I’m a talker. And I think I’m hilarious. I dream up about 50 funny things to say A MINUTE!
OK—maybe not every minute.
But anyway, it’s lonely here in my head. Other parents hate to see me coming when I pick my daughter up from school or skating or wherever because I always wear these big Parent-Catcher Arm ExtensionsTM,1 and then I corral them into a corner and wrap myself around them and scream funny things in their ears and won’t let them leave for a good hour.
It’s not that I don’t like working from home (who needs a kitchen table for eating anyway?). Self employment is wonderful—what’s not to love about working your ass off all the time and getting paid completely unreliably, if at all? Awesome in a sack, right there.
What concerns me is that I spin this comic gold like Rumpelstiltskin’s gonna steal my kid and there’s no one here to benefit from the hilarity.2 Brilliant bon mots and witty rejoinders—said only in my head or to the cat (who, while lovely and fluffy, has a really poorly developed sense of humour)—just dissolve into the air like this morning’s fog.4 To top it off, my husband is out of town for most of the week, so I don’t even have him to share my funnies at the end of the day.
But really, the jokes don’t last anyway, for a couple of reasons. It’s sort of like when someone interrupts you in the middle of a joke and then you eventually deliver the punchline and it just fizzles into awkward silence.5 That’s sort of what happens when you try to relive the funny thing you thought of at 10 am when you get to the playground at 3 pm.
And then there’s the fact that I’m 41.6 I can’t remember shit anymore. Nothing. I have to take at least seven minutes to recall any fact that is not in my immediate short-term-memory bank. That can be a problem for...
Uh... Where was I going with that? Just hang on a minute, ok?
*crickets*
*tumbleweeds*
Uh... Can anyone remember what else you’re supposed to use to signify—oh wait! I’m ready to to hop back on my train of thought!
OK, so if I don’t write something down immediately, it’s gone. Like this morning’s fog.7
So to to address these issues, I am going to start writing Random RamblingsTM here. They won’t be part of a larger post necessarily, just throwing it down here to ensure these droll tidbits don’t disappear into the ether, FOREVER, to the detriment of all humanity.
I will also include non-funny things.8
Random RambleTM #1:
So I had to send a story to my writing group this week. I think I’m ok at writing dialogue, so almost everything I write is dialogue. (Like this blog—it’s just me talking. OK, technically that’s a monologue. Quick—someone say something! ... Thanks! Like I said, dialogue.) I suck at description. Plus I’m lazy. Anyway, I send them the piece with an accompanying note to explain my overall writing suckage (they know about that already though), then I realize9 what it is about my descriptions that doesn’t work. It’s like my characters talk and talk and talk just fine, but then when I try to describe how they look or what they’re doing, all of a sudden they start doing a bad version of the robot. Hot teenager while talking, C3PO whilst being described.10
*crickets*
*tumbleweeds*
*Stillunabletoremembertheotherthingthatsignifieswhatcricketsandtumbleweedssignify*
That ramble is way funnier with my accompanying arm gestures. You'll just have to trust me, OK?
I promise there will be less lead up for the next Random RambleTM. I actually had two for this post, but I seriously cannot remember the other one. Not. Even. Joking.11
f
i
z
z
l
e ......
*****************************
1. Patent pending.
2. If a joke crashes to the ground in the forest, does anybody laugh? Well, I KNOW animals find me funny.3 Can’t you tell when they’re laughing? I can. And they laugh at me ALL the time.
3. Except for my own cat.
4. Halifax, baby.
5. Jokus interruptus.
6. If you’ve ever met my daughter you would know that already, because she feels compelled to tell everyone she meets that I’m 41. It’s like she has weird obsession with the number. 41. 41. 41. She keeps saying it over and over and over again. That’s not annoying at ALL. She’s as funny as the damn cat.
7. That sounds familiar. Why does that sound familiar? I can’t remember.
8. CMA, just in case my jokes don’t fly.
9. Three hours later, natch.
10. For those of you who know my husband, this is not meant to diss him, by the way. C3PO’s great. But he IS a robot.
11. I know, I know—I can hear your thoughts screaming, “Uh, you were joking before?” Listen closely—there are animals in a forest somewhere laughing their asses off.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
You're not my target audience!
