FEAR OF TRYING

Diving can be scary. Snorkeling can be too.
Creatures lurk around each corner.
Under a rock.
Beside a coral head. Through the manatee grass.
Fearsome.
Not unlike writing a novel.
Not unlike finishing a novel.

9:30 pm and 73 degrees.
I have heard more and more writers talk about their struggle -- trying to finish their work in progress. Message boards have many active dialogs about this difficulty.
Sometimes it's a matter of plots that peter out. Other times it is second guessing yourself. Third person? First? Omniscient?
Then it's editing. Redoing the same first chapters over and over and never getting to the end. Work shopping. Perfecting.
And then there is the panic.
What if someone writes the same novel?
What if my premise is stolen?
What if all the time I have devoted to creating my novel has been wasted?
What if I am never published?
What if?
These fears are not only limiting-- they can be paralyzing.
They can stop the creative process. Kill the energy. The passion.
The most important thing in my opinion is to keep writing.
Loving to write.
Selecting words. Manufacturing a story out of thin air.
The unbelievable rush of that first draft completed. Then the delicate process of editing.
Write. Write. Write.
Writing takes away the fear.
Like diving or snorkeling.
The more you do it the better it feels.
Just like pen to paper.
So I continue.
To write.

6 DAYS AND COUNTING

It's good to get excited about something.
I get excited when I see a turtle (even after this many years).
The turtles get excited about all the seaweed growth on the bottom of ORION.
And Gordon gets excited to think the ORION'S bottom will be cleaned for free.


9:30 pm and 77 degrees.
My luggage is in the cockpit. My clothes will soon to be carefully packed and I have left instructions with the horse exercisers.
Counting down to a New York state of mind...
My meetings have been scheduled with my agent, editor and publicist. I hope to learn more about the process and understand where I fit in. I always thought that an author's job was finished when "The End" was typed at the bottom of the page.
I am here to tell you that is not the case.
A few things to consider while you are working on your manuscript.
Besides the synopsis, besides the hook, besides answering the question "Why did you write your novel?"
Figure out who is going to read your book.
Figure out where on the store shelf your book will sit.
Figure out how that reader is going to find your book.
These are all things to think about.
I find out about most of the books I read from blogs and other resources on the internet.
How will readers find out about your book? If you do not consider this you will not be as successful as another author who understands both marketing and has some type of business plan.
It is just as important to market yourself as it is to market your book.
I am learning this as I go.
Writing is a business. I think if more writers understood this there would be far fewer disappointments.
Art may be passion filled and ethereal. But it loses something if it is not shared.
So transfer your excitement from your work in progress to marketing your work in progress.
Any questions?

HEAD 'EM OUT...MOVE 'EM UP...

I was invited to participate in the world famous CoConut Island Shark round up.
Of course I said yes.
I was a header or heeler -- depending on whether the shark was chasing me or I was doing the chasing.
One of those activities that are more fun in retrospect.

10:30 pm and 76 degrees.
I am a risk taker. Always have been.
When Mark Heckman from Waikiki Aquarium called a few years back to see if I wanted to help move sharks around, I jumped at the chance. I spent the next several hours thinking, "What am I doing?"
After seeing the movie Jaws I refused to take a bath. Some how the foolhardy photographer part of me won out over the for-God's-Sake-Be-Reasonable side of me.
I found myself in a long narrow lagoon full of sharks. The other students and I were told to jump in and swim across to move the sharks from one end to the other. This was not complex but unfortunately no one told the sharks.
As hard as herding cats.
Harder.
But I survived with all my limbs intact.
With writing, taking risks are everything.
If you play it safe you might as well get a job writing those cute captions in coloring books.
Risks are necessary,
Pushing the envelope.
Being different.
This is what makes compelling writing.
JMHO

THE MOVING BLOGGER HAVING BLOGGED...BLOGS ON...

This is a photo of Everett Waterfront where LOTTERY takes place. My father and I drove there together almost a year ago. He was helping me do research for my book.
My mother had just died.
We needed to do something.
So we drove to Everett.
I could feel Perry there. I could imagine him walking down this dock. I had to stare in the water and wonder. Imagine. I thought about my writing.
Would I get an agent?
Would I ever be published?
A year later.
Where will I be?
You all now know the answer to that question.

9:30 pm and 79 degrees.
I'm it.
I've been tagged by HOLLY KENNEDY and as a dutifully obedient blogger I will comply.

Why do I blog?
A very good question.
A dilemma. Puzzling. I started and stopped. I erased what I had written.
This required much thought.
And then.
I realized the answer was right in front of my face -- or rather at the end of my posts.
12 comments.
7 comments.
22 comments.
59 comments.
This is why I blog. Because of you.
I blog because I get a deep connection from all of you writers all over the world who comment on this blog. You are my peers. My readers. You are writers and authors. You have the same dreams that I do.
You find humor in rejection the way I do. You ask the same questions that I do.
"Why do I let others take control of my writing?"
"How can I know what I want to say?"
"Am I wasting my time?"
"Where can I find the passion?"
I find solace in the comments because it leads me to believe that you and I -- we have much commonality between us.
We are all very much alike.
If we met.
If we were together.
For lunch.
Or for coffee.
I feel sure we would be firm fast friends.
Thank you my blog buddies.
You give me so much.

LEADER OF THE PACK

12:30 pm and 81 degrees.
There are times in your life that you know you will always remember until the day you die. Those moments so spectacular so filled with love that they stay with you forever.
This was one of those days.
The 2007 Putnam Fall Catalog arrived Fed Ex this morning. I opened the box.
There it was. Then I noticed what was on the cover.
The cover art of LOTTERY.
I choked up.

The catalog is what the sales force use to sell books to retail outlets like Borders, Barnes & Nobles and other book sellers.
Being the first book in the catalog is a big deal.
Being given a two page spread is also a big deal.
Lottery is first in the catalog.
And has a two page spread.

This is another step in my journey to publication.
I am so grateful to be able to share it with you.

