Have I lost my mind? Of course not, dear friends! Tonight was my first night back in school. Nope, one master's degree wasn't enough. Your nearest and dearest author-desperately-seeking-publication (okay, one of your nearest and dearest) is on the road to a master's in education--secondary to be specific. No snickering allowed. I love the classroom! And I'm a damn good teacher, too. The only thing I lack is certification, so off I go!
It's been a long time since I've sat at a desk, next to my peers, listening to lecture while fighting to stay awake. None of the activity is boring. Quite the contrary. Tonight, I've discovered what the hero for my next book looks like. He sits across from me with hair so dark it's almost black and eyes like the ocean as it rolls into Haunauma Bay.
For those of you with more delicate sensibilities, you may want to avoid the next sentence or two. The next book opens with violence. Well, partial nudity and violence. But, dear friends, that little instance of violence is the flash introduction of our hero and heroine. [We now return to our scheduled programming]
Right now, she is a healthy-sized girl (woman)., one with curves who isn't exactly trying to lose them. He is dreamy, and not the type she'd expect to find even remotely attracted to her. All I'll say for now is HOT. And yes, it was imperative that it be in all caps. I'm back to a multi-cultural cast, unlike my last book. And the characters will have to overcome their differences to make what's fantasy oh-so-real. Yeah, somewhere in there, there will be a crime or life-threatening situation they must battle as well, but I haven't worked that out as of yet. I will have to keep you posted.
Should I be mildly embarrassed that I wrote this blog in the middle of lecture this evening? I'm not in the least, I assure you. My fellow classmates watched me scribe furiously, probably thinking I'm some sort of overachiever. If only they knew. What do you get up to when people around you think you're working?
28 June 2007
21 June 2007
Fasten your seatbelts...
This is a blog about absolutely nothing. You see, I'm sitting here, eyes barely open from my late nights and early mornings, debating over whether or not I should eat. Oh, I don't want just anything, folks. I want a hamburger. Please don't ask me why because I can't answer that question for myself. It just sounds good to me. Almost as good as crawling (climbing, actually) into my giant bed for 50 hours of sleep. Wine just isn't cutting it.
The problem is if I cook, it could cause my husband an ego hit. He made dinner, which smelled a little charred when I came home an hour late from work. I love what he made--black-eyed peas--but I want something different. This is probably a lame excuse to avoid writing. I'll admit it. If I felt more awake, I might actually muster the energy to feel guilty about that. As it stands, guilt ain't on the menu tonight.
I did a classic no-no last night and opened an old manuscript for kicks. Yet again, I've discovered a personal flaw. I have no clue how to describe my stories. Like writing them isn't enough. Did you hear that sigh? As a solution to this newly discovered issue, I asked a co-worker who does not at all read in my genre to read my 2nd book with the purpose of telling me what she thinks the story's about.
I asked her first, didn't just dump the 400 pages on her lap. She was actually excited, poor thing! Last we spoke about it, she said the beginning of my book "totally captivated" her. Now, I'd told her to be brutal with me before she even agreed to read. After all, my goal is publication, not a pat on the head. I'm curious to know what she'll say about all the rest. This experience is sort of like querying agents. You want to know what they're going to say, but you can't ask because that goes against established mores. Instead, you wait for the slip of paper to arrive in the mail. Yes, I need to see more, or the more common big fat NO. There go those pins and needles...
The problem is if I cook, it could cause my husband an ego hit. He made dinner, which smelled a little charred when I came home an hour late from work. I love what he made--black-eyed peas--but I want something different. This is probably a lame excuse to avoid writing. I'll admit it. If I felt more awake, I might actually muster the energy to feel guilty about that. As it stands, guilt ain't on the menu tonight.
I did a classic no-no last night and opened an old manuscript for kicks. Yet again, I've discovered a personal flaw. I have no clue how to describe my stories. Like writing them isn't enough. Did you hear that sigh? As a solution to this newly discovered issue, I asked a co-worker who does not at all read in my genre to read my 2nd book with the purpose of telling me what she thinks the story's about.
