BENEFITS FROM WRITERS CONFERENCES/RETREATS

Finished the chapter - polished and re-written 'til I'm blue in the face (like the corpse). But I've come to realize I would never have thought of this "new" first chapter without having gone to the retreat, without having been in that particular workshop, without having had the benefit of learning from an experience and published writer in a related genre.

There is just so much a writer can learn from reading "teaching" books, articles, email blogs, etc. Sometimes you just have to invest in being where the professionals are, making contacts with those who've walked the path ahead of you, creating networks that include people who will generously share their knowledge and will extend even more of that knowledge once you have gone home and are plodding along.

Courage and hard work are part of the journey. Writers Groups and then Friends in the Biz help, too. Always remember to say "Thank You" to those who extend a hand and the offer of helpful suggestions even when, at first, you think "I thought it was done. Oh, boggers!"

LIFE'S NOT EASY - NEITHER IS DYING

If you read the prior post, you know I am trying to write a challenging chapter. Challenging on several planes - for several reasons. Distractions come easily. At some points I welcome them. Like now. So I look out the office window at the beautiful blue sky with only a few white cotton ball clouds. The sun sparkles off the water that moves from west to east (for the moment. The current changes as easily as my nerves lately.). Fall has arrives in this part of the state and the largest oak tree along the shoreline has finally caught up, the leaves at the top a bright rusty gold while mid-way down they are still green. The pine tree across to its left is its ever-present green but dropping needles, I know.

I can see the trees on the opposite side of the shore, a rainbow of reds, oranges, yellows and greens both bright and dark. All the summer docks have been pulled up. There are no boats zipping, no jet skis skipping, no motor sounds. The water is quiet except of the wind. It has been windy this past week. Everything from blow-the-house-down windy to just breezy enough to blow down the leaves and send them bouncing across the lawn. "Just keep right on and into the woods," I urge from my spot. I have no time or desire to be raking. I am suppose to be killing my victim.

But I wrote this first draft some time ago. But it aside to mellow and not it is going into the fire of review and rewrite through the writers group. A NEW first Chapter I had not planned on, but there it is on my "to do list" along with some ironing that has been waiting nearly a month. And the large driveway garden that needs to be cleared for the removal of TONS of iris rhizomes. I couldn't remove them last Spring so I vowed to get rid of them this Fall. Must be done, even if it takes an ax to get the job done. (Hate those irises - ugly color.)

See? There are so many ways to avoid doing what must be done. I've completed the research. Have the dialogue. Know how the "device works. It's just the "getting to it" that keeps getting in the way.

It will be done, I know. It's just that she's such a nice person. And she's had a hard time of things. She thought life was just about to get better. It was all in the business of trusting and betrayal. Bad choices, poor thing.

STARTING WITH A "BANG"

Today I have to be in a "killing" mood. Sorry. That's just the way it is.

Good thing it's rainy and windy outside. Don't think a bird would have a chance holding its own. Even the squirrels and chipmunks have gone to ground.

The water is churning on the lake. Not a duck or loon in sight.

Perfect day to write a thriller scene - an entire chapter if I can stay in that place I have to go - see and feel what must be seen and felt. It may take days. For sure, there is no music playing in the background, not even the soft jazz I usually have muted to keep me company. No. Murder needs no company.

The opening of the book was never planned to be this way. But it seems the logical way. Even though, to be honest, it gives me the creeps.

I know the method. I know the killer. I know his motive. And I know the victim. I know them all too well. And because I know this killer I admit he scares me, even though I am the writer. Even though he is "fictionalized", he's based on others who are/were real. And I do not know for sure they are now dead. Murderers don't always see a court room, and even when they do they're not always sentenced to death row, and even then... Well, you know the reality of death row. Don't we all. Well, except in Texas maybe.

Remember, I just came back from the Writers Retreat where I read from the opening chapter of my novel-in-progress. The entire chapter was read in the workshop I attended. Got fairly good reviews actually. But then the workshop leader, Patrick Quinlan, published writer of thrillers, said words to the effect, "You need to capture the reader, the publisher, with a bang. Grab them by the throat. Show your victim being killed in the first chapter."

