The First Time I Stood Up For Myself

Elementary and high school don't count. I remember defying a group of girls who didn't like me. They wanted to drink a beer at a slumber party. Only one adult in that house drank beer - the birthday twins' mother who made the girls invite me. I knew she'd notice a missing beer. Double strike, the girls wanted to take the beer outside which meant discarding the can. On an Air Force Base. My father was Vice Wing Commander. We'd get caught. Whether I understood that those girls wouldn't be my friends if I complied or not, I don't know. I didn't yield because I didn't do stupid.

I had little patience or like for my peers in high school, but whether you're a lemming or a condescending bitch, a high school attitude doesn't work in real life. I couldn't just ignore people and refuse to engage. I had to dull my tongue. I missed a spot or two.

The first time I truly stood up for myself was when a surgeon told me I had a low threshold for pain. For three years I was made to feel like a hypochondriac because my kidney pain didn't manifest in a textbook location. My primary care physician and a gynecologist checked my ovaries and treated me like a hysterical Victorian woman who suffered from having a uterus. By the time I was in a hospital bed post-op, I'd had enough.

The doctor informed us after the surgery, he didn't have to take a rib. We had no idea he might. He also said the surgery went so well, he didn't insert a stint. Okay - groovy. I was in the hospital nine days because of his decision. On the fourth, I was still on morphine and my JP tube left on suction was very painful. (They only fixed that if my father requested. Not me. Not my mother.) 

I was twenty-five and my parents wouldn't fight my battle for me, but my mother understood. When the women in my family get angry, tears form. It's obnoxious. She said something to me - I've never remembered what - and I turned to Dr. Full-of-Himself and said, "I'm not crying because I'm in pain. I'm crying because I'm so angry at you." 

His attitude changed. We discovered I didn't know I was in charge of my pain meds. I was waiting for the nurses. Finally, I was scheduled for a second surgery to insert the stint and less than forty-eight hours after that, I was home. 

Life is full of turning-points. Some mean craning your head to look down a new path. Some are full swivel shifts several degrees. A few will change how you act in the future.

Working in the real world is vastly different than the nursery-like atmosphere of college. It took a truly insulting firing and a probation at another job to teach me to document everything. I love email. It's the best form of communication. Not only is it a record, my voice doesn't shake and tears don't throttle my voice. I took many injustices on the chin and defended myself with email documentation. I rolled with life by being accountable for my actions.

However, until a year ago my efforts were purely self-preservation. Last year, I published my first novel. I made mistakes. They are mine and cherish them. No one made me skip paying an editor. No one made me pick a particular blog-hop. My roll-out was weak but I wanted to do better. I hired professionals to help me understand branding. I was so proud of my first novel, I sought out a writing coach to help me get the second novel written in a timely fashion. I came alive.

Since last year, I'm no longer surviving to get a paycheck. My writing is my passion. My brand, my books are me. I will fight for them like I've never fought before. Everything in life was practice for this turning point.

So I won't apologize for knowing what I want, for knowing who I am and what I expect. I will make mistakes but I won't apologize when I have to give tough feedback to a professional I've hired. This is my book, brand, website, launch. I am passionate about it. I will not apologize.

I'm not crying because I'm in pain. If I'm crying, it's because I'm so damn angry. I hate those tears but they're as much a part of me as my defective right kidney. And I will stand up for myself no matter how much my voice shakes or someone makes me feel like a whiny diva. I will stand up and defend myself with documentation. I will demand my money's worth and I won't apologize. This is my creation and it deserves everything I've got.

What Happened?

I'm moving. To WordPress.

I've long resisted leaving Blogger but everyone says the view is better. If you know me, you know I've never been a fan of one-lump-everyone. Plus, I like it here. 

What happened?

My website swooped in, swept my blog off his feet, and asked My Mother Stuttered to move in down the street. 
The blog's only request is to feel distinctive. To have a room of his own. 

So while the morphing happens offsite, I'll begin my goodbyes to Blogger.

Thank you for being my first. You welcomed me in and let me play with colors like fingerpaints on a wall. 
I stickered you with widgets and rearranged to my hearts content.
You've been a good friend and nice home since 2009. 
Let the sniffing begin.

Lover

The first novel is a powerful teacher - a nurturing lover...

