There is another closet that I write inside, one with far less clothing, but more dust bunnies. The cranial closet.
My cranial closet is big. Strike that. My cranial closet is enormous. Ever read House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski? My cranial closet is a lot like that house: much bigger on the inside than on the outside. There are dark places, light places, hidden stairs that send you plummeting into abysses, and delightful rooms peopled with friends, family, and characters of my own creation. My favorite room contains an upright piano. My id reclines on this piano, looking fabulous in a slinky cocktail frock, drink in hand, doling out the things my filter must stop before they come out of my mouth. I love her. She’s proof that there are no real mind readers. Someone would have mowed me down by now.
Fear carpets the floor in my cranial closet. Thick, lush, sink your toes in it, shag carpet. And it’s loud. Casino loud. Fear of judgment, fear of rejection, fear of the unknown. You name it, there’s a pattern in the weave for it.
The wallpaper is ever changing. Most days, the closet is covered with my insane belief that if you say it, you must do it. The art of dreaming out loud is something I have lost from the walls. Sure, I say things I don’t do. I’m human. But, to say this thing… this writing thing, and not do it. I would never forgive myself. (Yeah, that’s in there too.)
My day career, as I put it, has only added to my closet. Working in books, I am naturally surrounded people who write, want to write, and dream of writing. I do not knock them. It’s just not me. (See above paragraph.) So many of them say they are going to write a book or talk about their book, and nothing comes of it. I don’t know if I could stand it if nothing comes of this.
I venture outside the closet every once in a while. I joined the Writers’ League of Texas. I’ve been forcing myself out at least once a month for the journey to Austin for The Writers’ League 2011 Third Thursday Series. I’ve talked about my book more, dabbling the light with my toes.
At the end of next week, I will be spending three days out of the closet. I’m attending the Writers’ League of Texas Agents Conference at the Hyatt Regency Austin. My id is already packed. I hope there’s a bellhop to carry the piano.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Writing in the Closet
Back in the Summer of 2007, I began a thread on a popular budget forum. It focused on controlled spending and money leaks. It blossomed like I couldn’t believe, and like a well reared child, continues on without me. In January 2008, I began blogging here, mostly about the same topics as well as some family issues. My last post was in August of 2009.
A little while after that post, I pulled out a novel that I had finished back somewhere in 2003. I had trunked it, as it were. Dusting it off, I set out to read it and a magical thing seemed to happen. I couldn’t put it down, sure there were some major issues to be dealt with, and it needed a huge overhaul, but it was like it wasn’t mine. Maybe number three wasn’t so bad after all.
In 2010, we had some major juggling of priorities and I realized I wanted to finish what I then referred to with the working title of LollyJacked. I hacked it to pieces, tore it apart, and rewrote it. It was tough. Mommy, house, work, wife, hell, it’s a bitch. Our computer is adjacent to the living room so there is no peace when someone else is home. So, I upgraded the family computer and went to move the old Dell. Alas, there was nowhere for me to go. Our bedroom is too small to support a desk, our guestroom is overrun with amps, guitars, yodelers, and banjoes. In a fit of despair, I bought a cheap, tiny, student desk and moved into my bedroom closet.
If you are envisioning some walk-in closet turned tiny office, ditch it. It was a simple sliding door affair, and was barely deep enough for the smallest desk I could find. The doors had to come off just so I could work at the desk. The old Dell is so big, I have to balance the keyboard on my knees. Extension cords power the whole damn mess, and have to be put away to keep the tripping hazards to a minimum. Pin Up Girl posters and a Harry Potter standee line the back wall, empty hangers go above the computer, and the ever present Einstein wardrobe of black clothing flank the left. Life is good. I finished the first major overhaul huddled in there.
Before I could waffle, I printed the book on my ancient, expensive printer, spent an hour poking holes in it and dropping it into a three ring binder. I promptly gave it up to my first reader in years. She read it quickly, just a few weeks and told me it was good. Not a lot of feedback, but it was positive. I started my rewrites in the late fall and finished another version at the beginning of the year.
