National Novel Writing Month

I'm not doing it. I've done it for the last four years. Won three of those. And never did another thing with the stories. It's just too much work for me to feel like going back through those stories and editing them into something actually worth reading.

It wasn't a total loss. I learned a lot over time about plotting, about adding words regularly, about how I can push myself to work on my stories.

I'm going to be writing throughout November, anyway. Except, rather than the breakneck pace of 1,667 words per day that NaNoWriMo demands (for victory at least), I'm going to set my minimum word count for 500 words. Each and every day. I'm even going to start before November does. I'm not going to leave crappy scenes or misdirections in my text just for the sake of wordcount.

I really don't care for editing. I prefer to get the story pretty well the first time through. This often includes backing up, ripping whole chunks and chapters out of the story, and redoing the same section more than once (or twice.) It takes me longer to get there, but since editing to me often means ripping out chunks of story and going a completely different direction in this one scene and now the rest of the story is wrong and has to be ripped out too, it's not really worth writing to the 'end' or writing a large chunk if I'm not sure this one scene is right. (This strategy only works if you CAN make it to the end, rather than endlessly revising.)

I admire the people who find editing to be less daunting and can tear apart a finished story. I usually can't salvage much of a previous version. Some peices, but because scene A is changed, this exchanged in scene B doesn't make sense... and so on and so on.

I think NaNoWriMo can be a great learning tool for some people. Teaching them that they CAN *make* time to write, if they really want it, for example. And depending on the person, there are other lessons. But, after several years, I'm finding that it just doesn't accomplish what I'm looking for.

Good luck to any one participating in the frenzy of writing that is NaNoWriMo. May you learn much about yourself and your writing.

My Town Monday: Getting Out of This Godforsaken Town

Actually, the title is misleading. Unlike so many of my classmates-- and most of the young people in the county, from what I can tell-- I had no burning desire to get the hell out of the Livingston County area.

I never really minded the area. And growing up in this sort of mostly rural area made me rather averse to cities of any real size.

To this day, I still hate driving in Ann Arbor. Or anywhere that could be considered Metro Detroit. I prefer my roads with two lanes, maybe three.

I never really thought about where I would end up living once I reached adulthood. It all just kind of happened without much consideration beyond "for now." I got my first job at a local retail center... and proceeded to work there for 11 years. I went to college in Ypsilanti (about a 40 min drive to the south). And so, commuting to said college, I stayed put.

With family in the area, I didn't mind staying in the area. (Especially since my oldest bother maintains my car.)

Then, when I got my teaching job, it was in the same county. And so I stayed. We bought a house last year.

I think we've pretty well put down roots. It's kind of odd to think that I'll likely be raising any kids here. It's a nice place to raise a family. Not too busy or bustly. Plenty of shops and a fair amount of recreation opportunities that don't require me driving to places that have too much traffic or roads too complicated.

I don't feel trapped. I feel settled. I still don't want to leave this place. It is the quite, quaint, unexciting sort of place that's perfect for me.

Check out more My Town Monday Posts.

Honest Scrap Award

Jamie Debree has chosen me to as a recipient of the Honest Scraps award. She nominated me in part because I write what I love. Cool.

The rules for receiving the award are simple:
- pass the award on to seven worthy blogs
- list ten honest things about yourself.

Picking other blogs is always the part I hate. I'm not good at choosing. And I always feel bad for leaving people out. But the top blogs that come to mind are:

Travis Erwin-- he's got a skill for telling his stories.

Sara who talks about her life and writing, and bravely wrote about her wardrobe makeover.

Keith Rawson-- another crime writer with a sense of humor I enjoy.

Patti Abbott-- my favorite softie who writes crime fiction

And, yeah, that's only four. Some days it feels like I read a whole ton of blogs, spying on other people's lives. Some days it feels like I'm not even scratching the surface and can't possibly keep up with the people that interest me.

Okay, part 2, which is the 10 honest things about myself:

1. When I started writing, the idea of sexing up my stories never even crossed my mind. I was also a virgin. No, literally. Some time after getting married... things changed in my stories. Probably because I was no longer a virgin anymore.

2. I get bored easily. I don't like waiting or sitting around when I could be doing something, particilarly something like writing.

3. I am a completely different person as a teacher than I am the rest of the of time. I'm postive, forgiving, and tolerant of stupid while inside the classroom. The rest of the time, I'm not.

