Hmmm a good writing day...

I forgot how it feels. And I have to say it feels like a swim in a cool pool on a 106 degree day, a frosted Margarita with crunchy salt, a deep tissue massage in the shade of a bongo tree. UH, well, I've been working with words too long today. I can't think of anything better. But I feel good. Writing. Lots of words on paper. Nothing better. And I owe it to Ron Carlson.

I read Ron Carlson's book Ron Carlson Writes a Story recently and he reminded me that the most important thing a writer can do is "stay in the chair." He nailed me on the hopping-up to pee, eat, catch something on TIVO, paint a picture, nap. I do it all, I confess. Today was different.

Actually it was amazing. I probably have six or seven stories at various stages of development, plus, of course, that dang novel hanging around my neck like a flamingo. So my plan was to pick something (one story in particular has been making good progress this week) and stay in the chair. But after I finished the Sudoku--Tuesday's is easy--and was cleaning up the kitchen, I got a surprise. A title popped unbidden (?) into my mind.

Now title-popping happens to me all the time and though I jot them down with a vague idea of what the story idea could be, they evaporate more easily than that Margarita up there on a 106 degree day. Today was different.

With the title, Dani-Girl's Rules for Getting Everything Right, also came the story, one I'd fooled around with about ten years ago. To my conscious mind, the two, title and story, didn't seem to belong together, but the miraculous unconscious was looking out for me. I marched upstairs, grabbed my Ron Carlson book as a guide, and sat down in the chair.

In his book, Carlson takes the reader through one of his own stories from beginning to end, almost sentence by sentence. He wrote it in one day by staying in the room, and reconstructs just how that story evolved. By doing this, he becomes a coach, explaining his thought process just as he'd coached himself years ago when he wrote it.

He starts by telling how he started by writing a good telling opening sentence.

So I did.

The minute the nose of my Honda Civic points north on the 5, my hands begin to sweat, my breath goes shallow, and somewhere down in my lower intestinal tract, I feel a rumbling very similar to distant thunder, only not as pleasant. “Don’t Go Home” is the first cardinal rule in Dani-Girl’s Guide to Getting Everything Right and after a lifetime in a tract house in Lomita with my German-Irish father, Rule 1 is easy to follow. After all, he’s the reason I designed the guide.

That worked to keep me in the chair. I went back to Carlson.

He tells me to write another one. And I do. And another and I didn't get up even though my butt got sore and I had to pee, I wrote until I had 1400 words, beginning, middle, and end. It needs revision, it needs readers to help me see the flaws, but hey, I have a story!

Sounds so simple. I wonder that I don't remember this simple trick--the staying in the chair trick. I know I won't be able to do it every day, but I will try not to forget that I can do more than I do every day. Thank you Mr. Carlson. I hope writers everywhere pick up your little tome and take a seat.

July EDF Calendar

July’s Table of Contents For Every Day Fiction

July 1 Sarah Black Wood from the River
July 2 Alex Watson Beloaralsk
July 3 Alex Moisi Garden Furniture and the Apocalypse
July 4 DJ Barber The First Fourth
July 5 K.C. Ball The Mixture
July 6 Kevin Shamel To Save the Disco
July 7 Milan Smith A Bad Day Got Better
July 8 Sarah Hilary Post-Apoc Play (in beta)
July 9 Brian Dolton If We Were Briar Roses
July 10 Kim McDougall Touched
July 11 B. Teuscher Rain
July 12 Kathleen Mack One Toke Over
July 13 A.C. Wise The Chupacabra in Love
July 14 David Macpherson Forbidden Planet
July 15 Peter Tupper Sparkers
July 16 Oonah V Joslin Division
July 17 Edward Caputo Gruff
July 18 Venkatesh Vedam Hello
July 19 Allison Sherman Garden of Promises
July 20 Bill Ward Gandolo of the Watchful Eye
July 21 Nicholas Ozment The Only Difference Between Men and Boys…
July 22 Carlos Navarro The Killer Fog
July 23 Nick Logan The Next Move
July 24 Bill West Eternity
July 25 Scott M. Sandridge Sleep Paralysis
July 26 Joanna M. Weston The Train
July 27 Frank Roger Hellish Paradise
July 28 Jonathan Pinnock Cock Up
July 29 Megan Arkenberg The Soucouyant
July 30 Madeline Mora-Summonte A Quarter For Your Thoughts
July 31 Amy Sisson The Lion Tamer’s Sock

Iowa Pix

Most of these were taken by my sister in Iowa. These are some familiar Iowa City and Coralville pix.

