I was recently acknowledged on a friend's dedication page in her novel. It made me smile, and I must admit I was quite chuffed.
Melissa and I met about ten years ago when we joined LARA, the Los Angeles chapter of Romance Writers of America. We joined a large critique group and met after the monthly meeting to exchange chapters, comment upon, and generally try to learn from each other's writing attempts the best way to write a romance. Those were fun days.
We were an eclectic group and all have remarkably stayed friends some ten years later. What surprised me most was Melissa and Gina (my current critique partner) were young women, not much older than my own daughter. Melissa was recently married with no children, Gina was single. They were so modern and contemporary, and I was this old lady who was single, didn't even date, and had no idea how to write a romance for today's reader. They loosened me up. ; )
Over the years we broke away from the larger group to find smaller numbers to critique with. My group of five went on to produce three successful authors. Then those authors were deluged with contracts and marketing and building a brand, and we split again. Melissa and I critiqued for a while and then life got in the way for her as she was working, had a baby, and so on, but we've always been there to support each other in times of need. Gina and I still critique and we seem to do just fine.
Melissa wrote a wonderful story that was a historical time travel. It got so close to being published in several of the big houses, she garnered an agent with that story, and life started to look promising. Then things went topsy turvy as they often do in life, and the agent changed vocation. Publishing was beginning to change, and not for the good for new writers. Melissa never gave up on her story. She knew it deserved to be published. Me, on the other hand, I'd write a story submit it five or six times, get a rejection and move on to the next story. Ah, I think there's a lesson here, somewhere. ; )
Melissa's first novel, Past Her Time, came out in e-book and is available at Bookstrand Publishers this week. It should be available at Amazon in a week or so, and it will be published in print in October 2011.
Check it out, you won't be sorry.
Thursday, June 09, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Short memory.
I have an "everything that needs attending to list" on my computer, and as soon as something is completed it's deleted from the list, kissed goodbye, sent on its way, whatever. Being organized has always been something I've needed in my life. I'm a list maker. I love routine. And I don't like clutter. But I swear that I have the shortest memory of anyone I know. I've given away stuff, donated stuff, and then within a year or so bought a similar item.
When I moved to this home six years ago, I bought a treadmill. This is a small home, so there isn't any place you can hide a monstrous piece of equipment. After two years I donated it to a charitable organization because aesthetically the machine did not appeal to me. Every time I saw it it jarred my nerves, even though I loved working out. My motto is, if it isn't pretty it has to go. I swore there would be no more gym equipment in my house. Ever. Two years later I bought a spinner bike. But at least it's small and not offensive, and I do use it a few times a week. ; )
A few months ago I started getting the desire to workout on a treadmill again. I'm not kidding. A real desire, but not one that required being in a place with other people sweating and huffing. Of course then I started thinking about buying a machine, even though there is a small HOA gym in the development I live in. That would be too simple, right?
So, forgetting all past experiences with home gym equipment, I made many trips to many stores. I took measurements. I compared prices. I rearranged furniture in order to accommodate said machine. I weighed and balanced the lower price with having to put the thing together myself. Have you ever tried to move one of those suckers in Costco or WalMart? I realized I wouldn't be able to bring it home in my car. I'd have to hire someone to do that, plus get it into the house, plus put it together. So, if I was indeed getting another treadmill it would have to be higher priced and from a store that could do all of the heavy lifting. But that was an added expense I did not want. I had the Aussie trip to make. Oh, and the annual taxes. So I shelved the idea and took the trip, and paid Uncle Sam, and totally disregarded the jiggle of my hips.
Last week, I was going over my "list" and spotted the word treadmill, and it wasn't crossed off. Oh no! That invoked a pressing desire, all over again, to buy a treadmill and have the convenience of working out on my own time, in my underwear, and not have to talk to anyone. Did I mention already that I have a short memory? Well, this time I caught myself in mid-action. I tried a new tactic and decided to give the gym a chance. I'm now working out and loving it. And I've chosen a time of day when nobody else is there...lunchtime. Crafty, huh? I still have to wear clothes, but heck, it's almost as good as having the machine in my house.
When I moved to this home six years ago, I bought a treadmill. This is a small home, so there isn't any place you can hide a monstrous piece of equipment. After two years I donated it to a charitable organization because aesthetically the machine did not appeal to me. Every time I saw it it jarred my nerves, even though I loved working out. My motto is, if it isn't pretty it has to go. I swore there would be no more gym equipment in my house. Ever. Two years later I bought a spinner bike. But at least it's small and not offensive, and I do use it a few times a week. ; )
A few months ago I started getting the desire to workout on a treadmill again. I'm not kidding. A real desire, but not one that required being in a place with other people sweating and huffing. Of course then I started thinking about buying a machine, even though there is a small HOA gym in the development I live in. That would be too simple, right?
So, forgetting all past experiences with home gym equipment, I made many trips to many stores. I took measurements. I compared prices. I rearranged furniture in order to accommodate said machine. I weighed and balanced the lower price with having to put the thing together myself. Have you ever tried to move one of those suckers in Costco or WalMart? I realized I wouldn't be able to bring it home in my car. I'd have to hire someone to do that, plus get it into the house, plus put it together. So, if I was indeed getting another treadmill it would have to be higher priced and from a store that could do all of the heavy lifting. But that was an added expense I did not want. I had the Aussie trip to make. Oh, and the annual taxes. So I shelved the idea and took the trip, and paid Uncle Sam, and totally disregarded the jiggle of my hips.
Last week, I was going over my "list" and spotted the word treadmill, and it wasn't crossed off. Oh no! That invoked a pressing desire, all over again, to buy a treadmill and have the convenience of working out on my own time, in my underwear, and not have to talk to anyone. Did I mention already that I have a short memory? Well, this time I caught myself in mid-action. I tried a new tactic and decided to give the gym a chance. I'm now working out and loving it. And I've chosen a time of day when nobody else is there...lunchtime. Crafty, huh? I still have to wear clothes, but heck, it's almost as good as having the machine in my house.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
I'm finished with Mick
Ha ha. Don't Mess with Mick was my latest story. A romantic suspense. It is now finished, and off to my critique partner for a final read through.
I'll do a little polish, and then send it off to a couple of Beta readers. With any luck it will be ready to submit to contests in late July. I'm not able to go to RWA National Conference this year, this will be the first time I've missed it since 2003, and it seems awfully strange. so there will be no post conference submissions to agents and editors. Just a big old silence. That might send me slightly batty. However, my sweet dog is approaching twelve years of age, and for her breed that is elderly, and I can see the changes in her on almost a daily basis. I know our time together is diminishing, and I can't put her through the anxiety and stress of me leaving, even if it is only for five days. There will be time for trips later.
My critique partner and I used to refer to my latest work as "Mick's story" but it was really the heroine's story, her journey, her loyalty to her family, her desire to find her missing grandfather...but Mick? Well, Mick just got in the way. Not really, he was in pursuit of a criminal and somehow grandpa got in the way, and that caused the hero and heroine to cross paths and draw swords. : ) And of course, the criminal had to try to bump them both off, oh yeah, and the hero and heroine eventually fell in love.
I really enjoyed writing this story, but it took me longer than I'd anticipated. I kept putting it aside to work on other things, and then I'd come back, putter around some more, and so on. Finally, I forced myself to finish it, didn't like it, put it aside to simmer for a few months and then went back to do a rewrite. That was when it suddenly became real to me. I could see the story as a whole. As if I were at a distance, looking down upon it, and seeing all of the inner workings, the gears, everything operating as it should. It was a strange experience, and one I haven't had before. I'm not sure what that means. Maybe it means it's the best story of written so far. I can only hope. : )
I'm already doing research on my next project. This time I'm switching genre. I think my voice is better suited to women's fiction, and that is what I started out writing. No, it won't be one of those divorce tales. And it won't be about recovering from, or going through, a devasting illness. It will be a young woman's journey of discovery. An enlightening journey. And I don't care how long it takes me to finish it. I've removed myself from the rat race. That's all I'm saying for now. But I'm liking what I'm researching, and if all goes well, I may just visit the country of the setting in Spring 2012. Got to save my pennies. But it would be fabulous, and I love to write from location. There's nothing like soaking up the ambience, the sights, the smells, and the local mannerisms, and then trickling them through the story.
I'll do a little polish, and then send it off to a couple of Beta readers. With any luck it will be ready to submit to contests in late July. I'm not able to go to RWA National Conference this year, this will be the first time I've missed it since 2003, and it seems awfully strange. so there will be no post conference submissions to agents and editors. Just a big old silence. That might send me slightly batty. However, my sweet dog is approaching twelve years of age, and for her breed that is elderly, and I can see the changes in her on almost a daily basis. I know our time together is diminishing, and I can't put her through the anxiety and stress of me leaving, even if it is only for five days. There will be time for trips later.
My critique partner and I used to refer to my latest work as "Mick's story" but it was really the heroine's story, her journey, her loyalty to her family, her desire to find her missing grandfather...but Mick? Well, Mick just got in the way. Not really, he was in pursuit of a criminal and somehow grandpa got in the way, and that caused the hero and heroine to cross paths and draw swords. : ) And of course, the criminal had to try to bump them both off, oh yeah, and the hero and heroine eventually fell in love.
