Misappropriated Creativity

Confession time:

I haven't worked on my novel in such a long time that I'm ashamed to even guess how long it's been. Except for a small section that I'm not even sure will make it into the book, I haven't touched it in probably close to two months.

I'm not necessarily suffering from writer's block, (which was my first suspect) because I am writing.

I'm just not writing my novel.

I think I'm going to call it misappropriated creativity (and if that term is not copyrighted already, I claim it!).

During my Google image search for "claim" 
I found like 45 books with "claimed by" in the
title with about a third just called "Claimed."
This is the most PG cover in the bunch.
I wouldn't recommend reading the others in public.
I'm sorry I googled it in the library.

I've been working on writing prompts for writer's group, editing a short story to enter into a writing contest, writing blog posts, trying to figure out how to make the second part of a novella work, jotting down book ideas that pop into my head but don't actually have time to work on, networking, and trying to improve my author social media platform.

Not to mention the non-writing-related stuff I do like work, Facebook, reading, my teacup-sized social life, and Netflix.

The me from a few years ago would say "Hey, chill out. You're still working on writer's stuff, that's good enough." The problem is, it's not good enough. November 2nd will be the one year anniversary of the last book I wrote, Love Drunk and Dragon Tears, going live on Amazon. It's been a year since I published a book. A year since I've finished writing a book.

It kind of hurts the pride a little bit.

I know that writing a novel, especially in a genre I haven't really written in before, takes more time than writing a novella with a fairly simple story-line, it's just hard to gauge how much writing I'm actually doing when it is scattered across 20 projects instead of focused on one.

Which makes me feel like I'm not doing much work and failing at writing... even though I'm not. Such is life.

Picture from Sparklife
That sounds about right.

Now that I've identified the problem and confessed it to the world, what am I going to do?

Probably go finish editing that short story, work on the writing prompts for next week, cruise Facebook, and call it a night.

What Happens at Writers Conference Goes in a Blog

This past weekend I had the pleasure of attending the Nebraska Writers Guild's 2016 Fall Conference and it was fantastic! I have never been around so many writers in one place before and was in complete awe. I'm sure it showed on my face, too, but I'm like 87.2% positive I didn't make too much of an ass out of myself.

One thing I want to say right off the bat is, I am absolutely blown away by how much talent there is in my little corner of the world. Friday night of the conference, there was an open mic event where you could come and spend seven minutes reading anything you wanted (I read the opening section of Love Drunk and Dragon Tears and got a number of compliments so I was pretty happy). While everybody who got up did wonderfully (even the lady who was absolutely terrified of reading in front of us), a few stood out.

The first person to read was a guy who looked to be about 16 years old, but when he started reading, I forgot how young he was. He painted a picture with his words so vividly that I can still see them nearly a week later. I was blown away and I hope great things happen for him.

A gentleman got up and introduced his reading by saying he was a poet and he primarily wrote about his wife and their journey with her dementia. He used his poetry to keep the woman he loved alive and well in his mind. His words were beautiful and loving and even now, make my eyes well up with unshed tears.

The last woman to read started by showing us a picture that she had painted of a little Ponca girl, curled up in the fetal position. The girl's name was Water Willow and her story was what we heard. As soon as the author started reading, I was taken back in time to America's most ancient story-telling tradition, that of the Native Americans. I felt like I was there with the man on the shores of the stream waiting for his daughter's arrival and watching the star shower above. It was beautifully written and told and brought me to tears.

Saturday started with breakfast and networking then a presentation by New York Times Best Selling author Victorine Lieske on BookBub. BookBub, something I had never heard of before the conference, is a newsletter you can sign up for and it will let you know when e-books in your chosen genre(s) go on sale or are free.

It is probably something I should stay away from considering the number of physical books I have yet to read and I know I probably have twice the number waiting for me on my iPad.

But Victorine spent most of her time talking about how writers can utilize it for getting word of their books to the masses. There is a significant application process and high rejection rate, but she said it is well worth it to try.

The second presenter was Carrie Pestritto, an agent from Prospect Agency. She spent the first part of her presentation talking to us about how to create our 'brand' which is essentially who we are as an author to our readers. She also had great tips and advice for authors looking for agents and what happens after they find one. The second half of her presentation was just answering any questions the group had about the agent/publisher side of the business.

