ROUTINE. FOCUS. PREPARATION.

I've been on a mission since the onslaught of 2012, and it hasn't been easy. It's affected all wakes of my life and though I haven't been completely successful, I believe I'm on the right track.

ROUTINE. FOCUS. PREPARATION.

The "Truffle Shuffle"

It started with diet and exercise and trust me, as an inner fat kid who loves on-the-go processed delights, it's definitely been hard. I'm not there yet, but I'm closer and healthier. The key to accomplishing it is planning and routine. It's really hard to eat well when you don't bring your lunch, have a dinner plan or eat a healthy breakfast before you leave the house. Spur of the moment stuff is what makes you get Egg McMuffins, Taco Bell, and vending machine stuff. Preparation and planning is key. Knowing your stuff is key too. Wandering aimlessly down the grocery aisles snatching at boxes that preach health is fruitless. (Haha, get it? Fruitless?) You have to know what you're doing ahead of time or you'll be distracted by labels, cleverly manipulative advertisements and processed garbage that dresses in nutritional sheep's clothing.

So the tie-in to writing now. My witty segue.

Same thing. Routine and preparation. Knowing and having an objective when you sit down at the computer or even start your week. I've struggled with the blog because I've been treating it as I used to treat snacking or eating in general. "Whatevah. I do what I waaaaant."

Well blogging is a job. A task. A successful blogger posts at the same time every week, plus additional times if there is some good, interesting information that needs to be said. The blogs I subscribe to are consistent, relay useful information and aren't focused on the blogger herself. This takes preparation, as it's sometimes difficult to come up with topics that are prevalent. You can't just plop down behind the computer and come up with something at the drop of a hat. It takes maturity.

Writing in general is the same way. Routine is important. Even in the uninspired times, forcing oneself to write a little bit a day and giving oneself a goal is essential in making this a career. It takes the proper environment, the proper discipline and the proper mindset.

You have to take it seriously.

I'm a black belt in kung fu, and when I'm training the most successfully, it's always when I'm working out on a regular basis, in a serious state of mind and ready to sacrifice my happy-go-lucky time in order to accomplish my next degree.

Focus is key, in other words. It's key in good eating habits, exercise routines, networking, working (writing in our case), and success in general.

Many people think, "I must have A now! NOW!"

A can't happen now. A can only happen with a lot of work and dedication. Falling in love at first sight is merely a spur-of-the-moment compatibility between visual attractions. Falling in love for life is the result of years and years of work, suffering, sacrifice, effort and camaraderie. And focus!

I'm not saying that spontaneity is the devil. Spontaneity can be fun, productive and interesting. I'm merely saying that it's most effective to make these goals an integral part of your lifestyle.

Cheers to good health and happy writing!

Query me softly.

When something feels right, it's right.

I've begun the serious query process. I started out by reading Miss Snarks' First Victim (excellent writing blog, by the way. Like seriously, if you haven't gone, go. But why you'd be reading mine and not hers...I'm not sure.), and found a list of agents that may just go for the Steampunky goodness I've put forth.

Thankfully, I have my writing mentor Bonnie Hearn Hill and my two fantastically talented relatives to help me out through this shenanigan. (Kara and Stacy Lucas.)

Rejection is only part of the phases, of course. I fully expect to be rejected into an oblivion. This isn't really being negative or pessimistic as much as it is being realistic and preparing oneself for the inevitable. When considering all of the THOUSANDS and THOUSANDS of submissions

publishers and agents get A DAY... it's amazing we're not rejected more.

I know the authoress of THE HELP, Kathryn Stockett, was rejected so many times that she started lying about what she was doing. She'd go to hotel rooms to re-write and query because she got so embarrassed of her "unjustified" persistence with the whole process.

Unjustified indeed.

It is persistence that sets the successes from the failures. We have been over this time and time again.

As I embark on this potentially painful, but hopefully (and reasonably) brief process, I am prepared to take my wounds, display my scars and come out waving my flag around on the other end. Hell yeah. Let's DO THIS!

The Silent Tantrum

Sometimes, it's damned hard to get going.
You roll over and push snooze dozens and dozens of times, unwilling to face the 4:30 AM fog that hangs around your neighborhood. The dog's still asleep, so why not? He has no concept of time anyway, so another day without an early morning walk won't kill him. Once you do get going, even picking out suitable attire is a freaking chore. "Nudist colony," you think to yourself. "I'll have to look into that." Then there's the morning ritual. All that fun, tedious stuff. Then breakfast. Then driving. Oh, man, driving. That sucks. The only thing that could possibly make driving to work fun is the right soundtrack, which depends on the emotion. Skrillex for anger. Hindi pop for happiness. Radiohead for melancholy. Regina Spektor if you're in love. For our blog, I'm thinking "Kill Everyone" by Skrillex is in order. "I want to eat your heart." Then of course, you spend eight long hours drilling away at a hole that might get bigger, but nobody's going to really notice, because the hole isn't important anyway. (Sometimes, work makes me feel like this is all that I do.) Then home. Perhaps grocery shopping, exercising, walking dogs (because you screwed them over in the morning.), laundry, dinner, watching your shows and FINALLY...

...writing.

So writing, which is the one thing that absorbs most of your passion, your brain and your talent gets the crap slot in the day. The exhausted, feeble, distracted part where you can barely keep your freaking eyes open. Yeah, that's when you choose to really get down and dirty with your career choice. The world gets the best of you. The energetic part. The part fueled by green tea and multi-vitamins. The fresh you that comes dancing out of the car twirling around like a Bollywood actress. (I mean, if you start your day happy. Otherwise, if you've listened to Skrillex, you're going to load your shotgun and swerve into the parking lot with a cigar clenched between your teeth.) Either way, good or bad, writing sits patiently on the backburner again.

