Quiet Integrity (Happy Holidays)

The company I work for is a family owned business, so the Christmas party was a small affair at my boss’s house.  Sitting around the table, exchanging stories, the writer in me was keenly reminded that each of us has stories, and each person in our circle encompasses some role, often becoming the hero of a funny anecdote or personal family gem.

Generally, each person in our circle serves some larger purpose that we don’t even pay very much attention to on a regular basis.  There’s always the one person who can be called upon, day or night, who would give you everything they have because you need it.  There’s always one person everyone gravitates to, sometimes fun or childish or just charismatic.  There are as many labels as you can think of but, for the most part, any community only works as well as each of the members.  Humanity’s an odd beast.  It takes advantage of the weak and feeds off the charitable, and it never ceases to amaze me how often people mistake kindness for weakness.

When I tell stories about my family, whether they’re tales from my own childhood or those of my children, I almost always tell the funny ones.  You’ll hear me mention Gracie Girl perhaps the most, because she’s a smart ass.  She supplies ample material for daily comedy.  Littlest Guy will get many a mention as well – he has that spark, that intangible thing that makes people gravitate to him.  You could see it in him from day one, children flock to him and adults adore him. 

I think when you prefer to laugh, or want something light hearted and fun, those are the kind of personalities that make for good heroes.

My oldest son has always been quiet and more to himself.  He’s quick and intelligent, but doesn’t often seek out a spotlight.  There are home movies from his 3^rd birthday – throughout the entire video, Gracie girl is right in front of the camera, singing and prancing and telling jokes.  Littlest guy is babbling and grinning and charming the hell out of everyone.  And there’s Johnny, off in the background, playing with a car he got as a present… and when his one year old brother came up to where he was playing, Johnny handed him the car and showed him how to do it.

People are always telling me how thoughtful and polite he is, as if I have anything to do with it.  He was gifted with a generous soul.  It’s not something I did as a parent, it’s intrinsically who he is.

There was the time I had all three of them lined up to find out who did something.  I don’t even remember what it was, but all three of them said the universal “I don’t know”.  At a loss for what to do, I grounded all three of them.  Johnny said, “Sorry, Mom.  I did it.  Gracie and DJ shouldn’t have to be grounded, too.”

I found out way later that his little brother did it, Johnny just said he did and took the punishment for him.  You can teach a kid not to snitch, but you can’t teach that.

A few Christmases ago, Santa got a new Nintendo DS for Johnny.  His brother broke his a few months prior, and he was way worse on those things than Johnny ever had been – Johnny’s a kid you never have to tell to take care of his things or do his homework.  So Santa figured, Johnny should get the new one, and DJ could get Johnny’s old one.  A few days before Christmas, DJ broke Johnny’s Nintendo.  Santa didn’t have the time or funds to get two, so I kinda figured, Johnny gets the new one and I knew he’d share, and then DJ could get one for his birthday.

Christmas morning, we all came down and there, with DJ’s toys from Santa, was the brand new Nintendo.  Johnny got up earlier than everyone else, and moved it to DJ’s pile.  He said Santa must’ve made a mistake because DJ wanted one so much more than he did.

In the grand circle of things, I can see him being the ant – all the grasshoppers are out playing while he works and saves, and then he gives them anything they need because they need it, without taking anything for himself.  He reminds me of Beth, from Little Women, who always tugged at my heart more than any other character.

And I worry about him being taken advantage of, because people don’t see kindness for what it is, and they don’t understand generosity for its own sake.  But when I get past the lump in my throat at anything that might hurt him, I hope he never loses that.

Maybe the world would be a better place if we prized quiet integrity more than witty quips.

I Haven't Been Writing

I haven’t been writing.

I’ve been paging in at blogs that used to be my regular habitat… like a voyeur… staring in through windows.  Some of them stained glass and breathtaking, some with gell clings letting light shine through in colorful splashes, some quaint, some gritty, and all beautiful.

I was out with a friend a few weeks back and someone asked me what I did for a living, and I kind of froze… trying I guess to figure out how to explain my job, which encompasses a lot of things, from data entry to report coallation to web design… and my friend said, “She’s a writer.” 

I swear to you, I turned around to see who the hell she was talking about.

Oh, yeah.  Me.  I think that’s me.  Or it used to be me.

I’ve done that a few times over the past few months – paged up old blogs or facebook statuses, and read something I said a year ago… and then I remember, I was a writer.  I’ve picked up books, and fallen into them like I’ve found the only place that I could ever rest my head, and then I remember, oh yeah, I was a writer.  In the middle of a rather hectic day, with no break in sight, brand new shiny idea popped right into my head, like the urge to get these people down on the page never abandoned me… of course, I couldn’t stop what I was doing to encourage it, but still, it was better than the silence.

Oh my God the fucking silence. 

If any of you ever heard of Padre Pio, he was a monk, now a saint… I once read that he said he knew what hell was.  It wasn’t fire and brimstone and demons assailing you.  It was the absence of God.  It was not being able to feel Him, to hear Him, to know He was with you.  It was the silence.

And I’m sure some people will read this and think, “Really, you’re comparing telling stories to God?”  Yeah, I am.  And it’s not some sappy bit about the muse being divine and these stories being salvation… but the absence of it, the loss of that compulsion, it’s like they took all the air out of the room.  You don’t even think about air when you’re breathing fine, it’s about the only thing you can think of when you’re drowning, though.

There are a million lofty sentiments people throw at you when you’re not doing so well.  “God never gives you more than you can handle.”

The fuck He doesn’t.  Why do you think people drink themselves stupid or throw themselves in front of trains?  More than they could handle, I’d say.  And I used to think, somewhere deep down where the real scared little shit who makes up excuses for why the boogy man could never get me lives, that those people were weak, or quitters, or something.  Something I wasn’t.

I always love stories about underdogs.  I love it, in real life and in fiction, when someone beats the odds, fights their way through, finds their happy ending against great odds. No one ever tells you how to see the beauty in failing.  The truth is, most people fail.  Some gracefully, some kicking and screaming, some taking as many people with them as they can grab onto.

