My First 6 Years as a Would-Be Novelist

This February marked the sixth anniversary of my dive into novelling after a very long hiatus from writing for career, marriage and motherhood. I've been thinking about what I learned from this ordeal, which has spanned three career changes, a divorce, and the first six years of my son's education. He is starting middle school next fall, I'm starting life over as a single mother, and my book still isn't done.

So what have I learned? I thought I'd have a ropeful of pearls of wisdom for you. I don't. It really just boils down to three things.

1. It's okay not to know what you're doing.

 People kept telling me to trust my instincts and my own process. When you're starting out, you HAVE no instincts nor process. You're watching everyone else and trying to learn as much as you can. That's good! Keep doing it. Eventually you will develop the skill and the know-how to do what you need to do. The writing community is extremely supportive and if you are active on Facebook and comment on blogs, you will make friends who will gladly help you.

2. It takes money, but not as much as you think.

Although you can learn a lot from blogs, networking, writer's groups and such, the broke writer is going to struggle to compete with those who take classes, attend big conferences, and so on. BUT... there are some inexpensive ways to learn. I started out with an adult education class at our regional high school. Later I took a $95 online fiction writing course through the community college that was the best hundred bucks I've ever spent on writing. There are inexpensive local conferences to attend, and even some online workshops you can join for free. Keep your eyes and ears open!

3. Writing is not your life. 

People will tell you that it is, but it's not. Your family, your spiritual life, your day job, your home, your friends, your health... all of these things must be taken care of and are essential to a healthy, productive you. Your novel is not worth losing your marriage or your job (because you stay up till 1 a.m. every night and then screw up at work, for example), nor missing your child's soccer games, nor being so isolated you never talk to anyone IRL. (In Real Life.)  Writing is an essential part of your life, but it must never, ever take over completely. At the end of the day, a fictional hero will not hold you and you still have to do the dishes, the laundry, and cope with piles of tedious work for your boss. Embrace it. It will keep you real and give you more fodder for authentic writing.

Health is the first muse and sleep is its requirement. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Have a healthy, productive, restful Sunday, my friends.

Book Signing Friday Night, March 1st

 

My fellow "Tall Tales and Short Stories from South Jersey" authors and I will be hanging out at the Casciano Coffee Bar and Sweetery in Hammonton tomorrow night from 7:00 - 10:00. Come on down for coffee, tea, and conversation in South Jersey!

212 Bellevue Avenue (Rt. 54)
Hammonton, NJ 08037

I'm looking forward to a cappuchino!

You may live in Ohio if....

A field near my parents' home, beautiful in any season

Having grown up in Cleveland, I find this so true and just had to put it up. 

"Jeff Foxworthy has a lot to say about Ohio:

If your local Dairy Queen is closed from September through May, you may live in Ohio.

If someone in a Home Depot store offers you assistance and they don't even work there, you may live in Ohio. (this is totally my dad!)

 If you've worn shorts and a jacket at the same time, you may live in Ohio.

 If you've had a lengthy telephone conversation with someone who dialed a wrong number, you may live in Ohio. 

If "vacation" means going anywhere south of Dayton for the weekend, you may live in Ohio. (Or if a vacation means going to Pittsburgh for the weekend)

If you measure distance in hours, you may live in Ohio. 

If you know several people who have hit a deer more than once, you may live in Ohio. 

If you have switched from 'heat' to 'A/C' in the same day and back again, you may live in Ohio. 

If you can drive 75 mph through 2 feet of snow during a raging blizzard without flinching, you may live in Ohio. (totally!!!!)

If you install security lights on your house and garage, but leave both doors unlocked, you may live in Ohio. (this is for animals, by the way.)

If you carry jumpers in your car and your wife knows how to use them, you may live in Ohio. 

If you design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit, you may live in Ohio. (Totally!!!! ROFL!!!)

If the speed limit on the highway is 55 mph -you're going 80 and everybody is passing you, you may live in Ohio. 

If driving is better in the winter because the potholes are filled with snow, you may live in Ohio. (TOTALLY!!!)

If you know all 4 seasons: almost winter, winter, still winter and road construction, you may live in Ohio.

If you have more miles on your snow blower than your car, you may live in Ohio. (Also my Dad)

If you find 10 degrees "a little chilly", you may live in Ohio. (Dad)

 If you actually understand these jokes, repost this so all of your Ohio friends and others can see, you definitely do live - or have lived - in OHIO!

I would add one more... If you have ever waited for the bus during May finals week and had snow blowing in your hair, you may live in Ohio.

Come softly, Eden

I stumbled across one of my favorite Emily Dickenson poems the other day. I love Emily. It occurred to me how much her poetry has influenced mine without my realizing it. Like her, I write very short, simple poems. I'm not into obscure meanings. I love the soft rhythm and flow of words expressing one feeling or idea.

