May 18, 2007
Life Gets in the Way
About a month ago, I registered for the Pennwriters Conference taking place this weekend. I was looking forward to attending a few of the panel discussions and lectures and to interacting, in general, in a productive environment. (I was also hoping for a great cup of morning coffee and some engaging conversation throughout the weekend.) Instead, here I sit, at my work computer. Why? Well, as luck would have it, life got in the way.
For many, many reasons, I was unable to attend the conference. So, if you feel sorry for me in the least (and if you were lucky enough to be in attendence), would you be so kind as to leave your comments, thoughts, impressions, and suggestions concerning your agent appointments, the presentations, the meals, and whatever else you'd like to include? If you are a speaker, let me know how your session went. Did you field any excellent questions? Those of you who attended or hosted the critique sessions in the evening, how did they go?
Conversely, if you weren't able to participate in the conference, like me, then feel free to wallow in your sorrows here, too. Others of you might like to share conference-going tips and suggestions we all might benefit from hearing.
In thinking about all the buzz I'm missing, I'm reminded of the following quote:
"I have made it a rule of my life never to regret and never to look back. Regret is an appalling waste of energy...you can't build on it; it's only good for wallowing in."
-- Katherine Mansfield, 1888-1923, Writer
So I don't regret the way life's course took me this weekend, nor am I going to waste time wallowing. I've vowed to accomplish several mini-goals with my unexpected time. In fact, I crossed one off of my list before I posted this very message.
Thanks for visiting! I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts.
Best,
Judy
Posted by Judy at 05:28 PM | Comments (7)
May 11, 2007
Smear the Lines
"I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear."
~ Joan Didion
These are the words of a self-confident writer who can comfortably explore how she feels about what's going on around her, how she interprets her observations, and how she allows them to affect her life. She is able to reveal what she wants and to face her fears head on. Are we?
Most of you know that essayist and author Joan Didion struggled through the sudden death of her husband a few years ago and the subsequent death of her 39-year old daughter only four months later. In an interview approximately 18 months later, Didion said, "I had to write my way out of it. Because I couldn't figure out what was going on. By the time I started it - John died December 30, I didn't start writing until October - I was out of the phase where I didn't know I was crazy. I was still crazy, but I knew it. So, it was a step back."
While Joan Didion was able to drop all pretense and face her fears through writing, many of the rest of us continue to struggle. We must strive to shake off the self-consciousness that often stifles and inhibits our writing. We need to forget about what people will think when our characters have disturbing thoughts or when they participate in frightening, twisted, or illegal activities. We need to fight the urge to edit toward the politically correct when, for example, we're working on a humor piece and we're not sure if entertains or offends.
The other day, I entered a local coffeehouse and ordered a decaf-skim-no-whip mocha. (I know, why bother, right? I could have ordered water.) After dropping my 92 cents change into the tip jar, I coughed up the courage to ask the barista a question, the reason I'd come into the shop in the first place. He was a twenty-something guy with beyond-baggy cargo shorts that defied gravity like no other. He wore a hemp choker and a gold watch that didn't match the rest of him.
"Hey, were you here for the comedy night?" I asked.
"I was." He turned toward me, seemingly surprised I was aware of the event. After all, I wasn't a regular, and he knew it.
"How'd it go?" I asked. But I didn't wait for an answer. "My friend came to read and I was wondering how she did."
"Oh, she did great." He didn't bother to ask which reader was my friend. "She was really funny."
She did it, I thought. She put herself out there, read her humor essay in front of a house full of strangers who sipped cappuccino and chai tea. Her debut reading was well-received. Yippee for her! Yippee, yippee!
I didn't question how the guy knew which woman I had referenced. I figured he had stereotyped us together, based on our ages or appearances or, I don't know what (the whole idea of which might make for a separate blog entry in the future). What was most important was that a lone writer had taken a chance, by putting a part of herself on paper and then exposing it to a crowd of potential boo-ers and hecklers and, least of all, critics.
Like my friend at the coffeehouse, we all need to push away the worry that the world might read between our written lines, because they will. And after all, isn't that what we want?
This humor writer's self-confidence and willingness to put herself out there reminds me of my nephew who is an artist and a lawyer. When among a group looking at any of his paintings, he remains peculiarly silent. Always.
"So what did you mean by this?" I'll ask. And I really want to know.
Silence still.
"Come on, I'm family. You can tell me," I say.
His reply is a constant, "What does it mean to you?"
