The Conversational Shoplifter

Weird Business Metaphor Shoplift

2012-01-26T10:30:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I creep around the office eavesdropping on conversations -- which in my defense are taking place in cubicles and bullpens and near the coffee machine. So, you know, right where I can hear them by merely stopping on the other side of a wall and remaining still and quiet...uh....So. Today I passed a group sitting at a table in a bullpen, all staring blankly at the guy who said this:

"So, the way I see it is, it's like a boat. And we are either all in the boat or we aren't all in the boat."

So, he's in the boat. Or maybe some of them are in the boat with him, but some of them are not in the boat. Maybe some of them were wise enough to get into the lifeboats. Some liked like they wished there were another boat around. Maybe they are all in one boat but he wants them to be in another?

I kept walking -- better that we were two ship that passed in the night than me getting into whatever boat he was trying to con all his team into.....

Randoms

2012-01-18T22:36:00.001-08:00

Well, that was the inverse of smart.

Audrey Hepburn is my kryptonite.

That is all.

Random Boat Thoughts

2011-12-06T12:38:00.000-08:00

Did The Big Vacation with The Boy last week -- 7 day cruise to several destinations. Lots of fun stuff, but what did I spend much of my time doing? Reading manuscripts, editing, and writing down my mojito-inspired thoughts.

And that makes me a Big Dork, I am pretty sure. Maybe even a Really Big Dork.

But these are the things that writer/editor/publisher type people do, and there it is.

A sampling:

~Rainy day on The Big Boat, water sloshes over the edge of the pool, and really how much does a boat this size have to roll in the water for that to happen, water over the edge of the pool like coffee over the edge of a coffee cup, and I sit just out of the rain's way, insisting deck time in spite of the gray. I contemplate getting in the hot tub, despite the wind and the cold and the clouds, over a backdrop of "Oye Como Va," played by a steel drum band.

~And now in an effort to remove all traces of reality from your presence, in order to preserve the fantasy of perfection you have bought yourself for a mere 7 days (all you could afford probably) we will now squeegee all indications of rain from the decks and chairs and railings -- see us restore dry just for you, and believe you me, if we could figure out a way to squeegee away the clouds from in front of the sun you'd better believe we would, dammit. Please enjoy your previously scheduled perfection.

~How is it that two unrelated manuscripts, by two people who have assuredly have not ever met each other, both reference Nabokov's Lolita?

~Why on earth would that man think denim bib overalls are appropriate for cruise casual dining? Why? Really...I need an answer.

For the record, mojitos rock. And Santana on the Steel Drums is surprisingly listenable. Really. Even without mojitos. Though technically I did not try it that way.....

The Final Snippet: Stop screaming, you're scaring the monkeys. (The Boy to me, prior to zip-lining in Belize. As it turns out I LOVED zip-lining and it was my whoops of exhiliration which scared the monkeys...)

Random Shoplifts....Again

2011-11-19T19:18:00.000-08:00

Picked up in various places over the last few weeks......

~Yes, but I'm a competent drunk girl. (party, where else)

~Without either over complexifying or under complexifying things (please, people, save me from meetings. I am serious.)

~Don't go then. Just send a card and a ham (nothing says I'm sorry I bailed on your important event like a ham....)

~I have a lot of experience in the mental health community (people should be careful when they assert such stuff...I kind of wondered if she meant as a patient. Just saying.)

You have to have trust in a relationship -- you have to know the other person will actually take the handcuffs off....(seriously, more than I ever wanted or needed to know about the person who said this).

The Final Snippet: would be redundant.

When Life Moves This Fast...

2011-11-17T14:52:00.000-08:00

Since my announcement last week, things have been moving very quickly for me. I have gone from one client to two under contract, and am in negotiations with two more. I have a proof copy of one book in hand, and am working on cover art and editing for client number two (announcement forthcoming).

I have confirmed a release date for Charles Bynum's book, "The Other Side of Hell," and also locked in a venue and other details for a publication/release/signing.

I am careening along. A few days ago, I felt a little frantic, and realized that it is frightening when things take on a life of their own and move very quickly. It takes such a unique set of occurrences, coincidences and circumstances, and we rarely get to experience such a confluence as I now find myself in the middle of. And it is frightening, much as I am loathe to admit it.

But it's frightening much in the way a roller coaster is, the first time you ride it. You can't anticipate the dips and turns, you can't do much about ending upside down once you are strapped in for the ride....and there it is. When life presents such a ride, do you decline out of the fear of the unknown, or do you strap in for the ride.

The ride comes with some fear, but also a hell of a lot of exhileration. And by the time you are afraid, you pretty much are too late to do anything about it all until the ride takes you back to the station.

So, when life moves this fast, I guess you'd better hope you wanted to be on the ride, because baby you are already heading toward the loop-the-loop, and the dips and turns are gonna wreck your stomach, but it sure as hell is fun if you let it be.

Here's hoping for a lengthy ride.

Taking Calculated Risks

2011-11-09T07:28:00.000-08:00

After careful consideration, I have decided to go into business as Courtney Literary, LLC, providing managed self-publishing.

Essentially, I spent a lot of time looking at the current state of the publishing industry, and understanding the sorts of obstacles that crop up for really good writers, with really good products, which keep them from going the "traditional" publishing route. The alternative as it has presented itself is self-publishing or 'Indie" publishing.

However, self- or indie-publishing requires that an author become an expert on editing, layout, marketing, public relations, etc.

What I saw was a hole in the market for someone who would function as sort of a publishing manager -- take some risk with the author, much like a traditional publishing model, but bring the skills and perform the sorts of services which some authors simply do not want to perform. I understand some large agencies have begun to offer similar models.

Essentially, I provide at MY cost final editing, cover design, formatting for various formats for POD and eBooks, and work with the author to create and EXECUTE a sales and marketing plan, to include scheduling signings, speaking engagements, etc. My profit, much like a traditional model, will come as a percentage of sales on the back end. Clearly, this model is not for everyone -- many self- or indie-published authors neither want nor need the sorts of services I provide. But some do.

And let me make clear, I am in no way attempting to supplant a traditional model, nor am I advertising expertise I do not have (for instance agenting -- I am not an agent, nor do I want to be). This is simply an alternative path which is made possible by the sometimes confusing but always amazing things happening in publishing today.

Having said all that, I am pleased to announce that I went to contract about three weeks ago with an author, Charles Bynum. His memoir, "The Other Side of Hell," has a scheduled publication date of December 17, 2011.

I am very excited to share this with my writing community. Because of the amount of time I will dedicate to each project, I will take on only a limited number in the next 12 months -- this is not a solicitation for queries at this time, just a sharing of this new venture in my writing life. Thanks for listening and for being a great community.

Changing Course Mid-stream

2011-11-08T05:36:00.001-08:00

It's funny the directions life takes you in when you aren't paying very much attention. Maybe not so funny, sometimes, but certainly odd.

I have been invested in a career as a writer for so long I can't really remember not having self-identified this way. I wrote my first legible story when I was 5, and I realized shortly thereafter that I was not a drawer of pictures but rather a scribe of words which in turn told of pictures far better than I ever managed with crayons.

I worked as a journalist, I got my degree in creative writing. I write.

But somehow along the way, I gathered a skill set that is useful. To other writers. Negotiation. Facilitation, Project Management, Design Management, Marketing, Public Relations.. Because, life just sort of happens while you are doing other stuff, or while you want to do other stuff.

And so, while I will always consider myself to be a writer, and I will continue my quest for publication, I find myself with a unique opportunity to foster the dreams of other writers.

And here's the thing. When you have an opportunity...when the universe tosses one your way, you damn well ought to take it. Yeah, you can stick to your guns, your original goals, you can fight the damn current, swim upstream, and force your way into whatever it was that you wanted.

But embracing the opportunity, embracing the chance, stepping into the flow, and incorporating who you are with what lies ahead, almost always works out better.

So instead of insisting and controlling, I am embracing. Instead of forging upstream, tacking against the wind and the current, I am going to change course and let the stream take my little sailboat of me where it will, into this new venture, this new opportunity.

I will always be a writer, but now I will be a writer who does some other stuff too...good stuff, productive stuff, and stuff that feeds my soul almost as much as finishing a story does.

What will you do when the universe suggests you change course?

The Final Snippet: No shoplift today -- just a promise of more info to come as some exciting stuff shapes up in my near future.

p.s., I lied. This is the final snippet: "For right now nothing changes…Working through issues on an hour by hour bases right now. Things are changing hour by hour…But everything is status quo." (I can't even begin to parse this...can you?)

Rainy Day of the Soul

2011-11-04T09:41:00.000-07:00

How is it we spend so much of ourselves on endeavors other than those which we hold close to our hearts?

As 2011 progresses, I find myself more and more involved in things other than writing and having a more difficult time carving out the time I need to do the work that feeds my soul.

Pay Yourself First is a concept that crops up in economic seminars -- when folks are having trouble with debt or finances, advisers will remind them to make sure their savings is taken care of -- and this is important -- our saving protect against the proverbial rainy day.

How is it we pay ourselves first in creative endeavors....save against feeding our souls via art -- writing, visual, music -- how can we bank against a rainy day for the soul?

I don't know. I just don't. I DO know it is important to make time for art, for our creativity, for that which we must express. But damn, I'm having a hell of a time doing it.

And so I am NOT participating in NaNoWriMo this year, though I have set myself a modest writing goal for the month. 20,000 words. And I celebrate those of you who are going gangbusters on your 50,000 word commitments.

The Final Snippet: "And we want to do this without either over complexifying or under complexifying things." (Overheard in a business meeting, where else).

Again With the Random

2011-10-04T20:38:00.000-07:00

In lieu of a real post, some shoplifts:

~So, go to YouTube and then Google this..... (I just giggled when I heard this...)

~My soul is in debt but my bills are paid.

~Life comes with all these expenses. And poetry just doesn't pay. (lifted from an amazing movie, Chasing Sleep).

And a promise of a real post. Soon. Really. Probably.

The Final Snippet: Would be redundant.

Random Lifts, Part, uh, Something or Other

2011-08-01T09:41:00.000-07:00

From various events and venues over the last three weeks, spread across two states.

~No, all the gin was definitely on the top.

~Do you know how much acid I dropped while translating Latin? (Uh, no, and don't want to)

~Well, then, Google that shit and let me know. (Ah, Google, the arbiter of all disagreements)

~So, the first time I stalked him on Facebook (seriously, I do not want to hear any more, especially since this clearly implies there was more than one stalking incident...)

~Q: Why'd you stay in St. Louis, if you love Colorado so much? A: Well, I just kept getting married, and then I had a bunch of kids.... (Uh....well, just...uh.....I got nothing).

The Final Snippet: Would be redundant.

I Forgot My Pants, and Other Musings on a Weekend Well Spent

2011-07-25T15:36:00.000-07:00

(warning…long post)

Just back from a lovely writers conference underwritten by the Steamboat Springs Arts Council. I am, as usual after a conference, re-invigorated in my own writing efforts, and heartened that so many are as in love with words as I am.

Right – enough with the sweet. If you‘ve spent more than 5 minutes in my presence, you know I don’t really do much sweet, so let’s get to the kooky bits which, when added to all the writing awesomeness, made this a Weekend To Remember (In The Annals of Deb).

Travel Nicknames

On every roadtrip I take from now on it shall be mandatory for all people in the car to have a road trip nickname. For a variety of reasons, I was known for the duration of the trip as Naan Sequitir. This replaces my previous assassin alias of Black Ice. The Boy, who tagged along, was code name International Waters. Here’s the thing about road trip nicknames – they must grow organically from the absurd conversations one has while on a road trip. No arbitrary road trip nicknames, please. At least for the duration of the trip the name must have contextual significance. My game…my rules.

Where all your dreams are for sale….

Accommodations in Steamboat were lovely and comfortable. However, I have never stayed anywhere that has had so many dreamcatchers hanging on the walls. Just when we thought we’d found them all, we came across secret hidden dreamcatchers. With price tags on them. The fabulous Susan Mitchell remarked that she felt as if part of her subconscious might be trapped in the condo forever. I wondered if the entire property, when viewed from above, might actually be in the shape of a giant dreamcatcher, rendering the whole area a giant vortex of dream sucking. Without dreams, we die. You see why the entire thing then degenerated into….

Zombie Cannibals

Some road trips lend themselves to brainstorming movie plots. Horror movie plots, to be precise. Though we never quite settled on the finer points of plot, the roadtrip to a small mountain tourist town off-season lent itself nicely to either attack of zombie cannibals OR insane but unknowable serial killers who would slowly eliminate writers conference participants until just myself, The Boy and the fabulous Susan Mitchell were left, fighting for our lives and trying to escape in a convertible with only 17 dreamcatchers as weapons. Apparently our plan was to flail at the bad guy(s) with fluffy bits of string and wool until they gave in and bought one, or some nasty nightmare from a previous tenant came to life and whooped some zombie cannibal butt.

Yes I Really Forgot My Pants

Here’s a conversation you don’t want to have while attempting to dress professionally for the seminars you will be teaching in an hour:

Me: Uh, I have a weird question. Well really a statement.
Sue: (raises an eyebrown in question).
Me: So, it appears I forgot my pants….
Sue: uh….
Me: No really, I forgot my pants, so my wardrobe selections are the cocktail dress I wore to the opening party last night or the minidress I wore for the drive up.
Sue: (stares in disbelief)…Bahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaa……
Me: Sigh.

Thankfully the fabulous Susan Mitchell had something I could borrow which was suitable. Adding insult to injury, after I shared this with the conference attendees as an ice-breaker (yes, getting everyone to laugh at me IS an icebreaker), I was informed that in British English, pants refer to underwear, and the nice British woman at the table over on the side had almost choked on her coffee thinking I’d just informed the entire room that I’d forgotten my panties…..yes. Sigh.

