The air is crisper, the scent of woodsmoke is on the breeze, and soon frost will coat the front lawns of the neighborhood. Halloween seems to be the first holiday of the end of year festivities. A reminder that the days grow shorter and so does the year.
Tomorrow is the beginning of Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) 30 days of frenzy and anxiety as writers try to stop procrastinating, stop self-editing, stop self-doubt, and just write. If you learn nothing else by the end of November, realize that you can write more than you are writing now. That you can find time to write every day.
Last year I accumulated 33,000 words to finish a manuscript so I could enter it in the Golden Heart contest. I finished that manuscript, another one, and I'm starting a new one for this year's Nano.
Lesson learned: I can write much more than I was before and so can you.
Happy Halloween and Happy Nano!!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Finding Patience
The feel of the coastal mist of Ireland, still envelops me, as I sit at my computer back in real life. I’m home now after twenty days, not only in the land of the beloved, but Scotland, Wales, England and Northern Ireland, with a pit stop in Sweden and Denmark.
I was all over the British Isles taking in every literary site I could find. I needed to renew myself after two rejections on my recent WIPS, before leaving. I needed to feel that in the long run, it’s a learning process. I needed to find patience.
I spent a day wondering through the tiny lake country village of Greenmeres, where William Woodworth, lived and died writing his lilting poems. Many of Jane Austen’s most romantic scenes are set in that beautiful part of England. I followed Yeats life up the wild coast of western Ireland, and laid a flower on his grave in a small church yard outside Galway. I passed the home of Maeve Benchy in Dublin, and saw her stories on every colorful door of the city. I sat in pubs all over the isles were many of the worlds greatest authors drank their pints, discussed politics, life and love. It seemed all of them had a barstool, where Oscar Wilde sat, drank and wrote.
Standing in front of the childhood home of Robert Lewis Stevenson, I studied the window, where he peered out onto the world as a sickly child. It was those long lonely days he watched his friends play in a park across the street on an island in a small pond. The seeds for Treasure Island and Kidnap were planted on those cold wet Edinburgh days. I saw the stomping grounds of C.S Lewis, in a new Belfast. Where he is honored by both Protestant and Catholic.
I saw where the café once stood, where a young mother wrote for her son, because she couldn’t afford the electricity to run her lap top in her flat. Harry Potter was born there. Sadly the café was sold and is now of all things a Chinese Restaurant. Yes, even Scotland is progressing.
And it seems on every small street corner, down cobbled alleys there was a book shop. Not store, but shop, independent, and owned by generations of a family. They’re rarely big, but packed with books, and the selections are extraordinary. You just had to ask about an author or book, and you’re pulled into an hour long conversation on reading, writing, and the love of it all. And of course, the stories about the Oscar Wilde frequenting the shop when great-grandfather was running it, and yes, the occasional King or Queen who stopped to buy a book. They love to tell those tales. And I loved listening to them.
What all this did for me is help me find my rhythm again. My struggle has been well chronicled in this blog and in my personal blog. It has hung over me like a dark shawl for the past six months. I often questioned what I was doing putting so much effort into something, that wasn’t baring fruit. It felt like a dying pear tree, with a single wilting flower, carrying the promise of a future for the whole tree in its weak petals.
The break of a month of not writing balanced me, settled my mind, and quieted my heart. Ireland and her often sad history reached for me, and pulled me back into the world of words printed on paper, and those people who so much love books.
I spent a few days with family in Cork. My cousin owns a pub, where she put Louie and me to work. I immersed myself in a language that rang of fond distant memories. The stories jumped from the lips of people among their wide smiles and curiosity about the California cousins behind the bar. And just simple gossip was decorated in the high sing song accents. I heard a story whispered on every breath, in every ruined abbey, and every green sheep dotted hillside.
Near my family’s accent home in Adare, I knelt in a church built by the Knight Templars. I took communion as they once did in that very spot. I could see their white bent backs, heads bowed, with the eight pointed red cross. I felt their final breath in the simple stone church when the bell woke the countryside in a sudden flurry of noise, sending a swarm of birds into flight, taking with them my failures, replacing it with the coveted patience. I was left with a new yearning just too simply write, regardless of the out come.
I marveled at the book of Kells, knowing this was where the heart of the Irish love of the written word began. In those beehive monasteries on rocky islands off the rugged coast, monks bent from years of writing, worked tirelessly. Their fingers stained forever from colorful inks, as their eyes failed in dim candle light, they continued. They produced one of the most beautiful books known to survive the ages, all for the love of church and the written word.
Thankfully, I’m not writing by candle light, in a cold stone cell on an island fit only for birds. I have a computer in a warm house with the benefit of a car to escape, when needed. Writing is considerably easier these days than in the past. Still, the struggle to find the patience to continue, is ever present. The fight to land in a place where the words flow, to appear on the pages in perfect clarity, is on going, ending with the yearning to succeed.
In all the places I visited connected to a literary great, the struggle to put pen to paper and have someone appreciate it was always present, if not pronounced. It almost overshadowed their eventual success. In the end somehow, the rejections, the disappointment, the frustration and what we learn from it all, will somehow make it all well worth while, as long as we find patience.
Lee
I was all over the British Isles taking in every literary site I could find. I needed to renew myself after two rejections on my recent WIPS, before leaving. I needed to feel that in the long run, it’s a learning process. I needed to find patience.
I spent a day wondering through the tiny lake country village of Greenmeres, where William Woodworth, lived and died writing his lilting poems. Many of Jane Austen’s most romantic scenes are set in that beautiful part of England. I followed Yeats life up the wild coast of western Ireland, and laid a flower on his grave in a small church yard outside Galway. I passed the home of Maeve Benchy in Dublin, and saw her stories on every colorful door of the city. I sat in pubs all over the isles were many of the worlds greatest authors drank their pints, discussed politics, life and love. It seemed all of them had a barstool, where Oscar Wilde sat, drank and wrote.
Standing in front of the childhood home of Robert Lewis Stevenson, I studied the window, where he peered out onto the world as a sickly child. It was those long lonely days he watched his friends play in a park across the street on an island in a small pond. The seeds for Treasure Island and Kidnap were planted on those cold wet Edinburgh days. I saw the stomping grounds of C.S Lewis, in a new Belfast. Where he is honored by both Protestant and Catholic.
I saw where the café once stood, where a young mother wrote for her son, because she couldn’t afford the electricity to run her lap top in her flat. Harry Potter was born there. Sadly the café was sold and is now of all things a Chinese Restaurant. Yes, even Scotland is progressing.
And it seems on every small street corner, down cobbled alleys there was a book shop. Not store, but shop, independent, and owned by generations of a family. They’re rarely big, but packed with books, and the selections are extraordinary. You just had to ask about an author or book, and you’re pulled into an hour long conversation on reading, writing, and the love of it all. And of course, the stories about the Oscar Wilde frequenting the shop when great-grandfather was running it, and yes, the occasional King or Queen who stopped to buy a book. They love to tell those tales. And I loved listening to them.
What all this did for me is help me find my rhythm again. My struggle has been well chronicled in this blog and in my personal blog. It has hung over me like a dark shawl for the past six months. I often questioned what I was doing putting so much effort into something, that wasn’t baring fruit. It felt like a dying pear tree, with a single wilting flower, carrying the promise of a future for the whole tree in its weak petals.
The break of a month of not writing balanced me, settled my mind, and quieted my heart. Ireland and her often sad history reached for me, and pulled me back into the world of words printed on paper, and those people who so much love books.
I spent a few days with family in Cork. My cousin owns a pub, where she put Louie and me to work. I immersed myself in a language that rang of fond distant memories. The stories jumped from the lips of people among their wide smiles and curiosity about the California cousins behind the bar. And just simple gossip was decorated in the high sing song accents. I heard a story whispered on every breath, in every ruined abbey, and every green sheep dotted hillside.
Near my family’s accent home in Adare, I knelt in a church built by the Knight Templars. I took communion as they once did in that very spot. I could see their white bent backs, heads bowed, with the eight pointed red cross. I felt their final breath in the simple stone church when the bell woke the countryside in a sudden flurry of noise, sending a swarm of birds into flight, taking with them my failures, replacing it with the coveted patience. I was left with a new yearning just too simply write, regardless of the out come.
I marveled at the book of Kells, knowing this was where the heart of the Irish love of the written word began. In those beehive monasteries on rocky islands off the rugged coast, monks bent from years of writing, worked tirelessly. Their fingers stained forever from colorful inks, as their eyes failed in dim candle light, they continued. They produced one of the most beautiful books known to survive the ages, all for the love of church and the written word.
Thankfully, I’m not writing by candle light, in a cold stone cell on an island fit only for birds. I have a computer in a warm house with the benefit of a car to escape, when needed. Writing is considerably easier these days than in the past. Still, the struggle to find the patience to continue, is ever present. The fight to land in a place where the words flow, to appear on the pages in perfect clarity, is on going, ending with the yearning to succeed.
In all the places I visited connected to a literary great, the struggle to put pen to paper and have someone appreciate it was always present, if not pronounced. It almost overshadowed their eventual success. In the end somehow, the rejections, the disappointment, the frustration and what we learn from it all, will somehow make it all well worth while, as long as we find patience.
