I've come to the conclusion that I need to focus on making a living from my own writing. Duh, R.
I've always been a procrastinator, but it seems to be increasingly worse when I'm working on something I don't have an ownership in. For a long time, I just wanted to make a living as a freelancer, no matter what it took. And I've done that, for the most part. I don't make gobs of money, but enough to get along.
Maybe that's why I've gotten spoiled. Maybe that's why Murder - uncontracted-and-only-a-couple-of-folks-even-interested-in-it Murder - kept threatening to derail my work on Secrets. Which is contracted.
So I pray for discipline, struggle, and try to keep the spoiled part of me locked in the closet. That scruffy, messy, unruly ego.
What I DO know is that if I want to succeed with my novels, I still have a lot to learn. Now I just need to go out and do it.
One deadline at a time.
"Where else can you post, I need to blow up a car. Can you help?" This was the ending sentence on one of my email digests this morning, which made me laugh. It's a list run by former law enforcement professionals for crime writers. They help us work out the details, running that balance between what's factual and what works in fiction. CSI and other such shows and movies have changed forensic "reality" so much for readers, that if a writer sticks to what's real, readers think it's wrong. So we have fun there, asking questions that might raise a few eyebrows in other venues.
Writers sometimes get asked, "Where do you get your ideas?" Well, that's the easy part. Ideas are everywhere. I can get an idea for a good, old-fashioned murder mystery just by walking through the mall or around the parking lot. The follow-up is usually harder, so I've found that the question I get more often is, "How do you know that?"
Hm. The first time I heard this puzzled me. How do people know anything? Research, read, network, talk. In other words, you ask someone who knows.
This wound up being an eye-opener for me, because it was another one of those "I thought everybody did this!" moments. If I get curious about something, I research it. I've done that since I was a kid, spending quite a few hours in the library. With the Internet, it's even easier. For me, continually learning new things is one thing that keeps life constantly interesting.
Apparently, people still have curiosity, but no interest in actually finding out. Why is that?
Hm....that sounds like research to me.
After my late night prowl-fest through the public library and a lot of LA blogs, I woke a little bleary-eyed. Combined with some truly disturbing dreams, the day started out confusing. The best thing I can says is that my food intake has been relatively healthy. So far. I do plan to order Chinese for dinner, so I can't brag on that scale too much.
But it looks as if it's going to be a good day for productivity. Cloudy and somber outside, with no temptations for walks, even to go get the mail. TV (except for the 500) is dreary way into tonight. I do have a tendency to break to pester my kid, but that's normal.
I wrote the ending to Murder last night, and that'll keep me from wanting to write TOO much on it. I also realized I was leading up to another plot twist, and I'm trying to decide if killing off one of my favorite characters is necessary. So I need to stew on this a bit, let what's about to happen ferment a bit before sitting down to write it.
There are a couple of other temptations, however. One of my favorite people in the world - and favorite writers - is the host for this year's fiction contest in The Tennessean.
Steve Womack is a joy to talk to and read. He was my inspiration when I couldn't write a word, and he got me into screenwriting back in the day. I owe him a lot.
So I need to go pay a few of those dues. Laters.
Strange things happen when you're up at 2am. The neighbors make noises you don't usually hear, and so does my kid. She's taken to whacking one of her fiber optic pieces in the middle of the night, probably the result of a small seizure. But the result sounds like someone's pecking on the window--an effect sure to bring me dashing out of the office.
And friends send you odd sites, like this one of weird and embarrassing creche scenes.
So my weird noise for the wee hours was a strangled giggle, muffled so that I hopefully won't wake up Rach and have her whack something again. Of course, I am the one with the fiber optic Santa and Easter bunny hanging in the window. But, hey, when we find something Rach likes to watch, we stick with it.
These are two reasons why I've asked my complex about renting a three-bedroom apt. More room for stuff and a room for me to get away from Rach at night--or at work. She's taken to being jealous of my typing lately, which she can hear since her bed is just outside the office door.
Of course, the good thing about being a writer is that this all becomes grist for the mill.
Speaking of, I'm having a horrid time with Secrets. It's coming along, but I keep being drawn back to Murder, etc., and I wound up spending my insomnia hours browsing the local public library site, requesting sixteen books and videos for research. Lots of crime scene stuff, but they already know I'm a writer. So they no longer look at me funny when I order things like The Complete Idiot's Guide to Criminal Investigation. (No kidding, that's the title.)
Maybe it's time for a nap.
Getting a late start, which I suppose is appropriate for a Saturday. Maybe. The night owl in me doesn't care for working too much before 10am anyway. I always try to do mindless, catch-up stuff before then.
I have noticed that being a freelancer often means losing track of days. Saturday, that glorious day off for most 9 to 5ers, is just another day to me. Typically, just another work day, unless one of my friends has planned something. I work, keep the same schedule. Of course, my freedom comes in being able to stop work (if I'm not on a deadline) anytime during the week.
It makes holidays weird. I forget about them. With my mom and brother so far away (neither of whom work in an office anymore), and Rachel unaware, I forget that other folks are going to be traveling, celebrating, etc. I sent out two devotionals to writers yesterday, asking for approval, only to get auto-responses back that one's gone for the weekend and the other won't be back till June 13th.
I didn't remember this was Memorial Day until Jeopardy did a category on the Indy 500. Which I will probably watch. One of my short-lived dreams as a teen was to become a racecar driver, preferably Indy or Formula One. I studied all the rules and regs. Janet Guthrie was my hero. ;) She has a new autobiography out; I've requested it from the library.
Ah, the many dreams of youth, some of which are mere sizzles in the pan.
I also gave up my dream to climb K-2, but that's another story.