I really enjoyed writing this story, but it took me longer than I'd anticipated. I kept putting it aside to work on other things, and then I'd come back, putter around some more, and so on. Finally, I forced myself to finish it, didn't like it, put it aside to simmer for a few months and then went back to do a rewrite. That was when it suddenly became real to me. I could see the story as a whole. As if I were at a distance, looking down upon it, and seeing all of the inner workings, the gears, everything operating as it should. It was a strange experience, and one I haven't had before. I'm not sure what that means. Maybe it means it's the best story of written so far. I can only hope. : )
I'm already doing research on my next project. This time I'm switching genre. I think my voice is better suited to women's fiction, and that is what I started out writing. No, it won't be one of those divorce tales. And it won't be about recovering from, or going through, a devasting illness. It will be a young woman's journey of discovery. An enlightening journey. And I don't care how long it takes me to finish it. I've removed myself from the rat race. That's all I'm saying for now. But I'm liking what I'm researching, and if all goes well, I may just visit the country of the setting in Spring 2012. Got to save my pennies. But it would be fabulous, and I love to write from location. There's nothing like soaking up the ambience, the sights, the smells, and the local mannerisms, and then trickling them through the story.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Give Peace a Chance.
Did anyone else have a difficult April? Don't worry, it's almost over. Already I can feel the tension easing as May approaches.
My writing, or at least my desire to write, is coming back. I'm putting in a few hours every day, revising in the mornings, and rewriting in the afternoons. I've never worked on a manuscript so hard, not ever before. I always imagined I had, but nah! Not even close. The thing is, with publishing being all in a tizz, and multi-published writers being in a tizz, and agents and editors being in a tizz, it's hard to know which way to turn. I do know editors are strapped for time, a lot of agents are closing up shop, the tried and true are getting the contracts, and for a nobody like me to break in I must have a story that is not only amazing, but a manuscript that has been closely edited. There's no such thing as learning on the job anymore. The stakes are high. The pressure to perform could blow the top off your head.
Many friends think it's too hard to even try to get published. There are naysayers everywhere. There are a gazillion blogs that speak about the negative side of the publishing industry, that promote the e-publishing industry, that throw around statistics about the death of the print book. It's wearing on the nerves to say the least. I came to the conclusion a couple of weeks ago that there is way too much chatter in my life, and very little of it is of a positive nature. I decided to "go quiet". Have you ever done that?
I now visit only a handful of blogs, those I trust implicitly, and I don't comment or engage unless the subject is important to me. I don't tweet, I don't facebook, I watch less TV, and instead choose more movies that suit my mood. Or I read. Or I lose myself in my own creativity, and write my own stories. I get out into nature. I swim, or take long walks with my dog. Even my choice in music is instrumental only.
In getting quiet, I've discovered that writing is a big part of me, of my life, but being published or not, doesn't define me. I'm not giving up writing. If I never get published that's all right. I can live with that, just me, my nimble fingers, my crazy mind, a computer, and some peace and quiet.
Give peace a try. You never know what you'll discover about you.
My writing, or at least my desire to write, is coming back. I'm putting in a few hours every day, revising in the mornings, and rewriting in the afternoons. I've never worked on a manuscript so hard, not ever before. I always imagined I had, but nah! Not even close. The thing is, with publishing being all in a tizz, and multi-published writers being in a tizz, and agents and editors being in a tizz, it's hard to know which way to turn. I do know editors are strapped for time, a lot of agents are closing up shop, the tried and true are getting the contracts, and for a nobody like me to break in I must have a story that is not only amazing, but a manuscript that has been closely edited. There's no such thing as learning on the job anymore. The stakes are high. The pressure to perform could blow the top off your head.
Many friends think it's too hard to even try to get published. There are naysayers everywhere. There are a gazillion blogs that speak about the negative side of the publishing industry, that promote the e-publishing industry, that throw around statistics about the death of the print book. It's wearing on the nerves to say the least. I came to the conclusion a couple of weeks ago that there is way too much chatter in my life, and very little of it is of a positive nature. I decided to "go quiet". Have you ever done that?
I now visit only a handful of blogs, those I trust implicitly, and I don't comment or engage unless the subject is important to me. I don't tweet, I don't facebook, I watch less TV, and instead choose more movies that suit my mood. Or I read. Or I lose myself in my own creativity, and write my own stories. I get out into nature. I swim, or take long walks with my dog. Even my choice in music is instrumental only.
In getting quiet, I've discovered that writing is a big part of me, of my life, but being published or not, doesn't define me. I'm not giving up writing. If I never get published that's all right. I can live with that, just me, my nimble fingers, my crazy mind, a computer, and some peace and quiet.
Give peace a try. You never know what you'll discover about you.
Saturday, April 09, 2011
Back from Australia
I took a trip to the land downunder, to visit with family. My adult children joined me, and they had a great time. They hadn't seen some of their relatives in over ten years. Of course, I'd been back every two years, but college and work always prevented the three of us from travelling together.
It was a good trip, although tough on my nerves at times. Sharing a house again with my children had its moments, but only because we all have different agendas all the time. I hate being the decision maker, because I know someone is going to be cheesed off. : ) Plus, I don't do well with large crowds. It's something to do with absorbing other people's energy, and getting overwhelmed. In recent years, I've lived alone. It seems the older I get the more I require my peace and quiet. But that too could be a writer thing, you know, living in your head, making up stories, inventing characters and making them do what you want them to do. Writers can be weird.
The trip was short, but sweet. Mom is looking good, and still very active. All of the sibs showed up, and they looked wonderful. Many had a grown-up child or two with them, and some of those had children of their own. My children basked in the glory of extended family. Their USA family is tiny. I enjoyed meeting the youngsters I'd never met, touching base with those who had grown like weeds since last trip, and holding the two babies born this year.
We did a lot of talking. A ton of talking, laughing, drinking, and eating...and more talking. There was a luncheon, a Bar-B-Que, a dinner out, a picnic lunch, and a pizza night, and all attended by more numbers than I cared to count. How I didn't gain any weight with all the chowing down is beyond my comprehension. We stayed for the most part in the Hunter Valley, and the weather was gorgeous. My brother and his wife and family came down from Townsville, and he said they'd had constant rain since last October. Their home is on a bit of a hill so they didn't get flood damage, but I think they were totally soaking up the sun. We visited the vineyards, stayed in a villa on a golf course, played tennis, walked at sunrise, rented a car and managed to drive successfully on the other side of the road, visited a zoo where my guys could feed the kangaroos and pet the koalas, and we even managed a day and night in Sydney.
When I arrived home it was to be greeted by a burst hot water pipe, a huge clean up and repair job, then the pressure of turning off the main water line had popped two valves on the sprinkler system (which was getting a bit ancient)so that required another water clean up and new installation. Then the home owners association said I needed to derust parts of my wrought iron fencing. (Due to excessive watering of the green belt behind my house where the HOA landscapers turn the sprinklers onto the fence.) But am I complaining. : ) Not yet, but I will next week.
So, there I was with dollars growing wings and flying out the windows, a huge case of jetlag, and my sandpaper strips in hand and grumpily sanding the rust spots. Tomorrow, I do the rustoleum treatment. Then I paint. This is not a small fence, by the way. It will probably take the better part of next week.
So, even though I had a less than stellar welcome home, I refuse to let it get to me. I'm going to be like my kids and bask in the family love as I sand the wrought iron. And I'll sing. Really, really, loud. And off key. Or maybe I'll brainstorm a new story. Yeah, that's the ticket.
It was a good trip, although tough on my nerves at times. Sharing a house again with my children had its moments, but only because we all have different agendas all the time. I hate being the decision maker, because I know someone is going to be cheesed off. : ) Plus, I don't do well with large crowds. It's something to do with absorbing other people's energy, and getting overwhelmed. In recent years, I've lived alone. It seems the older I get the more I require my peace and quiet. But that too could be a writer thing, you know, living in your head, making up stories, inventing characters and making them do what you want them to do. Writers can be weird.
The trip was short, but sweet. Mom is looking good, and still very active. All of the sibs showed up, and they looked wonderful. Many had a grown-up child or two with them, and some of those had children of their own. My children basked in the glory of extended family. Their USA family is tiny. I enjoyed meeting the youngsters I'd never met, touching base with those who had grown like weeds since last trip, and holding the two babies born this year.
We did a lot of talking. A ton of talking, laughing, drinking, and eating...and more talking. There was a luncheon, a Bar-B-Que, a dinner out, a picnic lunch, and a pizza night, and all attended by more numbers than I cared to count. How I didn't gain any weight with all the chowing down is beyond my comprehension. We stayed for the most part in the Hunter Valley, and the weather was gorgeous. My brother and his wife and family came down from Townsville, and he said they'd had constant rain since last October. Their home is on a bit of a hill so they didn't get flood damage, but I think they were totally soaking up the sun. We visited the vineyards, stayed in a villa on a golf course, played tennis, walked at sunrise, rented a car and managed to drive successfully on the other side of the road, visited a zoo where my guys could feed the kangaroos and pet the koalas, and we even managed a day and night in Sydney.
When I arrived home it was to be greeted by a burst hot water pipe, a huge clean up and repair job, then the pressure of turning off the main water line had popped two valves on the sprinkler system (which was getting a bit ancient)so that required another water clean up and new installation. Then the home owners association said I needed to derust parts of my wrought iron fencing. (Due to excessive watering of the green belt behind my house where the HOA landscapers turn the sprinklers onto the fence.) But am I complaining. : ) Not yet, but I will next week.
