Literary Jules

Cover Madness: Seriously, It's a Thing

2012-01-24T16:05:00.012-05:00

Please picture me behaving with proper decorum (when in fact I'm jumping around like a spaz) during the following reveal.

After working with a fabulous graphic designer named Allison (find her amazing photography here), I am proud to present the fruits of our labor...

Drum roll...

The cover for my novel, The Wild Wood (releasing in May 2012):

Is it wrong to squeal? Just asking. I love it. But... then we had a happy accident and discovered this possible cover for the book. Now, I'm completely flummoxed.

Help. What do you think? Which one makes you want to read the book? Understand, The Wild Wood is a young adult fantasy.

Please, share your expertise and help me make this important (and the first) decision about my self-publishing adventure.

Quote for the Day from me

"I've got a freaking cover!!!!"

Literary Sailing

2012-01-23T08:28:00.003-05:00

I love learning. I really do. I’m even trying to learn a Western Asian language, mostly for fun. (It is kicking my behind, in case you are wondering, but I could ask for water.) Anyway, constantly learning new things excites me. I’ve always wanted to be someone who spoke ten languages (including dead ones), who knew where all the countries in the world are (I don’t), and who could talk intelligently about just about every topic. I’m not there yet, or even close. Good thing I plan to live to be 113.

But right now, I’m trying to learn something new and it is making my head a little fuzzy. I never imagined myself self-publishing. I was going to write books that every agent would want, get an awesome book deal, and trust my career to the professionals while I got to play in fiction for more than a living wage. It still could happen, but I’ve recently decided that I’m ready for a new adventure with my writing, and one way to make that happen is self-publishing.

But to self-publish, I have to learn a lot about the ways that things work, things I really know nothing about (not unlike when, years ago, I submitted my first novel without knowing anything at all). Some people learn everything first, but I decided that learning all the stats about failure would shut me down. I’m glad I wrote what I wanted to write and lived in the dream of easy success for a while. Reality came; it does for all of us. But I was ready to learn when the time came.

Now, thanks to a lot of blogs and Googling, I’m reading about self-publishing and it is enough to make my head pop right off and roll across the room. People have such different takes on it, and without an agent or advocate, I’m left to make all the decisions myself. While a little scary, I’m finding myself getting excited about this adventure (which was the point). I get to design my cover (which I will be releasing very soon). I get to decide on the final edits (with the help of many lovely beta readers). I get to decide about book trailers and websites. I get to steer this book ship, and that is amazing.

I know I will stumble along the way and that steering the ship isn’t always the easiest thing to do. I know that there will be no billions of dollars and a swimming pool shaped like a Hobbit Hole, but I’m so very excited about feeling some control in a journey that has at times left me feeling powerless. So, I’m taking the power back, baby, and seeing where this ship leads me.

I hope you’ll help out by giving feedback on covers, web designs, book trailers, and such. It might be my ship, but since I’m clueless about where fore and aft are, I’m going to be needing some help.

Hope everyone has a happy Monday!

Quote for the Day from Robert N. Rose

“Ships are the nearest things to dreams that hands have ever made.”

Time

2012-01-13T09:14:00.004-05:00

It is a common rule for writers that we should set aside our masterpieces for a while, to let them rest and allow us to gain some distance before sending them out to agents and the world. I like this idea and I mostly practice it. Now that I am readying a book for self-publishing, I’ve had the chance to see the true benefits. I recently picked up my old story friend and dove in, and discovered that the first chapter that I had adored was actually not really great at all. I’m actually now surprised by all the agent interest it garnered, because I can see from the vantage point of almost two years that there was a better way to open my story.

In reading the book, I discovered a flaw in my tale telling, an event that a character would have already experienced had been explained to her by another character. Clearly, giving her the chance to experience the event is far better than a “blah, blah, blah” about something so powerfully moving in her life.

Time has given me the chance to see these things and improve upon the story. And it is wonderful to dive back in and revisit a beloved world, especially when I know that in self-publishing, I have the power to decide when it is ready, to pick the cover, and release the book to the world. My newly embraced idea of self-publishing is energizing me to see a different writing career for myself.

That doesn’t mean I will stop pursuing traditional publication, but I see the publishing landscape in very different terms. It’s funny, my favorite singers and musicians are non-traditional; they’ve created their own labels and control their own careers. They may never be billionaires but they own their journeys. I see the value in that more and more.

Quote for the Day from Doris Lessing

“Any human anywhere will blossom in a hundred unexpected talents and capacities simply by being given the opportunity to do so.”

A New Writing Adventure

2012-01-07T14:14:00.009-05:00

I’ve been away from my blog long enough that getting back to it has felt awkward. Every time I’ve thought of writing a blog, I magically find crucial things that need taking care of (what, of course, hugging my not-so-small puppy is crucial). But today, I did something that ensured that I would post a new blog: I wrote a post on my new heirloom gardening blog (if you want to take a look, it is here). And then my writing blog got cranky and jealous, and sniped so loudly that I immediately (okay, I walked the Aggie pup, played on Twitter, listened to music, made a really great lunch, talked to my mom...) started writing a new post.

The trouble with blogging lately is that I have been in a transitional phase in my writing that hasn’t always been shiny, nor has it been particularly dark. It’s just been different. New ideas about the future have come through, a book has been written, joy has been reclaimed in the writing process, and I’m fairly happy about where I am at (in every aspect of my life, actually). I’m mostly content. Which is nice.

In writing, I’m preparing to do something I never really thought I would do. I think it is fair to say that we all imagine that as soon as we start querying with our Masterpieces-in-Waiting that agents are going to fall all over themselves to claim us, publishers are immediately going to see that we are the next Stephenie Meyer, and fans are going to adore, but never stalk, us. It’s all so beautiful and life is bliss. Few people, if any, have that experience (Harper Lee came close and then never published another book, so everything has its challenges). After reality strikes, we reassess, work hard, write more, find more people to critic our work, and submit the new baby, who’s a little more streetwise. And then the next and the next. That’s what I’ve done and I’ve been dedicated to the journey more than any perceived conclusions (for the most part).

I’m willing to keep doing this, pursuing the agent that will connect with my work and the opportunities that affords, but what I’ve recently realized (thanks to some special people in my life) is that I am ready for a new adventure in writing. Querying can come to feel like our writing is being done for a pool of agents, and that isn’t what any of us set out to do. We write for readers who will connect with our characters and our stories, who don’t have any business interest in us, but rather seek us out to provide spice to their lives as great tales are bound to do. I’m ready for a new adventure and I have a lot to learn, but soon (within months), I’m going to self-publish and I’m excited about all that I will experience on that adventure.

What about you? Anybody else thinking of embarking on that adventure?

Quote for the Day from J.R.R. Tolkien

“It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

Fields of Gold

2011-11-03T15:23:00.005-04:00

Life is moments, most people would agree. Some of these moments are stellar, and some are nothing but horror. But if we are lucky, more moments are on the way. More moments to learn, to discover, to live. I had a particular moment this morning that made me think of writing a blog post (I haven’t been very blog-posty inspired lately). I haven’t been terribly writerly inspired either. As I’ve mentioned before, I went on a writing hiatus, my first in a few years, and discovered many things, made new goals, and found a few pitfalls that have been lingering around, waiting to trip me up.

For me, the truth about writing is this: when I’m writing I’m connected to my mind and my heart, I’m connected to who I want to be, I’m connected to faith. Without writing, I’m adrift, but not always unpleasantly so. But when I’m not writing for an extended period, I find myself devoid of answers, of the translation of what my core is wanting or screaming for. And mostly, I feel disconnected from my faith. Without writing, I lose myself. Is this healthy? Who knows and, in some ways, who cares? The trick about life is to determine what the self needs, what the community needs, what the world needs, and live and be that. I am better to myself, to my family and friends, and consequently, to the world when I’m writing (whether I market my work or not). For this reason, a dear friend gave me an assignment: write essays about what’s going on in your head, so you don’t keep bumping into walls every five minutes (rough translation... she was much nicer in an Obi-Wan Kenobi kind of way).

These essays (because of course I do what Obi-Wan says) have illuminated much of what I am grappling with and have given me directions to move in. These essays have been my not-to-be-shared blog posts lately, as I wander through my own mind. And something from these essays inspired a moment this morning.

Lately, and what drove me to my writing hiatus, was frustration with my writing, marketing my writing, looking over fences at all the fabulous things happening to other writers while I continue to toil, and a not-small amount of feeling sorry for myself for all the things that everyone else seems to have in life that I don’t. Poor Me squared.

And I am here to say that part of the need for a Poor Me phase was the Pollyanna mojo I’ve had going on for over three years of writing and rejections. The body needs to grieve for loss and to lick its wounds. So, if you need to get your pout on, you Get Your Pout On. But the time for pouting can only last so long, which is why my essay last night was basically a Quit Yer B*tching kind of rant.

Today came the softer side as I stared at myself in the mirror while brushing my teeth and listening to the most beautiful song in the world. The song gave me the other side of why it was time to quit whining. The song is Fields of Gold (Sting) performed by Eva Cassidy. And the reason it moved me so much this morning is that when I do behave like a nincompoop and look over fences at other people’s lives, I feel forgotten, lost, ignored, and like the game is over because others are successful with their writing (and lives) and I haven’t been... yet. Yet. That is the key to foiling the frustrations. The game is not over because I am alive. I have more moments. And lovely Eva Cassidy doesn’t. I heard her song for the first time a year ago... roughly fourteen years after she died at the age of thirty-three. Her moments ran out. Mine still exist, and my story isn’t finished, and as long as we have moments, we have possibility, and to ignore that is to miss the most important point of life. To live it.

Quote for the Day from Fields of Gold

“You’ll remember me when the west wind moves

Upon the fields of barley

You’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky

As we walk in fields of gold.”

Times of Transition

2011-09-26T16:15:00.003-04:00

Four years ago and a few months, I moved across the country to a city I knew nothing about and where I knew not a soul. I did it all without much thought. A job opportunity presented itself and I leapt. I closed on a house in twenty-eight days and began what was the most difficult year of my life (to date). That year (the dark one) taught me more about myself than any other year of my life, and the lessons I learned have fueled what have become three of the best years of my life.

Before the tremendous job opportunity came along, I felt cramped in my old life, a life where everything seemed defined already—me most of all. I was my parents’ daughter, my brother’s sister, my friends’ friend, my employers’ employee. I was fixed, like a dead butterfly on a biologist’s cork board. No one made me this way, it was simply that nothing had challenged the definitions by which I saw myself. The move fixed all that. All of sudden, I was flying (and occasionally crashing). I was alive, even in occasional misery.

Over the year and the ones that followed, I became myself, not anyone else’s definition of me. I’ve been thinking about this a bit lately as I move into a new time of transition, the point where change is fueled by an internal wanderlust.

I’m not moving again, nor do I find that I really want to (after years of wishing I could be closer to family and friends again). My life is here. My wonderful, modest heaven of a house is here. My seasons. My new friends. I am home.

But that doesn’t mean that I am fixed in place. I’m not. My mind lately, since I’ve been on my writing hiatus, is crafting and planning, wandering through other dreams and goals from years ago, looking at all the ways my life can flourish for a new season of change. There are things I want. Goals that haven’t been touched. Writing is still chief among them, but I’m thinking of writing things I never would have dreamed I would touch. Darker things... more fixed in reality. I love the fantastical worlds that I’ve been privileged to create, but new voices are wandering into my thoughts, voices yearning to find their way onto paper.

We mustn’t ever stop pushing ourselves to be more, to grow more, to discover more. Stagnation is the enemy of all creative people, but my goals don’t just include writing. My mind is restless to learn new things, to delve into fields of study, to push to know more about this world. And in other ways, I feel my life opening to greater changes than I’ve ever known.

When I began my writing hiatus, I thought it was due to bitterness, but I was wrong. I just needed some rest after working myself into disillusionment. And now, without stories filling my head and every off-work minute of my life, I’m discovering blossoms inside myself, growing in the shadow of the fictional worlds to which I’ve been devoting my life. Without writing, I can give the buds some sunlight, allow them to bask and grow, and together, all my goals and I can make a plan for the new adventures waiting just around the corner.

Quote for the Day from Helen Keller

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. To keep our faces toward change and behave like free spirits in the presence of fate is strength undefeatable.”

The Upside of a Meltdown

2011-09-13T12:55:00.002-04:00

For three years, I have been living the writing life, filled with hopes and dreams, energy and imagination, and queries and the fun-filled (like, not so much) pursuit of an agent. Before that, I wrote a lot, but not with focus and determination in equal measure. I’ve mentioned before that I write every day and that writing is the best part of my days. I work a full-time job, and that time in the evening when I settle in to live characters’ lives and discover the soul inside fiction is like a drug. It’s not a chore, but it is work. For three years, I’ve been filled with faith, so much that rejections became just part of the process. The agents’ notes, full of compliments and comments about how I was just so close, but not quite what they were looking for, became barely speed bumps, just fuel to keep writing new stories and putting them out into the world to see what came back.

For three years, I believed.

And in one day, I didn’t.

I started taking days off from writing while on vacation in August and enjoyed not writing every day, seeing other things, doing other things, and sleeping more. The world wasn’t quite as bubbly, but it wasn’t stark either. Turns out, when you have more time on your hands, you do more. I would still dabble in my current story, but days would pass between visits. And then last week, I reached into my faith well, the place where all my belief about being a successful, published author one day lived. The well was empty. Instead of feeling horrible about the whole thing, I felt relief, not having noticed that, for years, I’d been carrying the untenable weight of believing.

Within myself, I hadn’t acknowledged the letdowns, the close-but-no cigars, that had become common along my journey. The fulls that agents never responded to (and yes, I requested status updates, several times over many, many months). Watching and being ecstatic over friends’ successes, only to wonder when I might have a turn. Believing is truly a heavy burden, and freed of that weight, I got mad. Furious with everything: myself, the universe, the publishing industry, Borders for closing, the people who don’t read, and my puppy for chewing on my curtains. It was sort of a free-range rage.

A friend asked how it felt inside when I spewed my venom. My answer: delicious. It truly felt wonderful to give up the Pollyanna and get going with the Captain Pissy Pants. It still does a little, but as with all life lessons, there is really another side to all of this. An upside.

Yes, I’m on a writing hiatus, but I’m living more. Without my shot of pure happiness found in my writing, I’m looking around at my life and I can see other dreams and hobbies. I’m going out with friends more. Walking dogs more. Going to a shooting range to do my part to deplete the Zombie hordes (so, I discovered there are Zombie targets at the gun range and can’t get enough... I even shot a Zombie warthog-looking thing). I’m thinking about my career and other goals that I hope to accomplish in my life. I’ve thought about going back to school. I’ve made some new friends and reconnected with others. I can breathe a little more... and clean my house.

I can see a real future because I’m not so addicted to living in fiction.

What this means for my writing I don’t know. I know I love it... like I love nothing else. I know writing brings me a kind of connectedness I rarely feel in my life. So, I would guess I will get back to it, maybe even write in some different genres to cleanse my palate and vary up the marketing experience. I’m not sure and I don’t really enjoy how that feels, but I’m glad I’ve found that the upside to my writing meltdown is a healthier, more balanced life.

Quote for the Day from Charles F. Kettering

“Keep on going, and the chances are that you will stumble on something, perhaps when you are least expecting it. I never heard of anyone ever stumbling on something sitting down.”

Benevolent Nostalgia Day

2011-08-18T10:25:00.007-04:00

One morning recently, I woke with a strange sense of nostalgia, warm and light-hearted nostalgia for all the people who have shared my life. Memories circled of times I hadn’t thought of in years, of people who at varying points have been extremely close to me but now aren’t. Old loves. Friends. Even enemies. People who have both built me up and torn pieces away. And about all of them, I thought only kind things.

In the past, accusing me of holding on to old wounds with a fiery vengeance would have been fair, but in recent years, the slights don’t matter as much. The hiccups along the road only serve to flavor life, not taint it. We truly have the chance to free ourselves of the weight of these long gone wounds. We have more power inside us than all the X-Men put together (more than even Buffy and the Terminator), because we have the power to let go of what needs letting go and hold tightly to that which can lift us and our loved ones.

So, for today, which I have dubbed Benevolent Nostalgia Day, join me in sending warmth and love to the people who for whatever reason walked a while in our lives. I’m not sure they can really feel it, but I’m sure we are better for sending it.

Quote for the Day from Lao Tzu

“When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.”

Acceptance

2011-07-21T12:09:00.003-04:00

For the living, life is the only game in town. For zombies, ghosts, leprechauns, and fairies options abound. Perhaps that’s why we love fantasy, because life, though a gift and our only option, is challenging, is beauty wrapped in thorns. Is fragile.

Since January, I’ve been fighting the most human of battles, a process every person will experience, a process so common, it comes with already defined stages.

Loss.

Last week, I had an epiphany that changed my direction and pulled me back to the lightness I’ve been missing in my life. Grief, the knowledge that loss is coming, whittles its way into our core, takes root there, and controls the curtains in our souls that have the ability to bring light in or to leave us in darkness. I’ve been warring with those curtains for months, constantly wondering where my previous easy happiness had gone. I deliberately sought the things that make me happy, the things that inspire me to laugh at myself. Things that gave me little bits of light, but the shadows soon returned, overtaking all my hard work.

