Learning to Focus

Do you ever have those days when you feel all out of focus and then something brings you back in? Life is busy, busy, busy - but for some reason I can't put my finger on, some days I feel like I'm just going through the motions. It's a very strange feeling to be out of touch with myself. I like having something to focus on because it helps me feel grounded. In touch. Having a purpose. Like working on the to-do list, which is getting out of hand again. Or reading a really good book. I did that this week. It reminded me why I do this writing thing.

Remember the Bookshelf Inventory Project? I've started at the top of the list and am working my way through the 150+ books I haven't read yet. Finally. One down, 149 to go.

First up was A Kiss Gone Bad by Jeff Abbott, an author I met several years ago at my favorite mystery fan conference in Birmingham. It's the first in his Whit Mosley series, and it starts the series off with a bang. Great stuff. I read Black Jack Point (Whit Mosley #2) shortly after (or was it shortly before?) I met Jeff and came by this copy of AKGB recently. Normally I like to start at the beginning of a series. When I don't have that opportunity, I like to go back and catch up when I can. In this case I'm glad I did.

I used to swear I'd never read more than one book at a time, and yet here I am years later doing just that. On my nightstand at the moment are several books with bookmarks in various places. I'm still plugging through The Chronicles of Narnia although it's been a while since I picked it up so I can't remember which of the 7 books I'm currently in the middle of. I'm finally getting to finish my pal River Jordan's Praying for Strangers. Shakespeare's Othello is my latest hunting ground for a title for the current WIP. And from the monstrous and never-ending TBR pile, I've just picked up Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. (Yes, shame on me, I haven't read it yet. Better late than never.)

In the midst of all this I'm working on the WIP, querying agents with the first two manuscripts, and prepping the study for a major decorative overhaul. (Today, I spackled. Spackled!)

I updated my Twitter profile yesterday to include a bit more about me than just "Author of romantic suspense." Because there is more to me than that, really. I think that may have been what started this state of focus I'm finding myself in. Today I actually (re)joined Publishers Marketplace (here's my page). Watched an industry video from an agent I queried. Wrote this blog post. And did I mention I spackled?

I suppose that by doing all these things I'm learning how to stay in that focused state. ("Things that make you go, hmmm ...") Maybe I should do stuff like this more often.

What's your focus on today?

Time Out

It's been a long week.

A long week.

I've decided that time is relative. Isn't it funny how we say "It's been a long day" or "It's been a long week" when the day or the week we've just lived wasn't any longer than the one before? There are the same number of hours in a day, the same number of days in a week. But when you've had a week like I've had, you know what I'm talking about when I say it's been a long week.

Everything's okay now. It's Saturday. It's an absolutely gorgeous Saturday here in the Mid-South. At my house it's 57 sunny degrees, and I'm staring out my kitchen windows at blue sky and green leaves, dogs in the yard and hummingbirds on the feeder. I'm sitting here listening to my iTunes playlist with my query letter and my agent list up and ready to work on, as well as a printed copy of the next manuscript in its very roughest condition on the table next to me, ready to start polishing. The house is quiet. Life is good.

It's also the first of October. The first of a month that's going to be incredibly busy for me - in my "real" life, that is. Not sure yet what's going to happen in the other half of my life, that half that involves the queries and the agent search and the writing and editing and submitting and everything else that goes along with it. I do have a plan, which is to spend as much time as possible on this side whenever and wherever I can.

Do wish me luck, won't you?

Music of the moment: My iTunes ("Mom's Playlist") is running in alphabetical order by song title. Crocodile Rock (Elton John) just ended. Now playing is Crucified with Christ by Phillips Craig & Dean. Yeah, it's an eclectic mix.

Remembering

September 11, 2001. I've seen a lot of blog posts and news stories over the past several days about what has come to be known as "9/11". There will be hundreds - even thousands - more today, the 10th anniversary of a day no one in America thought they'd ever see. There will be church services, temple services, and yes, even mosque services that will commemorate this day in one form or another. A lot of people will share a lot of memories - answering the question, "Where were you ...?"

Over the past 10 years I've done my best to avoid 'remembering' 9/11. I turned the station on the TV when anything about it came up. I didn't want to relive that day, didn't want to see the images, didn't want to hear the countless stories of loss and suffering. Of course I was affected by it. I don't believe there's a single person in this country who wasn't affected by it - everyone knows someone who knows someone who knew someone ... no one can rightly claim otherwise, because we live in a tiny little world where everyone is connected to some degree. And it wasn't that I wasn't 'remembering' - it's a day I'll never forget, just as millions of Americans will never forget. It was all just too personal, just too overwhelming. Just too incomprehensible. But I'm confident I wasn't alone in my aversion to the endless coverage, the endless stories, the endless heartache, the endless tears.

