writing

November 21, 2014

The Striptease of Writer’s Digest, “Don’t touch the dancers.”

As much as I love Writer’s Digest they are in fact the devil.  Yes.  The dark lord from the pits of hell.  They are very persistent with their e-mails and I find myself opening almost everyone lured by the subject line or the hope of getting published.  Here is the thing, my novel isn’t anywhere near ready, and the ones that are the most enticing are “Get an agent to read your first 10 pages” or “2nd draft critique” or “Query Letter critique.”  Two of them also bill the chance of the agent doing the workshop “might ask for more!” I doubt it ever happens, but could.  It’s mainly a way of selling more of the workshops.

My husband pointed out that they have an amazing business model and they really do.  They are playing on peoples hopes and dreams.  It’s equivalent to “talent” agencies that charge a fee to represent you in the hope to “make it big!”  It’s horrible.  Now I don’t think that Writer’s Digest is at all malicious.  I think they’re truly offering “opportunities” but whether or not it goes anywhere is unlikely.  And that has nothing to do with Writer’s Digest, that’s just the nature of the beast.

I have to keep repeating, everyday, every morning, every minute, to be a writer one needs to WRITE, not sit back and dream of seeing one’s book on a shelf.  That’s not how it works.  It takes time, dedication, and persistence.  Even when confronted with adversity external or (most likely) internal, one pushes past keeping in mind their ultimate goal.  And once that manuscript is gleaming and has so much promise will these offers from Writer’s Digest be worthwhile.  Until that time they are like a stripper to me.  They are pretty and flashy, dancing seductively from a platform with no potential to touch.  Once I put in for a lap dance, maybe the dancer will like me and things will be different.

November 21, 2014

My Cheeks are Burning

I said it a prior post, but for some reason since my trip from London (listen to me, “since” it’s been 4 days) I’ve felt very different.  I don’t know what it is, but I want my life to be different.  I in particular want to be someone else.

When I sit down to define exactly what that is I come up with only a couple items.  For one, I want to be thinner.  Although, the way I’ve been eating the past few days you wouldn’t know that.  I don’t understand the root of my sudden ravenousness, but regardless it needs to stop.  The second is, I want to be published.  This one in particular isn’t as cut and dry.  It takes preparation and planning.  It takes fucking dedication, which as of late hasn’t really been me.  I will find every excuse in the book not to sit down and write.  My reasons get worse when I read my novel and see how much work it needs.  But, even as I say that I don’t even know if that’s a true statement.  For all I know I am building it up in my head to be worse than it is, thus giving me a reason not to do it.  “There is just so much to do.”

I recently purchased Amy Poehler’s novel “Yes Please” in audiobook and have been listening to it.  Just in the preface her words spoke to me like none others I have ever read or heard before.  She talked about how difficult writing is and equated the process to pregnancy.  Her words were much more eloquent whereas mine are not.

I need to stop making excuses.  The only way the thing is going to get done is if I do it.  I just need to write a little bit everyday and before I know it, it’ll be finished.

I want to be a different person.  I want to change everything about me.  I want to burst into flame and arise from the ashes anew.  I can feel my cheeks flushing.

November 4, 2014

Cemetery Birthday Bash

This is the last birthday of my twenties. In just one more year and it’s all down hill. To get the ball rolling the common theme of this years trip to London has bee death and the after life. For instance I went on a ghost walking tour of London and that was exciting and today I went tromping through a grave yard in the pitch of night, but let me explain.

The man I claim for my want and desire to be a writer is C. S. Lewis. After I read “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” in the third grade I’ve wanted to be an author. Since then I’ve read all of the Chronicles of Narnia and some of his religious studies but… Those are not my cup of tea considering I’m an atheist. (Haven’t always been.) Regardless of my dogmatic views I value the man more than anything. So for my birthday I wanted to take a day trip to Oxford. It’s where Lewis studied, taught, and lived. We went on a bus tour which was lovely up until it began to rain. To escape the wet weather I forced my husband into the shelter of Blackwells book shop where I bought a journal he swears will sit unused and two autobiographies I can’t get in the states. I had intended to buy another copy of “the lion…” But my husband asked “how many copies would that make?” “4.” Yes that’s excessive but it was purchased in Oxford! Whatever.

Finally I ate dinner at the pub he, Tolkien, and others of the Inklings met every Tuesday to discuss their literary works. And serendipitously it just so happens to be Tuesday. And to top it a off, the table I chose at random was 12, which holds no significant meaning to Lewis as it does to me. (It’s my lucky number.) After our meal I was ready to go. It was getting dark and my plan to visit his grave seemed like a pipe dream. So, I accepted the pub visit to be it, but my husband attempting to make my birthday special offered to walk to the cemetery where he had been buried. I warned him that it would be a long trip but he assured me that it’d be fine.

Before we had gotten even a quarter of the way there it was night, since it gets dark at 4:30 in the United Kingdom. Fun. And hoofing it at our quickest speed wasn’t cutting it so luckily we caught a cabby and he took us to the Holy Trinity churchyard. He dropped us off and backed out the long single lane drive.

Using the light of my phone we searched the cemetery reading every headstone. After going to every single market it wound up being the final one. Isn’t that typical? I said a few silent words thanking the man for giving me a dream and held back the tears. There’s nothing more than my husband loves than to see me cry. He’s a freak. (Says the guy who wanted to spend his birthday in a cemetery searching for the grave of a man he never met.)

At the end of it we are both exhausted, but it was fantastic and a trip I won’t soon forget.

October 20, 2014

Unusually Complimentary

There has been a strange tide of events these past few days, my husband has shown interest in my want to be a published writer. I know! I am just as shocked as you.  Don’t get me wrong, he is … “supportive” to a degree.  He’s just a realist when it comes to dreams.  If he cannot see a hard path, he is not taking it.  Does that make sense?  Well, anyway, since I told him my plans to document our trip to London on the cheap and possibly write a book he is on-board.  He even called me on Friday and started pouring compliments over me; my body was in shock.  It is not accustomed to such gushing, but I’m not one to turn it down.

My husband told me that he thinks I would make a good travel writer because I can tell a story and I am humorous.  Which, that sentence in itself shows my humor, because the man has never thought that I’m out-right funny prior to last Friday or at least expressed any similar sentiment in our 11 years together.  It has not been until the past few years, hanging around our friends, that he sees I can be a downright riot.  If he and I are talking I can’t crack a joke and make him laugh.  He only finds me entertaining when I say or do something stupid and he can point it out.  And like the true attention whore that I am, I play right into it, developing a whole “persona” to go along with my flustered awareness.  We just have different styles of humor with only a portion of overlap.  The most ridiculous scenarios easily amuse me.  To be a little more precise: give me a cat video any day and I will laugh so hard I will cry.  He will not.

I don’t mean to discourage him or his compliments in any way. He is an amazing man and honest.  That’s why I always go to him for an opinion.  He will not sugar coat it.  If I wasn’t good in a play or in what I’m writing he will tell me.  Which is a double edged sword, for him and me.  The fact of the matter is that if he says I’m good at something he truly means it, and with that I am energized.  So,  during our trip I’m going to be extra-observant and take copious notes, and when I get back I can write a book proposal.