The Family that Edits Together...

 I love to develop new tales and write new stories. I twist and turn characters.  I torture them, marry them off, give them heartbreaking experiences and renew their spirit with love and happiness. I give them children whom they love and cherish with all their hearts and heartbreaks. I take family members away in grisly accidents and send strangers into their lives to support and challenge them.  I can do anything in the world; right wrongs, cause wrongs, cause rights, make volcanoes blow and earthquakes rattle. I can save the universe in every book. Almost always there is a happy ending.  Sometimes that happy ending comes in the third book in the series, but what the heck. It's all a process, right?

Unfortunately there is more to writing a novel than simply creating.  If it was easy we'd all be New York Times Best Sellers, right? With the fun creative process always comes the drab dull part called editing.  I hate editing.  As a person who has dealt with non-dominant dyslexia since the name was coined, I find editing arduous and painful. It takes the joy from my shiny novel and dunks it in the glacial silt of Cook Inlet sucking it down like quicksand.

I am not a famous and rich Nora or a Cheryl, or a guy with buried pets, so I thought I had a great idea when I solicited both my husband and mother to help with editing. Free labor right? They are both really good at spelling, word definition and grammar. All the things I am not! And once they begin, they are definitely committed!

Well you know that aged old saying; the best laid plans of mice and men...

Now the first thing you need to know about these beloved individuals is that they have my best interests at heart and want me to be the next author sitting on the sofa with Oprah. That should be your first clue; Oprah's been off the air for a while now. 

Both of my darling relations are varying shades of concrete. Not the stuff you walk on. Not the color, but possessing the personality characteristic of being solid, in need of specifics and black and white information. A concrete individual needs facts, figures and objects to deal with (that’s what made my mom a great CFO and my husband a fabulous air traffic controller). There is no shade of gray, no fact left uncovered or undisclosed. It's rules, evidence and practicalities all the way. There is right and there is wrong, period. I used to teach this stuff.  I should have known better… are you getting the picture?

On page three of my manuscript, my wonderful mother who raised me to finish my dinner "because there were starving children in India", shook her curly white haired head and softly asked why I had spelled my heroine's name wrong. Then went on to elaborate on a tiny problem she just couldn't pass up; did I understand that my readers may not know what color of brown eyes she had if I just used chocolate as a descriptor since there were many shades of chocolate, including white. And did I want my readers to think my heroine could be an albino?

Albino? White chocolate? What? My main female character just went from a lovely African American woman with hair as black as coal, to an Albino whose name was misspelled.

Across the table, my lovely husband just had to tag team the situation by supporting my mother's point. Adding the fact that the unusual spelling of her name would probably cause my character to have a chip on her shoulder due to constant misspelling of her name which she most certainly carried with her from childhood. And did I want an unstable albino female as the main character of the book?

I had no answer for that one. I didn't even recognize my story at that point.

Six pages later, the love interest of my heroine entered the story. He was tall and totally ripped, spoke three languages and practiced karate.

Remember that curly white haired woman from above? She wanted to know what part of my handsome hunk of a character was ripped and how did a human get ripped in the first place. Were his clothes in tatters? What got ripped? And was one of the languages he spoke English, because if it wasn't then she wouldn't be able to finish the book. Was this novel going to be published in those languages so his friends could read it?

In the first place, my hero is a figment of my imagination and so are his friends. My primary language is English so the book is written in ENGLISH! 

I had to escape so out of the house I went, down the street and around the corner to the beautiful benches that sit on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean.  There I sat stewing over my volatile albino heroine and my disabled polyglot hero. Which was when I heard a couple arguing in a ratty old car in the parking lot behind me.

“Jan, you’ve got to stop using.  Your kids know. Your folks know. I know.  It’s destroying your life and the lives of everyone you touch. I don’t know how much more I can take.  You stole your kid’s lunch money for a fix. Come on… Look at yourself. You’re nothing but a skeleton...”

Okay... so maybe concrete isn’t so bad.  When I got back to the house they were on page one hundred and fifteen arguing over the description of my little ghost. How could I describe, with any accuracy, a thing that doesn’t exist?

I retreated to my loft where I write and began a new story about a drug addict and the man who...well, you’ll just have to wait for the book.

