I Hope

From the heart of a Pitch Wars hopeful ...

As my #PitchWars submission sits in the read/to-be-read piles of six different mentors, I'm letting it all go whether I'll be picked or not. Translation: I deeply care whether I'm chosen to be mentored for this book and ready to throw myself into the hard work required, but I won't let this period of "not knowing" or "not being picked" consume me or define me.

This book has so many feels and dichotomies about good and bad in this world and beyond. Tenderness follows the ugly. Regrets play out in sharp contrast to invested pride. The story answers questions. It raises many more. It (should) cause us to examine our own actions and their consequences--short-term, long-term, and perhaps eternal. Above all else, it offers hope.

I hope a mentor can glimpse some of these issues from what little she reads in my query and first pages. I hope they grab her heart enough so she'll want to reach out and help me make this story the best it can be.

If not, all will be well. My story will find a way. The path lengthens, but perhaps my story's time is not yet here. Maybe it must wait a bit while society matures, or becomes desperate enough to realize it needs stories like mine.

I hope that time is now. If not, I'll be like Red in Shawshank Redemption and simply hope.

I Got Picked!!

Two amazing events this past week. 

One, a luck of the draw. The other, based on skill. I'll happily take them both.

A few weeks ago, or maybe months because time passes so darn fast, I wrote a post on not getting picked. I would reference it here, but haven't figured out that blog function yet. Anyway, the gist of the post was, I could use the disappointment of not getting picked to become bitter, or pick myself up and do whatever it took to make myself better. We're talking writing and trying to procure an agent for my novel. Since I love writing and want this novel to shine like the top of the Chrysler Building, I've been working hard to make my writing better.

So, the amazing events ...

The first is connected with #PitchWars (for more info, go here: http://www.brenda-drake.com/pitch-wars/  ) and an amazing group of folks who were mentored last year, better known as the 2016 mentees. Many of them took it upon themselves to mentee some of us participating in 2017's #PitchWars. We were chosen by random drawing to have our query letter and the first ten pages of our manuscript critiqued. Just so happens that I was picked. My mentee/mentor was Ian Barnes, who writes science fiction and fantasy.

The second amazing event was based on writing merit. Back in June, I submitted to another Twitter contest called #pg70pit. The contest is based on the premise that the true talent of an author will show up by page 69 or 70, rather than in the beginning, which can be a little shaky. The entry could be up to 257 words, no more. Several entries were disqualified because they went over. We submitted first, and under each category of Middle Grade, Young Adult, and Adult, seventy entries were randomly chosen.

In the Adult category, I got picked. 

Our two rescue dogs, Paco (left) and Lola. 

They were abandoned to shelters. Then we picked them.

Now came the hard part. 

Four editors read each entry and scored it. The top seven scores out of the seventy would be put through to the agent round. It turns out there were several ties, yielding fourteen entries in the top seven scores. Mine was number eight. Again, I was picked. The shock and disbelief shouldn't have been as great as they were. But when it's the first time someone in a judging position says, this writing has merit and you get to move on to the final round, it's time to celebrate.

I may or may not be picked again. 

I won't focus on that now. I'll focus on this accomplishment, this day, this week. Then move on to my next goal of getting picked for the next thing.

Always trying to improve.

I entered this watercolor in a juried art show three years ago.

It was picked for the show, but didn't win any awards.

However, it was picked to hang at the entrance to the show.

2017 #PitchWars #PimpMyBio

http://www.lanapattinson.com/pitch-wars-2017-pimpmybio-contestant-blog-hop/

So this is me, @LynGoodpaster on Twitter, but writing under the pen name Perrin Birk, in all my not-too-proud-to-blog-hop-without-makeup glory. Holding my Sheldon Cooper doll. Because he and I have that thing in common called Asperger's. It's great for a strong work ethic and focusing on projects like writing and art, and dentistry which I used to practice. And teaching physics labs at Indiana University and biology labs at the University of Notre Dame (also in the past). But it also causes social miscues and foot-in-mouth disease, because, hard as I try, the filter sometimes slips. I'll apologize ahead of time. THE ROSIE PROJECT is a favorite book. Now you know why.

