Conference Day 1

I got a major guilt trip from my 7 year old as I left the house this morning. Couple that with the guilt trip I got when I arrived home tonight, on how I'm going to miss the girls' karate belt tests tomorrow, and it actually got to me.

Thanks, hun. Just what I needed. : / I'm busy 1 weekend out of the entire year and I get real tears, sob stories and children clinging to my shins.

As for the conference, it's going great so far.

I learned about the agency submission structure to publishers.

I learned what a Pre-Empt was, and how a book auction works.

I learned editors don't like to admit it, but they DO read the slush pile.

I also learned editors admire work like "Speak" (a fabulous book all teenagers should read!) but in the same breath say they want a book that speaks (no pun intended) to multiple audiences and is commercial. Huh? Have they read 'Speak'?

I learned I small talk better with writers who are just as socially awkward as myself.

I learned the Starbucks in the hotel lobby closes at 6 pm.

I learned I need a cup of coffee at about 3 pm and should not delay.

I learned a major best selling author is going to read the first 15 pages of my manuscript. Yay!

I learned despite all my editing, and even paying a teacher to copy edit I STILL had POV issues in my manuscript. Argh!!! I swear, I don't normally have issues with POV, but changing this book from 1st to 3rd was a huge mistake and I'm so pissed I took that note to begin with.

I learned when asked what other Young Adult author's favorite books were, I was the only one who's answer did not included 'young plucky girl from the past' coming of age novels.

In fact, I'm fairly certain, when asked to pick my favorite character in one of my favorite books I was the only one who wrote about the narrator of 'The Book Thief,' Death.

Day 2 tomorrow. Wish me luck.

Wanted: Bonfire Under My Ass

The mind freeze has temporarily abated, due to the minor construction catastrophe taking place at my house.

Note to readers: When you replace the insulation in your attic, be sure the workers only step on the beams in the attic, and not on the floor of your attic, because you will end up with a foot-sized hole in your ceiling. True story.

Because of the presence of workers coming up and down my stairs, and the rattling of ladders, hoses and feet that echo through my house as men stomp around my attic, and that my husband was home yesterday "working" in the home office to supervise (and thank God he did, because of the (w)hole fiasco -- at one point the workers came down the stairs, and when I asked if there was anything they needed to discuss, the worker asked to speak to my husband. Nice.), and that my kids were relinquished to playing only in the house and out back so that we could be here should any problems arise (which they did, of course), I was hopelessly distracted from my obsessive First Draft Mind Freeze. Initially, I thought this was a good thing.

Today, I am now a little more than frustrated. The propeller on the new insulation blower (the insulation is actually recycled newspaper, if you can believe that!) busted about 1/4 of the way through the process last night, so the workers had to depart the house, leaving all their plastic, dust, and hoses and my upstairs closet completely covered in painting plastic, so that they can get a new propeller and finish at the crack of dawn this morning.

Which means that I will be unable to do any writing whatsoever two days in a row, and even though I complain about First Draft Mind Freeze, if the momentum is broken (which, it now is), to get the momentum back will require a large bonfire lit under my ass. You know that old expression, 'Strike while the iron is hot'? Well, mine has cooled via attic insulation. Literally.

I'm rather hoping that the conference (which starts tomorrow - eek!! When will I have time to clean up the construction mess!?) will supply this necessary fire. I'm sure it will. They usually do.

But that leaves today to stew. Can't write. Can't leave the house because of the workers. Out of chocolate and ice cream. No hidden stash of nicotine. The only thing I have is Facebook games and a reheated cup of coffee smothered in French Vanilla creamer and three scoops of sugar.

'Gonna be a long day.

The First Draft Mind Freeze

Many of you may know this already, so if so, I apologize for stating the obvious. But, for those of you out there unfamiliar with the writing process, I'm going to divulge a trade secret.

Writing is distracting.

There, I said it. Boy, do I feel better!

I sat down last night after the girls were down (there's a reason why my blog is called 'Will Write for Coffee'! Can't function passed 10 o'clock without it!) and I wrote out another scene, not a complete chapter mind you, but a scene and an outline of my new book. This is the Sci-Fi one I mentioned prior about the moral dilemma.

Kudos to my good friend H. for talking through it with me while the girls (and her girl) were taking karate classes. I was able to streamline the focus of the book. I had my net spread too far. I needed to reel it in slightly. I so enjoy having smart and knowledgeable friends.

But, I noticed last night and again this morning that the mind freeze has begun. The First Draft Mind Freeze is an affliction that occurs during the writing of the very first draft of a new novel. It can also occur during the Second Draft, Third Draft, and the dreaded Fourth Draft, but is usually not as severe. The First Draft Mind Freeze is the worst. It's all consuming. You cannot do dishes without thinking through the new outline. You cannot take a shower without thinking through the characters flaws and strengths, and how best to demonstrate them. You cannot drive in the car without hearing a song that reminds you of a) what the movie trailer of the movie made from your book would look like, or b) that your character must be feeling the same as that girl or boy whining/yelling/crying in the lyrics of the song playing on the radio. You cannot cook, clean, brush your teeth, knit, exercise, blah, blah, blah, (you get the idea), or you cannot even blog, for that matter, without thinking of the new book.

