Writer's Digest Conference 2018--things that I learned

So.

What a weekend I had!

I went to the Writer's Digest Conference.
I was surrounded by writers.
I was surrounded by people who create.
I saw someone having a spirited conversation with herself. She saw me staring at her and she said, "I'm having a disagreement with my main character." and walked off.
I totally understand this.

I learned that other writers are not my competition. Nor am I theirs.
I don't read just one writer in any genre. Why should I assume my readers will? There is room for all of us on the bookshelf. (and if there isn't--we just build more shelves.)

I learned that if you are a female writer, you are not given as many chances to succeed as a male writer. Not nice--but it seems to be true. Women are more likely to be told to stop writing where men are told to write something else. (It was a fantastic discussion after one of the breakout sessions.)


I learned that there are many different opinions about writing a character who is not your race and culture. All of the opinions are valid. For myself, I know I could never write a story like The Hate You Give or Children of Blood and Bone. I couldn't.

That being said, no one else could write the story I'm writing with Shawn, a young black man as one of the ensemble characters, because I know Shawn. I hear his voice in my head clearly and I can't change his race or one thing about him. I will be getting (more) sensitivity reads, but he is who he is.

If we limit ourselves to what we know, we don't grow. Not as authors, not as readers. That being said there is a fine line between admiration and appropriation. Staying on one side of the line is safer. But don't bust through the line like a winning runner breaking through the tape. That isn't winning. The best line about this came in one session--"You can do it--just don't fuck it up."


I learned that for every "rule" you can name a book that successfully breaks the same rule. Which means that I can do--as long as I do it incredibly well.

I learned that stillness is power. On the page between characters  and sitting with agents pitching them. Four out of six want to at least look at my work. Two of them want complete manuscripts. I attribute this to good pitches, and a good story. I also managed to quell my tendency to babble and be still after my pitches--that's when they said--I want to see more.

I also learned I have a lot to do. A lot of writing and growing--but I'm running towards the path--not trudging my way to it. And That has more to do with the people I met there!

Thanks Writers Digest for an amazing conference!

To all who have come here from my twitter link--welcome! So glad to see you! Let's write the next chapter, shall we?

Finishing the hat- Microblog Monday

Yeah, I've been quite for a month.

I had to finish the hat.

My novel which is technically the second in a series but I hope will be published first is finished.

Well except for the rewriting.
And I'll be sending it to agents.
And I had to finish the hat.

I had to hide from my daughter, my husband, my father, my friends.
I hated it. I wanted to go out into the sunlight.
I wanted to hug my daughter--and I did--and then I told her "Go play."
I talked over the story with my husband. I woke in the middle of the night to work on it. I worked on it deep into the dark hours.
My schedule is all fucked up.
I finished it.
I have done more research.
I have to tweak it. I have to get it more ready. I have to edit it.

But the first draft is done.
And it's beautiful. Warts and all. Typos and all. Mistakes that make the editor part of me cringe and all.



People don't understand.
Sondheim, in Sunday in the Park with George understood and put it into words.

Look I made a hat!
Where there never was a hat!

More to come

What I learned - Microblog Monday

Sorry for the radio silence.

I was trying like crazy to finish my book before the writing conference this weekend.
I didn't.
I'm about 6000 words out--a little more because the conference made me see a glaring error that I did two chapters ago and I have to fix now.

One of the breakout sessions I took was about storytelling--oral and written.

We were to write about times in our life when we needed help.

This is what I wrote.

My goddaughter turned one.

A year after her mother's four-day labor. A year after my eyes caught my husband's as I held her. We went home and cheerily threw out the birth control pills We joyfully went about the business of adding to our family. It would be easy, right, I mean I'd spent so long hearing that it only takes one time. It had been a year full of periods that were always on-time. I wasn't worried-much.

My goddaughter turned three.

