Today is a busy day for me. Work as usual, then I'm meeting with the manager of the hotel where my RWA chapter is holding a workshop this month (Margie Lawson comes to St. Louis!), which I'm coordinating. Then my favorite part of the day: MORWA's critique group meeting.
When other writers say they don't like the concept of critique groups or partners, I'm baffled. No feedback? I shudder to think about it. How do you know if you're getting the story to the reader with emotion but not melodrama, or if the humor works, or if what's so clear in your head is clear on the page?
I love feedback, and no, what I receive isn't usually glowing. But because my group cares enough about good writing to help me improve my writing, they point out where they think I've gone wrong and possibly what to do about it.
My first ms written for publication (aka, my learning book, which will never see the light of day again) was set in Atlanta. Not knowing whether it sounded like the South, I sent it to a writing contest in Atlanta, the Maggies, a very prestigious contest I was in no way ready to enter. I lucked in to finding a great contest and the most honest and helpful feedback ever! The judges very politely hated the book--and rightly so. :) It was an angst novel (full of whiners). I entered the Maggies every year when I started a new story.
My critique group is terrific (and I only use the possessive because I belong to it, not because being the moderator means I own it). I love seeing the fledgling writers leap from the nest and try their wings. Some crash to the ground, but they're gently helped up by the critiquers and sent back to their nests to try again. I especially love when a person's critiques get better because her/his writing gets better too. I call it osmosis--the knowledge used to critique seeps into the writing, improving the work.
I'm not reading tonight, but I look forward to my next turn. My writing is so much better because of the input of my critique partners and this group. Every new book goes before them. My first published book, Marrying the Boss, had quite a few presentations in different forms before the one that captured the feel I wanted. I changed the beginning and the characters and the entire dynamics of the relationship before I was happy.
Some writers say they don't want others messing with their Voice. Or changing their story. Or giving them doubts about their writing. All plausible concerns. I guess I'm too, um, strong-minded as my mother calls it (since I got it from her) or stubborn as my husband labels it (since he has to deal with it daily) to let anyone change my story in ways I don't want. They can suggest, but that doesn't mean I have to accept their suggestions. My Voice is just me, and I doubt anyone else could change that. Give me insecurities about my writing? I have so many already, a few more would hardly register on my radar. But those insecurities don't extend to feedback. Give it to me straight--so I can make my writing better! My skin is thick enough.
So, which personality type are you? Do you want to hear about your flaws so you can improve them, in writing or other aspects of life? Or would you rather not have anyone messing with you, and just figure it out on your own?
BONUS: There's no wrong answer!
Megan Kelly
megankellybooks.com
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Monday, April 05, 2010
Breaking News
A MOTHER’S WEDDING DAY
An April 2010 Mother’s Day Release from Harlequin American
An April 2010 Mother’s Day Release from Harlequin American
4 STAR RATING FROM ROMANTIC TIMES
Two novellas in one book featuring authors Rebecca Winters and Dominique Burton who are the first Mother and Daughter in real-life to write for Harlequin American.
Two novellas in one book featuring authors Rebecca Winters and Dominique Burton who are the first Mother and Daughter in real-life to write for Harlequin American.
I’m proud to announce that Dominique Burton is my talented daughter!
This is her first published novel. At the moment she is under contract to Harlequin American for two more novels that are linked to A DAUGHTER’S DISCOVERY (from A MOTHER’S WEDDING DAY).
Watch for her next stories out in 2011.
As a young girl with a writer for a mom and three brothers, I lived in the imaginary world of books and movies like Anne of Greene Gables and Indiana Jones. Most of the time I was writing and acting out my own stories with Harrison Ford as my hero. Not too shabby for a seven year old!
I’m a lover of Europe who at twenty got the wild notion to buy an around-the-world plane ticket. For six months I circled the globe on my own, traveling to Singapore, Australia, living and studying in Italy, learning about ancient cultures in Egypt, floating down the Nile, watching animals on safari in Kenya, scuba diving in Tahiti and having a blast. I graduated with honors from the University of Utah with a bachelor’s degree in History.
I now live in South Jordan, Utah, with my two amazing children. If I’m not writing romances or young adult stories, I’m reading or out running. A few years ago I had the privilege of running the Boston Marathon.
Please write to me at info@dominiqueburton.com or visit my website at http://www.dominiqueburton.com/.
This is a picture of me, Rebecca (Burton) Winters, when Dominique was only two years old. The love for writing has to be in the genes. When she came quietly into the dining room in the morning with her blanket and bottle to peek on her mommy who was typing a manuscript, this is what she saw.Just call me the proud mom.
