Category Archives: Multipurpose

Jan26

five essential steps for first responders

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Helen Leitch prints

Helen Leitch prints

As a writer, wouldn’t you love to have your own “first response team” when rejection strikes and your emotions are on high alert? Many of us do. We have fellow creative folk, our kindred spirits, who know what to say—and what not to say—when our mental state is its most delicate.

But what happens when your first response team isn’t available? Maybe they’re out of town, offline or marinating in their own tar pit of despair. That means (gulp), you must turn to the rookies. Often these well-meaning individuals are ill-equipped for such literary-related emergencies. Poor things. They feel insecure, inept, and as a result, they say or do some really, really, really stupid stuff.

Instead of feeling frustrated, why not offer these good-hearted bumblers a prompt so they’ll know what to do until real help arrives. Think it like those Heimlich maneuver posters you see in cafeterias.

Fill in the information below.

Pocket a copy in case you lapse into a post-rejection funk and are unable to speak for yourself.

———————————————————————————————————–
I AM AN AUTHOR. I AM IN NEED OF IMMEDIATE INTERVENTION.

My name is: _________________________________________________________
(I suggest using your real name here, not your pen name. Make it easy on the first responder.)

Emergency contact: __________________________________________________
(e.g., Agent; Nearest Living Author Friend; Ben and/or Jerry)

Genre type: (PB, MG, YA)

While you are waiting for the Emergency Contact to arrive, follow these five simple steps:

Step 1 Check to make sure I’m breathing.
This step is especially if you found me face down in the area rug. Wave a Lindt truffle next to my nose to revive me.

Step 2 Do NOT apply logic.
Even small doses of logic have been known to be toxic at this point.

For example, these seemingly sensible words will NOT help:
“You’ve only tried two editors, right? You can try more.”
“Maybe it’s not you. Maybe the editor was just having an off day.”
“There’s always next year.”
“It’s not the end of the world.” Yes. Yes, it is the end of the world. The sun will not come up
tomorrow, no matter what that Annie girl says.

Step 3 Do NOT offer compliments, such as, “Well, I really liked your story.”
I don’t care. Your opinion doesn’t count right now. It will tomorrow (provided there is a tomorrow), but not now.

Step 4 If I look like I’m trying to put on a brave front, induce tears.
Force me to re-read the rejection letter out loud in front of a mirror so I can see how pitiful I look. Offer generous amounts of Kleenex.

Step 5 Apply ice cream to the site of the babbling in liberal doses.

To the rejected writer: Be sure to write your kind first responder a thank you note. That is, when you feel like writing again.

Jan19

top 6 things “not” to pack for a writers conference

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frog luggage tag

Getting ready for an upcoming SCBWI conference in NYC has reminded me that knowing what to not to pack just might be more important than knowing what to pack.

Here are my top 6 recommendations for things you’d be better off leaving at home:

#1 Your manuscript. You may have polished that thing so hard it makes diamonds jealous, but a conference is not a place to pedal your work. Most presenters, like editors and agents, will extend an invitation for attendees to send submissions or queries after the conference.

#2 Business cards (that you plan to pass out like pizza coupons). What? I can’t bring my card? Oh, sure you can. It’s a great idea. Just please wait to be asked for it. Otherwise, you look desperate or like you own a print shop. BTW, I ordered mine from a cool, very customer-friendly place called MOO.com. (And no, I don’t get any kickbacks for mentioning their name. Darn it.)

#3 Your laptop. So, here’s the thing. I love my laptop, but if I don’t like having to restrict my seating choice to make sure I’m always near an outlet. I also suspect that my tappity-tap-tapping can be a bit distracting to the people around me.

Laptops and other electronic gadgets (iPads, etc.) are probably better suited to writing workshops or for when you’re on your own. It’s been my experience that there is very little time to spend actually writing at a writer’s conference (ironic, I know). You might think you’ll write when you’re back in your room, but you’re probably going to be too tired for that. You’d be better off spending the time networking and or sleeping.

