just a quick post to include the link to an article i read in the new york times in regard to e-books:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/15/technology/companies/15amazon.html?pagewanted=1&hpw
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
up in my grill
i have discovered, not recently, that personal space is a phenomenon, when it comes to me. where to start. first of all, let me preface this blog with the fact that i am only child. i am also a writer, which means i tend to have introverted tendencies. so, i am quite comfortable being alone. in fact, i revere it daily.
so, let me tell you while i am beguiled and perplexed about my personal space, or lack thereof.
scenario #1
when i go to the gym, i make it a point to find a machine where no one else is next to. why? i will tell you why. most chicks and dudes that go to my gym are not there to work out. how do i know this? well, when a chick comes in wearing freshly applied makeup with her flat-ironed hair down, you figure it out. but, this does not bother me, much. what does bother me is that they talk on their cell phones while walking on the stairmaster! and i don't mean like taking a quick emergency call - i mean they have 30-minute conversations at full-voice volume! seriously. but here is the phenomenon - there could be 50 open treadmills - i am not exaggerating on that number - and excessive chatty cell-phone chick comes and gets right next to me. why? there are like 49 open treadmills! a lot of times i take a book with me to read and i also wear my ipod, so i'm trying real hard to block out all the huffing noises people make when they run or whatever, then here comes charlotte-chats-a-lot and i'm wondering why - why does she feel the need to be all up in my grill when i'm clearly trying to multitask by reading and exercising? at that moment my grill should be seen as a public library. shhh!
scenario #2
public bathrooms. picture six stalls. let's say i walk in and the entire bathroom is empty. which stall do i go into? i go into stall number three - smack dab in the middle. that makes me think my odds of the next person who comes in and spreading out is pretty good. WRONG! it always happens. someone comes and gets right beside me and it never fails - they are not there for a short pit stop. so i have to rush to get out of there or else i gag.
scenario #3
there is this lady. i'm not saying who she is or where i know her from or when this happens, but oh my gahhhhhhhhhhhh! she is all up in my grill and then some. i get that she just doesn't get that it's way over the border too close to my face. in fact, sometimes i wonder if she is in need of a hug because why else would someone get so close to me? i know what you're thinking, but no, she is married. to a man. it just makes me very uncomfortable because the chances of getting spit upon are tremendously increased as well as the likelihood of me smelling metallica breath.
i'm not sure what this invasion of personal space is all about. it's not my imagination. it happens every day. maybe i have some rockin' pheromones? maybe people see me as a challenge - "ooh, that girl's reading a book, i bet she'd find my conversation much more interesting." or maybe ...
people
people who need people
are the most annoying people in the world
just kidding! i love people. not the barbra streisand song, but i love barbra streisand and i love people, as in a large quantity of individuals. while i love people, i just don't want to listen to wah wah wah, hear their grodie bathroom, no-shame noises, or be able to smell their breath up close and personal.
so, if you have any clue why my grill seems to attract bugs - get it, bugs - lemme know. just don't get too close to my face when you tell me.
disclaimer: no member of the spanksters has ever gotten too close to my grill, so no worries. you guys are totally in compliance with personal space and i commend you for your cognizance of others existing in this universe.
so, let me tell you while i am beguiled and perplexed about my personal space, or lack thereof.
scenario #1
when i go to the gym, i make it a point to find a machine where no one else is next to. why? i will tell you why. most chicks and dudes that go to my gym are not there to work out. how do i know this? well, when a chick comes in wearing freshly applied makeup with her flat-ironed hair down, you figure it out. but, this does not bother me, much. what does bother me is that they talk on their cell phones while walking on the stairmaster! and i don't mean like taking a quick emergency call - i mean they have 30-minute conversations at full-voice volume! seriously. but here is the phenomenon - there could be 50 open treadmills - i am not exaggerating on that number - and excessive chatty cell-phone chick comes and gets right next to me. why? there are like 49 open treadmills! a lot of times i take a book with me to read and i also wear my ipod, so i'm trying real hard to block out all the huffing noises people make when they run or whatever, then here comes charlotte-chats-a-lot and i'm wondering why - why does she feel the need to be all up in my grill when i'm clearly trying to multitask by reading and exercising? at that moment my grill should be seen as a public library. shhh!