4. I am so square, I could be cubed. I don't speed, drink, and have never even tried any illegal drugs. I don't even jaywalk (small towns without crosswalks not withstanding.) I don't like to do things that could get me in trouble. It's a little pathetic actually.

5. I find human behavior fascinating. I'm watching you. It seems that the whole world thinks and acts differently than me and it's so curious to me. Take for instant text messaging-- not the act, but the cost! I can't justify the cost, but everyone I know texts all the time, adding money to the phone bill.

6. I never know what to say to people. I'm learning, or at least trying to. But because of this, it does get a little lonely in my land sometimes.

7. I hate nearly all cell phone users. I think cell phones are creating this false sense of importance and urgency, which is damaging to people and those around them. If you call my cell phone, I regard it as an invitation to talk-- I may and will decline that invitation. I do not need constant validation and chances are whatever you are calling about can wait.

8. I married the first man I dated. I have only ever had one sexual partner. And, get this, I waited until my wedding night. Yet, I write semi-erotic fiction with a sexy female lead who seduces and sometimes uses men.

9. Apparently my appearance-- long hair, glasses, nerdy, and quiet (or maybe something else about me!) is misleading. People rarely expect me to be the vulgar, foul-mouthed, sex-talking, naughty-book-writing misanthrope that I am. I'm not sure what to make of that, but the shock-value is kind of fun.

10. Nothing in my life ever works out as I planned. Ever. It doesn't all go badly, but it certainly makes me wonder why I bother trying to plan and prepare for events or things. In the end, I realize that I'm doing pretty well-- a nice house, a nice hubby, money in the bank, and a job that I like most days.

Thanks for playing today. I'm still sorting out my schedule (and dealing with a new boss at school... this could get interesting.) But already I see the light at the end of the tunnel, and in that light is a stack of papers just waiting to be filled with story.

My Town Monday: McPherson Hospital

Not really a good topic for Labor Day weekend, but having spent a few hours there this weekend, I decided to do my post on it.

Yes, my little county on the edges of suburbia has it's own hospital. Still. Once upon a time, an area like this might have a small, or two. In fact, like airports, Livingston County has two hospitals. Brighton Hospital has no emergency services, which, admittedly, was completely mind boggling to me for many years. The other hospital is a more traditional, if undersized hospital.

McPherson Hospital is in Howell and it's real easy to find-- just follow the blue H signs. (Now, I'd really appreciate if hospitals also had a few signs leading, oh, say BACK to the major road ways...) McPherson hospital was originally started in 1920, operating out of a house donated by the McPherson family. It had 18 beds.

Later, land was donated for the construction of a proper hospital. It is only three stories tall at the tallest. It's small. And, while still a good hospital, it certainly isn't the same caliber as, say University of Michigan Hospital about 30 miles to the South in Ann Arbor. And not far to to east of UofM Hospital is St. Joesph Mercy Hospital, Ann Arbor (aka St. Joe's.) While sometime it's a toss up between which hospital is closest and which is more high tech etc, I'm partial to the cute little one. It's like miniature hospital...

And, as I found out first hand this weekend, they have some good staff there. In fact, my visits there the other day were each shorter than the visit to urgent care the week before. See... the thing is my cat bit me when I tried to catch him to put flea medicine on his flea riddle body. Bit me bad. Hence the visit to urgent care, which included a lot of scary stuff about cat bites and infection and boogey monsters before they could give me a couple drugs a splint for my finger. Except one of those drugs had it out for me. I think it was paid off... maybe someone doesn't want me to finish the novel.

Since it's been about 8 months since I last developed a new allergy, I guess it was time. Unfortunately, by the time the symptoms manifested themselves in enough severity to conclude something was very wrong, it was late Saturday night. So, I made a field trip to McPherson Hospital... okay, techinically, it's now called St. Joseph Mercy Livingston or some such ghastly moniker, but local yokels call it by the right name, McPherson.

Anyway, I'm doing much better now. Almost have use of all ten fingers again. And the offending medication turned poison in being evicted as I write. Though I don't have any good pictures of the building.

Sitting in the hospital room for a couple hours, waiting, I came to the conclusion that hospitals should get local art students or something to paint "Where's Waldo?" style paintings with a selection of little guys (like 10) to hunt out on the walls while waiting. It's about the mental capacity likely available to anyone who happens to be in the ER... and it would be more interesting than unsuccessfully tying to hear what's going on in the hall.

