Writer on Saturday. A Still Life.

The last good day of writing I had was when I was out of town in December--at a writing workshop.  In an effort to recreate that day of  end-to-end productivity I copied it: 1) I walked to the library.     2) There is no '2'.  I walked to the library.

Walking means I have no car, so no easy escape.  No, 'I have a headache I think I'll go to Hobby Lobby and roam the Valentines aisle'.  No 'let me just get a Big Mac and come back and write.'

Walking also meant no laptop today.  I had to use pen and paper, just like in December. This is an interesting exercise and I'm trying to decide if I like it or not.  Since I'm an IT person by day I spend 8-10 hours on a computer Monday through Friday.  I think using a different medium might be a good trick for me.

"...to the library" means I'm surrounded by quiet, books, clean, and calm, I have one of those four things at home (and you know I have books).  Plus, I have distractions in the house I live in.  I'm so proud of my writing room at home, but I rarely get there.  I get sidetracked by things in the hallway upstairs, or by the timer on the dryer, the dog needing to play fetch or by the comfy recliner up there in our extra TV room, and a rerun of...anything.  I'm easily distracted.  The library had very few distractions.  My hometown library has been recently redesigned, and is beautiful now, although I've always been partial to it.  I was able to snag a shiny new private cubbie, with a table and a door that shuts.

I also brought my notes from December along with some amazing inspirational quotes my teacher shared that day, and it was an auspicious start to three hours of writing.  Another chapter done, an outline begun, some backstory figured out.  And, if I hadn't seen an Ivan Doig book there in the resale room it would have been free.  And did I mention the silence??

Silence.  Heavy, encompassing, thick, lovely silence.  It isn't easy to find.  I couldn't hear anyone on their phone, I couldn't hear doors slam or jewelry commercials or dogs barking.  I couldn't even hear computer mice clicking away, which they were doing fifty feet from me, but silently.

And writing got done.

I'll end with one of the quotes from my stockpile of encouragement:

              I want to live other lives.  I've never quite believed that one chance is all I get.  Writing is my          way of making other chances.  
                                                       --Anne Tyler

This year things will be different: Plan B

Last year I left  this wonderful writer’s conference (Midwest Writer's Workshop in Muncie, IN)  with my weakling spirit crushed by doubts.  Suddenly nothing I wrote seemed authentic, original, creative, compelling, you name it.  I blogged about it here.  And except for blogging and a few flash fiction contests, I took a breather from writing the last twelve months.  Another way to say that might be I lost my nerve, which has happened half a dozen times now over 20 years plus.

Well last week I attended the conference again. Even though my embattled ego said don’t do it, something inside me said try again.  I came up with plan B.  Instead of signing up to pitch the to oh-so-exciting NYC literary agents, or have an expert review my query letter, or even have a perfectly nice person/author critique my first 500 words, I changed my tactics. I attended Thursday only, which is a full day with one author, on craft. Writing.  It was what I needed, motivational, and I enjoyed learning from Martha Brockenbrough very much. (Future post on FORTITUDE)

Then I departed Muncie and Plan B  evolved as I spent the next 72 hours in Middle-Of-Nowhere Indiana, with only coffee, wine, and a thousand and one fireflies to talk to:

 

Just me, alone in a cabin in the boondocks, writing, revising, tearing apart and stitching back together.  There is only so much writing you can do in 72 hours, but it was….so enriching. 

Silence.   An old Beatles LP on the turntable. Porch swing over looking this:

Books to savor, interspersed with writing, accented by chocolate, naps, wine and walking in nature. Alone.  A-happyme-lone.   To think without anyone interrupting any single thought.  No cell service, no internet.  No television.  No jet ski or shopping mall or even gas station within 20 minutes. (that I know of)  I took over 100 photos and plan to show more here in coming weeks.  But here is my

"Still Life for Girl Weekend" :

As you can see I brought only survival foods, as I did not leave the property for a full 48 hours, and so I came prepared. 

I had some highly productive work sessions, where I took my first draft of current work in process, and started playing with the scenes and revising:

But nature was the star of my weekend. The sun.  The bees.  The air.  I breathe.  The queen Anne's lace, the endless wildflower meadows.  Much serenity.  Space, room.  No hurrying, clocks, no schedules, appointments, no meetings, no target dates.  Just me and my sharpy and  a stack of index cards.  It was damn near heavenly. 

