Category: Writer

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The Pudding…

… the proof! This is me all bundled up in my writing studio at my laptop with my noise canceling headphones within reach.

I’ve been “on vacation” the last ten days. That is how I justified not writing and not feeling guilty about it. Even the President of the United States gets vacation days. Everyone I know (except my son Tanner who is six months in to his first real job) gets vacation days.

It didn’t feel much like a vacation though. Sure, we had a party and family Christmas, but I also had a root canal. That was seven days ago, and today is the first day I’ve felt well enough to sit still and type. Even Percocet didn’t help. A double dose of antibiotics, a lot of laying on the sofa reading Jonathan Franzen, a few cries of woe-is-me, and now I can write again.

As a refresher course, you faithful readers should know that I have put The King Family on hold while I do a rewrite of Midnight Street. It’s getting very close to good. I have also polished my query letter so well that it shines. Soon I will resume sending it to lucky agents. I’m getting closer and closer and closer to publication. I can feel it. (PMA!)

All right, back to Danny and Lily.

xoxox

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Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Lucky

Is this what it’s like to have a REAL job?

On November 29th, I wrote about my new plan, which was to blog more often. Well, now I have another new plan.

You see, one of my biggest frustrations in my otherwise perfect life is that I let distractions take me away from writing. I have, heretofore, blamed all the people I love the most for calling me to see how my day’s going, or telling me something interesting about themselves, or checking on dinner – really mean stuff. It’s so easy to blame others for what can, occasionally, turn out to be my own damn fault. If it weren’t for THEM… I’d be successful already!

Today, for the first time, I set a timer. I told myself if I wrote for four lousy hours a day, I could re-write Midnight Street, then finish The King Family, and quickly start The Blue-Eyed Twin, publish all of the above, and receive money in the mail. Pretty good plan, don’t you think?

Before I committed to being a writer, I was an art dealer. I had a contemporary art gallery. I LOVED it. I loved everything about it, running my own business, the interaction with interesting people (artists, clients, fellow dealers, etc.). However, because it was a retail environment, my time was often dictated by all of the above. Being the boss, I needed to interact with these people (especially clients) to run a successful business. My point is, I’ve never worked in a cubicle for some lofty boss who dictated my daily schedule. I’ve always been front and center in the action and decision making, the key word being action.

So today, as my four-hour timer ticked away, and my newfound dedication kept my butt in my chair, with no Internet, no telephone, no emails, I realized work is WORK. It takes dedication. It takes practice. It takes handcuffs.

I wonder what came first: My short attention span or my long list of excuses?

But the good news is I made great progress today. The revised Midnight Street is going to be smashing! I like my new plan.

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No, No! Not December Again!

I’ve been writing now for just over three years. Not straight of course, I do eat, sleep, read and occasionally go to a movie or a party. This is my fourth December as a writer… funny how that works, but I digress.

With all the inherently good things that happen in December, there’s one thing I hate. I hardly get any time to write. I know, I know, it’s my own damn fault. I can’t say no. In addition to the aforementioned distractions, there’s Christmas shopping, 100 Christmas cards to send out, traveling to see family, holiday open houses, etc., etc., etc. My head is spinning with all I WANT to do, and things I NEED to do. Problem is, I confuse the two.

I am madly obsessed with writing. I’d like to be in a cave somewhere (as long as it has wireless internet service), and not come out for weeks. (Do they have caves in Costa Rica?) If I could hook up an IV for nutrients, I wouldn’t even stop to eat.

My people need me. Danny King, protagonist of Midnight Street and also The King Family, Lily Frances and Danny’s extended family…. They’re lost without me! And don’t forget Carl, Danny’s dog. Have you ever seen a cuter fuzz ball? I’m all they’ve got! Any time I’m not writing, these people start whispering my name and talking to me in the shower. Then my anxiety level starts to climb… I either need better time management skills or I need a doctor.

Okay, full disclosure: Yesterday I got an email from an agent in New York. She gave me some very good advice on my novel, Midnight Street, only she kept calling it Who Is Lily White?. (She obviously isn’t reading my blog.) (That title was SO last week.) Anyway, her advice, albeit buried deep in a rejection letter, sent me on a tail spin. What these agents don’t realize is that with every rejection letter, I get more and more determined to prove to them that I will become a famous, published author.

Anyway, I’ve got work to do. Please excuse me while I hook up my IV.

Hasta luego. (Practicando mi español para Costa Rica.)

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A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Wedding

Ok, finally, here’s the news I’ve been promising you:

I have a fan club.

What? Not what you were expecting? Well, it’s pretty darn swell if you ask me! This is as incredible as the first check I will get from my agent. Symbolically speaking, of course.

I write and I write and I write, usually on my manuscript for The King Family, occasionally on this blog, which until last Friday night, felt like a diary. Once in a while, one of my friends would mention they’d read a page or two, but that usually only happened the day after I paid the skywriters to blast it over Des Moines, or when I run an extensive radio campaign begging people to visit my web site. But Friday night, at the rehearsal dinner for my step-daughter’s wedding, I met two people, two wonderful, intelligent, beautiful people who READ MY BLOG all on their own! Seriously, they’ve read every entry. And memorized it. And they recited many passages. And they asked pertinent questions, about me and my family and my novels.

