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Wednesday Whimsical Weirdness October 6, 2010
I used to write poetry. Angsty poetry that reflected my angst years. I stopped writing poetry when life got happy. Good thing cause I’d rather write books about two lost souls finding each other and discovering home.
I used to scrapbook a lot. Like I have an entire album dedicated to Disneyworld. Not kidding. Now? I use scrapbooking supplies to make cutesy jars for the quarters I am going to reward myself with whenever I achieve my writing goals for the day.
I used to be uber school volunteer. I helped other people’s children learn. I went on field trips. I organized teacher gifts. I helped the drama department. Now I put all my volunteering into my writing organization and any drama I have goes into the plots I write.
I used to go to church all the time. I was “church lady” and I had the wardrobe for it as well. I lead bible studies, sang in choir, helped with children’s worship, prayed at the altar for others, was part of a prayer ministry. Now I avoid the twice weekly grind and rejoice in God’s miracles wherever I see them. In beautiful sunsets, in flowers, in birds flying, in butterflies, in windy hugs, in sunshine warming my face. I’m still a member of a prayer circle. Praying is like writing to me. It’s like breathing air that sustains my soul.
Perhaps I am still a poet as I write my words. Perhaps I am scrapbooking pieces of people’s lives into my stories. Perhaps I am teaching other people that life is full of possibilities. Perhaps I am
Today the sun is shining. The skies are blue. Birds are singing outside my office window. Later I’ll go outside and walk. I’ll let the gifts given me sustain me. I’ll pray. I’ll plot. I’ll feel a spirit of joy invade my soul because I am doing exactly what God intended for me to do.
I am living a life of purpose. Of love. Of hope. And I’m praying that my stories with all their sassy, sexy, fun, serious people will resonate with my readers. Readers who may be searching for hope, for love, and for a life filled with purpose.
On the Road Again September 30, 2010
Today my writing friend and I embark on another trip to Georgia for the GRWA Moonlight & Magnolias Conference. Once more we will plug in that idiot Tom Tom, listen to him tell where NOT to go, and look at a Mapquest Map with puzzled eyes. We will probably get lost and scare a few innocent drivers. But we will arrive in GA with our writing notebooks, our thinking caps, our brains (okay–maybe not our brains), our laptops, and our hopes.
I have packed the following:
*too many outfits and shoes
*the ridiculous binding foundation garments called Spanx (yeah, spank this!)
*sparkles and bling
*goodies
*wine
*a corkscrew
My briefcase contains:
*wine (just kidding)
*my laptop
*three notebooks
*my pitch
*business cards
*chargers for my NOOK, cell phone and laptop
My heart contains:
*my hopes
*my dreams
*my ambitions
I’ll keep you posted about the trip. We will drive carefully. We will arrive. But I have no idea about Tom Tom. He’s a mystery to me.
Wednesday Whimsical Weirdness September 29, 2010
I’ve been thinking a lot about theme and premise and voice and … and… connectivity of my writing to whoever is there who might publish me.
Voice. I have one. Or so I have been told. But is my voice the “right voice?” Who knows. At times it is. At times it isn’t. But if there is one thing I’ve learned this year as a writer it is that I have a voice that is unchangeable despite my years of developing craft.
In a way, I wonder if that is good or not. But it is what it is. I have a passion for certain things and for life and for virtues. I have a weird duality in my voice. Why? Oh, I know why. I need to marry my natural inclination to cover pain with humor in real life with my writing. That’s HARD. Very hard. And I know some people who may think what? She has pain? How? She has it all. And that is also hard. For just as my heroines, I know exactly what they hide. If they were to reveal it all. The depth would be too much to convey.
