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“I’m a writer.” When I tell people this, I automatically know what is going on inside some of their heads.

I pad around in my jammies, free as a bird, with occasional bursts of brilliance as I nibble on chocolate and mainline coffee. The words? The words just flow out effortlessly. At least that’s what some folks think.

They also assume my mailbox is full of checks and my email box is full of acceptances. In their brain, I’s sure they imagine me skipping down the driveway every day (in my PJs, remember?), cradling a stack of envelopes from publishers and agents, and they’re all full of contracts.

First off, I should explain that writing is not my full-time job. During the day I teach third graders, and as much as I’d like to be able to say to my students, ”Guys, I’ve got my critique night tonight, and I’ve got nothin’ to share with them. Would you all mind working on something independently while I work at my computer?” I can’t. Teaching is my mission; writing is my love. Writing is crammed in during the evenings and sometimes during the weekends; it only gets a portion of my waking hours.

And coffee is too bitter of a drink, in my opinion. But if you were offering up a bottle of Bolthouse Farms Vanilla Chai Tea, I’d start tapping away at my laptop with a frenzy.

We’re making scads of money, you say? Anyone who writes knows that only a few of us are getting rich. We often get more rejection than praise, yet we continue to plug away. We become excited if we get into an anthology and get $10. I could make more money—per hour-- running the hot dog machine at Costco than I do at writing.

Furthermore, those who are not obsessed with a well-turned phrase can’t even fathom why writers contribute to markets that pay absolutely and positively nothing. Sometimes we have a publisher who was responsible for our first acceptance. Out of loyalty and gratitude, we will send them a story or an essay when they have a new anthology they’re developing. They supported us, and now we’re just returning the favor.

Sometimes, we just want the opportunity to have our writing out there. The joy is not in the money or the possible fame. No, the joy is in the process. It’s exhilarating to be able to see a piece of writing evolve from a steaming pile of poop into something that is capable of moving others. We don’t always need a monetary reward for the job we do. (However, it is delightful when it does happen.)

So when you say, “I’m a writer,” to someone, be prepared to share a bit of your “reality” with them. Or, let them hold onto their delusions.

‘Cause sometimes, fantasies are nice to entertain, if only for a moment…

* * *

The best piece of writing advice I ever got came from Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. It had to do with accepting the idea of “shitty first drafts.” The second best piece of advice came from a professor whose teaching assistant I had been in English graduate school in the 1960s. He had struck me, when we first met, as incredibly brash, an effect that he was deliberately seeking to achieve. He’d barge into the classroom, send the blinds crashing up or down, and lie on the desk with a cigar between his teeth. “I’m Smith,” he’d say to a wide-eyed class. He went on to become a rock star of literary criticism, publishing countless books, writing regularly for the New York Times, becoming an internationally famous intellectual. He even appeared as a character in a well known novel.

His advice? “Always recycle.”

“First,” he said, “I write a talk. Then I give it in several times. I turn the talk into an essay and publish it. Maybe it becomes part of an anthology edited by someone else. Then I use it as a chapter of a book or include it in a collection of my essays.” I remember him chewing on a cigar when he told me this. But I may be making up the cigar.

I feel comfortable with Lamott’s advice. I am perfectly capable of producing “a shitty first draft” and of feeling, as she does, that I’d just as soon not die while it is lying on my desk, lest someone read it and assume my death was suicide. But following the guidance of my brash professor was another matter. Who me? I thought. I’m allergic to cigars. But, in the end, I tried his system. As an academic I wrote talks, wrote them into essays that I published, saw them anthologized, and gathered them into a book. I did not become an academic rock star or take up smoking, but the method served me well. I published, and at each stage became a better writer.

When I retired and began taking classes in creative writing, I fell into the system out of habit. I wrote pieces for my writing classes. I turned the pieces into blogs. I posted them on a collective site. Then I posted them on my own. Eventually, I did guest posts with the same materials. After four years, several posts have been anthologized and most of them are chapters in my memoir. Others are beginning to look a lot like a collection of essays on food and place. Good job, I told myself, thinking this would be the end, but then I hired a publicist who told me “No.” Now I had to link my book to larger issues. So, in preparation for the memoir’s launch, I began to write some essays that made those links. One is to be published but, even better, I have begun to see more clearly what the book is all about, and I have a new set of ideas to explore. So recycling? I’m a fan and I’m passing on my famous professor’s advice to you. Because once you’re past the stage of “shitty first draft,” it’s not just about recycling. It’s about revisioning and writing better as well.