FIRST PASS PAGES

8 pm and 77 degrees.
Mr. FedEx knows me by sight now. An overnighted (read two day) envelope from New York to Hawaii contained a tax paper from Italy.
In Italian.
This is one of those instances I document as ammunition for the times I participate in a fruitless argument about whether a writer needs an agent or not.
Trust me. You do.
I just signed where it was highlighted.
I do what I'm told.
As I went up to the harbor office to FedEx it back I met Mr. FedEx once more.
Another package.
Gee, I'm popular.
It was heavy. A manuscript. I was expecting it.
FIRST PASS PAGES
What are they? You ask.
I will tell you.
After the copyedit corrections are made the manuscript goes to the type setter. It is very interesting because to make the pages fit a certain may some of the words and letters are closer together than others. They also design the pages. The font is selected. Fancy doodads are put under the chapter numbers. First pass pages look exactly as the book will look if you cut it out from the hatch marks.
It is beauteous.
My job is to carefully look for boo boos.
This is not the time to rewrite entire chapters.
It is the time to look for misspelled words, punctuation errors,and horror of horrors-- what I call:
STUPID THINGS!
Like I just noticed a minor character started out in a house and suddenly is in a car.
I don't know how she got there.
Those things.
So I am taking a short break from my efforts.
And hoping to hear some cheer and amusing support from my comment gallery.
My ARCs (Advanced Reader Copys) are due April 10.
AND.
I AM GOING TO NEW YORK!!!!
My reservations are made!
April 8 - 12.
Meetings with publishers, publicists and agent.
I will keep you all posted.
Oh.
And the first pass pages?
I have to send them back in four days.
So I leave you...
In search of the elusive...the rare and sought after...
STUPID THING.

MEN DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME

8 pm and 77 degrees.
It's a cold cold world out there. The pressure. The demands. I couldn't put two words together this morning.
It was dire.
There was only one thing to do.
Get a pedicure.
And my nails done.
Of course my nails lasted as long as it took me to walk to my car. Just before I fished my keys out of my purse and marred the gorgeous pink color.
But I still felt special.
I felt even more special at Safeway. Going up and down the aisles.
Pushing my cart. In my purple slippers.
KNOWING EVERY SINGLE PERSON WAS ENVYING MY TOES. Not.
Kind of like getting an agent.
Thousands clamoring at the door. And I!
I was admitted!
Only to find myself pacing back and forth. Is THIS the day my novel is going to be submitted?
No.
Just a bit more tweaking.
I wanted everyone to admire the fact that I got an agent.
Like my toes.
So bright and shiny.
But they only said. "Gee."
"When's your book coming out?"
And I had to tell them how impressive it is JUST TO HAVE A FRIGGING AGENT!
And they back away slowly.
To get away from me.
Just like that man in the vegetable aisle when I waved my foot in the air inches from his face hissing.
"SEEEEEE????Aren't they beeauuttifuulllll!"
I digress.
My point is.
The odds are not favorable. But when the stars are aligned you have to be grateful.
I count the days until my book is to be released. And when I simply can't stand it?
I get my feet and nails done.
Then I sit at my computer. Wriggle my toes.
And write about the man I scared off in Safeway.
He's vulnerable. Uneasy. A bank robber?
I start to type.
No.
No something less extreme. Wait! An embezzler.
He's in terrible trouble and works as an accountant for...

IT'S ALWAYS SOMETHING

White anemones. A passel of them. A pod. A gaggle. A herd.
Head 'em up.
Move 'em out.
How do you tell them apart? They all look alike.
Does it matter?
Well.
It does to the anemone.
Don't you think?

8:30 pm and 77 degrees.
It's official. I am going to New York in 17 days.
I have been having conversations with marketing, with publicists, with blurbers. I am in continual expectation of my ARCs (Advanced Reader Copies) with the real live cover on them!
And my name on the front.
PATRICIA WOOD
And the name of my book.
LOTTERY
My head has been spinning and all extraneous information is now dripping out my ears.
Like.
How to run my dust buster.
How to make dinner.
How to make sure there is gas in my car.
My husband is not amused.
I do not know where I am staying in New York -- yet. I'm flying in for meetings for three days and then turning around and flying right back to Honolulu.
Hopefully I can blog when I am there. That would be good fun.
I have never been to New York.
Well.
I have passed through but never stayed in Manhattan.
How exciting is that on a scale of one to three hundred and twenty seven?
I think it rates at least a twenty-six.
So I had this blog all ready to post -- and then didn't.
Ah well.
It is now 6:30 am the next day and 72 degrees.
But that is good because I have something else to say.
A suggestion for those of you preparing to query. Besides the hook. The synopsis.
Oh yes.
And the actual completed novel. There is one more thing editors (or agents) may ask you for.
The answer to this question.
"Why did you write your novel?"
In a letter form.
So you better think about that.
And you know?
Many times the answer to that questions allows you to go back and create a difference in your manuscript.
May even make you stand out from all those other white anemones in the slush pile of a publisher.
To show your story is unique.
One of a kind.
Yours.
Make you different from all the rest.

SOMETIMES THE BEST PLACE TO GO FORWARD IS BACKWARD

So there was this eel.
I wanted to take his picture and I got closer and closer.
The flash went off and suddenly he darted out.
I felt it was important to include both photos.
Before.
And after.
The dust you see is my fin kicking away.
You notice I still got a picture?
I never let a little thing like an attacking creature get in my way.

10:30 pm and 77 degrees.
Perseverance.
Stick-to-itiveness,
Tenacity.
Stubbornness.
When I think of what might be the biggest contributor to what has happened to me this year --
These are the words I think of.
I believe these are the qualities writers need in excess.
Pig headed blindness and tunnel vision.
That helps too.
In spite of rejections.
Ignoring nay-sayers.
Stumbling on no matter what.
Breath taking turn of phrase.
Sparkling description.
Inventive dialogue.
And focus so intense it appears to be a third person in the room. Leaning forward in their chair. Intent on every word.
Like with the eel. Even though you have to peddle backwards you still get your photo.
And that's really the thing, isn't it?
Able to always move forward OR backward.
So how about you?
What do you think the best quality a writer could have?

