WRITERSBLOCK BUSTER

WHY ARE YOU NOT WRITING?

2012-01-15T12:17:00.000-07:00

Since Science and Nerds are all the rage these days, let's take the scientific approach to this mystery: why are you not writing?

Examine what you are doing instead of writing. Make a little chart, even if you only do it by hand--gasp!--make a chart of yesterday, or whichever day it was that you meant to fill with a word-count, but failed miserably. If it's today, then start at the top with "Read a blog instead."
Followed by "Made a second breakfast instead," or whatever.

The trick is to write down what you did, followed by the word 'instead.' It will help you realized that you chose to do those things instead of writing. You gave them higher priority.

And after you've filled the page, take a look. Were half the things you chose to do silly little time-sucks?

As Sheldon Cooper might conclude, perhaps you don't want to write after all. Maybe the next little section of time-suck can be spent examining why you do or do not want to write after all.

With all the avenues for publication out there--if publication is your goal--you're going to need to a lot of product to sell. If you only needed to be able to say, "I finished the Great American Novel," then feel free to pet your pretty GAN. Trot it out for company. Trim it's toenails now and then. Buy it a pretty bow. But here's the important part:

You don't need to waste your time visiting blogs like this. You might be better off looking for pet accessories.

For the rest of you, those who've come here truly looking for a way to get your butt in the chair, attach an imaginary GPS to your arse and follow it around for a while. It's cheating on you. It's cheating you out of your dream and it's time for an intervention.

DO EET! DO EET NOOOOW!

GIANT FOOTPRINTS--what the end of the world can do for me

2011-12-11T10:55:00.006-07:00

It works for fictional characters, doesn't it? Impending doom gets them moving, doing the thing that must be done. So why don't we use it too, especially since we have a unique opportunity to scare ourselves into motion?

I'm referring to December 21st of 2012. If you've lived in a cave, go here. The end of the world is on the calendars of so many, let's use it. Let's write it on the walls of our offices. But maybe we could call it 'F' Day. (No, not that.) 'F' would stand for Freedom, Fulfillment, or better yet, FOOTPRINT.

I know FOOTPRINT is a bad word in environmental circles, but I'm talking about our FOOTPRINT on humanity. I realized a while ago that I write to prove I was here. I don't want to slip from this life into the next and just be forgotten. I want all this...angst...to have meant something. I want to make it nearly impossible for people to forget me, including those who will wish they could.

So join me, won't you, in making this year count. Leave a footprint. Make it permanent. Let's realize our major goals this year. If your goals are out of your hands, then take them back. We can use the momentum of the countdown for our own purposes, but the world will count down with us. How exciting is that?

When F-Day comes, I want a footprint like Godzilla's. One in which you can fit a hundred Matthew Brodericks.

My First Interview!!!

2011-12-05T12:52:00.001-07:00

This is my first Blog interview since GOING BACK FOR ROMEO hit the market!
It's all Holidays and Joy, baby, so go check it out!

http://kaceymark.blogspot.com/2011/12/going-home-for-holidays-and-going-back.html

THE GIDDY FACTOR--YOUR GIDDY FACTOR

2011-12-01T00:15:00.000-07:00

Miss me?
Yeah, you didn't even know I was gone.

Well, my friends, we're up and running again. And I'll tell you why.

'Cause deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on this wall. You NEED me on this wall. It's getting crazy out there and in order to thrive in his publishing-rich environment, you're going to need a little focus to go with that GIDDY FACTOR.

You're gonna want to start running before you stretch, and I can't let that happen. What kind of friend would I be?

You're going to burn yourselves out in that money box, grasping and stuffing. You're going to need to fill those carts again, with more product to sell, and you're going to hurt and want to go to sleep.

But I won't let you down. When you need a push in the right direction, I'll be here for you. We'll keep each other from becoming one-hit-wonders, okay? We'll kick those pants when needed. You can kick mine if you can get your foot up that far. And when our writing butts are draggin', we can lift each other--figuratively of course.

So I'm here. And if you need a refresher on how to find exciting content for your wips, check out John D. Brown's blog. http://johndbrown.com/2011/11/generating-story-5-hunt-zing/

John's your friend too.

Farewell Butt-kicking Speech

2011-06-08T23:22:00.001-06:00

Look.
This is my farewell post for this blog. I've started repeating myself and I'm going to move on to a new less-Lesli-centric blog. (Not quite up and running, but it will be www.onceuponascotland.wordpress.com )

But before I go, let me just sum up what I've been trying to tell you since 2007. The only way to get past whatever it is you think is blocking your ability to write, is to take action. Write. Write crap you'll toss in the rubbish bin later. Write a list of things your character really hates. Write why you hate this blog, or anything else. Just as long as you write! Losen your typing muscles and your own writing goals will insert themselves while you're trying to remember where the q is, without looking down.

If you've spent a couple of years studying the craft, there comes a time when you should stop studying and start applying. If you've written a piece of crap and need to figure out how to fix it, pick up some books and start experimenting. Get off the internet and work.

If you thought writing a novel would merely be a long drawn out version of your free verse class, you were wrong. It's work. Back breaking, tendon swelling, sleep depriving work. Don't want to do it that way? Then go back to writing free verse and leave real writers alone. Don't come to our parties, our conferences, or our bbqs and claim to be one of us.

(If you are one of us, then by all means, come. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we publish!)

So do what I always tell you to do. Piss, or get off the pot.
We writers are funny creatures. We're suckers for other writers. Need help? Just ask. We're full of all kinds of free advice and brotherly love. But if we smell a faker, we're going to pinch our noses and point at the culprit. Every time. Don't want to smell like a faker? Make a schedule and write at least a few times a week. We're not Nazis. We're artists. Some of us write pure crap, but it's not from a lack of trying. We're like nurses; a fart is as good as a bm. It's all about the trying.

And on that happy note...pthththththththththt!

The 'THIS IS BULLSH** Speech

2011-05-25T23:27:00.001-06:00

Who else could possibly surpass writers when it comes to procrastination?

No one, that's who. Although, I must admit I'm far too tired to think very hard on the subject. In fact, I'm pretty freaking tired in general. And you know what's making me tired today? (No, not chocolate.) The overwhelming reality of what I should have accomplished in the last few weeks, but I won't get into that. You're welcome.

What am I going to do about it? Whine? Rant? No again. You're welcome again.

Instead, I'm going to plan out my writing time for the next week, sparing you the details of course, and I'm going to defend it like the freaking Alamo.

There. I feel better. A week from now, I won't be tired of my own failures. I'll be pumped to kick my own arse yet again the following week.

I so swear.

The CURE for PROFESSIONAL JEALOUSY

2011-05-22T11:40:00.000-06:00

Sick of the jealous feeling, I began looking for a cure and I think I've got it. And I think it worked!

Late last night I learned of my friend's major, debut, three-book, YA, sold-at-auction between four houses, enough to retire from her day job, pub-house with the BEST covers DEAL. Her name is CJ Redwine.

I was so thrilled she sold, since she was a Golden Heart Finalist in 2008 and I believe it was not the first book her agent tried to sell for her. It was just her turn, you know? And she really is a mad genius.

I really expected the envy-riverbanks to overflow, but they didn't.

I woke up this morning and realized why I'm okay.
And no, it's not the Rapture/Fail thing.

For the past couple of days, I've been paying a little more attention to what's happening around me. Scary, uncharacteristic of me, I know. But I pushed back all thoughts of other writers, the fame and fortune thing, and just asked myself what my personal definition of success would be. How much fame and fortune could I handle without it having an adverse affect on the life I want with my family. How much would huge success take me away from them?

Let me admit, right here and now, that I totally want the fame and fortune thing--that hasn't changed. But no matter how fun it might be to live in the shoes of Stephanie Meyer or the Beautiful Creatures Chicks, I really don't want to mess up my family or trade them in for a smaller more manageable crowd. (We are now ten, with two daughter in laws on the way.) I can't just pack them in a Winnebago and drag them around with me.

So I'm listing my goals, in order, in a very 'one step at a time' 'totally against my nature' way. I'm already able to write full time. I've got an agent. Now I've got to get a deal too. Will it be a CJ Redwine deal? No. But I think I'm going to be so happy to be sold, it won't matter. For once in my life, I'll be grateful instead of greedy.

At least, that's the plan.
What's your plan?

PROFESSIONAL JEALOUSY

2011-05-17T17:00:00.001-06:00

The great James Dashner said recently, at the LTUE conference, that jealousy is a great motivator in this business.

I wonder who was the focus of his jealously when he wrote Maze Runner. I do know that envy of JD has poked and prodded me until I'm black and blue. And again, today, I was swept away by a monsterous wave of the stuff when I heard good news for another local writer.

Am I happy for this writer? Yes. I'm exstatic, really. And is there enough room on the NYTBSA for us both? Of course. This writer is not my competition.

What do I do about my jealousy?

I RANT AND RAVE AT MY FAMILY UNTIL THEY ARE HAPPY TO HAVE ME LOCK MYSELF IN MY OFFICE to pound out my frustration on the keyboard. They're not so interested that I succeed as a writer as they are to see me remove my moody self from their peaceful existences--as long as I come out in time to make dinner.

And I'll tell you what. I may come out for only that for a while. This bug up my butt is planning on a full-body possession and it's got a good head start. I may not come out until the NBT-next big thing-is finished!

So, share with the class. How do you handle your professional jealousy? Don't even pretend you aren't affected by it. There is no lying permitted here.

Confess!

Writaholic Paradise

2011-05-14T00:07:00.000-06:00

Say you're Hemmingway.
Money. Fame. Published Author.
Bully. Dictator. King or Queen of all you survey.

Got it?
Whatcha gonna do with it? Make your family keep their traps shut until noon so you can write like Earnest did?

My fantasy? A huge field of green. A hut in the center. One road through the field down which my family comes thrice a day to bring me food, cheer, and their good tidings. A couple of kisses for the kids, a grope from the hubster, and the dustless departure of a group of humans whose happiness I made possible.

Then I take a dose of chocolate, a sip of an icy beverage in which the ice has not dared to sweat, let alone melt. I turn back to my desk to find my creation waiting patiently, prepared to jump back into the sky and take wing as soon as our eyes meet.

Oh, the power and joy in my arm when it pounces from me, into space! Into the world! And it will never be nothing again!

This.
This is what my distractions steal from me.

And you? Whatcha got hiding in that back corner of your mind? Make a wish...or three. We'll all keep your secret.

Secret Abbreviation!

2011-05-10T23:52:00.001-06:00

On Twitter, when I think I've tweeted something that makes me laugh aloud, I follow with OMHIF. Only YOU will know it means OH MY HELL I'M FUNNY.

See? Now you have to follow me on Twitter so you can watch for it. @LesliMuirLytle

You can't help yourself, can you? You may even start your Twitter account just so you can follow me. Trust me, it's easy, and I'm worth it. Especailly if there is a chance I look like this========>

OMHIF!

And God said: DO NOT DISTURB!

2011-04-21T23:10:00.000-06:00

We are so together in our solitude, aren't we?

We are all on that same road to publication, yet no two vehicles are alike. Some fly down the road in a convertible, smiling and waving and sure they're headed in the right direction, though it's hard to see with all that hair whipping in their faces.

Some roll their windows up tight and avoid eye contact with anyone they pass or anyone who passes them.

Some walk and talk and encourage others. Some take their time to help lost writers plot a course on their map, then strike out again, only to stop and help yet another writer because they cannot possibly ignore the need.

And sometimes, when the road is dark, we circle our wagons and have a giggle around a campfire, forgetting who is driving what, bonding as travelers, not writers.

But we are alone. In the throngs of authors and dreamers shuffling from one writer's workshop to the next, sitting on top of each other in seats meant for children, we are...alone. Wherever it is we end up--indie pubbing, traditional pubbing, or living in one of the six big castles in New York--we get there alone. Those who squee for us, throw terrific launch parties for us, or buy us cheesecake for every rejection, stand beside us, of course. But when we arrive or fail to arrive, we are alone.

In a library full of writers, we write alone. We edit alone. We meet our characters alone. We are rejected or loved depending on how hard we worked in solitude. It is the ultimate test.

I wonder, when God created, if he closed himself off, for a time, to come up with something brilliant. I wonder what the sign said--the one he hung on his door.

STAND UP AND BE COUNTED

2011-04-10T16:54:00.002-06:00

A. So when you write--and you must write--where do you write?
Do you write in a controlled unimaginative space--either to encourage your creativity to fight for its life, or to keep those creative moments pure?
Or do you need to pull from the energy of the space--a creatively designed room, the great outdoors, or public, manic places?

B. Sterile or messy?
Is your writing controlled or chaotic? Do you end each writing session with something presentable, or is it presentable only two minutes before it must be shipped off somewhere?

C. Lastly, are you making
a sculpture,
a piece of music, or
a pizza?

Hi. I'm Lesli. I'm a chocoholic.
I write in a controlled, sterile space. I write chaotic pizza.

Too Old for YA?

2011-04-09T10:38:00.001-06:00

It's time someone discussed this non-rationally.

I want to know what you think. Do you prefer YA books written by people in their 20's? 30's? 40's? Do you see a trend in your favorite books? Or is it just the book you see?

I'm 46. There. I'm out.
But I'm finding the YA and middle grade genres are crackling out of my fingertips--with lightening, not because my fingers are crumbling. It's probably because of my adolescent-stuck brain or the fact that I've raised four boys and a diva and therefore have plenty of content. But the question remains, will young readers want books written by somebody's grandma, or will they give a rat's butt?

What about you? Peek at bios much? Of course YOU do. But do you suppose the young readers do? POST A COMMENT AND YOU WIN...NOTHING

Agent Soup

2011-03-30T17:44:00.000-06:00

Most of you know I have an agent. She's Cori Deyoe of 3 Seas Literary. If you can find an agent who is as perfect for you as Cori is for me, marry her--ish.

Here are the basics you want in that marriage:
Agent should love the author's writing.
Agent should love the author's writing so much that said agent is determined to find that author a home for all that author's sellable work.
Phone calls between author and agent should leave both parties higher than kites about said author's career.

That's it from where I stand. Just three things. Love, love, and a pie in the sky. I'm just waiting on that pie to fall from said sky and land cherry-side up on my desk...

HUNGER GAMES MANIA--MY MANIA

2011-03-24T10:59:00.000-06:00

First of all, read Hunger Games. If you're not a fan of Young Adult Fiction, I don't care. If you're a writer, you should read Hunger Games. Period. There is no other series I can think of that will give you such an education on pacing, turning points, holding on to your butts, etc., etc.

But this is what HG has done for me.
I am pumped, like I have never been pumped before, to write a great, mind-blowing book. I realized that my version of outside-the-box is more like a paranoid/security-addicted/keep the box in sight at all times version of creativity. But no more.

In fact, I think we should be writing books that only loosely resemble books, loosely qualify as novels. Let's write it all in blood on the walls--wait, that's been done. Let's...do SOMETHING without rules. Come on. You crazies know who you are. Let's fly over the cookoo's nest, baby.

I know this seems like every other rant I've ever been on, but it's not. In fact, this is the first time I've been afraid of just how crazy I might get. Reserve a rubber room for me somewhere, just in case.

Keefer Boone Secret from Book 1, Chapter 12

2011-03-23T13:36:00.000-06:00

My first middle-grade series is about a lad named Keefer Boone who is more afraid of getting emarrassed than he is of death. But when he gets Death's attention, he just may change his priorities.

Note to others: when you see a cloaked figure stalking around the workroom before hours, don't go banging on the window!

All for now. Invisible fish are waiting to be written.

Time for the "Life Is Short" Speech!

2011-03-08T13:17:00.000-07:00

Yo.

Life is short.

One of my favorite lines, for obvious reasons, is from Shawshank Redemption.

"Either get busy livin', or get busy dyin'."

You think you'll still be around next year?
What if you're not?

Life is short.

Yo.

The New Blog is a Short Blog

2011-03-02T14:41:00.000-07:00

Okay, so it won't be 140 characters or less, but the blog posts, from now on, will be short and sweet. I so swear.

Here it is.

If you have a problem surfing blogs instead of writing your brilliant novels, then put a note on your monitor that reads:

"What are you looking for? It's not there. Do something else."

