Hi there,
In the interests of economizing, I’ve decided to do a free WP blog instead. I hope all of you will join me at my new blogging home. I have some exciting things in store for 2014, but that’s all I can say for now!
Saying “No” to NaNo, but…
Alright, alright, I’ll confess that NaNo fever hits me too, especially when the season coincides with a WIP. I’ll also admit the NaNo hashtags, NaNo buddies, NaNo word count graphics are sparkly. Very sparkly.
But, during the writing of three and a third books, I’ve learned a few things about myself.
1. I’m more turtle than rabbit. A book takes me a solid year, give or take, start to final revision. You might catch me doing an occasional Twitter word sprint some evening, but I can’t do that for hours at a time, day after day. And while technology allows my fingers to put words down on a page pretty fast, my brain is still a turtle when it comes to generating the words.
2. My inner editor is a tyrannical bitch. She can’t help it. Even though I know scenes, chapters, characters might not survive a final edit, I shine whatever I’ve brought to the page to a lustrous glow before moving on. Yep, I toss out some of the prettiest word-garbage in town. I should probably do NaNo just to piss off my inner-editor, but the drama…I just…no.
3. I don’t like sharing my work until it’s as good as I can make it. That doesn’t mean it’s as good as it can be – it means I’ve reached the point of turning it over to CPs and betas who will help me see what’s not working and how to fix it.
Instead of NaNo, I might try this.
It’s a little bit NaNo, a little bit Flash Fiction. Is anyone else hearing The Osmonds in their brains? Sorry. Also, a friend of mine who’s part of the REUTS team is twisting my arm… AND this might just be the best part, even if I sign up, I have options. Participate every week. Participate some weeks. Don’t participate at all. Perfect for the commitment-phobe.
Click on the badge to find out more.
Who knows? I might come away with an idea for a full-fledged book. I’m not one of those writers who has a bajillion plot bunnies stashed away in a metaphorical hutch, screaming for their turn to be transformed into a ms.
Also, November 1 marks the opening of CriTiki Lounge! I’m so excited!!!
If any of you are writers, please swing by and join the fun. There’ll be a new Fire-Eater each Friday night. His or her pitch will be showcased, along with the suggestions made by that week’s Lounge Lizard. We want audience participation. When it comes to pitch-polishing, the more the merrier. That’s what “comments” are for, right?
If you’re a writer with a pitch to polish, don’t be shy! We’ll be announcing December genres and themes VERY SOON. Also, there “might” be a Big Kahuna in the Lounge some time during the holiday season. How’s that for incentive, eh?
I am not my MS or How Disaster Breeds Reinvention
As any writer trying to get published the traditional way will tell you, this journey is not for the faint of heart or the weak of spirit. Writing a book is hard. Revising is hard. Querying is hard. Rejection sucks. True success stories are few and far between.
When you’re in the querying trenches, the term “on sub” has glamorous allure because it’s a feature of that rosy, mist-covered territory known as Agented Authorland. “On sub” is the shining way that leads to the even shinier hallowed ground known as Publishing Contractland. That’s how I saw it anyway.
Maxfield Parrish
Unfortunately, up close and personal, the landscape is stony and littered with carcasses of dead manuscripts and sundered agent-author marriages. It can be a dark and lonely “Land of Broken Dreams” kind of place. Once on sub, you’re supposed to keep your mouth shut, grin and bear it. Gone is the rowdy camaraderie of querying writers lamenting and rejoicing, loudly and often, with others of their kind. Of course, in theory you have your agent to complain to, but somehow griping at the person who saved your ass from the slushpile and is the one most likely to lead you through the wasteland seems ungrateful. Not to mention stupid. What if she decides you’re a whiney-pants loser and tells you to find your own way? It could happen.
Apparently my book’s topic is far riskier than I realized when I wrote it. But I have hope, and a great agent. My ms is with editors. I won’t say how many or which ones or how long they’ve had it. Gag order, remember?
BUT what if I don’t get a book deal for this ms? A disaster, right? Wailing, gnashing of teeth, rending of garments, etc.
Loss of groove…
In reflecting on two previous personal disasters, one major and one minor (at least to everyone but me), I have to say sometimes disaster is a blessing disguised in a really scary costume.