 

 

All you need is a pencil stub and one old envelope

 Today's post is to participate in the writing exercise:  How writing has positively influenced my life. Hosted by Positive Writer.

So many roles we all shoulder in this life.  Daughter, sister, student, friend, girlfriend, wife, co-worker, mother.  But when are you ‘me’?  For me it is when I’m writing.

I’m the me who counted the cracks in the sidewalk from my house to the corner convenience store because it seemed like something to do.  I’m the me that carefully closed my bedroom door so I could stay up long past my bedtime to finish reading the latest Judy Blume.  I’m the me who hid 'supplies' in a hollowed out log near some railroad tracks in the woods that only one other person knew about.  The me that rode her bicycle across town to the McDonald’s with 35 cents in her pocket to get a hamburger and a cup of ice water all by herself.  The one who sat on the quad in college soaking up the sun while people walked by, a redbird flew overhead, and I had no where I had to be in the for-seeable future (which was about 4 hours at that time, the future).

When I’m writing I feel the other precious roles in life, those I’m lucky to call my own, float away.  Dropping to the ground.  Waiting outside the doorway of my writing room. I look around in my own brain and say ‘What are you thinking about writing today?  Yes, you.  The one who lives in this body?”

I can feel the sidewalk under my roller skates.  I can smell the lilacs on the bush on my walk home from second  grade.  I hear my breath coming in and out of the lungs of the same girl who would run down the street for Mr. Softy with her dime.  Almost all of my true ‘me’ feelings are in childhood.  As soon as the older years come into play, I was trying to be someone.  Trying to be the student my father longed for.  Trying to have a career that seemed important.  Trying to take care of my laundry and decorate my first apartment like the Good Housekeeping magazine covers.  Even at 22 I was already trying to form my life the way a good solid life should be.  But the key word there is ‘trying’.  When I’m me, I’m not trying.  I just am.  Writing allows me to stop trying and just feel, breath, be, myself.  All those people studying and searching the world to find themselves?  I find myself every time I sit down to write. 

Just the right word

This is it.  My chance to make this the shortest writing slump I've ever experienced.  I feel like I haven't posted here in three years, but I see it was just mid-August.  That was only three months ago.
I am never sure what to call it, this dark feeling that entering my writing room is akin to fraternizing with the enemy.  I feel I have never experienced 'writer's block' and thus can not sympathize or understand it.  But today I clicked on a Writer Unboxed article about writing 'slumps' and I felt that spark of recognition.  A slump.  I get into these low valleys and it feels like my writing self is up at least at the camp halfway up the hill and I have no desire to do anything except stay down here. Immobile.  Where no harm can come to my writing ego.  Anonymous and happily so. It is safe in the valley of the writing slump.

But safe isn't forward movement. Safe is useful when needed.  But it isn't living really.  Living does mean taking chances.  And pushing yourself out of your comfort zone.

For me, writing means believing in myself and when my writing gets criticized I simply stop believing in myself.  I tell myself I'm just a reader and to stop pretending otherwise. It happens every time.  And before you start lecturing me I already know.  Any artistic endeavor requires a thick skin. It requires being able to learn from criticism and improve your craft.  I have been reading that mantra since I cracked open my first 'How to Write a Novel'.  But it isn't in me.  It isn't.  And during these slumps I start judging myself, because these same 47 books I've read say a real writer can't NOT write.  And I can.  I can not write.  For months and sometimes years at a time.

But when I start getting the urge to leave the valley, I see that I have been writing.  I've been creative.  I've been posting.  I've been letter-writing.  I've been researching and learning. Words are still an important part of my daily existence and the more of them I consume, the better my day has gone.

And the word 'slump' did it for me today.  I like having a label for it.  I like knowing the task ahead, to get out of this slump.  And my first urge to blog in three months comes with that recognition.  Recognition that even though I'm currently 51 and awfully old to be a beginning writer, I am going to have more of these slumps.  I just am.  And if I'm ever going to get a book finished, I'm going to have to be patient.  Now next Saturday I might write that I never expect to allow myself back down there again, but as of 11/22/14 I recognize this is a part of me that I need to accept.  And if I am feeling like I might be coming out of the slump, I probably am.  And so I need to reinstate my writing discipline and get back to work.

My goal this week will be to find the word for when you have just stepped above the cusp of the slump and have tentative aspirations again.  I love finding just the right word.

Writer, Know Thyself.

