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!

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.

Determination

This blog would be better with pictures, but I can't figure out my new camera and how to get the pix from the camera to the computer so you'll just have to deal with your imaginations. We're writers. We should have good imaginations. :)

I have 2 dogs (insert pix of cute doggie faces, one brown dog, one black dog). We'll call them Jaws and Hell Hound. They are around 75-80 pounds. Kinda large. Jaws had to have surgery this week. Found out about it on my birthday (happy birthday to me, more money to hand over to the vet). Now, we can't leave Jaws by herself as she has separation anxiety (hence the name Jaws. Perhaps what she did to our old house will show up in another blog. If you've ever been to the old place you might have noticed her handiwork, or should I say mouthwork???). Therefore, if HH has to go to the vet for a day treatment, then The Hubster has to work from home to comfort poor Jaws.

Hell Hound has never given us this problem. Of course we've never left him by himself anyplace but at the vet. Which he didn't like. Which should have clued us in, but name me a dog that does like the vet.

HH gets locked in the bedroom on the day Jaws spends at the vet. He is quiet when we leave, no barking, clawing or other noisy doggie behaviors. I'm happy.

But not for long.

The surgery goes well, we pick up a rather confused and very thirsty Jaws and run home. We are greeted by HH. Hmm. HH is supposed to be in the bedroom.

(insert pix of shredded bedroom door)

Yep. Hell Hound used his claws to dig the carpet back from the door. When all he encountered was cement foundation, did he stop? Nope. Determination.

After leaving little runny piles of potent odor causing substances scattered throughout the bedroom carpet, he attacked the door. Despite being larger, wooden and firmly fastened in its frame, the door stood no chance. Must've taken him all day to use his claws to detach the lower half of the hollow core door. Once this was accomplished, he was able to burst through the rest of the door.

So the top half of the door was still shut, but the bottom half was lying open. In case you're concerned about HH, he was fine, not a scratch. No animals were harmed in the making of this story. Amazing amount of determination in that dog.

As writers we have to be like Hell Hound. We have to be determined. We have to want to break down the proverbial doors of the publishing world and get our manuscripts out there. We have to know that there is something on the other side of the door we want and we will do anything to get to it. Or almost anything. It's not always easy. It might take all day, or all year or several years, but if we work long enough and hard enough, it will happen.

So don't give up. Borrow Hell Hound's determination and get the job done.

The writing job that is. I'm not advocating breaking any real doors. Your hubster won't like having to hang a replacement. :)

Day Job Versus Dream Career...

For many of us new writers, writing full time is a luxury we don't have. So what happens when our day job or family obligations rob us of the few precious hours we have to write? Or even worse...once we find the time to write, job or family stress invades our thoughts, preventing the creative juices from flowing freely.

In times like these, I take inspiration from anywhere I can get it. One source I have used more times than I can remember is a column written by science fiction author Robert J. Sawyer at www.sfwriter.com

He writes a terrific article on the Six Rules of Getting Published, and how out of 100 people, only a few follow all of the rules. Knowing that I am already following five rules and working on the sixth, keeps me plugging along in the face of everyday adversity.

If you're having trouble staying motivated, go to the above website, scroll down to the bottom and select How to Write then Heinlein's Rules.

So how many of the rules are you following?

Karilyn and the flat tire

Growing up my dad owned an auto salvage with his dad and brother. I used to spend summer days out there learning all sorts of things. Mainly my twin cousin and I would take the Green Machine - a Pinto minus the hatchback, the hood and the doors - and drive it up and down the rows in between wrecked cars. Our fathers, who were supposed to be watching our 12-year-old selves, thought this would be a safe activity, considering we couldn't really damage the GM and the rest of the cars were already wrecked. The GM didn't go very fast and supposedly taught us how to drive (if you ever saw Cousin drive, you'd think twice about this assessment).

Little did they know what we did with it.

At the time, Dukes of Hazzard was a really big show. Not the cheesy movie either, but the real Mccoy, with Bo and Luke Duke. Hoo-wee. Gotta go get my fan. Okay, I'm back. Anyhoo, since the Dukes could leap into a traveling car, Cousin and I figured we could too. So one of us would hop behind the wheel of the GM, gun the puny engine until it whined in protest and the other one would run as fast as her legs could carry her and leap, mostly gracefully, into the car. The driver would then tell the other how fast she could run.

Lots of good old-fashioned fun.

Despite all the fun, Dad did insist I learn something. God forbid that his girl go through life without knowing something about cars. So he'd spend hours showing me how engines work, what a drive shaft was, how to make car repairs. And yes, until I got my little Saturn I used to do a good number of car repairs, all under the watchful eye of Dad.

So the other night my friend and I were out and about and hopped in my shiny red Saturn to mosey home when the steering went out. I backed out of my spot, heard this clicking noise and the car started to veer to the right.

Great. More money that needed to be spent b/c it looked and felt like the steering was completely out.

Friend and I drove home and the whole time the car's veering to the right. When I got home, I looked under the car, convinced something had to be hanging off of it. Nothing was. So, I thought, gee, maybe it will spontaneously fix itself overnight b/c I really can't afford a steering problem. It could happen.

When I hopped in the car the next morning and backed it out, more noise sounded, so loud I think it woke up the few neighbors that weren't awake. I pulled it around to the front of the house and figured I should look under the hood.

