Writing on Thursday

True Dat

Someone said to me last week, "Don't let all the bullsh!t keep you from writing."

And I think that says it all.

Writing on Thursday

Three Lives
(a repost: originally appeared in November of 2009)


It occurred to me with certain clarity this week that I live three lives. Three. All from this one body.

They're separate, but pieces of them overlap. Each is carried out by real parts of me.

Life in the Flesh

I am living, breathing, my body holds a spirit. I primp and present my physical self, nourish my person without regularly exercising it, drive an automatic SUV, read aloud, sing aloud, stir breakfast--and sometimes dinner--with my favorite wooden spatula, lose myself to folding laundry, loathe putting it away. I wince when the phone rings, but love to give hugs. My mind wanders while I'm in church, and I mutter ridiculous things to the family dog. I find solace and happiness and frustation and doubt in the act of writing, can't get enough kisses from my daughters, am never sated. This is real life. The one I've lived for thirty-[two] years, with emotion and experience and depth. Real time. Tangible existence.

Virtual Life

I am a presence. With pictures, sometimes, but most often with words. My thoughts and essence are on display, whether through blog posts or online statuses. I give of myself through a filter, the filter of this internet that is not my physical location, just designed representation. It's me, too, but with time delay. With edits. Smooth, composed. Confident. I banter, I share, I feel, I learn and love. Virtually.

Life through Fiction

I am what my mind creates. My characters are extensions of me, their stories fill me. New experiences, lived vicariously. Papered emotions, felt as if real and raw. People as real to me as the Postmaster, my daughters' teachers, the person driving behind me, my best friend's mother, because they are real, in some other place, even if only by manuscript or in Word document. Entirely made up, but true, honest at the same time. I exist so that they can exist. And because they exist.

These three Jannas, they feel individual, so different, so distinct. But I reconcile one with the others. Aren't I all of them? My three lives. Defining one existence.

What about yours?

Writing on Thursday

It's Not Always Easy
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Maybe it's not something I should admit to, this fact that I can pull entirely away from my writing.
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It's just that life happens so heavily at times, and how can I devote myself to fiction when reality is so big and in-my-face significant?
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It happened that way last year when my dad was diagnosed with stage IV bone cancer. When we were first reeling from the prognosis, and watching through his (short-lived) treatments, and then struggling through the two-month decline before he passed away. Two months, that was all we had him after the doctor told us that day, because he'd already had multiple sclerosis for twenty years, and his body didn't have a chance.

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photo found at hubpages

Writing did not come easy for me then.

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Sometimes we hear of those writers who are driven by problems and hurt and they throw themselves into their work, making it richer and deeper and better. I only wish I were that kind of writer.

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My writing has been suffering again of late, because more big life is happening. In the way life happens, I suppose.

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...I'll be telling you about it soon, in an upcoming Keep It Real Tuesday post...

Food and Drink in Writing

Thanks for your understanding while I was away! Now, back from my blogging break I'll say...

photo from 123rf.com

I recently read a novel (THE DIVE FROM CLAUSEN'S PIER by Ann Packer) in which the protagonist liked to drink iced cranberry juice. This has me thinking that it's interesting, the food and beverages we read and write about.

Does Ann Packer herself drink that particular thing? Or was it something that came to her during a moment of inspiration? Did she see a woman with it at the next table in her favorite restaurant?

I'm one who, in my writing, tends to stick with the familiar. My protagonist's BFF drinks Dr Pepper (my own favorite), and her dad eats rocky road ice cream, a common flavor in our house when I was growing up. My characters always tend to eat the things I most like, like beans and cornbread, or veggie pizza.

photo from thepioneerwoman.com
Ree Drummond

I'm considering now, what has stopped me from throwing a quiche lorraine into the mix, or putting a Long Island iced tea in a character's hand? Maybe I will now that I'm conscious of never having done so before.

WRITERS: Do you have your characters eating and drinking the same things you do? Or do you get creative, offering them something you've never tried, something offbeat, or that is displeasing to you? How do you choose? Do their food and drink choices seem inherent to their persona, a given?

