Author: Jonathon

There is a natural flow to every book. There’s even a natural flow to how most writers work. I know writers that take six months off between books. One writer finishes a book then goes back to college to get a new degree or course, and then goes back to writing. For most of us, we finish a book and take a few weeks off, maybe a month, or two, or we work on other projects while the next series book percolates in our heads.

Some writers like to write at night. Some do it because that’s the only time the house is quiet and they won’t be interrupted. Some writers write at dawn, though not usually by choice. I got up at 5 AM five days a week when I worked in corporate America so I could do my 2 pages which was what I did every day, just two pages, and then I’d get dressed and go to work. I am not a morning person, but I found that after a hard day in the cubicle farm I was too drained to write, so I wrote before work ate my creativity up. It was either that or not write at all which wasn’t going to get my first book written. Once my daughter started school my writing hours had to change to when she was at school, and then stop when she got home. Maybe another session after dinner and the kiddo was tucked in bed. Most writers don’t average more than four hours a day at their computer, often less. I am concerned that some of you out there are telling me you are comparing yourself to how I write. Fine, but bear in mind that every professional writer is unique and has spent years finding out how they and their muse work best. You need to find out how you and your muse work best.

I am actually writing beyond the natural rhythm of either myself, or this current book. Why? Because my deadline is breathing down my neck and I have made commitments to my publisher to make that deadline. Not to mention all the other people who will work on this book, and the bookstores that will sell it, and you guys who will read it. I miss the deadline and its like dominos it all falls down. Now there will be other dates and they would move it if they had to for me, but I prefer to make original deadlines. Partly it’s my nearly puritanical work ethic. Partly its if I miss this deadline then it puts me behind for the next book deadline. Again, the dominos analogy comes into play.

If I felt I had a choice I would not be pushing for the page count that I am. In fact, the day I did ten pages I remember thinking clearly, "Wow that’s a great days work, and its not enough." At this point if I could average twenty pages a day that would be about right, but I can’t. Even my muse and me and my work ethic can’t promise that.  In fact my work ethic has stopped cracking the whip and is feeling a little tired. So please, don’t compare your page count to mine, and don’t let my productivity make you feel like you’re slacking off, because if deadlines allowed I’d be doing less, too.

Comfortable pace is between 4 and 8 pages a day with the end of the book going anywhere from 8 to 20 pages. Yes, I can do the 20 page stretch but my problem comes because my publisher and agent begin to ask me to choose deadlines when I’m at the end of a book and I’ve hit that muse-driven stretch of unbelievable page count. I’m on a writer’s high for days and everything seems so fluid, so right. I’ve learned not to set deadlines when I’m in that mind set, because it only lasts a few weeks, or a few days, and then I’m back to a normal page count, but my new deadlines are set at that breathless pace that I won’t actually naturally hit until near the end of the book. I’m not the only writer that I’ve heard say this, that in that rush of creative flood you feel so buoyant, so certain, so optimistic, that you are certain you can turn that next book in no time. The trouble is the mood passes and your optimistic self has made a deadline that your pessimistic self has to deliver. So, please, don’t compare your page count or rhythm to mine right now, because even for me its artificial. I am writing ahead of my muse and my comfort level. I will pay for it later by the way, because as wonderful as the muse is she is not without cost.

I’ll leave you with a quote: "Never forget that the nurturing and preservation of your own muse is job one. Lose it and you may be losing a great deal." Robert Genn

Favorite show that we Tivo-ed this week: Glee. This episode is called "Preggers" which is sort of self explanatory, and it does have a surprise pregnancy, but the parts of the show that made it my favorite for the week are about the other theme of the show. Curt/Kurt who is our very gay teenage boy main character gets a little too much help from one of his friends and ends up having to figure out how to really be the kicker for the football team so his dad can come to a game. It seems typical sitcom fodder, but it’s "Glee" and its never typically. I’ll try not to spoil it for you but my two favorite moments are the song/video at the beginning where the father comes in and sees his son in a unitard doing a Beyonce song, and the moment on the football field where it all comes to a hilarious and memorable end.

Spoiler Alert: If you watch Glee but haven’t seen this show, stop reading. No, really, I mean it.

Still reading? Okay, I warned you here’s the spoiler.

The preggers moment only works because our straight male student is so naive on what gets a girl pregnant that he believes he got his girlfriend pregnant from ejaculating in a hot tub. Hot tubs are hot enough that sperm would die in seconds, this doesn’t mean that sex in a hot tub won’t get you pregnant folks, because if you ejaculate inside the girl the temperature is juuuust right for making babies. Unprotected sex is a bad idea unless you want that baby moment.

