A Dagger in the Gut

Last weekend I went to the Pikes Peak Writers Conference, also known as PPWCon, in Colorado Springs.

I participated in a "Read and Critique" session.

A Read and Critique, according to a non-writing friend of mine, is kind of like sticking yourself in the gut with a dagger, slicing sideways, twice, then letting your guts spill out all over the place and all over everyone nearby.

Fortunately it isn't actually *bloody*.

A writer takes the first page of their manuscript to the session, then either reads it themselves, or it is read anonymously. The reading is done to an editor or agent who signed up for this gory hour. This person responds to the reading by saying whether they would turn the page -- or not.

This is The Test. Is that first page written well enough, or intriguing enough for the editor or agent to continue reading?

Editors and agents see hundreds of manuscripts each week. Yes. Hundreds!

How many of you thought that seeing hundreds of stories would be a Fab Job? Still think so?

It's overwhelming, I think. But then, I'm a slow reader.

Over time, these professional readers have learned to tell quickly whether a manuscript is worth reviewing. The first page tells whether the person is amateur or professional, just by whether they use correct spelling and grammar. Also, the first page shows the writer's facility with language, or whether their story is trite.

I attended several Read and Critique sessions at a conference of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI). An eye opener was the number of stories that were the same: kid gets separated from Mom, kid goes on adventure, favorite pets, etc. I could see why editors would be tired and bored of the same ol' thing, and looking for something original.

At the session where I read my First Page, the agent gave a 3 minute critique to each writer. This was definitely an added bonus -- except that I was so nervous I don't remember a lot of what she said. All of us were shaking like Jello, wishing we were in one of those anonymous reading sessions. Maybe no blood all over everything, but certainly fear-drenched sweat seeping onto chair seats and along the carpet.

I read my first page, listened politely to the critique, then sat down. I turned to the lady sitting next to me and I asked, "Did she say whether she would turn the page?" The woman patted my knee sympathetically. "Yes."

Whew! I passed! One more gut wrenching experience faced and survived.

Vacation's End

I return tentatively.

I think I'm afraid that if I start blogging again, I'll quit again, and then I'll just be a Quitter. (Not good if you're NOT a smoker.)

To recap:
Since May 27, I left Romania where my husband and I had been serving in the Peace Corps. We completed our service -- happily! We toured Europe: Brussels, Amsterdam, Bath, Luxembourg. We left our Romanian kitty at a kennel outside Brussels where the keepers did not speak English and at one point wanted to send her to a shelter because they thought we'd abandoned her. With the help of our Romanian friend living in Luxembourg, the cat's reservation was confirmed and we picked her up our last day in Europe. We flew across the Atlantic, gaining back the day we had lost 2 1/2 years before. We landed in Chicago, took the screaming Romanian kitty through customs, and managed to get all of us safely to Minneapolis and into the arms of our daughter, Brianna. Whew! Back in America!

We visited with Brianna and met her boyfriend Cameron. The Romanian kitty was very rude and unfriendly to the two American kitties who were her hosts. We repossessed our car, which Brianna had been caring for, and headed west to Colorado, the Romanian kitty screaming every single minute of the way. We stayed a night at a small town in Nebraska where a tornado came visiting. Whew!

In Colorado we visited our good friend in Denver, and the Romanian kitty stayed in a small apartment room by herself -- no mixing this time with native American kitties. Then on to our home town of Alamosa in southern Colorado. The first day there we hugged my Mom, ate at a favorite Mexican food restaurant, and bought a new mattress. Oh, and we left the Romanian kitty in an empty room (well, all the rooms were empty) at our house. The next day we had our mattress so we began to move back in. Our son, Prester John, appeared and took charge of our furniture and all the boxes. We remember this as a time of naps and oxygen deprivation. The Romanian kitty, meanwhile, learned about the stairs and enjoyed running up and down them with gleeful speed and thumping.

We arrived around July 4, so we went to all the Independence Day festivities we could find. We were so glad to be back home in America!

Through July and August I applied for "day" jobs. I worked for a month as a business manager helping a man create a local business of making high-end fashion boots. It was a learning experience for both of us. Then I was offered and accepted the job of General Manager at our local public radio station, KRZA 88.7 FM.

So what happened to my passion, my writing, during all this?

Amazingly, I wrote fairly consistently; especially when we first returned and I had more time. I even attended a conference for writers of children's books. And, of course, I rejoined my writers group, the Sophia Circle.

I feel like I am finally, and once again, breathing.

I am re-acquainting myself with writers, writing topics, and writing goals. I am remembering how much I love this work. I am remembering that it has always been with me, and still is.

Though tentative, I am reaching once again for the passion.

Do Passions Take Vacation?

The next two weeks I'll be on vacation -- traveling to Brussels, Amsterdam, Bath, Luxembourg. We'll take a ferry across the English channel and return through the Chunnel. We'll party in Amsterdam and meditate at Stonehenge.

I'm wondering if my writing life will also take a vacation. I think the answer is "No!"

