My Muse

            There's a string going around the Desert Breeze Author Group asking 'Where do your ideas come from?'.  It seems that we all have our own inspirations and thought processes. But I can only speak for myself . . .

            That imp, Muse, can be playful, encouraging or illusive - and I have no control of her. She often acts like a petulant child. She does not present herself when called.  There are times when she doesn't even bother to answer.

            Even when she does honor me with her presence, she can be miserly and give me only the briefest glimpses of an idea.  It's like that 'thing' you've been trying to remember--the one that's always just out of reach.

            Case in point . . . I've spent the last several years polishing my book and sending it out into the cold, cruel world.  Yes, I know you get a lot of rejections before someone sees that you have something.  Believe me, I've have a lovely collection - both email and snail mail - rejection letters; some nicer than others. 

            And, then a true Christmas miracle!  Desert Breeze sent me a contract - not for just the first book in my series - but all five.  I was ecstatic and then terrified.  I worked hard to get everything required finished in good time. In fact, I beat my February first deadline by three days. Then I kind of drifted.  I wasn't sure what to do next.

            I had an idea in one of the plethora of steno notebooks that litter my house - something I'd actually thought about almost thirty-five years ago.  (Writing with a computer really is a God-send for someone just a teensy bit obsessive/compulsive--but that's another blog.)  And, to be honest, I touched on the idea in an earlier blog. I was 'playing' with it, but not really working.

            Then, something my wonderful mentor said lit a fire in me.  I jumped on the work train.  I like working with images in front of me - so, I made a big bulletin board and starting pinning things up. I got out my ancient white and chalk boards, ordered two mew ones and starting scribbling. 

            I'd had an idea in the middle of the night - and I wrote it down - because, I turned sixty last week - enough said there. BTW:  You should always have notebooks in your purse and car, along with writing implements. I recommend mechanical pencils - erasable and no sharpener required.  I also sleep with a notebook with a mechanical pencil clipped on.  I used to have one of those tiny book lights--but since it died, I just scribble in the dark.  As long as you transcribe it in the morning, you'll get the gist of it.

               So, anyway, I'd blocked out the basic idea - pinned it up and kept looking at it.  (I also try and think about things as I fall asleep.)  Later, I expanded the idea into a bulleted list and started surfing the internet for some research information.

            Then Muse showed up; and now all bets are off.  She's sign-posted several possible plot paths for that original idea.  She's also given me an idea for a brand new series - which may or may not be 'romance based'. 

            The bottom line is that if you're patient, your muse will appear.  The trick is to not try and lead her--follow her.  Because, when she is in a generous and communicative mood, she can be a bountiful spirit.

            You see, that old adage is true - 'When it rains, it pours.'

           

           

The Life of a Keyboard Warrior

            I don't remember where I saw the term 'Keyboard Warrior', but I liked it.  That's what it feels like so much of the time - like I'm fighting: with technology, some snafu in the plotline or with just arguing with myself.  I'd adjusted to the solitude and isolation.  I put my shoulder to the proverbial wheel, and pushed forward. 

            Then Santa brought me a wonderful Christmas present - a publishing contract.  And not for just one book, but a series of five!  After years of rejection letters and emails, I had done it.  I had shown promise to an editor.  So now all I had to do, I thought in my innocence, was work with an editor to tweak the first book, and wait until it was released.

            Silly me! 

            I wrestled with technology and won the reformatting battle.  The CAIS (Cover Art Information Sheet - it took me about a day and a half to figure that out) and I skirmished for a week or so.  However, I beat it.  I filled out the author's information questionnaire and even managed to get one or two pretty good pictures.  Of course, I took over a hundred - so there was bound to be one or two . . .

            Then I joined the authors' group, when I turned tail and bid a hasty retreat.  There were so many of them.  I've been living in a virtual vacuum for years, and now I felt like I was in Grand Central Station at rush hour.  The first week I worried my brain would implode!

            True story - a pilot spotted a lone Japanese soldier while flying over a remote Indonesian island - in 1974.  The soldier was taken in custody on December 18^th, 1974. He came out without a fight when a specially trained group of Indonesian soldiers surrounded his hut and sang the Japanese anthem. 

