Art News-Faraway Journal

I was toodling through my Duotrope newsletter yesterday, looking for places to send my poor orphan Steven who has yet to find a good home, and I checked out FARAWAY JOURNAL. Disappointed to learn at the site that they were closed for the next issue, I spent some time exploring and was suddenly caught by the words "ARTWORK STILL NEEDED."

Now, I'm not used to thinking of myself as an artist, especially one that might send off work for consideration, but I thought why not? My friends say they like it (I know). But I sent the magazine pix anyway, digitals of Blue and Fence, acrylics with metal and wire, and guess what, they are going to chose one for their next issue. I am so excited.

Thank you FARAWAY JOURNAL.

September Sentiments/Georgia Review/Hillary, and I don't mean Clinton

SEPTEMBER. In the old days, September meant school, me walking out the door on Mayor Drive heading toward Calle Mayor K-8, and later in the opposite direction toward South High. Usually it was foggy in the morning living that close to the beach, only a mile away, and rarely hot in the AM, except of course, on those first days of classes. Record heat. Always.

I wanted to wear my new clothes, wool skirt, turtleneck, knees socks in high school, but on the occasions when I couldn't resist, I ended up feeling--and looking--like a Good Humor Bar left forgotten on the grass in the broil of August.

Eventually, September meant school for my kids, me driving carpool every third day, and dropping them off on Mentor. They wore uniforms, neat and tidy at 8:15, wrinkled and stained by 2:25 or whatever that odd pickup time was. And I ended up back at school too, teaching English, except the community college starts in August, dog-day hot, me wearing pants and a jacket despite discomfort because of my need to look professional--and vanity still intact--to look thinner.

But now, in September, no more school in my family, everyone launched in their own directions, so I stay home in shorts and tank-tops, no shoes for most of the day. I miss that old discipline, the preparation for a new year, new adventures, new successes and even new failures. The rhythm of September works if one can capture it, and that's what I'm going to try to do. I've been "lolly-gagging," my mother's word, and now it's time to work. September, hmmmm.

GEORGIA REVIEW. A couple of weeks ago someone I don't know left a comment on this blog. I'd written about submission season and my dilemma: What to work on, book or short stories? Organizing writing priorities is a problem for those who must also support themselves with day jobs and therefore can't spend full days over the computer. About the same time, Kev received some advice from one of his favorite authors who championed "the novel" because the readership of short stories is small. Here's one response to that discussion:

"What a sad approach: give up writing short stories on the chance of getting more readers and I suppose more money with novels. Then, when the novels don't work out, you can just give up writing, since apparently that wasn't what mattered in the first place. Shrink the artist's world; yes, that's just what's needed."

I don't know the author of the comment: Stephen Corey. I thought, hmm, isn't that the name of a short story or a poem? (Richard Cory is a poem) I googled it. And was shocked at what I saw! Stephen Corey turns out to be the editor of The Georgia Review, one of the holy grails for short story writers!! This man read MY blog?!? Holy ***t.

I sent Mr. Corey a note, thanking him for taking the time to comment, then I danced around the site and decided to order a recent copy of the mag and when it came, there was a note from him. He hopes that if I like what I see, I'll blog about the Review. Me!

I will, but first I must say it is a little intimidating. When I used to go to Iowa in the summer and spend hours with my buds at Prairie Lights, we'd order double-shot capuccinos and dig though lit mags for clues about how to turn readers on. One of those lit mags was The Georgia Review. Slick production, the cover satiny under fingertips, sophisticated art. And inside. Clear font on quality paper. Beautiful. It even smelled good. Sounds like I'm sucking up, doesn't it?

We writers know where the stories for the America's Best series come from, and we want those mags to publish us, and The Georgia Review debut their share, but in the new issue I received, there is only one fiction story. One. Lots of interesting articles, a feature about Richard Hugo, poems, essays, reviews, but only "The Color of Darkness" by Alexandre Mas with a killer first line: "Many years ago, when I was little more than a girl, my eyes failed me" made it in. What are the odds for writers to get into these quality lit magazines? I think I actually moaned. But...

That's the way it is. I've always accepted this fact. If an writer wants to make it at that level, then he or she has to be enormously talented and self-disciplined. Not one of those things, but both. It's a reality check, not a bad thing. However, typing this, I feel a little down, reminded that this is a big world filled with many, many talented writers all struggling to do the same thing. So what can I do to keep my heart in the game? Really? Read the best, learn from the best, and not think about the publishing side of the scoresheet. If I worry about the where, I will end up playing Spider Solitaire all day and sucking up episodes of Law and Order all night. After I read Mas' story, I'll report whether it blows me away or not.

