Before I get to the actual bloggy-portion of this post, I have to tell you a secret. On Wednesday, I am a stop on Elana Johnson’s Possession virtual blog tour. Prepare for epic awesomesauce, in the form of a vlog interview and FREE stuff. Or, well, one free thing. But it’s possibly the COOLEST giveaway I’ve ever done. You do NOT want to miss this. Just sayin.
Okay, moving on.
First of all, let me just say that my brain is still on overload from last weekend’s conference. It was fabulous. No, more than fabulous, it was…fanta-bulous. Awesomesauce. A.Maz.Ing. And yes, I had a great time.
I didn’t completely humiliate myself in my pitch session, learned a lot, hung with my terrific writing friends, and made TONS of new ones. Also, I discovered this really great little cupcake shop where I got more than my fill of sugar. (Thanks to Lani Woodland, Melanie Marks, and Nicole Bullock. Also, we missed you Debbie Cranberryfries!)
And dudes, that’s just the tip-top of the thing.
I’d totally love to share all, but since the classes are copyrighted, I can’t, like, share my notes or anything. BUT I will tell you one thing I learned, and which became my theme for the weekend.
Bravery. Pays. Off.
And also, doing brave things made me feel fantastic. Not only did being brave help me have an even better time, but it also opened doors I didn’t know were even there.
So yeah. It was great. And I am happy. The end.
Wait, no. Not the end. Check out this really cool video I made, which they played at the conference. This is the kind of people I get to hang with. (Oh, and by the way, at the end, it tells you to join now, but unless you were at this particular conference, you aren’t allowed—it’s the only requirement. So, so sorry! Ignore that part, okay? Okay. But if you’re really, really sad and need to find a group to join, let me know and I’ll see if I can help you out, okay?)
Showing posts with label writer's group. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writer's group. Show all posts
Monday, May 9, 2011
Monday, September 27, 2010
How Many Opinions Are Too Many?
One of my crit partners said something to me the other day that really struck home. We were discussing critiquing and how much our manuscripts tend to change (sometimes very drastically) according to the opinions of our CP’s.
She told of an author she knew who was working on edits with her agent. That author sent her revised manuscript to several CP’s, only to end up revising more before sending the manuscript back to the agent. When it finally arrived in the agent’s inbox, the agent was disappointed because the author had changed so much that the book had lost the all-important voice. And the voice was the thing the agent loved the most about the book.
So I wonder. How many opinions are too many? How many times do you revise before you end up sucking the voice out of your manuscript? Or, if you’re not a writer, how much criticism on your creative endeavors will you accept before you lose the drive to create entirely?
I don’t think there’s a solid answer to this question, but I do think we know when we reach that point. Or at least, we should.
Having critique partners is a blessing, for sure. But as in all things, too much of a good thing can hurt you. It’s a fine line to walk. And I think comes down to us having the courage and confidence to know the difference between comments that make us better, and comments that turn our work into something we never meant for it to be.
Just something to think about.
She told of an author she knew who was working on edits with her agent. That author sent her revised manuscript to several CP’s, only to end up revising more before sending the manuscript back to the agent. When it finally arrived in the agent’s inbox, the agent was disappointed because the author had changed so much that the book had lost the all-important voice. And the voice was the thing the agent loved the most about the book.
So I wonder. How many opinions are too many? How many times do you revise before you end up sucking the voice out of your manuscript? Or, if you’re not a writer, how much criticism on your creative endeavors will you accept before you lose the drive to create entirely?
I don’t think there’s a solid answer to this question, but I do think we know when we reach that point. Or at least, we should.
Having critique partners is a blessing, for sure. But as in all things, too much of a good thing can hurt you. It’s a fine line to walk. And I think comes down to us having the courage and confidence to know the difference between comments that make us better, and comments that turn our work into something we never meant for it to be.