Then during a break, in a one-on-one, once I had the opportunity to outline the entire plot and characters in the book, he was even more emphatic.

And he was right!

It has now been four days and a long drive home that I have danced around this. Danced up close to it and then backed away. Do all mystery/police procedural writers dance this way when they have to go back into Hell? I don't know. I just know I have. Because I know that is where I have to go. Again.

Today is a killing day.

MAINE WRITERS & PUBLISHERS ALLIANCE FALL RETREAT

This past weekend was the 2010 Fall Writers Retreat sponsored and conducted by the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance (MWPA) out of Portland, Maine. The setting was gorgeous. Never having been to Boothbay Harbor before, I have to admit it is a postcard advertisement for coastal Maine. And the staff at the Liniken Resort provided food not only fit for kings and queens, but courtesy and accommodations beyond anything the concept of a retreat could hope for.

There were different two-day workshops in the mornings for the many genre of writers in attendance, in addition to three special seminars on Saturday afternoon. On both Friday and Saturday evening, members of the Retreat staff and MWPA Board read from their works-in-progress or various published work. These included poetry, novels and short stories. Patrick Quinlan, published thriller novelist - and the leader of the workshop I attended - also read a piece he recently finished following his trip to China. It haunted me later through the night. While some might considered it "thriller" material, it is pure non-fiction. While it is not entertaining in the truest sense, in this writer's opinion, it needs to be published.

Of course, by the time I arrived home late Sunday afternoon, I was exhausted. Brain drain mostly. The three-hour drive home was nothing compared to the five-hour drive to get there in torrential rain with white-out back splash from vehicles in front of me on the highway - many of which did not have their headlights on while windshield wipers were going at full speed. True, it was in full daylight and those drivers didn't need their headlights to see where they were going, but those of us behind them needed to be able to see their taillights to see their cars through the white-out of water and the planing that was a threat to all of us. Stress is a word that doesn't begin to describe the environment for the middle two hours of that trip.

There is a lot I have brought home to my writing environment from the Retreat - nice people, generous writers all, encouragement shared roundly, new and creative ideas, tender thoughts put to paper, friendships nurtured, laughter, information and the bountiful knowledge gained from steps other have walked that may reduce the bumps and bruises for others in their wake.

It was a gift of many layers given to me. Many thanks are due.

TOMORROW IS THE DAY

Tomorrow is the first of a three-day Writers Retreat sponsored by the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance. The retreat is being conducted at the Liniken Resort in Boothbay Harbor, Maine.

Because I will be leaving early (to allow plenty of time to get lost-and-found several times enroute - it always happens when going to a new place, regardless of whatever map I use), there will be no posting tomorrow. On top of the new route and my propensity for getting lost, the weather is projected to be rainy - very rainy. Oh Joy!

So today I am getting chores done, for both my place and for a family member who will be returning to his home on Saturday following rehab for a hip replacement. The objective is to minimize the stress tomorrow and to arrive at the Retreat relaxed (and excited). The latter is an automatic. The former, a challenge.

In the meantime, I can see the storm coming in over the lake and I still have to go to town, the post office, etc.

Maybe a nap is in order first. Naps always help. Perhaps I am part cat.

Have a great day.

WHEN LIFE IS AT ITS BUSIEST - TAKE A BREATH

Lately I have found there is much too much to do and not enough time to look, think, ponder or even breath. Not good, especially for a creative person. Definitely not enough time to laugh - especially to laugh at life's moments.

Yesterday was the gathering of my weekly writers group at Borders. I do LOVE our Borders store. The staff and management there are so welcoming and accommodating. It's a bit like a mini-library with benefits galore.

So there we were, the six of us - gathered around our two tables pushed together, papers out, coffees on the table (hoping no one spills anything), sharing the news of the week. One of us has just been signed by an agent who sounds like she must have been a heavenly angel in her previous life. Another one has just returned from caring for a daughter-in-law who had major surgery and an elderly mother. Needless to say, she is more than qualified to writer about the "sandwich generation."