HILLARY THE DAUGHTER. Today's final note is about my daughter, faithful reader, chief advisor, straight-talking editor for my stories. She never lets me down. She tells me exactly what works and what doesn't in my work in such an honest, compelling way, I can't afford not to listen to her. Since we share DNA, she seems to get what I'm going for even when what I've emailed her is an embryotic disaster. Thanks, Stalwart Hill. And Jane. You too, thanks, sis.

Bayou Black and Blue

It's been hard to get news of what's going on in Houma and Montegut, but the little bit I've gleaned is that the doors to Terrebonne Parish are closed to evacuees until Friday. The power grids are down and no electricity is expected for a couple of days. Streets need to be cleared of trees and debris before anyone will be let back in. I've called my cousin who evacuated to her brother's house in Georgia but haven't heard back yet. I don't know what's going on down there, not as bad as expected but still damaged. Everyone seems to think that since New Orleans was by-passed the drama in Southern Louisiana is over. But it's not.

In listening to NPR coverage, I heard the fire chief of Montegut say that his "smoke signals" for help haven't reached any one and they are still waiting for water, communications equipment, and diesel fuel. In our media driven society, it's a shame that entire populations of people still manage to fall through the cracks.

Here's the NPR link: Storm Stricken Louisiana Town

*********************SEPTEMBER 4 UPDATE***************************
Heard back from Ms. Claire Louise. She's almost to Mississippi, returning to Houma from Georgia. Expects to sleep in her car tonight since she can't get to her house until sometime tomorrow. Still no electricity in the city.

September Calendar-Every Day Fiction

Every Day Fiction is publishing "Stranger on the Porch" on September 12. Check out the EVERY DAY FICTION site here and subscribe. One new story published every day for 365 days a year, and now one year complete. Happy Anniversary EDF!

Sept 1 K.C. Ball I Must to the Barber’s Chair
Sept 2 Abby “Merc” Rustad Bench Trial
Sept 3 Brian Dolton How the Rainbow Came To Be
Sept 4 Greta Igl Free
Sept 5 Frank O’Connor, freelance thinker The Holy Fool
Sept 6 Oonah V Joslin Closer to the Truth
Sept 7 Tels Merrick Are We There Yet
Sept 8 E.K. Entrada A Certain Patch of Grass
Sept 9 Robin Vandenberg Herrnfeld Three Wishes–A Fairytale
Sept 10 Avis Hickman-Gibb All the Continents of the Sun
Sept 11 Deven D Atkinson Becoming Cottontail
Sept 12 GAY DEGANI Stranger on the Porch
Sept 13 Tommy B. Smith The Eric Jones Show
Sept 14 Erin M. Kinch A Castle in the Clouds
Sept 15 Anna Schwind Another Boot
Sept 16 Celeste Goschen A Beautiful Lie
Sept 17 M.Sherlock Crossing the Bridge
Sept 18 Kevin Shamel Double Virginity
Sept 19 Sylvia Spruck Wrigley The Banshee
Sept 20 Selena Thomason The Cat Won’t Stop Playing
Sept 21 Bill Ward The Unbelievable Non-Adventures of Gasbert and Zephyr
Sept 22 Frank Roger Complete Understanding
Sept 23 Megan Arkenberg Ghouls
Sept 24 Lenora Rain-Lee Good A Pitiful Face
Sept 25 Sarah Hilary Tuesdays and Thursdays
Sept 26 Jens Rushing Blankenship & Dawes in: Chrono-Conundrum!
Sept 27 Anne Marie Gomez Lester’s Lucky Day
Sept 28 BD Wilson Zalophus Philosophy
Sept 29 R. L. Copple The Carpool
Sept 30 Mari Ness The Shoes

Much of South Louisiana Evacuating!

Map from WWL-TV.com. where you can read their hurricane blog.

My cousin just informed me that Terrebonne and Lafourche parrishes are evacuating in anticipation of Hurricane Gustav. This has been ignored in the media--concern mostly about New Orleans--while there are 2 million people in surrounding areas who are already on the road to high ground.

Here's an additional article on line about what's happening in Southern Louisiana.

"Monsoon" Hits Quality Women's Fiction

"Monsoon" is now available in the August issue of Quality Women's Fiction 53 at the QWF site. Single issue within the US is $14; outside the US is $19. Yearly subscription within the US is $25; outside the US is $35/year. Non-US residents will receive their single issue and subscriptions via email as a PDF file.

A finalist in the Glimmer Train Winter 2007-2008 Fiction Open, "Monsoon" is the story of a jealous wife whose obsession leads to disastrous results.

Thank you, Kathie Giorgio, for choosing my story to appear in this latest issue of QWF.

