}Wistful Wednesday{Frazzled Nerves and Nail Biting

Why do we do it? Why do we put ourselves through this? These are the questions I pose to myself as I sit here writing this. What am I referring to? you might wonder. Contests. All across America, perhaps all across the world, there are a myriad of contests occurring for a myriad of different things. An eclectic assortment of strangers meeting, in person or otherwise, plying their talents for a chance to win some prize that has yet remained elusive to them.

Perhaps some of the most well-known contests are for singers/performers. There is the mega-popular American Idol, or America's Got Talent, Dancing With the Stars and So You Think You Can Dance. In England, there's The X-Factor and Britain's Got Talent. For runners, there's the Boston Marathon or the New York Marathon or even the Olympics, which is another powerhouse attraction for amateurs to ply their talents. For football, there's the Super Bowl, for baseball it's the World Series, and for hockey, it's the Stanley Cup. All venues for people who are so inclined to ply their talents for others to see and, hopefully, to enjoy.

But when it comes to people who've been driven to the course of putting pen to paper, there is an ever-expanding platform of contests for them to try their hand at. In fact, it seems that there's a new contest or platform to display their work appearing on the horizon on a daily basis. And perhaps there are. The opportunities for writers to get their work in front of agents, editors, publishers and readers are boundless, growing at a steady pace thanks to the Internet. There are a dizzying amount of ways a writer can bring attention to their writing. Some are sponsored by legitimate organizations that every writer is familiar with, some are obscure little contests sponsored by some unknown sources. Some are designed to truly help the writer achieve their goals; some are designed to scam the writer out of their hard-earned cash. All are dangerous to the writer's psyche and may result in frazzled nerves and nail biting as the process goes on.

So why would we do it? you might wonder. Why would put ourselves through that? For the chance to get someone to read what we write, of course. For the chance to get our foot in the door, to garner the interest of an editor/agent/publisher. For the chance to be published. For some writers, the ultimate prize is not the cash benefit or even the certificate offered by the contest coordinator. It's the chance to get an industry professional to read something we've written. Such is the basis for nearly every contest sponsored by the RWA. We often read about such prestigious contests such as the RITAS and The Golden Heart and work ourselves crazy trying to whip together something that would appeal to the industry professionals while meeting the RWA standards. Believe me, it's not always an easy thing to do.

But then there are the reader-intensive contests that are the equivalent of American Idol for writers. Contests in which we are still trying to draw the attention of the publishing professionals, but more important, we are trying to build a fan base with readers in order to fulfill our dreams of being published by convincing those readers that they should vote for our entries. This, for me, is probably the more nerve-wracking of the two situations as it gives you an idea of how well your writing is going to be received by the public. And when you spend as much time as I do creating characters and hammering out plots and trying to market yourself on the Internet, it's a scary thing to think that your success is really in the hands of someone else. As with any writer today, famous or otherwise, once their stories are written, it is up to the readers whether or not it flies or crashes. For with each book a reader buys - or doesn't - that writer's success is measured.

So is it worth it, to put yourself through the turmoil of wondering and waiting and biting your nails as you go from one round of competition to the next? For me, yes. Because with each competition I enter, my writing improves. The way I present myself as a writer improves. And more people get to read some of what I've written and, perhaps, will remember my name the next time they see it - in another contest, on another blog or another book. Hopefully, I am building a readership and that, to me, is just as important - if not more so - as making connections with industry professionals. So I didn't win the Gather contest; I made a lot of friends and was published as a result of it by a new small press. So I didn't final in the Scarlet Boa Contest; ah, well, there's always next year. And a new set of opportunities.

But there is still The Next Best Celler Contest and the chance to win a contract with Dorchester Publishing. So if you want to see what all of the hype is about, hop on over to Textnovel.com and read some of the entries. Mine is The Jane Austen Society Pages and I welcome all comments. I love to hear from my readers and to interact with them. Come ask me some questions or even share your wishes for how the story unfolds. You never know how your input might affect the outcome - or how close you might come to guessing how it all turns out.

I want to thank fellow Moonlighter Carrie for the inspiration for this post today. When I first sat down to write it, I had no idea what I was going to talk about today, but an email conversation with Carrie (who is also in a reader-based contest currently - she made it to Round 3, woohoo!) gave me the idea and, as you can see, I ran with it. So tell me what you think - about writing, contests, your own experiences or whether you would ever try something like this in pursuit of your passion. I love to read what you have to say!

Under the Weather

Hello, everyone. As I am feeling under the weather this week and can't come up with anything witty or brilliant for you to read today - or maybe even coherent, darn head cold/allergy/whatever you are - I am going to post a snippet of my Textnovel.com entry, The Jane Austen Society Pages, for you to read. Also, I open the floor to you to speculate on what you think may - or should - happen with Athena and Gabriel. Thanks, Margay.