Visit The My Town Monday site for other towns.

It's Been Awhile

Things got rather quiet around here. Not just here, but also in my head. Second time in a year-- the only two times in my life-- I unable to even think about thinking about fiction. Last time was because of my allergies. This time was Attack of the Giant Grad School Course.

This course has consumed me with readings and writings, none of which are fictional and few of which are nearly as much fun as writing a snarky, innuendo-laced scene with my favorite fictional female. Luckily, the end is in site. The hurricane is moving off shore. And, hopefully, within the next week, I hope to return to the fiction that got tossed aside like storm debris.

I have a novel waiting for the climatic ending. And a couple short stories in the works.

The hard part will be trying to pick off where I left off. I'm not so concerned about trying too hard to remember what I had originally been planning to do. However, I do want the story to make sense and not take some silly turn in the middle because I don't remember what I was setting up later.

Also, in the coming weeks, we should see the publication of brand new Bo Fexler short story. If I can finish the novel, I'll call this a successful summer.

Need for Creativity or Logic?

While starting a story takes creativity, I'm going to make the argument that continuing-- and finsihing-- a story takes more logic than creativity. The dominoes are all set up, creatively, and there is really only a small number of logical conclusions to the scenario. Especially in crime fiction, I think this holds true.

Crimes are solved more through deduction than imagination. Put together the motive, the opportunity, the means, and the answer comes out. Once a story is set up-- then it becomes a matter of figuring out, from the clues already there, what the most likely scenario is.

Add in the normal facts that crime solvers use-- like how most crimes are committed by someone who knows the victim, and that murders are usually committed by a current or past lover, and it becomes easier to play out the scenarios. There's still some creativity, I suppose, in making up these situations for imaginary people, but stealing from real life doesn't take much creativity. (Watching Court Tru TV will help with this angle.)

A conflict has been presented-- what is the most likely conclusion? What has happened in real life? How can that fit with the story? What if? And what happens next?

Even "uncreative" people can solve mysteries when presented with the clues. So to can writers who've set up the conflict in their own writing.

Bias alert?-- Whenever I take those right/ left brain quizzes, I come up more left-brained. Except it's the right brain that is supposed to be the creative side. As in, writers tend to be more right brained than left. Except me. =) But I guess that just proves that writing CAN be a logical process so much as it is a creative process.

My Town Monday: 8 years ago...

8 years ago, June 8th was not a Monday. It was Friday.

Surprisingly, it wasn't raining. Though the papers had predicted a wet, gloomy week, especially for Friday. (This was back when the Detroit Free Press delivered a paper to my doorstep every day.)

It was a beautiful day with blue skies and puffy white clouds. Seventy-something degrees.

Which was good because somebody had planned an outdoor wedding reception.

8 years ago, Hubby and I gathered maybe 40 of our closest friends and family and did "something rather rash" --in the words of our favorite history teacher whose class we had once before and once after the wedding. We'd only been dating for three years, after all. ;-)

8 years ago I married the first and only man I dated. We got our flowers-- a pair of bouquets and a couple of baskets-- at the local Shady Stop. We got our scrumptious cake from the South Lyon Bakery. And we were wed at the same church we both attended as a child, a local place that was better when it was smaller.

Then, we did as many cash strapped honeymooners in Michigan do... we fled to another country. Heh. Okay, so it's Canada and hardly counts as a different country. But we did go to Niagara Falls on what was our VERY FIRST vacation without mommy and daddy. (Sharp learning curve on that one.)

8 years later we have a house. And the same disagreements we've always had. (Gee, there's a surprise.) But we also have resolve. And we still love each other. Which is good, because I meant what I said about that "Death do us part" bit... =)

8 years down. And many more to go. I'm looking forward to it.

Creepy Crawly!

I'm not easily creeped out by things. I'm the designated household spider killer... Hubby's a complete arachnophobe. And he's not too fond of other things with spindly legs.

Unless it's crawling on me, I'm not usually too bothered. Oh, I'll kill any creepy crawly that confuses my habitat with one where crawlies are welcome. But they don't give me the willies.

Except this guy. Oh man, I had that crawly sensation on my arms and legs half the night after spotting him in the bathroom. I had never seen one of these in my not-quite-thirty years in Michigan.

And when I tried to squish him, half his legs came off, but he bolted. The legs that came off wiggled on the ground. I found where the rest of him went to and squished him again. And his kept writhing. (Heebie jeebies!)

