Writing for Fun or Profit?

Two events made me think about writing commercial fiction; first, our lunch group (comprised of seven published and unpublished authors) is going back to our roots as a critique group. Second, I’m presenting my workshop “Writing a Synopsis That Sells” in Austin on April 10. Both critiques and synopses are necessary only if you are trying to sell your writing project. If you are writing for the pleasure of the process, you don’t need either. (In my opinion, of course!)

Critiques can be a tricky thing. Whoever is critiquing your work, whether they are multi-published or non-published readers, gives you their opinion and brings their own experience and preferences. Hopefully, they will let you know if something is a personal preference rather than a universally held truth. For example, I don’t like romances where there are two possible love interests for the heroine. (This was quite popular years ago.) That doesn’t mean some very wonderful books can’t be written with this premise. I would always tell a person I was critiquing that, if their book contained two possible heroes, it wasn’t my personal favorite. However, in another example, if someone wrote an ending to a romance where one hero and one heroine didn’t have a happy ending, I would tell them this was not workable in commercial romance fiction. The happy ending is a rule in romance. It’s one of the reasons I absolutely love reading and writing romance novels.

A synopsis is often prefaced with “dreaded,” which I don’t understand because I love to write synopses! I sold my first two books – one a historical and the other a short contemporary – on a synopsis and three chapters. I always write a synopsis before I write the book because I must. I’m not a “pantser,” who writes “from the seat of their pants.” This is a perfectly legitimate method, but it’s not mine. So, my synopsis serves as an outline to the story, defines the characters, shows motivation, action and reaction, the black moment, and the resolution.

Here’s the “commercial” part – if you’re not trying to sell your work, you don’t need to put yourself through a critique or write a synopsis. You can create what you want in any format, style or length you want, without putting yourself through hoops. That’s the joy of writing non-commercial fiction. The only problem may come when you try to mix the two! If your heart is set on selling to Harlequin, for example, there are limits to content, length, sensuality, etc. for each line. On the other hand, if you write for the joy of the written word, then don’t feel you must ever fit the mold.

Writing can be a wonderful hobby or a wonderful career. Happy writing, whatever you choose to pursue.

Old Dishes

My mom has a dozen off the most unique and beautiful plates I’ve ever seen. Her father—my grandpa— bought them for her when she was newly married. They were wandering around the Jewish section of New York City when Mom saw the big, dark-blue plates with scenes of people in the woods, on the mountains, farming, and other outdoor settings. The details are slightly raised and hand painted. Mom wanted these plates, which are about one-third larger than normal dinner plates and were designed to hang on the wall, for Thanksgiving. Her father bought them for her. We ate off them just once that I remember, back when I was a little girl. Using those plates felt so special. Recently Mom asked if I wanted the set. Do I ever! We live far apart, she in Indianapolis and I in Seattle, so she’s having them carefully wrapped and shipped to me.

I plan to use them more often than Mom did. But what if we chip one? That’s a fear I have. My grandpa wouldn’t want me to worry about that. He’d say what he always used to say, “Use them in the best of health.” And I will, but carefully.

They’ll have to be hand-washed, too, but that’s a small price to pay. The warmth I feel from this gift is deep and lovely. I’ve never considered myself sentimental, but I guess I am. It’ll be as if my grandpa, who died in 1976, were here with us.

Anyone out there feel sentimental about certain inanimate objects? Please share your stories because I’d love to know I’m not alone.

Ann Roth
It Happened One Wedding, April, 2007
Another Life, April, 2007
www.annroth.net

Just go with the flow!

I left town before sunrise this morning, traveling half the state away to take a test for what I do when I'm not writing, AKA the day job.

Performance test, they call it. Ha! Stress test, those of us who know better say.

I've lived through this torture before, you see, and first time around, I did stress. I studied, practiced, agonized. Tore hair, gnashed teeth, sweat blood.

This time, I said, "Forget it. I'm just gonna wing it."