* * *

I’ve heard writers speak of a muse who whispers inspiration in their ears and opens the floodgates of creativity allowing beautiful prose to flow onto their tablets as they write at their desks. Not me. My muse lives in a shampoo bottle and she waits until my hair is fully lathered before she pops out and lands in my soap dish. She may be a genie, but she’s no Barbara Eden. Think Roseanne Barr wrapped in a ratty towel and her head adorned with a terry cloth turban. Smacking bubble gum, she dispenses writing advice in addition to soap.

She says things like, “Hey, sis, chapter five is a real snoozer. You need to juice it up with some action, like a fight in the pub, or kill off that wallflower, Mary. She’s not adding anything anyway. And while you’re at it, kill off those adverbs. Geez.”

So it goes until the water turns chilly and my skin becomes pruney. But when I shut off the shower, she flies back into the bottle and takes her advice with her. No matter how fast I towel off, I can’t get to a notepad or keyboard fast enough to capture all of her ideas. Did she say I needed a fight in a pub…or was it a tub?

When the monthly water bill arrives, my husband shakes his head. He’s heard the shampoo genie/muse explanation before. He sighs and asks how close I am to finishing my novel. I smile and shrug. I don’t have the heart to tell him my muse thinks it should be a series.

* * *

With my recent down time, I’ve been doing some thinking since I am not doing too much else. I’m thinking writing is a lot like cooking. Now for those of you who know me well, this may seem like a strange comparison considering that I dislike cooking and am rather fond of writing. Allow me to explain.

My husband and I have a blended family of six. Our mixture of his and hers children creates a unique schedule for many meal times. Some nights it’s just the two of us and other nights, we are feeding six. Over the years, meal time caused a certain level of angst for me. Trying to make sure I created meals that were healthy, that pleased everyone, and that were within budget were a challenge. I have never enjoyed cooking but trying to tackle this task made it more daunting. I fretted over meal planning, shopping, preparation, all of it.

As time as passed, I have started to worry less about covering all these bases. I began to focus on creating meals that were a little more fun and different and thought less about trying to please the masses.

And this is why I think cooking is like writing. So often, we are encouraged to write in a genre or style that we are not passionate about or simply have no interest in. As writers, we are sometimes pushed to try a new category because it is what’s “new” and “popular” but when it comes down to it, we may not care a bit about it.

I love writing children’s stories and short stories. I am also working on my memoir about my battle with heart disease. My focus is narrow and I am okay with that. I could try to write paranormal or horror but I promise, it would not worth anyone’s time. I think it is better to stick with what makes you happy. In my case, I write because I enjoy it rather than it being my job. Since I have that luxury, I can be picky. And as for the cooking, I fortunately married a fantastic chef!

Karen Guccione-Englert fell in love with words at an early age and now shares her love of reading with students at Orchard Farm Elementary. Outside of the classroom, she primarily writes children’s stories and short stories. Karen enjoys entering a variety of writing competitions to practice and refine her craft. In addition, she is an active member of Go Red for Women with the St. Louis chapter of the American Heart Association. Karen resides in St. Peters, Missouri with her husband, four children, and loveable pug.

I never thought I would be an author. I hear lavish tails from other authors about where they began their literary journey, like at age four writing plays and short stories. That was not me. I wasn’t a great student in high school, scraping by to get that diploma. I took a few years off after graduation, found myself, and gained perspective. I did return to college and actually worked my tail off to get the hardest degree I could find. I majored in biomedical engineering science at Washington University in St. Louis. After college graduation, I took a nice position with a local pharmaceutical company and continue to work there full time. I was the ”slacker” turned ”nerd” and loved it.

One day I took my son to see Twilight—he loved vampires and I was an avid Buffy fan. Wait, don’t stop reading! We all have strong feelings about the Twilight saga, and I am not debating them in this post. Seeing that movie changed my life, I know what you are thinking…really? But yes, it did.

  I bought the book that night. That was the first time in my life I actually read for pleasure. I had read thousands of books, mainly text books and medical journals, but Twilight was different. I devoured the entire series in a week. Stayed up all night to read, was a zombie at work, ignored my husband. Like a junkie, I was hooked.