            The trouble was he was he'd been raised in Taiwan when it was a Japanese dependency, so he identified with Japan.  After several weeks of debate over where he belonged, he was returned to Taiwan, where he died lonely and confused, five years later. 

            I know just how he must have felt being sent to a country no longer under Japan rule, to a wife who'd remarried twenty years before and a son he didn't know he had.  I've been plunged into a new world of technology, instant gratification and 'social networking', and I'm barely treading water.

            Thankful goodness, my editor threw me a life preserver in the form of another author.  Slowly, kicking and screaming, he's dragging me into the deep end of the pool.  The thing is I trust him not to let me drown.

            And for that, I thank them both, but especially Bill. 

A New Hope

            Last night I did something I'd never done before -- I watched a video on Facebook.  And I got quite an eyeful!

            In case you haven't seen it, it's a guy - early to mid forties; an ordinary guy, in jeans and a cowboy hat.  He's calm and well-spoken, and is sitting on a chair in the middle of a large yard holding a paper.  He then says that this is his response to his fifteen-year-old daughter, Hannah's tirade of her parents and how they treat her.  Apparently, she'd already been grounded for three months for a similar incident.   So this time she'd post this 'secretly' (or whatever the term is - I think it's clear I am not a Face book aficionado), under the foolish belief that she was slicker than her father - the IT specialist.      

            He reads her letter and responds to her accusations and then pulls out a forty-five automatic and empties the clip into the laptop, lying on the ground near him.  He ends by telling her that she'll have another laptop when she buys herself one. 

            Now, I admit it - I was pleasantly shocked.  Finally, a parent taking some control back.   At last, an adult drew his imaginary line in the sand.  After this video ended, there were video comments made by viewers.  However, here's what got me - the four or five I watched were all teenagers; and every one of them was behind the dad's actions.   They applauded his showing this ungrateful child the facts of life.

            Perhaps there is hope for the up-and-coming generation after all.

Hurry Up And Wait...

            Well, although it doesn't seem possible, it's the last day of January already.  I've finished the pages of questions about the cover art, my bio and even taken a picture that didn't make me wince.  I've finished reformatting the manuscript; managing to weed out some passive voice in the process.  And so now, I am to sit and wait for my editor to contact me. 

            Have I mentioned I'm not a good waiter?  Don't get me wrong.  I try. I do my best to be patient.  I just don't succeed very well.  I get anxious and antsy.  Then, I'm afraid, I get cranky.  It's probably a good thing that a writer leads a lonely life, or I'd have alienated the elite few friends I have.

            I suppose I could start reformatting the second book in the series.  Or, I could work on finishing the fifth (and, I believe, the final) book in the series. Of course, I'm not sure if I want to work on that one, until I know there won't be many significant changes to my on-going plot line.

            I could work on a new idea I had last November; or work on polishing and revising Lizzie Borden novel. The thing is they both require research.  

            Now, I have all the Lizzie Borden research done.  However, the dogs have been entertaining themselves all winter by running through the pile of books and the basket of printed information.  This means, I'll have to allocate the dining room table for the research; after I've spent at least a day re-organizing the papers.

            The alternative would be researching Ante-Bellum and Creole plantation life.  I don't mind research and I've already starting pulling information together.  I spent several days 'blending' a number of actual plantation houses to create my 'Camellia Plantation' house. Then I sketched out the front view and the first floor.  I was working on the second-story floor plan of my mythical plantation home; and was already thinking about doing furniture plans, as well, when I got the reformatting info and cover art questionnaire.  

            I'd also started reading some of the vintage fashion magazines for clothing ideas. Yeah, I know.  I can get a bit obsessive.  However, in my own defense, I did stop myself from making paper dolls of the female characters and their wardrobes.

            And, I had the colored pencils out and everything…

           

Are You Missing Something, Or Am I?

            When Windows '95 and home computers came out, I was right there. I embraced the computer, the internet and email. It was great to be able to research all sorts of things - to see all kinds of things - all over the world. But there's too much 'social networking' going on now.

