Best thing about being 40…

There are posts going up among my Facebook friends quoting the bests things about being forty…my favorite among them is: there was internet when I was twenty – so there is no evidence of my stupidity.

The Huffington post ran this one yesterday by Amy Wruble: 40 Effed Up Things About Being 40

I’d like to add my own neurosis to the list…there are huge benefits and not so much things I like to think about…ready, here we go.

THE GOOD:

1. I know myself.

2. I am a Mom.

3. I’m in a good relationship and married to my best friend. (that part takes work people)

4. I am pretty comfortable in my own skin.

5. I feel good. aka (knock on wood) I’m healthy.

6. I’m still ambitious.

7. I have great friends.

8. I have a past and a future.

9. I have my own money.

10. I have acquired nice things, art, jewelry, shoes and clothes, and appreciate them all.

11. I’m thinner than I was when I was 20.

THE NOT SO GOOD:

1. I can see myself aging. My skin wrinkles inside the crease of my elbow, laugh lines and forehead perfection lines require bangs or Botox, dark circles have appeared beneath my eyes and my lids are heavier.

2. There are coarse hairs growing from places I don’t approve of and I’m afraid of losing my sight and having no one pull them!

3. My daughter is young, and I’m afraid before she creates a permanent memory of me, I’ll be old and she’ll never know me as young. My mother stopped agin at 42-years-old for me in my mind, I was 14. I am forty-four, if my little girl stops aging me in her mind at 14-years-old I’ll be 53. Don’t know what that’ll look like, but I’m worried!

4. It takes me longer to recover from injury.(back pain or when I hurt myself from dancing too hard in Zumba!)

5. It takes me longer to recover from a drink or two.

6. I can’t stay out late and hang with my younger friends.

7. The skin on my back, above my bra is sagging – seriously WTF!

8. I’m not on the New York Times Bestseller list…yet. (see ambition on the plus side of things)

9. Menopause will not be my friend.

10. Despite aging I am now also battling breakouts.

Overall, things in my life are downright awesome. I am thankful for it all, the good and not so good. Anything freaking you out? Do tell.

 

 

 

 

 

Gayle Forman, Just One Day

I met Gayle Forman at the LA times Festival of Books, years ago, when it was still held on the UCLA campus, when my daughter was still a baby, in 2009. She was part of a YA panel that included Jandy Nelson and Sonya Sones. It was a panel on death in YA. I was dipping my toe into the genre, finding my way and learning all I could because I had an idea and I was attempting to write that idea into a book.

I settled into a middle row early on and watched as the room filled with other eager writers. Sonya snapped a photo of the audience, I smiled big and waved at the camera and became a face in the crowd of her memory. Little did she know, that this panel and its authors would fuel a growing fire inside me to follow my dream.

Sonya was the moderator and dove into the role with gusto that was refreshing and informative. I listened to Gayle, Jandy and Sonya wishing I could know each of them better. Gayle and Jandy had chemistry, a connection based on ideas and perspectives of the world.

Their connection was genuine and contagious and I wanted to be connected to that free flow of ideas and liked-mindedness. To be friends with them too, to sit and talk about how plants could tell moods, how the number eleven is everywhere in my life, that I speak to dragonflies and how hawks circle me, and wasn’t that was similar to them? Symbols and character voices are a part of the world I live in, but they were new and I wanted to affix to those who successfully tamed their sensory perceptions and  wrote engaging, heartfelt, sometimes joyful and then heart-wrenching stories.

However, since I’m not a stalker, I did what I could. I bought their books and waited in line to have them autographed. I remember the smell of the books. Jandy Nelson’s The Sky is Everywhere, thick hard cover with a heart and bold type artwork. The dark hair and blue eyes peering upward from the bottom of the soft cover of Gayle Foreman’s if i stay,  and Sonya Sone’s One of Those Hideous Books Where the Mother Dies, and I thought, my mother dies too. Torn between finding some shade and breaking into all the books at once and the desire to meet them and have them sign my books, I gave into the second and got into the long winding line, had my name written on a post-it so they could autograph my book especially to me, without misspelling my name.