This is my first time participating in #PitchWars, which I heard about through one of last year's mentors, Jennie Nash. I've also been through #PitchMadness, #PitMad, and all the other pitching contests as a bridesmaid, never a bride. It's all good, because I've made some great friends and experienced firsthand the generosity of editors and others so willing to help. Thanks to Brenda Drake and all those who give of their time and effort to lift the rest of us to higher planes of creativity and communication.

I'm a member of the Florida Writer's Association, have been writing since 2002, attended two major writing conferences where I pitched to editors and literary agents (several requests, but no takers yet--that's why I'm here), and participated in two Donald Maass' Breakout Novel Intensive week-long writers' workshops. 

About my book: titled GHOST SAVIORS, a Literary Women's Fiction with supernatural elements at 95K. 

If you're a mentor and you've read the query and first pages, you know the general gist of the story, but it began with a kernel "What if ..." six years ago. "What if a young widow, successful outside her marriage and abused by her husband, exiled herself to heal after his death? What if the mansion where she stayed turned out to be haunted by (fill in the blank, and it's not her dead husband)? How would she and the ghost deal with it?" Ah, you didn't think I was going to spoil it, did you? 

The more I wrote and gave to friends to beta read, the more they loved Owen, her guardian ghost, and wanted me to expand his role. I pitched the idea in 2014 to an editor of a Random House imprint, and she said, "I want to know more about character X. I haven't seen anything with a character X before." So character X took on an entirely new, beefed-up role, one my book coach and I loved, and a surprise twist that caught all the betas going, "Whaaa--? Did NOT see that one coming!" 

I hope the first pages intrigue you enough to want to read more. But I also understand the subjective nature of this business. I appreciate you taking a look and giving it consideration.

Fun Facts:

My humor may be weird, but I can be fun.

1.  Two rescue chihuahuas came to live with us, decided they liked us, and have never left ... except for one near escape lasting less than a minute before said chi-chi recognized the error of his ways and immediately returned. The sharp-clawed cat is still laughing.

2. I love thrill rides, white water rafting, and fast cars. Have yet to jump out of an airplane, but that's why the future exists.

3. I sang a song from The Secret Garden in front of a crowd of over 1000 people and received a standing ovation. The crowd didn't realize I held the mic with two hands because my hands shook so badly I was afraid I'd drop the mic. 

4. I don't miss practicing dentistry. I do miss interacting with all the fascinating, diverse folks from ALL walks of life--everyone from prisoners in shackles to multimillionaires. 

Mentors, what will you get if you pick me? I think y'all are intelligent, astute people and have a fairly good picture formed already. What am I looking for? Be direct, tough, and kind. I need to know what doesn't work and why, so I can fix it. I'll work hard and give it my all to make this the best book it can be. Simple. Right? Too late. I heard you chuckle.

And because roses mean so much to my main character Krista ...

If you made it this far, thanks for reading!

Change Can Be Good with the Right Attitude

Peonies in Illinois. I LOVE peonies.

As I mentioned in a couple of posts back, dear husband and I decided in January to move when our lease ended the first of June. Being frugal, we also wanted to move as much as the two of us possibly could before enlisting the aid of friends with muscles and youth. Not that these friends would charge us, but they have families and jobs. We didn't want to take advantage of their time and generosity (and muscles). So, hubs and I over days and weeks slowly boxed up and moved ourselves as much as we could. It was only seven miles away. No big deal. Hold on. I dislike moving. Any move for us is a big deal.

We learned some lessons we didn't want to learn, but denial only goes so far before a person looks downright stupid. 

The two of us are getting older. We also have some health issues that don't lend themselves to physical labor. Sheer will and determination only gets a person so far before one collapses in exhaustion; hence, the weeks and months needed to accomplish the move -- one to two days of actual moving, then several days' recuperation. 

Since we downsized by half, we also had to scrutinize exactly what we needed to take. Two paper shredders destroyed contents of two filing cabinets and numerous boxes that should have been destroyed ages ago. One shredder burned up. Week after week, the large recycle bin overflowed. The energy used to move negated organizing garage sales, yard sales, etc., and resulted in happy neighbors being the recipients of the oft-repeated, "Hey, could you use this?" What they couldn't use, Salvation Army accepted readily. One of our volunteer movers culled from the large pile Salvation Army was to pick up the next day, which included a nice elliptical exercise machine and two box fans. Happiness filled my heart to see our things find good homes. 

