Eclectic Post

First off I'd like to vent a bit about the book distributor for my area. They went belly-up and I haven't seen new books at the local stores for weeks. Weeks without new books! I'm seriously jones'n. This means that despite the fact Monica McCarty's latest hot Highlander book has hit the bestseller list, I haven't gotten a copy yet. Wah.

In happier news, I'm going to a real bookstore next week, and Borders should have a copy. It's on my shopping list along with eight other titles (so far - I may not be done writing the list yet). By this time next week, I should be happily surrounded by new reading material. It's just a shame I have to go out of town to buy books*.

As for writing, a read an interesting post this morning over at Karin Tabke's blog. She had a guest blogger by the name of Charlotte Featherstone, who wrote about staying true to yourself and to your characters. The hero of her recently published book Addicted could be considered unsympathetic (because he's an opium addict), and because of this I have no doubt she had one hell of a time getting it published. But she had to write him that way in order to remain to true to the story. Good reminder to us all, and a very positive note for those of us yet to be published. Gives me a bit of hope that maybe someday someone will want to read Caldera even though Myke's been called unsympathetic. (Which I totally don't see. I love her personality. Not that she's an addict or anything like that. She's just focused, and driven, and she doesn't suffer incompetence lightly - which can come off as bitchy sometimes.)

Another happy note: I got the last edit notes from my beta reader this morning! Yay. Her comments really made my morning. Nothing like hearing she had a tough time reading for edits when the story kept sucking her in and making her forget she was supposed to be beta reading. I'll be working on her suggestions this weekend, in addition to trying to get the synopsis written. With any luck, I'll be ready to start submitting soon. And this time maybe getting an agent.

Wouldn't that be loverly?

What are your thoughts on this fine pre-Spring day? Ever written or read a supposedly unsympathetic character that you just connected with? Any positive news to share?

*Yes, I can buy books online. I just love the bookstore experience too much.

Grunt Work

It's that time of year again. Tax time. Umm, yay?

Anyway, that's what I've been up to this weekend. Gotta love the fact that in order to use TurboTax this year, I had to download Firefox - because TT doesn't work with IE on this old an operating system. =op---

So now I have Firefox. Uhh... ok. I don't really care which browser I use. I don't need bells or whistles as long as it gets me where I need to go, when I need to go there. I'm still using IE for everything else (if it ain't broke, don't fix it).

As a related side rant, why the hell do people think they need to keep fixing things that aren't broken, and breaking things that work fine? That's messed up. Seriously.

Now I really have to get back to work, so maybe one of these days I can show income under Novelist. Ya know what I mean?

What To Read

Over at the Fictionistas today, they posted a list of books put out by the BBC. The BBC's guess is that most people won't have read more than six books out of the 100. My total was 24.

Now I already have a list of what I would consider books everyone should read at least once in their life. (And yes, there are a slew of those books I've never read myself. Just because I should doesn't mean I have.) Please note that I said 'should read' not 'must like' - because some of the books are on there for learning purposes, not enjoying purposes. There are a myriad of books I really don't like, but I read them anyway so I could learn from them - like The Good Earth, for instance, which has a crappy sense of life, but good writing. (The same can be said for Steinbeck, or Hemingway, or Irving.)

You may notice there are books I didn't put on my list that are on so many other lists of this type. Like, for instance, Catcher in the Rye (which is on the curriculum for most public high-school English students). I really don't see any purpose to suggesting anyone read that book. The only thing I got out of it was a feeling that life was hopeless. And is that really what we want any teenager to experience from reading. (Yes, I know. Teenagers already feel that way - so why compound the problem.) I'm sorry my teacher made me read it, and I wish I could scrub the memory out of my head. Same goes for Lord of the Flies.

You'll also notice that I have books on my list you won't see on some of the others. One glaring example is Ayn Rand. I have my own thoughts on why she's left off the lists of important books (even though Atlas Shrugged is second only to the Bible as 'most influential' to its readers), but I won't rant about them now. Love her work or hate it - your choice - but don't deny its place in literary history. (And if you can't fathom reading 1168 pages, read Anthem instead of Atlas Shrugged.)

I've also placed some more commercial works on my list, because they are important, too. The Mummy, for instance, is a wonderful story - very well written with a positive sense of life. Or take Ken Follett - with his excellent writing and interesting storylines. Or Michael Crichton - who created techo-thrillers, and proved that science can be thrilling here on Earth.

I guess what I'm saying is: People find different things valuable in books. Books that I loathe and make me want to scrub my brain with steel wool, others may hold dear to their hearts. The important thing is that people read. Preferably something of value to them in some way. (And yes, even the trashiest of commercial novels can have value - hell, people find value in James Joyce, don't they? Personally I can find more value in a bodice-ripper than anything he wrote.)

So regardless of what I or anyone else tells you to read, just read something. And if you're short on time, read a kid's book.

Are you reading anything right now (I mean other than this blog, smart aleck)? What's on your nightstand, or what's next up for you? I'm between books right now, but I think I'm going to read some Roald Dahl next.

Shhhh

:imagine this in whispers: I don't want to jinx anything, but I wrote some new words last night. Not a lot of words, mind you, but enough to get C&D rolling again. yay. :end whisper:

And on the subject of being quiet, can anyone explain to me why the level of noise seems to be rising? Is it just that I'm creeping up on 40, or is a large portion of our populous really looking forward to being deaf some day?

Years ago, I read a really great article on this noise thing, but right now I'm at a loss as to the name of the writer or the article. He theorized that it had something to do with people wanting to shut out reality and/or their own thoughts by turning their stereos up. (You know, it's really hard to think with the bass booming and some person/band shrieking in your ears.) Made a lot of sense to me then, and it still does.

Not that it's just stereos, iPods, CD players, MP3 players, etc. (You'd be surprised how many kids in this little town blare their iPods - like loud enough to hear across the street.) People seem to be talking louder, too, but maybe that's just a function of the self-induced hearing loss. :shrug:

Thoughts?

Sick of Myself

A couple days ago, Karin Tabke asked what challenges her blog readers face for the coming year, and my answer is - as usual - getting an agent (and all the stuff that comes after that). Karin's reply was simply: "Are you sending stuff out?"

