Milestone

Today, the number of hits on this blog site topped 3000.  Yay, for me.  And thanks anyone and everyone who has visited.  I appreciate the attention and support.  Love you all!!

Sigh...

Today, I got a reject from the last agent.  She was the first to actually provide some constructive criticism.  Her email went like this:

"Unfortunately, I just don't think I'm the right agent for this project. While I really loved the way the book opened, I was disappointed that the family curse faded into the background as the book progressed. I also just thought the pacing was rather slow and there wasn't enough tension to keep me turning the pages."

Unfortunately, I'm not sure if there is a right agent for my story, because even though Donald Maass says that literary and genre should merge, there don't seem to be any agents out there right now who are interested in representing a work that merges the two. 

Counting Crows sits somewhere between being literary and romance and urban fantasy, but the agent is absolutely right.  For a genre book, it moves too slowly.  For a literary novel, it's too romancy. 

So what do I do now?  I'm not sure.  Seriously, not sure.  Sometimes I just want to give up. 

Slumping it ...

I am having a hard time writing lately, including this blog.  My motivation is down, way down.  Maybe I'm just tired, but my motivation is focusing on other areas, in getting things done that have been on hold for awhile, like hanging the TV over the fireplace and finishing the cat quilt.

Over the years that I've been writing, these slumps happen. Especially if I'm trying to juggle too many thing.  Usually when I accept that I need some down time and take it, the drive to write returns.  So that's what I'm going to do. 

That's not to say that I won't be thinking about writing.  I just need the free time to build the story.  And I need to give myself permission to do nothing if I feel like it.

Not Writing

So a week has gone by with lots of good intentions, but nothing put on paper.  That isn't to say that I'm not thinking about writing, about the characters and their story obsessively.  Sometimes the pressure almost drives me crazy, but I can't seem to open the MS Word document and type the words.

Yesterday, I laid on the sofa and watched a movie called Starting Out in the Evening.  It was about an aging novelist, working on his last novel, with lots of other plot lines going on, including a very young woman doing her thesis on his prior work.

One of the scenes went like this.  She has asked him how he decides what to write.

~ o ~

"I start with a character. Usually just a fleeting glimpse of a character. With Tenderness, I had a picture of a woman being asked to leave a museum because she'd run her hand over one of the statues. I had no idea who she was or why she was touching the statue. I wrote the book to find out."

"How do you find out?"

"You just sit down at the typewriter and follow the character around. It's like being a detective. You write page after page after page just finding out who they are. You wait for them to do something interesting." He sighed. "That's one reason why it takes me so long. Sometimes they don't do anything interesting for a long time. And sometimes they never do. There are five or six books that I've begun but never finished. I would spend a year or two, even longer, following these characters around, but they finally never did anything that was interesting enough."

~ o ~

I'm sort of doing that, just not at the keyboard.  In my head, I'm following my characters around, eavesdropping on their conversations, on their life.  I've built a couple of scenes in my head, or at least snippets of scenes.  Most of the time, I'm not sure how the character got there.  Like his image of the woman in the museum, I have flashes of things happening that haven't solidified in my head.

Where am I getting hung up?  Let me give you an idea.  I know that Beryl has an issue with stairs.  I know how she reacts to them.  I just don't know why. (I have a few ideas, but whatever I decide may affect the character of her father or mother.)  I know that her mother commits suicide, but I don't know how.  I know that Beryl sees her dead brother, but I don't know how crazy she is.  Is she totally normal except for the fact that she sees and talks to Jeryl?  Or is she off the scales looney-tunes?  And if she is seriously, all-in crazy, how do I write her character?  First person or third person.  Because she wouldn't know she was crazy, would she?  And finally, how do I bring in the back story, the real back story, not just what Beryl remembers, especially if she is deeply, proundly bonkers? 

All these things, and many more, need to be answered.  But then again, this is the fun part.

Happy New Year!

Yes, it's that time again.  Another year rolled.  Yet here I sit, still agent-less, and it absolutely has an affect on my attitude, on my perseverance. Just like water wears away stone, it's always in the back of my mind that no agents have found my work worth representing, but I am fighting to remain positive about my writing skills. 

So the only resolution I have for 2013 is to enjoy myself, and that includes writing.  I don't have enough time left in my life to make myself miserable over someone else's opinion.  I have so many things to appreciate, to be happy about, that fretting about not having an agent isn't something on which I want to waste my time.

Here are some of the truly important things in my life:

(1) I have wonderful friends, supportive and generous friends, and I like most of my co-workers.  Sure, every company has its share of assholes, so most is a good thing.  Most of my friends are from work.

(2) And then there's my family.  I love them, even my mother, and they love me, even my mother.  Like my friends, they're supportive and generous. 

(3) I have a loving pet, my cat, BlackBeary; although at her age, her medical bills are also putting a dent in (4). I love her so much. She sleeps beside me every night, and no matter how late I sleep in, she doesn't wake me up in the morning for her breakfast. But she does get insistent once I'm up.  Meow. Meow. Meow. Breakfast. Breakfast. Breakfast. Every morning she runs down the hall ahead of me, constantly looking back to make sure that I'm right behind her, just in case I forget how to get to the kitchen.

(4) I have a good salary, one such that I'm not living from paycheck to paycheck, like I used to when I was married, but that's a story for another day.

(5) I have good health, and dental, even though my part of the implant work (oral surgery) I had done on the 21st is putting a huge dent in (4) right now. I have health insurance, which many people in our country do not.

(6) I was finally able to make my pilgrimage to Scotland in 2012, something I've dreamed of for years.  And my brother was able to go with me. 

(7)  I have a job I don't hate, a secure job.  I'm intelligent, financially secure, a good cook, a good friend, a good guest.  I'm happy and confident, mostly.

And I'm a good writer.

With that said, there are a ton of good things about my life that I didn't list, that I don't think about until they happen, but it's a good life.  Published author or not, I've got a good life. 

And I will be published.  I just need to be patient.

Life Getting in the Way...

Have I written anything since my last blog post?  No, I have not. 

T'is the season for writing procrastination. Seriously.

There's buying and wrapping and baking to be done.  There's work and condo refinancing and seasonal cleaning to be done.  There's sewing and crafting and so so many other things that get in the way of me putting something on the page.

And finally there's eating and drinking and celebrating with friends to be done.

So, yes, life is getting in the way, but in a great way.

Ok, This Weekend I was Lazy...

This weekend, I was lazy, well mostly on Sunday.  Although I did watch the SEC championship yesterday while cleaning house and cooking and washing clothes.  Today, I did a bit of cleaning--I do some most every day just to stay on top of it--but mostly I watched TV and movies.  And read. 

I thought a lot about writing, but for some reason I couldn't seem to get motivated to click on that little MS Word icon pinned to my taskbar.  It's a strange psychological situation.  I want to write, but I don't.  I can't figure out if it is from fear (of what I'm writing will be awful) or from weariness or some other odd ailment.  And no, it's not writer's block.  I have scenes in my head. I just don't have the energy to put them on paper.

I'm sure this is an issue for lots of writers who aren't lucky enough to write for a living.  Or to have someone support them while they write.  We have a full life, 40+ hours a week of work, plus family, friends, and such, and on the side, we feel the need to produce a novel or five.  It can be exhausting, both physically and emotionally.

No, I take back the part about not knowing.  I do know much of what it is, for me at least.