Category Archives: Writing, Reading and Publishing

It Never Gets Old

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My new book is finally in print. It seems like it took forever — I guess because it freakin’ DID — but I can take a breath and reflect on the journey, now that it’s over.

First, if you have a hankering to publish a book, do it. Do it, do it, DO IT! There’s nothing quite like the joy of seeing something you created right there in your hand.

I know what you’re thinking. “But Becky, what about kids? You can hold newborn babies in your hands too.”

True. But you can’t hold ‘em forever, you can’t give them away, and you certainly can’t sell them. At least nobody ever wanted to buy mine, no matter how much I lowered the price.

I joke, of course, but honestly? It’s a similar feeling. And frankly, a book is more of an achievement. I mean, any dope can birth a baby, but not everyone can write a book. Getting pregnant takes ten merry minutes — twenty if you’re lucky — but a book takes real effort!

Over the last 20 years or so, I’ve published lots of articles, six digital non-fiction books, three or four large-format ‘How To’ manuals, and a fiction paperback for kids. You’d think it would be less exciting to get this paperback in my hand. But it’s not.

that new book smell

It never gets old.

It’s a wild and giddy thrill to see tangible proof of all your hard work. You hold in your hands not just your words and ideas, but the white-hot optimism that complete strangers will appreciate what you’ve done, and the absolute conviction they won’t.

Pretty powerful stuff for 247 pages and a glossy cover.

I guess that’s what publishing a book gives you … power. Not brawn, not skill or mastery, but energy. Courage. A way to steam ahead, full of peppy faith in yourself.

I mean, if you can publish a book, who knows what else you can do? But you’ll never know until you try. So get busy … quit playing in BeckyLand. Get outta here and seize some power for yourself!

How To Publish Your Book

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It’s so incredibly easy. Take a look at this flowchart I found in Writer’s Digest.

Here’s a little bit, even though I’m sure you never do this …

how-to-publish-your-book

Okay, I’ve gotta get back to work. Just as soon as I get the band back together.

What’s your favorite way to procrastinate?

Phenotypic Plasticity – Big Words for BeckyLand

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I was reading about phenotypic plasticity which is, according to Smithsonian Magazine, “the flexibility an organism shows in translating it’s genes into physical features and actions.”

Tree frog

Turns out, this adorable little guy can hatch early if he thinks a snake is sneaking up on him. Mommy red-eyed tree frogs lay eggs on leaves arching over bodies of water, giving her babies extra chances at life.

It made me think two things.

First, that I’m very smart if I’m reading about phenotypic plasticity.

Second, that I’m much like a red-eyed tree frog.

I, too, am responsive to my environment and show flexibility in my actions. While I don’t hatch early from my egg and drop into a pond if I feel vibrations from an approaching snake, I can suddenly pivot toward a different metaphorical path. (Know that I would in fact take a different literal path if I thought a snake was approaching, but I’m a full-grown human-type person and not developing in an egg sac. Just to clarify both my state of mind and the awesome biology of the red-eyed tree frog.)

Phenotypic plasticity ponders the age-old question: nature or nurture?

Turns out, it’s both, which anyone who has a kid or has ever been a kid always suspected.

For instance, my nature has always been one of organization and compartmentalizing. If I can label a box and throw stuff in it, all is right with the world.

But sometimes I can’t.

When I write fiction, my nature and my nurture — everything I’ve been taught over the years — tells me to take a linear path. This happened, which led to this, which led to that, and finally to the ending.

The more I do it, the more I realize I like to take detours. Like that almost-tadpole, I’m startled by approaching dangers. For me, though, it’s not a snake. It’s most often a new idea, or character, or unforeseen perfect plot point.

Just like the red-eyed tree frog hatchling that drops into the pond to take its chances there, I take my chances with the vibrations from a demanding character who grabs me by the collar and shakes me until I listen to her story.

Like froggy, I might be swimming into dangerous water with repercussions I can’t yet know. But the water’s not that cold, I didn’t get eaten by a snake, and the thrill of adventure is liberating.

I’ll swim as fast as I can with my new character into a new scene or a new story line, trying to keep my head above metaphorical water.

I wonder if there’s room in my next book for a red-eyed tree frog?

New Year Blahs or Rahs?

