and I wasn’t even trying to sell that. I think it elicited response because 1. Siouxy is a teenager and there were lots of YA agents in the room and 2. Siouxy gets into a lot of trouble. Wacky, off the wall, incredibly stupid  trouble. The negative comments came when I mentioned that the tale was a coming of age from the late 1970s. “Can you re-write it to make it more current?” the agent asked.

Well, no. I think outside of the context of the times, the story would fall flat on its face. But at least I received positive feedback, something to go home on a cloud over.

For those of you who don’t know me, the Siouxy stories started out as a joke. Written in serial form, it was a tale that kept getting more and more out of control the more I wrote, and now I have 50K words worth of her story.

The entire speed dating episode made me look at my other novels with a discerning eye. Why weren’t those agents wowwed by Cadence? Could it be that the story is the “same old same old” and the agents were bored? Could it be that I was totally exhausted from typing those magic words “The End” just four days before and my enthusiasm for my work had waned? Or could it be my pitch was somehow lacking?

I have faith in my work, but sometimes that faith has to be motivated.

Then too, I wonder if my pitch was good enough to gain attention, what would happen if they got the manuscript and the book wasn’t as snappy or interesting? I can recall many times when movie trailers are the best thing about the movie. Of course, they put the good parts in the trailer to get you to buy a ticket, and it’s disheartening to leave the theater thinking you’ve been robbed.

Some of the attention getting pitches I read are fabulous! Writing a pitch is different from writing a book. It’s a skill that takes a high level of salesmanship as well as a decent grasp of the language.

Tracking, Not Back Tracking

The last several weeks have been busy with my Day Job. I don’t know about other writers, but I find I have to have at least three hours of uninterrupted time in order to complete a chapter of about 4,000.

Since I’m doing this part-time, it’s a balancing act.

There’s no way this time of year.

Instead of having good news to report about the progress I’ve made on Oaks and Acorns, I instead must hang my head in shame.

What I have been doing when I get a chance is going back over the first six chapters, getting rid of the excess (I am the Queen of Excess, no doubt), tightening up my sentences and streamlining my words.

I’ve also laid out the characters and plot, something I didn’t do the first time around. It’s going to make so much more sense.

This is my first venture into chick-lit, which is different from that dark and dreary book I first wrote. Finding Cadence is more a journey into the deep recesses of the soul, a trip that could just as easily end badly as it could have redemption. I’m trying to keep O&A light, fast, inventive.

This is hard to do when there are other things pressing on the back burner threatening to torch the rest of my life.

As with other areas of my existence, I find that self-imposed deadlines are the best bet. I want this baby put to bed by the end of September.

On another note, I joined the local group of Romance Writers. Unfortunately, the RWA national convention is this week and as a result there will be no meeting this month. I’ll have to wait until next month to gain some wisdom from this group of ladies.

It’s going to be hard, but I’ll try to keep tracking and not back tracking.

My Junk is Not That Interesting

Something I wrote while procrastinating…

I’ve just had a revelation.

My junk is not that interesting.

Once a year, on a weekend in mid-July, my city hosts what is billed as the World’s Largest Indoor Garage Sale. Professional vendors and regular folks who want to cast their possessions out to the public come to a parking structure and take over three or four floors. Some come from out of state just for the opportunity.

I’ve made the trek almost every year, even when I didn’t live in Royal Oak. The first time out, my now-22-year-old was just a baby in a collapsible stroller. Back in the city’s heyday, when the economy was flush and downtown merchants didn’t have to be competitive, the Garage Sale was a big deal, drawing people from all over with its carnival atmosphere. It’s where I first saw Jack Kevorkian in one of his blue sweaters, but except for that stint in jail, he’s all over town all the time.

Parking is a pretty iffy proposition here, where the streets are mostly residential and narrow. I live four blocks away so I walked. Garage Sale traffic was light this year, even though most of the downtown merchants were holding a sidewalk sale in conjunction with the big event. There was no need for the funeral home next to the parking ramp to be offering premium spaces at $5 a pop. I doubt they made much this weekend.

Garage Sale weekend is normally one of the hottest of summer. Not so this year, 2009 – the year of the Bummer Summer. Global warming be damned, the skies have been gray, foggy, and cold as much as they have been warm, bright and sunny. I had to wear a hoodie and jeans.

I’m not a garage sale fanatic but I don’t mind hitting a few every once in a while. My mother-in-law was in antique sales and schooled me on the advanced science of looking for decent junk. We would delve into the trash cans first before approaching a real sale. Most people don’t know what they are doing and have no idea about value. She was once given a box full of “trash” and spent the next three months selling it in her store, netting over $90.

I despise hosting my own home garage sales. I’ve done it a couple of times with minimal success. It’s a lot of prep work, hard to do alone (what about potty and meal breaks?) and harder to do in the rain (it’s cold and no one comes). I hate to bargain so my prices are ridiculously low. I just want the junk out of my house. Once it makes it to the garage, anything left over can’t return home. It keeps on trucking until it hits the Goodwill.

I’ve often said I should gather up my junk and do the Royal Oak Garage Sale one of these years. After all, the Chamber of Commerce does all the advertising, cutting out one expense. For the price of a stall, I would have hundreds of people milling by, thus increasing foot traffic past my assortment of bric-a-brac.

Yesterday that dream came to a crashing stop.

As I strolled by the tables yesterday, I realized the items carried little appeal. There were some interesting pieces, but none with the panache of past years’ offerings. Vinyl albums? Meh. I get my record fix when I go out to California and hit up Amoeba Records. Antique musical instruments? Hardly any. Anything that looked like it might be old or unique was grossly overpriced. Everything else was new and ho-hum and grossly overpriced. What with TV, internet, and warehouse club shopping, one doesn’t need a personal demonstration of Sham-Wow.

Many onlookers were like me, not buying, just browsing. I spent less than $10 for a few pieces to use in my jewelry-making ventures. It was largely unsatisfying.

I came home and gave my closet and garage the once-over. I don’t have much stuff, and my junk is just not that interesting. In a recession, it’s even less so. The face value of my cast-offs has declined with the stock market, housing prices, and everything else.

Maybe I’ll save it for the grandkids.

Being Politically Incorrect

This might have nothing to do with writing, or it might have everything to do with writing.

Through my travels in real life and online, I am finding that I am politically incorrect.

Now, I’ve always been politically incorrect. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.

It all started in high school, although things were bubbling around before that. I’ve always been opinionated, and my opinions are strong. It got me into major trouble in high school, where I wrote for the school newspaper. I tended to pick topics that didn’t sit well with many students and teachers. I once wrote a scathing editorial about the use of millage dollars to improve the athletic department, and hey, where were similar funds for the art department? (There weren’t any.)

The football team and the coach hated me. If looks could kill, I’d have been six feet under long ago. I believe that’s why I got a B in biology that semester. (The coach was also the science teacher.)

Old age has done nothing to temper my opinions or my loud mouth. Even when I wasn’t writing creatively, I was writing letters to the editor. Editors to papers, editors to Cosmopolitan, Crawdaddy and Rolling Stone magazines. I was writing letters to companies that wronged me, to restaurants where the service was substandard, to utility companies and to elected officials. I still do all of that, and with the internet, now I do more.

Of course, I try to be respectful of the other side of  issues. My job on earth is to learn, and if I can’t see something the first time (like algebra or violin), I look at it again from another perspective. I care a lot about the city, state and country I live in. I care a lot about our culture. I can’t help not to care as it’s my responsibility as a citizen.

However, I won’t roll over and play dead if we disagree.

Within other realms of my writing, I am finding that perhaps to get published it might be nice if I toned down my opinions. You know, be extraordinarily politically correct.

I had an email exchange with an online editor I work with. He asked me to write an opinion piece on something that happened in the news based on a comment I made to another article. I wanted to, because I have strong opinions but found a part of me didn’t want to attract attention to myself that might be negative. Anything I say or write could be construed as something else entirely. Much as I’m bitchy, in actuality I’m really not negative. Just passionate.

In the end, I wrote the piece (or a variation on what he wanted) because of one rule I have. It is: I must be true to myself. Being true to myself is why I couldn’t continue with journalism for a major in college. To write journalistically would mean I would have to lay aside my feelings, and I can’t do that.

Perhaps if I got a thumbs up for my work despite my beliefs in other areas I could stop looking over my shoulder at the shadow of my personal beliefs.

For creative writing, it’s different. Perhaps when I finish writing the two novels I’m working on now, I’ll feel differently. Editing novels is one thing but editing my soul? It just won’t happen.

Maybe that’s why I might stay a published author wannabe.

Writer Manufactured Time

That sucking of air you just heard was the sound of relief now that summer is finally over.

The “day job” seasonal madness is pretty much behind us. I can’t imagine being as busy as we were this summer all year round. The thought of it is staggering, but it’s also something I’ll probably not have to worry about. The kids are going back to school next week and we can take a collective breath and use September to catch up.

This is not to say that my time-sucking day job eliminated any possibilities for writing. As a writer, I’m finding it necessary to carve out stretches of time for myself to devote to the craft.

In addition to the various articles written for Blog Critics and Associated Content, I have sped along on my chick-lit-y novel and then was waylaid by an idea tossed out by my friend and constant writer’s nag, the Fluffy Little Cat. Out of our conversation was born another novel on the same story, a YA tale as told by the daughter.

This one’s been fun, and I’ve already tested out Chapter One on my niece, who happens to be “that” age. She gave it a thumbs up and wants to read more. (Ah, the silent sound of applause… just enough encouragement to keep me going.)

And I am finding more and more that writing is a craft, not one to be taken lightly. I have many good ideas and can easily write on the fly, off the top of my head so it seems, but to hone those ideas and make them perfect? That’s what I need to achieve.

I recently read the book Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. He’s the one that examines the 10,000 hour rule. The 10,000 hour rule is the theory that in order to do anything well, one needs to devote that amount of time to the endeavor. It equals about 20 hours per week for ten years.

It makes sense for musicians, athletes, actors, journeymen carpenters, why not for writing?

Unfortunately for me, I started late and I have a lot of catching up to do. My problem is that there is no way on God’s green earth that I can find 20 unadulterated, quiet hours a week to write, not with my schedule. If I can find two hours a day, it’s a momentous occasion worthy of celebrating with pitchers of margaritas.

Back to the busy summer: despite the rigors of a new internet platform on the “day job,” the daughter home from college, and a shortage help, I make the time to write.

I leave for home early, I shop online so I don’t have to run to stores. I try to budget my play time and make use of what’s left over, extremely difficult for a world-class procrastinator like me.

It’s tough, it’s brutal, it’s not easy, but it’s the only way. It’s the Yellow Brick Road from wannabe to writer.

Those Writers On Fire

I subscribe to several email blasts from writers, agents and publishers. I also belong to Romance Writers of America and the local Detroit chapter of RWA. I receive upwards of 100 different emails about writing each day.

What can I say? I need constant information.

What really bowls me over about the writers is that they can pump out pages and pages each and every day. Chapters and chapters every week!

Not using this as an excuse, but I have a challenging day job. If I get an hour to myself, it’s a rare thing. There are so many things I want to do in addition to the many things I have to do that I have to priortize.

For example, manicures are low, low, low on the list. My nails haven’t seen polish in over a year.

Shopping is low on the list, especially the kind of shopping that involves walking into a brick and mortar building. I’d shop for groceries online, but we don’t have that here.

TV is also low. My husband likes to have it on, mostly for background noise. He also loves golf and fancies himself a newshound, so the TV is on the Golf Channel or a news channel. I need one thing from the TV: I want to know if it’s going to snow (rain), how much and for how long.

On the other hand, food is a high priority. I’m a food snob. My one pleasure is a good meal accompanied by a nice wine. Mix in a few friends and you have a perfect setting. Since food preparation is a labor of love, it tends to take some time.

Laundry and housecleaning are necessities, not priorities. They fall mid-way on the scale.

I am trying to make writing more of a priority and less a diversionary game.

For those who don’t know me well, I’m a lazy person. Yes, and I used to be a world-class procrastinator too, until I rediscovered writing. I’m not young. That’s why my motto is “I’m writing as fast as I can!”

A person cannot write without time.

You need time to get into the mood, to get into the zone. Sometimes if I know I have a couple hours of free time, I’ll begin getting into the zone a half hour or so before. I slip into the character and begin to see the world through her eyes. It helps for when I’m confronted with the blank screen on my laptop.

I’m the type who needs quiet. If the dog wants to sleep on my feet, that’s okay, but other than that, I don’t want people around. It’s hardest to write on airplanes, easier in airports, and painless once you get away from home. I make the most progress in hotel rooms. I recently spent four days in California getting my daughter back into college. Even though I had a commute from LA to San Diego County each day, I managed to pump out ten pages. Ten whole pages!

*celebratory dance*

That’s a lot for me.

I thought I had become proficient in time management, but when I read about these work-aholic, prolific writers on fire (many of whom have small children), I feel inadequate.

Perhaps I shouldn’t measure myself against them.

Or maybe I should use them as a tool to get motivated.

Adventures in Writing: Kicking Your Muse to the Curb

I’m sometimes asked by fellow aspiring-to-be-published novelists how I can write so prolifically. I make it a point to write something every day. Sometimes it’s work on my novel, sometimes it’s a well-crafted and pointed business letter or a scorching missive to my state representative, and sometimes it’s just the blog. My friends question where I get my ideas at all and once I’ve corralled them into one general area, how can I possibly get them heading into the same direction. Do I have a Muse?

The answer is short and sweet: There is NO such thing as a Muse.

Getting anything accomplished, including the task of writing, takes blood, sweat, tears and more tears. If you’re the type who is waiting for inspiration from some diaphanous illumination that will lead you by the hand into your creative heart, you’ve got another thing coming.

In my earlier incarnation, I used to believe in the power of the Muse. It’s true that I’m my most creative when my life is full of conflict and drama. I wrote my best poetry when in the throes of freshly minted love affairs, the last being about twenty-five years ago just after I met my husband. The day-dreamy existence is a fine one for word crafting of any type.

However, the altered state doesn’t work for everything. Serious writers have to adhere to a schedule. I know this because I waffle in that netherworld between writing for fun and the alternative. It’s a great hobby to bandy about words and be the cause of conversations – it’s the birth of your baby. The re-writes, corrections and critiques are infinitely more difficult but part of the total equation – that is called whipping your child into shape.

I am an admittedly lazy writer. There are the rare times when I’m on fire, but truthfully speaking, I can initiate more ways of procrastination than anyone I know.

In order to get anything done, I had to kick the idea of my Muse to the curb and join the ranks of the real, working world.

Here are a few tips from a person still struggling with time management issues:

1. Set up a daily time for writing. For novel writing, I need at least two hours of quiet time, and the best time for me is between 2 and 5 p.m. Early in the morning doesn’t work for me; neither do late nights.
2. Set up a daily minimum word amount. It can be as little as twelve sentences a day. For others, it can be a word total. (Mine is usually 1,000 words or more.)
3. Surround yourself with other writers. If you can’t find a local writing group, there are plenty online. Only with reassurance from others in your same situation will you be able to overcome the hurdles.
4. Even if you don’t feel like writing, JUST WRITE. It doesn’t have to be polished and worthy of the Pulitzer. Jot down your most mundane thoughts while standing in line at the grocery store. My new thing is to write down catchy names or phrases in my notebook so I don’t forget them later.
5. Tell yourself you can, and you will. Mindsets can be changed, but only you can change your own.

Finally, remember that writing is hard work, not unlike digging up your yard (by hand) to replace it with a vegetable garden. Don’t rely on something as fleeting as a Muse to get it done. It may seem daunting, but writing well is not an unattainable goal.

Writing and Real Life: NaNoWriMo as a Tool

Last month, I participated in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) for the third year in a row. The premise is easy to understand; NaNo-ers are to complete 50,000 words in the thirty days of November. Each author wannabe has a page, where one can post their profile, synopsis of the work in progress, sample writing and even dream cover designs. There are forums discussing a myriad of writing topics and cheering email sent weekly. A handy graph reveals your progress and that of your writing buddies.

Writing a novel is not as easy as one may think. My first year of NaNo went poorly. I don’t think I wrote a thousand words, much less fifty thousand. My failure was in part because of “real” life. Not many of us are professional writers able to devote entire workdays to writing. Most of us have day jobs, families and other commitments digging into our writing time.

I often refer to my writing life as a clandestine tryst between me and my other love, Writing. If I find two hours of solitary silence where I can concentrate on writing, it’s a rare thing indeed. Writing involves a certain amount of guilt, especially if a week’s worth of dirty laundry is staring at you from across the room.

My other huge problem is that I’m a lazy writer and easily distracted. Writers inhabit a solitary work existence. They need to be self-starters. There is no one on the workroom floor to glare at you and yell you into production. Your only supervisor is YOU. Even going online to ask writing friends a question is dangerous for me, as I tend to wander off to other web sites and other tangents. Successful writers need a certain amount of dedication to the craft. Books don’t write themselves.

This is the brilliance of NaNoWriMo. It’s the online representation of a writer’s cattle prod.

Some participants wrongly think that the great American novel will miraculously spring from the computers of one of the thousands that use the web site as a tracking tool. Actually, NaNoWriMo is only a tool, meant to instill good writing habits. The intention is not to complete a novel in thirty days, but to get as many words down as you can in thirty days.

There is no time for editing, for thinking of the back story or for looking for grammatical errors. The idea is to plunge in and don’t look back until December 1.

That’s not to say that having a plan isn’t helpful. With my first year attempt woeful at best, I used Year Two to jumpstart the work I started a year and a half before. That work in progress started out as a stream of consciousness piece with no plan. After eighteen months of aimless meanderings, I had been stalled at Chapter 13 and hadn’t gotten to the halfway mark.

This year, I came prepared. I had a premise, I had characters with names and locations, and I knew what was going to happen and how it was going to end. I arranged my work to have thirty chapters, to coincide with the number of days in NaNo. I used to be a fly by the seat of your pants kind of writer letting my characters show me the way. I can now see where having an outline or sketch of the novel is necessary to success.

Since that Real Life thing is a constant, budgeting time wisely is of utmost importance. There were only two days in November when I couldn’t write, and one of those was Thanksgiving. I knew in advance and adjusted my writing schedule accordingly. Even with the two days off, I reached the 50K goal on November 29 and finished the novel on December 1.

My book has flaws and some gaping holes but only because I was writing as fast as I could. After letting the piece ferment for a week or two, rewrites will come next.

I hope to continue using my newfound writing schedule, but knowing my history, I’m sure I’ll return to slacker writing soon enough. Still, I would recommend NaNoWriMo to any aspiring novelist. It’s not perfect, but at least it will get the words out, and that’s the first step.

Totally Brain Dead

First of all, for those who keep asking how to bookmark my blog, I have to admit ignorance. I have no freakin’ idea how to explain this procedure to anyone. I still don’t get Digg or any of the other nifty Internet doo-dads that track what you’re interested in. WordPress used to be easier, where if I visited a blog I liked, I could just add it to my blog roll. When they upgraded the site about a year ago, I was left without a compass. I couldn’t find that function if my life depended on it.

So, I am an Internet dummy, but I’ve never touted myself as anything but. I know enough to find what I want and to stay away from web sites I don’t want data mining me, but beyond that and email and shopping, I am a sorry excuse for a modern woman.

These days, I am totally brain dead for many reasons. First, I completed my NaNo novel and sent it out to a couple of people, both of whom liked it. That’s the good news. The bad news is that I’m so exhausted, I don’t really feel like working on the re-write. I know I must, but it’s hard to get in the mood. In the meantime, a stack of edited paper sits before me, calling my name.

Christmas and winter time in general come in next as major bummers. Both my kids will be in California for the holidays. I haven’t decorated a tree, and haven’t even taken the shiny sequined number (a tree) out of the basement yet. I haven’t done much shopping (I despise shopping in brick and mortar stores more than I hate Rachel Ray with the heat of a million suns) as I am giving hand crafted items for presents this year.

Snow is more than a hazard; it’s dangerous. People are angry and part of that is because they forgot how to drive in it. Grey skies are dull. Grey is dull, which is why I tend to shy away from the color (or lack of) as a wardrobe choice. I like purple.

Two of my houseplants look like they won’t survive until April. One is a giant angel trumpet. The other is a rosemary tree. Angel trumpets grow like weeds in San Francisco, where it is foggy and chilly much of the year. Why it won’t adapt to my dining room is a serious question. The rosemary comes inside right at first frost, where subsequent new growth comes out spindly and weak. No amount of grow light wattage seems to help. By the time spring rolls around, I’m nursing it along on its impending deathbed, waiting for warm weather so I can take it outside.

