What's New?

No excuses for not being around, but I'm back. Here's what been going on:

"Oh Hell," the second story featuring Nikki Hyland, Slacker Detective, has been published in the new anthology Little Sisters, Volume 1, edited by Loretta Scott Miller and is now available at Amazon.com.

The launch is Saturday, December 15, from 2-4 PM at Mystery & Imagination in Glendale. Hope to see you there.

BOOKFELLOWS/MYSTERY AND IMAGINATION is located in the Los Angeles area, at 238 N. Brand Blvd. in Glendale, California 91203

Also:

My story "One Question" has been selected to arrive in your mailbox on December 19 via the website Every Day Fiction. Sign up now for under-a-thousand-words of flash fiction each and every day.

I've lost a whole continent!

And despite having lost a considerable amount of ground, I don't have time to write now either. But I will.

Trying not to lose blogging ground...

Today's post may be somewhat incoherent as I am very tired today. It seems as if I've had no time lately to just contemplate--my navel or otherwise. Jewelry, writing, those breakfast room chairs I just had to stencil!! And I cut the stencil myself since I couldn't fine anything else I liked. Off in a million directions with lots of crowd immersion and traffic stress. But today, it's really back to basics which for me means priority 1: the novel.

And I do have some momentum going. Last week I squeezed in some work every day and it's looking good. I did some minor editing of the first 70 pages and today I begin to revise parts that have only been touch a couple of times. It's exciting because PROGRESS seems imminent.

This isn't much of a blog, but it's all my brain can conjure. (I'm so tired I typed conger!! What is the hidden meaning of that? Slithering eels gnawing holes in my brain?? I may need to take a nap!)

Thank goodness I have only one or two readers out there!

To Bead or Not to Bead

What a hectic two weeks and it's all good.

First. Last week (was it only LAST week?) I was bent over my computer trying to get to the end of my short story "Oh Hell!" to meet a May 31 deadline. Second. This week I was bent over my work bench trying to create some "Koi" specific necklaces for a June 6 deadline. Results? I'm tired, but it's that self-satisfied kind of exhaustion that comes with hard work and recognition that your efforts are appreciated.

Last Saturday, after turning my new short story (7000 words in need of a honing, tightening, motif insertion editing job), I received the terrific news that the editor of the Little Sisters, Volume 1 anthology had accepted my draft. Hooray!! Edits to start in July. I can't wait to see Loretta's notes.

Loretta Scott Miller, a mystery writer and publisher, has a passion for helping new writers (Too many times the "call for submission" editors specify "young"!!!) As a Sister-in-Crime, she created an anthology to publish those writers who seriously pursue the mystery-suspense genre and have joined Sisters-in-Crime.* She is also on the look-out for novels by emerging writers. She can be reached at Shannon Road Press.

So that adventure was terrific. Now it's on to the book and to FINISH the edit.

However, I have also fallen into a beading frenzy. Since going with my mother-in-law to Tucson in February for the Gem and Jewelry show, I've been hooked. My original goal was to bead while watching T.V. or rather, while NOT watching T.V when my husband is on one of his click-click-click nights. Keep him company but also to do something with my hands. Stringing works well in this capacity, so I've made a lot of necklaces to learn how to do it better and started giving them away. My friends have been generous with their praise so I finally took them into a local shop called Koi. The owner is an extremely nice person and was willing to look at what I had. She bought four of my necklaces. Hooray!!!

A friend of mine has expressed a concern that beading might supplant writing in my life and I have to admit, sometimes it's tempting. Let's face it, something new always seems more exciting than something you've done for a long time. And it is FUN.

So now to the question, to bead or not to bead.

One of the major snags in my writing process is intensity. This isn't the same thing as passion. Intensity is more binding, more limiting, more apt to paralyze. More like being UPTIGHT. Passion opens the heart, allows you to take risks, frees your mind.

Writing has been so important to me for so long that it's worn me out. I wanted to please. I wanted to make people love my writing. And wanted to do it right. And all that concern about acceptance played into my self doubt. Sapped up my passion. Where in those desires was my initial reason for writing? No where. And it ceased to be fun.

Eventually, I got tired of trying to please anyone but myself. To let go and let it be fun again. That doesn't mean being self-indulgent and not working hard. Using my craft to create something good is always the goal. Now I want to focus on what will please me. This idea of "doing it for myself" is also my attitude toward beading.