Life brings us many adventures and absurdities, if we only bother to be present and pay attention. I like to do both, so I guess I get more than my fair share of absurd. Isn’t it awesome?

The Final Snippet: When you don’t know what something is, I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t walk up and stick your face in it.

Ten Things That Come To Mind on the Occasion of Finishing A Book Proposal

2011-07-06T09:18:00.001-07:00

(In which a writer shares her actual thoughts as experienced in the first few minutes after the actual completion of an actual book proposal).

1. Vodka. Need Vodka.

2. Writing is vile, wretched and hard. What was I thinking?

3. Holy crap, I am freaking brilliant.

4. Uh, this is terrible. Awful. What was I thinking?

5. 38 pages. This is perfect. The best book proposal ever written. Clearly I will land an amazing book deal in the next few moments.

6. What was I thinking?!?!?!?

7. It feels excellent to have finished such a long, involved and detailed task. Even if the idea doesn’t sell right away, I am pleased with the accomplishment of having gotten this far.

8. I am an idiot. The rejections will be epic and unparalleled, and I will forevermore sit on the double super-secret blacklist that all agents have, which they take out and laugh about over fabulous martinis in Manhattan, while sitting in bars from which I am also clearly banned for life.

9. I finished, I finished. Nyah, nyah, na-nyah nyah!

10. So. Schizophrenia. At least I have that going for me.

Actual thoughts. I kid you not. Still, it feels good to have finished the whole non-fiction book proposal. Now I wait. And hope the schizophrenia does not get the best of me in the meantime….

Bar Haiku, PPWC and You

2011-05-06T08:29:00.000-07:00

WARNING – LONG ENTRY

Five days after the event ended, I may actually be recovered from all the awesome that was PPWC 2011. I was thinking about the recovery time and why it gets longer each year – and it is not because I am getting older. I reject that premise. It’s that the conference gets better every year. More sessions, amazing faculty, wonderful attendees. It takes longer to process all that I have learned. That’s my story, anyway.

From the amazing Phil Nutman, to the inspiring John Hart, and running the gamut from aspiring authors to those who are multi-published, the folks I played with this weekend have re-energized my own writing….wait, did I say playing?

In fact I did.

While in every way a professional conference which assists people in moving their careers to the next level, PPWC also does an amazing thing in bringing together a bunch of writers. If you’ve ever been around ‘a bunch of writers’ (not sure what number that is, only that there is a sort of tipping point to a gathering of writers that constitutes a ‘bunch’), then you know it is an odd and gorgeous collection of kindred creative souls who can finally be who they are in public…without having to apologize for the solitary hours spent at a keyboard, or spent listening to the voices in their heads, or for having the hubris to think they have something important to say.

Being me, I wanted to exploit…uh….commemorate the event in some way, so I spent about an hour or so after the main banquet Saturday night walking up to strangers in the bar asking them to write Bar Haiku. Ok, some of you weren’t strangers, technically, but you have to admit you’re strange. And if I didn’t think that before Bar Haiku….well, I do now.

Funny thing about writers – they like to write. Funny thing about writers who are asked to write Bar Haiku, is that they can’t seem to say no, and then I get to watch them stand around and count syllables for a while as they engage with the process. Which amuses me. Which was kind of the point…

At any rate, I have culled the submissions into two categories – one appropriate for the PPWC Writing from the Peak blog, and, well, the rest of them. Here we go with The Rest of Them.

Surreal Haiku
Haiku can be fun
But sometimes they make no sense
Refrigerator

Booze Haiku
Beer, beer, beer, beer, beer,
Beer, beer, beer, beer, beer, beer, beer,
Beer, beer, beer, beer, beer

I can’t believe I’m
Finally twenty-one and
Drunk after one shot

T----- has Jack and coke
Inebriation ensues
What can one man do?

I hate alcohol
Don’t know why I’m in a bar
Oh, f---, now I’m drunk

Kind of about Sex Haiku
Pikes Peak Writers are done
The shoes and thongs have come out
Tomorrow we blaze the trail

Dirty martinis
Red lace panties hit the floor
Writer make your pitch

Male desperation
Hard wired to hunt and consume
Before the sunrise

Tattooed and muscled
Have him washed and brought to my
Tent and do it now

The well-known author
Surrounded by swooning girls
Work less, write more…sex?

I write books and junk
I can spell “décolletage”
But I can’t get it

Pouty lip bite, please?
If ever I could, I would.
See me in my dreams

Kegel, kegel…whoa
I must retain self-control
Um, what did you say?

Deb Haiku (a whole new and unexpected category)
Deb wants me to write
How can I when my brain’s fried?
With liquor in hand

Deb made me write this
She handed me the card and squinted
She got her money’s worth

I purposefully left off names, but if you signed the card when you gave it to me, I’m happy to add attribution. Wanted to give all you writers the option of claiming or not.

As you see, if you did not attend PPWC 2011, you missed a super time – from the perspective of furthering your career, and because you missed Bar Haiku with Deb. Do yourself a favor and join us for the 20th anniversary conference, PPWC 2012.

The Final Snippet: I like trees too, but I wouldn’t want to lick one (by all reports this conversation started with a discussion of the merits of gin….)

Deb Answers: Jessica in Springfield: No. Just no.

Random Shoplifts, the Nth

2011-04-11T07:28:00.000-07:00

Overheard in various places in the last week or so...

~Gravity is not gonna be generous to your short crooked ass. (One woman berates another for wearing her backpack wrong. Just...weird.)

~I know some things about him that I will never tell, but I think he should leave women along and stick with something plastic. (Uh, note to self, try and figure out who this guy is and NEVER date him)

~If you're not touching the top of it, what's the point? (I have no clue what the topic was, but other than lifting it, I'm not touching anything. Certainly not the top of it.)

~Rose pedal, with floral aroma and spice flavors. (I'm neither wearing nor drinking this, whatever it was).

~When you get three without getting anywhere near a bar, it's a good day (no context. I like this one as it is. If you're curious, email me.)

Happy eavesdropping!

The Final Snippet: redundant

Deb Answers: Margaret in Tacoma: It is not in fact the spirit of your favorite orchid that was in the perfume, but an entirely different, yet similar orchid. Your orchid's soul twin, if you will.

Stranger Than Fiction, Man

2011-04-06T12:18:00.000-07:00

I just had this conversation. It is worthy of a shoplift, but too long for my normal pithy phrase grab. So I will relate it in its entirely. I can only imagine were I to incorporate this into a book, some editor would say it is entirely unrealistic and could never ever ever take place in reality and therefore is entirely unbelievable for fiction.

"Hi, can we we chat for a few minutes about the firewall rules I need to document? There are a number of line items designated as servers which don't seem to exist in any list I have and I don't know who I should assign them to for documenting," said Deb

"They're not really servers. You can call them servers for the purposes of this discussion but they aren't really. They are for security stuff," said IT Security Guy.

"Oh," said Deb, now a little confused. "So, YOU are the owner for purposes of documentation?"

"Yes, you could say that," replied IT Security Guy.

"So...you pulled the list of rules together for me..." said Deb.

"Yes," said IT Security Guy.

"And you sent the list to me so I can make sure I get the proper documentation?" asked Deb.

"Yeah," said IT Security Guy.

"And you sent an email to your boss saying you can't complete your tasks on this phase of the project until I provide said documentation?" asked Deb, her voice rising a bit in tone.

"Right," replied IT Security Guy.

"And the documentation I need, as it turns out, has to come from you?" asked Deb, now clearly disturbed.

"Uh, yes," responded IT Security Guy slowly.

"So, uh, why didn't you just fill that part in when you sent me the original file? Or, you know, let me know you were ultimately responsible for doing it so I didn't spend 4 days asking you for help. Or, you know, when I started asking you about the servers in question so I could identify who was responsible for the documentation, you might have said it was you..."

"I wasn't tasked with that," said IT Security Guy.

"You weren't tasked with that?" Deb parroted.

"Right."

A long silence ensued during which Deb's face turned several apoplectic shades of puce which are clearly not in a normal face-color spectrum.

"So, you should send it all to my boss and ask him to task me with that, so I can get it added to my task list."

"Because you won't do it until you are tasked by him, but you WILL send him emails complaining that it isn't done...."

"Well, yeah. It's holding me up."

"Uh, sure. I'll do that," said Deb, showing all the restraint she could possibly muster. She turned and walked away muttering under her breath something that sounded suspiciously close to 'beat you to death with my stiletto' but which could not possibly be what she actually said, because that would be wrong.

Sigh.

The Final Snippet: I am not inconsistent. I just have an expanded repertoire of emotions.

Deb Answers: Lissa in Stoughton MA: Pick a mood, woman, and stick with it. Seriously.

Writing That Next Word

2011-04-04T12:46:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend writing.

Damn, it feels good to say that. Ok -- that's not all I did....I managed some laundry and cooked a rack of ribs for some delightful men. But mostly I wrote. Then revised. Then wrote some more.

I wrote on Friday about being excited for a mini-retreat -- I'd managed to set aside Friday night and all day Saturday to go to a pal's place with a number of other writers and really focus on getting some heavy lifting done word-wise. And I got some heavy lifting done -- Chapter 1 of WIP needed a revision. I'd been putting it off even though I knew what I needed to do. And Friday night I talked my way through it; Saturday I did it, then workshopped it with some amazing writers (who were kind enough to provide me with instant gratification...er..feedback), then made another pass to add some layers of refinement.

Funny thing -- all that work lopped over into Sunday, when I made yet another pass and added some addition refinements. Probably still needs some fine-tuning, but I have that planned for tomorrow night.

My lesson at the moment is that scheduling time to write, and having some accountability about it (and not just to myself) is helping to keep me motivated and moving forward.

And writing that next word.

And when it comes down to it that's really all we can do -- write that next word.

Are you writing your next word?

The Final Snippet: Now we have a use for that Kama Sutra Chocolate.....

Deb Answers: Beth in South Florida: Step away from the beer. Really.

Mini-Retreat - Yay!

2011-04-01T07:19:00.000-07:00

In preparation for pitching at Pikes Peak Writers Conference at the end of this month, I am fortunate enough to be participating in a mini-retreat tonight and all day tomorrow.

I have realized that since I work a day job, I kind of view my time at home in the evenings or on the weekends as relaxation time, and sometimes have a difficult time making myself write. I kind of resent it in a way.

But, if I remove myself from my home environment, then I seem to be in a more disciplined head space, and have a much easier time being productive. Weird psychological trick, that, but if it works, I'm willing to do it. So I'll be at mini-retreats and the local coffee shop a lot this month.

How do you prep as you are coming down the final stretch with a project? I know a bunch of people who can write any time, any place, and sometimes I wish I were one of them. But I guess we all have an innate process -- one of my goals for the rest of this year is retraining my brain to a new process :)

Meanwhile I will spend tonight and tomorrow doing all the writing I ought to have been doing after work this week.

Wish me good words.....

The Final Snippet: You know it was a great party when someone is missing a fang.

Deb Answers: Vanessa in OK: I would use the scarf before the twine.

Post-party Pre-Conference Blues

2011-03-30T09:54:00.000-07:00

I have this blues riff running through my brain....

I ain't got no agent
I ain't got no deal
Am I really a writer?
Am I even real?

I got the blues...
I got the writer blues....
I got the no good, low down, bustin' my ass and still no book deal blues.....

A bunch of my friends gathered with me to celebrate my birthday recently. Bunch of creative, brilliant, amazing super-wonderful people whom I am so honored to call my friends. Celebrating me.

Sometimes we can be humbled by things we least expect to be humbled by -- and I am humbled by this amazing group and the esteem they seem to hold me in.

And that kind of sparked my blues -- for whatever reason, I AM held in high esteem by this group, and I'm feeling a bit unworthy of it all.

But, with Pikes Peak Writers Conference just around the corner, I have an opportunity to maybe feel a bit more worthy. Because I HAVE been working my ass off...writing, editing, shaping my pitches (yes pitches, plural). And I am going in with everything I have.

And that will be for me, not for my pals, because they apparently don't need or want me to be anyone or any way other than who I am right now.

Still, opportunity is on the horizon.

And really, it's self indulgent (if slightly cool) to have the blues. I remind myself that I am in charge of my future, I own my destiny, and it is up to me to make things happen, in my life and in my writing career.

So, even though I really like singing the blues, I don't much like having them. And as a writer, I can rewrite the blues into something more uptempo, rock-opera, synth-success, just by sheer force of will and some hard work.

Go write your own songs, folks.

And if they come out rather more bluesy and sad than you like, re-write at will. It's what we do.

The Final Snippet: Nothing mixes quite like absinthe and kids (overheard at my party).

Deb Answers: To Miller in SD: This is not the job you seek.

Random Shoplifts, Part, uh, Whatever

2011-03-16T12:45:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know eavesdropping isn't polite. I was, in fact, raised properly -- ask my mother. It's just that...well, I don't care. People say the most amazing stuff, out loud, in front of me. I feel as a writer I have an obligation to capture the amazing ways in which people use language to express themselves. Obligation.

Yes, probably some day it will get me in some absurd kind of trouble, but I don't care. I just don't.

When possible, I tell the folks from whom I lift stuff that I am stealing their words, and I immediately write what they said in the special file I have set up on my Blackberry. In front of them. I even tell them their words will end up in my blog. I have never been asked NOT to use something I shoplift, though I have been asked to make sure it is anonymous. For the record, I don't shoplift anything that would make a person easily identifiable. As far as I know, anyway.

Having reiterated all that, we are on to Random Shoplifts...many of which are from a rather rambunctious few hours I spent careening from art galleries to nightclubs in Downtown Colorado Springs last Friday.

