Category Archives: I’m a writer too

She Writer Blogger Ball Redux

I’d like to welcome any She Writes members dropping by from the Blogger Ball Redux. I had a such wonderful time discovering fellow member’s blogs last go round and can’t wait to connect with some more talented writers this weekend.

As part of the getting to know you suggestion, I thought I’d share the first ten quirky things about me that come to mind:

1. I can still recite the entire To Be or Not To Be soliloquy from Hamlet at a spit-fire pace twenty years after I memorized it for drama class.
2. I am distantly related to a famous pirate.
3. I cannot think of a dessert I do not like. Some may be better than others, but they are all good in some way, shape, or form.
4. I don’t like big weddings and think everyone should just elope. And don’t even think of asking me to be a bridesmaid. Guess that’s why running a bridal boutique was not the right career for me.
5. I can’t watch television, work out, or do much of anything without a book in my hands.
6. I think I am the only person in America who has never had a Starbucks coffee or watched American Idol.
7. I’ve never really seen snow.
8. I used to be nicknamed “concert girl” because I adore the thrill of getting lost in live music and would travel far and wide to see my favorite bands.
9. I actually liked being an only child and now have an only child. And yes, it will stay that way.
10. My hubby, brother-in-law, cousin and I all share the same birthday. And yes, I was careful not to get knocked-up during a certain window to carry on that tradition.

And now I’m off to dust off my dancing shoes to prepare for the ball… No, wait–actually I’ll sit here in my gym/writing clothes as I waltz through the blogosphere. I’ll save the dancing heels for my concert Sunday night…

Just DO it.

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A quick welcome to all the SHE WRITES BLOG HOPPERS who may be stopping by for a quick read. I cannot wait to discover all of your blogs about books and writing, my greatest passions. Thanks for dropping by and feel free to sit down, relax, and stay for a little while….
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I’ve been on a bender. A writing bender, that is. (Well, there was some wine involved, but regular consumption doesn’t count and is good for you.)

I’ve convinced myself that I have no hopes of ever finding a real paying job due to the crappy economy, hiring freezes at all my previous places of employment, and my complete absence from the job market for the last seven or so years. I can imagine the human resources director, her face screwed up as if she has just been squirt with Tabasco sauce, as she reads that I have “wasted” nearly the last decade at home raising my kid. SHE manage to work and raise kids. What have I been doing all that time besides eating chocolate covered Oreos, taking tennis lessons, and catching up on all the fine daytime television programs on Lifetime and WE?

I’m not even going to begin to defend myself for being a SAHM and raising a fabulous kid. Or mention that I basically remodeled my house with my own two hands. Or that I wrote a book.

Oh wait, I haven’t finished that yet. But I’m working damn hard on it. I work on my manuscript as if it is a real job. If I win the writing lottery, it’s something which might actually earn me a pittance someday so I can deduct my lovely home office on my tax return. It’s something that brings me overwhelming joy and a sense of accomplishment some days, while others I want to chuck my laptop into the pool–kind of like a real job.

As of today’s count I am at 65,000 words. That’s a whopping 260 pages of words, my words, flowing across the pages…err…screen…and maybe they don’t all quite flow…yet… Okay, so I may have 260 pages of absolute crap that would embarrass a 5th grade teacher–I just don’t know yet. Some days I am exuberantly proud of what I created, others not so much. I hit my goal of 5,000 words per week for the last two weeks. I am inching closer to the end of my first draft, the plots are coming together in a somewhat tidy little bow and the end is in sight. I can get there, I CAN.

And then the rewriting will begin. The merciless editing. Can I rip sentences and entire scenes I agonized over for hours or even days to shreds? Will I be able to banish them from the manuscript completely into the black hole of the delete button? Can I do it? Am I that strong? I think I need an editing boot camp class.

I am desperate to find some critique groups, others writers or editors who can read whatever crap I may be spewing out and tell me how utterly screwed up it is (and how to fix it). I need to reread all the grammar and structural guides I poured over during school. I want my killer Northwestern journalism professor to attack my printed pages with his omnipotent purple pen, slashing away at my misplaced modifiers and dangling participles.

But first I must just do it. Writing is something I love, something I need…even if some days I am terrified of my own keyboard.

How Vintage Nike Ads Kept Me Off Prozac

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all your life you are told the things you cannot do, nike inspiration

This page is yellowed with age, wrinkled from at least a dozen moves, and stained with mysterious drops which could be anything from tears to beer. It has been taped to dorm room walls, lost in precious memory boxes, emblazoned across my fridge with kitsch magnets, and currently graces my office bulletin board where I can read it every day.

