When I first decided to pursue a writing career I attended a seminar on book publishing. The speaker (a successful literary agent) stood before the sea of hope-drenched faces with visions of book deals dancing above our heads, and said the "chances of getting a manuscript read by an editor or agent is about 5 in 100. Of that 5-percent, a few are published." Hope-bubbles popped around me and a few tall-postured front-row-seaters slouched in dismay. I, on the other hand, lit up like a Christmas tree. Those stats sounded terrific after a decade-plus as a model/actress! ;) If I could survive and thrive all of that, I figured publishing would be pie... (Yum.)
The book deal isn't why I write. But I do believe that persistence plus passion plus hard work pays off--for writers that often (yes, often) results in published books and paychecks. To that end, I embrace opportunities for rejection letters. ("Reject me, so I'm one 'NO' closer...!") Today I picked up a book at my favorite used book store entitled, "Rotten Rejections: A Literary Companion." HA HA HA! Even the title cheers me. *sigh*
A few worth sharing:
"We are willing to return the manuscript for the same (advance) as we paid for it."
(Given to Jane Austen in 1818...)
"...the American public is not interested in anything on China."
(Given to Pearl Buck, in response to The Good Earth, in 1931...)
"We found the heroine as boring as her husband had."
(Given to Mary Higgins Clark in response to "Journey Back to Love" in 1962...)
"The girl doesn't, it seems to me, have a special perception or feeling which would lift a book above the "curiosity" level."
(Given to Anne Frank in response to The Diary of Anne Frank, in 1952...)
In short: don't give up and keep on laughing. Worst case your rejection note may end up in a quaint, fun little book.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Happiness...& American Idol
Okay, I admit it. I'm an Idol-worshiper. KIDDING--watcher. ;) Granted, this season isn't as Adam-Lambert-thrilling as last year. Even so, I find myself lured to the tube Tuesday and Wednesday nights, eager to discover whether Lee has grown another echelon in confidence or if Crystal has let her dreds down. Happy to say they've been my favorites from the beginning. What I love most about Lee and Crystal is their evident joy and passion for singing. They've both been known to shed tears and I swear Lee has a perma-grin hiding under his subtly smiling lips.
Last night I read, "Happiness: Unlocking the Mysteries of Psychological Wealth," by Ed Diener and Robert Biswas-Diener. (Sounds hype-y, but it's not.) It's chock-full of extensive research findings pertaining to happiness. In a section about job-related happiness, the authors speak of working "in the zone." They compare happy workers to runners who lose themselves in blissful hyper-focus. (Hmm...never quite had that while running...)People who love their jobs/work/careers lose track of the time, wish they had endless hours to partake in it, and not due to harsh deadlines, mean bosses or financial gain.
I think most Idol fans are drawn to the bliss the up-and-comers find and reveal on stage. I've certainly felt similar passion while singing or performing a particular song...but I don't wish do any of it all day. My writing, however...alternate stories (ha, pun) altogether.
I'm wishing "the idols" the best tonight and a fond farewell to Simon (who gave a great interview on Oprah, by the way...). I plan to step out of my writing zone to watch the finale tonight. May we all find our zones and frolic happily about in them, without time clocks, calendars or ceilings to hold us back.
Last night I read, "Happiness: Unlocking the Mysteries of Psychological Wealth," by Ed Diener and Robert Biswas-Diener. (Sounds hype-y, but it's not.) It's chock-full of extensive research findings pertaining to happiness. In a section about job-related happiness, the authors speak of working "in the zone." They compare happy workers to runners who lose themselves in blissful hyper-focus. (Hmm...never quite had that while running...)People who love their jobs/work/careers lose track of the time, wish they had endless hours to partake in it, and not due to harsh deadlines, mean bosses or financial gain.
I think most Idol fans are drawn to the bliss the up-and-comers find and reveal on stage. I've certainly felt similar passion while singing or performing a particular song...but I don't wish do any of it all day. My writing, however...alternate stories (ha, pun) altogether.
I'm wishing "the idols" the best tonight and a fond farewell to Simon (who gave a great interview on Oprah, by the way...). I plan to step out of my writing zone to watch the finale tonight. May we all find our zones and frolic happily about in them, without time clocks, calendars or ceilings to hold us back.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
For love or money...?
