It's Still Good to Have your Mommy Spoil You Sometimes

I'm visiting my folks this week, on the way to GenCon Writer's Conference. Like a lot of daughters who became mothers, I know that my parents spoil my children (their grandchildren) tremendously and generously. Because of this, I try not to ask for much for me. It feels greedy to reach out and say "Hey! Spoil me, too!" when they already do so much for our family.

So, I'm feeling extra lucky today.

Because I need to have headshots made for my book cover, I asked Mom to take me to get my hair done. Getting my hair done in this case, is coloring and cutting. It's over $100, so it's not an expense I can take on casually on a North Carolina schoolteacher's salary. Most of the time, I don't do anything to my hair at all, though I love to have interestingly colored hair. I'm not a talented DIYer when it comes to hair, and hiring professionals is expensive!

While I hope for fame and fortune from the publication of my book, I have neither yet. But I want to feel confident and look good at the writing conference and in those pictures. She agreed. So, now I look amazing. Thanks, Mom!

She didn't stop there, though. She also bought me awesome back to school sneakers. (I always wear Converse. It's sort of my thing). 

And she still bought lunch and ice cream. 

Yep, I'm spoiled. I'll try not to be a brat though. 

#SaturdayScenes: No. 15: Marriage Poem

For #SaturdayScenes this week, I bring you a poem:
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Happiness—

that elusive animal,

that fluttery, giddy bird—

can only truly be held

when your chosen love

chooses you. 

Strange how slight butterfly wings

so delicately built

(on trust, on faith, on love)

can make you fly.

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I wrote this one on the occasion of my marriage. I'm revisiting it today as I signed my first book publishing contract yesterday and was surprised to realize how much it felt like getting married: long term commitment, legal ramifications, relationships . . . Here's to both these marriages lasting!

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My other #SaturdayScenes contributions:

Week One: Elopement Day from WIP, Cold Spring

Week Two: Linda Makes a First Impression from WIP, Her Father's Daughter, sequel to Going Through the Change

Week Three: Claiming Alex, from unpublished novel His Other Mother

Week Four: Things Get Hairy for Linda, from unpublished novel Going Through the Change

Week Five: a poem: A Clear Day in Kodiak, Alaska

Week Six: a snippet from an idea barely begun, Lacrosse Zombies

Week Seven: Mathilde's Visit, from WIP, Cold Spring
Week Eight: Sherry bakes, from His Other Mother
Week Nine: I Said So, Didn't I? (a scene in dialogue)
Week Ten: Losing Faith (a poem)
Week Eleven: Shop Girl, from WIP, Cold Spring
Week Twelve: Mary Braeburn, from WIP, Her Father's Daughter
Week Thirteen: Patricia is Kidnapped, from WIP, Her Father's Daughter
Week Fourteen: Flash Fiction, Em Wakes Up
Week Fifteen: Marriage Poem

I'm a Literary Marauder!

It's official: I'm a literary marauder! 

Going Through the Change, my superhero novel, will be published by Curiosity Quills in early 2015!

(UPDATE: SEE THIS POST TO SEE HOW THIS PARTICULAR SAGA ENDED)

IWSG: Publishing!

Sorry to post so late today! I feel like I kind of already posted for ISWG on Monday, talking about my trepidation over my offered book contract. A couple of days later, I'm happen to report that the deal is ironed out. It's just the paper signing left to do. I'm going to have a published novel this spring!

As I told the woman I'm working with at the publisher, it's like getting married to someone you just met. Scary and exciting, all at the same time. I'm absolutely insecure, hoping and praying that I'm making the best decision for my book and myself.

I'd love to hear from others who have been down this path. How do you keep your expectations and hopes under control and stay open to the possibilities? How do you find the balance between paranoia and reasonable self-protection when making a book deal?

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This posting is part of the Insecure Writers Support Group blog hop. To check out other posts by writers in a variety of places in their careers, check out the participant list.

Contractions Caused by Contracts

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/contract?s=t&path=/

I've been offered a contract: a publishing contract for one of my novels. It's exciting and terrifying.

So, that's all I've been doing: reading it, thinking about it, researching, seeking advice. It's my first one, or at least my first one for a book of my own.

I know for a lot of people the idea of negotiating a contract is business as usual, but it's totally new for me. As a schoolteacher, I get a contract, but there's nothing negotiable in it, not even in states with teacher unions. There is the contract. You accept it, or you refuse it. You don't negotiate it. It is what it is.

So, this is scary stuff. I read each line trying to figure out if I am being paranoid to imagine how that language could be used to make my life miserable. I worry that if I push back too hard, the offer will be withdrawn. I worry that if I accept it without pushing back, I'll be stepped on like a doormat or cheat myself out of reasonable compensation for my work.

My heart feels large in my chest with joy, and tight with trepidation. Who knew that getting what you've been hoping for was so stressful!

I have no reason to think that this publisher wants to run roughshod over me. If I did, we wouldn't be working together. But, that doesn't mean that bad things can't happen.

So (deep breath) (deep breath) (one more deep breath), I'm going deep-language diving. Wish me luck when I come back up for air!