These pages were a part of a phenomenal print ad campaign which ran during some the most formative and tumultuous times of my life, those last years of high school and early college. Angst filled years when I didn’t fit in with any crowd. Insecure years when I doubted not only my external beauty but the depth of what was hidden inside. Experimental years when I vacillated between the girl I was and the woman I wanted to become. Years when I made terrible mistakes and lifelong friends as I lost both my innocence and my mind at times.

you do not have to be your mother,

These ads spoke to me, were written for me, they were modern day mantras that boosted my spirits and kept me from drowning myself in vodka or Prozac. I actually changed my major from journalism to advertising as these ads flooded the pages of my Vogue, Cosmopolitan, and Rolling Stone magazines. I too wanted to create edicts of empowerment for the women of the world.

But the power of persuasion can work for both good and evil. Most advertisements, whether print, television or online, tell women we are never thin enough, not attractive or sexy enough, and we have horrible hair. We drive a car our kid’s hate and our husbands must not love us since they don’t give us expensive jewelry in front of a roaring fire. Their message is clear: we are not good enough.

Nike told us we were.

And 20 years later, we still are.

Thanks, Nike.

Frozen at Age 36

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Thirty-six. Most days I simply cannot believe that I am a grown woman, age 36. Yet apparently, I am the perfect age now. The Guardian’s Observer Magazine proclaims 36 is the age of the “year-zero” face. The age women are spending tens of thousands of dollars to remain looking like forever, attempting to stop the hands of time with plastic surgery and botox.
I was intrigued as this morning I read a BlogHer article debating the issue.

At 36, I look in the mirror and I am relatively satisfied with what I see. Hours at the gym and a healthy diet have kept me somewhat fit and lean but cannot erase the slight sag still stretched across my lower belly or the few faint silver scars that remain as a testament that this body that has grown a child. The first signs of sun damage are appearing, freckles and stubborn age spots that refuse to fade. I’ve come to accept the deepening creases creeping from the corners of my eyes. I will try to slow their growth with drug store face creams, but no botox or plastic surgery for me.

But what if not only our bodies were frozen at age 36, but our entire lives?

At 36, I have the most amazing child I could have ever imagined. He grows more independent and self-sufficient each day yet he still needs me, my unconditional affection, support, and guidance. He is grown enough to be reading and riding a two-wheeler but is still lost in the magic of childhood fantasy and beliefs. He knows wars are real, but so is the Tooth Fairy. I may have yearned for more children in the past, but at 36, I know just one child, this child, is right for me.

At 36, I have found the love of my life and we will be celebrating 11 years of marriage this Spring. He is my best friend, my partner, my lover. I wouldn’t change a thing.

At 36, I am not forced to slave away at a job I hate. I’m still not sure what career I will hold when I grow up, but I have the luxury of a little time to discover myself as I transition from “just a SAHM.” I have time to read and write and think. My family is far from wealthy but we have enough to feel safe and pay our way.

At 36, I have a true home. It may not be grand, but a wave of calm and security washes over me each time I step inside. I can look at the wood floors, the shower tiles, the sun streaming onto the sunflower walls and feel a sense of pride that my sweat, my hands created this small haven.

At 36, I am grateful to still have my parents and family nearby. I’ve matured enough to respect their choices and I often look to them for their wisdom, support, and understanding. I’ve lost some loved ones over the last few years and I may not spend as much time with my extended family as I should, but I still cherish each moment I have with them.

At 36, I’ve stood in the ruins of the Colosseum, exchanged wedding vows in a 2,000 year old Roman monastery, and splashed through a flooded Venetian piazza. I’ve stood transfixed in the pre-dawn light watching lava crash down a volcano as the rainforest woke around me.

At 36, I have a good life.

But I don’t want to stay frozen here forever. I will let my body age with pride, confidence, and grace. With my husband beside me, I will guide my child through times of joy and turbulence and watch him grow into the fine man he is meant to become. I have books to write, skills to develop, a career to grow, passions to discover. I still have many acts left to be written and performed in my life. I have an entire world to explore.

At 36, I still have so much to learn, experience, and feel.

Excuses and time-killers

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Just call me a slacker. I’ve been caught up in the fifty million other things that eat away at my time, patience, and mind instead of writing. And now I am riddled with guilt and feeling as if I should be working the drive through at Micky-D’s to earn my keep since I have not been clicking away at the keyboard all the livelong day.

But I’ve been busy…
Really, I have…

I made a homem ade kick ass Jedi costume. From scratch. With a sewing machine. It rocked. My kiddo LOVED it was a big hit when trick-or-treating. All the “Look! There goes a Jedi!” comments made the countless hours, needle pricks, machine maladies, and wiggly child-model snaps worth it.