~There was a drunk Russian man in the ladies room. He had pretty eyes. (You should always judge the eye-prettiness of the drunk foreign man in the wrong bathroom....it's really a matter of courtesy...or something)

~I kissed one guy I thought was Mormon, but it turned out he was just gay. (I don't write 'em, I just steal 'em)

~God apparently did not want my insurance rates to drop. (God does rate reductions? Who knew?)

~What are you doing with integrity? (Buying it an Irish Car Bomb, of course)

~The way you eat a Popsicle is a metaphor for sex. (Oh really? I stopped listening almost immediately....very graphic blush-inducing conversation ensued, and for me to find something blush-inducing means it was frighteningly graphic)

~Butt Cheek Diamonds (which I am filing under 'Great Name For A Rock Band')

Right -- that's all I have for you. Hope you enjoy these, and I hope even more you say something awesome in front of me so I can Shoplift you.

The Final Snippet: would be redundant

Deb Answers: Ray in South Beach: Fighting would not be the right course of action unless you are positive you will win.

Real Life, Only Better.

2011-03-06T08:42:00.000-08:00

Life. That thing that inconveniently steps in when you’re trying to write. The audacity of it, insisting it is more important than the next chapter, the current plot twist, or Edits, Round 10.

My litany of issues with Life this week include: Really, you HAD to break my washing machine AND my dryer in the same week? Coincidentally the same week that I needed to have the contractor out to do the bid on my stairs? And you couldn’t have pushed the brake repair on the car out a week? Not just for the money, but now I have to find time to get all this stuff done too? And still single-parent, cook, clean, cart the teen around…have you no mercy, Life?

Makes me want to swear. Loudly. In multiple foreign languages.

The suck truth is, Life doesn’t really give a crap about plans or schedules or ‘need-to’ versus ‘want-to’. It just is. And we have to pick ourselves up every time it happens and just keep doing what we do. Just how it is.

How come Life really doesn’t much get in the way in books? The intrepid sleuth never has a pipe burst in the basement when she’s on her way to track down the bad guy. And what would she do it she did have a pipe burst? It’s not like you can just walk away, let the flood happen, ruin all your stuff. Or could you? There’s a conundrum to anguish over….lose my shit, or let the bad guy get away. Five minutes to decide.

And how come the intrepid sleuth never has 18 of her closest friends over to dinner only to find the loin chops have gone off and she has no backup main course available? Or that the carpet has suddenly detached itself from her stairs, causing a guest to fall on his ass as he is attempting to leave after the loin chopless dinner? Causing a personal injury suit her insurance won’t cover?

Or am I just reading the wrong books?

I swear, I am going to inflict calamity after calamity on my main character, to the point that it becomes absurd. I bet someone will read my draft and say – wait, THAT would never happen. Sigh. Real life is definitely more complex than fiction, and yet, we have to write fiction like it is real life, only better.

That’s where I’d like to be today – Real Life, Only Better.

Only I bet Life is lurking there too and it isn’t really ‘better’ if you spend enough time there.

Hope Life is kinder to your schedule than it has been to mine this week. I’m off to write some more…unless something else breaks.

The Final Snippet: I just need to get past the crying babies. And the chewing. (I have nothing to add to this).

Deb Answers: Mary in Detroit: Inconsequential delusion. Really.

Embracing Rejection

2011-03-01T08:44:00.000-08:00

On the fourth Monday of every month I host a get together of writers in my local community for Pikes Peak Writers. Sometimes we workshop, sometimes we share, sometimes we whine about how unrelentingly difficult it is to get through publishing gateways when you are really trying hard to do everything right. Wait, that’s just me.

I fib. I don’t whine that much. Only a little.

Be that as it may, at last night’s meeting the subject of querying to land representation was a big topic, and therefore REJECTION was a big topic. To be sure, the folks at the table wanted to discuss and double check to make sure they were doing things right, that they had all their bases covered. There was no real whining at all. I promise.

But I kept asking “What kind of rejections are you getting, and how many of them have you gotten?”
I know why I wanted the number – in trying to garner representation, assuming your product is good, sometimes it’s a matter of finding that agent who will fall as much in love with your work as you are, of finding the person who sees its potential and who can commit to it. Given that most of us do not have the luxury of living in New York, it’s a numbers game, at that point – keep sending queries until you find that one agent.

On the other hand, if you are getting rejections they can fall across a spectrum. The impersonal form rejection means you barely made if off the slush pile before you were rejected. Slightly better is the form rejection with a personal note or signature – some indication that an actual human read what you sent. These are pretty standard.

Even better still is a brief note which gives an explanation of sorts – we like it but don’t love it, we love it but don’t think we can sell it, the market is saturated with this, your voice is strong but the story doesn’t quite work, do you have anything else we can look at. These are ‘Good Rejections’ in that they provide a little salve for the sting of another “no” and maybe an indication of things you can do in response.

In the case of actual information, as a writer you might change something about your work that keeps coming up from professionals who are rejecting it. You might shelve a project for a while to re-think it. It may just be a ‘trunk novel’ something which many writers end up with (trunk novel being one which is done but just isn’t good enough or right enough for the market to get published at that time).

Problem is you can’t EXPECT a “Good Rejection” – you can really only ever expect a form, impersonal one. And sometimes rejections really are because your work isn’t ready, isn’t yet good enough. But that’s not a reason to be disheartened – it’s a reason to do whatever you need to in order to change those circumstances.

And here’s the thing….EVERYONE gets rejections. I did some research this morning and found some awesome stuff. Rudyard Kipling was told he didn’t know how to use the English language in a rejection letter. H.G. Wells’ “War of the Worlds” was called ‘horrid’. JG Ballard was told “The author of this work is beyond psychiatric help.”

If you are feeling the sting of rejection, take a look at this book, from which the above are referenced: “Rotten Rejections: The Letters That Publishers Wish They'd Never Sent,” by Andre Bernard.

Some of these rejections make a form rejection seem kind and desirable.

The most important thing to keep in mind is that the writers who were rejected in the fashions included in this book persevered. They did not give up. They went on to publish in many instances to great acclaim and success.

So, keep sending your work out and embrace the rejections. Know you are following a well-worn path, and one which, if you follow it long enough and with enough dedication and perseverance, can lead to your desired destination.

The Final Snippet: Caution, we are now experiencing a brief interlude of sanity. (I have no notes on this one, no clue where I got it)

Deb Answers: Marissa, in Tampa: Yes, that car makes Your butt look big.

Rewriting. Again. And Again.

2011-02-28T11:15:00.000-08:00

I really thought I’d nailed that first chapter. Really. Nailed. Fourth draft. The Second and third were mostly an attempt to start the thing en medias res – for the most part I lopped off several thousand words of backstory and tried to get closer to where the real beginning is. Twice.

Yeah, I still haven’t nailed it. Twice.

But that’s okay. Really it is. Disheartening, but not so much that I won’t go carve out some more and try to really really really nail it down.

While we are often told there is only one chance to make a first impression, the cool thing about writing is that we get drafts – however many we need – before we introduce our darling to the world at large. Okay – some critique partners have now met my first chapter rather more frequently than they might like (have I mentioned recently how much I LOVE you guys?), but they have all agreed to the part of the writers journey that comes before you nail the thing down correctly. This is a role we willingly play for each other.

Here’s the thing about good first chapters – we almost always write them as our ~3rd chapter or so. Somewhere between 20 – 60 pages are spent ‘setting things up’, making sure the reader understands what world we have put them in. And it turns out that those initial pages are backstory – sometimes containing important elements, but essentially just a drag on the reader before they get to the meat of your story.

And you WANT your reader to get to the meat of the story – why will anyone bother reading your story if it takes 60 pages for anything interesting to happen?

The suck part about this, is I know this fact. I know it well. I recognize easily when others do it.
And yet, I still did it. Sigh.

But, I have recognized it, have had it pointed out, have re-recognized it, and I think I am close. At least I have a plan, and some folks have heard the idea through, and I will re-write the first chapter again, and hope that I finally found the sweet spot where I dump the reader right into the middle of things without making a muddle of it.

Wish me luck with the words. And if not luck, then hope I find the right draft, whichever it is.

Back to it.

The Final Snippet: I have seen him drunk, wearing a bunny suit. (this is a contributed shoplift, so I personally did not see the guy in question drunk in a bunny suit. But having met him, I can now picture it. So, thanks for that.)

Deb Answers: Madeline in Orange County: Those are not the evening clothes you seek.

Singeing your Eye Whiskers

2011-02-22T08:25:00.000-08:00

While playing poker at my house the other night, a friend said, ‘Uh, I think your cat may have burned itself…” We all turned to look where she indicated. In fact, the cat was standing very close to a grouping of candles, and as we all watched, she leaned over to examine a flame. Quickly she jumped back shaking her face. I went and picked her up and sure enough she had damaged the whiskers over her right eye. Which means she will walk a little funny and bump into things for a few days.

My cat is a gorgeous long-haired mix of American Ragdoll and Bob-tail. She is like a tiny, delicate, befurred Siamese, which a loud chirrup of a voice and a tail that is always curled around her (due to the bobtail mutation). She is adorable. She is not, however, smart, and this whisker singeing was not her first. In some weird way she is determined to ‘get’ something about flames and keeps revisiting them even though they clearly cause her some damage and a little pain. I have to keep the wood burning fireplace insert doors closed as she gets super close and I’m afraid she’ll actually walk in.

Yes, that not smart.

But her persistence got me to thinking. Both in life and in writing fiction, I think we tend to stick with the familiar, the comfortable. We don’t like stepping outside our habits, climbing out of our ruts. In my current work in progress, I found myself placing limits on where I would take my character – oh, I can’t write THAT, I would tell myself. That is too vulgar, or too over the top, or would offend some people. And for a while I wrote my character very carefully so as to stay within some boundary that makes me feel safe. After all, offending people, writing things about a character that people might confuse with me, writing something too vulgar (and yes, there is a TOO vulgar for me, I do have some limits), well, it SCARES me.

Yes, scares me.

What if something is so vulgar it puts off potential readers? What if someone surmises I am my character and therefore decides not to like ME any more? What if, what if, what if. Yet I kept coming up with scenes that seemed so right, then self-censoring myself. Not writing them. Just like my cat, back to the flame again and again.

But here’s what I have finally decided: We can’t be afraid to singe our eye whiskers. We just can’t. There’s a life lesson in here, certainly, but from a writing perspective, if we never go to the places where we singe our whiskers, if we only write what is safe and comfortable and what we think will not offend, well, we aren’t writing our true selves. And I think (and someone correct me if I am wrong) that writing that is unloosed, and not self-censored, and which goes exactly where it needs to go, is almost always going to be better and get more positive responses from readers than that which is restrained and safe.

By this I don’t mean that you need to work hard to offend, or use curse words, or gratuitously use sex. I mean, write the book that is there to be written, there inside your brain, and don’t let fear keep you from writing exactly that book. Even if it’s scary to step out of your comfort zones. Even if you think you might be judged. Even if you think you might singe your eye whiskers.
The worst that will happen is that you might walk a bit wobbly for a while, bump into things for a bit.

And I am pretty sure that’s okay.

Singe your eye whiskers writer-people. Do it.

The Final Snippet: It’s not road rage, it’s severe road irritation.

Deb Answers: Cara in Boston – lay off the bagels. Seriously.

Guest Dog Goes Walkabout (and Other Stuff)

2011-02-19T13:21:00.000-08:00

Saturday is usually my day to do stuff around the house, and I am deeply involved in Getting Things In Order today as I have a bunch of cool chicks coming over to play Texas Hold 'em. I of course plan to kick ass, but I do need to get a bunch of stuff done before the ass kicking can begin.

Which means I do not need a dog gone walkabout at the moment. But life often delivers us that which we least need, when we least need it. My life does anyway.

So there I was staining baseboards (yes, that's probably excessive just for a poker party but I have an excessive personality. Don't judge me). And I get the call from Guest Dog's real owner (Guest Dog is not mine, I am fostering him, hence calling him Guest Dog). I have to hike a mile to retrieve him. He thinks this is great fun -- not only did he make two new dog friends and a bunch of new human pals who think he is an awesome and rockin' dog, but he gets a most excellent walk from his second-favorite human (his first of course being his owner). Guest dog = happy. I = not amused.

Sigh.

But the forced walk in the middle of what I NEED to get done got me thinking about characters and whether or not we inflict the very real and mundane stuff of life on them as much as we should. Pipes break before big parties (at my house they do), dogs go walkabout while you are on a tight schedule, half & half goes bad seconds before you need to offer it to a guest, and the grocery stores run out of the exact item you need for the dinner you have planned forcing either a change of plans or a detour to another store (several if you are me). And sometimes you can't find a bathroom when you really, really need one. Again, don't judge me.

While I am finishing the draft of my work in progress, I think I will introduce a bit more of the mundane and irritating into my main character's life. Sometimes it's not the big plot points in life that show who a person is, but the way they deal with the mundane and routine.

I will not give my character, Else, a Guest Dog, however. She is much smarter than me and would know better than to take one in in the first place.

I'm off to finish the baseboards. Sigh.

The Final Snippet: I used to live with a Portuguese midget stripper. I hung her in a closet once, and boy was she pissed. (overheard of course in a bar. For the record, 'midget' is an extremely offensive way to refer to a person with dwarfism, but I think the guy who said this probably wasn't all too concerned with offending anyone).

Deb Answers: To Carol in Ozark Lakes: In fact it IS alligators. You should do something about that.

Random No-Context Shoplifts

2011-02-17T14:09:00.000-08:00

~Does my head look too big? Should I grow my hair longer to compensate?

~I started drinking because I was in choir....

~I'm not saying I'm NOT in love with you....

~It was like getting the Hapsbergs, the McCoys and the Gill Foundation to sit down and iron out their differences. Basically, pointless.

~Real world scuba accidents, and how to avoid them.

