Secrets...

So, yesterday I put on the mantle of silence. It worked. Listening is hard work. Today, my boss sat me down and told me I need to talk more with her. When I shared this with my friends and husband they asked if I was screwing up at work. That got a big, fat NO. I'm doing well at work. The problem is I internalize everything and feel that any snafu, my fault or no, is somehow a failing on my part. Now, I've got to re-learn how to function in corporate society. I've always been in places where I was responsible for my own knowledge, and as I'm a self-learning type, that works for me. That is not the culture of my present job. My boss is nervous because I don't talk to her enough. She said, in fact, that she sometimes forgets I'm there because I'm so quiet! That was my biggest laugh today. No one has ever accused me of being that quiet.

Balance, balance, balance. When I do talk at work, which feels like a constant as it is a byproduct of the job, people ask if I've ever considered radio. And if they're feeling really mischievous, they ask if I've ever considered doing phone sex for a living. Yikes! Now, I do always say I have a face for radio, but phone sex? Come on! My attention span is WAY too short for that. Guess it's nice to know I have a fall-back if this burgeoning career falls through. Phone sex...

I wonder if that's why my characters have such interesting lives. So far, on the outside they are innocuous women no one would ever suspect of being anything other than teachers, moms, or otherwise. These women are dark horses, be assured. I doubt I'll ever write a phone sex suspense, but it does sound like one for the "think box." What makes a character for me, fiction or otherwise, is that deep secret that becomes unveiled at the right moment. Like finding out your best friend for years was a champion ballroom dancer decades ago. Yep, that really happened. I already loved her, but I gained a new level of respect for her many talents.

Confession time... What are your secrets?

A slice of silence anyone?

We have two ears and one mouth, in most cases. Yet how much do we actually use those features in proportion? I know I'm guilty of disproportionate use. My success at work is dependant upon my ability to hear what my customers say as well as what they don't say so I can give them the best options. I'm a talker by nature. Just ask anyone who's had the pleasure of reading one of my rough drafts! My trainer summed it up perfectly. "Elayne, you love words, but you talk so fast! Make sure your words mean something!" Talk about being put in my place.

My goal this week is to shut up. To make my words count. Sure, I heard it at work, but what's funny is that all of the principles I'm learning at work translate to my writing. See above comment. I do love words. Maybe because I've spent my whole life trying to prove my worth, I depend on words too much. Silence is equally impactful.

Tomorrow I'm going to be quiet. I'll probably bust wanting to say the unnecessary, but my goal is to let people tell me their story. Just like my characters want to tell their story. How much have I gotten in the way of my success? Can I pause for a beat and let people, be they real or fiction, speak to me? Only time will tell.

Not feeling so hot...

You ever have one of those days where you feel like an absolute failure? Nothing happened that made today terrible. In fact, it was blase. My problem is me. I am a perfectionist, and when I feel that I've deviated from perfect, it chips away at me. I am good at my job, though I am still learning so it feels like everything is an uphill climb. My customers love me, and the feeling is mutual. I adore my co-workers and can't tell you how much time we spend laughing and keeping each other motivated. On the drive home from work it dawned on me that being successful is more work than just doing a job. Success in my mind means that I top yesterday's achievements. What if I just can't? But see, can't isn't an option because too many people depend on me to perform. Too many people believe I can do anything I put my mind to. As empowering as it is to know that my family and friends respect me that much, it is also daunting. And exhausting.

So I was feeling pretty funky when I slumped through the door. Going shopping for jeans after work did nothing to make me feel better, but that's a blog for another day. Anyway, I logged into laptop central and checked my email. My eldest son's teacher responded to the note I sent her late last night. Big sigh. I will sum up as best I can how I came to be writing a late night email to my son's literature teacher.

To start, DH and I have VERY different political views, and we are equally passionate in these beliefs. Add to the mix that we're both first born and watch the drama explode! My eldest came home one day and told his dad that the teacher was reading a nasty book full of bad words in class. His words, not mine. He said the book made him feel uncomfortable. After probing, my son told my husband what bothered him was that there was a boy in a dress who claimed to have "two pee-pees." I have to say to my husband's credit, he researched the book before writing a letter to the teacher. The conclusion of the letter being that he would let our son decide the best course of action.

The next day, the teacher sent home a copy of the book so we could review it. I was excited because I wanted to see what all the drama was about. Because the book had to be returned by the end of the school year, I put aside my TBR pile and plunged in. It was an amazing read, and I am so glad I had the opportunity to read it.

Let's go back to the teacher. I wrote her a note, thanking her for allowing me to read the book and for promoting more thoughtful student interaction. Yes, the book was that good. She not only wrote me back, but CC'd the Dean and shared my letter. She said my thanks made her week. The Dean emailed me to tell me that parents don't often thank the teachers for the good they do, so she appreciated me taking the time to do so. I was shocked, and probably will be for awhile because it was the right thing to do. What kind of world do we live in that thank you, two simple words, can make someone's week?