1. Coralville Strip, showing CopyWorks where I've spent many a hectic afternoon.

2. This is the parking lot of Jane's hairdresser's salon on the strip.

3. This is the bridge by the EPB going into Coralville.

4. The Heartland Inn in Coralville.

5. The Iowa House. I always stayed here and requested a river view. Now I'm not so sure!

6. The Mayflower, Sharon, for you.

7. Jane's commute along Hwy 30!

Water

First Louisiana. That's where I was born. Down the bayou. More hard ground back then. The gulf moves inland bringing salt water to fresh water wild life. Louisiana provides 30% of the nation's sea food. Or did until Katrina. Brush Island sank with the rest of the barrier and Houma is almost a coastal city.

Now Iowa. I lived in a little town in the northeast called Alpha. 113 people until the Halversons moved out, leaving only 98 of us. Then we moved. I thought I'd come to California to be a Mouseketeer. Don't laugh. I was 6. Alpha has a creek, cutting through town that I was forbidden to play near. Today it may be more of a river.

My sister lives in Mount Vernon Iowa. She has three kids and works at the University of Iowa 30 miles away in Iowa City. I used to go back there in the summer to take writing classes from grads of the famous Iowa Writers Workshop. The names of authors are pressed into the sidewalk on brass plaques. Mecca. The ped bridge across the Iowa River which takes one from the Student Union to the art gallery is underwater.

In case you're addicted to good fiction

June’s Table of Contents at Every Day Fiction

Be sure to vote after you read each story

June 1 Brian Dolton The Gray World
June 2 Greg Likins Cavedweller 2.0
June 3 Tels Merrick Say It With Flowers
June 4 R. L. Copple The Captain’s Chair
June 5 Catherine J Gardner Burying Sam
June 6 Gay Degani Spring Melt
June 7 Margaret B. Davidson Homecoming
June 8 Harold N. Walters Stumped
June 9 Ann Wilkes The Heist
June 10 Sylvia Spruck Wrigley Listen
June 11 Nick Logan Desert Island Solitaire, or, A Good Cigar Is A Smoke
June 12 Lee Beavington Second Opinion
June 13 Bill Ward Junkyard Rats
June 14 Jennifer Tatroe When She Comes to It
June 15 Gianna De Persiis Vona Sacrifice
June 16 Madeline Mora-Summonte The Salute of the Old And Crotchety
June 17 Rosie de la Mare A Moment
June 18 Nicola Horn The End
June 19 Kevin Shamel Mail
June 20 Milton T. Burton The Watchers
June 21 Chaz Siu Prodigal Piano
June 22 Oonah V Joslin Missy’s Summer
June 23 Sarah Hilary Waste of Space
June 24 Andrew Males Mars Ascent
June 25 Mark Ward The Devil and the Details
June 26 Jason Stout Larry Legend
June 27 Frank Roger The End of Time
June 28 Kurt Rice A Legacy of War
June 29 Gustavo Bondoni Virtuoso
June 30 Harley Crowley There When You Need Them

Spring Melt JUNE 6 EDF Be There!

My story "Spring Melt" will be published by Everyday Fiction on June 6. I'm hoping everyone will stop by for a quick read. It's only 1000 words so it won't put much of a dent (dint??) in any one's work day.

Everyday Fiction has been a terrific boost for me as a writer who needs a lot of reassurance. It has provided me with a place for people to see how and what I write. Print is so hard to share when it comes to short stories. While I am thrilled to have a piece published by THEMA, it's not something people can actually put their hands on easily. The two anthologies are available through Amazon, but I'm in the dark as to whether any one out there has bought them, let alone read my stories.

But EDF is instant gratification. Of course they have to say "yes" but if they do, then it's out there, being read by fellow writers, friends, family, strangers, even my PMC teacher.

