Do It Anyway

You've all probably seen this in one form or another, I'm sure. I ran across it the other day and felt the need to post it here. It's most commonly credited to Mother Teresa, but there are other sources for it as well. Whoever wrote it, it's message stands true still:

Do It Anyway

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered;

Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;

Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;

Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;

Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;

Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;

Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;

Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;

Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God;

It was never between you and them anyway.

Start From the Dark

Between work, travelling, buying a new car, trying unsuccessfully to get my son into an adult day program, my two (or three) World of Warcraft raid nights, random karaoke nights, following the London Olympics, catching up on Doctor Who, and all the other run-on-sentence-adding adventures, I’ve had no time to write. Even in my down time, I find myself either reading or vegging out on the TV, or now – God help me – playing SongPop on Facebook (It’s addictive. You’ve been warned); and Indigo sits, patiently twiddling his fictional thumbs.

My new Baby.

I will get there. Trust me. It’s been approximately two weeks now that nothing new has gone into Indigo, but I do sense some new material on the not-too-distant horizon. A quick break can be a good thing - giving the mind time to relax a little from the pressure of telling an intense and complicated story. I can now go back to it a little fresher, with a more objective eye. That’s the goal anyway.

Being busy for me is a good thing. It helps lift my mood. As my sis-in-law said today: A non-busy me makes my mind do “dark things.” It was really an apropos way to put it. 

One of my favorite Europe songs is “Start From the Dark,” and if you think about it – it truly is a good place to start. When you have "dark things" in your mind, no matter what they are - they can be a seed for creativity; a launching board for brighter things. 

Here are the lyrics, they’ve always hit home for me:

Thought you were ordinary

Would not amount to much

I guess they never knew you

You found the place they couldn't touch

Said you were nothing special

Always kept to yourself

You had to fight your own way

There's always been touch too much at stake.

What you gonna do?

'Cause you're just like me

What you gonna do?

Tonight, this is where we go

To find out who we really are

We've got nothing left to lose

Tonight, this is how we breathe

To put some strength back in our hearts

We've got nothing left to lose

We start from the dark

You'll never pass for someone

Who'll find a place in line

You'd sooner take that last breath

Than give away your heart and mind

What you gonna do?

'Cause you're just like me

What you gonna do?

Tonight, this is where we go

To find out who we really are

We've got nothing left to lose

Tonight, this is how we breathe

To put some strength back in our hearts

We've got nothing left to lose

We start from the dark

Start from the dark

Start From The Dark lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.

Now it’s time to take Abbey to the vet. Yay…

Here’s to keeping away the “dark things.”

Chew ‘em Up. Spit ‘em Out. Pass.

Not quite two weeks ago I sent the first 60 pages of Indigo to a critiquing service for a paid manuscript review. I will not be promoting this service by giving out their name here, but if you would like to know who it is, feel free to message me personally. The service was to notify me that:

1. they received my manuscript;
2. who it was assigned to for the critique; and
3. the turnaround time.

I did not receive that information as promised. When I followed up within a week of submission, I was told they don’t give out the name of the person performing the critique “due to other work agreements that they have,” and that the turnaround time was 4-6 weeks. That was last Thursday.

In the interest of full disclosure, and as you may be able to tell from my tone – the review was not good.

I received my critique in less than a week, and the critique itself had spelling errors in it. I’m still shaking my head that a paid editor doesn’t know the difference between desert and dessert. Really? And I paid real money for this?  Also, the anonymity of this so-called editor is still bothering me as well – what were their credentials? How am I sure they even have an interest in the genre I’m writing? How do I know they have any credentials at all?

