1. You’ve seen the audition process, right? It starts out with camera shots of stadiums in cities across the nation, filled with thousands of hopefuls, all vying for a spot on the show. Some have talent, some don’t. A few will make it, most won’t.
Now, think about RWA (Romance Writers of America). It alone boasts about 10,000 members, some published, some not. All vying for the limited number of book contracts awarded in any given year. Some have talent, some don’t. A few will make it, most won’t.
2. From those thousands of aspiring contestants in the stadiums, somehow hundreds (?) make it to the audition room to do their thing for Simon, Randy, and Paula. Some have talent, some don’t. A few will make it to Hollywood, most won’t.
Every week, zillions of pitches flood the mailboxes (both virtual and real) of agents and editors from authors all over the country. Some demonstrate talent, most don’t. A few will result in a request for pages, most won’t.
3. Finally, with auditions over, 24 young men and women perform in front of millions of viewers all over the world. Arguably, all 24 have at least a modicum of talent to have reached the TV show. But so many, in an effort to showcase their strengths, choose a song that at the same time unmasks their weaknesses. One after the other, they start off bland, sometimes off-key, barely able to reach down for the low notes−figuring the strong finish will be enough. And it’s true, most sing passably well. They vamp to the camera, they swish their hips, they sing a nice tune. Then, suddenly, ONE contestant walks on stage, and from the moment she opens her mouth, you realize the rest were a sham. Pleasant, but a sham. THIS ONE, as Simon puts it, is in a whole other league.
An editor or agent settles in to read the pages she’s requested. The writing is good but, eager to throw everything at the reader at once, the author has begun the story in the wrong place and with too much backstory. The writer has talent, but the editor or agent hits ‘send’ on that generic “not quite for me” rejection letter and goes onto the next. Same thing. Again and again…until…suddenly, ONE author hits it out of the park right from the get-go. THIS ONE is in a whole other league.
Conclusion: It’s not enough to hit the high notes. It’s not enough to write well.
It’s not enough to be better than some; you have to be the best.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Who I'd Like To Be When I Grow Up
That girl. The one right there.
(I DO have an edge, by the way, 'cuz we're related...the trouble is she's more than half my age.)
Seriously, folks. Do yourself a favor and click on over to the blog of my cousin's daughter. First, because she writes CIRCLES around me (which, y'know, REALLY kind of BUGS me), and second, because it's all about her current experiences attending school abroad in...CAIRO. Yes, THAT Cairo. The one in Egypt.
To enjoy properly, you oughta go back to the January archive and begin at the beginning...otherwise you'll miss A LOT. (There's some brilliant prose, huh? Maybe I should've done my junior year somewhere other than Irvine.)
(I DO have an edge, by the way, 'cuz we're related...the trouble is she's more than half my age.)
Seriously, folks. Do yourself a favor and click on over to the blog of my cousin's daughter. First, because she writes CIRCLES around me (which, y'know, REALLY kind of BUGS me), and second, because it's all about her current experiences attending school abroad in...CAIRO. Yes, THAT Cairo. The one in Egypt.
To enjoy properly, you oughta go back to the January archive and begin at the beginning...otherwise you'll miss A LOT. (There's some brilliant prose, huh? Maybe I should've done my junior year somewhere other than Irvine.)
Monday, February 19, 2007
Ghosts of the Past
This is what it looks like when seven chicks from high school get together 35 years later.
The most interesting part of the evening? Had to be Wendy's claim that a guy who got killed in a car accident right after graduation hadn't died at all. (Insert eerie music here.) According to Wendy, her son came home from school one day and said his friend was the son of said dead person--and that said dead person's parents had fabricated his death to get him away from the bad crowd he hung with.
Cut to me yelling for Sally ('cuz Sally's the go-to girl when it comes to high school tragedies--she's got a scrapbook full of them.)
"But I went to the funeral," she protested after hearing Wendy's story. "He'd better be dead, 'cuz if he's not, I'm gonna kill him for putting me through that."
As you can imagine, the possibilities tossed us into a frenzy. Could a kid's parents really go to such lengths to protect their progeny from the wrong crowd? (Hey--should someone get a-hold of Britney's mom??)
"My son's friend even knew the nicknames we used," Wendy told us.
Spookier and spookier.
"Wait a minute. What about the other guys in the accident?" Sally pointed out.
"Maybe the accident really happened. He just didn't really die." (That was my contribution.)
I mean, I think we all wanted to believe the guy had come back from the dead. But Martha was off in the corner, clicking away on a computer, and there it was: the official death record.
Surely, his parents couldn't have faked THAT, could they?
Wendy called her son who now says his mom had the name wrong. But wait...someone's still saying that their parents faked their death in high school, right? What about that secret nickname?
No matter what, I'm filing this one away for future use in a story!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Oops! She Did It Again
In a tragic attempt to swipe some of the press that bitch Anna Nicole's been getting, Britney did this:
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Life Imitates Art!
Last night I got a message through my Myspace inbox from none other than...Amy Harrington!
That must happen a lot, huh? Authors getting contacted by real people with real names that, er, happen to be the what the author used? Fortunately, this chick seems to have a good sense of humor--even asked me how to buy the book. Hey, from now on, I'm naming all my charactes Ashley Smith and John Jones.
In a related note, my dad pointed me to a feature article in the Daily News yesterday about an outfit called Book By You. Imagine this: for a small price, you answer a questionnaire, provide your name and that of your significant other, and...voila. One of eight stock romance novels starring YOU and personalized with your nicknames, your hobbies, and so forth.
Man, why don't I ever come up with these ideas??
That must happen a lot, huh? Authors getting contacted by real people with real names that, er, happen to be the what the author used? Fortunately, this chick seems to have a good sense of humor--even asked me how to buy the book. Hey, from now on, I'm naming all my charactes Ashley Smith and John Jones.
In a related note, my dad pointed me to a feature article in the Daily News yesterday about an outfit called Book By You. Imagine this: for a small price, you answer a questionnaire, provide your name and that of your significant other, and...voila. One of eight stock romance novels starring YOU and personalized with your nicknames, your hobbies, and so forth.
Man, why don't I ever come up with these ideas??
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Stealing Amy's First Review!
...Not to mention my first review EVER. You can see it by clicking here at The Romance Studio. But I can't help but give a sneak preview, right?
Brenda Talley says: "Ms. Randy Jeanne has written an exciting, fast-paced read about the pitfalls of stolen identity and the drawbacks of falling in love. She uses her imagination and her sense of adventure to show many difficulties in their budding romance and the interruptions of both his unwanted exes; she was constantly pressured by the appearance of her mother. The wittiness is incredible!
I thoroughly enjoyed this light-hearted romance. There was a little bit of sex, a little humor, a little nosiness, some responsibility to others, and, of course, some danger--all the wonderful aspects of any novel. I wholeheartedly recommend this book!"
And she summed it all up by giving Stealing Amy 4-1/2 hearts out of 5.
Cool, huh?
Now if only so many people didn't run into trouble making the actual purchase through Triskelion's website here. Try it at your own risk, and if it comes to the point where you're threatening permanent harm to your computer, let me know and I'll see what I can do.
Brenda Talley says: "Ms. Randy Jeanne has written an exciting, fast-paced read about the pitfalls of stolen identity and the drawbacks of falling in love. She uses her imagination and her sense of adventure to show many difficulties in their budding romance and the interruptions of both his unwanted exes; she was constantly pressured by the appearance of her mother. The wittiness is incredible!
I thoroughly enjoyed this light-hearted romance. There was a little bit of sex, a little humor, a little nosiness, some responsibility to others, and, of course, some danger--all the wonderful aspects of any novel. I wholeheartedly recommend this book!"
And she summed it all up by giving Stealing Amy 4-1/2 hearts out of 5.
Cool, huh?
Now if only so many people didn't run into trouble making the actual purchase through Triskelion's website here. Try it at your own risk, and if it comes to the point where you're threatening permanent harm to your computer, let me know and I'll see what I can do.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Sonoma--Part Two
People who live in northern California seem unfazed by that stuff falling from the sky they call rain. Unless you count the umbrellas, the special water-resistant coats…geez, what a hassle! Me, I threw on a sweatshirt and was good-to-go. Which may explain why I looked like a drowned rat the entire trip.
Anyway, we didn’t have much time before the birthday festivities, but managed to take in a couple wineries nonetheless. (Note to self: schedule pre-Xmas shopping trip to Napa/Sonoma next year—the gift shops are KILLER--and the wine ain’t too shabby, either). So while we tasted and learned, the woman helping us noticed the stenciling on my sweatshirt: “Careful Or I’ll Put You In One Of My Novels.”
I guess this was my public debut wearing it, and apparently I wasn’t prepared for the comments it would generate.
Wine Lady: “Does that mean you’re a novelist?”
Me: “Um, yeah.”
Wine Lady: “What do you write?”
Me (cringing): “Um, romance.”
Wine Lady (kinda embarrassed): “Oh, that’s all I read. What have you written…what’s your name?”
Me: (Majorly embarrassed): “Um, I write under Randy Jeanne and I have a book available for download on the internet right now.”
Wine Lady (with eyes glazed over): “Oh. I’ll have to get your card or something.”
Me: “Hm. I don’t think I have one with me.”
Obviously, my hand selling skills could use some work.
Since wine tasting translates directly to hunger, our next stop was “Girl And A Fig” for THE MOST delicious grilled cheese sandwiches EVER. Which accounts for why
Mindy and David look so happy here…well, that and maybe because they’re in LOVE.
Later, we drove back to Vacaville to niece Jamie’s for the birthday party, the highlight of which was Karoake. Hey, until you’ve heard a bunch of little kids sing “Eye Of The Tiger” four times in a row, you haven’t lived. I took some video and threatened to put it on my blog, but on further reflection, I figure my readers don’t deserve that kind of torture.
