Writers Anonymous--It's about time

Here's the thing, I am not the first one to do this. In fact I am admitting I am stealing this idea from Betsy Learner. But it is so good I don't think she'll mind. So let's have some fun.

Hi, my name is Joyce and I am a writer. I tried to stop, many times. I tried but I kept going back to the keyboard, over and over again. It was like a siren song. I couldn't help it. And really, who was I hurting? Just myself. And I admit I
often,okay, okay most of the time wrote alone. I even went out a night and did it. Once I even used grocery money to pay my way to a writer's conference. There I said it. I am a writer! There were times when it was so bad I had to go to the library for a fix, to be near them--books! Books! and more books.

Okay, so you know you're addicted. Time to come clean. You'll feel so much better.!

American Idol--My Take

Here's the thing, I watch American Idol. There I said it and I'm not ashamed. I know that I'm not making any earth shattering revelations here when I say one of the reasons I like it is because of how it parallels the publishing business. It's been done before. But I wanted to give my take on it, nonetheless. So What Has American Idol taught me? I believe I have become a better critiquer because of it. I have actually repeated some of the things the Idol judges say. Things like, "I'm just not feeling it." Or, "You've got to let your own voice shine." Yep, lots of parallels exist between aspiring to be an author or a singer. Writers do need to find their own unique voice but as is often pointed out of the show, not to go so far out of the box that the song (and the audience) suffers. There was a young fella on the show last night who was so afraid of being on stage, who had so little experience singing in front of an audience that it was almost painful to watch. He doesn't have a bad voice, I wouldn't call it a great voice but he has some natural ability and should keep trying. I find myself saying this very thing to new writers at conferences. So often I meet a young woman or man who wants desperately to write but he or she is so nervous she can hardly speak to me (Yeah, me, if they only knew how easy-going I am) and then the manuscript is just not ready, just not good enough—yet. Then there are the contestants who are so sure of themselves that I wince. Please, you have a gift, be thankful first, humble second, proud third. And yes, there are writers who come at the process so convinced of their own abilities that they are an immediate turn off.
But, I do think one of the most important things I've learned from AI is that honesty can sting but it is sometimes necessary, that art is a holistic experience and that the entire package matters. In writing that translates to having a good story, a good voice and strong skills—craftspersonship. It ALL equals excellence and isn’t that what we strive for. There's no shortcuts to being the best.
Now, as for AI this year? Oh boy am I disappointed so far. The top 24 started the actuall competition this week and I am not really gaga about any of them. The young women did poorly for the most part although I do like Crystal Bowersox and Michelle something or other. The boys? Nope, not so much. And I must say that I'm embarrassed and even upset by the display Kira is making toward one of the contestants, Casey James. The sexual innuendo has just gone too far. It's distracting and really not fair to this young man. Of all the young men, I like him. Leave him alone Kira and just let him sing.
As for Ellen being a judge. I'm not sure. I think I might be getting tired of her. The jokes aren't funny, and she's repeating herself. As Randy would say to one of contestants, "Step it up." You too Ellen, Step it up.
So there, finally the cat is out of the bag. I watch American Idol. And oh, I watch Survivor also. I love that show. It just cracks me up. This season I like Russell. He's smart.

Life Critters, Yikes!

Here's the thing, we all know about critique groups. Most writers belong to one or have been in one at some time. Including me. I belong. Gee it's nice to belong isn't it? Writers can feel so outside the norm of human existence that having a place to belong is great. The critique group, it's what separates writers from, say Bole Weavels. But I got to thinking this morning about this subject and it made me wonder, what would it be like if we had crit groups for life? Ha! What a riot. Could you imagine getting together once a month with a group of people eager and willing to critique your progress thus far over scones and coffee. Uhm, I hate to say this Joyce but I didn't particularly care for your choice of words when you had that talk with your son. You used way too many adjectives. And that was a really crappy transition the other day when you just walked out of the room while your husband was talking to you. It left me feeling unfinished. But then again, the occasional, hey that was great line you got off the other day. I laughed until I peed my pants or I appreciated the way you managed to SHOW Adam the correct way to handle that situation and didn't just TELL him. Uhm, show verses tell works in real life also.
How about you? What would your life critters say?