So, there I was with dollars growing wings and flying out the windows, a huge case of jetlag, and my sandpaper strips in hand and grumpily sanding the rust spots. Tomorrow, I do the rustoleum treatment. Then I paint. This is not a small fence, by the way. It will probably take the better part of next week.
So, even though I had a less than stellar welcome home, I refuse to let it get to me. I'm going to be like my kids and bask in the family love as I sand the wrought iron. And I'll sing. Really, really, loud. And off key. Or maybe I'll brainstorm a new story. Yeah, that's the ticket.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Writer's world.
My writing world has been interesting this month. I finished the work in progress (in the rough draft) and put it aside to gel. That's an important aspect of revision. A story needs time away from it so you can come back with fresh eyes, not only to find grammatical errors due to flying fingers as you type the story in all of your innocent eagerness, but to look at the deeper aspects. The characters. The conflict. The subplots. The Theme.
I had the good fortune of being in an online book club to discuss Barbara O'Neal's latest book, How To Bake a Perfect Life. We were talking about voice, and I have always stood in awe of Barbara's storytelling voice, and she commented that her first draft is always sparse. I was flabbergasted. I'd imagined the words and phrases in her narrative flew from brain to fingertips like the pouring of syrup on my morning pancakes. Not so. She claims that when she revises, she goes back into the story to "plump it up". She said, imagine a room that you have painted, carpeted, and put furniture into. Stand back and take it all in. Then add in all the special touches that tie it all together. Put pillows here, a vase of flowers there, a picture frame or two. Bring it to life.
Of course, the way my mind works, I immediately thought of the TV ad for Foster Farms chickens. The chickens trying to be passed off as FF chickens are "plumped up" with salt water. Then they explode. Ha ha. So even though I love Barbara's expression, I'm also aware that this "plumping" must be tasteful, and it might be better for me to keep a light hand. I'm currently working on a manuscript that I finished at the end of last year. This will be the final go round. It will either be good, or it will explode.
Kaboom!
I had the good fortune of being in an online book club to discuss Barbara O'Neal's latest book, How To Bake a Perfect Life. We were talking about voice, and I have always stood in awe of Barbara's storytelling voice, and she commented that her first draft is always sparse. I was flabbergasted. I'd imagined the words and phrases in her narrative flew from brain to fingertips like the pouring of syrup on my morning pancakes. Not so. She claims that when she revises, she goes back into the story to "plump it up". She said, imagine a room that you have painted, carpeted, and put furniture into. Stand back and take it all in. Then add in all the special touches that tie it all together. Put pillows here, a vase of flowers there, a picture frame or two. Bring it to life.
Of course, the way my mind works, I immediately thought of the TV ad for Foster Farms chickens. The chickens trying to be passed off as FF chickens are "plumped up" with salt water. Then they explode. Ha ha. So even though I love Barbara's expression, I'm also aware that this "plumping" must be tasteful, and it might be better for me to keep a light hand. I'm currently working on a manuscript that I finished at the end of last year. This will be the final go round. It will either be good, or it will explode.
Kaboom!
Sunday, March 06, 2011
A fun time
Yesterday, I went to a bridal shower. I must admit I haven't been to such an event in over thirty years. Baby showers yep, by the gazillion, but bridal, nope. I recently went to the wedding of a friend of my son. Does this mean I'm entering a new phase of my life? Hmmmm? Maybe so.
Anyway, the shower was fun. Loads of fun. The bride-to-be looked ecstatic. You know that bridal blush look, it kind of goes along with the glow of pregnancy, not that the bride is pregnant or anything, just glowing with happiness not hormones. ; ) It was fun to sit around with a bunch of women in my own age group, women who have long surpassed the bridal blush, and giggle about men, marriage, and sex. We played games, won prizes, drank champagne at noon (although I was driving so I chose diet coke), and we had a delicious catered lunch in the early spring sunshine at poolside, followed by coffee and chocolate dipped strawberries. Yum!
The bride-to-be received many lingerie items. A cream bra, with Swarovski (sp)crystals on the straps and a neat little bow in the center, was about as decadent as the strawberries. There were traditional peignoir's, silk and satin nighties, and various assorted non-lingerie gifts. I gave her a black silk pyjama set that had cropped legs on the pants, and a built in bra on the top and hot pink shoe-string straps. It was scattered with hot pink cherries. I thought it was cute and original, and can you believe it? so did one of the other guests. Ah well, great minds think alike. At least I left the tags on so she could do an exchange.
If it hadn't been for the horrendous traffic, which meant a three hour drive to and from the location, I'd have called it a perfect day. On the drive home I couldn't stop thinking about the champagne I'd missed out on, oh, and that wonderful sounding Zinfandel from Paso Robles. I stopped off and bought a bottle of my favorite Pinot noir. After two glasses, and a good movie on the tube, I forgot all about traffic, and by the time I went to bed I was feeling all young again. And I'm sure I had a good blush going too.
Anyway, the shower was fun. Loads of fun. The bride-to-be looked ecstatic. You know that bridal blush look, it kind of goes along with the glow of pregnancy, not that the bride is pregnant or anything, just glowing with happiness not hormones. ; ) It was fun to sit around with a bunch of women in my own age group, women who have long surpassed the bridal blush, and giggle about men, marriage, and sex. We played games, won prizes, drank champagne at noon (although I was driving so I chose diet coke), and we had a delicious catered lunch in the early spring sunshine at poolside, followed by coffee and chocolate dipped strawberries. Yum!
The bride-to-be received many lingerie items. A cream bra, with Swarovski (sp)crystals on the straps and a neat little bow in the center, was about as decadent as the strawberries. There were traditional peignoir's, silk and satin nighties, and various assorted non-lingerie gifts. I gave her a black silk pyjama set that had cropped legs on the pants, and a built in bra on the top and hot pink shoe-string straps. It was scattered with hot pink cherries. I thought it was cute and original, and can you believe it? so did one of the other guests. Ah well, great minds think alike. At least I left the tags on so she could do an exchange.
If it hadn't been for the horrendous traffic, which meant a three hour drive to and from the location, I'd have called it a perfect day. On the drive home I couldn't stop thinking about the champagne I'd missed out on, oh, and that wonderful sounding Zinfandel from Paso Robles. I stopped off and bought a bottle of my favorite Pinot noir. After two glasses, and a good movie on the tube, I forgot all about traffic, and by the time I went to bed I was feeling all young again. And I'm sure I had a good blush going too.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Slow down. You move too fast...
It seems everything I touch these days either breaks, has a problem, or causes some kind of negative reaction. And the funny thing is, I'm doing things thinking I'm somehow improving my life, or my health, and it gets screwed up. What's that about?
I'd decided to stop with the cookies, or the handful of chocolate kisses, or the bowl of ice cream, while watching TV. I bought 100 calorie popcorn. I love popcorn. So I chomped away on the stuff, even though at that calorie count it tasted more like styrofoam chips than popcorn. But I was happy because it gave my hands and my mouth something to do. Do not go there. I'm warning you. Anyway, after a few nights of popcorn snacks I ended up with a tooth problem. I made an appointment with the dentist, thinking I'd cracked a crown or something. Turned out, to remove those little bits of popcorn that get stuck, I'd over cleaned my teeth and gouged my gums with one of those little brush thingys. A dental bill for x-rays, a couple of softer toothbrushes, some Sensodyne and some mouth wash later, I'm all good again.
So, I decided on increasing my exercise to lose weight. I bought new sneakers. I added extra walking. I planned on curves three times a week, instead of two. I ended up hurting my knee again.
Next plan, I chose to take the week off from exercise and just write like hell. I was too depressed about my weight to write, so decided on beauty treatments. I had a haircut. That went well. Charged with that positive change, I had a manicure and a pedicure. The guy asked if I wanted the sea salt treatment. I decided, why not? He scrubbed and rubbed and practically sandblasted those feet. That evening I felt a little soreness in two spots on my left foot. He'd abraded the skin on my big toe, and one spot on my heel. Now I couldn't even wear my new sneakers, and I had to go buy a new tube of Neosporin. I couldn't exercise, because I couldn't wear anything but sandals. So I've been getting down on the floor and doing some abs and stretches. I've no idea what that action might cause.
Anyway, if you see that I've put on a few pounds, do not ask. And on the plus side I'm enjoying some movies, an online writing class, and I've read several wonderful books. Do you think this could be the universe saying slow down?
I'd decided to stop with the cookies, or the handful of chocolate kisses, or the bowl of ice cream, while watching TV. I bought 100 calorie popcorn. I love popcorn. So I chomped away on the stuff, even though at that calorie count it tasted more like styrofoam chips than popcorn. But I was happy because it gave my hands and my mouth something to do. Do not go there. I'm warning you. Anyway, after a few nights of popcorn snacks I ended up with a tooth problem. I made an appointment with the dentist, thinking I'd cracked a crown or something. Turned out, to remove those little bits of popcorn that get stuck, I'd over cleaned my teeth and gouged my gums with one of those little brush thingys. A dental bill for x-rays, a couple of softer toothbrushes, some Sensodyne and some mouth wash later, I'm all good again.
So, I decided on increasing my exercise to lose weight. I bought new sneakers. I added extra walking. I planned on curves three times a week, instead of two. I ended up hurting my knee again.