~They're retarded. And not in the sense of 'you're just stupid', but in the 'you have an extra fucking chromosome' sense. (sorry, offensive. I don't make 'em up, I just steal 'em and write 'em down)

~This is the part where you make a snarky comment which involves an obscenity.

The Final Snippet: None -- I gave you 7 excellent lifts above. Don't be greedy.

Deb Answers: To Randy in Maine....stop using soap, it is in fact infected.

An Insanity of Writers?

2010-12-13T07:38:00.000-08:00

Two things seemed to chase me around this weekend -- haiku and fairies.

Not literally of course. But references to both kept popping up. And I think as a creative person, it is my obligation to not only accept weirdnesses like these but as well to embrace them. Revel in them if you will.

Shopping with a friend, I saw so many fairy statues and pendants and related items that I finally gave in to the message and picked up a fairy for an author friend, Signe Pike, whose debut memoir you can find here: Faery Tale

I felt much better for listening to the message the universe was sending me in that moment, and that coincidentally is part of what Signe's lovely book is about.

Then the haiku started. I will admit, the haiku MIGHT have been related to the wine. Or the scotch. But mostly I think the haiku was related to being around a bunch of writers. The synchronicity (and drinking) that occurs when a bunch of writers gather is an amazing thing to me and it is both energizing and exhausting. And potentially hang-over inducing, but really that is another story entirely.

As a side note, I have always wondered what the appropriate appellation is for a gathering or group of writers, and I am not quite settled between 1) an Insanity of Writers or 2) an Inebriation of Writers. But I think both are appropriate. Any others I should consider?

Over a 24 hour period, the haiku ranged from Extemporaneous Bar Haiku, themed "Things We Eat With Scotch," to Random Book Signing Haiku, and finally to Zombie Haiku. All great fun, but I'll tell you the part I like best...when you ask writers to quickly produce haiku, inevitably their inner editor gets involved right away. The result is a person staring off into the far, far distance, while their inner editor makes them count syllables. You can tell they're counting because as writers, most of us aren't necessarily math geniuses, and we use our fingers to keep track.

Yeah, I think I'll settle on An Insanity of Writers. Quite perfect, that.

Back to the words.

The Final Snippet: I didn't eat all the pink ones...I just kept sticking my hand in there. (What? It sounds dirty? Pink and white frosted animal crackers people. Sheesh. With thanks to "Cookies" Fahnestock for the shoplift opportunity. )

DebNoWriMo and ACK, it's the Holidays!

2010-12-08T10:35:00.000-08:00

My personal extension of NaNoWriMo, otherwise known as DebNoWriMo, is shaping up, but very slowly. I set my goal at ~22,000 for the month of December. Am averaging about 500 words a day, and am just past 4000 words for December.

Other than liking the way DebNoWriMo sounds (all pretty to my already overblown ego), the point of DebNoWriMo for me is to continue the daily writing habit I acquired during November. November is, I think, a kind of suck month for a gargantuan commitment like 50,000 words, but I think it's only really suck if you aren't in the habit of daily writing. I was not.

If I can make myself average ~20,000 a month for a few months in a row, I think the habit will be ingrained enough by next November that I can do 50,000 in one month. The big plus-up for me though will be having finished a draft of Mantourage somewhere around the end of January, and be in revisions/editing mode with it, and simultaneously working on drafting the next project over the summer. I will look forward to NaNoWriMo next November as a chance to push myself a bit harder, and hope the habits I am forcing myself to keep will stand me in good stead.

All this of course assumes that I don't get derailed, because, by the way, if you haven't noticed, It's The Freaking Holidays!!!! So much to do. Must get it all done, or pare back on the list. And must stay on track for writing goals.

As such I have eliminated most holiday baking, except for making my Great Grandmother's Hard Table candy (a sort of Welsh fudge) and my mom's traditional thumbprint cookies (The Boy would disown me otherwise).

How will you manage your writing goals during the holidays? What are you willing to give up to do so?

Back to it.

The Final Snippet: Right now this will take a back burn (overheard in a meeting by someone who clearly misunderstood the reference entirely)

You Know What's Great? (Post NaNoReport 2010)

2010-12-01T12:56:00.000-08:00

I hereby report that I did not make 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo. I wasn't sure I would, or that I could, but damn I wanted to. I am a little disappointed in myself, but even as I write that I realize that I DID finish 22,000 words of a new project in one month. 22,000.

That's a damn lotta words.

In fact, 22,000 is probably the greatest number of words I've managed on a spec fiction project in a single month since...well, since I can remember. And it is no small accomplishment.

So, my excitement at seeing this project grow through November, and my now conditioned need to continue seeing the word count grow has led me to declare December DebNoWriMo...which basically means the rest of y'all can slack off, but I plan to grind out another 20,000+ words in December. And another 20,000 in January, which will be DebNoWriMo 2. At which point I will have achieved the ~60,000 words I estimated will comprise my first draft of Mantourage.

Then I will of course descend into editing Hell, which is where all the truly hard work will get done. But I am looking forward to that, my writerly friends. Boy am I.

To steal a motif from my pal Margaret: You know what's great? Learning the lesson NaNoWriMo has to teach us. That's what's great.

What lesson is that? That writers write, every day, every spare second, without apology, without battling their inner critic over every little word. That writers don't just talk about writing, they pass up lunch dates to get another 800 words in. That writers spend Friday night after work at their computer cranking out a pivotal scene instead of at happy hour with their degenerate colleagues.

This is a thing I once knew innately but which I had lost sight of. Thanks, NaNoWriMo for giving it back to me.

And now, back to it.

The Final Snippet: Why is it that our purchasing of lottery tickets must always be hindered by discussions of the supernatural? (I'd try to explain this, but it barely makes sense even to me)

Just....stuff

2010-11-30T12:34:00.000-08:00

Just finished reading: All three Steig Larsson Lisbeth Salander books. Reading an awesome author makes me question sometimes whether I have what it takes. But then I remind myself I may just be awesome in a different way than said author. Also, the first 88 pages or so of Dragon Tattoo should have been edited out. Just saying. Also, I want to kick some ass....

Just returned from: Marrietta, Georgia. Am now a fan of Taco Mac. Keep finding Taco Mac mint wrappers in my handbag. Have acquired a cool new Tshirt proclaiming my enrollment in the Taco Mac Brewniversity. My brother, CW, has wrecked me by exposing me to such awesomeness that does not also exist in Colorado. Whatever shall I do?????

Just listened to: The Drop Kick Murphys. Theoretically I have hear them before, but did not really know what I was listening to. Irish Screamo. With bagpipes. Every bit of my personal history all rolled up in one band. So much awesome in any single song that I may need to head to Taco Mac for a Guinness.

Just decided: I will do NaNoWriMo next year but will plan my month better so as to minimizes All Other Activities Which Could Possible Distract From Word Count. Might even take the month off from work (I wish).

That's about as much random as I can muster the energy to address, though I assure the universe, there is much much more random in my life than these four bits.

Back to writing....

The Final Snippet: Beer is not an anti-inflammatory -- except maybe for your emotions.

Writing Above the Clouds

2010-11-24T13:29:00.000-08:00

I am tooling along at 33,000 feet above sea level, in an airplane, somewhere halfway between Colorado and Georgia. And I'm blogging.

Out my window is a blanket of cloud that makes me feel like I am flying over a giant iceberg, and at the horizon, white meets bluesky as if it has been photoshopped into a sharp transition. Too real to feel real, this view.

What words will fly from my fingers at this lofty height? Probably nothing any better or brighter than usual...but they'll FEEL different. Lighter, more effervescent, misty, breezy and ephemeral as the clouds below me. I may have to book flights just to get this sense of important writing....If my wallet can handle it. Or maybe I'll just have to let my words take me to new heights.

The Final Snippet: For the love of all that is unholy...(overheard on the flight deck)

Tuesday, By the Numbers

2010-11-23T07:48:00.000-08:00

Fresh Bartlett Pears for breakfast: 1
Borderline anxiety attacks over flying: 2
Pounds lost this week: 3
Loads of laundry to do for trip: 4
Number of people who came to PPW Night: 5
Phone Calls I need to make: 6
Times I had to holler for teen to wake up: 7
Number of people I wish had come to PPW Night: 10
Words to be written to make NaNo goal: innumerable

The Final Snippet: It's not a grope; it's a freedom pat (Fake TSA Bumper Sticker)

A Little Stress Goes a Long #&%@*!#& Way

2010-11-22T11:02:00.000-08:00

Some years I really adore the holidays. Some years I can take or leave them. This year aligns with the latter versus the former.

Behind with NaNo, traveling for Thanksgiving, neither of which I normally do in November -- I grossly 'misunderestimated' the impact that these things would have on my baseline mood never mind on my ability to sit down and write. Add some other unexpected life stuff and it all adds up to stress. Not the good productive kind that keeps you moving forward, but the kind that gets in the way of just about everything you try to get done.

I realize that while I have figured out how to write during short chunks of time (which I thought I could not do), and how to make myself sit down after work and get more done when I really don't feel like it, I have not yet learned how to distance myself from stress and get to the writing.

It's not writers block. The stuff is there in my brain to be written. But stress is impeding my ability to let it all out -- I can't let go of that which is causing the stress long enough for the worlds to tumble from my brain to my fingers and thereby onto paper.

So next year, I won't combine NaNo with a 5 day trip to the East Coast, and will try to minimize other life interruptions...but you know, life IS that thing that happens when you're trying to write.

How do you find time or otherwise manage holiday stress which might impede your writing?

The Final Snippet: He could be home with a honey-do list, but instead he's at Borders with a book (Overheard at Borders followed by giggling from the several women moving in on the married, but attractive older guy who really just wants ro read)

Plus, You Can Repeat Words!

2010-11-18T06:16:00.000-08:00

Don't you wish you had a job like mine? All you have to do is think up a certain number of words! Plus, you can repeat words! And they don't even have to be true! ~~Dave Barry

Sigh. NaNoWriMo is hard. I am hopelessly behind, and am resigning myself to not reaching 50,000 words. I won't add extra words for word count, and I won't write crap just to make word count. I just didn't have it in me to work on my project last night, so I wrote something else.

I suppose it's good that I wrote. Now if I can just get my brain to the point of performing on demand on the specific project I need to work on.

How do you make sure the words are there for what you need to write when you sit down to get to it? I don't believe in writers block, but sometimes there's just nothing to say.

Back to it.

The Final Snippet: We should nip that right in the butt.

Feeling Kind of...Orange

2010-11-17T09:07:00.001-08:00

New design. Fits my mood lately, which is swirly and open and bright. Writing begets writing, so I suppose NaNo has convinced me to write even when I don't particularly want to.

Even when I have nothing to day.

Not sure that's a good habit for a blogger to be in, so I'll just dip back out.

But yeah. Orange and swirly. Not bad.

The final snippet: Is that his girlfriend, or just a ho-worker. (made beer come out my nose)

Making Your Reader Cry

2010-11-16T11:12:00.000-08:00

Like many Pikes Peak Writers members, I am participating in NaNoWriMo. I am not doing a particularly good job at making my word count, but I will admit to being fairly happy with what I am writing. I am also fairly happy with the level of discipline I have gained -- I am spending my lunch hour writing, a thing which I would have insisted a month ago was impossible, and I am writing every singe day.

Happiness with myself notwithstanding, I hit what I think is a common week 2 crisis which went something like 'how in the world did I ever think I had the talent much less the time to try and write anything and how dare I have the hubris to think I might have something to say which might mean something to anyone but self-indulgent self." Or something like that. And I reached out to a few trusted pals for some reassurance. And they reassured me...but I didn't feel all that reassured.

I have a dear friend who is going through a life crisis, and it occurred to me while chatting with her on the phone that my NaNo project is about her exact conflict, about being on the other side of the journey which she is undertaking. And I told her this and asked if I could share the draft of the last few pages (yes, I write out of order). Indulging me, she said yes, and I read maybe 400 words to her over the phone.

While I read, I understood maybe for the first time the intended emotional impact of what I wrote. I mean, I understood it before, but in a clinical way, a 'these words should accomplish this thing" way. In that moment, I really got the visceral impact of the scene, and I realized when I finished that my friend and I were both crying. We cried for our own reasons, overlapping a bit, me for her misfortune, and for having a breakthrough insight into my own work; her for the simple fact of the unchosen life journey she is undertaking, and for realizing there is an end to it, eventually. We cried together, and the instigator of that moment were my words.

When she said she would love to read the finished product, I realized I had just been paid the ultimate compliment for a writer -- the reader-writer contract was fulfilled in that moment and she and I occupied the same emotive space. Through my words.

We write for so many reasons: out of need, out of a desire to be published, for wanting validation, for fulfillment artistically, but at the basis of every book is a simple premise -- that the engagement of the reader with the words the writer has provided will make for an experience of sorts. Without the reader, we may as well toss our words to the wind, without the writer, readers would have no way to fill that space in them that wants the words.

So maybe I am filled with hubris, thinking I have something to say that might mean something to a reader someday. Hell, I still have to convince myself of it, then an agent and then a publisher. But I think I do have something to say, and when I say it, I hope I evoke what I managed to in that small moment, that emotive connection that made my reader cry. And I am reassured.

And now, back to writing.

The final snippet: It's not rocket science. It's beer. (overheard at Southside Johnny's).

Windy Monday Thoughts

2010-05-24T12:02:00.000-07:00

I'm not entirely certain if it's the Monday that is windy, though it is, or the thoughts that are windy, which they might well be. Whatever the case, it's Monday, I'm thinking, and there's wind. Add 'em up how you will.

Random things on my mind:

Why do I like Jason Aldean so much? I would swear I am not a fan of country music, but damn, he adds a fun rock thing to the mix and I can't seem to get enough. Same with Jace Everett. Also, how did I go so long without ever hearing Mike Ness?

