Writers are a separate species. We collect people. We collect places. We collect sounds and smells. We collect turns of phrase. We collect tidbits of human emotions, dramas and traumas, the best and the worst of life on planet earth.
You could say we ”professionally” people-watch and eavesdrop, then weave together what we see, what we hear, and what we think. These colorful ribbons from our own personal experiences and our observations of others and of the world braid together with brand-new creations twining from our imaginations, hopefully making a tapestry that captures a reader’s attention and comes alive on the page.
But there’s one small problem with collecting. If you don’t write it down, it’s often lost. You think you’ll remember, but you don’t.
So how can you keep track?
Many writers keep notebooks or index card boxes or spreadsheets, separated into categories like setting details or character quirks they happen to observe. Some writers go as far as recording ideas for something into hand-held devices to later transcribe into their writing. Some writers journal every day, using those pages as diving boards for the rest of their writing.
I am a filer. This isn’t such a stretch, if I tell you I used to be an executive secretary for the president and staff of a small company. It’s my nature to organize and separate. Often when I’m reading a magazine or the newspaper, I tear out or cut out items that I file away into file folders of in-progress projects or even for pieces I’ve already published. Why? If I own rights to something and want to re-sell it, I might update it with the fresh info. Once I’m aware of a topic, it’s amazing how many times I see something related to it. I always make sure to get the date/publication info, including the page number and issue. I’ve learned from past experience how often copy editors need to verify a source. You don’t want to look foolish if your source list isn’t complete.
Look around. What do you see? What do you hear? What do you smell? How did that feel? How did that taste?
Don’t waste those experiences. Collect them.
July 19th, 2010
Rejection. Is there a nastier word? As writers, if you submit, you will receive rejections. And if you submit a lot, you’ll receive lots of rejections. How can you handle them? Is there any perfect way?
I like to kick something. I’ve learned to make sure I’m wearing shoes when I do this.
I can get a lot of kitchen counter-scrubbing and bathroom-cleaning and vacuuming done whenever I’m mad at my husband, or, after I receive a rejection in the mail or email. After being married 27 years and being a writer 21 years, I’ve learned to use all that angry energy.
I usually cry, particularly if this was something I felt especially proud of and was sure I’d sent to exactly the right editor or magazine or publishing house.
And then, I get mad in a good way. Somehow, I pull up some confidence from some tiny corner deep, deep inside and decide, “Well, if they’re dumb enough not to accept this, then they are not good enough to have the honor of buying my stuff. So there.”
I work hard on creating marketing lists before I send out something the first time. I go through my market directories and make a hard-copy list of every place I think my work’s suitable for. This not only makes me, over time, know magazines and publishing houses fairly well, but also empowers me in the case of receiving back a rejection. I move on. I go to the next thing on my list. I also update those lists and/or file any new marketing news from newsletters/writing mags. If an editor or magazine or house is quoted looking for something and I happen to have just that thing, I definitely take note and try and take advantage.
It’s cliche these days to say you wallpaper a room with all your rejections. I would personally rather frame all my acceptances and cover my walls with those. Why surround yourself with negativity? I file away those nasty rejections, but I do use them to super-charge myself to become even more determined. And if I’m blessed enough to receive “a good rejection”–one where an editor has taken the time to jot a personal, hand-written comment or to write a personal letter or to even ask me to submit other work–I write a thank you note to that editor and definitely live off that positive nibblet, savoring its sweetness.
How do you react to rejections? I have friends who say they bake up a storm. Others go for long walks or fishing. Others take a long, hot bath. I think I remember a couple who burn those rejection slips.
Whatever you do and however you handle rejections, make sure you don’t let them prevent you from writing and submitting more. Learn from them. If there’s a specific comment, think on it. Put it away until you’re less emotional and can think long and hard on whether you can improve your work.
And then, submit again!
Yes, you will receive more rejections. But one acceptance makes every evil rejection all worth it. Those rejections are like steps on a stairway. You walk up that one and that one and that one and finally…you made it! Acceptance! The top of the world!
