Southern Fried Chicas

I’ve been out sick for the past month and I’m still not back to 100%. More medical tests lay ahead, but I’m trying to write when I can. Hope you all have been doing well and your families are safe and healthy.

Below are ten topics.  Comment on what moves you and ignore what doesn’t.

Happy April 1st!   Enjoy!

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1. ARTISTIC LIMITATIONS

Ricky Martin is gay. I repeat. Ricky Martin is gay.
Read the rest of this entry »

I recently read contest entries for unpublished writers–in a couple different contest. I hate to say this but… they sucked. I mean at the end of one I seriously wanted to cry. I could name off the this and that craft rule they had no concept of. I could tell you the implausible actions the characters did. It wasn’t one thing over the other that made it bad, it was just the total “lack” of everything. I know not everyone starts off being a New York Times Bestseller (Okay, maybe one in a hundred, but still…) but I would think writers would have the concepts of what is what down.

I try to remember what it was like when I was starting out, how rough and green I was. Some of my unfinished WIPs will never see the light of day because it would take too much work to pull them out of the passive writing or the plot just didn’t makes sense. I get that folks have to grow and learn and progress. I suppose contest feedback can be the way they learn what’s not working but holy moly they have a long way to go. Now I can admit, I am not a be-all-end-all person on writing, far from it, but when they don’t know the rudimentary formatting for dialogue, tags and when to put the speaker’s body business with the speaker and not the other person’s body business with the previous speakers…. man-oh-man. Then when a writer doesn’t even do research or get correct details… it’s annoying. Yes you can break the rules–as we’ve said many times before–but you have to know them first. You have to be able to craft them well then you can tweak twist and bend to your heart’s content! (3 peoples POV in one paragraph… really?!?!?)

I do remember a big author being asked once if anyone could write. And to paraphrase she basically said anyone can learn to write but not everyone can tell a story. At the time I disagreed with her–in my mind, shaw, I’d never say something like to someone out loud. I truly thought if you have the mechanics of writing you could tell a story OR even if you had the telling gift you could learn the mechanics. But you know what, I think she was right (not that I ever should have doubted her). Some folks are missing that thing that just *clicks* the story into place. We all have preferences as to what we read but even if you don’t like a genre/plot you can tell it’s done well  (though you may say so grudgingly) and has that *click*.

It was darn hard giving the feedback because I really didn’t want to make someone quit or to give up their dream of writing–I have seen it happen when someone gets a bad (and by that I mean they don’t like it not that it’s wrong) critique. Many times in fact. I think the fact that they put so much effort into it is a huge credit on their part. I do feel I need to judge for contests–mostly because I have been a contest coordinator for pretty much my whole writing life and I know how hard it is to get judges. And again some of these folks will grow and learn when someone other than their momma reads their work and give feedback. Not to mention if they can thicken their hides w/ contests the publishing world will be easier to navigate.

What do y’all feel about contests? And I’m not asking about the “getting it before an editor” parts–that’s a whole ‘nother conversation. Do you think it weeds out folks or helps writers get better? (Just thought of this… kinda of reminds me of American Idol and those people who are tone deaf and so far no they know has told them…) Is it worth your time as a writer to judge? (and yes, I will still judge)

My day used to start around six in the morning. Or if I was really pushing it, seven. I would wake the children up to get ready for school. By 7:20 I had be on the road to the babysitter’s house and my children’s school. By 7:55 I had to be at work. Really pushing it at 7:59. I’d worked until five in the afternoon. Either I had to go to school until 10 p.m. or go home to cook and do homework. Somehow I wrote more than six books with this schedule.

I had to be on crack.

Now I can actually see the time in my day where I can be a mom, work, and write. The time doesn’t exactly balance out, but there is time to give everything equal measure. For the life of me I can’t find the creative well to write. When I could barely think in coherent sentences I wrote hundreds, thousands of words. Now a week can go by and writing doesn’t even cross my mind. Since I’ve gotten used to my process I’m not really worried about this lull. But the fact is I had this fountain of energy pouring of our my mind and fingers–what it seems like–all the time during this difficult time.