Tania Opens the Door

This morning I was cruising my blog list and ran into a good discussion over at TaniaWrites (worth reading). Who exactly are we competing against when we enter writing contests? THE ANSWER: Everybody and their mothers plus writers who are established. One example Tania gives is a writer who won a recent Narrative Magazine competition, Gina Ochsner.

Tania poses a provocative question. "Now, Gina Ochsner, a very fine writer, has published two short story collections and I see her name in many literary magazines, including the New Yorker. I don't doubt that her prize-winning story is worthy of the prize - but my questions would be, Should she still be entering these comps, given that she doesn't need the exposure/fame as much as some of us?"

Here is my comment left at Tania's Blog:

Provocative discussion, as always, Tania. As a writer with only a small sprinkling of publications, I find it disheartening to hear that those who have achieved what I consider a terrific amount of success--the New Yorker,for goodness sake--should feel inclined to enter competitions, especially if the competitions aren't blind ones. Knowing the identity of a entrant must influence the selection process, even if an editor tries to submerge that urge. Who you are and where you've been in print certainly matters in mainstream publishing.

The New Yorker is one of the most difficult mags to get into. The editors seem to go back to the same known ( and admittedly wonderful)authors time and time again. I don't blame them for this. Ellery Queen does the same thing in its field too, making it really difficult for newer writers, lesser known writers particularly to break in. Also there are very few venues for publication at the commercial level. So if one wants to write a story and publish a piece to a larger audience than say THEMA, that person is already competing against many, many already established writers.

Yes, new writers need to pay their dues. One must earn the right by developing strong craft and inspired content to appear in the best publications. I know because it's taken me a long time to learn exactly what all the goes into a great story and I haven't actually gotten there yet. So I look to contests for the exposure to editors, the deadlines they provide, and the occasional feedback that's offered.

Contests have always offered an opportunity to new and emerging writers. They get the juices flowing, the butt in the chair, the close look at craft out of the writer. "Here is my chance!"

But I've always assumed that in a competition I have been competing against writers like myself, not the Joyce Carol Oates of the world.

I suppose it IS fair in the sense that the world isn't divided up by degree of effort, talent, work ethic, and genius. And there are occasional contests specifically designed for the unpublished.

I suppose, too, I need to work on getting to the next level so people can start complaining about ME!

All I want to do is complain about my lethargy but I'm sick of doing it. So I'm going to take a couple minutes to just riff and see what happens. Don't read if you can't stand getting inside someone else's frustrated mind.

First: The novel. Did a little yesterday but not enough. Felt lost and confused and wondered if I will ever finish this. Flashes of my first "revised" novel kept creeping up on me. Two in the drawer. No!!! But how do I actually make myself do it? I started a to-do list. I put on it Don't Get Organized because I seem to want to do the opposite of what I should do. Why is that?

I hate wait to hear from places. Haven't heard from Flash Fiction On-line regarding "Dani-Girl's Guide to Getting Everything Right." Reread it. Like it a lot but maybe I don't have enough distance yet, though I did send it to them 8-weeks ago today. In my world, usually the longer something is kept, the more likely they like it, but maybe not. There are no rules in writing...but lots of crying. I'm also waiting for "Monsoon" to come out in Quality Women's Fiction. Wrote to the editor there yesterday too and she said it was "in the mail." But I am confused about this publication. Their website never changes, never shows a magazine cover, and I don't understand what she means. My understand is that it would come out in PDF, but I guess I'll just wait and see. The editor is very encouraging and helpful. I like her, I'm just confused. So those two stories are distracting me when what I should be doing is moving on.

Listing Lisa and The Roughening are both sitting on the stove, simmering, with occasion bubbles. I keep thinking I have the answers to each stories problems but then I lose it. I have to go back today to my Ron Carlson write a story in a day today but call it FINISH a story in a day.

Maybe my problem is self-consciousness. As soon as a story begins to sound good before I finish it, I attach all kinds of extra baggage to it. Will this story be the one that really makes it? Can I ever write a really good story again? What if I can make myself do this any more? And then I kind of freeze up. Can someone be embarrassed in the privacy of her own home, at her own desk, with no one standing over her shoulder? Or is really fear? Fear of failure? Or fear of success?

I've had a few people ask me if I was afraid to succeed and I think the answer is yes. Growing up my comfort zone was keeping a low profile, not making any stir, either good or bad. I didn't like attention. Of course, secretly I WANTED attention, positive attention, but was scared to death of the negative kind. Is this what haunts me? Frankly I'm sick of thinking about it.

And I've been sick of thinking about it for a while, yet I keep coming back to it. I hate this tendency. Why can't I just put my butt in the chair and stay there until I'm done?

