Overwhelmed, Talking to the intelligencia, part 2

I was going to post last night and could not get on line. We're nestled in a redwood forest on a hillside, so I'm glad to have coverage--ever.

The latest, career-wise, is that I talked to another editor who is interested in seeing a book proposal from me. Can you believe it? She likes an idea I have for a devotional book. So, I'll need to go put that together. It will take a while and be about thirty pages long.

My mentoring class with Brandilyn Collins is fabulous. Yesterday the group critiqued Julia and were complementary and encouraging. As I was going into the class I was wondering why I had signed up for this because I was so sick of reworking Julia that I didn't think I could stomach rewriting it one more time. But Brandilyn gave me some insights about it that have excited me to return to tweaking the book.

One of the most important things I have learned in her class is to know what is the protagonist's desire. To be able to state this as specifically as possible. She pointed out that this is the foundation of the book.

If you're thinking of writing a book, I hardly recommend first reading her book, Getting into Character. This will help you write in a way that keeps the book consistently moving in the same direction and to avoid a wall in the middle of the project.

I sat at dinner last night with Bill Meyers. He wrote screen plays, McGee and Me, and many novels. I told him I wanted to write screen plays and he told me he would like to discourage me as there are much fewer opportunities to write for those than books and articles. I told him I didn't care. So, we talked. What an amazingly kind man. He's also doing the keynote speaker talks and if you can get your hands on the CD's of these, you should.

In the midst of this, I have to say I am exhausted. Last night after dinner I went to my room to recoup and was in bed by 9. I'm thinking of driving to Santa Cruiz today to walk in the autorium there or the boardwalk. I'll be leaving here on Tuesday to Sacramento and headed home on Wednesday.

OK. I have to go. Class in an hour and I have homework.

How to talk with an editor...part 1 Make a Good Impression

Some conference attendees make a big deal out of talking with the right editors. One woman told me she sold her first born son to land an appointment, but I know better than that—I have sons.

I, myself, am very cool about these things. I took leisure time this morning over coffee in my room, the proverbial babbling brook tittering outside my window, and meditated deeply on several scriptures. Then I saw the time.

Holy smoke! I dressed, make-uped, and scooted out the door so quickly that I forgot one of the critiques I had prepared for class this morning. This oversight caused me to use my entire ten minute break to hike downhill to my cabin and back. I don’t think anyone noticed I was panting through my nose when I returned to the classroom. Very cool.

I felt like my lunch with the editor of one of the major publishing houses went very well—they will not be printing any new fiction for 2 years. Hmmm. But she recommended another editor. OK.

After lunch I scampered (as fast as one can with a cane) to pick up the pre-conference manuscripts I had submitted to editors. Nope. Neither of their houses can use my books either. More recommendations.

I attended another two workshops on different elements of publishing and let the words roll over me. “Don’t be disappointed.” “Don’t give up.” “Do the next thing.”

I didn’t cry or anything. OK. I did eat some M&M’s that I had previously in the day wondered how anyone can stomach. Then trundled to my room to update the blog. Here I found under the chair of my desk a 2” long earring on the floor that matches the one in my ear.

Very Cool.

Day One--Beautiful Site

Taking my first step out of the car upon arrival, a wash of emotion fell over me. Was it the sun shining through the towering redwoods or had the long desired arrival (over three years) solidified passionately into reality? I don't know. I suspect there is a spiritual element here that is palpable. More on this later.

I came a day early and was glad I did since settling in took more time and energy than I imagined (it didn't help that I locked myself our of the cabin first thing and had to hoof it back to the main office for a spare key.)

I can see I will have no trouble getting in some much needed exercise since I also arrived at breakfast this morning without my name tag and had to return to my cabin for that. The camp is carved into a hillside and so every trip is a hike.

Many people have been extremely friendly. The greeting question is not, "How are you?" but "What do you write?" or "Where are you from?" I've already learned to shorten my answer to "A little bit of everything..." and "No, not from Texas, that's my name."

