Recently I completed the manuscript for my second novel. It was harder to complete than the manuscript for the first novel. It has been pointed out to me by experienced novelists that this may have been due to the fact that the maximum amount of time I had to complete the second novel—if I had started when I received a signed, sealed and official contract—was seven months. The first book took more than four years. Can you see my problem opportunity? Not that I’m complaining. I’m just saying it took some getting used to. It was a crucible of sorts, a fiery little crucible containing an abundance of what my friend Hal calls “ass glue.” But in the end (no “ass glue” pun intended), it worked.

If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, where you have a limited (read: oh-my-god-why-did-I-not-get-more-done-sooner-I-thought-I-was-doing-so-well-but-this-is-an-impossibly-small) amount of time to complete a task, here are some strategies you might find useful.

1. Go into mole mode. No means no. You decline invitations, no matter how alluring. (Well, unless it’s super-duper alluring and a once-in-a-lifetime deal, like Susan Elizabeth Phillips asks you to go to Iceland with her to lace her hiking boots.) You can go to stuff later. For now, you have to write. It will all be better soon, I promise.

2. Avoid the temptation to nap. See photo of dog on bed. This is a warm, soft dog who is really nice to pet. He is Supreme Pillow Commander on a warm, soft bed. You tell yourself you would only sleep for a few minutes. Do not be fooled. The dog is tantamount to a strumpet (just look at those demonic eyes!). No good can come of this! Run away! Run away!

3. Buy frozen entrees. If I do say so, this was genius on my part. I started out believing in my heart of hearts that I’d grill things. After all, grilling is healthy (except for the char carcinogen factor, but let’s not go there), quick and easy, right? Except that even throwing a chicken breast or burger or steak on the grill with asparagus or peppers or eggplant requires time. I didn’t want to spend time dealing with olive oil and salt and pepper, and cleaning up the dishes, because even though I wasn’t doing Julie and Julia, I was still taking time to cook and clean up. So I looked up “healthiest frozen entrees,” and voila! my writing time expanded. It takes much less time to pop something into the microwave than to grill. Or to make a pb&j, which I did for lunches.

4. Don’t dry your hair. This was difficult for me, a relatively vain person whose hair has no inclination to do anything attractive unless forced. I showered daily, but only dried my bangs (because believe me, if I had to catch a glimpse of my bangs if I hadn’t styled them, I wouldn’t have been able to write anything other than curses). I wasn’t going anywhere, I looked presentable if there was a fire, and I saved more precious time.

5. If your characters refuse to speak to you, write anyway. Oh but this was tough. I had read about this phenomenon but hadn’t experienced it. Those days are over, because it happened several times. I knew what I had to write, but my characters were all listening to their iPods or texting their friends or doing their nails—anything except helping me. What to do? Write anyway. Write crap. Make yourself do it. It’ll either get easier and some of the characters will actually pitch in and help, or at the very least you’ll get the all-important words on the page and fix it later. You don’t have the luxury of waiting for your muse to return your call. You don’t have the luxury of waiting for inspiration. You’re not a waiter, you’re a writer. You write.

6. Go offline. The Internets and the Googles and the Facebook are fantastic places to goof off and not write. They are not your friends. Do not associate with them. They are there to suck up precious time you need for writing. Ignore them. I sometimes went to Ted’s Montana Grill and wrote at the bar because they didn’t have wifi. It was a godsend to be cut off. (No, the bartender didn’t cut me off, smartie.)

7. Shoo away distractions. If you have a spouse who is the equivalent of a Labrador retriever puppy, as I do, you must put up the equivalent of a verbal doggy door to block off the area where you write. I found that a simple, sharp “Eh!” accompanied by a stern look did the trick. He would slink out of the kitchen and leave me alone.

8. Make your desk purty. Even though I was thrilled to have to write a second novel with a deadline and everything, it was still work. As Nora Roberts says, “If writing a book was easy, everyone would do it.” I cut some roses from my garden and put them in a vase on my kitchen table/desk. I also got a little lamp and used it when the sun went down because I abhor overhead lighting. This made my writing space all cozy and happy and inviting and for some reason made me feel more like a “real” writer.