Acknowledge that what you're really hoping for is an email from an agent or editor. If it's not there, go back to making sellable pies (good books). People are starving out there!

JUST CALL ME KATIE (MACALISTER)

2011-02-27T16:15:00.000-07:00

I signed with an agent ten months ago, and today I sent her manuscript number five.

Today I sent her genre number five. (And I wonder if Katie MacAlister started this way.)

So I guess, if there was ever a local case study on what happens when you don't stick to one genre, I'm the guinea pig. I shall know, in a couple of years, whether or not the plan paid off.

Only there wasn't really a plan. I'm not truly schizo. I don't have ADD. I just had a story to tell, and it happened to be in a new genre...five times.

But I look at it this way. I had five fishing poles, five lures. I could drop them all off of one boat, or I could drop them each off a different boat. Since none of us really know where the fishing is good these days, I took option number two. I'm fishing in five different waters. We'll see which ponds have fish for my bait and which do not.

Simple. I'm letting the fish pick me. Only they can't pick me unless I have a line in the water, now can they?

Drop your lines, people, while there are still fish to be caught. Who knows when physical authentic fishing will no longer be an option? Who knows when we'll have to trade that thrill of life jerking on our pole for something...dare I say...electronic.

For those of you who are curious, the five genres were, in order, Time Travel, YA Paranormal, Scottish Historical Romance, Middle Grade, and Picture Books. My next project may, indeed, end up being Speculative Adult Fiction. Not kidding.

Ghosts To Avoid

2011-02-25T22:54:00.000-07:00

Here's a great quote from Neil Gaiman: "Sometimes I think that when I die, or perhaps as I am dying, I shall be confronted with my characters. Not the ones you would expect, the ones who had their stories, but the other ones."

Who, among your novels, is waiting for his or her own story to be told?

I can think of a few already, and they're not the people I want hovering about when I'm struggling for words, reaching for a caring hand, and gasping for air.

Motivation enough for me. How about you?

Piss or Get Off The Pot--Seriously

2011-02-20T18:00:00.001-07:00

I'll be gentle for those readers just joining this blog...

If you wish you were a dancer, do you tell people you're a dancer, hoping that someday you can prove you weren't lying?
No.

If you wish you could be a rock star, do you tell people you are a rock star and hope, by some flick of a wand, you will suddenly become one?
No.

Then why would you tell anyone you are a writer if you do not write? Writing is the key. Actually hitting those keys on a regular (or regularly sporadic) basis will do.

Let me give an example.

I was enrolled in a screenwriting class a few years ago. We all decided we would write screenplays and enter them into a major contest. We all cranked out what we thought was a brilliant attempt, which was probably complete dark sticky piles of ****. We entered and got lovely loser letters with a raised little Oscar on the stationery. It was very exciting.

Some of us were all hanging out in an office during a Sundance Event being held downstairs, in the art gallery, when our professer walked in. A very popular movie producer walked in behind him, and everyone scrambled to get out of their way. I didn't recognize the guy, so I stayed where I was. Then a great thing happened that I will always remember.

The professer introduced me. "Lesli, this is So and So. So and So, this is Lesli Lytle, a writer."

It wasn't that I got to shake the guy's hand and he treated me well. It wasn't that we made small talk about Robert Redford. The thrilling part was being called a writer.

After Mr. Big left, I thanked the professer for calling me a writer and said he'd really given me a thrill. He frowned and said, "I wasn't pretending you were a writer; you are a writer. You don't have to have a Guild card to be a writer. You have to write."

I've introduced myself as a writer ever since.

So.
Are you a rock star?
Are you a writer?

So, if you are a writer, are you selling your material yourself? How's that going for you?
What about an agent? If you're not trying to sell yourself to magazines or publishing houses, you must be trying to find an agent to do it for you.
No?
WHY THE HELL NOT?

You don't think your product is ready? When will it be? You don't know? Then you'd better be finding out. Find someone to read your baby. More importantly, when you find someone willing to take the time to read a chapter or two, ACTUALLY HOLD OUT YOUR BABY AND LET SOMEONE TAKE IT.

It's not going to be your only baby, surely. And if it stinks, you don't have to spend the rest of your life feeding it and trying to make it a pretty baby. You get to start over.

Here's some great motivation for you to aggressively seek an agent:

Pretend I can tell the future. For you. Just for you.
What if I tell you that you will find an agent only after you have received 30 rejection letters/emails?

What if I tell you that you will be published only after you have written four complete novels?

Here's the promise:
After you have queried 30 agents, and after you have completed 4 novels, you will have a really good grasp on what you need to improve in order to land an agent. Finding a publisher is the agent's business.

And when I say four novels, I don't mean absolutely pristine, polished-like-a-brass-doorknob finished. I mean finished. It doesn't have to be the Holy Bible, or Lord of the Rings, or Pride and Prejudice. It has to be you.

Four books and 30 emails. The only way to fail is to give up--and you know it. That's why you say you are a writer, to deny that you have given up. If indeed you have given up, I say, piss or get off the pot. Admit it and make your life easier.

If you haven't given up, then you'd better get your query letter ready and a list of agents. Make sure your first three chapters are as good as you can get them, and give yourself a time limit to get that done. (As in a number of days, not weeks.) When time is up, you have to stop and say "good enough".

I want to hear about it.

(By the way, I got my agent with my second book, but by the time I signed, I had four books finished and thirty rejections in the can.)

WE CAN'T GO BACK

2011-02-11T22:30:00.000-07:00

Does it bother anyone else that we can never go back...to the non-social days of media?

Remember when you had to call a person to see how they were? Remember the sound of their voice? The real-time conversations? And I'm not talking about IM-ing. That is not real time if one of you can walk out of the room and get side-tracked by a dozen different things before coming back to pick up the conversation.

Twitter, you argue? Not real time. Replies are hardly real-time. And who's idea was that phrase anyway--real time. As if there is a false time, an unreal time. I've had times that were unreal. It felt pretty un-real when I got "the call". It was pretty un-real when I held my new granddaughters in my arms. They were so identical it was unreal.

But it's the real that can no longer be defined. That is your assignment, should you choose to accept it. Define real. Find real.

I'm afraid real life will require 'real' vacations, where we will go to an island where there is nothing wireless, electronic, or prepared for us. We'll all go insane from withdrawals, kill each other, and try to build computers from bones. Aliens will look down and decide we're not worthy of our world and toast us. And we'll deserve it. All because we couldn't define what's real.

So find the answer, people. Save the world.

A MONSTER STALKS YOUR CHILDREN

2011-02-06T16:42:00.000-07:00

Went to the Salt Lake City Library on Saturday. First time there. Great Building. The fact that there are five stories of books (kids are on a lower level), makes the building a breathing, thinking entity. Very cool.

What made the trek most productive was I GOT OUT OF MY OFFICE.
What floored me was the monster in the basement.

Yes, there was a monster. In the children's section. On the lower level.
And I'm not talking about some wild new toy for kids to climb on or crawl through. Not talking about the lion at the door of the story-time room. Or the treehouse room, or the computer room that looked like the control room in a submarine. That was all very cool.

But the monster of which I speak lurked between the bookshelves, always just an isle away while I hunted. Did I know I was hunting a monster? No. I thought I was hunting for some trend in middle grade books, something I could try and get ahead of in the marketplace. I wanted to know what was overdone and what was up and coming.

You know what I found?

Nothing.

THAT was the monster.

It looks like Middle Grade is being avoided by writers, ignored even. There was a plethora of picture books with bright chubby illustrations, some with weak colors and pale lines from years of little fingers brushing over them. Plenty of books for baby, etc. But what did they have for middle grades? Jungle gyms.

It was if librarians, writers and parents had all gathered for a meeting and decided that kids aren't going to want to read much at that age, so let's just make the library a fun place to be. Perhaps when they're a little older, they'll still think it's a cool place and we'll have a lot of great YA books ready for them. But for now, we'll leave a row of Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Captain Underpants, and King Harry Potter. Potter will get them through, just has he has for years.

Are there books out there for young boys? Yes. Thanks to Lemony Snicket, Fable Haven and others, there are at least......a few month's worth of reading. A year's worth, you say? Maybe.

The age group is 8-12. Four years. If there's a year's worth of reading for the kid who enjoys reading, we are telling him, "I'm sorry. This is option A, there is no option B. Read slowly. Make it last. When that's gone, you can fill your time with...gaming. When you finally mature enough, through the magic of gaming, you'll have new options."

No wonder kids are in a hurry to grow up.

Well, I'm going to do something about it. My boys are grown now, but I remember when they got excited about Aragon and Harry Potter. And I remember when the supply ran out.

I know it's a grand undertaking. I can't do it alone. A few books from me won't fill the need, won't chase that monster away--the one who whispers, "There's nothing here for you, little boy. Play somewhere else. You didn't really want to read, did you?"

Don't you want to subdue that monster with me, pull his teeth, superglue his tongue to the roof of his mouth so all he can do is growl and roar, like any self-respecting monster would do? Come on! Give it a try. There is plenty of room on the shelf, once we blast his hairy ass out of there. PLENTY of room.

It all starts with a little boy's name.
My little hero is named Fletcher...

TIME TO WRITE--Or, immersing myself in Scottish rain

2011-02-03T13:59:00.000-07:00

Let's say you've done the impossible; you've found time to write, your systems are all a 'go'. You're fed, hydrated, and you won't be interrupted for a while.

Congratulations!

But how do you get started? How do you get into your current work in progress without going back to the beginning and reading all those brilliant words you've already written?

Well, I was wondering the same. I was ready, stoked. I even remembered where I'd left off and what I needed to do next. But I just couldn't do it. It was like getting out of bed when I didn't have to. The chances were slim. But that was crazy--writing was what I wanted to do! I was sure of it.

I needed to immerse myself, give myself no other option. I knew I'd forgive myself for whatever I did once I was in the zone. Then I thought...IMMERSE MYSELF.

I was trying to project myself to the Highlands of Scotland, to pick up a trail while it was still fresh. But like in the movie SOMEWHERE IN TIME, I was sitting in a 21st century home office. It was holding me back. There was just too much...air.

So I imagined water rising in my office, damaging nothing, but commanding my attention away from the business of social media, interior design, from Mr. Feng and Mr. Shui. The water warmed my feet, my aching knees, my fingers. As it covered my eyes, I stopped noticing the goals pinned to the wall, the hero's journey mapped out on the whiteboard.

When the room was full, I felt only the water against my skin, the pressure of its density on my chest. I closed my eyes and felt it on my lids. And I projected myself, and my water, to a bluff above a glen filled with nothing but heather. A walking path cut through the waving purple branches. And there, along the path, my heroine pulled the reins of her tired horse.

I hovered, there in my bubble of warm Scottish rain, and watched alongside the hero as she shortened the distance between us. Despite her own fatigue, she smiled as she trudged toward the bluff, pleased to have finally shrugged her pursuer. And he and I waited to see the look on her face when she would realize she was wrong.

And later, the difficult part was getting me back from Scotland. But my family is well-trained. They send a request for my company and attention, but don't hold their breaths while they wait for a reply. Only sometimes, the more devious ones leave a 1970's penny in my pocket...

Blog Tour Stop with Mary Martinez

2011-01-30T22:00:00.000-07:00

Author Mary Martinez has graciously added writersblockbuster to her list of blog tour stops. She has a giveaway planned, so read on, McDuff!

Lesli: Mary, welcome. You're the first author to be interviewed here.

Mary: Thanks, Lesli, for hosting the sixth day of my blog tour. Anyone who would like to know the schedule can check it out here. http://www.marymartinez.com/news.html#events Each blog a different question from the host. Sort of like a continuing interview. I will also have two giveaways at the end of the blog tour. At the bottom, I’ll tell you how you can participate.

Lesli: I'm sure everyone can guess what my question will be. What's the longest writer's block you've ever had, and how do you deal with it now?

Mary: Interesting question, Lesli, had you asked me this question a year ago, my answer would have been short and simple. At that time I’d never had writer’s block. I truly thought it was an excuse writers use when they’d frittered their writer’s time away with nothing to show for it.

Then last year happened. Stress I guess is what caused mine. But last fall I lost all desire to write. I didn’t have any ideas, I literally thought about giving up writing. I didn’t have any desire to sit down and edit, query. I was worried. I thought “I’ve invested blood, sweat and tears and now the passion is gone, what am I going to do?”

I was under a lot of family stress and I will not bore you with the details. However, I was also stressed about the fact that when I had time to write I couldn’t think about writing. My characters were not talking to me. No ideas were popping into my mind at odd times. Stories were not keeping me awake at night. I was no longer the writer I thought I was. Which made me more stressed because….

Anyway, as you can imagine it was frustrating. I was stressed; I was stressed over the fact I didn’t want to write. I was stressed over the fact that I didn’t seem to care. A vicious cycle of stress.

Then one day I thought, “There’s nothing I can do about this now, I don’t have time and I’m making myself sick.” So I gave myself permission not to write until January 1, 2011. I didn’t let myself even think about the ‘not’ wanting to write, or ‘not’ having time or ‘not’ having any ideas. I just shoved all thoughts toward the beginning of the year. I knew that 99% of my personal stress issues would be resolved by then.

Best thing I ever did. Sure enough before the end of the year, I had an idea sprout and it’s still blossoming.

So if things are spinning out of control. Step back and give yourself permission to not write or even think about it. Give yourself a deadline of when you need to start again.

Thank you again, Lesli for having me on your blog.

Lesli: Thanks Mary. Good luck on the rest of your tour. And for those of you who have visited, here's a treat for you--a blurb for Mary's new release, CLASSIC MURDER: MR. ROMANCE with the giveaway info at the end.

Adam enjoys a lifestyle most men only dream of. Then one day he wakes up to find the morning headlines blaring, "Another victim falls prey to Mr. Romance. Who is next?" He suddenly realizes his way of life is not only frivolous, but deadly.

Dubbed Mr. Romance by New York society for his romantic adventures, Adam Fernando Russo loves women. But lately he realizes how lonely it is coming home to an empty house. Can he settle for only one woman? After he makes a list of qualities worthy enough to merit giving up his desirable existence, suddenly recipients of his coveted attention mysteriously fall prey to a murderer. The murders seem unrelated with one exception--all the victims have recently returned from a fabulous weekend rendezvous with Mr. Romance.

Adam’s assistant, Katie Sinclair, knows Adam is innocent with airtight alibis. The police are at a loss so Adam and Katie work together to discover the link between the murders. As luck would have it, their plan to prove the murderer is copying classic Cary Grant movies goes astray just as Adam realizes his perfect woman has been by his side all along.

Available from BookStrand Publishing (Electronic Format, Print coming in spring 2011) http://www.bookstrand.com/classic-murder-mr-romance

For an excerpt and to see the trailer visit my web site: http://www.marymartinez.com/mrromance.html

Now to the giveaways, everyone one who participates by commenting on each day of the tour will have their name placed in a drawing for a Photo Album and a signed copy of Watching Jenny.

Everyone who participates and comments on half of the days will have their name in a drawing for a download of Classic Murder: Mr. Romance (or they can wait until it’s in print for a signed copy)

COURSE CORRECTION

2011-01-30T00:30:00.000-07:00

Someone brought this up on Twitter a couple of days ago and it just now sunk in.
Just. Now. 11:40 pm.

It's such a profoundly simple question...simple like turning the wheel on your car, to get you back on course after running a guantlet of pot holes.

I'm here to tell you, Newanda, that I'm turning the wheel now. Yes, now. At 11:40 at night, I'm getting back on course. I'm nearly too excited to sleep, but I will. Santa can't come until you go to sleep, right? And Santa's coming tomorrow. I'll have to mark my calendar. January 30 is the new Christmas, baby. At least it will be for me.

2010 was a good year for me. Sorry, but it was. The year you sign with an agent is always going to be listed in the positive column.

But one major struggle I had in the past 12 months was with a particular manuscript. And tonight I clearly see the problem; I was so busy avoiding regular pot holes, I didn't realize I was IN one GIANT pothole.
Just like Matthew Broderick in Godzilla, I was missing the reptile's footprint because I was standing IN the reptile's footprint. It was so much bigger than I could imagine, and yet, so simple.

Get on with it? Okay, I will.