And I’m not necessarily questioning why I’m not writing now-now. It’s March. I just don’t write in March. I tinker. I edit. I angst, but I don’t create in March. When I break into a Big NY I’m going to figure out a way to finagle a schedule around these dry months. (Or just write EARLY) What I’m questioning is where did all the stamina come from.  I should have been exhausted. My brain should have been dribbling at every turn.

What is it about my life being a complete cluster “patch” *Ha. You know that’s not the word I was thinking* that makes me more productive? It’s not a new idea. I’ve always worked better when I had five minutes to write than all day to write. I really want to figure out the key to this conundrum. Is it the feeling I get knowing this is the only time I can write. Is it my way of working out all the kinks of my day to escape into another world that isn’t less demanding, but real on some level. Maybe I can use to my advantage. Or just ask ya’ll to see if I’m the only nut bag who works well under pressure.

When are you the most creative? During peaceful–I’ve got all day to do this–times or when you are down to the wire and it’s now or never?

A short time ago, I wanted to add to the pdf mini-stories on my website. I took my time, did the formatting, found pictures I liked, made simple covers with the microsoft paint tool, and e-mailed the packages to my kind webmistress.

When the time came to make the books, she sent me a blunt e-mail in return and asked, “Where is your NAME, woman?”

It was there, on the covers. Really it was. Just not very large.
(I might add that the final versions were beautifully done).

I remember someone once telling me that the measure of an author’s success was how much room their name took up on their covers. I remember laughing at the time. And I remember pausing afterward to think about that a bit.

The last few times I’ve browsed a couple of best-selling authors who shall remain nameless, the titles were not exceptionally large. That’s not to mention finding the author’s photo on the first turning of pages, then two pages of rave reviews, then two of the backlist, then the biography before finally getting to the blurb about the current work (and by that time I honestly didn’t much care).

When I first started trying to write professionally, I really wanted “Raine Weaver” to have very little to do with it. I thought the website was probably necessary for books, news, etc. Didn’t honestly want to blog, since I’m really not a chatty person and wouldn’t have much to say (ha!). Never really wanted minions to come knocking at my door, have never even posted a photo of myself online.

I wanted the work to speak for me. For itself. Period.

I’ll readily admit now that was probably naive. People want to ‘know’ the authors they really like, and it is difficult, I think, for the author to separate the work from the ego sometimes. We don’t just want to write, after all. We want to share. We want the work to be read.
And I suppose that means putting together little packages for display. They are important, as is a certain amount of ego.

I just have to wonder sometimes about letting that aspect of it take charge. Hate the idea of deluding myself, like an American Idol wannabee. I hate the idea that being published might become more important to me than what I’m writing. When I’m feeling tired or battered or bullet-ridden as an author, is it because the work isn’t as good as I’d like it to be—or is it because I have unrealistic expectations?

Shouldn’t it be mostly about the writing after all?
Or is that an illusion?

Okay, see, for the most part I live a dull, every-day-hum-drum life. Well that’s not entirely true, my kids keep my on my toes 24/7. The Dh gives me much mental fodder good, bad and please-don’t-tell-folks-you’re-mine. Between the five guys in my house and two dogs and umpteen relatives within the same metroplex, I have a grand old time, but people who don’t know me/us don’t want to hear what cute thing #4 said or the fact that 3 of the 4 boys whistled at a teen when we were leaving a store the others day—that was fu-unny BTW.

I have opinions—that is one thing I have never lacked as long as I have had a voice, but they aren’t always compassionate, politically correct or sometimes—I can admit—fully thought out. I try to keep them to myself for those reasons alone. Add to it that many people who are related to me or neighbors who I see daily read/can read things I post and I keep as much to myself as I can without getting the jitters and spouting inappropriate things in the grocery store. No, the guy in line next to me didn’t need to know I flipped off so-and-so mom on the way to school ‘cause she’s a crazy b*#$% (my honest opinion) and cut me off going into the school parking lot. And oh BTW did you hear that she… sorry gossip is not an opinion—it’s fact—uh-huh. ;-) 