I belong to a wonderful group of writers1 who meet monthly to give feedback on our fiction writing, with the occasional poem and non-fiction piece thrown in for variety. We’ve been together for years and have become very good friends.
We generally like each others’ writing. Sure, we have plenty of suggestions and ideas for how to improve each piece, and the discussions can get pretty lively with lots of points of view. But, overall, we like each others’ work.
Most of the time.
Sometimes one of us will dislike2 the odd story or chapter. The discussion always starts out slowly, but once we get warmed up, the inhibition goes down and we can be pretty ruthless. It’s all in the interest of constructive criticism, but when you’re on the receiving end of negative commentary, even seemingly benign stuff can feel like an quick jab to the solar plexus.3
To deal with these awkward, organ-crunching instances, we’ve created the “You’re not my target audience” defence mechanism. When you’re on the verge of crying or punching a good friend’s critical lights out, a “You’re not my target audience” through a clenched-teeth smile is our safety tap. Our “Back off, motherfucker, or you’re going to have my hari-kari on your conscience.”
I think it takes incredible balls to send your work out for critique. Even to people you trust and like. Even when you know the critiquers4 have your best interests at heart.
Sending your work out to complete strangers? Now, that’s just nuts.
Several months ago I sent out my sort-of-finished novel to the Writers’ Federation of Nova Scotia’s Atlantic Writing Competition. The contest is unique in that every entrant receives feedback from the judges, win or lose.5
I was confident sending in my novel. I knew I would never win, but I was happy to finally have something semi-worthwhile to submit. As we came closer to receiving the judges’ comments, however, I got more and more nervous and embarrassed. What was I thinking putting my piece in this competition? The comp skews heavily in favour of literary works, and my piece is about as non-literary as one can get. Despite my terror, I did eventually open the envelope when it arrived.
First judge’s comments:
“I totally enjoyed this story and read it in one day. I love the relationship between the women—reminiscent of Candace Bushnell does the Maritimes. However, lose all the extra e-mails, forwarded jokes, etc. It bogged down a great piece of work. With some work this could be a great take on chick lit. Don’t give up on this one!”
Well, colour me stunned. That was worth the $30 entry fee alone.
Second judge’s comments:
“Fiction is an art form.6 It transforms and heightens reality to make a particular author’s perceptions and view of life interesting to others. What you present here seems like a direct copy of text messages between people we don’t know. In fact, some of the “forwarded messages” I’ve received myself. If you use a format such as this, it would be advisable to condense and refine it, to avoid the endless repetitions and useless markings and spacing. Also the profusion of typos and misspellings,7 even though they do appear in many text messages, become quite annoying in a written work. The Prologue and Epilogue are intended to give this some structure, but the characters are not sufficiently developed or described to give them any individual identity, and unless these people become real to the reader, their lives do not evoke much sympathy or concern.”8
Yikes!
Knowing what an oversensitive stress-bag I am, you must be wondering why this one didn’t elicit the afore-mentioned ritual self-disembowelment.
Well, it’s mostly because I read the other judge’s comments first.9 Not only did the first judge’s comments make me all warm and glowy inside and out, but the juxtaposition with these comments also highlighted in storey-high neon letters that, Judge #2? NOT MY TARGET AUDIENCE.
I mean, it’s like they didn’t even read the same book. And that’s perfectly OK. I know my book won’t appeal to A LOT of people. But those who like it, seem to like it a lot. This poor soul clearly did not get what I was trying to do or say and I feel for him/her—it would be torture to have to trudge through an entire book you hated or didn’t “get.” I know, because that’s how I feel about a lot of literary fiction. Luckily, I am not contractually obligated to finish a book I don’t like. These judges—volunteers who make a huge commitment of time and energy to help aspiring writers like me—have to read whatever they get handed. This judge must have been ready to rip his/her eyeballs out after the first chapter.