Three years of hearing "great news!" from my friends until we were the only ones of our group who wanted a chid and were without. Three years of worry and once a month depression. Two years after sitting in a doctor's office answering aseptic intimate questions and hormone shots that made me question my sanity and reason for living.

My goddaughter turned six.

A year after we started the process to "Just Adopt." Social worker--a lovely one who would become our advocate--came to our house to decide if we were worthy to parent. We had to ask our friends to write us recommendations. We had to ask other people to help us become parents. No one else seemed to have this trouble. I had been losing friends who told me horrible things. Some forever.

My goddaughter turned eight.

No one invites us to baby showers anymore--nor should they. Mother's Day has become a landmine of epic proportions. After waiting to adopt for three years and realizing it could be another three we decide to try IVF. It doesn't work.

My goddaughter turned ten.

People tell us to get out of the line for China. We say no--that's where she is.  We've been waiting for five years, We see ourselves getting closer. But the wait is still so long. We renew our paperwork and pray.

My goddaughter turned thirteen.

She joyfully swings my daughter in her arms. My goddaughter laughed and my beautiful little girl giggles the way only a one-year-old can with her whole body.  After the laughter my daughter reaches for me.
My goddaughter gives me boxes of her old clothes, that her mother saved for me. Her mother, my heart-sister never doubted that we would watch our two children playing together.
Our child lights up our world and, even today, I don't know that the joy would be as much without the struggle and the help.

What I've learned through Nanowrimo

This year I did nanowrimo.

Well I actually really did it.

I didn't complete 50,000 words to have a novel written but I have about 12,000 done. Which, to be honest and fair is 12,000 more words than I would have had done if I hadn't signed up for it.
This year was different.

More often I would go into nanowrimo as a goose to my ongoing project. This year I'm shopping the project that was ongoing last year to agents.  (Fingers crossed!)

This year I started a new project on November 1. 27 days later I have 12,000 words done.
More important I have learned about myself as a writer and a little bit as a person, and a little bit as a mom.

I am not a "pantser"

I went to the Writers Digest Conference this year. I learned about pantsers--people who write their novel by the seat of their pants. I thought--hey, maybe I can do that. Before with the novels and screenplays I have written I would write a sketchy outline, and fill more things in as I went. Thinking of it as a bus line. Sometimes I'd get off and do a bit of exploring but at least I knew which bus line would get me from here to there.
So I was going to write without this safety net. I was going to write by the seat of my pants.

Well that didn't happen. If I realized when I sat down that I wanted to get character A to Point A, the session went well. If I didn't it was like my characters looked at me and said "Hey, you created me, you asshole, you figure this shit out." I didn't. What I have been doing with my writing time today and what I will be doing with my writing time this week is write a goddamn outline.

The only person I'm competing with is myself. 

My niece told me she was doing Nanowrimo. She might have even finished it. Who knows but I kept thinking, hey, I'm older and I've had stuff published professionally. Why is she doing this? How come I'm not doing better?

Then I hit myself over the head. I'm not competing with her. I'm writing my novel. She's writing hers. She's 29, I'm 46 which leads me to...

Writing while being a mom is hard

I knew this, but this time it was brought home to me by my daughter who would go off and play by herself for a while but the minute I started to write she wanted my undivided attention. This led to

My best ideas came when my head hit the pillow. 

This required me to sigh and debate if I wanted to grab my cell phone and speak the ideas or get up and write way into the morning.


What comes next:

Write an outline.
Make my world building shine.

Finish by March 15, 2018.

Here goes!

We are, none of us, saints

By now, you might have read the brilliant essay written by Joss Whedon's ex wife. It details the reasons for the end of their marriage. It shows that Joss Whedon, one of my favorite creators, was a serial cheater.

Do I look up to him less? Yes.
Am I disappointed in him? Yes.

Am I about to start trashing him and throw out all my Buffy, Angel, Dollhouse, Firefly, Avengers and any future work? No.