#SaturdayScenes: No. 14

For #SaturdayScenes this week, I bring you a piece of flash fiction I wrote a few weeks ago for an informal contest over on the the Writer's Discussion Group community on G+. +Amy Knepper posts these challenges and I always enjoy them. Hope you enjoy mine!

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Em Wakes Up

It was a miracle. As Michael watched, the flatline monitor began to blip. Once. Had he imagined it? No! There it was again. A blip, and another. He ran to the hospital door, his face still wet with tears. “Nurse!”

No one came. He ran back into the room and punched the call button about fifteen times. An annoyed woman’s voice came on. “Yes?”

“She’s alive!”

“What?”

“Her machine. It’s blipping. She’s alive!” He dropped the device on the bed, and grabbed Emily’s hand. It was cold and unmoving, as was her face. But the monitor continued to beep steadily, picking up speed bit by bit.

“Em? Can you hear me? Em?”

The hand in his twitched, then gripped his fingers. Michael gasped. He wasn’t imagining this. She was definitely beginning to move. Em’s grip tightened and tightened again. It was incredibly strong. Painful. Michael tried to pull his fingers away and found that he couldn’t.

“Em? Em, honey? That hurts. Em? Can you hear me?”

Emily didn’t open her eyes, but Michael could see the quick movements beneath suggesting that she was conscious or dreaming intensely. He suppressed a yelp of pain as she continued to squeeze his hand. “Help!” He yelled toward the hallway. Fumbling for the remote he pressed the call button again, but no one answered this time. He yelled into it anyway. “Somebody help! She’s breaking my fingers!”

Em let go of his hand. Michael jumped back from the bed, pulling his injured fingers against his chest, afraid to move them and find out the full extent of the damage. In one fluid movement, Emily sat straight up in the bed. She turned her head towards Michael. The movement was impossibly fast, not at all like someone who had just been unconscious and presumed dead. She moved like some kind of tiger.

The stare she turned on Michael froze something deep within him. The eyes were cold and seemed to look through him rather than at him. There was no recognition in them. Michael looked behind him quickly, praying someone had come. Someone who could help. Instead, he saw only the closed hospital door. He was sure he’d left it open.

He turned back and Em was standing right in front of him, near enough to kiss him, if she chose. He hadn’t hear her leave the bed or cross the floor. “Em?” he said one last time, his voice soft and pleading.

The woman in front of him cocked her head to one side, then smiled, revealing a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. Michael didn’t even have time to run before she was upon him. 

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If you would like to check out more scenes by some really great writers, you should search under the hashtag #Saturdayscenes. The movement is the brainchild of +John Ward , who suggested that writers should share their work each Saturday.

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My other #SaturdayScenes contributions:

Week One: Elopement Day from WIP, Cold Spring

Week Two: Linda Makes a First Impression from WIP, Her Father's Daughter, sequel to Going Through the Change

Week Three: Claiming Alex, from unpublished novel His Other Mother

Week Four: Things Get Hairy for Linda, from unpublished novel Going Through the Change

Week Five: a poem: A Clear Day in Kodiak, Alaska

Week Six: a snippet from an idea barely begun, Lacrosse Zombies

Week Seven: Mathilde's Visit, from WIP, Cold Spring
Week Eight: Sherry bakes, from His Other Mother
Week Nine: I Said So, Didn't I? (a scene in dialogue)
Week Ten: Losing Faith (a poem)
Week Eleven: Shop Girl, from WIP, Cold Spring
Week Twelve: Mary Braeburn, from WIP, Her Father's Daughter
Week Thirteen: Patricia is Kidnapped, from WIP, Her Father's Daughter

High Hopes

I've got my hopes up again.

You know the drill.

Some cool possibility (job, trip, love, child, publication . . .) is dangled out there, but it's not a sure thing. Someone has to decide. You try to be optimistic without setting yourself up for disappointment. For a while, you succeed. Just being nominated is an honor, right? You can float for a few days on just knowing you've gotten this far.

http://wallpoper.com/images/00/44/60/90/waiting-cat_00446090.jpg

But then, there's the waiting. While you're waiting, it's hard to keep yourself reined in. The longer the wait, the worse that gets.

Part of you has not only counted the chickens that the hen hasn't yet laid, but has eaten the omelets from the eggs of their progeny. Part of you jumped out of the cart and is running out there ahead of the horse waving the black and white checkered flag and yelling about freedom and glory and making people wonder why your face is painted blue. This is the part of me that's always spending lottery money, when I haven't even bought a ticket.

Some other parts of you are the doomsayers. You've been hurt before, they remind you. Someone else rejected this once already. You're setting yourself up for a fall. Those of the parts of yourself you had to silence before you could take the initial risk that got you here. Those parts would give up the whole thing as hopeless, thinking it's better to never try than to fail.

Neither of those are right, of course. No matter how beautiful a fantasy I construct in my cloud castle, I won't be nudging Neil Gaiman down the bestseller list below me this year. But, I might, just might, see my book in print, and that might lead to other things.

And, if these guys don't take it, I'll keep going. I'm in this for the long haul. I can afford to try again. I'm just hoping, that maybe this time, I won't have to.

http://i.behappy.me/180164/preview.png