It was freaky in the most flattering way.

I have thus anointed Chuck and Betty Stewart, the new co-presidents of my fan club. Chuck and Betty are the aunt and uncle for my step-daughter’s new husband. (I don’t think this qualifies as nepotism.) If I repeated all the sweet, complimentary things they said to me about me and my writing, these words would turn as red as Chuck’s sweater because I’d be blushing so hard. And, you wouldn’t believe me anyway. Their comments were like my mom’s comments on steroids. I’m still trying to figure out if my husband paid them to show up and boost my ego… but after paying for his daughter’s wedding, I don’t think they would have gotten very much money out of him.

Sitting at my desk in my cozy writing studio in Des Moines, Iowa, it takes a lot of self-confidence to keep writing and writing even though I haven’t gotten paid one copper cent. Yet. The good news is, I LOVE writing, every part of it. I do this for myself. I know I’ll be published, it’s only a matter of time, but it sure does feel good to get the kind words of encouragement that Chuck and Betty showered on me.

I have recently received a few other bits of encouragement, but I’m afraid if I share them I’ll jinx myself. Let’s just say, I’m getting enough positive reinforcement to propel my forward motion. That, plus, my husband and I will be going back to Costa Rica after the new year for ten weeks. Last year, I thought it was going to be hell. Now I know, it’s heaven. I hope to finish The King Family while I’m there, maybe even start on The Blue-Eyed Twin, my next book! (I am SO excited for The Blue-Eyed Twin!)

To Chuck and Betty: Thank you again. The good news about being co-presidents of my fan club is there’s no work involved. The bad news is there’s also no salary.

To the rest of you: If you hope to be next year’s president, you’ve got some stiff competition!

Hasta luego!

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Brand New Day, Brand New Week, Brand New Plan

Man, I love symbolism.
The sunrise from our balcony this morning challenged the sunsets from our Costa Rica home. Challenged, not beat. There is no ocean around here so it really wasn’t a fair fight.

So, last week… whew! Most of you who are reading this probably know I had a big week last week. With seven kids, and now two sons-in-law, we had a baby shower, then Thanksgiving, then a wedding, which was preceded by a rehearsal dinner and followed by a brunch. Didn’t have a moment to write, or even blog. But now, I’m back, with so much to say.

First and foremost, I’ve actually been asked to blog more often. It’s no fun to check a blog that hasn’t been updated! And, now that I know that this is more than a diary ~ people ARE reading it, I will do my best to write two or three times a week, minimum.

Plus, you can now comment on my posts! There’s a link at the bottom of each page for you to write back to me. [Ah, Karolyn, be careful what you wish for.] Remember to keep it clean, or I’ll delete you. (ha ha ha)

And speaking of my fans, the ones who requested I blog more often, I have big news for tomorrow’s post. Stay tuned…

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I Cannot Tell a Lie

The trouble with blogging comes from rereading old posts.

I know this doesn’t bode well for a novelist to say, but sometimes I find myself pathetically honest and honestly pathetic. Take yesterday’s post, for instance. Definitely falls under the Pathetic category. I couldn’t come up with anything else to do but movies, books, or TV?

For Pete’s sake, Karolyn, go for a walk, call a friend, clean out a damn closet.

Good news for you readers though: My books are not about myself, they’re about made up characters with made up problems and lives.

You will find them believable. Honest.

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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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I’m Obsessed!

There are SO MANY things about which I am obsessed. My husband can name them all, my kids and friends can name a few. I try to keep them quiet, which explains why I don’t blog more often: I’m obsessed with my obsessions.

My current obsession is the final (ha!) rewrite of my book, which has been renamed (again). Stick with me here. (There was also, briefly, a different new name, but we can skip that detail.)

More than two weeks ago, I mentioned I was going to an “Editors’ Intensive” Conference in Cincinnati for feedback on my book, then called That Changes Everything. I wrote that I would either be deeply depressed or enthusiastically rewriting when I got home. Either way, it’s not surprising that I haven’t written, is it? But I have not been fair to you faithful readers, not telling you what happened and how I’m doing. I am surprised (perhaps even a little hurt) that none of you have written or called to make sure I’m not leaning over the top of my nine-story condo working up the courage to jump. But it’s okay, faithful readers, the opposite is true.

My editor from the conference was very encouraging and helpful (not that I was expecting them to kill any writer’s dreams after they pay good money to attend their conference). I have been enthusiastically rewriting parts of my novel and, if I may be so bold, it’s so much better already. I am now ready to begin the lovely task of querying agents again. Specifically, she (Kelly Messerly from Writers’ Digest, a wonderful young woman) told me that my book was more sophisticated than the title, and that I would do it justice to come up with something that was more descriptive. So, the new (working) title is… Who Is Lily White?

And a hint, kind of like a special coupon for faithful followers: The title has a triple entendre. But you’ll have to read it to know what they all are.

You’ll be the first second to know when you can find it at your local Barnes & Noble.

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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.