What's A Sick Day?

I’m home today. I caught a stomach bug from my kids. I just checked the mailbox – no news on any of my submissions but most of the e-submissions will come to my email at work. I did get a letter from a girl I sponsor through the Christians Childrens Fund. I really need to write her a letter. Her mother has such kind words.

I am managing one of the best writing days I’ve had in a long time. I’ve finished a first draft of my Civil War short story – 3,998 words. I emailed to my cyber-friend for his opinion. I’ll do a re-write based on his recommendations and send it off to Appalachian Heritage Literary Magazine. I might send it to Glimmertrain too.

Yesterday I wrote a poem, Sanctuary, so I’m on track with my goals for this week. I typed Chapter 13 last night and this morning. I’ll need to go back over it this afternoon. I’m up to 50k on my novel.

I’m interested in finding a CD by Sheila Chandra. I heard a song by her on the Landscapes music channel and I just loved it. I researched her on the internet. It looks like she’s big in Europe. I’m going CD shopping before I pick up the kids. Hopefully my search will be a success.

I’ll spend the rest of the day re-writing Chapter 13 and cleaning out my writing bag. It’s getting really heavy.

Goodbye for now. . . .

I’m A Writer – Not A Typist

Today is sunny and I have my writing routine back. I haven’t heard any more bad news from my remaining submissions. My cyber-friend still has Winter of 1917. He probably doesn’t know where to start. I got an acknowledgement from Big Ugly Review. I should hear something from them after the July 15th deadline. It was the first acknowledgement I received from any of my submissions.

4 poems to Bathtub Gin (Sent 6/9/04)
2 poems to Wildchild Publishing (Sent 6/8/04 and 6/2/04)
2 poems to the New Yorker (Sent 5/11/04 - I suppose a gal can dream, can't she?)
6 poems to Asheville Poetry Review (Sent 6/2/04)
1 short story to The Gettysburg Review (Sent 4/28/04)
1 short story to Bellevue Literary Review (Sent 4/28/04)
Pitched to write a poetry column for Aspire2Write (Sent 6/9/04)
1 short story to Emerging Women Writers (6/15/04)
1 poem to The Big Ugly Review (6/18/04)
1 short story to The Big Ugly Review (6/21/04)

I now have seven pages of Chapter 13 on my legal pad and three pages of my Civil War short story handwritten. I’ve finished my poem for the week and now need to find a place to submit it. I managed a few energetic phrases and fresh images but I believe I know a few who might disagree.

Now I have to type everything. If I ever needed a magic wand, now is the time. I hate typing. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. I love the rush when I write and perfect words appear on the paper from my pencil. It seems so natural and the words flow from my brain to the pad with ease. I can write like this for hours at a time. Nevertheless, as with all good things, this flow must be halted and the tedious task of typing begins.

Typing is essential and I actually can type fast. I edit while I type and tighten any sloppy prose that slipped from my pencil during the creation. I couldn’t imagine submitting a handwritten manuscript in this day and age. Why do I hate it so? Why does the keyboard zap all creativity from my imagination and leave me with a cold analytical chill?

I suspect I know the answer. My world has a cold left brained side – my day job. Everything is run by computer and day after day I chart, analyze, and format data. It’s mind numbing and void of any real thought. Picture a robot on an assembly line and that’s how it feels for me. At least until payday! I suppose we all have our crosses to bear.

It’s a great writing day. . . . .

Getting Back On Track

The rain has left, at least for now.

I've only heard from Bygone Days regarding Winter of 1917. I still have hope for the rest of my submissions.

I lost most of my creativity this weekend while watching the girls play ball. Tonight was my youngest daughter’s last summer game. She gets a break until fall ball starts in August.

Like many writers, I use music to inspire me. I love anything Enya and I even bought Lord of the Rings – Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack just because there were two songs by her.

Right now, I have Enya, Vivaldi, and Handel in the CD player. I cannot create with the music on, but I like to think about scenes with my friends in the background. My novel is set in the South with a religious theme. Mahalia Jackson rules my room when I’m outlining the story. What an inspiration! I also listen to Lauren Hill's Selah' when I need to focus on what is really important.

My cyber-friend had a wonderful idea. We swapped stories to edit and critique. His story is really unique and I felt privileged to read it. All it needed was just a liitle tweaking. My story needs a lot of work and I was almost embarrassed to send it to him. I hope it doesn’t come back to me bleeding from all the red ink.

