Big Change and Internal Conflict …

They sorta go hand-in-hand.

You can’t have Big Change without some sort of internal drama to decide which path to take. Door A or Door B? Sometimes, you really, really want to take both. So that’s what I’m going to (attempt) to do.

It’s official. I’m now a full-time, work-away-from mom. Super-fantastic ad agency, that’s literally walking distance from my house, and has a roster of amazing clients (you know, the one I’ve been doing freelance gigs for recently) offered me a full-time position. And after some internal deliberation I thought, “Wait. You mean I’ll get a steady paycheck? Without invoicing you first or hounding you for missing payments? And I’ll be working with people I already know are pretty awesome? Oh, and you’ll throw some health insurance in the deal too? And I’ll be doing what I love to do?… Okay-thankyouverymuch-I’ll take it.”

But now, as the eve of my last week as work-at-home-mommy dims to a close, I’m having a minor freak-out. You see, it took me awhile to get into the swing of full-time mommy + part-time freelancer + part-time novelist. But once I’ve gotten into the groove with it — it works. I have my schedule. Novels get written. Child is doted on. Life is good. So what happens now? Will novels be shelved? (Never.) Will child be left in a dark corner to fend for herself. (Never ever.)

I suppose I’ve just answered my own concerns. But still. I’m worried. And I’m a pretty good worrier so I’ll stick with it for awhile.

I’m not one who adjusts well to change. Yet time and time again I throw myself into change, hurdling face-first into the abyss of the unknown like a wild mongoose. (Get married and move to NYC with no job or apartment? Yep. Sounds good. Quit lucrative career in the big city and buy house in a quaint little village to start a new company with hubby? Absolutely. Sign me up. … notice a pattern here?) But for me, change = growth. I’m so unbelievably cautious that the only way I know I’ll grow is if I throw myself into the scariest situation possible. Otherwise, I’m quite content to float along in my river of comfort, never really experiencing all of the “what ifs” I often think about. And let’s be honest — every once in a while, you’ve gotta give yourself a “what if” chance and see where it takes you.

So, I’m giving the Senior Copywriter gig a try. Write ad copy during the day, pick up The Toddler from daycare by six, dinner on the table by six-thirty, Toddler into bed by eight … commence writing sequel to SIAC by nine. Repeat.

If I start typing gibberish and run-on sentences over the course of the next few weeks, you’ll completely know why.

Blogfest!

What is Blogfest? A super fantastic way to get your work read and to suss out bloggers you may have never heard of before. Roni over at Fiction Groupie has hosted this one — dedicated to the art of dialog. Winner gets a $10 Amazon gift certificate. Visit http://fictiongroupie.blogspot.com/2010/04/lets-talk-blogfest.html to find out more or to sign up!

Before we start .. a special thanks to Stephanie Haefner for the heads up.

Now, without further ado, my entry (excerpt from The Secret Island Adventurers Club):

Plot note: This is eleven-year-old Pipa Benedict-Bean’s first opportunity to impress uber popular girl, Amy Henning, as the two go shopping together after school.

—

Pipa began to finger through the bracelets, admiring the tiny jewels that adorned each one.

“No, no, no!” Amy scolded.

Pipa jumped. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s just that it’s important,” Amy explained, shaking her head. She pulled out one of the tiny stools, motioning for Pipa to sit. “It’s important that you select your new bracelet properly. Otherwise, it’s just meaningless. These are special. It’s all about matching your personality to the jewelry.”

“Oh.”

Pipa started to feel so small – like an itty-bitty flea upon a lion’s back. Amy had been nothing but nice to bring her to La Petite Boutique and Pipa couldn’t even afford a silly novelty eraser let alone the bracelet both girls so desperately wanted her to have. There had to be a way to get out of there without embarrassing herself. She just needed to think of it.

Amy sat on the stool opposite Pipa and placed the wooden slide chart between her hands. “Now,” she said, clearing her throat. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

Amy’s hand slid the first wooden toggle to the right, stopping it under a column of answers written in shades of blue: light blue yeses and darker blue noes, teal maybes and sapphire nevers.

Then she asked the next question, “What is your favorite number?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Twenty-four, really?”

Pipa’s palms felt a little sticky. Was that the wrong answer?

“Okay, then. Two plus four equals six.” Amy slid another toggle under the number six on the chart. Pipa suddenly noticed that the chart’s options only included numbers one through ten and she felt completely stupid for offering such a ridiculously high favorite number. Amy continued on with the questions.

“Would you say that you’re thoughtful?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like chocolate?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No.”

“Would you eat raw fish?”

“Never.”

