writing

Draft #whatever is done, on to other things

Chyo has my book on her Kindle and she’s killing me by either not reading it or waiting to tell me what she thinks. Regardless, I’m not sending it to XO Man until I hear from her. That book has wrecked me, but I feel it’s over–at least for now so I’m off to write other things–including this blog post which is a week late–mia culpa. I was in an editing/polishing zone and I really couldn’t break free until just the other day.

Everything was left to slide, including the garden. Yesterday, I spent most of the day out there and was pleasantly surprised that the minor love I’ve been giving it is paying off–the weeds aren’t out of control and the slugs haven’t devoured my pepper plants as of yet. I hate those slugs. They have an entire yard to graze upon but year after year they hunger for my poor peppers.

The irises have come and gone, but today, two of the peonies were in bloom. Here’s one:

The baby pines either thrived or died. I don’t know, it was bad timing when those saplings arrived. I’m grateful my brother-in-law was here that weekend to help with the planting. This one is the best looker of the remaining bunch:

And the wisteria is beginning to bloom:

Otherwise, it’s a hot sticky day and the last of the plants in the greenhouse were taken outside so I’ll probably clean that room, maybe finish Gina Miani’s Avalon, get further into Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch. Hell, I might even start a story for The Molotov Cocktail Monster Flash contest. Maybe I’ll even paint.

Thanks for checking in!

(*These are my Creekside Reflections. Your experiences may vary.)

Some good things about April.

If you’re looking for good news, I have quite a bit this go around. On April 8^th, I received word that “The Girl Who Loved God” was accepted at Ruthless Peoples Magazine. It was posted on the 10^th and I am thrilled! Dominic Hamer was the greatest editor to work with. Please do check this story out if you haven’t already. It’s one of my favorites.

On the 12^th, I received word that the first 15 pages of my latest novel won third place in the Houston Writers’ Guild’s Genre Contest. I was up until after 3:00 a.m. last night working on it so I do hope to get that polished, corrected, and submitted before this is old news. So far, XO man does not appear in it, which I’m grateful for, though I couldn’t help myself and put in an inside joke: The water in the vase was gone, leaving the rose petals so dry they were crunchy. Yes, that would take far too long to explain.

I also found out that two of my poems that were accepted for the first issue of Wicked Banshee Press went live. You have to scroll about 4/5 of the way down to read them. (Sorry!) The titles are “My First Big Break” and “Some Mothers.” Many thanks to SaraEve, Jennifer E. Hudgens, and Michelle Nimmeo

Otherwise, the crocuses are in bloom, the daffodils are preparing for their opening and I’ve seen tulip leaves. I really do like spring.

Well, now I’m off to read Mary’s new opening pages, then work on my own.

Thank you for stopping by!

(These are just my Creekside reflections. Your experiences may vary.)

If I Have To Say Something

I occasionally fear I can make things happen by writing about them. At one of the novel critique meetings, Mary shared a similar thought. She’d written a story about someone needing to move and they unpacked the boxes before the people helping with the move could return to take away the next batch of boxes. It was eerie for her when a relative of hers did that in real life.

Recently, I thought it would be okay to write about a main character losing her mother since mine was already gone. I now think I’ll only write about attractive, wealthy, and attentive men who love me and want to console me about my grandmother and swear that my writing had nothing to do with it.

I’m not saying my grandmother was like a mother to me; she was more like a great friend who believed in me, wanted me to be my best, and always had my back. When I was little, she had me walk with dictionaries balanced on my head so I’d have poise and good posture. I brushed my teeth because she said they were important and you didn’t want to lose them. The biggest thing I learned was that life goes on and she taught that by example.

She didn’t know how to drive. When my grandfather died, she took driver ed and she got her license when she was 54–don’t hold me to that, she might have been a bit younger–but not by much. That amazes me, her being that old and deciding that was what needed to be done, then doing it. After that, she went out and got jobs, first at a cookie factory, then at Champion. She worked there for years and retired not because it was her choice, but because it was a company policy.

If she was ever in pain, I don’t think I ever saw it–except for the very end, and I wonder if that in part was just letting out all the hurt that must have been inside. I was not a perfect grandchild. She never said anything, but I know I disappointed her, and I am sorry about that. Constant friends, her brother, her parents, her youngest daughter, my dog that she adored all passed away while she remained–strong, standing, putting another load of laundry on the line, making another grocery list, calling Wes to fix the water pipe that burst and was spraying on the electric panel. I remember seeing her the day after that happened. Something that would have had me cowering in fear of floods and fire for weeks, she shrugged off and didn’t think was worth mentioning. The crisis was over; she’d moved on.

