Possibility

Oldest Daughter and her violin leave for college tomorrow. Right now, it's all about possibility.

I think nothing is more soul-crushing, nothing will age you faster, than giving up on possibility. In fact, when I think of friendships I have moved away from in life, outgrew, it was always a friend who was so filled with cynicism that they stopped believing. The "why bother" people of the world.

I just saw a sketch for the cover of Magickeepers. It blew me away as soon as I saw it--and I'll share when the final is approved. I have a new book idea that I think is exciting. I have a new release in November. The thing about this career is with every new manuscript, release, idea . . . there's the possibility of something great.

Somehow, if I could say to new writers . . . the one thing to hold onto in the face of rejection and discouragement, the pronouncements that no one is reading anymore, in the face of all of it, hold onto possibility.

My mom gave Oldest a hand-knit blanket for college. In the card she wrote "See you at Carnegie Hall." Possibility . . .

Oldest Son wants to go to M.I.T. and be a math professor. Possibility.

Baby Girl wants to be an artist/poet. Possibility.

Demon Baby wants to take over the world. Dinstinctly possible.

Anything is possible. Believe it.

Thoughts?

How Full Is Your Glass?

I was raised by a glass half-empty father. And a "the glass is what it is" practical mother.

What they ended up with is a "glass more than half-full daughter who veers toward glass is what it is when circumstances suck."

I go through periods when my glass starts feeling utterly drained. Right now, for example. I could give you a laundry list--sister and her children moved, Oldest Daughter leaving, strange bruising on my stomach making me think Crohn's is acting up, too much to do, not enough time, and that dang laundry pile. But in the end, I always feel terribly selfish for ever complaining. I don't feel I was created to complain. I feel I was created as a child of joy. And when the joy is missing, I need to push on through and find it again.

I love the following quote:

The dream is not up there in the sky or the stars. It's right here in your heart.~Dan Zadra

Most writers I know are dreamers. It's how we're hardwired--why else to pursue a career with impossible odds. BUT, within our ranks are the half-full folks and the half-empty. Sometimes we're both--just at different times.

And all this got me thinking about yesterday's post on horror books. I wonder if our WORLDVIEW, our glass, determines what we like to write in some ways. Think the world is an inherently hopeless place, and you have Cormac McCarthy. Think the world a place of optimism, and you have my November release, Freudian Slip, in which hope trumps all.

So how full is your glass? And do you think that determines what you gravitate toward writing?

Rollercoaster

I wasn't going to blog on this, but what the hell.

I rode on my first BIG rollercoaster last week. One of those that is super high speed and flings you all over. I have never been a rollercoaster fan. I trace that to riding on the Monster Coaster here with my dad when I was 8. I was promised that it wouldn't be scary, but to me, it WAS (even though now . . . I know it's a silly little ride). So I stopped riding on coasters. I think one boyfriend talked me into riding one of those old wooden dragon coasters when I was 17 and I hated it.

But last week, I rode on a REAL one with Oldest Daughter. I screamed and shrieked at the top of my lungs. My heart pounded. My palms sweated. And when it was done, I realized I LOVED it.

Did I like being terrified? I don't know. I liked riding on it with my Oldest Daughter and sharing that experience. SURVIVING it together, and holding hands and laughing when it was done.

I'll be real honest. I read this excerpt last night:

http://www.jakonrath.com/kilborn.htm
(You have to click on the sample.)

And I find myself wondering what entertains. It's so personal. For some it's romance, for another erotica. For an erotica writer it might be a very "soft" story--for another it can be about a lifestyle that some don't understand. Even within, say, S&M erotica, there are extremes.

For some a thriller, for another horror. And within horror, there are the Quentin Tarantinos . . . the shock value movies like SAW, and the movies that build on suspense. There's something about the excerpt above that some people will love.

I try to give people's tastes a very wide berth. I would never want censorship in any form. But there's a piece of me, a part of me, that finds it depressing that what entertains some of us is killing people and torturing people. We seek it to AMUSE us. On the flip side . . . by being scared, like riding a roller coaster, we're taken outside ourselves.

But now, I guess . . . with maybe a different perspective because of age and politics and religion, maybe an existential view of the world, there's so much REAL horror--Darfur, for example--that I feel like I don't want cheap thrills. I want to be passionate about the REAL tragedies in the world. I can't imagine, for example, writing something like the above, and then encountering the parent of a young woman tortured and raped, and explaining that I wrote a book about rape and degradation and torture to make money or to entertain people. I don't know. Would I feel better if it was a "message book"--does that make it more OK?

So I don't have an answer here, as I blog. I don't know what entertains anymore. I know what I DON'T want to read and see. And I wonder about what pushes some to the choices in entertainment they make. And I will say that I admire Joe for championing writers. I could pick a dozen writers who explore torture.

What entertains you?

Thoughts?

The Muse

I wonder how everyone views their muse. Some writers feel like they "channel" someone else, some other entity, something separate from themselves when they write.

Some feel they "wrestle" with their muse--fight with it. So there's clearly a separateness there.

Some name their muse.

HE is not my muse. He is my Muse Slayer. Along with him, whose annoying songs are playing in the background at the moment.

But I generally don't think of myself as having a muse. Not as a separate entity. I think I feel creative most of the time, and at certain times I get to sit down and WRITE it versus playing scenes and dialogue out in my head. The muse has never been elusive for me. In fact, it delivered the Shiniest of New Ideas to me last night and I have that "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I better get this one down on paper before someone ELSE thinks of this idea." But did the muse deliver it? I don't know. Then again . . . using logic . . .