"Take your time,"  Strong Enough said in a soft whisper. "Slow down. Enjoy."

When I was frustrated, I'd pout in a silent corner only to return, hugging the wall, hoping SE wouldn't make me beg. 

"Try again," SE said, turning the light back on.

We fought a few times but I always returned, eager to join our rhythm. Over and over through ups and downs, SE and I moved together.

Once I got near the end, I rushed to release. It wasn't an explosion. More like falling off a short cliff. 

But I lit up. 

SE helped me be strong enough. It showed me the way. Our time together now over, I left for another. I took all that SE taught me - every lesson I couldn't hear before - and learned to slow down each day. To make more minutes count.

As I near the next big release, I know while SE will always be my first, it will not be my last. 

Hello new lover. Let's nurture each other.

Cost of Originality

Recommend you listen to ABBA's "Money, Money, Money" while reading this post.

If you're like me, you have two jobs - one paying and one soon-to-be paying. After covering bills, the second job purchases software, editors, marketing, subscriptions, domains, and lots of paper for the next novel. 

Launching your own business means you have to spend money to make money. But some of us have tight budgets. The trick is not letting a budget cost you your originality.

I'm very fortunate to have in-house talent, but that also means more software, subscriptions, books, and courses. So despite the cost savings of a spousal art department, we must be extra creative. 

The current project is website development. I have a brand style but we're laboring over the hook. After all, the home page is the first sentence. It invites a viewer in to stay and visit. 

So what's on an author's home page? A picture? ... Yeah, well pictures suck.

Like most people, I'm hyper critical of photos of myself. I may be in my secret lair building an octopus to suck you in, but I don't enjoy looking like Frankenstein's monster. Or as if I have a broken neck. Or like my eyes are two different sizes and my gums want to take over New York.

If my picture is out front, not buried on the About Me page, I need to be cooler. While searching for inspiration, I found an amazing drawing by a comic book artist. ME WANT.

Me can't afford.

So what to do?

Make my own drawing. Would it be easier to dig quarters out of all the couches in my neighborhood? (Ding dong - Avon wants to talk to you on the porch while I dig in your living room cushions.) Actually, yes. I could mail a sack of quarters to Mase One and have a beautimous drawing. But I've started down the path of doing it myself (with A TON of help from Hubs/PixelTwister Art Department) and I'm not ready to quit.

Stay tuned for the BIG reveal of our labor of tears, raised voices, explanations in an extra calm voice, and me letting Jreamy do his thang.

Cross your fingers my marriage isn't the cost of originality!

Author Branding - A Consumer POV

Author branding is invaluable but execution of a brand is a lot like finding your unique writer voice. Discovering individuality can mean wading through theory.

I decided to step back from being an author and look at this as a reader. Except as a reader, I don't visit author websites. My generation may be well versed in computers, but we weren't baptized in them. I grew up this way:

Walden Books, early, 1990, Christopher Pike. I read and reread him, dissecting and devouring every nuance and shivery moment with my best friend. We never knew when his next book was coming, so each time we were at the mall, we checked the shelves. We didn't need the newest release--we just wanted one we hadn't read. Each colorful option was like candy for our eyes. 

Okay, so I'm not the best reader reference. Fine. Time for research. When I look at a few big names I consider valuable role models I find sites as exciting as watching a hen on an egg or as crazed as if all the kids at Chucky Cheese just did sour straws like cocaine. 

• Jennifer Weiner blogs every few months to once a year, and the rest of the information is so static, it's a statue. (Since I first compiled this list, she added a media link)
• Meg Cabot has the best combination blog and website but I still find it frenetic
• Sophie Kinsella's is similar to Meg's but not as visually appealing to me--too much white space
• Kristin Hannah's has an IKEA quality. The website is made by a company who doesn't work with self-published authors. I bite my thumb at you.
• Neil Gaiman's site has a hand firmly against my face and says don't come any closer. It informs me that it will take my request and fetch, but do not come in and sit down.



Matchy, Matchy - Bloggy Natchy

• Jim Butcher is cleaner than Meg and Sophie's but I find myself bored before I even start.  

