TORCHING THE TOWN

There are downsides in being a writer: rejection, isolation, writer’s block, self-doubt, lack of regular pay, a printer that devours ink cartridges. Still, there is so much on the upside that I dream of this becoming my year-round, full-time career. One of the many perks is having a flexible schedule, something that never existed during my years as an educator where bells and timetables ruled.

That flexibility allows me to take in special events when they arise. Today, the Olympic torch came to the Sunshine Coast. How could I not take a break to partake in the festivities?

Before the big event, I relocated my writing venue to the Gibsons Library. I plugged away on my laptop while glimpsing the increasing activity at the park and marina as people of all ages congregated in anticipation of the torch’s arrival. While this was a proudly Canadian event, it seemed to take on an “American Idol” atmosphere. A guy in a moose costume intrigued a standard poodle that kept lunging at the antlered beast. I spotted clowns, one of whom sported a gigantic Nerf camera around his neck. A woman made a dress out of Canada flags. I got to feeling like the silly one, daring to show up in jeans and a plain black jacket.

Everything came together perfectly as the torch made its way through town. It was as quaint and breathtaking a scene as one would find anywhere in Canada. The temperature hit a balmy 10˚C and the sun shone. Boats slumbered in the marina while Keats Island maintained its rustic, forested persona a short water taxi ride away. Beyond it, snow dusted the North Shore Mountains, not enough for the upcoming Olympic events at the Cypress Bowl, but a sight to stop and behold nonetheless.

Indeed, it was a day for stopping and beholding. I got so caught up in the moment that I raced toward home to catch more of the torch relay near the ferry terminal. As a result, I’ll be writing late into the evening, but I am privileged to do so.

BEING RESILIENT

My first thought for the title of this entry was “Rejection Sucks”, but then I realized, while true, it’s not a helpful sentiment. My second thought was to not write about today’s letter at all. Throw it in the recycling and move on. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that.

After reading the letter, I immediately went back to my laptop to continue with my current writing project, but all the energy that had been there had instantly run dry. As a writer, I have to deal with rejection…and I suppose the sooner, the better.

Back in October, I’d put together a grant application package for a juvenile fiction novel idea. It was my first such application and I found the process a tad uncomfortable. First, I had to stop my current projects and complete the requisite forms and outlines for the jury. Creativity had to wait as I focused on meeting all the technical requirements for the grant. More troubling, however, was the feeling that I was essentially begging for money, not much different from a homeless person holding out an upturned baseball cap.

“Spare some change? Feed the writer.”

But, of course, that’s what writers have to do. We’re not well funded professionals like NHL players or plumbers. We take what we can get.

When I found the letter from the British Columbia Arts Council in my mailbox, I didn’t have a good feeling. I tried to pep myself up, recalling the plot ideas I felt would appeal to young readers and the references to the past that would allow timely connections with current society. Still, the envelope was too light—enough for a single-page rejection, rather than a congratulatory letter with forms attached to sign and other sheets providing reminders of deadlines for lucky grant recipients.

It’s amazing how even a form rejection can sting. “I regret to inform you that the jury did not recommend assistance for your project.” Ouch. Of course, they can’t support everyone, but it’s only natural to take the rejection as a clear sign that your writing isn’t good enough. Your writing idea isn’t original or, frankly, it’s boring.

Yikes. Not helpful thinking. And, thus, the title of this blog entry. I must acknowledge that the begging didn’t work. Now it is time to rebound. I could read up on how J.K. Rowling or some other ridiculously successful author received countless rejections, but I really need to get back to my current work. I’ll have to scrimp even more and continue to buy no-name tomato soup, but my dream to succeed as a writer remains. I hope to one day look back and remember my time as a starving writer with the kind of sweetness and nostalgia that comes when one is far removed from harshness that comes in the midst of the struggle.

I should be so lucky.

THE CHALLENGES OF PLUGGING AWAY

The workday begins with me sitting on a bench, writing, while sipping a coffee inside a mall in town. Every seat inside the Starbucks is taken. Laptops are open in front of at least half the patrons.

This is what happens when the power goes out.

Although the town powers on, it’s dark in the outlying areas, including at my home. We the power deprived crawl out of the woodwork and head for the town lights. Who are all these people? Other writers? Entrepreneurs? Home business operators? Getting a seat inside Starbucks isn’t crucial. I can’t use my laptop because, although the place is wireless, my ancient device can’t access the service. Add laptop to the wish list should I get an advance on any writing in the near future.

