A lost post in which I'm reminded just how much I love the writerly world

Funny how life has so many ups and downs. Okay, not funny, but I don't know, amusing, I guess. A lot of highs and lows are brought on because we've compared ourselves to others, or assessed someone else's response/reaction to us and made that to be who we are. Problem with that is, we're letting others set our self-worth, and in turn, allowing their perception/acceptance of us determine our self-esteem. This is not safe, people. It just isn't. We need to be looking somewhere else for our acceptance; and it isn't to any humans on this earth no matter how good, smart, or talented they are.

Just a few days ago, I was ready to hang up my writerly towel (though I wouldn't really have done it, but I am here being honest with you, readers, because there's no point in acting as though any journey is perfect and all sunshine and lollipops... we all go through things, that's how we learn). My last post was all about subjectiveness and the fact that everyone is going to have an opinion and many times those opinions are going to differ. Ultimately, I am happy about this. I can't imagine a world where we all smile and nod our heads like drones and follow each others' opinions without ever forming any of our own. 

The reason I brought this up is today I was going through my posts earlier, and I found one I did just a few weeks ago but forgot to post. And you can see my heart, you can see my joy and how appreciative I was (still am--I want to make sure there's no question about how appreciative I still am). When we go through hard times or start to think we're horrible at what we love to do or that joy is just gone, suddenly, it's a good idea to go back and look at things like this. To remind ourselves of how far we've come. To get our eyes on our current situation and remember how many steps it took to actually get where we are now. This was my reminder. It came at just the perfect time. 

A post a wrote few weeks ago and forgot to post:

I've found this entire writerly process to be amazing. And hard. And time consuming. And wonderful. And painful. And heartfelt. And something I never could have gone through by myself.

With that said, there are a few different things that keep authors (writers--poets--don't care what you call yourself, if you're a curator of words, then you count) afloat. I'm feeling rather blessed this week, as the Lord has obviously opened a few doors with a single bit of effort on my part, and the result of this lovely experience is me feeling that I should explain how my "career" has survived.

First group: Though many of you probably have not learned about my writing until recently, this October will mark me writing for five years. (It will also mark me turning thirty-five. But uh, back to writing.) Five. Years. To me, that's a long time. Many other writers say this, and yep--I'm going to say it, too. What do you do for five years? Well, you write. (I feel like Dori from Finding Nemo. "Just keep swimming... just keep swimming... What do we do? We swim!" only insert the word write where the word swimming is, of course.) You put every single thought on the page and you work those thoughts and ideas and storylines and tweak them and send them out into the world and they come back sometimes worse off than before and you get lots of rejections and sometimes the opposite and and... yeah. But here's the important part: you keep going. That's what's important to remember. Because at the end of a few years, you'd be amazed at a) your growth, b) the amount of words you've actually tallied and c) I'm going to say it again--your growth. 

I'd also like to point out something out on a personal level. Until everything that went on with Lovemuffin and his sickness and subsequent healing and all a couple years ago, time--writerly wise--went a whole lot slower. (I know, I know, some of you are probably not wanting to read this now, but I need to say it: When you allow Him to be your everything, and when you know He always wants the best for you, always--it's true--things change for the better.) 

For me, when I stopped worrying about everything and told Him what I wanted and left it in His hands, my writing came easier. Time flew by; stress disappeared. Instead of making those wheels turn over and over in the sand, I began to lean on Him for everything; let Him be the one to make things work in my favor. I began to expect His blessings to come my way, and as I did that, everything that went with the chaos of being a writer and doing all the stuff you're expected to do (by someone's rules... not quite sure whose, yet so many of us embrace them all the same) evaporated. I cannot tell you how many times He has made things work out in ways I never ever could have imagined, OR made happen on my own. There is no question in my mind Who is in control.

Second point: If you spend enough time with this writerly community, it'll actually blow your  mind. There are so many people out there (mainly on the internet) who are in the same boat (though technically in different stages of the journey), that you can either a) turn into a competitive crazy, or b) embrace the fact that others are going through the same things. The second one obviously is a better choice, and beneficial to both parties. You get to celebrate each others' good news, and lift each other up when needed, too. I will continue to point out that the camaraderie in this community cannot be properly explained, only felt. That's how strongly I feel about my fellow writers. :) 

Being able to be in not one, but two groups of talented people who can 1) vent to me and let me vent to them and 2) we can all share in celebrations of other writers and other books and words in general is a tremendous blessing. If you are a writer and haven't found a group yet, I suggest looking around. (I say this goes for anyone with anything they love--find more people who love the same things as you!)

Third point: The reading community is pretty awesome, too. It takes a wee bit longer to get to this part, as you have to have enough writing done to actually be read, obviously, but let me tell you, they are awesome. To be willing to read and review your work is such a wonderful thing. Reading takes time, as does reviewing, or even simply giving opinions. All are appreciated by us writers (authors... however you want to say it) and without you we'd have a whole lot less exposure.

One other thing: I love the reading community not just in the aspect of reading *our* writing for reviewing purposes, but also for reading in general. I have met some great people online for the sole reason that we absolutely love certain books. To squee about them and get all excited and fan-crazy is such a wonderful and fun experience!

And those are a few ways in which I've made it the past (almost) five years. I appreciate every single person I've crossed paths with along the way--positive or negatively--because they have helped shape me into who I am. And not only that, but because (as I say all the time), camaraderie is a huge factor in making this journey an enjoyable one. So thank you to anyone and everyone who has ever read anything of mine, or shared a tweet, or responded to one, or added me somewhere, or emailed me back, or given me the opportunity to be on your blog, or just generally shared in my love of reading and writing. You all mean more to me than you'll ever know. 

Subjectivity in the workplace

Recently, I had yet another self-doubt experience. (For another recent post on this issue, check out Amy Trueblood's post over at Operation Awesome, here.) 

Things were going pretty well. I was in contact with PIAO's audiobook narrator and knew it was close to completion; and I had just contacted an editor (yay) about a project I've been working on for quite a while. This editor contact thing is actually a big deal to me, because up to this point, the cost of actually getting to *have* an editor was not an option. So here I was, excited about taking the next step to get what needed to be done, when something came along and knocked me back down into the self-doubt hole.