This is what grief does, overpowers everything else. And now, I’m so surprised I missed the reason for my season of sadness. I am going to lose a treasure, a dog, a best friend, a companion for more than a decade. I’ve talked about my Darby on this blog before, after his surgery last year and the return of his cancer in January. What’s strange is that I thought I was dealing with all of this so well, congratulating myself for my thorough organization and compartmentalizing of grief. I thought I’d mastered the beast. But in looking at the months between January and now, I see that all my struggles, my battles to get back to being happy, were all signs that my body, without my permission, was dealing with all I sought to control.

Last week, while sitting on the floor, working with frustration to get Darby to eat something—anything—thoughts began rumbling in my mind, and within a couple hours, I was searching the Internet, reaching for an understanding of the stages of loss. And I found myself.

Bargaining.

Somehow, my efforts to get Darby to eat, which have been difficult since February, turned out to be my epic battle against cancer. If I could just get Darby to eat, everything would be okay. Cancer’s vicious efforts to waste away formerly healthy bodies wouldn’t win. That’s a lot of pressure to put on dog food, treats, even hotdogs, and especially on my plucky border collie. More than that, it was an unbelievable pressure to put on myself. To control that which cannot be controlled.

In the moment I realized what I was doing, I found myself in a new stage: Acceptance. And even though an exhausting transition, I could see that this necessary step would lead me back to happiness even though the great loss is still ahead of me. My struggling to just reach normal faded away behind the ease of surrendering to forces beyond my control. Acceptance, even of awful things, is a necessary part of life—and one of the hardest for a person like me.

What shocked me was that in accepting my limited power over cancer or canine aging, I found acceptance of the other things beyond my control, other things that have been riding me through the dim times. The pursuit of publication is right in the mix here, as are the other things missing in my life that exist beyond my control.

We can write the books, craft them, edit them, submit them to readers who slice them, and we can send them out. Those are the things within our control. The beyond is what people will think, whether publishers will publish, whether readers will read... and tell their friends—all the beyonds that we can do nothing about but trust, accept, and surrender to life, the only game in town.

That trust, acceptance, and surrender equal an even greater thing: faith.

And faith allows me to enjoy Darby, relax about what he eats and how much, and just feel grateful that his trusty soul is still in my presence for a little more time.

Okay, well, I might have discovered that Darby will eat Three Dog Bakery carrot cake pastries no matter how he feels. Maybe I should have called this post: Acceptance... with Pastries.

Quote for the Day from Melody Beattie

“Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.”

Freedom

2011-06-17T10:40:00.002-04:00

As a writer and avid reader, I truly believe in the wonder words are capable of, the lessons that reach in and mold us from the journeys we’ve taken in the world beyond reality, the one with the power to touch us though there is nothing we can actually grasp. So, for today’s post, I thought I would share the words from my favorite book that comfort me during the arduous process of querying and facing the demons of rejection, and sometimes more heartbreaking, hope.

My favorite book is called THE MOUNTAIN IS YOUNG by Han Suyin. Ever since the first time I read it, sometime during the 90s, this book has been my friend, the one I turn to in times of distress or when I just need to right my thinking after it has tilted.

Han Suyin’s lovely story follows the life of a writer named Anne Ford, who experiences an awakening of her self, her faith, her writing, her heart, all set against the backdrop of Khatmandu. The book involves some passion, some Eastern philosophy and spiritualism, and lessons every writer can learn from... and lessons every person can grow from. Anne, in the story’s beginning, is living in a cage of society’s making, something she has chosen for herself as well. She is “nicely dead” walking through her life, something all too many of us are guilty of at different points of our journeys.

Khatmandu wakes her up. A fellow name Unni does more than that. And she scrapes away the hard shell she’s been living in to grow new skin, new life, and the possibility that comes from it.

Though out of print, this book is well worth finding and reading. And though it has so many gems in the exquisitely written text, the words that help me most as a writer come from Anne’s conversation with a man called the Field Marshal (I’ve shortened it a bit to get to the core of what moves me, but definitely check out the entire book that always reminds me why I love words so much).

“I don’t think I underestimate,” said Anne. “I wanted to write once upon a time, but I’m not a genius, and I think the spark is gone.”

“Why qualify and delimit with a word which means exactly nothing, and thus diminish your powers, whatever they may be?” said the Field Marshal. “Do not worry to give a name to what you do, my friend. Is it not sufficient that to you something is given, not to be buried in the ground, but to use? Use it well, with no thought of success or failure — but then I should not reiterate what you know better than I do.”

“I don’t,” said Anne. “I just don’t always know what is right to do.”

“That is everyone’s question. A problem, which only faith, belief in some creed, appears to solve. You can believe in all humility, seeking the depths of yourself,” said the Field Marshal, who sat like a small Buddha in his chair, his head wrapped in a cloth, his belly strapped in a large pink waistband to protect it from the cold, “you can do, but never be attached to success or failure in your actions. In other words, remain detached from the fruits of action...”

“It is difficult to be detached and perhaps still work with the same élan.”

“On the contrary, it is easier to work if you believe that you are but a vessel to do God’s will, and divine to that extent... Let God who made the world worry about it. Your duty is to do, and thus to revere life.”

I’m not sure I need to follow that up with anything, because what could be more powerful for a writer than to know that we are doing what we are inspired to do, whether you believe that comes from God or the universe or whatever word is used to express the kind of connection writers feel when they are inside their gift.

The world may see us as brilliant one day or maybe not, but truly, our only real duty is “to do, and thus to revere life.”

Happy writing.

Meeting Ms. West

2011-06-13T16:42:00.010-04:00

As many in the writer blogging community know, blogs provide us with a community of supportive writers and, upon occasion, introduce us to the people who will become some of our best friends. I have been fortunate to become close friends with two different writers, both of them wonderful, generous people. On Friday of last week, I had the delightful opportunity to meet one of them in the real world for the first time: Ms. Kasie West.

Kasie and I began communicating just a couple months after I started my blog, and her treasure trove of goofiness and ability to write truly inspired songs about me (it’s a good thing she writes novels instead of songs, that’s all I’m saying) brought about a friendship that is as dear to me as any I’ve ever had. So when I found out she was going to be three hours away from me for part of a day, I took the day off of work, woke myself at 4:30 in the morning, and left the house just after six, with a new playlist to test out for the novel I’m writing and an excitement that made three hours fly right on by.

And then we met at the most scintillating of places... yup, that would be Denny’s where Kasie was having breakfast with her husband and amazingly wonderful in-laws (I’m not married, but if I ever am, I want people like these for in-laws... and actually before I got the chance to hug Kasie, Mrs. West hugged me first... how wonderful and welcoming was that!). I spent a truly magnificent day with Kasie and her family, exploring historical sites that I knew nothing about (okay, maybe I prepped with some research so I wouldn’t feel like an ignorant toad). And then we only got a little lost on the way to dinner (never ask Kasie a question about her life while she’s supposed to be studying a map... just saying).

On the drive home, I couldn’t get over the feeling about how magical the day was and that it was one of the best days I’ve had in recent memory. And it never once felt like we were meeting for the first time, because we’ve been an active part of each other’s lives and writing for quite a while now. I truly feel blessed in the friends, both writers and non-writers, that I am fortunate enough to know.

Thanks to the Wests for welcoming me into your very special day. And a huge congratulations to Kasie on her book deal. I’ve read her book, and I told her it was brilliant (maybe a few times). Isn't it nice to be right! :)

Oh, and yes, I felt like Lilliputian all day (which turns out to be a reference not everyone knows... extra points to Jared for just nodding politely and acting like I was as normal as Kasie. :)

Quote for the Day from Anonymous

“If you're alone, I'll be your shadow. If you want to cry, I'll be your shoulder. If you want a hug, I'll be your pillow. If you need to be happy, I'll be your smile. But anytime you need a friend, I'll just be me.”

A Dear Blog Letter:

2011-06-09T10:11:00.002-04:00

Dearest Blog-apotamus (everything sounds funnier with -potamus on the end, just ask my dogs),

Almost a month has passed since my last post, and I wanted you to know that this distance isn’t your fault. It’s nothing you’ve done. It’s me. It’s my “other” writing. It’s coming between us. And I want you to know that you are still loved, and all the other blogs out there are still loved by me, though I haven’t stopped by in a while.

You know I’m not moderate sometimes. You know that I have these fevers, these obsessions with fiction that drive away everything else. And that’s where I’ve been, typing so much it’s hard to use my fingers. Eating almond butter and grape jelly sandwiches every day just so I don’t have to cook anything that will require taking time to do more dishes. Playing with the dogs, while working on my laptop, plotting stories while I mow the lawn. Yes, I know, I seem like someone who needs meds, but I’m happy. And as my blog, I would think that you cared about my happiness.

Pause.

Oh, you don’t. You think I’m a loser who is ignoring my responsibilities. Well, if you are going to be like that about it, fine. See if care.

Pause.

You are right. I’ll try to do better. I will even promise a new post on or before Monday in which I will share photos from my super secret outing tomorrow, during which I will be meeting one of my author heroes, who is also thankfully one of my dearest friends.

And so, fair thee well, little blog. You are not forgotten.

Julie

P.S. Happy writing everyone!

Quote for the Day from Henry David Thoreau

“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, To put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die Discover that I had not lived.”

The Gift of Tears

2011-05-13T13:12:00.003-04:00

Every one of us experiences hardships, sadness, letdowns. Not one of us will go through this life without feeling the potent, life-wrecking power of true loss. It’s how we deal with life’s struggles that tells who we really are, or maybe even who we need to be. For today, because it’s Friday the 13th (and I don’t want to jinx myself), I’m thinking more of the smaller hurdles, not the greater. The ones that ache inside us but don’t floor us.

After spending several less-than-glorious years as a wallowing fool, I decided to ‘just say no’ to murkiness, in favor of simply moving forward when greeted with difficulties. As a rule, that seems great. The laws of attraction folks might even cheer, but recently, I’ve discovered the darker side of this strategy: denial. Even if we paint on our giddy faces and approach each struggle as a chance to overcome, inside us, grief is still happening, only it isn’t being released.

During a recent conversation with a lovely friend, she said, “You can stop being grateful for everything you do have and be a little sad for what you don’t.”

She said this after I talked about something with her and tears came, which I always announce with some amount of shame, “I’m going to cry,” as though people need to be warned that my bright and shiny has tilted. Her words got me thinking about my life and the way I live it. She’s right. I don’t cry as a general rule, except when tears force their way out while I’m talking to someone (sometimes at completely inopportune moments). I don’t sit at home and have a cry-fest for a few reasons. One, it feels like a waste of time. Two, I could always be doing something to move my goals and life forward. Three, crying when I look around at how lucky I am seems like an affront to people who suffer much more than I do. And four, my tears upset my aging soul mate of a border collie. Tears equal useless in my mind, but they break free anyway, always tamped down by my exacting nature with myself (I would never be as unkind and control freakish with anyone else as I am with myself).

This is where the denial comes in. Even though I don’t free the tears, the sadness lives and needs a voice. The person inside me who is hurt by living a solitary existence, who struggles with rejection like any writer, who experiences hurt and loss like everyone else has a right to her tears. But still, I can’t just cry (see above, waste of time).

That is where books come in. Last weekend, I read Rilla of Ingleside by L.M. Montgomery, the eighth book in the Anne of Green Gables series (which I have loved). This book, thanks to some very heavy handed foreshadowing in previous books (so heavy handed, I called it forebillboarding), involved the death of one of Anne’s children in the horror that was World War I. Walking with the character, while he struggled with his poetic soul, too gentle for such violence, against the sense of honor and duty that leads people to enter the fray, brought forth such a slew of tears that I had to put the dog in another room to protect him from fiction-based anxiety. I wept. A lot. And could right now. I’ve said before that I have no protective filter when I read. For a well-written story with compelling characters, I live the characters’ lives and suffer their hardships.

But what I found after my day of tears was that L.M. Montgomery gave me a gift, a way to mourn that which needed mourning. She, through her beloved poet, gave me a catharsis the likes of which I haven’t experienced in a long time. And though emotionally exhausted afterward, I also felt free. Like the Day of Atonement observed by my wonderful Jewish friends, this was my day of grieving. It was a necessary experience for me to get my happy heart back and to be able to move forward with a more relaxed, accepting sensibility.

But then, it’s also made me even more grateful for my life, to live in a world with books, to have been raised in a place where reading is taught, to have a very special home to live in with an abundance of peace, for a day that I could push everything else aside to live in fiction, to have my border collie still around after I thought he’d already be gone, to have... to have... to have...

I am very, very grateful for my life. And for you.

Quote for the Day from Rilla of Ingleside by L.M. Montgomery

“But tonight somehow, all the beautiful things I have always loved seem to have become possible again — and this is good, and makes me feel a deep, certain, exquisite happiness.”

A Girl Has to Know What She Wants

2011-05-05T16:31:00.003-04:00

My mother told me a story of a friend of hers who said, “It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor man.” In her mind, she had a vision of what she wanted for her life, and she did marry a rich man (mostly because she never dated any poor ones). Because she and my mom went different directions with their lives, we’ll never know if achieving that goal made her happy or not, but for today, her story is one of knowing about our own inner wants and doing what is necessary to achieve them.

At this point, it would be easy for me to stumble along the path of all my writing goals and yada, yada, yada. But I’m not going there (querying is hard enough without all that gushing and hoping and praying and pleading and writhing). Instead, I’m going to share another goal (I’ve got bazillions of them).

I want to live to be 113 years old. Yup, that’s what I want. And I want to be healthy, fit, happy, and still writing. (During my conversations with my inner selfness, it might have been mentioned that if I just keep writing and submitting and outlive all the agents who reject me, I’ll have a chance at the next generation of agents and the ones after what, when ebooks are history and novels are downloaded directly into our brains.)

So, 113. The number itself came out of a conversation with one of my favorite people, who happens to be a former student of mine. She told me I’m never allowed to get old and die, so we negotiated a deal that I would live to be 113 and she would be ninety something and we could die at the same time, like Thomas Jefferson and John Adams. A perfect plan.

But after we made that plan, I started to wonder about us wonky humans. I feel odd to have an “age of mortality” goal, but shouldn’t we all have an idea about how long we want to live and how we want those years to go? Isn’t it more odd that most of us don’t give it much thought? Maybe we feel that the cards are already dealt, or we don’t want to think about how our actions today could affect how many days we get with our grandkids (or granddogs if we aren’t fortunate enough to ever have kids).

I think about it sometimes when I’m walking into my building and see how many people will brave terrible weather to smoke (smoking is not for sissies in a climate like this). I really don’t believe that any of them would want to give up the days they have with their loved ones, and yet they are. Maybe the enormity of mortality sends us into a fugue state, from whence denial springs.

My 113-year goal has made me think about the way I live my life. I’m a bit of a health nut anyway, and this has made my dedication even greater. But today, I’m not really thinking of food choices, but rather mental choices. I joke about it, but I really don’t want to be a snarky old lady, with a pointy-tipped cane screeching at young kids to, “Get off my lawn!”

And then I read this news article about the death of the last combat veteran from World War I and that got me thinking even more. What a plucky, awesome guy he was, who only lived to be 110 (I know, 3 years shy of my goal). His life teaches so much about staying positive no matter what happens, being true to self, and sharing love with family and friends. His life made me want to live mine better, to be more grateful, to laugh more, and even when querying, to not take life too seriously.

After all, I’ve got somewhere around 26,741 days left to go; I better get cracking!

Quote for the Day from L.M. Montgomery in Rainbow Valley

“It is never quite safe to think we have done with life. When we imagine we have finished our story fate has a trick of turning the page and showing us yet another chapter.”

Reader Powers Activate

2011-04-20T13:45:00.006-04:00

While in the querying mode (and searching for my inner calm happy place), I’ve been doing a bunch of reading. To me, it is the most effective cure for all of the powerlessness I feel once I press send and allow the query birds out of their cages. After all, I wouldn't be a writer if I hadn't first loved the power of storytelling. I’m that person who, when I love a book, pesters everyone around me and random people in stores to get on board and support the story/author. I have a dedicated team of people who read whatever I recommend and who sometimes wait to see if it gets my seal of approval before purchasing. They then pass on the recommendations to their friends. All this makes me feel very powerful and happy with my place in the reading universe.

Lately though, I’ve struggled a bit with my powers because the one thing I can’t stand in books is the one thing I’ve been finding a lot, especially in the final books of series: hopelessness. I’ve blathered about this in the past, but I think the world is hard enough without fiction to bring me down. Because of this fear, I greeted the final book in the Wicked Lovely series with some trepidation. I love these books and Melissa Marr’s writing and characters (particularly Seth... whom I swoon for), and I was terrified because of my experiences of late and the dire nature of the conflict that would reach its resolution in the final book.

However, not reading the final book wasn’t an option either, and I knew I had the sixth book in the Anne of Green Gables series to pick me up if my favorite faeries and their keeper let me down.

Reader powers activate because I am here to tell you that Ms. Marr is awesome. The final book is magical and the ending incredibly satisfying. It was dreamy and wonderful and everything I could have hoped for. Gush much? Well, yes I do. This book renewed my hope for... well, hope in YA books.

