The Novelty Girls

I’ve been more or less dead for the past couple months. The chill is starting to fade, and I’m making my way back to the land of the living. (I think. Every now and then, zombies reach out of the ground and try to drag me back under, but I’m

I want to put out a huge thank you to the rest of the Novelty Girls for their understanding over the past couple months. Let’s just say that drama and stress reached new levels I didn’t even think possible. Breaking up with my abusive ex and the fallout thereafter was less stressful.
Right, so. The last six months have been spent mostly in a daze. With all of the real life and relationship crap going on (and backstabbing friends, that’s always a fun one), I haven’t done much writing. OK. That’s an understatement. I think I’ve written maybe 10k in the past six months. For comparison, I normally write about 10k per month on a bad month.

Yeah.

I was talking with another writer about Not Writing. She’s been under a lot of stress herself lately and feels apathetic about the book she’s working on — but she’s afraid that if she takes a break, she won’t come back to it.

I know that fear.

When I was younger, I didn’t think that any of this could happen to me. In 2002, I wrote three novels, a novella, and several short pieces. I didn’t think that I could not write. I didn’t think anything would ever get between me and my writing.

The last few years shattered that arrogant assumption.

I’ve been spiraling further down, sinking deeper and deeper, to the point that most of this year, I haven’t cared about writing at all. I was content to handle day-to-day monotonous shit, play computer games, watch movies and TV, read, and just not give a damn about writing.

Oh, I struggled. Especially when people around me were saying, “You should write” or variants thereof. They meant well, but sometimes pushing is the wrong thing to do. The more I fought, the more apathetic I became. Every time I sat down at the keyboard to get my words in, it felt like dragging my heels to a shit job that I couldn’t wait to quit.

It shouldn’t be that way.

Finally, I stopped trying.

A friend of mine said something very wise to me a long time ago, that continually comes back to me. Paraphrased, because I don’t recall the exact wording: “Sometimes you have to give up everything in order to gain everything.”

Slowly, I found myself starting to want to write again. After far too long with no new ideas, one came to mind for a short story. I started writing… and for the first time in months, enjoyed the act of writing.

I have some modicum of a plan. I’m not out of the woods yet. I feel like a sick woman afraid of relapsing.

But I’ve come this far, and I know if I do fall back… I’ll make it out again.

I”m talking about the stuff at work that’s been keeping me away from my computer and writing the last month or so. Only tweaking out a couple of pages or so every other day has really been driving me nuts. My creative muse has been repeatedly slapping me upside the head. She wants me to get back to work…pronto.

The good news…after next week, that should happen. We have open house at school Monday and my last day of class is Tuesday. My office at work is clean. I can see the brown top of my desk. Completion, organization, and a routine schedule is in sight. Hooray!!
Although, when I get back into the “real” swing of things this time, I’m not going to drive myself crazy with too many projects. I don’t consider myself ADD…but sometimes, I have a hard time focusing on just one project at a time. I don’t know if that’s typical “writer” behavior, or just Lyric “crazy” behavior. I do however, absolutely have two projects I HAVE to finish by the end of the year. The others brewing in the back of my brain may only come out to play occasionally.

So, what about you…those of you that are writers. Do you work on multiple projects? One at a time? Do you find it hard to work on just one project when your muse is “slapping you upside the head” with another one? And you readers too….I know I sometimes have two or three books going until my brain really settles down to finish one. Do you read more than one book at a time?

I’ll be away at class most of the day. After that, I’m going to see the Declaration of Independence on display at the Clinton Presidential Library with my mom. It’s on tour. It’s not that often you get to see a piece of American history. When she heard about it, she got us tickets ages ago. Taking the kiddos too.

Have a great Saturday!

ok…without the pregnancy hormones I”m not the most organised of people, but it’s actually getting worse. I had to ask Crystal to set up a reminder for me on my post-days here at TNG. I should’ve asked her to include a topic. *sigh*

However, I realised I can use this to my advantage.

Today, I have no post, I have a request.

