Category: Blogger

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Prepare To Be Delighted

Several weeks ago, I mentioned at the bottom of one blog entry that I was going to ask several of my friends who are published writers to talk about how they got published. Don’t feel bad if you missed it… You’d probably qualify as a stalker if you actually noticed it.

What I hoped to get (knowing how busy everybody is these days) was a few hundred words on daily struggles of the publishing world. My first guest blogger, Michael Halleran, wrote an enlightening and entertaining 1800-word essay. We writers love to write! Please note his bio (very impressive) and the proper citation at the bottom of the essay. (No wonder I write fiction; I must have missed that day in school.)

First, a sincere thank you to my high school friend, Mike. You have elevated my simple, narcissistic blog.

Second, to all you loyal readers: Enjoy the next post!
p.s. If you’re a writer and would like to post on my site about your experiences, send me an email.

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Never Tell Me You’re Bored

Raising four boys, born less than six years apart, left very little time for boredom. At least for me. Every so often, one of my young sons would come to me with that pitiful whine, “Mommy, I’m bored.” I quickly constructed a response… “Good, because I need someone to sweep out the garage.” That cured their boredom! You’ve never seen kids run the other way so fast.

Bored? Are you kidding me? Who has time to be bored? As you know from my last blog entry, I have many obsessions. My biggest complaint in life (yes, I know this makes me one lucky lady) is that I don’t have enough hours in a day to tackle all the books/activities/obsessions in my life. I’ve realized that everyone of us on this planet has the same number of minutes each day, and miraculously, some people seem to get so damn much accomplished (Martha Stewart, I’m talking ’bout you), and others…well not so much. We ALL have time for what’s important to us, e.g. facebook, watching sitcoms, or writing a prize winning novel.

But now I have a new obsession: French cooking.

My husband took me to Paris for my 48th birthday (where I took the lousy photo of this beautiful Modigliani painting). We had a fabulous time, and ate the most delicious food. I’m not much of a cook, but I am newly inspired to give Soupe à l’Oignon Gratinée (French onion soup) a shot, and Ragout de Champignons (mushroom ragout), and Croque-Monsieur sandwiches, and Confit avec Pruneaux et Pommes (Duck confit with prunes and apples). I think you get the picture. How am I going to squeeze this in with writing my novel Left on Blue? Ah, there’s the rub.

Time management. That’s the answer.

And motivation!

Look at this guy, for example. Is he the greatest real-life character you’ve ever seen? I have no idea who he is, or what his life is like, or what he’s listening to, or what’s in his backpack. Does he speak French or English or maybe German? He was at a cafe where my husband and I stopped for lunch after touring the Louvre. This guy makes me want to write and write and write.

And, so, dear friends, I’m back to my novel. Looks like I’m going to have to sleep less (that’s Martha Stewart’s solution) to squeeze everything in. I hope my neighbors understand when I start caramelizing onions in the middle of the night.

I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.

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stop the MADNESS!

You’ve been wondering where I’ve been, what I’ve been up to, why I haven’t been blogging. Right? You check every morning, about 8:05, after sitting at your desk, papers and pens and coffee all in place, just after the boss waves hello and then goes to check his own favorite blogs, probably also mine, wondering why I haven’t written for over a month. Well, I’m back to explain.

Years ago, an old friend of mine who had for some inane reason been lambasted in our local newspaper, offered me a sage nugget of advice when I asked him how he dealt with such unfairness. “Never complain. Never explain,” is all he said. I thought it was brilliant, especially since I hate excuses. In life, you either do something or you don’t. Does the reason really matter? What’s done is done.

Nevertheless, here’s my explanation, full of complaints.

Being a mother. Being a wife. OCD. ADD. Poor time management skills. Remodeling our home. Throwing a party for 100 people. And last but definitely not least, pedicures. I put all those things ahead of Being a Writer. I’m not sure how I could have lived the last 6 weeks differently, but somehow I think that a person with a “real” job would have figured it out and still gotten everything done. Because my work is flexible, I allowed others to dictate where I had to be and when.

This week, I proudly announce, is MINE. I back. I’m a writer. Leave me alone.

Unfortunately, I had to renege on a trip to my home town, Lawrence, Kansas, when I made my declaration. I had to give up the opportunity to see my best childhood friend, and my son who will be a senior at KU. Sorry again to both of you, but this is important to me.

Now, back to the search for an agent. I know my book will sell, I just have to find my advocate.

No more excuses.

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To (f)b or not to (f)b

Well, I did it. I never thought I would, but I did. I am now a facebookian.

