Blog Archives - First Quarter '07
March 2007
[Wednesday March 28] - Blessings
Okay, hang onto your knickers, I'm about to get all Da Vincian on your ass. One of the key questions in the section on Curiosita in How to Think Like Da Vinci is: What is your heart's desire?
I've been thinking about it for about a week now, and this morning I had what the French call a Prise de Conscience, a eureka moment. Would you believe that I already have everything that has ever been my heart's desire? The only thing that leaves me unsatisfied is that everything I already have, I want more of.
I have love, I just want to spend more time with Rawle. I have two wonderful children, I just want to spend more quality time with them (no, not more kids!) I've always wanted to be a writer, I just want to write more. I'm pretty well paid (I pay more in taxes than many people in this country feed their entire families on), I just want to be more financially secure.
I could go on, but the point is that for all my bitching and moaning, I'm doing very well. At the age of 41 (oh yeah) I am well on my way to achieving all my dreams. I just need to focus, and act. Cool!
I was going to add that I'm healthy, I just wished I was healthier and in better shape, but considering I'm home on sick leave with laryngitis (second time this year) that probably wouldn't go down too well.
Oh, yeah, and I'd like to get a cat.
Wednesday March 21 - Laughing at my own stuff.
It's cool when you re-read your own writing and get a belly-laugh, isn't it. One of my characters, Marlene, who's my hero's mother, has turned out to have quite a mouth on her. She's no sweet little old lady, let me tell you! Giving poor Trey and Kendra the third degree the morning after they do the nasty for the first time. And no, she isn't upset about it; au contraire, she's all for the idea of sex. "I like my sex good, and I like my sex plenty," she says. And she's seventy if she's a day. Good on ya, Marlene.
I've gotten into the expansion phase of my book, where I work on the skeleton, which consists mainly of dialogue, stage directions and notes to self, and add narration, scenery, and all those little finishing touches. It's a little slow, because it's careful work, but overall, this new technique is working wonders for me. It's a refreshing break from writing by the seat of my pants.
We likes it, my preciousssss.....
Thursday March 15 - Sweet on Zach, sour on me
The Ides of March. Sure feels like it. I'm so weary I can't even lift my knuckles up off the floor. I was watching Scrubs tonight. It's one of my favorite shows. (Did I ever tell you about the wet dream I had about Zach Braff? I didn't? Oh, don't sweat it.)
Anyway, I was watching Scrubs - notice I said watching it, not hearing it, as my kids were playing golf in the room. Golf according to Riley's rules, where instead of hitting the ball you just whack the TV with your clubs. And I was thinking...why can't I write like that? The script is so fresh and so unpredictable. The characters are flawed and so annoying and engrossing. You never know what's going to happen, but you know you're going to love it. It's the kind of funny I'd like to be.
Then I started thinking...maybe my job isn't the problem, or the hours I spend on the road, or the cleaning and cooking and laundry and kids. Maybe even if I had all the time in the world, even if I worked for myself, things would be the same. I'd be just as tired, and just as frustrated. just as down on my own work.
Maybe. I don't know.
Maybe I just need ice cream and a nap.
Monday March 12 - The luck of a mangy dog
I know an author - I think of her as a sibling, since we share the same agent - who got a 6-book contract her first time out. That was years ago and I'm still trying to control my rampant jealousy.
Ah, to dream the dream! Sometimes I lie in bed and just fantasize that Harlequin is going to get hip to what a brilliant writer I am, phone me up, and offer me a lucrative 5-book deal. To date, all I've ever got is the standard 2-book deal.
Then, suddenly, out of the blue, it hit me. Multi-book deals don't come to you - unless, of course, your name's Stephen King or Nora Roberts. You have to come to them. Duh!
So that's exactly what I'm gonna do. It'll probably take me the better part of the year, but I'm going to put together a 5-book proposal and see if Harlequin goes for it. It might work, or it might not, but it's worth a shot.
As my Grandmother likes to say, you can never tell the luck of a mangy dog.
[Monday March 05] - Worse than fiction.
Well, Riley's out of hospital with no ill effects form his overdose, and I'm buying a medicine cabinet with a lock posthaste. And I'm so glad to be out of that awful place.
I think of how circumstances like these teach you to count your blessings. This morning, I talked with a woman with a daughter the same age as mine, who I listened to screaming in the treatment room for half an hour. The girl has a cardiac infection and will be there for 6 weeks. She has no husband, no support, and nobody to come take turns watching her daughter. Remember, this is the third world; we don't have accommodation for mothers. The hospital gave her a mattress on the floor, and she'll be sleeping on that, and grabbing her meals whenever she can, if she wants to be with her daughter.