As I inched toward the white pop up tent where they sat, joking with each other, their inside jokes and secret language easy to spot twenty people back, I began getting nervous. Would I say something? And if I do…what???? I was new at the whole YA thing. I hadn’t found my voice, figured out my story or have an inkling if I could write a whole book.

I was worried about starting out so late in life, I was forty, was that too old to begin a career in young adult publishing? I handed a book to Jandy first, she has soft eyes and an inviting smile. Gayle took her books too and I see both of their eyes on me. And before I have the thought to speak, I hear my nervous voice, the higher pitch version coming out of my throat and saying,”I’m trying to write a YA book too. Do you think it’s too late to start?” To which both Gayle and Jandy say, “NO!”

Jandy tells me she’s forty-four and this is her first book. And Gayle says something that I can’t quite recall, but it’s as if they give me permission to get over myself and do it, because they do it. She smiles at me. Jandy takes a picture of Gayle, and Gayle uses it as her author photo for a while. And for an instant I’m in on an inside joke.

I read Gayle’s work voraciously. I wonder how she uses such clear simple language and yet conveys so much to the reader. I’m in awe. I find her first book, Sisters in Sanity, and study how her writing has evolved, and see what makes her voice ping my heart every time I read it.

Then yesterday, I finished Just One Day and the book is full of moments that change a girl’s life. And I think, yes, in a way Gayle did that for me.

“…He said that earlier, about accidents, about never knowing which one is just a kind in the road and which one is a fork, about never knowing your life is changing until it’s already happened.”

I love this, and she had that same effect on me. The idea I had when I showed up at the LA Times Festival of Books was the seed for What Death has Touched. It took me a while to find my way, and figure out the story and work my craft to shape it, but I did it. And if weren’t for the kindness of a stranger, a woman I admire, along with a smile and a “yes you can” I don’t know if my dream of writing a young adult novel would come true. I wouldn’t have met all the authors, agents and editors I call my friends. My life would be less complete, definitely less rich, because all I ever wanted to do was write stories, it’s just I got sidetracked by another career for a while.

I hope that you too have those encounters in your life. The small moments when the click happens and a shift occurs, quietly or even with a bang. I hope you ride out the storm and find yourself happier because of it. Because for me life it about growth and change, without those what’s the point? And without happy accidents the jourey less fun.

So thank you Gayle Forman for continuing to inspire me. And I can’t wait to read Willem’s side of the story!

Mayday

I remember watching movies and hearing, “Mayday, mayday!” as an actor clutched a handset yelling for help into the great unknown.

This May has been a whirlwind. I’ve been working hard on the Charlotte Leukemia Lymphoma Society’s (LLS) Man of the Year campaign. We were tapped to participate a handful of days prior to kickoff and we are a team of 2 competing against others who are fundraising for the LLS. Other people have teams of ten or more and planned events for months, which is very impressive. But I got to tell you…I’m exhausted. I think I could have been a professional fundraiser if I wasn’t a writer, it employs many of the same specialities as film and television production- tenacity and not taking no for an answer. But it hasn’t left me much mind space for writing.

Until now. We’re at the home stretch. Tomorrow we are hosting a wine tasting, next Saturday, May 18 is the LLS Gala and then (hands flew up over my head) I’m done. My creative mind knows it will have my full attention. It’s bubbling with story ideas and plot points for TWO stories. I can’t believe it. I have two more book ideas in mind. I’m so excited! I can’t believe I can write more than one book.

And then another thought creeps into my mind. Mother’s Day. In my household I have a simple request. My husband has to take over Mommy duties for the day. I don’t want overpriced flowers- get them for me all year not on one day- I don’t want an expensive brunch. I want him to make the coffee, challah french toast, cook and clean, go to the grocery store and do the laundry including taking it out of the drier and folding it! I want him to be reminded of how hard it is to do it all. And I am happy to say, he does it.

But then I think about my struggle to have another child and remember there are women in our world who haven’t been able to fulfill their desire to have a family. I imagine Mother’s Day is hard for them. My heart breaks knowing a little bit of how they feel.