I love to write.  I do not love much else about being a writer.  This is what I learned at the Midwest Writers Conference last weekend in Muncie, IN.  It was a well-organized conference with great resources, entertaining speakers, friendly but serious attendees, a lovely facility we based ourselves in, good vibes, good food.  Everything you can ask for in a conference.  So I highly recommend this conference to anyone who feels attending a conference will boost their writing life and road to publication. A fantastic writer's conference.

However, as the three days passed, I became more and more despondent.  I was morose by end of Friday.  I had learned that I don't like networking (hate is an ugly word), that I don't care about Twitter, that my platform is basically a few grade-school teachers who haven't died yet, that my work in progress has the wrong-age protagonist, is too short for the genre I was going for, that my main character who I love needs to be cut out in favor of a sub-character coming to the front, that there are lots of amazing writers out there, who read out loud works they had created in the last few moments and they were awesome to hear.  My query letter was so confusing and nonsensical that the critiquer was speechless.  One of my comments in my pitch closely resembled a 'Don't' in a later speaker round-table.  Now, is it good to learn about everything you are doing wrong?  I am sure that is why I paid the money.  But I learned that I don't want to know all this.  I really, really don't want to know it.  I wish I could un-know it.  These are my feelings. But don't give up on me, see title of post.

I want to write in my room for myself.  I love writing.  I love the creative process that comes from no-where-ville and appears at the end of my fingertips.  I apparently am allergic to anything related to becoming published because all it did was make me feel unworthy, clumsy, and cynical. 

I felt my desire to write dwindling, and  I realize now why I went to a conference in 2003 at Iowa Summer Writing festival and haven't been back to one since.  I went back to my journals and see that after attending that conference, I packed away my muse for 15 months.  How can a person forget that ? (rhetorical question, I forget a lot, different blog post)

On the bright side, I also had a mountain-top moment during the Saturday evening session with Elizabeth Berg.  I want to savor it and keep it to myself for now, but I'll write about it eventually.  It made the trip so worthwhile.  And to learn something about yourself is always a great thing. I learned that getting out of your comfort zone is really uncomfortable and many writers have these same issues.   I learned my time would have been more enjoyable spent in my hotel room writing non-stop for three lovely, long, solitary days, but that is because I am a flawed and imperfect human-writer.  But perhaps more enjoyable isn't always best?  I'm learning more about myself each year.  Good to know, good to know.

Ted Talks

I was home sick yesterday and discovered Ted.com, a site with enlightening speakers, people who make a difference, speaking for less than 20 minutes on a subject.  I had heard of Ted talks before, but never seem to have 'free time' to listen to self-improvement or mind-stretching things like this.  Too many groceries to buy and socks to wash.  I concentrated yesterday on writers.  The one by Amy Tan was amazing.  She was hilarious.  Every minute was some deep concept or tongue in cheek statement that made you think.  I listened to J.K.Rowling, Ray Bradbury, and a few other writers.  Next time I go there I'm going to search on 'humor' because there is nothing better than a good hard laugh.  Out loud.  It cures most things that you might be ailing of and wandering over to Ted.com to find a cure is not a bad idea at all.  Not at all.  Try it next time you are feeling less than whole:
http://www.ted.com/

Elizabeth Berg Stalker

So some people have a movie star or a sports legend they would be goofy over meeting.  For me it is authors.  I have anticipated meeting a particular author for many years now.  I first fell in love with her prose when she wrote parenting articles for Good Housekeeping (or Parenting I forget which) and discovered her books and ate them up the way you eat a bunch of cool grapes on a hot summer afternoon.  (or a butterscotch candy at a football game. ) Then I waited patiently as her books gradually were released and treated myself to one whenever they came out.  There is something about her writing that makes me feel like we could easily be best-friends.  I discovered that I'm not the only one that feels this way about Elizabeth Berg.  She now has a facebook following of very kindred spirits and I'm still surprised how many of them will post something that is exactly what I was thinking. 

Some years ago, I guess it would be 15 now to be exact (as I remember this trip was just weeks after my youngest was born), I was going to Boston on a business trip and I knew Elizabeth lived there.  Then I discovered the hotel they were putting me in was in the very suburb that I'd seen her mention in her essays.  I knew from her writing book that she often spent time at a coffee shop and so I decided while in this little burb, I would hang out at the coffee shop in hopes of sighting her.  This got me so excited, that I expanded the idea, and I wrote her a letter asking her to meet me for coffee at this shop on a particular day in June.  Just know that 'stalking' wasn't even a term then.

