Tagged, My Top Ten

Okay, only for you, Joyce.

My lovely friend, Joyce, has tagged me with this meme. You describe 10 "weird or different experiences in your blog," and then must tag 10 of your friends to do the same. Here are mine:

1) I have a serious dump truck fetish. I blame my grandfather for buying me a shiny metal one when I was two. My dad recently built me a wooden one by hand (see picture). I also paid a lot of money for a B&W photo of a dump truck by a NY photographer. Strangely enough, there is also one that's been parked on a hill behind my house for a few months now which the sun rises behind every morning, and I take as a small gift from the universe.

2) I have experienced that invisible web that connects us all. When I was seventeen I had a terrible dream that my mother's cousin, who lived in a different state (we'll call him John) had kidnapped me and assaulted me in an abandoned coal mine. It was so vivid that I wouldn't even go back to my room. The funny part about this was, I had never even met "John." I just knew instinctively it was him. A few weeks later, my grandmother sent us news that John had been arrested for this crime. It even took place in an abandoned coal mine.

3) I have experienced the full fury of nature. Its name was Hurricane Andrew. I was living in Ft. Lauderdale, and when the winds were gusting at 175 miles per hour, I thought I would also die there. Some beauty did come out if it as the aviary at the Miami Zoo was destroyed and we had gorgeous tropical birds landing in our yard for weeks afterward.

4) Growing up in Florida, I have stepped on both a pygmy rattlesnake and a sand shark.

5) Three years ago, I took a belly dancing class and was hooked. It is now my favorite form of exercise.

6) Six years ago I became a vegetarian because of a disturbing dream I had in which I bit a lamb. Yes, bit. Hard. Drew blood. I know, it's a weird thing to change your lifestyle because of a dream but it was irrevocably etched into my psyche. I can still hear the poor thing scream.

7) A bit of irony. I have lived and driven in four different states but have received my only speeding ticket in the state that I was born in (Pa.) while driving through cross country.

8) From my senior year Algebra class window, I watched the space shuttle Challenger launch and then explode. It was a shocking event. Not only for the live's lost but for the loss of innocence and the lesson in life's unfairness and mortality, even when things are planned so carefully. You are never in control, never safe.

9) When I was twenty five I got to visit Denmark. It was seriously one of the highlights of my life. The people were incredibly warm, real and fascinating. I loved it so much I wanted a reminder of my trip that was more than a souvenir I would plop on a shelf. So, before getting on the plane to come back home I found a small tattoo parlor in Copenhagen and had my belly button pierced, (the commitment of a tattoo is too much for me) not thinking about the many hours sitting upright on a plane I would have to endure with a throbbing belly. My souvenir is now a tiny scar.

10) In an eleventh grade creative writing class, we had to write a true story about something that affected our lives greatly and the teacher sent them in to a contest for a magazine that would be distributed to all the Florida high schools. I wrote a story about one of my parent's friends, an older gentleman that used to bring me butterscotch candy, and how his passing affected me. Although it was supposed to be a true story, I made this one up and so was shocked when my story was picked. Even more so when an office worker brought me a box a few weeks later filled with letters from high school students saying how touched they were by my story and how it helped them understand a loss of their own. That's when I experienced the power of fiction writing and fell in love.

On that note, I swear I didn't make any of these up. :-)

I know it's summer and you all are busy, so I'm not going to force you to participate. BUT, it's fun...so if you read this just DO IT. GET NAKED.

Of Mice and Men

So, say it's the future and you're adopted. You go in search of your genetic parents, only to find out that they are...mice! Yes, I'm talking about the squeaky, furry little lab tenants. What would be your reaction? Horror? Disbelief? Would you start looking for the hidden camera?

Is it far fetched? Perhaps. Is it possible? Entirely.

It's possible because of a little thing scientists like to call a chimera. A chimera is created by mixing cells from two different species. In a simplified version of the scenario above, you could inject human stem cells into some mice embryos and let the resulting mice be born. You are bound to get some mice born eventually that have human reproductive cells. Just mate a mouse with human sperm and a mouse with human eggs and you have a 100% human baby. Of course, the embryo would have to be implanted in a human womb, but that is a routine procedure now. Which brings me to a fascinating debate going on in England.

The British Parliament is considering allowing scientists to create chimeric embryos as long as they are destroyed after two weeks. They say it will be against the law to implant these embryos. The problem is The Catholic bishops have come out and said if these chimeric embryos are created, they have a right to life. They don't think they should be made at all, but if scientists do go ahead with it, then they should be allowed to live. Specifically, this is what the Bishop's say:

"It should not be a crime to transfer them, or other human embryos, to the body of the woman providing the ovum, in cases where a human ovum has been used to create them. ... Such a woman is the genetic mother, or partial mother, of the embryo; should she have a change of heart and wish to carry her child to term, she should not be prevented from doing so.”

Can you imagine?!!

Because this is the topic of my current book, I have asked a lot of people their thoughts on a non-human animal/human hybrid creation. I can tell you that the reaction is almost always something akin to "ick" or "are you crazy?" or "god help us if that ever happens" or "step away from the tequila." Actually, by the reactions I can honestly say I think these creatures are better off not ever being born. They would be outcasts, slaves, burned on stakes in horrible rituals, tortured, ridiculed and at the very least have no rights.

Here in the U.S. we tried to pass the Human Chimera Prohibition Act back in 2005. It never became a law. What we have instead is a National Academy of Science ethics board that scientists are urged to run experiments by before they attempt anything like this. There is also only regulations put on government funded labs. Private labs can do whatever they want.

So, now I'm asking you. If scientists are allowed to create human-non-human embryos...do you think they have a right to be born? What if the creation had more than sixty percent human DNA and only forty percent mouse? Would that make a difference?

Poetry Sharing

Okay. So, I have company this week (well not just any company) but my mother. Which, on one hand will be great, as she is an awesome grandma who already has the boys in the palm of her hand. But, this means I won't have time to write this week, soooo I figured this would be a good time to share something I've already written.

As I've said before, although I love poetry, it's not my strong point. Maybe it's because I only write poetry when I need to release some sort of emotion--usually pain, frustration, etc. All the dark stuff. It usually does the trick for me, as I feel better after writing it. As far as sharing it, it doesn't usually make sense to anyone else.

I found this one which I think is pretty cut and dry:

A Blink of a Breakdown

I want to tumble, spat from bare air
as fear sulks, left behind by Newton’s law.
I want to ride a dirty train in some foreign country,
drowning in novel accents
where I can stand naked in ignorance,
watching strangers blow out heavy tar-smoke
like burnt souls filling the cab, laughing
at something, as if life were actually amusing.
I want to stare
at a building so breathtaking
that I actually forget
to breath.
I want to fill my lungs with ocean salt.
I want to be reborn so many countries later,
I ring the front desk to ask
what day it is.
I want to taste the speed of light.
I want to stick my tongue
In the lemon meringue sun,
Lick the gathering foam
From death’s noble steed-
Gallop faster, won’t you?
Scream,
I want to scream.
I want to plop on the fire branded sands
And wink back at the seas of possibility.
I want to give someone a thing of
value and turn away before
they smile politely,
having no fucking clue
what lay dead in their hand.
I want to hear glass shatter.
I want to be transported to magical lands
by strange mushroom drinks
concocted by uncivilized hands.
I want to stare, unblinking star by star
And know down time’s line
a spent story of light will exist
In memory of me.
I want to flee down a haunted hall.
I want to not be haunted.
I want to shatter every mountain
and feed their ground bones to the sea.
Heaven is flat, open, infinite.
I want to breath.
I want to live in the darkness
because the light shows the ugliness of humanity.
I want the darkness to not live in me.

So, those of you out there that write poetry, what moves you to start a poem? Is it emotional or more physical, like an event? I would love to read some of yours so feel free to post them!

Have a great week.

Top Ten List

Top Ten Reasons Why Writing as a Profession Rocks

1) You can be successful without having to deal with the pesky fame part of it. Worried about being too brilliant and getting mobbed at the Jiffy Lube? No worries...unless you are J.K. Rowling, of course.

2) The average professional baseball player's career only lasts 6.5 years. As a writer, you don't have to be concerned about physical injury derailing your career. You can work your knotty little arthritic fingers to the bone well into your nineties. (Bar the deformities such as your ass becoming the size and shape of your computer chair)

3) Afraid that you won't hear enough stories about your nutter friends and relatives? No need to worry. As soon as you tell them you're writing a book, you will have stories coming out of your ears.


4) What other job is there that you can work in your underwear and fuzzy bunny slippers?


5) Hearing voices and arguing amongst yourselves are considered valuable tools of the trade.


6) The fan mail is nice, yes...but more importantly are the helpful souls out there that selflessly scour your books for inaccuracies or other things that may accidentally conjure up the devil, and expend a great deal of effort coming up with career matches that would better suit you such as a vacuum cleaner sales representative...or perhaps, just the vacuum cleaner.