READERS: How do you feel when something you love (brownies, Diet Pepsi, Big League Bubble Gum) shows up in something you're reading? Does reading about hunks of hearty meatloaf, or an ice cold beer, make your mouth water?

See You In a While

Every so often I get this feeling I should back away. Alleviate the pressure having a blog creates. Give a little space, with which often comes a greater perspective of vision, and where things need to go in the future.

A break is good, everyone should take one occasionally.

It just occured to me that now is a good time for me. What with the end of school near for my kiddles, that other job, and the completion of the current draft of my work-in-progress (a novel) within sight, now's as perfect a time as any.

I'll be back. Promise you won't go anywhere in the meantime?

Happy May, friends!

What is Women's Fiction?

photo from salon.com

I once posted this: Women's fiction is that which is written with female readers in mind. It's about the protagonist's journey through a story, about her growth, and her [experience].
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This is what I tell people, too, when they ask what I write, but I've been finding that, for some, this explanation of the wide-spanning category isn't enough. They want it broken down further.
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Wikipedia defines women's fiction as an umbrella term for a wide-ranging collection of literary sub-genres that are marketed to female readers, including many mainstream novels, romantic fiction, "chick lit," and other sub genres.
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Better. Clearer. I'll have to remember this.
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Whether you write it or read it, how would you describe to others what, exactly, women's fiction is? What types of books does the term include for you?

Five Words Into Fiction (#2)

Her hair, beautiful and harsh, is the color of a crow. This is by careful choice, and she has it dyed once a month, every third Tuesday. She loves the mystique of the hue, the way it refracts the light as a wile, almost like there's some blue to it.
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Noah would have adored it, and so of course this is why. It is for him.
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It was a month after he disappeared that she first had it colored. His foray into nothingness, hers into vanity. Because it is the single binge she's found that stills the hurt, quiets the shame. Eating didn't do it; she felt empty. Not drinking; she felt a waste of herself. And sleeping with Noah's best friend, Mart, only buried guilt in her stomach and in her dreams.
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So it is also for her, the hair and the rest, with the primping and pampering and perfection. It all says she is significant and strong and courageous, that she is and will be okay.
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When she looks in the mirror to see what Noah left behind, she is satisfied by what she sees and she tells herself, You will be okay.
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**
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My apologies for posting this piece so late in the day. My words were difficult to fuse together. They were: binge, crow, foray, refract and wile. You'll find them all above. Whew!
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I hope you enjoyed it. I also hope that it leaves you thinking, perhaps making up more of the story.
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**
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If you've played along and written your own fiction with your own words, link up in this post's comments. Or, if you haven't done a piece yet but would like to, I'd be happy to give you some word suggestions. Just let me know (also in this post's comments).
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Also, since you're here, be sure to check out my post about rules for successful writing. Leave your thoughts (by Sunday night--earlier if you're busy for Easter) for a chance to win the book of your choice in my giveaway! Winner will be announced Monday.
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Have a wonderful, blessed holiday weekend.

A Meme, A Prompt (Five Words Into Fiction--Part 2)

Do you remember when a year or more ago there was a meme floating blogland, and several folks posted five words into fiction? (Here's mine.) This week I want to play on that. And I want to invite you to play (or read) along.
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This time, the five words to incorporate don't come as suggestion from a friend or another blogger, they come from the dictionary. By merely flipping through its pages, stopping randomly and taking the bolded header word.
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Using my small Webster's this morning, I've flipped for five words. They are:
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*binge
*crow
*foray
*refract
*wile
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photo from diypublicart.org

So there you have it, my five words. This week I'll use them to write a flash fiction piece (less that 1000 words)--the words must appear in the text, I can't only allude to them--and will plan to post it Friday.

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I'm excited because this sort of thing is stoopid fun, and it's good for a creative break from a consistent project. It's good exercise, too.

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Want to join me? Link up and/or post the details on your own blog, and we'll spread the meme.
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Ready? Set? Let's do this!

A Writer Employed

photo from lamableu.net

So this girl got a job. It's my first away from the home in nearly nine years.

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I can't speak of the specifics, but I can tell you that it involves the outdoors, a scientific case study and... my nose.

