Last night my husband and I enjoyed a leisurely discussion with some friends at a dinner party. It reminded me how fun the art of conversation really is. There were ten of us, and as I sat there listening and participating it occurred to me that many of us have been replacing online social networking for the real stuff. The face-to-face—yes, time-consuming—but heart-connecting activity that used to be the only way to socialize.
Maybe it’s just me, but as I’ve gotten older and my days even busier, it’s been easy to default to online social networking. Facebook and email and Shoutlife and other methods of communicating are more convenient when I can schedule it, not only for the “when” but for the “how long.” Writers like me might even be guilty of replacing real life community with the community surrounding the characters we create on the page. That sort of thing may be a replacement for community but of the counterfeit kind, and makes isolation easy.
Online communication is different from face-to-face communication, as I was reminded last night. So much more than words are exchanged in real life, real time, and conversations can go in all sorts of directions. We miss the learning and growing experiences of connecting with others if we rely too heavily on online social networking. I was also reminded that in order to create characters who seem real I have to live a real life—not a virtual one.
So that’s my word for this new day, this new week. Connect with others, and not only via blogs and twitter and loops; take the time to meet in person, share a meal, do life. If you’re a writer it’ll make your experiences richer and may very well provide some fodder for your next project.
Now, next week when I’m complaining that I haven’t written a word because I’ve been too busy socializing, will you please remind me there is a balance to life?
Off to live now…
Monday
Wednesday
Allie Pleiter, My Guest Blogger
Greetings! For this week's new fiction introduction, I'm happy to welcome back my friend Allie Pleiter. Allie will be talking about deadlines and her newest book, Bluegrass Blessings, the latest in her Kentucky Corners series from Harlequin. So say hello to Allie!
Deadlines
I’d never thought of a deadline as a positive thing. More of a necessary evil--a fact of life for working writers, like the dreaded synopsis or proofreading. One of the best parts of being “pre-published” was the supreme lack of deadline. I loved waiting until that perfect next scene popped into my imagination, then came flying out of my fingers.... When I could find the time to write between kids, work, tiny details like food and laundry--you get the idea.
Recently, I placed myself in the crosshairs of a great big deadline. Voluntarily agreed to a timeframe for a project that, years ago, would have choked me. I’d gotten to the point where I was ready to tweak my own process, push at edges here and there to see what I could improve. A novella in 30 days is definitely the outer limits of my productivity.
I’m astounded to say it worked. I wrote faster and cleaner than I’ve ever written. Of course, I may eat my words once I hear from my editor, but the experience was still highly valuable. It was a grown-up version of the written-under-fire term paper. A creative all-nighter. I’m delighted to discover I can work well under pressure. I didn’t muck around, didn’t explore nooks and crannies, I got right down to it, found the story ASAP, and drove it forward at full velocity. Good things came from that.
Will I adopt this new speed from here on in? No. This was a definitely a sprint--I couldn’t do it long term. I like my weekends. This deadline hung just a little too heavy over my head. But this deadline taught me I can be faster than I think. I’ll push myself a bit more on my daily word count for my next book. Who knew a deadline could be a tool for improvement?
Writers, where do you need to push at the edges of your skills? You don’t need an editor dangling a deadline in front of you to create a challenge. Challenge yourself and see what happens. You may be pleasantly surprised.
Back cover copy:
BLUEGRASS BLESSINGS
BOOK 3 IN THE KENTUCKY CORNERS SERIES BY ALLIE PLEITER
ISBN 13#: 978-0-373-87538-2
Everyone in Middleburg, Kentucky lines up for baker Dinah Hopkins’s cinnamon rolls. Everyone except her handsome new landlord, Cameron Rollings. The jaded city man doesn’t like anything about small-town life--from the fresh air to her fresh-baked snickerdoodles. And he clearly considers Dinah as quirky as her eccentric oven. The way to Cameron’s heart is not through his toned stomach. But the Lord led him to Kentucky Corners for a reason. And Dinah plans to help him count his bluegrass blessings.