Rebecca Winters
Saturday, April 03, 2010
The Rummage Sale
Confession time. I did something last weekend I’m not proud of. I got into an argument with a woman over four wooden hangers at a rummage sale.
Perhaps I should back up a bit. For the last six years, we’ve sent either one or both of our kids on the church mission trip. In order to help pay for this expense, our church holds an annual community rummage sale. Because our kids go and will benefit from the proceeds, the kids, my husband and I have to help out.
For the last six years, I’ve helped in one way or another. I’ve sorted clothes. I’ve baked dozens of cookies and worked the snack table. I’ve checked people out. Between y’all and me, I will admit that I Do Not Like The Rummage Sale. I don’t like how all the dusty things that have lived in people’s attics and basements-but now are in our church’s gymnasium-never fail to make me sick. I really don’t like sorting through other people’s donated items and discovering that they owned things I didn’t want to know about.
Example: Three years ago, my daughter found a uh, jock strap in the shape of a Flamingo. Her discovery of that, and the subsequent conversation we had about it was something I could have lived without. Really.
But I digress. Anyway, last weekend, I worked the snack table on Friday night and arrived back at church at 7:30 the following morning. The snack table wasn’t too busy, but the check out table was. So I volunteered to bag for a high school junior named Jen. I’ll admit it. Jen can add in her head way better than me. I had no problem letting her be in charge. She rang up sales, I bagged. Things were moving along.
Until the hanger lady came. She plopped four wooden hangers in front of Jen. She glared. And she pretty much told Jen that those hangers were not worth one dollar.
Philosophically, I get this. Of course people come to rummage sales for good deals. And, well, it never hurts to try and get a better deal. But people had been badgering poor Jen all morning. Some had even switched around price stickers. One lady swore up and down that her tricycle really had been priced at fifty cents.
By the time the hanger lady came, I had had enough. In my mind, those cedar hangers were very nice. They were certainly worth a quarter each. So as Jen was looking at hanger lady in wonder, I stepped in and said no. “They’re a dollar.”
She looked me over. “Fifty cents.”
To my right, I knew Jen was ready to give in. After all, there were lots of people behind hanger lady, and well, no one wants to pack up things that don’t sell. But perversely, I was tired of giving in. “No, they’re one dollar,” I said. Forcefully.
“Then I don’t want them.” And then she shoved those hangers at me.
Oh!! That really burned me up.
“Fine,” I said. “But just so you know, this church rummage sale is so these kids can go help people in Georgia.” Yes, I said Georgia like it was Uganda. No, it really wasn’t a fair thing to push the whole church aspect in the hanger lady’s face.
But for a split second, she looked a little worried. I started to get a little excited. I’m a huge wimp...but maybe, just maybe…she was a little afraid of me?
Maybe she was about to back down?
Uh, no. All she did was walk away, leaving me holding the hangers.
Yes, I lost the hanger sale. No, Jen was not impressed. But for a little bit, I felt triumphant.
There actually is a happy ending to my little episode. Hanger lady’s friend came back an hour later and bought those hangers. “They really were a good deal,” she explained. “Even at a quarter each.”
And the best news of all? After six years, my rummage sale days are now over. My daughter will be graduating next year, so this mission trip will be her last. Next year, some other Mom can bake cookies and argue. I plan to sleep in that day.
Of course, I have a sneaking suspicion there will be a tiny little part of me that will be sad about that.
Anyone else have a rummage sale story?
Shelley Galloway
Perhaps I should back up a bit. For the last six years, we’ve sent either one or both of our kids on the church mission trip. In order to help pay for this expense, our church holds an annual community rummage sale. Because our kids go and will benefit from the proceeds, the kids, my husband and I have to help out.
For the last six years, I’ve helped in one way or another. I’ve sorted clothes. I’ve baked dozens of cookies and worked the snack table. I’ve checked people out. Between y’all and me, I will admit that I Do Not Like The Rummage Sale. I don’t like how all the dusty things that have lived in people’s attics and basements-but now are in our church’s gymnasium-never fail to make me sick. I really don’t like sorting through other people’s donated items and discovering that they owned things I didn’t want to know about.
Example: Three years ago, my daughter found a uh, jock strap in the shape of a Flamingo. Her discovery of that, and the subsequent conversation we had about it was something I could have lived without. Really.
But I digress. Anyway, last weekend, I worked the snack table on Friday night and arrived back at church at 7:30 the following morning. The snack table wasn’t too busy, but the check out table was. So I volunteered to bag for a high school junior named Jen. I’ll admit it. Jen can add in her head way better than me. I had no problem letting her be in charge. She rang up sales, I bagged. Things were moving along.