Had he really said that to her? Gabriel chastised himself the moment the words left his mouth. “I feel as if I know you from somewhere.” Despite the fact that it was true, that he did sense something familiar about her, he couldn’t have sounded more trite if he’d asked her what her sun sign was. Or if she came there often Or why not, what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this? He was the cliché he warned his students about. I feel as if I know you from somewhere, indeed. What a fool, what an utter fool. And it was clear from her reaction that she felt the same way for she laughed at him. Granted, it had a nervous edge to it, but it was a laugh just the same, and if he had any sense at all, he would turn around now and retreat to the bar to wait for his colleague.
But of course he didn’t. No, he just stood there like an idiot, waiting for her laughter to subside so he could – What? Encourage more by trying to cover up his gaffe? Or worse, offer an explanation for his statement? Yes, that would work. About as well as his opening line did. And yet he could not move away from the spot.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured when her laughter finally subsided. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. I just…well. I’m sorry.”
And now that you’ve secured your position as an idiot, you should just walk away now, he mentally coached himself.
“No!” she said in a voice husky from her mirth. She pressed a hand to her mouth, as if that delicate appendage could stop another bout of laughter. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I have a bad habit of laughing when I’m nervous.”
In a gesture that was becoming too habitual of late, Gabriel lifted a hand to rub at the grooves between his brows. A and W. Named for another colleague who was responsible for putting them there. Athena Willoughby. Who also had the habit of laughing when she was nervous. He should know; he made her laugh. A lot. Gabriel dropped his hand to his side as his sense of familiarity expanded. Either he was losing his mind or –
“I know someone like that,” he said as he leaned forward in an attempt to better gauge her reaction. If only it wasn’t so damned dark in here; he could barely see anything in this light – or dark, as it were. “A colleague, actually.”
“Really?” Her voice ended on a high note as the nervousness crept back in. Well, that was interesting. “And here I thought I was the only one.”
With his sense of sight impaired by the atmosphere, Gabriel attuned himself to every nuance of her voice. Her tone, her choice of words, even her speech pattern. Was there something familiar about that, too? Granted, it was deeper than…a certain other woman’s, but…it was there, just below the surface. Something, something…he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

If she didn’t distract him in the next five seconds he was going to figure it out, Athena fretted. They didn’t make him the dean of the college because he looked like he just stepped out of the pages of Pride and Prejudice, after all. No, he earned that spot. Earned it and took it very seriously. He wouldn’t take it well if he learned what she was doing to supplement her income. She already had several strikes against her already; this would be just what he needed to finally oust her from her position at the college. Some sort of ethics code, she was certain.
She couldn’t keep up this pretense much longer. Couldn’t keep pretending she was something she was not with him. It was difficult enough being herself in his presence; he didn’t like that much, either. Maybe it was just her, wig or no wig, she simply got on the man’s nerves. She couldn’t even pretend to be someone he’d like.
And she couldn’t keep pitching her voice this low without succumbing to a fit of coughing. Her vocal chords were actually beginning to ache from the effort of keeping her naturally melodic tone at bay. And that blasted nervous laughter! It was going to give her away. Didn’t she read somewhere that a person’s laugh was just as unique to them as their fingerprints?
Oh, lord, did he just say something to her? What was it? Did he figure it out?
“I’m sorry – what?” she asked, gesturing toward her ear. “The music. I didn’t hear you.”
He leaned down toward her, coming perilously close to the safe cocoon of shadows she’d gathered around herself. She resisted the urge to pull back even further as he answered her.
“I said you’re not the only one.”
“Oh.” All right, she didn’t know what to do with that, exactly. Should she make light of it? “Well, there goes my campaign for being unique.”
One corner of his lips curled up in a smile that triggered all of her attraction sensors, making her uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was a man. A charming man, virile – oh, lord, this is m boss! What am I doing?
“I think your campaign is quite safe,” he said, just before he took a step back from her. “I wish I could stay and talk with you longer, but the person I’m meeting here just arrived and I – “
“No, it’s all right. Go,” Athena encouraged, even as she tried to resist the urge to check out who he was meeting. “I wouldn’t want to keep you.”
With what appeared to be a regretful smile – to her, at least – he retreated from her table completely, weaving his way back to the bar. Without even asking for her name, she realized. Well, of all the – at least he could have feigned politeness by asking, even if he had no intention of pursuing her. Not that she would’ve given him her real name, of course. But still. What an insult that he didn’t even ask!
And why would he, she wondered as she finally gave in to her urge to look, when his companion for the evening looked like a starlet in the realm of Jennifer Aniston? It would’ve been a comfort if she had an IQ to match her shoe size, but she knew that face and it belonged to Elinor Moreton. Better known as Elle. Better known as the woman who wanted her ousted from the college.
Wonderful, Athena thought. It was bad enough when only the dean of the college was there and her job was at risk. Now the one person who wanted her gone more than Gabriel was there as well. With him.
Could the night get any worse?