The service was to include the following:

• 12-16 pages of detailed notes on premise, plot structure, pacing, characters, dialogue and marketability
• A graph-based "Emotional Response" chart
• A rating on the "Pass, Consider, or Recommend" scale
• A one-page synopsis to use as a "leave behind" when you get that all-important meeting

It was NOT to include this:

• Rewrite or revise for you, except in the case of providing an example of how to revise on your own.
• Correct grammar, mechanics, and spelling. (Our *** service does correct grammatical errors, including punctuation, capitalization, verb tense, spelling and sentence structure.) However, the story analyst will point out any patterns of surface-level error that may pose a significant problem for you.
• Correct for Industry-Standard Formatting. However the story analyst will point out general and repetitive formatting errors throughout the manuscript.
• Provide any fact-checking.
• Provide answers or advice on legal issues

What I did receive:

• Barely 12 pages of notes, 4 of which were lists of minor grammatical errors
• Instead of a one-page synopsis to "leave behind" when I get that all-important meeting, I got a two page book report giving a blow-by-blow account of each chapter
• One paragraph on concept
• One paragraph on pacing
• Absolutely nothing about marketability

Disappointed? You betcha.

Mind you – they did have some good points in their critique. In my constant changing of PoV and tense, some grammatical mistakes were left in. Okay – mention it and move on – don’t give me four pages listing out each one.

There were a couple questions/suggestions regarding the storyline and characters that were worth my consideration – but not worth what I paid for this crap.

I think the main problem here (and I could be wrong because I’ll never know who the editor is), is that the person who read this was expecting a full-blown science fiction story, when I clearly stated in my submission that it was ROMANCE/sci-fi/fantasy. It’s barely even sci-fi really, as it’s a character driven suspense story, not a science driven story. They even say in the overall notes: “…the romantic tension between our hero and heroine is palpable (and very satisfying for readers).” DUH! That’s the point of a romance novel you twit!

When I first read the critique I was pretty devastated. My writing is crap yet again. The second time through I noticed their grammatical errors, and the apparent haste at which the critique was prepared. As I continue to analyze it, I see that what I’ve written is completely outside of their element and experience. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not completely dismissing their review because it was negative. As I mentioned, there were some good points given, and they’ve been duly noted. I just don’t feel that I received what I paid for. And that is truly disappointing.

With all that being said, my writing may still be crap – but I don’t think the person that got paid to critique my work was necessarily the best to judge that.

Oh, and by the way – here is my ‘graph-based "Emotional Response" chart’:

Not bad for the beginning of a suspense novel I’d say…

The New Blog Do

Just like my emotional hair, I got bored with the way my blog looked, so I changed the template. I initially started looking at WordPress templates, but didn’t want to bother with actually working on something new. I’m in too lazy a mood to muck around with learning. Luckily Blogger has added some new templates that don’t look totally stupid. So, here it is.

I do miss my calla lily picture though. But, it’s still on my website, so I guess it’s okay that it’s not here. Kind of makes the name of the blog a little silly now… but you’ll have that. Silly me.

Here she is...

 What do you guys think of the new layout?


Oh - and if you're looking at this on a mobile device - you get something totally different... just an fyi. :)

The 3:00 A.M. Blog

It’s going on 3:00 A.M., and I want to write something. Anything that isn’t Indigo. Don’t get me wrong, it’s going fine and dandy – I just felt like writing something else. I need to get out of my characters’ heads for a while.

There's no one in the place - except you and me...

So is this finally a blog about how well the writing is going? Apparently so. I’ve been on quite a tear the last few weeks. Not making a ton of forward progress, but doing a lot of editing and shaping; fine tuning, if you will. It feels good for a change, and I think it may be because I’m forcing myself to do it. I have a finite set of hours in the evening that I am at least re-reading and editing, if not writing new stuff. Every once in a while I’ll print out a hard copy and take my red pen to the whole thing. It’s amazing what typos or inconsistencies you can find in a hard copy that you don’t see in a digital one. Plus when it’s on paper, it just feels like a book… and it’s getting heavier every week, which is nice.

