Thanks to the three people who wrote to me that On the Edge the Serial: Chapter 100 was broken. It seems like I've fixed this problem at least 23 times since I started running the site and every time I write the code over, I forget to do it right and do it wrong and then 2 years later, it requires fixing yet again. Anyway, I finally DID fix it. Future chapters should work.
Thanks much to the people who are still reading On the Edge the Serial. Someone posted a comment and asked what I planned to do with On the Edge... the answer is, "I have no freaking clue." The serial is still (or SHOULD still be) being posted at the rate of about one chapter every 10 days. Beyond that, God knows if I will ever have the money to publish the novels again. I want them in print and that costs. I never seem to get ahead-er enough to make that happen. It's depressing, I know. All I can say is keep checking back on the figure skating fiction at Skatefic.com and on this blog here. When anything happens, I'll let you know.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Fire! Fire! Fire! Help!
On November 4, 1997, at 4:04 AM in the morning. I heard an intermittent buzzing. I sat up in bed, bleary-eyed, and put my feet on the cold floor. I stood up and took one step. And in between that one step and the next, before my bare foot hit the hardwood floor, I thought, "The house is on fire." I wasn't thinking straight, and I called to my husband and threw open our bedroom door. He says that the first thing he saw as he opened his eyes was my silhouette against the flames.
The home office, right across the hallway from our bedroom door, was on fire. Flames were licking up the wall behind my computer monitor which was already charred. I bolted from the house, screaming for my husband to get the baby (who was two) while I woke my brother, who was living with us at the time and is notoriously hard to wake.
When I got out the door, I realized that my husband had not followed us out. He was going for the main breaker. And without a thought, I ran back into the smoky, burning house, into the teeth of the fire. I scooped up my GG and left, nearly colliding with my husband who was already dragging the hose down the hall to douse the fire.
I went to the neighbor clad in nothing but a t-shirt and panties and hammered on their door for five minutes before they got up. They called the fire department for us. Despite being less than 3 miles away, the fire truck took 20 minutes to arrive. By that time, the fire was long out. Without my husband's firefighting training (courtesy of the US Navy) we would have lost everything: my wedding dress, the hundred year old pictures of our families, every stitch of clothing, everything. Once the fire got into the attic, the house would have been a total loss.
As it was, we were out of our house for weeks. We missed Thanksgiving, living in a hotel. We moved in a scant 4 days before Christmas. And I nearly lost my mind. The damage came to $43,000. Insurance paid, but in fits and starts, wreaking havoc on our budget. Every thing we owned had to be washed, cleaned, restored, or painted. It was the single most stressful event in my whole life--to the point where "stress" seems like such a pathetic understatement, I can't begin to think of a noun that really fits.
For years afterward, I woke smelling smoke. I would have to get up and check the whole house before I could force myself back to sleep. I remember, vividly, how my bedside clock looked at 4:04 AM that morning. I, who can barely remember my daughters' birthdays, remember the exact date. I can see the flames, feel the terror.
I smell smoke in my nightmares.
I have a good friend named Hope who I've known for years. Last night, Hope's sister's house burned to the ground. They lost everything. They are now living with Hope.
At a time like this, when you've been where I have, you want to do something to help. Your heart goes out, but you feel helpless nevertheless. And that's where you come in. One person can't do much, but together, we can do a lot. So here I am, asking you to open your hearts, your closets, and your wallets to help Hope's sister and her children. They have lost everything.
Child One: Boy, age 4, size approx. 5
Child Two: Girl, age 1, size approx. 24 months.
You can send monetary donations via PayPal to icrochet@bellsouth.net
or by mail to:
Hope Wilbanks
ATTN: Donation for Faith
PO Box 100
Palmetto, LA 71358
Please be generous.
The home office, right across the hallway from our bedroom door, was on fire. Flames were licking up the wall behind my computer monitor which was already charred. I bolted from the house, screaming for my husband to get the baby (who was two) while I woke my brother, who was living with us at the time and is notoriously hard to wake.