9. Eat things you like that aren’t too messy. I viewed grocery shopping as gathering supplies for the foxhole. This is not an excuse to go crazy and eat poorly (although…). This is a strategy to keep your creativity fueled. I stocked up on healthy snacks and allowed a couple splurges in the unhealthy category. I also allowed myself a glass (or two) of wine in the evening. (My characters thanked me.) Apples are good because they are easy to eat while you write. Same with those mini carrots. (Please note these are also horse-approved foods.) Dark chocolate is a must. And I don’t like to drink water, but if put it in a fun little bottle, it becomes appealing. So do that. I used an 8.45-oz. San Pellegrino bottle. It made me feel European.

10. Move. I know I said you have to stay put because you have, after all, applied a generous amount of ass glue. But exercise is important. I mostly walked my dog every morning (if you don’t have a dog to walk, borrow one. Or try walking the cat. A plant? How about a spoon? Then the neighbors can call you “eccentric,” which is perfect for a writer.), and sometimes took two walks. I did crunches. I did push-ups. The beauty of exercising is you can think about your book while you do it, and often those scenes that weren’t quite working miraculously sort themselves out in your head when you’re busy doing something else.

Well, there you go. My wisdom broken into digestible bits. If you have more (and I know you do!) please share. Go! Write! Win!

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There are authors who dream of their debut novel’s future cover the way some brides dream of their wedding gowns.

I am not one of those authors.

Did I have something in mind as I wrote the book? Yes, but it was a cartoon. I’m not a designer in any way, shape or form, and I knew the professionals at Pocket Books would come up with something far better than my cave painting. Designers are, after all, magicians of sorts.

The designer who did my cover is a veritable Dumbledore. Beyond a magician—a wizard.

I adore my cover. ADORE. It blew me away. When I opened the pdf, I actually gasped (just ask my cube mates). I had nothing in mind, really, except I thought maybe there’d be a man, possibly half-dressed, somewhere in the vicinity. Instead I got this stunning, painterly image, elegant, sophisticated, graceful and powerful. It was astounding. As one of the Firebirds (co-finalists in the Golden Hearts last year) put it, the cover gods smiled upon me.

Now, as I’m writing the follow-up book to Thrown, I feel extra pressure to make it live up to this woman and her steed. I want to be worthy of the gorgeousness. I don’t want to disappoint the cover! Can you blame me?

This December, look for this cover wherever you like to buy e-books. (And buy one. Please!)

 

 

 

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Writing a novel has changed my day-to-day life in ways I could never have imagined. Yes, there’s the actual writing, which (usually) happens daily. But there are other ways too. Not big ways, but small ways that often take place online.

Take blogs. Before writing, I never used to read blogs regularly. Blogs were for the politically active who needed to keep track of which senator said what to whom and what it all meant. Blogs were for the family and friends of the self-indulgent who needed to record their children’s rashes, their cat’s progress through a feline MENSA program or their attempts to build the perfect bong. Boy was I wrong.

Now, I read Roni Loren’s Fiction Groupie blog as though she’s paying me (she isn’t…yet). I hear about blogs via several email chats, loops, etc. that I subscribe to. I don’t read other blogs as regularly, but I’m going to blame that on the fact that my company blocks blogs on my computer at work because obviously, they are the work of the devil. Or our competitors. (Who are also in cahoots with the devil.)

I also have acquired new vicarious personal publishing holidays, or VPPHs. These are the days that my author friends’ books come out. I am delighted to find that I am genuinely excited for them and very much enjoy downloading their works to my Nook. Every time I do, I imagine the day when I’ll do the same for Thrown.