But the guy believing hot tubs get you pregnant reminded me of a high school moment of my own. I was simply walking from one class to another, books in hand, when I turned the corner and came upon a knot of girls all huddled around one hysterical classmate. I might have walked on by, but one of the girls in the huddle was one of my best friends so I felt compelled to stop and find out what all the fuss was about. Turns out the hysterical girl had had that special talk with her mother the night before, but some of the facts might not have been accurate. What facts?

Seems the mother had told the hysterical girl that when a boy penetrated a girl that going in was okay, but when he withdrew his penis it would drag all of her intestines with it and gut her like a fish. (My hand to God, I am not making this up.) Apparently, the mother went to the alien school of sex education, and the daughter bought it.

My friend said, "We have a farm. It doesn’t work that way for any of our livestock."

Hysterical Girl, "My mom wouldn’t lie to me."

Hmm. None of the other girls could convince her that her mom had told such a horrible lie. Finally, it was my turn to try. I went for logic. Me, "You have a little brother, right?"

Hysterical Girl, hiccuping between sobs. "Yes."

"He’s younger than you, right?"

Hiccup. "Yes."

"Then obviously your mom did not die when your father had sex with her, because she’s got two children."

The other girls chimed in with their own siblings, most younger, some older, but in either case proof that sex did not kill you. Otherwise there’d be no younger siblings. I didn’t try and argue the whole human race would have died out if sex really worked like this, it seemed a little too esoteric for Hysterical Girl. But the younger sibling thing worked. That she had proof of because of her own younger brother. Cool.

She began to calm down and stop crying. Then she looked at me with big, doe eyes and said, "But why would my mom tell me something like that?"

No one else seemed to have a good answer, but I did. "Apparently she never wants you to have sex, ever," I said.

Calmer Hysterical Girl nods. The other girls nod, as if I’ve said a smart thing. It didn’t seem smart to me, it seemed obvious. I have to wonder what the mother was thinking, because if I hadn’t been there at that moment would her daughter have believed that pile of dog poo? Maybe, but never fear, I was there to add a dose of logic to the madness of our mothers trying to save our virginity, or in Hysterical Girls case keep herself from every becoming a grandmother. I wonder if she tried to tell her son that his penis would go in, but not come out?

This was either freshman or sophomore year of school back in the day when most of us were actually still virgins at this age and sex was theoretical. I went to the library to learn about sex. There was so much misinformation going around that I had girls who were having actual sex with actual boys come to me for advice, because I had unbiased information from the books. I can thank those girl and their horror stories of bad sex, misunderstood contraception, and boys that couldn’t wait to over share in the morning for me getting through high school as the best-educated virgin in my school. But I figured if they were coming to the bookish virgin to find out more about sex which they were already having, then I wasn’t missing much. I’ve never regretted the decision to wait, and this was the beginning of me learning how to research. When the girls were taking my advice after a disastrous Saturday night date, I wanted that advice to be right.

What is a muse? What is your personal muse? Goddesses? Fairies? A part of your own brain that only seems to have a life of its own? Is the muse simply inspriation? I’ll let you decide for yourself on that part of it, but tonight I’ll write about things I do to coax my muse, or maybe to coax me. I’ve had the muse hot and bothered when I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, so my muse and I take turns coercing each other.

My muse runs on caffeine, or at least hot liquids. When I was first starting out it was coca-cola, cold and straight up. But for most of my published career its been hot tea, or hotter coffee. I found that caffeine free coffee and tea works but I prefer caffieneated. Hot liquid seems to be the winner for me and my muse to function. A good straight oolong, or monkey picked oolong, or English breakfast is usually the first choice. I’ll do jasmine in a green, or some of the roasted rice flavored greens, but straight green still tastes like I’m trying to eat fresh lawn clippings. Not my favorite. I honestly don’t drink coffee until the wether gets cold or I’m having trouble staying in the mindset for an Anita book. The very smell of coffee helps me get into her head and her world.

Yesterday I got like 5 pgs in the morning so the majority of the 16 pgs was done in the afternoon. Now, I don’t normally do two sessions on the same project, but the deadline has hit crunch time so its become an evil neceissty. How did I coax more pages out of my muse and me? On days when I don’t feel like writing, at all, I get out the fine bone china tea sets complete with cups and saucers. I will admit that my favorite tea set is based on the Brambly Hedge children’s books. Yes, dressed up mice. The tea pot is beautiful and the cups and matching saucers each do a different season. Favorite seasons autumn and winter. I got out the autumn tea cup and saucer yesterday and it helped me feel better. It simply makes me smile and has for over fifteen years which is how long I’ve had the tea set. I bought it when I could barely afford it, and I’ve never regretted the purchase.