Point #1: Not everyone will love everything you do. When you’re feeling battered and bruised by rejection, repeat this saying in your head or aloud (as the situation permits) to your rejector: “I fart in your general direction.”
No, no no. That’s not it.10 Rather, say, “YOU ARE NOT MY TARGET AUDIENCE.” Say it whether you believe it's true or not. Trust me. Just say it.
Point #2: Congratulations and respect to the winners of the Atlantic Writing Competition.11 But, really, all of the entrants are winners. Not because we all get desperately coveted feedback, but because we had the courage to send our babies out there into the cruel, merciless world of the Judgey MacJudgersons.
I know I’m proud.14 I hope all of my co-entrants are, too. We did it! Well done! We rock! We write! We rebound!
And the-e-en, we write again...16
*****************************************
1. I call us “The Fictionaries.” Admittedly a little poofty, but, damn, don't I think I’m clever sometimes.
2. Loathe.
3. Like this. With the bad hair. And the people laughing at you as your writhe on the floor. Yep, making you stronger.
4. Is “critiquer” a word? Critic seems too Roger Ebert-y.
5. It may not sound like much, but in an industry where feedback is practically non-existent (unless your book/story/article is picked up/signed by a journal/publisher/agent), this can be gold.
6. Uh oh. This ain’t gonna be good.
7. The typos and misspellings are on purpose. Seriously.
8. This critique was typed, by the way. And I left in the two spaces the critic used between the sentences. Just sayin’.
9. Props to WFNS for ordering the judges’ comments appropriately. Methinks they’ve talked more than one destroyed writer down from a ledge and thus know what they’re doing!
10. But, after all, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.
11. I hate you. I fart in your general direction. With a French accent.12
12. Just kidding!13
13. Except about the French accent.
14. And eternally grateful to the judges. ALL of them.15
15. But especially to my Judge #1. XO!
16. Caper inside joke. :-)
We generally like each others’ writing. Sure, we have plenty of suggestions and ideas for how to improve each piece, and the discussions can get pretty lively with lots of points of view. But, overall, we like each others’ work.
Most of the time.
Sometimes one of us will dislike2 the odd story or chapter. The discussion always starts out slowly, but once we get warmed up, the inhibition goes down and we can be pretty ruthless. It’s all in the interest of constructive criticism, but when you’re on the receiving end of negative commentary, even seemingly benign stuff can feel like an quick jab to the solar plexus.3
To deal with these awkward, organ-crunching instances, we’ve created the “You’re not my target audience” defence mechanism. When you’re on the verge of crying or punching a good friend’s critical lights out, a “You’re not my target audience” through a clenched-teeth smile is our safety tap. Our “Back off, motherfucker, or you’re going to have my hari-kari on your conscience.”
I think it takes incredible balls to send your work out for critique. Even to people you trust and like. Even when you know the critiquers4 have your best interests at heart.
Sending your work out to complete strangers? Now, that’s just nuts.
Several months ago I sent out my sort-of-finished novel to the Writers’ Federation of Nova Scotia’s Atlantic Writing Competition. The contest is unique in that every entrant receives feedback from the judges, win or lose.5
I was confident sending in my novel. I knew I would never win, but I was happy to finally have something semi-worthwhile to submit. As we came closer to receiving the judges’ comments, however, I got more and more nervous and embarrassed. What was I thinking putting my piece in this competition? The comp skews heavily in favour of literary works, and my piece is about as non-literary as one can get. Despite my terror, I did eventually open the envelope when it arrived.
First judge’s comments:
“I totally enjoyed this story and read it in one day. I love the relationship between the women—reminiscent of Candace Bushnell does the Maritimes. However, lose all the extra e-mails, forwarded jokes, etc. It bogged down a great piece of work. With some work this could be a great take on chick lit. Don’t give up on this one!”
Well, colour me stunned. That was worth the $30 entry fee alone.