Lee
Monday, October 8, 2007
Fall into Shape-4 weeks later
So it has been about a month since I started my Fall goals. My goal for the next 4 months is to focus on being healthy. This means exercise and making healthy choices. It means making time for me and doing things that make me happy. So I will write a minimum of an hour day on my current work in progress. It also means to learn to deal with the stress I am faced with everyday on the job and not let it rule my choices with food and how I live my life. I thought I would try yoga, to see if it could help add to the exercise side of things along with the stress relief.
Will I can say I have not done any of my goals. I have let stress rule my life these last 4 weeks and have not focused on being healthy. I set what I thought were realistic goals and they fizzled out by week one. So taking a look at my goals the biggest impact has been stress. So I am going to tackle this area for the next three weeks. Hopefully the other areas will follow once I focus on overcoming this area.
I am going to take a break every day at work and walk around the building outside, rain or shine. I don't take many breaks and work way to many hours. Which leaves me burned out by the time I get home and leaves me very little time for myself and very grumpy with my family. I need to schedule time for myself and not let it be interrupted by work. I am going to locate a yoga class or a stress management class and schedule one of those in the next two weeks. I can not to let stress rule my life. I need to re-prioritize my life; take care of myself, my family, and then my job. My job pays the bills and it can't rule my life.
So how did you do on your goals that you made at the beginning of the year or ones you have set recently? What is the biggest hurdle or what helps you meet your goals?
Lyn Emerson
Will I can say I have not done any of my goals. I have let stress rule my life these last 4 weeks and have not focused on being healthy. I set what I thought were realistic goals and they fizzled out by week one. So taking a look at my goals the biggest impact has been stress. So I am going to tackle this area for the next three weeks. Hopefully the other areas will follow once I focus on overcoming this area.
I am going to take a break every day at work and walk around the building outside, rain or shine. I don't take many breaks and work way to many hours. Which leaves me burned out by the time I get home and leaves me very little time for myself and very grumpy with my family. I need to schedule time for myself and not let it be interrupted by work. I am going to locate a yoga class or a stress management class and schedule one of those in the next two weeks. I can not to let stress rule my life. I need to re-prioritize my life; take care of myself, my family, and then my job. My job pays the bills and it can't rule my life.
So how did you do on your goals that you made at the beginning of the year or ones you have set recently? What is the biggest hurdle or what helps you meet your goals?
Lyn Emerson
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Oh where, Oh where has my muse gone?
I think my Muse has run away from home. Back to Greece she’s gone to frolic in Pantheon, leaving me stranded. As writers they are an important part of our writing process. The frontal lobe stimulation brought on by sight, smell, and hearing things that trigger a memory, or in the writer’s case, a desire to write.
I’ve experienced none of this of late.
So I tried music. All kinds from rock to Gregorian chants. Nothing, she’s not there. No one is home. The lights are definitely off, leaving me alone in the dark.
So I tried reading. That helps. But more with sentence structure then anything. A little nudge there, but not enough to get me going.
I’ve watched a few movies. No take that back, a lot of movies. The most recent, 3:10 to Yuma. It was very good. Russell Crowe looked wonderful as usual. A flicker maybe. For a split second I thought my muse was hiding behind a tree. Nope it wasn’t her.
Writers have all kinds of muses, and ways to bring her out of hiding. Mine has really run far away, to disappear into the distance. Because I haven’t been able force her back. So instead, the large wide screen screams back at me, empty.
Well, this is how it’s been for me for a few weeks, as I curse my muse for her long unscheduled vacation.
Until, this weekend.
I made a trip home to Northern California, to the dry hot golden hills, to visit my family. As usual, we had our gathering at my sister’s ranch. After much food, horseback riding through her property, and more food, I settled into a comfortable lounge chair on her front lawn, under a hundred year old oak.
For long moments, I studied the twisted branches, where a squirrel played, and chattered as it gathered nuts for the coming winter. In the distance, a hawk cried, and nearby
a chicken picked at the soft earth, with its chicks in tow.
It wasn’t long and I started to drift off to the dream world. During that time, my mind considered my writing, my story, and future stories. It was at peace, and was able to push aside the clutter of my life to allow my muse to return home. I felt her there, ready to write.
Welcome home from Greece. You were missed.
A soft breeze pulled at my hair, and I felt the velvety nose of Monty , my nephew’s horse, nuzzle my hair, as she reached over the fence to smell me. Reaching up I touched her face, and listened to her throaty grumble in my hair, and the idea for a future story sprung alive.
We each have our own little ways to get the juices flowing, and bring the muse into our writing world, so she can work her wonders. I hadn’t considered going home to a life I use to live to bring mine out. During her next vacation I might just try that again…It worked wonders, and yes of course Monty helped.
So what’s your tricks? What do you do the call your muse home to roost?
I’ve experienced none of this of late.
So I tried music. All kinds from rock to Gregorian chants. Nothing, she’s not there. No one is home. The lights are definitely off, leaving me alone in the dark.
So I tried reading. That helps. But more with sentence structure then anything. A little nudge there, but not enough to get me going.
I’ve watched a few movies. No take that back, a lot of movies. The most recent, 3:10 to Yuma. It was very good. Russell Crowe looked wonderful as usual. A flicker maybe. For a split second I thought my muse was hiding behind a tree. Nope it wasn’t her.
Writers have all kinds of muses, and ways to bring her out of hiding. Mine has really run far away, to disappear into the distance. Because I haven’t been able force her back. So instead, the large wide screen screams back at me, empty.
Well, this is how it’s been for me for a few weeks, as I curse my muse for her long unscheduled vacation.
Until, this weekend.
I made a trip home to Northern California, to the dry hot golden hills, to visit my family. As usual, we had our gathering at my sister’s ranch. After much food, horseback riding through her property, and more food, I settled into a comfortable lounge chair on her front lawn, under a hundred year old oak.
For long moments, I studied the twisted branches, where a squirrel played, and chattered as it gathered nuts for the coming winter. In the distance, a hawk cried, and nearby
a chicken picked at the soft earth, with its chicks in tow.It wasn’t long and I started to drift off to the dream world. During that time, my mind considered my writing, my story, and future stories. It was at peace, and was able to push aside the clutter of my life to allow my muse to return home. I felt her there, ready to write.
Welcome home from Greece. You were missed.
A soft breeze pulled at my hair, and I felt the velvety nose of Monty , my nephew’s horse, nuzzle my hair, as she reached over the fence to smell me. Reaching up I touched her face, and listened to her throaty grumble in my hair, and the idea for a future story sprung alive.
We each have our own little ways to get the juices flowing, and bring the muse into our writing world, so she can work her wonders. I hadn’t considered going home to a life I use to live to bring mine out. During her next vacation I might just try that again…It worked wonders, and yes of course Monty helped.
So what’s your tricks? What do you do the call your muse home to roost?
Monday, September 10, 2007
Fall into Shape
Often we set new goals at the beginning of each year. I find that by April those goals are long forgotten. So I have decided to set goals with the season. This will be the first season that I start this process. I have been on quarterly goals at work for the last year or so and I find those much easier to accomplish then long term goals that may shift over the year.
So since we are starting to hit the time of year when food will be plenty, I have decided that I better start thinking about the shape I am in for my body but also the shape my mind and soul are in as well.
My goal for the next 4 months is to focus on being healthy. This means exercise and making healthy choices. It means making time for me and doing things that make me happy. So I will write a minimum of an hour day on my current work in progress. It also means to learn to deal with the stress I am faced with everyday on the job and not let it rule my choices with food and how I live my life. I thought I would try yoga, to see if it could help add to the exercise side of things along with the stress relief.
So are there goals that you made at the beginning of the year you have accomplished? Are you going to renew your goals that became long forgotten and set some new ones for the fall? What is your goal process?
Lyn Emerson
Black Diamonds Vice President
So since we are starting to hit the time of year when food will be plenty, I have decided that I better start thinking about the shape I am in for my body but also the shape my mind and soul are in as well.
My goal for the next 4 months is to focus on being healthy. This means exercise and making healthy choices. It means making time for me and doing things that make me happy. So I will write a minimum of an hour day on my current work in progress. It also means to learn to deal with the stress I am faced with everyday on the job and not let it rule my choices with food and how I live my life. I thought I would try yoga, to see if it could help add to the exercise side of things along with the stress relief.
So are there goals that you made at the beginning of the year you have accomplished? Are you going to renew your goals that became long forgotten and set some new ones for the fall? What is your goal process?
Lyn Emerson
Black Diamonds Vice President
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Slow and Steady
Almost everyone knows the story of the Tortoise and the Hare. The moral of the fable is that slow and steady wins the race.
This month we added a new member to our chapter. Looking back I realized the Diamonds have grown slow, but steady as well. We may never be a large chapter, but we are a tightknit group. Someone is always ready with an answer to a question or help to a problem. That is much more important than a large group.
Slow and steady wins the publishing race as well. You can dash off a story, but will it be any good, or you can build up slowly, write more and more each day, and develop the writing skills you will need in the long run.