Are you weirded out that my favorite tea set has mice in Victorian clothes painted on it? More so that I can write Merry and Anita while drinking out of fine bone china? I don’t question what helps me work, I just make a note and repeat. It’s all about figuring out what helps you create.

My muse really does run on music. I have never written to silence since I got out of my grandmother’s house and was allowed music and privacy. My first book was written to Motzart. The soundtrack to "Amedueus" to be exact. I think I discovered Depeche Mode next, then U2, and INXS. I wrote my first several Anita books to those three bands. When I first started writing Anita the books averaged 450 to 550 page count and I would play that one album over and over until by the end of the book I wouldn’t be able to stand to hear that music again. It used to take me months, or years, to listen to music I wrote a book to and then the books got longer. Much over 550 and one album begins to grow stale before I’m done, so I’d have to change in the middle of the book, or near the end. The album I finished to was often the same album I would start the next book to, if it was in the same series that is, I try to change music between series. It just helps my muse know we’ve shifted gears.

The iPod has been a wonderful invention for me because I can put hundreds of songs on it and play them in a cycle so that I don’t grow tired of any one band, or singer. So I get to keep my favorite music just to enjoy between books. Favorite bands right now are Drowning Pool, Disturbed, The Fray, Flaw, Drain STH (though its attached to a particular book and I still can’t really enjoy them yet. it’s too soon). I went through a girl singer period at the beginning of writing Merry and for Anita, too. They both write pretty well to Tori Amos, but Merry is more Sarah McLaughlin and Sheryl Crow. Merry seems to really like She Wants Revenge. Though some songs remind me more of Anita, apparently my muse thinks they remind her of Merry. I try not to argue with my Muse, because I will lose.

On days when the writing is going badly I shift to musicals. I will pick a musical for a book, but I usually don’t have to listen to it often enough to grow sick of the musicals, and if I do it means its been a damned hard book to write. Last Anita book I think it was "1776". Last Merry book I believe was "Mary Poppins" but I’m not a hundred percent certain of that. I know that the musical for this Merry book, DIVINE MISDEMEANORS seems to be "Thoroughly Modern Millie" the Broadway cast.  I’ve written to "Hairspray" "Jekyll" "The Secret Garden" "Sunday in the Park with George" "Into the Woods" "Gigi" "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" "Once Upon a Mattress" Rogers and Hammerstien’s "Cinderella" "The Music Man" and more. But you get the idea. I don’t know why musicals will get me past a block in my creative process, but I know that it works for me, and again if it works I don’t question it.

On days when the writing is going really, really badly I do Christmas music. Yes, you read that right. I’ve written to a Dean Martin Christmas Album, Bing Crosby, the entire Rat Pack, Sinatra on his own, but I tend to like Dean Martin best of those. Yes, I know that Bing Crosby is not part of the Rat Pack. I really like the first two Excelsis albums because what goes better together than Goth and the holidays. Mmm-mmm-good. Not as fond of the third Excelsis album though. I love "A Very Scary Solstice" and "An Even Scarier Solstice" from the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society. Traditional carols done with Lovecraft’s world in mind. What’s not to love with songs like, "Have Yourself a Scary Little Solstice" "It’s the Most Horrible Time of the Year" "I Saw Mommy Kissing Yog-Sothoth" or "Little Rare Book Room" "All I Want for Solstice Is My Sanity" "Harley Got Devoured by the Undead". Ahh, the holidays.

I’ll also go on a kick for a particular carol and then Jon gets to score the internet for different versions of it and make me a CD. I’ve done that with "Carol of the Bells" and "Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow."

Weirdest holiday music I’ve ever written a Merry book to has got to be "The Veggie Tales Christmas Album". Yep, that’s what I wrote a Merry book to, so think about that as you’re reading those yummy sex scenes. I wrote some of them to singing and talking vegetables talking about Jesus’ birthday. Yes, I am just that sick.

My Muse and I write better in rooms with pastel blue, or green walls. My bedroom as a child was blue, so that explains it. My first stories were written with walls that color, but why pale green? No idea, but I discovered that when my first husband would take me with him to a hobby store he liked and I didn’t. So I had nothing to do for hours but sit in the corner and scribble in my notebook. For some reason those awful pale green walls just made my Muse explode. I wrote copious pages in that place. People are sensitive to color, so find out what color works for you and paint your room, or at least the wall you stare at when you write that color. Don’t be ashamed if its a pastel, just embrace your muse and paint that wall.