Next plan, I chose to take the week off from exercise and just write like hell. I was too depressed about my weight to write, so decided on beauty treatments. I had a haircut. That went well. Charged with that positive change, I had a manicure and a pedicure. The guy asked if I wanted the sea salt treatment. I decided, why not? He scrubbed and rubbed and practically sandblasted those feet. That evening I felt a little soreness in two spots on my left foot. He'd abraded the skin on my big toe, and one spot on my heel. Now I couldn't even wear my new sneakers, and I had to go buy a new tube of Neosporin. I couldn't exercise, because I couldn't wear anything but sandals. So I've been getting down on the floor and doing some abs and stretches. I've no idea what that action might cause.
Anyway, if you see that I've put on a few pounds, do not ask. And on the plus side I'm enjoying some movies, an online writing class, and I've read several wonderful books. Do you think this could be the universe saying slow down?
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Susan Elizabeth Phillips
We seldom get famous romance/women's fiction authors doing book tours that include our desert communities. This week we got lucky. Susan Elizabeth Phillips, or SEP to those of us who are die hard fans, spoke at the Rancho Mirage Public Library as part of her book tour promoting her latest work, Call Me Irresistible.
It was a great night, and she had an amazing turnout, not just women either. But what really impressed me was the age range of the audience. SEP attracts readers from the late teens to senior citizens. One of the ladies in our group is in her eighties and she said she really got a kick out of the book.
Our La Quinta bookclub chose SEP's book for our February read. February being the month of love, right? Also, we thought it would be a treat to hear the author speak and see if her natural voice shows through in her written work. Of course, I knew that it did. (I've had the pleasure of hearing SEP talk at the Romance Writers of America National Conference.) I've never had the chance to speak to her before, because at RWA she is at a whole different level to little old me. An author pal, Lynne Marshall, who writes medical romance, came to visit and she joined me and four members of our bookclub at the library event.
SEP was a delight. She has a natural approach to public speaking and makes her audience feel like they are conversing with an old friend. She has a bubbly personality and her humor comes through with ease just as it does in her books. She seems very comfortable with herself, is approachable, kind, and always gracious...even when fans rolled up to her signing table with a cartload of older books of hers that required an autograph. And the amount of photographs she posed for was amazing. She must be exhausted at the end of each one of these events. I figured it's like being an actor in a public venue and feeling you must be "on" and presenting your best self at all times. Or maybe not, maybe she was just born that way. ; )
Seriously, if you have never read her books. Go get one. You don't have to read them in order. Some characters from prior books pop in for a visit in some of the newer ones, but each book stands alone. One of my personal favorites is, Natural Born Charmer. But they're all good.
It was a great night, and she had an amazing turnout, not just women either. But what really impressed me was the age range of the audience. SEP attracts readers from the late teens to senior citizens. One of the ladies in our group is in her eighties and she said she really got a kick out of the book.
Our La Quinta bookclub chose SEP's book for our February read. February being the month of love, right? Also, we thought it would be a treat to hear the author speak and see if her natural voice shows through in her written work. Of course, I knew that it did. (I've had the pleasure of hearing SEP talk at the Romance Writers of America National Conference.) I've never had the chance to speak to her before, because at RWA she is at a whole different level to little old me. An author pal, Lynne Marshall, who writes medical romance, came to visit and she joined me and four members of our bookclub at the library event.
SEP was a delight. She has a natural approach to public speaking and makes her audience feel like they are conversing with an old friend. She has a bubbly personality and her humor comes through with ease just as it does in her books. She seems very comfortable with herself, is approachable, kind, and always gracious...even when fans rolled up to her signing table with a cartload of older books of hers that required an autograph. And the amount of photographs she posed for was amazing. She must be exhausted at the end of each one of these events. I figured it's like being an actor in a public venue and feeling you must be "on" and presenting your best self at all times. Or maybe not, maybe she was just born that way. ; )
Seriously, if you have never read her books. Go get one. You don't have to read them in order. Some characters from prior books pop in for a visit in some of the newer ones, but each book stands alone. One of my personal favorites is, Natural Born Charmer. But they're all good.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Catching up.
I have been so negligent about blogging this month. Bad me. Bad because I don't even have a good excuse, I just plain and simple...forgot.
I promise I'll do better. Twice a month, at least. In fact, a friend and I were talking a week or so ago about if and when I'll turn my comments back on. I know the odd passerby must think I'm weird in that I have closed comments. But, back in the day when I first started these ramblings, I was getting comments. Not many, maybe 3-4a day. And then I began to get a half dozen spammers. Always the same ones, and the same messages. I hated that worse than no comments from readers and fellow writers.
In 2006, I turned off the comments and decided to make this a letter for family and friends. Anyone who drops by and doesn't leave spam, I consider a friend. So if I do re-open my comments, don't be shy.
My blog is not so much for writers, as they have far better, smarter, more interesting blogs of their own. And they have dozens, and sometimes hundreds, of followers. And I have nothing to promote. Besides that, I don't offer insights into writing or publishing because I consider myself a perpetual student. There are many intelligent author, industry, and agent blogs around, and their teachings are of more value to a new writer than my weird ass way of looking at the writer's life.
My favorite author sites are:
www.jennycrusie.com
www.lucymarch.com
www.bobmayer.com.
My favorite agent blogs are:
http://bookendsliteraryagency.blogspot.com
www.nathanbransford.blogspot.com (Nathan is no longer an agent but he has a fabulous blog and much industry news to pass along).
I figure, who needs a blog that only provides more random ramblings in their life? Not many.(See, I'm still procrastinating about opening the darn comments.) Why did I close them again? I decided it would serve me and my people to write a newsletter, if they wanted to comment they could send me an email. Simple, yes? My people are spread wide, everywhere across the USA, and Australia, and a few in the U.K. To keep up with everyone is hard to do. This keeps them aware of what is going on in my life, on a fairly superficial basis (the really good stuff just gets told in private email or by phone, ha ha) and I don't have to spend a lot of time updating everyone individually. And that frees up my time for writing.
Speaking of which, I am writing up a storm at the moment. I'm coming into the last quarter of the rough draft of my third romantic suspense. The books are linked through one minor character, a redneck cop, the Southern California desert setting, and the fictitious town of Rancho Almagro. I'm now about to write the big final blowout scene and it's very exciting. Yesterday I began to write my resolution (in my head) as I drove back from Los Angeles. The ending, I think is going to be great because it reflects the beginning I've already written and really like, and it causes the reader (I hope) to stop and contemplate the deeper meaning to the story. So while it might seem to be cops and robbers, and drugs and shootouts, there is an underlying theme. I promise you.
I love to brainstorm as I drive, and yesterday on that two and a half hour trip, I wasn't even thinking about my ending, it just popped into my head. Today, I knew I had to come up with a big scene where my undercover agent fights the big fight and takes down the bad guy, but I didn't want it to be anything like the first and second books. I was out of ideas that were different, yet exciting. I knew the romance part, but not the blowout scene.
Tonight I walked the dog for an hour and tried to think things through, but wouldn't you know it, every man and his dog stopped us for a chat. I came home exhausted; even the dog was tired. I started to cook dinner and all of a sudden the scene was there, playing out in my mind like a mini movie. It is soooooo awesome. I just have to say that. It is really, really, good. I hope that I can put those pictures into words and have it all make sense. Darn, I wish I was a more accomplished writer.
Tonight I will sleep and let it stew. Maybe I'll have some good dreams.
Tomorrow I will write.
I promise I'll do better. Twice a month, at least. In fact, a friend and I were talking a week or so ago about if and when I'll turn my comments back on. I know the odd passerby must think I'm weird in that I have closed comments. But, back in the day when I first started these ramblings, I was getting comments. Not many, maybe 3-4a day. And then I began to get a half dozen spammers. Always the same ones, and the same messages. I hated that worse than no comments from readers and fellow writers.
In 2006, I turned off the comments and decided to make this a letter for family and friends. Anyone who drops by and doesn't leave spam, I consider a friend. So if I do re-open my comments, don't be shy.
My blog is not so much for writers, as they have far better, smarter, more interesting blogs of their own. And they have dozens, and sometimes hundreds, of followers. And I have nothing to promote. Besides that, I don't offer insights into writing or publishing because I consider myself a perpetual student. There are many intelligent author, industry, and agent blogs around, and their teachings are of more value to a new writer than my weird ass way of looking at the writer's life.
My favorite author sites are:
www.jennycrusie.com
www.lucymarch.com
www.bobmayer.com.
My favorite agent blogs are:
http://bookendsliteraryagency.blogspot.com
www.nathanbransford.blogspot.com (Nathan is no longer an agent but he has a fabulous blog and much industry news to pass along).
I figure, who needs a blog that only provides more random ramblings in their life? Not many.(See, I'm still procrastinating about opening the darn comments.) Why did I close them again? I decided it would serve me and my people to write a newsletter, if they wanted to comment they could send me an email. Simple, yes? My people are spread wide, everywhere across the USA, and Australia, and a few in the U.K. To keep up with everyone is hard to do. This keeps them aware of what is going on in my life, on a fairly superficial basis (the really good stuff just gets told in private email or by phone, ha ha) and I don't have to spend a lot of time updating everyone individually. And that frees up my time for writing.