Getting The Chair

Here's the thing, I am distracted today because I need to visit the dentist tomorrow and I am here to admit that I am probably hands down the biggest most neurotic dental phobic on the planet. Please pray for me. Yikes. I have this rotten tooth that's been bothering me for a really, really long time and now I don't think I have
a choice. I MUST meet the inquisitor tomorrow and allow him to probe and pick and stick his gnarly dental fingers into my mouth. To whom do I owe this unholy nightmare you might ask? Well, sad to say—my mother! That's right, dear sweet Flossie who we've come to know and love as that funny, oddly wise woman who I love dearly. Yes, Flossie did this to me. You see, when I was a child, back in the dark ages of dentistry, Flossie forced me to go to the Temple School of Dentistry for any dental work that came along. That's right, I said SCHOOL where nineteen year-olds with red, shiny eyes, masochistic tendencies, needles the size of a broom stick and ancient drills made by Black and Decker asked me to sit still, open my mouth and then lied about how much "this won’t hurt!" I will never forget the summer I chipped a tooth when I tumbled off the sliding board onto asphalt. Yeah well, back then they didn’t think to put wood chips or something equally as cushy under the playground apparatus. No, we played on asphalt, grass was for baseball. But hey we played Lawn Darts, also. Anyhoo, what the students did to me is unspeakable. The fear only intensified when some shadowy figure lurking to the side who turned out to be an instructor (or so he claimed) would check the student's work and mutter three words that still strike terror in me, "do it over." I was so thoroughly traumatized by the time they finished that I vowed never, ever to allow another dentist to touch me again. Hence the trouble I'm in now. So I'm asking for your prayers and or kind thoughts as I go under the spotlight of the dentist tomorrow. And please pray that I am not harboring some rancid infection. I don’t do well with antibiotics either.

In the Belly of the Snowbeast

Here’s the thing, I was lying in bed in the predawn hours listening to the blustery wind howling and blowing snow around and feeling for all the world like a pioneer woman out on the prairie with just her shotgun, a hound dog and a cooking pot when I realized I would have made a lousy pioneer woman after I prayed, "Please God, don't
let the power go out." Then I opened my eyes and basked in the comfort of the alien abduction ambience of the street light and my neighbor's bazillion watt security floodlight pouring through the windows. Ah, the 21st century.
I can handle seventy inches of snow and drifts of six feet as long as I have electricity, as long as that magical wonderful juice, the elixir of all things technological is coursing through the house doing whatever the heck it does to give me light, heat, make my laptop do its thing, allow me to play a video game and discover untold treasures hidden in the vast RPG world. My heart goes out to the thousands currently without power, stuck in the belly of the snowbeast unable to warm their tootsies on the radiator or get online! OMGoodness. What would I do without the power? Uhm. Yep, that's right, I'm stretching for some deep spiritual insight here as I wax philosophical about the biggest snowfall ever! Ever! They say in Philadelphia history. The weather dude said it again this morning. "This has been the snowiest winter ever!" I just know there will be guys on the street corners selling tee shirts that read, "I survived the blizzard of 2010."
Anyhoo, back to the power thing. I freely admit that I am an electricityaholic. I need the stuff like a crack addict needs a fix, like Aunt Jemima needs syrup, like Godiva needs chocolate. When the power goes out I feel anxious and lost. I scurry around like a rat looking for candles and flashlights that always, always have no batteries. (please no lecture on my lack of emergency planning, I know, I know.) I've got PECO (the electric company) on speed dial so I can keep checking with them about when the power will be restored. It's not good, folks.
And yes, it's the same with my spiritual life. When I go for a time without prayer, without warming my tootsies in God's light I become anxious and withdrawn. I have trouble finding my way. I need the power that can only be found in the power that is my relationship with Jesus. I have to stay plugged in to him. The trouble is that God's power never goes out. It's always me that unplugs the cord or lets a tree limb fall on my faith knocking out the power. And believe me, life is full of broken limbs just waiting to fall on your nice sunny day. But stay plugged in to the main power grid that is God and you'll always have a chainsaw to cut through the fallen trees and a warm place to go even if the heat goes out. God said it, He is light. Bask in it today.
(Just as an aside, how much you wanna bet that the power will go out today because I blogged about it? Yeah I'm neurotic like that. But really, I know I'm no that powerful. I'm just saying . . .)

Paths--the narrower the better

Here's the thing, you cannot participate in an historic snowfall without noticing a few things. I think there is 60 inches of it out there and more is on its way. One of the things I've noticed as I've endured the white stuff is that everywhere I look
people are making paths. Paths from their houses to their cars. Paths from the parking lot to the store's front door. Paths from the back of the house to the front. People with snowblowers are everywhere, blowing it around. Snow plows scrape and push paths down major highways. Yep, paths. We all need paths it seems. What's funny is that these paths are usually much narrower than what would be there otherwise. You know what I mean. Suddenly we don't need twelve feet of asphalt to drive on, we get by with one lane, we manage just fine with only a few inches of path to walk on to get to our cars. It's fine that we've shoveled a thin path around our cars—just enough to get in and out. Paths. Seems we get all hepped up on having the biggest and best of everything but when it comes right down to it all we need is a path wide enough to walk on, wide enough to drive on, wide enough to get the trash from the back of the house to the front. Enough. It really is all we need. Everything else is just asphalt and cement. And when it comes right down to it, for me, all I really need is enough. Even Jesus said the path is narrow. Uhm. Maybe a narrow path is more secure, less chance of slipping off. So here's to you. May your path be narrow enough to get you through and as a friend recently wished for me, may you never find frogs in your underpants.