WORDS OF A FEATHER

He is known as a clumpy nudibranch.
That's Mr. Clumpy to you.
And Asteronotus cespitosus to all his other friends.
A big guy.The size of my hand. The mother of all nudibranchs. He was suspended - not in disbelief -- but in the ocean. I thought I was seeing things.
Well.
I was.
He was really there.
The rough surge dislodged him. I took his picture then placed him in a safe coral encrusted nook. It was the least I could do.
For Clumpy.

4:30 am and 74 degrees.
Words.
Can't live with 'em.
Can't live without 'em.
I love to make up words. You know those people who the literary world refers to as destroying our language because they do ridiculous things like making verbs out of nouns and rearranging letters?
I'm one of those people. Those scum of the earthers. And not just verbal either -- I'm getting published so that makes me twice as bad! My bizarre wordsmithing abilities will go down in print if not in some obscure alternative dictionary.
You want examples? Ok. Here they are.
Someone commented on one of the blogs recently about the word impactful.
They said impactful was not a word.
I beg to differ. I use it all the time.
Ergo.
It is a word.
Maybe they just mean it's a BAD word. I think that's cruel name-calling. I mean what did impactful ever do to you?
Oh. This is a good one: Flustrated. Sounds like a hen ruffling her feathers doesn't it?
Flustrated. I know it's not in Webster's -- but it should be -- It means upset.
More determined than flustered but less specific than frustrated.
Flustrated.
Hey, I've heard other people use this so I'm obviously not alone.
Then there's my personal favorite.
Jelliose. I love this word. Ever seen a melted sea jelly on the beach? Not quite liquid but fairly dead? Jelliose. No longer jello. Something that used to be firm and wriggly. Jelliose.(This can also refer to Jello salads past their prime)
Then there are the times I throw my words in a blender and hit "grind." You know. Those words combined with other words that should be words?
For example.
Having trouble deciding who you were in a past life?
You are karmcommittaled. This is when your inner essence -- your Karma -- can't make up its mind. Your Yin and Yang are in a state of indecisiveness. Similar to contracommittaled. That's when your inner essence is split evenly in two different directions.
Of course, you realize none of this has to make any sense. That's the beauty of it. Just like Clumpy.
Floating out in the ocean for no apparent reason. But.
He is fun to look at isn't he?
Well, I got to go.
Get coffeed.
Up.
What are your words?
Tell me please.

WE INTERUPT THIS BLOG POST FOR AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE

My editor sent the cover with spine to me via Fedex
How cool is this?

AND?
YOU CAN
PREORDER LOTTERY
NOW ON AMAZON!
YIPPEE!

HAWAII DOES NOT HAVE DAYLIGHT SAVINGS

WE ARE SPENDING ALL OF OURS AT ONCE...

77 degrees and 6:15 am.
REMEMBER TO CHECK OUT THE DEBUTANTE BALL today. My guest blog is there. Let me know how you like it.
There has been a battle here over the last two days. My husband's Blackjack will not accept the fact that there are places that do not LEAP AHEAD. He was late to work on Monday and so were all the other architects at the firm who use their Blackjacks as miniature alarm clocks. All the meetings were off by an hour.
I hear it was not a great deal of fun.
Each time they corrected the little devils they flipped over to mainland time as soon as one's back was turned.
Kind of creepy don't you think?
Now I could anthropomorphize these tiny devices.
Talk about the resulting havoc of a software glitch.
Or use the entire scenario in one of my novels 'cuz...
Sometimes ya just can't make this stuff up.

GEE MOM, SHE FOLLOWED ME HOME. CAN I KEEP HER?

So I am walking with my friend the other day and discovered a monk seal who just lumbered to shore. They lay on the beach to rest or have their babies. I don't know for sure that it was female but I decided to take literary license and say that it was.
I am not sure though.
What I am sure of is that it was serendipitous.
One minute the beach was empty.
The next she was there.
Like inspiration.
And I look with wonder.

84 degrees and 2 pm.
A leisurely Saturday.
I have news.
First of all I discovered a very cool blog. RAY WONG AUTHOR OF THE PACIFIC BETWEEN has a blog called -- I the author -- and it is good fun to read. Ray is MAESTRO over at ABSOLUTE WRITE WATER COOLER and is one of many sound voices of reason (as I like to think of them).
Today I signed up for my third year at the MAUI WRITERS RETREAT AND CONFERENCE. Their 2007 brochure is ready. I have said it before and I'll say it again that it was one of the contributing factors that allowed me to obtain the agent who sold my book. It's always held just prior to labor day. Unfortunately it is also my husbands birthday. What I give up for my art. I need a T-shirt that says "I had to decide between celebrating my husband's birthday or attending the Maui Writers Conference... I guess I can mail him a card from Maui."
(I just read this to Gordon AKA Patricia Wood's husband -- he was not amused)
And...
PAUSE.
I have to blush.
(FYI having never blushed in my life I am having difficulties initiating this alien physical response)
I have been asked to be a guest blogger on THE DEBUTANTE BALL this Tuesday March 12.
How cool is that?
Mia King whose book GOOD THINGS just came out to rave reviews so kindly asked me and of course I said yes.

So what does this have to do with monk seals on the beach?
Well...
What do you think?

YOU CAN RUN BUT YOU CANNOT HIDE

Nothing is as it seems.
True in photography and doubly true in literature.
Sea anemones are not known for speed. In fact they are fairly sedentary.
But they have their obstreperous ways. A shadow. A movement. And those tentacles tuck right in.
A photographer has to be on her toes...or rather on her elbows stretched out on the dock.
My poor beleaguered husband.
"Honey I just want to go for a walk. People are staring. Can you get up now?"
Hunting.
Always hunting.