scenario #2
public bathrooms. picture six stalls. let's say i walk in and the entire bathroom is empty. which stall do i go into? i go into stall number three - smack dab in the middle. that makes me think my odds of the next person who comes in and spreading out is pretty good. WRONG! it always happens. someone comes and gets right beside me and it never fails - they are not there for a short pit stop. so i have to rush to get out of there or else i gag.
scenario #3
there is this lady. i'm not saying who she is or where i know her from or when this happens, but oh my gahhhhhhhhhhhh! she is all up in my grill and then some. i get that she just doesn't get that it's way over the border too close to my face. in fact, sometimes i wonder if she is in need of a hug because why else would someone get so close to me? i know what you're thinking, but no, she is married. to a man. it just makes me very uncomfortable because the chances of getting spit upon are tremendously increased as well as the likelihood of me smelling metallica breath.
i'm not sure what this invasion of personal space is all about. it's not my imagination. it happens every day. maybe i have some rockin' pheromones? maybe people see me as a challenge - "ooh, that girl's reading a book, i bet she'd find my conversation much more interesting." or maybe ...
people
people who need people
are the most annoying people in the world
just kidding! i love people. not the barbra streisand song, but i love barbra streisand and i love people, as in a large quantity of individuals. while i love people, i just don't want to listen to wah wah wah, hear their grodie bathroom, no-shame noises, or be able to smell their breath up close and personal.
so, if you have any clue why my grill seems to attract bugs - get it, bugs - lemme know. just don't get too close to my face when you tell me.
disclaimer: no member of the spanksters has ever gotten too close to my grill, so no worries. you guys are totally in compliance with personal space and i commend you for your cognizance of others existing in this universe.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Killer Kites
Yesterday we out in the backyard to fly a kite. The backyard’s pretty big and it seemed like a good idea. There wasn’t enough wind and it would only stay up for a few minutes at a time. But the kiddo has a determined streak and wanted to keep trying. It was fun until we got it stuck in the top of the neighbor’s tree. Oops. Maybe they won’t notice.
So, today we bought 2 new kites. After learning a valuable lesson yesterday, we took the new kites to the soccer field to fly them. Today was really windy and a great day for flying kites.
The hubby told us about when he was a kid they would have kite ‘fights.’ I thought that meant they would try to whack each other with the kites but apparently that wasn’t the case. They would duct tape razor blades to the edges and then fight them in the air. He also admitted to duct taping nails and anything else they could find and then fighting the kites.
Of course, their parents knew nothing about it. That made me wonder how often they needed new kites, and that was pretty much every day. He said they would search the ditches for Coke bottles and sell those to make some money. Then they would purchase a new kite for forty-nine cents and off to the kite fights they’d go.
Being a mom, my first thought was that razor blades and nails on kites seemed like the perfect way to loose an eye or get someone’s throat cut.
I can see the headlines now, “Be on the lookout for a Killer Kite. It’s Pink and white with Hello Kitty on the face but don’t be fooled by its cotton candy coloring, this kite is deadly. Last seen heading north on a warm front of high pressure air.”
So, today we bought 2 new kites. After learning a valuable lesson yesterday, we took the new kites to the soccer field to fly them. Today was really windy and a great day for flying kites.
The hubby told us about when he was a kid they would have kite ‘fights.’ I thought that meant they would try to whack each other with the kites but apparently that wasn’t the case. They would duct tape razor blades to the edges and then fight them in the air. He also admitted to duct taping nails and anything else they could find and then fighting the kites.
Of course, their parents knew nothing about it. That made me wonder how often they needed new kites, and that was pretty much every day. He said they would search the ditches for Coke bottles and sell those to make some money. Then they would purchase a new kite for forty-nine cents and off to the kite fights they’d go.
Being a mom, my first thought was that razor blades and nails on kites seemed like the perfect way to loose an eye or get someone’s throat cut.
I can see the headlines now, “Be on the lookout for a Killer Kite. It’s Pink and white with Hello Kitty on the face but don’t be fooled by its cotton candy coloring, this kite is deadly. Last seen heading north on a warm front of high pressure air.”
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Life Sucks...And Then You Write...