We writers, well... sometimes it doesn't take much, does it? One comment, correction, finger point, bit of unsolicited opinion or advice (or even solicited, sometimes), and if it comes at just the wrong time (of day or week or month or MS edit or whatever), it can feel like a swift kick to the gut. I've found the times I'm most affected are when I'm doing great, and then something I didn't expect arrives. 

But isn't it always unexpected? Right. Okay, moving on. 

So here's the deal. I'm going to be blunt about it. I've said it before and I will say it again (and I think it all the time): the entire point of art and writing and books and music and movies and TV shows, even, is subjectivity. No one will EVER like all of the same things and there are a whole heck of a lot of us in this world which means there are a whole heck of a lot more opinions, too. 

See, it's easy to allow those thoughts to poke fun at you and make you think you're a failure. Or, tell you you should just quit already. That's what happened to me. 

Morning? Me: Up at the top. 

Noon? Me: Up at the top. 

Eight that evening? Me: Beneath the doormat of the most busy building in the world. 

And the whole "put on yer big girl panties" or "just get over it" stuff doesn't make me feel any better, therefore I never use them. It's not about being tough all the time (to those who think so, sorry, but no). It's not about ignoring them, either (impossible, ask anyone). It's not about not caring, though you do kind of have to get to that point somewhat (a very hard thing). But it's mostly about remembering that every single person's opinion is subjective.

Case in point: there are soooooo many situations where people rant and rave about a book and I just cannot understand what the big deal is. I'm like, WHAT AM I MISSING? I can't be the only one, here. I know this happens to other readers AND writers alike. People are gushing about something and I won't get why they like the character, or the writing, or how they can talk badly about such and such author's writing/world/whatever and then like this person's so much when the former is obviously so much worse than the latter. I will never understand why some books are liked (or hated), and that's okay. Which should make it easier to flip everything around and see it that way from the author's point of view but sadly, a lot of times, that's not what happens. But the truth is, not everyone is going to like everything, including me. Do you know what I was hearing that day? When this thing came at me and I went from being at the top to feeling like dirt? 

"People are just nice to you because you're nice. They don't like your writing. They feel sorry for you. They're nice because there's nothing else they can do because they hate your writing. You suck and this whole thing is a joke and you might as well stop wasting your time."

Yep. That's what I started to hear. And I'm not naive -- this very well could be true and some people may totally feel that way about me in real life. But it doesn't matter because, ready (flip from the reader to the author again)? Everything is subjective.

sub·jec·tive

  [suhb-jek-tiv]  Show IPA

adjective

1.

existing in the mind; belonging to the thinking subject rather than to the object of thought (opposed to objective ).

2.

pertaining to or characteristic of an individual; personal;individual: a subjective evaluation.

3.

placing excessive emphasis on one's own moods, attitudes,opinions, etc.; unduly egocentric.

4.

Philosophy . relating to or of the nature of an object as it isknown in the mind as distinct from a thing in itself.

5.

relating to properties or specific conditions of the mind asdistinguished from general or universal experience.

Everything in those definitions points to individual experiences, thoughts, responses, moods, and so on. 

Potato potah-to. Tomato tomah-to. Half empty, half full. 

The self-doubt is going to rear its ugly head here and there simply because it can. The question is, will we wallow in it and allow it to take away everything we've loved and worked for, or will we point it to the door and tell it to get the heck out?

The truth comes when you're really not thinking about it

“In quickness is truth. The more swiftly you write, the more honest you are. In hesitation is thought. In delay comes the effort for a style, instead of leaping upon truth which is the only style worth deadfalling or tiger-trapping.” ― Ray Bradbury

I came across this today, and it's so true. Sure, as you edit later on, you can go back and change things, but the real core of feelings and thoughts and whatnot comes best when you let go and write with all of your heart. That was definitely true for PIAO; during the times my heart was heavy, I could write for Jonas without even thinking, almost. The less I thought, the more the words came, and the faster I typed.

Just thought I'd share, because us writers get all brain-y about things sometimes, and it totally takes away from the process.

Have a blessed weekend you guys! :)

Writerly news

In case you missed it, I've had quite the exciting couple of weeks. First, the local newspaper contacted me and interviewed me about Pity Isn't An Option and it came out last Wednesday (I kinda squee-d about this all over Twitter & the interwebs, not because of the interview, but because beneath the article there was a selection of other dystopian books & mini reviews about them and I thought that was *so* awesome), and on Monday Operation Awesome made kind of a big announcement (to me, anyway)!

Honestly, the latter piece of good news has been hoped for by me for some time. (I'm talking years.) After everything that went on with Lovemuffin, I decided to just concentrate on the writing for a while. Then, I was invited to join Afterglow Book Reviews. And I published Pity Isn't An Option. And the lovely Nazarea Andrews put together a group for us independent authors called Indie Ignites, and I was honored to get to be a part of it. Now, the newspaper. And Operation Awesome. (Did I mention their--I mean our--mascot is an owl? I mean, how great is that?) It's amazing how the Lord takes care of things when you sit back and rest and let Him do everything. Every single one of those opportunities arose, became available. I did not hunt them down. 

Now, I want to make it very clear that I am not bragging about this. What I'm trying to show is that if you stay in the writerly community long enough and get to know people for who they are and cheer them on and do what you've been made to do (uh, WRITE), things DO fall into place. I have a post coming up on the Operation Awesome site soon about stressing yourself out because you're so scared you're going to miss something or get left behind that you run yourself ragged.

It's not worth it, guys.

So many authors say this, and I have to agree with them: Take time to enjoy the process. 

It's worth it in the end, I promise! :)

Have a blessed weekend!

Ambrosia -- in writing and of the food variety

Some of the best memories come from unplanned situations. I think the same could be said for books: some of the best reads come from unexpected stories. 

