September in Alaska - by Lynn Lovegreen

By mid-September, summer is going or gone in Alaska. Depending on location and the weather, we might have the last gasp of summer, but we all know that’s all it is.

The days are crisp and there’s a definite chill in the evening. The sunsets are noticeably earlier. But if we’ve done our job right, we’re ready.

(See Sandy Shacklett’s post from Aug. 29.)

 http://www.akrwa.blogspot.com/2014/08/getting-ready-for-winter.html 

The freezer is full and the firewood is stacked. We can enjoy the fall. 

Autumn is the time to settle in and enjoy the great indoors. If you’re into crafts, reading, other indoor hobbies, you can indulge without feeling guilty about wasting the daylight, missing out on camping and fishing and all that stuff. 

The kids are back in school, the summer to-do list checked off (or dumped), and it’s time to relax a bit.

Of course, with this group, it means more time to write. Fall is the time to finish that draft, start the new book, learn that new writing program you’ve been dying to try. 

In my case, it’s finishing the research and getting the draft whipped into shape. I’m looking forward to it!

Enjoy your September, whatever that means in your neck of the woods!

--- Lynn Lovegreen

Writing On The Road...

 — Okay, Not ON the Road, Because I Wouldn’t Write on a Road, Like With Chalk or Anything, But . . .

Well, you know what I mean, right?

I’ve been traveling quite a bit this year with Mr. Don. Mostly motoring, but I jumped on a few flights as well. Family commitments, a conference, more family—it all takes time. Hours in a car, then on a jet, with my brain thinking ahead on what needs to be done when we get there. But regardless of what Don and I are doing that requires travel, I still need to work. As an acquiring editor, I have authors depending on me to get their manuscripts ready for publication. I have submissions to read. And as a writer, I have my own deadlines on several projects.

So I write on the road. No chalk in sight, either.

It’s a balancing act, and I do mean balancing. In a mid-sized Suzuki on the freeway, working with a laptop can really be challenging especially since I have a heck of a time dealing with the little touch pad. What a major PITA . . . I’m borderline dyslexic on the best of days. At home I employ not only a trackball mouse but a full-sized ergonomic keyboard to keep my wayward fingers from hitting something that ends up looking like ‘KSDhsgosugsazb ,mmm.’

Earlier this year and on the road south, I fought with the stupid touch pad but couldn’t click on anything to save my soul. So I tried using my trackball by setting it on the narrow arm rest molded into the passenger door which was kind of ridiculous. But I was desperate for functionality and the ability to double-click with any kind of finesse. A Kensington trackball shaped like a triangle doesn’t balance very well on an arm rest that’s no wider than a wooden ruler. After enduring the ‘Laughter of Don,’ I tucked away my trackball and grumbled for the next several hundred miles we drove each day. But I did master the touch pad enough to complete final edits on a deadline manuscript.

 In two months we’re hitting the road again, and we’ll be gone for six months or so; Texas, the southwest, home to Alaska. We’ll be in the RV, on a plane, back in the Suzuki, and I’ll be doing my balancing act once more. Work goes on no matter what, and I’ve found I can blend it in with the more enjoyable aspects of being on the road without missing too much scenery along the way.

I think the best aspect of both my jobs is the flexibility of it. I can edit and write anywhere, anytime, and wearing anything I like. Or not, though I have yet to write in the nude. Perhaps that can be a future challenge. But not in the Suzuki. What if I spill my latte while I’m double-clicking?

Think of the damage I’d do to my laptop.

Char Chaffin is a member of AKWRA and CNYRW, a displaced Alaskan currently splitting her time between Fairbanks and Upstate New York. She has three books and an anthology published with Soul Mate Publishing and is also an Acquisitions Editor for Soul Mate. She’s hard at work on her fourth novel as well as another anthology and a project with ‘The Power of Three,’ a writing collective she shares with BFFs and fellow authors Cheryl Yeko and Callie Hutton. When she’s not writing or editing, she’s plotting.

Find her here:

Website: http://char.chaffin.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/char.chaffin

Twitter: http://twitter.com/char_chaffin

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5337737.Char_Chaffin

Sunlight Moonlight

 One of the things I miss most about living in Alaska is the light cycle. Whenever I tell people I lived in Anchorage for several years I get the same question:  How did you stand the dark? The real answer is that everyone stands the dark because they know summer is coming and the dark will be pretty much banished. It all equals out.

But the truth is, I never had to “stand” the dark. I loved the weirdness of the shortest days of the year. I’ll never forget my first morning in Anchorage, looking out on a snowy December 2^nd at 9:30 a.m. and seeing people at a bus stop, one person shoveling a sidewalk, and three more strolling casually along, as if it wasn’t pitch dark, snowing and illuminated by streetlamp. I was more astounded yet when, after the briefest showing of visible daylight, the night crept in around 2:30 p.m.

Truly weird. To an Outsider.

But I grew to love the short winter daylight. Not as much as the short summer moonlight, but the eleven dark months had their charm. And their usefulness.  (Okay, so it wasn’t dark for eleven months. Eight maybe. It just seemed like eleven.) But I loved burrowing into my little condo from October to May and learning how to use the time and the sense of being in a cocoon to become more productive.  It was in the long dark mornings and afternoons that I learned to write. I mean, what else was there to do besides put my nose to the grindstone and produce? Heck, I wrote three books during Alaskan winters. That was a dang good author apprenticeship!

And, there was summer. Glorious, 20-hour days of sunlight (when it wasn’t raining), and time for exploring, gathering information, doing research. I came up with multiple future plots during the stunning Alaskan summers. They are a dreamer’s paradise!