I can be fun. I can be spontaneous—if I have room in my schedule. I am not opposed to excitement. I, however, like my excitement where I won’t get arrested, or a disease, or possibly maimed—and I think that’s part why I became a writer. I can live, and subsequently share, vicariously through me, through my characters. I can visit places (Google and Google Earth are wonderful inventions!). I can love or hate or even better kill off fictional characters and get my frustrations out—again without threat of incarceration, repercussion or the guilt I *might* carry if I accidently/on purpose sent a hitman after the aforementioned crazy b*#$% (a little extreme for cutting me off, but it’s fiction).

In my books, I am not shy around people who make me stutter (unless I want to be). I am tall, thin, strong—whatever attribute I feel like wearing that day. Hell, I can be a dude on any given day. I can heal my friends who are ill, I can right all the wrongs done—real or perceived. I can do just about anything I want to do—or not do. It’s my choice. And it’s my retreat. (And that I get to share the stories with others—bonus!) I find so much escapism in writing that it’s a wonder on those days that I procrastinate.

Now, thankfully, I *can* tell the difference between what I write and what I experience for real-for real, though I have met a writer or two who have crossed that line into their own little world and have set up a permanent residence there. Me, it’s a great place to visit, but I do have to get back to the 8^th grade math homework and 2^nd grade spelling assignment and add in a little grocery shopping—that’s a whole ‘nother form of excitement. Even with all *that* excitement, I will keep on concocting new places and new people, new stories to entertain. Even better, new adventures to go on. I will just keep on, because I love to write! (and when it becomes a chore is when it’s time to take a break because it bleeds over into the real life moments and the fun is zapped from it–And yes, I have had those moments too–I just take a break and {so far} get back at it. )

Don’t have a question to pose with this, but please feel free to give me your opinion on writing, the process or why that crazy b*#$% should be spared… for now.

Rather than post about my rather dreary week, I put something very last-minute together. And once I got started it turned out to be fun.

Just a little quick-fic. About self-doubt. Or taking generalized advice. Or what happens to blog posts when you’re not focusing your energy on a real manuscript. :XOXO:

MOTIVATIONAL DIARY

Day One
Read a fine piece of advice on a multi-pubbed writer’s site today. It suggested that every struggling author out there should stare into a mirror every day, look themselves straight in the eye, and say, “I am a great writer.”
So I’ve decided to try it. Positive reinforcement and all that. It’s only a mirror, after all. What can it hurt?

Day Two
I’m actually having trouble doing this! There’s something about looking myself in the eye that makes it nearly impossible to lie!
I think it’s called ‘cognitive dissonance’.
Guess I’ll have to make my own mantra true.
Take that, self-doubt!

Day Three
Staring into the mirror like this has revealed all kind of insecurities. And a blackhead, right near the tip of my nose (snort!). But starting to get the hang of it. I only giggle a little now when I repeat the words. And I really want to believe that somewhere inside me there really is a great writer.

Day Five
Really glad this diary is for my eyes only, because anyone else reading this would just laugh. But honestly…there I was, smiling into the mirror, maintaining eye contact and assuring myself I was da stuff—and for some strange reason she winked. As if it was all some private joke.
Huh. I mean, of course, that I winked. Either the silliness of the exercise is getting to me or I’ve developed a nervous eye tic, lol. Will try for bed early tonight. I’ve been working too hard.

Day Ten
The lights.
The lights in the bathroom are much too bright. Why in the world did I decide to put those Hollywood, beam-me-up-Scotty lights directly above my mirror where they could play tricks with the shadows? There are times—dare I say it?—times when the image in the mirror barely even looks like me. Times when it looks at me with an expression of absolute contempt.
My writing has become strange. Erratic. Even my crit partner expressed some concern. Am thinking of switching genres. Not happy with the old work. That’s probably what my subconscious is trying to tell me. Time for a change.