The night we arrived in Long Beach for our vacation two weeks ago, it was late and we were tired and hungry. When Lovemuffin busted out with the cell phone to look up eateries near our location, the usual options (like pizza and Mexican food) popped up. Then, Greek food. Let's repeat that last one together, shall we? *ahem*  GREEK. FOOD. 

art in parking lot

After saying that, I'm sure you guessed where we went. Greek food is amazing, and this place, Ambrosia Cafe, had... heavenly food.      

hummus, tabouleh & pita bread

It was after nine. The main part of the restaurant was a covered patio with lots of greenery and a few of those beautiful heat pit things (the newer ones--with gorgeous pieces of glass) and lights strung around and whatnot. Being the major tabouleh and hummus fan that I am (I could eat tabouleh salad for DAYS), I chose to order that as my appetizer (while Lovemuffin and my youngest ordered poor little squiddies--they were still the same shape as you'd see them swimming in the ocean *tear*, but with bread crumbs on them! *shivers*). Obviously I made an amazing decision, because all five of us attacked my food and the warm, fresh pita bread with vigor, and were left wanting more when it was all gone.  

one of the desserts: fried banana

It made me laugh, as I thought about it later, that the place was called Ambrosia. Not only because the food really WAS so delectable (plus the owner of the restaurant was crazy-generous and sent plate after plate of dessert out to us even though we could barely breathe we were so full already), but because I ended up comparing it to my Flora series (yes, yes--the same one I've been working on for years). 

And... here comes my fun, writerly part of the post. Ya ready? There's a place called Ambrosia in that series. 

Quick side note: You'll find that us writers tie anything and everything to our writing experience. For instance, when I found out the girl I'd imagined to be my Hattie in Pity Isn't An Option was playing Teresa in The Maze Runner movie, I squee-d for like ten minutes. I won't go there about finding streets with tree names--trees have a lot to do with the Flora series, too--because I care about your sanity. But I had to make a point. Point... what was my point again? Oh yeah. My point is, of course I felt many a tie to the restaurant and its food, suddenly. Of course I had to compare my love of hummus to my love of writing. Here's the thing:

I want my writing to be like the fresh hummus, the tabouleh, the warm pita bread--to bring the feelings and warmth and whatever else makes the perfect recipe that causes a reader to be pulled in and left wanting more. To where they're done, but don't want to be, because they've fallen as in love with my characters and their situations as I have.

And of course I want to write books where the reader just *has* to come back for seconds, and gush about the "food" (word food?) to their friends. I want them to feel what I felt and taste what I tasted and long for that feeling of satisfaction after reading the last page. Just like us, at Ambrosia Cafe. We ordered more to take home with us, because we couldn't leave empty-handed.

And wanting all of that, my readers, is a very good thing. Know why? Because it means that after almost five years of writing, the true, genuine point of it all is still in my heart--and that makes my heart happy.

Here's to having at least one ambrosia moment of your own this week. Be blessed, my friends!

DELETE: the power one button can give

A couple of years ago, I read a blog post about how the delete button can actually strengthen your story. The way the writer spoke about it (and how much it appeared they'd decided to delete), I thought they must have been one crayon short of a full box. But now... some four years later? I get it. And man does that delete button make a difference.

I think, as writers (no matter what stage of the game you're in--just starting out, writing for years, hoping to get that one agent to like your work finally, whatever), we have to remember that each story is that ever-present, smelly, sometimes (but more often not) enjoyable onion. There are layers that only time can grow. There are parts that only days and months of thought and revision and different perceptions of life in general can inspire. (I don't mean that in a slave-ish way, I just mean no one can turn out a wonderfully written full piece of work in say, two months. Time really does make a difference.)

I didn't used to believe that. When I first started, I really didn't. I think it's kind of like driving (don't ask Lovemuffin what he thinks about mine, and this example will work out just fine). You think, at sixteen, seventeen years old, you're an awesome and alert driver who is God's gift to the road. By the time you hit twenty-five or so, however, you realize you probably shouldn't have done half the things you did behind the wheel in high school.

Case in point: Senior year. I was barely seventeen, and the radio in my Buick LaSabre was broken. Broken as in, the power button would not stay pushed in. I drove around town with my finger ON the button, folks. Because I just had to have music playing. (Because only Lovemuffin had the brains to suggest jamming a toothpick in there soon after. Duh.) What on earth made me think driving with one hand was a good thing to do???

Looking back on my writing, I can see how much time has changed things; how much reading has benefitted me. How silly it was to be so upset that nothing went anywhere three years ago--how could it have? I was so not ready. We try to rush things and let go of drafts that are not yet ready to be released because we feel this crazy, sky-is-falling push every time we pick up a magazine or get on the internet.

Yesterday morning, Lovemuffin up and announced that we were cleaning out the backyard. This was not a welcomed notion in the Brooks household, let me tell you, especially since he said it way too early (yes... 8:30 is early. So is 11:00. But back to the story...). After a year of needing to "take this or that to the dump", we'd accumulated quite an array of junk, and we all knew it was something that had to be done. There was one particular item going to the dump that made me a little sad. Here's a picture I took as Lovemuffin carried it to the front yard with the bobcat:




When you look at that picnic bench hanging out of the bucket, you most likely see a collapsed piece of junk--wood and metal that doesn't really look like anything special. But when I look at it, I see my grandma and grandpa's back yard when I was little. I see their patio and the ivy everywhere all around it and the funky stone man-face thing that hung by a thick piece of string from the top of the lattice and the California poppies Grandpa always had planted beyond this picnic bench, in front of the back fence. I see hide-and-go seek with my grandparents' neighbor's kids, I see my ten year-old self trying to sneak behind the side of the house and through the gate with my friends.

And then, I see the same picnic bench in my backyard after my grandparents had passed away. I see the original brick-red color fading and peeling; I see the four of us--me, and my three girls--painting the top of it white so it would last for years to come in our own backyard.

The picnic bench was an eyesore. But it had a story. It had an innumerable amount of words connected to it. When we came home from our family vacation last summer, the whole thing had collapsed. I don't know how it happened, but we decided that trying to get it fixed was more trouble than we wanted to deal with. I'm fine with it, I was ready to let it go I guess, but seeing it go in the trailer to go to the dump yesterday still stung a little.