So here I sit, 15 latitudinal degrees, give or take, south of Alaska, and we have no such extreme cycles, but I could use one of them. It’s my unscientifically proven fact that there’s more time to work in Alaska than there is in Minnesota. I just sent in a rather ambitious proposal to my agent, who sent it to my editor, who has hinted that she loves it. But, if it’s accepted I’m warned—the books will need to be produced like that one recent famous movie:  (The)Fast and Furious(ly). I’m not known for my fast and furious writing ability. I need fewer hours of daylight in which to waste time.

See why I need a hermit month in an Alaskan winter?

Of course, it could be I just need a little self-discipline.

But an Alaskan adventure is more fun to think about. Somebody would find me a nice little bat cave (not literally) in an Alaskan basement or cabin, wouldn’t she?

And, if I were to come tomorrow, maybe I could get some lessons in how to promote two books coming out right in a row. What the heck—might as well throw in another first world problem:  how does one deal with back-to-back releases?

A problem to solve in another blog.

 Meanwhile, I really do have two new books coming out back-to-back. I’ve even got the covers to show you!  Whatcha think? As my editor said, “I’m not usually in favor of putting more clothing ON a cover model, but in these cases I think it’s well worth it.” And, I agree—I prefer leaving something to the imagination—and I can tell you, I’d definitely like to delve under these t-shirts and jean jackets. Guess what? The heroines in my two do more than delve . . .

Check ‘em out if you like:  both books are available for pre-order!  “Beauty and the Brit” releases September 2^nd and “Good Guys Wear Black” on October 14^th.  I’ll figure out how to promote them in the next couple of weeks – but suggestions are welcome! 

That’s it, since I can’t really wax any more poetic or dramatic on Alaskan daylight and moonlight. I’ll just end by saying—if one of you, my Alaskan buddies, finds me blinking in the dark on your front porch one night, you’ll know why.

--- Liz Selvig

https://www.facebook.com/LizbethSelvigAuthor

Writing / Righting with Dyslexia

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You would think the last profession a person with dyslexia (seriously try and spell that word) would choose to be is a writer.

I was one of those kids who was called stupid and retarded because I couldn't grasp reading and I sure as hell couldn't spell, we won't even mention math. Growing up, there was a weekly spelling test in my 5^th grade class. Every Thursday I would pretend I was sick, going as far as to heat my forehead with the hot bulb from the lamp and sprinkle my face with water, even making wretched sounds in the bathroom trying to throw up. My mom was no fool and never fell for my antics, and off to school I was sent.  

I studied really hard for these tests, and I would fail miserably every week. Then there came the day when I was sent to the trailers. Those hot, airless, single-wide government buildings that the Special Ed teacher would come and pull me out of class—in front of all my snickering classmates—and then imprison me in this old smelling, cheaply-built room and try to teach me something I couldn't grasp. The labels were cruel and tore down what little self-esteem I had. I still fight the names today.

It wasn't until the end of the six grade that I actually finished a book—a short book, Ramona the Pest by Beverly Clearly. Eventually I read everything Beverly Clearly wrote. Things finally started to click in junior high, largely in part to my grandmother who was an English teacher and realized that I learned in pictures not with spelling or sounding things out. That's just a crazy practice.

Fast forward to today. I am still razed for my inability to spell. There are just some words that I will never spell right. The word dyslexia for one, and anything that has a lot of vowels, and just forget anything that starts with psy/phy.

How does this affect being a writer? Editing is hard, the bear of my existence, and I usually spend way more time on editing than a lot of my writers friends have to.  I will see the right word and it's the wrong word. Unless someone points it out, to me it is the right word. I miss little things with my posts on social media no matter how many times I reread them, and yet I'm a writer. I should know this stuff, right? Feeling stupid is sometimes a daily struggle. I know I'm not stupid, but when a mistake is found, I am once again that defeated little girl pretending she is sick to get out of taking a spelling test.  

It wasn't until I recognized my own child suffering that I starting researching dyslexia. For so long this was a thing that I was ashamed of. Well, that thinking had to change and change quick as my child was not going through the hell I did! I have mother bear tendencies. What I found was surprising and I wish I could tell all those who made fun of me the strengths that dyslexic people have.

They are creative types and think in pictures. This comes in handy being able to put myself in the shoes of my characters. It also helps with three dimensional problem solving. Dyslexics tend to be entrepreneurs as they want to control their environment. They also have cognitive and emotional strengths even though they have difficulty in decoding words.

When I got deep into the research and realized how many successful writers were dyslexics, it helped push me to take my writing seriously. The real problem was finding the courage to let people read my writing as they were going to pick it apart word by word and make fun of me. Not to mention opening myself up to REVIEWS! Luckily, I have connected with some wonderful critique partners who don't judge me, except me for my eccentricities, and for the creative visual writer that I am. Developing a tough skin over the years has helped too.

For more information about dyslexia, and a list of 25 famous Writers including F. Scott Fitzgerald and Agatha Christie—just to name a few—check out this site. http://dyslexiahelp.umich.edu/success-stories/famous-authors-with-dyslexia  

Another great resource, and the book that changed my life, is the Gift of Dyslexia by Ronald D. Davis. Here is also a fun youtube video if you are or know of someone struggling with dyslexia. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IEpBujdee8M
 

Tiffinie Helmer is a USA Today Bestselling Author with twelve books currently out with her thirteenth, BUSHWHACKED, due to be released on May 19^th. To learn more about her and her books please visit her website at: http://www.tiffiniehelmer.com
 

I Got the Writing Monkey on my Back

Writing can be a difficult undertaking. You spend a lot of time alone, in your head going over things that don’t exist except there in that brain of yours until you commit it to paper or computer screen. You have to accept and deal with rejection, a saturated market, and very low pay for long hours. Why am I doing this to myself!?  - I am doing this because I am an addict and what I am addicted to are those incredible jags of blissful joy I experience when I fall into that groove and the world disappears as I completely go there - to that place in my mind, where my story lives. I am in my brain in this place it’s created and my fingers are furiously tapping out words, flowing onto my screen, filling it unhindered with sentences and then paragraphs. I am alive with my characters, feeling the rain or the sun on my face, smelling the scent of a birch forest, newly mown hay or a battlefield.

