Determination

Determined. Stubborn. Plucky. Spunky. Pig-headed. No, I am not trying out for a human thesaurus contest, I am trying to think of some of the labels given to people who refuse to give up on something, be it an idea, a dream, or a goal. The picture of the kitty clinging to his hoped-for box-lunch really struck a chord with me recently--writing is not an easy career to just pop into. But it is worth it, and that is the message you'll see over and over if you hang around enough writers--there isn't anything else they can imagine doing.

I write with two children in the home under the age of five and a brain that I don't mind admitting gives me fits on a regular basis. I am fortunate to have a very supportive spouse and family, but I know others who write in spite of people who tell them constantly that they're wasting their time. I know of many others who hold down full-time jobs, parent children, volunteer in their communities, (and I swear secretly save the world on their lunch breaks) who still find the time to write and do it well.

Why? It has to be due at least in part to determination--that stuff that makes the difference between, "I think I'll write a book someday" and "Here's my book! I think I'll try to get it published!" It's that stuff that keeps one submitting query after query when you believe in a story in spite of those form-letter rejections that we all know are a necessary evil and hate anyway.

I regularly get some fantastic glimpses of other writers' determination, (chutzpah, moxie, guts, whatever you wish to call it) at the Absolute Write Water Cooler ( http://www.absolutewrite.com/forums/). It's a neat place to pop in, whether you're a writer or trying to understand the writer in your life, to see what exactly goes on in the trenches of writing. Need encouragement? Stop by the Coffee House of Pain and see if they don't offer you a cyber goodie or froo-froo drink to make it all better. I dare ya.

I'm such a bad blogger...

I don't post every day. I don't post wildly entertaining personal bits about what my dear husband said in bed the other day (he'd strangle me) , or what my kids are up to (they're two and four, wildly imaginative, and very energetic...I don't have time to blog about everything they do), and I believe my personal philosophy is best shared with people who know and understand me--I get fewer odd looks that way.

So why am I doing this?

I confessed at the beginning that I have the not-so-ulterior motive of using the blog when, or if, the writing gig takes off. Beyond that, I have enjoyed this little venture, looking for bits here and there to put up, finding little ways to express who I am at a level that I'm comfortable sharing. Oddly enough, I am a fairly private person. This feels daring to me, sharing thoughts with people I don't know and who don't know me (yeah, I know--woo freaking hoo, you wild thing you).

I've peeked at a variety of blogs lately and I'll admit, some of them scared me, more than any Stephen King I've ever picked up, with their level of personal information. Of course, these were just random blogs I found by hitting the "next blog" button, so they're not necessarily professionals looking for publishing fame, but yikes, man. Other blogs, some posted here and others posted on those blogs (I'm too lazy to throw up a link to every single blog I like, so I only put up the ones I actually read regularly) are professional, funny, and entertaining, but of course most of them are by or for writers. There is most definitely no shortage of blogs at present--but there are some very good ones out there if you're willing to wade through and find them.

I hope, at some point in the future, this one will be at least one of the entertaining ones, and not the 'yikes man' ones--if I could just manage to find a little more time in my day.

Just for fun...a writing exercise

I recently purchased a copy of Bonnie Neubauer's workbook of writing exercises (The Write Brain Workbook--366 exercises to liberate your writing) to aid in limbering up my occasionally cobwebby mind. I had a lot of fun with this one and I thought I would share.

"Animal Tendencies"

(I called it "A Sea Otter to be Reckoned With" my answers will appear in parentheses...you fill in your own)

The animal inside me wears _____________ (hip waders for afternoon tea.)

She lives in ________ (the ocean.)

And plays with _______________ ( a soccer ball she found floating one day.)

The animal inside me sings ____________ (off-color opera and old sailing dirges.)

She has a collection of ____________ (pearls, seashells, and flat beach balls.)

And revels in ___________ (the play of sunlight on water.)

The animal inside me loves _____________ (to feel like she is flying under water.)

She is waiting for _________ (nothing--she takes life as it comes.)

And wishes that _____________ (the world knew more about playing.)

And sometimes when no one is looking, the animal inside me _________ (puts on Groucho glasses and reads Shakespeare on the beach.)

I would love to hear some other answers to this one--don't be shy! Silly can be good for you, take it from the mother of two extremely silly, wonderful kids who remind me when I'm about to tear my hair out about something ridiculously "adult" that sometimes a little silly goes a long way.

Fear

Fear. It's an interesting emotion. It can be anything from fun when intentionally experienced for entertainment (in books, movies, and haunted houses, for example) to paralyzing at its height. One of my favorite writers said that fear is an acronym for "F$%@ Everything And Run" and sometimes it is just that, other times it is impetus to overcome the emotion itself in order to perform beyond your normal abilities.

I enjoy a good scare--I confess (confession alert!) that I am an adrenaline junkie--though certain factors have served to tame my wild ways I still love a great scary movie, the suspense of a masterfully written thriller, and the odd roller coaster ride now and again. I think certain people are just hardwired to try to scare themselves silly and challenge themselves to overcome their fears, real or imagined. Which also brings up courage--I think instead of being the absence of fear, real courage is getting up and moving on in spite of fear. This, I guess, is my real point: regardless of how you define it, whether or not you seek it out or deny its existence, fear can be friend or foe. It's your choice.

I choose to make it a friend, a tool. A tool I use to craft stories, a tool I use to motivate myself to push my limits, and a tool I use to broaden rather than narrow my horizons. What do you do?