If I have a Muse Slayer, I must have a muse.

So how about you? Do you think of the creative side of yourself as a separate entity? We're amongst friends. You can confess to another personality. Or naming an invisible muse. Share your muse with us all.

Digging Deep

I will never forget the first time I read a "meh." It had never occurred to me that writers would see what editors are buying and then go and write a book based on that. I always assumed it was the other way around. Writers wrote what was meaningful to them, and if that occurred at a good intersection of timing, luck, talent, and market conditions, a sale was made.

But the more writers I met, the more I realized that some would see a trend a chase it. And there was no passion for the story. Just . . . "I think this will sell." So it was that I read a manuscript. On the face of it, it had a decent chick lit premise. There weren't any typos. You know you are in trouble if the best thing someone can say is your manuscript is typo-free. I read a few chapters . . . and it dawned on me that when you stripped away the trendy setting and the designer clothes and the cocktails, that you didn't care about the characters at all. They read, to me, like a laundry list of traits--much of them external. When I questioned the writer, she was all about "I know this is what they're buying in NY." And no, she didn't get a sale. I actually, because one editor she tried was one of my own, was privy to the editor's feedback, who offhandedly said, "She can't write." But it wasn't that. She couldn't write with heart.

I'm often asked if I have advice for aspiring writers. I don't. What the hell do I know? I have my journey . . . all the writers out there have theirs. But I suppose I ascribe to one thing . . . not write what you know. No, I don't really believe that one. Write what you feel. But someone else said that far better.

Put your ear down next to your soul and listen hard.

~Anne Sexton

Thoughts?

More Emotions

Since I just sobbed my eyes out saying good-bye to my sister and her children, I thought I would post about books that MOVED me. Not books that I enjoyed, or even loved. But books that actually wringed emotion out of me in a more intense way.

First book to make me cry award: Jo's Boys. I remember reading one of the final scenes and crying--I was maybe 10. And it was the first time a book made me actually cry.

Most wrenching cry award: The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan. I was pregnant with Oldest Son--about 9 months along and HUGE and I was in bed with pillows all around me and a box of tissues, just sobbing my way through the scene with the twins. If you've read the book, you know what I mean. Considering how huge I was (Oldest Son was nearly 10 pounds), perhaps I thought I was HAVING twins.

First book that made me ANGRY award: The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. I won't even go off on the tangent of how this feels way too real to me right now, given the state of our government. I read this book the year of its first release. I was in my early 20s, and I was angry. I would read it and my heart would pound. A book pulled that emotion from me, pure and simple. I was enraged. I was haunted when it was over.

First book that made me long for something award: The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. This book made me long for a secret garden of my very own, for a place that was mine. I was maybe 12 when I read it. I have re-read a couple of times since.

First book to scare the crap out of me award: Night Shift by Stephen King. I didn't realize a BOOK could make it impossible to sleep and have me afraid to check under the bed. I was young . . . and I was terrified. I remember even the ticking of my watching creeped me out in the middle of the night. And I couldn't put it down!

First book to make me look like a raving lunatic in public award: Anything by him. Every time I read David Sedaris, I laugh out loud, belly laughs, tears rolling down my face. I look positively nuts. He is hilarious. I particularly like the story of his father's alarm at his sister Amy's fat suit. You have to read the book. ANY of his books.

So there's a short list. Please, share yours in any category.

No

So I woke up this morning and knew I had a mission. I need to find a God Pod.

You read that right. It's a long story, but suffice it to say that the church I attend has graciously tolerated all my social ministry initiatives. So . . . we've got a food drive, a diaper drive (do you know diapers are not covered by food stamps), a coat drive for needy families, and a Christmas toy drive all coming up. And with so many things I want to do, we can't store it all. So we need a pod. The pastor said, "Why don't we call it a God Pod" (and don't I wish I had come up with that?), and challenge the community to fill it. Great! SO many people are in need. Now where do I get a pod? I suggested trying to beg a local pod company to donate one for our use and we would give them free advertising. So guess what I get to do today?

Now, you would THINK since I am organizing all the above that it's not a big deal to go and find a darn God Pod. But . . . it means going into a store, asking for a manager, and then asking this stranger for a favor. Yes, what we're trying to do is a GOOD thing. But it's still one of those comfort zone things. But I'll do it. Because someone has to . . . because if you don't ask, you can't hear the word yes. Because, well, I don't think God is going to drop a pod on the church's parking lot.

But what is it about the anticipation of the word NO that freaks so many people out? Rejection in whatever form? I hate this part of social work. What's the expression? "The worst they can do is say no." For some people, it's just a shrug and an "oh well." For others, the word "no" is just devastating. Or maybe it's the slight humiliation we feel for putting ourselves out there and THEN hearing a no.

When you think of writing and publishing, the word NO is necessarily part of it. It's a rare writer who has heard nothing but yes their entire career. We put our writing out there. We hear yes or no. But few of us can shrug off the no. We give that NO so much POWER. We hear the NO as "NO and you really SUCK." "NO and you've wasted my time." "NO and you should quit this game."

I don't have any words of wisdom other than . . . no gets easier to hear when you don't "own" it and just accept that it's two letters. But I can't say that I don't fret over the NO word.

So . . . how do YOU handle NO? Inspire us today!