Do You Believe...

Boy, those are scary words to hear. They have been known to strike hearts in the fear of many a strong otherwise-fearless man who heard them from the mouth of the person who just buckled their seat belt beside him on a trans-Atlantic flight. The relief is almost palpable if the speaker finishes the sentence with something other than religious witnessing.

There are lots of things I believe in. I believe in Santa Claus. How else would you explain that feeling that you get, even if only for a brief moment, when you look at a twinkling Christmas tree? It's a flashback to the days when you believed that a fat man dressed in red snuck into your house to leave prezzies. I don't believe in the red suit or the fat any more...but I do believe in his spirit.

I believe that people are inherently good, and just as there are no bad dogs, just bad owners, I believe that even the worst of people put into the best of circumstances has the capability to surprise even himself with what he finds in his heart.

As much as I don't want to believe in Astrology, it fascinates me. And, if you know me really well, and you've ever read the description for a Gemini you have to admit I'm the poster child of the Gemini sign.

Right now I am totally overwhelmed. I've started a secret (major work) project for a friend's Christmas/birthday present.  I'm also 2 weeks out of cancer surgery and still suffering the side effects of the anesthesia to say nothing of having all my guts sliced and burned (maybe I've been watching too many Criminal Minds, Dexter and Bones reruns?). We're still in the throes of a home-remodeling project that I now have almost given up hope of being finished before I start paying for it with my Social Security checks (still a decade away). I've completed two novels and started another, and am trying to 'stay social' in the publishing industry which eats up a lot of hours out of every day. Still dealing with the paperwork surrounding my dad's death, and trying to get his house cleaned out...a monumental task at the best of times. To say the least, I'm staying busy.

But, with all of that on my plate, a few minutes ago, an idea hit me. So, with the taskbar already groaning with 3 open Word documents, a ublisher design project, a couple of games (diversion when I get burned out) and a Kindle book that I read while I download new software, I stop it all when the thought hits me that "Hey! My notes for our Recycling in the Garden seminar could be fleshed out a little bit and probably make a great e-book. And before I know it, I'm opening up those notes with an eye to starting yet another project. Throw in some yarn for crocheting an afghan and open up a paint can so I can finish painting the bedroom and I should be damned close to certifiable.

It pleases me to note that I took a deep breath, wrote my idea on a post-it note and stuck it to the new board I've recently created for these moments. You CAN teach an old dog (bitch?) new tricks!

I guess I actually have to believe there is something to this whole Astrology thing. I've read every one of the signs, and I would have picked Gemini out to describe me without knowing what dates it covered. I've got just a little tad of Taurus in me which makes sense since I was technically supposed to have been born a week earlier, which would have made me a Taurus instead of Gemini. If I'm totally honest with myself (geez, I hate doing that!) I admit I have a split personality. Not split like bipolar, but there are just two very definite sides to me. Not so much good and evil as, well, naughty and nice (does that put me on both of Santa's lists? More prezzies!?)

I like to think that this makes me mecurical enough to enjoy a bunch of different writing pursuits because of the "flightiness" of the Gemini... and the dedication and stubborness of a Taurus to "get 'er done." And most of the descriptions of Gemini state that in the field of journalism or some aspect of writing it is usually easy for a Gemini to achieve a successful status.

And now, a little-known fact about me, that my parents never told me about until my mother tossed it out as a barb in one of her bipolar hissy-fits. I am biologically a twin. My mother suffered a partial miscarriage, and lost my brother in the end of her middle trimester. I was stunned to find this out, but it explained so much to me. On so many levels.

So, those of you who know me well, this was cut and pasted from a site devoted to Geminis, boiling down the characteristics. What do you think? Is it me? Duh!

LIKES

Talking

Novelty and the unusual

Variety in life

Multiple projects all going at once

Reading

DISLIKES
Feeling tied down Following rules, such as in school Being in a rut Mental inaction Being alone

 



PS: Did you notice what the cavas is for this photo. Body art absolutely fascinates me!

Death, Love and Trying a Little Harder

I'm in the middle of a rewrite of one of my novels. I'm one of those rare people that actually enjoys it. I usually just pretend that someone I don't like very well has sent it to me to be edited and I can almost always think of ways to improve what's on the page.