I'm a little perturbed with myself for starting this the week of the conference. I hope I will be able to shut off the internal dialogue running circles in my head long enough to hear a few good speeches, take a few good classes, and meet a few good people.

Sadly, my husband has noticed already. He started with an "innocent" reminder as he saw me hacking away at the computer last night.

Him: "Did you talk with the gardener about cutting back that tree that's touching the roof?"

Me: "Hmm? What? Oh, yes. He didn't have that long pole thingie with the saw on the end with him. He'll bring it next week." (back to typing)

Him: "You'll be here next week when he comes?"

Me: (stops typing and tries not to look irritated) "I think so."

Him: "You think so? What else do you have planned?"

Me: (doesn't bother trying not to look irritated) "I don't know. Running errands. Children. You know..." (back to staring at the screen, because I can't remember now where I left off)

Him: "Because I think you should be here when he comes to make sure he does it."

Me: (stops glaring at the screen and shoots daggers with my eyes) "Alright! Alright!"

Him: (backs away slowly like I'm a growling pit bull) "It's important. You don't want rats to get into the attic now, do you?"

Me: "I said I'd be here!!" (looks back at the screen and glowers at it, realizing I'm going to have to back track and re-read all I've written to get back to where I was)

Grrrrr...

My dreams of a husband who wordlessly enters a room, refills my coffee cup and then slips out with a loving and understanding expression on his face are dashed every single time I sit down to write. Perhaps I should have a wife instead.

The First Draft Mind Freeze is not good for marriages, raising children, or running a household. And not only that, the First Draft Mind freeze rarely produces a book that's any good! First Drafts are notoriously sucky. It takes me at least three drafts to have a book with any decent cohesiveness. So, not only am I distracted, cranky, unfocused and obsessed, I'm not even writing well.

Maybe it's because I'm distracted, cranky, unfocused and obsessed that it doesn't turn out well.

Sometimes I wonder why I do this...And then I remember how miserable I am when I don't.

Literary Identity

Sometimes, I just have to write. There is no explanation for it. I joke occasionally that it's like ooze seeping from my pores, and if I don't squirt it out then it just makes me and everybody around me sticky with puss, but in truth it's what keeps me sane.

Barely.

But, sane.

After a long week of mommy-hood I watched one of my assigned movies for the conference last night, a very very scary remake by Disney called "17 Again" starring every tween girl's crush Zac Efron. The class I am taking is about writing in Young Adult voice, so I'm a little confused as to why we are watching a mediocre movie about a grown up pretending to be a teenager, but if I think too hard it hurts, so I am just going to give our instructor the benefit of the doubt.

In the meantime, however, the possibility that this instructor, this very successful editor from a very successful publisher is using "17 Again" as a GOOD example of young adult voice has made me question myself as a young adult writer. Is THAT what I am supposed to aspire towards? Please tell me it's not so. Because, if it is, I am in the wrong genre. Heck, I might even be in the wrong century.

I aspire to write literature like "The Book Thief" or "Almost Moon" (an adult novel by Alice Sebold which was absolutely brilliant!) and pieces of work that make a person think, and feel, and even grow (!). A work that examines the human psyche, critically scrutinizes the "truth" about people and society, something that MEANS something. Are you telling me that "17 Again" means something?! Please, for the love of all things literary, tell me it ain't so!

I had a full blown literary identity crisis today. What kind of writer am I? Am I the kind that can write about zombies, vampires and post apocalyptic worlds like the rest of the YA community? Am I the type who wants to? Am I the type of writer who can?

A very dear friend talked me off the literary ledge today, and after having read most of my work, and knowing me very very very well (and still wanting to hang out with me, which I find a bit odd, actually), she gave me this piece of advice.

"You are the type of writer who can expose and explain how it feels to be a young woman with merciless honesty. Whatever the story is about, whoever the characters, if you do THAT, the rest will fall into place. You just have to stay true to your own honesty."

So, in the depths of my literary identity crisis I sat down tonight after the kids went to bed (God Bless Coffee!!!) and wrote the first chapter of a very deeply disturbing, commercial, sci-fi novel about a young girl faced with an extremely difficult moral dilemma and I had a ball writing it.

Who knew.

I guess I can write it. The one problem I have is that I am not so certain, at this point in the marketplace, if it's not too little, too late.

At the rate I write, by the time I finish this post apocalyptic novel, the YA market will have moved onto space gangsters in love with aliens.

Maybe I should write that one instead.

Six Minutes

I still have two movies to watch for my conference and not a single moment of free time to spare. During the day, my young children leave me not a moment's peace. I even have to lock the bathroom door so I can poop in privacy. No joke, I timed it: I can have up to six minutes peace before they make it their life's mission to find some innocuous crisis or inane question.

Actual quote:

Her: "Mommy. Mommy? Mommy!"

Me: "What?!"

Her: "Is my bobby pin straight?"