No surprise thinking back now, but she was unable to meet me.  She wrote me a charming letter on stationary though, explaining she would be in Hershey, PA that day. And though crest-fallen, the thought of her having a chocolate-related excuse did give me some comfort.  I'm sure if a complete stranger figured out my home address and asked me to meet for coffee, I wouldn't be the least bit suspicious or wary.  But, we didn't meet.

Down the road she moved to Chicago. And one year she was going to speak at the Iowa City Book Festival and I was going to go and spend two days there and hear my favorite author speak.  So close to home, books, party, and Elizabeth.  It was all meant to be, right?  Right.   Until I came down with not just a cold but pneumonia in July and had to miss that trip.  So close. 

I've reread her book for Writers every other year or so since it came out, "Escaping into the Open".  And I've daydreamed about attending one of her writing workshops she holds in Italy combining cooking classes, food, and fiction writing.  What could possibly be better?  But then I remind myself that I haven't written in weeks and do not deserve something like that until I grow my chops as a writer.  Until I get off my butt and get disciplined.  Unless I show that I can write and write and write some more.  Which in my mind, I haven't done.  I seem to take my writing career similar to that of a postage stamp hobbyist -- I work on it when the fancy strikes me, with weeks in between.

After that  I decided it was better not to meet someone that was so built up in your imagination that they couldn't possibly ever live up that image I have created over the years. It would be like meeting Mary Engelbreit and finding out she was jaded and negative in real life, like myself at times.

Then, surprise surprise, I found out she is speaking at the Midwest Writers' Workshop I'm attending this July.  Elizabeth Berg is the Saturday evening speaker.  At a dinner.  In INDIANA!  It seems crazy to think it.  And no I don't plan to go up to her and tell her, as the 597th fifty-something woman to do so, that I'm her biggest fan.  I don't plan to ask her to read my manuscript.  In fact I'm really hoping I don't have to speak to her at all.  I just want to soak it in.  Being in a room, watching her mannerisms, listening to her words, and matching what I've grown to understand about her over the years with a face. I do know she is human and not perfect and is in fact perfectly imperfect in the same way I strive to be.  I will go back to my hotel room and write down all the details I can and keep it for a rainy day when I want to read about it.  Because face it, now that I'm more mature, I can take a step back and acknowledge it for what it is -- a bit creepy.  But it is meant with genuine affection and esteem, and I sincerely hope I do not embarrass myself when the opportunity does present itself this July. 

No really.  I swear.  I'll be mature.  And I'll stay away from the wine.  Ok, I'll stay away from more than two glasses of wine and only take four pictures.  No three. Well, for now, anticipation.....

if you want to become a fan too, here is her website: http://www.elizabeth-berg.net/
and here is the link to the writer's conference  http://www.midwestwriters.org/

I have to Try, but I do not have to Succeed

Negativity breeds negativity. This explains why I haven't posted in a month's time. I have been at a creative low, and although I don't ever mind airing my dirty laundry, it didn't feel right to expound on my doubts, lack of motivation and loss of confidence. So I haven't blogged.

In lieu of my usual heart-to-heart, I'm going to list some motivational quotes. At least for today, I sought to solve my current lack of heart by seeking encouraging words from one of my many books on writing. Today's quotes, including the title of this piece, come from the book Walking on Water by Madeleine L'Engle (M. E.). I'm only up to page 81 today, but for your own encouragement, here are a few thoughts to ponder:

"...when the words mean even more than the writer knew they meant, then the writer has been listening." -- M. E.

"All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. And there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don't matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake."
--Jean Rhys in the Paris Review

"I've long since stopped feeling guilty about taking BEing time; it's something we all need for our spiritual health, and often we don't take enough of it." -- M. E.

"Listen to the silence." --M. E.

"When I am constantly running, there is no time for being." --M. E.

"We lose our ability to see angels as we grow older, and that is a tragic loss. " --M. E.

Someone once wrote "The principal part of faith is patience."

"It is the ability to choose that makes us human." --M. E.