I finished the series, and I can’t believe I am going to admit this, but I actually hugged the books. I was so moved by words on a page. I thought, I want to do that. Not marry a vampire and have a half vamp/half human child, but write a book that moves people.

The big question was what would I write about? Did I have a story in me to tell? Two weeks went by. One day driving home, I was given the story. I knew the characters, the story arcs, and all the funny drama that would ensue. Maybe I was given THE KINDLING by accident? Maybe God meant to give it to the car in front of me and miscalculated his idea trajectory. But I got it, and I am forever grateful.

I believe we all have great ideas, and it’s the action or non-action that can change our destiny. I took action that day. I went home and wrote the first three chapters of THE KINDLING. By the way – they were terrible, like I said I wasn’t a writer.

Fast forward four years—yes, four years! I studied, learned, went to conferences, followed agent blogs, met other aspiring authors, got my own blog, and it was hard. I queried way too soon (that’s another funny story!). I made many mistakes along the way, but I learned from them and never gave up. And now my first novel, a paranormal romance titled THE KINDLING is releasing in March 2013 published by MuseItUp Publishing. I hope you find the time to read my accident; it’s a good one.
* * *
Brandi Schmidt lives outside St. Louis with her husband, three beautiful children, and one loveable Golden Retriever. She is in love with love and admittedly cries at anything sappy. You can follow her at www.BrandiSchmidt.com or Facebook at www.facebook/authorbrandischmidt. Her twitter handle is @BrandiSchmidt . You can purchase THE KINDLING at www.museituppublishing.com or any other ebook suppliers.
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Would you like to participate in Friday "Speak Out!"? Email your short posts (under 500 words) about women and writing to: marcia[at]wow-womenonwriting[dot]com for consideration. We look forward to hearing from you!
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So, you call yourself a writer? Good. If you don’t, who else will? A writer is someone who writes, period. No one is stopping you.

When my son started preschool, I claimed those hours for myself. I only had two and a half hours, twice a week, but I wrote a book that year. Never during those hours did I wash dishes, fold laundry, check email, or go grocery shopping. I was able to accomplish what I did because that was the year I decided to call myself a writer and do something about it.

The more you reinforce your identity as a writer to yourself and to those around you, the more you will begin to feel like a writer, and the more you’ll write. The more you write, the closer you are to getting published. Once you feel more like a writer, you’ll begin to reach out to other writers, and you’ll learn about events in the writing community. You’ll subscribe to writing blogs; you’ll make contacts that inspire you. You’ll read more. All these are important steps toward reaching your goals.

The more you call yourself a writer, the less self-conscious you will feel saying it. The less guilt you will feel carving out time to write. The more your husband and children will begin to see you as a writer, and respect you for it.

Writers write, and attend conferences, and take workshops. So, what’s stopping you? Are you a writer, or what? Go ahead. Say it.

* * *

  Elizabeth Maria Naranjo is a writer in Tempe, Arizona. Her work has appeared in Literary Mama, SLAB Literary Magazine, Hospital Drive, Phoenix New Times, and the Arizona Republic, and is forthcoming in Babble and WOW! Women on Writing. For links to Elizabeth’s fiction and creative nonfiction, check out her website at http://www.elizabethmarianaranjo.com/. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New year, new notebook, two dollars at Walmart.  Don’t use a leather-bound gold-edged fabric-lined notebook; that’s too intimidating for everyday.   That one is more appropriate if you want to write about your time working as a lady’s maid to a European princess.

Yesterday I tripped over my guilt, chewed an oversized bite, hung onto to that one remaining thread and acted as though I have life balanced. I’m subjected to these emotional olympics because I’m due to give birth to a book. Presently, it has been gestating for twenty-two months. Total gestation period is unknown.

Lately, I’ve begun to notice the signs of labor. Several times I’ve experienced Braxton Hicks, but alas each time the end result has been a prescription for rest and a rewrite. Fulfilling that prescription is tricky. Book is not an only child; I’m already raising Kid, Career and Personal Health ( P.H. for short), thus the daily acrobatics.