So the blog’s been silent.  My head’s been silent.  Maybe it’s just a down cycle… or a reflective year.  And I don’t think I care so much if I fail anymore… but I’d really rather do it with the voices in my head chattering away again.

Guest Post - Mark Terry (bet you wished he was at YOUR blog...)

Today, as a special treat, Mark Terry is guest posting at the blog. I have an awesome photo in which he looks quite handsome and writerly and such, but blogger's being a bitch, so you guys miss out...sorry.... I did, however, get it to post the cover for his latest release, THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS. I'm not going to take up much of your time with a long and winding introduction about how unbelievably brilliant he is - his writing more than speaks for itself... so go ahead, read the blog...

Snakes on Brokeback Mountain

Mark Terry

I have on more than one occasion thought back to an interview given by Samuel L. Jackson when he was promoting, "Snakes On A Plane." The interviewers kept sort of prodding him about the seriousness of the role, and at some point, partly in frustration, he said, "Look, we're not talking 'Snakes On Brokeback Mountain.' We're talking 'Snakes On A Plane.'"

This resonated strongly with me, especially after I stopped laughing. Because what Samuel L. Jackson was saying was, "We're not talking about a movie likely to win the Academy Awards or go down in film history as a great work of art. It's a horror movie!"

I recently read a Vanity Fair (or perhaps it was Esquire) piece on Jake Gyllenhaal promoting “Source Code.” Someone in the article noted that Jake was a really, really serious actor with a lot of very serious ambitions, but at some point during the filming of “The Day After Tomorrow” somebody took him aside and said, “Jake, take off the tuxedo and stop practicing your acceptance speech. We’re making a disaster film here.”

And one of the reasons it resonates with me is that sometimes critics don't get it. One of my key criteria when I reviewed books was: "Did the author accomplish what they were trying to accomplish?"

So if you're writing an adventure novel and it's not exciting, but it sure has plenty of imagery and symbolism and seems "literary," I can't help but feel the author may have missed the point. Example: "The Crown of Columbus," by Louise Erdich and Michael Dorris. This story is about a historian (I think) who may have clues to where a "crown" of some sort is hidden that Christopher Columbus brought with him while exploring the New World. In point of fact, the crown is the crown of thorns that Christ wore when he was crucified. This novel had all the makings of "The Da Vinci Code" only it was written about 15 years earlier, and although the writing was without a doubt better than Dan Brown's, it was not, to my mind, a better book. Why? Because the authors had a different agenda than writing an adventure novel. They were writing a mainstream "literary" novel and as a result, the novel seemed schizophrenic and didn't - to my mind - succeed as either thing. It sure as hell wasn't "thrilling" or "exciting" or an "adventure." But critics liked it and so did plenty of readers who knew what they were getting.

I don't want to get too much into the art versus commerce argument here, although I actually have pretty strong opinions on the subject. But I do want to make a point. The process is almost entirely identifical.

Let me say that again: The process of creating art and creating a commercial book (movie, etc) is almost completely identical.

The process that Samuel L. Jackson and the director and the writer and all the other actors in "Snakes On A Plane" took is almost entirely identical to the process they would take if they had been making "Ghandi" or "Brokeback Mountain" or "Casablanca."

Yes, it's possible people will walk their way through their work. Yes, it's possible they'll do it entirely for money.

My point here is when Samuel L. and company decided to make "Snakes On A Plane" they decided they wanted a film that was scary and fun and thrilling and suspenseful and funny and designed to give laughs and shivers and screams, etc.

When everybody concerned went about making "Brokeback Mountain," they weren't looking to make scary and fun and thrilling and suspenseful; they were intent on raising another set of emotions and moving people to think and to feel a certain thing.

The PROCESS is essentially the same. The INTENTION is different.

And for the record, I've never seen "Brokeback Mountain," because it's not my type of movie, ie., a romance (the gay theme doesn't bother me). I love romantic comedies, but straight romances, like "The Horse Whisperer" leave me cold. For that matter, I’ve never seen "Snakes On A Plane." Although I love thrillers, I hate snakes. Yeah, me and Indiana Jones. Although the snakes in "Raiders of the Lost Ark" don't bother me that much, I can guarantee you that I would have a hard time with "Snakes On A Plane" and all its POV shots of slithering snakes. It's a family joke: "Let's drag Dad into the reptile house at the Detroit Zoo."

Pssssst - Thank you, Mark, for taking the time to write such an awesome article for my little blog...

I'm sure Mark will be by in comments, so please feel free to extend the conversation - I loves that...

How Do You Know When You've Found Your Voice?

There’s a lot about writing that seems almost mystical – to people who don’t write, and even to those of us breathing in this damn, frustrating, lovely, mind-sucking, hole of death what we call writing.

One of the things you hear most often is VOICE. Big sparkly letters here, because that’s the onus us writing folk put on voice. It’s kind of like literary fiction – no one can tell you how to do it, but we sure the fuck know it when we see it. And then we get even more confusing about it – insisting that an author not only capture his or her own distinctive voice, but also capture each character’s voice. And the character’s voice has to be separate from the writer’s voice… and each character has to have their own voice so that you don’t have cardboard bullshit characters… oh, and don’t use any petty trickery or overused catch-phrases so that your reader literally rolls their eyes and tosses your book in a moldy laundry pile rather than finish it. We talk non-stop about craft and technique and grammar. We beat other works about the head and ears for feats of stupidity or, worse, purple prose.

Can you hear my voice? I bet you can. I can. I know it’s there and I know what it sounds like and guess what – it’s grammatically flawed as all hell. It doesn’t follow any of the rules. Okay, it follows some of the rules, but mostly by accident. You get to a point where you know them backwards and forwards and have to toss them out the window to get comfortable in your skin and say what you have to say. Because the bottom line in voice is communication. That’s it – plain and simple.

