It seems that no matter how many times I think "I really should do another blog post," I don't. Well, now I am. On the eve before the first SCBWI Summer Conference I've been to in three years. What have I been doing since my last post? Working two part-time jobs. Taking care of our son, who will be starting school full-time in (gulp!) a month. Adopting another cat. Writing, writing, revising, writing, getting critiques from fellow writers, attending other SCBWI events and getting great--and horrible--professional critiques. Winning an award at one of those events. Researching agents. Sending the first ten pages of my Middle Grade novel to an agent who'd had an open period during which he'd critique MG query letters. Getting a fantastic personalized rejection (my first!) for said ten pages, along with an invitation to send any other novels I might have (it just so happens...). Watching friends and fellow writers get agents, get book contracts, have book launches and trying to remind myself that my path was my own path and shouldn't be judged by anyone else's timeline. Going to Schmoozes and expanding my personal/professional network. Continuing to meet with my critique partner, Jennifer, and give/get support and advice from each other.
You know, living life.
The thing is, I realized amongst the times when I'm happiest are when I'm talking about books with other writers and readers. I joined a book club for adults who read Young Adult, and after each meeting I come home feeling energized, even when I didn't like the book. I've been anticipating tomorrow for a while now. Last year and the year before were the only times I've missed attending the conference in fourteen years. I've missed it. I've missed not just the creative information I get, but just soaking up the atmosphere by being around 1000 other people who love books as much as I do--reading them, writing them, and talking about them. When I plunge back into my revision in a few days, on the other side of the conference, I know I'll be hitting the ground running, and I can't wait. Hooray, conference! Hooray, writers and illustrators! Hooray, revisions! (Yep, even them.)
Thursday, July 30, 2015
Monday, October 21, 2013
Unexpected Dry Rot
Um, yeah, so I'm not even going to try to explain what's kept me away from my blog for almost a year. Let's chalk it up to life. Yes, life was happening, and my blog wasn't a priority. I certainly thought about it from time to time, especially when I occasionally handed out business cards to acquaintances (and the thought was almost always, "oh no, they're going to go right to my blog and see how out of date it is!"), and I had some great blog topics in mind, but I never got so far as to actually write them. So, here I am, and without further ado, here's a new post. (Side note: as I typed the previous sentence, I suddenly had Rocky the Squirrel's voice in my head, saying, "And now here's something we hope you'll really like." Ah, how I miss watching Bullwinkle cartoons...)
Lately I've been diligently working on my YA manuscript. I'd been working on my MG manuscript for a long time, got it to where I thought it was ready to send out, queried a number of agents, got rejected by half, never heard from the other half, and got discouraged. I went back to work on my YA book for a while, was getting more consistently positive feedback on it than I had on the MG, so I decided to focus my efforts on the YA. (Meanwhile, my MG is sitting in a figurative drawer--my hard drive, actually--for the time being, but that's another story... Ha ha!) I was diligently writing chapters on schedule and handing them in to my critique group, then I was diligently making a list of edit notes, storyboarding, jotting down questions it occurred to me needed to be answered in certain places in the book, and then I was diligently revising.
Although it was getting harder to find time to devote to the book for various reasons, I was at least consistent in revising. It may not have been as much time as I would have liked, but I was making slow but steady progress on my edit notes list, so I was taking solace in that. Until today. This morning, I decided to take a look at the chronology of a certain plot thread. As I scrolled through the pages on my computer screen, only looking for where this storyline occurred, I came to the realization that the timeline of parts of the book, not just that plot thread, was out of whack. A character was talking about soccer practice when soccer season would probably be over already. The time elapsed between subsequent chapters would be one day, then suddenly three weeks between the next two. The deadline for a school project was suddenly extended for no other reason than I hadn't noticed that it should have happened already in the story.