I did another complete rework of the point of view back to first person, which is just more comfortable for me to write in. It may not be the right way to do it, but it works for me. Also, since the story of Indigo is suspense – being in first person allows for that immediacy that I don’t think you get with a third person point of view. First person is more intimate; and I think, allows the reader to become even more involved in the story – rather than just being a spectator. Again, this is all subjective, and some people hate first person narratives, but then – they don’t have to read my book, do they?

I will say that I am so happy that the warm weather is at last upon us. I can finally sit in my favorite writing spot (my enclosed patio) and just type away, occasionally glancing up at the various critters around my yard. We get a lot of visits from the neighborhood squirrels, blue jays, and even deer if they’re brave enough. One of these days I’ll live somewhere warm enough to be able to do this year round. Until then, I’ll take advantage of the few months I have. I don’t think I’ll be as motivated just sitting in my office.

Well, that’s enough meandering for one night. Off to sleep; perchance to dream of Indigo and Maya’s next steps…

My Characters; My Friends.

I’ve finished the first 50 pages of Indigo for the WeBook contest and submitted it for judging. It will most likely be a week or so before I start seeing feedback from readers, and my anxiety is palpable. It’s always nerve-racking to send your creative babies out into the world, but this one is especially difficult for some reason. There is always fear of rejection – I think that’s natural for any author, but Indigo gets my blood pumping so differently than Ghosting did. He’s been in my head for so long, nagging at me to get out, and now that I’m doing that – it’s like telling a deeply personal secret to the world. It’s not as though I’m baring my soul, or standing naked in the middle of a mall, but close - I think that’s a pretty close analogy.

I'm ascerred.

When you spend countless hours thinking, writing, reading, re-reading, and editing the crap out of something, it’s hard not to personalize it. It’s even harder not to internalize the characters. They live in your head – and you’re the biographer telling their story. You want to get it right, and you want to do right by them. After all, they are trusting you to tell it correctly. That’s a big responsibility for an author to undertake.

My own imagination brought them to life, sure. But now that they’re here in my head, they’ve evolved into something somewhat real. They have their own personalities, senses of humor, vices, mannerisms, histories, endearing qualities, and character flaws (pun intended). No, I’ve not gone mad with invisible friends. I don’t talk to them - out loud anyway, but they are always present in some way. It’s hard to explain fully. It truly is one of the wonders of being a writer – the ability to create these completely intangible, yet concrete people and scenarios. And as a writer, you live with them almost all the time, whether you want to or not.

So all I can do now is wait for the feedback and criticisms from the contest reviewers with a mixture of excitement and dread. It’s a horrible combination, yet delicious in its own way. In the meantime I’ll just continue writing as though Indigo is the best thing since Shakespeare penned his first sonnet. Until the bubble gets burst by a critic, it’s a good feeling to have.

Ray Bradbury, 1920-2012

The writing world suffered a huge loss today. While he hated the term "science fiction" (he preferred "fantasy"), much of Mr. Bradbury's work is classified as such. When you think of science fiction - you think of Ray Bradbury. He invented dystopia decades before The Hunger Games made it popular.

Most people know him from Fahrenheit 451 (required reading for a lot of high schoolers), The Martian Chronicles, or Something Wicked This Way Comes, but he was so much more.

He published at least 27 books, over 600 short stories (he was the KING of short stories), plays, screenplays and teleplays (Alfred Hitchcock Presents, The Twilight Zone, The Ray Bradbury Theater to name a few), fiction and non-fiction, and even children's literature. He was quintessentially the writers' writer, and would write at least 1,000 words a day - no matter what.

His impact on the imaginations of readers and writers will be felt for generations to come. His passion for creativity will be sorely missed. In reading about his prolific writing career today, I came upon this quote that should inspire any writer (me included):

"If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads. I wish you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories — science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world."

A True Pioneer
(AP Photo/Lennox McLendon)

Indigo

Readers and writers both try to picture characters in their heads.

This is my Indigo.

Alex Pettyfer.

You're welcome ladies. ;)

Memorial Day (f.k.a. Decoration Day)

Decoration Day

Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest

On this Field of the Grounded Arms,

Where foes no more molest,

Nor sentry's shot alarms!

