What makes me a desperate writer?

I get asked that a lot.

Well, it seems to be a whole lot of  things.

I first approached this writing thing  with an abundance  of enthusiasm.  I  wasn’t worried about publishing at first, I was  thrilled with creating. And I went after it with the same determination as Toddler did when she took her first steps.  I didn’t  care about ‘getting there” I only cared  about one step at a time.

• Step One: Decide to take a creative writing class.
• Step Two: Write, write write and write some more.
• Step Three: Connect with other writers, like-minded people who get it. Unfortunately, some of these people still don’t get ME, but that’s okay, I don’t get them either. The ones who are okay with that stuck,  the others fell through the strainer and down  the drain.
• Step Four: Write. Write…
• Step Five: Learn more about the RULES of writing,  and of submitting after  writing.
• Step Six: Prepare proposals, send  your baby out into  the  world.
• Step Seven: Write…
• Step Eight: REJECTION! Cry, bawl, whine, complain.
• Step Nine: Write…
• Step Ten: Send out, REQUEST FOR FULL!  I’M RUNNING NOW!  After two years on Editor-who-shall-remain-nameless’s desk, she hasn’t responded in any way whatsoever, even to my follow up calls, and I’ve  decided that qualifies as a rejection. STUMBLE!
• Step Eleven: Kinda  write…
• Step Twelve: Get mad  at Mr. Man, write a story in  one afternoon and send it to True Love Magazine. IT SELLS! I’m running again. Sold another.  Cool!
• Step Thirteen: Send more proposals out, get more rejections.

You can see where I’m going with this. The writing gets lost  in my funk over hitting my head against a brick wall time after time.

Lately,  I’ve been feeling a pull back to my fiction, and that’s nice.  I tell myself  to just recapture the magic  of storytelling,  the publishing is incidental at this point. Then,  it’s been so long since I’ve been to it, I freeze. I go to critique  group, and see how  good everyone is, and think, I can’t bring my stuff to read!  It’s crap! Then  I glimpse at the enthusiasm they have, espacially Baby Diva, and I want it back, the enthusiasm. The yearning  to create. I want it back.

What I’m desperate to do is to unshackle myself from these excuses and laziness and just DO  IT and quit WHINING about it.

Write for the joy of writing, and quit worrying about approval.  Because for  me,I think,  it all boils down to my desperate, sickening need for approval, rather than selling, per  se.

Oh, look, at least I have the neuroses to be a writer. Maybe I’m on the right track after all.

Got a comma dilemma?

Hey, this is a fun article about comma use, of all things. 

http://bloodredpencil.blogspot.com/2008/11/editors-edit-commasand-more.html

 

It’s a pretty neat blog in general.

Publisher’s Office Closes Over Security Concerns…

NEW YORK —  The U.S. publisher of a controversial novel about the Prophet Muhammad closed its offices as a “precautionary action,” but emphasized that no threats had been received and that “The Jewel of Medina” would be released as planned. (Read whole article HERE.)

“How chicken shit,” I muttered when Random House, Inc. dropped the novel The Jewel of Medina by Sherry Jones. The premise of the book is a fictionalized account of Muhammed and his child bride, A’isha. You would think a  powerhouse like Random House would stand up for freedom of expression if not for American principle, at least for  the sake of good capitalism.  I mean, come  on,  the controversy  generated by the press alone is guaranteed to be a selling point for a novel that might have otherwise gone quietly into a good  bookstore near you.  

Despite worries Random House cited over “offending Muslims,” (Do they take this much care in not offending Christians? Or other faiths? Honestly, I’m not sure, I’ll just stick to this example for now) (Beaufort Books, publishers of O J Simpson’s ‘if I DID IT’ (oh, come ON, he did it) apparently saw the potential.  Read their press release HERE. This press release also states Sherry Jones has a two-book deal with them. Way to go!

I’m not saying this isn’t risky.  Far from it.  It’s as tricky as tickling a Rattlesnake with a stick.  Extremists have already fire bombed publisher Martin Rynja’s home in  London.  He says:

“In an open society there has to be open access to literary works, regardless of fear. As an independent publishing company, we feel strongly that we should not be afraid of the consequences of debate.

“If a novel of quality and skill that casts light on a beautiful subject we know too little of in the West, but have a genuine interest in, cannot be published here, it would truly mean that the clock has been turned back to the dark ages. The Jewel of Medina has become an important barometer of our time.” (Read this article HERE.)

A very informative blogpost at GalleyCat says:

When Sherry Jones told her publishers at Ballantine that they should send a copy of her novel about the life of one of Muhammad’s wives, The Jewel of Medina, to Islamic studies scholar Denise Spellberg, she never anticipated that Random House, Ballantine’s corporate parent, would decide they were afraid to publish the novel after all. Instead of giving Ballantine a nice blurb, Spellberg called her own editor at Knopf and told her putting the book out was tantamount to “a declaration of war” against Islam and would probably lead to terrorist attacks on Broadway—and that was enough to put Random off the idea altogether. (Read entire blogpost HERE.)