Second judge’s comments:
“Fiction is an art form.6 It transforms and heightens reality to make a particular author’s perceptions and view of life interesting to others. What you present here seems like a direct copy of text messages between people we don’t know. In fact, some of the “forwarded messages” I’ve received myself. If you use a format such as this, it would be advisable to condense and refine it, to avoid the endless repetitions and useless markings and spacing. Also the profusion of typos and misspellings,7 even though they do appear in many text messages, become quite annoying in a written work. The Prologue and Epilogue are intended to give this some structure, but the characters are not sufficiently developed or described to give them any individual identity, and unless these people become real to the reader, their lives do not evoke much sympathy or concern.”8
Yikes!
Knowing what an oversensitive stress-bag I am, you must be wondering why this one didn’t elicit the afore-mentioned ritual self-disembowelment.
Well, it’s mostly because I read the other judge’s comments first.9 Not only did the first judge’s comments make me all warm and glowy inside and out, but the juxtaposition with these comments also highlighted in storey-high neon letters that, Judge #2? NOT MY TARGET AUDIENCE.
I mean, it’s like they didn’t even read the same book. And that’s perfectly OK. I know my book won’t appeal to A LOT of people. But those who like it, seem to like it a lot. This poor soul clearly did not get what I was trying to do or say and I feel for him/her—it would be torture to have to trudge through an entire book you hated or didn’t “get.” I know, because that’s how I feel about a lot of literary fiction. Luckily, I am not contractually obligated to finish a book I don’t like. These judges—volunteers who make a huge commitment of time and energy to help aspiring writers like me—have to read whatever they get handed. This judge must have been ready to rip his/her eyeballs out after the first chapter.
Point #1: Not everyone will love everything you do. When you’re feeling battered and bruised by rejection, repeat this saying in your head or aloud (as the situation permits) to your rejector: “I fart in your general direction.”
No, no no. That’s not it.10 Rather, say, “YOU ARE NOT MY TARGET AUDIENCE.” Say it whether you believe it's true or not. Trust me. Just say it.
Point #2: Congratulations and respect to the winners of the Atlantic Writing Competition.11 But, really, all of the entrants are winners. Not because we all get desperately coveted feedback, but because we had the courage to send our babies out there into the cruel, merciless world of the Judgey MacJudgersons.
I know I’m proud.14 I hope all of my co-entrants are, too. We did it! Well done! We rock! We write! We rebound!
And the-e-en, we write again...16
*****************************************
1. I call us “The Fictionaries.” Admittedly a little poofty, but, damn, don't I think I’m clever sometimes.
2. Loathe.
3. Like this. With the bad hair. And the people laughing at you as your writhe on the floor. Yep, making you stronger.
4. Is “critiquer” a word? Critic seems too Roger Ebert-y.
5. It may not sound like much, but in an industry where feedback is practically non-existent (unless your book/story/article is picked up/signed by a journal/publisher/agent), this can be gold.
6. Uh oh. This ain’t gonna be good.
7. The typos and misspellings are on purpose. Seriously.
8. This critique was typed, by the way. And I left in the two spaces the critic used between the sentences. Just sayin’.
9. Props to WFNS for ordering the judges’ comments appropriately. Methinks they’ve talked more than one destroyed writer down from a ledge and thus know what they’re doing!
10. But, after all, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.
11. I hate you. I fart in your general direction. With a French accent.12
12. Just kidding!13
13. Except about the French accent.
14. And eternally grateful to the judges. ALL of them.15
15. But especially to my Judge #1. XO!
16. Caper inside joke. :-)
Saturday, June 18, 2011
It's not you, it's me...
For you non-writers out there,1 querying is when you think your novel is finished and you start to fish around asking agents to consider representing you and your little project. The main thrust of the process is the query letter, in which you must convey just how frikkin' awesome your work is, without telling (showing only, of course) and by somehow encapsulating the plot, characters, voice and genre in about 250 words. You research agents and figure out which ones might be interested in your work and try to find some tidbit of information that links you to them3 or to work they've represented and/or admired.5 Then you you do a few (63) test runs to make sure your formatting is going to be ok when you send it, you double, triple and quadruple check your spelling, grammar, sentence structure, contact information (yours and theirs - no Dear John when you are sending to Jill), blind copy yourself so you can prolong the torture after you actually send it by finding typos and /&*20/ weird formatting codes that pop up despite your best efforts and then - press send. Then throw up. You do this individually for your dream list of agents.