The dark side of my reader powers is that when an author lets me down, I won’t read another of their books... ever. I lose faith in them and don’t ever again want to be dragged to the depths by caring for the characters they create. Now, this isn’t to say that killing off characters or having a story reach its natural conclusion equates with hopelessness. I kill off characters in my books (more often than my readers forgive me for), but death is sometimes the necessary end, the sacrifice that provides the power to the story. But all too often (see network television), annihilating characters is a ratings device, a sucker punch, and feels contrived and inauthentic to the story world that was created. Let’s just say, we know when we’re being played.

The most obvious example I can come up with isn’t from my reading, but from my movie watching. I love the writing/work of Joss Whedon of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fame. I especially love his ill-fated Firefly series, up until the point he made it into a movie and slaughtered half the characters for no real reason. I won’t give any specifics, but I was ready to acquire a Joss Whedon voodoo doll after the event that followed a favorite character saying, “I am a leaf on the wind - watch how I soar.” It was just unnecessary, and the emotional resonance was completely lost on me because I was too freaking mad to care anymore. After much introspection and brain control, I have blocked the movie from my memory and believe that the crew of the Serenity is alive and well, stealing stuff and shipping cattle beyond a distant terraformed moon (and Mal is still wearing those pants).

Back to Darkest Mercy, wherein Melissa Marr gives the gift of a well-crafted, incredibly imaginative tale, with absolutely amazing characters that is worth reading... again and again. Speaking of the characters, I must say that while I loved most, there were a few I didn't really like, and wouldn't you know, Ms. Marr deftly changed my mind about them, defying my long-held opinions and ultimately making me root for those I thought 'unrootable.' The book's only flaw in my mind was that it was the ending of the series (although one character made a little deal with a faery that wasn't resolved and made me wonder if we'd someday see how that works out). I can certainly hope. But even if we don't hear any more from The Wicked Lovely world, I still have a favorite author's work to follow, hopefully for a very long time.

Quote for the Day from Unknown (A mantra for all those who are querying or have books on submission)

When the world says, “Give up,"

Hope whispers, "Try it one more time."

The Quandary

2011-04-11T15:14:00.002-04:00

First things first. My new project has left the nest, with story birds flying through cyber space on their way to the inboxes of Agent World. They bravely risk SPAM filters, challenging stares, and perhaps even “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” It is an exciting time for any story parent, I’ll say that, but my current quandary isn’t about that project, it’s about the next.

I have several first drafts ready to enter the next phase (I binged a bit on first drafts in the past year or so... because I love them and can’t ever get enough), and I have many new ideas clamoring to get free. And I’m really not sure which story to favor. In helping me with this decision, you must know that my process is to write a first draft, learn all the ins and outs, and then start on page one and write it over again, attending to all I’ve learned. So, whether I pick to write a second draft or a new first draft, the process will be the same. But my question isn’t so much about the process as much as the ideas. In the past, I’ve striven to take a completely different journey with each book I ready for market. My previous effort was YA fantasy; this one is apocalyptic YA. The next one could be post-apocalyptic or urban fantasy, or another I’m not sure how to categorize yet.

Please help. How do you pick the next story? Do you think about what’s going on in the market (which is my guess as to why I’m floundering in this decision making... too much thinking about business)? Do you go on the journey that is the pushiest? Do you start two (or three or four) and see which one wins the Story Gladiator Wars (I’ve done this before and it made my brain a little murky)?

Do tell.

And please cross fingers, toes, tentacles (hey, I’m not judging) that this story finds a receptive and eager agent. It would be lovely to get to the next step. :)

Quote for the Day from Betsy Cañas Garmon

“To decide is to walk facing forward with nary a crick in your neck from looking back at the crossroads.”

Building Possibility

2011-03-22T11:22:00.002-04:00

Although it might appear that my bloggy dedication is waning, I assure you there is a good reason. The best reason imaginable (especially to a bunch of writers). Yep, you guessed it, my new YA novel is about to hatch and head on out to market. My readers have been dedicated, my critique partners vigilant in helping me craft my query, and that NASA T-minus-so-many-seconds clock is ticking down. My final polishing reader is awaiting her crack at the novel. I’m squirming my way through the synopsis (my absolute least favorite part of the agent-acquisition process... and agents get extra points with me if they don’t ask for one).

And the best part, the excitement is building. The feeling that this project could get me to the next step, teach me the next lesson, and take me for a wild ride. My last project, though it didn’t get me an agent, yielded a great deal of interest, wonderful feedback, and was proof that I was on the path. It is a fun prospect to be able to query for this new project by beginning with all the people who requested partials and fulls of the last one (especially those who took the time to share their thoughts).

The truth is, only by leaning forward and in some ways beginning again with a new project can we build possibility for ourselves and our dreams. I love this new project, but I loved and will always love the last one and the one before that. Each word, page, book is our legacy of growth. I recently wandered through my first completed work from a few years ago and while I still love it, I know I’ve come a long way in my writing. Measurable proof is a satisfying thing. So, whether this book wows the world or just helps me to hone my craft, I am building possibility in the only way a writer can. And that is an empowering feeling.

Huge thanks goes to my readers and those willing to wield a hefty axe to both my books and that darn query letter. You make me a better writer and share in the possibility.

Quote for the Day from Karen Ravn

“Only as high as I reach can I grow, only as far as I seek can I go, only as deep as I look can I see, only as much as I dream can I be.”

The Willingness to Hear

2011-03-10T11:53:00.001-05:00

We all know the saying that if people were meant to talk more than to listen, we’d have two mouths and one ear (I’d like my uno-ear right in the middle of my forehead, thank you very much). I certainly agree with the saying, but I think it requires a little more because there is a mighty difference between idly listening and truly being willing to hear. And I’m not just talking about other people’s words, but rather our own inner dialogue, our guide and constant companion through the trials of life.

For a long time, I had that listening thing wired. I took time every day. I was upbeat and happy. I was rolling. And then I wasn’t. Plans had to be changed for practical reasons. Vacations ended. Dog health deteriorated. Nutrition plan sat ignored. And now, a few months later, I realize that first and foremost, I floundered because I quit truly listening and taking the time to take care of myself on the level I had previously.

And then I got a puppy, and everything about my life began to take on a frenetic pace. Getting her out to walk. Playtime. Training and correcting until the cows come home (she has a strange fixation with chewing on my 86-pound ridgeback’s lip that we are really working on). Puppy Kindergarten. Plus a full-time job. Writing. Being there for friends and family. Life.

Amidst all the seeming chaos, I found some things I’d lost: the joy of walking, the playful spirit that recently inspired me to acquire some new rollerblade-ish toys called Land Rollers, the enjoyment of just being in the backyard while the birds sing and dance around and a deer miraculously barreled through while I and the dogs stared on in disbelief (leading me to believe that Bambi is very scary). Simple joys all. Simple. Something I have to struggle to be.

I felt things stirring in a healthy direction, though I still felt the toiling inside. Then, because of my willingness to hear when given a direction, I found something that raised me to a new level, not just to where I’d been before I faltered. And that came from a dear friend. A suggestion to participate with an online event called Wish: Women’s International Summit for Health. Something about it appealed to me and I signed up. It’s completely free and just takes following links to daily conversations about women’s health and happiness.

A spark of cynicism still existed about self-helpy things, but I persevered and am so glad I did. Things I needed to hear bounced at me from the beginning. Sometimes just one thing, other times many. They said we should take notes, which I scoffed, “I’ll show up and listen, but I’m not taking notes.” Well, that lasted through one session and then I was furiously taking notes as you do when you stumble onto something that could change your way of thinking. And now, after just two sessions, I feel like I’m back on a path toward positive growth and connection with self. In truth, this outcome may be simply the ripples from taking time to put that healthy attention back on myself and my journey, more than any one thing that was said by the speakers.

This experience has also made me realize the effect of grief on my life and my energy. Grief, even when it’s about letting go of goals until the time is really right, saps the connection with self and in so doing creates a disconnect that can last a long time. And then real grief, involving loss, creates a deeper divide and it becomes too easy to lose sight of personal growth because everything becomes about just surviving. Passion and hope get lost in the landscape littered with unhealthy debris, and before you know it, you are stagnating. Usually, for me, a spark of something is required to shake me loose.

This round goes to the puppy and a dear friend. Where will your spark come from? And are you really willing to hear?

Quote for the Day from George Eliot

“It’s never too late to be who you might have been.”

The Other Side of Winter

2011-02-25T13:37:00.009-05:00

For those of you annoyed with winter, I am on your team. We've been having all sorts of schizophrenic weather during the past few days, and even, most painfully, a day that felt almost like spring, only to be whisked away by rain, sleet, hail, ice, flooded backyards, and then this morning, snow again. I say unto you, "Yuck."

But, there is a cause for joy, because we are on the other side of winter. The downward slope leading straight into spring... and summer... and gorgeous fall, before we have to go through all of this again. So, even though today’s weather is cause for much shaking of fists and a scowly rant, knowing that temperatures are going up and warmth is just over the horizon is enough to keep my spirits up.

Which got me thinking about life (as I’m prone to do) and all the other sides we face or find when we’re hit with unpleasantness. Illness comes to mind. My worst illness was mono, a heap of years ago. Going from a healthy, fit person to someone who couldn’t walk ten feet without resting was a life-changing experience. I remember asking a fellow college student (whom I didn’t even know) if he could get me a scantron (yes, I’m elderly... :), because I couldn’t walk across the campus to get my own. Humbling to say the least. (FYI, he did get me a scantron and became a good friend for a few years... suddenly wondering where he is and if he’s happy.) Anyway, even in the midst of that debilitating illness, I found the other side. I changed my life. I became a climber. Became more daring in every aspect of my life.

I was fortunate that my health issues had an expiration date. But even people who face terminal illnesses often find that other side, the beauty in appreciating their lives more, more fully living every single moment. And that’s enough evidence for me to believe that everything has an other side and that if we work at it, we can either find or make one for ourselves.

As my writer friends know, every rejection is one step closer to an acceptance. Our other side is the belief that we will get there and that when we do, everything will mean more for the time it took.

For me, I’ve been searching for the other side of my current struggle, the aging and not-too-far-off end of my much loved dog, who’s been with me for eleven years. He’s special, and I know that everyone thinks their dog is special, but there is a unique spark in some animals that transcends others. I’ve had ones with the spark and others without. Darby has the spark, enough that friends are taking trips to visit me just so they get to see him again before the end. I’ve been lucky to have him and I don’t want to spend all our remaining days wallowing (which, as a border collie, he simply doesn’t approve of), so I started searching for the other side.

And I found it... her.

What started as a mission to help my other dog (who considers Darby her soulmate and has never been without another dog in the house), became something so much more.

Meet Agatha Jayne.

I wasn’t actually looking for a puppy, but she found me (or I found her at a border collie rescue in Minnesota... and yes, I trekked out there in the winter to pick her up). And what I found was my other side, because she proves that life continues. She lives in the now. She is bouncy and chews on Darby’s face. She inspires all of us (pups and people) to play. To take time to throw the ball, and feel the rain/sleet/hail/snow (because I have no other choice now). She is my other side of the ugliness of loss. And Darby, though he complains about her presence, hasn’t played this much in years, and he actually gets more of me than he has in quite a while. And best of all, he gets me happy and hopeful for all the days we have left.

So, every ugly thing in life has an other side, have you found yours?

Quote for the Day from Rainer Maria Rilke

“Believe that with your feelings and your work you are taking part in the greatest; the more strongly you cultivate this belief, the more will reality and the world go forth from it.”

Snowflakes Everywhere

2011-02-16T16:14:00.002-05:00

You are a snowflake. Yup, you really are. One in a million... no billion... no infinity-ion. That’s right. There has never been, nor will there ever be, another you. Or another me. And that rocks, but there is also some pressure too. If you are the only one who can ever be you, then you better be doing a good job. Right? Makes sense.

We are all snowflakes, and yet it is clear to me through my own journey and the journeys of my friends that even though we are unique in this world, the world presents us with some very similar stories. Loss. Yup, not one of us is getting through this life without experiencing true loss. Maybe we’ll get lucky and not experience the very worst of suffering like a friend of mine did last year—the loss of her child. But we will know loss. We all will be blitzed by some unexpected hardship. The loss of a job. A relationship. Something. We will be let down. Certainly the writers know this. Stacks of rejections tell us so. And we will see our expectations for life obliterated. None of us thought that this was how our life would look when every milestone lived somewhere over that distant horizon.

There are so many facets of my life that are anything but how I would have designed them, and truly, I am better for it. What can we possibly learn if life doesn’t give us the hiccups, if everything goes “romantic comedy” smoothly with a bow-like ending? Life and real living means struggling to make the right decisions and more than occasionally tripping over our good intentions. Life is about the struggle and the people we become from walking through the fire. Shaping ourselves as much as life shapes us. Like a steel blade, we hold ourselves to the burning, never giving up and always continuing. Because even though we are unique in this world, we are never alone in this journey, because we walk together.

So, no matter what challenges are dragging their way through your life, just keep going. And reach out a hand when you need one. I promise, there’s always a snowflake at the ready to hear you, see you, and know you.

So, here’s to us, putting the flake in snowflake and making our lives incredible simply but living them.

Quote for the Day from Rodney Atkins

“But the good news

Is there’s angels everywhere out on the street

Holding out a hand to pull you back up on your feet...”

The Other Side

2011-01-26T09:55:00.004-05:00

I might have mentioned before that I think life is a beautiful, wonderful thing. But on occasion, it does have a suckage factor of about a billion. Sure, there is a time for everything... or more prettily put, “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” But when those times come for breaking down, dying, losing, hating, waring, mourning, weeping, and refraining from embracing, isn’t it easy to forget everything else, all the good stuff? It is all too easy to wallow in all that isn’t. To waste life.

I am going through something, something so normal, so part of life, and yet, so decidedly on the suckage side of the force, and, somehow, I’m finding clarity as I fight to see the good, to remember all the time life offers to plant, to heal, to laugh, to dance, to embrace, to love, to find peace. I’m taking time each day to remember that on the other side of hardship is beauty. That every day we are lucky enough to reach the end of is another chance to work to see the good. It’s not free. We have to fight for it.

Too many people (myself included) have wasted so much time picking through old wounds and never allowing the healing to come, never seeing the beauty on the other side of every loss. I hated it when some sage friends told me that happiness is a choice, but now I believe that more than any other thing in my life. And I choose to be happy. That doesn’t mean that tears aren’t lining up for me as I go through this current hurdle or that my life is bursting with money, fame, power, true love, and Dairy Queen Oreo Blizzards. But I choose to believe that on the other side of this grief, beauty is waiting. Love is waiting. Adventure is waiting. And I wouldn’t give up one good minute even though minutes eventually run out for all of us.

And I want to give credit where it is due and say that when going through anything rough, good friends, good family, and good fiction really help. I’m currently reading the third book in the Anne of Green Gables series (for the first time), and Lucy Maud Montgomery gave the world a wonderful thing in writing such amazingly positive and hopeful stories. She made that choice, because her life was anything but easy.

I hope that everyone out there is choosing happy and seeing their own power in the way they perceive the world. Truly, I believe this is how we change the world.

Quote for the Day from Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery

“Isn’t it splendid there are so many things to like in this world?”

A Twisted Perspective

2011-01-11T09:29:00.002-05:00

Recently, I had a conversation with two wonderful friends, both of whom have recently had a hard time in relationships. I listened anxiously to their experiences, the amazing letdown of a relationship gone wrong, and the subsequent feelings of rejection.

In my twisted writer’s perspective, a part of me thought... “Just one rejection... I’ve got a couple hundred.” Of course, the human in me smothered that line of thinking because rejection is rejection and rejection equals major suckage of the universe. But I did think I should share that tale with my writer friends who can laugh at how twisted this road is and how twisted we who walk it can become.

Rejections are a part of this business we all know. We all accept that we’re going to experience more bumps than smooth sailing. And we stay in the fight because... well, we’re twisted... okay, no, because we’re believers and dreamers and we can’t imagine not believing and not dreaming. We can’t imagine abandoning the parts of ourselves that sneak new stories into our minds while we’re not looking. The parts that show us worlds and characters and allow us to take journeys that maybe others will never truly understand. And even without publishing them, the worlds we create are worthy and have a purpose to their existence.

And we have to take from our rejections only what can help us in the future and drop everything else that can’t. It’s not easy. But in our hearts, we’re fighters. So, we’ll do what’s hard and just keep going, knowing that if the last punch didn’t knock us down, neither will the next one. And truly, it’s only up from here.

Quote for the Day from Cool Hand Luke

Luke: Yeah, well, sometimes nothin’ can be a real cool hand.

Turning Pages... There’s Nothing Better

2011-01-03T11:48:00.002-05:00

Gotta say, I love new years. I realize it’s just a relatively arbitrary accounting method designed a very long time ago, but that doesn’t dim the sense of possibility I feel every single time I’m fortunate enough to see a January first... and second... and third. The close of an old year and the beginning of a new one feel to me like turning pages, and I love the sense of wonder that comes with a fresh page (either blank for me to fill or filled with undiscovered words written by someone else). Turning pages brings great freedom to let go of everything that came on the page before... or the year before. 2010 for me was an amazing year, one of greater peace and happiness than I’ve ever known. The power of the contentment I found is that it came from within, not because my goals have panned out or I won the lotto. And I hate to say this out loud (or on paper), but I’m grateful that I found happiness before the tangible reasons for it arrived. I’m grateful for having the chance to evolve more before I get an agent, a publishing deal, or any of the other things I dream of. It does rankle a bit to be grateful for a long and sometimes painful waiting/rejection process, but I am.