Until the hanger lady came. She plopped four wooden hangers in front of Jen. She glared. And she pretty much told Jen that those hangers were not worth one dollar.
Philosophically, I get this. Of course people come to rummage sales for good deals. And, well, it never hurts to try and get a better deal. But people had been badgering poor Jen all morning. Some had even switched around price stickers. One lady swore up and down that her tricycle really had been priced at fifty cents.
By the time the hanger lady came, I had had enough. In my mind, those cedar hangers were very nice. They were certainly worth a quarter each. So as Jen was looking at hanger lady in wonder, I stepped in and said no. “They’re a dollar.”
She looked me over. “Fifty cents.”
To my right, I knew Jen was ready to give in. After all, there were lots of people behind hanger lady, and well, no one wants to pack up things that don’t sell. But perversely, I was tired of giving in. “No, they’re one dollar,” I said. Forcefully.
“Then I don’t want them.” And then she shoved those hangers at me.
Oh!! That really burned me up.
“Fine,” I said. “But just so you know, this church rummage sale is so these kids can go help people in Georgia.” Yes, I said Georgia like it was Uganda. No, it really wasn’t a fair thing to push the whole church aspect in the hanger lady’s face.
But for a split second, she looked a little worried. I started to get a little excited. I’m a huge wimp...but maybe, just maybe…she was a little afraid of me?
Maybe she was about to back down?
Uh, no. All she did was walk away, leaving me holding the hangers.
Yes, I lost the hanger sale. No, Jen was not impressed. But for a little bit, I felt triumphant.
There actually is a happy ending to my little episode. Hanger lady’s friend came back an hour later and bought those hangers. “They really were a good deal,” she explained. “Even at a quarter each.”
And the best news of all? After six years, my rummage sale days are now over. My daughter will be graduating next year, so this mission trip will be her last. Next year, some other Mom can bake cookies and argue. I plan to sleep in that day.
Of course, I have a sneaking suspicion there will be a tiny little part of me that will be sad about that.
Anyone else have a rummage sale story?
Shelley Galloway
Friday, April 02, 2010
MARCH WINNER!!!
CONGRATULATIONS Linda s! You’re the March winner. To receive your free autographed books please contact Laura Bradford, Roxann Delaney and Laura Altom through their Web sites.
To enter the contest simply leave a blog comment and your name will go into the drawing. Easy and painless. And FREE BOOKS.
So check back often and be sure to leave a comment. Good luck!
To enter the contest simply leave a blog comment and your name will go into the drawing. Easy and painless. And FREE BOOKS.
So check back often and be sure to leave a comment. Good luck!
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Food Issues
My husband is not on a diet. He is dealing with food issues sensibly by following a plan set up by a nutritionist. This involves weighing and measuring ridiculously small amounts of food for a full-size man.
On the plus, or maybe I should say minus, side, I’m eating less myself. While I’m not measuring and tracking units of protein vs. carbs, this program discourages fixing fancy combinations of food. They’re too hard to measure. And plain food tends to be less tempting (except for ice cream).
I have food issues in my books, too.
In real life, people socialize over food. Heroes and heroines, too, go out to dinner, cook together, celebrate holidays (such as Thanksgiving), take lunch breaks from work, etc. It’s all too easy as a writer to have them constantly fussing about with coffee cups, bites of omelet, or whatever, during their conversations.
Usually by chapter five or so, my ongoing outline gets studded with reminders to AVOID FOOD.
You’d be surprised how difficult this is. Almost as hard as avoiding food in real life.
I doubt Congress worries about this. Please don’t tell them. They might start fining authors of characters who overeat.
Or – worst case scenario – take away my ice cream.
On the plus, or maybe I should say minus, side, I’m eating less myself. While I’m not measuring and tracking units of protein vs. carbs, this program discourages fixing fancy combinations of food. They’re too hard to measure. And plain food tends to be less tempting (except for ice cream).
I have food issues in my books, too.
In real life, people socialize over food. Heroes and heroines, too, go out to dinner, cook together, celebrate holidays (such as Thanksgiving), take lunch breaks from work, etc. It’s all too easy as a writer to have them constantly fussing about with coffee cups, bites of omelet, or whatever, during their conversations.
Usually by chapter five or so, my ongoing outline gets studded with reminders to AVOID FOOD.
You’d be surprised how difficult this is. Almost as hard as avoiding food in real life.
I doubt Congress worries about this. Please don’t tell them. They might start fining authors of characters who overeat.
Or – worst case scenario – take away my ice cream.
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