Dread washed over me as I realized I have more work to do than I thought. I wanted to cry, pull my hair out, eat an entire container of Trader Joe's chocolate almond bark, but I knew none of those things would help me. In the end I'd have puffy eyes, bald spots, and a stomach ache, but my book still wouldn't be finished. Then an analogy popped into my head (that happens often, and I don't know if it's because I'm a writer or if it would happen even if I was a plumber). It's like my manuscript is a house. I knew when I sat down to revise that it was a fixer-upper. Maybe some cosmetic repairs, maybe having to redo the entire kitchen, but it was neither already in move-in condition, nor was it a tear-down. All I could do was make the repairs one at a time, and eventually it would be a great house. Then, as I knock a hole in a wall to make a repair, I discover dry rot. Suddenly this repair is going to be more major than I thought, and it's going to take more time. A setback, certainly, but all is not lost. I can console myself with the fact that it's better that I found it out now, while I'm making repairs anyway (as my critique partner said, better I discovered it myself before someone pointed it out to me). I just have to keep reminding myself that in the end, this is going to make for a more structurally sound, more beautiful house, and will hopefully get more bids once I put it on the market, even if that's now farther in the future than I was planning.
Now, back to work!
Lately I've been diligently working on my YA manuscript. I'd been working on my MG manuscript for a long time, got it to where I thought it was ready to send out, queried a number of agents, got rejected by half, never heard from the other half, and got discouraged. I went back to work on my YA book for a while, was getting more consistently positive feedback on it than I had on the MG, so I decided to focus my efforts on the YA. (Meanwhile, my MG is sitting in a figurative drawer--my hard drive, actually--for the time being, but that's another story... Ha ha!) I was diligently writing chapters on schedule and handing them in to my critique group, then I was diligently making a list of edit notes, storyboarding, jotting down questions it occurred to me needed to be answered in certain places in the book, and then I was diligently revising.
Although it was getting harder to find time to devote to the book for various reasons, I was at least consistent in revising. It may not have been as much time as I would have liked, but I was making slow but steady progress on my edit notes list, so I was taking solace in that. Until today. This morning, I decided to take a look at the chronology of a certain plot thread. As I scrolled through the pages on my computer screen, only looking for where this storyline occurred, I came to the realization that the timeline of parts of the book, not just that plot thread, was out of whack. A character was talking about soccer practice when soccer season would probably be over already. The time elapsed between subsequent chapters would be one day, then suddenly three weeks between the next two. The deadline for a school project was suddenly extended for no other reason than I hadn't noticed that it should have happened already in the story.
Dread washed over me as I realized I have more work to do than I thought. I wanted to cry, pull my hair out, eat an entire container of Trader Joe's chocolate almond bark, but I knew none of those things would help me. In the end I'd have puffy eyes, bald spots, and a stomach ache, but my book still wouldn't be finished. Then an analogy popped into my head (that happens often, and I don't know if it's because I'm a writer or if it would happen even if I was a plumber). It's like my manuscript is a house. I knew when I sat down to revise that it was a fixer-upper. Maybe some cosmetic repairs, maybe having to redo the entire kitchen, but it was neither already in move-in condition, nor was it a tear-down. All I could do was make the repairs one at a time, and eventually it would be a great house. Then, as I knock a hole in a wall to make a repair, I discover dry rot. Suddenly this repair is going to be more major than I thought, and it's going to take more time. A setback, certainly, but all is not lost. I can console myself with the fact that it's better that I found it out now, while I'm making repairs anyway (as my critique partner said, better I discovered it myself before someone pointed it out to me). I just have to keep reminding myself that in the end, this is going to make for a more structurally sound, more beautiful house, and will hopefully get more bids once I put it on the market, even if that's now farther in the future than I was planning.
Now, back to work!
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Chomping At The Bit
Or, as my husband argues it is, champing at the bit (this is along the lines of the discussion we once had about whether Shaggy from Scooby Doo says "Zoiks! or "Zoinks!", but that's another story). I suddenly have a zillion things I want to do, and I can't decide what to do first, which means I'm not doing any of them yet (other than writing this, that is). I'm not talking about big picture things, like visiting Australia, or learning to make a souffle, or other things I'd like to do someday. I'm talking about things to do right now, at any given moment.