When no music, no color, no hot beverage works, my Muse and I go out to work. I’ve written Anita books at Red Lobster (before my shellfish allergy manifested). I’ve written several books at St. Louis Bread Co. A lot of OBSIDIAN BUTTERFLY, Anita book #9 was written there. I have no idea why I like to write at the Bread Co (Panera in your part of the country) but again don’t question your Muse, just pay attention to her. I will admit when they painted their walls this orangey yellowy color it threw me off but its still a good place to go. You can eat, drink something, stake out a table. I take my Bose sound dampening headphones and my iPod and I write. I haven’t worked out like that in years. I love my new office. Though if I have another day like today I may try it. Though instead of long hand in a notebook I take a portable computer and have since about book 9 of Anita. I love writing on computer. So easy to fix things, so much better than typing which is how I did my first short stories.

In future blogs about writing I’ll talk about other things my Muse and I like. Sticky notes, windows vs walls, what to put on your desk and what to keep away from it, quotes, perfectionism, and my writer’s notebook, but tonight my Muse and I are retiring to a hot bath.  Happy Writing Everyone, be careful out there, or should I say, be careful in there. A writer’s mind can be a very scary place.  Or maybe that’s just mine?

 

Happy Mabon everyone! It’s Autumn equinox with day and night of equal length. From this point on the nights will grow longer until on Winter Solstice we will have the longest night of the year. But today we all get as much sunshine as darkness. It is a harvest festival primarily. It’s a chance to think about what you’ve harvested so far this year. We have a tradition that we do either at Lammas which is in early August and is supposed to celebrate the first harvest, or here at Mabon near the end of the growing year. We’ve gone back and forth but have finally decided that it makes more sense here.

We will have a family dinner prepared by either all, or most of the family and then we will sit around the table and tell what we have harvested this year. Since most of us don’t work with the land or with food animals, harvest has a wider definition. Say, you wanted to meet a new person to date. At the beginning of the year, which for us begins just after Samhain, Halloween, you would write out a list of things you could do to help you find someone new to date. Then at Mabon you see how you’re doing on that goal. If you haven’t progressed much on the list you have until the end of October to get cracking on that. If you have done all on your list but have still not got any progress, then Mabon is a time to reassess what else you can do, or why its not working. If you have that new girlfriend, or boyfriend, then that’s what you’ve harvested. You can also list things that weren’t planned that neatly, but were things you learned, or purchased, in the year.

Example for me: I will have harvested the pages I’ve written. The novella, FLIRT, the last Anita book, SKIN TRADE was finished after Halloween last year so it counts, and I have a great deal of the new Merry book DIVINE MISDEMEANORS written, so that counts, too. I learned a lot this year about myself, about my friends, my family, and how we all interact. Jon and I have grown as a couple, and Trinity gets bigger and more the person she will be when she grows up every day. I have done a lot of serious meditation work and traveled farther on my spiritual path. I have been blessed with new people coming into my life to help me learn, and with many old friends that are a comfort when all the newness gets to be a bit too much. We have three new employees that are working out wonderfully. So our little company has grown, and in these economic times growth is something to truly celebrate. I have gone back to the gym and am weight lifting again. My ankle is so much better than it was this time last year. Good health is a really good thing to be able to add to your list of harvests.

What do I want to accomplish before Samhain? Finishing DIVINE MISDEMEANORS, the last rewrites on the novella, FLIRT, and I’ll see my other novella "Can He Bake a Cherry Pie" out in October. It’s the first story I’ve written that isn’t Anita or Merry in a very long time. It’s in the anthology, NEVER AFTER. Trinity will have her birthday. Jon and I will have our 8th wedding anniversary. I hope to get better acquainted with new friends and reacquainted with old ones.

Now when we go around the table I wouldn’t say all of the above, because if everyone did that we’d never get to eat. So, I will pick one, or two things, and so will everyone else. We’ll talk about what we wanted this year to be, and what it turned out to be, because this year, like most years was full of surprises, most of them good. So, Happy Mabon everyone, and may your own harvest this year have been full of blessings.

 

We put up pictures of dinner last night, but I realized we may have left you all with a false understanding of how much we ate. So here’s a picture of lunch to show you that only half the pork chop and stuffing was eaten last night. One slice of tomato from the heirloom salad. Some roasted veggies. Jon had more of those so he only did one piece of bruchetta, and I did less veggies, but did two pieces of the veggies bruchetta. The real indulgence was the homemade carmel sauce from Whole Foods. They make it only during this time of year, and it is the best carmel dipping sauce I’ve ever had. It’s seven dollars a tub and totally, absolutely worth it. So good, we didn’t dip apples in it, just fingers. That’s good carmel sauce.