Back to work. I still have devotionals to write, devotionals to send. And the ending of Murder came to me this morning, and I'm trying to rein in that particular urge to write. Laters.
Okay, so maybe my goal of journaling here every day isn't necessarily a good one. I woke up this morning with my head buzzing about the next chapter in Murder, and the selections from Secrets that I need to finish this morning. I also re-injured my ankle last night, so long stretches at the computer are probably not a wise idea today.
Gotta love the AlphaSmart - I do like being able to pile up in the recliner and write. Rach likes it, too, since it puts me in the room with her. She's less fussy if she can see me, and when she can hear me typing on the computer, it sometimes annoys her.
Yeah, spoiled. Phyllis (her nurse) even bought her a t-shirt that says "Rated SP: Spoiled Princess."
If I have some grand or expansive thought, I might pop in later. I'm not betting the farm on it, however. Laters.
I had an intriguing conversation yesterday with an artist friend, after she found out I was writing a murder mystery. At least, that's where it started. I had read her a section of the book, and she asked about my knowledge of crime scenes, etc.
Part of that is simple research. Writers, especially fiction writers, read a lot of odd stuff. Currently, I'm reading Death in Paradise, which is about the history and operation of the coroner's department for the County of Los Angeles. Not what I'd recommend for an afternoon at the beach, but important for a couple of scenes in my book. (I'm also reading other, friendlier, books, but that's for a different conversation.)
From there, she asked about how a writer gets inside a character's head. "How do you do that?" Gave me pause. I don't know how I do it. I just always have been able to, and have since I was a kid. I imagine it's similar to how an actor works (or, at least, I did it the same way when I was acting). But the exact process is not something I've deconstructed.
For me, it's similar to how I perceive people in crowds. I look at someone, watch the way they act, talk, dress, etc., and in my head start giving them a backstory based on that. Where they're from, what they do, are they married, do they have kids, etc.
I only recently found out that other people don't do this. It was something of a surprise. I thought everyone did it!
Of course, my artist friend thought everyone looked at the world around them, absorbing the variations of light, shadow, color, details.
Well, um, no.... I lived in my current residence for almost five years before someone pointed out that the fronts of the apartments in another building were different than the fronts of the ones in my building. I'd never noticed, and I walk around the complex about three times a week.
Apparently, I'm too busy making up backstories to notice architectural features.
I think the best of us -- the best writers, actors, artists -- somehow integrate it all. After all, more people know if you screw up a description of a begonia than the tables in a coroner's office.
More on this later, I'm sure. Time to write the stuff I get paid for.
Summer hours are already kicking in with Rach and me, even though she's only been out of school for a day and a half. Left to her own devices, she naturally seem to sleep between midnight and 8am. Clocks are required to shift that around. Last night she was tired, but still fussed until midnight. After that she was cool and slept till 8. I woke up earlier, but stayed quiet so she could rest.
My mother says she comes by that naturally. I've been a night owl since I was a kid, sometimes writing/wandering until almost dawn. I still remember my first all-night film festival - long before cable tv. PBS ran a series of foreign films overnight - my first taste of Roman Polanski (Knife in the Water), and I was up when my dad got home at 3:30 from his last OTR run to Decatur.
Needless to say, I am NOT a morning person. With Secrets peering over my shoulder, deadline in sight, I'll be working more into the night, glad that my favorite shows are now in reruns and thus not tempting. I don't watch a lot of tv, but more than I should.
I've also found that sticking to my plan to work on Murder first thing, at least that 100 words/day goal (which takes less than 30 minutes) keeps me perky for other projects. When I don't write on my own stuff, I get nasty and cranky.
Of course, writing ONLY 100 words is an interesting discipline. Once I get started, I can usually do 2-5 pages without blinking. But must focus on what's paying the bills right now.
Enough rambling for a sleepy-headed Thursday morning. Time for energy food and work.
Let’s try this again.
Over the past year, I have been journaling on occasion, so there’s no real reason that I couldn’t continue here, even if no one reads it. My little grousing space. Or bragging space.
So here’s the latest news, small and large, and I’ll probably add to it as I get used to doing this on a regular basis.
Steeple Hill has bought my romantic suspense novel, Jackson’s Retreat. No pub date yet. They’ve also asked for a sequel, which I’ll start writing in June. That one, Clues in the Clay, is about a potter, so I’ve been getting my hands dirty with a friend who is one. I’d never realized how mesmerizing the wheel could be, and how the clay really does “talk” to you.
TCW has asked for another article, and Special Ed Today wants me to write an article on preparing for the death of your child. I have the contracts for that one on my desk, unsigned. I will do it, but I still freeze a bit when I think about it. Another topic for another day.
I’m finishing up a book for Barbour, Secrets of Confidence. And it’s WAY behind. Deadline is May 31st, and I still haven’t been back in touch with some of the writers who sent me their stories. I lost so much work time when Rach and I were sick, almost two months. I’m still playing catch-up.
Then, there’s the Bible project. It’s gearing up now, and I’m beginning to take a lot more ownership in the work. Also something for a later entry.
That’s it for now. I’m sure I’ll get more personal in subsequent entries…and I’ll try to keep the porn spam to a minimum in the comments section.
Blessings . . . and welcome to my blog.
Yeah, I'm still a novice at this. I've never been much of a blogger, although I've read other folks' work. Since I hadn't really had time to do one of my own, this has set empty for more than a year, pretty much ignored by me.
Until today, when a friend informed me that the blog spammers had filled my comments sections with lots of porn links. Gag.
My apologies to any friends (or family!) who stumbled on this. Even if I don't keep going with the blog, I'll check in on this.
I had hoped to use the blog for updates to the site. I still have to get it updated, since I want to shift it from an editor's site to a writer's site. I'll try to talk about that later.
Thanks for peeking in.