Disaster #1. Five years ago I was part of a down-sizing at my workplace. I didn’t see the pink slip coming. That day was jam-packed with shock and devastation. The economy was a shambles and nobody was hiring. I collected unemployment, dutifully scanned employment listings, etc. To make a longish and miserable story short, when I couldn’t find a job, I stopped banging my head against the proverbial wall long enough to ask myself what I really WANTED to do. The answer was “write a book”. Thank you, former employer, for firing me. You have NO idea how grateful I am. Also thank you for unemployment compensation while I got started. And thank you to my supportive-in-all-ways husband.
Disaster #2. I’ve been blonde all my life, every shade from dishwater to platinum. It’s part of what makes me “me”. Peroxide and I have a good working relationship. Usually. But last week, when I colored my hair, something went horribly wrong. The ends turned blue-gray and the roots turned brassy orange. I turned heads at the grocery store and the school bus stop. When I got to the salon two days later, it took two stylists four hours to deal with my hair. Apparently it had schizoid reactions to every tint they tried. One part would turn gold, another green, another grayish purple, or so they later told me. Thank God I was in the sink room with no mirrors. The only color that “took” authentically was red, so I finally ended up a coppery color. All my life I’ve avoided reds/oranges because I thought they fought with my skin-tone. But guess what? I love it! My eyebrows and freckles make sense. My eyes look greener. Maybe I was born to be red.
So, if I don’t get a book deal, I’ll be crushed. But only temporarily. I am not limited to blonde. I am not limited by what editors decide about this book. I am whoever I want to be and I will write another book. Redheads are feisty.
Summer Sun Award
A few months ago Thursday’s Child and tweep Shanah Wooldrage nominated me for this flashy award. At the time I was in the middle of moving from Maine to North Carolina, so I “packed” it. Figured I’d better unearth it before summer’s completely gone.
The intent of this award is to present it to someone who brightens your day either in blog format or in general and to have a little fun with giving up some summer secrets.
1. Favorite song with summer in the title or the lyrics (give the line): “Summertime” (George Gerschwin) – an amazing mashup of “steam” and lullaby, almost no matter who’s singing it…as long as it’s not me. Lena Horne and Sam Cooke are my two top picks for renditions.
2. Favorite book about summer: Hmm, maybe INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE – all that languid New Orleans swelter combined with suspense and violence…
Favorite hot summer film: “A Room With A View”, which features everything wonderful about summer – getting in touch with one’s earthy, sensual side in the Garden of Eden (or Florence in this case), skinny dipping, sunshine…and it has Maggie Smith, so what more could you want?
3. Favorite summer memory: slow dancing with hubs to “Wicked Game” (Chris Isaac) one hot summer night in our first house
4. Favorite summer holiday destination: Maine
5. What books will be in your suitcase this summer? All my books came along this summer (see mention of moving above).
6. What’s your likely destination this summer? North Carolina
7. What hottie would you most like to be sharing the hot days and long nights with this summer? Well, my hubs OF COURSE, but if he wasn’t available Johnny Depp would do. Or Robert Downey Jr., hubs has been told he looks like RDJ so it would hardly even be cheating… Right?
Here are the rules:
1. Display the Summer Sun Award logo and link back to the blog of the person who nominated you.
2. Answer the questions listed above.
3. Nominate a further eight lucky recipients (one for each sun-ray).
I nominate the following people:
1. Denise Falvo – one of the sunshiniest people EVER
2. Veronica Park – because she’s my Dark & Twisty Sister slash CP along with Kristina Perez. (I’d nominate her too, but she doesn’t have time for blog awards at the moment)
3. Kate Michael – because she’s imaginative, clever, and has teenagers (we’ve got to stick together)
4. Vaughn Roycroft – because he’s thoughtful, supportive and has awesome taste in music
5. S. P. McConnell – this is a thinly disguised ploy to get him to tell me his BIG SECRET. Also, the thought of Ballatore Academy winning a Sunshine Award makes me giggle,
6. Paula Harvey – because she’s funny and sweet and says kind things to my kid on Twitter
7. Tabitha Martin – because she and I are going to “fix” Twitter, and then Facebook
8. J. Luis Licea – because he’s a fun tweeter and can belly dance, or so he claims
Dear Nominees, I will absolutely NOT be offended if you don’t play, but I wanted you all to know you’re rays of sunshine in my cyber-universe.