Perhaps this is why I feel anti-social and hermit-like much of the time. It's because I don't feel I have any time at all to give to my craft. When you tell people you're going to be a published author someday, they get that raised eyebrow look that annoys the crap out of you because they don't understand how serious you are. And yet, you have to give this person, whoever he or she might be, one of the brightest hours of your day because you have to make some damned money.

So the silent tantrum, as I like to call it, is thrown into action. The brooding, dark author shows up and starts to dig him or herself a little cave, throwing claws out into the light if anybody comes close. They don't understand you, nor do they appreciate the severity of your passion. Someday, you'll show them, by jove. Someday soon, hopefully. Someday, after these agents will pick your slush out of their overstuffed emails and succeed in getting you that much coveted publication deal.
Oh, sweet someday.

Until then, the only thing to do is try your damndest to give everything you have (and then some) to this finicky occupation. What choice have you? I've often thought that writers are all insane (myself included) and I think it's large in part because you have to be a special kind of cat to enjoy dwelling in your own cranium that damned much. To make a story out of the voices in your head. Man, it's beautiful stuff.

But the silent tantrum can get us through our days.
At any rate, some advice. Don't give your career the crap slot, like I often do because I'm a procrastinating hack. Give it the best you there is, if possible. If you're bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning, then write a bit before work. If noon is you at your shiniest, then write on the lunch hour. If you're a late afternoon creative genius, then get it going afterward. There's no excuse for giving writing, your glorious talent, the worse appointment just because it doesn't complain as much as the other obligations. Screw em. They're expendable!

There's no need for the silent tantrum, where you're grumpy with the world because it won't let you create. You can kick and scream about a lot of things, but don't make writing one of them.

Peace.

Vintage Key Duplicator

So it's been forever. This is for a number of reasons. None of which I'm going to disclose. I have like EIGHT followers! I doubt anyone has been waiting with bated breath.

We've been going through the lockshop and guess what we found? Lots of vintage, gadgety stuff. Here is a photo of an old key-making machine. Personally, I find it way cooler than all the automatic stuff we have now. Still, progression is usually good. Just not as aesthetically pleasing all the time.

The light's my favorite part.

Being a Homicidal Maniac...I mean...Writer.

The lone typewriter. The writer's sanctuary. A cup of pencils for editing, plenty of paper, a pack of cigarettes, an ash tray, and the most peaceful atmosphere you can imagine. Isolation. Pure, wonderful isolation. Dim lights. A thick wooden desk. Quiet. Silence. No hustle and bustle or sound of traffic. Just a typewriter, a desk, a chair and you with your brilliant ideas.
Suddenly, your silence is shattered. It could be anyone. A loved one, probably. Someone who has been rooting for you. Someone who wants you to be published and succeed at this finicky, difficult art. You want to be receptive to them. Still...they've interrupted you. They've managed to destroy your concentration. You try to be patient. They ask you something ridiculously asinine, like, "Get a lot of writing done?" or maybe they bring up the weather like you're supposed to care. You answer with monosyllabic replies, trying hard to get them to see that you need to be left alone. By the end of the conversation, you bite their head clean off their shoulders. You tried. Non-writers simply don't understand writers.
It's not finished yet, but you leave it behind to get something to eat or take a short walk. Maybe throw a tennis ball against the wall. It's delicate right now. Not what you would consider "good" by any stretch of the imagination. It's tender and raw, like an opened wound. Lo and behold, they look at it in its worst form. Pre-revision...pre-edit...they hit you at your most vulnerable simply because of their ignorant, idle curiosity. How could they? You weren't ready yet! It's like someone peering over your shoulder at a coffee shop. Or maybe even looking up your skirt or going through your underwear drawer.
So of course, like the writer you are, you handle the situation accordingly. With love, patience and understanding. Just because you're vulnerable, preparing to query and at your lowest point before possible success...that doesn't mean you're going to take it out on the people you love the most.

Peace out. Be gone a week in isolation in Utah so I can work on the query letter and try to accomplish something without other distractions. Writing in isolation can be productive...and scary. >:)

Awkward yet charming?

I'm figuring out a Steampunk outfit. Bonnie Hearn Hill got me a jacket for being a finisher. (I need to do her justice by getting a query letter out there, by jove.) It's the jacket I listed in the last blog. Excuse me for only addressing fashion lately. That's just what I've been into.

Here is an awkward picture of me in front of my closet mirror with a messy room behind me. I'm not sure why I'm posing like that...but hey. There you go. The jeans aren't my favorite part of it, although they do have some neat zippers you can't see. The boots are Target, the top hat was a gift from my cousin and sister from years past, long before I discovered this genre. (Organic writing.) I'm wearing a corset I actually purchased from Charlotte Russe, who just happened to have a load of them for sale. Kind of funny timing, but I suppose we are coming up on Halloween, where there will be tons of pirate wenches, slutty barmaids, vampire queens and dominatrixes. Or dominatrixen?

Anyway, like I said. Terrible pictures, especially since they're taken with an ancient Blackberry. [I'm in desperate need of a new phone but being an adult is expensive, it turns out.] But I've decided to record my Steampunk fashion progress. It can be an expensive genre to try and dress for! Sheesh. But so fun. And complimentary! Corsets do wonders for the figure. Whoduh thunk? Haha.

Happy Friday.

Clothes, clothes, clothes.

Bonnie introduced me to Pyramid clothing. They specialize in a lot of Gothic stuff. It's pretty cool, most of it. They also do STEAMPUNK. Ow, ow, ow.

http://tinyurl.com/3mts36c

The link is there. Here is a super lame MS paint copy and paste of what they do. So kewl.