Sunday, March 18, 2007
Spring's Blooming
Friday, March 09, 2007
The Leap of Faith
After not being cast as an interior design TV host, I found myself living in Toronto of November of 2006 with little to do. I had been attempting to keep up with the massive word counts required by November Nano Writting Month but creating auditon videos for nameless TV executives, I didn't have the time to finish my novel. I was content that the contest had inspired me to begin my third novel.
Strangely enough, I learned something about writing novels by my unexpected launch into the world of television auditions. To summarize the experience, I understood the nature of competion. Since my days of reading the great dialogues of Plato, society demands that the artist must play his role and consider the audience. I don't believe I've ever been so avant-garde to not consider the reader, but I have been somewhat shy in terms of sharing my work with any reader! I've written two novels that I've never sent out. What role is that?
It's March 2007 and I've just returned from a trip to my hometown where I had been messing around in a garage full of my old notebooks, journals, and short stories. I came across a white binder that was completely unmarked. I opened it and I came across the first novel that I wrote in 2001. I couldn't believe what I was reading. It was good. I was intrigued. What had happened so that I could take a year of my life that I spent writing that book and toss it in a garage?
Lots. My first novel was stolen from me one week before September 11. Despite the events, I pushed forth. I completed the novel in December of 2001. I printed a copy and placed it on my desk. The day after I finished the book, my brand new Apple computer crashed and everything on my hard drive was lost. Maybe, I wasn't meant to write. Maybe, there were signs in my life that were telling me to stop reaching for my dreams. And so I did. I stopped writing for four years.
Life stories are rarely told in sequential order and this story is no different. So that I can explain myself today I must first mention what happened in August of 2005. I was told by a doctor that I was going to be immediately scheduled for a surgery due to late stages of pre-cancerous cell growth. My love life was estranged. The man that I thought was my boyfriend, whom sent me to his best friend that was the doctor that performed my surgery, drifted indifferently away from me as the surgery date approached. He even called on the day of my surgery to ask me what I had planned for the day. It was bad, if you haven't already gotten the idea. Surgery, heartbreak, unhappiness in the work place, and I had all the motivation of a woman that wanted to seek professional help.
I met with a shrink in Newport Beach. The grounds for the appointment was the surgery and recent heartbreak. I felt that the sudden illness in my body might be reflecting the diseased state of my love life that I had suffered so far as an adult. I needed to get my spirit and mental health fit.
As I began a short series of sessions about the typical father-loss and bad date life that happens to common to many single people, it soon became evident that my dating life wasn't the issue.
The issue had been my writing life. All I could talk about was the stolen novel. My true love had been writing not a guy that drove a porsche.
The shrink listened as he's paid to do. However, I did the single most important thing that patient of a shrink needs to do. I listened to myself and that's was the most important thing I got out of the month of sessions.
Sometime after my surgery, the shrink declared my sanity, not that it was a secret. He cut back on my sessions and I stopped scheduling in due time.
It was time for me to change my life. Now, I'm an OC girl that lived in Chicago. That means that though I like to be catered to, there were things in life that I had to work to get. People in OC & LA areas do not walk or take public transportaion. I was workng at an interior design firm at the time and the traffic to work was horrifying. I did some research. I found that I could take a train and one bus and make it work on time. I'd save hundreds of dollars in gas and car maintaince but even more importantly, I'd have some free time. Baby steps, I told myself, life changes in baby steps.
I finished my second novel in three months while riding the train. It was hand written in two large sized moleskine notebooks. I took the notebooks and this time placed it on a shelf in my computer room and like the first novel I never bothered to send it out. I guess those sessions with the shrink had helped me to write again but that's not enough for a writer.
Writing is a leap of faith. Although, the greater leap of faith that I'm facing today is the leap to share my work with others. Somehow, I learned from all of those auditions at the end of last year, that I wasn't selected because I'm terrible but because I wasn't a perfect fit for the show and that market. Fine. I don't want to be cast into a project that I don't fit. The similarity between television, fashion, and writing became apparent to me. I don't want to wear jeans that don't fit. Finding an agent and publisher for my work need to be a great fit. The trouble was I needed to get into the dressing room of life in order to find the perfect outfit. The writer of Chicken Soup for the Soul had his book rejected by 144 different publishers. I've never tried on 144 pairs of jeans let alone sent out 144 submission packages. It's time to think differently.
Here I am, almost six years later, a changed girl. I'm confident that I'll get rejected by agents as I send my first book submission out. Fine by me! I've already survived robbery, surgery, heartbreak, and rejection by nameless television executives-and I'm sure its not the end of things to happen in my life.
The Leap of Faith has already cured my love life. I'm engaged to marry an awesome man that I met in Las Vegas. If that isn't a leap of faith, I don't know what is. It's time to roll with the dice and gamble that one day I will win and my work will publish.