I've learned to accept the fact that I'll never be able to read all the books I want to read or see all the movies I want to see, and I'm okay with that. I still read and see a lot. But as a person who is trying to professionally enter a creative field, there are things I want to take in, like going to museums, or listening to music, and the aforementioned reading books and seeing movies, along with the things I want to put out, like this blog, writing letters to friends (yes, I still do that), and...well, writing books. Sometimes I can't decide if I want to curl up with a book or work on another chapter, and sometimes that indecision causes me to do something else entirely instead. Oh, and have I mentioned that I have a very active son who is about to turn three next week? His daily agenda and mine don't always match up. When I'm sitting at the computer, sometimes he's content to lie on the floor and play cars by himself, and sometimes he wants me to join in. It may be different someday when I have publishing deadlines, but for now, it's hard for me to refuse him.
Lately, I've been feeling like a racehorse before a race, when it's restlessly shifting weight from foot to foot as it stands in the gate before they open the door--and chomping at the bit, of course. I'm anxious to be writing! I'm anxious to be reading! I've got a pile of library books that I've renewed a couple of times because I haven't had time to finish them yet (I'm just glad they're not current bestsellers, or I'd have had to return them already), not to mention my overflowing bookshelves with books I keep meaning to read before I borrow any more from the library. On top of that, there are books people recommend to me and new books that I read about. I've been trying to go to more book signings lately, partly because of the books and partly to meet more authors in the children's writing community (okay, I admit that going to the recent Andrew McCarthy signing was purely to appease my inner teenager), but it's made my bookcases overflow even more. And I'm working on a YA manuscript while my MG is complete for now, but have revision ideas for another book I started years ago and never finished. So when I write, I feel guilty that I'm neglecting my poor, overflowing books. And when I read, I feel guilty that I'm not reworking Chapter 15 or working out a plot kink in Chapter 8. If only I could clone myself...but then I'd probably worry that I was missing out on whatever the "other me" was getting to do.
Bottom line is, I guess I should be happy that I have both the ability and the desire to write--and read. And as long as I can do some of both often enough, then there's no need to feel guilty that I'm not doing the other one. I'll get back to each one soon enough. Slow and steady wins the race, anyway. Just ask the tortoise.
I've learned to accept the fact that I'll never be able to read all the books I want to read or see all the movies I want to see, and I'm okay with that. I still read and see a lot. But as a person who is trying to professionally enter a creative field, there are things I want to take in, like going to museums, or listening to music, and the aforementioned reading books and seeing movies, along with the things I want to put out, like this blog, writing letters to friends (yes, I still do that), and...well, writing books. Sometimes I can't decide if I want to curl up with a book or work on another chapter, and sometimes that indecision causes me to do something else entirely instead. Oh, and have I mentioned that I have a very active son who is about to turn three next week? His daily agenda and mine don't always match up. When I'm sitting at the computer, sometimes he's content to lie on the floor and play cars by himself, and sometimes he wants me to join in. It may be different someday when I have publishing deadlines, but for now, it's hard for me to refuse him.
Lately, I've been feeling like a racehorse before a race, when it's restlessly shifting weight from foot to foot as it stands in the gate before they open the door--and chomping at the bit, of course. I'm anxious to be writing! I'm anxious to be reading! I've got a pile of library books that I've renewed a couple of times because I haven't had time to finish them yet (I'm just glad they're not current bestsellers, or I'd have had to return them already), not to mention my overflowing bookshelves with books I keep meaning to read before I borrow any more from the library. On top of that, there are books people recommend to me and new books that I read about. I've been trying to go to more book signings lately, partly because of the books and partly to meet more authors in the children's writing community (okay, I admit that going to the recent Andrew McCarthy signing was purely to appease my inner teenager), but it's made my bookcases overflow even more. And I'm working on a YA manuscript while my MG is complete for now, but have revision ideas for another book I started years ago and never finished. So when I write, I feel guilty that I'm neglecting my poor, overflowing books. And when I read, I feel guilty that I'm not reworking Chapter 15 or working out a plot kink in Chapter 8. If only I could clone myself...but then I'd probably worry that I was missing out on whatever the "other me" was getting to do.