I believe I have ADD, which would explain my daughter having the same thing. It would also explain my life. Do I ever finish anything? Do I ever stop going from one tangent to another?

So yes, today I’m brain dead. Totally.

I think I need a certain little kitty to kick me square in the backside.

New Year, New and Improved Writer (I hope…)

My last post found me braindead from the frenzied writing I accomplished during the 2009 NaNoWriMo. For once, I finished an entire book in thirty days. Granted, some of the chapters were woefully lacking, but NaNo is an exercise is writing as fast as you can, not in writing perfect sentences and airtight plots of the next Big Novel to make it to the New York Times bestsellers list. I am not that demented to think I could hatch a flawless work of art in thirty hurried days.

Christmas came and went without the return of adult children. In a way it was sad, but in another way, at least I didn’t feel obligated to drag the Christmas tree from the basement and decorate the house. Bah humbug reigned supreme.

With all the luscious Christmastime feasts (hey, just because the kiddies didn’t make it doesn’t mean we didn’t eat well), my resolution list was starting to look like an unscalable mountain. My first resolution was to write every day, which fell to the wayside by the fifth. (That was yesterday.) My second was to work out at least fifteen minutes a day. That one didn’t see the light of Day One. I also resolved to practice my violin more often. That also bit the dust until today. Granted, I had to take my instrument in for new strings and other adjustments and had put that off because as we all know, I am a World Class Procrastinator. I finally made it to Psarianos yesterday. Check off that chore.

Gentle readers, I did accomplish a few things in the area of writing, lest you think that I went totally overboard and morphed into a lazy slug. (I keep having this workaholic-slug slugfest in my mind. We know who wins most of the time.)

For one thing, I unleashed the NaNo novel Virtually Yours on two readers. One was a friend and the other a friend who writes. I spent a good week going over the book and fleshed out some parts and corrected others. Both readers loved it (I know, what are they going to say? They hate it?) and I took note of their edits.

Newly rewritten, I sent Virtually Yours off to yet another person for a third-party edit. I do not know this person and am prepared for an honest evaluation. She has only read the first half and so far has given it a thumbs up. I haven’t received her edits back yet.

Yesterday, I took a look at Acorns and Oaks — what there is of it — and realized it’s going to need a serious overhaul. Since it’s a companion book to Oaks and Acorns, I started it off as though the reader already knew the story. Bad idea. It had been so long since I’d worked on it that even I was lost.

So today, January 6, I am starting my resolutions anew. After the day job of getting people paid, I am retreating to my room to start anew. I am going to write no matter what, with the same frenzied abandon as I did in November, when my goal was 1,200 – 1,500 words a day or more. If I could do it then, I can do it now.

Happy New Year to me.

I’m Afraid I’m Going to Have to Enter Some Contests This Year

KidLit Contest

I’m feverishly working on Acorns and Oaks, and will submit my first 500 words wherever a contest may be.

What’s Worse? Too Much? or Too Little?

Stored in my computer are five works in progress in various stages of dress. (I will call them ‘works in progress’ until one of them is printed.) Some need to be dressed up, while one in particular needs to shed almost all its clothes.

My first novel took me just over two years to write. True, I am a lackadaiscal, lazy writer with a Real World life crammed full of too many Things to Do, and in such an environment, it is difficult if not impossible to find three or more hours of uninterrupted peace and quiet. If a person wants to attach blame to anything, it’s fairly easy to do. Looking back, my biggest problem was an attachment to the work. The first book was a labor of love.

Writers can be personally attached to their work. In the creative world, what flows from minds and fingers is the birthing of your very own baby. I get that. I have witnessed writers, artists, actors and others who take themselves and their craft with seriousness. They are dismayed at bad reviews and critique.

I view writing (and any creativity) with the same outlook that I have on life: I am doing the best I can, and I won’t turn away any advice. If you are so wrapped up in your work that you believe it to be perfection, you may miss a jewel coming from a fresh pair of eyes.

My first novel was excruciatingly long. At 175K words, it might be considered an epic tome. During the first pass-through edit, I managed to eliminate 8K words just by taking out adverbs. Still, it’s not enough. The story is still good, I just need to tell it with far fewer words.

On the other hand, my current piece was completed during NaNoWriMo and topped out at just over 50K. Too short — I would prefer the finished work-in-progress to end up between 75K- 90K, the desired word count for a chick-lit romance. I know I was writing as fast as I could, with storylines and ideas stored in the brain while I pumped out the bones in thirty days. December was spent editing and adding. I am currently through the fourth edit, and still a bit shy of the target, although the story is strengthening with each pass.

Which brings us to the question of the day: Is it better to have too much or too little?

From personal experience (and I’m sure other writers will agree), I’m thinking too little is easier to bear. Performing major surgery such as the type I need to do on WIP #1 is going to be brutal. This is why I’ve been able to look at it only a few times in the last year.

I’m going to force myself to wield the knife. Soon. As soon as I finish adding to my current work. I’ll remember for the next project that less is definitely more.

Giddy with Excitement

because I placed honorable mention in the recent Query Tracker contest.

I spent all day yesterday ya-hooing, smiling, emailing people I know to gloat, posting the above link on my Facebook page, and smiling some more.

Now it’s time to get some serious work done.

Need I say that I didn’t think I’d be one of the lucky few? Whodathunk it? For real! There were only 50 spots in the contest. FIFTY! It was strictly luck that I opened my email when I did and snagged one of the coveted entries. It was also luck that I had a copy of my novel on my work computer, so I didn’t have to run home, snag the laptop and work from there.

Perhaps I shouldn’t admit this out loud, but I’m deep in the fourth edit. I know VIRTUALLY YOURS is not close to being the work of art I want it to be, but it’s getting there. Thanks to my online friends for editing and cheering me on.

Now I have to polish and prep the first chapter and construct a kick-ass query letter to accompany it, while somehow tamping down my giddiness to a reasonable level.

After all, I already know I’m not all that and a bag of potato chips. Not yet, anyway.

Birth of a Query Letter, With Explanations

Well, I finally took the plunge.

This morning I sent out my first bona fide query letter to a real-life literary agent, in NOO Yawk City, no less.

Why, you ask, would it take me so long?

Well, despite the fact that the book is complete and has even merited an Honorable Mention in a contest, I am not that self-assured. Unlike some writers who view their babies as monumental literary masterpieces, I know my novel is flawed.

After the initial hoo-ha and jumping up and down with the thrill of victory, I then realized I was asked to submit a partial. Hit the brakes. Is my story truly ready for inquiring minds? I wasn’t so sure, so I edited it again, then again and again before today.

It’s still not perfect, but oh, well. It’s time to dive in.

So, here is part of my query letter, with explanations:

Dear Ms. (Fill in the Blank) You know who you are. And yes, I know you are a woman. I checked the web site. I figured ‘Ms.’ is the preferred title. I know I am partial to it. By the way, you are a beautiful woman.)

Thank you for awarding my submission, VIRTUALLY YOURS, an Honorable Mention in the recent QueryTracker romance contest. (Oh my God! I was delirious with joy! I jumped up and down for three days straight!  I emailed everyone close to me, and everyone not close. I posted the results and the web page on Facebook and Twitter. It was my birthday weekend, too, happy birthday to me. One out of FIFTY! Fifty? Holy moley!) Per your request, I am submitting the first ten pages of VIRTUALLY YOURS for your review. (I’m ready. I’m not ready. I’m ready. I’m not ready…)

(Brief description on the characters, Internet based, making it relevant (I hope) to modern readers, with a unique plot twist… Blah, blah, blah. Don’t worry. It’s not over one page. Check it out under “Novels” if you are so inclined.)

VIRTUALLY YOURS is a 75,000 word chick-lit romp, light in heart but includes serious perspectives on the lives of modern moms. (So I’m old school. A story isn’t a story without a moral or two.)

I am a businesswoman by day and clandestinely rendezvous with my Muse to write by night. (I don’t know where the fine line is drawn between brilliance and hokey. This is my first query, remember?) My writing credits include frequent contributions to Blog Critics and Associated Content, and I am a member of both Romance Writers of America and the Greater Detroit Romance Writers of America. (It’s all I have. I could have fluffed up, but why stretch the truth?)

Thank you again for your consideration. (Please, please, please give me more than a form letter rejection. I’m really looking for feedback. And oh, did I tell you I think you are a stunningly beautiful woman? Because you are.)

Oh, my. I’ve fallen off the deep end.

San Francisco, the Writers Conference, and Other News

I returned from San Francisco on Monday, taking the red eye. It saves me $75, but it’s a terrible way to fly, especially if you are old and decrepit like I am and can’t sleep sitting up. Note to those who are interested: just before you board the plane, drink two double Amaretto and orange juice and take a Benadryl. You’ll be able to doze, on and off.

San Francisco was wonderful, but then it always is. I made my escape from the Tundra just in time. When I landed in Minneapolis, the blizzard was just beginning. However, if you’re going to fly in a blizzard, Minneapolis is a good place to start. They know snow.

The entire West Coast was rainy last Monday, but by Tuesday the clouds broke and it was sunny the rest of the week, even in the Sunset where I stay. It’s normally cloudy or foggy all the time in that neighborhood. I soaked up as much sun as I could. (Felt good.)

The writers conference started on Friday. This year I stayed at the Mark Hopkins, where the conference is held. Expensive, but at least Jeffrey didn’t have to play taxi service for three days. The conference was so interesting. There were so many workshops to attend, and I felt I learned something new in each one. Once again, I signed up for the agent speed dating.

Last year’s try was a fiasco. I was so unprepared, nervous and incredibly naive! Plus, my novel (Finding Cadence) was horrible! I pulled it out this week just to take a gander, and I can’t believe how bad it is! It has to be redone from start to finish.

I’ve had an entire year to study the craft of the pitch, and to write. I hope I write better than I did a year ago, although I know my weaknesses. (Did I mention it’s tough to break bad habits?) This year, I did much better at both the pitching and the writing.

Out of the five agents I walked up to, three were interested and wanted me to query them and send them one to three chapters. One was deliriously excited, one was mildly excited, and the other thought well, what the hell, I’ll let her send me something.

It was exhilarating! I was floating on a cloud for at least a couple of hours, until I realized that now I’m really going to have to work on tightening this baby up.

Work, rewrites! GAH!

Tuesday, I opened my email to find a response to my first query. That agent wants me to send her the entire manuscript! which means I will be working at breakneck speed to get my book to the presentable level by, hmm… maybe this weekend?

My mood? Hopefully optimistic and optimistically hopeful.

A Newbie’s Rules for Writing

This week I’m participating in the Greater Detroit Romance Writers of America boot camp. Day Two was all about the Rules for Writing. We know what all the Rules are, such as no ‘ly’ words (or other adverbs or adjectives), no purple prose, show don’t tell, resist the urge to open a book with weather, dreams or prologues, and other sage advice. If you are a newbie like me and have no clue, here‘s a good web site, chock full of plenty of rules from a wide range of published authors.

Once your beta readers, writing friends and critique buddies have beaten you to a bloody pulp regarding the Rules, a writer begins looking for exceptions to the rules in everything printed.

I read Missing Mom by Joyce Carol Oates (who could write more ‘seriously’ than Joyce Carol Oates?) and noted sentence fragments all over the place. I read romance novels full of ‘ly’ words. I loved Michelle Richmond’s A Year in Fog because of the references to weather in San Francisco. Dan Brown’s sentences are sometimes convoluted, totally purple, yet very entertaining.

Coincidentally, a few weeks ago when attending the San Francisco Writers Conference, I went to a workshop on breaking the rules of writing. The verdict? It can be done, even in first novels, as long as the errant rule is broken discreetly and the reader is wowed by what surrounds the damaged rule.

I have been known to be a confirmed anti-establishmentarian, a throw back to my teenage years in the post-hippie era. You say ‘yes’ and I say ‘no.’ You say it can’t be done, and dammit, I’m going to prove you wrong if it takes the rest of my life and all my energy. Note: this is how I get myself into things, like playing the violin, making jewelry, cooking and yes… writing.

Still, a girl has to have some rules, otherwise anarchy runs wild and chaos ensues. Believe me, I’ve been without boundaries, and it’s not a pretty sight.

What follows are my rules for writing. Do with them what you must.

My Ten Rules for Writing

1. Make sure you have a writing utensil on your person at all times. You never know when an idea is going to hit you in the noggin, and trying to remember anything at my age is spotty at best. Make sure your tool can write on anything. My personal favorite is Sharpie markers, because a. they are permanent, b. you can use them on anything, including plastic, Taco Bell food wrappers and your sweaty palm, and c. you can buy the cute, little keychain variety of Sharpie. Comes in amazing colors, too!

2. Turn off the noise. This means iPods, stereos, so-called ambient TV noise (you know your ears are going to perk up when Judge Alex gives his ruling), radio and your snoring Boston terrier. It also may mean obtaining ear plugs to buffer the sound of the ice falling off your roof.

3. Try to write at the same time every day. Yes, people, writing a novel is work. It’s hard work. Many people (myself included) don’t like to work. Being independently wealthy and sunbathing on my own private island is a goal, but at this point, it’s long term. Even though I don’t like to work, I drag my butt out of bed every day and do it anyway.

4. Turn off the Internet. Since I have adult onset ADD, the Internet is like diving into a cask of Napa Valley’s finest. I wouldn’t know when to stop, and I rarely do. To be really hardcore, get off Facebook. (No, you will need those peeps for when you are ready to sell books.) If you are that addicted to surfing the World Wide Web, drop into a 12-step program when necessary. It doesn’t matter which one.

5. Comfy chair. You need it. Cushions, too.

6. Caffeine! Lots of it, too. Whether it is coffee, tea or boxes of chocolate, a writer needs as much stimulation as you can round up.

7. Lock up the liquor cabinet. Conversely to #6, writing under the influence of alcohol (or drugs) is a horrible idea, unless you are drunk typing IMs to your best bud across the country. Sure, your inebriated words might seem like comic genius at the time you plop them on the page, but the next day when sobriety returns, you will be wondering WTF???

8. Warmth. Make sure you are warm enough. If your husband refuses to turn up the heat as an austerity measure, make sure you have blankets and slippers. (Remember, the Boston terrier is in her crate because she snores, so you can’t count on her to keep your feet warm.) Get a space heater if necessary. Do NOT get a Snuggie. Snuggies are dangerous inventions, especially if you have to go to the bathroom or when someone yells “fire” in the middle of the night. My dear husband gave me one for Christmas, but it’s so cumbersome, especially when working, that I gave it to the dog.

9. I write better (and longer) when I have no food. It also keeps me trim.

And finally…

10. Write something creative every day. You might not have time to whip up a couple thousand words on your novel, but whatever you do, write, and when you do so, write creatively. Letters, articles, notes to your child’s teacher, all of these can use a little sprucing up. It keeps the juices flowing and the recipients wondering.

Critique is a Writer’s Best Friend

I’ve been scribbling furiously and typing to the point of renewed carpal tunnel syndrome for the last three years in an attempt to put my ideas into novel-length words. The tally? Two finished, two in various states of disrepair and a sequel being sketched out ‘for later.’ One full manuscript made its way to an agent, the other full – my first – is so completely incoherent and massively wordy that I’m going to have to disassemble it and start over. In between are two blogs and several short stories, several contests (one where I placed!), several reviews and rants.

Fiction writing is different from editorial writing, business letter writing, poetry, text writing and writing stormy missives to your Congressmen. It’s different from writing love letters to your spouse and chiding email to your children. Fiction writing is a strange and wonderful animal all to itself.

I dropped out of college, so I was unable to obtain a sheepskin for my forays into English/journalism/art. I went to college during the mid ‘70s, so I’m not sure how much book learning I remember. I’m the first to admit that I am clueless, but I’m a quick study.

In my quest to finish my novel explorations, I’ve learned a few things. The one BIG thing any fiction writer is needs a supportive critique system. I don’t care if you are a well-known and well-published author — a fresh pair of eyes often lends a perspective the writer may be unable or unwilling to view. There are Rules for Writing (of which I was oblivious). Of course, after immersing myself in rules, I attended the San Francisco Writers Conference and learned at a workshop how to break the rules.

At some point, the aspiring author is going to want to get out of her pajamas, leave her cave and set about finding legitimate critique for her work. It happened to me.
Critique will point out more than spelling errors or problems with grammar or misplaced punctuation. (I don’t know about you, but I cannot proofread my own work.) A thorough critique will outline structural deficiencies, like problems with time line or story line, overuse of certain words or – God forbid – the dreaded cliche.

Do NOT make the mistake of giving your work for critique to family members or friends who are less than brutally honest. Of course, your mom is going to love your work and thinks your book will be on the New York Times best seller list for a year. Duh! You may want to utilize friends and families as readers in order to determine that your work will or will not put them to sleep. However, for the purposes of critique, find professional help.

For a long time, I relied on online friends who share my same passion for writing. They have pointed out the obvious flaws in my work, and led me to the library for reading material on writing the right way.

Online writing friends may be in the midst of their own manuscripts – and if they are like me, they are world-class procrastinators – so the fledgling writer may have to pursue other outlets for critique. When it comes to writing web sites, be sure you read the Terms of Service and be wary of any critique service that charges a fee. There are plenty of writing web sites that do not charge a fee. The big names include ReviewFuse, Romance Divas or The Next Big Writer, to list a few. I was also invited to a small Ning group (Writers Collaborate), and there are more out there.

The downside to online groups is that many other writers join to get critique as well. I am not well-versed in critiquing work other than for the obvious misspelling or simple sentence structure. The only other thing I can add is “I like where this is going and want to know more.” While a hook is important, some writers want an in-depth deconstruction.

I am a busy woman and can’t commit to creative writing classes, but I have always been interested in finding help in the flesh. I was recently invited to a small, in-person critique group of some members of the Greater Detroit Romance Writers of America. I am the fourth person. In such a small group, it’s far easier to communicate ideas than it is in a larger forum. The other women, most of whom don’t necessarily write romance, are helpful and one was an English teacher in a past life.

As with any relationship, if your group offers unhelpful criticism – and that does happen – it may be time to find another group. A writer needs to feel safe and that any points made are not done out of meanness or spite. On the other hand, if you truly want to better your work, a certain amount of outside perspective will be necessary.

My quick tips:
1. Don’t take it personally. Your critique partner isn’t trying to make you cry, he/she is trying to help you.
2. Try revising the trouble spot in a few different ways, instead of plowing through with the first thought in your head. You may find the second or third (or eighth) idea is the real gem.
3. Really listen to the suggestions. You’ll learn a lot and it will improve your writing.
4. Put your work away when you feel overloaded and come back to it later. It will look strangely different once it’s been marinating for a few days/weeks/months.
5. Finally, don’t lose your voice in the edit. Your voice is your most important asset. There may be occasions where you feel the critique is not valid. If the words work, listen to your head. If we all followed the rules and all wrote the same, it would be a pretty dreary world.

I Am So Proud: My Very First Rejection Letter

You may have wondered where I have been for the last three or four weeks. Picture someone constantly checking email for response to my full manuscript being sent out. Counting the minutes, then the days and the weeks with bated breath. Wondering if my baby ended up on someone’s slush pile or under a pile of manuscripts on the agent’s administrative assistant’s desk.

Of course, the news isn’t good — this isn’t a fairy tale Nirvana here.

That’s right, I just received my very first rejection letter for the very first query I have sent out.

I know I shouldn’t be, but I am absolutely giddy.

(What? Did you think I really thought I was going to get a contract on my very first try? I may be a dreamer, but I’m not stupid.)

My reasoning for my glee is  many-fold. First of all, the response was sent out in exactly four weeks, a virtually whiplash-causing turnaround in the publishing biz. I’ve heard other wannabe novelists complaining of months, and months and months without word.

Second, the rejection letter was very kind. I could tell the agent in question actually read my book, from the very personalized feedback she provided. She pointed out a few obvious flaws, ones that I had been fretting over, but gave me some positive props as well.

Third, it could have been worse. MUCH worse. The horror stories are out there: boilerplate rejections two minutes after sending, thorough dressing downs.

I expect to be the recipient of many more rejection letters before someone loves my work enough to snap it up. Some successful authors, like Stephen King, endured years of rejection.

Instead of crying in my beer, I’m energized. I’m ready to take those first fifty pages and transform them into something dazzling, a work of art that will sparkle and shine, catching the eye of some lucky agent out there.

Writing Ebb and Tide

Ever hear the phrase “feast or famine?”