Stringing little necklaces in front of the T.V. has helped me to appreciate the lesson of acquiring skills without worrying about being perfect, published, or praised. No one session is any more important than anything else I might do. I don't have to have stellar results EVERY TIME.

I work at my beads, practice to get better, play with it. I am relaxed and my whole ego is not tied up in whether or not anyone will like my jewelry. I'm not saying I'm not pleased when someone says "This is pretty. " I am saying, wow, I like it too. Cool.

And sometimes its better if I'm not paying much attention. My best ideas and combinations for beads come when I'm distracted by the noise in the room, the conversational between me and Tim. When I'm distracted, I let the creative part of me to seep out, unedited, uncensored.

I've noticed this too in writing. Best place for me for writing is the elliptical at the gym with my Ipod on, folding laundry, taking a shower, sleeping. I'm not trying to so hard then. I'm distracted by other things and the creativity has a chance to emerge.

When I sat down to write this, I was thinking that beading had shown me this lesson of relaxation, but I now realize that I've learned it through writing too. When I started beading, it was always in my mind to "give it up to the universe" and "what happens happens." And I can see that's exactly where I arrived in my writing about two years ago. And putting words on paper became fun again.

I love writing. I won't quit. And I've come to believe that beading will actually enhance my efforts to write. It's a better "break" from writing than the hours I've spent playing "Bejeweled."


*Becoming a member is a great idea because the meetings are packed with speakers on crime, police methodology, pathology, etc. The membership includes professional writers, as-yet unpublished writers, and fans. This coming weekend, the Los Angeles Chapter is holding their conference "No Crime Unpublished." Go here if you're interested. You can sign up at the door.

Talent and Skill

I've been MIA again but I have excuses.

(1) Daughter home for a week or so
(2) Son home for Memorial Day
(3) Meeting a deadline--today--

I'm taking a quick break from working on a new short story, tentatively called "Oh, Hell." I had a successful morning so I'm treating myself to emails and blogs. But this has to be short.

What I wanted to address was the need for patience. I am not a patient person. Never have been. And when in the past (a rolling, long-ago past) I couldn't master something immediately, I assumed I had no talent and no skills and I gave up.

No talent. No skills.

These are two distinct attributes. Having talent is terrific and it certainly makes following your passion rewarding, but talent is only half the formula.

Having skill is absolutely necessary (watch American Idol if you don't believe me). But getting these skills isn't an immediate process. And if you're talking about becoming an expert at anything, you're talking YEARS of practice. That's where patience comes in.

I think it was Robert McKee (the writing coach whose book STORY is an excellent resource) who said that all we can do is to "take out our little bit of talent," push it around every day, apply our hard-earned skills and hopefully, that will result in something worthwhile. I'm sure I don't have that quote right, but you get the gist. It takes both talent and skill to become good at anything and skill takes patience.

I realized this this morning. I have to mail my story to the powers that be and last night when I went to bed I was miserable. Things at the end of my story were not working out. The whole thing felt stupid and, heaven forbid, CORNY. In the old days, I would have felt doomed. I would have thought of quitting. I would believe to the depths of my being that my writing sucked. And I sucked.

But this morning, I remembered I have developed a skill set to help me solve the problems in my story. Hmmmm. Imagine that!

I read about two or three pages in the middle, did a little editing, and suddenly I knew how to solve the story problem at the end. My mind was asking questions that only an "expert" would know to ask.

I moved away from the computer and started to scribble notes of what exactly had to happen for the whole story to make sense. I was so shocked at how easy it was, I started doubting it would work. But I typing the notes, I sure it does work. And it isn't corny. Maybe a little corny, but I still have time to fix that. Wow, it's working!!!

I'm not saying here that what I do is brilliant or even interesting to anyone else. But it is to me. To see that I will allow myself to make mistakes, to go on tangents, to think I suck, and then get back to work. To take out my "little bit of talent" and my years of practice, and actually be able to have answers, know what comes next, delight myself with a surprising ending, that for me, is success. And when I discover the NEXT problem, I will have skills to solve that too.

This idea of having patience--and I suppose, FAITH IN THE WRITING PROCESS--is a gift to me. A gift I've given myself over the years by focusing on learning the skills I need to do what I want, and letting my little bit of talent take care of itself.