This is going to be two posts in one. A buy one get one free, except we don't charge for these magnificent words of wisdom...but that is an idea...
The great thing about being a writer is: it's an excellent source for venting. The quote on my blog site is, "by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." Sylvia Plath wrote that. I have no idea who she is, and I should probably google her, but isn't she right?
If you have that wonderful over active imagination, any single moment in your life - good or bad - can become the next best thing on the book shelf. But you also have to have the guts to do it and just get over yourself.
Isn't that easier said than done?
I'm a big chicken. I love to write. I write all the time but up until I joined this fabulous group we now call THE SPANKSTERS, I never, ever let anyone read a single word I wrote. Well, that's if you don't count the sickening poetry my BFF and I wrote in high school. I can show you that anytime, if you need a good laugh. I didn't want anyone to read all the other stuff because, what if they didn't like it? What if they laughed at these things that had become so personal to me? What if they didn't - eek - get it? Get me?
But here's the thing, someone has to read it sometime. Someone has to give you their opinion so you know if your getting it right. That's where the guts part comes into play. I lived in my own little writing world until one day I realized, I only had me and my overactive imagination to tell me it was good, or that it sucked ass and I shouldn't quit my day job. That's when I found DARA and went to my first conference. Then a short while later, Angela (at least I'm pretty sure it was her) sent out the one email on the loop that I read about forming a critique group. And now I have this wonderful group of women that I can't imagine not having in my writing world. Everyone one of us is unique with our writing styles and I have learned so much - from the correct use of ... to all the different ways to use/say the word 'cock'. Okay, that's just the funny stuff, but in the two years or so we have been together, I see a difference in my writing. I've gotten over my chicken lily livered ways and look forward to every reply email that has suggestions or rewrites or grammar errors that probably has Christie grinding her pearly whites...but it's all so very appreciated.
2009 in a new year. A new beginning for all of us. A time to layout some serious goals and whack that freaking crap-o-la out of them. WE GOT THIS!!! Karilyn's recent wonderful oh-my-god she's getting published news, is such an inspiration. It made it so real to me, so within our reach. WE GOT THIS!!!
Okay, part deux. I recently became addicted to facebook. This is a result of a friend calling me and laughing hysterically. I won't go into details, because I don't like to hurt peoples feelings, but I got logged in and youtube was replaced by looking at high school chums and what they are doing now. That's not really my point, but it leads up to it.
I'm a journaler (is that a word?). I've kept a journal since I was probably about twelve. So, with this influx of high school memories, I pulled those old volumes out and began to weep from laughing so hard. Being a teenager really sucked if what I wrote is any indication. Seriously, I don't recall being so melodramatic but there it is...all written out for me to see. I even found tucked in between the pages the phone number of the first boy I loved. In his first grade hand writing...even though he was seventeen when he wrote it. (take that jackass!) Sorry that just felt good.
I started reading in the journal that captured my 16th, 17th and 18th years. Oh, Lord what good times that was. If I could get a publisher to read this, I know they'd buy it and publish it as, "Yeah, I was 16 once too." It could be a guide to teenagers when they hear that line from their mother. I know I heard it. Some of my favorite dramatic moments are outlined below.
- my mother did say to me, "You don't know what love is." This was after she told me that I was no longer allowed see the juvenile delinquent I L-O-V-E-D 4-EVER. Turns out...she might have been right. But don't tell her I said that.
- "Why can't I just get over him?" This said about above mentioned idiot, the same entry goes on to say I've been seeing someone else. Hmmmm.
- "Like the song says, there's a danger in loving somebody too much." Yes, yes. I did say that.
- "I'm so alone." This entry then goes on to talk about how I'd done this with that person and that with this other person and how I had plans to hang out with someone else. Yeah, I was sooooo alone.
- "Whatever, he's young anyway." This said about a boy that was maybe, 6 months younger than me and about a foot and 100 lbs heavier than me. Nevermind this comment came from him pissing me off. So there! I was very mature for my age...
Oh, I could go on for days. It's comedy gold those old volumes of my life.
Which brings me back to the title, life does suck sometimes but you write it down, you get it out then you look back at it 15 years later and laugh. Because everything is life is writable. EVERYTHING.