There's a freedom in letting loose of "things," in crossing that bridge to the unknown: a new neighborhood, new lifestyle, much smaller home. In a way, we didn't want to move, but knew it was the best decision at the time for a number of reasons. 

Once the helpers with muscles came and moved the large furniture, that was it. We were in our new home for good. That gave us plenty of time to continue to move the small stuff, place other things in storage (for our daughter, when she buys her own place next year), and clean the rental house to get our full deposit back. We've settled in well but still have more boxes to unpack and things to organize. That's okay. We're taking our time and becoming even more discretionary in what to keep, throw away, or donate. 

Our new neighbors have been welcoming and kind. I'm looking forward to landscaping our little place, planting pots of herbs, and establishing a routine. 

If anything has upset me about the move, it's the disruption of my writing and painting routine. Like not writing a blog entry since March. Now you know why. But this was a necessary disruption and I must be kind with myself that all will settle where it's supposed to. 

In the meantime, I have a daily goal to do one thing to organize my space to make that happen. One thing usually turns into two or more, which is good, but this darn Florida heat mixed with heavy storms have also disrupted my progress. It's funny how one project hinges on another project which hinges on another, etc., which is why I still have three boxes sitting by my desk. 

I love our new place and look forward to the opportunities it affords. But doggone it, we still can't grow peonies in Florida.

A Variation of Disappointment

Hey, friends.

Last week, I blogged about a writing contest I entered on Twitter called "#PitchMadness." Let me assuage your fears right here and confirm that it lived up to its name. Also referred to in my mind as #PitchAddiction, it became equal parts both: madness and addiction.

St. James Park, London

The best part of this contest was the people I met and connected with. Kind of like watching the now-defunct American Idol, where the contestants became great friends, we all competed against one another and rooted for one another, which brought its own special kind of camaraderie. In the end, though, we each wanted one thing: to be picked. Over thirteen hundred writers vying for sixty (then, added bonus at the last possible moment, seventy) spots.

You do the math. 

I wasn't picked. The disappointment was thicker in my throat than I had anticipated. Because now I had to let go of the hope I'd held onto for over a week. Which brings me to an author's/editor's blog post that I remembered shortly after not "getting picked."

The title of her post is exactly that: Getting Picked. Instead of me going on, I'll let Jennie Nash's words speak for me. You should follow her blog, too, and sign up for her newsletter. Wonderful information packed in every post. For now, read this:

http://jennienash.com/how-to-write-a-book-blog/2016/8/26/getting-picked

As a nice surprise sidebar, there were a few professional editors running little contests of their own within #PitchMadness in which they offered to choose one, two, or ten people, and critique the manuscript first pages for those of us who weren't "picked" for #PitchMadness. I was "picked" as one of two winners by editor Lyla Lawless to critique my query letter and first chapter. Thank you, Lyla. It's just the salve I need to lessen the sting of disappointment. And also quite generous of you and the other editors to offer your services for free in this manner.

St. James Park in the spring. London.

If you care to share, I'd love to hear your comments about a time you didn't get picked, and how you overcame the disappointment. Did you use it to forge ahead and become better? Or redirect your path to a different one, where your talents could more properly shine? I hope you did, because I think each time we're not picked, it serves a particular purpose. It's our job to search for and find that purpose. 

With spring just around the corner, I hope you enjoy the photos and a little taste of what's to come soon. Because spring is always a time of hope and renewal. Another, "just what I need right now."

St. James Park

Twitter and #PitchMadness

Me. The Royal Crescent, Bath, England.

As I continue my writing journey, something has recently come up that has, ahem, caused an internet addiction to arise. I speak of Twitter. More specifically, #PitchMadness on Twitter.

A Facebook user since 2007, I just didn't get the thing with Twitter. All those @ and # signs. They not only confused me, but intimidated the heck out of me too. What if I # when I should have @ ? Or vice-versa. I'd look stupid. Or worse yet ... old. 

It seemed Twitter was meant for the millennials and teens and younger, those raised on fast food and faster video games, scheduled play dates, and so many extracurriculars it's a miracle they managed to sleep. Who was I to use Twitter? See, I even goofed there. Who was I to ... Tweet?

Then I became super-serious about this writing gig and my novel in its umpteenth iteration. I was told to have a "platform" and connect with others in the writing community. What the heck? Can't I just write and then send something wonderful out into the world, where it will be embraced and lauded by the masses?

I'll wait while the laughter dies down.