7) Writers don't have to worry about becoming complacent and taking things for granted such as new cars, diamond studded socks or a private island getaway. (Again, unless you're J.K. Rowling)


8) Rejection. It's addicting. Better than crack. Don't believe me...here, try it--


Dear Reader,

Although I appreciate you taking the time to read this blog, I'm afraid your blue moon rising just doesn't coincide with my sparkly fairy tattoo. Good luck placing your foot elsewhere.


Having flash backs yet?


9) You get to make your own schedule, which forces you to be highly organized, disciplined and free from any and all procrastination tendencies. In other words...perfect.


10) After creating a three hundred plus page story-- filled with places and people that don't really exist, powered by events that never really happened--coming up with a story about the gallon of missing mint chocolate chip ice cream that was just bought two days ago is a piece of cake!

Monday Short

Life Lesson #38

I dip the wand into the thick, soapy liquid. When I pull it out, it runs down my arm. This is meant to simply be entertainment. The first time, I get the wand too close to my mouth as I blow, spitting to the delight of my toddler, who practices this spitting thing after me. Squeals ensue as bubbles explode from the wand, released by the wind instead of me. Some form of disappointment expands within me at this fact. I watch as he toddles after them, arms raised, fingers splayed. He falls, gets back up, toddles more, giggles more. This time, I shield the wind and blow the bubbles myself. When he chases these, it is a sweeter flavor of joy.

Now, he has squatted down. He has spotted a bubble sticking in the grass, quivering in the wind. I watch silently as--with a deliberation that could make the whole world disappear and a smile that is the whole world--he pokes his prize at last, touching it with a tiny pointer finger. Fragile meets fragile. The disappointment is instant, appearing exactly at the same time the bubble pops. With eyes watering from the sun, the wind and the sheer unfairness of a goal reached, he looks up at me with questions I don’t know how to answer, uncertainties I don’t know how to protect him from. So, I simply watch him with my own eyes watering from the wind and the bitter sweetness of life.

I smile and I say, “Precisely, my son.”

Rockin' the Blog

This is mine, you can look but don't touch!

Actually, I joke but I am honored that my new rockin' twin mommy-slash-writer friend Shawn awarded me the Rockin' Girl Blogger award! Also, it gets passed on to five other rockin' girl bloggers, so technically others can & will touch it. But, for now, it's mine to hug & squeeze & admire. (I bet someone out there will find my blog now by googling "others can & will touch it")

This would be a good time to say--when I started this blog, I did it to get used to other people reading my writing, to sort of come out of my shell. What I didn't expect is the connection I feel with those of you who I've met on this blogging road. I would have never thought it was possible to care about people, and laugh and cringe and feel compassion for people that I have never met in person. But, I have done all of those things. I guess technology's good for something after all.

So, without further babbling, and in no particular order, here's who I'm awarding the Rockin' Girl Blogger award to:

Tertia Albertyn Tertia is a mom and writer living in Africa. I have always been drawn to the exotic, the new, the unknown. Which is why I began to read her blog. I love meeting people from far away places. The reasons I keep reading are (1) her sense of humor and honesty are at a level that I can only gaze up at, never reach. And (2) she blogs about her struggle with infertility which ended finally with the birth of her twins. My path was eerily similar to hers and even when there is a happy ending, there are scars from the journey that need to heal. Laughing and nodding while reading her blog has become my therapy.

B.E. Sanderson Beth is one of the kindred spirits I have met through this blogging journey. She's a fellow speculative fiction writer who I read because she's beside me in the trenches and I don't feel so alone in my journey when I visit her. She definitely rocks!

Bee Lavender Bee's blog is where I go when I want to live vicariously through someone. Besides having a great name, she is an amazingly unique person, who has been through so many illnesses, cancer, surgeries, near death moments in her life but still, instead of being bitter or afraid, she is actually living life to the fullest. She is savoring life in Cambridge, which is fitting for her, she is as charming as I have always imagined England to be.

Rebecca Taylor Rebecca is a lady who works in the molecular biology field and started her blog "Mary Meets Dolly" to try to clear up some of the misconceptions the general public has about issues such as genetic engineering and reproductive technology. Although I don't share the Catholic viewpoint she is writing from, I admire her immensely for the fact that she saw a need for public education about things such as cloning and stem cell research and she is doing something about it. Her posts are always well-researched and I have learned a great deal from her.

Alexandra Sokoloff What can I say about Alex? She's a gorgeous thriller writer with spunk who's posts keep me in the loop of what's going on in the world of writerdom. 'Nough said.

And last, but certainly not least, I would like to nominate someone for the counterpart to this award. THE AWESOME GUY BLOGGER.I cannot leave out Christian, the person who has graciously become the supporting beam to my blogging life. He is also a writer, but his blog is like stepping into wonderland--you never know what is there waiting for you. It could be bits of writing, reviews, rants. Whatever it is, it's always honest and he doesn't hold back. I wish I could be as free!

So, Christian, thanks for both the entertainment and support! You rock. Of course, I can't get your bling to post here so check your email!

Can you feel the love, people???? I know I sure can!

Thanks again, Shawn!

Zen

I have always subscribed to the belief that we should live in the moment. One of my favorite books is "The Power of Now". The problem is, it's way too easy to let life get in the way of how to best live your life. I manage to live in the moment about thirty seconds a week. Sometimes I catch myself, and I think "okay, I'll do better next week when I'm not so stressed, busy, cranky, overwhelmed, emotionally drained, bla bla bla."

Of course, there has to be some balance here. After all, looking back down the road is good for a few things. It's a useful way to avoid the same mistakes, to appreciate how far you've come and to realize how quickly the present becomes the past. Unfortunately, most of us use it as evidence against ourselves to keep living in a world of self-imposed guilt and penance.

Looking forward also has its usefulness. Humans have evolved to possess an imagination, a tool in our survival belt. The proper way to use this tool is to avoid and prepare for possible disasters in our future. This is how we survive, how our species exists, but unfortunately it is not how we find happiness.

Which brings me to the point of this post. Zen. Zen to me means living in awareness of the moment. Being both the participant and observer in one’s own life. Being both the artist and the one standing in front of the canvas, smiling in appreciation.

Over at Shawn's place, she has an interview up with Karen Maezen Miller, author of "Momma Zen: Walking the Crooked Path of Motherhood". Karen is a Zen Buddhist priest, a wife, mother and writer. She is also giving away five copies of her book! How Zen is that??? So, in order to enter, you have to post at Shawn's place and finish the statement, "For me, Zen is....."

So, here goes:

For me, Zen is…

The moments I can block out fear. Fear of the future, fear of the past, fear of failure. Zen is the moment one of my children meet my eyes and I feel a rush of love. Zen is the moment of a new discovery, a moment I recognize a connection with a new friend, a moment I feel myself breathing and am grateful. Recently, I have consciously logged a few moments while I was experiencing them and so these I would call Zen. A moment standing on the porch while black clouds rolled in and heavy winds made me catch my breath. A moment when my twins were crying after a biting match and I let myself cry with them, completely overwhelmed. For that moment I let go of all fantasies and preconceptions that I could control anything. It was a surprising moment of peace, a seed that had burst forth from the heat. A moment of physical pleasure with the first mouthful of a newly discovered wine, a freshly scrubbed kitchen floor, and a moment of relief when my kids actually ate the new recipe I tried, instead of throwing for distance.

I suppose for me, Zen is just being able to exist in the moment and let it be what it is. A moment without reigns. A moment embraced and then released to make room for the next moment. Whatever it brings, heartache or joy, saturating myself in it because it is life. Life is not one perfect moment after another…or is it?

What is your Zen?

This is My Brain on Summer

Since it's summer and I'm having a hard time solidifying any one thought...with the exception of "God, I wish I were at the beach right now!" I'm just going to blog about some of the randomized writing stuff I've been up to.

I am not a particularly politically inclined individual. I don't get politics, but I'm trying because things are really starting to frighten me. For instance--what the freak is up with China???? Are they secretly trying to poison all our pets, our kids and all of us who brush our teeth? Or are all these recalls some secret political game our government is playing? Maybe we should start opening our factories back up, making our own products right here where we control the regulations, putting money in our own worker's pockets. Oh...

See what I mean about having a hard time keeping my thoughts from sprouting feet and running off in a different direction. Ahhh, summer. ANYWAY...I'm currently reading John McNally's "America's Report Card." It's basically about how ridiculous standardized government testing is and some about conspiracy theories. A real eye opener. But more than that, it's hilarious! Here's a quote:

"She even sat through interviews conducted by Larry King, a man who reminded her of a corpse that had been exhumed from a long-forgotten cemetery and then brought back to life with a billion watts of electricity."

Besides being funny, that is so true! Or maybe that's why it's funny.

Anyway, great book so far.

I'm also a beta reader for fellow speculative fiction writer & Ayn Rand fan, B.E. I'm enjoying her novel, Blink of an I, very much. But, I can't tell her that yet, because I feel like I should have some critique to go with it. So Beth, if you read this...just ignore that part.

Besides the novel, I'm trying to work on some "100 words or less" short stories to submit to Tuesday Shorts. Do you know how hard it is to whittle a story down to 100 words?! Crazy hard. Well, for me anyway. The closest I've gotten is 259 words. It's fun to try.

Go on, try it!

Real or Imagined?