I also talked with my immediate neighbour on the ward, a woman with a four-month old boy who has been in there for eight days. Her story just filled me with rage. She'll tell anyone who passes by about her awful, horrifying life with an abusive man. She didn't sound as though she had a whole lot of education, and from her accent she came from one of the small, poor islands in the Caribbean. Two strikes.
She's living with this 69 year old man, the father of this baby but not of the other 4 children under 10 that she has home. While she's been in hospital with the baby, the man has beaten her children so badly that the 3 and 5 year olds have wheals from a bottle on their backs. He's not looking after them, and she says a neighbour is "looking in on them" to make sure they at least get to school.
I was so horrified that I ratted on her to one of the doctors, and begged her to get this woman help. My initial plan was to discreetly peep at the child's chart, try to get an address, and call the cops, but I think this plan is better. At least the hospital can follow up.
Bu I don't hold out much home for the woman and her children. No education, no opportunities, and very little understanding of her rights as a woman and her responsibilities as a parent. I see her going back home to this man, and going on as per normal. These kids will grow up believing that this abuse is normal (if they grow up at all) and the whole song and dance will continue. That's the real heartbreaker. Some people's lives are worse than any fiction I can come up with.
[Sunday March 3rd] - My own personal Alcatraz
It's funny how things can turn on a dime. It's Pagwha today: that's the Hindu festival of Holi, where people get together in parks and throw coloured dye on each other. Kind of like a cross between paintball wars and dying chicks for Easter. Great fun.
So I put my son to bed to make sure he gets a good rest, and go to another room to have a nap. My son wanders in maybe 40 minutes later looking guilty and swearing he's been asleep. I immediately know something's up.
Turns out he ate a box of Children's Panadol. I'm ashamed to say I was tempted to ignore it, since he looked just fine, and go to the festival anyway. But okay, I thought better of it, did the responsible, motherly thing, and this is how I wound up where I am tonight. In the place on earth that my soul most abhors: the pediatric emergency ward.
I've been here with him twice before, the first time when he was 5 weeks old, when I spent a week in here watching him for meningitis. Not a cheerful thought in the best of circumstances, but I was all postpartum, the place was full of sick, even dying children who moaned in the night, and it was the worst week of my life.
So I sit here once again with 3 other women, all of whom have newborns who are sick, being assaulted by my memories. I've always said I'd do anything not to come here again, but my kid needs me.
February 2007
[Wednesday February 28] - Money, money, money
Tomorrow's the start of a new month. Ideal time to start a mini-project I've been meaning to collect every single receipt from everything I buy over the course of 3 months or so and draw up some sort of balance sheet. Why? I need to know how much I'm spending in order to know how much I need to live on.
Why? Just part of the feasibility study for my now legendary (even if still strictly theoretical) Work From Home project.
So it means keeping a note of everything I spend money on, including the occasional Cadbury's Whole Nut bar or box of tampons. Yep, it's going to call for uncharacteristic vigilance, even, if I may say so, an almost anal attention to detail.
Can I last 3 months? Ha. I'd be lucky if I last for 1.
But I'll blog about it from month to month. I ain't ashamed. Nothing to hide. I'm a spendaholic. But it'll be like using those coloured disclosure tablets on your teeth to show you where the plaque is. It'll tell me where to cut my spending. Join me on my journey. Better yet, feel sorry for me. Send me money.
[Saturday February 24th] Booyah! 200 pages!
Unbelievable. I just crossed 200 pages in my new Kimani. In just 5 weeks. I blogged about hitting that precious 100 page mark here, remember?
Oh, man, this is the fastest I have ever written. Which is interesting, because Dear Rita is the slowest I have ever written. It took me 19 months to write that book. And now, here I am, with 50,000 words under my belt in just 3 months.
All thanks to a new technique I learned in The Fiction Writer's Brainstormer, which showed me how to draft a novel in screenplay format and then convert it to novel format. It lets you get all your ideas down, get the story line in your head, and know where you're going before you get to the stage of serious novel writing. I can't tell you how that has helped. It's wonderful, probably the most valuable writing tip I've had in years.
I'm going to finish way ahead of schedule.
[Thursday February 22nd] - Dullsvile
21:35 hrs. Alone in the dark, typing as usual. One kid sleeping, the other in his room dreaming up excuses to get out of bed. Husband also sleeping.
Move along, folks. Nothing to see here.