Even mean boys that tear your heart out and stomp on it in front of his friends...hey, I'm not bitter. Mostly because I'm bigger than that but maybe a little because I know how his life turned out...hehehe.
The great thing about being a writer is: it's an excellent source for venting. The quote on my blog site is, "by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." Sylvia Plath wrote that. I have no idea who she is, and I should probably google her, but isn't she right?
If you have that wonderful over active imagination, any single moment in your life - good or bad - can become the next best thing on the book shelf. But you also have to have the guts to do it and just get over yourself.
Isn't that easier said than done?
I'm a big chicken. I love to write. I write all the time but up until I joined this fabulous group we now call THE SPANKSTERS, I never, ever let anyone read a single word I wrote. Well, that's if you don't count the sickening poetry my BFF and I wrote in high school. I can show you that anytime, if you need a good laugh. I didn't want anyone to read all the other stuff because, what if they didn't like it? What if they laughed at these things that had become so personal to me? What if they didn't - eek - get it? Get me?
But here's the thing, someone has to read it sometime. Someone has to give you their opinion so you know if your getting it right. That's where the guts part comes into play. I lived in my own little writing world until one day I realized, I only had me and my overactive imagination to tell me it was good, or that it sucked ass and I shouldn't quit my day job. That's when I found DARA and went to my first conference. Then a short while later, Angela (at least I'm pretty sure it was her) sent out the one email on the loop that I read about forming a critique group. And now I have this wonderful group of women that I can't imagine not having in my writing world. Everyone one of us is unique with our writing styles and I have learned so much - from the correct use of ... to all the different ways to use/say the word 'cock'. Okay, that's just the funny stuff, but in the two years or so we have been together, I see a difference in my writing. I've gotten over my chicken lily livered ways and look forward to every reply email that has suggestions or rewrites or grammar errors that probably has Christie grinding her pearly whites...but it's all so very appreciated.
2009 in a new year. A new beginning for all of us. A time to layout some serious goals and whack that freaking crap-o-la out of them. WE GOT THIS!!! Karilyn's recent wonderful oh-my-god she's getting published news, is such an inspiration. It made it so real to me, so within our reach. WE GOT THIS!!!
Okay, part deux. I recently became addicted to facebook. This is a result of a friend calling me and laughing hysterically. I won't go into details, because I don't like to hurt peoples feelings, but I got logged in and youtube was replaced by looking at high school chums and what they are doing now. That's not really my point, but it leads up to it.
I'm a journaler (is that a word?). I've kept a journal since I was probably about twelve. So, with this influx of high school memories, I pulled those old volumes out and began to weep from laughing so hard. Being a teenager really sucked if what I wrote is any indication. Seriously, I don't recall being so melodramatic but there it is...all written out for me to see. I even found tucked in between the pages the phone number of the first boy I loved. In his first grade hand writing...even though he was seventeen when he wrote it. (take that jackass!) Sorry that just felt good.
I started reading in the journal that captured my 16th, 17th and 18th years. Oh, Lord what good times that was. If I could get a publisher to read this, I know they'd buy it and publish it as, "Yeah, I was 16 once too." It could be a guide to teenagers when they hear that line from their mother. I know I heard it. Some of my favorite dramatic moments are outlined below.
- my mother did say to me, "You don't know what love is." This was after she told me that I was no longer allowed see the juvenile delinquent I L-O-V-E-D 4-EVER. Turns out...she might have been right. But don't tell her I said that.
- "Why can't I just get over him?" This said about above mentioned idiot, the same entry goes on to say I've been seeing someone else. Hmmmm.
- "Like the song says, there's a danger in loving somebody too much." Yes, yes. I did say that.
- "I'm so alone." This entry then goes on to talk about how I'd done this with that person and that with this other person and how I had plans to hang out with someone else. Yeah, I was sooooo alone.
- "Whatever, he's young anyway." This said about a boy that was maybe, 6 months younger than me and about a foot and 100 lbs heavier than me. Nevermind this comment came from him pissing me off. So there! I was very mature for my age...
Oh, I could go on for days. It's comedy gold those old volumes of my life.
Which brings me back to the title, life does suck sometimes but you write it down, you get it out then you look back at it 15 years later and laugh. Because everything is life is writable. EVERYTHING.
