The Evolution of Dreams...and the Art of Asking

Things don’t always happen the way we expect or in the order we anticipate.  Plans get derailed, dreams get sidelined, but sometimes—if we are lucky—the reality turns out to be even better than what we originally hoped for. 

My novel is still in the works, but it is really difficult for me to work on a piece that relies so heavily on continuity when I can only carve out small blocks of time.  Between work, and family, cleaning, and carpooling, and writing articles for extra income—well, it can be nearly impossible to sit down, reorient myself, remember where I left off and where I was going, find my voice, and get down a reasonable number of words before I doze off at my keyboard. 

However, I have been writing several short stories.  Some I wrote for contests, some to submit to magazines or journals, and others I wrote because they would not shut up until I did.  Last week, I glanced over the files of short stories that cluttered my computer.  I didn’t realize how many I had amassed or the spectrum they covered:  Southern Gothic, science fiction, horror, mystery….

About that same time, I read that Amazon had a new imprint.  I read a little further and realized that it was geared toward short stories.  Apparently, short stories are enjoying a renaissance!   Whether it is due to time constraints or decreased attention spans, I have no idea—but the timing couldn’t be better!

Now, I am not always the most observant person in the world (a hardship for a writer, I know), but I don’t need a pile of books to fall on my head for me to wonder if perhaps—just perhaps—this is a sign.  

Even if it isn’t a sign, I am going to pretend it is. 

I am going to release some single short stories as well as a collection on Amazon.  As things get closer, I will need your help—help choosing a book cover and possibly the title.  I will need help getting word out.  If you decide to purchase a story, or the collection, perhaps you will also consider helping out by writing an honest review sharing your thoughts and impressions.  You can help by spreading the word (once there is more word to spread).  And you can help with your presence, your encouragement, and your well-wishes--they really do keep me going.

I feel a bit like Amanda Palmer (but with eyebrows and pathetic singing voice) humbly asking that you share in this dream with me.  If you have not seen her TED Talk, you should. 

 

Asking for help is scary and risky and…liberating.

 I will let you know as things get closer, because I when I jump…I’m going to need someone to catch me! 

Cat in the Headlights

This is the week that I finalize my short story for the contest.  It is the week that I start working on a pitch for an article that will bring in more freelance funds.  This is the week I am giving up soda.  It is the week that I finally get back to the novel and see how much closer to done I can bring it.  This is the week with two Back to School Nights spread over two days. It is the week before a long weekend, which means the day job gets even busier.  This is the week I decided to start getting back in shape so that my blood pressure (hopefully) goes down (and why, why does even typing those words make me immediately crave a honey bun?).

This week has me feeling like a
Cat in the Headlights!

This week is already kicking my butt.

(I will let you know on Friday how it all turns out.)

I do want to thank all of the beta readers that so generously volunteered their time and experience to help make my story stronger.  No two readers read it exactly the same way, and everyone noticed different things that they either liked or that could stand to be tweaked.  Their input made the story stronger.  I will find out mid-September if all our hard work paid off for this particular contest.  But if not, I think I will try to find a good home for this story, because I have grown quite attached to it.  (Geez, this makes the story sound like a stray kitten.)

One thing that this entire journey has shown me is that the hardest thing about writing (other than the actual writing) is that it pits my greatest desire and my greatest fear against each other.  You see, I really, really want to share my stories with the world and have them be read and appreciated; I am also terrified about sharing my stories with the world and having them read and judged....

But, I decided a while back that my fortieth year is to be The Year of Doing.  And, as such, I am pushing ahead.  There will always be people who don't care for a story.  Perhaps it isn't their preferred genre.  Maybe it touches a nerve.  Maybe it is too flowery for them...or to stark.

But then...then, if you are lucky...you find someone who is genuinely affected by your words.  Someone who takes the time to actually TELL you that your story moved them in some way.  Then it is all worthwhile.  A writer can live off that kind of thing for YEARS.  When the bad reviews sprinkle in, those are the moments that sustain them.  So I treasure every bit of encouragement that my readers have given me.  I tuck their kind words away and hold them close to my heart.

In the meantime, I will keep juggling.  I will take the good with the bad...and I will keep tending to the small stories, the wounded characters, and stray kittens that inevitably find me.

If not me, then who?

A Tangle of Trees, Philosophical Musings, and 113 Pages

I finally have my lunch hour back!  Now I can write more, which is good because last night only produced two pages.  I actually did more work on the story than that...but I realized that I needed to go back and add a scene and a few snippets, so I had to backtrack and make notes of that.  Then I got a huge epiphany about a key scene that is coming up, so I had to jot those ideas down so I wouldn't forget them.  So it was actually more productive than the page count would indicate.

I find myself going back and forth.  When I have a rough writing day, I wonder what the hell I am doing trying to write a book.  When the words flow and everything "clicks," everything seems possible and within reach.  Sometimes these feelings follow quickly on the heels of the other.  It feels a bit bi-polar.

I think that the book is affecting me more than I initially realized.  Last night I kept dreaming that I was trying to make it up this hill.  At first I was on a bicycle trying to pedal up the steep incline and failing miserably.  So, being a clever girl, I ditched the bike and tried to proceed on foot.  However, gnarly trees then erupted from the earth, their branches thick and knotted, intertwining and barring my passage.

My tangle of trees.

As I struggled to claw my way through the tangled limbs, I kept hoping that someone would come and meet me half-way.  Perhaps offer assistance.  No one did.

Maybe that is why I am documenting this--to see if anyone will meet me half-way.  Or perhaps it is so someone traveling behind me might avoid some of the snares that I encounter...maybe I am meant to be the one to stop along the way, retrace my steps, and venture back to meet another traveller.