I took today off from work because Rachel's school was out for in-service. But I was SOOO glad I did. I got up to feed Rach breakfast at the usual time, but by 7am, I had passed out again, and I slept hard, dreaming in the bizarre images usually only brought on by too much late-night yogurt. My crush was there, cutie that he is, but the main part of the dream had to do with manuevering through an innovative school, filled with small children. This is a slightly freaky dream for me, in that small children don't really exist in my real world, except at a distance. Not that I have anything against children...I'm just never around any.
And, no, this has nothing to do with my abating baby fever, which slowly dissipated as 50 approached. It probably relates more to my reading of Debby's book yesterday and the need I have to start over, now that I'm back from RT. Re-orient myself to my work and writing, as well as my house.
I'm a lousy house owner. I pay the bills, but the idea that owning would change my mind about things like paint, decorating, and plants turned out to be a sad delusion. The front yard (which is mowed, thankfully, by a service the Home Owners Association pays) still needs a lot of work. A late frost killed most of the new growth on the bushes and everything needs a trim and feeding. My interest in doing this varies from slight to non-existent. It's turned into just one more chore I have to do.
I see a condo in my future. Or an apartment and a good mutual fund.
Still, I have to look deeper, find what it is that God has in store for me. I firmly believe that He put the drive for this house within me, and it's been a stellar move for Rachel. So now I need to stop grousing and just do the work. After all, it's NOT all about ME. :)
Which is also a good way to look at the work; the gift is not my own but one I need to cherish, respect, and share.
More later. Time to feed Rach, who is doing better and resting well. :)
Home again...and feeling overwhelmed. I have SO much to do in the next couple of hours, before I head to pick up Rachel. The flight was OK, crowded, but I had a great book to read: Debby Giusti's Nowhere to Hide. It definitely made the trip move much faster.
Now I feel as if I'm in freefall. The idea of getting back into the swing of things is a bit intimidating. But have to. Life...and writing...goes on.
It was a sweet ending to it all; the kind I almost like best. I had a great chat with a friend about our WIPs, then went down to the last dance of the conference. I listened to the DJ for awhile, watching my crush interact with a gorgeous young lady who definitely would have liked to be his girlfriend, if she wasn't. Had a couple of terrific conversations with Barb Vey, Jade Lee, and Sasha Lord.
Then a lovely young man asked me to dance. And he could...actual steps, instead of just a lot of undirected rhythm. Oldies, very 50s...which is what I turn on Tuesday. So, in some ways, this was the last dance, but the first party of a celebration week for me. Even though this young man was about half my age, he flirted, and engaged me like a true dance partner.
Wicked. :)
And so we scatter, this odd cluster of readers, editors, booksellers, models, and authors, having come together to rejoice over one thing our hearts all have in common: Romance.
I only WISH that 75% referred to sales. It doesn't. More on that in a bit.
First, I just left the biggest event of the conference: the book fair. More than 300 authors in a room, books galore, open to the public for selling and autographing. It is amazingly joyous, an event rich in give-and-take among the authors and a way to reach out a touch a LOT of readers. Not all are going to be interested in any one book. I only sold five, a good number given that I'm a B- or C-list author in a genre not widely known about or promoted at this event. I did sign five books that had been bought outside the fair and brought in for autographing, so I got to talk with a number of folks who had already read the book.
I also had a good chat with a B.Dalton manager, who said that the LIS books weren't doing as well in her store...she wanted ANYTHING to help promote them, and asked me to send along collateral when the next book comes out. A good contact, indeed.
I did a lot of "people watching" during the event, and I discovered, once again, that I'm not too old to get a crush on a smart guy. This young man is too cute for words, and everything about him makes my senses ache. I caught myself paying a little too much attention to not only his face but how he sauntered as he walked away.
Then I remembered my own "75% rule." When it comes to men, 75% of the guys I fall for turn out to be gay. Which explains two things: 1) the type of man who appeals to me, and 2) the dismal state of my love life.
So...smart guy at a romance writers conference. What are the odds...
I can, however, make him straight for the next book. Ah, the advantages of being a writer.
I fully intended to go to tonight's party/dinner/dance. Sponsored by Heather Graham, it looked to be a lot of fun. But about halfway through the editor panel this afternoon, one of them made a comment that sent my mind spiralling out the door, down the hall, and into another world. The longer I sat, the more it boiled and toiled in my head, so I left at the break, grabbed a sandwich from the shop downstairs, and I've been writing every since.