And then you wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And hit refresh.
And wait.
And wait.
And repeat this process 68 times per hour until...
The first form rejection.
And then you wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And hit refresh.
And wait.
And wait.
And repeat this process 68 times per hour until...
The second form rejection.
And then you wait.
And... well, you get the picture.
Rejection is an unavoidable part of most writers' lives. The form rejection is where you get to see how nice and creative your dream agent is (and get reminded how much you really, really liked them before they smashed your tender little dreams into a million little rainbow sprinkles, peed on the sprinkles and then flushed them down the nearest toilet), or how they were probably an arsehole and you were lucky to dodge them. (Hey - we have to protect our fragile egos somehow.)
"You're work is interesting, but I'm not the best person to represent it at this time."
"Thank you for your interest, but I'm not looking for this type of work."
"I'm going to have to pass at this time - this is not a reflection of the quality of your work; I'm sure some other agent will love it and make you millions of dollars. I'm just too stunned to appreciate your brilliance and earn you the money you so richly deserve."
"It's not you, it's me."
A response to a query letter can take anywhere from an hour to never (many agents have a "no response means no" practice thanks to the gazillions of queries they now get in this delightfully convenient age of e-mail).
Occasionally, so I've heard, writers will get a request for a partial (50 or 100 pages) or full (the entire manuscript). A precious few will get offers of representation. I'm at two form rejections now, so I'm just getting started. There will be many, many more rejections before I get a nibble. If I get a nibble. Eventually I will tire of stalking my e-mail and pacing a hole through my living room floor and will get back to what we are all advised to do when querying:
Keep writing.
Actually, that's what we're advised to do all the time. Because writers write. And if you love it, you have to focus on the writing and not on the business side of it or you will surely go mad.7
Just keep writing.
And so, here I am, blogging again after an embarrassingly considerable absence and hopefully giving you a taste of an unpublished writer's life. And perhaps a hint as to why I am so fucking crazy half9 the time.
Wish me luck!
************************************
1. The writers, upon seeing the Q word, have long since retreated to a corner and are balled into fetal position, rocking back and forth, humming and sucking their thumbs. Or petting rabbits.2
2. And by that I mean the John-Malkovich-playing-Lennie-in-Of-Mice-and-Men style of rabbit petting.
3. She's a Quidditch Seeker too - match made in publishing heaven!4
4. I'm not really a Seeker. I'd be more of a Beater. But not in a dirty way.
5. She loves Helen Fielding and Ernest Hemmingway - what a coincidence - I write like their long-lost love child!6
6. Not really. But maybe I should...
7. I know, I know, Most writers are a bit loopy to start with.8 But this whole trying-to-get-published stuff is like a hyper-warp beyond your previously slow, measured descent into madness, fo' shizzle.
8. Sort of like city councillors.
9. Jodi. Being generous with the fractions. (Think Rob Schneider making copies again.)
Monday, November 29, 2010
LoMyFuMiMo
After a slow start (I did a bit at the beginning, then nothing for three weeks), my NaNoWriMo is looking a little like LoMyFuMiMo (Losing My Mind Month) at this point. However, progress has been made.
Since I’ve already got one novel drafted and another started, and there was no way in hell I was ever going to write 50,000 new words this month, I committed instead to a serious schedule of revising and writing. So JoReWriMo (Jodi’s Revising and Writing Month) broke down into 5,000 new words and 72,0001 revised words. Or, in other words2, a couple of chapters in the new novel and a few blogs for the new, and a completed second draft of the existing novel for the revision.
To me, NaNoWriMo is all about just doing it. Getting ‘er done. Ass in chair, hands on pen/keyboard. Making some goals and sticking to them. Staying up late and shunning paying work for the dream.