When I got out the door, I realized that my husband had not followed us out. He was going for the main breaker. And without a thought, I ran back into the smoky, burning house, into the teeth of the fire. I scooped up my GG and left, nearly colliding with my husband who was already dragging the hose down the hall to douse the fire.
I went to the neighbor clad in nothing but a t-shirt and panties and hammered on their door for five minutes before they got up. They called the fire department for us. Despite being less than 3 miles away, the fire truck took 20 minutes to arrive. By that time, the fire was long out. Without my husband's firefighting training (courtesy of the US Navy) we would have lost everything: my wedding dress, the hundred year old pictures of our families, every stitch of clothing, everything. Once the fire got into the attic, the house would have been a total loss.
As it was, we were out of our house for weeks. We missed Thanksgiving, living in a hotel. We moved in a scant 4 days before Christmas. And I nearly lost my mind. The damage came to $43,000. Insurance paid, but in fits and starts, wreaking havoc on our budget. Every thing we owned had to be washed, cleaned, restored, or painted. It was the single most stressful event in my whole life--to the point where "stress" seems like such a pathetic understatement, I can't begin to think of a noun that really fits.
For years afterward, I woke smelling smoke. I would have to get up and check the whole house before I could force myself back to sleep. I remember, vividly, how my bedside clock looked at 4:04 AM that morning. I, who can barely remember my daughters' birthdays, remember the exact date. I can see the flames, feel the terror.
I smell smoke in my nightmares.
I have a good friend named Hope who I've known for years. Last night, Hope's sister's house burned to the ground. They lost everything. They are now living with Hope.
At a time like this, when you've been where I have, you want to do something to help. Your heart goes out, but you feel helpless nevertheless. And that's where you come in. One person can't do much, but together, we can do a lot. So here I am, asking you to open your hearts, your closets, and your wallets to help Hope's sister and her children. They have lost everything.
Child One: Boy, age 4, size approx. 5
Child Two: Girl, age 1, size approx. 24 months.
You can send monetary donations via PayPal to icrochet@bellsouth.net
or by mail to:
Hope Wilbanks
ATTN: Donation for Faith
PO Box 100
Palmetto, LA 71358
Please be generous.
Friday, April 06, 2007
For Cathy, Who is Purple-3
ARGH. Damned laptop shut down AGAIN for no reason and I lost my WHOLE blog post. I HATE that. Worse yet, for some stupid reason, FireFox didn't keep the session information for the thirty five windows I had open. Argh and double argh. Let's see, where was I?
Oh yes.
I'm very fond of the poem "When I am old, I shall wear purple/with a red hat that does not become me." It reminds me of my friend Cathy, who a couple years ago decided not to turn 50. Instead, she turned "purple" and she is now "purple-3." Being orange-6 (<grin>, 36, actually, and not phased by the numbers) myself, I kind of understand her refusal to surrender not so much to age and its indignities, but to society's ideas about who and what older women are and should be.
It occurred to me last night when I was reading this article about a 64-year-old grandmother who appeared (tastefully) naked on a billboard for Dove's Real Women advertising campaign. I thought it was great until the end when she says, "age is but a number, and real beauty—at whatever age—comes from feeling young and thinking young." I know our society identifies youth with beauty to the exclusion of beauty after youth, but this quote bothers me. It endorses youth=beauty in the midst of a campaign that SAYS it means exactly the opposite. Are we really beautiful in all our sizes, shapes and ages, or is beauty, fashion, and self-esteem only for the young, the thin, the fair? Dove can say one thing, but even its models seem to think another. And if we all do, who are we really fooling?
