Agonies of a Young Author

Hello everyone! I know I haven't been updating much, but I am still alive and kicking. And actually working on stuff, despite the lack of blog dedication (or is that in spite? I never know.)

So I thought to name my projects, for my benefit and yours. Alright, more just to keep them straight in my own head, but you know. Credit me with a little bit more than self-serving posts.

First, the belovedly bemoaned D.o.C.A. This is a new genre for me, and the main focus of the last few months (since June). I have taken two writing classes (second in progress now) and have tried to work very hard on this project. It goes slow, but I am enjoying the genre and the experience. I also admit the major motivation for posting is also procrastination and avoidance of tonight's homework deadline, but let's ignore that part shall we?

And then That Damn Book, the torment over the past few YEARS that refuses to work out and refuses to die. This YA paranormal used to be my love, but I have under a thousand words and over a million headaches in relation to a few key plot problems, so I've trunked it for now.

And then The Sparkly Itch, the idea I had this morning that I might actually pursue. But more on that later.

But higher in priority is the Set Aside Spy Story (M.O.), which has a lot more planning and prep going for it. Also a new genre work, but one with potential, especially in comparison to my D.o.C.A. overexposure and slowly dying enthusiasm.

And the Really Near and Dear to My Heart project, the one I haven't even mentioned because I like to hold it close and hide it. So no more words on that.

Next, another new genre work, the Inner Scientist Idea, one with less planning but a ton of visuals. I want to pursue this one almost as bad as the Set-Aside Spy Story. It'll be a tough call, and I might sign up for a third class to help me develop it.

So now, when I say I'm starting the SD/YA novel project for NaNoWriMo as a creative break from D.o.C.A, ya'll know what I'm talkin bout right? Riiiiiiight?

What I mean by creative break is that I have focused so intently on D.o.C.A. that I have lost the sense of fun in writing it. I want it to be good, damn it, to be published, and I am constantly talking about it to others, getting feedback, revising, and then starting all over again. And it's a job. Hard, hard work, where I have to force myself to sit down, and with an over-reliance on deadlines to write at all. And that's not how it should be.

So I am starting SD/YA for a bit of creative relief- a fun project, with no objectives, no deadlines, no revision, and most of all, no expectations. I write it in a month? Fantastic. I don't- well I have the 5,000 or 3,000 or whatever I've managed to accomplish and that's enough. It's just FOR FUN.

So this list of projects is more to remind myself that my career is not make or break on D.o.C.A. I have a lot more options than one storyline, and that means a lot of opportunities to reach different people. I am not a one book wonder, and even if this particular project never makes it past the course final in a few weeks, that is not the end.

I define the story. Not the other way around. 

Something to remember.

Write Now:
What I'm listening to: a rarely heard Southern Californian rainfall
What I want most: aspirin

 A quick note before the regular post: This is Agonies' THREE HUNDREDTH post!! Thanks everyone that have stuck with me since the beginning, and thanks to all the new readers that continue to help me grow and reach new audiences! It's been a great experience, and I can't wait to see where we go in the future!

Want to know something weird and completely illogical?

I just had three poems rejected and I'm super super excited!

Wait WHAT?!?!?!?!! you all scream back at me. But it's true. Here, let me explain.

A while back, I was depressed because I had a huge string of acceptances. Wait, WHAT?!? you say again. But there were too many, too fast, and from publications that I couldn't trust on quality control. My first ever experience with "publishing" was back when I was sixteen and got caught up in the famous poetry.com racket (see website for full story), so the easy acceptances scared me. In my head, my resume started to resemble a listing of vanity presses, not actual accomplishments. And I wasn't sure how to break the trend.

This weekend, I sent out a HUGE number of pieces to various publications (almost thirty different works!) and so far I have received five form rejections, two rewrite requests, and this morning's lovely gift of two personal rejections of "doesn't work for me" and "banal"

But again, I'm super excited. Because frankly the one poem IS clunky, and the other IS banal.

I think that I subconsciously choose poems that under a more lenient editor would have squeaked by into publication. The words are pretty enough but there's no real polish. And the fact that they got rejected means that my poems that HAVE been published with this group, really do mean something. To the editors, and now, to myself. I am able to feel more pride in my resume because the publication didn't care that I had published with them previously, and rejected my works anyways. There was none of the "return customer" strategies about this last submission. They hated my poems, and they told me, frankly and boldly without hesitation. 

