Condolences to New Orleans

Just the other day, my kids and I were watching a National Geographic video featuring hurricanes. We'd had this video for a few years and for whatever reason just hadn't sat down to watch it before. The eerie part was when the video showed footage of Hurricane Andrew and commented about how it had fortuitously missed New Orleans. The video warned that such a disaster could not be far off--an unsettling pronostication of things to come. My heart goes out to those who have lost loved ones, homes, jobs...here's a wish for much brighter days in the future. May the universe grant you the strength and the means to hold on until then.

I haven't blogged in a terribly long time--much longer than I intended. I've been on a little hiatus following that last book revision. I'm trying to get my household back under control, working on painting a kid's room, starting our new correspondence school year, and trying to reclaim some parts of my life I'd put on hold while revising. But soon I need to start the third book of the trilogy, and I've been giving some thought to a couple of possibilities for YA fantasies to write in the near future. Even if I only managed to get 10,000 words a month on one of them, I'd have a book before a year was up. How hard can that be?

The Wild Ride

Remember how I said I'd named my new car Phouka? Well, apparently it was more than just a whim. Here's the story of my journey to the Willamette Writers Conference two weekends ago.

On Thursday morning I'm sitting at the Ford place, my bags all packed and the car loaded, crossing my fingers that the correct replacement mirror will actually show up sometime before 2pm. The part arrives, they get my car right in and install it, I only end up paying $39.00 for the labor, and I'm on the road for Portland by noon. Great so far, right?

Well, then I get to Baker City, Oregon, fill up with gas at the local Chevron and head for the Taco Time to grab a quick lunch, which I eat quickly in the car while it's idling in the parking lot. Then a light in my dashboard Message Center starts flashing, toggling back and forth between the messages "check engine" and "check transmission." Oh, wonderful! Since the car's still running and functional, I head straight back to the Chevron station, beside which is a small repair shop called "Grumpy's Repair." They obligingly put their brand new diagnostic computer on my car and get an invalid code reading which the computer can't decipher. Then suddenly everything checks out fine. They take a glance at my transmission fluid and oil and can't find any problem with that, either. So apparently everything's fine and Phouka's simply been playing some odd little trick on me. And of course, there's nothing anyone can do about it unless it happens again. Just lovely. Oh, and I now owe Grumpy's Repair $50 for that computer diagnostic. YeeeHaaaw!

So I get back on the road, and when I reach Pendleton, I pull into the parking lot of the Burger King to grab more food, and I drive over one of those concrete bar things that are supposed to mark where your front wheels go. Only my undercarriage is so low that it scrapes right over the darned thing and the only way to get off it is to back up. This partially rips off the plastic air dam under my front end and it is now hanging down behind my right front tire. So I go to the trunk and get the roll of duct tape that for SOME reason I put in there the night before and tape the hanging plastic piece to the underside of the front bumper so it's not dragging on the ground. And I go on. Muttering to myself, shying at every new noise or rattle from the car. Trying not to think about THAT problem, and THAT problem, and THAT problem, and what could possibly happen next. I'm doing some pretty good mental compartmentalizing by this time. Fortunately I have a book on tape, which helps take my mind off all the bad travel Car-Ma.

Then I get to the Multnomah area and I hear a sharp CRACK, which is apparently a rock hitting my windshield, thrown up at me by the truck & trailer rig just in front of me. I'm still waiting for the dreaded crack to appear, and hoping that it won't. I can find no damage, but that could still show up at any time.

By the time I get to the hotel, I'm shaky, hot and bothered, and not in a good way. But I'm at the conference--finally. Oddly enough, the rest of the weekend went without a hitch and the trip home was completely uneventful. It even turned out that rather than me having to replace the air dam (which would have cost $95 plus labor) the nice guy in the parts department was able to re-bolt the thing up for me for free, and the only consequence of the mishap is a small tear in the right side of the air dam, which for the time being is not going to hurt anything. If it ever finishes ripping itself apart, I'll have it replaced, but in the meantime I have no desire to see my credit card go up in flames.

Upon hearing this story, one guy at the conference actually thought this was a pitch for a comedy screenplay. Eh? Any takers? We could call it..."Phoukatrails". Or maybe "Driving Miss Crazy." You want to write it up and sell it, be my guest.

Warning, Apathy on the Loose!

I called the Ford place today to make sure the part had been ordered and that they expected it in by Thursday morning, because if it doesn't come in on time, I may have to whip out the plastic and pay for an unwanted and very expensive plane ticket or rental car for the weekend. Excuse me, but I like to make contingency plans ahead of time, if possible. The people in the local Ford service department have informed me that there is no way they can secure a loaner car for me or even give me a free or discounted rental if for some reason my car's belated mirror doesn't come in with tomorrow's freight. In other words, if they screw up again, tough luck for me. They are unwilling to do any more than they have already done (a 10% discount on the labor, which amounts to...what...about $6?) to make things right with me even though it was one of their employees who made the original ordering mistake that caused this nerve-wracking delay. If the guy had just double-checked his order numbers, the part would be here and the car fixed already. That $6 doesn't even cover all the gas I've wasted driving back and forth to Ford to try and get the mirror fixed since last Friday. But they don't care. After all, it isn't their time and money at stake.