July 17th, 2010
It’s easy to remember how long I’ve been a “real writer”, meaning, when that first sale transformed me from wanna-be writer to actual writer. I was expecting our second child, Malorri, and on doctor-ordered full bed rest, barely allowed up to walk a few steps to the bathroom or take a quick daily shower. Oh, and we were also parents of a high-energy one-year-old named MG. Try bed rest with a one-year-old.
Malorri turns 21 in early August. And 21 years ago this week, I was a couple weeks away from her due date when Mike came home for lunch and brought in the mail. I ripped open my SASE. Inside, I found an acceptance letter from “Highlights for Children”, the letter that’s framed in my office, all these years later.
One letter can change your life. One child can change your life. Four children can create your life.
So, Happy 21st, our sweet Malorri! (And Happy Birthday to Mom’s writing career, too…)
July 15th, 2010
With acknowledgements to the late and great Paul Harvey for my adaption of his famous line, did you read my entry yesterday, “The Juggle”? If you did, first of all, thank you. Someone read it!
Second, for those of you who didn’t, the topic was how to handle parenting and writing, at the same time, I felt I should add a few events going on at the Casey Three-Ring Circus while I worked on that. That morning, Meredith went to a state honors choir practice (bragtime: she’s one of 13 kids from our town and 140 kids statewide chosen to perform together next week). My husband-in-shining-armor drove her there and went to pick her up. He called home, asking if Meredith’s friend could come home with her. I wanted to shriek–OK, OK, so I really did shriek–”Today? Why today? I am trying to write! I have a hair appointment! You’re in the middle of remodeling a bathroom! I’m in the middle of major closet-sorting! We’re trying to prep the house to list for sale and, once again, totally upend our lives and move to a totally different state and have to start totally all over again! Today? Is she crazy?”
My hubby quietly agreed it wasn’t the best timing. I caught a breath and hissed into the phone, “OK, well, tell her Sara can come over. It’s fine.”
My hubby added, “And Sara wants Meredith to go to Bible school with her tonight.”
The shrieking erupted again. “But that means her parents will come in, and I have closet stuff piled up to sort! And they only have one child!”
That time, I heard how ridiculous I sounded. We hung up. I rushed around, tidying up a little bit and decided, hey, Sara’s 11. They can entertain themselves. Her mom’s been here before, when my house looked normal. Really, Lorri, what’s the big deal?
They arrived. Mike headed back to the bathroom. The whining of the tile saw started back up, like a weed-whacker trying to gobble down our bathroom walls up there. The girls giggled their way through my office, with Max, our six-year-old in hot pursuit, like a happy puppy. The kids went outside, came inside. And so on. Slam! Door. Slam! Door again. “Meredith! Get in or get out!”
They wanted to swim. They swam. They wanted to play video games. They played. I offered food. They said they’d eat when they felt hungry, but they weren’t hungry. I left for my hair appointment. They survived.
I wrote off and on the rest of the day, in between loads of laundry and sorting more closet stuff. I suddenly looked up and realized it was a little over an hour until the girls needed to be at Bible school. They needed showers. They needed to eat. I realized they couldn’t use Meredith’s normal bathroom for their showers, because that’s where my hubby was tiling away. “Sara! Do you like macaroni and cheese?” I started the oven, grabbed a pot to boil water, flinging out baking pans and baking spray and two bags of chicken strips and a skillet and cans of green beans. I cooked up some macaroni shells-n-cheese, chicken strips, and green beans, watching the clock and rushing the girls, then, while continuing to stir and sweat and check timers, teaching Max how to set the plates, silverware, glasses, and napkins at the bar, answering his 400 questions, not including “Why?”
Then we joined hands, Max said a quick prayer, and we gobbled up a surprisingly yummy supper. I opened an extra toothbrush for Sara and brushed my own teeth, freshened up my make-up and hair, and drove the girls to Bible school, actually enjoying registration, because I talked to several friends and found myself leaving with a smile.
I took a big breath, read the newspaper, listened to the tile saw still whining away, thanked my lucky stars that Max loved at least one quiet activity (word find books), and hurried to the door just after 8:00 p.m. when Sara’s dad brought Meredith home.
