Getting Across The Room

If you have been through a life training program or you are just really well adjusted, you may have heard this term before....there are a thousand ways to get across the room. I didn't believe it because I could think of ten ways and I concluded that I was right and neener neener suck a wiener. I wasn't in that group of well adjusted, in case you were wondering.

In a room with 30 people on one side and a trainer at the other end, the game begins. How are you getting across the room? If you are part of the first 10, you use the most well known methods of skipping, jumping, hopping, crawling or walking. Then the fun really begins because the rest of you jackasses have to find the other 5,000 ways that look nothing like what you have just seen. Crawling on your neighbor's back for a pony ride, scooting over on a chair, rolling like a small child. Honestly, the ways seemed endless and they were all lots of fun. Obviously it's a lesson about life. There are millions of ways to get through this crazy journey. There are ways to raise kids, ways to be a spouse and ways to be a writer. Have the ways of other writers worked? Yes. Some of them rolled right over to the other side and got published, have thousands of FB fans and are working on their 600th book. Is that the only way to get to that side? No. I'm working on getting there my own way, which is really out of character for a people pleaser like myself.

There are endless books, blogs, articles (usually with a number listing how many tips they will give you on how to be successful) and this week, I read way too many of them. 27 Ways to Finish Your Manuscript in 24 Hours, 10 Tried and True Tips Every Writer Must Know, 89 Ways To Get Published. I was gearing up to replicate someone else's trip across the room, because they know and I don't. I'm learning to filter out advice, decide if it jives with what I want to accomplish and burying the rest in my backyard next to my dog's chew toys.

I get stuck (very often and more than I care to admit) in how to do it like that author I just saw on Amazon or that guy on NPR or that jackass who's book just sold 10 million copies. Yeah, that's the ticket, I'll get across the room like him, with my hand down my pants, sporting a squirrelly smile. Then I remember that his way and my way are different, mostly because I don't like my hand down my pants as much as he does. I am also learning to accept that his way and my way are both valid. I don't know what it will look like when I get to the other side of the room, but I know that there is more than one way to get there.

Writing A Book Is Hard And Other Complaints That Don't Matter

Upon returning home from my first writing conference, I was motivated and ready to seriously tackle that one thing I have been yacking about for a century, writing a book. I didn't know the 'right' way to do it or how to get it published or who would want to read it, so I haphazardly wrote in a few different programs without knowing what the fuck I was doing. That's the truth. I didn't have an outline or a platform or a pitch or anything that resembled a book. I had thousands of words floating in a computer program. Pretty impressive, I know. I decided that it was time to print it all out and take a good look at the shit I had accumulated. So I did. And what I had surprised the shit out of me. 120 pages of ranting, complaining, whining and semi-funny stories. And it was a cluster fuck. There was no rhyme or reason to it, no single concept and I had no idea how to put it together in a clear and readable fashion. I still don't. I have taken scissors to most of it, thrown out crap that no one cares about and attempted to organize the vomit that exemplifies my brain. It's a full time job and it is really hard.

I know, boo hoo. "People write books all the time, stop your bitching." You are right, they do. And I have no room to complain about a job where I sit on my ass all day and type on a computer. Especially when I reminisce about the days when I use to scrub public toilets and wipe feces off of walls. The problem is, I don't know how to do this thing I am supposedly doing. One day I am a writing genius, putting it all together and I can imagine thousands of people wanting to buy my book. The next day I can't remember how to spell or what adjective to use and I'm convinced that I will end up seeing my book at the Dollar Store 24 hours after it gets published. Where I will then buy each and every copy, sit in my car drinking a bottle of white wine and cry alone. While listening to Neil Diamond. Truthfully, I don't know how it's going to turn out and that's what makes me manic. But I'm not giving up and if my book does end up at every Dollar Store on the West Coast, at least I'll have a reason to take a month long road trip.

The Rest Of The Story

I know you wouldn't expect any less than the dirty, nasty and sometimes heart shattering truth on this blog. That's really the whole point, isn't it? Today, I want to share with you some other experiences I had while attending my first writing conference and let you know that it wasn't all singing birds and skipping through meadows.  There were comments and information that made me want to crawl inside my messenger bag and cry myself to sleep. I'm still working on growing a thick skin in order to pursue my dream of being a writer, I was reminded many times how imperative that would be.

During one particular workshop, while attempting to share my genre (which I wasn't clear on) and a little bit about my writing (which is hard to explain without reading my work), I had a woman (who had spent many years working for big publishing companies) say this to me.

"The type of book you are writing is written by well known people who already have a platform." 

The end. Perhaps a warning that I shouldn't write it. Perhaps a kind reminder that it won't be easy. Perhaps just a mean spirited bitch attempting to make a mockery of me in front of 20 strangers. We will never know. I didn't ask.

I also became privy to these butthole puckering facts in regards to large publishing companies:

• 5% of authors make 95% of the money. So yeah, striking it rich as a published author...not so much.
• Some publishers look for authors who already have 25,000 followers on Twitter before they will read a manuscript. Shoot me now, with my 700 Twitter followers in tow.