The part that scared me was that she recommend different pen names if you write different genres to help your readers keep your books straight. I understand that, but I write in nearly all the genres... that's a lot of pen names.

After lunch and more networking time, we finally got to hear from the featured New York Times Best Selling author, Taylor Stevens. The woman is just as fascinating as her thriller/suspense novels are (I'm assuming, since I'm only halfway through the first one and I am loving it!).

Katherine,
So happy to meet you :)
 Keep on writing and keep kicking butt :)
[Taylor Stevens]

Due to her background, (she's very open about it and you can read about it on her website, so I'm not going into it here except to say "apocalyptic cult") she did not get into writing by any traditional path and therefore has a very unique view of books, writing, and the publishing business. I love her rules for when you get a publisher: 1) Do what they tell you to, 2) Don't be crazy!

Our final speaker was Sabrina Sumsion, author, former publicist, and social media expert (I don't know if that is one of her actual titles, but she sure deserves it if it isn't). Her presentation was all on the dos and don't of using social media as an author. She really emphasized how authors need to treat their social media presence just like a business does: know your target audience, don't make every post about you and what you're selling, be entertaining, and DO NOT bring in politics and/or religion unless that is what you write about. "Retain dignity and grace no matter what."

As an author who primarily uses social media to connect with my readers, this was exceptionally interesting to me and I definitely learned a lot.

Overall, I learned so much from both the presenters and the other writers I met. It was amazing to find out how much I still have to learn and how much I didn't know that I didn't know. If you are a writer, I definitely recommend finding a local (or not so local) writers conference and attending. It is wonderful to find a community of people from all walks of life who have this one thing in common with you.

I'll tell you one more thing, I can't wait for spring conference!

Strength in Sisters

A while back, I was working on a writing prompt for my writer's group: "She stood there just as shell shocked as I had been. Then, she went for the gun on the wall." The short story that resulted from my chosen prompt was a story of three sisters supporting each other through a hard time. It was partially inspired by the relationship that I have with my three sisters. 

Oh the shenanigans we have gotten
into over the years.

I never shared it with my writer's group because I worried the subject matter might hurt one of the people in my group... then I realized how stupid that was. Art is supposed to invoke feelings in the viewer. 

So, I've decided to share it with you all.

She stood there just as shell shocked as I had been. Then, she went for the gun on the wall. “Nobody messes with our family!”

I beat her to the old pump Remington shotgun that had belonged to our father. I grabbed it and held it against my chest as I turned my back to the furious woman trying to snatch it out of my hands. I’ve never been so thankful that I kept it unloaded. “Ruth, calm down and listen to the rest of the story.”

“I don’t need to hear the rest of it!” Ruth grabbed the stock just behind the trigger guard and I twisted to keep it out of her hands. “Esther! Look at her face! That man has to pay!”

“I did look at her face!” I turned and put a hand against Ruth’s chest while I extended the arm that held the shotgun in the opposite direction. “You need to hear the rest of her story!”

Ruth snarled at me but finally calmed enough to listen. She tossed her honey-brown hair back over her shoulder. “Alright Miriam, what happened?”

Miriam glanced up at Ruth from her seat on the couch, an ice pack pressed to the left side of her face and a paper towel under her nose to staunch the bleeding.

Our baby sister had always been the beauty of the family, even though she had been sporting more makeup than necessary for the last couple of months. She was also the rebellious one.

Ruth and I had started quietly discussing Miriam’s condition when the cake make-up appeared, but we didn’t want to approach her with false allegations and risk losing her. The whole family knew Sid, her husband, was a jerk. Had known since they started dating, but there was no talking Miriam out of it. We all silently agreed to handle them with kid gloves and keep a close eye on the couple.

I wish to God we had at least tried talking to her. Then maybe this all wouldn’t have happened.

Or it could have sent her away from us forever.

Miriam and Sid celebrated their first wedding anniversary two months ago. Two days later, Miriam met me for lunch wearing a sweatshirt in August and heavy concealer that didn’t quite cover the shadow under her eye. I asked her about it and she brushed me off with a story about tripping and how clumsy she was.

Miriam was a lot of things, but clumsy was not one of them. For heaven’s sake, the woman had taken ballet for fifteen years. She could probably walk a tightrope en pointe with no problem.