I needed to hear that I was a bad poet, to remind myself that I AM a good poet with a bad draft.

As weird and illogical as that may sound.

Write Now:
What I'm listening to: ticking of the clock, morning stirring sounds, trash bags rustling and wheels turning
What I want most: to be able to cook soon

Today I sat for a good chunk of time in the nail salon waiting for The Maternal Figure to finish up her manicure, and had the opportunity to devour a recent issue of Vogue (I love the wide variety of articles in the magazine-- not just fashion but many diverse personal narratives and lifestyle features). An interview with model Karen Elson on her recent music album release yielded a surprising breakthrough for my current writing slump. It read:
        The early songs I wrote were very self-indulgent,” [Elson] says. “Real woe-is-me. But living in Nashville, the songwriters I like here, they all manage to find a narrative; they use metaphors and stories to explain what they're feeling.” She rolls her eyes. “I don't need to show everybody my diary.

Yes, yes, I thought, this is my problem. My writing is a circle about this big (two curved fingers) because I write directly about myself and my feelings. I have mastered that. Now I need to make my circle this big (two curved hands) by using what I feel to write about everybody else. And knowing how to do so (metaphor, analogy) technically is not as important as knowing how to make the connection in the first place. I'm missing that first link. I'm missing a narrative.

How to make this jump is the troubling aspect that I've been wrestling with over the past several months. I'm not sure how to break through the barrier-- in my darker moments, I feel that this should be an inherent ability, and that I should just give up writing entirely.

But I have innate stubbornness, if not innate genius, and I am persistently pursuing ways to cheat my way over the wall, so I don't have to break through it.  Hence, the summer writing program (which unfortunately didn't work out) and the rekindled interest in "classical" poetry (see yesterday's post). Add a few literary journals in, and maybe the occasional self-help article, and hopefully this becomes the brew to spell me back into meaningful conceptions. Until then, it's just plugging along-- and finding the occasional fashion magazine with the helpful writing tip.

What do you do to make your work relevant in a larger sense? Do you focus on this consciously? Is it the words, or the themes that drive your pieces?

I had an Epiphany of the Week, but I've been sidling up to this idea for months now, so in all reality it's not that shocking.

I hate my published work.

Which is a horrible, terrible, awful thing to say on my professional blog about my work, to publicize my work to potential readers and publishers. Really, it's asinine to say such a thing.

Still the truth though.

I'm not sure if the emotion is based on the hours and hours of creation, and the hours and hours of revision that went into the completion of each piece. It might be just a case of "familiarity breeds contempt." I've no doubt it's an element.

But I also know that the pieces I'm most proud of are still sitting on my desktop after multiple rejections. Then I remember that not many days ago I wrote how my poem "A Writer's Apology" was the published piece I'm most proud of. Then I notice the subconscious qualifier of published. And finally I get fed up with myself for not being happy with myself along with the simultaneous acknowledgment of ambition and the desire to be the best at my passion. None of these thoughts should be cringe-worthy, but the tangle in my head would like to contradict.

I have flashes of content- a title, a new technique, an example of word choice.  I would never say I'm ashamed of my pieces. I've worked too hard for that. I'm glad of what I've achieved, and I wouldn't change anything. Still, I have a nagging sense of ... disappointment? discouragement? distrust? And the feeling persists until I push it all away with disgust.

I have the suspicion that I'm better at fiction, and only write poetry because I know the ending is only within a few more lines.

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: Sara Jackson Holman "Cellophane"
What I want most: faster internet... all these downloads are killing my reaction time

I have a secret.

Well, not really a secret, since I'm sharing all here, but a secret in the sense that it's MINE. (I tend towards the possessive, obsessive, and territorial. I would have made an excellent werewolf. *snicker*)

Anyways, I have a blog. Well, another blog I mean. (No comments necessary.) But this one is completely private, not accessible, not readable, not search-able, not anything. It's mine. All mine.