(For the record, I take exception to the phrase ‘wasn’t just fluffy historical romance,’ Ms.  Jones.   But I’ll hold off on this fatwa.)

The article also states that:

(Amanullah, meanwhile, posted an article on his altmuslim.com website yesterday arguing that actions like Random House’s are a symptom of “the stagnation and increased misunderstanding that comes from a stifled discourse.”) (Shahed Amanullah’s article can be found HERE. )

He argues against censorship, and advocates using words to argue cases against more words, not prohibitive measures.

Some radical factions, sad to say, aren’t wired to think this way. But snakes react from instinct, terrorists are deliberate.  So perhaps I am hasty to judge.  I wasn’t in New York City, or D.C. or Pennsylvania on September 11. Though I can know the fear that grazed me the day America was attacked, I can’t really know the immediacy those people felt on location.  I do know I experienced that day the fearful uncertainty of what might happen next.  I can only hope that I can function in spite of that fear. That I can be outraged enough at the idea someone seeks to supress me by threat or intimidation that I react appropriately.  Those rat bastards, as Craig Ferguson describes them, won’t keep me down.  Instead, I will count on my optimism and most importantly, my Faith, to lift me up.

Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear. — Ambrose Redmoon

Look, I don’t even know if I’d  be interested in reading this book, to tell you the truth.  But I AM interested that a major publisher backed off because they were AFRAID.

PAY THE WRITER!

Well…

What do you know?  I opened my work in progress tonight, piddled with it, and it felt GOOD!

 

Nostalgia

I’d forgotten Jell-O. 

How could I, one might wonder, with all those catchy commercials and Bill Cosby’s enthusiastic endorsements?  Well, I’m not sure…I don’t know when I started turning my nose up at the wiggly-jiggly wonder.  I never abandoned the pudding, Heaven forbid!  But the gelatin, I could take it or leave it, and I left it.

We’re still going through Granny’s possessions.  This week, while unpacking another box rescued from storage, I found Granny’s Jello-O dish.  It’s not some kind of “official” Jell-O dish, but the one I remember her always pouring her Jell-0 into.  Usually cherry, with mixed fruit.  It’s rectangular, thick glass, ribbed all the way around with a similar lid sporting raised leaves.  Something I hadn’t thought about in years, but when I saw it the rush of memory came back to me. Along with the warm, fuzzy feelings you might expect.

So, I cleaned it up, and made some Jell-O, lemon-flavored, that I brought home from her pantry at her house across town.  With marshmallows instead of fruit. There I was in my kitchen, that used to be Granny’s kitchen, scooping Jell-O out of the dish Granny used to scoop Jell-O from.  It was some of the best Jell-O I’ve ever had.

I’m having a lot of moments like these, as is the rest of my family.   Something that brings sweet memories to our mind, and how lucky are we we have them to relive. Today, Mom and I brunched at I-HOP, and a group of elderly people, assisted by canes and a bit unsteady in spite of it, passed by on the way to their table.

“I know,” Mom said, “I miss her too.”

I hadn’t realized I had a sad look on my face.  But Mom has always been able to read me like a book.

Living in the house Granny and Papa did for so long, the house where Uncle B and Mom grew up, the house where they entertained people from Church and unofficially fostered so many children, I am blessed.  We want to give that to Toddler, and any children we might have.

I must get to work to get ready for the Home Study. I can’t bear the thought of my Granny’s house, now ours (we bought it after she remarried several years ago), not measuring up in any way. I don’t like putting myself up for possible rejection, I realized today. 

Not an earth-shattering realization, I mean who loves rejection anyway?  Putting your whole life up for judgement, everything that is you is out there, waiting for someone else’s stamp of approval.

Do you think that’s why I’ve been such a major avoider of writing lately?  I’ve lost sight of the love of story-telling by letting all those rejection letters clutter my head?  It’s not even that that they are mere rejection letters, I can’t even get past the standard form rejection letter. How sad that a more detailed rejection letter might make me happy. And so totally unrealistic that agents and editors have that kind of time.  But I can’t let this hang-up get in the way of my writing much longer.  

I’ve always been such a person in need of approval from others.  One of the weaknesses I can’t abide in myself.  And I’ve always been comfortable with my successes in life.  The feeling I might not succeed with something that has been one of my dreams forever eats at me until I am paralyzed into inaction.

Cue the violins.

