Dry Spells

The dreaded dry spell.

The time we feel shriveled, bloated, wrinkled beyond belief, unable to produce anything worth anything, all the while feeling unbelievable pressure to do something.

Sort of like...having a period for the rest of your life.

This is what you sign up for when you decide to write: Heat waves. Flashes. Tears. Moodiness. The 'don't even think of touching me' lack of desire. Semi-psychotic behavior that has no true physiological basis.

Only it's not on a monthly schedule and there's no menopause to free you from it happening over. And over. And over.

But I think dry spells are good for us. And I don't think they're dry at all.

Sure you might not be putting thousands of words on the page a day. Or have any flashes of inspiration. Your semi-psychotic behavior might drive you to rewrite the same chapter forty times and then burn the pages in some ceremonial expulsion of demons. You'll probably do a little bit of crying. And 'have a happy period' will have NOTHING to do with fixing the punctuation in a sentence.

But you will be taking things in.

You will find yourself listening to things you might not have heard otherwise in your rush to get words on the page.

And without that...you wouldn't have anything to write.

Moving Forces, Stationary Objects

My son walked into a chair Friday night and stubbed his toe. It hurt. A lot.

He almost swore a word that would earn a bar of soap in his mouth, adding a few letters to change it at the last syllable. After wrapping a bag of frozen vegetables to his foot for an hour it wasn't hurting so much, and he fell asleep on the couch.

So on Saturday when he was hobbling around, going all drama king about his foot hurting, I told him to suck it up. It's just a stubbed toe for cripes sake. Of course it hurts. It's supposed to hurt when you smash a moving force into a stationary object.

No complaints from him the rest of the day. And none on Sunday morning.

So when I looked at his toe Sunday afternoon and saw it was black underneath, I, of course, finished his word without changing the last syllable and took him to the German hospital emergency room where, after a four hour wait, the doctor promptly confirmed that I am the world's worst mother.

Because his toe is broken.

As broken, unfortunately, as the lousy rewrite I am currently working on...which could use some moving force smashing into the stationary object.

See, I'm at that magic draft where you think you can't possible learn anything else about your story and then: Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma'am. Something bops you upside the head and you suddenly have new eyes.

Eyes which, fortunately, can see right through to the black underside that needs fixing. Immediately. Without several more days of pain and suffering.

So today, I proudly wear the World's Worst Mother badge while both my son and my story hobble around, reminding me they needed fixing in the first place.

Raise the stakes

I was watching kids beat each other up on the playground at school the other day.

It was Kindergarten, so there weren't any fists flying...blood dripping...or faces shoved against the ground. But there were plenty of hands on hips and mouths shouting, "Oh yeah? Well I'm gonna..."

I thought about stepping in. I probably should have.

But I was laughing too hard by the fifth time I heard someone shout and stomp away without ever finishing the sentence.

From a dramatic standpoint, it was the most boring fight I've ever seen.

Don't get me wrong. As a teacher, I'm glad the kids didn't kill each other, mangling someone into tears, snot balls, and bloody noses.

But as a writer, I have to do better than that in my books.

I have to raise the stakes.

While watching the fight I couldn't help but notice all the kids' energy fluttered and flitted around in every direction. None of the teachers could tell what happened or what anyone wanted. If I write that way in my books, my audience won't know what's going on, either.

It's not as simple as just knowing what your character wants. All of those kids knew they wanted to win the fight.

But they didn't know how to win. And they definitely didn't want it bad enough.

Characters have to be willing to do anything, no matter what the cost.

Even if it means they get their face shoved to the ground. Or popped in the nose with a fist.

A Bit of Princess

I realize that someone reading my blog might think I'm the wartiest toad in the bunch when it comes to writers they want to choose to work with.

And in some ways, I might be.

But I hate sales pitches angled around false pretenses. I hate words that are twisted to make something look better than what it is. I hate that sort of dishonesty in relationships.

Because I'm looking for an agent or publisher who is willing to accept me, warts and all, to make something good become great. I can't do that if I'm too busy trying to pretend to be something I'm not.

So what you read here is me. Maybe in a 'funny so I don't take myself too seriously' sort of way, but it is the most honest way I know to recognize my failures and celebrate my accomplishments.

Because even though I'm more comfortable focusing on the warts...and I don't like to admit it...I do have a bit of princess underneath.