The Day After

Yesterday. Me on line, interviewed by Jordan Lapp at Everyday Fiction. Wow. I have to say I am extremely excited. It's such a boost to know that after all these years, I actually have something to say that people--writers in particular--just might want to hear. I admit my ego has been deep-tissue massaged!

The trick now is to actually live up to all that "experience" I claim I have. Like any self-respecting self-doubter, I'm a wee bit worried. Notice the "wee." All this attention has whittled "wee" down from "quite." And I'm finally old enough--waaaay old enough--to know I have to ignore that doubt and move on. So I thought I should blog to dust away any remaining detritus of angst. Nothing like the act of writing to make writing easier.

As it turns out, a friend from Goodreads sent me a lovely note this morning. He had a question about my time. I thought I might answer that question here.

He asked: Interested to know how much work you do (A lot of reading too!) – and still bring up kids etc. I’ve got teenage daughters and tend to blame them for lack of production but it’s laziness!

My Answer: I need to clarify about my kids. They are basically launched, though I still get weekly phone calls from my daughter! So I have more time. Not that there aren't family obligations, there are, but they are no longer interrupting me at the computer to ask what time dinner is or to beg me to read an essay due in fifteen minutes.

For years I wrote in whatever cracks and spaces I could find. And I was able to do it by keeping my writing in the front of my brain. This is the trick that Jerry Cleaver discusses in his book Immediate Fiction. He allows that we all have busy schedules and distractions, but suggests even one fifteen minute period with the work will keep a writer in the game.

I wrote in a daze for years, mind cluttered with REAL LIFE, but I still learned what I could about writing and wrote some trite, unimaginative stuff. I taught Freshman Comp at a community college and decided I would never focus on my writing if I didn't quit my job, so I did.

Remembering an old Tupperware axiom, Your intention gets your attention, I promised myself I would get published. And to my surprise, all my years of kind of writing--learning to write, getting better at writing, discovering my voice--and kind of submitting--sending off one piece at a time and waiting six months to be rejected before sending it off again--finally led to seeing my stories in print.

Even though I'm beginning to write decent stuff, I have a long way to go, but I am relishing every little positive thing. And I am so grateful to discover Everyday Fiction because they accept 365 pieces a year. Best odds out there I think!!!

I've grown into the gift of time as I've gotten older. And I am grateful for it.

As for the reading, I'm addicted to audio tapes (free at most public libraries) and since I hate mundane chores (emptying the dishwasher, running to the dry cleaners, exercising) I am usually plugged into some good book. There's something special about being read to. The words come through the sense of hearing and highlight the "music" of writing. Listen to anything by Carole Shields.

Often too, there is cross pollination. If you believe in Jung's collective unconscious, you'll understand. For example, I might be stuck in a story. I've been to the library and just picked up some obscure book because it was THERE and when I start listening, up pops a slice of synchronicity. Something clicks. The author gives me a clue to help me solve some knotty writing problem.

This synchronicity happens with novels, short stories read the regular way, the newspaper or a TV program, but it doesn't happen if I haven't kept my story in the front of my brain.

What the REAL WORLD calls "laziness," writers call contemplation. There can't be any good stuff coming out of fingertips if we don't loll around checking out navel fuzz. My husband was on a business trip last week and I declared to everyone I knew that all I would do was write and to stand off. But I goofed off. Uninterrupted, unadulterated, mostly peopleless goofing-off. And I loved it, my pleasure tinged only with the slightest guilt.

But then I got fed up with myself, got out my egg timer ,and set it for one hour and made myself focus on my novel outline (boring mundane stuff I hate), but I once I got started--it took three one-hour forced chain-gang sessions--I didn't need the timer any more. Suddenly I was filled up with all kinds of solutions. While I'd been lazy, I also had been mulling, trusting in my subconscious to work out the details, aiming all my cells toward the next step in the process.

Now I feel exhilarated about my project. Again. The underlying truth for me is to have faith in my own process. Finally, after all these years, I know I can do it and I will do it. Then I get to feel that glow .

