This is for Tracy

Today, I got my countersigned contract from Crimson Romance for DEADLY STAR. I think Tracy would have been soooo excited. I can just hear her scream whoo hoo! She worked with me on this story for a few years ( ! ), and her editing prowess is part of what made the manuscript what it is. Thank you, Tracy. I miss you.

I also had a new photo taken today…actually a whole bunch of photos. Unfortunately, they all looked like me instead of Sophia Loren, but I think there's one that will work for the book.

Okay, off to work on editing another work in process.

You-all guys keep on keeping on, and I’ll try to do the same.


 cj

Coda

Dear Tracy:

This little eulogy will take a long time to write for the tears that fall cannot wash away the sorrow I feel today.

You were such a rare find: a caring and genuine friend, and I sorely miss your dimpled smile. Quick to lend a helping hand and share your wealth of knowledge about writing genres and the quirks of publishing, I know I will not be able to write a single line without wondering what would Tracy think? Where would your marvelous critiques have sent me? You had an awesome grasp of the art of story. Who will tell me all I’ve written is a good character sketch when I thought I had created a crisp, short story?

Time and space will mute the loss and dim the pain, Tracy, but the golden threads of friendship you graciously shared with me are immutable and will always brighten my memories. I miss you, lady, but am comforted by the knowledge that you are now safe from harm.

cj

Sadly, it was too soon . . . much too soon

In the early morning hours of Wednesday, December 1, 2010, our dear friend and Lyrical Pens partner, Tracy Ann Hurley, passed away at the age of 53. There was no lengthy forewarning; the discovery of her illness was unexpected; and her death devastatingly sudden.

A lifetime learner and lover of literature, reading, and writing, Tracy was also an inspired and gifted teacher. Her talents for writing and editing led her to co-found the Mobile Writers Guild and to the publication of short stories. Tracy will be especially remembered for her kind and loving heart that she shared with all she met.

Memorial contributions may be made to the American Cancer Society at www.cancer.org. or to a school or public library of choice.

AFDOC 27 and 28 And a Sad Day

This week Mobile lost a wonderful writer and editor and a major asset to the writing community. You would never know it on-line because she will continue as part of our Lyrical Pens consortium, but those of us who live in Mobile are sad to see Tracy Hurley move away. Tracy and I founded the Mobile Writers Guild in 2004 and through that enormous effort we met and became friends with many excellent writers and community members interested in promoting the arts in Mobile. Tracy, alone, was responsible for bringing many well-known authors to speak and work with local writers.

I am happy for Tracy that she is moving closer to her family but I am deeply saddened to be losing her electric smile and bubbling giggle in our midst. cj, Tracy, Linda Busby-Parker, and I have worried our way through many a manuscript in critique sessions and were all the wiser for Tracy's input. Thrilled with my first published personal essay that she had read over and over again with the patience of a saint, I bought her dinner when it was published. She went with me to my first signing and I'll cherish that magical evening forever. Thanks for never losing sight, Tracy.

Tracy was the regional representative for the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators and helped numerous new authors in Alabama to write and promote their children and young adult material. She took the lead in gathering and hand delivering care packages for SCBWI in the midst of Katrina's catastrophic legacy - books, flashlights, etc. to almost 100 needy children.

Maryland, you are indeed fortunate to have this proactive and dynamic writer and editor headed your way and we hope you treat her kindly. Tracy, keep us updated on your new life and Maryland's writing activities.

AFDOC has been buried under a stack of manuscript reviews that were due and other writers waiting for feedback and helping out with my daughter's store and Tracy's move. Yet, I did make a good deal of progress with adjectives and adverbs and fleshing out almost all of the characters that needed work. 110 degree heat with 90% humidity does not bode well for leaving the house, so any time between projects was spent with the novel and making improvements. Never fear, I tell myself, you are almost at the end {and that's a joke as all writers know} so I forge ahead and every day spend at least one hour in the fictional world of Glance, Georgia where Caroline once had a Tiny Tears doll.

Shedding tears for Tracy. Mahala

Procrastination

I was going to write this Monday, but I got sidetracked . . .

I have developed the art of procrastination into an art form. (Ask anyone who knows me).

I can look like I'm working on something, to the point that casual onlookers could testify in court that I was on task and not fear charges of perjury, and yet not actually get anything done.

I can spend hours with the appearance of someone deep, deep at work, right down to sweat-tinged brow and bloodshot eyes and be no closer to completion than when I started.

I can click between my current WNIP (work-not-in-progress) and Spider solitaire so fast that it can't be registered by the human eye, in case someone is checking up on me.

It's a gift and a curse. On the one hand, I can sometimes wheedle out of doing dishes or going grocery shopping because I am "writing."

On the other hand, I can pinch a deadline so tight it bites me back. Take this past weekend for example. I spent three days in writing hell. And I have no one to blame but (mostly) myself.

August 1st was D-day for me, as in several writing Deadlines were due.

I had three novel scenes to submit for a mystery writing retreat that I'm attending in September with CJ: the opening scene, a scene that introduces a main character, and another complete scene from my WIP. Since this is a new project, I had to start from scratch.

August 1st was also the deadline to submit to the anthology Christmas is a Season! 2009 (Linda Busby Parker's Excalibur Press). I had been working on a story but had set it aside to do the retreat pieces.


Let me interrupt myself here to say that the way I deal with stress when something has to be done is to do . . . nothing. And the corollary is also true: the more that needs to be done the less I do. Again, this is true—ask anyone who knows me. These deadlines had me in total paralysis.

That's not to say I didn't look like I was working. But let me illustrate my "Writing Process":

I sit facing a blank Word doc, and contemplating what to write for the scene sample for the Seascape retreat. After a couple of games of Spider, I type:

Aggie did not feel welcome.