78 degrees and 9:30 pm.
Where do I stop and my work begins? There is a part of me in everything I do.
I am not Perry. I am not Keith. I am not Gram. These are merely characters. But in many ways they are me. I have given them life. I made them. This is a conundrum to be sure. An interesting problem but a conundrum none the less.
You hear authors protest.
"I am nothing like my main character."
But deep down inside I think they know the truth.
We writers are a mass of undifferentiated multiple personalities. Just waiting to get out. Escape. Be a part of the action.
"The play's the thing." A famous writer said.
And I think that is true.
By the way. If you think you see me in the photograph? You are perceptive. Upper right hand corner.
I am reflected there.
Taking a picture of you.

IMMEDIATE GRATIFICATION

I couldn't decide which photo to use to demonstrate today's concept. It took a while.
I struggled.
Underwater? Horses? Cats?
Stymied.
I don't like to admit ignorance. I like to feign competence. Intelligence. Even when I don't know what I'm talking about.
Isn't that just like a writer?
So how is a fledgling albatross like this?
Like me.
Like all of us?

73 degrees and 6:30 am.
I see writers in a hurry. I am in a hurry, or at least I was.Strike that. Still am thank you very much!
First I was in a hurry to write my book. I sat in the salon of ORION madly typing away convinced someone somewhere had my exact same idea or a nefarious agent or editor would steal my pages. To protect myself I even sent in my money and got a copyright. Wasn't I smart?
Rush. Rush. Hurry.
Query! Quick! As many as you can. The rejections came flying back twice as fast as I could mail out my missives.
"I would like to show you my novel..."
"For your consideration..."
"Come ON!!!!!Be my agent!!!!PLEASE??????"
Hmmm.
There must be more to this than I thought.
I re-worked novel number one and started novel two.
I attended MAUI WRITERS RETREAT & CONFERENCE where I met HOLLY KENNEDY. I was anxious. Driven. I KNEW things were happening. Just not to me. Holly gave out the best advice I have ever heard. SLOW DOWN. TAKE YOUR TIME. RELAX.
It was echoed by every author I met.
Take the time to be a good writer and write.
Write a lot.
And then write more.
Fast forward...Novel three...four...representation...revision...tweaking...final product --
LOTTERY -- Sent out on submission... Bought by Putnam!
TA DA!!!
Tick...Tick...Tick...
So when will it be released?
August 2, 2007.
What's the time line?
December 6, 2006 -- Putnam won the auction for LOTTERY
December 7, 2006 -- Discussion with editor
December 13 -- Lottery sold to Netherlands, Italy
December 15 -- Lottery sold to UK
December 22 -- editorial letter received
December 26 -- Hard copy of edits received
Pat does not remember anything about this holiday season.
January 2 -- edited manuscript sent back electronically
January 3 -- LOTTERY sold to Israel.
January 3 Deal posted in Publishers Weekly
January 18 -- second editorial letter received
January 18 -- Lottery sold to Sweden, Finland, Taiwan
January 22 -- Edited manuscript sent electronically NOTE: This is called D&A. The manuscript was delivered and accepted.
Why is this important?
Because it means an additional portion of the ADVANCE is due the author.
February 12- Lottery sold to Korea
February 13- Uncorrected bound galley sent to authors for blurbs and reviewers
February 16 - Lottery sold to Russia
February 22 -- Hard copyedited manuscript arrives and checked obsessively by author
NOTE: Corrections also have to be made on the Authors electronic copy
February 23 -- copy edited manuscript sent back to Putnam.
February 26 -- First contract arrives to be signed. NOTE: No money has been received by the author to date.
March 2 -- More contracts arrive to be signed. NOTE: No money has been received by the author yet.
March 5 -- Communication from agent: Putnam contracts are fed exed.
March 6-
Kristy Kiernans book CATCHING GENIUS is released and Kristy emails Pat. Pat is happy for Kristy but she is GREEN with envy.
Pat wants IMMEDIATE GRATIFICATION.
Pat wants LOTTERY out NOW!
Pat is like the fledgling albatross.
Ready to fly. But needs more feathers.
Needs better wind updraft. Needs luck to escape the sharks.
Needs time.
Needs much more time.
149 days and counting.

SOMETIMES A FLATWORM REALLY IS JUST A FLATWORM

I almost missed him. I was turning over rocks and looking for shrimp or other exotic creatures. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. He was casually sliding to the side attempting to escape like a guilty shoplifter at a five and dime.
I snapped the photo and tried to identify him.
I thought his name should be flamboyant and dramatic.
Extreme and unique.
But it wasn't.
His name is pretty much what he is:
The Hawaiian Spotted Flatworm.


77 degrees and 9:30 pm.

My WEBSITE is up!!!!!

The URL is http://patriciawoodauthor.com. It will be an evolving work in process. It takes some time to load but will give readers a glimpse into where I come from and what provokes me to write.
Whenever I read a book that affects me deeply I am driven to go online and look up the author. I am always disappointed when there is no website, no information and when I am unable to find out anything about the writer.
Why do I have this compulsion to understand the creator of a book that entrances me? I find I am fascinated to read about why an author wrote a particular book. What he or she was thinking and the journey they endured to produce the novel.
I must be a sort of literary voyeur.
But I am not alone. Many of you have the same compulsion.
Why?
I wonder.

"WHEN YOU TALK WITH THE ANIMALS...LEARN THEIR LANGUAGES..."

ANTHROPOMORPHISM AT ITS FINEST
Creatures can give us insight. Show us characteristics that are an integral part of us but we tend not to acknowledge.
Introspection is good.
Cross species introspection is even better.
71 degrees and 6:30 am
Writers...pick your animal.

New writers. A bit ridiculous. Goofy. Nitwits abound. You think you are special.Unique. Until you look up and see that you are surrounded by other nitwits just like yourself. You have two choices: Be like everyone else or try to make yourself stand out from the crowd.
What do you do?



