After several years going to the wonderful San Francisco Writers Conference, my finances took a turn for the worst. There was no way I was going to miss it. I asked to volunteer the next year and have done it now for three years. They always say you get so much from giving, and in this case, it was really true. I got something more than the great information and meeting agents and authors. I got something deep in my soul. There is no pay higher than that! I highly recommend it if you get a chance; any writers' conference near you.
Check it out! www.sfwritersconferences.org/
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Elizabeth George said: Show up!
Elizabeth George writes in her book "Write Away":
"You will be published is you possess three qualities - talent, passion and discipline. You will probably be published if you possess two of the three qualities in either combination - either talent and discipline or passion and discipline. You will likely be published if you possess neither talent nor passion but still have discipline. Just go to the bookstore and pick up a few "notable titles and you'll see what I mean. But if all you possess is talent or passion, if all you possess is talent and passion you will not be published...A lot of writing is simply showing up. A lot of writing is just being willing to show up day after day; same time, same place..."
"You will be published is you possess three qualities - talent, passion and discipline. You will probably be published if you possess two of the three qualities in either combination - either talent and discipline or passion and discipline. You will likely be published if you possess neither talent nor passion but still have discipline. Just go to the bookstore and pick up a few "notable titles and you'll see what I mean. But if all you possess is talent or passion, if all you possess is talent and passion you will not be published...A lot of writing is simply showing up. A lot of writing is just being willing to show up day after day; same time, same place..."
Thursday, March 25, 2010
What has weight got to do with writing?
A good writer is a good reader. And that means sitting still. And that means not moving much. A good writer spends time sitting at the computer, correcting work, re-reading work, and typing in new work. Sitting. Gaining weight. There must be a balance and that means avoiding the kitchen at night, and walking and exercising some part of every day. How can we find the time for all this? Stop doing the other things. Or shorten them. It is possible. I know. It just takes courage.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Our Weight: we can start tonight!
As teenagers, we want to look cute and be popular and liked. As we grow older, we like to be healthy. We think about calories. We buy clothes too large or too small because our weight is unpredictable. We diet. Oh, we diet! In the end, it is all about our health, both physical and mental. We get neurotic: we open the refrigerator. We feel unloved, we open it again. We search each shelf. We don't know what it is we are looking for. Could it be love? Food used to be love, way back when we could cry and get some. But tonight we could close that refrigerator door without grabbing anything at all, and we will have triumphed! Now we can run out of the kitchen! Instead of, "I'll start tomorrow," we can leave that kitchen in the dark, and start tonight!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Writer's Block
Writer’s Block
Is what I’ve got here writer’s block?
It’s quite a first, a writer’s shock.
Is my head stuck on last night’s show?
Or is it just my hands won’t go?
That lady’s shoes are clacking loud
I always wrote, I was so proud
I’m not like them, a pen to lips
Or her, those hands upon her hips
The voices at the table there
Annoy me, drink and eat, don’t stare.
The other’s write their speedy drafts
And when they read they’ll get the laughs
But here am I, my pen is stuck
My mind’s a block of solid muck
It’s New Year’s Eve and still I know
By the end of the verse
I’ll have naught to show
So here I sit, my lip is blue
Here comes that woman
With the clacking shoe
At last, a smudge across the page
Displays the heart of writer’s rage
It’s birth again, a moan, a tear
I truly want to get out of here!
I’d then let down my writing friends
Who sit here, writing stuff to send
To agents in New York and France
I know I’ll never get a chance
To publish, but you’d think I’d learn
That writing’s hope,
It’s life that burns.
A scribble starts the words to flow
Oh, girls, I’ve got a page to show.
Is what I’ve got here writer’s block?
It’s quite a first, a writer’s shock.
Is my head stuck on last night’s show?
Or is it just my hands won’t go?
That lady’s shoes are clacking loud
I always wrote, I was so proud
I’m not like them, a pen to lips
Or her, those hands upon her hips
The voices at the table there
Annoy me, drink and eat, don’t stare.
The other’s write their speedy drafts
And when they read they’ll get the laughs
But here am I, my pen is stuck
My mind’s a block of solid muck
It’s New Year’s Eve and still I know
By the end of the verse
I’ll have naught to show
So here I sit, my lip is blue
Here comes that woman
With the clacking shoe
At last, a smudge across the page
Displays the heart of writer’s rage
It’s birth again, a moan, a tear
I truly want to get out of here!
I’d then let down my writing friends
Who sit here, writing stuff to send
To agents in New York and France
I know I’ll never get a chance
To publish, but you’d think I’d learn
That writing’s hope,
It’s life that burns.
A scribble starts the words to flow
Oh, girls, I’ve got a page to show.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
When can I write? I don't have time!
I used to paint watercolor. I would set up a scene, set up my watercolors and proceed to rush about my day, going to work, picking up my daughter, rushing to shop, rushing to cook and sitting down, still, to eat. I discovered that with watercolors I could pick up my paintbrush, dab it into the water, dab a color onto it, and dab it right where I was dreaming as I dashed by, that it would go when I got a second. Many paintings were accomplished like that. Writing can be like that. Five minutes here, three minutes there, and a lovely twenty minutes once in awhile. After all, reading your own writing counts, too! Thinking about it counts! Those wonderful ah! ha! moments count, too! This blog has taken me three minutes. It counts, too! Join me!
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