"It's your duty to go on working steadily day by day, quite quietly, to be prepared for mistakes, which are inevitable, and for failures." --Chekov from his letters

Enjoy this day, one you'll not have back again tomorrow, special in its own way. -- Toni Evans to her fellow bloggers:-)

Blessings,
Toni

Little Successes

From everything I see, hear, and read, we aspiring authors must cling to the little successes in our careers. If we wait to celebrate the publication of our first book, it could be a very boring ride, or as my formerly adorable six year old is suddenly prone to saying, "I'd rather chew my arm off, than wait that long." Authors take years, if not decades to land a contract, and those are the ones we hear about. We don't hear much about the ones who, eighteen years into the process, give up.

So, here are a few goals I have achieved in the last two weeks, which I am celebrating. If you are out there, experiencing the same ups and downs with me, then take heart and try to come up with a few of your own 'mini-goals':
Achieved in July:
--Received a request for a full Manuscript from a reputable agent
--Received a second request for a full
--Agent requested 'exclusive' while she read my book
--Favorite author emailed me to see how my writing was going
--First live human to read my book cover to cover gave her generous and thoughtful critique
--Taking online writing class from another favorite author
--Got my first compliment on my query letter
--Gave up on two lousy printers, and the problems printing at the copy store from a diskette, and bought a new laser printer. Printed my book last night, 375 pages, in about 20 minutes, clear and clean.

Mini-goals for next month:
--Re-read any positive encouragement received to date (emails, letters)
--Take notes at least five separate times on book two
--Complete writing course
--Choose and ask second person read manuscript
--Write at least once a week, and stop beating myself up for not writing more than that.
--Not lose my sanity as I get the kids ready for school to start again.

One of my writing assignments in the online class was to list twenty five things I love, and one of them was lists, so I thought I'd capitalize on that pleasure, right here:-)

Blessings!
Toni

The Plate Spinner

This is one of those weeks where I feel like the plate-spinner on the Lawrence Welk show, He would spin the plates on the end of a six or seven foot dowel rod. This is a very early memory, so maybe it was instead on a different entertainment show from the 1960s or 70s, like Carol Burnett, or Mike Douglas shows. But I remember him spinning one plate and we were like 'Big deal.' and then he'd add two more and we were like 'Hmmm...' and then by the time he got up to ten or twelve plates spinning, you were digging your nails into your palms, squirming in anticipation of the plates crashing to the ground, and perhaps blinding someone with their jagged spray of glass.

I have a lot of plates spinning this week. Nothing life or death. Just a conglomeration of little details and medium tasks all jumbled together with work and play in such an arrangement that even my ever-so-brilliant brain has not been able to untangle the mess. I'm now on auto-pilot.

In writing news: I just started an online writing class in Voice with one of my favorite authors, Barbara Samuel, and I'm very excited about this. I won't bore you with all the other stuff happening in my life this week, or it might even put me to sleep. But let's just say I'm really looking forward to next Monday:-) Anyone else have weeks like that?

I also got some positive responses on my queries last week. Haven't had time to update my spreadsheet yet. Soon!

Blessings,
Toni

Anal-retentive, anyone?

When I was in fifth, eighth, or eleventh grade, I always threw the adults who asked me, "So what is your favorite subject in school?" I would say "English and Math". This would usually stop them in their tracks with a wrinkled brow, school teachers included. All my friends, they either liked reading or they liked math, but they definitely, no way, uh-uh, liked both.

I pursued the math side of my brain for decades, due to my basically materialistic nature. I believed a career in business would better suit my tastes in blue jeans and my desire for exotic vacations. Why do they let eighteen-year-olds pick their own majors anyway? I worked in banking for years, in the computer department, and then I quit work to stay at home with my young children.

I returned to different part-time jobs and full-time employment over the years to help keep my family to a reasonable level of debt, but figured out soon after my first son was born, that the reading/writing side of my brain brings me more pleasure than the number-crunching side of my brain. Why-oh-why didn't I figure that out back in college, so I could conveniently take courses in narrative or plot development?

Alas, now that I spend as much time as possible creating my fictional world on paper, I still dally in the number-crunching that satisfies a certain itch of mine. And, I'm posting my current statistics here, not to bring on your pity, no, but for those fellow writers out there who just want some accurate data on what other aspiring authors are up to, in their quest for publication. If I occasionally update these stats, I will not give such a long-winded explanation, but will simply post with an asterisk to 'See Anal-Rententive'.

Peace to all,
Toni
Current State of Toni's querying efforts:
Number of queries to date 132
Number of Equeries 41
number of snail mail queries 91
Number of Positive Responses 7
Number of Declines 51
Number of Non-Responsives 74
Average days to respond 10.2
Percent acceptances 12%
Number of partials outstanding 3

So what is your book about?