That’s all this really is – saying something. Saying something important, life changing, immortal, embarrassing, consuming, eloquent, clever, or blatant… I like blatant, myself. It often has a dry wit all its own. That’s all we’re trying to do here, whether it’s through articles or blog posts or works of fiction. We’re saying something – and in order to communicate, if you’re really good at it, you need to make sure your audience gets it. If your audience is full of high brow fancy schmancy types… go get a thesaurus so they don’t feel slighted by your mundane language – and leave your fucking profanity at the door. If your audience is full of deep thinkers, be more concerned with the ideas than the way they’re couched – deep thinkers don’t care what it looks like to the outside world. They’re not in it to impress anyone else. They want the essence of a story or idea that will make their mind take off… say it in pig latin, if it’s brilliant, they’ll still go with you.

But what you’re saying seems beside the point when you’re talking about voice, right? It’s part of it, but I’ll get back to that. Voice is most often categorized as the flavor of the way you say things, kind of like an accent on the page. And yeah, I can hear New York or Southern Charm, or an Irish Brogue. But it’s not just that.

Remember when you were in high school? Remember when you wanted all the cool kids to like you, or when you started digging combat boots and dyed your hair and spoke in Violent Femmes lyrics? Remember when you stole little phrases from rock stars or friends that were just too fucking cool? Remember that kid, teetering on the curb, trying to get his bearings and up his courage to walk in the middle of the road, pretty as you fucking please? That kid. The one who wanted to be someone special, but didn’t know quite how to get there so he borrowed bits from here and there and adapted other bits that might have been his or maybe they were scrapped up from somewhere else… and he wore them like a mantle of independent thinking – just like everybody else.

Yeah, well if your voice is that – you’re doing it wrong.

The problem with that kid is he was playing at being someone other people might admire. He wasn’t there yet. His confidence was low and his braggadocio was borrowed. That’s not where your voice comes from. You can’t borrow someone else’s… scratch that, you can, actually… if you’ve got a really good ear for language (and if you’re a writer, we’ll assume that you do), you can, in fact, mimic another writer… another person… adopt it and wear it and put it out there… but you won’t have developed YOUR voice.

And they’ll tell you that no one can help you find your voice. There are no instructions to get there or develop it or bring it out. Which is probably true – every journey seems to be as different as every writer. A writer friend recently told me that he could tell that I turned a corner. That my writing voice was the strongest he’d ever seen it. That I was ready. And I think I am. I am more confident in my writing and my voice than I ever was before. So how did I get there? I stopped giving a shit about any of the people who were not going to “get” me. That was it. That simple. I stopped tempering my language because people who don’t know me might mistake my profanity for ignorance. I stopped rethinking overlarge words that fit or mundane words that weren’t impressive enough, and I said what I had to say… and then I edited the hell out of it. (Anyone who tells you voice is natural and comes with no editing is a moron… writing is more editing than writing… when I find a writer who doesn’t follow that, I don’t want to read them.)

Oh, and what you have to say… remember? I said we’d get back to that. Voice and theme go hand in hand as far as I can tell. And some writers have more than one theme that they work with, some may not pay any attention to it at all… they’re just telling a story and don’t notice that their stories all have the same finite number of themes. YOU have something to say. You wouldn’t be writing if you didn’t have anything to say. There is something deeper to this profession than sheer love of words… and yeah, that’s part of it, but it’s not the whole. If I only loved the words, I’d be perfectly content to devour great works by other authors. But it’s not only that with us, we have something to say, and that something, whether deep or frivolous, something to move us or move mountains, something just to make us laugh, that’s as imperative to our voice as the way we turn a phrase. You just can’t have a voice with nothing to vocalize… it would just be a hum, or a moan, or a whimper.

So how did you find your voice? And what have you got to say? Figured out your themes yet?

Manufacturing Time

Some time ago, the awesomeness that is Stephen Parrish, posted a personal story and asked for his readers’ stories in return. I read his post and it moved me, and instead of posting, I sent him an email… the funny thing was, as I was sending him an essay length personal story for no reason other than it struck me, Stephen was sending me a simple, “Doing okay over there?” out of the blue.

Because he’s one of the good ones. One of those writer friends who knows when the rest of the world is beating your ass and takes the time to tell you to get over it and write already.

He wrote me back to tell me to publish that essay. To put it out there. I don’t take things Stephen says about writing lightly. I’ve never seen him compliment anything that didn’t have extreme merit, so on that note it did what Stephen always does – made me feel like writing.

My status update today on facebook was, “wishes I could figure out how to manufacture more time in a day”. And lately I’ve been downright whiney about my lack of time which has culminated in an absence of writing which sometimes feels like a lack of air. The stories are still there, the characters still knock on my eyeballs and kick around the cobwebbed corridors in my noggin… but they’re getting softer, harder to hear, farther away from lack of listening. Pretty soon they’ll find windows to break in someone else’s head… okay, maybe not, but I think it’s like a muscle. Writing isn’t all muse and fluff and magical inspiration. It’s sit in the fucking chair, get your shit together, and do the work. When you can’t find the time to do that, you have to make it.

Yes, I can manufacture time. Twenty minutes later to bed, a half an hour earlier in the morning… less facebook, more Microsoft word. I’ve done this before. Gone without sleep to write. Gone without tv or social time or whatever… And I logged back into facebook today, and saw that quote up on my page and thought, “Well, hell, you whiney bitch, what’s wrong with right now?”

So it starts with a blog post. While dinner’s on the stove… I’m not allowing myself sleep until I hit a decent word count. Time to stop lamenting the woes of my little corner of the world and get on with it… that’s the one thing about being creative by nature... you have to find the wherewithal to push yourself. No one else will do it; no one else cares if you make it. It’s up to you to manufacture your time.

Where do you find the time? Is it a routine or whenever the fancy strikes? And do you wait for the elusive muse, or hog tie her ass and make her stick around til the word count is in?