So, what’s the solution to going laptopless? Bring a notebook. You know, the old school kind with paper. (I buy mine at Target. Again, no kickbacks.) Oh, and bring pens. Lots of pens (in case you need to share with that person next to you with the dead laptop).

#4 Fancy, schmancy clothes. Unless you’re expressly asked to dress up, “smart casual” is the way to go. Wear comfortable shoes and dress in layers so that you feel warmer or cooler as needed.

#5 Your Inner Critic. Why not give the poor guy the weekend off. Go to the conference acknowledging that you feel a little nervous or insecure. You will be in very good company. We all feel that way. Decide to get over yourself and be the person who focuses on putting other people at ease. They will love you for it and you will forget about yourself already.

#6 An irrepressible need to impress. I still cringe when I think about some of my behavior at my very first conference. I was so intent on fitting in and making sure people knew that I knew what they knew, that I know I must have been a pain in the bookend. Since then I’ve found that I learn a lot more when I relax and come ready to absorb not impress.

I’ve seen how you can’t learn anything when you’re trying to look like the smartest person in the room. ~ Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible

Jan15

who’s got a chairriere?

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Frog on a Chair

Frog on a Chair

Anne Lamott’s familiar phrase “‘butt’ in chair” from Bird by Bird refers to the discipline it takes to progress as a writer. As ironic as it sounds, you have to sit to move forward. And see, I’ve been applying Anne’s wisdom. Really I have. Trouble is, it’s resulting in quite a chairriere. And as ambitious as I am to become a published author, my passion for exercise is, well, notsooomuch. Thankfully, I’ve developed a can’t-miss way to workout while I’m working.

Lucky you! Today I’m ready to share my secrets with you.

Nearly all of these techniques can be executed from the comfort of your favorite writing chair, but you must commit in order to see results. Cellulite doesn’t take time off, neither can you.

Ready to get started?

Trim your finger nails. Only use one coat of polish. Layers add up you know.
Toe nails. Go and do likewise.
Get a hair cut. I’m thinking Anne Hathaway in Les Mis short, especially if you have thick hair (or great cheek bones).
Pluck that unibrow. (Yes, down the middle.)
Defunk the button. When was the last time you excavated your belly button?
Q-tip those ears. (Start fresh. Do not reuse from previous step.)
Floss.
Donate a kidney. (Note, that’s singular.)
Exfoliate your knees, heels and elbows.
Wax those legs. Feel the burn.
Clean between your piggies.
Do some serious nose hair scaping.
Harvest anything sprouting in your ears too.
Don’t forget the hairs on your chinny chin chin.
Get all tattoos removed. (True, it won’t lead to weight loss, but you’ll make your mom happy and that should count for something.)

I can virtually guarantee weight loss after just one workout. The results will be subtle, yes. Nearly imperceptible, perhaps. But think of all of the sweat and strain you’ve avoided. And when someone comments, “You look so fresh. Have you lost weight?” You can simply blow your nose, pluck a hangnail, and honestly say, “Why, yes. Yes, I have.”

Obligatory disclaimers:

Consult your health care provider before starting a [chair-based] diet or exercise plan.

Discontinue diet immediately if you experience any of the following: blurred vision, dry mouth, rapid heart rate, a sense of inherent worthlessness, uncontrolled cookie baking, an inability to skip up hill, sudden onset of zombiagriphobia (fear of zombie farmers) or an inexplicable need to read every word of a blog no matter how silly it is.

Like some REAL advise for becoming a healthier writer?

Visit The Healthy Writer Blog today!

Try some chair exercises at your desk too.

Jan6

meet enid, muse extraordinaire

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Not "my" Enid!

Not “my” Enid!

A Bohemian earth mother or a wee-winged sprite whirring through clouds of opal pixy dust. That’s how other writers might describe their muse. My muse is, well, she’s not like that. I was going to say she’s indescribable, but that would make for a mighty short post, now wouldn’t it.