I now have a three-page synopsis, an elevator pitch, and the first few pages of a book, and I've already sent off two queries with three more planned. I don't think a book has ever come to me so suddenly, so completely, in such a short period of time.
Yet it's not the first time words at a conference have sent me fleeing back to my room to write. It's one reason I love them...the presence of other writers, the encouragement of readers and editors. As one of the panelists pointed out yesterday, our competitors are NOT our fellow writers. There's always room for new voices as well as old. Our competitors are television, movies, and the internet...anything the sucks dry reading time. Anything that steals leisure moments from books.
No...our colleagues are not our competitors; they should be our encouragers. And a conference like this always strikes so many new ideas, I become torn between writing and going to events. I made myself go to sessions today, but the party just couldn't break through the lure of the story.
Now, if only Rachel's nurse hadn't called with word that she's ill. REALLY ill. Phyllis has already called for antibiotics and started the back-up treatments for Rachel's lungs. This is TWICE I've been to RT and TWICE Rachel has gotten ill in the middle of it. Phyllis tries to assuage my guilt, telling me it's just the time of year; Rach usually gets ill in April, and she can give Rach better medical care than I can...
It's not working. I still feel like a selfish heel. I'll get over it...as soon as I get home. In the meantime, work will help.
Yesterday afternoon panels went well, as panels go. I wonder why authors are sometimes so ill-suited to talk about their own work, much less their genres. I heard folks yesterday, whom I know can carry on a great one-on-one conversation, sound as if they were confused about the books in front of them. A discussion about what separates a romantic thriller from romantic suspense was so succinct I felt as if I'd missed something. I also found it surprising that folks who are friendly away from the table can deliver some the most startling cutting comments about fellow panelists.
Yet I wouldn't have missed any of it. All-in-all, however, I went to three fabulous sessions on suspense/thrillers/mystery structures, and the panel I was on (about balancing cross-genre elements) gave me plenty of time to toot my own horn, since two of our panelists didn't show. I liked getting to talk more, but I do wish we'd had more perspectives to share with the readers and writers in the room. I skipped the parties last night and opted for room service and work.
I do wish I had gone to one of the mixers, which was sponsored by Harlequin. While the inspriational market is not greatly represented here, H is a major sponsor, and I always enjoy meeting writers from other lines. This morning, they held a series romance panel, which was lightly attended, but I learned a lot from the readers and librarians in the room.
This afternoon, I'm going to a session with a former CSI, then there's a huge agent/editors panel.
Sometime, I'll have to take a closer look at why I avoid the male models wandering around the convention as well, a fact that one of my friends finds most amusing. While some of the ladies ooh and ahh over them, I find myself sidling toward the door. Sounds kinda like the set-up for a romantic comedy, doesn't it. :)
In real estate, it's "Location, location, location." In publishing, it's "Marketing, mar..." OK, you get the point.
I hit the ground running with this. After registering, I had a great chat with Publisher's Weekly Beyond the Book blogger, Barbara Vey. She's already mention me in her blog (and linked my site! Thanks, Barbara!), and I sent two hours this morning getting tips on marketing books online.
One concensus? "myspace, myspace, mysp..." - at least as a beginning. Free and easy to post updates and links to other authors (and author friends) of similar works. Lots of other tips.
The best bit about this convention (unlike my other two favorites ICRS and RWA) is that you get to connect with the readers. Like a good, strong science fiction convention (say, oh, DragonCon), this is a READER'S convention. I get to listen to who's reading what, and on Saturday, at the book fair, I hope to get a chance to see who's lining up at which author's table.
I've talked to some inspirational writers who avoid RT because of the strong erotic elements. Erotica is the queen of the convention - it's everywhere. Ellora's Cave is a major sponsor, and their catchy little "condoms on a stick" were one of the giveaways in the welcome bag.
Yet I am meeting lots of other folks, those who read (and write, hi Jill!) inspriationals or sweets, but who want to hang out with other readers and maybe pick up on some new authors. I'm hoping some will come to my panel this afternoon.