This foster/adopt thing, though…I can’t let myself chicken out for fear of rejection.  I haven’t even thought about it.  This dream is bigger than me, it’s Mr. Man’s dream, too.  We want a family, always have.  And that takes persistance and dedication, as does anything in life that is worthwhile.

 

Strike!

 Okay, people. Pay the writers what they deserve.  Not only because it’s fair, but because if I miss weeks and weeks of the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, I’m likely to get cranky.  Not to mention Garth Brooks was supposed to be on Leno last night, but because of the strike, wasn’t. Because instead of taping his show, Jay was busy handing out donuts to writers on the picket line (what a guy!) 

Besides, isn’t our TV season screwed up anyway with mid-season replacements, more re-runs than we’ve ever had, and overly-hyped shows that are canceled after one episode? Why take the chance on messing with the keeper shows? 

Oh, my gosh, what will happen if I can’t have my Grey’s Anatomy, Ghost Whisperer, and CSIs?  Huh? Oh No’s!

Mr. Man brought up an interesting thought last night as I grumbled about the LLS re-run. 

“What’s going to happen when we go to Austin to see Craig next week?  Since it’s a writer’s strike, will he be allowed to talk?” he teased.  “Or will we just sit there and look at him for an hour and a half?”

Which would be fine with me. BUT I do love his wit and he makes us laugh, so I hope to hear that Scottish brogue turning a phrase and twisting a line. 

Silly Mr. Man. 

Borrowing from Vicki

Today, I read a blogpost written by the mighty Vicki Hinze, and I want to steal borrow on a few of her comments. Oh, and this quote: 

“There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.” -Edith Wharton

Basically, Vicki talks about how we apply this principle in both life and writing.  And she does it so much better than I can, so go read her post!  One thing she does day is:

There are a lot of ways to look at that quote. And I expect one sees in it what they’re looking for at the time. Today, my interpretation of it is that we’re all both candles and mirrors at different points in time on different issues and in different situations.

What I want to say here is that I agree with her totally. Especially as it applies to our writing. I recently, (okay, maybe not so recently…again, I really need to let stuff go) experienced a disappointment in someone I had looked up to as a mentor for a long time.   I was a fan of this person for a long time before I ever started writing.  When I did start writing, she eventually took me under her wing and gave me a lot of opportunities that were good for me. I did learn a lot from her, a lot of it was very good.  But soon, the stars fell from my eyes and eventually, she and I went our separate ways.  You see, one of the hard lessons I learned from her is that she is a candle that was only happy when the mirrors around her reflected hero-worship. For various reasons, I had lost the impulse to reflect that back to her, and I fell from favor very quickly.  When it came to the my way or the highway attitude, I became a hitchhiker.  Since then, I have been somewhat removed from the local writing community.  Not entirely, because the group I’m in now, my Divas,  accept me as I am, and support me too, despite this abyss I’ve been swimming in the past few years (not all of it was the aforementioned mentor’s fault, btw.)  Thanks to their light, I am wading my way through to the top of my writing, or non-writing rather, wasteland.  And thanks to the light of my family, I’m floating to the top with the rest of it, too.  I can almost grasp it.

When you’re the candle, you choose what light you cast. Knowing others reflect it, you should aspire to have it be the best you have to give.

Thus, I must reflect upon myself and ask what kind of light I’ve been.  I don’t particularly like what I see.  I can do better, shine brighter.  Perhaps, when I do, I can attract more lightness and things will continue to look up.  Not to mention I might be more pleasant to be around.

Which makes the point of this that every author is a candle. And all the fiction the author produces is a mirror that reflects the light from her candle. That is a compass for authors to consider the impact of what they write. To consider the light they emit that others will mirror and reflect.

I’m going to try to remember this in my writing, too.

You know how one thing leads to another?

One of my guilty pleasures is watching all those “ghosty” stories on TV. You know, Haunted History, Haunted Hotels, Ghost Hunters and the like?  One night this week, I saw one show that mentioned a supposedly haunted cemetery called “Hollywood Forever.” So today, while procrastinating, I looked up that cemetery, because another of my guilty pleasures is celebrity trivia, and cemetery browsing. Weird, I know, but oh well.

I came across this at Westwood Village Memorial Park:

Director/Writer Billy Wilder’s headstone

Billy Wilder is known for such classics as SOME LIKE IT HOT, THE APARTMENT, SABRINA, THE FORTUNE COOKIE, and many, many others. Interestingly, the same cemetery is the final resting place for Marilyn Monroe, Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon, who starred in some of the movies I mentioned. And with the exception of Marilyn, they all died within a year of each other: Matthau, Lemmon and then Wilder.

Betcha didn’t know that…

You know…

I feel good. For three days in a row. Except, I didn’t get enough sleep last night. Stayed up too late for one, and had to much iced tea that kept me up and down all night. Whoops.