Even mean boys that tear your heart out and stomp on it in front of his friends...hey, I'm not bitter. Mostly because I'm bigger than that but maybe a little because I know how his life turned out...hehehe.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
I may pass out, but I'll get to the top!
A couple of years ago we went to Savannah, GA on vacation and we drove out to one of the islands to tour a light house. Do you have ANY idea how many steps there are to the top of a lighthouse? There’s at least a million. I couldn’t count past that because I think I passed out for a while.
The stairwell is designed with leprechauns or Gwyneth Paltrow in mind because for the average adult it’s like trying to squeeze into a tube of toothpaste. There was a long line of people going to the lookout at the top. I was the leader of my family and an older gentleman was in front of me. About a fourth of the way up I thought this isn’t too bad. We can do this. A little further up and I’m getting a bit winded but I don’t want to appear weak so I keep plugging along. The man in front of me is moving at a pretty fast pace.
Half way up and I’m pulling myself along by the handrail. If I let go I’ll tumble all the way to the bottom. I smile (grimace) back at my family, because we’re having fun. Right? RIGHT?!
Three fourths of the way up. Is this damn lighthouse ever going to end? Whose dumb idea was it to climb a lighthouse anyway?! The stupid SOB in front of me is skipping! Geriatric Freak! I’m sucking on my inhaler and I honestly believe I’m going to die, but I can’t stop. My heart is pounding at an alarming rate, and my lungs have already collapsed.
The 70 year old cyborg in front of me is jogging. I think he must have taken Viagra or something. I’m going to die. Wheeze… My vision is going black. There’s no air! I can’t breath. These stairs will NEVER end. Wheeze…
Finally. We reach the top and there’s a tiny door that opens onto the lookout. I’m close to death but relieved to be finished with the stairs. I squeeze through the door and hope there’s enough oxygen this high up so that a couple of my brain cells will continue to live. At least there’ll be something left to hook up to a ventilator.
I look back for my family thinking they’ll want to enjoy the beautiful freaking view and guess what? My husband won’t come out on the deck. Suddenly, my 6’1” hero is afraid of heights.
Seriously!!!????!!! I climb the Mt. Everest of Lighthouses and he won’t come out on the deck! So I have to admire the view with the old geezer. Stupid robot.
Wheeze…
How does this tie into writing? And what’s the moral of the story. I don’t know. Maybe it’s that we shouldn’t compare ourselves to others. For all I know that old guy climbed those stairs everyday.
As writers and people we have to remember that each person has their own journey, and it’s not going to be down the same roads as someone else. Maybe it runs along side someone’s road for a while but there will be different obstacles for each of us.
Or maybe the moral is: Take Viagra and climb to the top!
The stairwell is designed with leprechauns or Gwyneth Paltrow in mind because for the average adult it’s like trying to squeeze into a tube of toothpaste. There was a long line of people going to the lookout at the top. I was the leader of my family and an older gentleman was in front of me. About a fourth of the way up I thought this isn’t too bad. We can do this. A little further up and I’m getting a bit winded but I don’t want to appear weak so I keep plugging along. The man in front of me is moving at a pretty fast pace.
Half way up and I’m pulling myself along by the handrail. If I let go I’ll tumble all the way to the bottom. I smile (grimace) back at my family, because we’re having fun. Right? RIGHT?!
Three fourths of the way up. Is this damn lighthouse ever going to end? Whose dumb idea was it to climb a lighthouse anyway?! The stupid SOB in front of me is skipping! Geriatric Freak! I’m sucking on my inhaler and I honestly believe I’m going to die, but I can’t stop. My heart is pounding at an alarming rate, and my lungs have already collapsed.
The 70 year old cyborg in front of me is jogging. I think he must have taken Viagra or something. I’m going to die. Wheeze… My vision is going black. There’s no air! I can’t breath. These stairs will NEVER end. Wheeze…
Finally. We reach the top and there’s a tiny door that opens onto the lookout. I’m close to death but relieved to be finished with the stairs. I squeeze through the door and hope there’s enough oxygen this high up so that a couple of my brain cells will continue to live. At least there’ll be something left to hook up to a ventilator.
