This particular quote comes from Tom Hanks talking about Philadelphia, a movie he starred in as a man living with AIDS. This quote came from talking about the gay men he worked with during the making of the film, men that were gone. This particular Actor’s Studio I watched happened during the 1990s. Already only a handful had survived so I’m sure most, if not all of the men, are now gone.

And what fascinates me about this quote is that we live dual realities. One reality we accept wholeheartedly. More than likely it’s the less painful one. We watch a movie. We read a book. For me, we write a book. But it’s the memories attached to that action. I’ve written about this idea before on Southern Fried Chicas. But it still compels me. I can remember one thing about my real life when I re-read/edit my own stories. I’m sure I can be transported in time when I read Love, Unexpected, my first book. Even without opening the word doc. I can recall the drive–the newness to this writing thing. I may have had angst, but I can’t recall. It was such a new thing and so wonderful and so empowering nothing could make it horrible.

Oh, well, submitting it. And I’m eternally grateful no one actually replied to that first submission. My state of mind hinged on no one telling me the truth about my writing. Goodness it was so precious and fragile that I can say if someone told me I couldn’t write I would have stopped. Yes, I would have stopped just from someone saying “Keep your day job.”

And with each book I can attach a writing/life lesson and memory to. How Much You Want to Bet? = whims can lead you down interesting paths. See Megan Run = this writing thing is not easy.  I Said Never = All of them aren’t mean to be published. Diary of a Food Addict = You’ve got to love this thing even if your spirit is broken. Everything You Need = You can write for money.  I  can do this with all of my books. All of them. They are much more than words on a page. May be a bad thing in the scheme of things, but I can tract my life by what I’ve written.

And some days I believe that may be the point. I’m curious to know what memories you can get from the books you’ve written.

I’ve been sitting on a book for months. It’s a book I absolutely believe in. Not only is it what I imagined in my head when the idea first came to me, but it’s better in so many other ways. And I don’t want to submit it.

I’m scared that I’m going to hear this book isn’t as good as I think it is. Or that it is but it’s just not right.  It’s not hot enough. It’s not good enough to be published.

Doesn’t matter that the stars may align and someone would take this book, but I’m scared that this book will go into the grave yard. My solution is to do nothing, which by default puts the book in the grave yard. But I reason with myself at least it’s not forced to be there. I’ve got control of the outcome.

I hate that I feel I need to do this. Worse, since I know I’m doing this, what is the point of writing any other book? I know I can finish a novel. I know I’ll always have stories floating around in my head, but since I have no intent to get them published why put myself through the misery of the dreaded middle?

The only solution is to submit the book. Admitting my fear is nice and all, but it means nothing if I don’t do anything about. Other wise I’m just bitching and wallowing. And I know I won’t be able to write until I do this.

So would it be asking too much for ya’ll to hold my hand? Also, what’s got you scared?

In defense of romance type of post has rarely happened on my blog, because other people have always said it better. Really what can you say to arguments that romance novels today will never be an Austen or Bronte? They won’t be for another 100 years at the very least. Plus, those authors are dead and the work they created has stood the test of time. Scrunity and praise has been given by both scholars and laymen.

Yes, in every romance novel today there’s a moment, maybe more than necessary, of those feel good emotions that make you blush, giggle, or sigh. *get your tomatoes ready* The very idea of  romance is supposed to be the fluff of life. There’s nothing wrong with that. Have you met people who didn’t enjoy the fluff? I have. Not pretty and makes me want to have a shot of whiskey after dealing with him/her for five minutes. So, yes, I believe romance is fluff. I also believe fluff is necessary to stay sane.

Where I truly start to break from naysayers of the genre (even some who love romance) is that’s ALL romance novels are.  The romance, the fluff, that makes it truly resonate is the conterpart that’s often ignored or not given enough due for the role it plays in a romance novel. Even with Disney’s spin on fairy tales the heroine’s come from dark places–broken homes, deceased parents, evil relatives. I find it baffling that in our society it’s more accepted to laugh in the face of tradegy than instead to learn to love, to let yourself be vulnerable, to share those dark places with someone else in the face of tradegy. Between laughing and loving unconditionally, I find the latter takes more cajones. (Note: this genre is filled to the brim with women.)

A genre that deals with rape, abuse (verbal, emotional, physcial) from a signficant other and/or parent, weight/skewed self-image on and on. Not to mention the themes of redemption, forgiveness, acceptance…again on and on. Yet in some circles it’ll never be more than a bodice ripper. Only the lightness, the fluff of romance is considered and dismissed. What makes that necessary component of living in this world so worthy of disdain?