2010 also had a darker side of frustrations, hardships, and unfinished things that can now be released because the page has turned and all that wasn’t doesn’t matter as much as the possibility of what could be on this page or the other side of the next page.

Any year that begins with my dreams solidly in place, my loved ones held dear, and a hope that fills me to brimming—now that’s a great first page.

And I’m wishing everyone a hopeful first page. No matter what scars former years leave on us, I say we have the choice to turn the page and live today as free of former pages as we choose to be.

Quote for the Day from T.S. Eliot

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language and next year’s words await another voice.”

Living Flying Monkey Free

2010-12-16T16:33:00.007-05:00

I feel as though I am the woman who made friends with the wild wolf and now must yell and scream at him, flail and tell him I don’t care about him anymore, so that he will be willing to abandon me and return to his pack. Yup, I feel just like that. Only I didn’t make friends with a wild wolf (or a tame one) and it’s actually my flying monkeys I must set free (my figurative ones, not my real ones in case a few of you are reading this). You see, my figurative flying monkeys are the minions who carry out my main objective in life, which I’ve recently realized is control.

Let me digress for a second and say that it was a total bummer to realize that what I seem to prize more than anything else is control, not over others per se, but over myself and the realities of my life. Control in and of itself isn’t necessarily a good or a bad thing. You can certainly accomplish great things by having control over yourself (from weight loss to finishing a novel). Where control gets to be a problem is when it gets in the way of opening yourself to change, to improving interpersonal relationships (over which you can have little control), and when it causes you to always be walking alone because letting go of control and trusting others is so uncomfortable.

I am not a moderate person and just like an obsession with Frappuccinos can get out of hand, so too can control. There is nothing wrong with being focused (even obsessively so as far as writing is concerned), but I’ve found that my sense of control seems to be sucking out all the air around me, diminishing the wonder of my life, and keeping me from leaning forward and doing things that would substantially improve the adventure that is my life.

So, as we near the end of the year and I start getting all goal-y and excited, it’s time to let go of the need to control all outcomes and dive into new things that I can’t possibly control, activities where I get to meet entirely new people and have adventures beyond my reckoning (and I reckon pretty well). Without my flying control monkeys, the barrier between me and everybody else vanishes and I can be changed by new experiences and people, as well as have the opportunity to positively change others (not through control, but in the way we all help each other to evolve into happier beings).

The nice thing is that I’ve already laid the groundwork for the Flying Monkey Release Initiative. I’ve started a few new activities, am signed up for some life-changing classes, and am busy with some travel guides to plan for some romps around the countryside, possibly with friends, family, or maybe just an adventure outing on my own.

So, be gone you flying monkeys! Be free! I mean it... go!!!

(And the other perk: I can stop shopping for new seasonal fez hats and vests. :)

Quote for the Day from Brian Kessler

“The closest to being in control we will ever be is in that moment that we realize we’re not.”

The Unlikely Crisis of Imagination

2010-12-06T11:14:00.005-05:00

Hi, my name is Julie and I am a daydreamer. Night dreamer. Driving dreamer. Doing dishes dreamer. All my life stories have played out in my mind no matter what else I am doing (or supposed to be doing). If I were to ever meet Darth Vader, I think he would say, “Imagination is strong with this one.” And he’d sound exactly like James Earl Jones (or Mufasa) and I’d swoon. So, it comes as a surprise that I am suffering a crisis of imagination... and not in fiction. In my writing, I sit down every day and poof, stories are at the ready, sometimes even crowding around in a very noisy queue (yes, there’s often some grumbling, squirming, and all out shouting for me to move the stories along faster). So, the writing is fine; it’s life where my imagination is struggling.

I’ve heard for a long time that if you want to make changes in your life, you have to think about what you want and imagine what the change in your life will look like. It makes sense to me. I can imagine what my novels will look like on a bookstore shelf. I can imagine the fitness level to which I aspire. I can imagine what I will be like when I take more time to get centered. And I can certainly imagine what I want my house to look like when I am more organized. Where I fail is imagining scenarios that involve other people’s actions or even depend upon other people.

I’m not sure if this is a new struggle or an old one. In some ways, new growth might have worsened the problem because as I’ve taken on the challenge of decreasing my expectations (since having expectations leads to a lot of misery), I am now in a place where I can’t even imagine some of the changes I wish to see in my personal life. And my abilities in adaptation don’t help at all with this either. I’m resilient. I’m happy (for the most part). And I accept my life without the things I don’t or can’t have. So, how do I imagine things that I’ve accepted being without, without taking on the side effects (expectations that will let me down, hope that may not be fulfilled, or the propensity to wallow about the things I don’t have)? In the past, the wanting for the things I don’t have has blinded me to the gratitude I should feel for the things I do have. But even with that, how can I expect to invite change if I can’t even visualize what that change looks like?

I have to say, this crisis of imagination has taken me by surprise and is very uncomfortable. When I sit down and exercise my quiet space, when I reach in my mind for what is imaginary and come up empty, I feel like a bird tethered to the earth by a chain that I wrought. I don’t like it. It’s a hollowing blight on the sense of connection I feel when I’m truly centered and connected to everything and everyone that ever was or will be.

So, it’s time for a plan. A little imagination rehabilitation.

My assignment: Imagination Spark Plugs.

When the engine of my imagination is churning more than sparking, it’s time to use fiction to make the connection. So, my mission is to do what I normally work very hard to avoid: putting myself into my writing. This is a writing exercise, not anything that will ever see the light of day (and I’m certainly not going to do any editing). I’m just going to create scenarios about me and the changes I want to see in my life in the hopes that I will one day be able not only to imagine the changes (in my mind) but to see some variation actually appear in my life.

We’ll have to see how that goes, but I have to say I’m a little excited to see what I come up with and I’m a little nervous about writing something without fantasy elements (since me with fairy wings really isn’t helpful for this particular project). :)

Quote for the Day from William Drayton

“Change starts when someone sees the next step.”

Getting My Possibility Back

2010-12-02T11:30:00.005-05:00

Sight is a powerful thing, but like all of our senses, it has its limits. Just because we can see doesn’t mean that we do. And sometimes what we see turns out to be an illusion. Maybe vision is the better word to use in this case, because what I am referring to is not the fact that I can see the letters flitting across the screen, coinciding with the tapping of my fingers. It isn’t the plant (very healthy) draping its leaves over the top of my screen, and it isn’t the picture of a desert flower that my dad took that sits on my desk. Vision is so much more than just what we can see; it’s our way to see what is and also what isn’t, what could be or might be. And in ‘might be' lives all of our possibility.

What I’ve noticed about the low points of life is that they come with diminished vision. Might bes vanish and we’re stuck with what is and what isn’t without any hope of anything different. Recently, the 'what isn’ts' have gotten to me, seeing all around me what I don’t have. This condition doesn’t make for a rosy outlook on life.

But like a break in a stormy, grey sky, vision does clear. I’m not sure at what moment the blue broke through, but on Wednesday of last week, glimmers of might bes came back and all the isn’ts that had gotten to me became part of the landscape of my life not its whole, like points on a Seurat painting without which the stunning picture could never be seen. When vision clears and possibility returns, life becomes glorious again. Gratitude peaks. And our hearts return from their refuge to live in the open once more.

I believe that we all dwell in the low lands sometimes, and I think it’s a necessary part of our journeys, even if just to make us grateful when we’re free. And for writers specifically, every part of our human experience provides keys to access the locks of all story telling.

I guess the moral of this story, if a moral is required, is that the one way back into possibility is to keep moving even when we can’t see what we’re moving toward. And I guess that I believe that that effort is called faith.

Quote for the Day from Marcel Proust

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes."

The Other Sides of Fences

2010-11-23T10:27:00.004-05:00

This year has been one of the best of my life. I’ve had months filled with acceptance and joy, and a sense of inner calm that is very new to me. And all this without tangible change in my outer life, just in the inner way I embrace the ups and downs of my journey. There is something special, I think, about the peace we find when we don’t get the things we want. In the past, I’ve struggled with the feeling that I’m running in place, not getting anywhere, especially as regards my goals (including writing). And it was gratitude that led to every good thing in the past year, so it’s a bit ironic that just before Thanksgiving, my gratitude-in-ator has just plain crapped out.

Why? Oh, that would be the envy burning up my insides and stifling all my happy thoughts.

And where does this evil envy spring from? That would be stinking holidays and Norman Rockwell (yeah, I’m blaming Norman Freaking Rockwell).

This season of holidays and cheer always does me in, because I start looking over fences and envying what is on the other side. The big families. Warm holidays with people who love you. Marital bliss and well-behaved children who help do the dishes on Thanksgiving. Families who live close together and never argue. All that warmth and the smell of turkey (which I don’t even eat). I envy what I don’t have and it chokes me. Not everyone lives close to their families. Not everyone can afford (money/time off) to travel for the holidays (and be honest, it’s a terrible time to be traveling). Not everyone has found their person and gotten married, or had perfect children who will make the yams (and I don’t even know what a yam is). The things we don’t have can spoil the things we do. I get that, but every holiday season I get snared by the envy I feel for people who do live close to their families, who are married and happy, who have holiday laughter and wrapped presents under their Christmas trees. And every year, I just root for it to be over so I can get back to appreciating my life without having that life diminished by Hallmark ads.

The other thing my envy does is blot out the fact that I’m not the only one who has a tough time with this season, that perfect families are fictional, that even people who are surrounded by families can feel alone, and that many people become overwhelmed by the energy necessary to make the perfect holiday seasons for their loved ones.

No one’s got perfect and every life has struggles. I get that. I should be grateful that I’m healthy, that my border collie is still alive after his near-death experience this year, and that I do have great friends and family (even far away) who love me.

And I really need to try harder to ignore the other sides of fences and be happy with my own land.

I will try.

Quote for the Day from Rainer Maria Rilke

“Now let us welcome the new year, full of things that have never been...”

Everywhere I Look

2010-11-17T16:51:00.006-05:00

Greetings Cyberworld, I didn’t forget about you (or my trusty blog), but I have been away a while. A family visit, a long vacation, the subsequent game of catching up with life, work, and much laundry fueled my absence, and now that I’ve been away awhile, it feels a little strange to come back. But then I’m in a strange, post-vacation malaise lately that, like the smell of already eaten broccoli, is a little tough to take.

And I’m ready to blame the Internet (for at least a portion of my mood), which is certainly better than blaming other people, dragons, or (heaven forbid) myself. And I’m not really blaming the Internet as a whole, but rather online news sources. You see, while I have been absent from my blog, I couldn’t read other people's blogs because that felt like cheating on my own, so I broke my own rules and read online news.

I used to be all a-flutter with knowing about everything going on in the world, but months ago decided that news just depressed me, made me feel powerless, and overall was a wet rag in the lovely landscape of my life. So, I gave it up. But like addicts, when I wasn’t checking blogs (which I used as my anti-news addiction recovery patch), I went back to the news, thinking it wouldn’t have the same effect on me now. Boy was I wrong. The world is bleak according to the headlines. People do horrible things. Governments do horrible things. Animal shelters do horrible things. People who work in airports do horrible things. Parents do horrible things. Actually, just about every headline is about something bad (oh, except for that royal wedding announcement, which after what happened to Diana I just can’t get too excited about). So, there you have it, the world is rotten.

Except.

That it’s not rotten at all.

I love the world and so many of the people in it. I have friends and acquaintances in many states in the country and not one of them is doing the things on the front page of the newspaper. They all care about people, including friends, family, and even (shocking, I know) strangers. And even though these people are wonderful, marvelous gifts to the world, they spend time worrying that they aren’t giving enough to their families, their children, and their friends. Decency. Compassion. Excellent giggling skills. These are the things that are everywhere I look.

Recently, I took a self-defense class that was offered for free by a local police department (I highly recommend you see if something like that is available in your area) and met another wonderful group of people, from the instructors to the other students. Any time we open our eyes, we see people doing things for each other, without regard for personal gain. How many times have we read drafts of our friends’ works in progress, searching for how we can best facilitate their paths to publication? Staying up late to revise query letters, or just being there to listen to each other when we need it most? We all need pep talks sometimes because this writing path is painfully slow and just plain painful sometimes. It’s hard to believe every day, day after day, that things are going to work out. For that, I value my friends for always listening and providing the rope that keeps me from sinking under.

So, mission statement from today forward: STOP READING THE NEWS!

(Side Note: please e-mail or call if the news reports that I should be fleeing from dragons. :)

Quote for the Day from Anne Frank

“Everyone has inside of him a piece of good news. The good news is that you don’t know how great you can be! How much you can love! What you can accomplish! And what your potential is!”

Why Writers Need to Take Lessons from Bull Riders

2010-10-13T21:00:00.006-04:00

I might have mentioned once or twice that I love to watch (read that, watch not participate in) bull riding. This whole obsession began with a funny evening, where I said to a friend, “Let’s go do something odd.” Well, the one thing going on in town that night was a rodeo event, so we headed out to a vegan restaurant and then off to the rodeo (just to make things nice and odd). And I got hooked, found Versus network and the PBR... and now, I am completely in love.

My friends still raise one eyebrow (each) at me over this obsession because I do eat mostly vegan, though, clearly, I’m not a vegan since I have a thing for leather shoes (five inch heels and cowgirl boots are nice), sushi, and bull riding. But, fortunately for me, my friends love me anyway.

This past weekend, my love affair entered a new level as I attended my very first PBR event. Bull riding. Live. What could be better? The answer: not much. I loved every minute of it, had a smile plastered all over my face the entire time and for hours after, and couldn’t help but think about what makes me love these daring (maybe crazy) men who get on bulls with the goal of staying on for only eight seconds and then running for their lives.

My thoughts about that might surprise you, and I’ve decided that we writers need to take a few lessons from bull riders.

Bull Riding Lesson 1:

Bull riding isn’t easy. It’s not supposed to be. It is the most dangerous sport in existence (at least that I know of).

Writers Lesson 1:

Writing isn’t easy. It’s not supposed to be. It is one of the most challenging creative pursuits in existence (at least that I know of).

Bull Riding Lesson 2:

You have to go all in. You have to be willing to risk everything to win. There are no half measures when your life is on the line.

Writers Lesson 2:

You have to go all in and risk your heart getting broken when others can’t see what you do: the beauty of your story, the connection your story could make with readers, and the utter uniqueness of all you hope to say. Even with the risks, there are no half measures when your stories are on the line.

Bull Riding Lesson 3:

The ground is very hard and occasionally squishy with bull droppings. Suck it up.

Writers Lesson 3:

The let down is very hard and always squishing with droppings of one sort or another. Suck it up.

Bull Riding Lesson 4:

Sometimes you are just plain going to get kicked in the head and stepped on by a 2,ooo pound animal. Walk it off.

Writers Lesson 4:

Something about the writing journey is always trying to squash you, whether it is your own expectations, doubts, or fears, or the interminably slow (and occasionally cruel) process of getting published. But what are you going to do? Lie down in the mud or walk it off?

Bull Riding Lesson 5:

You’ve got to have a whole lot of faith in yourself and your purpose to be willing to find greatness.

Writers Lesson 5:

Same as Bull Riding Lesson 5.

Anyone who has a dream of doing something amazing has to have faith. Maybe it comes from the religious kind of faith (as it does for many of the cowboys) or maybe it comes from inner faith in self. Either way, you have to believe you can keep riding, not just for the eight seconds but for the rest of your life.

So, Cowgirl Up (or Cowboy Up) and never give up on what you dream, because the world needs a whole bunch more dreaming doers than it needs people who just wallow in the muck.

Quote for the Day from Anonymous

“Life ends when you stop dreaming, hope ends when you stop believing, love ends when you stop caring, friendship ends when you stop sharing...”

So, let’s not stop. :)

Mike Lee (former World Champion... and in the running for this year's title) and me.

Contest #2 Winner!

2010-10-04T20:22:00.003-04:00

Congratulations to Heather for winning Contest #2. She will soon be the proud owner of The Forest of Hands and Teeth and The Amaranth Enchantment. I wish her happy reading. And thanks to everyone who entered. :)

In a couple weeks, I will be having Contest #3, but for today, I’m signing off a little early. I finished my first draft of a new story and am just too excited to read through it to write a proper blog post.

So, signing off in favor of fiction... be back soon...

Quote for the Day from Ben Jones (one of my favorite bull riders)

After crashing into the ground with enough force that he didn’t move for a little while...

Dr. Tandy - Do you know where you are?

Ben Jones - On the dirt.

Dr. Tandy - Where are you hurt?

Ben Jones - My pride.

Three Words Can Change the World: A Banned-Book Review

2010-09-30T06:58:00.001-04:00

“It was a pleasure to burn.”

Although Guy Montag, the main character of Fahrenheit 451, comes to loathe burning, I can tell you that this book, one of the first banned books I ever read, is truly a pleasure to read. In picking it up to review for... well, this review, I was struck by the beauty in the writing, in the power of the connections between characters. Since there are numerous reviews of this classic book out there, I thought I’d tell you about my connections to this book, to the clarity of purpose I found when, as a much younger person, I first met Clarisse McClellan.