I’m guessing the power died somewhere around two in the morning as rains pummeled my windows and winds huffed and puffed, thrashing the tall pines and threatening to blow the house down. Happens many times each winter. We’ve been spared some this year. Still, the inconvenience of the moment is expected to last the full day, midnight being the time the hydro company estimates for getting power restored.

I move to a small table in the mall. Right beside the Lotto Centre island. Seventies music pipes through the ceiling: “Sad Eyes”, Karen’s haunting voice singing “For All We Know”, Chaka offering a soulful “Sweet Thing”. The classics, as I know them, compete with today’s hip hop, blaring from the Athletes World across the way. (Wish they had an apostrophe in their name. Help us, Lynne Truss!) It’s catchy, but it can’t compete with Chaka.

A steady stream of hopefuls stop by the lottery base to check their tickets. The system is down, the only inconvenience perceptible to townsfolk. They don’t know how lucky they are already.

Without my laptop, it’s paper and pencil today. I used to prefer first drafts scrawled on legal pads and plain notebooks, but I realize I’ve made the full transition to thinking and writing in front of a computer. I have no choice but to fall back on my old ways. I cannot afford for today to be a write-off. I have also loaded plenty of non-electronic writing tasks in my backpack: the latest issue of The Writer—a rare chance to study articles I never seem to get around to reading—, an old screenplay I need to reread to decide if it’s worth revising, a TV script to study for formatting and pacing.

Despite the power outage, I must continue to plug away. The brain power is on its own today.

LETTING GO

I have no children of my own so I don’t have an authentic sense of what it’s like raising them and hoping that one day they will leave home with the best possible shot at living a happy, successful life. I have dogs, but they never grow up. Lincoln, in particular, doesn’t learn any of life’s lessons because, well, he doesn’t seem to learn. (He is awfully amusing, thank goodness.)

I am not the first to compare writing projects to one’s offspring. Yes, it pales to the constant care involved in parenting, but there is that element of creating something and shaping it to be the best it can be. The milestones and personality get tweaked after regular, often difficult, reflection. And then there comes a point of realization that every opportunity imaginable has been offered to this being and the best thing is to set it out in the world.

I have a habit of sitting on “completed” writing. It’s hard to let go. What if I send it out and it meets rejection? What if I can find an extra spark if I hang on just a little longer? Thankfully, despite my clinging, there comes a point when the manuscript is itching to move out. I can feel it and there is no way I can hold it back any longer.

Yes, it’s ready.

Today I shall send two picture book manuscripts out into the world, Eric’s English Lessons and Alastair on Safari. I am proud of the unique personality of each. Eric is a fearful, serious individual who takes everything literally. God help him. Hopefully, he’ll also come across as a sympathetic, even amusing character who makes us think about the way we say things. Alastair, on the other hand, always was a wild child. He’s a reckless, daring adventurer but also a keen observer. Bursting with imagination, life is his for the taking.

I cannot sit back and fret too much about the fate of these “children”. To be sure, I hope to hear good news with respect to both of them. But I have much more to focus on at home as I continue to raise Broderick, Esmeralda, Julie, Sven, Clint, Dennis and the rest of the brood. Although two are gone, it’s still a full house of rambunctious characters, each vying to have his or her story heard. Of that, I’m truly thankful.

WHAT GOES UP MUST COME DOWN (AND HOPEFULLY UP AGAIN)

I don’t think I’ve ever compared my writing to an episode of “The Bachelor” before but here goes. As I baked chocolate brownie muffins last night, the pilot bachelor took a group of women on a date to Magic Mountain. (The whole group date thing is icky, but I shall try to stick to the subject.) They had the entire theme park to themselves. I wasn’t watching the screen—one must not waste chocolate on a botched batch!—but I’ll assume they rode the roller coasters. I went to Magic Mountain once when I lived in L.A. and the place is all about the roller coasters. And that’s where I made a connection with my writing.

(Sort of) like that entourage, my writing experiences are very much like riding a roller coaster on my own. Over the last twenty-four hours, I’ve gone from a grim low to an ecstatic high.

The low arose from my searching for publishers and agents on the Internet and in The Canadian Writer’s Market. About four weeks ago, I designated January 13 as Submission Day, with the intention of revising and polishing two of my picture book manuscripts and one teleplay and getting them in the mail. The good news is that I am excited about the projects that I’m preparing to send out. The bad news is that I don’t feel like I have a great sense about where to submit them. Many publishers do not consider picture books. Others do not take unsolicited manuscripts. That requires a search for agents, most of whom are not taking new clients and others who don’t consider authors unless they have been recommended and referred. The doors to the TV script arena seem even more guarded. Hours spent searching and I still didn’t feel I had a plan.