Poetry Corner: Meet Dina Darling

This is Dina Darling:


This is her latest release:



In honor of the release of her latest poetry book, Winter’s Fierce Breath, she’s allowed me to interview her here on the blog… now, I thought of all sorts of ways to introduce Ms. Darling – reams of words about how cool she is… but really, in this case, I think I’ll let her writing speak for itself. Here’s one of my favorites from her latest release:

WHY DO YOU HAVE TO

Love is shaded
Threads of lies
Loose at the seams
The ins and outs of consciousness
The toast to new beginnings failed
When the kiss of death touched my lips

I don’t want to be wrong about you
I won’t allow myself
To be so wrong
The marching band screams in my ears
Your symbol clangs a melody out of tune
On my heel
Here they come
Throwing their warnings in my face
I can listen or I can ignore them
All I know is that I’m torn

A web you’ve got me slow-dancing in
The bareness of complication
Wants a little freedom
Keep collecting your numbers
You’ve run out of vindications
Where do you find all the energy?
To take a stab at falling asleep for the night
When you’re right back up doing it again
Melted alarm clocks
Fluorescent signs
Reflect the sadness that you’re hiding
In the dark puddles below the street lights

Why can’t I cut you loose?
What am I so scared of?
WHY AM I AFRAID?
To just slam the door and walk away
You will never be good for me
You’ll always be the ache in my affection
Running away with little fragments of me
Why do you have to be so cruel?
Why do you have to have?
The wit and the appeal
That keeps me feeling alive
When I’m a little nervous to even breathe.

Me: Who are your favorite poetic influences?

Dina Darling: I love to dive into the worlds of Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Amy Lowell, Veronica Franco and Sylvia Plath.

Me: Your poetry is (beautiful, meltingly beautiful) but also very personal and often erotic... do you ever have issues censoring yourself or worry about what people will think when they read it?

Dina Darling: I have to admit I felt quite embarrassed knowing my Mom had read my first book. She was the only one I worried about as if I would shock her or something, but hey she's been there too. There are so many aspects of myself that I share in my words. Poetry is my escape. I refuse to be censored. It is what it is. I become a raging sea of explored emotions when I write. The wall comes down. I will swallow you whole. I truly am an open book with absolutely nothing to hide. Sometimes I believe that people have this goody two shoe, wholesome innocent projection of me and nothing else. That's only a mere speck of who I am. Read my books and you'll see the very heart and soul of me. I always stand by something my Grandmother used to tell me. "Half of the world will love you, half of the world will hate you." You can't please everyone.

Me: This is your second poetry book. What was your main goal in Winter's Fierce Breath, and in what ways did that goal differ from your first release?

Dina Darling: Winter's Fierce Breath is a continuation for me. It's the next chapter after The Safety of Madness. It's a constant struggle of self discovery. For me, both books are an autobiography. Every poem is truth. I write with steel backbone because I'm not afraid to put myself out there. I don't cower from the experiences I've had in the obstacle of love, whether good or bad. I am a pillar of passion longing to stop the search and find my happy ending. I am a hopeless romantic fool on display for all to see. The goals are actually similar in both books. A lesson to myself that no matter how many times love knocks the wind out of me, I have to get right back up and surrender myself completely once again. Because there is always light after dark. Love shall succeed.

Me: Do you have a favorite place to write or work on your poetry or any special routine to your writing?

Dina Darling: I find inspiration creeps up on me in the middle of the night. Once the chaos of the day breaks and my head hits the pillow, all these words start calling out to me. I always keep a pen and notebook handy on my nightstand. Though I write whenever the inspiration hits. There isn't really a routine. It could be anywhere. I just make sure I grab something to write on, newspaper, napkin, etc...depending on my location.

Me: Do you specialize only in poetry, or do you write in other genres?

Dina Darling: Funny thing is I never saw myself as a writer. It was the encouragement of my high school English teacher Ms. Clarry. She saw potential through my writing assignments. She told me to take a stab at entering the short story/poetry contest. I ended up winning second place prose. I then began to explore the world of short stories later realizing that poetry was more my forte. It is a million times more rewarding to express myself lyrically than in any other form of writing.

Dina will be sticking around to talk in comments. Feel free to ask her questions and tell her how gorgeous she is. And please consider picking up one of her poetry books, Winter’s Fierce Breath or her earlier release, The Safety of Madness.

Laugh and the World Laughs With You. Cry and You Cry Alone

That’s one of those little ditties we all heard growing up… and it’s kind of true. There are those friends who, when you’ve hit that rough patch, will move hell and high water to make you smile. Who can find joy, even in the worst of times and somehow let it rub off on you. We loves them. We aspire to be one of them. But you’ll notice that those friends are far and few between. Most people will scatter to the wind, and let you deal with your stuff on your own and come back around when your mood is better and the world is righted. Because no one really wants to stand ringside for the bloody massacre – and in their cowardly defense, when you wallow in it and can’t find your joy, you become a psychic vampire who drags everyone around you down to your dark place. And most people can’t function and find joy with all of that.

On the surface, fiction seems like it works differently. (Doesn’t it always?) We look for high emotion, we strive to infuse every page with conflict and, of course, conflict suggests more pain than joy. But dig beneath the surface. Yeah, man, put your character through the paces, make his world crumble and make a good portion of it through his own faulty choices. Make him squirm. BUT – don’t let him whine about it. See, there’s the balance. It’s not the fact that the world is crumbling that makes us read, root, breathe it in – it’s the fact that this character is so extraordinary that he never lets it beat him.

There were a bunch of people who complained about the fifth Harry Potter book. The character went in a new and darker direction. Some of the battles he had already faced started wearing on him, compounded by the fact that he was a moody teenager. I think it was well done, because really, there’s no way that character got where he was and didn’t show signs of wear – it wouldn’t have felt right, and I think it was a good choice for the author altogether. BUT – she’d earned our attention through four previous novels of building this world and our relationship with these people. THAT wouldn’t have worked in a first novel. We wouldn’t have known him well enough. We would’ve thrown our hands up and said, “Get over it already!”

When someone tells me that something I wrote made them cry, I have to admit I get a little jolt of happy. Not because I made them sad, but because my words moved them. It’s not easy to move people armed with little more than your warped thoughts and manner of painting in language. And that’s the whole goal for me in writing, to bring the reader in and make them feel something; to know they walk away with a new perspective, a poetic phrase, a blooming thought to be dissected at their leisure. I want to do for them what a million writers before have done for me. It’s a lofty goal when you think about it.

