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.

Elderly Treasures

My husband's mother Alice Edwards Goodpaster Dennis will celebrate her 100th birthday on March 17th, St. Patty's Day. She may or may not be aware of the hubbub that day as dementia slowly erases her memories and the ability to generate new memories. She doesn't realize she has a birthday coming up, or that it's a landmark day for her. During moments not-so-lucid, she doesn't know what a birthday is. I try not to focus on the sadness of these facts. Instead, I look back at the vibrant woman and the numerous birthdays she's celebrated since I joined this family over forty years ago. Birthdays that my husband and I have been privileged to celebrate with her and my father-in-law, Larry Dennis.

Mother always took great pride and a giggle on the side that her birthday fell on St. Patty's Day. When we showed up to her home to take her out and spend time with her and Dad, she always wore green, and a shamrock in some way, shape, or form always shone, either as a piece of jewelry or decoration atop her head. If I had committed the unpardonable sin of not wearing a stitch of green on my body, she always made sure to run to her jewelry box to find something for me to wear. Four years ago, she gave me one of her jeweled shamrocks and told me to keep it. I tried to decline; she insisted. Guess who won?

Now that she and Dad are in a nursing home, it won't matter. But it matters to me and all her other loved ones. We'll make sure she's wearing green this year.

Below is a photo of Mother in 2013 with her youngest granddaughter (she has plenty of great-grandchildren, and even great-greats, but Carly is her youngest granddaughter). Note the shamrock earrings and her wonderful expression ... As an aside, my father-in-law (an accomplished knitter) made the green sweater Mom wears.

The following year, 2014, she even made sure that Dad was decked out appropriately for the occasion.

Mother always jokes how she robbed the cradle, seeing as how Dad is two and a half years younger than she. He's a fine man, and we love them both so very much.

My husband Jim goes over to visit them, an hour's drive away, at least once a week or every two weeks. I don't get over to visit as often. Due to my illnesses, when I do go, we can only stay an hour or two. If I don't go, my husband gets the opportunity to spend several hours and run errands for them. This past weekend, Jim, Carly, and I drove over to visit. Mother was sound asleep when we arrived, and Jim had difficulty waking her. Once awake, though, she remained alert and lucid for nearly two solid hours.

Dad got to talking about his time in the military during World War II--he had joined the Air Force and "traveled the world." He spoke of the heat and dust in the Middle East: Syria, Libya, and Egypt. He also talked of "driving a truck" every day, and that most of his unit didn't want to do it, but he liked getting out and away from camp. Only after we asked, "What kind of truck did you drive?" did he reveal that it was a 2-1/2 ton truck filled with bombs. Oh. No wonder the others backed away from the assignment. Not him. He said if the good Lord thought it was his time to go, He would take him no matter where he was or what he was doing, so driving the truck wasn't a problem.

Dad said his unit also traveled to India and Sicily. While traveling overground in Sicily, they all stopped along the roadside to eat dinner from tin cans. It wasn't tasty, he said, but it was something in the stomach. Halfway through the "meal," a man on a bicycle came along and asked them if they'd like a hot spaghetti dinner and some wine. The man led them into a small village. Dad said the spaghetti was probably some of the best he's ever had. As to the wine ... Dad had never tasted it, but always heard it could be sour. He impressed upon the Sicilian gent that he wanted sweet wine, if the man had any. The man gave him a large glass, and Dad tasted it. He was surprised--the wine was definitely sweet. And good! He laughed as he told us he drank the whole glass. This from a man who had never tasted alcohol prior nor since!

When he returned from the war, he shared that he lived in Minneapolis for a time. A radio station there had auditions for people to sing live on-air. His girlfriend at the time urged him to audition. Now, I never heard Dad sing when he was in his 20s, but I did hear him in his 50s and beyond. The man has/had an incredible voice. Back to the audition ... for whatever reason, he said, he decided not to go. Looking back, he's filled with regret at the opportunities that would probably have opened up for him. But now, he says, he'll never know. He concedes that he's had a wonderful life, an incredible life, but that wondering what might have been niggles at him to this day.

Dad went on to share some other things, but those were too private to spill on a public page. The minutes felt sacred as he divulged deep emotions and feelings from his life. We all counted ourselves privileged to be let in on something so very private.

I'm thankful for all these years I've known this amazing couple, and grateful that they have so welcomed me with open arms. They never fail to tell my husband how grateful they are for him and his family, and all that he does for them. I'm not sure how much time either one of them has left on this earth. I can't dwell on it, though. All I can do is thank God for the time He's given us with them, for they truly are treasures.

