Category: Family

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This One’s Dedicated to All You Artists Out There

This past summer, my oldest son, Ryan, who is getting his Masters of Music Composition attended a music workshop in Darmstadt, Germany for two weeks. This weekend, I’ll be spending two days at a writers’ workshop in Cincinnati, Ohio ~ the Bed Bug Capital of the Country. Similar, but somehow different.

I am excited, anxious even, for the honest evaluation. This workshop, given by Writers Digest, is aimed at those of us who have written manuscripts, but can’t quite get an agent to bite. Call us The Rejectables, if you like, but the experts (their word, I trust it’s accurate) will read our first 50 pages and our query letters and tell us what Agents are really thinking when they mail back our rejection notices. I don’t think I’ll be the only attendee, therefore, I can find comfort in knowing that I’m not alone.

I have no problem being alone, though, I just want to be published.

This past Tuesday, I went to the national book launch (held right here in Des Moines, Iowa) for Sara Gruen’s new novel, Ape House. Gruen wrote the wonderful book, Water for Elephants. During the Q & A, I asked her what a typical day is like for her, and how that compares to a promotional book tour. Her response: “My typical day is 8 hours in a quiet room in front of a computer in my pajamas. A promotional tour is like being shot from a cannon.” Well, at least I have the solitary part down!

From my previous life as an art dealer working with dozens of visual artists and through my aforementioned son, I know that many of us creative types don’t just value our time alone, we NEED it. That’s not something that everyone understands, but it’s a fine example of one of my credos: Live and let live.

In other news: I have several friends who are writers from all different genres: Fiction, Children’s Fiction, Non-fiction; and all kinds of publishers (Self, University, Major). But that’s not really the news part, that I have friends, I mean. The news is that I have invited several of them to be Guest Bloggers on this site. I am eager (and I think you will find it interesting as well) to hear how they got published, their first-hand experiences. When I told this bit of exciting news to my husband (always the first to know everything in my world), he looked at me with a perfectly blank expression. Ok, so maybe only we artists are enthralled with other writers’ experiences, but nonetheless, I feel grateful that they have agreed to share their stories with me and you.

Now, I must go pack for Cincinnati. Can’t wait to hear what the experts have to say about my writing. You’ll be the first second to know.

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A Blessing or a Curse/The Chicken or the Egg

So last week I took my youngest son back to college. He’s a sophomore now, and is now living in his first apartment. He’s also the youngest of seven kids. What that means, in parental terms, is that he needed all brand-new furniture for his room… no more hand-me downs left to hand down. They got used up by the first six kids.

More specifically, it means that I, mom/driver/do-it-yourselfer, had to put together a six-drawer dresser, a one-drawer desk, and a bookshelf, all purchased in tiny little boxes from Target. No sense in spending a lot of money to buy a college kid “nice” (read: already-put-together) furniture.

Here’s where my lesson learned comes in: Neither my husband (wonderful as he is) or my ex-husband or a thousand other people I can think of off the top of my head, could have or would have spent FIVE BLEEPING HOURS in beautiful Colorado in a small apartment bedroom gluing and screwing furniture together. So why did I?

Because I am able. I am logical, patient, determined, and intelligent. And these are all the qualities that make me capable of sitting alone, at a desk, quietly creating novels. Over the 47+ years of my life, I have rarely failed to achieve my goals. Whether my goal is to get three pieces of furniture assembled in time for dinner with my son, or publishing a novel, I never stop until I am successful. (Please see my previous blog entry referring to the Calvin Coolidge quote on persistence.)

But which came first? The need to turn 280 random pieces of wood and rails and screws into a dresser, or the ability to do such a task? Or, the fact that until my book sells, I must be very frugal?

So many questions, so little time. So many callouses on my hand.

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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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The Fine Line Between Optimistic and Delusional

About fifteen years ago, when I was a stay-at-home mother of four boys, a professional woman with no children asked me what I did all day. I looked around my home, at the piles of laundry, stacks of dirty dishes, thousands of action figures and Matchbox cars and replied, “Usually I nap or read after my masseuse leaves for the day. Then I polish my nails and cook a romantic dinner for my husband.” Then I crossed her name off my list of friends and went back to the chaos of trying to keep my nose just above the level of clutter.

Last week, my now 19-year old son asked me the same question on our trip home from his freshman year of college. This time, I wasn’t angry or defensive. In fact, this has become one of my favorite questions for people, not because I don’t believe people aren’t busy, but on the contrary, because I’m fascinated by how people choose to spend their precious, allotted 1,440 minutes each day. And, now that I’m an “empty-nester” with a retired husband and have no “real” job, it almost seems like a legitimate question. That, plus, my youngest son can do no wrong.

But first, if I were to take a poll of the lowest-paying jobs one could have in Des Moines, Iowa, three possibilities come to mind. Number One: Stay-at-home Mom. Number Two: high-end contemporary art dealer. Three: wanna-be novelist, waiting to be discovered.

Aha! My resume! But it’s worth noting (for my fragile self-esteem) that those are all Labor of Love occupations, or at least they have been for me. These days, I write as much as possible, which is never enough. I love writing: the solitary nature, the excitement of the perfect paragraph, the surprise of a character leading me down an unknown path, the sense of accomplishment of having written a novel that a PhD professor of English at Ole Miss says is “truly first class.” Perhaps only an artist can truly understand the quiet passion. In any case, my novel, That Changes Everything, is ready and waiting.

As an art dealer, I worked with dozens of talented artists, most from New York City, each following their passion, hoping that somehow the stars would line up just so, and that they would soon be discovered. I am now in their shoes, waiting, wondering, praying that the Right Person will find my work at the Right Time. I know (because I’ve seen it first hand) that talent, timing, and luck must all align. I feel like Danny King, my protagonist, who is aching to find the love of his life, as I wait patiently for query letters to be answered. I want to shout from the rooftops: You’ll like me. You’ll really like me. Just read me!