For more, go here.

To Plot Or Not To Plot, That Is The Question

There is a great debate among writers and if you pay close enough attention to websites where authors share their process, you will run across it from time to time. I'm talking about plotting. Or not plotting, as the case may be. There are two factions of writers out there - those who do and those who don't plot - and nary shall the twain meet. It is part of their ritual, part of their identities as writers; the key element to the "how" of their writing. Some writers are more comfortable diagramming their stories ahead of time, mapping out every key element, every rise and fall of action, every little nuance of silent communication between their main characters. And then there are others who just wing it. They sit down at the computer with a vague idea of what they are going to write about and then just let the words flow. They are affectionately known as the "pantsers" because they tend to create their stories by the seat of their pants.

It is no secret that I fall into the first group; I've written about my process in various venues, whether as a post or a response in an online discussion. I even joke that my outlines are so detailed that I often refer to them as my first draft. Not only do they contain descriptions of scenes, but they often include the actual dialogue and notes to myself of things to remember when I sit down to actually write the story. I have tried a few different methods for outlining, such as the bulleted list in a notebook, but the system that seems to work best for me is to block out scenes on index cards. So instead of chapters, I have numbered scenes. Believe it or not, this method actually moves along faster for me than the notebook method even though my index cards are far more detailed than my notebook pages. Why this is so is a mystery to me.

Needless to say, I like my method for creating my stories. It works well for me, it's satisfying, and I don't have that blank page syndrome when I sit down at the computer to write. But sometimes I like to shake things up, stir the creative pot, try something new. So, in that spirit, I've crossed over to the other side...well, for at least one project (among the many stewing in my head!) that is currently in progress. As many of you might be aware if you read my post this past Sunday, I started a new novel on Textnovel.com. I won't re-hash the reasons here, so if you want to refresh your memory, you can jump to the post called America's Next Best Celler Contest - And Me! But for the purpose of this article, I mention it only to show how I deviated from my usual process.

Rather than write this new story armed with a box of scenes on index cards and pages of biographical information on my characters, I am writing it as it comes to me. I am letting the story flow from me to the page in an organic sort of manner, growing from the little seed in my imagination to the fertile garden of a full story. At least I hope so. Here are the two things I have learned about this process: It is at once creatively stimulating and absolutely terrifying. And both for the same reason. You see, when I first decided to take this on, I made a condition with myself that I am trying desperately to keep. That condition is that I must add to the story every day. This is the only way I can see that I will keep the momentum going until the story is done. So far, this is working for me. I just started the story over the weekend and already, I have posted five chapters of the story. Not that this has been easy. The first three chapters came easily enough, but then I stumbled a little with the fourth and nearly gave up on my self-imposed condition of adding to it every day with the fifth. But I am nothing if not stubborn and I muscled my way through it and managed to meet my goal of posting every day in both cases. I had to stay up until one-thirty in the morning working on chapter five to do it, but I'm happy to say that I succeeded! You see, this is where that stubbornness worked out for me.

You might be wondering at this point why I would put myself through this and if the end result is worth the cost. Isn't it stressful? Yes, it can be. Is it a crazy idea? Maybe. Is it worth it? Yes. Because every time we try someting new, step away from the familiar to embrace the unfamiliar, we expand ourselves not just in a creative manner, but in a personal one, as well. If we always do what is comfortable, stay in a protected zone, and never venture out beyond it, then we are doing ourselves a disservice. Not only are we limiting our knowledge and experience, but we are cheating ourselves out of things we can then write about. Take this article, for example. If I didn't step out of my comfort zone to try a new way of writing, then I woudn't have had a topic for today's blog post. Isn't it amazing how things work out sometimes?

So what do you think? Where do you stand on the plotter/pantser debate? I would love to read your thoughts on the process, reasons why you would - or wouldn't - try a different method for creating your stories, whatever you like. Feel free to pick my brain on this whole process - I love to talk shop! And if you're curious to know how the Textnovel.com experience is going for me, feel free to check my story out, leave a question or comment there on whatever strikes you about the story. I welcome all feedback. And if you've taken the plunge and written something for Textnovel.com yourself, let me know about that, too. Give yourself a little plug! Writing is hard work; putting it out there for everyone to see is frightening. So I like to show my respect for everyone who takes the step to venture into this mystical, magical world we call writing. ~ Margay

The Jane Austen Society Pages