This is also how we feel about our work. We spend so much time with it that we don't want to let it go. We have this kinship with the emotions we felt as it was written, and deleting it means getting rid of the result of all that time and effort.

But sometimes, deleting things actually make a scene or the dialogue even stronger. Like I said, I never used to believe this. Then, I went through the very last revision process before PITY ISN'T AN OPTION was released, and I saw words and sentences that no longer belonged. I saw adjectives that, instead of making the writing stronger, make it not as good. And I was that person; the one I read about. I was the one who was empowered and excited and happy to use that delete button. I took them off, re-read the scenes, and knew without a doubt in my mind that it had helped.

Something being gone doesn't necessarily mean something has been lost. You may know deep down that some parts need revision, but can't bring yourself to let go of them. In that case, keep the deleted parts somewhere, if it'll make you feel better. Store them in a file next to your writing journals, save them on your comp, shoot them to yourself in an email. Do whatever feels best if you don't want to let go of them completely. I know I'm going to look out the sunroom window for a while and feel a pang when I see the empty spot where the bench used to be. But guess what? I have a picture of it before we painted it white. (Right after my oldest and her friend had a royal paint-splatter fight and it was brick-red, peeling, and rainbow colored on one side.) So I'm fine. I'm not going to lie: the patio looks better without it. As time passes and you go back to that next onion layer and re-read your work, you're going to see that deleting here and there was the right thing to do, and you'll be fine, too.

Be blessed,

Jessica

We all see things through different eyes

I was reading a book review a bit ago (for a book I've yet to read because, though it has gotten good reviews, it just doesn't seem like my kind of book and I'd rather lighten up the TBR load a little before adding ones I'm not sure about to it), and it made me think. So many things are subjective when it comes to entertainment... movies, TV shows, and yes, books go in that category, too. I remember reading a lot of comments/blog posts/articles over the past four years about how you had to write for the market if you wanted to get anywhere in the whole publishing biz (and then a whole bunch saying to ignore that, and write from your heart), and, as I've said on here before, that makes things difficult because most times the story that etches itself into your heart has nothing to do with the market or perfect contemporary or sci-fi or fantasy plot, or whatever.

And then I thought about how readers in general can read one book and love it and someone else will think the exact opposite. And how, as a writer, you can look at someone else's work and compare it to yours and wonder how this window was opened up and things fell perfectly into place for them and now they're "famous" (whatever you deem as famous--everyone has a slightly different idea of the definition of that word), and you can get into the whole "but-why-not-yous" of hurt and jealousy, which can eat you up from the inside out. (Long version of this in my What Jealousy Really Means post).

And, as I was sitting there reading the review, I realized something. The reason most of us write is because things come to us that are near and dear to our hearts and, no matter what we do, they will not go away. (Some writers probably do write for the market only, and hey, if they get published, good for them... but I'm not talking about those writers right now.)

So, when I see something that doesn't really resonate with me, that's okay. Because guess what? It came from someone's heart. It came from that place that meant time and sweat and tears and a whole lot of editing and words and possible research and time alone in front of a notebook or journal or computer or all of those, and therefore, that makes it something. That makes it WORTH something, too. And if it's worth something, then there's no need to worry about anything else. Because it'll speak to who it's meant to speak to, and that's that. And mine will be worth something to whomever it speaks to, and that's that. And, bottom line, all of us were able to put something down on a page that continued and went and moved and breathed and swirled into a story of life and love and characters and places that will forever mean more than if we'd never taken that chance.

What I'm trying to say is, just because one book doesn't jump out at you or seem as though it's all that great, that doesn't mean it's any less important. And it also doesn't mean that yours is less or more important than someone else's, either.

We all have a different story to tell. We all see things through different eyes. We all have our own language, our own voice. And because of that, we all want to share our story with the world. That's what makes writing so special.

Be blessed,

Jessica

It's all about love

So most books -- especially YA (since that's the category my head has been submerged in for over a year now) have a love story entwined into the plot. Call me crazy, but I love a good old-fashioned love triangle. I know some people are getting tired of those, but I'm announcing right here, right now, that I'm not one of them. (This might come back to kick me in the backside later, but -- get it? ha ha. But. -- this is how I'm feeling... this month, anyway.)

For me, the love triangle doesn't have to be "she likes him and he likes her but this guy also likes her and she can't choose between the two of them", it just has to have one person the MC likes, a LOT, and another person that also has his/her emotions invested in the MC -- whom some readers will connect with, and possibly root for.

Now, why did I bring up the love triangle? Oh, yes. Because next week I'm going to be doing some short and sweet posts on writing about love. Now before you get all excited and think I'm going to talk about how to WRITE it, I'm not. I would much rather discuss ways we are inspired to write about it. Music. Pictures. Poems. Books. Things we see/hear on a daily basis that knock us in the head and give us wonderful, romantical ideas. You know. The mushy stuff.

So start thinking of a few things you'd like to share. It's going to be a love-fest! (Okay, maybe that's a bit extreme, but I think you know what I mean.) Oh, and if you're needing a little something to get you in the mood, check out the song below.

Currently inspired by: Florence + The Machine - Cosmic Love

You and me... and me and you...

So here we are. You. Me. Henry. My desk, a stack of journals, lousy illustrations by yours truly, stacks of paper scraps with chicken scratch all over them, and of course, one steaming hot cup of coffee (thanks, Lovemuffin!).

Now what?

I feel as though I'm in a three-ring (Or is it ringed?) circus. (If you'd like to picture me as the clown, fine. I wear a size ten shoe anyway so my feet being humacious is something I'm used to. But I will *not* wear that big red nose. Sorry. I have to draw the line somewhere.) I have this women's fic piece I've been working on, the second book that would come after FLORA (which may or may not even go anywhere so is it really smart to work on it all of the time? Obviously not. I'm not writing it, anyway, just jotting down ideas as they come.), and the WiP that came to me not that long ago, which I think is a pretty darn good idea if I do say so myself but will involve lots of thinking and brain wracking and hard work and well, I'm in lazy mode because it's the holidays and whatnot -- you know how that is, right?