“Her face was slender and milk-white, and in it was a kind of gentle hunger that touched over everything with tireless curiosity.”

Guy Montag, a fireman in the somewhat distant future, whose purpose is to burn outlawed books, has never before met someone like Clarisse, someone who talks and thinks, who questions, who truly lives every moment rather than hiding behind meaningless distractions. He is in awe of her strangeness and moved by her, but never so truly as when she dares to ask him, “Are you happy?”

Three small words that change Montag’s future in both wonderful and horrible ways, for what could be worse than seeing the hollowness in a broken reality? And yet, without seeing the broken, how could Montag wake up, how could any of us wake up?

The power in this banned book is so clear, when looking around at our world, at the ways we don’t prioritize with any good sense. The ways we allow toys and distractions to keep us from conversations and awareness. If people were to answer honestly the question, “Are you happy?” I’d bet they’d answer, “I am busy.” Three small words that prove a lifetime of running from place to place, missing so much while the sand pools beneath the glass.

Do you breathe? Do you rest? Do you see? Do you smile? Do you read? Are you awake? Are you alive? Do you regret? Are you honest? Do you wonder? Will you try?

Are you happy?

Clarisse is the catalyst for great change, for characters and the humans who love them. Read Fahrenheit 451, the banned book that changed my life. Maybe it can change yours, too.

Be sure to check out the other blogs reviewing banned books. The master list is at Tehereh Mafi's blog. :)

Quote for the Day from Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

“What do you do, go around trying everything once?” he asked.

“Sometimes twice.”

Contest #1 Winner and Contest #2 Announcement

2010-09-27T18:34:00.008-04:00

Congratulations to Carolina Valdez Miller, the winner of my first ever contest. She will soon be receiving the first three books in Alyson Noel’s Immortals Series. I wish her very happy reading.

But the contests aren’t over. Contest #2 starts now and ends at midnight on Sunday, October 3rd. The lucky winner will receive two very different books (both YA... go figure).

For a book you won’t be able to put down, I submit The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan, and for a very sweet and imaginative book that will help you recover from the emotional exhaustion of your harrowing journey in the forest (yeah, there’s zombies in there), I submit The Amaranth Enchantment by Julie Berry. How about that. :)

Same rules apply for this contest and include:

1 entry for commenting on this post
+2 for becoming a follower (+3 if you are already a follower)
+2 for tweeting about this contest
+2 for posting or linking to this contest on your blog/website/Facebook

Entries close at midnight Sunday, and I’ll randomly choose the winner. I’ll post the winner on Monday, October 4th, and email for the address. The contest is open to bloggers in the United States and Canada.

And check back on Thursday. I’m participating in the Banned Book Week Blogging Event by reviewing my favorite banned book. If you want to participate, get on over to Tahereh Mafi’s blog and sign up on the master list. Gotta show those banned books some love this week (and every other week, if you ask me).

Quote for the Day from Groucho Marx

“I find television to be very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go in the other room and read a book.”

The Great Blogging Experiment: Writing Compelling Characters

2010-09-24T09:36:00.003-04:00

This event was just too tempting to resist. So, my strategy for writing compelling characters goes like this: Go All In. Go to the depths of your characters, seek out what they are hiding from you, the truths that excite their senses, the things they wish they had enough dare to achieve. My characters always surprise me with the simple moments, the ones where their cores are laid bare, and it is in those moments where they compel the heck out of me; that’s where the chance lives for them to connect with others.

Don’t miss out on my book giveaway below, or here.

Check out all the other participants in the The Great Blogging Experiment here.

Quote for the Day from Maria Robinson

“Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.”

Isn't it about Time for a Contest?

2010-09-21T19:33:00.002-04:00

My trusty blog is nearing its year anniversary, and I thought that we’d commemorate that momentous occasion by sharing some treasures, namely books. I’ve never had a contest/book giveaway, so this is very exciting... but I’m sure you’d love it if I cut to the chase and tell you what there is to win.

For this week, to one lucky winner, I’m giving away the first three books in Alyson Noel’s Immortals Series: Evermore, Shadowland, and Blue Moon. How’s that for a big score? And what could be better since the fourth book, Dark Flame, is in bookstores now? And Ms. Noel still wins for having the best main character name: Ever.

So, to enter this contest, here’s the specs:

1 entry for commenting on this post
+2 for becoming a follower (+3 if you are already a follower)
+2 for tweeting about this contest
+2 for posting or linking to this contest on your blog/website/Facebook

Entries close at midnight Sunday, and I’ll randomly choose the winner. I’ll post the winner on Monday, September 27, and email for the address. The contest is open to bloggers in the United States and Canada.

Check back soon, because in the coming weeks, I’ll be giving away other books, including a copy of Paranormalcy and The Forest of Hands and Teeth. :)

Quote for the Day from Anna Quindlen

“I would be most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves.”

The Hope Patrol

2010-09-14T16:04:00.007-04:00

That’s Hope Patrol, not Snow Patrol, but I understand why it might be fun to think of them too, and, honestly, I’d love it if Chasing Cars were the soundtrack to this little post. Anyway, it’s time to talk about my dream for the world. That’s right—I have a dream. And it is the creation of the Hope Patrol.

You see, I believe that in all the media flying at us, there is an absence of (you guessed it) hope. Nope, you won’t find it on the news or during cop shows or most reality TV, not in the lives of most celebrities, and lately not in books either. I’m seeing a trend toward the hopeless and I find it... well, rather discouraging (go figure).

And why is hope so important? Mostly because without it, life feels a bit hopeless. In a nation where “The number of Americans using antidepressants doubled in only a decade...” according to this article, we really need to take a long, hard look at what we’re feeding out minds.

Now, I’m certainly not saying that we need a Hope Censorship program to root out all the hopeless in our midst, but I do believe we need to be aware of what we support and that our support does lead to programming and publishing decisions.

Recently, while reading a book from the hopeless section, I actually had the thought that, inside the world of the story, the annihilation of the human race appeared to be a good thing, because there was nothing good or worthy worth saving. That is NOT my belief about the world at all. I’m all happy and shiny and think people are fabulous (not all of them, but the significant majority), and in reading this book and another I read recently, I just have to wonder what the authors hope (that word seems wrong here) the readers take away from their work. Maybe they don’t care, but I really think they do. In creating hopelessness to share with others, are they serving their purpose? Does it make them happy to depress people? Now, don’t misunderstand; I’m as guilty as the next writer in having written some very sad stuff (friends still haven’t forgiven me), but what I’m talking about is not sadness or the realities of how hard human existence can be. I’m not saying we can’t write about the way life is or that we should shine it up into a fake sugar sweetness, but stories without hope, without any light, I just don’t get what good they serve.

The truth is I read a lot, and I really do wish there could be a Hope Patrol rating on books to save me from getting mired in hopeless fiction. It might seem silly to worry about such things, but in transitioning into a truly happy content person who is filled with acceptance for the world, I’ve found the need to eliminate the ugliness (where possible).

A friend of mine once took a positive thinking course, and the first guidance was to quit watching the news and quit feeding on the fear messages they dole out from their soft-serve machine of negativity (uh oh, now I’m thinking about soft-serve... yikes, but it’s a totally hopeful, happy thought all the same).

I’ve done that. No news for me (which is completely against what I’ve always believed). Television is another source of consistent negativity and hopelessness (after all, every episode seems to begin with someone being murdered or all the other ugliness inherent in man's inhumanity to man), and that had to go. The weird thing is that as soon as I quit watching television (fiction shows, not bull riding), the body image issues I’ve dealt with all my life faded and I suddenly could accept myself for exactly what I look like without any lingering self-loathing. Total score. Life changing.

And now, I’m doing the same thing with what I read, because I’m all about hope for all of us. For our planet. For all the people who live here. We are all connected, and it’s time we wake up and see that.

So, if you’d like to help out with the Hope Patrol, you can do the following things: a) write exquisite books with a heaping dose of hope inside (that I hereby promise to buy); b) let me know your favorite books that contain hope so that I don’t have to muck around in unnecessary hopelessness; and c) buy more balloons with unicorns on them so that when I see you carrying them, I’ll smile in hopeful glee.

Quote for the Day from a French Proverb

“Hope is the dream of a soul awake.”

Accepting When Bad Things Come Calling

2010-09-11T14:42:00.004-04:00

The past week or so has been a rough patch. And even though the outcome is mostly positive (at least in the short term), I’m still reeling a bit, figuring out, healing up, and considering the meaning of everything. Mostly, I’m still thinking about how powerful acceptance really is. Because it’s much more simple to find acceptance when things are just ducky. The un-ducky times are more of a challenge.

Our story begins a week ago Sunday. It was a mostly relaxing day and I was catching up with some correspondence with an old friend. In talking about old times and the stuff from in between, we shared stories of our losses. And we talked about our pets. I am blessed with a border collie/Samoyed mix who is the light of my world. While I was writing about him, he lay underneath my curtains, with his head mostly hidden except his eyes were always on me. Border collies are like that: attentive, aware, insightful. There has never been a time when I was sad, whether I showed any signs of emotion or not, when my Darby hasn’t been right there, trying to make everything better.

By the way, he hates my first book, because a sad event in the book always makes me cry. Every time. Reading it. Editing it. Thinking about it. Sobfest. Decidedly not border collie approved.

So, I was writing about Darby and the fact that he’s getting older, an event that is decidedly not me approved. And in that moment, I knew something was wrong with Darby. Tears fluttered out, and then Darby knew there was something wrong with me. The rest of the day, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was coming. On Monday morning, I scheduled an appointment with my vet for that evening and I went there knowing I might be insane, but I wanted Darby checked out. His heart sounded good. Temp was fine. Lungs sounded great. They couldn’t find anything wrong. He’d had a cough a few weeks before that had been treated and had only coughed once or twice since, so maybe it was allergies. Nothing really wrong.

I admitted that I’d been putting off his dental visit because I was worried about him being anesthetized. The vet suggested we get that done and he would check for anything that might be wrong with Darby’s throat that might have caused the coughing. Okay. Blood work performed. Appointment set. And then the vet came back in wanting to take an x-ray, just to be sure that nothing was wrong before putting him under. I approved. Darby disappeared into the back, and a few minutes later, the vet returned wanting to take more films because it wasn’t looking good.

I didn’t panic, because I knew... I just didn’t know the specs of the badness.

I heard the vet clearing out all extraneous employees from the back, leaving only himself and a couple vet students, and Darby. They invited me back to look at x-rays that showed a very large mass in Darby’s right lung lobe. I love words, but I don’t remember many that were said, but I do remember Darby, right up in my space, his head forcing my hand to pet him, keeping me focused.

I had options, surgery amongst them. I do remember the vet complimenting me for bringing Darby in when he was alert, active, and symptom free. For that, I thank intuition.

The week that followed is a bit of a blur, but acceptance was the spice of every day. I couldn’t whine about this. I couldn’t rage against the world. Because that would negate the beauty, the absolute gift that Darby is in my life. For all the time I’ve been alone, I never really have been because Darby has always been with me. Acceptance, even of the bad things, is the only way to be truly grateful for what has been. And I can only feel gratitude every time I look at my pup.

Acceptance doesn’t mean there wasn’t sadness, but I really tried to keep the crying to a minimum, which meant only talking about all of this with a few people, and only when Darby was outside. I didn’t want him to think anything was wrong. He had a job to do, and border collies always do their best. And I had a job to do, give him every fighting chance of pulling through, with the best vets and a border collie approved positive attitude.

So, a week later on Wednesday, surgery happened. But not until I’d played with him, taken him to his favorite park, taken pictures of him and some video (in which his sister, a not terribly bright Ridgeback, showed off her inability to play ball, something that vexes Darby greatly), and hugged him and thanked him for every good day. Watching him walk out of my reach and into the back of the vet hospital, knowing there was a chance I wouldn’t see him again, was a struggle, but I did it... and then I cried and went to work.

Wednesday was the longest day of my life. All day, I thought about people who are parents whose children get sick. I can’t imagine what that is like. I love my dog, but I never expected him to go away to college, find a nice girl, settle down, and have a long life. I always knew the realities of puppy life spans. That doesn’t diminish the love, because love is love, but the expectations are so very different. The hurting and the loss are so much greater when children are involved. I still can’t even imagine what an old friend of mine is going through, having lost her twenty-two year-old son. The day, in some ways, was a lesson in compassion, with more than a tinge of empathy.

It was also a day of feeling very alone. I got tripped up on some expectations (I know, I rail against them constantly but still fall prey). I expected the friends I’d told about the surgery to do something, say something, text, email, something, just so I’d know they were with me in this fight, that I wasn’t alone. And other than one friend’s text, there was only silence from the other three. Nothing... from some of the people closest to me in my life, two of whom had known Darby as long as I had. Expectations are things to be fought. I know life is busy. I know people don’t always know what to say and when to say it. It took me over three months to find the words to say to my old friend who lost her son, and I felt like a coward for that fact. And one day doesn’t diminish the extreme value of these friendships. I will accept them for who they are and what they have to give, but in being honest about the day, I needed to admit that silence wasn’t easy company.

And then the call came in: the tumor was too large to get out laparoscopically, and they were going to need to go in through his ribs. I’d get a call in fifteen or twenty minutes. An hour and a half of stomach-clenching lock down followed. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d accepted that I might not see him again, but the not knowing was agony.

Another call: he was awake and raising his head, but everything sounded wrong. His stats had gone all wonky under anesthesia and they’d almost lost him. His temperature was too low. He’d lost blood. And a bunch of other things leading to the words: critical condition. I was supposed to be there in an hour and a half to see him, and I wondered if he’d still be there when I got there. Driving to the clinic felt like one of those movies where they need to cut the blue wire before the seconds wind down and everybody dies.

The vet talked to me, but his words faded after he said that Darby was doing well. After asking me if I was the squeamish type, the vet excitedly showed me his big score: the tumor. I’m not the squeamish type and found the show and tell to be pretty fascinating, as were the before and after x-rays. Now you see a tumor; now you don’t.

The vet said that Darby didn’t know I was there. Darby’s whining proved otherwise. The vet clinic staff had put a chair next to Darby’s recovery cage, but I shoved that out of the way and asked if I could just get on the floor. Darby was so excited to see me, his tail went slightly drugged-out crazy and he tried to stand, which I quickly advised against. Getting to rub his ears (my absolute favorite of his many charming attributes) was one of the best moments of my life. I knew we had a long way to go, but I accepted that and just lived in the glory of this good outcome.

Now, he’s home, wrapped up in bandages, still waging his tail every time I talk to him. He waits for me to carry him down the stairs, eats a little when I ask him to, and rests a lot (a very un-border collie thing to do). We go today to get his bandages changed.

I still don’t know what the lab work will say about the tumor and what the months ahead look like, or how many more days I get with my Darby, but I’m grateful to get to rub his ears as much as I like today. I’m grateful that my parents helped out with some of the vet bills (I did mention to the office staff at the vet clinic that I was going to have to tattoo my parents' names on Darby’s behind, like the sponsors on a car in NASCAR). And I'm grateful that a week after discovery, a team of seven trained professionals worked hard to keep Darby alive and make him tumor free (what human patient could ever dream of such a quick turnaround within our medical system?).

And more than anything else, I’m glad I was able to keep the sense of acceptance, even when the bad things came. Life is a beautiful thing, and hardships inspire gratitude and appreciation for all that is, even when the is nots lurk nearby. A battle or a blessing, life is the thing we all share, and thanks for letting me share this story.

Quote for the Day from me and my vet

Me: “There’s my gladiator puppy.” 
Vet: “Yes, he is a gladiator.”

Acceptance

2010-09-07T10:37:00.007-04:00

After a weekend spent with a dear friend whom I’d lost contact with for more than a decade, the concept of change has been playing around in my mind. And maybe change is the wrong word; maybe evolution would be better. Either way, as years pass and events affect us, we do change, hopefully (though not always) for the better.

When I last saw my friend, I was living in the “stuck” years. And in our conversations, it was difficult to even wrap my brain around how that felt, how I’d come to be so stuck, and why getting unstuck seemed so insurmountable. To be stuck seems like a lifetime from the fluid and free I feel now. But the freedom of now took a very long time to get here, over many tiny changes and different paths. And honestly, I had to endure some of the darkest days to find the place I now inhabit.

Reminiscing weekends can be many things, depending on whether the glory days are behind or in front of us. What I found is that the glory days aren’t behind or in front, or they are behind and in front, because every time in life has something to glory about, even if it was so treacherous as to fuel needed change. The power to get unstuck seems to be easier from a truly yucky point than from a less than stellar, but not truly great spot. For me, right now, the glory days are every day that I write, every day I serve my purpose, every day I take care of my body, relax, listen, learn.

Over and over in my conversations with my friend, I found writing as the source for the positive changes in my life. The highway marker where perceptions shifted. Where unhealthy friendships ended. Where fights occurred to re-establish boundaries. Where, after many years in absence, self-love happened. All of these changes led to the one major event that has happened just lately, the state of acceptance.