Don't get me wrong, sometimes a deadline must be met and the story MUST be done, but for the long haul of having a career, you need to build up those skills of writing every day, honing your skills of writing better, and know that slow and steady wins the race in the end.
Jill James, president, Black Diamond Chapter
This month we added a new member to our chapter. Looking back I realized the Diamonds have grown slow, but steady as well. We may never be a large chapter, but we are a tightknit group. Someone is always ready with an answer to a question or help to a problem. That is much more important than a large group.
Slow and steady wins the publishing race as well. You can dash off a story, but will it be any good, or you can build up slowly, write more and more each day, and develop the writing skills you will need in the long run.
Don't get me wrong, sometimes a deadline must be met and the story MUST be done, but for the long haul of having a career, you need to build up those skills of writing every day, honing your skills of writing better, and know that slow and steady wins the race in the end.
Jill James, president, Black Diamond Chapter
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Finding Inspiration
I’ve had an incredibly difficult time trying to find something to write about. I started a couple subjects only to dump them. I was dissatisfied with the words dragged out of my fingers. Everything appearing on the wide white screen lacked inspiration, simply because any inspirational words seem to hit a road block in the creative section of my brain.
Then I got the UTube video, I passed on to the Black Diamonds of a cell phone salesmen, in England, by the name of Paul Potts.
His voice brought tears to my eyes. He was competing in an English, American Idol type show. His comment, “All I’ve ever wanted to do was sing opera.”
He inspired me. He took a chance. Is he as good as the great opera singers of our time? Probably not, but still he was wonderful. Most of the singers on these shows are young. They sing hip hop, country, and more modern tunes. I have yet to see an opera singer, although admittedly, I don’t watch it that much, and don’t know if they even would consider one. Since the competition goes on, and the singers have to really be able to sing different types of music. Still this man took a chance.
In order to get what you want, or to even give yourself a chance, you have to put yourself out there. For writers the competition is stiff. There are hundreds of thousands of aspiring writers, chomping at the bit as they fight their way towards publication. The field is incredibly crowded, not just from the RWA stand point, but even then I suspect we make up for most of the queries going to agents. Outside our genre, the writers stand shoulder deep in desire to see their dreams come true. Most won’t make it. It’s only the few who do.
But we can’t think that way. We have to be the Paul Potts of this world and take a chance with a contest, or agent and go for the gold. Will he get a recording contract? Maybe. Will he stand on the world stage and sing? Maybe, but maybe not. He will have the knowledge he tried. He stood up on the stage and sang, if only for his fifteen minutes of fame. And oh, how he sang.
When I first started writing, in my naivety, I queried agents, just knowing they’d want my story. Just knowing they’d love it. Wrong. I squirm at the query letters, and have sense shredded them, out of fear someone might read them. The rejections were harsh, they were many, and it hurt.
Still I’m here, still trying, still writing, still learning. The rejection letters are getting better. I’ve gotten requests for fulls and partials from well known agencies, the rejections were not of the standard type, but personal, giving me advise I so much needed and took to heart.
I still enter contest, placed in one, get back better and better comments, with higher and higher scores. I can read the comments now, without grimacing. In one contest, in the past, one judge hinted, loudly, I should give up writing. I don’t get those anymore, either.
There are times we all ask ourselves how long we can do this. I know there may come a day when I’ll stop sending out the query letters, but the day will never come when I stop writing.
For now I’ll continue to take my chances, to enter contests, go to conference, meet agents, and send out queries. For now I’m still Paul Potts, who loves to sing.
Lee
To see Paul sing. Go to: http://www.youtube. com/watch? v=1k08yxu57NA& mode=related& search=
Then I got the UTube video, I passed on to the Black Diamonds of a cell phone salesmen, in England, by the name of Paul Potts.
His voice brought tears to my eyes. He was competing in an English, American Idol type show. His comment, “All I’ve ever wanted to do was sing opera.”
He inspired me. He took a chance. Is he as good as the great opera singers of our time? Probably not, but still he was wonderful. Most of the singers on these shows are young. They sing hip hop, country, and more modern tunes. I have yet to see an opera singer, although admittedly, I don’t watch it that much, and don’t know if they even would consider one. Since the competition goes on, and the singers have to really be able to sing different types of music. Still this man took a chance.
In order to get what you want, or to even give yourself a chance, you have to put yourself out there. For writers the competition is stiff. There are hundreds of thousands of aspiring writers, chomping at the bit as they fight their way towards publication. The field is incredibly crowded, not just from the RWA stand point, but even then I suspect we make up for most of the queries going to agents. Outside our genre, the writers stand shoulder deep in desire to see their dreams come true. Most won’t make it. It’s only the few who do.
But we can’t think that way. We have to be the Paul Potts of this world and take a chance with a contest, or agent and go for the gold. Will he get a recording contract? Maybe. Will he stand on the world stage and sing? Maybe, but maybe not. He will have the knowledge he tried. He stood up on the stage and sang, if only for his fifteen minutes of fame. And oh, how he sang.
When I first started writing, in my naivety, I queried agents, just knowing they’d want my story. Just knowing they’d love it. Wrong. I squirm at the query letters, and have sense shredded them, out of fear someone might read them. The rejections were harsh, they were many, and it hurt.
Still I’m here, still trying, still writing, still learning. The rejection letters are getting better. I’ve gotten requests for fulls and partials from well known agencies, the rejections were not of the standard type, but personal, giving me advise I so much needed and took to heart.
I still enter contest, placed in one, get back better and better comments, with higher and higher scores. I can read the comments now, without grimacing. In one contest, in the past, one judge hinted, loudly, I should give up writing. I don’t get those anymore, either.
There are times we all ask ourselves how long we can do this. I know there may come a day when I’ll stop sending out the query letters, but the day will never come when I stop writing.
For now I’ll continue to take my chances, to enter contests, go to conference, meet agents, and send out queries. For now I’m still Paul Potts, who loves to sing.
Lee
To see Paul sing. Go to: http://www.youtube. com/watch? v=1k08yxu57NA& mode=related& search=
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Summer and other mild distractions to your writing rhythm.....
I don’t know about you but I love summer. The long days and walking the dog at twilight; listing to the bugs and watching the sky change as the sun sets. I have a very hard time sitting still in the house during summer. I feel guilty if I am not enjoying Mother Nature.
So needless to say I didn’t make many of my writing goals. So I decided to buy a laptop so I could sit in my back yard and enjoy the weather and write. Wonderful idea I thought; but it took 5 weeks for said laptop to arrive, two days before I left for vacation. We were vacationing in the California redwoods; tent camping with no power or Internet. I work in the IT field so no computers, cell phones, Internet or Blackberry is truly the break I need. I had a wonderful time enjoying my family, catching up with family members that joined us, hiking with the kids and floating on a raft in the middle of the river. The laptop would be there when I returned to use in my back yard.
Then I pulled a muscle in my neck, which is still hurting me and my hand goes numb when I type too much. So I must preserve my typing for my job which pays the bills. So my beautiful laptop sits in its bag waiting for the day that it can site on my patio table and help me create my book. I figure my shoulder will be better in a couple weeks, about the time the kids go back to school and the days start to get shorter.
Of course then it will be my favorite time of year to write and now I will be able to take my laptop with me next to our fireplace and write about far away places.
So what types of things distract you from your writing?
Lyn Emerson
Black Diamonds Vice President
So needless to say I didn’t make many of my writing goals. So I decided to buy a laptop so I could sit in my back yard and enjoy the weather and write. Wonderful idea I thought; but it took 5 weeks for said laptop to arrive, two days before I left for vacation. We were vacationing in the California redwoods; tent camping with no power or Internet. I work in the IT field so no computers, cell phones, Internet or Blackberry is truly the break I need. I had a wonderful time enjoying my family, catching up with family members that joined us, hiking with the kids and floating on a raft in the middle of the river. The laptop would be there when I returned to use in my back yard.
Then I pulled a muscle in my neck, which is still hurting me and my hand goes numb when I type too much. So I must preserve my typing for my job which pays the bills. So my beautiful laptop sits in its bag waiting for the day that it can site on my patio table and help me create my book. I figure my shoulder will be better in a couple weeks, about the time the kids go back to school and the days start to get shorter.
Of course then it will be my favorite time of year to write and now I will be able to take my laptop with me next to our fireplace and write about far away places.
So what types of things distract you from your writing?
Lyn Emerson
Black Diamonds Vice President
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Fear of Flying
Recently, RWA had their National Conference...in Dallas. Since I live in Northern California, that meant getting on an airplane and flying halfway across the country. For several years, flying has not been a pleasant experience for me. After 9/11 it has become a true phobia.
Actually, I don’t have a fear of flying; I have a fear of crashing, burning, dying; in that order. Once I’m airborne I’m fine. It is takeoffs and landings I fear. I grip the armrests in the handhold of death. My mantra is: I’m going to die; I’m going to die.
A friend told me the joys of Xanax. I took one just before my flight to Dallas. It was like being a child again, and experiencing the joy of being in a plane, of seeing the ground far below, and having the exhilaration of a roller coaster ride during the turbulence portion of the trip.