They served a delicious chicken caesar club for lunch, very healthy, followed by a "Dark Seduction Dessert." Dark Seduction is the title of Brenda Joyce's new book, and she co-sponsored the luncheon with eHarlequin and Sony - who gave a good presentation on the eReader and gave away four.
Time for the next sessions...
Blogging from the Hyatt Regency in gorgeous Houston. I can't explain it, but there's something familiar about this city, even though I've never been here. The next few days will be mostly consumed by the Romantic Times Convention, but I hope to get out and see some of the city, especially since the Hyatt is downtown in the heart of it all.
Yesterday started with a strange twist. The plane left Nashville on time, and the trip is usually about a two-hour flight. The first thing we heard from the captain, however, included a change in the flight plan...straight west and down on the other side of Dallas, in an attempt to avoid the storms moving through Texas.
Storms? Oh, boy...why didn't I watch the weather that morning...
The detour added some time to the trip, but not as much as when we got to the Houston area and found out that "the airport isn't accepting aircraft right now because of the weather." We circled west of the city for almost an hour. I napped.
When I woke, I found myself staring at the backside of the storm. Literally. In front of us appeared this amazing layering of clouds. Popcorn white at the bottom, some of which scattered about under the plane. Tuffs of cloud, dense and poofy. Above that, a thick, dark layer smoothed out from horizon to horizon, a wall heavy with water and reflected light. On top, expansive skyscraper clouds towered into the heavens, tousled and glaringly white.
Finally, the pilots had permission to land, and they headed into the heart of the remaining storm. The plane bucked a bit, but not nearly as much as I'd epected. I felt no fear, for a couple of reasons. One was a odd trust in God. I trust His knowledge of when and where I should die. If this was going to be it; just hoped it would be quick....
The other trust lay with the knowledge of how much stress and strain the airframes of big jets can actually withstand. As long as they are in good mechanical repair, heavy jets can take a great deal more abuse than the FAA allows for passenger carry. Still...many kudos to the Southwest crew on that plane. Fabulous ride.
On the ground safely, I thought a bit more about the perspective we had above and behind the clouds. On the ground, turmoil reigned. On the backside...peace. It's God's perspective on our lives, is it not? And, once we've been through a few storms, ours as well. What's important is not just that we've survived, but what we do with the peace. With the perspective. Do we help and growth or do we spend our time whining about the aftermath and anticipating the next one.
Enough philosophizing for one morning. I'm off to find food and learn more about personal branding. This afternoon, I get to speak briefly on blending more than one genre into a novel's plot...in my case inspiration, romance, and suspense. I'm on a panel with some folks who write erotic suspense, and I hope to have time to speak about a friend's inspirational paranormal...
More later, from Houston.
Lemon pie is probably my least favorite desert. I will choose anything over it, including just an entree and veggies, escaping to Baskin-Robbins later if I really want something sweet. However, when such a slice and I are captives in proximity with nothing else to do, I will, in fact, slowly consume it.
Which is what happened this past Monday, at our sales conference luncheon. The chicken was OK; the dressing dry, the veggies a little too greasy. I ignored the pie, but as the rest of the dishes were cleared away and the introductions began for the speakers, I sneaked (as much as you can sneak a fork full of pie in front of 10 close friends at a round table) a bite. Or two.
Then the keynote speaker got up. An actor. Nice looking, but he hunched over the mike as if this were as awkward for him as for us. The audience stirred. After all, actors aren't really known for their speaking abilities. Without a script most of them stumble over the language as if it were new to them.
This actor came to speak, however, understanding that everyone in the room was aware of his biggest role to date; yet his talk was not about that role, exactly, but how God had led him, first back to Hollywood when he thought he would never make it, then through the role of a lifetime, to the point where he was standing here before us. About his faith and his friends, both of whom have sustained him through the hardships of his career, his doubts, and that role--even when the director tried to take it back...a conversation that led to one of the funniest moments in the speech.
All I can say is, Jim Caviezel does a helluva imitation of Mel Gibson.
He makes a pretty good Jesus Christ, too.
And he's not a bad speaker either. The beginning was rough, but this audience, mainly jaded sales teams for our company, is a pretty tough. Yet his talk had all the right points: he led us in, made us laugh, lifted us up, made us cry. My nibbles of lemon pie gave way to sniffles. Needless to say, he got a standing ovation.