For me when it’s put in those terms I’ll take fluff any day.

I signed up for 31 Days to a Better Blog eight months ago. My intentions were in the right place. I wanted a blog that actually helped people and entertained them or even made them ponder for five seconds after closing out the screen. Needless to say I was waylaid.

Anyway, the first assignment is to create an elevator pitch for my blog. As it stands I have no idea what this space is supposed to be. So for it’s been narcissistic to the extreme–about my books, my writing process, my children on and on and so forth. To my three faithful readers I apologize.

Despite my need to change the basic set up, underneath it all I still want a blend of a place for a public diary when it comes to my writing life that more times than I want crosses over into personal and for it NOT to be about me all the time. All the while being entertaining and informative. The only for sure thing in my mind is creating a day for Time Wasters.

Other than that I’m open to ideas. What would you like to see more often on blogs in general? An author’s blog? My blog, since I’m asking?

I’m guilty of a phrase. I use it so often it’s become a mantra in a way. It’s not something I want as a mantra, because every time I place it before a a statements it undermines me. It’s an insidious way to put myself down. To make me less.

I can’t blame the phrase. It’s innocent.  In the grand scheme it’s ok to express that you have uncertain about an idea, fact, or even feeling. Matter fact admitting that you aren’t certain can be very humbling and sometimes life changing.

Yet 90 percent of time I used the phrase with false modesty. I denounced false modesty almost a year ago and my subconscious rebelled.

So what is the phrase?

I think

Simple, right?

But, I think revising is truly a mindset.

I don’t think it, I believe it. It’s true for me. I know my reluctance to just say this is what I believe has everything to do with my discomfort of forcing my ideas on someone else. What if I’m wrong? If how I hate being wrong was water it’d be the size of the Pacific. No, I’m not a know-it all. Really. I hate feeling stupid. Something probably happened when I was a kid and it stayed with me. I’m more than sure it’s been reinforced, (*cue psychobabble*) because I want it to be reinforced. Believing I don’t know anything keeps me from doing the really scary things–like things that would crush me if I don’t succeed.

I think is such a small phrase, but when I use it I’m telling myself I’m stupid.

A stretch right?

But, I’m stupid to believe revising is a mindset.

Yeah.

So first order of risky decisions this year, I’m cutting out I think from my vocabulary. I’ll use some other words or phrase to explain my uncertainty when I’m actually uncertain. That way I’ll have to assess (ha) the why.

What words or phrases are you willing to cut?

My father told me the best part of being a parent was watching your children in action. After the past three weeks I have to agree. My DD is 10 and she plays every game with a fierce intensity. She’s competitive to a fault, but I can’t blame her because so am I. We don’t take It’s just a game to heart. You’ve got to win. I’ve named her Little Miss Diva for a reason.

My son knows how to play. It could have everything to do with the fact he’s five. Yet the more I watch him play I don’t want to lead him down the same road as my daughter and I–you have to win. Because see, when he plays baseball he thinks he’s both sides. He cheers when he hits the ball–when he actually hits it. He cheers when there’s an OUT from said hit ball. He cheers when he pitches. He cheers when the batter hits the ball he pitched.  I won’t even talk about the dance he does when there’s a homerun–even if it’s from the other side.

When he plays boxing I have to leave the room, because well he doesn’t box, but does karate. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve said, “Honey he doesn’t feel the kick.”

And tennis–which is where my daughter and I have declared war on each other–he sometimes plays in the kitchen. No you can’t even see the t.v. in my kitchen. * I’m surprised the Wii would still pick up anything in there.* He’ll stand in there and swing the the remote left to right, depending on his mood, AND you can still hear him the ball.

Bowling is the only game he does really, really well.

Yet at the end of the day he’s not drained from playing. He doesn’t feel defeated because he can’t get to a certain level. Matter of fact if I let him he would play the game until he went to bed. He’s not close to being a pro nor does he care. Not only am I proud of him, but I’m so envious of that ability to play. So the next time my I’m hurting from tennis elbow I’ll try to remember to play more like my son ’cause I think he has the secret to really winning.

How do you play?

I can’t remember if I told ya’ll, but I’m there blogging  every other Monday. But really Chicas is worth checking every day. Oh, and Pam, you shouldn’t venture over for this particular post.

So go here…

Note: I’m writing this letter to you for several reasons:

1. So you can remember what made you do all sorts of crazy things.
2. To keep ya honest. Time and time again it’s been proven you cannot keep promises to yourself. Remember the whole “I’ll get rid of all the books I don’t read”promise? Hmm? Thought so.

