Category: Writer

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Come Together

Ah, one of my favorite Beatles songs… When things come together, it’s like the sunrising, like hitting all green lights, like eating chocolate lava cake.

This week has been good for me, professionally. I came up with the perfect title for my WIP, Invented Lives. I finished editing the first draft of said novel, printed two copies, and today I will deliver them to my first beta readers.

I also updated my web site, came up with this image that would be perfect for the cover of my new novel (now she thinks she’s a graphic artist?), one that accurately portrays the feeling of the book. And, I’m listening to the Beatles.

Wait, I also just noticed it’s FRIDAY. Sweet.

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Conclusions, conclusions

Funny how timing works, isn’t it? A moment here, a minute there, and our whole lives could be different. Or, for instance, when people come into our lives and tell us something really valuable for where we are at that moment in time. How many snippets of advice have gone in one ear and out the other because the timing wasn’t right for us to hear it? How many people have we just missed meeting who might have become friends?

Yes, this is going somewhere.

Last week I had a phone consultation with Jenny Bent from the Bent Agency about my finished novel, On A Midnight Street. I’ve worked on it, off and on, for about 18 months. It’s complete and as polished as it’s ever going to be unless an agent/editor/publisher demands changes. (I should be so lucky.) After speaking with Jenny Bent, after she perfected my query letter, I was all charged up and decided I would send it out once more, to say 10 more agents.

Then I read a blog post by Allison Winn Scotch, about when to quit querying. I suddenly came to the conclusion that I was ready to move on because at this point, I couldn’t bear to do one more rewrite without the promise of publication. Even though my novel is “perfect”, even though my query letter is “perfect”, I’m movin’ on. I’ve written an 83,000-word first draft to my next book, Invented Lives, and that’s all I want to focus on now.

So, done. There it is. Close one book, open another. I am completely happy with this decision.
For now.

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It Comes As No Surprise

Yesterday I had a phone consultation with the fabulous Jenny Bent from the Bent Agency in Brooklyn. She told me I am a female with brown hair. Ok, not really, but what she did tell me should have been just as obvious.

I write Noir Fiction.
Why didn’t I know that? Once she said it, it was so obvious, and yet, I hadn’t latched on to that term. Better still, thanks to Wikipedia, I found out that one of my favorite authors, Patricia Highsmith (The Talented Mr. Ripley, Strangers on a Train, The Price of Salt) also falls in the category of Noir Fiction. As does Elmore Leonard, though somehow I’ve never read any of his books (seen the movies though, does that count? I didn’t think so.) I don’t know what this says about my personality, but that’s me… noir. I even dress in all black, too often! (Though I blame that on being a former art dealer & a fashion nerd.)
All right, off to write some black magic.
Any Elmore Leonard recommendations? Where do I begin?!

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Invented Lives

What’s a child without a name? (an orphan?) What’s a date without a name? (a one night stand?) What’s a town without a name? (a concert tour?) What’s a book without a name? (a work no one will read!)

My work in progress (WIP), here to date known as The King Family, now has an official title. Not unlike Kate Middleton, my novel has been christened: Invented Lives.

It’s perfect!

That is exactly what my novel is about, invented lives. In essence, it’s a family saga, and yet it is so much more. I have finished the first draft, which means I now begin my second draft, which means I’ll be looking for beta readers, which means I’ll soon be looking for agents, which means one day I’ll be published, and you will be able to read for yourself!

It’s moments like these that really charge my batteries. Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to edit I go!

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No More Reading?

Take me now, Lucifer!

Fire and brimstone; ridiculous action movies; The Simpsons (both the tv show and the sisters); lazy lounging people; obesity; ignorance; the end of the world… Ok, you get the picture.

Yesterday I got a taste of boredom, YES, boredom. And it was awful. Please refer to my post on 10/16/10.

My son, Elliott, has a saying: “The best movies come from books, but the best books would make bad movies.” His theory is that the best literature is quiet, slow to reveal itself, and wholly absent of car chases.

I have a saying: “Read books.” But maybe I should amend it to: “Take care of your eyes so you can always read books.”

Yesterday, after working on my upcoming novel (The King Family) for five hours, I had my annual eye exam. (I still don’t need reading glasses. Thank you, Mom.) But they had to dilate my eyes, which left me unable to read for the rest of the afternoon. And, on top of that, there were NO good new movies out yesterday. (Surely you know by now we’re big movie buffs, my husband and I.) I was dumbstruck. Thank the digital gods that my husband had two episodes of Law & Order recorded for us to watch, otherwise who knows what we would have done… certainly nothing I could report here.

