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Anne Marie Pace's Memory Meme
Examples: Writing Life, Books, Pets, Jobs, Relationships, Food
So here goes mine:
Give me some random number between 1 and 49 and a category and I'll tell you something I was doing or something I experienced at that age in regards to that category. My categories are Writing Life, Pets, Relationships, Food and Jobs. (feel free to ask more than one - this is helping me prime the writing pump.)
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Dear Author,
I don't know anything about a leather jacket but I did find a box. A box I don't think I was supposed to find. And I am pissed off big time about what I found inside.
I'm not really sure what to do about it. It's times like this I really wish I had a mom or a sister or someone that I could talk to about this stuff. I'm really sick and tired of people telling me to be grateful for what I've got because crap, there are a lot of things I don't have or know that are more important to me than what I do. But I'm a kid and I'm not supposed to think like that. I'm supposed to suck it up and be happy I'm not in some foster home or living on the street or off in some foreign country with bombs going off all around me.
Well screw all that. I'm 16 years old and I'm self-centered spoiled brat.
Deal with it.
Signed,
Flyboy
Dear Author,
Mr. Mac gave me one of his mini lectures the other day. This one was on plants that go along for hundreds of years thinking they're called one thing and then wham, they wake up in the morning and they're called something else. Did you know they could do genetic testing on plants, like a DNA test they do on people to find out if they're related? Anyway, Mr. Mac says while it might be nice to know which plant is related to another one it really doesn't make any difference to the plant. It's either gonna grow or not grow and calling it something different isn't going to change a thing.
Signed,
Plant kid
Dear Author,
When I was a little kid, I mean really little, I used to think that going for a ride in the car was this great big adventure. Even if all my mom or dad was going to do was race down to the quick mart for diapers for my sister, I wanted to go. I was good at pretending we were heading for the moon instead.
I was pretty good at getting my way too. I had the cute face and the pouting face and the please don't you know I'm the best kid in the entire world face down to a science. It was all in the timing. Ask too soon and the answer would still be no. Ask too early and my mom would tell me to quit being a goofball. But if I asked just right I had a pretty good chance of making one of them say yes.
Now I've just got one face. It's just the here I am what do you want me to do now kind of face. Nothing special.
And I don't ask anyone for anything anymore.
Signed,
Frankie
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Even when you don't know where you are going with a book, sometimes the universe rewards your persistence with a bit of serendipity. Not in a big way, like having an actual plot, but in a small way where there are connections in a story that you know will mean something else, something big, later on. As soon as you figure it out.
Early today I was working on my character letters. I had one from Flyboy and one from Frankie but Plant Kid was being a little quiet. So then I started wondering about Mr. Mac and if there was some kind plant advice he could give Plant Kid that might help me out.
Like many writers, my brain is working on several levels at once. On some other level I remembered a recent discussion on my California Native Plants listserv about how botanists will sometime reclassify plants for one reason or another. (Can't remember the details so this is more research for me.) Normally I don't remember those sorts of notes on the list because heck, I can't hardly ever remember the latin names, let alone the genus/nomenclature /etc. But this one stuck because it was about one of my favorite shrubs, Sambus Mexicana. (Why is it one of my favorites? Beautiful and huge wildlife value.)
Anyway, in an earlier letter conversation with plant kid he had asked me about his living situation and the response that evolved felt right and true to the path the story was taking. At that time I had illumination #1, what if . . . ? (Sorry, can't tell you that. It would be a major spoiler.) When it came time to write another letter I had been thinking about him in school and wondering what he would be doing which led to illumination #2 (which I also can't tell you but which is mentioned somewhat in a recent letter.)
Which leads me to illumination #3 and brings me back to the letter I was working on today and the advice from Mr. Mac. I was trying to figure out how or even if Mr. Mac would explain about reclassifying plants and suddenly my brain did the math: #1 + #2 + #3 = serendipity. They were all connected. In a small way. In a plant way. In an organic way. In a way that I believe will become a major thread in the story.
Personally, I don't think I would have made these same connections if I weren't doing the character letters. Yes, I might have made different connections but these are the connections that get me all fired up. I mean, I got those shivers you get when you know, and I mean KNOW, it's a good idea.
Which leads me back to the title of the post.
Sometimes it just all comes together.
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I'm not quite manic but my brain is racing so I'm dumping some of those thoughts here.
1 - Thank you to whomever stared the tradition of Teaser Tuesdays. Sometimes getting a teaser written in the early morning hours is just the kick in the cants I need.