But then things perked up. I went to the gym and returned home to do a final polish on one of the picture books. After some tweaking, I reached a point of being fully satisfied, even energized, about the project. The rise continued when I got a call from a friend who is arranging a dinner later this month with a group of friends that includes someone who co-wrote a feature film now in theaters and generating Oscar buzz. I look forward to the opportunity to chat with him about his experiences.

And this morning I drafted my query letter for my other picture book. The letter has much more zing than prior versions, giving me a better feeling that I am creating the best circumstance I can to get my work noticed. It seems that I have reached the pinnacle of the roller coaster. But then maybe not. Maybe it’s time to build a taller roller coaster.

Riding alone is exciting, but also scary. Still, it beats sitting on a bench, clutching an oversized stuffed purple alligator and a bag of cotton candy while watching others experience the thrills and, yes, the occasional nausea. (One can get nauseous even being a bench warmer. A little cotton candy goes a long way.)

By the way, the chocolate muffins turned out amazing. Perfect with whipped cream. Comfort food to deal with the angst in finding a publisher/agent and a reward for trudging onward!

I'LL TAKE ANOTHER

Sometimes everything clicks. Yesterday was one of those days. Made a stunning looking veggie lasagna AND a Baileys cheesecake (both tasted pretty good, too!), found new strength at the gym and the writing flowed. Should have bought a lottery ticket while luck was with me.

My novel that has been losing steam got a boost with a new chapter and a plot twist that felt fresh. It has been tempting to toss the work in the growing Abandoned pile, but I’ve slogged on, determined to complete the first draft before going through a slash and burn process during a painful revision stage.

My new approach may be working. I’m limiting myself to an hour or two a day on this project and then switching to another writing task. In theory, the time spent becomes more focused as I don’t let it drag on only to be filled with drivel. On only the third day of Plan B, it worked. Hopefully that creates new momentum.

My new writing project is an original television series pitch, pilot and subsequent script. As I’m polishing three spec scripts for existing TV shows, I’m trying to complete a television writing package with the new series material to show that I can create my own characters, plot points and rhythm. When I get to the point of sending queries and manuscripts out, I’ll be fully stocked with other writing samples if only a prospective producer, showrunner or agent should ask.

Yesterday’s work on some character background development and a rough outline of the pilot episode was going so well I could feel the energy behind the people I was creating. I got so excited I had a step away a couple of times to take in the moment and to retain clarity by calming down.

To end the day, I finally had a chance to skim the morning newspaper and a tiny article popped out, the genesis for a possible future writing project. I read it, clipped it and jotted down some quick notes before filing it away. It’s great to know my Ideas folder continues to gain thickness.

It was a writing heyday, nicely capped by a little R and R, watching the Vancouver Canucks impressively dominate the Nashville Predators.

What a day! Encore, please!

WHAT DO I DO WITH SPEC SCRIPTS?

The most fun I have writing is drafting spec scripts for existing television series. While I’m not a full-time couch potato, there are always some series that I watch religiously. I get a sense of a show’s timing and the nuances of each character. At that point, writing a teleplay becomes more entertaining than watching an episode.

Twenty years ago, I wrote spec scripts for “Designing Women”, “Mad About You” and “Seinfeld”. I showed some of them to friends and was encouraged when I’d hear them laughing out loud in the other room. (I could never be in the same room as they read. I’d drive myself (and them) mad, scrutinizing every single facial expression. Okay, you say it’s just gas, but do you really mean my writing stinks?) It was a huge step to share the scripts with anyone. But I never took a step that mattered. I never attempted to get them read by anyone in the business.

I’ve now written three spec scripts for current shows: “The Big Bang Theory”, “Being Erica” and “The New Adventures of Old Christine”. I’m proud of each one and I can hear the characters’ voices as I read the lines.

I’m more willing to put my work out there for an agent or a producer to read, but I remain stumped about where to mail the scripts and query letters. I don’t have any links with people in the entertainment industry. And to my knowledge I don’t have a friend whose former next-door neighbor has a third cousin whose boss plays squash with a buddy of the personal assistant of George Clooney. (Sorry, no links even to Kathy Griffin. Or Rob & Amber.)

So I’m at a standstill. Advice anyone?