Why do people add a trailing 'so' to an otherwise perfectly declarative sentence? By this I refer to the following sort of sentence. "We went to the store, and Jessica couldn't find what she was looking for, then we went home. So....." And the thought ends there, with the 'so' dragging out like it's a cue for something. Am I alone in not understanding the function of the trailing 'so'? What am I supposed to surmise -- that there is more to the story but the speaker is sparing me? That the speaker is so uncomfortable stating a fact that he or she needs to waffle a bit at the end in order that I might interject some opinion? When did this become a convention that is ok? Why does it bother me so much?

How is it that I feel like I am generally a happy person, but that a good number of my Facebook status updates would lead people to believe I am dissatisfied a good portion of the time? Like griping about Monday on a Monday, or wishing for the day to be over far more quickly than time normally goes. Am I conditionally unhappy and only delude myself into thinking I am happy? Or is this some weird Facebook habit I have acquired. Would people freak out if I posted nothing but status updates filled with happy for a while? Would that even be natural? Do I care?

Will I ever walk normally again? If so, when. Please, I need to know. I admit to being super impatient over this whole walking thing. Or rather, not walking thing. And yes, this counts as griping. But my body is desperate for some sort of intense exercise, and I cannot yet accommodate it, and that feels physically icky. It's just a matter of time, I know. But I am so ready.

I have more. But I've bored myself, and everyone else, quite enough. Go think your own windy thoughts.

The Final Snippet: And that's why I have to charge the shock collar (overheard at a BBQ in my yard this past weekend. )

Rhyming the Un-rhymable

2010-05-17T13:47:00.000-07:00

I can't say enough good things about writing groups. I met with one of my groups, a sort of hit or miss conglomeration of writers who have known each other for years, on Saturday for "Write Night."

Write Night with this group features dinner, drinks, readings, critiques, and sometimes caps with some time in a hot tub. Lots of social stuff, mixed with writing.

My favorite thing about writing groups in general (and this one specifically) is that I get instant HONEST feedback on my work by other writers, who are all in varying stages of their careers, and all brilliant in their own ways. I find this immensely helpful to my process. Not just getting feedback but getting honest feedback. One of the best things a writer can hear in a workshop situation is 'This is not working for me because." It's even better when the criticism is accompanied by examples of what might have worked better.

This is a frightening process, I understand, but the first line reader, which is essentially what your group partners are, have the response that any reader might have, paired with a critical eye. There's a reason why I call them partners. And their criticism really is meant to help you, not to make themselves feel superior or better. A level of trust is required to believe this to be true, and I have established that trust with these folks. This trust has also enabled me to sit in with other groups both as a critiquer and to be critiqued, and listen with an open mind and a critical ear, and walk away better and more productive for the experience.

The title of today's blog, 'Rhyming the Un-rhymable', was originally going to be 'What Rhymes with Matisyahu'. This was a recent shoplift of mine, which makes no real sense, so I decided against using it, even though I still adore the sentiment. But the idea of rhyming with something that has no rhyme made me think of the ways in which groups of people fit together and establish trust. Maybe nothing rhymes with Matisyahu -- sometimes things just don't fit. But when you rhyme the purportedly unrhymable, and find your group of people, amazing things can happen with your writing.

Find your people, and rhyme your rhyme. Do it.

The Final Snippet: He was in an abusive relationship with himself. (Since I said it I don't think it counts as a shoplift, exactly. More just me patting myself on the back. Yeah, I do that. Now go away. Go write or something.)

p.s. (or should that be post blog?): Thanks Chris, Aaron, Matt, Sue, Jodi, Morgen and Terry. You are all awesome. Adn I still think Glittery Monkey Wrenches is a good name for a new group, even if I'm not in it :)

Win, Fail or WTF

2010-05-14T10:41:00.000-07:00

Some weeks are just weird. Well, if you're me they are. To cap off my weird week, we'll be playing a little game I like to call "Win, Fail or WTF?" in which I relate some things that happened to me, and you guess if they should be designated as a Win, a Fail or a WTF.

Hint: there's a lot of WTF or this wouldn't be any fun at all.

Ready?

My boss, upon being distracted by my hair (?!) which is curly today as opposed to blown out straight, says to me "You look kinky today..." Win, Fail or WTF?

My male friend, after hearing about the Great Kinky Boss Incident of 2010, sends me a text message which reads "You look kinky today..." Win, Fail or WTF?

Another friend, who writes a lot about odd sports in remote countries, asks me to "Cross my pelmenis," in order to assure his team will win. Win, Fail or WTF?

I receive a note from the school that my gifted and brilliant child, who has an A in Honors Geometry, is almost failing. Cooking. Because he didn't turn in something called the "Beef Booklet." Win, Fail or WTF?

I have, via text, the following conversation: "Him: You know when we get married, you aren't marrying into money, right? Me: Clearly I am marrying you for your ass tattoo. Duh." Win, Fail or WTF?

A guy in a meeting I am required to sit says repeatedly "Ok, we'll notate this" as he reads. every. word. verbatim. in the file were were supposed to review before the meeting. Win, Fail or WTF?

Someone actually did this: Embroidered Wonder Bread http://bit.ly/b6pDRu . Win, Fail or WTF?

Thanks for joining me, your host, Deb Courtney, for this week's installment of Win, Fail or WTF? Have fun trying to figure them out...I sure did. Or something.

The Final Snippet: Procuring the Epsom salts cut with crack cocaine was hard enough, but you want how much tapioca pudding? (I could explain this but frankly, I just don't want to.)

Herb Encrusted Lamb Shoulder Chops..and Stuff

2010-05-12T08:21:00.000-07:00

I, Deb Courtney, made a rather stellar dinner last night. Yes, I know, I am patting myself on the back for this, and publicly too, but any of you who have known me longer than 5 minutes, know this behavior is entirely in character for me.

It was a dinner of much great, however, all filled with win, and by win I mean this: Lamb Shoulder Chops in Herbs de Provence and kosher salt, seared and served medium rare, with a side of garlic mashed potatoes (skin on) and fresh green beans fried up in a bit of pork sausage and onions, with a tiny bit of wine to steam in some flavor. Simple, yet elegant, and I had the satisfaction of watching it be inhaled around the table.

It got me to thinking about scenes in books regarding food, and what those scenes can do for you as a writer, notwithstanding that any character that feels real to your reader needs to, you know, eat and sleep and feel tired and stuff.

I recall a couple of book series that had a main character who made elaborate and messy sandwiches and ate them standing over a kitchen sink. Usually with a beer, of which some description was given. The solitary act of making such an elaborate meal only to eat standing, always stayed with me. It was lonely, but indulgent on some level, and spoke of a quiet confidence (no fast food or frozen meals for this guy, but rather imported cold cuts, fancy condiments, rare onions, lovingly described) and practicality (they were messy, these sandwiches, and it was impractical to try and eat at a table, with a plate and such).

So, food, and the way in which it is prepared, can go to...character. Food scene anyone?

Of course this leaves me wondering what my food habits say about my character....probably that I'm hungry.

The final snippet: "You must socialize the idea before it can propagate." (not really a shoplift, but an awesome example of saying something simple in too complex a manner)

Recovery, Revelations and Xrays...

2010-05-06T10:26:00.001-07:00

Oh my.

Finally feel human again -- took almost two weeks to recover from Pikes Peak Writers Conference this year. Partly it is because this conference is almost overwhelmingly good, what with all the learning, discussing and meeting and such, and partly this year it is because walking around for 4.5 days on the pressure boot I am STILL wearing on account of a broken leg was brutal and exhausting.

But oh so worth it.

So while I am recovered from conference, I am not yet recovered from the broken leg. On my way for Xrays this afternoon to find out if I am healed enough to ditch the boot, but apparently I will need several weeks at least of physical therapy. I'm a bit freaked at the idea of walking around normally again, even as I long for it.

As I was thinking about this, the concept of both longing to rid myself of this encumbrance, and the realization that I have been burdened long enough to actually get used to it, I thought of what it might be like to write a character who was similarly burdened. Physically or emotionally, it matters not. What kind of plot would call for an afflicted main character whose struggle may not be solely with their affliction, but is instead flavored by it like my life has been by this damned boot for almost 8 weeks.

Or, not what kind of plot would call for it, but what would the affliction do to a plot? To a mystery? To a romance? How would a character deal with the wearing of a cast or a sling or a splint, and what would their reaction to it say about them?

I think this would be a very revealing way to deal with character. Postmodern, probably, to show the imperfections and the ugliness of real life as opposed to a character presenting only in their best or most attractive ways.

Coming soon to a plot near me....chick with a broken leg in a pressure boot. Hell yes.

The final snippet: "What's it like to be killed by Death, man?" (video games were most certainly involved)

Staying Focused

2010-05-03T12:11:00.000-07:00

Instructions: For each question, please select the most appropriate answer from among the choices given.

When trying to meet my self imposed editing deadline yesterday, I:

a) realized my refrigerator needed to be cleaned out immediately;
b) came to the shocking realization that I was out of grass seed;
c) experienced an odd compulsion to entertain 12 friends for dinner;
d) remembered I hadn't yet spoken to my mother;
e) all of the above.

While planning to spend the evening working on revisions, I:

a) unexpectedly end up chatting on the phone all evening;
b) realize that i can't live another moment without knowing how Season 2 Episode 3 of Mad Men ends, even though I own the whole season on disc;
c) conclude that the cat box must be changed. Now. Which requires a trip to the store and while I'm there I should get laundry detergent, tank tops, and look at cute flip flops for my vacation;
d) that I MUST create an itinerary for my planned beach vacation, which commences in 6 weeks;
e) all of the above.

Sigh. Why is it so easy to let any old thing get in the way of doing that which we purport to adore.

The Final Snippet: I slow down slowly (from a friend explaining why the brakes in his car are better than the clearly defective ones in my car).

Huh? By which I mean, Huh?

2010-04-30T12:27:00.000-07:00

Today's Shoplift is a piece of conversation I overheard while at a going-away lunch for a colleague. The context I believe, has to do with why one co-worker brought a laptop to the restaurant and was working while eating.

"Sometimes you are the horse's head, and sometimes you end up in the retarded monkey's lap."

That is all.

Please proceed with your normal routines now.

If you can.

I know I'm still tyring to figure out what this could possibly mean....

When Writers Get Talky

2010-04-26T11:13:00.000-07:00

So, I spent the last four days at Pikes Peak Writers Conference, my 'home' conference, if you will allow me the indulgence. I have volunteered with PPWC (or the parent organization, Pikes Peak Writers) in some capacity or another since 2001. I love this conference, I love this group, and I love the people who comprise it.

I come away from conferences completely energized AND completely exhausted. I am trying to coin a word that accurately captures the state, but am still too brain dead. This year I taught four classes (three, technically I taught one twice), and ran the Flash Fiction Onsite Writing Contest. I made it to a few sessions, a lot of meals, and even managed some bar time (no mean feat what with the gimp leg). Exhausted.

But oh so excited too. So much new information, so many things to do to move my own work forward.

Part of me wishes I could do a conference every month -- the exhaustion would be an okay trade off for the enthusiasm. Maybe. Okay not so much.

Wasn't too exhausted to shoplift though. Here's a sampling:

"I can't make an effective doorstop." Truly I overheard this and am unclear whether the person was attempting to BE a doorstop, or was attempting to make one out of something else. Either way...weird.

"...and at my wife's Mental Health Conference..." Right -- this one isn't that odd until you think we were at a writers conference, where people try to gain writing skills, so all I could think was that his wife was trying to gain mental health skills. Do hope she was successful.

"You don't have to say 'hello' when you start with underwear." Yeah, there's an explanation, but I'm not sharing.

And my three favorite 'lifts' of the weekend: Pepe Negro, who played a role in an amusing practical joke, Organic Ben Wah Balls, (you only wish you knew what this meant), and the best euphemism ever, perfect for any occasion: "cover your cookies." (spend a few minutes with it, you'll see why I adore it.)

The Final Snippet: would be redundant.

That's What She Said

2010-04-21T09:09:00.001-07:00

Usually, when I am in conversational shoplift mode, I write down things I overhear without putting any context in. Usually I recall where I was, who said it, and the context. Even why it sparked my interest.

Sometimes, though, I go to the notes function in my cell phone (where all my Shoplifts end up since I am umbilically attached to the damn Crackberry), and I come across something I don't at all remember hearing or capturing. then I wish I habitually supplied myself context.

Like for this:

"All she really needed was a trip to Belize."

I'm stumped -- who said it, where was I when I heard it? And how much wine was involved?

I get why I was taken with it. Fits my life perfectly at any given moment. There's a story in this one though. Good first line for something. Now that I re-discovered it, I am taken with it all over again.

I sense a short story coming on....

The Final Snippet: Extra exclamation marks are NOT an acceptable substitute for substance in an argument. (while I do know the context for this one, I'm not sharing it. It's a life lesson...so learn it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

SAT Level Analogies...for Writers

2010-04-20T07:42:00.000-07:00

"Saying he sustained a traumatic brain injury is more diplomatic than saying he's brain-damaged." says one writer to another

"Right, just like immortal sounds so much attractive than undead," replied the other.

With thanks to JA.

The Final Snippet: "I'll drive myself to hell in my own hearse, thank you." (said a friend upon begin given a religious tract with a picture of a hearse on the front.)

Recently Lifted Bits and Pieces

2010-02-22T08:18:00.000-08:00

Various bits of conversation lifted from random locations....

~Forget everything I was just about to say. Ummm....okay. Sure. Shouldn't be too difficult.....

~I like capers a whole lot. I'm not sure this was worth lifting, except it cracked me up every time I thought about having heard it. Lifted from an overly loud conversation taking place in a booth behind me in a fave restaurant.

~I vaguely remember youthful exuberance. Yeah...don't we all.

