Farewell Butt-kicking Speech

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

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

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

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

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!

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!

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

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?

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

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...