            I had a cell phone early on. And, I think that might be part of the problem.  I saw the cell phone as a convenience - for emergency situations. It was for calling, AAA or the police. It was to keep someone from worrying if I'm running really late. Not to chatter away with anyone willing to listen.

            Okay, I admit it, there were a few times when I threw caution to the wind and ordered Chinese food when I left the bank or hair dressers or vets, so I could just pick it up on the fly. But that was it!

            There was a time when I was going through the divorce and traveling a lot. The cell phone kept me in touch with people I wanted to talk to - and I loved that. However, it also kept me within reach of people (read my 'not-soon-enough-to-be-ex' husband here) I didn't particularly want to talk to.

            Now people 'Instant Message' and update their status on 'facebook' the entire time they're suppose to be working on the computer. And, they're phoning, texting and tweet people the rest of the time. When do they think, create and dream?

            There are times (many times) when we need to retreat into that personal bathysphere of ourselves: to contemplate an idea, expand a dream or just regroup. Never forget that.

            The bottom line is if you have to always be communicating with other people, checking on how they feel about things and what they think, you've got a problem. If you can't stand to be alone, there's something fundamentally wrong with you - with how YOU see yourself.

            Spend some time communicating with yourself. Learn how to like yourself - just as you are. And the great thing is you don't need high-speed internet or a good cellular plan - all you  need is a quiet place and you!

Letting Go of the Past

            Another year has almost run its course, and a new year fast approaches.  It seems that each year we look back and remember both the bad and good; and think about the opportunities yet to present themselves.

            But this year is different.  My new opportunity came as a Christmas email – after a decade of work and years of sending out submissions – my book series is going to be published.

Friends I tell are happy for me.  My mother is proud of me.  And me – I'm scared stiff!

Since I was a child, I've been teased about my planning and perpetual list making.  I am not a 'spur of the moment' person.  For me, half of the vacation is the preplanning. 

And now I have pages of questions to answer: about me, my characters, the first book and how I think the cover should look.  Now, while I'm perfectly able to answer questions about me; and I my characters and stories are a part of me – I am ashamed to admit that I never thought about what my book cover(s) should look like.

I wouldn't say I didn't believe in myself – of the quality of my work, or that a publisher would see merit in it.  However, I will admit that after four or five years of sending out queries and receiving the same, short rejection – sometimes after months of waiting – I hadn't spent much time imaging a book cover.  And now I do not have the luxury of mapping out the future.

So, as the year passes, my one New Year's resolution shall be to try to not spend so much time and effort in the planning of life's adventures and more in the living them.

Let's Do The Time Warp Again . . .

Time is a funny thing.  Remember when you were a kid?  New Year’s to Christmas seemed like an eternity.  Yet, somehow summer vacation, smack in the middle of that desert of time, skipped by in a flash.  Ah, the conundrums of life.

I had found how quickly college whizzed by disturbing, but then I graduated and ‘life’ happened.  Planning a wedding, finding a job and setting up an apartment rushed, tsunami-like, over me, gave me little time to think.  And so it went.

Somewhere in my thirties, I think I did have a fleeting notion that time had somehow ‘sped up’.  But, back then, we didn’t even listen to ourselves.

My forties brought about an interesting paradigm – sickness, death and unhappiness.  Now time slowed to a crawl.  Sitting with my dying mother-in-law for half an hour – listening to her struggle to breath – was torture.  And the nights spent lying awake, crying because the love of your life doesn’t love you any more, was even more terribly slow.  Time had stopped.

As I approached fifty, I’d made some changes in my life.  I’d moved on and carved a new, happy life for myself.  And even though life – well, really death – invaded once again.  But it was all right.  Time had returned to normal.

But now, as I’m sliding towards sixty, time has sped up again.  I don’t feel ‘old’ – until I see some ‘60s rocker doing a commercial for reverse mortgages or funeral insurance.  Even then it’s more of a ‘How the hell did that happened ?’ thing.  Nevertheless, I felt the world speeding up beneath me. 

However, the fact is that it’s only our perception of passing time that’s quickened.  Time is a constant.  It is we who change.