sanfranciscoI’m giddy! This Wednesday, I’ll be traveling to San Francisco. It’s not just to escape the cold, the snow, and the grey. I hope to learn a few things this weekend.

This weekend I’ll be attending my seventh San Francisco Writers Conference. If you’ve followed this blog from the beginning, you’d know that I started writing it in 2009, the weekend before my first conference, and days after completing my first novel, Finding Cadence.

I strongly urge all writers to attend conferences. Yes, even the introverts pecking away in the dark, the ones who can barely make human eye contact much less conversation. It’s expensive, yes, but choose one. Attending a conference might be the jolt of inspiration you need. The knowledge you gain, the friends you’ll make, the networking you’ll find – makes a writers conference so valuable.

I’ve read a lot of blogs outlining what you should bring to a writers conference (pitch, synopsis, smile, laptop, pen, comfortable shoes, clothing in layers), but rarely have I read anything regarding what NOT to bring.

Now that I’m a veteran attendee, I’ve witnessed a wide gamut of behavior from very, very good to cringe-worthy. Here is my brief list of what NOT to bring to a writers conference.

1. Leave your delusion of grandeur at home. Yes, your novel might be the best thing since The Great Gatsby, or maybe it’s not quite there and needs some TLC. Save your attitude for when you’re on the NY Times best sellers list.

2. Don’t bring your sour face. Maybe you’ve been toiling at this writing game for years and years and YEARS. You’ve sent out a couple hundred query letters, half of which are rejected, some auto-rejects, the rest scathing (or not) personal missives telling you “Sorry, not interested.” After years of being worn down, you think agents are the devil’s spawn, since all of them have dissed your work. Whatever you do, do not wear your disappointment where other attendees (including agents) can see.

3. Get rid of your protective shell, at least for the conference. Shed your turtle coat and let it all hang out. Sure, you’ll be left in a vulnerable position, but repeat after me, “They will not eat me.” The other writers are not your mortal enemies, and neither are the agents. (Tip: If you smile, you might make some friends.)

4. Don’t bring your closed mind. You will attend many workshops and absorb a lot of information in these three short days. Instead of discounting the possibilities, carefully consider the material that is presented to you. After studying the options, you might find that “this” technique or “that” approach might work for you. Or not.

5. Forget your hound dog nose, too. Agents and presenters can be a friendly bunch, but stalking is not recommended – unless done discreetly, of course. (Do you really want to be known as that writer?) Save your dogged perseverance for later. Like when you’re feeling dejected and want to throw in the writing towel.

Me? I plan on not pitching, even though I have two novels in various states of disrepair. I plan instead on listening very carefully, garnering all the knowledge I can, and furiously writing notes.

And now…I must pack.

See you on the other side.

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After my second (or third, I forget) edit of Virtually Yours Forever, I decided to run my novel through Smart Edit.

Smart Edit, for those who don’t know, is writing software that takes your words (yes, even novel length) and analyzes your word usage. In just a few short minutes, all of the glaring errors you thought you had avoided slap you upside the head. Overuse of adverbs and adjectives, phrases, what I call “dumb” words (really, like, the to-be words), redundancies, and cliches. It counts your exclamation points, apostrophes, and hyphens.

Smart Edit was the best $57 I ever spent.

I ran my final draft of Finding Cadence through it, and managed to eliminate 10K words. This book’s first draft started at 175K, whittled down to 130K (after I found I had used the word “family” 900+ times and “perfect” 700+ times – completely unnecessary), and finally pared to the 120K, which is still perhaps too long, but at that point I couldn’t take anything else out without compromising my story.

With the current pass at my Virtual Mommies, I want to tighten up what words I have in order to adequately express my parallel story line. I’m only on Draft A of the inserted story, so I have a way to go before completion. But at 92K, I’ll safely stay on the low side of 100K.

I’ve often said that I write how I speak. This talent might make for interesting dialogue, but the spoken word is full of redundancies. Yes, I visibly cringe when I see what Smart Edit decides to spit back at me. I’ve only been writing novels for a few years, but I take this craft very seriously. I read and house an impressive library of writing reference material. “You’d think you’d learn?” I say to myself.

I’m learning, but at a snail’s pace (yes, a cliche). And I’m OLD, meaning I can forget things now with amazing speed. (I long for those days when I could hear a song on the radio twice and remember the words.)

I’m not one of those writers who believe in the non-usage of adjectives and adverbs. I love descriptors, but you don’t want to read the same word over and over. I strive to limit my descriptor usage to less than five times in 100K.

It’s the same with phrase redundancies – unless the phrase is a signature speech pattern. For example, Janna always says “Oh, my Lady GaGa” because she’s Jewish and never says the word “God.” Or how I have Ashe signing off on email either “Virtually yours forever” or “Peace out.” But if Smart Edit shows 37 “you have tos,” I know I must get in there and change at least 30 of them to something else.

There is an upside to having all of your errors staring you in your face. You won’t find  900-anythings in my manuscripts anymore, which means I must be learning from my mistakes.