Okay, fine. Back to theories. A blog and website should be seamlessly connected. An All-in-One. My brain translates this as --------------------------->
  
Frankly, I prefer Candice Olson. I view the website as the living room or kitchen--a place to get to know the author and their work. The blog is the game room or private office for interaction and delving deep inside. These spaces should compliment but be distinctive. 

Do I listen to the industry standard and design my author branding by a well established set of successful tips? Or do I let the consumer inside me in on the fun? As writers, we're supposed to celebrate our individual voices. Why wouldn't I do it with my brand as well? 

The worst that can happen is that the industry is right and eventually I'll adhere, but at least I tried to be me.

My 2014 Valentine

Thank you to the people who made me angry in the past.
You challenged me to speak up.

Thank you to the people who love me even if we don't always agree. I cherish you for tolerating my opinion, and now that I have one, I plan to be proud but always, always respectful. 

Thank you to everyone who has believed in me despite my wavering confidence. You rolled your eyes to heaven as I questioned my chances and told myself no. You pulled out your hair as I slid back down, but you never left.

Thank you to the professionals who helped me find my voice. For making me do the work. For making me decide.

Thank you for helping me to be the writer I am today.

Why I'm Against Uni-sex Restrooms

Don't give me that look. This is both pertinent and relevant. In fact, it's story gold.

At my office building I suffer a public restroom situation. I avoid the one in our suite because a few years ago I was irreparably scarred by the experience. (I work with men which on the plus side means I can skip make-up most mornings. Sure sometimes the say, "You look nice!" But that's only when I'm dressed like I have an interview. They notice that. Paranoid wenches.)

Unfortunately the two unmarked water closets in the hall are also rooms with a single toilet and a sink. This means that there's urine on the floor, the seat, the sink, the walls and door handle. I swear men are agitated sprinklers. 

So every time I enter an unmarked restroom, I think about the trend to make public restrooms uni-sex. 

...
EWWWWWWW

I'm sorry but using the same toilet as a whole slew of men offends me deeply. When it comes to toilets, I'm not playing the PC game. (Not that I ever do. Political Correctness is for pussies.) 

I say, if genderless restrooms don't have urinals, men must pee outside. 

Permission

I turned a leaf in 2013 by working harder than ever before--hubs is great inspiration--but I used to spoil myself all the time. Want to watch a movie? OKAY. Want a second helping? Come to mama, you glorious extra portion of pasta. Don't want to get up on a weekend morning? Master turning five more minutes into an extra hour and a half. 

After weeks of pushing myself, I took some time off. Except I didn't give myself permission. I snuck it like a child hoping my parents wouldn't notice and believing I got away with it. I was ready with excuses.

"I have a headache."
"I will!" (Use teenage tone of beleaguered angst as if you've done everything ever asked of you and any questioning of your reliability is the greatest insult ever.)
"I have to clean first," says no one genuinely.

Too often I wait to say it's okay until after I've been a grump. You must give yourself permission before otherwise you get pissy. And it leaks. 

This time, I asked my editor for permission in advance. She gave me another week, until February 1. 

I didn't worry about my current novel and a funny thing happened. I wrote blog posts, prepped a short story for a literary journal, discovered the back story for my next novel, and invested time in marketing. And it didn't feel like work. 

It's been one week and instead of feeling guilty or annoyed, I'm refreshed.

Why Did You Write Your Book?

I'm reading, APE: Author, Publisher, Entrepreneur - How to Publish a Book by Guy Kawasaki and Shawn Welch, and chapter one throws out a doozy of a question. "Why should anyone give a shiitake about your book?"

I have an answer. 

I just don't share it. 

Even now my heart thumps. Hook it to a sub-woofer and the windows would rattle. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

I began writing Strong Enough to get the babbling out of my head. After the first disastrous draft, I set it aside without an ending and returned to observing.

Until I found a cause. Something lacking within story.

A voice.

For women.

Who choose abortion.

Over 50 million abortions have happened since Roe vs. Wade but in most movies or novels she keeps the baby. 

Abortion is a topic with T-n-T strapped to its chest. Some want to fist-pump it. Others want to abolish it. While in the vast middle, millions of women sit before TVs or books and wonder, "Am I alone?"

Whitney walks in these women's shoes. She tells their private story that is neither left nor right. She holds their hand and tells them, "I understand."