So this morning, I was reading Crooks and Liars, and came across this video by Gogol Bordello. The band plays what they call "Gypsy Punk." And it's got the infectious, driving beat you expect from tradition gypsy music. And the lyrics are delightfully silly. The song is "Start Wearing Purple." And though I have not deciphered all the lyrics yet, it seems to be saying, "Don't be shy about looking your age. I love you and I think you are beautiful even if you aren't 20 anymore." How empowering!
And I thought of you, Cathy.
Oh yes.
I'm very fond of the poem "When I am old, I shall wear purple/with a red hat that does not become me." It reminds me of my friend Cathy, who a couple years ago decided not to turn 50. Instead, she turned "purple" and she is now "purple-3." Being orange-6 (<grin>, 36, actually, and not phased by the numbers) myself, I kind of understand her refusal to surrender not so much to age and its indignities, but to society's ideas about who and what older women are and should be.
It occurred to me last night when I was reading this article about a 64-year-old grandmother who appeared (tastefully) naked on a billboard for Dove's Real Women advertising campaign. I thought it was great until the end when she says, "age is but a number, and real beauty—at whatever age—comes from feeling young and thinking young." I know our society identifies youth with beauty to the exclusion of beauty after youth, but this quote bothers me. It endorses youth=beauty in the midst of a campaign that SAYS it means exactly the opposite. Are we really beautiful in all our sizes, shapes and ages, or is beauty, fashion, and self-esteem only for the young, the thin, the fair? Dove can say one thing, but even its models seem to think another. And if we all do, who are we really fooling?
So this morning, I was reading Crooks and Liars, and came across this video by Gogol Bordello. The band plays what they call "Gypsy Punk." And it's got the infectious, driving beat you expect from tradition gypsy music. And the lyrics are delightfully silly. The song is "Start Wearing Purple." And though I have not deciphered all the lyrics yet, it seems to be saying, "Don't be shy about looking your age. I love you and I think you are beautiful even if you aren't 20 anymore." How empowering!
And I thought of you, Cathy.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
First Freedom First
I don't normally talk about politics here. Okay, sometimes I give you a peek into what I feel strongly about--but only sometimes. Anyway, I saw this video this morning and felt I had to share it. It hits me particularly close to home for many reasons.
Freedom cuts both ways.
Freedom cuts both ways.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Figure Skating Moms' Minivans
This is not a well known fact, but I have a curious soft spot for the "Pimp My Ride" genre of TV shows. My first car was a classic (a 65 For Falcon) and I love the old muscle cars. In fact, DH owned a 1971 Chevelle when we met. It added much to his charm.
As far as Pimp My Ride goes I am most certainly NOT the demographic. My car fetish even goes as far as watching Trick My Truck (on CMT where they use semi's)... at least when there ain't squat on. I don't much like the show where they steal the car and then play practical jokes on the owner while they trick out the vehicle... that's just too cruel for my taste. DH thinks it's funny, must be guy thing.
My favorite Pimp My Ride is when they installed a bunch of TVs in the floor of this chick's suburban and put in a console with a huge make-up case with running water and everything. It was just so outrageous it was cool. I always wanted to submit my minivan and ask them to make it into the ultimate mom-mobile.
But now... come to think of it, I'LL PASS!
Anyway, THIS is absolutely hysterical. French fries! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
As far as Pimp My Ride goes I am most certainly NOT the demographic. My car fetish even goes as far as watching Trick My Truck (on CMT where they use semi's)... at least when there ain't squat on. I don't much like the show where they steal the car and then play practical jokes on the owner while they trick out the vehicle... that's just too cruel for my taste. DH thinks it's funny, must be guy thing.
My favorite Pimp My Ride is when they installed a bunch of TVs in the floor of this chick's suburban and put in a console with a huge make-up case with running water and everything. It was just so outrageous it was cool. I always wanted to submit my minivan and ask them to make it into the ultimate mom-mobile.
But now... come to think of it, I'LL PASS!
Anyway, THIS is absolutely hysterical. French fries! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
It sounds like my car, though I don't have a minivan anymore. When I had one, that's about how it was (but without the bottles). Though I will say, they forgot the permanent marker on the upholstery.