The next day, I managed to find my way back to the airport, returned the rental car, and made my flight back to Burbank. When I got home, I heard vicious rumors about this stuff that had been falling from the sky, but I didn’t believe them.
Anyway, we didn’t have much time before the birthday festivities, but managed to take in a couple wineries nonetheless. (Note to self: schedule pre-Xmas shopping trip to Napa/Sonoma next year—the gift shops are KILLER--and the wine ain’t too shabby, either). So while we tasted and learned, the woman helping us noticed the stenciling on my sweatshirt: “Careful Or I’ll Put You In One Of My Novels.”
I guess this was my public debut wearing it, and apparently I wasn’t prepared for the comments it would generate.Wine Lady: “Does that mean you’re a novelist?”
Me: “Um, yeah.”
Wine Lady: “What do you write?”
Me (cringing): “Um, romance.”
Wine Lady (kinda embarrassed): “Oh, that’s all I read. What have you written…what’s your name?”
Me: (Majorly embarrassed): “Um, I write under Randy Jeanne and I have a book available for download on the internet right now.”
Wine Lady (with eyes glazed over): “Oh. I’ll have to get your card or something.”
Me: “Hm. I don’t think I have one with me.”
Obviously, my hand selling skills could use some work.
Since wine tasting translates directly to hunger, our next stop was “Girl And A Fig” for THE MOST delicious grilled cheese sandwiches EVER. Which accounts for why
Mindy and David look so happy here…well, that and maybe because they’re in LOVE.Later, we drove back to Vacaville to niece Jamie’s for the birthday party, the highlight of which was Karoake. Hey, until you’ve heard a bunch of little kids sing “Eye Of The Tiger” four times in a row, you haven’t lived. I took some video and threatened to put it on my blog, but on further reflection, I figure my readers don’t deserve that kind of torture.
The next day, I managed to find my way back to the airport, returned the rental car, and made my flight back to Burbank. When I got home, I heard vicious rumors about this stuff that had been falling from the sky, but I didn’t believe them.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Sonoma Weekend--Take One
I start profiling as soon as I get in the security line. Mostly I conclude that no one looks like me, so each of this rag-tag throng of people are fair game as suspects. I’m particularly enamored of the passengers who haven’t got the news about liquids in your carryon. I mean, come on, people. Where have you been?
The TSA clerk and I exchange smirks as the person in front of me gets detoured so that his entire bag—with its shampoos, crème rinses, and shaving gels—can be thoroughly searched and the “illegal substances” disposed of.
Me, I sail through, with barely a momentary pause to slip my shoes back on.
At the bar, I grab a glass of wine and settle in front of a wall of TV monitors. Most are tuned to ESPN, but a few are carrying the Anna Nicole news conference. Unfortunately, the sound is coming from the ESPN channel, so I’m forced to read the transcript on Anna Nicole. The latest is that Zsa Zsa Gabor’s husband is claiming paternity which, I imagine, must piss her off, although at 90, maybe she’s got more important stuff on her mind. Like breathing.
My flight gets called, and I line up to board. I just LOVE the Burbank airport. Not many places left where you don’t enter the plane by walking down a long, windy, tube. Nope. Here, no matter what the weather, you step outside into the exhaust-filled air, traipse across the tarmac, and climb a flight of stairs—either to the front, or the back, your choice. LOVE that! Makes me feel like a glamorous movie star from the forties.
One uneventful flight later, I land in Sacramento, greeted by wet stuff falling from the sky. We don’t have that in Southern California, so I ask and find out it’s called rain. I become quite familiar with this RAIN thing during my stay.
On the way to get my rental car, I pass a CD store and stock up for the drive—Shakira, Norah Jones, and Nellie Furtado. Once I pick up my Buick LaCross, I slide Shakira in and like her so much, she takes up residence for the entire weekend. I become a HUGE Shakira fan.
So, my drive to Sonoma was to be non-stop, but I get an emergency request to swing by niece Jamie’s in Vacaville to pick up her Golden Retriever so I can bring it with me to niece Mindy’s. (There’s a rhyme and reason here, but you don’t need the details.) Anyway, I pick up Brandy (who’s not thrilled to be riding in a strange car with an even stranger person) so she maneuvers herself onto the console between the two front seats. Yep, this is what I need. Rain, approaching darkness, and a nervous canine slobbering on me.
All I need now is a little fog.
Which I encounter about an hour later as I’m tooling down a two-lane highway with vineyards on either side. I know the scenery must be gorgeous—too bad it’s now invisible. I pretty much “feel my way” toward my destination, with intermittent cell phone calls from my niece for assistance. Here’s a sample conversation:
Mindy: “What street are you on?”
Me: “Beats the hell out of me.”
Mindy: “Give me a landmark.”
Me: “I would if I could see anything.”
Nonetheless, with only one major faux pas that sends me in an entire circle (and with a dog so bored it gives up hovering and manages to make its way into the front passenger seat for a nap) I arrive chez Mindy. Yippee!
Uncork the wine!!!
(More tomorrow)
The TSA clerk and I exchange smirks as the person in front of me gets detoured so that his entire bag—with its shampoos, crème rinses, and shaving gels—can be thoroughly searched and the “illegal substances” disposed of.
Me, I sail through, with barely a momentary pause to slip my shoes back on.
At the bar, I grab a glass of wine and settle in front of a wall of TV monitors. Most are tuned to ESPN, but a few are carrying the Anna Nicole news conference. Unfortunately, the sound is coming from the ESPN channel, so I’m forced to read the transcript on Anna Nicole. The latest is that Zsa Zsa Gabor’s husband is claiming paternity which, I imagine, must piss her off, although at 90, maybe she’s got more important stuff on her mind. Like breathing.
My flight gets called, and I line up to board. I just LOVE the Burbank airport. Not many places left where you don’t enter the plane by walking down a long, windy, tube. Nope. Here, no matter what the weather, you step outside into the exhaust-filled air, traipse across the tarmac, and climb a flight of stairs—either to the front, or the back, your choice. LOVE that! Makes me feel like a glamorous movie star from the forties.
One uneventful flight later, I land in Sacramento, greeted by wet stuff falling from the sky. We don’t have that in Southern California, so I ask and find out it’s called rain. I become quite familiar with this RAIN thing during my stay.
On the way to get my rental car, I pass a CD store and stock up for the drive—Shakira, Norah Jones, and Nellie Furtado. Once I pick up my Buick LaCross, I slide Shakira in and like her so much, she takes up residence for the entire weekend. I become a HUGE Shakira fan.
So, my drive to Sonoma was to be non-stop, but I get an emergency request to swing by niece Jamie’s in Vacaville to pick up her Golden Retriever so I can bring it with me to niece Mindy’s. (There’s a rhyme and reason here, but you don’t need the details.) Anyway, I pick up Brandy (who’s not thrilled to be riding in a strange car with an even stranger person) so she maneuvers herself onto the console between the two front seats. Yep, this is what I need. Rain, approaching darkness, and a nervous canine slobbering on me.
All I need now is a little fog.
Which I encounter about an hour later as I’m tooling down a two-lane highway with vineyards on either side. I know the scenery must be gorgeous—too bad it’s now invisible. I pretty much “feel my way” toward my destination, with intermittent cell phone calls from my niece for assistance. Here’s a sample conversation:
Mindy: “What street are you on?”
Me: “Beats the hell out of me.”
Mindy: “Give me a landmark.”
Me: “I would if I could see anything.”
Nonetheless, with only one major faux pas that sends me in an entire circle (and with a dog so bored it gives up hovering and manages to make its way into the front passenger seat for a nap) I arrive chez Mindy. Yippee!
Uncork the wine!!!
(More tomorrow)
Friday, February 09, 2007
An Old (Very Old) Photo
As I head off to northern California for my niece Mindy's 40th birthday party, I leave you with a version of her birthday present. Ever-prepared, I only thought of it this morning, but thanks to things like scanners and printers, well...technology makes procastination much less inconvenient these days. Anyway, these are my parents (Mindy's paternal grandparents) on their wedding
day in Davenport, North Dakota on May 27th, 1945. I think my dad's got a little Conan O'Brien thing going on, don't you? (Although, of course, he's 100% Norwegian, not Irish.)
day in Davenport, North Dakota on May 27th, 1945. I think my dad's got a little Conan O'Brien thing going on, don't you? (Although, of course, he's 100% Norwegian, not Irish.)Thursday, February 08, 2007
RIP, Anna
Talk about prophecy. When I wrote in yesterday’s post that the media’s obsession with Lisa Marie Nowak would last only as long as it took for the next juicy tale to splash across the wires, I didn’t foresee it would involve Anna Nicole Smith.
Although, if I’d given it much thought, her death could have made my top twenty.
Sure enough, Lisa Marie was only a blip on the radar by this afternoon’s news cycle. And I’ll bet a lot of people out there are thinking, what the hell? Why should this two-bit, drug-crazed, golddigger’s premature passing command so much coverage?
Well…I have a couple theories. First, there are the usual culprits−fame, fortune, beauty, and dying young. You can hardly beat that combination, really, for public fascination. Then, there’s the mysterious death of her son, the muddied parentage of her new daughter, not to mention the legal challenge that’s reached the highest court in the land.
Still…why should we care?
Okay, you may hate me for my answer, but here it is in its unvarnished state: I think we all feel, deep down, a little glee. Oh, not that we believe anyone deserves to die−I think we’d all agree she was a pretty harmless human being who probably didn’t hurt anyone (unless reports of her daughter being born a methadone addict are true).
