Sometimes, The Idea of a Thing is Worse

I weighed myself yesterday.  It had been 3 weeks since the last time I weighted myself and frankly, I was sure I'd be disappointed with the number.  After all, I've been baking and eating a lot.  And with the weather being craptastic, I haven't been active.  And with the stress I haven't wanted to do anything inside either.  

I gained two-tenths of a pound.  That puts me at 182.6 - a pound up for the year.  Better than the four or 5 pounds I was sure I'd gained.  Which goes to show you that sometimes the idea of a thing is worse than the thing itself.  

I was going to say 'fear' there instead of 'idea', but I'm not afraid of gaining weight.  It is what it is.  Gaining weight just means more work.  And while I am terminally lazy sometimes, I'm not afraid of work.

It's the same with writing/editing.  Although there is a bit of fear there, it's the idea of being done and sending my work out into the world only to see no sales that, more often than not, keeps me from working.  And this is even when I've had some good feedback on said work.  

It's not the work itself.  Right now, it's me staring down the barrel of a net income of a nickle for the month of February. That's with holding three sales this month.  And that's only if the per page price in KU holds.  It might only be four cents.

Imagine if I'd actually exercised and eaten less this month only to gain weight.  That's what it's like.  

But let's turn that around.  What if the idea was instead that I bust my buns on this book, send it out into the world, and see loads of sales.  If I look at it that way, the only thing holding me back is me.  

Don't let the idea of a negative outcome stop you from doing your thing.  Don't let it stop you from even trying.  'Cuz the only way to consistently fail at anything is to not do it.

It's like I tell myself sometimes in poker: "You lose every hand you fold."  

Okay, so what's something you're not doing because the idea of failing is stopping you?  What's something you've lost in the past because you folded rather than seen it through?  

Personally, I would've had a straight flush the other day if I'd followed the cards all the way to the river.  Pissed me off to no end.  Here's hoping Duke Noble is a straight flush kind of book, because I'm damn well gonna see this through to the end.

Cons and Book Signings? Ain't Gonna Happen.

A few weeks ago, I was talking with a friend of mine who recommended--nay, strongly urged--me to attend a local writers' event.  We were talking about my book, and she was of the opinion that I really needed to get myself over there to help boost sales.  I told her I'd think about it.

And I did.  I even found myself leaning toward following her advice.  I'd meet some other writers, fangirl over one I adore, and get some PR for my books.  I even joked with Hubs that my gift to him would be that he didn't have to go with me.  (He'd be totally bored at something like that.)

Then I remembered an important point.

I panic in crowds.

Oh, I'm not agoraphobic level.  And it doesn't happen all the time - which is kinda worse when you think about it.  I never know what's going to set me off.  So I could go down and wander through a writing event with no problems, or I could find myself down there and totally freak out. 

When the Kid was younger, she'd go everywhere with me.  And she knew how to help make it stop.  Usually, I'd tell her to stand between me and the crowd (like in line at a grocery store), and she wouldn't look at me weird when I'd announce to her we had to leave a particular place for no apparent reason.  She just knew.  Now, she's on her own - as she should be - and I'm left without a buffer.

I have my own set of tools to keep myself on an even keel.  I don't go places where I expect there to be a crowd, for one.  I hit Walmart first thing in the morning.  I don't venture out in public on holiday weekends.  We don't go out anywhere.  None of which is a hardship at all, since Hubs isn't inclined, and I like getting my errands done in the mornings.  If I do find myself needing to go to town on a weekend, I suck it up, get my shopping done, and get home. 

I think the first time it happened was back in 1999.  A friend and I took the Kid down to Detroit to see The Rockettes Christmas show at the historic Fox Theater.  We got there early, which was awesome.  But then everyone else started to arrive, and the theater people wouldn't let anyone into the seats.  So there we were at the front of the crowd, pressed up against the velvet ropes, with hundreds of strangers pressing up against the back of us.  Oh holy shit.  I feel panicky just remembering it.  I kept it together and didn't run screaming from the building, but oh how I wanted to.

Last time I did that, let me tell ya. 

I also don't go to the movies.  That's got a whole additional set of issues - the surround sound freaks me out, too - so you couldn't drag me to a theater if your life depended on it.  Concerts. No.  Parties. No. Again, not an issue, since Hubs isn't a social animal and is just as happy staying home as I am.  More so these days, since he stays home while I do the shopping and junk.

I can't imagine what life would be like if he wasn't the man he is.  Wait, I can.  Before Hubs, I dated men who didn't understand.  That was hell, and a story for a whole other time.

Anyway, I guess what I'm saying is if you were hoping to someday meet me at RWA or RT or BEA or a book-signing or whatever, that ain't gonna happen.  I really am the stereotype of the hermit writer.  But, if you happen to catch me on the street somewhere, I'll be happy to talk to you.  I'm good one on one.  Just don't come at me in a crowd, or we might both get hurt.  ;o)

How do you feel about crowds?