---Miriam Matthews

 'The Ghost of Port Chicago'

'The Good, the Bad and the Bet'

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

Flying Into The Sun

 I left the RWA (Romance Writers of America) Conference, in San Antonio, late Sunday afternoon.

My flight to Anchorage changed planes in Seattle, of course. Seattle is practically our center of the universe. As I got to my gate in San Antonio and settled into a seat I nodded to a familiar face from the conference. 

We began to chat, and another, and another, and another friendly vibrating face joined our animated conversations. It turns out Seattle is also the center of the universe for several parts of the northwest. I felt sorry for the few passengers who were clueless as our mini-convention continued in the waiting area and they were inundated by the raucous banter being flung about.

Our chatter varied from craft and industry to decompressing into the expectations at home. Jobs waited, weddings were planned, children and grand-children were anxious to see us and we all looked forward to implementing the lessons we had learned.

There were so many lessons.

Lesson #1: Texas in July is hot. I’ve lived in Alaska too long to easily slide back into 90+ degrees and not be affected.

As I flew north from the late afternoon and evening of Texas and then Seattle I could see out of the airplane window headed north, the strip of sunlight growing wider and brighter - flying into the sun.

Flying home.

It will take weeks if not months to catalog the information, to network with new connections, to implement the astounding amount of material (books OMG, the books) I’m bringing back with me. As I consider what I gained from this convention it feels as if there is a mega-burst of information crammed into my head.

   

I highly recommend attending at least one National RWA convention. Passion and enthusiasm feed you for the week (because there is hardly time to eat) and overwhelming exhaustion takes over when you return.

I hope to see all of my friends, new and old, next July.   

Navigating North in November

 Twice a year I travel home to Fairbanks, usually for a month. Up until recently, hubby Don and I always went separately because of commitments in New York that kept one of us here while the other happily flew on their merry way north. This year we can finally travel together; our local commitment’s a thing of the past.

Originally we’d planned on a summer filled with mosquitoes and endless sun. When our NY friends found out we’re both going up together, they all expressed envy that we’d be spending summer in Alaska.

Yet when asked, we found ourselves replying,

 “No, we’ll go up in November.”

The looks that remark netted ranged from disbelieving to confused and back to disbelieving.

“But it’s cold up there in November!” they said. Then we got a few tentative queries of, “Isn’t it cold up there in November? With a lot of snow?”

“Yes. It’s cold in November. And there’s snow,” we replied serenely.

Still no true comprehension. “But you already live Upstate! Why not spend winter in warmth, maybe go to Florida? You may as well stay in New York,” they reasoned.

“Nope. We’re headed north.”

“Well, you’re both crazy.” The conversation usually ended there. Or something similar, depending on which family or friend we spoke to.

I can’t recall the last time I saw a true Fairbanks summer, where the days lengthen so deliciously and the sun’s up and beaming after midnight. It seems I always go up late in the fall or early in the year.

But I discovered something about myself when I was in Fairbanks this past February:

It’s more comfortable there at twenty below than in New York at twenty above.

Winter in Interior Alaska has winter in Upstate beat by a landslide, and all because of two factors:

Wind and humidity. As in - Fairbanks doesn’t have either during most of their winters. And Upstate does. And it makes all the difference in comfort.

When we lived full-time in Alaska it was easy to complain about the winter. Six months of snow will eventually get to anyone, including the avid outdoorsman who owns every winter toy on the market. Cabin fever is real and everyone gets stuck with it sooner or later. But at least for me, I found I missed Alaskan winters even though we ended up in ‘Four Seasons Central,’ otherwise known as the Northeast.

I longed for the Aurora. I missed the utter calm of snow that falls so very silently and clings endlessly to tree branches in a lacy white drape incomparable to anywhere else. Until I’d moved to New York I had forgotten what it’s like to have that bitterly frigid Upstate wind cut through layers of clothing and chill to the bone; damp and just nasty. Not the entire winter in Upstate, of course, but enough. And not even a clear night of dancing Northern Lights as recompense for that wet, windy freeze. It seemed three months of Upstate winter could trump six months of Interior winter, hands down . . . and not in a good way.