A little about Allie:
An avid knitter, coffee junkie, and devoted chocoholic, Allie Pleiter writes both fiction and non-fiction. The enthusiastic but slightly untidy mother of two, Allie spends her days writing books, doing laundry, running carpools, and finding new ways to avoid housework. She grew up in Connecticut, holds a BS in Speech from Northwestern University, spent fifteen years in the field of professional fundraising, and currently lives in suburban Chicago, Illinois. The “dare from a friend” to begin writing nine years ago has given rise to a career spanning two parenting books, six novels including the multi-nominated MY SO-CALLED LOVE LIFE, and various national speaking engagements on faith, women’s issues, and writing. Visit her website at www.alliepleiter.com
Thanks for visiting, Allie! And I don't know how anyone else reacts when seeing your lovely cover, but I have to go find a cookie...
Monday
Another Monday
I write that title — Another Monday — even as I’m thinking those two words can be interpreted in a variety of ways. Some people might find them dark, like a cloud hanging overhead, looking at another week of work before the freedom of a weekend returns.
But for those of us who absolutely love Mondays, perhaps the title should have an exclamation point after it. Another Monday! In other words - Yippee! The start of another week to do what we love best, to work at a job we love, to devote uninterrupted time to doing what we’re wired to do.
Work should be a blessing, don’t you think? My hope and prayer for my children is that they’ll be blessed by the jobs they hold. I have hopes even for my handicapped son, that someday he’ll have the skills needed to work. He doesn’t mind doing repetitive things (actually finds comfort in routine) so it can be simple. But if he finds a reason to do a task, then it’s worth doing. That’s the key—it’s the reason work counts, and for him it doesn’t have to be complicated. It just needs to be: “This is what I do. It’s important, because it needs to be done.”
So today I’m doing a variety of things, because they need to be done. Continuing my research for my Work-In-Progress, Book Three in my Great War Series. I’ll also be doing what I do nearly every day: attending to email, running errands, and then tonight going to a local writer’s meeting. It’s what I do.
Today I’m hoping to get a better handle on the heroine for my WIP. I’ve found in the past that getting to know my character’s world, what she would have been immersed in, what she would have seen, been involved in, surrounded by, has a large impact on the kind of person she might be. There must be a reason for her to be alive during this particular time, she might not be a product of that environment, but she will undoubtedly be impacted in some way. Particularly since the time these characters would have lived—during the 1918-19 postwar trauma in Germany—had an impact upon just about everyone alive in Germany at that time.
Which must be why my research books seem to be calling me . . .
But for those of us who absolutely love Mondays, perhaps the title should have an exclamation point after it. Another Monday! In other words - Yippee! The start of another week to do what we love best, to work at a job we love, to devote uninterrupted time to doing what we’re wired to do.
Work should be a blessing, don’t you think? My hope and prayer for my children is that they’ll be blessed by the jobs they hold. I have hopes even for my handicapped son, that someday he’ll have the skills needed to work. He doesn’t mind doing repetitive things (actually finds comfort in routine) so it can be simple. But if he finds a reason to do a task, then it’s worth doing. That’s the key—it’s the reason work counts, and for him it doesn’t have to be complicated. It just needs to be: “This is what I do. It’s important, because it needs to be done.”
So today I’m doing a variety of things, because they need to be done. Continuing my research for my Work-In-Progress, Book Three in my Great War Series. I’ll also be doing what I do nearly every day: attending to email, running errands, and then tonight going to a local writer’s meeting. It’s what I do.
Today I’m hoping to get a better handle on the heroine for my WIP. I’ve found in the past that getting to know my character’s world, what she would have been immersed in, what she would have seen, been involved in, surrounded by, has a large impact on the kind of person she might be. There must be a reason for her to be alive during this particular time, she might not be a product of that environment, but she will undoubtedly be impacted in some way. Particularly since the time these characters would have lived—during the 1918-19 postwar trauma in Germany—had an impact upon just about everyone alive in Germany at that time.
