Challenge Day 15: Life’s Lessons

Wow! It’s day fifteen of my challenge to write a blog everyday in fifteen minutes. It wasn’t as hard as I thought. The hard part was paring it down to fifty words. I’m a wordy person even in conversation.

But, that’s not the point of this blog. Hopefully, this one won’t be lengthy I’ve got other writing to attend to and a phone conference with my editor some time today. It’s one of those be ready when she calls deals, drop-what-you’re-doing-at-that moment-kind-of-thing.

Okay. Enough of that.

This morning I woke up at eight A.M. Its not like me to sleep this late, I’m usually up by five A.M. But it’s freezing in the Sunshine State today. Tomorrow could be a different story. Even Sir-Poops-A-Lot stayed in bed all night. No warm welcomes from him, thank the potty-gods.

About the time I meandered down the stairs to the kitchen, my phone rang. Right away I’m thinking its work calling me to come in on my day off (happens a lot since I’m a shift manager). But no, its Tinkerbelle slash Esmeralda, daughter number four. She’s got two personalities. I swear. Good and Evil.

“Mom,”  she said, after mumbles something. She’s known for this. Ghetto language. I know, I raised her to speak proper.

“Yeah, what’s up?” I ask.

“Do you think you can slip me a twenty every week?” she asks loud and clear. No mumbling here. “You know, dad won’t.” Yup. That’s true dad won’t because she’s used us like a yo-yo ever since she turned thirteen, shuffling from my house to his, looking to do things her way. He’s fet-up and makes no bones about it.

I hold my breath for a few seconds, rolled my eyes, and said, “You need to get a job.”  You see, she left her dad’s house about three weeks ago and left mine this past summer. She’s not one to follow the rules, only hers, no other. In February, she’ll be eighteen. Thank God and the Universe. Party, party everywhere. There’s no way this mom will be suffering from empty-nest syndrome.

“How am I going to do that and finish high school and beauty school? I’m in school from 8 am to 6 pm.” Yup. This is true. She made the decision to do things the adult way without having her ducks in a row. No driver’s license. No car. No job. Living like a gypsy from friend’s house to friend’s house. What a life. Huh?

“Find a place that will hire you for the weekends,” I said.

The phone goes silent at her end for about thirty seconds. She catches her breath, and mutters something. Who knows what she’s saying. Sometimes I think I need a dictionary to figure out the incoherent babbles of this child. Seriously, the child didn’t pick up good diction or articulation from me. Annoying.

“Mom,” she said, articulating the name I will sometimes answer to. “Do you think you can throw me a twenty. The people I’m staying with are having money problems.” The people she stays with can afford the luxury of smoking and drinking. Hmmm. Wonder what else they put their monies toward. Maybe they should stop smoking and drinking.

“Seriously, get a job,” I said.

“Mom!” Wow. She said that word with no problem. She articulates ‘MOM’ well.

“What?” I ask, hoping she’ll terminate the call.

“Will you?”

“Look. Let’s say this. I won’t let you starve to death. Okay.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her tone heated up.

“Just that. I’ll send you a gift card to Publix.”

“Mom.” She rambles a string of something my ears can’t pick up and then….

CLICK!

Another lesson to be learned in the life of a young adult. Life’s a BE-OTCH. Get used to it. And God, help them learn what they need to learn.

Yup. Another drama filled-day in the life of Shelly Arkon, a novice writer. Like my hubby says, “It’s all fodder for your upcoming novels.”

Happy reading, writing, and blogging!!

Shelly

Challenge Day 14: A Post-It Note Diddy

One upon a time, too many times

So many happy beginnings

Always a sad ending

In 1998, I wrote this when hubby number two left me for Ms. Big-Boobs. Wrote it on a Post-It note and stuck it in an old journal. Found it this morning rummaging through stuff to toss.

Happy reading, blogging, and writing!!!

Shelly

Follow to be Followed

Follow the female Pide Piper, Rachel Harrie's Crusade,and get your blog read, but you have to read others, too. What goes around comes around. Spread this good Karma and get some back.

The following is her instructions from her page:
1. Follow along with my site if you don’t already (I want to build my online platform too of course) :)
2. Become a Crusader by leaving a comment to this post (include your blogging name and a link to your blog)
3. Write about the Crusade on your blog and link back to this post
4. Encourage your followers to come to Rach Writes… and join up (it will help them too!)
5. Tweet about the Crusade, including a link to this post (http://bit.ly/9kMySK) and #WPBC1. Encourage re-tweets. I'm @RachaelHarrie if you want to follow me in the Twitterverse too
6. Pop it on Facebook
7. Generally, spread the word…

Happy Writing!!
Shelly

My Ritual

Today, I’m taking my time. I’m in no hurry. Hate hurrying anyway. It’s my day off from lopping hair (stylist by day and sometimes by night). My foot warmers, (my dogs, Baby and Honey Bear), have planned along with me a writing fest today. They’ve got their bones and chews. I’ve my gi-normous cup of hot tea, my water, and the bathroom near-by (my bladder pees on demand…achoo!). Oh, can’t forget the Sounscapes, too.

Now I’m ready to let my fingers float across my keyboards and drift into the open sea of my mind. Time to find out what my characters are doing today.
For a few seconds, I sit with my eyes closed, fingers resting on my keyboard. I let the music fill my ears, and type out what I see and hear. It doesn’t matter if it’s perfect at first. Perfection never really comes. The beauty of the manuscript is only in the eye of the beholder. Not everyone likes or appreciates my writing style, or my stories, and that’s okay.

Besides, it would be like having every man on earth fall in love with me. One is enough. It would be the same if everyone loved my manuscript. I’d probably go nuts. Being kept in my humble place is a good thing. A swelled head might explode, and I’d loose all my stories. Wouldn’t want that.