What makes a memorable story?

They say our brains can't tell the difference between something that has happened to us and something that we only imagine has happened to us. There have been all kinds of experiments about this. The one that comes to mind right now is the one where they took two groups of kids and allowed the first group to practice basketball for hours & told the second group to spend the same amount of time imagining they were practicing basketball. At the end of the experiment, the two groups had improved equally.

Our bodies apparently react to an imagined stressful event in the same way as an experienced stressful event.

I started noticing recently that when I have my toddler twins out in public and I loose sight of one of them (mind you, I only take them to gated in areas when I 'm alone with them, so it's not like they can run off) I have been reacting a lot stronger than I have in the past. By this I mean, I pretty much am over-reacting. I get the whole heart racing, light headed fight or flight thing. When it happened today, I tried to pinpoint the fear and what I came up with was that I was reliving a memory. A memory of losing my child, of wondering where he was at that moment, knowing he was terrified to be without me. Only, I have never lost my child.

The "memory" stems from the story of the four year old little girl who had been kidnapped from her parent's hotel room while they were vacationing not too long ago. I am so empathetic by nature that every time I read something about this story, I couldn't help but put myself in the parents shoes, imagining each detail in technicolor, feeling the horror...the terror and the heartbreak as if it were my child. Of course, I will never know the fullness of their pain but for me, this story has become my own terrible memory.

So, the question of the day is...can we, as fiction writers, affect people like this with our stories? Or is it only "the truth" that can do this. If our brains can't tell the difference between what we are experiencing through our imagination and what we are experiencing in the real world, then it should be possible.

McCarthy Interview

For those of you, like me, who find it impossible to watch tv in the middle of the day and equally impossible to bring yourself to purchase TIVO, good news:

Oprah has the Cormac McCarthy interview video on her website. You have to join the bookclub to see it, but that only takes a second and besides, you could be a lot worse things in life than a member of Oprah's bookclub. Watch it. It's a real treat!

Enjoy.

Personal Essay on Shock Absorbers

Life is simply shocking.

This is my answer to the statement that life is unfair. I didn’t come to this conclusion from experiencing things too harsh to give light to-- divorce, bankruptcy, a two-year war with clinical depression-- all before my thirtieth birthday. Though those things did happen, life is kind enough to numb you during the really big matters. (Have you noticed that when people get their limbs torn off or something equally awful, they always say, ‘I didn’t feel a thing’?) This is the way it is with the big things, you are suddenly suspended, freed from natural laws by some unnatural kind of mercy. Life is what happens in between. A series of brightly lit moments, tiny glimpses of truth strung together like Christmas lights.

My earliest recollection of one of these jolts of truth was before I was eleven. (I only know this because it came before one of the biggest shocks of my life, which left me with a background noise of fear. But I’m getting ahead of myself.)

Living in a small Pennsylvanian town, lightning bug season was our answer to fireworks. Fireflies. Our faces pressed against the window, our eyes straining to see through the dusk and dirty screen for the first blink of green. Their mating call, our signal to begin the hunt. Mason jars gripped tightly in both hands, we would rush out, squealing, laughing, charging the tiny lights and then try to follow them through the growing darkness until their biological processes betrayed them once again. Once we got bored of gathering them into a living lantern, we would start to make glowing jewelry from their gooey, torn off abdomens. The last season, maybe metaphorically the last season of my innocence, came in the moment I realized the other half of the bug was dead, and I had killed it. It felt foreign, this thought, foreign and then hot and startling like a sudden summer storm. Shock. It was to be the end of lighting bug jewelry for anyone near me.

Living in the woods, there were other moments of death-shock. The baby moles I had tried to save from the cat by putting them up out of reach on top of my sliding board- my aluminum sliding board…on a sweltering summer day. Shock. That same cat’s kittens being mauled by a neighbor’s dog. Shock. But nothing could have prepared me for the realization of my own mortality.

I always ask people now if they remember the exact moment they realized one day they would die. They always say no. Is this normal? My exact moment came as an eleven year old, lying in the grass, staring up at the sky. Something uncomfortable began to grow within me as my fingers absentmindedly stroked the grass, thoughts were reflecting the motion of the clouds, drifting unchecked, uninhibited. Discomfort exploded into a moment of blind truth, a searing white moment of conclusion. The sky was ripped open as the veil of childhood fell from my eyes. One day I would no longer feel the softness of grass between my fingers. One day would be my last. One day, I would no longer exist. This one sent shock waves into my future.

There are two choices a person has when faced with such a truth. One- don’t allow yourself to reach that deeply into thought ever again, or two- begin stacking layers of beliefs, superstitions, religions between you and the truth, a mental padding that you can fall back on, a shock absorber.

Alternating these two things seemed to get me from one day to the next, until the subject of death once again touched my life. I lost my best friend of fourteen years. There were a few hot-truth moments strung out through that experience. Beginning with the fact that death steamrolls right over love, care and devotion; then it rips away the padding you so carefully built up over the years so the things you thought you believed in become a rapidly disappearing mist of illusions. You are naked once again. Shocked.

Months later, bursting from the ashes of mauled-over grief came another jolt of truth. Love had survived. (Me-shocked: what?) Yes, after all, it makes sense. Something as powerful, infinite and incomprehensible as love could not have just burst into being 18 billion years ago along side our infant universe. Love is the key to immortality. So, this is the one illuminated moment I keep on top of the rest, as the tiny points of truth wind their way through my life toward the brightest truth of all.

Love cheats death.

Know Thyself

What kind of writer are you?

A friend sent me this description of an empath, which fits me to a tee. It made me wonder, are all writers/artists like this? Here's the description (see if it fits you):

Empaths are highly sensitive. This is the term commonly used in describing one's abilities (sensitivity) to another's emotions and feelings. Empaths have a deep sense of knowing that accompanies empathy and are often compassionate, considerate, and understanding of others.

Empaths are often poets in motion. They are the born writers, singers, and artists with a high degree of creativity and imagination. They are known for many talents as their interests are varied, broad and continual, loving, loyal and humorous.

Empaths are often very affectionate in personality and expression, great listeners and counselors (and not just in the professional area). They will find themselves helping others and often putting their own needs aside to do so. In the same breath, they can be much the opposite. They may be quiet, withdrawn from the outside world, loners, depressed, neurotic, lifes daydreamers, or even narcissistic.They are most often passionate towards nature and respect its bountiful beauty. One will often find empaths enjoying the outdoors, beaches, walking, etc. Empaths may find themselves continually drawn to nature as a form of release. It is the opportune place to recapture their senses and gain a sense of peace in the hectic lives they may live.

Empaths are sensitive to TV, videos, movies, news and broadcasts. Violence or emotional dramas depicting shocking scenes of physical or emotional pain inflicted on adults, children or animals can bring an empath easily to tears. At times, they may feel physically ill or choke back the tears. Some empaths will struggle to comprehend any such cruelty, and will have grave difficulty in expressing themselves in the face of another's ignorance, closed-mindedness and obvious lack of compassion. They simply cannot justify the suffering they feel and see.

Here are the listeners of life. Empaths are often problem solvers, thinkers, and studiers of many things. As far as empaths are concerned, where a problem is, so too is the answer. They often will search until they find one--if only for peace of mind.


This is probably why I lean towards delving deep into my characters feelings and motivations. Some of the thriller writers that I have come to know, I couldn't really imagine fitting this description. So, I'm thinking to find your own niche as a writer--the one that would be truest to your own nature, make you happiest and have the greatest chance at success--you really need to know yourself!

Miscellaneous Loveliness

What's playing in my head: Poe's Walk the Walk

Ahhh, it's a gorgeous Wednesday here. The sun is shining...I can hear the soft cry of morning gulls just above the lapping waves. I can taste the salt in the air. No...wait...oops, that's all in my head, too. Where am I? Sigh. Back to reality.

So, I received another lovely rejection (see how easy it is to put a positive spin on rejection. Just add adjective and wala!) for a completely different short story. This one is from the Kenyon Review. Here it is: [Personal note: the execution is elegant & sophisticated, but both the set-up and the resolution seem quite tired to us. Sorry we can't keep this one. Best, KG]

I'm getting really good at learning from these things, I think. From this one I interpret that my strength is the actual prose and my weakness is coming up with an original story. Which, by the way, I already know. I blame the whole coloring in the lines thing as a child. Not sure how to fix this. I really think it's just life experience. I'll have to get some more of that.

Meanwhile, I have my first author interview posted here. Warning, I was feeling silly that day...I'm sensing a trend.

I was invited by the lovely (my word of the day) Heidi Ruby Miller. If you're a writer and would like to participate in her Pick Six, then just contact her. She doesn't bite.

Launched!

I have a sort of official website up now, so if you want to hop over and take a look, my new cyberhome is: www.shannonesposito.com

It still needs some tweaking (I just noticed a typo on the front page...ug) This really illustrates how important editors are, and a fresh set of eyes...and that third cup of coffee. But anyway, it's there. Feel free to comment, just be gentle...until I make money at this, it's the free website templates for me.

