Procrastination and the Art of Getting Shit Done Anyway

Hi. I'm Deb. I am a procrastinator.

Well. I'm a procrastinator sometimes. Sometimes I kick ass, take names and get shit done.

But yeah. Sometimes I have huge plans and pull them off and other times I talk a good game and then I don't follow through or finish.

It feels kind of threatening to say that out loud. Or, well, in writing. But anyone who  knows me already knows this about me. It's not like you can keep not finishing shit a secret.

In the corporate world I do a lot of delegating. I'm good at it. Shit gets done.

In my own world I have to do shit myself.  No one to delegate to.  And I am the sort of person who will frequently pick something fun over something less fun but more important.  Or pick not doing anything over doing shit that needs to get done.  No one else to do it though.

Some of those things reflect on my own skills -- for instance writing.  I like writing. I'm good at writing or I like to think I am. But what if I'm not? What it it's easier to find a million different reasons to NOT write rather than maybe do all the work and fail anyway?

Sometimes accountability helps -- I have hiking partners because I am more likely to do thee work when others are expecting me. I also have writing sprinting partners because it's more likely I will do the work.

I wonder where that thing is in me that wants to get the work done for the work's sake -- the drive.  And I wonder if I just don't have it and why then things like exercise and writing really are important to me if I am not driven to do them.  Are they?

It would be much easier to not put this in writing. Well not easier -- but it would allow me to not really have to deeply confront this and other truths about myself.  But I have in many ways reached this place where I have lost the capacity to give a fuck what anyone thinks about me. Not in all ways but in a lot of them.

And so. I am Deb. I am flawed, I fuck up. I procrastinate. And yet I want to work past that shit, or around it or through it to a place where I can give no fucks about stuff which does not matter, but give ALL THE FUCKS about the stuff that does matter.

It's not good to give no fucks. The trick is giving the ones that matter. And doing the fucking work.

So. I am Deb. I procrastinate. And I want to work.

Here I go.

We're Gonna What?

So, we're  totally renting an abandoned mental hospital...

Whatever this is, I'm THERE!

Uh...

Overheard at IHOP;

So, yeah. That's what my memoir will be called.  "Dead Pigs Don't Poo."

Remember...everyone's life is interesting. Right?

I hope you kept the instructions

Party chat...

::CRASH::

LEGOS EVERYWHERE

Guest: Oh no. I destroyed the Millennium Falcon...

Host: We can rebuild. We have the instructions.

Oh, THAT Kind

Overheard: No, I'm talking about a DIFFERENT kind of safe word...

Things I Should Not Do If I am Over 30?

Warning. Rant Ahead. Plus egregious use of the F-bomb.

Tl;dr: Don't tell me what do.

Messing around on the internet this morning drinking coffee. I see this title: 24 Things Women Should Stop Wearing After Age 30.

If you have known me longer than 5 minutes, it's a sure thing you know the conversation that I had with myself as I hovered the mouse over the link. For those of you who don't, however:

Me: What is this bullshit?
Me: Don't do it.
Me: No, this must be read.
Me: Seriously, you haven't even finished your coffee.
Me: But. But. I'm going in.
Me: It's going to enrage you as much as reading the comments on CNN articles…
Me:

This is a link to the article in question, but I have copy-pasted it below because the format is in itself enraging – essentially 72 slides to get through the roughly 500 condescending as fuck words. It appeared in 2014, and a great response to it appears here

24 Things Women Should Stop Wearing After Age 30

So my rant is probably superfluous. But the original article and the really wonderful response were both written by persons under 30, and good as the response is, I feel a few words from a Genuine Old are called for. I am over 30. I am – gasp – over 40 even.

I was going to go point by point and respond to each thing the author mentions, but I realized it was completely unnecessary. Because I can sum up my response to each and every point as this: Fuck Off.

Why is there a cut off for certain things? Who decides what this is? Why does anyone care? Don't do this after 30. After 40. After 50. Part of me wants to retaliate with a list of shit one oughtn't do before 30. But here's the thing – I don't really care. I can't think of a damn thing anyone at any age needs to do or not do in most areas of life other than mind their own damned business and not spend so much of their time worrying about what someone over any arbitrary age is doing.

