Don't Steal This Book!!!

Saturday night my DH and I attended my local RWA chapter holiday party. It was a fun affair where everyone brought food--heavy on the desserts--and a book for a White Elephant gift. Given that about 35 of the 40 attendees were writers (the other 5 or so were husbands), books were a great replacement for the bizarre items opened and stolen in past years. There were no rules about what kind of book except it couldn't be one written by the person who brought it. Needless to say, in this bunch there was no lack of creativity in the offerings.

Among the novels, self-help, picture books, histories, biographies and humor, one book stood out. It would have even if three people hadn't brought the same title. The first copy unwrapped was stolen twice ( the maximum number of steals allowed). The second I happily unwrapped and, glaring at the thieving Heather MacAllister who took it from me, had to choose again. A whisper of encouragement told me there was yet another copy in the dwindling pile. All I had to do was figure out which package it was in. Using all my powers of deduction--by that point dulled a bit by red wine--I grabbed a Christmas striped bag and VICTORY! Not only did I get The Book but the generous Christie Craig had included a terrific craft book in the bag. No one dared steal my treasure this time.

So what was the coveted title? FIFTY SHADES OF CHICKEN. It's a cook book with some rather steamy recipes. The trailer is hilarious and gives you the "flavor" of the writing. Check it out:

By the way, no one brought that Grey book.

So what were your favorite books of 2012? Is there one you hope to get for Christmas or Hanukkah this year?

Yeah, I'm a fangirl.

Last Saturday I attended a book signing at Murder by the Book for Hank Phillippi Ryan. Her new hardcover release, THE OTHER WOMAN, has gotten wonderful reviews and made several bestseller lists, but that’s not why I was there. I wanted to meet her because she has been so generous with her encouragement over the past few years after reading my entry in NWHRWA’s Lone Star contest.

For “civilians”—non-writers who have never entered a writing contest—let me clue you in here. Contest judges can be kind, helpful, constructive, encouraging and on occasion make a suggestion that takes the writing to a whole new level. Other judges can be picky, petty, hurtful and even downright nasty in their criticism. Unfortunately, my entry had gotten a more than its share of the latter in previous contests and I was getting discouraged.

Then I got back the entry Hank judged. It was a hardcopy back then and I still have it. She gave it a very high score, but not a perfect one, however, it was her comments that showed she “got it.”  She said she loved my writing and would like to read the rest of the story and gave her name and contact information—very unusual for a judge. I emailed her a thank you and got a lovely reply asking me to keep in touch and let her know how the submission was going. And I have.

When I introduced myself on Saturday, Hank immediately remembered DEYROLLE, the oringal title of the story, and told me again how much she loved my writing. I admitted that it hasn’t sold yet and I was getting a bit discouraged. Her reply? “You’ll sell and one day we’ll laugh about this.” And her sincerity made me believe her.

Hank is only one of the generous authors I’ve met on this writer’s journey. In what other industry do successful professionals give their time, knowledge and friendship to newcomers trying to break in? And yet, go to any RWA meeting and published authors do just that. Like Hank, so many author friends have gone out of their way to help me along the road to publication. Extraordinary women like Sophie Jordan, Tera Lynn Childs, Colleen Thompson, Shana Galen, Dee Gist—just to name a few—have given me and so many others the encouragement and tools to follow our dreams. What a priceless gift!

Give a shout out to someone in your life who has given you a lift when you needed it! 

WRITER IN THE FAMILY

Roger Rosenblatt began a recent article in the New York Times with an anecdote about going to speak to his granddaughter’s class and being introduced like this: “This is my grandfather, Boppo. He lives in the basement and does nothing.” Actually he and his wife live in on the lower level of his son-in-law’s house and he’s a writer.

 As a writer still working toward publication, I find it comforting that even seasoned authors are still viewed by family and friends as only vaguely employed. Even harried romance writer friends writing on short-deadline contracts for multiple lines still get called on to volunteer at their children’s school, their church, the neighborhood because they’re seen as housewives with lots of free time. 

In the article Rosenblatt talks about the quirks of most writers—how we live in a world of our own making with imaginary people which can be very hard on family life. Naturally we’re often distracted and immersed in our own realities, or rather the heads and lives of the characters we create. We delight in finding worse case scenarios to challenge our heroines and torture out heroes because we understand that conflict and tension are what make a story exciting.

 Romance writers have the added mission to weave a satisfying love story and in the process we become our heroines and fall in love with our heroes. To tell their story we need to live it scene by scene with every action, thought, speech going down on the page. I’ve heard Susan Elizabeth Phillips say, “Some days I just take dictation.” Those are the days writing is a joy. They’re also the days re-entry into self and real life is the most disorienting. And that’s when it helps if your spouse and family understand that coming out of the zone is like awakening from a deep, vivid dream. Or nightmare. 

My husband has never read any of my work and yet he’s become a brilliant brainstorming partner. Over many conversations, he’s gotten to know my characters and the world they live in. He’s cooked dinner for my writer friends and sat quietly absorbing our concerns, ideas, frustrations and victories. He’s learned not to take my distracted conversations as disinterest in him or to have his feelings hurt by my affection for my deeply flawed, larger-than-life alpha-heroes. And he buys a good Bordeaux to ease the sting of rejection or celebrate a victory. Yeah, we writers are an odd lot, misunderstood by friends, family and strangers we meet. Like Roger Rosenblatt, I’m happy with this writing life and wouldn’t choose any other. Okay, maybe I’d switch places with Angelina Jolie. Just for a little while.

Do I Hear a Pachinko Machine?

Today, I'm rambling. Unfortunately, this entry isn't a trekking-in-Montana, look-at-the-bear-grass, let's-find-that-lake ramble. Instead, file it under my-thoughts-are-as-jumbled-as-my-sentences.

Still with me? I appreciate your patience—and would like to borrow any you've got to spare. Here's why: As I type, I hear chirps and pips unrelated to the tapping of my fingers on the keyboard. These must be normal noises from the building's air conditioning system, fans, or water pipes. I shouldn't let them crowd out every thought in my head, but I'm alarmed and fascinated by the tinny, robotic quality of the sound.

I had expected water from the tap to gurgle. Instead, it sizzles. Human voices sound as if they spring from Munchkins—and the Munchkins don't speak English.

Yesterday, an audiologist activated my cochlear implant. (Wikipedia defines a CI as a "surgically implanted electronic device that provides a sense of sound to a person who is profoundly deaf or severely hard of hearing.") Today, I'm absorbing and trying to identify what I hear.

"It's a process," the audiologist warned. I would have preferred, "It's a miracle," but every writer has heard the process message a gazillion times and knows it's shorthand for hunker down and do the work--without whining.

The audiologist promised I'd understand more tomorrow than I do today. Three months from now, she thinks I'll forget that voices ever sounded Munchkin-like.

The latter's unlikely. I'm a writer and process reactions and impressions by jotting them down. My thoughts may be jumbled, but they're on the record.

Update: It's Day Two with my implant, and I've been back to the audiologist for fine-tuning. Pre-appointment, I was sure the Munchkins were speaking Czech. Now, they're speaking English, although a lot of them slur their words. To my surprise, the elevator in my surgeon's building announces the floor when it makes a stop. Who knew?