Flawed Idealism

Last night I finished reading a book that actually was on my must read book list..wahoo. It was Sarah Gruen's WATER FOR ELEPHANTS. I probably wouldn't have picked this book up, just because it was too popular, but Sara is a member of a writing community, Backspace, that I also belong to and it's a very supportive place...everyone tries to read everyone else's books. This book is a serious success and now I know why. Sarah is a genius with flawed characters. Genius. Of course, it's a great story and I have a whole new appreciation for the history of the circus which, in and of itself, is a bonus. Anytime I close a book and have learned something new or can appreciate some aspect of life I normally wouldn't look twice at, I am a happy reader. As a writer, though, I was completely envious of the ease with which she created these messy, heartbreaking, real with a capital R characters. It made me wonder, do I just not pay enough attention to people? Do I just not have enough messy, heartbreaking people in my back history to pull from? HA. No, that's not it. I have plenty of messy, real people in my life to study but when it comes to making up people, I tend to lean toward the idealistic. Why?

I'm also in the middle of M. Atwood's CAT'S EYE and she, too, is brilliant with creating characters with cracks, weaknesses and painful histories. I get it. I just can't seem to translate it to paper.

Then there's the question, when I'm completely honest with myself...do I really want to? When I look back at my main characters, they are people who I would look up to in real life, people who I would want as friends. People with backbones. I think Ayn Rand really influenced me more than I realized in this area of writing. Her characters were the kind of people I would want in my life, though I know people personally that hate her books for this reason--because her characters aren't realistic.

I do feel like I'm creating characters that I want to spend time with; people that I want to stay with for 300 plus pages, BUT I also know the reader has to identify with the characters and that means flaws, that means being human. And, of course, people can have backbones and ideals and still have flaws. I think that's the middle ground I need to find my big feet standing on.

I'll have to work on this.

Anyway, I'm officially at the halfway point with STRANGE NEW FEET. It's all downhill from here. Well, not really...but from here, it will be closer to the end than the beginning.

I'll leave you with a quote from THE FOUNTAINHEAD:

"Show me your achievement, and the knowledge will give me courage for mine."

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

Okay, let's talk about something not quite so serious as death by whopper.

Namely, ghosts. Do you believe in them?

My mother took a tour of Nemacolin Castle in Pa. this weekend. It was a ghost tour actually. Now before you start moaning and rolling your eyes--stop it, I can see you--there has been lots of documented unexplained activity in this castle, from so called paranormal investigators (which were there this weekend as well) and also regular folks. My mother experienced lots of weird things during the tour, of which I will spare you the details so you don't sprain an eyeball, but the most amazing thing was something she saw when she got home. A picture that she took in the tea room. She was taking a picture of the table with a tea set, but in the left side of the frame is an original gilded mirror. In the reflection of the mirror, you can see the back of my Aunt who was standing across the room and...a ghost. Seriously. You can see a man leaning against the wall right in front of my Aunt, wearing a white silk shirt. You can even make out a large square ring on his middle finger. He appears to be looking right at the camera, and has a mustache. Of course my Aunt was amazed when she saw it. She would have remembered some wierdo in a fancy silk shirt and pimp ring standing in front of her. My mother printed out the picture and took it back to the castle to talk to the investigators. They seemed skeptical! Isn't that funny? The woman explained to her that they had to be skeptical as most things eventually are explainable. There were only 11 people on the tour. None of them were wearing a white silk shirt, none of them remotely resembled the man in the mirror. She tried to take more pictures of the tea room at that exact angle, putting a friend against the same wall for comparison. She said it took forever. Her batteries drained twice. The camera froze up and one of the investigators told her to try leaving the room, where it suddenly came back on. They were all excited by this. They asked her to send them the picture so they can analyze it, sharpen the image or whatever. Can't wait to hear the consensus. Weird pimp guy or spirit?

So, anyway...back to the question. I would like to believe in ghosts. I would like to believe there is something beyond death. I will tell you that a picture of a ghost would be more likely to convince me of the existence of souls and the great beyond than any religion would. But, I just don't have any solid evidence. No one does. It's all about faith...again.

Something that would make sense to me is the theory of energy being engrained in space/time. I guess if a person repeats the same activity all their life, say going up and down the same stairs, than they could be engraining that image for others to view later. Sort of like when you get older and you notice that all the lines you have around your mouth and eyes are the ones created by years of smiling. They are permanent now. Like the engrained images of people's past energy maybe?

If you're interested, here's a link to the top believable ghost pictures of all time:
http://paranormal.about.com/library/weekly/aa101402a.htm

Pirated Twinkies

Okay, this is sort of writing related but, bonus...I get to rant.

This caught my eye on the front page of Yahoo: Burger King sued over trans fats

Apparently a nutrition advocasy group sued because Burger King hasn't changed their frying oil to one without trans fats, like other fast food chains have. Here's a quote from the article that really makes me wonder if maybe we should really take a look at more than just our waistlines:

"Consumers have no way to guard against the risk of consumer trans fats."

WHAT????!!!!! No way to guard against this? How about STOP STICKING THE STUFF IN OUR MOUTHS????

Are they kidding? When did free will go extinct? When did people stop taking personal responsiblity for themselves??? Wait, don't answer that last one.

Okay, seriously we are heading in very dangerous terrority here. We have got to stop expecting the government and lawmakers and advocacy rights groups, and manufacturers and our mothers, neighbors, mailmen, etc. to protect us. We've got to stop blaming and suing each other. Take personal responsibility. Make educated decisions. Here's a head start...you really don't know Burger King is unhealthy?

Whopper with cheese: 760 calories/47 grams of fat
Large Fry: 600 calories/33 grams of fat
Large Coke: 297 calories

1,657 calories and a whopping (pun intended) 80 grams of fat for one meal.

So, what would happen if we all decided that we wanted to be in charge of taking care of our own health and everyone just stopped eating there? No lawsuits, no advocacy groups, no indignation...just chose to eat healthy? Well, I bet they would figure out a way to serve healthy food or go out of business. We are the ones driving them, not the other way around.

Okay, for the writing related part:

I wrote a short story a few years ago called PIRATED TWINKIES. It was a very tongue in cheek story about a guy named George who lived in a time where sweets, fats, etc. had been banned by the government. Twinkies were the hot item on the black market. After already failing two weigh-ins, he gets busted buying twinkies and gets sent to the 'maintenance facility' (basically prison). After doing his time and being forced back to his required weight, he gets out and decides to kill himself. He gets a hold of some bootlegged whiskey and drinks until he happily passes out on the railroad tracks, thinking it would all finally be over. Unfortunately, he wakes up in a hospital a few days later only to find out the train didn't kill him, but did sever off both his legs. He is horrified until he glances at his chart and sees that his weight is now listed as 180 lbs. He wonders, stunned, how he lost 60 pounds. Then he looks at the empty space in the bed, smiles happily and asks to use the phone. His twinkie dealer was very happy to hear from him.

Sadly, I don't think this is as far down the road as I thought it was when I wrote it.

Mother's Day

How to juggle being a writer and motherhood:

Throw all the balls up in the air and then duck!

Just kidding, it's not that bad...who needs hair and...hot meals and clothes without baby spit up...and sleep?

Okay, I joke but I wouldn't have it any other way. These three little people are the only things I'm sure I have done right with my life so far. Every day, they show me new ways to look at the world. They give me a reason to be silly, go to carnivals, get out of my own head and live in the moment.

Mother's Day makes me especially aware of how lucky I am to have this job.

The Road

I've ignored my must read book list again and picked up a novel I didn't have on there. Cormac McCarthy's THE ROAD. Curiosity, I guess. After all it did get the Pulitzer Prize for fiction and more importantly was Oprah's book club selection! So, what's all the fuss?

I'm about 3/4 of the way done, thanks to not being able to put this book down until after one in the morning, and then only because my eyes were burning. The amazing thing is, the whole story consists of a man and his son walking across a post-apocalyptic America. That's the entirety of the plot. Neither the man nor his son are named, nor is the event that has destroyed life on earth. But, in this simplicity lay incredible heartache and gorgeous prose.

I'm not sure why he uses such rhetorical devices such as leaving out the apostrophes in the contractions. Maybe he was trying to give the reader a sense of the rules changing; a sense that the world they live (and speak in) no longer has rules. He also skillfully uses a lot of repeating themes and images: gray, fear, the uncertainty of an "I don't know" response to a lot of questions.

I spend most of the hours with this book alternating between trying to read through tears and trying to unclench my jaw. Even after I put it down, I couldn't release myself from the world he created. Even then, I strained to see through the dark, feeling the falling forest around me and expecting scrawny, soiled men with human flesh in their teeth to sneak into my room. I almost woke up my babies just to hold them. It is that powerful.

As a writer I am both humbled and inspired by this masterpiece.

Near Miss

I recieved a hopeful rejection last night in my email box. I know, I know...hopeful rejection is an oxymoron, right? It was from Vestal Review and after the normal rejection that always goes something like "although we enjoyed reading your submission, due to the godzillion other fantastic entries we received, we will be passing...la la la da da da." But then, after the signature there was a little note: PS- Your story was a near miss.

