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Small Surprises

By on February 3, 2012 in rejection, writing

While I was busy torturing myself for not writing as much as I had before traveling to Israel, the universe had other plans in mind for me. Yesterday, after a couple months spent sending queries to agents, I suddenly and without warning received my first full manuscript request. An agent, for the first time, wanted to see my entire novel.

I’m taking a break to dance a little victory dance. Very little, because this is just one small step, and there is no guarantee that I won’t end up back on square one.

But still, I feel like this is a big deal. An agent wants to read my entire novel! She liked the query and first two chapters enough to want to read more.

But I also want to keep my perspective, because I’ve been disappointed before, and I know myself already: I take rejection hard. What am I saying? I take praise hard too. A no-win situation. You tell me my writing’s good, I get depressed thinking I won’t ever be able to duplicate it. You tell me my writing’s bad, I get depressed about that too, because you really didn’t need to confirm what I already knew.

But this time, I’m going to be nice to myself. I’ve decided to take a new road. Remember my holes in the road blog? I’m going to be happy and hopeful. I’m going to imagine the best outcome: The agent’s going to love the novel and want to represent me, and she’ll give me fantastic ideas for revisions which are going to make me feel like I’m seeing the novel through new eyes. But just in case she decides she is not interested, I also have a plan. I’m going to allow myself to feel sad, but I’m not going to take any step back (and definitely not the ten steps back which I used to take, with my hand clutching dramatically at my heart). Because a full manuscript request is a huge small step. And I’m going to take this full request as an encouragement. I already have some ideas for revision, and I know how to move ahead.

Small step forward. Keeping my eyes focused on my page.

Most important, I am writing. I want to keep going with this fun romance novel I started (did you know the second most popular occupation for a romance hero is cowboy?). I want to get back to all the other ideas which have been born in my mind in all the years since I realized that writing is the only thing I want to do. Because, remember when I told you (and myself) that I’m a novelist? Well, it’s true!

In conclusion, I’d just like to say that all this came about by the help and energy of Dennis, our dog walker, who likes my three dogs so much that he recommended me to the notice of his friend, the literary agent. Thank you Dennis! I always knew there was a reason I kept those dogs around.

Ah, the Joy of a Writing Routine!

By on February 1, 2012 in israel, romance novel, vacation, writing

I had a image in my mind for my month of vacations, and it began, every day, with me writing. In my mind I saw myself producing page upon page of fabulous material which would bring me ever closer to finishing a first draft for my new novel. In Roatan Island I pictured myself sitting with my laptop in my lap on the beach, the wind caressing my hair and the sun blinking in and out of my eyes (such a romantic image). In Prague I imagined myself writing away in a cafe, surrounded by literary-looking types. And in Israel I specifically planned to write every day at my aunt’s house, seating by my grandmother’s little table upstairs.

The result? In Roatan Island I hated everything so much that my mind was not open to creativity. In Prague I walked with my boyfriend from morning till night and was too tired and jet-lagged to think about blogs or romances. In Israel we rushed from cousins to grandmother to brother to friends, and I only wrote once. At least that.

Now I’m home, and I feel like a truck has driven back and forth over whatever order I had in my writing life. I can find a smidgen novel here and a piece of a blog post there, but putting them together seems impossible. I don’t remember how to get back to the routine I had before. I’m disappointed I didn’t fulfill the writing expectations I had. And mostly I just have no idea how to find the flow again.

Coming back from vacation is always hard for me, but most often I face an opposite problem to the one I’m feeling now: usually on vacation I am my better self, I write, I exercise, I spend a lot of time in the fresh air. And when I come back I feel like I’m losing my better Sigal to everyday life, worries and chores. But coming back is much worse when my better self never showed up at all!

So how to get back to writing, I ask myself. This is a corner of joy, not of complaining, and I already whined enough last week. How do I retrieve that rare joy in writing which permeated every moment of my life for the three months before we left on our trip, the confidence in my imagination, the connection which I felt with my dreams?

Perhaps if I let go of how I expected myself to be on these vacations and allowed myself to feel the enjoyment I received from spending time with Dar, my family and friends, I will open the way for the writing to return. Perhaps by writing this page I am already opening the door. And perhaps I held the door closed because I was afraid of the flood of words waiting behind it, yearning to be written. But writing is one area of my life, I really do not wish to dam.

The Green-Eyed Monster

By on January 28, 2012 in writing

Forgive me, but I’m going to whine for a bit. I promise I’ll have an optimistic, shining, joyful end befitting a lilcornerofjoy blog. But I’m feeling dreadfully bummed this morning. I’ve been browsing twitter, and it’s like every one there is either published or at the SCBWI conference this weekend. I think I might be the only writer in the world who doesn’t write. Mind you, I know this isn’t true. Why, I’m writing right now, and there’s thousands, probably hundreds of thousands of writers who are unpublished and not attending NY12SCBWI. But knowing others share my predicament does nothing to make me feel better. Whining is easier than cheering up, in case you didn’t know.