It seems like my entire life has been based on this concept.

You’re poor and struggling, then you get a little pocket change and are struggling. Your creative juices run wild and free, then you don’t write anything but excuse notes to your child’s teachers or don’t paint anything but bedroom walls for twenty years.

Of course, then the tide comes back in and you are left with too many choices and ideas and not enough time and too small of a brain to see them all into fruition.

Sometimes I really feel like writing. REALLY. I am attacked by a compulsion so strong that ignoring it is impossible. Other times, I really don’t feel a creative juice in my body, not one drop, not even a glistening of sweat.

After my rejection letter, I put the novel away. I really wanted to attack it and make it all better, but I felt completely tapped. I didn’t have any fresh ideas. A few days passed, then a week.

Then ten whole days! I was starting to worry. I even started to doubt myself. Maybe this writing thing was just a pipe dream or a fad. Maybe I’m so awful, no one will ever like my work! What if I die a lonely death, locked in my unheated garret (because I’m back to being poor) with my ancient laptop (which by this time doesn’t type the letter M because my bird chewed off the key), no food, no accolades, no sense of worth? What if?

Just as depression was about to sink in, I had a hallelujah moment. I don’t know if other writers have these epiphanies, but I seem to have them on occasion.

I looked at all the comments made on my re-writes, and the comments from Ms. Friendly Sorry-But-You’re-Not-Ready-To-Publish-Yet Agent (I secretly love her), opened my writing reference books and voila! Sometime late Friday afternoon, I was hit by the proverbial (and clicheed) bolt of lightening.

Ideas! I had a million of them!

Even though I had a critique group the next day and had already emailed my chapter to them, I sat down to re-write. I slashed the unnecessary. I cut out the pointless. I eviscerated huge sections of back story. I rearranged the chapter.

It might not be perfect, but Chapter One is now leaner, meaner and flows so much better.

Then in the middle of my glorious in-tide, I was suddenly struck by more inspiration, this time for my first mammoth work.

Of course, now is the time when the ideas flow and the time shrinks.

Feast or famine. I’m not complaining.

Digging into the Old Stuff

As some of you know, my first “novel” is an epic tale that covers six months in the life of  a woman my age, several thousand miles of travel (by car), a mental breakdown and loss of everything she held near and dear.

That’s why it took me 175,000 words and two years to complete.

I’m not exaggerating.

It might be weighty but it’s far from finished; in fact, you could say in its present state, it’s downright scary as to how bad it is. A few months ago, I dusted it off and tried again. I couldn’t stomach reading it, much less working on it.

The storyline is good. The premise is valid. The characters are likable/unlikable. This massive, wordy work in progress has more flaws than my first few boyfriends. (Hmm… make that my first twenty boyfriends.)

I didn’t know jack about writing back then. I still don’t know much, but I know enough to be embarrassed about this work.

I remarked to a friend of mine who has seen the first chapter in all its horrible splendor that I couldn’t believe she read it without puking. She was kind and suggested that she didn’t throw up, but I could tell she was lying.  She had to be.

After taking an online writing class and having a live critique group to go to, I decided to give it another go. I know pages and pages will have to round canned, and I don’t mind.  So with renewed vigor, I worked on it Friday, eliminating the first 72 pages.

Seventy-two pages? Yeah, I have plenty behind that, believe me.

The good thing is, I have most of the story already written down, so the slice and dice should leave me with a reasonably sized novel.

I have a feeling it won’t even be painful.

I Can’t Believe I’m Finding Her! An Update on Cadence

Since my last novel is now safely in the hands of a professional developmental editor (more on that later – and let’s hope it’s good news), I have decided to tackle that first mammoth overflowing diarrhea of a work, FINDING CADENCE.

A few months ago, I took a peek and it wasn’t pretty. Who would have thought it was possible to use one word (family) 2,358 times in the first 72 pages? (Okay, that’s a gross exaggeration… Well, maybe not.) After taking out every -ly word — including ‘family’ — and most of the ‘that’s, I still had 530 pages of mindless, endless garbage, and over 175K words.

Yes, I can recognize the fact that my first effort is far from my best. *hangs head in shame*

My initial reaction was to close down the file and delete. Some things are best left in the dark. The light of day would not have been kind to this novel or to me. I could see my children laughing at me as I lay in my pink, Venetian lace-lined casket. “Get a load of this!” and “She thought she could write?”

I’m so very glad that I’m basically a lazy and forgetful person and failed to do execute the delete. Since Novel C has been in the capable hands (I hope) of Mr. Ed It, I have had a chance to use Novel A (Cadence) as material for an online writing class I am taking, and believe me, there is more than enough material to work with.

The premise is good. The story is good. The telling of the story — meh, not so good.

I started slashing by deleting everything up until the first lines of relevant dialog. That occurred on Page 73. (I had a phobia about writing dialog when I first started writing, which is why it took 72 pages and a year to get to the bones of the matter, but that’s for another post.)

So far, I’ve only inserted the dialog and tightened it up, with very little back story making the cut. I also made an executive decision and flip-flopped on the person. It’s in first person now. This is problematic in some respects, but a relief in another. By the end of the first draft, I had a total of seven (7) POVs, way too many. Keeping Cadence in the first person gives me an opportunity to showcase her naivete and flaws.

I also took the characters and hardened them a bit. The lawyer is slimier, the best friend is more shallow, the girls at work are not as forgiving and are part of the conspiracy. Cadie’s father is going to the dark side, too. Why not?

I’m happy to report that it is coming along nicely. I actually want to work on it. I’ve been going home from the day job early for the last week or so and am enthusiastic.

Will wonders ever cease?

Absconding the Napkin Fiction, Sort Of

I love Esquire’s web site, especially the fiction area. Good reads, very edgy. During my last visit, I noticed the Napkin Fiction page, where authors are asked to pen a story on a paper napkin.

In the good old days when I was 1. poor, 2. a teenager, and 3. in love, I used to write song lyrics and poems on napkins. And Taco Bell wrappers. And the paper a bottle of Metaxa comes in. And the back of my NSP bill (that’s the power company in Minnesota). And I know this because I still have these remnants of my misbegotten prose in my hope chest.

We know from the archeological data that I ate fast food, was plenty high and my heat was on, necessary in St. Paul in January.

I’m terrible when it comes to condensation. I love to blather on and on about the inconsequential, which is the gong of death for a writer. I have a very difficult time writing flash fiction or stories in 1,000 words or less. The first time I wrote a 50-word story, it ended up being six 50-word stories. You can imagine the pain I was in writing a six-word story.

Today, I decided to initiate my own enforced short fiction experiment, using the Napkin Fiction as a guide. I find modern paper napkins highly undesirable for writing. They’re cheaply made and only a very good ball point pen would not rip it to shreds. Paper towels absorb too much ink. I don’t eat at Taco Bell much anymore (too salty for my tastes) and I’m a slob and can’t believe I actually finished a combo burrito without dripping any green sauce on the wrappings or on my lap. (Back in 1975, I was always hungry. Not much was going to escape.)

Instead, I decided to take over one of my daughter’s never-used spiral notebooks from high school. It has a pretty green and pink cover and the pages are perforated. It’s small enough to carry around with me.

I have dubbed this experiment The One Page Stories.

The stories are limited to one sheaf of paper. I can use both sides, and I can condense my handwriting to get as much info as I can on the paper, meaning margins  are used and my teeny-weeny penmanship employed. (Teeny-weeny handwriting was da bomb when I was in college and the profs would let us bring in a single sheet of notes for the final. Yeah…I was on that one.)

The One Big Rule for One Page Stories is that once I start, I can’t stop until the story is finished. This is a tough rule for a chronic procrastinator and a sufferer of adult onset ADD.

Yesterday I wrote a quick one, then transferred it to my computer. It was quirky and odd, an elementary aged story – 599 words. I liked it.

I think I might have something here.

Making Friends and Working Hard

My lovelinesses.

I know that’s not a word, but today I feel that everyone is lovely. Even though it is raining, even though my husband is working on a project that makes him cranky, even though I have a billion things to do and counting.

I’ve been editing, editing, editing, and occasionally penning a one-sheet story. In the meantime, I’ve written a few things for the blog, the Blog Critics blog and other projects. Tomorrow is crit-group day, so I’ve been looking over other people’s work for a change.

I don’t know how it happened, but I am on Simon and Schuster’s publicist’s mailing list. Every so often, this kind lady will send me a soon-to-be-released book to read. Most of them are in the hot, steamy romance or historical romance genres – not exactly my cup of tea. However, if I have a few spare minutes waiting in the doctor’s office, standing in line at the Secretary of State office (DMV for those of you out of Michigan) or am trapped on a transcontinental airplane, these are perfect to pass the time with.

One of the books I read was Nancy’s Theory of Style by Grace Coopersmith. It was such an enjoyable, rollicking and totally fun read that I wrote a review for Blog Critics.

The review led to the author of the book contacting me (Yes! On this very blog! Look down a couple of posts.) and an email exchange ensued. (I couldn’t believe my luck! Emailing a published author! And she’s so nice!)

I know that’s a lot of exclamation marks, but I was very blown away. I’ll stop now.

I know we’re not friends in the true sense of the word, but it’s nice to be friendly with authors.

Back to work.

Just Write

I have no problem coming up with fresh ideas; at this time, I have so many ideas I doubt I’ll get them all down into coherent sentences before I die. I don’t need to be in the mood to write, although I find that certain emotions can be helpful. For example, if I’m writing an article on a deadline, something non-fiction, I can get myself organized with very little problem. I’m a Master Juggler of balancing many of life’s balls in the air, especially if the balls are in logical order. It’s slightly different with fiction. If I’m feeling upbeat and silly, it’s the best time to write something light and sassy, and if I’m in the middle of winter and depressed out of my mind, that’s the best time to pull out my more serious work.

I’ll admit, I’m a procrastinator, although I’m not as bad as I used to be. I can come up with lots of excuses, too. Lots of them. I have a business, I have a husband, I have kids (one still in college), I have a large house and do the housework and yard work. I have financial worries and occasional health problems. I have relatives with financial worries and occasional health problems. I have other interests I like to pursue, in addition to the things I must attend to. Excuses are handy; they might make a person feel better in the short run but honestly, none of them are valid.

If you tell yourself you are a writer (whether anyone else thinks you are one or not) as I have done for the last two years, you must sit down and WRITE. Every day. EVERY day. “Real” writers do what real artists and real musicians do every day — create.

Sometimes it’s just snippets of writing because I only have snippets of time. That’s why I keep a notebook in my purse. I might think of a phrase or an idea might hit me from out of the blue. I might hear or see an appealing name, or want to jot down a web site. I don’t own a smart phone and don’t carry my laptop with me wherever I go, so the notebook is helpful. I’d never remember any of my ideas without it — that’s what old age will do for you.

Sometimes I give myself assignments, as I have the last few weeks. I’m editing my first book, and I wanted two chapters to be finished each week. In order to do this, I have to rearrange my Real Life schedule. I don’t write well at night, but can go like gangbusters between the hours of two and five p.m. I’m fully awake, there’s plenty of natural light, and my husband isn’t home from work yet. If I have to get to work by 7:30 so I can leave at 2, then so be it.

The person who is working with me on the second book gave me an assignment. He will tell you that I came up with some doozy excuses within the first couple of emails. Finally I sat down one day for a few hours and pumped it out. Wasn’t perfect, but I had to sit down and JUST WRITE.

For those of you who have writer’s block (not my problem, my problem is with time), just sit down. Take your pen and paper or laptop or typewriter and JUST WRITE.

Last night, I told my daughter I wished I had written down the silly stories she and her brother used to make up when they were little. I told myself at the time that I would remember them later and then write them down.

You know what happened, don’t you? (I could have had a lucrative career as a children’s book author. Not now. Not with my poor memory. )

If you only have a minute, write a thank you note. Address it to your spouse, your child, your parents, your favorite teacher from high school. Start writing and don’t stop until you have filled up a page.

Write a description of your day, your house, your yard. Describe your car and why you like/don’t like it. Write about your favorite place.

On my more hurried days, I try to finish a one-page story. One of them was a fictional account using a quirky guy in my jewelry class. One was called “Perfectly Plaid,” the name of the notebook I am using. Take a small piece of life and expound. Tell the story of your pet’s day from their perspective — that’s a good one.

Tell yourself you are a writer, then sit down and JUST WRITE.

Believe me, with practice, it gets easier.

And Now for the Bad News…

I’ve been told I must off one of my characters…

Not kill her off in the book, but somehow delete her completely from the telling of the tale. The thought is that six women friends with the same amount of pull and character is approximately one woman too many.

I’m not afraid of the technical aspects of the search and destroy mission. I happen to be doing just that on my first manuscript. It’s that I love them all!

(Yeah, yeah, the editor says…)

I have of course asked for a stay of execution. Pleaded. Begged. I think all of the characters are necessary to the telling of the tale, and they are definitely needed in Book Number Two, as the story shifts to another couple in the friendship loop.

So, please, my friends (since I have loosely based the novel on my own experiences and therefore have drawn on the personalities of my own Real Life friends, and yes, you know who you are), please do not take my editing personally. I love you all. Honest. But what the editor says must be.

He is available for personalized whipping, if and when the book comes out in print.

The “Ah-ha” Light Bulb Moment

Since Mr. Ed has my latest creation in his editing mill (I wish I had web cam so I could see the creative developmental process during full bore production), I’ve been working on self-editing my First Monstrosity.

This novel started out as a couple of hurriedly scribbled notes on the back of an airline boarding pass. That was January 2007, on a trip back from San Francisco. (Um, that banner photo at the top of my blog? That was taken the same weekend.)

It took two long years and a week to complete. Somehow my scrap of paper grew from 500 words to 175K words. (The monsters that seize our bodies and take over our lives…huh, I guess this is how a simple whale turned into Moby Dick.)

I’m no Know-It-All writer, and I’ve learned a lot in the last three years. In editing, I can see where the first 100 pages were God-awful. I made every mistake in the book: descriptions of weather, dreams, an overabundance of back story, jumped around almost a dozen POVs, overuse of adverbs and adjectives, you name it, I did it.

But I am not a shameless rule breaker. In fact, I’m mortified that I let what friends I had read this horrid tome.

The one thing I noticed in editing is that the farther I get along in the story, the better my writing becomes. I attribute my gradual ascent into decent writing to a full contingent of people who not only cheer me on, but have boinked me in the head (repeatedly, and with vigor) when I make fatal errors.

What are friends for?

I’m not sure my improvement is due to an ah-ha light bulb moment, but one thing is for sure; the more I go through my manuscript, the more light bulbs go on.

Red, Hot Writer Mama

Just as I was clicking along, zippedy doo, working on the re-write for Book 1 and coming up with new blog entries for Book 2, writing every afternoon for at least a couple of hours in my comfy purple chair (see below)

when out of the blue (so cliche, I know) I am felled in the pursuit of my endeavors. It’s not a reason, but a season that has put the ki-bosh on my creative production.

Put plainly, my home air conditioning died.

Not only that, but the AC in the office died too.

Both succumbed on the hottest week (thus far) this summer. In a half-decade of lackluster, sometimes chilly bummer summers, this one is stellar in its crushing, sauna-like grip. Don’t get me wrong. I like hot. I need hot. Snow is not my friend. However, as much as one needs sunshine and light, no one needs breath-stealing humidity, and being in the Midwest, this summer’s Humidex has been going just as crazy as the high temperatures.

I once had heat exhaustion so I’m prone to having a relapse. Take it from one who knows: this particular ailment is not fun at all. I’m also suffering from the Big M (menopause). Believe it or not, I can tell the difference between flashes. Neither are pretty, but there are nuances. One can die from heat exhaustion while menopause is just a momentary symptom of upcoming death.

Warding off potential danger, I have hydrated myself to the extreme (gaining a good gallon of weight in the meantime), cut the alcohol consumption down to an occasional cosmopolitan, loaded the freezer with popsicles and spent a great deal of time in my car, which thankfully does have AC.

Being uncomfortably hot cuts into my creative jizz (as my daughter would say). You know it’s bad when I crave the chilly confines of the mall. (I hate the mall.)

Right now I am moderately cranky. The HVAC man isn’t coming until tomorrow.

I might have to do what those trendy writers do, and take my laptop to the nearest Starbucks.

What Form Rejection Means to Me

As per The Rejectionist: (you know me, I like an un-anything)

I wish I could say I’m a veteran of form letter rejection. Heck, I wish I could say I was a veteran of any rejection, period. I’ve been too busy writing as fast as I can, editing, more writing, more editing, pulling weeds in the guerrilla urban garden, staying cool during three days of brown out, writing, editing and more editing. My CTRL-V function has been working far more than the SEND button on my email, and that’s on the days when I have power.

That’s not to say I have nothing to send out to potential rejectioners. (Rejectionists? Rejectionistas? The Reject Police? S&M Rejection Agency?) I have plenty of material. My books are not ready, not yet. And it’s not as though I’m afraid of rejection. In my incarnation as a Real Lifer, I face plenty of it each and every day. In fact, you could say F* O* You Be-yotch is my middle name. I can’t say it to the customers, but oh, I think it plenty.

I’m also war-torn from being on a certain social-creative-highly toxic-troll infested web site where on a slow day the comments would run the gamut from mildly irritating to stalker scary. Since I use my own real name – and I’m published, in the book – I would at times be afraid if some goon were lying in wait right outside my front door, ready to give me a good going over (or worse) because of something I had blogged or posted.

You live on the Big Blue Ball long enough and you realize that rejection is a part of life. “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.” That’s my motto, right after “I’m writing as fast as I can.” Have a ready made slot for rejection, and you’ll probably come out smelling like the proverbial and cliched rose.

My one and only non-form rejection from my one and only query was a honey. I blogged about it back at the time. It wasn’t a form rejection, but a rather thoughtful, generous email about how my work was okay, but not yet ready for prime time. (Told ya. What can I say? I placed in a Query Tracker contest and I had to try.)

I’ll likely send out a massive email blitz sometime in September once I am finished editing the last book I wrote. I’ll probably get a few dozen form rejections, I don’t know. Here’s the thing about automated form rejections: Most of them are machine generated, having never reached the human eyeballs of Agent or Agent Assistant. I can hardly fault a computer program for doing its job, now can I? I figure if a big gun agent sends out a form rejection, he/she is too busy for little old me. That makes me think the agent has no time for a new, aspiring novelist and I can cast my net into the uncharted waters of Agents Who Just Landed a Job and Are Hungry For Talent. After all, I’m so good (yuck-yuck) that I need someone who is driven to sell my property, which I have to say is unique in soooo many ways.

Form rejections are like those email from Nigerian businessmen wanting to give you a couple million dollars. It’s very close to the messages that promise you a Rolex for $9.99 or guaranteeing to grow your penis (even if you don’t have one) a full six inches. In that case, you do what I do.

You smile, say, “heh,” hit the delete and go on to the next.

Thanking the Peeps

Real Life is a bear this week, so not much editing (or writing) has been accomplished. It’s not that I didn’t want to or was lazy. There are only so many hours in a day and so many days in a week and so many weeks in a month. Pile on the responsibilities, and you get a good glimpse as to why my laundry is piled up and my house looks like a tornado blew through.

I thought I’d take this oh-so-brief moment out of the chaos to do what I should have done long ago: Thank the people who have helped me along the way.

I’m not only speaking of my writing friends, my crit buddies/task masters or my legion of fans (yuck, yuck) in the background cheering me on. Believe me, I am in a constant state of gratitude over the assistance they have shown  me.

As a writer, you sometimes have to reach out to professionals in other fields. Much as my kids and husband would like you to believe, I don’t profess to know everything. My first book contained some sticky elements to the story line, more than I probably should have had for a first effort.

This led me to research and more research. Hey, I want to look like I know the score. Luckily for me, I have a lot of contacts from Real Life who slid right in to guide me. Some I knew well, some I knew in passing, but all were gracious in sharing their knowledge. (I am only now thinking of them because I just got off the phone with one.)

So this post is to thank them now, because at the rate it’s going, publication might be a while. A long while.

Thank you, Frank Washington, my employee and Michigan State Trooper. I needed guidance on the procedures following a fatal car accident.

Thank you, John Ward, Ann Barnett and Michael Belcher, for the skinny on insurance protocol. I know the esteemed Mr. Belcher, and he dragged in his cohorts for a well-rounded discussion on key man policies and contingent beneficiaries. (Ann was especially helpful and nice.)

Thank you, Jeffrey Robbins, my attorney. Yes, with an accident and insurance issues, you have to figure some legalities will be broached.