I have public blogs, and I have a personal blog, but I realized that I need to fill another gap in my writing-the private blog. One, for all the writing that should never see the light of day, and one for all the uncharitable thoughts that should never see the light of day. A diary drives me nuts because I can't achieve symmetry in the format- I either write once a day, or nothing. But of course emotions can pounce two or three or four times in a single hour. What kind of titles am I supposed to use? Tuesday 3:14 pm, Tuesday 3:17 pm, Tuesday 5:36 pm, Tuesday 11:01 pm?

Spastic. I can't stand it!

A BLOG, however. A blog I can title by theme, and there's no worry about the division of pages per entry, per day, etc. I can also enter one liner complaints, irritations, news, updates, and my-cup-over-runneth moments without being subconscious. I can be completely free!!! in a way that somehow paper never let me be. (I know, funny words for a writer, but work with my idiosyncrasies.)

So! I can't invite you all to read either of my private blogs, and if you don't know me, you can't read my personal blog either, but I do encourage you all to adopt similar methods. Or whatever gets you writing.

What do you do to be FREE in your writing?

Right now:
What I'm listening to: Nuthin
What I want most: an electrical outlet! No battery!!

Ahhhhhhh! It feels good to finally submit again to the Deadline Dames' ROD (Readers on Demand) art-inspired flash fiction contest. I've missed the past few months, and that was a big part of my casual writing routine. I've been serious about getting poems out for publication, etc. but I haven't really sat down just to write and goof of in my writing for a while. It's nice to just to enjoy yourself, without a purpose or a goal to fulfill. Just to play with words and plots and characters and possibilities.

I really need to build in a little more time for fun in my writing schedule. I didn't start off 6 years ago to get published, so I shouldn't act that way for the next half century or so.

Anyways, enjoy! I certainly did. =)

****************

(Inspired by a photo with mountains and red, flame-like ground coloring)

"Shaya..."

Ignoring the voice, she continued to yell at the men scrambling on the fortress walls. "Hurry with those bags! Pack them tight!"

"Shaya, it's no use."

She wretched away from the sympathetic weight of the hand on her shoulder. "Have they tried--"

"They're tried everything. It's no use. Please, Shaya, come away now."

"We've got another one here!"

Shaya stared at the man facedown in the street, his companion tugging uselessly at the limp weight.

Dammit. "Leave him," she barked out. "He's dead already."

The man glanced at the Commander at her shoulder before glancing down one last time.

Shaya turned away. "Call it," she said.

"My liege," the Commander said, bowing.

"Retreat! Retreat! Head for the hills!" he bellowed at the last of her people. They might be able to make it to safety before the volcano caused utter destruction; some, inevitably, would not.

Dammit. Shaya glared through her tears at the abandoned shell of her home and cursed with every last reserve.

"Damn you brother! Damn you for eternity, leaving this place and bringing the wrath of the gods here!"

She watched as hot magma crawled ever closer to the barricaded gate. The normal defenses were meant for the might of man. Nothing was adequate against the gods.

"Just damn you."

Right Now:

What I'm listening to: "So Contagiously" by Acceptance

What I want most: mac and cheese....

Well I've finally heard back from the guys at Flat Hat about the columnist position I applied for a while back (no, the first one-- Way, way back). Anyways, no break for this journalist... guess I'll go back to my real interests in creative writing. I'm disappointed, but I've suspected this outcome for a while, so I'm doing ok generally. And I always have the second columnist job to fall back on. I just need to organize myself enough to send in the official application (still haven't done it-- FAIL Shelly Holder!)

But I'm also going to stretch myself in a new direction. The research magazine on campus wants an intern- and it's PAID! (Decision made!) So I'm going to go see what magazine publishing is like. I even get some small opportunities to write for them, so it's a great gig all around.

So it's the theme of the week- one rejection equals another opportunity. If I keep looking, I will find them. I'm being surprisingly Pollyanna-esque about everything, but it's an okay state to be in. I don't HAVE to be the jaded cynic I usually posture as. Sometimes it's okay to be optimistic.
But more enduringly, it's important to be resilient, however you choose to accomplish that. Cheerfully, or cynically, the results-- and the resume-- are still the same.

Right now:
What I'm listening to: "The Ghost and the Girl" by K.T. Tunstall
What I want most: Chinese takeout...

Really, writing opportunities show up in the oddest places. Like the spam email that I was about to delete... and found a writing contest with nifty prizes. $150 giftcard to Starbucks anyone?