My characters on occasion will do things not in any draft that I’d come up with. For a moment I will go, “Where did that come from?” and then go okay and keep going because often it works with the story or makes it better. I had one character outlined to be with Fellow C, but when I got into the groove and was progressing with the story, she showed me whom she wanted and it wasn’t Fellow C at all, but a charming side character I’d created for credible historical background and it was beautiful and meaningful, more so than it would have been with Fellow C.

I don’t want to leave this state and am trying to get back to it as often as I can. Sometimes there are days when I can’t into that grove and I feel like that last kid in the Pied Piper of Hamlin, who wasn’t fast enough and he’s knocking at the door, begging to be let in. When those doors open and I enter that state of creativity it is one of my greatest joys and it keeps me coming back to write more.

It so happens that Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, a professor of psychology has defined this state of being and he calls it “The Flow”.  Athletes experience this as well, Japanese martial artists refer to this state as “mushin no mushin”- mind without mind, Chinese Taoist call it “Wu Wei” – without effort.

Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi and his colleague Jeanne Nakamura came up with a list of things that happen when one is in the flow. 1) You experience focused and intense concentration. 2) Action and awareness merge. 3) A loss of reflective self-consciousness. 4) A sense of personal control or agency over the situation of activity. 5) A distortion of temporal experience, one’s subjective experience of time is altered.  6) Experience of the activity is intrinsically rewarding also referred to at the autotelic experience.

According to Csikszentmihalyi three things need to happen to create the flow. 1) One must be involved in an activity with a clear set of goals and progress. This adds direction and structure to the task. 2) The task at hand must have clear and immediate feedback. This helps the person negotiate any changing demands and allows them to adjust their performance to maintain the flow. 3) One must have balance between the perceived challenges of the task at hand and your own skills. You must be confident in your ability to complete the task at hand. There is also a cycle: Apathy, worry, anxiety, arousal, Flow, Control, Relaxation, Boredom.

I will share some links and videos on my Facebook page if you’d like to further investigate the wonderful work of Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. I leave you with a quote from a Titan of a writer.

People spend a lifetime thinking about how they would really like to live. I asked my friends and no one seems to know very clearly. To me it's very clear now. I wish my life could have been like the years when I was writing 'Love in the Time of Cholera.'   Gabriel Garcia Marquez

The Wrath of Aphrodite: Book One by C.G. Williams https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/368898

Visit C.G. Williams on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/pages/CG-Williams/213033882211270

The Joy of Victory, the Agony of… Too Much in My “In Box”

Many years ago when I decided my second career would be writing romance novels, I, like many other newbies, was elated. I could stay home in my pjs, a wonderful thing after thirty-two years of professional dress and seven o’clock staff meetings.

I could cuddle up to the fire and dream of naughty and enticing themes in the calm warmth of my living room. I would be queen of my schedule and master of my future. No secretary would buzz a warning of some client on a rampage about to tackle my peace of mind with unsolvable dilemmas. I could watch all the things on television I had missed in working long hours and constantly taking or teaching night or weekend classes at UAA. I could do lunch with my husband. I could take a vacation any time of the year I wanted instead of working a holiday into the district’s school schedule.

I COULD SLEEP IN!

Right…

Everyone needs a fantasy, right? The grass is always greener, so they say. Right?

Wrong.

I quickly learned I didn’t own pjs, and as a full time writer I couldn’t afford to go shopping. Only veteran writers with published books and income can shop. I had forgotten that cuddling up to a fire in the calm of my home only put me to sleep. And I slept very well! I found out my secretary was the true queen of my schedule and she was so much better at it than I could ever be.

And master of my future…I wasn’t even master of my keyboard, let alone something as enormous as my future.

As for watching television, it was a giant time suck and a brain drain. I found myself critically evaluating every show I saw while eating everything in the cupboards as tasty commercials subliminally fed my mini binges.

I no longer worked long hours and kept pace with the night shift. In fact, I worked no hours and no night shifts. My husband got into the habit of calling me two hours before lunch so I would be on time and fully dressed.

Pathetic you say? Pretty much. My mid life career crisis didn’t last long as I have always been goal oriented and a bit of an over achiever.

So I pulled myself up by my slouchy sweat pants and faced the blank screen on my Mac. About a month and a half after I had become a “full time writer” my husband came home and actually found me at my computer writing. It was a beginning.

The challenge of finding yourself in a one-woman, self-dependent occupation is that you are alone and completely at the mercy of your own devices. The joy of a one-woman, self-dependent occupation is you have no one else to congratulate when you finish your first book, but yourself.

You find out that you are responsible for everything. You find out that you are not really alone and your own devices can fill a couple hundred pages if you commit them to paper. Those naughty and enticing themes sell. The joy of victory is so sweet…

Then comes the reality of writing as a career. It’s much harder than being an educator. Talk about burning the midnight oil. My characters demand their lives be committed to pages before I can sleep. Themes invade my mind and cry out for validation. I end up with more stories than I can ever write and readers who want more, faster. My email in-box is filled to bulging with requests for the next story, criticisms on my current books and deadlines that must be met. Covers must be developed, copies sent for review.