Umm... :hangs head in shame:

Not at the moment.

You see, everything I have ready to send out has already been rejected by damn near everyone on the planet (or at least it feels that way). :cough:loser:cough: Which is why I'm reworking Blink - which hasn't been rejected because it was never queried - and trying to write that cute mystery series I've always wanted to write.

Still doesn't make me any less of a loser. I mean, seriously, five years? (Officially, five years last week was when I typed the first words of Spectacle.) And not five years of working on one book, either. It wasn't even five years where I had to compete with a day job for writing time.

Of course, some days are better than others. Some days I hit the world with a bright outlook and cheerful optimism (no, really... I do). Other days are like today when all I can think of goes kinda like this quote from Shelley:

I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away the life of care
Which I have borne, and yet must bear.

And then I get totally pissed and sick of myself. (I can only wonder whether you're sick of me yet, too. Wanda Whiner that I am. Boo fucking hoo.)

So, coming back around to the question of the day: Am I sending stuff out? In truth the answer is: No, I'm too much of a big baby to send anything out lately. "What if they don't like it?" "What if they stomp all over it (and by it, I mean the story and therefore my chest) again?" Wah.

I know I can't sell anything if I don't send it out. I know if I never try I'll always fail. I've heard all the maxims. I know all the rah-rah'isms. I've tried all the tricks to get myself out of this slump. Unfortunately, it all comes back to this.

And I'm totally sick of myself.

Malware Alert

I had several things I wanted to talk about this morning, but despite my post yesterday, my intentions really did go to hell.

I did get some writing accomplished during the day, but then I was presented with major computer issues (not this computer - my hubby's) that I had to address. I'm still addressing them this morning as a matter of fact. To that end, please be aware of a new vicious piece of malware calling itself Spyguard 2009. It mimics actual spyware killing software, and to the untrained eye could pass for real software - except for the fact that you never remember actually downloading this crap onto your computer.

When it first presents, it's scary as hell. It tells you your computer is loaded with viruses and trojans and other disgusting stuff created by people with nothing better to do. This fear will be especially true for those of you who know your way around a hard drive, because it tells you that it's going to delete some 'infected' files - like regedit and sys.com. :shudder: Never never never touch those types of files.

Anyhoo, I knew it for what it was, and I've been working ever since to get the insidious piece of crap off his computer. Tenacious little bastard that it is. Oh, and another gem that comes with this malware is it leaves the door open and invites other crap to take up residence on your computer. Nice. To the creators of programs such as these, I only have one thing to say: Get a girlfriend already (one that doesn't require inflation). Find another outlet for your sexual frustration - you know, something that won't cause pain to other people.

One more thing... I will kill this thing. It may take me all day, and ruin my friggin' newfound intentions to write, but I refuse to be defeated by some wastoid who lives in his mother's basement and who can only get his rocks off by writing malicious software.

:fume:

BTW, you don't have to do anything special or go anywhere you're not supposed to be, to get this crap. It just hides in the code on websites and plants itself in your computer. Once I kill this crap, I'll update and let y'all know how to get rid of it yourselves.

*Update 2:24pm: Still battling this damn thing, and even though I bought the software that's supposed to be able to kill this thing, it's still alive. F!#$%&ng Mother F%!#$rs Now waiting for an email back from tech support.

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The Suspense Was Ruined

Last night was the broadcast of the 2008 WSOP (World Series of Poker) final table, and for a while now, I've been studiously avoiding all news about it. I really wanted to wait and watch the action for myself.

Yesterday while I was taking a break from shoveling snow, I sat down to flip around the TV for a few minutes, and what did I see scrolling across the bottom of ESPN? The results of the final table. I closed my eyes, but not fast enough. I didn't catch it all, but what I saw was "...defeats Demidoy to win...".

Dirty bastards.

I spent the whole time watching the tournament knowing there was only one person who could take out the lucky Russian. Thanks ESPN. =op---

How does this relate to writing, you say. Well, I'm the same way about books. I don't want to know what's going to happen in a book before I read the book. I think I actually would've throttled anyone who ruined the last Harry Potter for me. Seriously. If I'd known the end, I still would've read the book, but it wouldn't have been as yummy for me.

But it's even more than that. I don't read book excerpts - not if I want to read the book, that is - and I don't read the little teasers they put at the end of one book to get you to buy the next book. If I liked the first book, I'm going to buy the second without needing to read the first few pages. Hell, I don't even like to read the cover copy on books I already know I'm going to buy. And I only read cover copy on unknown books if I really can't decide.

I can deal with a one-liner. Like the one I created for Manhunter: Dwelling on the past can be murder. Stuff like that makes me want to know more, but it doesn't give away any of the story. I like to discover the story on my own, thank you very much.

Maybe it's that I like the mystery of not knowing what happens. Last season's ender for Criminal Minds had a delicious cliff-hanger. They showed each of the main characters getting into his/her own black SUV, and then they showed a black SUV blowing up. Sure, it was mind-blowingly frustrating to not know who got blown up, but I was a good girl about it. I didn't check online to see if anyone knew, and I didn't try to figure it out any other. Once again, I avoided all talk about the show. I never dreamed CBS - who set the cliff-hanger up in the first place - would out the damn secret in a commercial ONE WEEK before the show was scheduled to air. A whole summer of letting the suspense build, and it was ruined in a thirty second spot. As I said before: "Dirty Bastards".

I liked the summer of wondering. I like the months between book releases. Suspense builds to a fever pitch and when I finally get a hold of the book, I devour it. It's like cooking an awesome meal - the scent of dinner wafts through the house and by the time dinner is ready, you're starving. (Yesterday I cooked a pork roast. Two plus hours of the house smelling awesome seemed to make the eating itself even better.) I don't need no little taste ahead of time. I just want the meal. If I'm that hungry, I'll snack on something else while I'm waiting. (Watch a different program, read someone else's book, etc.)

Maybe that's why I write what I do and they way I do it. So far everything I've written has an element of suspense to it. And since I don't really plot, even I don't know what's going to happen before it does. The not knowing is delicious, and when the plot twists hit me, I'm delighted. (Tickled pink, in fact.)