Strangely enough, I learned something about writing novels by my unexpected launch into the world of television auditions. To summarize the experience, I understood the nature of competion. Since my days of reading the great dialogues of Plato, society demands that the artist must play his role and consider the audience. I don't believe I've ever been so avant-garde to not consider the reader, but I have been somewhat shy in terms of sharing my work with any reader! I've written two novels that I've never sent out. What role is that?
It's March 2007 and I've just returned from a trip to my hometown where I had been messing around in a garage full of my old notebooks, journals, and short stories. I came across a white binder that was completely unmarked. I opened it and I came across the first novel that I wrote in 2001. I couldn't believe what I was reading. It was good. I was intrigued. What had happened so that I could take a year of my life that I spent writing that book and toss it in a garage?
Lots. My first novel was stolen from me one week before September 11. Despite the events, I pushed forth. I completed the novel in December of 2001. I printed a copy and placed it on my desk. The day after I finished the book, my brand new Apple computer crashed and everything on my hard drive was lost. Maybe, I wasn't meant to write. Maybe, there were signs in my life that were telling me to stop reaching for my dreams. And so I did. I stopped writing for four years.
Life stories are rarely told in sequential order and this story is no different. So that I can explain myself today I must first mention what happened in August of 2005. I was told by a doctor that I was going to be immediately scheduled for a surgery due to late stages of pre-cancerous cell growth. My love life was estranged. The man that I thought was my boyfriend, whom sent me to his best friend that was the doctor that performed my surgery, drifted indifferently away from me as the surgery date approached. He even called on the day of my surgery to ask me what I had planned for the day. It was bad, if you haven't already gotten the idea. Surgery, heartbreak, unhappiness in the work place, and I had all the motivation of a woman that wanted to seek professional help.
I met with a shrink in Newport Beach. The grounds for the appointment was the surgery and recent heartbreak. I felt that the sudden illness in my body might be reflecting the diseased state of my love life that I had suffered so far as an adult. I needed to get my spirit and mental health fit.
As I began a short series of sessions about the typical father-loss and bad date life that happens to common to many single people, it soon became evident that my dating life wasn't the issue.
The issue had been my writing life. All I could talk about was the stolen novel. My true love had been writing not a guy that drove a porsche.
The shrink listened as he's paid to do. However, I did the single most important thing that patient of a shrink needs to do. I listened to myself and that's was the most important thing I got out of the month of sessions.
Sometime after my surgery, the shrink declared my sanity, not that it was a secret. He cut back on my sessions and I stopped scheduling in due time.
It was time for me to change my life. Now, I'm an OC girl that lived in Chicago. That means that though I like to be catered to, there were things in life that I had to work to get. People in OC & LA areas do not walk or take public transportaion. I was workng at an interior design firm at the time and the traffic to work was horrifying. I did some research. I found that I could take a train and one bus and make it work on time. I'd save hundreds of dollars in gas and car maintaince but even more importantly, I'd have some free time. Baby steps, I told myself, life changes in baby steps.
I finished my second novel in three months while riding the train. It was hand written in two large sized moleskine notebooks. I took the notebooks and this time placed it on a shelf in my computer room and like the first novel I never bothered to send it out. I guess those sessions with the shrink had helped me to write again but that's not enough for a writer.
Writing is a leap of faith. Although, the greater leap of faith that I'm facing today is the leap to share my work with others. Somehow, I learned from all of those auditions at the end of last year, that I wasn't selected because I'm terrible but because I wasn't a perfect fit for the show and that market. Fine. I don't want to be cast into a project that I don't fit. The similarity between television, fashion, and writing became apparent to me. I don't want to wear jeans that don't fit. Finding an agent and publisher for my work need to be a great fit. The trouble was I needed to get into the dressing room of life in order to find the perfect outfit. The writer of Chicken Soup for the Soul had his book rejected by 144 different publishers. I've never tried on 144 pairs of jeans let alone sent out 144 submission packages. It's time to think differently.
Here I am, almost six years later, a changed girl. I'm confident that I'll get rejected by agents as I send my first book submission out. Fine by me! I've already survived robbery, surgery, heartbreak, and rejection by nameless television executives-and I'm sure its not the end of things to happen in my life.
The Leap of Faith has already cured my love life. I'm engaged to marry an awesome man that I met in Las Vegas. If that isn't a leap of faith, I don't know what is. It's time to roll with the dice and gamble that one day I will win and my work will publish.
Sitting at my Desk & Chair.
Life sometimes returns old habits back into your life. At this point, my circumstances allow me to not only make writing and reading a habit but a business that I'm developing. Unpublished writers must work at formulating a plan to reach readers. My plan is to finish my novel, submit to agents, and publish a novel that entertains readers.
To write, one must read. Read everything. On-flight magazines, church bullentins, dead poets, to rocking chick lit books. Just read.
Read & Write.
To write, one must read. Read everything. On-flight magazines, church bullentins, dead poets, to rocking chick lit books. Just read.
Read & Write.
Write & Read.
I'm sitting at my desk & chair inspired to build my dreams one word at a time.
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