A Croucher excerpt

The brown-haired woman blew out the candle on the desk in front of her. She had been using it to help her concentrate and had given up in disgust. Swiping violently at the frizzy curls over her forehead she leveled the man across from her with her most somber look.

“I can’t focus, Simon. She’s a wreck. There is so much misery and loss surrounding her that I doubt she’ll even recognize him. She doesn’t even know who she is—how in God’s name is she supposed to know what to do?”

She swiped again at her hair as the gray-eyed man considered her question. They kept their voices low out of years of habit, though they were in her private study. Only two other senior members of the order even knew what they were discussing—secrecy was critical now more than ever.

“I know how you feel, old girl. I tell you, she’s leaving it very late this time, I must say. She’s never failed us before though, obviously, or we wouldn’t be having this chat, would we?” He absently reached to pet the fat orange tabby that wound itself around his legs.

“I know. I just hate this waiting—it’s driving me nuts. I’ve been preparing for this for so long, watching her since she was born, that now that the moment’s arrived I feel as though I’m going out of my skin.”

“What about the girl? Any luck?”

“None. My guides just keep telling me it isn’t ‘time’. I don’t mind telling you that my patience with the spirit world is wearing thin.” She looked out into the book-filled room and addressed the upper corners as she shook a bony fist at it, her silver rings jangling,

“Do you hear that? Do you? You’re pushing it!”

The gray eyes in the old man’s face crinkled at the corners. His mustache twitched. He looked out the window at the dry Texas landscape that so differed from his beloved London to gather his composure before facing her again.

“I do believe you could use of cup of tea, Izzy, my dear. You’ve been cooped up in this study all day—you’ll be as bad off as she if you don’t take a break.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she looked back at him. She understood what he meant and knew he was right, but she couldn’t help feeling as though there were more she should be doing.

“No, Simon. There’s no one as bad off as she is. Her heart hasn’t just been broken—it’s destroyed.”

He nodded as he stood and reached for her hand.

“I know. We just have to pray that she’s as resilient now as she always has been.”

“It isn’t as if there’s an alternative, is there?”

All hint of amusement faded from his face as he stared once more out the window, though whether his thoughts were in the past, present, or future it was impossible to guess. It was some time before he faced her again and spoke.

“There never has been.”

The Writing Process

In various writers' circles, the question of the writing process inevitably comes up and it is always fascinatingly individual. Some outline, some live or die by a set schedule of words per day, others wing it, and others consult a magic eight ball.

For a new writer looking for advice on how to approach the "process" I would suggest trying several different approaches and then going with the one that really hums. You'll know it when you find it--you'll sit down, start writing by your chosen method, and all of a sudden you have ten pages of a "did I write that?" story in front of you and you're amazed at how much time has actually passed. When you find something that works, stick with it, no matter what someone else tells you--it doesn't hurt to entertain new ideas, sure, but if you know you stagnate when going by an outline, don't ever be persuaded to use one because it works for someone else. You be you. You write the way you write. If you stop trying to be the next so-and-so, who knows? You might write something that gets them trying to be the next you.

My writing process?
(shakes the shiny black ball--waits...)

Ask again tomorrow. Hmm, that's funny, the last time it said maybe. I took it to mean maybe I have a writing process and maybe I don't. What a puzzler.

My first confession

Pssst. Yeah, you. I figure since I called this blog the Confessions of an Unapologetic Thirty-something, I should actually make a confession.

Let me begin by saying that I write scary stories. Some of them have a supernatural bent, others have just really bad people making other people's lives hell, but I'm generally out for thrills--not warm fuzzies. The bigger the boo, the better, in my opinion. I was terrified when some people who were very close to me read my novel for the first time because it's fairly dark. I am generally seen as an Earth Mother type, and I could tell that (while they loved it) most people who read the book were pretty shocked that sweet lil' ol' DJ had such spooky things rolling around in her head.

But I can explain! Before anyone has me fitted for one of those lovely canvas jackets with the sleeves in the back, I can explain it very simply. For one thing, I love to read scary books. I enjoy other stories as well, obviously, I read everything I can get my hands on. My first love though, is the type of ghost story that keeps you up late at night and makes you all jumpy. And for another, I've had some dark experiences myself (not supernatural...think really bad people) and I write to make sense of my world. Of course some of my own experiences are going to then find their way to the page.

And now for the confession: I am...(gasp. shudder.) afraid of the dark. How's that for irony?

That's it. End of confession. You were expecting something...juicier?

(okay, but just this once. I am about to do naughty, naughty things to...a slice of cheesecake.)

And another blogger is born...gadzooks.

I never thought that I would blog. I love reading them, but I never thought I would join the party--I'm more the people watching type than the jumping-in-and-joining-the-fun type. Honesty alert: I now blog because I have written a book, am in the process of getting an agent and hopefully getting said book published, and most of my fellow writers advise that a blog is a great tool for "getting yourself out there."

That said, I do think I have things of value to say beyond the mundane musings of the everyday at-home mom, but then again, I think there is value in even mundane musings. Where would we be if such folks as Mark Twain, Henry David Thoreau, and Walt Whitman didn't share their musings, or, heaven forbid, they were never written down?

I am not comparing myself to these greats...not at all. But at the time, I doubt they compared themselves to their favorites either.

"Loyalty to petrified opinions never yet broke a chain or freed a human soul."--Mark Twain