I have made every effort to remain calm and reasonable (a condition which much resembles a doormat) but if for any reason the part doesn't come in with tomorrow's freight, my whole conference weekend is screwed. And I've already paid for the conference--well over $450. And here's the part that really burns my bacon: the freight truck gets in any time between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. So I might be sitting there in Ford's waiting room until 2 p.m. and still not have the part to fix the car. And why the heck did they give me a 9:30 appointment if the freight truck isn't expected to get in until 10:00? Huh? Riddle me that!

I better not try to write on the new book today. I'd probably have to kill something.

A Careless Moment

Hectic schedules take their toll. As is probably obvious by the date of my last blog, I haven't seen much of my computer for the last week and a half due to kid-related responsibilities. But I am supposed to be going out of town this weekend to the Willamette Writers' Conference in Portland. I'm leaving on Thursday--provided I get my car back in time.

Yes, it's in the shop again--or it will be. This time it's my fault. I banged the driver's side rear-view on the side of the garage as I was backing out on Friday, and now it's taking forever to get the replacement part in. Apparently, the guy in the Parts department ordered the wrong part on Monday, so I get there this afternoon to drop off the car for its appointment to get the mirror replaced, and ta-dah! No part. So I may or I may not be able to get the car fixed in time to drive to Portland. It depends on whether they ordered the right part this time and whether it arrives here on Thursday morning as it's supposed to. If it doesn't, it's going to mess up my entire weekend. One careless moment, and I've managed to give myself no end of grief. Hopefully this is one mistake I won't make again. It was expensive, too. And here's the kicker--the part they ordered is coming from...wait for it...Portland. Grr.

On a brighter note and in honor of my daughter's moon-watching the other night, I've added a "current moon phase" feature to this blog. So if you're too busy to go out and look at the moon, just scroll down a ways and presto--instant moon watching. Have a great weekend, enjoy your summer, and check your mirrors often when backing out of the garage.

Modern Girl vs the Earth Goddess

I've been thinking a lot lately about the environment and the dichotomy between all our wonderful new "advances" and the more traditional values with which I was brought up. A little-known fact about me is that I was raised on a small farm which used to be an old homestead, and in conditions that my friends considered very "primitive." When we moved to that property I was about five, and I still remember the ruts going through the woods from the old wagon road that was there and the toppling-down remnants of two old log cabins--or perhaps one cabin and one barn. We ate apples and plums from trees left behind by the original settlers and drank from an actual spring on the property. I remember washing clothes with an old wash frame, galvanized tubs, and a washboard until we found out where the local laundromat was and started going to wash there. While I was a teenager I ironed my clothes with a sadiron heated on the gas range, and long after I'd grown up and moved away, my grandmother washed her clothes with an old wringer-type washer which she never taught me to use because she was convinced I'd get my fingers stuck in the wringer.

I've watched episodes of reality shows where modern city dwellers had to go out to a semi-wilderness area and live in pioneer-style log cabins in much the same way and with the same technology the settlers did. What fascinated and horrified me was that so many of us nowadays are completely unprepared to cope with those sorts of conditions, and when you take the city-dweller out of the city and tell them to fend for themselves under "primitive" conditions, they have trouble--big trouble. But remembering my childhood in Montana, I realize that while I've come to love my modern conveniences perhaps a little too much, I would be fine if they were to put me in that log cabin and tell me to cope. A part of me misses the long weeding sessions in the garden and the endless bean and pea harvests, the pea shelling, the washing, the carrying and stacking of wood. And sewing for yourself--wow. I still own the same Singer machine my folks bought for me when I was in college, but it's buried under who knows what in the room my kids use for their homeschool. How I envy Tamera with her quilts! I used to be an avid herbalist, and when my kids were small, we grew a vegetable garden every year in our back yard. Now my days are ruled by a daily planner, without which I cannot cope. Where do I have to take which kid when, and what is my next scheduled responsibility?

I have become, by necessity and even by choice, a (small) city girl. I love going to big cities but I hate to drive in them, and while I'm there, my car of choice is a limo. (This isn't because I have delusions of granduer--although that may be true--but because I have a theory that all the best drivers tend to work for the limo companies and I've never feared for my life while riding in one. A taxi, on the other hand, is almost as stressful as driving myself through a big city.) I love the convenience of having a cell phone, my laser printer is one of my favorite possessions, and I adore my computers. I've even hacked on html code, which for me is quite an accomplishment. Word for Windows is far different from the manual typewriters I learned querty on, and I wouldn't trade my ergo keyboard for anything but a newer model. I like restaurants, movies, and Estee' Lauder products. I bought the new Ford 500 car because of its side-curtain airbags and built-in safety features. I adore the in-dash CD player and the volume controls right there on the steering wheel. Our digital cameras are so wonderful and convenient that I'm thinking about getting a digital camcorder as well.