I don’t think of her as gone, someone that resilient has the power to remain in those she touched. I may not be able to call her and tell her I just got published in a magazine or show her that some check was for some words that I wrote. I may not be able to hear her when an episode of I Love Lucy comes on and some silliness makes her laugh. I may not knock on the backroom door and open it to the smell of her rolls, or cookies or roast beef ever again. There won’t be any more hugs or kisses from her, but I’m all right with that. I’m blessed to have had as many as I did when she was alive.

I brought her flowers when I visited because even though she said I didn’t have to do that, I’d get a note or phone call saying that they were so pretty and a thank you. So, let me say thank you for reading this, whenever you happen across it, whether you knew my grandmother or not. I hope you have an amazing person like her in your life, and if you don’t maybe that’s because you’re the amazing one and you just aren’t aware of how other people perceive you. The world is a strange and wonderful place; spring is here; fantastic, good things happen every day and now that I’ve written that, maybe it will be true. I’ll let you know how I make out with my new rich, handsome boyfriends.

(These are just my creekside reflections. Your experiences may vary.)

It’s Not Cabin Fever Exactly… It’s More Like Cabin Anxiety

This past Monday, I attended the novel critique group meeting at Gina’s. I’ve never worked this way, handing over twenty–now up to 25 pages–at a time. As I’m revising “The Life and…” I’m realizing I really have to slow down the pace. The recent installment included an added scene I thought I’d get slammed on, but they seemed to enjoy it–Mary said it felt like I’d nailed the voice. I’m glad of this, as I felt I had lost it and that’s why I had to take it back a few pages so events I’d glided through in the rough draft could be strengthened. I think the end result will be tighter, but I’m only a quarter of the way there. I know, I said I’d send out agent queries for Ellie’s Elephants, and I did get two out after the ambiguous “this doesn’t sound like a form rejection, but I don’t know how to respond either” response from Sobel. Meeting new people is hard enough. Needing to introduce myself and say, “Please, like what I write, too”…that makes me anxious.

So, I had enough “when I” and put brush to canvas. It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever made, and I’m nowhere close to finishing it, put it’s a start. It felt good to mix colors and paint. The longer I was painting, the more that came back to me–including the fact that you can’t finish a painting in one sitting. Well, the one guy could, but I’m not him nor do I have my own show on PBS.

Speaking of that realm…WBFO, my local NPR station is doing an extra pledge week. OMG, enough. Here’s the thing, I love their work, the coverage, etc. However, they are on there telling me if I don’t pledge, my favorite shows will disappear. How many years and how much money have proved that to be a lie? Everything was great until Mark Scott retired. The resulting crapola version of a program lineup disgusts me. Why this station pays for programs that are great but plays them when no one listens and plays boring shows when people are tuned in is just stupid. There was a time when pledge week ended early. The reason for that was simple. They had there shit together; now it’s not worth it. If you also tell me how I have to pay to keep the programs I want to stay on the air, I will recite the ones they dropped when I sent them a few bucks and when I say I, I mean Husband. Whoever is in charge of programming is clueless, or trying his best to kill off this station and the rapid decline in listenablity has me thinking it’s the latter. WBFO, please, hear this and fix it. The person in charge of programming needs to go.

Otherwise, I’m excitedly looking forward to the 15^th when I get to do my first official reading. It will be at the West Falls-Colden Library where I volunteer, so I’ll have the home field advantage. I find it a bit strange that they have a signup sheet for it. I mean, that makes sense if it’s a card making class, but a reading? Gary Earl Ross will be there as well as Susan Solomon, George Morse, and Lou Rera. We will be reading from Queen City Flash at 1:00-3:00 on Saturday 15^th if you’re up for it. Jeff Schober did a reading there on the 1^st while I was working. It was good to see him again. Boneshaker is a follow up to Broken and Profane and he’s working on two more in the series.

Anyway, I’ve had a few “close calls” on acceptances. I was told one piece made it to the final round of cuts. They only take four stories per issue, so I guess I made their top five or top eight, which is nice, but I then sent that piece to another venue where it didn’t make it past the first cut. *Sigh.* I also got INK!!!! from The Sun. They held it for 8 months, so I’m considering that something. I sent that story to two places yesterday. I don’t know what it is. It’s gotten so many “almosts” but that just makes it more frustrating that it hasn’t found a home yet. I know, I’ve heard the stories yet those don’t make the personal rejections any less disappointing.

So, enough of this ranting about the problems I have because I love them all, including the fact that there’s more snow and I can’t wait to go for a walk in the woods, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon. Ah well…

(These are my Creekside Reflections. Your experiences may vary.)

Critiquing, reading, and the first snow

Husband is driving me insane at the moment. I went to my novel critique group tonight and by the time I got home, he either developed a urinary tract infection or some man peeing problem. If that’s too much for you, imagine how I feel. I can’t do a thing to help him and I’m annoyed. I thought I’d have a few minutes to look over the notes from tonight and let them inform my re-write and/or my next twenty pages I need to have sent to the group by the 17^th of December. Instead, he’s up, down, in the bathroom, drinking water…poor thing.

