Semicolon tattoos; take a breath

Last week I was in my backyard, talking to my neighbor. As she hung her arm over the fence to pet my dog desperately stretching to reach her, I saw a new tattoo on her wrist. It was simple, stark even. It was a semicolon. 

This quiet tattoo is now decorating the ankles and wrists and shoulders of hundreds of people in my neighborhood and maybe yours, too. It's a conversation starter for difficult and painful subjects – suicide, addiction, and mental illness.  I’m not going to discuss the staggering numbers, the lives lost, or the lives forever changed of those left behind. We’ve all heard them. Statistics don’t move people.

The simple fact is if you haven’t had suicide, addiction, or mental illness touch your own lives, you know someone it has touched. That is one degree of separation, guys. One. Freaking. Degree. 

Yeah, yeah, it’s national headlines when we lose someone famous, like Heath Ledger or Robin Williams. For a brief instant it is illuminated for all to see, to grieve, to shake our heads and say “oh, how tragic, what a loss.” Then the subject of suicide/addiction/mental illness scuttles back into the dark where it’s comfortable and safe and we return to our lives in progress.

The semicolon tattoo is dragging it back into the light. According to ProjectSemicolon's website, people are using the semicolon tattoo like a writer would, as a pause, a breath to think, and then keep going. They are tattooing the reminder for them and others to see—as a proud token of survival, an invitation for questions, in memory of a lost loved one, or to spark others to start a conversation which then spreads.

I’d like to share the Vision page of the Project Semicolon website (projectsemicolon.com) written by the Founder and President, Amy Bleuel:

“The vision is that together we can achieve lower suicide rates in the US and around the world;
That together we can start a conversation about suicide, mental illness and addiction that can't be stopped;

We envision love and hope and we declare that hope is alive;

We envision a society that openly addresses the struggle with mental illness, suicide and addiction;

We envision a conversation embraced by churches and addressed with love;

We envision a society that sees their value and embraces it;

We envision a community that comes together and stands together in support of one another;

We envision a world where an escape is not found within drugs or alcohol;

We envision a world where self-destruction is no longer a escape to be used;

We envision a revolution of LOVE and declare that our stories are not over yet;”

My neighbor recently lost her son. Her world shifted in ways we cannot even imagine, never to be the same again. One could view that the semicolon inked on her wrist is a symbol of her grief. But it’s so much more than that. It’s a symbol of her strength surviving it; a symbol of her support to others experiencing their own hell; a symbol of community, and most of all a symbol of hope that starting a conversation with just one person could change someone’s life. Because the semicolon is really saying “take a breath, your story isn’t over yet.”

And that, my friends, is awesome.

WRITE ON;

The first word is the hardest #writerproblems

My horoscope today courtesy of Yahoo: “Your overactive imagination acts as both a blessing and a curse today.”

Duh.  Amirite, writers?  Damn skippy I’m right. THAT’S EVERY DAY, YAHOO.

In the last five months I’ve finished major edits on TWO books (okay one and a half since one is a novella but still…that’s a lot of revising so quit crapping on my party and let me have this). I’m not complaining. I love the world in my novels but it’s been a while since I’ve created something brand spanking new.

And that’s got me dithering, fretting, my mind spinning in circles.  Because once again I must face – dun dun dun – the blank page. The vast whiteness. The mocking, blinking cursor that, as one writer told me, hisses “you suck” and “don’t bother, you’ve got nothing left” to her. I advised her to exorcise the demon clearly haunting her computer. My cursor isn’t quite the asshole hers is but it’s not warm and cuddly, either.

For me, and I’d bet for other writers, too, it’s all about choosing one of the literally endless possibilities and following it through to The End. Panic freeze. What are my characters' scars? How does that impact their actions? Is it strong enough? What about their families? Is a talking horse stupid?

Here’s how it’s been going:

I start to noodle their backstory. Is she all quiet grace? Angsty? Is she simmering with rage?

(I go out and weed like a maniac.)

He’s coming across as a dick, gotta fix that.

(I grab the weird duster and knock down those damn cobwebs in my house.)

Conflict, conflict, conflict. So many to choose from. Dammit, pick one already.

(Start eying my…what’s the word, oh yeah DISGUSTING office, piles of papers teetering on the desk, pieces of stuffing from a dog toy scattered over the filthy carpet. Hell no. I know, I’ll write a blog post.)

Choosing is hard. And not a word written on that story.

Yet.

Today is the day I put the first of about 7000 words on the screen. There’s a deadline but those make me focus, much to my surprise.  I found that out doing NaNoWriMo last year.

Oh, wait, Jason DeRulo’s new song is playing. brb.

Okay, I’m back. What was I talking about? Oh right, focus, deadlines.  