The questions continued in this manner until Amy finally sat back in her chair, looking rather pleased. Then, without saying a word, she went about the work of tallying the results on a pad of paper. She scribbled down the word “cerulean blue’” (revealed by counting up the tallied yeses, noes and maybes), and then the number six (the result of Pipa’s favorite number). She maintained a very serious expression as she lifted the dowel containing only blue shaded bracelets. After thumbing through several that weren’t quite right, she found one the color of a deep, beautiful August sky. It was the most stunning color Pipa had ever seen. Amy double-checked to make certain the bracelet contained six white rhinestones and then proudly handed it over to Pipa.

Pipa didn’t know what to say. It was stunning. It was perfect. It was so her.

Queryrama 2010 Update

Another two Super Agents joined the ranks, bringing the Queryrama 2010 to:

Queries Sent: 53

Still Out: 28

Partial Requests: 3

Full Requests: 2

Rejections: 20

And, because you know how much I love visuals:

Why Writers Need Writers

As promised .. my own little opus, filled with praise for writing and critique groups. (It’s a few days — er, weeks — late. But trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.)

So you’re a writer. A wanna-be-author. A bonafide literary genius in the works. You’re armed with your trusty notebook and pen, ready to capture great epiphanies of prose at a moment’s notice. You’ve got your laptop whizzing and a hot Grande Mocha Late steaming on a corner table at the local Starbucks. You’ve written your first short story, or perhaps even the chapter of the Next Great Novel. Now what?

I’ll tell you what. This will most likely happen next: you’ll want someone to read your work and tell you how absolutely wonderful it is. You’ll crave praise, praise, praise and you’ll want it now, now, now. “Validate me!” you’ll shout into the universe.

And then you’ll pass your manuscript off to your mom/dad/aunt/best friend to read.

And they’ll tell you it’s wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

You’re a literary genius after all. As if you ever doubted yourself.

But what you should really do is curb that itch for instant gratification and march your little fingers over the keyboard of your laptop, and type the words “Writers Group” into your local Google search. Because writers need writers. Only writers really get what it means to throw everything you’ve got onto a blank screen and then blink exhaustion out of your eyes while you try to figure whether or not what you’ve just written is the equivalent of sweet, sweet honey or raw sewage dripping off of your computer screen. And only writers understand what it feels like to agonize over the word, spurious, or a blank page, or a great novel with a fantastic beginning, a gripping end and absolutely no middle.

And, sometimes, you need someone to tell you a paragraph, or chapter, or an entire novel is raw sewage. And that kind of honest critique does not come from your mom. She just doesn’t have it in her. Trust me.

Enter the wonderful cocoon of your Writing Besties. Your writers group. I love mine. Can’t live with out ‘em, actually. (Even you, Marek.) These are the people who you can talk to about writing stuff without them staring back at you with pupils glazed over with ambivalence. These are the people you trust with your words, knowing they’ll tell you honestly what’s good, what’s not, what they love, and what they abhor. And it’s all good. Because you’ll do the same for them. And you’ll all become better writers for it.

After all, it’s kinda difficult to brainstorm with yourself.

And everyone feels good knowing they’re not alone in this great, big world.

How often should you meet? That’s up to you and your group. I’m lucky that my group, The Buffalo Writers Meetup Group, meets at least two weekdays and two weekends every month. And I certainly can’t make the majority of those meetings — but I aim to attend at least one per month, and wish myself at more of them.

I remember my first meeting. It was about four years ago — I’d just started seriously writing fiction and had been looking for some like-minded folks to share tips and get feedback with. Being an introvert, I’d forced myself into going — and reading my work — to the group. It sucked. My fingers quivered and mini swimming pools had formed under my armpits. But then those feelings melted away as members provided constructive, well-placed feedback. They understood what I’d been trying to say, but perhaps (they’d gently mentioned) I might try to say it this way instead. Yes! Yes! It had all been exactly what I’d needed. And continues to be to this very day.

If you’re a writer without a writers group of some sort (virtual or real life), take my suggestion and march your little fanny over to one, pronto. Your best writing is yet to come because of it. And, if you’re already in the good company of a fantastic bunch of writers, I’d love to hear what you like best about your writers group or critique partner. Please share!

Happy Mother’s Day – Sunday Six Style.

Happy Mother’s Day – Sunday Six Style.

1. It’s Mother’s Day. One little Sunday that tugs on my heartstrings a little more than it used to. One little Sunday that means so much more when you’re on the receiving end — when you’re a mother, with a daughter. It’s a day that gets me all weepy-eyed about my own mother, and what an amazing relationship we have, and how fortunate I am to have stumbled my way into the world with her beside me.