Will I ever wear blue eye shadow or booty shorts? Nah. Neither of those things would look good on me. Or be comfortable. But I would if I wanted to and I will damn straight wear glitter and animal print and fur and faux fur and my beat up Converse All Stars and graphic tees and oversized sunglasses. Maybe even all at one time. And I will shop where the fuck I please, whenever I please, even if my wearing of American Eagle jeans offends the sensibilities of a Little.

I usually reserve Little for actual Littles. You know, children. But I think from now on I will include in that designation anyone who is clearly Under A Certain Age who uses moment of their precious life to judge what fucking underwear I buy and where, and how beat up my footwear is. Because they are making stupid delineations about age and clothing and me and others like me who wear what the fuck we please.

And frankly, I think Little is a perfect bucket, because anyone who pays this much attention to what others are wearing because of age is small minded.

I'm not usually a fan of listicles anyway, and mostly I avoid using the format unless it is really called for. But I think it might be. So here's mine:

The Top Ways To Avoid Being A Judgmental Asshole About Other People's Clothing Choices

1. Don't be a judgmental asshole about other people's clothing choices.

Best listicle ever.

Finally, for the love of the universe. Wear what the fuck you please. Wear clothing you love and feel wonderful in. Be happy in your skin and in your jeans and in your shoes and in your life and in yourself.

Everyone else can really just go fuck right the fuck off.

___________________________

Original story by Kallie Provencher

By age 30, women are expected to be a little more mature, and they should dress like it too. Here are 24 things no woman should be caught wearing after age 30.

24 Graphic Tees

You're what we call a 'grown-up' now. Dress like an adult please.

23. Bedazzled anything

Bedazzling is a horrible trend that started in the early 2000's and for some reason has stuck around ruining the fashion industry. You're not 13, leave the rhinestones for a tween.

22. Blue Eyeshadow

Actually, no one should ever wear eyeshadow. With the exception of drag queens. Doesn't matter if you're 18 or 50, skip it.

21. Victoria's Secret PINK

PINK is made and targeted at teens and college girls. Not for thirty-somethings. Wear your big girl panties please.

20. Leopard Print

There is such thing as too much of a good thing, and leopard print is only cute in small doses.

19. Sparkly Pants

Unless it's New Year's Eve, don't rock pants that shine brighter than the sun.

18. Oversized Sunglasses

They might be fun, but they're not mature. Splurge a little and buy a nice pair that actually fits.

17. Non-matching Socks

By age 30, you should be able to keep better track of your socks.

16. Hoop Earrings

Only girls in high school can still pull off hoop earrings.

15. Furry Boots

Let the teenagers have their fun, but no 30-year-old woman should be caught dead in "boots with the fur."

14. Furry Anything

It's rare to find furry clothing that's actually fashionable AND age appropriate.

13. Tube Tops

Ugh, why do they still make these? Nobody looks good in them.

12. Short Dresses

You don't have to bare it all to look sexy.

11. Mini-Skirts

By this age, women should know it's always better to leave something to the imagination.

10. Overalls

No. Just no.

9. Crop Tops

Even if you have a bangin' body, leave these "shirts" to the young folks.

8. American Eagle

Sure, their jeans fit perfectly, but that doesn't make it trendy for women over 30 to be wearing them.

7. Booty Shorts

I don't know at what age it is acceptable to let your booty hang out.

6. Old Sneakers

Grown women should not be seen in rundown tennis shoes. If you can't afford a new pair, then it's time to reevaluate life as a 30-year-old.

5. Cheap Bras

Your breasts deserve the proper support by this age.

4. Glitter Eyeshadow

Save the glitter for things that should actually sparkle.

3. Platform Flip-Flops

Actually, nobody should wear these. There's nothing cute or sexy about platform flip-flops.

2. Abercrombie & Fitch

Do 30-year-olds even fit into A&F clothes?