Bottom line is, I guess I should be happy that I have both the ability and the desire to write--and read. And as long as I can do some of both often enough, then there's no need to feel guilty that I'm not doing the other one. I'll get back to each one soon enough. Slow and steady wins the race, anyway. Just ask the tortoise.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
To the Man at the Farmer's Market
I recently attended Agent's Day, where one agent said "A blog that's not updated regularly is creepy." I didn't know by being a procrastinator I would be considered "creepy," but I'm going to do my best to rectify that by posting more often (how much more often I can't say, however, so I'll just try to be less creepy).
Today I went to a local farmer's market that I frequent, and as I passed one of the vendors, I noticed a donation box that said "To help pay for funeral expenses." As I glanced at a photo on the front of the box, I saw that it was a gentleman who'd waited on me several times. I never knew his name, and I didn't buy from that vendor often enough for me to be familiar to him, but I suddenly felt rather sad and stuffed a few dollars into the slot. As I finished buying my produce around the market, I couldn't stop thinking about him, about how to me he was just a semi-familiar face behind a table who sold me vegetables every once in a while, but beyond that he was a person with a name and a life and a story. As we all are.
When I got home, after the midday scramble of lunch, a load of laundry and a nap for my son, all I wanted to do was get back to my writing. I've let one of my manuscripts sit for a spell, and while common wisdom is to do this for a bit so you can come back to it with fresh eyes, it was starting to feel like I was neglecting it. I want to tell my characters' stories, much like I want to read others'. I want to know people's stories.
So, to the soft-spoken man at the farmer's market with the mustache, graying hair and slight accent, I may not have known your name, and I may not know your story, but I want to thank you. Thank you for making me realize that all of our stories, both real and fictional, matter in some way to someone.
Today I went to a local farmer's market that I frequent, and as I passed one of the vendors, I noticed a donation box that said "To help pay for funeral expenses." As I glanced at a photo on the front of the box, I saw that it was a gentleman who'd waited on me several times. I never knew his name, and I didn't buy from that vendor often enough for me to be familiar to him, but I suddenly felt rather sad and stuffed a few dollars into the slot. As I finished buying my produce around the market, I couldn't stop thinking about him, about how to me he was just a semi-familiar face behind a table who sold me vegetables every once in a while, but beyond that he was a person with a name and a life and a story. As we all are.
When I got home, after the midday scramble of lunch, a load of laundry and a nap for my son, all I wanted to do was get back to my writing. I've let one of my manuscripts sit for a spell, and while common wisdom is to do this for a bit so you can come back to it with fresh eyes, it was starting to feel like I was neglecting it. I want to tell my characters' stories, much like I want to read others'. I want to know people's stories.
So, to the soft-spoken man at the farmer's market with the mustache, graying hair and slight accent, I may not have known your name, and I may not know your story, but I want to thank you. Thank you for making me realize that all of our stories, both real and fictional, matter in some way to someone.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
How to Discover New Things?
I woke up this morning and thought "I have to write today." Not I'd like to or I hope I have a chance to while my son is practicing his new ability to climb onto our couch unassisted (with glee, I might add), but I have to. I told myself I didn't care if it was a page in my journal, updating my son's baby book, a new blog post or a fresh outline for an old WIP I have, I just knew I needed to be verbalizing thoughts on either paper or keyboard (considering this is a new entry to read, I think it's safe to say which option won out so far). It was a pleasant surprise to have that feeling. I had a drama teacher tell our class once that to be a successful actor, you can't want to act, you have to need to act. Of course, there are other factors that contribute to success besides perseverance (honing one's craft, and talent, for example), but I think that people with a certain amount of drive may try harder to reach their goals. Certainly not a guarantee of success, but it can't hurt.
