Walk, Talk, and Sleep Like a Writer If You Can Find the Holy Grail of Maps.

**humming to myself**


Walk like a writer...talk like a writer...eat like a writer...sleep like a writer...wait we don't do that. Do we?


To the ends of the Earth we go towards bloomability. Hey ho! Onward to publication...If only there were a better map! 

I'm somewhere between Slush Pile Gulch and Agent Lagoon. Hey Ho! It's a writer's life for me. Where are you? What got you there and what are your current goals? Here are a few of my maps listed under "must read". 

The Best Way to Critique (Tick Tock) Not on My Time

Of course we're kidding! Of course by we I mean: me, myself, and my muse. So go ahead. Analyze me. 

I'm no expert but this sounds reasonably fun to me after having a few critiques under my belt with a vacation looking to the left and right of me for a clearance:

Set all manuscripts aside for a few days. Who said anything about lateness? Dilly Dally knows a thing or two about it....we'll ask her if she can help with this one. 

IF it were up to me, said manuscripts (Shh! Don't tell please. After all I'm only kidding) would all be sent off to the airport with tags around them that read, "Lost Property. Please look after this manuscript. Thank you." I might even strap them to a suitcase...maybe I should consult Paddington Bear first. He'd know more about it. 

...and if the critique process doesn't make you feel like one of the # snakes upon Medusa's head then I don't know how to help you--critique can drive any author crazy--especially if it brings to light the lack of critique for their own work. 

In the crazy fragile world of critique, how is it that I can give better advice to others' manuscripts than my own? How does that happen? You tell me! Who said anything about sanity? We just want to feel like we have our mad skills back. 

Who would have thunk it? 

Tavcvhdn vb cqn bvyyvnbc cqvep re rdcqfa tre uf cf uavin cqnzbnyinb zru.(thunk.com)

To figure it out let thunk.com think for you, or avoid it altogether. If you do you're missing out on a lot of fun! 

Masterpiece Monday

I've been a bit crafty lately and not in the witchy sense; no where near it actually. The only thing my broom is used for is sweeping the dust and cobwebs out of my humble abode. The only spells around here are those of delight at the mere completion of a beaded bracelet or embroidery stitch here and there. Yes, I have been embroidering a dress and learning to make jewelry on top of all the writing I already do. So when I read the book listed below I was ecstatic to share it with you! So here it is. Enjoy!

Who wouldn't love vibrant illustrations and a colorful story filled with love and the great secret to happiness--one of them at least. The Quiltmaker's Gift is a special tale about a disgustingly rich and selfish king who hasn't quite figured out what true happiness really is. With the help of a stubborn, but kind old woman--who lives high atop a mountain--he discovers what it is and how to obtain it. I love how it reads like a fairytale!

C.S. Lewis-- "Failures are the finger posts on the road to achievement."

     I once said that I adore failure because it spurs me on. It truly does. I decided long ago that when I got on the writing trail I was going to frame every rejection I got so that when I look upon them, I'm reminded of how far I've come on the journey. Each form rejection or piece of advice would take me one step closer to publication. Lately though, I feel stuck. I'm considering all that it takes--the darned effort. Sometimes I feel quite like an orange, one that is being squeezed beyond its last drop of juice. So by the time I look at that twentieth revision, I'm still thinking it's not ready to be sent off to an agent or publisher, "sheer garbage" I think to myself. I'm certainly too drained to tweak it again. The balance between family and writing is wearing me thin lately. I hate when it wears me thin. It's as if the balance of things is trying to mock me, trying to say, "You can't do it, definitely cannot do it all."
     Normally, I have backup ready. I have a clever activity on hand, something that makes me feel alive again--like a kid--young at heart, free and ready for anything--nothing to fear. So I cry because truly what is fear but something imagined. See, this is where things go wrong by thinking fear is imagined. Fear cripples many a writer from seeing the light, from emerging from that steep hole, from dancing upon divinity when they discover what they had been striving for all along really is possible. Then I read this and fear is suddenly squashed with one single line, "The birds have no fear". Carpe Diem, Carpe P.M. Carpe any way you like, but keep writing! Sometimes it takes a village to raise a writer from the ground. I adore my village!

What line does it for you--the ultimate fear squashing line?

Who or whom is in your writer village? Show the love!

Spilt Milk

     I know I have been away for a while but I have a clever excuse. Yes one of those lame things that keep me dawdling deep in adventure and away for random spurts of time. Yup! There I said it. Now if it weren't for these few and frequent things I wouldn't be near as any fun by the next post. Think of them as a way I rejuvenate my writer senses, or just another way to kill time while coming up with the next idea for a book or revision. Speaking of revisions they just might be the death of me--figuratively--but at least it will be a fun death. LOL.

     So amidst all the critique, revisions and the mountain of editing I have done these past two weeks I have found that spilt milk is the genius of it all. Being a liquid, milk is clearly without form, but somehow in the hands of a testy toddler it becomes a fish, a tree, a unicorn, or even a giant chicken--sometimes a rather large nose with a goober hanging from the corner of it. Now of course the trick is to spill it first. Now I'm not saying to make your writing an accident. Instead, be okay with the mess that it is and wait to see what comes of it as you ponder its possibilities. Give it room to spread across the page and flow over the edge--let it take on form in your mind. Let it develop legs or inquisitive little ears. Let it question its existence and bask in the light until it is just feisty enough to call you to acute attention. This is usually about 24 hours for me, but each writer has their own red and green light when it comes to  revisions.

See what I mean? Spilt milk. All you ever need to know.



What are your rules for revisions after you receive critique? Are you a spilt milk kinda gal/guy?