And now the story of the three girls and their child held captive comes out. I can’t wrap my brain around the horror they survived. The pain and grief their captivity caused their mother’s and families. I am thankful they are once again with their families. But I for one will be chaperoning my daughter for a long long long long long time.

And this is why I am calling, “Mayday!” There is so much good and bad, happy and sad going on this month. I am torn, elated, pushed and pulled, and I want to pause and take a breath. Hope this month has been a good one for you.

 

Defining Success

If you ask me to define success, my answer would depend on the day. Today, it means I achieved the literary goal of submitting my novel to the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award. I had to achieve four smaller goals on the ladder reaching toward the ultimate goal of having my book on your bookshelf (and everyone you know’s bookshelf).

The goals took herculean effort. I added over four thousand words to my young adult novel in less than one week and did my best to smooth out the edges of those words, that became scenes and dialogue, so that they fit into my book seemlessly. I stayed up late. I kept an open notebook next to my bed with a pen at the ready for those ideas that elluded me during the day. I made myself keep my ass in the chair and made myself write even when it got numb, my daughter came home early from school and when dinner had to get made.( We ate too much frozen pizza last week, I’m not that good!)

I wrote even when I thought I couldn’t and I kept at it when I felt like I was failing, when each word dragged me down the path of self doubt. I struggled against hating my work. I changed the title of my book to What Death has Touched. I rewrote my pitch too. I pushed past the fear of sucking and embarrassing myself in a very public way. I posted on Facebook that I was entering the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest, so I couldn’t quit. And then I hated myself for telling everyone in case I don’t make it past the first round.

If it weren’t for my friend Lisa Koosis setting fire under my ass I would never have done it.  She reminded me about the contest and said she was going to submit and I thought, hmm, maybe I could, too. Then my uncle passed, my daughter had surgery and life got a bit more hectic than anticpated. All those luxurious days I thought I’d have to edit and revise were gone. So I did what it took to reignite my passion, I gave myself an impossible deadline. I uploaded what I had and announced my entry on FB knowing full well the book had to be revised to meet the guidelines. Now I had to do it. There was no turning back. I am not a liar. I told 500 people I was in, dam straight I was going to be!

I double-dog-dared myself and leaned on Lisa for help. I sent her emails filled with self dout and fear. I told her the probability of me losing and then got back to the work at hand. She cheered me on. Each one of these things is a success. I hate when people quote,  ”It’s about the journey not the destination.” Fuck that. It’s both.

It’s about working harder than you ever thought you could to achieve a dream and not quiting. It’s about checking off attainable boxes that drag you the higher goals kicking and sweating. I have a quote posted on my board, it says:

AS ONE PUBLISHED AUTHOR ONCE TOLD ME, “IT’S A WAR OF ATTRICIAN. DO NO ATTRICE!”

So I’m happy to say I did it. Ironically the contest closed before the closing date of January 27, 11:59 PM because 10,000 people had entered (it closed at 10k or 1/28 whichever came first). I didn’t get to upload the last version of my book What Death has Touched, but honestly that doesn’t upset me. I did what I thought was impossible to do. I wrote a book. I rewrote a book and revised it and sweat over it and critiqued it and hated it and loved it and am shopping it. I am one stubborn woman. And today I am not wallowing in my lack of control over what happens to it next, no, today I am working on my next novel because this is who I am. I am a glutton for punishment, I am a writer.

What the hell is holding you back? Get over it!

Dictionary.com’s definition:

suc·cess noun

1.the favorable or prosperous termination of attempts orendeavors; the accomplishment of one’s goals.

2.the attainment of wealth, position, honors, or the like.

3.a performance or achievement that is marked by success, as bythe attainment of honors: The play was an instant success.

4. a person or thing that has had success, as measured byattainment of goals, wealth, etc.: She was a great success on the talkshow.

5.Obsolete , outcome.

Waiting

I vaguely remember dating and the anxiety over waiting for a phone call after the first date. If the date was good, I’d fixate on how the first kiss was. I’d remember all the sensory sensations of being near him, how his clothes fit his body, his smell, the taste of his mouth, how swollen my lips were after kissing him, how my skin was electrified by a new touch, and then I would wonder, was it the same for him?