Where life and fiction intersect is the place I think you have to keep your eyes on to do this. Fiction is high conflict. You’re barreling into all of the things you’d avoid in your real life. But fiction doesn’t whine (which you’d likely do if faced with some of the paces your characters go through). You can’t root for a character who takes to their bed and sobs. For the same reason many a fair weather friend will take a powder when you hit that patch in your real life – I told you it intersected. We follow characters who are in some way extraordinary. They don’t get through it unscathed, but they get through it without losing their spirit. They do things that we would never have the courage to do in our regular lives. But sometimes I think pulling a little bit of that chutzpah from your fiction and adopting it for yourself wouldn’t be such a bad idea, either.

Thoughts? Where does fiction and life intersect for you? What rules don’t apply to fiction but apply to life… and vice versa?

Fitting It In

So, it’s that time again… time to account for my Koala Challenge pointage for the month of January. I managed three…

I did the introduction comment at McKoala’s blog for 1 point. It was really kind of a freebie, but whatever, it’s mine, all mine!

I managed to finish and submit one regional parenting magazine article for 1 point.

And I managed to write, edit, gather critiques on, and re-edit the pitch for my query letter for 1 point.

I did write a bit of new fiction, but not enough for the point.

Normally, I’m really annoyed with myself when I do that little in a whole month. But when I sat down to look at where I was spending my time, it couldn’t be helped. I have literally spent no less than 30 hours each week looking through job postings, writing, re-writing and tweaking cover letters, submitting them to various companies, and filling out online employment applications. Outside of all that, I’ve been working through a temp service when they can get me office positions. I’m hoping one of those turns into a permanent position, or maybe one of my resumes/interviews lands me one. Oh, yeah, and then there’s the whole full-time parenting of three children, heading up the Band Contest Committee for the event coming up in a few weeks (which meant finding and scheduling 33 volunteers), and rebuilding my house with limited (read as no) funds. It is what it is. I need a regular, stable income. My kids need to be fed, taken care of, and watched over. And there’s only so much time in a day… I’ve tried to change that last one, but it’s not going over so well.

I’ve actually been looking for a job, off and on, for the past two years or so. It wasn’t so imperative then, I could make do with a little extra money freelance writing here and there, and budget out things at the time. But a number of people have said things along the lines of, “Oh, well what you really need is a creative writing position. You wouldn’t be happy in just any job.” Meaning that I wouldn’t be happy in office work, I’d guess, as that’s primarily what I’m looking for… it always strikes me as odd how people categorize you. First of all, those comments are almost always made from the standpoint of someone who’s never had something shut off because they couldn’t pay a bill. Seriously, any job is a good job if you enjoy it, work hard at it, and it allows you to live.

And, oddly enough, I like secretarial work. I do. I think the skills I’ve developed writing all translate awesomely to running or helping to run an office. Does that mean I’ll stop writing when I find a full time job? No. I won’t stop breathing, either. There are plenty of writers out there who are brilliant at what they do on the page, but it won’t pay the mortgage. I also tend to think that a career outside of writing gives you more experience and self to speak from when you do sit down at the keyboard. The trick is fitting it all in.

So how do you do it? Do you write full time or outside of your regular career and family obligations?

Having a Handle on Your Own Health

I tend to be the person in my family that everyone goes to when they have a problem. I think every family has one of these. Maybe it’s because I’m the only girl with two brothers, or maybe I just tend to be that way – the kind of person who pays attention to things like when someone’s birthday is, or which doctor to recommend. I also tend to be the person with the information – why dial 411, when I can give you the number for free?

I remember my dad calling me one afternoon out of the blue and asking me to make him an eye appointment (because, of course, I had the eye doctor’s number). My dad wore glasses for longer than I’d been alive, so this wasn’t so unusual. The rest of the conversation, though, was a little more out of the ordinary.

“Why? Isn’t your prescription strong enough?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think it’s okay. But my peripheral vision just went out.” You’d think that response would be more panicked or something, but he didn’t seem to see anything wrong with this.

“What do you mean, it went out?” I was less calm about the situation.

“It went out. I can’t see anything out of the sides, just straight ahead.”

I didn’t want to scare him by screaming, “You need an emergency room, not an eye doctor!” But I knew enough about stroke symptoms to know what he was experiencing was most likely not optical.

Traditionally, most people left their health information in the hands of their doctors. After all, they went to school and practiced for many years and must know more about what may or may not be going on in our bodies. And this is true to an extent. But the truth is, it helps to know what symptoms might be associated with a serious situation. Most people have warnings of heart trouble or any myriad of things well before the condition is life threatening, and they ignore these “aches and pains” because they don’t feel severe, or they go away, or they just don’t associate them with something life-threatening.

I’m not advocating people to go ahead and doctor themselves. Certainly, a trusted physician is the best person to see with regards to your health. But, I do strongly believe in educating yourself enough to know your body, and understand the recommendations that your doctor might give you.


Special thanks to Health Yahoo for sponsoring this post.

A Rose By Any Other Name Still Grows Best In Manure

I've been working on my pitch over at the Query Goblin's. While I'm still working on it (and would appreciate any critiques here as well) I'm really at a cross as to the title. I have two titles, both of which I like for different reasons, both of which give me pause for different reasons too... but rather than get into all of that, I'll just say that both are phrases used in the book. That's all you really need to know because a reader wouldn't have me there to feed them all the backstory of what the damn title means, now would they?

Let me know if you like one or if you think I should be brainstorming for a new one...

Redemption is a Road

From the Neighborhood

And onto the pitch:

When Jack Poverelli’s uncle bails him out of jail, packs his mom off to rehab, and whisks Jack out of the neighborhood, it should have been a good thing. What sixteen year old wants to wake up in the middle of the night and make sure his mom’s still breathing? But Jack doesn’t belong in the gleaming halls of his new high school where everyone judges him for what he looks like, and he doesn’t trust his uncle. Why would he show up now, after all these years? And why is he so interested in their house and finances?