Cover Reveal – Lauren McKellar
Today I have the pleasure of presenting the cover for Lauren McKellar’s FINDING HOME. I met Lauren on Twitter and she is just the nicest person… She joined our Thursday’s Children blog hop a few times, and she’s also agreed to be a Lounge Lizard for CriTiki Lounge, a project I’m co-hostessing with my friend/CP Kristina Perez. If you’re a writer looking for pitch feedback, check it out! You might be lucky enough to have Lauren’s help.
Synopsis:
Moody, atmospheric, and just a little bit punk, Finding Home takes contemporary YA to a new level of grit…
When Amy’s mum dies, the last thing she expects is to be kicked off her dad’s music tour all the way to her Aunt Lou in a depressing hole of a seaside town. But it’s okay — Amy learned how to cope with the best, and soon finds a hard-drinking, party-loving crowd to help ease the pain.
The only solace is her music class, but even there she can’t seem to keep it together, sabotaging her grade and her one chance at a meaningful relationship. It takes a hard truth from her only friend before Amy realises that she has to come to terms with her past, before she destroys her future.
Finding Home, Lauren K McKellar’s debut novel, is coming October 1, 2013. Add it to goodreads today.
Excerpt:
‘Look, I have to go. Can we talk about this later?’ Dad was asking Mum. Joe had shut the door behind him, and it was a good thing he did too, because when Dad had finished speaking, Mum picked up an empty bottle of Grey Goose vodka and threw it at his head. She missed, missed by a mile, but that didn’t stop the bottle hitting the wall behind him and shattering into thousands of tiny pieces.
‘Jesus!’ Dad exclaimed. He turned around, surveying the damage.
‘Oh, look what I did! Can’t have clean-cut Stevie D trashing the green room. People might talk!’ Mum’s voice dripped with sarcasm. It sounded hoarse, no doubt a result of the hours she’d spent alternating between crying and screaming up until now.
‘Even if this was our bloody lounge room, I would still be furious! You can’t just throw s**t like that.’
‘I’ll throw whatever I want to throw!’ Mum yelled. ‘You’re so uptight.’ She walked up to Dad and put her hands on his shoulders, shaking them. ‘Give up this stupid dream already.’
‘And do what? I can’t afford your habits any other way. If I don’t sing, you have to get a job.’ Dad shook his head.
I inched around behind them and started to pick up the pieces of glass. They were all different sizes, and some had gotten stuck in the carpet. They required a bit of twisting to retrieve, but the others I could pick up with ease and place in my hand.
‘What do you want me to do? I don’t have any skills. And there’s clearly only one thing you think I’m good at these days,’ Mum said, leering. She pulled at her top, exposing her décolletage.
I focused on the glass again. I counted each piece in my hand. Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight. On the fortieth piece, a shard broke through my skin, spilling bright red blood. Funny. I hadn’t thought my skin would be so thin.
‘Amy, you’re hurt!’ Mum pushed past Dad and came to kneel next to me. ‘What are you doing?’ She knocked my hand with her own, and the pieces of glass flew up into the air and landed back on the floor.
All my efforts — ruined.
‘Let me see,’ Dad said.
‘Get the hell away from her!’ Mum yelled, raising her voice again.
‘Do we have to do this in front of Amy?’ Dad asked. I felt them turn to look at me. Did they think I hadn’t heard? That the fights they’d been having all day in the adjacent hotel room hadn’t resonated with a hatred that travelled through walls?
‘Please don’t,’ was all I could say. But it was enough. Dad left the room, and Mum tended to my hand, spilling some vodka to cleanse it before wrapping it in a spare t-shirt.
‘I’m sorry, baby,’ Mum whispered to me. ‘I promise, things are going to get better.’
Only they didn’t. They got much, much worse.
Find Lauren McKellar:
Website: http://laurenkmckellar.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/laurenkmckellar
Facebook: https://facebook.com/laurenkatemckellar
Thursday’s Children August 22, 2013
Inspired by…Thursday’s Children
A weekly blog hop where writers share their inspirations. Please join us!