Here's the magic question: Are you writing something you would want to read? Are you? The manuscript I struggled with was certainly in the genre I love. The characters were the type I like of course. The situation was ripe with potential and plot, just how I like it. So why wasn't it something I would want to read?

Good question!

My problem was, I was trying to write a good book, a marketable book, a clever story with great characters. A problem, you ask. Why is that a problem?

The question should be, "What SHOULD I be writing instead?"

I shouldn't be trying to write a good or great book. My goal should be to write THE PERFECT BOOK. If I was writing THE PERFECT SCOTTISH ROMANCE, instead of a great Scottish romance, I'd put everything in the book that made me love the genre. My characters would be the perfect combination of...whatever. The setting would be perfect, etc. Scottish fans everywhere would praise the book and read it when they wanted to re-read a favorite, and so on.

But this fantastic book would never be written by someone wanting to write a great book. Throughout 2010, I'd pick up this manuscript, thumb through it, and try to puzzle out what was lacking. But what it lacked was my passion.

I was looking at the market, at the fans in the stands, instead of the catcher's mit in which I needed to throw the perfect pitch. I was settling for something over the plate, in the strike zone, fast enough to be swung at and missed. I put all my effort into throwing a strike, instead of throwing the perfect pitch--a pitch that would smack into that dark leather shadow with such a tight fit the folks down the block, who'd gone to bed too early, would wake with a start. A pitch thrown so hard, with every muscle woven through my arm, it would cause the catcher to pull his hand from his glove, his face a blend of satisfaction and pain, sure that his hand would look like shattered glass, but honored to have been a part of the event.

Look back at the first book you wrote. Weren't you trying to write the perfect book then? How long down the career path were you when you started thinking "great is good enough?"

Forget the market. Forget the fans in the stands. Remember the fan in your skin. Write the perfect book for you. Chances are, it will be the perfect book for someone else too. Maybe your sister...but maybe the world.

The Disney Cheats--Or A New Approach to Synopsis Writing

2011-01-27T11:34:00.001-07:00

Anyone looking for a secret formula to synopsis-writing? I think I've found it.

In an industry where the golden ticket consists of 'the same thing, but original', I'm always on the lookout for a new way to look at ANYTHING. So this morning, while being subjected to my son's animated version of comfort food--BEAUTY AND THE BEAST--I was hit over the head with new perspective.

No, Newanda, I'm not talking about Hero's Journey, which we all know is Disney's handbook. This time I'm talking about The Disney Cheats, the Disney Synopses all neatly packaged, tied with a beautiful bow, and sitting under your nose.

Are you ready?

They are...the songs!

I know. I know. It sounds too simple. But listen to the opening song of Beauty and the Beast and watch for the hidden gift . Go ahead. I'll wait. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVovQfq7U0w

I KNOW! And there's more! Ready?

For every major plot point in the story, there is another song!

So, let's review what goes into a great, succinct synopsis.
Characters and their motivation.
Conflicts, stakes.
Turning points, and resolutions.

Don't know what a Disney character's motivation is? Just wait. They'll sing it to you. And this is not just Disney. I think Pixar is in on it too.

I believe the real magic of great animated movies is the ritual of handing Randy Newman a copy of the synopsis and letting him put it to music.

So. Now what? How do use this insider information to make a lucrative trade? How about writing a song for your characters? How about writing a song for the POV character to sing at turning points? Don't worry about the tune--steal one. It's not like anyone's going to hear it.

Too lazy? Try listening to the soundtracks of these movies. Just like studying other works of fiction, this may just give you the pacing and rhythm to write that award-winning song--I mean, synopsis.

A cheat only works if you show up to take the test, you know.

Competing with The Shelf

2011-01-09T15:26:00.000-07:00

When is the last time you went to the bookstore? Have you considered setting aside a block of time to go and immerse yourself in your genre? To study The Shelf? Who's publishing, agenting, or designing the covers you love? (Perhaps you should plan an outing...while there are still brick-and-mortars to visit.)

Do you have a story that might inspire an amazing cover that would look both original and competitive?

Have you realized that publishing is now a competition?

I know. I know. It's all about writing a great book.
Yes. Writing is about writing. Obviously.

But this is not about writing. It's about publishing.
Take off that Writing Hat, or Editing Hat, or Marketing Hat, and dig in your closet for something new. Something edgy. You need a Publishing Hat.

"Now, hold on a minute," some of you say. "It's not my job to worry about that. I need only write a great book, find an agent, and let my New York Editor worry about the publishing part."

Go ahead. Write a great book. That SHOULD land you an agent, if you've been paying attention to the do's and don'ts. But I've got a friend who has done all that, even had a big agent love her entire story, but not be able to offer representation because she couldn't sell it. Anywhere.

You wanna know why? Go look at The Shelf. Go see what's already been done, what's on the best-seller list, what kinds of things publishers are willing to take a chance on. Pick up a book. Take a whole minute and find out what the selling point was, the hook, the mind-blowing original idea that made each one stand out. Nothing? Take a peek at the writing. Anything there?

No? Pick up another. Is this your genre? If it is, you'd better pay attention. Can you put the book of your heart in a different package? Can you see it there, on The Shelf, among the others? Can you see someone picking yours over the one next to it? If not, what can you do about it?

If you're starting with a new book--especially if you're starting a new book, go see what you're competing against. Get off your dusty High Horse and admit that the industry has changed. Everyone in your genre is your competition if you both end up on The Shelf. Everyone.*

*In my next post, I'll discuss how to create your own gang.

Hah!

THE CURE FOR EMAIL ADDICTION

2010-12-30T20:44:00.000-07:00

I stumbled upon this cure either by accident or cosmic design.

My laptop has become possessed, refusing to work with Windows, but happy to chum along with an operating program that turns its nose up at Word. Even the program's name, Ubuntu, hints at its ugly gaming underbelly. Obviously my beast only pretended to be literary-minded and has now shown its true colors, given me a rude gesture, and lies innocently on the desk while I try to sway witnesses.

Fed up and fighting heartburn, I handed the creature off to my last and final teenager. I hope the boy gives it hell and makes it pine for the days of peaceful word processing.

Which brings me to the cure...

Another set of boys (for those fellows at Used Computer Warehouse can only be called boys) came to my rescue with an older computer more than happy to offer me Word. But alas, the emails they do come slowly. The ancient four-year-old whom I refer to as The Dark Tower is teaching me a WWII version of patience, and I'm warming to it. I cannot surf or email, or even tweet fast enough to keep my little birdie in the air. As long as I'm in my office, my only option is to...write.

It's true.
Forced discipline.
It may be the only way for people like me to become the writer I thought I was.

Rock on, but gently.
Lesli

BAD PENS and BRASS RINGS

2010-11-22T09:25:00.000-07:00

Breakthroughs in thinking are very fine things. They are the free dessert on your birthday, a thank you from your too-cool-for-school child, a freebie for getting up far too early on Black Friday.

The problem with a breakthrough is remembering it. Having a Swiss cheese memory wherein the holes can't be predicted, I write everything down, just in case. I have baskets and decorative boxes filled with little scraps of paper that hold years of ahah moments. I sift through them now and again to remind myself what's there.

And thus, the problem: keeping three-by-five cards on hand, and finding a damned pen. This morning, it was all about the pen. Where my dozens of free-flowing pens have gone, I can only guess. I had only one option, which was just a smidge better than a carving tool, and only if I dragged the tip around v e r y s l o w l y.

The upside was, by the time I was finished chiseling my 'Sherry Lewis Bit of Wisdom' onto a card, it had been carved into my brain as well. In fact, I could probably toss the card-gasp!-and still remember, years from now, that I must compel my hero or heroine to make up their bloody minds, and that something else must be put in jeopardy if he or she reaches for that brass ring.

The first point, Newanda, is that we must slow down if we are to truly improve, be it brain function or writing craft. Not easy to do on the fast track to anywhere.

The second point, dear Newanda, is the whole idea of jeopardy. It's compelling stuff. It's what makes a simple movie about a run-away train an absolute thrill to watch.

But lets get back to that brass ring before I turn movie-critic...

When I lived in Spokane, Washington, a real-life merry-go-round operated in the middle of the city, left-over from the World's Fair if I remember correctly. Growing up near an amusement park in Utah, I thought I knew about merry-go-rounds. Not so.

The point of this ride was to get the brass ring. THE brass ring. Lots of people talk about grabbing the brass ring; this is where you learn where the term comes from.

A thin metal chute reaches like an arm toward the merry-go-round. Metal rings are loaded into the chute. At the end, and most importantly, JUST OUT OF REACH, of the horsey riders, a single ring hangs, ready to be plucked if the rider is quick enough, accurate enough, and bold enough to hang on in spite of their arms being nearly ripped off.

Yes, timing is everything, and luckily, the merry-go-round lifts the outside horses at just the right moment. But luck is also a player because sometimes, the ring isn't silver, but brass. If your ring is silver, you've still done a brave thing, but you try to toss the ring in the clown's mouth on the far side of the ride, then hope your next one is brass. If your ring is brass, you get a free ride. At least that's what I remember after #@*!? years.

The way your heart jumps when you see gold at the end of the chute, knowing it could be yours, is a great rush, I don't care how old you are. Everything has been put into the anticipation of this moment. The rise of your pony, the incredible wind-in-your-hair-speed of the merry-go-round ('cause these guys aren't there to entertain enfants), and the number of passes it takes to warm up your arm, practice your accuracy, and suffer the disappointment of coming away with the silver--all combine to make you feel like an olympian with victory within your reach when the gold ring slides into place.

BUT, it's not. It's not within your reach. Even if you're tall enough, old enough, to ride on the outside lane and try for the rings, the chute is never within your reach. It's just a few inches too far. And if you are ever going to get off your butt to do something amazing in your life, the time to do so is on this merry-go-round.

You must stand up, stretch, and let go of the pole j u s t e n o u g h t o s c a r e t h e c r a p out of you, to be able to touch it. And then touching won't do it. If you approach it like a jouster and think you can poke your finger in the hole and just follow-through, you're wrong. There is no easy. There is no safe. There is only commitment.

Commitment is this:
You must hook your finger in the hole, clamp it tight, and then whip your arm behind you with all your might and yank it out just before your arm comes out of it's socket. That's commitment. That's the real follow-though.

How committed are you charaters to their goals? Will they get enough of a payoff if they do the daring deed? Or will they get a silver ring to chuck into the clowns mouth, maybe make the clown's nose light up? How fun is that, really?

I don't know about you, but thanks to a slowly carved lesson from SL, I'm going to make that goal a little harder to reach, a little harder to hold, a little more risky to reach for, and a little more important to obtain. All that has to pay off in a great read, doesn't it?

Thanks Sherry!

CRAZY IVAN PARTY

2010-11-16T09:21:00.000-07:00

So, you know how I hate to miss a good party, or a potentially good party?
Well, Nanowrimos in San Francisco are having a whopper on November 21st, and since I can't go to that, I decided we need one in the Utah area.

So, on Saturday, November 21st, I'm holding a CRAZY IVAN PARTY at my home in Layton, Utah. 5-11 pm. Laptops and food. No talking except at the top of the hour when everyone will have five minutes to get more food and drink and get back in their seats.

It's a writing marathon, for Nano of course, but if it is any fun at all, we'll maybe try another in January--a chance to kick the year off on a productive note.

You should try one too. Get your writing buddies together. Have everyone bring sustenance and make your laptops hum. Quietly, of course. Except at the top of the hour.

We shall call these moments of chaos...CRAZY IVANS!
(RED OCTOBER fans? Anyone?)
I'm going to need a seaman's whistle.
Hah!

PILE ON, BABY

2010-10-31T14:41:00.000-06:00

I'm running a 500k, kinda. It's a NANO times ten.

The finish line is 500,000 words by midnight, October 31, 2011.
Who wants to play?!

Rules:
1. Every word you write counts, weather or not it is edited out. Even if it's on the page for a second, it counts. If you write a freaking blog post, it counts. If you write a long email, it counts.

The first point, Newanda, is to make writing as much a part of your day as breathing. The second point is to have a pile of manuscripts to show for it. Imagine! A PILE!

2.If you make it to half a mil, you get to buy yourself whatever you want. It's a RULE!

You may copy the widget to the right. (I suggest not leaving it too visible. Watching time slipping away is a little unnerving.)

THE AFTER-PARTY IS GOING TO BE A CELEBRATION...TIMES TEN!

NANOWRIMO and ROPE THEORY

2010-10-24T19:30:00.000-06:00

There is a theory in business management that states that completion of a given task will take the time alotted for that task. Meaning, if you alot an hour for a job, humans being humans, status being quo, it will take an hour to finish that job.

So, if you give yourself an indeterminate amount of time in which to write a novel, it may, or may not, get finished at all. But most of us dearly want to finish, don't we? This is why NANOWRIMO is a good thing--so good in fact that it shouldn't be saved for just once a year.

I say, listen to the experts. Make a SWAG (scientific wild-assed guess) on how long it would take you to crank out a first draft of a novel, or whatever you're wishing you could produce. IF you were focused. IF you made the time. IF you intend to really make a career of writing. And by all means, be honest with yourself.

Don't plan to write every day. I'm planning for 5 days per week and calculated accordingly. If I miss a day, then it will cut into my weekend, so that's just more motivation.

I looked back at the last book I wrote (I kept a little record) and looked at my average page count for days I actually wrote some. (This was just writing for a few hours a day, not 6 or 8 hours.)I multiplied that by five days a week, then 52 weeks a year. Then I divided that by 350 pages and had, in front of me, how many books I can crank out in a year.

I had to sit down.

SIDE NOTE: If your SWAG is more than 6 months for one book, then you can stop reading now. You have better things to do than read this crap.

For those of you still reading, I suggest you stop for a moment, do the little exercise with your calculator, and see just what you are capable of. I think you'll be surprised. I think you'll be disappointed in yourself for not doing better in the last twelve months.

I know I am.

Also, don't feel pressured into making your plan longer than is reasonable for you. Small bites. Reasonable goals. I just happen to be making a plan for the next 12 months, not just one. Would one be reasonable? Yes. Is 12 months unreasonable? Maybe, but I'm moving up from String Theory to Rope Theory.

Before I tell you my plan, let me warn you that my plan also involves editing an hour or two in the evenings and on weekends. I know there will be other duties to this BUSINESS besides cranking out raw material. I haven't lost all ability to reason. I'm not functioning under the influence of a full moon. (That was days ago.)

Also, a note about my last book: I was MOTIVATED. I was writing to the market--gasp! I was armed with an agent's prediction of what was the new hot thing and I was going to crank out just that. I did have another novel I had to finish and send off before I could start on THE BOOK, but once I started (I'd given myself 6 weeks), I did it in four.

You see something wrong here, don't you? So you should. I'd given myself six weeks to get it done. I told that agent I would be sending it in 6 freaking weeks! Only I was determined to edit it and have some beta readers go over it first--THAT's what cut my time back to 4 weeks.

The completion of any given [novel] will require the time alotted for that [novel]. I alotted four weeks. It took four weeks. Did I miss days altogether? Yes. Did my husband resent it a little? Sometimes. Did the commitment to that agent drag me over each and every obstacle?

No.
My ambition did it.

I am an ambitious beyotch. I'm sure I can come up with reasons for it. But ambition is my strength and my weakness. Somedays I pay dearly for it. Someday it'll be paying me.

This year is no different. This year I'm planning to write six novels. It's reasonable...for someone with my drive, and honey, I drive fast.

That's nearly half a million words, by the way. It's 7.3 pages per day. Five days a week. No weeks off. I'm going to set up a countdown on this blog, so you can see if I'm behind. I'm going to stay off email for the most part and hope I don't lose friends.

I'm also going to be published by Valor Publishing; the first book comes out in April. I'm going to do booksignings out the wahzoo, get a son graduated, sent on a mission, and get the older one back home and married off. I'm going to be babysitting Copy and Paste when needed, work part time, and keep my husband and I on our Biggest Loser Roller Coaster Ride. NO! You won't be seeing a grid on that info! Suffice it to say, it's nearly half a million.

So no, I won't be living with my laptop in a closet, being fed through the cracks by a bunch of sons who would be more than happy to share less and less of their daily alotment of food. (The theory they've proven is that whatever the amount of food alotted for a meal cannot expand to fill the imagined caloric requirements of male subjects under 22.)