Although my novel isn't a romance, there is a guy who is one of those all around good guys who is sort of a composite of all of the men in my life. I have been blessed with the men who have come into my life in the last few years. Only one truly bad apple in the bunch (and trust me, he was bad enough to ruin more than just a barrel, he could single-handedly ruin an entire orchard... one of those single men that should come with a warning label tattooed on his forehead). The picks of my litter, so to speak, are mostly men who came into my life via the Internet (I met the 'bad apple' in person, proving yet again how wrong are the folks that curse the Internet as a way to meet people).

The Internet has made the world a lot smaller, and certainly it expanded my horizons... that were already pretty expanded by being part of the show dog community that encompasses people from around the world.

Several years ago I created a forum, Over 45-Not Over the Hill, (which, because of its logo of a luxury liner became in time to be referred to as simply "The Ship") as a meeting place for a large group of us that had met online at various venues; a place to meet and chat and discuss the world and all its vagaries. Over the months, several romances bloomed and I have been thrilled to see so many of my friends finding love within our circle of friends. One of those couples was Dan and Jeanie. Dan was in Arizona, Jeanie in NJ. After the courtship that started and flourished on the decks of our little ship, quiet, reserved scientist Dan moved to NJ to be with fun-loving, outgoing Jeanie. They have been a role model for all of us, shining hope that love comes when you least expect it, and will find a way to flourish if you allow it to do so. That you're never too old to fall in love.

This afternoon, Jeanie (so very youthful and energetic) was out walking when she was hit by a car and killed. It makes me sad that I can't find any words to say to Dan to express how devastated I am for him. How much we will all miss "AuntJeanie". Because she was walking close to home she didn't have ID on her. Luckily she had her cell phone with her, and the NJ police were able to use it to contact our mutual friend Rod in Florida, who made the ID and then contacted the family to tell them what had happened.

Everyone tells me that it makes a writer stronger and a better writer if they have suffered and lost. If it's true that what doesn't kill me makes me strong then I guess I'm ready for the Olympics. Within the last five years I've lost my mom, my brother and my dad, I've been diagnosed with two separate cancers and gone through the surgeries and treatment for both. I've watched one of my very best friends of 30 years on a downhill slope fighting a battle with cancer that we all know she cannot win. I watched my mom slowly lose her mind to Alzheimer's and then watched my dad lose his to prescription drugs. I've lost "heart dogs," beloved horses, friends and special neighbors to accidents and illnesses. I was the victim of a sociopath that left me with my mind and spirit almost irrepairably bruised. And now I'm watching the heart of a friend breaking with grief.

I'm not complaining. I know people that have had it a LOT worse. And, it certainly hasn't been ALL bad. During those same years I met and been reunited with people who have become my dearest friends. I met and married the love of my adult life. I have proved that I have the commitment to make it in the world of fiction (note I said commitment, whether I have the talent or not remains to be seen) by completing two novels, and have a couple of others sitting there waiting on me.

But, losing AuntJeanie puts a new bookmark in my life story. From this point on, I promise I'm going to try harder to find two things that are wonderful about my life for every one thing that seems to go awry. I'm going to make more of an effort to write something that I enjoy every single day (my 'day job' with the greenhouse keeps me fairly busy writing newsletters, seminar notes, designing ads and working on our website). I'm going to try harder to stay in touch with the people I care about and never let them doubt that I love them.

And I'm going to do my best to lose 50 pounds. Yeah, you read it here. 50 pounds. By the time we reopen the greenhouse next spring. Y'all keep me to my word. Y'hear! You have my consent to berate me, tease me, bug me and chastise me, but this time I'm going to try...just a little harder.

The Faces I've Been

I have been many different people in my life. I have been a leader, and I have been a follower. I have been the studious salutatorian of my senior class and I have been “the friend who always makes me laugh.” I have been a thin cheerleader; I have been an overweight housewife. I have worked on a factory assembly line and I have been the director of a non-profit organization. I have been a weak and peaked cancer patient, and I have become a healthy, strong two-time cancer survivor.

Throughout all those different phases of my life, through all of the faces I’ve worn and the places I’ve been, one thing has always remained the same. If you ask me to describe myself I will say simply “I am a writer.”

Words have been there for me through all of the hard times of my life. Watching pets, friends, businesses and family members die, struggling to stay alive while deadly chemicals fought their dangerous opponent inside my body, and feeling helpless in situations over which I had no control.
Whether I read them or whether I wrote them, words have always been my safe haven. A place to go where I know there will always be a light on, a latchstring out and everyone knows my name.

