I went to the book store today to write and had an amazing result. I wrote over one thousand words of a novella I had started over three years ago. I also researched a place I am going to submit to when it is done.
It hit me today, if a coffee shop was good enough for JK Rowling then a book store with a coffee shop is good enough for me. It always showed me the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow. Someday soon my name will be part of the displayed books in that store.
I did realize what my problem in the past has been. I write and then get so excited to be done I don't take as much time as I should to edit my writing when I send it off for consideration and get rejected. However I was reading in the writers guide to publishers how to find the secret code and I realize I've reached some of those steps in the past.
After writing my first novel I sent a query letter to an agent and she requested a partial submission, most people don't even make it that far. I need to keep plugging and working and never stop. My sister told me that our family has nominated me to write a book about the family. I don't think a family erotic novel is what they are thinking of. But I will keep it in my mind for a later date.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
A fresh start
I'm still reviewing old material I have written and after starting and stopping two other projects I have come to the conclusion that I need to write an erotic novella first. I had started one called HR Nightmare about erotic happenings in a spa. This will take less time then a full novel and could be published faster (hopefully).
I have just returned from a five day vacation in NY and feel refreshed in all the senses of the word. Of course part of me feels like a failure. My uncles are very successful, one an executive, a chef, a painter (don't knock it. I hate doing it.), my aunt is a professor and we won't even talk about my cousins. They are starting there lives and making a splash of it. I however ended up a massage therapist and I know I am talented but I'm still not the author I thought I would be at this age. Off to write.
I have just returned from a five day vacation in NY and feel refreshed in all the senses of the word. Of course part of me feels like a failure. My uncles are very successful, one an executive, a chef, a painter (don't knock it. I hate doing it.), my aunt is a professor and we won't even talk about my cousins. They are starting there lives and making a splash of it. I however ended up a massage therapist and I know I am talented but I'm still not the author I thought I would be at this age. Off to write.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Reviewing old material
I'm reduced to writing new ideas and some old in my blog now because my new laptop is in need of programming. I was rereading my very first novel and have decided to take the barebones it has and see what I can make out of it.
Before It was a cold winters day in the meadow when I first glimpsed Parriss. The invading chill warned of an an unusually cold season, the the children playing in the snow seemed oblivious to the snow. The smell of fresh pine and ice filled each breath. The trees were barren. The ground was stripped of it's grassy carpet and replaced by a blanket of crunchy white snow. Thick clouds muted the diamond gleam of icecicles on tree branches. The landscape offered no distraction from the beauty of this angel gliding along the snow. I stood in awe. My best friend startled me when he asked, "Are you alright? You look like a deer in healights." "Look at that amazing woman near the ball field. Isn't she exquisite?" My angel stood one hundred feet from us. "That's not a woman it's my step-sister Parriss. The one that I've been complaining about for the past few days." He replied.
After:
It was a cool spring day when I returned to the meadow of my childhood and glimpsed the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I stood just out of sight in the forest that blocks the houses in the neighborhood from the imagination of the children playing. I see this angel swinging gingerly in the distant playground area. Her blonde hair is caught by the wind making it look like an angels wings. She is dressed to regally to be a neighborhood child. She couldn't be much older then seventeen or eighteen. Her eyes find mine as her swinging comes to a stop. She adjusts the lapel of her white fur coat. She smile at me as she is walking toward me. She has eyes so blue they look like they are glowing, and her smile is blindingly white. She is directly in front of me now. My mouth has gone dry and I can't say anything. "Do I know you?" She asks in a regal British accent. I feel the fog in my mind lift slightly, "Um, I don't think so. I'm John Ford." I say as I extend my hand toward her. She grasps my hand with two fingers and I lift it to my lips and this brief contact makes me feel as though I've been branded with a hot poker.
That is all I have for now. I think it is more interesting then what I wrote when I was 21. Maybe I have learned somethings since then.