And for the past week especially, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
So why am I boring you with this poopstorm of decidedly unfunny facts and numbers? Because JoReWriMo is precisely why I haven’t been blogging lately. Yes, after only a month into production, I had to take a hiatus from blogging to make a sincere run at draft two. Plus my daughter turned eight and my in-laws visited for two of this fine month’s fours weeks.3 Life gets in the way.
But the cold November rains will soon be gone, I’ve got 2,750 new and 67,000 revised words in the can and I am going for the win.
So stay tuned and wish me luck—we’ll be talking again before you know it...
******************************
1 - Yah – you read that right. 72k. Although it’s turning more into 80k because of the stuff I’ve added in.
2 – Jodi’s are punny.
3 – Yah – you read that right. Please see Now We’re Talking! “Some people (me) never learn...” re: not blogging self out of wills. Also, see this blog. :~)
Friday, November 19, 2010
Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! (1)
So I was going to do a post about rejection (in all its many forms), but I’m feeling pretty damn huggy this week, so I’m going to instead do some Now We’re Talking2 (aka Now We’re Talking With Jodi3) shout outs. Word!
First of all, Now We’re Talking4 shout outs to each and every one of you who have stopped by, shared a link, made a comment and showed unfathomable support and love. I am touched and humbled.
A Now We’re Talking5 shout out to the ultra-fabulous Halifax Broad. This super-talented graphic designer by day and blogger by night (or vice versa) talked about (and expanded beautifully upon) the Kegel Pole-ka™ in her amazing blog and I’m sure is responsible for the handful of new followers I have who are not my friends or relatives! Yay! People I don’t know! Now YOU are my friends too!
Another Now We’re Talking6 shout out to the organizers of and participants in the MSVU Celebration of Writing. After all my angst, I ended up having a fantastic time. My panelmates, Jon Tattrie and Jan Morrison, were particularly charming and clever, and I sat front and centre to listen to the lovely and delightful Sheree Fitch's keynote address. (I laughed. I cried. I’m not proud.) During the panel, Sheree7 and a few awesome buddies of mine were kind enough to ask me questions that made me feel like a real writer, rather than the poser I am on most days. Now, someone may burst my delusions of grandeur, but I believe I didn’t make a complete fool of myself. And sometimes that’s all you can hope for in this world.
So the next time someone calls and asks you to do something waaaay outside your comfort zone, try saying yes. You might have fun!8
That's quite enough treacly sweetness for today. I promise a funny post when this insanely busy week is over. Plus all this happiness—well, let’s just say I’m funnier when I’m agitated, so I’ll work on that.
On a COMPLETELY unrelated topic (*cough*), did I mention my in-laws are staying with us for two weeks? *whistlesasherassgetskickedoutofStarbucksafterbeingthereforsixhours*
Mwah! Now we’re talking!9
***************************************
1. Those are kisses, in case you didn’t know. Onomatopoeia is not a strong suit for me. Nor are metaphors and symbolism. And here I fancy myself a writer. HA!
2. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 1.
3. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 2.
4. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 3.
5. OK—last one. I swear.
6. I lie like a rug. Better for you to find out now, don’tcha think?
7. Who thinks I’m funny, by the way.
8. Hey Susan D. Rushdie, you can come out of hiding again! Mwah! to you too! Thanks!
9. Jodi Reid... carrying a joke too far... (David Spade voice)
First of all, Now We’re Talking4 shout outs to each and every one of you who have stopped by, shared a link, made a comment and showed unfathomable support and love. I am touched and humbled.
A Now We’re Talking5 shout out to the ultra-fabulous Halifax Broad. This super-talented graphic designer by day and blogger by night (or vice versa) talked about (and expanded beautifully upon) the Kegel Pole-ka™ in her amazing blog and I’m sure is responsible for the handful of new followers I have who are not my friends or relatives! Yay! People I don’t know! Now YOU are my friends too!