And now for a song. Hat-tip to author Suanne Bierman Laqueur for this special gem and its fabulous place in High Fidelity. 
DJ Whit approves.
Just a taste of "Dry the Rain" by the Beta Band

Noodling

I'm a noodler. I enjoy trimming prose until it's tighter, leaner, meaner. But when is editing a liability? Maybe when you're changing strong words for slightly better.

I'm a perfectionist. I want the best word choice and impact. But I used to noodle out of fear. 

The years it took me to finish Strong Enough is fodder for many blog posts. Dozens of reasons help make excuses for why it took so long, but only three matter:

1) I didn't live to finish my novel. It was a hobby
2) I had no clue what I was doing
3) Scared to let go of my baby, I noodled and noodled and noodled

Once I released Strong Enough, the three monsters above shriveled into raisins. I could heed the advice of other writers: 

• Find an editor 
• Delegate to professionals 
• INVEST IN YOUR CRAFT

I leapt into my second novel and churned it out in months, not years, proving writing was no longer a clueless hobby. Plus I was hooked on a special connection I made with several readers. What a high!

Taking your writing seriously makes the excuses slink away. Not that they aren't hovering, waiting to return. It's a constant battle to believe but each success makes a difference. That and learning to distinguish the good editing from the bad.

I'm eager to noodle Anonymous Blog of Mrs. Jones not because I'm scared, but because I want it to shine. And I won't edit forever. I'm far too eager to share.

Interview with Author Allison Merritt

A chance to interview Allison Merritt means plenty of opportunities to talk self-publishing, but I enjoyed “The Convict and the Cattleman” so much, I want to know more about her journey with it.

Did "The Convict and the Cattleman" go straight from your head to paper to published?

If only it were that easy. Convict started in late 2008 as a really bad draft that my then computer, an outdated Toshiba Satellite, ate when said computer crashed and I had to start all over again--with an equally bad draft, but it was slightly better than the first attempt. I revised with some help from an online critique group called Rom-Critters (fantastic bunch of folks) in 2009. In 2010, I pretty much hated where it had gone and I started a third draft. I was shooting for submission with Mills & Boon, but I couldn’t make that thing stretch into 75,000 words, which is their requirement for submission length. I was so sick of it, I just crammed it into a dark, dank file on my flash drive and left it while I worked on super-crazy steampunk romances. It was a different tone altogether and it made me happy, whereas Convict started eating my soul (I swear). It stayed in that buried file until January 2013 when I was bored. Reading through it, I thought it was a little absurd in some parts, but it wouldn’t take anything to finish and polish. Five thousand words later, I was feeling a lot better about it. If not for an editor pitch on one of my critique partner’s group blogs for Lyrical Press, I don’t know where it would be right now. Maybe at a different house. It’s hard to say.

What was the inspiration, the thought kernel that birthed "The Convict and the Cattleman"?

All my good ideas seem to come when I’m in the shower. I read an article about how it’s relaxing there, so it’s easy to open up your creative mind. I hadn’t written anything since the summer of 2003 when I was doing my internship at college (that’s a book I swear to you will never, never see the light of day). My dad died unexpectedly that fall and for whatever reason, it drained all my creative outlets. In the fall of 2008, I was really depressed because I’d taken a job I hated, had to quit it and go back to my old job, which was okay-ish (at least it was waiting for me), but I was frustrated with the way my life was going. I started talking with an old writer friend of mine who was querying, had a Golden Heart nomination, and an agent. It seemed like if I should be frustrated about something, it ought to be about books. I’d gone to college to be a journalist--I suck at it, so that didn’t exactly fly--with the intention of writing novels in my spare time. Historicals have always been among my favorite romance genre, but I wanted to write something besides the historicals I was used to, set in the Old West, something that people would look at and go, ‘okay, this is different’. Boom! Penal colony.

Was this story research intensive?

In some ways yes, because I could list the things I knew about Australia on one hand. They have sheep, crocodiles, deserts, kangaroos, and some of their population came from convicts. In the beginning, I had a huge folder I carried around with me that had maps, listed details about every Female Factory in Australia, details about convict life, transport ships, and even some things about cattle. In other ways, it was a typical historical--a little bit before my favorite decades, because I like historical romances set after the Civil War usually, but I never felt uncomfortable writing it. Especially because I don’t know squat about sheep, so I was really pleased that I could make Jonah a pioneer cattleman. Once I got around all the convict stuff, it wasn’t much different than writing a love story set in the Old West.