So when I get into this mode of ideas crashing through my head, I go back and forth constantly from journal to journal, and not a whole lot of actual writing gets done. (Plot points? Yes. Dialogue? Once in a while. But word count? Nuh-uh.) When the day is done, I pretty much have nothing to show for it. Very frustrating.

I'm trying to decide which project to focus my energy on, but this deciding stuff is for the birds. Lovemuffin wants me to work on the shiny new (YA) WiP, instead of going back to the adult one. He's proud of the idea I've come up with -- him actually saying "Well I think you should work on such-and-such" is quite a big deal. But... I want to be lazy! (How dare I want something like that, right? Writer's can't be lazy! Hello, Jessica! What are you thinking?)

Ooh look. Donuts... on an eraser. Do you think it tastes like donuts?

Writers write, right? Right. Write.*

*the above title was taken from urbandictionary.com

Oh dear. I believe the inevitable has happened. My brain has shut off.

This weekend was crazy and super boring at the same time. Two kids got injured, one by racing her sister on a bike WAY too small for her, then flying off (road rash sucks); and the other by going in the back of her dad's truck and slicing the bottom of her foot (no stitches, though it's going to be a crappy healing process). I finished doing the laundry, stayed caught up on the dishes (that never happens), worked on my query and logline (bugging my friend Andi so much she probably shudders every time there's an email from me in her inbox), and I even cleaned out a closet full of junk I never get rid of because "what if this is something I could use sometime in the future -- you know, like the next ten years".

Time must have slowed somehow, because by last night I'd found a way to get caught up on two missed Parenthood episodes and watch the newest Jacob's Patience installment on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon. (The first one was with Will Farrell.)

And now, it's Monday. The sun is bright, the ground is wet from the rain last night, and a swift cool breeze is sweeping through the trees. The house is relatively silent (the dogs aren't barking at people pushing lawnmowers around the neighborhood for once -- oh wait, they do still bark when the mower is at OUR house), coffee is brewed... and my brain refuses to cooperate.

Hunger and writerly advice

Advice can be a double-edged sword when it comes to writing - everyone critiques differently. I used to submit my work (queries, loglines, first whatever-amount-of-words, et cetera), then sit back and wait with the attitude that though it probably wasn't that good, it wasn't all that bad, either.

So when the advice/critiques/words of wisdom would pour in, I'd be shocked. It wouldn't take much for me to cringe, to freak out, want to cry, and feel as though I should have the right to defend myself, explain why I worded it this way or chose to do something a specific way.

But I am finally, finally learning. Maybe it's because I'm at that point (the point I thought I was at a long time ago, strangely enough) where I don't give a rat's whisker about what people say, as long as it will potentially benefit my work. I'm hungry -- close to starving. Considering how I felt a year ago (I was probably a tad unsatisfied back then), this is a wonderful thing. And I hope, even though I know it will mean I'll be more emotional and on edge, that in the next few weeks/months I will become ravenous.

I am ready to hear what people have to say, ready to take their advice in any way shape or form I can get it, to make it what it needs to be, get it where it needs to go.

None of this could be done without the tons of writers/agents across the internet offering logline contests and free critiques and query sessions and chats and so on. These people take time out of their busy schedules to pour over our work, to offer advice on how they think things can be improved. True, a few of them come across snarky, but for the most part, they are completely genuine in trying to help us improve. I can't even begin to imagine where I would be without these lovely people. Talk about appreciating so many people I've never even met.

So the next time you submit work looking for advice, remember this: none of us are perfect. We wouldn't be sending stuff their way if it was, right? And tone? Tone is hard to read. It's easy to take one person's point or question as rude or hateful, but that doesn't mean it was meant to be that way at all. Before you read what they have to say, take a deep breath. Make sure you have plenty of time for contemplation, and you're having a good day. Then make your notes, tally up those questions and points made, and go for it. Let it loose. Address everything, and decide what is worth changing and what isn't. Polish that sucker up, and send it back out again.

Be hungry. Heck, be voracious. That drive is what keeps us from giving up.

Thirty-two years young

So I'm thirty-two today. I'm not saying this so all of you will wish me a wonderful, lucky, writerly year (though, now that I think about it, feel free to send some of those wishes my way!), I'm bringing it up because it hit me last night that my thirtieth year was some sort of turning point.

By the end of that year I had cut my hair (which had been long for years), changed the color, and begun the tedious, fun, exasperating, exciting, educational journey of writing. If I'd known how different that year was going to be, I probably wouldn't have been so upset about the big 3-0. But I was. I didn't want to be older. I felt as though I was stuck in a rut of I don't-even-know-what -- with nothing to show for myself, personally. Sure, I had a wonderful family, a wonderful husband, and three beautiful girls. But something was missing. Come to find out, it was getting a story that I had on my heart down on paper.

Did that story turn me into this famous, awesome novelist with an agent and a book deal? No. Did I hold on to that first story for dear life and do what I could to try and make it get somewhere? Yes. But it didn't go anywhere. I moved on. I started another one, and even another. And now here I am, a year and a half into this journey, and though at times I feel frustrated and useless and as though I should be put into a straight jacket and thrown into a looney bin, I am loving it. I'm loving the process of all things writerly, loving the people I've met all over the internet who write, strive to keep their lives even by working their butts off and work/home and writing every chance they get, and are there to support their fellow writers and keep them informed and inspired along the journey.

Who knows where my thirty-second year will take me. I am hoping for great things. I am hoping for a synopsis that rocks at least one agent's socks, for a query that shows my vision for a wonderful book. I am expecting another year of laughs and tears and screaming between me, Lovemuffin and the girls. And I can't wait to continue this entire journey with all of you - my writerly friends - my friends who get me, who get IT - the constant, nagging feeling that we can do something, that we can put thousands upon thousands of words together straight from our hearts and create another world for readers everywhere.

So here's to another year, my friends. Here's to camaraderie and inspiration and accomplishments beyond our wildest dreams. Cheers!

(Also, my first *ever* guest blog is up at The Sharp Angle, titled Neglected Character Types in Women's Fiction. Lydia Sharp is a writer and great blogger of all things literary and I would love if you'd check stop by there and check it out! Feel free to follow her blog too, she's a great gal!)