I could barely sit at my comptuer (feeling phantom crawlies on me) to try and research the thing. I didn't even know where to start. What WAS it?

Well, I found it (love google). It's a House Centipede. Apparently it's very common. Really? Nearly thirty-years of Michigan living, yet I've never seen one of these. I've seen just about every other type of creepy crawly-- from Harverstmen to all sizes of ants to roly polies.

Also on my short list of things that just creep me right the hell out are lobster heads (with beady little eyes) and crawling in the attic with my mice and bats. I have to spend weeks psyching myself up to get into the attic, and no sooner than I reach the top of the ladder, and my legs are already shaking something awful. And that was before I knew my house has House Centipedes.

So far, Bo's not creeped out by anything. She does have one nasty phobia of her own, but nothing like getting the heebie jeebies from a stupid bug. She's too cool for that. ;-) Or maybe she just keeps better hold of rational thoughts in regards to small, creepy, and squishable.

What creeps you out?

One of the Bookless

Over at Bookspot, I'm the bookless in today's Interview with the Bookless.

Complete with a short excerpt from the first Bo Fexler novel, "Sex and Violence."

Goals and Limitations

By the time you read this, I will be in Indiana for the Pokemon Trading Card Game Regional Tournament. Don't congratulate me-- they let everyone into the regionals. Only top cut matters and the rest of us just play for fun. My first tournament last year was at Regionals.

After about a year, I'm pretty comfortable in my position as a Pokemon card game player. I'm at the "less competitive" end of the tables.

I'm a fairly busy person and devoting more time to Pokemon than I do just isn't going to happen. So, I accept my fate. Though, to be honest, I'm not sure I mind being in the "Loser Bracket." It's a lot less stressful, meaning I'll have more fun. I'm not very good playing under pressure and tend to forget what I'm doing. Unlike many of the top players, who I have nervewrackingly played against, I don't have most of the current cards memorized. Since I don't, I'm not likely to be able to predict what will happen next. Or sometimes, even remember what a certain card that's in play continues to do.

I accept my limitations as a part-time hobbyist, non-competitive player. I go mainly (entirely!) because Hubby likes to go. If it wasn't for him, I'd spend more Saturdays at home. I enjoy the game and I enjoy traveling with him. I'm just not real crazy about competing.

Though, I do still have goals for my day. I'd like to win more games than I lose. The bigger the tournament, the more rounds that are played. If I win more than I lose, then I consider it a good day. (If I win a door prize, it's automatically a good day, regardless of win/loss ratio ;-) If I do okay in my wins, then I've built a decent Pokemon deck and I've played it well. Though, there's something to be said for luck, but a string of bad luck can be any day rough, whether it's Pokemon or something else.

It's important to know one's limitations. It'd be foolish for me to think that, as a hobbyist, I have much chance of beating the top players. Especially since they seem to have a lot better luck than I do (as evidence by them never starting with the worst damn cards in the whole deck! Forfeit!) But just because I'll never be a top player, doesn't mean I can't still strive to be the best player I can.

Same, of course, goes for writing and all other things in life. I doubt I'll ever be considered one of Great Writers of Our Time or something high and migthy like that. But I'll be happy if I write some good stories that people enjoy.

What I Learned from the Writer I Used to Be Part 3

Ah, college. I enjoyed college a whole lot. Especially after the intellectually vacant years of high school-- all two and a half of them. (I left high school halfway through my Junior year, got my GED and the following fall began as a college freshman rather than being a high school senior. A hard decision, but it was worth it.)

My writing time took a serious hit as I was working full time and attending college full time (about 12 credits, four classes per semester.) I still dabbled in writing, working on a historical fiction piece, then moving on to the "first" Bo Fexler novel.

In the beginning, Bo was cool, aloof, and completely unrealistic. Slowly, I began my research into the private eye field. I accumulated most of the then-current Writer's Digest Howdunnit Books. And as the internet became more filled with useful information, I began to research heavily on line. Google is my friend.

I polished 'Missing Link' and attempted to query it without success. I also worked with a professor on the story. This was useful, to have a discerning reader and English professor to help me. She really liked Bo's point of view, which only showed up sporadically because the book was written in third person.

Then, I started to dabble in two new things-- short stories and first person (snarky) narratives. I learned that I do have a particular voice that's not quite the same as everyone else's. That I can use my bitter cynicism for more than just rants to Hubby.