1. Scrunchies

If you're old enough to do your own hair, you should not be wearing scrunchies.

Things I Will Not Leave The House For During The Polar Vortex.

Shoveling snow. Even though there is a 1913 city ordinance that says I need to clear my sidewalk. Even though that wiseass from down the street slipped and almost fell right outside my window. Because it is 22 degrees at 2 PM and the stupid snow is still falling and I’ll only have to do it again in like two hours and anyway I have vodka and Netflix. And my sweet cuddly kitty.

A trip to the gym. Because what makes you think I will go work out when I won’t shovel snow and anyway it’s 4:30 and I’ve been drinking vodka for two and a half hours. It’s like you don’t even know me any more.

Rescuing a friend stuck on the highway. Even though I would want someone to do it for me. Even though people have done it for me. Because I am a bitch with roadside assistance. And because I am cozy and warm and have lots and lots of lovely vodka and the snow looks better from inside my house.

Batteries for my vibrator. Even after the bitter disappointment of cannibalizing the double As from the TV remote only to spill vodka on them, and then to remember that I don’t own a television and they are probably more than 7 years old. Even though it’s only 6:30 PM and why do you care what time of day it is when my vibrator is on my mind? You’re very judgy.

Drinks with Friends. Even though I am an extreme extrovert. Even though I have not seen another living being since 10 AM. Even though I am halfway through the vodka. Because clearly not one of you freaks is worth braving the now 4 degree temperatures because it you were worth anything YOU WOULD HAVE ANTICIPATED ME RUNNING OUT OF VODKA OR YOU WOULD BE HERE DRINKING WITH ME. HAVE YOU EVEN MET ME?

Vodka. Even though the situation is dire at 7:30 PM. Even though the bottle has only two more drinks. Even though I am scant seconds away from moving on to Tier Two beverages, which include Bacon Vodka, Port, Blue Curacao and one drink’s worth of shitty rum. Because deep in my soul I believe I can make one spectacular drink with all of these and call it DEATH BY POLAR VORTEX BECAUSE MY FRIENDS ALL SUCK.

Food. Even though I am completely alone, friendless and vodkaless at 8:30 PM. Even though the spectacularly awesome DEATH BY POLAR VORTEX has left me befuddled and starving. Or maybe BECAUSE I am befuddled and starving. Because I have rice. And sardines. And Maraschino Cherries. And mushroom bullion. And mayonnaise. I WILL SURVIVE. I HAVE THE INTERNET AND I KNOW I CAN LIVE ON SARDINES AND MARASCHINO CHERRIES. IF YOU LOVE ME BRING ME FOOD. AND VODKA. AND BATTERIES. AND MAKE MORE EPISODES OF THE GILMORE GIRLS.

Fast Food. Even though it has been clearly demonstrated to me that living on sardines and maraschino cherries was THE WORST IDEA EVER. Even though the closest drive through is still open. BECAUSE THERE IS TWO FEET OF GODDAMN SNOW IN THE STREET AND I PROBABLY COULDN’T DRIVE IN THIS SOBER AND I HOPW YOU ALL ARE GLADD THAT I WIL DIE ALONE FROM INDIGESTION AND DEHYDRATION AND LACK OF SELF STUMULATION AND DEATH BY POLAR VORTES DRINKS AND MIXING BACON VODKA AND PORT WAS INCREDIBLY FUCKING DUMB AND THEY WILL FIND MY DESSICATED BODY FORLORNLY IN THE MIDDLE OF MY LIVING ROOM WITH MY STUPID CROSS EYED CAT SITTING NEXT TO IT BITCHING FOR FOOD.

Please bring tums.

(note, I will be posting some humorous stuff on this blog in addition to the writing and eavesdropping stuff I usually publish. Also no vodka was harmed...er...drunk...er....there was not an entire bottle of vodka available when I wrote this. The vodka consumption was greatly exaggerated.)

On Transformation

Woke up musing about change and transformation. I took a look back at some posts on my blog here, and I see that this topic comes up now and again -- makes sense. Life is full of change and therefore transformation.  Because what are we after change but transformed?