Most participants are women. I was worried that the average age of the "campers" would be younger than my housecoat, but there are MANY women here whose children have left home. It seems most men who are here are editors, agents, or writers who are part of the staff. What does that mean? I'm forming my theories.

People think they know me, either from my name or my face. This has been my blessing (or bane) for years and in this setting these traits might work toward my advantage. I don't know yet. So far, erroneous interest remains polite, but distanced when they realize they don't know me--rather as if I had played an adolescent joke on them.

I attended a session on how to make the most of the conference last night and left more overwhelmed than before. Seems the main thrust of the woman speaking was, "Don't be rude--desperate or cloying." LOL! I admit after one pays a month's mortgage payment to attend a conference like this the idea of tackling the first real editor one meets may have flashed through my mind. But I think I can restrain myself to more appropriate responses.

I did have a vision of Jesus walking through the crushing crowd and turning to the woman who had 'touched Him' to say, "Don't be so needy." I don't think so. So, the editors are just people too. And sinners like me. How does God stand us?

I woke this morning realizing two things fully. 1) I need to grab another 3" mattress from an empty bunkbed to place under my own measily mattress. 2) I have no idea why I am here. I talked to Lauraine Snelling this morning at breakfast who helped me think a bit clearer. I wondered out loud about writing even though I felt called by God. She asked me if I needed a "come to Jesus" talk because she was ready to give me one! A delightful woman.

So, we'll see.

Wednesday Travel

Well, what would we single travelers do without audio CD's?

It was rain, then sun, then rain/sun/rain/sun/SNOW!/rain/sun/ But I didn't mind, even though the snow came when I was half way through one of my fifteen minute walks.

Mark, my husband showed me that I have a cable which transfers pictures from my phone to the computer. Who knew!

So, maybe I will figure it out whule there and post some pics--or not.

Rolling into camp tomorrow afernoon. See you then.

Shelley

The Writer

Ready to roll?

I have six book samples to read and critique today—each 20 pages. This is for the Brandilyn Collins mentor group at the conference. For all of those whose books I am reading, there are authors who are also reading and critiquing twenty pages of Julia. I’ve actually begun, but I want to do a good job on each so, I’ve a full day’s work ahead of me. That’s besides packing and taking my mom to lunch for her birthday!

I plan to leave by seven tomorrow morning. Yes, I am driving to the Mt. Hermon Writer’s Conference nestled in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California. Anyone want to ride with me? (Do you note a quake in my voice and knees?) I hate to go alone, but my time with God alone on the drive will be blessed, too. Seriously. Driving is healing to me.

I will visit my family in Sacramento on Wednesday and arrive on Thursday. More super interesting stuff will be posted then, I’m sure. Thanks for reading along.

What is Behind Door # Two?

A PRIZE FOR YOU!

This might be premature of me, however, I am submitting the first page of my second novel to a "First Page" contest at the Orane County Christian Writer's Conference at the end of the month. I am looking for critiques, my friends!

FREE CONTEST~There is a prize involved for the most helpful comment! A Steve Green CD--brand new--titled "For God and God Alone" or maybe a million dollars...it depends on which I can lay my hands on first.

So, here's the rules.
1) Read page one of my new book (below)
2) Write a comment that would be helpful to me as the author in the comment section of this post. In one week, I will decide which comments are helpful and have a drawing for the CD. I will post the winning comment and send the CD on that day. Easy!

Book 2
Chapter One


Willow left her restaurant five minutes before seven, erroneously thinking that ample time to arrive. She slid onto the driver’s seat of her VW van which she then rolled down the snow-packed main street of Sage Meadows, Oregon. Five minutes should have been plenty of time to drive five blocks to the town center, but tonight, revelers slowed traffic to a stroller’s pace.

Having moved to the area less than a year before, Willow had no idea that tourists came in droves for the western town’s quaint tree lighting ceremony. Who would have guessed?