But then I laugh. Ha. What the heck is my Vietnam? It’s nothing compared to the real heroes. The real heroines. Who the heck am I to complain? What is it that I have to gripe about? I couldn’t possibly have any real pain. But then ha. What does anyone know? Really? Not much unless they have been privy to the true, non-funny, oh-shit-this-sucks-side-of-life of me. (note: I have used hyphens and probably used them incorrectly. Don’t judge me). And then that is what permeates my characters. It is part of them. I can’t help it. It is what it is. Hence the duality of my writing. How can I make that duality connect? I don’t know. I will continue to try.
So I know my premise. Two lost souls find each other and discover home. Can’t change that. But what is really weird is the bizarre connectivity I find between all my manuscripts. I find boxes. Lots of boxes. My people are always in transition, moving, clearing out the past, making room for the present. I find secrets. I know. I have them. I don’t share them easily. Or willingly. There are few who know my secrets. And I have moved a lot. I have often said I have written two stories while sitting in a box.
I find hospitals. I find this odd. I do remember these odd times in my life. I fell. When I was four. Hit my head hard. Bled. Got stitches. The experience was overwhelmingly scary to me. I had doctors with masks, no parents, a tarp over my head. I was alone. I also remember surgery. On my knee. I remember the nurse waving the baggie with the needle they’d extracted from my knee in front of my face. Ha ha. So funny to her. But again. I was alone. I remember a miscarriage, the surgery. Again I was alone. I guess I see hospitals as metaphors of my own loneliness. They invade my writing.
I find betrayal. On all levels. I find deep seated anger. I find people who are supposed to love that go out of their way to hurt. But the people they hurt grow up to be funny, to laugh, to cover their sadness and angst with tough stuff. I also find quirky people. Misfits. People who don’t fit the norm. Wow, what a shock. I find people who yearn for connection, for love, for home.
I find my premise again and again.
Two lost souls find each other and discover home. That is the depth of me. But at the same time these people cover their loneliness and fear with humor and anger and hope and false bravado. If that is not going to “connect” with an agent or an editor — well I guess I am cooked. But at least I am honest.
Donald Maass said to be true to who you are as a writer. Then I will be true to my audience. I have mined the depths of my soul for my writing. I have opened up veins for my story. I have tried to show the complexity of being a funny, brash, fierce person with heart. I have no idea how she/he resonates with the reader.
I only know I am doing the best I can to honor the gift within me.
Come Visit Me at Romance Magicians Today September 12, 2010
I’m blogging about the mastering the art of living on Romance Magicians today. Hope I see you there.
Wednesday Whimsical Weirdness September 8, 2010
Last week I started a story and I asked people to guess Delainey’s age. Today I shall continue the story and give you the answer. Please note: no editing or planning is going into this free form discovery phase.
Nancy turned to her niece Delainey and said, “Now sweetie, you know your daddy hasn’t been able to carry you on his shoulders for a long time. You’re much to big for him now.” And too old. Delainey had turned twenty-five just three days ago.
“I know that, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting it.” Her niece’s blue eyes filled with tears. “I want my daddy to be like he always was. He used to be happy and laugh all the time. Now he’s sad and he’s tired.”
Nancy’s throat tightened, but she kept her tone even, not wanting to upset her dear niece. “He’s still the same man on the inside. And if he could carry you to the county fair on his shoulders again, he would do it in a heartbeat.” She picked up another piece of corn and began shucking the husk off one strip at at time. “How many more ears of corn do we have to clean, Sweetie?”
“We have one, two, three… I don’t know. A bunch.”
“Well we best get back to work then,” said Nancy. Delainey always did like having a task to do. It calmed her niece, made her feel like she was contributing, smart even. And that’s what her brother and sister-in-law cultivated in both their children.
No excuses. Everyone pulled their weight. Even Delainey. Though at first they’d worried about her. Yes, they’d expected her to have problems. After all the doctors had warned them when Mary was pregnant with Delainey. But in addition to her mental abilities being affected, the Downs Syndrome also created a myriad of physical problems. At times it was touch and go, but Delainey was a fighter. She’d done more than survive, she’d thrived.