He who types the last line laughs (or goes crazy)

Yeah. I know. Two posts in a row pointing out my lack of sanity. But to be fair, yesterday's post was more along the lines of "this could/can/does happen", not "this just happened to me". (Course it had, but not right then. When I posted it. Did I clear that up well enough? Right.) So I say, I'm allowed to blog about sanity again. In a way I feel like a professional. An insane one. (You know, because we writers *are* professionals.)

Anyway.

The last line. The ending. The grand finale. Something *so* looked forward to for like, forever, and yet, when you find yourself there, looking over the cliff, about to wave sayonara to your *squee* - say it with me folks - finished novel, that longed for salute doesn't always go the way you'd planned it to.

Or does it? Is it just me? I don't know. Technically, I am done. I am done, finished, through. But this last sentence, it's driving me crazy! I know I should leave it alone, but I can't. Why is that? Why can't we let go, after so much time? I don't get it.

Oh wait. I just thought of another sentence...

*types it out*

*deletes it*

Noooooo wait.....

(I do believe I need help.)

Zero to panic in five minutes

So. You've gotten that pinky down, and are back in front of the computer screen again, with renewed hope, refreshed eyes and a rejuvenated mind. And then...

*Word document

*click*

*Open

*Recent File

*hover over odd-named file that has nothing to do with the actual title because it's never been changed*

*click*

*sip*

*blink*

*scroll to current editing page*

*sip*

*yawn*

*read*

*highlight*

*delete*

*type out better description*

*read*

*pat self on back*

*save*

*scroll down*

*read*

*yawn*

*sip*

*scroll back up*

*highlight*

*delete*

*type out previous words that were just deleted because who do I think I am that was too much I'm no Hemingway how pretentious of me*

*sip*

*read*

*read some more*

*edit*

*embellish beginning of chapter*

*edit word that makes no sense and laugh har har har*

*yawn*

*blink*

*blink again*

*think, Oh my GOSH I am tired*

*think, Wait, am I tired, or am I bored?*

*feel heart racing*

*gulp*

*think, Am I? Bored? Really?*

*attempt to breathe*

*think, I am! I'm BORED! I've bored myself! I'm boring! IT'S boring! It's ALL boring! I suck! This is terrible! What was I thinking? I'm insane! I can't do this! I'm an idiot!*

*catch breath*

*sip coffee*

*read some more*

*choke*

*spit out coffee*

*go do dishes/walk the dog/watch TV/wallow in huge pool of misery and promise to never look at the computer again because there's no way I can face those lame stupid ignorant words any longer what a waste of a bazillion hours of my life I could have spent catching up on Malcom in the Middle reruns I give up*

Now what?

A gross (but hopefully helpful) analogy by yours truly

My youngest daughter has a Kenyan sand boa.

** If you like snakes, then you'll probably agree with me when I say that she/he (?) is the cutest thing *ever*. (I'm already imagining the wonderful comments that previous sentence is going to bring my way. Ha.)

Now, I like snakes. What I do not like however, is feeding time. In fact, feeding time makes me downright sad. My daughter knows how it works: I will take her to get the pinky (aka baby mouse/rat/or in last week's case, hamster -- still pink, not yet covered in fur), I will buy the pinky, and I will take her and the pinky back home. But after that, I sure as heck am not going to go into her room and watch what happens next.

I understand the whole circle of life thing (I *have* seen The Lion King a bazillion times, thank you very much). I get that it takes life to keep life going. Yes. I understand. But watching it actually take place? No thanks. You won't ever catch me in front of the TV with National Geographic shows playing because I simply cannot handle it. I can't see the entertainment in watching one animal eating another. (And don't even joke at the dinner table about the name of the cow I'm eating, or attempt to invite me fishing, because I'll refuse to hook that poor fish!)

Am I losing you? Are you wondering what in the world Snookie eating pinkies has to do with my (not mentioned at all yet) analogy? Well stick with me here. It's coming up next.

Even people who don't like snakes know what they have to do to survive - they have to eat - really big things. And unlike our meals, which can be broken into little bites and enjoyed at leisurely pace, snakes have to force one thing down, slowly. (Doesn't sound remotely leisurely to me.)

So here's my analogy:

We all come across issues during the writing process. The plot may have serious wrinkles, the chapters may be too short or too long, the dialogue may lack that realistic quality we're desperate for it to have. And of course, we end up getting frustrated. We want it all fixed NOW. It isn't fair when what we know in our heads so well won't go down on the paper/screen the way want. Or when those problems needing fixing just can't seem to be fixed.

When those feelings come over us - inadequacy or frustration, for example - then it's time to be like Snookie, my friends. The problem is our pinky. Figuring it out may not happen as fast as wolfing down a cheeseburger, but it will happen, eventually. (Sometimes Snookie doesn't like the way a pinky is going down and she spits it back out, then goes back for another try.)

We can take a breath and step away from our writing place. We can take a walk. We can invite someone out to ice cream or coffee. We can go get groceries, watch three movies in a row, get our oil changed. It's okay to chew on ideas for a while before coming up with a resolution.

So there you go - an analogy probably a little tough to swallow (I know, I'm sorry. I couldn't resist.), but an analogy just the same. Time isn't good time unless it's being spent the right way, and there's nothing worse than realizing many hours have gone by, and the only thing you've accomplished is upping the bite mark tally on your pencil.

I promise - the pinky will go down, in time. And when it does, you'll feel amazing.

How about you? What do you do when you feel stumped? Do you have a routine to help get those creative juices flowing again?

Index cards: They're Not Just for Reports Anymore

As promised, here is my post about a tool I've been using to help me with Flora. But first, a little backstory. ;)

Months ago I read a blog by someone (I'm sorry, but I can't remember whose it was, I've read way too many since then) who used index cards to organize their story line. At the time, I was new (still am, but not as new), and thought outlines and other such "organized" forms of writing weren't meant for me. I was an outlaw in the writing world, skipping around, jotting things down completely out of order and having to figure out where they went and what they meant later.

I was stupid.

Talk about making myself work more than necessary, and I mean a lot.