I believe all our phobias are the same. I also have a phobia of the new and unknown. I’ve had several agent appointments at conferences now, so I can do them no problem. This conference I had not only an editor appointment, but also a group appointment. Oh no, a double whammy, and my stomach let me know it that morning. I was thisclose to canceling my appointment, blowing it off. The only thing stopping me was the disappointment I would have felt in myself and from my friends. Okay, mostly my friends. Looking good to those you respect is a very good motivator. So, I deep breathed, I threw back my shoulders, chin up and determined, and sailed through the appointment with a request for a full manuscript.
Lesson learned: I don’t have a fear of flying; I have a fear of falling, of failing. Sometimes we have to fail, to fall down, so we can learn to pick ourselves up, dust off our sore bottoms, and try again.
Actually, I don’t have a fear of flying; I have a fear of crashing, burning, dying; in that order. Once I’m airborne I’m fine. It is takeoffs and landings I fear. I grip the armrests in the handhold of death. My mantra is: I’m going to die; I’m going to die.
A friend told me the joys of Xanax. I took one just before my flight to Dallas. It was like being a child again, and experiencing the joy of being in a plane, of seeing the ground far below, and having the exhilaration of a roller coaster ride during the turbulence portion of the trip.
I believe all our phobias are the same. I also have a phobia of the new and unknown. I’ve had several agent appointments at conferences now, so I can do them no problem. This conference I had not only an editor appointment, but also a group appointment. Oh no, a double whammy, and my stomach let me know it that morning. I was thisclose to canceling my appointment, blowing it off. The only thing stopping me was the disappointment I would have felt in myself and from my friends. Okay, mostly my friends. Looking good to those you respect is a very good motivator. So, I deep breathed, I threw back my shoulders, chin up and determined, and sailed through the appointment with a request for a full manuscript.
Lesson learned: I don’t have a fear of flying; I have a fear of falling, of failing. Sometimes we have to fail, to fall down, so we can learn to pick ourselves up, dust off our sore bottoms, and try again.
(Jill James, chapter president)
Sunday, July 22, 2007
The Alpha Female
After seeing the new movie the Transformer, I realized how the Alpha Female has come into prominence in our society. She’s everywhere, in the form of cops, firefighters, and young teenage heroines who aren’t afraid to go to battle. When I was at National conference there was a lot of talk about the Alpha male, and the kick butt heroine.
She’s not just kick butt, but an alpha on her own and the head of the pack.
I’m a baby boomer.
I now can see the influences the Alpha Female had on me. Of course, back in the late fifties and early sixties, she was anomaly among the June Cleavers of the world, and was rare, at least the kick butt stand alone types.
My first heroine, was Jo in Little Women. She swam against the tide of the 1800’s. Not out there fighting for justice and the American way, but in her own way she brought to light the struggle young women had during the period, where they couldn’t vote, hold down jobs, and have a say in life altering decisions. But Jo wanted something different, than marriage and kids, she wanted to be a writer.
Every few weeks Jo would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and fall into a vortex', as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace.
I admired Nancy Drew’s independent spirit, and smarts.
I wanted to be the supper agent, Mrs. Emma Peel of the Avengers. To kick butt while remaining 5th Avenue fashionable.
Today’s young women have a flotilla of heroines and Alpha Females to choose from. As long as they don't confuse the Britney Spears and the Paris Hilton of the world some twisted heroine to strive to see rehab and the inside of protective custody in jail. There is so much more to choose from. Actually every young heroine in a book, movie or show seems to have the strong hero qualities.
Harry Potter’s Hermione, is smart, strong, loyal and brave almost to the point of foolishness.
Mikaela of the new movie the Transformer is a real kick butt no holds bar heroine, for a teenage girl and beautiful.
My personal favorite as an adult is Ripley of Aliens. I loved the second movie the best. Ripley was the very definition of the hero’s journey and she saved the alpha male, if only for a short while.
When I write my heroines, I combine all these heroes to make one often damaged alpha female.
I love my alpha females…They are truer to life then one might think.
What’s your favorite female heroine?
Lee
She’s not just kick butt, but an alpha on her own and the head of the pack.
I’m a baby boomer.
I now can see the influences the Alpha Female had on me. Of course, back in the late fifties and early sixties, she was anomaly among the June Cleavers of the world, and was rare, at least the kick butt stand alone types.
My first heroine, was Jo in Little Women. She swam against the tide of the 1800’s. Not out there fighting for justice and the American way, but in her own way she brought to light the struggle young women had during the period, where they couldn’t vote, hold down jobs, and have a say in life altering decisions. But Jo wanted something different, than marriage and kids, she wanted to be a writer.
Every few weeks Jo would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and fall into a vortex', as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace.
I admired Nancy Drew’s independent spirit, and smarts.
I wanted to be the supper agent, Mrs. Emma Peel of the Avengers. To kick butt while remaining 5th Avenue fashionable.
Today’s young women have a flotilla of heroines and Alpha Females to choose from. As long as they don't confuse the Britney Spears and the Paris Hilton of the world some twisted heroine to strive to see rehab and the inside of protective custody in jail. There is so much more to choose from. Actually every young heroine in a book, movie or show seems to have the strong hero qualities.
Harry Potter’s Hermione, is smart, strong, loyal and brave almost to the point of foolishness.
Mikaela of the new movie the Transformer is a real kick butt no holds bar heroine, for a teenage girl and beautiful.
My personal favorite as an adult is Ripley of Aliens. I loved the second movie the best. Ripley was the very definition of the hero’s journey and she saved the alpha male, if only for a short while.
When I write my heroines, I combine all these heroes to make one often damaged alpha female.
I love my alpha females…They are truer to life then one might think.
What’s your favorite female heroine?
Lee
Monday, July 16, 2007
First RWA National Conference
Last week I attended my first RWA National Conference and I am exhausted.
Since it was my first conference for RWA, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I attended as many things as possible to get a feel for the conference. I found the workshops were very informative. I was amazed at how many people attended each workshop; some of them were standing room only. I was also pleased to see the various types of workshops that they had and it seemed there was something for every author depending on where they were in their writing journey.
I was also very impressed with the literacy signing, there were over 400 authors donating there time to this cause signing books for everyone. The Black Diamonds donated a basket for the signing and it had some wine, a Poppy Laurel Original Believe necklace and autographed books from Tawny Weber and Karin Tabke.
One of my favorite memories of the conference was having Nora Roberts autograph a book for my grandma and have my picture taken with her. I will be giving both the book and picture to my grandma this next weekend and I can’t wait.
I thought the conference was awesome and that everyone was very friendly and warm. I would be in the elevator and people would ask me how I was enjoying the conference since I had a “First Timers” ribbon on my name tag.
There were so many moments at the conference I will cherish and think back on fondly over the years. I know what to except next year when the conference comes to my back yard, San Francisco. So what is your favorite conference memory?
Lyn Emerson
Black Diamonds Vice President
Since it was my first conference for RWA, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I attended as many things as possible to get a feel for the conference. I found the workshops were very informative. I was amazed at how many people attended each workshop; some of them were standing room only. I was also pleased to see the various types of workshops that they had and it seemed there was something for every author depending on where they were in their writing journey.
I was also very impressed with the literacy signing, there were over 400 authors donating there time to this cause signing books for everyone. The Black Diamonds donated a basket for the signing and it had some wine, a Poppy Laurel Original Believe necklace and autographed books from Tawny Weber and Karin Tabke.
One of my favorite memories of the conference was having Nora Roberts autograph a book for my grandma and have my picture taken with her. I will be giving both the book and picture to my grandma this next weekend and I can’t wait.
I thought the conference was awesome and that everyone was very friendly and warm. I would be in the elevator and people would ask me how I was enjoying the conference since I had a “First Timers” ribbon on my name tag.
There were so many moments at the conference I will cherish and think back on fondly over the years. I know what to except next year when the conference comes to my back yard, San Francisco. So what is your favorite conference memory?
Lyn Emerson
Black Diamonds Vice President
Monday, July 9, 2007
Off To RWA National
In 24 hours I'll be getting on a plane headed to Dallas. At our chapter meeting we discussed the cost of this trip. Give or take a few things, those of us flying from the west coast to Texas are probably putting out $2,000. I sat back a moment. Wow, can I afford this money? Am I worth it? But, stop!! Those are the old me thoughts. Yes, I had to put away money here and there to save that amount, but it is all saved and ready to go. Yes, I'm worth it. This is an opportunity you can't put a price tag on. The friendships made, lessons learned, and networking done are priceless.
As writers we spend so much time alone with just the characters in our heads and putting them on paper. We need time to recharge, to replenish the well of inspiration, to form bands of comraderie to get us through the writers block, dry spells, and frustration of thinking we aren't writing good enough. We are too close to our work. We need to build bridges to other writers with fresh eyes to tell us if we are going in the right direction, if we have a plot hole, or we are good to go, just keep writing.
So, I go to refresh, to be rejuvenated, to see old friends, and make new. I go because I need to be a part of the writing world. I write; therefore, I go.
