Painful editing

November 29th. 2016

Today is the day I’ve dreamed of, and dreaded. My publisher’s proof copy of The Big Inch arrived yesterday and I’m reading it today much like I might any novel I’d purchased. Except, I know every plot twist in advance. Not only do I see errors that must be corrected, but I also find that what sounded so lyrical in my head translates as wordy and redundant in print. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stood up, walked around, shaken out my wrists like I’ve been hogtying, and otherwise looked for a distraction to keep me from reading my book. Thank God there’s still time to fix things before the public gets a good look at these pages. I’m already a little nauseous anticipating what whispered comments I might overhear about my book, but they’d be worse–much worse–without this painful, but most important, step. Since writing this blog qualifies as a distraction, I’d better put this up and get back to what I need to be doing. Editing The Big Inch.

writing and family, a potent cocktail

November 10th. 2016

If you read the acknowledgment page in most books, you probably won’t see the phrase ‘this novel almost didn’t happen for all the intrusions, complaints, tears, and burnt pages courtesy of my family.’ No, all you see are thanks, heartfelt support, and absolutely no mention of the nanny. My acknowledgment page won’t either. In part because we couldn’t afford a nanny, and by the time I came into my second-coming regarding writing my kids were grown. The people I don’t understand are those who work full-time, have young kids (with the usual litany of obligations) and still find time to write the bestseller. How. Is. This. Possible?

I can’t explain. I’ve been privileged to write at my own pace, most often during daylight hours, and in an airy office way back on the second floor of my house–very quiet. My husband is incredibly indulgent as long as dinner is on the table–and dinner is a flexible term–and my kids are enrolled in grad school. But even with those advantages there are still any number of interruptions that throw off my writing groove. To those writers who have masterful powers of concentration, I lift my glass to you. To the others like me, we’ll somehow get through. I’m almost sure of it.

I went Insta

November 2nd. 2016

Instagram, oh how you’ve corrupted me. I’d been on a high horse, reviling social media as the ilk of all of cultural ills, until October. I picture Insta like a handsome charmer, sweeping in and while I gulped a breath he offered me a can’t lose proposition. Insta is only pictures, minimal text, and there’s no way to pass along political rants or newsy articles. I was intrigued, plus, who doesn’t love a picture? It’s worth a thousand words, or so the sages would have us believe.

I was a film major in college.  I’m supposed to like taking pictures. So apparently I’m not totally averse to social media after all. If you’re interested in seeing what I do post, follow me at fish_writer and get a glimpse into this blessed journey I get to live.