And get this: he handed me a heavy paper grocery bag, full of fresh cucumbers and squash from their garden.
Sara can come back–anytime!
July 14th, 2010
Hey, all you moms and dads out there–if you’re trying to be a real writer, is it difficult to juggle everything for your kids AND your writing? Some writers are even juggling the extra responsibility of a “real” job, part-time or full-time.
How do you do it all? How, how, how?
You, um, don’t. After freelancing for 21 years and being a mom for 22 years, I’ve learned to stop thinking I’ll ever perfectly balance my parenting life–my real life–and my writing life, my career. I love my work, but I love my family more. The #1 reason I wanted to be a writer was because of my family, that I could raise my kids and work, doing something I always dreamed of doing, at the same time. In. Theory.
Along the way, I’ve learned a few simple things.
- You do the best you can. Don’t be like me, wasting years on trying to be perfect and always frustrated. I still like my house neat and organized and semi-clean, but I know what things matter most and their names are Mike, Lorri, MG, Malorri, Meredith, and Max. People matter. Fingerprints do not. Not that I don’t come through with my paper towels and Windex three times a day. The difference is that, these days, I just spend 10 seconds spiffing up, not 10 minutes.
- What’s today’s priority or priorities? Like most families, the calendar rules the roost at our house. Some days, the kids and driving them here and there take priority. Other days, I can commit to chunks of time in front of the computer. For me, that means I’m probably also answering the doorbell, the phone, the cell phone and jumping up and down to work on laundry and check on kids, too. (You would think that qualified as aerobics, but no, the pounds still find me.) It sometimes means I get up before everyone, when the house is quiet and my brain cells are perkier after my two mugs of coffee. In the old days, I’d get way behind on laundry and play catch-up. These days, I’ve finally learned to do a couple loads every day or every other day. I might work in my pajamas and take a break from work later, to get my shower, make our bed, and fix breakfast for whichever small Casey’s at the bar. But we’ve also taught those little Caseys how to do a lot of things for themselves. You’re not a bad parent for that. Think of it as empowering them for the future and making them more competent and therefore, more confident. My kids will verify that one of my common comebacks to a request is, “Do you have legs?” Translated: “You can handle this yourself.” And guess what? Now that MG and Malorri are adults, they’re often complimented at work about their high levels of responsibility and strong work ethic. Who knew getting their own sippy cup would someday turn into a good thing?
- Work gets to be your priority sometimes, too. In the old days when I juggled a lot of magazine article assignments, I worked on whatever was a priority and closest to due date. I might do research for one piece, write the rough draft for another, and polish a final draft for another one. In actuality, being a work-at-home parent made me a better freelancer. I could do a little of this and a little of that, never over-focused on only one project (if that one project’s submitted and you’re waiting months for an editor’s response, that can drive you loco). Day-after-day of doing those little bits of this and that add up to a whole lot accomplished. It’s the same premise with parenting. Every day, you’re teaching your child something new, sometimes simply by example (like working hard at what you do) and in time, it all adds up to, hopefully, a well-adjusted young adult who’s capable of being on his own. You take it phase by phase, argument by argument, messy room by messy room.
- Sign up for less. Stress less. I admit that Meredith and Max don’t get to choose two or three time-consuming sports or activities. We spent years doing MG’s bowling and Malorri’s dance, basketball, and volleyball. We thought they’d bowl or play volleyball in college, but by then, they felt burnt out. This second time around with the younger two (the little pair, we call them), we’re far less apt to say yes to six weeks of soccer or joining swim team. Been there, been there. Done that, done that. We hope we’re making the right choice and that the younger ones end up as well-rounded. We don’t have much choice. We’re just too tired to run around all over kingdom come. And since my husband travels internationally as a consultant, many times, I’m a single parent–a single, very OLD parent, so that’s one more reason we often say no.