Enjoy!
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Figure Skating Worlds Coverage (Not!)
I got a comment the other day which asked if I was going to do play by play coverage of Worlds this week. While I'm gratified that someone was interested enough to ask, I must confess that I have a BAD case of busy this spring. I barely have time to watch skating much less spend hours watching every skater while typing reports.
Presently, I am working hard on the second edition of my Google book. My co-author and I have roughly four weeks to finish and we are already three weeks behind. I am preparing taxes again this year for the AARP TaxAide program two days a week. And we are moving again... by CHOICE. I can't believe that last one! But we are. I'm struggling to clean and pack and sort and get the mortgage crap done and so on.
This past week has been about my third week in a row where I have EIGHT days of work to complete in five days. I'm pretty much worn out. So if you are looking for Worlds coverage this year, my apologies. It's not happening. I just don't have any time and I have less energy. Maybe next year.
On a brighter note. Props to my favorite obscure skater Tomas Werner! I have loved Tomas for several years now--as far back as when he was skating for (was it?) Germany. Werner skated the lights out in his long, landed two BEAUTIFUL quads, and ended up fourth at Worlds after being like 19th last year. Go Tomas! On the other blade, sighs for Evan and tears for Johnny. I haven't watched any of the other coverage, and probably won't. I am falling into bed exhausted at relatively early hours and don't get to watch much TV.
Figure skating is my life, but sometimes work gets in the way.
Presently, I am working hard on the second edition of my Google book. My co-author and I have roughly four weeks to finish and we are already three weeks behind. I am preparing taxes again this year for the AARP TaxAide program two days a week. And we are moving again... by CHOICE. I can't believe that last one! But we are. I'm struggling to clean and pack and sort and get the mortgage crap done and so on.
This past week has been about my third week in a row where I have EIGHT days of work to complete in five days. I'm pretty much worn out. So if you are looking for Worlds coverage this year, my apologies. It's not happening. I just don't have any time and I have less energy. Maybe next year.
On a brighter note. Props to my favorite obscure skater Tomas Werner! I have loved Tomas for several years now--as far back as when he was skating for (was it?) Germany. Werner skated the lights out in his long, landed two BEAUTIFUL quads, and ended up fourth at Worlds after being like 19th last year. Go Tomas! On the other blade, sighs for Evan and tears for Johnny. I haven't watched any of the other coverage, and probably won't. I am falling into bed exhausted at relatively early hours and don't get to watch much TV.
Figure skating is my life, but sometimes work gets in the way.
Monday, March 05, 2007
What kind of programmer are you?
Ah, my survey jones thirsts for useless online "tests!" This one, supposedly based on the Myers-Briggs personality survey tells you what kind of programmer you are (my myers-briggs is SCARY balanced, BTW). Apparently, as a programmer, I'm a:
DLSB
You're a Doer.
You are very quick at getting tasks done. You believe the outcome is the most important part of a task and the faster you can reach that outcome the better. After all, time is money.
You like coding at a Low level.
You're from the old school of programming and believe that you should have an intimate relationship with the computer. You don't mind juggling registers around and spending hours getting a 5% performance increase in an algorithm.
You work best in a Solo situation.
The best way to program is by yourself. There's no communication problems, you know every part of the code allowing you to write the best programs possible.
You are a liBeral programmer.
Programming is a complex task and you should use white space and comments as freely as possible to help simplify the task. We're not writing on paper anymore so we can take up as much room as we need.
If you want to see all the personality types, they're here.
DLSB
You're a Doer.
You are very quick at getting tasks done. You believe the outcome is the most important part of a task and the faster you can reach that outcome the better. After all, time is money.
You like coding at a Low level.
You're from the old school of programming and believe that you should have an intimate relationship with the computer. You don't mind juggling registers around and spending hours getting a 5% performance increase in an algorithm.