Which must be why my research books seem to be calling me . . .
Tuesday
New In Fiction
Here's the latest from my friend Jill!
Witness to Murder
By Jill Elizabeth Nelson
Publisher: Steeple Hill
Release Date: June 2009
ISBN: 9780373443451
Copyright © 2009 by Jill Elizabeth Nelson
Poised for an interview, TV reporter Hallie Berglund walks into a murder scene instead. The victim’s boyfriend stands over the body, murder weapon in hand. Hallie couldn’t stop the crime, but as the star witness, she’ll see the man brought to justice . . . right? Not according to her colleague Brody Jordan, who is convinced the police—and Hallie—are targeting the wrong man. To prove it, he’ll need Hallie’s help. The victim was wearing a bracelet handcrafted by Hallie’s long-dead mother. Now Hallie is the only one who can unearth the secrets of the past—and bring the sinister truth to light.
--------------------
CHAPTER ONE
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Channel Six television news reporter Hallie Berglund put her right foot on the bottom step of the swaybacked porch, then stopped cold. The hairs on her arms prickled. What was that awful noise coming from inside the house? Some kind of music? This century-old Victorian was rented by four University of Minnesota coeds, but even if they liked punk rock they wouldn't listen to this. And why was the front door several inches ajar?
Careful to keep the heels of her pumps from clacking against the wood, she walked up the remaining two steps, but angry creaks from the porch boards announced her arrival. Whoever—whatever—was inside gave no indication her approach had been heard. The noise progressed in decibels.
Hallie frowned. There had to be a logical explanation. On the telephone, Alicia Drayton had sounded eager, almost desperate, to do the interview as soon as possible. The part-time fashion model and full-time student had said her roommates would be out all afternoon—a perfect opportunity for the two of them to talk privately.
The sound continued—long, drawn out. Like something a person would hear on a dark and moonless night, not in the balmy afternoon of a cloudless June day. She doused the impulse to back away and wait for her cameraman to catch up with her. She was a reporter, and she needed to find out what was going on. Sooner rather than later
Her rap on the warped door panel widened the opening, revealing a foyer done in dark wood and last decade's wallpaper. She stepped inside onto a scatter rug and was greeted by lingering scents of mingled women's perfumes. To her left a set of stairs led upward. Ahead and to her right lay an opening framed in old-fashioned wide wood.
"Alicia?" Hallie's voice sounded hollow in the open space.
The noise stopped, and silence fell like a skipped heartbeat. Then a loud sniffle announced a fresh round of wails, this time in words spoken in a masculine tenor. "No, no, no. This isn't real. Allie, baby, wake uuuuuup!"
Hallie's breath caught. Was Alicia hurt? Hallie hurried forward, heels tapping the faded floorboards. She stepped through the opening, and a squawk escaped her throat.
What whirlwind had trashed this living room? The couch was tipped onto its back, an easy chair lay on its side, and the entertainment center had fallen face down, scattering shattered electronic equipment. And who lay sprawled on the floor near the heavily curtained picture window? The head and torso were concealed from view by a lean man with spiked blond hair who crouched over the inert body. His bare, muscular shoulders quaked beneath a sweat-streaked tank top the same shade of tan as his running shorts.
"Who? Wh-what?" The words stuttered between Hallie's lips. "Should we call 9-1-1?"
The man eased to his feet, all six feet six inches of him. He swiveled toward her like a man in a trance, slate-blue eyes staring blankly. Wetness glistened on drawn cheeks in a face all sharp planes and angles. In his fist he clutched a braided gold cord. "She's… dead."
Hallie's gaze fell to the head and shoulders on the floor behind the man's feet. She gulped. Whoever had trashed this room had also done a number on the woman's face… and her neck. Raw cord marks dug into her pale throat.
Alicia? The glossy auburn hair splayed around her head matched the publicity photos that had been sent over to the station, but the facial features were too puffy to be identified.
The giveaway was the man with what appeared to be the murder weapon in his hand—Alicia's boyfriend, Minnesota Golden Gophers' bad boy, Damon Lange. The college basketball player's famous temper had finally turned him into a killer.