In the January, 1994 issue of “Freelance Writer’s Report”, I published the front-page article, titled, “Writing With Children”, 10 ways to write at home while taking care of your children. I re-read that and yes, I listed some good ideas, but I also think back to how young I was then and how different it was with only two children, not four. Back then, I could set up them with stuff to do and be able to focus over the noise. These days, in perimenopause land, that’s not so easy. I grew up in a loud household with four kids and I could study for tests with the TV on and my siblings all around me. I was able to do that for years with my own children. But my patience and my noise tolerance seem at lower levels now. I beg my husband to get them out of the house. I can’t jump up and down from the computer and be able to concentrate. So I’m in a transitional phase, re-learning how to do this.
Our oldest son graduated summa cum laude from college in May. Our oldest daughter married a year ago, and she and her husband Ray are both college seniors. I watch them juggle all their responsibilities and shrug off my awe. My daughter Malorri often says, “It’s fine.” This last year of college, she was a newlywed, carrying a heavy college load (and a 4.0), and working three jobs, one including being a jr. high youth leader. I repeat: jr. high youth leader.
Watching them juggle so much, it reminds me how I used to be and inspires me to stick in there and keep up the juggle. I keep hearing that line in my head: ”If you want something done, ask the busiest person you know to do it.” The truth is you have to keep living in order to have something worth writing about. You need true life experience to create meaningful fiction plots and characters. My entire writing life, I learned to look around and pay attention. Whatever was going on or we struggled with, I asked myself: “Could I write about this?” And I did, over and over and over. In fact, my best-paying article, “No More Boring Chores” (Family Circle/9.14.99), came about as a result of me always requiring the kids to help around the house, but thinking up ways to lighten up things and make it fun, then embellishing with many other ideas.
Now, at 500+ magazine credits and with material published in four books, I know how very true Katherine Paterson’s wonderful quote is: “As I look back on what I have written, I can see that the very persons who have taken away my time are those who have given me something to say.”
Keep up the juggle, sister-writer or brother-writer. The rocking chairs can wait! I have a first grader and a sixth grader–and a LONG way to go, living…
July 13th, 2010
As a kid, did you ever mess up and holler, “Do-overs!” I know I did. Sometimes, it worked. Other times, my three sibs or crew of cousins didn’t go for that.
How about you? If you’re out there and choose to read this, will you allow me a major do-over? I’ve done a TERRIBLE job blogging. I am committing to do a better job and make regular entries. I’ve realized I love connection–feeling part of a neighborhood or church family or group of writer friends. It hit me that I had the perfect opportunity for more connection, that it was as simple as writing and reaching out, like extending a handshake. I type what’s rolling around in my head, hit a few more keys, then–bingo!–my words get out there, like a baited hook, just waiting to see if they get a nibble.
So this is the first day of the rest of my blog. Promise. If you have anything in your writing or personal world that needs a do-over, I’m here to holler, “Do-over!” on your behalf–go ahead. Try again.
July 12th, 2010
These are always the first questions I get asked when I speak in classrooms. Kids–and adults, too, I think–have this impression that all writers are super-rich. You know, with first names like “J.K.” or “Stephenie.” But no, I’ve been writing for 20 years and so far, I don’t ride in a limo to Walmart, nor need a very large safety-deposit box for all my jewels.
Am I rich? Nope. How much money do I make? Never enough. This is the point in my talk where I usually select a particular article or story and show the kids the published version and tell them how much money I made for that one. If it’s a class of second-graders and I say I made $75.00, they gasp and go, “Woah!” Because everyone knows $75.00 is a small fortune when you’re a small second-grader. You could buy a whole lot of candy with $75.00.
Let’s say it’s a class of fifth-graders. I might show them my very first article acceptance letter, back in 1989, from Highlights for Children. I made a big $80.00 for all rights for my 825-word article about why we use a seven-day week. I suggest the fifth-graders look at their parents’ last receipt from the grocery store. That $80.00 probably won’t cover the bill. (The good news about this article: it was my very first submission ever and it sold on the first try, to the largest-circulation children’s magazine. The bad news: so far, they’ve never published it.)