Idol Thoughts

I have a few things to say about American Idol before the season gets filed in the TV archives. Many people have told me and I have often read on-line that this has been "the most boring season yet. Worst year ever. No talent. AI is done. The phenomena is over. It's going downhill."

Wait! Worst year ever? NO TALENT?

Can you say Melinda, Lakisha, Jordin, Blake, Gina, Chris, even Phil if he'd kept a stetson on his balding* head and truly channeled Garth? Excuse me, but when did a lot of talent turn into NO TALENT? You see, this is the problem. We hard-core Idol fans are desensitized. We're experts now, so the slightest break in a warble becomes a reason to dismiss someone as a hack, has-been, get rid of 'em no talent. We want the BEST? And we got it. Think about it. Would any of the superstar guests actually get into the top twelve today? Which ones? Akon? Gwen? Barry? uh-hem.

Of course, getting rid of the contestants is the whole point and so the unpredictability of both the performances and the results is the hook, and it works. It worked this year too.

"Idol's going down hill?" I get cranky when people start making sweeping statements based on a 10% dip in a couple of shows. Let's face it, part of the dip is do to some valiant efforts of competing networks, and the age of AI itself. There will be attrition. There always is. So what's the problem this year?

2007 may have produced the most talent ever. And this talent weeded out most of those who might have brought controversy to the show. There were so many strong, interesting voices and personalities--especially among the ladies--that there was no room of those who might develop as the season went on. We even had to lose two fabulous competitors in Stephanie Edwards and Sabrina Sloan.

The only weak link in the beginning appeared to be the men and they were more diverse than the women. However, the men failed to step up and it was only the numbers quotas (12 guys, 12 girls and later 6 guys, 6 girls) that kept some of them on the stage. The final twelve all gave at least one good performance (I would argue this is not true for Sanjaya, but there are those including the judges who thought he acquitted himself well on Latin night).

And the Top 12 bonded. They didn't even seem to resent the fact that Sanjaya stole the stage from more worthy candidates. The biggest factor to the "It's boring" comment is that every one of the final 12 idols seemed to be genuinely friendly, passionate, caring, non-controversial, unrebellious, and well, NICE. Anyone will tell you, "nice" is boring. The only two who provided any attitude were Sanjaya and Lakisha. SANJAYA! How can a show have Sanjaya in it and be boring? And Lakisha, her 'tude was subtle and wouldn't even have shown if the rest of them weren't wearing those toothy grins.

But what most people fail to talk about is the good that American Idol does. Why it ultimately succeeds every season. Idol creates uncommon common ground. While it's always different each season, the basic elements of the show bring people together, exposing them to a wider variety of music and talent than any other program before. While the demographic may be younger (I have no idea about the stats), the audience overall is composed of people of all ages, colors, tastes.

My daughter still can't get over the fact that Chris Daughtry lost. I still miss George Huff. This year my mother-in-law loves Melinda, can't understand a word of Blake's music (it all sounds alike), and claims a great injustice has been done. But, every Friday at lunch, we engage in a lively conversation about music, people who strive, digging deep to keep one's determination, living through disappointment. All because of Idol. This is bad? This is boring? A show that brings together generations to discuss life lessons such as what it takes to do the best you can, to be critiqued and live through it, to be dumped from the show and end up on the charts for, what, over 20 weeks?

No. The premise and the people aren't boring, but the audience demands lively entertainment and the show is often crass, over dramatic, stagy, and manipulative. And that CAN get boring. It's up to the producers to respond by listening to the fans and to continually refine the format.

Who will win? Bottom line: it doesn't matter. What IS really important , as in real life, is the journey and where it takes you.


*I mean no offense to bald people. There's good bald (Chris Daughtry, Michael Stipe, Ben Kingsley, Bruce Willis, Telly Savalas) and bad bald (Donald Trump, Britney Spears). Sorry Phil. Take a hint from Kenny. He is NEVER without a hat.

Savoring the Unexpected

Yesterday I ran errands until after six, coming home hot, ragged, annoyed because the library has misplaced three tapes I know I turned in. The new gate didn't work right. The dog was barking. The trash in the kitchen smelled. I dropped my purse on the floor, grabbed the plastic garbage liner, and took it outside to the curb. Back on the porch, I noticed among the scattered mags and ads, a familiar white envelope. Manuscript size. Addressed to me by me.