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Many of my friends have been admitting to some end-of-the-year blues which is something I don’t really understand. I happen to adore this week between Christmas and New Years, but I am an admitted — and unrepentent — Pollyanna.

Pol·ly·an·na (pä-lē-ˈa-nə) noun a person characterized by irrepressible optimism and a tendency to find good in everything

What can I say? I’m perky!

I love that blank calendar, so hopeful and filled with sparkling possibility. I sit down when it’s quiet and glance back through the year, remembering good times and perhaps bad ones, now with the mottled patina that only comes with time and distance.

Then I take a blank piece of paper and start writing down the things I’d like to see on next year’s calendar. Most of them relate in some way to my writing and publishing work, but there are also trips to plan, people to see, parties to host.

I humbly suggest that if you find yourself singing the blues this week instead of a joyful noise, try this little exercise.

Take a peek at your calendar. Where’d you go this year? Who’d you see? Meet anyone new and fascinating? What inspired you? What did you learn? What did you write? What did you sell? What did you promote? What were your challenges? What were your successes?

Now, grab a blank piece of paper and look forward to the coming year. Where do you want to go? Who do you want to see? What opportunities do you want to pounce on? What will you learn? What will you write? What will you sell? What will you promote? How will you grow?

Now make a plan. Take your pristine calendar and add the things you know you want to do. Use a pencil because this is a working document. Do you want to go to the Pikes Peak Writers Conference in April? Then block out that time. If you have to save up your pennies then make a plan for that, too.

How many words will you write? How many books will you read? How often will you get together with your friends? How many times will you go skiing/dancing/to the theatre/out to eat/ice skating/to the beach? What will you learn next year? What will you teach? Who will inspire you? Who will you inspire?

Make a plan. Write it on your calendar.

A plan without action is simply wishful thinking. Make a plan.

If a year is too overwhelming, focus on the first quarter of the year. Or a month. But focus. And plan to revisit your calendar before the second quarter or the next month. Dream big. Wish. Plan. Revise as necessary. Add your Big Plan to your weekly to-do list.

Revel in your successes and learn from your mistakes.

Here’s hoping your successes are infinite and your challenges surmountable. I won’t wish you smooth sailing with no challenges because mistakes and challenges help you grow into the person you’re destined to become. Besides, no problems would be boring!

Okay, if that’s too perky and irrepressibly optimistic for you, then I will allow some staring into the abyss. But only for a minute.

Hey … I think I see cookies down there!

A Writer Was Born

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When my kids were little I stayed home with them, often with other daycare kids in the house. I always had the videocamera — the huge behemoth that rested on your shoulder — locked and loaded.

I also had index cards and pens placed strategically around the house. On them, I wrote the funny things the kids said and did. At the end of the day, the index cards would get shoved into the appropriate diaper bags of my daycare charges or thrown into my kids’ “Memory Boxes.”

Some mothers lovingly craft scrapbooks for their children. I lovingly crafted piles of index cards.

I’ve recently undertaken the task of typing them up. Surely there’s a book just waiting to be written. Here are two samples.

12-5-90 — Jessie [age 3] made the astute observation that you can’t hum with your mouth open.

12-12-90 — Jessie said something was “a propersation.”  When Wes asked her what that was, she said, “It’s Batman or grass or tea or soup.”

That was my first inkling I was raising a writer.

When did you know what kind of kid you were raising?

What’s Up With You?

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It makes me sad that I can’t play in BeckyLand as often as I want. But I remind myself it’s because I’m busy doing other things I love.

I teach a time management workshop where I advise my participants that when they feel overwhelmed they need to prioritize. There are many ways to do so, but my favorite, by far, is to concentrate on that which makes you money.

I’ve been taking my own advice lately.

You probably don’t know, but I’ve taught myself how to make delightfully funky purses out of recycled items and I’m trying to tweak the process and create enough inventory to open an Etsy store. Not there yet, but soon, I hope. It’s fairly intricate and takes me for-freakin-ever so I hope I can get better at it.

I’ve also been writing and marketing some of my non-fiction books — four low calorie cookbooks, “How To Lose Weight and Get Healthy Even If You’re Lazy,” and “Reading Maniac – Fun Ways to Encourage Reading Success” (for parents of struggling, emerging, or reluctant readers). All of them can be found on my author page at Amazon. (I did mention ‘marketing,’ right?)