But isn’t there just the smallest part of us that says, see? All that fame, fortune and beauty…? Look what happened to Elvis! Look what happened to Marilyn! (And yes, I just equated Anna Nicole with two people arguably much more talented, but it’s all the same in the end.) Demons clashing with too much. Too much of everything.
We peons sit back, smug in our average lives, and congratulate ourselves that what happened with Anna will never happen to us, because we’re comfortably ordinary.
And we remember that once upon a time, Anna Nicole Smith−excuse me, Vickie Lynn Hogan−was ordinary, too. Just like us.
Although, if I’d given it much thought, her death could have made my top twenty.
Sure enough, Lisa Marie was only a blip on the radar by this afternoon’s news cycle. And I’ll bet a lot of people out there are thinking, what the hell? Why should this two-bit, drug-crazed, golddigger’s premature passing command so much coverage?
Well…I have a couple theories. First, there are the usual culprits−fame, fortune, beauty, and dying young. You can hardly beat that combination, really, for public fascination. Then, there’s the mysterious death of her son, the muddied parentage of her new daughter, not to mention the legal challenge that’s reached the highest court in the land.
Still…why should we care?
Okay, you may hate me for my answer, but here it is in its unvarnished state: I think we all feel, deep down, a little glee. Oh, not that we believe anyone deserves to die−I think we’d all agree she was a pretty harmless human being who probably didn’t hurt anyone (unless reports of her daughter being born a methadone addict are true).
But isn’t there just the smallest part of us that says, see? All that fame, fortune and beauty…? Look what happened to Elvis! Look what happened to Marilyn! (And yes, I just equated Anna Nicole with two people arguably much more talented, but it’s all the same in the end.) Demons clashing with too much. Too much of everything.
We peons sit back, smug in our average lives, and congratulate ourselves that what happened with Anna will never happen to us, because we’re comfortably ordinary.
And we remember that once upon a time, Anna Nicole Smith−excuse me, Vickie Lynn Hogan−was ordinary, too. Just like us.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Little Bit of This and a Little Bit of That **Updated
Stop over at author Vonda Sinclair's blog to read an interview with MOI (my first, so be kind).
In other news, the Triskelion web site seems to be back on the mend after its recent debillitating illness, so it's now safe to make a run at buying Stealing Amy. Not that I mean to force it down your throat or anything...
And, geez...I couldn't be a romance writer and NOT comment on the Astronaughty debacle (sure to be showing up as a made-for-TV movie in about an hour), could I? After all, there's nothing juicier than a brilliant woman pushed over the edge by a psychotic obsession. Okay, okay. I hear ya. Innocent till proved guilty. Plus, I guess I should be more empathetic and understanding.
But, I can't. Sorry.
We all do stupid things in the name of unrequited love, but...um...what was the tubing for?? And...and...wigs and trench coats? If I didn't know this woman had better things to do, I'd figure she watched too many Lifetime movies. Or maybe the Sopranos, even. Very, very sad. Especially for her kids. I'm sure the cable news networks will cover this ad nauseum--or, at least until the next sensational story hits--so I'm gearing up for interviews with everyone from her third grade teacher to her dog walker.
Paula Zahn: Tell us, Mr. Smith. What kind of person is Lisa Marie Nowak?
Mr. Smith: Kind, considerate, always friendly to puppies.
Paula Zahn: And how long have you known her?
Mr. Smith: Oh, I met her once at her mother's best friend's piano teacher's birthday party.
Paula Zahn (nods knowingly): Ahhh. Then you're practically related.
Just a thought--and by the time you read this, it'll probably have been touched on elsewhere--but how ironic is it that this chick's name is NO-WAK?
P.S. How long ya figure before she goes into rehab?? 'Cuz isn't that our "go-to" source of redemption after "inappropriate behavior" these days? (That religion dude who, after three weeks in rehab, came out 100% hetero...that Donald Trump beauty-queen chick who's now the poster-girl for AA...the Mayor of San Francisco who admitted hitting the sheets with the wife of his campaign manager...?)
Yep, no doubt it's that demon rum at work again.
In other news, the Triskelion web site seems to be back on the mend after its recent debillitating illness, so it's now safe to make a run at buying Stealing Amy. Not that I mean to force it down your throat or anything...
And, geez...I couldn't be a romance writer and NOT comment on the Astronaughty debacle (sure to be showing up as a made-for-TV movie in about an hour), could I? After all, there's nothing juicier than a brilliant woman pushed over the edge by a psychotic obsession. Okay, okay. I hear ya. Innocent till proved guilty. Plus, I guess I should be more empathetic and understanding.
But, I can't. Sorry.
We all do stupid things in the name of unrequited love, but...um...what was the tubing for?? And...and...wigs and trench coats? If I didn't know this woman had better things to do, I'd figure she watched too many Lifetime movies. Or maybe the Sopranos, even. Very, very sad. Especially for her kids. I'm sure the cable news networks will cover this ad nauseum--or, at least until the next sensational story hits--so I'm gearing up for interviews with everyone from her third grade teacher to her dog walker.
Paula Zahn: Tell us, Mr. Smith. What kind of person is Lisa Marie Nowak?
Mr. Smith: Kind, considerate, always friendly to puppies.
Paula Zahn: And how long have you known her?
Mr. Smith: Oh, I met her once at her mother's best friend's piano teacher's birthday party.
Paula Zahn (nods knowingly): Ahhh. Then you're practically related.
Just a thought--and by the time you read this, it'll probably have been touched on elsewhere--but how ironic is it that this chick's name is NO-WAK?
P.S. How long ya figure before she goes into rehab?? 'Cuz isn't that our "go-to" source of redemption after "inappropriate behavior" these days? (That religion dude who, after three weeks in rehab, came out 100% hetero...that Donald Trump beauty-queen chick who's now the poster-girl for AA...the Mayor of San Francisco who admitted hitting the sheets with the wife of his campaign manager...?)
Yep, no doubt it's that demon rum at work again.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
So Your Teenager Wants to be a Writer....
Click HERE for the best advice he or she could ever get.
(Lots of gems for the adult writer, too.)
Seriously. This is a great article.
(Lots of gems for the adult writer, too.)
Seriously. This is a great article.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Is It Just Me?
I don't know about you, but I'm suffering from the dreaded "Post-Superbowl-Partied-Too-Much-But-Didn't-Get-Enough-Guacamole" Blues.
Either that, or it's the Monday thing.
And it's 83 degrees out which means we should all be at the beach or sitting under a shady oak, sipping margaritas. Anything but WORKING.
On the Amy front, apparently the techies are still working on cyber glitches. Personally, I take it as a good sign that maybe, just maybe, the Internet is NOT the answer to everything.
Either that, or it's the Monday thing.
And it's 83 degrees out which means we should all be at the beach or sitting under a shady oak, sipping margaritas. Anything but WORKING.
On the Amy front, apparently the techies are still working on cyber glitches. Personally, I take it as a good sign that maybe, just maybe, the Internet is NOT the answer to everything.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
While You're Waiting To Buy Stealing Amy...
...go vote for my friend, Adrienne, who's got an entry up at the Gather contest. You have to register, but hey--you weren't doing anything important anyway, right?
Click here, read her piece, then give her a big TEN!
Click here, read her piece, then give her a big TEN!
SNAFU
Ah...don't you love technology? And the word SNAFU (coined during Vietnam, I think?--situation normal, all f****d up...?)
So fitting today.
I've received several e-mails from people trying to buy my book...with no luck.
Yes, ladies and gents, the cyber gremlins are against me. Bastards.
Alas, we shall prevail, shan't we? So, although I know you've all been glued to you computers for the past 24-hours, incessantly hitting buy, buy, buy...go ahead and get some rest. Take a break. I'll post something here once the problem is straightened out.
So fitting today.
I've received several e-mails from people trying to buy my book...with no luck.
Yes, ladies and gents, the cyber gremlins are against me. Bastards.
Alas, we shall prevail, shan't we? So, although I know you've all been glued to you computers for the past 24-hours, incessantly hitting buy, buy, buy...go ahead and get some rest. Take a break. I'll post something here once the problem is straightened out.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Stealing Amy Launches! ! ! ! ! !
Wow...it seems like eons ago I signed that contract, huh? I know you've all been waiting with baited breath--or is it itchy fingers? Y'know...'cuz it's not like you can march over to B&N or Borders and wrap your sweaty palms around something physical like, um...a book.No, in case you missed something, Stealing Amy is an e-book. Which means, for the uninitiated, that it's available as an electronic download in four formats. Personally, I don't understand how anyone can enjoy a book this way (don't tell that to my publisher) yet I run into folks who do it all the time. Y'know, like on their PDA, or their whosis, or their whatsis. Oh, yeah...and some people actually sit in front of a computer monitor and read the things. (Gag)
Anyway, so I've been busy updating my website (oh, don't ask--what a nightmare, and please think twice before you ever decide to create your own)...you may wanna go check it out, but then again, you may not because I've probably screwed it up again. Oh, hell. Go ahead...see if you can find the excerpts; there are two. Enjoy.
So, the first email of the morning? Fathom this: a message from Lynne Marshall, a fellow Triskelion co-writer saying she'd tried to purchase my book this morning but it wasn't available yet. Imagine that! Isn't she cool to try to be the first on her block? Go see her website, too...'cuz she's about my bestest friend at the moment. (Oops, update: Lynn reports that she purchased the book, but was unable to download it--QC alert!)
Well, since I was up until 1 a.m. last night, tweaking the friggin' website, I'm too tired to write about my impressions of the first day of school, er, the first day of publishingdom.
More tomorrow.
Oh, wait. Meanwhile, disregard what I said about glitches in downloading, go buy the book here.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Plus Ca Change...Plus C'est Le Meme Chose...?
