Long Gone....

I don't balance things well which means that I'm incapable of updating this blog and focusing a hundred percent on my writing. Why? Probably because I multi-task in so many other areas of my life. So I'm heading back to the trenches and probably won't return until Angel Falls is polished and on its way to my publisher.

One thing that happened this weekend that was pretty cool - I found myself on Amazon and Borders. What a thrill.....

Things That Get In The Way Of My Writing...

1. A really good book (produces the "I suck" syndrome)
2. Disorganization (My desk is a mess -- oh well, can't write today)
3. Sadness (Zaps the creative energy with a lightening bolt)
4. The weather (If it's not conducive to my scene, it's conducive to procrastination)
5. Work (An IM of "do the child support worksheet in Jones" while writing a sex scene. I hate writing sex scenes so I'm like "Yes! A worksheet to do...")

Wasted

I am stunned. My heart hurts. And I am relieved.

There was this boy I once knew and loved. He was precious and always getting in trouble, making my son's life miserable because it meant the dreaded grounding. Actually, I believe my son spent most of his young life grounded for something this other little boy did. It was my stand that "if you were there, then you were guilty."

As this little boy grew into a teenager, he changed. Matured. His wild streak was a mile wide. He was two years older than my son and hormones sent this boy off into the maturity my little man lacked. Their friendship weakened but never waned. There were still occasional overnights here and there, the last one two Friday's ago.

There will be no more overnights. This boy has taken another's life.

Yes, it was an accident; but nonetheless he is charged with felony murder.

My heart is breaking for a life well-wasted. For a spirit soon to be broken. For those summer days where sliding down a muddy hill was enough adventure. For my son.

And I sit here thanking God that it was not my son who lost his life. And I feel helpless.

Staining Hardwood Floors

Who you do not want helping you with this project:


Every time we turn around, she's there. As are her little itty bitty foot prints. My husband yells at me. I yell at the kids. The kids yell at the cat. None of us can figure out how she keeps ending up downstairs.

Will this project never end?

Writing Is Hard Work!

Yesterday I wrote and wrote and wrote. It felt as if I was pulling every word from the very depths of the dictionary and placing them carefully in each sentence. I struggled with each paragraph and every page. After three hours, I walked away from the computer. Watched a very bizarre movie. Came back. Deleted the same twelve pages I'd sweated over all morning and began again. This time, the words were there. And even though I only had time to splash about a thousand of them onto the screen, I felt satisfied. And this morning they read well.

What did I learn? I write like crap when I force myself. Go with the flow, baby.

Weather and Work

Storms blasted my little corner of the world yesterday. Tornadoes set off sirens, and I wasn't allowed to take a break and relish the activity. I love storms, especially when I'm not stuck in traffic on the interstate. But I'd bought a new toy yesterday morning, and my husband insisted I use it -- all day. It's called a palm sander. I purchased this little thinger-majigger to aid in the do-it-yourself project which is consuming my life. We are finishing our hardwood floors. As my husband pushed the sanding machine, I crawled from edge to edge and belt sanded the areas he couldn't reach. Then I had to use my little toy to palm sand the areas the belt sander couldn't reach.

I hate this thing.

With a passion.

My arms ache. My back aches. My body wants to collapse and never awaken. AND to add insult to injury -- I couldn't watch the skies turn all sorts of interesting colors nor enjoy the display of lightening that slashed through the clouds.

What I could do is turn my thoughts inward and contemplate my wips. I like to write invisibly. It allows me to discard and rearrange my plot and opens my mind to things I might not consider as I plunge along at the keyboard. I made headway on both the projects I'm working on. It's a shame I have to spend my day with that little toy and not my computer. Did I mention that I hate that thing?

How Do I Get Published?

I'm afraid I can't answer that question, my friends. Why? Because the road to publication is different for every writer. There is no hidden key, magic word or secret spell. How did I get published? Here's a tongue-in-cheek version:

1-- I spent months writing this book then years getting it just right.
In the interim, I moved on to other projects.
2 -- I proofed it for decades to make sure everything was correct.
Then proofed again.
3 -- I researched for 18 weeks, 2 days and 6 hours, to find an
agent who would handle the type of book I wrote. That agent rejected
it. So then, I began again...
4 -- I repeated step three 89 times more and waited
and waited and waited and waited some more
6 -- I researched for 13 weeks, 4 days and 10 hours, to find a
publisher who would handle the type of book I wrote. That publisher
rejected it. So then, I began again...
7. -- I sold my book.


Perseverance will be your best friend, self-doubt your worst. Know that you are not alone. Do your research, scour the links I have provided. I posted a new link today. Redlines and Deadlines. I figured, heck, why reinvent the wheel? Go read their blog. Great great great information.