I will be living my normal abbynormal life. I will also be living my normal abbynormal dream. I'll either live to tell about it or make more traditional use of that ROPE THEORY.

Time-Sucks and String Theory

2010-10-15T16:15:00.000-06:00

I need a freaking nap.
Not that kind of nap.
I need a deep-space regenerative nap. I need a new, fully charged battery that is four versions more powerful than the one I came with.

My writing life is about to start anew. I've backed off some time-suck-loops--who'm I kidding? I backed off them all! I sat down and made a business plan for the near future, and a funny thing happened...but I'll get to that in a minute.

I shouldn't really be surprised. I've tested this string theory thing before and had it pay off. It was a mild test; I dressed for success. In a workplace with no public traffic, where my coworkers wear their pajamas if they choose to, I decided one day that I would dress for success, that even though I pushed papers for a private company, I'd dress as if I were a successful author. It worked the very first day; I started getting requests for full manuscripts. And listen to this--in addition to feeling like a writer, I started writing like a writer.

So, now I've tested the string again, doing everything I mentioned at the beginning, and something happened. I had a plan, I had a tentative schedule, I made appointments, I sent a few bold emails, and prepared myself to be a successful writer. And yes, the VERY NEXT DAY, something incredibly hopeful happened, although completely unrelated to the adjustment I'd made in my career plan. My agent got a request for a full manuscript she'd sent out on submission a month or so ago. And it was a BIG publisher that could very well unfold the world for me.

No, I won't hear anything for a few months I'm sure. But the point is, Newanda, that a change in attitude, a change in the focus of energy, really seems to do something to my universe. Everything, it seems, begins to shake a little, maybe vibrate. Maybe any movement makes a ripple in our private cosmos, and a big fish may rise to the surface to see what the devil is going on.

So, get out your little chemistry sets, your goal sheets, or that notebook you bought for recording your aspirations. Touch your toes, change your perspective (I like to drive up on the mountainside and look down on my little community). It can be anything, but do whatever it takes to come fully alert.

Now that you're alert, make a bold plan. The bolder, the better. Something you can actually control, though, like dressing for success, or making an opportunity for yourself. Then sit forward (not back) and see what happens.

This is the important part: come back and tell me all about it!

Embarassing Henry David Thoreau

2010-09-12T22:47:00.000-06:00

It's mid-life crisis time! Yay~~~~~
I'm retiring from the world of volunteering and participating, and diving into the reality of my own back yard. There are worlds out there, between the rustling leaves and swaying branches, characters in the eyes of my children. Why, oh why, have I been looking in the city, when there is so much to find at home?

I'm going to take some advice from Leaves of Grass. I am going to leave the busy world behind. I have my own Leaves of Grass to write...among my own leaves.

Does this happen to you other writers, around about October? Is it just the change in the weather? Is it that damned Mercury in retrograde again? Is it the instinct to increase the bulk of my fur, to prepare? Gather berries and nuts maybe? I want to bite apples and chew weeds and taste what's going on around me. Hell, I'd even smoke something if I thought I could taste it better.

Yesterday, a friend and I got our cardio in by walking a lovely wooded path. I think I came home with a new addiction. Air. Fresh, organic, air. How could I ever find happines in a boxed, packaged version for so long? I want to break out my own windows--knock down the walls and get a good pure look at the sqaure of space we've wrongly imprisoned for the past 15 years!

But then I walk out into the dark night air, look at the stars I so rarily notice, and feel a chill. Moments later, I'm back inside, grateful for the warm imprisoned air that takes the chill away. Grateful I won't be sleeping out of doors tonight. Grateful for all those things I thought I could give up earlier in the day.

Spoiled. I am a child. Gimme freedom. Keep me warm. Let me jump off the cliff, but catch me. Gimme gimme. Dear Lord, I have raised the Entitled Generation. My bad.

SECRETS IN STORE FOR PARK CITY CON

2010-08-15T14:59:00.000-06:00

Yes, I'm the conference quack.
Wait. I'm the soon-to-be-retired conference quack.
This will be the last year I will pull off the HEART OF THE WEST CONFERENCE in Park City. Our theme this time is "Out, out damned plot."
There are surprises in store, silliness galore, and enough VIP's to rub off an ambitious writer's elbows.

Please refer to the Kiss It and Send It Ceremony. http://kissitandsendit.blogspot.com/

We have secret guests coming for our YA Fae Soiree and a secret guest coming for our 'Ophelia's Anti-depressant Chocolate Pond Party.' And since the KIASI Ceremony will be held near the pool, who can say how many of us will end up in the water...on a cool October evening? Good thing there will be hot chocolate in the pond...

Yeah. So come.
You can find details on utahrwa.com .

The Science of Tissue Paper and Ice Cream

2010-07-15T23:14:00.000-06:00

Headed for the Big CON.
Big Con=Big Conference, not the Con of Man, not "the thing you're wasting money on". Not judging the way you spend your money. Not judging the Con. Not judging you. Got it?

The Big CON in my world is RWA Nationals.

It's costing me hearth and home to attend. I don't even want to think about what else I could have done with the money, things that would have been more lasting. Ooops. Just thought about them. Crap.

Moving along.

Let's say you're going to Nationals too. My packing advice will work for any conference, but we'll just use this one as an example.

While you're packing that outfit for the perfect pitch you're going to throw down the gullet of the agent or editor on your wish list of victims, imagine yourself not pitching well. Go ahead. Oh, for Pete's sake, just try it.

Imagine finding absolutely no one important (to your career) on the elevator with you ALL WEEK.

Imagine only other writers at your tables, in your restaurants, and in your lobbies. No chance to pitch, no elbows to rub, no faces to match those VIPs you've been stalking on line, nor anyone running around with a shark's head (Janet Reid).

Imagine the only agents and editors you see are on the panels you attend. Your pitch appointments go well, but no one gushed over you, or offered to sign you on the spot.

The clothing choices are fantastic, but no one notices them but you. Everyone else is a little too preoccupied with what they themselves are wearing . And you see seven people wearing the same pair of earrings, three have the same sandals, and the one woman who owns a copy of your dress sits at your table on Awards night.

Decide now, while packing those clothes, what attitude you're going to pack along with them, in between each outfit, like a layer of tissue paper.

Why are you going to this CON? Looking to be discovered? Looking for a way to push yourself into the line of sight of someone with the power to help your career? Are you going to impress your friends, family, or local chapter members? Are you out of your mind?

Do amazing things happen to some people at conferences? Sure. Have you had great experiences in pitch appointments before? Probably. Are you going because you are serious about your career and want to be in the right place at the right time, just in case? Of course.

But this is the attitude I'm packing.

Of course it's a lot of money. I believe I'm worth an indulgence like this.
What am I indulging in?
I'm going to go somewhere, for five days, where I can talk with people around me, about the activity in my life that I find most rewarding.
I won't have to explain why I write, or why I would want to invest so many hours into something that may never pay off in actual money.
I won't have to listen to (too many) jokes about sex scenes.
I won't have to explain the publishing industry, or what the difference is between an agent and an editor.
I won't have to listen to anyone ask why it's taking so long to hear back from those people who were considering my book.

Everyone attending will be in one of four boats:
Beginner
PRO
PAN (Published)
Or Industry professional

I can relate to anyone in any of the four boats. I could walk into the lobby, join a random group of women in the midst of their conversation and feel perfectly at home. You could gather any six writers and put them around a lunch table and they could happily talk for hours.

The point, Newanda, is that writers conferences are for writers. While the industry professionals are certainly the cherries on top, it's more a chance to eat ice cream with like minds and know that we are not alone. And if you've never been to a BIG CON, you really don't understand the magic of meeting a perfect stranger and knowing, in another life, you'd be absolutely soul-deep friends.

We're like scientists, really.

In their daily lives, scientist teach science from the bottom up. But scientists getting together with other scientists is what gives our civilization hope. They don't discuss basics; they stand on the pinacles of what they know and they push each other to look beyond, to stretch, to move past the tools...and create.

So there is my tissue paper, the attitude I'm packing. I'm going for all the possibilities of elbow rubbing, sure. But if nothing happens there, I won't be kicking myself for having attended. The real reason I'm going is for the ice cream and the inspiration I'll get from my fellow writers. THAT plan cannot fail.

So don't kill yourself memorizing each little word of your pitch. Don't waste an hour deciding on those perfectly unique earrings, and plan for a fun time. Dye, wax, tan, and get nails, but know that you're doing it all for you.

And oh, yeah. DEDUCT EVERYTHING!

Lesli

Brilliance and Broccoli

2010-06-16T20:33:00.000-06:00

Why the *bleep* are you reading this blog when you should be writing?

Procrastinating again?
Looking for inspiration without, when you should be digging around within?

Or have you earned the right to surf for a while? You've got time to kill, or you have something percolating that isn't yet ready to pour onto the page maybe?

I'll tell you, the best place for percolating, stewing, or reducing--as in, reduction, boiling down, concentrating into something pure--besides the kitchen...is in the bathroom.

The shower! I'm talking about the shower!

Steam cleans the senses. Think about it.
It awakens the skin, cleans your sinuses, washes away fragrance or odors from your hair, heightens awareness, and enlivens the brain. (Want a shock? Turn the knob to 'cold'.)

Leave those great ideas alone too long, and they'll mold, or wilt, or dry up and blow away. Grab them up before it's too late and steam 'em. Like broccoli, they may brighten up and really impress you.

I thought of the funniest thing this morning. I came out of the shower laughing my head off, and it had nothing to do with what I saw in the mirror. That was foggy anyway.

I'm just sayin', this morning, I was broccoli and brilliant.

TRYING TO TRY

2010-05-02T23:12:00.000-06:00

I'd been trying all month to start a new book. All month.
Okay, I'll admit I'd been trying to try.

I'd thought about it often. I'd been bored a couple of times and wandered into my office, wondering what I should be doing, then realizing what that something was. I'd even shut the door and intended to send children away if they came in to whine for something, but none of them came. And with such little effort needed, it should have been easy to start a new story.

But I didn't. If it was going to be that easy, I could start it again in a day or two. But now it's turned into a month or two. NOT. GOOD.

So, what I did was this:
First, I made it a goal to finish the first half of a new book by the end of this new month. Then I took my office apart--with the distinct goal of putting it back together again by the end of the weekend--and rearranged my Feng and my Shui. At least that goal was reached.

Whatever the directional flow of wind (feng) and water (shui) that accompanied the writing of my last work has been drastically changed.
While seated at my desk, I'm facing Southwest, for heaven's sake. The doorway is located at 7:00, BEHIND ME . There is no water fountain , but the breeze in my 50 foot trees can be heard and seen to my right .

Things I should have taken care of, or organized long ago, are now stacked in nice piles upon a bench under the window. My three awards are dusted and hung above the closet, and the framed cork boards are up on the wall after waiting patiently in a corner for over a year. The perfect chair is now in the perfect corner--an impossible feat, I assure you. The 18th Century Italian cabinet lurkes at my back, which may or may not inspire some gothic overtones in "the new book". And a copy of that contract I just signed with my first agent sits near my left elbow to remind me that I have at least one fan for whom I will write this story. It's not just for me anymore.

That's right, Geppetto, I'm almost a real boy now. I got no strings to hold me down, to make me fret or make me frown. My cricket's name is Cori, and I'm headed out of the house. I've cashed in my wish-upon-a-star, and now I've got to earn my little pink nose. Only difference between me and Pinnochio is: I've GOT to tell a real whopper of a story to earn mine.

Here's hoping for a mind-blower.
L

HAVE I LOST A HUNDRED POUNDS?

2010-04-20T14:27:00.001-06:00

I sure FEEL like I've lost a hundred pounds.

On April 15th I signed with a literary agent, and now I'm warring with some pretty bizarre feelings nearly a week later.

I've taken a can opener and pried the "aggressive writer" hat off my head. I've notified everyone with my query, partial, or full that all of my works have found representation. And BOY, wasn't that unreal, UNdoing all that work, then getting lovely notes from people who suddenly saw me differently.

I guess it's kind of like losing a whole lot of weight--people are happy to look me in the eye.

Is it unfair for people to avoid eye contact with overweight people? Of course it is. But is there anything, realistically, that can be done about it? I'd say, not short of jumping on the table and dancing around until they look at you.

My point, Nuwanda, is that unpublished writers are fat. Well, we're kind of invisible in the same way as those of us who take up a bit more space in the world. I've been dancing and singing on this table for quite a while now, and The Call came just in time. My arms were getting tired from waving. My voice was getting hoarse, and the taps on my shoes were no longer tapping, so much as dragging.

So I'm climbing down off the table, with the help of my new agent, Cori. The platform is all yours, and hopefully I won't be back to try and bump you off for another try.

Sing loud. Dance pretty. And good luck!

Lesli

Can You Know Too Much?

2010-03-20T14:02:00.000-06:00

As a matter of fact, you can.

For those of you who follow literary agent blogs, I feel as Jessica Faust feels this spring--that everything that needed saying has been said. She is backing away a bit from her blogging because she's found herself rehashing the same old...well, hash.

And now that I'm ready to graduate with all possible knowledge on the dos and don'ts of agent hunting, and I've followed the tweets of far too many industry icons, I feel like I'm standing in the parking lot, wearing my cap and gown, and realizing that it was all a crock.

Who do I see to demand those hours of my life back?
Only me.
But maybe I can keep some of you from wasting too much time obsessing.

We don't need to know it all.
We don't need to understand the inside cupcake jokes of agents or editors who, let's face it, live in a world with cupcakes on every corner.
We don't need to remember the name of a targeted agent's pet, husband, or pet/husband.
We don't need to know what sold today for six figures and WHY. In fact, it may be better if we don't know.

Instead, we need to spend some time practicing and improving our understanding of punctuation, syntax, and literary tools so we can become better writers--to better COMMUNICATE OUR STORIES. (Yes, I'm yelling!)

My suggestion, if you're still reading, is to pick one day of the week to worry about finding an agent, editor, or stand-up gig, and the rest of your writing time sculpting that mess on your desk into something breathtaking.

If you're so interested in the inner workings of agents, become a freaking agent. If you're in love with New York, move there. If you want to become a best-selling author, write your guts out. Rewrite them. Toss it all and start again. Then rewrite that.

Take a Chef Ramsay approach to your writing career. Toss what doesn't work. Fire whomever won't support the surge to success, and get back in the damned kitchen!

Well, She's Dead

2010-02-05T16:28:00.000-07:00

That's it.
She's dead.
No one saw it coming. Hell, I didn't actually see it coming. It was more like a rumor floating around my own head that I refused to pin down and look at seriously.

It's not like it wasn't painful, because I must confess, it hurt me just as much as it hurt her, and I'm still in a little bit of shock--like when you're sitting in your crumpled car trying to make yourself understand that yes, you've been in an real live accident. Even when it's your own fault for not paying enough attention, you're still as shaken up as the one you've hit.

I didn't kill her with a car, by the way.

I didn't take a poll before I knocked her off. Murder isn't the kind of thing for which you can ask advice.

I murdered her in the broad light of day. There was no struggle, really. More of a surprised look and a stupid little comment given with a Scottish accent, "Oh, yeah. Right. Well, let's get on with it, then."

Then she sat back into the fountain, wincing at the chill of the water as it flooded through her denim and reached sensitive parts. Just before her ears went under I asked if she'd mind closing her eyes. And she said, again in that Scottish accent (probably an unconscious bid for reconsideration), "I'll do me best."

There she was, submerged just a few inches below the surface, holding her breath, when one eye popped open and she frowned. "Oh, right," I said, and put my hands on her shoulders to hold her down. She nodded and shut that eye once more. And as if she could hear the countdown in my mind, on the count of three bubbles poured out of her mouth and mingled with the fountain bubbles that were floating over to see what the hell we were doing.

She looked up at me then. Both eyes boring into mine.
I held tight.
Her body jerked in protest as she breathed the water in, and for a little while her hands pulled at my arms, her legs kicked, even though she hadn't intended to struggle. And just before those eyes got that far-off vacant look, I heard her last thoughts as if they were my own.

"You don't need me anymore. Make me proud."

(And I'll be damned if I'm not crying now, as I'm telling it.)