In my world this spells R-E-J-E-C-T-I-O-N. I let go an expletive and scooped up the envelope. Must be "One Question," a flash piece, I thought, because it's so light.

I tore it open. A minute of true confusion. A check? Who would paper-clip a check on a rejection?

Waitaminute.

"Dear Gay Degani,

Your manuscript "Hawaiian Hair" has been accepted..."

Omigod.

Yep. As Annie Potts yells in Ghostbusters, her voice echoing through the empty fire station the boys spent their last dimes renting ("Three mortgages? Everyone has three mortgages these days") : WE GOT ONE!!!

So. "Hawaiian Hair" will be in the fall 2007 issue of THEMA, Written in Stone.

If you are interested in purchasing a copy of the current issue, THEMA, Rage Over a Penny, shown above, or the Written in Stone issue in the fall, follow this link to the THEMA website.

Or if you would like to subscribe to THEMA, here is that information.
Subscription price: $20 per year for three issues ($30/year outside the US)
Single issue, back issue (see below), and sample copy price: $10 per copy ($15 outside the US).
Postage and handling: 1-3 copies, free; 4-8 copies, add $5; 9-15, add $8; more than 15, C.O.D.
Make check payable to THEMA Literary Society and mail to: THEMA, Box 8747, Metairie, LA 70011-8747

Mom's Day Mambo

Nice weekend for mothers. I'm a mother and I got my turn too. And I will avoid making the obvious comments such as Mother's Day is a Hallmark holiday. Which it is.

What worked for me yesterday was 1) a nap in the middle of the day. A nap not stolen when no one was around but a BALD-FACED nap that everyone knew about. 2) My husband did the driveway shuffle with my car AND went to the grocery to buy salad-fixins for Mother's Day dinner at his mother's. 3) My daughter put away the dishes from the dishwasher and came up early with us to the mother-in-law's. 4) Wonderful Mother's Day cards. 5) Beading with my daughter and mother-in-law. 6) A giant bouquet of flowers. 7) NO HASSLES and NO THINKING on my part!!! Wow. That ain't bad. Maybe even perfecto!!!

Time

Not much time today. It's Friday and as always I have things to do on Fridays. However a sense of routine is a good thing. At least for me. When I'm free-floating out there in the real world, I tend to waste time and I'm running out of that commodity.

I'm so torn between not wasting time and doing what I'm in the mood to do. The arguments on both sides of the issue are seductive. I'm older. I don't have forty years ahead of me to hone skills, make mistakes, do what I was put here on earth to do. I don't have thirty. I may, if I'm lucky, have twenty. And maybe not twenty COHERENT years. I can already feel the hot breath of forgetfulness steaming up the hairs on the back of my neck.

But if I only have twenty years, why not indulge myself? Do what I want? Haven't I earned the right to live life exactly how I choose? If I need or WANT a nap, what's wrong with stripping down in the middle of the day and crawling between cool sheets? If I want to wander through an antique mall for hours even though I can't put one more leg of furniture in my house, what's the harm?

None really. But I can't shake the feeling that what I do with my time should be of some use to someone other than myself. And if I want to "change the world" writing probably falls into the self-indulgent category, so where does that leave me?

Indecisive. Fearful of wasting time while defiantly wanting to waste time. In other words, a mess.

Cheering from the Peanut Gallery

Since Tim is travelling, Hillary and I watched "American's Next Top Model" and the results from "American Idol" without so much as one male eye roll.

Actually, I want to address this "male eye roll" thing.

Men in general, the average man on the street, has been reluctant to embrace Idol (also "America's Next Top Model" and "Project Runway," the class shows of their ilk) as anything but an obligation to keep the little woman sitting next to him on the couch. Can you imagine a bunch of bruisers crowded around the TV set with beer and pizza, yelling "Atta girl, LaKisha!" with no estrogen around?

Most men think "American Idol" is a fad, and a cheesy fad at that--it IS cheesy much of the time--but hold on. What's the difference between spending two hours watching grass grow at a Dodger game and spending two hours watching Paula clap her hands together like a little kid?