Before It was a cold winters day in the meadow when I first glimpsed Parriss. The invading chill warned of an an unusually cold season, the the children playing in the snow seemed oblivious to the snow. The smell of fresh pine and ice filled each breath. The trees were barren. The ground was stripped of it's grassy carpet and replaced by a blanket of crunchy white snow. Thick clouds muted the diamond gleam of icecicles on tree branches. The landscape offered no distraction from the beauty of this angel gliding along the snow. I stood in awe. My best friend startled me when he asked, "Are you alright? You look like a deer in healights." "Look at that amazing woman near the ball field. Isn't she exquisite?" My angel stood one hundred feet from us. "That's not a woman it's my step-sister Parriss. The one that I've been complaining about for the past few days." He replied.
After:
It was a cool spring day when I returned to the meadow of my childhood and glimpsed the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I stood just out of sight in the forest that blocks the houses in the neighborhood from the imagination of the children playing. I see this angel swinging gingerly in the distant playground area. Her blonde hair is caught by the wind making it look like an angels wings. She is dressed to regally to be a neighborhood child. She couldn't be much older then seventeen or eighteen. Her eyes find mine as her swinging comes to a stop. She adjusts the lapel of her white fur coat. She smile at me as she is walking toward me. She has eyes so blue they look like they are glowing, and her smile is blindingly white. She is directly in front of me now. My mouth has gone dry and I can't say anything. "Do I know you?" She asks in a regal British accent. I feel the fog in my mind lift slightly, "Um, I don't think so. I'm John Ford." I say as I extend my hand toward her. She grasps my hand with two fingers and I lift it to my lips and this brief contact makes me feel as though I've been branded with a hot poker.
That is all I have for now. I think it is more interesting then what I wrote when I was 21. Maybe I have learned somethings since then.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Purpose
One of my favorite movies is Finding Forester, and Sean Connery's character says, "The first time you write for yourself." I don't think this is for myself but her goes. Other advise about writing I have gotten is that you need to just write, about anything to get the words flowing.
The Sex Bandit, my third novel once I unlock it from my head. Here is how I think it should start.
To: Missy
From: Tina
Subject: Sex toy party
I am picking you up tonight and we are going to the Getting Intimate with Intimates party at eight o'clock. No you can't get out of it you need to liven up your life.
This is not the first email I expected to get on a Monday morning after a long weekend of working overtime. I'm a rather ordinary type girl, brown hair, green eyes and an average body shape. My best friend Tina has been trying to get me to break away from my stuffy legal assistant look I've sported for the past five years. I don't know why, nothing ever helps. Tina is a hair dresser at a swanky spa in Memphis, TN and is convinced that the right cut and color can change anyone, but I assure you not me.
Who am I to go to a sex toy party? I admit to using them because other then one bad attempt in college that is the only personal life I have had since. Men just aren't into me. I read that book and new they never would be. "Excuse me miss, where is Mr. Davis's office?" I looked up from my computer into the bluest eyes I've ever seen attached to the male body of an Adonis and a ten gallon cowboy hat. I work at an entertainment lawyers office. "Yes sir, let me show you." I walked him halfway down the hall self conscious of the manly way I walk the whole time. A buff guy like this would never be interested in little old me. But looking at the white t-shirt he wore was a great pleasure. He had muscles in places I wasn't sure there should be muscles and an impressive budge that his painted on blue jeans left nothing to the imagination. I knocked on the door and motioned for this gentleman to go in before I did. He turned to me, smiled and said in a think Texan accent, "Much obliged to you mam." Oh how they make the men in the South.
At five I grabbed my purse and headed for the elevator. My heart sank when I saw whom I was going to have to ride down with. Larry is a senior partner at the firm and brings in more celebrity clientele then all the other lawyers, he is a sleezy looking pimp type with greased back hair, thick chest hair with a gold chain in it, a Hawaiian shirt and skin tight black jeans. All of the women in the office try to avoid him.
To be continued later.
The Sex Bandit, my third novel once I unlock it from my head. Here is how I think it should start.