Perhaps the Boys Scouts said it best: “Be prepared; buy books on tape.”

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Vacationally Challenged

VACATIONALLY CHALLENGED
An Essay by Karolyn Sherwood

When my husband asked me, “How would you like to spend two months in paradise?”  I said, “Define ‘paradise.’”

It’s the second time around for both of us, married for six years now, and before I met him I didn’t think true love really existed. It does. However, when it comes to the perfect vacation, he likes to relax on a sandy beach; I like museums and theater and energy. Just the mention of remote villages, hot sun, and high tide makes me start looking around for sunscreen and Free Wireless Internet signs. And sympathy. Few people understand my reluctance to leave our home in the upper-Midwest for two of the coldest months on record for a villa in Costa Rica that overlooks the Pacific Ocean.

My husband is older and wiser and retired. Together we have seven children, ages 19 to 29; now official empty-nesters. With record snowfalls across the country, it is the perfect winter to get away. And, being a writer, I can, theoretically and according to The Dream, write from anywhere. Writers long for the day they can sit perched on a mountain top, overlooking the deep blue sea as I am doing now. So, one might ask, what’s the problem? Go, relax, enjoy!

The problem is I don’t want to relax. I’m a city girl with goals and an agenda. Scratching through each entry on my To Do list makes me happy. And what about family, friends, kids? I will not have access to my omnipresent iPhone, my ancillary brain. Even if we can Skype occasionally, it won’t be the same. Writing, reading, working out, watching the stock market, lunching with friends…. I love my life no matter what the temperature is outside my door. Now I’m supposed to find time to learn Spanish and explore a new country?

My husband has a different perspective on life. He turns sixty this year, a milestone he never thought he’d see. Twenty years ago he was diagnosed with a rare, congenital disease. In 1995, he quit working and eventually sold his company. Now, each day is a gift he opens at sunrise, never to be taken for granted. Not a day goes by that we don’t laugh. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t tell me how much he loves me. Going to a third-world country for two months is the least I can do for him.

I admit I’m a bit high-strung. (Play laugh track from kids here.) It’s not that I want to be high maintenance, I just like what I like. And I don’t know how to say, “Just cover the grays,” in Spanish. So in my extra-large suitcase, I’ve packed a few sundresses, shorts, t-shirts, swimsuits, and flip-flops. No heals, no Prada, no diamonds. Instead, I have a box of hair color, sixty days worth of vitamins, basic pharmaceutical supplies, face products (Please, no wrinkles!), and a full-size Pilates mat with five workout videos. Four thick novels, two Spanish phrasebooks, my iPod, camera, various chargers, and most importantly, my laptop, and I am prepared for paradise.

When we board the plane, it’s two degrees outside, twelve below with wind chill; ninety-five and sunny when we land. My husband stretches his body, soaking in the warmth. I break out in a cold sweat, panicked that I might have forgotten my clinical-strength deodorant. It’s late, I’m tired, and culture shock begins swirling through my body like venom. Just as we find our car, a lizard slithers by my feet, and I jump onto the hood. The look in his eyes says, “Ah, you’ve arrived.”

The first week is a sneak peak into my personal hell: sunburn, heat rash, dripping sweat, three showers a day, dusty winds blowing hot air through the house. Tarantulas, scorpions, geckos, monkeys, and vultures surround our villa, and a few rudely invite themselves inside. Carved into the steep cliffs, the streets are so rough they put the average roller-coaster to shame. My husband thinks it’s heaven.

By the third week, I learn to navigate the potholes and that the geckos that scamper through my bedroom, down the walls, and into our kitchen are really our friends; they eat bugs, I’m told. I try to smile so they don’t realize I am more afraid of them than they are of me, the Giant. I take tree-top tours and natural mud baths and devour juicy ceviche sprinkled with just-picked mango while watching salmon-colored sunsets.

After a month, I finally start to relax. Once, I actually fell asleep on the beach for almost ten minutes. My new challenge is remembering what day of the week it is. (If it weren’t for my pill box, I’d really be lost.) Thankfully, this is the twenty-first century and our villa has Internet access so I’ve been able to keep in touch and even accomplish a few goals. I’ve learned to focus like never before. “Efficient work, efficient relaxation” is my new motto, leaving me more time to spend with my happy husband.