Hallie's gaze locked with his. Ice encased her muscles, and her heart slammed against her rib cage. A change melted over Lange's face. Pinched sorrow fell away, relaxed into open-mouthed awareness, and then red-faced fear—and fury. Lange raised the fist that held the cord and charged toward Hallie.
------------------
AUTHOR BIO
Jill Elizabeth Nelson is an award-winning author of mystery and suspense. She writes what she likes to read—tales of adventure seasoned with romance, humor, and faith, earning her the tagline: Endless Adventure, Timeless Truth. Jill speaks at conferences, writer’s groups, library associations, and civic and church groups. She and her husband live in rural Minnesota where they raised four children and are currently enjoying their first grandchild.
Visit Jill Elizabeth Nelson’s website at http://www.jillelizabethnelson.com for excerpts, book giveaways, and contests.
You can order this book directly from your local bookstore, retail stores such as Walmart, or online here: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0373443455/jillelizabeth-20
Witness to Murder
By Jill Elizabeth Nelson
Publisher: Steeple Hill
Release Date: June 2009
ISBN: 9780373443451
Copyright © 2009 by Jill Elizabeth Nelson
Poised for an interview, TV reporter Hallie Berglund walks into a murder scene instead. The victim’s boyfriend stands over the body, murder weapon in hand. Hallie couldn’t stop the crime, but as the star witness, she’ll see the man brought to justice . . . right? Not according to her colleague Brody Jordan, who is convinced the police—and Hallie—are targeting the wrong man. To prove it, he’ll need Hallie’s help. The victim was wearing a bracelet handcrafted by Hallie’s long-dead mother. Now Hallie is the only one who can unearth the secrets of the past—and bring the sinister truth to light.
--------------------
CHAPTER ONE
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Channel Six television news reporter Hallie Berglund put her right foot on the bottom step of the swaybacked porch, then stopped cold. The hairs on her arms prickled. What was that awful noise coming from inside the house? Some kind of music? This century-old Victorian was rented by four University of Minnesota coeds, but even if they liked punk rock they wouldn't listen to this. And why was the front door several inches ajar?
Careful to keep the heels of her pumps from clacking against the wood, she walked up the remaining two steps, but angry creaks from the porch boards announced her arrival. Whoever—whatever—was inside gave no indication her approach had been heard. The noise progressed in decibels.
Hallie frowned. There had to be a logical explanation. On the telephone, Alicia Drayton had sounded eager, almost desperate, to do the interview as soon as possible. The part-time fashion model and full-time student had said her roommates would be out all afternoon—a perfect opportunity for the two of them to talk privately.
The sound continued—long, drawn out. Like something a person would hear on a dark and moonless night, not in the balmy afternoon of a cloudless June day. She doused the impulse to back away and wait for her cameraman to catch up with her. She was a reporter, and she needed to find out what was going on. Sooner rather than later
Her rap on the warped door panel widened the opening, revealing a foyer done in dark wood and last decade's wallpaper. She stepped inside onto a scatter rug and was greeted by lingering scents of mingled women's perfumes. To her left a set of stairs led upward. Ahead and to her right lay an opening framed in old-fashioned wide wood.
"Alicia?" Hallie's voice sounded hollow in the open space.
The noise stopped, and silence fell like a skipped heartbeat. Then a loud sniffle announced a fresh round of wails, this time in words spoken in a masculine tenor. "No, no, no. This isn't real. Allie, baby, wake uuuuuup!"
Hallie's breath caught. Was Alicia hurt? Hallie hurried forward, heels tapping the faded floorboards. She stepped through the opening, and a squawk escaped her throat.
What whirlwind had trashed this living room? The couch was tipped onto its back, an easy chair lay on its side, and the entertainment center had fallen face down, scattering shattered electronic equipment. And who lay sprawled on the floor near the heavily curtained picture window? The head and torso were concealed from view by a lean man with spiked blond hair who crouched over the inert body. His bare, muscular shoulders quaked beneath a sweat-streaked tank top the same shade of tan as his running shorts.