You work best in a Solo situation.
The best way to program is by yourself. There's no communication problems, you know every part of the code allowing you to write the best programs possible.
You are a liBeral programmer.
Programming is a complex task and you should use white space and comments as freely as possible to help simplify the task. We're not writing on paper anymore so we can take up as much room as we need.
If you want to see all the personality types, they're here.
Friday, March 02, 2007
The B I B L E... and other amusements
So, I was wandering the blogosphere and came upon this interesting quiz. I haven't indulged my survey jones in a while so this looked like a good opportunity.
I am Catholic. We RCs are not known for our encyclopedic knowledge of the Bible, but I'm also not your average Catholic. For about 3 years in elementary school, I attended a "Christian" academy run by the Southern Baptists. For the first year it was okay, but by the third year, I was getting told I was going to hell because I was Catholic.
Yeah, that sounds REAL Christian to me, too.
But as a result, I memorized the books of the Bible in 2nd grade (and lots of verses, too) and actually read the book (it has some great stories). Alas, I can no longer rattle off all the books of the old and new testaments. I can recite the 40 most common prepositions (courtesy of Catholic middle school).
Old reprobate that I am, who probably hasn't cracked a Bible since I was 10 (okay, a LITTLE in college where I used to annoy the fundamentalists in Bible study just for cussedness).
So color me amused.
You know the Bible 95%!
Wow! You are awesome! You are a true Biblical scholar, not just a hearer but a personal reader! The books, the characters, the events, the verses - you know it all! You are fantastic!
Ultimate Bible Quiz
Create MySpace Quizzes
Friday, February 16, 2007
How could I have forgotten to tell you!
So the last time I posted about The Barunian Incident, I was 70 words short of half finished. And then I forgot to update again!
I FINISHED!
On January 24th at 5:40 PM, The Barunian Incident clocked in at 87,543 words.
And since the muse refused to be silent, I wrote 12K words of the sequel Tavilis Rex!
And then, of course, as she often does, the muse went back to Tahiti. I got stuck somewhere in chapter 5 of the new book. I'm not really worried about it. I say this with a nod to Mr. T Wanker, "the passion will return." In the meantime, I have work to do.
I sent the MS to a friend to read. Still waiting to hear what she has to say. She did say that she's in the middle and enjoying the book. So that's good.
I'm not really looking forward to the editing process, if the truth must be told. I joined a critique site that produced good advice during the test I made with the prologue. But it's still going to be a HUGE amount of work to send it through critique because for each chapter iIsend through, I have to crit a chapter of someone else's work. And then I have to read all the commentary and decide what revisions to make.
I did read the book again last week, and it still seems like a pretty good book. Maybe not enough sword fighting and too much love making. I've been keeping track of revisions I want to make. There are about three major ones and ten minor ones. I did at least one revision suggested in the critiques of the prologue. The shuttle launch was too much like the US space shuttle, and it shouldn't have been. That made a lot of sense to me since the book takes place like 5K years in the future. But some other things... dunno.
I'm also not looking forward to the marketing process. I've been trying to write a kick ass query for the book. My query for On the Edge got my foot in a LOT of doors (which were subsequently slammed in my face), but hey! It got me in those doors and even got a "what a fantastic query" from Ethan Ellenberg (who didn't want to read it, not his genre). I also have to do a synopsis... <funk> I hate synops. I hate them with a PASSION (see, Wanker!)! I am not looking forward to rejection after rejection. I got my fill of those with OTE. On the other hand, this isn't a skating book, so it is quite possible that it might actually SELL, which OTE didn't really have a snowball's chance in hell of doing no matter how well written it was.
Anyway, I have gotten past the delightful hours of drafting and now comes the hard work of critique, revision, and polishing, marketing and pitching, and taking rejections in stride... and the not giving up. I am going to try... not to get demoralized with this novel. If it doesn't sell, I'll write another one. Maybe even work on Like Chocolate and Cayenne (a foodie chick-lit that Natalie R Collins is always bugging me to write). I keep trying to convince myself that I SHOULD write it because it would sell... even when my heart isn't in it.