About Focus, Passion, and Risk: RISK

An instructor at UCLA Extension once told me that writers must be risk-takers. I was devastated by this bit of news--in those days I was always looking for an excuse NOT to write--and this comment proved that being a writer wasn't something I could do. After all, I was a coward. I wouldn't even get on a roller coaster. And my survival mode since I was a little kid was to keep everybody--and I mean EVERYBODY--happy, to give them what they wanted which meant the very act of writing was risky.

Why? Because writing takes focus. Writing takes passion. Writers take RISKS. And what about time? What would happen if I couldn't fulfill everyone's expectations in REAL LIFE? What would happen if I couldn't fulfill anyone's expectation in my WRITING LIFE? Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

Lucky for me, I was reading Natalie Goldberg at the time. I don't remember which book, but she said something about how our fear is greatest when we are about to escape our own orbits. Her advice was to charge toward the greatest fear, face it, and shatter it. I determined this was exactly what I needed to do, confront my fears instead of avoiding them, in life and in writing.

I went to Magic Mountain and rode roller coasters. It was amazing. I loved it. And the most important part is that it showed me that I could conquer my fears. The memory of that first roller coaster ride (I didn't count Space Mountain ) has kept me at the keyboard.

My life has changed through my writing. Striving to write, spending my time alone at the computer, ignoring my family felt selfish, uncomfortable, dangerous. After all, who the hell was I, anyway? But I did it and began to believe in myself and my right to write, growing with each unhappy and discouraging moment, each tidbit of praise.

It's taken me a very long time to learn that success in writing doesn't have so much to do with talent or lack of talent, or being in the right place at the right time, or even knowing what magazines might publish. While these are important aspects to making a living, they aren't important to the writing itself. Success in writing for me must be defined in a larger way: learning to accept myself as who I am, accepting not only that I want to write, but that I don't need anyone's permission to sit down at the computer and spend hours doing it. And it's not only okay for me to write about who I am, how I feel, think, and understand life, but necessary to do so for the work to be good. Once I accepted these truths, I could begin to look outward toward sharing with others.

I'm just beginning to find places that will accept my work and it is thrilling, but more important for me has been my own acceptance of myself. To be oneself, expose oneself, and then face an indifferent and skeptical crowd, that's the risk every writer takes. I can do it. I am doing it. I'm still on the roller coaster and loving it.

About Focus, Passion, and Risk: Passion

The first time I heard the word “passion” in reference to me, I was stunned and flattered. It happened this way. I’d signed up for a writing class at UCLA extension. This was back in the late-eighties when I was finally trying to write again and Real Life and two children had derailed me. Giving it another shot. I’d written a screenplay that proved I knew how to place words on paper, but discovered I had no idea how to tell a story. I didn’t get structure. So I decided to go to school.

But as Real Life always finds a way to thwart our plans, we were going on spring break, taking our kids up to the mountains to ski and I had to miss the first class. I sent a letter to the instructor asking him to please not drop me. I wasn’t all that familiar with extension then, and didn’t realize if the school's got your money, you can miss the whole course and no one cares.

I spent an afternoon composing the note. After all it would be the instructor’s introduction to me, and I wanted to get off on the right foot. I don’t remember exactly what I ended up with, but it was light, a little humorous, and short, all things I knew should bring me a little slack for not appearing at the first class.

And it worked. The instructor wrote back that he looked forward to having me in class and was impressed with my passion for writing. Passion for writing? How had that come across? I was surprised, but pleased. I couldn’t wait for the class. I hadn’t thought I had it in me to be passionate about anything. Little old conservative, dull ME?

It was a great class. I worked hard, my writing improved, and the instructor encouraged me to enter the Diane Thomas competition sponsored by the Writers Program at UCLA extension. I did, and didn’t win, but I found out that, indeed, I had a passion to write.

I never thought the word “passion” had any relevance to me or my world. Even though I wrote fairly well, majored in English, had placed second in a high school writing contest sponsored by the Atlantic Monthly, I didn’t feel I had the “IT” factor. The best I thought I could expect was to write a good letter and have fun with the hobby of writing screenplays. But somewhere in the back of my mind—or was it something buried in that intrepid muscle pumping blood somewhere deep in my chest—I felt I could have “IT,” IF I worked hard enough, couldn’t I? If I learned some of the skills, at least I might develop some “it,” albeit not in capitals?