A year ago I started blogging, because I read somewhere that writers should have a blog. Honestly I thought the whole concept was kind of weird, like talking to yourself out loud. In an attempt to engage other people, I started sharing bizarre photos on a weekly basis. I called it Inspirational Thursdays, thinking maybe other people would get story ideas from the same images. After meeting my adjective-defying CP/friend Kristina, this solo concept turned into a collaborative venture called Thursday’s Children. Over the weeks a blog hop evolved into a small community of writers sharing parts of their journeys.
I’ve often been inspired, not only by whatever inspiration you’ve shared in a post, but by your determination in the face of setbacks, your hard-won successes, the lovely things you’ve all said to me and to each other as you comment on TC posts. We all have far to go, but you’ve made the journey much more fun and far less lonely. Thank you!
Thursday’s Children and the Like A Virgin contest confirmed just how awesome it is to bring people together for mutual gain (and good times). Like any shiny new idea, it’s been KILLING me not to spill about THIS one.
Apologiesfor any nightmares you may suffer as a result of that gif…
Now without further ado, please click on the badge below for a sneak peek at the new project Kristina and I have cooked up. We’ve got some awesome writers lined up as mentors, aka Lounge Lizards. And this time, it’s not just about YA/NA. Stay tuned for #CriTiki news on Twitter!
And here are the codes for this final week of Thursday’s Children!
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Thursday’s Children August 15, 2013
Inspired by The Cornbread Man…
A weekly blog hop where writers share their inspirations. Please join us!
If you follow me on Facebook, you may remember photos of our visit to a local grist mill. The Atkinson Mill website is reasonably slick. Along with picturesque photos (see the one below) it mentions tours, a store, etc. We drove in expecting a spiffy, sanitized “learning experience”, maybe a catwalk and viewing stations with plexi-glass windows.
Photo Atkinson Milling Company
Um, no.
- Photo by R. Wynn-Nolet
Along with the structures above, there was a mobile home with a sign “The Miller’s House”, and a big old dog lying beside a building labeled “Office”. Inside, we were greeted by the two-woman admin team. There was an old guy eating cracker sandwiches at a nearby table. We asked about a tour. The women looked at each other and one of them said “I’ll call Bobby,” at which point the old guy mumbled through his crackers, “Never mind him, I’ll take ’em.”
Photo Atkinson Milling Company
As it turned out, cracker-guy was actually The Cornbread Man (his hat even says so), the mill owner. He led us through the entire operation, where production was in full swing. With our bare hands we scooped up the corn shells separated from the kernel during milling. (Mr. Cornbread’s son raises cows who eat that stuff.) Pepper-flavored cornmeal got up our noses at the bagging station. We all had sneezing fits. We watched the big wheel churnin’ (sorry couldn’t resist the “Proud Mary” reference even though it’s a different kind of wheel). We marveled at the high water mark from the hurricane-induced flood which nearly destroyed the whole operation a couple of decades ago. With water rushing into the building, The Cornbread Man told his sons to use the forklifts to raise the bagging machines as high as they could. The forklifts were ruined but the baggers were saved. The Cornbread Man also told us about the fire that burned down his house, and pointed out the millstone he’s chosen for his grave marker.
We bought some yellow cornmeal and some white and a bag of hush puppy mix (he gave us hush puppy pointers too). That white cornmeal made the moistest, tenderest cornbread I’ve ever eaten.
Photo by R. Wynn-Nolet
Do what you love and do it as well as you know how, come hell or high water. Or, to quote Libba Bray, “Write like it matters, and it will.”
Here are this week’s codes.
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Thursday’s Children August 8, 2013
Inspired by Collaboration (and bunnies)…
A weekly blog hop where writers share their inspirations. Please join us!
Fiction writing is generally a solitary pursuit. It’s just you, your laptop/notebook, and all the words you know. Having that control, creating a universe out of nothing – that’s what it’s all about, right? Playing God. Of course, some writers co-author books. While I can’t imagine doing that, at least not at this point. I’ve discovered there are projects where collaboration with another writer can be fun. HUGE fun. (It also makes the project WAY better).