I know that part of what I have to do is not take myself so seriously. Stop thinking about how if I could only write one piece with real merit I could die happy. But that real merit for me is like something so far away, I can't even see it wink. I'm thinking To Kill a Mockingbird, Tess of the D'Urbevilles , Tale of Two Cities. Now you know why someone always dies in my stories!

Okay. Enough. I feel slightly better and now I'm going to open Listing Lisa and give her a run for her money. She and her husband have got to face-off. I can't skip over it. I have to do it. Go.

Do you know what time it is?

I can't believe it. It's August 25 and this is the year I promised myself I would finish my book. I know. If you read my blog, you must be sick of hearing about it, but I can't help myself. Public admonitions seem to be the only way I can shame myself into doing anything. And since it is that LAST week of August, and the fall will be--if history repeats itself--INSANE, I have to gather myself, think about goals, and how to keep them.

I taped a sign on my fridge about a month ago. It says, "Nothing is more important than the book," and yet today at 8:15 I'm heading out to South Pas to do my Monday morning exercise for two hours. That means by the time I get back it will be 10:30 and I will be whipped. But today, instead of making a face plant in the middle of the couch after I down three 8 ounce glasses of water, I will sit down at the computer.

However, what will grab my attention? Novel or short story? It is, after all, SUBMISSION SEASON! The recognition of submission season a couple of years ago is what finally got me published. I realized that I had to change my slovenly ways and begin to market in an organized way. The first thing I did was set a goal: 100 rejections. This is not an original idea. I'd read about it somewhere and liked the logic. Instead of worrying about how many acceptances I might get--a goal that feels self-defeating from the get-go--I decided to go for the 100 "your piece has no place in our immediate plans" target.

And it worked. Everything I had ready to go since then has found a home except for "Wanting Steven" and at least I got a personal letter from Ellery Queen saying they almost published it. It think Janet Hutchins was on vacation at the time, but I'm still taking it as a triumph!

So of course my consciousness is heightened toward short pieces this time of year, but unfortunately I have nothing really ready except for "Wanting Steven" which I probably need to look at again and figure out why it hasn't found its place before I submit again. So the dilemma: write short stories to submit or finish the book.

My good friend Kev says he spoke to a famous author recently and that author encouraged him to abandon the shorts for the novel and he had lots of legitimate reasons. The market for shorts is steeped in honor and tradition, but only a few of these journals actually reach many people and those people are more likely than not, college students, other writers, academics, and perhaps an small elite of avid readers. To be published in any of these can be good and if you get into say The Georgia Review you are golden, but since most pay in copies of their magazine, it isn't a good way to put a Lean Cuisine on the TV tray.

Kev's author suggested that the "where it's at" in writing is the novel. That's where the money is, where the mass audience is, that's where self-satisfaction can be gained.

This logic makes perfect sense to me, but the novel is sooooo long, soooo indefinite, that it's a struggle to actually dive in day after day with out being tempted to take a writing break with a 1000 word flash for Every Day Fiction, or maybe a 4000 word short. I've got enough starts and if they don't work, there's more cooking up in my brain pan than those.

I suppose I'm rambling this morning because I've just realized I have the months of September, October, November, and December to meet my goal: a little over 120 days. That means I'll have to edit around 3 pages a day to have a somewhat edited manuscript by the new year. It's certainly do-able, but can I do it?

Final note: I did hear from McSweeney's and yes they did reject "Monsoon," but some one jotted me a personal note and I have to say, that got me flying....

Secret: "Monsoon" will be published soon (I hope) by Quality Women's Fiction.

Vacation Optimism, Reality Bites

So I just got back from clean air, lush grasses, and good friends. All the way back on the 12 hour journey from the White Mountains to LA, I listened to Return of the Native. These little ironies happen to me. I also--when not plugged in to my CD player--thought about all the stuff I wanted to accomplish when I got home: new stories down on paper, old stories reread and polished, submission mania, contests to enter; jewelry too with Betsy's boutique coming up in a couple of months, supplies still virgin from Tucson and ideas popping out of my brain; and the painting. A little party in October at the salon of my very kind and loving hair dresser. Lots to do, lots to get ready for. BUT as always, the blush is off the aging sunburned cheek faster than I can say, "What IS that awful smell in the kitchen?"

First my dog. Reality bite #1. Cinder is amazingly alive and well. I've been worried--still worried--that one of these mornings I'm going to wake up and she won't. I couldn't imagine the stress that would be put on my mother-in-law if while staying at our house, SHE woke up and my dog didn't!!! I put her at the vet while we were on vacation. The dog, not the M-I-L. By Friday according to the vet, Cinder was on an I.V. with--well, I won't go into that. Let's just say, I brought her home ($700 dollars later) and after a day, she's back to normal. Her back end is wobbly with arthritis, but she IS 15 1/2 years old. That's over 105 to me!