The more things change, the more they stay the same? Nuh-uhhhhh!
On Sunday, I dropped in on a Travel Expo and wandered by the Club Med booth. Standing there were two young boys (by young, I mean young-as in early twenties). No doubt they'd heard stories from their parents about the vacation spot known as "the antidote for civilization."
Sadly (sniff, sniff) I overheard the travel agent correct their misperceptions. Club Med is NO LONGER the place for singles. Nope. From what I gather, it answered the call of the aging boomers and ruined everything.
Okay, in case you've never been, let me paint a picture of my first visit. (This is back in 1981 when I was, er, about 28.) I shopped for DAYS prior to the trip, envisioning myself as one of those Vogue models with the Jackie O glasses and the casually chic clothes. After all, this was my first ADULT vacation (y'know, minus the parental units) and I was preparing to attract MEN.
Imagine my dismay when I arrived clad in tailored, belted, walking shorts with matching top, high-heeled sandals, and a floppy straw hat, to find a bunch of half-naked Club Med employees greeting us with some kinda welcome routine that bordered on childish. What had I stumbled into...a camp for overgrown adolescents?
And what was this...? You expect me to carry my own luggage...where? How far?
Cutting to the chase, within days, I was a convert. During the following week, I never once wore shoes. In fact, I hardly wore anything but a bathing suit.
It was all about experiencing the antithesis of real life.
No locks on the doors. No TV's or radio's in the rooms. No newspapers. No telephones. No MONEY, for God sakes! (You stashed your money in the central office at the beginning of your stay, then purchased plastic snap beads to use for buying drinks and other assorted amenities.)
Flash forward to 2007. Plasma screen TV's. CD players. Wireless Internet access.
I tell ya. It's enough to break your heart.
On Sunday, I dropped in on a Travel Expo and wandered by the Club Med booth. Standing there were two young boys (by young, I mean young-as in early twenties). No doubt they'd heard stories from their parents about the vacation spot known as "the antidote for civilization."
Sadly (sniff, sniff) I overheard the travel agent correct their misperceptions. Club Med is NO LONGER the place for singles. Nope. From what I gather, it answered the call of the aging boomers and ruined everything.
Okay, in case you've never been, let me paint a picture of my first visit. (This is back in 1981 when I was, er, about 28.) I shopped for DAYS prior to the trip, envisioning myself as one of those Vogue models with the Jackie O glasses and the casually chic clothes. After all, this was my first ADULT vacation (y'know, minus the parental units) and I was preparing to attract MEN.
Imagine my dismay when I arrived clad in tailored, belted, walking shorts with matching top, high-heeled sandals, and a floppy straw hat, to find a bunch of half-naked Club Med employees greeting us with some kinda welcome routine that bordered on childish. What had I stumbled into...a camp for overgrown adolescents?
And what was this...? You expect me to carry my own luggage...where? How far?
Cutting to the chase, within days, I was a convert. During the following week, I never once wore shoes. In fact, I hardly wore anything but a bathing suit.
It was all about experiencing the antithesis of real life.
No locks on the doors. No TV's or radio's in the rooms. No newspapers. No telephones. No MONEY, for God sakes! (You stashed your money in the central office at the beginning of your stay, then purchased plastic snap beads to use for buying drinks and other assorted amenities.)
Flash forward to 2007. Plasma screen TV's. CD players. Wireless Internet access.
I tell ya. It's enough to break your heart.
Monday, January 29, 2007
More On Writing (Yawn)
One of my good friends recently confessed she sort of gave up reading my blog when I started talking a lot about writing. (Shrug) I try to mix it up--and I try to make the writing parts interesting to non-writers, but...well, you can't please everyone, yada, yada. Judging by how often my best friends don't have a clue what I've been up to, I guess I'm succeeding more with the writer-readers, than the others. Again, shrug.
Having said that, guess what today's topic is? Yeah, writing (so, move along, friends).
It's been awhile since I judged a contest. Last year some time, I guess. So I've got five entries in the Single Title category (okay, friends...just go with me, here) and I'm struck with how things have changed. Used to be, you pretty much got traditional romance in these submissions. With a touch of suspense, comedy, and/or drama thrown in. This time around, only two of the five can be described that way; the others are paranormal...y'know, with werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, and the rest of your average non-human types.
So when did these books stop having their own category? (okay, I know, I know--some contests still DO make paranormal a separate category, but not this one). Have otherworldly stories really overtaken traditional romance?
I had to put on my best non-judgmental judge's hat for this which, as you might guess, isn't easy. I mean, I don't normally read the stuff so, for example, in answer to the question does the author use a unique twist in her story, I had to be careful, because...hell, yeah. Unique to me! But is it unique to paranormal? Maybe not.
I avoided showing favoritism to the traditional entries--and at the same time refrained from judging them to a higher standard. After all, a story is a story is a story. I concentrated on the qualities shared by good writing, no matter the sub-genre.
Besides, in the end, no matter what, you know in your gut when you're reading a winner. In the case of this particular set of contest entries, I read maybe one that I deemed publishable. Not that the rest weren't well-written, and full of good characterization and well-constructed scenes, still...they just didn't grab me, y'know?
Which takes me back to my own current personal task: editing Leftovers. How do I think it stacks up against the contest entries I'm judging?
Definitely a winner.
But then I'm a little impartial.
Having said that, guess what today's topic is? Yeah, writing (so, move along, friends).
It's been awhile since I judged a contest. Last year some time, I guess. So I've got five entries in the Single Title category (okay, friends...just go with me, here) and I'm struck with how things have changed. Used to be, you pretty much got traditional romance in these submissions. With a touch of suspense, comedy, and/or drama thrown in. This time around, only two of the five can be described that way; the others are paranormal...y'know, with werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, and the rest of your average non-human types.
So when did these books stop having their own category? (okay, I know, I know--some contests still DO make paranormal a separate category, but not this one). Have otherworldly stories really overtaken traditional romance?
I had to put on my best non-judgmental judge's hat for this which, as you might guess, isn't easy. I mean, I don't normally read the stuff so, for example, in answer to the question does the author use a unique twist in her story, I had to be careful, because...hell, yeah. Unique to me! But is it unique to paranormal? Maybe not.
I avoided showing favoritism to the traditional entries--and at the same time refrained from judging them to a higher standard. After all, a story is a story is a story. I concentrated on the qualities shared by good writing, no matter the sub-genre.
Besides, in the end, no matter what, you know in your gut when you're reading a winner. In the case of this particular set of contest entries, I read maybe one that I deemed publishable. Not that the rest weren't well-written, and full of good characterization and well-constructed scenes, still...they just didn't grab me, y'know?
Which takes me back to my own current personal task: editing Leftovers. How do I think it stacks up against the contest entries I'm judging?
Definitely a winner.
But then I'm a little impartial.
Friday, January 26, 2007
About That Recap....
I remember when we used to talk about men and sex...instead of droopy eyelids.
I remember when we used to talk about potential jobs...instead of retirement.
I remember when we used to talk about weddings...instead of funerals.
But some things never change. We still laugh and giggle about our shortcomings. We still stay up all night and wonder how four empty champagne bottles got into the trash can.
We still hug each other when we part.
Here are a few pictures and a little commentary from last weekend.
See what I mean? This is what happens
when three old ladies get together. They
compare ugly feet. (BTW, mine is the best looking one.)
Here's Nancy and Kathleen suffering the effects of
muy de alcohol...but, hey...it's a good kinda suffering.
Next up is my cool present from Nancy
(I TOLD YA IT WAS STILL MY
BIRTHDAY!!) And yes, I'm not fond of the
way my face looks in this picture. That's what
computer editing utilities are for.
This is a pic of the harbor where we ate lunch on Saturday after the Fourth Mouseketeer (Juli) joined us. And this is the neat little owl guy we saw (isn't he supposed to be sleeping, or something?)
Next we went hotel hopping--my FAVE thing to do. First stop: The Montage, a 5-star resort in Laguna Beach. Okay, I have to admit the place is gorgeous, but $17 chardonnay? Not so much. AND, I could have done without all the strategically placed "suits with earpieces." You just KNEW that any minute, one of 'em was gonna come up and say: "Excuse me. Unless you can provide satisfactory tax returns for the past ten years, we're going to have to ask you to leave." In other words, not so friendly.
The St. Regis, on the other hand, is equally beautiful, equally 5-star (although a bit further from the ocean), but...well...shall we say, friendlier? And with exquisite artwork, to boot.
Okay, this is getting tedious. You folks have NO IDEA how difficult it is to get these damn pictures, words, and videos to settle into their proper place. Anyway, I took this video to record the music. We were back at "our bar" at the Laguna Cliffs, and the performer's name is Kevin Danzig. I don't know if it was the atmosphere, the cocktails, or WHAT, but I bought THREE of his CD's. And I told him I was putting this on Youtube, and he gave me permission, so I'm not ripping him off or anything. Hopefully, I'll come up with a gig for him chez Randy, 'cuz I truly enjoyed his music.
I'd post more here, but, well...gotta get to the day job work. Thought I'd leave you with one last pic, though...and this is what happens when the ladies start the cocktail hour early on a Sunday. I'm tellin' ya...I've always looked best in black and white.
I remember when we used to talk about potential jobs...instead of retirement.
I remember when we used to talk about weddings...instead of funerals.
But some things never change. We still laugh and giggle about our shortcomings. We still stay up all night and wonder how four empty champagne bottles got into the trash can.
We still hug each other when we part.
Here are a few pictures and a little commentary from last weekend.
See what I mean? This is what happens
when three old ladies get together. They
compare ugly feet. (BTW, mine is the best looking one.)
Here's Nancy and Kathleen suffering the effects of
muy de alcohol...but, hey...it's a good kinda suffering.