I recently wrote the eulogy for my father’s funeral. For many reasons, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I had just completed a novel, Hot Bubbles and Chocolate, that took me six weeks and three days from start to finish. It took me four days to write my dad’s eulogy. If the words had come that slowly during the writing of Hot Bubbles I would have been on Social Security before it was completed.

Up until recently my writing career has been in non-fiction. I’ve written books on ferrets and rabbits and various dog breeds and have had regular columns as well as feature articles in national magazines and local newspapers. I’ve done line-editing for a major publisher and I’ve been the Associate Editor of a small newspaper. I’ve enjoyed it. I learned a lot from every project and I am proud of every accomplishment.]

But, it’s time to look ahead to yet another chapter in my life. I now have two novels completed and I’m beginning to query agents to try to find them a home. Being published in non-fiction came so easy. A friend mentioned my name to a publisher friend in conversation. The publisher friend contacted me and asked if I’d be interested in doing a feature article for her to fill a space that another write had failed to fill in time. I had the article researched, written and accepted  in half the time I was given, and the rest is now my history.

Writing fiction comes much easier to me than writing non-fiction. I have always entertained myself with movies that run inside my head (and no, they’re not voices and, no, so far none of them have told me to climb a rifle tower carrying a clock). Now, I simply type out those stories as they play out and voila I end up with a novel. Sometimes I surprise myself with the results; occasionally my characters surprise me as they do unexpected things, leaving me with a new subject to research so I can guide them correctly through the next chapters.

While the writing is easy, this whole new agent/query/rejection/submission thing is not only the farthest thing from being easy, but it’s amazingly time-consuming. I find that instead of happily typing out my little stories, these days find me cruising social networks and surfing the ‘net hoping to bump into someone who will be so pleased at bumping into me and being offered my golden tomes of humor, insight and wisdom that they will offer me large buckets of money. Or at least can give me the address of yet another blog, or yet another agency, or yet another writing website that will have the answers I need to the questions I didn’t know I needed to ask.

I’ve met some wonderful people thus far on this journey. And I find I fit as well in the skin I’m in now as I have done is so many skins in the past. Like everybody else, I make mistakes in my writing as well as in life. But, I hope that I learn from the writing mistakes as much as I've learned from the life-altering mistakes. And I hope that everything I learn continues to help me grow as a writer. And as a person.

No matter what face I wear, I am always me. And I am always a writer.

Writing Promptly

Writer's Digest has a three-times-a-week contest (I'm not sure if there is really a winner, perhaps it's more exercise?) on their blog called "Promptly." Sometimes a paragraph is started and you have to finish it, sometimes directions are given like "think of your favorite food memory" and whatever the instructions, you have to write something on the spot. Er, thus the name "promptly?" I don't usually take the time to do it, but today I was waiting on a phone call so I dashed off a very prompt reply (within 20 minutes... woulda been less but I had to cut 58 words).

Today's instructions were: "Take two of your favorite songs, and match up a line from the chorus of one with a line from the chorus of the other. Then, write a scene that starts with the first lyric, and ends with the second. 500 words or less."

This was my entry....
First line is from Dr. Hook’s “More Like the Movies” http://beemp3.com/download.php?file=7617622&song=More+Like+the+Movies
Last line is from Randy Travis’s “Too Gone, Too Long” http://beemp3.com/download.php?file=8302706&song=Too+Gone+Too+Long

“I wish I could have made it more like the movies for you.” I turned to face the window, noting that raindrops sliding down the windowpane echoed the trail of tears on my cheeks. What the poets say is true. Sometimes the world does cry with you.

“I hope you and Dani will be very happy together.” I almost choked saying the words, hating to admit even to myself how untrue they were. At the moment I don’t think there was anything I wanted less than for Derek to be happy. “But, I don’t think you are ever going to be happy until you realize that once the screen goes dark and credits start rolling, real life starts and everyone’s hair isn’t always perfect and there isn’t a screenplay to memorize so you always have the right words to say. People leave toothpaste lids off, they fart, they have bad days and they say things that can’t just be cut out and left forgotten on the editing room floor.” I always pace when I’m angry or sad, but now all I could do is just stand there. I guess that’s what I do when my world gets torn apart.