~It's like two guys fighting in the ocean to see who drowns first. For this I cite David Brooks on Meet The Press. Much taken with the visual.

~Maybe my ear canals are unusually small. Ummm...okay. Sure. Also, TMI. Dude, really.

~Per the Valentine's Day Freeze...I swear this came to me in an email and was software related, but seriously, it was like a vicious commentary on my personal life. And therefore worth lifting.

~Hey...she spat wine on my haiku. Proof that controlled substances and writing really oughtn't mix...

And my fave...

~Sorrow was last week's emotion. No explanation.

Now go do whatever it is you do.

The Final Snippet: would be redundant now wouldn't it.

Grieving and Celebrating

2010-01-18T09:00:00.001-08:00

I always find it interesting how we are never really of one mind, as humans -- how we can feel complex layers of emotion and somehow manage to function with a multitude of emotional threads clamoring for our attention.

It should come as no surprise that writers who create characters who also feel layers of emotion manage to create characters who are as real as ourselves, and who can become friends of sorts, whom we revisit over the years. And even though their stories may stay the same, what we bring to those stories changes as we do, and therefore what we take from those stories also changes and fulfills us differently each time we visit.

I remind myself of this as I am both grieving for the loss of possibilities, a life I used to live, and also looking forward with much excitement to some things which will take place this year, in the life I currently live. I hold both despair and hope in my heart, knowing hope eventually will win.

As a writer, I know I need to use these layers, if not exactly how I am living them, then some simulacrum of that. This is as honest as I know how to be -- using my real emotions in a character, so that a reader can live for the moment in a place which feels as real as their own reality. This is raw and intimidating and leaves me feeling exposed and vulnerable, but it is dishonest, I feel, to try and write in any other way.

Let yourself experience your emotions as deeply and as fully as you can. Do not shy away from them. Then let your characters do the same. Then, and only then, you can write truth.

The Final Snippet: "You are going to hell in a ham-basket." (overheard during a poker game, by someone who did not hear the original phrase correctly).

Short and Silly

2010-01-14T13:41:00.000-08:00

The final snippet is also the only thing I am posting today. This is too fun to bury it under my whining (which is the only thing I'm good for today anyway):

There is a giant inflatable Bozo in my office now.

(shoplifted from a Facebook update)

If You are Not Part of the Solution...

2010-01-12T14:25:00.000-08:00

...you are part of the precipitate.

Gotta hate a week where nothing really is wrong enough to complain about, but during which lots of small stupid things bubble up and lurk about and just generally are aggravating.

Right -- nothing really to complain about. But damn do I wanna bitch and moan about something.

In the interest of not giving into that self-indulgence, will aggregate some stuff from my life. Stuff that I CAN'T bitch about. Well, I could, but you'd all think I was off my rocker for it. Sigh.

Reading: "Lives of the Monster Dogs", a first novel by Kirsten Bakis. Interesting. Slow-ish. Fairy-tale feel. Overall, like. http://tinyurl.com/3jtwd9

Also "The Little Friend" by Donna Tartt. Like wearing a heavy blanket in the summer, this is a ponderous Faulknerian experience, and I was unfortunately disappointed by the end which I saw coming about 2/3 of the way through. On the other hand, Tartt plays with words deftly, and I immersed in her world. http://tinyurl.com/y8bnohz

Cooking: Vegetarian. Made seitan for the first time (Seitan Lives!). It's...okay. I am a meat eater, and generally not happy with meat substitutes. This was better reheated, in the Curried Udon with Seitan that I made just to put the seitan in. This was very yum, though the seitan was so-so. After it sat overnight in the fridge and was reheated, the seitan had a better consistency. http://tinyurl.com/yz5yczf

Listening to: New Jazz. Classical guitar. Billie Holliday.

Wishing for: the beach.

2010 off to an anti-climactic start.

The final snippet: Sorrow was last weekend's emotion.

Just Keep Writing....

2010-01-06T12:41:00.000-08:00

Just keep writing, just keep writing, just keep writing, writing, writing...*

Yeah. That.

I'm bored with reminding myself...can someone else remind me for a while that the way to get stuff written is to write and write and write?

Also, whole you're at it, remind me that I love writing. Really, I do. Even when it feels like crawling arouond on my hands and knees in coffee grounds and broken glass, looking for that damned contact lens. Again. Really...it hurts good.

I swear.

Just keep writing, just keep writing, just keep....

Sigh.

Getting back to it.

The Final Snippet: Life is just better when cords are tidy (lifted from Elliot, with gratitude).

(*apologies to Dorrie for shoplifting this...please don't sue me)

Some Days

2010-01-04T13:07:00.000-08:00

On a good day, there's not much difference between what I want to say or do, and what I actually say or do.

Some days are easier than others, however.

Some days, I wake up jazzed to write, and I end up instead on my hands and knees paving my own road to hell -- oooh -- look -- a good intention fits here...and here...and here...and here....

Sigh.

Some days I wake up jazzed to write, and instead spend a lot of time thinking about writing but procrastinating the actual writing until I fall into my bed and dream of all the words unwritten.

Depressing.

Some days I wake up jazzed to write and instead of writing what I planned, I allow myself to get dragged off into that peculiar type of procrastination which results in something getting written, just not what I planned. As if I were possessed by some demonic anti-muse who will not ever let me forget that while I seem to have been productive, I in fact just fooled myself into avoiding what needed to get done.

Really depressing.

And some days I wake jazzed to write and manage, through nothing short of a miracle to actually get done some or all of what I had planned, without self-criticizing, or self-editing myself into stopping, and the words are there, where they always are, on the other side of the keyboard, or transmogrified from inside a pen through nothing more than my will.

That's a good damn day.

Here's hoping 2010 has a lot of those good damn days for all of us.

The Final Snippet: "You can always hope for the West." (overheard in a meeting, much to my delight, where the speaker intended to say 'You can always hope for the best." I love this sentiment and vow to use it in every meeting possible until the end of time.)

Lion and Tigers and Hiatuses..Oh My

2009-12-31T09:47:00.000-08:00

Or, Perseverance in the Face of One's Own Natural Inclination to Procrastinate.

Life has gotten to me, I admit. From a daily post, to a weekly-ish post to a roughly 2.5 month hiatus from posting which just sort of happened. Not in a bad way, just in quiet, withdraw-from-things-to-figure-out-stuff way.

Today, on the last day of 2009, I realize that I don't want to let go of Conversational Shoplifter...I like it, the idea of it and what it might grow into given half a chance. But there are other things that I have, in fact needed to let go of or otherwise change. And I have been....

And so, here's my reflection on 2009:

2009 as a year of change...er...transition: Yeah, 2009 had a lot of change in it for me. Marital status, homeowner status, learning how to be a single mom, and 3, yes THREE different jobs. Losing beloved pets, needing to do major home repairs, change and adjustment, and lots of it. I seem to have processed through all of it relatively unscathed, even though there were many tears shed. I reminded myself repeatedly that change is an opportunity, and tried to experience it as such. On the whole, I did well enough that I am hopeful...2010 will likely offer its own array of change, but I am either no longer afraid of big changes OR I am just too tired to worry about them as much as I once would have. Some combination of those two is probably an okay thing.

2009 as a year of self-improvement: No, I don't mean I went to self-help seminars. Or a shrink (though I did do that at least twice). I mean in the sense of taking a long hard look at what I want in life and seeing what I could do to facilitate getting or achieving those things. And while I wasn't necessarily successful in completing all the things I wanted to, I was successful in moving away from or eliminating that which seemed to be holding me back. I let go of, in no particular order, habits, plans, control, useless emotional responses (such as bitterness or anger) and in a few instances, unfortunately, people whom I considered friends. The result seems to be a me who has far less trouble Getting Things Done, and since much of what I want in life requires this of me, this constitutes progress.

2009 as a year of progress: When we move away from things which do not work, we also move, by default, toward other things. Some of that which I am moving toward is clear to me, but much of it exists in some space too far out for me to see. E.L. Doctorow described writing a book like this: "It's like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way." I think this can be a metaphor for life, not just for writing. I know there is fog -- I see it -- but I also know that on the other side is some destination which I desire, even if I do not yet understand what it is or where it is or what it will mean for me. This is progress.

I hope your 2009 was as productive as mine seemed to be, and that 2010 will find you able to achieve that which you wish to grasp.

The Final Snippet: "After you finish shopping for shoes, we really need to have a discussion." (man speaking on a cell phone, overheard at the mall)

Back from Breck

2009-10-25T18:15:00.000-07:00

Two days back from my writers retreat in Breckenridge. Sigh. I miss having three gourmet meals a day magically appear, and I miss having someone guard my writing time as if it were incredibly important, shushing the other writers who have gotten chatty.

I miss looking out my window at Slope 8.

I miss being surrounded by other writers -- what a rare treat that was.

I do not, however, miss the altitude.

And truth be told, I have slept exquisitely well back in my own bed, in my own house, and am glad to be back around my miscellaneous family members and Colorado Springs pals. You can only run away from your life for so long.

But, incredible amounts of work got done, by me, and I would hazard by the other participants as well. I have been fielding email after email filled with good news -- so and so wants to read my entire manuscript! I solved the plot problem with my project! Time well spent, indeed.

My proposal will finally be completely done by the end of this week, based on incredible input and feedback I received while on retreat, and am happy to say it will go out to some agents who have requested it shortly thereafter.

I am fortunate to have been able to go on this retreat -- as I mentioned in previous posts, thanks are due and hereby proferred (again). But the takeaway lesson for me is always to find some way to retreat whenever possible -- whether by finding a coffee shop away from your regular routine, or by holing up in your home office wherever it might be, in order to truly shut out the world and concentrate on your work, your art, your story. Whatever it takes.

It doesn't need to be Breckenridge to be a retreat. All it takes is your determination to get away for a brief time and make progress.

I'm going to try hard to remember this and to do it...I challenge you to do so as well.

The Final Snippet: "Sometimes you shouldn't touch the buffalo." (no explanation)

Transitions

2009-10-20T15:30:00.000-07:00

A while back, I wrote about change, and how even while it can be painful, it is ultimately a good thing.

So, I guess it's a good thing that I changed my plans?

Yeah. It is.

I was fortunate enough to be invited to spend a few more days at the amazing retreat where I have gotten so much work done in the last week or so. For this, I owe thanks upon thanks, upon thanks. Seriously. If there is such a thing as a karmic debt, which I doubt (and for which suggestion I will likely be lectured at for hours by a particular person who knows who he is), then I owe BIG.

However, this opportunity comes with a small price -- I've had to say goodbye to the writers and agents and editors with whom I have bonded over the last week, and prepare myself to find something in common with a whole new group.

I found what that thing is, or things -- we are people, and we all write, and we all love words.

And I must say, this new crew strikes me as quite cool and fun and interesting. They showed up with tequila, which, really, is the hallmark of all really cool people....Patron Silver to be precise.

And so, while it may continue to be a word party, a party of word slingers all slinging words, with tequila tossed in, I only see myself embracing this latest change, after welcoming it with open arms.

And for some of my compatriots who have gone back to their lives, I say this:

Naked Hot Tub Guy: Get some swim trunks
Ms. Gale: Yes, we do quite like our new arrival a lot, and on your scale he gets the elusive compound: sex and popcorn
Girl Robin: Even a low maintenance hairstyle is a hairstyle and I can't wait to live according to your theory
Ms. Randall: Your found poetry is only slightly less exquisite than your written poetry
House Hemmingway: Thanks for the pliers
Mr. Hoffman: Yes I will bear your math-genius children...SET!
Ms. Fairbank: limericks are always appropriate, as are gnomes
Ms. I Can Make Anything Sound Like Sex poetess: never have herbs been so...appealing
Ms. Musician: keep reading out loud and keep writing your heart.

And I remain: Deb, in the Kitchen, with the giant Potato Masher.

Wonder what impression the next crew will leave?

The final snippet: "Oh, my. I think I need rubber gloves for this..." (don't ask. Really. I won't tell anyway.)

Reaching Lofty Heights

2009-10-18T10:43:00.000-07:00

The great thing about a writing retreat taking place at 10,000 feet above sea level is that it is extremely conducive to getting actual work done. Mostly because no one can breathe after taking a flight of stairs at the altitude (no one = me), and therefore are physically encouraged to find a nice quiet spot and bond with their computers, manuscripts or journals.

So, much work is getting done. By me.

I wondered before I came on this retreat if it wouldn't after all end up more like a really literate party than a working vacation thing, but have been really impressed at how much real work seems to be getting done by everyone. Lots of nooks and crannies here at the lodge for folks to hide away in. Still, plenty of socializing with like-minded folks is taking place, and what a treat that is. Whatever your 'thing' is in life, do not underestimate the power of like-minded groups -- to feel as if you have known people forever, whom you've actually just met, is amazing.

Plus, where else in life would one find a group of people who are familiar with the entire canon of Stephen King, and can discuss his short stories in depth?

I am a fortunate person indeed, to be in this place, at this moment, and at this point in my writing, and can only see good things coming from this time. Thank you's are owed, and are hereby proferred (and if you are an intended recipient, you already know who you are and how grateful I am).

I try to write every day, for at least a little while, and here, I have been putting in large chunks of writing time. When this interlude is done, I think I will find my small bits of writing will come easier, and I will, instead of looking for ways to avoid writing, renew my efforts to expand the time I can spend on it. Not because my committment is renewed -- but because I will feel a sense of loss at not doing it. It is addictive, with an almost physical response, seeing so many words flow so easily from myself when some days writing a grocery list can feel like pulling my own teeth.

Recently, I said to a friend, a self described word nerd, that while he likes playing with words (as do I), I like making them work as well. And right this minute, as I write this entry here, I know the joy of making the words work.

The final snippet: "All compliments shall henceforth be accompanied by a side of slaw." (From Matt, and also for Matt.)