I know I'm in the minority with regard to book teasers, and I can deal with not reading them. I have my own strategies for keeping myself in the dark. It's just when they sneak them in when I'm not expecting it that really gets my undies in a bunch. To those sneaky, dirty bastards I say:

Knock it off.

How about you? Do you like to know ahead of time or do you get into the wait? Have you ever waited for something only to have it spoiled by someone else (like the damnable ESPN)?

Or is it just me?

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Bend the Rules...

In the words of the immortal Thomas Edison (you know... the guy with 1093 patents): "Hell, there are no rules here - we're trying to accomplish something."

Of course, strictly speaking, he did follow rules - like the laws of physics, etc. - but he didn't let some other person's arbitrary rules stand in the way of getting things done. And he sure as hell didn't let anyone else tell him he was doin' it wrong. Heh, part of the reason he got so much done was that he WAS doing it wrong. As long as the outcome was what he wanted, though, he didn't much care what anyone else thought.

As writers we do have to follow some rules - like the rules of the English language - but beyond those, the rest is what we make up as we go along. (And even those are really subject to interpretation depending on what you're trying to do.)

Since I started this writing thing four and a half years ago, I've encountered too many rules that other people assumed were set in stone. If you've been around the block a few times, you know what I'm talking about. In their minds, breaking those rules was Verboten. You know what? Maybe all the rules work for them. What they don't understand, though, is their rules don't work for everyone.

This morning, Toni McGee Causey talks about the whole writing schedule rule over at Murder She Writes. To paraphrase this unwritten rule as I heard it: "In order to be considered a 'real writer' one must adhere to a schedule, creating x-number of words in x-hours every day." Feh. Some even go so far as to give you a timetable - like working from 10-2 or 5-9 every day means you get to have a plaque on your desk that says 'professional writer'. *shrug*

Don't get me wrong. I like rules. I'm a rule following kind of person. And that's what got me in so much trouble early on in this writing business. I was so busy trying to follow every little damn rule, I was crushing my creativity like a bug, not to mention allowing myself to get pulled apart trying to follow conflicting rules. That's just crazy.

I guess what I'm trying to say this morning is: Bend the rules, and ignore anyone who says you have to follow each and every one of them in order to be considered a real writer. Rules were meant to be broken (or at least bent to fit) - especially when they're being applied to something as fluid as writing.

And no, I'm not advocating that you totally turn into Yoda. "Write books I do. Good they are." But see, even that craptacular bit of English worked for its intended purpose.

In short, use the rules that work for you. Bend them to fit. Man was meant to shape the word around him, not be shaped by it. Shape the rules until you have the best story you can write. And the next person who tells you you'll never be a real writer because you didn't follow his rules? Tell him to go pound sand.

Or better yet, ignore him and do your own thing.

'Nuff said.

Poll Results

Well, my thoroughly unscientific poll lived up to its name. In an overwhelming landslide, McCain took 75% of the votes, with a second place tie between Obama and 'None of the Above'.

I didn't plan it this way, but my poll closed just before last night's presidential debate - which I semi-watched with the sound off while I was on the computer. It seemed like every time I looked up, Obama was talking and he had his 'sincere face' on while McCain stood in the background wearing his 'bemused look'. Every time I see either of them, I watch their body language and they both appear to have put on their faces for the occasion. Just once I'd like to look up and see something real. *shrug*

Needless to say, these were not the results I was expecting, especially since the writing community seems to lean toward the Democrat side. (And just so you know, I was the one who voted 'None'.) They certainly don't reflect the national polls in any way, shape or form.

And I know about polls. You see, since I'm home most of the time, I get a lot of poll calls - and unless dinner is going to burn, I'm happy to answer them. Other than the actual vote, it's about the only way to get your voice heard, and I'll take the opportunity while I have it. But the odd thing about most polls is that the polling organization (or the pollster herself) has the answers they want in mind before you ever pick up the phone.

One night while my husband was working, I spent twenty minutes taking a poll. That was an interesting one, and by the end, both the pollster and I were laughing. She was a bright gal, and I was in rare form. Why were we laughing? Because every question she read to me was slanted so badly, I couldn't help but make comments about it. I wish I could remember some of them, but the memory fails this morning. They were pretty bad, and since she was doing her job, she had to ask them in the way that they were written. She knew they sucked, and so did I, so we had fun with the poll.

Then again, the other afternoon I answered two questions before the pollster hung up on me. I guess I wasn't answering the questions the way she wanted me to. The first question was something like who's opinion do I listen to most when making voting decisions, and then she proceeded to give me options. I told her I don't listen to people's opinions to make decisions. (I'm a fact kind of gal.) The next question was which organizations influence my voting decisions, and another list was read. I told her 'none of the above' - which I admit wasn't one of the offered options, but I really don't listen to unions or corporations or churches or anyone else. I might take others' thoughts into consideration, but each organization has it's own agenda for who they're backing, and more often than not, their agenda isn't mine. In the end, no one influences my vote to any real degree.

What I want, and what I think most people want, is a candidate who is genuine. No plastic interchangeable faces they can put on and take off to fit the situation. No shaking hands and kissing babies. I want a candidate who means what he says, and says what he means - without changing his stance to meet whatever the stance is of who he's talking to. I want some friggin' integrity in a politician*.

Is that really too much to ask?

*and yes, that does sound like an oxymoron, but politicians with integrity did exist once upon a time.

Books are NOT becoming obsolete

If one more person says books are becoming obsolete, or even hint at it, I swear I'm going to scream. Seriously, folks, cut it out. It just ain't true.

Now this may sound like a severe case of denial on my part. Time will tell on that one. But it seems like everyone I know who reads reads actual physical books. Maybe I'm just associating with a different sort of person, but I doubt it. I don't know a single person who owns an e-reader (except maybe some of my online acquaintances). Most readers I know can't wait until the new books hit the grocery store or the Borders or the Walmart. I don't know if they savor the experience like I do, but there's obviously something they prefer about reading a physical copy of a book rather than an e-book.