“Movies don’t depict reality, they just allow us the fantasy that maybe life could really be that way. Most people understand that. You keep forgetting.  When the movie stops and real life starts, you don’t take the time to look for depth that real life offers, you race back into another romance for the head rush of the fantasy. Poor Dani.”

Derek just sat there, his elbows on the arm of my grandmother’s rocking chair, his head in his hands. I don’t know whether my words were sinking in, or whether he was trying to pass a kidney stone, but either way he was suffering. And I’m honest enough to admit that I enjoyed seeing at least one real emotion on his face. I was stunned to see an actual tear rolling down his cheek. I took a step towards him and he put up a hand to stop me. “I never deserved you,” he said, his voice soft and filled with emotion. “You are absolutely right. About everything. Please know I really loved you. And I will carry you in my heart forever.” 

It suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks that the son of a bitch was still acting out a movie. I could almost see Bogie standing there by the airplane telling a crying woman that it was for the best. I walked over, opened a drawer and pulled out a little antique derringer that my grandfather had given me. The last lines that Derek Wayne uttered in the B-movie that was his life were prophetic. “I’ve been too gone, too long. Now it’s too late to come back home.”

What did you/would you have written?

And The Weiner Is....

The header for this blog comes from a typo I saw in a newspaper years ago in the cutline beneath a photograph of the kid who had been the last man standing in a county-wide chess tournament. There stands a kid who already only needs a pocket protector and a calculator in his hand to have his likeness used in the dictionary as an example of "nerd." And his fate was forever sealed by careless fingers from an unknown typesetter who labeled this poor guy "The Weiner." Who says the written word is unimportant? Tell that to the kid who had to go back to school the next day to jeers and taunts of "wouldn't you like to be a weiner too?"

I've been dabbling with blogging for quite some time. I have a boatload of different blogs for the different hats I wear in my daily life. There's a Natural Horse blog left over from the days when I owned a riding stable. Then there's a more current Herbin' Legends blog that is followed by clients at our Unique Plants greenhouse (herbs, heirlooms and other not-easily-found plants). There's also a place where I go to reminisce and post chapters of what will someday be my memoirs... memories of Growing Up Southern. I also have a not-so-well-publicized place where I go to rant and rave over indignities suffered and to rail at the fates and powers that be. Don't tell anybody, but that one is named Pasture Prime (I'm not). There are other blogs floating around out there in cyberspace that I began and then abandoned when my interest in the subject faded (or in the case of my bunny blog, when tragedy struck and a meandering raccoon broke into our greenhouse and either turned loose or killed our family of Mini Rex bunnies).

All of that was a verrrrry long story, and it's way too late to make it short so I'll just continue. All of that was to say that all of those blogs have been done with Blogger (Blogspot.com). I have always loved the widgets and gadgets available, I find it easy to manouver, easy to create and I have been well pleased. Then I made the commitment to be more serious about my writing and I was told by those far and yon that to be taken seriously I needed to be on Wordpress.com. That I would find that I could do a lot more things with Wordpress, that Blogger was for noobs and the computer illiterate and Wordpress was created for the more serious blogger. So, I went to Wordpress. Where I was immediately overwhelmed simply by its appearance. I eventually managed to get a blog set up, The Write Idea, and I managed to find and figure out how to add a couple of useful if not creative or interesting widgets. I love the final look of the page, but the whole thing still is just not a pleasant experience. I have found it a chore to write the couple of posts that I have put there and I can't really figure out why. I just find this easier, simpler and it lets my creative juices flow (oops, sorry about that, let me get you a napkin) without having to worry about the technical side of things. So, in the big race of Wordpress vs. Blogger, according to me at least, the winnah (or weiner) is...... Blogger.com!

See you later. Same time, same Blogspot!

To Market, To Market

I'm doing a rewrite on one manuscript and starting to send out queries for the other. It's daunting to try to convince yourself that you have psychic abilities as you read the bio for agent after agent, hoping to feel a tingle that will be the signal that THIS is the agent whose heart will be touched by your words.