Speaking of which, I am writing up a storm at the moment. I'm coming into the last quarter of the rough draft of my third romantic suspense. The books are linked through one minor character, a redneck cop, the Southern California desert setting, and the fictitious town of Rancho Almagro. I'm now about to write the big final blowout scene and it's very exciting. Yesterday I began to write my resolution (in my head) as I drove back from Los Angeles. The ending, I think is going to be great because it reflects the beginning I've already written and really like, and it causes the reader (I hope) to stop and contemplate the deeper meaning to the story. So while it might seem to be cops and robbers, and drugs and shootouts, there is an underlying theme. I promise you.
I love to brainstorm as I drive, and yesterday on that two and a half hour trip, I wasn't even thinking about my ending, it just popped into my head. Today, I knew I had to come up with a big scene where my undercover agent fights the big fight and takes down the bad guy, but I didn't want it to be anything like the first and second books. I was out of ideas that were different, yet exciting. I knew the romance part, but not the blowout scene.
Tonight I walked the dog for an hour and tried to think things through, but wouldn't you know it, every man and his dog stopped us for a chat. I came home exhausted; even the dog was tired. I started to cook dinner and all of a sudden the scene was there, playing out in my mind like a mini movie. It is soooooo awesome. I just have to say that. It is really, really, good. I hope that I can put those pictures into words and have it all make sense. Darn, I wish I was a more accomplished writer.
Tonight I will sleep and let it stew. Maybe I'll have some good dreams.
Tomorrow I will write.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Love to all
It's the holiday season and love is in the air. You can sense it, just like you sense that snow is falling on the mountains in the distance as cold rain lashes you and your umbrella turns inside out, and you can't even see those darn mountains.
This is a wonderful time of year and even though I am not a religious person in the sense of traditional or organized religion, I am spiritual. For me the season is all about love and family, no matter what you celebrate or even if you celebrate nothing. I feel that love of the season everywhere I go, and I allow it to wash over me and warm me. To give back. To open my heart. To embrace. To be of good cheer. I'm not a big shopper or present giver, but the other day someone gave me a little gift that touched me in a big way. It was two candy canes left in their wrappers and glued together top and bottom to form a heart. Dangling on a string from the center of the heart was a gold bow and a silver wrapped chocolate kiss. Hearts, hugs, and kisses. Isn't that what it's all about?
I hung the heart from the lamp on my desk. I'm looking at it now, as I write this. It fills me with comfort and love even though I can't be with family this year, and it's just me and the dog opening our gifts. We're going out for a long walk in a little while, and we both plan to spread some joy.
Smooches from me and the pooch.
This is a wonderful time of year and even though I am not a religious person in the sense of traditional or organized religion, I am spiritual. For me the season is all about love and family, no matter what you celebrate or even if you celebrate nothing. I feel that love of the season everywhere I go, and I allow it to wash over me and warm me. To give back. To open my heart. To embrace. To be of good cheer. I'm not a big shopper or present giver, but the other day someone gave me a little gift that touched me in a big way. It was two candy canes left in their wrappers and glued together top and bottom to form a heart. Dangling on a string from the center of the heart was a gold bow and a silver wrapped chocolate kiss. Hearts, hugs, and kisses. Isn't that what it's all about?
I hung the heart from the lamp on my desk. I'm looking at it now, as I write this. It fills me with comfort and love even though I can't be with family this year, and it's just me and the dog opening our gifts. We're going out for a long walk in a little while, and we both plan to spread some joy.
Smooches from me and the pooch.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Three Books. Three Ten Ratings.
In the past month I've read three vastly different books, yet they all spoke to me on a deeply spiritual level:
The first was Cutting For Stone, by Abraham Verghese, an epic novel that spans continents and generations. The setting is Addis Ababa in Ethiopia in the reign of Emporer Hallie Salassie, with a later setting of the Bronx in New York. It's a story written from the viewpoint of one of a set of twins as he embarks on a journey of discovery. The twins were born conjoined by a small stalk on their heads, which was severed at their birth, and are the offspring of a nun and a medical doctor. The father freaks out(the nun had hidden her pregnancy under her habit)and as she dies he realizes he loves her, and is unable to save her. The infants become to him the cause of her death and he shuns them and leaves, never to return to Ethiopia but goes on to huge success as an American surgeon. Because of his absence and the death of their mother, the twins (who were adopted by two doctors)are fascinated with the stories about their birth, but also the inconsistincies, and the secrets. One twin grows to make incredible medical discoveries, the other twin (the narrator) becomes a surgeon like the father who abandoned him. It seems to me that they all suffered from Asperger's Syndrome or high functioning autism, and all three men, the father and the twins had extreme difficulty with relationships, and were focused exclusively on one thing.
At the heart of the story is an old African fable that tells of a miserly merchant who wore much repaired slippers even though they were a great cause of derision. When he finally tried to secretly get rid of them, pretending they were not his, he caused harm to others. The slippers in the story mean that everything you see, do, and touch, every seed you sow or don't sow becomes your destiny. The key to happiness is to own your slippers. Own the things you don't like. Own who you are, how you look, your family, your talents, or the ones you don't have. If you keep saying the slippers aren't yours then you'll die searching, you'll die bitter, always feeling you were promised more.
The young surgeon has many struggles in his life and does not really become a man, or a great surgeon, until he confronts and owns who his father is and makes peace. His father's absence in his young life was his slippers.
A great story and even at 500+ pages, it moves quickly. A definite 10 rating.
The second was, The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho. This story was originally published in Brazil in 1988. It has gone on to multiple reissues and sold millions of copies. I absolutely adored this book, and it is also in some ways a fable. It is simple at heart, the story of a young sheperd who takes a journey from Andalusia to search for a treasure at the pyramids, only to find the journey itself is the treasure. The writing is lush and magical and draws you in to where you are with Santiago and reliving your own dreams. Listening to your own heart. Following his footsteps and encouraging both him and yourself to find your destiny.
It is less than 200 pages, and is well paced. It also deserves a ten rating.
The third is, The Power of Now, by Eckhardt Tolle. This is non-fiction, and a wonderful addition to my spiritual library. I've always lived too much in my head, and allowed myself to be guided by my never-ending thoughts (some positive, but most negative)and never knew there was such a simple way to stop those thoughts. To live in the now. Tolle's language is easy to understand and the book is written in a question-answer style that provides a certain degree of intimacy with the author.
At 230 pages it is at first a slower pace, until you begin to discover where the author is taking you as a reader/student. Then the pace picks up and the pieces begin to fall into place. I had a distinct realization of "now I get it." One other thing I like is that the author is not aligned with any particular religion but seems open to all. He quotes from ancient masters, the Bible, Tao, and Kabbalah. His main message: there is a way out of suffering and into peace.
This book also gets a ten rating from me.
The first was Cutting For Stone, by Abraham Verghese, an epic novel that spans continents and generations. The setting is Addis Ababa in Ethiopia in the reign of Emporer Hallie Salassie, with a later setting of the Bronx in New York. It's a story written from the viewpoint of one of a set of twins as he embarks on a journey of discovery. The twins were born conjoined by a small stalk on their heads, which was severed at their birth, and are the offspring of a nun and a medical doctor. The father freaks out(the nun had hidden her pregnancy under her habit)and as she dies he realizes he loves her, and is unable to save her. The infants become to him the cause of her death and he shuns them and leaves, never to return to Ethiopia but goes on to huge success as an American surgeon. Because of his absence and the death of their mother, the twins (who were adopted by two doctors)are fascinated with the stories about their birth, but also the inconsistincies, and the secrets. One twin grows to make incredible medical discoveries, the other twin (the narrator) becomes a surgeon like the father who abandoned him. It seems to me that they all suffered from Asperger's Syndrome or high functioning autism, and all three men, the father and the twins had extreme difficulty with relationships, and were focused exclusively on one thing.
At the heart of the story is an old African fable that tells of a miserly merchant who wore much repaired slippers even though they were a great cause of derision. When he finally tried to secretly get rid of them, pretending they were not his, he caused harm to others. The slippers in the story mean that everything you see, do, and touch, every seed you sow or don't sow becomes your destiny. The key to happiness is to own your slippers. Own the things you don't like. Own who you are, how you look, your family, your talents, or the ones you don't have. If you keep saying the slippers aren't yours then you'll die searching, you'll die bitter, always feeling you were promised more.
The young surgeon has many struggles in his life and does not really become a man, or a great surgeon, until he confronts and owns who his father is and makes peace. His father's absence in his young life was his slippers.
A great story and even at 500+ pages, it moves quickly. A definite 10 rating.
The second was, The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho. This story was originally published in Brazil in 1988. It has gone on to multiple reissues and sold millions of copies. I absolutely adored this book, and it is also in some ways a fable. It is simple at heart, the story of a young sheperd who takes a journey from Andalusia to search for a treasure at the pyramids, only to find the journey itself is the treasure. The writing is lush and magical and draws you in to where you are with Santiago and reliving your own dreams. Listening to your own heart. Following his footsteps and encouraging both him and yourself to find your destiny.
It is less than 200 pages, and is well paced. It also deserves a ten rating.
The third is, The Power of Now, by Eckhardt Tolle. This is non-fiction, and a wonderful addition to my spiritual library. I've always lived too much in my head, and allowed myself to be guided by my never-ending thoughts (some positive, but most negative)and never knew there was such a simple way to stop those thoughts. To live in the now. Tolle's language is easy to understand and the book is written in a question-answer style that provides a certain degree of intimacy with the author.
At 230 pages it is at first a slower pace, until you begin to discover where the author is taking you as a reader/student. Then the pace picks up and the pieces begin to fall into place. I had a distinct realization of "now I get it." One other thing I like is that the author is not aligned with any particular religion but seems open to all. He quotes from ancient masters, the Bible, Tao, and Kabbalah. His main message: there is a way out of suffering and into peace.