Ye have slept on the ground before,

And started to your feet

At the cannon's sudden roar,

Or the drum's redoubling beat.

But in this camp of Death

No sound your slumber breaks;

Here is no fevered breath,

No wound that bleeds and aches.

All is repose and peace,

Untrampled lies the sod;

The shouts of battle cease,

It is the Truce of God!

Rest, comrades, rest and sleep!

The thoughts of men shall be

As sentinels to keep

Your rest from danger free.

Your silent tents of green

We deck with fragrant flowers

Yours has the suffering been,

The memory shall be ours.

                              -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

My thoughts and prayers are with those who have lost loved ones while in service of our country. May the fallen rest in peace with our gratitude for your sacrifice, and theirs.

-Amy

Writing is a Wicked Bitch.

I’ve been tossing the idea of my novel Indigo around for quite a while now. Two years? At least? Well yeah – a long time. I had submitted the first 5 pages to the same contest I had Ghosting in (which didn’t get past the first 50 pages round btw). The feedback was truly good, and I’ve even had strangers from around the world reach out to me to see where the first 50 pages of Indigo were because they were captivated by the story so far. That has amazed me because I couldn’t see how the first 5 pages of anything could snag anyone’s attention, but it made me feel good nonetheless. People really liked Indigo.

So last night I revisited Indigo after our long hiatus, and my creative juices are now flowing again. I made MAJOR changes – changing the voice from first person to third (uncomfortable!), the tense from past to present (tricky!), and finally decided what the story was going to be about (Yay!). My original premise now feels overdone in the market, and the new one I came up with is good. Really good. But complicated. It will be a challenge to write.

Am I up to this challenge? I have no idea. Knowing my history of leaving things undone when the going gets difficult makes doubt dance around maniacally in the back of my mind.

One of my major problems is pacing. I have NO idea how to pace a novel. Short stories - I’m a pro. If I needed to write the whole thing in 50 pages I could do it, no problem. But 350? Not so much. I don’t know when to reveal what. What is too soon? How much anticipation should there be? How much back story is needed, if any? Argh!

Part of me wants to say screw it, just write it all then mess with it later. But the perfectionist (read, chicken) in me says pick it apart as I go. But that instant dissection of what I’ve written is what’s hindering my progress. It’s a vicious cycle.

Yes dear novel, you are.

My goal for the time being is the first 50 pages for that contest. Once I have that in I’ll be able to see feedback from readers and editors, hopefully addressing the pacing among other things. While it’s not my favorite thing, I need the criticism to make me a better writer.

Lots of people say they like my writing ‘voice,’ which is a huge compliment to me. I know it’s rare to have a good writing voice, so I take deep pride in that. I just hope that my ‘voice’ can say the right things at the right time.

Has this whole blog been a delay tactic to avoid doing the work? You betcha. I need discipline, have you noticed? I need to just do the work. Or as my sis-in-law says: JUST DO IT.

That, in a nutshell, is what makes writing a Wicked Bitch. But for some ungodly reason, I still love her...

Amy Has...

The idea of this exercise is to Google your name and the word "has" after it. It's also normally done with the word "likes" as well - but I think I did that on Facebook not too long ago (well, maybe a few years ago). So, I thought I would see what the Googledom thinks I have.

I had wanted to work on my book Indigo this weekend, but have been too busy to just sit and really think, let alone write. So, the point of this is for me to post something on this blog; whether it be trite, hot monkey crap like this, or a deep essay about my feelings (gasp). Hey, at least it's not another poem...

And awaaaaay we go:

1. Amy has...A crush on Shadow. This is an anime video from YouTube. I looked at the video briefly, and I think Shadow is a Sonic the Hedgehog type-looking-thing... so I'd have to disagree with the 'crush' idea. Now if it said "Amy has a crush on Richard Armitage" that would be a completely different story, and one that I would wholeheartedly support.