I’ve typed 500 words in my romance novel in an attempt to get back to my pre-vacation flow, but it’s like the flow has gone, the faucet dried, or at best only trickling saline. Instead, I looked up other writers’ websites, as though to depress myself even more, and admired (with a touch of jealousy) their beautiful cover art.

Jealousy is defined in the dictionary as “resentment against a rival, a person enjoying success or advantage.” I’m pretty sure the only person I feel resentment against is myself, but I won’t deny that I wish I was prolific and motivated and had dozens of published books. If I stopped stopping myself, perhaps I too could have a website  teeming with novels, characters, links to my favorite indie bookstore and faqs.

I know it’s bad to play the “if only” game, but…. If only I stopped being my own worst judge, my own worst critic. If only I’d be nicer to myself, more accepting of myself, less apt to beat myself up. If only, right? But giving up self criticism might be easier than trying to live with it. I mean, look at me! I’m beating myself up for beating myself up!

Anyways, as I always like to say, tomorrow is a new day. Except of course, I wish I stopped saying that and started doing things today. I once went to a Dan Yaccarino talk, and he spoke about saying “yes!” to opportunities. Amazing, I think. Almost incomprehensible. Imagine that, saying “yes!”

So, could I say “yes!” to my romance novel even if it is limping along right now? I suppose I could. Or, I could manifest myself flowing with words like a fast river, and stop resisting the periods of drought as much as I’m wont to do. I believe in “if you can dream it, you can do it.” But I also believe in “stop dreaming and start doing.” It’s a conflict of interests, what can I say.

But I promised you to end on a bright note. So… rainbows! Cupcakes! Chocolate! Steaming platters of chicken, potatoes and eggs! I wish you all a wonderful, happy, productive day. And I cheered myself up, while whining to you. So thank! I hope we can talk again another day.

Winter Break and the Romance Novel

By on December 13, 2011 in romance novel, writing

As a writer, I would like my novels to be more of the high literary kind. I should like to have complex characters, an intricate plot and lots of meaning. I would like my readers to leave the book feeling that they have grown through the reading experience, or at least learned something meaningful and worthwhile about themselves and the world. For example, with my Anna Mara fairy tale, I’d like to let girl readers know that they can be boyfriend-less and still important. Female empowerment, you know?

I’ve been thinking about all these high-brow ideas for so long, and doubting my abilities to convey my messages to humanity so often, that my head has literally began to shrink. I need a break, and I need it to be something fun and enjoyable. Sexy, even. So I was thinking maybe I’d write a romance novel for a while. Maybe romancing a novel would be less pressure than trying to imbue a fairy tale with so much meaning. Light and easy. After all, a romance has pretty much a preset plot line.

Girl meets Boy. Boy has a dog and a truck. For some reason Girl believes she can’t be with Boy. Boy pursues Girl, trying to prove that he is different from all the other boys who have broken her heart in the past. Girl and Boy have sex, which makes Girl even more adamant to stay as far away from Boy as possible. Girl has a change of heart through some experience (this can be paranormal, mysterious, violent, a dream, or something like that). Girl pursues Boy and has sex with him again. But now Boy thinks maybe Girl is right, and she is better off without him.

It can go on and on like that for a while until they both come to their senses and get married, at which point the sex basically ends, and so we have to end the novel.

Just kidding.

You get the idea, though. This could be fun! So for the next few weeks (till we come back from all our various vacations to the four corners of the world), I’m going to try to write anywhere between one and two thousand words a day in a romance novel about an artist and a rock climber. It’s going to be romantic. It’s going to have sex. It’s going to be full of high drama. And I’m definitely going to hide the fact that I wrote it so that no one could ever connect me with it for as long as we shall both live. But don’t worry. I’ll still keep you posted. You know you want me to.

By the way, I did notice the fact that I just finished a sentence and a paragraph with a preposition. I think I’ll leave it like that. I am practicing being less stressed out about perfection.

Teachable Moments

By on December 12, 2011 in motherhood, parenting, writing

Sometimes when I write, I am right there with my characters, acting as a scribe to their actions and words. Tonight I found myself in the kitchen at Snow Mansion, watching Anna Mara and Calypso Maximilian having breakfast. Five hundred words later, screams erupted in the bathroom here in the real world, invading my groove. Though reluctant, I left Calypso and Anna Mara mid-sentence and went to see what caused the shouting.

Eden burst out of the bathroom, holding her arm. Tears running down her face, she fell into my arms. Uri stood by the sink brushing his teeth. I hugged Eden for a moment, then asked what happened. They both spoke at once. “He pinched me.” “She kicked me.”