I joined a gym. I have NEVER belonged to a gym in my life. I suck at every sport known to man (or woman), have no endurance, can’t run, and lack the coordination necessary to do even the simplest exercise routine. But sitting in front of my computer started melding my derriere into a fuller shape than my pants allow, so I reluctantly gave in when my friend convinced me to give it a try with her. And I discovered I LIKE IT–once the agonizing muscle burn went away. And I got to buy some new gym clothes–anything for motivation, right?

I planned and successfully executed Kiddo’s 2 days of birthday celebrations–school cupcakes, mini-golf, homemade cake, kids party, adult party. The Hubby and I actually went to two amazingly intimate rock concerts at the House of Blues. We made five theme park visits, two airport runs, a couple of doctor appointments, and a parent/teacher conference. We fought with incompetent roofers, searched for new home and car insurance, and spent countless hours on the phone with antagonistic health and dental insurance “customer service” associates.

I currently have two bathrooms in various stages of renovation. One has a new vanity and both have new floors (planned) and new toilets (NOT planned). I will continue to spend hours scouring stores and searching online for the perfect shower curtain and artwork. Instead of writing. Because it is important, right? And now I can feel the grout-less tub surround calling me, begging to be finished. And the baseboards. And the blank walls….

I read some amazing books, some ridiculously long books, and a few crummy ones as well. I spent far too much time nosing around old acquaintance’s current lives on facebook. I was sick.

And now the holidays are approaching, the pressure is starting to build, and I just don’t want to deal with it.

I have a plethora of excuses and no real explanations. It’s time to get cracking again.

Crashing the RWAs

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Last Wednesday night Orlando was overrun with women with only one thing on their mind–romance.

The Romance Writers of America Annual Conference was held in a sultry and magical corner of O-town and from the moment I learned it would be here I knew I must be a part of it…one way or another.

I’m not a RWA member yet. I think if–no WHEN–I actually finish my first draft I will feel as if I deserve to be considered a genuine writer instead of just another hopeful hobbyist. Since I am not a card-carrying member I couldn’t attend the workshops, meet and greets, and networking events even if I had coughed up the $500 bucks it cost to attend. I just wish it could have been held here in O-town next year or the year after when I will be ready–and so I wouldn’t have to find the dough for plane fare and hotels in some far-flung city. Oh well, perhaps it will be a fabulous (and tax deductible) excuse for a mini vacation next year…

I wanted to get a feel for what it was like to be surrounded by so many professionals, and secretly hoped some of their insight and talent could be stealthily soaked up by some miracle of osmosis. Luckily a couple of my Book Club Girls decided that we should pay a visit during Wednesday night’s “Readers For Life” Literacy Autographing. My heart audibly palpitated at the thought of being let loose amongst 500 published authors.

Funny thing was, I had never heard of the vast majority of them. Of course I recognized Nora Robers, Jayne Ann Krentz, Sherrilyn Kenyon, and Linda Howard since their books regularly grace the NYT Best Sellers List…but I don’t read their books. I discovered that my idea of a romance novel is actually considered Contemporary Women’s Fiction, Chick Lit is a dying genre (oh no!), and trashy bodice-rippers are still heavily en vogue.

I (along with a couple thousand fellow book lovers) arrived armed with book bags, cameras and cash to find ourselves swimming in a sea of estrogen and expectations. Authors were lined up in neat rows, their books stacked in front of them displaying covers illustrated with fanciful images of lust and love.

Most writers had a few fans in front of their tables and seemed delighted to sign stacks of books lovingly presented to them by their admirers. The stars of the show were stationed in the back of the ballroom with lines of eager readers snaking through the crowd.

I hit Meg Cabot’s line at the start of the evening and picked up a signed copy of her latest lively read, Insatiable. I read the book when it was first released last month (checked out from the library, shhh!) so I already knew the spunky, tongue-in-cheek vamp story would be a welcome addition to my collection. Plus it looks good on my bookshelf (cool spine cover art). I was hoping there would be some copies of The Princess Diaries to pick up and have signed (come on, it’s practically a classic now) but I suppose I should have just brought my own since none were available. Anyway, it was fun to finally meet her after following her witty chatter on facebook for a while.

After navigating my longest line of the evening I dropped by Ma ry K ay Andrews booth. I love her breezy, Southern prose and I had some well-loved (and slightly beat-up) copies of Savannah Blues, Savannah Breeze, and Little Bitty Lies for her to sign. And I had to pass along how much I loved her beach cottage featured in last month’s Better Homes and Gardens.