Neurotic? Who Me?

Just because I'm sitting on a pendulum, swinging between "Oh my god, this is going to be so awesome!" and "Oh holy shit, this is going to suck so bad!" doesn't mean I'm neurotic.

Just because I want to tell the world about my book that's coming out, but I'm afraid no one will want to listen...

Just because I'm afraid to go to the local bookstore for the first time because I think THEY'LL think I'm only visiting there now because I have a book coming out soon...

Just because I wished a forgotten friend a happy birthday on FB after not really saying anything to her for god knows how long...

Just because I sat listening to my husband read Dying Embers (to himself, no less) for the first time, waiting for any slight sound that would tell me whether he still respected me after reading my words...

None of that makes me neurotic. Or maybe it does.

Or maybe it just makes me a writer getting ready to send the first self-published book into the world.

And hey, just because I'm suddenly afraid you're all sick of hearing about my first self-publishing adventures, doesn't make me neurotic.  Much.

Edited to Add:  Oh hey, I keep forgetting.  I have a writer PAGE on Facebook now.  Go like it and the first 50 likers will be entered into a contest for a $25 gift card.   The final cover with the tagline is also up over there with the cover copy!

Clawing My Way Outside the Box

Once upon a time, there was a wicked witch who liked to use the phrase 'think outside the box' like a barbed whip on anyone who didn't think the way she thought.  The way she used it was an attempt to make you feel ashamed of being so gauche in her eyes that you would capitulate. It usually worked for her, too, until she turned it on my husband and he blew her off.  I wish I'd been there to see it.  I fully imagine her disintegrating, screaming "What a world, what a world..."

As such, the phrase has become more a joke in our house than a useful reminder.  After all, I think we're both old hands at thinking outside the boxes society has tried to pack us into. 

Not that there haven't been times when I snuggled down within the comforting confines of a box.  Most of the time, I was unaware I even had a cube of corrugated paper around me.

Take my road to publication.  I walked into it with the idea that I would... I don't know... take the world by storm?  :shrug:  I read everything I could to make sure I did it right - and everything I read told me I'd better make sure I did it right, or else.  OR ELSE.  So, I sat myself right down and began constructing the box around me.

They made it seem like I would never succeed without the box.  Well, I don't know if my box is flawed or I didn't build it right or they wanted it pink instead of cardboard brown... But the box hasn't worked for me.  This box that I never really wanted but that now I'm afraid to claw my way out of.

But fear or not, I'm trying to shred the box.  The way Hubs tore up every box we had after we moved here because we are never moving again. Rip 'em up, throw 'em out. 

An unfortunate side effect of this effort to shred the box is it makes me a little irritated with the box keepers and the box builders.  Some days I just want to poke them in the eyes.  Them with their little rules about this and their cautions about that, and their 'the box-building rules don't apply to me because my box is different from your box'.  Bleh.

Don't get me wrong.  I know there are certain rules in place for a reason.  Grammar rules, for instance.  (Although, those are made to be broken sometimes as well.)  Social rules - like where it's generally frowned upon to piss in someone else's metaphorical swimming pool.  Laws.  Those things are in place to keep us from infringing on other people.  I get that.  I'm a happy law-follower there.  (Okay, I occasionally go five over the speed limit, but that's the extent of my lawlessness.)

The point is, I can follow those without being trapped in a box. Also, submission guidelines are rules you have to follow if you want to have a part in the game.  Well, I've followed those for years and it's gotten me nowhere, but I'll still follow them. 

And fuck, there I am, rebuilding my box...

Years of living inside a box makes it so much easier to rebuild than to tear apart.  Pretty pretty cardboard and shiny shiny tape. 

Sorry for the rambling... Still, all of this brings to mind a story my Hubs likes to tell.  Something about a rat in a rice paper maze.  Running and running looking for a way out, never realizing that all he has to do to be free is to break down the flimsy walls around him. 

All this is - all this ever was - is a rice paper box.  Time to break free.

Mistakes

I've made a lot of mistakes in my life.  I ran that red light.  I fell off my bike three times in one summer.  I dated... too many wrong men to count. 

You know, they say if you don't learn from your mistakes you're doomed to repeat them.  And I think I am the poster child for that statement.  Didn't learn from the red light that almost killed me, ran another one and not only totalled my car, but got sued.  I wore the wrong shoes while riding my bike the first time... and the second time.  The third time, I was carrying a tote bag in the handle bars and when the bag got caught in the spokes... Well, I only did the one once, but it was in the same summer, so I'm counting it.  As for the men, the fact that I can't count them should account for the fact that it took me a really long time to learn from those mistakes.  (Hubs proves that I do eventually learn, but that was after 17 years worth of heartache, etc.)

Anyway, now I'm stuck in a rut where I rehash everything.  What could I have done differently to avoid making the same mistake in the future?  Well, I don't ride bikes anymore.  I am super viligent on the roads - especially at traffic signals.  And like I said, I fixed the dating mistakes by finding the right one and hanging onto him.