So I'm not giving up. I'm not going to let myself talk myself down. Not going to let thoughts of making a living out of writing keep me from writing. I can live as a full time writer. I can. It's probably going to be hell. It's probably going to be without comfort, without fame, and without recognition, especially at first. But I can do it. Even if the bulk of my paycheck comes in giftcard format, I can do it.

So I can make money as a writer, pigs can fly, and sometimes great gifts comes in spam email.

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: Moby "Pale Horses"
What I want most: this nail polish to dry so I can go to bed

Sometimes life ignores the page and jumps right into your face. And you get caught off-guard because you have been stuck in your head thinking that the world you create is better than the world you live in.

It's not.

They say that truth is stranger than fiction but life can be more wonderful.

I won't say anything more than that--it would take away the specialness. But as a writer the event reminded me that what I create is meant to mimic the variety of life, not replace it with my words.

And I think I really needed that.

Right now:
Where I am located: a restaurant in Burlad, the only wi-fi hotspot in the entire county
What I'm listening to: some 80s power ballad from the radio
What I want most: to keep this feeling with me for a while

What I write and what I wnat to write are two very different things.

I came up with the idea for a book series a few days ago, and have been playing with it ever since. On the plane, I actually did something, and plotted out all four. I think that it would be worth pursueing... exxcept I know exactly what kind of book covers they would end up with-- all pink and yellow, with cutesy cursive font and some glitter starbursts by the title.

Nothing against the chick lit genre. I've read it, and enjoyed it. I don't even mind writing it, but I don't want to be known for it. In a competitive business like publishing, branding is everything. having one writer write several different genres under the same name is bad for business because it confuses the reader. When you pick up a Janet Evanovich, you know exactly what kind of book you are getting. Same with Tom Clancy, or Jane Austen, or Sylvia Plath. These names have been branded, recognizable for the type of book they offer. I've already picked out the associations I want for the name "Shelly Holder" and the books I plotted out aren't it.

I've said beofre that I would only publish under my own name, but now I wonder if that wasn't overly hasty. I want to write these books I mentioned. I would enjoy writing these books, and I would enjoy having readers, and I would enjoy haivng readers buy these books, and be excited about these books. And realistically, any sort of money that I could earn from writing would be great. To butcher Sherman Alexie's original line*: "I'm a literary author that writes mainstream to pay the rent."

So we'll see what happens. There's every possibilty that when I get a literary manuscript done, the publisher won't let me publish under "Shelly Holder" in the first place, so I guess I can only write, and figure all the rest out later.

So I should get back to plotting.

* Originally Sherman Alexie said "I'm a poet that writes fiction to pay the rent."

Right now:
Where I am located: Charles de Gaulle airport
What I'm listening to: Snow White playing in the duty free shop
What I want most: Food? Sleep? to get to Romania... finally??

and not just because my plane was delayed, although that is a theme for the next blog post or two.

But situations like these are always the ones that yield unexpected results. Two guys standing behind probably formed a life-long friendship because of the three hour conversation that they started up. Even I, introverted as I sometimes can be, am tempted to talk to people because the frustration is high but the inhibitions are low. Like wanting to tell Melvin at the hotel desk "Thank you for being so kind all the time. I saw you three weeks ago when I was delayed overnight during Thanksgiving, and you were just as friendly back then." Or telling people where to go and how the hotel shuttles work, because I literally did this not three weeks ago. And striking up a conversation with a really nice woman while waiting for said hotel shuttles.

It was at this point when I walked away to board the big green and white bus that I realized that I had missed out on a valuable marketing opportunity. There we were, with nothing to talk about but friendly enough to be genuinely interested in one another, and I didn't have a business card with me.

I've thought about it a lot lately, especially since going to the conference. I am one writer in a million writers, who all have blogs and websites, so how am I going to stick out? By meeting me, and being first struck by my personality, and then following up with my writing. Ergo, I need business cards.

Something very simple, black on white, my name and my website. And all I would have to say would be, "It's been great chatting with you. If you are ever interested, I would love for you to visit my website. Have a safe flight."

Business cards. Because it's all about the marketing.