"Who? Wh-what?" The words stuttered between Hallie's lips. "Should we call 9-1-1?"
The man eased to his feet, all six feet six inches of him. He swiveled toward her like a man in a trance, slate-blue eyes staring blankly. Wetness glistened on drawn cheeks in a face all sharp planes and angles. In his fist he clutched a braided gold cord. "She's… dead."
Hallie's gaze fell to the head and shoulders on the floor behind the man's feet. She gulped. Whoever had trashed this room had also done a number on the woman's face… and her neck. Raw cord marks dug into her pale throat.
Alicia? The glossy auburn hair splayed around her head matched the publicity photos that had been sent over to the station, but the facial features were too puffy to be identified.
The giveaway was the man with what appeared to be the murder weapon in his hand—Alicia's boyfriend, Minnesota Golden Gophers' bad boy, Damon Lange. The college basketball player's famous temper had finally turned him into a killer.
Hallie's gaze locked with his. Ice encased her muscles, and her heart slammed against her rib cage. A change melted over Lange's face. Pinched sorrow fell away, relaxed into open-mouthed awareness, and then red-faced fear—and fury. Lange raised the fist that held the cord and charged toward Hallie.
------------------
AUTHOR BIOJill Elizabeth Nelson is an award-winning author of mystery and suspense. She writes what she likes to read—tales of adventure seasoned with romance, humor, and faith, earning her the tagline: Endless Adventure, Timeless Truth. Jill speaks at conferences, writer’s groups, library associations, and civic and church groups. She and her husband live in rural Minnesota where they raised four children and are currently enjoying their first grandchild.
Visit Jill Elizabeth Nelson’s website at http://www.jillelizabethnelson.com for excerpts, book giveaways, and contests.
You can order this book directly from your local bookstore, retail stores such as Walmart, or online here: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0373443455/jillelizabeth-20
Monday
Dreams Coming True
I’m not sure how many times each of us get to have a dream come true, but last week one happened for me. Okay, so it’s not the first time. With the release of Look To The East later this summer, I’ll be holding in my hands my ninth book. Each one a dream-come-true, even those three early ones long since out of print. And of course there have been other dreams, like getting married, becoming a mom and seeing my children pray, moving into a beautiful new home.
Some of those dreams are biggies, some materialistic, others more emotional. By comparison, this one might seem like a little one. But the challenges that relate to getting published are still fairly fresh in my memory, which is why I’m calling this a dream-come-true.
Last week, I talked to my editor about the book I just turned in. That’s always the first step in the revision process: we talk about the overall picture, what’s working and what needs attention, and then I start the revision. This is the dream-come-true part: My editor told me she had a hard time putting the book down because she was enjoying it so much. Let me tell you, those are words authors don’t quickly forget, particularly if they’re coming from an editor.
Actually, seeing this book published is a dream-come-true in and of itself. It’s an updated version of a book I wrote several years ago, which should encourage those of you out there to hold on to the manuscripts that you really believe in. It may be garnering some rejections right now, but if you give it time and don’t discard it, maybe you’ll give it the overhaul it needs to make it sparkle. Or the timing will be just right for it. I’ve mentioned before that the first version of this project was 150,000 words – far too long for today’s audience. It needed more than just a trim, it needed radical chopping. Ruthless cutting, which can be achieved only with a fresh eye and lots of distance from that first, passionate creation.
So hang in there, those of you with a favorite book still tucked away on your computer! If it’s a story line you believe in, characters who are memorable, they may still see publication, even years after it’s written. The point is not to give up, and if you do for a little while, don’t lose the file with your book on it. You may come back to it someday and find it to be a gem, even if the first version is a little rough. I think we all need a reminder to hope for future versions of those rough drafts we can't quite forget.
Some of those dreams are biggies, some materialistic, others more emotional. By comparison, this one might seem like a little one. But the challenges that relate to getting published are still fairly fresh in my memory, which is why I’m calling this a dream-come-true.