Part of this endeavor includes blogging at my website Lazy Low Cal Lifestyle. It takes up much more time than I imagined, but I really love doing it. I investigate new foods, exercise concepts, and much of the silliness that confronts me every day in my righteous quest to fight middle-aged weight gain. If you’re interested, you can subscribe to the RSS feed over there or join my mailing list. You get freebies when you do. Just sayin. (Again with the marketing! Shut up already!)

In addition to making purses and selling these non-fiction books, I’m back to writing fiction. God bless those folks who can work on wildly different projects at the same time. I’m not one of them, however. I need to focus on the task at hand.

I didn’t know this about myself until my first child — a very sleepy girl — was born. I would sit around and wait for her to wake up before I could do anything. What if she woke up while I was in the shower? What if she started crying when I was washing dishes? What if she got hungry while Mommy was making her special Vodka Smoothie?

But then I went back to work and my husband stayed home with her. Who knew you could put a bunch of dirty dishes in the sink to soak, vacuum the den, AND take a shower every day with a completely immobile infant in the house? I KNOW, right??

At any rate, I’m still pretty compartmentalized like that but now that she’s 24 I’m back to taking showers on a fairly regular basis.

I’m also back to working seriously on my fiction. In the past, mostly I wrote young adult and middle grade books. But I’m loving the digital revolution so much and can hardly wait until most kids have e-readers and are interested in e-books. THEN I’ll get back to whipping them into shape. The manuscripts, not the kids.

For now, though, I’m working on a series of funny mysteries with a friend. We’ve finished the first draft of the first one and are mulling revisions, cover design, and marketing ideas. But if you’re interested, here is the opening scene. It might stay, it might go, but as of now, this is the opening of BANANA BAMBOOZLE —

Cassidy measured the coffee for her morning pot, trying to avoid looking at the pan of twelve perfect brownies she baked last night. Their aroma beckoned to her the same way she imagined George Clooney would — perfect, unrelenting and oh-so chocolately. Maybe not exactly like George Clooney, but it was her fantasy. She knew she was powerless, but she’d play it cool. This time.

Beg me. Beg to be eaten, you perfect square of deliciousness.

“You know you want us,” the brownies whispered. “We’re chewy in the middle and firm at the edges. And remember those extra chocolate chips you threw in? We’re all here, just waiting for you.”

Cassidy moaned. Ah, the extra chocolate chips. To distract herself, she filled the water in the coffeemaker to the 8-cup line and turned on the TV. She tried to concentrate on the news anchors’ blindingly white teeth and overly-produced hair, but only lasted 12 seconds.

“Sweetheart,” the brownies whispered. “We’d be delicious with a cup of coffee. Brownies and coffee go together like bacon and eggs … trashy novels and cheap wine … you and George.

Cassidy glanced at the coffee pot as the hot, brown liquid dripped sensuously down, down, down into the—

“Oh, for pete’s sake.” She yanked the foil off the pan of brownies and dug a corner piece out with her fingers. She took a huge bite, dropping crumbs on the counter. She swallowed, sighed and smiled. “Oh, brownies. How I’ve missed you!”

She hadn’t baked anything in several months in an effort to lose her baby weight. She’d never been pregnant, of course, but had carried twenty extra pounds since she was a baby, going on fifty years now.

These were special brownies to celebrate her new employee’s first two weeks on the job. She finished off that brownie and had two more while she drank her coffee and did the crossword puzzle in the paper. She filled in as many answers as she could, then gave up. Dismayed once again with her lack of self-control and crossword prowess, she covered the brownies with the foil. As she reached to turn off the TV she heard them mention Pino Point. Her small town never made the Los Angeles news so she perked up and listened.

“—run out of leads. If anyone has any information about these hit-and-runs or knew any of the Russian victims, please contact the Pino Point police department.”

Cassidy searched for a scrap of paper and pen but before she found either, the phone rang. A glance at the caller ID showed it was her younger sister.

“Hey, Summer …not much. Made a pan of brownies last night for Samantha’s 2-week anniversary. No, I haven’t had any.” Cassidy pushed the pan away and turned her back on it. “I should have just bought some from Natalie’s bakery on my way in this morning. But she puts black beans and weird organic shit in hers.” Cassidy inched the pan closer and closer, finally digging out another brownie. She broke off half then broke that piece in half and popped it in her mouth.