But I still wonder about past mistakes.  I know there's nothing I can do about them.  You can't change the past.  Maybe I'm hoping to change the future.  Maybe I'm looking for places where I've done something I can still rectify.  Perhaps I'm still looking for a way to fix the unfixable. 

Most days I'm pretty good about staying in the now and looking toward the future.  Some days I get stuck in a loop where I'm still rehashing a phone conversation I had years ago wondering where I went wrong, or I revisit a fight with someone I don't even know anymore to figure out what I could've said to end the fight on a different note, or I remember some parenting thing I did that finally years later I realize was probably the wrong way to have handled it.  (And then I apologize to the Kid who doesn't even remember what I did and who rightfully thinks I've slipped a gear.) 

:shrug:  It's a thing.  But I like to think I'm getting better. 

Although, next week, I'll probably be laying in bed wondering if this post was a mistake and whether I could've written it differently.  ;o)

(Don't even get me started on the nights I lay awake wondering if I started a story in the right place, ended it in the wrong place, or totally screwed up the plot.)

Embracing the New

Okay, so I got a wild hair yesterday and went to get my hair cut after like 9 months of only trimming my own bangs.  And I got the idea to swap out my old shitty keyboard for one that still has all its letters.  And this morning I got the bright idea to rearrange my part of the office...

Embrace the new.

The keyboard isn't giving me fits anymore.  So that's a good thing.

I keep running my hands through my hair and wondering where it all went.  I got about 5 inches taken off.  It was down to my shoulder blades and now it hangs just above my shoulders.  (No pics yet.)  It's cute and sassy, so I'm liking it so far, but I haven't washed it yet.  You never know until after you wash a new cut whether it was the right cut, ya know.

The rearrangement of the office was finished about fifteen minutes ago.  I'm adapting.  The worst part so far is that my monitor is on the opposite corner of the desk from where it was so I keep looking up when I should look over.  Sometimes it's the little things that get ya.  I'm giving it a week and if I don't like it, I'm putting it back.  One upside is the light is behind me now, so it's not reflecting off the keyboard anymore, and the keyboard isn't directly under the monitor, so that light isn't reflecting off the keys.  (No pics yet of this arrangement either.) 

I asked Hubs if he liked the new arrangement... He was patiently working at his desk while I was manically moving things around in my space...  He said "Whatever makes you comfortable" but I could tell he didn't understand.  I told him it was a girl thing.  ;o)

What new things have you embraced recently?  How's that working out for you?

13 Really Very Super Scary Things

1) Waking up and not being able to make coffee - either because the machine died, or you forgot to buy grounds, or because there's a power outage.  Who needs a zombie apocalypse outside, because there's about to be one in the house.

2) Facing NaNoWriMo after being totally stuck for a month.  You think facing Dracula is bad?  He only drains your blood.  This might just drain your will to live.

3) Moths

4) Politicians

5) Forgetting to put the garbage out to the road on garbage day.  Or in my case, thinking we forgot just as I heard the truck pulling up the hill toward our house.  Talk about running through the house like Michael Myers was chasing me.

6) Waking up feeling like some kind of insect just crawled across your face, so you jump out of bed and flip on the light.  But you can't find it to kill it.  Try going back to sleep then.

7) Your kid just moves into a new place - complete with the Holy Grail of wifi - but then you don't see her online for days so you FB message her just in case she's online when you're not looking.  She doesn't reply.  You email her to no avail.  You try to call her, but she doesn't answer her phone.  And because you're a writer, and a true-crime show junkie, you start imagining all the things her new roommates might've done to her...*

8) A new book comes out that you've been waiting forever for, but you don't have any money in your book budget.

9) It's Halloween and you ate all the candy meant for trick-or-treaters.

10) Praying Mantises - because they just creep me out, man.

11) Tornadoes

12) Typing up a list and realizing you forgot #3**.

13) You write what you think is a really funny blog post and no one comments.  ;o)

Happy Halloween, Everyone!  May none of the really very super scary things happen to you any time soon. 

*The Kid had been hanging out at a friend's house where she wasn't online at all and forgot to take her cell phone with her.  She had a great time and I had several panic attacks.

** Made ya look.

(Most of the above totally hasn't happened to me recently.  And no worries... the coffee is coursing through my veins even as I type this.  Because a B.E. without coffee is a truly frightening experience.)

The Book I'm Afraid Of

Several years ago I wrote a book that I love with all my heart.  It's a big book - not in terms of words or pages, but in terms of ideas.  It touches an important issue I think needs to be addressed - in a gripping fictional form.  And this issue throws people into two vehement camps - both of which sling venom every chance they get.