Wow. Just wow. A near miss! Do you know what that means? It means these editors aren't actually laughing at me, wondering why I didn't try dentistry or something equally as painful as my writing is. Which is always in the back of your mind during the submission/rejection process. How bad were they laughing, right?

It kind of reminded me of a Loverboy concert I attended as a teen. We were in the third or fourth row, because this was before I was self-aware enough to know I was claustrophobic. We were all screaming as the guitarist prowled the front of the stage when suddenly he actually made eye contact with me! Then he pointed and threw his pick to me. Some guy in front of me wrenched it out of my hand, so I didn't get to keep it-- but, that didn't matter because the point was--he noticed me. I existed to him for a moment.

So, for a moment, I existed to Vestal Review. My story was alive in someone else's mind and they found it compelling enough to consider.

In this very subjective business, almost-good-enough is almost...well, good enough.

Ray's Magic

I'm rediscovering Ray Bradbury. My daughter is reading Fahrenheit 451 for school. An amazing book, an amazing man. Although I'm glad this book is on their reading list, I wish that they would actually discuss the point of the book itself instead of what they are doing: being tested on things like quotes, what character says what...I think just to make sure they did the reading assignment. There's a strange disconnect in literature that's being taught in schools. The teachers (in my own experience) aren't making the kids think, only memorize. They aren't allowing them to expand on these writers ideas, analyze them, try to figure out what warning they are trying to relay, what message they are trying to give. They aren't teaching them to look ahead and envision the possibilities of their future. It seems the only thing that's important is passing the tests. Scary.

Anyway, I went to Ray's website and started reading about how he became a writer. I came across this little story from his "In His Own Words" section: http://www.raybradbury.com/inhiswords02.html

I wish there were more people in the world like this carnival magician. People taking the time to talk with children, feed them a sense of wonder, hope and magic.

Mr. Electrico did indeed give him the gift of immortality. Through his writing.

Magic, indeed.

Bare-breasted Mama

No. This is not about naked women, so if you googled 'bare-breasted' or 'naked' then...go away.

This is about my friend, Gail Konop Baker, and her wonderfully poignant, honest and sometimes painful monthly column she writes for Literary Mama. Gail has survived breast cancer with her sense of joy and humor in tact. Here's an excerpt to gnaw on:

"The catch is, once a cell has mutated, the damage has been done long ago, the body's built-in self-protective system has failed. I have failed myself. No textbook, no research, no footnote can alter the fact that my body let cancer sneak its devious cruel-ass self in."

There you have it. The simple, naked truth of feeling betrayed by your own body. Captured in one sentence. Powerful stuff.

If you want to laugh and cry simultaneously, go check her out: http://www.literarymama.com/columns/barebreastedmama/

I promise you will hug your loved ones tighter and look at the world with a bit more appreciation...if only for a moment.

What Evil Movie God Decides These Things?

I'm doing self-therapy again, bear with me. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this:
http://www.cinemablend.com/new/Angelina-Jolie-Confirmed-For-Atlas-Shrugged-3459.html

It's somewhere between nauseous and confused.

If you don't feel like clicking today, here's the gist of it:

"Angelina is signed to star in the film as the powerful female Railroad Tycoon Dagney Taggert."

Atlas Shrugged happens to be one of my favorite books of all times. I have been waiting...and waiting for the movie to be made, even though I know a movie from a book is always a disappointment. I still want to see those magnificent, idealistic characters played out on the screen.

Angelina Jolie happens to be one of my least favorite people-that-I-don't-know people. I do admire her free-spirited save-the-world one child at a time attitude. Really, I do. I'm not sure what bugs me so much about her, maybe I'm just jealous. But, come on...first Brad Pitt and now John Galt???!!! How many fantansy men does one gal get to have in a lifetime?

Okay, jealousy aside, she is just not Dagney Taggert material. Dagney did not have the world by the balls because of her looks, but because of her mind. I'm sure Ayn Rand is rolling over in her grave about now. I think Jodie Foster would be great in the role. Is there still time to vote? Or boycott? Or have a temper tantrum?

Short Stories

My short story is up now: http://crimsonhighway.com/

The funny thing about this story is it's really the first official short story I wrote. Ever since I was nine--creating book covers with crayons and discovering the folded, stapled page-- it's always been novels or poetry. I've never been good at the short story, and honestly I don't take Crimson Highway's act of publishing kindness to mean that has changed. It's all subjective. But lately, I've found myself moving more and more into this realm with my writing...between work on the novel, that is.

There are two things I've found necessary to short story writing. Those are patience and attention. Maybe it's the same process for novel writing, but its so much more drawn out that I haven't really noticed. It's a very strange process and I know now why I've heard some writers answer the question "where do you get your ideas?" with "from a mail order catalog." Really, they don't know. Muse, inspiration, or magic. To me, it feels like magic but since I'm always inclined to peek under the curtain...here's what I've figured out.

The process starts with an irritation. A small itch. The pearl made from a grain of sand. For example, the story I'm working on now came from my reaction to what's going on in Africa. I didn't plan on writing a story based on this. And when my main character appeared, I didn't know that her environment, while set in a different time and space, would mirror that of Africa's, but it does. I will chalk this up to my subconscious trying to create a similar situation that I can inject hope into. Self-therapy. Working it out.

Anyway, she came to me complete. Not the story, but the person. I watched her for a few days. This Jadis Honeywine person. I got to know her family's trade, heard the fables passed on to her from her mother about her people. The light skinned people came from Green Ash trees in the spring, when the leaves were green and so they have green eyes. The other tribes came from Maple, Willow, Birch, and Palms and Olive trees. Silly little pieces like this.

This is where the attention comes in. Throughout the day, I have to pay attention because these bits of story drift in and must be captured or lost. I don't know her story but I'm patiently waiting for it to unfold. Sometimes I try to interject my own interpretation, push the story in a certain direction. It falls apart. This is where the patience comes in. So, I wait and watch.

I didn't have the patience for this process when I was younger. I wonder how many stories were whispered to me that I didn't hear.

Even peeking behind the curtain, it feels like magic.

Blood Diamond

I watched this movie last night. And then proceeded to stay up until two in the morning sick to my stomach trying to figure out a way to save the world. The hallmark of a succesful movie.

I've never been a big Leo fan. I'm probably the only person in the world who didn't like Titantic. I don't like my emotional responses to be so blatantly induced or choreographed. Some movies...and books for that matter are just meant to entertain. Let you escape from reality. Make you laugh, relieve stress. But, some movies (and books) are meant to raise your awareness, and these are my favorite kind.

I don't usually watch the news or peruse CNN on the web. If there's something I absolutely need to know, someone around me will inform me. Some people get desensitized by the bombardment of suffering and injustice in the world. I'm not one of those people. I get devestated.

Refugee camps have always been one of those things for me that seem to exist far from reality. I've seen pictures, I've heard stories. I was touched by the story of Sudan's "lost boys" in my National Geographic, but this movie did a really good job of taking the distance away. The horror of Africa's long history of civil war is somehow put right in your lap. At least it was for me. What human beings are doing to other human beings over there is beyond comprehension. I am trying to understand it, anyway.

So, what can harden a person's heart to the point where they can chop off a child's arm without thinking twice? How about slaughter their brothers and sisters, rip the terrified children from the dead parents bodies, stick a gun in their tiny hands and force them to kill? Drive into refugee camps and gun down thousands of women and children at a time?

My first reaction was-- these people are inhuman and evil. But, I have to say, when I got past the outrage, grief and shock and put my belief that all people are inherently good to the test...my conclusion was that these people are all just victims. Yes, even the rebels chopping off kid's arms. They are victims of an environment that fosters hopelessness and devalues life. How do you give an entire country hope for a future? How do you instill in them the belief that all life is a gift...even their own? I don't have any answers and I know there will be no easy solution. But, surely there is something we can do besides send money, right?

One of the characters said that he wondered if God would ever forgive them for what they are doing to each other. And then he said he realized God had left Africa a long time ago.

This started a debate in my house about whether people need religion to have a moral code. Do they need to believe that there's a God waiting to punish them in order to keep from murdering their neighbor?

My thought is no, they just need to have respect for their own life, feel that they have a right to live out their life in peace and--by extension--feel the same about others.

Would "putting the fear of God" through religion in Africa stop the slaughter?

Probably not. People can justify anything.

Lots to think about anyway.

Very sad.

Writing With Light

I've been thinking recently about one of my other passions--photography--and how it's actually born out of the same need to express the world around me, only using a different tool to tell the story.

I took this picture this morning. It's the first time in a long time I was moved to shoot something just for the hell of it. After having a photography business, I kindof lost the urge to use it as an art form. But, this morning the sky was this certain shade of chalk-dust pink and everything was so still, peaceful and full of promise. The best part was this dump truck on the hill. One, because I love dump trucks (don't ask) and two because it symbolized for me man's ability to change his environment, to change the landscape of the world...and it sat there on the hill majestically, patiently as the sun rose to start a new day.

Now, someone else might look at this and say, "You know, that would have been a great picture if that stupid truck wasn't in the way."