The facebook population is approximately 400 Million, now larger than the United States, but I never knew what the big attraction was. I figured if I wanted to catch up with an old friend, I could pick up the phone or send out an email. But it is way more entertaining than I imagined ~ who knew my friends could be so witty? The best part is that you don’t have to make any effort to talk to your friends. Everyone just talks about themselves, and you get to read what they’re up to. Comment if you want, or don’t. It’s that easy. But you probably know all of this! I am the newbie here.

Within 48 hours of signing up, I had 47 friends. My kids were honestly surprised that I had “that many.” Indeed, one of my biggest reasons not to join was because I was afraid none of my kids would want to be my friend, and I didn’t know if I could take that much rejection. Sure enough, they have all ignored my request to be friends, either that, or more likely they just haven’t checked their facebook pages for the last 4 days. (Please, do not spoil my delusional optimism.) It’s their loss though. Soon enough, I’m sure I’ll hit my limit of 5,000 friends, and then I won’t have room for them. They will never know how cool I am.

So why did I convert and become a joiner? The final push came from two of my sisters after a family wedding. When I asked to see their pictures, they told me that they had both posted “a ton” on their facebook pages and if I wanted to see them I was going to have to get with the program. That comment combined with my construction-imposed house arrest pushed me through facebook immigration. (Faithful readers know we’re remodeling our kitchen and bathroom.) (If you’re my friend, you can see the picture I posted on my shiny new facebook page.) I’ve been trapped in a cacophonous construction zone! I can’t write. I can’t read. I can’t think. But I can spend countless, mindless hours on facebook!

Ten days and counting for the kitchen, and I count myself lucky. They are supposed to be finished tomorrow, but we’ll see.

EVEN BIGGER NEWS, my husband and I just bought the condo adjacent to ours, so now I get my own office ~ a WRITING STUDIO in my own home. No more sharing space with the homeless at the public library. No more evil, caffeine-fueled boring stares from bored baristas as I threaten to hang out past my allotted two hour time limit for one single cup of straight black coffee ($1.96 tops). Now my only distraction will be the laundry, and my husband’s favorite hunting shows on the Outdoor Channel. (But that’s why God invented noise canceling headphones, right?)

Over the past two months, I have been overwhelmed with multiple special projects (e.g. the kitchen remodel), and I have not been able to focus on my third novel, Left On Blue. I have, however, sent out another handful of query letters for That Changes Everything, been better about blogging, and have been reading everything I can get my hands on. Look for my photo as the 2010 Poster Child for Learning To Make the Most Out of a Less-Than-Ideal Situation. One step forward, one step at a time. Though don’t get me wrong, I’m not whining or complaining… just blogging. I am an extremely lucky woman.

Soon, very soon, I will get the chance to put down on paper (up on a screen?) the random thoughts I’ve been scribbling in my moleskin about my characters working their way through the plot lines and plot twists. The voices in my head are starting to drown out the workmen in my kitchen. That’s progress.

Now, where are those headphones?

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What a day for a daydream

I recently read a ten-year old, timeless book, On Writing, by Stephen King. I am not the first to say what a first-class book it is. I like his approach (not the alcohol and drug use)(in that regard, I’m so boringly boring), but rather his idea that if you have a good “situation” or idea, the plot and characters will write themselves. We all know it isn’t quite that easy, but I follow that dogma much more readily than John Grisham’s well-defined plot outlines that he stretches into a pre-determined novel. I’ve written two novels now, and they both ended in completely different places than I thought they would because they grew organically after my daily intake of strong, black coffee. I love that feeling when my fingers take over, my brain gets out of the way, and something totally unexpected results.

But back to Stephen King. He writes in Chapter Two of the On Writing section about the productivity levels of various authors. He compares (among others) “John Creasey, a British mystery novelist, (who) wrote five hundred books under ten different names” to Harper Lee (author of To Kill a Mockingbird) who wrote only one book. King wonders: How long did it take (Lee and other less prolific authors) to write the books they did write, and what they did with the rest of their time? He asks, “If God gives you something you can do, why in God’s name wouldn’t you do it?”

Obviously, Stephen King was never a stay-at-home mother.

Today, I sit in my favorite Eames lounge chair, feet propped up on the ottoman, CNBC quietly keeping me abreast of the daily market fluctuations (Dow up 142 pts., at the moment), dog at my side, rain dribbling down the window over my left shoulder, clouds above obscuring the dreamy blue skies that I know are out there somewhere. Off to my right? Five muscular workmen remodeling my kitchen and bathroom. They have power drills, shop-vacs, radios, and cell phones at such a level that there is no way I could concentrate on Left On Blue, my new novel. I can’t even concentrate on the delicious novel I’m reading, The Invisible Bridge, by Julie Orringer. (I’m only 200 pages in, and I highly recommend it.) Would Stephen King have been able to concentrate in this chaos? Would he have gotten in his self-imposed 1000 words today?