I pulled it out this morning and took a look at a couple pages.  Since the hero's name is Sean Finnegan, I had this idea I could post a couple pages of this book over at Tabula Rasa to celebrate St. Patrick's Day.  Reading the pages where I introduce Finn and lay down a little of his backstory made my heart soar.  It really is good - it's not just my imagination!

Then I thought about the reactions it would likely draw.

I envisioned an inbox full of nasty-grams.  I imagined friends becoming not-friends, acquaintances disappearing and perfect strangers hating me.  My heart pounded and I moved over here to write this post.

I'm afraid of this book.  I knew when I wrote it what it would be.  I wasn't afraid to write it.  I'm just scared as hell to have anyone read it...

Well, that's not strictly true.  I'm scared as hell people will know it's me who wrote it.  I'd be perfectly happy having millions of people read it as long as it was under a pseudonym.  I just don't want a target on my chest.

Although I'm afraid, I did send this sucker out on a round of queries.  Most typical, and a couple really negative.  One turned into a big, fat full request (which turned into a 'no response means rejection', but that's neither here nor there).  After which I gave up, stuffed it into a corner of my hard drive and let it gather dust.

Every once in a while, I take the book out and pet it.  But it reminds me of that textbook from Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban.  Like it's going to sneak out from under the bed and bite me.

Yeah, I'm probably blowing this way out of proportion.  My fears are probably irrational.  But then again, maybe they aren't.  And I can't risk that.  Not yet.  I'm not brave enough.

What about you?  Do you have books you're afraid of?  Do you touch on issues or do you stay away from them?  What about as a reader?  My mother hates books with deeper issues - unless they're done really well and the book doesn't shove the issue down her throat (which I like to think I did here).

(Added on 3/18/13 at 5:33am: Talk about kismet.  Here's a post about a new literary agent looking for speculative fiction that touches on social issues. Not sure if I'm going to jump on this now or wait until my life storm has passed, but I will be querying her as soon as possible.)

You're an Agent And This is Crazy...

...But here's my query, so call me maybe.

:smirk:  I couldn't resist jumping on the bandwagon with this one.  Hey, if the Olympic swim team can borrow the song for their video, I can at least snatch the line for my blog post title.  ;o)

Okay, so I was talking with a friend of mine (who shall remain nameless unless she decides to out herself in the comments).  She's been reading a book I sent out for query a couple years ago, that I got discouraged about.  I didn't send it to her to critique.  We were just chatting and I said 'Hey, you should probably read my suspense one of these days'.  She found a free spot in her busy life and asked to see it.

Last night she wrote me to tell me she's almost done and asked the eternal question.  "WHY did you stop querying this?"

So I told her the long, sad* stupid story.  Actually, the short version is Jessica Faust rejected my full and then I got all defeatist. 

And Ms. Faust's comments weren't bad.  They were actually really nice.  I just got all tangled up in my head with my own self-doubt and decided 'You have no business writing suspense'.  After which, I stopped production on the half-edited book I was tweaking and the half-written WIP I was working on. 

They sit on my hard drive giving me the stink-eye every time I scroll past their folders.  And I don't blame them.  I deserve a little stink-eye from those books.  They're good ideas.  They ought to be finished and sent out into the world.

As for Dying Embers (aka Manhunter - if you've been around the blog that long), I never should've walked away and left it lying in the dust.  After all, as my friend pointed out, Ms. Faust requested the full for a reason.  So, as soon as I screw my courage to the sticking post, I will send it out into the world again. 

What about you?  Have you ever let a little discouragement stop you from going after something? 

PS.  If you haven't seen that video of the swimmers lip-syncing to 'Call Me Maybe', it's hilarious.

*sad as in pathetic, not depressing... well, unless you count that being pathetic is often depressing.

Afraid to Finish Reading

Okay, so I'm about 2/3rds of the way through Blackout by Mira Grant.  I have a total writer crush on her (aka Seanan McGuire) and I so totally love the books she writes.  So far I'm loving this book, too, but I can see where it could all go so amazingly wrong for the characters.

And thinking about this last night makes me want to do something I've never done before.  I want to write Seanan and ask her to let me know if there's an HEA.  Or at least a 'happy for now'.  I don't want her to tell me how it ends.  In fact, I hate spoilers.  I just need a 'yes' or 'no', so I can either continue reading or set the book down now and create a happy ending in my head rather than a horrible end she might have planned.  This is the last book in the trilogy and I really don't think I could bear it if this story goes bad for the characters I've come to love so much.  :cough:HungerGames:cough:

Has this ever happened to you?

ETA:  Thank you, Seanan.  I never should've doubted you would end this right.  And damn you for making me cry - even if they were good tears.  =op

Conquering Fear

My fear has a name: Mottephobia. That's the fear of moths.  It has another name at the moment: Miller Moths*.  We're being invaded by the nasty little bastards.  Millions... okay, probably more like hundreds, but it feels like millions... of them have hit this town.  And they're insidious.  Right now, it's beginning to rain and they're scurrying for any hiding spot they can find.  Which means, any hole or dark place.  You know, like my hair or my ears or my mouth.  Either that or they just fly blindly--smashing into whatever happens to be in their flight path.  Like my face or my arms.