  I don’t have a birth plan yet. Book might be born using a literary agent or in a publishing house. I’m leaving my options open for right now. I know I need one soon; my chapters are dilated and my denouement has dropped. Soon I expect there will be a bloody show... and what a show it might be. Am I ready? Is anyone ever really ready?

Just like so many others, I don’t really care whether I have a chapter book or middle grade novel. I just want a published finished product. I want for it what every writer wants for a book; a long shelf life, genre acceptance and readership. It would be dishonest for me to deny my hope for a second edition and maybe even some royalty monies... it’s not such a bad thing to wish to be taken care of in my later years, is it?

There will be a birth announcement. Watch for it.

* * *

Peggy Eserkaln is an award winning teacher with a unique background in education and improvisational theatre. She founded Educational Improvisation, Inc; a company that melds a love of learning and laughter. She's been writing her whole life, but is just now gutsy enough to admit it.

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Would you like to participate in Friday "Speak Out!"? Email your short posts (under 500 words) about women and writing to: marcia[at]wow-womenonwriting[dot]com for consideration. We look forward to hearing from you!
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After the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School my heart grieved along with the nation at such an unconceivable and horrendous occurrence. I tried to focus on the commonplace things that ordered my day; cooking, checking my e-mails, working on multiple stories, but my mind kept going back to the horror that unfolded for the world to see. I wished, prayed that the day could be rewound and maybe something; like a boiler breaking, had closed the school. But it hadn’t. And then on the news I heard about a teacher who kept her children calm in the midst of such chaos by reading to them. So I reached in my file cabinet, swallowed back my tears and pulled out a children’s manuscript.

I had worked with precocious preschoolers for over twenty-five years. They were delightful; sometimes quite a handful but I loved them all. They loved for me to read them stories; “Green Eggs and Ham” by Dr. Seuss, “Where The Wild Things Are” by Maurice Sendak,” “Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you see? by Bill Martin, Jr., “Amazing Grace,” by Mary Hoffman. So as a writer to heal the pain in my heart I pulled out a children’s manuscript that I had long put aside and began to revise it and then e-mailed it to a publisher.

It was funny. About a family of mice. I imagined a child reading it and rolling around in laughter until their belly ached, a child bright-eyed, and full of wonder like the ones that were lost. I imagined they loooooved books as all kindergarteners and first graders do. I imagined that the night before, after they put on their pajamas and were tucked into bed, a parent sat beside them to read their favorite bedtime story. And maybe this time, something they will always have to scent their memory, when their child asked to hear it one more time, they agreed, and nestled even closer for a second helping of storytime not knowing it would be their last. And I imagined that their teacher probably had assembled a ginormous reading list of only the best children’s books for them and it was the most anticipated part of their day when they were read to because she used gestures and her voice became animated and even the most squirmiest child would sit still when being entertained like that. As those happy images eased some of my grief, I made a pack with myself to write more children’s stories. Hopefully they will get published. Hopefully they will cushion a child’s heart, and be a time of tender bonding for parents and children, and be on a teacher’s reading list of must reads for inspiration.

Once upon a time I felt my literary calling was to other women because of the solidarity we shared. Now I have a newborn commitment to writing for children. I want to create a paper trail of stories that will make our most precious commodities hearts dance with unabashed giggles in a world that can be full of cruel human beings and catastrophes and sorrow. No, I won’t abandon my adult peers. But I will sleep better knowing that I am as dedicated to crafting a great story for young children just as the teachers, principal and other staff members who lost their lives were dedicated to giving the youngest victims of this tragedy educational wings to soar. For me that is the best way to honor each of their lives as a writer.

  * * *

Start from the beginning. No, that’s not what I meant to say.

Start from the middle. No, that’s not quite it, either. Start at the end.

There. That’s more like it.

As children, if we were lucky enough to have a teacher who encouraged us to write down our stories, we usually heard the same advice. “Just tell the story. Start from the beginning.” And if we followed those directions, it certainly didn’t lead us down the wrong path. However, if we had chosen a different route, the journey might have been a bit more intriguing.

Sometimes, beginning at the end of the story and flashing back is a wise choice. Whether you’re working on a novel or a short story or a memoir, don’t fall for the idea that you must tell your story in chronological order.

Consider opening with some action. Some dialogue. Think about a beginning that causes a sense of disequilibrium.