This book also gets a ten rating from me.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
I double double did it.
Yesterday, I mailed not one but two entries to the Golden Heart contest. Yay!
Both submissions are entered in the same category. Strange, at least when there were other categories to choose from. Right? Well, see here is my thinking, I like both stories and for once in my life I'm certain that the sub-genre of romance is correct for both. So. Bottom line. I'm competing with myself.
But is that wrong?
I don't think it's wrong, because the readers (the contest judges) will all come to the stories with different understandings of what makes a story ready for publication. Based upon their numbered scores, I'll know what is working and what isn't. Kind of, because there are no comments to guide the entrant. I've been entering this contest long enough to know how to recognize what the scores mean. While my growth as a writer has been strong and steady, it wasn't until last year that I made it into the top tier. This year I'm hoping to final. I've said it, I've put it out there to the universe. Oh, the power. ; )
Anyway I'm thrilled with my efforts. I polished. I prepared like I was running a little factory in my house. The printer worked so hard: six partials of each manuscript, six synopses of each story, two full manuscripts on CD, two packages stuffed to the gills. It's a wonder my poor printer didn't explode. And after I mailed them early yesterday morning, I came home and was totally lost. There was nothing to do. It was such a weird feeling. I've decided to take a couple of days off and clear my head, then I'll start back in on Mick's story, which was put on hold at about a third of the way in so I could polish my GH entries.
Life is good.
Both submissions are entered in the same category. Strange, at least when there were other categories to choose from. Right? Well, see here is my thinking, I like both stories and for once in my life I'm certain that the sub-genre of romance is correct for both. So. Bottom line. I'm competing with myself.
But is that wrong?
I don't think it's wrong, because the readers (the contest judges) will all come to the stories with different understandings of what makes a story ready for publication. Based upon their numbered scores, I'll know what is working and what isn't. Kind of, because there are no comments to guide the entrant. I've been entering this contest long enough to know how to recognize what the scores mean. While my growth as a writer has been strong and steady, it wasn't until last year that I made it into the top tier. This year I'm hoping to final. I've said it, I've put it out there to the universe. Oh, the power. ; )
Anyway I'm thrilled with my efforts. I polished. I prepared like I was running a little factory in my house. The printer worked so hard: six partials of each manuscript, six synopses of each story, two full manuscripts on CD, two packages stuffed to the gills. It's a wonder my poor printer didn't explode. And after I mailed them early yesterday morning, I came home and was totally lost. There was nothing to do. It was such a weird feeling. I've decided to take a couple of days off and clear my head, then I'll start back in on Mick's story, which was put on hold at about a third of the way in so I could polish my GH entries.
Life is good.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Contests.
My most recent manuscript placed second in the romantic suspense category of the 2010Dixie Kane contest. Yay! I love that story. It's the second one in my three book series, set here in the California desert.
Also, I was invited to join the Just Cherry Writers, which is an offshoot of Jenny Crusie's blog. We do a weekly critique of one person's scene. My time in the spotlight was two weeks ago. I posted the opening scene of the story that I'm submitting to the Golden Heart this year. The feedback was fabulous, and the detailed critiques made me look closely at my storytelling. I find it amusing that we often times think we've explained ourselves (or our characters) in great detail, only to find when the material is subjected to the eyes of other writers we find those details that should be on the page are still in our heads. Oy! Anyway, it sure was helpful. Also, critiquing another writer's scene is equally as helpful.
My last story in this series is currently on hold. I love writing it, and actually miss my characters. But, I need to get back to the second one and do a final revision, a spit and polish, before sending it off to the contest next month. And I need to revise the synopsis. Double oy!
Today I whittled down a seven page synopsis to four pages, and it didn't make sense. It's hard to write a condensed synopsis that needs to show both the evolving romance and the plot/suspense, and give the thing a sense of voice. The total number of pages in the submission are 55, and that is inclusive of synopsis. My story ends at a nice chapter break at 52 pages. That would mean a three page synopsis. Triple oy!
Back to the drawing board.
Also, I was invited to join the Just Cherry Writers, which is an offshoot of Jenny Crusie's blog. We do a weekly critique of one person's scene. My time in the spotlight was two weeks ago. I posted the opening scene of the story that I'm submitting to the Golden Heart this year. The feedback was fabulous, and the detailed critiques made me look closely at my storytelling. I find it amusing that we often times think we've explained ourselves (or our characters) in great detail, only to find when the material is subjected to the eyes of other writers we find those details that should be on the page are still in our heads. Oy! Anyway, it sure was helpful. Also, critiquing another writer's scene is equally as helpful.
My last story in this series is currently on hold. I love writing it, and actually miss my characters. But, I need to get back to the second one and do a final revision, a spit and polish, before sending it off to the contest next month. And I need to revise the synopsis. Double oy!
Today I whittled down a seven page synopsis to four pages, and it didn't make sense. It's hard to write a condensed synopsis that needs to show both the evolving romance and the plot/suspense, and give the thing a sense of voice. The total number of pages in the submission are 55, and that is inclusive of synopsis. My story ends at a nice chapter break at 52 pages. That would mean a three page synopsis. Triple oy!
Back to the drawing board.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Historic Gold Mining Town
Yesterday, a friend and I went exploring. It was a birthday treat for me. We visited Julian, a historic district dating back to the late 1800's and situated 4,500 feet in the mountains above San Diego. It was the most perfect day, bright sunshine but with a cool ocean breeze. A great getaway from the recent triple digit temperatures of the desert.
We took the long route past the Salton Sea, and then turned west on highway 78. We saw cactus and Ocotillo plants that rose to twelve or more feet and lined the area's on either side of the highway, and stretched for miles. Fortunately my friend also finds beauty in the flat desert countryside, because there was a lot of it to see. Then we started to rise and ended up in a two lane, extremely narrow mountain pass with lots of bends. Trees stretched their branches across the road creating a shady canopy. It was lovely.
Julian was once a gold rush town, and is now known for its apple ranches. Some of those are u-pick ranches, but apparently this year the crop wasn't great due to the heavy rains, and many were closed. We didn't care. The town was so quaint, the buildings amazing, the people friendly, and the food and shopping fantastic. We wouldn't have had time to pick apples anyway. We had a fabulous lunch and I was served apple boysenberry pie-ala-mode with a candle. The entire restaurant joined in singing happy birthday to me, and it was embarrassing beyond all belief. But the pie was fabulous. : )
Afterward we shopped. And then we shopped some more. I bought all kinds of knick-knacks. The prices were great too. And there was a brown leather jacket that I wanted so badly, but didn't buy. I mean, I just got home from New York City last Sunday. But anyway, we are going back soon. If it's still there I'll figure it was meant to be and shell out the bucks.
The whole idea in taking this adventure had been to go and pick apples. I intended to take some up to my kids. I planned on baking. I planned on eating an apple a day. On the way back to the car I snipped an apple no bigger than a silver dollar off a tree at the end of Main Street. It's sitting on my desk as I type. Just this cute little reminder of a wonderful trip. I wonder how it tastes?
We took the long route past the Salton Sea, and then turned west on highway 78. We saw cactus and Ocotillo plants that rose to twelve or more feet and lined the area's on either side of the highway, and stretched for miles. Fortunately my friend also finds beauty in the flat desert countryside, because there was a lot of it to see. Then we started to rise and ended up in a two lane, extremely narrow mountain pass with lots of bends. Trees stretched their branches across the road creating a shady canopy. It was lovely.
Julian was once a gold rush town, and is now known for its apple ranches. Some of those are u-pick ranches, but apparently this year the crop wasn't great due to the heavy rains, and many were closed. We didn't care. The town was so quaint, the buildings amazing, the people friendly, and the food and shopping fantastic. We wouldn't have had time to pick apples anyway. We had a fabulous lunch and I was served apple boysenberry pie-ala-mode with a candle. The entire restaurant joined in singing happy birthday to me, and it was embarrassing beyond all belief. But the pie was fabulous. : )
Afterward we shopped. And then we shopped some more. I bought all kinds of knick-knacks. The prices were great too. And there was a brown leather jacket that I wanted so badly, but didn't buy. I mean, I just got home from New York City last Sunday. But anyway, we are going back soon. If it's still there I'll figure it was meant to be and shell out the bucks.
The whole idea in taking this adventure had been to go and pick apples. I intended to take some up to my kids. I planned on baking. I planned on eating an apple a day. On the way back to the car I snipped an apple no bigger than a silver dollar off a tree at the end of Main Street. It's sitting on my desk as I type. Just this cute little reminder of a wonderful trip. I wonder how it tastes?
Saturday, September 25, 2010
The moon.
I've been writing a lot this week. I wonder if it's because of the stage of the moon? Creativity is supposed to increase in the waxing of the moon, or as the moon moves toward full. It was a gorgeous harvest moon, too. That, I think, made for even more energy. Anyway, whatever, I know I wrote my little old heart out.