I am struggling a bit with the final edits on my novel in progress, and I think this musing today is the key.  While I have focused well enough on the plot points and driven the story from where I wanted it to start to where I wanted it to end, I think I have not paid enough attention to the transformation of the character -- within the small plot points and overall from the beginning to the end.

And I don't mean necessarily the kind of transformation that the caterpillar undergoes to become the butterfly. No, the changes in our lives are sometimes far more minuscule than a complete and utter re imagining of ourselves. More subtle.  The changes in our lives are a realization, the recognition of an absence, the small revelation of love where we expected none.

And yet we are transformed as surely as the caterpillar becomes the butterfly. The pre-transformative self is not our true self, I think. Our true selves are buried deep inside and we peel off layer by layer with each change and each experience, to become whatever remains, more essentially ourselves.  Oh and we fight this change, we fight the becoming, but it is inevitable that it happen, that we move forward, that we progress. That we transform, even if we go to this fate kicking and screaming.

For my writing time today I plan to comb though my plot, point by point and look for the opportunities to dig into the changes my character experiences, to allow her to transform into her own version of the butterfly, to find the truth of herself under the layers we have peeled back to get her from the beginning to the end of her plot line.

And sometime soon, maybe after coffee, I will spend a little time doing the same for me -- what have I transformed into, and what changes lie ahead. It'll be easier working with my character Else, because there is no need to fear her change, her transformation. And I tend to fear my own, a little anyway, even as I jump into the next adventures with both feet.

But it seems kind of dumb to fear the inevitable.

Happy words, folks. And happy transformations.

Randoms

(that's Random Shoplifts...clearly I need to be more specific for those of you whose minds gravitate ever gutterwards).

~I have verbal jiu jitsu. Talk jitsu. (Deb) jitsu... (put my own name in th eplace of the original speaker).

~I will f**k money ANY time.  (some people clearly have more interesting sex lives than....well, than me for one...).

~The only reason anyone puts money in the market is that it's the only place TO put it.  (Yeah, whatever.  There's always the mattress and the underwear drawer...why you gotta be so narrowminded).

~Good priorities and a Jesus liver -- that's really all you need in life.  (no explanation, hah).

X's and O's and Words!

d

Getting Stuff Done (or: Recovering from Life's Detours)

Tough summer.  I had a a full schedule of planned projects -- catch up on some tasks for my publishing business.  Finish polishing two book proposals. Finish finally my own novel.

Life often has other ideas for us, especially when we make plans.  Mix in an unexpected death, news that an old friend is very ill, The Boy (tm) heading off to University, and well, the best laid plans of mice and Deb are often gone awry.

I wrote recently about perfection -- how the pursuit of it can be self defeating.  And I forgot -- even after I gave myself permission to just do the work and find perfection in what I do rather than try and get it to match up to an arbitrary definition -- I forgot to really give myself permission to be imperfect and found myself in a little bit of an emotional tailspin. And mad at myself for it.

Yeah. I kicked myself while I was down.

Sigh.

We so often are our own worst enemies.

I recognized mid-kick what I was doing and I have moved away from that behavior.  Mostly.

And I am a writing fool at the moment trying to meet the self -imposed deadline for finishing the novel EVEN THOUGH it will be hard and require ~2,000 plus words a day to do it.

But I will because it's important to me.

So here are my takeaways from the summer:

~Sometimes shit happens that guts you and you can't do a damn thing about it.

~Sometimes you tailspin. And that's okay, because you are experiencing your own life, which means you are living it.

~Sometimes you kick yourself when you are down.  Stop it.

~Sometimes you are your own worst enemy.  But what would life be like if you cultivated yourself as a friend the same way you cultivate others? How much magic?

~Do the stuff that is important to you.  Encourage yourself the same way you encourage others.

Kind of glad it's a new season.

Good words,

d

Reflection on Perfection

You have a perfection complex? I sure as shit do.

