Remind Me to Stick to Writing by Jenny Gardiner

        hi! I have limited internet access right now so don't have time to post something on theme this time around so I'm posting a column from my newspaper column!   

 I hate that I'm an arts ignoramus. I wish I were that person who could steep myself in a classical music concert and not want to flee for the exit doors (although in truth, I get tired of even a normal concert after an hour or so and want to be done with that as well).  Or trot out to the ballet and really absorb the beauty before my eyes, rather than fidgeting or clock-watching. But try as I might, I just don't tend to gravitate toward fine art. I guess I'm a déclassé slob.

            I'm ashamed to admit the extent of my fine arts education (or at least that which imprinted in the haze of my brain) sprung from dubious sources. For painting, the board game Masterpiece was my instructor. Yep, my grasp of the Dutch Masters ran to the famed Rembrandt rendering of an old man who looks like an old woman with a feather in his/her cap. American classics? That celebrated all-night diner oil painting by Edward Hopper. I was particularly proud of myself when I recently recognized a spoof of Hopper's painting in the window of an alternative art gallery in Philadelphia. And to think I owe it all to Masterpiece creators, Parker Brothers!

            My appreciation of classical music and opera begins and ends pretty much at the Barber of Seville (make that Rabbit of Seville; thanks, Bugs Bunny). To be fair, I could throw in Elmer Fudd's Wagnerian masterpiece, "Kill the Wabbit!", just to put a finer point on that bonanza of childhood musical education. Likely my aversion toward classical music was further enhanced by my mother and her husband bombarding us with Pachebel's Canon till our ears practically bled. Gimme Bugs Bunny any day over that! In the immortal words of boxer Roberto Durán, no mas!

            The first time I traveled to Italy we hired a tour guide to show us around Florence for a few hours. The guide, an American ex-pat, had majored in Art History during college in the States, and immersed herself in glorious Renaissance art while studying abroad, loving the culture so much she stayed. I was amazed at the breadth of her knowledge and even more so the depth of her passion for the subject matter — a double whammy of art and history zeal. Damn! When I was 18 years old, it would not have dawned on me to consider studying art. I thought I needed to pursue an area of study that would lead to a steady income (though recognize in hindsight that journalism didn't made so much sense in that endeavor). But art? I can't even doodle well! Why would I bother?

            Yes, I admit it: I'm a cultural troglodyte.

            I don't doubt that the manner in which history and art are taught contribute to one's ability to ingest it. I had a peculiar professor in a mandatory European history class during college who felt compelled to act out the high (or low) points of a thousand years of Europe, taking on often many roles in each class. I suppose there are those who were on board with it; I just thought it was a weird distraction.

            Yet when I've toured historical venues over the years, I find it most interesting to learn about day-to-day life from so long ago — in some way I can better relate to that versus what Charlemagne was up to on his horse. Perhaps if I had approached the study of history and art from a plebian perspective, it would have struck a more familiar nerve, instead of merely ringing hollow. Better yet, perhaps an historical People Magazine-style education would have done it: celebrity gossip from the Middle Ages! Who's cheating on whom! What's popular this week in illuminated manuscripts and Gregorian Chants!

            Drats. Where my interest thrives in useless pop culture, it plummets when it comes to cultured culture.

            One thing I think would have helped immensely is emphasizing the whole notion of history being doomed to repeat itself. The older I get the more I see this again and again, and from this perspective it is ingrained into my brain more readily. It seems not a day goes by when that adage isn't reinforced in the news (Soviets invade Afghanistan; Soviets fail in Afghanistan. America invades Iraq; well, you know the drill.)

            Perhaps I'm taking baby steps toward acquiring some cultural enlightenment. Ish. Making a foray into a classier classicism, if you could dare call it that (granted it was by accident, but whatever works). Several weeks ago we purchased tickets to see Ben Folds in concert at Wolf Trap Farm Park. Folds is a musical genius whose earlier foray into contemporary music featured profanity-laced lyrics that are largely unprintable. He's since evolved, even launching the popular a capella show Sing Off, with nary an f-bomb.

            Too late I realized Folds was performing with the National Symphony Orchestra, which I figured meant I'd be asleep in ten minutes once under the influence of the dulcet strains of the violin section. One person in our group — perhaps influenced by an upbringing devoid of musical culture (my bad!) — didn't care for the symphonic component of the program, But most unexpectedly, I was quite mesmerized by the merging of disparate musical genres in such a beautiful way. And when he impulsively composed an orchestral piece on the spot, teaching each part section by section, well, wow. It helped me to really appreciate how disparate instruments (and their masters) get along for the greater good of the group. It gives you a sense of comfort in this sometimes very dark world that ultimately people can work together to achieve something bigger than themselves as individuals.