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The most genius part is, tucked around the work itself, there is mucho downtime. During that downtime we can do whatever we choose, and that means I will write! It's a perfect scenario, really, because I'll be earning great money, but won't have to give up the time I put toward my writing.

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when Janna met Sally

I'll schlep my notebooks, pens and pencils, novels and craft books, my laptop and (sometimes) my AlphaSmart 3000. (Who remembers Sally?)

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This experience will be incredibly out of the ordinary for me, and I'm very much looking forward to it. Every day is an adventure waiting to happen, and I expect to be inspired.

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Also, because of the change in my schedule, and the way I'll have to make adjustments with family and household responsibilities, I feel sure I'll be forced into a more balanced life. (I've spoken about the life juggle many times, most recently here.) Does that make sense? I think time away from home will give me healthy space, a more appreciative perspective, and better-defined goals.

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The busier we are, the more we accomplish, right?

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Please keep me in mind! This will be so new for my family and me. But don't worry, they'll be fine, and I will, too. ;) You'll still see me here and on Facebook. I'll still have content at those places you see linked in my sidebar, and I'll be working ever diligently on my current novel-in-progress.

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Stay tuned, too. I may have stories to tell!

I Dedicate This Song... To My WIP

Me and my work-in-progress--especially the first third or so--are stuck like glue. I try to get away, to work on more and other parts of the manuscript, but it keeps pulling me back in.



Writers, how do you keep yourself from revisiting one part too often?
Those who aren't writers but have work or projects of your own, what are your tricks for moving on?

**I'm not a country music fan (yep, this is a country duo), but this song is catchy, no? And what a cute video!

Class Time

I admit, I was a little nervous. Anytime I'm in front of a group of people--whether in a small social setting, a whole church congregation (to sing), or an elementary class--I get that way. Because here's the thing, they have to look at you. And listen, too. Gah!
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head of the class (for a brief time)

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But I had prepared for my session with the kids last Thursday. I'd taken notes to bulletpoint the things I wanted to say, readied fun little notebooks and pencils to distribute (gifts are always exciting), and I took my time, kept it casual. (I wore my school t-shirt, too, which I thought a nice touch.)
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It was great fun!
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I told the second grade class (including my older daughter):

There are all kinds of ways to write, and anyone can do it! You can journal, write letters or poems (which is also called poetry) or lists, and you can make up stories or tell true stuff, too.

I took props, showed them a fiction chapter book (who loves Junie B. Jones?), a non-fiction book of facts (about Justin Bieber, because he is all the rage among the youngsters), and a volume of Shel Silverstein's poetry (classic! an absolute favorite of mine when I was their age).
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I taught them how to write haiku poetry. The 5-7-5 syllable rule was something they really got into.

Missus [surname] is
the coolest teacher ever.
We really love her.

We talked about how ideas can come from anywhere: People-watching, pictures, music, brainstorming, etc. They liked it when we closely studied their teacher's necklace, and came up with stories for the pearl. For instance, that the teacher is a spy, and when she has to report her findings she speaks into the bead. How great is that?!
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I gave them a list of things to remember:

Poetry can rhyme but does not have to.
Fiction means not true, like make-believe.
Non-fiction means true and real.
A story or piece of writing has a beginning, a middle, and an end.
A story also has a plot, which means something happens in the story, and it can be funny or scary or sad or full of action, or whatever you want it to be. If you are the writer, you get to decide!
You get to be creative and use your imagination!

We talked a little about the mechanics of writing:

Whenever you write and whatever you write, check your spelling and sentences. Are your capital and lower-case letters correct? What should your punctuation look like? Make sure you write clearly, too, so people can read your words.