Second, the daughter---and her dog. Rodeo is a very cute puppy, a 10-month old rescue from Reno, part Australian cattle dog, part ???, and definitely part coyote. Rode is loving, sweet, and just emerging from the traumas of life on the street. I am so proud of how my daughter has nurtured this perky tangle of bones and fur. Having them both here the night we came home from the mountains, however, was a mixed blessing. Thrilled to have them--love that girl--but also difficult because Rodeo IS a puppy and a HERDER, and Cinder, old grand dame that she is, does not like to be herded!!! Plus daughters are distracting. I wanted her to see the last five episodes of So You Think You Can Dance (she doesn't have TIVO and watches no regular TV up on the mountain) and of course, Project Runway. These shows appeal to both of us and our creative spirits so it is tradition to curl up on the sofa, skim through all those ruthless commercials and watch how passion can transform some one. Alas she went back up the hill yesterday. I miss her, but it is now back to reality.

Third, vacation ketchup!! making me bleed tomato sauce. Yep, laundry started, smells finally eradicated, to-do lists written and lost, new sneakers to buy (thank you, Rodeo, I've been putting that task off. Now I HAVE to go shopping!), and multitudinous loose ends to tie up including transferring photos to the desktop so I can send pix to all the people I promised too.

And of course there's those teeth marks from the reality bites in my "creative life" too. Lots of writing deadlines I'd like to meet: Clapboard House, the Fish Anthology (thanks for the heads up, Sarah), Writer's Digest's popular fiction, and short shorts contests. New ideas are cooking up in the brain pan, but I need a week of uninterrupted work time to organize and get started. I hope that begins today.

I probably have more than enough paintings for the Masters Studio spot in October, but I have made almost no jewelry is six months except for the twenty or so bracelets Lynne and I cranked out for my son's bride-to-be shower in June. Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. There is that wedding in October, weight to be lost, skin to be polished and I wish tightened (no way I'll go under the knife: does anyone know a miracle cream for 59 year old skin?), and shopping for the M-O-G dress. MOG! What a great word to describe the emotion of trying to look good for wedding photos! I'm feeling very MOGGY today!

So my dance card is full and I'm feeling less optimism than I did toward the end of the week last week when all I had to worry about was washing my hands for dinner. But at least I know what's on the agenda for the next couple months and that given this, I hope I remember to employ the word "NO" when REALITY BITES.

Back from the Arizona Mountains

Yes there are mountains in Arizona blooming with purple cinquefoil, Cowboy's Fried Egg, and Black-Eyed Susan. The aspen trees flutter in the breeze, the lodge-pole pines tower over the meadows and the horses, what can I say about the horses?

I'll show you what I mean:

Submission Season

It's summer and toodling through various writing sites this week, I remembered that August kicks off "Submission Season," the time when college literary types head back to school and brace for the mudslide of submissions coming their way. This might be a literal description at the University of Iowa after the flooding this past year, but hopefully the Hawkeyes will return to freshly scrubbed floors, gleaming walls, and no dead fish hiding in the school server.

August means it's time for writers to polish their pieces one more time, buy 9X12 envelopes, and a slew of postage. I'm ready, but scared. I've got a lot to do, but I absolutely must send out. It's the only way to get oneself read. So I too must brace myself.

A writer friend reminded me last week that for her, July is the beginning of a new writing season. July because for Sharon and me, as well as Jim, Ellen, and the rest of my old Iowa Summer Writing Festival buds that's the month we used to meet in Iowa City to attend workshops, drink Blue Moon, and work up a sweat (literally) at keyboards only to have our butts frozen off at the EPB.

I hope it happened this year. I hope they all went. I did not. Haven't for the last two years and have to admit this year, I really missed it. Maybe it was the pictures of the campus underwater my sister sent me triggering my angst. Or maybe it was just realizing that I'm so out of touch now, me in California and my "Iowa" friends scattered over the country: Sharon in Galesburg, Jim in Chicago, Ellen in St. Louis. I also miss Elizabeth, Lisa, and Enza. We had good times. But that was then and this is now. And now means getting writing, get submitting!

This DRIVE to SUBMIT has paid off. I started two years ago with the goal of 100 rejections. Yes. I know. That's weird. But for me if my goal is called a DRIVE to PUBLISH, it's too easy to get disheartened, so I changed the language. What that did for me was gave me something I had power over. No one can stop me from writing something, sticking it in an envelope, and sending it out. That's in my power. Also in my power is the make that submission the best piece I can.