I'm a little over a year into this whole hobby/profession/insanity and I've learned that the more you organize, the better off you'll be. So I tried outlining.

Outlines are good for some, but they are *so* not for me. I was constantly erasing things, trying to fit in more info, it was a mess.

So a few weeks ago I came across some old index cards my kids used for reports, and remembered seeing the blog about index cards. Talk about perfect!

Color coding is a great way to keep things categorized. As I've mentioned before, there are almost two completely different story lines in Flora. Keeping track of such completely separate ideas is hard, not to mention distracting. I'm writing about the MC at her home, then I'm writing about the school, then I think of something a person would say in the other story line, then I'm back to the MC again at home, then, oh yeah, there has to be something by the creek but before the beach... Can we say confusing? It was so much easier to write when everything was laid out on the cards.

Now, obviously, they aren't big enough to hold much information (they're more of a visual tool to help me keep track of what's happening in order as I'm switching back and forth), but they definitely hold more details than an outline would (my version of one, at least).

Here's a picture of what they look like, along with my one of many owl-dorable notebooks that I had to include just for fun. =)

They weren't curled up on the corners until five minutes before I went to take the picture (they were still in one stack), when I knocked them into a sink full of water. I panicked, screamed a bit, Lovemuffin yelled from two rooms down to see what was going on, and I got them under a fan in time for them to survive, thank goodness. And it's still a good visual, even in the state they're in, don't you think? See how things switch back and forth?

I'm loving these things. Who knew something so small could simplify the whole process like that? The MC's main life is blue, and the other part, the one she slowly gets more into as the story goes on, is pink. I have them numbered, so when I jot something down in my journal I can refer to the number when I start to write, and I always know where I'm at and what's going to happen next.

So how about you? What's one of your favorite writing tools?

Fix the Orchard of Rules Later

"Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart." 
— William Wordsworth

I was tinkering around on here and just came across this "draft" I never posted way back in MARCH. I'm guessing this must have been right before I went into writing hibernation. Anyway. I read it right now, and felt it was something worth sharing. Not going to edit it or anything, as that may take away from what I was feeling at the time (plus, to be honest, I don't remember this at all and don't want to screw up what I had been trying to say).

**********************

I was driving home after dropping the kids off this morning, thinking about going over my oldest's homework last night (adjectives and participles), and as I looked into one of the orchards on the side of the road, an analogy popped into my head.  The rows of trees standing to attention, lined up one right after the other, they reminded me of writing rules.  Each tree could stand as one rule, and no doubt there would have been enough rule trees to cover the bases for writing a novel.  Don't use too many adverbs.  Show, don't tell.  Punctuation, grammar.  Avoid being redundant.  Cliches must not be overused.  Keep the correct point of view, don't change your tense.  And on and on and on.

Sometimes it's hard to write when so many of these "rules" are hanging over our heads.  They become a weight on our shoulders, and erase the fundamental reason for writing in the first place, which, in my opinion, is writing something from your heart.

I just wanted to remind everyone that words from our heart means the most. Telling (or should I say showing?) the story still needs to be the goal, our main focus.  And of course we need to follow the rules, but don't let them get in the way of saying what you need to say.  Write from your heart first, then go back and fix the orchard of rules later.

My Version of the Top Ten Writing List

Today I was going to blog about the writing process and a new tool I've found to keep my erratic thoughts under control. (Because even though I read about this idea plenty of times on this here blogosphere over the past year, I'm stubborn and refused to do it with my first MS, but have totally gotten into it with my WIPs. Needless to say, now I *get* why it's so helpful.) Instead, I'm going to go off on an unrelated subject, because it just came to me, and it's my blog, and I don't always have to stick to the plan (so there).

I have a confession. I'll never be able to say I'm a great blogger. I'm not. I know this, and used to beat myself up about it. That was one of the reasons I fell off the map for over two months not that long ago - because I was feeling the pressure of being interesting, blogging about things people might actually want or need to know.

Most writers blog often about what to do, the right way to do them, and better yet, how to do those things, and do them well. I can't do a whole lot of that yet though, mainly because I'm new to this whole thing and still have a lot to learn. Another reason? Every time I go to type something out, I feel as though I'm writing what fifty bazillion people have already done.

But fear not, my readers! There are a few things I can share with confidence, so hold on to your coffees... 'cuz here I go.

Jessica's Top Ten List of Writing Don'ts:

1. Never write/type/edit when your eyes are tired - unless you actually like the terrible eye wrinkles look. (Don't believe me? See picture below.)

(How old am I again?)

2. Never a bag of *insert your favorite candy or chip/pretzel/any kind of carb here* sitting next to you while you write each day because, chances are, you'll eat it all during your writing frenzy (or block, it could be either one). Then you'll be sad when the bag is empty, which will throw off your writing, and even sadder after weeks of this when you can't fit into your chair anymore, due to each of your thighs now being the size of a small child. (Sorry. No picture for you on this one.)

3. Do not have old shows blaring from the TV in the next room while you're writing, unless you want to waste precious writing time listening to them, remembering how much you loved AC Slater and how awesome you thought he looked in those ridiculous tank tops.

(I mean, sure, the occasional walk down memory lane can be nice, but is listening to conversations between Mario Lopez and Mark-Paul Gosselaar really going to be that inspiring?)

4. Never, and I mean NEVER edit first thing in the morning before drinking at least one cup of coffee, first. There's nothing worse than going back when you're actually awake and wondering, "Who the heck wrote this? And what were they thinking?"

5. Don't attempt to write with twitter, facebook, or any other kind of social media websites up in windows next to your WIP on the computer screen (yes, other blogs do count). As Kathy Bates said in "The Waterboy", it's the de-bil. The De-bil, I tell ya! Minutes turn into hours when you're on those things. (What? No way. How can I be the only one with this problem?)

6. Be cautious of your "brilliant" idea to record those late night thoughts with your cell phone video camera (so you don't have to get out of bed, or worse yet, write in the dark), unless you can 100 percent guarantee that some time the next day (before you have a chance to write it down), your kids won't be playing with your phone.

