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.

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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.