It’s exhausting… and wonderful… and satisfying… and a full time endeavor. If someone tells you “Oh, anyone can write brainless romance,” they are correct. But it takes a talented, dedicated author to construct, write and produce a romance novel. And that is just the beginning.

But I did it!

I developed, wrote and self-published my first romance novel. It only took a gallon of sweat, a quart of tears, $25.00 dollars for an ISBN number, $210.00 for a professional cover, many midnight critiques, and the unwavering support and assistance of friends and family. Oh yeah… and five years.

Becoming a romance author is not for those who sleep in, cuddle up to the fire and dream or do lunch out a lot. But it is for me.

>--- Miriam Matthews
miriamthewriter@gmail.com

Everything I Learned about Critique Groups, I Learned from Alaska

I got hit with a sobering and depressing reality check just the other day. I lived in Anchorage for three years. It seemed like a goodly amount of time if not NEARLY long enough. And to this moment it looms in my memory and my heart as if I left yesterday. But I didn’t. I’ve been back in Minnesota for five years.

Five years! Sob.

So much has happened in that time, but one thing hasn’t changed. I feel as close to my friends there as I ever have. They might not know it, but they are never ever far from my heart. Ever. I wondered why this is, and the answer came to me without me even trying. The people of Alaska are as big of heart, as varied in riches and gifts, and as unforgettable as Alaska is herself.

Things (all things—tasks, working, shopping, playing) move just a little more slowly in Alaska than they do Outside. I don’t mean things are “slow” (as in short bus slow), but there’s an ease born of a “Hey, what’s the rush? Where are you going to go?” attitude you won’t find in states where you could, potentially, get out in a hurry. This applies to friendships as well. There is/was SO much time to cultivate closeness. I’ve never experienced anything like it.

Alaska Chapter of Romance Writers of America - early years

And my friendships spilled over into my then baby seedling of a career so that my writing became my joy because my friends were with me. And they (my friends) also became my critique partners, and I hung on their words and advice, even when I crossed my arms and pretended I didn’t want to hear them . And the more I got to know these friends’ secrets and true selves, the more their experiences and insights shaped my own. We were a band of sisters made up from many stripes and backgrounds and beliefs, but I had the time and space to learn from them all, and love our differences.

Let this sound like a mere exercise in being maudlin, I promise there’s a reason for my schmaltzy words. When I had to leave Alaska it took a big chunk out of my heart. Let’s don’t even talk about missing the land itself—that’s another blog topic entirely. It was the people I couldn’t stand leaving behind. But here’s the thing—I took them all with me. I didn’t realize it for a long time, but I eventually figured it out. I learned so much about working together and taking time to appreciate everything about a group of friends, that I can’t thank Alaska enough for giving me the opportunity.

I have a new critique group here in Minnesota. There are only four of us and still, it was very hard to start this group—it felt awkward and disloyal and not close for a long time. But I went back to the memories of Alaska and remembered all the big-hearted things I learned in the big-hearted place I still love: patience, admiration for differences, listening, taking time—lots of time—and seeing other peoples’ strengths. I learned to love my new critique group because I still love the first one. Everything I learned about how to make this work, I learned from Alaska.

See, she has a big, sharing heart that way!
So, salute to all my old CPs (AKA Best of Friends) still slogging away up North. Here’s wishing everyone a chance to fall in love with the people of Alaska just as I did!

--- Liz Selvig



 Pizza, Clay, San Pellegrino, Fleetwood Mac, and Overalls

What do these things have in common? In my world—as of this moment—they equal inspiration. I'm an author, which means the things that inspire me don't always make a lot of sense to everyone else. Anything can inspire if you are open to listening. Except housework. I don't ever see that inspiring anyone. If it does, I'd like to hear from you so I can pick your brain.  

Currently it's after midnight (I love the time after midnight, but that's another subject) and Fleetwood Mac is playing on Pandora (I'm a huge fan) and I'm eating leftover pizza (two days leftover now as I don't have time to cook as well as clean) and drinking an orange flavored San Pellegrino. Magic happens when you put these things together.

Let's start with pizza:

The food of the Gods. Seriously, a food that brings together ALL the food groups. Meat, vegetable, bread, and dairy. Really? Perfection. Enough said.

Fleetwood Mac:

Creativity personified. Lyrics that bring about magic and fuel imagination. Plus Stevie Nick's clothes are the bomb. I strive to be like her. You should see my wardrobe.

Orange San Pellegrino:

Now here I get a little deeper. I'm currently writing a Russian Roulette Series that my agent is hammering for me to finish. She knows it's good and she's only seen the first 50 pages. Wait until she sees what I just wrote. Yeah, feeling pretty freaking awesome right now. That might change when I reread what I just wrote come morning (I'm always brilliant in the midnight hours). Still wondering how San Pellegrino comes into this?

Well, long story made short. I was a high school foreign exchange student to Finland where I had my first taste of orange San Pellegrino and was immediately hooked. You know how smells and tastes take you right back to a time and place? Well San Pellegrino does that for me. The first book in my Russian series is set in Finland. Getting the picture? But still lost on the clay reference? Relax, I wasn't going to leave you hanging.

Clay:

I'm an artist and clay is one of my mediums, words another. I can mentally paint with words, but I work in clay for form and function. Most artists have more than one creative outlet and sometimes, if you are lucky, they feed each other.

Clay feeds my writer's soul.  

