Stories Untold

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
~Maya Angelou

I believe this with every ounce of my being. I had the pleasure of visiting a good friend of mine last week and the added pleasure of hearing her idea for a novel. She's had the story in mind for years and now feels it's "the time." I hope she does write it; it's a fascinating story and she has the brights and passion to complete it. Writers should write and not let anything stand in their way.

I like cleaning?!

I don't actually...Love a clean house, dislike the cleaning process. As I remove the dust and grime from my novel, though, I can't help but wonder if Mr. Clean reaps similar satisfaction from polishing floors. Perhaps I've been saving my cleaning fervor all these years for this process.

I recently read Stephen King's, On Writing--a fabulous part-memoir, part "how to" writer's guide. He writes about his first mentor who told him that the first draft is for you (the writer); the revision is for everyone else (the readers). Though I'm polishing my revision, not my first draft, this insight rings helpful and true.

I'm surprised that I enjoy this tidying phase as much as I do...I get to enjoy my novel as a reader and experience the final draft as it reveals itself. Some days I feel like I'm dusting dirt away to find hidden treasures. When I come across Good Will giveaways instead, I'm happy to make cuts. (So is my editor.)

A few more quotes from On Writing I dig:

"Write with the door closed; rewrite with the door open."

"Fiction is truth inside the lie."

"The road to hell is paved in adverbs."

"A short story is a kiss in the dark from a stranger."

"If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot."

"A little talent is a good thing to have if you want to be a writer. But the only real requirement is the ability to remember every scar."

"Life isn't a support system for art. It's the other way around."

(All quotes from Stephen King)

Black Hole PC

Last time I dropped my husband off at the airport, my car battery died in front of LAX. Today after dropping him off, it was worse--my COMPUTER. Rather than the novel I was eager to submerse myself in while dodging rush hour traffic, I hit the power button and found nothing to pursue but a black hole. (Sounds to me like a cheesy greeting card, right?... "My lights go off without you!" In this case, it's tragically true...)

Long story short (not my strong suit, but this is a blog and I've exhausted myself in computer salesman schpeals (sp?) and "how to cut and paste in Mac" tutorials...which isn't as rough as Mac-loathers make it out to be, by the way...

You guessed it--I BOUGHT A MAC. Leaving my trusty...(more like DUSTY, bird feather/dog fur filled) old Toshiba at Best Buy to retrieve the contents the black hole ate made me sad... We've been through a lot together, the "shib" and me. *sigh*

But here I sit, all MAC-ed out, and digging it. I have lots to learn, of course...such as...how did the sales guy use it to take our picture during price check...and how do I make the internet screen and font bigger...and where do my documents disappear to after I upload them...and why is there a purple cup and saucer-type type thing (or is it a paintbrush?) bouncing around on my screen's bottom right now...?

If any writers have pointers on MAC's that might accelerate my learning curve, I'd appreciate hearing them. As for my hubby, I'm grateful I have someone to miss so much...especially in the dark. ;)

I had something deeper to chat about today, but it's long-since forgotten...or at least lurking in the "hole" contents, yet-to-be-recovered. More--hopefully--soon.

Workaholic, Schmerkaholic...(Vacation's are OK.)

With tears coursing from my cheeks to my keyboard pad, I finished my novel on the 16the day of the 6th month at 9:36am. Seeing as 3's my lucky number--and what better judge of success and possiblitiy is that?! ;)--I'm stoked on multiple levels. I'm now in the polishing/final touches stage, in eager anticipation of meetings with several agents in September. (Cross your fingers and toes, 3 times!)

I've since been enjoying a rather European-style summer, in which I work less and play, rest and travel more, without beating myself up (very often) for my "laziness" (which I don't rationally believe in). Granted, my rendition of "play" often involves writing...and working less still lands me at a reasonably hefty schedule. I am, however, starting to see the value in the Euro-way. When I lived in Paris, I grew tired of people asking me where I'd planned to go "for holiday." Christmas is months away, I kept thinking. It took me a while to catch on... Once I did, I loathed the idea of taking a month or so off work to do, in my opinion, nothing.

Having spent time with my family in Minnesota--relishing my beautiful sister's wedding--and in North Carolina for the 4th of July, I'm finding that respite effects my writing like much-needed "mental health days" home from school. According to a National Sleep Foundation study, the average American employee works 46 hours per week and 38% of Americans work more than 50 hours per week--factors linked with sleep problems, reduced lifespan, yadda yadda... I imagine self-employed/independent contractor types (present company, for example) work even more. Since pursuing work one enjoys improves longevity, I figure I've cancelled my heightened risk factors out...er, I hope. If not, I'll rely upon my European-style summers, which may last days, or weeks or more, and which I may opt to cancel at anytime.

Cinderella

A diversion from my "usual" writing-fare, but one that's near to my heart... My first music video, directed by my uber-talented friend, Scott David Martin, and starring Hannah Sullivan. Here's to all the "Cinderella's" out there! May all of your dreams come true...

If Dogs Were Editors...

...man, would we feel loved. My editor is more like Simon Cowell. But every now and again--okay, often--I read aloud to my beloved (did I mention deaf?) bull dog, Zoe. She may be slightly less literate than my Cowell-esque editor, but she sure does listen well (with her heart) and praise me as I walk through the door with my manuscript (with a number she calls, "squirmy-dance-with-wiggling-tail"). Though she occasionally snores mid-listen, she never leaves me feeling unworthy, unloved or "pedestrian" (my favorite feedback term I've heard applied to writers...). Granted, thumbs-up from my editor means a great deal and I find myself perpetually on my toes. I dig him, I should add, he's tres cool; but nothing beats a furry friend writing companion. (I'll address the bird another time...)



No matter who we are, what we do or what echelon of success we meet, life would rather stink without the unconditional support of loved ones...

Do We/Dreams Grow Up?

Strolling through the Assamese mountains in Northern India, crooning my latest spiritual-funk hits over radio waves and hosting a English/Hindi talk show with my BFF Jill...That's what the 5-year-old me dreamed of becoming when I grew up. I also considered mountain climbing, after watching "The Sound of Music," none too coincidentally. When I realized that climbers don't actually sing in fields with outstretched arms, and must wear atrociously ugly shoes, I moved on.

As a child, according to "Slate Magazine," author Amy Bloom aspired to become an "inspiring, heroic boy." Writer, Jane Smiley dreamed of becoming a nuclear physicist, and author, Vivian Gornick, hoped to evolve into a prince. I'm not surprised that these talented, accomplished writers held dreams that involved inspiration, imagination and even the impossible. (In the world of writing, impossibility fails to exist--unless as a significant plot point, of course. ;))

My parents sent me a box of childhood keepsakes recently, chock-full of mysteries I composed during grade school...(the "Mysterious Pizza Tree," and the "Mystery of the Big-Headed Man," for example.) They reminded me that most of my meanderings about my future pursuits took place in journal form, or between chapters of Mary Higgins Clark, Stephen King and Baby Sitters Club mysteries. My nose was perpetually glued to books. Perhaps whatever it is we dream of becoming as children remains our dream throughout our lives. We may stray from it and it may take various forms, but I suspect the heart of it never changes.

Agree? Disagree? I'd love to hear your thoughts...

(The below photo is a snapshot from a recent photo shoot I did for Dolly Couture. Like I said, dreams seldom change...)