The Write Stuff

Any writer can tell you that when the muse ain't talkin', there ain't no writin'.

My muse is on whisper mode and I am beginning to hate the sucker. Every so often I can put the muse on the treadmill, juice it up with some protein shakes and get some actual junk out of that thing. What does it take? A writing buddy.

Say hello to Britt:






You could say hello, but I guarantee that the only thing you are going to get out of her is a long dry stare and a grumble before she goes back to sleep.

Britt is Diva #1 and she doesn't share her pedestal. She is a lean, mean, lazy machine and if you know what's good for you, you'll leave her to it.

She has one job. To make sure I stay in my office chair and write. If I deviate (*ahem* YouTube) she growls at me. She DOES NOT like to have her sleep disrupted and dogs doing acrobatic hijinks on the web are the WORST! She snores like an old man with the occasional ::WRUF!:: amid paw twitching and sleep running. But mostly she looks like a flattened spotted rug. Like this:




Notice, she still has her "don't bug me, lady" look still on. Frankly, I don't think she has another look. Every time I get out of my chair when her nap hasn't been long enough, I get stuck with another glare. It's like dealing with a thirteen year old girl trapped in her body. Major drama queen.




Of course, I might be exaggerating a little. However, when I go out to feed her in the evening and I don't get that food in her bowl by 4:30 on the dot, I get landed with this beauty of a staredown:









Which screams, "Watch it bub. You know I can take you down."







But for the most part, she is a darn good dog. She licks my toes to get my attention when I've been writing so long I don't notice my bottom going numb. She's good company when I need to bounce ideas off someone. And she doesn't mind that I laugh hysterically at fictional characters I've created, gasp intermittently mid type, or talk to myself like a crazy person having a full on conversation with nobody (it's great to get out dialogue that way).

Thanks Britt! Love your furry face, crusty glare and all.

Evolution of a Nickname

I've been called a lot of names in my lifetime.

Aly. Al. Algal. A-rod. Shortstuff. Amazing Ali. Roosey. Mom. Pixigirl. Hot mama (for special occasions). Even beeotch. Most of them are obvious renditions of my name or just fit my personality or what is physically obvious (tho hot mamma is stretching things a bit).

Some are not so obvious.

Lately, I have become Steak Sauce. Oh yes. You read that right. I have an A name and when I am in a rush, which is 90% of the time, I sign most everything from post it notes to important e-mails with just plain A. Then I cross my fingers and pray the reader knows who on earth that hideous e-mail was written by. I say that because I have that self same problem. I know a lot of people with A names who sign their writings with straight A's. BLURG!

Follow this...

My e-mails start out formal, stuffy and grammatically correct: Best Wishes, Alyson

Formalities over. I know you better now: Alyson

You made me laugh in your last e-mail: alyson

Starting to write fast cause we exchange a million e-mails a day: Al

I hate the nickname AL and go straight for: A

But realize that you have an A name too: A I

You start to sign your name AII which makes me laugh and in a brief slip of the finger I become : A1

I hear you giggling 1000 miles away when you sign: A2 (gesundheit)

Cool. I can match that: A1 (Steak Sauce)

At this point several months have passed and I slipped from being merely a stuffy "Best Wishes, Alyson" to a beef slinging "Steak Sauce". A2 morphed into Brutus somehow, but I am still a tangy condiment that works well with many different cuts of beef.

I feel the same morphing is happening with my latest book. Started out stuffy. Twenty pages later someone is going to be snorting Steak Sauce and I already know who. Makes my writer fingers tingle with delight!

Getting My Write On

I have written a lot of books.

My first book was a romance (followed by a lot of gagging). Then came a young adult adventure with a really hot immortal and his two immortal buddies who save the word. blahdda blahdda blah. The story line has been done to death. I wrote a sequel to it before I unearthed my head. After that I was on an undying kick and wrote story about St. Peter needing a day off from the pearly gates of heaven. It was.... dull. Apparently angels have a hard time having a Ferris Bueller day off.

I had a few semi-formed ideas bouncing around after that. I picked up an internship with a literary agency, learned way more than I ever wanted to about publishing, writing and a kinky sex move I read in a crappy manuscript submission (I'm still trying to scrub it from my memory). Burnt out, read out, and writer blocked, I decided I needed a break.