I went to a book reading by Jennifer Lee Carrell at Vroman's last night. She's a fantastic thriller and historical fiction writer--her most recent novel, Haunt Me Still, a combination of both. She's as fascinating a speaker as her books are can't-put-'em-down-ers. Haunt Me Still is a modern-day thriller about an American theater director who gets wrapped up in the Bard's witch-hunted Shakespearian play, MacBeth, in London. (Carrell did inform me that typing/reading/writing the word does not beckon dark magic...whew!)
As she spoke of her writing process and journey as a successful writer (her pre-quel to Haunt Me Still, Interred With Their Bones, is an international best-seller) she said she always dreamed of becoming a writer, but figured there was "no money in it." She became a teacher instead. I heard Stephenie Meyer (author of Twilight) say almost the precise same thing during an Oprah interview.
In both of these ladies' cases, it seems that "love" eventually won out. Is this to say that one's destined path will eventually come into fruition if they remain open to it? Or that some people take longer to connect with their true passion than others? The whole love or money question always baffles me to an extent, likely due to my up-bringing. My parents raised my siblings and me to follow our hearts and pursue what we love. Prime example--my brother was on the path of becoming a doctor when he dropped it for art. My parents essentially said, "Yee-ha...Go for it!" He did and he's uber-successful. (Check www.aaronjohnsonart.com.)
My own path has been windy to say the least. When I told my mother I applied for a street singer's permit in Santa Monica she sent me a box of "hippie clothes" and a plaque that reads: "The most beautiful music comes from the heart." Since I've become a full-time writer, she and my dad periodically send books, book reviews from the local MN newspaper and stories I wrote as a child. (If that ain't love, I don't know what is...) When I modeled full-time, I made money at it. Same with acting, same with writing. Granted, I had periods of the proverbial "feast or famine," but for the most part, I've stayed afloat each time I've pursued my passion. (Similarly, I was flat-broke/living on Top Raman during a time I was lost for passion. Apathy is a potentially disease, in my opinion...)
I don't disrespect money as a motivation. I suppose I just don't understand it. I do agree that one must have money and that it plays an important role in life. It just seems to me that it carries more weight in people's lives than is helpful or necessary. I believe our world would hold less pain, anger, frustration, disappointment and cruelty if we lived lives based upon joy and fulfilment rather than climbing a particular status ladder or keeping up with the Joneses. Now is probably the most difficult time in recent years for Americans to pursue their passions, during the financial crisis, but perhaps it's also the most important.
I'd love to hear your thoughts...answers to the cliche but significant question: For love or money?
As she spoke of her writing process and journey as a successful writer (her pre-quel to Haunt Me Still, Interred With Their Bones, is an international best-seller) she said she always dreamed of becoming a writer, but figured there was "no money in it." She became a teacher instead. I heard Stephenie Meyer (author of Twilight) say almost the precise same thing during an Oprah interview.
In both of these ladies' cases, it seems that "love" eventually won out. Is this to say that one's destined path will eventually come into fruition if they remain open to it? Or that some people take longer to connect with their true passion than others? The whole love or money question always baffles me to an extent, likely due to my up-bringing. My parents raised my siblings and me to follow our hearts and pursue what we love. Prime example--my brother was on the path of becoming a doctor when he dropped it for art. My parents essentially said, "Yee-ha...Go for it!" He did and he's uber-successful. (Check www.aaronjohnsonart.com.)
My own path has been windy to say the least. When I told my mother I applied for a street singer's permit in Santa Monica she sent me a box of "hippie clothes" and a plaque that reads: "The most beautiful music comes from the heart." Since I've become a full-time writer, she and my dad periodically send books, book reviews from the local MN newspaper and stories I wrote as a child. (If that ain't love, I don't know what is...) When I modeled full-time, I made money at it. Same with acting, same with writing. Granted, I had periods of the proverbial "feast or famine," but for the most part, I've stayed afloat each time I've pursued my passion. (Similarly, I was flat-broke/living on Top Raman during a time I was lost for passion. Apathy is a potentially disease, in my opinion...)
I don't disrespect money as a motivation. I suppose I just don't understand it. I do agree that one must have money and that it plays an important role in life. It just seems to me that it carries more weight in people's lives than is helpful or necessary. I believe our world would hold less pain, anger, frustration, disappointment and cruelty if we lived lives based upon joy and fulfilment rather than climbing a particular status ladder or keeping up with the Joneses. Now is probably the most difficult time in recent years for Americans to pursue their passions, during the financial crisis, but perhaps it's also the most important.