Meet Enid, my extraordinary muse. Rain or shine Enid wears a double breasted camel coat with a Union Jack pin on the lapel, a hat that you can roll to jam into a suitcase, dark support hose and Crocks. She’s instructed me to let you know that she’s foregoing the ankle bracelet in 2013 and that she’s swapping her orange Crocks for green. Ever the fashion plate, my Enid.

And then there’s the bulging book bag. Enid’s packing PW, the 2009 Writers Market, Levenger’s catalogs, an autographed John Grisham novel (don’t ask), Hershey’s miniatures, one of those fancy wooden box of assorted tea bags, her PBS travel mug and a paddle ball game. (She likes to play with that when she’s getting impatient with me.)

I didn’t always have a muse. For the first few years of serious writing attempts, I had to be self-musing. Enid came into my life after the writer she was bemusing moved out of state and Enid opted to stay here to be closer to her grandchildren. (I know. I had no idea muses could have grandmuses.)

Enid typically pitches me ideas right before I go to sleep or when I’m in the shower. I understand that’s standard MMO (Muse Mode of Operation). She caught on early that there was no point in giving me a lot of detail when I’m in bed. Her ideas evaporate by morning. If I’m showering, I’m too soggy to capture anything on paper. So, mostly she gives me titles or character names and lets me dig for the rest. But it’s a start and that’s usually the toughest part.

Yes, Enid is a no-nonsense gal. Lest I give you the impression she lacks a sense of humor, I have heard her laugh. It’s more like a nasally, smirkish chortle. I typically hear it when she’s waiting for me to do something with an idea she’s pitched. She’ll go sit on an overstuffed stool in my office, reach into her bag and pull out a crisp copy of The New Yorker. Enid does love her snarky cartoons.

Has she ever laughed at anything I’ve written, you ask (meaning the stuff I’m intending to be funny). Yes and no. Once I saw Enid’s shoulders spasm as she covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. She was reflected in my computer screen as she read over my shoulder. Oh, please don’t tell her I saw.

But better than a laugh is an Enid smile. Enid is one of those eye smilers. You know the ones. The corners of their mouths turn up or down ever-so-slightly and 99 percent of the smile comes from their eyes. She has violet eyes. No, not violent. V-i-o-l-e-t eyes. Like her laugh, an Enid smile is a rare treasure. I work for those.

What’s that, Enid? You think I should blog about Heather?

Do you really think anyone wants to read about my Inner Critic?

What if I . . . (Oh, no. She’s going for the paddle ball game.)

No Enid smile today.

What about you? What does your muse look like?

Following my muse has worked out pretty well so far. I can’t see any reason to change the formula now.~Chris Van Allsburg

Dec15

Frog on a Dime

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In 2012 scientists met a frog in Papua New Guinea who was so small he could sit on a dime, with room to spare. He was declared the world’s smallest known vertebrate.

Before you get the impression that mine is an all frog blog, it’s not. If that disappoints you, please take this as your cue to quietly excuse yourself. No really, I won’t be offended (much). Hop along now. Go read the National Geographic blog about the frog.

Anyone still there?

So, about this teensy freak of the rain forest. He captured my imagination because I see him as a metaphor for my little blog and its place in the blogosphere. (See there? I popped in the word metaphor. You’re starting to see that we’ve turned a corner now, haven’t you?)

Once word got out about the wee dime sitter, amphibian experts noted that we keep finding smaller and smaller frogs. Why? An expert with Conservation International suggested the frogs are adapting to fill a niche that nothing else can fill. And I guess that’s what I’m hoping this blog will do for you (and for me)–fill a niche that nothing else can fill.

And while I’m niche-filling, I will be mindful that there are countless other “word ponds” you can visit in day. I won’t try to “pond-tificate.” I only plan to post words that will encourage, inform and maybe even inspire you, as my fellow writers.

Thanks for reading. I hope you’ll pull up a dime and visit again soon.