Do you put your hands (paws) over your ears , a bag over your head go,La La La La?



When finally asked for a partial, do you run scared. Rework the first twenty pages until the agent dies a natural death. Or shoot yourself in the foot by forgetting to put your contact information in the cover letter?



Do you just dream of being a writer? Dream of writing a book? Dream of being published?



Or do you take writers' clinics? Aggressively focus and go after every last bit of knowledge working shoulder to shoulder with other writers.



ARE YOU RIDING THE DREAM?
OR IS THE DREAM RIDING YOU?

"LEAPIN' LIZARDS, SANDY! IT'S A FINE MESS YOU'VE GOTTEN US INTO NOW!"

FROM THE LAND OF THE MIXED METAPHOR

Here in Hawaii we are known for our geckos. Green. Brown. Speckled.
Tiny glue-like feet clinging to a surface loosening only when you pass underneath.
Falling onto some exposed body part or annihilating itself inside some difficult to clean machinery.
I've had them drop down my shirt, ricochet off my chest and bounce into pancake batter.
(Don't worry Gordon, I fished him out.) I am fairly certain 375 degrees kills lizard cooties.
So. What does reptilian shrapnel have to do with writing?
Well. Their tenacity for one thing.
They stick to everything those lizards.
Kind of like excessive adjectives.
Improperly placed adverbs.
And Homeric similes.

His hands slid into his gloves like a well-greased bearing inside a brushed steel wheel with a Goodyear MT Baja all terrain radial tire.
Wha?

75 degrees and 10 pm.
My nitwittery continues unabated. Hurtling unchecked down the proverbial highway of manic writing.
I like a good metaphor.
I love a bad one even better.
Similes make me smile. The more the merrier. The grander. The amazingly obtuse and the excessively obscure.
Hey Jude.
Allusions. Illiterate alliterations. Perturbations.
Okay.
I'm done now.
With my literary tantrum.
And this is all due to my reptilian inspiration: The lizards of Hawaii.
Long live the gecko.
The mighty mighty gecko.
So.
What inspires you to lunacy?

I HAVE DEFINED NITWITTERY AND IT IS US.

THIS BAG IS NOT A TOY

Nitwittery- The process or act of being a nitwit. Especially prevalent condition among writers. Touloose gives a visual demonstration of the principal.

S*** happens.
You go into a diatribe against certain books and find out the person you are talking to writes in that genre.
You send out an e-query -- realize you misspelled the agent's name -- resend another this time misspelling your own name and the agent's in an entirely different way.
All of us have these stellar moments in our lives.

THIS IS PAT



THIS IS PAT BEING A NITWIT


12:30 pm and 81 degrees.
COPYEDITING IS DONE LONG LIVE THE COPYEDITOR.
My greatest single nitwittery happened at my very first writers' conference on Maui. I met my sister there and we shared a room. I was nervous, excited, and loud.
But not as loud as my sister. She shrieked. She laughed. She howled. Not usually a problem but it happened to be 5 am. There was a rapid insistent pounding on our hotel room door. My sister fled to the bathroom abandoning me. I answered to reveal our bleary eyed pissed neighbor.
"Could you both keep it down? We're trying to sleep here!" The voice is not amused.
Some people have no sense of humor.
"Uh sorry."
We muffled our giggles each time we passed our neighbor in the hallway
Embarrassing yes, but not the end of the world.
Until my first scheduled consultation with a real live agent from New York City.
And.
You guessed it.
It was the woman who rapped on our door. Our neighbor. Her eyes narrowed and hardened.
My mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. When I regained my speech, I blathered, I stuttered.
"Uh. Gee. Uh sorry."
I think I pitched. I am not sure.
I do not remember.
Needless to say, the agent was not interested in my premise, in my writing or anything else I had to say including my partial. I sent it to her anyway 6 months later hoping she would forget.
I scrawled on the outside of the envelope: "Met in Maui: Requested Material."
Maybe I should have written: "Disturbed your sleep and gave you a migraine the size of a tractor-trailer in Maui." "Neighbors from hell in Maui." or even "Look, I-can't-help-it-if-my-sister-is-loud-I-just-answered-the-door- but-look-at-my-pages-anyway: Maui."
Nitwittery.
It happens to all of us.
What is yours?

COPYEDITS: THE REST OF THE STORY

This is it. The master copy. I use green pencils and decide if I like the change (leave it alone) or put little green dots under it and mark STET (revert back to the way I had it).

8 pm and 76 degrees.
Copy edits.
My last few passes and then I go page by page and make all the changes on my computer copy of LOTTERY. I have the weekend.
Yeah! Then I send this hard copy off Monday. Overnight. To New York.
The person who did my copyedits is wonderful. I decided.
I do not know her name (I think it's a her but I am not sure). I just know her initials EW.
This is an amazing process. This part is all by hand. Specific marks. Red pencil. Squiggles, lines, carrots (carots or carats). Gee, I wish I paid better attention in high school journalism class.
Actually you can find all the abbreviations and marks online.
But already this post is too long.
I do not know how much longer this will take me.
I just wanted to say aloha, hello and ask for a few cheering words in the comments section from my blogging buddies.
And now back to the land of red marks.
stet stet and more stet

VOLCANO...MORE THAN JUST AN ALCOHOLIC DRINK THAT KNOCKS YOU ON YOUR BUTT!

It's not nice to fool Pele.
You would think being a deity, she does not have a sense of humor.
Actually, she does.
Years ago, the park service workers at Volcanoes National Park decided to tell tourists that if they stole lava stones bad luck would haunt them and terrible things would happen. Ooo Woo hoo (cue scary music).
Well.
Be careful what you wish for.
Pele heard their plea.
Soon lava stones were being mailed back to Volcanoes from far and wide accompanied by tales of woe and misfortune.
And what does this have to do with writing you ask?
Well.
Sit down.
Make yourself comfortable.
And I'll tell you...