I'm loving my new story but it's still too soon to give you any ideas about it, or its title. I've had people ask me why I don't have excerpts here on the blog. My main reason is this: I do enter contests. I don't like results to be skewed. What if someone knows my title, and even though the name is removed from a contest entry, they know me and they score it higher than it should be scored. Or maybe they don't like me, and they score it lower. It's a possibility. Not everyone likes me. : )
So, I keep the title to myself, and I don't display my writing. I await contest results, do a weigh and measure of the input given, and then I do a rewrite, and then let it sit. At this point I've already started a new story and somewhere down the line I do a final rewite on the one prior. I'm never satisfied with my work, and so in the past year or two I've stopped sending it out to agents and editors. With my last two stories, I stopped sending after three rejections. Three. That's not near enough. I know. But I figure I'm still learning, and the next one will be better. Is that the truth, or do I repeat the same mistakes over and over?
For instance, I submitted to an agent and an editor after the RWA National conference. Since that time I have reworked both the beginning and the ending of my story. I know it's better than the submission sent in early August. What can I do about that? Nothing. Not a darn thing. All I've managed to do is waste a good opportunity to have someone look at my work. So, how do I alter this so it won't happen again next year? Submit to contests for earlier feedback? Do two rewrites, and then a final rewrite before going to the conference? Did I answer my own question? : ) I don't know. You tell me. Please.
How often do you submit a manuscript? When do you admit that enough is enough, and put the work aside? Do you ever submit the reworked title to the same contest in the year following? How many critique partners do you have? Does anyone else read your work? Beta readers, perhaps? Family or friends? So spill, because curious minds need to know.
I'm loving my new story but it's still too soon to give you any ideas about it, or its title. I've had people ask me why I don't have excerpts here on the blog. My main reason is this: I do enter contests. I don't like results to be skewed. What if someone knows my title, and even though the name is removed from a contest entry, they know me and they score it higher than it should be scored. Or maybe they don't like me, and they score it lower. It's a possibility. Not everyone likes me. : )
So, I keep the title to myself, and I don't display my writing. I await contest results, do a weigh and measure of the input given, and then I do a rewrite, and then let it sit. At this point I've already started a new story and somewhere down the line I do a final rewite on the one prior. I'm never satisfied with my work, and so in the past year or two I've stopped sending it out to agents and editors. With my last two stories, I stopped sending after three rejections. Three. That's not near enough. I know. But I figure I'm still learning, and the next one will be better. Is that the truth, or do I repeat the same mistakes over and over?
For instance, I submitted to an agent and an editor after the RWA National conference. Since that time I have reworked both the beginning and the ending of my story. I know it's better than the submission sent in early August. What can I do about that? Nothing. Not a darn thing. All I've managed to do is waste a good opportunity to have someone look at my work. So, how do I alter this so it won't happen again next year? Submit to contests for earlier feedback? Do two rewrites, and then a final rewrite before going to the conference? Did I answer my own question? : ) I don't know. You tell me. Please.
How often do you submit a manuscript? When do you admit that enough is enough, and put the work aside? Do you ever submit the reworked title to the same contest in the year following? How many critique partners do you have? Does anyone else read your work? Beta readers, perhaps? Family or friends? So spill, because curious minds need to know.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Maybe This Time.
Jennifer Crusie has written a new solo novel, Maybe This Time, and it is exquisite. Absolutely. Pinky swear.
I read the novel in one sitting and didn't even complain when I had to get up at six a.m after falling asleep at 2 a.m. In fact I couldn't write this post until I'd waited a week or two to let the story be fully absorbed. It was so good I had to let it stew for a while.
It is a lush, fast moving story that gives more than a passing nod to Henry James' The Turn of the Screw. Just think contemporary Gothic as you crack those pages. I swear, Crusie is a damn genius.
The setting is a creepy old mansion set in Southern Ohio, in the year 1992, and features all of the Gothic elements I love. You've got the house, the housekeeper, the two rather odd children, the nanny, and then all of the weird and wonderful secondary characters. Throw in the twist that the nanny is the ex-wife of the children's uncle, and the two (who divorced after a whirlwind marriage) are still in love with each other. Well, they are...they just don't know it yet. It's such a feast. Then for a side dish you have a nymphomaniac ghost, hee hee, and a darling middle aged doubting parapsychologist, a crazy mother, an ice queen of a mother-in-law, and did I mention ghosts? And seances?
It's just...well...it's just classic Crusie. I know it has a cast of thousands but they are all so well drawn, and so necessary to the story, and the writing is exquisite. Did I say that already? The romance is subtle and takes a back seat to other elements, but it is still there and the story comes to a highly satisfying ending. Go buy it. You won't be sorry.
I read the novel in one sitting and didn't even complain when I had to get up at six a.m after falling asleep at 2 a.m. In fact I couldn't write this post until I'd waited a week or two to let the story be fully absorbed. It was so good I had to let it stew for a while.
It is a lush, fast moving story that gives more than a passing nod to Henry James' The Turn of the Screw. Just think contemporary Gothic as you crack those pages. I swear, Crusie is a damn genius.
The setting is a creepy old mansion set in Southern Ohio, in the year 1992, and features all of the Gothic elements I love. You've got the house, the housekeeper, the two rather odd children, the nanny, and then all of the weird and wonderful secondary characters. Throw in the twist that the nanny is the ex-wife of the children's uncle, and the two (who divorced after a whirlwind marriage) are still in love with each other. Well, they are...they just don't know it yet. It's such a feast. Then for a side dish you have a nymphomaniac ghost, hee hee, and a darling middle aged doubting parapsychologist, a crazy mother, an ice queen of a mother-in-law, and did I mention ghosts? And seances?
It's just...well...it's just classic Crusie. I know it has a cast of thousands but they are all so well drawn, and so necessary to the story, and the writing is exquisite. Did I say that already? The romance is subtle and takes a back seat to other elements, but it is still there and the story comes to a highly satisfying ending. Go buy it. You won't be sorry.
Saturday, September 04, 2010
So Much For On Location Research...
I took a trip down to the Salton Sea last weekend, to check out the south side. The north side was nice and I will go back one day and take a few more photographs; however, it didn't work scene wise for what I had in my mind for my new story. A lady friend went with me, and thinking this sounded like quite an adventure, she'd packed a few snacks and a couple of large bottles of iced tea. Thank goodness for her maternal instincts because she saved the day.
I saw Desert Shores come up on the horizon and it was a tiny little place set on the edge of the sea. Perfect. That was what I had visualized. We turned off the highway and ventured past broken down homes, rusted out trucks, establishments that no longer functioned, and the most awful trailer park I've ever seen in my life. But it was so exciting. This was exactly what my story called for. I parked the car on a stretch of sand, grabbed the camera and started shooting pictures. We both felt a bit nervous as there were some strange characters looking out from the partially rusted trailers that were less than fifty feet from us. I made the photography aspect as snappy as I could, and backed the car out fast.
About a mile or so up the road, we heard a strange sound. We thought we had a flat tire and got out to examine each one. Nope. Everything looked fine. Four miles down the freeway we knew we had a major problem. The car sounded like metal was grinding on the road. We pulled over and in the top of the driver side tire there were two huge pieces of wire and the tire was hissing air. It deflated right in front of us. We were on the highway halfway between Coachella and Brawley, which is almost at the Mexican border. I called AAA. They said twenty minutes. We figured no problem, and broke out the snacks and iced tea.
A half hour came and went and no truck appeared. A very nice young man from Border Patrol pulled up. He helped us get the car across to the shoulder, and stayed with us to keep us safe. So there we were, standing at the side of a bright red Camry, on hot asphalt, in blazing noon day heat. We were in the middle of the California desert, chatting with a twenty something young man who had recently relocated from the East coast.
I'd wanted to save the battery on the cell phone so had turned it off. I turned it back on and there was a message from our guy. He'd be a while. I called him back to find out he lived in Brawley, and it would be at least an hour. We'd already baked for forty minutes. The Aussie came out in me then, and I told him it was too bloody hot, and that I'd change the damn tire myself. The handsome young patrol officer hid a grin, and said he'd be happy to help. He changed the tire in five minutes and wouldn't even let me help. I told him he'd be in one of my novels under a different name, but he'd play the role of the handsome hero. He seemed to like that.
While it wasn't his role to change tires on the highway, he was a young man with a good heart, and he wasn't about to drive away and leave us to fend for ourselves. It's so nice to know there are guys like Nick out there. All I could think of was somewhere there is a mother who is very happy with how her son turned out. I offered him $20 but he refused it. I sent a letter to the department, praising him, and thanking them for watching out for women drivers travelling in places that are off the beaten track. I hope the letter was shared with him.
But as for doing anymore research, I think I'll stick to the internet.
I saw Desert Shores come up on the horizon and it was a tiny little place set on the edge of the sea. Perfect. That was what I had visualized. We turned off the highway and ventured past broken down homes, rusted out trucks, establishments that no longer functioned, and the most awful trailer park I've ever seen in my life. But it was so exciting. This was exactly what my story called for. I parked the car on a stretch of sand, grabbed the camera and started shooting pictures. We both felt a bit nervous as there were some strange characters looking out from the partially rusted trailers that were less than fifty feet from us. I made the photography aspect as snappy as I could, and backed the car out fast.
About a mile or so up the road, we heard a strange sound. We thought we had a flat tire and got out to examine each one. Nope. Everything looked fine. Four miles down the freeway we knew we had a major problem. The car sounded like metal was grinding on the road. We pulled over and in the top of the driver side tire there were two huge pieces of wire and the tire was hissing air. It deflated right in front of us. We were on the highway halfway between Coachella and Brawley, which is almost at the Mexican border. I called AAA. They said twenty minutes. We figured no problem, and broke out the snacks and iced tea.