So, other than that…I’m behind in my NaNoWriMo word count, hence writing this blog post the night before I post it. With a bit of luck, I’ll be able to get up early tomorrow and write enough words to get where I need to be if I’m going to “win” this thing.

Oh good, Husband listened to me, put a bathrobe on and that “fixed” his problem. Marriage is an interesting concept. I can’t imagine what he’d write about me if he had a blog. Probably how I am the bitch who brings in wood, keeps the fire going, the dishes washed, the laundry taken care of, meals prepared. Yeah. It’s worth noting that he is the most awesome guy and he fixes all the broken appliances, cleans the chimney, builds me things, plows the driveway. We take care of each other out of love, concern, and respect.

But some days…I bet we’re both ready to kill each other and make it look like an “accident.”

I got slammed with three rejections on Monday, by mail, email, and Submittable, oh yeah. Trifecta from hell. My reaction? I sent out four submissions on Wednesday and I plan to get out another four by the end of Thursday. *Sigh.*

Being a writer is a crazy. It’s gumption and sauce, talent and desire, and in the end so sad. I mean it is insane that some critically acclaimed writers had success but ended up offing themselves while mediocre ones are eating up people’s time and money. I know it’s always been this way, but as I get closer to being a “product,” the more I wonder about the parameters and which one I want to be…loved while I’m here or after I’m gone.

Yes, I do love the problems I have. And where I live.

Thanks for checking in.

(These are just my Creekside Reflections. Your experiences may vary)

Happiness is a Warm Pen

Or laptop. So, hello. I just reached 12125 words in NaNoWriMo this morning. Last night I was working on a synopsis for the novel I wrote during NaNo 2010. I’ve since rewritten it and polished it and it’s been seen by so many first readers–all of whom I appreciate for their help: Chyo, Natalie Condor, Betty Brown, Teresa Tucker, Shirley Reeves, Jim Wood, and Dr. Scott Greene. Each one of you has helped me get the manuscript to here–where an Agent has requested to see thefifty pages. I’m so excited! THANK YOU ALL!!!

And if my mind has forgotten a reader, please let me know so I can add you. All I’ve been doing is reading and writing lately, so it’s possible I’ve forgotten someone. I was asked to join a novel critique group and as I’m joining later in the process, I had eighty pages of their work to read before they sent the new 20 pages for critiquing. Yeah, that’s quite a few words to cover in addition to the stories that have been submitted to r.kv.r.y.

Never before has “writing is my life” been more true. I’m off to post this then talk to Chyo about tweaking the synopsis to Ellie’s Elephants. Then I’ll reread the first fifty pages, print it out and tonight, my Aunt is in Hawaii for a Sweet Adeline’s competition that’s being broadcast at 11:55 p.m. Tomorrow night is Jeff Schober’s book launch at Danny’s South for Boneshaker and Saturday is my normal shift at the West Falls-Colden Community Library.

I am immersed in literature and I love it.

(These are just my Creekside reflections. Your experiences may vary.)

Blaming the Rain

Taking Alex’s advice, I am doing what I can do…

This is a picture of the creek I live by. The house is to the right.

The iris bloomed last week.

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The tomato and pepper plants are in the garden.

This is the interior of the portico with the wisteria growing up the side.

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I saw these blooming outside the hallway window last night.

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Due to the way the creek changed this year, we have a swimming hole.

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The peonies started to bloom this week.

Besides the political nonsense and the environmental destruction, I’ve had a lot of disappointment with my so called writing career recently. I knew there were going to be days (weeks) like this, but that doesn’t make them pass any faster or lessen the sadness, so I’m posting pictures of the things that I’m grateful for, besides my tremendous friends, family, Husband and colleagues. I truly am grateful. I’m just having a bad few weeks and I know, I need to get back to writing, submitting and repeating and I will. It’s just hard to find the desire right now.

I’m blaming the rain.

My dreams haven’t been helping with the sadness. “Dexter” was my boyfriend in one. I’d cheated on him and he wasn’t going to kill me, he was just going to torture me. I’ve never woken up more fearful, disturbed, and upset than after that dream.

I don’t know what to blame for that one.

(*These are just my Creekside Reflections. Your outlook on life may vary.)

Big Projects, Little Pretty Flowers

I usually don’t talk about works in progress, especially the big ones. The genesis of the latest is what perplexes me and drives me forward. I’d been on the fence about joining Camp NaNo when I got a snotty letter from another writer who was pissed that I didn’t answer his questions about my “process” in the manner he was accustomed to being answered or something. I don’t know. In the midst of his bitch, he gave me an insight which I pondered. He said: To my eye, some of your best writing has been in your letters, talking about your past and your personal life. Discuss.