Thank you, Yunny Yip, an administrator at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. There are rules regarding early withdrawal – and re-admittance – from school that I had to delve into.

So dear writing friends, besides my thanks to these wonderful souls, I am here to tell you that it’s not hard to ask for help, even from people you don’t know well. Tell someone you’re writing a novel and need some technical assistance, and people will do somersaults in an effort to point you in the right direction.

A Quick Post by Your Local Spelling Cop

Since my plane is delayed an hour due to Air Traffic Control mayhem somewhere in the country (where, I am not sure, since the weather here in Dallas is splendiforous), I thought I would quickly pound out a post on spelling.

Yes, my friends, S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G.

In my other incarnation on another site, the supposed fun-loving participants would be at war with the contingent that was known as the Grammar Police. I thought it funny at the time, but when I first started out, I made the common lazy mistakes of posting in all lower case and using cutesy abbreviations for words. This is what the cell phone and text messaging has done to civilization. It’s all sound bites and globs of letters that need to buy a vowel. I wised up rather quickly. You have to if you want people to believe you are a real writer.

It is my opinion that as a modern people, we have become woefully negligent to this very important feature of language. Proper spelling is not only essential to the continuation of the civilization, it is a necessary component for writers everywhere.

Before pooh-poohing my theory, just think: Without words, there would be no sentences. Without sentences, there would be no paragraphs. Paragraphs are necessary for the building of stories both small and large. I  know, I know. There are other considerations, like grammar, story arcs, sympathetic protagonists, developmental tension and the like. However, every good (and bad) book starts with a single word, and if the word is misspelled, oy vay.

Next to the protection of homophones (there-they’re-their), my interest in spelling is long-lived. Blame it on the fact that my parents did not have much money for books, but they did manage to buy a set of encyclopedias (for those who are 1960′s challenged, that’s like Wikipedia bound in twenty-six ten-pound tomes in leather), a thesaurus and a dictionary. My kids will dispute this simply because they cannot fathom it (modern whippersnappers!) but I actually read the entire encyclopedia and the dictionary JUST FOR FUN. My devotion to the written word was complete when I gained a place at the Colorado State Spelling Bee in 7th grade. (I didn’t win, but I didn’t place last either. I was comfortably just south of the 50% mark.)

I cringe when I see misspelled words. I also gleefully inform the miscreant who maligned the word. I’m sorry, but that’s what a spelling cop does. I used to write letters to the editors of major newspapers regarding poor spelling in their articles or would call the local TV station when banners contained misspelled words.

I thought I would die of a fit when my oldest son was in elementary school back in the mid-1990′s. Back then, the fad in spelling was “inventive” spelling. This meant the kids were supposed to attempt spelling a word by sounds only. Not phonics, the kids were encouraged to scramble any and all combination of letters into a soupy and wrong, wrong, wrong word. The only way to learn how to spell a word is to write and re-write it a few dozen times. This is how I learned – my mother was Japanese and her English wasn’t perfect – and this is how my son learned. He didn’t like it, but hey, that’s what parents are for.

Even with my advancing age and pre-Alzheimery mind, I can still outspell just about everyone. The brain as a tool isn’t as sharp as it used to be, and I admit it. I’ve even re-read things I have posted online to find that I’ve misspelled a word. (Horrors!) A quick email to the online editor usually fixes the problem.

Here is another secret: One cannot rely on spell check to pull his/her sorry ass out of the fire. Been there, done that.

My advice? Take a word, any word you aren’t familiar with. Take one a day. Learn how to spell it correctly and learn how to use it in a sentence. Try to incorporate it into your writing. Get rid of one of the tired old stand-bys you’ve been using since the dawning of age. Bathe in the glory of your new-found acquisition, and breathe easy that the spelling cop will be passing you by the next time she feels an urge to write you a citation.

Struck by Inspiration, or I’m So Freaking Genius!

Look, kids! Two blog posts in a week! Two in as many days! Get out the camera, it’s a Kodak moment.

There is nothing like a trip to San Francisco to get the creative juices flowing. The fog, the beach, the sushi. I’m like a suckling pig stuffed full of yummy goodness just simmering on the spit.

Last night (after a delicious dinner featuring sushi and Japanese home cooking), I returned to my motel room to unwind and write. I’ve been puzzling over my re-write. Parts are damned good, solid even, and the others… well, the other parts suffer from a malaise. I’m sure it’s fixable, but it’s going to take some serious pulling apart before I knit it back together.

I started my story with no outline, no concrete story in mind. I began writing and let my pen go on an extended road trip all over creation and back.

There’s a danger in doing this. One, you can easily get side-tracked. I was off on tangents that did not apply. Two, because you have no plan, while waiting for a stroke of genius you fill the void with words. A lot of them. An embarrassment of them. Many of them completely unnecessary. Like 75K worth.

I’ve been reading a lot of novels in the genre that I write, which is contemporary women’s literature. From two and a half years of work, I know my story has three distinct parts, three periods of time. I wanted to name them, but didn’t quite know how.

This is where last night I was so pleasantly struck by inspiration. My character’s name is ‘Cadence’ and there is a loose thread of music running throughout the book. Last night I had a novel thought: why not name my parts after a favorite composition? Composers name their movements, usually by the tempo or mood marking. Huh, just like my protag. Per-freaking-fecto! Why didn’t I think of it before?

So I spent a few late night hours on YouTube trying to find the perfect piece. My first stop was the Beethoven symphonies, all of which happen to be my favorite. Somehow, it just wasn’t right. My girl Cadence suffers an unbelievable and heavy loss in her first movement, discovers long-hidden emotional scars in the second movement, and emerges stronger yet slightly worse for wear in the third movement. Beethoven’s first symphony movements all seemed a little too happy to me.

I then headed for the old standby, Rachmaninoff. Instead of the symphony, I went for the piano concertos. I love all three. Bingo-bango! The Rach 2 was the unbelievably perfect backdrop for my story.

For one thing, the tempo closely matches the mood of my main character in each of the stages of her story. For another thing, my son loves Rachmaninoff, and he (and the composer) does figure prominently in the shaping of the character of Cadence’s son. But in researching the Rach 2 on Wikipedia, I discovered that this particular piece of classical music happened to suffer the most ripped-off riffs in the 20th Century.

For me to rip off the rip-offs, well, it’s poetic justice!

The first movement had a few piano measures stolen by Muse in Butterflies and Hurricanes. I have since learned that the theory the song was named after refers to the chaos theory. In it, it is said the flapping of a butterfly’s wings could re-direct the course of a hurricane since even small changes can impact the course of any action. This fits well in that one simple incident causes Cadence’s world to spin off its axis.

The second movement had the most famous riff-lift, that by Eric Carmen in All By Myself. Anyone who grew up in my (or Cadence’s) age of the mid-1970s can relate to this song, and poignantly it does reflect where my girl is during the second part of the book. And boy, is she alone here.

The third movement was co-opted in a song recorded by Frank Sinatra in 1945, just two short years after Rachmaninoff passed away. I’ve listened to Full Moon and Empty Arms and it accurately reflects the end of the book. A full moon of hope but empty aching arms not yet ready for love. Plus, gotta love the title, it’s absolutely delicious!

So here are my three parts:

Part 1 – Moderato – Butterflies and Hurricanes

Part 2 – Adagio sostenuto – All By Myself

Part 3 – Allegro scherzando – Full Moon and Empty Arms

Thank you, gods, divine intervention and Wikipedia. I am now energized to complete this thing!

What Does a Real Writer Look Like?

(Still in San Francisco.)

I love it here, mainly because it’s San Francisco (duh!) and who wouldn’t love to be here? The history is rich, the views are amazing, the people are friendly, the food is to die for and of course, there is the ocean. The ocean is the one attraction I am most drawn to. There is something calming about Ocean Beach. In the early morning when I like to go out, it’s cold, wet, misty, quiet. It’s also deserted. It’s so far removed from the rest of the city, very rustic and wild, it’s almost like being on another planet.

I gather a lot of inspiration from the beach. Take a long walk with nothing but sand on one side and the roar of the waves on the other and a person’s head can clear easily. I write a lot when I come here, but I also write a lot any time I’m away from home and Real Life.

Let’s face it, Real Life is no casual walk on the beach. It’s tedious and scary. I think that’s why it takes so long for me to unwind from Real Life in order to sit down and write. I’m getting better, thanks to Write or Die and an occasional little self-flogging.

I’ve spent a lot of time in the past blaming my abilities (or lack of them) on Real Life. I imagined Real Writers sitting in coffee shops in Paris (or San Francisco) with their glasses of wine or demitasses of espresso, chain smoking Turkish cigarettes while penning the next best seller between spirited conversations of politics and love with other like souls. I would love nothing more than to take a little apartment here and work six to eight hours a day after my morning walk along the beach.

Unfortunately, I’ve got to work for a living.

The truth is that most Real Writers are not romantic personalities sitting in dark cafes. Most Real Writers have Real Lives.

One of my recently published internet buddies is a Real Doctor. He has a family and other pursuits, including playing mandolin in a bluegrass band and regular games of golf. How he found time to write a book, I don’t know. (Yes, I do.)

I know others who are Real Young Mothers. I was a terribly pre-occupied young mother. There was no way I could write with small children in the house, or maybe that was me then. I might have changed in twenty years. These published Real Mothers manage to crank out books all the time, even in the chaos.

A Real Writer plugs along, picking up knowledge, making the craft better along the way. The best path to becoming a Real Writer is to tell yourself you ARE. I take a jewelry making class and the teacher calls all of us Jewelry Artists. Not students, not wannabes, but Artists.

Set the bar and get there. Make it Real.

Writing and Re-Writing is Learning Something New Every Day

When last I visited this blog, I was still in San Francisco, just about to meet the person who is helping me edit my book. Since then I have been inundated. Not only did I come home to a week’s worth of laundry, a pile of Day Job responsibilities and tasks, and my husband unable to find clean sheets with which to change the bed (they were on the couch in our room, right under his cell phone charger), I also left the Bay Area armed with a lot of information.

Things to do! Things to do! Does it ever end? I guess the operative word is “NO.”

First off, I was instructed to make a grid in order to count my characters and their interactions with each other. I’m not much for high tech, being barely able to navigate the internet, so I took a piece of graph paper. Along the top, I listed my characters; same with the side. I then went through the manuscript and made hash marks.

At first I wasn’t sure what this exercise was supposed to do. Then the light bulb came on over head… “Ah,” I thought, “This shows which characters are strong and which are basically wallflowers.” I didn’t start off wanting to make anyone a wallflower – I wanted all the women to be equal, more or less – with regard to relationship to each other. I can now see where some of them are going to need a decent reinforcing.

The second thing I did happens to be something I just finished. I listed all of my scenes and came up with 115. Currently, each character has a chapter, and while that might work out later in the book, the beginning seven chapters are full of people and the reader is lost amid the sea of names. It’s the one thing my beta readers found confusing. Eventually, I will take a scene from let’s say #53 and put it between 5 & 6. I’m not exactly sure how that’s going to work out, and I’m having a difficult time thinking beyond the linear aspect of the book. It starts out on November 1 and ends on November 30. It appears I’ll have to rethink my strategy, which is difficult with two holidays to contend with (Halloween is discussed and then there’s Thanksgiving, or climax day).

I also took a notebook and have started sketching out all of my characters, not only in this book, but in the first one I’m currently editing. This includes a checklist of questions I answer as each one. Then I pen a little bio; it includes age, what the character looks like, schooling, basic likes and dislikes, family members, etc. I realized I had to do this, especially after the editor remarked he thought of one of my characters as Bette Midler-ish, with loud voice and red hair – when in actuality she’s petite and blond and her chutzpah comes from within. I know what my characters look like in my head, but rarely do I ever describe them on the page. Character description is something romance writers are known for. (I’m not really writing romance, but there are elements.) I attribute my lack of attention to the fact that I’m not a girly girl, but it’s something I need to do.

I’m amazed that I never thought of this on my own! Or perhaps I shouldn’t be amazed I never thought of this on my own? After all, I’m not schooled in the art of writing; whatever talent I have is innate and didn’t come via university training.

It might take more than a couple of weeks to muddle out of this edit. What with email, time differences and the fact that my head is thick as a brick, this might take until the end of the year to complete.

Oh, well. I’ll be learning along the way.

Things to Do With Your Critiques

As many of you know, I’ve spent the last few months editing my first massive attempt at literary fiction. This was begun after a full 15 months of marination. I believe the common judgment is to let your creation steep for a couple of weeks or a month, tops. I take that back; I did attempt a preliminary edit not long after typing those lovely words “The End” but I was so horrified by my work (terrible, truly obnoxious), there was no way I could continue. I barely made it out of taking the “ly” and other adverbs out without a severe case of vomiting.

Once I had an entire year of putting my book on the back, back, back burner, I finally overcame my embarrassment and opened the file. What I noticed is that the story is good and solid. Lots of plot twists, a lot of angst and conflict, many scenes. Someone should be able to make it work. Besides, my more commercial venture was in the good hands of an editor, and I really didn’t want to start a new book before November. (I’m an ardent supporter of NaNoWriMo. Fabulous tool.) So I rolled up my sleeves and set off to work.

Editing, as many of you know firsthand, is not for the weak of heart. It’s grueling. You not only have to make your sentences and paragraphs crystal clear and tight, you have to have the courage to slice and burn, and slice again. You can defend your voice, but not your sloppy writing. You have to listen, to other readers, to other writers, to people in the know.

Meh, what do I know? I’m still aspiring, remember?

I decided to let my critique group look at the first third of my book. It’s about 150 pages and 13 chapters right now. I’d like to cut out at least 25 pages and a chapter or two. It’s getting tighter, but it’s not wound tight enough for me.

For those of you thinking this post has to do with creatively thought out physical things to do with your critiques, I will humor you:

1. massive bonfire.

2. 450 paper airplanes.

3. 450 origami cranes.

4. wallpaper the daughter’s room.

5. use pages to line a path in the garden.

6. recycle.

Now that we have gotten the hilarity over, I can discuss what to really do with the critiques.

Three of my crit partners felt the same way about the book. They all claimed to like it very much. They each brought up the same points in the same places. It was uncanny and quite weird. They also did not give me any guidance as to what to cut. Seems like they liked the internal dialog Cadence is having with herself. I can’t say I don’t like it, but I’d like the story to move along a little quicker. Some interaction with the other characters would help. When I started the novel, I couldn’t write dialog at all. Like Cadence, I was frozen by my inability. The dialog is coming easier these days, but I have to admit that I think in linear terms. If you’ve ever read any Anais Nin (or any writer from her era), the stories are told with very little dialog. (Yes, I know it is old fashioned.)

The fourth woman gave me what I really needed: certain paragraphs to take out completely. I may not agree with all of her suggestions, but I’m listening. She also pointed out some pretty obvious errors as to time, spatial elements and direction in the first couple of pages. Now how did I not notice them? (Answer: Too close to the book, duh!)

Her eyes were very good. She saw where I stated things twice (sometimes more than that), and her red highlights were welcome. Although she left me apologetic notes next to the red, “Sorry, it’s my POV.” or “Sorry. You told me you wanted to slash.”

So now the critiques are side by side by side by side, and I’m thinking long and hard about my next step. Should I deconstruct Part I or plunge on through Part II?

The Laziness Quotient is High These Days

I’ve not been out of action, I’ve just been out of action.

That doesn’t make any sense, I know.

What I’ve been doing lately is Real Life. Summer was long and busy, and now I’m decompressing from work, flying to San Francisco, family matters and police matters. (Yes, police matters. I’m not going into it in detail, because if you’re a really savvy Internet stalker, you can figure it out from posts I’ve published elsewhere.) Two days after returning from my California getaway, I began canning an embarrassment of tomatoes. The family plot was productive this year, and so far I’ve done plain tomatoes, tomatoes prepped for Italian sauce, tomatoes prepped for chili (so yummy on a cold Michigan December day), and lots and lots of salsa. The salsa was an exceptional hit: It’s been traveling all over the country and ending up in mailboxes from coast to coast.

I noticed the days getting shorter. Ah, the onset of SAD. So I started my prescription, but I’m still rather lethargic, even after five weeks of it. Getting out of bed in the morning is a monumental task. I try to arouse my intellect into action, but, well… I think I’m losing the battle. A trip to the doctor might be in order.

Writing? I’m not doing a lot of it, as a result of Real Life. I’ve really got to kick myself into gear. I feel extremely lazy, and it’s not a good feeling.

I’m trying to encourage a spark by reading. However, I’m not finding anything of a fireworks nature in my collection of books to read. I’m also going back to reading the dictionary. I love words. I love really unusual words too. I recently read a novel where the author used the word “intuit” several times. The first time it felt a little strange, but by the end of the book I was loving the word.

I’ve also submitted an application for a writing gig. Yes, me. I’m not great, and it’s not fiction, but I think I need definite boundaries and some sort of deadline. I work best under stress.

As for the works in progress, Virtually Yours is coming back from the editor in dribs and drabs. I don’t know if I should devote ten minutes at a time to it, or wait until I have a pile of things to do and then start working. I began working on Cadence during the interim, but the last three weeks of laziness has claimed that endeavor too. My crit group finally decided on a meeting day in October and so I think I’ll slam the pedal to the metal and get my butt in gear.

After all, one can’t be lazy forever.

Woo Hoo! Word from the Editor!

This is actually old news, since I received my edited manuscript in an email last weekend. However, I haven’t had a moment of free time to look over what my editors have suggested. TODAY is the day.

I’m one of those dinosaurs who have a difficult time reading from a computer screen. My eyesight cannot stand the glowing page for more than an hour or so. I am also woefully antiquated and unable to grasp the concept of track back on Word. (Plus my version of Word is the old, old version, because the new version somehow causes my computer to hiccup.)

So I had to print out my book.

The first time I saw a printed copy of my MS was when I met with the editor in San Francisco. It’s crazy, I know, but I never print out my work. It might be a good idea to do so, especially if catastrophe strikes and my family members can’t get into my computer because they don’t know my passwords. My MS was in a very large binder. It’s only 275 pages but it looked massive. Mr. Ed. gave it to me (actually, I asked for it).

I showed it to my kids, and my daughter-in-law began to read it. She read the first chapter and the last few pages and decided she wanted to finish it, so I left the binder with her. (I really didn’t want to drag it back to Michigan anyway. I had enough stuff in my bag.)

Two-hundred and seventy eight pages of my own paper later, I dragged my edited version home for the ultimate slice and dice and clarifications and corrections. I have only scanned the edited MS (free time being a rare commodity these days) and noticed pages of unmarked passages. But then, toward the middle, some very red paragraphs. I know I’m only “aspiring” and I know I make horrible mistakes, but this was what I was looking for.

Yes, that’s right. I welcome critique.

Finally getting my MS back has put me into a better frame of mind when it comes to my writing. I had been in the doldrums and questioning my pursuits. I’d also been depressed over the end of summer and a few other things happening in my life right now, but the writing thing was really getting to me. I had been waiting (and waiting and waiting) for my edit and started work on the re-write of my first novel. Then I hit a wall with it right when I had been cruising along.

In the meantime, I gave myself writing tasks on Associated Content. These are newsy blog items, but they do pay in real cash money. (A HUGE plus.) Plus, I need the threat of impending deadline to kick my butt into gear.

Well, now I can finally work on my MS! I hope to get the preliminary edits finished this weekend. I’m on a mission, probably because there is a deadline for a writing contest of October 31 and I want to submit VIRTUALLY YOURS.

Don’t cross your fingers, just hope I keep the enthusiasm up.

A NaNoWriMo Update

Don’t you wish every month was November?

That’s what I was thinking as I crossed the 20% mark on my current attempt at NaNoWriMo. Ten thousand words by Thursday? Day 4? I was doing the happy dance while breaking out a treat (no margaritas – too cold, but I allowed myself have a chocolate cookie).

After months of tinkering with two manuscripts, held up by personal crises, work schedules and general laziness,  November 1st came in like a lion. The ideas, they flowed from the brain down to my fingertips and onto my computer screen, helped in large part by Write or Die. (I can write 2K words in an hour and a half using that software. A cattle prod, yes. A godsend? Double yes!)

Super-charged with motivation and energy, yesterday was spent writing two articles – all in an hour – then I tackled Major Re-Write #2. This was a bear – prompted by my editor, I decided to change one of the characters from loving sister to loving gay brother. At first I was wallowing in disbelief that such a major shift would be helpful – not to mention, wondering what kind of headache I’d be left with at the end of the exercise – but, YAY! it worked!