You saw some promo the other day about Honda—yes Honda—that inspired you. They had these employes and big wigs of the company talking about a year where they took a chance AND they failed and they failed horribly. I mean the type of crash and burn most companies never live down. I kept thinking why would they do that to themselves? A solid company who would be successful just going with the status quo. In the situation the story could have easily been the whole tortoise and the hare type of thing. But then the video went on and they learned something from that big spectacular failure. The other old adage—in order to succeed you have to fail.

But that’s not what really stuck with you. Maybe you can remember the moment without me jogging your memory. Hopefully you are smiling at how something so small could turn into something so big. Or maybe you are sobbing, because this crazy idea that you had 365 days ago has ripped out your very soul, placed it through a shredder and used the pieces to line a gerbil’s cage.

If that’s the case you have me to blame, because in that moment I thought about the past two years. Excuse my language, but they were utter shit—collectively speaking. In those two years you tried safe, you tried edgy, prolific, you even tried being a condensed version of yourself. And still got your teeth knocked out of you. At this point the Universe is walking around with your teeth on a necklace as a souvenir. If nothing else you should be proud that this time last you said screw it. (ok, you dropped the f-bomb.)

Not in the throw up your hands and give up short of way but The Rocky way—I’m going to get to the top of these damn steps. And you never do that, not when it matters.

You’re the type of person to look at the odds and go with them. After everything you went through—and you know what I’m talking about—you deserved a few seasons of protecting yourself. But you know what? You’ve been knocked around anyway. And honey, if you are going to get knocked down you might as well do it in a way that garners respect and some snide comments that you must have lost it.

Here’s the best part though, and the one you should remember if nothing else, you don’t care about the outcome. The funnest and scariest part is taking the risk. You’ve spent the past five years on being a better writer. That process will never end and that’s why you love what you do. But now its time to trust that you’ve learned what you need in order to send your books out there in the world. You’ve learned what you need to promote yourself. Hell, you’ve only embarrassed yourself a handful of times networking. Talk about progress. Now you need to learn what it truly means to jump when you know there is no safety net, no excuses, just you baring your heart for everyone to see all the while saying screw it! (ok, in your head you know what you are really saying.)

So when you read this I just want you to remember the why of it all. If that doesn’t help break out the champagne and orange juice, because you started this year with so much moxie.

Sincerely,

Melissa Blue of December 31, 2009

The great thing about keeping a blog is that you have proof of what you did. Good or bad you can go back and read all the insane thoughts that crossed your mind that you inflicted on your readers. Or maybe that’s just my blog.

And this year, more than others, I find what my father told me when I was younger to be true–the older you get the faster the years fly by.  Really I can vaguely remember that I was in school trying to get my paralegal certificate–and now I can call myself a paralegal. (Not legally in the state of CA since I don’t work under an attorney, but go with me here.) And, other parts of the year….well, let’s just say I’m glad I blogged A LOT to remind me of what happened.

So in that vein this year’s wrap up will be different. What I learned and what I’ve gone through is hard to put into words and to understand if you haven’t lived it. But for you readers I’ll try.

As I said several times this year I didn’t have a real plan. So there sat my flimsy goal to become a better writer and truly what does that mean? And very much like a novel you don’t plot (or even when you do) all sorts of other things cropped up. So on top of the goal I couldn’t really measure or weigh I ended up with another one. Basic–survive. And I did. Somehow.

Let’s start with the goals  and lessons I didn’t expect to learn.

1. and 2. These two need go together like talking about how to separate writing and publishing, which is still a struggle. That theory is my Mount Everest and one day I will climb it, conquer and call it my beoytch. Until then…

So this year’s contrary learning experience are these two thoughts:

Writing is a job.

Writing is more than a daily word count.

So let’s start with the first one.

No really. It’s a job. I quit my ordinary job and thought ‘hey, I don’t have to work anymore. I can just write. That’ not real work.’

I’ll give you a moment to get off the floor from laughing.

Okay, I didn’t think that in such a literal sense, but I never treated writing as a job. I never thought about it.  With how crazy my life was, I couldn’t. I stole time to write and revise.  I thought about the current book I was writing and the next book I would write. Not why I should or shouldn’t write that book or how it would fit into my current body of work.

With my new opinion of a career for myself, well, it wasn’t a CAREER.  With a career one thinks, even in an arbitrary sense, where you want to be in a few years. The cliche is the office with the view. So, with writing I wanted to write at least part-time and get paid well doing it.  I didn’t think of HOW I would get to write part-time and get paid while doing it.