Last week, I talked to my editor about the book I just turned in. That’s always the first step in the revision process: we talk about the overall picture, what’s working and what needs attention, and then I start the revision. This is the dream-come-true part: My editor told me she had a hard time putting the book down because she was enjoying it so much. Let me tell you, those are words authors don’t quickly forget, particularly if they’re coming from an editor.
Actually, seeing this book published is a dream-come-true in and of itself. It’s an updated version of a book I wrote several years ago, which should encourage those of you out there to hold on to the manuscripts that you really believe in. It may be garnering some rejections right now, but if you give it time and don’t discard it, maybe you’ll give it the overhaul it needs to make it sparkle. Or the timing will be just right for it. I’ve mentioned before that the first version of this project was 150,000 words – far too long for today’s audience. It needed more than just a trim, it needed radical chopping. Ruthless cutting, which can be achieved only with a fresh eye and lots of distance from that first, passionate creation.
So hang in there, those of you with a favorite book still tucked away on your computer! If it’s a story line you believe in, characters who are memorable, they may still see publication, even years after it’s written. The point is not to give up, and if you do for a little while, don’t lose the file with your book on it. You may come back to it someday and find it to be a gem, even if the first version is a little rough. I think we all need a reminder to hope for future versions of those rough drafts we can't quite forget.
The Reading Mood?
The release date for Look To The East gets closer every day! My publisher (Tyndale) has already distributed the ARCs, which always feel so much like the real thing. They’re printed on different (heavier) paper and the cover clearly states it’s an unedited copy, but it has the look and feel of a real book.
So it reminds me that the release is only weeks away. The official date isn’t until September 1st, but barring any unforeseen problems Tyndale usually starts shipping books a few weeks in advance. I’m hoping to see the finished product some time in August.
By this time, having gone though the manuscript in the editing process several times, it’s hard to read through it again without knowing practically every word on every page. A definite drawback for finding any last minute flaws. But by the time the book is with the printer, it’s impossible to change anything anyway, at least for the first edition.
I don’t often read through the finished product anyway, mainly because it doesn’t seem necessary and I’m usually caught up in a new project (as I am now). But if I’m in the right mood, I might try.
That’s what I wanted to talk about today—the reading mood. Have you ever noticed your mood affecting the enjoyment level of whatever book you’re reading? If you’re in the “mood for reading”? What if something else is on your mind, or you just feel a little…funky, for lack of a better word? Or what if the book you’ve just finished left you wanting to read more of the same, but you can’t find something like that? Whatever the reason, whatever the mood, sometimes the feelings we start out with enhance—or hinder—the reading experience.
I think my first inkling of how powerful mood can be came to me when my father told me about a slice of apple pie he once ate. Despite the fact that my mother could make an absolutely delicious apple pie herself, even her best effort never met my dad’s memory of that one slice of apple pie he ate when he was a kid. For one thing, it had been a long time since he’d had such a thing, making the experience unique and quenching a parched feeling for the sweet taste. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, the pie had been procured under exciting means, for a youngster growing up when times were tough. Either he or one of the gang he ran with swiped it from a neighbor’s porch. So he shared the experience with good friends and adrenaline—a heady mix to be sure. My mom figured out that no pie she ever baked could live up to that memory, because for my dad it was about so much more than apples in a flaky crust. In short, his mood for enjoying it had been so ideal nothing else would ever live up to it.
It’s hard not to be impacted by mood. Some of my favorite reading memories are those connected to mood; reading my first romance when I was a teenager, after my sister introduced me to the genre. Being home sick—too worn out to do anything except rest in bed reading. But with a good book what should have been a bad memory turned unexpectedly bright. Even listening to a book on tape while driving or baking are favorite “reading” memories.
Sometimes a good book can change a mood, too—at least from bored to engaged, or better yet, uninspired to invigorated.