Jill James, president
In 24 hours I'll be getting on a plane headed to Dallas. At our chapter meeting we discussed the cost of this trip. Give or take a few things, those of us flying from the west coast to Texas are probably putting out $2,000. I sat back a moment. Wow, can I afford this money? Am I worth it? But, stop!! Those are the old me thoughts. Yes, I had to put away money here and there to save that amount, but it is all saved and ready to go. Yes, I'm worth it. This is an opportunity you can't put a price tag on. The friendships made, lessons learned, and networking done are priceless.
As writers we spend so much time alone with just the characters in our heads and putting them on paper. We need time to recharge, to replenish the well of inspiration, to form bands of comraderie to get us through the writers block, dry spells, and frustration of thinking we aren't writing good enough. We are too close to our work. We need to build bridges to other writers with fresh eyes to tell us if we are going in the right direction, if we have a plot hole, or we are good to go, just keep writing.
So, I go to refresh, to be rejuvenated, to see old friends, and make new. I go because I need to be a part of the writing world. I write; therefore, I go.
Jill James, president
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
California Dreaming
I was born, raised, and lived most of my life in New York. For all it has to offer, New York wasn’t a place I liked all that much. As a confirmed dreamer and a writer from the age of ten, I was forever looking toward the horizon – to “someplace better.”
My undefined yearning finally took on a particular focus when one of my classmates returned to school after Easter vacation. She was so excited and bubbling over with all that she had seen that our fifth grade teacher, Sister Mary Paschal, finally threw up her hands and let Linda stand up in front of the class for one of the few show-and-tell sessions in my memory. Show-and-tell was not a feature of our Catholic elementary education, so that made the occasion special all by itself. But it was what Linda had to say that really galvanized me. She was filled with fabulous tales of a far away place she and her family had just visited, a place they would move to as soon as the school term ended.
Her excitement was infectious as she regaled us with visions of bright blue skies, golden sunshine, endless beaches along a beautiful coastline, and a ceaselessly moving ocean that was every shade of blue imaginable. I was dazzled to learn the reality of such a place, immediately smitten with just the sound of its magical name: California!
Thus began for me a precious dream that I would hold close for the rest of my life. As soon as I heard about it, I knew I wanted to go there to live. It was nearly a compulsion, so certain was I that it was the very place I was meant to be. My mom gently disabused me of the notion that our family might escape to what I thought of as paradise, but she didn’t crush my dream, saying only that “some day” it might come true. Though the dream retreated to a back room in my mind, it never died. Every bright, sunny breezy day with a brilliant sky over head -- a relative rarity precious as sapphires in the heavily humid city – would whisper the name of my dream place to me. I took to calling that particular shade of sky “California blue,” and never stopped believing in my heart that one day I would go to this fabulous place of dreams.
Well then, of course, life intervened, and many years passed before I even took my first vacation to California with two good friends. We spent three weeks traveling up the coast from San Diego to San Francisco, to Yosemite, to San Jose and back to San Francisco. And I have to say right here that the state was all that I had dreamed – and more. In fact, my friends and I were so taken with it that we all tried finding jobs while we were there, and when we were forced to get back on the homebound flight, even the flights attendants caught on to the fact that we had gone “California crazy.” They plied us with drinks and sympathy, and laughed when we didn’t want to get out of the plane at JFK.
Ten years later, I went on a business trip for a weeklong conference in San Francisco, and again I was infused with this special kind of excitement that felt like champagne in the blood; it was a kind of nitrogen narcosis of the heart, and it only confirmed that, yes, indeed, this was the place for me. But then, life intervened again, and the dream went back into its cubby hole in my brain.
But, you know, dreams that are really meant to come to fruition usually have a way of asserting themselves in our lives. Less than seven years after that business trip, my company downsized a large number of staff into early retirement, including me. For some reason, I wasn’t at all unhappy with this circumstance. Perhaps I sensed that the universe was getting ready to make my dream a reality. At any rate, the events that followed had an almost spooky feeling of “rightness” to them, even though they were not all the stuff of happiness. The upshot of it was that -- two years after I retired from a thirty-two year career, with the help of my sister and two good friends who had moved to San Francisco two years before – I moved myself, my cat, and as Dickens had put it so well in “A Christmas Carol,” my “few mean sticks of furniture” out to California!
And I can say with perfect sincerity that this dream’s fulfillment is even more wonderful than I had dared hope.
Now what does this have to do with writing? Well, it’s really interesting that my writing dream exactly paralleled my California dream. Though I had written all my life, and even had stories published in small press magazines, I had never managed to make that dream a reality. I hadn’t even thought of that until I heard “California Dreaming” on the radio again the other day, and it reminded me that one precious dream of my life had already come true. So -- why not the other?
Well, once again, friends have become the architects of my future success. Coming out to California, settling in and making new friends, most notably the Black Diamonds, all seem to have been part of another universal plan for me, this one to see the greatest dream I have ever had come true. And though I have often been plagued with doubts, and suffer from a huge lack of self confidence, and though I have still not quite reached the fruition point with this particular dream -- I realized that having made one dream come true, no matter how delayed it was along the way, I can make this other dream, this writing dream, come true as well. And I don’t think, now that the realization has come clear to me, that I will ever be quite so fearful ever again.
So, my friends, continue with your dream, whatever it is, wherever it takes you -- and know
that you can and will make it come true. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. Life can intervene, years can pass, but if it’s the right dream, one day all the doors will open, and you will find yourself there, where you always wanted to be. Shakespeare said it best, I think: “We are such stuff as dreams are made on….”
Sweet dreams!
-- Juanita Salicrup
My undefined yearning finally took on a particular focus when one of my classmates returned to school after Easter vacation. She was so excited and bubbling over with all that she had seen that our fifth grade teacher, Sister Mary Paschal, finally threw up her hands and let Linda stand up in front of the class for one of the few show-and-tell sessions in my memory. Show-and-tell was not a feature of our Catholic elementary education, so that made the occasion special all by itself. But it was what Linda had to say that really galvanized me. She was filled with fabulous tales of a far away place she and her family had just visited, a place they would move to as soon as the school term ended.
Her excitement was infectious as she regaled us with visions of bright blue skies, golden sunshine, endless beaches along a beautiful coastline, and a ceaselessly moving ocean that was every shade of blue imaginable. I was dazzled to learn the reality of such a place, immediately smitten with just the sound of its magical name: California!
Thus began for me a precious dream that I would hold close for the rest of my life. As soon as I heard about it, I knew I wanted to go there to live. It was nearly a compulsion, so certain was I that it was the very place I was meant to be. My mom gently disabused me of the notion that our family might escape to what I thought of as paradise, but she didn’t crush my dream, saying only that “some day” it might come true. Though the dream retreated to a back room in my mind, it never died. Every bright, sunny breezy day with a brilliant sky over head -- a relative rarity precious as sapphires in the heavily humid city – would whisper the name of my dream place to me. I took to calling that particular shade of sky “California blue,” and never stopped believing in my heart that one day I would go to this fabulous place of dreams.
Well then, of course, life intervened, and many years passed before I even took my first vacation to California with two good friends. We spent three weeks traveling up the coast from San Diego to San Francisco, to Yosemite, to San Jose and back to San Francisco. And I have to say right here that the state was all that I had dreamed – and more. In fact, my friends and I were so taken with it that we all tried finding jobs while we were there, and when we were forced to get back on the homebound flight, even the flights attendants caught on to the fact that we had gone “California crazy.” They plied us with drinks and sympathy, and laughed when we didn’t want to get out of the plane at JFK.Ten years later, I went on a business trip for a weeklong conference in San Francisco, and again I was infused with this special kind of excitement that felt like champagne in the blood; it was a kind of nitrogen narcosis of the heart, and it only confirmed that, yes, indeed, this was the place for me. But then, life intervened again, and the dream went back into its cubby hole in my brain.
But, you know, dreams that are really meant to come to fruition usually have a way of asserting themselves in our lives. Less than seven years after that business trip, my company downsized a large number of staff into early retirement, including me. For some reason, I wasn’t at all unhappy with this circumstance. Perhaps I sensed that the universe was getting ready to make my dream a reality. At any rate, the events that followed had an almost spooky feeling of “rightness” to them, even though they were not all the stuff of happiness. The upshot of it was that -- two years after I retired from a thirty-two year career, with the help of my sister and two good friends who had moved to San Francisco two years before – I moved myself, my cat, and as Dickens had put it so well in “A Christmas Carol,” my “few mean sticks of furniture” out to California!
And I can say with perfect sincerity that this dream’s fulfillment is even more wonderful than I had dared hope.
Now what does this have to do with writing? Well, it’s really interesting that my writing dream exactly paralleled my California dream. Though I had written all my life, and even had stories published in small press magazines, I had never managed to make that dream a reality. I hadn’t even thought of that until I heard “California Dreaming” on the radio again the other day, and it reminded me that one precious dream of my life had already come true. So -- why not the other?