So, I watched the Grammy Awards the other night, for one main reason. Yes, the fashion hits or misses are often entertaining, and rooting for an artist you like to get some recognition is fun. The draw for me, though, is the performances--but I don't necessarily tune in to see Mick Jagger or Barbra Streisand do their thing, I want to discover someone new (to me, anyway). Years ago this was how I found out about an incredible performer named Bobby McFerrin (way before his "Don't Worry, Be Happy" fame). Based on his Grammy performance, I went out and bought a CD of his, which in turn made me buy two more. This year, I fell in love with the sounds of Mumford and Sons and the Avett Brothers. But, not everyone gets to perform on national TV, so how am I supposed to find new music? Once upon a time, my favorite thing in the world was to go into New York to Tower Records and spend my time perusing the bins of records (yes, I'm old enough to still own records), looking for music that looked interesting, or seeing that my favorite artists had new albums out. Years later, there was an independent record store not far from my apartment where I looked forward to stopping in and seeing new recordings of musicals or vocalists I didn't even know about. Well, neither that store nor Tower exists anymore, so the only place I can browse tactilely now is a major chain with an extremely limited selection if I want anything beyond well-known artists or current Top-40. I went to one of these stores not long ago looking for a CD by a moderately well-known band, and there wasn't even a plastic bin card with their name on it. That made me sad. How will anyone discover their music unless the CDs show up in an Amazon "customers also bought" display while someone's buying some other CD? (Not to completely knock this feature, since I've discovered some interesting new items this way, but it's awfully limiting...)
The same principle can be applied to books. Sure, there are currently more places available to buy books than music (thank goodness--for now), but there are fewer than there used to be. If bookstores go the way of the dinosaur, as some doomsayers say they might, how will anyone be able to get that thrill of picking up a book with an exciting cover, and deciding after they read the jacket copy that they must buy it? Yes, there's still word of mouth, and there are libraries and Amazon reviews, but it feels like it's getting harder and harder for people to discover these things on their own.
Maybe it's just me being an old fogey, but I still like being able to seek out new things in books and music and find them myself, sometimes by happenstance. If I get published someday, how will people find my books if they're not in every big box store? (I imagine myself going door-to-door with my book as if I'm selling Girl Scout cookies.) I don't want to be limited to browsing only what a mass merchandiser has room for in their limited book section. For now, I will continue to go to my favorite book store, Children's Book World, and browse to my heart's content. I know I'll find something new and good--I always do.
So, I watched the Grammy Awards the other night, for one main reason. Yes, the fashion hits or misses are often entertaining, and rooting for an artist you like to get some recognition is fun. The draw for me, though, is the performances--but I don't necessarily tune in to see Mick Jagger or Barbra Streisand do their thing, I want to discover someone new (to me, anyway). Years ago this was how I found out about an incredible performer named Bobby McFerrin (way before his "Don't Worry, Be Happy" fame). Based on his Grammy performance, I went out and bought a CD of his, which in turn made me buy two more. This year, I fell in love with the sounds of Mumford and Sons and the Avett Brothers. But, not everyone gets to perform on national TV, so how am I supposed to find new music? Once upon a time, my favorite thing in the world was to go into New York to Tower Records and spend my time perusing the bins of records (yes, I'm old enough to still own records), looking for music that looked interesting, or seeing that my favorite artists had new albums out. Years later, there was an independent record store not far from my apartment where I looked forward to stopping in and seeing new recordings of musicals or vocalists I didn't even know about. Well, neither that store nor Tower exists anymore, so the only place I can browse tactilely now is a major chain with an extremely limited selection if I want anything beyond well-known artists or current Top-40. I went to one of these stores not long ago looking for a CD by a moderately well-known band, and there wasn't even a plastic bin card with their name on it. That made me sad. How will anyone discover their music unless the CDs show up in an Amazon "customers also bought" display while someone's buying some other CD? (Not to completely knock this feature, since I've discovered some interesting new items this way, but it's awfully limiting...)
The same principle can be applied to books. Sure, there are currently more places available to buy books than music (thank goodness--for now), but there are fewer than there used to be. If bookstores go the way of the dinosaur, as some doomsayers say they might, how will anyone be able to get that thrill of picking up a book with an exciting cover, and deciding after they read the jacket copy that they must buy it? Yes, there's still word of mouth, and there are libraries and Amazon reviews, but it feels like it's getting harder and harder for people to discover these things on their own.