Sometimes I really think I should just throw in the towel on this whole writing thing....I will never be as good as some of my favorite writers.

Sitting on the beach this week during a suprise Florida-Jaunt, I read Chuck Palahniuk's "Diary".  And. Oh. My. God.

I mean, not everyone will like the voice he uses...it's unique and a little tough to get into, but so damned sublime in execution.  Perfection.

I will never do that.

Then I thought about how perfect this image is -- a picture I took while sitting on said beach. Then I started picking apart my photography skills (which are, sadly, nonexistent).

And then I had a revelation. Yeah, the boat on the beach is lovely, relatable, and I managed to get a bit of the pier in the shot -- it is a moment of peace and serenity and perfect-like in at least capturing the moment. And it's okay if it isn't the same shot someone else might capture in the same moment. So many potential variables.

What if.....

What if the whole perfection-thing is just sorting through so many potential variables until a set just coheres and captures something...SOMETHING...and it doesn't really matter which set of variables as long as it does the capturing part and the cohering part?

What if....

What if I have been chasing an elusive perfection thing which is unattainable because my definition of it is based on capturing an array of cohered variables that SOMEONE ELSE has seen, and I can NEVER EVER EVER see things the same way as them, and therefore that piece of perfection is just...

Not...

Ever...

Gonna...

Happen....

What if....

What if I gave myself permission to just seek out MY OWN VERSION of perfection and the hell with anyone else's eyes and thoughts....maybe Chuck Palahniuk inadvertently gave me permission to write my own version of the world and know that somewhere, somehow, some other person in the universe will find THAT to be perfect, coherent, sublime, relatable.

What if?

Discussions on Query Letters

From some correspondence I shared with a writer recently, as part of my involvement with Delve Writing:

Hey, (redacted)!  Super excited to hear you are starting the query process!

 

With few exceptions, your query letter will be one page, starting with a paragraph explaining why you are submitting this particular project to this particular agent -- it is typical to have done some research and be able to discuss why you think, based on other books they have represented, this book might interest them and fit their client list.

 

This should go something like, Dear (Agent), I am writing to present for your consideration my 85,000 word YA manuscript (title).  I really enjoy the work of (one or two authors on his or her list), and I feel that (title) might be a good fit for your company because it deals with the same (age group, genre, snarky approach to the universe with an absurdist edge).

 

In other words, drawing comparisons and parallels to other works the agent has sold.

 

This is typically followed by a very high level synopsis that relates the plot of your book. Not the theme -- just the plot, though you can imply the themes through this very short synopsis.  An agent or editor at this point is less interested in theme -- they will get that when they read the manuscript, assuming your plot concept interests them enough to request the full and read the story.

 

You want enough of the plot that the agent has an idea of the entire story.  This isn't the time to be coy and withhold the ending.  But also this is like an expanded version of your pitch -- what you do in your logline in two lines you can do here in 5-6.

 

Resist the urge to use marketing copy -- don't say things like -- This very exciting story will keep you on the edge of your seat, rollercoaster ride of the heart, etc.   It is not yet the time for that language.

 

For instance: A lonely girl who longs for adventure finds herself ripped from her farm life in Kansas and thrust into an amazing fantasy land filled with witches, magic and Munchkins.  But underneath the beautiful veneer lurk many dangers for Dorothy, including a wicked witch who wants her newly magical shoes -- and wants her dead as well.  Through a series of adventures, Dorothy acquires the allies and the tools she will need to confront the wicked witch, , change the destiny of a nation, and maybe even get herself back to Kansas.

 

Finally, you can sum up with a bio on you -- your writing credentials, your background, platform -- selling YOU as the writing or this particular story and making a case for being a good potential working partner for the agent.

 

Close with your contact info.

 

Happy query writing!

Outside The Comfort Zone

It's so easy to repeat things -- stick with what one is used to. Visit the same restaurants, order the same food, take the same path to work, sit in the same chair or spot on the sofa.  We are, I think, creatures of habit, even the most spontaneous and adventurous of us.

