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.

The Novel Journey Continues

For this post to make any sense, you'll have to go back and read the last one. Otherwise, everything that follows sounds like a hot mess, which it may be, but still.

I possess twenty-four books on writing--plot, plot development, pacing, character development, dynamic characters, writing the paranormal, writing the breakout novel, etc.--all purchased within the past four years. And those are just the official bound books, not counting all the notes and handouts from various online seminars, writers workshops, and live conference attendance, and the recently-purchased video series for revising an existing novel. I consider myself an excellent self-study student when passion drives me. And the thought of attending "formal" university courses makes my heart shrivel. Because that track is much too slow. So I've spent the last three to four years voracious and writing and honing, erasing and shrieking "Why isn't this working?!?" and back again.

This photo represents my brain when deciding which story to write first, or how to edit an existing story. It's all rather beautiful but prickly and seemingly disorganized.

Devouring novels is a must also, as the brain unconsciously (and sometimes with malice aforethought) takes in writer voice, plot development, likeability of characters and how they got that way, what works and doesn't work, plot holes, wonderment of how that particular book ever made its way past respectable editors to become published, and a whole lot of I-don't-even-know-what. When I say "devour," it amounts to an average of 2-3 novels read per week. But in order to tell a great story, you must know what a great story is.

The desire to write the incredible stories living in my head and heart pushes all else aside. But the amount of work behind it all remains just that -- work. Like all successful journeys in life, putting in the time and effort--along with seeking out excellent resources to draw upon--are key ingredients. Most of what I accomplish occurs in solitude. So add self-discipline to the list also. It all adds up to work. I continue to hone and sweat and stew, all the while preparing to open up my heart for rejection (or maybe success!) of this thing/novel I have poured myself into. Then again, isn't that what we all do every day?

So when a person tells me, "I've got a great idea for a book -- you can write it and we'll split the profits ..." uh, yeah. No. That's like me telling someone, "You should go to college because you'd make a great (fill-in-the-blank), and after you're established in that profession, we'll split the profits." Wink, wink.

I recently visited New York City (first time EVER in my life!) for a writers conference (no surprise there) and walked the halls of the Museum of Modern Art, better known as MoMA. The above painting lives there. I apologize for not knowing the artist. Isn't it beautiful!?! Viewing works like this inspire all my artistic compartments. And it was enjoyable, to boot. The one below also lives at MoMA, and I also failed to get the artist's name. Enjoy anyway. Both these pieces initially drew me because of the colors. If you study them long enough, you'll find the hidden gem each possesses.

I love learning. I love the process traveled. And I hope that others love the result when it's finally published and available.

How This Writing Thing All Began

Many, many years ago (at least 12 or so), I wrote a novel over the course of a weekend. Maybe that's a stretch--the novel, not the weekend. More like a novella, but I did start on Friday evening and finished Sunday evening. I wrote the darn thing because an item in the national news bothered me, getting under my skin so deep it itched like multiple mosquito bites, which in turn formed itself into a work of fiction that flew out the tips of my fingers and onto the PC screen.

I messed with the thing off and on for a time after I finished, and even asked my bestest friend in the whole world--a lifelong authentic writer with real experience--to take a look at my creation. Looking back on the experience, she was kind. Very kind. She tried her best to soften the blow of how badly it was written--painfully redundant and superfluous--and in her pity pointed out the good parts. I listened, took some things out, made recommended changes, and then decided to submit it for publishing because, you know, it was such an excellent story, and my passion superseded all its faults.

Oh, my face reddens as I recall my naivete. It doesn't help that I'm probably one of hundreds of thousands who have made the same mistake. Of course it was soundly and immediately rejected, as it should have been (depth of passion notwithstanding).

The feedback gave me courage to sit down and write another book. After all, the rejection letter was handwritten by a real human and everything, so that first book must have contained some merit. Right? Right? If you listen closely with cupped palm to ear, literary agents and editors are snickering behind their slush piles.

The second book didn't proceed too far as the story petered down a path that ended up in the brambles and bushes. It's a decent story, but it needs a ton of work, and my passion also petered out down the same path. Hmmm, maybe I wasn't cut out for this writer thing after all.

God had other plans.