Would he call in 3 days or one week? I dated in LA so all bets were off regarding dating callback etiquette. Beautiful girls were everywhere models and actresses literally lined the streets, I was neither. I wasn’t so much into playing games. If I liked someone I liked them a bit too much at first. I was the nicest version of myself. I could take nearly three months for the real me, the moody, ever so slightly bitchy girl to emerge. The one who didn’t want to pamper the new guy. The one who was like, seriously you’re boring me- let’s do something fun. I feel the same anxiety now, as I impatiently wait to hear back from a literary agent.

I’m here now, at my desk thinking of all the busy work I can do to keep my mind off an agent calling, emailing, texting, twittering, anything asking me for more pages, and wanting to represent me. I’m not good at this part. I should keep writing and revising. I should dig in to book 2. Instead, I think about how:

1. I need to sort out my taxes.
2. I need to go food shopping.
3. I need to get my hair colored.
4. I’d love a mani.
5. I need to clear the clutter off my desk.
6. It’s nearly my birthday and I am freaked out about turning 44.
7. Gray it is outside.

All these things are weak distractions. I’ve got to refocus.  Insert sound of my nails strumming the wood on my desk and the image of me biting the inside of my right lower lip.  I can do this. It will happen. Yes I can.

bad dreams and querying

My young adult novel, Life-Like has a life of its own in the world now. It sits patiently waiting in query mailboxes across the country and across the pond. All my years of writing, all my dreams, are in the hands of strangers waiting to be judged. I wrote the best book I could. Some agents will pass, okay, most may, but I am in search of my agent. The one who gets and loves the story. In the meantime, the next story I want to write is growing in my mind, which is a good thing. But I’m having terrible nightmares too.

As some of my followers know I suffer from secondary infertility. We struggled for three years to have a second child. We stopped trying a little over one year ago. Some days I’m better about that loss than others. But what I’m not okay with is having baby dreams. I used to dream about the same baby all the time. In most of the dreams, he is a toe headed little boy, that runs around, playing with the three of us completing our family.

Another vivid dream I had,  was me sitting in my bed, cradling a newborn, feeding him a bottle when my mom walks in and smiles. I turn to her and say, “And I was worried.” As if all the years of stress over having a second child were ridiculous. In that dream, I believe my failure to keep a pregnancy should never have haunted me, made me feel less than, broken, hollow, or defeated. Of course I had my son. It was always meant to be.

I can tell you dreams like that crush me. And it’s been a long while since that little boy has appeared to me. But he’s back. If I had any ability to sketch, I’d show you his cherub face and full pouty baby lips.  And if I could share how sweet he is, how loving his soul feels I would do that too. In the past two weeks I’ve dreamed about babies at least three times. Twice I saw that little boy. It was a bittersweet reunion.

The third dream was more like a nightmare. I was in labor (‘nough said) and I gave birth to a healthy baby – and then more labor came and I gave birth to a second baby. The second was much bigger than the first, and more robust. I held both and marveled at the differences. Then my mom came in and looked at me and the babies and told me I had to give one up. I was devastated.

Next thing I knew, my 4-year-old little girl was tapping my shoulder and woke me up. It was a shocking transition from dream world to reality and the horror of the choice I had to make clung to me all day. clearly it still affects me.  Now I hate it when people tell me my book is my baby. The only thing my infertility and writing have in common is the anxiety they both can cause.

So, what’s a girl to do? I have no idea. I do know I’ll keep writing and I will most likely keep dreaming of babies. But I think I’ll go to bed and pray for sweet dreams and good news. Fingers crossed for both.

My friend Justine Musk is brilliant. I can’t write the way she does, but I can share her wisdom.

JUSTINE MUSK/ BECAUSE YOU’RE A CREATIVE BADASS.

on Oprah and her (apparently) supernatural powers of influence

I’m fascinated by Oprah. I was also fascinated by the response to her book club – more specifically, the snark, which culminated in Jonathan Franzen’s infamous withdrawal of his novel THE CORRECTIONS for fear that the fabled O sticker slapped on the cover would turn off serious readers, male readers.