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words

Yes, my main mode of writing a novel (or anything else) is via computer. It’s easy, and since I can type approximately 70 words per minute, if I get on a nice little writing jag, I can pump out paragraphs in no time at all. Everything is online these days…everything, including writing. If you’re a writer who doesn’t have a computer (horrors!) or Internet access (blasphemy!), you are an old-school dinosaur writing at an insurmountable disadvantage.

So yes, my laptop is my bestie, and thanks to the World Wide Web, people on every inch of the globe can read not only my words, but everyone’s words, if they so desire. Instant knowledge at the tips of your fingers, what’s more Nirvana than that? However… since my work involves heavy computer usage, my eyes get tired. I personally despise looking at computer monitors, especially after 8 or so hours of squinting into one at work. While the Kindle is nice, I find it difficult to read any words on a screen, much less my own. I haven’t mastered Scrivener, so I use Word which is the worst word processing program ever! It’s cumbersome, it’s hard to format (if you want to go beyond the standard 1″ margins all around), it’s basic, the dictionary and thesaurus suck, and well…I’m sometimes too tired by the time I get around to creating words on a page to fuss with it. I consider Word a necessary evil.

Call me old-fashioned, but I still write in notebooks. With a number 2 pencil – a Papermate Sharpwriter. (Excellent lead, sturdy eraser.)

First of all, there’s the notebook fetish. I love, love, love notebooks. My favorite for writing is the larger Moleskine with graphing lines, like the one pictured above. The lines keep my handwriting on track, plus, those squares are handy for plotting out scenes, easy to divide into columns, rectangles, or other shapes. I’m a pantser, so I don’t outline, but I can set scenes into this notebook. I need visuals and highlights and graphs. I might draw a scene, although my artistic skills are nothing to brag about. After I’ve got the basics down, I go back to the computer and type them into my Word document.

Each notebook contains all of the information I need for each novel. (I tried combining different stories in the same book; it just doesn’t work. Too confusing.)

I have notebooks of every size and color for other things. A small one always at the ready in my purse. Sometimes I’ll hear or see something, and jot it down so I won’t forget. (Because if I didn’t, I’d surely forget. I’m old, remember?)

I’m hoarding notebooks and pencils for the Apocalypse. Okay, so maybe when the earth is scorched and radioactive, I won’t have hands to write my stories. Still, it makes for a good excuse.

And yes, I am old school. I began writing before computers. I submitted my first story (typewritten) to a contest when I was 16, but before getting down to the typing (back then I was a terrible typist and my Remington didn’t have an erase mode), I worked my manuscript on paper many times before I committed to the final draft.

There is something about handwriting your work that makes it precious, especially when doing writing prompts. You might think the well has run dry, but give yourself twenty minutes to fill a page with your own handwriting, and it will be done. Staring at a computer screen promotes procrastination, at least, for me. I need the manual labor of writing to get me going. It’s also nice to see a notebook full, every page taken up with words and whimsy. You can see it, it’s tangible, you can feel it, not like you can when you open up folders on a hard drive.

So if you’re experiencing a slump, a blockage, or just want to try something different, consider handwriting in a notebook.

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fogThis is my heart. Gray. Lifeless. Foggy. Heavy like a wet sponge.

NO WONDER I CAN’T WRITE!

*palm slap to the forehead*

Those terrible occurrences of last year have followed me into this year. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did.

I don’t know how life has spiraled so out of control. I’m a creature of habit; I’m used to a schedule, to relative calm. I like a quiet house and no worries. When things go haywire, I don’t like it. That old adage about how God gives only the burdens that you can bear is a bunch of hoo-ey. I could have freaked out and become catatonic with only one-half of the burdens heaped on my plate. I should have.

The most difficult item on my agenda was letting go. I had bottled everything inside me, worrying over things I have no control over. I’m a wife, a mother, a business woman, a gardener, an artist. I need stability to do my best job in all these areas, and I just wasn’t feeling it. The ground beneath my feet has been shifting like an earthquake rumbling, and it was all I could do to keep myself upright.

However, I am glad to report (after the first six days of the New Year – Happy New Year to me! – not) that things are beginning to look up. Many problems remain, but others are slowly untangling.

It’s almost the end of January. Winter has been a milder one than last year’s, although winter is winter, especially here in the Frozen Tundra. The days are getting longer. When it doesn’t snow and is terribly cold, the gray skies blow away, leaving a crystalline blue background and puffy white clouds. When the sun’s out, even 18 degrees feels warm.

I haven’t seen the crocus sprout, but it’s only a matter of time.

Hope. It’s what I needed.

Releasing the angst and admitting I’m not capable of changing others – I needed that, too.

I’m now going to get on the horse again – MY horse – and write. Run my own life for a change. Get my hands dirty, let my mind go wild.

I don’t know what just happened now, but I know I like this.

🙂

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Thank goodness 2014 is nearly over! Let’s break out the champagne and usher in the New Year!bloodorangemimoso

Okay, so that’s a blood orange mimosa, but you catch my drift. 2014 was a downer, a fallow 365 days of suffering, high hopes and expectations, with low production. Plus, I’m a year closer to death (or at least the big 6-0.)