Give me your BEST organisational tip.
Whether it’s for paperwork (like the contracts I mailed *cof*three weeks late*cof* yesterday) or a handy way to keep kids mittens from going awol when they undress in the winter (that doesn’t involve strings to the cuffs of their coats) or how to organise WIPs and keep names and basic plotlines straight…well, pretty much anything. I need it all!

Just because I know this is completely against the usual TNG routine, I’m going to give away a copy of either Go Between or Wings of Love to one random Tipper.

…could you use the necessary accoutrement’s, not notices in the mail? Welcome to JURY DUTY folks. That’s right. Another wonderful instrument of torture brought to us by the government. It rivals (in annoyance, but not in rudeness) the Disability and Unemployment offices.

The worst part when I get these notices are the comments and accompanying laughter that I receive from my so-called “loved ones”.

My best friend, Michelle: You know, they sent me a notice. I just didn’t show up and I’ve never
gotten another one. *Laughs* I don’t know why they keep bugging
you.
Me: *Glares at Michelle* Yeah, well–

and what can I say? I got nothin’. They keep calling me for Jury Duty because of my father. That’s right. When all else fails, blame the parents. My father was a patriot in every sense of the word. He used the word “duty” in everyday conversation. He instilled in me an overdeveloped (and apparently rare) sense of my duty as an American. There were only a few things he insisted I learn.
1. Vote. If you don’t, you can’t bitch. It’s a law….somewhere. That’s what he told me anyway.

2. When called for Jury Duty, go. You have to help enforce the laws you vote for. He showed the example by serving several times and twice on a Grand Jury.

3. It’s your country, right or wrong. If you don’t like it, vote for change or move.

Harsh? Yes. Do I follow those little “rules”? Well, to the best of my ability. I don’t expect anyone else to feel the same way. But it is tough to suffer the laughter of others when I’m doing my self righteous civic duty and all I have to do is just “not show up” and they’ll leave me alone.

The Peer Pressure is enormous. “Everybody does it. Just ignore it. Say you never got it.”
Easy.
But I just can’t.

Last time, I made it to the jury box to be questioned by the lawyers. After a few choice words about my distrust of lawyers, I was “excused” (read “Get her outta here! She may infect the others”)

So, tomorrow morning I’m off for my yearly torture. AND I get to bring along my edits, just for added pain and suffering.

As you can see by my picture, I am THRILLED.

How about you? Jury or no?

Some people equate certain scents with memories. Vanilla, fresh bread, Grandma’s cookies. For me its music. Growing up in my house, there was always music. Saturday cleaning to Camelot…Sunday veg day to Gordon Lightfoot and Harry Chapin. My mother would put The Bear Necessities on our giant 8 track of an answering machine. We even thought musically. My mother, sister and I would randomly break into Stop In the Name of Love at a crosswalk, road trips invariably ended in songs from Paint Your Wagon “I was born under a wanderin’ star” and Oklahoma. It surprised no one we knew if at any time they heard us belt out a few lines from Rocky Horror Picture Show “It’s just a jump to the left”… even a little Sweet Charity “Hey Big Spender”

Anyway, I’ve been unusually sleepy the last few days. Family visits and hormones lol. And one song keeps running through my head. We always sang it-a funny song performed by the late great Madeline Kahn. The title explains it all…I’m Tired. What are some of your musical memories?

I ran across this lovely site that has a dirty limerick for each state of the union. Oh, you know I couldn’t resist. I give you, a naughty limerick for the home state of each Novelty Girls. (Ladies, don’t beat me if I got your state wrong. It’s eeeearly.) And I even found this site to get a hockey limerick for our token Canadian, Dayna.

California for mine and Jen’s home state:

To her new beau from bright California,
The blonde said, “I guess I should warn ya –
I’m unfaithful, on drugs,
I enjoy taunting thugs,
And when I find a rich guy I’ll scorn ya.”

Alabama for Lori:

For a hot time in warm Alabama,
On a Saturday night Nate would cram a
Small mike up his bum
And then sing, fart and hum
Delta blues to amuse his ol’ gramma.