There is such peace in acceptance. So much so that I am in awe of it. It doesn’t mean that life becomes easy, because there are some events in my life right now that are very hard, but acceptance helps to put things in perspective, to be grateful for all the things that are easily forgotten, and to truly take the bad with the good. And a side effect of true acceptance of self is the sudden and seemingly inexplicable acceptance of everybody else (which honestly just feels weird). Really, not getting irritated with other people and accepting them for where they are at feels stranger than waving fingers around in traffic. But it just happened.

However, for as much as I love this acceptance of all things, I know from all that I’ve learned that this, like every other evolutionary stage in our development, is not a fixed point. There will be days of greater or lesser acceptance, days when sniping at the lady with the cart full of food that she wants rung up separately will be necessary for balancing the cosmic scales. There will be days when gratitude goes on the fritz, and acceptance of the difficult and painful events in life will be hard to come by. But even with the wavering nature of the human experience, I’m grateful for the glory of today.

Quote for the Day from “Turn, Turn, Turn” by the Byrds

“To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven”

Three Entries for Kiersten White's Paranormalcy Contest

2010-09-02T08:30:00.004-04:00

For those of you who haven't heard, and if you haven't then please let me share, that the lovely Kiersten White's first YA novel Paranormalcy came out on Tuesday. That's right, it's in the world. The real question is: is it in your house? If not, a disturbance in the Force is likely. Protect yourself and your loved ones; go get Paranormalcy at all possible speed (but don't actually speed, cause that's dangerous).

Kiersten's having a little contest over at her blog, and I don't normally get into contests (chronically the anti-lucky), but this one was too zany to ignore. Also, Kiersten's warmth and fun, even in the midst of the struggles of life and the publishing industry, just make her the kind of person it's fun to root for. And boy have I been rooting! Friends are being given demerits for slow book procurement (and I'm pretty handy with the guilt too). Oh, and I've been accused of being sadistic as well because when one friend didn't get herself to the store, I told her I'd kill off her favorite character in one of my books. So, maybe I have power issues too, but ah well, the world of blogging has created some amazing friendships for me and in the case of Kiersten, some powerful loyalty and admiration! :)

Okay, the contest: show Paranormalcy out in the world doing new things.

Well, here you go.

Entry One: Paranormalcy Fighting the Good Fight... Against Evil Dentists (okay, my dentist is much too sweet to be evil... but really, look at the size of that needle!)

As much as Paranormalcy tried to stop the impending pain and agony, we eventually did rally our courage and allow dentistry to happen. But Paranormalcy was really with me in my hour of need, and I'll never forget that. (I'll never quit you, Paranormalcy!) :)

Something to understand before scrolling down:

Discerning Border Collies Choose Paranormalcy.

Just look...

Entry Two: (and yes, Darby forced me to buy him a copy so that we wouldn't have to share. He still says he's giving it to his girlfriend, even though I keep telling him that she's not a border collie and consequently can't read. He answered that she's a hot momma and he can read it to her... slowly, while she whispers adoring little things in his ears).

Darby and Paranormalcy are checking out the Bookshelf of Honor for Paranormalcy's new home. Hmm... next to Twilight? The Summoning? City of Bones? Ohhhh... there's Shiver... maybe there...

Entry Three: During a recent video chatting session, Darby told my mother's border collie, Jennie Mae Little Bit, how amazing Paranormalcy is, and she had to get in on the action. Read her review below.

"Next to herding sheep (which is the definition of all that is good and worthy in the world), Paranormalcy rocks... like two border collies taking on a pack of wolves while herding a bunch of brainless sheep. Really rocks, like the laser pointer or the sprinkler... or even herding flies. And don't get me started on agility class. I'm telling all you border collies out there, get with the program. Paranormalcy will change your life. Oh, bleep, it's time for me to help old ladies cross the street and tutor honor students... and maybe remind my mom that it's time for my belly rub and a few extra kibbles... gotta go."

Well, there you have it.

Quote for the Day from Jennie Mae Little Bit

"Paranormalcy will change your life." Enough said. :)

Expectations Just Can’t Catch a Break

2010-08-31T08:17:00.000-04:00

So after writing my expectations post last week, I had the opportunity to talk to two different young women, both of whom I’ve known since my teaching days. In talking to both of them, I saw shades of my former battles, which directed me to another attack I need to make on expectations. Both of these young women inspire me. They are driven to challenge themselves to always be more, think more, do more, and affect the world in positive ways. Both of them are beautiful, inside and out. Talented. Courageous. Intelligent. Quirky. They are exactly the kinds of people I feel fortunate to know. And both them, these wonderful human beings, are struggling with making their ways under the weights of other people’s expectations. I hate this for them, but certainly remember it for myself.

I was almost incapacitated at their ages by the struggle of living up to everyone’s expectations for me, or worse, my assumptions of other people’s expectations. That dark fiction robs the inner self of its ability to go after what it wants, because that desire might run counter to all the “theys” and what “they” want.

I’ve seen this struggle by young people before. Middle school, which I adored teaching, is the very beginning of self expression, of testing out different friends and looks, wearing a bunch of different hats in order to see which one fits. It also is a very challenging time for parents, which I understand, but since I don’t have kids of my own, I still see the experience more through the eyes of the young people. And I see just how necessary it is for them. People who are denied the chance to find their own right path can end up living lives that will never make them happy, because they are not the lives the young people would have ever chosen.

I’m certainly not saying that young people should be given free rein, because that would be reckless, but I am saying it is important to allow every person the chance to find out who they are, separate from their families, religions, cultures, etc. And I’m sure it is a difficult thing for parents to give: love without demanding the surrender of control. But I do believe it is something that should be considered.

I guess the same may be said for relationships. I’ve been in them and been out of them, sometimes only to discover that the “me” I was in the relationship was a stranger, the amalgamation of my expectation of who I should be and their assumed expectations of who I should be. They never had the chance to know the real me. And that is kind of sad, but makes me grateful that through my writing, I’ve finally met the authentic me... and really like her.

Now as far as expectations go, living up to anyone else’s is a recipe for losing grasp of what is personally important. Losing faith in one’s self because no time has been invested in self, as opposed to the mystery of living up to what everyone else wants. When are young people taught that it is okay to listen to their own voices, follow their own paths, and live their authentic lives? Even when parents try to impart these lessons, we are programmed to fit into our herd and not step too far out of well-worn ground.

The trouble comes, as in my two young friends, when people are simply too amazing to fit within the narrow parameters of well-worn anything. They are daring, and they are doers. And to get to their best lives, they are going to have to find the confidence in themselves, the belief that they are worthy and right just the way they are, and they are going to have to allow themselves to shine, regardless of the forces that attempt to dull their spark.

I don’t have a magic pill for them (nor would I give it if I did) to get them to see their own limitless worths, but I hope I give them the things I do have to share: my complete belief in them and my never-ending support of anything they set out to do.

Ladies, thank you for inspiring me.

Quote for the Day from Anais Nin

“There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

Expectation: In Life and Writing

2010-08-26T11:06:00.001-04:00

“When I grow up I’m going to be a...”

What? Astronaut? Ballerina? Rock Star? I had so many answers to that one statement. Of course, writer was the most common answer, but as a linear person, it was always easier to chart other courses. Do this, then this, equals success. Recently, I had a conversation with a lovely friend of mine who is doing her residency to become an orthopedic surgeon. I marvel at her dedication and ability to work insane amounts of hours, but, when we were talking, we realized that in some ways she is lucky to be on her linear path. I work almost as many hours as she does (between the day job and my writing), and she has the certainty that if she keeps working hard, she’ll get to her goal. For me, there are no guarantees that all that work and effort will get me to my goal. That has been one of the biggest struggles for me, being linear with a fictional goal, but like so many things in life, I think I needed something to put me off the expected.

I’ve always been a little too enamored with expectations, blueprints, timelines, and everything seemingly controllable. But the truth is, nothing about life is controllable and even those who seem to have it all together can watch it fall apart through no fault of their own. Best laid plans get rocked by life. It’s impossible to look at the world and not see this, and yet, I’ve held onto expectations of what life is supposed to be like. And I can tell you, from my own experience, that that is the quickest way to suck the joy out of life and is a recipe for a future of murky wallowing.

Some of the things I always thought would happen in my life haven’t. And these are the hardest things for me to share publicly, but for whatever reason, I think I should. Ever since I was a teenager, I expected to find that perfect person and get married (for a while there, I even expected to marry John Taylor of Duran Duran... funny how that didn’t work out). But that expectation hasn’t happened and the expectation itself poisoned a great many moments of my life. I felt for a long time that I had been denied something, left out, left behind, not picked in the great dodgeball game of life.

Now, I see something different. The expectation itself is the problem, the thinking that things are supposed to work a certain way and if they don’t, life is deemed cruel and whining ensues. And instead of taking the time to be grateful for the life we have, we throw out our gifts because they simply can’t measure up to our expectations.

It is true that I have never found the love I dreamed of, but I am so happy to be alive every day. This is what renouncing expectations and ending the feeling of entitlement have done for me. I am healthy, energetic, a dreamer, a writer, and have had the good fortune to be surrounded by an excellent family and absolutely wonderful friends. Life isn’t about what we don’t have, but what we do have and how we share the gifts we have been given.

I believe that expectation and entitlement in publishing goals can be just as toxic as in relationship goals. The ultimate question is: why we write? Is it for the glory and the fame or is it because we can’t imagine not letting loose the words lining up in our minds and hearts?

If expectations aren’t reined in, where do they end? It’s not like the relationship expectations end after finding someone? How do we expect to be treated? Do we communicate our expectations or simply judge the other person for failing to meet them? Do we have entirely unrealistic expectations about what marriage means? Do we expect marriages to be like the movies and when they aren’t, do we walk away from the people we promised to love all our lives? Do we expect for another human being to be responsible for all of our happiness in life? And while we’re busy expecting in our direction, do we do and give enough to our partner, who might be filled with as many unrealistic expectations as we have?

And in publishing, what is the expectation for success? How much do we expect from agents and editors? And our future readers? And our next books? Do we expect to be the next Stephenie Meyer or J.K. Rowling, and if we don’t reach that goal, are we failing? Margaret Mitchell wrote Gone with the Wind. Can you imagine if she felt like a failure for not publishing another book? Are we going to allow expectations (mostly unrealized... because they are impossible) to taint all the steps of our journeys?

I’m here to say that it is possible, because I know how many moments I spent feeling let down by a life that has given me so much. I don’t want to be that person anymore, and I certainly don’t want to be that kind of writer.

Quote for the Day from Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell

Rhett:

“There's one thing I do know... and that is that I love you, Scarlett. In spite of you and me and the whole silly world going to pieces around us, I love you. Because we're alike. Bad lots, both of us. Selfish and shrewd. But able to look things in the eyes as we call them by their right names.”

Friendships Born of Shared Dreams

2010-08-24T10:48:00.000-04:00

Blogging isn’t an activity I ever imagined for myself, but there are many things about my life I never imagined. Not all of them have been pleasant, but each has provided the opportunity to become the person I am. In the past couple years of writing, I’ve come to terms with myself, accepted the things I’ve done, the mistakes that guided me, and quit (for the most part) beating up on myself for opportunities missed and for not achieving the summit of every mountain I yearned to climb.

When I look at the past year (and I have no idea other than a recent birthday why I am wandering through history), the growth (radical in some ways) that I have experienced has led me to redefine my own personal mission statement. This change has been fueled by new friendships with strangers I met online, from blogs. I talked to one of my writer/blogger friends yesterday, and in our very goofy conversation, I was struck by the power of these friendships born of shared dreams. My friend and I even talked about that, how even our nearest and dearest friends of old can’t quite grasp our writing journeys in the way that fellow writers can. My friend now has more long-distance friendships, just as I do (now, as I’ve mentioned before, I live far from old friends and family, so thank goodness for unlimited long-distance plans).

Writers share something... or maybe, better yet, dreamers share something. I remember hearing once a disparaging thing about dreamers... that all they are is dreamers, not doers (or something like that). But my rebuttal against this nameless foe is that “doers” can’t even get up without something to dream. And writers or anyone who seeks a goal must at their heart be a dreamer, a believer, and ultimately a doer in order to get things done.

I’ve been working this month to ease back, bring the joy back into my writing, and what that really means is allowing the dreamer back in. So much of querying and rejections sends the dreamer into a hollowed out cave inside our hearts. And I think the further we get on the path, the harder it is for that dreamer to endure. Think of that feeling, finishing that first story or novel with your dreamer still completely intact, knowing with certainty that anyone would be a fool to pass up your work. And then the rejection comes, baffling the dreamer.

My dreamer has become a bit of a wizened hunchback, cowering and preparing for the next blow. I reached the point where I didn’t allow myself to imagine what success looked like, becoming the dreamer-free doer. Sure, I kept right on writing because I’ve got the doer part locked down, but without the dreamer, the one who could see clearly what success looks like, who can imagine my titles in pretty covers sitting on my shelf, the fun and the joy evaporated. Not terribly surprising when you think about it.

So, August became this chance to reconnect with the dreamer, to allow the storyteller within to get free rein again. My progress report: August is the best month ever. I’m writing with zest again, racing to see what happens next, allowing my characters to completely have their ways with me, and delighting in the process again. It didn’t take much to reconnect and yet the source of my renewed connection is profound. In a word: it is Acceptance. Acceptance of myself and my life. Acceptance of the stories that are mine to tell. Acceptance that my path doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s and that this journey, the one I am lucky enough to be on, is mine alone. And yet, I am not alone. I am blessed to have two wonderful writer friends. One who makes me laugh, who shares the ups and downs, and critiques my writing with a zany fervor. And the other, who hones query letters like a phenom, has challenged all the walls I built around myself, challenged all the dark beliefs that kept me from happiness, and is the very reason I have a blog in the first place.

Thank you both for sharing your lives with me. And thank you to those who read my blog who may end up being new friends in waiting.

Quote for the Day from Winnie the Pooh by A.A. Milne

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh," he whispered.

"Yes, Piglet?"

"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, "I just wanted to be sure of you."”

The Dark Power of Prologues

2010-08-17T11:04:00.004-04:00

I’ve wondered for a long time whether I like prologues, endure them, or hate them. And I’ve finally made up my mind. They are a force of darkness and must be stopped.

Case in point: a brand spanking new book by one of my favorite authors.

I followed all the usual steps when reading a sequel to a beloved book (i.e., rereading the original to be able to accurately remember the perfect bouquet created by the mixture of words, plot, and characters). Then I picked up the new book, feeling its weight, the smoothness of the paper, and the possibility it represented. I opened the book, with excitement filling my soul, and read the prologue.

What followed was not what I expected. I set the book down, looking at it as though it had bitten my puppies. Paced near it, worried it might jump up and swallow me like some creature in the Aliens movies. And, as a lifeline, I called a friend who had recently started the same book, begging her to read it quickly and tell me whether it ended well.

I am against reading the ends of books, or even the back covers if I can help it. They give too much away for me to be interested in taking the journey. I especially don’t like when a friend says, “You’ve got to read this book” and then precedes to tell me the entire plot. I might be finicky, but if I don’t have the chance to discover the story’s journey on my own, it’s unlikely I’ll ever pick it up.

And that’s what the evil prologue did: it told me the end of the book and I didn’t like it. I didn’t have the context or the chance to go there with the characters, because I already knew what was going to happen. And I hated what was going to happen.

So, I took some time reading other things while my friend read the book (I even enlisted another friend to read the book, too, so that I would have two perspectives on the ending).

On Saturday, my friend called and said, “Now, you’ve got to ask me very specifically what you want to know.” (Hey, good friends know us well, wonkiness and all.)

So, I asked very specific questions about the ending (not everything, just the one thing I felt I knew from the prologue). And I was right. And I lost it. Actual tears about fictional characters and an ending I didn’t want happening to them... or me.

(Now, in my defense, it is one of my favorite books with my favorite characters and I’d just come in from mowing my lawn in 80 degree heat and 90 percent humidity. Depleted might best describe me at that moment... or I’m a crazy person. Special thanks to the friend for not pointing that out.)

I ranted to my friend. She wanted to tell me more, because she said there was absolutely a reason for the ending. But I wouldn’t be appeased by that, declaring that it was a terrible ending regardless of anything else in the few hundred pages. My friend allowed the rant (and very wisely/kindly didn’t bring up the fact that in one of my own books, I killed one of her favorite characters... which I have not been forgiven for by any of my readers. I still get texts every once in a while protesting that action, in the hopes that I will bring the character back).

Finally, after my personal storm (maybe breakdown) subsided, I asked, “Do you feel hopeful about the ending?”

Her answer: “Yes.”

And that made my decision. Without taking the journey, the ending made me feel hopeless. It couldn’t get much worse than that, so I sat down and read the book.

And I loved it. Completely and totally. The writing was so beautiful I had to pause, as though every line was poetry to be savored, not devoured. And I did cry, but the ending was hopeful, well reasoned, and the temporary loss is offset by the new possibility of something much bigger. Yeah, I did cry, but in some ways, that is the mark of a tremendous author, who can get us to connect with fictional characters so much that we are personally invested in their lives, hopes, and dreams.

Now, back to the prologue. It wasn’t necessary. I would rather have taken the journey not knowing the end. I wouldn’t have gotten myself all in a fluster over the ending of the book if the prologue hadn’t existed. They are intended, in most cases, to be a teaser, but the teaser shouldn’t cause the reader to set the book down and walk away in horror.