And most importantly, I learned that I *could* write short stories. Previously, in all my long-winded writings, I had been convinced that I could never write short stories. I had just too much to tell. Well, clearly, I was very wrong.

This is one of the few times that not only will I admit I was wrong, but I'm glad of it. I can write short stories. Sometimes, I can do them damn well.

Writing short stories, where so much is implied or left out, made me a better novel writer. No more infodumps and backstory. I learned how to weave the important details in, and to leave the reader demanding to know more about what I don't say.

Now, if I can just get Bo's first novel "Sex and Violence" into the right hands, then everyone will get to see what I can do.

Is there a defining moment in your growth as writer-- that made you the writer you are today?

What I Learned from the Writer I Used to Be, Part 2

I went to a very average high school in a mostly rural area. It was a school that didn't seem to understand that it was no longer 1972 and they were no longer a small school in a small town. Suburbia had moved in and the class of 2000 was a big one. (I was part of the oft-overlooked class of 1999. We also felt gypped because we were NOT the special class of 2000.)

Why dies this matter-- it's how I explain my BOREDOM in school. I was bored stiff in my classes and since I wasn't allowed to work on homework from, say math, in English class, I put a couple sheets of paper on my desk and wrote. Looks like I'm taking notes... or something. No teachers hassled me-- not even the one that threatened to take away the book I was reading.

It was in high school that I started writing seriously. Well, "seriously." As a mere fourteen and fifteen year old, I was very serious about being a writer. But I had a long way to go to even possibly being a published writer.

The first thing I had to learn was that one does not just publish Star Wars (fan) fiction. Usually tie-in writers are already established. But in the mean time, I had written five 60-70k word novels. During class, mainly.

One of the big things I learned when I finally moved on from Star Wars fan fic was that, while it's okay to love your protagonist, it's not okay to make them all-wonderful, all-adored and have all the characters gushing over the protagonist. Heh. Yeah...

I also learned that climaxes are hard to write. Later I would learn that I had never fully understood what a climax was! Ooooohhh... that makes a difference. No teacher had been able to explain it well enough for me to understand. Ironically, it was when I was student teaching that I realized I had better understand what I was trying to teach. That was when I studied like hell and finally found a definition of climax that clicked in my peculiar little brain.

I never understood climax being the "high" point of the story. (The page looks the same height as the rest of the book...) But it makes sense to me that the climax is the turning point.

It's kind of like the day that I finally made sense of the phrase "Shooting fish in a barrel. I knew it was synonymous with easy. Then I realized... I bet those fish aren't *swimming* they're packed in like folks would do on a boat or dock back in the day. That'd make it pretty damn hard to miss shooting the fish...

I was still in high school when I began the first Bo Fexler story. She was sidelined for a while while I worked on a piece of historical fiction. But she came back even more bad assed.

She started with the idea: How might a woman turn out if she was saddled with the (very masculine) name Bo? And what sort of parents would name their daughter Bo? I decided she'd be a bit bitter. But memorable. Her last name has an X in it because I was sixteen and X's are cool, if infrequently used, letters.

(One of the rare notebooks with collage cover I made.)

The Bo Fexler of today is a very different character than she was when I started writing her in high school. Of course, I'm also a much different character than I was when I was first writing Bo Fexler.

What's your favorite high school memory? (This is mine!) Or when did you start writing for publication versus just for fun?

What I Learned from the Writer I Used to Be, Part 1

I started writing stories when I was seven. I was home sick from school for the entire month of February and apparently took to writing.

From that, I learned to be a pack rat. I remember writing the story, but I don't have it anymore. Somewhere along the way, it was surely pitched. Probably in one of those moments where, since I was growing up, I didn't need "childish" stuff anymore. Luckily I got over that...

Part of my pack rat tendency I blame on my less than stellar memory. The items trigger recollections that I enjoy. So I keep the items.

Slowly, I'm adjusting my storage methods. Things are starting to be scanned into the computer. Virtual storage takes up much less room than real storage.

At least I still have the books we made for English class in third grade. We spent a couple days writing and then typing up our stories. I took quite a bit longer than the rest of the class... and had to rush my drawings. (Not that it would have mattered that much because my fingers are made for typing, not drawing. I still draw about as well. ;-) After we printed our stories, we pasted them in little blank hard cover books. How fabulous.