When did I get so boring?
[Thursday February 15] - Valentine's Day rethunk
For a romance writer, I'm decidedly unromantic about Valentine's Day. Or at least I was. I remember writing a scathing newspaper column about Valentine's day maybe 8 years ago, in which I chronicled all I thought was wrong with it. (Still hate the commercialization, the hype, and the quiet desperation of men who are afraid even to go home unless they have something wrapped in pink under their arm.) I got some nasty mail after that one came out, especially from a lady who was proposed to on Valentine's Day, got married on Valentine's Day or had a kid on it or something, and called me every kind of moron she could think of.
But I've mellowed with old age, I guess. Now I listen to my son squeak on about Valentine's day, even though he has the barest grasp of the festival. I look at people and listen to them talk about it and hear the genuine emotion that I didn't hear when I was a callow youth. I watched a young girl walk out to the office parking lot to collect a bunch of red roses from a young man, and saw the look on her face. I heard the squeal in the voice of a colleague of my live-in love when she called me to tell me that he and the other man in the office bought roses for every woman in his Department.
And yeah, I've changed my mind about Valentine's. Not 100%, I still think there's rank money-making and a modicum of emotional extortion going on, but I've changed my mind nonetheless. I'm big enough to admit it.
Maybe next year, I'll write something kinder. We'll see.
[Monday February 12] - Adios, world
I am officially, unequivocally and without doubt going to die. I've had a stomach virus for a week now, and it shows no signs of getting tired of kicking my ass.
I on the other hand, am so exhausted that I'm about to pass out. I upchucked my spleen round about Saturday afternoon, and I've been operating on half a lung since Sunday night. And it would be bad enough if it was just me, but it's ALL FOUR of us. Throwing up on a dime. Sick at both ends. Think about it. Better yet, don't think about it. It'll ruin your dinner.
But don't cry for me, Argentina. It could be worse. How? I dunno, but that's the only thought that's keeping me alive right now, wretch that I am.
You know things are bad when the mere thought of chocolate makes you gag. And Valentine's just two days away!
[Sunday February 4th] - Creativity is no excuse
Don't you just hate how disorganized artistic people can be? And I say this as one myself. It's Carnival time in Trinidad. My children played "mas" at the kiddies Carnival yesterday. It was a disaster from the giddy-up. So many things went wrong. It was late, chaotic and kid-unfriendly. but this is what really riled me up.
My daughter was to make her debut on stage at age 19 months. She was to
wear a costume called Coconut Ice Cream. I paid a children's carnival
producer to make her costume, and a more scatterbrained woman I have yet to
meet.
Do you really want me to bore you with the details? Suffice it to say, I received her costume in pieces, in dribbles and bits over a few days, was stood up several times, had her cancel on me, had her send me on a wild goose chase around a crowded stadium hunting down a complete stranger she described as "tall dark and slim" to retrieve part of the costume she'd sent with her.
Up to 5 minutes before Megan was to compete, her costume wasn't finished
The woman was still on her way to the stadium to drop it off. So my kid
made her debut in half a costume and placed third. I'm not one of those
super competitive parents who think their kid has to win, but I nearly bust a
spleen at the way in which the whole thing went down. (BTW, the pix on the
right is my son in his costume, which was gorgeous.)
Yeah, the lady's an artist, and yes, her costumes are lovely, but it just brought to mind just how annoying we artsy types can be. Just because we're gifted with the ability to create doesn't mean we can be fluffy-brained, blithely apologetic, disregarding of other people's time and labor, and downright rude. It's offensive, disrespectful and insensitive. And let's face it; even Picasso got on people's nerves sometimes.
[Friday 2nd February] - In a slump
Another bad week for writing. Looks like I'm really in a slump. Don't know why. I should be practically soaking my knickers. My hero and heroine, Kendra and Trey, just had sex for the first time. That usually gets me hot. But not this time.
Could be PMS. Could be fatigue. I've been tired lately, and my commute to work has stretched to two hours either way. And I'm driving, so it's not as if I could read and make use of the time. It could be my increasing depression and unease over the terrible state of affairs in Trinidad, which I haven't blogged about much here, but which my evil twin has been belching about on my Blogspot Blog.
I should be all rosy-cheeked and excited. It's Carnival time again. and it's almost a year since I put up my new website. My, how we've grown. Will try to blog a little about Carnival when it eventually happens. That's cheerful, right? And as for my writing slump, well, maybe a little nookie will help. So, um, if you'll excuse me...