With those goals, I've had actual PUBLISHING success. Not big success. The editors from Tin House and McSweeneys (actually McSweeney's owes me a rejection, but since I can barely navigate their site, it's okay) are not pounding down my door yet, YET, but enough success to keep me striving and if there's one thing I've learned, it's the necessity for persistence. Persistence has over the last two years gotten me three pieces in print, three publications on line with two other pieces accepted, one coming out in August at Women's Quality Fiction and another in the fall at EDF. So now I'm into my third submission season and I've got to make the best of it. (Yes, Jane, I hear you. The novel. THE NOVEL!)

Art has its way with me

Okay. If you haven't read my ADD post, now might be a good time. I don't know what's going on, but the last couple years have blown apart my left brain, leaving it strewn across the landscape like so many abandoned PDAs, and crowned my right brain as Grand Empress of the Skull. I guess this must have something to do with the REPRESSION of creative flow and the sudden release of constraints, but whatever it is, it's damned fun. So far this year I have painted fifteen pictures and in October a friend has generously granted me the opportunity to show at his business what I can do with a tube of acrylic metal paint, wire, and crap I gather from the streets of South Pas. If you thought I was done with you guys, you're wrong. Invitations forthcoming.

Meanwhile, here's ONE direction all this exploding brain matter has taken me.



Now back to the book.

More EDF good news and a lesson learned from whittling

MY heart still hip-hops into my throat when I open my Yahoo account and see on the
"From" line of an email, the words "everyone@everydayfiction.com."

It's the line that appears when they are sending a rejection, an acceptance...or actually maybe a rewrite. Any which way, I always take a moment before I open it. If I prayed, I guess you'd say that's what I'm doing. Luckily for me, they like my "Stranger on the Porch" bit and are going to publish it sometime in the future. Hooray!

This is actually a piece I've adapted from my novel. As I've said before, I've been struggling to keep the seat of my pants in the chair. When I'm doing one thing, I'm often distracted by another. In this case, the idea of writing a 1000 words has so much more appeal than rewriting 80,000 words. But I have resisted the lure of flash so far this month even though titles and ideas on how to make those titles work assault me at the sink, in the shower, on my walks. Then one day--mid-anguish/temptation--I had a revelation.

Since I use a dramatic arc in each chapter by opening with conflict, torturing my character, and finally having her take some action--the same dramatic arc that I use for a story as a whole--I wondered if I could cadge something from the novel to satisfy my need to send off a submission to EDF and thereby not get totally out of the world of my novel characters. Write flash but have it benefit the novel too. Maybe chapter 1?

I took a look. Yep the arc was there, but I'd have to whittle it down to fit the 1000 word criterion. Wow. An amazing thing happened during this process.

Because I wanted to flash the chapter, I brought to it a much more critical eye, and suddenly realized how much better it was turning out. The whole experience reinforced my belief that parameters create in a writer the ability to dig deep and come up with something better than if there are no parameters.

What happens in this first chapter of my novel is not straight forward, and I've often changed it, edited it, played with it. But this time I knew I had to achieve more clarity for it to stand on its own as flash. The images became sharper, the character more interesting. Whittling worked again. What an incredible lesson I keep learning over and over.

Now my hope is that people like it. That it stands on its own. I hope it's as good for you guys as it was for me.

A.D.D.

I don't think I officially have A.D.D, but I often feel as if I do. I'm constantly wanting to start something new, to pull something surprising out of my brain, and see what it will develop into. And this is actually a good thing, especially when I'm beginning a new project, but unfortunately all those flashes of inspiration seem to strike me when I'm trying to settle down and do the drudge work of editing.

Did I say "drudge work." I can't believe I typed that. I love to edit and have professed for years that if I can only get past that initial draft, I know I can craft something that works. There is something magical about reading one's own words aloud and realizing, hmmm, that doesn't work quite right. What about this? What about that? A cliche? Let me see if I can just spin that a little to the left. So what is going on here?

It's the novel. That multi-drafted cyper-folder with its "fits and starts" (there you go: cliche. I'll catch it later. Hmm maybe not), calling and repelling me all at the same time.

I made a vow this year that this was going to be it. I would get that dang book into the kind of shape that would allow me to start my agent search. But with me, as soon as I vow, I procrastinate. It titillates me to make a commitment and then renege. I actually feel that titillation in my body. Ooh, make a promise and break it? Why? I think there's a tiny part of me that is ready for the looney bin. Or maybe its latent teen rebellion, the one I never had.