I used the margins of my notebook to manically scrawl the following notes in order to keep myself from throwing a style toddler tantrum.

I have no outline.
I have no title.
I don't know my niche. 
People use fancy words and I don't have a dictionary.
As I'm trying to explain my book, I stutter and say 'like' too many times. 

That's the reality. There were moments when I didn't feel that I was good enough to be there. I was an insecure little girl among grown up ladies in high heels who have real jobs and a pitch for their book. I was "just" a mom with a blog. I was a newbie with a pile of papers in a pink folder being allowed to eat dinner with folks who had manuscripts and agents. Regardless, I left California with more drive to write than I had in a long time. While some of these experiences could have sent me running to Starbucks and begging for my job back, it didn't. I felt that skin thickening and I felt like a writer.

I'm Leaving On A Jet Plane...Again.

I'm going to the beach for the third time in three months. I'm starting to think I might be spoiled. The first trip was to Florida, spur of the moment, to make sure my brother was happy and to spend some time reminding him that he deserved to be. The second was a planned cruise to Mexico with my favorite ladies where, instead of leaving the ship at port, we stayed on-board to enjoy the benefits of no lines at the buffet. I saw the beach, but I didn't touch it. This third trip is a complete surprise and I'm scared shitless. I am going to my first writing conference.

I don't even admit to being a writer, except to people I have known for longer than a decade and whom I know read my blog. When strangers or neighbors ask what I do, I him and haw about helping my husband with our small business and staying home with my kids. Oh, and I have a little blog that I write. I have spent my life at jobs where I can share freely what I do because I get a paycheck and in my mind, that makes it real. I'm a massage therapist. I'm an Office Manager. I'm a Barista. I "just" stay home with my kids. That one hasn't produced a paycheck, but no one expects it to, and in most instances I have had a back up job to justify my existence on this planet. Now, I don't. I write for free. I spend hours working on a book that I fear isn't good enough. I spend mornings in my pajamas (like right now) updating my blog and reading about self publishing. That can't be considered a real job, can it? Next week, I will be forced to accept the fact that I am a writer. And I have to market the shit out of myself.

Therein lies my biggest fear. Meeting other humans who sit at a laptop in their dirty underwear and spill their guts onto paper in the hopes that one day they will get paid to do it. Admitting to them that I am one of their kind and that I am worthy of being part of that secret club. I'm freaked the fuck out. I'm not a salesperson. Ask any of the managers I had at Starbucks. When I had my yearly reviews, the one and only requirement I never hit was promoting the hot item of the quarter.

"We really need you to up-sale these pumpkin loafs."
"No. I'm not a salesperson. If they want it, they can ask for it."
"It doesn't work that way. Part of your job is to promote seasonal items."
"I'm not good at selling things that people don't want."
"You need to get good at it."

And now, I do need to get good at it. There are millions of books, millions of authors and millions of blogs that want your attention. If I ever want to make a living while sitting in my bathrobe, I have to get comfortable with letting people know why mine is the one they should read. I have to learn how to sell myself and I have to learn how to do it within the next 10 days. I may even need to wear a nice blazer and take the bathrobe off.

What I'm Up To This Month

Image courtesy of dc.about.com

Favorite month!!!! We all know what makes October amazing, but let's review. Pumpkin Spice lattes at Starbucks, pumpkin loaf, pumpkin muffins, pumpkins, cool weather, hoodies, boots, boots with leg warmers, sweater dresses, my birthday, candy, caramel apples, trick or treating, carving pumpkins, leaves, photo ops, my birthday, pumpkin rolls, soup in the crock pot and, let's not forget, my birthday. I don't think I mentioned that.

This month is especially exciting because I have decided to put all other projects on the back burner and write. Not for other blogs, not a ton for this blog, but for my book. I am making it my job this month and I am super excited and completely mortified. I have about 17,000 words so far and my goal is 80,000, so I have some work to do. There is a lengthy list in my phone of ideas for stories and the longer it gets, the more overwhelmed I feel. Will I get published? Will I make money? I don't know. That is my hope, my dream. It's what drives me and depresses me. It's what I long for and fear. I am tackling it this month. My intention is to finish my rough draft and be ready to do my first edit in November, find a book whore (thanks for that recommendation, Robin) to edit it again and find out if there is a place for me in this industry. I don't yet know how to get there, but I am determined to learn.

So, there will be blog posts on here. I don't know when or what about, but they will be here. It is a daunting road I am embarking on and I am sure there will be days that I can't go any farther. Thank goodness you will be here to shove me off the cliff, to remind me to keep going. I need that. You should keep going, too. Whether it is photography, painting, starting your own business, staying home with your kiddos, or pursuing a great relationship, begin this month. Make a plan and live your dream. I would love to walk this scary path with you, my friends.

If you haven't yet, check out my most recent post on mythirtyspot.
http://www.mythirtyspot.com/2013/09/an-interview-of-lifetime-sitting-down.html