But on the other hand, I've had the urge lately to find a way to meet my past halfway. Use a few herbal shampoos and cosmetics, make a few things from scratch, teach my kids what a washboard and sadiron are for, and make sure they know how to cope with a few "primitive" technologies. When Y2K came I was almost hoping for something to happen, and when there wasn't even so much as a power blip I sighed in a combination of relief and resignation. It doesn't surprise me in the least that a lot of the "new" amazing cures for this or that ailment being touted on infomercials now are derived from simple herbal remedies that most of the drug companies would like people to forget exist. Women go under the knife to get bigger breasts when all they need are a few simple herbs. People put so many chemicals into their mouths and onto their skin that it's truly scary. But what if we could make a world where all our wonderful modern advances marched hand in hand beside a reverence for nature and a respect for our envronment? What if we could find a balance between our hectic lives and our need for relief from the stress we've created?

The other night, I was in front of the computer doing something that seemed very important at the time. My nine-year-old came to me and said, "Mama, the moon is full and it's rising and it's really yellow and beautiful! Would you come and watch it with me?" For just a second, I hesitated--but only for a second. How could I sit there and let such a request--such a moment--pass? I took her out on the balcony off the master bedroom and pretty soon the whole family ended up there, taking just five or maybe ten minutes to sit still and gaze at the moon. It woke me up to how much I'm missing by letting my life be completely ruled by that dang planner. I need some quilting. I need some home-baked something-or-other. I need a few minutes to look at the moon. And I need to remember that when I was sixteen, I sat on the hearth for hours during a very cold Christmas vacation and wrote my very first novel, longhand, into a spiral notebook.

The Secret of the Closet Door

Everybody's got a technique for plotting and brainstorming, or even a combination of techniques. With this upcoming third book of my trilogy, I'm going to be doing some pretty extensive outlining and prep work. Now, I know that pretty soon my writing addiction will kick in and I won't be able to keep my paws out of the work any longer, but before I jump into the first chapter, I'm going to use my Closet Door technique to figure out plot arcs for the characters in this book.

What I do is pick a different color 5 x 7 index card to represent each main character. In the case of this trilogy, Prince Xander gets the yellow cards, my heroine, Raena, is green, my seer, Dria, is purple, and my mer, Aurelia, is blue. (If you knew the plots for these books, you'd have a laugh at that last statement!) White cards represent my other minor characters except for the villain du jour, who is always the virulent pink color. On each card, I write out a brief scene blurb on the color card that represents the character whose point of view (POV) the scene will be in. Then as I plot out the story, I stick the cards up on the closet doors with poster tape. As scenes get removed or added or shuffled around, the cards get moved accordingly, and at a glance I can always tell who has which scene where in the story. That way if I haven't heard from someone in a while or I'm using one POV way too much, I'll know. I've tried other ways, and this is my favorite. It saved my bacon when I was writing Shadows of Memory. Trouble is, I can't really take this system with me on trips, and then I have to rely on a written outline in the laptop. I know there is at least one computer program out there that uses scene cards, but I feel the same way about the cards as I do about books: I don't want to read it on a computer screen. I want to hold it in my hand, write on it, crumple it up or throw it in the trash if I choose. And I don't want to have to access a computer file to get to it.

Any day now, out come the colored index cards, and the closet door will be stripped of the old cards and plastered with the new. I know I can't hold out much longer, even if my daughter's room still isn't painted.

Speaking of closet doors, the munchkins and I are very much looking forward to The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, coming out later this year. It was always my favorite C.S. Lewis book, with The Horse and His Boy running a close second.

The Wanderer Returns

I had a good trip up to Seattle and back, but the weekend just seemed entirely too short. I wish I'd gone up on Thursday afternoon instead of Friday morning because not only did I miss one keynote dinner, but I also missed part of a class I wanted to go to. The conference was good, and it was PNWA's 50th year, so I'm glad I went. Three out of four of the published authors I've met there in the past still remember me, so I'm doing all right. The sad part was, the one who didn't was the only fantasy author out of the four. Oh, well. No particular reason why he should remember me, since I'm still unpublished.

Shut up, Eeyore.

I'm starting to look forward to writing the third book of this trilogy. I still love the story, love the characters, and want to finish telling their story--once I figure out the exact details of what that is. But I need to take a couple of weeks where if I write something, great, and if I don't, I don't go on any guilt trips. I'm still trying to help my kids get their correspondance school year finished up. We'd gotten behind, and we're very close to being caught up now, but we still have a few things to do. At least we should have the month of August off before we have to hit it again. I have another conference coming up, we're going on a family vacation, and I still need to finish painting my younger daughter's room--a project which has been put off for far too long. She wants a fantasy forest in her room, so it's design-on-a-dime time. 'Bout time I got my house back under control and made good on a few promises before I plunge back into what my family and I call the "book fog."