I'd love to hear your thoughts...answers to the cliche but significant question: For love or money?
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Monster in the Mirror
The moment she awoke, she knew it. The monster had returned. Why now? She looked at the sleeping man beside her—her husband of less than twenty-four hours, with tears saturating her cheeks. Chill out, she told herself. She might be wrong.
She slipped out from his sleepy grasp and tiptoed to the restroom. Unopened soaps and cushy white bath towels greeted her—every detail, pristine and new. More tears. Stop! She took a breath. She shouldn’t start the grief process yet. Or perhaps she could.
She turned toward the mirror, and saw it—the monster. Insidious eyes stared back at her from a puffy, wrinkled face. Her own hair, normally lush and auburn, now stood in spiky, gray disarray. Her skin hung on her body like an antiquated wet suit. Faded, sagging rubber one wishes to yank off.
She fell to the floor in horror, her promise echoing in her head: If it happened again, she’d end it. Pull the trigger and shoot. (T.B.C....)
She slipped out from his sleepy grasp and tiptoed to the restroom. Unopened soaps and cushy white bath towels greeted her—every detail, pristine and new. More tears. Stop! She took a breath. She shouldn’t start the grief process yet. Or perhaps she could.
She turned toward the mirror, and saw it—the monster. Insidious eyes stared back at her from a puffy, wrinkled face. Her own hair, normally lush and auburn, now stood in spiky, gray disarray. Her skin hung on her body like an antiquated wet suit. Faded, sagging rubber one wishes to yank off.
She fell to the floor in horror, her promise echoing in her head: If it happened again, she’d end it. Pull the trigger and shoot. (T.B.C....)
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Quotes and Quips
That happen to be ringing in my head...
"An adventurous person will always have moments of feeling like a fraud--it's a sign that you're creating new roles for yourself, that you're evolving.It means you're doing passionate work." ~Todd Kashdan
I'll remember this when my fingers don't seem able to catch up with or do justice to the stories in my head...
"I'm no model lady. A model's just an imitation of the real thing." ~Mae West
It's taken me long enough, but could've taken longer, to accept who I am--inside, outside and the yet-to-be discovered... I wish the same and more for all other women, okay, yes--men too... ;)
"I may not be your big strong, mama, but I always see and can help from far away...I'm your 'your masala mama.'" ~my mom
I'm grateful every day for my parents who love me and my siblings uniquely, equally, unconditionally... (A peony from their garden.)
"An adventurous person will always have moments of feeling like a fraud--it's a sign that you're creating new roles for yourself, that you're evolving.It means you're doing passionate work." ~Todd Kashdan
I'll remember this when my fingers don't seem able to catch up with or do justice to the stories in my head...
"I'm no model lady. A model's just an imitation of the real thing." ~Mae West
It's taken me long enough, but could've taken longer, to accept who I am--inside, outside and the yet-to-be discovered... I wish the same and more for all other women, okay, yes--men too... ;)
"I may not be your big strong, mama, but I always see and can help from far away...I'm your 'your masala mama.'" ~my mom
I'm grateful every day for my parents who love me and my siblings uniquely, equally, unconditionally... (A peony from their garden.)
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Killer Recipe
She watches him stir the batter, mesmerized by the clockwise rounds, the repetition. She…is…getting…sleepy… She giggles to herself. It’s like a game, her secret. He taps an egg on the countertop—one, two…splat! Goose bumps. He’s getting close.
“Thanks for letting me bake for you. I was pretty upset when you said you wouldn’t allow it. On your birthday, of all days.” He kisses her forehead. “Every princess deserves a royal cake.”
“It’s no problem.” She leans forward onto the countertop. The aroma of sweet, vanilla-kissed batter reaches her nose and makes her smile. Just like home.
“What else did your parents do for you on your birthday?” He pours flour into a separate bowl. One cup, two.
Meticulous, she notes. He won’t miss a beat.
“And the…” He searches the counter.
“Baking powder. Here you go.” She slides the Arm & Hammer box toward him. One part baking powder, two parts poison. “Remember to use extra. It’s like the secret ingredient.”
“Really…” He squints at her—flirtatious, inspecting. “I’m surprised you’d share your family recipe with me. Must mean I’m special.”
“Oh, you are.”