Today I stop dithering and choose. It may change as I go, probably will. The (hopefully, fingers crossed please gods let it be the) end product, the core story, of my novel Omega Rising is very different from the first draft. And by different I mean better, more focused, clearer in the goals of the characters, thanks to my awesome editor Cori and the helpful advice from my talented CP Lauren *waves and blows kisses*

So if my first draft sucks HAHAHA. Let me start over. When my first draft sucks I will fix it. If I make her a quiet thinker and she needs to be a ball-buster then I fix it. If the plot is weak I’ll fix it. If it can't be fixed I’ll scrap it and choose another.  Well, I’ll cry and THEN choose another.

So here I go again. Look out Untitled Story for the Rough Edges anthology (mmm, cowboys), you're about to get chosen SO hard.

WRITE ON.

Horses taught me everything

I am lucky enough to have been around horses most of my life. My mom used to say I got the bug from one of her relatives (great-uncle maybe?) who rode in the Calvary way way WAY back in the day.  As a kid I worked on Saturdays at a nearby barn in exchange for riding lessons. Money? I spit on money. There were HORSES!  

As an adult I don't spit on money. Gross. No. I scrimp on other things like driving an old SUV and limiting my craving for fast food to pay for my horse.

I've got the bug and it's been life-long. This journey has taken me to the highest highs and the lowest lows but it's been worth every second and changed me for the better. I cannot even imagine what kind of person I'd be if I hadn't hung out with horses.

My current horse is a Thoroughbred mare (my cousin calls her the lovely Miss P and you can see by the photo why) I've had since she was 3. She's 12 now. I absolutely adore her. But holy hell we went through some trials. 

She wasn't my first horse, thank heavens. Before the lovely Miss P (aka Dolly, Sweet P, or "mare" in a growly voice when she's being fractious) I rode, bought, trained, and sold a lot of horses. Each one taught me something. For example, a little bay polo mare stopped my habit of leaning forward while asking for a canter because whenever I did that she bucked my ass off. LESSON RECEIVED!

I learned a lot, picked the brains of trainers, went to clinics, studied anatomy, and became better (I hope) with each horse I trained. Perhaps all those other horses were preparation for my eventual forever horse.

In the lovely Miss P's young days she was spooky and afraid of every noise. Next was her balking phase, where in the middle of trotting or walking or leg-yielding she just stopped and wouldn't move. That was followed later by bolting and then a long stretch of halfheartedly trying to buck me off at every canter depart, ears pinned and head shaking. 

Yeah, I made some mistakes but then I fixed them. And my horse forgave me. That's another thing about horses that amazes me; they don't hold grudges.  If someone tried to put a saddle on my sore back I'm not sure I'd be so nice.

Horses can feel happy, playful, sad, angry, annoyed, bored, and PMS-y. I can read those expressions on my mare's face; the tightening of her nostrils in irritation, the droopy lip of contentment, hear it in the soft nicker of hello, the sharper whinny of demand. Dumb animal? Far from it.

It's been a long journey for us and one that's been filled with ups and downs, as life usually is. Today, when we ride outside the sound of gunfire in the distance only makes her twitch an ear. She'd still prefer to walk around puddles rather than through them but sighs and does it when I insist. Canter departs are vastly improved - usually :). Balking - gone. Bolting - gone. 

It's like we're partners. She trusts me to keep her safe and I trust her to do the same.

This is not to say she doesn't have her whirling/spinning/ohhellno moments because she surely does, they're just much rarer. Like my own ohhellno moments.

She's taught me patience and humility. She's made me laugh in delight and cry in frustration and breathe a sigh filled with awe when we're so in sync that it's perfect. It's hard to describe, this relationship one can have with your forever horse. It changes you. It changed me. 

I look before I leap (usually), think before I act (mostly), and pause before reacting (tough one but I try). All because of my horse. 

We're both settling into our years pretty damn nicely, I must say. I don't get to see her as often as I'd like - life interrupts - but this spring I am squeaking in more barn time wherever I can get it. Because the lovely Miss P - and horses in general if you're lucky enough to hang with them - reminds me that sometimes blasting off in the pasture with a tail held high because the sun is shining is reason enough.

Life is short - I plan to blast off across the pasture more often.

The Maass effect - awesome

To workshop or not to workshop? Wait, is that the question? It is? Really?

Okay then, here’s my answer.

WORKSHOP. FOR PETE’S SAKE WORKSHOP. I can say that with authority CAPS because I now have one in the can *smuggy smile* jk, just a regular smile.

I just got back from the Windy City RWA Chapter 8-hour master class/workshop “Writing 21^st Century Fiction” with literary agent and author Donald Maass. That’s also the title of one of his books.

Instead of being exhausted I am exhilarated. What fun! What knowledge gained!  And even though Seabiscuit is on TV (an excellent movie) I rushed home to put his tips to work on my manuscript due back to my publisher, Red Moon Romance, in, let me see, omigod, DAYS (I will be revising until my fingers cramp, Cori, I swear, right after this). 

(I forgot to tell you guys. I am officially an author with Red Moon Romance. Yippee! First book, Skye Falling, comes out later this year. Double Yippee!! Now back to my regularly scheduled blog post)

It helped that Mr. Maass is a great speaker – a funny, blunt New Yorker who thinks his pizza is better than ours here in Chicago, HAHAHA fool – but it’s his decades in the business that made everyone in the crowded room sit up, shut up, and take copious notes.