I asked her first, didn't just dump the 400 pages on her lap. She was actually excited, poor thing! Last we spoke about it, she said the beginning of my book "totally captivated" her. Now, I'd told her to be brutal with me before she even agreed to read. After all, my goal is publication, not a pat on the head. I'm curious to know what she'll say about all the rest. This experience is sort of like querying agents. You want to know what they're going to say, but you can't ask because that goes against established mores. Instead, you wait for the slip of paper to arrive in the mail. Yes, I need to see more, or the more common big fat NO. There go those pins and needles...
20 June 2007
Balance
Yeah, I'm learning. This has been quite the test. Moving, becoming the breadwinner, and trying to maintain a vise-grip on my title as domestic goddess. Somewhere in there, I fit in writing and a dash of fun to keep my life in check. Invariably, I slip somewhere. Guess where it's been lately? My poor blog has been so neglected.
The writing has been fun. I'm filling in the middle, and it's not terrible. In fact, I learned something. My manuscript is nearly finished. I thought I had two chapters to go, but I'm wrapping it up now. There's nothing more to be said, no more poor horse to continue beating. A few more pages, and my characters will have shared as much of their story that they're going to. The good news is we're all okay with that. Soon, I'll begin a whole new round of queries, and maybe this story will tickle the fancy of those who couldn't feel the last one.
Each story is practice. An exercise of the imagination and skill. That's what I need to remember. If you'd asked me years ago if I even thought I could finish a story, I'd have told you no. I had gobs of ideas, but I never believed that I could actually do it. Yet, I never stopped writing. I just never finished. Fast forward, and I have 2.9 finished books under my belt. In each, the theme feels the same, but the stories are very different. How could I have doubted myself? Easy. I let fear be my guide. And what a treacherous guide fear was!
Fear choked my confidence. Stopped me from sharing my passion with others--even loved ones. Fear choked my hard-drive with incomplete novels, which only proved to serve that fear was right. So what pushed me forward? I'm still trying to solve that puzzle. A large part of overcoming for me had to have been finding a group of folks trekking the same trail. I won't be so PC as to say all of these people were helpful or had pure designs, but they did know what I suffered. Sadly, some of them chose to sit on the trail while others plodded on. Hiding their fourteen manuscripts under the bed, taking them out only to beat those of us in the single digits over the head when opportunity availed.
I took the beating and learned from it. More than not to trample on others' hopes, too. I've figured out that all of us who call ourselves writers do so with varying levels of purpose. There was a time I was just proud to finish a book. Publication was almost non-existent on my goal radar. I don't know when that changed. All I know is my intention changed. The burning that inspired me to write in the first place swelled to an inferno pointing me to see my work on bookshelves. Allow me to indulge some relativism here. I don't think any of these perspectives are wrong. Some of us bike the path, some will run, drive, wind sail; and some of us need to sit and take a break. It's all good. This is a journey that seems to be more about the why than the how.
What's your take? My feelings won't be hurt if you tell me I'm just blowing smoke, but I sure am curious. Happy trails ;)
The writing has been fun. I'm filling in the middle, and it's not terrible. In fact, I learned something. My manuscript is nearly finished. I thought I had two chapters to go, but I'm wrapping it up now. There's nothing more to be said, no more poor horse to continue beating. A few more pages, and my characters will have shared as much of their story that they're going to. The good news is we're all okay with that. Soon, I'll begin a whole new round of queries, and maybe this story will tickle the fancy of those who couldn't feel the last one.
Each story is practice. An exercise of the imagination and skill. That's what I need to remember. If you'd asked me years ago if I even thought I could finish a story, I'd have told you no. I had gobs of ideas, but I never believed that I could actually do it. Yet, I never stopped writing. I just never finished. Fast forward, and I have 2.9 finished books under my belt. In each, the theme feels the same, but the stories are very different. How could I have doubted myself? Easy. I let fear be my guide. And what a treacherous guide fear was!
Fear choked my confidence. Stopped me from sharing my passion with others--even loved ones. Fear choked my hard-drive with incomplete novels, which only proved to serve that fear was right. So what pushed me forward? I'm still trying to solve that puzzle. A large part of overcoming for me had to have been finding a group of folks trekking the same trail. I won't be so PC as to say all of these people were helpful or had pure designs, but they did know what I suffered. Sadly, some of them chose to sit on the trail while others plodded on. Hiding their fourteen manuscripts under the bed, taking them out only to beat those of us in the single digits over the head when opportunity availed.