Right now, it's hell out there for Mottephobes.

Or rather it would be hell for me if I hadn't worked my ass off to get rid of this irrational fear.  Last night as I stood smoking with my husband under the carport, as dozens of moths battered against me, I realized if this had been ten/fifteen years ago, I wouldn't be just standing.  I'd be screaming and running, waving my arms around my head like I was in a scene from Hitchcock's The Birds.

My family used to laugh at me - which certainly didn't help.  Lucky for me, my husband just shrugged and killed whenever I screamed and pointed.  Either that, or he was nice and let the ebil bastard bug outside.  He's good that way.  It's so much easier for a phobic who has someone around to chase away the scary when it flutters in your face.

Still, screaming and pointing when something so totally harmless comes at you is no way to live.  I wish I could give you all the formula for getting over a minor phobia like that.  (If you have a major phobia, please seek help.)  I don't even remember when I told myself I was going to get over it.  I just did.  Oh, don't get me wrong.  I still don't want them on me.  And I'm sure if I felt something crawling up my arm and realized it was a moth, I'd still scream.  But at this point, I'm a functioning phobic.

And that's how I need to approach my fear of failure with regard to writing.  Failing won't kill me anymore than a moth would.  Plus, holding onto all that fear is stopping me from enjoying my writing - like how fear of moths would stop me from enjoying being outside right now.  Either way, it's irrational and it needs to stop.  Or I at least need to get to a point where I can function within my fear.

Now I just need to figure out how to do it.

What about you?  What are you afraid of?  Have you ever tried to stop yourself from being afraid - at least to get to a point where you can function in the face of your fear?

*I'd post a picture of the miller moth, but I don't want to look at the damn thing every time I stop by my own blog.  :shudder:

What Scares You?

With Halloween fast approaching, I figured it would be a good day to talk about what scares us.

Personally, I'm totally freaked out by the thought of suffocation.  I'm not claustrophobic.  If I was, I'd never take a shower in that tiny bathroom I have.  No, I'm talking about having something over my face for any length of time.  When I'm in bed, the blankets can't come up any higher than my chin, or I hyperventilate.

I used to have an overwhelming moth phobia.  Butterflies are fine.  Moths?  They're creepy and hairy and... :shudder:  It took me years to get to the point where I didn't run screaming if one was in the same room.  Now I'm proud to say, I can stay in the room long enough to smush their little heads.  But I still don't want them touching me.

I have the same feeling about grasshoppers.  Big eyed nasty critters.  Thank goodness my husband is nice enough to put them outside for me. 

But the worst fear I have - worse than anything I can think of - is being trapped inside myself.

Back in therapy, I was sitting at the lunch room table one afternoon when they rolled a woman up next to me.  She was one of the bad head injury cases.  She wasn't paralyzed or anything, she just didn't have control over her muscles anymore.  So she just sat there in her wheelchair while someone spoon fed her.  No biggie.  Happens all the time in TBI therapy.  Except she wasn't typical of someone who'd had their brain damaged enough to be in that position.  Her eyes were still alive.  When you looked in them, you could tell every bit of her intellect was still intact, - and she couldn't communicate any of it to anyone.  The horror I saw in those eyes will haunt me 'til the day I die.  It was like her eyes were screaming 'help me'.

:shudder:  I saw her years later being wheeled through the mall.  Her husband pushed her along like it was nothing while her children trailed alongside.  And her eyes?  The horror was gone, but so was the light. 

That?  Now that scares the hell out of me.

What scares you?

Angsting

Okay, so I started re-writing Djinnocide for the billionth time (really 4th or 5th - it just feels like a billion).  And I'm finding myself with the same damn problems I had before.  How do you get a book out of a rut?  Or is the problem that it doesn't really need to be rewritten at all and that's why I keep coming back to the same plot points?

:headdesk:

I've tried writing other things.  Really I have.  I've tried setting this book so far from myself it's but a mere speck on my writerly horizon.  But this story and these people are so awesome I can't shake them.  I just wish I could make other people see them the way I see them.  (And by 'other people', I mean people who can get this book in print.  The other people who've read it all the way through loved it, too.) 

Maybe I still need time away.  Except I'm itching to write.  I can't stop thinking about this story.  Jo and Zeke and Tryg and Mary dance through my head taunting me and begging me and threatening to run me through if I so much as try to ignore them.  Michael threatened to sue me for breach of contract.  Amun even whispered that he'll find a wish to kill me - his own author - if I don't get back to work. 

That's a lot of pressure from the voices in my head and... ummm... I'll let you in on a little secret...

