The Writing Cave and Revising

I haven't posted here in a long time. Geez, I've missed all two of you who stop by. Maybe there are five, but I've lost track. Anyway, I'm sorry I haven't kept in touch but there are reasons, the most important one being ... I'm deep in revisions. Just so you know how deep in revisions and how focused I am (or maybe I'm only fooling myself), this photo is a fairly accurate depiction of my mind ... foggy, a few dead limbs and dead leaves still hanging on, but oh, the possibilities!

The book I've been working on since 2010 just got a complete rewrite/revamp/major surgery--we're talking professional consults 'cause I wasn't sure the patient would make it. I might've consulted a dalai lama or two, as well, but heaven knows I've been scaling the mountain since January.

As in, I gutted the manuscript.

I removed a major plotline, to be revived in another book because I love the character and her story, but it was too much, too soon, in this novel and competed with the main character's story. You could feel the dissonance.

I took out a subplot and that character too.

I warned you: major surgery. At least it was bloodless. Maybe.

I fleshed out the MC's story and made her more real. She now has a chronic disease, in fact, one which we share, so the world can know more about this illness. Or perhaps I wanted someone to commiserate with. Nah. She needed to suffer in this novel.

Now, the ending is fully connected to the beginning and feels whole. I'm still working out a couple of little bugs to make my characters more complex and deeply layered. Which translates to, they shouldn't be boring AF.

Then there are the twists and turns. Tricky little stinkers. So I'm trying to wrangle them in place to nail that pacing.

So back to my revision cave I'll go and continue to nurture and grow this baby of mine. We'll see if she's as beautiful as I know she can be. And cave has a window onto the outside world. In case things get a little bloody ...

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