Next I headed over to visit Jane Porter with a copy of Flirting with Forty. I have only read her “Modern Lit” novels–I had no idea she did Series Romance as well. I had a chance to chat with her for a little while, and found her delightful and down to earth. And she liked my new accidental haircut. (Never get a new hairstyle when voiceless and under the influence of cold meds.) How could I not love her?

But that was it. That was all the authors I had read.

My friends (and MANY other bibliophiles) went looking for some new books and browsed the author booths as if casually perusing a bookstore. I simply could not do it. There was no way I could walk right up to an author’s table, nonchalantly pick up one of her novels (created through weeks, months, or even years of blood, sweat and tears), read the back cover and then just put it down and walk away. OMG–it’s rejecting her right to her face. You might as well be saying her kid is too ugly or dumb for your taste. I was waiting for one writer to cry out, “Why don’t you want to read MY book?”

I hope they have thick skins. I overheard one woman (whose identity I shall protect) say, “NASCAR romances? Even I couldn’t read those…” It seems she was standing not quite far enough from the author, whose eyes widened in horror at the comment. Oops. But I can’t blame her–no way I could read one either.

Instead, I moved within the crowd, secretly coming up with snarky comments about the covers and titles. I read one Harlequin Romance when I was in high school, and it’s just not my thing. But apparently romance novels are still a hot commodity. Stacks of steamy cowboys, counts, princes, and billionaire tycoons (all with glistening abs of steel) stared up at me from the covers. And it seems only a true romance novel can make getting knocked up a story of passion and promise a happy ending.

Keeping up with the trends, vamps and other supernatural beings are hot, with their sultry, sharp teeth and dark, brooding gazes enticing women of all ages to cross over to the dark side.

And we couldn’t help but notice the abundance of Jane Austin related spin-offs. It seems that Mr. Darcy is eternally the epitome of romance…

All in all it was a fun night. I hope to be at the RWA Conference again…only next time with a finished novel and a book deal in the works…

…after all, the moral of the story is a girl can always dream…

The Summer Doldrums

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I’ve been stuck in summertime writing limbo.

I feel horribly guilty. For two weeks Kiddo has been in summer camp eight hours a day. And I accomplished nearly nothing.

Okay, for one of those weeks he kept me up all night coughing and was home sick for a day. And I absolutely do not function without sleep. (Thank God he was an angel baby, because there is no way we would have survived if he had been one of those infants who had their days and nights mixed up or didn’t sleep more than a few hours at a stretch for two years.) Being the kind and generous kid that he is, he shared his sickness with his Mommy, who always gets it ten times worse. Kinda hard to write when your skull is pounding or you’re floating away in a medicine-induced fog. Before the sick set in I caught up on my errands, did some minor focus group work, attempted to plan a birthday getaway, dealt with insane familial dramas… And made excuses.

After 28,000 words, I am at a major transition point in my novel. There is a total setting change. I’m about to introduce a ton of new characters and I need to curve the plot in a different direction. I took some time to immerse myself in my new local–scanning photos, digging for video, reading blogs to bring me back. I need to feel the weight of the saturated air, hear the sounds of the lush jungle around me, smell the ever present beans and rice mixed with the briny sea air to send me back and create my world.

I also am attempting to figure out my “black moment” and all the technicalities that go along with it. I know how my story ends, but how do I bring together all the loose ends and tie them into a giant knot that will have readers caring enough to untie? Should I add some more elements of mystery? Make it a bit more comical? Both?

Decisions must be made about tense as well. I had been writing in first person present tense, but I think I must switch to past tense.

Decisions, decisions…

Later this week the Romance Writers of America National Conference will be swinging through my part of the world and a few of my fellow book club members have decided to crash the book signing event. I’m hoping a gathering of such talent and tenacity–authors who managed to muddle through all the muck to actually complete and PUBLISH books–will inspire me and make me get moving again. Or perhaps I can just hope for some miracle of osmosis.

On the bright side, I have finally been savoring some great (and a few not so great) summer reads.

For now I have only three weeks of summer vacation left to enjoy with my Kiddo. I need to take advantage of our scant time together, soak in the sunshine, the play time, and create a few memories.

And get rid of this dang flu.

Time to read = tools to write?

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“If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.”
— Stephen King

Okay, Stephen, easy for you to say. If you still manage to kick out a 1,000 page best seller every other month while leisurely reading away your afternoons, you must have some type of time machine. Or work in two dimensions. Or have a ghost writer.