What was the most enjoyable part of writing this novel?

Writing the ending! I was so surprised when I pulled it out again how close it was to finished. Don’t get me wrong, it needed work mechanically, but the story was all there. It really just needed a few thousand words to sew up the gaping hole between the hero and heroine and an epilogue for the happily-ever-after. It was a lot easier than I had convinced myself in 2010. 

I read that you thought your affair with historical romance was over. Obviously that’s changed. Tell us about your artistic shift after "The Convict and the Cattleman" was picked up.

I really thought when I started writing steampunk and then came up with the idea for the Heckmasters, which is paranormal/historical romance series, that I was done with vanilla historicals. It’s so much fun to manipulate timelines and twist history. When I got the good news that Lyrical wanted Convict, I immediately thought, I need to come up with something else so I can keep writing for them. I hadn’t started any of the Heckmaster books yet, but I was sure I was going to self-publish those (shout out to my editor Holly at Samhain for loving the Heckmasters and changing my mind). I love unrequited love stories where someone has a change of heart, which led to The Wrong Brother’s Bride, the first book I set in the Ozarks. It was inspired by my love of Wilson’s Creek National Battlefield and visiting the Ray House. The deeper I dug into local history, the more inspired I became by places my characters could visit. One thing I should have reminded myself of was to never say never, because I didn’t think I’d ever write in the paranormal sub-genre period. I shouldn’t have said, I’ll never go back to historicals. I think they’re harder to write, but I do love them. Switching back and forth between sub-genres gives my brain a chance to reboot.

What other historical romances are coming from Allison Merritt?

Wildwood Spring is releasing in February from Breathless Press, which is super fast considering it just contracted at the end of November. It’s set in Eureka Springs, Arkansas after the big resort boom in the late 1800s. It’s my ode to Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, which is one of my favorite romances. Minus the beast, because my hero is not beastly, just reclusive, but the heroine is a little odd, and there’s a too-macho-for-his own-good bad guy. It definitely has a dollop of weird in it, but it’s true to the time period, which makes it historical romance.

My other historical release is The Wrong Brother’s Bride, also from Lyrical. I was told the release date is sometime in May back when I first contracted it, but with the switch to Kensington, I’m not sure if that will change. It’s the story of a man who returns home after his brother’s death to find that his brother’s fiance is pregnant and determined to keep the farm where he died. He offers her a marriage of convenience, but he’s loved her secretly for years. She’s not sure she can trust him because he was always unreliable when he was younger and her father never had a good word about him. As they try to make a life together, she’s surprised by the changes in him and she starts to see that she didn’t marry the wrong brother after all. It seems like they’ll live happily-ever-after, but then he’s accused of a crime that happened years ago and things start to look bad for the happy couple. Dun, dun, dun...

Well, Dirty Word

Several months after starting my second novel, The Anonymous Blog of Mrs. Jones, I hired an editor. Time to vanquish one of the many Fear Demons.

Certain expectations (demons) rise up when a writer ceases to be edited by friends to work with a person who edits for a living. And if you're like me, you're blinded with assumptions that don't color the world rosy or black. They seem clear.

After finding a direct, honest editor I could trust, I knew I'd be challenged on every thematic squiggle. I'd be told I'm too in love with my writing, cut the superfluous flowers. Or my story is too thin. Or I can't write. (Strong Enough is my first baby and I will love her forever, but readers have pointed out certain issues. Plus, I had over a decade to find every continuity issue and to rework every word. Twice.)

Armored for the blows, I emailed my manuscript for my editor to attack with a magnifying glass and whip. With pages so bloody I couldn't find their original words, I would spend hours covered in sweat and tears. This is how it's done.

Early on I received praise and the edits were ... too easy. (Of course, I like editing.) I was pleased but knew my first chapters were well honed. It couldn't last. 

More chapters returned with usual marks. (I can't use a comma to save my life.) I cleaned up each chapter and sometimes attacked weak spots I noticed before sending it back. More marks and silence. Marks and silence. Where were the piercing questions asking me to dig so deep I bled?