I know the feeling. Books are an entire sensory experience for me. I can't get the feel of the paper when I read on the computer, I can't smell the paper, I can't snuggle up with an e-book, no pretty bookmarks, no crackle of a new spine or crisp fluttering as the pages turn. Not to mention how much easier a book is on my eyes than a brightly lit computer screen. (Yes, I am a Mogwai and can be heard shrieking 'bright light bright light' when my daughter accidentally flips the wrong switch.) Hell, I have a tough enough time reading an entire short story online let alone a book. Unless, of course, it's mine and I'm editing it. I even print my books out on paper to edit sometimes for petesakes. Call me old-fashioned. Call me behind the times. Screw Kindle. Screw Sony. Give me my paper and print.

I'll tell you one thing, I'll stop reading when they pry the book out of my cold dead hands.

Time to chime in. Old-fashioned like me, or e-reader all the way? Or are you a bit of both? What do you think about the future of the published book?

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Accomplishments and Envy

Well, I made it to nine-thirty last night sans coffee. Plus, I managed to crank out 2400 words - thank goodness for the plot points I figured out the other night. Now I have a general idea what the next few scenes should be, and how to get from one to the other. Yay. Of course, I've got my heroine in a mess of crap, and the hero thinks she's purposefully trying to screw the pooch - neither of which I'm quite sure how to resolve. But that's the fun of plantstering.

In other news, a friend of mine posted her own accomplishments to her blog. She got her story back on track, and since she's not working right now, she managed to really crank out the words. I was thoroughly impressed and said so in her comments. She should be very proud of her work. Unfortunately, some nimrod felt the need to shit all over her in the comments. Like she had nothing to brag about. Feh.

The more I think about it, the more I'm inclined to think the jerkstick doesn't have anything in his own life to be proud of, so he feels the need to trash other peoples' accomplishments just to make himself feel better about his ultimate loser-ness. Kind of pathetic when you think about it.

I'm happy for any writer who cranks out beaucoup words. I'm thrilled when other writers get requests for partials and fulls. I'm tickled when I hear someone else got published, or that they found an agent. (Except of course if I know from personal experience that their writing just blows, which has only happened once.) I'm jealous, of course - who wouldn't be - but I don't let that jealousy overwhelm me. I want what they have, and someday I'll get it for myself. And I'll get it without raining on their parade. Thank you very much.

Now, here at The Writing Spectacle, I don't allow snerty comments like that to post. It's a waste of my time, and since I wouldn't let anyone come into my house with that attitude, I sure as hell don't want them here. (If you're the jerk in question, this means don't bother trying to spew nastiness here. I'll just delete it, so why waste your precious time?)

Okay. Since I'm all ranted out, and I'm still several quarts of caffiene low, I'll bid you all adieu for now. Have a great day.

And don't let the bastards grind you down.

;o)

Ranty McRanterson

I admit it. From time to time, I watch CSPAN. I mean, seriously, people should know how their government works and see their elected officials actually doing the jobs for which they were elected. More often then not, it's interesting and informative.

And then there are times like today when it's just frustrating and asinine.

We were flipping through the channels, and stopped on CSPAN to see what was up in Washington. The bottom of the screen said the current discussion was to address the naming of a post office in some town in Florida. "Okay," I think to myself, "this shouldn't take long." Right? Ummm...

Then they announced that Senator Whats-her-face and Senator Whats-his-nose would each have twenty minutes to speak on the issue. 40 minutes to debate naming a post office? I didn't take that long naming my daughter.

Okay, fine. Two-thirds of an hour to name a public building. Maybe one side wanted to name it something truly un-American - like Fidel Castro Post Office or Stalin Postal Annex - and the other was saying 'no way in hell'. Or maybe they were undecided over several good names. I dunno. Forty minutes would be okay in that case, I guess.

But no. The proposal was to name the post office after one of the flight attendants from Flight 93. She did something heroic. And she died while trying to save another building from being demolished by terrorists. It seems like a pretty obvious decision to me.

Name it after her. Took me ten seconds to decide.

I turned CSPAN off after a couple minutes of watching Whats-her-face posture. I don't know how long it actually took, or what the other guy had to say. It was too ridiculous.

I just looked it up. The average congressman makes about 170K a year. (Senators may make more or less - I couldn't tell.) That means we just spent over a hundred dollars so these two people could debate what to name a post office. And that's just the two of them. Other politicians were there. If there were ten of them sitting around watching, that's a thousand bucks the American Public might as well have just lit fire to. Fwoof.

Let's say they waste that kind of time every day. $5K a week. $260,000 a year. What if there were twenty politicians sitting around every day for things like this important debate on postal names??? HALF A MILLION DOLLARS.

I don't know about you, but I think we could all use some of that money back.

Hey, Washington??? Tell you what. Give me a portion of that, and I'll name every post office you want. Hell, I'll undercut the margin and give it to you for half of what you're paying now. Half-rate to take care of every lame ass time wasting gesture that comes out of my pocket. I think that's fair.

What do you think?

Cornucopia of Musings

Not sleeping really does wonders for working. Lemme tell ya. I didn't expect to work tonight. Hell, I went to bed an hour and a half ago. But after laying there for over thirty minutes, I figured I was doing more harm than good. Tossing and turning doesn't help me get to sleep, and I'm sure it didn't help my husband to get to sleep either. So I said screw it, and got up. Fired the old computer alive again, and went to work on my synopsis. I'm up to 1300+ words. yay.

In other news today, I began sorting through boxes to decide which stuff gets moved and what gets thrown out. I filled a big gray Hefty with shredded old manuscript pages, and another bag with any non-essential paperwork with dates older than '07. Three boxes empty that weren't before, and the keepers stuffed into a fourth box that was full before. Another yay there. Good thing I worked for a brief time shredding medical records--the shredder wasn't moving fast enough, so about 500 pages got ripped into nice one inch-ish strips. (Who knew after all these years I still had the hang of it? *shrug*)

Of course, we still don't have a new place to live, but I can't wait forever to get started on this. I'm trying to look on the bright side: This is the perfect time to sort through old crap and toss it. I used to be a horrible packrat, but after all the times I've moved, I've learned to part with stuff. (Except for that bag my mother gave me with all my old report cards and papers she thought were important enough to keep, and old school pictures. I've got the same stuff saved for my daughter, too.)