And I did.

Funny thing was, this time, I felt better. I have no idea about my test results, but it felt good just to go with the flow.

"Flow" is a word that's been kicked around in psychology circles for a while now. According to the literature, flow is something you get. Something you experience. Something that is produced by doing something you really want to do.

In other words, when you're truly involved in a job or a task or a hobby, you lose yourself in the moment.

You get flow.

You could be at the office creating the perfect spreadsheet or at home polishing silverware to a diamond-bright glare. You could be cooking, painting a sunset, grouting the tub, or teaching your three-year-old to tango. You could be lazing in a hammock watching the fluttering progress of a nearby butterfly.

What you're doing doesn't matter. What's important is how you feel when you're doing it. If time stops for you, you're in flow.

That happens to me when I'm writing. Hours can go by; I don't notice. The world could go away; I wouldn't care. Heck, I can miss a meal when I'm writing—and if you knew me, you'd realize that's a very big deal! Food doesn't matter when I'm wrapped up in something I truly enjoy.

When I'm winging it.

When I've got my flow.

You know when you've got yours, too. And I'd love to hear when that is.


All my best to you,

Barbara

~~~~~~

Barbara White Daille

THE DINNER PARTY THAT ALMOST WASN’T

In A Small-Town Girl, two beagles cause all kinds of trouble. Unfortunately, I have first-hand experience with this! So, in honor of my March release, here’s my personal beagle story.

I’m not a great entertainer, but I am a pretty organized hostess. I enjoy having people over, and I do enjoy that crazy, hectic excitement that comes just hours before everyone is supposed to arrive.
Unfortunately, my hostessing claim to fame is not on the many dinner parties that have been successful, but instead on the Dinner Party That Almost Wasn’t. I blame all of this on our beagle.
We have the sweetest beagle in the world. Her name is Phoebe, and she’s now 11 years old. Basically, all she really does is sleep. Her other main activity is eating…and that’s when one evening everything went wrong.
It all started when my husband, a salesman, was given an account to try to sell. After two years of hard work, he and his team were very close to getting a decision. Six people flew into Cincinnati to prepare and ultimately give the final presentation. After months of meeting in hotels, my husband and I thought it would be great to have everyone over at our house for dinner. It was a piece of cake for me to plan. I ordered a beautiful Honey Baked Ham and made a whole bunch of side dishes. The afternoon that everyone was due to arrive, I set the table, bought flowers, made sure I had drinks and coffee…even made a cake. I waited until the very last moment to get out of my sweats and put on a dress.
Well, when I got back downstairs, two things happened: the phone rang,--my husband, saying they were five minutes away, and I noticed Phoebe lying on the ground. Beside her was my ham. Yep, my beagle somehow found supernatural powers, jumped up on the table and pulled the whole 9 pound ham to the ground. She’d managed to eat a big chunk of it, too.
Oh no!
Panic set in. I had the vice president of my husband’s company due any minute! I had a giant ham mark on my white tablecloth from where the ham had been dragged off the plate and pulled down to the floor. Phoebe also wasn’t doing too well, either. She was looking a little green…obviously no ham was intended for such beagle consumption.
Hastily, I did the only thing I could…I picked up the ham, rinsed it off, lopped off the corner that looked attacked, and put it back on the plate. I found a pretty cloth napkin and hastily covered the grease spot on my linen tablecloth. I tossed the beagle outside just as the garage door opened.
After serving drinks and appetizers, everyone sat down. As everyone ate, Phoebe circled the table, just like a shark. I glared at her and tried to pretend she didn’t look seriously like she was about to, well…divest herself of the ham.
Finally, when the rest of the table was busy talking, Tom said, “Shelley, what’s wrong?”
“The dog ate half the ham,” I whispered.
Unfortunately…there’d been a break in the conversation. Everyone heard. “What?” someone asked.
I could feel my husband’s horrified glare as I tried to laugh it off. As confidently as possible, I relayed how we were all eating Phoebe’s leftovers--just as everyone was staring at their now empty plates. Almost in unison, eight forks hit the table.