I'm afraid I can't do them justice.  I mean, I thought I did them justice the first time, but my readers all said I didn't.  Hence the rewrites.  And obviously the agents all thought I didn't because I've been rejected too many times to bother counting anymore.  So here I am, staring down the barrel of another rewrite wondering if perhaps I don't have the chops to put this story on paper anymore.  Hell, I wonder if I ever did have those chops.

And yet, I can't stop the voices.  I can't shut this story up.  This book is pushier than any other one I've written.  Jo wants to be out there, sharing the shelves with Toby Daye and Harry Dresden.  And I think she deserves to.  I just don't know if I do.

Fear of Failure Can Kill Your Goals

Yesterday, Daughter took her college placement exam in Math.  At the risk of embarrassing her, and having her pretty much hate me, I'm telling you about her results.  She bombed. 

She went into the test shaking with nerves and ready to barf.  Midway through, she told me she was going to fail.  When she finished an hour early, I made her go back and look through the questions again, but it didn't do any good.  As soon as she submitted the online test, she got her results back and she placed in the lowest possible course for college - basically remedial math. When my husband arrived home from work, she was sitting at my desk with her head on her arms trying not to cry. 

He blames himself for not having the time to work with her on math this year.  (The man works like 60 hours a week to keep us fed and housed and clothed, so, yeah, he doesn't have the time and I don't blame him.)  Of course, I blame myself for not knowing higher level math at all and leaving her to muddle through on her own.  And she blames herself for not working hard enough.

About an hour after she got the results, she came back to my computer and started in on the tutorials CSU provides for just such an occasion*.  Within minutes, she had herself upset again.  She couldn't remember even the basic things she knows she knows.  I sat down next to her and tried to get her to stop.  Put it all away for the rest of the day and let herself get out of the place she had herself in.  While it's always good to work through a problem rather than wallow in it, sometimes it's better to put a little space between yourself and the problem.

Nope.  She was determined to figure this out.  After all the work she's put in, failure was inconceivable.  Okay.  Fine.  She was determined to do this and do it right then, so I kicked her out of my chair.  I sat down and pulled up the first tutorial question she was having problems with.  I made her walk through the steps she was using in order for me to figure out why she wasn't getting the right answer. 

The answer?  It was as I suspected.  She had herself in such a snit, she was working the problem from the wrong direction - multiplying everything instead of dividing everything.  And as I talked her through the problem, she realized she did know the right way, after all.  The error, as I had suspected, was that her brain was so focused on FAILING that it was screwing itself into the dirt.  And she realized that several of the problems on the placement test had suffered a similar fate. 

This was the point where I reminded her what happened the first time she took the ACT pre-test.  She fell into the same trap.  Worry and angst sabotaged what should have been, if not easy, at least not so damn hard.

Sure, worry wasn't the whole problem.  She legitimately wasn't as knowledgeable about logarithms as she should have been.  And her trig skills could be better.  Neither of us expected her to place out of those classes.  But to place below College Algebra??  She should've kicked Algebra's ass, but instead of stepping up to the fight, her brain turned tail and ran. 

Now, I was going somewhere with this.  (You didn't seriously think I'd risk traumatizing the kid if I didn't have a point to make, do you?)  And it's a point I've made before - as well as one I've fallen prey to...

Fear of failure can be as fatal to your goals as the failure itself.

Like Daughter knows she knows hows to convert meters per second to miles per minute, I know I know how to write a good story.  But sometimes fear of failing - of creating yet another manuscript no one wants - makes me forget how to do what I do.  I get so worried about making the story the way I think other people will want it that I forget that I know how to do this.  Hell, sometimes it makes me second guess myself so bad I don't know where the f*** to put a comma.

And as I was thinking through this, I realized I've been in the same place as my daughter was yesterday - since the start of the year.  Except for me, fear of failure has kept me from even trying to take the test, so to speak.  In fact, maybe it's been my problem since 2004.  Maybe I never really got over the fear of failure born from that first round of rejections for my virgin manuscript. 

Anyway, it's something we're both going to have to work through to get where we want to go - me to publication and Daughter into College Algebra.  She's already started working through it and I'm so proud of her for getting back on the horse that pretty much kicked her in the teeth.  Now I just need to sort through my own problems and figure out which ones to tackle first. 

Keep your fingers crossed. 

* Daughter has two more chances to take the Math Placement Exam to improve her score, plus she has another test she can take to get her at least past remedial math.  The tutorials are to help with the latter, but they can't hurt with the MPE either.

Totally Stupid Things

Still trying to work through some issues with my new WIP.  Writing straight fantasy is a lot harder than urban fantasy.

Anyway, here's a photo from what started out as a nice day trip in the Wasatch Mountains and ended up with a harrowing ride up a snow-covered road not nearly big enough for the sedan we were in.  Picture snowbanks brushing the passenger side and a sheer drop off the driver's side.   One slip of the tires and we'd have plummeted a hundred feet into an episode of "I Shouldn't Be Alive".  :shudder:

I wish I'd gotten pics of that, but frankly, I was too scared to think about my camera at the time.
 (There was a pic here, but I had to delete it.)