Mixing in new things -- foods, venues, habits, goals, seems so important therefore to keep our brains from settling into ruts. Even enjoyable things can be ruts.

Trying to take some different tactics with my writing -- where I am while I do it. What approach I take to tackling the blank page. Pushing the limits of what I am comfortable with writing -- I tell people all the time that their best writing will feel vaguely uncomfortable to them because it is pushing their limits. Trying to put that into practice myself.

What are your writing ruts? I mean comfort zones?  How to you pull yourself away from them?

Love and words,

Deb

On Writing Memoir

"Memoir is HOT. I should totally write one and cash in."

"My life is so interesting, it should totally be a book!"

"I'd love to write a memoir but I have trouble understanding what goes in one...how do you write the story of your life?"

If you are a sometime reader of this little blog, you'd expect that the lines above are shoplifts, but they aren't.  They are parts of real conversations I've had with people -- writers and not-yet-writers alike -- in the last two weeks.

I've been musing on the subject of memoir because it keeps coming up, and what I think the discussions come down to is people wondering if they SHOULD write a memoir, if their stories are interesting enough, and if so what should they include.  I'm always a fan of encouraging people to write, and I've been searching for a concise way to express what I feel about this subject that still encourages people to work with the words.

From my perspective, memoir functions in two arenas:  commercial and non-commercial.  I make this distinction because while all personal stories and family histories are important, not all will be moneymakers.

If you have an interesting -- or even not-so-interesting -- life and want to chronicle your journey, or relate what you know of relative's journeys though this thing called life, as a way to document history for those who come after you, what a lovely gift to give the world.  But for me this might fall under the category of non-commercial.  An awesome endeavor, a potentially important one, but not one that is necessarily likely to sell a lot of copies outside your immediate family.  Family chronicles generally are of interest only to those whose families are chronicled. Important, but limited buying audience. Maybe.

To cross memoir over in the realm of commercial requires a platform of some sort, an angle which takes one's life story and creates something universal out if it.  In having this discussion I was asked several times, "How do I KNOW if I have a platform or an angle?"  Well, some are obvious.  Participation in historic events, major life changes, illness, recovery.  But some stories are small and personal and yet might have a great impact on readers out of their universal nature or message.

And I realized that from an audience perspective, memoir appeals to two primary groups who might be willing to spend money to read your story:  1) People who will never have your experience and will enjoy absorbing part of your life into their own, and 2) People who have had your experience and are happy that a story has been written to which they can relate.

For instance, I read Rhoda Janzen's "Mennonite in a Little Black Dress," and I adored it.  Funny, heartfelt, honest, and in some ways completely outside my life experience as I did not grow up in and then grow away from a Mennonite family.  Now I know a bit about what that would feel like, but also her stories were universal in the sense that everyone knows what it feels like to have weird family stuff and inter-family conflict in some way or another. Relatable.

If your life, or part of your life, would appeal to BOTH those groups, you have a memoir that is potentially commercial. 

In either case, commercial or non- you are obliged still to write the best, most interesting story you can. 

More on what actually goes in a memoir (and what you should leave out) in a future post.  For more reading on this topic though, William Zinsser (On Writing Well) has done some work in this arena and has a good approach to getting started, here on NPR.

Blogging...About Blogging

Sigh. Poor neglected little blog sitting here all by its lonesome, wishing for some attention from me.

Well. Looks like I have some time for you baby.  My corporate gig has ended and I have a summer of writing and publishing ahead of me (also taking on some paid editing gigs to help with the transition -- email me if you have need and want a price quote).

I love shoplifting, but have gotten away from posting my  lifts here -- Facebook is just too easy to use right from a smart phone, I guess, and Blogger is not. 

I love talking and writing about writing and the writing life, but I have let myself get so busy that I have forgotten what it's like to reflect and analyze and muse.

In any case, blogging can be a great part of the overall marketing platform for writers and has come up so often in the last few weeks that, FINE, OKAY, I'll get back to it.

In light of that, here's an article about blogging for authors -- let me know if you have any thoughts on this topic.

