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!)

Friday Focus: The Novelist's Ambition

The novelist's ambition is not to do something better than his predecessors but to see what they did not see, say what they did not say.

~ Milan Kundera

Yes! Exactly!

Happy Friday!

I'm an acorn in a world of peanuts

I'm having an epiphany here, guys. (Yes, I know. I have them a lot.)

I've been smacked. Smacked in the comprehensive part of my brain that has been reading, reading, reading, studying book flaps and websites and "this query worked and this is why" posts, trying to understand how to get it right. Trying to get FLORA to sound like it should. Trying to make FLORA sound good. (Because I really do believe that it is.)

I'm walking through Target, and there it is. BOOM. Right to the side of my head.

POW! Hello, Jessica! Glad to see you're back! Where have you been?

I've got it all wrong, people. I'm not supposed to be explaining FLORA. I'm not supposed to follow these other query samples to tell about mine. I'm supposed to be saying:

Mine is different. Here's how.

It isn't like everyone else's. You're not about to read the same words fifty other people have already used. This here is an acorn - a pretty, different, unique and original acorn, in a world full of peanuts.

Mine is different. Here's how.

You didn't know I'm a poet?

Ode to Querying

by

Snippy Snuffalupakins

Queries are fun.

Synopsises are neat.

(I'm lying.

Both make me want to chew my own feet.)

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?

Friday Focus: Put your reader in the middle

"The most improbable tales can be made believable, if your reader,through his sense, feels certain that he stands at the middle of events."

~Ray Bradbury

This is a good one for fantasy writers - I think we all need this kind of reminder every now and then! =)

Happy Friday!