He talked about trends in the business (mermaid novels are a thing and overdone? Are you kidding me? But yes, it is apparently a thing). We brought our WIPs and picked apart our scenes using his techniques.  He talked about writers shying away from the truth in their writing and about how the internal feelings of our characters are too often neglected in favor of a faster pace and why taking your protagonist to the point of despair resonates with readers.  And so much more. Hours and hours more.

It was fan-freaking-tastic layered with awesome and just a hint of jiggly joy to be immersed in the craft of writing being guided by a master.

Although I don’t have any comparisons to make as this was my first “event” I think the women of Windy City RWA did a fantastic job. If there were any glitches (aside from a few microphone burps) they went unnoticed by me. Even the food was great. I met lots of interesting writers, nearly all women, who wrote contemporary romance, paranormals, thrillers, comedies, mysteries, and historicals. That was awesome.

Whee! I cannot wait to dig into my novel. Thanks, Mr. Maass! Thanks, Windy City RWA. You guys were my first and all that follow will be compared to you  :)

WRITE ON.

Sold a story freak-out

I didn’t understand the whole fear of success idea until I sold a story.

Someone LIKES my story.  Likes it enough to publish it!

Great news, fantastic news,  ohmygodidonttotallysuck news.

Emails flew back and forth – contracts, series suggestions (SERIES?!?), editor assigned, suggestions made (awesome ones, btw, and I’m hard at work on them now, not writing a blog, no, I’m writing, honestly),  possible spin-off.

My head spun, my heart pounded, and I had a minor panic attack. Crashed down from Cloud Nine to Basement Cloud, where they keep the boiler surrounded by rat nests in the dark. I’m scared to death of both boilers (which can explode) and rats (‘nuff said). Yes, it's probably a metaphor for something success-related. No, I don’t know what. Cut me some slack, Jack. I’m a writer, not a philosopher.

I pulled that story (I’ll call it Shorty Book Two) out of my ass when I was stuck on Book One. I grabbed a minor character out of it, set it a month after the ending of Book One, and just wrote. It was terrible. Pulled it out of the garbage six months later when I was again stuck/sick of Book One, rewrote it and it was a blast, easy to write, with FUN characters.

Hmm, I thought, this doesn’t suck.

I liked Shorty enough to submit but didn’t look down the road, story-wise. Still not happy with Book One, which I sent when asked because it starts the whole shebang (haven’t heard back on that yet but like the movie advised, I’ve Let It Go…for now. I’ll obsess on it later – do they like it,  is it awful, will they change their minds, do they still like me, circle yes or no; you know, the normal writer stuff - when I have time. Which is not now).

My brother (Thanks, J!) talked me down, reminded me I DID have a general idea on where the story would go. Sure it wasn’t detailed but goshdarnit I’m a writer and I could pull those details out of my, um, …head. Time to get organized. Story board, Post-Its, plotting.  *whines a little, takes a deep breath*

I can do this.  *whines again, slaps myself, glares at hand*

I CAN DO THIS.

Time to get to work. I’ll keep you posted on my next freak out, I mean progress. My progress.

WRITE ON.

Not writing? READ

Well, the January blues are in full effect.

It's snowing. It's cold. It's dark. Did I mention it's snowing?

This is prime reading season, writer people, for when you're not, uh, writing. Or, to put it like the hackers who changed the road sign in L.A. a few weeks ago -- "READ A F*CKING BOOK"

Here's what I've read so far in the last month or so:

Executive Orders by Tom Clancy - I thought this would be a reread but I somehow missed this one. The plotting is so complex (and timely with Ebola playing a starring role) with so many threads that ALL come together in the end. *bows down to the plot-master chanting we're not worthy*

Dark Places by Gillian Flynn - loveloveloved it. Better than Sharp Objects imho. Opening line one of the best I've read.

On Writing by Stephen King - nuff said. (I mean, he is the King)

The Darkest Touch by Gena Showalter - Torin's story didn't disappoint. Hot and funny.

The Book of Life by Deborah Harkness - the end of the trilogy. Okay, not awesome. I think the length of time from when I read the first two may have impacted my absorption into the story.

Water for Elephants  by Sara Gruen - this is a reread for me and is still one of my favs

Shadow Woman by Linda Howard - confusing, the last few chapters disappointing. Weird premise


Here's what left on my To Be Read pile

Written in My Own Heart's Blood by Diana Gabaldon - have been a fan of hers since I first read Outlander ten years ago then gobbled up the rest. Super excited about this one.

Hard To Come By by Laura Kaye - mmm, gotta be hot because it's Kaye. Loving the Hard Ink series

Archangel's Shadows by Nalina Singh - picked it up on a whim. Fingers crossed. It's archangels so already interesting to me



As you can see the TBR pile is pitifully small. Anyone have good recs? Cuz February isn't fit for man or beast, either.

WRITE ON READ ON