Another Now We’re Talking6 shout out to the organizers of and participants in the MSVU Celebration of Writing. After all my angst, I ended up having a fantastic time. My panelmates, Jon Tattrie and Jan Morrison, were particularly charming and clever, and I sat front and centre to listen to the lovely and delightful Sheree Fitch's keynote address. (I laughed. I cried. I’m not proud.) During the panel, Sheree7 and a few awesome buddies of mine were kind enough to ask me questions that made me feel like a real writer, rather than the poser I am on most days. Now, someone may burst my delusions of grandeur, but I believe I didn’t make a complete fool of myself. And sometimes that’s all you can hope for in this world.
So the next time someone calls and asks you to do something waaaay outside your comfort zone, try saying yes. You might have fun!8
That's quite enough treacly sweetness for today. I promise a funny post when this insanely busy week is over. Plus all this happiness—well, let’s just say I’m funnier when I’m agitated, so I’ll work on that.
On a COMPLETELY unrelated topic (*cough*), did I mention my in-laws are staying with us for two weeks? *whistlesasherassgetskickedoutofStarbucksafterbeingthereforsixhours*
Mwah! Now we’re talking!9
***************************************
1. Those are kisses, in case you didn’t know. Onomatopoeia is not a strong suit for me. Nor are metaphors and symbolism. And here I fancy myself a writer. HA!
2. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 1.
3. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 2.
4. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 3.
5. OK—last one. I swear.
6. I lie like a rug. Better for you to find out now, don’tcha think?
7. Who thinks I’m funny, by the way.
8. Hey Susan D. Rushdie, you can come out of hiding again! Mwah! to you too! Thanks!
9. Jodi Reid... carrying a joke too far... (David Spade voice)
Thursday, November 11, 2010
WTF was I thinking?
More advice for you, my friends.
Say you receive an e-mail that says something like this: “So-and-so’s going to call and ask you to do something. Please say yes.”
My advice?
Run the other way.
For reasons I’m still trying to suss out, I did say yes when the call from so-and-so eventually came. And now my leg has a repetitive stress injury from continuously kicking my own arse over my own sheer stupidity.
What in the effin’ jay was I thinking?
Part of it was that, like many women, I have trouble saying no and an inexplicable need to help and/or please people.1 All the time. Part of it was that I was flattered to be asked.
Ahhh, yes—pride. We all know what that comes before.
What I foolishly accepted was an invitation to be part of a panel of speakers at one of my almae matres, Mount Saint Vincent University. They are celebrating writing next week and asked me to be on the “Writers Talk Publishing” panel. Which is rather frigging hilarious when you consider that I am completely and utterly unpublished. Absurdly so. (Perhaps because I use too many adverbs? But I digress. Predictably.)
The line-up for the day includes Alexander MacLeod (yes, that Alexander MacLeod), Crystal Garrett and Chris Benjamin on the morning panel (“Writers Talk Writing”); uber-author-extraordinaire Sheree Fitch as the keynote speaker; and Jon Tattrie and Jan Morrison on “my” panel in the afternoon.
Well cluck, cluck!2 Look at Miss Fancy Pants on the fancy panel! I’ll fit right in, right?
F*cking idiot.
You see, what all of these other people (with one exception3) have in common is that they are published authors. Some ridiculously prolifically so.5
Apparently, someone6 thought I could add to this discussion amongst these distinguished and accomplished people because I’m flailingly submerged in the lengthy, soul-wracking, ice-pick-to-the-brain process of trying to get published. I’m in the research phase—sorting out the mysterious and sick and twisted labyrinth8 that is the publishing world.
There’s just so much information out there. Of course, the same could be said for anything these days—everything is on the information-overload highway somewhere, so there’s no excuse anymore for not being able to find out about any conceivable topic. “I didn’t know” just doesn’t cut it. Read publisher websites. Read agent blogs. Read author websites and blogs. Learn how to fix your plot, your characters, your dialogue, your jitch—whatever. It’s all “out there.” In overwhelmingly choking detail.
So, WTF can I possibly bring these people that they haven’t already found out for themselves or heard from one of my learned and published co-panellists?