Ah! A teachable moment. One of those moments when total and utter clarity befriends me, when I know exactly what to say and do in order to make all right in the world. Right? Wrong. This is a time when I am beset by total helplessness. “She hit me!” “He bit me!” “She kicked me!” “He said I was stupid!” “She said she’d let the hamsters loose!” “He told me I can’t come in his room!” The accusations flow, and who is to make heads or tails out of it? And who do I talk to first, him or her? Who’s more to blame?

Ah, the joys of motherhood! And me? I’m an elephant in a crystal shop kind of parent (I am translating this expression from the Hebrew, so excuse me if it sounds strange). I want to leave the kids with self confidence, a feeling of accountability and responsibility, and the inner-appreciation that comes from knowing that they did the right thing. Instead, I think I leave them feeling confused (because I talk too much), hurt (because they think I didn’t listen to them or consider their side enough), and mistreated (because of course justice should have been theirs).

I’d like to think that every time such an emergency arises, I am closer to handling it in the way I aspire to, with patience, level-headedness, and the right words. I think today I screamed less than in the past. I tried to explain to them about taking responsibility for their own actions. But I was far from perfect and still screamed too much.

I learn a lot from being Uri’s and Eden’s mother. They give me daily opportunities to grow closer to my better self. They provide me with the chance to be at peace with myself, learn patience, and think before I talk. I think I’m not a terrible student, but I’m definitely not getting many As. If there’s one thing I’d like to take from today, it is to view these moments with more joy and less frustration. They truly are opportunities for growth. And maybe if I concentrated on what I could learn rather than my success in teaching the children, I’d be happier with the end results as well.

Writaholic-ness

By on November 28, 2011 in birthday, writing

It occurred to me today that I am a writaholic, addicted to writing. Most people who are privy to my sporadic writing habits might raise their eyebrows at this idea. In fact, my own eyebrows rise at the very thought. But nonetheless I think it might be true.

My writaholic-ness is definitely not a workaholic-type obsession. I don’t write for long hours, neglecting both children and house work. Nor do I ever write into the wee hours of the night, leaning over my computer under the forlorn light of a solitary lamp. I rarely rush to my notebook in the middle of the night with a burning desire to write down an idea, though that did happen to me once fifteen years ago when I thought up a limerick dedication to my honor thesis advisor.

And yet I insist that I am a writaholic. The reason is this: when I write I am happy, content and relaxed. I feel confident and hopeful about the future. In contrast, when I don’t write I slowly become depressed, unhappy, and stressed.

Usually I feel that I need to be in the groove in order to write. If I feel depressed or my mind is busy then I can’t write. And yet, lately it has become clear to me that I need to write.

Take this weekend, for example. On Friday we celebrated my mother’s 70th birthday, and many members of my family came to spend the weekend with us. I appointed myself master of ceremonies. My sister and I cooked thanksgiving dinner for 20 people. My boyfriend organized a bus, and we took the whole group plus five to Point Lobos for a hike, then to Carmel for dinner. On Saturday we watched a movie about my mother that I had prepared with a friend’s talented son. We had brunch and ended the day with dinner and an opera. On Sunday we closed the ceremonies with a family zumba class and more food.

This full weekend left little time for writing. On Sunday, however, when we returned home the kids went to watch some television, and my boyfriend fell asleep on the sofa. More than anything else I wanted to write, but I felt too tired and not in the groove. Instead I idled by the ipad, played word games and filled out crossword puzzles in Hebrew. I slowly grew more tired and restless.

I think I would have been better able to relax and enjoy the festivities this weekend if I had used what free time I had for writing. This morning I woke up still tired, but now, with the keyboard under my fingers, my words springing on the screen and bringing my thoughts to life, I feel whole again. I hope that in the future, instead of waiting for the right mood to come, I will remember that I can rest in the writing. I will allow myself to “write” myself into the groove and become happy by doing what I love and do best. Which is exactly this.

I Am Watching You!

By on November 18, 2011 in creativity, writing

Sometimes I feel like there’s a cartoon giant standing above me, tall, big and ugly, his head bent down to within six inches of my ears. This giant has only one interest in life, to harass me with reminders about my chores. All day long, and sometimes all night (depending, I suppose, on whether he gets a nap), he shouts in my ears what I need to do.

My room slowly fills up with his speech bubbles, each of which starts with the words “you need.” “You need to call the dentist! You need to write a synopsis! You need to wash the dishes! You need to walk the dogs! You need to take out the trash! You need to teach the dogs to use the doggie door! You need to paint again! You need to work on your novel! You need to organize your desk! You need to listen to what I say!”