Jack would give up clean sheets and full meals to be back with the friends who’ve looked out for him his whole life. Everything is pushing him into this new place – better classes, a job, a girl whose way out of his league but doesn’t seem to notice. Even Jack’s oldest friends are telling him to move on, that he should be trying to get out of the neighborhood, not stay in it. When his mother relapses, Jack and his friends step between her and a neighborhood drug dealer, setting off a chain of events that put them all in the crosshairs of both the dealer’s cronies and the police.

Many Thanks to Vista Print for Supporting the Blog

There are new things afoot on the blog... for starters, I have some lovely supporters.... Yay!

You'll notice a pretty new picture to the side that looks like this:



If you click on it, it'll take you to Vista Print a great place for your custom business cards and printing needs. So if you're looking for something that they supply, please feel free to click through here or at the sidebar.

Facing Your Finances

Anyone who’s ever had financial trouble can tell you how embarrassing it is. No one ever wants the neighbors to know that their phone’s been ringing off the hook with bill collectors or that they never go out when invited because they just can’t afford it. And I think most people hit those low financial patches in their life, but right now it seems like there are a lot of people struggling that weren’t quite acclimated to going without. It’s hard to streamline your bills to a manageable degree when your income has been cut in half – and that’s what many people are going through. And because financial problems are so socially embarrassing, many people will hide their heads in the sand rather than face it – which makes the problem ten times worse. You can’t keep spending as usual without the income stream to back it up.

A lot of people are turning to services, like http://anewhorizon.org to help them relearn how to manage their money and live within their current budget. They get pulled under with credit card debt because they overuse the cards trying to keep up with bills they can no longer afford. Or they simply need a sounding board to try to figure out how they got off track and relearn to live within their new means. Another thing they might do is look into debt consolidation in order to make their payments lower and more manageable per month.

Sometimes you don’t even need to use a company, just some standard research and a good common sense look at where you are, what you earn, and what you need in order to not only float but save a little to get a cushion… that’s the biggest problem I see. People will spend exactly what they make. But without that bit of savings then one extra bill can send you into a spiral. And who hasn’t run up against an unexpected bill?

In the last few years, I’ve adopted a few habits that have saved me a bit… still not completely there, but I’m working on it… how about you? What things have you started going without or doing in order to help your bottom line?

Special thanks to A New Horizon for sponsoring this post.

Pitch Critique: Jean Ann Williams Middle Grade Pitch

First, the pitch:
CLAIRELEE A.D. (AFTER DISASTER)
An Excerpt
by
Jean Ann Williams

One mother damaged, one family tested, one daughter determined to find her place.

At thirteen years old, ClaireLee Monteiro’s family life becomes a shambles. Feeling incapable of taking Mama’s position in the home, she longs for acceptance at school. She sets out to impress Wendy Lavender and her school cronies, and so she lies.

While the Lavender Girls Club receives ClaireLee into their fold, they do not choose her best buddy, Belinda Cruz. How far will ClaireLee wander from honesty, her devoted friend, and a feeble mother’s love?

Next: My Critique:
CLAIRELEE A.D. (AFTER DISASTER)
An Excerpt I’m not sure why this is here. It suggests you’ve included an excerpt of the work, but there isn’t one, it’s just the pitch.
by
Jean Ann Williams

One mother damaged, one family tested, one daughter determined to find her place. Great tagline! I’m interested.

At thirteen years old, ClaireLee Monteiro’s family life becomes a shambles. ’becomes a shambles’ sounds awkward to me. Maybe try a more active verb? Feeling incapable of taking Mama’s position in the home, she longs for acceptance at school. She sets out to impress Wendy Lavender and her school cronies, and so she lies. I need a little more. What does she lie about? Why does she need to take Mama’s position?

While the Lavender Girls Club receives ClaireLee into their fold, they do not choose her best buddy, Belinda Cruz. How far will ClaireLee wander from honesty, her devoted friend, and a feeble mother’s love?This seems like the real story, the Lavender Girls Club choose ClaireLee but not her friend, Belinda. I wonder if you might want to use your space to fill out this plotline, give us a little more on the family situation especially what’s going on with her mother.

Overall, I’m interested. It sounds like a good premise for Young Adult. I want to get to know the character a little better in the pitch and I think we need a little more information.

Okay guys, your turn. Please feel free to critique this pitch in the comments section. A big thank you to Jean Ann for being brave enough to submit her work for critique. I hope it's helpful!

Scrubbing In

With the current economy, I have a number of friends who’ve started rethinking their career prospects. Some of them have been outmoded by computers or employees overseas… some of them are just victims of a scaled back labor force, but either way they’re switching gears. A lot of them are going toward medical fields. Maybe it’s because all the forecasts say those jobs are stable. Maybe they envision themselves in cotton medical scrubs saving lives. I can see the romanticism there – if you’ve ever spent any time with a loved one in a hospital, a great nurse or technician can become a lifeline akin to a god.

I can totally see it – being completely in control in the face of chaos. And I wouldn’t be wearing any old cheap hospital scrubs, either. Mine would have to have Snoopy or something on them… ohhh, I wonder if they make them with Calvin and Hobbes? Don’t worry, guys. I’m not turning in my keyboard. But in a time when starting over seems to be the call of the day, I can see the draw to donning a pair of cotton surgical scrubs and getting to be the reason someone has more time with their loved one.

So, if you decided to call it and leave your current profession for a new one, which one would you pick? And could your write a really great novel surrounding it? (See, that last sentence is how you know I’m nothing if not a writer).

Many thanks to Blue Sky Scrubs for sponsoring this post.

Censorship: Things What Annoy Me

I’m going to guess that most readers of this blog will already know about the hubbub surrounding the new version of Huck Finn censoring all words deemed racist in nature.

I’d like to say that Twain, if he were alive, would smack his head at their idiocy and tell them all to go fuck themselves. (Sorry, I don’t censor). But Twain was well-versed in censors and exactly how to deal with them. Twain liked to tweak people’s noses. He did so purposely and by accident. This novel in particular garnered quite a bit of venom in its day. Here’s what Twain had to say about it in a letter to his editor, shortly after the novel’s original publication:

"The Committee of the Public Library of Concord, Mass., have given us a rattling tip-top puff which will go into every paper in the country. They have expelled Huck from their library as 'trash and suitable only for the slums.' That will sell 25,000 copies for us sure."