Pottery is my hobby (profitable hobby, but hobby none the less). Writing is the full-time gig. Most times more than full-time as I tend to put in 12 hours a day at it. I can, and do, get burned out. When that happens, I head to my pottery studio. A few hours—or days—in my studio restores me, refills the creative well, so to speak. I feel amazing after a day throwing clay. I'm working with my hands, creating something tangible. With writing, I can't see it, feel it, or use it. Pottery is something I can get messy with. I can hold it, see it, form it. And while I'm doing all this my mind is free.

Overalls:  

In my studio you will find me wearing my grandmother's overalls. We were very close. She died seven years ago and was an artist in her own right as a wood carver. When she carved, she wore the overalls I inherited from her. I'm connected to her. She was also a published author and wrote many articles for the Alaska Journal and was featured in the hardcover publication of The Last Frontier. She is still my biggest inspiration. So I wear her overalls. I also set my Pandora station to Fleetwood Mac and then I play. While I'm playing, my mind is free to work, solve problems, think up new characters, and situations and how I'm going to really mess up my characters' lives. Subconsciously this is all happening. I'm not really aware of it as I'm singing at the top of my lungs along with Stevie. By the end of one of these sessions, I am renewed, reborn, energized.  

And feeling freaking unstoppable.

I can't be the only person out there who experiences this phenomenon. I'd like to hear what inspires you?

--- Tiffinie Helmer

Writing...

Calling Yourself a Writer?

Is this you? You’re driven to write. You write every day. You already have a manuscript completed and another started. Yet someone asks you what you do for a living, and you tell them you run a store, work in a doctor’s office, are a teacher, a babysitter, an accountant; work in construction, in a factory, etc. Chances are, you wouldn’t think to tell them you are a writer if you haven’t yet published that book or magazine article, poetry, whatever, that you’ve written.

But you should. Think of yourself as a writer, that is. And call yourself one.

Oh, they might challenge you up front; ask you what you’ve published. Abashed, you might mutter something about “not published yet, but I wrote this book….” They might shake their heads and walk away. You might feel mortified that you even claimed to be a writer.

But as soon as you touched your fingers to the keyboard and started linking sentences, molding characters, situations and chapters; once you set up your fictional or non-fictional work, you became a writer. Because you started creating.

I used to design costumes for a light opera company in Fairbanks. It was all volunteer work and I did two shows a year. I drew up designs, chose the fabric, sewed the costumes, even created hats, shoes and sometimes designed wigs. If I couldn’t find a pattern, then I made my own. I worked on stage with lighting crews; I supervised a team of seamstresses to assist me on the bigger-cast productions. It was all my responsibility once I agreed to take on a show. Did that make me a costume designer even though I never got a cent for my effort?

Oh, heck yes, it did. Maybe I couldn’t slap it on a resume per se, but I was no less a costume designer than someone else who got paid for the job. And when someone asked me what I did for a living, I’d reply that I worked as a costume designer when I wasn’t in my office, doing the other boring junk.

Those of us who toil in words, who agonize over our characters and create worlds for them to live in, are writers though we may not yet have found our agent or our publisher. We know they’re out in the world just waiting for what we’ve accomplished. They know the next great book is only a submission away. The twain simply has to meet. But in the meantime, we are writers.

You put your blood and sweat, often your tears, into your writing once you begin creating. Those characters you pen are your best friends, your family, perhaps your enemies. You give them life and you send them on their way when it’s time to query or submit. You hope for the best. And when they succeed; when that one agent or publisher looking for them makes the connection to you, then you throw up your fists in victory and you scream, “I AM A WRITER!”

But, my friend, you already were one of those.

I have a few family members who think my writing is a “cute little hobby” even though I’m published. It isn’t cute nor is it a hobby. I have one family member who pooh-poohed my career choice, jeering that I’d never be another Stephen King. Well, I’d hope not! He and I look nothing alike.  To those nay-sayers, I merely smile and go about the business of writing. Trying to convince them would have been a pointless exercise in futility. Let them think what they want; I’ll continue to write, write, write. And publish, publish, publish.

And so should you. So should we all, we whose life force drives us to imagine, write it all down and then imagine some more. Writers don’t write on a whim . . . they write because they have to. Need to. Because it’s all inside them bottled up, and it has to spill out. Otherwise they’ll explode.

So, are you going to call yourself a writer? You bet you are. Because what else could you possibly be?


Char Chaffin is a member of AKWRA and CNYRW, a displaced Alaskan currently splitting her time between Fairbanks, and Upstate New York. She has two books and an anthology published with Soul Mate Publishing and is also an Acquisitions Editor for Soul Mate. She has just completed her third novel and has begun her fourth. When she’s not writing or editing, she’s plotting.

Find her here:

Website: http://char.chaffin.com
Facebook: http://facebook.com/char.chaffin
Twitter: http://twitter.com/char_chaffin
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5337737.Char_Chaffin

I Am Not an Imposter
By Liz Selvig

The definition of being a “real” writer at its most basic is simple—when you write and that’s what you want to do, you’re a real writer. In our profession we’re always looking for the satisfaction of publication, it’s true, but deep down we know that if writing is at our core we’ll put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard whether we are published or not.

So, I here stipulate that all of us reading this blog, with exceptions for our friends and non-writer fans, are writers. My question is: what makes us feel like real writers?  

Some of you have felt “real” from the moment you wrote your first word and that’s as it should be. Me? I still feel like an imposter most days. I love to write—or, more accurately, I love to have written, because the actual writing is hard. But writing a book in my case definitely takes a village—and some days I feel like I’m just an actor in front of other people watching me play a part. After my first book came out I thought I’d feel cool. Like I was walking with giants. Hah! I felt like I’d won a special backstage pass to watch the cool writers be cool. I visited. I smiled. I shook a few hands. Got a few autographs. Then I was just me again. Not a cool kid.