Anyway, this should be a normal week. My goal is to finish Chapter 13 (no I’m not finished yet), outline the Civil War short story, and complete a poem. I’ve already got some ideas for the poem.

Until tomorrow. . . .

What A Week!

The sun’s warm rays are brilliant stream of translucent yellow as they find escape through voids in the thick blue clouds. Ok, how is that for a refreshing phrase and a new image? I’m over this, I really am. I also emailed the editor at Bygone Days who said she’d be happy to consider Winter of 1917 if I want to submit it again with revisions. Isn’t it funny how these things work out.

My daughter came home from softball camp. She earned a spot on the All Camp Team. I’m very happy for her. My son’s last day of golf camp is today. My younger daughter has a double-header tonight and both girls have a tournament this weekend. Where will I find the time to write? Well, next week it is business as usual, so I’ll at least get my hour back at lunch.

I got an excellent critique and revision from a cyber friend.

I have not reached my goal of finishing Chapter 13 and I didn’t even think about the Civil War short story.

I only received one rejection this week and now have the option to rewrite it and resubmit. Perhaps I’ll get to input the revisions and the handwritten pages in the computer sometimes this weekend.

I suppose the week was not a total loss. . .

Bruised Artist Seeking Truth . . . .

It’s raining AGAIN! My daughter’s softball game was rained out AGAIN! I’m not sure if my depressed state of mind is a result of the rain or a result of a rejection and some too honest words.

I have a rejection from Bygone Days. I read the work on the website and thought Winter of 1917 was a good fit for the publication. I received the following reply and yes, actually was spelled wrong, but I am not above an occasional typo myself:

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thank you for letting us take a look at your story, Winter of 1917. It's
an intriguing story that is wonderfully dramatic. Unfortunately, the
telling by the narrator at some future point in time distances the reader
from the action, which lessens character development and impact. In fact,
your last paragraph might actaully work better as a first paragraph by
drawing the reader right into the story.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The editor is probably right. I’ll look at the story again and see what I can do to improve it with her suggestions, if it looks right. I won’t submit there again. I’ll probably fail, but I’ll seek out bigger fish.

I posted a poem on a website for critique. Many folks had good things to say, but I can’t get the following out of my head:

----------------------------------------------------
--At any rate, this did seem
heartfelt and yet flawed by tired phrases and
the absence of fresh images.
----------------------------------------------------

Flawed by tired phrases and absence of fresh images – well isn’t that a kick in the head! My style is simple and honest. I don’t believe I have dark or flowery metaphors in my repertoire, nor do I think they fit my style. Perhaps my style is tired phrases and absent of fresh images. I wanted to write back and call him a pompous old fart, but instead I complimented the group on their quality of work, laughed it off that I’m just beginning, and I so appreciated them taking the time to respond. Most of them were very helpful and pleasant.

On a good note, despite the hectic week, I managed to get five pages of Chapter 13 on the yellow legal pad. I hope to get it input into the computer either today at lunch or tomorrow.

BLHHHHHHHHHSSSSS (that’s the air going out of my sails)

Pulled In Three Directions

It started out cloudy - those dark blue clouds that hover, ready to burst right when you're halfway between your car and the building. But now I can see spots of brilliant blue showing themselves through openings in the thinning clouds.

I have not received any news on my submissions. I added another 200 words to my WIP, making the total 48.2K. I had to revise a section of Chapter 2. I'll need to go over it again to make sure it works. I still have Chapter 13 on the yellow legal pad. I have an outline of where it will go when it switches POV. Thank heavens for the three asterisks (* * *). My work wouldn't be the same without them.

A bit of inspiration hit me at lunch for a poem. My daughter hasn't had a good camp experience and really wants to come home. I begged her to stay the night, she relented after many tears and tender hugs. On one hand I want her to have the complete camp experience, but on the other hand I'm grateful she misses me at all. My theme for this poem will be: Am I Worthy of Such Love. I have a long, boring meeting today at 1pm, so I'll work on it then. I am going to watch her play a scrimmage tonight. I can't wait to see her even though I'll have to miss my younger daughter's game. But since her tourney is double elimination, I'll get to see the next game.

My younger daughter misses her sister something awful and moped around the house all evening. I hate to see her so sad but I'm happy she cares enough. Although they fight with each other on occasion, I'm proud of their relationship. I always tell them to stay close, for one day, all they'll have is each other. I don't mean to be "gloom and doom". I want them to share secrets, confide in each other, trust each other, and "have each other's back". I believe that's the way sisters should be.

