Writers Conference

by Marsha Ward @MarshaWard marshaward.com

I spent a few days a week ago down in Gilbert, Arizona, for the 25th Annual Writers Conference put on by American Night Writers Association (ANWA), which is a writers group I started back in 1986. I had a ton of fun, seeing long-time friends again, “meeting” face-to-face with long-time Facebook and email friends, and enjoying the energy of so many like-minded souls together.

The highlight of my trip was a class I gave for two hours on Saturday afternoon. There were several talented writers who attended and found themselves validated in their writing style. It was a joyful class, and I loved being the bringer of that joy.

Have you ever attended a writers conference? What did you take away from the experience?

*Photos by Deb Eaton

The Main Thing I Took Away From the ANWA Writers Conference

I've been home from the ANWA conference nearly a week. If you recall from my last blog post, one week prior to the conference, I was running around screaming and waving my arms in the air. Okay. This is not unusual for me, but there was a sense of urgency the last time around.

Now I'm home, the deed is done, and the pitches complete. I cannot undo what has been done, and quite frankly, I don't want to. I'm happy.

Not because we got one full and one partial request for our non-fiction, or because they wanted the first fifty pages for my YA novel.

 My happiness doesn't stem from my little sister and I getting first in our respective genres for the BOB (Beginning of Book contest), or from the new writerly friends I made, or even the dozens of pages of notes, ideas, and inspiration I gained while I was there.

I am happy because I took a huge, monumental, earth-shattering (for me) risk and put myself and my writing out there. Nearly every writer fears sharing their work; giving it to someone and risking rejection.  It's almost as scary and walking up to the person you've secretly adored for years, looking the in them eye, and declaring your love to them.

Your heart stutters, stomach clenches, knees wobble, and a cold sweat forms all over your body as you scrutinize every nuance of their body language, mentally screaming for them to love you...er, your work. What if my writing isn't strong enough? What if I misspelled something? What if they don't like the storyline? What if there's a giant, gaping plot hole? What if...?

The what ifs can eat a person alive, bit by bit, piece by piece, until we're crippled with fear. Horrified by the self-perceived shortcomings of our work. We grip our pages tightly to our chest, afraid to show even a scrap of it to those around us. Heaven knows rejection runs rampant in the publishing world.

Writing is painful, at times tedious and, at least for me, the learning curve was much like climbing Mt. Everest. But so is losing weight and/or getting healthy, striving for the Celestial Kingdom, and any other truly worthwhile endeavors in our lives. To grow, we must be willing to endure a certain amount of discomfort or pain.

I've discovered 'no' from one person may be 'where have you been all my life?' from another.  No two people's tastes are alike. And, much like the dating game, we need to be willing to kiss a whole lot of frogs to find our prince (or princess).  But we still have to put ourselves out there and kiss 'em.

So, in a long, winding, convoluted way, I'm trying to say the main lesson I took away from the ANWA Writers Conference is to look fear in the eye and take the leap. The answer will ALWAYS be 'no' unless I ask. And to ask, I must put myself and my writing out there.

Last year the answer was, "not yet." Time will tell what the publishing world currently thinks of our work.  But I have a story to tell, and by golly I'm gonna tell it!

I hope you will join me on this journey and put yourself out there. Somebody is waiting for your story, wishing it would be told.  You don't want to disappoint them, do you?

Jumping Into the Fire

I don't know what I was thinking. If' I'd stopped for even a moment and considered what I was signing myself up for, I would've screamed and run the other way. Apparently, I wasn't thinking. That part of my brain must be defective.

Why do you ask? Because I'm planning on pitching two books at the ANWA conference.  A non-fiction with my sisters, and a YA novel I've written myself.  

Remembering back to last year, I should've known this was a bad idea. The stress of pitching one book can be staggering.  But two? Just shoot me now.  Or at least tie me to a post and walk away.  Apparently I'm out of my mind. 

Not only is it two books, but the submission process is completely different, so I'm learning two things at once.  A non-fiction involves a query, a proposal, and a few sample chapters. A YA novel involves a query, and a completed story.  Even the query formats are different! Ugh. 

And yet I persist.  Sleep is highly overrated, right?  I'll catch up when I die. Which, at the rate I'm going, may be sooner than anticipated. 

Here I am, one week away from pitching, and I'm running around with my hair on fire, screaming like a banshee, wondering how I'm going to pull it all together.  Or if I even can.  

Check on me in ten days. If I answer, you'll know I survived. If I'm huddled in the corner sucking my thumb, you'll know survival is a highly subjective term. 

How Writing Can Be Cathartic

It's been four years since my father died. He passed exactly eleven months after my mother. Though the doctors blame Gangrene and Diabetes, I know it's from a broken heart.

For Mom, I cried once for three or four minutes. After that, I was done.

 I never cried for my father. Not as I watched the light fade from his eyes, or when they carted his lifeless body out of the house, or at his funeral.  I wasn't even teary-eyed.

For a while I felt guilty for having no emotion.  My father was a hard man to love, but he was still my father. Wasn't that enough? Apparently my mind didn't think so.