So when I went back to thinking about being an abysmal failure because I'm not yet perfect, I had to shift gears. Maybe if I can manage to spread sunshine when I'm feeling nothing but storm clouds, life isn't so bad. By the way, in case you wanted to know, the name of the book was The Misfits by James Howe.

Van Damme, it's Thursday!

I'm so happy it's Thursday, I should be ashamed. All I can think about is how much sleep I will get this weekend. I'm sure I'll make some time for writing. After all, I have the middle of the end bits to fill in. And I think this book may require an epilogue. I know if I was the reader and came to the end as it stands, I'd feel cheated. I'm one of those people who has to know what happened to my good fictional friends.

Today at work, my co-workers asked us to share our song. Nope, not a romantic one. If you were to enter a room and music announced your arrival, what would the song be? Daunting, isn't it? Maybe not for you all because you are more savvy than me, but I am still stumped. I want to find something clever, not too common, yet something I actually know. I'm not really good with music, so I'm hoping they forget.

What's your theme music?

The end!

I've been a busy little bee, friends. Tonight, after much toil and torment, I wrote the end of this book. I won't tell you that I skipped some bits. Nope, you won't hear that from me! It's not cheating, really, the end was ready to be written. It's violent and terrible, and perhaps even a bit shocking. I love it. My girl isn't displaying any of those behaviors girls of my time were taught--that whole demure grin and bear it nonsense. She's doing the one thing I think most of us have wanted to do at one time or another--paying back the one who's hurt us.

Maybe it's just me, but sometimes I do want to exact revenge on people who've taken the time out of their day to make my existence a living nightmare. That's such an unhealthy way to live, I know, which is why I don't indulge. My characters get to do it for me. Almost like that scene in The Man Who Knew Too Little starring Bill Murray. Anyone ever seen it? It's one of my favorites! Bill Murray's character is driving down a closed roadway, hitting the orange cones in such a way that they fly up in an arc before landing on the road again. He says he's always wanted to do it. The cops chasing him echo his sentiments. Granted my characters opted for violence rather than a fun bit of mischief. What does that say about me? Yikes!

A little whine, hold the cheese...

My characters are getting married. Their friends and family are going to be furious I'm sure because the happy couple snuck off to do the deed. Is snuck even a word? I doubt it, but it seems to fit, so I'm not changing it. A while ago I wasn't sure what these people were going to do. They held their cards close to their chests, if you know what I mean. Lately, they've been more vocal. So now I'm up to the big scene, and I wonder how it will turn out. Sure, they're going to be together forever, happy in wedded bliss, but they aren't quite there yet. I've got about two chapters left, and a body to put on the ground. Things are about to get interesting.

Elsewhere in this writer's world, I continue to tweak my house to my specs. We've worked hard, and I'm tired of all of it. Where can a wife/mom/working gal go to retire? Jeez, I'd be happy with a weekend! Already this weekend is packed with more family events. Never mind that this weekend is our anniversary. We are supposed to travel the countryside at the family's whim. Can you tell I'm not pleased? It's not that I don't like them. I do. I just want one weekend where I sleep in and don't wake up tired. DH said I don't have to do anything I don't want to . He's in a ticklish situation--caught between his parents and me. I'm not ranting at him. For now, I'm pretending to have no obligations outside my home. It's almost working.

Fried, dyed, and laid to the side...

Yup, it's another title that bears no meaning to the text herein. So, if you thought you were in for something exciting, prepare to be disappointed. Possibly. Saturday is my day to chill out. Yeah, there's yard work and housework to do, but I try to sleep in and pretend none of it exists. My children had other plans for me. At six-thirty, the sun stretched its fingers under the blackout blinds, the neighbors' birds chirped a "good morning" song, and my youngest son dragged himself into my room to tell me calamity befell him as he tried to get out of bed.

How hard is it to jump from the bed to the floor? In all fairness, he sleeps on the top bunk, so his trip is a tad longer than mine, but that's what the ladder is for! Not for my baby. No, he had to try to flip from the top to the bottom bunk. He managed to get his leg caught on the way down (didn't know the air had arms) and struck his head on a bookshelf. I'm still confused about the logistics of it all, but I was tired. The good news is he's fine. His big brother was traumatized by seeing the drama unfold. I've learned to be less reactive, as I know that boy is a drama king. Everything about him is animated. He's mouthy as all get out, and loves to attention. We're still in a quandary as to how he came by these traits.