		Notice that Lunch is half of the Pork Chop from Dinner.
Dinner	Lunch

My point on the food is that it’s portion control and being well-balanced on your food that has helped me lose fifty pounds and keep it off, and gone from a size 14 jeans to a size 8. Well good nutrition, and exercise. Diets don’t work without exercise, and exercise may not help you lose weight if you’re still eating crap. By the way, low fat doesn’t mean it’s good for you, it just means low fat. Jon and I gained weight, and felt horrible, on the no fat eating plan we tried for a few months. Our bodies need some fat just so our digestive systems can function properly, and apparently without some fat in our diet our bodies think we’re starving them so they hold onto every ounce of stored fat they can find. Eek! so not what we were wanting.

I left a lot on my plate at lunch, too. It really gripes me that vegetables are so important to staying healthy. Me. Hates. Veggies. But my digestive track and my whole body really likes them. Curses.

My point is that we couldn’t possibly eat everything you’re seeing on the plate and loose inches, or even keep them off. We’re still having a little bit of a learning curve on how much food Pili needs to plan for each meal. Because being healthy still doesn’t mean you can eat tons of it. I had a friend who gained fifty pounds on nothing but orange juice and fruit. You can over indulge in anything. It’s all about portion control and eating healthy things.

The big problem is that you can’t stay on a restrictive diet forever, eventually you grow bored, or your body adjusts and then you are plateaued. When you’re already feeling deprived and then you stop loosing inches it just feels like insult to injury. So, we’ve struck out on our own to find a way to eat well, but healthy, and not to feel deprived. So far, we’re maintaining, we’ll see how it goes. But we have a ton of veggies chopped and frozen ready to go into more good meals. We’re trying to organize and get ahead of the curve, or I should say that Jon and Pili are trying. I spend most of my time up in the office writing on some crazed deadline or other, or at the gym.

I’m hoping that after I finish this latest Merry book, DIVINE MISDEMEANORS, that I’ll be able to sit down and blog about the exercise that we’ve found works for us, and the food. For right now a good rule of thumb is meat no bigger than the palm of your hand, and lots of veggies and salad. Pasta goes on the palm-size, too, though we find that protein, veggies, and salad, are what works for us on a regular basis. Still trying out those whole wheat pastas, but now with homemade sauces.

Today was a day when the muse was not in my head, or my heart. It was like the 14 pages from yesterday had emptied me out. I was vaguely angry, and disgruntled. I didn’t wanna work today. I was damn near pouting.

But I sat my butt in my chair, at my desk, with my keyboard and I took my own advice. I wrote all the reasons I could not possibly write today. I was tired. I was uninspired. My muse and I were grumpy. I didn’t feel well. The whining went on for a paragraph, then something I typed made me remember the dream I’d had at the end of the night. No I won’t share, but I wrote it on the screen, and something about the comfort of the dream, and the fact that I could still feel the tactile memory of it, helped get the juices going. And suddenly I was able to toggle the whining and the dream farther down the screen and I knew how to begin the day’s writing.

Sometimes it’s just the whining and then my muse looks over my shoulder and even she gets embarrassed and we start working. I believe it was, Bradbury again, who said, that if you write anything at all eventually the muse peeks at it and goes, "We can do better than that." But if you don’t start that sweet clack of keys to intrique the muse then there’s nothing to get her notice, there’s nothing for her to go, well, we can do better. You have to write bad before she wants to help you write better.

But sometimes, like today, it wasn’t the complaining that got the muse and I going, it was the dream. Sometimes it’s a bit of remembered dream, or a thought, or another idea, or just some spark of an idea, and it’s enough of a spark to catch the tinder that you’ve carefully piled up around the book, waiting for something to help you light that fire one more time.

If I had just listened to my grumpy half, I’d have just blown today off. I was tired, and not inspired, and whine, whine, whine. But I sat down, I tried, and now some nine hours later, with an hour off for lunch, I have 21 pages of the new Meredith Gentry book, DIVINE MISDEMEANORS. 21 pages I wouldn’t have had if I’d given up before I even sat down to try and work.

I’ll leave you with two quotes, the first one I was looking for, and remembered. The second quote, was new to me, but I liked it so much I had to share.

“Never give in, never give in, never; never; never; never – in nothing, great or small, large or petty – never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense”

Winston Churchill

“If you are going through hell, keep going.”

 

Winston Churchill

Up coming appearance:  SciFest 2009 at the St. Louis Science Center.  October 10th, 8 – 10 PM in the Exploradome.  Tickets are $10.00 and can be purchased in advance at www.scifeststl.org.