And so you have it. I took the picture with the truck in it because I like the perspective of this story. As writers we do the same thing. Each scene is a snapshot of the story we want to tell. Just like a photograph, we pick a viewpoint, we frame the shot--deciding what details should be in it and what should be cropped out--we pick a point of focus, depth of field, etc. It's all the same.

In one of my photography classes, the instructor told us to go to the park and take a picture of a bench. "Get the first couple of shots out of the way," he said. Then change your perspective: lay on the ground, climb a tree, change the angle you're shooting from in as many different ways as you can think of. Don't just think of it as a bench, wait for the lighting to change, shoot just one leg with the shadow, use the macro lens to shoot the dirt embedded in the grain of wood. I love the macro lens by the way, which is a very telling thing for my writing...digging out the smallest detail of the story gets me high.

So, I'm going to try to remind myself to do this while writing: get the story out of the way and then look at it from a different angle, change the focus, find the hidden beauty and the darkest secrets. I believe this is where the deeper meaning of the tale lives.

Randomness

I feel a few sparks from the ol' fried brain this morning, so I guess I'll attempt to write here and see what happens.

Besides crawling slowly through the soul-sucking muck that is the last stretch of winter, I have been busy re-working my first book. It's a scary prospect, reading something you wrote years ago. I'm not the same person I was back then. So, would I still think it worthy of requerying? Would I even still like it? Gratefully, I did. I am a firm believer that we write the books that we want to read. So, visiting the characters again was great fun.

I did change the beginning to add more urgency to something the main character had to do. This was actually suggested to me by an agent a while back but I thought "no, no...the urgency isn't there because the character is depressed and depressed people have no urgency." But, I've learned quite a lot about hooking the reader since then and damn it, she was right. I hate when that happens. I also fixed a horrible punctuation mistake that I made through the entire book. How embarrassing. Then, I packed it up and sent it off to a writer/saint that agreed to read it for a possible blurb! Very excited about that.

I've also been immersed in book two and am almost at 100 pages. That will take up the bulk of my free time now as I'm at the point where I'm thinking about it constantly...which includes waking up in the middle of the night with pieces of dialog or whatever forcing me to find my little broken reading light and write things down. Apparently, my subconscious is a workaholic. Can't say I'm not having fun though.

I leave you with a poem for the mood of a Monday.

"I've given up on my brain.
I've torn the cloth to shreds
and thrown it away.

If you're not completely naked,
wrap your beautiful robe of words
around you

and sleep."

-Rumi

Update

So, the owner of the agency wrote back and said my agent is no longer with the agency. She said she is trying to get a submission list from her. Apparently they work very independently. The bummer here is I can't look for a new agent with that book without a submission history.

I have a right to be furious, I know. Strangely, I'm not. I almost want to laugh. Not in a belly-chuckle kind of way, but in a 'okay universe, I've got your number' kind of way. I'm beginning to notice a pattern in life, in mine anyway. I go along...la de da da...and bam, something that could be construed as a negative event comes along and derails whatever I was trying to do. I know this happens to everyone. I'm just noticing my pattern as an observer.

The funny thing about this though is if I wait awhile, something useful always comes out on the other side. Something better. So, I guess that's why I was frustrated at first, confused, a bit down but now that I've had a chance to think about it, I'm actually excited. I've gotten a bunch of good advice from writers much wiser in the mysterious ways of the publishing industry than I. After processing it all, I''ve decided on a plan that feels like the right course of action and am looking forward to a new adventure.

Here's the plan: I'll wait two weeks to see if the agency comes up with a submission history. If they don't, I will operate with the assumption it wasn't submitted at all. I'll revise the book, which by the way, I'm changing back to my original title 'Sahara's Song', solicit some blurbs and requery. Meanwhile, I will work on book 2, which I'm about to throw myself into because I'm at that point finally where the story is pouring out. Love this point with a capital L!

Yes, it is a daunting task to revisit book 1 on these terms but I'm up for it...or I'm just stubborn.

Lots of work, long road ahead...still happy.

My First

So, I'm back and had mixed feelings about my inbox when I returned. First, I was a bit...ahem...irritated that my soon-to-be-ex agent didn't bother to reply. I'm getting the feeling I've been too nice and way too patient. I've written an email to the owner of the agency...yes, I'm procrastinating picking up the phone. Why can't people just do what they say they're going to do?

BUT, on a happier note--I was also very, very excited to find one of my short stories has been accepted by Crimson Highway (http://www.crimsonhighway.com/) and will appear in their April issue. It will be my first short story published. It's a "for the love" deal, but so what? A writing credit is a writing credit!

This makes me happy.

Agent 00Nothing

So, in talking to a new writer friend who I had the pleasure of being a reader for...and who landed an agent and an offer within a short amount of time, and who I believe deserves both--I came to the conclusion that I needed to shake up my situation a bit. I find myself enjoying change this year, like letting go of things in my life that aren't working (ex: The Mothercode). So, I have also decided to end my relationship with my agent. Scary, yes...to be agentless once again when it took so long to get through the slush and get her to begin with, not to mention the hundreds of query letters, postage costs, the tic from hitting the refresh button on my email over and over...ah, those were the days.

But, as my friend pointed out--you can't get the right one until you toss out the wrong one. I like this. So, I took a leap of faith and ended it, asking only that she send me a list of editors that have passed on the manuscript because this is one of the things that I have been upset with her about. Yes, I do want to hear about the rejections. Yes, I would like a submission history for future reference. So, guess what? That was two days ago and she hasn't responded yet. She usually answers my emails within the hour. I'm beginning to wonder if she has even EVER put it in front of an editor. I mean, I certainly would tell a client about the rejections, if nothing else, to let them know I was at least trying. When I've asked her in the past who is passing, she has said "be patient, these things take awhile." Refer to friend above--obviously not that long.

Have I hurt her feelings? I doubt it, she's been in the business for thirty years. Surely, she's lost other clients.

Did she secretly hate my book and take it on just to keep it off the market? I'm beginning to think so.

I suppose I'll eventually have to call her if she doesn't respond. That will not make me happy.

If I look at the upside, which is what I'm trying to do, I have to say that I think the book I'm working on now will be easier to sell and will appeal to a broader population. I would rather it be my first published. Or, who knows, maybe the one I write after this one will be "the one." Someday I'll get there.

Anyway, I will be leaving for the mountains tomorrow. Fun and tubing with friends for a few days. Hopefully when I get back this situation will have resolved itself.

Missed My Ride Again

I thought I'd take a break from writing about writing and share one of my smaller obsessions. Unexplained phenomena. This is a picture taken by Charles Miller of a UFO cruising the NC skies. (I realize it's hard to see cuz my background is black, too)Darn, why wasn't I looking up? Gotta get my nose out of books once in awhile.

I'm not sure if this is the same UFO, but a few weeks ago, the news here played some 911 recordings for our amusement where people were calling in from all over NC freaked out by a ball of light arching across the sky. A former military pilot was quoted as saying the colors weren't right and it was moving too slow to be a comet.

Now, no one that was interviewed would actually say they believed it was an actual UFO or aliens or anything of the sort. Wimps. Maybe they've heard too many abduction stories and are afraid of the retaliating probe. Me? When I let my mind venture in the direction of us being the only life to pop up in the whole universe, I feel--not special--but lonely, insignificant and destitute. If we are the only life forms then are we just a random mistake? A virus that got out of control on the surface of one insignificant rock? Then what happens when our sun burns itself out or we blow ourselves up or a comet wipes out all life, etc??? Then life just doesn't exist anywhere? Ever? Nope, I can't buy it.

I've seen a UFO myself. Two, actually. It was about ten years ago when I lived in Ft. Lauderdale on the Fourth of July. Oh, you say...you saw fireworks after one too many margaritas. Well, yes...there were fireworks and margaritas involved BUT I was not hallucinating. It was a clear night, warm, perfect as only a Florida night can be, I was alternating watching the fireworks in the sky and the reflection off the lake when something higher caught my eye. It was one light zig zagging at high speed at first and then another popped up joining it in what looked like a game of chase. I turned to the person beside me and said "do you see that?" "Hah," they said thoughtfully following the lights, "they must of come to see the fireworks." I looked around at the crowd and no one seemed to be bothered by the high speed game going on in the sky...I couldn't even tell if anyone else noticed. I'd say it lasted no more than a minute then they just blinked out.

My parents also had their own close encounter. In high school, they were at a picnic and said a long cigar shaped UFO joined the party. Everyone got scared and took off. My parents, who are very straight laced and not prone to stories or exaggerations, swear the thing followed them home. My mother even said the neighbor got a picture of it but the lady had died and she wasn't sure what ever happened to the picture.

I wish there was some way to know for sure if these things were true. But, I have to wonder, even if one landed in the middle of Times Square and aliens took a leisurely stroll down Broadway...would we even believe then?

I'd put my money on no.

Are You Ready?

Winter. Not my favorite season. The only way I can escape the cold is to move inward. Here's a question I found lurking there: Are you really ready to a published writer? If your agent called you today and said "so-and-so-big-shot-publisher loves your novel--would you be ready to say "my dream has finally come true, I'm so happy!" (And really mean that?) I didn't like the answer I found.

No. I'm not ready.