So “passion” came with the actual “doing.” Taking a class, getting good feedback (as well as developing a thick skin to repel the bad feedback), and focusing on the writing itself. I’ve been distracted from writing off and on since then, but I haven’t abandoned it in twenty or so years.

It’s taken me a long time to accept who I am and what I can do, to understand that the passion was always there, but might have gone undeveloped if I hadn’t made the conscious effort to focus on the skills needed to produce a structured, polished piece of writing. I’m still not there, but I “get it” now. As Curt Rosengren says on his website, “Passion is the energy that comes from bringing more of YOU into what you do.”

About Focus, Passion, and Risk: Focus First

"Writers write." Who said that? Flannery O'Connor or Stephen King? I can't remember, but the veracity of the statement cannot be challenged. No words on paper: no tome.

The better question might be, “How do writers manage to write in REAL LIFE?” How do they come up with a steady stream of sentences, paragraphs, story beats? Maybe some are born with enough talent and drive to block out the temptations of the Friday morning Sudoku, but for most of us, the world is full of enticements, obligations, distractions, and bicyclists smashing into trashcans, pounding on doors to harass owners about city-dictated trashcan placement. These intrusions challenge our ability to meet writing goals, but retaining focus, an outlined plan to commit to writing, helps us remain in office chairs, fingers flitting over keys, heads hunched toward screens.

But how can I ignore husband, kids, friends? Don't I need to exercise, shop for healthy food? Stay up on the election news? Clean up after my 15-year-old Labrador? Do I have to skip Project Runway, American Idol, Without A Trace?

It’s a balance, and focusing on that balance leads to symbiotic interplay between the two. In other words, pay off.

Family? Friends? We have to have them. Can't really live--or write--without them and all those obnoxious, needy, freeway-jamming, gum-chewing, rude and crude other people too. They are our characters, and the subsequent drama of their--and our--tangled relationships provide us with themes and plots. So letting people muddy up our lives? Gotta happen.

Then there's the issue of health, exercise, brushing teeth, and that no sugar rule. And the need to refill Julia Cameron's proverbial well with sunny days of rebelling against routine and late nights devoted to deep substantial reading. Plots build themselves on early morning walks, scene by scene, block by block. "To Build a Fire" gave birth to my story "Richie's Last Shot" and The Red Tent to "Honeymoon at the Oasis Hotel." Are these distractions or assets? Both.

As for the news, election or not, jury duty, the media, the Lakers, pop culture, and the biggest distraction: TV? Acts of living can shatter anyone's focus, but while they confuse us, they provide us with insights, while they frustrate us, they bring us understanding, while they subject us to banality and routine, they teach us the rhythm of patterns. These lessons, in turn, gift us with material from which we pull universal truths, the heart of good writing.

Awareness of how REAL LIFE devours both our time and our passion is all-important. The solution is deciding to do something about it--Plan. Follow through. Rejoice. And accept the idea that spending time in the act of writing is a blessing.

I used to believe that "having talent" meant writers were born, not made, and were compelled to write day and night. With no effort on their part, they could separate themselves from what other people wanted them to do and instead, blissfully compose epic novels. That certainly wasn't me. I had tasks to do at home, sometimes a job, demands of family, obligations to others. Since I was overwhelmed by RL, I wrote sporadically, fitfully, so I couldn't have been "born to write." I took this logic another step: "Not born to write" must mean I have no talent. I let this idea defeat me. Since I struggled to overcome distractions to writing, I must not have been born to write. If I was, I would let nothing stand in my way.

I don't believe this anymore. People who want to write eventually figure out some way to navigate the obstacles. They will find a balance. Writing is a choice. And choice demands focus--and action. After all, writers write.

No please! Not another blog about blogging!

Okay. After today I will never write another blog about not blogging. I promise. But I am really bad at this.

It's not that I don't think about blogging. I do. But then I stop myself. "Oh," I say. "THAT'S a good idea. I should save that and write an article and try and get it REALLY PUBLISHED." Of course, I never finish--sometimes never start--said article.

