So, my lovely gang of QueryTracker peeps and I agreed to start a blog chain.

I will concede that I did, indeed, agree to join the chain and to post on the topics at hand.

I did NOT anticipate the lengths those cheeky, sneaky things would go to to outshine me…

Not only did they post gorgeous, thoughtful posts on their own blogs (here, here, here, and here) on the topic of writing methods, but they stealthily rolled them out one after another while I was working a 26-hour shift. Leaving me now to catch up on reading them all and then try to hold my own in a hazy-headed post-call state. No fair, you stinkers!

Aspiring novelists are so durned competitive!

But I will show them all… I’ve headed straight for my beloved Caribou Coffee and with this large Hazelnut Latte at my side, I shall do my best to muddle through.

Despite my thread title, I am definitely much more method than madness when it comes to writing. I’m a big fan of thinking. When I sat down to write The Edge of Memory (which, by the way, came as much of a surprise to me as to anyone) I had already spent about a month of long commutes working out the plot and character details.

Before I wrote word one of my manuscript, I had already decided the major plot twists and story arc. I knew who all the characters were and what their motivations were for their behavior. And while these things did change both during the writing and editing processes, they didn’t change as much as you might have expected.

I researched the etymology of names for all my characters, and for the fictitious town (the other towns and cities I used are real cities). I researched details down to when major battles were fought in the Korean War, what the weather was like in 1951, and what major news events happened in the early eighties.

Here is the notes sheet I typed a couple of days before I started writing… my very first outline, I suppose.

Once I started writing, it was quick and chronological. I wrote, on average, a chapter a day. My chapters for TEoM average about 2300 words. On the days I had to work a 24+hour shift, I couldn’t write at all, but I usually made up for it by writing two chapters on a day that I was home.

I started the draft on October 18th, 2007. I finished the draft at around 95,000 unedited words on December 6.

I don’t hear voices or anything interesting like that. I just see the story unfolding on the back of my eyelids. Very much like a DVD. And when I don’t like something, I rewind it and play it again slightly differently. I make a lot of faces when I write, copying my characters expressions so I can describe them properly.

Whenever I got stuck, I researched some detail I needed more information about. When I couldn’t think of anything that needed researching, I designed fake book covers and compiled imaginary soundtracks. I cast actors to star in the imaginary movie based on my imaginary book. I immersed myself completely in my story until the draft was complete.

Naturally, along the way I panicked. Often. What in heck did I think I was doing? For keeping me (relatively) sane during that time, I owe huge debts of gratitude to my BFF Clara, and my first secret test readers (Ariel, Erica, and Stacey) to whom I mailed 3-chapter chunks as I finished them. Yes, the raw unedited original draft versions. And they all told me to keep going. I them more than I can ever say.

The bottom line is that writing is extremely personal. In every possible way. What works for me wouldn’t work for Elana. What works for Elana makes my head hurt when I think of trying that way. If you are driven to write, you will eventually find your way to what works for you.

My tips:

• I find music both soothing and inspirational. I have a couple hundred songs that I listened to on random while I was writing The Edge of Memory; I chose them because they were appropriate for my story. I made a disk for my car, which put me right into story-planning mode.
• Writing a novel is an overwhelming concept. So don’t do that. Write a chapter. Or a page. They will accumulate faster than you thought possible. Like laundry.
• As much as it pains you, try not to edit until your story is down on the page. It is still easier to revise the roughest prose than it is to make yourself finish when you are wallowing over how much work your writing still needs.
• Find a cheering section. Be they family, friends, internet buddies, or supportive strangers. Make yourself accountable to them and let them support you.
• Once you’ve finished the draft, then look for the ruthless folks who will help you make your manuscript better.
• And, finally, if you ever agree to join a blog chain, make sure you read the fine print, so you don’t end up babbling at Caribou Coffee.

So, that’s my sleep-deprived addition to the discussion. Your next blog post will be brought to you by the letters M and L.  As in, Mary Lindsey who is probably tapping her foot waiting for me to get my blog-chaining in gear.

