Sustaining your Soul

Good morning. Since I took the job at Monster's school, I've had the opportunity to meet lots of people. Most of them Moms. Some of them work, some of them don't. Lots of them volunteer at the school like I do. (There's lots of stuff to do.)

I've always worked. All my life. I wouldn't know what to do if I didn't. Writing is a job. So that's what I do now. I had an interesting question from one of the Moms last week. She asked, "What do you do when you're NOT writing."

I kind of laughed. "What do you mean? I clean my house." And you guys know what I'm talking about here.

She said, "No. Not like that. What do you do for fun?"

I said, "I write."

She said, "No, I mean, don't you do other stuff? Like scrap book, or bake cookies, or paint. Surely, you can't write all the time. Doesn't that get boring?"

How could I explain it to her. Even when I was working all those years, even when I worked 2 and 3 jobs at a time, I always wrote. (I have a cedar chest full of manuscripts -- all of them garbage, but mine nonetheless.)

I can't NOT write. I think if someone took away my keyboard I would die. (Yes, the same goes for pen and paper, chalk, crayon, pencil, hieroglyphics.) I cannot ever think of my life in any circumstance and not write. Sure, I may not have written every day when I was younger, sure, I have many many unfinished manuscripts, but I always wrote. It's not something I DO, but rather, it's part of WHO I am.

It sustains my soul.

I'm sure if I searched I could find oh-so-many-quotes on the subject with words to describe it like passion, fulfillment, joy. It completes me.

When I was younger I always maintained, that when a job stopped being fun, I would quit. No matter the pay, the hours, the benefits. And I did. If I can't have fun at work, then why bother. I'm not going to my grave like my forebears before me, working 40 hours a week at a job I despise just to put bread on the table and hope for two weeks off in the summer. Sure I made money, sometimes lots of money, but that's not what it's all about for me. I've also been poor as a church mouse and happier than I could ever be.

Now that I'm here, in this job as a writer/author/publisher, sure it gets to be trying at times. Sure, working through a block, or a formatting issue makes me want to scream sometimes, but I could never give it up. Never Never Never. Only when it stops being fun.

Writing sustains me. Without it, I wouldn't know who I am. And just for fun, I did another experiment. We know that I just finished writing the end on my latest novel. It's now with critters and readers and I just have to wait until it comes back until I can further it along. I officially sent it out on Monday the 17th. For the rest of that week, I cleaned my house. (Yes, it took that long.) Once that was finished, I looked around for something to do.

I thought about reading a book. (How long has it been since I read for pleasure and not critique?)

I thought about going shopping and picking out some new clothes. (My wardrobe is atrocious. I should be on that show What NOT to Wear.)

I thought about ripping the wallpaper down in my bathroom and painting.

I thought about rearranging the furniture again.

Guess what I did? Nothing. I watched the Downton Abbey marathon a few Sundays ago and that was pretty much it on my fun-scale. Monday morning I found myself back on the computer, scratching out an outline for another title.

Some people say I'm dedicated to my craft. Some people say I'm crazy. Some people say I'm boring because that's all I do is write.

I say I'm sustaining my soul.

Tell me -- Can you not write? Does it sustain you? Is there something else you'd rather be doing than writing? (And yeah, we all have dreams of winning the lottery and traveling the world, but after that? What then?)

Anne Gallagher (c) 2014

The Image of a Writer's Life

Good Morning. Sorry I skipped out last week, but I've been super crazy nuts busy getting the old house painted. Still not done, I need more paint, but there's also wood to haul, a shed to clean, a bathroom to gut, and the downstairs I have yet to decide what to do with (graffiti would be an improvement).

All that being said, I wonder how big name authors spend their days -- writing in their air conditioned offices with a plethora of researchers, housekeepers, maids all catering to their every whim. Let's not forget they all have wonderful Scottish nannies to take care of the kids, and their spouses are marvels in the kitchen so they don't have to scrape together another round of mac and cheese and hot dogs.

I know most big name authors have schedules, and probably more than a few of them have maids and/or some kind of outside help, but I keep remembering Danielle Steele's appearance on Merv Griffin (remember him?) way back in the late 70's early 80's. She wore pearls and a long flowing chiffon something, could have been a gown for all I know, she kept playing with the scarf, flipping it between her fingers. She reminded me of Elizabeth Taylor. And then Merv did an expose on her house. California big, with a pool, and a view. Back then, she and Jackie Collins were big name authors. And I guess somehow, that's what stuck in my head. Glamorous, elegant, rich.

This image people have of writers is so not how it really is. Well, at least it's not for me. Like I have all this time to just write every day. Yeah, like that's possible when the kid is sick, the dogs pooped all over the carpet, the cat knocked down five of my african violets off the shelf, and my mother has been bitching the grass needs to be cut. Add the fact we're going back to school in less than a week, I'm dealing with financial bullshit from the ex, and it's raining -- AGAIN.

I know I'm whining. You know I'm whining. I think we're all entitled to it once and awhile.

The reason I bring this up at all is -- I had an outside interview last week. Our new house is in a golf community and they have a monthly newsletter. The woman who writes the letter is a friend of my mother's. Well, when she found out we lived here now, she called me and wanted to know what I was doing. When she met me five years ago, I was a caterer. When I told her I was now a writer she said, "How unusual."

What does that mean exactly?

Are we, as writers, unusual? Are the five million of us currently writing books weird, or kooky, or out of the ordinary? Sure we're introverts, sure we have our little rituals before we tackle those revisions, sure we don't speak to people between the hours of 8-1. Sure we eavesdrop on stranger's conversations, have a penchant for back booths and corner tables in coffee houses, and we might even push the bounds of research occasionally and have the Secret Service show up at our door. But does that really make us unusual?

