Monthly Archives: June 2017

The Boring Life And Other Miscellaneous Thoughts

I’ve read multiple articles about how the best way to alleviate writer’s block and keep readers coming back for more is to journal every day. It doesn’t even matter what I write about, just write something, and post at least once a week.

All fine and dandy as far as ideas go, but most of what happens in my life is boring: Oh, look. It didn’t rain again today. And I went to work. I sat at my desk for most of it, except when nature called. Then I went home, and enjoyed snuggling with my son (he’s still young enough that he likes to sit in my lap. I don’t turn him down, because those days are numbered). After that, I struggled with deciding whether or not to go to bed at 10pm or 11pm. I know, such a big decision there. How did I manage? It was difficult, I tell ya.

I can always appreciate (and feel twinges of jealousy), when other writers can make the mundane seem interesting and even humorous, whereas me, it’s a rarity, and I have to work at it when I do give it a try.

One of our nieces is arriving tomorrow to stay with us for about three weeks. I’m looking forward to it, but at the same time, do I really want to subject her to three weeks of my ultra-boring life? The poor girl. Thankfully I’m still going to work while she’s here, and my husband and son are far more entertaining than I am. That’ll save her brain from turning into mush. I hope. If not, I’ll blame it on hubby and son. Think that’ll fly?

Originally I set the dates for her arrival so she’d be here during the 4th of July, since our town goes all-out with fireworks. We’ve never been to the city’s fireworks show, because our neighbors do such a good job. With a severe drought this year, however, all fireworks have been banned. The last time that happened was in 2006. That was still kind of a neat year, because we heard and saw zero fireworks. Everyone abided by the ban, which in some places wouldn’t happen; they’d take the chance that they wouldn’t get caught. I expect the same silence this year, too.

I’ve narrowed my list of potential literary agents to fourteen. I wrote all their statistics (such as if they take simultaneous submissions, what to send along with a query letter, when to expect a response [if any], who they represent, and what types of books they’ve sold recently). The next step is to place them in order of which to solicit first. After that, structure my query and other items to submit to that particular agent. I’m hoping to start sending letters out the first week of July.

Assuming I don’t find some way to procrastinate some more . . . Such as writing silly blog entries like this one.

*Sigh* Rejected Again

I just received this little email:

Andra,

Thank you for offering your story to Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show.

We’re sorry to tell you that we will not be using it; you are free to submit it elsewhere.

That makes Rejection Number Two for my story “Ashella’s Heart.”

At this point, I don’t know if I have the energy to find another magazine to submit it to. Sure, I have access to significant lists of magazines that accept stories like mine, but the problem comes with the necessity of reading a copy or two of each one to find out if it’s really a good fit, or not. That takes a lot of time. Sure, I could submit it to every science fiction/fantasy magazine out there without reading any of it, but that seems too . . . impersonal, I guess. Not quite the word I’m looking for, but I’m not motivated enough to find it.

So, yeah, I’m feeling a little maudlin about the whole thing.

Part of it is due to spending the last three days looking for agents for my sci-fi novel. I found over a dozen that look promising, and that’s a good thing. Better to have too many choices than not enough. All I need to do is structure and personalize my query letter and synopsis according to each one’s submission requirements – starting with the agents that I like best and work my way down from there.

The good news is, I at least I didn’t have to wait until my birthday to find out the magazine thought my story sucked (kidding a bit there. My story didn’t necessarily suck. Most likely they’re looking for something different).

I just wish I could better predict what magazine/publisher/agent will fit with what I write. It’s so damned unpredictable in that the only way to discover it is to send it out there to be rejected. I’d like to think I have a thick enough skin, but on days like today – apparently – it’s not thick enough.

Research = Yuck (Sometimes)

For some, research is the definition of tedium. I am one of them, which is why I like to write science fiction and fantasy. While rules of physics, biology and human nature must be followed – to a point – at least I don’t have to know what the weather was like on January 3rd 1872 in Portland Oregon, and whether or not the moon was full that day. I also don’t have to know where the local grocery store is, because when I’m building my world, I can put that grocery store wherever I darn well please, thank you very much.

My junior year of high school, everyone had to take an asset test to see where their academic strengths and weaknesses were, so the students and guidance counselors could determine more easily where they should take their next educational steps, if any. My worst score (if I remember right) was history at 83. No surprise there. I didn’t care for history in school. I couldn’t appreciate it as much as I do now, because being so young, I didn’t see how history greatly affects our present and future.

My best score at 99 was research. Looking up where to find things, regardless of subject was easy for me. So you can imagine how much I like the Internet . . .

Even my chosen profession of land surveying requires a slew of research, whether it be finding property owners, easements, or plats. Every new job we get requires all that research. I’m good at it (and relearning almost every day how important thorough research is).

You’d think that because I’m good at research, and at least as far as my job is concerned, I’d enjoy it. And I do. Sometimes finding the one document I need is like finding buried treasure. Finding a property corner in the middle of a forest set over a hundred years ago is even more so. When it comes to writing, however, I prefer to not have to research at all. That’s because I’d rather spend that time writing.

Another not-surprise is that I’m a pantser writer. I’ve tried the outlining, character detailing, etc., and I simply don’t have the patience for it. I appreciate the writers who take that route, because they don’t have to worry about going back and fixing stupid mistakes such as describing the character one way in one scene, and change them completely in another. I think the time they spend researching, building and characterizing saves them a lot of editing in the end.

I think they also excel at finding the right agent and publisher for their works. They know the importance of thorough research (especially those who write historical fiction), so searching for someone to accept their work has to come easier than an impatient pantser like myself.

But it must be done, so I have to put on my research hat and look for agents. I found a few so far that look promising. I won’t know until I research a little bit more (such as whether or not they have social media such as a blog or Twitter), and in the end eliminate them as a possibility, or swallow my fear and pride and submit my proposal.

Conversations with Mini-Me

For the longest time I didn’t like me. I am silly and weird, and too often too smart for my own good. Growing up people teased me, sometimes mercilessly. I soon believed that being silly and weird were wrong, and in order to be loved and accepted, I needed to be different. I needed to be “normal.”

Whatever that is.

Only after I reached my 20s did I realize how much energy it took to be something I wasn’t. It left me mentally and spiritually exhausted. Not only that, but people didn’t accept me as much as I hoped they would.

Where did I go wrong? How can I be loved and accepted, and be the person God meant me to be?

So I went on a little journey, and I began to talk to the little girl inside me. The one untouched by pain, the one who believed in herself and everything around her. A little girl filled with an immeasurable hope and certainty that nothing could ever go wrong.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that’s the person God wanted me to be – in all her glorious silliness and weirdness. In all her hopefulness and innocence. Unscarred by time.

Now in the last half of my 40s, I’ve not only decided to embrace my weirdness and silliness, but the joy that comes from not acting like an adult all the time. It’s okay to be childlike. To run around giggling. To make funny faces at people.

After all, if children know anything, they know how to embrace joy, and to express it with no regard over how it may look to others around them. They look at the world around them, not with boredom or cynicism, but with wonder and awe.

That’s what my mini-me reminds me to do when I’m feeling not so good about myself, and the pressure of too many expectations I simply can’t meet overwhelms me. It’s okay to be sillly. It’s okay to be weird. After all, if everyone was “normal,” how boring life would be.

Converse with and embrace your own inner child, in all his or her glorious silliness and weirdness. Those conversations may also help lead you to the person God meant you to be.

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?”

He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.” (Matthew 18:1-5 NIV)