Next up is my cool present from Nancy
(I TOLD YA IT WAS STILL MY
BIRTHDAY!!) And yes, I'm not fond of the
way my face looks in this picture. That's what
computer editing utilities are for.
This is a pic of the harbor where we ate lunch on Saturday after the Fourth Mouseketeer (Juli) joined us. And this is the neat little owl guy we saw (isn't he supposed to be sleeping, or something?)
Next we went hotel hopping--my FAVE thing to do. First stop: The Montage, a 5-star resort in Laguna Beach. Okay, I have to admit the place is gorgeous, but $17 chardonnay? Not so much. AND, I could have done without all the strategically placed "suits with earpieces." You just KNEW that any minute, one of 'em was gonna come up and say: "Excuse me. Unless you can provide satisfactory tax returns for the past ten years, we're going to have to ask you to leave." In other words, not so friendly.
The St. Regis, on the other hand, is equally beautiful, equally 5-star (although a bit further from the ocean), but...well...shall we say, friendlier? And with exquisite artwork, to boot.
Okay, this is getting tedious. You folks have NO IDEA how difficult it is to get these damn pictures, words, and videos to settle into their proper place. Anyway, I took this video to record the music. We were back at "our bar" at the Laguna Cliffs, and the performer's name is Kevin Danzig. I don't know if it was the atmosphere, the cocktails, or WHAT, but I bought THREE of his CD's. And I told him I was putting this on Youtube, and he gave me permission, so I'm not ripping him off or anything. Hopefully, I'll come up with a gig for him chez Randy, 'cuz I truly enjoyed his music.
I'd post more here, but, well...gotta get to the day job work. Thought I'd leave you with one last pic, though...and this is what happens when the ladies start the cocktail hour early on a Sunday. I'm tellin' ya...I've always looked best in black and white.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
I'm inFAMOUS
You know that old saying: There's no such thing as BAD publicity? Well, let's hope it's true, 'kay?
'Cuz if you wander over to Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels and scroll down to Monday, guess what you'll find? Right. Stealing Amy's cover.
Hey, I laugh out loud at the spot-on snark and no-holds-barred reviews on this site...only...um...I never thought I'd find myself on the receiving end of 'em.
Okay, so it's just my cover. But I kinda LIKED my cover. More importantly, my PARENTS liked my cover. So WHAT if they kinda confused the model with me (ooh, her nails are nice and her hair's a pretty shade of blonde!). So WHAT if guys on Myspace draw the same conclusion and hit on me?
It's all good.
Isn't it?
'Cuz if you wander over to Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels and scroll down to Monday, guess what you'll find? Right. Stealing Amy's cover.
Hey, I laugh out loud at the spot-on snark and no-holds-barred reviews on this site...only...um...I never thought I'd find myself on the receiving end of 'em.
Okay, so it's just my cover. But I kinda LIKED my cover. More importantly, my PARENTS liked my cover. So WHAT if they kinda confused the model with me (ooh, her nails are nice and her hair's a pretty shade of blonde!). So WHAT if guys on Myspace draw the same conclusion and hit on me?
It's all good.
Isn't it?
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
GWO
L to R: Nancy, Randy, Juli, KathleenWhich is kinda like GNO (girls' night out) except it happens over a weekend. Hell, all my weekends are GWO's. Ha.
Anyway, here's a sneak peek of "the girls" at play. I'll post more pictures and a narrative when I get some extra time...or new brain cells...whichever happens first.
Suffice to say: Oh. My. God. We had SUCH a blast. Although I believe I noticed the genesis of a new phrase: What happens with the girls stays...off Randy's blog.
Tsk. Some people are NO fun at all.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Happy Holidays
Those are supposed to be Christmas lights. Why Christmas lights? Hey, thanks for asking.
Well, this weekend is the annual girls-get-together-to-celebrate-Christmas-and-birthdays weekend. In fact, I've been told we're specifically celebrating MY birthday. Yes, y'all may remember that happened in September, but...well...sometimes it's hard to get four girls together in a timely fashion, y'know? And so what if Kathleen's came after mine? So what if Juli's is closest (next month) and Nancy's right after that?
This weekend, it's all about me.
Or, at least, that's what I'll be telling myself.
Nancy got the ball rolling. She reserved something for us at the Laguna Cliffs Marriott...I can only imagine how beautiful it's gonna be. (Not to mention cold--hey, it snowed in Malibu this week so building snowmen in Laguna Beach ain't out of the question.) Our first plan of attack is drinks at the Montage (go on--take a peek at the picture on their web site--unbelievable!) I figure after incurring the national debt for a glass of wine, we'll move on to cheaper joints. In fact, Kath suggested (only half-jokingly) we eat at Mickey D's...to which Nancy (where have you BEEN, girl?) innocently asked, "Oh? Where's that?"
Suffice to say, we won't be eating under the golden arches.
Anyway, so the blog'll be dark for a couple days while I temporarily live the life of the rich and famous. Stay tuned for pictures!
P.S. Okay, I came back to post a picture in case you're too lazy to click...this is the Montage (sigh). I just wanna move in (totally possible since there are "residences at Montage"...but something tells me I need more than my current bank balance...and none of the Yahoo Winkers--hmm...appropriately named, eh?--are gonna be able to foot the bill.........)
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Bonus!
So after typing THE END the other night, I thought about my next plan of attack. Most authors like to set a manuscript aside for awhile before they start revising. Me? I'm eager to dive in, but alas, I see the wisdom in waiting...so what, I asked myself, should I work on in the meantime?
Go back to the nameless NaNo project?
Advertise my Stealing Amy contest?
Hm...but I really wanna get to the next phase with Leftovers. Besides, that timetable of goals I posted in December included having the query letter drafted and mailed out by January 15th. And yet...euw. Query letters. HATE writing query letters. Distilling the gist of your book into one pithy page can be a real killer.
So I browsed through my documents file on the off-chance that somewhere along the line I might have spent a few odd minutes (hours?) on a query letter.
Lo and behold...BINGO!
For whatever reason--a contest?--a Miss Snark crap-o-meter?--just for the helluvit...? I'd written an entire query letter...and a rather good one, if I do say so myself! Whew! It was like cleaning up after Christmas and finding an undiscovered present under the tree!
Now all I have to do is figure out who to send it to....
Go back to the nameless NaNo project?
Advertise my Stealing Amy contest?
Hm...but I really wanna get to the next phase with Leftovers. Besides, that timetable of goals I posted in December included having the query letter drafted and mailed out by January 15th. And yet...euw. Query letters. HATE writing query letters. Distilling the gist of your book into one pithy page can be a real killer.
So I browsed through my documents file on the off-chance that somewhere along the line I might have spent a few odd minutes (hours?) on a query letter.
Lo and behold...BINGO!
For whatever reason--a contest?--a Miss Snark crap-o-meter?--just for the helluvit...? I'd written an entire query letter...and a rather good one, if I do say so myself! Whew! It was like cleaning up after Christmas and finding an undiscovered present under the tree!
Now all I have to do is figure out who to send it to....
Sunday, January 14, 2007
The End! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
I DID IT! ! ! ! ! ! !
I typed the Six Best Letters in the WHOLE WORLD....THE END! I swear, I've never been through childbirth, but this was the literary equivalent. Now, the last scene needs a smidgen--oh hell, a BOATLOAD--of work, but still...it's THERE.
And there's the re-writing I need to do at the beginning...
And...oh...um....there's all the tightening I need to do...plus the fill-in-the-blank stuff I left for later....
But....I'm so jazzed, I think I'll go lie down...or is it lay down? I'm pretty sure it's lie down.
Brain frazzle!
I typed the Six Best Letters in the WHOLE WORLD....THE END! I swear, I've never been through childbirth, but this was the literary equivalent. Now, the last scene needs a smidgen--oh hell, a BOATLOAD--of work, but still...it's THERE.
And there's the re-writing I need to do at the beginning...
And...oh...um....there's all the tightening I need to do...plus the fill-in-the-blank stuff I left for later....
But....I'm so jazzed, I think I'll go lie down...or is it lay down? I'm pretty sure it's lie down.
Brain frazzle!
Hijacked
No wonder I've been having trouble finishing Leftovers. Turns out it's been taken over by space aliens or something. No, really. It started out as the story of a woman who always gets the leftovers in life...and now it's morphed into (eek) a tale about mothers and daughters.
Which would be fine except...I don't have a typical mother/daughter relationship with my (step)mom. Worse, I don't have kids, let alone daughters.
The good news is that I AM heading for the finish. AGAIN. And yes, that 'one or two scenes' I needed to write to get to the end have morphed into four or five. But it's all good. I finally figured out the problem: I lacked a BIG BANG for the ending. Hey, there's a new story step for ya, huh? You got your inciting incident, your turning points, your stakes raising, your black moment, your climax...and now you got your BIG BANG.
See, I went back to the whole character arc issue that I mentioned the other day. I had to ask myself: What has Rose learned? How is she different at the end of the story? What does she do NOW that she wouldn't have been able to do at the beginning?
Which got me to thinking about her step-sister, Angie. I needed to finish her character arc, too.
And that's when I knew how to end the book...with something that will demonstrate the change in both characters...and, as a bonus, create the BIG BANG.
The only problem? It all ties back into the theme of mothers and daughters. Easy to conceive, more difficult to execute.
But then that's why we authors get paid the big bucks. Kidding.
Which would be fine except...I don't have a typical mother/daughter relationship with my (step)mom. Worse, I don't have kids, let alone daughters.
The good news is that I AM heading for the finish. AGAIN. And yes, that 'one or two scenes' I needed to write to get to the end have morphed into four or five. But it's all good. I finally figured out the problem: I lacked a BIG BANG for the ending. Hey, there's a new story step for ya, huh? You got your inciting incident, your turning points, your stakes raising, your black moment, your climax...and now you got your BIG BANG.