So, the assignment for the week was to read and critique one member's submission from the previous week. We go around the table - one at a time. First the summary and then page by page - punctuation, flow, typos, the whole kit and caboodle. And there are six of us, remember. The writer/submitter only gets to take notes or to answer a question if specifically asked. No defending. No clarifying unless asked. (But we are not brutal either. On the other hand, if we don't understand something, why should the writer assume any other reader will?)

I took last dibs yesterday. I have a tendency to be a bit "creative" in my critiques - offering suggestions about how a sentence might have more punch with a word change - or breaking one sentence into two - or changing one word for another. Or moving an ending paragraph to a different position. Or asking what if you did this instead of that. Just a thought, nothing more than a thought to ponder.

Well, in the middle of one of those - "think it would have more punch" kind of remarks, a gentleman from a nearby table comes by - probably on his way to get another coffee - and interjects, "I think what you all are doing is great!"

It was a bit startling, I will admit. But we are a friendly group so we turned to him and said, "thanks" - or words to that effect.

"I've been listening to you all. I think your group is just great. I teach writing at the local community college. You people are really good."

We didn't say who or what we were. It was just nice to have the "approval." Maybe he overheard something that will end up in his classroom this week.

One just never knows what will go out over the air or where it will land.

(Gee, I'm glad we weren't reviewing/critiquing a sex scene. We have been known to do that, too. Certain ones of us always want to make it more steamy. Even the gentleman in the group likes it steamy. And then there is the question of what to call certain components or actions..... We can be sooo creative. LOL)

SEASONS AND THEIR CHANGES

This past week has been a challenge with temperatures in the very high 90s. I will admit, 96, 97 degree days with or without humidity drains everything out of me, creativity, happiness, the ability to even sleep or desire to eat. (And that's a hard one to whip.)

Nights don't seem to bring any respite and so, upon rising I am even more tired, if possible, than I was when falling on the bed the night before. In truth, I can not imagine living in the deep south. Just watching old film noir stories like "To Kill a Mockingbird," where everyone is wiping his or her face with a handkerchief to remove the beads of perspiration, leaves me sticky and irritable. I don't know how they all managed to survive without killing off half the population during those hot, humid days that seemed to last forever. And yet, that is just what it has been like here for the last week. And we had other weeks like that earlier this summer. During such days, I fine impossible to write or work on the current manuscript. One can hardly conjure up a good murder when one just wants to kill any and every thing that moves.

And so along came "Earl." I know, people down along North and South Carolina had a totally different perspective than I about Earl - and rightly so. Down there, Earl was a down right unpleasant and unruly, not to mention unwelcome caller. But, by the time he came visiting up here in Maine, he'd run out of steam and he'd been pushed aside, so to speak, by some cold air giving him a good thumping from Canada. And so, when Earl arrived around 4AM Saturday morning, he had no wind left in his sails. Literally. No enough to blow out a match. Certainly nothing compared to this morning. For truth.

But Earl did bring more than three inches of sorely needed rain to the area where I live. (Thank goodness. I can barely think what my water bill will be the next billing cycle since I have been watering the lawn and gardens for hours at a time every morning starting at 6AM until the heat said the water would be working upward instead of the other way and thereby a total waste of money.) In the process, the temperature has dropped at least twenty degrees, there's a good stiff breeze, and I can write again. I can sleep. I can fix a decent meal which will, in turn provide the energy to work on the next stage of this mystery with all of its twists and turns.

There is a nip in the air that smells like fall - not that I look forward to the season that follows. But fall has energy whereas hot summer days have none for me. It takes energy to plan a mystery. Energy to plan a murder. And energy to catch a killer. A good season is upon us. Now all I have to do is entice some good neighbor to bring in the dock before the water gets too cold. No place in this manuscript for a frigid body, or a dock dragged offshore by the ice that is yet to come.