I promptly asked a few people to be my beta readers. Like a proud Mama, I printed, poked, packaged, and mailed them off. Crickets. Nothing. I’ve gotten a tiny bit back from one person, but that’s it. Not a single word. I was in despair. I was also slowly coming out of the other closet as a writer. I tried to talk about it some. I voiced my frustration to two others and in February, I presented two more copies to the world. Crickets. Nothing. One of them had started it, one had never bothered despite giving me his word. Crickets. Nothing.
In the meantime, my husband read it, loved it, and gave me encouragement. But, oh my heart, isn’t that what he’s there for? So, here I am. I’ve sent it out again to someone else I trust and am waiting to hear back. But, I’ve undergone a few more changes.
I’ve joined the Writers’ League of Texas and paid to go to their 2011 Agents Conference in June. I’ve gone to two of their events in Austin so far, and I can’t tell you how good it feels to be just a little out of the closet. It is daunting, and damn, conference is getting close!
My Next Post:
Why I Wrote in the Other Closet
A little while after that post, I pulled out a novel that I had finished back somewhere in 2003. I had trunked it, as it were. Dusting it off, I set out to read it and a magical thing seemed to happen. I couldn’t put it down, sure there were some major issues to be dealt with, and it needed a huge overhaul, but it was like it wasn’t mine. Maybe number three wasn’t so bad after all.
In 2010, we had some major juggling of priorities and I realized I wanted to finish what I then referred to with the working title of LollyJacked. I hacked it to pieces, tore it apart, and rewrote it. It was tough. Mommy, house, work, wife, hell, it’s a bitch. Our computer is adjacent to the living room so there is no peace when someone else is home. So, I upgraded the family computer and went to move the old Dell. Alas, there was nowhere for me to go. Our bedroom is too small to support a desk, our guestroom is overrun with amps, guitars, yodelers, and banjoes. In a fit of despair, I bought a cheap, tiny, student desk and moved into my bedroom closet.
If you are envisioning some walk-in closet turned tiny office, ditch it. It was a simple sliding door affair, and was barely deep enough for the smallest desk I could find. The doors had to come off just so I could work at the desk. The old Dell is so big, I have to balance the keyboard on my knees. Extension cords power the whole damn mess, and have to be put away to keep the tripping hazards to a minimum. Pin Up Girl posters and a Harry Potter standee line the back wall, empty hangers go above the computer, and the ever present Einstein wardrobe of black clothing flank the left. Life is good. I finished the first major overhaul huddled in there.
Before I could waffle, I printed the book on my ancient, expensive printer, spent an hour poking holes in it and dropping it into a three ring binder. I promptly gave it up to my first reader in years. She read it quickly, just a few weeks and told me it was good. Not a lot of feedback, but it was positive. I started my rewrites in the late fall and finished another version at the beginning of the year.
I promptly asked a few people to be my beta readers. Like a proud Mama, I printed, poked, packaged, and mailed them off. Crickets. Nothing. I’ve gotten a tiny bit back from one person, but that’s it. Not a single word. I was in despair. I was also slowly coming out of the other closet as a writer. I tried to talk about it some. I voiced my frustration to two others and in February, I presented two more copies to the world. Crickets. Nothing. One of them had started it, one had never bothered despite giving me his word. Crickets. Nothing.
In the meantime, my husband read it, loved it, and gave me encouragement. But, oh my heart, isn’t that what he’s there for? So, here I am. I’ve sent it out again to someone else I trust and am waiting to hear back. But, I’ve undergone a few more changes.
I’ve joined the Writers’ League of Texas and paid to go to their 2011 Agents Conference in June. I’ve gone to two of their events in Austin so far, and I can’t tell you how good it feels to be just a little out of the closet. It is daunting, and damn, conference is getting close!
My Next Post:
Why I Wrote in the Other Closet
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