I am certain each of us has different feelings about prologues, but I have resolved to never read another one... or write another one if I can help it.

In this case, the prologue did nothing but potentially keep a reader from a book. If I would have read the prologue in the bookstore, I would not have bought the book and would have been denied an amazingly beautiful story.

I’m curious what you think about prologues. Friend or foe?

Quote for the Day from Douglas Adams

“I seldom end up where I wanted to go, but almost always end up where I need to be.”

Writers Rehab

2010-08-10T11:31:00.003-04:00

First, let me say this isn’t that kind of rehab. I have not been consuming vast quantities of mind-altering substances—no wait... I have, if you consider creativity as a mind-altering experience, which it certainly is. But other than creativity, I don’t really indulge in all that other stuff (heck, I don’t even drink caffeine), so this is a different kind of rehab.

This is the Joys of Writing Rehabilitation.

I mentioned recently that I’ve been taking my writing journey too seriously and that was cramping the fun and my ability to just let stories come into being without harshly judging every single word that met paper (or the computer screen). Since I’ve learned I’m not alone in this experience, I thought I’d write a blog about my rehab and the things I’ve learned so far.

Easing back isn’t really as easy as it seems or should be. After pushing hard for so long, it is very difficult to not push, to not query bunches, to not force another draft through the gears so that I can get more opportunities for success out onto the market.

I know every writer’s journey is unique, but with several agented friends, I must say that easing back comes with the uncomfortable feeling of being left behind. I am thrilled for my agented writer friends and look forward to seeing their novels (especially the ones I’ve read) in print, but the feeling of being left behind is something I struggle with as I try to take it easy. And the truth is, I didn’t even see this pressure affecting me until I started to slow down. Perhaps it has been an unseen driving force for a long time. If so, that’s a pattern I have to break. It’s unhealthy and certainly doesn’t foster the kind of writing sensibility I yearn to have. Everyone else’s successes/challenges in publishing have very little to do with me, other than my feelings of support, earnestly shared. My path is unique, just as everyone else’s is. That’s an important mantra to consider, because in the comparison of journeys lies ugly roots of envy and entitlement, instead of celebration of the uniqueness of each writer’s voice.

This makes me think of one of my favorite quotes from THE MOUNTAIN IS YOUNG.

"Is it not sufficient that to you something is given, not to be buried in the ground, but to use? Use it well, with no thought of success or failure..."

No thought of success or failure... that’s not an easy mark to reach, and yet, through just playing with words, imagining stories, and bringing the fun back into the writing process, I think the goal is a reachable one.

Since easing back has its own set of challenges, I’m just taking baby steps. Cleaning out my office to eliminate some clutter, playing around with beginnings to my work in progress, and trying not to take myself or anything too seriously. And I’m reading THE TAO OF POOH.

(I might have also made some of my favorite cookies and some homemade cinnamon rolls to help with the fun quotient, which was very successful I might add.)

Quote for the Day from THE TAO OF POOH by Benjamin Hoff

“When you know and respect your Inner Nature, you know where you belong. You also know where you don't belong.”

Something Wondrous

2010-08-03T21:18:00.017-04:00

Sunday night, I was privileged to host a house concert for my favorite singer, Susan Enan. Earlier this year, she decided to tour the country singing in people’s houses. When she put out the call for houses to play in, I signed up even though I was terrified to have people in my house (I’m a lone writer most of the time for a reason). But I simply couldn’t let this unique experience pass me by because I knew I would regret it. You see, Susan Enan is more than just a singer I love; her music has provided the backdrop for many thousands of words. Almost every playlist I’ve created for my novels has included a song or two from Ms. Enan. The chance to have her play her beloved songs in my living room was truly like a bunch of birthdays put together. And the concert was truly a celebration.

I gathered up just about the most wonderful group of people for the audience (and they, knowing I am gathering-challenged, provided snacks, beverages, and moral support). In truth, after getting the house ready, the rest was really easy. What I was initially afraid of melted away because of the joy of introducing people to a singer/songwriter I love.

And then she sang. It was miraculous: her talent, her sensitivity to the performance, the way she captivated everyone in the room. I knew this would be a powerful event for me, but watching everyone else's reactions to the music was so humbling. Everyone was moved, some to tears. Music, I’ve always believed, allows us to connect with emotions we usually seek to control. Susan Enan’s music allowed us to connect with her and with each other in a way that only live music can. The moments we shared in my living room are special and will never be exactly duplicated. I’m so very grateful to have heard the music that facilitates my connection to my stories, stories I hope will one day connect with others.

Artists of all varieties are a kind of family. I felt that talking with Susan about her adventures in the music industry, and she easily understood the trials of the publishing industry.

And then, I took her to the State Fair and showed her a life-sized cow made entirely of butter.

We’ll be friends for life now. :)

Please check out Susan Enan's music, you won’t be sorry. And maybe her music will take you on journeys I will discover when I read your published novels. And think about hosting a house concert; there is simply nothing like it.

Quote for the Day from Susan Enan’s “Monoplain”

“We need to make some water but we’re all too tired to cry

So roll down your river ‘til your river runs dry”

Photographs were taken by my dear friend, Allison. Check out her talent here.

Imagination is Not Always Your Friend

2010-07-27T16:27:00.002-04:00

I’m a big believer in the amazing qualities of a hyperactive imagination, but I’ve recently had cause to see the darker side (quite literally) of the imagination.

I’ve mentioned before that I participate in a very lovely activity called open water swimming. It’s wonderful. Combine swimming, a quarry, and rarely having to turn around and you have the bliss that is open water swimming.

I find swimming to be an incredibly peaceful experience, even in a quarry. But I like my wetsuit because it: a) makes me float, b) is my safety net in case anything happens because I won’t sink down into the depths, and c) feels like a forcefield to protect me from the creatures lurking below. I intended (like last year) to swim in my wetsuit this entire summer, but something happened along the way. Some of you might have experienced it too... a heat wave. So, the heat came and warmed the quarry water, rendering my beloved wetsuit a “sauna suit.” It had to go, but I was scared to swim without it.

I rallied my courage, patted my dear wetsuit that rested on a bench, and approached the water. I could do this. Really. And I did. Into the water and swimming along. And then...

... my imagination hit.

I could imagine every movie where a woman is swimming, her vulnerable legs swishing in the water as a creature watched her from below. I shook that thought off, but others were lying in wait. See, with the heat, came a water temperature conducive to the exponential spread of algae... that I was swimming through.

Was it killer algae from outer space? Flesh eating algae? Or was there a portal deep below into another dimension where my future agent was waiting to be rescued?

Hey, could happen.

Moral of the story: imagination is a wonderful thing, but not while swimming through warm, algae-filled water, that is home to scores of unknown creatures. At those times, check your imagination at the water’s edge—it’s really for the best.

Quote for the Day from Angel, episode entitled “Underneath”

Wesley: Are you telling me the great Illyria, idol of millions, was limited to one small dimension?

Illyria: I travelled all of them as I pleased. I walked worlds of smoke, and half-truths, intangible. Worlds of torment and of unnameable beauty. Opaline towers as high as small moons. Glaciers that rippled with insensate lust. And one world with nothing but shrimp. I tired of that one quickly.

It’s Not the B-Word, But You Can Get There From Here

2010-07-20T21:30:00.003-04:00

I hate to think bad thoughts. Really. I'm all unicorn and rainbow thoughts every chance I get, but I’ve been dabbling in something, or maybe I just stepped in something and I’m tracking it everywhere I go. But it’s writing related, so here’s the place to march right in and deal with it.

As some of you know, I got focused on my writing April 1, 2008. I don’t take days off from writing (haven’t in more than two years), mostly because I love to write, even just a little bit every day. My daily writing is the proof that I am moving toward on my goals. And usually, my writing comes easily.

One thing that you should know about me to understand my issue is that I have a great memory. Not all the time. And not about everything. But mostly, I remember almost everything (unless I’m under stress... which explains why I can’t find the “safe place” where I put my external hard drive just before my vacation). I remember people I waited on when I worked at a restaurant during college (not everyone of course, but many... and where they sat and the stories they told). I remember strange little moments from years ago with sense memories so rich, the moments seem like they happened yesterday.

And the most prominent place I remember things is in words, written or spoken. I can quote (or closely paraphrase) conversations from years ago (and entire movies, songs... including It's the End of the World as We Know It by REM).

Memory is a blessing and a curse. I have many friends with less acute memories whom I envy a little for the cloud that protects them from being able to step back into wounds with just a thought. My memory makes getting over things harder, because there is no haze between me and hurtful words and events.

Now, back to my writing issue: feedback. Every word written about the story I am marketing plays through my mind, the good things and the things to work on, all graciously shared by stellar agents. I’m so grateful for their help and I want more, but I’m finding myself tripping over their comments as I write, doubting the words that flow from me for the first time. I can still write and we’re not talking about the B-word (You know... don’t make me say it. Okay, I’ll give you a hint: Writer’s B****.)

(For the sake of the rest of this post and to honor my belief in not saying the thing that shall not be named, we will call the B-word, Writer’s Elbow. There, problem solved.)

So, I don’t have writer’s elbow, but I can see how this new doubt in myself could become writer’s elbow. Maybe that’s how it starts for everyone. Other voices renting out space in our story-telling minds, and suddenly, we frighten away our connection to the source of all stories. Well, I need to nip this in the bud. I may have writer’s knuckle now, but I just can’t risk it getting worse.

I have a plan. It’s called Bringing The Fun Back In. And this is how it works. I write every day because it is my time in the sandbox, my playtime with crayons, and my time to ride a tire swing back and forth on a perfect day (with absolutely no mosquitos). Writing is recess, and that can’t happen with well meaning, but grown-up voices in my head. So, I’m on a mission to reconnect with the fun. To light my candles and write in the dark. To sing too loud (the dogs don’t mind my Faith Hill sing-a-longs). Anything and everything that makes me smile.

I’ve only been on this mission for a couple days, and I can already see the progress. Fiction is a gift again. Stories readily skipping from my mind to my fingers are blessings. And the force within that keeps me going, well that’s just priceless.

Rejections; feedback; hey, even offers of representation and book deals will come, but what matters in the end is the simple connection that allows a story to first be told. I can only imagine that once agents and book deals are in place, it is even easier to allow other voices into the writing process. So, I guess learning how to protect the sacred is best accomplished now, when it really is just me and my story.

Quote for the Day from Winnie the Pooh

“Nobody can be uncheered with a balloon”

Ode to Character Devotion

2010-07-14T09:40:00.002-04:00

I’ve got a new book to read, stories to write, and dogs to walk, but the lion’s share of my home time has been devoted (of late) to house cleaning/organizing. Early next month, I am hosting an event at my house (something I will blog about later because it is absolutely amazing) and I need to get ready. Hosting anything is really outside my happy, comfort bubble, but the inducement was too tempting to refuse.

Cleaning, as everyone should know, is facilitated by NCIS. No really, almost every night, old episodes of NCIS air and they provide the entertainment to fuel the cleaning urges. I’ve cleaned the kitchen, gone through years-old boxes of paperwork, and done heaps of laundry. I’m a cleaning rock star. What does this have to do with character devotion... well, that’s easy.

Things to admit:

I hate procedural shows (which include almost all crime dramas in which a crime/dead body is found and the characters then solve the crimes).

Note: I realize I am in the minority here, evidenced by the fact that my favorite shows (Buffy, Angel, Battlestar Galactica, etc., are no longer on the air) and CSI (all varieties), Law and Order (many, many varieties), NCIS (both), Bones, and many other procedurals are the staples of current television programming.

I hate any shows that involve bodies decomposing, cut open for an autopsy, stuffed in a trunk in Vegas so long they turn into gelatinous muck (yeah, I watched that episode of CSI).

I hate shows where man’s inhumanity to man is the profound and hopeless theme (evidenced by all the ways people kill each other and all the selfish reasons why lives are lost... see above, all crime dramas).

NCIS fits into all of the above categories, and yet I love it. Why?

The characters.

Abby. I love her. I want to be best friends with her. I want to be as smart as she is. And I wish I could wear her funny shoes to work without getting fired.

Ziva. I love her, too, flaws and all. I wish I were as tough as she is and could protect myself with such fervor.

McGee. I love him, too. I wish I were as smart and sweet as he is.

DiNozzo. I like him (though he would be fired from anywhere I’ve ever worked for being a pig). Even with his inappropriateness in the workplace, he’s incredibly loyal and I respect that.

Ducky. Yeah, love him. Who wouldn’t?

And last, but not least, Gibbs. My adoration knows no bounds. He’s amazing and hot. What could be better?

Character devotion means that I watch a show that contains all the elements I hate in a television show, simply because I love the characters.

In my own writing, I work to create characters that might one day have that kind of pull for the reader. I hope I get there, because I’m not sure there is anything better than for others to love my characters as much or more than I do.

Quote for the Day from NCIS

"I will kill you 18 different ways with THIS paperclip!"

Ziva David/Dead Man Walking/ Season 4

Believing Smaller

2010-07-09T16:20:00.002-04:00

While I’ve been deciding what to write next, I’ve been taking a little walk through some of the stories I’ve written in the past couple years. This has been a fun exercise, mostly. One thing that has been a bit challenging is what I will call my Former Writer Self Time Travel Moments. What does that mean? Well, as I’ve been reading the words my former writer self wrote, I remember with perfect clarity exactly what I was thinking while I was writing. How I thought this writing journey would go. I’m sure I’m not alone in believing that I would be an instant success, lauded by the masses, the most successful writer ever to walk (though I would levitate regularly) the earth. I think we all need to believe that success will come easily in order to have the confidence to get out of the gate. Of course, I now know all about rejection and how hard it is to keep believing, but had I known all of that then, I might never have dared to send out that first query.

I pride myself on my ability to “just keep swimming” (my little ode to the fabulous Dory from Finding Nemo) no matter how close I get and how far it feels like I have to go. I literally use this mantra during my open-water swimming outings. And I will keep on going, no matter how hard it gets, but I have to say that my little time traveling moments have been rougher than I would have thought. This journey is all about believing, but I think I have a better sense about the size of my belief now. And to be honest, I’m believing smaller these days. No shiny tiaras. No brunches with Stephenie Meyer, C.S. Lewis (who was only too happy to come back from the dead for brunch with me), Han Suyin, and J.R.R. Tolkien (also back for a limited engagement). Just a lot of work, a dose of faith, and maybe one day, the chance to share my stories with more than my circle of friends and family.

Quote for the Day from C.S. Lewis

“You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.”

So, This Really Was My First Rodeo

2010-07-06T10:43:00.002-04:00

I’ve been a little absent from my trusty blog. I really didn’t mean to be gone as long as I was, but life does get a little busy sometimes and we just have to roll with the punches. In the past month or so, I’ve been dedicated to a few different projects, some fictional, some historical, and some vacational (yes, I made a word... but since I’ve decided to go pro in the field of vacationing, I feel I have the necessary street cred).

In fiction, I've been working on my difficult story child, which feels like an entirely unfair mantra for my story. The truth is that I stopped the story midway to work on another project and haven’t found my way back into the heart of things. After more deliberation than was probably healthy, I’ve decided to set the story aside and work on something else. This is the first time I’ve done that. It feels strange, but if I don’t have the passion for the story, how can I possibly think anyone else will. My mind is all aflutter deciding what to work on next. And since I love first drafts best, I’m looking forward to falling into a new world and taking a brand new ride to wherever I end up.

In history, I spent much of the past month and a half preparing a video for my best friend’s surprise birthday party (which is now past, so I can discuss). Gathering the pictures and going through them was like a therapy session entitled “This is Sorta Your Life.” When you’ve been friends with someone for twenty-seven years, their journey in some ways is your journey, up until certain turns and off ramps. Looking at her life forced me to look at my own, but with a strange detachment because she provided the filter. I was at different times nostalgic, sad, giggly, and filled with love. I really do love my best friend. She’s one of the best people I will ever know and I feel blessed that our friendship has survived.

As much as I am not a surprise party (or surprises in general) person, it was fun standing in her living room, having flown 2,000 miles to get there and leaving the next morning for my actual vacation, when she walked in. Seeing the look of shock/wonder on her face was something I will never forget and I was so glad to be there. She loved the video I created and it was worth the many hours it took to put it together and to get the music just right. And it is wonderful to know that we share such a past and a future, too.

And let’s talk about vacations. I attended my very first full rodeo... in Santa Fe... in an outdoor stadium... under the gorgeous (sometimes stormy) New Mexico skies... and I’m a changed woman. Seriously. I’ve admitted before that I have a Professional Bull Riding addiction (watching not participating). And let that be a lesson to you: One fluke event can change your life. Beware what you do. I’m currently suffering withdrawal from the PBR, as they are on a summer break (to heal, mostly). But the rodeo and the excitement leading up to the rodeo helped me to survive. It was amazing, and I can’t imagine a more beautiful setting for a first-time rodeo attender.

(Also, I need for you to know about one other thing, in case you ever encounter it: ribbon fries. They are decadent. Obtain some, devour, and repeat. You won’t be sorry.)

I think that catches you up with my current events and prepares for me to start posting again with more frequency. I’m working on being on a schedule. Tuesdays and either Thursdays or Fridays. We’ll see how I do. I look forward to catching up with all the blogs I follow, and I hope you all are having a lovely summer.