That's changed now. Somewhat. I still don't like to see the horror of that day splayed all over the television. What I'm beginning to appreciate more, in addition to the stories of heroism and sacrifice, are the accounts of coincidence and salvation, Divine intervention and genuine compassion. I read one such story yesterday, a firsthand narration of the events of that day by author Meg Cabot, who lived in Manhattan, mere blocks from the World Trade Center. Meg's story touched me in a way that made me realize there are probably hundreds if not thousands of stories just like hers, that help make a little sense of an otherwise senseless event.

Our story isn't nearly so touching or heartbreaking, but since it's true that everyone has a story to share, I'll share mine. It was an ordinary Tuesday at our house - except that I was home, in bed and asleep, sick with an upper respiratory infection that would keep me knocked down and away from work for nearly a week. My husband had the day off as well, and we'd put the kids on the bus and gone back to bed.

The phone rang somewhere around 8:00 a.m. our time. It was the kids' godmother, a longtime family friend who works at the corporate office of one of the major banks in downtown Nashville.

"Are you watching the news?" she asked.

"No. What's going on?"

"Turn on the television. It's bad. It's just really bad." And she hung up.

We turned the TV on in time to see the second plane hit the World Trade Center.

From that moment on, for the rest of the day and into the evening, we were glued to the coverage. It was horrifying. Unfathomable. We kept asking ourselves the same question over and over: How could something like this happen?

When our kids arrived home from school that afternoon, the first thing our son, then 10 years old, said when they walked through the door was, "The Twin Towers collapsed!"

They sat with us and watched the news. We prayed. We cried. They asked questions we couldn't answer. We prayed and cried some more. Their godmother called back later, sobbing. Some of the 3000 people who died in the towers that day were colleagues, people she talked to on the phone every single day at work. One of them always addressed her as "Hotshot." She said, "I can't believe I'm not going to hear him say, 'Hey, Hotshot' ever again."

What do you say to that?

All we could do then, and all we can do now, is offer a shoulder to cry on, a hug, and a prayer. (Brace yourself, 'cause I'm gonna preach for a second.) Our pastor said in his sermon this morning that 9/11 was a wake-up call to America. That it should be a wake-up call to Christians everywhere: We need to pray for this country, for its leaders (even if we don't agree with the way they're running things), and for its protection.

Lastly, and most especially, pray that nothing like 9/11 will ever happen again.

God bless America.

This, That and The Other Thing

A little of this. "This" is my life in the real world. That is, I have a day job. True, it's only part-time, but that makes me a part-time writer. A lot of writers have day jobs. Unless you're Lee Child or James Patterson or J.T. Ellison or Tess Gerritsen or Nora Roberts or Charlaine Harris, you pretty much have to have a day job, because there's that little matter of having bills to pay and kids to send to college and ... well, you get the general idea. I'm sure there are more of the fortunate few I didn't mention by name, but it's a scant few compared to the rest of us thousands of writers who haven't achieved that status. The writers I did name have bills to pay and kids to send to college, too, but they also have something the rest of us don't - writing is their day job. It's a goal, a dream, an ambition that a lot of us aspire to, to be able to write and not have to work a day job. I know I do - I want to be a writer full-time, instead of part-time. Now that's not to say I don't love my day job. I wouldn't be there if I didn't, because it's truly a blessing to work where I work. But I know in my heart of hearts what I'm meant to do, and I look forward to that "someday" when working a day job will be something I won't have to do.

"This" is part of what's been occupying a majority of my time over the past several months. But only part. Read on.

A little of that. "That" would be the other half of my life in the real world - my family: one very supportive and understanding hubby; three great kids; and our zoo (three dogs and three cats). Each and every one requires a chunk of my time, though obviously for different reasons. Our summer seemed nonstop this year, filled with church camps and fishing trips, movies, shopping for groceries and shopping for school, a new drainage system in the front flowerbed and a new puppy, car repairs and car repairs (and yes, I said that twice), visiting relatives, birthday parties and family dinners, both in and out. Our oldest is out on her own now. Our son and his girlfriend found an apartment to share for their last two years at college. Our youngest is deciding on her own career path and where she wants to go to school next year. All of them still need advice from mom and dad on a regular basis. Not to mention that my husband and I do like to spend time together occasionally. But there are only so many hours in a day, and only one of me to go around. It's a balancing act. Which brings us to ...

A whole lotta the other thing. A writer's life is a lot of hurry up and wait. Hurry, get that manuscript finished. Hurry, write that query letter. Hurry, get it submitted. Now wait. And wait. And wait some more. And while you're waiting, hurry up and write the next one. Over the past few months (in between the this and the that), I have been working furiously on a revision of a novel I wrote some years back, whose time just hadn't come yet. Now it seems it may have - it's being looked at. In the meantime, we're still waiting to hear on the first one, which is in the hands of an agent who offered to read it. We're in that fingers-crossed holding pattern at the moment with the first two, but I'm about to start working on the next one. Because that's what we do, us writers. We write.