As for me, I'll be trying to figure out what the hell I will post about later this week......

Top 10 Shoplifts from a Writing Retreat

The Setting:  Poudre Canyon, Colorado, a small town called Rustic.

The Cast:  Writers, Locals, and Vern, The World's Greatest One Armed Bartender

The Plot: Writing Retreat, Karaoke, and Drunkigami

In other words, the perfect storm of shoplifting....

1.  Hey. I'm pretty sure I could walk if I wanted to.
2. You know, there's a fine line between romance and horror.....
3. Finally, I'm gonna get one new shoe.
4. Yeah, I have to listen to that to write the fight scenes...Oh..so...what to you listen to to write the sex scenes?
5. That's out waitress right there.  She;s dating the band.
6. In my secret life, I'm a pole dancer.
7. Hey, how do I drunkspell this?
8. What I heard: "I like it when he drops his pants." What was said: "I like it when he drops his mask."
9. I believe that is inverse blasphemy.
10. Oh look, she's slurring in American Sign Language.

Manitou Springs Artwalk Shoplifts

Lifted from pals while walking around lovely Manitou Springs:

~~But do you like pate'? No, I like Chef Boyardee.

~~Yes I have a line. I draw it at borscht. (I also have a line, I draw it at Chef Boyardee)

~~I need a new Jackalope. My other one got eaten by moths.  I put mothballs in its ears, but it didn't help.

~~At least Jesus doesn't drunk text. ( I am so sure there is context for this but I for the life of me can't remember it...)

A Week in 16 Minutes

Just watch it. And yes, it was like this and scary. And took the full 5 days not 16 minutes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBA7eHY022k

What. A. Week.

I am sitting in my house....

Not a terribly exciting way to begin a blog post, right? The editor in me is cringing at the words.  But I am leaving that as the beginning of this post simply because after this last week I am ever so grateful that I CAN say them. Especially in light of the fact that so many in my little city cannot.  Around 350 households cannot.

Waldo Canyon Fire. What an INSANE week. The editor in me wants to kill those caps too, but fuck it, I'm leaving them.  Unless you were here, experiencing all the crazy, there's not really a way for me to communicate it to you, and the fact that I am resorting to the interwebs equivalent of shrieking it to you really says it all.

So. Fire. Big fire. Evacuations. Homes lost. Lives lost. Peace of mind lost. And at the same time I want to cry for the sense of community found.  I have a deeply conflicted relationship with my little city -- so liberal yet so conservative, so many creative people, and yet such a small town mentality at times.  And I am sometimes known to speak badly of her, Colorado Springs, out of this sense of conflict. Love and hate.  That coin got flipped hard this week, and then I tossed the coin out. It's broken, that coin. Landed on the love side and stuck there.  My little city. Mine. With all its flaws and all the stupidity that I find so aggravating.  And I learned just how protective I am of it, as I cried, repeatedly, for this place and its people. My place, and my people. Loved deeply with all her flaws.

And I am so fortunate -- yes I was evacuated, but I don't think my home was ever in any real danger.  I came back yesterday to a fine sheen of ash over pretty much everything I own, and I cried again because while I have a few days of cleaning ahead of me, some people's homes are gone.  Gone.

I am so very fortunate.

I am especially fortunate to have so many people in my life who give a shit about me. Who called to see if they could do anything to help while I was evacuated.  Who gave me a place to stay while I was evacuated. Who got to my house before it got really bad, when I was too far away, and got my cat, and my son's car, and my just purchased case of wine and my really expensive scotch. (And on that note, I REALLY think the reason my whole neighborhood did not go up like so much tinder is that I had friends scavenge my very well stocked liquor cabinet, thereby removing much potential accellerant. You're welcome, Holland Park).

I gathered some shoplifts to share as part of this post, but frankly, they are all so damned poignant that they make me want to cry -- even my own pithy remark about having left duck in my freezer, which, I assumed, would take only a few hours to roast to perfection in the event that my house did go up, so planning a post house fire bbq seemed like a good idea.  Yeah, it's in bad taste, yeah it's too soon, and yeah I still think it's funny as shit, but I'm gonna leave the shoplifts until I have a better sense of humor about it all.  Which will probably be next week. I don't do sad well or for long periods of time.