Just so no one will complain that they didn’t know in time to get tickets. Here’s the information again. So, you have now been warned. Come hear me talk, and you can ask questions in person. Bear in mind that this will be one of the very few public appearances this year. I’ll be talking about the research I did for SKIN TRADE, and other books. You get me for an hour, and if you have kids and can persuade someone to stay with them while you enjoy the Q & A there is a science fiction film festival from 6:00 until 9:00 and it will be MSTied by real scientists. If you want to know if that could really happen, now you’ll have scientists to explain how likely it is to be reality, or how far out from reality it is. You have to have someone to stay behind with the younger kids, because this is a fun event, not a babysitting service. Older children, if you are assured they are old enough can be at the movies alone. You know your kids better than anyone, do you trust them alone, if so, act accordingly. If not, send a chaperone.

So, if you can get that chaperone/babysitter you can give them movies with real scientists, and you get an hour, or more, without the kids, with me. Why does it say 8-10 which is two hours for my talk? Because they’ve kindly given us enough time for me to natter on about research, and then for you to ask your questions. Remember reading that book of mine and wondering what the heck I meant by that, well now you can ask. Though, most likely, the answer will be, "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

I’ve been told that 400 people is the goal, but if you guys lose your heads and we end up with a hundred more people, making 500 of you guys, they will be able to put a 100 more chairs in just for you. It is an absolute maximum of 500 or the fire marshal gets mad at us, so if you want tickets buy early. We may not sale out, but if we do I don’t want people complaining later that they didn’t know. Sometimes I don’t know ahead of time how many people and what the max at an event is, and I, and you guys have been caught off guard when the limit is reached, but this time I do and I’m passing the information on so you will know as much as I do.

Anyway, come play at our wonderful Science Center here in St. Louis. See you there.

Josh Olson wrote an article for the village voice where he was rude. I would never, ever, ever, tell anyone that I will not read their fucking script, book, short story, or whatever. I just don’t have it in me to be that rude. But having said that, if you read the whole article I have to agree with his point. The point is that most of the people don’t actually want you to criticize them. They want to be patted on the head and told they are wonderful.

Here’s the fantasy: Unpublished writer goes up to successful, professional writer asks for them to read their work. Writer reads it, thinks its the most wonderful thing since sliced bread, sends story/book/screenplay to their agent with new writer’s permission. The agent loves it, too. Agent takes on new writer as client, and this first time effort sales for big bucks and the new writer is on his, or her, way to stardom. That’s the fantasy.

Here’s the reality. The newbie says they want your opinion, but Olson is right. Most want a pat on the head, they want the fantasy. I used to try and give opinions to people, but a few hostile reactions and I completely refuse to give on the spot reads or opinions. They seldom want your honest opinion and they never, ever want you to tell them it’s terrible after only a few sentences. They will then tell you, "But it gets better."

If it gets better, then put the better at the beginning of the story, because an editor, or a agent in New York is not going to read past the bad to get to the better. That is the truth of the business that I’ve made a living in for over twenty years. Your words must speak for themselves, because you will not be in the office in New York, or L.A. explaining what you meant, or how it’s actually a metaphor for something else, your writing must stand, or fall, on its own merit. Does that seem harsh? Maybe, but it’s the truth.

I have had new writers hand me entire stories ten to thirty pages long. They want me to read it. I take it and say I will, then they say, "Now, I want you to read it now."

I’m serious here. They look at me with the big doe eyes, or worse the big hostile eyes, and demand that not only do I give my opinion but that I must read the story in front of them and give them my opinion right then and there. That is a lot of pressure to be under. I did it once, and it was a terrible story. I knew that from the beginning, but she urged me that "it gets better". I read it all the way through. It did not get better. I had to find something positive to say to this woman. It was a terribly awkward moment. This was very early on in my career, and since that moment even if I did take the story in hand, if they then said, "No, read it now." I handed it back to them and politely refused. I had one man, big guy, (why is it never small, fragile people that get pissed at you) get angry at me, because I would not drop everything I was doing at a convention where I was a guest and read his 30 page novelette which was part of his epic novel.

I will no longer let anyone hand me, or my people any unpublished piece of work. Anything sent to us will be returned unread or be shredded if there is no SASE. Why? Because there are still newbies out there that think their idea is so good that no one else could possibly come up with it, and my agent, and me, both think the risk is too great. You can thank every lawsuit ever brought against a professional writer for that little bit of caution. It used to break my heart to refuse to read people’s stuff, but one day it occurred to me that outside of a writers workshop, or class, where I’m paying for the privilege of having a writer read and give an opinion on my stuff I’d never, ever asked a selling writer to read my stuff.