I am not so lucky. I have none of those things. But I do have an antsy 6-year-old telling me each morning, “I’m bored. I want to do something fun today…” My fun would be sitting at my desk all day, my fingers flying over the keyboard, cranking out another 2,500 words.

His idea of fun is Chuck E. Cheese, Aquatica, or inviting a half dozen kids over to terrorize my house. But it is summer break and he will only be little for a little while longer. It won’t be too many summers from now when he will be running away from me, not wanting me to run with him. So I shall quietly enjoy my Mommy duty and do my best to quit my kvetching.

I have still been getting quite a satisfactory amount of writing done (thanks partly to the Hubby taking over kid duty when he can). Yesterday I cranked out another 2,500 words. Last week, 6,500. Kiddo was partially in school three days though. I think my summer goal will be 5,000 words per week. Let’s see if the words keep coming…

But since I have started kicking out the pages, I have notice that I am having a very hard time reading for leisure. I am so focused on my own storyline I can’t be completely sucked into someone else’s. Two weeks into this month and I have read one easy novel. That is crazy for me.

I am spending too much time analyzing sentence structure or how exactly the scene was set up or the author’s use of point of view. I want to be rereading my old AP English and college journalism textbooks to brush up on all of the grammar I have completely forgotten. But I need to keep reading.

Stephen King says so.

March

Momzillas–Jill Kargman
Split Image–Robert B. Parker
Lamb–Christopher Moore
Bahamarama–Bob Morris
Every Day in Tuscany : Seasons of an Italian Life–Frances Mayes
House Rules–Jodi Picoult

April
Deception–Johnathan Kellerman
Flirting with Forty–Jane Porter
The Girl Who Chased the Moon–Sarah Addison Allen
Just Breathe–Susan Wiggs
The 19th Wife–David Ebershof
Deliver Us From Evil–David Baldacci
Odd Mom Out–Jane Porter
The Blonde Theory–Kristin Harmel

May
Island Beneath the Sea–Isabel Allende
Innocent–Scott Turow
Dead in the Family–Charlaine Harris
Heart of the Matter –Emily Giffin
All We Ever Wanted Was Everything–Janelle Brown
The School of Essential Ingredients–Erica Bauermeister
Fever Dream–Preston and Child

The Weekday Weekend Novelist

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I have actually been making some headway writing–yeah! The few times I have had chunks of time to write I have been dedicating myself to The Novel instead of blogging, and I had no idea it had been so long since my last post. Oops. I’m trying to run with my inspiration when I have it, and if that makes me an unreliable and lackadaisical blogger, so be it.

I found I had been spending too much time dwelling on the plot and I was a bit unsure how to formulate some of the characters. Not to mention I was terrified of actually testing my dormant writing ability. After reading some glowing recommendations, I picked up a copy of Robert J. Ray’s The Weekend Novelist to help give me some focus. I felt I needed a bit of a blueprint, not necessarily a “formula” for writing a novel, but a little guidance about the order I needed to proceed.

Ray claims to have a specific formula for writing, which if followed, would lead to a completed novel in just 52 weekends. Now, I don’t write much on weekends (hello, family time), and I’m not very good at following any type of formula (which explains those embarrassing math grades). His book did finally get me moving in the right direction.

I made it through week 10 in his structured exercises. I found it was a great help in character work, and I completed my character bio’s, time lines, and description sheets over the last several weeks. I even went so far as to find pictures to be the basis of some of my characters. He, he, he, Facebook comes in very handy sometimes…

I have been wracking my brain over the climax/catharsis scene, the pinnacle of the book. Then I finally realized I don’t have to have EVERYTHING plotted out exactly, I need some freedom to see where my characters may go and grow on their own.

I realized that I can only prepare for and put off the deed for so long. Then I sat down to write.

Some days it’s still research and a few paragraphs or a scene sketch. Two days ago, I spit out 2500 words. Today another 1000. It’s progress. I’m working on it….

And of course, I get this motivation and progress the week before school lets out for the summer. Two entire months rapidly approaching with a hyper 6-year-old who claims he has absolutely nothing to do.

I need a schedule. I need some time to myself. I need to figure out how the Kiddo are not going to kill each other over the loooonnngg summer break…

First Published Piece of the Year!

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The travel essay I submitted to the Orlando Sentinel was finally published! I believe I had to wait a few weeks for it to be in print because they happend to have another feature on Costa Rica the week I submitted mine. It’s just an itty bitty article and they shortened it even more than I had hacked it down to (a mere 250 words)but still, I am so excited–can you tell?

Being There: Costa Rica, Orlando Sentinel 3/7/2010

Now I say FIRST published piece this year…that means I have to get moving, get motivated, and get writing.