See, I went back to the whole character arc issue that I mentioned the other day. I had to ask myself: What has Rose learned? How is she different at the end of the story? What does she do NOW that she wouldn't have been able to do at the beginning?
Which got me to thinking about her step-sister, Angie. I needed to finish her character arc, too.
And that's when I knew how to end the book...with something that will demonstrate the change in both characters...and, as a bonus, create the BIG BANG.
The only problem? It all ties back into the theme of mothers and daughters. Easy to conceive, more difficult to execute.
But then that's why we authors get paid the big bucks. Kidding.
Friday, January 12, 2007
It's The Writing, Stupid
...or not.
Maybe it's everything BUT the writing.
That's how I feel these days as I figure out how to run a contest from my web site, join even MORE Yahoo groups, and...well...exhaust every method available to pimp myself, er, my upcoming book release.
Take last night, for example. Another couple hours spent learning more about the wonderful world of Myspace. For you old fogies out there, Myspace is the equivalent to the party line when we were kids. I guess. Anyway, it's how (cough) younger folks "network" these days. Gotta have a Myspace page.
As it turns out, it's also a hip new way to market books, too. That is, if anyone's reading anymore.
Once you have your site set up, one idea is to search the database for members who list "reading romance novels" among their interests. Then you send them an "invite" to be your "friend." If they accept, their little avatar icon doo-hinkey shows up on your site and your "linked" forever. Now, anytime you send a bulletin (for example, announcing the release of your book), it automatically goes out to all those romance reading "friends" you've hooked up. I know of one author who accumulated 7,000 potential readers that way. Talk about casting a wide net, huh?
So, last night I worked on "pimping" my site again--yep, that's the lingo. When I first created it, I went wacko with this complicated scrolling background consisting of puffy white clouds. That's gone. I've gone the more austere route, albeit with a kinda shocking pink text. Oh, and I added a Lara Fabian song. Bonus! (When you're finished with this post, go check it out HERE...and, by all means, if you're a Myspace member, be sure to invite me to be your friend--I promise never to gossip behind your back or ask to borrow money.)
Okay, that's it for now. I'm off to troll for more friends.
Yep, it's all about the writing.
Maybe it's everything BUT the writing.
That's how I feel these days as I figure out how to run a contest from my web site, join even MORE Yahoo groups, and...well...exhaust every method available to pimp myself, er, my upcoming book release.
Take last night, for example. Another couple hours spent learning more about the wonderful world of Myspace. For you old fogies out there, Myspace is the equivalent to the party line when we were kids. I guess. Anyway, it's how (cough) younger folks "network" these days. Gotta have a Myspace page.
As it turns out, it's also a hip new way to market books, too. That is, if anyone's reading anymore.
Once you have your site set up, one idea is to search the database for members who list "reading romance novels" among their interests. Then you send them an "invite" to be your "friend." If they accept, their little avatar icon doo-hinkey shows up on your site and your "linked" forever. Now, anytime you send a bulletin (for example, announcing the release of your book), it automatically goes out to all those romance reading "friends" you've hooked up. I know of one author who accumulated 7,000 potential readers that way. Talk about casting a wide net, huh?
So, last night I worked on "pimping" my site again--yep, that's the lingo. When I first created it, I went wacko with this complicated scrolling background consisting of puffy white clouds. That's gone. I've gone the more austere route, albeit with a kinda shocking pink text. Oh, and I added a Lara Fabian song. Bonus! (When you're finished with this post, go check it out HERE...and, by all means, if you're a Myspace member, be sure to invite me to be your friend--I promise never to gossip behind your back or ask to borrow money.)
Okay, that's it for now. I'm off to troll for more friends.
Yep, it's all about the writing.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Write Your Stories Down
Everyone's a writer...in some form or fashion.
Oh, maybe not on a par with Shakespeare, say...or Nora Roberts (yes, I just put them in the same sentence, so sue me). But we all have stories to tell.
I often dispute this fact with my critique partners. I whine about not being one of those authors with a million stories screaming to get out of her head, and it's true. I'm not. But even I have stories to tell.
And so do you.
Maybe not stories the whole world is clamoring to read...but someone, someday, will. Mainly, your children...and their children...and, hopefully, even their children.
One of the greatest gifts ever given to me was a story written by my Aunt Bonnie. About fifteen years before she passed away, she sent me ten handwritten pages recounting the brief span of time in which she knew my mother who died at the age of 41. I still smile as I remember this part of what she wrote:
"When your older brother was born, your mother constantly hovered over his crib, clapping her hands to make sure he hadn't gotten the Gorder family's poor hearing."
I never would have had that glimpse into my mother's life if Aunt Bonnie hadn't written it down.
Yesterday, I wanted to add intelligent narrative to the pictures of my dad and his P-38, but the details I know about my dad's war time experiences are sketchy. I know he was stationed in Foggia, Italy...I know he arrived there on a boat...I know he flew over Yugoslavia...but that's about it.
I'm gonna ask him to write the stories down...for me, and for my niece's kids.
What stories should YOU be writing down?
Oh, maybe not on a par with Shakespeare, say...or Nora Roberts (yes, I just put them in the same sentence, so sue me). But we all have stories to tell.
I often dispute this fact with my critique partners. I whine about not being one of those authors with a million stories screaming to get out of her head, and it's true. I'm not. But even I have stories to tell.
And so do you.
Maybe not stories the whole world is clamoring to read...but someone, someday, will. Mainly, your children...and their children...and, hopefully, even their children.
One of the greatest gifts ever given to me was a story written by my Aunt Bonnie. About fifteen years before she passed away, she sent me ten handwritten pages recounting the brief span of time in which she knew my mother who died at the age of 41. I still smile as I remember this part of what she wrote:
"When your older brother was born, your mother constantly hovered over his crib, clapping her hands to make sure he hadn't gotten the Gorder family's poor hearing."
I never would have had that glimpse into my mother's life if Aunt Bonnie hadn't written it down.
Yesterday, I wanted to add intelligent narrative to the pictures of my dad and his P-38, but the details I know about my dad's war time experiences are sketchy. I know he was stationed in Foggia, Italy...I know he arrived there on a boat...I know he flew over Yugoslavia...but that's about it.
I'm gonna ask him to write the stories down...for me, and for my niece's kids.
What stories should YOU be writing down?
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Monday, January 08, 2007
I Don't Want What I Can't Have
(That’s a song title, by the way. Sung by Sinead O’Connor.)
Romance novels (especially category ones of the Harlequin variety) get a bad rap for being formulaic. Yet, as any author knows, all good stories, (from Star Wars to The Wizard of Oz) have at their core the internal and external goal of the hero(ine).
Part of the “formula” involves creating a storyline in which the hero(ine) confronts the obstacle preventing him/her from achieving the external goal and overcoming it because he/she is not the same person at the end of the book that he/she was at the beginning. That’s called character arc.
Well, I discovered something this weekend.
In most stories, the way in which the hero(ine) changes or what the character LEARNS is what gives them the ability to achieve their goal in the end.
Guess what? Not in my stories.
Nope. In my stories, the character figures out she had the wrong goal in the first place, thereby removing the necessity to achieve anything.
Hm. Too close a parallel to my own life perhaps…?
Romance novels (especially category ones of the Harlequin variety) get a bad rap for being formulaic. Yet, as any author knows, all good stories, (from Star Wars to The Wizard of Oz) have at their core the internal and external goal of the hero(ine).
Part of the “formula” involves creating a storyline in which the hero(ine) confronts the obstacle preventing him/her from achieving the external goal and overcoming it because he/she is not the same person at the end of the book that he/she was at the beginning. That’s called character arc.
Well, I discovered something this weekend.
In most stories, the way in which the hero(ine) changes or what the character LEARNS is what gives them the ability to achieve their goal in the end.
Guess what? Not in my stories.
Nope. In my stories, the character figures out she had the wrong goal in the first place, thereby removing the necessity to achieve anything.
Hm. Too close a parallel to my own life perhaps…?
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Unconstructive Day, or Not? You Be The Judge
I don' t know what it is about lying in bed on Saturday morning, but I wake up with the BEST plans for the day...and then what happens? Seemingly, not much. Maybe if I wrote down a list or something.
Here are the things I DIDN'T do today:
Bring all my lovely Christmas gifts in from the garage. (New Year's Resolution: Upon shutting off the car, gather up all the "stuff" and take it directly inside the house. Even if you don't know where to put it once it gets there.)
Go see a movie. There are tons of movies out there I wanna see. Somehow I didn't get around to actually figuring out the whens and wheres until about 6 o'clock and then I ran the risk of running into date night at the movies (shudder) so I postponed movies once again. Sidenote: About six months ago, I received two free passes that were due to expire on 12/31. I ended up giving them to the bartender at the Bob Hope Airport as I was leaving for Vegas on New Years.
Visit my parents and take them dinner. Ditto the above. Suddenly, 6 o'clock rolled around and I knew it was too late for that plan.
Finish Leftovers. Okay, here I can report a partial victory. I wrote about a page.
So what did I do instead? Well...I tweaked my Myspace page (yeah, that's a noteworthy achievement). And I also revamped my web site to include a contest (complete with new uploaded pictures).
I didn't even take a nap until 4 o'clock.
Still...
Not a very productive day, was it? Hell, I didn't even wash my face or brush my hair, but don't tell anyone.
It's 9:23 on a Saturday night and I think I'll go to bed. Geez...don't spread that around, either. I don't wanna ruin my reputation as the party girl.
