WIP

The man trembled. He was in a car, lots of black leather and dark wood. Expensive, he thought bringing one shaky hand up to his head to try and clear it. A woman was driving, but he had no knowledge of who she was or how he got there. He couldn’t even remember where he was before he was here, in this car.
“W-Where am I?” he asked, his deep voice trembling almost as bad as his hands.
The woman stared straight ahead, one hand on the wheel, the other elbow resting on the console with her hand wrapped around a latte. She seemed bored. Her dark hair was pulled back at the base of her neck and she wore no makeup. Attractive in a raw kind of way with large brown eyes, pale skin, flat, lean cheeks and full lips that formed a perfect pink bow. Her eyes were tired and she blinked several times as if trying to stay awake. Shifting in the seat, she sat up a little straighter and took a sip from her cup. She didn’t even look at him.
“Please,” the man asked again, louder this time, a quiver of panic in his voice. “Where am I?”
The woman kept driving.
“I don’t know what happened. How did I get in this car? Where are we going?”
Her eyes drifted to the driver’s side mirror and then to the passenger side. She lifted the lever for the turn signal, then switched lanes.
“Who are you?” The man turned in his seat and leaned toward the woman, trying to move into her line of vision. “Ma’am? Who are you and where are we going? You have to tell me.”
Again, no answer.
“STOP IGNORING ME AND STOP THIS CAR!”

Not getting a reaction the man brought his hand up and tried to grab the woman’s arm. His hand passed right through her as if it were moving through a pea soup fog.

Howling and Dancing

When my kids were younger I'd yell "FULL MOON" and we'd race out to the back deck and Howl at the moon. Full out, yeooowlly howls at the top of our lungs.

When it rained we kicked off our shoes and danced on the front lawn.

When we wanted a snow day we danced on the lawn too. The crazy, mystic dance of the snowflake.

When bored we'd paint the windows per the season (Tazmanian Devil with a Santa hat) or, when dh wasn't home, we'd do something on the walls. Diamond Head lives on my office wall now. With parrots sitting on the painted ledge and a wild palm tree hanging half in a painted window.

Okay, so the neighbors were never too friendly--can't imagine why??? But we had fun and I think this helped make them optimistic and creative.

I hope it showed them that the different drummer can be exciting and fun. That beauty should be celebrated with howls and dancing, art is something everyone can do and no matter what you do--have fun. Rainy days are never bad when you dance your way through.

Major vent-fest going on over at Pub Rants. Amazingly, all this agent did was say she could no longer accept snail mail and was going to email submission. Responsible, no? Less paper, fewer dead trees laying around the office, easier over all for her and us. I applaud her.

However there were a lot of comments on the blog that objected her decision because it might be inconvenient to some writers. It was almost a brawl with people sniping at each other. (Usually the "anonymous" ones that snipe the worst! And they were sniping about that, too.)

Wait! I wasn't aware the agents owed us convenience. We need them, the gatekeepers to this world we're trying to break into, for their connections, networking skills and (I think) for protection. They do all the business/contract stuff so we can keep writing. So if we want to stand in the crowd screaming "Pick me! Pick me!" wouldn't it make sense to do it in a way that was easiest for them? Going against their guidelines might get us noticed but it wouldn't be in a good way.

Bottom line; READ THE SUBMISSION GUIDELINES.

Sheesh!

Okay, that's my vent for the day.

Lions and Tigers and DEADLINES!

"Empower your dreams with deadlines."--H. Jackson Brown

Why is it when given an assignment to get something done by a certain time most of us are able to accomplish something. Get that to me by Tuesday-no problem. We need the newsletter to the printer by Friday- okey dokey! Mother in law's gonna be her Saturday, gotta clean!-Whew! Got it done.

First deadline-Finish first draft by June- um, well...I was injured, Hey! I get a free pass! (car accident/surgery) Okay, it was done by Christmas.

Second draft- Chinese New Year- hmmmm, that goal wasn't realistic, was it?

Synopsis-(Cause I need a break from drafting)-Easter? YIKES! Here comes Easter!

Note to self: Need new deadlines. Did we say Christmas?

Help!

PS-I don't know who H. Jackson Brown is but I'd like to know what his deadlines are. (or were?)

Life as a challenge.

What do you want from life? Do you see this "want" as a dream? A wish? or a challenge?
I have one daughter who loves a challenge. No matter what she sets her sights on she never looks at it as a wish.
She wanted to be a lifeguard. After rigorous testing and pushing herself to her limit. Poof! She was a lifeguard.
She wanted to be drum major in the band. Work, work, work...poof! She became drum major.
Learn piano? guitar? Poof!
Although she makes it look easy I know how much work she puts into these things. I see the agony and energy she goes through for her goals. Some are harder then others, sure, but she pushed herself just as hard every single time. She seems to live for the challenge.
Everything is a challenge to be met, overcome and accomplished. She amazes me. She has also taught me a lot about challenges:
Stay focused.
Believe in yourself.
Work hard.
Never give up.
Do I want to be a published writer? Is this my dream? Or is it a challenge to be overcome, overtaken and accomplished?
J.A. Konrath once asked, "What do you call a writer who never gives up?"
---PUBLISHED!
He should know. It took him years to become an overnight sensation. His story is one of hard work and determination. (You can read his story in a book called, "HOW I GOT PUBLISHED".)
Was it his dream? Or his challenge?
What's yours?

Back to the trenches...

The book is done and some fixin' and some rewriting and I'm beginning to think of agents. Visiting their websites, looking on agent query.com, blogging...

So, I take a few pages on a part I really didn't feel that great about to my wonderful critique group.

Now I'm back into the rewrite phase. >sigh<

They gave very good comments on the five pages I brought with me and it'd be an easy fix. But the biggest thing they did was make me think of other parts of the story that could use the same kind of help.

So, later agents! I'm not quite ready for you yet.

But I'm coming.

When Writers Dream...

Over at Bookends author Kimberly Dean has written a great post on writers and their wandering minds. Her new book, What She Wants at Midnight, is written on a the concept that there is someone who bestows dreams on us when we sleep. Interesting concept. (Also one of those-why didn't I think of that-moments.)

But she goes on to ask what we think about when our mind wanders. Is it grocery lists? How we're going to get the laundry done or about an upcoming trip?

I think most writers are a different breed. Do we ever think of mundane things when there's a chunk of time that can be used for creating?

Last night on the way home from a fundraiser I was stopped behind a car whose bumper sticker said "Aquittal". First I thought: lawyer? Then: what if it's a criminal who got away with something? Which led to: what if there's a body in the trunk and the criminal is on his way to dump it? And on to: How about if he's a wacko who kills people and leaves them in the trunks of other people's cars? He could pull into not so busy parking lots, jimmy the lock on a trunk, slip in the body and watch the fun.

What would the average person do if they go to the store, bring their groceries out to their car and then pop the trunk and....

What would you do? Now, if you call the police wouldn't they suspect you? And if you had anything shady in your past-could you risk calling the police? So? What would you do?

My family often tells me my mind is a scary place.

How's yours?