Leaving for RWA Conference tomorrow!

I'll leave my house at a reasonable time in the morning (I've done those 6 am flights before and am happy to not be doing one this time) and I think I'm mostly ready. Maybe? Almost all packed, anyway. I just realized there's a pair of shorts I washed today that I wanted to pack. And my nail polish for touch-ups.

I also realized that I have no idea what, where, and when I'm going to eat tomorrow. I guess in the airport before the flight, because it's exactly over lunchtime. Maybe I'll pack a sandwich and a banana and have a picnic. Will TSA steal my banana? (ooh-la-la!) Dinner is margaritas and nachos after the big book signing, I guess.

My shyness is flaring already. My chest gets all tight and I can't make eye contact and I have an even harder time thinking of things to talk about and remembering peoples' faces. I am already terrible at faces, but I think that might be partly because I'm bad at eye contact. So anyway, I'm going to put out a plea for people to come talk to me as if approaching  skittish feral cat. No traps, please. Actually, I could deal with being fixed and released (effing peri-menopausal hormones).

So if you're heading to San Diego this week, look me up. I look like this, though usually my hair is sticking out more all around or back in a clip. And I'm not usually this blue, but I'm bad at filters:

A bit more crazy-eyes and I could look like that Crazy Ex-Girlfriend meme.

AND: I have some copies of my first two books. French historical romance. Louis XIVth. Danger. Excitement. Blood loss. Free to a good home.

AND: I have spiral notebooks with my next book cover on them. PRETTY.

AND: As always, I urge you read my books.
Indispensable Wife
Honorable Officer


OH, and I got a job shelving books part-time at my local library today. I'm gonna be gainfully employed when I get back from this trip!

Self-Editing for Anxious Writers

I've read several books (and parts of even more books) and taken online courses and read plenty of blog posts about editing my work, writing better, figuring out plot and goals and motivation, and so on.

Let me tell you, it's hard to internalize that stuff for anyone, but maybe more so when you're an anxious sort of person. Or depressive. Or diagnosed with depression because your anxiety makes it hard to bond. Or whatever weird shade of the multi-dimensional spectrum I fit into. But anyway, when everything feels like criticism because I'm doing it wrong, then trying to learn to do something right is convoluted at best.

(Alyssa Day has been bravely tackling her issues with depression in a public way over the last few years. She wrote an excellent article, with input from several other authors, in the latest Romance Writers' Report, called On Writers and Depression: You are not Alone. I think everyone can see that, even if you're not an RWA member)

But this post is not about depression. Or even anxiety.

This post is about editing while anxious.

So technically, that makes it about anxiety. OK, yes. I'm splitting hairs.

I tend to write the most when I'm feeling good. The last book I finished, I was flying through it, for the most part. I went back every now and then and added in the character and plot insights I gained as I went. I stuttered and stopped a few times near the end, because figuring out how to tie it all up is hard. But I did it. And it was glorious. I edited it through, still loved it, and entered the first part into a variety of contests.

And.... most of those contests have come back with good critiques, some of which I agree with. I am a finalist in NONE of them, though. Wait, I think there's one that hasn't been announced yet. Or two?

I did some revisions after the first batch, after spending a couple of days on Nobody likes me, everybody hates me thinking.

And right now in the run-up to RWA National Conference, I am doing another deep edit of this book I want to pitch.

I am also reconsidering my genre. It might not be romance. There are these three friends, see, two best friends who are polar opposites of each other and a third one who's just started to hang out with them. And they all attempt to find love and there's a happy ending, so it's romance-ish. So it's.... Chick Lit? Women's Fiction? They're college kids, so New Adult?

Is it due to my anxiety that I don't think I can write romance? This is where anxiety messes with me. I know I love to write. I know I can always improve. And I know that I have in the past been unable to win contests or get an agent for earlier books. So the days when I think I'm a big failure, I have to suffer and then try to figure out if it's true.

I decided the other day it's a bit like a soap opera, but I was never a soap opera watcher. Or Sex and the City, but I saw about five minutes of that show once. And my people don't have fabulous clothes--two of them are scraping by with enormous loans, scholarships, and jobs, the other has a middle class family to fall back on, at least.

And yes, I could take out just one of the love stories and make a whole book about it. I could make three books, but they all overlap. And it's at least as much about the friendships as it is about finding love.

So this deep edit is more to make the story fit into a three-act structure better, but I'm keeping my original premise and structure. It's true the first act where we get to know the characters and their goals does drag a bit. It's too long. And what are their goals? I know their goals. I don't know how clearly I have expressed those goals. Not clearly enough, apparently. Especially because the main character's goals change somewhat. Or rather, her circle of trusted friends will need to expand.

Or else.... maybe it's all pointless. Maybe this is all awful. Maybe no one will ever want to buy this or read this or anything. Maybe my particular type of anxiety means I will never be able to market anything. Maybe all my friends and family who have said they loved my books are lying. Maybe I am a terrible writer and no one wants to tell me. Maybe I should get an MFA. Maybe they'd flunk me out of a writing program. Maybe maybe maybe...

DEEP BREATH.

So.

This is a great book. I hope to make it better. I hope to find an agent and a publisher for it.

I'm currently reading several self-help books about Networking for Introverts and Overcoming Shyness and Social Anxiety. So as in everything, I am a work in progress.

As Lani Diane Rich, author and teacher of one of the first writing classes I ever took makes everyone repeat at the end of each session:

I'm a great writer!

And I am.

Read my French historical novels and you'll see:
The Indispensable Wife
The Honorable Officer

Camp Nano! 'Cause MURICA!

I needed something to fill my days, apparently. So with attempts at setting up marketing for Chevalier, contest entries queries and edits for Big Chill, getting things done so I can self-publish my ghost story nearer to Christmas, worrying about RWA National Conference (and reading books with titles like "Networking for Introverts"), and, oh, thinking about looking for a part time job, I decided that I needed to keep myself writing. I only signed up to do 25,000 words, since I'll take several days off in the middle. And I started the month with almost 25,000 in the story, so I'm hoping this will be the middle third of the novel.

And otherwise.... I'm not feeling great at the moment. And I need to refill my hummingbird feeder. And buy more sunflower seed for the giant turkeys (I spotted Arrow Turkey the other day, so he's still around. He might have an infection, though, as he has a lump on his neck near the exit side. Ewwwwww.). And I'm letting the puttering around the house soothe me a little.

And Happy Fourth of July! Independence Day for us MURICUNS.

I was going to post a picture of me in my MURICA flag t-shirt, looking disheveled and puffy-eyed, but my phone has stopped uploading automagically to Dropbox, so am off on a tangent trying to figure out what's up with that. Dropbox settings? Lack of space in Dropbox? Phone settings? It's a mystery. And OH GOOD, my phone just crashed as I was downloading Dropbox updates. I've had it for about two years and it was the cheapest smartphone, so it's probably past its prime. ARG.

Anyway. The sequel to Chill is moving along. Not with the same joy as Chill, mostly because it's a hard patch in Mattie's relationship. Everyone has the Summertime Blues (maybe I should have used a cheerier album with this song on it, (isn't it in Stand By Me?) instead of Rolling Stones with their addiction and lack of satisfaction and stuff).

OK. Let's try this now:

There we go. Not quite a candidate for my official author photo. Which I still need to do.

Every time I walk past my almost-fourteen-year-old, he sings "Muricuuuuh."


Happy 'Murica Day, y'all. Yeah!

And go buy my French historical books!
Indispensable Wife
Honorable Officer