Both are competitions. People who want to win do their best to beat out other people who want to win.

Both have created job opportunities for unknown talents and for people who aren't "the talent."

Both can be classified as "reality TV"--whatever that means. We get to watch semi-amateurs and paid professionals vie to stay in the game as long as they can and set up opportunities (contracts, endorsements, trips to Japan) for more glorious futures.

Both draw audiences from all walks of life, all ages, with all kinds of music tastes, though most have never heard of emo, trance, techno, techno-emo, underground emo, Crunk, etc.

Both competitions are seen in person or on TV.

Both are watched live or taped. It's still the director who chooses what we see.

Both create a "culture" including adjunct TV shows, media events, and bigger competitions.

Both are "topics of conversations" whenever we run into people we don't have much to say to.

Both feature people who can hit it out of the park and thrill us.

Both are loved because of the unpredictability of the competition.

Both are loved because of the drama of the competition.

Both give us "heroes" and make us fans.

Both give us flawed human beings who annoy and disappoint us.

Both feature people we wonder "How the hell did this person get this far?" At least on "American Idol," Sanjaya wasn't paid a million dollars for every missed lay-up.

Both contain life lessons about perserverence, passion, self-confidence, as well as disappointment, manipulation, and self-doubt.

Both are metaphors for life.

And both gave us its own version of Paula Abdul: Laker girl and "American Idol" judge. Now isn't that a life lesson in itself?

Okay okay now EVERYONE is rolling their eyes.

American IDOL Final FOUR

I love American Idol, but haven't written about it in this space before. (Hmmm...maybe once a while back). Usually I unspool my jewels on the Iowa board, but since I'm committed to doing a better job on this blog, I'm stealing from myself.

Despite the scorning of disco music for 30 years, the BeeGee oeurve sounds current. After all, the Bee Gees were the first boy band. (Even I won't call the BEATLES a "boy band").

Barry Gibb. What was up with those teeth? Why can't the English--who've conquered the world a couple of times--get basic skills of orthodontia and enamel RIGHT? BUT. I'm a BEE GEE fan from way back. Love him. B.G.'s gone through a lot and looks it, but wow, he's the real deal. And a good mentor from what I could decipher. (Teeth).

Melinda-The consummate professional, and since I don't really know how a "back-up singer" would approach a particular song, Simon was all wet about her first "joint." (Randy-speak) She did what she said she wanted to do which was to make a solo out of a group song. And it sounded excellent proving this woman can do anything. The second song totally ROCKED. I be downloadin' today.

Blake-While I thought his first number was good, it felt a little too trance-y to me. I know young kids might like it, but I missed the original beats. Seemed like the arrangement was missing a bass line? (I don't have a clue what that means, but that's what it FELT like. Blame the judges for teaching me lingo without clear definitions. Pitchy? Lower register? See what I mean?). Blake's second "joint" was terrific. Worthy of a first single release from his album.

Lakisha-I won't even bother. Anyone else hear that sucking sound?

Jordin-Wow and double WOW. I liked both her songs, but especially the first which was perfect-o. And I loved the second one too. Maybe she isn't quite Babs, but who is? By the way, the Babs/Barry "Guilty" album is worth downloading. Anyway Jordin's either got me mesmerized or the judges are looney-toons about the second song not working. Oh, wait. Two of them are!!!

Row, Row, Row my boat...

You've heard of continental drift, I'm sure. How as the earth formed and reshaped itself, the continents moved closer together, then farther apart, back again? Still do? Not a scientifically accurate explanation*, but that's not the point. The point is WE drift too.

It is the rare human being (writer) who doesn't suddenly find herself in a different landscape far from the one where she wanted to be. Sometimes the new island, mountain top, whatever, is pretty damn pleasant and for a moment, when she realizes where she is, she thinks maybe she'll stay.

After all, the place she used to be is a bare speck on the horizon. From where she sits now, that speck seems rugged and untamed, jungle-like, and a good rowing distance away. A hard row. And she's never learned to sail, can't crank an outboard. For her it's strong arms, back, and legs all pulling together or nothing. And that's soooo much work. Easier to stay put in this new place...

But no. Can't do that. Gotta get out the row boat, patch the leaks, and get rowing. And next time when playing in the vast sea becomes a temptation, she's gotta point the prow straight back to the jungle, and pull it up into the sand.