You stumble over that last line. Dissss-e-kwil-what? It’s too early for anything beyond a monosyllable? You haven’t had your morning dose of coffee/tea/chocolate/Mimosas yet? My apologies.

Start off your story in a way that causes some instability or imbalance. Make the reader wonder, and thus wander further into your tale because they’re intrigued.

For example, I had this beginning for a childhood memoir of mine. I didn’t open with getting my swimsuit on and gathering together my towel and snack money. I didn’t begin with walking to the pool. Instead, this is how I started:

Still, decades later, I have no idea exactly how it happened. Did I stumble and slip, like a thread through a needle, through the opening in the guardrail? Did I veer off the edge, despite the sandpapery surface I walked along? I have no clue what caused the accident. All I know is one moment I was fine, high above all the neighborhood houses that surrounded me and the next moment, I was half on the concrete and half in the water.

It all began on a typical June afternoon.

So, consider beginning at the end of the story or the middle and using flashbacks to fill in the holes. Give the reader something a bit different when it comes to the organization of your story. They’ll appreciate it…

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Visit WOW! Women On Writing for lively interviews and how-tos. Check out WOW!'s Classroom and learn something new. Find jobs on the Freelance Job Board. Enter the Quarterly Flash Fiction Contest. Open Now!

No More Query Letters

(If you’re not having fun, don’t do it)

by Joanne Lewis

I wrote my first novel when I was 24 years old and while a prosecutor working sex crimes. I didn’t have an agent. A small press that has since gone out of business published the novel. While I did not sell many books, I was invited to speak on panels and did book signings. I got an agent. I was on my way. Then my agent unexpectedly passed away.

Opportunities continued to arise, at least for a short time. Another small press wanted to publish a book of mine, however the novel was never released.

At this time, I’m 29 years old and feeling like my writing career would never go anywhere.

I didn’t write throughout my thirties. Not writing gnawed at my brain but I was productive in other ways. I left the State Attorney’s Office and opened my own practice. I fell in love. But still, I didn’t write. I knew, however, that I would write in my forties.

Four days shy of my 41^st birthday, I experienced a life changing event. I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. After a radical hysterectomy and six months of chemotherapy, I emerged cancer free and ready to write. I was determined to be published again.

One day, as I was trying to write the perfect query letter, I told my sister I was tired of hoping an agent or editor considered me worthy. She said, if you’re not having fun, don’t do it.

I stopped. No more query letters. No more hoping to find an agent. No more praying for that editor to make me the next big thing. No more yearning to call a publishing house my home. I decided to self publish.

Here’s what I’ve learned about self publishing. It’s better than traditional publishing in many ways. We still do our own marketing but we also have control over our product. The final edits. The cover. How much we charge.

Do you know who looks down upon those of us who self publish? People in the publishing industry. Shouldn’t they be cheering us on?

Do you know who doesn’t care if we self publish? The readers. All they ask for is a good book.

What I don’t understand is how come self publishing, which is the same as being self employed, is given a bad rap? I started my own law practice and was congratulated for being an entrepreneur. I bought a house, flipped it and people were impressed. I have been self employed since 1997. Why is writing the only industry where being self employed is frowned upon?

When I am not working as a lawyer, I am writing and striving to follow my sister’s advice. If you’re not having fun, don’t do it.

I am 47 years old now. I have self published two novels. I do not sell a lot of books. I know that will change when I am in my fifties. Hopefully, this time the life changing event won’t be so drastic.

* * *

Joanne Lewis is the self published author of Wicked Good(co-written with her sister, Amy Faircloth) and Make Your Own Luck, a Remy Summer Woods mystery. The Lantern, a Renaissance mystery, will be released in November 2012. Please visit her website at www.joannelewiswrites.com and email her at [email protected]. Her books are available as eBooks and as paperbacks on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and all over the web. Please ask your local bookstore to order her novels.

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Would you like to participate in Friday "Speak Out!"? Email your short posts (under 500 words) about women and writing to: marcia[at]wow-womenonwriting[dot]com for consideration. We look forward to hearing from you!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(C) Copyright wow-womenonwriting.com

Visit WOW! Women On Writing for lively interviews and how-tos. Check out WOW!'s Classroom and learn something new. Find jobs on the Freelance Job Board. Enter the Quarterly Flash Fiction Contest. Open Now!