SNOW!

Here's the thing, being an author is hard enough without life getting in the way. I find it hard to move from one end of the day to the other and appear normal. Look, writers are not normal, not like say, neurosurgeons or CPAs. No, writers have their own way of looking at life and cannot be held responsible to react in certain situations like everyone else. Take the recent blizzard for example. There is like fifty feet of snow out there and people are outside moving around, shoveling the stuff from one place to another. They call it digging out. And here's the really baffling part, they seem to be enjoying it! Sheesh. So here I am feeling guilty that my car is the only car on the street still invisible to the naked eye, still cocooned in snow. That's it in the picture up there. The truth of the matter is that I don’t like snow, no, I mean it's pretty and all that, but I could do without it. The snow that fell the other day was gorgeous. It was like being inside a Robert Frost poem. But this? Listen up my loyal subjects, there is like fifty feet of snow out there. It's cold. This is cruel and unusual. This snowfall is no longer pleasant.
But I choose to wax philosophical for a moment. Snow is wondrous and magical in many ways. It forces whole towns to stop and take a breath, to relax and watch TV, read a book, spend time with the family. Children, in particular seem to enjoy the snow the most. They build forts and snowpeople, the have snowball fights and bury each other in it. They go sledding.
When I think of snow I don’t think about the piles and piles of the stuff outside my house. I picture tiny bits and pieces, snowflakes, delicate and different, gentle and tiny floating down from the clouds. Snow this big is not so magical. And so with that in mind I leave you with this poem, Snow, by e.e cummings.
SNOW

cru
is
ingw Hi
sperf
ul
lydesc

BYS FLUTTERFULLY IF

(endbegi ndesignb ecend)tang
lesp
ang
le
s
ofC omego

CRINGE WITHS

lilt(
-ing-
lyful
of)!
(s
r

BIRDS BECAUSE AGAINS

emarkable
s)h?
y&a
(from n
o(into whe)re f
ind)
nd
ArE

GLIB SCARCELYEST AMONGS FLOWERING

Joyce to the World

Here's the thing, names have always interested me. Funny how so many of us grow up to match our names. Sometimes I think the name a child is given at birth is a kind of prophecy. Hey, it was good enough for all those Bible people. Maybe that's where the fascination started. I remember hearing a preacher or teacher tell me what a biblical hero's name meant and it kind of wowed me. God is so cool like that. Which brings me to my parent's totally uncool naming of me. Joyce. Yikes. I hated the name growing up. There were NO other Joyce's in the neighborhood or in school, seriously, all twelve years I knew only one other Joyce. And she interestingly enough had my sister Elaine's name for a middle name. Uhm. My name apparently means Joyful. Uh, not so much. I mean I like joy but I would never say I was really a joyful person. It wasn't until I was an adult, maybe even married with a kid before I finally decided that I like my name. It fits me I suppose. Most people call me Joycie. It used to bother me. But now I like it. It's fine with me. I think it fits with my author-like style, you know. Kind of quirky. Yep, I have a quirky name. Did you know that Joyce was many years ago actually a man's name—Joyce Kilmer, the poet to name one. He's famous for saying, "Only God can make a tree." Yeah well. Anyhoo. There are other famous Joyce people, Like Joyce Randolph of the Honeymooners, Joyce Meyer, my favorite TV Preacher, Joyce Carol Oates. Let's see, who else? Do you know any famous Joyce's? What about other authors named Joyce, first name, not last name like James Joyce. Do you like your name?

Meet Sandie Bricker!

Welcome to my blog, Sandie Bricker. First of all, congrats on the new release!
Thank you so much for having me, Joycie. I’m excited to be here!

Tell us a little about your latest release and maybe a smidge about the upcoming release.Sure! I’ll give you a couple of back cover blurbs.