9:30 pm and 74 degrees. Tradewinds were gusting to 40 earlier. How did I know that? I had the nav station instruments on and I felt ORION heeling.
I have been in hurricane Iniki. I have walked along Chain of Craters road. I have seen the smoldering lava from miles away. I have been at sea, sailing away from the extinct remnants of the Waianae range.
But have you? Have you done this?
Could I make you see what I see? Feel what I feel?
Smell the acrid smoke. Have your feet slip underneath and hear stones rattle to the valley far below.
Slap!
Slap!
Ring!
The Halyards hit the mast in a rhythmic song played by the fingers of the wind. The very same wind that blows across Kilauea carrying with it the sulfurous volcanic ash over to us on Oahu. The roads of the Big Island pass by miles of hardened lava from Mauna Loa. Flow from 1843. Flow from 1881. Flow from 1919. Each documented year and flow, spread across the map.
The fire of Pu`u `O`o.
I have seen this.
What have you seen that you incorporate so tightly into your work it cannot be undone? What are your secrets? How do you make your reader see with your eyes? Understand your vision?
And now.
Back to volcanoes.
What does writing have to do with Pele? Have to do with the Goddess of fire?
Well...
A fib someone told came true.
A Goddess listened.
Bad stuff happened.
And somebody was very, very sorry.
Sounds like a novel to me!

"OH, THE SHARK BABE, HAS SUCH TEETH DEAR..."

Midway again.
If you go outside the lagoon you can keep your fish...only one catch.
Those pesky tiger sharks. They seem to be attracted to the motor of the fishing boat. When a tuna is hooked they see this as a sharky appetizer on a string.
They follow it to the boat, wait for the tuna to tire, and then zoom in and take a bite.
Not unlike critics.

8:30 pm and 75 degrees.
As a writer we have to take criticism.
But of course we don't call it that. We call it writer's groups and work shopping.
That's a joke.
Really.
But think about it. Constructive criticism can be helpful, but there are times you have to go with your gut reaction, keep your vision intact, and ignore sane voices of reason.
Ignore reason? That doesn't make sense!
But sometimes creativity defies reason and sometimes the writer is wrong.
How does one tell the difference?
For me it's beta readers. They help me determine when I am full of artistic bunk and when I have written something that will resonate with readers.
So what do workshops do? Well, for me other writers help me clarify my intent. I can see my own faults more easily in other's work. Which is better?
I think they both are necessary for a writer's growth.
What about you? Can you take criticism?
Can you tell when to ignore it or learn from it?
Or do you see them all as shark bites out of your writerly soul.
"AND IT SHOWS THEM PEARLY WHITE..."

THE ADVENTURES OF THICKAMORE BY PATTY F. D.

My earliest literary effort was self published with cardboard and masking tape.
THICKAMORE was well received by my immediate family but suffered from a lack of distribution and marketing. My prose was derivative yet showed some promise of what would become my future voice.
There is only one known copy.

8:30 pm and 77 degrees.
So when did you know?
I knew I wanted to write ever since I was 8 1/2 years old. My fiction was heavily influenced by Dr. Seuss, but I struggled to find my true genre. The one I felt most comfortable with.
My first inkling that words could profoundly affect other people was when I wrote a report on our bantam chickens in third grade. I had a mission to inform my classmates about these amazing creatures. I talked about what a sidewalk might look like if there were chickens running around loose. The words I used described our chickens' loyalty, our chickens' unique qualities, and specifically what happened to them when the neighbor's cats got involved. It was my first foray into the use of sensationalism and the use of cliche. "You can't count your chickens before they hatch." I talked about "fortification," something necessary to produce baby chickens. It was at that point my teacher sent me to the principal's office where I read my entire piece to Mr. Dunn. He sank lower and lower in his chair and soon his face was covered with his hands. I was annoyed. This was serious non-fiction. My talent was not being recognized.
I eventually found out my piece was a part of the educational cocktail party circuit for years.
As I moved from elementary to High school I was entranced with journalism, creative writing, and drama.
And then something happened.
The powers that be spouted conventional wisdom and suggested I pursue a "normal" career. I dutifully obeyed.
Yet I remained a writer deep down inside.
And I couldn't keep it hidden forever.
So how was it for you?
What made you decide to be a writer?
Do you have a Thickamore hidden in your past?

AND YOUR POINT IS?

I offer you the wana (pronounced vahnah preferably with a cigarette holder in one hand).
The sea urchin. Phylum Echinodermata or "spiney skin."
Don't get close and do not underestimate him. He is small but mighty. Clever at hiding. Positively brilliant at being in the wrong place at the wrong time for this diver. I found the shot of a lifetime. Hovered carefully. A male and female frogfish in the same frame. My leg bent and lowered onto the ocean floor directly on top of forty spines, which were instantly injected deep into my skin. I know there were forty because I counted each puncture as I soaked my leg in steaming bath water to deactivate the protein toxin.
Clumsy of me.
Just like a writer delivering a back handed complement.
Clumsy.
Obtuse.
Or are they?

3:30 pm and 80 degrees.
The back handed complement. We've all gotten them.
As writers, we seem to get more than our share. There is a perception by some that success is finite. If one does well, another will have to falter. There are fears and traumas that only writers know deep in their souls.
The fear that someone will steal your idea -- that you can't write well enough -- that you'll never be published -- that all the time you spent will go to waste.
In workshops, you see evidence of this in the glances, the licking of the lips, a curving smile hid by a hand when an instructor points out a problem in another's manuscript.
The words might as well be transcribed on foreheads for all to see.
Is my work good enough?
Is it better than his?
Is it better than hers?
I have been the recipient of these barbs.
"Well," I am told. "I mean it's easy enough to write what you write, after all it's just commercial fiction. How hard can that be? I, on the other hand spend hours crafting one sentence. You just jot yours off and you're done."
Right.
There are the writers who tell you that they plan and determine exactly what would be more likely to sell and write appropriately. Sometimes luck intervenes but other times not. You see, the passion is missing from their words.
So what then?
I think back handed complements need to be dealt with. Confronted head on like a bee loose in a car. Don't ignore them or they won't ever go away.
"Oh, they are just doing it to be supportive. To be kind. To be honest," you say.
But I ask you what point does it serve?
I have come up with a few phrases that can be used in response. Save them for just these moments, use them wisely. Never let another writer's arrogance put you in your perceived place.
"Could you repeat that please?"
"What exactly did you mean by that?"
"Excuse me?"
Please donate phrases to the common good and make your contribution, today.
I will share my own personal favorite:
"And your point is?"
Kudos to the lovely, bristling sea urchin.
Hip hip hurray!