Well, once again, friends have become the architects of my future success. Coming out to California, settling in and making new friends, most notably the Black Diamonds, all seem to have been part of another universal plan for me, this one to see the greatest dream I have ever had come true. And though I have often been plagued with doubts, and suffer from a huge lack of self confidence, and though I have still not quite reached the fruition point with this particular dream -- I realized that having made one dream come true, no matter how delayed it was along the way, I can make this other dream, this writing dream, come true as well. And I don’t think, now that the realization has come clear to me, that I will ever be quite so fearful ever again.
So, my friends, continue with your dream, whatever it is, wherever it takes you -- and know
that you can and will make it come true. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. Life can intervene, years can pass, but if it’s the right dream, one day all the doors will open, and you will find yourself there, where you always wanted to be. Shakespeare said it best, I think: “We are such stuff as dreams are made on….”Sweet dreams!
-- Juanita Salicrup
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Chasing the Train
Early one morning, while on vacation in northern Minnesota, I woke to the shrill blast of a train whistle in the distance. My mind registered the rumble of the giant wheels on the track, then all I wanted was to snuggle deep into my pillow and go back to sleep. As I drifted back into my dream world, I heard them. My eyes opened and I listened to the familiar voices of wolves.
They chased the train to the city limits and stopped to cry out their dismay over the inability to catch something so much bigger then themselves.
I closed my eyes and listened to their fragile lonely calling, as they spoke a language older then man. I felt as if one in particular asked me a question. One voice reached through the gray morning light, and asked me something, I know every writer at every level has asked themselves at one time or another. The question loomed up on me slowly like a canoe on a lake as the paddles softly caressed the water.
When would I recognize my pursuit of publication was fruitless?
My father is a Boise Forte Chippewa and taught his children the importance of a wolf’s voice. They are the symbol of strength, family and loyalty. I asked him why in those moments it hit me like that. He said it was because I was close to my ancestors in those wolves’. That they were talking to me, forcing me to look inside myself for the first time in a long while.
I’ve been a member of RWA for ten years, writing seriously for five, really getting serious in the past two. I’ve had requests for partials and a full but nothing ever came of either, other then valuable lessons. Which I took to heart, and improved my writing, strengthened my voice and found the direction I really wanted to go.
When is it time to know publication just is not going to happen? Will I recognize it and quit? Or will I continue to chase after something I can’t catch.
I love to write. I love to write anything, whether it is working on my WIP, or just writing for the blog. I love the process of writing. Not to have it in my life, where it really occupies a large part of who I am, seems unimaginable. There would be nothing left but a big empty black hole drifting in my spirit.
After deep examination of my soul, I asked myself what I want, what I expect, and decided to put a time limit on my pursuit. At least that’s what I told myself, as the memory of the whistles blast echoed, followed by a searing sad cry of the wild.
I’m not sure I can hold up to my own internal promises, as I howl out a long story of dismay. I love RWA, the friends I’ve found there, and most importantly writing.
I’ve placed my time far enough into the future, where I might just forget to quit. I just hope I’ll have the strength to continue the chase until I catch the train.
They chased the train to the city limits and stopped to cry out their dismay over the inability to catch something so much bigger then themselves.
I closed my eyes and listened to their fragile lonely calling, as they spoke a language older then man. I felt as if one in particular asked me a question. One voice reached through the gray morning light, and asked me something, I know every writer at every level has asked themselves at one time or another. The question loomed up on me slowly like a canoe on a lake as the paddles softly caressed the water.
When would I recognize my pursuit of publication was fruitless?
My father is a Boise Forte Chippewa and taught his children the importance of a wolf’s voice. They are the symbol of strength, family and loyalty. I asked him why in those moments it hit me like that. He said it was because I was close to my ancestors in those wolves’. That they were talking to me, forcing me to look inside myself for the first time in a long while.
I’ve been a member of RWA for ten years, writing seriously for five, really getting serious in the past two. I’ve had requests for partials and a full but nothing ever came of either, other then valuable lessons. Which I took to heart, and improved my writing, strengthened my voice and found the direction I really wanted to go.
When is it time to know publication just is not going to happen? Will I recognize it and quit? Or will I continue to chase after something I can’t catch.
I love to write. I love to write anything, whether it is working on my WIP, or just writing for the blog. I love the process of writing. Not to have it in my life, where it really occupies a large part of who I am, seems unimaginable. There would be nothing left but a big empty black hole drifting in my spirit.
After deep examination of my soul, I asked myself what I want, what I expect, and decided to put a time limit on my pursuit. At least that’s what I told myself, as the memory of the whistles blast echoed, followed by a searing sad cry of the wild.
I’m not sure I can hold up to my own internal promises, as I howl out a long story of dismay. I love RWA, the friends I’ve found there, and most importantly writing.
I’ve placed my time far enough into the future, where I might just forget to quit. I just hope I’ll have the strength to continue the chase until I catch the train.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Romance Writers of America National Conference in Dallas
Today is June 18th and I have 23 days left until I attend my first national conference. I am so excited to be going and meeting with other writers, publishers and agents. Many of my friends will be there from the Black Diamonds and we will be mixing and meeting other authors along with editors and agents.
I wonder what it will be like attending my first national conference? Will everyone be friendly and as open as the writers I have meet so far? Will I know what to say if I am seated next to a publisher or agent or Nora Roberts? Will I get tongue tied?
As I look back on my writing journey, I am very thankful I did not attend the Reno conference back in 2005. I was just starting out with my writing and had only attended one RWA chapter meeting. I was really shy and had a lot to learn about the craft. This last year has been such a learning experience. Based on what I have learned over the last couple of years I feel I will be able to learn and absorb so much more at the conference.
One learning experience I had this year was my first contest. I came in last, which was the best experience I have had to date. It was the first time I took a chance and let someone read what I had written. I received some good advice and have rewritten that paragraph. Actually, that gave me the courage to have my Starbucks writing partner read it and based on our discussion I tossed the whole thing out and started Chapter 1 with Chapter 3. This knowledge has helped me grow a lot as a writer and I think will help me in my experience at National, including my editor appointment.
I am so excited for the experience I will gain by attending national. I will learn more about my craft, make new friends and hopefully only make a small fool of myself. I have heard from others that one should not slide her/his manuscript under a bathroom stall to agent or editor. But I will be assertive and take every opportunity to talk with an agent or editor at the appropriate times or places. I will have an elevator conversation prepared in case I am in line, elevator or getting a cocktail. This way I can make small talk and not start stuttering like Elmer Fudd. Of course there are no guarantees, so if you hear about the crazy women who was tongue tied and sounded like Elmer Fudd that would probably have been me.
Yep, 23 days and counting until I experience my first conference and begin another first step in my writing career.
Lyn Emerson
Black Diamonds
Vice President
I wonder what it will be like attending my first national conference? Will everyone be friendly and as open as the writers I have meet so far? Will I know what to say if I am seated next to a publisher or agent or Nora Roberts? Will I get tongue tied?
As I look back on my writing journey, I am very thankful I did not attend the Reno conference back in 2005. I was just starting out with my writing and had only attended one RWA chapter meeting. I was really shy and had a lot to learn about the craft. This last year has been such a learning experience. Based on what I have learned over the last couple of years I feel I will be able to learn and absorb so much more at the conference.
One learning experience I had this year was my first contest. I came in last, which was the best experience I have had to date. It was the first time I took a chance and let someone read what I had written. I received some good advice and have rewritten that paragraph. Actually, that gave me the courage to have my Starbucks writing partner read it and based on our discussion I tossed the whole thing out and started Chapter 1 with Chapter 3. This knowledge has helped me grow a lot as a writer and I think will help me in my experience at National, including my editor appointment.
I am so excited for the experience I will gain by attending national. I will learn more about my craft, make new friends and hopefully only make a small fool of myself. I have heard from others that one should not slide her/his manuscript under a bathroom stall to agent or editor. But I will be assertive and take every opportunity to talk with an agent or editor at the appropriate times or places. I will have an elevator conversation prepared in case I am in line, elevator or getting a cocktail. This way I can make small talk and not start stuttering like Elmer Fudd. Of course there are no guarantees, so if you hear about the crazy women who was tongue tied and sounded like Elmer Fudd that would probably have been me.
Yep, 23 days and counting until I experience my first conference and begin another first step in my writing career.
Lyn Emerson
Black Diamonds
Vice President
Sunday, June 10, 2007
The Faithful Sidekick
The Lone Ranger had Tonto, Superman had holograms of his parents, and Luke Skywalker had Obi Wan talking in his mind. Every hero, or heroine for that matter, needs a friend, confidante, or mentor to bounce ideas off, discuss romantic problems, or just hang with to show personality.
As romantic as our hero/heroine become, their world can’t exist in a bubble. The excitement of that first kiss has to be shared with your best friend. The misunderstanding leading to your first fight has to be shared with a buddy who will commiserate with you about “those women, who can understand them.”
In action/adventure stories the sidekick is there to be seriously hurt or to die. His death galvanizes our hero to put honor and fair play aside, and to avenge his friend. In romances, the friend/buddy is to look deeper into themselves. A friend who tells them, you are being stupid, go after the girl, don’t ever let her go. Your hero wants to go, but he needs the extra push from his friend.