Many people say that her poetry was sexual. Well, if that's where your mind is I guess that's what you'll take from it. But for anyone who's spent a lot of time outdoors in the country and actually stopped to smell the flowers and watch the bees, I think this poem is just about a bee and a flower and falling in love.

Enjoy.

Come softly, Eden

For lips unused to thee

Bashful, sip thy jessamines

As the fainting bee

Reaching late his flower

Round her chamber hums

Counts his nectars, enters

And is lost in balms.

- Emily Dickenson

Sunday Snapshot

I got nothin' people. It's been a very busy week and I haven't done any writing at all. So I'm giving you an actual snapshot of my dog looking out the window. What do you think he's saying to himself?

Perhaps, "It's January. Where's the snow?"

Highlighting Tips

"They" say that writers shouldn't blog about writing all the time because it's boring, so today I'm going to blog about hair. I do my own highlights at home with a kit from the grocery store, and a lot of women say to me, "How can you do that? It's so hard."

It's actually very simple and today I'm going to show you how.

Disclaimer: Follow all of the rules on the package. ALL of them, including the annoying allergy test. If your scalp turns green and your hair falls out, don't blame me. Ahem.

Step 1: Put the plastic cap on your head and poke your scalp dozens of times with a metal crochet hook, pulling the hair through until you look like an orc. If you don't have a triple mirror or eight arms, get a friend to help with this or just do highlights around your face. It does get easier with practice.

Note: If you're having trouble pulling the hair through, poke the hair-puller through the hole in the cap with the hook facing down, twist it halfway, then pull out. If you pull out too much hair, you can slide your finger under the cap to smooth it down and back underneath. You want small strands, not huge clumps, or you'll look like a tabby cat afterwards.

That's what my grandmother said once when I used one of those paint-on kits: "You look like a tabby cat." I laughed. She was right.

Step 2: Put on the plastic gloves, mix the coloring paste together and cover the orc hair with it until you look like Strawberry Shortcake's evil twin, Saccharine Cupcake.

Wait half an hour or so, depending on the color result you want. Your hair will look much lighter  than it will after it's washed and dried. If it looks as yellow and brassy as Rumplestiltskin's straw spun into gold, don't panic! It's supposed to be like that. It will look great, I promise.

Most of all, don't leave it on longer than the maximum recommended time. Your hair will be very dry and brittle, and possibly break off, leaving unsightly tufts. You definitely don't want that.

Step 3: Rinse, shampoo, condition well and style as usual. Enjoy your new, subtly brighter look!

 

 

Son: "Mom, why are you taking pictures of yourself in the bathroom?"

Me: "I'm blogging. Get ready for bed."

Son: "I can't. You're in the bathroom."

Me: "Okay, okay, I'm done. Think of all the great stories you can tell when I'm rich and famous."

Sunday Snapshot: Zyla, the Gargoyle Cat

People have been asking me about the gargoyle cat, who appears in Tall Tales and Short Stories from South Jersey and is the heroine of my very first published work of fiction. I haven't put anything up yet from her story, so today's Sunday Snapshot features Zyla.

   An airplane churned the gray, humid air over the sleeping neighborhood, crickets chirped coded messages, and fireflies blinked above the grass. Not a breath of wind stirred the curtains of Gracie’s room.

       Zyla, the gargoyle cat, peered down from the top of the bookshelf, wings folded along her back like Japanese fans and front paws hooked over the edge of the shelf. Her fur had been etched in thin strokes by some unknown artist thousands of gargoyles ago, when the first cat was sculpted in clay and cast for a resin mold. The same artist had pressed his thumb and forefinger together to smooth the tapering triangles of her ears , flattened the bridge of her nose just so, and left the points of her claws extended so she appeared to grab the shelf with them just like a real cat. Her green glass eyes caught the faint glow from the night light.

       Gracie’s hair trailed in a dark, seaweed tangle over the pillow as she slept. Her fingers curled against her forehead as if she were deep in thought. Zyla longed to cuddle next to her. If she were a real cat, Gracie would stroke her fur.

       Something flickered near the foot of the bed, a darker line among the shadows. Zyla blinked, then leapt from bookshelf to bureau to floor, spreading her wings to break the air as she landed on silent paws. 

To find out what Zyla does next, get a copy of the eclectic anthology published by my friends at the South Jersey Writer's Group by clicking on the photo on the sidebar. It features memoirs, poems, flash fiction and short stories in a variety of genres. Mine is the only middle grade selection, by the way. The rest are adult fiction.

This piece was inspired by a statue I saw in a museum shop that looked like it could come to life. What little things spark your imagination?