I talked about how neat it is to spend some time with writing and then pass it on, so that another person can read and understand and feel your thoughts and ideas.
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We spent about thirty-five minutes together. It went quickly. Before I left I gave them ideas for writing to try at home (using those new notebooks). They could write their own haiku, start a private journal, people-watch and take notes, write a letter to someone out of town (and get Mom or Dad's help sending it), or write a fictional story about their favorite animal.
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My first "speaking engagement" couldn't have gone better. I was so pleased with their attention and enthusiasm. As it turned out, the things I talked about were supportive of things they've learned in class (though haiku was new, and that was cool), and I was so excited to have encouraged them, even just a little.
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I think, too, that I may soon have chance to speak to a group of women, teachers, who are interested in writing and reading, and that makes me giddy! I'm a nerd for this stuff, and to be able to share it with others is awesomely awesome.
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Thanks to all of you for your ideas and support. And thanks to my mom, who went along for moral support, and acted as photographer, too. :)

Just a Quick Post

I've another humor column up at An Army of Ermas today... Won't you join my club? All the cool (lazy) kids are doin' it.

And Thursday is the day I'll be talking to kids about writing. I can't wait! I'll post about my experience on Friday. (Thanks for your tips!)

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It's Monday here in the States, and my week is doomed for (good) busyness. How do your next few days look?

Of An Afternoon

A part of me wanted to approach him, the man with his dog. I wanted to say, "He's beautiful, and I've always liked dachshunds."
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photo from dogdow.com

I'd have said, "I noticed you talking to the little guy. What was it you whispered so sweetly?" I saw them as companions, compadres, cohorts. They were dude and pooch, both squat and chesty with abbreviated legs, and a powerful bond.
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But instead I watched from my spot, cozy in that place between warm sunlight, cool wind.
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I decided that a verbal exchange I could dream up, the picture sketched before me, the what if, was good enough. Maybe better than the truth of the moment.
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So I looked on and I imagined, and that was all.

Talking to Kids About Writing

photo from scholastic.com

I need advice.

Today my daughter's teacher asked me to visit with her class (of 7- and 8-year-olds) about being a writer, and writing. I am thrilled!

But all I know so far is that I'll gift each kid with a mini composition notebook and a pencil (camo for boys, polka dots for the girls).

The kids know me, I've helped at parties, so there won't be a formal need for introduction. I'll feel most comfortable pulling up a piece of
floor with them, so there's that. I won't have to dress up. I may even go without make-up.

But talking literary terms and explaining my genre or giving them my resume is out.

What do I say? What do I ask? What do I tell them about myself? How do I show my passion, and encourage them with a love for words and story?

I know many of you have experience with this kind of thing, and I'm looking for guidance.

What are your pointers?

Things Would Be Different

The first novel I wrote was considered by Avalon Books in NYC. When they rejected it--this was December of 2008--I was crushed. I said at the time, on this blog, I feel like my sails have lost their wind. Now--instead of a writer being considered--I'm just a writer. I feel less validated. Like I have to start all over again...

It's been two-plus years.

Avalon is a quality publisher, and I have friends who've found success through them, but I'm glad my pacing was off, that the editors didn't care for my story's element of suspense, and that my hero and heroine lacked tension. I'm thankful they didn't pick me.*

The writer I am now, without that publication, is the writer I'm supposed to be.

I'm working on my third novel. Somewhere between that first book and this one, I've found my true writer's voice. I've learned that women's fiction is my strength. I've better-established and set the path to my long-term goals, not the least of which is agent representation. (Avalon does not require representation of their authors.)

I've added to my resume, and bolstered my confidence, and have become part of some awesome projects. I've honed and practiced and still continue to grow into a better writer.

If Avalon had thought differently, would I have grown in these same ways? Would I have found another path? Or molded to a certain style of writing, a particular avenue of publication that could have stunted my development?

How things could be different. I'm glad they're not. Really.

Do you have a similar story? Whether with writing or something else, has there been a near-miss you're now grateful for?

* I'm also thankful for the small nudge that Avalon's interest gave me, and my drive to write.

Memorable Writing

When I was in the fifth grade, we were given a project to write our own epitaph. It was a lesson in poetry.
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My maiden name is, well, difficult to rhyme. This is what I was virtually stuck with:
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Here lies Janna Leadbetter.
When she was little
she was a bedwetter.
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(I found my honest and vulnerable root in writing early, I guess.)
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Years later, after my surname changed and I was a new mom, my husband sold wheels to a young man online. When he came to pick them up, and I opened the door, we realized we knew each other. We'd been childhood classmates.
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He said, "I'll never forget your epitaph." And he recited it verbatim.
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That's some memorable writing.
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What would you write as your epitaph, just for fun?