I know its poppycock. We’re each on our own journey. We’re each cool. I had a list of goals similar to that of my writer friends and I’d met them:

1. Finish a manuscript
2. Enter a contest
3. Win a contest
4. Send out queries
5. Get an agent
6. Sell a book.

Any one of those steps defines a real writer—even in the commercial sense. So why did I still feel like I was pulling one over on the writing universe?

I rode the wave of fun that accompanied the release of my first book and I even signed a handful of them. I got some nice reviews and compliments from friends and family. It was all great. And then the wave broke as waves do, and I had to go back to grindstone—as writers should have to do. And there I stalled.

Several writer friends published second and even third books. Numbers for them soared and promo for them continued. At RWA and RT they had piles of several different books. I was promo-ing the same thing. And I was, like, waiting for the book fairy to come down and give me another book (preferably without any help from me). Barring that, I needed at least a kick in the shorts and a lecture to get the dang book done.

But I was a fluke. A one-hit wonder. I was competing even with my own good reviews. 

Finally, finally I wrote and revised and slogged my way through a second book. I turned it in and waited for my agent and editor to come back with a gently worded Dear John letter. “Yup—you wrote a lovely book—now go back to your day job.” 

Of course that didn’t happen. I have a lovely new book, “Rescued by a Stranger” coming out in three days. And I admit, once that second book had been accepted, I honestly felt like real writer. I would be multi-published. Legitimate. Not an imposter.

But even as I basked in that feeling the little noggins in my brain started. Other real writers had more friends on FB, they were debuting at #3, #2 even #1 over at Amazon. They had fans, they had street teams, they had their acts together, and I didn’t know what the heck I was doing promotion-wise. They, they, they …

...and it smacked me upside the head. I was and have always been measuring being a “real writer” with the yardstick of comparison. I saw what I perceived as “real” and believed if I hadn’t done the same things, I wasn’t yet legit.
 
It’s a crock. Which, of course, most of you know. This is the secret: we simply ARE real writers. We don’t have to try. There will always be someone doing something different, having more or less success, reaching a goal we’ve set before we do. It doesn’t matter. Comparison is the kiss of death. Comparison shuts writers down. Don’t compare yourself to anyone. Liz.

Young Liz - working on her writing

What’s it mean to feel like a real writer? I’ve discovered exactly what it is—believing that you have a story to tell and loving that story whether one person reads it or 100,000 people read it (one of my goals, mind you, despite my advice). It’s being able to say just to yourself: Hi, I’m (insert your name here) and I am a real writer!

So 'write on' my real writer friends—you each have an incredible gift. Don’t waste time analyzing it—I already (over)did that for you. 

Autumn in Alaska

The fireweed has gone to seed. The weather has turned rainy.  A chill has replaced the warmth of the sun. Red and yellow are creeping into the green foliage. Summer’s over, and it’s fall in Alaska.

The salmon fishing is down to the last of the silvers, and the berries are all picked. Kids are back in school, and the State Fair has finished displaying giant vegetables. But it’s not all bad news. My old friends the ravens are back in town. I can dig out my favorite sweaters and fleece vests. And it’s writing season.

Now, I know writers should write all year long, and I do. But I find it easier to write this time of year. In the summer, the sunlight beckons me outdoors and there’s so much to do that can’t be done at other times. Those excuses go away in the fall, and friends and family stop inviting me to barbecues or outdoor activities. It’s okay to sit with a cup of tea and stare out at the rain while I think of the next book plot, or hammer out a scene on the laptop. We Alaskans allow ourselves to hibernate a bit in fall and winter. So it’s the perfect time of year to write.

 

What about you? Do you find it easier to write at certain times of the year?

Lynn Lovegreen writes young adult historical romance. Her first Gold Rush book will be published with Prism Book Group this December. See her at Facebook, Tumblr, or www.lynnlovegreen.com.

I Want To Go Home...

In 1988, I lived in Las Vegas with husband Don, daughter Sue Ann, two dogs, two cats and two hamsters.

We’d just built a house, enrolled Sue Ann in a wonderful private school and I’d started a new job working with Fortune 500 company, EG&G. Life seemed settled and solid. Sometimes I felt as if Vegas might not be the best place in the world to raise a child, but we were a good twenty miles from the Strip. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.

Don was retired Air Force and we’d lived all over the place, moving as much after he retired as when he was active duty. When you’re young and you have a family to support—and not any real aversion to moving around—you go where the jobs are.

One of our attempts to ‘go where the jobs are’ landed Don in remote Indian Mountain, Alaska, where he worked for RCA for over two years, coming home every three or four months to see Sue Ann and me (living in Ohio at the time). After deciding we’d had enough of being apart, he’d quit RCA and we’d made the move to Vegas (for the second time, in fact) because of—what else?—jobs.

Four years later we had good jobs, a new house, our daughter was happy and well-adjusted . . . and Don came home from work and said, “I got a job offer today.”

“Oh, yeah?” I was, of course, curious. Don wouldn’t have said anything if this job offer amounted to nothing.

“It’s in Alaska—”

And I immediately interrupted him. “You’re not going back to Alaska.”

“It’s not like that, it’s not remote. This job is in Fairbanks. We can all be together.”

Well, that was the beginning of discussion, arguments, Sue Ann’s wails that she didn’t want to move again, my resistance to leaving our wonderful new house behind, you name it.

Bottom line: Don wanted to take the job, I didn’t want to leave Vegas even though I knew it wasn’t the best place to raise our daughter, and what on earth would we do with two dogs, two cats and two hamsters?