Incidentally, if you’re a writer (or agent or editor or publishing peep of some sort) interested in joining a (very sneaky!) blog chain gang, we’d be delighted to have you. You can contact me, or any of the other bloggers to get started.

Many big kudos to both Authoress on the Miss Snark’s First Victim blog, and to the amazing Secret Agent Holly Root at the Waxman Agency.

This was a rocking contest in so many ways. Ms. Root invested a lot of time to give thoughtful feedback on each entry to the Are You Hooked? contest. All 115 of them.

Mine is here, if you’d like to see. It was a fresh revision, as I was inspired to rewrite my opening from another character’s point of view just a couple of weeks ago. The feedback I received was absolutely invaluable.

It is SO helpful to have fresh eyes look at your work, especially expert, professional agent eyes. I’ve now revised my new opening and am pleased with the changes.

Especially significant was the disconnect occurring with the first paragraph of my contest entry. Several readers mentioned that paragraph was less engaging because they didn’t care enough about the character yet to be moved by her husband’s death. This is why the fresh evaluation is so important. I have hundreds of test readers, but they already know and care about the characters, so they can’t have the same reaction a new reader would.

I’ve posted my revised page in my entry comments if you’re interested. And if you haven’t been by Miss Snark’s First Victim previously, you might want to spend some time poking around.

Links to all the contest entries are currently displayed on the left side of the page.

Yesterday was the memorial service for my Aunt Sue. The service was held in a church near Chicago, as she is buried near here (she’d been living in California for the last 20 years or so, but before that she lived here for over 60 years).

Since she was not a member of the parish, the priest had never met her, but gave a beautiful sermon nonetheless. He also shared this poem, which I thought was worthy of passing on:

God saw she was getting tired
and a cure was not to be.
So He put His arms around her
and whispered, “Come with Me”.

With tear-filled eyes we watched her
slowly fade away.
Although we loved her deeply,
We could not make her stay.

A golden heart stopped beating,
hard-working hands at rest.
God broke our hearts to prove to us
He only takes the best.

Funerals are always sad, naturally. But they also remind us how important the people we love are. More than any other occasion, I think, they really serve to bring families and friends closer together. As our lives get more and more hectic, we gather less often. And when we do get together for a birthday or a wedding or graduation, there is so much distraction. A DJ is playing or a football game is on.

Despite the sadness of the occasion, I appreciate the time spent quietly with those we love, sharing our memories and focusing on what made them special.

Fridays often do not mean the start of party time for me. Like many in healthcare (and retail, real estate, publishing, and many other industries) the weekend doesn’t necessarily mean time off.

So I’ve decided since I can’t really get into the I’m-Thankful-Its-Friday mentality, I will instead embrace It’s Friday… I’m thankful.

Meaning every Friday, I intend to post something I am happy about or grateful for.

So, to start out the first blog post in this vein… what am I in deep smit with today?

Parents who vaccinate their children. On schedule, or as close to it as possible.

I love you guys!

With recent concerns over potential vaccine risks and with the public’s memory of many preventable infections fading, there have been more and more parents choosing not to vaccinate their kids.

50 years ago, kids routinely became gravely ill or died from infections that we hardly ever see anymore. We hardly ever see those diseases anymore BECAUSE we vaccinate.

We are in the midst of another measles outbreak. The disease is able to spread because without universal vaccination we are losing our herd immunity.

And it isn’t only the unvaccinated folks who are at risk.

With any vaccine, there will be a small percentage of “non-responders” who won’t have a strong enough response to be immune. They can get infected if they are exposed, even though they got their shots on schedule. Not to mention the folks on chemotherapy or with suppressed immune systems.

When parents choose not to vaccinate their kids, it isn’t only their own child’s health at risk.

I know it’s no fun to drag your kids in for check-ups and bring them home crabby and aching. So I’m so grateful for you super moms and dads doing the right thing for your kids and for everyone else’s.

So, gang… what are YOU in deep smit with today?

Well, another mystery solved here on Trying To Do the Write Thing.

A couple of days ago, we received a UPS tag on our front door that they had attempted a delivery.

Neither my husband nor I had ordered anything. It isn’t our birthdays/anniversary. No friends or relations admitted to sending us surprises. We were stumped. And the tracking info on the slip wasn’t working.

