Who Reads Your Stuff?

Well, I just couldn’t resist an invitation to be a contributing author on another blog, Alexandria (Crossroads of Culture). It’s a really cool site with lots of deep, substantive, analytical thinkers. I like to think deeply, substantially, and analytically when I’m not in my awake mode of shallow, inconsequential, and cerebrally absent, so I thought it might be a fun change-up.

Jazzed About Writing

I am addicted to words. Here are the top 11 reasons I get jazzed about writing:

1. I get to make up comical stories about people in quirky situations and conversations that make me laugh. When I think of them, I get an endorphin buzz. Yes, I crack myself up.

Dare to Suck!

Believe it or not, giving yourself permission to write badly is actually quite liberating. Your apexual (that one’s for you, Colbert!) expectations drop way down and your writing ramps up because you’ve loosened the iron chains of perfection that bind you (reminiscent of the way a stool softener can set you free).

Finding Clarity

When second-guessing yourself and your abilities becomes more prevalent than your desire to reach your goal, ya gotta take a hard look at yourself. I am. Writing is hard work, and there’s a good chance I will be rejected again (and again!).

Hell Yes!

I’m a writer. I tell everyone I’m a writer. It’s so much a part of who I am, it’s hard to hide. It also serves some good purposes in that (a) I’m proud to be a writer, mostly because it’s something I’m good at, (b) it opens up a lot of great conversations, especially when you run into someone you didn’t previously know was a writer, (c) people don’t mind spilling their guts so much when they know it’s for research (heh, heh), and (d) by saying it out loud, it makes me accountable for finishing my writing projects.

Got a Demonic Muse?

I edited a bit more and sent three shiny new chapters to an agent I had previously passed over. Again, I was shot down by the second string and the mother of all oxymorons: a nice rejection.

I Disgust Myself

I had intented to spend most of my weekend, my precious time off from my traditional J.O.B., devoted to writing the novel I recently started. While I am in love with my plot and my characters, and I have a good grasp of their internal and external conflicts, I have been sidetracked in a big way by . . . blogs. There, I said it. Blogs have possessed me.

My Interminable Affliction

I’ve tried to quit the habit but keep getting lured back in by the tantalizing fantasy of spending my days in my own space, spilling my brain matter into the universe, and getting paid handsomely to do it. Ah, but for my dreams . . .