Here are the things I DIDN'T do today:
Bring all my lovely Christmas gifts in from the garage. (New Year's Resolution: Upon shutting off the car, gather up all the "stuff" and take it directly inside the house. Even if you don't know where to put it once it gets there.)
Go see a movie. There are tons of movies out there I wanna see. Somehow I didn't get around to actually figuring out the whens and wheres until about 6 o'clock and then I ran the risk of running into date night at the movies (shudder) so I postponed movies once again. Sidenote: About six months ago, I received two free passes that were due to expire on 12/31. I ended up giving them to the bartender at the Bob Hope Airport as I was leaving for Vegas on New Years.
Visit my parents and take them dinner. Ditto the above. Suddenly, 6 o'clock rolled around and I knew it was too late for that plan.
Finish Leftovers. Okay, here I can report a partial victory. I wrote about a page.
So what did I do instead? Well...I tweaked my Myspace page (yeah, that's a noteworthy achievement). And I also revamped my web site to include a contest (complete with new uploaded pictures).
I didn't even take a nap until 4 o'clock.
Still...
Not a very productive day, was it? Hell, I didn't even wash my face or brush my hair, but don't tell anyone.
It's 9:23 on a Saturday night and I think I'll go to bed. Geez...don't spread that around, either. I don't wanna ruin my reputation as the party girl.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Edging Closer
I know you're all waiting for an update on my progress toward ending the long national nightmare known as "finishing Leftovers." Well, good news. I wrote another two pages. And, I SWEAR, I'm on the second-to-last-scene. Okay, maybe third-to-last. Oh, hell...who knows...? Another chapter could always pop up.
To distract myself, I perused the beginning of the Nano Project last night. Geez, until that WIP has a name...anyway, that one's looking better and better (if I do say so myself--and I do). Recall for a moment this is the story begun during the November frenzy. I wrote about 150 pages "on the wing" and lately (after a flurry of brainstorming in my critique group and reading Miss Snark's Hook-o-meter--or whatever she called it) I convinced myself it was a piece of crap. (Ha, something new, huh?) Mainly, I figured I'd woefully underplanned the heroine's external goal...as in...she didn't have one.
Imagine my surprise and glee when I discovered in reading the first ten pages, she does INDEED have a goal. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the study of craft for five years pays off after all! Not only that, but (I say in all modesty) the thing has REAL energy and pacing. Granted I only read the first 25 pages, but still...that's saying something.
Now if only I could wind up the Old...and find a title for the New.
To distract myself, I perused the beginning of the Nano Project last night. Geez, until that WIP has a name...anyway, that one's looking better and better (if I do say so myself--and I do). Recall for a moment this is the story begun during the November frenzy. I wrote about 150 pages "on the wing" and lately (after a flurry of brainstorming in my critique group and reading Miss Snark's Hook-o-meter--or whatever she called it) I convinced myself it was a piece of crap. (Ha, something new, huh?) Mainly, I figured I'd woefully underplanned the heroine's external goal...as in...she didn't have one.
Imagine my surprise and glee when I discovered in reading the first ten pages, she does INDEED have a goal. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the study of craft for five years pays off after all! Not only that, but (I say in all modesty) the thing has REAL energy and pacing. Granted I only read the first 25 pages, but still...that's saying something.
Now if only I could wind up the Old...and find a title for the New.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
New Year's 2006
Maybe…just maybe…I’ve replenished enough brain cells to recount the 2nd Annual New Years Weekend in Las Vegas. It started on Friday when Cathi and I met Marty and Ann (aka Senor and Senora de La Cruz) at the Burbank Airport. Oops. ‘Scuze me. The Bob Hope Airport. We worked our way through the usual pandemonium (learning about zip-lock bags for lip gloss in the process) and got ourselves through security (please…someone tell me…WHY had I thought
to wear BOOTS???) in time for pre-boarding cocktails.
Landed in Vegas to find a crisp and clear Winter’s day (and a new no smoking rule in the airport…I mean, what’re they gonna do with those little smoking rooms NOW??). Marty had rented a car which was nice and all, but, er…not conducive to four people with luggage. We ended up with half of it lying across our laps.
Checked in without fanfare, unpacked, and met back in the Star Wars lounge.
Or something like that. Anyway, outer space was involved. There, we toasted the beginning of the trip, and lost our first few bucks in the poker slots.
Eventually, we moved on to other gaming (this part is kind of a blur but I think Texas Hold ‘Em may have been involved—all I know for sure is that this is where my downhill slide began)…then later returned to our rooms…to change? Yeah, I think we changed clothes.
That night, we had dinner (along with Ann’s sister and brother-in-law) at the Hilton Steak House. Oh. My. God. The petit fillet…yummmmmmm (not to mention the expertly prepared baked potato…heaven). The only drawback? How about sixteen dollars for a glass of wine. Yikes.
More gambling ensued following dinner…and more sliding. Too depressing to recount. I should mention here that I normally go solo, but this year I decided to be less anal, so I shared a room with Cathi. Turns out we’re pretty good roommates—both news junkies who love having the TV on 24/7. And on a weekend with Saddam, James Brown, and Gerald Ford all on the menu, we were happy campers on that score. The only problem—each night, Cathi (prudently, I might add) went to bed earlier than I…meaning she also awakened (woke up?) earlier, and hey—if there’s someone to talk to, who am I to continue sleeping? Bottom line: I got VERY FEW ZZZZZZ’s. (Oh, well…that’s what 2007 is for, rig
ht?)
The next day, we…er…gambled some more. I think. Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. At night, we drove downtown and…er…gambled some more. Oh, and ate dinner at the Golden Nugget. The good news is that I recouped a bit of my losses during a rousing game of Texas Hold ‘Em.
Later, we did more of the same back at the Hilton. On Sunday, Cathi and I tried to get off premises, but the Monorail wasn’t working, so we…well, we did the usual…we gambled a bit, and (yay) took naps. Around five, we grabbed a taxi, and got ourselves over to the Forum Shops to The Palm Restaurant
before the traffic around The Strip got too crazy. Then we hung out at Caesars so that we could step out on their conveniently located patio (just above the street and just below the
nightclub PURE) for
the fireworks display. Last year, Nicki Hilton hosted Pure’s party and when it came time, she turned to us peons below, and counted down to midnight. This year, Brittney
Spears had the job, but she never even noticed us (sob). Anyway, much hoopla ensued (see video in last post) then we crossed the strip over to the Flamingo, caught the Monorail (with tickets we’d purchased earlier in the day)…what a PARTY! Hey, if I ever go again, I think I’ll just ride the Monorail all night. It was the MOST FUN! And how convenient! It dropped us off at a station almost inside our hotel. (After last year’s debacle—walking for hours to find a cab and finally paying a stranger $30 to give us a ride—man, we have this thing DOWN!)
Back at the hotel, Cathi snagged the only available seat at a Texas Hold ‘Em table (ignoring our warnings about the raised minimum) and promptly played three hands at full steam (which ends up amounting to $75 a hand!) and WON $250…in about five minutes. At that point, Ann grabbed Cathi’s chips off the able and physically walked her to the cashier to cash out (way to go, Ann). We did a little more meandering, wasted a little bit more money on stupid slots, then reconvened at Texas Hold ‘Em at 2 a.m. when the minimum was back down to $10 (which means, at full bore, you have $50 on the table). Between 2 and 4, I recouped $250, so I went to bed a happy camper.
A LATE camper, however (Cathi was already in bed again).
We rose at 8 the next morning (albeit, slowly) got our acts together, had breakfast, and made it to the airport for our 3 o’clock flight….which probably would have passed uneventfully if not for the T-shirt Cathi was wearing. Now, please note, this is a BRAND name—sold in many upscale places—but Cathi’s shirt read: “Too Busy To FCUK.” (No, that’s not a typo—that’s what it says.) Well, half-way through the flight, the flight attendant stop and whispers: “Ma’am, could you please put your jacket back on? We’ve had a complaint from someone who finds your shirt offensive.” Okay…I’m not blaming anyone for being offended…and, I wouldn’t blame the flight attendant for “keeping the peace,” but…um…not one passenger could SEE the t-shirt (except for Cathi’s seatmates who expressed amusement over the whole matter) so it had to be the FLIGHT ATTENDANT’s sensibility who’d been injured, and she should have owned up to it. Anyway, Cathi knows enough to see the wisdom of not creating a scene on an airplane, so she obediently re-donned the jacket. But don’t think she won’t be writing a letter!
A fitting end to an amusing weekend…next year PARIS….as in the CITY, not the Las Vegas hotel.
to wear BOOTS???) in time for pre-boarding cocktails.Landed in Vegas to find a crisp and clear Winter’s day (and a new no smoking rule in the airport…I mean, what’re they gonna do with those little smoking rooms NOW??). Marty had rented a car which was nice and all, but, er…not conducive to four people with luggage. We ended up with half of it lying across our laps.
Checked in without fanfare, unpacked, and met back in the Star Wars lounge.
Or something like that. Anyway, outer space was involved. There, we toasted the beginning of the trip, and lost our first few bucks in the poker slots.Eventually, we moved on to other gaming (this part is kind of a blur but I think Texas Hold ‘Em may have been involved—all I know for sure is that this is where my downhill slide began)…then later returned to our rooms…to change? Yeah, I think we changed clothes.
That night, we had dinner (along with Ann’s sister and brother-in-law) at the Hilton Steak House. Oh. My. God. The petit fillet…yummmmmmm (not to mention the expertly prepared baked potato…heaven). The only drawback? How about sixteen dollars for a glass of wine. Yikes.