I wonder, do all writers feel the same way? I feel shy about discussing my book. The chances that the person who has discovered I'm a writer, enjoys the same type of fiction that I do are so slim. People will say to me, "OH, when can I read it? I like books. I read the latest Star Trek book last night."

Replace Star Trek with the novel of your choice. As if all books are alike, they are just books?

"So Toni, what is your book about?" If they persist, I'll try to summarize it in a short sentence or two, hoping their eyes won't glaze over too quickly.

"Well, it is about a small village in Illinois. Set around a lake. A woman moves there and..."

"OH, I bet it's Lake Shelbyville? No? Let's see, Lake Bloomington? No?"

"No, I just made the lake up. It isn't a real place. That is what fiction is, you make stuff up..."

And about this point in the conversation they notice their son really needs their help tying his shoes. Or they look at their watch. I never get very far. Which is why I don't want to start explaining what my book is about. Telling someone what a book is about is like telling someone what color a town is. You can't just pick a color and label things.

But, I'm in the middle of query season on book one, and I need to summarize the book. Not just summarize, but shrink it down to a paragraph or two. Man, am I having trouble with this. No matter how I try to get to the gist of the novel, I leave so much out. I change it, then I edit it, then I rework it, and then I end up throwing up my hands. Who knew the query letter would be as hard to write as the book itself?

For the purposes of this blog, let me tell you in one paragraph what my book is about, in an excerpt from draft #31 of my query letter:

"Jane Woolley leaves her staid suburban existance, dragging her teenage son along with her, to the quaint rural community of Lake Newberry, IL, population 711. On moving day she not only meets her neighbor Crystal, nineteen and independent, but ends up becoming intimately acquainted as Crystal goes into labor and needs Jane's help. Walter Cohen is seventy-nine and bored with retired life. He knows the chest pains he is having are not a good sign, but he ignores them, hoping they will go away.
These three characters meet in ALONE TOGETHER, a 76,000 word completed novel about friendships, interdependence, and support. They all seek the same thing: meaning in life. Alone they couldn't find it, but together, they can."

There you go, any of you that want to know what my book is about? You now know. If only I was sure that really encapsulates the pain and pleasure of the Lake Newberry folks.... Maybe I should try for draft #32?

If it sounds like a book you'd love to read, please forward my blog link to your sister-in-law, who just happens to be a very competent and caring, well-connected, literary agent, waiting to make my day.

Peace,
Toni

Starting Again

I started this novel-writing process with the idea that the first book that comes out of my fingertips might just be OK. It might not be so good it deserves to be published. Even so, I have followed the submission process to agents, and will continue. I think it is good experience, and I do learn something, if only to have a thicker skin.

I still like my first book, but what I really like is writing. Just writing. So I have a seriously ambitious schedule for myself to finish two more novels in the next 15 months. I'm already behind schedule because I took May off. But on June 1st I at least wrote a paragraph. I uncovered all my binders and organized my desk so I could write again. And book two is now officially begun. It feels wonderful.

Life continues to intervene though. I have jury duty this week and a family vacation next week. But somehow I will write a small amount each day, no matter how small, no matter how inspired (or uninspired). The disciplined approach is what got my first book completed. I was very happy while writing my book, and I'm looking forward to returning to Lake Newberry, my fictional town, and my characters as they grow in the second book.

Summer is officially begun--all four kids home. My submissions to date are 40 query letters, 4 requests for partials, 2 still out there :-)

Blessings,
Toni

Writer Interrupted...

Ever plan an event at your own home and suddenly every remodeling project you ever thought needed to be done seems to need to be done this week? That is where I've been.

Having an 8th grade graduation/confirmation shin-dig for dd1 next weekend, and suddenly we are painting walls, picking out flooring for the entryway, building a bookshelf, and more. It doesn't hurt that we are getting a nice big tax refund for the first time ever. How does a bookshelf fit into party plans, you might ask? Well, that is going in my writing nook, but before we put it up there and fill it, we of course (why?) want to repaint the walls--dark reddish brown as it happens, so three coats are needed. Then we can move all the books from the china hutch upstairs, and the china hutch can become home to dishes for the first time ever. Perhaps you have to be sitting here next to me to understand how that makes the grad party go better...hmm....