Just something to think about.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Being Braver
Recently I realized that hanging out with other writers—all in different stages of the quest for publication—makes me feel braver than I really am. Or than I think I am. Or something.
Associating with like-minded people builds my strength and confidence, before I even realize I need it.
It’s kind of like when you and your spouse—or best friend or a family member or whatever—eat dinner at a new and exciting restaurant. Or when you decide to visit a new vacation destination. Or when you attempt to learn a new skill. Having the support of someone else who is sharing a similar experience gives you a boost in confidence, or courage, or…something. Anyway, you find yourself doing things you never would have believed yourself capable, or brave enough to do.
Have you found this to be true in life? What new brave things have you tried lately? Discuss.
Associating with like-minded people builds my strength and confidence, before I even realize I need it.
It’s kind of like when you and your spouse—or best friend or a family member or whatever—eat dinner at a new and exciting restaurant. Or when you decide to visit a new vacation destination. Or when you attempt to learn a new skill. Having the support of someone else who is sharing a similar experience gives you a boost in confidence, or courage, or…something. Anyway, you find yourself doing things you never would have believed yourself capable, or brave enough to do.
Have you found this to be true in life? What new brave things have you tried lately? Discuss.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Writerly Adventures
Last week Ali invited me to go with her and Elana to The King’s English for the launch of Kimberly Griffiths Little’s newly released novel, The Healing Spell. TKE is an Indy bookstore in the Avenues of Salt Lake City crammed and jam-packed full of more books than you’ve ever seen in your life. It’s the hip and trendy place for launch parties. Just walk in sometime, and you can totally see why.
*sniffs the air*
Ahhh. Can you just smell the mixture of powdery paper and leather and all things bookish? It’s better than a library, although, more expensive because you have to buy your books.
So Elana, Ali and I were hungry and feeling adventurous, so before the launch we went to Mazza—a totally charming Middle Eastern place—to eat.
We didn’t recognize a single thing on the menu—except Dr. Pepper. They did have that, to my utter relief. Elana even Googled one of the items in question. Anyway, we each picked something and ordered, but our food kept not coming and not coming, and then we needed to go to the reading, so Ali flagged down our waiter, Jody, to see if we could pay and then come back to eat in an hour later. He very kindly sent us on our way. Without paying.
Dude. We already had our drinks, so this was very trusting on his part. (Thanks Jody!)
Anyway. When we came back, we brought Jenn, Sheralyn, Suzette, and Suzy’s son Asher with us, and ended up seated outside on the softly lit patio. Dusk fell around us as we ate and laughed, and strings of tiny white lights twinkled in the shrubs nearby. Elana discovered her first fan-boy in Jody the waiter—and Suzette even took a picture to prove it—and we spent the evening talking writing and books and families and life.
If I had been on a date, I’d have called the whole evening romantic.
What do you call an experience like that when it has nothing to do with the courting process and everything to do with having a great time hanging out with friends?
Doesn’t matter. It was fun, and I came away feeling refreshed, recharged, and grateful to my supportive writer friends. Without their help, I don’t know how I’d ever survive the crazy quest for publication.
*sniffs the air*
Ahhh. Can you just smell the mixture of powdery paper and leather and all things bookish? It’s better than a library, although, more expensive because you have to buy your books.
So Elana, Ali and I were hungry and feeling adventurous, so before the launch we went to Mazza—a totally charming Middle Eastern place—to eat.
We didn’t recognize a single thing on the menu—except Dr. Pepper. They did have that, to my utter relief. Elana even Googled one of the items in question. Anyway, we each picked something and ordered, but our food kept not coming and not coming, and then we needed to go to the reading, so Ali flagged down our waiter, Jody, to see if we could pay and then come back to eat in an hour later. He very kindly sent us on our way. Without paying.
Dude. We already had our drinks, so this was very trusting on his part. (Thanks Jody!)