Embarrassingly enough I couldn't get the hood opened. So now my hands are covered in dirt but luckily I'm at home where there's soap and water, no problem. But it's obvious the car won't make it to the dealership b/c said dealership is like 15 miles from my house. So I think, hey Firestone is down the street, only 3 miles, no problem. I hop back in the car, that is now making so much noise that the radio can't drown it out, and start driving. Noise, unbelievingly, gets worse. I panic. Keep driving car though. Stop at traffic light. Kind Lady rolls down her window and starts hollering, hey lady, you have a flat.

**mentally hits self in head several times** Tells Kind Lady thanks and pulls off road into Sonic parking lot.

Now I can put into use all those skills Dad taught me more years ago than I'm going to mention. I hop out of the car, pop the trunk (yes, unlike the hood I can get the trunk open), pull out the spare and jack and drag it up to the tire. The tire is smoking, nice white smoke and smells like it's been set on fire. The wrench is on the jack and I cut my finger open getting it un-attached.

The wrench won't open so each time I twirl it around, little metal pieces of my hubcaps come off. Blood is dripping all over and grease is coating my hands. Now, you might not realize this, but I'm a wee bit OCD and all I see is dirt. Like the character in Macbeth - out, out damn spot. I start to hyperventillate b/c there is dirt on my hand and in my cut and I'm in my nice Scooby scrubs and they're going to get dirty and there is no place to wash my hands - did I mention all the dirt?? - and it's way before 8 so no place is open and who do I call around here and why the hell won't the lug nuts unscrew - what is wrong with them?? - and there is DIRT and I can't touch anything b/c of the dirt and I'm going to have to call my hubby b/c of the dirt b/c I can't change the tire with all the dirt.

So much for Dad's lessons.

The hubster leaves work at my panic dirt-filled call and comes and changes the tire b/c dirt doesn't bother him and the lug nuts come out for him.

I feel like a dumb blonde. I know how to change a flat. I used to change tires with Dad all the time. And there I sat completely immobilized by dirt.

But I did get the tire fixed by Discount Tires who had me on my way in 15 minutes. Great place if you've never used them. They even let me clean my hands using their special soap. It took 5 washings but the hands are clean now. Skinless, but clean. :)

Ever had a flat?

life sans adversity is like a book sans conflict

OMG, that alpaca commercial is on AGAIN! what is the deal? does anyone else ever see that on TV?

that's not what this blog is about, but i find that commercial completely jarring.

real blog starts now.

for the past, i don't know, YEAR, i've been wondering how much adversity i must overcome before i "pass" the test. now maybe it really isn't a test. maybe it's karma, maybe it's bad luck, maybe i'm too snarky and this is punishment, maybe it's just something i as a human am not privy to because this "test" is preparing me for something later in my life, or even my afterlife, but for heaven's sake! there are days when i'm like, dang it, can i really pick myself up - AGAIN? and AGAIN? and AGAIN?

the answer is always yes, but i still ask myself that same question - every time. now i know i'm not the only one facing adversity. i know there are people out there going through more difficult things than me. but i'm a writer; i live in my own world a lot of the time.

despite the adversity, here i am - still. still getting drop-kicked in the e-mail and/or mailbox, but i keep trying. i love to write. i want to have a baby. i want the career, the man, EVERYTHING - just like my heroines. so, i'll just keep trying. even if some days it seems so damn hard. even when it seems so much easier for other people. even if other writers get published with stories that include petticoats, fanny packs, and leather deck shoes.

it's obvious i'm supposed to learn something specific while on this journey. well, i know the adversity is worth it. i've learned i'm tough enough to handle it. so what else am i overlooking?

You, Me and Aunt Louis

My life revolves around writing, family and the military. If I'm not writing or hanging out with the family, I'm handing out cold sandwiches and taking notes for my sporkncork blog down at the USO. I love my Sunday job mostly because it provides me with so much material but also because it's a nice thing to do.

I'm full of stories and embarrassing moments from my 4-6 hour Sunday shifts. This past weekend I had the chance to try on one of those ginormous backpacks those guys have to lug around. I fell on my ass. It's a pretty funny story and even my Mom was in tears when I shared my latest fiasco with her.

I'm telling my aunt - who may no longer be my aunt because she's divorced and no longer married to the family, but I still love her - about me and Air Force guy and I tell her that I told him (he said, that she said, that I said...) that if he ever picked up a novel and recognized himself it was purely coincidental and there was no need to call a lawyer.

Aunt: I didn't know you write!
Me: You proofed my baseball story.
Aunt: I thought that was school project.

Side note: I'm not in school, when I was I was never asked to turn in a full manuscript for a grade and my aunt is border line c-r-a-z-y.

She says she has a friend who has a sister that is a published author. Oh, no. Here we go again.

Aunt: Do you want me to have her call you?
Me: No, really it's fine.
Aunt: She's a romance author. She could help get you in the door.
Me: HUGE GIANT SIGH

I tell my aunt that would be great because I don't have the heart to explain that this author, that we all know because she is also a member of DARA, is probably really busy staying in the business of being published and probably doesn't want to talk to someone she has met in passing so she can help get her in the door.

What is wrong with people? Bless their hearts, I know they are only trying to help. If only it was that easy.

My infomercial monologue will read like this:

You too can be a successful best selling author! It's so easy and my program will tell you exactly what you need to do to get in the door. I'll share with you all the inside secrets that agents and publishing houses DON'T want you to know. blah. blah. blah.

The secret? "Just meet a published author and BAM! You're published. Foot in the door. Over night success. How FREAKING easy is that?" In really small letters I'll add: 'Sorry no refunds' and 'the results exhibited in the infomercial were not typical'.

What. Ever.

Seriously.