The Tithing House -- ruins at Sudeley Castle, Winchcombe, England

The photo above reminds me sometimes of this writing journey. It's beautiful with the sunshine, greenery, and promise of new growth, but they're still ruins making the best of a situation. 

I digress. My apologies.

Back to Twitter. I don't remember where or how--probably through someone on Facebook--but I found writing contests and pitch contests that are free to enter on Twitter. Which brings us back to #PitchMadness.

Shortly after entering, I learned why they call it "madness." Personally, I believe #PitchAddiction would be more apt, but I'm not the one running the show. It's my first time entering the fray. Perhaps I'll more clearly get the "madness" as days pass during this contest. I won't share the details of the contest, because the creators and hosts are so creative and fun with how they've set up everything, you can go to 

http://www.brenda-drake.com/pitch-madness/ 

and see for yourselves.

After we all submitted our entries (1340 total, I believe), the real fun began as the initial, official readers tweeted out hints about particular entries. And those participating in the contest set up games for all of us to play. As more hints appeared in the #PitchMadness twitter feed, and some of us thought, Hmm, that could be my entry, we would tweet our suspicions. If the hint was particularly complimentary, we not only tweeted our claim to the hint, but added #EgoClub to the tweet.

Between the games ("Where did you first get the idea to write this manuscript?" or "If your novel was a food, what would it be?") and the hints, several of us have come out openly and admitted our addiction to the #PitchMadness feed. "Hello, my name is Lyn, and I can't seem to get off Twitter and live a productive life ..." 

Altogether, I've "met" some cool folks, increased my Twitter followers by over 200 (at one point, shamelessly asking for more followers) and increased who I follow by a few hundred. 

All the people who judge this contest and help us writers prepare our work to be pitched to agents are volunteering their time and skills. To borrow a cliche, this blows my mind. The generosity of time and effort of all these folks is humbling. 

So while I'm quietly and slowly going mad over on Twitter, I also sing the praises of folks like Brenda Drake, Heather Cashman, Jami Nord, Samantha Joyce, and Sharon Johnston, to name just a few because there are so many. This writing community is so blessed with so many people willing to reach out a hand and help those who are still struggling on this writing journey. My greatest hope is that one day, I can be the person reaching out that hand. 

Assuming, of course, I haven't already gone mad.

P.S. If my novel was a food?  Meatloaf, spiked with slivers of glass.

Thoughts about Twitter? Feel free to share them in the Comments section!

Coln River, Bibury, England

Kindness, Yes

 Wasatch Mountains, Provo, Utah

Being in some form of customer service over my past many, many years of working, I've come to appreciate those who deal with the public and do it well. Today in the midst of writing and planning my next book, I took a short break. Well, it was supposed to be short. But during that break, I encountered a woman who knows exactly what excellent customer service is all about.

Dear husband and I are moving in the spring. We've bought a small home--half the size of where we live now--and are looking forward to this next phase and new neighborhood. We're also looking to cut expenses. The cutting expenses bit was the reason for my short break as I remembered I had to contact our cable/internet provider and explore options on ... you guessed it, cutting expenses. I also needed the short break because writers' brains begin to fry after too many hours at the keyboard. A sizzle in my ear warned me it was about that time.

I'll admit up front that I don't like talking on the phone. Main reason: most folks (self included) tend to speak too quickly, or don't enunciate, or possess some type of accent that scrambles my brain as it attempts to decipher what they're really saying. Rather than speak on the phone, many businesses offer the option of "chatting" online. Chatting online is good for me. The typist could have an entire mouthful of marbles and my brain won't care. I can read and understand what the other person says. 

Somewhere in Utah

So I accessed the cable/internet company during my break by hitting the "Chat" button on their webpage, and Voila! ready and able customer service person at my disposal.

Sometimes, I can be overly chatty, but I know customer service reps are busy folks, so I try to shorten my conversations with them, unlike this post (see, I knew what you were thinking). I came straight to the point and told Evelyn--the chat box showed her name as she typed--that we wanted to reduce our bill. How could she help us do that?

After presenting an option whereby we could save nearly $100 per month, but which included a two-year contract, I informed Evelyn that we'd be moving soon, and asked about the ramifications if we signed this new two-year contract. Truthfully, I didn't want to enter into a two-year contract, but Evelyn was nice, so I left that part out.