And so we sit on our balcony, enjoying the evening breeze, drinking club soda, suddenly the final week of our stay. My husband is contemplating life. I’m not quite that far down on my To Do list yet, but the good news is, having the perfect marriage means I get to choose the next vacation.  Paris anyone?

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A Fresh Start

After a ten week escape to Costa Rica, I have now been home for five days, trying to re-assimilate to my “real” life. Things are almost back to normal, piles of mail and magazines are under control, taxes are ready for my accountant, the refrigerator is full of my “normal” food (very different from my Costa Rican food).

But what I want is to get back to writing!
There are many events in life that necessitate a Fresh Start. Most of them aren’t good, but the fresh start usually is. For instance, after an injury or illness, getting back on a regular workout schedule feels great (at least for a while). Vacation may seem like heaven, but I like being productive so it feels good to get back to my desk. Perhaps a breakup or divorce might necessitate a fresh start. Or a new job, a new week, or even a new book. I guess that makes me an optimist.
I have said before, if you dread Monday mornings, change your life. Every Monday morning is a fresh start. I love Mondays, always have (For a mom with kids in school, it’s the beginning of a little peace and quiet!). Very soon I will be back on my writing schedule. I recently finished the first draft of my WIP. After being away from it for about two weeks, I cannot wait to see it with fresh eyes.

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My Third MFA

“Thank you, thank you. Thank you all for joining me here in Costa Rica to celebrate the completion of my third MFA in Fiction Writing. The past ten weeks have flown by, and it is now time for me to return to Iowa. But, yes, I’d be happy to say a few words about my experiences.

“I remember, oh so many years ago, I believe it was 2007; yes, I was 45 at the time. I bought myself my first MacBook, in fact the one I still use today. Oh, those were wild times, only one son left in high school, the rest all in college, and boy did I feel free. Take one hour a day, I told myself, to sit still and begin working on my first novel, Any Day Now. Eighteen months later, I sent my masterwork off to agents, only to discover, “I had no hook.” But I didn’t care what they said, I had just completed
My First MFA.

“In those 18 months, I learned how to sit still. I learned how to write dialogue. I learned about voice and the arc of a plot. Any Day Now was undoubtedly naive and autobiographical (I’m sure it will be requested for publication once I’m famous), but it was good practice. It fueled me on to bigger and better things! By the time I put that sweet novel to bed, I was 60 pages into my second book, On A Midnight Street. I was unstoppable, writing almost four hours a day.

“Oh, I knew I still had a lot to learn, so I read Hemingway, Salinger, Highsmith, Wroblewski, DeMille, Brown, Proulx, Wolfe, Franzen, and many more. But most importantly, I bought and read, cover to cover (at least the good parts), The Portable MFA in Creative Writing by the New York Writers Workshop. What a wealth of knowledge! Aha, My Second MFA.

“But this, my friends, My Third MFA, is without a doubt, the most important one of all. In the past ten weeks, while finishing the first draft of my third novel, The King Family, I learned about the business side of creative writing. Let me tell you, it’s intense! Writing is a long, slow, solitary process, but the publishing industry is quite the opposite. Yes, I know, anyone can publish a book these days, but only a few can reach the top; I want The New York Times Bestseller list. That is my holy grail.

“This valuable/invaluable, sea-level education, well worth the sweat and isolation of being in Costa Rica I might add, will undoubtedly help me reach my goal. I will now share with you the most important lessons I’ve learned while attending

The Costa Rican/Thank-Gore-for-the-Internet School of Writing:

1) Publishing is a business with tough competition. The goal is profit. Go hard or go home.
2) The Industry is small. Get your name out there, and play nice.
3) Since not everyone follows Rule #2, the Industry can be brutal. Be prepared.
4) Social Networking is not an option, that’s how you play the game.
5) Twitterati are real people, so are Facebook Fans. Be entertaining and be grateful.
6) The transition from “friends and family” as fans and followers to “strangers” as fans and followers is a good thing, unless they’re creepy, which they might be. Beware.
7) Goodreads, Shelf-Awareness, Writers Digest, Query Tracker, GalleyCat, Publishers Marketplace, NYT Books, Paris Review, Kirkus – okay, I can’t possibly name them all – plus every agent and every major author who has any sort of a web presence… You must read every word put online by each of them every single day, and still carve out 6 or 8 hours a day to write. Also read every book in your genre that’s ever been published. I cannot understate the importance of this.
8 ) No one is going to “happen upon” your web site and make you rich and famous. If you want to be rich and famous, you must do the work to make it happen. If you don’t promote yourself, “they” will find someone else who does. Self-promotion is vital, now more than ever.
9) There’s no such thing as an overnight sensation. Even “New Artist of the Year Awards” go to musical groups who’ve been performing for years. Published authors are not born, they’re made, and it can take years. Be patient.
10) Karma is real. You heard it here first.