I’ve also caught up with my editor…again.

Perhaps my infused energy had to do with NaNo (I’m fully willing to give the activity my full support) or maybe it had to do with my husband being in Austin for two days. I need complete silence to write – no ambient TV noise, no clatter of dishes (and yes they are still in the sink), no piano playing or occasional harumphs coming from his side of the room. I write best when I don’t have to think about preparing dinner, much as I love to cook.

Yesterday was a marathon – six whole hours! I could do this for a living. Yes, I could.

However, I think I’ll keep my day job until this writing thing can sustain me.

On to Week 2.

NaNoWriMo – Week Two

I’m not going to say I’ve fallen off the wagon, but I will admit I’m momentarily jostled out of my seat.

There was a major problem in WIP #2, which I hadn’t realized until I’d received the latest twenty pages from Mr. Ed. This involved way too much back story, and as we know, I am the queen of the back story. However, I’m also never, ever at a loss for words, so I ripped out huge chunks and inserted dialog. This alone should warn those in the NaNoWriMo frame of mind that the first, second and even third edit might not help a NaNo manuscript (such as WIP #2 is). You need at least a half dozen sets of eyes and then some. Unless you’re a freakin’ genius, you cannot pump out a best seller in thirty days.

Working on the edit put my NaNa efforts on a temporary stall as I slaved away to get the obvious kinks out of my baby. (Actually, it doesn’t feel like slaving. It feels like fun.)

Good news! Mr. Ed is backlogged and will not be sending my next few pages for a while. This leaves me time to catch up on the NaNo project, as well as do a few things for fun.

One of these is my current offering at Blog Critics, a cautionary tale of growing too old to break into your own house. I hope you enjoy it as much as I didn’t enjoy clinging to the second floor ledge.

On deck is what NOT to buy your boyfriend for Christmas. (I’m having a helluva good time with this one, remembering all the stupid presents I gave my husband when we were just dating.)

This weekend promises to be a NaNo weekend. If I can pump out 2K words in an hour and a half, just think what I could do with 48 hours?

NaNoWriMo – Editing Wrap Up

Well, my intentions of working on NaNoWriMo while simultaneously editing last year’s NaNo effort lasted only about a week. But before you think I fell off the wagon and onto my LazyBoy with the remote control in one hand and a box of Godiva truffles in the other, let me emphasize that the editing on VIRTUAL MOMS continued.

In fact, I’m into the 80K range now on the re-worked MS, with about 50 more pages to come from Mr. Ed. So if we are talking about numbers of words, I probably topped the 50K mark for November, if you include blog posts and my writing in the other forums.

*pats self on back*

NaNoWriMo isn’t meant to be an exercise in finishing a book in 50K words or in 30 days, although I know prolific writers who do just that. (Hate them. Not really. It’s really meant to jump start lazy asses like me, who can find a hundred and one things to keep me distracted. It’s supposed to get you into the habit of writing — rough to do when there’s a Real Life — and hopefully the habit stays with you the other eleven months out of the year.

For me, the Muse comes and goes, followed by the Anti-Muse. That’s just the way I am. Without a deadline (like NaNo) I tend to return to my slacker ways.

The good news is I am super-excited about VM. The edits brought out some good points, which I expanded on, and showcased my impulse to meander on and on with the back story. This is a huge problem for me. GARGANTUAN chunks were cut out, sliced and put in later, and it’s all good. The beginning doesn’t feel right to me, but we shall see when Mr. Ed looks at the re-write.

Other than that, it’s back to the salt mines. Too busy to read, but I will get back to that very soon.

By the way, have you heard of #FridayReads on Twitter? You can get more info about it HERE and HERE on Facebook.

Tweaking the Baby

Last Friday, I finished the edit on VIRTUALLY YOURS, and sent it back for a second pass. I also gave it to a few select beta readers for their input.

You know how I was so happy when I first finished it? Then I was deliriously happy when I placed in the Query Tracker contest? And I was bubbling with joy when I attended the San Francisco Writers Conference and received so many thumbs up from so many agents? Then so happy that Mr. Ed loved it and offered great tips and encouragement?

Well, I felt that way for what? almost the entire weekend…then the doubts started sprouting up like so many mushrooms in my basement.

Since Monday, I have re-edited the manuscript a total of two times and am currently doing the third pass. Never mind that before last Friday, I went through three times before.

See, I thought of more things to add, more things to remove. I thought of plot lines that were mysteriously left up in the air with no resolution. I thought I should bolster the dialog of my Best Man, give him some colloquialisms to get my point across. I checked my commas and quotation marks, made certain my homophones were correct. I took out telling and inserted dialog. I even woke up in the middle of the night and remembered what I’d forgotten!

I feel like an over-protective hen mothering my egg. Since I’ve gained weight in the last month, I just hope I don’t squash it. I want a published novel; I don’t want an omelet.

This leads me to wonder: Is a Work in Progress ever complete? Those magic words “The End” in actuality mark a beginning. Will I ever walk away and say “I’m finished, this is it,” or will I constantly be tweaking my baby until the end of time? (or publication.)

I’m getting ready to query (which is another post altogether – talk about the work involved researching agents and houses!), and now the dread begins to settle.

I’ve incubated this little sucker for almost a year. I’m proud of the story and even more proud of how far I’ve gotten in this journey through fiction.

When do I know she’s ready for an unveiling? When do I cut the cord?

I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

A Writer’s New Year Resolutions

I know. I’m a day early. So shoot me. I have plans for tomorrow, not for wild partying and ringing in the New Year, but for hunkering down at home with the hubby and enjoying a nice meal and bottle of bubbly. And maybe somewhere in there, I will prepare my manuscript for a query spree to begin next week.

Looking back over 2010, I’ve achieved a lot in my journey as a wanna-be published writer. Here is the breakdown, in no particular order:

1. I finished a few edits on Book #2. In fact, I think I’ve edited it a dozen times. I lost count back in November. It is almost, almost ready for a wild round of querying.

2. I submitted my work in a few contests. Placed in a Query Tracker contest back in February. Just submitted into another this month and won’t know until February.

3. Attended the San Francisco Writers Conference, Year Two. Although I belong to Romance Writers of America and also the local RWA chapter, I attend the SFWC because… well, I don’t write romance. My work is women-aimed with romantic elements. There are plenty of romance writing resources during the conference in San Francisco, and I can’t afford two conferences – yet. I like the broad picture, because I have a lot of broad ideas.

4. Took a writing class. Not sure if I learned anything.

5. Queried once.

6. Took out Book #1 and really started going through it. I’m hopeful this will be in querying condition very soon.

Now… for the dreaded resolutions for 2011:

#1 with a bullet. Stay away from the Internet. This includes Twitter and Facebook. Facebook, especially. It’s not because I do any socializing on the dreaded, evil FB, it’s that I am addicted to FB games. I had been giving myself a pass on going online by telling myself I needed the Internet for research. Every once in a while, I would need to look up a map, find a grocery store in Fayetteville, North Carolina, or use the oft-trusty Thesaurus.com. Leaving the Internet wide open is like leaving me in a Godiva store, locking it and throwing away the key. I won’t come out. Not. Ever. Until the chocolate goodies are gone. Let’s face it; I can’t tear myself away from Scramble. I love words too much.

In order to aid my Internet avoidance, I have decided to A. only open Internet Explorer for “research” with tabs already set to where I need to go (instead of using Firefox, which has all my playtime tabs), and 2. go cold turkey on Facebook. Give myself a timer. I give myself 30 minutes a day, that’s it, and I will cut off my own fingers if I should fall off the wagon.

2. Really query more, not just talk about it. I’ve had several people beta read my book – they love it. I don’t think they are telling me this because I’m their friend, their relative, or their boss. One person even wrote a nice email detailing what she liked about it. I think it’s way past time to send my baby out into the world. I have to ready my query letter, let go of my baby, and go for the gold.

3. Resolution #3: Take another class. Signed up. Paid. Done and done.

4. Write more. I’m a basically lazy person, I know that. Plus, I sometimes get sidetracked by family issues, health issues, and Day Job issues. Sometimes I know I should write, but instead I take a detour and make a batch of persimmon cookies. Or, like yesterday, I was finally annoyed enough by the bathroom that I decided to clean it. I COULD HAVE BEEN WRITING!

5. Finally, I need to read more. OMG, my pile of books to read is dangerously high. It might fall over and kill the cat. (Yes, I am Kindle-less, but am thinking of taking the plunge, just so I can clear my bookshelf.) Come to think of it, a Kindle would hide my to-read pile. I’m going to nix that.

Other than the obvious, it’s back to the salt mines. Mining my head for stories.

See you next year.

Queries and Agents

Now that the novel is finished (I think…if I can keep my hands off it, finally), I’ve spent the first week of the new year adjusting my query letter. I actually sent one off too! My goal for this year is to send one out each week. However, the entire process of querying agents is often overlooked by fledgling published author-wannabes, who send out mass email blasts to every literary agent from coast to coast.

That’s right, querying agents is not so easy.

In fact, I spent a couple of days researching agents before I sent off my first letter.

Before that, I spent a year following agents around online. This is easily done on Twitter and Facebook. OK, so it’s professional cyber-stalking, but it’s a necessary task before the clueless writer sends the work off to the great beyond. This because there is a protocol, and God forbid if Clueless Writer does something totally tacky. You can gain a lot of insight by reading the pet peeves of various agents. They are sometimes funny, sometimes informative, and sometimes downright scary, as in you don’t want to mess with this person kind of scary.

Twitter is a wonderful resource, because you can eavesdrop on agents as they talk to each other. The agent web appears to be quite huge. After a while, you get to know them by their responses. I know you don’t really know them, but it gives you a feel for their personalities.

As luck would have it, I happened to see this online yesterday – talk about timely. This article is a must-read for anyone who is contemplating sending out a query letter. It’s long, but there is so much information packed into the post that I have bookmarked it for later use.

I use the Query Tracker website (if you do not, you should check it out), where you can search for agents according to genre. This, my friends, is a very good thing to do. Agents who only represent non-fiction are loathe to answer a letter from a romance novelist, and there is probably similar annoyance going the other way.

But it’s not only finding the agent to fit your needs, you must find the right agent for the genre, for the type of book you have written. For example, in the world of romance, there are many sub-genres. Agents who represent historical romance usually stick to that sub-genre. It’s the same with chick-lit, steamy traditional romance, Christian romance, alternative romance, etc. I can imagine an agent of Christian romance opening up a query letter from someone who has written erotica. Oops doesn’t even begin to describe it.

I also took some time to research where my favorite authors are represented. Yes, it’s painstaking. I know a few authors (some by name only and others more personally) but I would never think to ask them who their agent is. I could be wrong, but that shouts TACKY in 120 decibels. Besides, a good Internet sleuth can find the information with a little perseverance. Take copious notes, because if you’re like me, you could lose your place among the hundreds of agencies you are looking at.

Query letters are business letters, and aspiring authors should remember that. In my Day Job, I write business letters all day long, so I realize the need to be concise. It’s just a little different with a query letter, in that you are trying to sell your work using as few words as possible. There has to be a hook, something that will keep the agent reading. Be pleasant, be respectful, and try not be cliche. Agents are looking for a spark of creativity. You’re a writer, right?

Be prepared to have a synopsis in your back pocket as well. I have a huge, detailed query letter for those agents not asking for a synopsis, and a shorter one for those who do. (A confession: I am not good at writing synopsis. I know. I should take a class.)

I may not be an expert, but I know how to follow those who do.

There are Turnips, and There are Turnip Trucks

When last I wrote, I was on a query sending frenzy. Believe me, just one a week is a frenzy for me, seeing that I’m rather lackadaisical (lazy is probably not the correct adjective) about doing anything. Perhaps we can blame it on winter. The first few weeks of January were *excuse my French* awful damned cold, with lows in the single digits, highs in the teens and windchill in the nether regions. I don’t call this the Tundra for nothing.

I am happy to report that I’m on track with my goal of one query to one agent per week. It’s very hard to stay on the turnip truck, but I appear to be doing quite well, thank you.

In the meantime (yes! there is a meantime), I have submitted my work into a few contests (not hoping against hope that I might place, for I am a pragmatist). It’s jolly good fun. No, it’s not, but I thought I might as well get the taste of rejection out of the way. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. This way if someone throws me a bone, I will be delighted. I don’t just mean happy, I mean happy-dance happy. (You all saw how reacted when I only placed in a contest, right?) If and when the news is good, I’ll be spreading it around so quickly…I can’t even think of an appropriate metaphor, but it’ll be fast.

I have entered this contest; if you write and haven’t entered yet, I strongly urge you to do so. There are only spaces for 5,000 entries, and while that seems like a lot, in this world where everyone is a scribe, it’s just a drop in the bucket. Best of all, there’s no entry fee.

I’ve also decided to give the manuscript another edit. I know. I cannot leave it alone. I’m fleshing out what needs it and deleting what it doesn’t need. After this final (I hope) pass, I plan on putting it away for a while and continue my querying, maybe take up with the other pieces I’ve been diddling around with and get them query ready.

Not bad for a turnip, huh?

Writing: For Pleasure or Profit?

Now that I have my manuscript wrapped up (for now, at least…I hope I don’t open it again for last minute tweaking), I’ve been researching the agents I want to target. This includes cyber-stalking on Facebook and Twitter. Of course, I click on almost every link. I would click on every link, but who has time? There’s a lot of good information in there. Stories about success in getting published, and of course, the sad tales of repeated rejection, and if not outright rejection, then a facsimile of it based on agent teasing. Mind you (agents in waiting), I have no first-hand knowledge, only anecdotal notes from my friends and colleagues.

It’s not enough to spell correctly, un-purple your prose, toss out the cliches, and tighten weak grammar. An author must get out and SELL. You not only have to write a book that wows, you must write a query letter with zing and a synopsis that won’t leave the potential agent snoozing. It’s a tough market out there; the ocean is full of fish, and a lot of them are way more talented than I am.

This caused me to think: Do I want to write for pleasure or for profit? This journey has been a long one, to be sure. It’s tough writing a book. You not only have to be reasonably creative, you also have to have a strong work ethic. Do I really want to peddle my baby? And once sold, I know it won’t make enough money for me to quit my day job.

Since I am hunkered down in my castle waiting for the Snowpocalypse, I thought I would explore this. Why do I write?

The biggest reason is because I must. I have ideas in my head, and stories I want to tell. So far, a select few have read my book, and the consensus is that most like it. A few like it a lot. I love the fact that I have written a 95K story that entertains. To me, that’s the best part of the whole deal — taking my idea and molding it to a complex and mildly funny tale.

It’s not all fun and games. I wish the words would fly from my head and into my computer without any thought at all, but writing is hard work. There are rules (yes, some to be broken); there is always something to learn.

I honestly wish I would have started earlier, or not stopped when the kids came. Although I must say, being able to write witty notes to elementary school teachers came in handy.

So, even though I’ve sent out 1.25 queries every week this year, I won’t take the rejection personally. I won’t quit; I won’t get depressed. I’ll keep plugging along, getting the next story out of my head and onto the page.

Woo-EEE! One of My Entries is a Finalist!

Gentle readers, in case you are on the other side of the world, or living  under a rock like those two Neanderthals on that Geico commercial, or totally deaf, dumb and blind, you would know by now that one of my entries in the San Francisco Writers Conference contest is a finalist! That’s right, a finalist! If you haven’t heard, I’d be surprised: I’ve been wildly sending Tweets and Facebook stati and email all over the place. This was greeted by congrats from everywhere, and a sassy comeback from my daughter asking me when she can find the book on the local Barnes and Noble’s shelf.

You know me: I tend to go ape-shit crazy over the tiniest positive outcome to my writing. Heck, I even celebrated my first rejection letter last year.

A finalist! Zow-eee! That’s right, I sent in both VIRTUALLY YOURS and FINDING CADENCE. It was Cadence that got the nod.

Well, that’s the good news.

The bad news is that I have 24 fellow finalists in my class, adult fiction. Everyone who I’ve ever met at this conference and in other places are not only good writers, they are great writers. Me? I’m a wannabe, a hanger-on, a flounderer with a pen, a writer with a dream. I’m a wish-baby, a neophyte, a tadpole in the organic soup of the literary world. Besides, I’m still learning.

*sigh*

So, the first thing on the agenda is going over Cadence. No, that’s the second thing. I need to make a final pass over Virtually Yours. I attempted a pass over the weekend, and to my dismay found plenty of typos. I’m terrible at proofreading. THEN, I will start again on Novel #1.

The conference is next week, and I don’t have much time.

See you in San Francisco. If you’re not going, send me a prayer or two.

San Francisco Writers Conference Recap

WOW. That’s all I could say for three days. However, now that the conference is over and I’ve marinated overnight, I’m ready to post my afterthoughts on this great event. Even though I didn’t win the fiction contest, I was honored to have made it to finalist.

First of all: write what you love and love what you write. Many writers say they are writing because “they have to” or some other noble cause (I was one of them), but really what writers do is write to entertain. They write to reach out, to connect to readers. That’s right, we write for totally selfish reasons — we want people to listen to us. Some writers think they can write for money. I suppose that is true in some cases, but not true in most. If traditionally published, a good run would be considered 3,000 books over ten years. That’s not a whole helluva lot. If you are going to write, make sure you love your words and make certain those words are fabulous. Don’t look for the magic pay off or the slot machine win, because that will likely not happen.

Second: keep learning. That’s right, you can never attain the pinnacle of knowing it all. For example, I attended a workshop this weekend on how to run a critique group. Now I’ve been a member of a critique group for about a year, but I had yet to know how to critique. In fact, that’s one of the things I find myself lacking. I’m poor at critiquing other people’s work. Now I know how. (Duh!) You can learn from books, true, but you can also learn online. Get on Twitter and follow a few writers and agents around. Click on their links when they post them, and read carefully. Better yet, join the San Francisco Writers University — it’s free, it’s going to be the Facebook for writers, and there’s all kinds of useful information to be had.

Third: keep the lines of communication open. Writers are quite a chummy set of people, even though many of us are introverted to an extreme. Reach out to other writers; you can learn so much from them. Last year, I learned how to write an appropriate pitch from four ladies who gave mine a thorough going-over. Make friends with other writers — you never know what they will have to offer to help you on your journey. This weekend, I found two writers who will give me a line on an illustrator for my cover.

Fourth: if you are a writer and can only attend one conference a year because of time constraints or expense, GO to THIS one. I belong to the Romance Writers of America, and would love to attend their conference because I hear it’s fabulous, but I can’t. One, it’s in July when my day job is uber-busy. I can’t get away. Two, I can only afford one conference. And Three, I really don’t write romance. The San Francisco Writers Conference covers many genres, many aspects of the writing process. This is my third year. Every year I wish I could attend every workshop offered, but of course, I’d have to be cloned.

A caveat: I have already registered for next year’s conference. If you’re interested, you must act quickly. They limit attendance to 300, and often reach full capacity like they did this year.

I want to see you there, not on a waiting list.

A Week of Frantic Writing/Editing

I’m feeling more like a REAL writer every day…

I just spent the last ten days going over FINDING CADENCE to get it into some sort of shape to send to world-famous, Alan Rinzler, editor to stars of the literary world. You know the ones: Tom Robbins, Toni Morrison, Clive Cussler – those kinds of literary luminaries.

I won Mr. Rinzler’s expert services during an eBay silent auction held by the San Francisco Writers Conference.

For those of you who have been following my search for Cadence (or not – who knows? you might have landed on this blog by pure coincidence), FINDING CADENCE was my first novel. Epic. 175K pages. Poorly written. I took every cliqueed broken rule and broke it some more. It was so awful, I couldn’t stand to look at it for more than 365 days. It was barely readable by me, so I wonder what my betas thought.

But…the story is a good one. It was salvageable. So with some trepidation, I opened the file back up last summer and plunged into the muck. I added more drama, more angst, more problems. I planned the story out better, making sure to weave in details I missed the first time. I cut, cut, and cut – especially the redundancies, the adverbs, and most of the telling. Then I cut some more.

Next I entered it into the SFWC contest. And it made it to finalist. Finalist!

Then I bid on Alan Rinzler’s editing, and I won the auction. I won!

Oh, my God. I won?

This is where the last ten days come into play. I was in the midst of changing the manuscript from third person, many POVs (too many if you ask me – my head was spinning) to first person. I had only completed a little more than one-third of the story at the time of the conference. So when I returned home, I spent every spare minute going over the rest of it.