            Maybe it's never too late to start with this newfound appreciation for the arts. Perhaps in addition to doing a bike or walking tour in the next city I visit, I'll venture into the museum as well. Certainly if they have air conditioning. And maybe a lovely little café. Baby steps, people.

  Sleeping with Ward Cleaver

Slim to None

Anywhere But Here

Winging It: A Memoir of Caring for a Vengeful Parrot Who's Determined to Kill Me

Accidentally on Purpose (written as Erin Delany)

Compromising Positions (written as Erin Delany)

I'm Not the Biggest Bitch in this Relationship (I'm a contributor)

And these shorts:
Idol Worship: A Lost Week with the Weirdos and Wannabes at American Idol Auditions

The Gall of It All: And None of the Three F's Rhymes with Duck

Naked Man On Main Street

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Writing My Way Out of the Maze by Jess Riley

Hi! So, this posting cycle’s topic is pretty timely for me: “Lost in the Cornfield Maze.” I actually feel like my work-in-progress has me somewhere in the middle of the hedge maze in The Shining and Jack’s on the loose, but on with the story.

Last summer I was laid off. It turned out to be temporary, but I immediately strapped myself into my office chair, rolled up my sleeves, and prepared to write my way out of dying in a Dickensian debtor’s prison.

So I wrote. And I wrote. By August, I had nearly a hundred pages of fairly decent material cobbled together. But at that point, three things happened: 1) I was offered three freelance editing jobs that I’d be crazy to pass up; 2) I was offered my old job back; and 3) the novel I’d worked on for more than a decade and released in July had sold barely enough copies to pay for my publicist.

So I stopped working on my novel, at least for the ten-month grant writing season ahead of me. I shelved those hundred pages. I needed a break from thinking about any of it, and I needed to focus on things that actually paid my bills and kept me out of that Dickensian debtor's prison. But over the last few months, I didn't forget about the story—I squirreled away ideas and notes as they came to me, anticipating the month of July when I could dust off my project and finish it.

This July arrived. And when I looked at my manuscript, I got a headache. What was I thinking, writing science fiction? Or featuring four—maybe more!—point-of-view characters? With myriad connections? And interwoven past lives? And a multi-state setting in the year 2060?!

I re-read the whole thing and was surprised that I liked it better than I remembered. But I knew I was lost. I needed to storyboard this beast—color-code characters, including their back stories (and past lives!) and physical appearances and motivations. I needed to outline whose chapter came next, and what would happen in it. I needed to remember what season it was, for crying out loud. There were so many loose ends and bits of incomprehensible nonsense it was like a knitting factory had exploded inside that horrible new Scarlett Johansson movie.

The big picture was overwhelming. So I lost most of July to procrastination. Reading. Gardening. Planning a kitchen and bath reno. Having fun with friends and family. You know, what most people would call living. It was fantastic.

But in the back of my head, I knew I needed to at least finish a decent chunk of the novel, plus a synopsis, if only so I can send it to my agent and see if this sucker has legs. It’s the hardest and strangest and most exciting thing I've ever written. I could have walked away, but it's speaking to me again, and I'm too curious to see what happens next.

So I am butt-in-chair. It’s the only way. I tell myself, Just two pages a day. Bit by bit. Finish your outline and map things visually near your desk. And write your way out of the damn maze.

