The Power of LUV!

I generally try to stay away from the sappy, sensitive, tender sort of thoughts and feelings. It's not that I don't have them, I just feel kind of awkward and weird showing them most of the time. I guess that comes from a lifetime working and hanging with the guys (who, by the way, I've learned are way more sappy, sensitive and tender than I ever could be.)

Yet, every once in a while, the urge to just snergle up and LUV someone breaks through the veneer and leaves me feeling all kind of wet and limp, like a dish towel. The last few days, with the support of the Insecure Writer's Support Group has been like that. Kind of amazing, how much encouragement and support you guys have given me.

And not just them - I've received awesome, supportive vibes from "friends" I've never met, all along the way. Like Val at flyingplatypi who has become a Twitter and Blogger friend and can always be counted on for a hug, a laugh and a shot of Tequila. And a bunch of other folks whose entree' into my life has been eerily well timed and curiously meaningful.

It all started with a fateful weekend at a writer's conference right here in my home time. I went to the conference not sure what to expect - I did some rogue read and critique workshops. I sat in on many, many seminars. I tentatively and nervously spoke to a few agents and to lots of other writers. And fate - or coincidence, or the Muse Fairy or someone looking over me introduced me to two people who would prove to be very important to me.

I met Mark Koopman's at a Rogue Read and Critique. That's where you sit around from 9 p.m. until good knows when in the morning reading your work, listening to other people read their work, and giving each other feedback: the good, the bad and the ugly. And Mark and I just seemed to connect. Maybe it was the fact that he had me read part of his book and I was laughing so hard half way through it the almost had to give me CPR. Maybe it was the crazy, late hours. I dunno. But Mark has become one of those stalwart, pat you on the back and interject good humor and sage words of advice kind of friends that we all need. Don't tell him I said this, but he's a really great guy. And, oh yeah, he's the one that introduced me to the amazing Insecure Writers' Support Group.  So I kind of owe him a drink. Or seven.

The other person I met is my CP, CP. She's my ace, my bud, my little sistah from anotha' mistah. We exchanged contact info at the conference, but I couldn't tell you where at the conference we met or what we talked about, other than possibly doing some critiquing. We didn't even exchange emails for almost a month after the conference, and didn't actually meet for probably another month, only to find out when we did meet that we lived three blocks apart from each other. Like, no shit, three blocks. And had so many, many delightful, engaging quirks in common, the least of which are excess amounts of swearing and alcohol. She's just - well, she's my Bud - and she keeps me keepin' it real.

And there's one more person who's arrival into my small universe has been amazingly well-timed as I venture forward on this writing thing... my friend Justine. I actually met Justine via her blog, via Sarah Fine's blog. She had a post one day that just lifted my soul (yes, I have one of those) at a time when it needed lifting. I sent her an email about it, and she responded. And I sent her another email. And she answered that one. And I read her books, and couldn't wipe the smile of my face. And we emailed some more. And we started following each other on Twitter. And now we are friends...though we've never met. And that really makes me smile.

And Fate keeps swinging along, cuz in May of next year I'm going to RT14 in New Orleans. CP is going as well. And I'll meet Sarah Fine and Stina and Nicole and Jaime and a whole bunch of awesome people I've met online - and guess who my room-mate will be? Yup - Justine.

Yeah. Gonna be a whole lotta love going on in the Big Easy. And all because of a little fate, a dash of coincidence and the power of WERDS!!!

So, here ya go - a well timed verse for Saturday's TOONZ!

Crap. I mean...crap.

Well, I know - I'm supposed to be writing about something this morning. I thought I had a topic lined up last night, but the Valkyrie (aka: my muse) got pissed and chased it away. 

So: Crap. What to write about. 

Here I sit, broken hearted.
Tried to write, couldn't get started.

Hah! Not what you expected, was it? Yeah - I try stupid stuff sometimes to get things flowing. Actually, my entire second manuscript started by thinking (and echoing in words) that annoying habit of hitting the same key on a piano over and over, with a half-second pause in between. 

Yeah - I started it like this:

One... Two... One... Two... 

And before I knew it, I was off to the races. It always intrigues me, the things that get our writing glands juiced up and ready for keyboard kombat... I frequently ask other writers how they came up with an idea, what made them start, how did they get the first few sentences on paper. We all have different methods and means, but in the end, it comes down to just sitting your ass in a chair and WRITING. 


If I were going to be completely honest (which I am, to a fault and without much tact), the actual verbal vomit part comes easy. Once I get going, once I pick up the trail my muse has left me, I can ramble on for hundreds, thousands of words. Part of it may be for total shit, part of it may only make sense to a crack smoking toad, but part of it will always be worth keeping. It's the space between the words that matters - the thoughts and images and questions drawn out by whatever I spewed like...  Well, the only 'spew' analogies I can think of are too gross and disgusting for this early on a Saturday morning. 

Sometimes it works - sometimes it doesn't. The point is, it gets me writing SOMETHING. Which beats staring at a blank screen.

Why yes, this is a little gratuitous Depp action.
What the fuck is wrong with that?

So, something I write may start like this:

"When Donny left, it was pretty much expected that Andie would fall apart. Really, really fall apart. They’d been together since college. Almost four years. They were talking about getting married. At least, she was talking about it. He would just listen, nodding his head while studiously not commenting. So when he left, when he packed his things while she was at work and moved out without even leaving a note; she went a little nuts."

And before long (but with several edits) becomes this:

"It’s the little things in life that make the biggest difference. Being five-minutes late for the job interview. Missing the other guy’s car by two inches. A quarter teaspoon too much salt in the soup. Big things are easier to detect, easier to plan for. Easier to accept. 

It’s the overwhelming force of the larger events that makes them more recognizable. You know something big is going to or has happened, so you allow yourself the time and the space to cope with them. But the little things? No freakin’ way. They just pile up, like grains of rice or flakes of snow, until the whole thing breaks lose and tears up your life as it plummets down the slope. 

So, when Donny left, it was pretty much expected that Andie would fall apart. Really, really fall apart. They’d been together since college. Almost four years. They were talking about getting married. At least, she was talking about it. He would just listen, nodding his head while studiously not commenting. So when he left, when he packed his things while she was at work and moved out without even leaving a note; she went a little nuts.  

She pulled the few things he left into a pile in the back yard, added all the pictures and mementos of their time together, dumped the oil from one of the Tiki torches on top and threw the match. She danced the shandy around the blaze, tipping back the bottle of Fireball until she was good and drunk, then passed out on the grass as the embers blew softly all around her. 

Yeah. She was pissed."

See how that works? You start with the tiniest, most obscure thread. You embellish, adding, subtracting, playing around with placement, tense, voice and other 'craft' tools and before you know it, you have a whole new story in the works! And as eager as I am to watch Johnny Depp, or Christian Bale or drink Scotch and dream about Johnny Depp or Christian Bale; I'm a writer. I gots to write. I get real bitchy when I don't. And my muse get's all pouty. Trust me - that's not a pretty sight!

Oh, and by the way, on my search for the perfect gifs for this post, I was horribly maimed and assaulted by A FULL PAGE OF TAYLOR FUCKING SWIFT gifs! GUH - my eyes! My eyes! They're burning!!!!

(See OMG, I Fucking Love This! for interpretation if needed, with kudos to Kelly and Valerie)

Now, for some fave tunes before I rush back into reality. Happy Saturday!