I explained to Judith I wrote in a niche market, Regency romance, and that I had two novels and several short stories out, and I had also just published my first contemporary romance. She oohed and ahhed in all the right places, and then she asked, "So are you going back to catering anytime soon?"

Why do people automatically assume you won't be able to hack it as a writer? Why do people automatically assume you need to have a "job" because you also write? Back in the day, I was a waitress who wrote. Or a housekeeper who wrote. Or a chef who wrote. Now, I'm a writer. That's it. Just a writer.

The Image of a Writer's Life isn't glamorous. Well, at least not this writer. But I'll take a two hour nap after weed wacking, just so I don't ever have to go back to the "real world" again. I'll put up with disappointing reviews, and writer envy, and not meeting my word count, just so I can stay home. Perhaps agoraphobia is the culprit. Perhaps it's just my way of being the black sheep. Just a little unusual. It doesn't matter. I am who I am, and I'm a writer.

I wonder if Nora Roberts cuts her own grass?

Tell me -- what kind of reaction do you get when you tell people you're a writer?

Integrity

*** This is a re-post from last year, one of my very first posts actually. The reason -- My horoscope said that I needed to have my integrity intact for the rest of the week. Let me tell you what, I really need it. I wrote a long post last night but I was whining again about how unfair agents were and my latest rejection news, and all that other crap. Damn it, I'm sick to death of me right now. And I'll bet you are too. So I decided I would find something else. And this is what I found.

I have tweaked it a little bit here and there but mostly it's the same. I stand by my words.

****
Integrity -- Something I've been thinking about a lot lately. If I didn't believe in the integrity of my story, my own words, then I wouldn't write it. And you say to me, well, you write romance. Historical romance. Regency romance. It's all just fluff. It's all just a formula anyway.

And I sneer, mockingly, "YES, there is some formula but I BELIEVE in the story. It has integrity. It's not vapid and stupid, and a same old same old portrayal of vain and ridiculous women parading about looking for a husband and having wild screaming monkey sex." My book has character, as well as great characters that are funny and sad and scared and human, I have sub-plots and intrigue and mystery, I have great horses and great houses and great clothing. I love my book.

And I see you shaking your head and saying, yeah but does it have sex because that's what sells. And my answer is, NO, it does not. That's not why I write Regency romance. It's not about the sex, it's about the romance, it's about FINDING the love, finding the one other person in the world who makes you feel like no one else ever has. It's about the Happily Ever After that we all long for. It's about the journey. The journey to find it.

And that's what I try and create on the page. Two people looking, searching, for the only other person in the world who will love them back, who will make their lives complete. C'mon, who doesn't love a good love story? Even the biggest bad ass macho testosterone driven man, loves love. They might not admit it, but I bet they cry too when they hear a great love story.

And tell me, who doesn't want to fall in love? Who doesn't love a happily ever after? Wouldn't it be great if we all could find that one special someone that would only belong to us?

For some of us, we haven't found it yet. And that's why we read about it. To keep that hope alive. That's what those books represent to me...finding love. There's nothing like that feeling in the whole world. It drowns out the sound of the rain, makes you lose ten pounds without even trying, even brightens your smile. The searching, the longing, the sharing, the first look, the first kiss. Do you remember your first kiss? Do you remember the first time you fell in love?

Love conquers all.

Love has integrity.

That's why I write about it.

What's not to like about love?

Editing

Well, gentle readers, as you know, I cut 7000 words. I still feel I need to let go of maybe 2000 more but I have no more that's, just's, but's, or-ly's. I got rid of all of that. I don't have scenes to cut, per se, just words and phrases now.

After I finished with the big cuts on Saturday, I went back and started on the line edits again on Sunday. You know how I hate being stupid, well guess what, I'm not sure if I was still reading a first draft or not. In some places I read things and said, "Who wrote this, not me, I'm not that stupid." Well guess what, after three rounds of major revisions and two line edits, yeah, I am because he didn't crawl through the tunnel, he crawled threw the tunnel. I hate that. I really do. There's no excuse for it other than a bad hangover and I haven't had a drink in over 6 years.

But I have to say, the editing wasn't that hard. Well, sort of. I couldn't focus on the story, I had to skim it and go scene by scene, something I don't normally look at because I'm a panster and don't write in scenes. I write in places, ie., they were in the kitchen, the garden, the coach, the hide-out. Which in my infitismally small brain, those are scenes, I just never viewed them like that before. (I was over at the Lit Lab reading all the 'Story idea' posts last week and my head is still spinning.) I guess if I pay attention enough to what other people say and do, I might learn something.

So, as I skim read, I looked at the scenes and if one didn't have plot, character or motivation in it, I cut it. Just like that. I got rid of some good stuff too. Ellis, and Madame Beaumond, some of Will's backstory, most of the epilogue. It's tighter now, more streamlined. I like it. I even wrote some other things in, little things that make it more readable. so....

More line edits today although my ass is groaning, and it will be 60 degrees outside so...maybe, maybe not.

I also sent my query out to have a round of critiques. I've got some new names to e-mail but I'm also going to snail mail a few agents as well. I've got two I would really love to have, so hopefully I won't get rejected out-right this time. I've got the right word count, good query (I hope) the 'newbie dust' has worn off a little bit more, I'm not that 'green' (I hope), so maybe I can pull a rabbit out of my hat and get this book sold. My horoscope says something big is going to happen in the next few months so...we can only pray.

I'd also like to say Thank You to Dr. Martin Luther King. If it wasn't for him, well, we wouldn't be here, like this. His dream allowed all of us to become equal. And I mean all of us.