PS: Do any of you use Scrivener? I have it, but I felt like I needed to storyboard the tutorial and then pour myself a huge glass of wine and play Plants vs. Zombies until my brain stopped buzzing.

~~~~~

Jess Riley is the author of Driving Sideways, All the Lonely People, and Mandatory Release. She is currently remodeling her kitchen, bathroom, and novel-in-progress all at once because she loves a challenge.

IT'S NOT EASY BEING A FUNNY GIRL

Funny Girl Saralee Rosenberg

Who needs a laugh? Everyone! Yet women like me who write funny novels are considered the Rodney Dangerfields of publishing. We get no respect. Actually, we’re likened more to the childrens’ photographers at Sears. Everyone loves our work but rare is the reader who considers it art.

A few years ago, Jennifer Weiner took on Jonathan Franzen in a digital duel, arguing that chick lit and humorous novels by women were the bread and butter of publishing. They just weren’t all that much fun at the bank. She got nailed for bitching about the disparity between men and women authors, but she was right.

Why do you think that when J.K. Rowling wrote an adult thriller last year, she resurfaced using the man’s name, Robert Galbraith?

Historically, male authors have commanded the big advances, the talk show appearances and the take-a-bow reviews. Even male novelists who write funny, like Carl Hiassen and Joshua Ferris, get to don the matching club jackets, like NFL Hall of Famers.

It’s no joke.

Q. How many male novelists does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Nothing happens for 450 pages; receives fourteen awards.
(http://the-toast.net/2013/11/04/male-novelist-jokes/)

I raise the issue because I have just finished reading two Jonathan Tropper novels, THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU and ONE LAST THING BEFORE I GO. His work is a delight. Hilarious, honest, touching and filled with pathos. He deserves his success, including the film adaptation of THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU, due out in September.

Jonathan Tropper

I don’t begrudge him or any novelist success. I just wish that the double standard would die. Like Jonathan Tropper, my novels A LITTLE HELP FROM ABOVE, CLAIRE VOYANT, FATE AND MS. FORTUNE and DEAR NEIGHBOR, DROP DEAD are funny, heartfelt tales of Jewish families in distress. They also have been optioned for films and are beloved by book clubs, especially after the ladies have read one too many dark, literary (and often boring) novels.

Or as I often hear after a discussion, “When I read your book I laughed, cried and wouldn’t come out of the bathroom until I finished. When I read INSERT LITERARY TITLE, my mind drifted and I wondered if my Taco Bell coupons were still good.”

Not to worry! I am at work on a funny new novel that may be my best yet. I'm just not taking any chances. It will be submitted under a male pseudonym.

Signed,

Seymour Butts
Author of UNDER THE GRANDSTAND 

For a good time, visit Saralee Rosenberg's website. www.saraleerosenberg.com

An Amazing Thing Happened on the Way to My Eighth Draft

Without my electronic hearing devices I am almost as deaf as these marble busts.

When you are a writer and something extraordinary happens to you, you sometimes put your work on hold to capture the experience in writing.  I had such an episode last spring.

What you don't know about me is that I have struggled with hearing loss for most of my life.  Recent accelerated deterioration of my good ear had pushed me to consult a new specialist.  But rather than fixing what was wrong with my good ear, the doctor prescribed surgery for a cochlear implant in my bad ear.  I was skeptical, unable to imagine how a cochlear implant would be any different than struggling with hearing aids that simply amplify what's left of bad hearing, including poor discrimination and missing frequencies.  It felt as if I were taking the next step into the world of total deafness; another futile expenditure of time and money for nothing that would make any difference.  I left the doctor's office and sat in my car and cried.

But then I met the people in the support group who'd had the cochlear implant surgery, and their hearing was better than mine.  I began to understand that an implant works differently than a hearing aid since it bypasses the dysfunction of the middle ear to work directly with the brain.  I imagined the possibility of improved hearing for myself.  And so I had the operation.

The experience of having my new ear "turned on" was something I had to capture in writing and share; people who suffer from hearing loss do not know about the recent drastic improvements in technology.  I'd had no idea!  So my novel-in-progress went on the back burner while I documented the entire experience in a blog: from the story of my childhood ear infections and gradual but profound loss of hearing, through surgery and recovery, to the amazing experience of listening to the jingle of a broken lightbulb held next to my new 'ear'.

Now I am back at work on my novel.

Click to visit:  A Cochlear Implant Diary: Memoirs of a Bad Ear
   

Cindy Jones is the author of My Jane Austen Summer as well as work-in-progress about look-alike friends who trade places while under dangerous influence of Romantic Poets.  Follow:    

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Trust the Maze by Christa Allan

Sometimes writing is like spending months studying Italian only to discover, when your plane lands, that you're in Greece. Eventually, you drink some ouzo (which is capable of rendering you nearly comatose), visit a few islands, and come to embrace this new territory. It may not be where you wanted to go, but you discover that it's exactly where you needed to be.

Until I wrote my first novel, I had not walked through what we're calling this cycle the "corn maze" of writing. In fact, I attended conferences and would overhear published authors saying to one another, "My character just refused to do what I needed him to do," or "I had no idea where this character came from." I'd tiptoe to the nearest corner and wonder how it was I came to be with this strange group of adults who must have missed their imaginary friend stage as children.

And then I started Walking on Broken Glass. My protagonist's husband, Carl, suddenly had a brother.  I never intended for him to have a sibling. He just appeared straight from my fingertips and onto my screen. I still remember looking at my monitor and saying, "What the hell...?" This brother, it turned out, influenced decisions Carl's parents made that ultimately determined what motivated some of Carl's actions in the novel.