As the person in charge of all things “household” in my family, it’s my job to sit here amid the clutter, dust, commotion, and whispered swearing in case there’s a problem or question. But writing? Not today. Reading? Sporadically. Eating? Standing up, out of a wrapper. Blogging? Ah, yes!

The best part, is of course, the workmen. Not in the way you might think, but in a writer’s people-who-are-fabulous-to-watch sort of way. The tattoos, for instance, they have several great examples to observe. And the clothing, ripped under the arm, stained from paint, torn at the neck. One guy has on a gray t-shirt with a skull as large as his extra-large abdomen, in RED, no less. Another man, is covered in sweat, I mean soaked clear through his t-shirt and his shorts. I comment on all this, not judgmentally, but as a seer of truth, a beacon of reality. Left On Blue takes place largely in Wyoming. I am positive that the workmen in Wyoming aren’t that different from the workmen in my kitchen. This is good stuff, man.

Will someone please tell Stephen King that just because I didn’t get my 1000 words in today, I’m still working here.

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Gecko-tourism

Ok, this is getting intense. Costa Rica advertises itself as one of the best spots on earth for Eco-tourism. I’ve renamed it Gecko-tourism (with a bit of poetic license). Geckos run around like ants, and monkeys are as common as squirrels. We were just starting to get comfortable with it all. Then yesterday’s adventure outdid everything we’ve seen to date. My husband and I went on a one day tour, simple enough, right? As innocent as Ginger and the Professor… (Ok, fine, Thurston Howell, III and Lovey.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These are but a few of the animals we saw. Yes, that’s a COW’S HEAD that the Jaguar is eating, and sure, he’s in a cage, but still… And that sweet little red frog? It’s poisonous. The crocodile is not a crocodile ~ it’s a caiman, whatever that is. If this country wasn’t so mind-boggling beautiful, a girl might have to wonder why she was here.

From the animal reserve (wild-life in cages… I know the feeling), we traveled to an active volcano, called Arenal, in the central region of Costa Rica. (If you look closely, you can see steam blowing from the top.) To reach it, we had to drive through a jungle into the rain forest and around the lake, below. The lake is actually man-made (or rather, man-manipulated) and unbelievably gorgeous, amazingly similar to Lake Lucerne in Switzerland. In 1979, the government diverted 10 nearby rivers to fill in the enormous valley, thus drowning a centuries-old city (which they kindly relocated up the hill). It took us 1.5 hours just to drive around the lake on a narrow, two-lane road through the jungle to reach the volcano. Let me tell you what it’s like to go 60 kph around the twists and turns, flashing from blinding sunshine into near blackness of the mountainous shade with our guide, Bernal Mata, who apparently knows no fear of oncoming traffic or crossing the center line: ah, heck, I wasn’t scared a bit, not even when we rounded a bend to find ourselves nearly on top of two cows, out for a late-day stroll in the middle of the road with their friendly farmer. Fortunately, we were distracted because Bernal was helping me “Practicando mi español.” (I’m getting much better!)

But that’s not all. We also went to this incredible waterfall, down a dirt road, over hills and rocks and trees, past farms and ramshackle houses and old volcanic rock randomly strewn about a few hundred years ago. Once upon a time, only the locals knew about it. Now they take gringos like us there on any given Wednesday afternoon.

Here is the intrepid Bernal Mata (on the right of the picture, below left). Looks a little like Will Smith, don’t you think? (The one who looks like George Clooney is my husband. Just a couple of movie stars hanging out at the local waterfall.). If you’re ever in this neighborhood, I highly recommend Bernal as a tour guide. www.ticotoursguanacaste.com Every adventure we took with him was first class, and he speaks English very well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whew, what a day it was! It’s no wonder I sleep so well down here… until the monkeys start howling outside my window at 4am. But they’re so cute that we’re still fascinated by them instead of annoyed.

If I sound a bit like a kid in a candy store, that’s how I feel. This vacation, albeit longer and more relaxed than any trip I’ve ever taken, has been the best journey of my life. And yes, I”m the one who had no idea how she’d MANAGE to stay calm for sixty days. (For a literary bent, see today’s other entry: Life is like a matryoshka doll.) Between Granada, Nicaragua and the Gecko-tourism and the sunsets in Costa Rica, I’ve never been so fascinated by the world we live in (natural or man-made). (Though the Mayan ruins were pretty cool, and I’ve never been to the Far East.) This country, while not cheap, not cheap at all, is wonderful. The rich, local food, the friendly people, the laid-back attitudes, the incredible scenery, the sunny warmth, the gentle beaches, it’s all wonderful, though as they keep reminding us, “It’s not for everyone.”

But for now, it’s for us.