I recruited big sister, Ruth, to help me find out what was going on. We “kidnapped” Miriam from work one day and had a sister day full of pedicures and mimosas. After a few drinks, we brought up our suspicions and Miriam denied everything. At one point, Ruth had jerked up Miriam’s sleeve to reveal nasty bruises that looked suspiciously like fingerprints. Ruth and I finding the proof only pissed Miriam off and she stormed out of the spa. She hadn’t talked to either of us, nor anybody else in the family, since.

We probably should have just called the cops, but the prospect of catching the bastard in the act was a little too appealing to pass up, not that we would have known what to do if we caught him. Plus, too many years of watching cop shows had me wanting to do a few stakeouts of my own. They are not as much fun as one would think, but it did let Ruth and I catch up.

We never caught Sid hitting our sister, but we did see him spending far more time at the bar than was necessary and a whole lot of drunk driving. Ruth suggested we ram him and call the cops so they could throw his ass in jail for DUI but we were in my car at the time. It might not be much to look at, but it was the only one I had.

Needless to say, I was more than a little surprised when I found Miriam at my door a few hours before. She was in tears, one eye nearly swollen shut, blood running out of her nose, bruises and scrapes everywhere, clothes and hair disheveled. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said she had been in a car accident. I got her cleaned up a bit and settled on the couch with an ice pack, then called for reinforcements.

“Ruth, sit down. You look like you’re going to eat her.” I put the shotgun back on the wall, then plopped down next to Miriam on the couch and pointed to the chair on her other side. Ruth rubbed her face, then complied.

Ruth took a big breath. “Miriam, what happened?”

“I left him.”

I have never seen such a beautiful smile from such a mess as I saw on my little sister’s face at that moment.

Ruth collapsed back against the chair. “About freaking time! But what happened?” She pointed at Miriam’s injuries.

Miriam checked to see that her nose had stopped bleeding and put the paper towel carefully on the coffee table with a shrug. “I missed you guys so much. I decided you were more important that my pride-”

“Damn straight we are!”

“Ruth.” I shook my head and nodded at Miriam. Ruth just shrugged.

Miriam smiled, even though tears were welling up in the eye I could see. “So I was packing a bag to come spend the weekend. I was going to call you both from the car to see if you wanted to go to a spa or a B&B or just have a slumber party all weekend at one of your houses. Sid came home early from work and saw me packing. He thought I was leaving for good and wouldn’t listen to reason. He’s never been this bad.” Miriam grabbed my hand then reached for Ruth’s. “Please, believe me, he has never been this bad.”

“Don’t defend him!” Ruth barked.

Miriam shook her head. “I’m not. I just feel so stupid. I swore growing up I would never be in a relationship like this, especially after watching Aunt Phoebe suffering, but after he hit me the first time, I was so embarrassed. I should have known better. I should have walked away that first time, but I couldn’t. Esther, I wanted so much to tell you the first time you asked. I just… I couldn’t.”

Ruth sighed and took Miriam’s hand in both of hers. “How did you get away?”

“I asked myself what my big sisters would do.” Miriam smiled through her tears.

I laughed. “Considering we just brawled over the shotgun, I am seriously hoping you didn’t shook him.”

“Why not? Bastard deserves to be shot.”

I shook my head. “Ruth, we don’t want Miriam to have to deal with the legal crap of shooting him.”

“Open and shut case if he’s dead.”

“Ruth!”

“Anyway,” Miriam interrupted. “He had me by the throat against the wall so I kneed him in the junk as hard as I could.”

“Atta girl!” Ruth cheered. I wrapped an arm around Miriam and squeezed.

“He let me go and I ran for the door. He grabbed my arm to stop me so I grabbed the first thing I could get my hand on. The baseball bat he keeps next to the door.” Ruth and I both cringed while Miriam chuckled quietly. “He’s going to have a headache when he wakes up.”

“I’m proud of you.” I kissed Miriam’s temple. Ruth reached over and pulled Miriam into her arms for a long moment. “We have to take you to the police-”

“No!” Miriam pulled away from Ruth and stared at me in shock.

“I agree with Esther.” Ruth stood and put her hands on her hips.

“Why?”

“If Sid files assault charges against you, it won’t look good if you didn’t report what he did to you. You need to go in and give them your statement. Tell them what you did and file charges of your own.”