As her van crawled by the gathering, she strained to find an empty spot. Nothing. She did see plenty of scarves, hats, and mittens—all red—in theme of the season. How original, she thought. A Suburban behind her honked with impatience. Willow jumped, cursed, and sped on.

She finally found a space at the curb, two blocks away. She still radiated internal heat from the fast pace she kept in the restaurant kitchen, so her wool pea coat hung open and her alpaca muffler and cap bulged from her pockets as she trotted toward the festivities. Her thick wool socks slipped in her Birkenstocks with each slap-slap on the street. The gravel truck had been through that day spewing fresh volcanic ash gathered from the surrounding Cascade mountains. The tiny stones peppered the snow, providing better traction for vehicles and walkers.

As she neared the crowd, she could hear high-pitched laughter and mellow murmurs ripple through the chilled air. Children’s voices steamed from their chapped lips as they argued for the best spot on the hay bales that formed a circle around a towering evergreen.

How am I going to find Mum in all of these people? Willow’s mouth curved up from either side of the lip ring in the middle of her lower lip. Her heart still soared when she thought of her good luck at finally finding her birth mother. Had it really been only three months since they met?

Mt Hermon Christian Writer's Conference

I haven't written much about the conference I am attending at Mt Hermon in April because I have been working on writing for the conference. And now there are only two weeks before I hit the road for the Santa Cruz Mountains. Wow! I'm so excited!

I have probably spent more time writing and rewriting than I ever have in a thirty day period of time. It feels good to know I can do it. I've sent off two proposals for editors at the conference to consider for publication. Although, I have been warned repeatedly not to expect to sell anything at the conference (I am assured conference contacts and networking are as valuable)I am poised to publish Julia, one way or the other.

It's nice to believe in a work enough to make that statement. There are few other things in life of which I am as sure that Julia's time has come. Isn't that bold (and maybe foolish of me?)

I'm sure that one reason I feel this way is that I am ready to move on. Besides the sequel to Julia, which I am well into, I have a hankering to write screen plays. So, Julia needs to move over to the "finished" category.

Mt. Hermon is doing an excellent job of matching up buddies to help first time attenders (me) and assigning mentors. I am thrilled to say that Brandilyn Collins (mystery writer) is my and 7 other people's mentor. We will meet as a small group to critique each other's book in progress. What a great help this will be!

I'll update the blog from there with details of the conference in mid April. For now, I better return to my rewriting!

First Page of Julia

I'm submitting the first 250 words of my book, Julia, to this contest(cut from Brenda Drake's blog, http://brenleedrake.blogspot.com/)

I've really enjoyed this proces. Thanks, Brenda!

Name: Shelley L. Houston
Title: Julia
Genre: Suspense/Relational Drama

Looking up from her cell phone, she saw racing toward her the highway guard rail and cavernous cliff beyond. Dropping the phone, Julia clinched the steering wheel with both hands and simultaneously stomped the brake as she wrenched the wheel to the left. The boxy Scion careened around the curve of the mountain pass and then righted in the lane, rocking slightly from side to side.

“Schnikies!” Julia's veins coursed with adrenalin. I wanted to get there before dark, but arriving in one piece is good, too. She laughed at herself and rotated the tension from her shoulders.

Glancing in the rear view mirror she checked to see if anyone had seen her. No one. Good. But she did see the sun hanging low over a sawtooth ridge of evergreens silhouetted against a blood orange sky. Wow. Literally awesome. She inserted Beethoven’s Fifth in the CD player to match the mood.

After Julia drove another five minutes, she caught a great view of Mt. Washington on her right. The mountain’s single tower jutted from massive rock shoulders. Only a few dirty patches remained of last year's snow. Summer had demanded its due.

Summers can do that. Her mind flashed to last year's tragic June when her mother’s obituary listed Julia as “sole survivor.” The phrase still echoed in her brain like a call from the bottom of a well. Would her own obituary report she had no survivors?