Today on the news, they interviewed a woman who ignored the evacuation order for Hurricane Ike. Her and her husband spent the night sleeping on boards stretched across ladders, with their pets stuffed in the attic. I guess the thought was that it wouldn't get that bad. Ummm... I knew it would get that bad, and I live in Colorado. The NWS issued a statement saying that sticking around could be fatal. That sounds pretty bad to me. It's like people who ignore tornado sirens and then wonder why their whole family is dead - even though they had a perfectly good basement. (I hope wherever our new house is, it has a basement. Tornados are scary enough without having to hide under the stairs or curl up in the bathtub with a kid and a cat.) Evacuation orders are there for a reason, people. Thankfully, most people got the hell out of Dodge when they heard Ike was coming, and the loss of life was low. I'm sorry anyone had to die in that thing, but it could've been much worse.

Okay, sleep is finally knocking at my frontal lobe. Hopefully I'll still be sleeping when you're reading this, but it's doubtful. School day tomorrow. And more house hunting.

Good night, all.

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Aarrgghh

I hate everything I'm writing. Every friggin' word. I'd burn it all, but it's on my hard drive and it seems like such a pain to print it all just to burn it. (And I'd have to get permission from the city to burn anything anyway.)

I'm trying to work. Damn it. I'm trying to put the words in my head onto paper. But it's all coming out crap. That's why I had Flaubert's quote posted. "I am irritated by my own writing. I am like a violinist whose ear is true, but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within." I figure if Flaubert went through it, it's not fatal.

It feels like it, though.

I've sat down numerous times over the past few days (weeks, months) to try and make the words come out. I've tried it here at the keyboard. I've tried it sitting on the couch with my trusty notepad. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Zip.

Aarrgghh!!

Every time I think I have it in my head, it disappears like so much dandelion fluff caught on a stiff breeze. Like sands through the hourglass, so are the words in my head.

It's fucking pissing me off. Seriously.

I thought if I took my meters down, and stopped thinking about how badly I needed to get x-number of words done, the words would come back. I thought maybe I was putting too much pressure on myself, so if I laid off, it'd come back. Ummm....

NOPE

I thought maybe I was pushing too hard to write for the market. (I even theorized as much in an earlier post.) I went back to a weird ass book I was trying to write a couple years ago. It's weird-ass, but I still think the story deserves to be told. So I thought if I went back to the 'book of my heart', the words would flow like they used to. Again....

NOPE

I even tried just sitting down with one of my unedited pieces and through reworking one of those, it would get the juices flowing again. I hate to repeat myself, but that was also a big fat No.

I'm really starting to tear my hair out here. I want to write. I need to write. I'm fucking jones'n to write. This may even qualify as the DTs soon.

Last time this happened, it was 9 months before I could write again. NINE MONTHS!!!??? Not going to happen. Someone or something will have to die before I make it through three-quarters of a year without writing again.

So I keep trying.

Stephen King is quoted as saying: "Sometimes you have to go on when you don't feel like it, and sometimes you're doing good work when it feels like all you're managing is to shovel shit from a sitting position." Yeah. Right. I tried that. The shit just kept getting deeper, and I can't hold my breath that long.

And it's not even that I don't feel like writing. There's nothing else I'd rather be doing right now that churning out some fiction. I want to write, that's not the problem. The problem is I feel like everything I write is pure crap, and I hate that I can't put together a coherent sentence to save my ass. Every character is BORING. Every scene feels trite. I want it to flow out like RTL or Spectacle or Caldera or Manhunter or Blink. I don't want it to drag out of me like Justice did.

Maybe I'm just not feeling it. But I can't figure out why. I love the ideas I'm working on. I love the characters and the scenes and the premises. I want to finish Nano, but I'm terrified that if I work on it again, I'll just screw it up. (And I really like what I've written so far.)

Perhaps it's a lack of self confidence. Yeah.... That's a definite possibility.

Not that I don't have justification for it. I mean it's not like it was four years ago when I finished Spectacle and I was so certain it would be published immediately. (Like three years ago, at least.) When it didn't draw interest, I thought maybe it was because the premise was a little out there for the world at large. I set it aside and went after the world with Caldera. (After I got over that nine months stretch of writer's block, that is.) I thought for sure it would get published...

Are you seeing a theme here?

After the absolute certainty that I would get published, and the years since those early days without even getting an agent, it's no wonder my self confidence sucks. I mean, christ-almighty-whitey. It's been four damn years. :POUNDS HEAD REPEATEDLY ON DESK:

You know that irritating little voice in the back of your head? It's the same one that told you you'd never get that cute boy to ask you out, and you'd never get that job, and you'd never amount to anything. That's the one that's been whispering into my ear that the reason I haven't gotten published is because I suck. I suck, my writing sucks, my submission materials suck.

"Don't quit your dayjob."

Little too late for that. This IS my dayjob. And my nightjob.

Remember how it's okay to suck? Remember how I've been a big proponent of giving yourself permission to suck? Well, I did that tonight. I gave myself permission to write crap, and that's exactly what I got. Crap. Sometimes that's okay. Sometimes writing crap leads to a break in the log jam, and good stuff comes out. Not this time. Crap crap crap crappity crap.

I just keep telling myself: "This too shall pass."

I just wonder how sane I'll be when it does.

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Sixteen? Yeah, Right

I don't know if any of you are watching the Olympics (frankly, I was torn between wanting to cheer on our athletes and wanting to boycott China), but tonight I caught parts of the Chinese 'womens' gymnastics. Now, the commentators pointed out several times that the rules state the athletes must be 16 (or turn sixteen during the same calendar year as the Olympics) to compete.

If any of those Chinese gymnasts are sixteen, I'll eat the manuscript I just printed out. One girl looked like she was maybe ten, at the most. The oldest looking girl might be fourteen, but that's pushing it. But all of their passports say they're sixteen, so they have to be sixteen right?

Yeah. That's what I was thinking.

And another thing. They were talking about one of the Chinese female divers. They made it sound cute when they told the story about her learning to dive. Supposedly, she was terrified of diving (so, yeah, diving was her choice... right), so her coach threw her off the diving board.