Maybe it's just me being an old fogey, but I still like being able to seek out new things in books and music and find them myself, sometimes by happenstance. If I get published someday, how will people find my books if they're not in every big box store? (I imagine myself going door-to-door with my book as if I'm selling Girl Scout cookies.) I don't want to be limited to browsing only what a mass merchandiser has room for in their limited book section. For now, I will continue to go to my favorite book store, Children's Book World, and browse to my heart's content. I know I'll find something new and good--I always do.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
What A Difference A Year Makes
Well, well... I can't believe I haven't written here in almost a year. There's not just one reason that has led to that, but the primary ones are, probably not coincidentally, the two things that are most needing my attention right now: my literal baby and my literary baby. My son is now 8 months old, and I'm having such a great time being with him. Even when he's fussy and I can't get much (if anything) done, I try to remember how lucky I am to be home with him, especially when I know so many people who had to go back to work as soon as their maternity leave was up. And then there's my "book baby," which makes me joyful yet is also demanding of my time, much like my son.
The funny thing is, when people ask "How are you getting anything done with a baby at home?" I can honestly say that I'm actually getting more done with my book now than I was before my baby was born. How? Well, let's just say things like housework have fallen a bit on the priority list (though now that my son is almost crawling, that may have to change). Laundry gets done these days when my husband runs out of socks or we put the last clean cover on the changing table in the nursery. It took having a baby to help me learn to do something I haven't been very good at in the past: prioritizing. If only my former boss could see me now--it wasn't the expensive time management seminar she sent me to that did the trick, it was having a baby! She'd be very impressed at how much I was getting done in a limited amount of time each day.
There's another (very) important component in being able to get more done on my book lately, and that's having a fantastic critique partner, Tanya. While I'm part of a critique group, we don't meet as often as I'd like, so for almost a year (I think), Tanya and I have been trying to meet weekly to exchange our work with each other, about a chapter at a time. By doing this, there's an accountability--if I don't have anything to be critiqued, I feel guilty. The process is helpful, and Tanya is a great critiquer (as well as a great writer). If you're a writer reading this, my best advice is to find someone to read your work, whether it's a group (which is not always easy to do) or one person. It can make a difference in your output as well as the quality of your work.
So, here I am, just finished up with this year's SCBWI conference, feeling in a totally different place than I was last year. I'm farther along with my revisions and getting closer to submitting (that's a different post for a different day), I feel like my writing is stronger, I've made more writing contacts, and I was more comfortable talking to people at the conference this year (not an easy task for a reformed shy person). Maybe it's because after 9 conferences (eek!), I'm starting to feel that I can be a published author, that I do belong around people like Linda Sue Park, Kathleen Duey and Carolyn Mackler, and that I don't want to do anything as a career besides being a children's author. Besides being a mom, that is...
The funny thing is, when people ask "How are you getting anything done with a baby at home?" I can honestly say that I'm actually getting more done with my book now than I was before my baby was born. How? Well, let's just say things like housework have fallen a bit on the priority list (though now that my son is almost crawling, that may have to change). Laundry gets done these days when my husband runs out of socks or we put the last clean cover on the changing table in the nursery. It took having a baby to help me learn to do something I haven't been very good at in the past: prioritizing. If only my former boss could see me now--it wasn't the expensive time management seminar she sent me to that did the trick, it was having a baby! She'd be very impressed at how much I was getting done in a limited amount of time each day.
There's another (very) important component in being able to get more done on my book lately, and that's having a fantastic critique partner, Tanya. While I'm part of a critique group, we don't meet as often as I'd like, so for almost a year (I think), Tanya and I have been trying to meet weekly to exchange our work with each other, about a chapter at a time. By doing this, there's an accountability--if I don't have anything to be critiqued, I feel guilty. The process is helpful, and Tanya is a great critiquer (as well as a great writer). If you're a writer reading this, my best advice is to find someone to read your work, whether it's a group (which is not always easy to do) or one person. It can make a difference in your output as well as the quality of your work.