“And so, my friends, in closing, to wrap up, with no further ado, here is the bottom line: The dictionary is available to all. Chose the best words; use them sparingly; do the work; then, maybe then, if you’re really lucky, you will dazzle and shine. And visit Costa Rica at least once in your lifetime.

“Adios, mis amigos. Adios, Costa Rica! Te quiero.”

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An Honest(y) Dilemma

Honesty is the best policy. Be true to yourself. Different strokes for different folks. The First Amendment gives us the right to say what we want.

As I write this entry into my blog, I honestly have a stomach ache because I’ve offended a fellow writer. (Guess I’ll never make it as a NYT book critic if I’m this much of a wimp.) I am a 48-year old mother of four, and a Libra (for whatever that’s worth). I’ve been called a “pleaser,” and I’m still not sure if that’s good or bad. The LAST thing I want to do is offend a person. That being said, I have my personal likes and opinions, as we all do. I also have a quick tongue and often regret what comes out of my mouth before I’ve considered how it will be heard. That’s one reason I’m a writer ~ I can edit and rewrite my words before I show them to people.

One of the supreme benefits of our world, at least and foremost in the United States, is that we are exposed to so much because of differing interests. I don’t go see horror movies, but they make millions of dollars off people who do. I don’t read Sci-Fi books nor books about vampires (although I did read the Twilight series to see what all the rage was about ~ and I read all four books because Stephenie Meyer has a knack for plot and making readers (me) sympathize with Bella). I prefer crime dramas on TV to sitcoms like “The Office”. I prefer mysteries and literature to Chick-Lit. But that’s my prerogative; that’s what our world is about.

However, social media is ubiquitous, and the impact and transparency of social media is game-changing.

My point is, I recently read Sara J. Henry’s debut novel, Learning To Swim. In my review on Goodreads, I called her book “a page-turner”, a “strong debut novel”, and said that she “did an excellent job at keeping the reader guessing “Whodunit?”, and I finished with “I thoroughly enjoyed the story”. However, I also said that “I found her fundamentals (i.e. syntax and vocabulary) to be rather elementary”. Unfortunately, it was this comment that apparently stuck out in Ms. Henry’s mind. I hereby and whole-heartedly apologize for offending Ms. Henry.

I am a writer, not yet “an author”. I have not yet had my fiction work published. I do not hold an MFA in English or Literature. Some people would say that I shouldn’t be able to critique work in a public forum without those credentials. Some would say that if I do, my critique should be dismissed. However, I am a voracious reader, and I have opinions. I have written two and a half novels (the first I shelved because I realized it was naive at best). The second I have submitted to agents, and gotten some nibbles but no representation yet, so I have rewritten and revised upon the feedback I’ve gotten from agents. My mother loved it (yeah, I know, but she does have a Ph.D. in Higher Education), another Ph.D professor of English at Ole Miss, Dr. Colby Kullman, had very high praise for it including “suspenseful”, the “characters come alive”, and it “by far surpasses any of their MFA’s first novels” ~ enough praise to keep me going through multiple agent rejections. Ironically, my own father “did not like it.” He told me that in person. He said it was “too raw” for his taste. (Perhaps I should have advised him that my bisexual, drug-using, unfaithful female character was in no way autobiographical before I gave it to him.) But enough about me.

In the world of the Internet, Twitter, Goodreads, etc., when a person puts their opinion online, it’s very likely that someone will either disagree or be offended. It happens everyday. I am sure that when my work (either my current book or a future one) is published, it and/or I will be criticized. I am under no illusion that everyone will like it in part or in whole. But that is “a supreme benefit” of living in America. I have to be willing to risk being hurt if I put my work out there.

Before writing full-time, I was an art dealer. I saw a lot of beautiful work, and a lot of ugly work. I, of course, only represented work that I thought was great art. Again, I have my opinion on what is “great art.” I was never a fan of Robert Rauschenberg, though he’s considered one of the greatest artists of the Twentieth Century. I also didn’t like A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan for the same reason I don’t like Rauschenberg: I thought their “ground-breaking originality” was gimmicky. Rauschenberg famously added “found objects” in his work (in the mid-50s put a taxidermied chicken in/on one work). Egan did an entire chapter in Power Point. I understand the “Power of the New”, but I don’t have to love gimmicks. Meanwhile, Egan and Rauschenberg (the latter posthumously) have laughed all the way to the bank, as they say.