Still I held on, even though I didn't need to; the struggle was over, the keys to the castle handed over without so much as a question.

Could it be that she had known what was coming before I did?
She was a clever chick, after all.

No body floated by in the swirl of cool water as it streamed past my empty hands. She was just gone.

Of course there are pictures and business cards. Her name has not been erased completely. There are accounts to tend to, announcements to be made, and a website to change. But every now and then, when her name pops up, I'll do a double take and try to remember other days, before the fountain.

So, rest in peace Ainsley MacQueen.
She won't be back.
I could never do this again. You'd end up calling my Sybil.

In lieu of flowers, buy the future books of Lesli Muir Lytle

The Contents of Your Asylum

2010-01-22T19:06:00.001-07:00

The one fantasy common to most writers is to make enough in royalties to quit their day jobs.

Don't do that.

Part of what makes stories interesting and unique is the flavor enhancement known as CONTENT. These are the little ideas you've been carrying around in your head for decades, or years, or weeks, that you cleverly slip into a scene here and a dialogue there.

Content makes your characters more interesting--like that big hair you added to the description of an old witch--the one your old boss used to have growing off the bottom of her earlobe that curled back like a hoop earring and you always wondered why in heaven's name she could never see it in a mirror, and then wondered if she knew about it all along and was testing mankind to see who might be brave enough to tell her about it.

That's content. That's interest. That's why older writers are a little better than younger ones, because they have content. It's a secret recipe you've been working on all your life and you add it to everything you create, making it sing on the tongue.

The point here, Newanda, is that your content reservoir doesn't fill by itself. You've got to be out in the world--and I don't mean Starbuck's--to keep topping it off. No matter how wonderful your view of the backyard, or how many interesting folks you meet at church, you're going to need to siphon a little of the sea of humanity if you want to maintain the outgoing flow of interesting bits.

And what better place to siphon content and money off a strangely-furred employer than at a day job? I can't wait to quit my current employment, if only for the freedom to examine the boss's oddities on this blog and elsewhere. (*See conveniences of having a pen name...)

So quit wanting out! Take a look around and pretend you work in an asylum, because brother, you do.

Ainsley

The Gist, Newanda...

2010-01-19T16:11:00.000-07:00

I write because you, the reader, need to see what I see, and how I see it.

I'm on the other side of the two way mirror and there are things on this side you are MISSING. And if you don't want to know about them, it can only mean you don't UNDERSTAND what you're missing. It is my duty in life to make you understand.

There. Did you see that? Holy crap! Holy, holy crap!

You missed it? Oh, yeah, you. are. screwed.

Well, slip me a Mr. Franklin and I'll tell you what you missed. You'll just have to trust me. It's worth it.

Okay, I'll take a five.

The writer on the inside,
Ainsley

Holy Cow, I'm Happy.

2010-01-15T17:24:00.001-07:00

So I was fantasizing yesterday about being the next Stephanie Meyer or JKR and wondered what it would be like to have all that money, to be a NYTBSA and obtain the fame and vindication that would complete my life.

(And yes, I'm pretty sure that's what I'm after--oh, and a lifetime's supply of chocolate covered almonds).

I dragged my husband in on the fantasy, since such an occurance would also change his life. We debated on selling the house, but decided to stay and add on (so our autistic son wouldn't have wasted the last 21 years of his life memorizing an address only to have us MOVE.)

I was excited about the prospect of having a maid, but Hubby claims he wants to stay home and be Mr. Mom. He doesn't mind cleaning the toilets either. I suspect he would rather do that than allow strangers access to his bathroom.

So we decided to travel. He suggested buying a motorhome and driving around the country to visit our children. I pointed out that it was nearly certain all of them will live within 30 miles, even after the last of them marries.

We'd spend a lot on food and eat anything we want...but we already do that.
We'd spoil our children...done.
We'd buy new cars, but our neighbors would think we'd moved if there weren't at least a trio of paintless wonders in our driveway. Even family would drive past saying "Oh, that can't be it."

I know there are a lot of big things I haven't even touched upon here, but the point, Newanda, is that this little conversation made me realize that I don't want my life to change. I like my life. I'd like my bank account to change--who wouldn't--but the life? It's pretty good.

Then I realized what this meant: Holy shit! I'm happy.
When did that happen? Where was I? When was somebody going to tell ME for hell sakes?

So who knows? Maybe I'll be a kinder, gentler writer who only encourages you to focus on your writing with uplifting stories of patience and success.

Maybe NOT!

I may be happy, but you aren't! And you're not going to be happy until you've finished that damned book, or short story, or article for your church newsletter (cough, cough). (And yes, the coughing was to cover up the LAUGHTER. If you're only writing for the church ladies, why in the hell are you reading this blog?)

Happy Ainsley who has not misplaced her whip.

No Country For Casual Writers

2010-01-08T11:01:00.000-07:00

Wanna be a casual writer?

Wanna write when your muse takes your hand and gently guides you to a pen and paper because the breeze tickling your sheer drapes has kissed her cheek and brought her out of her deep sleep and she's ready to dictate the lovely dream she's been having?

Do you want to write when the stars are aligned at the same time your family leaves you alone in the house unexpectedly?

In ambitious moments do you make a writing schedule and celebrate when you hit your goal a couple of days out of the month? Or even spend more time blogging or emailing about your writing than you actually spend on the manuscript itself?

Then you are a casual writer. Nothing wrong with that. You probably enjoy your writing more than most; it is a gift, not a chore.

For those of you less casual about your writing, I don't know if you've noticed, but the writing industry has turned into a GAUNTLET. It's no longer a row of desks spread out in the middle of a field like archery targets where we stand back and try to lob our babies from afar, hoping the desk it lands on, or bumps into, is the desk of someone who will appreciate said baby and if they dont, we'll pick it up, dust it off, and lob it at the next desk.

The new GAUNTLET is a damned busy public transit stop in Asia with thousands lined up waiting for the next train, to shoot their bodies toward the doors as soon as they crack open regardless of the people who are getting off and making room for more. With enough effort, after all, the agressive new group can push them out the other side of the train.

And these gentle human beings are anything but. While they wait for that train, they've either got their heads down, nudging their way forward, looking for familiar faces with whom they might gang up and weild more power, or they're trying to thin the crowd. "I hear the next stop has short lines...why don't you try it?"

Sorry to say, that if you're trying to get on this train, you should bring thugs with you (fellow writers) and embrace the gang mentality (writer conferences). At least you'll have a better shot of survival when the excitement gets people pushed onto the tracks. Friends, if they haven't been turned by the smell of blood in the air (angels), can at least pull you back up on the platform.

And once you're on the train, you'll have to fight like mad to get away from those doors before they open again. Grab any handle and hang on for your life. And if your work stinks, there are trap doors that will dump you out between the tracks. For pity's sake, DON'T STINK! You want some editor or agent to take one peek at the manuscript under your arm, think you smell like money, and offer you a seat next to him or her.

Screw the soft breeze. It's a rough wind that accompanies the publishing train and you don't want your nightgown blown around like a doomed ship's sail pulling you toward those sharp iron wheels. The only legacy you'll leave behind is a youtube video of that stupid surprise on your face, just as you're going under.

Have I thinned the crowd a little?
No?
Good for you. See you at the station.

Ainsley, the world traveller

Work, Damn You

2009-12-29T13:05:00.001-07:00

Tell me, are you happy being a writer?

Are you, by chance, in it for the opportunity to tell people you are a writer and thereby appear mysterious and intriguing to them?

Do you imagine great writers are found the same way great actors are found, stopped by some movie director in a coffee shop who forces his or her card into said actor's palm with super-exclusive cell phone numbers scribbled on the back and claims said actor is just what he needs for the movie he's starting and please drop the boring life and be on location by 6 am the next morning?

Is an editor haunting your town with the 2010 version of Manuscript Detector hidden in the back of a utility van, holding oversized earphones to her head, waiting for that 'ping' that will tell her that somewhere in your house is the Cinderella of all writers just waitiing to be discovered, locked up in the attic with only a pen and paper to keep her company and no singing mice in sight, and therefore forced to write amazing stories of literary genius for a little escapism?

Really?

I'm telling you now that if you are Cinderella look around.
Harder.
Those singing mice are somewhere. And the story about you is much more interesting (which is not saying much) than the story you wrote and you should stick with playing princess and leave the writing to the people who...

WANT IT BAD ENOUGH TO WORK REALLY HARD AND THEN POUND THE VIRTUAL PAVEMENT TO MAKE PUBLICATION HAPPEN!

To those of you whose talents have been discovered by an agent or editor while sipping your Starbucks and typing with one finger, or discovered because Aunt Serina knew someone who knew someone who owed her a favor, the rest of us have a message for you.

Miss on you, Pister.

Remember: Luck without Work is DUMB luck.
Work rewarded with Luck is Karma.

And to my friends who have recently been so rewarded with agent contracts, I dance the Evan Almighty Dance in your honor. Don't watch, it's not pretty.

Ainsley

Turn Up The Meaning

2009-12-14T17:19:00.001-07:00

The following is a quote from Kandinsky's book, Concerning the Spiritual in Art, and it was just the ticket for me today. I think my word count is counting too much these days, when I should be paying more attention to meaning.

Don't feel bad--I had to read it twice.

"... In a conversation with an interesting person, we endeavour to get at his fundamental ideas and feelings. We do not bother about the words he uses, nor the spelling of those words, nor the breath necessary for speaking them, nor the movements of his tongue and lips, nor the psychological working on our brain, nor the physical sound in our ear, nor the physiological effect on our nerves. We realize that these things, though interesting and important, are not the main things of the moment, but that the meaning and idea is what concerns us. We should have the same feeling when confronted with a work of art."

So harken back to why you started writing your story, the message you hoped to convey, the emotions for which you went dredging.

Ainsley, changing gears

EMBRACE THE HORROR...YA.

2009-11-19T14:33:00.001-07:00

Inspiration is an amazing thing. Like pennies from Heaven, you never know when inspiration will pour into your lap, clinking for attention, shaking your femurs with the sudden weight.

My legs are shaking now, not with the thrill of an historical romance unraveling in my mind, but with something I never intended to write...a YA.

When Harry Potter came out I had five kids between ages 8 and 12. In their blind belief that their mother could do anything, they pleaded with me to write a Harry Potter. I laughed.

A few years ago Twilight came out. The same children, now older though no less optimistic, suggested I write the next Twilight. Their lives, they reasoned, would be so much easier if I were rich. Having another series of books to read would be an added bonus.

I explained to them my main requirement for writing a book is for the story to drop into my head and demand to be recorded. At that point only Scottish historicals had the coordinates of my skull. YA wasn't even something I read, let alone something that would "speak to me". But boy, is one speaking now!

Do I feel transparent, writing to the market? Absolutely. After all, I'm the kind of character who fought reading Harry Potter books just because the rest of the world loved them. I NEVER love what's popular. Now I feel like the first rock star to allow VISA to sponsor my concert, or like a republican taking campaign donations from oil companies. In spite of my shame, however, I'm going to do likewise and embrace the horror.

This pile of pennies is weighing me down, holding me to my chair, demanding that I write the story. I feel as if my lower half is buried in a silo of oats and I'll be trapped here until the novel is complete. Every time I need a great idea for a scene I hear a clink and holy crap, there it is. The floodgates are washing down the hill, and I'm afraid whatever stands in my way is going to be ignored like the tiny town of Thistle, Utah, which now clutters the bottom of a reservoir.

You've all been here. I know you have. But just which story was it? Which genre? Are you there right now, gripping your lifejacket and hoping your raft stays right-side-up until it's safe to climb out?

And here's another question: When these mudslides/dam-breakers/writing marathons happen to you, do they always seem to happen when your schedules are full, after major events in your life, or do you make them happen? Is it only Nanovember, or have you poured body and souls on your keyboards during other seasons?

Spill. Share.
Ainsley, who is headed to the store for Prep-H, tissues, chocolate, and a DO NOT DISTURB SIGN for her office door.

THIS IS A TEST: ARE YOU A REAL WRITER?

2009-10-21T14:29:00.000-06:00

1. Have you written today?

2. Have you wished you were writing today?

3. Have you emailed, tweeted, read or written a blog today about writing, rejection, publishing, agenting, or the subject of your latest research?

4. Did you check your email before leaving home, hoping to see a name from New York?

5. Did you check your cell battery in case you get THE CALL?

6. Did you check a list or chart to remind yourself who might be calling or emailing so you'll recognize their names as they all scramble for your attention, after a long night of reading and re-reading your material?

7. Did you lose sleep anytime in the previous week imagining one or more residents of New York reaching for your submitted work, the look on their faces as they read, or the times during the day when they may have tried to call but either the phone was busy or a satellite in space lost the connection to your voicemail?

8. Did you try to memorize all the area codes in New York so out-of-state sales calls won't give you a heart attack? (Good luck)

9. Do you keep praise for your writing near at hand, like hiding alcohol in a drawer, for particularly hard days?

10. Is anyone in your family under the misconception that someday they will be rewarded handsomely, and with cash, for all the times they tolerated your eccentricities and various forms of abandonment?
_____________________________________________
If you answered 'yes' to question number one, you are a real writer.

If you answered 'yes' to questions 6, 7, or 8, you are a psycho. The good news is, if you also answered 'yes' to question one, the world will overlook your illness.

If you answered 'yes' to number one and to any of the following--2,3,4,5,9, or 10--you're quite normal for a writer. Especially 10.

If you answered 'no' to question number one, but yes to any of the other questions, shame on you. Return to your word processing program and earn your shingle.

YOU ARE NOT DAN BROWN, SO KNOCK IT OFF!

2009-10-18T14:51:00.005-06:00

I say again, you are not Dan Brown...unless you are Dan Brown and you've gotten lost while searching for someone else's blog.

For the rest of you, knock it off!

We, the silly writers of the world, have somehow gotten it into our heads that we are capable of anything any other writer does or has done. If Mr. Whatsit can get a contract for 17 books to be written in a couple of years, or if Thee Nora can crank out a book every two months, or less, we assume they're spinning gold right off their tongues, or fingertips, landing on the hard drive in a perfected state. After all, it's not unreasonable to believe that after you've got your head on straight and that writing muscle pumping like a machine, you are able to pump out fantastic first drafts.

You would be wrong. They would be wrong. We are all bloody wrong, okay?

Of course we get better the more we write. The fourth book is always better than the first, and so on--unless we are burdened with a degenerative disease or an incredibly stubborn pride in every word we write. Yes, stubborn pride is a burden--don't be proud of it! Remember Elizabeth Bennett won the day only AFTER she put her pride aside. So will you. Okay, we.

The point, Nuwanda, is that the only one who might enjoy reading your first draft is you--not your critique partners, probably not even your mother. You are the only one who could think your raw material is brilliant. If you think your first draft, or second, is a gift to the world, you'd be the kind of chef who would advertise two eggs for ten bucks because they have the potential of becoming a gourmet omelet.

I have news for you. No one wants your eggs. Eggs are a dime a dozen, (or a dime each these days).

Recipe for a sellable omelet? I can only guess. Second drafts might crack the shell, but drastic revisions can break them wide open. At this point, it's just a mess without a bit of containment/organization. Using tips from other writers and conferences should add a bit of spice, but you still need to put in some elbow grease and a lot of heat/focused attention.

You selling fresh eggs with great potential?
You may as well be selling blank paper.

Need more professional advice than mine? See this post from Jessica Faust: http://bookendslitagency.blogspot.com/2009/07/good-enough-is-never-enough.html

Don't look now, but I can see my CORE STORY

2009-08-30T10:43:00.004-06:00

New buzz-topic in the Romance Industry? Maybe not, but it's new to me.

Core Story.

From what I've gathered, it's the story behind all the stories you're telling.
When I first read this, I thought, "Oh, how unoriginal, to tell the same story over and over. I'll be damned if I'll only tell one story."

Well, it looks like I'll be damned.

In the Writers On Writing section of the August 2009 RWR, there is a great interview with Jayne Ann Krentz. She was able to identify the core story she was telling in a paranormal she couldn't sell and that discovery led her to the Regency genre where she did very well.

She made it sound simple. Simple is something I can handle even on my laziest days, so I took a poke at the stories in my brain...