I look back for my family thinking they’ll want to enjoy the beautiful freaking view and guess what? My husband won’t come out on the deck. Suddenly, my 6’1” hero is afraid of heights.
Seriously!!!????!!! I climb the Mt. Everest of Lighthouses and he won’t come out on the deck! So I have to admire the view with the old geezer. Stupid robot.
Wheeze…
How does this tie into writing? And what’s the moral of the story. I don’t know. Maybe it’s that we shouldn’t compare ourselves to others. For all I know that old guy climbed those stairs everyday.
As writers and people we have to remember that each person has their own journey, and it’s not going to be down the same roads as someone else. Maybe it runs along side someone’s road for a while but there will be different obstacles for each of us.
Or maybe the moral is: Take Viagra and climb to the top!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
just do it
no, i'm not back in 82, quoting the nike slogan. i'm here in 09 saying that if you want to blog, just do it. after all, blogging is writing, and we're writers, so what else is there to say?
the past month i've been evaluating the stuff i've written over the past few years. not only do i think i'm writing in a highly competitive subgenre, i started questioning if this was the direction i really wanted my personal writing career to go. my professional writing career enables me to do lots of different kinds of writing: script writing (i say script because these are for short videos and flash presentations), feature writing (magazine articles), web writing (as in web sites), business writing (as in memos, letters, press releases), etc. so, why can't i do lots of different personal writing? well, i believe i can do anything i want but since there are only 24 hours in a day, that's one reason why i can't. another reason is, at least it seems in romance, that you have to be married to one subgenre, or else develop another pen name and be two people. i barely have time to be one person, so being two, three, our four to cover all the writing i'd like to do may be more than i can tackle given other responsibilities and desires.
it also struck me that the majority of what i read is not what i write. i believe that is because of two reasons:
1. i have limited favorite authors in my subgenre, thus i only have a few books of theirs to read per year.
2. i am interested in lots of different stuff - i majored in english - that's what we did - we read a bunch of different stuff.
i'm not at some crossroad trying to figure out what i want to do. oh, gee, is this really for me? of course it is. that is a stupid question i will never ask myself - no matter how many rejections i get, no matter how many "life" obstacles come my way. regardless of my recent evaluation, i will do something. i've been writing since i was 15. i knew at 15 i would be a writer. that's why i studied it in school. that's what i do at work from 8-5, 40 hours a week, sometimes personal writing during my lunch hour, and usually part of my night after work. that's why i belong to a writing organization and am in the best critique group ever. i am never not writing even when i am not at my laptop or there is no pen or paper in sight. i can write anywhere, anytime. it's a choice, something i do - not something i see as something i'd like to do.
a writer either wants it or doesn't. you are either going to do it or just talk about doing it but never get around to doing it. if you are the latter, you aren't a writer. you have to write to be a writer. sorry, that's just how it is. remember the blog where is asked if a person could call themselves a runner if they never ran? the answer is no. you have to practice what you dream. dreams usually never fall into a person's lap. they have to work for it. besides, it wouldn't be any fun if you didn't earn it or learn from it.
so, where i'm at is here. i acknowledge that i am interested in lots of different subjects and lots of different types of writing ... and that is the beauty of it - people change. i've changed. back in the day i wrote a screenplay. maybe i'll write another one. i know how, so why not? for me, it's a matter of time and balancing priorities. my priorities have COMPLETELY changed, but that doesn't mean my love of writing has changed too. i will always write. but what i write, that is what i actually don't want to plan. maybe that's the pantster in me - i like letting writing take me somewhere. i don't want to plan it out. that's also why i avoid "methods" like storyboarding - that takes the fun out of it and it makes the whole writing process unnatural, at least to me. i don't need to do a character outline. if i don't know my characters inside and out, why would i even attempt to write a story? while i am this way, i accept that everyone is different. although i admit that i accept that everyone writes differently, i don't really understand it. i only "get" my way.
so again. i'll continue to write what feels right. and i think that is OK. whether i'm writing contemporary or women's fiction, my voice doesn't change. i'm still me.
if i had to come up with one issue, it would be that what i write doesn't seem to fit into some cookie cutter place. so, finding a home may be a little difficult, but you know what, i'm not worried about that. if it's meant to be, it will be.