Right now:
Where I'm located: hotel room, Atlanta
What I want most: sleep. and clean clothes.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the nature of my blog, and the purpose that I want it to serve, both for myself and for my readers. Now that I actually have readers (a fact that I still giggle madly at in giddy happiness), the dynamic has changed. When I started it over a year ago, I didn't even understand what a blog really was. It was more of a whim, an action made more for my own satisfaction than anything else. It, like my website, was something that I understood would help me as an author, but I arrived at this logic only through imitation of other authors. They have a website/blog, therefore, so should I, I thought. I didn't realize what my blog would come to mean to me as a person, beyond what it meant to me as a writer.

But I digress. That's subject for another post.

The point I am trying to make is that my blog has evolved into something different than I orginally envisioned, and as such, I need to revisit the purpose of this blog. Lately, I have been posting on my progress in writing, telling of such and such assignment completed, or brief posts mentioning how hard I worked that day. In short, it's all ego-stroking. I've realized all this, but only today did I find someone who wrote what I've been thinking much better than I. Lilith Saintcrow wrote in her blog today:

* Your primary job is to provide content, not market yourself. Yes, a website and a Facebook account will help your fans find you. They are marketing tools, but their primary purpose cannot be marketing. That will turn your fans off because it makes you look desperate and pushy. It turns what should be a conversation into you constantly pushing other people to buy your sh!t. It’s inappropriate at a party or a grocery store, and it’s inappropriate online.

You need to be a content provider. Post links to things you think are cool, new blog posts that are fresh content, things that make you go “hmmm” or interest you. Yes, you can also post book releases, short story releases, and contests. But those things cannot be ALL you post if you expect to have an interactive relationship with your fans. You do need to provide content or you’re just an empty noise. Empty noise grates on the nerves. 98% of your posts, tweets, whatever, need to be ACTUAL CONTENT. The rest is naturally marketing–book announcements, contest announcements, etc.

Your job in interacting in social media like Twitter and MySpace is to enrich your fans’ experience and help them feel an emotional connection to your books.

(Bold is originall Ms. Saintcrow, but italics are my emphasis)

So I'm going to try to re-direct this blog in a manner that fulfills Ms. Saintcrow's advice. I've noticed that my posts bore myself, therefore I know these posts bore YOU, the reader. And we can't have that, now can we? Therefore, a new direction. I can't promise a sudden, sweeping change, but I can promise that the intention will fuel my post to come.

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: Coldplay (concert tomorrow! Yay!)
What I want most: A rich and diverse blog

Well... good news, I entered the ROD contest for this month.

Bad news, I forgot about the time change, and I got it in by midnight east coast, but the comment popped up in mountain. Which meant I had a whole 'nother hour to tweek with the stupid thing! Sigh. (*headdesk*)

That is rapidly becoming something like a personal motto. Can I get it copyrighted?

Anyways, I'm rather proud that I got anything in. I was looking at the picture the entire week leading up to the deadline, but nothing was coming in from the Muse. I think she went on vacation but forgot to leave a notice on the office door. Anyways, I was frustrated by the girl's expression. I found it totally blank, and I couldn't figure out why. There was no determination, no anger, no pain, nothing... It was an emotional blank screen. Not even her eyes seemed to see anything.

Then I was listening to Alkaline Trio one night, and the lyrics seemed to jump right up at me.

"The Poison"
It's not just a pain
A pain in my back
That laughs in my face
My face every night all the poison that took my lungs
That keeps me from feeling warm

But how could a rooftop view in London
Look just the same as one in Brooklyn?
Nothing has changed but now I fight with the words
And I can't see so good

And there's gotta be more
Much more than this
I got pages of dreams they're covered in piss
And a poison that took my soul
It keeps me from feeling anything

And how could a rooftop view in London
Look just the same as one in Brooklyn?
Nothing has changed but now I fight with the words
And I can't see so good
And now I fight with the words
And now I fight with the words
Now I fight with the words

And how could a rooftop view in London
Look just the same as one in Brooklyn?
Nothing has changed but now I fight with the words
And I can't see so good
And I can't see so good (I can't see so good)
And I can't see so good (I can't see so good)
And I can't see so good

And the Muse popped up from somewhere, and said, "She's blind!"

What I tried to do was show that the main character was blind without outright coming out and saying it, but I'm not sure if I achieved that. Perhaps if I had that extra hour...lol. Anyways, please comment and tell me what you think! And enjoy my ROD entry!