Mr. Caviezel appeared before us because Nelson is releasing a fully dramatized reading of the New Testament in October, and he reprises his role as Jesus Christ in the word-for-word reading. He's joined by an amazing cast, including Marisa Tomei, Michael York, Stacy Keech, Lou Gossett, Jr., Richard Dreyfuss, and a slew of others. The Word of Promise has already received attention from the LA Times and other press.
Just in time for Christmas...
But for me, the point of the day wasn't about Mr. Caviezel's speech, or his appearance intended to get our sales folks excited about the product. It was, after all, a true marketing appearance, complete with a picture session afterwards for anyone who wanted to pose with him.
For me, it was the quiet, underlying message about trust, about listening to your own heart and about what you believe you hear God saying to your mind and soul--even when the man who hired you calls to say, "Think about this again because it's probably going to ruin your career."
Trust. It's the hardest part of faith. That when you step off the limb, to see if God really plans for you to fly.
And, no, I didn't stay for a picture. After his speech...I had a little flying of my own to do.
Had something planned, but...
Instead, I'm just going to take time to offer up some prayers...
...for those affected by the shooting at Virginia Tech
...for all the people struggling with nature's fury throughout the country, especially for my friends in the Northeast
...for a dear friend, who just today lost her mother.
Somedays are meant for work, introspection, growth. Others are just meant for prayer.
My mother's birthdate coincides with Calvin Coolidge's presidency. When my paternal grandmother made her entrance here, Benjamin Harrison sat in the Oval Office. When the first women in my family set foot on American soil, James Monroe was in charge.
And I swear I think they must have known more about men and sex than any of the so-called experts publishing books over the past fifty years. The advice my grandmother passed to my mother came down to me, and it still makes more sense than anything I read today.
For instance, one of the first things my mother did when I hit puberty was to take me in the bathroom with a banana and a condom and show me how to protect myself. Her straightforward advice contained a bluntness that shocks some today. "You know your father and I disapprove of premarital sex. But we disapprove of premarital babies even more. Know now that if you have one, you'll be the one to take care of it. Don't sacrifice what could be the best years of your life for five minutes of pleasure."
Yow. While sex ed in school was teaching me about cycles and tubes and where babies come from (something I'd learned when I was six from a book on animals), my mother hit me with a few of the realities of life. As I progressed through my teens, what the school taught about sex found its way into that same back room of my brain as algebra and physics. I watched what my mother had taught play out among my friends. Broken hearts, lives that took a serious detour through young motherhood. Meanwhile, I carried a condom in my purse with an awareness of my mother's warning: "Any guy who truly cares about and respects YOU will also respect your wishes and your morals. If he doesn't, he'll be gone in the morning. Sex does not equal love, no matter what they say in the back seat."
Sounds old fashioned, but mother had one goal in mind, and I think I knew that better than anything...it was NOT to instill her sense of morality on me.
Her goal? Protect me as best she could, from disease, pregnancy...from a broken heart and a sense of shame.
She almost succeeded. But with a teenager, you really can only do so much...
But you know what Proverbs says about raising a child in the way she should go. Over the years, I've found that my mother's wisdom about men, sex, and relationships more wise and sound than any other I've heard. Although it took me awhile to admit how right she truly was. (Especially that part about teenaged boys and five minutes...)
In two weeks, I'll be 50. I've been divorced...a long time. And I've read enough books on how single Christians should handle their sexuality to make me nauseous. Because they never, EVER get it right. Not their fault, really. The best they could hope for is to reach a few folks...manage to "hit the nail on the head" for a random cluster here and there. Mostly they address young folks under 30, "single again" adults under 40, and the random folks under 35 who've never married. I read a lot about "the call to be single" and "you are where God wants you to be. Embrace that for now."
Yeah, right. Now. Where are the books for single women over 50 who have been celibate so long that they now have the sexual cravings of a wild mustang? Think I'm exaggerating? I do wish you knew how many folks I've talked to who've been either embarrassed by this statement, or dismiss it. Some have expressed the idea that such physical cravings come out of the heart's desire to be romance, to seek out a mate. After all, even Paul pointed out that it was better to be married than to burn.
Most of these folks are married.
Reminds me of the quote: "Sex is like air; it's not important unless you're not getting any."