Massachusetts for Nonny:

There’s a place in Cape Cod, Massachusetts
Where the women have not one but two sets
Of boobs, but no cracks
To accomp’ny those racks,
So the men have perpetual blue sets.

Utah for me:

A Sunday school pupil in Utah
Liked to play with himself in his pew. Ta-
bernacular rite
was profaned when he’d cite:
“. . . Leviticus, Numbers, then Deut–AAAHHHHHH!”

Arkansas for Lyric:

A tourist in Little Rock, Arkansas
Went strolling in Riverfront Park and saw
A thin girl with one tooth
Getting rimmed by a youth,
Who informed him, “We call it ‘Ozarkin’! Chaw?”

Texas for RG:

The self-styled seducer from Texas
Thought he’d score more hot babes with a Lexus.
All he got was a slap,
Plus a fierce dose of clap
And two painful swift kicks to the plexus.

Hockey night in Canada for Dayna:

Though Canucks should be gentle not rough,
There’s one place where we strive to be tough

In that game played on ice
It pays not to be nice

And second is not good enough.

*Cue Julio and Willy*

I’ve discovered that a good Critique Partner is essential to my writing process. I just can’t write without them. Well, I could, but I wouldn’t like it.

All you writers out there know what a Critique Partner is. For our Dear Readers, I’ll define the term. A Critique Partner is the brave volunteer who reads (dissects) your work—often repeatedly, and tells you what about it works and what does not. To be a good Critique Partner, a writer must have a stout heart, a keen mind and a sturdy red pen (or at least, know their way around Track Changes and Comments).

The relationship between Critique Partners is a bit like a romantic relationship. You have the Meet Cute or Blind Date, the Get to Know You, then The Big Reveal. In this case, The Big Reveal is a WIP (Work in Progress), rather than an assorted collection of pink parts. The end result is still scary and one party showing more than the other tends to increase the sense of insecurity felt by the more revealed party. Ahem. Not that I know anything about that…

This brings us to the next phase, Reality. Reality is when you open up the critiqued document and discover the honest opinion of your new partner. At least, you hope it’s honest. An overly flattering or overly critical relationship does no one any good. The truth is, feedback from a good CP can make or break a story. It can mean the difference between impressing an editor or agent with your finesse or turning them off with your lack of polish. Did I fail to mention the moral support factor? Even when a CP must tell you there are flaws in you work, they stand by you in solidarity.

It is usually after the Reality phase that CPs know whether theirs may be a long-term relationship, or a One Critique Stand. I’ll admit to having had a couple of those, though I learned something even from those brief encounters—not all writers are compatible as CPs, even if they are wonderful authors and people. Also, uh…monogamy within a Critique relationship is just not for me. LOL

Once CPs have successfully navigated a mutual Reality phase for a time, the final Destination phase of the relationship starts. This is the equivalent of the Golden Years of a romantic relationship. I am blessed to be in the Destination phase of the Critique Partner relationship with a number of very special people. I’m even still friends with my very first serious CP!

As this is my last guest blog for the lovely ladies here at The Novelty Girls, I wanted to send a special thanks to them and To All the Critique Partners I’ve Loved Before. You taught me about writing, about friendship and generosity. Some of you dropped whatever you were doing at a moment’s notice to help me. You told me not just what wasn’t working with my story, but why it wasn’t working and helped me figure out how to fix it. You taught me by letting me critique your awesome work. You are the best and I love you all!

What do you all think of the role of the CP? Do you have any special Critique Partner stories to share?

Okay….that title sounded so great when I typed it. Wishful thinking is what it was. I would love to say that I’ve been happily busy, typing away, glued to my computer, cranking out page after page of the next, best great novel. But unfortunately, that is far from the truth.

Unlike last week, I actually did get a chance to do a little writing and I finished up my edits for my Xmas Cobb story. Whoohoo! Still waiting anxiously on the cover art. I can’t wait to see what the artist comes up with. I had so much fun writing that story. I’m also still waiting to hear back on a submission. Picture me bitting my nails and/or twiddling my thumbs on that one. Time is winding down for the Brava contest. Trying to finish that one up too. I still have 15 days so I’m not panicking yet. I’m determined to enter that contest this year and I think I have a really good story too. But like Dayna said yesterday….that could easily change to “this sucks” by the middle of next week. We writers are a fickle bunch.