To All the Citizens of the U K

My prayers and thoughts are with you. May whatever deity you worship grant you strength and peace and above all, hope.

I will never stop wondering at the sick, hateful, twisted thinking of some people. I will never stop hoping that some day we humans as one race, one species, can rise above all this and Just Get Along.

Dreams

I just ran across an interesting link on Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden's weblog. The link goes to an article about dreams, particularly women's dreams in ancient Greece. Apparently most of the dreams recorded were of a sexual nature or related in some sense to childbearing, but it was interesting reading nonetheless. It's also not surprising that sexual dreams would tend to be recorded more than non-sexual ones, especially those coming from women in a male-dominated society. The link to that article is here.

The entire subject of dreams is interesting. Dreams are powerful and a very important part of our lives. If we didn't dream, we would all be walking around acting like raving lunatics, since dreams occur during REM sleep. That's why having your sleep interrupted too often makes you feel so exhausted--it's often not that you didn't get enough sleep in cumulative hours, but that you kept being awakened during the REM cycle. You can have 8+ hours of sleep and still be sleep deprived--and dream deprived. Even when you don't remember the dreams, they occur. I personally believe it's part of how a healthy mind and psyche helps us to work on and deal with problems. It's no wonder, then, that dreams are full of archetypes and symbolism.

Plenty of the writers out there have heard the injunction against using dream sequences in fiction. Some people think they're a weak crutch, while others think they're great if done right. I sort of have a foot in both camps. I like them if they're done right, but I hate to read them when they're a writer's quick way out of a problem that should have been solved differently. Anybody want to comment?

Happy Dance in the Endzone

I finished the edits to Shadows of Memory! Four chapters edited in two days--as I suspected, all it took was getting some time where I didn't have to play mommy or cater to anyone's needs. The Moxie were here and proofread the whole manuscript, line edits and all, and I've already sorted out which pages need fixing. Looks like the word count is going to end up at approximately 127,000 words, which is 22,000 words fewer than when I started this latest edit. I think I've done what Bob asked me to do, and my crit partners like it, so I think I'm ready to ship it this week.

On Thursday I need to take off for Seattle for the PNWA conference, and I want this mailed out by then. Now, that seems entirely possible--as opposed to how it seemed only a couple of days ago. Thank goodness for retreat weekends.

I'm going to be very anxious to read what the Moxie gets done by our next meeting. Stef is getting close to the end of her book, and Val has started a book that has me so hooked I'm going to hate the wait for the next installment. She can't possibly write the darned thing fast enough, and she's the fastest writer in the group.

So we've gone out to dinner and the ladies have gone home. I now have time to input the last of my edits and make sure the manuscript is all formatted correctly, and maybe even spend some time in front of the TV for a change. The best part is, I can do anything I want to because I'm alone in my own home for the first time in a year. That, and I'm sort of doing the little happy dance in the endzone because the edits are finally, finally done and I really love the way the book has turned out. Now maybe I'll stop dreaming that I'm pregnant and in stalled labor.

Cheers! Time to party.

Retreat

The Moxie and I are having a writers' retreat weekend at my house. Meanwhile, my family is off camping. I stayed up late last night to clean the house to get ready for the Moxie after my family trashed the house getting ready to go camping so that the Moxie and I could have the house to ourselves. And no, this is not the house that Jack built.

But I am getting my edits done. Three chapters more and I'm through with Shadows--at least until either Bob or a publisher tells me differently.

Deluge

I wouldn't blog about the weather if it weren't such a good metaphor for what's going on in my life this week. As I type this, I'm hunkered down behind my computer monitor because the evening sun is coming in at a bad angle through the arch in my window, and it's hard to see the screen. And this is after an incredible deluge of rain about an hour ago--rain so thick that almost all I could see ahead was the tail lights of the car in front of me. They say if you don't like the weather in Idaho, wait five minutes. It'll change. That's not usually the case in the summer, but this year has been exceptional for rain. I love it--except when it's trying hard to cause traffic accidents.

I got the car back today, and sure enough, it was the battery. One new battery and the car's ready to rumble again, thank goodness. You never know when I might get the urge to take a road trip.

In fact, I've decided to go to PNWA after all. I hadn't been planning to go, but then I read their list of classes and panels and decided that there are several things not to be missed. Plus, it gives me one more vacation to myself. That's what a trip away for work means to this full-time mom. I have to drive or fly hundreds of miles just to be without the family for three days and focus on my career? I have to dress up every day, laugh, smile and make lunch conversation with strangers? I have to sit in uncomfortable chairs for an hour and a half at a time and listen to authors, editors, agents and publicists drone on about how tough it's going to be to make it in the fiction market and how the odds are already stacked against me? Yeah, baby! Let's hit the road.