Here’s how I hope to do better in 2015:

1. WRITE! WRITE MORE! Due to many unforeseen complications, I didn’t write many new words this year.

2. EDIT! EDIT MORE! This year saw me finally complete an edit for VY2. It took for-ever. My above complications made it difficult for me to concentrate.

3. RELEASE VY2! Yes, I’m fast-tracking this baby. I’ve been playing around with it long enough. However, just because I completed an edit (on Christmas Day, no less), doesn’t mean it’s ready for the big time. I’m guessing at least two more edits, maybe more, since I wove in another two characters and a parallel story line. (Can’t say much about it right now. But expect bigger things to happen to my girls.)

4. Somehow I need to get my life in some sort of order so that I can do the above mentioned three things on my list.

I’m not a fan of New Year’s resolutions, but I am a fan of setting goals and attempting to see them through to fruition.

I also plan on writing more online articles, so stay tuned.

And, to shamelessly mention during the last few days of this year, if you haven’t purchased a hard copy of Finding Cadence, you should do so through me. That way you’ll have an autographed copy in your hot little hands.

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I’ve been Facebook chatting with several people who are experiencing difficulties in their lives right now.

Suicides, break-ups, aging parents, adult children with mega-problems.

In my previous post, I mentioned that I have difficulty speaking. It’s not that I can’t maintain a conversation, it’s just that I’m not as coherent as I wish I could be. I rarely say witty things on the fly. Writing is a much better outlet, because if the words aren’t just right, you can erase them, make them better, add some zing and pizazz.

There are some things in your life you don’t want the whole world to know, but there’s a desire in all of us to hash things out, try to analyze and puzzle through to a solution. That’s why I don’t post my sordid business on social media, whether because I’m ashamed or embarrassed or afraid of what people will think of me. I realize that the private chat is more intimate, like having coffee with a friend. My friend with his break-up, I could palpably feel how upset and hurt and depressed he was. (His lady friend, I’m not so sure.) I felt the same with my suicide survivor. My friend whose daughter suffered domestic abuse, yes, I’ve been there with my own children.

What can you do? These are situations that YOU can’t fix. All you can do is listen.

The experts say that if you’re depressed, you should work out, fire up those endorphins. I did that for thirty days straight, and would only feel blah while on the treadmill. The rest of the time, I could have burst into tears at some sappy commercial, or if I couldn’t get a damned weed out of my garden. (Yes, it’s that bad.)

If you’re artistic like I am, you try to channel some of that angst and sorrow into something creative. My best poetry was written right after breaking up with a boyfriend. However, getting creative after an emotional upheaval is sometimes easier said than done. I found it so much easier to force myself to run 6 miles than I could to sit at my computer and actually write.

But I have to.

Because that’s what I do.

So I have pledged to get through this damned edit of Virtually Yours Forever by Christmas. I’m going to sit here for as many minutes, hours, and days as it will take and conquer this, to the exclusion of all other things. I love my characters, I love the plot and where it’s going, but like all writers, I have a fear of not being able to accomplish my goals.

But it’s the final trimester, and it’s time to push this baby out. And I’ve done that before.

Wish me luck.

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My good friends know that I’m depressed this winter, partially because of SAD and partly because of family issues.

I think of myself as a warrior woman. Machine gun me with nails, I’ll spit them right back at you. Say I can’t and I’ll prove that I can. I create out of a deep need to express myself, and with a vengeance. You can try to chop me into pieces, but like the burls of a redwood, I’ll just multiply and conquer you a little at a time.

But not this time.

Depression has kicked my ass.

So I have sought out help. I have medications, which don’t seem to be helping one bit. I have a therapist, but confronting the things that are bothering me results in a sob fest. I’m not sure if talking helps.

I’m not good at speaking. I never have been. I signed up for Mr. Dionysio’s speech class in high school and spent the entire semester in silence. When I took speech in college, I had one successful speech, one that was rather “meh”, and one where I bombed completely – end grade, B-.

I couldn’t speak on the phone, and therefore gravitated toward factory jobs instead of those involving customer service. I thought I didn’t like people, and that people didn’t like me.

(Imagine me now, on the phone all the time. You can teach an old dog new tricks.)

I’m not stupid, I’m in the low Mensa range. I have coherent, cogent thoughts. I read smart books, funny books, inspirational books. But speaking, either publicly or privately…I’m the stereotypical writer, an introvert who’d rather hole up with my laptop or pen with a hot cup of green tea by my side.

So I have decided to write (again) about these deeply seated feelings. Get them on paper. Because I sure as heck don’t want to burden my friends and family with the intimate details.

Plus I can’t.

Last night, I had a Facebook “conversation” with a friend in a similar position. I received more insight in that thirty minutes of back and forth than I did the last time I saw the therapist. Why? Because we were typing. I don’t think I could have the same conversation in person. I cannot verbalize my sadness. Not yet.

And this is why writing is better than talking.

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