Mountains and Writers and Snow...Oh My.

2009-10-16T07:54:00.000-07:00

What do you get when you mix one mountain lodge, one gourmet cook, 16 writers and a hot tub?
A damn good time.

Also, you get intellectual, literary talk, wonderful personal narrative, any number of quirks to use as grist for the mill, and time to write. And encouragement to write. And an expectation that you WILL write, or be frowned upon for not using your time wisely. A bit like first grade, that, but the mere idea of disappointing one's fellow writers who are busy pecking away at their laptops, or scribbling away in their notebooks, is enough, if nothing else is, to make one (e.g., me) sit and get massive amounts of work done in spurts and chunks.

Very happy-making, this.

But then, it IS a writing retreat, and therefore, getting the heavy lifting-type writing done while I am here is part of the joy and the chore of what is really a working vacation.

And so, I shall report that another full revision of the non-fiction proposal will be complete this morning, and will be reviewed by the two on-site agents, from whom I expect a ton 0f insight and wisdom, but also, truthfully, I expect to have to do at least one more revision before the damned plaguing thing is actually done.

And until I get that feedback, I will work on the chapters that go with the proposal, and at the end of this jaunt, expect to have a submittable package. Have been pecking away at this thing for several weeks again, but have really been able to dig in the last few days.

Life...that thing that gets in the way when you should be writing.

For now, I am savoring the view (slope 8 at Breck), the sunshine filtering through the cold morning, the wonderful memory of going in the hot tub last night in 30 degree weather and getting lost in the universe of stars in the dark night sky. And I am glad for friends and fellow writers and creativity that feasts upon itself only to spawn more and better creativity.

And in a moment I will get more coffee, and smile and commune, and get back to it.

The Final Snippet: "I think I accidentally braised the chicken." (no explanation)

Author Extravaganza...and Me!

2009-10-08T12:46:00.000-07:00

Am filling in for a colleague who is ill, and teaching two sessions at Author Extravaganza this Saturday in Castle Rock (Used to be called "The Castle Rock Writers Conference).

At 12:40, "Playing Spider: Enticing Your Web Audience," which will focus on the use of internet technology in a variety of forms as it can assist authors in promoting themselves...

and

At some point later in the day, time unknown, a teen-focused session "See It, Twist It, Write It," on finding inspiration for compelling fiction all around us.

http://www.douglascountylibraries.org/Events/WritersConference for more information on the conference

Random Overheards

2009-10-05T11:33:00.000-07:00

"These boots were made for...kicking someone in the eye."

Yeah, there's a story behind it and probably it's not even funny unless you have the context, but I can't share it. Sigh. Suffice it to say that I broke my own eavesdropping rules to get the story -- I had to ask. And it doesn't suck.

"So, is your mother still a felon? Just curious..."

I have no idea, but there has to be a good story to go with this....

"It bothers me when you cry."
"Oh yeah? It bothers me when you...talk."

From an amazing and emotional poem read at Kinfolks in Manitou Springs, CO, on Friday, October 2.

I am officially on sabbatical and trying hard to devote as much time and attention as I can to getting my book completely done. Proposal edits are made. First two chapters will be revised and ready by the end of today. Have about three weeks of work to shape up what I have already done and finish the remainder.

Wish me luck.

The final snippet: "No, a stripper letting you buy her dinner does NOT count as dating..." (from Texts From Last Night, an amazing, vulgar, super-addictive website which you should under NO CIRCUMSTANCES visit. None. I'm serious -- I'll tell your mother if you do.)

Deb Courtney: Performance Writer

2009-09-29T08:53:00.000-07:00

People on the outside think there's something magical about writing, that you go up in the attic at midnight and cast the bones and come down in the morning with a story, but it isn't like that. You sit in back of the typewriter and you work, and that's all there is to it.
~~Harlan Ellison

On Thursday this week, I officially begin a stint as Writer in Residence for Pikes Peak Writers, an amazing writers organization with which I have been involved since 2000 when I moved to Colorado.

This is an honor, and also very good timing for me, as my day-job ends on Wednesday this week, and PPW has been kind enough to offer me use of their office at a local art school/gallery as one of the perks of the position.

In a perfect world, this would mark my transition to full time writer, but alas, I missed the bus to that world, and so, while I will use this assignment and the associated time wisely to finish several outstanding projects, I will likely be back in a day job before I know it.

In the meantime, as part of my position, I will be hosting several special events for PPW, including a NaNoWriMo-associated series of meetings (details to be announced) and hosting the PPW presence at Cottonwood Center for the Arts on the last Friday of each of the next three months.

If you are inclined, stop by. It's not every day you get to see a writer, well, writing. I will warn you though, it's unexciting, grind-work. I may ask a pal to step in periodically as announcer, which will perhaps liven things up a bit, but it'll probably be something like listening to the announcer at a golf game. "Folks, Deb is testing the waters with an introductory clause, and may be going for an adverb -- a daring selection indeed given the lay of this next paragraph. She needs to birdie this at least in order to make par for the day...and wait, she's going without the adverb, she's gonna go for it folks, and powerhouse right into the main idea...."

Yeah, on second though, I may pass on that announcer thing.

At any rate, I'll post my schedule such as it is, and would love visitors. Especially around lunch time, since I will be playing the role of starving artist for the next three months. Salads are good; burgers from South Side Johnnie's are always welcome (e.g., much better...).

The final snippet: Every once in a while it's nice to get a few thousand feet closer to the moon.

Overheard: Some Random, Some Not

2009-09-28T10:12:00.000-07:00

It's probably not a good thing to have a reputation as a lifter of words, but it seems to be working out well enough for me. Not only do I continuously overhear things which are amusing and worthy of writing down, but now people are telling me or sending me funny phrases that they have heard, knowing that I too will be captured by the absurdity or whimsy or just plain silliness in that which people say.

Here are a few recent additions to my collection...

Said directly to me (no explanations, sorry).

"Of course, me and the Ayatollah disagreed completely."
"Do NOT answer the phone. I can tell by the way it's ringing that it's my mother...."
"I'd envy me if I weren't already me..."
"Texting Sarah Cooper" (good name for a screenplay, sorry Z)

Forwarded to me (seriously, I have an eavesdropping staff!)

"When it comes to sincerity, I'm very serious about it." (listed in a dating profile)
"Let's not get all conflictual about that." (said in a meeting)

Conversational Shoplifting really is contagious...and more fun than H1N1 too!

No final snippet today, but feel free to send stuff on to me....I try and use things overheard in my fiction projects whenver possible!

Color Outside the Lines

2009-09-16T14:58:00.000-07:00

Grammatically, should of is a predatory admonition; as such, it is always used as part of a herpetological phrase. ~~Dave Barry

I read Dave Barry's quote, above, as a sort of knock against guerilla grammarians (grammar nazis?) who insist that all rules of grammar which were in place when said grammarian learned grammar must be followed, Perfectly. And. Never. Departed. From. Ever. Ever. Ever.

To them I say: Fiddle Faddle. B-O-L-O-G-N-A. Stuff 'n such.

By so asserting, said people negate a primary force of wordstuff, which is the migration of language. Which, by default, includes a migration of the rules which govern the constructing of sentences.

So, when I was a kid, I learned that one puts a comma after every item on a list. The four things which most interest me about writing are words, stories, publishing, and potentially making money. For instance. Today's convention is to leave off the final comma, in front of 'and'. I dunno why, or who made the change in convention, but frankly, the sentence makes sense without it, and I really care not, as long as I do that which facilitates communication.

Also, I learned that one MUST put two spaces after a period in a manuscript or in any business communication. It is my understanding that this is a typography convention, and in this day of insta-documents , the convention once used to really make sure someone knew you were at the end of a sentence is no longer valid. One space is fine. I still use two, because the muscle memory is so ingrained in me that I cannot do otherwise, but at some point I bet someone will start telling me I am wrong to do it.

Finally, the rules I learned pre-date the internet, chat, and text as common forms of communication. I've heard many an adult bemoan the fact that young people today write in a pidgin language, comprised of misspellings, single letter substitutions, and unintelligible acronyms. OMW, r u thr yt? Further I have heard that these forms have found their way into formal writing, such as classroom writing assignments. I am torn on this subject, having used certain of these forms myself, and having received many a text from the wretched teen employing same.

Perhaps the bottom line for me is whether or not communication is taking place. If it is taking place, then really there is nothing to snit about. Unless one is just a fan of snitting, or one plans on being one of those older folks who sits around deludedly reminiscing about the days in which things were perfect. Having said that, there is space to differentiate between formal writing and that which we use to communicate with pals -- slang versus the book stuff, and yeah, formal writing should likely employ the latter over the former. And there is much merit in learning the rules, and learning them well, in order to be able to toss them about and use them (and depart from them) with deliberation.

I wonder though what the wretched teen and his ilk would produce if not restricted to the formal version of language, and were instead set free to play with form and word and structure irrespective of the rules, and I posit that in fact we will soon see literature (whether or not you call it that) produced using the new conventions to great effect. In fact, I seem to recall hearing about a YA novel written entirely in text messages, so I guess it's already happened.

wd i lie 2 u? c 4 yrself.

At any rate, there are much larger, much more important things in the world to worry about than how grammatically correct someone's Facebook Status Update is, or whether it's okay to shorten words to single letters or numbers.

Of course, I still reserve the right to get snitty when people write loose when they mean lose, or lead when they mean led. Or your when they mean you're. Why? Because it's my blog, darnit. So there.

ttys

The Final Snippet: Silence is golden. Duct tape is silver. (no explanation)

Word Thievery is Contagious

2009-09-14T14:18:00.000-07:00

I have created a monster. Its name is Zach, coincidentally the name of my son. Well, not so coincidentally, since it is Zach whom I reference.

See, he caught me typing a note into my Blackberry during a conversation we had over dinner. He kept saying something I heard as 'corpse asparagus' and I could only imagine a new breed of the delightful veggie, or else, some Zombie Apocalypse reference which I was too doltish to get.

Turns out, he was saying 'corpseless burials,' which frankly, given that we were eating dinner, was an odd conversational choice on his part. Notwithstanding the actual conversation, he was much taken with my need to scribble (type) the phrase 'corpse asparagus' into a note in my phone, in case I needed the phrase for some future project (cool phrase heard but not recorded equals the memory of a cool phrase without the phrase itself...).

So, since then, randomly during conversations, he has asked me for my cell phone in order to take his own notes for things heard or said. A sampling:

~~"Guinea Pig Rescue" (under the category 'good name for a rock band', predicated on a fireman actually getting his guinea pigs out of his apartment which was damaged by a fire last week).

--"On behalf of my anxiety, I will ask you to refrain from crashing the car." (during the drive back from Red Rocks and The Monolith Music Festival. I refrained.).

--Wafting Horse Shit (also under 'good name for a rock band' upon scenting what was quite likely the wafting smell of horse droppings).

Hey, he's 14. Whaddaya expect, Shakespeare? Either way, I think it's uber-cool that I have given him this gift. Or curse.

The Final Snippet: "Most defense mechanisms aren't very good to eat." (heard at Biaggi's restaurant, during a discussion of squid ink pasta)

(also, apologies for the hiatus, which I feel compelled to explain but which I will not)

Change is good...right?

2009-08-31T07:11:00.000-07:00

Nothing in the world is permanent, and we're foolish when we ask anything to last, but surely we're still more foolish not to take delight in it while we have it. If change is of the essence of existence one would have thought it only sensible to make it the premise of our philosophy.
~~W. Somerset Maugham

My life seems a bubbling cauldron of change, with those Shakespearean witches chanting over me "Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble..."

So much change over the last few years, and not the little changes that we are all used to -- major, catastrophic, life upheaval changes. Writing helps, but really, some of the changes are so raw and so painful, or at least so mortifying, that writing them seems like ripping a scab off to expose the wound....perverse, and as painful as getting the wound in the first place. Divorce. Death. Financial challenges. Teenagers.

However, change is a continuum, and like anything you have in your life long enough and often enough, one can get used to change. Even maybe begin to embrace it. The Somerset Maugham quote above spoke to me this morning, reminding me that change is part of the cycle, and maybe the most necessary part. If we do not change and grow, we stagnate and wither.

I have much growing to do, as a person and as a writer, and I embrace the chaos. More changes will come, but I will try now to anticipate them, guide them, welcome, and maybe even seek some out. After many years of doing the same things over and over, living the same life day after day with none of the results or rewards I would have liked, I see only possibility ahead.

Maybe those witches merely salt the broth, add the spice that is necessary to direct us, rather than to thwart us. Either way, bring it on.

The final snippet: These are the glasses I would have if I were in control of my life (from Matt, who thought I would want to write this down, and who was right).

Writing Out Loud

2009-08-29T18:45:00.001-07:00

I read two short stories out loud, in front of an audience last night. What an experience.

A local gallery, Modbo, holds a BYOB Poetry Open Mic monthly, and I had heard that prose was welcome. I had planned to do this for the last several weeks, and in an effort to make sure I followed through, I actually told people of my plans. It's very easy to chicken out when no one expects you do do something; much more difficult after any level of public committment to same. So, I committed, out loud, and even dragged a few pals with me for moral support.

I am not a stranger to public speaking, and am not in the least intimidated by it, or so I thought. I had forgotten how frightening it can be to read my own fiction in front of a group of strangers. I was last on the sign-in list, not by choice, but rather because I was one of the last to arrive. I verified before I signed in that prose was in fact okay, and that I would be able to read both short pieces I had prepared.

Oh the words which were slung before my turn came around. About Colorado, about breathing, about ancient times, about love, about lust, and in so many voices, from Kerouac-style middle aged men to post-beat 17 year old teens, to a grandmother who needed a chair on stage. Oh. The words.