People, it is time we let other people be human. People, it is time to stop shooting people down and then saying "we always knew they'd fall." (HT to Tim Rice for the quote.)

Until and unless something comes out about how he coerced these women into having sex with him, I'm still going to call myself a fan. And for the love of whatever please stop saying that because he was their boss and the power was with him that already implies coersion . There are women who will sleep with powerful men to get ahead. There are women who won't. The choice belongs to those women and the men. Was it his responsibility to not cheat on his wife? Of course. But cheating on his wife, repeatedly, makes him a horn-dog. It does not diminish the quality of his work. This is not Bill Cosby, who drugged these women and raped them. This man--and these women--made choices to not honor his marriage vows.

I'm not saying he's perfect. Firefly took lots of pieces of Chinese culture without having a single main character of Asian descent. I was disappointed in Joss because he could have made damn sure he had some Asian actors and didn't. I'm disappointed in him now, to be honest, but I don't think he's going to be upset because of my disappointment.

People we have to stop expecting perfection from every public figure. I'm writing this on a apple laptop. Steve Jobs was a horrible human being. I don't see people throwing away their iPhones.

Are you Jewish? Are you married? Did you play Wagner's Wedding March aka 'Here Comes The Bride' at your wedding? Wagner was a famous anti-semite and did more than just about any other person in that century to foment the hatred of Jews that led to the Holocaust.

There are egregious cases. I threw out all my Marion Zimmer Bradley books--with one exception--when I heard of how she sexually abused her daughter and others. This included a book I stood on a long line so I could get her autograph. I still might throw out my copy of The Mists of Avalon, but I haven't been able to bring myself to do it yet.

I stopped watching and listening and quoting Bill Cosby. I can't tell you how horrified and sad I was when the news of his behavior came out.

But this news about Joss Whedon? No.
Your thoughts may be different.
But until someone writes a character who is as amazing as Buffy Summers, Malcolm Reynolds, or Doctor Horrible, I'm still going to be on the line whenever his next thing comes out.

Watching the f**king basket - Microblog Monday

So this weekend I went to the Writers Digest Convention.

It was really amazing. I met amazing people. (If you're reading this because I gave you my card--HI!!!) I participated in the pitch slam.

A pitch slam is when you go to a room with a bunch of agents. The agents listen to you pitch. They say yes or no and you go to the other. It's not easy for either the writer or the agent. Also if an agent says yes, they might ask for a query, a partial, a full or a full exclusive.

I have read how you are not supposed to do exclusivity. I understand it. However when an agent I pitched said she would like to look at it exclusively for a limited time--I said yes. I did that for the same reason that my friends applied for early decision in college. They had done their due diligence and they had applied for the college they wanted.

Now keeping the college metaphor going some of my friends did not get in their first choice. The agent might not like my work. Then she will tell me so and I will send the partial manuscripts to the other agents (and there were 4!) who were interested in my manuscript.

She wanted it today. It went off today. And now a new waiting game begins.

I'm scared.

This MS has been laboring inside me for longer than I care to admit. It is good. I know it is good. But I'm scared because rejection hurts.

I'm nervous about exclusivity. I'm nervous.

What I am doing is putting this egg in that basket--and watching the fucking basket.

Microblog Mondays - Today

Today.

My contract ended and I am not employed.

Today.

I took time to exercise--walking a half mile on a  beautiful Monday Morning.

Today.

I took an extra half hour to hug, cuddle, and play with this child who calls me mommy.

Today.

I took note of possible writing gigs and made notes of what I will want to write and maybe--be paid for it!

Today.
Is the first day in my new freelance career. I am keeping my eyes wide open and leaping.

I'm hoping I soar. If I fall I will leap again.

Today.

Fain I would climb, but that I fear to fall

I got a lot done today.

I revamped my resume.

I did research for possible freelance assignments.

I wrote a bit on my novel.