(I suppose he doesn't care about the rule that requires we never answer a question with a question.) Above all, he is confident enough, comfortable enough to have poured whatever he could of himself into the painting, exhausted himself in it, really. So much so that he can then allow the public to interpret it, free of his influence. I admire (and sometimes abhor, in a loving way, of course) his self-assurance. How does he do it? How does he fight the urge to make sure that absolutely everyone alive knows exactly what he intended? With confidence, that's how.
I believe he knows that each finished painting represents his best work, at the time anyway, and he is comfortable letting it go.
Like my artist nephew, we must stop concerning ourselves with what readers will surmise about us and our personal lives. The fact is that they're bound to do so. If you're going to put yourself out there by presenting words and paragraphs for the public eye, and that's hopefully what most of us want beyond journaling, then you are going to be subject to scrutiny. So we must produce our best work and then let it go, much like Joan Didion did when she unveiled herself in The Year of Magical Thinking (Vintage).
Her honesty among those pages is painful, memorable. And as a reader, we relate to it in a personal, individual way. Similarly, it is our own honesty and individuality that can smear the line of paint that divides how we live and what we write. We need to allow for the smear and let the new colors emerge.As Rhys Alexander says in Writing Gooder when talking about adding detail, "It's the difference between a pencil sketch and a lush oil painting. As a writer, words are your paint. Use all the colors."
So get back to your keyboards and write your best work. Use all the colors you can and then let it go. And when asked what you meant by something you wrote, feel free to look your reader in the eye and confidently utter my nephew's line: "What does it mean to you?"
Posted by Judy at 10:50 AM | Comments (3)
April 26, 2007
Creating Possibilities
"If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of potential -- for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints; possibility never."
--Soren Kierkegaard, 19th Century Danish Philosopher
Kirekegaard's words "passionate sense of potential" stir something in me. Without potential, without a passion for possibility, what do we have?
As writers, each and every one of us has potential. Every word we write has the potential to be read. Every manuscript we complete holds the possibility of landing us an acceptance for publication. Each book we author might be the title that changes the lives of those who read it. The potential is there, waiting for us to give it a shove.
But unlike opportunity (that has been shown to occasionally knock its way into our lives), potential, like a late-term pregnancy, must often be induced. We can't ask for the promise of something good and then sit idly in wait for it to birth precious offspring. We must induce potential by creating possibilities.
I recently experienced the benefit of a possibility I helped to create. A while ago, I mentioned to a near stranger (the woman at the bank, as I've come to refer to her) that I was a writer. She is a teller and an avid reader, so my news struck a chord in her, of sorts. I see her at the drive-thru window every week or so. With each deposit or withdrawal, our serial conversation transmitted across a weak speaker system has progressed from the titles of my books that have already been published to the nature of what I'm working on currently, to the essence of the problems I might be facing with plot and character and subplot and so on. It's been interesting for me to hear her non-writer's perspective on the ups and downs we writers experience.
I've come to notice that when I drive up to the '50s-style, tinted green, slanted-out window, if my woman at the bank isn't there, I'm a bit disappointed. So later in the week, I might scrape together a couple of dollars to be sent to her through the tube, the whir of which has become a great dialogue initiator.
A couple of weeks ago, I entered the far lane and pushed the button to summon the woman at the bank. She appeared and before I could talk said, "What are you working on?"
I proceeded to offer details about my current work-in-progress, the first draft of a novel.
"But what about the other one?" She was referring to a novel I had completed about a year prior.
"Oh, it's not good enough," I said. "I'm not going to try to sell that one."
"I'll read it."
The directness of her statement bounced around the interior of my car...and my brain. "That's okay, thanks, I'm not working on it anymore."
"I don't care, I'll read it."
Now, what was I supposed to do?
She continued, "I'm going on vacation in three weeks and I'd love to curl up with your book and read."
By then, the transaction had ended and it was time for my response. "I might take you up on that," I said. But I was fairly certain I wouldn't. Why waste time on something that's not going to sell?
For nine days, I did nothing with the woman at the bank's offer, her induction of potential, her giving of possibility.
But it gnawed at me. I should give her something.
I toyed with presenting her with the first third of the novel I was currently working on. But what fun would that be for her, a book with no ending? I pondered giving her nothing at all, but not for very long.
By day ten, I turned to my dear friend and colleague, Mary. "What should I do?" I explained how I didn't want to bite, slap, or even ignore a hand that was reaching out to help. And yet, how could I allow a stranger's first look at my work to be tainted by a mediocre presentation?