This giant is my monitor, keeping me not just honest but also stressed and overwhelmed. I try to shut him up by writing to-do lists. I try to silence him by calling the dentist. But he continually finds new things for me to need to do. No matter how fast or how hard I work, the giant keeps ahead of me by hundreds of items of to-do.

The giant monitor hardly ever demands that I do something fun. He will shout at me to floss, but never to take a bath. He will command me to get up, but never to take a nap. He won’t say, “you need to watch a movie.” Never! His words would be: “What the heck do you think you’re doing watching a movie? You need to wash the car!”

The giant is different from my inner perfectionist. He doesn’t care whether the job gets done well. In fact, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care whether the job gets done at all. He blindly yells at me, coming up with more and more ideas all the time.

I wish I had his creativity. I wish I could harness his energy into my writing and have new words flowing onto the page with the speed at which his “you needs” fill up the space above my head. I wish that instead of getting buried under his demands I could float up above them to where the air is clear, the sun shines, and it’s freedom all around.

Perhaps I could remind the giant that sometimes it’s important to have fun, forget to pay a bill, or leave the dishes lying for the ants. I’m pretty sure I didn’t come into this world to chase a list of chores, though I suppose the to-do list must be attended to once in a while. So maybe if I changed perspective and considered the dentist and the dishes fun, the giant and his bubbles will fade away or pop to reveal the clear, blue sky of my uncluttered mind.

Searching for the Elusive Writing Flow Valve

By on November 10, 2011 in writing

My dream is that one day I will sit in front of the computer and the novels in my head will flow effortlessly onto the page. I know they are all ready to go in there. I’ve been cooking them, planning them, writing them in my head for years now. But for some reason their way out is convoluted, partial, snapped.

I wonder where it is that I get stuck. Is the block in my head? In my arms? Is it the critic sitting on my shoulder who has opinions about every word I write? Do I think too much about my ideas? Am I a perfectionist and think no word is good enough?

I really try not to be a perfectionist. I keep telling myself just to write, even if I don’t feel like writing. I tell myself the quality doesn’t matter because I can revise, delete, erase, reboot, even completely ignore what I wrote afterward. That is the wonder in writing on the computer. Anything can be done. But here I am, my usual me, with ideas overflowing to the stars, sitting before a blank page, or worse, a beginning which I then never continue for years at a time.

On my way to take the car to the garage for service this morning, I suddenly felt overwhelmed with a feeling that I’m trapped in my own life. I’m going to be forty in March. Half my life already has passed me by. And these novels, these wonderful creations which really ought to be shared with the rest of mankind, remain firmly locked up inside my head, and I cannot seem to find a way to let them out.

This is one reason why I am so excited about this blog. I’m not sure if it’s the instant gratification thing in seeing how many people have read each post, or if it’s that I’m limiting myself to no more than 500 words. I find myself glorying in the writing of each and every one. Yes, sometimes I get stuck. I may never post my first attempt yesterday at writing a blog about weirdness. Altogether, though, my enjoyment in writing it overrides all my blocks, and my thoughts flow onto the paper in a wish come true dream fulfillment fantasy that brings me even more joy.

What I really hope is that this fascination with blogging will influence the rest of my writing as well. Of course, if it’s really instant gratification which makes me enjoy my blog, then I will need to grow up a bit and learn patience with the rest of my writing. Or, alternatively, I could time-travel to nineteenth-century England and publish my novel one chapter at a time like Charles Dickens. Now there’s a thought that sounds grand! Or maybe another idea for a novel. Either way, I’m glad I’m writing, whether it’s a short post for the blog, or the next world best seller that will change everyone’s lives.

Blogging and Frog and Toad

By on October 14, 2011 in writing

I’ve been wanting to write a blog for a long time, but the idea scared me. I normally don’t see myself as a very consistent person, and the thought of committing to write something on a daily basis seemed pretty much impossible.

In fact, in the grand scheme of things, and out of my great love to Arnold Lobel’s books, I have always considered myself more of a Toad personality than a Frog. Will power has never been one of my strong points (I’ll always prefer to go home and bake a cake), I’m very picky about the size and shape of my buttons, and though I might put a lot of effort into a garden (including singing and talking to the plants), it would be a one-time concerted effort rather than an on-going project for life.

I can see Frog blogging on a daily basis, writing about his philosophical and wise exploration of life. But would Toad have a blog? And what would he blog about? Cake recipes? Disasters with ice cream? Embarrassing encounters of the bathing suit kind?

Well, either way I have taken the plunge. This Toad is going to have a blog, a blog about the books I read and about my writing. I’m still trying to determine whether it’s a good platform to complain about the dogs or the amount of homework I need to do with the kids. And maybe, once in a while, if I bake something exceptionally good, I’ll put the recipe up here for you, or maybe just a photograph. I don’t know.

Sigal Tzoore (650) 815-5109