I joined the campaign!

I joined the Third Writers' Platform Building Campaign, and am looking forward to networking with other authors and writers.  It's a great event, where writers of all stripes get together, work together, and build online presence together.  I'm hoping to learn a lot from the other participants. If you're interested in learning more, go here and check it out.  But fair warning-- she's closing the site to new participants on Wednesday, so go soon!

My thoughts are with all of those out East, especially in Vermont and the Catskills, who are dealing with catastrophic flooding right now.  We're keeping you close to our hearts.

The worst part of the writing game...

... is the waiting.  I feel like I've been waiting for responses from agents and editors for months.  And it's because I have.  Here's how the game goes:


1.  Write a book.
2.  Write a query.
3.  Send said query to thoroughly researched agents.
4.  Wait.
5.  Wait some more.
6.  Wait for it...
7.  Either a rejection or a request arrives.  If it's a rejection, file it away.  If it's a request, send the material.
8.  Wait.
9.  Wait some more...


You get the picture.  The worst part about it is, there's no one to blame.  The agents and editors are slammed with work.  They've got clients with whom they're working, they've got submissions to read, and they've got the slush pile (that's unsolicited query letters to the non-writer folk out there) to wade.  While I think it would be fun to read as much as agents read, I get that it could get really old, really quickly.


So what does one do when waiting?  Well, I've got my day job.  I've got children with whom I can play. And I've got another baby: my work-in-progress.  I've added a couple thousand words a day for the past week, and it's starting to really shape up.  I might even come up with a plot instead of just characters soon.  It certainly beats staring at the computer screen.

When life gives you lemons...

So my lovely minivan got crunched yesterday by a beverage truck.  The front end is smashed, the car is not drivable, so I spent a good portion of my afternoon in a tow truck.  Luckily it wasn't a hit and run, so I have the other driver's info, and hopefully I won't have to pay a deductible.  Said beverage truck hit my parked car while I was inside a building at an appointment.  I wasn't even in the car.  Couldn't be my fault, right?  Well, you'd think so, but the driver's insurance is likely going to contest my claim.  Wonderful.  And it wasn't even a Budweiser truck.  At least that would have given it better story value.


Then I called to get a rental car.  It could be several weeks before my mom-mobile is fixed, so I need a car. You'd think a rental car agency would have cars.  But again, you'd be wrong.  No cars, no vans, not even a scooter.  So I had to wait until this morning to get a car.


It gets better.


My choices this morning?  A smart car or a hearse.  Now, the smart car would have been OK, except that I need to put two booster seats in it.  And you can't put a kid in a booster seat in the front seat or a hatchback.


The hearse it is.


Now, it's a perfectly functional car.  I'm not going to put the type, just 'cause I don't want to get sued, but it's black, it's long, and it looks like I'm transporting corpses.  It uses flexfuel, so at least I'll get good gas mileage while towing the dead.  Bad enough that I don't have a garage door opener and won't be able to put it inside.  No, this hearse will be waiting outside my house for everyone to see.


Even better?  I work in a hospital.  In an ER.  This car will be parked outside of said ER.  What kind of message does that send?  "If we don't make you better, hey, at least the funeral home journey will be quick!" or "Bring out your dead!"


Monty Python's got nothin' on me.

I CAN say no!

So can someone tell me how in the hell I ended up with five bags of clothes, empty containers of Dairy Queen, and a time share in the Dominican Republic?

I really can say no.  I did it today, in fact.  I said no to my daughter when she wanted a dress three sizes too big just because it was white satin and looked like a wedding dress.  I said no to the lady at Kohl's who wanted to me to sign up for yet another credit card in order to get 20% off.  And I said no to going to Target to do yet more shopping.  (Aren't five bags of clothing enough?)

But that's small potatoes.  The time share?  That's huge.  But I fully blame my husband for not saying no to my begging.  After all, don't we need a place in the Caribbean to go when life gets to be too much?

Looks like my main character is going to be going to the Dominican Republic for a medical missions trip.  I need the tax write off!