He adds the dry mixture to the wet, stirs again. Round one, round two, then faster. She’s like an engine, revving higher with every swipe of his spoon. Come on, faster…faster!
He licks the batter-coated spoon. “Salmonella, shmal-monella. It tastes too damn good. Want some?”
The spoon moves toward her lips, filling her breath with air of danger. She closes her eyes. “No, thanks. I’ll wait. But I loved watching you.”
His eyes say, Really?
Hers say, Yes.
She watches him. Another long, slow lick. That’s right, good. Her insides tremble, she’s about to explode. Oh, god…oh, god…oh, YES! YES! YES!
“Are you… Oh my, god, Emily, are you…?” The look in his eye moves quickly from heated to desperate. “What…wha-” He gasps, chokes.
She watches the life slip out of him like stage lights, fading to black. “Happy birthday to me…happy birthday to me…” He even looks like her foster parents. Say ‘Hi’ to them for me.
“Thanks for letting me bake for you. I was pretty upset when you said you wouldn’t allow it. On your birthday, of all days.” He kisses her forehead. “Every princess deserves a royal cake.”
“It’s no problem.” She leans forward onto the countertop. The aroma of sweet, vanilla-kissed batter reaches her nose and makes her smile. Just like home.
“What else did your parents do for you on your birthday?” He pours flour into a separate bowl. One cup, two.
Meticulous, she notes. He won’t miss a beat.
“And the…” He searches the counter.
“Baking powder. Here you go.” She slides the Arm & Hammer box toward him. One part baking powder, two parts poison. “Remember to use extra. It’s like the secret ingredient.”
“Really…” He squints at her—flirtatious, inspecting. “I’m surprised you’d share your family recipe with me. Must mean I’m special.”
“Oh, you are.”
He adds the dry mixture to the wet, stirs again. Round one, round two, then faster. She’s like an engine, revving higher with every swipe of his spoon. Come on, faster…faster!
He licks the batter-coated spoon. “Salmonella, shmal-monella. It tastes too damn good. Want some?”
The spoon moves toward her lips, filling her breath with air of danger. She closes her eyes. “No, thanks. I’ll wait. But I loved watching you.”
His eyes say, Really?
Hers say, Yes.
She watches him. Another long, slow lick. That’s right, good. Her insides tremble, she’s about to explode. Oh, god…oh, god…oh, YES! YES! YES!
“Are you… Oh my, god, Emily, are you…?” The look in his eye moves quickly from heated to desperate. “What…wha-” He gasps, chokes.
She watches the life slip out of him like stage lights, fading to black. “Happy birthday to me…happy birthday to me…” He even looks like her foster parents. Say ‘Hi’ to them for me.
Monday, May 17, 2010
What a difference...
...a good night's sleep makes. I awoke to the sound of rain falling outside my window and the happy realization tha the parking tickets in my dream were ficticious...whew.
During my morning drive I contemplated a play I saw over the weekend--"Begal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo." I love art that entertains, educates and pries your mind wide open. I don't know much about the writer (Rajiv Joseph) but I got the feeling that he conjured a premise and fascinating characters--some metaphoric, others true-to-life--then let the characters drive the story. I aspire to write that way, too...(Who can "write" a more authentic or poignant story than the characters who actually live in it?) I suppose there are as many approaches to writing as there are writers. Hooray for them all...I dedicate my hooray's today to Rajiv Joseph and Moises Kauffman (the director).
An idea struck me while sitting in the darkened theater before curtains went up: how cool would it be to sit at the center of a stage and write a story? Guess that's my next self-imposed challenge. Off to soak up s'more rain...it alone is rainbow enough for me.
During my morning drive I contemplated a play I saw over the weekend--"Begal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo." I love art that entertains, educates and pries your mind wide open. I don't know much about the writer (Rajiv Joseph) but I got the feeling that he conjured a premise and fascinating characters--some metaphoric, others true-to-life--then let the characters drive the story. I aspire to write that way, too...(Who can "write" a more authentic or poignant story than the characters who actually live in it?) I suppose there are as many approaches to writing as there are writers. Hooray for them all...I dedicate my hooray's today to Rajiv Joseph and Moises Kauffman (the director).
An idea struck me while sitting in the darkened theater before curtains went up: how cool would it be to sit at the center of a stage and write a story? Guess that's my next self-imposed challenge. Off to soak up s'more rain...it alone is rainbow enough for me.
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