Oh dear.
I've just exposed myself as the consummate NON-professional.
I still want to write what my heart is in. With fiction, I allow myself that luxury. I spend a lot of time writing what I have to. On my own time, I write what I want to. And the truth of the matter is, if I write a foodie chick lit and it sells, The Powers That Be will want me to write another. And I don't want to. The future of foodie chick lit novels stretches out before me like an endless moving walkway at the airport. It's intolerable to go in a direction I don't want, to get on a plane I don't want, to take a trip I don't want... to get to a place that maybe I want to be. Alina Adams wrote 20 category romances before TPTB would let her write a skating novel (it sold like 25K copies too). I'm not sure I can do that.
See, JulieAnn, we don't disagree after all.
I FINISHED!
On January 24th at 5:40 PM, The Barunian Incident clocked in at 87,543 words.
And since the muse refused to be silent, I wrote 12K words of the sequel Tavilis Rex!
And then, of course, as she often does, the muse went back to Tahiti. I got stuck somewhere in chapter 5 of the new book. I'm not really worried about it. I say this with a nod to Mr. T Wanker, "the passion will return." In the meantime, I have work to do.
I sent the MS to a friend to read. Still waiting to hear what she has to say. She did say that she's in the middle and enjoying the book. So that's good.
I'm not really looking forward to the editing process, if the truth must be told. I joined a critique site that produced good advice during the test I made with the prologue. But it's still going to be a HUGE amount of work to send it through critique because for each chapter iIsend through, I have to crit a chapter of someone else's work. And then I have to read all the commentary and decide what revisions to make.
I did read the book again last week, and it still seems like a pretty good book. Maybe not enough sword fighting and too much love making. I've been keeping track of revisions I want to make. There are about three major ones and ten minor ones. I did at least one revision suggested in the critiques of the prologue. The shuttle launch was too much like the US space shuttle, and it shouldn't have been. That made a lot of sense to me since the book takes place like 5K years in the future. But some other things... dunno.
I'm also not looking forward to the marketing process. I've been trying to write a kick ass query for the book. My query for On the Edge got my foot in a LOT of doors (which were subsequently slammed in my face), but hey! It got me in those doors and even got a "what a fantastic query" from Ethan Ellenberg (who didn't want to read it, not his genre). I also have to do a synopsis... <funk> I hate synops. I hate them with a PASSION (see, Wanker!)! I am not looking forward to rejection after rejection. I got my fill of those with OTE. On the other hand, this isn't a skating book, so it is quite possible that it might actually SELL, which OTE didn't really have a snowball's chance in hell of doing no matter how well written it was.
Anyway, I have gotten past the delightful hours of drafting and now comes the hard work of critique, revision, and polishing, marketing and pitching, and taking rejections in stride... and the not giving up. I am going to try... not to get demoralized with this novel. If it doesn't sell, I'll write another one. Maybe even work on Like Chocolate and Cayenne (a foodie chick-lit that Natalie R Collins is always bugging me to write). I keep trying to convince myself that I SHOULD write it because it would sell... even when my heart isn't in it.
Oh dear.
I've just exposed myself as the consummate NON-professional.
I still want to write what my heart is in. With fiction, I allow myself that luxury. I spend a lot of time writing what I have to. On my own time, I write what I want to. And the truth of the matter is, if I write a foodie chick lit and it sells, The Powers That Be will want me to write another. And I don't want to. The future of foodie chick lit novels stretches out before me like an endless moving walkway at the airport. It's intolerable to go in a direction I don't want, to get on a plane I don't want, to take a trip I don't want... to get to a place that maybe I want to be. Alina Adams wrote 20 category romances before TPTB would let her write a skating novel (it sold like 25K copies too). I'm not sure I can do that.