In my heart, I've known for years that Define Normal needed to be written. But I opted to let other projects take precedence, pushing it further down my to-do list.

Finally, this winter, my sisters and I decided it was time to write. The sisters decided since I was the writer (insert laughter here), I would spearhead the project.  My only stipulation was that all stories would be funny. I didn't want Debbie Downer vignettes. Define Normal was designed to heal, not re-open wounds from our past. The Crazy Cady Sisters were created.

We began writing, each of us tasked with turning out one story (3-4 pages) per week, and 1 blog post every two weeks.  At first, we reminisced about growing up together, discovering different perspectives about our family and parents based off our 20-year age gap, and added new memories to the old.  We Skyped twice a month, and most of it was spent rolling with laughter and wiping our eyes.

Friendships were re-kindled, and sisterhood was strengthened. We were well on our way to having something to pitch in September at the ANWA Conference.

However, last night, I was reading a sister's blog post, preparing to add it to our Twitter feed.  The blog discussed all the things our father did for our family of ten children.  As I read the exhaustive list, I cried.  Not delicate trickles down the cheek, but giant crocodile tears, snot running out of my nose, and hiccuping sobs.  Years of resentment, anger and sadness escaped.

I mourned the loss of my father while cursing my ignorance and selfishness. I hadn't noticed his struggles to make our family fun, filled with laughter, and to raise hard-working, hard loving, independently minded children.  I cried over my unwillingness to see, and the many chances I missed to tell him I loved him. I sobbed over his big heart. And my small mind.

When I finished wiping my eyes, I knew the tears were a result of our book. We had written the thoughts in our hearts. Some, we already knew. Other emotions were discovered after they settled onto our pages. All of it will be forever etched in black and white for the world, and our other siblings to see.

In the end, I hope our family will draw closer to one another. If we cannot, at least I know how much my father loved me and each of my siblings. Now, after all of these years, I can properly mourn him.

5 Ways I am Working To Become a Better Writer

If you talk writers, nearly all of them are constantly learning about their craft.

At the 2016 ANWA Writer's Conference, I listened to Anika Arrington confess not using pages from her past books as examples for her class because her writing had changed too much over the last several years.

I remember thinking, "Your books are published. How are they not good enough?"

Since then, I've seen my writing change drastically. For the better, I hope.  Below are some ways I've worked at becoming a better writer

1. Read.  I often thought I could read or I could write, but I didn't have time to do both.  Um, No.  Find time.  Always find time.  Though I don't read as prolifically as most, I do my best. Even if it's a book in the car while waiting for my kids, or on the stairs as I wait for my youngest's bus to pull up.  Every bit counts.  Especially when I'm actively writing.  I'll nearly hyperventilate when I get to a scene that grabs me, then obsess over it for days, dissecting the scene until I know exactly how it was written to evoke such emotions.

2.  Listen. It took a while to realize I should "plug in" during my 30-minute work commutes with an audio book, a TED talk, a conference talk, Podcast, or anything that may cause my creative juices to flow. Now, I multitask. I'll try to listen while doing housework, driving, or any other time where I'm doing mindless activities.

3. Don't Listen. Some of my best inspiration is found during those aforementioned drives when the radio is off and I let my mind wander, replaying my current scene until I have the dialogue just right. I may consider 'what if' scenarios for future books, or add layers of interest to characters I'm working on.

4. Learn. I spend way too much time on Pinterest. Ask anyone who knows me. Or several who don't. I agree.  Anyone with more than 40,000 pins has a problem.  I'm sure I'll have an intervention soon.  But Pinterest has a crazy amount of resources and links to writing-related tutorials, material, information, tips, and ideas.  At last count, my Board,  "The Writer In Me" had 4,950 links to writing-related resources. Plus, I have 25 other writing-related boards. Several of the pins I've read, and others I haven't, hoping to come back when I have more time.  My goal is to read 3-4 how-to articles a week.

5. Apply.  After learning something new, I invariably end up back at my current WIP, sifting through the pages to see how I can apply my new-found knowledge. Sometimes I feel like I'm spinning my wheels, re-editing the same pages. Other times, it's as if angels are singing from Heaven.  Either way, it's forward progress.

No matter how I look at it, writing is a fluid process.  For someone who loves to learn, I couldn't have chosen a better hobby/obsession/wanna-be profession. The writer I was seven months ago at the ANWA Convention versus the writer I am are two different people. Hopefully for the better. But I know this progress is due to the efforts I make, bringing me one-step closer to being the writer I want to be.

Why I Keep Writing

by Kari Diane Pike

Hold tight to your pencils dear friends. I'm about to actually write about writing [GASP!] Wait. Do any of you even still write with pencils? How many of you still write by hand at all - other than, you know, the occasional grocery list? Even note taking seems to have gone the digital route. But I'm getting side-tracked here.

Which reminds me. I used to wonder why people in Phoenix yell "Squirrel!" when there are no squirrels around here (ok...there's actually three types of squirrels in the Sonora desert, but we don't see them in the city much). Then I discovered it's a movie reference. I think here in the desert we should say "Lizard!" or "Pigeon!" when someone gets sidetracked.  But not "Scorpion!" because that's kind of like yelling "Fire!" in a crowded theater. Never joke about seeing a scorpion. And yah, I'm way off topic again. Would someone please call to order? I need a keeper.