Of course, in the time it was released the novel was censored for the opposite reason – how’s that for irony? The thing with this that irritates me is not so much that the word offends people; it was supposed to offend people. His intention was to offend people. Twain took great pains with his words. It’s well-documented that his manner of reproducing dialect and verbiage was precise to the point of near perfection. The man read every single word out loud, every single revision until each character and voice sounded exactly right to his ear. Is anyone really under the delusion that he would use the word, “nigger” more than 200 times by accident? Mind you, he used the same word in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer – 4 times.

It’s not a far stretch to understand he was making a point and he was doing so by purposely getting in the reader’s face. What I think is underestimated on a personal level is that this stance was brave for the author during this time period.

I think that should be honored rather than swept under the carpet. And by people who are using his exact ethical position – and whose ancestors, by all statistical likelihood, were not as highly evolved morally during its first printing.

I think literature should be read in the form it is written in any and all ways readers can scrutinize it. Like most cases of censoring, I have to believe that most people who have a problem with Twain’s prose have either never read or cannot understand the prose. There are a great many works of fiction (and non-fiction for that matter) that I disagree with… that doesn’t mean I won’t read them. It doesn’t mean I keep my children from reading them – in fact, disagreeing with a sentiment in literature is one of the greatest jumping off points for honest discussion I can think of.

I won’t be buying a copy that’s been censored. And I have to wonder whether there would even be a discussion about this if the author wasn’t a dead white guy… which makes me wonder who the real racist is in this scenario.

(psst: the Pitch Critiques are still open if you’re interested.)

Pitch Critique to Ring in 2011

I love the smell of red ink in the morning... well, it's afternoon, but you get the idea.

In my last post, I asked if some of you might like to open the new year by participating in a pitch critique session. I haven't done one in quite a while, but they're a great way to get feedback on your pitch, narrow down your focus for a new work, and just flex your muscles creatively. Pitching, for me, is harder than writing. It's more marketing and understanding the business end of publishing, and less about the play of words. It's a balance I think you have to attain in order to get to the next level. Personally, I get just as much for critiquing for others as I do getting my own work critiqued.

So, we haz sum rulz:

Any and all writers are welcome to participate. No matter where you are in your journey, from newer writer to seasoned veteran, the more the merrier.

It is NOT mandatory to submit a pitch. I know some people aren't ready or don't like having too many eyes on their own material and that's fine. You're still more than welcome to critique or comment on other peoples' pitches.

If you do submit a pitch, it IS mandatory to critique others. This is just a little sideline I like to include because, depending on what writing loop you're on, sometimes people stick around to get feedback on their own work but are less inclined, for whatever reason, to give the same feedback to others. This way, each participant will at least have some feedback coming their way.

ALL feedback must be constructive. (I have to note here, I have never had a problem with this on this blog, all of my writing friends are awesome.) But just in case there are some newer posters of a less constructive nature, I reserve the right to delete anything I see as inflammatory or derogatory, or any of the other tories that we no likey.

If you would like to submit a pitch to critique, please send it to: merry(dot)monteleone(at)gmail(dot)com

I was going to leave this option open, if you guys would like the critiques to be blind, as in I don't tell you who wrote it, that's fine. Let me know in comments or if you don't want your name on yours you can let me know when you submit the pitch.

I don't know how many pitches I'll be receiving, so depending on the volume, I might post one with my critique at a time, and then the comments would be open to other writer's critiques... or I might post two or more on a post, if there are a lot of them... I'll also try to let everyone know via email when their pitch goes up. But keep checking back anyway just to participate in the rest of them.

I'm looking forward to it. Can't wait to play!

A New Blog for the New Year...

Okay, the title's misleading. It's the same blog. Same URL. Yep, yep. But I've been contemplating what I want to do here, and I think I really want to get back to basics.

This was a writing blog when I started. Over the years I've been doing this, I've used it to flex my writing muscles, banter about my children, banter about myself... but my favorite posts were always the writing ones.

I can't promise not to tell you stories about the kids - they're usually a lot funnier than I am. I can't promise not to tell you neighborhood stories... they kinda suit me. But I would like to devote more time to booksies, and literary discussions, and writing exercises. I miss the writing exercises.

So, my writing colleagues, who's up for a good old fashion pitch crit? Anybody game to start their 2011 with a little bloodshed, er, umn, I mean solid, writing criticism...?

Let me know in the comments. If there are at least a few who might participate, I'll put a post up this week, and we can all play in the comments... if not, I guess I'll go back to silly stories.

Oh, and Happy New Year!!!! Let's see what 2011 has up its sleeve.

Wisdom is Often Hard-Earned

My friend, fiction writing goddess, and woman I’d most likely dig chicks for, recently put up a “What I’ve Learned” post to commemorate the ending of this year and the turning of the page. Personally, I can’t wait to turn the page and God help me if 2011 is even half as bad as 2010 was… well, God help me anyway, I could use it.

Wait! Don’t leave! I promise I won’t whine… instead I thought I would take my cue from The Divine Ms. O and reflect on the lessons learned, and some of them re-learned, over the last year:

1. They say, “Quitting is easy.” Don’t believe them. Quitting is the hardest thing anyone ever does. It’s the release of hope wrapped in the tattered remnants of failure. No one ever quits anything important without grieving it deeply.

Quitting means you have to give up something of who you are and reinvent yourself… I’ve wondered off and on whether I should logically quit writing – it’s not exactly the most stable of professions. Without getting into the whole poetic gobbledygook of why I haven’t, one of the most profound reasons is that I don’t know who I am without it. And hell, I’d much rather be a failed writer than a successful crazy person with lots of voices in her noggin.

2. You don’t actually need most of your stuff. It’s amazing how much crap you have that you won’t use or look at in months.

3. Merry, Merry, quite contrary – I can say, “They’re only things, they don’t really matter,” as much as I want. There are some things in this world that it will break your heart into pieces to lose.