I have some funny posts half written, and want to talk about the awesome event I had a small part of last night (Jene' Jackson's Nights of Wild, a curated event that grew out of her awesome book The Oat Project), and my thoughts on dropping the F-bomb while on stage, but I think I'm done for now.

All of you who play such an important role in my life -- and if you are wondering if I am referring to you, then you can assume I am -- I love you all. Thank you.  Just for, you know, being.

PPWC 2012 Roundup. Part 1 of N

By the gods I am tired. Bone tired. Nodding off at my desk tired. Crazily, insanely, wonderfully tired. PPWC 2012 is over…and what a PPWC it was.

Let me preface this by saying I realized a week or so ago that I always capitalize the word conference when I use it in reference to PPWC. “Are you going to Conference this year?” “Remember that crazy thing we did at Conference, in, oh, 2010?” That is because for me, PPWC is THE conference against which all others are measured, and in comparison to which many others pale. Some only slightly, because there are a lot of really amazing conferences for writers in the world. But for me, this is The One. MY Conference.

Why? Because it is friendly. The faculty (of which I was a member this year) is approachable and knowledgeable. Because it is packed with sessions which really are designed to help further a writer’s career. Because repeatedly, as a conference, it actually DOES further people’s writing careers. I am going to do a little research, so that there are numbers involved with this assertion, but a great many people I have met over the years have made the transition from writer to author BECAUSE of this conference (and of course their talent and unrelenting commitment to making the transition).

It’s also fun. Big silly memorable fun. More on that in another post.

Let’s talk a bit about the business part. The career furthering part for a bit. Faculty: Jeffery Deaver. Yes, of Lincoln Rhyme fame. Robert Crais. Yes, of Elvis Cole fame. Joe Lansdale. Of (OMG fangirl sqee) Bubba HoTep fame. May I just interject that I have now shaken hands with a man who has shaken hands with Bruce Campbell. One degree baby. Donald Mass, top New York literary agent and vanguard of the traditional publishing industry. And Mark Coker, CEO of Smashwords, from the full other end of the publishing spectrum and vanguard of the new model in publishing upon which my own business rests. (Mark freaking Coker, in front of whom I dropped quite possibly several F-bombs. In my defense, there was wine and excitement involved).

Given my new business endeavors, I am pleased to have been taken seriously by folks such as these, as well as all the seekers who are looking to make the transition from writer to author. But more importantly is how inspiring all these folks were. How accessible, and how willing to dispense advice and coaching, and personal inspiration. How much they care about what people do with words, and about books in any form and about the people who write and want to write books. No snarky condescension. No elitism. No running away after dinner to avoid the hoi polloi. These folks yukked it up in the bar with the hoi polloi. And beer. Or martinis. And were real and available and just plain awesome.

And here’s the coolest part – they love PPWC. Across the board at Conference after Conference the feedback is that authors, agents and editors, big ones, prominent ones, LOVE the atmosphere of PPWC. For all the reasons I just listed, plus one more very important one: the parent organization of Conference, Pikes Peak Writers, does a bang-up job of preparing writers to approach the publishing industry in a professional manner, with attention not only to good ideas which are well written, but also to the business side of publishing, from pitching technique, to synopsis writing, to being able to discuss a marketing plan in broad strokes on short notice. These things matter. A lot.

I keep thinking I should diversify – go to other conferences more than I do. But frankly I’m not all that certain I need to. I love MY Conference, and while I am sort of happy that it is done for the year and I can get some sleep now, I am also sad because I will not get this same feeling of exhausted exhilaration again for another year. Happysad. But I have come away validated in my choices and charged up for the next phase in my own writing and in my small company.

So, much love for PPW and PPWC and all the volunteers and faculty who make this Conference what it is. My happysad self is off to sleep, in preparation for putting it all into action.