I did manage to squeeze in some family time today. The hubby and I took the kids to the park, walked a nature trail (ran a across a baby snake **ick**), and watched the kids tire themselves out playing on the playground. It was the one-year old’s first time at the park. On the nature trail the hubby wanted to play mini-indy-500 with the stroller. Scared me half to death, but the little one enjoyed it. Laughed himself silly. Go figure. Maybe it’s a guy thing.

Well, that’s my weekly recap. One of these Saturday’s I’ll actually post earlier in the day. That - doing your post and getting it to post early Sat morning - has never worked for me. When I try to do that I usually end up staring at a blinking cursor. Those midnight posts I did a while back were pretty fun. Night owl tendences I suppose. I think my brain enjoys that time of the day best. For some reason creativity always sparks. However, it usually “sparks” on a Sunday when I have to get up the next morning at 5 a.m. It’s that whole fickle writer thing again I think. What about you? Is there a certain time of the day when you brain “turns on” and doesn’t want to stop?

Hope you had great day!

Someone posted on their blog today: how do you know you’re supposed to be a writer.
My CP was having a minor meltdown over her latest book. “How do I know it doesn’t suck?”
My other CP was having a minor meltdown over her latest release. “I found all these mistakes in it!”

And I had nothing.

No words of wisdom. No helpful suggestions. No way to make it all better. Which, of course, no one expects of me, and yet…I wanted to be able to do that. Especially when I was in my own Zen place: good reviews, great response from a new beta reader, finalling in a contest. How can you NOT love this business?!

And then it’d happen. A bad review. A snag in my latest book. Revisions on a book which made me crazy during the writing of it…and I’d start my own meltdown.

And I had nothing. No words of wisdom. No Helpful suggestions. No way to make it all better. Which I couldn’t expect, and yet…

I have to wonder if the rollercoaster of “I rock. I suck. I rock. I suck.” ever ends. Talking with Jen this week I asked her: How do we know we’ve succeeded in this business? And the fact is, we never do. Whenever we meet one goal, we start in with the next one.
“Get published”
“Get published by so-and-so”
“Sell x number of copies”
“Sell 1.5x copies.”

So, when fear and self-loathing sets in, there’s always something we haven’t yet accomplished, which makes it hard to see those things we’ve done.
We ride the rollercoaster, high to low and back again, all the while with some new goal in sight. Even as we’re chanting “I suck” to ourselves, we’re working on our latest book, which is likely “our best yet”. I don’t know if the rollercoaster ever ends, but I know I’d rather be riding it than not.

In short: writers are insane.
Which, I believe, I’ve said before…

And that’s because for some reason some people think it’s the place you dump stuff you don’t otherwise have a place for. I gave up trying to keep the main part of the house, the kids rooms, and hell even my room most of the time, clean. (Army Guy is a slob. It’s damned near impossible to keep our room straightened up.)

My office was my haven though. I hate clutter. I hate stuff being out of place. It makes me batshit. And now, well, even my office is invaded. I’d show y’all a picture of it, but guess what, my digital camera seems to have walked away again (that would be Army Guy also). Since the writing has been going to well lately (Lunar Mates 5 is completed and sent! woohoo!), I’ve decided to take a mental health day–clean my office and veg with Nalini Singh’s new book.

The cleaning is going to get ugly I’m sure. Some of the odd things I can see from where I’m sitting-

a rifle case
a toy wagon
a pile of the girls’ books
a shoe shine kit
pieces from the weight machine
a gun cleaning kit
a box of kids clothes that need to go to the consignment store
Christmas stockings (wtf!?)
the ironing board
car jacks

Anyone see a trend here? I guess it’s obvious who the worst offender is. So what’s in your writing space that doesn’t belong there? Does your family think it’s the catch all junk area too?