Day Fourteen
It’s not my imagination. It never was.
Even as I sit here in the dark, writing before the glass, she stalks me. I can feel her eyes on me, straining to take charge, hear her snickering laugh in the shuffling sound of my page turning.
“Bitch!” she screamed as I smashed all the bulbs. “Let me have the work. I am the author of this. All of it. I can make it real. I can make it great!”
This diary is useless to me now. My fingers tremble too badly to write. But I can still shatter the spell, try to end the nightmare—to break this mirror now, before it’s too late…

Day Twenty-One
It was silly of me to splurge on renovations. Selling my first novella must be my excuse. I think it’s made me giddy, lol. But the remodeled bathroom’s coming along nicely, I’m feeling much calmer, and I realize I don’t need to look to the mirror for confidence. Yay!
Good thing, too. The contractor had a devil of a time getting the new one mounted. But it’s done, and being held firmly in place.
Did I mention that my debut editor thinks I’m a great writer?

The kids are home this week for Spring Break. I don’t know how much actual writing I will get done–there are kids in and out of the house every ten minutes–and if the dog doesn’t like them, she goes nuts–which is every twenty minutes. Add to that the “I’m soooooo bored” floppiness of my boys and it’s distraction city! (It’s so funny how much life can get in the way of writing and the creative process.) I think most writers–at least the ones I know–the writing has to take a back seat to most everything. There are just so darn many things that yank us away from the keyboard.

One nice thing, despite no quiet this week and don’t let me forget losing an hour w/ daylight savings time, the warmer days are much welcomed and will hopefully get the processes back on track and I can get my rhythm back. It’s funny though, I was at my RWA chapter meeting this past weekend and we were talking about our processes and y’know, from one book to the next it’s not always the same. One book you may be able to sit down and crank out in less than two months and the next will take easily six month of teeth gnashing typing. I will say that when I don’t write everything is “off”. It’s like it almost hurts and I get edgy. You would think that would be enough to keep at but no…

It’s also time for Spring cleaning. (The house–check, did that, now to my computer) I have been systematically going through open WIPs that have stagnated to see if anything sparks an interest in the “I can get this done in no time” department. Some, I am sad to say, are stagnate for a reason, but others, there is a blossomblooming! I do like this time of the year. I like the endless possibilities. I like planning for Nationals in the Summer (I am completely anal and have spread sheets and have to start planning wardrobes–don’t have a spreadsheet for the wardrobe–at least not that anyone can prove   ).

My agent hunt is still underway. It’s tough getting the rejections, but taking the time to go through the process is helping me with patience–something I don’t come by easily. Still all part of the process. I think sometimes I get so wrapped up in the “did you write” I forget there are many aspects that go hand-in-hand. You’ve got to edit. You’ve got to submit. You’ve got to promote too. Everything takes time and is necessary. I am setting up additions to my Spring clean ritual.

Do you have a Spring ritual? Do you pull out the old WIPs and dust ‘em off to take another crack at them?

I don’t just mean that in a hetrosexual way. I mean I love men. I love the way they smell–soap, laundry soap, cologne…pheromones. I love the swagger in their walk. Seriously, I fall a little in love when I see men interact with each other there’s just something so masculine and unguarded about men talking… Sigh.

100 years old, in a nursing home, I’ll be the lecher pinching the male nurse’s butt. So it should come as no surprise that I read (and write) romance for the hero.

And, my shame has no limits. I have a mental list of heroes that you could title “If they were real I’d have their babies”.

1. Tucker Longstreet from Carnal Innocence by La Nora (her publisher should totally start publishing her books under that name.)
2. Thomas Walker from Smoke In Mirrors by Jayne Ann Krentz.
3. Richard De Galtres from The More I See You by Lynn Kurland.
4. Aiden Gallahger (sp?) from Jewels of the Sun by La Nora.

I could go on….Ok. Movie Characters…

5. Brad Pitt in Interview With a Vampire

6. Brad Pitt in Legend of the Fall

7. Brian White from Stomp the Yard.

In all of these parts, these men played characters that just made my heart go pitter-patter For me there was something undeniably MALE. I guess you can say they made me feel feminine. I’m all for strong and independent women. I’m one myself. But some days I want to feel like the damsel. Not because I can’t handle it, but because I don’t have to. A small distinction.  You can sum it up as I can depend on these males as they play these roles.