In the 8 month time I took off nearly all of my writer friends found agents and sold their books. All hail perseverance. After one of my pals scored a six figure deal with Simon and Schuster, I decided it was time to get my hands dirty in writing again. This time I wrote from my guts a funny little mystery. I wrote the entire thing not knowing the ending, how I was going form it, the purpose... you get the picture. I pantsed the entire thing and let the plot limp in a broken bloody mess behind it. What drives my main character? Not sure. What is the hook? Um...

Time to scrap it.

I am not so married to my writing that I have to hold a wake for my manuscripts and gain closure before dumping them. I may love the characters and have a blast making their pitiful lives miserable, but I have no qualms editing, ripping them to shreds and ultimately tossing them in the garbage when they don't sing on the page. The best thing to do is open up a fresh new document and start on something new. BUT! (the inevitable "but") This time I did things different.

I have a slew of writer pals who can talk for hours about writing. For the past five weeks I have been compiling a hook, plot and character developments. THEN, I called up Ami (yes dear, you know you rock) and we hashed out ALL of it. It was a good thing too because nobody likes to read a wishy washy main character placed in a sub-par plot who can't make up her own mind what she wants.

So, it's Monday morning, I have a fresh, brand spanking new document up on my laptop and I am raring to write.

Hello, book six. Hope you are better than the previous five.

The Hubsters

I got reprimanded today for not adding the Hubsters into the Genetic Insanity roll call. I have since added him into the mix, but there is something interesting about our relationship that needs to be written about.

The Hubsters is a very patient man.

Personally, I think I am pretty easy to live with. I might be way off in left field with that thinking (sort of like the dude who thinks he's the humblest guy he knows), but there are some positive points to being married to an artist/writer.

First, I am a low maintenance gal. I don't mean that I don't gussy myself up, wear make up, do my hair and be an all around priss, because I do all those things. I say I am low maintenance because I can hang out with the hubsters for hours and not fight for the wii controls, the tv remote or even vie for his attention watching a football game. I can watch scores and listen to man shrieks over bad calls all night with a laptop warming my legs and a good story in my head. I even pause for an occasional commercial break smooch.

Second, research is good for the soul. Research covers a lot of ground from an experimental kiss to a guy's view on leg hair. The Hubsters is a bluntly honest guy that doesn't coat his opinion for anyone. Makes my research so easy.

Third, I save money. Anyone who knows me even a little knows that I can spend the dough. I'm not selfish about my spending habits either. I like to buy for my man, for my boys and anyone else that pops into my head. The only reason why I am not flat broke is because when I get on a writing streak, I don't spend a dime. In fact, I don't leave my house and walk a straight path between my studio and the kitchen. I've been stock piling a healthy sum in my bank account for my next writer's block. When I get out of the house, the shopping spree is going to be a doozie.

Okay, so I might not be the best writer/artist to live with, but I can't complain. The Hubsters takes my oddities in stride and when I bother him, I hit save, kiss his cheek and tell him he is the king of my world.

Poor guy.

Contestant Number Bajillion

I am not one for entering contests. It is the passive, non-competitive part of my personality that keeps me on the down low. I'd rather keep my heart rate at a normal pace and my palms from sweating. How's that for pathetic?

This morning, even though I am sick, still in my bathrobe and half asleep, I decided to allow the quiet and normally dormant aggressive side of me expose its head. Getting in contact with this other side is compelling and I'm not sure I like her/me/it (whatever!).

One of my jolly writer friends has a blog and she is always putting up contests for fledgling authors to enter and be read by big wig agents and interns... or at least the winners do. On a whim, I figured-- what the hell? Why not? It must have been the drugs for my cold talking and my drowsy state that took control because I actually pasted the required text, a description of my latest manuscript and my name (MY NAME!!! GAH!) into the comments section and hit SEND! What is WRONG with me??? I don't do stuff like this!


Well, regardless, it's gone off to cyber space and is long gone beyond retrieval. Eybss (my writer/bloglady friend) will get an eye full of crap and I will be laughed out of the contest. Yay, right? I know how these things go. When I interned for Pande Literary, I was the judge for one of these contests and I have to say that I'd rather be on the judging side than the entree. A lot of unkind snickering went on that I am not proud of. If a writer has the balls to put their work out there, it should be respected, not laughed at. Regardless, I have repented since, but in the echos of my brain I hear the judge of this contest laughing with a derisive snort at my entry.

Let them laugh. I probably wont win, but it was good practice. At least I know how to enter a writing contest! I need 2 doses of Nyquil, little sleep, pre-shower nastiness and zero inhibition. Bring it on!