This is Shadow. My new boyfriend.

2. 'Baby' Amy has...Hoover fright. This is another video, this time showing a poor defenseless infant being tortured by a vacuum for the viewer's amusement. I'm not so easily amused. I also don't have Hoover fright. Aversion maybe, but no fear here.

Cuz, it's soooooo cute!!!

3. Amy has...a strange connect with Katrina! What? This is a reference to two no-name models with similar beauty brand endorsements. I don't currently have any endorsements. Well, unless you count my CoffeeMate endorsement deal, but that is currently unpaid (and unbeknownst to Nestle).

Ooooooh yeah.....

4. Amy has...the talent to capture all of the qualities we love about Lois: smart, tough, funny, warm, ambitious and, of course, beautiful. Awww, I'm blushing! This refers to actress Amy Adams' upcoming portrayal of Lois Lane in a Superman reboot. However, I agree with the description. :)

You go girl.

5. Amy has...Zero Swag. Another video. And probably true - considering that I have no clue what the current description of "swag" is. It used to refer to merchandise like concert t-shirts, etc. Now, I'm not so sure. So unless they are referring to my copious concert t-shirt collection, I can affirm that I have zero swag. Should I be sad about this? I feel like I should.

Err, yea!

I'm going to stop at 5, since there aren't too many "Amy has" titles, and they're mostly in the descriptions. I've chosen to ignore all of the Amy Winehouse references - because there are just too many, and I'm not too comfortable with joking about the dearly departed (there were some juicy ones though).

So what does Google think you have?

If - By Rudyard Kipling

One of my fondest memories from my childhood includes my father reading Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling to me at bedtime. Since then Mr. Kipling has held a special place for me in my own library. If is by far one of my favorite poems, and its message still holds true today - especially in trying times, as these are for me.

My hope is that if these are trying times for you - the message will resonate for you as well.

Christina's World by Andrew Wyeth (1948)

If

by Rudyard kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!


(or a Woman. Just sayin'.)

Preludes - By T.S. Eliot

I've been reading a lot of T.S. Eliot lately, and thought I'd share one that struck me particularly. It's not often that I read poetry, as it's not often that poetry moves me - but I've found a new appreciation for it with T.S. Eliot. It's quite romantic in a darkly fluid sort of way. I don't think it's something that can be explained, rather experienced. So, enjoy.

Preludes
T.S. Eliot

I

The winter evening settles down

With smell of steaks in passageways.

Six o'clock.

The burnt-out ends of smoky days.

And now a gusty shower wraps

The grimy scraps

Of withered leaves about your feet

And newspapers from vacant lots;

The showers beat

On broken blinds and chimney-pots,

And at the corner of the street

A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.

And then the lighting of the lamps.

II

The morning comes to consciousness

Of faint stale smells of beer

From the sawdust-trampled street

With all its muddy feet that press

To early coffee-stands.

With the other masquerades

That time resumes,

One thinks of all the hands

That are raising dingy shades

In a thousand furnished rooms.

III

You tossed a blanket from the bed,

You lay upon your back, and waited;

You dozed, and watched the night revealing

The thousand sordid images

Of which your soul was constituted;

They flickered against the ceiling.

And when all the world came back

And the light crept up between the shutters,

And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,

You had such a vision of the street

As the street hardly understands;

Sitting along the bed's edge, where

You curled the papers from your hair,

Or clasped the yellow soles of feet

In the palms of both soiled hands.

IV

His soul stretched tight across the skies

That fade behind a city block,

Or trampled by insistent feet

At four and five and six o'clock;

And short square fingers stuffing pipes,

And evening newspapers, and eyes

Assured of certain certainties,

The conscience of a blackened street

Impatient to assume the world.

I am moved by fancies that are curled

Around these images, and cling:

The notion of some infinitely gentle

Infinitely suffering thing.

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;

The worlds revolve like ancient women

Gathering fuel in vacant lots.