By the time they had finalized plans for Summer’s upcoming visit and Cassidy had found a pen and paper to write down Summer’s flight information, she had forgotten all about the hit-and-runs and eaten the other three-quarters of the brownie. And two more. With a queasy sigh she grabbed her cookbook, flipped to the page with the brownie recipe and started another batch.

When she got to the hallowed offices of the Weekly News Chronicle and handed them to Samantha she said, “Ohmygosh, Cass! Thank you! These are still hot! You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble this morning!”

No, you’re right. I shouldn’t have, she thought.

So, that’s what I’ve been up to lately. How ’bout you? What’s been sucking up all your time?

Skinheads, Hipsters, and Me

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My daughter lives in Portland, Oregon so I’ve traveled there quite often, most recently a few weeks ago. Every time I’m there I marvel at their public transportation system. Not just because it’s so vast, accessible and easy, but because everyone uses it.

Because I live and work in the suburbs, I tend to see people who are very similar to me. Even when I go into Denver I drive, so I’m still not surrounded by the extremes of humanity.

But I love going to Portland so I can ride public transportation. All the stereotypes I have of people are tossed aside.

Three examples from my recent trip …

• Four rowdy teens rode a long way at the front of our car on the Max train. They weren’t being aggressive or anything, but were loud, clearly out for a good time that night. One of the more punk-looking ones was talking on his phone at one point, a conversation full of laughter and expletives. At the end of it he said, “I love you, buddy.” As they passed my seat when their stop approached, all four of them, single-file, shot me dazzling, happy smiles and the last one said, with great enthusiasm, “Have a great night!” It makes me smile just to think about it.

• A scary über-tattooed-and-pierced guy sat on the train in seats facing us. Earbuds stuck in tight, he had tuned out to his iPod, which was just fine with me. The less eye contact the better, I thought. As the train filled a bit more, the least hip couple in the universe sat next to him. (I know what you’re thinking, but no, this couple made us look like Lady Gaga and Sean Connery.) Next thing I know, they’re chatting like old friends! Scary UTAP guy has pulled out his earbuds and is willingly giving directions and sharing dining and tourist advice with them.

• On the bus one day we had to wait for an elderly man to get his walker up the ramp. I was annoyed (and a bit ashamed to say it didn’t even occur to me to help him) until a hipster in skinny black jeans and a fedora hopped down to lend him a hand and a smile.

As I watch people on the Max and listen to their conversations, I’m constantly surprised and delighted by my fellow man. It’s also true that sometimes I’m surprised by their drastic and conspicuous body odor, but luckily that doesn’t happen much.

Whenever my kneejerk reactions to people are wrong, I’m reminded about the advice I’ve heard a gazillion times when creating characters in my writing. Nobody is all bad or all good and stereotypes are boring.

Maybe those unhipsters were really double agents on a mission. Or circus lion tamers! Or the inventors of root beer bottle cap candy!

Or what else?

Jealous Much?

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I know a lot of writers. Some are friends, some just acquaintances, some via six degrees of separation. Professionals, amateurs; some are talented, some are not, some are still learning their craft. Some sell a gazillion books, some are pre-published. Some write fiction, some non-fiction; short works and epic tomes. Men, women, old, young, funny, scholarly, entertaining, deadly boring …. well, you get the idea.

I must make a confession. (I’d call it a public confession, but who am I kidding. Both of you reading this do not a ‘public’ make.)

For a split second — sometimes longer — when I hear of the successes of my writer peeps, I’m jealous of 99.3% of them. (The rest I simply don’t like so I don’t care about their news. Don’t judge me.)

This ugliness doesn’t last too long before I shoot them … a note — c’mon, I’m not a monster! — congratulating them on their achievement. But I can’t deny the ugliness was there, however briefly.

Recently I stared my green-eyed monster square in its slack-jawed face and tried to figure out why my emotional knee jerks in such a manner. I came up with some reasons.

1. Guilt. I’m not working as hard as I should to finish the manuscript/market/step out of my comfort zone/get better at my craft/blah, blah, blah. And they are. And hard work wins out every single time. And I’m a lazy slacker doo-doo head.