My son enjoyed golf camp. I'm glad for the amount of money spent for one week. I have to pick him up by 3pm today.

This is not a good week for writing. I have lots of analysis to do at work, which kills any creativity I have.

I have yet to write anything for my short story on the Droop Mountain Civil War Battle. I wrote The Abomination and Confessions of a Softball Mom in the same week so I'm still ahead of plan. Perhaps I'll "stew" it for one more week and begin next week when camps are over.

I'm starting to sound like Scarlett O'Hara - I'll think about this tomorrow. . . .

Clogged

It's raining today and I was caught outside during most of the torrential down pours this morning. The first time was when I dropped off my son at golf camp and again when I checked my daughter into softball camp. I had to go purchase an alarm clock for her. I found one for $5 and ran it back over to the dorm (in a hard rain). They had already left for swimming so I had to leave it hanging on her doorknob. I don't know if she'll be able to set it or not.

I have to leave my cell phone on just in case she needs me. I'll forget to charge it by Wednesday. I only recently memorized my number. Like an idiot, I am wearing sandals, now my shoes are soaked. I'm sitting here at work with my shoes off and hoping no one can smell the wet feet odor.

My younger daughter won her softball game last night. She plays again on Tuesday evening.

Needless to say, all creativity has been lost - washed from me as the water soaked me to the bone. Mondays are the most hectic. I tried to put some inspirational music in the CD but I turned it off without realizing it.

My goal for this week is to finish Chapter 13, draft a short story on the Droop Mountain Civil War battle, and pen a poem.

I still haven't heard back from any submissions and I submitted The Abomination to Big Ugly Review Flash Fiction. I'm pretty happy with it. Time will tell. Here is the total list of submissions:

4 poems to Bathtub Gin (Sent 6/9/04)
2 poems to Wildchild Publishing (Sent 6/8/04 and 6/2/04)
2 poems to the New Yorker (Sent 5/11/04 - I suppose a gal can dream, can't she?)
6 poems to Asheville Poetry Review (Sent 6/2/04)
1 short story to Bygone Days (Sent 6/8/04)
1 short story to The Gettysburg Review (Sent 4/28/04)
1 short story to Bellevue Literary Review (Sent 4/28/04)
Pitched to write a poetry column for Aspire2Write (Sent 6/9/04)
1 short story to Emerging Women Writers (6/15/04)
1 poem to The Big Ugly Review (6/18/04)
1 short story to The Big Ugly Review (6/21/04)

Must. . .make(gasp). . .myself. . .write (gasp). . . .

Blue Sunday

It's sunny, another mid-nineties day. Today is Sunday, so no post. I did receive a rejection letter from Stephanie Abou from the Joy Harris Literary Agency yesterday. I queried them in November 2003. I was relieved, because the letter was thin, and based on my experience, thin letters don’t carry good news. I can’t help but the think the janitor found this one under a cabinet, the enveloped trampled upon for weeks before it took shelter. I understand why authors question the effect of a query letter on an agent.

On another note, my parents meeting turned out ok (I hope) but it took three hours of cursing, yelling, accusing, and pure bitching to get there. I was not a spectator as I planned to be, but rather the moderator between two factions, one felt they were being lied to, and the other one with a hidden agenda. I knew about the hidden agenda because my husband was a part of the rebel movement. I chose not to be.

My basement, where the meeting took place, still trembles with negative energy. My daughter is sick today – I believe from nerves. I had a headache most of last night and was physically ill three times. We both have missed Church. I must plan something fun in that room soon to rid it of the bad karma.

No writing will be done today, but I have some great material to show anger, some insight to how a liar manipulates people who are trusting, and emotions when trust is broken.

My youngest daughter begins a tournament this evening, I still have five loads of laundry to do, and I have to get my sick daughter packed for camp.

I cannot think of anything snappy to close with, so I’ll just say so long for now.

I'm Still Trudging Along

It's sunny today and the temperature is in the mid-nineties. There is still no word on my submissions. I don't have access to my email at work - which is where most of the e-submissions should reply. The mail hasn't come yet - waiting for Gettysburg Review and Asheville Poetry Review. I won't get much writing done today, but I'll "stew" some scenes around in my head.

I submitted What We've Become to the Big Ugly Review. I also wrote a Flash Fiction piece to submit to them. I have it posted on my favorite forum for feedback.