I wasn't feeling well this morning and didn't go to work, dropped off Lotus at daycare. I came home, slept, watched TV, and felt better. I got to work.

My contract ends in April.

Fain I would climb but that I fear to fall.

I don't know what happens next. I will get unemployment. I will look for jobs that I think will be a good fit for me.

I will also write, blog, and try to make money from my words that way.

This is what I have always wanted. To write. To tell stories and make money from my work and from people enjoying my work.

Fain I would climb but that I fear to fall. 

Right after I was laid off we had just adopted Lotus. My mother was dying and I couldn't add one more thing to my plate.

Now, now I think I want to try. I want to spread my wings and see if I will take off.  I want to.

Fain I would climb but that I fear to fall. 

But I am scared.
Lose your mind scared.
Minutes before they put the longed for, waited for, child in my hands scared.

At one point in the life of Queen Elizabeth I, her suitor Walter Raleigh, wrote with a diamond ring on a window paine. "Fain I would climb but I fear to fall."
Elizabeth I wrote back "If thy heart fail thee climb not at all."

Will my heart fail me.
I don't know.

Things I want to work on for next season

Damn.
Sorry about the blog hiatus.

Back to school + needy child + Back to school teacher hubby + High Holy Days = blog hiatus.

Anyway I'm back.

I don't do new year's resolutions.  Or at least, not on January first.

I do them around this time of year. The High Holidays.

I'm a submarine jew and this is one of the times I surface.

I spent Monday in temple. I spent Tuesday in thought and quiet prayer. And playing with the child I prayed so long for.

What do I want to change next year?

Well, with my career...

• I don't know where my career is and where it is going. I want to change that. I have a contract position, but I don't know what happens when it ends. 
• I want to blog more. 
• I want to finish the last revision (I swear it--until I get an editor anyway) and send my novel to an agent. 

With my friends...

• I want to start seeing friends instead of texting them and messaging them where practicable. In this past year I met a lot of people I only "knew" online. I enjoyed it. I want to keep doing this. 
• Barring that I will use my cell phone the way Jobs intended--as a freaking phone where I can hear a friend's voice, and not just imagine it via text.  
• I will also go out of my way to start meeting some of the parents of the children I hear my daughter mention often. Okay maybe not the one who tried to push her down the slide, but the one she plays with every day. 

With my family...

• I will try to remember how damn lucky I am to have the family that I have. 
• I will try to be more patient with my daughter. That doesn't mean giving in to her every desire, but allowing her to bitch and moan when I don't. 
• I will find a babysitter (two hopefully) that I trust as much as I trust the daycare teachers. D and I need to get out alone now and again. 

With myself...

• I will listen to the doctors regarding my blood sugar and getting it down. 
• I will have a mammogram in the next month. 
• I will try to exercise more--maybe playing tag or ball with my daughter more. 
• I will learn to ask for help--ideally before I break down screaming that no one will help me. 

To all--I wish peace, love, health and joy in the coming year.  

Flash Fiction--title to come

So at BlogHer I did this writing exercise. It became this little flash fiction story.

Here is the flash fiction story--draft one. I might polish it up to try to sell it to a magazine. Curious what you might make of it.

The writing prompt was about sensory writing.
The one I received were the following:

• A 90 year old
• McDonalds
• The sound of breaking glass
• The scent of orange peels
• Taste of something sour

Here is the flash fiction story. 

Hands which used to cup the faces of the most desired men in Hollywood now searched for the simple warmth of a McDonalds cup of coffee. Though her nails were still meticulously buffed and polished, the fingers were long and thin. The skin had liver spots, and no one would mistake them for a young woman’s hands.  They were 90 years old, like the rest of her.

They didn’t shake as she emptied two of the creams and four packets of sugar into the coffee and took a sip. The coffee wasn’t as tasty as Cary Grant. Nor as gorgeous as Brando in his prime, but it was hot and wasn’t likely to disappoint.