He went on to suggest that I write a book in the first person with the main character having adventures similar to the ones I’ve described to him. Thing is, I’m doing that and it’s taking me to some fearsome places.*Sigh* Christ. I’d rather kiss people with purple splotches and stop writing, but this story is intriguing the hell out of me. I know–I think–how it will end, but the ride is so fun so far I don‘t want it to end. I’m not used to that. When I’ve written novels before, I knew the end and wanted to get there already, but this time, not so much…

I missed taking photos of the first flowers, but I took these to prove I leave the house and think of things other than writing:

Warm, but cool, contemplative, intense but not over powering was what I wanted for the color of the living room wall. I’ve searched, swatched, sampled and waited. I think I found “the” color. Here are a few shots of the bookshelf being denuded of books, my minions, the hell of the hell I’m going to be going through while the books are packed up and windows are changed out and the painters arrive and, well, isn’t that what life is all about? Constant change. I’m nervous about this. What if it’s the wrong color? I’ll be stuck with it for years! So I may not like it. I’ll just keep going on, like I do with submitting. I lose contests and get rejected, but still, I go on. So far

I don’t have pictures of them, but I have a new “amuse me” shoes. With a carpenter for a husband, it’s not safe to walk around in this house without shoes. Therefore I now have these special sneakers that I can match my outfit to by trading out the side colors. I’ve never felt more nerdy/pathetic/coordinated/smart in my life. See you next month when I’m hoping the mayhem in the living room has settled down.

(*These are just my creekside reflections. Your experiences may vary.)

Writing so much, I’ll have to catch up on people later…

National Novel Writing Month is over. I wrote 50,000 words, but I certainly don’t have a book. It’s such a mess, and a few short stories ended up in there because they refused to not be written when I sat down to write. I also lost five pounds and can see a difference.

I’ve dabbled with pilates for years now, but for NaNo, I committed to an hour of pilates before I wrote each day. I missed a few days, but otherwise, it felt great. After concentrating on my movements and breath for an hour, the writing fell into place easier than it has in a long time. I blame the messiness of this latest NaNo book on not committing to a single story, as I have in the past. I had two stories that were started but needed more space than 5,000 words, so I thought I’d stretch them both out and add a third to form a “book” of three novellas.

Wrong.

Stupidly, I began to believe that the two stories I had and the new one I came up with could be woven together into a book of three stories entwined. That’s where things went wrong. I started bringing things in to “join” them that other details no longer made sense, and, well, I did mention it was a mess, didn’t I?

Off of NaNo sent me into submission madness. Between 30 November and 3 December, I sent out 22 things–only two of which are simultaneous subs–the rest are individual stories that still haven’t found homes.

The discipline of NaNo is something I adore. I know I tend to let things slide afterwards, but this week, I’ve put in 1000 words each day on each of the “First Lines” for 2013. I wrapped it up today and will let it sit for a week. The tragedy in Kansas City gave me the end for a story I started in June but abandoned because while I had pushed myself, I needed distance to see where it ended, Sadly, now I know.

I also feel like a moronic idiot because I probably blew every chance I had with the agent that contacted me. Instead of saying, hey thanks, but I was about to do another rewrite with a new first chapter, do you mind waiting a bit, I didn’t. I sent the query letter I had and the first ten pages and *sigh* she hasn’t gotten back to me…Ah well. I knew better than to get my hopes up so I didn’t. Well, a little, I did, but NaNo helped block out a lot of thoughts and feeling I could have dwelled upon.

What I did get was a note from the woman running the Buffalo News Short Story contest saying they would select the winner and notify them during the week of 10 December. I only mention this because I’ve entered before and never heard anything from them at all. At least this time I know they received my entry.

So, thanks for checking in. I have more writing to do, including the holiday letter which I’m finding it difficult to write because there is no snow. I live on the other side of the hill where there is a ski lodge. It’s near Buffalo. It’s December. It’s just not right.

[Ha! I just opened last blog entry file to copy the tagline and found the essay I started. Funny! Even more writing to complete!]

(*These are just my Creekside Reflections. Your experience may vary.)

NaNo is Not to Blame. NaNo is Awesome. NaNo is the Answer to November

Apologies to Alex, and anyone else stopping by here. (Mega Thank yous, by the way, for checking in…) My non-problem is thus: I had an awesome day and writing about it is turning into a viable essay. Without trying, I’m already 771 words in… Did I mention that you look pretty today? Oh, you’re so handsome, too.

My post was going to be late and now it is something else entirely.

Forgiveness on your part would be nice.

In the meantime, google cute cat videos and it should all be good eventually.

(*These are just my future Creekside Reflections. Your experience may have varied by then.)