Meet Amy Nathan

QUESTION: What's the worst way to make a great first impression? `

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ANSWER: By flipping deep-dish spinach pizza across the table at your dinner companion, of course.

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Amy and Janna

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Amy and I just laughed, and I dared her to share tale of my clumsiness (which I'm beating her to, I think). No damper on our dinner.

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I've known Amy, who is such a great and talented woman, through the power of the internets for what has to be a few years now. And when I learned I'd be visiting an area very close to her hometown, we planned a real-life meeting.

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I've talked about such meetings, with colleagues and bloggy buddies and all, here on the ol' blog before, and many of you have had the same experiences. It's just so darn cool. What pleases my writer's spirit is the connection over words, and the craft, that one can't get just anywhere.
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Amy and I talked about agents (she recently signed with Jason Yarn of The Paradigm Agency!), women's fiction, favorite authors, POV/tenses, premises, plots, and brainstorming about your WIP with habit, as a rule not an exception. Who else can you do that with and not bore your company to silence and disinterest? It's a powerful thing to share the same wavelength with another writer.
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I absolutely enjoyed our time together. Flipped food and all!
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If you've never crossed paths with Amy, go meet her now. Visit her blog and website at amysuenathan.com. She also has a post up at STET! today, so you can find her there. Tell her Janna sent you.
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You should try deep-dish spinach pizza, too. It's good.

To Write It

"My partner listened quietly, as he always does when I tell him all the details of the things I've seen. He knows I have a need to tell stories. But whenever I say them out loud, there is something missing for me. To really tell a story, I need to write it. It's then that I understand what it is that I'm really trying to say. I find the deeper meaning--and the deeper satisfaction.

The same is true of many others..."

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Elizabeth Berg, a preface to encouragement

in Escaping Into the Open:

the Art of Writing True

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I am one of those others.

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It's why I write. And why I dream of sharing my writing with others, aim for publication, so that I may understand myself, and thus be truly understood by you.

Three Things You Might Want to Know

(1) Last week's intruder (see Friday's post) has since come back and apologized.

(2) Mailmen and stalkers beware: I do have a hand gun, and I know how to use it.

and

(3) I'll be laboring through revisions today. How are you spending the holiday?

Scary? You Tell Me

This happened just yesterday, while no one was home but me...

The dye had been on my hair for nearly thirty minutes. Time to hop in the shower, time to rinse. I hope it's dark enough, I thought. I hope it's not too dark, I thought next.

As I pushed my head under the faucet, darkness splattered around me.

Lather lather.

Was pulled from that moment of concentration by KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Someone at the door.

I turned off my bathroom's light/fan combo, so loud that thing is, and the shower, too. Listened. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK came again.

Over the thudthud of my heart, I heard the front door swing open. "Hello!" called a male voice.

My whole chest was beating then, because this just doesn't happen every day. I listened harder, heard the door close. No footsteps. No, nothing.

I had a suspicion, though. And after a few quiet, uneventful moments...

Like a dumb teenager from a horror movie, I flipped on the light. Turned the water back on, cranked it wide. Yeah, yeah, call me vain (stupid, even), but my hair had to be rinsed. And I wasn't going to go investigate. Duh.

THUMP

Light/fan off. Water off.

THUMP

I know what that is.

I won't lie. I hesitated. But I told myself to be calm and--while listening for anyone or anything on the staircase, because my hunch could be wrong--finished my shower.

THUMP

And when I was done I listened again. Wrapped myself in a towel, tiptoed to my balcony to look down on the living room, and the front door. There was my proof.

Nine cases of postal shipping supplies my husband ordered, delivered courtesy USPS. The intruder had been our mailman, threatening as a puny grandpa, who'd thought to put everything indoors, away from the rain.

Kind of a nice consideration, actually.

Next time I lock the doors.

What would you have done?

ETA: I feel like I should add: We live in a small, private community, where everyone's friendly, and we've seen no crime in the 4.5 years we've been here. Changes the factors just a bit, I think.