Why not, I wonder? I play a game of Spider. I realize she doesn't feel welcome because of the doormat. It's not a welcoming doormat. So? What kind of doormat is unwelcoming. Play two games of Spider because I win the first one. Launch Internet Explore, do a Google search, and spend an hour looking at different types of doormats until I find one that will work. Game of Spider, followed by a 30 minute false start with a bronze doormat with filigree around the borders, which I ultimately discard because it's actually kind of pretty. Spider. Google. Finally settle on one of those bristly kinds. Type this:

Aggie did not feel welcome. The doormat at her feet looked like it was made from the backsides of

Of what? A bristly animal. Spider. Google "bristly animals". Spider. Type:

Aggie did not feel welcome. The doormat at her feet looked like it was made from the backsides of feral boars. And instead of "Welcome," "DOBBS" was printed in thick block letters.

Okay for a rough draft, but not quite enough oomph and that last sentence still needs work. Spider. Revise. Rewrite:

Aggie did not feel welcome. She looked from the welcome mat that looked like it was made from the backsides of feral boars to the brass gargoyle doorknocker

So, thinks I, what might a gargoyle doorknocker look like? Spider. Google doorknockers. Spider. Revise:

Aggie did not feel welcome. She looked from the welcome mat that looked like it was made from the backsides of feral boars to the brass gargoyle doorknocker the leered at her with chilling blank eyes. Not welcome at all.

So, after four hours of working, I have 40 words, which averages out to about 6 minutes per word. And that only includes the time I was "actively" working and not the time spent skimming my writing books for clues on how to write a scene, looking at opening scenes in 8 or 10 novels on my book shelf, and the other 40 games of Spider that I played while "in deep writerly thought."

And, now that I look at it, if I had had more time, I'd revise it again to:

Aggie did not feel welcome. She looked from the welcome mat made from the backside of a feral boar to the brass gargoyle doorknocker leering at her with chilling blank eyes. Not welcome at all.

See? Now it's down to 35 much crisper words.

And that's the real problem with being a procrastinator. As the deadline approached, I no longer had the luxury of 8 minutes per word. As it was, I wrote for 3 days solid without bathing, and barely breaking for bathroom pit stops and to refill my coffee mug.

I finally uploaded the Seascape Retreat files at 3:30 in the afternoon on Aug 1st. And "finished" and emailed my story for the Christmas anthology at 2:30 in the morning (I know, technically it was Aug 2, but I crossed my fingers that Linda would still accept the submission. And, because she's so gracious, she did!)

The downside, besides nearly killing myself and going blind, is that I didn't get to run any of these past my crit group. The pieces went out into the world raw and wild. While on the one hand, the attendees at Seascape may feel they got their money's worth after slicing and dicing my ms pages, it's embarrassing to know you've sent out work that isn't your best polished words. On the other hand, there's a good chance my story won't make it into the anthology because it needs too much editing. Why would an editor take something that isn't polished when she has stacks of manuscripts that are nearly publishable as they stand?

So, I'd tell you that I will never procrastinate again, but chances are you'll see another blog post just like this one some time in the future. Just ask anyone who knows me.

Tracy


(PS. I think this one is full, but for future reference, CJ and I are attending the Seascape Writing Retreat in Madison, CT. It's a mystery/crime writers' retreat hosted by authors Roberta Isleib, SW Hubbard, and Hallie Ephron held at a house that was originally owned by Phil Donahue and Marlo Thomas. Cool!. http://robertaisleib.com/seascape.html

The Hinges of Hades

Tracy here.

When the local weather people issue a heat advisory warning in Mobile, you know it's hot! Yesterday, my outdoor thermometer read 104.1°--in the shade. With the heat index (think hot AND humid!), we're running about 110-115° in these parts. And, yes, as a Yankee* who grew up in the Green Mountains of Vermont, I ALWAYS complain about the heat. But there is a writing connection to this latest bout of grumbling.

During this heat wave, with my flipflops melted onto the pavement, my hair frizzed like Little Orphan Annie's, and sweat pooled around my feet (and I'm talking inside with the AC blasting), I'm trying to imagine snowmen and mittens and ice skating on the pond while I come up with a Christmas story submission for Excalibur's anthology (see cj's post below for more info). Instead, I keep having visions of Santa, eyebrows singed and his red suit smudged with the ashes, in this case not from a chimney but from the flames of the Inferno of the Damned. Actually, the story's shaping up into a great horror tale, but the anthology is not called Halloween is a Season! 2009.

Even cranked down to Ice Age temperatures, my old decrepit AC system is barely managing to cool the house off to the mid 80s. (But I LOVE you AC—please don't break down on me now!)


So, for now, I'm going to work on my current WIP, a mystery I call FM. My old WIP, the still-unfinished-after-so-many-years Young Adult novel PI is still close by. I jot down a note or 2 every now and then. But I'm hoping that the structure of a genre novel will help me actually complete an entire novel. Then, with that confidence tucked in my pocket, I can go back and finish the YA book that keeps getting away from me. (I have written at least 10 different ways to get my protag from his home to the island where the actual story takes place, but then I can't seem to figure out exactly what to do with him. Or more likely, there are too many things I'm trying to incorporate and can't seem to manage writing any of them.)

Can you work on more than one project at a time?
I didn't think I could, but I'm going to try.

My writing goals for this week: write 15 new pages on the mystery WIP and figure out which of the 5 Christmas stories floating in my head to write.

Good writing!

Tracy

*We New Englanders don't like to refer to ourselves as Yankees, but not for the reason some may think. As Red Sox fans, we are loathe to associate ourselves in any way with that team in the Big Apple who stole the Babe (and Johnny Damon).