It's like seeing a face in the texture of the ceiling above your bed. Once you've seen it, you can never go back. Every time you look at that spot, you see a chin, an ear, and the spaces where the eyes should be.

Unnerving, really.

I've been unnerved, dammit. I don't know how this is going to help me in future stories, and I don't know if it has ruined me. I do know that I have given myself a 'holy, holy crap' psychotherapy session that may or may not affect the rest of my life. And it was all so simple...

Hell NO! I am not going to share with you my core story. It turns out my core story just so happens to be MY core story, if you get what I mean. You can try to see it in my novels as they come out, but thank heavens the ones who know me best won't be able to pick out such things. Surely. Surely!!!

I suppose the real purpose in this post is, I don't want to go quiet into that good night. I want to rage, and I don't want to be raging alone.

Many of you will think I'm out of my gourd...still, or...again, or...it was just a matter of time.

Some of you may never speak to me again, if you have the violent reaction I'm having.

But I can't help it. And neither can you...yes you!
Right now, you're wondering what in the hell I'm talking about. Some of you don't want to know. Some left the blog after the first manic paragraph, or curse word. But right NOW, in the back of your mind, you're wondering what your own core story is. Well, we're ALL wondering. So take a minute. Look at your current wip. Compare it to the one you recently finished. You were telling a story about a woman who....

Having trouble? Try peeling the story away from her, the genre, the trappings, the story set up. Just look at her. Is she interchangeable with your other heroine? How? What is that thing they both end up doing?

Take a minute. I started typing her basic arc. Starts here, meets hero, changed here. Then I realized my endings were similar--not the way a reader would see them, just in theme--a buried-under-six-feet-of-dirt kind of theme.

Take all the time you need. Then, if you've had any breakthroughs, if your core story eerily reflects your past, or how you wished your past would have evolved, share a comment. If you're like me, and your core story is too close to home, tell me. You don't have to show your core, just let me know if you found it, how it makes you feel, whether or not you're worried you might be found out, or whether or not you'll be able to write a more original story next time.

If I'm the only one out here, I'm going to look stupid, but I don't care anymore. In that same RWR issue, there is also an article called "What Make You Strong Makes You Sell", and I'm selling crazy baby.

Ainsley

CHEERLEADING PRACTICE

2009-08-10T08:45:00.004-06:00

READY? Okay!

As a new or reinvented writer, is your hook as important as your book?
Yes.

Is your query as crucial as your book?
Yes.

Is your synopsis as important as your book?
Yes.

Voice?
Yes.

Concept?
Yes.

Pitch?
OF COURSE!

WHAT DOES IT SPELL?
P.A.C.K.A.G.E.

You are going to need the whole package to sell that book, team. Now check your pompoms and megaphone. Make sure your shoes are tied and your rockets are in place. (Clean underwear, jic.) Warm up your vocal chords and get out there. This game won't win itself.

Agent Stalking is a Good Thing

2009-07-28T11:47:00.004-06:00

A writer must have invented "TWITTER".

Seriously.

Wish you could get to know these agents a little before deciding whether or not to query them?

Target/Agent doesn't blog, but does she tweet?

Going crazy waiting to hear back from an agent or two? Wish you could see what their day is like, if they ever spend any time looking at submissions, and why in the world haven't they reached out for yours, which you're sure is sitting right in front of their faces? (ahem)

If I had the capacity for internet program design, and if I were a similarly neurotic writer, I'd invent a program that would seduce agents and editors, and famous writers, to jot down a line or two during their days, telling me just what it was they were thinking or doing at the moment. I'd arrange their comments to be sent to my own little window on their world. I'd make sure I could send off a pithy response or two which they actually may read...sometimes.

I'd make it the coolest thing to join. I'd give it a cute name.
Twitter, maybe. What is cuter than taking a moment to tweet?

Okay, so Twitter may just as easily have been created by someone who likes to stalk others...

Sounds like a writer to me.

Of course it’s not as exciting as stalking them in person, at a national conference, for instance. It’s not as classy as linen stationary correspondence. But it’s great for weeding out agents whose attitude rubs you raw, or who lets it slip that something incredibly close to what you’re shopping around is really not his/her cup of tea, even though he/she requested said cup of tea which is currently sitting on his/her desk, getting cold.

On the other hand, you may find an agent’s sense of humor makes you laugh EVERY TIME she tweets. You see that she just may be the one to GET you. You may find that this perfect agent is going to participate in a conference just a state or two away and if you’re quick, you may get a face to face appointment!

Disclaimer: as someone who has tried to limit her time on-line, joining Twitter was the last thing I had planned to do. But I’m happy I did. My neurosis has lessened. I don’t spend time wondering what an agent is doing. I now have a good guess. I know he or she has a lot more on her plate than I used to think. Client reads, edits, edits, edits, submissions to read, then a hundred more tomorrow. When I get a reply back, I feel a bit more blessed.

So, if you have some stalking to do, I’m just sayin’... After all, that’s what the Indians used to do. Hide in the bushes and make bird calls.

Ainsley MacQueen

MURDERING THE WRONG ME

2009-07-23T08:07:00.008-06:00

To be, or not to be...me. That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler to use a pen name is really what I was after. But like Hamlet, I've already wasted far too much of my life pondering this question.

When first considering a pen name, I made a list. This took no small amount of time. I used every marketing-inclined brain cell while considering each alternative and bothered every acquaintance for his or her input (field research).

Ultimately, I landed on something that spoke to me, rang my bells, and seemed a good marketing move. I got business cards, a website, and started this blog. I have been, for the past two years, Ainsley MacQueen.

I don't know if I'm the only writer to do this, but I have actually been jealous of myself, Ainsley MacQueen, on occasion. The thought of Ainsley MacQueen getting credit for the books I write rubbed me wrong. It's like the gal in the mirror walking out of the glass and taking over the most exciting parts of my life.

So I rebelled. I told my RWA chapter friends that I was plotting Ainsley's murder. I began imagining my own name on those book covers, and I imagined my new fans awaiting my every release, but then I stalled. My name is often pronounced wrong, spelled wrong, and not easily remembered. So I was back to square one.

Or was I?

Perhaps I have been trying to eliminate the wrong person from my career picture. Perhaps Ainsley needs to do the murdering!

Besides, I made the pen name decision two years ago. I spent all that time making the best decision I could make, and I went forward. Why try putting the rose back on the bush, when I have a perfectly lovely vase to put it in--a vase that looks a helluva lot better in public than the old bush, you know?

(Dorian Grey has nothing on me.)

Ainsley MacQueen is alive and well and taking over. Vive la portrait!

Oh, bouyancy!

2009-07-20T15:46:00.004-06:00

I was reading a friend's blog http://www.judyswriting.blogspot.com/ today and was inspired.

At the end of the blog, she gives a short list of positive things to be, and I finally have a definition for my personality; I am buoyant.

Before some of you (Lisa Water Closet, et al) fall onto the floor and lose your grip, I am not speaking of the fact that I find it physically impossible to drown!

I refer, rather, to my attitude in general. I wouldn't call myself optimistic. What fun would that be? You can't enjoy sarcasm with those rose-colored glasses on.

But I'm not a total pessimist, either. Although my head goes under every now and then, I tend to bob back. I'm buoyant. It is the more liquid equivalent of bi-polar, perhaps, but I tend to linger longer on the upswing. The size of my...egos... keep me up there, I guess.

(I thought this would be a bit of a bandaid for that last "piss or get off the pot" post.)

The Chronically Buoyant Ainsley

Pucker Up, Buttercup!

2009-07-18T16:18:00.002-06:00

Brace yourselves, Effies!

The reports from RWA's National Conference are going to be a mixed bag, and the bags are due home in a couple of days.

What do I foresee in the mix?

I suspect the usual report of writer's and VIP's trying to keep a stiff upper lip in the economy. I expect the true and worthy advice about making sure your product is absolutely perfect if you expect to sell in these choppy industry waters, and I expect some desperate celebrations on the popularity of romance novels in a depressed society.

But I am guessing that the real juice to be wrung out of the RWA National grapevine is going to make us all pucker.

Newbies are a tough sell. Newbies are going to be THE TOUGHEST SELL this year. It doesn't matter what you write, or how good you are, how many awards you win, or the ever-reliable 'who you know'.

If you are a newbie, with no publishing numbers to set of the mousetrap, you're going to be laying in wait for the dumb luck of a mouse/agent stumbling and flying onto your cocked, but empty trap. And if you get lucky enough to have her at your mercy for a few seconds before she sets off again in search of negotiable cheese, you'd better have a big voice and something pithy to say.

So, my advice to you, before you hear it firsthand, is to brace yourself for bad news, determine whether or not you have what it takes to TAKE THE MOUSE BY THE BALLS, or go the other route and find a palatable exit strategy.

It can all be summed up with one of my favorite lines from The Shawshank Redemption, "You gotta get busy livin', or get busy dyin'."

To those of you queuing up for the River Stix Tour, I bid you a fond farewell. To those of you who decide to stand upon the battlements with me, I've got your back.

Ainsley

Jumping the Plotting Fence In My Underwear

2009-05-26T13:45:00.002-06:00

As self-appointed leader of the opposition-to-plotting party, I hereby resign.

To those whom I leave behind on my break for the other side of the fence, I wish you luck and hope to soon see you on the outside. As I don't usually go around asking people what style of underwear they are hiding, I likewise have no idea which side of the fence any of you are on, but I'm outing myself.

Look if you dare.

(For the moment, I'm out of metaphors for closets, underwear, and whether or not one should plot in the closet or pants on the lawn. Feel free to make up your own and share it, but if you do, we'll all know where you stand and what you're wearing!)

What brought this on? Scene and Sequel, baby.

Someone finally stood up on a table, waved her arms wildly enough to get my attention, then told me that while I can be entertaining at times, in a Picasso-eye-where-your-ear-should-be kind of way, my writing is a tad too unfocused for general consumption.

Enter Mr. Bickham, Scene and Structure concept.

Result? I have a google map of the yellow-brick road, know right where to get a free apple, where the poisonous pansies grow, and the departure schedule for hot-air transportation.

Looking for me? Look up, baby. Look up.

Ainsley

Mentors, Mentees, and Giant Cojonas

2009-05-12T23:10:00.005-06:00

Let's get this out of the way, once and for all.

Asking a Best Selling Author to mentor a new author is absolute bull and here are just a few of the four hundred and three reasons why:

Those superstars who have the inclination to mentor...do. Many of them are so happy to fulfill this need for instruction that they actually write a book endowing their readers with all the wisdom they could organize and get past an editor.

Others take a newer writer aside and offer personal advice--the point is, these authors get to choose whom they aid. Trying to make an author take on the mentoring of anonymous newbies is like asking them to take your teenager for the summer. No one will be comfortable with the situation except for the selfish teenager who will take whatever advantage she can.

For fun, let's compare Stephen King and Nora Roberts. While Mr. King has graciously written a book to entertain and educate other writers, Ms. Roberts spends her day furiously producing novels which...can both entertain and educate other writers!

Leave her alone! Don't ask her to write one less novel this year so she can pass along her knowledge to someone who may or may not be worth five minutes of her time. Tell the newbie to go out and buy Stephens book, or any of a hundred books that will teach them the few things that can be taught, since most of what makes a BSA a BSA are the things they learned by writing--not listening, not reading, not plagairizing.

I am not yet a BSA; I'm not even a P.A.N., yet. I have at least a hundred friends in the business, however, and it ticks me off that some people are able to make the most successful among us feel guilty for not giving up their valuable time to lift a stranger off the ground, a thousand miles away, when a perfectly good set of crutches sits on a bookshelf next to this stranger's butt.

I'm not talking about the homeless, I'm talking about the lazy. The Romance Writers of America has meetings in nearly every state, at least once a month, and those writers can lead new writers to a list of books to read, or help them find a critique group, or a loop to join, where they can find all the advice and instruction ever given on how to improve and get published. The non-BSA's who attend these meetings are happy to share this info. I know. I've been shared with and I can honestly say I wouldn't have come as far as I have without these women.

There is a line in Jurassic Park, delivered by Jeff Goldbloom, that says something to the effect that if you haven't put in your dues learning the science, you have no business picking up where others have left off.

I say, if you haven't come to practice all season, why should you be allowed to play in the game?

Ranting Matilda

Writer's Voice and Where to Get Yours

2009-04-30T22:48:00.006-06:00

Having a hard time finding your voice?

Open up your current work in progress. That's it. Open it up to any old page, or new page--even a page of which you're rather fond--and read it aloud.

Sound like you?
Not, "does it sound like you wrote it?", but
Does it sound like you? Were those words you use in your everyday conversation? If your book is historical civil war they wouldn't be, but how about the tempo, the cadence? How about the character's thoughts? Even delivered with a drawl, a brogue, or sliding off the tongue in french, did you hear yourself in there?

Do you suppose Janet Evanovich is a sarcastic woman? You bet your bippie. You can't write sarcasm like that and not be soaking in it. I think for JE to NOT write sarcasm would sound...dishonest.

Look at that page again. Not your words? Not your thoughts? Ask yourself who you were trying to impress, then stop trying to impress them if you can't recognize your own voice in what you write.

You want a voice? You have one. You just have to be honest about it.

At the first writers conference I attended, I believe it was the author Lynn Kurland told us we should just worry about writing to an audience of five--not to the masses, just to five people. She said we could even pick the people, or envision them, but we only need to be able to impress five people.

Boy, does that take the pressure off, right? Not writing to a million people you need to convince to buy your next book, not even a thousand, just five. Easy breezy.

But guess what else it does. It puts you into a nice intimate little circle of associates with whom you can finally be completely honest. Think a character is a turd? Let another character call him a turd. Let your characters be honest and call a turd a turd. Think a character is going to hell for his morals? Say it. Be bold. Be judgemental. Be biased. Be snide. Be paranoid. But be honest.

Another place you're supposed to be flat out shameful and shameless is at your friendly neighborhood shrink's office. Right? So put your characters on that couch and let them spill their guts. Let them rant.

And when they are all done ranting, throw those ethics out the window 'cause you're a quack anyway, and share their dirty little secrets with the reader. Let the honesty flow, babe. Shout it from the rooftops; whisper it through a hole in the fence.

Spill, baby, spill. And when you're done, you will hear something familiar...the sound of your own VOICE.

Ainsley

The Three Year Threat

2009-02-25T10:36:00.003-07:00

I am a snob.
Perhaps some of you knew that already, but this is news to me. Or perhaps my awareness of it comes and goes. If so, it has come again. I am a writer-snob.

Everyone is proud, in a way, of their personal writing process. For example, my all-or-nothing personality dictates my rituals. I must either be completely immersed in my story, or not give it much thought at all. Lately I have realized that the former is becoming more and more rare, and at this rate, I will finish my next book in about...three years.

Aaaaaah!

I have been boycotting writing goals, thinking that would invite more late night manic mudslides of production. My mud, however, has been awfully dry of late. Dirt, really.

So, I've got a small trowel and bucket. Artistic Pride be damned.

Three years. Really!

Ainsley on the rebound

"SUBTLETY," I shouted.

2009-01-28T17:14:00.005-07:00

Let me just say, since there really is no way you can actually stop me now, that I have once again fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with the written word.

On some digest this morning I was seduced to a blog site written by Caren Johnson, lit agent, where she had invited writers to send her a line or two of quality writing out of their wips or completed mss. I missed out on the window, but I did read the critiques she'd given. I also read the beginning of the blog explaining what she considers to be quality writing.

Quality writing.
Hmm, I said.

Quality writing as opposed to quality punctuation, grammar and formatting? As opposed to high concept in-your-face action?

Hmm, I said again.

Quality writing, I discovered, is actually the beautiful stuff I fell in love with all those years ago when I read "Ethan Frome" and wanted to hitch along on a suicide ride, when I wept next to Heathcliff in that silly box-of-a-bed in the middle of the night. And here's the kicker: As it turns out, I don't have to write like an Austin, Wharton, or Bronte in order to write beautifully. And neither do you.

Quality writing is from the soul. It's inspiring and inspired. It's the difference between telling a story and painting a story, but it's even more than that.

It is taking the time to think about what you're trying to say, allowing yourself to feel it, then finding the perfect words to express it. I can't write quality sentences if I am cranking out a word count for a production goal. I can't write quality while outlining a character's GMC, or plotting the greatest romance of the month.