I know, I’m babble-writing this blog today, but I’m in no hurry. It’s ritual for me. We all have our different rituals. This is mine, babble-writing. Writing anything and everything. Trying to dig deep within. Trying to find my happy space in writing. Inhale and exhale. Don’t be afraid to breathe or write.
Have a happy writing day.

The Dreaded

Oh, my! And a long winded sigh. I'm almost there. Almost finished with my first novel. The first couple of years felt like I was training for a marathon. Now I'm running a race. Got a deadline to meet. Got a synopsis to write. Oh, and the query letter, too. Total dread. I'm one of those people who can't stop my pen from going. Sometimes I can't stop the character chatter going on in my head. A writer's got do what a writers got to do, right?

If anyone is reading this, I do feel your pain and so do a lot of other writers. This is not the favorite part of writing a novel but it is the initiation part. Be thankful that we don't have to drink blood or cut ourselves for this initiation. All we have to do is write some more. Something we like to do. Remind yourselves of this.

What's the big deal? All we need is three lines of what your novel is about along with an introduction of yourself, an envelope, and a stamp. Don't forget to address it and put it into the mailbox. And then, wait of course and go about your life. You know, go to your day job, start another novel, clean out your closets...stay busy. Don't think too hard about it but by all means follow up. Don't be annoying though.

One day you go to the mailbox or your phone rings or you get an e-mail. Bingo, they like it. Now they want your synopsis. I hope you perfected that while you waited for the news. All you need is one to three pages of what your novel is about. That's all. Not hard, right?

Painful, I know. It really hurts to summarize your work. I know. You can do it. Just know that your not being asked to slice a dove in half or participate in some Santanic ritual. That's a good thing. All you need is a couple good brain farts. And,wallah! You've created a synopsis.

It's all good.

Writer's Block v. Constipation

There's not much difference between being constipated, at a loss for pooing, and having writer's block, being at a loss for words. The words to describe both: frustrating and painful.

It irks me when I sit down at my keyboard in front of a blank screen and I can't come up with a darned thing to write. Today, I finished chapter thirty to my novel. I it ended with some mysterious person coming through the door.

As usual I set up my page to chapter thirty-one. You know, header, page number, title, and chapter. And then, without warning my brain stopped. Maybe there's a brick somewhere hidden in the corridors and whatever thoughts I had smashed into it. I don't know.

I tried doodling. Arrows over arrows. Flowers with pretty leaves. Houses with chimneys. Okay, that didn't work. So, I wrote stuff. Stuff that has absolutely nothing to do with my novel. Okay, that didn't work. So, I went for a walk. I walked the dogs. I walked and talked to the dogs about my current dilema. Both of them plopped their butts on the pavement, tilted their heads and raised their ears but they had no clue what to tell me. I didn't have a clue what to tell me.

I go back inside. There I decide to clean my shower and then I clean my entire shower. During this event, I daydreamed about my characters hoping they'd guide me to the answer for my next chapter. Oh my God! Nothing came out. My brain literally hurt.

Read, I say. I'll sit on the great white throne and read. I remind myself that I did have a serving of flax seeds on my quinoa this morning. The bottom half shouldn't be a problem. But nothing comes out at either end.

A revelation happens. Wow! Maybe there is a brain and butt connection. Never know. Maybe this one could be the next great conspiracy theory against all writers. Maybe there should be a discussion on this.

But, I do know this, when they finally flow it's like Irritable Bowel Syndrome. It goes on and on for days. Not necessarily on the same day though.

The Life of a Novice Writer

The life of a novice write is full of dreams. Our stories appear to us as any other best seller on the New York Times list. We can't distinguish between someone else's masterpiece from our own.

Also, admittedly we're a little impatient with the whole process of writing: the writing of the not-so-fun-stuff like the synopsis, the blurb, and the dreaded query letter. Sometimes we are downright lazy. There are so many rules to remember.

It would be easier not to have to go to any classes or critique classes. Why would we do that? After all, we've dubbed ourselves writers, right? And did I mention that our English and Lit teachers in school always gave us rave reviews on what we wrote. This should be good enough knowledge for us to know that we are exceptional in the field of writing, right?

For some reason, we seem to believe that whoever we send our manuscripts to, will worship and adore our work. Why wouldn't they? We do. Oh the treacherous life of the novice writer when receive our manuscripts back Looking as if they've been devoured by some animal. Blood stains filling up the spaces on and in between my intimate expressions of creativity. My poor beloved manuscript. How could they? If only I could throw myself into their den of ravenous wolves to be ravaged like that I would. Only to spare my beloved imagination of those horrid blood stains that come back to me.

If that's not bad enough, we have to put up with our own insecurities and doubts about our own writing. Deep down inside we each have this little whiny, annoying voice in our heads. It races around the same racetrack, telling us "that was a dumb thing to write", "you'll never get published" or "you can't do this, what are you possibly thinking . You are no King or Gresham". Once the racetrack stops, the choir begins. It sings about our doom and gloom as writers.

As a novice writer, I have to do my best to keep the editorial wolves at bay. How do I do this? Dah?

We need to make a promise to ourselves and keep it. Better yet, make a vow to your beloved. You wouldn't go a day without spending quality time with your spouse would you?

Vow to ignore the creepy little voices in your head. Vow to take whatever classes you need to improve your skills. Vow to use your spellcheck. Vow to write everyday even if it starts out gibberish-like. Vow not to be insulted by a publishing company when you get rejected. Vow to keep plugging along. Vow to learn from your mistakes. Vow to join a local critique group.

Last, stay true to your vow like you would your spouse. Cheating is not allowed.