I stammer typed an email about how much I loved this book (help me make it worthy was my unspoken request). I received a simple, supportive "you go, girl." 

Obviously this meant we were either doing one run through and we'd dig deeper next time, or my book was merely cute and couldn't be taken seriously. My editor would never shove sunshine up my arse so the lack of blood meant I wasn't worthy. (huh?)

Yeah, I cut reality to fit my expectations. 

Oh I see how stupid it is now, but I didn't expect a Fear Demon to possess me. I was armed to the teeth with positive words penned by others. I've encouraged writers to believe in themselves, but deep down I didn't. Not in me. Not without years of struggle. There must be struggle.

So I asked Becky what she thought (hating each needy word). Her response humbled me. Not by taking me down from lofty beliefs but by lifting me up from lowly doubt.

"I think it's utterly fantastic. Rich, descriptive and beautifully penned. If it's shit, I'll be the first to tell you."

She wrote that. On Facebook. In front of other writers. 

Well, fuck.

2014 - Hey, Soul Sister

It's 2014! What to write for my first post in the new year? 

Turning 40? Meh. For a heartbeat last year I let society burrow into my brain like termites, but the rot has been exterminated. Forty is going to be awesome.

Resolutions? The topic has been covered. On New Year's Eve, hubs and I wrote down and burned negatives from 2013. Some notes were actions, some were events, and a few were attitudes. I'd share them but they're gone.

I did the year-in-review on Facebook. Savoring the good is worthwhile. 
In 2013 I

• Married my love and best friend, Jeremy Pollreisz.
• Published my first novel, Strong Enough, as an ebook on Amazon and with Smashwords.
• Invested in my Brand by engaging Jarika Johnson at Will Write For Love.
• Took a chance and did a Summer Writing Camp with Becky and Ranee.
• Completed my second novel and am working on edits with Becky, Editor of Fierce Bluntness (my cup of tea).
• Joined the Ozarks Romance Authors group - amazing group of writers.
• Attended my first writer's conference, ORAcon2013, and it was fan-freakin-tastic.

No matter what hardships tried to distract me in 2013, it was a wonderful year. I embrace only the good and in 2014 I look forward to

• Publishing my second novel, The Anonymous Blog of Mrs. Jones
• Writing, writing, writing
• Such as sequel to Strong Enough, Training Wheels, Wanderlust
• Publishing, publishing, publishing
• Marketing, marketing, marketing
• Reading, reading, reading
• LOVE, LOVING, BEING LOVED
• and of course, turning 40

The rest will come in waves of unexpected glory or daily doses of joy. 

E

Jump For a New Review!

Timing is everything, they say. (They who? Okay, me. I said it. And I'll say it again.)

Timing is everything. But you have to be ready and willing to jump out of the airplane of life and dive, twirling into the wild beauty of free falling.

As of today's post The Anonymous Blog of Mrs. Jones is humming along through edits with the amazing Rebecca T. Dickson, but a few weeks ago, just before I uncurled my fingers from my newest baby, I noticed my other one, Strong Enough, playing alone. Crap.

All of fall 2013 I dreamed about the Anon Blog release party and celebrated its cover. As the holidays took over and I noticed the end of the year coming up like a brick wall, I cuddled my To Do lists close and coo'd, "I didn't forget you or you or you or you."

Up went an FB banner featuring both my novel covers (thank you to PixelTwister Studio). Just this one action flushed me with new energy.

Dressed for success in 2014 (parachute, goggles, snazzy jump-suit), I flew over a prime jump spot. But it wasn't on my map. It was too early.

Grabbing my interest was Jen Blood's end of the year promotion for a book eval. Lonely Strong Enough preened herself before me and I didn't think. I asked what Jen's services included and how much. Jen responded promptly with this option: Publishing Evaluation and Consult. For a spectacular fee she would evaluate Strong Enough and offer pointed marketing suggestions. 

Hmmmmm, let me think. One of my most beloved Indie authors whose writing is as tight as Joan Rivers' face and as smooth as Lindt chocolate truffles is offering her skill, insight, and honesty? What to do. What to do.

We closed the day of (I jumped) and it has been an exhilarating fall. I've cartwheeled through clouds and somersaulted with eagles.