Evelyn stopped typing. I assumed she had left to ask a supervisor about my question. She eventually returned and discussed a couple more options regarding the move, etc. Then she typed, "May I call you?" Well, Evelyn, I knew we were having a nice chat and all, but there's this thing I have about the phone ... No. I didn't say any of that. I said, "Sure," and gave her my number. Within ten seconds, Evelyn called.

Politely trespassing in my previous neighbor's yard to photograph his beautiful plants.

She proceeded to tell me (which I assumed she didn't want written and on record in the chat, but hey, don't they record customer service phone conversations, too?) that her company has some AH-MAZE-ING new customer deals. As in, if we move and I simply cancel our service at the present address, then we'll be considered "new" customers at the new address and can take advantage of these IN-CRE-DUH-BUL offers. She actually said that since we were long-time valued customers, she wanted to make sure that she took good care of me/us, which meant giving us the excellent new customer deals.

Huge respect for Evelyn right there. She recognized that it's a farce to lure new customers in with such incredible deals, all while you're making your existing, years-long, pay-on-time customers end up paying way more. I could hear the wheels turning in Evelyn's mind. I could hear the indignity of how unfair it was to treat loyal, proven customers that way.

The thing is, what she proposed was within company guidelines, everything above-board. We could have continued our online written chat, she could have said, "Here's the deal. Take it or leave it."

But she didn't.

She took care of the customer. She left me feeling special and that I got an AH-MAZE-ING deal. In the end, isn't that what we're all looking for when dealing with any kind of customer service?

Palm tree inside the pool cage where we used to live.

There was a survey at the end of the "Chat." Guess how many 10's I gave Evelyn. Yep. All of them.

I hope I can remember to treat folks how Evelyn treated me: make them feel special, go above and beyond. Treat them like the AH-MAZE-ING folks that they are.

Break's over. Costs cut. Back to writing.

Ten Minutes with a Literary Agent

Remember my post last week about querying agents? If you need a refresher, go back and re-read. I'll wait. ** taps foot and hums Monkees song from the 60's **

Alrighty, then. Much has changed since that post. First, I received my first rejection from this batch of agents queried. But I also encountered a significant opportunity of which I took full advantage.

A group called The Manuscript Academy--headed up by Julie True Kingsley and Jessica Sinsheimer--rounded up several literary agents and a sprinkling of editors who were willing (for a modest fee) to meet over Skype with those of us interested in spending ten minutes with an agent (or editor). We could ask whatever questions we had about the publishing industry in general, have said agent critique a query letter, or have them critique the first page of our manuscript.

It was pure genius on their parts. I am shocked no one has thought of this before. Kudos for the extensive planning and execution, ladies! Such an incredible opportunity!

I've participated in face-to-face agent queries at two separate writer's conferences. The experience is nerve-wracking for many reasons, but my main pet peeves: The room is so noisy, you have to practically shove your lips down the agent's ear canal so they can hear you; if it's a "herding" situation, i.e., you're one of the herd and must wait in line to speak with an agent, time can run out.

Skype facetime for ten minutes from the quiet and privacy of your home is literary heaven. The conversations were so relaxed, I not only heard what the agents had to say, but I was able to absorb it in a non-frenzied situation.

Because. Flowers.

The two agents I chose were Jaida Temperly (New Leaf Literary) and Sarah LaPolla (Bradford Literary Agency). They were both interested in magical realism. Turns out my book doesn't fall into the magical realism genre, but is supernatural with speculative elements. Jaida does not represent these genres, but she was still generous with her critique. Sarah, I learned at the end of the ten minutes, reps urban fantasy, but more about this in a bit.

Since my history of querying indicates agents are interested in the story and my query further piques their interest, but then a disconnect exists with my writing (submitting the first few pages), I wanted to get to the bottom of the disconnect. Therefor, I purchased two ten-minute sessions with each agent, the first session to cover the query, and the second session to cover my first page.

Jaida related that both my query and writing held her interest, and she would keep reading. She encouraged me to submit to agents who are specifically looking for my genre. She suggested that I try to reduce my word count below 100K (currently at 107K+) because that could be an automatic turnoff for some agents.

Sarah deconstructed my query letter and explained what I could cut and what she wanted more of, what the query letter left out that she wanted to know. So I explained a confusing passage for her. She pointed out how the new information, when added, tied together the entire query. She also showed me how the query did not directly connect to my opening page. That point alone, I believe, is the major disconnect I've been experiencing.

