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

A Month of Giving: My Challenge

Last week my mom let me borrow an audio book she had on loan from the library. I have never actually listened to a book on tape (what's a cassette tape???) because I love to read books and I prefer to spend my drive time listening to NPR or rap music. Pretty gangster, right? There was a part of me that thought about returning it and getting the book instead, but I decided to give it a try as I chauffeured the kids across the hundreds of miles we trek in our car every week. When I slid it in the CD player I was prepared to hear some very loud objections from my kiddos similar to the whining they display when I mention chores, bedtime and my desire to hear that Jay Z song one more time. They were silent. We were driving to my dads, which is a good 40 minutes from our house, and for the entire trip they didn't speak. They also didn't fight, attack each other or stick their sweaty feet in one another's face. It was most peaceful time I have had in a car since.....God, I don't know.....1999?

When we arrived, they both begged me not to listen to any of it without them. They were hooked. The story revolves around a woman who has MS and isn't able to function the way she has been use to. She receives guidance to give a gift every day for 29 days and the story grows from there. I won't give it away because every person on this planet should experience the joy she finds for themselves. Please read or listen to this book as soon as possible. It is inspiring and a beautiful way to look at how giving can create abundance in your life and has the ability to heal you. My kids were inspired and my daughter is now reading the book and committing to begin her own month of giving, as am I.

My month of giving will be shared with you on this blog. I will continue to post on the usual Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but it won't be the content you are use to. I will be sharing with you my giving, what it means to me and how my life is changed by it. It sounds a lot like bragging, right? I worried about that. I want you to know that my intention is not to put myself on a pedestal or create the appearance that I am better than any one else. My intention is to inspire you to begin a month, a year or a lifetime of giving. It is to step outside of my comfort zone and give to strangers. It is to face what I perceive as lack in my life and give it away.

As I listened to this woman's journey, I began to wonder what our world would look like if we all focused on giving daily instead of hating daily or worrying daily. That is the world I want to live in. That is the world I want to leave for my kids. Today I make a commitment to myself and to you, I will be beginning my month of giving tomorrow. There are guidelines that you can find in the book, all of which I intend to follow.

I urge you to read this book (I gave you the link to purchase the book on Amazon) and to check out the website listed below. The website has followers from all over the world who share their month of giving, their ideas for gifts and inspiration to others interested in giving. I look forward to the next 29 days, not only to share this with you, but to experience the joy, humility and peace that comes from giving.

29 Gifts: How A Month of Giving Can Change Your Life by Cami Walker
http://www.amazon.com/29-Gifts-Month-Giving-Change/dp/0738214302/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1373055701&sr=1-1&keywords=29+gifts

www.29gifts.org

See you Monday!!!

Too Old For Twitter And Other Shocking Developments

There's no picture. This post is meant to go against every thing I have read about being a successful writer in this day of mass media. I knew I had to write it and post it when every thing about it made me uncomfortable and I worried about people hating it. Here is my truth, I don't want to have a monetized blog or website. Money is a necessity and I know that I will make money from my writing in the near future, but not through ads or sponsors. That is someone else's gig, not mine. I want to gain readers who like my writing and find value in it. My niche? Don't have one. I write about my life and my life isn't a niche. ISO: Readers who can relate to real life.

I started to pursue building an audience by fitting into a pretty little box, but it never felt authentic. It made me feel dirty, like when I was young and I would be anyone a boy wanted me to be if he would say he liked me. Tell his friends about me. Sound familiar? Like me here, like me there, share me here and everywhere. Then I will know how important I am. Then I will be someone. I have set up thumbnails of myself all over the world wide web to find out who likes me and who will share me and I check those numbers often. Too often I have found. I let them dictate how I feel about my writing. I'm a 34 year old version of my 18 year old self, hoping I'm good enough to be LIKED. Hooray!!! Two more people that say I am okay. Two more LIKES that confirm I am a good enough writer to have self esteem today. Then I wake up to other insecurities.

A new day holds the thousands of other bloggers, writers, published authors, writers with degrees, writers with  connections, and mommy bloggers who I "need" to read. So I do. Then all the LIKES become dog shit on my Old Navy flip flop. Being smart and witty is the norm out in the blogosphere, having your own voice is a requirement, and being edgy isn't even edgy anymore. Without a few titty pics to link to Twitter, no one cares. You're UNFOLLOWED as quickly as you were LIKED and FOLLOWED. I think I met Twitter too late in life, because there is only one person who gets to see my mammary glands and you should consider yourself blessed it isn't you. I sold out too many times when I had no self esteem, I'm not selling out to get the inside scoop on whether or not I can write. I can.

Another shocking revelation? I'm too sweet for Twitter in my elderly state (I know, right)  and it only took me 24 hours to realize that. There were all these tweets going back and forth about who was funnier than who, which Twit had the best line, retweet me so I can feel like a whole person for 30 seconds. Thousands of followers for people who pick fights with complete strangers and post pics of their bare tits while bragging about how they need to be treated like a princess. It was frightening and a very clear glimpse into what our society has become. This is what we want. We then become disinterested seconds later and tune in to some other train wreck IE; jackass CEO of a clothing company, pageant moms and abusive athletes. I have become disinterested. I thought I wanted thousands of followers to my blog every day, thousands of people following my sass mouth on Twitter and eventually a published book about my crazy life. Revelation: I don't have a sass mouth, my tweets are so mild in comparison that people would assume I'm a nun. If I can have thousands of passionate followers without being a fucking sell out, I'll take it. Otherwise, I will keep blogging and writing and loving the 100 people per day who are interested.

I am done marketing myself as something I am not and if that's what I "have" to do to get published, I will publish myself. And by publish I mean print off copies at my office, staple them and sell them out of my trunk. If  my family and friends are the only ones who buy my book, well I can rest assured that at least they have fantastic taste. I want to share my writing, not spend countless hours tweeting or checking my blog stats so I can be happy. I'm happy because I write and people like it. I write because I live my life and have experiences that shock my brain and make me want to tell a story.  That's my plan. I'm going to go live and write about it.  This is the first summer in six years that I get to make my own schedule and spend everyday with my kids,  I'm taking advantage of it. I will have blog posts, when I feel like it. I will honor my commitment to websites I contribute to. I won't be Tweeting nude pics or hourly updates and my Facebook page will return to the random shit you have come to love. No recipes or running tips. No links to shit you can find on your own. Just me and maybe a shameless plug for my blog. I'm weaning myself off so I can put one foot in front of the other and write a book for you to read. You know, like they did in the old days.

Written by Mandy Brasher owner/author of Busy Being Happy 2013 (Because people be some plagiarizing motherfuckers)