And Nancy’s brother Matthew had always been proud of his blue eyed, blond haired little girl with her moon shaped face and that dimpled whenever she broke into a smile. Nancy remembered the first day Matthew had taken Delainey to the County Fair.
“Sweetie, what kind of pie did your mamma bake the year she won her blue ribbon,” she asked.
“Peach,” answered her niece. “My favorite.” Delainey grinned, her face shining with pride. “She said she won cause she made my favorite kind.”
“Yes. She did.” Nancy picked up another ear of corn. “She won the blue ribbon for her chili recipe the same year.”
“We had a big party.”
Nancy stripped off the husk and ran her hand across the silken hairs left behind. “I think your daddy was ready to burst, he was so excited.” That day had been a golden day, a day full of hope and promise. But they were younger then, braver, not ravaged by the losses time would bring to them. The losses time would eventually bring to all families. First her sister in law had passed, a heart attack. Sudden and swift. Then her nephew, Delainey’s brother, eight years older when she’d been born, had gone off to join the marines. He’d been on several tours. Sometimes Nancy believed Michael had gone to fight battles overseas because he couldn’t face the ones he had at home.
Now her brother lay dying of cancer and her niece relied upon Nancy for guidance. “Sweetie,” she said, “Let’s get some water poured on these ears of corn and put them on the oven. I’ll start the hamburgers.”
“Okay Auntie,” said Delainey, picking up the the heavy pot.
They walked inside the sprawling, country style kitchen Matthew had installed for his wife two years before she’d passed. Nancy turned on the tap and filled the pot with the cold water, salted it and put the lid on top. She turned on the gas stove.
As she worked on the hamburger meat, kneading it and forming it into balls, her niece fluttered about the clean, oak shelved kitchen opening drawers and gathering cutlery. “I’ll set the table.”
“Thanks, sweetie.”
Nancy continued forming the patties in her hand. She thought she’d put the buns in the pantry, but then had found them later in the laundry room. Odd. But then she’d been forgetting little things lately. Nothing major. But silly things happened. And that worried her. A lot. After all, Matthew didn’t have long and she’d promised her brother she’d care for Delainey, but she didn’t know how she’d cope. One day she’d pass and then what? She couldn’t ask Michael to come home. He had a duty to his country to perform. But she wished. Now where did she put her apron? Oh, there, she grabbed it from the top of the fridge and tugged it on.
She might not put things back properly, but she remembered her brother dancing with is bride as clear as a bell. And the way he tossed a football to Michael on a hot summer day during his playing season. Oh, and his pride, his shining joy when Delainey went to school on the yellow school bus just like all her friends. Oh, she remembered it all as if it happened now. A slow winding film reel that she played over and over in her head.
“Auntie,” cried Delainey. “What are you doing?”
Nancy snapped out of her reverie. Flames licked out of her frying pan and threatened to hit the ceiling. “What the devil?” she asked, then she saw her mistake. She’d put the hamburger’s meat casing into the frying pan and tried to cook the plastic and foam.
After she’d put out the fire, cleaned up the stench and focused on fixing dinner again, Nancy sent up a snippet of prayer. She needed help. She didn’t want to worry her brother with her own problems. But she desperately prayed for His intercession. Promising to keep Delainey had been easy. Keeping her promise seemed impossible now. She didn’t even know what to ask. She only knew that Jesus, in his mercy, would intercede for her.
She prayed again. For her brother. Her niece. And her strong nephew. She couldn’t ask Michael to give up his life for his little sister. But she had to pray he would want to change it.
Question: Why is Michael so unwilling to come home during his father’s illness?
Wednesday Whimsical Weirdness August 31, 2010
Okay, I am trying something new. A theme in my blog cause I feel like I need to get somewhat … well… less erratic. So here it goes. My Wednesday Whimsical Weirdness. I plan to post little odd snippets of writing, not book blurbs, but just my own little pieces of unpredictable thoughts. Feel free to post your own Whimsy and Weirdness, or just comment on mine.