NOTE: I am extraordinarily jealous that Holly has held TWO (count them, TWO!) contests to great response, so I am holding one of my own.
Offer your best retort to a "writerly back-handed" comment over the next TWO days.
I will evaluate the entries with my friend MARY and have her select a WINNER (You hear that Mary?) so everything is above board and fair.
The Prize?
I will send you a signed ARC (Advanced Reader Copy) of Lottery --
Now how arrogant is THAT?

HOPE OR EXPECTATION: CONSIDER THE WRASSE

Lets consider the wrasse. This happens to be a saddle wrasse. He is patrolling the waters, looking for food.
He's voracious
If a diver overturns a rock and exposes a nest of writhing brittle stars, he's an opportunist and eagerly takes advantage.
With an intent expression he circles divers. Watching. Waiting.
Does he hope you will push over a rock and give him an easy meal?
Does he expect it?
It doesn't much matter because the wrasse is primed and ready to take advantage of any opportunity.
A hand that topples coral rubble. A fin that displaces tasty invertebrates.
And that's really the key isn't it?
Opportunity.
And being ready.
Being very very ready.

2:30 pm and 79 degrees.
"Did you expect this? I mean you must have known right?"
This is what people ask me. I have to think. Probe the recesses of my mind.
I have to be honest here.
No.
I didn't expect it.
I didn't expect anything but I hoped.
Hope versus expectation.
I've been thinking about this a lot. Did I expect what has happened so far?
No.
Did I hope it would happen?
Yes.
Am I successful yet?
It depends.
If my only goal was to get an agent then I suppose so. If I wanted my book sold, then yes I have achieved my goal.
If I want my book to be bought and enjoyed by readers, however, I have to continue to hope.
Expectations are tricky things. They create disappointment and arrogance. They can lead to dissatisfaction and a hard bitter focus away from being able to write at your best.
I did not set out to write commercial fiction. I did not analyze or plan or study. I had a story in my heart that had to be written. I had characters in my head that clamored to be given life. I had passion.
When it came to finding an agent, I was business-like. That is when I used my rational sense of purpose and ambition.
But the writing?
That came from my soul.
And I am humble.
Expectations and arrogance.
Those get you into trouble each and every time.
But gratification and hope?
Well they are my mantra. Like the wrasse. I am ever watchful for opportunity.

THE COVER IS HERE AND THE RELEASE DATE IS SET!!!!!

A funny, poignant, and wise novel about a very rich underdog who shows everyone just how little his IQ says about his smarts.

Perry’s IQ is only 76, but he’s not stupid. His grandmother taught him everything he needs to know to survive: She taught him to write things down so he won’t forget them. She taught him to play the lottery every week. And most important, she taught him who to trust. When Gram dies, Perry is left orphaned and bereft at the age of 31. Then his weekly Washington State Lottery tickets wins him 12 million dollars, and he finds he has more family than he knows what to do with.
Peopled with characters both wicked and heroic who leap off the pages, LOTTERY is a deeply satisfying, gorgeously rendered novel about trust, loyalty, and what distinguishes us as capable.

The release date for LOTTERY is August 2.
Here is the cover.
I am above the clouds.
Euphoric.

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

Midway Atoll.
July.
Fledgling albatross are learning to fly in order to make their way out to sea.
Tiger sharks sense this and journey to the Northwest Hawaiian Islands by mid-summer.
I did some work on Midway tagging and tracking galapagos sharks with some amazing people from University of Hawaii and the Waikiki Aqauarium.
AD:
THE BEST LITTLE AQUARIUM IN THE WORLD.
Back to our regularly scheduled program.
This particular albatross was lucky, but the one just outside the screen was not so fortunate.
I digress.
We will not be talking about birds today.
We will be talking about ideas...

8:30 pm and 77 degrees.
It was there. Just in the back of my mind. A thought. A premise.
Gone.
Back again. I write ten pages. The story goes nowhere.
Dead end.
Why did I think that story had possibilities?
I dreamt about it last night. The plot worked perfectly. It was brilliant. In my dreams I walked to my computer and wrote it all down.
But alas, it was just my imagination.
In the morning my words appear sluggish and banal through my caffeine self-medication.
Some ideas take you all the way to the end of the story and back.
Like Lottery. Carrying me along in a river of inspiration.
It all came alive and wrote itself. Fully formed inside my brain.
And others?
Well lets just say.
They vaporized.
But we are watchful and we wait.
For their return.
So tell me.
Which of yours eluded capture.
And got away.

THERE ARE RULES

Scrape! Crunch!
I heard the sounds, went outside and looked.
A turtle is eating the seaweed growth off ORION. I went below got my camera and took his picture.
He is familiar to me as a beloved pet.
His name is not Yertle. It is not Fred.
Not Horace or Jacob or Jack.
When I find it, I will know it.
But for now.
He is Turtle with a capital T.
A place keeper. Like my protagonist's name.
Not the real one.
Just temporary.
What is the real one, you ask?
I do not know but...
I will recognize it when I see it.

5:30 pm and 81 degrees.
I have been remiss. I have not shared the rules.
Not those pesky grammar ones, like lay and lie.
Not i before e. Not use said. Not eliminate thats.
Not use Times New Roman and 12 pt font.
No.
The REAL rules.
The big ones that have to do with living life while you attempt to write.