“We should probably get a restraining order against the bastard, too, not that it’ll do much good if he’s determined, but sometimes it scares people off,” Ruth added. “A gun works better.”

I rolled my eyes at her gun comment but nodded my agreement anyway. “Then, we need to call Aunt Leah and start getting you a divorce.” I stood and pulled Miriam up beside me.

“Maybe we should call Aunt Leah on our way and have her meet us at the police station.” Ruth crossed her arms and eyes Miriam. “Too bad we don’t have pictures from before you got cleaned up.”

I grinned and held up my phone. “Oh, but we do.”

“You took pictures of me?!” Miriam screeched.

“You can thank me later.” I slung my purse strap over my head and headed for the door. “Ruth, you driving or am I?”

Ruth followed me across my front porch and down the stairs. “I will. Your POS is a death trap and I think Miriam has been traumatized enough for today.”

“Hey!” I swatted her with the back of my head.

“I love you guys.” Ruth and I turned to see Miriam standing at the top of the porch steps with tears in her eyes. She slowly descended and stopped between us. “I just- I love you. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to leave him if I didn’t have two strong sisters to turn to.”

Ruth and I pulled her in for a group hug, tears running down each of our cheeks.

“I don’t know how much longer we would’ve been able to leave you with him before doing something drastic.” Ruth’s voice was thick with tears.

“A week,” I mumbled through my own tears. “I had next Friday circled in my calendar. If you wouldn’t leave on your own, I was coming to get you even if I had to drug you and carry you out of that house myself.”

“Thank you for saving me.” Miriam loosened her hold on us.

I sniffed and wiped at my cheeks with the heels of my hands. “You saved yourself, baby sister. We’re just making sure you stay that way.”

This is Partially Your Fault

Not long ago, I had the pleasure of reading the first chapter of a friend's book. He has been chewing on the story for the last few years and finally buckled down to get it on paper.

It was worth the wait.

It is a fantasy tale stretching across at least three books and is very unique. I haven't been a hard-core fantasy reader since high school, but I haven't stumbled across anything really like it before.

He has quite a task ahead of him, though. I'm not going to go into much detail because it is his story to tell, but for his first book he has chosen to world-build, have characters jump worlds, and created a mythos that is nearly as large as our universe is wide.

Oh, and there's time manipulation. Did I mention that?

He has bitten off more than I'm capable of chewing as an author and I wish him luck.

Now, to the purpose of this.

Not only did he let me read the first chapter, he encouraged me to edit it. Poor guy didn't know what he was getting himself into.

I haven't done much editing of other people's work since high school (I had a friend refuse to let me work on her papers anymore because I essentially tore them apart... nicely, I'm not a mean person), so I enjoyed the challenge.

It took me nearly 2 1/2 hours to get through the chapter.

Now, it's not because it was terrible. Quite the contrary. He can set-build (don't know if there is an actual term for it in writing, but basically where the author builds the setting in which the action is happening) exquisitely. I wish I was half as good as he is at that. The action flowed fairly well and it did a good job setting up the rest of the book.

But he had a lot of mistakes that I made when I started writing: $5 words tossed in haphazardly, wooden dialogue, words tripping all over each other, and unnecessary commas all over the place.

From Authors Pay it Forward
Still better off than Yorick

When I think there are too many commas, that means there is probably three times as many commas as necessary... I do love my commas... and ellipses.

He and I are both guilty of writing how it's "supposed" to be written instead of using our own voices.

Most of those things will be fixed with time and practice. Some will take some research (hello, Google, my old friend), and a lot of it will smooth into his own personal style.

I love watching authors develop their stories, characters, and voices (especially when I'm not the one writing) and I hope he lets me stick around to help when I can.

The first thing I wrote on my comments sheet was "Everything I write is suggestion and my opinion. You can use or ignore anything you want. You won't hurt my feelings. You're the author and you hold the power!"

This is something I tell everybody. I don't want to make them feel like I hated their writing or that everything they're doing is wrong. Writing is so subjective that it is difficult to distinguish right from wrong (except spelling and some grammar rules, and even those are somewhat gray).

The very last thing I want to do is crush a budding writer, especially one who has an amazing story locked inside his head.

A story that I am desperate to read so hurry the hell up, man and get it done!!