As for Ms. Henry, I honestly enjoyed her novel, and look forward to the sequel. It’s just that when I compare her debut novel to Thomas Wolfe’s Look Homeward, Angel, and Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day (the other two books I am currently reading), I find her fundamentals to be “elementary”. “Straightforward” or “undemanding” might have better choices. Perhaps it is wildly unfair to compare a debut novelist to some of the great writers on their masterworks. “Nothing is good or bad except by comparison.” I should be so lucky as to have a debut novel out there for people to critique.

Again, Ms. Henry, my apologies. I hope that everyone who reads this will buy your book and you will make lots of money off the controversy!

The flip side of the coin, one I will try to remember for the future: “The less said is the best said.”

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It’s for Appearances’ Sake, Dear

Ah, vacation mentality: When you read books you wouldn’t normally read; wear clothes you wouldn’t normally wear; drink drinks you wouldn’t normally drink.

A few weeks ago my husband and I went to Panamá. The first two nights we stayed in Bocas del Toro in a jungle tree house, yes, with geckos, spiders, and toucans. Then we flew to Panamá City and stayed at the Intercontinental Hotel, with 25 floors, marble entryway, and hot water. Well a funny thing happened when we arrived…

My husband went to check in, and I went to ask the concierge for a dinner reservation. We were hot and tired and it had been a long day getting there, but we were on vacation so it was okay as long as we had a nice dinner to look forward to. Ernesto was happy to help. “La Posta,” he said. “Bery good food. You lub it.” My husband came over and sat beside me, and I told him we had a reservation in one hour at a great restaurant. “We’re lucky to get in,” I said. “What kind of food do they serve?” he asked. “Good food,” I replied. Well, this hotel was full of business people dressed in suits and carrying briefcases, the polar opposite of our former tree house, and we were dressed in shorts. But we didn’t care, we were on vacation! So my husband asks Ernesto, “Can I wear shorts? That’s all I brought with me.” “Oh, no, señor. Not to La Posta.” So we thanked Ernesto for getting us in, but suggested he find us another restaurant. “I call them,” he said, “to cancel.” Okay, so my Spanish isn’t very good, but I did overhear Ernesto telling the hostess our problem. He said very loudly, “El hombre – tiene – no los pantalones!” My husband asked me to translate. “The man – has – no pants!” My husband turned red (not sure if it was anger or embarrassment). This had never happened to him before. You see, for the past 40 years, my husband has owned a chain of clothing stores. He sells pants!
(Fortunately, La Posta let us come anyway, happy to take our money.)

Here in Costa Rica, we live in a tiny beach town. We wear shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops every day. It’s fine because no one really knows us and we have no one to impress. In Des Moines, we work there, we’re on boards, we know people, we must keep up appearances! We wear real clothes, and we shower BEFORE we go out. (Here you shower when you get home because of the 95 degree heat.) But the people who live here in Costa Rica year round, the ones who work here and know people here, they wear real clothes and the women even wear makeup! The way people dress is acutely tied to the image they want to impart—everywhere.

So this got me thinking. As a writer, when my “value” comes from my words, from my brain, I should not be judged by my shoes, my clothes, or my purse. It shouldn’t matter what I wear. How liberating! But that’s not the way the civilized world works. We do judge people by their appearances (at least at first), and we do judge books by their covers. I wonder how many books lie in anguish on the shelves at Barnes & Noble because their covers are not enticing? I wonder how many people get overlooked because their appearance fails to impress.

Certainly there are exceptions. Bravo for those brave enough to be themselves at all times and let the world figure out how wonderful they are the hard way – by LISTENING to or READING or WATCHING – their skills. And what about when actors like Brad Pitt grow nasty beards in feeble attempts to downplay their natural good looks, or when Charlize Theron and Halle Berry make themselves look ugly to play certain roles? THAT is when they win Oscars.

Aha! It shouldn’t matter what’s on the outside ~ we’ve all heard the cliché… But, it does to a degree. Therefore, when I get home, I’ll wear makeup again, and high heels. And when my book is published, I will care very much what the cover looks like.

Meanwhile, I’ll write the best book possible so it can live up to it’s appearance.