Clutching her coffee mug, Mary responded. "Work on it, then give it to her." They were simple commands, yet they were the words my hungry inner self longed to hear.
The timing wasn't perfect, as it rarely is, but this situation had a potential I couldn't let pass. It would be the first time a non-writing reader would experience my fiction. And through an exchange with Mary, I was committed.
Ignoring the dread that often accompanies that first look at a several-hundred-page revision, I printed and revised and typed in my edits, beginning before the dawn of day (usually from 4:00 to 6:00 AM) and ending long after I would have ordinarily needed rest. By Friday, day 21, I handed the woman at the bank 17 chapters, less than half of the book. With that, however, I had gained, not only the satisfaction of having met (at least partially) a deadline, but the momentum of being immersed in the project.
On Monday morning at 8:15 AM, my phone rang. The woman at the bank had stayed up past 1:00 in the morning to finish reading my partial book. "I couldn't put it down," she said. "I have to know what your antagonist is up to."
I didn't answer, still trying to let the joy sink in. I had been affirmed. And it felt great!
She interrupted my welling with "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
I told her no and we set a new deadline.
We all have what it takes to create potential for ourselves. So why don't we? Sometimes inducing possibilities involves taking risks, risking the puncture of our protective coating that keeps us safe inside our own little worlds, gambling that image we hope to portray, taking a chance on changing how someone views who we are.
This week, I challenge you, in Kierkegaard's words, to have an eye that "sees the possible." The lure of possibility is a magnet. I invite you to share your stories of potential that you've created, induced, and seized. Take a chance and answer the question, how have you been drawn in?
Posted by Judy at 07:45 AM | Comments (8)
March 30, 2007
Lisa Scottoline Advises "Don't Give Up"
Most mornings, at or around 8:45 AM, I flip on the TV and hit all three networks. I'm checking hungrily for author interviews. I know they only last 4 to 5 minutes, but I absolutely love hearing what big-name authors have to say about their new releases and, more importantly, about the writing process.
Earlier this week, I found Lisa Scottoline on The Early Show. And to my delight, she didn't disappoint. Among a range of topics, Lisa talked about the pains of rejection, having suffered through five years of it herself. Rejection is something we all experience. And yet, her words made me think about how reading the blogs of writers, agents, and editors is an essential task for writers. It is possible, simply by listening to the experiences of others, to shave years of valuable time off of the writing and submission processes -- a fine example of how "Don't make the same mistake I did" can really work.
During the interview, Scottoline talked about the protagonist in Daddy's Girl and how she comes to realize the importance of family. The author said she often writes about this subject in her books. Because family plays a dominant role in my own life, I pressed the "up" arrow on the volume button and leaned in.
Lisa laughed as she recalled her mother saying to her as a child, "Go out. You're going to ruin your eyes. Stop reading."
It sounds like a crazy message for a mother to send a child. And yet, for me (and probably for many of you), it was as though Lisa were talking about my own precious childhood.
I found out, when I was about tirty years old, that my mom signed me up for the local softball league because she was afraid I "read too much." Can that be? Can a child read too much?
So much of what Lisa Scottoline covered in those few short minutes struck a chord. She said of the writing process that, while she hoped she was evolving into a better writer (much like strengthening a muscle by stretching it), the act of writing itself wasn't getting any easier. It felt good to hear her say that, and not because misery loves company.
Writing is work and we can't forget that. While sometimes the words gently roll off the fingers and onto the page, more often it is a struggle to shape each sentence to get it just right. As a result, the writer who's willing to put the time in, who progresses and evolves, who changes and makes amends is the one who moves forward.
One of the most enlightening statements Lisa Scottoline made was this: "Don't give up until they publish you."
I couldn't have said it any better. Keep growing as a writer, continue seeking out the best match-of-an-agent or -editor. Don't stubbornly stand there and whine that your voice isn't being heard. Instead, be a Siren. Transform your words into a crystal clear song that agents and editors and readers adore.
Posted by Judy at 09:37 AM | Comments (5)
March 08, 2007
Where Opportunity Lies
I scored 800 in the Logic section of my GREs, so it’s only natural for me to like things to make sense. I’m no Einstein, but I like it when blonde people have blonde eyebrows; that just makes sense. When I meet a couple, I like when they look as though they belong together. Otherwise, I’ve got a puzzle to solve – to figure out why they ended up together. And even though it’s not always possible to come up with logical answers in life, I like to understand why people behave the way they do.