2. We all went out for Mother’s Day brunch: me, The Toddler, my husband, my mom and my dad, and we stuffed ourselves silly at The West End Inn in Hamburg. If you’re a local, I’d suggest checking out their brunch if you’re ever in the Southtowns on a Sunday. It’s a yummy treat and for $10 – a steal. But, the best part about the brunch was my little girl. Hands down, the most well-behaved two-year-old in the house. I was so proud of her. She, with her adorable pigtails and her perfect behavior were, without question, the Best Mother’s Day Gift Ever. Just the thought that maybe, just maybe, my husband and I aren’t doing such a bad job with raising her after all surely will get me through the next month, easy.

3. For Mother’s Day I allowed myself the time to finish The Last Treasure, by Janet S. Anderson. How I’d avoided the book until now is beyond me. But I’m glad I’d finally picked it up. Before today I’d only had about 75 pages left to read — but for me unless I’m sick in bed, getting through just five pages can be tough because my crying child-barfing cat-needy clients-busy husband-life rarely allows me enough time to breathe. So today was the day. Now if we could only have a Mother’s Day once every month, I’d be much more well read than I am at the moment.

4. The thing about The Last Treasure is that it feels like home. Not only does Janet S. Anderson write in a style that feels so familiar I can almost touch it, but the story feels that way too. It’s about a family as old as this country, as mine is. And a family that consists of birth-right Quakers, as I am. She talks about the Light and of the Silence and how the weight of history can form who you become — and it all feels like home. Like a big, long sigh that wraps you up from the inside out. I’m not sure if I’m the only one who this happens to, but when words work perfectly together like that — when you can actually feel them, it sends an army of teeny spiders crawling up my arms.

5. In other Happy Mother’s Day news, during a long, hot bath earlier this evening, the guts of my next book came traipsing through my head. The sequel to The Secret Island Adventurers Club fleshed itself out like one of those rapid-motion videos of a rose blossoming. Not sure why, but most of my epiphanies hit during baths, or showers, or while staring out of the car window at rain. All times when it’s extremely inconveinent to whip out a pen and a notebook. It could be the water that brings the epiphanies on — but I’m guessing it has more to do with Some Fruits of Solitude. (You can quote William Penn on that one — another Quaker.)

6. I know I promised a post on the virtues of writer’s groups this past week — and it never transpired. I swear, I had every intention of writing that post. Really. And, I swear, it WILL appear on this blog this week. Really. I promise. Cross my heart.

Until then …

Sunday Six

Six little morsels to wrap up the week …

1. Have you ever had one of those weeks during which your hair is always on end, you’re never quite sure whether or not your shirt is fully buttoned and you’re constantly feeling as if you’ve just stepped out of tornado? Yeah. I’ve had one of those weeks. Big time. But I swear it’s when life gets most hectic that the best opportunities emerge from the shadows to say, “hello.” It’s when you’re thinking of ten gazillion other things that progress really happens. It’s during super-hectic-tornado-weeks when we move one step forward — hopefully in the right direction.

2. As I wrap up this particular super-hectic-tornado-week, I can’t help but to hope that I’ve moved at least one tiny step forward. I’ve had an opportunity to work on two fun little freelance gigs that — cross fingers — will lead to even more. And I officially have one partial request and one more full request on SIAC (that’s my newest novel, The Secret Island Adventurers Club, for any late party guests).

3. Which brings me to a Queryrama 2010 update. Here are the current stats:

41 Queries Sent

23 Still Out

1 Partial Request

2 Full Requests

15 Rejections

That’s a 7% positive return with 56% of my queries still out in Agent Land. Trust me, it makes for a lovely pie chart.

4. To wrap up super-hectic-tornado-week, I spent the afternoon in the comfy living room of my dear friend, Cindy — happily wrapped up in the cocoon of my inner-sanctum writer’s group. I like to think of these talented writers and good friends my “Writing Besties.” They are the people I trust most when it comes to critiquing my writing — they are well-read, accomplished writers themselves and I value their opinions without end. These are the people who tell me straight, who talk me off the Ledge of Second Guesses and offer invaluable insight. I only hope that they realize how important they are to my writing, to my life … and to my sanity. Look for a post later this week about the importance of a good critique or writer’s group. Because for writers, few things could be more valuable.

5. I guess I’m waxing poetic so much because I had a serious case of Writer’s Remorse over the course of the past week or so. I’d second guessed my intuition. I’d revised the first two chapters of my manuscript. And, I’m glad I held off on sending it out to those two agents who recently made requests — because my Writing Besties slapped some sense into me today. And now I have an overwhelming sense of relief — and peace — about the state of things. Super Agent #1 has the version of my manuscript with the best beginning and now Super Agents #2 and #3 will, too.

6. I have no idea what the coming week will bring. I have a feeling it will involve more hair-raising tornado rides. And that’s fine. Completely fine. Bring it on — because if a blustering wind storm needs to blow open a few new doors, I’ll take it. Just let me restock my supply of hairspray first.