January 2007
[Wednesday January 31st] - Hippo Birdie
Happy Birthday to me
Happy Birthday to me
Happy Birthday dear meeeee
Happy Birthday to me.
And many mooore.
[Friday January 26th] - Bad week for writing
It's been a busy week, but I'm not surprised. Lots to do at the office as the workload kicks off for real. Got almost no writing done, as I can't honestly say I had a free lunch hour. Even after work, by the time I was done with the kids I was just too bushed to do anything more than read over a few desultory pages.
Oh well, was it Neil Diamond who said that some days are diamonds and some days are stones?
[Monday January 22] - Waiting on the Dragon
Writing can be a killer on your hands, especially if you do it for your day job, moonlight as a writer and do it for relaxation. My hands have been hurting lately, and when I say lately, I mean over the past six months or so. Sometimes they hurt so much I can't sleep. I need to put them on pillows. I don't need a doctor to tell me that carpal tunnel syndrome is in my near future.
So what's an aspiring writer to do? Ah, Grasshopper, listen. You use your voice, not your hands. I just ordered Dragon Naturally Speaking 9 speech recognition software. I've balked at the idea for a long time, since I am a person who thinks with my hands. I didn't think it might work. Plus there's the embarrassment factor. As a romance writer, it's bad enough typing lines like "Their limbs tangled, they ground against each other, seeking mutual release." Imagine saying that to a machine.
But I have to be realistic. If I'm going to make a living writing, I'm going to have to protect my second best asset: my hands. I'm hoping that my imagination will remain my first.
Trouble is, it might take weeks to get here, since I ordered it on Amazon and it has to be flown in and pass through customs. It's going to be at least two weeks. I can't hardly wait! I want my Dragon!
[Saturday January 20] - Doing the math
This is odd. I just calculated my approximate hourly rate of pay on my day job, and worked out how much I'm getting paid per hour for my new book, based on my current contract. Can you believe that this book is paying me roughly six times per hour what I make on my day job?
Wait, I didn't add our bonus. We got about 3 months pay on our last bonus, so I'm guessing it will be about the same thing this year. That raises my hourly rate on the day job by about 25%, if my math is right. So the ratio of day job to book writing is now about 1:4.8.
Then let's see. I also get health insurance. That's worth something. Between myself and the kids, I probably drop a couple of grand in medical care (we're an unhealthy bunch). Then there's the Company car. It's valued at about 35% of my gross income. That brings us down to about...1:3.75. If I'm wrong, well, I apologise. I'm not good at them thar figures.
For argument's sake, let's leave it at a rough 1:3, given the fact that I don't exactly work every second of my "working" day. I'm a habitual latecomer and spend an inordinate time in the bathroom. I take a lot of snacky breaks. I gossip with the girls. But even after all that, I could theoretically work one third of the time writing and make about what I'm making now. I could work 5 hours a day and make twice as much.
So why am I here?
I'll tell you why. I'm chicken. Buk buk bukawk!
[Thursday January 18th] - 100 pages!
Hey! I crossed the precious, infamous, wonderful 100 page mark in my new Kimani this week! I am sooo chuffed. I always celebrate my 100 pages, because it means my draft is solidly grounded and well on the way to becoming a real book. Kind of like Pinocchio being on the way to becoming a real boy.
I'm so proud of me.
Monday January 15 - Interview with a zombie
Had
an interview today with a film crew that's doing a series of programs on
Caribbean artists. It was surprising enough that they even knew I existed,
much less bothered to include me, given that some of the other interviewees are
people like Heather Headley.
The crew were very nice and professional. They reminded of my sister's friends back in the day when she used to be part of a film crew. They won me over the minute they walked into my yard without asking me to tie up my dog. Nothing gets on my nerves more than people who don't take my word for it that my dog is safe. If I say she's safe, she's safe. Just because she weighs 50 pounds and is half pitbull doesn't mean she's going for your throat. Besides, you respect my animals and my children, you win points with me. 'Nuff said.
The interview didn't go badly (I didn't belch, fart, or have a coughing fit on camera) but I can't say I shone, either.
Apart
from raging PMS, I was so tired it's a wonder I was coherent. Had a busy
weekend with the kids (they opted not to nap this weekend) and a lousy day
yesterday. I sold my favourite car, my Peugeot, to a lady, and as the
Devil's luck would have it, wound up returning the check hours later when the
car broke down spectacularly just hours later. I was so upset about how
that turned out, I just couldn't sleep. But that's another story.