Which is why I never get it when some writers do all the work they do, only to let it fizzle when an agent or editor asks for a change. I knew a writer once who wrote an 80,000-word romantic suspense novel. In just a short time, the author was able to attract a large house editor’s attention. The editor loved the characters and the plot but wanted the writer to heighten the whole thing, adding at least one more subplot and increasing the word count to 100,000.
Although I can identify with the dread of going back through a project when you thought it was as complete as it could be, I didn’t at all understand this writer’s reaction.
“I’m not doing it,” she said to me. “This is not a 100,000-word type of book.”
“It’s not right now,” I told her. “It will be after you make a few changes, add several more scenes, and further flesh out some of your minor characters.”
She never did. And in the blink of an eye, she lost the editor but was awarded the opportunity to allow a nice fat manuscript to gather dust on the back file cabinet. To this day, it remains unpublished.
Similarly, I’ve seen writers lose contracts because of missed deadlines (and I don’t mean by a few weeks – we’re talking months, here). Some writers I know have argued with editors in attempts to hang on to titles the authors held dear. Others were reluctant to give up a difficult name at the suggestion of a pseudonym by an agent or marketing staff. Now, I’m not saying we should sell our souls and all become Roxanne Rung just to climb the publishing ladder. But if you’re with a reputable agency and a respectable publishing house, you need to turn your work loose and let them do their jobs.
Don’t allow all of your efforts and abilities to languish in the drawer because of stubbornness or laziness. As Einstein put it, “In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.” So while it might be more difficult to plow through that manuscript one more time, or to go through the process of re-thinking your title (especially after it took you months to come up with your favorite) or choosing a more memorable pen name, remember that the opportunity you’ve labored for lies just on the other side.
While you trudge through those revisions, keep in mind your end goal of seeing that book on the shelf. After all, that just makes sense. Doesn't it?
Posted by Judy at 08:25 AM | Comments (9)
March 01, 2007
It's March! What Have You Got to Show for It?
It’s March 1st and that can only mean one thing: January and February are gone forever (at least until next year). And what have you got to show for it? I’m sure at the introduction of the New Year, amidst the firecrackers and champagne, you made a promise to yourself: to write more, to complete that first draft, to finish the proposal, to find an agent, to get published, to lose weight (okay, now we’re getting off track), or something. And have you done it? Well, have you at least attempted to do it?
For many of us, the answer is no. But it’s not too late. You still have a couple of months before editors and agents pack their bags and head for the Hamptons. (Agents, I know you all don’t vacation in the Hamptons, but as a land-locked native of the Middle-Atlantic region, I love the glamour in that). Let’s treat this day as if it were the first of January, minus the hangover. Wake up, retrieve that outline or pull out that draft. It’s time.
Here are three simple steps that might help catapult you over those previously insurmountable obstacles:
Step One: Don’t dwell on what you haven’t done.
You’ve already wasted enough time saying, “I don’t know where the time went.” Forget it. It’s gone. Whatever you were doing in January and February took you farther from your writing goal, so let’s turn that distance into motivation. The time is now. If you’re still not ready, you might want to write a checklist of items you CAN cross off, like “I know what my protagonist does for a living” or “I’m going to include mini-quizzes in my how-to book.”
Step Two: With that behind you, set a reasonable goal.
Don’t tell yourself to accomplish grandiose generalities like “write your novel” or “finish your nonfiction book proposal.” Those goals are huge. It brings to mind the words of my father who paid for 32 years of private college tuition (some of us have graduate degrees). He said, “If I had thought about all the money I’d be spending when I wrote that first check, I might never have done it.” So don’t overwhelm yourself. Forget the big picture. Instead, be specific. Vow to write a detailed character profile, to rough out the opening paragraph for your query letter, pick three target markets for your article idea, or to brainstorm a fresh format for your nonfiction material. Those goals are fair and far less frightening.
Step Three: Now, do it.
Don’t pull the postponing-the-diet trick of “I’ll start next Monday” or even tomorrow. No, you can start today, by making a quick note of what you’ve already accomplished and then deciding where you’re headed. I don’t want to hear that you don’t know where to go. If you’re writing fiction, there’s no right answer, so choose a direction, commit to it, and head there. For nonfiction, you’re the expert. Decide what message you most want your readers to receive and move forward from there.
Henry Ford said it best: “Obstacles are those frightful things you see when you take your eyes off your goal.” Force yourself to focus in March so that, come April 1st, you won’t be fooling yourself any longer.
Posted by Judy at 09:09 AM | Comments (6)