This is going to be a great conference. Check it out at the Pacific Northwest Writer's Association website.

Even before I go and do that, three members of the Moxie 4 are going to have our own private writers' retreat here at my house the weekend before 4th of July--yikes, that'd be this weekend, wouldn't it? At least two straight days of writing, brainstorming, eating and puzzle working in the company of two other people who are focused on the same goals I am. Sounds like synergy, ladies and gentlemen! And all without family underfoot to trip over. The Huz and kids are taking off for the weekend, leaving me alone, so of course I'm throwing my own brand of house party--just without the booze. Well, without much booze. It's not the alcohol you have to limit with the Moxie. It's the chocolate.

Getting the Jump On Things

My new car played some tricks on me yesterday. When I went to drive it somewhere, it refused to start, and wierd things were happening. It told me to check my traction control when we were still sitting in the garage, the radio kept popping on all by itself, and it kept playing around with its CD changer even when the key was turned off. You could hear it spinning and whirring and trying to rearrange tracks. It lost all the radio settings and the time setting, but kept the milage and trip odometer stuff. Then it started, but as soon as I'd driven it somewhere and turned it off, it refused to start again. Of course it did, you silly chick, its battery was dead! Right? Yeah, I'll admit at first I thought the problem was with the computer, not the battery, but after the Huz mentioned it when he came to get me I realized that he was probably right. And so thought the service guy at Ford today when we dropped it off to them for repair. It spent last night in a public parking lot, but fortunately it was under a street light, so it was about as safe as it could be given the circumstances. But I was not happy. Not happy at all.

It pretty much has to be the battery. When the engine is running, everything behaves normally--runs like a dream. But getting it started...nope. Not happening. This nice guy in the parking lot came over and asked me whether he'd just heard my car not start, said he had cables in his truck, and offered to give me a jump. I told him thanks, but that my husband was on his way, and that he'd jump me instead.

Yeah, you're probably thinking what I'm thinking. Probably. By the way, did you know that on jumper cables there's a positive and negative clamp and that if you put the wrong clamp on the wrong part of the battery (and sometimes if you jump it with the host vehicle's engine running) you can actually blow up your battery or wreck your car's charger? The Huz explained that he was glad the other guy hadn't given me a jump because he might have done it wrong. Heh.

The Thoughtful Spot

My younger daughter and I are reading Winnie-the-Pooh as we finish up our correspondance school year. Remember Pooh's Thoughtful Spot? It was the place where he went to do his serious thinking. Now, being a "bear of very little brain," Pooh didn't do any writing, but plenty of writers have had a very special spot where they do their best work. It's their garret, their attic, their personal writing sanctuary. For me, that special place is usually my office, because it's a room devoted to my computers and my writing, and...well...me. But sometimes I have to escape my escape, when the blank white screen remains too blank and too white, and the words just aren't flowing or there are too many interruptions. Sometimes I need a change of scene in order to get out of my own way and just get the job done. Tonight, my Thoughtful Spot was a local pub, where I ordered steak and iced tea and proceeded to let all the noise around me fade into the background as I worked on paper edits for Shadows. I've done it before, and it works well enough because even though there is noise, I don't have to respond to it. The only one who can command my attention is the wait staff, and they are there to cater to my needs, not demand that I respond to theirs. I love my home and my office, but sometimes the Throughtful Spot is just the place I need to be to shake things loose.

J.K. Rowling wrote the first Harry Potter books in a cafe in Scotland. I've seen writers at Starbucks, Barnes and Noble, and the public library. I know one writer who loves to go and sit outside with a laptop. So where's your Thoughtful Spot and what about it makes the wheels start turning?

Pitching

Every once in a while, I read a forum or talk to someone as avid and driven as Ponce de Leon on his lifelong quest. Only these people aren't seeking the Fountain of Youth. They're after the Secret of the Successful Pitch. "How do I get Mr. Awesome Agent to represent my book?" "How did you get your agent?" They want the secret formula. Trouble is, it's different for everyone. But there are a few things that are probably universal. The first is to write a great book and know how to describe it so that it still sounds like a great book. The rest comes under the heading of simple courtesy.

As I well remember, the whole prospect of walking up to an agent or editor and trying to get him interested in your book can be incredibly daunting. And you know what? Even now that I have an agent, I still have to pitch now and then, and I'm still daunted by it. Every time I write a synopsis, I'm pitching. As my agent recently told a roomful of hopeful writers, every time someone asks you what your book is about and you give them an answer, that's pitching. I won't try to tell you that I'm any kind of expert on the pitch. I'm not--not even close. But I thought I might be able to give you a few anecdotes from the trenches and maybe take a little of the mystery out of what happens in the pitching room.