*I googled "continental drift": In 1915, the German geologist and meteorologist Alfred Wegener first proposed the theory of continental drift, which states that parts of the Earth's crust slowly drift atop a liquid core. The fossil record supports and gives credence to the theories of continental drift and plate tectonics.

Gone long enough to be forgotten

Yes, even the powers that be at Blogger forgot who I am. Either that or they've figured out a way to make me "join." So here I am, back, but with little time at present to say the things I'd like to say. Do I dare to commit to loyal perseverance AGAIN??? Why not?? Life is full of new beginnings. Thank goodness.

Blank Square

There is nothing I like better than to check my calendar and find there is NOTHING ON IT. One plain blank square! A day without an obligation to anyone else. Hooray!!! Of course the painter will still be here working on our remodeling project, but he's quiet, pleasant, and efficient so I've gotten used to him. And there is the DOG. In her great age--almost fourteen--she has learned how to manipulate me even better than the rest of my family so I will have to attend to our walk and her other doggy needs, but basically, THE DAY IS MINE.

I'm trying to build the momentum to finish revising my novel. I lost it completely this fall between the remodel, the onset of Christmas, and trying to market short stories. At least the last was writing related. I've sent out about 55 submissions and received about 28 rejections since last August. I expect an onslaught of rejections now that the holidays are over and the college lit students strive to meet their deadlines. I'm sure that my stories have been tossed into corners too. It happens. I sent out three stories in quantity and a couple additional ones to a contest or two. This brings me into a new realm of writing: actually sending out stuff I write. So that's a positive. Still, the novel has been shoved on the back burner, occasionally stirred and tasted, but few new ingredients added to the stew.

Now it's time to move it to the front. I've already started. I've rewritten or rather edited three chapters and have reread and reedited two of them. Once I do chapter three, I'm taking them off the stove and setting them in the window to cool. I will try very hard not to nibble on them until the whole dinner is cooked. What an analogy. Sorry about that but sometimes I can't help myself. Oh well. It's time to head out for the garage. I'm trying to stay accountable in this space to my writing and perhaps that will prove the nudge I need.

Accountability, uh-oh!

Okay so I wrote my goals yesterday and it was exhilerating. However, I never did make it out to the garage! Is that crazy? By the time I got dressed and walked the dog and did all those things I need to do before I can actually go out, some one called and then it was 11:15 and the parade of workman were due to come from 12-4 and I can't be in the garage then. I made stew instead of writing, and I threw away all the fattening left overs.

While I waited for the repair men I did start a review of The March. I have a hair up my butt about it because the praise is so profuse and while I liked it, enjoyed reading it, it's no Tess of the D'urbevilles and I don't understand how I'll ever succeed when literary books feel shallow to me and yet they win prizes. I just don't get it.

I'm still working on the review to get the sarcasm out of it...or at least to justify the sarcasm and will post it on my blog sometime in the next couple of days. So I can't really say "I didn't write," but I can't really say I did.

Here's a clarification. General fooling around writing counts 1/4 of a point compared to fiction writing on either a short story or the novel.

That way I won't be saying I wrote a thank you note and using that as my "writing" for the day. That doesn't count this year!!!!

Fresh Start

Okay so the end of 2006 fell in a hole. It's done, over, finito. Now for the NEW YEAR and a FRESH START.

January Goals

1. Write. I am a writer. My goal is to write every day, long and hard, and in a professional manner, so that I will actually finish my book and also develop and complete other writing projects.

I will think in terms of DAILY hours at the computer, not minutes, in order to complete my book as well as work on the thousand other writing projects I have.

2. Be accountable. I will report here every day even if my message is brief, even if all I write is "I didn't write." The reason? If I force myself to post about writing, then I will force myself to notice of the amount of time and effort I put into writing. If I don't write, then perhaps I will get tired of typing "I didn't write" and TAKE action.

3. Commit. Whether I write for five minutes or five hours,I will write EVERY SINGLE DAY. No missing. If I am pressed for time, then I will write with the egg timer set so that I know once I fulfill my commitment to write--even for 5 minutes--I can guiltlessly attend to "real life" business. No wasting time, feeling sorry for myself, wandering to the refrigerator to get a snack, doing a quick sudoku, taking the Spider Solitaire detour. I will get what I have to do in "real life" done, and get back to the writing.