I will cover household appliances first.

Rule number one.
Never try to write while having a major appliance repaired. You will be constantly interrupted.

Repairman: "Hey maam? Ya got a three quarter gud soot ploter gamer that'll take a nine eighths weasel snub?"
Me: "um...let me check..."

Rule number two.
These interruptions will be directly proportional to the number of words you WANT to write and inversely proportional to the number of active brain cells in said repairman's brain.

Two hours later after pulling out all tools.
Me: "I don't think I have one."
Repairman:" Ah never mind, I don't need it -- I used a ten inch garbweller drazzel hoot instead."

Rule number three.

Your repairman will be a frustrated novelist.

Me: "When will my refrigerator be fixed?"

Repairman: "Yanno, I should write a book about what I do."

Me: " I'm sure you should. When will you be done with repairing my refrigerator?"

Repairman: "Yanno I always wanted to write a book. I got a lot of ideas."

Me: (sobbing) "Please..."

Rule number Four.
A part will be required. It will be located in Greece, have to be carried by donkey to Italy, blessed by the pope at the Vatican and shipped to the Philippines by a leaking rowboat. It must be lost three times and reordered twice. When it comes it will be the wrong part.
It will cost more than installing a new appliance.

TO BE CONTINUED:

OK comments minions.
I need horror stories. Specifically APPLIANCE REPAIR horror stories.
How about a contest?
No prizes.
Just the genuine satisfaction you get by whining.
It doesn't get much better than this.

SELF PORTRAIT WITH BUBBLES

How do you take your own picture underwater? My dive buddy, Will, took this and I returned the favor. We were diving the Flower Garden Banks in the Gulf of Mexico --participating in a teacher workshop called Down Under Out Yonder.
Someday I hope to reconnect with the wonderful people I met there.
So how do you see your own writing through another writer's eyes? How do you see another author's work? Do you disparage? Are you in awe?
What is it like having a mentor?
Do you have a mentor?
Tell me about it.

1:30 pm and 79 degrees. This is Monday's post a day early!
I want to tell you about a book.
"Sir Vidia's Shadow" by Paul Theroux. It's the story of a thirty year long friend ship and mentoring relationship. A fascinating glimpse into the minds of two very different and accomplished writers. The angst. The pain of creation. The doubt. I was compelled to finish it once I started; as a writer myself, I learned much about my own journey while reading this book. I recommend it highly.
After I finished reading it, I became analytical about my own relationship with Paul and others who have been generous enough to guide me.
So how did I meet Paul Theroux? I hear you ask.
Well you might call it serendipitous chance, and being the right person at the right time in the right place. All the stars were aligned.It was meant to be.
A phone call. "Can you give Paul Theroux and his wife horseback riding lessons?" a mutual acquaintance asked.
Of course, I could. A friendship grew. Events conspired. Paul found out I wrote and offered to read my manuscript. I was in agony, but handed it over anyway. He told me he enjoyed it and offered his suggestions for improvement (your narrative goes too fast through the last half of the book) and let me know my strengths (your writing is vivid, distinctive and you have wonderful story ideas).
He recommended readings (Maugham, Conrad, Greene, Simenon). Note: even after 44 books, he continues reading, thinking about writing, studying technique. Analyzing.
When told him I had an idea -- what I thought was a unique premise and described my vision -- he told me to stop work on everything else and immediately write that book, then give it to him when I was finished.
When Paul read the original draft of Lottery he said, "This will be your first book published."
It appears he was right. He rejoiced with me when I found representation and was thrilled when Lottery was sold.
So, what do we do now?
We talk about writing. I email him when I read something interesting -- especially when he is in someplace exotic like Siberia -- where he is now.
He provokes me to think, pushes me to write, and have confidence in what I produce.
He does not demean genre. He does not disparage. He finds good things and talks about them.
But it is mostly up to me. He will point out a sentence he especially likes, suggest I transform a narrative into dialogue or tell me about an article he is currently writing or has published.
He is the hardest working writer I know.
When I peruse blogs and read about disappointing critique sessions or writers' groups that are adversarial, I think of what I have, and am gratified an author of this caliber has taken the time to give me a helping hand.
Did he recommend me to his agent?
No.
Did he suggest an agent?
No.
Did he encourage me to find representation?
Yes.
Mentoring is not pulling you up by the bootstraps. It is a touch. A suggestion. It is teaching you to fish, rather than handing you a meal.
So. What goes around comes around.
When I find myself in a position to help another writer?
I will.
Because that's how it works.

HOW IS AN ELEPHANT LIKE A PLUM...

The gold lace nudibranch
Halgerda terramtuentis
A mouthful of letters for a tiny creature that many SCUBA divers disregard or never see.
They are looking for dolphins.
For sharks.
The big guys.
And miss the sparkling beauty of the infinitesimal.
And writing is like this how?

7:30 am and 77 degrees. The seas have stilled. ORION is docile and stationary.
This particular photo of a nudibranch is one of fifteen on a roll of thirty-six (this is not digital boys and girls).
It is the best of the lot. Some were slightly out of focus. In others the nudibranch is cut off in the middle.
I was interested in the fluttery gills on the exterior of the body. But my intent was to get the nudibrach in the very center of the photograph.
It's close.
But not perfect.
My next photograph was closer.
And others closer still.
Do I read books about photography?
Some.
But I learn the most by actually taking photographs.
Hundreds and hundreds of photographs. Each one different. Each one unique. And each one taught me a bit more about photography.
My novel will never be perfect.
There.
I've said it.
I know at some point in time I will have a better idea of how I could have phrased that sentence -- chosen that word -- created that scene so my reader would see with my eyes -- fully understand my intentions.
Ah but my next novel.
My next novel will be better still...and the next...and the next...
So that is my motto.
Learning by doing.
What is yours?
Oh and the answer to the question?
How is an elephant like a plum?
They are both purple.
Except for the elephant.