I’ve thought about this…and I’ve been doggin’ on myself for not writing. Well, what have I been doing here on this blog? It may be self-absorbed or incoherent at times, but it’s still writing, and on a somewhat regular basis. But it still counts as writing.

For instance, writer Kevin Smith was on Letterman last night, talking about his new book. Do you know how that book came about? Someone knew he blogged regularly, and asked him if he would let them consolidate those blogs into a book. He asked if he would have to do anything in regards to it, as far as more work, they said no, so he said okay, and BOOM! He has a book out. Mind you, its title is MY BORING-ASS LIFE, but it’s still a book. From his blogs. Of course, he has the advantage of having an established career in writing screenplays and all that goes with that beforehand, but still.

This doesn’t in any way mean I think my blog is book-worthy. I have, however, had the revelation that I haven’t quit. I’ve been writing. The discipline regarding my fiction hasn’t been what it should be, but I’ve been writing. And it counts.

More than I can chew.

And I can chew a lot. A LOT. But I’ve been thinking lately that maybe sometimes I bite off more than I can chew in regard to two different areas: my writing and weight loss.

I think my common problem here is that I look at how much I want to accomplish, and I see what an enormous goal I want to achieve, and I’m overwhelmed. So then I end up doing nothing.

That certainly gets me nowhere fast.

I see how much weight I have to lose, and think, “Crap. I can never do that.” But I did it once before, and since I gained it back, I feel like I failed. Failed myself, failed everyone who praised and supported me. Especially myself. It is the same with my writing. I look at what I want to ultimately accomplish: I want to tell these great stories I have running around in my head, and I want people to love those stories enough to make me an auto-buy on their favorite author list. I want to be successful, the kind of author who can write a 100,000 word novel a year, eventually even two, and be successful. Here, too, I’ve been looking toward the end of the road, what I want to accomplish, as I said, **eventually.** Again, I feel like since I’ve written 4 manuscripts and have yet to get beyond the form-letter rejection, I feel like I have failed.

The problem with MY eventually, I ‘m beginning to see, is I want results, and I want them RIGHT NOW, dammit.

I was reading an article tonight about 7 Deadly Sins in the Workplace , and under “Greed” it read:

4. Greed

An employee’s selfish desire for “more, sooner” is what motivates many workers. While these folks may do well in the moment, they won’t be prepared to take things to the next level, McKee warns.

The sin: “Taking this notion to the extreme can and will be self-defeating as core values become misguided and life becomes unbalanced in the process.” The salvation: “The road to success requires a long-term approach in all aspects of one’s job duties. Those laser-focused on quick, short-term gains may do well in the moment, but will be ill-prepared to take things to the next level.”

Um, wow. I think that this is one of those times that God puts things in front of me for a purpose, because it seems to fit what I’m talking about. I’m being greedy. I never looked at it that way before. I would actually say just about every item in that article I could take to heart. You might want to have a look at it yourselves!
Besides, they’re right. If I get all I want NOW, I won’t have learned what I need to know in the future to deal with the success I yearn for.

The time I lost all that weight to my ideal size, for instance, was on a crash diet. Dr. supervised, but still, what else would you call an 800 calorie a day diet? When I quit applying the crash part, and went back to “real” life, I ballooned out quicker than a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade character. I hadn’t taken the time to learn the tools and discipline to make my success permanent.

even·tu·al·ly
Function: adverb
: at an unspecified later time : in the end

Reviewing this definition, I need to remember that as different events progress, I will get to where I want to be. I remind myself that I should look at both issues in smaller chunks, baby steps to make it to the ultimate result I want. Forget about where I want to be, and focus on where I can go right now.

For instance, and I hate to publicize this, but oh well, I am beginning Weight Watchers tomorrow. Again. I’ve been often enough to know that although they determine what a healthy weight for you is, they only focus on a certain amount at a time. Their theory, if I remember right, is supposed to keep members from focusing on that whole total amount thing.

As far as writing goes, I’ve had success when creating and selling my short stories to the confession market. And pretty quickly, too. Maybe I should start doing this again, and then also work on books with shorter word counts and shop them around.

I have to make the decision about how I want to live my life. Because what I’m doing now, as Dr. Phil would say, isn’t working for me. I’m unhealthy, and unhappy with the status of my dayjob, and my writing. Or non-writing, I should say.

And I’m the only one that can change it.

Google launches Authors@Google site

“Just this year, we’ve hosted a great variety of authors, including Martin Amis, Strobe Talbott, Bob & Lee Woodruff, Jonathan Lethem, Don Tapscott, Senator Hillary Clinton, and Carly Fiorina. The subjects of their talks range from literary fiction to science fiction, sociology to technology, politics to business.” Goto: google.com/talks/authors

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