Isn't that the cutest thing you've ever heard??? :GAG: Sure, we've all heard stories about fathers who threw their sons into the water to teach them to swim. Barbaric, yes, but usually it works and knowing how to swim is one of those things that could save your kid's life someday. I don't advocate the method, but I see the reasoning there. And besides, it's the PARENT doing it. Not some coach/dictator tossing your baby out into space from a diving board so they can learn to dive and maybe someday be an Olympic athlete. Diving is not a skill one needs to stay alive in the real world.

Pretty warped, if you ask me. The American journalist who did the story and tried to make it sound like a Norman Rockwell painting should have her head examined. Seriously.

Don't get me wrong. The Chinese athletes are pretty amazing. You would be, too, if you were picked to be an athlete at the age of three, whether you wanted to or not, and then made to practive most of your waking hours. Our athletes may not necessarily be better athletically, but I think it's more amazing that they accomplish the same things and still possess a little thing we like to call 'free will'.

Is it just me or is this reminscent of the USSR's Olympic athletes back in the 70s and 80s? Funny how China keeps trying to seem like the new capitalist paradise over there, but they keep looking like the communist country they are. (I even heard China referred to as the Peoples Republic of Capitalism, which just made me want to gag.) Want to emulate America? Let people think for themselves for a change. If the little girl doesn't want to jump off the diving board, let her find something else to do with her life. If the other children want to be athletes, let them be athletes for themselves - because it truly makes them happy, not because it will make their country seem more important in the eyes of the world. Feh.

I'm just sayin'.

(Oh, and for a perfect example of the American Olympic athlete, look at Michael Phelps. The man is awesome. Poetry in water. He's a great athlete, a nice guy, and easy on the eyes to boot. Plus, he's drug-free - and he proves it several times a week. If I was a kid, he would be my idol.)
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This Isn't a Hobby

At least for me, this isn't a hobby. Let me explain...

Just now I was reading Nathan Bransford's blog post from Friday. If you scroll to the end, you'll see comments a writer left on one of Mr. Bransford's other posts. Now, I realize the author of that comment was defending writing. I know we take a lot of crap for sitting here day after day plunking away at words that may never be published. But she (I assume it was a she) defended writing by comparing it to other hobbies.

Umm, sorry. This isn't a hobby.

To me a hobby is something you do to pass the time. It's something you do for your own enjoyment only. And it's something you never envision seeing a profit from. Model builders don't expect to sell their finish products. Marathon runners don't expect to ever get the big corporate sponsorships. Most fisherman don't expect to get on the big bass circuit and win money for the fish they catch. (Commercial fisherman notwithstanding.)

I may never make a dime off this writing, but it's not a hobby. I don't just write because I have nothing better to do and I think sitting in this chair typing away is an enjoyable way to pass the time. If I wanted to do that, I'd crochet or draw or look at online properties to dream about owning. I could spend countless hours reading (which I did this past weekend) if I wanted to indulge in a hobby.

I didn't mean for this to turn into a rant, but the whole thing just rubbed my fur the wrong way. Like last year when I got an unsolicited e-mail inviting all amateur writers to join some club-thingy. I don't bust my ass almost every day - inviting backaches and wrist cramps and flat butt - because this is a hobby. I'm not that committed to frivolous pursuits.

Don't get me wrong. I know hobbyists also bust their asses to achieve their goals. I can't imagine spending countless hours putting together a model car - all those tiny pieces would kill me. I can't imagine running even a little bit without something large and hairy chasing me. I'm not taking anything away from those people. They work hard, but they aren't looking forward to those pursuits as careers.

This is my career.

I also know it was an analogy, and like all analogies it has to break down at some point (otherwise, it wouldn't be an analogy - it would be the exact same thing). You know me, I'm all about analogies. Love 'em. But this one was off base. A better analogy would be to liken this to getting a doctorate degree.

Think about it. When a person starts out going for a doctorate, they don't have any guarantees they're ever going to make it. They don't know how much money they'll make at the end - if any. But they spend all those years and all that money working toward the goal of a Ph.D. anyway. Maybe when they get it, they'll still find themselves working at McDonald's, but that's the way things go sometimes. Maybe at the end of all this work, a writer will find themselves with a harddrive full of books and no sales. In either case, a lot of people quit before they reach their goal, but even then, the experience wasn't a hobby. True, some people only take a class here or there to amuse themselves - like some people only write parts of stories. Those people aren't going for the degree or the publication. For them, it truly is a hobby. (And I say, good for them.) But for those people who are striving to reach the goal and won't let anything get in their way, this isn't a hobby. It's not even close.

So, what's the answer to the problem of people not giving writers their due? How do you react when you tell someone you're a writer, and they look at you like you dig ditches?

Ignore them. They don't get the amount of effort we put into our work, and they never will. Smile politely and shrug it off. When you see your name in print, every slight will become what it always was. Nothing.

Because people, if you look at this business like it's a hobby for you, you'll never be able to put forth the effort it takes to get where you need to be. Look at it like it's a job and sooner or later, it'll pay off. It has to.

Otherwise this whole thing is pointless.

:end rant:

Why Write What People Might Not Want to Read

Skipping down my blogroll this morning, I came across a bizarre thought. According to my blog buddy, JenWriter, someone somewhere made a strange statement about only querying ideas - not written manuscripts - because it's irrational to spend all that time writing a book people might not want to read. I guess the theory is to only write a book interest in it is guaranteed.

Ummm, yeah.

I'm not going to rant about it here. I think Jen did an awesome job addressing the fine points of that, and I already added my own ranterly comment to support her. But I did want to talk about the mindset here.

Why do we write books we aren't certain someone will want to read?

I guess I could go with the old standby for any endeavor that seems outlandish to those who don't do it. Like the answer to the age-old question of why anyone would climb Mt. Everest - because it's there. I could say the same thing for writing, but it doesn't nearly cover the drive. (As I suspect the 'because it's there' answer doesn't really cover the drive behind climbing Mt. Everest.)

I could fall back on the answer that I write because I have to. This is, in part, true. If I don't write for a long period of time, I tend to get a little batty. The stories pile up in my head. The characters whine and scream and babble enough to drive me to distraction. I talk to myself. (Okay, I talk to myself MORE.) I'm sure it's really quite a sight to watch me wander through the world going through writing DTs. I mean, sure, I could hold it all in and let the stories play themselves out internally, but we really don't want to be fitted for an I-love-me jacket.