And too soon, it was my turn, and I worried -- were my pieces good enough, short enough, long enough, would they have enough voice, would they speak to the audience like the poetry had, was I insane, should I run for the door...it is amazing how many simultaneous thoughts one can have while crossing 10 feet of a room toward a microphone.

But I smiled, and made myself cross the room, and shut off the inner critic and the inner fearfulness, and even cracked a joke while stepping to the mic about jacking the wonderful poetry with fiction and thank you all for the indulgence.

And I read.

I read "Small Details" a bit of short fiction about a counselor at a domestic violence shelter unable to keep her emotional distance from her clients. And then to offset the depressing tone of that story, I read "Fate is an Alpha Chick", a flash fiction piece which is frothy and silly and exactly where I wanted to leave people. And they drew breath in, my audience, when I spoke of the ugliness of domestic violence, and they also laughed in all the right places when they heard about Martin having been robbed of his pants, and when I was done, and paused for a moment, I realized my hand, the hand that held the pages, was shaking.

And then they applauded, and yelled and approved.

And yeah, I know I like that approval, but in this case it wasn't the liking of me which took my breath away for a moment, but the liking of the words...the words all worked, how I wanted them to, and those folks, who all love words too, went on my small word-based journeys with me, and I wanted to cry, but instead laughed and demanded a drink, because, well, that's what I do.

I would never presume to say that I, Deb Courtney, am brilliant, but can say this with some level of confidence: that experience was completely brilliant, and never mind the fear, I will do it again.

The final snippet: Yes, but I have a platinum card and there are Alpha Males in there (yes, from last night, when my dear friends were kind enough to want to buy me th edrink I demanded).

Friday, by the numbers....

2009-08-28T09:50:00.000-07:00

New blades of grass in the yard: innumerable (yay!)
Pages written Thursday night: 10
Posts in this blog, with this one: 9
Sections completed in content plan: 8
Sections to be completed in content plan: 7
Days till I go to Vail: 6
Weeks until this contract is up: 5
Manuscripts in progress: 4
Novels read this week: 3
Stories I may read at Modbo: 2
Upcoming writing retreats: 1

Things I am thankful for: too many to put a number to
People I am thankful for: everyone (okay, almost everyone)

Happy Friday!

The final snippet: It totally looks like someone shot my shoes (overheard at a liquor store).

Memory Sector Overwritten

2009-08-27T08:36:00.000-07:00

Narrative. This is a device many writers use in their writing, but as well in their lives. Storytellers tend to view almost everything and everyone in terms of the stories they are in, that they are telling through words or actions, or which they might have in them to experience or relate.

I not only collect stories, I use them to relate to other people. As well, when I people-watch or do character sketches, I am always looking for small clues to what a person's story could be -- a self conscious walk from a very attractive but incredibly tall young man suggests to me that he was at one time teased for his height, before his body grew into it, and he remains overly aware of people looking at him, equal parts pleased and uncomfortable.

Places hold stories too, through memories of events experienced or shared. To be in a place that holds a story or a memory, is to experience a duality for a moment, to be both where one is, and to be also in that memory, and it can be uncomfortable on many levels if the memory is bad or (if not bad) painful.

It occurs to me that this could be a useful thing to know while developing a character -- what places hold memories for them, and what do those memories look like? How do they feel? How would a character experience being in a place which holds a memory which was good when it was made, but now causes them pain? How would they go about overwriting that memory, in order to lessen its impact, or reclaim the ability to enjoy a place once loved?

Right now, I only know how I did it: by forcing myself to sit in those places, to experience the duality, to allow the pain to flow but not avoid it, and to overwrite the memory sector in my brain that held the original experience with the new one. Much like in computer memory, the old occupant of the sector doesn't really go away, but rather the new one is layered over it virtually, and becomes the predominant bit of information retreived when that sector is accessed.

Enough new memories and the old becomes a mere ghost of itself.

How would your characters manage this? And what are their stories?

The final snippet: I'm not looking at your cards, I'm looking at your...um....(overheard while playing poker, and yeah, the guy was actually looking at the woman's breasts).

Hump Day Reflection

2009-08-26T09:23:00.000-07:00

For a writer, one of the most amazing feelings possible is to see someone 'get' your work, to watch their face light up with comprehension as if some algebra problem has suddently made sense. It happens with fiction and non-fiction alike -- the person who is reading, or listening to you read, all of a sudden brain-shifts into a place which, if not exactly where you hope they will be, is a close enough analog to seem a small miracle.

Musicians have the benefit of re-interpreting and re-sharing their work on a regular basis, through live performance (my preferred way of experiencing music, by the way), but writers don't always have this opportunity. So often, we write, edit, polish then launch our words, sending them off to create the reader-writer contract on our behalf.

We can only hope that each time someone bothers to read our words, our words fulfill the writer side of the contract -- there is no opportunity to say a line out loud to make sure the emphasis is correct, or to read a passage with just the exact emotion we planned -- it all has to be there, and the reader must infer it and experience it without anything but the most vestigial sense of the writer on the page.

This is so hard, and the ability to get that vestigial sense of self onto the page (without bludgeoning the reader with our personality) often is what separates those who want to be published from those who will be published (among other things of course).

This musing comes from having shared two chapters of a work in progress the other night, and watching as the listeners shifted into that brain space -- all the listeners are talented writers, but for a moment, they forgot my request for a critique and instead inhabited that place where I as a writer had desired to take them. This is as close to a miracle as I have ever experienced, and I can honestly say that I lack the words to describe the feeling this gave me.

I am humbled and motivated all at the same time. Good place to be in on a Wednesday.

The final snippet: Let's not get all conflictual, here. (overheard in a meeting, where else)

When the words all work

2009-08-25T12:13:00.000-07:00

Last night I spent several hours with some really talented writers, at PPW Member's Night at Poor Richard's Bookstore (Tejon, Colorado Springs). Sometimes member's night is a fun social event for all us kooky writer types, and sometimes some real work gets done.

Last night was the latter type.

It occurred to me as I listened to my compatriots, what courage it takes to sit in the middle of a bookstore with folk passing by, and read a work-in-progress out loud for all the world to hear. My projects really are my children, and while I am proud of them and want them to perform in public so all can see how amazing they are, I have also that fear of hearing that the child is ugly, or somehow less deserving of praise than you have heretofore thought.

But the character voices were strong -- from the Republican Vampire to the woman sending her husband off to war, to, well, me (who else stars in my work?) -- and the readers were fearless. And I think, all in all, the comments were productive, helpful, and frankly, inspired me to continue writing when I got home.

Even though it can feel threatening, sharing you work is a sure way to improve it, so that it eventually is ready for its intended audiences.

With whom do you share your work?

The final snippet: No thanks, I've heard wood whistle before (a statement made after being asked to move closer to a fire to hear odd noises coming from the logs, and met with much laughter).

Time to watch the grass grow

2009-08-24T09:55:00.001-07:00

Random stuff:

-That's about as easy as sewing balloons (overheard, makes my brain hurt)

-The world doesn't just disappear because you close your eyes, now does it? (overheard, and true, though I think the late Hercules, my dog, felt otherwise on this one)

-It's as if a storm is on the way, yet there's no sign of clouds on the horizon. (lifted from my horoscope; makes me want to play with ambiguous statements which sound wise and meaningful and yet manage to say nothing at all )

-Install vinyl siding and kiss your worries goodbye (from email spam...who knew getting rid of my worries was so easy. I'd like a job writing that advertising copy please....)

The final snippet: I'm not a tech geek -- I just play one in my day job.

Stuff. and Such.

2009-08-23T08:01:00.000-07:00

Having committed to a blog entry a day, I now realize that rather than commit to exercising my writing muscles, I may have instead committed to adding more detritus and litter to the internets. And having to really think every day. Sigh.

However, a comittment is a committment ( just ask anyone who's ever been committed -- tough to talk your way out of the asylum), so something will be written in ths space today. Unfortunately, beyond this little musing, I am short on ideas.

Therefore, I will take refuge in the 'things seen' part of my blog-promise, and aggregate stuff which I know about, and which you may not. You know, for your edfication or amusement, or for you to ignore. Whatever.

For some excellent written humor, I recommend visiting http://beckyland.wordpress.com/. On any given day, Becky herself can make me spit coffee at my keyboard, usually though my nose while I am covering my mouth to keep it from happening. While she is staycationing, she has had a few guest bloggers, also funny (though not necessarily spit-take-out-the nose funny), and worth your time as a reader.

If your sense of humor is more stick-figure oriented, try http://www.xkcd.com/, which bills itself as "A webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math and language". It is drawn/written by the exquisitely brilliant Randall Munroe, whose children I might like to have just to see what laws of physics (or humor) they might blow up before they are six.

For something a bit more on the intellectual side, minus the potential spit takes, visit http://www.newfaceofjazz.com/. My pal Cicily Janus has completed the first draft of this book, has gotten it into her publisher on time (more or less), and in her words, "unless it completely sucks, may actually be able to get (her) first night's sleep in 437 days." Ths amazing book, due out in 2010, takes a look at the state of jazz though profiles of working musicians TODAY, with photography by the immensely talented Nad Radinsky.

Right. This is all I have today. Aggregation complete. Enjoy.

The final snippet: She couldn't keep a secret if you superglued her mouth closed.

But what does it mean in Colombian Slang?

2009-08-22T07:44:00.000-07:00

I, Deb Courtney, went out last night. As a fairly extreme example of an extravert, Going Out is a thing I am wont to do, and fairly frequently too. I get cranky when Not Enough Out is had.

It all started innocently enough, with some great music at Venue 515 (for samples of what I heard, visit www.myspace.com/charliemilomusic and www.myspace.com/jeremyfacknitz with a little www.myspace.com/njdavey tossed in for a bit of spice). Venue 515 is a great multi-function art/music space in Manitou Springs, and it was their grand opening (can you say free food and wine???).

It was perfectly lovely, though a bit smallish and acoustically not quite right for the great tunes, but I was all about listening to the music until I overheard a not-quite-heated argument behind me. Of course, I had to listen -- two older very caucasian women pretentiously arguing the meaning of a Spanish word, which I have forgotten except inasmuch as neither one was pronouncing it correctly.

Finally, one drew herself up and pronounced very dramatically, "Well, at least in Argentinian slang it means that. Now, I need more wine."

Out came my notebook. I can't begin to say where I will use that bit of wordfoolery, but it begs to be used. And I really wish I could remember what word they were aguing over.

Off to venue number two for the evening, which included a firepit, several large bouncers, an ambulance, and an arrest (no it wasn't me, sigh), where a friend started a conversation thusly:

"So my friend Ani, the narcoleptic librarian from Twin Falls, Idaho? Blah blah blah..."

I didn't bother listening to the rest of the thought as I was busy scribbling in my notebook. Again. And wondering about librarians who fall asleep at the reference desk and in the stacks and what story could be written with this amazing character who had just been dropped into my lap.

Maybe Ani knows what the word really meant in Argentinian slang, but I bet she falls asleep before she can tell me.

The final snippet: "That's just what I said, only with more syllables." (said to me by a friend while eating dinner at the Hornet in Denver)

Sometimes a closet is just a closet

2009-08-21T06:43:00.000-07:00

Sitting drinking coffee, I hear one man say to another:

"I saw you come out of the closet."

"You saw me come out of the closet?"

"Yep."

"Ah. But did you see me go into the closet?"

As a writer, I am much taken with the levels in this conversation, though in context it was clear the speakers were making no allusions to a metaphorical closet except maybe in that final line. Sometimes a closet is just a closet.

The final snippet: Will a firepit fit in your car? (one friend said to another apropos of nothing)

Eavesdropping for Fun and Profit

2009-08-20T09:37:00.000-07:00

“There's nothing like eavesdropping to show you that the world outside your head is different from the world inside your head”
~~Thornton Wilder quotes

"And that's why I am single," ranted the aesthetically unpleasing hawk-faced woman, concluding what must have been a grand rant on the flaws of men, in a booming, masculine voice, shaking her head vehemently.

I wanted to run to her, to explain that whatever the contents of her rant had been, I could likely give her five legitimate reasons why she is single, none of which have anything to do with others, all of which had to do with herself, and all of which are likely fixable. (Hubris, anyone?)

But I didn't. I was eavesdropping, and one of the top rules of eavesdropping, after Do Not Get Caught is Do Not Engage.

As a writer, I am fascinated at the things people say in public, things which other people can hear. Sometimes I wonder if the speaker(s) are aware that they can be heard, or if they care. I tend to be loud when speaking and am sure I amuse people with that which falls unexpectedly out of my mouth, but on some level I am aware of this, and rarely ever say anything which I might find embarassing later. But some of the things I overhear....

Here's the thing: I steal that which I overhear. All the time. I scribble things down in a notebook, or if one is not handy, make a note in my cell phone as a reminder Not To Forget Funny Thing Heard At Coffee Shop. Sometimes these things show back up in stories I write, though not always in the same exact form.

In my cell phone notes right now, in fact, are two items said directly to me by a friend, to which I replied "I'm stealing that," and promptly wrote them down. I am happy my friends indulge me in this trait, which has been dubbed Conversational Shoplifting, by yet another pal, from whom I have lifted many interesting phrases, including the title for this blog.

Two stories I am currently working on, "Fate is an Alpha Chick" and "Dora Garcia Dreams" both started with phrases overheard -- that which I overheard served as inspiration for plot and character.

I find eavesdropping to be integral to my process as a writer, regardless of the fact that it is considered to be rude by many. I refuse to apologize for where the muse drags me. And the muse brought me to the Single Lady, who will likely show up in a story in the near future, in which I will likely be able as the writer to say all the things to her which I could not as eavesdropper.

What is integral to your process?

The final snippet: "You'll never guess what I got to smell!" (Overheard at Marlowe's on the 16th Street Mall in Denver)