A few minutes later he was using one of his dad's canes to vault through the house and terrorize my eldest. Told you he was fine. It's just funny to watch them all together--especially when they've got their minds set on no good. I love how they stick together. The way they all don the blank stare when I ask who ate cherries in the bed and threw the pits on the floor. That's love. I hope they will always be that way, minus the seeds, because life is hard but so much better/easier when one proceeds with company. Sure, misery loves company, but I've never had a good time that didn't involve human contact in one way or another. Besides, if my boys don't stick together, who will believe their crazy mom stories?

On the writing front, I've cleaned up a lot of stuff and feel like I can finally move forward. Yea! I'm supposed to be writing right now, but here I am pretending the novel fairies will come out and do the ending while I sleep. The way those faeries have been slacking around the house, I don't know why I trust them. Oh well. Must get to work. My characters are calling...or is that the dinner dishes? Happy Saturday!

The Happy Hooker...

One of my dear writer friends paid me an extreme compliment weeks ago--one I'm still processing. She read what's available of my current work in progress and told me that each chapter ended with such a strong hook that had to read on. Isn't that what we want as writers? To write the book that won't let you go to sleep 'til you've finished it? I was tickled when she said that to me, but thrilled when I read her edits of my work. Now I must share why I love her critiques so much.

She is a screenwriter. What that means to me is that she has what seems to me an innate ability to remove fluff. I've tightened a lot of my work because of her recommendations. After my first manuscript, which she read, incidentally, I dropped the adverbs. Okay, so more like tamed them, but for me it feels the same. You'd never know by the way I write this blog that I can string sentences together in a cogent manner. This is my free space, so I indulge.

In my dreams, I possess the material of a screenwriter. The ability to write succinctly, yet rich with vivid detail. In my waking existence, I know I am a novelist. I feel as though I need all those words to paint a picture, so I guess I do. Being around my dear friend has taught me how amazing the craft of producing a screen or stay play is. I know at this point that is not my gift. Someone once told me that we admire in others those qualities we do not possess. For me, that is truth.

For a second I was tempted to think she was just being nice, but as I read her comments from page to page, I realized that she was being honest. She hasn't minced words or sugar-coated her critique to the point of oblivion. Have I mentioned lately how much I appreciate people telling me the truth? So when she told me she was hooked from one chapter to the next, I squealed, "I'm a hooker!" She laughed. I think I stunned her for a moment; an accomplishment if I do say so myself. I always wanted to be a hooker. That should be every writer's goal, right? I mean really, not everyone is going to read a book that doesn't captivate them from word one. Time is precious, so why waste it doing something you don't benefit from.

It's funny how this writing principle finds itself in other parts of my life--like say, work. One of the things we talk about on the job is what's in it for the customer. If you don't see the value of my service, you aren't going to buy it. Logical when it's put in words. So what's in it for the reader when they sit with my book? Shouldn't they find something compelling to keep them there, nose tucked in the pages? I know there will be people who don't "get" my writing. There are authors out there I don't enjoy, but I have this compulsion that makes me finish what I start. Every book on the shelf or in the remainder bin holds a lesson. More than a story, I am learning to to see that quality that differentiates one novel from another. Regardless of what happens to my books, I will always hold a deep regard for wordsmiths. I don't know if it's talent or training that makes a writer. I don't know that it matters, but I intend to keep on hooking.

What do you do to keep your readers reading?

One more, then I'm going to bed!

Responding to Julie's and Ellen's comments got me thinking, and rather than write a ridiculously long comment, I thought I'd share here. I've got queries out there. Writing is an exercise in bravery for me. Each time I share my work with someone else, I'm putting my neck on the chopping block. I'm putting myself there! What kind of parallel universe have I slipped into? Purposely subjecting myself to rejection. Such is the writer's life. I could be a true wannabe, and never let my pages see the light of day, but I'm not wired that way. Even if it hurts, I have to give myself the chance to succeed. I don't want to be an old woman with stories of what I could have been. I don't want to have to explain to my children why I never chased my dreams. Yes, rejection hurts, but embodying failure in the eyes of my children is more pain than I'm willing to endure.

But I digress. I sent off two agent queries at the end of January--literally the end. It's May, and I've heard nothing. Part of me wants to be happy that it's taking so long. No news is good news, right? The other part of me is afraid that I've waited all this time for a rejection. Thanks to the Golden Heart, I've learned that my writing evokes strong emotion. That's a great feeling as a writer, though I wish it translated into better contest scores. The whole business is subjective, so I wasn't too disappointed with my results. The waiting was what killed me! So now, here I am again, waiting to see what these agents will have to say about my work. For the record, Julie, I took Linda Lael Miller's advice and submitted my work to Harlequin. I haven't heard from them yet either, but I only sent it off early March, so it could be a while. How am I supposed to stay sane while waiting for a response?