But see, family and friends here in New York wouldn’t understand it. Given a choice of region for those wintry months, they’d go to Hawaii, Mexico, Florida, Las Vegas; anywhere south or west that has no snow and winter temps higher than sixty degrees. What would be the point of going north? It’s just more snow.

I simply smile, and say, “Why, yes. Yes, it is.” And I pack accordingly.

This year we’ll head north, stay a month, probably over the holidays. Christmas morning in Fairbanks sounds pretty good to me. As for the rest of the winter, we might just hop in the motor home and drive to Florida. A few months on the beach could be completely doable. Ah, but that month right in the middle? It belongs to Alaska. I’m looking forward to it.

 Char Chaffin is a member of AKRWA and CNYRW, a die-hard displaced Alaskan, and has just published her third novel, Jesse’s Girl. She goes home to Fairbanks when she can, hangs out on a sixty-acre farm in Upstate New York when she can’t, and divides her time between writing her next novel and being an Acquisitions Editor for Soul Mate Publishing.

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

Book Trailer for Jesse’s Girl:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5UBBoAqbWE

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

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

Winter Solstice 2013

To Alaskans, solstice is a big day. Our lives revolve around the environment,including the changes in weather and daylight. We notice how much sunlight we gain or lose each day. We celebrate the longest day of the year. My daughter had her wedding on that day this summer. On the shortest day of the year, we look forward to the return of sunlight.

People have been observing winter solstice since Neolithic times. This blog has hosted previous posts about the history, so I'll be brief this time.

The Saami, the Romans, and the Celts had mid-winter festivals that led to many of our winter solstice and Christmas traditions. There are also traditional celebrations on or near winter solstice in Pakistan, East Asia, and Mali, just to name a few. Many of us recognize it as a time of rebirth and renewal, or welcome good luck into our houses at this time.

The short days give Alaskans an excuse to stay inside and cuddle up in front of the fire. Some of us do extra reading or other indoor activities. Winter solstice is a good time to reflect, think about the past year and make plans about the future. While I'm not thrilled with cold weather, I do like the opportunity to wrap up the year and acknowledge my loved ones.

My husband and I are hosting a winter solstice party on December 21st. We'll celebrate with family, friends, good food and drink. To all of you, good wishes, wassail, and hoping you have a great winter solstice, how ever you celebrate this time of year!
--- Lynn Lovegreen

Lynn's first novel, FOOLS'S GOLD, was just released and can be found on most of the popular book sites. Check it out!

www.amazon.com
www.bn.com

Back Up Plan...

Back up your work!

Last February, my beloved laptop did something it had never done before. After starting it, a black block came up with white writing in English, French and Japanese, telling me to shut my computer off now. I held down the button that sent it to emergency shut down.

“What the heck was that?”

I turned on my computer and from there it was unrecognizable. The screen was flashing and there were random lines and pixels appearing and disappearing. Worst of all there was no response, I couldn’t access any files, I couldn’t see my desktop or even the friendliness of a cursor. This was bad, very bad. I had assignments to complete for my class, thousands of photographs, thousands of songs and every story I had ever written, except the drivel from my teen years that was typed or hand written, was in that computer.

You can imagine my expletives and insert them here. My husband calmed me and then took a look. He’s always solved my computer problems and introduced me to new technologies (so grateful for his knowledge and help). He took one look and shook his head, saying something about a graphics card problem. “You gotta take it in.”

= Gulp =

I took my computer to one of the big stores in town and they quoted me a significant amount to replace the logic board and then offered to sell me a new laptop.

I took up my precious computer and went to get a second opinion.

I went to one of the newer stores at the Mall, sleek, shiny, staffed with kids that look like they just got out of college, humming around the place like attentive bees. I got to the counter and warned the kids that if they had epilepsy they needed to look away now. I turned on my computer to show them what it was doing. One of the kids said, “Whoa, that looks like a Rave.”
It did look like a Rave, and if I could’ve accessed my computer I might have been able to play some Goldfrapp or the Chemical Brothers to compliment the Rave my laptop had become.

They quoted me one fourth of the cost the first store had. The kid then asked, “Hey did you back up the data. There’s a chance it could get wiped.”
I emailed the gang at Alaska Chapter of RWA to thank them that day. One chapter member had a computer malfunction about six months before and she lost some stuff. She urged us all to back up our work. This is probably one of the worst things that can happen to a writer. Years of work can disappear in the flash of a computer screen.