But yesterday, UPS made it’s second attempt and my husband was able to accept the delivery.

Apparently, some poor misguided organization sent me a display of brochures under the impression that:

a). I would be willing to display them in my office.

b). I have an office to display them in.

c). The appropriate way to encourage me to display brochures is to send them anonymously to my home without my knowledge.

So, that’s funny enough. But it gets better.

I came home to discover that my husband had set up the display on my nightstand.

I love him.

Well, that title is a bit misleading… I’m new to writing and publishing and don’t know “everything I need to know” by a long stretch.

The inspiration for this blog post came when a quote from Willy Wonka popped into my head and seemed to fit my quest for publication.

“There’s a hundred billion people in this world, and only five of them will find golden tickets [representation as a debut author]. Even if you had a sack full of money, you probably wouldn’t find one. And after this contest [process] is over, you’ll be no different from the billions of others who didn’t find one.”

“But I am different. I want it more than any of them.”

The more I recalled from that film, the more appropriate it seemed. So, here’s what I’ve learned about publishing from Willy Wonka:

1. You should never, ever doubt what nobody is sure of. If there’s one refrain everyone and their brother is singing, it’s that publishing is subjective. Rejections are expected, even for eventual best-sellers. A particular genre or topic or plot device may be unanimously declared cliché, or overdone, and yet opinions can change in a split-second based on fresh execution. So, all you can hope to do is keep writing what you love, and hoping someone else comes along who loves it as much as you do.
2. Rude demands and entitlement issues will send you down the garbage chute. There have been a lot of posts about this recently on agent/industry blogs. From moonrat’s unproductive lunch, to odd or hostile letters sent to Jennifer Jackson, Colleen Lindsay, Jonathan Lyons and even intern Jodi Meadows… the one clear fact is that these author reactions did not help them get published. Take home point? Be a good egg.
3. In here, all of my dreams become realities, and some of my realities become dreams. I am often surprised at how often control becomes a fundamental point of focus. Part of what I enjoy about writing– the reason I find it therapeutic– is that I finally have complete control over something. My characters, their world, and what happens to them depends entirely on what I decide. That is a heady feeling. Interestingly enough, once the writing is finished the next step (if publishing is the goal) means putting yourself in a situation where you have very little control. I think that’s why so many authors get frustrated riding the query-go-round and alternately cling to rules and/or declare them arbitrary and unreasonable.
4. There is no life I know to compare with pure imagination. Opening yourself to other people is the only way to share something wonderful you’ve created. It also means they might disrespect or destroy it. Be ready to filter your chocolate river.
5. A little boy’s got to have something in this world to hope for. I struggle with this one a bit personally. I realize rejections are expected. I know thick skin is a publishing industry prerequisite. I know I haven’t queried remotely enough to make any assumptions about my chances to be published, but reading the odds can be pretty discouraging. But stories are meant to be shared, so I’ll keep a healthy dose of optimism on hand.
6. Don’t let a golden ticket make the chocolate taste terrible. As much as any aspiring author wants to be recognized and published, the publishing process should not be allowed to spoil the experience of writing. It’s easy to get swept into the madness of query letters, synopses, and pitchcraft. And I’ve spent my fair share of time agonizing over query blurb wording (many can testify to that), but it is important, I think, to remember why we started writing in the first place.

Kate on ktliterary posted a while back about Josie Bloss’s plans for a tattoo to celebrate the release of her novel Band Geek Love, and asked what other aspiring authors would do to celebrate publication. I think I might sing “Golden Ticket” at the top of my lungs:

I never thought my life could be

Anything but catastrophe

But suddenly I begin to see

A bit of good luck for me.

Cuz I’ve got a golden ticket

I’ve got a golden twinkle in my eye.

I never had a chance to shine

Never a happy song to sing

But suddenly half the world is mine

what an amazing thing!

Cuz I’ve got a golden ticket

I’ve got a golden chance to make my way

And with a golden ticket

It’s a golden day.

I got word today that my great-aunt Isabelle “Sue” Dyer passed away last night.