It took a few months, but Don wore me down. I knew if we didn’t go, I’d kind of never hear the end of it (especially if life for any reason went sour in Vegas). And I have the kind of marriage that demands if one of us can make the other happy, even if it’s (kind of) not what we might want to do, we’ll do it anyway, because that’s what marital compromise is all about.

So we went. Sold the house, packed up the animals, rented a huge Ryder truck, and drove it all up to Fairbanks. It took us nine days and along the way I worried about what life had in store for us.

Yes, it was an adventure, and I was always up for one of those. But this was different. This was Alaska, The Last Frontier, so very far away from everyone we knew, both friends and family.

“Don’t worry,” Don said. “We’ll only stay a few years.”

I didn’t know what to expect.
After life in the desert, it seemed as though we’d traded one extreme for another.
I was sick with bronchitis that first winter, when temps dropped to sixty below for weeks on end and one of the heating zones went out in our rented house.
I didn’t like my job.
It drove me nuts to see snow in May.
It worried me that now we couldn’t jump in our car and drive to West Virginia or Ohio whenever we wanted to, and visit our family.

Dumb things to worry about within the bigger picture, which I couldn’t yet see:
Living in an amazing state that gives back to its residents in so many ways. Beauty all around me in a place where Sue Ann was safe, did great in school and dealt with winter far better than I. And Don was happy, loving Alaska. Before I knew it, we’d bought a house; a three-bedroom Victorian replica that reminded me of the houses in my Upstate New York home town.

Two years stretched into three, five, ten. And suddenly fifteen years had gone by since we moved. Sue Ann, now grown into a lovely young woman, met and married a wonderful Fairbanks guy. I had a job I liked and yet, I was homesick for family left behind in Upstate. I wanted to go back.

I won’t get into more detail except to say that we went back. In 2004 we moved to New York and settled on a farm not far from my home town. And it was good for a while, as I reconnected with the family I hadn’t seen in so many years. Don and I started a few small businesses. I planted a garden each spring and canned veggies all summer long.

But a funny thing happened as the years advanced: it didn’t take long for me to realize what Don had known all along: how much Alaska had grown on me, how many times during the day I’d remember small things. Like the way the summer sun would shine on my face at four in the morning as I slept with the blinds wide open. How clear the sky, how fresh the air, how quiet, how serene the world around me, be it June or January.

Most of all, how much I missed our daughter, still living in Fairbanks, happily married but missing her mother and father, too. Phone calls several times a week just didn’t cut it.

Sporadic visits definitely left a lot to be desired.

A fellow Fairbanksian friend of ours once told us you can’t leave Alaska without immediately wanting to go back; that once you’ve lived there, you won’t be satisfied living anywhere else. He’d left, too . . . and moved back, three years later. At the time I think I gave him an indulgent smile.

Now, I know what he means.

Because I want to go home.
--- Char Chaffin

Char Chaffin is a displaced Alaskan who currently plots a return to Fairbanks, in between writing contemporary romances and acquiring and editing manuscripts for Soul Mate Publishing. Her latest novel, Unsafe Haven, is set in Southwestern Alaska and is available through Soul Mate Publishing, Amazon, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble.

http://www.soulmatepublishing.com/search.php?search_query=unsafe+haven

http://www.amazon.com/Unsafe-Haven-ebook/dp/B0097A0NY2/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1358413901&sr=1-1&keywords=unsafe+haven+chaffin

http://www.kobobooks.com/unsafe+haven

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/unsafe-haven

Location and Setting in Alaska

As they say in Real Estate, it’s all about the Location! And it’s hard to beat Alaska for unique locations.

What do you envision when you think of Alaska? Wide open tundra dotted with lakes and lichen? Soaring mountains covered in ice and glaciers? Stormy seas lashed by gale-force winds and thirty-foot waves? Icy green lakes surrounded by majestic mountains? Forest primeval with moss covered rocks lining tumbling streams teeming with salmon?

Alaska has all that and more. Sand dunes, barren isles, quiet lakes perfect for a canoe or water skiing. Wide rivers, raging rivers and babbling brooks. Big cities, little villages, quaint towns, stretches of land that haven’t seen a human foot in a thousand years or more. It can be friendly or forbidding, forgiving or ruthless, but the same stretch of road is rarely the same each time you drive down it.

When setting a scene or novel in Alaska, research is necessary. You won’t find the same services in Cantwell as you will in Healy, Eek, Ketchikan, Fairbanks or Anchorage.

To begin your research, head for the internet or find a map. Is the location you want on the main highway system? The rail system? Or beyond? Is it on a river or only accessible by air? If your location is on a road system connected to the main highways (to get out of Anchorage, one goes north, the other south) Google Maps might be able to give you an estimate of travel time by car. Then again, they may not have all the facts concerning road conditions.

For example, the drive from Anchorage to Fairbanks via the Parks Highway is fairly straight forward. Allowing for a lunch and gas stop and a couple breaks, it takes about six hours to drive the 358 miles. Many stretches of the road may be traveled at 65mph, although frost heaves north of Healy generally mean slowing down to 50 or 55mph. Depending on conditions, slower might be better. Say, in winter when the road might be icy. In the summer, no worries. Or rather, not many if there isn’t road construction going on. And there is ALWAYS a road construction project, or three, along the highway.

Mountainside covered with fireweed along the Steese Hwy.