Ever done anything so totally stupid you wished you hadn't done it, but that you now wish you had pictures of?

You Rejected Me Because _____________

Since I'm out there in Queryland with my latest novel, I've been pondering the world of rejection.  I've been writing for seven years now and querying for six and a half, so I've pretty much 'been there, done that, nailed it shut and got the t-shirt'.  Over the years, there's been a lot of 'It's not you, it's me' and 'It's not me, it's them'.  There've been a lot of excuses and accusations.  I've been through the stages of denial - both slowly, pausing to wallow in grief and anger, and quickly where I jumped right to acceptance and stopped querying anybody for anything.

This morning, I'd like to take a moment and list some of the silliest thoughts that have come through my head about why I was rejected.  (All of which were split second thoughts and discarded almost as quickly as they came.)

You rejected me because...
- I'm a woman.
- I'm too outspoken.
- I'm not outspoken enough.
- I'm brain-damaged.
- Of what I said that one time on that one forum four years ago.
- You've already rejected me for three other books and think anything else I send is crap and therefore a waste of your time.
- I don't edit my blog and you think this genuinely reflects how my books are going to be.
- Of who I like on Facebook.
- Of what my teenage nephew said on my Facebook that one time.
- My voice sucks.
- I once said/wrote/commented that I like X and you hate X.
- I once said/wrote/commented that I hate Y and you love Y.
- My command of the English language rivals a retarded chimpanzee's.
- I'm not a Democrat/Republican/GreenParty/Libertarian... pick a party - I'm not it.
- I'm too gritty
- I'm not gritty enough
- I suck.
- You suck.
- Everything I've ever written sucks.
- Everything you've ever accepted sucks.
- I'm unlucky.
- I'm on the Big List of Blackballed Authors* (BLoBA) because of one or all of the above.
- I just posted this list of insane reasons why I might've been rejected.

Anyway, I guess my point is that we can always find something to blame our lack of success on.  Sometimes the odds of getting published seem almost insurmountable (or totally insurmountable, depending on the day) and I'm flailing around trying to put my finger on the exact reason why I just got rejected by my dream agent, my kinda dream agent, or that one newbie who you'd think was so happy to be an agent she'd request anything that doesn't totally suck - so I can fix it.

In the end, though, if I've done the very best I can do - both on the writing and on the submission materials - it's out of my hands.  I truly believe there are no bad thoughts, just bad actions.  So, I let myself think those totally whacked-out, irrational and sometimes insane thoughts.  And then I move on.

Because not moving on would be the bad action (or inaction).

Ever think some out-there thoughts about why you were rejected?  Feel free to leave them in the comments, and if you're worried about joining me on the BLoBA, be Anonymous - just don't be mean.

*you know THE LIST... the one they all have and share between each other that may or may not be on a super secret website only agents have access to

Bursting Dam Averted

I was going to write a post about celebrating your accomplishments, but I think this is more important (and related to that topic, so I'm going with it).

Yesterday Daughter and I were working on her college application.  When we got to the part where she lists her extra-curricular activities, we hit a stumbling block.  Being homeschooled doesn't make extra-curricular anything easy, but she does have a couple things.  The big one is her internship at the local office for government aided housing.  We came to the box where it asks for what she does there, and she was all like 'I dunno.  I type, I file, I answer phones'.

Now, I know there's more to it than that.  Her boss has told me on several occasions how awesome Daughter is at her job, how much she's helped with computer stuff, and how she's lightened the load at work.  Plus Daughter herself has talked about all the housing things she's learned - forms and laws and gov't requirements, etc.  She's using jargon I've never even heard.

Anyway, her inability to celebrate her accomplishments pissed me off in a seriously irrational way.  It started with a general irritation that she wasn't even trying to help me help her fill out her application.  Then it turned into pissed about all the things I do for her when I have to pull teeth to get her to help me.  And before I knew it, I was about to burst into tears about all the angsty things in my own writerly life.  (I ain't June Cleaver here.  Daughter jokes about the tell-all book she's going to write someday about her mother and the psychological scars I've inflicted.  Hey, before I left the room to bawl like a baby, I did tell her she wasn't the cause of my mental breakdown.  I get credit for that, right?)

Once I got myself calmed down, she told me about all the angsty things going on in her head, too.  She had herself a good cry, too, and now we both feel better.  And hey, we didn't even have to break out Steel Magnolias.

The point is, we both needed a pressure release.  I'm sending a book out into the world and she's about to step out into the world herself.  With all that water up against the dam, you have to have some kind of outlet or the dam will burst.  Maybe that's why people go postal - because they never vent in healthier ways.

This morning Elana Johnson had an awesome post about her own pressure release.  And while she may have thought she was being 'Bawl Baby Elana', I think she was being healthy.  Everyone needs a good vent every now and then.  Even if it's just ten minutes of beating the hell out of your pillow or sobbing over a scene in a movie.  Or ten pages of a really violent scene where you kill off the prose effigy of someone you hate.