Because the implicit understanding was that Oprah’s audience translated to worshipful Midwestern housewives who would drink poison if she told them to, follow her off a cliff.

Yet when you read the Amazon reviews of Oprah’s book club picks, you couldn’t help but notice a lot of dissent. Members of her audience might buy a book based on her recommendation, but that didn’t mean they would like it, or agree with the ideas expressed within it, or approve of the characters.

When Oprah’s name came up in conversation, you could usually count on someone (who never watched the show, except, possibly, in secret) to accuse her audience of being a bunch of lemmings, but even within Oprah’s magical aura it was clear that there was independent thinking going on.

I think that was my first inkling of the nature of influence. When I started this blog, there was a lot of online conversation about influence, a lot of talk about why writers and other creatives needed to build platforms so they could amass influence – so they could wave a wand, say “Buy my book!” and peoplewould. Because they said so.

After all, it’s not about the number of fans and followers you have, it’s about your ability to get some or all or any of them to take a specific action (like buy your book) when you ask. And if you were really smart and savvy and hardworking and lucky, you could become an Influencer, one of those special few who control the forces of the universe.

What I’ve learned since is that people with genuine influence don’t have some special brand of mind control over their victi – their audience. What they have – what they have earned over time – is the trust of a community that has formed around their content because it is in sync with whatever vision the content happens to express. The influencer didn’t make people like it – persuade or convince or manipulate them – so much as give voice to something that already existed within them, that resonated, that called them home.

What’s more, the influencer somehow embodies these ideas, is a walking talking representation of them, and so the members of the community see themselves reflected back in a way that inspires. Not just who they are, but who they want to be.

People didn’t watch Oprah’s show because it left them feeling bad about themselves — or even satisfied yet vaguely ill, like after a big meal at McDonald’s. The show gave them hope that they could indeed live their best life, and they trusted that Oprah knew what she was talking about because she was one of them, a woman with her own struggles, who had a history of staring down adversity — and winning.

And Oprah understood. She ‘got’ them, which means she knew how to serve them. She gave them content that they could connect with – not all of them all of the time, but enough. What some people liked to scoff at as brainwashing or mind control — or the bovine stupidity of housewives, and the misogyny behind that is worth a post of its own – turns out to be a deep, intelligent empathy, and an intuitive feel for what her audience would respond to, based on years and years of feedback and interaction.

My sense of influence now is that of a conduit — channeling the right content for the right community – so maybe influence, in the end, is a fancy way of talking about curation, whether it’s art or stories or information about a specific subject or ideas. It’s about tapping something in your own personal core – something authentic – that connects to a larger whole through the way you express, amplify it. It’s about uncovering an emotional truth, and holding it up for others to see, and doing it again and again. It’s about a private, unspoken contract you have with each member of the community about what you represent and how you serve.

Change those ideas – like Meg Ryan morphing from cute fusspot girl-next-door to brooding dramatic actress – or violate them in any way, and your community just might disappear.

Influence is a two-way street. Just when you think you’re creating a community, the community is creating you.

One week ago tomorrow, I sent my first query and submission to an agent.  Want to know what I’ve been doing since then? Recuperating. Seriously, I have. Once I committed to releasing LIFE-LIKE into the inbox narcolepsy took control. I could barely keep my eyes open an hour after.

I have similar fits of sleepiness when I write scenes that challenge me. I almost always lay down in bed, the Sand Man busy dumping bushels of narcoleptic toxins over me. I always lay down with a pen and notebook by my side, knowing my subconscious will do wonders and help me. I nearly always have a breakthrough as sleep attempts to overtake me. I scribble notes across the blank sketchbook page and trust there will be something to work with when I wake up later.

But this is different. This is me with no control. It’s back to that taste and timing thing I mentioned a few weeks ago. Man, was that easier to say when years of work were still safe and sound, in my computer and under my control.

I know I should get cracking on the next book. I know what I’m going to write about. I even have a bit of an outline. But I can’t do it. I don’t know if I’m waiting for my first no to kick-start me. I hope not. I pray for a yes, but understand the statistical rarity. How many writers are repped by the first agent they query? Anyone want to chime in there?