One night as I readied myself for bed, ideas literally popped into my brain, like being stuck outside with hailstones slamming down from the sky. "What if ..." and it took off from there. (Sorry, I can't divulge my "what if" because it would be a major spoiler if you end up reading my book.) "Wow!" I thought. "What an idea! That would make such a good story." So the next day I plopped back down in front of the computer screen and pounded out whatever the old brain came up with. I worked on it and tweaked it and sent it to my good friend once more. She read it and proclaimed that she couldn't put it down, it was that good. Not perfect, mind you, but decent.

About the same time, I learned of an upstart independent press looking for books to publish. With all submissions, they would provide a free critique. What an amazing blessing because I was still naive, wet-behind-the-ears, hadn't taken the first writing class or bought the first writing book ... Agents and editors now chuckling out loud while simultaneously responding to hopefuls, "Sorry, this isn't for us."

I didn't receive an outright rejection this time. What I did receive was an eight-page, in-depth critique of the manuscript. The editor proclaimed that half of it was "dead wood," but buried in there was a decent story that needed a lot of work but still worth fighting for. He/she (don't know which to this day) encouraged me to work on plot, pacing, and character development, and then resubmit.

The only problem became ... how the heck did I learn all that stuff without taking expensive and time-consuming classes? Because I still worked full-time as a medical professional. I emailed the publisher and asked these very questions while explaining that I'm a self-starter, learning rapidly from well-written, instructive books. She, in turn, graciously answered ... Writers Digest. Go to Writers Digest, she said, and they will have all manner of books on whatever subject you need. To this day, Goldie Browning, I owe you a huge debt of gratitude.

Next post: my journey from that point.

The Birth of Perrin Birk

Perrin Birk sprang forth onto the earth February 2014--flung from my mind after exhaustive research. What a labor that was! Let me back up and share her story.

I'm an author-in-waiting, or AIW, which simply means I've written a book and have high hopes that one day that book will be published so readers who like the story enough will pay hard-earned cash for it. And tell others so the cycle blossoms and continues in perpetuity. In which case I will graduate to the title of full-fledged author. However, first things first.

I've heard from reliable sources (literary agents come to mind) that an AIW must establish an internet presence by the time the AIW is ready to submit the novel to agents or editors. The story goes that if the agent or editor likes the book, the next step is to google the AIW's name and see what comes up.

I google-searched myself. An extensive list popped up connected to my professional medical name. "Oh," I thought. "That will never do. What confusion will entail as innocent reader tries to find Author Me, and all they get is Medical Professional me?"

The obvious answer to this conundrum? Publish under a pseudonym.

This is where Perrin comes in, and the story of how she came to be.

 Winchcombe, England

During the spring of 2013, I--a Yank from the States--traveled the beautiful country of England. When various folk heard me speak, they knew right away I was not British. What with inquiring minds also living in parts other than the U.S., these same folk would ask, "Where are you from?"

When I answered, "the States," they seemed doubtful, then said, "You look Scandinavian. Are you sure you're not from Sweden?" or something like unto it.

"Let me check my passport," I replied. "I may have made a mistake." I didn't really say this only because I'm not that quick on the draw. A trial attorney I could never be.

Bibury, in the Cotswolds, England

I related the above to my husband upon my return home. He must have filed it away in a miscellaneous brain space, because he pulled it out almost a year later when we discussed my pseudonym.

"Hey, remember how all those people thought you were from (fill-in-the-blank Scandinavian country)? Why don't you pick a name that would seem to have its origins there?"

Clever man.

So for the next several days I searched websites of Swedish/Norwegian/Danish names and came up with several combinations. For each possibility, I not only googled the name, but tried Facebook as well, the goal being to come up with something that hadn't been used anywhere for any reason. I wanted whatever name I chose to be associated only with me as an author. Selfish, right? No, more like, no confusion equals happy readers. Well, that and an excellent story well-told.

The journey for Perrin Birk was as difficult as choosing a baby name. Hours of research, followed by hours of Google, then the litmus test--Facebook. I can't remember how many names I really liked that I had to ultimately discard. Once I picked Perrin Birk--and it passed the aforementioned tests--the tongue tried it on for size and author fit, and family members decided whether it looked like me or not. Buying the domain name cinched the deal. It was set in, well, not stone but something as equally everlasting--cyberspace.

After birthing Perrin, eventually she needed her own Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/perrinbirkauthor/?ref=hl

and website (not up and running yet)

and Twitter account-- @PerrinBirk

not to mention a blog she can call her own. Since you're reading this, evidently you've found it.

Whew!

And you thought authors just wrote books ...