What is That Smell?

Egad. Did I think this junk was good? Yeah, I thought it was better than good. When I wrote it, it seemed terrific. I even read it through a couple of times and made some tiny changes.

Today, I realized I needed to stop for a moment and read through the whole thing as it stands, do some light editing and make sure my timeline made sense. So I printed out what I had and began to review. The first three chapters weren't bad. But chapter four?

It's like I wrote it with a smelly sock over my face.

I've decided the best thing I can do for myself and my work is to let it rest tonight. I'll pick it up tomorrow when I'm fresh.

Maybe I'll be easier to get along with.

Maybe the smelly sock will have some answers.



CR: The Four Last Things by Timothy Hallinan.

It's all better with friends.

Agent Update

It was one of those gem-encrusted fall mornings in Colorado. The trees were red and orange and yellow and gorgeous. The mountains were a darker blue than the sky and topped with some fresh snow that the sun lit on fire. If nothing else, the day was already perfect because of my drive to the mini-conference sponsored by Heart of Denver Romance Writers, a chapter of RWA.

Not very many years ago I regularly spoke to strangers. To large groups. To people up and down the social ladder. All with confidence and fully-formed thoughts. I've noticed lately that often I'm at a loss to communicate verbally in any meaningful way. Could be I spend more time than I should inside my isolated little writing bubble.

My time to pitch the agent attending the mini-conference was moved from before lunch to immediately after. Which of course is when I wanted to take a nap. I don't know why I got so nerved up, but I did. We finally settled on calling my manuscript a thriller because it isn't a mystery and doesn't have much romance. Fine. Call it whatever you want. She said my 80,000 word count was perfect. I handed her the written pitch because for the life of me I couldn't string three words together, let alone a cleverly crafted sentence or two. Then, because I was a little presumptuous and just wanted to show her that although I couldn't speak, I was prepared, I handed her the query letter.

She asked for a synopsis and a full. Which is nice, but I imagine she asked everyone for a synopsis and a full.

Just sayin'.




CR: The Burning Wire by Jeffery Deaver

It's all better with friends.

Just Give Me Crayons

Do you remember when you were four, and all you needed was some paper and crayons to be an artist? You could sit down and draw whatever you imagined. Your house, a dog, a butterfly—each one a masterpiece.

My mother-in-law is an amazing woman. She is grace and dignity personified. She never goes out in public without being put together. She's never too loud or demonstrative. She's a classy lady. Know someone like her?

She also plays the piano. Well, sorta. Everything she plays sounds the same. But to watch her? Her eyes are closed and if you dare follow where she leads, she's giving a performance worthy of a concert pianist. Watch her closed eyes long enough and you can begin to hear the perfection. Sometimes I can even hear the string section that's backing her up. My ninety-three year old mother-in-law channels her inner four-year-old and brings her forth into the world. She is a concert pianist and there's no taking it away.

So, yesterday, I found myself in the middle of a scene that was bound to be a bit complicated, and was concerned the details might be a bit off. Without creating an Information Dump, the pieces needed to convey an authority that would generate trust in my reader.

Initially, I crumbled.

And then, I found my four-year old. The one that could only create a masterpiece. Failure was not only not an option, it wasn't even a word I understood.

This morning when I read the words I wrote? One of those 'love it' moments. That wee bit of confidence gave me the power to forge on. This afternoon, I'm almost certain I penned a symphony. Or, the very least, drew a pretty good likeness to a dog.



CR: Rain Gods by James Lee Burke. I restarted this book last night because my schedule had forced me to put it down, and Burke requires more from me. Do you see how quickly he trains his readers? This is my first book of his. A little bit of power?

It's all better with friends.