Quote for the Day from “Rodeo” by Garth Brooks

“It's boots and chaps

It's cowboy hats

It's spurs and latigo

It's the ropes and the reins

And the joy and the pain

And they call the thing rodeo”

Grand Central Station

2010-06-15T10:47:00.002-04:00

As my writer friends know, I’ve usually got more than one story going at the same time. Whether I’m writing, planning, marketing, dreaming, pining, or editing, my head usually can wrap around a passel of fictional worlds with no problem. I even wrote two books at the same time, alternating days (although one did shove the other out when things got too exciting to walk away from). So, normally, many stories in play is a good thing. But since I finished my unexpected revision of the novel I’m marketing and meandered back to the rewrite of another story, I’ve been feeling a little like I’m standing in Grand Central Station, right there on the platform, waiting for the train... that’s just not showing up.

I reread the 120 pages I’d written to get caught up and I enjoyed them, but I didn’t latch on to the story like I normally do. I’ve got some ideas about the cause of the disconnect. Exhaustion might be a possibility, as I am a workaholic. It also might be possible that I’m not over being smitten with the new revision I recently finished. I stare longingly at it, over my shoulder where it needs to live so that I can face this other story world. And I’m wondering if this is like when you can’t comprehend accepting the date with the really nice guy, because the echoes of the last boyfriend linger too strongly. Maybe.

Or, and this is where I hear my mother, maybe I just need to grasp the story by the bootstraps (or myself... I never did understand that expression), and start throwing words on the page until they make sense. In other words (and similes), maybe I need to accept that the train I’m waiting for isn’t coming, the story has changed just as I have during our time apart, and catch the train that comes along and see where it leads me.

That sounds good. Got any other ideas?

Quote for the Day from The Princess Bride (Yeah, I’m on a Princess Bride kick)

“Have fun storming the castle!”

A Funny Little Moment in Writing

2010-05-25T07:58:00.005-04:00

Well, the revision is ongoing. Mz. SuperFabulous performed the re-read and gave me my marching papers to clear up one bit of plot and, more importantly, weave a thread through the tapestry of the story to create more of a connection between a couple main characters. By hook or by crook, this project is heading out to the awaiting agents by the weekend. I’m sure I will be fiddling with it for a while, but this not-so-baby bird has a date with destiny.

But I have another writing moment to share that occurred while making my favorite wheat bread (really, it is the best thing since the invention of words). I had my laptop situated happily on the counter so that I could catch up with the TV shows I both love and neglect. And while watching the May 13th episode of Grey’s Anatomy, a specific story line grabbed me (and no it didn’t involve the inner angsty drama among the relationship-diseased main characters). The plot involved a teenaged patient with a condition for which her family was about to commit her. I was riveted by the plot of the story, but mostly by the fantastic actress. After finishing the show and continuing to be impressed, I watched that story line again, and again. And it finally struck me. The thing I was connecting with is that the actress Demi Lovato is a living, breathing version of a character from one of my series of books. She could walk in and be my character. The moment made me smile and also made me wonder if you have found the person who could so beautifully live your words.

Take a look at her talent here.

Bad News

2010-05-18T20:37:00.004-04:00

I was going to post a blog I'd already written, but want to take a moment to share some bad news. I just heard tonight that a wonderful young man I had the privilege to know when I was a teacher has died. My heart is absolutely wrecked. He had just graduated college and was going to become a teacher. Life feels too fragile, and altogether wrong. His mom should not have to bury her son. And the world needs more of the good ones, not less. And DJ Tilche was one of the good ones. His easy smile I will never forget.

So, please take a moment to send supportive vibes and/or say a prayer for his family, his stellar mom especially. I can't even imagine the depth of what she's feeling, but I hope she knows all the lives DJ touched were better for that gift, and we will never forget him.

My Revision Playdate Weekend

2010-05-11T09:45:00.003-04:00

So, I indulged. I did. And it felt better than eating two tons of chocolate without gaining a pound. My revision and I had quite a playdate this weekend. And I had a funny moment, I thought I’d share. On Saturday, after working on my revision for eleven hours, I looked at the clock and said, “Oh, good, I can get in another five hours.” And I laughed. This is how we know we’re doing what makes us happy, when we can work for sixteen hours straight and still love what we’re doing and feel a little slighted that we eventually have to sleep. Sunday, I had another wonderful day (unfortunately, the lawn forced me to mow it, so I did have to stop for a while). Weekend playdate total: 27 hours. I’m getting closer to sending the revision off to Mz. SuperFabulous for a read through before I send it to a couple agents who have been wonderfully patient in waiting for it.

Revision feels like a baneful word to writers. It means our initial effort didn’t rock the universe and leave the masses cheering for us, while bowing in awe. That can be tough to take, but, while delighting in my playdate, I came to think about the word revision in a different way, taking poetic license with the definition.

Vision means (according to my computer New Oxford American Dictionary) “an experience of seeing someone or something in a dream or trance, or as a supernatural apparition.” That’s the definition that equates most to the way stories play out in my head. So, re-vision means going back into that trance and experiencing the story again. This weekend, I laughed with my characters and cried with their losses. I marveled at the new direction (that became much more expansive than I’d thought... leading to chopping about 150 pages and writing 125 more). And as I read through it now, I love it and I’m so glad I took the chance to shake up a bunch of words and live another story.

Quote for the Day from The Princess Bride

“You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles.”

The Writer I Am Now or Agents Know Stuff

2010-05-04T08:52:00.004-04:00

So, I’m elbow deep into this revision (which has turned out to be much larger than originally intended) and I find myself thinking deep things. Go figure. You see, when I started marketing this project, I truly believed it was ready, finished, and exactly the story I wanted to tell. And now, as I'm going through it, altering plot, ramping up the pace, and hopefully making my characters easier to connect with, I’ve had moments in which I judged myself for not seeing all these items sooner. But then I realized something: the writer I was last year is not the writer I am now. This revision is proof of my evolution as a writer (and that I have the good sense to take the advice of agents as well as writer friends). This is also proof that agents know stuff. They knew my story wasn’t ready then, but here’s hoping I’ve done enough work to change their minds.

Back to revising. :)

Quote for the Day from The Princess Bride

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

Cover Me! I’m Going In!

2010-04-27T08:31:00.001-04:00

A huge thank you to those who commented on my last post. I needed some writing community support, and it was certainly given. I’m very grateful to have connected with such a great group of writers, who are also wonderfully decent, generous, talented people.

One such person, whom I will call Mz. SuperFabulous, not only handed over her work in progress for me to read (FREE BOOK! Woo Hoo!), but also offered to read the YA fantasy I’ve been marketing for the express reason of discovering the source of the disconnect between my main character and agents’ hearts. Because ultimately, most of the feedback from agents has shared these items: great writing, compelling story, but didn’t connect with the main character enough to want to represent the work.

I am completely okay with revamping my writing and gladly hack things to pieces with a certain verve that might be worthy of an asylum. The trouble, in this case, was that I only knew that they didn’t connect, not why they didn’t connect. And in a first person story, it is a little overwhelming to consider changing who your main character is when you don’t have the foggiest idea who she should be to make her more lovable.

Enter Mz. SuperFabulous, who read my book with great speed (the absolute best quality in a reader... now, I will add that I read her work almost as fast because I know that is a golden quality) and then mulled, actually researched what worked in another friend’s book, and delivered to me completely workable action items for increasing the connection between readers and my main character.

Everything she said resonated and she even used examples in her explanation from successful books that I’d both read and loved. And I got it. So, I dove back in over the weekend, and actually went back to my obsessive writing style that I’ve cut back on of late (more than twenty hours working on it over two days). The lion’s share of the work is finished, but fine tuning will take place over the next couple weeks. I certainly don’t want to introduce typos into my work or leave puzzle pieces out.

What started as a fluke (since I really didn’t intend to edit this book again, favoring finishing the next one and getting that one out to market) has become a new adventure for a beloved book. I was ecstatic to be back in the world I’d created and causing all sorts of new trauma for my characters. Hopefully, this nudge will help the story to find a home. But even if it doesn’t, we writers, by investing our time in the work of others, are like bees, pollinating the landscape we love, and that, in and of itself, is a beautiful thing.

Quote for the Day from Mz. SuperFabulous

“It takes a village to write a novel.”

A Bump in the Road

2010-04-22T14:49:00.002-04:00

Normally, I tend to be little Miss Shiny Happy Thoughts, but today, I’m going to admit that sometimes it’s hard to keep believing in this writing goal. And the funny, or not so funny, reason for this bump in the road is the beautiful rejections I’ve been receiving. They are gorgeous, incredibly complimentary, even going so far as to pull out specific lines that were powerful, and one included about ten gushing sentences about the specific aspects of my writing/story that were wonderful. Why the lovely rejections have gotten to me might be a mystery to some, but I bet I’m not alone in struggling with the feeling of being so close and yet so far from the promised land.

In one of the rejections, the agent shared that she enjoyed my story so much that, even though she knew it wasn’t right for her, she finished reading the full. That’s about the nicest compliment an agent can give, knowing how busy they are.

I know I’ll keep writing every day and keep working to serve my purpose, but I guess today, I just needed to hold up my hardship and say, “This is real and it hurts.” And share it with others who’ve experienced this struggle.

People outside the writing journey can be supportive but they can never really feel what we writers feel.

I wish everyone more happy days than sad ones and amazing friends to bolster them when the days are rough. I have them, some found via blogs just like this one. And I feel lucky for each and every one.

And here's to being on the other side of this bump in the road.

When Characters Mock

2010-04-20T09:00:00.002-04:00

I was raised to be a respectful person. You know, respect your elders... yada, yada, yada. Clearly, I’m not doing such a hot job of teaching said respect to my characters because they are lining up to mock me. Often.

Case in point: the leading man in one of my current YA projects.

During the first draft of this project, a second potential love interest created himself in response to the less-than-alluring way the leading man was behaving. Or so I thought. Said Leading Man blames ME for my less-than-stellar writing. The nerve! He says that I willfully misunderstood him, what he was really about, and I basically am a complete hack. Consequently, he’s taking charge in the rewrite and I’m wondering if I need to enlist the services of a de-possession expert of some sort. Seriously, characters running amok is messing with my chakras.

The trouble is... he might be right. In the rewrite, I like him. Okay, maybe a little more than like him. He’s a good guy, and, sure, he’s going to do some devious, human things along the way, but that doesn’t change his worth in the grand scheme. The secondary love interest is certainly running scared about now though. I might have a real fight on my hands. May the best man win... or the one who best complements my main character. For her part, she’s a little swoony for Mr. Rewritten (and seriously, who wouldn’t be?)

It is for this exact reason that I love rewrites. In almost every project, I write that gushing first draft as quickly as possible, let simmer, and then start the book over at page one (copying almost nothing from the original) to see where the story goes now that the initial discovery is over. I know many people (writers and non-writers) have questioned this strategy as being labor intensive, but this is how the story gets fleshed out for me. One of my books didn’t need it, but the rest really do. And the added bonus is that it gives the characters another chance to show themselves (or pummel me with a stick and take over).

First drafts, for me, are main character centric, as though the main character is the sun that blinds me to the finer points of the other characters. The rewrite allows me to wear better shades and see the other characters for all their different layers.

That said, I don’t particularly enjoy being called a hack by my characters. It’s rude. And I think he better learn to show some respect for the less corporeally challenged, otherwise Mr. Know It All is going off a cliff in a freak gnat accident. So there.

Do characters ever get all feisty with you? Do you misunderstand them and have to make amends? Or, and frightening for me personally, am I the only one who might need a therapy cocktail of some meds and shock treatments because I’m losing control of fictional characters?

Quote for the Day from Frankenstein by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

“Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world.”

How I Became a #twitterfailure in a Few Easy Steps

2010-04-15T13:48:00.008-04:00

Twitter. Just the hint of mention and the crowds go wild. Right now, on a computer/smart phone near you, Twitter is alive and pulsing with an enigmatic fusion of feistiness and connection. People are communicating with strangers over what matters most to them (or bashing the wives of notorious #husbandfails), and in the writing community, never-before-seen access between writers, agents, and editors is being carried on 140 characters at a time. Heck, even the U.S. Library of Congress is getting in on the action and recognizing what a resource Twitter is.

And I am not on the bus (said with a regretful sigh).

Oh, I have a Twitter account and even a little birdie on the side of my blog, but that’s like me buying the toe shoes to be a ballerina, but never actually putting them on (or paying for a membership to a gym that I rarely attend—Oh No! It’s a pattern!).

But I am a #twitterfailure and I’m here to explain why, and possibly search for suggestions on becoming a #twittersuccess or to be called out for my reasoning (just be gentle, okay?).

I know that Twitter is an amazing tool for writers. After all, my BFF hooked an agent’s interest in 140-word doses, which led the agent to her blog, to contact her, and to eventually, after catching a glimpse at her talent, offer her representation. And so the BFF/Awesome Agent love affair began through Twitter, so much like Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks at the top of the Empire State Building.

Some of my favorite authors (Maggie Stiefvater, Cassandra Clare, Melissa Marr to name a few) are active in the world of Twitter, which makes me even more angsty about not participating. But I’m not sure what’s to be done. So, let me make my case.

The number one reason I am a #twitterfailure will come as a shock to some and will make others fall over laughing.

1. I can’t think of anything to say. #twitterblock

Yes, I know. I write. Lots. Someone who writes, say, more than 1,247,692 words in two years, isn’t the person you’d think would run out of things to say. But it’s true. There is a big difference between being friendly with words in a fictional construct and having short, pithy things to say on Twitter (at least that’s my position). If I were contributing 140 characters to a story, I’d be there. But sharing things about my life, not so much.

2. The things I do have to say, I really don’t think anyone wants to hear. #livingglitzfree

This might come as a shock, but I don’t live a very glamorous life. I get up early, go to work, come home, fix dinner, play with dogs, write, and fill my remaining time with taking the dogs to the park, exercising, watching bull riding, marketing my writing, researching agents, writing blogs, spending time with friends, etc. So, #lessthanscintillatinglife leaves me with not much to share on Twitter. And I’m certainly not knocking my life here. I love my life and how I spend the hours I have, but I really don’t think the Twitter folk would want to hear about my stellar dog walks. (I’m just as bad on Facebook. I admire those with things to share... with the exception of all those Farmville requests, but I just don’t share much for the same reasons as with Twitter.)

3. I’m shy when it comes to talking about my writing journey, especially the details about rejections and such. #colormetweetshy

As much as I’ve come to love my blog, it is still really hard to share my writing struggles, and yet I’m very open about the personal scape occurring behind the scenes. I’m not a very guarded person about most things, and yet Twitter just makes me nervous. I don’t know who’s reading them or if I will accidentally overstep and bug someone. And rather than risk it, I’m silent.

4. I might just have some issues with talking to strangers. #strangerdanger

I absolutely love how much community exists online for writers. BFF #TwitterGoddess Debbie (who is the reason I warmed to blogs in the first place) has regaled me with inspiring tales about the wonder of the Twitter writing community and the offshoots like YAlitchat, but I just can’t seem to find my way through the landscape. I did try to do the YAlitchat on Twitter, but the frenetic pace and multiple, simultaneous conversation lines made my head just about explode. Debbie did advise obtaining the transcript and said I might find that more helpful. To me, it’s very much like aerobics class (which I do not attend so that no one is injured due to the I’m-a-step-behind frustration that inevitably ensues). The chats go by so fast that I just can’t catch up and, because of number 2, I am just going to sit there even though I’ve read most of the books they discuss, have significant opinions on YA topics like fantasy world-building, and yearn to discuss them with other people familiar and interested in them. I just don’t seem to know how to begin a dialogue with strangers. Blogs are different because blog writers share more, have time to share more, and I can feel as though I know them enough to comment (though I still have blog-commenting anxiety).

I can actually hear BFF Debbie right now. “Well, you need to just get over that.” She’s big with the tough love, and I’m grateful for it. More than anyone in my life, she’s made me question and subsequently break dark and broody patterns that were keeping me stuck. And I recognize, without blogs, my BFF and I would never have connected. So, power to blogs, but Twitter... picture Bambi on the ice (in early spring).

5. I’m going to throw this one in even though I can hear some of the rebuttals already. Time is a factor. #twittertimefail

I spend 40 hours a week on a computer for my job. I write daily, so add an hour or two (sometimes three or four) a night. I can’t tweet while I am at work. So that means, to give myself the time to get comfortable with the process and maybe connect with others enough to have a conversation, I would have to not walk the dogs, not go out and meet friends, or talk to my far-away friends on the phone. I’m a person who rolls my eyes (internally or externally if I’m feeling snarky) when people tell me what they don’t have time to do. I truly believe that if you really want to do something, you will find the time. And I guess that is where Twitter slips. As much as I feel like I’m missing out on a potentially productive and fun adventure, I just can’t let go of my away-from-computer activities in order to become a #twittersuccess. (And FYI, my phone is anything but smart.)

So, if you have some advice to share, I’d love to hear it. I wonder if there are other #twitterfailures out there and if they question that decision. And among the #twittersuccesses, I’d love to hear your secrets. How do you know what to say? How do you find time to participate (especially if you work a full-time job, too)? And, I guess, most importantly, how do you connect with only 140 characters at a time?

Quote for the Day from Charlie Chaplin

“Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself.”