WHY I AM AFRAID TO SHOWER

First off, you should know that yes, I do bathe regularly. I swear I do. However, I do not do so lightly...

It is a fact that every epiphany I've ever been granted came while I was in the shower. Nearly every character breakthrough, every clever title, every major twist that has landed with angel accompaniment into my humble brain, has done so while I was in the shower.


Why is that frightening? I'll tell you.


When I take a shower, while working on book A, the UPS man of genius drops off a package for book G. G for hellsakes! And in the scheme and schedule of things to come, G wasn't even on the radar! G CAN'T be on the radar. If I put G into the schedule, something has to get bumped. And the people waiting for books  B thru F are going to be un. happy.


I hate making readers un. happy.
My job is to make them happy period.
I'm the Happy Spreader.
(Okay, so I spread other things from time to time--no, not sunshine, more pungent--but the majority of my day is spent asking myself 'what does the reader want' and 'why don't I give them that'.)


So, you see why I am afraid to get in the shower?


I'm headed to the fray of spray in a minute, and let me tell you, I'm freaking out.
I'll let you know how it goes, maybe in the comment section.


Maybe I can hum the whole time...

HUNGER GAMES MANIA--MY MANIA

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.

Ghosts To Avoid

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?

CRAZY IVAN PARTY

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

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!

Time-Sucks and String Theory

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

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.

The Science of Tissue Paper and Ice Cream

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

The Gist, Newanda...

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

THIS IS A TEST: ARE YOU A REAL WRITER?

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.