Sure, I feel like I've struggled with my writing for a long time, I've put in the work, the effort...I have the drive, the passion...I could definitely appreciate being paid for my writing, or at least have my vision validated by being accepted by others. So, why am I not ready?

Here's an exercise for you. Think back five years ago. Where were you? What were your dreams or goals? What "if only" were you banking your happiness on? "I would be happy "if only" I were out of debt? "If only" I had a good relationship..."if only" I could loose ten pounds?

My "if only" from five years ago has happened. So, am I happy? Well, no, not really. I have a real problem with moving on to the next goal without being grateful for reaching the first one. Yes, I do think this is part of human nature. We are not satisfied with where we are in life because we have the ability to visualize our future. We need to strive, to improve ourselves and our situations. The problem with this is when we live for the next goal, the "down the road", we are not living in the now. We are not appreciating the now. The now is our future five years ago.

This is why I don't feel I'm ready. This goal is so important to me, I don't want it fulfilled until I can truly appreciate it. I want to be able to embrace it, experience it and be grateful in that moment without immediately replacing it with "now I have to worry about writing another one". The only way I can think of to do this is to start appreciating where I am immediately. What is there to appreciate as an unpublished writer?

Lots, really. Just being able to write, to do what I love to do. No pressure. Just write. It's a beautiful feeling. True happiness. Appreciating the now.

Tagged

I have been tagged with a book meme by blogger extraordinaire Christian and yes, I had to look up the word meme cuz I'm that much of a geek. I was pleasantly surprised at its meaning, too. It's apparently a word made up by none other than Richard Dawkins which refers to a "unit of cultural information transferable from one mind to another". How cool is that??? So, here goes my transference (you may want to have a cigarette handy :-)


Hardback, trade paperback, or mass-market paperback? I like hardbacks...durable, weighty, substantial. But paperbacks are easier to carry and some of them can be quite luscious. Oryx and Crake, for example is high quality in every aspect. I actually make people feel the soft pages, they're almost like cloth. (To this my hubby replied, "Have you always been this odd?" Geez, you think he'd know the answer to that question by now.)

Amazon or brick-and-mortar? Going into a bookstore is all part of the happy experience. One of three pleasures I will never give up for the sake of saving time.


Barnes & Noble or Borders? Barnes & Noble is only five minutes away, Borders is twenty. Before we had our twins, Borders was a great Friday night of browsing and sitting in the cafe getting caffeinated while watching whatever local band or poet was there. Now we go to B&N cuz of the closeness and the fact we can fit a twin stroller through their aisles.

Bookmark or dogear? Dogear=sacrilege. I seriously cannot bring myself to do this. I have this really pretty beaded bookmark but I've usually got about five books going at a time so anything goes--receipts, envelopes, pictures, etc. You think I'd just get some more bookmarks, right?

Alphabetize by author, by title, or random? When I was a kid I arranged my books on the shelf by size, quite to my parent's amusement which they still make fun of me for. Now I like the eclectic, messy looking bookshelf, and I realize size is not the best way to categorize important things in one's life.

Keep, throw away or sell? Throw away? Never. The only books that leave my possession are the ones I am moved to give to people who I think would be inspired by them.

Keep dust jacket or toss it? Keep it, put it back on when the book goes back on the shelf.

Read with the dust jacket or remove it? Dust jackets are annoyingly formal. Plus, have you ever worn a shirt that is constantly slipping off your shoulder and you have to keep adjusting it all the time? uggg. This is the book jacket to me.

Collection (short stories by same author) or anthology (short stories by different authors)? Silly question. It's like asking an alcoholic how much they drink. "All of it." Like I said, I'll read anything.

Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket? I like the name "Lemony Snicket". It's great fun to say. I've read a few of my daughter's Potter books and I don't get all the controversy? Is it just because there is magic involved? Or is just because I'm in the south?

Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks? Because of my limited time, I read when I can and stop when I have to.

"It was a dark and stormy night" or "Once upon a time"? OOO..dark and stormy night...YES.

Buy or borrow? Own...possess...treasure...

New or used? Love them all. Do try to buy new whenever possible to support writers.

Buying choice: book reviews, recommendations or browse? Browse for pure pleasure, but I usually have a "must read" list with me when I go.

Tidy ending or cliffhanger? Oh, pleeeeeeze don't leave me hanging. This is why I never got the appeal of Soap Opera's.

When do you read: morning, afternoon or night? yes. yes. yes.

Standalone or series? I do like it when a character is continued through different books, like Preston & Childs' Agent Pendergast character. But, all of my favorite books have been stand alone.

Favorite book of which nobody else has heard? I'm going to say Backbeat: A novel of Physics just because I don't think the author, J. Frederick Arment, has written anything else yet. It was a great story. Or how about, Dogs Who Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home? Heard of that one? It was enlightening.

Favorite books read last year? I can almost always find something to love about a book, but I guess if I have to narrow it down: Oryx and Crake, Ghost Dancer, Second Genesis, and Calculating God.

Favorite books of all time? Oryx and Crake, Atlas Shrugged, Les Miserables, Count of Monte Cristo, The Dancing Wu Li Masters

Short story or novel? Novel. I like to live with the characters for awhile, get to know them. And I'm a big fan of description...give me pages and pages of it...which is hard to do in a short story.

So, that's it. And considering I have no idea if anyone else reads this blog, I guess I'll just say, "If you read this, consider yourself tagged." (Besides Christian, of course.) Thanks Christian, it was fun!

Pearl of Wisdom

Once in a while I come across another writer's thoughts that just make me feel so connected to that individual even though they may be no longer with us. Sharing what we sort out about the human condition is one of our greatest gifts to each other...so, I'm passing it on.


The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To him...

a touch is a blow,
a sound is a noise,
a misfortune is a tragedy,
a joy is an ecstasy,
a friend is a lover,
a lover is a god,
and failure is death.

Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create--so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.
-Pearl S. Buck

Can You Hear Color?

Daniel Tammett is the autistic savant who recited 22,514 numbers of Pi from memory. Impressive yes, but more impressive is the fact that his genius comes with little price to the rest of his abilities and so he can actually explain to scientists (and the rest of us) how his brain works. Most savants can't introspect, so you can imagine how exciting this is. Since he also has a condition called synesthesia, he explains that how he remembers numbers is--he sees them as colorful landscapes. Numbers come in colors, texture and movement to him! Aren't our brains amazing?

I had actually used this "neurological condition" for one of my main characters in The Neural Net (he could see color when he played music) because I found this so fascinating. It's really just their brains interpreting the signals coming in in different ways than our normal perception is programmed to do. They think we are all born synaesthetes due to the unspecialized mess of neurons not being pruned and packages in their respective places yet. But, then when we're all tidied up, we are just plain ol' see-color-hear-music people. Sigh.

With all of his giftedness, the one thing I truly admire about Daniel is that he really just wants to touch the world, give some part of himself to it and make other's lives better. I think this is what makes him a truly special person.

Present Tense

I've just finished going back through what I have done so far and changing the tense from past to present. I realize this isn't the traditional tense for a work of fiction and I swear I'm not trying to follow some trend or be overtly literary. I did it because I want the reader to experience the impact of the events as they happen. It's a near future story, so it just didn't seem to be working as a story that's already over. Here's the difference:

Already happened:

Points of light giggled furiously, winking in and out of existence, twinkling like some mad, colorful acid trip. Safia pulled back a little, using her consciousness like a fine, focusing knob. Patterns emerged, knots of 3-D hexagons and pentagons reflecting electric blues, crystalline yellows. She pulled back more, opening up to a wider, softer landscape of strange fuzzy shapes swimming in random jerking motions amid liquid currents. One more adjustment. Ah, there it was. She moved around it, examining its borders, folding it into her mind to process the new data.

vs.

Happening:

Points of light giggle furiously, winking in and out of existence, twinkling like some mad, colorful acid trip. Safia pulls back a little, using her consciousness like a fine, focusing knob. Patterns emerge, knots of 3-D hexagons and pentagons reflecting electric blues, crystalline yellows. She pulls back more, opening up to a wider, softer landscape of strange fuzzy shapes swimming in random jerking motions amid liquid currents. One more adjustment. Ah, there it is. She moves around it, examining its borders, folding it into her mind to process the new data.

Subtle, I know...but, it feels right.

Somebody Stop Me

Okay, I had to come here and make a confession. I am an addict. I will never get my own writing done because I can't freakin' stop reading everyone else's writing...uggg. Someone stop me, please.

I've got three books I'm chomping at the bit to read and I've managed to hold off, telling myself I can indulge when I get to page 100 of my own current novel. (kindof sounds like a diet doesn't it? I can have that yummy chocolate cake when I've lost ten pounds.) So, I've been allowing myself brief peeks at blogs. Short reading, enough to get my fix...no harm done, right? Wrong with a capital R.

J.A. Konrath is a thriller writer who I am just getting familiar with and I haven't purchased any of his books yet, but he's got an incredibly helpful blog going http://jakonrath.blogspot.com/ so I will eventually pick up his Jack Daniels books. However, I accidentally read one of his books yesterday.