The sidekick/friend can serve another purpose as well. To be a roadblock on the path of true love. He is the friend telling our hero the woman isn’t good enough for him. Who warms him not to let himself get shackled for life, yet. It is the girlfriend who lies to the heroine that she saw the hero with another woman. They are the unspoken voices within our hero and heroine, the last worries before total commitment.
Friends can be a help or a hindrance to the relationship, but mostly they add depth to our hero’s and heroine’s characteristics. Friendship will add dimension to our characters.
The sidekick can be an added tool in your writers toolbox to kick you story up a notch, to add flesh and blood to your storyline.
As romantic as our hero/heroine become, their world can’t exist in a bubble. The excitement of that first kiss has to be shared with your best friend. The misunderstanding leading to your first fight has to be shared with a buddy who will commiserate with you about “those women, who can understand them.”
In action/adventure stories the sidekick is there to be seriously hurt or to die. His death galvanizes our hero to put honor and fair play aside, and to avenge his friend. In romances, the friend/buddy is to look deeper into themselves. A friend who tells them, you are being stupid, go after the girl, don’t ever let her go. Your hero wants to go, but he needs the extra push from his friend.
The sidekick/friend can serve another purpose as well. To be a roadblock on the path of true love. He is the friend telling our hero the woman isn’t good enough for him. Who warms him not to let himself get shackled for life, yet. It is the girlfriend who lies to the heroine that she saw the hero with another woman. They are the unspoken voices within our hero and heroine, the last worries before total commitment.
Friends can be a help or a hindrance to the relationship, but mostly they add depth to our hero’s and heroine’s characteristics. Friendship will add dimension to our characters.
The sidekick can be an added tool in your writers toolbox to kick you story up a notch, to add flesh and blood to your storyline.
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Jill James, president
Sunday, May 27, 2007
The Heroine's Journey
An author friend received a comment from a contest judge, “Cops don’t cry.” (There was a scene, in which her female cop heroine had an emotional moment,) this is a misconception. Cops do cry. It’s how they keep the demons at bay…
After that, the author considered rewriting the weak moment. I wanted her to keep it, because it's apart of the over all journey for the heroine. Not to shed a tear is a greater sign of weakness, than to suck it up.
As writers and readers, we love our strong, resourceful, independent, kick the butt of any bad guy who gets in her way, heroine. Buffy is a good example. And she is a good example of a individual with devastatingly, world crushing weaknesses. Those weaknesses gives her dimension and depth.
Her greatest weakness of course is Angel the Vampire, with a bunch of demons of his own, literally and figuratively.
As much as we love these impossibly strong heroines, we must allow them their moments in the dark places of the soul. It’s what makes them human to jump off the pages.
No, you don’t want them too stupid to live. But just give them a little dent in the armor, its moves the story forward, it keeps the pages turning. It adds interest, as they take the journey around corners, up and down hills, into deep dark valleys, only to come out the other side stronger.
I just finished a beautifully written book, The Witch of Cologne. The heroine was a midwife accused of witchcraft. Her captivity was hard to read, it was intense, but through it all, the heroine’s intelligence was her form of kick buttness. Another, I just started, The Religion. The heroine who in the first pages came across weak, but when she weaves a web of deception around a 16th century mercenary to get him to do what she wants, not once does she flinch, or bat a eye lash, I was impressed. Now there is a kick butt, woman. She earned my respect. So did the author, who by the way is male.
It’s just not the hero’s journey anymore. It’s the heroines too, even more so, in the world of kick butt women.
Different situations for women, also brings out a variety of interesting strengths and weaknesses. A well rounded character has to have their vulnerabilities, because we all do in life.
It’s just a part of the journey.
After that, the author considered rewriting the weak moment. I wanted her to keep it, because it's apart of the over all journey for the heroine. Not to shed a tear is a greater sign of weakness, than to suck it up.
As writers and readers, we love our strong, resourceful, independent, kick the butt of any bad guy who gets in her way, heroine. Buffy is a good example. And she is a good example of a individual with devastatingly, world crushing weaknesses. Those weaknesses gives her dimension and depth.
Her greatest weakness of course is Angel the Vampire, with a bunch of demons of his own, literally and figuratively.
As much as we love these impossibly strong heroines, we must allow them their moments in the dark places of the soul. It’s what makes them human to jump off the pages.
No, you don’t want them too stupid to live. But just give them a little dent in the armor, its moves the story forward, it keeps the pages turning. It adds interest, as they take the journey around corners, up and down hills, into deep dark valleys, only to come out the other side stronger.
I just finished a beautifully written book, The Witch of Cologne. The heroine was a midwife accused of witchcraft. Her captivity was hard to read, it was intense, but through it all, the heroine’s intelligence was her form of kick buttness. Another, I just started, The Religion. The heroine who in the first pages came across weak, but when she weaves a web of deception around a 16th century mercenary to get him to do what she wants, not once does she flinch, or bat a eye lash, I was impressed. Now there is a kick butt, woman. She earned my respect. So did the author, who by the way is male.
It’s just not the hero’s journey anymore. It’s the heroines too, even more so, in the world of kick butt women.
Different situations for women, also brings out a variety of interesting strengths and weaknesses. A well rounded character has to have their vulnerabilities, because we all do in life.
It’s just a part of the journey.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Can I really do this?
I wonder if I have what it takes to become a writer. I know I want it, but do I want it bad enough to make the sacrifices to achieve it? Are my writing dreams unachievable and hopeless?
Do I have the discipline to sit in that chair, to write; to tell my characters story. If I do write that story, will it be any good? Do I have the stomach to hear critiques of what I have put my soul into, not only from my friends, family, critique partners, contest judges but also agents and editors?
Today was one of those days as I sat down and compared my writing to others. Do I measure up? I haven’t written too much yet, haven’t even finished a book yet. I know I am not going to be Nora but do I have what it takes? What will others think of my writing, will it stink? Okay maybe it won’t stink and I have a lot to learn so now at this moment it may stink a little.
I am going to need a thick skin, determination and be willing to do lot of hard work. I am going to need the guts to accept the feed back and know when it will help and when to toss it out. Can I really do this? I don’t know that answer, but my heart tells me to keep at it, to keep trying. I am not a quitter, I may be negative at times but I will not give up. Every step in this journey will help me learn to build a thick skin and remember business is business and you shouldn’t take it personal.
Dreams are achievable, but in order for a dream to be achieved you have to go after it. Dreams don’t happen without a lot of hard work. I think it’s about time I really sat in that chair and started to climb that mountain towards my dream. So far I have only be walking in the valley not really making my dream a goal with measurable achievements that I need to hold myself accountable too.
Okay, so maybe I can do this, but it’s not going to happen overnight and I need to make a plan. It is going to take a lot of hard work and sacrifice. I could be as successful as Nora someday; and my first goal will be to complete my first manuscript and learn from it so I can write the second one. I will need to learn that it is okay to doubt yourself and have a few failures along the way, just as long as you never give up. Guess I will never really know if I can do this if I don’t try.
Lyn Emerson, Vice President
Black Diamonds RWA Chapter #206
www.BDRWA.com
Do I have the discipline to sit in that chair, to write; to tell my characters story. If I do write that story, will it be any good? Do I have the stomach to hear critiques of what I have put my soul into, not only from my friends, family, critique partners, contest judges but also agents and editors?
Today was one of those days as I sat down and compared my writing to others. Do I measure up? I haven’t written too much yet, haven’t even finished a book yet. I know I am not going to be Nora but do I have what it takes? What will others think of my writing, will it stink? Okay maybe it won’t stink and I have a lot to learn so now at this moment it may stink a little.
I am going to need a thick skin, determination and be willing to do lot of hard work. I am going to need the guts to accept the feed back and know when it will help and when to toss it out. Can I really do this? I don’t know that answer, but my heart tells me to keep at it, to keep trying. I am not a quitter, I may be negative at times but I will not give up. Every step in this journey will help me learn to build a thick skin and remember business is business and you shouldn’t take it personal.
Dreams are achievable, but in order for a dream to be achieved you have to go after it. Dreams don’t happen without a lot of hard work. I think it’s about time I really sat in that chair and started to climb that mountain towards my dream. So far I have only be walking in the valley not really making my dream a goal with measurable achievements that I need to hold myself accountable too.
Okay, so maybe I can do this, but it’s not going to happen overnight and I need to make a plan. It is going to take a lot of hard work and sacrifice. I could be as successful as Nora someday; and my first goal will be to complete my first manuscript and learn from it so I can write the second one. I will need to learn that it is okay to doubt yourself and have a few failures along the way, just as long as you never give up. Guess I will never really know if I can do this if I don’t try.
Lyn Emerson, Vice President
Black Diamonds RWA Chapter #206
www.BDRWA.com
Monday, May 14, 2007
Families and Writing
A laptop to produce your literary masterpiece: $1200.00
Membership to Romance Writers of America: $75.00
Support for your writing from your family: priceless
The biggest difference between writers who make it and those that don't is family support. I've heard horror stories of women struggling to balance home, work, and their dreams of writing, while getting zip from their families. Or worse, significant others who undermine their efforts to discover if they can do this, this dream.