Ummmm... Comic relief?
OK. So I’ll try to bring the funny.
Wish me luck—I’m gonna bloody well need it.
***********************************
1. Hubby says WHAT?!?!? Where’s the line for that?
2. Props to my sister and her crazy friends for one of my favourite phrases ever.
3. I don’t think Crystal Garrett has a book published, but she’s a professor at Kings and the Mount, a broadcaster whose work has appeared on CNN, and she’s represented Canada internationally as a long-distance runner. Show off.4
4. Just kidding! About the show-off part. Yah. Kidding.
5. Adverb theme! Adverb theme!
6. ..who shall remain nameless here but is emblazoned permanently on my brain in the radically overdeveloped “revenge” compartment...7
7. Just kidding! About the dish best served cold. Yah. Kidding.
8. Polysyndeton, just for someone.
Say you receive an e-mail that says something like this: “So-and-so’s going to call and ask you to do something. Please say yes.”
My advice?
Run the other way.
For reasons I’m still trying to suss out, I did say yes when the call from so-and-so eventually came. And now my leg has a repetitive stress injury from continuously kicking my own arse over my own sheer stupidity.
What in the effin’ jay was I thinking?
Part of it was that, like many women, I have trouble saying no and an inexplicable need to help and/or please people.1 All the time. Part of it was that I was flattered to be asked.
Ahhh, yes—pride. We all know what that comes before.
What I foolishly accepted was an invitation to be part of a panel of speakers at one of my almae matres, Mount Saint Vincent University. They are celebrating writing next week and asked me to be on the “Writers Talk Publishing” panel. Which is rather frigging hilarious when you consider that I am completely and utterly unpublished. Absurdly so. (Perhaps because I use too many adverbs? But I digress. Predictably.)
The line-up for the day includes Alexander MacLeod (yes, that Alexander MacLeod), Crystal Garrett and Chris Benjamin on the morning panel (“Writers Talk Writing”); uber-author-extraordinaire Sheree Fitch as the keynote speaker; and Jon Tattrie and Jan Morrison on “my” panel in the afternoon.
Well cluck, cluck!2 Look at Miss Fancy Pants on the fancy panel! I’ll fit right in, right?
F*cking idiot.
You see, what all of these other people (with one exception3) have in common is that they are published authors. Some ridiculously prolifically so.5
Apparently, someone6 thought I could add to this discussion amongst these distinguished and accomplished people because I’m flailingly submerged in the lengthy, soul-wracking, ice-pick-to-the-brain process of trying to get published. I’m in the research phase—sorting out the mysterious and sick and twisted labyrinth8 that is the publishing world.
There’s just so much information out there. Of course, the same could be said for anything these days—everything is on the information-overload highway somewhere, so there’s no excuse anymore for not being able to find out about any conceivable topic. “I didn’t know” just doesn’t cut it. Read publisher websites. Read agent blogs. Read author websites and blogs. Learn how to fix your plot, your characters, your dialogue, your jitch—whatever. It’s all “out there.” In overwhelmingly choking detail.
So, WTF can I possibly bring these people that they haven’t already found out for themselves or heard from one of my learned and published co-panellists?
Ummmm... Comic relief?
OK. So I’ll try to bring the funny.
Wish me luck—I’m gonna bloody well need it.
***********************************
1. Hubby says WHAT?!?!? Where’s the line for that?
2. Props to my sister and her crazy friends for one of my favourite phrases ever.
3. I don’t think Crystal Garrett has a book published, but she’s a professor at Kings and the Mount, a broadcaster whose work has appeared on CNN, and she’s represented Canada internationally as a long-distance runner. Show off.4
4. Just kidding! About the show-off part. Yah. Kidding.
5. Adverb theme! Adverb theme!
6. ..who shall remain nameless here but is emblazoned permanently on my brain in the radically overdeveloped “revenge” compartment...7
7. Just kidding! About the dish best served cold. Yah. Kidding.
8. Polysyndeton, just for someone.
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