First let me say, Jen's evaluation turnaround was whirlwind fast. Even stricken with the crud she sent me updates and met our agreed deadline. I've poured over her analysis and my stomach still fwips.

Here's a taste: "First, this is a gorgeous book." I almost forgot to open my chute.

Then she hit me with an added bonus. Yes, folks - THERE'S MORE. (I expect knives that cut cans any day.) 

She also reviewed my book. WOAH. Here's the link on Amazon, y'all. 

I stuck the landing.

I Did It

Mad Scribbler here with some news. There's a big review coming.

Jen Blood, an author I deeply admire, reviewed Strong Enough (to be shared soon). Her enthusiasm blew me away. She used words like "love" and "want" (as in "I want the play list for the whole damn book.") 

Available on Amazon and B&N.com

WOW. My play list? 

Listen guys, if that was it, I wouldn't be sharing here. I'd let my chihuahua lick my wounds (she does everything else). Jen's response sent me pirouetting through the house. I'll let her share in her words. For now I'll savor the play list reaction because...

I did it. I successfully wove music into a novel. 

How the essence of music makes us feel, how it transcends or defines mood is what I aimed to capture. And to do it without knowing how to write or evaluate music added to the pressure. 

Except for being a dork, I am no William Miller (Almost Famous), so I was a bit anxious.

Deeanna Danger was a major score for my confidence. I searched for a blogger with music chops. Her review confirmed my research and hard work succeeded musically. 

But Jen's statement confirms that as a writer I pulled off something I was told I couldn't do. 

During a novel course, I was told to stop including lyric excerpts. Sound advice. It's cheating as well as poking a well-sharpened No.2 pencil into the eye of a fierce beast capable of eating me alive. Poke. Poke. Poke. ROWWRRRR. Boom, I'm consumed.

It wasn't just a legal warning, though. I was told it was naive to try and incorporate popular music. If I gave up this cheesy, newbie desire I'd be a real writer.

I was not discouraged. I kept trying methods until I evaded the music dragon to claim my prize: a novel with a sound track. 

Knowing I created a play list Jen Blood wants... 

I did it.

That One Summer With A Hollywood Agent

More years ago than I want to count I took an acting course with a Hollywood agent/scriptwriter. She looked like Alice Cooper's older sister. She dressed like Alice Cooper. Does Alice Cooper have breasts?

It was three long days of acting exercises and challenges. My heart raced triple-time and I was sweating because there was only one level of participation -- all in. 

Imagine her whispering in your ear, show more love.

On the second day we read a script. We'd already practiced rapid memorization but this was read-then-act freestyle. GULP. We paired off and secretly thought about how we'd do it better each time a brave couple took the floor. It was a sexy scene between two long-term lovers. I knew my partner less than twelve hours. When we started, I giggled constantly. Mary, said agent, rasped for focus, her smoker voice as craggy as the Marlboro Man's face. 

We did. I remember zero lines and no plot. I remember nothing but being on the floor surrounded by the others on their hands and knees feeding us lines. As my partner and I embraced we lived the scene, damn the words. It was glorious. I never flew so high. Mary gave us one of the only compliments of the weekend and I knew what it meant to act.

But I left a little piece of my soul on the carpet where we'd laid entangled. 

Acting is hard when you slip beneath self-consciousness and lose yourself to a moment. That one scene was as exhausting as a day digging for arrowheads during July in SW Missouri. 

I stumbled around giddy but unnerved by the absence of a piece of me. In that emptiness I discovered I prefer existing behind the scenes, writing the moment that makes others giddy or unnerved. I finished the workshop triumphant -- my fearlessness as an actor best used for writing.

Write With a Saw

I posted a quip on twitter and facebook that resonated with a few friends. 

Wrote myself into a wall last night. I say wall and not corner because I plan to cut out a door and keep on trekking.
— iNovelist (@ellenharger) November 13, 2013 

It was amazing to see the number of people respond with a "like" or comment. 

Next I needed to sharpen my saw for that pesky wall.

There's no doubt I'm on the right path with a new scene, but the wall I ran into was a minor character. I know very little about her and it silenced the tapping of keys. Last night I stared at the blinking cursor, typing one word after another like the keyboard was coated in quick-dry cement. 

Today I got out the reinforcements: 
1) Power Drill - check
2) Chain Saw - check
3) 20 questions - yee haw!