In Threads of Hope, an elderly couple came out of nowhere and met my protagonist at the airport where she was waiting to board a plane to take her to her new life. They shared their lives with her, and Italy became Greece.

Then in my first (and only!) historical, Love Finds You in New Orleans, a minor character became a major player in turning the plot into an unexpected direction.

I just started my next project, An Unexpected Christmas, a novella that's going to be my first-ever self-published ebook (insert excitement here!).  Pulling it together was like trying to shove an octopus into a box. Then Seymour came along.

Seymour is an actual rescue dog, and my husband's vet clinic is trying to find him a forever home. He's as impish as he is adorable, and he's exactly what my protagonist needs to shake up her life.

Sometimes it really is all about walking through the corn maze long enough to find your way out.

Christa Allan's newest novel, Test of Faith, released in March. You can find her atwww.christaallan.com, Facebook, and Twitter. She and her husband live in New Orleans with their three neurotic cats and new dog, Herman. You can find her other novels here.

Holy poop - I'm a RITA winner!

by Laura Drake

This stuff does NOT happen to me. Seriously. I keep thinking that this is the BEST kind of dream, and I'm going to wake up. I find myself staring at 'The Lady' like she's going to disappear.

The Sweet Spot double finaled - but I knew with a crowded field (including huge names like Jill Shalvis and Nora) that I had no shot. I had such an incredible conference, that I thought it would be greedy to want to win, too. I was living on adrenaline all week, and the Best First Book was the very last category. I was zoned out, seeing my headshot and my book on the jumbo screen when Nora (yes, THE Nora) announced the winner. I screamed, my agent, Nalini, screamed and hugged me. I screamed more, and she told me I had to 'get up there'. Oh, yeah.

Shaking, dreading a wardrobe malfunction, I walked to the stage. Some friends of mine who know me were discussing in the bar the night before, how I was likely to trip on my dress, fall, and knock my front teeth out (they know me well). So I took my time, and made it up the stairs without mishap.

They handed me the statue - damn, she's heavy! (6.2 lbs - not like I weighed it or anything) Then I walked to the podium, where NORA HUGGED ME!!!  I pulled my index card out of my cleavage and everyone laughed. Hey, the dress was pocket-challenged . . . where was I supposed to keep it?!

I stumbled through my speech with only a couple of notable screw-ups. Not bad, considering I was breathing like a buffalo!

I'm so incredibly grateful, to RWA, as well as all the people who've congratulated me, many of whom I didn't even know.

Here's a link to my amazing, spastic moment in the spotlight.

Now I'm home, and 'The Lady' has a place of honor. 

Cinderella has returned to cinders. I'm doing laundry and cleaning kitty litter. Sigh.

All I can do now is try to 'pay it forward' by encouraging others.

Oh yeah, and try to write a better book.

Pitching a Book, Pitching a Business

by Wendy Tokunaga

A few months ago my husband quit his job to start his own business. He’s helped co-found a couple of companies before, but with this one it’s just him and his partner, who is located in a different state. So this is an exciting and important time. I want to help him as much as I can, but I’m not directly involved in the business. His industry is medical imaging, where he has many years of experience. I’ve worked in a few tech startups in the past in an editorial capacity, but I don’t have any expertise in my husband’s industry. I haven’t been sure how much help I can provide him in this new venture other than to give emotional support.

One way to get money to run the company is to tap venture capital (VC) funders or “angel” investors. We live in the heart of Silicon Valley so there are many such funders in the area. My husband started to devise a slide presentation to explain what his company does to prepare to pitch to VCs and investors. I had him practice in front of me.

To be honest, the presentation was much too long, rather dull and full of technical jargon the average person wouldn’t understand. I could comprehend very little of what he was saying. Something struck me immediately: he needed to use much simpler, to-the-point-language, leave out all the extraneous details and clearly describe the problem that his product solves and its benefits. He needed to tell it like a concise, compelling story. It was then that I realized that some of my expertise could help him. This was not unlike writing a query letter or pitching a novel to an agent. And this was a lot like the editorial service I’ve provided at writers conferences where I listen to an author’s pitch and tell her how to break it down so it’s short, sweet and compelling enough, with just the right amount of plot details and character motivations to make an agent sit up, take notice and request the full manuscript.

And it turns out that when you’re giving an initial business pitch, you’re not allowed to use Power Point. You must relay it in a two-minute speech. You can even do “speed dating” with investors. This, of course, is very familiar to me—how many times had I done speed dating with agents when I was pre-pubbed?

My husband and I attended a “Shark Tank” investors pitch event just to see how this operates and it was quite eye opening. A lot of people had the same problem—they didn’t know how to effectively explain their business in two minutes. The ones who were chosen to meet with VCs had their pitch down.

So I was able to give my husband some good advice on his pitch. And a few days later we went together to a pitch workshop and I was validated to hear the facilitator give largely the same advice. Why would a VC even think to fund you if you can’t give a compelling story about your product and clearly explain in jargon-free language what it’s about and why it’s worth his while? It’s the same with an agent.

I may not be able to help my husband’s company by coding in JavaScript or C++, but I feel good that there is some concrete way that I can give him support. We’re in this together and I’m looking forward to exciting times ahead.

My husband is blogging about his experience starting up his startup. You can read about his adventures here: http://rerereboot.blogspot.com/

Wendy Tokunaga is a novelist, creative writing teacher and manuscript consultant. Find out more about her at her website www.WendyTokunaga.com and find her on Twitter at @Wendy_Tokunaga