See, JulieAnn, we don't disagree after all.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Utter nonsense
I have been having a completely awful last-7-days. I was away on business last week in San Fransisco. It rained the whole time and I was in constant pain from my arthritis (which the medical plan won't pay for a medication to control, but will pay for something cheaper which leaves me in constant pain). I did get to see a lot of people I care about, but it is just so much fun when you're sore and tired every moment of every day. Then I come home to disaster after disaster—I'm not even going to go into them—the worst of which was my oldest daughter getting the stomach flu AND appendicitis at the same time. And needless to say, I'm in a FUCKING BAD MOOD.
So, a dear friend who means well sent me the following poem "so you want to be a writer?" Go ahead. Go read it. I'll wait. And it just sent me through the roof. What utter and complete nonsense!
Writing is HARD. Writing IS rewriting. Writing is writing when you don't wanna. Writing is being critiqued. Writing is putting food on the table. Writing is not sexy and not glamorous and not always fun, expressive and a delight. Sometimes it's just damned hard work.
So this is my response:
The Professional Writer Responds to Charles Bukowski
If you can write when it's not flowing,
you're a professional writer.
If you can write when your heart, mouth and gut are dry,
you're a professional writer.
If you write despite how HARD it really is,
you're a professional writer.
If you do it for money,
you're a professional writer.
If you do it so you have a bed to sleep in and a roof over your head and a spouse to share it with,
you're a professional writer.
If you have the guts to sit and rewrite over and over and over,
Celebrate! You're a professional writer!
If you do it despite how hard it is to think about it, if you can write in any style any time,
you're a professional writer.
If you can write even when the roar of inspiration is muted,
you're a professional writer.
If you first read it to anyone and you take their critique with equanimity and incorporate their suggestions,
you're a professional writer.
If you're dull and pretentious enough to make a living instead of being a starving artist,
you're a professional writer.
The poseurs of the world have cried themselves to sleep wanting to be YOU.
Add to it.
Do it.
It's not rockets, madness, murder and suicide.
It's professionalism. Do it.
When the sun does not burn and the neither does the gut,
do it.
If you wait to be "chosen" you will waste your life and your talent and your drive.
Do it.
There is no other way.
There never has been.
So, a dear friend who means well sent me the following poem "so you want to be a writer?" Go ahead. Go read it. I'll wait. And it just sent me through the roof. What utter and complete nonsense!
Writing is HARD. Writing IS rewriting. Writing is writing when you don't wanna. Writing is being critiqued. Writing is putting food on the table. Writing is not sexy and not glamorous and not always fun, expressive and a delight. Sometimes it's just damned hard work.
So this is my response:
The Professional Writer Responds to Charles Bukowski
If you can write when it's not flowing,
you're a professional writer.
If you can write when your heart, mouth and gut are dry,
you're a professional writer.
If you write despite how HARD it really is,
you're a professional writer.
If you do it for money,
you're a professional writer.
If you do it so you have a bed to sleep in and a roof over your head and a spouse to share it with,
you're a professional writer.
If you have the guts to sit and rewrite over and over and over,
Celebrate! You're a professional writer!
If you do it despite how hard it is to think about it, if you can write in any style any time,
you're a professional writer.
If you can write even when the roar of inspiration is muted,
you're a professional writer.
If you first read it to anyone and you take their critique with equanimity and incorporate their suggestions,
you're a professional writer.
If you're dull and pretentious enough to make a living instead of being a starving artist,
you're a professional writer.
The poseurs of the world have cried themselves to sleep wanting to be YOU.
Add to it.
Do it.
It's not rockets, madness, murder and suicide.
It's professionalism. Do it.
When the sun does not burn and the neither does the gut,
do it.
If you wait to be "chosen" you will waste your life and your talent and your drive.
Do it.
There is no other way.
There never has been.
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