So, why really do I write books before I have an offer in hand?

Because I'm not writing books just to see them in print. Yes, I want all my books to be published. Yes, I want other people to read and enjoy them as much as I do. But that's not the primary goal. If all I wanted was to publish, I would write anything. I'd be cranking out whatever I thought the market wanted, as quickly as I could get them out, to get as much moolah as my books could net me. I wouldn't care if any part of me was in the books; I wouldn't care if my own beliefs were pushed aside if that's what the market called for. I'd sell myself to the highest bidder and be done with it. (And in my darkest times, believe me, I've thought about it.)

But I'd sooner cut off my left hand and call myself Stumpy.

Right now, I have four books ready for the market. If none of them sell, so be it. I just look at it as 'they were ready for the market, but the market wasn't ready for them'. And then I write the next one. And the next one... Ad infinitum. Maybe five years and five more books from now, the market will be ready for the first four. Maybe those books will only be published after I'm long dead. It doesn't matter. I wrote them. I'm proud I wrote them. They're MINE, and they always will be.

Now, aside from that, each book was also experience in writing. The more you write, the more experience you have, and the better each subsequent book will be. (Unless you're a moron, and you don't learn from experience.) I wouldn't trade a minute of the untold hours spent writing any of my books, short stories, poems, essays, unfinished novels, etc. Those hours are only wasted if you let them be. Could I have used those hours to do something else? Sure. I could've read every book in the house, caught up on all the television shows I missed over the past few years, gotten a degree, learned how to paint, designed my dream home... There's always something else I could be doing, but for me, those things would be wasted time - because... :drumroll:

They aren't writing time.

And no matter what else I find myself doing, I'm thinking about writing anyway, so what's the point? There's writing, and everything else. And everything else is either distracting me from writing or it's experience I can use to make my writing better.

What do you think about the whole thing? Why do you write? What would you say to this misguided pseudo-writer if you could?

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Idle Thoughts

Have any of you ever watched that show - America's Got Talent (or something like that)? I don't usually, but the other day I was flipping through the channels and saw the beginning of one of the acts. It was this little girl - cute as a button - who sang "Somewhere Out There". Very sweet, but not my thing, so I kept surfing. (As an aside, the guy who sang opera? WOW. And I'm not a huge fan of opera either.) Anyway, a couple days later I was surfing again and saw an entertainment news report that said the audience booed that little girl. She ran off the stage crying. Come on people. She was like FOUR. I mean, sure, she wasn't going to make it on to the next round, but... Have a little humanity. Sheesh. And what kind of parent would subject their baby to that? I'm still shaking my head over that one. Life's cruel enough without that crap. Let the kid play with Barbies and watch Dora for a few more years before you thrust her into the cold of entertainment.

In other news... There's the election. Umm... yeah. Two guys, neither of whom impress me, stepping in front of a bazillion cameras and being... well, snerty... for lack of a better word. Anyone else thinking of seceding from the nation? Oooo, just thought of another word for it... Whiffley. Snerty and whiffley. I miss our founding fathers, but they'd probably climb on the first boat headed for Bora-Bora if they saw the mess this place is in. Wyoming and Alaska are little pretty nice right now (since they're about the most free states we have), but the weather sucks no matter which way you go.

I can't tell you how happy I am that Stephanie won Top Chef. She earned it. Her food looked great, she seemed like a dedicated chef, and a very important trait for any human IMO, she wasn't an asshole to anyone. I admit I was pretty sure after the first couple shows, she was going home early. She seemed too nice, and I was sure people like Spike :cough:prick:cough: and Andrew - who we referred to as the pizza whiner - were going to eat her alive. But she made it through, even when Dale left one of her dishes out of the frig overnight. In Puerto Rico of all places. Needless to say, she tossed the pork and made a whole new dish at the last minute. My hat's off to her. That chick has the chops. I hope she really succeeds in life.

Have any of you been watching the Olympic trials? Wow. The shot put guy damn near put his chunk of metal out of the sand pit (I know, it's not the right word for it). The women runners were awesome. The chick who took first in the 100yd dash thingy, when she wasn't the favorite, impressed the hell out of me. (As another aside, when did the female track atheletes start wearing those horrendous bikini bottoms instead of shorts? If they're going for better aerodynamics, maybe they should worry less about their shorts and more about the hoopy earrings and the long hair. I seriously believe the one chick came in fourth because her hair was dragging her back.) As you probably can tell, track and field is not my forte. Give me football or baseball, and I can wax eloquent.

Speaking of football... I'm going into withdrawals. I want to see the Wolverines and the Packers and the Steelers and even the Seminoles. I want the mud, the blood and the beer. I want fight songs and cheerleaders and the band marching across the field at halftime (even though they hardly ever show the halftime any more). I want to hear the crunch of helmet on helmet, to see the hokey-ass touchdown dances, to watch the amazing catches. Soon... but never soon enough. And for the record, arena football just doesn't do it for me. It's not the same. :pout:

But I still have baseball. I just wish the Yankees were doing better this year. I don't know what's up with Posada playing first base, but he's my guy. Yeah, I know... As my husband pointed out, he's saving his knees, but he doesn't belong at first base. I can't stand the guy playing catcher right now, and I want my Jorge back. Jorge and Derek... When they retire, watching the Yankees just won't be the same. I guess it'll be like watching the Wolverines after Bo Schembeckler retired. I'll get over it, but it'll be hard. Of course, I had a tough time letting Paul O'Neill go, and Bernie Williams, too. I also miss Joe Torrey, but since he works for the National League now, I can root for the Dodgers without feeling like a traitor.

So, what's rolling around in your mind lately? Any good news? Anything you want to get off your chest? Free chat will now begin (within reason, of course).

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I Write What I Like

I'm not writing to order here. There's no template. There's no preconceived idea about what people might or might not want. There are only my books and me writing them. In short, this ain't an assembly line. No dies, no molds, no cookie cutters. I don't even have a contract yet that binds me to write x-number of books in x-genre. (I'll deal with that when it comes, but I think when I reach that point, it will probably be fine with me because I'll have already agreed to write what I wanted to write in the first place anyway.)