The Big 5-OH! hit the shelves on February 1st: Olivia Wallace can’t remember a birthday that wasn’t marked by illness, tragedy or both. And now, as she emerges victorious over cancer and approaches The Big 5-Oh, she is determined to change her course. Better late than never, right? That’s what Liv believes when she leaves a snowy Ohio winter behind and runs away to Florida to regroup. Amidst a crazy cast of characters that include a dog with a lampshade collar, a rogue alligator and a flirtatious octogenarian, Liv finds the biggest birthday surprise of all … A second chance at love.
Next up, Always the Baker, Never the Bride, due out this fall: They say you can’t have your cake and eat it too. But who would want a cake they couldn’t eat? Just ask Emma Rae Travis about that. A baker of confections who is diabetic and can’t enjoy them? When Emma meets Jackson Drake, the escapee from Corporate America who is starting a wedding destination hotel to fulfill a dream that belonged to someone else, this twosome and their crazy family ties bring new meaning to the term Family Circus. The Atlanta social scene will never be the same!

You are no stranger to publishing but is there anything special about being part of two brand new fiction lines?Well, the MOST special thing is that I’ve wanted to write for the inspirational market for years, and I just couldn’t seem to find the right fit. Then my friends at Summerside Press pushed open the door to let me in, and Barbara Scott at Abingdon jammed her foot in there to keep it open! I’m so honored to be part of these two publishing families, both of whom have shown integrity and commitment to their lines and to their authors. I haven’t experienced anything else, but I know a lot of writers! And it seems I’ve stepped into something really unusual.

Share with us about your writing process. Seat of pants? Plotter? Combo pac?I am a complete seat-of-my-pants, pay-as-you-go kind of writer. I’m as surprised at my twists and turns as the readers are, which is why I like to do it that way. Ultimately, my goal is to please my reader. I want them to come away from my books saying there were some surprises, some unexpected emotions, maybe even a lesson learned … and the only way to do that (for me) is to stay fresh and experience the ride along with them.

Is there a character in one of your novels that you love the best?
That would be really hard to pinpoint. There’s a little piece of me in every one of the heroines. But I suppose my heart belongs to Olivia in 5-OH! because she was my voice for post-cancer life. She and I shared a battle against ovarian cancer and lived to tell about it. I remember that feeling when they told me I was cancer-free, and I sat there wondering, Hmph. What now?! Olivia takes that emotion and rides it all the way to her new life. It was very satisfying for me. Almost like therapy. 

What/Who inspires you?I assume you mean in my writing? Well … LIFE inspires me. Every person I meet, every snag in the day job, every movie I see, every book I read, every funny thing my dog does. If cancer teaches you anything, it is that life is precious, and laughter (especially in the tough times) is priceless. I take my humor very seriously, Joyce! I try to live by that scripture that says a merry heart is like medicine, and I want to be a sort of doctor with a prescription pad for each of my readers. I tend to see the funny in everything. Even at the most inappropriate times, I’m sorry to report.

Pizza topping?I like the works. Pepperoni. Mushroom. Black olives. Onions. If I’m going to indulge, I’m going all the way!

A favorite movie?Narrowing it down to one is like choosing one cookie from a whole bakery filled with them! I’m a sucker for a happy ending, and for just about anything Nora Ephron, Rob Reiner or Garry Marshall does. You’ve Got Mail … When Harry Met Sally … Pretty Woman … Sleepless in Seattle … American President … Classics!

Favorite pie?
Pumpkin! Hands down. There is no rival.

Classical? Rock? Jazz?
I love it all. I’m a big fan of Chopin and Vivaldi, love me some classic rock, pop, jazz, country … Michael Buble makes me absolutely swoon, and I play Van Morrison, The Doors, Sheryl Crow, Bon Jovi. I also love to sing along with some of the Christian artists, like Brandon Heath, Casting Crowns and Big Daddy Weave. You name it. Music is imperative in my life. For every book I write, there is a “soundtrack” that I play to inspire me as I go. And I’ve found that every important event in my life has a song or a CD attached to it as well.

Okay, so you’re stranded on an island. What would you miss most about civilization?
ICE. I can’t live without ice. And of course there’s a lot of benefit to central air and a good mattress. I know guys are drawn to women who like to camp and hike and gather. But I’d much rather spend my time in a 5-star hotel watching pay-per-view movies and munching on room service snacks. And you know they bring you as much ice as you could possibly want! You can’t ignore the beauty in that.

BIO: Sandra D. Bricker (link to http://sandradbricker.blogspot.com) has been publishing in both the Christian and general market for years with novels for women and teens, magazine articles and short stories. With 11 novels in print and 4 more slated for publication, Sandie has carved out a niche for herself as an author of laugh-out-loud comedy for the inspirational market. Sandie was an entertainment publicist in Hollywood for 15+ years for some of daytime television’s hottest stars. When her mother became ill in Florida, she left Los Angeles to provide care … and begin her writing career!
Web site: www.SandraDBricker.com