One Little Elephant

This morning another rejection arrived in my email. Form letter. I wanted a Dr. Pepper so badly I could have screamed.

But learning to handle rejection is part of this process of transformation from housewife to novelist. So I sat down and calmly helped my son fill out his class requests for next fall, then went into the bathroom and was sick. Yep. I'm good at appearing calm on the outside when I'm hurting on the inside. So good, that I can often fool even myself. But I can never fool my gut.

Time to step up to the roulette wheel and spin again. So tomorrow I'll put together a list of targeted agents and/or publishing houses. Shall we see which happens first: 100 rejections or an offer for publication?

Place your bets, ladies and gents.


Something that's helping me write today: belief in myself and a willingness to be gut-sick as many times as it takes.

It's been a week without TV. The blare of that obnoxious little box has been replaced by better stuff: joking with my teens, luxurious dips into my to-be-read pile, a better organized office, a cleaner house, and a dawning awareness of the possibilities pregnant in time that isn't filled with mind-numbing distractions.

It's also been a week without sodas and the worst of the withdrawal is past. I still want, want, want. But I'm learning to live without. The bouts of sugar-high/sugar-low, false-energy/crippling-fatigue are being replaced by a steadier sense of well-being, the ability to concentrate and see tasks through.

With the internet off limits during the day, there's also been substantial improvement in my writing productivity.

Positive stuff, right? So why did I title this post discouragement?

Because I've been wandering the net (before 9:30 am and after 3:30 pm, of course) getting a feel for how one creates a presence on the web. I've viewed author blogs and websites. I've looked at writer facebook pages and read their twitter tweets. I've listened to interviews and peered with search engines into the comings and goings of bestsellers, mid-listers, and debut authors.

And I am overwhelmed. And discouraged.

Everywhere I see writers with clever blogs, uber professional websites, search list results that go on for pages, and tweet activity to rival a rainforest canopy. I feel like a barefoot hillbilly among all the sophisticated, visually stunning, and intimidatingly prolific marketing.

Something that's helping me write today: a clean, well-organized office and this quote from page 325 of Martha Beck's book Finding Your Own North Star:

"I believe with all my heart that if a thing is worth doing, it's worth doing badly...If you're going through a major transition, your hero's saga is absolutely certain to include unfamiliar situations and new skills. The first few times you try any of these...you're probably going to do it badly. Terrific!...being willing to make a mess is a prerequesite to gaining new skills."

My rules for writing:

It's okay to be obssessive.

Don't forget to eat breakfast because if you're having a good writing day you won't remember to eat lunch.

It's okay to be obssessive.

Make sure you like what you write and accept with good grace that you may be the only person who does.

It's okay to be obssessive.

Don't forget to feed the dogs and the children.

It's okay to be obssessive.

If you're going to be obsessive, learn to spell it correctly.

It's okay to be obsessive.

Something that's helping me write today: the dictionary.

"That's all you got?"
"Yep, today that's all I've got."

Commenter Gina asks: What are the fifteen failings you identified for Lent?

Well, I'm not quite ready to lay bare my entire soul on the net, but the three of the fifteen I chose to work on this Lent are dependence on tv, unnecessary web surfing, and my soda pop addiction.

Relinquishing daytime websurfing and email checking

Very difficult. Disconnected the internet and hung the cord on a ladder-only-accessable curtain rod to reduce temptation. Day one was a hard day. But in the last three days I've editted 10 chapters, written two new scenes, identified and solved a timeline problem within my novel, done a ton of laundry, and had a hot meal waiting for the family in a clean kitchen every day when they got home. I feel so encouraged today I was thrilled to throw that cord over the curtain rod at 9:30 am.

Eschewing TV

We don't do tv before 3 pm (a gift of a Lent a dozen years past), so I didn't even notice it was missing during the day. But in the evening I NOTICED. For the last several years I'd taken to turning on the TV for the evening news and letting it run until bedtime. I rarely just sat and watched it. Instead I used it as background noise for couch potato activities like reading, playing free cell, net surfing, etc. Sounds harmless, right? It's not. In just the three days since we turned it off I've experienced the desire to attend meetings, Jazzercise, walk the dogs, and spend considerably more time interacting with the kids. Amazing how removing a vice allows good things to rush in to fill the void.

Surrendering the Dr. Pepper

I'm in withdrawal!!!! Though I admit I eased the symptoms considerably by giving up most things containing High Fructose Corn Syrup at New Year. I've been drinking real sugar Dr. Pepper for the most part since then, so I'd already gotten through the worst of the withdrawal headache in January - three days of blistering pain. I've also eased the digestive withdrawal symptoms enormously by drinking lots and lots of water. And since exposure to refined sugar or sugar water (like fruit juices) increases my cravings for soda pop, I'm substituting real fruit for juice and avoiding refined sugars - adding a virtue to combat the vice.

That's where it's at for now. Now it's time to write novels, so I'm off the net.


Something that's helping me write today: Lent

Today Christians around the world (New Orleans, Rio de Janeiro, Rome, Sydney) will feast and frolic, imbibe and indulge. Tomorrow Lent begins. I confess Lent is one of my favorite times of the year. It's a life boat of hope in my personal sea of hedonism.