Hell, it's better than shooting up the inside of a school, or beating the crap out of your wife, or kicking the dog.

What do you do when your dam is close to bursting?  Do you even know when you're close, or do you suddenly snowball a simply disagreement into a sobfest?

A Dozen Doors - Which One is Right

At the beginning of a story, I'm usually pretty good at picking the first path.  I know without a doubt which way to head into the maze that is a new book.  I don't usually get lost until the first crossroads, and then the real fun begins.  This time, though, I'm stumped as to where exactly I should begin this new manuscript.  Standing at the starting point is so much easier when you have one door to enter.  This new story has so many ways it could begin and so many points I could focus on first, that it's like standing in  front of a dozen doors.  And I'm damned if I can tell which one is right.

About a year ago, I opened one of the doors and strolled down the path for a little ways.  I knew where I was going, but the path felt wrong.  I tried another door and immediately got lost.  I've picked a new door, and the path ahead feels right, but after so many miscues, I'm doubting my ability to find the trail this time out.

The last time out - when I began DLN - I obviously picked the wrong trail.  I got all the way to end before I realized I didn't actually make it to the right destination.  This lead to me starting all over and doing it again - and getting it wrong again.  I hit the right path on the third try, but I'm a little hestitant to go through the three tries again.  I don't want to do all that extra work.  I mean, I will if I have to, but it was so much easier when I knew which door to pick on the first try.

Anyway, I've got my water bottle and my compass.  I've started along this new path and so far, it's feeling right.  I might make a few missteps along the way, but that's par for this obstacle course.  Wish me luck.  And if I get totally lost, someone send a search party.  ;o)

Does this happen to you?  How do you know when you've started your story at the right place?  And how do you determine what's the right path for your manuscript to take?

Weekly Update - Fish Hooked

This has been an interesting week - in the same way having a fish hook in your hand is interesting, I guess.  At first, you don't really feel anything, but you're standing there with a piece of metal sticking out of you.  "My, isn't that interesting," you think right before you realize someone is going to have to pull that thing out.  This is the point at which nothing hurts really bad, but you're dreading the pain you know is right around the corner. 

Last week Wednesday, I finished DLN (whose real name is Djinnocide, btw - snazzy title, eh?) and I spent the time between then and this most recent Wednesday trying to decide what I was going to do next.  I read a few books, watched a lot of TV and twisted in the wind.  I figured I could go back to revising the other book that's been on my sidebar for months - RTL.  But I was just meh about tackling that one again.  So, I dinked around with a couple other things to no avail.

And I started thinking about Bloodflow (or Nanotechnology in another incarnation).  Great premise, and pretty damn good writing, but the plot's all over the damn place.  I did some editing there, and I still love the piece, but I've played with this so many times it took a day to realize I was editing on an old draft, and now I'm not sure which direction I like better.  :shrug:

Enter the suggestions I talked about on Wednesday.  Okay, sounds like a plan.  I've got to print out Bloodflow.  I get it.  Okay.  Yeah.  Umm, that's a daunting task if there ever was one.  The damn thing's like a big jigsaw puzzle.  What I need to do is take the pieces and reassemble them into a cohesive whole.  And this is like a 5000 piece sucker.

So, while I'm standing here staring at that painful problem, I decided to take another suggestion from the same post.  I turned DLN on its ear by changing the whole thing to another font.  I think the one I settled on was something called Utlaat or some such silliness.  The specifics don't matter, just the results.  Sure enough, I changed the font and...  I frickin hated what I wrote.  Talk about taking gaffs and making them GLARING ERRORS.  Holy shit.

I closed the manuscript and went off to some fluffy place in my head where everything is rainbows and bunnies.

Last night, I took another look at the DLN fish hook and it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought.  Sure, I had some HUGE info dumps in chapter two.  And some of the wording is lame.  All that can be fixed.  All I need to do is stop looking at the hook and just pull.

If you close your eyes, you hardly feel the barb. 

Playing in my head: Sugar, We're Going Down by Fall Out Boy

The Most Creatively Corrosive Element

If you don't read the Guide to Literary Agents blog, they have this regular post called 7 Things I've Learned So Far (link goes to the category, just in case you hadn't read them before).  Today's installment is from author Hollis Gillespie (who I've never heard of... sorry) and her #6 makes an interesting point I wanted to touch on today:

6. Fear is the most creatively corrosive element that writers have to face each day, and it comes disguised as so many things.

I've talked about fear before at my old blog ('Introspection Time' from 6/24/08 comes to mind) and I've talked about it here briefly.  Instead of rehashing the old fear thing again, let me turn it over to you...

What about this writing business are you most afraid of?  What fear sneaks up on you and jumps you from behind when you least expect it?  And finally, what do you do to combat the fear?