Quality writing is seeing and feeling what lies beneath the story we're telling. It's the secrets kept between the molecules in the air. It's the stuff we can see only with the night vision goggles on. It's there. The writer is the only one who can see it, and she must tell everyone the monster is right in front of us without letting the monster know that she knows.

It's SUBTLETY; anything so subtle others may not see it, but important enough that no one should miss it. It's the potential in Ethan Frome's shoulders that will never be realized because of his "smash up". It's the futility of the winter sun trying to shine through an arctic wind. It's opposition you never notice, tension deep within the stem of a flower that keeps its head up. It's the chemistry inside the same flower that allows it to turn its head, ever so slowly and indiscernibly, toward the sunshine.

Quality writing points out the secrets all around us, secrets God was not going to tell us if we didn't think to ask, or look for ourselves.

If you want to discover if you have left quality writing behind, do what I did. Race to your latest wip and search for three or four lines of quality writing you could post to Caren Johnson (as if it weren't too late to do so) so that she might comment on it.

Want to feel better? I skimmed through ten pages and couldn't find anything worthy.
Want to fix it? Want to warm up your quality writing muscles? Grab a box of tissue and a copy of Ethan Frome. (I wept before I ever reached page two--the way one weeps over poetry, or perfect Christmas snow. I wept for the hope that I might be the producer of such beauty.)

The great thing about Edith Wharton, by the way, is that she is more easily read than Austin, but writes so beautifully you know you're elbow-deep in a classic, and you finally understand what the term "classic" means.

Ainsley the Subtle

Reflecting Forward

2008-12-19T17:37:00.003-07:00

A rare quiet moment to reflect...forward.

2008 is still hovering around us, like Old Father Time circling the drain, waiting for his replacement so he can move on. I wish, however, he would linger just a bit longer that I might catch my breath and share a quiet moment with him before he goes.

2009 is waiting in the velvet curtains for his turn in front of the crowd and my thoughts race, as his might race, to the possibilities whispering in those 365 days sitting on the edges of their seats.

I want to be prepared. I want to know my lines, not play improv. I want to be braced for the music. I don't want to miss a minute.

And so I set a goal, a lofty goal, like a grand floral arrangement in a four-foot- tall fluted vase placed carefully, but nervously on a narrow pedestal. It is time to let go, to see if it will stay put, to see if it holds its place throughout the performance.

My goal is not some tussy-mussy of daisies and baby's breath arranged in a sturdy low bowl and placed in the center of a 60 inch table. It is wild branches with heavy berries that pull at their perch so they might wreak havoc with the white carpet below. It is a delicate blossom worth an untold fortune dangling at an unnatural height screaming "I will not go silent into that good night!"

Take a risk. As you look into your own future, do you imagine being impressed with something safe and staid? Or do you see yourself performing a bit of shock and awe of your own?

Ainsley

MAKE YOUR DAY TASTE BETTER

2008-10-09T14:49:00.006-06:00

How do you think you would feel if you went to Vegas and paid a whole lot of money for a really wonderful buffet, only to hear hours later that you'd missed the second room full of choices? Maybe it was brimming with beautiful desserts, maybe it was steaming with succulent appetizers. Either way, you're going to be ticked that no one pointed it out to you.

Or worse, you may be ticked that someone had told you about it but you either didn't believe them, or didn't really understand what they were saying.

I have been living this buffet. Every day. Life is wonderful, all I could ask for. I never leave the table, or end the day, wanting for much. Until Sunday morning, I didn't really know what I was missing. I actually have seen the other room before, but I forgot it was there.

Let me "s'plain".

Last weekend was kind of a rush for me. Good things happened--no GREAT things happened. Then Sunday morning I woke up with the usual intention of going right back to sleep, but the memory of the day before jumped center-screen in my head and I could not get it off.

Far from my usual routine, I got out of bed without reviewing, or trying to relive, my dreams, and wandered around, not quite knowing what one does when one rises ahead of schedule with nothing planned. I stepped out onto the deck in my robe (since I was still in my conference hotel room) and gulped in what I then remembered was fresh mountain air. I watched the freaking sun rise.

Did you know it doesn't look at all the same first thing in the morning? Probably a bit like people.

I enjoyed the sun, the air, the stillness, the slight touch of moisture on my face, and I wished I could have alerted others to the experience. I wanted to run up to folks in line for the wonderful, but regular, buffet and implore them not to miss the rest, the other room, the other experience that is completely their right to enjoy.

So I'm alerting you. Get up and see what the morning is hiding from you. You may be inspired, as I was, to dance outside in your robe and bare feet.

And it made the rest of the day taste better.

Ainsley

Don't let your crack show!

2008-08-11T20:10:00.003-06:00

You cannot fool editors and agents.

Again: You cannot fool editors and agents.

Of course the odd book gets through the cracks. The odd crack...well, the odd crack is so odd that it is not worth searching for. You don't want to be the one who slipped into the publishing house and unworthily sneaked onto a bookstore shelf, do you?

Of course you don't. You want to write the GAN--the Great American Novel. What is more, you know you CAN write the GAN. So do it...

But don't forget to make it GREAT (or it will only be an AN).

If I boil down all the underlying messages and owl poop gleaned at RWA National Conference this year, it is that all the stalking of eds and ags, all the happy elevator rides and perfect pitches, and all the connections and friends you've made and the self-promoting you've done WILL NOT SELL A MEDIOCRE STORY, OR A POORLY WRITTEN STORY, OR AN AMATEURISH STORY.

Nothing is going to sell your story unless the writing is great. Come up with a great product and the selling part will be easy (well, easier). Produce anything less and the selling of it will be unlikely--VERY unlikely, unless you happen across that crack and slip in. But know this: your crack will show!

As more than one agent said this year, "Stop worrying about self-promoting and start worrying about writing a great story." They can sell a great story. It's what they love to do.

And what do you love to do? You love to write. So write. Do what you love. Don't stop writing in order to be your own agent. Novels do not get written by people who spend their time playing agent.

Spend nearly all your time perfecting this activity you love and then when you've given birth to this beautiful creation, take a snap shot and send it off for the professionals to appreciate and SELL. Then get back to gestating another one. If you were born and bred to breed great stories, don't stop the breeding! (Yes, funny. I know. Now recall the song, "I keep breeding, I keep keep breeding love..." and it's even funnier.)

So gird up your loins. Higher. That's it. You want to be crack-free.

AMQ

Get Crazy, Baby

2008-07-22T15:08:00.004-06:00

Upon my wall, among the endless array of scraps of both paper and wisdom, one quote reigns supreme. I have long since lost the author’s name, of course, so please don’t anyone sue me. It reads:

There is no perfect time to write; there is only now.

There is no perfect time to write? Surely if you light the requisite number of candles, put on the perfect music, keep your space uncluttered and pay off the requisite number of children to find a quiet pastime in the opposite end of the house, surely that will leave you with the perfect time to write.

Does that not depend upon which type of writer you are?

Are you a plotter or a pantser? (Not a pantster with two t’s, for wouldn’t that indicate you like to run about taking the pants off others?) A pantser, as most of you already know, is someone who sits in the chair and writes by the seat of his or her pants with very little thought ahead of time as to where the story might lead, from what source of conflict comes, etc., etc.

For those of you who plot, who find it difficult to sit down to write unless it is indeed the perfect time to write and the perfect journey has been laid before you, you may be missing a lively boat.

And for those of you who are pantsers who give yourself grief for not being a plotter, for needing to go back a few times over to restructure, etc., you may not be enjoying the lively boat in which you sit.

If you can take up a pen and paper, look around you and be completely inspired, I believe a panster will find a freedom a plotter cannot. If you can manage to let your muse wild for a bit, with no structure to control it, it will take you along for an incredible ride.

How long has it been since you have ridden?

Imperfect time to write coupled with an imperfect writer could very well produce the latest edge on which to cut a story.

If anyone can do it, we can.

Plotters, come over to the dark side. Pantsers, lighten up. That's it, really.

Ainsley

The Email Diet

2008-06-24T15:56:00.002-06:00

Oh, you're really going to love this.
Think emails can help you lose weight?
Nope. In fact, they probably help you gain it.
But what I am talking about here today is how emails help you lose time.
Email diet, bad.

I remember sitting behind my accountant, watching her trying to get into an IRS site to find the answer to some question. I couldn't believe how much time goes by when you are not the one driving the mouse. In the time it took her to find her answer, I could have made a phone call, been redirected four times and boiled water for mac and cheese.

The email ZONE is just like that. A dead zone. You have no idea how much of our valuable writing--and living--time is eaten away at it. For instance, it's slow at work today. Very slow. I opened my email two and a half hours ago, and apart from the stray phone call and a customer, I've been on email all this time!

KILL ME NOW!

So, I've gotten away from TV for the most part. Now it's going to be email. In fact, I think I will take the internet off my cp and only use it for writing. And when I do go to email, I'm going to keep a timer with me. If I need to put every one of my loops on digest--or even pull out of them--I will.

Nothing but emails from editors and agents can be important enough to suck away my time like that again.

I so swear.
Ainsley

Hitman for Critique Partners

2008-06-09T19:29:00.004-06:00

Critique partners got you down?
It's time for the "trust yourself" lecture.

So....trust yourself.

Think of how far you've come, how much you know that you didn't know in the beginning. Think of all the time you put in for other people, to help them with their writing. It's time now to think of you. To remember why you started writing in the first place.

You love to tell stories, right? You have a great story to tell, right? So tell it. It's like in the movie, The Rookie, when he remembers that playing baseball is supposed to be fun. And he was getting paid to have fun. He walked into the locker room after coming so close to giving it all up, and said, "You know what we get to do today, Brookes? We get to play baseball!"

So, you know what you get to do today? You get to play "writer". Forget those women who have nothing better to do than to drag you down, or worse yet, think they are helping you by picking you apart. Remember the important part about dissecting a frog is THE FROG DIES.

Take a break from CP's. Just trust yourself. Trust that you know a thing or two. Step back and look at the story you are trying to tell, at the people you want us all to meet, and tell us about them. Put them on the psychologist's couch and let them rant and rave while you type it up.

You have the power to save someone, to change some one's life, to rescue the damsel, to save the hero from himself. And you can do all of it. Don't let them stop you. Buy some chocolate for pity's sake, the expensive kind. Indulge in everything and let your characters indulge themselves. Take an "I'll show them" attitude and show them. Make it great.
Take your favorite scene and reveal a little more than you had. Take a bad scene and look at it. What are you trying to do here? What minor changes can you do to some one's dialogue or actions to make the story clearer? Through whose eyes you are watching this scene happen? Would a different POV make things more exciting?

And then, when you have had your fun, cause remember, it is fun....then you can say, It's done. If you don't like it, you don't like it. I like it and it's time to move on because I have another great story to tell.

Listen, I'm rewriting my first ms for about the seventh time in two years and I can't stand it anymore. So I am going to attack the story with all the energy of a ranting lunatic and shake it up. Every time I've given the reader what they expected, I'm going to turn it around and give them just the opposite. Their heads will be spinning. I have a life to live and stories to publish and this one story only gets seven more weeks of my life and that is it. Seven weeks.

Have some fun with this wip. Like a flower arrangement that just looks horrible, take all the flowers out and do something different. Use the same flowers--the same story--and wrench it around. No one ever complains about too much action, excitement, or surprises, right? So blow them out of the water.

You are a writer. You are a god in that universe inside your head, now act like one. Create. Shock and Awe, baby. Leave them panting. Exhaust them and walk away laughing.

There.

Aisnley

Getting Up From Down Time

2008-06-03T15:12:00.004-06:00

As you may have noticed, I was missing in action for the month of May. Lots of excuses; weddings, funerals, holidays, and flowers for all of them. I am a former florist, by the way, and am trying to remain a retired one. Sadly, in a month like May 2008, it was not possible.

So, I've had some "down" time. Welcomed or not, I took an uncomfortably long break from my emails and my ol' pal, Word. I will not examine too closely how many days I never gave a thought to turning on my cp, let alone remembering the wee blue "W".

But now I am back. Time to get up off my...down time. How do I start?

First, I will not waste my time worrying that had a been a real writer I would not have taken such a long break. Until I am given the luxury of 7 undisturbed hours per day, like Hemmingway, I will not brow beat myself for non-production.

Second, I will not make the mistake of waiting for my Muse to revisit. It never answers its mail (or email), never calls just to check on me, to see if I'm ready for company. When I'm published my Muse will not be signing those books, taking credit. It will be all about me, baby, and so must the work be all about me.

So, it's time to start. Luckily for me, I followed Stephen King's advice: I didn't walk away from the computer before knowing what work I would do when I returned to it. I know what my first task is. I know the time allotted for it. I will send off some funny emails to my friends to warm up my writer's vocal chords and begin with the page I have scribbled on a three by five card next the monitor. How "plottish" of me.

What a crock.

Of course that is what I planned to do, but I have to sneak up on my writing so I don't have to "set the mood". It's like a pit bull; I'll avoid eye contact and go about my paper shuffling as if there was never a lull, using all my acting ability to keep the smell of fear from the room.

Next, I will strain my brain for a romantic image that will set my brush to canvas. And I will be ever so grateful when something lands on the paper and smiles. Stephen King, eat your heart out.

Remember, all the planning and good intentions are worthless if you can't walk (or crawl) to the chair, unrepentantly push the clutter from the seat and replace it with your backside.

Here's to pushing the crock off the counter and getting down to business. (Makes you wonder if my office is a complete disaster, doesn't it?) Go ahead, wonder.
Ainsley

Bigfoot and The Writer's Voice

2008-04-18T12:47:00.004-06:00

That's right, people. I have found my elusive Writer's Voice. This calls for a toast!

In our early years of writing we are encouraged to watch for it--like Bigfoot. We are told it's out there somewhere. Others have their own proof, and urge us to hunt for ours. They even give us suggestions for bait, the places most likely to find it, where you definitely won't find it. Some even have theories on the best procedures for its care and feeding.

But in the back of our minds we acknowledge it may never exist, or if it does, we likely will never be able to identify it. We pretend to believe. We forge ahead, hoping it will fall in along side us as we go, but we doubt.

Hold on to your marshmallows, campers. I'm here to tell you Bigfoot has been sighted again. I will share with your my proof and you will be believers.

The question of "genre" choice has been bubbling to the top of conversations and loops of late. In fact, on the novelsisterhood loop we were asked what we read and what we write. Harmless question.

Not.

What would you think if your answers to these two questions were not the same? In my case I saw a breakthrough. My next step has been to experiment in another genre and I have blown my own socks off. Within the first 2000 words I realized I was hearing my true voice giving those words back to me. And although I love that other genre like a friend, I have come home.

I will add my own advice to to the voices of those who have also had a close encounter of the third kind. I suggest you experiment with another genre and consider that possibly your first love was not meant to be your true love.

I will continue down this path for a while to see where it leads. Will I visit my friend's home? All the time, I'm sure.

Check the footprints. Are you stalking the wrong animal? Maybe you should look closer at your own tracks. They may lead you to your very own Sasquatch.

Happy hunting!
Ainsley MacQueen, crack shot extraordinaire

Couch Carrot Time

2008-04-07T16:19:00.004-06:00

It's kinda like a couch potato, but you lie down...

My father is getting married. Remarried. Lost mother 31/2 years ago. You know it hasn't been long when people still use the 1/2.

Well, I'm fine with it. Really. He's been dating this woman for 3 years--without the half. We really like her. She's already part of the family.

Boring, huh? You're right, it is. However...

What a great opportunity to write some emotion. I need to sop it up and wring it out into a notebook to be used for some character down the line who won't be "fine" with a step parent at all. It doesn't matter what she's like. It's what she COULD be like is the stuff classics are made of. After all, the original Cinderella story was probably inspired by a day like this; "Found out today that Daddy is going to remarry. There is a chance she is nice..."

So split up. You on one side and You on another. One is the patient, one is the doctor. Patient on the couch. Now You say, "Tell me how you really feel."