I've always approached pitching the same way I've approached a job interview, because that's really what it is. You have a product and some skills to bring to the table, and your potential agent has skills, and what you're really trying to find out is whether all those goods and skills mix well together. Obviously, if you write romance and the agent you approach handles only non-fiction or hard core sci-fi, then it's not a good match. You'll need to do some research to find out whether your target agent handles what you write. There are books and websites devoted to this, so I won't go into the researching agents spiel today. Instead, we'll focus on what to do when you meet them face to face.

So, you've signed up to attend a conference, you've determined which agents handle your genre, and you know with whom you'd like to speak. Great start. Next thing you know, it's the day of the conference, the day of your scheduled consult, and you're nervous. Fair enough. Use plenty of deoderant and maybe a breath mint, and above all, remember to breathe. The thing to remember here is that the agent may routinely do lunch with editors, she may call many of them by their first names, and she may have the clout to get your foot in the door with a publisher, but she still had to get up in the morning, put on the deoderant and maybe pop a breath mint, just like you. She, too, had to consider whether her new shoes match her suit and whether she ate enough breakfast to tide her over until lunchtime. In short, she's just a person, like any other. Like you. You have different jobs and different experiences, and maybe those will compliment each other enough that you can form a great partnership. But she's not a rock star, and you are not her groupie. You are her potential partner. Breathe. Don't react as though Elvis just walked into the building. (Unless, of course, he did!) They're human, I swear.

Now, the other side of that coin is that they know you're human, too. Don't try shock and awe on them. They don't need to hear how brilliant your sister's husband's cousin thinks your book is. They don't need your entire marketing plan, they don't need your entire social history, and they don't need to hear that you're doing them any kind of a favor by bringing your opus to them for representation. Be NORMAL. Not overly humble, but not arrogant, either. Just be a real person who knows that neither you nor they walk on water. Normal. Talk to the agent the way you'd talk to a new colleague you just met at work. Handshake. Brief but friendly hello. Pitch. It's business. Be professional.

Want some anecdotes? Hmm. Ok, here's what happened at my first conference. I was scheduled to talk to an agent named Andy Zack. I went to that pitching session and tried to behave as a professional. Yeah, I was nervous. Andy listened to my pitch, asked for the first three chapters, then commented, "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Ok. So it was my first time, and he knew it. But I got through it in good shape and got the request for chapters that I was after. Then at the same conference, I waited in a line to talk to another agent who repped fantasy, Don Maass. It was just after a panel, and he didn't have much time, but when I gave him my quick pitch, he said to send him a query letter with maybe a page or two from my manuscript. By the way he said it, I knew he was just being nice and trying to do me a favor, but a page or two submission wasn't what I was after. Earlier during a panel, I'd noticed Don and Andy Zack giving each other the occasional friendly jibe, and I'd gotten the impression that a little friendly rivalry was going on. So I looked back at Don and said, "Andy Zack just asked me for the first three chapters." He grinned and said, "Well, then I must have the first three chapters, too." (A little disclaimer here: This is only meant as an example of how paying attention to what makes people tick can sometimes pay off for you. It is not meant as a means to get Don to ask for your manuscript.)

I made my first pitches in 1998, for a manuscript that I have since tabled. Nevertheless, I learned a lot about pitching at that conference and the ones to follow. I never forgot the idea that I was talking to professionals, and that in return I was going to act like a professional. "Dress for the job you want," is a quote I got from a movie whose name I don't even remember, but I think it's apt nonetheless. Want to be a professional writer? Act like one. That alone won't get you published, but it can get your foot in the door and pave the way for future pitches. I have gone on to make many more pitches over the years that followed that initial conference. It was at another conference in 2002 that I met and pitched to Bob Mecoy, the man who would become my agent. It takes time and persistance, but it does pay off.

Agents and editors want a pitch that hooks them and tells them what makes your manuscript different than all the other similar ones out there. Hook them with your pitch, then hook them with your writing--it's the one-two punch that'll either get you into the ring with the pros or send you back to the gym to wait for another title shot. That's the bottom line, and the most important part of the secret formula.

(Net) Working It

The local mystery conference went quite well, and now that's over for another year. My fabulous agent came, spoke on a panel, taught a class, and listened to local people pitch their books. Now he's on a plane back to New York. Comments I heard from various conference attendees were good. The Ridley Award (a mystery writing award named for Ridley Pearson) was given to Carolyn Hart, and her speech inspired a roomful of hopeful writers. For a smaller city, it was a very nice little conference. They want it to be an annual event, and I hope it grows into something much larger and well-known.