It's not that I don't like blogging. I love it. It's fun because it doesn't feel real when I first sit down to write. It's a journal. A diary of everyday thoughts. I'm free to not please an editor, a reader, no one but myself. Then I reconsider. "Hmmmm, people (all one of my fan base) might actually read what I write. I'd better make it good because I don't want to, you know, embarrass myself." So I end up spending hours rewriting and editing and then realize I shouldn't publish this masterpiece HERE. I should try and get it REALLY PUBLISHED.

It's not that I don't have time. I'm blessed with time that I sometimes waste. I could probably write a blog and an article and have hours left over for my book, my short stories, and a nap. Yet I am lazy, tremulous, distracted, worried, and completely disorganized.

JCO-how the hell do you do it?

Indeed, I know the answer. Focus, passion, and the willingness to risk being bad. Even Professor Oates isn't perfect all the time (not that that keeps her out of the America's Best series year after year). Tomorrow I'll write about focus. (See how I'm tricking myself into blogging manana?)

Can You Say "BLLLLUUURRRRR"

In this first post of 2008, let me just say I have no memory of November and December of 2007, so if I did anything embarrassing or illegal, just give me fair warning and I'll head to a nunnery in Italy and do a few hundred Hail Marys.


Highlights from the blur appear like cows in a tornado. Whish. Here it is. Whoosh. There it goes. Finishing a small remodel, hosting the college friend weekend, having a party for my son and his new fiancee, selling jewelry in a boutique, signing for the anthology, all good things, but overwhelming. Now it's a new year, the rain has freshened the air, and it's time to get on with the year of the Book and the Body.


Although I have over 90,000 words written for What Came Before, most of it needs editing. Every time I tried to get into that deep place last year, the blur got me. This year that will be different. Mostly because I am tired of having an unfinished book hanging over my head, but also because I believe in that book. And no time has been wasted. Not at all. My divergence into short stories is unregretted. I managed to get a short story in the mystery anthology Little Sisters and "One Question" posted at Every Day Fiction. These have given me that little extra shove I needed to believe in myself.


The body. HMMM. Too old to neglect. Sugar has a way of landing on my hips and creating jello. I have to be self-disciplined. Eat right and exercise more. Predictable I know, but also necessary. Staying healthy will also enhance my efforts in writing so it's all good.


First post of 2008. We're off.

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.
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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.

Charming Tess

She IS charming. Trish and I drove down to the Torrance Borders to have coffee with her. It was fun to hear about her new book which is going to be an historical detective venture set in Boston in 1830. I don't know how much she wants in the ether, so I won't say any more but it sounds like a provocative story. Her lecture about her current release, The Mephisto Club, explored how she got the idea for the novel from an apocryphal text of the bible. The research she does seems exhaustive, but has led to some very provocative insights. I'm on chapter 7 and anxious to have time to read today.

Thanks, Tess, for taking the time for coffee and for the words of encouragement. May your new permanent address be The New York Times bestseller list.

Schmoozing with Tess Gerritsen

I can't believe how lucky I am, but then, I don't think it's really luck.

It's one of those universal truths that most of us don't understand until we're spending a lot of time in the Preference by L'Oreal section of Target: It's the little things one does everyday that often have a pay off way beyond our expectations. The key is to strive toward one's goal with focus and determination and no matter how bleak the path may seem, keep moving, keep striving, and suddenly something will happen that one doesn't expect. If I stick to the path metaphor: one will round the corner, the trees will part, and a golden meadow will appear. Yish. That was corny, but this is a blog. Remember what happened to Dorothy, her meadow was full of poppies.

Anway, to the point. Years ago, I asked a friend who had polio as a child to tell me what it was like. I had an idea for a story and wanted my character to have had polio and I wanted to get it right. She wrote me eight or nine pages of beautiful emotional prose. I was quite honestly blown away. I told her, "You should write this. You've got something to say." So she joined our writing group.

She's been a writing buddy ever since. Sensible, to the point, encouraging. We've gone to Iowa to write and learn about writing, to drink and kibbitz with other writers. From this, we've formed a group of writing friends from Chicago, Galesburg, Illinois, Milwaukee (Lakeport? I can't remember. Someplace in Wisconsin), St. Louis, Boston. Then she decided to defect one year for Maui.