Besides VPPHs, I have also acquired new friends via the World Wide Web. Facebook, Twitter, blogs, email loops…they have all introduced me to some damn cool and talented people who are out there writing books. Some I have met in person, some I have yet to meet. Either way, it has been rewarding. Plus, on Facebook, I can pretend Susan Elizabeth Phillips is one of my personal Facebook friends because she tells me what she’s doing every day. I’m still waiting for that invitation to go on family vacations with her, but I know it’s coming…any day now…she’s just busy…

Writing has made me more of an observer. I now carry a notebook in my purse and a little voice recorder in the car, just in case I think of a spectacularly brilliant line of dialogue or witness what Pam Houston calls a “glimmer,” or a moment or interaction that could be the kernel of a story or scene (or whole book!). I used to say, “Oh, I’ll remember that!” and I seldom would, so now I whip out the notebook/recorder and free up those brain cells that would have forgotten it anyway.

Writing has also made me a different kind of reader, for better or worse. Now I can’t just enjoy a book—oh no, I have to notice craft. How does the author handle her characters’ points of view? What is the sentence structure like? Ooh, that’s a good phrase, I might have to use that (properly altered). This book is superbly paced—how did the author achieve that? And on it goes. NOT that I don’t like reading—I still love it—but the genie is out of the bottle and I will never be able to just read ever again.

But it’s all good. Sometimes change is difficult. These changes are welcome.

Thank you again for your continued support!

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WARNING: This post is not mostly about writing. If you’ve come here expecting a big ol’ post about writing, sorry. I’ve had an adventure further afield.

Yesterday I went on my first audition for a musical in a long time. Why in the world would I do this? Why the sudden urge to put myself through something as nerve-wracking as a singing audition if I didn’t have to? Was someone holding a Nine to my head and counting back from five? No.

One reason is Tom (husband) is now Mr. Theatre (yes, with the pretentious “re” ending), and that was all my fault because I gave him acting lessons for his birthday and the rest is history. He has been making chicken noises around the house to shame me into auditioning for something. So the short answer as to why I auditioned is, I had to shut up the chicken.

But the other answer is, I wanted to. And I’ve finally accumulated enough self-confidence and courage to do it. I was a theater major, but I never auditioned for anything after graduating (and precious little while in college, truth be told) because I was in New York and never thought I was anywhere near good enough. Since I never auditioned, we’ll never know if I was right.

After a certain theater person nudged me to audition for “The Drowsy Chaperone,” which the Vintage Theatre is doing this spring, I started taking voice lessons. Then the audition announcement came out and I took a deep breath, figuratively closed my eyes, and signed up. I was committed. The chicken lost a few decibels.

As the audition date neared, I grasped for analogies, as I am wont to do. Maybe it’s the writer in me, but I can’t help myself. I decided it was like riding in a dressage show. I am a complete newbie to the performance side of the theater scene in general, and the Denver theater scene in particular. I equate this with having a dressage horse who is serviceable, but not what anyone would call spectacular. My lovely mare, Brooke, is a thoroughbred who is built downhill (NOT good for dressage); in dressage shows, we would have to compete against warmbloods who were imported from Europe because that’s where you go if you want a truly spectacular dressage horse. In a dressage show, you have to ride a “test,” or a pattern of movements that you memorize. In a musical audition, you prepare a song. In dressage, you can’t control who rides against you, all you can control is your ride. You practice and practice and prepare and prepare; you bathe your horse and braid her mane; you polish your good boots; you get to the show early and warm up appropriately. You go into the ring on time and ride your test as accurately as you can. That’s the part you can control. You hope that the riders with the European warmbloods will not ride as accurately as you, and then you have a shot at beating them.

Same with singing. In my analogy the European warmbloods are the established Denver theater actors, the cadre of performers who know each other and who the directors know, too. To compete against them, all I could do was practice my song until I knew it backward and forward. I chose a dress to wear that was close to what the character I wanted to play would wear. I got a mani/pedi with deep red polish, again because the character would have done the same. I drank lots of water and warmed up in the car on the way in. I told myself I could do it.