I back up my stuff on a Passport - which is a portable USB external hard drive. You can also back up your data online, rendering it impervious to fire or natural disaster. There are many video tutorials available on the internet on how to back up your data.
One more thing I highly recommend is a little USB flash drive. I use these to back up the WIPS I am actively working on at least once a week. As many writers know when you are actively working on something it’s dynamic, changing and morphing into the story you want it be. Back up that WIP and remember to put a date on it so you don’t confuse it with other versions.

Well now, I must go and back up my data.

--- Carmen Bydalek

THANKSGIVING

Forgive me for standing on my soapbox, but Thanksgiving is the most important holiday of the year.

Now, don’t get all weird on me - I’m not discounting the other important days. Your birthday, Christmas, Hanukkah, there are others. But, Thanksgiving is important.

Friends, Black Friday is not a holiday!
Cyber Monday is not a holiday.

 

Counting the shopping days until Christmas is not the way to celebrate the love, joy and GIVING THANKS for the season.

This year, we moved directly from school clothes and Halloween to Christmas tree lights, fuzzy blinking sweaters and fudge.

Thanksgiving is the day I look forward to all year. To give thanks for the fact that I won the life lotto. I have electricity and the wherewithal to have a computer. My little home is warm and dry and filled with everything I could ever need. I have an abundance of food to share with friends. It would be with family except they’re too far away, but my telephone works, and I have the technology to let my grandson shoot me with his nurf-ball gun. We laugh. Life is good.

There is something so terribly wrong with shopping on Thanksgiving. For forcing the clerks to forgo turkey with grandma to be at work at some ungodly hour so Uncle George can get fifty dollars off the latest game of the year.
Really?

I remember a little adage, What if they gave a war and nobody showed up, remember that one? Well, what if they had a sale and nobody came? Take a stand - don’t go shopping until it’s time to go shopping. I promise I won’t get on the reason-for-the-season Christmas soap-box.

But, I’m here to remind us all that Thanksgiving is the day. The one day we slow down, consider the traditions of the day, and give thanks for the life we have built for ourselves.

Sometimes, buying brown ‘n serve is just as good as the time it took to make homemade, because sitting on the sofa with Aunt Harriet, this year, may be your last chance to ask her how she made cranberry sauce.

Life is precious and short and Thanksgiving is only one day. Stay home or spend it with friends, eat too much, laugh until your sides hurt, cheer you favorite football team, pass around the newest family baby, drive slow, be safe and have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

I love you all,

--- DeNise

Visiting Alaska is not Folly

The Last Frontier

in the United States of America.

It’s true.

Nowhere else can you find the raw beauty of mountains and streams, glaciers and oceans, forests and wide open spaces like this place I’ve called ‘home’ for the last 44 years.

Also known as The Land of the Midnight Sun, it is mind-boggling to take it all in, especially in one visit, or one lifetime.

Even if you were born and raised in Alaska, as my children and grandchildren, the 570,665 sq. miles of mostly rugged wilderness is over-whelming.

But, don’t let that stop you.





Anchorage Museum

Musk Ox taxidermy 

It's not all wilderness. Contrary to popular belief, Alaska has museums and art galleries, hotels and shopping, theater and fast food chains. Maybe not on the grand scale of the Lower 48, but it's all here.

 

 

 

 






Anchorage Museum

Touring Mammoth Exhibit 












Anchorage Museum

Sewn seal gut strips - Raincoat

 

Alaska Botanical Gardens

 



We also boast about our wildlife, Fur Rondezvous, dog sled races, Denali National Park, record fishing, small and big game hunting, skiing and the Aurora Borealis (northern lights) that are like no place on earth.

There are people from all walks of life.

(I am partial to the many wonderful writers that live in Alaska, of course. Check the AKWRA web site & past blogs for info & books available, written by Alaskan authors:

http://www.akrwa.blogspot.com/2012/06/wonderful-akrwa-authors.html

When Vitus Bering,

a Dane working for the Russians, & Alexei Chirikov discovered the Alaskan mainland & Aleutian Islands in 1741, the huge land mass of Alaska—equal to 1/5 of the continental U.S.—was unexplored.