To break through, a writing buddy asked basic character questions. "Is she an only child?" "What is her job?" "Does she have a favorite food?"

Not being in control of the order made it impossible to anticipate or fixate on questions. Lacking answers, I grabbed paper and wrote the questions down. Randomness kept me dancing all over and it was fun. 

My favorite question? "What is her superpower?" (Always a good one.)
Damn if I know. Oh wait. Yes, I do. She's human truth serum. People can't lie around her. 

...

Oh hell yeah.

Abusing NaNoWriMo

I know the rules: write 50k words in a month.

Once upon a time, as a NaNo newbie, it was all about hitting that minimum magic number to guarantee a NaNo win. This year word count is irrelevant. I'm harnessing the energy of NaNo participants to complete the second half of The Anonymous Blog of Mrs. Jones. If there's time left, I'll jump into Training Wheels. 

Finishing a novel stymies the true power of NaNo -- to let go and see what happens -- because voice is established, and all additions must work within a well-defined story. It's harder to insert moments via NaNo abandon. Harder but not impossible. Just because I'm abusing NaNo to finish a novel doesn't mean the point is different.

National Novel Writing Month is about focusing on just writing. As author Allison Merritt says, "November: It's Quantity, Quality Comes Later."  That's the point -- stop editing and get working. For some, this is the one month in a year to truly write. For others, we write all the time. 

Make NaNo work for you.

How I Became A Real Writer

It didn't take a degree. Study is important and many of us like the structure and gold stars of school, but nothing beats doing. You don't need a classroom to learn grammar, style, or voice. Read a book, take a class or join a writing group. Degrees help focus but they can also herd too far. Bottom-line, it's the pursuit that matters.

It doesn't take a contract. I may be self-published but I still long for socal affirmation of a major publisher believing in me. When I began writing, finding an agent and publisher was the only way to realize my dream BUT IT'S SO SUBJECTIVE. That's what I love about self-publishing -- we remove the middleman who tells the public what topics are interesting. However, the achievement of a contract is a hard need to shake. I still labor over pitches and queries. 

It doesn't take selling your book(s) to strangers. Though I think this is near the top of actions that trick your brain into believing.

It takes effort. My effort won't look like your effort but there are key principles.

Never Give Up. Maybe it takes you a year to find your rhythm but that probably means your desire incubated then burst forth ready to succeed. Maybe it takes ten years of limping along. All effort leads to:

• Your own voice
• A body of work

Listen. Other writers will share the basics a million times before it penetrates the skulls of newbies. It boils down to a writer's willingness to learn:

• The difference between stage direction and showing
• Flow and tension versus forced narrative

Obervation. Notice how the authors you love write. Pause over a succulent sentence and discern how it functions. 

• As a reader, ask yourself what is (or is not) flipping your skirt
• No matter how painful, notice the common comments from editors, readers, other writers -- observing then fixing consistent criticism (too much exposition, using 'very' too much, etc) is a critical step.

Ultimately, there are only a handful of quality answers. The scary fact is, the tenants of writing are simple: write with a unique voice, sharing a story that moves. Understanding these concepts intimately is the journey.

A great journey never ends.

The Never Ending Beginning

Embedded in my ear canal is a pep-talk. My editor sings, "Just keep writing. Just keep writing." (I'm amused visualizing her as Dory from Nemo.) 

I prefer action to twiddling my thumbs and sticking out my bottom lip, but when it feels like I'm bailing out a boat with a hole, I want to sit down and pout. Am I on the right path? Is this any good? 

Everyone knows when chasing a dream it's hard to witness the moment it transforms from inspiration to reality. And yet reading the joyous posts of colleagues, I find myself wondering if I'll ever say, "That's when it happened."

Right now, I can look back and tabulate former goals (and the obstacles that jumped in the way), but those examples are finished. And I'm still at the beginning.  

So I'm reaching into my bag of sayings and hanging this one over my desk:

Write for the sake of writing

If the point of writing is anything else, I won't let loose and make magic. Expectations are the holes preventing inspiration from carrying me forward.

I write because I love it. I must accept my pace, my working style, and not be distracted by the success of others. I'll celebrate with them and remember I'm writing because I love to tell stories. Everything else is bonus.