Meanwhile, and here’s where my husband gets worried that I might cross that line from being optimistic into psychotically delusional, as I refine, polish, perfect my novel, and WAIT, PATIENTLY, I am hereby revealing the pictures that helped me along the way to create realistic neighborhoods and characters. Above are three locations from my book. Below are the faces who have become my imaginary friends. But, don’t worry about me (I keep telling my husband this), this is merely the vision board in my writing studio. (tee hee)

Daniel King: 38, former “King of Wall Street,” now rebuilding his life as a student and a waiter in Brooklyn; receives a cryptic message suggesting that his business was sabotaged; becomes obsessed with finding the truth behind his downfall, and meeting Lily, the girl who captivates his heart.

Lily Frances White: 27, darling, dysfunctional, successful young artist; for starters, she has issues with her parents, “They named me Lily White. I’m just paying them back.” Also has issues with drugs, monogamy, and consequently her boyfriend, Louis.

Louis Landry: 42, Lily’s British boyfriend; extremely wealthy, world-famous artist, irreverent, and totally narked when Lily betrays him. Yet, still, he wants her back.

Nikhil Kapur, 38, Danny’s longtime best friend, “the only friend who hasn’t crossed him yet;” met at Harvard Business School; now a commercial realtor in New York. Nik is married to Nina, a doctor. The two own (and live in) the condominium in Brooklyn where Danny now lives.

Shawn Sutter: Sly? or is he just nervous and insecure?

Carl: Danny’s best friend and savior. The hero of That Changes Everything.

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A Scorpion In Your Bed

Go on, name the scariest things you can imagine.

Earthquakes and car wrecks and fires, for sure. Sharks, snakes, lions, tigers, and bears, oh my. How about a scorpion? How about a scorpion in your bed that stings you in your sleep?

That’s what happened to my husband last night. Sound asleep, nearing the end of our peaceful, relaxing vacation ~ only it’s been so long, so nice, that we don’t consider it vacation. “We live here,” at least for part of the year, we say. “We’ll live here even longer next year.” But, back to last night… sound asleep we were when my husband screams out, “I’ve been bit! I’ve been bit!”

Everyone has a scorpion story, we’ve learned. People here compare their scorpion stings stories like veterans compare war stories. Apparently, (thank goodness I can take others’ words for the truth) it hurts like an SOB… Excuse me, it hurts like having a knife stabbed into your body.

So, back to my husband’s war story. There we are, sound asleep, dead of night, and BAM. On his hand, pain like nothing else. He screams; I jump, run for the light, and up onto a chair. He thinks it was a snake. But as he’s leaning over to pull back the sheets and find the python, I see a scorpion crawling up his back toward his neck. I scream even louder than he did, and start swiping it away with a pillow. The nasty creature falls to the floor, but barefoot, I wasn’t about to step on it. My husband grabbed an errant shoe and smashed it. My hero.

Wikipedia, my hero web site, told us there probably wasn’t anything to worry about. We washed and dressed his wound. Next year, we’ll have Benadryl handy, but the venom isn’t deadly unless you happen to be allergic to it.

The WORST part (okay, for ME) was trying to fall back to sleep. Are scorpions like cockroaches and deer? If there’s one, there’s sure to be more? Do they have nests with babies? Or lifetime mates, like swans and vultures, so there’s sure to be at least one more lurking under our bed? We pulled back the sheets, looked under the bed, stomped and banged on the walls to scare any hidden cohorts out from hiding, but fortunately or unfortunately, got no response, no scampering flashes of slimy critters, no proof one way or the other. It took nearly two hours before exhaustion made the decision for me and I fell back to sleep.

This morning, my husband gallantly asked, “So, still want to come back next year?” I replied, “If you do,” considering myself magnanimous since I wasn’t the one who got stung by a scorpion in my sleep.

We have now just returned from the Property Management office (unpaid plug: a wonderful company: www.milagrorentalscostarica.com ). We signed a lease for this exact same house for next year.

Pura vida.

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Honey, the kids unplugged me!

So this is what the outdoors is like. Nice.

After two weeks in Costa Rica, knowing no one but my husband, we were finally settling in, learning the town, the roads, the villa. Zoology, entomology, ornithology, and sunset gazing are our new hobbies, and we never even had to leave our balcony. Why would we with a view like this?

Then three of our children arrived with two friends, and the balcony got a little crowded. Talk about ENERGY, and EXCITEMENT, and PURE HAPPINESS, these “kids” (all about 30 years old) wanted to experience everything in the Costa Rican guide book ~ in one week. Let’s see, so far they (and sometimes we) have gone surfing, snorkeling, swimming, horseback riding, and zip-lining. We went to a natural spa with a sauna, mud bath, and hot springs, all NATURAL. Best of all, one daughter loves to cook ~ that has been heaven! I’m starting to like paradise.

Now, where’s my laptop?

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Hello Vacation

This is my view. The dream is real.

So, what’s a hard-working writer to do when her husband wants to spend two months in paradise? I say: Define paradise.
Remember Green Acres? Well, my version is White Sands.
New York is where I’d rather stay. I get anxieties hearing waves.

No… no spoiled little girl, me. We are wonderfully situated in a villa overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Costa Rica. After six days here, I am learning how to write, even when the sun is calling, the winds are blowing gently, the monkeys are swinging through the trees (really ~ I’ve got pictures!).

Is it wrong to have a To Do list in paradise? I think not. Productivity is the measure of my day: More is Good.

Speaking of which, blogging can now move up on my priority list. I’ve got so much to say! Stay tuned, readers.