The curve ball is that I completely skipped that step. I found myself writing full-time. Or at least I should have been writing full-time, since all I had was time to write. And I was not getting paid to do it.

But then June or July came around and I realized that I hadn’t written. Yes, I had a short story as a freebie on my site. But 2k is piddly in comparison to what I’ve written before. Yeah, yeah, I had school, mothering and all that jazz to deal with, but I’M A WRITER. Writers write. Hell, even revise. I was a somewhat participant in the Mentor program at Romance Divas, but that wasn’t WRITING that was discovering. (which I’ll attack later for my second point of Wring is more than a daily word count.*)

A call for Christmas Novella’s was put out. I’d written one novella for a specific submission already. I could totally do it again, and that way I could make my depressing word count for the year look somewhat substantial. So I did complete the story. Then I was really bit by the writing bug. I went into a writing frenzy that was really taking writing as a job. I was editing and if I wasn’t editing I was writing. If I wasn’t writing I was planning another book to write. I was looking at my body of work and what would best fit. I was also letting myself think in terms of “fun” books so I would burn myself out. (Like I had done last year)

I’m not easily impressed, but I impressed myself by the work ethic I stuck to. Never before I had taken writing so seriously. I didn’t really have a to-do list, but I made sure that every day I did something with my writing career. I even decided to concentrate on contemporary romance to make a name for myself. Seriously, from a girl who thought ‘hey I’ll write a book’ to ‘I’m totally going to make a career out of this’, that arc is impressive for me.

But while doing a writing “chore” every day I realized the second part of the equation.

Writing is so much more than putting words to a page.

Sometimes you really have to stare off into space to get some work done. Don’t know the hero’s motivation and it’s just not coming to you in the regular way…watch some t.v. or a movie for a bit, it’ll come to you when you least expect it or the next time you sit down at the computer.  You have a troublesome scene (s), well maybe you need to go through a couple of workshops before the light bulb hits you in the head.

Maybe it’s our culture that working toward’s something means showing something as proof–a degree, a pay check, a book, but something you can point at and say SEE I AM DOING SOMETHING. Word count is the one thing writers point to and find themselves feeling guilty about. At least this writer.

Excuse my language, but I call bullshit.

Deep down in my writer bones I’ve learned it’s not farting around. Too many times I’ve walked away from work and come back with a fire in my belly.  Or knowing EXACTLY how to fix the scene or character.  The method of doing something else can be scientifically proven. (No really it can. Find any research on learning something then going to sleep.) I realized that writing, in all it’s forms, is work.

3. It did turn out to be The Year of the Writer. So what I learned is that flimsy goals can have unexpected, and very fulfilling results.

With learning to be a better writer firmly in my mind, I signed up to be in the Mentor Program with the Romance Divas. I’ll be perfectly honest, I expected to learn zilch during the entire 2-3 months. I’m contrary and that’s how I learn. Well, not learn, but absorb. I hate change. So when I go out to seek “knowledge” I know on some level I just want my knowledge to be reaffirmed.

It’s a personality flaw so forgive me. But the thing is I was right. 5 months after the program ended and I opened up the book I’d been working on, I could see I learned A Lot. I learned about depth. I learned I’m not there yet when it comes to Single Titles. I learned what it meant to do front work on a novel so the back work can be better. I won’t lose the magic if I do.

4. Closely connected to the above. My journey is my journey. No one else can go through it but me. My process is my process at the time. Not what it used to be or what it will be.

So, why do I keep measuring it to someone else’s? Maybe I’ve just reached the point where I trust my writing. I trust myself. I know my flaws and I know I have a few more I don’t know about. But at the same time I will fix the ones that need to be fixed and accept the ones that make me who I am. I get satisfaction seeing that who I become personally leaks into the writer I’m shaping into.

The vital thing I’ve got to overcome is thinking I know nothing about this writing biz and about crafting a story. I’ve got to stop being afraid someone will come along to say, “You don’t know anything” because I do know something. And if there’s something else I don’t know I make damn I found out.

5. This blog is novel length by now and if you are still reading I’ll give you the goods. I did a lot this year. Here are the stats:

A. Sin, Lynne, Sin: 47,000

B. Talk Nerdy To Me: 2,000

C. Sugar Plum Fantasies: 19,000

D. Die Like You Mean It: 63,000

Edited Everything You Need over and over and over…. : 33,000

Paralegal Certificate: 7 years in the making

Raise two children: 10 years and 5 years of age

I cleaned the house at least twice.

Too many revelations to count

Learned to be a better writer

Too many revelations to count

= Damn good year

I’m thinking the theme for next year will be taking risks.

From me to you and yours.