Writing isn’t a verb, it’s an emotion
This writing thing is a crazy thing, isn’t it? In the past few weeks, I’ve been all over the board, and this is what I’ve discovered.
Number One: Writing is Emotional. And I’m not just talking about the physical act of getting the words down, I mean everything—writing, editing, networking, trying to publish, improving your craft, planning for the future, researching and the list goes on. This week alone I have experienced intense joy at adding the perfect line, felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me with a critique that I thought was going to go better, burned with frustration because I have to go to work and can’t be home writing full-time, yet also knew with a bone-deep certainty that my dream of being a career author was going to happen. And I wouldn’t give any of it up.
Number Two: Writing Takes Time. This spring I was flying along on my newest historical. I was planning to finish it before the end of July, but didn’t. Why? Partly because I had a few hiccups along the way that threw my schedule off a bit, but the other was the scenes I could see in my head like a movie, taking maybe 10-15 minutes of screen time, were taking days and days and days to write. I adore these scenes and my fingers fly when I write them, but transforming my vision to words is a timely and draining experience. Now, in my Editing and Polishing stage for my rom-com-para-lite, I am completely immersed. Lunch hours, nights, and weekends are dedicated to crafting the best book I can write and that means very little time for anything else. I’ve got a pantry that’s overcrowded and unorganized, friends I haven’t seen in months, and an exercise bike that’s become a monstrous dust bunny, but my dream is a harsh mistress, and she makes sure I know every minute I’m not working on a book is another minute I’m not getting published. And I wouldn’t give any of it up.
Number Three: Writing is a Joy. God, wouldn’t this stress, angst, heartbreak and exhaustion be so easy to give up? Especially when you hear some of the horror stories of the published? But I can’t. In the words of the incomparable Lani Diane Rich when she’s talking about writing, “I can’t quit you.” Even though I’ve been doing this on and off for twelve years now (12 years, 2 weeks, and 2 days if you want to be official), I can’t stop. I’ve been knocked down, battered, and bruised, but I keep getting back up. Sitting down in my moss-green squishy chair, amethyst and garnet silk pillows behind my back and head, floor and candlestick lamps providing a perfect light for my wonderful little laptop, I am blissfully happy. I enter the world I’ve created, watch characters I’ve molded take breath and become people I would recognize on the street, and dance with them through one of the greatest struggles of their lives. Ask me to give up chai tea, ask me to renounce Buffy, ask me to turn off the air conditioning, just don’t ask me to give up writing, because I can’t.
It’s difficult because some people I need to read this, aren’t going to, and those that may, probably wouldn’t understand anyway. I think in addition to being an emotion, writing is also a disease. Those of us who have it, understand others who do, and those lucky bastards who don’t get to go home and watch TV without shouting out “Turning point!” or enjoy a conversation with a friend and not cut them off to write down something they just said, because “That’s a great line.”
Don’t worry. Pretty soon I’ll be back to my laughing, snarky self and my usual posts will resume (including more stories from Nationals, complete with pictures!) This was just something burning in me that I had to get out.
RWA Nationals: I’m ba-ack!
Hello, my faithful readers. I apologize for totally flaking out on you by not posting a dang thing from San Francisco last week, but on the good side, many of you who I flaked out on were there, so at least I got to meet you in person! (And when are these hotels going to learn and just make the whole dang place wi-fi? I don’t even mind paying, just let me sit in the comfort of my room, sucked deep into the marshmallow-like bed, and surf the net. Don’t make me use cables or go down to the lounge. Please.)
So yes, Nationals were absolutely wonderful. I got to meet my writing buddies (Caryn and Robin), my inspiration (Marilyn), my Cherry buddy (Melissa–though I’d meet her in Dallas the year before, so it was great to reconnect with her), one of my blog buddies (Alyson), the amazing author of Driving Sideways (Jess Riley), and a Wiffer (Melina)! A woman on the elevator said she recognized my name and concurred it was because of my blog, but I’m thinking she had a little bit too much to drink that night. Aside from elevator-girl, meeting these women were wonderful, amazing and inspiring. Even though I swore I wasn’t going to next year’s conference without an editor or agent, I’m already making plans to just so I can squee and hug and reconnect.
It’s a good thing, too, because that feeling has been buoying me during this week of recovery where my body is still exhausted and my brain is totally mush. Of course, I’ve been frantically giving my manuscript a last polish with what I learned during the conference (Blake Snyder anyone?) so I can submit for the successful pitch requests I had. (Keep your fingers crossed for me. Of course if anything happens, you’ll be the first to know, but a little good juju in the universe can’t hurt.) I did discover some amazing editors and agents, any one of whom I’d be delighted to work with.
I also met some amazing authors, but plan on giving them each their own post so I can gush about how wonderful they are, not only as writers, but as people. I swear to God, I don’t think I’ve been hugged so much since my wedding day. I’ll have pictures, too, so stay tuned.
Okay, I’m off to say hi to a few people and work on my synopsis and make plans to update my webpage and get some queries out and think about my next post. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
It’s good to be back.