So, I was hardly myself, not exactly on the ball with my answers. Babbled half the time, I'm sure. Now I know what celebs feel like when they turn up for an interview stoned. My brain felt like an egg in a frying pan. And I'm just not that interesting; if I saw me on TV, I don't know if I'd want to watch me. So we'll see how that one will turn out. It airs in a month. I'll let ya know.
[Wednesday January 10] - Best Laid Plans
Still chewing on all those wonderful (if slightly delusional) plans I've made for the next 3 years of my life, I realize that it would behoove me to set some pretty concrete goals for my website, among other things. Not being a hugely imaginative person (as far as websites go), I can only think of a few meager, some would say unambitious, goals.
Well, ya know what? They're my goals and I'm cool with them. So, over the next year, I intend to:
Double the traffic to my site. Now, what exactly does that mean? The little hit counter at the bottom of my home page read about 3,500 at the start of the year. This would mean that it'd somehow have to read over 10,000 hits by the end of '07, even if December 31st finds me sitting here refreshing the page over and over until I get there. It's not a humongous number of hits, by web standards, but say what. My last site was so dull it got maybe 200 a year. I've come a long way, baby.
My web server's web stats, on the other hand, seem to suggest that I am getting a gazillion hits per month. Even making allowances for people entering on other pages of the site, this is puzzling. I've had a crack at trying to figure it out, but I've given that up. I accept that I am a techno-moron with the most basic of web skills and leave it at that. So, 10,000 hits by year end, as registered by my counter, will have to do.
My second big ambition is to double the number of e-mails, guestbook entries, and collaborative story entries I get per month. This will not be as hard as it sounds. In order to double those, I'd only have to get oh, say about 4 per month. I'm trying hard not to take the lack of interest personally.
Finally, I have to make the site more interesting, and that includes my blog. Sorry, did you say "Too late?" How rude!
[Friday January 5th] - My report card
You know those last few pages in your company diary that nobody ever uses? I was about to throw away my 2006 diary when I noticed that I'd written something on those same pages - in January 2006. Turns out, it was my short, medium and long term plan to establish my writing career.
Here's a look at my great ambitions, and how well I did so far:
1 Year
- Establish website (done that)
- New author photo (sort of)
- Incorporate/develop trademark (not incorporated, but I do have this neat cartoon on the header)
- Logo, stationary, business cards etc. (see above)
- Fix study (ha, it's still the garbage dump of the house)
- Mailing system (huh?)
- Write 2 books (finished one, started another)
- Get tax advice (another ha)
3 Years
- Go full time
- Attend foreign conferences
- Establish local presence, book stores, signings
- Travel for research
5 Years
*Blank* (This is where my courage and imagination failed me. Any suggestions?)
[New Year's Day 2007] - Spinning top in mud
Okay, so the festivities are over and the likker has all been drunk and we're slowly adjusting to the idea that the term "last year" refers to 2006 and not 2005. I'm sitting here feeling a little bit glum.
Why? Because I know that tomorrow I'm back to work, and not just back in the office, diddling away the day and wrapping up after a hard year's work, but back doing genuine labor, the stuff I get paid for. Which isn't the problem, exactly. It's not a bad job, if you can get it. What's really disturbing me is that I am going back with the same deep sinking feeling that I had last year around this time.
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Nope. Not where I want to be! |
I remember sitting at my desk, with Christmas decorations around me, not yet taken down, and wondering if I really want to go on with corporate life. Where was my writing career going? And what was I doing to further it?
Well, here I am, a year later, asking myself the same thing. Of course, in the past year I made a few significant steps. This website, for one, which has been doing okay, if I say so, especially after a hiatus of about a year.
I also got a new 2 book contract with Harlequin Kimani, my best to date in terms of an advance. One book, Dear Rita, has already been delivered. I'm still banging away at the second. It remains to be seen how they do.
But what else? What else? What am I doing to further my dream of writing full time? And given my experiences on my three week stay at home experiment, should I even bother to try? Not a day passes by when I don't think about calling it quits and setting myself up as a full time writer. And not a day passes when I don't ask myself if I have the guts, or try to talk myself out of it. I'm very creative with the reasons I shouldn't, poverty and starvation being at the top of my list. Others include:
- I'll never have the time to write enough to keep us alive
- I'd get bored or go crazy
- and, my personal favorite, my writing sucks.
There's a West Indian expression: Spinning top in mud. It means if you try to spin a top in mud, it doesn't go anywhere. It just goes round and round. So, once again, I begin the year with these questions in mind: Where is my writing career going? What am I doing to get it there?