When I started this post, I wasn't quite sure what it was going to be about. But now I realize that it's about networking. In talking to some of our locals, I realized just how many hopeful writers there are who haven't actually found any significant support systems. Sure, plenty of writers across the country hop on planes or into automobiles and travel to writers' conferences throughout the year, but for every one who goes, there must be many, many more who do not. It's not always because they just don't want to, although there are bound to be some of those as well. Some people don't take advantage of the opportunities inherent in a conference (local or otherwise) because they either don't know the conference exists or they don't know how attending one might help them. Here's a fact: When my husband mentioned this weekend's conference to some of our neighbors and some of the "guys at work," none of them even knew that our city had a writers' conference of any kind, genre-specific or not. When the Huz mentioned that I was at a conference, they automatically assumed it was out of town. And several of these were people who had writers in their families who would probably have gone if they'd known. The cost per attendee was very low, which was appropriate for what amounts to a one-day conference. Add to that the fact that the locals don't have to stay in hotels, and you have a very affordable opportunity that would be a shame to miss. How many writers out there would love the opportunity to learn more, learn how to network and connect with their dream agent or editor, hobnob with published authors and learn from them? How many missed this opportunity because they didn't know about it? Hopefully, we can get more and better advertising in future.

I know plenty of authors who don't like the limelight and don't want to network. That's fine if you're either already so well-published that people across the country know your name anyway, or if you just write for your own enjoyment and have no particular desire to be published. But my personal opinion is that if an author wants to kick-start his career and meet the types of people who can help him in his quest for publication and recognition, he has to network. He has to travel to those other cities, take and give out those business cards, talk to those people whom he might never otherwise have dared approach, and do any appropriate follow-ups. Or, if for some reason he cannot travel, then what about online communities, like Forward Motion? Forward Motion offers so much, and while you're welcome to donate for the web space if you'd like to, you aren't obligated to pay a cent for all the great advice and feedback and support you get. Another great source of info is writer blogs, from which you can often learn a lot, including what NOT to do. A knowledge of mistakes to avoid can sometimes be even better to have in your bag of tricks than a boatload of well-meant how-to advice.

We live in a world that is figuratively much smaller than it used to be, and often a mutually beneficial contact is just an email form away. In order to get published in fiction in today's market, you need a combination of factors, including:

1. a compelling manuscript
2. an agent or editor who loves your work
3. luck/good timing
4. the determination to succeed

It isn't all about the networking. But the networking is important, nonetheless. I heartily encourage all aspiring writers to attend a writers' conference at least once. Aside from meeting the "big shots," you'll meet so many other great people--hopeful writers like you who may become friends for life, crit partners, or valuable contacts in the future. And if nothing else, you can learn a lot about writing and have a great vacation while doing it.

Cat - Tastrophe, Redux

Ok, I'm beat. And the kids now know what a cat's skeleton looks like on film. Today (Thursday) I just couldn't stand it any longer and wasn't sure he could either, and so we took him to the vet. She confirmed our original impressions: he's a perfectly healthy older cat who has suffered an injury, and he's just going to have to hang out and mellow out until he gets better. The good news is that nothing's broken, he has the perfect amount of bone density for his age, he hasn't blown out a knee or ruptured any of the main ligaments that would require surgery. BUT he has done something to one of the ligaments on either the medial or lateral (inside or outside) of his left hind leg. He had to be put under general anesthetic for his X-rays, and have this little gas mask on to keep him under after the first shot wore off. Did you know that when they're drugged, cats' eyes don't close? They just stay open, staring off into space, but no one's home. When they discontinued the gas, he was woozy and just lay there with his eyes wide open and his tongue sticking out. One of the tests the vets do to see how the cat is doing is a quick pull on the tongue to see whether it's pink and whether he can pull it back inside his mouth. It's wierd--imagine what happens when you pull and release a measuring tape. He didn't focus immediately, but you could see the moment when he "came back" and the intelligence was awake behind those dilated eyes. My poor kitty. I'm very proud of him; he took it all so well. I'm positive that he knew we'd taken him there to try to help him.

He's much better tonight. He's supposed to take it easy for a few weeks to heal, and he has some anti-inflammatory medication to take in the evening to help get him through the next few days. But he's doing all his ADL's (that's Activities of Daily Living, for those who didn't have to suffer through nursing school) and he's getting around so much better that we're actually starting to hope that the ligaments may be merely pulled and not torn. I'm just glad to see him comfortable and reasonably happy again. When this cat's in pain, everybody knows it.

After about 24 straight hours without sleep, I collapsed in the afternoon after the Huz got home and slept until 10:00 pm. Then about midnight I went down to the couch to visit the cat and ended up falling asleep there for a while. Now I'm going to work for maybe an hour or so and then sleep again, so I can go and meet Bob at the airport tomorrow and go to the kick-off events for the conference in the evening. I have not finished the revisions, nor will I have them completely done before the weekend. But I should have them done by mid next week, and that's the best I can do. I've discovered that on zero to five hours of sleep, I can't write worth ****.

I just read something that said sleep deprivation can produce the same level of impairment as being legally over the limit for blood alcohol level. A sobering thought, that. And so was the fact that after all those hours of sleep, it took me about ten minutes to fix a problem in the manuscript that had stumped me for the past four days.

I never said I didn't occasionally need a good whack with a clue-by-four.

Cat - tastrophe

Well, I'm scrambling here. My agent is coming to my city this weekend to appear at a local mystery writing conference, and I really wanted to have my revisions done by then. But Real Life often hits with a crash and a yowl, and it looks like I won't get it finished quite on time.