Okay. Back to writing. After all, this is a blog for writers. It's also a place to get to know a few writers and how we view the world. Anyway - last month I arrived at the annual ANWA Writers Conference full of fear and trepidation. I had taken that metaphorical step off the ledge and signed up for a pitch session with one of the editors. The night before my big day, I tossed and turned in the motel bed, trying not to wake up my bunk mate. Doubts about my writing swirled in my brain and invaded my dreams. Just before dawn I decided to cancel my appointment.

When I finally got out of bed both of my roommates were still sleeping. I knelt by the bed and had a little heart-to-heart with Heavenly Father. Should I, or shouldn't I, go through with the pitch session? The answer came in the form of another question.

What do you want to accomplish? Why do you write? How will cancelling your appointment help you reach your goal?

I knew then that I wanted, needed even, to go through with the interview. Since I was still terrified, I opened my scriptures. Scripture study always eases my mind. That morning was no exception. In fact, I almost laughed out loud when I opened to my place marker in 3 Nephi 22 and came to verse 4:

Fear not for thou shalt not be ashamed.

Fascinated, I continued to read through to 3 Nephi 23: 4 -

Therefore give heed to my words; write the things which I have told you..."

Needless to say, I kept the appointment and pitched my book idea. The editor shared kind and encouraging words of advice and asked me to send a copy of my completed manuscript to her personally! She even gave me a "get out of the slush pile" card (actually it was her business card with her personal email addy - and yes, I think another exclamation mark is called for)!

You'd think that I'd be writing...err...typing my fingers to their arthritic nubbin's trying to finish writing my book. And I did. For one day. I came home from the conference and wrote over 1500 words that very day, which is huge for me. I normally struggle to write 600 words a day because I spend so much time refereeing arguments between Creative Brain and Editor Brain. By mid day, both sides start arguing with the Ref and Creative Brain usually ends up getting kicked out of the game, and...LIZARD!

Sorry.

Back to the story.

I wrote for one day and then got caught up in all the bookkeeping/check writing/paperwork trailing responsibilities for post-conference ANWA, playing with grandkids and hubby's trip to the hospital (he's doing great), and...yeah.

I did manage to meet a friend for a writing session at the library one other day. I read those 1500+ words out loud. I think I can use about 500 of them. They are awful - vague, repetitive, boring. I think the word a former mentor would use describes it well - Craptastic. Ugh. Maybe I should give up.

Or not. Because guess what? Hubby and I sat down at breakfast  yesterday and opened to the last talk from April's General Conference. Elder Holland rocks. In his talk, "Tomorrow the Lord Will Do Wonders Among You," Elder Holland reminds us that highs and lows are all part of life. The important thing to remember is to keep trying. Do the best you can. Have faith in Christ and in God's plan and keep going.

So, what is my role as a writer in the Lord's plan? I don't know the answer to that yet, but I do know the journey will be an exciting one because ~

Life is magnificent.

hugs~





 

Riding the Conference Wave

It's crazy to think that the ANWA conference was 3 weeks ago.  Time flies when you're having fun. ...Or running around like a banshee with its hair on fire.

The Arizona conference was...uh-mazing. It's the first conference I'd been to, and I'm still sifting through all the information we received. Don't get me started on that one.  My eyes glaze over and I smile off into the distance. The speakers were awesome. The information was glorious.  The women were fantastic. And I was able to meet many fantastic individuals I'd been corresponding with via Internet and telephone for months.  Yep. These ladies are even better in person.

Two of my three pitches resulted in requests for pages (wahoo!).  One of them asked me to cut about 15,000 words from my manuscript (uh...). And I got the impression she expected those words gone by the time she contacted me again. In about four weeks.

That was three weeks ago.  Guess how many words I've removed?  1,200.  Guess how much time I've spent editing since the ANWA conference? 15 minutes.  I've had 15 minutes to devote to writing in the past three weeks.

No pressure.  I hear sleep is highly overrated anyway.

I also came home with seven new story ideas, the feeling that publishing may actually become a reality, several new friendships, answers to specific questions I'd been agonizing over for quite some time, and feeling more motivated and inspired than I've felt in months.

I will be back next year.  And the year after that...and the year after that. I'd love to see you there.

Now, I'm gearing up for the NW retreat at the end of this month.  This will be my third time.  I'm not gonna lie.  I'm giddy.  This is the first time I'm actually leading one of the classes.  Okay so it's a critique group and I don't have much responsibility, but c'mon! A girl has to start somewhere.

I'm sitting here grinning at my computer screen. Why? Because ANWA is probably one of the best things that has happened to me in my adult life (aside from children and church, of course). I am thankful to be a part of this organization, and to be able to ride the conference wave right on into the NW Retreat. And from there, I'll be riding a new wave which will propel me into NaNoWriMo in November then into 2017.

So much to do. So little time.  But at least I'll be grinning while my hair is on fire.