It wasn’t unexpected; her health had been in decline for quite some time. I haven’t seen her since before my husband and I got married, but I still miss her.

Never married, she lived with my great-uncle (my godfather) until he passed away from a heart attack when I was eleven. I think she sort of took over for him when he passed, and I will always be indebted to her for her care and kindness.

When I was struggling to put myself through college, there was a point where I thought I’d never pull it off. I was already working as many hours as possible. I’d gotten special permissions to cram my schedule with extra classes so I could finish my biology degree in 3 years instead of four. My credit cards were maxed from charging tuition, and I had no more ideas on how I could financially manage another year of school.

I was ready to drop out and work for a while in the hope of making it back to finish my degree someday. Then, without my even asking, Aunt Sue loaned me the last money I needed to stay in school.

On the day I graduated, I got a note from her, in which she forgave the “loan” as a graduation present. “Just think,” she wrote. “When you’re as old as I am and people try to call you a C.O.L. (Crazy Old Lady), you can show them your diploma and tell them you’re a W.O.W. (Wise Old Woman).”

I’ll miss you, Aunt Sue. You always WOWed me.

Yesterday I took my husband to his physical therapy appointment. Normally, while he is doing his session, I sit in the lobby and read. But yesterday, having been chastised that morning for reading too much and ignoring my husband, I had no book with me.

So naturally, my attention turned to my surroundings instead.

It’s a large waiting area, but it was pretty crowded yesterday, so I ended up sitting in what was clearly the kids section. As a pediatrician, this doesn’t bother me. I spent a few minutes speculating on why there was a shelf full of videos when there was no VCR or even a television in sight. Then, my eyes fell on a wooden alphabet puzzle on the pint-sized table in front of me.

A quick glance over the rubble of pieces left me suspecting that not all of the letters were present and accounted for. As the minutes stretched past, boredom and curiosity triumphed over self-restraint and I picked it up. Using my keen alphabet expertise, I managed to sort the letters into their respective spots.

A-ha! My hypothesis proved correct. The letters A, M, and X were nowhere to be found. How diabolical. No wonder our kids can’t read.

Using my powers of deduction, I embraced the only possible conclusion.

Police now consider a preschool-age boy named Max a “person of interest” in this gripping mystery.

I don’t care what sort of guilt trip my husband lays on me. Next time, I’m smuggling a book in my purse. Look what sort of nuttiness goes through my head when I’m left to amuse myself.

Flying Sperm!

Okay, this is not really my story to tell, but it is on my mind almost daily, so here goes.

My mother attended an all-girls Catholic high school. One of the mousiest, most nervous and awkward nuns was assigned the unwelcome duty of providing sex education.

This nun decided that to minimize embarrassment, she would place an empty coffee can on her desk, and anyone who had a question could put it into the can anonymously and each week they would take some questions out of the can and answer them.

So the first week went by, and the coffee can got pretty full. The time came for the first class session, and the nun pulled the first question from the can and read, “What is masturbation?”

Sister turned bright pink and asked if anyone in the class had an answer to that question. No one did. So they decided they’d come back to it later.

The second question was someone messing with the nun by asking, “What if you’re just walking down the street, and a flying sperm lands on you and you get pregnant?”

At this, the Sister ended the class. Permanently. And for weeks the girls carried cans of raid and fly swatters and whatnot to “protect themselves”. The Sister requested that the anonymous questioner come to speak with her privately, but naturally she never came forward.

So, why, do you ask, am I thinking of flying sperm all the time?

Well, I am getting old (I’ll turn 35 late this summer). I have a few floaters now. And one of them looks like this *warning: bad paint drawing to follow*:

I mean it seriously even looks like you can see the genetic material and everything.

If I point my eyes all the way to my right, I can see that bugger. When I try to focus on it, it “swims” across my field of vision and disappears off to my left. Flying Sperm!!

An internet friend of mine recently shared the story of how her sister rescued a mouse from a glue trap.  The story is not really mine to tell, but I wanted to give you this important bit of information:

“It’s harder than you think to wash a mouse.”

Good to get that fact out to the general public, I think.