How do you accidentally read someone's book you ask? Well, you innocently click on the "free ebooks" link on the far right of his page and get sucked into a really good story. ORIGINS is about someone digging up the devil while building the Panama Canal. Is it really the devil? Well, you can go here: http://www.jakonrath.com/ebooks.html and read for yourself. It was a good story, one that he couldn't get published so he decided to let people read it for free. It had humor, which I like, and got my heart pumping more than once, which I really like. The only compliant I had was that there was so much potential in the subject matter, so many questions to delve into that it could have been a lot deeper. Instead, he opted for the blood and guts thriller route. Which was entertaining, even if I was looking for more.

This happened when I read SECOND GENESIS by Jeffrey Anderson, also. The subject matter--genetically altered chimps--excited me beyond belief. I loved the opening chapters which took place in a secret lab in the Amazon. Then, as all thrillers must, I suppose...the story took a turn into the jungles where a long chase scene ensued. Disappointment over the issues I wanted to see brought to light not being touched made me write to him. I told him how I was both moved by the first part of the book and disappointed in the second part (longer explanation that I'll spare you.) Being the really nice guy that he is, he wrote back and we had a great exchange of emails discussing how it's hard to please all the readers. (Some wrote to him saying they hated the opening chapters and loved the jungle chase.) He actually introduced me to the wonderful writing community of Backspace which I will always be indebted to him for.

What'cha gonna do? Can't please all the readers all the time. I'll have to remember that. But, since you can't have readers until you're done writing...off I go.

Nothing But the Truth

In order to reach my goal of five pages a day on my new WIP, I'll apologize in advance for any neglect this little experiment will suffer in the following months. The good news is I'm up to 36 pages already, which would have taken me (in my normal perfectionist writing time) about a month to write. I'm liking this "just get the story out" advice. But, a theme has come to my attention recently, so I'd like to talk about it. That is: Honesty in fiction writing.

For the characters in fiction I have come to the conclusion that honesty means flaws. For example, my main character is a pretty stand up, morally adept gal who tries to do the right thing. Now, if she were to do the right thing all the time, this would make her a cardboard cutout character. That's not real life. She needs mistakes, flaws. In this new novel, she will have to deal with larger issues like what it really means to be human, or to be human but to be different. There will be underlying racial issues of a sort, and she will believe she is free from prejudice but to really let her be honest with herself, she will have to have some conflict between her actions (the person she wants to be) and her feelings (the person she currently is). She will have to acknowledge this conflict (be honest with herself) and try to resolve it. The funny thing about us humans is we are capable of not recognizing that conflict, of deluding ourselves about our true nature, of walking around believing we are our ideal self. Letting the characters be honest about their flaws gives the writer all kinds of new dilemmas to work with. Bonus.

Honesty in science fiction. Robert J. Sawyer wrote an interesting article about Michael Crichton's liberty with truth in his novels. You can read it here: http://www.canada.com/ottawacitizen/news/opinion/story.html?id=db55b963-3074-4b70-a587-0a6292216b7b

But isn't that what fiction is, making stuff up? Yes, but I still feel that people reading science fiction are looking to the writer to show them what they should be concerned about or looking forward to in the future. Sort of a "weed out all the crap and give me a rundown on what could really happen" scenario.

As far as the writer being honest with themselves, third issue. Zadie Smith has a really thought-provoking article here: http://books.guardian.co.uk/review/story/0,,1988887,00.html
that addresses this. A quote:

"A writer's personality is his manner of being in the world: his writing style is the unavoidable trace of that manner...style is a writer's way of telling the truth."

Being honest about themselves in their writing, being brave enough to hang their "manner of being in the world" out there for readers to discover may be a writer's biggest challenge.

R.I.P

So, it's an official decision now for me...letting go of THE MOTHERCODE. I've learned a bunch about myself as a writer lately--my strengths and my weaknesses. I was definitely building this novel on my weaknesses.

BUT...no time to mourn! I've got a new story that's been solidifying over the past few days that I'm very excited about. More character driven, less technically messy. I've been thinking about what I can salvage from THE M. and decided I can keep my two main female characters, which makes me very happy because they are the daughters of the MC in my last novel. I'd like to keep that tie-in. I worked hard on making them real in my mind and I had to laugh because I thought it's sort of like playing god isn't it? What if he (she, it, they) didn't like the way the plot in our life was going so we were just plucked out of our existing story and dropped into a new set of circumstances?! We wouldn't even know it...hmmm, maybe that's all ready happened. Sometimes I feel like a stranger in my own life!

Anyway, there is one character I just can't keep. I wanted to, I've grown really fond of him, and I couldn't wait to see how he was going to handle the dilemma I created for him. But, when I try to plug him into the new plot, it doesn't work. His personality is set in stone, and he just wouldn't do the things that I need the new love interest to do. I find this weird, but I'm going with it. Have to create a new male lead.

I'm going to write this one differently, too. In King's book, he suggests just writing...getting the story out before you lose momentum or emerge from it into reality. Usually, I agonize over each page, editing as I go...this time I'm just getting the thing out! Then I'll go back and fill in or take out, scream, pull my hair out as needed.

I don't usually look back, though I am giving THE MOTHERCODE a furtive glance of reverence. Sure, I've got other novels stuffed in the drawer, but they are at least finished. This is my first unfinished one. I've learned from it though, so I find it hard to consider it a failure. Maybe its job was to show me I was on the wrong path and give me the freedom to--not walk tentatively--but run down the right one.

Working title of new book: STRANGE NEW FEET

Off to begin the new adventure.

Two Thrillers

So far this year, I've read two thrillers: THE DEVIL'S PITCHFORK by Mark Terry & DARKLY DREAMING DEXTER by Jeff Lindsay.

What I learned from THE DEVIL'S PITCHFORK is how important structure is in a thriller. I love stories about killer viruses in the wrong hands, but what really kept me turning the pages was the pace of the narration. Everytime I finished a chapter I thought "Geez, that was really well written--packaged in a sleek, tight little box with all the right trimmings." Then, even though I recognized the hook at the end for what it was, it still made me sneek into the next chapter. I couldn't stop myself, then I couldn't stop in the middle of the next chapter, so...let's just say I got in more reading time than sleep. One thing Mark is really good at is putting his characters in even more danger just when you think they've had enough and want to rescue them. It seems to me the hard thing about putting them in mortal danger is getting them back out. "So, how are you going to get him out of this one?" was a question frequently on my mind. And then "Ohhhhh, clever. I would have never thought of that," was frequently the answer.

My conclusion, now that I'm looking at thrillers as structural beings, is that I am trying to write in the wrong genre. I love to read thrillers but I don't think I'm cut out for writing them. I'm not being defeatist here, just realistic. I keep talking about how much I love to get in my character's heads and in thrillers, this is neither neccessary nor beneficial. It would actually slow the pace of the story. Not at all a good tool to pull from the toolbox when building suspense. Since it's my sharpest tool, I guess the smart thing to do is change what I'm building.

DARKLY DREAMING DEXTER is a dark and sometimes humorous novel about a serial killer working in the Miami Police Department. They've actually made a Showtime series out of the books, but reading is much more fun. What I learned from this book is that I take both death and writing way too seriously. If Jeff Lindsay can write a book about a serial killer chopping up bad guys in between chasing bad guys chopping up people that makes you giggle out loud as you're reading it...surely less dark subjects deserve a little lightness of being sometimes.

B-Day Thoughts

Today is one of those days for me that begins with a "B" and ends with a "day."

Now that I'm an official adult with a family, bills, dreams, dishes and dogs I don't find the appeal in celebrating being a year older. Especially after the New Year begins and there's all this pressure to examine your life, to make resolutions, to be a better version of yourself. Three days later I'm reminded that I better get a move on cuz the clock is counting down.

Actually, in the past few years...after the shock of thirty...I decided that I would try to remember today as a day to celebrate--not being older--but being alive. So, I'm alive, which is a great feeling really when you concentrate on it.

I will have chocolate cake, kiss my kids and my dog, take a moment to let the sun warm my face, read and be thankful that I am still part of the pattern that makes up this crazy universe.

...oh, and of course, hope that this year some of my writing will see the light of day!

ON WRITING

Top Things I've learned from King's ON WRITING:

1) People just want to read a good story. Something that will keep them turning the pages.

2) If you want to be a writer, you don't need a formal education. You do need to read a lot and write a lot. A quote: "Reading is the creative center of a writer's life."

3) Reading a lot may be more than you think it is. He says he reads 70+ novels a year and considers himself a slow reader.

4) Don't write for the money. (yeah, I think we got this one!)

5) Adverbs are not your friend, especially in dialog attribution. "He said." "She said." These are all you need when tagging dialog.

6) Well written dialog will tell the reader much more about your character than straight narration. The trick is to be honest about the way your character would speak. If you think cussing will give you a one-way ticket to the fire house, but your character Billy Bob has been chewing tabacco and using the F-word since he was two, you better damn well let him speak his mind.

7) Write behind closed doors and have a goal in mind. (Daily word count, chapter, etc.)

8) If you hit Stephen King with your van and almost kill him, you may just die alone in your trailer from unknown causes. Wierd!