Both Jaida and Sarah agreed with my editor--I'm beginning my novel in the wrong place, and then we all agreed where it should begin. The correction would affect the dreaded high word count and bring it more in line with industry standards. I loved Sarah's honesty when she stated, "If I'm on a time crunch and your query and story capture my interest, but it's over 100K words, I know I don't have the time to read it and will pass for that reason alone."

At the end of our conversation, I asked Sarah what agents at her agency she might refer me to when I was ready again to query. She said, "Me! I'd love for you to query me." After I picked myself up off the floor, I told her I looked forward to it!

One thing I must add to this post: all the agents and editors I've interacted with, both in person and over Skype, have been good, decent people who are just like you and me. They're down-to-earth, easy to converse with, and eager to help writers become successful.

And isn't that what we should all strive for--helping one another. Now, back to writing and revising!

One of the strangest flowers I've ever seen or photographed.

Querying My Novel

Cotswolds Bliss 9" x 12" pastel painting, Lyn Goodpaster artist

Creativity.

We all have it, some more than others, but it's there in everyone.

Creating brings joy. To make something out of a thought, an idea, and express it in some manner for others to enjoy ... what an incredible feeling!

Think back to the last time someone complimented you on something, and you were able to say, "I made that." or "I painted that." or "I wrote that." Can you feel it now, that sense of accomplishment, that validation of talent?

I love to paint and write, sometimes at the same time. While lost in painting, I'll think about the current novel I'm working on, or come up with ideas for my next novel, or work out a scene that's stymied me.

Which brings me to this post and its title: Querying My Novel.

When an author believes she has written and rewritten and edited and polished a novel to utter completion (which is a fallacy, because an agent or editor will always suggest improvements), and said author would like to publish traditionally, then the process of querying literary agents begins.

So not only must your novel shine, but so should the query letter, because an author wants to strongly entice the agent to read the novel. Then the first five, ten, or fifty pages attached with the query must be perfect enough for the agent to want to read more and request it from the author. This request will either be for a partial or full manuscript.

But before you can begin to query literary agents, you must research to find the agents who are actually interested in the genre you've written, and make sure they're open to queries at the time said author is ready to query.

Whew!

Good Morning, Nauvoo 22" x 30" watercolor painting, Lyn Goodpaster artist

Why am I telling you all this? As of two weeks ago, I began querying my novel to various literary agents. I haven't heard back from anyone yet, which can be interpreted as good or bad. 

Good, because they haven't reached it yet in their overflowing queue of hundreds of other authors also querying, or maybe they're considering asking to see more. 

Or Bad, because they don't have time to even send a rejection form letter, so my query and hopes of representation with that agent are shoved aside without my knowledge, except when they say, "If you've heard nothing from me at the end of four weeks, consider it a pass."

Creativity. You put your heart and soul into it, and instead of compliments, you're passed over along with the rest of the slush pile. Or they love what you've created and big things start to happen. Seriously, it can go either way.

For now, while my creation waits inside the email in-boxes of various literary agents, I'll get back to more creating. Either painting or writing.

Because it's the act of creating that feeds my soul. I hope yours has been fed by viewing my artwork here. 

If not, seek what feeds your soul. Go create. And do it with a rescue dog on your lap. If no one else loves your creations, at least you know your dog loves you no matter what.

Paco, Chihuahua Miniature Pinscher mix

Just Around The Bend

All week I've felt unsettled. The most unsettling part is, I have no reason why. Then I realized, there is no one reason. It's a conglomeration of reasons, all trying to fight their way to the forefront, vying for my attention -- completing a homework assignment for an online course, sketching out ideas and determining my protagonist's emotional journey for my second novel (a sequel to the first), working on two pastel paintings up on their easels and waiting ... You get the idea.

I don't dread doing any of these things. It's that my mind doesn't want to cooperate to focus on any one thing. But when I break that down further, I know underneath this mind scatter lies fear.

Fear that I won't complete my assignment in the right way, or give the right answers. Fear that I'll take off in the wrong direction for my next novel, waste time, and end up writing umpteen drafts until I get it right. Fear that I'll ruin the paintings by overworking them, or using the wrong colors, or ... or ...