“That was then. This is now.” She chanted this as if reciting a mantra.

First Tuesday Post

Time to update my blogging friends. I am committing to once a week blogging—on Tuesdays.

In the last month I have been spending large periods of time writing or related activities. In the last few weeks, at least eight hours a day. The motivation is conferences. Two in April, Mt. Hermon Christian Writer’s Conference and Orange County Christian Writer’s conference. All kinds of doubts and hopes fill my thoughts about these events. I will be as honest as I can about those and try to document the outcomes for the benefit of readers. I am realizing I really should have done research with other authors before committing to go. So, here are my “wonders.”

I am wondering:
1) Will the $1200+ for one and the $900+ for the other really be worth the contacts, networking, and counsel I will receive by participation? That is without an actual book contract. I am not counting on that, although, of course, that would be the highest outcome—or would it?

2) This is a hard one…I don’t know how to state it. Somehow there seems to be what I’m going to call a “Christian Publishing Culture.” I’m not well acquainted with it, but it seems a club of people prefer each other, I’ll say. Is it inbred or can new comers break in? More on this later.

3) Are there “on years” and “off years” for conferences that I should have known about before committing?

4) Most importantly to me, is this really what God has in mind for my writing? To pursue this Christian Publishing industry as my venue?

5) What to wear!? Shallow as it seems, I asked this question of a group of writer friends I have on Facebook. The answers were helpful—casual can mean jeans and nice shirt, but remember, you are meeting your potential boss/clients. One woman, who is a long time professional says she always wears a blazer.

Egan Warming Center--Join Me?

It was a bad night. I frequently have trouble sleeping, but when my alarm went off at 5:00 A.M., I viewed my couple hours sleep with contempt. I forced a smile at my husband who scurried past me to dress for our morning task—the Egan Warming Center. We were due at 5:30 to relieve the night crew.

Why did I agree to this? I brushed my teeth, washed my face, swiped a comb through my hair, and blinked at my reflection. Perhaps no one would recognize me…

As I lumbered out the door, the cold slapped me fully conscious. I then thought, some of the one thousand homeless people in our county probably slept outside last night. Maybe they shivered, even now, under some bridge. I decided not to think about that.

The church windows glowed as I pulled into the parking lot. There, some of our “customers” stood with their cigarette smoke evaporating into the darkness. I nodded to them as I walked by, which a few returned. One man glanced my way but looked too weary to nod.

As I entered the church, the smell of hopelessness offended my senses. I greeted fellow workers but, internally, I staggered under the feeling of desolation that so many homeless experience. Then, inexplicably, a fire to survive surged through me. I wanted to overflow with love—God’s love, which I so often take for granted.

My task was actually easy. I handed out plastic bags in which people stored their bedding. Then the bags were marked so they received the same bedding the next night. Easy.

“Good morning! How’d you sleep? Would you like a bus pass? Yes, there’s dry socks for you. Now, get a good breakfast.” I managed smiles of comfort and words of encouragement.

I had difficulty maintaining that character as all ninety people filed by, some with frostbitten faces, rashes, or scrapes. One man burned with fever.
I greeted the next young man in line, “Good morning, James.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Could you use a bus pass?”

His eyes searched mine as he took the pass. He had something to say. I waited. His hands fussed with his jacket. His mouth opened, but his voice broke. I smiled, encouragingly. “Would you like some socks?”

He shook his head. “Just—thank you.” He fidgeted a little more and started to turn away but then, he found the words and turned back. “It means so much for you to do this. Thank you.” Tears welled in his eyes.

Shame flooded through me as I recalled my grumbling that morning and my distaste as I arrived.

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Thank you. It’s a blessing to be here.”

“For I was hungry and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger and you invited Me in; naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.”

“Then the righteous will answer Him, ‘Lord, when did we see You…’”

“The King will answer and say to them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.’”