By comparison, the drive from Fairbanks to Circle, a city at the other end of the Steese Highway, but not on the Arctic Circle, is 155 miles. A distance Google Maps estimates will take about 4 hours to drive. They’re not off by much. Only 2 hours. The day I drove from Fairbanks to Circle and back, Liz Selvig and I spent more than twelve hours on the mostly dirt/gravel road. Granted, we made a couple of stops along the way, mostly to take photos, but we didn’t make four hours worth of stops. We had the advantage of a clear, hot, sunny day with no rain and mostly dry roads, although there was one section that was sort of soggy and we weren’t all that confident we’d get through it. There was also a section where a “creek” was cutting into the soft side of the road. The creek was wider, deeper and faster than rivers I’ve seen in Colorado and California, but since it was feeding into the Yukon, I guess creek was an appropriate term. Sort of.

In the end, however, no matter how much information you dig up on the internet, there will be huge holes. Holes that can only be filled in by personal experience. This is where making friends with an Alaskan resident can help your manuscript immensely. I’ve been asked questions such as: Is it possible to run the length of the Alaska Pipeline? Um, well, I wouldn’t recommend it, and I’m pretty sure Alyeska Pipeline Service Company security wouldn’t be thrilled with the idea. And there are sections where the ground is so boggy, I doubt it would be possible, although there is the Dalton Highway (aka the Haul Road) north of Fairbanks, but between the dust and mosquitoes in the summer, and the ice and subzero temps in winter… no, it wouldn’t be practical at all. Better to have the hero jump in the Arctic Ocean in the annual Polar Bear Plunge. Or the Seward Harbor in February during a snowstorm. Same idea.

What about medical care? Where will your characters go if they need more care than the handy First Aid kit can provide? 

The largest city with the most options is Anchorage, although hospitals may be found in Fairbanks, Juneau, Sitka, Kenai and the Mat-Su Valley to name most of them. The farther out you go, the smaller the facilities and the fewer services available. Time of year also makes a difference. Some roads are not plowed in the winter, even if they are on the highway system. Anchorage has three large hospitals, only one of which has a Level III Newborn ICU. Many babies from the villages end up there. Medical care in the villages is often re-routed to the larger cities, and sometimes further south to Seattle. If you watched the episode of Deadliest Catch when the captain had a stroke, you would have seen a lovely shot of Providence Hospital with the Chugach Mountains in the background. He was airlifted from Dutch Harbor to the largest medical facility in the state. A process that took more than a few hours.

October moonrise over Broad Pass

Distances are deceiving here. The more remote the location of a scene, the more you’ll need to talk with someone who’s been there if you can’t make it there yourself. The internet can only give so much information. It can tell you what trees grow in the area, average temperatures and snowfall, hours of daylight day by day, even current news – if there’s a news source there. What it can’t tell you is what it smells like, what sounds you’ll hear while standing under the trees, or how biting or soft the breeze is. An aerial view might show you the landscape – are there trees or tundra – but it won’t show traffic patterns, or how fast the placid-looking river is actually flowing.

Like the land itself, the topic of Alaska is extremely vast. To drill down and investigate one facet could fill pages here. It’s certainly filled libraries. I’ve lived in Alaska since 1977, with brief ventures out for college and a few years in Colorado, and I still don’t know everything there is to know about this wild and beautiful land. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I hate it, but I always respect it, because like a wild animal, it can turn from benign to deadly in the blink of an eye. Something it’s hard to explain to Outsiders enthralled with the myths, the mystery and romance of The Last Frontier.

Here’s my advice to people writing about Alaska: choose your location, do your research, then find someone local to talk to. Your book will have a ring of truth that will enhance the reader’s experience and not add to the many misconceptions already out there. If you’re not sure where to start, well, there’s a whole chapter of RWA members here who are happy to help!

Morgan Q. O’Reilly

http://morganqoreilly.com

Romance for all Your Moods

All 2012 Royalties from the sale of Weathering the Storm, Book 3 of the Shaughnessys, will go to the Alaska Red Cross to help with disaster relief stemming from the Sept 2012 floods in Southcentral Alaska.

Weathering the Storm: Available at Kindle, Nook, Sony eReader and from other ebook retail sites.

Rote Skills and Creativity

by Tam Linsey

I've often wondered why so many writer friends I know like to crochet or knit. For a long time, I refused to put a hand to a ball of yarn, insisting I had no time for such endeavors. But my critique group had dubbed themselves the "Critters and Knitters," and one by one, those who did not know how to create using needles or a hook took up the practice.

I gave in September of 2010, toting a single skein of cotton yarn and a crochet hook to our yearly writing retreat. I just wanted to fit in. I made a dishtowel, and felt I'd mastered the double crochet, so I moved on to making circles and got a matching set of coasters.

I learned the half-double crochet stitch and made a bathmat for my cousin as a wedding gift. How cool is that? I love homemade gifts.

Then came the back post stitch. And various types of increasing and decreasing stitches. Shell stitches, popcorn stitches, V stitches… Next thing I knew, I was making broomstick lace and creating sweaters and fingerless gloves.

My critique partners laugh at me.

Out of all the Critters and Knitters, I've become the most obsessed. I'm infatuated with textures and shapes. The feel of different types of yarn possesses me. When I'm stuck on a passage of my writing, I pick up yarn and hook and put a few stitches onto my latest project until my head clears. I've become so comfortable with the action of crochet, it is like second nature.

Now I realize why writers like to do hand-work; it engages another form of creativity and clears the mind just enough to find the plot point or character choice or perfect twist without occluding our thoughts about the story. Rote skills require us to engage a different part of our brain. (Plus keeping my hands busy keeps me from eating! lol!)

Playing Solitaire, taking a walk or a shower, even going for a drive can do the same thing. But I find I can be easily taken away from my writing if I leave my seat. So crochet works best for me.

Do you have an activity you find re-engages your creativity?

© Tam Linsey, 2011. All rights reserved.