2 - I figured out a great way to use the LJ memories feature. Lots of the time I read blog posts on my phone and then want to remember to reply to them later. Now I can tag them for my memories on my phone and when I am home at my computer, pull them up again and write a response. (Maybe everyone else already does this but it was new to me.)
3 - The state refund check finally cleared the bank. Woohoo!
4 - One of the dumb things I worry about. If someone sends me an email and signs it "best regards" and I always sign my emails "best regards" does that person think I am copying them?
5 - Last night I couldn't sleep so I wrote dedications in my head. Dedications to people I want to make sure I dedicate a book to. Dedications for books I haven't finished writing yet and in one case, for a book I haven't even conceived of yet.
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Dear Flyboy,
Find the leather jacket. That's all I can tell you right now and you probably won't like me very much when you do but trust me, you need to find the leather jacket.
Signed,
Author who knows the secret
Dear Plant kid,
That new project at school, the family tree. Sorry. I'd like to tell you that it will all work out just fine but honestly, I haven't a clue.
Signed,
Author with questions of her own
Deat Frankie,
We are at an absolute stop. I mean it. A complete and utter stop until you fess up and tell me what happened to your sister. I mean what REALLY happened. Not what you keep telling everyone else.
Signed,
Author sitting in the dark
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She said, "Yeah right. Like you just happen to know that's the the syllable naming the fourth (subdominant) note of the diatonic scale in solmization."
Huh? I just took lots of music lessons as a kid. And watched The Sound of Music.
Sheesh. No more pick-up games for me.
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There's been a lot of talk around the kidlitosphere lately about keeping your dream alive when all around you, as in this business of writing, seems to be working against you.
Some people are afraid to post their success stories because they don't want to make other people feel bad. (Which brings to mind that great Eleanor Roosevelt quote, "No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.")
Some people are afraid to whine about anything, especially after having sold a book or two or more because they are afraid that people won't think they are grateful for the success they have already achieved. (I would probably put myself in the second category.)
Some writers attribute their success to everything from having a cat sleep on a manuscript, always mailing manuscripts from the same post office and kissing the envelope before you drop it in the big blue box. Sometimes it is the act of getting an agent, finding the right agent, attending the right conference, having a great critique group, not listening to their critique group, writing every day, writing in many genres, writing only one thing, writing teachers and classes and degrees designed solely around writing for children, supportive spouses, understanding children and pets who love us even after we've been rejected.
Some days for some writers, being a success means getting a contract, finally seeing a book on the shelves in the bookstores with their name on it. Other days, for the same writer, it might mean being able to write ten pages on a new novel that isn't even under contract. (Hmm. I'm in the second category here as well. I'm beginning to sense a trend.)
And for all the many ways of achieving success there is a different definition of success for that writer at that particular time in their writing life.
But being a success is evolutionary process, not a final destination. It is good to remember this. Not easy, but good.
And it is a uniquely individual process. Success for a young writer, say in their 20s or 30s might be different for a writer in their 50s or 60s. I am a different writer now than I was in my 20s. And my version or perhaps vision of success has changed over the years. In some ways I am more realistic, which is actually rather sad because I thought I looked good with those stars in my eyes and the rose-colored glasses. In other ways I still remain a Pollyanna, true to the idea that a good story will find a home, that hard work will be rewarded, and that while nice folks might not always finish first, they will always finish.
So I challenge you to think about what success means to you. Spend a little time today to actually write it out, the whole vision of what being a success would mean to you. How do you define it? How would you recognize it? What does it mean, to you, to be a success? Not in how you measure up to anyone else in or out of the business. It doesn't matter if your younger sister/older brother/best friend is suddenly the most powerful person ever at her ad agency and they wonder why you persist in playing around with this writing thing. It doesn't matter if your mother/father/next door neighbor has bought and sold more companies than you can remember and has their picture on the cover of some fancy business magazine. It doesn't matter.
I'll say it again, slowly so you can hear me.
It
just
doesn't
matter.
What does matter is that you have a dream. You have a dream and you are doing something, anything in any way that you can to pursue. If you get up in the morning and you remember your dream of being a writer and at the end of the day you've done just one thing in pursuit of that dream, well that qualifies as success to me.
No, it doesn't replace seeing your book on the shelves at a bookstore. It doesn't change the fact that it was great aunt Martha who called to tell you about her bunions instead of your agent calling to tell you your book has just sold. It doesn't make it any easier to give your kid money for the book fair knowing your book isn't going to be there, may never be there.
But it's a start. A word after a word after a word is tremendous power.
And you can't sell what you never write.
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Recently we received our State and Federal tax refunds. We immediately deposited them in the bank and waited for them to clear so we could start on the 101 home improvement projects we have waiting for attention.