I knew going into the query process that RTL might step on more than a few sensibilities, but that wasn't my goal in writing it. It was just a story that needed to be told, and it hammered at my brain so hard I wrote the first draft in 6 weeks. Looking back, I can't conceive of writing it any other way.

Now I don't want you to think I'm just typing out the other side of my ass here. Seriously, this is an issue I think needs addressing and a few things brought this to mind over the past couple days.

First a friend of mine made a statement that no one is buying books about X anymore, and this person wondered if their book would ever sell because of it. My heart went out to them. (I've read the book, and know it's good - even if the whole X thing is passe right now.) I know how it feels to wonder if anyone will ever want to buy this wonderful thing you've created because the ideas inside might not be the popular cup of tea. Hell, Spectacle is awesome, but no one wants 'a comet book' any more. They've been done to death. And even with the fresh take I have on the concept, they can't see beyond that idea. *shrug* I love the book anyway, and if I had it to do all over again, I still would spend all the time it took to write it.

Second, Carrie Ryan had an excellent post this morning over at Manuscript Mavens wherein she talks about something she's heard at writing conferences. Someone somewhere got the idea that they had to change their manuscript to meet the wants of any particular agent they were thinking of querying. Not changing things to suit their own agent; not meeting an editor halfway on suggested changes. Changing key plot elements because a particular agent doesn't like, say, starships. The whole idea just floored me. The comment I left says it best: After reading your post, I'm sitting here a little aghast that anyone would just randomly change key components of their manuscript on the off chance someone might not like it as is. It's their work for petesakes. That would be akin to a girl getting plastic surgery to please a boy she's only seen from across the lunchroom. Egads. Editorial suggestions from an agent you trust are one thing, and I agree that you should think hard before making changes you don't believe in, but out of the blue based on some misguided notion - that's just tragic. Poor little stories hacked to bits for no good reason. =o( Seriously folks, the idea of it just depresses the hell out of me. I feel so bad for anyone who would think they had to do this to their work.

It struck me about the same as if my daughter had come up to me and asked for plastic surgery to meet some imagined idea of someone else's perfect person.

Now obviously I'm not talking about meeting the standards for writing in the English language. As I've said before, you need to meet those just to make sure your writing is understood. What I'm talking about is the meat of your story. If you're writing a SF story based on a starship, and that's what the story requires in order to remain true to itself, then don't change the setting for any reason. If your book has to be about elves, then screw anyone who says elves are 'out'. If the story has to have a comet in it, then it has to, and there's nothing you can do about it. Unless you're into stifling yourself. Either write the book the way it has to be written or don't write it at all, but for godsakes, don't change it until it's no longer what you wanted to write in the first place.

I admit that I almost fell into this trap. I know romantic suspense is hot, and I know most romantic suspense has sex in it. I definitely know there's more romance in it than what I've written in mine. So, I thought about spicing the story up.

Wrong.

If I let the market dictate the amount of romance in my book, then the story suffers for it. If I insert romance where it wouldn't be naturally, I hurt the book. So, I cut that shit out. Manhunter, when it's finished, will be what it is. A suspense novel with romance elements. No sex thrown in to please whoever. Sure, I could have the MCs jump into bed together. They already spend extended periods of time in a hotel room alone, working on figuring out the case. I could have them throw aside their files and notes and dry-erase markers. They could rip off the tacky bedspreads and make hot monkey love until the wee hours of the morning. But they'd be doing it while the killer was still out there, possibly taking another victim. Then they'd both feel guilty and the whole scene would just suck. Both of them are committed to their jobs anyway, so having sex while in the middle of a case wouldn't be true to their natures. They both want to have sex, but there's just no time. After the murderer is caught, they can knock boots to their hearts content. (And I imagine they will...) But I'm not writing it in the book.

So, when you're faced with the idea that a certain thing will or won't sell, what do you do about it? Do you write to please the market, or do you write to please yourself and hope the market will be pleased, too?

Or am I really just talking out the other side of my ass?

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Friday Morning Rant

I was raised with the understanding that there are some things you just don't talk about in polite society. Of course, the big three were religion, sex and politics. (Which as adults we sometimes can't get away from.) But there are a myriad of lesser topics that, while not mentioned explicitly, were taboo when out in public - at least in my world. (Still are, as a matter of fact.)

Part of what I'm referring to as the lesser topics can probably be described as 'bathroom humor'. I was raised that you don't discuss bodily functions in front of other people, unless you're three and you don't know any better. No one needs to know about or hear your unfortunate noises. They don't want to see you technicolor yawn or have it described in detail.

Of course, mine was a much more pleasant world.

Flipping through the channels the other day, I stumbled on what I thought at first to be a smart commercial. It showed a baby doing stock trades online, and the whole time, he's talking about how easy it is to use this particular site. I was truly wowed by the whole thing. Except for the final few seconds, when someone got the bright idea to have the baby throw up on camera. (I don't know about the rest of you, but when I see someone vomit, I'm likely to want to do the same.) I thought the commercial was successful without that imagery. I got it that stock trading with that site was so easy a baby could do it. (Don't even get me started on the caveman commercials... please... enough is enough already.) The commercial didn't need the graphic grossness, but they threw it in anyway. Why?

Last night I caught part of the movie "Austin Powers: Goldmember". Without fail, someone's bodily functions were being used as a gag. I think these movies are funny without the bathroom humor, which IMO serves no purpose other than to gross-out the viewers. Mike Myers can do better than that. (The whole scene in the first movie where they're naked and items are strategically placed over their private parts is genius, IMO.) But all the gross stuff remains.

I get that some people think this stuff is funny. What I don't get is: WHY? Sure, it was hilarious when we were five and someone in passed gas at their desk while the teacher was writing on the board. But we were five, people.

Another thing I don't understand is why people think the pain of others is funny, but that's a rant for another day. (Doubt it? Watch America's Funniest Home Videos. If you make it through five minutes where no one gets a shot to the groin, falls on their face, or otherwise hurts themselves, you're probably watching one of their animal segments.)

So, what say you? Are you into the whole bathroom humor thing, or does it just seem like it's thrown in for effect? (You know, if we tried throwing something into our writing just for effect, we'd never get the books published. Or a smart editor would chuck it out anyway.)

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