So the basic fear behind my paralysis is that I'll do something wrong. Don't many of us carry that fear? We don't act because we're so afraid that whatever we do will be the wrong thing?

Oh, but what if we do the right thing?

What if I jump into my assignment with renewed passion for why I signed up for the course in the first place, and find that I learn what I'm supposed to and gain knowledge I previously lacked?

What if I start writing, the characters open themselves up to me, and I can't pound away on the keyboard quickly enough to get it all down?

And just what if ... I stand in front of only one of those easels and don't even think about producing a masterpiece, the likes of which I see daily in my Facebook newsfeed from master pastellists? What if I stand in front of that easel and have fun? Experiment? Remember what I've learned online, or in a recent course, or what I've read, and apply those principles? Then accept that if I don't achieve the desired result, it was only paper and pigment to begin with. No big deal. I have more paper and pigment.

Just ask my husband.

The thing is, I can begin again. I can travel that road you see above, even though there's a curve and it's foggy and I might have to slow down a bit. Maybe along the way, I can enjoy the beauty of the road. And the trees. And the mist softening all the hard edges to create its own mysterious beauty.

Maybe I can forgive myself for not being so perfect and simply enjoy the journey. Maybe ... if I stop worrying about all the wrong that might await, I'll find the right. The right for me.

Maybe I'll find something wonderful just around the bend.

The Laziest Blogger in the World? Nah. Now Recommitted.

Just hanging on, doing my best.

Confession time: I love to blog. I love to write and share stories and anecdotes and the story behind the story, and then sprinkle some nice photos amongst all the letters and words, if only to give the reader pause and a little visual enjoyment. I also tend to write long sentences. Sorry for stating the obvious, but now you can't say I didn't warn you. So, where is this "confession" thing headed?

Well, one would think, based on the above statement, that I would blog more often. Like, once a week. Or even once a month. Not once every several months.

This is the look I'm imagining you're all wearing right about now. It happens to be my dear mother-in-law at her 100th birthday party. She's a true gem. I'm not sure what someone said to her right before I snapped the photo, but this was her response. When you've lived to be 100, I think you've earned the right to respond like this.

See, the thing about blogging is to connect to people; but if I post once every few months, that's a terrible way to connect. No matter what you do in life, you should be dependable, you should show up on a regular basis so people can count on you. That includes blogging.

So back to my confession: I'm sorry I haven't been more dependable. I'm sorry my habits have devolved to laziness and not showing up. I can't blame anyone for not reading my blog when I've posted nothing new to read in months. I spent all of 2016 working on my novel, re-writing and revising, so it's not like I've been sitting beside my pool, working on my tan and sipping mimosas. I've never even had a mimosa (because I don't drink alcohol). But I still should have been blogging about the beast of a time it is to sharpen a novel to the best it can be, while a book coach held me accountable every step of the way.

Shame on me.

I'm now taking a course to learn how to reach out more to others on social media. Since I'm Sheldon Cooper, Light (only, you know, the female version), it's difficult for me to reach out to others. Difficult as in, sometimes, painful. We won't bog ourselves down in the psychology. Just realize that my new epiphany is, I have to dedicate myself to posting regularly, at least once a week. To make up for lost time, I may post twice a week so we can get to know one another.

Oh! I also set up a rudimentary website: www.perrinbirk.com
Don't judge too harshly. I did it on my own. Much repentance followed due to some language I may or may not have let fly during the process.

 My mother-in-law and father-in-law. This was a most happy moment. The tiara was perfect, as she felt like a queen all that day. Her true gem quality shines through here.

To wrap this up ... the novel is finished, except for a select group of beta readers going through and giving me feedback. Meanwhile, I've been diligently working on the query letter, synopsis, and first ten pages. Then I'll begin querying literary agents. I've told a few people about this novel, the storyline and characters. Everyone has been excited to read it and ask me about it often. To maintain that excitement, and to get others excited enough to want to read it, I now must focus on that. And this blog.

I promise you that I will not let you down this time. If you follow this blog, please tell others about it, and how this woman who writes it is really scared deep down inside (aren't we all?) that nobody will care or pay attention, but she's going to suck it up anyway and do what she should have been doing all along. Connecting. And to borrow a quote from a well-known celebrity: That's a good thing.

I paint, too--watercolors, pastels, acrylics. This is a watercolor I painted on a gloomy day when I was missing the mountains.