I homeschool my two muchkins. Well, it's almost homeschool. They're in a nationally accredited correspondance school, and they send in their schoolwork. We'd made plans to finish this year up by the end of June, and then we got behind. So I've been scrambling to help them get back on track and get packets mailed in just as fast as we can crank them out. That's gumming up the writing, but both are important, so I try to divide my time between them. Oh, and sleep. And eat. Usually sleeping and eating get shoved to the back burner, but sooner or later you pass out from lack of one or the other.

And then there's the cat. Last night I had just dragged my sleep-deprived self out of the chair I'd collapsed in, eaten a plate of fruit and protein and started to work on the revisions again, when the cat got up from my desk to lick the plate and then just went completely berserk. Crying, meowing, telling me that something was wrong, wrong, wrong. I put him down on the floor because he made the meow that usually means he's going to be sick, but this time it was pain, not hairball. When he walked, his left hind paw scissored in front of the right hind paw, so he listed like a drunken something-or-other. I thought he was having a stroke, but he never lost the use of the limbs--just acted like he was in pain whenever he moved that one back leg. The ensuing distress woke up the whole household. We all hovered anxiously as we determined that he'd suffered an injury, not a stroke. One of the kids had stumbled over him when she got up to go to the bathroom, and it must have hurt him somehow, though nothing's broken. Sheesh. Things that go bump in the night.... Today he's much better, able to climb up to the back of the couch to sleep in the sun, stand up to eat with apparent relish, and not meowing in pain. Everyone else is sleep-deprived and hollow-eyed. Which just proves--the household really does revolve around His Cattishness.

The Fantasy Forecast

Cold, damp and cloudy with a strong chance of showers and flash floods. No sign of clearing in sight. Sounds a lot like the current weather in the Sci-Fi and Fantasy fields, doesn't it?

Lately I've been reading lots of posts on blogs and in forums about how difficult it is to get published in Sci-Fi or Fantasy these days. I'm sure that's true and has probably been true for a long while. And just when I'd hoped that the recent success of movies like "Harry Potter" and the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy might have done something we novelists have all been trying to do for years--make fantasy cool to the masses. And yet--it might actually be working and we just haven't seen the repercussions in the publishing field yet. A few facts:

1. The new Harry Potter movie is due out soon, as is the new Harry Potter book. That ought to get people thinking in terms of magic and mayhem again.

2. The Lord of the Rings was a supurb effort that not only proved a fantasy epic trilogy could be successful, but that movie directors and producers are willing to make the effort to keep the films true in spirit to the book or series that inspired them. That surely bodes well for the future of fantasy film making.

3. This Christmas, "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" opens in theaters, finally in a true film format with a big enough budget and CGI tech to do it justice.

4. And what about:

X-Men
Spider-Man
Fantastic 4 (coming right up!)
Star Wars (just hit a box-office record, didn't it?)
The Incredibles
Pirates of the Carribbean
Lara Croft, Tomb Raider
others I probably missed....

If audiences didn't like sci-fi and fantasy, we'd have known it by now. The gradual increase in fantasy film releases in the past few years would seem to indicate otherwise. There's a built-in audience out there, and sooner or later their presence will be felt by the publishing world. I have foreseen it.... Oh, sorry. Took a walk on the Dark Side for a moment. But it can't be only the Sith who see the future, even if always in motion the future is.

I've also seen the first volumes of several new fantasy trilogies out on shelves in the past few months, some of them sporting plots much less original than many of those I've heard about recently from unpublished writers. Fresh stories with an original look and feel have to come from somewhere. Why not me? Why not us? As a reader, I've stopped buying books whose blurbs sound too much like all the others I've read before. I'm sure that must be true of others as well. Despite all the negative odds and scuttlebutt and rumors and concerns, I still have to believe that if we stick with it and write the stories that tug at our hearts and minds, we will get that coveted contract in the end. Only passion and dedication can carry any writer through the long slog to publication. People don't stick with this profession unless they love it. And if you aren't writing because you love to write, then what's the point? The only people who have ever been published are the ones who didn't quit. Once you've decided not to quit, then it's just a matter of time and patience--the patience to wait out the storm and to know that the rain and clouds can't last forever.

I know, I know, Hail, Polyanna. Oh well. Somebody's got to put on the short skirt and pick up the pompoms. Cheers, be well, keep on writing.

The Mug Is Done

I picked my Moxie 4 mug up from the ceramics place today. It looks pretty good. There are a couple of things I would do just a touch differently if I had the chance (kind of like revision) but it's fired now and finished for better or worse. I'm well enough pleased with it that I don't intend to scrap it and start over with a new mug. One thing's for sure, though: next time I make a group of home-crafted items for an organization of any kind, I want to be sure I can get them all done within the same time frame--even if I have to order the right number in before I start any of them.