Trust me, this isn't about a desire to be romanced. In fact, part of the problem is that these feelings are in direct conflict with my current lifestyle choices. I don't have time or energy for a relationship, yet I sometimes take a weekend afternoon and put up a profile on eHarmony (which lasted one month) or Plenty-of-Fish (which lasted a week). I'll answer emails and put in an effort for awhile, but I quickly get bored or run out of time. (As you can tell from this blog, my leisure computer time is severely limited these days.)
But my lack of patience is mostly because this is NOT about finding a prince - it's about sex. And online attempts at dating just underline my lack of desire for a "relationship." My choice to be single is almost a conscious one, and - to be honest - only the physical and emotional cravings for physical contact...for sex...drive me to those sites anyway.
Which brings me back to my mother's warning. As an adult female in the 21st century, I know all too well of the health risks of casual - unbonded - sex. As a Christian, I understand the longer term emotional and spiritual risks. So I choose to be celibate...and frustrated.
And no amount of philosophizing or prayer is going to change that frustration one iota. Instead, we - and there are plenty of us - muddle through. We don't HAVE to accept it; we just have to deal with it.
So if you hear one of us whining about the lack of physical contact, please don't patronize us with pats and reassurances about "God's timing." We already know all that.
Instead, ignore all the celebrities that suddenly pop up on our screen saver. Invite us out to tea or a margarita, a trip to the mall, and tell us to avoid romances and reruns of Sex and the City.
And, just maybe, that Mother really does know best sometimes.
Not a lot of time to blog today, but I wanted to post this, which I've been meaning to do since a friend of mine sent it. For all of us.
It's really kept me focused the last few days....
Most inspiring writer's moment:
At the Sewanee Writers' Workshop. It was a day of readings. The readings had been arranged to start with the least accomplished writers and progress to the big names. I'd had one story published, so I was scheduled to read at eight in the morning. I was nervous. I could hardly eat my scrambled eggs. Then an older man came up to my table, hitched up his pants and sat down. He said "Pass the salt?" It was Arthur Miller! I was blown away. I think I was pale. He was so generous with his company. He carried the conversation. He said, "Just write about whatever matters to you. Don't worry about trying to write something important. If it's important to you, it'll be important to other people. That's what I did, when I wrote The Crucible." Ever since then, I think about Arthur Miller and that moment we had together, his words, when I have doubts about my writing.
Til later,
r
I wanted to do something drastic. It has been a bad month, a bad week, and a bad day, and the pity-me-party spiraled around me like a hormonal whirlpool. I needed a change. So when I showed up at my stylist's last night, I announced, "I want to do something radical."
She paused. "How radical?"
"Britney Spears radical."
Her eyes narrowed. "I am not shaving your head."
"No, no...but something different. Really short, or really different in color. Where's your book?" She handed me the folder of color swatches, and my gaze immediately landed on what I wanted. REALLY wanted. NEEDED, even. I pointed. "That one!"
Silence. Dubious, "Are you sure? Especially with where you work?"
"They'll cope. Do you have it?"
She checked her shelf of chemicals and nodded. "But you know it won't look just like that. The roots will be bright, and the rest more that shade." She pointed to a slightly darker tuft of hair on the folder.
I grinned. "Let's do it."
Stephanie and I are a team, where my hair is concerned. I've been going to her for seven years, and she's a specialist in color and the type of thick, coarse hair that I have. I've not seen her quite so reluctant to tackle anything, but she did it. She mixed the color and applied it, making dubious noises along the way. Then I sat in the extra chair in her room, waiting while she took two other haircuts.
Both of her next customers were extremely handsome young men. And they both stopped dead when they saw me. "What are you doing to her?" Stephanie explained. "Is it really going to be that color?" they asked. She assured them it would be. One wanted to wait and see it when it was over, but didn't have the time. Then he asked me, "Are you doing this just for Easter?"
I do have to admit that when I first saw the applied dye in the mirror it was a little startling. It was bright, all right. It was daring.
It was purple.
Yep. Purple. The roots a bright lavendar; the rest more of an amethyst color. As time wore on, Stephanie became more worried, but the deed was done. Finally, we went to the sink to steam it and wash it out. As she scrubbed, Stephanie got quieter and quieter.
"How's it look?" I asked.
After a moment, she said, "Do you believe that no matter what we want, sometimes God has other plans for you?"