4. Have fun. One of the reasons I write is because it's fun. It is PLAY despite the fact that I am serious about it. But I often forget to allow the "fun" to happen because I am either worried about who will tell me it sucks--voices in my head as I type--or I go straight to the point, how useless this all is because I'll never finish. I'm giving that up. Right now.

Actually. I think I have already given it up.

I have a right to write and to have fun. Give up the worry. Just do it. I often forget that nothing can be perfect the first time around, so I must insist when I get stuck to move on, change scenes, be creative about my approach.

5. Market. Continue on my quest to send out work. Use revising shorter stuff as a break from the novel but allow myself to use my hours to write and market rather than waste time with tv or computer games or visiting that big white appliance that lies in wait for me in the kitchen.

I did not achieve my goal of 100 rejections this past year. I will start fresh and send out again and again. I still have several prospects out in the market ether and perhaps one or two might yield something, but I will not focus on the result once the decision is out of my hands. What I will focus on is getting good stuff into into its best shape and continuing to put it out there. As I do this, hopefully I will learn what works and doesn't work, not just through the rejections, but through the experience of shaping and reworking my stuff.

6. Read. Read long hard and well. Think about what I'm reading, why it works or doesn't work for me. Read fiction and non-fiction. Explore areas of interest and non-interest because ya never know.

7. Explore. Explore long hard and well. Every experience will enrich my real life and my writing life. But don't let the exploring take over the writing. Writing first. Writing first.

Ten DAYS later

Okay I needed to get over it and I think I am...finally. I won't list all the petty little things that are broken, malfunctioning, or just plain problematic, over the last week or so, actually they still ARE, but it's time to let it go. The weather here has conspired to put me into a good mood, the scale has groaned to let me know it's time to take charge of my hand-to-mouth hyperactivity, and reading JCO's Will You Still Love Me has inspired me to get back to work.

I don't know where or why these funks penetrate my psyche but they do and the whole time I'm experiencing them one little high-pitched voice in my ear is yelling, "Stop, you idiot! Stop acting like a suicide-bomber!" while another voice, lower, less shrill, decidedly more seductive whispers, "It's okay, baby. Just let it happen. Whip up those pancakes. Take that nap. Who cares? No one cares unless it interferes with their agendas. You're on your own. Do whatever the hell you want."

Oh, that's scary. Maybe I shouldn't publish this. Kind of private. But I will because I want to continue going for the deep bone-scraping truth in my writing. Plus no one but my sister really reads this.

So I'm on the upswing for a while and since I recognize it as such, I must take advantage of it. I'm working on a schedule today, writing by the clock to insure I get things accomplished. I have been daunted by the task of the book. It's so unwieldy, those 379 pages slip-sliding out of my hands as I carry it around the house--to the living room to read through and make notes, five minutes later to the dining room table to lay it out and stand over it, still with the phone ringing, out to the garage where it's more private, then back upstairs to the computer with the internet, am I certain the bikini testing had happened yet?

So it goes. Today I'm staying in the garage, leaving for nothing short of an earthquake until I feel I'm am pulling up the glued edge at the corner of this story, have the task loosened up and can get a hold of it to rip.

And of course there is depression...

I won't dwell on this, but I do want it on the record. The post-partum of Landmarked has settled in. While I'm pleased I managed to write another story last week all the way to the end, I am disappointed that I didn't use my time better and that what I ended up sending to the Writers Digest Pop Fiction contest won't be really considered. Strong opening, but it's very hard for me to write anything under 4000 words...even when I plan to write 4000 words. I made it: 3987, but the ending is so abrupt and so without finesse that it would be an embarrassment if I thought it was complete and done. My apologies to the judges at the WD.

However, if I remind myself of my original intent, I feel better. The intent was to write the story to the end and see what happens. And I did do that. I now know the ending. I know who the conflict comes from in the end. It just needs fleshing out and being this far now is a GOOD thing. Getting to an end, any end is really an accomplishment for me, because I am always putting it off. I love to spend time with the first part, the set-up, the build, but never seem to get to the end. A friend often tells me it's the process I love, not the product.