This is a strange business. I get paid by the word. My husband only wishes that included the oral amount of words I can produce in a day. Magazines and e-zines might pay nothing, no cents per word. I’ve chosen to never submit to those magazines and e-zines, because I believe writing is “work” and that for work, one should be paid. A smaller magazine might only pay five cents per word or ten cents per word. Many mid-size mags might pay twenty-five cents a word. A larger magazine might pay a dollar per word, even $1.50 per word.
The trick: you must still create something that works best for only their publication, meaning you must read and study a lot of back issues and recent issues, learning the styles and the topics appropriate for their audience. Magazines have very specific guidelines for their needs. A magazine for preschoolers might only publish 100-word articles. They might only publish stories less than 300-words. If they pay only 17-cents per word, you do the math. A lot of work for not so much money…
So why am I still doing this? Some days, I am not so sure why. In the old days, an editor might phone if they’re accepting something I’ve submitted. The first time that ever happened, it was the former Editor-in-Chief of ParentLife, Ellen Oldacre. I remember her giving me the good news, but I became frozen, my mouth saying things my brain didn’t particularly approve. After I hung up, I realized that I thought I’d used the word “fantastic” at least seven times.
When I speak at writing conferences/workshops, sometimes I share the momentously black two days when I received TEN rejections in the mailbox. But then I have to hold back myself from a little jig of joy when I tell them about my miracle. In the next two days’ mail, I received ten ACCEPTANCES!
When I receive a copy or copies of the issue with my published work, those kinds of days make me keep going. Once, back when I served on the Advisory Counsel for ParentLife and Living with Teenagers, they flew me to Nashville for a meeting, where I loved getting to see the offices where all the editors I worked with worked. The Managing Editor at that time, Michelle Hicks, showed me the giant charts of squares on her office wall, where they literally wrote in what would appear on that page for that issue. She pointed and pointed, showing me my name (and probably a few of the four pen names they requested I come up with) on the different squares. Joy! Pure joy! I felt important. Me, the mom who worked at home, sometimes in my jammies, sometimes in between breaking up squabbles between my kids, sometimes in between loads of laundry. Me. The wonder.
And then Michelle said, “Wait right here! I’ll be right back!” A few minutes later, she came back in and said, “Hold out your hands.” I did. She placed a thick, heavy stack of glossy papers on my palms. “The next issue!” she said. “Hot–”
“…off the press!” I finished. I got it. The pages felt so warm. My heart felt so warm. I actually held the uncut, unbound pages. For me, it was magical. Something I wrote in my home office came here, to this giant building, where someone turned it into this.
I probably made $125 for the article I saw on that warm page that day. But for me, it felt like a million dollars. And that’s why I keep writing, even when I’m not rich and I don’t make that much money.
January 22nd, 2010
What’s it like to be a writer? What editing tips can I give other writers? For the past 20 years, I’ve worked as a freelance writer. In those 20 years, I’ve published 500 things in magazines and material in four books. Along the way, I’ve led several critique groups and taught a writing course for The Institute of Children’s Literature to several hundred students, all over the world. As I wrote and re-wrote, published and submitted, critiqued and received critiques, I learned that I will always be learning. As I taught writing to my students and critiqued my writing friends’ work, my own writing became more polished with each word, each paragraph, each page.
As I start this blog, I’ll share what life is like as a writer–when you’re also mom to four kids (from age 22 down to 5) and wife of an international businessman. Hint: I laugh. I cry. I yell. I laugh some more. I write about it. I’ll do my best to share ideas on how to fine-tune your own writing and hopefully, we’ll have fun blabbing and blogging. And I can pretend I’m not all alone working in my home office.
Are you there, anyone? It’s me, Lorri, sitting at my desk, in what’s supposed to be the dining room. But does anyone use a dining room? Not us. So we usually turn ours into a home office.
Did I mention we’ve lived in 21 homes, in seven states? We’ve moved eight times in the past ten years, to three different states. I’m tired just thinking about it. But I’m always tired, and you and the rest of the world probably are, too.
Thanks for taking time to stop by my site. Talk to you soon.
January 22nd, 2010