I finished Wednesday night, and emailed the revised Cadence to Mr. Rinzler yesterday. It’s leaner (100K), meaner, but still needs a lot of work. Believe me, if anyone needs writing help, it’s me.

I need to add entire scenes I cut from those other POVs. Otherwise the story will be disjointed, as I used those other people to fill in the gaps of the story.

But my first plan of action was to deliver something to Mr. Rinzler. And I have.

It’s on to working on other things I’ve let slide. Laziness, other life, bad mojo…I can blame my lack of writing on lots of things, but it all comes down to me. I figure the rush I got from the conference won’t last long, so I might as well take advantage of it while I can.

No News is Good News? and Blasting Away

No word yet on the novel (Finding Cadence) sent to the esteemed Alan Rinzler, but I suppose that’s to be considered. The book needs a lot of work, and he’s likely flummoxed over it.

In the meantime, I’ve put Virtually Yours on the editing back burner (after adding a short paragraph-blog post at the beginning) and have been diligently emailing queries at a rate of approximately two a week. In fact, I just sent another one a few minutes ago. So far, request for one partial. I’m not complaining about the wait; I have other things to do in the meantime.

I wonder if other writers get the way I am sometimes, or is it my own case of adult onset ADD? I am enamored of my works at different times, so caught up that all I can do is think about a scene to add or something else to tweak. Then after the hysteria dies down, I close the file and can’t stand the thought of opening it again. Or if I do open it, the heady rush-love affair feeling has dissipated and all I can think is “Meh?”

I couldn’t stand to open Cadence for over a year after I typed the words “The End” at the bottom of my 175K monstrosity. It was just too horrific. Embarrassing. The thought of editing made me nauseous. So I started the next book, and let that one rest.

It was full steam ahead with Virtually Yours. I couldn’t wait to get to it. With the help of an editor, I noted the weaknesses and strengths. I revised. I studied. I honed the personalities of my characters and made them more real. I tweaked, and tweaked some more.

Once complete, I did go back and worry over certain parts of it. But then, I re-opened Cadence and discovered it wasn’t that bad of a book at all. I was hit by a blast of new found energy.

Many writers I know say I should stick to one story before moving on to the next. I just can’t constrain myself to those rules. I have dozens of stories in my head, and a few more in various states of disrepair in my computer. If I’m not constantly jotting something down or emailing myself a link or starting a new WIP, I would go nuts.

Of course, I realize that writers with far more discipline would probably say the same about my modus operandi. But we all know I’m nuts, right?

A New Experiment

As if I didn’t have enough to do, I have decided to try a new experiment in writing.

Actually, I’m taking advantage of my renewed vigor after attending the San Francisco Writers Conference. I love attending this conference, because afterward I feel the glow and motivation of so many positive writers, editors and agents.

Part of my idea is based on a wonderful workshop given by Nina Amir at the conference. The presentation was titled “Blog a Book in a Year.” The premise consists of commitment to a daily blog entry, and voila! Just like that you will have a book along the lines of “Julie and Julia.”

I’ve done this before, and it’s wildly entertaining. For me, for sure; for my readers, maybe. For those of you who knew me from that other web site across the galaxy, I took a Susie and constructed a novella’s worth of adventures for her in the span of about six months. All it took was signing in as her each day or so and twenty minutes of posting.

(I still have my “Sioux-y” story. Maybe someday I’ll publish it, although I have shopped it around. Most agents wanted me to change the time from the 70′s to the modern era – since it’s YA – but that wouldn’t work. Siouxy grew up in the Twin Cities in the 1970s and there is no way of translating that fab time to the modern day, not without massive surgery.)

The main reason for doing this is not to finish a novel in a year, although the accomplishment would be a fantastic bonus. It’s to get my butt into gear and make a habit of writing.

This also coincides with something else going on online. The new experiment will be a romance – I promise – modern in nature, but the girl ends up with the guy. (I have to admit, I have had this idea percolating in the back of my mind for about a year, so I have the guts of it in place. Just not on paper.)

At some point, I will post the location of the blog for all to visit. Not today though. ;-P

Things to Do While You’re Waiting for Your Rejection Email

Even though my queries are shooting through cyberspace at the pace of two a week, the responses are slow in return. Not complaining, mind you. At this rate, I figure I’ll run out of agents long before the rejection letters, meaning I’ll be waist-deep in the aftermath for months to come.

In the meantime, I’ve come up with a list of things to do while you’re waiting for rejection. I’ve done most of these, but I’ve yet to do some. Can you guess which ones?

1. Take up a new hobby. It’s hard to do when your head is full of angst and wonderment about the next form email to hit your inbox. Or you could be silly like me and expect the next return email with “QUERY_VIRTUALLY YOURS” in the subject line may actually be an offer. (A girl can dream, can’t she?) I usually take up a new hobby just to see if I can get my mind off my worrying.

2. It’s very fattening, but cook. I always cook in times of stress. Of course, that will make a person fat, which leads to…

3. Working out. Even for ten minutes. Drag the dog out for a walk, even in pouring rain.

4. Open your manuscript one more time. No, don’t do that. It will drive you mad.

5. Start a new project. That’s right, write some more. Go in a totally different direction. Write in another genre even.

6. Bug your husband to buy you a comfortable bed.

7. Buy yourself some pretty notebooks and a nice pen and put it in your purse. One can derive a lot of inspiration from paisley covers and turquoise ink. Plus it makes you look like you’re a serious writer, even though you are really a wannabe sitting on pins and needles.

8. Take a class. I highly recommend Jeremy Shipp‘s online class for those like me with no time to commit to a brick and mortar class. Even though I do not write in his genre, but I found his exercises very motivating.

9. Google your favorite authors to find out who represents them. I know that’s close to cyberstalking, but these are desperate times.

and finally…

10. Read. Reading is more than fundamental, it strengthens the brain. The more writers read, the more they want to write, and that is the whole point, isn’t it?

My Second Million Words

I know this post is totally off the wall. I’m procrastinating. I should be writing an outline.

I know a writer who is very mathematical when it comes to her stories and novels. She uses spreadsheets to map out how many words each chapter contains, and strives to have each one uniform, with almost the same amount of words or pages.

She knows exactly how many words are on each page, and how many she writes in a day. Using a spreadsheet, she can easily add up all the words she has ever written.

I’m not quite that logical. In fact, some of my chapters are considerably smaller than others. Some of my articles are considerably longer, especially if I get on a tear and really start to rant.

They (who?) say your second million words are better than your first million. The first million is mostly crap, as I can attest. I suppose this theory is based in part on Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers. This book explores the premise that in order to be good at anything, one must practice the activity for at least 10,000 hours. Roughly speaking, at 40 hours a week, that’s about ten years of work.

Translated to writing (I only WISH I had 40 hours a week to write!), a prolific writer might hit a million words in a few years. I decided to add up my words while waiting for a guy to give me a quote on replacing my fence.

While blogging at the ominous Orange Haze at the far end of the Internet, I probably wrote 1,000 words a day, sometimes more, sometimes less. In a little more than two years, I figure my word count for the Orange Bubble was around 500K. When I look back, much of it was not very “literary” but it was awfully damned fun.

Add to the early blogging one very large, epic, and completely unreadable novel of 175K, another around 100K, and a novella of 40K, and three WIP in the 20-40K range (they are all related to each other, so I’m doing them in tandem), my blog here, my work elsewhere, and we are talking about a substantial pile of words. If you toss on that stack everything I’ve ever written, including the folk songs of the 1970s, the 900 love letters of the 1980s (to my husband), and the myriad of letters to teachers excusing my kids for orthodontia and begging their forgiveness for my kids’ rowdiness in the 1990s, I’m fairly confident that my lifetime total word count is well over a million.

*sigh*

Now that it’s been established that I’m on my second million words, I think it’s time to concentrate on quality, not quantity. Although there is something positive to be said about an embarrassment of words. Too many, and you can cut. Too few, and you have to kick the imagination into gear to fill in those missing moments.

It’s also time to get serious. Which is why I’m now going back to my outline.

 

A Lesson in Courtesy, and I Didn’t Even Have to Participate

Rich Text Article first published as A Lesson in Courtesy, and I Didn’t Even Have to Participate on Blogcritics.

What a dust up in the blogosphere this week! We’ve seen these train wrecks before, but never on the scale of this.

For those of you who wants the Cliff Notes version, Big Al reviews books available on Kindle. Many books available on Kindle are self-pubs, or e-pubs. I imagine in the world of self-pubs, there are good books and bad books, just as there are in print form. His review of Jacqueline Howlett’s The Greek Seaman, caused the author to appear on his comment thread. She spewed expletives, and while 1. this is the Internet, and 2. I have no sound on my computer, I could literally hear her screeching.

We’ve seen this before: authors getting worked up and ornery over reviews. While I understand the burning need to defend oneself and the work of art (i.e. baby) they have created, starting an online flame war is not likely to win many friends and influence people. At least, not toward the positive.

It took an hour for me to read the comments, many of which were entertaining. I did not comment. What else is there to say?

Like Big Al, I sometimes write book reviews and I sometimes receive free copies of books from publishing houses. Unlike Big Al, my mantra is, if I can’t write a gushingly positive review, I’ll write no review at all. Not that Big Al’s review of Ms. Howlett’s work was all that scathing. A review is a subjective thing, as are books. There are books I’ve read and wondered “How the hell did this get on the New York Times bestseller list?” There are others that I tweet and review and push on my friends and employees, because those books are great and seem to get no press at all.

Big Al pointed out the flaws in Ms. Howlett’s books, and he did so without malice. It seemed a rather tame review. Even in subsequent comments, he maintained a level of professionalism he should be congratulated for.

On the other hand… Jacqueline Howlett has caused an Internet splash and held more than fifteen minutes of fame, but nothing good will come from it. If she ever approaches an agent or publishing house, the first thing the respondent will do is Google her. (Don’t you? I do all the time.) Nothing is ever erased from the Internet, no matter how you back-pedal or delete. Unless she changes her name, this eruption of bad behavior will likely follow her for the rest of her life.

Let this be a lesson in courtesy, for writers and everyone else in the world. Some people might like what you do, might like who you are, might agree with your political leanings or your choice of rap star versus Justin Bieber. They might prefer the way their mother cooks roast beef and not Arby’s, they may feel loyalty to American cars over foreign brands, or they may want to live in the woods with the bears instead of in the city.

Artists are entitled (sometimes compelled) to create. Once you put it out there, it’s there for the world to see. It had better be perfect (which is why I haven’t e-pubbed anything – yet). Once released, you lose your right to be indignant over subsequent comments.

Authors should keep in mind these things when it comes to critique and reviews:

1. It’s not personal. Not unless your mother or your ex-husband is the reviewer and you can prove it’s personal, let it go.

2. Grow a thick skin, because if you’re on the Internet, you’re going to need it. Not everyone loves you, not online, not in Real Life.

3. Keep your mouth shut. Someone likes your work. And even if no one on the planet likes your work, YOU do. If you don’t have faith in your work, you might as well go back to your day job.

4. If you find a burning urge to debate your opinion, do so privately. Public displays are great for us rubber-neckers, but not so good for you.

5. For God’s sake, DO NOT use the *F* word in comment threads, particularly if you’re a writer. A sprinkling here and there in a manuscript is one thing, but a writer should be able to come up with a more genteel metaphor. As in the Real World, overuse of the word does not make you look cool – it makes you look crass, uneducated, and rough.

Finally, consider your critique to be an aid to making the next piece better. Big Al brought up some very valid points regarding grammar, spelling, and purple prose that would likely help Ms. Howlett with her next project.

If she listens.

The Dreaded Re-Write Strikes Again… and Again

Last week, I sent no query letters out for the review of discerning agents. Why? Well, after letting a couple (three, four) writers read the first chapter of VIRTUALLY YOURS, I decided it needed more PoP! more ZiNg! A better FiRsT sEnTeNcE!

So yes, Mr. Ed. While I’m taking your many months of insight, collaboration, and experience to heart, I’m afraid I’m going to have to go against your recommendation. Only on the first chapter. The elements will remain, but my first page is going to WoW!

On the other book: FINDING CADENCE will suffer yet another re-write. This is because my other editor thinks it’s not good enough. I agree. I think I have captured the angst, the pain and suffering, and laid down so many pitfalls, I should have named my character Pauline. But somehow I have to turn it around and make her stronger.

I’m finding it a difficult task. I’m not used to writing outlines for books (I normally start typing and keep going until I have something tangible to play with), and mine sucked Big Time. The conundrum. What is my turning point? When does my character get good and mad and when will she fight back?

I also need some good guys. I’m no man-hater, but I certainly have the Horrible Guy down pat.  Perhaps my vision of them is rather clear. I also enjoy reading about bad boys – love that dangerous quality, I guess. I have a Nice Guy for a husband; maybe I should study him for a while.

As for Clementine, I’ve given her two potential love interests, even though she is not really interested (so she says) in love. I’m thinking she needs some conflict between her and her best friend, Maya. She’s the unlikely cupcake business partner, especially since she is allergic to frosting.

And, I’m short not one, but two people today at the Real Life job. Not only that, but this week is our state’s spring break for high school students. This is a deadly combination, folks. I’ve already had problems up the wazoo, and it’s not even noon yet.

Back to writing. I will be chipping at it ever so slowly today.

To Borrow a Line from My Other Blog: It’s My Pity Party and I’ll Cry if I Want To

The one good thing about being a writer: You get to make up all kinds of stuff in your head, transfer it to the written word, and glory in your obvious gift of converting language into entertainment.

The one bad thing about being a writer: Real Life.

Real Life has taken the wind out of my sails in the last ten days. There is the impending death of a family member – no picnic, to be sure; spring, when the yard beckons for attention; summer, when the Real Job heats up; and the antics of my children (yes, even though they are grown – responsibility doesn’t lessen, it just morphs into a different monster). So I have not been writing as much as I should.

I like writing, really I do. I’ve done it continuously since my mother handed me my first pencil. However, my mother was not a fan. I leaned toward scathing pieces from the get-go. In fact, a little known ironic anecdote: I was thrown out of Catholic school for a little story I wrote on a dare. I have always pushed the envelope.

My mother gave me a Remington typewriter that weighed about 25 pounds for my high school graduation, wished me well, and advised me to “stop writing stuff that makes people angry.” Then I entered my twenties, went to college, and partied a little too hard. No direction. My very first novel typed on that very same typewriter sits in a box in my basement somewhere. No, it’s not complete. I ran out of steam after 100 pages or so.

Being an adult means making choices, like working to eat. I did that. I got married. I had kids. I love my family, but Real Life really sucks the time away from the creative side. So what did I do? Made time for me. It was easier to do when the kids didn’t need me as much. Before that, I felt guilt for being selfish.

And so started art classes and writing. I’m totally amazed that I have completed two novels. Two entire books with the words “The End” at the bottom of the last page. This is epic, my friends. I have so many balls up in the air, it’s a miracle I can complete anything.

My first completed novel needs major work. The second has been majorly worked on, and I thought it was ready for submission. I thought I was ready for the standard rejection. There are literally thousands of people writing novels and only a small percentage ever snag an agent or ever get published in the traditional sense. These facts made for a nice buffer, and I’ve been handling my “sorry, not what we’re looking for” s with aplomb.

This week’s rejection was different.

I was told my novel concept might be too novel to be published. (I agree, it’s different. But too unusual to be published? That was crushing.)

Huh. I then went into Pity Party mode. For about a minute and a half. (Okay, a day and a half.) I ate a lot of fast food and chased it with chocolate and soft drinks. While chocolate is a writer’s best friend, fast food and soft drinks aren’t usually on my radar. I now have a pimple the size of a quarter (location kept secret because it’s quite embarrassing) for all of my gluttony.

I [psychically] cried about several things, including my rejection(s), my fence falling down, the state of the economy, the absence of the wire wrap teacher (because I like her and she’s funny but she has a broken toe and hasn’t been to class in a couple of months), our tax bill this year, and the fact that every weekend it’s been rainy and cold instead of warm and sunny. I also pitched a fit about my muffin top, my husband’s office (still looks like a bomb exploded), and some of my lesser favorite employees.

When I came out of my funk, I started writing. I also started reading. Here is an amazing blog post about failure. Son of a gun, but that was timely. Here is another about manufacturing writing time. Thank you, I needed that. Then a writing friend sent me this link, which caused me to laugh heartily. Of course there is the famed Rejectionist, whose current post has more to do with fashion than being rejected. I liked that.

That being said, the Pity Party is officially over. It’s time to get busy.

I’m BAAAcck! I’m Back in the Saddle Again

Ebbs and tides. This is life, and this is the writing life.

They say once you know how to ride a bicycle, you can always get on one and ride away into the sunset. I’m not sure I want to try it on my bicycle, which hasn’t been out of the garage since 2004 when we moved here, but such a plan certainly works with words.

Last night, my dog, the fabulous Princess Grace, was having severe gastro disturbances resulting in a very messy house. Coincidentally, my protag, Ashe, finds the family dog Jim Bob in a similar physical state after he (the hound) devours a dinner of honey buns AND barbecue sauce. Ashe has a fastidious brother to clean up the mess; I had the hubby.

During this fiasco, I was struck by an amazing solution to my first chapter problem.

I’m going to write it like my final chapter! Which, for those of you who haven’t read the book (since I want a few people to actually buy the book), is a series of email sent by my characters which wraps up the loose ends and suggests other plots and twists for the sequel(s).

My first chapter of yore contained a chat room exchange which many (including a great number of agents) found too confusing to read. This was done in order to introduce the characters to the world, but instead resulted in being a lot of noise which did very little to advance the story. I’m going to give it a good stab, but I think visually and psychically, this might be the way to go.

So… dear friends, I am technically back in the saddle again. Once I dust off this major change, I might rant about the economy.

Now for your listening enjoyment, let me include the following:

Gene Autry, for my gentler readers.

And Steven Tyler, who rocked then and rocks now.

Storms in Your Brain Are Helpful When Shared

For those of you who have been following me (or not), I’ve been laboring over my first novel. First it was to eliminate those pesky adverbs. Then I had to cut down the usage of “family” from ten thousand times in 510 pages to a couple dozen times. Then it was to cut down the 510 pages and 175K words into something more manageable – and palatable – like 100K words.

Now I’m into changing parts two and three. Developmental changes, oy vay.

Part one isn’t so bad. It’s horrible for my character, and probably still too purple-prosey and too long, but it’s one helluva lot better than the original. Now, however, I have to take my main character and somehow have to dig her out of her quicksand.

This isn’t as easy as it sounds. I’ve been reading various novels for inspiration, one a weekend, and trying to gain some insight as to the process of weaving stories and subplots into my own story.

This was easier to do in a novel like Virtually Yours. There I had seven people who were tied together in friendship, all over the country but with individual stories paralleling the main plot. It took a little plotting, and I may be wrong, but I found the process of laying out the book much easier in that case.

When you have a first-person novel like Finding Cadence, it’s different. You are working in one voice, one point of view. It can be done, but revealing the underlying threads is a much more difficult task. This book isn’t so much about situations, it’s about the inside(s) of the heads of the people involved.

This is where brainstorming really helps. My critique group was quite helpful. They were awed by the first part, but the first couple of chapters of the second part were too depressing, the MC becoming so much of a drag that they began not to like her anymore. I don’t need assistance with grammar; I need a major shift in plot.

I’ve seen it done on Twitter. I follow a writer who posts her plots as though she’s talking out loud. Some people respond, too! It’s interesting to watch.

Other writers – especially those who don’t know you very well, or even those who do – are extremely helpful, and not just for the technical expertise. Even if you don’t give them the actual novel to consume, because let’s face it, we’re all busy – writing, of course! – you can kick around different scenarios with fellow writers. “What if this happens? What would be the reaction?”

Brainstorming is necessary. We as artists are too close to our work, and the perspective of fresh eyes is always a positive thing. You just can’t use the excuse “But this happened in real life!” It might have, but honestly, real life is rather boring.

And so yesterday afternoon, in between planting potatoes and waiting for the appliance repairman to fix my half-working cook top, I decided to email Mr. Ed and run my problem by him. He’s a nice guy and I warned him I was looking for free advice. My Cadence needs a turning point, an ‘ah-ha’ moment, something that will get her off her duff to begin making positive steps toward growth. Her story needs strong threads interwoven so that she will rise victorious and become likeable.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I can tell you this: the exchange was invigorating! It made me think, and gave me the ambition to forge ahead. Forging is good. I, like Cadence, was stuck in a quagmire.

Time to escape.