I do have a few ideas. There's a contest I plan to enter--Mid-Michigan RWA's "Happily Ever After." I love all of my manuscript, but the end is my favorite part. We'll see how that goes. Of course, I have editing to do on my RS. And I've got a new one in the works, which should be a funny suspense. At least the beginning is funny, so I'm excited about getting it going. Okay, that worked. I'll make it a few more days.

TBD

I've run out of ideas for titles. At least titles that reflect the crazy, rested, happy mood I'm in. So TBD works. For kicks, I thought I'd cruise the web. I've hit a couple blogs and my favorite writing sites, with one exception. It's been a good night. Dinner was sour Skittles washed down with Diet Coke. Not for my kids, of course! So much for my diet though. For a control freak, my leniency with myself is beyond belief. I really ought to do something about that. Anyway, as I perused some good sites, I came across my favorite writer's conference, La Jolla Writers Conference.

Okay, that makes it sound like it was by sheer happenstance that I entered the website. Not quite true, I'm afraid. I went there with a purpose. I wanted to see who was attending this year and perhaps jinn up some courage to have a private read. I'm still working on the courage part, but I learned the coolest thing. They have a special rate this year for dynamic duos. This is already one of the most affordable conferences available to authors across genre spectra, but the new discount makes it difficult to pass up. By then, I'll have time to take from work and my short day is Friday anyway, so I wouldn't lose much. I know the airport and love La Jolla. Do you see how I'm having a difficult time telling myself no? Anyway, if you're curious about LJWC, please check out the link to the right. This year, I wanted to go to RWA's conference, but there was no way to swing it with the move. I've told myself to be content with the pictures and the workshop recordings, which are fabulous by the way.

So because I can't come up with anything savvy to say, happy Friday all!!!

Things that make you go hmmm....

Life is funny sometimes... I love where I work. The people are amazing and I spend a lot more time laughing than I get paid to do. But hey, it makes the days fly! We just got these cool carafes for our coffee, and I was so stoked. I can drink coffee all day and night. Anyway, one of my dear co-workers decided to put a small coffee cup under the basket drip thingy and turned it on. Why oh why, dear friends would someone do this? I just don't know. Of course, the coffee streamed onto the floor and created a huge mess. This wouldn't be funny if we weren't all really intelligent people, if I do say so myself. My dear co-worker stayed and cleaned the entire mess. We all had a good laugh over it today.

Beyond the good times at the office, I've been thinking about my wild times in the Aloha State. There's no better place to party, in my opinion. I just relayed a story to a friend that I thought I'd told her about long ago. It has a profane title, so let's just say it involved male anatomy. Anyway, this slick rick thought it would be a good idea to slip his rod of glory into my hand while I had my back to him. Now, as nothing of this nature had ever happened to me, I was shocked. Too stunned to do anything more than scream and rant at him for his "indiscretion." Thanks to this rude dude, I now know what to do when faced with the one-eyed snake--at least when it's used in such a way!

But see, that's the funny part of life. Just like Forrest Gump's mama said, "Life is like a box of chocolate. You never know what you're gonna get." Never would I suspect that my co-worker would do something as silly as expect to catch 24 cups of coffee in an 8-ounce Styrofoam cup. And never in a million years would I have expected to have a close encounter of the penile kind, especially not in a public place! Yeah, eventually this stuff is going to end up in a book. You knew it would come to that.

So what's the weirdest thing that's happened to you?

Still Kickin'

Can you believe it's already May? Gosh, summer is literally around the corner and I barely remember winter. Okay, maybe I won't go that far. Winter seemed to last a long, long time. But time has flown. The new job is absolutely fantastic. I get to impact people's lives daily in a positive way. I go to bed exhausted at night, which is why I've been the amazing disappearing woman as of late. The plus side is that I've been writing. Yes, I've still got about three chapters left to write, but I'm paring down the page count. I'm heading into one of the final action scenes, and I think I may get to write another wedding. Who knows? The characters are keeping mum.

When I'm not working or writing, I spend my spare time unpacking boxes. You know, one never knows how much stuff one's managed to accumulate until the unpacking begins. Dude! I swear, my California is leaking. The good news is my kitchen is totally organized, the kids' rooms are finished and the living room is great. The room that houses my dragons, like my bedroom is a work in progress. It could be worse. I could still be looking at wall-to-wall boxes. There's something about having a place to call home. Knowing that when I leave work, I'm going to a place where comfort awaits. I feel so blessed--tired, but blessed. While my eyes are open, I'm going to lay pen to paper. Book four is screaming to be written, and I won't do it 'til three is done. Time to get this dog and pony show on the road.

Am I the only person who finds the end of a story difficult to write? I'm like this when I read too. I hate to reach the end because I'm losing my friends. What do you do to cure the end-of-story blues?