More gambling ensued following dinner…and more sliding. Too depressing to recount. I should mention here that I normally go solo, but this year I decided to be less anal, so I shared a room with Cathi. Turns out we’re pretty good roommates—both news junkies who love having the TV on 24/7. And on a weekend with Saddam, James Brown, and Gerald Ford all on the menu, we were happy campers on that score. The only problem—each night, Cathi (prudently, I might add) went to bed earlier than I…meaning she also awakened (woke up?) earlier, and hey—if there’s someone to talk to, who am I to continue sleeping? Bottom line: I got VERY FEW ZZZZZZ’s. (Oh, well…that’s what 2007 is for, rig
ht?)
The next day, we…er…gambled some more. I think. Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. At night, we drove downtown and…er…gambled some more. Oh, and ate dinner at the Golden Nugget. The good news is that I recouped a bit of my losses during a rousing game of Texas Hold ‘Em.
Later, we did more of the same back at the Hilton. On Sunday, Cathi and I tried to get off premises, but the Monorail wasn’t working, so we…well, we did the usual…we gambled a bit, and (yay) took naps. Around five, we grabbed a taxi, and got ourselves over to the Forum Shops to The Palm Restaurant
before the traffic around The Strip got too crazy. Then we hung out at Caesars so that we could step out on their conveniently located patio (just above the street and just below the
nightclub PURE) for
the fireworks display. Last year, Nicki Hilton hosted Pure’s party and when it came time, she turned to us peons below, and counted down to midnight. This year, Brittney
Spears had the job, but she never even noticed us (sob). Anyway, much hoopla ensued (see video in last post) then we crossed the strip over to the Flamingo, caught the Monorail (with tickets we’d purchased earlier in the day)…what a PARTY! Hey, if I ever go again, I think I’ll just ride the Monorail all night. It was the MOST FUN! And how convenient! It dropped us off at a station almost inside our hotel. (After last year’s debacle—walking for hours to find a cab and finally paying a stranger $30 to give us a ride—man, we have this thing DOWN!)Back at the hotel, Cathi snagged the only available seat at a Texas Hold ‘Em table (ignoring our warnings about the raised minimum) and promptly played three hands at full steam (which ends up amounting to $75 a hand!) and WON $250…in about five minutes. At that point, Ann grabbed Cathi’s chips off the able and physically walked her to the cashier to cash out (way to go, Ann). We did a little more meandering, wasted a little bit more money on stupid slots, then reconvened at Texas Hold ‘Em at 2 a.m. when the minimum was back down to $10 (which means, at full bore, you have $50 on the table). Between 2 and 4, I recouped $250, so I went to bed a happy camper.
A LATE camper, however (Cathi was already in bed again).
We rose at 8 the next morning (albeit, slowly) got our acts together, had breakfast, and made it to the airport for our 3 o’clock flight….which probably would have passed uneventfully if not for the T-shirt Cathi was wearing. Now, please note, this is a BRAND name—sold in many upscale places—but Cathi’s shirt read: “Too Busy To FCUK.” (No, that’s not a typo—that’s what it says.) Well, half-way through the flight, the flight attendant stop and whispers: “Ma’am, could you please put your jacket back on? We’ve had a complaint from someone who finds your shirt offensive.” Okay…I’m not blaming anyone for being offended…and, I wouldn’t blame the flight attendant for “keeping the peace,” but…um…not one passenger could SEE the t-shirt (except for Cathi’s seatmates who expressed amusement over the whole matter) so it had to be the FLIGHT ATTENDANT’s sensibility who’d been injured, and she should have owned up to it. Anyway, Cathi knows enough to see the wisdom of not creating a scene on an airplane, so she obediently re-donned the jacket. But don’t think she won’t be writing a letter!
A fitting end to an amusing weekend…next year PARIS….as in the CITY, not the Las Vegas hotel.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Thursday, December 28, 2006
2006 Round Up
With all the talk of setting goals and making New Year's resolutions, one of my critique partners kinda put something in perspective for me (thanks, Carol!). What good is all that stuff if you never go back to see how you did?? Maybe we should focus more on what we've accomplished THIS year instead of already worrying about the NEXT.
Anyway, so I went a-hunting through the archives for any mention of 2006 goals and, well...apparently I was my usual cynical self last year because this is all I found. Kind of the "anti-goals" thang. (Oh, except for where I casually included the usual weight-loss goal, and DAMN...somehow, I accidentally succeeded at that one!)
What did I accomplish in the writing vein? Hm. Not much, as it turns out. See, I keep an Excel sheet to track my submissions, and 2006 looks pretty skimpy. A total of about five agent submissions, three editors. Oh, and two contest entries. Big deal.
On the other hand, I sold a book this year, so 2006 wasn't a total loss. And I got accepted for PAN (Published Author Network) membership. And started a web site. And wrote a bunch. And learned about self-promotion.
The aforementioned Carol has a list of accomplishments that make me look like a slacker. {shrinks off in shame}But then, she actually set goals last year (imagine that).
With that in mind, I turn you to my earlier post here. Hey, they're better than last year's.
Anyway, so I went a-hunting through the archives for any mention of 2006 goals and, well...apparently I was my usual cynical self last year because this is all I found. Kind of the "anti-goals" thang. (Oh, except for where I casually included the usual weight-loss goal, and DAMN...somehow, I accidentally succeeded at that one!)
What did I accomplish in the writing vein? Hm. Not much, as it turns out. See, I keep an Excel sheet to track my submissions, and 2006 looks pretty skimpy. A total of about five agent submissions, three editors. Oh, and two contest entries. Big deal.
On the other hand, I sold a book this year, so 2006 wasn't a total loss. And I got accepted for PAN (Published Author Network) membership. And started a web site. And wrote a bunch. And learned about self-promotion.
The aforementioned Carol has a list of accomplishments that make me look like a slacker. {shrinks off in shame}But then, she actually set goals last year (imagine that).
With that in mind, I turn you to my earlier post here. Hey, they're better than last year's.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Bemco's Christmas Party
Well, we started out on the patio...after all, it was a warm, sunny day in Simi Valley, California. But then...well, it was Simi Valley after all, so the winds kicked up, forcing us inside...to the BAR.
Maybe that's why it turned out to be one of the BEST Bemco
Xmas parties EVER. Well, that and because so many of our OLD FRIENDS (and I mean OLD) turned up. I think my favorite quote
came from Ali: "You know, when I left Bemco, my son hadn't been born yet. Now he's in pre-med at UCLA." (Eeek, talk about a way to AGE someone.)
Then there was Loui, who started with Bemco when he was 24 and left when he was about 35...he's turning FIFTY this year. And he brought along a grown son whose finger I accidentally bit when he was a baby (long, unfortunate story).
Anyway, I suck at being able to put captions next to photos on blogger, so I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. (And, yes...Elvis is IN the building--that's ex-draftsman turned mortgage mogul, Loui) (The blonde with glasses is ex-assistant Kari; the other blonde is sister-in-law Polly; the two cute brunettes are twins Joey (current assistant) and Jacqui (ex-assistant) and the young guy with the Santa hat is stockroom guy Jeremiah (their brother)...oh, and (cough) grey-haired guy pictured with them is their dad, John--he holds the current record for longest employment with Bemco at 30 plus years.
Maybe that's why it turned out to be one of the BEST Bemco
Xmas parties EVER. Well, that and because so many of our OLD FRIENDS (and I mean OLD) turned up. I think my favorite quote
came from Ali: "You know, when I left Bemco, my son hadn't been born yet. Now he's in pre-med at UCLA." (Eeek, talk about a way to AGE someone.)
Then there was Loui, who started with Bemco when he was 24 and left when he was about 35...he's turning FIFTY this year. And he brought along a grown son whose finger I accidentally bit when he was a baby (long, unfortunate story).
Anyway, I suck at being able to put captions next to photos on blogger, so I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. (And, yes...Elvis is IN the building--that's ex-draftsman turned mortgage mogul, Loui) (The blonde with glasses is ex-assistant Kari; the other blonde is sister-in-law Polly; the two cute brunettes are twins Joey (current assistant) and Jacqui (ex-assistant) and the young guy with the Santa hat is stockroom guy Jeremiah (their brother)...oh, and (cough) grey-haired guy pictured with them is their dad, John--he holds the current record for longest employment with Bemco at 30 plus years.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Small Writing Epiphany
So I've been laboring over what I thought was the final chapter of Leftovers. (Operative word: thought--turns out, it's NOT the final chapter.) Now, as y'all might remember, during NaNovember, I was cranking out 5 - 10 pages a day on another story. Then came December...and...yep, the output ratcheted down to anywhere from a paragraph to ONE page a day.
What is it about NaNo that unleashes the, je ne sais quoi, unbridled creativity...?...writer's fear....?
Anyway, so I'm writing this crappy scene, pretty sure the whole book must be crappy, and it's stalling me out. Totally. (Fer sure, and gag me with a spoon.) In the midst of all this crap, I had to trudge back into the middle of the story to find a character's name or some other factoid, and I started reading. And kept reading. I couldn't stop reading.
Hey, good sign, right?
So, small lesson. Just because the scene you're writing doesn't feel like it's working; don't let yourself fall under the misconception that the entire story sucks.
And that concludes today's public service announcement for writers. You may all return to your regularly scheduled programming.
What is it about NaNo that unleashes the, je ne sais quoi, unbridled creativity...?...writer's fear....?
Anyway, so I'm writing this crappy scene, pretty sure the whole book must be crappy, and it's stalling me out. Totally. (Fer sure, and gag me with a spoon.) In the midst of all this crap, I had to trudge back into the middle of the story to find a character's name or some other factoid, and I started reading. And kept reading. I couldn't stop reading.
Hey, good sign, right?
So, small lesson. Just because the scene you're writing doesn't feel like it's working; don't let yourself fall under the misconception that the entire story sucks.
And that concludes today's public service announcement for writers. You may all return to your regularly scheduled programming.
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