The promises made to put aside vices and embrace virtues at New Year are made to self. And those blessed with strong self-discipline probably have great success with New Year resolutions. But those of us born with self-discipline the size of a housefly, and just as easily led astray with a little sugar water, don't find New Year resolutions nearly as productive.

Promises made only to myself aren't enough to keep me 'resolved'. I require more. Apparently I require a promise be made directly to the Alpha Omega of the Entire Universe before I consider it sufficiently binding.

So Thank God for Lent! Literally.

Lent is a time of penance, of suffering offered in repentance of sin. For me, giving up fast food binges, pointless net surfing, and couch potato comas isn't easy. But there's also joy in the release from vice, a swell of hope that turns into a tidal wave of well-being as the weeks progress. And, despite post-Lenten backsliding, there's always long term improvement, some degree of permanent relinquishing of vice.

Last night I attempted to list my failings. I managed to jot 15 items before being distracted by junk food and tv. Five of those 15 were things that directly impact my ability to write novels. The remaining 10 impact my ability to keep writing novels well into old age. Today I'll select a few of those 15 vices to relinquish for Lent.

How about you? Do you have vices that are keeping you from reaching your goals? What are you doing to clear your path to success?

Something that's helping me write today: This quote from Scott Reed: This one step - choosing a goal and sticking to it - changes everything.

I wrote scene #1 of A Zombie Romance in minutes. The only editting required was the deletion of a few extraneous adjectives and adverbs and some punctuation tweaks. That week, I could write anything (or believed I could) brain to paper, and like the result. It was heaven. The following week was very different.

I'm not inclined to believe in muses. At least not when writing is easy. But when it isn't, blaming a muse has appeal.

Getting scene #2 of A Zombie Romance down was a hair pulling experience. I wrote more than 4000 words to get the 500 I ended up with and I'm still not satisfied with those. I ran down one rabbit hole after another, couldn't turn around and was forced to back out. I finally had to just post it and forget it. It's a bit of fun after all and I needed to get back to real work.

Unfortunately last week, my muse, if there be one, was no more interested in real work than she was in a bit of fun. *sigh*

How about you? Do you have a muse? Is she faithful or fickle?


Something that's helping me write today: the courage to fail inspired by this quote from Will Rogers: "If you hit the bull's eye every time, you're standing too close to the target."

Matilda sat forward on the bench and pried one swollen eye wide. The fake nails she'd paid a day's wages for at Pam's Polish Palace just that afternoon stabbed into tender flesh and she winced. Owning a detective agency was not nearly as simple as the instructor at Parson's Junior College had led her to believe. If she had the sense of a rock she'd return Mrs. Hasselburg's money and head straight to the nearest hospital. But she couldn’t continue waiting tables at Joe's Hole-in-the-Wall forever and it'd taken months to land this first case. So despite the fact that the obscenely wealthy Mrs. William Hassleburg the Third had offered her the insulting fee of twenty dollars to spy on, er, investigate her son, Mr. William Hasselburg the Fourth, Matilda was determined to give the woman her money's worth.

She straightened her spine. The Waltzing Matilda Agency had a reputation to uphold, or hopefully would after tonight. And thanks to the fact she'd had the good sense to refuse the tiny clutch Judy had insisted would complete her outfit, she'd fished an antihistamine from her gray detective’s tote as soon as the bee stung her. Well, at least as soon as she’d managed to climb out of the ditch her ancient VW bug had ended in when she'd panicked at the discovery of her tiny passenger. The instructor at PJC had been right. A well supplied detective’s tote was invaluable.

Matilda forced her eye open wide and inspected her clothing through a watery haze. The yellow light of the street lamp reflected dully off the clear plastic cleaner’s bag she’d cut arm holes in earlier and donned caftan-fashion to protect her sister’s expensive designer gown from a ride in the VW bug. The bag seemed whole. Matilda released a breath, reassured the gown still shimmered in pristine pink perfection beneath the plastic. Then she squinted in the direction of her feet. Though she couldn’t see them clearly, Judy's Prada heels were probably in similarly excellent condition. Matilda had removed them before setting a foot out of the car, perferring to hobble barefoot through rocks, burrs and potential snakes rather than face Judy's fashionista wrath. Once she'd climbed up onto the road she’d put them back on, but the four block walk to this bus stop couldn’t have harmed them much. Too bad Matilda couldn't say the same for her toes. Judy's shoe size, like the rest of Judy, was a good deal narrower than made Matilda comfortable.

“Lovely night for a stroll alone in the dark.” The man’s voice was oddly high, yet a man’s voice just the same.

Matilda’s head whipped around in the direction of the street lamp. Her fake nails dug deeper into her eyelid as she searched for the source of the voice. But the dull yellow pool of light beneath the street lamp was empty.

“The cemetery is just a block over. There are three new graves this week. The smell of fresh turned earth alone is worth the walk.”

Matilda’s heart pounded. The voice was clearly coming from the street lamp. But even with her limited sight she was certain both the pavement beneath the lamp and the sidewalk around it were empty.

“I’d be pleased to offer my escort. A woman can’t be too careful on a dark night like this.”

Behind her, Matilda felt a weight settle onto the bench.

Something that's helping me write today: the free and effective push I get to write when I open my email and find Dave Farland's Daily Kick in the Pants.