4. Some people can only see in black and white. To them, people are either good or bad and there is no shade of gray. What they don’t realize is that their inability to accept the shades of gray in others is likely the same foible their loved ones overlook in them. Avoid them when you can.

5. When you have absolutely no idea what to do about a situation, up your gumption. Ask an expert, learn a skill, hell, make it up as you go… any of those solutions will get you farther than sitting on your hands and sobbing.

6. People can be petty and mean and spiteful. But at the end of the day, the only opinion of you that counts is your own. If you let someone else change how you feel about yourself, you’re the only one you have to blame.

7. I understand that forgiveness is healthier for the person holding the grudge… but there is still a small group of people who I wouldn’t cross the street to spit on. (Sorry, E, at least I’ve stopped short of kicking them in the shins.)

8. There is no measure of heartache that can’t be endured in the presence of friendship and laughter.

9. You can’t go home again is a poetic lie. Where you come from is as much a part of your life as blood or breath. Embrace it.

10. I yelled at Him way more than I should have this year. But God knows I’m blessed, and as whiny as I’ve felt lately, I do too…

(and an 11th bonus one – I have a serious ellipsis problem…)

So, what have you learned this year that you’d like to pass on? Any life lessons? Writing skills? Bit of wit?

Don't Quit... author unknown

We interrupt this blog for an interlude of poetry. I don't normally post other people's work (except for the occasional guest posting author, of course). But this poem has been running through my head a lot lately. And, being that it's a writer's blog, I figured it might've run through yours a time or two as well...

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest, if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about,
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow--
You may succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than,
It seems to a faint and faltering man,
Often the struggler has given up,
When he might have captured the victor's cup,
And he learned too late when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out--
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far,
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit--
It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

- Author unknown

Got a favorite poem, song lyric, quote? What literature is speaking to you today?

Oh, So That’s How The Whole Christmas Miracle Thing Really Works…

Littlest Guy is eight and he’s decided that there is no Santa Claus… Eight!!!! Okay, I already knew by that age, but still… I thought I had a little more time on it. I, however, was not nearly as upset about this recent turn of events as my Gracie Girl… She’s a smart one, she is… She’s thirteen now and has known the “truth” since she was about Littlest Guy’s age, but she also knows that as soon as they all know the truth, Adios Santa Gifts. And honestly, who doesn’t love waking up to presents?

As heartbreaking as these changes can be – the end of innocent childhood magic, the beginning of cynical adulthood logic… realizations of this kind just turn into comedy at my house. This was our dinnertime discussion last night:

Littlest Guy: I know there’s no Santa.

Me: Oh, do you now? And why do you say that?

Littlest Guy: Because I know. (He eyes me with his ever-famous mischievous grin). You and Dad leave the presents Christmas morning.

Gracie Girl: Of course, there’s a Santa. Why would you think there’s no Santa?

Littlest Guy: Well.. How does he get to all the houses in the whole world in just one night?

Gracie Girl: He splits it up, silly. When it’s daytime here, it’s nighttime on the other side of the world… he delivers the gifts where it’s night first, and then goes to the other side of the planet.

Littlest Guy: (grrrrr) That’s against the laws of physics.

Gracie Girl: No it’s not. You haven’t started studying physics yet. Wait a few years. You’ll understand it better.

(Meanwhile, oldest son is watching the other two with amused curiosity. Having finished his dinner, he pushes back his plate and gets up.)

Oldest Son: I’m not messing with the fat man. Can I be excused?

(Oldest Son bolts as soon as I give him the okay… mind you, he already knows, I’ve heard his whispered conversations with his sister… he’s just not dumb enough to make sure there’s no Santa Gifts on Christmas morning)

Littlest Guy: Okay. Even if he could get to every house, how does he get in? Not every house has a chimney. What about apartments, or like our house – no fireplace, the chimney goes to the furnace?

Gracie Girl: Oh, yeah. The fireplace thing is just a story. Really, Santa has a magical key that works on every lock in the whole world. He’s had it since way back in his criminal days.

Littlest Guy’s eyes widen and his mouth pops open.

Gracie Girl: Didn’t you know? Oh yeah. Santa used to be a master criminal. He pulled the most amazing heists ever! That’s why he became Santa and started giving presents to everyone once a year – it’s kind of like a penance to make up for his past misdeeds. He’s paying back karma.

Littlest Guy: Okaaaaay, well what about the reindeer? How can reindeer fly?

Gracie Girl: Steroids.

Littlest Guy: Steroids? They can’t do that.

Gracie Girl: Sure they can. But only to special reindeer. If you tried them, they’d only make you sick. Say no to drugs, man.

Littlest Guy: Well, what about the elves? Where did he get them?

Gracie Girl: Don’t you know what elves are? They’re midgets (I have to admit, I completely lost it at this point and had to walk away from the table… I listened to the rest of the conversation from the kitchen sink). Santa takes midgets, er, umn, little people, and convinces them to work in his sweatshop.

Me: Workshop.

Gracie Girl: Yeah, that.

Littlest Guy: Like slave labor? He just kidnaps them and makes them be elves?

Gracie Girl: No. It’s strictly voluntary. But he lures them with the drugs.

Littlest Guy and Me: WHAT?!!!!

Gracie Girl: Yeah, Santa makes lots of trips to the black market to stock up on steroids for the deer and crack for to keep the elves productive. Happy Reindeer, high elves, everybody wins.

Me: Okay, stop.

Littlest Guy: Yeah, Grace. Besides, even if there were midgets working there all the time, how would they know what toys to make? They wouldn’t know how to make the ones just like in the stores.

Gracie Girl: Oh, that! Yeah, you know those fake Santa Clauses like at the mall? Yeah, well they work for the real Santa. And they’re real smart. They might look like goofy, acne prone adolescents, but really they’re secret agents for the fat man… and they come and bring detailed diagrams of all the new toys to the elves.

Okay, I’m easily amused. Maybe I should just throw my hands up and tell him there’s no Santa… better than taking the chance my 8 year old will be repeating the crack-addicted elf version of the story at school.