And the beagle’s stomach started to gurgle.
Oh no!
Well, before I knew it, everyone left the house in a rush and I was left alone with a sick dog.
But still, there’s more!
Of course, my son needed a poster board for a school project, so I loaded my son in the front seat, beagle in the back, and ran to Walgreens. By this time it was dark. We left the beagle in the car, got the posterboard, got home and cleaned up.
The next morning, my husband woke up late, took the car, drove to the big meeting, gave his presentation, then offered to the drive the VP to the airport…where they both discovered that the beagle had uh, gotten rid of the ham in the backseat while I’d been at Walgreens. I’d been too busy with my son to notice, and my husband had been too worried about the big meeting to notice.
Needless to say, the VP wasn’t impressed.
That’s the last time I’ve offered to give a dinner party. In fact, the last time someone came in town for a meeting, Tom offered to take them to a very nice restaurant. Far away from beagles!

Generation Me

Did anyone see the news coverage citing that kids who grew up in the 1980's are "more narcissistic and self-centered than their predecessors"? Evidently teachers and parents are to blame for going overboard with phrases like "You're special." And supposedly "studies show that these kids already know their special." The article went on to say "this trend could be harmful to personal relationships and American society."

Hmm…that got me wondering if the trend might be harmful to the romance book industry. Seriously, what kind of reading material will Generation Me select as they grow older? More specifically, will Generation Me women even want to read the kind of romance novels I write?

I ponder these things because a sense of community plays an important role in the Harlequin American Romance line. Our characters' lives revolve around neighbors, friends and family. Many of the books contain story lines where the hero and heroine's goals are to help others first, themselves last. I'm worried a story like that might not appeal to a Generation Me reader.

Maybe I'm concerned for nothing. Generation Me won’t be exempt from aging. Eventually, many of them will marry and have families and along the way discover that life doesn’t revolve around them. Years down the road, the American Romance line might very well see a surge in readership. I just hope I'm still putting out books then--sheesh!

Any thoughts regarding the reading preferences of Generation Me?

Marin
www.marinthomas.com

Getting Our Names Out

When I sold my first book some 25 years ago, authors lived in a different world. No Internet. No blogs. No e-mail letters to readers. If we arranged our own publicity, it consisted of participating in a few booksignings and mailing press releases to newspapers in our home towns.

Today, there are classes and seminars devoted to teaching authors how to get their names out. We send copies of our books to websites for review, participate in chats and blogs like this one, and, of course, maintain websites (you can find mine at www.jacquelinediamond.com). We struggle to master concepts like viral marketing and virtual book tour.

Publishers have come to expect this from authors. What a mixed blessing! I love the chance to communicate directly with readers, but sometimes it’s hard to find the time.

Now, thanks to all this technology, I’m trying something new. In May, Triskelion Publishing (www.triskelionpublishing.com) will issue my first e-book, a paranormal romantic suspense called Touch Me in the Dark. It’s a sexy Gothic with a murder mystery, a ghost and a brooding, sensual hero. I’m learning the publicity ropes all over again, looking into e-book sites and chats and loops. It’s enough to make an author dizzy.

With four books coming out this year, I’ve even dared to take a shot at the Holy Grail of authors by pitching a story to Oprah. My mother, Sylvia Hyman, an internationally renowned ceramic sculptor, will turn 90 in September and has three major shows scheduled this year, including one in South Korea. I suggested a segment about mother-and-daughter creative artists and how we’ve encouraged and inspired each other throughout our long careers.

I’ll let you know how this venture turns out! In the meantime, I hope you’ll enjoy my trilogy for Harlequin American about police officers finding love and parenthood in a small town. It started with February’s The Doctor’s Little Secret, continues with May’s Daddy Protector and concludes in September with Twin Surprise.

Thanks for reading!