The Federal check cleared at once. The funds were available within a couple of days. The State one, as in California, well, we're still waiting for it to clear.
I can remember when California ran out of money and had to issue IOUs. This does not give me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.
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One of the things I've been meaning to do for a while is to go through all my notebooks (of which there are many) and all my scraps of paper (of which there are also many) and find all the little snippets I've written pertaining to the various WIP. Some people might actually have a notebook for each WIP but not me. I grab whatever is handy, write in it, leave it somewhere in the house and usually misplace it for a few days to a few weeks to even longer. It was a recent "misplacement" of a notebook that sent me into a panic trying to find what I had written about Plant Kid and Flyboy and Max. (which turned out to be spread across 5 different notebooks.)
You'll be happy to know that I did find said notebook. (I wanted to set your mind at ease on that right away. I could sense your worry across the virtual space.) I spent most of yesterday curled up in a chair in my office reading old notebooks and getting reacquainted with various trains of my writing mind. At the end of the day I realized I had 7 books that I was still passionate about writing. (Not all at the same time.) 4 middle grades, 2 YAs and 1 historical picture book. A couple of traces of "found words" reminded me how much I had been in love with a particular historical story that I had originally written as a picture book but now plan to do as a novel. It was like meeting an old friend I hadn't seen in a long time. A couple of the other books were ideas that are loosely based on incidents from my childhood which reminded me to mention the book Old Friend from Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir by Natalie Goldberg. I don't plan on writing mine as a memoir but I believe the prods in this book will help me remember things about my childhood that I have long forgotten.
This morning I went through much of the files on my computer and moved more of those snippets into folders associated with the various WIPs. I've really got no excuse left. It's time to generate more words, messy first and second and third drafts and get further along into the stories.
But it was something I had to do first, to get ready.
How do you organize all the various pieces of a book as you are writing it?
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Plant Kid's book has a title.
I think.
Maybe.
No, I'm not telling yet but I think it is enough for a working title.
I hope.
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2 - I contemplated doing a Poetry Friday post today. I mean, I'm off on Fridays now and supposedly I'm a poet and one would think I'd want to do a Poetry Friday post but then I realized I was putting too much pressure on myself which made me feel guilty which made me not want to do anything about poetry. But then I thought about a book I'm reading right now and in it the author mentions the poem HOWL by Allen Ginsberg which I guess had a major impact at the time of being published as well as for some time after. So I went to look up the poem and read it and realized I had absolutely nothing to say about it except it must have scared a lot of people of the times.
3 - I am currently writing three books at once. (Which according to people who know me pretty well, explains a lot about me because I bounce around all the time from thought to thought.) VZ, which is Flyboy's story, Max which is Max and Frankie's story, and the book that still has no name but is Plant Kid's story. (And it is killing me to not have a title for it but, oh well.) Ahem. Anyway, I was thinking about poetry and I was thinking about Hugging the Rock and how I didn't start off thinking it was going to be a verse novel. I started off with it in prose and it evolved to a verse novel after a whole bunch of things including a suggestion from Janet Wong. So that got me thinking about my various other WIP that I am not actively working on at the moment. (Sidebar - one thing when I am stuck some place where I have I have to sit still but have nothing to say is to make a list of every book I can remember I ever started to write. Sometimes it is just the title because, well, I am good at titles, except when it comes to Plant Kid.) Anyway, I did this the other day and I wrote down this title that I know is perfect for this YA I want to write someday but am too afraid to write at the moment and for the first time ever I thought, hey, what if I did that one as a verse novel? The subject matter lends itself to it. The MC is so much of me that it fits. And I got that wonderful little chill that told me it was a good idea. But I am NOT writing it now. No, really I am NOT.
4 - Money motivates me to write. Not the lack of money which tends to motivate lots of people to write in order to feed their obsession with things like food to eat and gas for the car and power to run the computer. No, money in the bank. Just sitting there. The more money that sits in the savings account, the more I am motivated to write. I don't know what that says about me except I am very weird.
5 - My favorite pens are no longer my favorite pens. Most of my writing starts in longhand, especially the poems. For more years than I can remember I have used a fat medium point Bic ballpoint pen. I used to love the freebie ones that businesses gave away. They were perfect. No pressure to write exquisite words with such ordinary and functional pens. But I am older now with an always messed up shoulder and writing by hand for any length of time is harder than it used to be. I worried for a while until one day at work I needed a new pen and I went to the office supply drawer and just grabbed one. They are always different depending on what brand the admin can get a good deal on when she orders. This time it was a kind I hadn't seen before -Sanford Uni-Ball Signo Gel 207. I used it for a few days at work and fell in love. Off to the office supply store to buy a stash of my very own. And lo and behold, they don't come in just black or blue but a total of 8 different colors. So now I have a new favorite pen.