2. The unshakable belief that I’m a better writer than they are and yet — poor, pitiful me — nobody quite sees my incredible talent.

3. Or, equally appalling, the humbling idea that I’ll never be as good as they are and giving up is my only possible option.

4. I’m a terrible, terrible person.

No, I don’t really think I’m terrible. I guess I’m just human. But I do have moments of lazy slacker doo-doo head-ness. After all, I wouldn’t want anyone to be jealous of me.

What about you? Do you have pangs of jealousy? Have you figured out why?

Clocks

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If you’ve spent any time at all in BeckyLand, you’ll know I have three grown kids.

The oldest, my beautiful and exceptionally talented writerdaughter (yes, one word — the same way a firetruck can only be one thing, so it is true for her), lives and works in Oregon. She’s my go-to editor and first reader. Pretty sure she knows everything about grammar and story construction. And I’m going to pimp her business here, because this pleases me to the depths of my soul. She’s The Essay Doctor — helping novelists, students and business people with anything they do involving words. (TheEssayDoc (at) aol (dot) com)

The youngest is a Master at Arms in the Navy, stationed on Guam. MAs are what the Navy calls their police force and my kiddo made his first arrest recently. All my kids are gorgeous and funny as hell and this one regales me with hilarious cop and Navy stories all the time. But they all try to keep the heart-stopping ones to a minimum, for which I’m grateful.

My middle guy is a Navy Corpsman, stationed in Okinawa. He’s the unlikeliest of medical providers, owing to his hair-trigger gag reflex as a child. If I ate a banana with a bruise, he’d gag. It’s a testament to what a truly dedicated medic he has turned into. He delivered a baby in the back of his ambulance all by himself and there was no gagging at all. Remarkable.

He was home on leave recently and bought me a present. Three presents, to be precise. I am somewhat flummoxed by simple things like cake mixes, ATMs, and gas grills. The instructions are either too simple or too complicated. Or both.

But the worst for me is time zones. I can never remember what time or day my kids are living in and they constantly tease me about it. So before he left to go back to Okinawa, he presented me with these for my office wall …

What time is it where you are? Have your kids turned into remarkable people yet?

The Writing Diet – Book Review

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Title: THE WRITING DIET — WRITE YOURSELF RIGHT-SIZE

Author: Julia Cameron

Devour it

→ Nibble till it’s gone

Spit it out

Julia Cameron has written 25 books, both fiction and non-fiction. One of her best-sellers is The Artist’s Way, which is also the basis of courses she teaches, helping students find their creativity.

As she was teaching over the years, she saw her students not only transform their creative brains, but she saw them transform their bodies and lifestyles as well.

The Writing Diet explains that process. She provides several tools — “Morning Pages,” journaling, asking yourself four questions to distract you from your cravings, going on culinary adventures, and something as simple as taking walks, among many other exercises.

I didn’t think I’d find much of interest in this book because not only do I tap my creativity constantly, I’m not one for exercises and assignments. But I read the whole thing fairly quickly, enjoying it immensely. While I didn’t do any of the exercises, per se, many of them did make me stop and think.

She talks about “eating clean” which is the same thing I’m trying to do. She said, “The healthiest way to view our relationship to food is to see it in terms of progress, not perfection. Now we are eating more healthfully, if not perfectly. This is progress, and it is progress with which we must learn to be satisfied.”

Amen.

My favorite image from the book was a woman she quoted. “I have to take my overeating one day at a time,” says Eleanor. “I feel like I have my finger in the dyke. I can’t keep it there forever, but I can keep it there just for a day.”

I like that. In fact, there was a lot of similar talk about 12-step programs. Another of her students said he thought it was easier to be an alcoholic because alcoholics can stay away from liquor but everyone needs to eat.

If you can eat right for one day, maybe you can get up and do it again tomorrow. Pretty soon, you may find you’ve been doing it for years.

Lots of excellent, practical advice.

If you haven’t tried journaling before and seem to have some issues with food or healthy living, then you might benefit from reading The Writing Diet and doing the tasks Cameron lays out for each chapter.

What have you got to lose … besides weight, that is?

Have you tried journaling? Did it work for you? Have you ever dumped a bad habit or incorporated a good one? How did you do it?