Peace:
“Everyone keeps telling me to pray,” Delainey said.
“Well darling, that’s cause they want you to have peace of mind,” her aunt replied. She tossed another shucked corn cob into the pot.
Delainey twisted her long hair into a knot. “I don’t care about peace of mind. I just want my daddy to get better.”
“So do we, but we don’t know what the Lord wants.”
“Well, He should want what I want,” Delainey pouted. “And I don’t want my daddy to die.”
“Honey,” her aunt said, “it’s not our place to tell the Lord what we want. We have to accept His will and seek comfort in His word.”
Her aunt wrapped her arms around her, but Delainey pulled out of her embrace. She didn’t want to hear more hocus about the comfort of the Lord. She only wanted the deep pain growing in her belly, sprouting in her soul and making it black with anger, to go away. And the only way that would happen was if the doctor said her daddy wasn’t sick anymore. Tomorrow she’d know if her daddy could run and play with her again and not lie around in his bed for hours on end as he grew skinnier than her cousin Billy’s old barn cat.
Her daddy used to laugh and his eyes used to crinkle whenever he smiled. Now his lips were dry and chapped. His deep blue eyes had lost their sparkle and had turned into pale rheumy orbs. Her daddy wasn’t even strong enough to sit up.
Delainey picked up another corn cob and ripped the husk off of the pearly yellow kernels. “I won’t feel comforted till God makes daddy strong enough to swing me onto his shoulders and carry me to the County Fair.”
How old is Delainey?
HEART OF DIXIE Online Workshop — September 13-27, 2010 August 30, 2010
PITCH, PILE, OR PUBLIC: THREE PATHS TO PUBLICATIONDates: September 13-27, 2010Instructors: Kira Sinclair, Kimberly Lang, & Lynn Raye HarrisSummary:There is no one path to publication; no one way to get an editor or agent’s attention. In this workshop, three authors draw on their own experiences to prepare you for success on the three most common paths to an editor or agent’s desk.The Pitch: Kira Sinclair’s pitch led to a request, then a sale. Kira will go over the basics of how to craft a short, informative pitch designed to showcase your book’s best bits and leave the agent or editor requesting more. Kira now writes for Harlequin Blaze.The Pile: Kimberly Lang is a slush pile success story. Since your query letter is the first thing an editor or agent reads, it needs to be the very best it can be. We’ll build on what we learned from Kira’s pitch lessons to build a query letter that encourages the editor or agent to read on. Kimberly is a USA Today bestselling author for Harlequin Presents/Mills & Boon Modern Heat.The Public: Lynn Raye Harris got an editor’s – and the public’s – attention in a big way when she won the Harlequin-sponsored Instant Seduction contest. Lynn will share her tips on how to make your first chapters pack the punch needed to get judges, editors, agents (and eventually readers!) wanting to see what happens next. Lynn is a USA Today bestselling author for Harlequin Presents/Mills & Boon Modern.Class format includes lectures and Q&A. Some students may have the opportunity to have their pitches and/or query letters critiqued by the instructors for the benefit of the participants.For more information contact online@heartofdixie.org
Road Warrior Writers August 24, 2010
I have a dear writing friend in Alabama who joins me on many of my writing adventures. Sometimes the adventures only require meeting at a coffee shop to share thoughts about our work. Sometimes our adventures require more planning and a road trip is involved.
And that’s when the adventures get crazy. While we are reasonably intelligent beings, we seem to have an innate ability to confuse ourselves whenever we hit the road. And this is with my TOM TOM GPS on board. Of course, I’d like to add that TOM TOM lies to us and steers us wrong on a regular basis. TT once took us to a hotel in Atlanta that didn’t exist despite inputting the correct address.