OMG, HAWT.

I could go on…

But I won’t.

What heroes make you sigh? What do you love about men? (Bernard, what do you love about women?)

After years of watching movies and television, I made an observation that clever writers and directors have probably instinctively known since the dawn of—well, writing and directing.

The best bad guys are the ones we always thought of as good ones.

Billy Wilder used this idea long ago when he filmed Agatha Christie’s “Witness for the Prosecution”.

SPOILER ALERT**SPOILER ALERT**SPOILER ALERT**

If you’ve never seen it (yes, it’s an old film, but you should!), he enlisted Tyrone Power to play the “innocent” man accused of murder. Leonard Vole–handsome, charming, carefree, harmless. And he was guilty as sin.
Who would imagine Tyrone Power—gorgeous, athletic, heroic leading man, and one of the most beloved in H-wood—murdering a dithering old lady? It was a brilliant idea, and Power was absolutely FABULOUS.

There are lots of other examples. Anthony Hopkins, Morgan Freeman, Charlton Heston, Kevin Costner. Guys we always thought of as heroic or sympathetic. Put ‘em in a bad guy role? It’s freaking magic, I tell ya. Not only do they seem to eat it up, but the effect is like a short circuit in our brains. Disconcerting, but stimulating. The perversity of it is enough to make you want to lick your lips.

I love a certain amount of perversity. I can imagine reading the story of Rochester tiring of Jane Eyre after a few years, gaslighting her, and locking her away in the upper rooms as he sought a new bride to bring home to a renovated Thornfield.
And I could easily see Darcy gradually becoming infatuated with Lizzie’s lovely sister Jane, and ever-so-slowly poisoning his sharp-tongued wife, all the while professing his love.

So let’s hear it. What movie or television good guy would you enjoy seeing take a turn for the bad, if only temporarily?
What heroes in your favorite books—or even in your own books, and why?

C’mon, you know you can imagine it.
Spill!

Case in Point - Never Sexay

Dear Gentle Readers,

Our lovely Tanya is out sick today so please send her some healing vibes so she’ll get well soon!

Dear Unfortunate Young Man Walking Down The Road,

Can we talk?  We need to talk.  And please know I don’t tell you this to be cruel or hurt your feelings.  On the contrary, I have nothing but your best interest at heart.  While I realize that there are MUCH more important things to worry about in life than how a child dresses or wears their hair, especially a child that’s not your own,  after watching you walk down the road this morning, I felt it was my duty to speak out.

You see, DUYMWDTR, your pants are very baggy…and you wear them very low.

Case in Point - Verra Sexay!

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes loose jeans are sexay. But you, DUYMWDTR, not so much.  When your pants are so loose and so big and you wear them so low that they make you walk funny, I don’t think, “Damn if he was ten years older, I’d SO DO HIM.”  On the contrary, I think, “Someone forgot to change his Pull-Up before he left the house.”

Yes, DUYMWDTR, you look like a 3 year old packing an ass-load of shit.  Combined with the hoodie, the unfortunately greasy, scragly looking hair and the face only a mother could love, well, the pain was so excruciating, I thought my heart was going to fall out of my chest. In case no one told you, walking like a toddler wearing a shitty Pull-Up isn’t a good look for anyone and nobody will ever believe you’re gangsta or that you have any type of street cred, mainly because, DUYMWDTR, you live in the friggin burbs.

Sorry to crush your dreams like this.

Love,

Somebody’s Mom

In the interest of fairness, this isn’t attractive either…regardless of your size, age, race, creed, disability or ethnic origin (Don’t Try This At Home, Kids):

Never a Good Look

Hooker-wear is so 80's

50 Kinds of Heinously Wrong

How my Son wears his jeans *cries*

They Have Pills for That

10 yrs from now, when ur wife leaves you over "fertility issues" this is why.

People, please remember, every time you leave the house with your pants sagging and/or your ass crack, bra, thong, etc. showing, a kitten dies.