I'm already wondering what interesting stories I'll hear, what books of folktales I can buy, what history I'll learn.

I think when we are passionate about something, we never take a vacation from it. We take vacations away from "work", earning a living, coping with deadlines and stress. We don't vacation from the passions of our life; we embrace the new adventures.

We're going to Bath, England. I feel like I've been there before, so I expect some sort of story will capture my imagination and get her playing excitedly.

I'll let you know if anything exciting comes along on this vacation.

What about you? When you go on vacation, do you leave your hobby, your passion behind?

Antidote to Whining

My antidote, to whining about creating stories, is to create a new project.

This week, a project far in the back of my mind, suddenly came forward and demanded a lot of attention. It had been just a funny idea, a concept, something to work on years from now.

Then I saw the characters in a tough, very tough situation and I had to start writing.

I don't know if this happens to other people, but for writers this is a common tale: we're just going about our lives and suddenly an idea arrives and we must write and write and ignore the rest of the world -- if possible -- and write until our hand or fingers or head hurt. It's an exhilarating time, full of suspense and joy. I've heard that runners experience a "runner's high" after running for a period of time. This is the "writer's high".

And we all know that joyfulness is a great cure for depression and sadness. It's also great for whining. I feel rejuvinated, happy. I feel like I really am still a great story teller.

My advise to others struggling with creative block: start a new project.

Tantrum -- darn it!

So I tried, I really did. I didn't pick up a pen. I ignored my notebooks. I avoided the internet and the writer's lists. I forced myself to imagine a life without creating stories. "It can't be THAT hard," I assured myself.

I've quit jobs before. It's sometimes a painful process, but then I move on. I don't dwell on that stuff anymore. I look forward.

As I was planning my new life -- the one without telling stories -- my mind drifted to one on my characters and I wondered what her inner desire would be under similar circumstances. I wondered about her "foil" and the kind of trouble I could make for the two of them.

Wait!

Stop!

I quit! Remember? I wasn't going to be a writer any more. I MUST think of other things.

And then there I was -- in another unguarded moment -- with pen in hand, scratching out words on a page, solving a plot problem in another tale.

Heavy sigh.

Right now the internet is filled with inspiration from that Susan Boyle woman, the model of staying true to your dreams and your talent. Oh yes, I've seen the YouTube video -- about a hundred and eleven times. I've cried. I've wept. I've wanted the best for her. I've even been envious! She's younger than me, after all, and way more talented!

We're all envious, and we're all jumping and cheering for her. She's us. She's normal. She just wants to sing really, really good.

So, what I'm saying is, this was a bad week to try to quit telling stories. I wasn't doing a very good job of quitting anyway, and then all that inspiration seeped into the internet and my computer and my soul.

This is what I do. I never have stopped, after all these years. Maybe I'll never be published, maybe I will, but each day of my life, that doesn't matter. What matters is the stories. What matters is being true to me.

This blog comment, by JT Ellison, sticks with me today: "We have to believe in ourselves fully and completely and unquestioningly BEFORE we can get anyone to believe in us. It's a combination of confidence and humility and that secret knowledge that God has reached down and touched a part of us, whether we look like it or not. It applies to anything you want, any dream you have."

Okay, your turn. Anyone out there tried to quit a secret dream? Are you willing to tell what happened, what the dream was?

Tantrum or Termination?

I just read about the royalties of several published authors. I found their revelations to be VERY DISCOURAGING. I am wondering why in the world I'm pursuing such a STUPID career.

I wonder if Young Tiger Woods ever had that day when he said, "This is the STUPIDEST game ever! What the heck am I doing here? I could be an accountant. I could have a love life. I could play piano. ENOUGH! I'm outta here!" Then he stomped off the golf course, swearing under his breath. His father, watching his five-year-old have this tantrum, wondered if this was the final hurrah for his kid.

Many years ago I worked with a man who golfed a lot. I never knew if he went because he enjoyed golfing or because it was "expected" of men who wanted to get ahead, or if he just liked spending the day outside. Anyway, he usually went to the golf course on weekends. One Monday he was really upset. He told me he was so angry at the whole stupid game of golf that he threw his golf clubs in the river. "I just walked over to that bridge and threw 'em over." I gasped, "Aren't golf clubs expensive?" He said, "Yeah. It felt really good to get rid of them."

So. As of today, I'm not going to be a writer any more. I'm throwing my pens and papers and internet lists into the River of Might Have Beens. This is too much work for too little return. I QUIT !!!

[Of course, we know that Tiger Woods, no matter how many tantrums he has, keeps coming back to the golf course. My friend bought new clubs and went back to golfing. Stay tuned to the blog for further developments.]

Inspiration: Let it Shine

This morning I watched on YouTube a shampoo commercial from Thailand. It features a young woman who wants to play the violin. But she's no ordinary girl.

Check it out and let me know what you think.

http://pop.6park.com/life2/messages/86399.html

Personally, I'm watching this over and over.