I’ve built a spreadsheet. I pulled out my film producer hat and created order for my querying process. The header includes: date submitted, agent name, email, agent preferences, authors the agent reps, submission guidelines, and the name of a person I know who knows them (if they gave me approval to use their name). I see if they represent something a little too close to mine, and make sure I don’t query those who wouldn’t like my style or high concept.

I try to remember, during the SCBWI Carolina’s conference September 28-30 2012, Susan Chung,  editor at Tor Books, would have kept reading my book after hearing the 200 words read aloud. And agent Anna Olswanger, Liza Dawson Associates said, “The  writing flows and the dialogue is snappy. the high school setting is believable, as are the characters, and I ike Liv’s moment of vulnerability when Billy says, “I’m not with her”…” Ms. Olswanger went on to say,” I think this will be marketable. It has a believable teen setting with ghost story and romance, and it shows a girl and her mother who love each other, which is refreshing in YA literature.” That feedback is valuable.

I dont’ think it’s right to tell you who I submitted to. I will once the three week exclusive they requested is over. I respect them and honestly don’t want to risk upsetting them or muck up my chances with them. My hands and armpits start to sweat when I think about them reading or not reading my work. I will have to turn my focus toward Halloween. I love Halloween. Then I’ll start the first draft of my next book, title TBD.

Please, cross your fingers and say a little prayer for -LIFE-LIKE finding an agent and publisher soon. Thanks!

 

Fracture

I have so much to say about Megan Miranda‘s debut YA book FRACTURE, I don’t know where to begin. So please excuse a bit of rambling.

I love meeting writers and then reading their work. It’s fascinating to me to see the face, eyes, smile and body language behind the creative force. Plus, those I have met are supportive, and nothing is better than a published author cheering on a writer who is trying to get published.

I met Miranda at the SCBWI Carolina’s event a few weeks back. I wasn’t sure how I would approach her, until I read the cover of FRACTURE. It reads: a lot can happen in eleven minutes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now, you probably don’t know that the number 11 is magical in my life. All sorts of good and bad things happen on 11. I’ll give you a few instances so you can get an idea: My house burned down in November (11) got married the first time on 11/4 and divorced on 4/11. My daughter was born on 3/26, add those up=11 at 6:50PM (6+5=11) I look at the clock practically every day at 11:11. You may think I’m reaching, but I’m not 11′s are everywhere in my life. So when I read the tag line, knowing Megan couldn’t have ever known it would mean anything spectacular to me, I had to meet her and ask her why 11. The trick is how to introduce myself and not scare her.

The SCBWI Carolina’s Fall Conference had an evening event that allowed everyone to nosh and get books autographed. It was my chance to meet Megan, or so I thought. Megan’s book sold out at the event, I had nothing for her to sign. I walked up to her and saw one book sitting by her and asked if I could have that one, but unfortunately it was Alan Gratz‘s. I was bummed and pulled out my phone and ordered it immediately on amazon.com. Luckily the next morning, during the last event, I was seated in the back of the room, and had to leave for a moment to use the restroom. I pulled a chair out of the row so as not to disturb anyone else. When I returned Megan had taken my place. Opportunity!

I waited for a break in the action and wrote her a note, yes just like I was still in school, and asked if she wrote locally. (I was curious who at the conference was local and a potential critique partner in the future) Then when the speaker was done I asked her about the 11 minute thing and told her how that number was important to me. She got it and then asked me about my book. I gave her my little pitch on LIFE-LIKE and she said it was the kind of thing she liked. I told her my first page was read the night before and she remembered it, in a good way. I liked her. I like her science background, my dad is a chemical engineer, and I like how cool she is.

Fast forward to yesterday. I spent all day reading, which is a serious luxury.  I read FRACTURE. I didn’t want to stop reading FRACTURE. I was mesmerized by the similarities in our story in the first ten pages. We had parallel set ups and relationships between characters. It was fascinating to me, despite the thread of similarities, that we had unique perspectives on best friends who are a boy and a girl, who love each other but can’t figure it out. In both of our stories, friends pull apart and may not recover. A single event changes her protagonist Delany’s life as does an event alter my Liv. Yet, ultimately  LIFE-LIKE and FRACTURE are nothing alike. And that’s the magic of writing. Each writer has their own spin on a story.