I had written, rewritten, and sent out stories to editors that could buy them. I had collected rejection slips. Let me say that if one editor says something, ignore it. But if two editors have the same criticism make a note. If three editors all say the same thing, then take the criticism to heart and fix your story.

And also, may I add what if my opinion was harsh, but true to my way of thinking, and it crushed some new writer? It’s just my opinion and not every story is my cup of tea, and there are certainly some stuff being published that if I were an editor I would have rejected, but these writers are making a nice living off of stuff that makes me cringe within a paragraph. So what if I’m wrong, and there is a great market for what you write, but I personally hate it? Nope, not doing it. Take your fate and find someone else to bop it on the head.

Also, I get more books and stories to read from editors, publishers, my agent, clients of hers, friends of friends, people I actually know, to read than I will ever have time to read. And wait, I’m supposed to be writing my own books. I average 55 hours a week just at my desk, folks. I also have a husband and a child I like to see occassionally. I have friends, some of which I have not seen in person in months. I’m beginning to feel like the Ghost of Christmas. They remember me, but haven’t seen me in awhile.

I’m also trying to find ways to actually relax and destress so I can come back refreshed to my desk. Because if I don’t find ways to fill up the creative tank my muse is going to go on permanent strike and I may just runaway with her.  I will be back to work on actual book pages when I finish this blog. My deadline is so close I can feel its hot breath on my neck.

But I had to say, that though I don’t agree with the language used in the Olson article, I do not disagree with him. I, too, have had the agony of doing a criticism that I typed out, and rewrote, only to find that the new writer far from valuing my time, attention, and experience, hated me for it, because all they wanted was a pat on the head and a great job. If that’s all you want let your mom read it, she’ll probably give you exactly what you want. But if you want honesty, start sending out the story. Start collecting rejections slips and while that story is in the mail start on the next story. It helps the anxiety if you know your literary work is not an only child.

If you only have one novel in you, and it’s a great novel, good for you, (I love To Kill A Mockingbird) but I will be of little help to you because I am not that kind of writer. I’m a series writer and always have been. I don’t think I’ve ever had a stand alone book idea in my life.

It’s still hard for me to say, no, to people who ask me to read their stuff, but I still do it. I pay my agent good money to advise me, and she says, "say no", so I say no. And don’t tell me your ideas either, that’s just as big a no-no. Why? Because most of you want to tell me about an idea that is so close to my own world, or in fact, an idea I already am working on, that I can’t risk the whole "I talked to her and told her, and she stole it" crap. Guys, if I live to be 200 I have more ideas than I will ever be able to use, and more come to me every day. I am blessed as a writer, some struggle for ideas. I’ve never been one of them. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, that some unscrupulous big time writer has never stolen from a nebie. But if you believe that’s a possibility then don’t tell the other writer your idea. Just as a precaution, don’t tell it.

I also stopped letting people tell me ideas when I realized that some of the newbies were ripping off my world, my plot and my voice and trying to preach it back to me as something new with very little changed. A friend of mine who is a publisher had a newbie pitch him a book. It involved a vampire hunter who was in a love triangle with a vampire and a werewolf. The publisher said, "That’s Laurell K. Hamilton’s series."

"No, it’s not," the newbie said, "the vampire hunter is male and the werewolf and vampire are female. It’s completely different."

He, apparently, hadn’t even bothered to change the plot just the sex of the main characters.

Now imagine me getting that pitched to my face. What the hell would I say? Nothing kind comes to mind, so in the interest of peace and goodwill to all, don’t pitch me your ideas.

So if there are writers out there that have the time, the patience, and an agent that doesn’t think its a terrible idea, then let them read your stuff. Pitch them your ideas. Knock yourselves out. But I can’t be that writer. Good luck out there, and before everyone calls Olson a bastard, remember these two true stories about newbies wanting professionals to look at their scripts.

One woman was in stirrups at her gynecologist when the doctor handed her his script that he’d been working on for years. I wouldn’t even know what to say to an approach like that. I know I’d be finding a new gynecologist. I know I wouldn’t be feeling very friendly towards the script, or the writer in that moment.

The script writer in the bathroom stall, actually trying to go to the bathroom only to have a script shoved under the door at them. Yep, true, honest.

Sometimes you are born a bastard, but sometimes you get forced to act like one to protect your time, and privacy. I try to be nice, always, but as my grandmother used to say, "Some people won’t take nice treatmeant."

I’ve actually built on that saying, and added a touch of my own. "Some people won’t take nice treatment, but if they won’t let you be nice, there are alternatives."

So everyone play nice, but remember nice cuts both ways. You can’t expect the professional writer to be nice, if you aren’t being nice to begin with.