Though, it's funny to go back and read that third grade story "Uni and Wolffy." Even then I had trouble writing myself into situations I couldn't get out of. At least now I have time to revise. Which is a later lesson I learned.

When did you start writing? How about them school writing projects?

Procrastination

I am a procrastinator. I can come up with fantastic ways to avoid or delay doing the things I "should" be doing. I clean house to delay grading. (My word, there is no more tedious and thankless task.) I've surfed idly through the internet to avoid housework.

I work best under pressure and at the last minute.

Good thing I'm nocturnal. I easily stay up late to finish things. Sometimes into the wee hours of the morning. Getting up early doesn't work. As in, even if I drag my tailfeathers out of bed, my brain stays behind on the pillow.

Sometimes, procrastination even affects my writing,which is odd because there's no deadlines and no pressure.

There are writers who work best if they sit themselves down and write regardless of whims. Some work best on a schedule. Some outline. There's a flavor of writer for everyone.

I don't care much for schedules, but I do, from time to time, sit myself at my computer and try to force myself to write. Sometimes it works. I put words to page and make progress. Or at least put words to page that will be later deleted. But sometimes when I feel like I 'have' to write (perhaps because that day will be the only chunk of time in the week that isn't allotted to something else) I protest and procrastinate.

So, I've been working on ways to procrastinate but still get writing done. Sometimes, it's just a matter of writing something, anything, that maybe I can reshape later. As I get older, I'm learning ways to outsmart myself.

Are you a procrastinator? Do you like schedules and outlines?

Thursday, I'll explain how I have embraced my procrastination tendencies.

16 Things Meme

I haven't been tagged, but I'll play along with this one.

1. I love Diet Pepsi. It's my lifeblood. But, caffeine has no discernible affect on me. I can drink a glass of Diet Pepsi right before bed and sleep just fine. I can also give it up for days and weeks... but I prefer not to. It's my carbonated caramel colored drink of choice.

2. I get bored easily.

3. I'm a serious procrastinator. I work best under pressure. I have been known to cook, bake, even organize the linen closet in an attempt to delay the inevitable.

4. I am allergic/ intolerant/ oversensitve to gluten (wheat) and corn. This includes corn syrup. These dietary restrictions are only a few years old. So I spent twenty-some years eating everything normally...

5. I think Babylon 5 is the best TV show ever. I watch it on DVD almost every year with Hubby.

6. I have never owned a car with less than 100k miles on it. But, sadly, I have only ever rolled one car past 200k miles. The rest have rusted out before that.

7. I was born in Indiana, but I have lived in Michigan since I was 4.

8. I think Michigan is the coolest shaped state, ever. I like getting to use my hand as a map.

9. I actually enjoy troubleshooting computers. And I like helping people make their computer obey.

10. I have had my own computer since I was in middle school. I have always had hand-me-down computers that was replaced by an upgrade.

11. I'm a PC-- I am part of the Microsoft Collective. You will be assimilated.

12. I am both pragmatic and cheap. I have a dreadfully hard time spending money to replace something that works perfectly fine. That's why I still have an old typewriter stand for my nightstand.

13. I hate being cold. There is nothing else I hate more than being cold.

14. I play the Pokemon Trading Card game. So does my Hubby. Because of him, we now travel to local tournaments.

15. I don't carry a purse. Though, by necessity, I sometimes have a mini backpack with my own salad dressing or ketchup for eating out.

16. One of my goals in life is to type my keyboard to death. I have had that keyboard since 1997. It works perfectly! Not a single key has any problems. But I'm still working at it.

If you wanna play, grab a keyboard and join in.

I'm gonna go get my warm fuzzy blanket, close the curtains so I can't see the continually-falling snow, and work on a story. With a glass of Diet Pepsi at my side.

Women's Roles

One of the ideas/themes that's come up more than a few times in the female-lead books I'm reading is women's roles, compared to men.

Some examples:

• The female lead feels she has to prove herself to be as good, or better than the men she works with.
• The femal lead feels uncomfortable with being a woman in a man's role.
• The female lead thinks, repeatedly, about her place in a man's world/role.
• The female lead compares herself with how the men are doing.
• The female lead wonders what a man would do in her position.

Now, it should be no surpise that being the atypical woman I am, I have some trouble with these sentiments. I *know* there are women out there who legitamately think and feel these ways.

I just don't understand why.