A half hour came and went and no truck appeared. A very nice young man from Border Patrol pulled up. He helped us get the car across to the shoulder, and stayed with us to keep us safe. So there we were, standing at the side of a bright red Camry, on hot asphalt, in blazing noon day heat. We were in the middle of the California desert, chatting with a twenty something young man who had recently relocated from the East coast.
I'd wanted to save the battery on the cell phone so had turned it off. I turned it back on and there was a message from our guy. He'd be a while. I called him back to find out he lived in Brawley, and it would be at least an hour. We'd already baked for forty minutes. The Aussie came out in me then, and I told him it was too bloody hot, and that I'd change the damn tire myself. The handsome young patrol officer hid a grin, and said he'd be happy to help. He changed the tire in five minutes and wouldn't even let me help. I told him he'd be in one of my novels under a different name, but he'd play the role of the handsome hero. He seemed to like that.
While it wasn't his role to change tires on the highway, he was a young man with a good heart, and he wasn't about to drive away and leave us to fend for ourselves. It's so nice to know there are guys like Nick out there. All I could think of was somewhere there is a mother who is very happy with how her son turned out. I offered him $20 but he refused it. I sent a letter to the department, praising him, and thanking them for watching out for women drivers travelling in places that are off the beaten track. I hope the letter was shared with him.
But as for doing anymore research, I think I'll stick to the internet.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Research and other diversions...
I'm beginning to understand what I previously called procrastination, or diversionary tactics, when starting a new story. I used to wonder why each book scared the hell out of me until I was about two thirds of the way through the rough draft. I thought I was scared to commit. In a way I was, but not to the story, to the discovery of what the story was really about. I was afraid to kick back, spend time exploring, and just let the story unfold.
I now know this was simply the germination stage. You see, when you start out with a story idea it is really quite small. A seed, perhaps. Then it grows and flowers or fruits. Sometimes it will flourish and other times it gets all rangy and needs to be trimmed back, sometimes it dies. But from seed to maturation it needs many things: water, soil, nutriments, sunshine, occasional pruning, bug control, maybe even a different location to help it get the very best of all of these necessary things for its survival. Well, so does a story.
I've been having an enjoyable few weeks in my story idea's unfolding. I've visited the Salton Sea. I've researched abandoned cabins and veritable ghost towns. I've talked with photographers using modern digital equipment and photographers who will never change from their old equipment, plus I've looked into designing an in-home dark room. The funny thing is, all of this will feature in my story in about four or five paragraphs. But it's all part of that nurturing germination stage. A half a day spent to find one fabulous sentence, or one character motivation, isn't wasted time. It's a necessary part of the process, and I might be old-fashioned but I swear it beats doing research on the internet. That can be extremely helpful, but I like to think of it as putting on the finishing touches. The idea, the initial sketch, the outline, those are always taken from life. The color comes from life.
The writer who takes the time to research, to delve into why their characters choose one thing over another, make one choice instead of another, choose this person over that one to spend their life with, well, those are all the little crunchy bits that make those characters fully developed and interesting.
I now know this was simply the germination stage. You see, when you start out with a story idea it is really quite small. A seed, perhaps. Then it grows and flowers or fruits. Sometimes it will flourish and other times it gets all rangy and needs to be trimmed back, sometimes it dies. But from seed to maturation it needs many things: water, soil, nutriments, sunshine, occasional pruning, bug control, maybe even a different location to help it get the very best of all of these necessary things for its survival. Well, so does a story.
I've been having an enjoyable few weeks in my story idea's unfolding. I've visited the Salton Sea. I've researched abandoned cabins and veritable ghost towns. I've talked with photographers using modern digital equipment and photographers who will never change from their old equipment, plus I've looked into designing an in-home dark room. The funny thing is, all of this will feature in my story in about four or five paragraphs. But it's all part of that nurturing germination stage. A half a day spent to find one fabulous sentence, or one character motivation, isn't wasted time. It's a necessary part of the process, and I might be old-fashioned but I swear it beats doing research on the internet. That can be extremely helpful, but I like to think of it as putting on the finishing touches. The idea, the initial sketch, the outline, those are always taken from life. The color comes from life.
The writer who takes the time to research, to delve into why their characters choose one thing over another, make one choice instead of another, choose this person over that one to spend their life with, well, those are all the little crunchy bits that make those characters fully developed and interesting.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Research
I've been doing the discovery stage of my new romantic intrigue/suspense, and it has been a lot of fun this time around. I don't have my usual angst going into the new story that I've always had in the past. And that is thanks to Lani Diane Rich. I took her Discovery Class, which runs over six weeks, and came away from it with not just her step by step guidance but a new understanding of myself and my work. I'm a visual learner and that's one of the reason's Lani's classes helped me. I could see her talking, hear her talking, laugh along with her and the other participants. It was just like a classroom, except I didn't have to get dressed or drive anywhere.
One major thing I took away from the course was, I never thought I needed a soundtrack. Maybe just a CD that provided mood. I always have soft music playing and I love all kinds of music, so good enough, right? Wrong. When I made the soundtrack and chose music specific to my characters it changed everything about that story. It ramped up my writing skills, it ramped up my love of my characters, it resonated with me on so many levels. I did the rewrite of my last story, using Lani's techniques, and it came to life in full color. And I'm not an aural learner. Usually I need peace and quiet. Yet, that soundtrack opened me up, it allowed me to get inside my characters thoughts, and to embrace an important aspect of writing that had never spoken to me before.
For me it's always kind of hard to say goodbye to the characters in my latest story because I've come to love them, and I've enjoyed being a part of their emotional and physical journey. Those heroes and heroines consumed so much of my life you'd think they were relatives, and they kind of are. I made them. I made them up in my thoughts and then I transcribed them onto paper. How cool is that?
Now on to the next story and the next hero and heroine. Where to start? Research of course. The blank page beckons. I could stare at it, try to develop new characters, new plot, new love interest, new conflict, new internal and external motivation, and, make it all believable to the reader while pulling my hair out and drinking copious cups of coffee. Nope. This time around, no computer, at least in the early stage. I've gone out into nature and thought my thoughts. I've carried my notebook. After brainstorming with my critique partner, Gina, in the pool at National conference, a new story came to me. I've put aside Dia Sophia, the story I discovered and researched in Lani's class. I'll get to her later.
I now have a title for the new work, a yummy hero, and my heroine who is a spin off from a secondary character in the last story, and they are blooming and coming to life as I walk the dog. Yet they're still in my head. I've done no writing. I have done a soundtrack and almost completed a collage, I have my main casting done, their backstory floats into and out of my thoughts as I go about my daily life listening to their music. This is a strange and unusual way for me to process story but it's working all on its own. It's all humming along. Next week a friend and I are going on location. We'll hike the desolate land that will be a backdrop for the suspense. We'll take photographs. We'll eat in some divy little cafe, we'll visit an abandoned cabin that will become the house the heroine's father left her when he died. I'm beginning to see the villian and understand the part he plays in her life. It's all coming together faster than I can keep up with it, yet still I don't write.
This is all good. Next week I'll be primed and ready, and I'll hit the ground running.
One major thing I took away from the course was, I never thought I needed a soundtrack. Maybe just a CD that provided mood. I always have soft music playing and I love all kinds of music, so good enough, right? Wrong. When I made the soundtrack and chose music specific to my characters it changed everything about that story. It ramped up my writing skills, it ramped up my love of my characters, it resonated with me on so many levels. I did the rewrite of my last story, using Lani's techniques, and it came to life in full color. And I'm not an aural learner. Usually I need peace and quiet. Yet, that soundtrack opened me up, it allowed me to get inside my characters thoughts, and to embrace an important aspect of writing that had never spoken to me before.
For me it's always kind of hard to say goodbye to the characters in my latest story because I've come to love them, and I've enjoyed being a part of their emotional and physical journey. Those heroes and heroines consumed so much of my life you'd think they were relatives, and they kind of are. I made them. I made them up in my thoughts and then I transcribed them onto paper. How cool is that?
Now on to the next story and the next hero and heroine. Where to start? Research of course. The blank page beckons. I could stare at it, try to develop new characters, new plot, new love interest, new conflict, new internal and external motivation, and, make it all believable to the reader while pulling my hair out and drinking copious cups of coffee. Nope. This time around, no computer, at least in the early stage. I've gone out into nature and thought my thoughts. I've carried my notebook. After brainstorming with my critique partner, Gina, in the pool at National conference, a new story came to me. I've put aside Dia Sophia, the story I discovered and researched in Lani's class. I'll get to her later.
I now have a title for the new work, a yummy hero, and my heroine who is a spin off from a secondary character in the last story, and they are blooming and coming to life as I walk the dog. Yet they're still in my head. I've done no writing. I have done a soundtrack and almost completed a collage, I have my main casting done, their backstory floats into and out of my thoughts as I go about my daily life listening to their music. This is a strange and unusual way for me to process story but it's working all on its own. It's all humming along. Next week a friend and I are going on location. We'll hike the desolate land that will be a backdrop for the suspense. We'll take photographs. We'll eat in some divy little cafe, we'll visit an abandoned cabin that will become the house the heroine's father left her when he died. I'm beginning to see the villian and understand the part he plays in her life. It's all coming together faster than I can keep up with it, yet still I don't write.
This is all good. Next week I'll be primed and ready, and I'll hit the ground running.
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