Am I afraid of endings? I guess so. I mean, I force myself to write stories the first time through to the end, always doing exactly what I did with this short story. But then I put off finishing. I suppose it is the fear of not pulling it off that does it. And yet, why shouldn't I pull it off? Most writers ultimately do, don't they? Why do I think I can't? I don't have the answer to that question. After over twenty years of being serious, and five years of being dead serious, one would think...

So I go through my day plagued by this draining feeling. Let down. Slowed down. Dreading. The solution? There are only two: writing and napping. Three if you count eating till it hurts. But since it's only 7:00 AM, napping seems just a bit ridiculous. So I'm heading out to work. To listen to my "Believe" tape (heavy on American Idol songs and Bob Marley) and get the lead out. Wish me luck.

Prodigal

Returning from the nether regions, my daughter comes home today. As a matter of fact, I'm just waiting for my hair to dry in the velcro rollers so I can take off. I'm very excited. Which is somewhat surprizing to me since she's twenty-three and has lived away, first Davis, then up on the mountain, for the last five years. But there's something about being half a world away that makes it harder. If she gets in trouble in Cali, I can jump in the car and rescue her. Not so easy when she's so far away. But she seems to have survived jumping out of an airplane with what she calls "a hottie," scuba diving on the Great Barrier Reef, and fulfilling the "Thrillogy," which means she's bungie-jumped THREE times, once from the highest bungie-jumping place in the world!!!! Arghhhhhh!

So I'm in a great mood having survived knowing all this has been happening. Additionally, I managed to complete another short story and shipped it off to the Writers' Digest Pop Fiction contest at exactly 11:52 New York time to meet the 12:00 midnight deadline. The last three hundred words are breathless. It ends abruptly and I'll probably have to fix that to submit elsewhere later, but I did it and I'm relieved. I think I've been worried that I couldn't really do it again...at least so quickly in less than a month of mulling, and less than a week actually writing. I guess I've been thinking that "Leaving Slackerland" just might be all I have in me to complete, but this proves I can do it. Not that I'm saying it's good. It takes a lot for me to say those words, but it has a story, I love the main character, so flawed but so dear, and I think it's got the bones to work. Whether it works now, I can't judge because it's too soon after the "birth."

Well, I've got an airplane to meet so that's all for today. Oh, and I do love the title of the new baby: "As-Is."

Crazy Weekend

I started my first novel in the fifth grade puple ink on lined notebook paper about the Twellingtons. There were 11 of them, including two sets of twins. The story was told from the viewpoint of the 11 year old twins, Abby and Amy. Eventually, maybe by summer, I gave them a brother Bruce and made them triplets. Who know why except I had a crush on a boy named Bruce. I wrote many many pages of that story mostly about ice skating. Abby was a speed skater and Amy did figure eights. Of course they hit thin ice, one almost dies, but that may have been as far as I got because I don't remember much else.

The novel wasn't a fluke. I have spent a life time writing. I have written with many different attitudes--I suck, I'm terrific, who do I think I am, slow and steady wins the race, I need to be committed, I can do this, Just Do it, Keep it imple stupid, give up, don't give, quit, stick it out--and turned out lots of lousy and sometimes evocative stuff, but never anything that anyone would look up at me and say, "Wow-w-wow!" So I kept working: six screenplays, two complete novels, 40 short stories in various stages of completeness and many many more unfinished pieces.

The reason I bring this up is that yesterday I celebrated my success twice. First at Vroman's reading a flash fiction piece and second at a party given by two dear friends.

The Vromans reading was a result of taking Kerry Madden's class. I don't need to explain much about that having dealt with in on more than one occasion in this space, but the party that followed for me at a friend's house to celebrate the publication of "Leaving Slackerland" in Landmarked for Murder was amazing. It was a simple Wine-and-Cheese and just a few friends, but it was so much fun because everyone was so happy for me. I've been writing for soooo long and they've all gone through the computer crises, the identity crises, the rejection crises, well, just about all those crises for almost twenty years and a few who knew me way way back, before that. So I want to thank Betsy and Gale for creating a time and place to celebrate and for supporting me all these years and to all my friends who are terrific people because, well, I picked them!

So although this is a milestone in my journey that started when I was 11, it hopefully won't be the last. I'm working hard to get What Came Before (do I dare keep my title now that the famous Elizabeth George has abscounded with it?) finished before Landmarked goes out of print.