If your family supports your writing, support them. Step away from the laptop from time to time. Make a nice meal, clean the house, take the kids to the park for an afternoon. You are not only writing for yourself, but for them. When they show some appreciation of your hard work, some them some appreciation too. Let them know they were wonderful to eat canned chili and hot dogs all week while you were on deadline. Now, give them a nice meal.
If your family understands what you're doing, and why, you are in the minority. Let them know how wonderful they are for helping you build your dream.
Support is definitely a two-way street. When the rugrats don't interrupt your writing hour and you find them getting along with no blood or damaged body parts, thank them. Next time they might give you an hour and a half. You never know, miracles can happen!
Jill James, president
Membership to Romance Writers of America: $75.00
Support for your writing from your family: priceless
The biggest difference between writers who make it and those that don't is family support. I've heard horror stories of women struggling to balance home, work, and their dreams of writing, while getting zip from their families. Or worse, significant others who undermine their efforts to discover if they can do this, this dream.
If your family supports your writing, support them. Step away from the laptop from time to time. Make a nice meal, clean the house, take the kids to the park for an afternoon. You are not only writing for yourself, but for them. When they show some appreciation of your hard work, some them some appreciation too. Let them know they were wonderful to eat canned chili and hot dogs all week while you were on deadline. Now, give them a nice meal.
If your family understands what you're doing, and why, you are in the minority. Let them know how wonderful they are for helping you build your dream.
Support is definitely a two-way street. When the rugrats don't interrupt your writing hour and you find them getting along with no blood or damaged body parts, thank them. Next time they might give you an hour and a half. You never know, miracles can happen!
Jill James, president
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Are You a "Pantser" or a Planner?
Probably second only to "what's your sign?" (asked on a bad date), the subject question is one that eventually haunts the lives of writers everywhere. Everyone from Gore Vidal to Al Gore has been asked the question and the answers, as you can imagine, range from the imaginative to the outright nutty.
What it means, in the simplest terms, is: are you one who sits at the computer and lets fly with the ideas, allowing your fertile brain to take you wherever it will until you have a story you are content with -- or do you sit down and carefully plan out your novel down to the most minute detail?
As a writer I confess I always felt a bit process-challenged, because -- after a few disastrous seat-of-the-pants stories (that's the "pantser" approach, get it?) that started with great energy and imagination and then stalled somewhere in a literary forest with no evident way out -- I found myself needing to plan right from the initial idea. In fact, I felt as if my plan might be a kind of crutch that I needed because I couldn't just sit and let fly.
I guess I finally became less self critical (always a good thing) when I came to RWA and realized that all plots are plans of one sort or another, and that having to write down a plan in some detail is part of the process. Just how detailed it all is depends only on the complexity of your work-in-progress. Like a lot of other writers, I have sat through plotting sessions at various RWA chapter meetings, learning an immense amount even as I had fun, and always admired those who seemed to be so naturally gifted at it. I felt burdened by a sense of guilt that I couldn't just let fly that way: I had to go home and think about it.
All I knew for certain was that I did not seem to have that same, effortless natural gift. I needed to write down all the steps on the road to my book's end in the kind of detail so that I always knew where I was and where I was going. Furthermore, I couldn't seem to function without such a plan. I was feeling like a kind of literary American-with-Disabilities because my plans always seemed to be so very detailed and extensive. What would begin as a fairly straightforward synopsis would end up being an extremely detailed map of who-did-what and when, where and how. And I didn't seem able to let go of the necessity of doing these detailed plans.
In short, I was not feeling good about myself as a writer. This is, of course, all too common a feeling among writers. One day, we write something, a part of a larger work, and we think -- "Damn! That's good." The next day, we reread what we wrote the day before and conclude it's the worst piece of trash the world has ever seen.
As I read craft books, however, I slowly came to the conclusion that perhaps I wasn't such a cripple after all. People whose work I very much admired were self-confessed Planners, and proud of it. One was Elizabeth George, she of the wonderfully complex Inspector Lynley mysteries, some of which have been dramatized on PBS-TV. Another was Jeffrey Deaver, whose main character, forensic detective Lincoln Rhyme, went to the big screen in "The Bone Collector," starring Denzel Washington. Please note that both of these writers write complex, multi dimensional characters and specialize in plots that twist and turn in a quite Gordian Knot fashion.
But the one that pushed me into a true realization that I was "OK" rather than "Not OK" (apologies to Wayne Dyer) was J.K. Rowling. I am a self confessed Harry Potter fan. I am not what you'd call a fanatic, but I am thoroughly enchanted (pun intended) by JKR's writing. She is a true literary wonder, and better people than I have likened her to both J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. When asked in an interview if she were a "pantser" or a planner, she said she was/is definitely a planner. In fact, she defined her planning as "meticulous."
Whew! Redeemed! Thought I. Now I don't want you to think I have the gall to put myself in the ranks with her or Deaver or George. Yes, I write science fiction and fantasy romance, and there are elements of mystery in my works. But I don't kid myself that I am in any league but a definitely junior one. And I don't expect to reach such stellar status as these three authors. But they pointed out to me that the process I engage in (I do have a tendency to write big and complex novels) is natural, even necessary, to the type of book that I write.
I am never going to write a spare, Hemingwayesque 50,000-word novel. My brain is just not wired that way. And that's OK. In fact, I have it on the best authority that it is OK. And I can't tell you what an enormous relief that is!
So, in the final analysis, the teentsy piece of wisdom I am trying to pass along to you this week is: if you are a planner -- or a "pantser" -- enjoy the process. In fact, revel in it. It's your process, after all.
What it means, in the simplest terms, is: are you one who sits at the computer and lets fly with the ideas, allowing your fertile brain to take you wherever it will until you have a story you are content with -- or do you sit down and carefully plan out your novel down to the most minute detail?
As a writer I confess I always felt a bit process-challenged, because -- after a few disastrous seat-of-the-pants stories (that's the "pantser" approach, get it?) that started with great energy and imagination and then stalled somewhere in a literary forest with no evident way out -- I found myself needing to plan right from the initial idea. In fact, I felt as if my plan might be a kind of crutch that I needed because I couldn't just sit and let fly.
I guess I finally became less self critical (always a good thing) when I came to RWA and realized that all plots are plans of one sort or another, and that having to write down a plan in some detail is part of the process. Just how detailed it all is depends only on the complexity of your work-in-progress. Like a lot of other writers, I have sat through plotting sessions at various RWA chapter meetings, learning an immense amount even as I had fun, and always admired those who seemed to be so naturally gifted at it. I felt burdened by a sense of guilt that I couldn't just let fly that way: I had to go home and think about it.
All I knew for certain was that I did not seem to have that same, effortless natural gift. I needed to write down all the steps on the road to my book's end in the kind of detail so that I always knew where I was and where I was going. Furthermore, I couldn't seem to function without such a plan. I was feeling like a kind of literary American-with-Disabilities because my plans always seemed to be so very detailed and extensive. What would begin as a fairly straightforward synopsis would end up being an extremely detailed map of who-did-what and when, where and how. And I didn't seem able to let go of the necessity of doing these detailed plans.
In short, I was not feeling good about myself as a writer. This is, of course, all too common a feeling among writers. One day, we write something, a part of a larger work, and we think -- "Damn! That's good." The next day, we reread what we wrote the day before and conclude it's the worst piece of trash the world has ever seen.
As I read craft books, however, I slowly came to the conclusion that perhaps I wasn't such a cripple after all. People whose work I very much admired were self-confessed Planners, and proud of it. One was Elizabeth George, she of the wonderfully complex Inspector Lynley mysteries, some of which have been dramatized on PBS-TV. Another was Jeffrey Deaver, whose main character, forensic detective Lincoln Rhyme, went to the big screen in "The Bone Collector," starring Denzel Washington. Please note that both of these writers write complex, multi dimensional characters and specialize in plots that twist and turn in a quite Gordian Knot fashion.
But the one that pushed me into a true realization that I was "OK" rather than "Not OK" (apologies to Wayne Dyer) was J.K. Rowling. I am a self confessed Harry Potter fan. I am not what you'd call a fanatic, but I am thoroughly enchanted (pun intended) by JKR's writing. She is a true literary wonder, and better people than I have likened her to both J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. When asked in an interview if she were a "pantser" or a planner, she said she was/is definitely a planner. In fact, she defined her planning as "meticulous."
Whew! Redeemed! Thought I. Now I don't want you to think I have the gall to put myself in the ranks with her or Deaver or George. Yes, I write science fiction and fantasy romance, and there are elements of mystery in my works. But I don't kid myself that I am in any league but a definitely junior one. And I don't expect to reach such stellar status as these three authors. But they pointed out to me that the process I engage in (I do have a tendency to write big and complex novels) is natural, even necessary, to the type of book that I write.
I am never going to write a spare, Hemingwayesque 50,000-word novel. My brain is just not wired that way. And that's OK. In fact, I have it on the best authority that it is OK. And I can't tell you what an enormous relief that is!
So, in the final analysis, the teentsy piece of wisdom I am trying to pass along to you this week is: if you are a planner -- or a "pantser" -- enjoy the process. In fact, revel in it. It's your process, after all.
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