During these moments, I’d like to say that I’m the epitome of calm. Anyone who has driven with me when I’m lost will quickly refute my claim. There is no point in even bothering to pretend I’m cool when late, lost or both. Nope. I’m not. Fortunately, my co-pilot is — this is helpful in that we eventually do need to find our location.
With this knowledge, the fact that we are directionally challenged firmly ingrained in our heads, we ventured off to Atlanta for a GRW meeting. Once again, I dutifully plugged in TOM TOM and inputted the address. This time I was smart: I also printed a map with directions to our hotel. Didn’t matter. As I was driving over the mountain in Huntsville, TOM TOM blathered on and on about making left turns and U-turns.
His instructions did not coincide with the map’s. And so it goes. Confusion ensued. Fortunately, we’re visual so once we spotted a few familiar landmarks, we decided TOM TOM was deranged and kept driving. All and all, we had a pretty decent drive. No major mistakes and other than frightening some other drivers with our sudden lane changes, we managed to arrive at our hotel in Atlanta unscathed.
Why do we do this to ourselves? Why drive 4 hours to another state to attend a chapter meeting? In fact, why leave home at all when we have writing to do? Why take the time away from our computers?
The answer is simple: these trips feed and nourish our writing souls.
Our journey was valuable to us. We got 8 hours total of talking about our books, our career, our writing, our process, what we learned, what we wanted to learn…. get two writers together and stick them in a car for that length of time and we’re in constant create mode. Although all that creating is probably the reason we get confused and lost and more while we are hunting for our exits and freeways… but I digress.
We also spent time with our writing friends on Friday night. Writing is a solitary pursuit and often filled with doubts about our talents, our stories, and the business. Connecting with other people who share our passion and who understand why we plunk ourselves in front of the computer despite all the roadblocks we encounter is vital to our creative process. In GA, sitting around a table in a restaurant, we discussed the most important aspect of our writing.
It’s not the business aspect about how many queries or submissions or requests to we have out, but the very heart of our writing: the books of our heart. We all have them. To be honest, I was battling back a darkness about my writing and my process. I didn’t want to worry about if or when I got published, I desperately needed to recharge my belief in my abilities, my process, and my stories. I think my friend did, too.
Friday night I began to believe in my stories again. Saturday I revitalized my belief in my process after attending the GRWA meeting. In addition to a great program discussion led by Missy Tippens about building the premise of the story, we also participated in a round table chat with a published author, Berta Platas, which validated my writing process. I guess I need to hear the same thing over and over again before it sinks in.
My process is my process. And yours is yours. It sounds so simple, but it’s hard. I’ve often wished I could be a clean and tidy writer with excellent grammar skills. I have fabulous writer friends who have those skills. I don’t. And it’s taken me a long time to accept the fact that I’m never going to be that kind of writer. However, on Saturday I realized I was lucky: I KNOW my process. I know how I write and how I need to build my stories. I will probably be impatient with my process, but I know my strengths and I have the people around me who can help me shore up my weaknesses.
My friend also had an epiphany about her writing and her goals. By taking the time to get away from our daily writing grind, we were able to take the long view and gain perspective. We returned to Alabama with renewed enthusiasm for our tasks. And we can’t wait to go back to Atlanta for the 2010 Moonlight and Magnolias Conference. We’ll see our friends, attend an amazing workshop given by Michael Hauge and we’ll celebrate the MAGGIES on Saturday night. And I imagine we’ll come away from that conference filled to the brim with writing spirit. We’ll return to our chairs renewed and motivated.
How do you nourish your writing souls? How do you replace the darkness with light and energy? And if you can make it to the M&M this year, let me know, I’d love to see you Atlanta to talk about our favorite subject: writing.
M&M MAGGIES 2009 –Looking Back at Last Year’s Conference August 22, 2010
I’m finally coming up for air after a weekend of learning, laughing and playing at the MOONLIGHT AND MAGNOLIAS conference in Atlanta, GA. I got an honorable mention as did my CP for the MAGGIE. And I was thrilled. To final was huge. And the feedback I received from my judges and the published authors I met at the conference validated me as a writer.