I have never once thought myself anything but equal to *everyone* in the room. I've never even thought about how I compare to men, even though I often found myself working with mostly men. It never even occurred to me that I was somehow less capable. (Sure, when I started in retail, I couldn't quite lift as much as some of the guys, but I can lift just about as much as any of them now.)

I don't know exactly what factors contributed to my sense of equality, but I am very glad that I have it. I would hate to feel like I had to "prove myself" to anyone. I am as competent and capable as the next person. Male or female.

One thing to note, though, is that I am significantly younger than all but one of the authors of these female-lead books I've beeen reading of late. Maybe this was part of the factor?

As a modern woman, I do think that men and women are equal. No one is better than the other based on gender alone. It's all what we do with ourselves.

I've heard that nothing is sexier than confidence. Hubby likes my confidence (and competence.) What do the rest of you think-- is confidence sexy? Is self-doubt?

Jack of All Trades, Master of ?

Of course, the traditional phrase ends 'master of none.' But, being a literalist and an eager, often learner, this perplexes me.

Is it possible to be a master of some trades?

I'm one of those people who, when I set my mind to something, accomplishes what I set out to do. It may nto be an easy, a pretty, or even a timely process, but I achieve my goal. I like conquering challenges-- forget Mt. Everest, but homegrown challenges are fun.

It may have taken three damn times, but I earned my Microsoft Word 2003 Expert Level Certification. (Which is different, and presumably much harder than the Core Certification.) And I went into that test thinking, ah, it'll be a breeze-- I've been using Word real well for a long time. Talk about some serious Microsoft-style Smack-down. But I studied and learned and passed it quite well by the third time.

I have always done quite well in all my school classes-- I prefer A's because they are areodymanic. Doesn't matter the subject. The only issue I've ever run into has been time constraints-- when I was an undergrad, I was working a full time job and taking four classes (12+ credits). I still don't have much of a social life...

When my dining room chairs broke, yeah, I tried getting Dad to fix them. But I guess I grew out of being Daddy's little girl, because them chairs certainly didn't ever move to the front of the line of projects. So, I learned how to fix them myself. With a little help from Dad, and his drill. I need more powertools...

Another example-- writing. I used to write novels to pass the time in high school. I used to swear, insist, and maintain that I could never write short stories. Then, I gave it a shot. Some fifty short stories later, I think I'm comfortable saying that I can write short stories.

Now I've gone back to writing my novels. (I'm certainly a far better writer now than I was before!) My betas have loved the novel so far, which is encouraging. Now, if I can get into the hands of the right agents, who then get it into the hands of the right publishers, I'll find out if I have mastered this trade-- or if I need to learn and work some more at it.

I may not master all trades possible, just the ones I set out to succeed at.

Is the phrase wrong? A simple, overgeneralization that applies to most? Or are we really all just a master of some trades?

What sorts of things have you set out to master?

I'm Actually A Square

Hey, it's hip to be a square!

Sometimes, it's amusing to me when I look at the stories I write-- with all the sex, violence, crime, and everyday evils-- because in real life, I am about as square as they come.

Hubby's square, too. We figure when we have kids, they'll be cubes.

I don't even drive over the speed limit. Though, I have been pulled over twice. And BOTH times, someone I knew drove by. Of course.

The first time, I think I was pulled over because I was a bulglary suspect. I had just left my parents' now-gone office sometimes after midnight. I didn't see it when I left, but one of the other units had been broken into. Cue the red-blue lights behind me. And me with a computer in the back seat... and a parking brake that doesn't work, only when I tried to tell the office that he first heard that I didn't have KEYS (for the car.) But, it ended well.

The second time-- I saw it coming. I had just left a staff meeting. I was making my left and noticed some guy cutting through a business parking lot (jackass--oh wait, he has extra lights...) to make his left. Then, once he got behind me, the lights came on, and my heart stopped. Yes, I knew I had a burnt out headlight. In fact, it was the third time it had burned out in four weeks. I was contrite, and I think that helped me get off with just a reminder to fix it. I stopped at the store on the way home to get the bulb and changed it in the parking lot. Getting pulled over is hard on the adernal glands of this square.

And yet, I write about characters who have regular dealings with the law. I don't know any of this through experience. But I know it through everyone else, from my students to actual police officers (though I need more the latter.) To me, that's all that 'write what you know' is about. It's about making sure you know what you're talking about, somehow.

Good thing-- because I kind of like being a square.