I do get things done. I did vow when I quit my job that I would build my writing portfolio and I've done that. And my skills have become sharper, my ability to see what works and doesn't work more accurate. So yes. I am making progress with the portfolio goal. But I did vow when I quit my job that I would also finish the novel and market it and that is still the flamingo around my neck.

I don't know what it is about writing a book that is so darn hard, but part of it for me is that it activates my interest in everything else. Since I committed to finishing the book, I have helped remodel the back of my house, taken up jewelry making, dabbled in polymer clay, and PMC, and painting, as well as supersized my exercise program. These "hobbies" have been so much fun and I'm eating up all the new awarenesses that these interests bring to me. But. I sit down at the keyboard and think...hmmm, just an hour with all that color behind me on the work table might give me just the bump I need.

But I know that I must do the book first. Before the bump. Because if I can just remember that the writing offers its own bump, I could make progress.

I need to stay focused. I need to stop farting around, but I don't know how many times I need to say this to actually DO it. Today. I will work on the book before I touch a pair of pliers or open a tube of paint. TWO HOURS MINIMUM. I need to borrow Marley's chains.

TAGGED

by Alan Beard

I've been 'tagged,' whatever that means, by Alan Beard, author of Taking Doreen Out of the Sky. The editor of the great 'Short Review' Tania Hershman tagged Alan to answer some questions and Alan, in turn, tagged me. Here I go with more info than you ever wanted!

1) What were you doing ten years ago?
1998? I was walking everywhere and very fit because I let my son use my car to get he and his sister to school. It was a good thing. What I remember about it is that being without a car, time slowed down. I know that sounds weird, but it's true. I remember I wrote every morning. I'd had no success in placing any piece anywhere, but I hosted a writing group every Thursday (maybe it was Wednesday) around my dining room table.

2) What 5 Things are on your to-do list today?
**Work on the novel. I've listed the chapter numbers on scratch paper and as I edit each one I cross it out. Just started this process for the millioneth time a couple days ago. I'm on Chapter 6 and determined to get to the end this time.
**Walk at 8:30, this weird cross-country ski thing (on the streets of SoPas) I do now every Monday and Friday with Estelle and her band of acolytes.
**Go to lunch with my mom-in-law and some far-flung cousins in from Oklahoma.
**Cook dinner.
**Welcome my husband back from London. I have missed him!

3) What would you do with a billion dollars?
Revamp the education system in the United States. Encourage the culture to elevate the position of "teacher" to the status of JDs, MBAs, and MDs. All those kids who go to law school because they have no idea what they want to do would go to hard to get into grad schools to learn how to really teach and to develop new and effective strategies. I know. The teaching to teach and the strategies happens, but if a country cannot lure its brightest citizens to the profession, then the profession needs to be put on a par with those that do lure. What is that lure? Money, yes, but also cache, status, and satisfaction in actually contributing to society.

5) List the places you have lived.
Louisiana, Iowa, California, in my head.

6) List the jobs you have had
Parks and rec, retail sales, counter person at Rusty's Roast Beef, as well as store manager, district manager, buyer, and teacher. Did I say wife and mom and mistress of Risuli and Cinder?

7) List the people you'd like to know more about.
Not so much "know about" but rather to go to lunch with: Joyce Carol Oates, Carol Shields (alas), Harper Lee, Margaret Atwood, W. Somerset Maugham, Pablo Picasso, Abigail Adams, Jane Addams, Helen Keller, and Joshua from "So you think you can dance."

BTW, the numbering isn't mine though I probably messed it up somewhere!

Another Lesson From Reality TV: Emulate those who succeed

Project Runway is my absolute favorite reality show. Although my other favorites feature real talent and creativity, PR features the kind of creativity that I relate to. Not saying I could do what they do anymore than I can sing or dance. I can't sew anything but a curtain panel, but I'm talking about deeper stuff, that digging into the hidden corners of the right brain when doing art and finding originality. That's what two designers were able to do on last night's premier of Project Runway, Season 5.

What is originality? Talent and imagination, certainly, but also a third component, knowing what to do with it. One could say a person either is talented or not, has imagination or doesn't, but I don't believe that. Like everything else in our genes, the amount of talent and imagination varies, but of more consequence is what we do with what we have. Last night's first episode of PR is a good example of what I mean. There is talent and imagination in each contestant, but two of them also showed that third component: savvy, the wisdom and shrewdness to pay attention to those who succeeded rather than to those who failed.

I can't remember their names, Blond Tattoo Girl and Wistful Guy is what I'll call them here. BTG and WG are obviously students of the show and so were familiar with last night's challenge: Season 1's grocery store outfit, and they were successful because they looked to the winner of that challenge while everyone else focused on what previous contestants had done wrong. That shift of perspective last night made all the difference.