Maui v. Iowa. I sure didn't get it, but it turned out terrific for her. She met Tess Gerritsen who happens to be a fabulously supportive teacher. My writing buddy came back with notes and praise for everything she learned and she kept in touch with Tess. She emails when Tess wins awards or writes a striking blog and Tess always writes back. (For more on TESS)

And my friend is generous. She's taking me with her to have coffee with Tess. I am very excited about this. I have no expectations other than meeting her. I am not going to thrust a manuscript on her. But it's magic to meet someone who has traveled the same path. (Trying hard not to mix metaphors here). She might happen to mention a ditch I won't see. Or a shortcut I would never know about. One never knows what each little thing we do will lead us to. If I hadn't encouraged my friend to write, I would have missed out on a years-long best-friend relationship that has helped me to be both a better writer and a better person. I would have missed out on Tess, too.

We have to be open and friendly and welcome those along the past. Most of all we should be humble. And not just humble at the feet of someone who is famous and respected like Tess Gerritsen, but humble with every person, in every experience.

Last Kerry Class for this year

Sadly the class I'm taking with Kerry Madden is over. All that is left is the reading at Vroman's on Sunday at 3:00. The opportunity to read to an audience is rare for unpublished writers and it's essential for writers to read to see whether or not what a person is writing actually works. So after six weeks of learning from Kerry,, playing, typing away, getting to know the writers in the class, we get the added bonus of reading at a real book store in front of a real audience. I haven't decided yet what I'll read, but more about that later. First I want to talk a little about what this class have given me.

Having Monday evening deadlines has been a god-send during a time when there are so many distractions. It's fall already. That means HOLIDAY season. (Is XMAS a four-letter word to any one else out there?) There are the three holidays that prepare us for the big holiday: Labor day being the gunshot heard around the water cooler, Halloween being fun and fattening, reminding us that if we keep this up, by January we'll have gained another thirty pounds, Thanksgiving being the holiday where we realize we must now ask for a whole new wardrobe for Christmas because we've GAINED that thirty pounds, and then the DAY. More food, more family, more work...well, I can't stand to even type about it. The point is this is MAJOR DISTRACTION. Kerry's class has allowed me to remain in blessed denial about that four-letter word (no disrespect intended against the original meaning of Christmas. I'm bitching about the trappings!)

Second distraction: the remodel. Yes, it is a small remodel. Yes, we do need to stop the Hoover dam above our breakfast room from leaking, but the timing!!! I quit my job so I could write and wouldn't you know that after two years of searching for a contractor, he pops up NOW. I am grateful and Juan is so conscientious and reliable I want to clone him and turn him into doctor, lawyer, insurance salesman, etc. but I still have to listen to a daily cacophony of hammers and compressers. At least I think that's some kind of compresser on my back porch. Soooo Kerry. Monday deadline. No time to really worry about the two x fours blocking my back door. I have to get another chapter polished for my class.

But now it's over. And I have to rely on my own self-discipline to get my writing done. This could be trouble, but I don't think so. I have such a buzz from all the good writing I've seen in this class, the kindness and astute insights from Kerry, and the fun of getting back into my book that I should be okay. That's why I'm posting this so I can read and reread it to remind myself that I can do this thing.

And the whole experience ends with me having the opportunity to read for an audience! I have to admit, I love doing it. I love to read anything aloud, especially from great authors, but it's okay too when I read from me. It's a confidence thing because when you work on something, fret over it, rewrite every word, question every emotion, polish it until you're ready to barf, then put it out there, you are giving something back to the world. (Yes, you may be giving something bad to the world, but they can at least see you are striving toward good), you are opening yourself up to others and saying, "Look, I trust you. I hope you can feel some emotion that with give you a start, a tweak of hope, a little reaction that all's right with the world." If I can get that sense, then I'll keep doing it. And I want to keep doing it, so I'll work hard to create that emotion in others. One of those vicious cycles I guess. But the good kind. I need a name for that. Visceral cycle? Nah. Something will come to me.

So, Sunday at 3:00, I think I'll read "One Question."

Behind the Eight Ball

Of course I put myself there on the pool table when the felt was brand new. Now it’s full of rips and bald spots. And I like hunkering down behind the eight ball, putting myself in situations that take time I really don’t have and if I did, I couldn’t manage.