I've been looking at the Big Ugly Review's submission guidelines for awhile before I decided to submit. They are accepting submissions for their second issue so I assume they are a new e-zine. I believe they are out of San Francisco.

The Poetry theme was Broken Things. I wrote What We've Become a few weeks ago but didn't have a title for it until yesterday. It fit the theme so I thought what the heck.

Their flash fiction had to begin with a certain phrase. I typed the phrase on the screen and then The Abomination was born. I'm pretty pleased with it and I wrote it in ten minutes at work.

I am hosting a parents meeting today for my daughter's Softball team. I won't go into details, but there will be a lot of emotion today. I dread this and hate that it's come to this point. I'd love to bring a pad and pencil just to jot down the reactions - facial reactions, tone of voice, body language, etc. It will be fascinating but in the end, some great people are going to get their feelings hurt. Some say writers sit back and observe life. Any other time I'd disagree with them, but not today.

Today, I shall be a spectator.

How Do We Do It?

The sun is shining and it's going to get humid this afternoon. But at least it's not raining.

I have not received anything back from my submissions. But still, no news is good news. I now have 48K words with my novel and I still have yet to type any of Chapter 13. I'm pleased with the progress and the quality (I think it's quality - but this remains to be seen) of my words. I'm not on track to be completed by the first of September but I'm trying.

I worry about how much writing I'll get done next week. My oldest daughter is going to an overnight camp at the local university for a week, my son is going to a Golf day camp, and my youngest daughter has a softball tourney all week long. This means arriving at my day job late, no lunch, and leaving early. Thank goodness I have an understanding boss, which is sort of strange since he is not married and has no children.

I finished editing Chapter 12 last night at the ball field. I won't look at it again until it's a FG (for those of you who don't work in the manufacturing industry that's Finished Goods) and no longer a WIP. I wanted to work more on Chapter 13 but I looked a little anti-social as a I sat under an isolated tree away from the other parents. So after I finished my edits I pulled my chair over to the group and joined in.

Perhaps I'll get some time this weekend. I don't plan on any writing or editing to be done over the weekend, so if it happens (and it rarely does) I consider it a freebie.

I need to come up with another short story idea. I have one brewing about the Droop Mountain Civil War Battle. I have the characters talking in my head, and have envisioned the scenes, but I have nothing on paper. I found a scanned copy of a booklet on the battle on some obscure internet site. It was written by a professor from my old college. I love the internet. I couldn't imagine the hours I'd have to spend at the library or some other archive to compile enough data to make a story.

I wonder how writers of old did it? I mean, I'm editing and re-editing, then editing again. I'd have killed a forest by now if I had to do it on a typewriter. I watched a documentary on J.R.R. Tolkien earlier this week on Ovation, and they showed his old typewriter. What an artist! To create an entire new language and Middle Earth with a typewriter is shear genius in my book. I saw a Biography once on Mario Puzo. He sent the first draft of the book The Godfather to the publisher and went on vacation. When he returned, the book was being printed - from the first draft. I could only dream.

But that's who we are, us writers. We are dreamers.

What A Writer Needs

The sun is shining and the rain is gone. A few puffy clouds float by in the sky. I watch them through the filthy office window, longing to join them. But alas the numbers, spreadsheets, and waterfall charts beckon from my screen.

I won't get much writing done today. Four dentists appointments this morning made me late for work (and over $500.00 poorer) so I won't get lunch. I haven't received any news or rejections on any of my submissions. I guess no news is good news. I try to be patient, but it is hard. Sometimes I'd like to pick up the telephone, get a live person on the other end, and scream, "What's taking so damn long?" Now that's professional, isn't it?


I did manage to bring my WIP word count up to 47.5K with some edits that I am quite happy with. I also have about another 700 words for Chapter 13 still on the yellow legal pad stuffed in my writing bag to be typed whenever I can steal a few minutes. My writing bag - funny, last time I was at the dentist and I left it there. I panicked when I realized I'd forgotten it.

It's a simple plain blue tote bag. Inside are the must haves for a writer on the go: Thesaurus (the big mac daddy - no compact one will suffice), a small dictionary, a file of my current work, my journal for when I get the inspiration to write poetry, a file of my submissions, and a pencil pouch for black pens, red pens, pencils, and highlighters that I lifted from one of the kids. I never know when those pesky voices in my head will say something brilliant.