Anyway, my writing nook contents (desk, printer, laptop, etc.) are now spread all over the upstairs hallway, and unavailable to me, so writing has been on hold, but the querying continues.

Status check:For my first novel, LIFE SUPPORT, I have received 4 requests for the manuscript from agents, and 37 declines (my nice word for rejections) to date. Not a good track record. I'm going to rework the query before I send out the next batch.

I also have a bad cold, but I am going to my writer's group anyway. I'm too sick to cook dinner of course...
Blessings,
Toni

How did I get where I am, and where is that?

Where am I on the path to becoming a novelist? I'm on Draft Five of my first novel.

I remember in the late 80's reading my first library book about 'being a writer'. It was by Phyllis Whitney, and in 1987 it was yellowed and outdated, but it struck a chord in me I'd never heard before. This is it. I finally know what I want to be when I grow up. Of course I didn't drop everything and listen to the voice, like I should have. No, it took almost 20 years for me to wake up to that call.

In my twenties (along with my ever-present day job) I tried to become a magazine freelancer, but I decided that the six months (mostly time passing, not hard labor) it took to get an article purchased by a NY mag for a whopping $400 was just not cutting it. Add all the rejections, I wasn't up to it. I needed cash and kudos.

In my thirties I tried essays, which I still enjoy writing. I had a two-year stint as a newspaper columnist, with a monthly appearance. Only one article due per month, and I eventually quit due to the stress of this deadline. Huh? My 40-something self doesn't understand or sympathize. But it happened.

I turned to fiction, and tried to teach myself how to write it. I had the number one requirement, which is that I read enough to fill my own library.

I read and read and took a workshop and a couple creative writing classes. But when I'd sit down to write fiction those early years, I just wanted to look over my shoulder to see who was laughing. Just writing the words "she said." made me feel like an imposter. I'm a reader, not a writer. You imposter, you.

In recent years I've read so many books on writing, I feel I could give a presentation myself. The problem with that theory, is that when I re-read said books (last night was re-reading "The Forest For the Trees" by Betsy Lerner, very good), it appears to be brand new information. What has happened to my memory since passing the 40 mark? (rhetorical question, I'm getting old? Yes. No. I forget.) I got through all my years of schooling simply by memorizing everything, with little effort. No longer possible.

So, back to books, workshops, books, classes, books. I finally get serious about all this around my fortieth birthday, but, honestly, even I didn't like anything I wrote. I tried a YA novel. I tried a cozy mystery. I had the mistaken idea that it might be easier to write genre than straight fiction. None of it was worth keeping even to revise.

In early 2003 I wrote the first ten chapters of my current book. In July I attended a class at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival, and then came home, put my novel away, and didn't write again for 15 months. I was too depressed at how far my own style was from everything I learned at Iowa, in one short weekend, let me add. It doesn't take much to discourage me, bring out all my rampant insecurities.

But this past fall my youngest went to Kindergarten, and I took on writing as my second "job". I am disciplined, I am persistent. I keep writing even though it isn't good, just so I can see what happens next. And in February, I finished the first draft of my first novel. (woo hoo) I found the process of writing the first draft to be (drum roll, please) fun. Fun is good. That chord that I heard in 1987 turned into, well not a symphony, but a nice little melody, or even just a bridge, but "I like it, I like it, Yes I do" (think Rolling Stones).

I was right. Writing is what I'm supposed to be doing with my life.

So, that is where I've traveled so far, and today finds me working on draft number five of my book(more about that soon).

It is great loving what you do! Now, if only it was what I did for a living.

Where are you on your path to becoming a novelist?

Blessings,
Toni

If Patience is a Virtue...

We writers must be darn virtuous. I feel sometimes all I do is wait. My controlling personality is thwarted as my fate lies in the hands of others in the publishing industry. I can only make contact, I can not do anything further but calmly (huh?) wait for a response.

I wait for the mailman to deliver a magical letter of encouragement from an agent who has read my work.

I wait for the e-mail replies that mean my efforts are not wasted.

I wait for readers in my critique group to respond to the latest installment they're reading for me.

I wait for free time from my busy life life that allows me to write my words.

This blog is in response to all that waiting. This is one concrete thing I can do, share the torture, commiserate in the process, and hopefully share my success too. Those times when the pain of waiting is made sweet, by the outcome.

Join me as I ramble on about the process of becoming published.
Blessings!