The timer on her erroneously named smartphone went off. Time for the pill of the hour. She reached into the purse that had been a diaper bag and dug for her pill holder. It had each pill for the days of the week. She opened the little square and put the small disc on her tongue. She gulped the coffee and liquid and pill went down.  Then she dropped the smartphone and the glass cracked. Stupid smartphone.

She dug into the diaper bag where she kept extra Ziploc bags. She opened one without thinking and was assaulted with the smell of decaying orange peels. She must have forgotten to throw them out. She’d forget her own name next. She put the cracked smartphone in an empty bag and zipped it closed.

“Here, honey.” Half of a McDonald’s cherry “pie” appeared on a napkin in front of her. Audrey slipped into the booth across from her.

Ah, youth. She thought – rather uncharitably. Audrey was only eight years younger than she was, but it seemed like decades. Audrey’s less-than-perfectly manicured hand took one of hers to give strength, no, to share strength. They had shared everything. Audrey had been her beloved friend and her sweetest lover since the beginning of that long-ago television show had launched their careers.

She picked up the cherry “pie” with her free hand and bit in. Savoring the sweet-tart mess. She looked into her lover’s eyes and savored Audrey. They ate in companionable silence. Despite the coffee, she felt herself beginning to drowse. Her eyes closed for a short time longer than a blink.

“Melissa!” She heard Audrey say. “You’ll catch your death!” She opened her eyes to see the silver hair of their daughter. She was wearing an attractive blue swing coat that Audrey was buttoning. Their daughter was sixty-two, and a grandmother, but there Audrey was buttoning her coat.

“Aunt Aud, I’m fine.” Melissa’s strident Brooklyn accent reminded her of Melissa’s father, a co-star who agreed to “stud duty” as he called it for the three months it took for her to become pregnant.

“Ma?” Melissa’s voice took her from her memories and she smiled into the eyes that were so like her own. She put her hand over her daughters. She remembered when Melissa’s hands were so little, now they were larger then her own. When did that happen.

 “You said it was important. Is everything okay?” Melissa said. The peevish annoyed tone had entered her voice. Such a good daughter, she thought. She had been so very blessed to have such a good daughter. 

“It is important. We need you here to witness a signing.” The daughter straightened up, and the lawyer came out.

“Are you two changing your wills? I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that because I’m mentioned in your will, I can’t stand as witness.”

“No darling.” Audrey said. “This.” She put the simple piece of paper down in front of her daughter who was reaching to get her glasses. She then took her lover’s hand so they could watch together when the light went on.

It wasn’t long. Melissa was straightening her glasses and saw the document. She looked up at the two women who raised her. Her mother and Aunt who were the most married people she had ever known. Melissa’s eyes filled.

“Oh Mom!” She breathed and enfolded her mother in a tight hug.

“Aunt Aud!” She said and hugged the other woman.

“But, but everyone should be here!” Melissa said as she searched through her bag to find a tissue. She found it and sniffed into it.  “Why now? Why after all this time? It’s been legal for some time.”

“She finally said yes.” She said, squeezing Audrey’s hand. “Come along now and take pictures on your phone.

Audrey slid out of the booth and took her lover’s cane. Melissa positioned it so her mother could stand. Leaning her weight on it she stood. Audrey took her arm leaving the girl she raised to get the certificate of marriage and follow after them to city hall. 

******

This is based on one of the days of my internship. I interned at a theatrical production agency and the year was 1994. My boss had taken me to lunch and we saw Audrey Meadows and Joyce Randolph eating lunch together. I had grown up watching Honeymooners reruns but it was my boss who recognized Ms. Meadows and then Ms. Randolph. 

As we left the restaurant we walked by their table and asked their pardon for our interruption, and then we said how much we enjoyed their work. Then we apologized again. Ms. Meadows took my hand. 

"Honey, you recognized us from performances we did decades ago. There's no greater complement for an old woman." She patted my hand and signed autographs for us and then we left.