To: Missy
From: Tina
Subject: Sex toy party
I am picking you up tonight and we are going to the Getting Intimate with Intimates party at eight o'clock. No you can't get out of it you need to liven up your life.
This is not the first email I expected to get on a Monday morning after a long weekend of working overtime. I'm a rather ordinary type girl, brown hair, green eyes and an average body shape. My best friend Tina has been trying to get me to break away from my stuffy legal assistant look I've sported for the past five years. I don't know why, nothing ever helps. Tina is a hair dresser at a swanky spa in Memphis, TN and is convinced that the right cut and color can change anyone, but I assure you not me.
Who am I to go to a sex toy party? I admit to using them because other then one bad attempt in college that is the only personal life I have had since. Men just aren't into me. I read that book and new they never would be. "Excuse me miss, where is Mr. Davis's office?" I looked up from my computer into the bluest eyes I've ever seen attached to the male body of an Adonis and a ten gallon cowboy hat. I work at an entertainment lawyers office. "Yes sir, let me show you." I walked him halfway down the hall self conscious of the manly way I walk the whole time. A buff guy like this would never be interested in little old me. But looking at the white t-shirt he wore was a great pleasure. He had muscles in places I wasn't sure there should be muscles and an impressive budge that his painted on blue jeans left nothing to the imagination. I knocked on the door and motioned for this gentleman to go in before I did. He turned to me, smiled and said in a think Texan accent, "Much obliged to you mam." Oh how they make the men in the South.
At five I grabbed my purse and headed for the elevator. My heart sank when I saw whom I was going to have to ride down with. Larry is a senior partner at the firm and brings in more celebrity clientele then all the other lawyers, he is a sleezy looking pimp type with greased back hair, thick chest hair with a gold chain in it, a Hawaiian shirt and skin tight black jeans. All of the women in the office try to avoid him.
To be continued later.
A new begininng
There are things in life that we want, but always seem out of reach. Is it because our arms aren't long enough or because we aren't strong enough. My greatest dream in life is to be a published author. I started writing when I was ten and can't seem to stop. I wrote the short story that would become my first novel in 6th grade. By the age of 21 and 85 thousand words later it was finished. I looked in the second hand book I bought at a library store when I started writing it, and mailed a bad query letter and worse synopsis to publishing houses all over NY. I got the standard preprinted rejection letters from them all. But one day much much later in time I got a letter from an editor that looked hand typed and signed and you could see in it that she liked what she had read but couldn't get the green light for it. Then I tried sending it to agents, they have pull with the editors, and received one request for a partial submission. I figured that is great right?
So I started over and moved on. My second novel came faster and easier but needed more research because it is a time travel novel about solving the mystery connected to two very different families in 1890's Ireland. I put it down for a few years and picked it back up after talking to a friend about writing. At this point my life had taken a 180 degree turn. I went from living in NY to living in MS and being a massage therapist. That is where I picked up my second novel for a second time. I finished the 75 thousand words in two years. This time I was going to do it right. I sent this novel to agents and a select few publishing houses like Slihouette because they publish from outside more than the others do. Again I was in for a world of NO! So I thought about starting my third novel but could never find the right music to write to. So it is in a dusty filing cabinet in my mind. Someday I will pull it out and write it. I have had people tell me I am a great story teller but I need a good copy editor. And that is where my work stands.
So I started over and moved on. My second novel came faster and easier but needed more research because it is a time travel novel about solving the mystery connected to two very different families in 1890's Ireland. I put it down for a few years and picked it back up after talking to a friend about writing. At this point my life had taken a 180 degree turn. I went from living in NY to living in MS and being a massage therapist. That is where I picked up my second novel for a second time. I finished the 75 thousand words in two years. This time I was going to do it right. I sent this novel to agents and a select few publishing houses like Slihouette because they publish from outside more than the others do. Again I was in for a world of NO! So I thought about starting my third novel but could never find the right music to write to. So it is in a dusty filing cabinet in my mind. Someday I will pull it out and write it. I have had people tell me I am a great story teller but I need a good copy editor. And that is where my work stands.
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