After I COMMITTED myself to being more responsible, timely, Johnnie-on-the-spot, to “Words in Place” way back when. Maybe I should call this “Words NOT on Paper” or “Words Missing in Action?”

And that’s not all.

Writing Life: I finally have something in print after years of slumping over a typewriter, and I still don't have my novel finished to take advantage of the hype!

Real Life: I haven’t called to get the dead oak removed. Get the chimney repaired. I haven't cleaned up my email address book. Picked up the dry cleaning or the dog poops on the driveway or returned my lemon of a vacuum cleaner to Pasadena Vacuum!

And most of the month of October is gone.

But it's hard to blog when I have a novel to revise and a short story to promote. Yep that's what I said. PROMOTE which means it is published and amazingly enough available at Amazon.com. I'm playing with the big boys now. Here's the link Landmarked at Amazon.

Of course the only review out there I've seen doesn't mention MY story or even MY landmark, but maybe that's a good thing. I won't take it personal. It was some Valley newspaper and I don’t think it was MY valley. No press is good press? Any one of you (that’s what I said, Jane, any ONE) who reads this and is willing to submit an Amazon review, please bring me up?

Enough clichés. You see, my mind is slightly blown so bear with me. What this post is about is how I feel about this whole “getting something published” thing. Because I've been writing seriously since 1987. Strange how my first publication is 20 years after my high school reunion where people came up to me and said, "Are you still writing?" "Have you published?" I had to say “yes, I’ve dipped my pen” a few times over the previous years. But nothing came of it but two beautiful children, a terrific husband, and a nice little Victorian house. I hadn't published anything more than a couple of letters-to-the-editor in the LA Times about traffic. (I’m still writing about traffic. After all, they say “write what you know”). So back in ’87, I made a vow to get to work. I felt I had the raw skills and all I had to do was sit down at a desk and DO IT and all would be well.

Fast forward twenty years...almost. Is that possible? (Am I actually going to have a FORTY YEAR REUNION next year?) Has it taken me almost two decades to actually see my name on a published story?

Yes, I suppose it has. I guess what I saw happen was that a little talent doesn't really get you all that far, if indeed you have that talent you think you have. The real key, the real test, is fortitude, conscientiousness, stubbornness, occasional rudeness, focus, vulnerability, and determination. All that to get one twenty page short story about a twenty-something slacker/pot smoker set in type. (I know. They don't set type any more. Give me a break. I'm old.)

But I’m nothing if I’m not stubborn. I figure I’ve got a good twenty years left before my mind can’t get past my aching feet and I can still move my fingers to type, so I am committed both to this space and of course, to the forty or so novels and short stories that are floating around my head. If I believe in myself, and I accept the fact that I have to take each step one at a time, I’ll get somewhere. Life is like writing a novel. You may know what you want and you may strive for it, but that isn’t always what eventually comes to you. What comes, though, if you have worked hard, is enough. I am proud of that little twenty page short story. And it’s given me exactly what I need: confidence to write more.

Kerry's Class-Gremlin Protection

I did a very intelligent thing on the spur of the moment. I signed up for Kerry Madden's class at Vroman's Bookstore, "Intense Fiction Workshop" and it is really narrowing and controlling my focus to finish my book. Several reasons.

First, Kerry is a born teacher. She has her own talent which is profound and she is developing it with dedication, care, and passion. This passion for the written word spills out of her and motivates those around her. She has the most productive attitude for her students using encouragement, sound suggestions, and patience.

Second, the class level is high, filled with women who are passionate about taking the writing journey. Each one has a unique point-of-view (well, that's a no-duh statement), but what I mean is, they allow that POV to come through in honest language. I am pleased to be a student among such strong writers.

Third, I need the audience and the deadlines. I feel that now is the time for me to finish this project, but working in a void leaves me frustrated and blocked. That gremlin sits on my shoulder telling me any number of unprintable stories of my worthlessness. I have learned to ignore the gremlin, which is good, but I haven't been able to eradicate him. Yes, mine is a dude. I suppose no one ever really gets rid of gremlins, but we can shrink them down and step on them like cockroaches.

I guess that means that the class is my way of pounding the cockroach. Somehow that didn't come out right.