Among other things - you know, a little of this and a little of that.

You're killing me, Smalls ...

Jane Austen said, "Life seems but a quick succession of busy nothings."

True, Jane. Very true.

I have discovered the meaning of that quote, especially over the last few years. My life is pretty much go, run, do. Having three children - three active in everything children - will do that to you.

But I've also noticed that things do, in fact, seem to be slowing down as I get older. Not so much go and run anymore, still quite a bit of do. It's scary, how quickly time flies after 40. Sometimes I feel like I'm trying to cram several years' worth of accomplishments into a 24-hour period. And I have to keep telling myself I can't do that. My inner voice just shakes its head and says, "You're killing me, Smalls."

One thing I've been doing a lot more of lately - to my own benefit - has been reading. It's hard to put into words the joy that floods my soul when I escape into someone else's world for a while.

One of the patients where I work (the day job) lent me a book called The Map Thief by Heather Terrell. I liked the premise of this story - a modern-day art sleuth is hired to recover an ancient map stolen from an archeological dig, and the present day storyline is intertwined with historical accounts of the map's journey into existence and history in two separate time periods. As a writer myself I can appreciate the time and effort that went into the researching of this book, and I enjoyed this author's depiction of the 'what if' factor with respect to the historical events. I also enjoyed the book overall, though I was a little disappointed with the structure, as the book didn't seem to flow from past to present and back as fluently as other books of this type that I've read (see my notes on Christi Phillips' The Rossetti Letter and The Devlin Diary, for instance). And - spoiler alert! - being a romantic at heart, I was more than a little disappointed with the way Terrell ended the book with regard to the romance between the art sleuth and the archeologist. I'm not a fan of being left hanging with no promise of a resolution.

Although anyone who knows me knows I am a believer, it might surprise you to learn that I'm not big on "inspirational" reading - either fiction or nonfiction. I try to read the Bible on a daily basis (in fact, I have an app on my phone with different plans for reading and studying the Word - it's pretty cool), and occasionally someone will recommend a book that I'm willing to give a chance. Additionally, I belong to our church's women's ministry book club, and we meet every couple of months or so to discuss selected works - both fiction and nonfiction - some of which I'll take the time to read and some of which I will admittedly (and unashamedly, really) not. For our last meeting we chose a sweet little book called Heaven is for Real, the story of a 4-year-old boy who slipped into unconciousness during emergency surgery, returning to his family and full health with an amazing account of how he had visited heaven, accurately describing both his great-grandfather (who had died 30 years before he was born) and his sister (whom his mother had miscarried and about whom he was never told). Those ladies in the book club who had already read the book assured me that I could finish it in a day (I actually finished it in about 3-1/2 hours). The thing I enjoyed most about this book was that though it was written by the boy's father (Todd Burpo, a small town Nebraska pastor) - along with a professional writer, Lynn Vincent - the story is often related in little Colton's own words, which makes it both appealing and believable.

Another inspirational nonfiction book I'm currently reading (and absolutely loving) is my friend River Jordan's Praying for Strangers: An Adventure of the Human Spirit. A couple of years ago, River made a New Year's resolution to pray for a stranger every day, and this book is her account of how that decision affected her own spiritual journey. I'm only about a third of the way through it but it's a simply beautiful book. I love the way River writes, both her fiction and her nonfiction; I'm a bit envious of the way she can put together fluid sentences that steal the breath from your very soul. I've previously mentioned here her most recent fiction novel, The Miracle of Mercy Land. If you haven't read anything by this charming and dear lady, please rectify that!

My ever-inspiring critique partner gave me (actually bought and had shipped to and demanded that I read) a book called The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. Yes, that Steven Pressfield, the one who wrote The Legend of Bagger Vance. The War of Art ranks right up there with Stephen King's On Writing for anyone who wants to call themselves a professional writer. Remember what Yoda said? "Do or do not. There is no try." JT is using this as her new sign-off on her emails. It's more or less the theme of Pressfield's book. Either you're a writer, or you're not. There is no in-between. The one nugget of advice from the book that stuck with me is that amateurs talk about it, professionals do it. 'Nuff said.

I've said repeatedly that my dream job is to be a film critic - combining two of my favorite vices: writing and watching movies. I'm so tickled to have a Netflix subscription. Last weekend Little Bit and I watched Inkheart. How apropos, a movie about a book (and based on the popular children's novel of the same name by Cornelia Funke). Brendan Fraser and Eliza Bennett play a father (Mo) and daughter (Meggie) who share an unusual gift - they can read characters to life out of books. When one of the characters who comes out of the book turns out to be a treacherous villain, Mo and Meggie must find a way to read him back into the book. It was delightfully fantastic (and I mean fantastic in the truest sense of the word).