so, i say if you want to be a writer, you better write. don't just think about writing, don't make excuses, don't plan it out because i am here to testify, as a former queen of planning, that plans don't always work out, at least not when we want them to. i do think, however, that if writing is something you truly want, as in deep down to the innermost depth of your heart - you will get what you want. but don't wait for it to just fall in your lap. you gotta write.
just do it. don't talk about it. do it. do. it.
the past month i've been evaluating the stuff i've written over the past few years. not only do i think i'm writing in a highly competitive subgenre, i started questioning if this was the direction i really wanted my personal writing career to go. my professional writing career enables me to do lots of different kinds of writing: script writing (i say script because these are for short videos and flash presentations), feature writing (magazine articles), web writing (as in web sites), business writing (as in memos, letters, press releases), etc. so, why can't i do lots of different personal writing? well, i believe i can do anything i want but since there are only 24 hours in a day, that's one reason why i can't. another reason is, at least it seems in romance, that you have to be married to one subgenre, or else develop another pen name and be two people. i barely have time to be one person, so being two, three, our four to cover all the writing i'd like to do may be more than i can tackle given other responsibilities and desires.
it also struck me that the majority of what i read is not what i write. i believe that is because of two reasons:
1. i have limited favorite authors in my subgenre, thus i only have a few books of theirs to read per year.
2. i am interested in lots of different stuff - i majored in english - that's what we did - we read a bunch of different stuff.
i'm not at some crossroad trying to figure out what i want to do. oh, gee, is this really for me? of course it is. that is a stupid question i will never ask myself - no matter how many rejections i get, no matter how many "life" obstacles come my way. regardless of my recent evaluation, i will do something. i've been writing since i was 15. i knew at 15 i would be a writer. that's why i studied it in school. that's what i do at work from 8-5, 40 hours a week, sometimes personal writing during my lunch hour, and usually part of my night after work. that's why i belong to a writing organization and am in the best critique group ever. i am never not writing even when i am not at my laptop or there is no pen or paper in sight. i can write anywhere, anytime. it's a choice, something i do - not something i see as something i'd like to do.
a writer either wants it or doesn't. you are either going to do it or just talk about doing it but never get around to doing it. if you are the latter, you aren't a writer. you have to write to be a writer. sorry, that's just how it is. remember the blog where is asked if a person could call themselves a runner if they never ran? the answer is no. you have to practice what you dream. dreams usually never fall into a person's lap. they have to work for it. besides, it wouldn't be any fun if you didn't earn it or learn from it.
so, where i'm at is here. i acknowledge that i am interested in lots of different subjects and lots of different types of writing ... and that is the beauty of it - people change. i've changed. back in the day i wrote a screenplay. maybe i'll write another one. i know how, so why not? for me, it's a matter of time and balancing priorities. my priorities have COMPLETELY changed, but that doesn't mean my love of writing has changed too. i will always write. but what i write, that is what i actually don't want to plan. maybe that's the pantster in me - i like letting writing take me somewhere. i don't want to plan it out. that's also why i avoid "methods" like storyboarding - that takes the fun out of it and it makes the whole writing process unnatural, at least to me. i don't need to do a character outline. if i don't know my characters inside and out, why would i even attempt to write a story? while i am this way, i accept that everyone is different. although i admit that i accept that everyone writes differently, i don't really understand it. i only "get" my way.
so again. i'll continue to write what feels right. and i think that is OK. whether i'm writing contemporary or women's fiction, my voice doesn't change. i'm still me.
if i had to come up with one issue, it would be that what i write doesn't seem to fit into some cookie cutter place. so, finding a home may be a little difficult, but you know what, i'm not worried about that. if it's meant to be, it will be.
so, i say if you want to be a writer, you better write. don't just think about writing, don't make excuses, don't plan it out because i am here to testify, as a former queen of planning, that plans don't always work out, at least not when we want them to. i do think, however, that if writing is something you truly want, as in deep down to the innermost depth of your heart - you will get what you want. but don't wait for it to just fall in your lap. you gotta write.
just do it. don't talk about it. do it. do. it.
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can we wear one of these at conference? 'Cause that would be AWESOME!
For Christie!
hahahahahaha