This is not a usual Stephanie-type question.
"What's going on?"
"Wellll," she drawled, "either you're going to be massively disappointed or greatly relieved." She took a deep breath. "The color didn't take."
I thought about this. "Has this ever happened to you before?"
She hesitated. She's been doing color for more than 20 years. Finally... "Maybe once. Maybe." Pause. "Or maybe God's got something in store for you and your hair didn't need to be purple."
That's right...after 45 minutes of purple goo soaking into my head, the color didn't change my hair. Even odder...it also didn't change my skin, either my scalp or the fine areas around my hairline, which usually emerge from a red treatment with a faint tint.
Stephanie's hands, however, which had only touched the dye during the last stages of the washing, were lavendar.
My hair, on the other hand, looked pretty much as it did when I walked in. Red, brown, and gray roots, with the rest red.
Maybe this craving to do something radical is meant to take a different form....
No, that's not a misuse or a typo. It's the way I feel about being governed by Christ. A reign of Light.
Seeking out the light this afternoon reminded me of it. It helped, the light, and to get busy with a few things. No housework, which will surprise no one who knows me well, but I got a lot of things off my chest I'd needed to do. Still didn't get to the DVDs I was supposed to review, but soon. Talked to a couple of friends, and received a sweet invitation to Easter dinner next week, including a leg of lamb. Yum. But I think I'll go see my mom instead.
The oddest twist of the day is that I have a date for Tuesday night. Kinda outta the blue. My first in more than five years.
I'm going to do a bit more tonight, then try to rest. That helps as well.
So what does this have to do with writing. The earlier blog was a prompt, the exact thing I needed to get my butt in gear, not only to move but to write on other things.
Need to go give thanks for that gift as well. 'night all...
Professionally, March came in like a lion and out like a lamb. Weatherwise, and on a personal level, the month moved through exactly the opposite, starting calm, moving through sniffles and out with a serious sinus infection (Rachel, not me). Cipro and a lot of 1:30am medications to the rescue.
I'm exhausted, so much that last night my 1:30 alarm went ignored, and the leonine storm woke me at 2. Today, Rachel is in a better mood and less sniffly and junky. Maybe a week of ministrations has helped. Still, her left knee is sore (why, no one knows), and we're dealing with the medical side effects of extra drying agents for the nose and lungs (use your imagination on that one).
The resulting depression has settled over me like a cloak. I want to shut down from all outside contact, from doing anything but eating and staying in bed, but I stay determined not to let this swamp me. Depression courts fatigue, and vice versa, and it's now 1pm, and I'm sleepy to the point of drifting off, in spite of extra caffeine and a morning nap.
Solution? Making myself move and work. And get more sun. Sun always helps, but spring can be hard because of the allergies. I can't even walk to the mailbox (which is about 25 feet from my door) without an attack of the sneezies. So I open all the blinds and the front door, let the light in.
Writing helps as well, which is why I'm here on this blog.
Sometimes, my friends will ask what they can do, or what will make me happy again. Therein lies a misunderstanding. Depression is not sadness. I'm not sad. In some instances, quite the contrary. When I stop and count my blessings (which are legion), I am quite pleased with my life and where I am, despite the things I still want to accomplish and the tasks that desparately await me moving about again. I am not unhappy; I'm depressed. HUGE difference. Depession is more a loss of focus, a numbing of the will, a turning to the inside that you don't quite understand. It's like an emotional pain you don't quite know the solution to.
Yes, this can lead to sadness. And, sometimes, sadness can lead to depression. But the depression isn't the sadness, nor vice versa. They are separate entities.
In this one instance, I think mine has been brought on by a combination of fear and exhaustion. When Rachel is just sniffly, we cope. When the sniffles go on and on, and the infections start to set in, and we go days with interrupted sleep and unexpected days off from work, and increased suctioning and medical care, the fear sets in that she won't pull back this time. After a week of midnight meds and frequently emptied suction jars, my first thought upon waking is whether my child is still alive.
Like it or not, strong personality or not, this will, in fact, have an effect on your mood.
Right now, Rachel is listening to her third movie of the day (Aladdin), and is in a good mood. So I'm going to take a hot shower, a pill for the allergies, and sit in the sun. Afterwards, I'm going to write.
Writing helps. Always has. Always will.