So, here I am, just finished up with this year's SCBWI conference, feeling in a totally different place than I was last year. I'm farther along with my revisions and getting closer to submitting (that's a different post for a different day), I feel like my writing is stronger, I've made more writing contacts, and I was more comfortable talking to people at the conference this year (not an easy task for a reformed shy person). Maybe it's because after 9 conferences (eek!), I'm starting to feel that I can be a published author, that I do belong around people like Linda Sue Park, Kathleen Duey and Carolyn Mackler, and that I don't want to do anything as a career besides being a children's author. Besides being a mom, that is...
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Coming Back Down
After the four-day SCBWI conference that ended Monday, I'm getting back to my usual routine. Or rather a new routine. It's hard to come home from the conference and not be changed, at least a little, and it's been hard to get back to a routine of any sort for the past two days. Writing is--for the most part--a solitary endeavor, despite critique groups and writer friends and even an editor or agent. The writer is the one who does the job getting the thoughts from brain to paper. So now, after four solid days of being immersed in the children's writing business and all the people associated with it, I have to get back to work...by myself. After my first conference several years ago, I came home and said to Mr. GJ, "Now I know how doctors feel when they go to medical conventions, being surrounded by other people who do what they do." That doesn't happen often for writers, which is why I always feel I've reached a higher floor when I go to a conference. And then I come home, and feel like I'm back in the lobby again.
At this year's conference, I ended up talking to a few highly-esteemed and well-published authors, which I'd never done before (I'm soooo not good at the schmoozing professionals thing at which some other people seem to be naturals), I met new people, and I got to talk shop with and get encouragement from fellow writers. Now I'm back home, not talking to authors or meeting people or talking shop on a daily basis; it's just me and my keyboard. And as excited as I am to apply some of the things I learned about and thought about over those four days, I'm also feeling a bit deflated. And somewhat terrified. I mean, can I do this on my own? I sort of compare it to being in the hospital and getting constant attention and care (even though the nurses come to take your vitals in the middle of the night, but that's another story), and then you go home to recuperate, and you're on your own. In your own familiar surroundings, yes, but without the safety net of having others around who can help and support you (and give you pain medication when you need it).
I know Mr. GJ (and possibly my cats) are rooting for me, but after a few days at the conference of feeling like "yes, I can do this thing called writing a book, because I have ideas and people are encouraging me and as soon as I get home I'm going to apply all this info and energy!", I'm now home and without the constant support and energy of others around me, and can feel the familiar self doubt of "can I REALLY write a book...and have it be good?" starting to creep back in. Well, in a couple of days I'll be having coffee with a writer friend of mine who I haven't seen in a couple of years, and though she doesn't write children's books, it'll still be nice to talk shop with someone. It may not inflate me as much as the conference did, but it may be just enough helium to get my confidence floating again...
At this year's conference, I ended up talking to a few highly-esteemed and well-published authors, which I'd never done before (I'm soooo not good at the schmoozing professionals thing at which some other people seem to be naturals), I met new people, and I got to talk shop with and get encouragement from fellow writers. Now I'm back home, not talking to authors or meeting people or talking shop on a daily basis; it's just me and my keyboard. And as excited as I am to apply some of the things I learned about and thought about over those four days, I'm also feeling a bit deflated. And somewhat terrified. I mean, can I do this on my own? I sort of compare it to being in the hospital and getting constant attention and care (even though the nurses come to take your vitals in the middle of the night, but that's another story), and then you go home to recuperate, and you're on your own. In your own familiar surroundings, yes, but without the safety net of having others around who can help and support you (and give you pain medication when you need it).
I know Mr. GJ (and possibly my cats) are rooting for me, but after a few days at the conference of feeling like "yes, I can do this thing called writing a book, because I have ideas and people are encouraging me and as soon as I get home I'm going to apply all this info and energy!", I'm now home and without the constant support and energy of others around me, and can feel the familiar self doubt of "can I REALLY write a book...and have it be good?" starting to creep back in. Well, in a couple of days I'll be having coffee with a writer friend of mine who I haven't seen in a couple of years, and though she doesn't write children's books, it'll still be nice to talk shop with someone. It may not inflate me as much as the conference did, but it may be just enough helium to get my confidence floating again...
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