This writing edition of the Friday Five may soon be followed by the home improvement edition. Or not if I am getting a lot of writing done.
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Really.
I can ALMOST work without a title for the book but this no name thing for the plant kid is making me crazy. I had one name and I liked it a lot. But then I started trying to figure out how he got the name and it didn't work with the story and now I've lost my connection to that name. Then I thought I had one that would work but it still doesn't feel right.
I'm looking for a one syllable boy's name, sorta soft sounding, not hard. Not too common. (Piece of cake, right?) Anyway, if you are one of those people who excels at names, I'm taking all suggestions.
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I dreamt I was at some sort of nature event and they were talking about native bees. The girl on one side of the table said they wouldn't stink and then promptly got stung. :-) The other person at the table said, no, really, they'll be fine. You'll see.
When I looked down at my bare arms, both of them were slowing being covered with bees. This small hoard just started at my wrists and moved slowly up each arm, circling the arm, and then they just as easily, moved back off me again.
I wasn't afraid or worried or anything. Just in absolute awe.
Okay, I'm editing this to add my thoughts on what the dream means to me. For thousands of years, bees have been the symbols of royalty and fertility. They are nurturing, food givers. You could live a long time just on the food of bees. They could symbolize renewal. I wasn't attacked by bees. I wasn't stung by bees. I was just allowed to see how beautiful they were, up close, and how they worked together to make something beautiful happen. There's the old saying, "busy as a bee."
To interpret a dream you need to think about what the symbols in the dream mean to your own life. Bees are life-givers to me. I am a native plant gardener and without the bees, there is less life in my garden. I have felt empty, especially of words lately, so it is significant to me that the only part of my body that the bees covered completely were my arms. They were doing what bees do - feeding me, feeding the part of me I needed to write. It's time to do the work.
I took the dream as a very positive one.
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I don't have my picture uploaded yet to prove it but last night I did get to meet the fabulous and charming and ever-so-real Kerry Madden, aka
mountainmist I was already an adoring fan before meeting her and even more so now. That voice you read on her blog? That's the real Kerry.
But before I got the chance to meet Kerry and her darling sister, I met up with
d_michiko_f. Debbi picked a place to eat in Menlo Park. Because I am a picky eater I looked at the menu online before we went. They had a Monte Cristo sandwich, one of my favorites. Oh man, I couldn't tell you the last time I had one of those. Alas, I was to be denied because when we got to the restaurant, they were closed. This wouldn't have been a big deal except, well, not too long ago Debbi tried to take me to the same restaurant, with the same results! LOL. Luckily Debbi remembered a casual coffee shop chain not far away. Perfect for us to eat and gab and wait for Kerry. As we drove to the new place we passed a great many other restaurants that looked inviting and most of which were actually open to serve us. We kept commenting as the restaurants zipped by us. "We could go there. Or there. Or even there." It was like the Universe was tossing little bread crumbs our way and we just left them for the pigeons to eat.
You know, all those restaurants we passed were probably a sign and we ignored it.
We arrived at the place which will not be named, both starving. Even though I wasn't going to get my Monte Cristo sandwich, it was okay. I could give in to my other craving - a hamburger. Mmmm. I love hamburgers. I love red meat. A lot.
First backstep a bit. We have a cafeteria at work that is, for lack of a better description, ONE OF THE WORST PLACES TO EAT EVER! Really. I go there to connect with the few friends that are still at work and almost always have a grilled cheese sandwich which doesn't taste like a real grilled cheese sandwich but is, for the most part, edible. Every single time I stray from it, I am disappointed and often sick to my stomach. And we are not talking a cheap cafeteria either!
Now a sidestep. My husband and I like to eat out. We don't do it as much as we used to but still. We reward good service. I always ask to speak to the manager and compliment them for excellent service. We tip very well.
The flip side of this is that sometimes we get clunkers.
Back to the story of last night's meal.
The menus arrived. Debbi's coffee and coffee cake arrived. And then we waited to order. And waited. And waited some more until I stood up and waved my hand to get someone's attention. Then we waited for our burgers. And waited. And waited some more.
And when they arrived I wished we could go on waiting. I tried a couple of bites and had to stop. I don't know how Debbi managed to stomach a couple more. They were the most appalling excuses for burgers that I have ever been served and that INCLUDES burgers in my crummy cafeteria at work.