My Face Is Red From Negligence, But Here You Go

Since I apparently have not been as disciplined as I had hoped in this writing journey, here's what I came across yesterday.

Author Matt Meyer, guest poster in a Writer's Digest ezine (do they even call it that anymore?), wrote that a successful writer must be disciplined and establish a daily schedule. To get the fingers and writing brain warmed up, he suggested posting on the writer's blog for about thirty minutes before turning to the writer's current WIP (that's Work in Progress, in my case, a novel). At this point, crickets quietly chirped in my ear.

Writer's blog? Oh, yeah. It's that ... uh ... thing that I set up well over a year ago and have ... uh ... well, pretty much ignored after posting a whopping three times.

Matt said that the writer could pick a topic, any topic, and just write away. Writers usually do not lack for topics. So here is mine for today: Florida.

I think it's funny that I've lived in Florida nearly twenty years--reasons explained below, which, after you read, you'll find even funnier--and have chosen as my setting(s) for my first novel, Seattle, Washington, and Aspen, Colorado.

Although the northern portion of the United States seems to be experiencing way warmer-than-normal temps for this time of year (December), usually it's cold. As in, very cold. Topped by white frosting most folks call snow. We moved from South Bend, Indiana, to Indianapolis, Indiana, before our final move to the sunshine state of Florida. Our main reason for moving to Florida, we eventually learned, is the main reason most people move here. The warm weather and sunshine. Oh, and the beautiful beaches, can't forget the beaches.

Because I suffer from seasonal affective disorder, we've never regretted our move. Not once. There are places we'd love to visit for a month or two or three, but we don't see ourselves outside of Florida for any great length of time. The weather and sunny days are literally my medication. We all have some experience about what happens when someone is off their meds for too long. Yeah, that's me.

 Morning light filtered through a palm in my backyard.

 It's Florida. We're all about the palm trees.

Even when it's overcast, the waves and sand are beautiful.

And you can't beat decorating a Christmas tree with all the large sliding glass doors wide open and seventy-degree light breezes.

It also didn't hurt that my daughter's school field trips took us to places like Universal Studios, Busch Gardens, etc., and the school always needed chaperones. Well, someone had to accompany the kids on all those thrill rides, especially the coasters.

So why have I set my novel in Seattle and Aspen?

I first visited Seattle in 2009 with my youngest daughter on what we now refer to as "The Epic Journey." Let me translate: a 5000-mile car trip, Tampa, Florida to Los Angeles, then up to Seattle, before finally heading down to Provo, Utah. Also lovingly referred to as our trip of sea-to-shining-sea and coast-to-coast.

 Pike's Place Market, does not include daughter's cheesy grin.

 Sports Arenas. I snapped this photo because I loved the architecture. Only when I uploaded the photos to my computer at home did I realize I had captured Mt. Rainier in the background. 

 Who could pass up getting a shot of all this color? Not this artist.

It's SEATTLE! If you need further explanation, you've been living under a rock and I can't help you.

We spent a total of one day in Seattle, and most of that at Pike's Place Market. That's an entire blog post unto itself. Anyway, the weather fully cooperated, not a cloud in the sky, and I had many moments of, "OhMyGosh, I love this place!" Realizing that a sunny day there is not the norm, I figured, why not make this the setting for my novel and live there vicariously? Funny, because when you read the novel, the happenings in Seattle give my main character every reason to leave. Which she does. And that brings us to Aspen.

My husband, youngest daughter and I visited Aspen for a week back in July of 2000. We rode a gondola to the top of Aspen Mountain, hiked that same mountain, drove up to Maroon Bells, rented bicycles for an afternoon and biked all over the beautiful town of Aspen (elevation: 9000+ feet; can we all say "thin air"), went horseback riding in the mountains around Snowmass, and white water rafting in third class rapids down the Colorado River. We also walked extensively. The three of us agreed it was one of the most beautiful places we'd visited and wouldn't hesitate to visit again.

(Unfortunately, all our Aspen and Snowmass photos are in print form as we didn't have a digital camera at the time. Not sure if they had digital cameras then, but we always seem to be behind the technology curveball.)

In fifteen years, we haven't been back. Insert sad face here. What better way to revisit a favorite place, though, than to put it in a novel and bring the place to life for others to enjoy? Seriously, before I polish my novel further, husband and I plan to take a trip to Aspen in February 2016, just to get the details right in the book. Wink, wink.

Yet beautiful Florida, with its (mostly) sunny days, swaying palms, flowers in bloom year-round, gorgeous bays, waterways and the gulf, will be my home for the remainder of my days here on earth. All those other places? I'll visit and write about them.