When Secretary of State William Seward arranged for its purchase from the Russians for $7,200,000 in 1867, they dubbed Alaska “Seward’s Folly”, despite only paying about 2 cents per acre.

Folly? I think not. 



Potter's Marsh - south of Anchorage

Aside from Alaska’s oil reserves, fisheries & wood industries Alaskans have preserved wetlands, such as Potter's Marsh south of Anchorage, and over 100 State Parks (3.5 million acres) for future generations to enjoy.

Portage Glacier Area

 

Places like Mendenhall Glacier in the North Tongass National Forest and Portage Glacier, south of Anchorage, are a tourist’s dream come true.



And with a population of only around 710,000, Alaska has lots of room to host visitors.

So, start planning your trip to Alaska, and check out our authors & books – we'd love to share our unique perspectives!
 

http://www.akrwa.blogspot.com/2012/06/wonderful-akrwa-authors.html

There is so much more to be said about Alaska, and our AKRWA authors can't wait to tell you!

Next turn, I’d like to tell you about a little place called Eagle River, just outside of Anchorage, where I live.
   
                    Interested?

          Keep checking us out!

    http://www.alaskawriters.com/membersites/akrwa/index.html  

--- Jae Awkins

 

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. 

Real Men of Alaska

 

Mr. September 2013

 

"Brandon"

 

As Romance Writers we're always on the lookout for Hot Hunky Hero Types. So, this month we're going to hear what BRANDON is all about:

Here are some questions that we asked Brandon, and his answers follow, so sit back and get to know him.

(Brandon, remember we are a PG 13 site and blush easily). 

What kind of woman appeals to you, and who do you let make the first move, you or her?

   Fun loving, nerdy, a good sense of humor - the kind that can put up with my ...bad puns, either way.

Where is your favorite place to take a girl on a first date, and why?

   Why, the mall of course! We can get to know each other better - and I can find out what kind of stuff she likes.  

What's the wildest thing you've ever done, other than...well, you know...with a female companion since living in Alaska?

   Hmmm...I punched a moose once - he snuck up on me. (True story!)

 

Winter can be long, dark...and very cold here in Alaska. What are your favorite frosty pastime activities (not counting the obvious, of course - remember the PG 13 rating)  ...and, what is the coldest temp you’ve seen/been in?  

     During the dark, cold parts of the year I like to curl up and watch TV shows I missed during the summer - enjoying some tea and spending time with my loved ones.

And, if we ask about winter then we simply must inquire about the too short, wonderful summers. What are your favorite things to do during all those long hours of sunshine?

 

   I really enjoying the sunlight, spending time outside.

 

Alaskan men take their vehicles very seriously. What is your favorite mode of transportation – car, truck, snow machine, four-wheeler, airplane, skis, snowboard, etc...and why?

   Ah...a blimp? Yes, that would be fine with me. Why, you ask? Because it would just be awesome.

What is your favorite Alaskan animal – to see along the highway or on your dinner plate?

   Along the highway...birds - any kind of bird. On my plate - no, thank you.

Have you ever wrestled a polar bear, mushed a dog team, panned for gold, eaten muktuk, done the polar bear plunge, climbed Denali, run the Mt. Marathon, or any of the other, found only in Alaska, activities?  

   Eaten muktuk...I have done that - not something I would like to try again - and I have ran outside in knee deep snow, in my boxers.  

In your opinion, what exactly is it that makes an Alaskan Male so wonderfully macho and appealing?

   It might be the cold. It might be that we all drive moose to work. Who knows? My guess is the chest hair!

Other than making love under them, what is your favorite thing to do when the Northern Lights are out and putting on a show?

     Get photos of them! (Sometimes I just sit there and watch)

And last, but certainly not least:

In your opinion, what is the most romantic thing about Alaska, and why?  

   The sunsets, and the mountains. I love it when it the sun is setting and the sky is blooming with reds and pinks. It's very relaxing. (Or moose poop...cauz it’s all natural.)

 

 

 

 Our Thanks to Brandon for this candid interview!

 

On the first Friday of each month we'll have a new Alaska Man for you - watch for Mr. October!

 

See you next time...