I took the beating and learned from it. More than not to trample on others' hopes, too. I've figured out that all of us who call ourselves writers do so with varying levels of purpose. There was a time I was just proud to finish a book. Publication was almost non-existent on my goal radar. I don't know when that changed. All I know is my intention changed. The burning that inspired me to write in the first place swelled to an inferno pointing me to see my work on bookshelves. Allow me to indulge some relativism here. I don't think any of these perspectives are wrong. Some of us bike the path, some will run, drive, wind sail; and some of us need to sit and take a break. It's all good. This is a journey that seems to be more about the why than the how.
What's your take? My feelings won't be hurt if you tell me I'm just blowing smoke, but I sure am curious. Happy trails ;)
11 June 2007
Part Deux
Okay, so it wasn't all crap. I wrote, edited and did what needed to be done. Those folks at Nike give great advice--Just Do it! I still don't know how exactly I'm going to get my character from curry to blood smeared hands, but it will happen. There are a few things stirring in my brain. Let's just hope they make it to paper before they leak onto my pillows as I sleep. Nighty-night, folks! And happy, happy writing!
Long time, no blog
Jeez Louise! It has been a long time. Just about a week, and no I'm in my house all alone because DH and the minions have gone to Denver for the day. I should be writing now, doing all the things I've wanted to do for an age amidst the peace and quiet. And I'm afraid to open my manuscript. What if I don't have anything worth saying? What if my characters revolt and refuse to show up to play? Sometimes I wonder if I'm even cut out for the writing business. Like I said, Jeez Louise! I don't think I can call this writer's block. Hell, I'd have to open the manuscript, wouldn't I?
I've never stood down to any challenge, so I guess that means I'll open my book and write it. Can you hear the sigh? It was one of those big chest-heaving ones. Okay. Here I go. Wish me luck!
I've never stood down to any challenge, so I guess that means I'll open my book and write it. Can you hear the sigh? It was one of those big chest-heaving ones. Okay. Here I go. Wish me luck!
04 June 2007
Rejection
Yes, the dreaded "R" word. And I've got lots of experience with it lately. You see, dear friends, I have been a mad, querying fool. I've stayed up into the night sending letters to agents who handle what I write, and the rejections have come pouring in. It's all good, as my brother would say. I can't be rejected if I'm not exposing myself. Okay, so it sucks a little bit, but each response brings me closer to forging a relationship with the agent and/or editor of my dreams. Too many people in my path, people with credentials, have told me my writing is solid for me to quit because of some turn-downs. People say no to me all the time, but for every 50 "no's" there is bound to be a "yes." And I'm going to keep pushing 'til I get it.
I know I'm not the only one facing Rejection Hill. Perhaps the great thing about it is there's no such thing as walking that long mile alone. What's interesting to me is that it works differently for people in other professional writing arenas. Take my dear friend Kay. She's a screenwriter, and a damn good one. That community seems smaller than that of novelists, and it is more closed from this outsider's perspective. She presses on, calling agents even when they slam the phone down, to see if they're accepting queries. I respect that, and she will be my inspiration, my companion up the hill that runs up both ways.
What do you do when people slam the door in your face, hang up on you or put you on ignore? We all have the option to pull the covers overhead and pretend it's all a bad dream. We can rant and rail against the people who are keeping us down. Or, we can be the champions we know ourselves to be, pick ourselves up, dust off and keep on truckin'.
It is impossible to discourage the real writers - they don't give a damn what you say, they're going to write. ~Sinclair Lewis
I know I'm not the only one facing Rejection Hill. Perhaps the great thing about it is there's no such thing as walking that long mile alone. What's interesting to me is that it works differently for people in other professional writing arenas. Take my dear friend Kay. She's a screenwriter, and a damn good one. That community seems smaller than that of novelists, and it is more closed from this outsider's perspective. She presses on, calling agents even when they slam the phone down, to see if they're accepting queries. I respect that, and she will be my inspiration, my companion up the hill that runs up both ways.
What do you do when people slam the door in your face, hang up on you or put you on ignore? We all have the option to pull the covers overhead and pretend it's all a bad dream. We can rant and rail against the people who are keeping us down. Or, we can be the champions we know ourselves to be, pick ourselves up, dust off and keep on truckin'.
It is impossible to discourage the real writers - they don't give a damn what you say, they're going to write. ~Sinclair Lewis
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