Anyway. When we came back, we brought Jenn, Sheralyn, Suzette, and Suzy’s son Asher with us, and ended up seated outside on the softly lit patio. Dusk fell around us as we ate and laughed, and strings of tiny white lights twinkled in the shrubs nearby. Elana discovered her first fan-boy in Jody the waiter—and Suzette even took a picture to prove it—and we spent the evening talking writing and books and families and life.
If I had been on a date, I’d have called the whole evening romantic.
What do you call an experience like that when it has nothing to do with the courting process and everything to do with having a great time hanging out with friends?
Doesn’t matter. It was fun, and I came away feeling refreshed, recharged, and grateful to my supportive writer friends. Without their help, I don’t know how I’d ever survive the crazy quest for publication.
Friday, May 14, 2010
More Socks Wisdom: Teamwork
When I was young, I thought that the primary job of a parent was to teach your children. What I didn’t realize was that the job is something of a fifty-fifty deal. For everything I try to teach my kids, they turn around and teach me something back. Not on purpose, but that’s pretty much how it works for us.
So, Happy and Sneezy are on this indoor soccer team, Who Stole the Socks. And the first thing the team taught me is how important it is to play for fun first, and competition last. (Confused? See this blog.) I think that’s a big lesson for some adults, including me. Adults sometimes forget that life is supposed to be fun.
Anyway, by the end of their first indoor soccer season, these girls had learned to play together. Not only that, they’d figured out how to play strategically. And their coach, now that he was getting to know each girl, had a pretty good idea of their strengths and weaknesses, and how to use them to the best advantage.
As life goes, no two girls have the same skills, so as they continued playing together, each girl's individual, raw talent became evident, and the coach started playing certain pairs together depending on the skills of the opposing team. Individually, each player was strong. But together, the team dominated the field.
They helped each other, they learned from each other, they cried when someone got hurt, and they cheered when one of them scored. And always, always, win or lose, they kept the solid rule of cartwheels on the field when the game was over. They’ve been the epitome of good sportswomen.
The second thing the Socks taught me is why it’s important to be part of a team.
However solitary a work writing can be, I would never be where I am without my team. My writing friends help me when I have a question, teach me when I need to learn, cry with me when I get rejected, and get excited when I have good news. And always, always, win or lose, someone always reminds me to do a cartwheel on the field at the end of the day.
I’m playing the game because I love it, and learning as I go. And one of these days, when I score a winning goal, my team will be there to cheer me on. Just as I will be there for them.
Thanks for being part of my team.
So, Happy and Sneezy are on this indoor soccer team, Who Stole the Socks. And the first thing the team taught me is how important it is to play for fun first, and competition last. (Confused? See this blog.) I think that’s a big lesson for some adults, including me. Adults sometimes forget that life is supposed to be fun.
Anyway, by the end of their first indoor soccer season, these girls had learned to play together. Not only that, they’d figured out how to play strategically. And their coach, now that he was getting to know each girl, had a pretty good idea of their strengths and weaknesses, and how to use them to the best advantage.
As life goes, no two girls have the same skills, so as they continued playing together, each girl's individual, raw talent became evident, and the coach started playing certain pairs together depending on the skills of the opposing team. Individually, each player was strong. But together, the team dominated the field.
They helped each other, they learned from each other, they cried when someone got hurt, and they cheered when one of them scored. And always, always, win or lose, they kept the solid rule of cartwheels on the field when the game was over. They’ve been the epitome of good sportswomen.
The second thing the Socks taught me is why it’s important to be part of a team.
However solitary a work writing can be, I would never be where I am without my team. My writing friends help me when I have a question, teach me when I need to learn, cry with me when I get rejected, and get excited when I have good news. And always, always, win or lose, someone always reminds me to do a cartwheel on the field at the end of the day.
I’m playing the game because I love it, and learning as I go. And one of these days, when I score a winning goal, my team will be there to cheer me on. Just as I will be there for them.
Thanks for being part of my team.
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