This is why, when I’m working on a new project, I’m especially picky about what I read. If I’m not engaged in the story line, dazzled by the prose, interested in the character and their journey, then I usually don’t finish the book and tend not to get back to it, either. I end up putting it in the giveaway pile, unless I suspect it’s my mood and not the quality of the writing that disappointed my reading experience.
This also may explain some of the wide variances I see in contest scores, and unfortunately something we can’t predict or control. We hope judges are unbiased, and I’m sure they strive to be. For a large part of the assessment, mood shouldn’t affect the score: grammar (either it’s a problem or not), or easily definable things like the logic factor, or character motivation, character depth and plot clarity. But mood may very well play a part in some of the scoring when it comes to those points that are less specific. What about scores for overall impact and/or engagement? Or the question where the judge is asked if they would keep reading if they had the opportunity? Those are the nebulous kind of questions that try tapping into the “this book has it” or “this book doesn’t have it” and where mood might play a role.
The bottom line is we all bring our moods and emotions to something we read. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it hinders.
What about you? Does mood impact your impression of a book?
So it reminds me that the release is only weeks away. The official date isn’t until September 1st, but barring any unforeseen problems Tyndale usually starts shipping books a few weeks in advance. I’m hoping to see the finished product some time in August.
By this time, having gone though the manuscript in the editing process several times, it’s hard to read through it again without knowing practically every word on every page. A definite drawback for finding any last minute flaws. But by the time the book is with the printer, it’s impossible to change anything anyway, at least for the first edition.
I don’t often read through the finished product anyway, mainly because it doesn’t seem necessary and I’m usually caught up in a new project (as I am now). But if I’m in the right mood, I might try.
That’s what I wanted to talk about today—the reading mood. Have you ever noticed your mood affecting the enjoyment level of whatever book you’re reading? If you’re in the “mood for reading”? What if something else is on your mind, or you just feel a little…funky, for lack of a better word? Or what if the book you’ve just finished left you wanting to read more of the same, but you can’t find something like that? Whatever the reason, whatever the mood, sometimes the feelings we start out with enhance—or hinder—the reading experience.
I think my first inkling of how powerful mood can be came to me when my father told me about a slice of apple pie he once ate. Despite the fact that my mother could make an absolutely delicious apple pie herself, even her best effort never met my dad’s memory of that one slice of apple pie he ate when he was a kid. For one thing, it had been a long time since he’d had such a thing, making the experience unique and quenching a parched feeling for the sweet taste. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, the pie had been procured under exciting means, for a youngster growing up when times were tough. Either he or one of the gang he ran with swiped it from a neighbor’s porch. So he shared the experience with good friends and adrenaline—a heady mix to be sure. My mom figured out that no pie she ever baked could live up to that memory, because for my dad it was about so much more than apples in a flaky crust. In short, his mood for enjoying it had been so ideal nothing else would ever live up to it.
It’s hard not to be impacted by mood. Some of my favorite reading memories are those connected to mood; reading my first romance when I was a teenager, after my sister introduced me to the genre. Being home sick—too worn out to do anything except rest in bed reading. But with a good book what should have been a bad memory turned unexpectedly bright. Even listening to a book on tape while driving or baking are favorite “reading” memories.
Sometimes a good book can change a mood, too—at least from bored to engaged, or better yet, uninspired to invigorated.
This is why, when I’m working on a new project, I’m especially picky about what I read. If I’m not engaged in the story line, dazzled by the prose, interested in the character and their journey, then I usually don’t finish the book and tend not to get back to it, either. I end up putting it in the giveaway pile, unless I suspect it’s my mood and not the quality of the writing that disappointed my reading experience.
This also may explain some of the wide variances I see in contest scores, and unfortunately something we can’t predict or control. We hope judges are unbiased, and I’m sure they strive to be. For a large part of the assessment, mood shouldn’t affect the score: grammar (either it’s a problem or not), or easily definable things like the logic factor, or character motivation, character depth and plot clarity. But mood may very well play a part in some of the scoring when it comes to those points that are less specific. What about scores for overall impact and/or engagement? Or the question where the judge is asked if they would keep reading if they had the opportunity? Those are the nebulous kind of questions that try tapping into the “this book has it” or “this book doesn’t have it” and where mood might play a role.