I purchased an Alphasmart a while back. It wasn't until $200.00 later I realized I prefer to write long hand and edit on the computer. Actually I've developed a system that works for me. I write and create long hand (believe me - no one else could read it), edit as I type, and edit one more time before moving on. I hope this will minimize the editing later on.

I chat with other writers on Forums and it's funny how you come to know them and share details of yourself. You consider them friends even though they could pass you on a crowded sidewalk and you wouldn't recognize them. It's exciting to see how others write, their voices, their styles, their rants. Its also somewhat sad that I'll probably never meet them and chat face to face.

These folks are invaluable to me. I trust them when they tell me something isn't working, when they tell me something is working, and they are considerate when I rant. They'll never know just how much I rely on them.

Well, there you have it! A writer needs good paper and sharp pencils. But most of all a writer needs loyal comrades beside us, as we tread down into the publishing trenches.

The Sun Is Shining

After three days of rain, the sun at last, peeks over the horizon at dawn and by the time I arrive at my day job the sky is a brilliant blue. I live in the Southeast, where droughts are common and three days of rain is heaven sent. It is not politically correct to vent my disgust of the gray skies and dampness around here, even though I know there are many who feel the same way.

Anyway, I polished (or what I thought was polished) a short story and submitted it to Emerging Women Writers for their July issue of Passion. It is not a regular story of passion between humans, but rather a passion for the sport of girls softball.

With online submissions, I always print my sent email and attachment so I can keep track of everything. When I reviewed my submission, I was thrown into a writers worst nightmare: A TYPO. It was nothing significant, but I've fretted about it all night and it still lingers in my mind this morning.

I haven't received any word on any of my submissions. I'm dying to hear something but at least I have not been rejected. I tell myself that my submissions are making their rounds on the editors desks. I refuse to believe my writing is so bad, they have a good laugh before tossing my work into the trash. As for the poetry column pitch, I looked through my sent emails and couldn't find the message I sent on June 9th - so I resent it. Hey the worst thing they could do is say no.

So, anyway, I have achieved my short story goal for this week and wrote a first draft of a poem called My Heaven. I'm not happy with that either. I did make some revisions on Chapter 12 of my novel and those I am happy about. Chapters 11 and 12 have been very difficult for me.

Chapter 11 - My protagonist is thrust into a situation that challenges everything he whole-heartedly believes about mankind. Thus the character evolves from idealistic young adult to a jaded and sometimes judgemental individual, much to his despair.

Chapter 12 - Another primary character - a seven year old - is beaten up by a gang of other kids. I love this character - his honesty, the way he views the world, his rambunctiousness, and his high energy. No one can be the same after "a beating" like he gets (I refuse to say I beat him up) and now he must change. I hate to do this but like my protag in Chapter 11, he must change in order for the story to continue.

Alas, the dilemmas we have as a writer.

Pure Grace

June 15, 2004
Tuesday

My writer friends all blog. Anyone who is anyone blogs. So here I am trying to be someone.

My pen name is B. K. Birch. My genre is Southern Historical Literary Fiction and short stories and I dabble in poetry. I've been writing seriously since summer of 2000 but have yet to be published. I had an agent once - for my first novel - but it floundered on its rounds to the publishers and I have since shelved it. Not that it is bad, but my name isn't well known and I have no publishing credits.

I have moved on to novel number two and dropped my agent. I have relaxed to write what I want and haven't found a new agent. I'm not looking really. I have a weekly goal of writing. It consists of one or two poems, a short story or two, and at least one chapter of my novel.

Of course I fit this in with my day job in the manufacturing business and being a mother of four very athletic children.

Currently I have the following out for submission:

4 poems to Bathtub Gin (Sent 6/9/04)
2 poems to Wildchild Publishing (Sent 6/8/04 and 6/2/04)
2 poems to the New Yorker (Sent 5/11/04 - I suppose a gal can dream, can't she?)
6 poems to Asheville Poetry Review (Sent 6/2/04)
1 short story to Bygone Days (Sent 6/8/04)
1 short story to The Gettysburg Review (Sent 4/28/04)
1 short story to Bellevue Literary Review (Sent 4/28/04)
Pitched to write a poetry column for Aspire2Write (Sent 6/9/04)

I am 47K into my second novel and hope to complete it by September. Time will tell. Both of my girls play Softball on a travel team and my oldest son is into Golf. My youngest - well, he's just along for the ride. Isn't life grand?