 

Carri, my assistant, that had the car accident about a month ago, remember her? Well, her wife, Pili, broke her thumb, badly, last night. We met them for lunch, and they were both tired. Pili was both sick to her stomach from the painkillers, and still in pain. It seems like if the meds make you ill they should at least take all the pain away, too.

We hugged them good-bye, and then proceeded to discover we were locked in the parking garage. Yep, couldn’t get out. It would take us re-parking going into the hospital attached to the other side of the garage and calling security to ask for help to be told that we needed only to put in five dollars in the machine-thingie and we would be free.

Problem we had no cash on us. Security told us there was an ATM in the hospital. Great, unlock the doors we are trapped on the other side of and we’ll come inside and use the ATM, get our money, and be free. Nope.

We were at a doctor’s entrance, and without a keycard no opening the door. Perfect. So another trip in the elevator, a little more wandering around, and we finally headed outside and towards the main hospital building. Two lanes of very busy street with a pedestrian crossing light that was broken, and we were finally in the main lobby of the hospital. Or were we?

No, as it turned out. We were not in the main lobby, though it looked pretty lobbyish and main to us, but it wasn’t the lobby we were looking for. We called security yet again, because there were no employees of any kind with in sight to ask a question of. Again, perfect. Security says, "There should be one down there, too." "Where?" Jon asks. They didn’t know, just somewhere.

I finally spotted a small sign at the faaaarrrrr end of this huge open space. I motioned to Jon, he said good-bye to the unhelpful help, and we trekked towards the sign. By this time I was expecting it to be out of order, or vanished, but it wasn’t. It worked, we got our money, except that the smallest denomination the machine gave was a ten. The machine/thingie in the parking garage does not give change. We needed five dollars, just five dollars. I remembered a Bread Co. on the way to the hospital, so we back-tracked. Jon bought a lemonade, got change, and we had one five dollar bill.

We walked back to the parking garage, threaded our way back the way we had come to find our car was still there, waiting for us to figure this all out. And, of course, the machine/thingie didn’t like the only five dollar bill we had. It kept spitting it out, several more frustrating minutes later it finally swallowed our money and raised the gate.

I said, "Drive quick, before it changes its mind." He drove quick.

We are home. We are safe. Pili will see an orthopedist on Monday, because no one will work on a weekend. Who can blame them?

I wrote this blog several times, and rewrote it, and rewrote it, and changed it completely and . . . I’ll leave you with a quote.

The secret source of Humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven.

Mark Twain

– Following the Equator

I’ve finally realized that it’s not Merry that’s having the problem; it’s me. I don’t think it would matter if it was an Anita book, it’s just everything seems to be conspiring to make this novel a real chore. For example, today was a sex scene, or supposed to be, but it didn’t get done. Why?

I blame the dog. Sasquatch, our pug, as most of you know lost a fight with our boxer mix, Pippin. He has a new home with a nice foster family, but Sasquatch is the worse for wear. He lost an eye and had several facial piercing’s that had nothing to do with jewelry and everything to do with fangs. That happened only a little over two weeks ago. Sasquatch got the sutures out only last Sunday. Unfortunately, he got a second infection in his "eye" and we’re back to having to express stuff from it. The stuff has the consistency of Campbell’s Tomato soup which I may never be able to eat again. Even strawberry yogurt is not looking too good right now. But it’s not like Sas is enjoying himself either. So today while I tried to write a sex scene I had to periodically express goop from Sas’ eye, or clean off goop from his eye. Then he decided to poo in my nice, big leather chair. Admittedly, it wasn’t much and he let me know that he really, really, really had to go outside so he could finish, but still . . . None of this helped me stay in the mood for a sex scene. In fact, I would say that Sasquatch single-pawedly killed any desire I had to do the scene.

I tried, God knows I tried, but in the end I just couldn’t stay in the mood. Sex scenes are like real sex in that you need to be in the right frame of mind, but unlike real sex there’s no other person to help remind you why you want to do it. There’s just paper and words and the computer. On day’s like this that just isn’t enough. And, please do not suggest that Jon could help get me in the mood. He can certainly distract me and make me think of sex with him, to the point where we have sex, but sex with Jon though great doesn’t get the scene written either. And honestly, with Sasquatch wandering about needing medical care it was sort of a mood killer all the way around. Soon he will go in his crate and we will go up stairs and maybe I will feel a little better, but that will be with the help of a real live husband. My fictional men, though amazing, could not compete with my injured puppy. He won. I lost. The book ground to a halt.

If he’s still that pitiful tomorrow then I’m skipping the sex scene and doing the next scene which is about violence. Violence I can do with the pitiful puppy.