A Break from the Break in the Clouds

Wednesday began a temporary break in the clouds, one that has somehow persisted until this morning. Among my other titles and duties, I am a guerrilla urban gardener, meaning I would rather water things I can eat than I would water grass. It is almost Mother’s Day, and as of Wednesday, I had very little in the ground. By this time last year, all the tomatoes were in, everything mulched, and I was sitting on the deck with a glass of wine in hand. This year my gardening duties have been curtailed by daily precipitation. I cannot garden in the wet, and I sure as heck am not going out in the cold and wet.

During the brief respite of sun and blue sky, I decided to get busy. Who knows, it could snow tomorrow. This is Michigan; anything can happen. While I was mowing my front yard and planting potatoes, I nearly missed that I had placed as a finalist in an online contest. That’s right, I entered a 25 word or less pitch contest, and was one of three who placed! But I wouldn’t have known but for reading my email.

My writing is many things, but being succinct is not one of those virtues I have picked up in my many years on this planet. (Okay… I’m looking over this sentence with serious slashing in the back of my head, but I’m leaving it just to make a point.) I find it difficult to summarize my work in a paragraph or two, and to cut it down to 50 words is 1. heartbreaking and 2. grueling. It can be done (and has been done) but perfect pitches (some say, or anything else I try to do) are so, so, SO hard for me.

I thought I had a snowball’s chance in hell with this contest, but what the hey? You don’t know until you try.

To break down my 96K novel into 25 words? I’m amazed I could accomplish it within the prescribed time, and flabbergasted that my meager offering was one out of 50 (FIFTY!) that managed to catch the eye of the Mystery Agent.

Soo… The synopsis is sent, the first 30 pages, and my fingers are crossed yet again.

And now I see there is another break in the clouds, so I’m off to the nursery to purchase seedlings. Have a great Mother’s Day.

The Elvis Costello Method of Novel Writing

Yesterday was Mother’s Day, but it was also Sunday, and since my children are half a country away – therefore, unlikely to surprise me with a visit, laden with Godiva and flowers – I decided it was time to clean the house. (Shock and amazement! I never clean! Well…rarely.) My daughter returned to San Francisco in January and I’ve been putting off her bedroom until we got the plants out (south facing room, this is where they winter). The plants were sprung and are basking in the sun on my deck. Besides, my daughter is threatening to return home for the summer, so I figured it was time to change the sheets.

I house clean best by music, so I popped in Elvis Costello’s Best Of. What a freaking genius! especially early Elvis. The man has a way with words, to be sure. Every Day I Write the Book is one of my favorites, and was popular right around the time I met my husband. (1983 – yes, I am older than Methuselah. I also owned glasses that big.)

Here’s the original video, which is also quite humorous considering the Prince Charles/Princess Diana reference.

The acoustic version is also quite nice.

It’s been a while since I’ve heard this song. The references to writing a novel are dead on:

Chapter One we didn’t really get along

Chapter Two I think I fell in love with you

You said you’d stand by me in the middle of Chapter Three

But you were up to your old tricks in Chapters Four, Five and Six^.

Applying the Elvis Costello Method of Writing, I should be in the trenches EVERY day, not just when the Muse hits me (or not). You can’t hone the craft of writing if you only apply yourself every once in a while. I am thinking of writing DARLINGS FOR CLEMENTINE after this verse. And of course, since I was so horrible at dialog when I first started this journey into storytelling (and pacing, and purple prose), I should start writing “the way you walk, the way you talk and try to kiss me and laugh” – in four or five paragraphs.

My hope is to eventually own the film rights and be working on the sequel. With Clementine, I have two prequels in various states of disrepair.

I was amazed to learn that Elvis Costello wrote this song in ten minutes. TEN MINUTES. Which gives hope to lightning striking with precision every once in a while, the stars aligning in perfection, and the exact combo of MegaMillions numbers in my hand.

A Word about Words and the End of the World

According to some, this Saturday marks the “End of the World.”

Personally, I’ve lived through several “ends” — including 1999, Y2K, and others — and so far the world has not ceased to exist…yet. I’ll give you the update on Sunday, should we make it past the Apocalypse and the After-Rapture Party.

This “End of the World” stuff causes me to re-evaluate what material things I would like to keep, in case the “end” isn’t total annihilation and just the “end” of the world as we know it.

For example, my friends (who realize I’m super kooky) know I have six months worth of food stashed in my basement, along with extra propane tanks, and those quaint antiques called matches. I will also be able to brew coffee with a French press. (I also have a lifetime’s worth of light bulbs – incandescent, not CFL – and a stockpile of paper and pens and pencils.) Hey, I might be nuts, but I’m gonna be a prepared nut.

Let us say the end was truly near (I’m holding out hope for 2012 and a quick pick up from John Cusack a la movie of the same name); what would I take with me if I could only take one thing.

I have narrowed it down…

My sole possession into the End would have to be a pocket dictionary. If I had room for two items, the second would be Roget’s Thesaurus (pocket version). And for Number Three? A Japanese/English dictionary.

Let’s face it; we can live without a lot of things — TV, clothes, pretty shoes, steak and lobster, fancy jewels, and even my computer and internet — but I cannot live without words.

As a child, the dictionary was the first book I read. The second was the entire encyclopedia (1958 version), one volume at a time. (For those of you Gen X, Y or Z-ers, those books were what we used for reference back in the day.) Okay, even my own kids don’t believe I read the dictionary and encyclopedia, but I did.

Why? Besides the fact that there were only three (3!) channels on TV, like many wannabe upscale homes in middle America at the time, these were the only books in the house. We couldn’t afford to buy books, and the trip to the library was made only once a week. In order to fill the void, I would open the dictionary to “Q” and start reading and memorizing.

(Perhaps this is what made me a Colorado state championship speller back in 7th grade…or maybe I was just lucky.)

Even now, I will occasionally find a dictionary and open to a random page. This Sunday at the Flea Market, I located a fine pocket dictionary from the 1950′s, leather-bound with pages so fine and transparent that they nearly melted in my fingertips. And I sat there and turned pages for a very long time, wondering if I should ask the vendor how much.

Back then “gay” meant happy, and “queer” meant strange, and there were no definitions for “internet,” “blu-ray,” or “flash drive.”

I love rarely seen words, like ‘pettifog,’ ‘intuit,’ and ‘insouciant.’ On days when I feel I’ve suffered media overload, I’ll curl up in my favorite comfy chair with dictionaries of all sorts, muse about word origins, and plant the seed in my brain about using my new-found old words.

It’s all you can do in this modern age, on the apex of the End of the World.

“I Suck!” and Other Naggy Negatives

Wow, what a busy last couple of weeks!

First a trip to Colorado for my brother-in-law’s memorial and interment at Ft. Logan National Cemetery in Denver. This might have been a quick trip back to see the old home town, except for one thing: a tornado hit Dallas last Tuesday which caused my plane to circle for what seemed like hours (turns out it had been) until we were forced to land in Austin, thankfully before we ran out jet fuel. There we parked on the tarmac for an hour – along with a dozen other diverted planes – before it was determined that we were going nowhere fast. After the deplaning of thousands of zombie travelers, the trip to a local Holiday Inn (loved that hour and a half of rest), and many phone calls to American Airlines, I surmised that I would not be flying out of Austin any time soon. In fact, not until SATURDAY of last week, meaning I would miss the services and get into Colorado Springs with just enough time to return to Detroit.

Thirteen hours and an immensely sore butt later, and after renting a car and driving through the panhandle of Texas (one big-ass state, to be sure), I arrived at my final destination only 24 hours late. Unfortunately, my bags were still in transit.

I have learned three things on this trip: 1. West Texas is beautiful – even with the preponderance of armadillo road kill, which is why I’m writing it into my next tome, 2. it’s good to be nice and keep your cool, and 3. I can finish reading a book and a half in six hours on a plane.

Usually, my trips out of town are a gold mine for writing, but this time, I could only jot down a few things in my trusty (manually operated) notebook. After the Trip from Hell, the final service at Ft. Logan (which I made by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin, and with my own clothes that arrived in CoS at 6 a.m.), and my sister’s sadness, I found I couldn’t write anything.

It’s not that I had a lack of information or inspiration. I was just plain B-E-A-T. I couldn’t even answer email. So I took a day to trim the bonsai tree located at my mother’s grave, which after 18 years of my neglect had morphed into the juniper who ate a headstone. It was relaxing to sit in the sun, listen to the traffic on I-25, to snip and trim, and now the Thing looks more like a bonsai.

But back to “I SUCK!” I found myself kicking and yelling (at myself) for my total lack of motivation. Yes, I have stories in my head yearning to be set free. Yes, I have something I’m shopping around and more than a few things I’m working on which languish in various states of disrepair. But to actually unpack my laptop and start moving in the right direction? I couldn’t. I was too exhausted/frustrated/sad.

But wait! There’s more! After the last email rejection letter (yesterday),

 

Although I thought your partial was well-written, it didn’t ring as perfectly right for our list as I’d hoped and for the moment we need fiction that sounds exactly right for us in order to be able to sell it as well as we all would like.

I was ready to throw in the the towel and hang out my “I SUCK” shingle. Life is hard enough without having rejection pummel your inbox every couple of weeks. I mean really…what am I doing? Wasting my time? Do you know how many talented writers there are out there? I am but a teeny-tiny wannabe with big honking flaws. I started late in life (for everything, job, marriage, kids, hobbies, you name it). When Real Writers talk about story arcs and character development, I rush to Barnes and Noble to find a reference book that can explain the concept, and even then I’m lost.

Well, after my pity party (yes, I know it was a pity party), I emailed (hurriedly) Mr. Ed for help. (He did. What a stellar guy!) This morning I read this, and began to feel better.

I even wrote over 500 words on my West Texas character.

I even finished this blog post!

The thing about “sucking” is that such a negative frame of mind lasts only a moment with most positive people, and I like to think of myself as being more positive than negative. This temporary self-doubt goes for people other than writers. I can remember my son thinking the same thing about himself, and he’s a very talented pianist. And while it would be ultra-fabuloso to be picked up by an agent, and maybe even have my work published (using the pulp material of your local forest), it’s more important to write because you have a passion to put your words together to make a story, and to make the story intriguing enough to read.

Perhaps I should seek to be read, not to be published.

At any case, I am back on the bus, and the wheels are going ’round and ’round.

Deer in Veggie Garden, Jailbird Dog, A Gusher, and Other Tales of Real Life

If there is one thing I can say about my life, it’s that it’s never boring.

Take last week’s Real Life agenda, for example. (Please, puh-leeze take last week…) We are gearing up for the summer (which officially began yesterday on the West Coast of Michigan), it was payroll week, and my daughter is home. That alone is enough chaos for anyone to stay on top of.

Add to that my (feeble) attempts at writing, because as we all know, I have all the time in the world to waste (NOT!). I did manage to get the first seven chapters of the current WIP out to my critique group, which was amazing. I did some homework in my Jeremy Shipp class (yay! me!). I got my reading list on this blog partially updated (someday I will link all the books to their author web sites, not today though).  I even wrote in my brand-new eco-system notebook (I doubt I’ll be going back to Moleskine).

But then Real Life rears its ugly head.

I knew the week would be bad when a torrent of water ended up in my basement. This wasn’t ordinary back up; this was far more serious, judging from the sodden ceiling tiles that gave way under the pressure of gallons of water, right into my tumbler and steel shot. Verdict: Broken waste pipe from the second floor bathroom. Bad news: at least $2,000, and that was just the plumber’s estimate. There’s dry wall after that.

But that wasn’t too God-awful; after all, we have two other bathrooms, one in the basement where the flood occurred, the other our master bath. However, after five days of sharing our bathroom with my daughter and no return call from the plumber, I’m about ready to pull what little hair I have left out of my head. And run away from home.

As I was about to start doing P90X one day last week, I glance out of my bedroom window and catch sight of a deer in my backyard. No, really, a deer. A huge one. Now, I know this is Michigan and most people think it’s populated with transplanted hillbillies (it is), so far into Nature, and we are so backward that of course we have deer, but I live in a rather bustling suburb. A major eight-lane thoroughfare is just yards from my driveway. The infamous 8 Mile Road (meaning gritty, industrial Detroit) is just three miles away. And our backyard is fenced. AND it was about 4:30 in the afternoon. This is Motown, people. Deer do not appear on a regular basis, sit down in the middle of my yard, and take a snooze. EVER.

My daughter and blind Boston terrier chased it around the yard (after we all got photographic evidence), until it came to a low fence and gracefully bounded over and wandered to the neighbors yard. A group of chatting moms pushing strollers were right across the street, and they missed it.

Wildlife is the bane of my guerilla urban garden, and most of my friends know I have a distaste bordering on blind hatred toward all critters who would deign to eat from my veggies when I have neighbors who throw the squirrels and other scavengers old Krispy Kremes. Now I have to worry about huge deer.

It does explain what happened to my pears the last few years though…

To top off my week, my dog, the fabulous Princess Grace, ended up in the slammer on Friday night. She’s had a field day the last couple of weeks, chasing rabbits around the house (as well as the other miscreants), and Friday night, as my husband let her out to do her pre-bedtime duty, she disappeared.

(Right here is where I should insert – dammit, I told him to keep her on leash, because even though she’s a great dog, she is dumber than a box of rocks and is deaf and doesn’t listen well – but I won’t. Don’t think I wasn’t thinking it though…)

He looked around, he called, I called (I scream – like a pterodactyl, my children allege – so she can usually hear me from a block away). He drove around. He drove around all night, going up one street, then another, until he had prowled most of Royal Oak, part of Berkley, and all of Huntington Woods. I kept getting up and looking at the back door to see if she had suddenly appeared. (She might be a world traveler, but she knows where the kibble is.) Nothing.

My husband was despondent, and I was thinking of worst case scenarios, like her being dog-napped, hit by a car, or just left us because we weren’t nice enough.

Yesterday – at a decent hour – I started calling the local pounds. I hit the jackpot on Call #2: Grace was at the Huntington Woods police station. It appears they picked her up while she was trying to traverse those eight lanes of traffic I spoke about above. She made it to the median without becoming road kill, which is when she was nabbed and incarcerated. According to a police woman, “We got her before she successfully committed suicide on Woodward.” Poor dog spent the night in a cold cage with no blankies to roll herself into a doggie burrito with. (Bostons need their blankies, even when it’s 100 degrees outside.)

She was delirious to see me, and the first thing I did was get her a dog tag with her name and our phone numbers on it. (OH! Because I forgot to add, the hubs had her outside with NO COLLAR on as well.)

I’m thinking anything that happens this week will be a piece of cupcake compared to last week.

A Random Thought: The Elevator Picture

I sign up for a variety of email blasts, most having to do with writing or writers, but some having to do with business or music. The nice thing about email blasts is that I can pick and choose which to read, and don’t have to write myself sticky notes on which web sites to visit on a regular basis.

One of my favorites is the weekly e-zine sent out by Jeffrey Gitomer. I signed up after purchasing a copy of his LITTLE GOLD BOOK OF YES! ATTITUDE, at the San Francisco Airport. What is funny is at the time, I hadn’t even started writing my first novel. Now that I think about it, I began writing the first novel on the plane ride home from that particular trip, probably minutes after finishing the book.

The most notable Jeffrey Gitomer trait is that he is enthusiastic. I’ve read many of his books since that day in 2007, and dare I say it, the man is never, ever down. A tiny book, like his green, red and black books, it’s packed with a lot of heart-thumping yet congenial energy. You can’t help but be swept into his positivity. Life might have pitfalls, but with a few tweaks and attitude adjustments, we can overcome!

The YES! attitude is a quality that translates across all lines in one’s life, be it business, relationships, children, and yes…even writing. I can be a cynic, a bitch, a naysayer, a purveyor of doom and gloom, yet once a week, Jeffrey Gitomer bumps me back into a positive rail.

Today’s Gitomer newsletter included an intriguing article on elevator pictures. As writers, we all know about the dreaded elevator pitch. The elevator pitch is also a standard with salesmen, which might explain why I never went into sales. Being naked in front of a bunch of people is not one of the things I like to do, and there is nothing that more closely resembles naked vulnerability than an elevator pitch.

The first time I tried speed dating with a bunch of highly regarded and therefore intimidating literary agents, I landed ker-plop on my face, with egg and everything else on it. Elevator pitching is all about confidence, a succinct delivery, and something about you that makes you memorable.

The actual pitch and the working it down to twenty-five of the most powerful, compelling words you’d ever want to regal an agent with is the easy part, in my opinion. You can critique your pitch with your writing friends, or pick up Katharine Sands’ book (or hear her speak, she’s phenomenal!) and work your pitch over until it’s sleek and, in her words, “POPS!”

Confidence can only be generated by the author (meaning YOU!) so if you’re not feeling it, perhaps you’d better look your work over and revise and edit until you DO feel it.

As for personal memorability: I recall discussing my first pitch-fears with a noted online author. “What do I do?” His reply was to wear a low-cut red dress. I opted for red, but decided to leave out the low-cut. I’m selling a book, not my services. But it did lead me to wonder…these agents see hundreds of hopefuls at dozens of conferences every year. What is it that makes me stand out among the rest?

The answer most “writers” would want me to say is The Story, stupid. But, wait…no! Like those copier, pharmaceutical, or siding salesmen, it’s not just the product. Think about it; I know I have chosen plumbers and car dealers not only because of the service or product, but also because of the personality of the salesman. It’s the “je ne sais quois” that gets the business every time.

After following agents on Twitter for a year, I gather that they’re not only looking for the next great book, they’re looking for an author who would make their job easy by having the personality to sell, to become a wag, to be memorable as well as prolific. While I don’t know the percentage of published authors who were picked up at a conference during an elevator pitch, I do know that a sparkling pitch followed by a stellar manuscript equals an author whose personality naturally bubbles.

Back to Andy Horner’s article on elevator pictures: Taking this concept to the realm of the agent-writer elevator might not be such a bad idea. And it’s not just the red, low-cut dress or the Steampunk jewelry. People these days have a limited capacity for words, especially in a world full of computers and smartphones, YouTube and Twitter. According to him, words are just too “2D” for most people.

I’m not going to share any of my ideas for the elevator pitch of the 21st Century, but I can tell you that my future pitch just might include pictures.

Shot Down in Flames and Archives

Let me preface this post by inserting this:

Of course, this particular song about being shot down in flames has absolutely nothing to do with writing, querying, rewriting, the publishing world, or literary agents. It’s an awfully happy song about a man looking for lust in all the wrong places, and being a horse’s ass while doing it. Let’s say I need a pick-me-up right about now, so I chose this wonderful piece of early AC/DC. (I’m a closet AC/DC fan, of the works before Bonn Scott died. I know; it doesn’t really mesh with the Bach Partita side of me. What can I say? I’m multi-cultural.)

Yes, readers, non-readers, writers and those who don’t really care, I have received yet another rejection letter today. That makes two this week. Woo-hoo!

I would cry, but I’d rather not think about rejection at this point. Besides, it’s hard to justify any rumination of auto-responses. Why waste the time?

I’ve been having a hard time lately writing. ANYTHING. I don’t even open my checkbook, and I have no ATM card, so if you can imagine being in the mindset of cleaning out the car for spare change – yes, that’s me. I missed two CITIcard payments in a row. But, things are improving. Last week, I wrote a rather scathing letter to American Airlines and mailed it to their Dallas headquarters. For my two attempts at expressing my dissatisfaction, they sent me two eVouchers.

I need approximately five eVouchers in order to feel better. Back to the drawing board.

Yesterday, I left work early and decided to write. After my latest critique group get together, I realized I have so many pots on the stove, nothing is getting cooked.

So I started by opening up some files that haven’t seen the light of day in months. And I discovered a few things:

1. I totally forgot some of the stories I wrote. Swear to God! As I was reading, I realized that some of them aren’t half bad. Some are pretty humorous. Some don’t even sound like me, but I know they’re mine, because no one else is writing for me. Working the archives was like cleaning the closet; there in the back recesses where the centipedes live, is a pair of flawlessly stitched, perfect pumps. Next to them is a cute chemise with the tags still on them. And next to that is a purse I’d forgotten I owned. My computer is much like my messy closet. It’s the gold mine! or at least a pyrite mine! of unique ideas and sassy words and scenes strung together with a little more than glue and duct tape.

I realized I needed to get off my lazy, sorry, fat, unsympathetic ass and get moving. Luckily for me (and thanks to my Mr. Ed), I have acquired all kinds of strategies for mapping out my stories. These include writing them down in my trusty notebooks.

I’m so much farther ahead now than I was a year or so ago.