So I did something I very rarely do. I made a bit of a scene. (
hulabunny , you would have been so proud of me. )
Actually I am getting ahead of myself. We moved the plates to the other side of the table and watched the busboy clear tables all around us. Reset the tables. Look at us and our plates pushed to the side and IGNORE US until I told waved to get his attention and told him he could come take this horrible food away.
And then I made a scene. And Debbi tried very hard to melt under the table and pretend she didn't know me. And I could tell she was starting to wonder why she invited me to eat with her but I couldn't stop. I was SO frustrated with the lack of attention to us and the horrible food and the fact that we were still starving and we had Kerry coming at any minute.
When the manager came over he wanted to know why we didn't tell him something was wrong. Hello? Maybe because no one ever came by to check on us? Sheesh.
The funniest part of the whole thing though was when Kerry and her sister arrived (and Debbi quietly explained what had happened to us) suddenly the waiters were falling all over themselves to give good service, even displaying the bottled waters as though they were bottles of fine wine.
Sigh.
After visiting with Kerry and her sister Debbi and I hightailed to In-and-Out burger for a real meal! You can read Debbi's version of the story here.
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Okay, so there really is no time to blog but I do keep a list of things I might blog about and thought I would share that in lieu of an update. In no particular order here are 17 things I will probably blog about when I have the time to blog again.
- Some books like WRITING IN FLOW: Keys to Enhanced Creativity, by Susan K. Perry, Ph.D. and THE FOUR AGREEMENTS by don Miguel Ruiz and maybe even the ones I'm supposed to be writing.
- Paint samples and the color blue and why I hate tile.
- My office overhaul and my fear of change fighting with my need to be in control fighting with (I hope not) the decorator bringing designs for review on Wednesday.
- My dog who used to like people a little more than she does now.
- Going on the Native Garden tour 2 weeks ago and working on my garden design and why I can't have the swing I want in the backyard.
- My four day work week.
- Sleep (ain't it great?)
- Fear of being a poet (Fred and Liz - I am claiming it already, really!)
- Bosses and the lack of and its effect on my environment.
- How to lose a phone.
- Wikis (as in Wikipedia but in my case, pbwiki and wikispaces and more)
- Biscuits.
- Getting to meet Kerry Madden (okay, so I totally never blogged about meeting Libba Bray and Shannon Hale, nor did I share pictures but I am meeting Kerry tomorrow night and will hope to blog about it.)
- Scrabulous (My name is Susan and I'm addicted to Scrabulous)
- Letting go of worrying about your kids (ha - don't expect this to be a how to)
- Journals and notebooks and pens and other office supply obsessions
- Rituals for writing
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For a new project I'm working on I'm looking for a list of people who write teaching guides for children's books. If you or someone you know wants to be listed, please let me know.
Send me the contact info and anything else you want listed about it.
Thanks.
I have been thinking a lot about the idea of being or not being a poet. I haven't come to any conclusions about myself yet but I was inspired recently to try this style for which I don't know the name (see, my inner critic is telling me if I were a real poet I would know what it's called and my inner writer just shoved a dirty sock in the inner critic's mouth.) It's all one poem but, if the formatting comes across correctly on your computer, can also be read vertically as two almost separate poems.
This is just word play for me (as in I know it still needs work) but I thought I would share it to make up for a serious lack of posting from me lately.
Sometimes words
away
leave me
free
be
denied
Sometimes words
w
w
like l
f
smother me
silent
as an
unmarked grave
Sometimes words
tangle
knots
i
crush me
with
the weight
of untold stories
Sometimes words
battle
the past
i
wait for me
whispering
my name
Sometimes words
Susan Taylor Brown --- all rights reserved
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(Thanks Robin!)
Yes, there is such a thing as Fairy GodSisters. Read on!
fAiRy gOdSisTeRs, iNk.
Surprising Writers & Illustrators Everywhere!
SCBWI SUMMER CONFERENCE GRANT
Announcing a $1,000 grant opportunity
for an SCBWI member to attend the
August 1-4, 2008 Summer Conference in Los Angeles
TO APPLY: Submit a 250-word double-spaced essay
describing what you hope to accomplish by attending
this year's summer conference.
Send your essay to: fairygodsistersINK@yahoo.com
Application deadline: May 15th, 2008
Winner will be notified on June 1st, 2008
Questions about the grant may be sent to: mlhershey@aol.com
fAiRy gOdSiStErS, iNk. is a small, benevolent squadron of children's
book authors who believe in the magic of passing forward lucky breaks, bounty and
beneficence, as so many have done for us. We are: Thalia Chaltas, Mary
Hershey, Valerie Hobbs, Robin La Fevers and Lee Wardlaw.