Me: (Heavy sigh)

Then, after kid bedtime, my husband and I must conference about my To Do List, and all my chores and obligations, my excuses for why I didn't get 95% of them done, and then a recap of what my To Do List is for the next day. This is what I get for marrying a Type A.

After all this is said and done, it's 11 o'clock at night and all I want is maybe a whole ten minutes of quiet.

...Later, so much for ten minutes...Hubby just came downstairs to ask why I wasn't coming to bed.

Oey.

The good news is that when I explained what I was doing, and that I wasn't sure when I would get a chance to watch the movies, he volunteered to watch them with me this weekend on our customary movie night. Translation: "You can watch the movies this weekend while I work on my laptop on the couch, sometimes looking up and asking, 'What just happened?' "

He means well. :)

In other news, I have been completely devoid of any further rejection letters. I'm not sure if this means anything or not. I'm too distracted by bobby pin straightening to notice.

I did take a moment and read a portion of my fantasy novel and realized a few things.

1) The title sucks

2) The first chapter is good, but still heavy with exposition (note: used the delete key frequently)

3) The B and C story are already in the book, just painfully under-developed. Easy fix.

4) Good read. Well written. Quite stylized. Is the concept different enough? There isn't a single vampire, zombie or post apocalyptic world in sight. There is a centaur, fairy and a hot red headed female wizard, however. Do teenage girls still have a thing for ponies, fairies and magic? Hmm...Note to self: add fangs to the fairy, make the centaur a Rastafarian, and the red headed wizard a cannibal.

Now, I'm just punchy.

Must...go...to...bed.

The Reading Zombie of Teeth and Ambition

I can tell you right now, I am not sure how I am going to last the summer like this. Even with one daughter away at church camp, I am still unable to focus. By night, I am a zombie-case.

No writing. No creative juices. Just getting through the every day life, trying to keep afloat. I am reading, voraciously, as I usually do during the summer. I just finished, "Speak" due to a writer friend's recommendation (there are similarities to the book I am trying to sell). After that, I found a lovely compilation of the original Grimm's Fairy Tales while browsing Barnes and Nobles (one of my favorite, all time pastimes), and I am quite a few pages into that. Who knew Cinderella was so bloody? Hmph.

I also got to read an advanced copy of a famous writer's latest book (through channels I am unable to divulge, shhhh!), a huge and lucky break on my part. Now, I'm just trying to figure out how (and this is going to sound horrid, so I apologize in advance) I can work this to my advantage.

Sad. Turns out, I'm just as viciously ambitious as those sharks I mock. We'll see if my teeth are sharp enough to rip off a chuck of flesh.

In the meantime, I'm just holding on.

I can't wait until September 1st, the first day of school, and I can go back and work on that Fantasy 65,000 word A-story heavy novel that's been languishing on my hard drive for the past three years. I think I feel a B and C story coming on...

Or, who knows, perhaps I'll start that new book inspired by a long shower...

Until then, I'm going to continue to coast and read in my zombie-like state, ripping into the pages of literature and snarling at anyone who interrupts me in order to request a cup of juice.

Grrrrr.

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble...

I know I am not supposed to allow myself to get discouraged, and I am trying with all my might to stay positive, but the endless stream of rejection letters is starting to get old.

I'm up to forty three letters and am waiting to hear back from about a dozen of them. The rest were all no's. I have heard stories of people sending out over a hundred queries before getting representation, and I have also heard of people getting representation after sending out thirty.

Don't worry. I won't stop until every single literary agent has been queried. But, I must confess, it's starting to grate on me.

Doubt bubbles in my pours, threatening to burst like a puss-filled pimple.

What if I never find an agent?

What if my book totally sucks and none of my readers had the heart to tell me?

Have I lost all perspective?

Should I start writing some apocalyptic teenage romance like the rest of the world?

Do I give up writing altogether?

Maybe I'm just not as good at this as everybody else.

Ugh.

Ok. I'm done wallowing now.

Onward.

The Nurse is In

My trip to the East Coast was hugely successful. We visited relatives and touristed in New York City. While walking the streets (and avenues) of NYC, around every bend I kept thinking, "What if one of these people I am passing has a query letter from me sitting on their assistant's desk?" "What if one of these people will eventually be my agent?" "It's too bad I don't already have one, because I could go and meet him or her in person while I was here."

**Sigh**

The good news is that despite sending out quite a few query letters before my departure, I only received a couple rejections while I was gone. No one likes bad news while on vacay.

Now, it is prep time for my daughters. One is going away to church camp for a week, one is staying home and going to art day camp. Also, both are testing for higher belts in karate (mixed martial arts to be precise) and we need to double up classes to make up for the ones we missed. Listen to me, the classes 'WE' missed. Who's class is it, anyways?

I finished reading 'King Dork' while on vacation and now have the task of watching the two other movies I purchased (used) on line and then I will be ready for the writer's conference coming up at the end of this month.

I can't imagine when I am going to have time to write. Three weeks (has it been three weeks already?) into the summer and I can already feel myself slipping out of control. The crazies are running the asylum, and let's face facts, I'm only like Nurse Ratchett one week out of the month.