Megan’s writing is clean and sharp. Her characters are vivid and the tension builds with the turn of every page. I marvel at how she dropped clues, weaved in danger, pity, lust, and pain. I envy the speed at which she is able to crank out a draft or three. It took her a year to write and rewrite FRACTURE.

So to sum it up, Megan Miranda’s FRACTURE is a must read. Pick it up. Don’t be embarrassed if you are not a teen. Download it to your Kindle or Nook, no one will know what book it is that you can’t put down. I look forward to her next book HYSTERIA, coming out in February 2013. And a fun bit of trivia, she wrote HYSTERIA first, but she didn’t get a deal until she wrote FRACTURE and then sold both. Proving once again, you can’t always know your path to success.

 

 

Taste & Timing

I think I’m finished, totally finished with my manuscript LIFE-LIKE. It’s in expert hands getting a grammatical once-over. Why can’t I take a deep breath and enjoy the small success? Neurotic Holly is taking full shape behind me. She’s typically spectral and whispers nonsense in my ears, encouraging me to doubt and second guess my choices.

But now that Halloween is fast approaching that bitch is getting stronger and is wearing a full on Elvira outfit. Sexy ain’t cute when it’s my own self doubt. You see, I made changes to the book, after I thought it was done, and now I’m not sure if I helped or hurt my story. I can’t see the words on the page, can’t feel the emotions behind the scenes I wrote. I’m too close. My tweakinghas gone on too long and now I’m officially done. If my friend doesn’t like the changes I made I’m going to revert to the older version and send it out. I know for sure it’s all a matter of taste.

I attended the SCBWI Carolina’s 20th Annual Fall conference. It was good. I got to meet new writers, talk to new acquaintances and have two critiques. The feedback in the critiques was fascinating, and also lead me to believe it’s time to set my book free and being querying.

You see, one note said it was offensive that my protagonist, Liv, looks at herself in the mirror and fixes her hair in a low ponytail so her Jewish nose wouldn’t look too big. The critique by, Anna Olswanger, agent at Liza Dawson Associates, said “I was risking making readers not like Liv, and the manuscript has too much potential to risk that.” Being a Jewish girl who has a Jewish nose, I didn’t agree and found it interesting how this agent latched onto that description. Ms. Olswanger also went on to say, “My book was marketable, and it was refreshing that my book shows a mother and daughter who love each other.” She was not a fan of the initial tone of my narrator but “the writing flows, and the dialogue is snappy. The high school setting is believable, as are the characters.”

Good stuff right? But it took my reading her critique five times to see the good points and not the stuff she didn’t like.

I also participated in First Pages. This is an event where Alan Gratz, reads the first 200 words of participants manuscripts aloud to two editors and one agent to get immediate feedback. I was scared and excited. I love how Alan reads. And when I heard him read mine, I was thrilled because he read the words as I imagined them while writing. He spoke Liv’s voice, and it was awesome! That being said, one editor and the agent didn’t dig it. The third editor, Susan Chang, Senior Editor Tor Books said, “I don’t like the use of the word ass, I think it’s meant to shock me, and I’m not sure about the starting on one direction and then shifting to another but, I would keep reading. And that my dears is all that matters!

At least that is what I keep telling myself. The other notes I received were all a matter of taste and timing. I have no control over those things. If an agent reads my query or work on a day they’re not in the mood for a story about death and limbo, or if they read enough characters named Liv, or they don’t get the spiritual element or they didn’t drink enough coffee, they’re tired and not in the mood to go through queries but are doing it anyway because maybe one thing will catch their attention, well i can’t do anything about that. I’ve done all I can to make LIFE-LIKE the best I can. So fingers crossed, it will strike a chord with an agent who will be able to sell it so in 2014 you can read it.

In the meantime, I’ve got to hog tie Elvira and get cracking on the next book. Because writers write, we can’t help ourselves. And I don’t’ quit.