Today is the rainy day we've all been saving for ... a perfect day for snuggling up with a good book. That's what's on tap for me for the next couple hours, until these storms pass through far enough that I can drive down to the oldest daughter's place and help her finish moving.

So, what are you reading?

Good Days and Bad Days

Cats and dogs. You automatically think rain, right? Well, yes, it has been raining rather more than seems normal around here so far this season. But I'm literally talking about cats and dogs this time, in concordance with the title of this post.

Every day is a good day for a cat. A cat's life consists of eating, napping and playing. Day in and day out. All day long. Every day a new adventure, exploring the house for new and interesting smells and new and interesting things to play with.

Case in point. Merlot (technically our oldest daughter's cat, of whom we have temporary custody) is currently sitting behind my laptop, rummaging through the large plastic stadium cup full of pens and pencils that sits on the left back corner of my desk. It's the same cup that's been there for months, with the same pens and pencils in it that he's played with before, and yet he's pawing at it as if it's some fascinating new thing.

He slinks down off the desk and saunters over to my recliner, on which our miniature beagle, Calliope, is napping, intent on causing whatever mayhem he can stir up by popping her on the snout with a splayed (clawless) paw. There's the dog's life. Pretty much same as the cat's, only the napping involves a snoring, deep-seated sleep which leaves the pup groggy for a minute or two upon wakening - whereas the cat by definition does not sleep so much as rest with its eyes closed, then awakens with a start to run off and chase whatever the new and interesting item of the moment may be (in this case, the dog).

Oh, to be a cat, and there would be no such thing as a bad day. Cats don't care if their bosses yell at them, or if they get stuck in traffic in the rain and miss their daughter's rugby game, or if they forget to order their son's new flannel bedsheets so that they'll be ready for him when he gets home for spring break.

Cats don't care if they write endlessly for days and end up cranking out nothing but blibbering drivel, a pile of superfluous crap which must subsequently be deleted and rewritten.

Balance. Fortunately, we humans have a slight advantage over cats and dogs - we possess the power of positive thinking. We can take our bad days in stride, knowing there are good days ahead. We can find and revel in the joy that is balance. Last Friday may have been a bad day for me, but the days that followed were good enough to make up for it.

On Saturday I braved the rain to go to JT's only Nashville signing for So Close the Hand of Death, the sixth book in her Taylor Jackson series - she (seated right) was joined by author Sophie Littlefield (seated left), an altogether delightful woman who writes three different series (I've added the first book of her crime fiction one to my tottering TBR pile). They were both charming and lovely and entertaining and a well-deserved, much-needed boost for my sagging spirits.

Monday was also a good day. (Given that this is usually a contradiction in terms, I was pleasantly surprised.) Our oldest came home for the day and treated me and her brother to a lovely lunch at our favorite local Mexican restaurant, and I was able to rest and recoup from the week-long sinus infection I'd been battling.

Finally, Wednesday night was our bimonthly writers' group meeting, and though there were only three of us there, it was a very productive and beneficial session. With the others' input, I am revitalized, inspired and motivated once more to work on the heretofore referenced pile of superfluous crap I've been writing.

I have a feeling today's gonna be another good day.

The Bookshelf Inventory Project

Back in August I mentioned my goal of sorting and organizing the bookcases in my study. Well, here we are, six months later, and the project is just about complete. And I've discovered I really wasn't exaggerating the numbers. I should've taken "before" pictures but neglected to, but here are the "after"s:


As you can see, the eight shelves are pretty much packed to the gills. And yes, these books are in some semblance of order - alphabetic by author, for the most part, given I'm a bit particular about stacking books by size. I now have a spreadsheet (appropriately entitled 'Bookshelf Inventory 2011') with the titles and authors of all the books on these shelves. I also marked the ones I'd read - and here's where the numbers come in.

Of the 321 books catalogued in this inventory, there are 150 that I haven't read yet.

That's a lot of books.

So, the goal is a book a week, right? Which means it will take me just on the shy side of three years to read them all.

Sigh.

During the five days it took me to complete this project, I did what I said I'd never do - I boxed up a fair number of books that I will be ... oh, it just hurts to say it out loud. Getting rid of. Ouch. Some will go to McKay's. Some will go to the church library. Others will be returned to their rightful owners, from whom I have gratefully borrowed and merely forgotten to give back.

Of the ones remaining, some I've had for several years - some are newer. All are worthy of my time and attention, so I hope you'll bear with me as I go through the shelves and report on them (however briefly). Along the way, I hope you'll chime in with comments on those you've read or those you'd recommend to others.

Happy reading!