The bottom line is we all bring our moods and emotions to something we read. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it hinders.
What about you? Does mood impact your impression of a book?
Confidence
Last night during some R&R time, my husband and I watched the old movie “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” That’s the movie that made James Cagney one of my favorites, with his perfect portrayal of a talented, confident, song writer and performer.
Confidence, really, is a main ingredient in the secret to success. Talent alone is rarely enough, especially today. All his life, at least as depicted in the movie, George M. Cohan believed in his talent and wasn’t afraid to let others know he was good at what he did—the best, in fact, in some instances. At one point a competing actor observes sarcastically that the “M” in George M. Cohan obviously stood for “modesty.”
Well, while Cagney’s George certainly wasn’t modest, he somehow manages to balance his self-assurance with charm and, amazingly, even a sense of reality. He describes himself once as a “guy who knows what the average guy likes to sing” which gave him the ability to write those songs we all remember—Grand Old Flag, Over There, and that Yankee Doodle song that runs through my head every Fourth of July or whenever I see this movie.
Somehow the George of Yankee Doodle Dandy seems to have a handle on pride. As a boy his cockiness was still a bit brash, but as he grows older the viewer sees his motivating force isn’t so much that he's self-centered, but rather self-confident, with an easy acceptance of the talent he obviously possesses. But he’s a good son, brother, and husband because he values others even as he works so hard at his craft.
I think we can all learn a lesson from Cagney’s George M. Cohan. It was as if he was celebrating talent, and that talent just happened to be his own. Maybe that’s the fine line between conceit and healthy pride—one is centered on self, the other on the talent.
So what about you? If I’ve learned anything in the writing business, it’s that confidence is a must. A publisher isn’t going to come knocking at your door unless you believe in yourself enough to take the next step. You must believe your work has value, devote to it the time it takes for polishing, and then believe an agent or publisher will want to market it. None of those steps can be skipped, and it all starts with believing in yourself. Confidence.
If you need a role model, go check out Yankee Doodle Dandy. If nothing else, you’ll enjoy Cagney’s performance.
Confidence, really, is a main ingredient in the secret to success. Talent alone is rarely enough, especially today. All his life, at least as depicted in the movie, George M. Cohan believed in his talent and wasn’t afraid to let others know he was good at what he did—the best, in fact, in some instances. At one point a competing actor observes sarcastically that the “M” in George M. Cohan obviously stood for “modesty.”
Well, while Cagney’s George certainly wasn’t modest, he somehow manages to balance his self-assurance with charm and, amazingly, even a sense of reality. He describes himself once as a “guy who knows what the average guy likes to sing” which gave him the ability to write those songs we all remember—Grand Old Flag, Over There, and that Yankee Doodle song that runs through my head every Fourth of July or whenever I see this movie.
Somehow the George of Yankee Doodle Dandy seems to have a handle on pride. As a boy his cockiness was still a bit brash, but as he grows older the viewer sees his motivating force isn’t so much that he's self-centered, but rather self-confident, with an easy acceptance of the talent he obviously possesses. But he’s a good son, brother, and husband because he values others even as he works so hard at his craft.
I think we can all learn a lesson from Cagney’s George M. Cohan. It was as if he was celebrating talent, and that talent just happened to be his own. Maybe that’s the fine line between conceit and healthy pride—one is centered on self, the other on the talent.
So what about you? If I’ve learned anything in the writing business, it’s that confidence is a must. A publisher isn’t going to come knocking at your door unless you believe in yourself enough to take the next step. You must believe your work has value, devote to it the time it takes for polishing, and then believe an agent or publisher will want to market it. None of those steps can be skipped, and it all starts with believing in yourself. Confidence.
If you need a role model, go check out Yankee Doodle Dandy. If nothing else, you’ll enjoy Cagney’s performance.
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