Here's the set-up. The contestants were taken to a grocery store and given $75.00 to purchase materials to fashion an outfit. Tim Gunn told them to think about the WOW factor, to come up with something that would "blow the judges' socks off." Austin Scarlett, the competitor who WON this challenge four years ago, pointed out that he succeeded by delivering the unexpected. The name of that episode was "Innovation" and his design, a bustier sundress made of corn husks, transformed an ordinary agricultural product into a snazzy little summer number. Yet despite these admonishments, many of the contestants headed straight for the easy-way-out aisle.

The most obvious and forgiving "materials" to purchase are, of course, trashbags, shower curtains, and table cloths. My immediate thought as they scurried into the aisles to buy these exact items was "These guys have thought about this challenge." Of course they have. Me too. Everytime I take onions and avocados out of their plastic netted bags I think 'evening gown yoke.' But unfortunately, this year's designers focused on the contestants who floundered with seemingly unsewable products, and they were determined not to fall into the same trap.

All except Blond Tattoo Girl and Wistful Guy. They paid attention to the winner of that challenge. They recognized Austin's inventiveness and had considered about how they too could innovate. WG made probably one of the most impossible choices. He bought plastic drinking cups. As one of the judges said, "Exactly what ANYONE would hurry to grab for this challenge." But it worked. He molded--literally with an iron--a corset top and bell skirt that looked wearable and was definitely sexy. He remembered the word "innovation" and by the silhouette he chose, he also remembered the corn-husk design. He kept it simple and pretty, AND used the unusable.

This worked for BTG, too, who won the challenge. SHE was crazy-creative with her vaccuum cleaner bags, her coffee filters, her tacks, and her binder spirals. Again I'm positive she's thought about it before the show, asked herself, "What would I do if..." Her dye and bleach treatment to the bags created a fresh and artistic skirt. The burn-out filters worked humorously with the tacks for the bodice. It was charming. I was pleased she won.

So why am I--a writer--spending all this time on this topic? Because this first episode of the season carries with it a potent message: emulate those who succeed, not those who lose.

How many times has a writer, a friend, or even me, said, "I read the worst book. I know what's wrong with it, so I know what not to do!"

Is this what any creative person should think about? An artist? A designer? A writer? Or should he or she instead, study what's hanging on the walls of the Norton Simon and MOOLA? Watch what's coming down the runway at Olypus Fashion Week? Or read closely for the content, the structure, the language of To Kill a Mockingbird or The Yiddish Policeman's Union or Tess of the D'Urbevilles and shout out loud, "Now this is the kind of art I want to do!"

The two best pieces last night were created by savvy designers who listened, who studied the winners, who dug to the center of their imaginations, and who executed with confidence and verve. That's the kind of writer I want to be. An original.

Not Knowing Shouldn't Keep Me from Not Doing

"The single largest advantage a veteran writer has over the beginner is this tolerance for not knowing." --Ron Carlson from Ron Carlson Writes a Story.

It's funny how I'll read a book about writing or even just a piece of literature and then I go on and on about it for days. This time it's Ron Carlson. Last week he helped me write a whole story which I've submitted to Flash Fiction On-line, a new venue for me. And this week he's helping me stay in the chair for my novel. I'm bolstering that with keeping track of the time in the chair and how much I accomplish. I started work at 9:13 this morning. BTW, I shouldn't be typing this right now. I've now been distracted for about 10 minutes! Dang, and it's 10:08 AM. That means I managed to work less than an hour before I figured out a way to goof off. Back to WCB. It's now 10:09.

It's 4:28 and I'm three chapters in having done more editing than I would have thought. But I've learned a lot writing my flashes this year about what I don't have to say so I think these chapters are tighter and therefore, better. As for my seat of the pants in the chair, I haven't been very good. I would be six chapters in if I'd just stayed the course. I tried to work outside away from the phone and internet but it's been hot here today and the garage isn't air conditioned so I gave up and came into the chill of the house where there is email and EDF forums to read, food, and HGTV. Yish.

But I am begun really this time. I have to keep up my momentum because I do not want to reread these chapters again until I'm finished. I taped a note on the fridge that says "Aren't you sick of the first 125 pages and aren't you curious to see what you wrote after that?" I'm gonna feed my dog now and maybe come back up for chapter 4. I'm going to hold myself accountable to YOU out there.

Okay. I did it. It's 8:30 and Chapter 4 is in the vault. I'm feeling as if I'm in a rhythm now so hopefully tomorrow with be more of the same.

Monsoon accepted at QWF

Good news in the last couple of days. My story "Monsoon" has been accepted by Quality Women's Fiction. And what is amazing is that the editor thinks it will be out first of August so that's a treat.

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.