Though, that does explain why I don't fit in round holes very well... ;-)

So, what shape are you? Round, square, octogon, rhombus?

• Currently Working on: Novel #2, now at 14k
• Current Song: I'm Not Okay by My Chemical Romance

Apparently, I Don't Know How to Take Time Off

This is summer vacation. I've had more time than I've ever had. I even finished the first Bo Fexler Novel, polished the sucker up, dressed it provocatively, and sent it off to some agents. Then, I figured, I'd just relax, take somet time to work on some short stories, old and new. Maybe read some more.

I did read. I've read quite a bit.

I've also puttered on the internet with hours logging into the Insane Category. I never should have joined Aboslute Write Water Cooler. Bad Clair.

But, the thing that really gets me is that I started Novel #2. Not just a little dabbling as I figured. I had some ideas, decided to jot them down, then maybe the first scene. Now I'm up to chapter 8 with 13k words. How the hell did this happen?

Now, it's not a bad thing, by any stretch of even my overactive imagination. It just surprised me. When I was done with 'Sex and Violence', I didn't feel like doing much of anything that required large amounts of brain power. Especially not starting another novel.

The point after I finished 'Sex and Violence' reminds me a lot of a trip to the Sleeping Bear Dunes. We did the Dune Climb. I'm not completely out of shape-- I spend a lot of time pushing my luck. And my eye-rolling muscles are in fantastic shape. But it was exhausting. We walked a little further until I finally, really convinced Hubby that it's four miles to the shore. Then, we went to go back down. I didn't want to. I would have been quite content sitting on my tailfeathers on the top of the Dune Climb until the cows came to carry me home. It wasn't quite as bad as I thought, but it was still taxing on exhaustion-weak legs.

I don't feel any pressure to work on Novel #2. I'm just enjoying it as one scene leads to another. The pieces fall together. I'm not enjoying it any more or any less than writing Novel #1, it's just there's less pressure. No sense of MUST WRITE NOW.

Makes me think that I could do this for a living.

• Query Status: 2 partials, 3 rejections
• Novel #2: 13k
• Currently Reading: Nothing, actually. I'm between books.
• Current Song: Mouth (Stingray Mix) by Bush

Books and Reviews

Since my box of to-be-read books is stil about as well controlled as a Chia Pet on growth hormones, I don't usually read too many reviews or think much about the next books I might consider possibly getting. Though I come across quite a few reviews in the corner of the blogosphere where I hangout in the cone of diffuse yellow light from a lone streetlight. I might skim a paragraph or two, but, sorry folks, I have to curb my book buying.

In fact, besides Baby Shark's Beaumont Blues, I went nearly five months without procuring any new books. I even made some progress on The Box. That changed when I stopped by the book store-- it was the compromise on going to the movie theatre for our Anniversary Sunday. That's my gift to Hubby-- I go to the theatre and don't bitch about how much I hate the theatre (and the people and the prices) until we leave. That's a long time to chew on those complaints. But, we went to the bookstore to "browse" before the movie started. Ha!

I never agreed to merely browse! (I don't like browsing. It's like eating without swallowing.) So, I specifically went in search of new books. I was happy to find several: Easy Innocence, Hallowed Ground, and Branded Woman. I was hoping for the Christa Faust book, but the Hard Case Crime section was a little light at our baby Borders store. These were books that I've read and heard good things about as I slither through the dark corners of the blogosphere. Titles and authors that I took note of-- and didn't even have to write down to remember.

I don't know if it was reviews or just general blog chatter that lead me to my latest books. I don't remember much about reviews that I read. Prehaps because I never read a review with the intention of finding out if I want to buy the book. I read Terry Lawson's movie reviews that way, but not book reviews.

Book reviews, for me, end up being something of a checklist. Particularly a checklist of "don'ts" for my own writing. Without fail, everytime I read a review, I mull it over. And if I'm taking one of my treks halfway across the county to and from work, I muse the whole way. Do I do that? What about this one scene-- would that be considered... what if I tweak it?

I obsess over every scene, every phrase, every plot development. I hold my story up to the reviews. And obsess some more.

I'd like to think that all this obsessing makes me a better writer than I would be otherwise. But somedays, I think it just makes me crazy. Or crazier than I am on normal days. XD

• Reading: Mildred Peirce by James M. Cain
• Novel Progress: Line editing
• What I should be doing: My grad school final project.
• Current Song: Paralyzer by Finger Eleven