I belong to several writers' groups and I'm constantly amazed by some of the things I hear when they discuss querying. "I liked her picture, she's hot. I'd like to work with her so I queried." "I know he doesn't usually agent books in my genre, but I'm hoping he'll like mine well enough to..." "The submissions guideline said just to send the first three pages, but I just don't think that's enough, so I sent the first three chapters." These are usually the same writers who show up at meetings with crestfallen faces and a cluster of rejections in hand, hoping to be mollified by the rest of a group of fellow writers who will surely agree that all agents are arrogant pricks who wouldn't know good writing if it bit them in the britches.

Geez. If you're trying to sell a truckload of jelly, would you back it up to the door of a guy who sells only pickles? And if he didn't buy your jelly would you whine and complain and slam doors and kick kittens claiming that the man is obviously a fool for not recognizing your superior merchandise.

There's a fool in the equation all right, but it's not the pickle dealer. It's the person who ignores the first rule of salesmanship. KNOW YOUR MARKET.

Choose the agents to whom you query carefully. Look at what books and authors they have in their list of credits. Be honest about what you've written and what you hope to write in the future. If someone says your book doesn't fit their needs, then you've either taken your jam to a pickle plant or you've gotten a polite form letter. If the letter appears to be a form letter "Dear Author...." then perhaps it's not a true marker of the situation. But, if you get personal letters telling you that they like the book but it doesn't fit their needs, then open up your Writer's Market and start highlighting another group of lucky agents who'll be receiving your query. Somewhere out there, there's somebody who's looking for that truckload of jam that you're trying to find a home.

She's Baaaack

It was very heartening to get a couple of emails asking if I was alright because I hadn't posted in a couple of days. The "stats" don't show many readers, and I never get any comments (?) but apparently SOMEBODY out there is reading.

So, to answer the question, instead of getting all PC and saying "it was a personal matter" I'm going to ignore the PR folks who say that when the product you are trying to market is yourself (whether as an actor, a screenwriter, an author, etc) you never admit that you have personal problems and sort of like the Queen, never give anyone the impression that you do human things like fart or belch or heaven forbid get sick with anything other than "a little allergy attack."

I had cancer surgery. My second in the last five years.

I am extremely lucky. My first bout with cancer (breast) sent me through surgery, radiation and chemotherapy and all of the horrors that go along with it. But, with the pain and weakness (and being bald, which let me tell you, is NOT a good luck for a short fat girl!) came a new strength and a dedication to myself that gave me the courage to leave behind my non-fiction career and focus entirely on doing what I love best. Telling stories. We Southerners do that best anyway.

For four years I've been cancer free. My life made a 180 turn with a divorce, marriage, adoption of a bluetick coonhound and the opening of an herb greenhouse. And a lot of time spent honing my writing skills and completing two fiction manuscripts with two others close to being "in the can." I don't think I could have asked for a better "ending" for a very bad first chapter.

As I wrote a few weeks ago, my dad died. Two days after his funeral I got the results from a biopsy that came about as a result of me pressing for more testing. The results were positive for cancer. A different type. Uterine. Last Wednesday I had surgery (which included a hysterectomy, salpingectomy and oophorectomy) and yesterday received the results that the cancer was contained in the portions that they removed. I've dodged a nasty, high-powered bullet and I am now cancer free without having any further treatments! If I still wrote non-fiction, what a story I would have! My doctor sat ten feet away from where I was suspended head-down, under deep anesthesia while a robot following directions of the movements of my talented surgeon's hands, skillfully sliced and burned away the bad parts, leaving the rest of me intact and rarin' to go!

I like to think of my surgeon as an editor. Going through my manuscript/body and removing the bad stuff while leaving only the parts necessary to keep my story moving along strongly and capably.

I definitely suggest particular type of body-editing if it's necessary. I took almost no pain pillks after surgery and now my biggest problem is that I want to be doing stuff that is still on my 'don't do' list. I'm depressed (apparently that whole hanging upside down for three hours thing, combined with the deep anesthesia, PLUS all the girly aspect of this particular surgery is going to make the next three weeks sort of an emotional roller coaster for me). But, I've been way deeper with much less reason, so I just keep tossing that old black dog a bone to keep him from nipping at my heels until I get him safely put back into his cage.

I don't know whether it was the drugs or the extra rest or the sleeping pills in the hospital, but I have this story roaming around in my head. Right now it's just bits and pieces. I have the setting, I have the character well honed, I just have to figure out why we're here! What do you do when that happens to you?

Hope you pass all the tests life tosses at you. Remember, for most of them there are unlimited do-overs!