Take Thursday’s Children for example. Nearly a year ago, Kristina Perez and I launched our very first brainchild. I’ve met so many great people, read so many inspiring posts, and had such a wondeful time. Thank you to all who have participated!
And then came Like A Virgin 2013, our “second born” – the first writing contest Kristina and I did. More great people, more fun and the satisfaction of helping other writers move a little closer to their goals. Once LV13 was over, we began making plans for …
Coming at you next spring!
Every venture has a lifespan, and when the urge to do something new strikes, well it’s just this irresistible.
So, August 22 will be the last Thursday’s Children bloghop.
We hope you’ll all be here to celebrate its run and for the reveal of the NEXT BIG THING that Kristina and I have cooked up!
No, it’s not Bun-nado, it’s even MORE exciting!!
Here are the Codes for this week.
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Thursday’s Children August 1, 2013
Inspired by Sand Dollars…
A weekly blog hop where writers share their inspirations. Please join us!
“MORE sand dollars?” My husband’s tone asked its own question (“Have you lost your mind?”).
“Why do you need to bring so many?” My older daughter squiggled her eyebrows.
“I don’t know. I just do.”
“Can I give some to Anne?” Anne was her best friend.
“Um…” I didn’t want to part with a single one. “Yeah, I’ll pick out a few for her.” I chose five of the most mundane, set them aside, and continued to swaddle the remaining delicate wafers in layers of tissue before tucking them into various containers.
I’m not sure how many minutes, or even hours, I spent packing my collection, knowing their fragility would be a poor match for the thousand mile truck ride from Maine to North Carolina. In the last few weeks before our move, my sand dollar-hunting gained urgency. If I spied one, I couldn’t leave it on the sand. After every walk my jacket pockets were damp and sagging with loot. Once home, I laid them on towels. Only after they were dry could I rid them of the sand trapped inside by tapping them ever so gently. Did you know sand dollars have a mouth, and a um, “butt”?
My obsession was rooted in panic over leaving Maine, and the beach.
Understanding the source of an obsession doesn’t loosen its grip.
I opened the boxes and containers a couple of days ago. As you can see, not all of their contents survived the trip.
My sadness was fleeting because when I lifted the lids, ocean scent rushed out to kiss me.
Do you collect anything from Nature that has special meaning for you?
Here are the codes for this week’s linky list. If you have trouble getting the link to show up on your post, try deleting the ” marks and retyping them when you paste the code into your post.
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Thursday’s Children July 25, 2013
Inspired by craziness…
A weekly blog hop where writers share their inspirations. Please join us!
So, here’s the image that got me thinking this week-
No, not the birth of the new Prince. Though if a Royal happens to read my blog, may I wish heartfelt congratulations!
If Tony Appleton hadn’t landed the “official” town crier gig, that officer behind him would probably be summoning the loony limo, instead of looking professionally disinterested. I lived in Boston for ten years-a city with no shortage of lunatics. Wander around the Public Garden, Boston Common, Kenmore Square, Quincy Market or ride the T and you’re sure to be entertained, perhaps shocked, maybe even a bit frightened.
Crazy is fascinating. OCD, bipolar, manic, schizophrenic. Labels don’t tell the whole story. Not even close. But they sometimes help the rest of the world understand why the person who “looks” more or less normal on the outside seems to be anything but on the inside.
I’m certainly not alone. Writers from Shakespeare to Stephen King share my enjoyment of the unhinged character.
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People whose perspective is warped, a little or a lot, harmlessly or not, lend unpredictability to a story. Exploring their psyches takes a reader on an adventure–maybe a magical stroll through an enchanted forest or a terrifying race through a haunted house, whose closets conceal hideous, blood-thirsty monsters.
People whose perspective is warped, a little or a lot, harmlessly or not, lend unpredictability to a story. Exploring their psyches takes a reader on an adventure–maybe a magical stroll through an enchanted forest or a terrifying race through a haunted house, whose closets conceal hideous, blood-thirsty monsters.
My current WIP has two major characters and two minor characters (so far), whose operating systems are a little screwed up. When a person’s motivations are based on a distorted inner reality, there’s plenty of opportunity for mayhem. Or, “fun”, as I like to call it.
Do you like a little crazy in your stories?
Here are the codes for this week!
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Rhiann Wynn-Nolet 