7. It's best not to burn any cookie, vanilla, butter cream, or coffee scented candles while writing, or your writing time may end up sounding like this...

"Once upon a... "

chocolate

" ...time there lived a... "

ice cream!

"... girl who liked... "

chocolate ice cream with FUDGE!

"...to eat fudge..."

Oh fudge! Where was I????

8. Yes, you are a writer, which means you're talented (that goes without saying), but don't let that go to your head and make you think you're coordinated enough to type on newly painted nails without destroying them.

9. When writing down ideas and cooking dinner, take your paper and pencil into the kitchen. (That way you won't forget about the potatoes frying in the pan, because your family won't be too happy when you serve a side dish that looks like charcoal.)

(Incidentally, this is a picture I found on photobucket.

Mine looked much, much worse than this!)

10. If you ever decide to blog about a writing list, make sure the topics involve things you actually know.

I could mention many more don'ts, including writing and driving, not saving your latest changes before logging off the computer, and how bad it is to leave your most recent awesome idea next to the scratch paper your kids use for painting, but I think a ten-item list is good, for now.

So how about you, my fellow writers? Do you have a writing faux pas to add to the list?

How do you choose what's worth writing?

Today's blog title says it all.  How do you choose which story is worth writing?  

Currently I'm working on two projects.  The first one is another women's fiction story (and - yay me! - just two days ago I figured out the title), and as I stated not too long ago, a YA idea has been coming to me lately, as well.  

Being caught up in a young adult story is an entirely different world compared to writing for adults.  There are more possibilities (things can be "out there" a little more and still believable),  difficult conversations to write (for me anyway, I am over thirty twenty-five, you know), a whole new set of relationships (parents, for one), and so on, but I'd have to say that I'm truly enjoying doing both.  Except...

I feel like the absent-minded professor.  I'm jotting things down as they come to me, back and forth, one notebook to the other.  If I get really into one of the stories then I'll spend a few days on it... then eventually move on and the same thing happens with the other one.  

It reminds me of how I clean my house.  If the plan is to dust and do laundry, I usually start out right on track.  Then, next thing I know, odd jobs around the house start to distract me.  The baseboards are dirty.  I never hung those two pictures on the walls.  That one window needs to be cleaned, but I don't really feel like doing the rest.  Before I know it, it's hard to see what's actually being accomplished.

I realize that working on two at the same time isn't what I should be doing.  Time devoted to a specific story line is definitely going to show more progress, and a heck of a lot sooner, to boot.  So how do you decide which one should be occupying your time?  For me, working on an entirely different genre might be a total waste.  Or, it could turn out better than I'd ever imagined.   

So what would you do?  Go with your gut, and stick to what you're used to?  Or take a leap of faith, and do something different for a change?

Gardening and writing are a lot alike

A few weeks ago our family planted a garden. We'll be eating plenty of cucumbers, cantalope, bell peppers, tomatoes, and even yellow watermelon (hopefully) in the next few months. But before spending hours in the backyard cutting out grass, leveling the ground, making a wooden frame and bringing in dirt and soil, we germinated most of the seeds under a grow light in the house.

It took less time than we expected to see plants sprouting out of the soil, and with only a little time, effort and water, our seedlings became big and strong. The next step was transferring them to a larger container so their roots could grow, and then it was time to get them accustomed to the sun. It's been really windy here the past month, so along with getting used to the sunlight, the little plants also needed time to get used to being whipped around.

Planting day was a laborious job, and not a fun one, in my book. I followed the girls around, tsking them for not packing the dirt in enough around the delicate little plants, or getting tired when they were only halfway done. But we survived the long afternoon, and it is now time to deal with the task of weeding and watering, and the enjoying the process as we watch them grow.

Two weeks ago we realized we'd forgotten to germinate our squash. My mother-in-law even came over to help, and we sat around the dining room table, preparing the soil pods, organizing the seeds, and labeling them with little signs. After a week or so, I decided it was time to move them outside. And then... I got preoccupied with my writing.

This is how they ended up.

See what happens when you don't give them the time and effort that they need?  These plants used to be nice and strong... now they are ugly and weak.  I was staring at them the other day, frustrated with myself for wasting everyone's time, and then I realized...

Gardening and writing are a lot alike. For one, it's easy to see the end result in the distant future, to automatically expect the big, bountiful production that's bound to arrive, eventually, at the end. I'm going to have big juicy watermelon, tons of plump tomatoes, and a bunch of cucumbers. And with the latest piece I'm working on, I'm going to have a neat ending, everything will come together, and the story will be wrapped up all perfect and nice.

But nothing is that easy. Rewards don't come without hard work, and the little things, preparations that go into gardening, like consistently pulling weeds and watering to keep the plants alive can be monotonous and time-consuming.

It's exactly the same with writing. The day to day process may not be fun, but making time everyday to consistently crunch out words and ideas in order for an entire story to come together - well, that can be just as monotonous and time-consuming as gardening, if not more so.

And just like with gardening, it doesn't take long before you start feeling worn down and stop seeing the fun in it, if you forget to look at the work right under your nose and only focus on what should happen in the end.

I'd like to be able to say that after my little gardening epiphany, things picked up and both my garden and my WiP are in tip-top shape. That would be the perfect ending to this post, don't you think? Sure, the garden is doing well, and for the most part I've gotten over the fact that our chance to have squash this year has been squashed. (Ha ha.) My writing, on the other hand? Well, that's a bit of a different story. (Bah-duh-dum)

I know the beginning, I know the end, I know the middle. Actually, I know the entire story line, but the problem is, there are two. The main one has been obvious from the beginning, but the secondary one, yeah, not so much. So instead of looking at the ending and being frustrated that I can't get there as soon as I'd like, I'm going to cultivate my ideas, store them as they come to me, and write them down. Every. Single. Day. And eventually, just like with our garden, I'll have produce. It may take longer than the summer, or who knows, maybe one day I'll go from having a few ideas to suddenly knowing the entire thing.

Either way, I plan on sticking with it, no matter what. You know why? Because nothing feels better than showing off something you grew with your own hands. Well maybe one thing does - showing off something you wrote all by yourself.