Take great notes!
Doctor MacQueen

Writers on Parade

2008-03-26T19:43:00.004-06:00

In these days when friends are finaling in the Big Dance of Romance--The Golden Heart and Rita contests--it is easy to get discouraged if you are not among them. While it is wonderful to feel their excitement, to know they deserve their success, and to hope they win the prize, it is easy to take a step back and believe you are not ready for center stage.

But don't you dare.

Everyone who has ever been published has been in your waiting-room shoes. You just need to be clear about what it is you are waiting for.

Are you waiting for a contest result, an editor's reply to a query, and/or an agent's response? Why the bleep not?

Are you in this parade or are you content to sit on your plastic lounge chair and absorb someone else's excitement? Are you waiting for the Parade Marshall to recognize your talent from afar and come beg you to climb up beside him on the convertible?
Come on. Take off the shades man. No one is watching you. They are watching the parade.

So, if you need motivation, sign up to enter a float. If you're not ready, send off a query to add a bit of pressure. Embarrass the bleep out of yourself and ask some writer friends to read your story. If you have read it too much to see the flaws, ask someone else to look for them.

What everyone else is doing, where they are in their careers, does not matter to yours. I'll tell you a little secret: If you are watching the parade you are not in it. If you are in it, you're not watching it.

So, what do you see? Right now, what are you thinking about? Your writing or theirs?

Still content to sit at the side and watch the writers on parade? That's alright. I am going to need some folks to wave to.

Ainsley, who is ordering crepe paper online instead of leaving the computer to go shopping. I'll be on the LOUD float.

Horseshoes and Cigars

2008-03-24T12:40:00.007-06:00

Nothing beats reaching a goal. Nothing.

I have personally been hiding one goal in my back pocket--yes, yes, a tight squeeze, I know--and that has been to get a query sent off to a particular agent. This past weekend I got it done.

However, this goal was not on my list of things to do. It must have been tired of the lack of air and crawled out of the aforementioned pocket before making its way up onto my desk and staring me down.

No, my goal this weekend was to email a contest entry for which I had already mailed the entry fee. (That's the best way to make sure you enter; pay first. Talk about a deadline. Nothing speaks to me like a possibly wasted buck 'er two.)

Long story short, I turned this great way of self-deadlining into motivation to reach my big goal:
Even though my proposal wasn't perfect enough, it was close. Therefore, while I waited for an answer to a query, I could make it perfect. Automatic motivation.
My full ms isn't good enough, but while I wait for a reply on my proposal, I can make it good enough. Automatic motivation.

So, I will no longer put off those queries until I have my full ms polished. Doing that only gives me an excuse to wait for someday.

"Close, but no cigar"? Bull! This is horseshoes. CLOSE COUNTS.

(If you enjoy this blog, pass it on to a writer near you.)

Ainsley, in motivation mode, baby!

Pass the Gas?

2008-03-14T18:19:00.005-06:00

For those of you who are old enough to have memorized M*A*S*H*, let me remind you of the episode when a young injured soldier continuously tries to take his own life. Exasperated, Col. Potter pretends to give up fighting with him and offers his aid instead, cranking up the tank and forcing the gas mask back in the man's face. The young man is so surprised he starts fighting back and after a few intense moments, Potter says something to the effect of, "There, you see? You don't really want to die after all. Now keep fighting to live."

I told you that to tell you this:

The other day I had the opportunity to play the role of Col. Potter. I have a friend--we'll call her Cathie--who was a bit fed up with some ticky-tacky technicalities and casually mentioned she might just throw in the towel. After gasping at the thought, I sent a reply pointing out just how easy it would be to leave the dream behind and move on to another. I told her she had my support either way.

Then I waited.

And while I waited, I thought, "There is no way I will ever give this up. I will never even type such a blasphemy."

But then what did I DO?

Next to nothing.

THAT is the problem. Doing nothing IS giving up!

Let me say that again.

Doing nothing IS giving up. Not writing anything today is giving up. Well, I won't do it, I tell you.

My anonymous friend, Cathie, said she won't be giving up either.

So, my goal--and I encourage those of you who occupy this same boat to join me---is for this coming week to do less giving up. Much less nothing and much more something, and in our world, that means writing.

So don't pass me the gas, thank you. I've had my wake up call and I'm fighting back.

Ainsley MacQueen, a writer today.

Gray Matters and Water Balloons

2008-02-13T17:38:00.004-07:00

I was recently whining to my friend and fellow writer--let's call her Kim Finnegan--about what an event packed year this is going to be for me.

The problem, I told her, is that in the middle of all this drama, I am having inspiration dropped on my head like a bunch of water balloons from a balcony above. How unfair for it to happen now, when pens and time run from me.

Her insight has put Eyore back in his place but good.

She said "The more you use your brain, the more it will work for you." Wow. Anyone else think about the movie "Phenomenon"? I got visions of my brain firing and parts near the hot spots warming up as well.

My conclusions? I will not begrudge how busy I am when that schedule is accompanied by water balloons. I will lift my face to the little buggers on the balcony and enjoy the bath.

( I will also buy a tape recorder today.)

I will pass on Kim's eloquent warning, too.

"Don’t over do and burn out. When you get your breaks…rest. It ‘s not just the notes, but the space between the notes that makes the symphony beautiful."

Ain't she a poet?

Thanks Kim

Ainsley

Reach out and GOOSE someone

2008-02-04T16:29:00.000-07:00

Reach out and goose someone? Am I kidding?

As someone who has just been "goosed" in a sense, I say goosing is a service to your fellow man.

Surely she doesn't mean "goosing" the way I think she means "goosing". Ooooh, but she does. Alright, kind of.

When is the last time you felt wide awake with shock? Apart from a shower suddenly turning cold? I thought so.

Here's how I accidentally goosed myself...

Went to Vegas to a furniture show last week. Too busy to write, of course. Too busy to breathe, actually. But on the last night my boss, Kara, and I were determined to have a good time, so we walked the strip. Yes, we saw the water at the Bellagio, etc. But just before we gave it all up I got an idea. Kara wanted to see the roller coaster at the New York, NY casino. Just to see it, mind you. So we went up to the landing and I insisted that we get on, citing "we are women, not mice". She was so surprised I would do it, she went along.

Little did she know I anticipated not fitting into the seat, planned to act disappointed before insisting she go on without me. Yes, I'm that devious.

She was amazed at my calm. I was amazed at my calm. I even managed to distract her while we waited for our turn.

I climbed in first, intending to pop right back up and out, only to find that I DID fit in the seat. The handles COULD lock over me, and the shoulder bumpers FIT ME LIKE A FREAKING GLOVE! Before I could share my little joke with others the car started moving.

I started screaming.

Before it even started the climb up that murderous hill, I was screaming my head off. At half way I was telling Kara what I wanted her to tell my family. The rest of the ride was a blur of curses. I averaged about 30 "sh..ts" per minute. Surprising how uncreative I was.

So, with my heart racing, intent on attacking me as soon as it caught up, I flew through the neon-blurred air. I screamed like a banshee over a battlefield. In the end I was surprised to discover not only had I not peed my pants, I had been caught on camera not peeing my pants. What looks like a smile is actually the shutter catching me mid "sh...t".

It has been a long time since I felt so alive. Alive and ready to write. If only I can get that kind of life into my characters.

So, I will take them to the brink of death (or what they believe to be the brink) and snatch them back. A psychological "goose", if you will. And what's good for the character is good for the writer. Push yourselves to the brink this week. Take a close up view of life in any way you can. Then get it on paper.

And if all efforts fail, goose someone else.

Ainsley

Cook, damn you.

2008-02-04T16:06:00.000-07:00

Wow, what inspiration, huh? I did not even write a POST for January. That fact alone has inspired me to write this...

If writing represented God, and not writing represented Satan, I would have to admit that Satan had me by the tail all through January. He lured me from my writing with the siren's song of a good paying job which I love. How horrible. Everyone should be so unlucky, right? Of course, but at what cost?

I happen to write historicals, a market which is enjoying a burst in interest this year. If I put off my writing for another year, or even 6 months, what window have I slammed shut on my career? And even if I wrote in a less popular genre? When its turn comes up would I be ready with product? No.

So this seems to be quite a year of choices for me. Do I sacrifice my dream of writing to have a dream job? Do I weigh the hard won dollars of publication against the sure paycheck of an executive for a large company? Should money matter?

Don't be stupid. Of course money matters. If it didn't, would this "Satan" have been able to keep me from writing for a month? No.

So, happiness and fulfillment? Or happiness, money, and a lesser degree of fulfillment? And can I have it all?

I'd have to turn off the job at 5:00 instead of obsessing about what the new showroom will look like, or what the wonderful bottom line will be, what my paychecks will be. I'd have to remember I'm a writer every single day, to pick that creative voice out of the crowd of creative voices demanding a brilliant business move. I'd have to put one joy aside for another. Easy? I think not. Ever tried it?

Damn that Scotsman and his money. I choose to write. I won't turn away from my job, but I will mute that obsession in my head while turning up the burner under the other.

Cook, damn you. You have but stolen time. Cook.

A repentant Ainsley

Make It a Good Kiss

2007-12-29T12:11:00.000-07:00

For those of you who did not reach a goal or two in 2007, I beg you not to consider the year to have been spent in vain. Consider the particulars you have learned this year and how they have affected your writing. If you are like me, the difference in your writing from last January to this is the difference between liking roses and growing them.

I am now quite the gardener:

1. I have only this year learned the definition of head-hopping, and deepening points of view.
2. I have learned how to work intensely with a critique partner.
3. I have had the "flash drive" breakthrough which has moved me a decade closer to understanding the technology at my disposal.
4. I have learned why you never send a second draft to an agent, no matter how anxious she is to see it. Especially before going through it with the aforementioned critique partner.

So on my trip to the New York Big House, I have put another state behind me. You can't just get there from Utah without covering some distance, you know. Unless some fairy godmother gets you there by cheating. (I do know some cheaters, by the way.)

So kiss 2007 goodbye, but make it a good kiss. It was well worth your time.
Ainsley

A Writer or A Mouse

2007-12-21T16:30:00.000-07:00

Something I heard at a writer's conference a few months ago has belatedly set off an alarm in my head...

A New York agent was speaking on realistic expectations. In fact, she encouraged giving yourself a realistic goal of getting one or two novels done in a year--because, after all, "real life does step in."
Have you ever been dancing--you know, real dancing--when someone has cut in? It only happened to me once, but it was planned. I was dancing at my wedding with my grandfather and my groom cut in. My grandfather reluctantly handed me off and the two of us shuffled around the floor until the song ended. That was the last time I danced with my grandfather, and in spite of the great video footage, I often wish my husband had not stepped in.
So today it hit me. No matter what the timing, the planning, the seeming importance, we should resist a lot harder when life wants to step in. We should look people in the eye and say, "Sorry, this dance is taken."

If only this could fit on a tee shirt:
"I am unable to resist mothering my children because I love them and they are a part of who I am. And for those of you who have forgotten that I am a writer, I am unable to set aside my writing at this moment for the same simple reasons."

Come on! I'm not saying "forget the real world". I'm saying "If real life wants to dance, it'll have to wait for the next song."

Life is short, and personally, I have far too many stories to tell to sit back and only write when the phone is not ringing. It's time I said, "Take a message."

Repeat after me, "I am a writer, not a mouse."
Ainsley

I am a writer today

2007-12-16T19:25:00.000-07:00

Today is the anniversary of the day I first began writing Romance. I had just finished reading what I believed was the last available book written by Julie Garwood. In only a few months' time I had become addicted to Scottish Historicals and when I foolishly believed that supply had run dry, I concluded I would have to begin cooking from scratch.

I sat down with a few empty notebooks and three weeks later I naively wrote the words "The End." I had around 60,000 words after it was typed up, and had no idea what to do next. Thanks to a little inspired googling, I found the local RWA chapter, went to one meeting, then signed up for the conference the following month. I have been the happiest in my life since then.

The other day, the program went down at work and suddenly I had nothing to do but write. In about three hours I had produced 2000 words and that old rush came back. I remembered how much I relished diving into another world, blocking out the everyday mundane, and creating something gut wrenching and beautiful.

I want more. I can't wait for New Years for resolution. There is a hungry reader out there waiting for a satisfaction I can supply. What a shame if I gave it all up.

Gave it up? Are you kidding?
I am a writer today, tomorrow, and everyday I get out of bed. And since there will be very few days in my life when I would be allowed to stay under the covers, I will be a writer always. Because let's face it, if we were lying there in bed for hours and hours, we're bound to have some fantastic scene unfold in our heads and we'd find some way to jot down the "gist" so we didn't forget.

EMBRACE THE ADDICTION! Let's both be writers today.

Ainsley

A Picturesque Cannonball

2007-12-02T23:13:00.000-07:00

What I love is a huge chunk of time dipped in chocolate and presented on a miniature pedestal plate. Guilt free and unrepentant, I like to completely lose track of time, space, and my own existence.
But how many pages can I generate on those five rare days per year?
Not much!
So, like other writers before me, I must take a swimming lesson. (Yes, before we took a walk...I get it. Just stay with me.)

You know you love to swim. You do. It may have been quite some time since you allowed the world to view you in a bathing suit, or even a wet tee shirt over a bathing suit--for those of you who know me, try to avoid the mental picture. In any case, we all love to swim, it is like flying, only in water instead of air. Who could possibly dislike that?

Well, it's not the swimming we dislike, or even the public picture we supply, but the PLUNGE.
We know it's going to be a shock and we avoid it, even though we know our bodies will adjust and the water will soon feel warm.

I liken this reluctance to using short moments to write. Oh, sure, we can all jump online and write a few emails--or blogs--and feel that blood pumping into our fingers, reintroducing them to the placement of the letters on the keyboard. We can even get a modest rush from a quip sent out into the universe, but that is not writing, working.

Were you a writer today? Writers write, right? So did you? Have you? Something that counts? Something with a WORD count? No?
Well, at least you admit it. The first of a 12 step program, and all that.

"Hello, I am Ainsley MacQueen, and I haven't written a bloody word today. In fact, forgive me, Writer, for I have sinned. I cannot call myself a writer today"....but the day's not over yet.

I am going to take the plunge. I have a mere 30 minutes before my husband will stomp in here and demand that I come to bed, so I am going to cannonball. No time to acclimate my silly toes, no chocolate, no ambiance. No going back a few pages to build up my speed. Damn the cold. It won't last long. One quick lap around the pool. Opening the file now....splash!

Come on in, the water's fine. But hurry, the pool closes soon, and you will wish you had!

Soon-to-be-dripping-so-don't-look Ainsley

Your Holiday Excuse

2007-11-25T16:47:00.000-07:00

You won't find your holiday excuse here. Shame on you if you thought to use one.

Don't waste these sensory filled days. If your ms lacks "setting", what better time to remind yourself of the poetry of SMELLS, heat and cold, lighting, TASTE, sounds that trip memory...

Set yourself down in the middle of your lackluster scene. You know the one. It's the scene you hate to work on because it doesn't excite you. If it 's relevant, necessary, then enhance the setting with the visceral material around you today. It doesn't need to be a holiday scene for the smell of cinnamon to line the roof of your character's mouth, etc. Your character's goosebumps tickling the backs of her arms can be from the AC and not from returning to an icy house after a long day of holiday shopping. You get the idea.

Don't forget to give yourself the gift of writing time.
The emotionally charged atmosphere of the holidays is ripe for the pillaging.
Go forth. Pillage.

Happy Writing Holidays,
Ainsley

writersblockbuster

2007-11-20T13:21:00.000-07:00

Dear Writer,

So here you are. Stuck in traffic. All those places to go in your mind, and in your story, and you can't move. No problem.
Say it. "No problem."
If the vehicle is blocked in on all sides, you always have an option. You can walk.

So, let's walk.

The tip for today is to take a step back from technology and rely on yourself.
Get a pen. Find a notepad. No, it's alright, you can type it all up later. People used to walk this way all the time. Some still do. Silly, I know.

So, we're walking...we're walking...NO! Do not take this opportunity to run to the nearest office supply for the perfect notepad! Yes, you may take a moment to find a decent pen. And we're walking...we're walking...What was it you were supposed to write about? Oh, yeah.

Apply the messy end of the pen to the paper and rub. It's alright if it's garbage for a paragraph or two. Remember, even the greatest athletes warm up. That's right. You remember, now.

You're good.