And then I did it. I rode an accurate test. I did everything my voice teacher told me to do, I took my time, I “owned” the stage, and I sang my song. I was on key, I was in character, I was loud, I belted the high note I used to fear. As far as I could tell, I did exactly what I wanted to do. I was nervous, yes, but it was the same kind of nervous I’d get at a horse show—not debilitating, but I shook a little. But I rode through the nerves, as it were. And as Tom pointed out, I wouldn’t have to worry about my voice careening out of control, jumping off the stage and galloping out of the theater, throwing me to the sidewalk in the process.

Now it’s up to the theater gods. This is where it’s helpful that I’m trying to get a book published, because if you’re going through the traditional route to get your book published, the pace is glacial. Grass in winter grows much faster. Children can be conceived and born in less time. You wait MONTHS for someone to read your query/partial/manuscript. It’s the nature of the beast. In this audition process, there’s another audition next week, for dance. Callbacks are two weeks after that. Then, presumably, they announce the cast within the following week. That’s what, four weeks, tops? Four weeks? CHILD’S PLAY! That’s would be a lightning round in publishing. I can do that standing on my head.

So now the audition is in the history books. Almost three months and hundreds of dollars later, my five minutes are over. But I did it. I did it and I’m proud of myself. It was scary and I did it anyway. Sure it took a few years of horse showing to properly prepare me (who knew?), but that’s okay too.

Oh, and the chicken has been silenced.

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This post is a violent act of procrastination. Yep, I’m entirely and completely avoiding working on my manuscript because…well, because I have to go on a flight from Nashville to Denver and there are thunderstorms en route and I’m sure it’ll be bumpy and I’ve developed an annoying turbulence phobia. Me. Someone who works in the aviation industry, with pilots, and has had them explain turbulence and how the planes are built to fly through it and pilots do their best to avoid it and of all the zillions of flights every year that experience turbulence there are precious few incidents and…blah blah blah. Doesn’t matter. I’m a turbulence wimp. It’s pathetic.

So what I’m hoping is, I’ll get so involved in revising THROWN during the flight, I won’t be bothered so much. This has happened before, so I have reason to believe it could happen again.

I’ve had a bit of a discouraging email since my last post. An agent I was hoping would like my writing (let’s face it, I hope every agent likes my writing, but I had met this one and thought she was more likely to like my writing than your average bear), alas and alack, did not. I did not float her boat, nor did I knock her socks off. She was not wowed or gobsmacked. She was nonplussed and maybe even bored and/or annoyed.

Oh well. Now I know. And seriously, I’ve hardly been out there in the trenches getting buffeted by dozens and dozens of brutal rejections. I have little right to complain.

It makes me both less and more determined to get published. Right after I read it, I thought, “Yes, I am a terrible writer!” The agent never said anything like that, but that’s how I interpreted it. Then, after telling Tom and his friend Cindy what the agent wrote, and emailing with Joanne Kennedy (who I’ve dubbed my “publishing shrink” and whose latest book, Tall, Dark and Cowboy is my reading material for those times in flight when I can’t use electronic devices), I decided that it’s just one person’s opinion and someone else out there will love it and want to represent me. I just have to work really hard at rewriting it and make it sparkle even more brightly.

I know this all builds character, but really. Do I need THAT much more character? I went to a Catholic girls’ school, for heaven’s sake! Apparently so.

If I let this come full circle, my fear of turbulence may echo my fear of writing. Not a fear of writing exactly, but fear of making revisions that don’t sparkle enough. What if I spend hours and hours and hours rewriting to deepen my characters, and I send THROWN off to that agent who asked me to revise it, and she doesn’t think it’s all that great? What if I get a big “Meh”??!

As I often do with myself when I worry, I go to the next logical step. Okay, what if I DO get a big meh? What if the agent doesn’t like it? I’ll have an arguably better book and I can cross another agent off my list. I’ll send it to other agents until I find someone who loves it. And if I run out of agents, then I’ll figure something else out. Self-publishing, maybe. Or not. But whatever the case, a meh isn’t the end of the world.

Update: On my flight back to Denver, there were a few mild bumps, but nothing that made my stomach drop or made me clutch the armrests in abject terror. That’ll learn me to worry about some stupid low-pressure system! In other words, the turbulence turned out to be a big meh.

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