***

"You came."
The words, harsh and unforgiving, came from the woman's left. She continued further into the room, staring blankly forward, as rage hung heavy and red against her skin.
"Do you know why I called you here?" the voice hissed.
No emotion passed across the woman's expression. Her eternal face was undisturbed by lines around the eyes.
"You betrayed us." A man emerged out into the open through loud footsteps against the floor. "It's not just that you stabbed me behind my back! It's not just that! It's that you betrayed us- all of us! We worked for you-- and you left, you bitch! You left-- and for what? Some kind of peace? It doesn't exist!"
"I couldn't fight anymore. Now I fight with words." Her words were low, sliding gently into space.
She heard his rushing staccato steps."You could have stayed! You could have helped us! And you left anyways."
"What could I do?" The woman did not look around at his nearness. "Exactly. You know that I had no other choice."
"Bah! You're not fighting. You're running away. Afraid."
"No. Never," she said, and her voice was tinted with something like regret.
"It doesn't matter! I could have killed you on that rooftop in London! Just the same in Brooklyn! But it's got to be this way! I will have revenge on you."
He slashed fiercely at tender flesh. The woman pressed a hand to her upper arm, but continued to stare sightlessly forward as the blade descended again.


***

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: TV
What I want most:

I've been thinking long and hard about having my revenge, and what to do about it all-- getting out there, getting known, getting better so I can get published. I've basically devoted the summer to this, as I'm taking a single creative writing class this summer session. Which means I have a lot of time to think about writer-y things. A lot of time to write, which instead I spend browsing online or reading books. To be fair, it's writer-y procrastination-- online writing communities, author's blog, books on editing and publishing and "building a platform." Yes, I'm really reading a book like that. But still there's something missing.

The refrain running through my head is "stepping up your game."

So, today, it hit me. Conferences.

I've never been to a writer's conference, although I've poured over the advertisements in Writer's Digest and other magazines since the day I first bought them. I really wanted to go on an Alaskan cruise one, that featured an author I enjoyed, but my parents turned me down. I think I might have been 15 or 16 at the time, and I couldn't really travel on my own. Sigh. I'm still mourning that one (*a moment of silence for the dearly departed moment...*)

I hear conferences talked about all the time in other author's blogs. I think, "huh, that's really cool, I wish I could do that." But I never really thought why I couldn't. I just couldn't. And so now, I'm changing that. My limitations are only the ones that I set on myself.

I'm searching for a conference, not too long, maybe a day or two, that will still let me in at this late date. Hopefully, in So. Cal area. I'm even willing to go to Vegas or San Fran, but would like to keep within driving distance. Anybody know of something good?

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: Norah Jones " Those Sweet Words"
What I want most: More summer. I have too many things to do.

NOT revealing the answer to your readers might be the best thing you do as an author.

I know, sounds slightly contradictory right? Not giving the reader what they want? It goes against all the basic principles of consumer culture. But, I've realized this week, that secretly, it IS what the reader wants. They just don't know it. But YOU the author should.

I first was exposed to this idea when another writer/blogger (unfortunately I've forgotten who, but credit's all to you!) wrote an article on how writing well should be just like the Sesame Street book The Monster at the End of this Book. The character Grover does and says everything to stop you from turning the page, which of course has the opposite effect. And you can't wait to get to the end and discover who/what is the monster.

Holding back the details teases the reader with a mystery that they're dying to figure out, either by getting into the character's head or reading on. Either way, it's good. My favorite example of this is Ilona Andrew's Kate Daniels. Basically from chapter one, the reader knows that Kate is hiding something about her heritage from the world. But Ms. Andrews also hides it from the readers. Book One gives you tantalizing hints, book two infers, and only in book three does she confirm. Which means, I'm absolutly dying for book four.

Yay! InkyGirl Debbie Ridpath Ohi just gave permission to repost her work under the Creative Commons license! I'm so excited. I love her work. So I'm posting one here. Just because I can. Ehehehe. 

Hi all. 

So I've recently switched over to a Mac computer (best decision of my life!) but found out that sadly I am unable to continue using my Sony eReader, as it's not compatible. So I've been looking for alternatives of any sort-- I found a great website, that doesn't require any sort of device at all, but I've also been looking at the Kindle, and I have to admit, I'm greatly tempted.