2. Dr. Wicked is a freaking genius. I feel like PayPaling him again, just to properly convey my appreciation.

3. Friends are priceless. Writing friends, even more so.

Now I’m going back into the archives. You never know what you’ll pull up.

The Story Within The Story

I come from a very large family, with lots of siblings and even more cousins. Even though my sisters and brother and I shared the same parents (and my cousins the same grandparents), our view of our collective upbringing varies wildly. I notice this more now that I have children of my own. There’s only two of them, but according to them, their childhoods couldn’t be more different. When I get together with my sibs and relive old times, it’s like conversing with five strangers.

I’ve noticed the same with those in my high school class. Some are new friends, connected late in life by Facebook and reunion dinners. Others I’ve been friends with since the very beginning. No matter what the history, our recollections can be unique, if we can remember them at all.

We’re all different, and our stories are different, even though the principals and the plot are the same. Even though we live through the same crisis, at the same time, our brains will never see the same facts in the same way.

A good novel weaves the stories of all of its characters seamlessly, not just the antics of the protag and the antagonist. I’d never noticed the careful crafting of a good book before; I was too busy enjoying myself to take it apart, but there are typically stories within the story, interwoven like a hand-loomed sweater. You need all those loops, not just the main show.

I used to rather stupidly write from the top of my head, with little forethought to plot or character development or story lines or arcs. Hell’s bells, I was on a tear. Who had time to think? I was writing as fast as I could. Those “minor” components could be added later, tweaked and polished once the words “The End” came into view. (Boy, was I a rube!)

I now realize (after a lot of revision and editing and plot changes on the first two stories) that it’s a whole lot easier to begin plotting and character development before you sit down at the computer and begin pounding out dialogue.

Last summer, Mr. Ed gave me a series of assignments to complete before he began editing. One was to describe each character and their story. He knew each was unique, but they all came out sounding like…ME. (All of them are me, but they’re also not.)

My first thought was “Oh, come on. You can’t see them? One’s overweight, one’s a beauty queen, one’s gay, one’s down-home and honest. One’s a gadabout, one’s a middle-aged mom. You can’t see that?”

NO, he couldn’t see them that way, mostly because I hadn’t written them that way. I knew who they were and what they were doing, but no one else could see them. In deconstructing the characters, I realized I hadn’t really seen them in the way I wanted them to appear. That’s because I took the lazy-man’s way out of it and told more than I showed.

Boring.

In the last week, I’ve taken my other WIPs and done the same thing: List the cast of characters and write a sentence or two about their story. Because, you know, their view of the proceedings has necessarily got to be different than my protag. They’re not just pawns on the chessboard; they all have stories of their own. I wrote each in long-hand in my notebook (ecosystem – I’m cured from Moleskine), and when I forget about a personality quirk or trait and it all melds together, I can open it up and find my true characters.

It was a good exercise. Now back to writing.

Writing Outside the Lines

Just when Real Life sucks all the energy out of your Writing Life, Real Life II comes crashing in like a hippo in a bakery and totally flattens all of your cupcakes.

Really.

One of my other “hobbies” is making jewelry. I’ve always been an artist, and doing any number of things with my hands is a necessary part of my day. I play guitar and violin (poorly), have always drawn, painted, thrown pottery, written poems and stories, knit and crocheted, sewn…well, you get the picture.

This year, I joined the Michigan Silversmith Guild and am displaying my vast collection (nearly two years’ worth) of twisted and wired creations during the upcoming Ann Arbor Art Fair. I am hoping to unload enough to at least come out even on what I spent in supplies. For those who know me, my passions are not performed out of love of money, but love of the art. So…I’m not holding my breath. If I can recoup some of my investment, I’ll be happy. If not, c’est la vie.

I’ve spent the last month or so shining up my baubles, cataloging them on a spreadsheet, tagging them with microscopic tags and placing them in teeny-tiny plastic bags in anticipation of the show next weekend.

And of course, it’s been hot, and of course it’s been busy, and of course, other things happen that can knock a writer off course.

Like having a friend die. Death is awful, and there’s been a lot of it in my life lately, and this wasn’t exactly news. The death wasn’t as bad as having to see the body before the hospital removed it from the room to the morgue. In a word: awful. But I’m always shaking out the cloud to see what the lining looks like. Silver, yes. I can use some of my experiences of the last couple of weeks in my writing.

All of this Real Life discord is in the past (I hope). So now to writing.

In addition to all of the projects I have on the front and back burners, I have decided to write a paranormal romance short story. Before you say, “But you don’t know how to write a paranormal romance!” let me say this: Sometimes it’s good for a writer to think outside the pen.

That’s right, scribble in the margins. Take two lines instead of one, or write two lines on one blue ruled line. Use a red Sharpie. Write outside the lines. Explore.

I recently took Jeremy Shipp’s writing class (again). Jeremy Shipp writes fantasy, and most of the people who took the class write fantasy. I write mom-lit, an older version of chick-lit, meaning sassy female situations with children. So why did I feel the compulsion (twice) to take a writing class from an author who doesn’t write in my genre?

Because he’s good!

Let’s face it. A good writing coach can help you no matter the genre. A good writing exercise can open up a world of possibilities you might not have thought possible otherwise. It really doesn’t matter if the exercise has anything to do with your genre. Reading a variety of books can be just as enlightening, once you deconstruct what makes the book good.

That’s why I decided I would branch out when it comes to reading. I read my first paranormal romance this year. I had never before been drawn to the idea of vampires, blood-suckers, or dead people, but was given a book and took it out for a spin.

I found I liked it.

Back to the paranormal romance: It’s not my genre of choice, in fact, I don’t think of my “usual” writing as being romance (though there are romantic elements at play) but I decided to give myself an exercise.

It’s coming along nicely.

Perhaps I should stick with what I do best, but it’s good to stretch your wings and push the envelop a little. You never know what you’ll find on the other side of the flap.

Now if I could find time to finish the other works in progress, I might have a nice little library.

Monday Morning Mash-Up

I AM A LAZY WRITER!

Okay, maybe I’m not lazy, but I have the procrastination moves down pat. Okay, maybe I’m not the World’s Biggest Writing Procrastinator, maybe I have Writing ADD.

Nope. I’m lazy.

Why do I say this? The Internet tells me so.

Maybe not in so many words… The one good thing about being a writer and having access to the Internet is Monday morning. Honestly, I could turn off my computer the other six days, and Monday would be the key I’d want to waste my online time on.

(Of course, I’d have to adjust that rule for Donald Maass’s Tuesday Twittering. For a minute.)

I started this post last Monday before life got crazy; however, it’s not any different this Monday. For example, here’s a really good article on self-publishing by Bob Mayer, who’s one of my new writing gods. And for all you sh**** writers out there, there’s this article on the slash and burn. And of course, since I’m in the revise and revisit mode of my novel, this article likening the process to the infestation of bedbugs makes for an interesting read.

And the twitterverse is buzzing over BookEnds strategy for e-pubbing. Lots of comments on that one, folks.

For a wry look at the writing process, one can always find a laugh or two, and a gem of knowledge, from the Rejectionist.

Monday morning has now morphed into Monday afternoon (a scorchingly hot Monday afternoon), so I’ll take this moment to shut down the salt mine and go for a few hours of writing time – in air conditioned comfort.

See. I’m not really lazy. Just overwhelmed.

A Farewell to Borders

Last week, I decided to make a trip to Borders and pay my final respects. Actually, I wanted to see if all the publicized horror stories reported in the papers were true: That a trip to Borders was like watching a ghost town appear right before your eyes, that the remaining employees were zombies with the customer service helpfulness sucked right out of them, that the sad sales floor resembled a pool of piranha circling in anticipation of the last 75% sign to go up.

I have to report that none of the above were true.

Certainly, my local, favorite Borders in Birmingham is the upscale, flagship store. Two stories, brick and glass, roomy, it had a kick-ass coffee bar and lots of comfortable chairs. Although southeastern Michigan suffers in this bad economy (and suffers, and suffers some more), the stores and the people of Birmingham have yet to get the memo on the recession. The Birmingham Borders has always teemed with customers, the parking lot just as full in the middle of July as it is during the Christmas rush, when I’ve witnessed car wars for spots and the resultant fender-bending crashes.

Borders was stuffed full of customers the other day when I went to bid farewell.

Okay. I know. I don’t need more books. With a “To Read” list towering over me, threatening to topple and break my leg, what I really need is time to finish reading everything I have set out to read. I entered Borders with the sole intent of taking a short trip around both floors and maybe scoring a few pretty notebooks for my purse.

Somehow, I got caught up in a mood. Not a sober mood, but a celebratory mood. I wasn’t sure if I should feel embarrassed, or if I should join in. Have you ever been to a funeral service where people are laughing and having a good time? You want to remember the good times, but you also want to maintain an air of somber respect.

This was the Birmingham Borders last week.

So the coffee bar was shut down. So the books were pulled into the center of the store and the store fixtures stacked on top of each other. So the computer screens were dimmed. You’d never know a fire sale was going on in the face of impending bankruptcy. I’d never seen so many families with young children poring over books. So many older couples holding hands, their baskets full of books. Even the single shoppers like me were picking up the books, running our hands over the spines, checking out the covers and blurbs. (I myself prefer a physical book over the electronic kind, as I find reading from the page easier on my eyes.) Perhaps our rapture was over the discounts (at 20 – 40%, not exactly deep), or maybe it was because we all loved the books.

Which led me to wonder, especially in a high-revenue store like the one in Birmingham – WHAD HAPPENED??? At one time, a big-box company like Borders was going to eat up all the small booksellers. Independent book sellers, while a staple in trendy places like New York City or San Francisco, are like finding the proverbial hen’s tooth in metro Detroit.

It was only a few months ago that Borders (based in Ann Arbor) announced they would be moving to downtown Detroit as a cost-cutting measure. That announcement brought hope – something like the hope before chemo. Now all we have is the wake before the burial.

As for me, I came away with more than a few pretty journals. I bought several classic books I had wanted to re-read but didn’t have in my library. I bought some 2012 calendars, hoping that next year will be better for book sellers, authors and readers. I bought some light, trashy romance novels. I figured I needed a happy ending where girl gets guy and both ride off into the sunset.

Then I went home and tried to figure out where the nearest Barnes and Noble is, and prayed for their continued existence in the modern world.

Time to Get Busy!

Summer is OVER!

No, you don’t get it. Summer is soooooo over… I’m so loving it.

Most of you know we run a business. Heck, I’d be a bag lady if I had to rely on writing for a living, so I have to do something. Even with my talents in other areas (jewelry, gardening, art, etc.), these pursuits are not to be relied upon to provide a box of macaroni and cheese at the end of the day. Summer is our business’s bread and butter – and pickles, and steak and lobster, and cereal and ice cream – and we have to use those receipts to live on the rest of the year.

You don’t know how many times during a cold and wintry (and cash-strapped) January that my husband emerges from his office shaking his head, saying “I’ve got to sell the motorcycle (or insert large object of his affection here) to pay the taxes (or college tuition or insert other large ticket item here).”

So when the going is sweet and cash is flush, we attack it will all the gusto two persons of our middle age can stand. It’s been raucous, it’s been crazy, it’s been seven days a week for the last three months.

The rush is officially over. Now my adult children are back on the Left Coast, leaving me with a quiet, clean house. Tthe teenagers are back in school, and I actually have a minute to breathe. I’ve also been able to finish the books I started reading back in May, so reviews are forthcoming.

And I’ve been doing a very good job of sticking to writing. Staying away from the time-sucking social media has helped. You know I love you, Facebook and Twitter, but I can’t get a thing done if you’re on my desktop! So instead of following my gaggle of interesting peeps, I’ve been holed up in my bedroom plotting out new twists and turns.

More later. I’ve got to get back to work.

 

You CAN Judge a Book by Its Cover

Hola, my lovelies…

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, but that’s because I’ve been busy, busy!

Here’s the update:

VIRTUALLY YOURS: I’ve decided the spruce up the first 50 pages. About half of my betas complain of one thing: that they are lost in those first few pages. (The other half get it.) There are a lot of characters and the story lines are interconnected and it’s hard to get the gist of the plot until the characters and the plots are established. I KNOW THIS. But, it’s a great story (I think) and with a little tweaking, it could be better.

I have a few more small publishers I’m going to query, and then, da da da daaaaah! I think I’ll take the plunge and e-pub. Perhaps by the end of the year.

This means I’m giving it another once over (or two) and make it really, really tight. It also means I’m developing a cover, which is where some of my attention has been going. I’ve had some really boffo designs thrown my way, and it’s hard to choose, but I think I’m going to go for the eye-catcher.

Which is why this post concentrates on covers. No matter what they say, covers ARE important. E-book covers are especially important. I’ve been perusing the offerings at Smashwords, and with the exception of the book description, which have to be brief, professional word candy, the covers are a vital necessity. We need a visual effect to draw us into the story.

There is always a deal maker and a deal breaker. I can’t tell you how many novels I have purchased because the covers feature a photo of the Golden Gate Bridge. Conversely, there are books I have walked away from because the art work didn’t grab me.

Maybe the Holy Bible can get away without cover art, but rarely will any work of fiction do without. Covers on e-books or print, must draw the reader to open the book, or to click on the link for more information.

That being said, I find it mildly humorous that many print cover books are exactly alike. It’s not just the Harlequin romance novels either, most of which feature bodice ripping hunks and voluptuous main characters. Most mystery/thriller type books are in dark colors with bold typeface. Paranormals are often black, with Gothic type. I’ve noticed in my genre (women’s literature) that there are so many books featuring a photo of a body of water (lake, stream, ocean) and the back of a woman’s head and torso as she is overlooking it. Or just the back of her legs.

I’ve seen two books featuring an Asian storyline with nearly the same cover: the back of a Japanese/Chinese woman with chopsticks in her hair. What is weird is that the titles are very similar as well.

I attended a workshop at the San Francisco Writers Conference given by an editor at Grand Central. Even the big houses make big boo-boos when it comes to reusing covers. She held up two different books by different authors with the exact same cover art, released at almost the same time. Ouch!

This proves that tried and true formulas may not be the best.

As for me and my work, VIRTUALLY YOURS, doesn’t conform to the romance genre. (It’s mom-lit, remember?) It’s so different (as some of my rejection letters have indicated), it defies being firmly pigeonholed. My cover is going to have to be as different as the words inside. I had an idea of what I wanted, but the people who are designers and have sent me cover ideas took it down a completely different path.

In a word, I’m pleased. I hope you are too.

Toiling Away Not Toileting Away

All of my writing friends/nags would be so proud of me. I’ve spent the last two weeks working diligently on the fourth edit of Finding Cadence. This, even though parts of the book were giving me a severe headache. I persevered and chopped out entire blocks of meaningless words, redundant words, and of course, a motley crew of dreaded adverbs. I took words I used several times and found new words I could use in its place. I found a few intriguing words used in other novels, and placed them (with loving care) into my own.

I took out some characters, a lot of dream sequences, and mindless rumination. I expounded on characters that received a brief glossing over (they are now more prominent and have a place in my MC’s journey), added a potential love interest, and took a completely different angle on my girl’s problems.

Last night, I worked non-stop for five hours! It was 8 o’clock when I noticed it was dark . I hadn’t eaten. The cat was looking for his supper and my dog needed to go outside so badly, I could see her twisting her legs in anticipation.

After untangling myself from laptop cords, my physical notebook, and an empty cup of green tea, I came to a sudden realization. I could do this full time. No really, I could!

I can’t believe I’m finally on the third part! Time marches on.

And so, after I put this edition to bed, it’s off to map out my VY outline for NaNoWriMo. Yes, there will be a sequel!

Now, back to work.

A Finely Written Book is Like a Finely Constructed…Meatloaf?

Egads! Two posts in two days?

October, it’s fall, harvest-time, when the temperatures struggle to reach a respectable 70 degrees, and what do I think of? FOOD. Comfort food.

(No, I’m not blog hopping from here to here. Although I’ve been amazingly busy outside as well as in.)

After I think of fall comfort food, like Yankee pot roast, four-alarm chili, and chicken noodle soup, my mind naturally drifts off to thoughts of NaNoWriMo and how I must get off my lazy behind and plot out VY2. November 1 is not that far away; in fact, it’s closer than you think.

With all of the bounty of my back yard begging to be dug up, picked, and/or cleared away, today I woke up with a wildly urgent craving for meatloaf. It could be the result of having put the last of my tomatoes into the crock pot last night for a slow stewing. I awoke this morning to a house reeking of tomatoes and garlic. And thus the longing for meatloaf at 7 a.m.

Meatloaf, you say?

Contrary to popular belief, meatloaf is not a peasant food. A good meatloaf has texture, from the blend of roughly chopped carrots, bell peppers, and onions (all of which come from my backyard), and flavor, from the careful melding of delicate herbs and spices. The optimum meat mixture should be coarsely ground and gingerly mixed, not smashed into the consistency of gruel. It doesn’t have to be ground beef, but can be ground veal, pork, turkey, buffalo, or a combination of any of the above.

My culinary meanderings got me to thinking: a finely written book is much like a finely constructed meatloaf. I could serve myself well to think of writing in the same terms.

When writing, I tend to take my main characters and pummel them into literary glop, turn them inside out and upside down in an effort to have the reader see what I see.  This is unnecessary. As I have said elsewhere, I am the Queen of the Back Story. I really shouldn’t smash down my meat, but instead lightly interweave it with the other ingredients. After all, a good story leaves out a little, a certain je ne sais quois that keeps the reader hooked and compels them to keep reading until the big reveal.

Likewise, meatloaf isn’t just meat. A phenomenal, gourmet meatloaf tastes good because of the other ingredients. Are they fresh and crisp? Are they unusual or the same-old same-old? Something as minor as the choice of breadcrumbs, for example, can alter the flavor. Italian, croutons, sourdough – all of it can change the basic recipe.

I’ve gone from a one-person story and a single timeline to the realization that it takes all of the elements with their own story to make the larger vision work. Each element has to be unsurpassed, perfect.

Mmm…I’m hungry.

After my quick trip to the market, I’ll attempt to put my meatloaf making skills to work in my writing.

Pay it Forward, Pay it Backward, Pay it Any Way You Can

Goals. Like many writers, I have several with regard to writing, and coincidentally, many of these overlap my overall goals in life.

First and foremost is the honing of the craft. I wear many hats during the course of a day, and I can tell you from not-so-critical observation that not everyone can write. I’m in the position of speaking to many teenagers and their families in my Real Life work. Keep in mind, I’m not referring to the stellar among us, because I’ve met those too, and they give me hope. But I am concerned because some can barely string a sentence together, much less a story. It’s been said that our high school graduates have the writing and comprehension skills of fifth graders. The theories regarding this phenomenon are many: it’s the culture, it’s TV, it’s the Internet, it’s the schools who consistently pass kids who fail, it’s the parents who relinquish their roles as teachers to the system.

This is sad, not only for writers who long to reach an audience, but for potential readers. What are the chances that a writer with fifth grade comprehension can write the next For Whom the Bell Tolls? But let’s face it; I can’t change the world, I can only change myself. That’s why I continue to study, to read, and to improve myself in anyway I can.

Number Two on my list is to stick with it until The End. Many don’t realize how difficult a task this is. Many writers have the best of stories and the best of intentions of finishing. Then Real Life rears its many heads. Our concentration is scattered; our time is divided and subdivided. I have to eat. My family might encounter a crisis or two. I might get lazy. I might take a look at the first 50K words and feel a range of emotions, including dejection, depression, and discouragement . It’s easy to beat yourself up.

My first book took two full years to get to those two words, in part because I am relentless, in part because I thought the story was a good one, and in major part the three C’s – the cajoling, cheering, and cattle prodding of my many writer friends.

This brings me to Number Three on the list. Writers are a smart bunch. What one doesn’t know, another might. In my experience, they like to share, and why not? A good writer friend will slap you upside the head when you need it and pat you on the back when you deserve it – and Twitter your good fortune to their followers.

If you write and you have information, why not pay it forward, pay it backward, or pay it anyway you can?

Recently, I was commiserating with another struggling novelist regarding self-e-pubbing on a major web site. I’d printed out the manual a year ago, and struggled with the concept of formatting my Word document novel for the Kindle loving bunch. I tore out what little hair I had left and consumed enough Advil to rot my liver.

This person pointed me to another writer’s web site, which pretty much deconstructs the e-pub mystery in words I can understand. Genius.

The next week, I forwarded the same link to another writer.

Keeping what knowledge you do have under a bushel basket helps no one.  Build camaraderie and your reference base by spreading the word, because it’s true – you reap what you sow.