I’m recapping the conference–hazy memories at best. Was it really a week ago that I was getting ready to put my party shoes on?
Thursday: I arrived in Atlanta at the same time as my CP’s flight. I checked into the Hilton, got concierge privileges (thanks to Diamond member DH), and then zipped to the train station to fetch CP. It was so good seeing her again. We registered for the conference, got our cool goodie bags filled with books and promo items, and slipped on our badges with the ribbon flagging the fact that we were MAGGIE FINALISTS. Woot! That flag was a conversation starter everywhere we went. People were impressed. People wished us luck. By the time the award ceremony night arrived, I felt like a winner for life, regardless of the outcome. Later that day, we ate pizza and tried to watch the movies, but we were so tired, we went to the room and crashed. Well, we talked and talked and talked and then we fell asleep.
Friday morning I was nervous. I had to see the agent I’d pitched the book to in July at the National Conference. I had seven minutes to review the fact that she’d requested the full, tell her about the MAGGIE, and pitch the next book!! The rest of the day we learned, ate, met other writers and published authors, played, talked, wrote, and planned for the following day. My CP had two pitches to prep so we huddled in the concierge lounge and worked in privacy (thanks DH!).
Saturday: My CP had two successful pitches, then we were nervously awaiting the awards ceremony, and we were cramming in more learning. Every workshop I attended was beneficial to me. There were so many options, I had difficulty choosing. Then we had the keynote speaker during lunch and let me tell you, Sherrilyn Kenyon’s story is poignant and inspiring. If she can forge through fourteen years of disappointment and real pain, we can do it, too. I will never give up my dream, and I will never try to chase a writing trend either. Sure, it would be wonderful to have a bevy of vampires to write about, but I can only read the wonderful books written by paranormal authors. I am not one of them.
We put on our party clothes, our fancy finery, and fun shoes and went to the awards ceremony. First we presented to the published authors. I presented the award to the author in my category. That was fun! I hope I can do it again. I didn’t trip on the stage, and I managed to keep my mouth from seizing in panic. No. I didn’t win, but afterward three authors spoke to me and said I was already a winner because I finaled. I feel like a winner. I am validated as an author. I am going in the right direction.
Sunday we were all tired, but we went to an amazing workshop run by Mary Buckham and Dianna Love. If you have a chance to learn from them, do it. The information they impart is invaluable to writers. My head is spinning with their advice and knowledge. Then it was time to load up the car with four writers’ baggage and head to the airport to drop of darling CP, and two new writing friends. We almost didn’t get out of the parking lot. Someone backing up out of a space nearly rammed into my front end, but my CP saw it, I braked, then blared the horn. I think we’re all pretty much space cadets after a weekend like the M&M, so my only thought was I hope her heart isn’t beating as fast as mine is right now. Whew. We were off. I dropped everyone off at the busy airport. Then it was on route to home and hearth. Four hours later, I returned to my casa and was to reality.
Here are my tidbit takeaways from the M&M/MAGGIE experience–if you get the chance to go, here’s why you should:
1) GWRA is a fabulous chapter. The people are the best around, and there is a genuine desire by all to make sure you are having a positive experience. Published authors are warm and inviting. They remember the BEFORE WE WERE PUB stage of writing. They understand the hunger. The drive. The hopes.
2) The contacts you’ll make are tremendous. More happened in hallways and during luncheons than anywhere else. This is an easy conference to network in. It’s a great conference to cut your teeth on before hitting the NATIONALS.
3) Before you go, enter the MAGGIES. If you final, your experience will be magical. But even if you don’t, you’ll get AMAZING feedback from the judges. It’s a fabulous contest.
As soon as I got home, and dropped my luggage in the bedroom, I joined GWRA. I can’t wait to get to know this fabulous group of people.
And now…. off to the beach!
christineglover 