I'm not sure when it was that I decided I wanted to write professionally, but I remember that the moment I realized it, everything changed. Gone were the days of simply wanting to tell a story. Replacing it was the need to tell the right story--- the story that mattered, the story that would change its reader for better or for worse.
I remember my fourth grade year, writing a "book" to amuse my friends. They were the cast, their lives highly exaggerated, and I was the puppeteer pulling the strings, trying to move them along with this new girl I created and force them into a world where they weren't exactly the stars. For the first time ever, I'd seen something through from beginning to end. I saw it in chapters and in words and in a hilarious way. I won many a callus writing the entire thing out by hand.
And even though I can't remember when it hit me, I woke up one day and decided I wanted to be an author. Not a writer. An author. I had been a writer since grade two when I wrote poems on the backs of my arithmetic tests, and penned short narratives for my friends in grade four. Heck. I was a writer (or a story teller which is what a writer is in their simplest form) when my friend Stephanie and I kept up the hugest (fictional) story of both of us attending an after school program called G.E.M.S. We piggy-backed off of one another on a weekly basis, retelling our adventures to anyone who was unfortunate enough to try to engage in our conversations. I wanted to move beyond writing. I wanted writing to be my craft, and story-telling to be my art. I wanted to be an author, and I wanted to be good at it. So I didn't sit back and wait for author to happen to me; I went out there in the big bad world and learned how to do it.
What I learned right away were the following three things: you don't have to be an adult to be an author, you have to write to be an author, and there are two types of authors--- published and unpublished.
Currently, I'm unpublished. Do I want to be published one day? Absolutely. That's the goal, I'm not going to lie, but I realize that in order to reach that goal, I had to actually write a book first. So I did. And I liked how that went so I wrote another one. And then I liked how that went and re-read the first one. It was terrible. I went back to the beginning and started from scratch, revamping a story I cherished and cared for and although it's better, it either A.) needs professional help or B.) should forever hold its peace.
And seriously, that's alright. Everything I've written has come to be because I wanted to write it. I didn't set a word to paper that, at one point, I wasn't absolutely proud of. I've just grown A LOT from point A (wanting to be an author) to point B (actually becoming one). Am I good at it? I'll be honest and say that's for the reader to decide. I've had people read and love my stuff, and others read and hate it. And since I simply write for my own sanity, what do I know about the quality? I make it a point not to compare myself to other authors because what I write is what I write. I KNOW it's not perfect, but it's a reflection of me. I'm not perfect, it's not perfect, and, for now, I'm okay with that. Like I do in my own life, I review, I analyze, I spot the problem, and I make a couple of changes. There's no harm in being wrong the first time as long as the second time around, we're definitely getting better and one step closer to amazing.
The truth is, the journey to finding myself here at Author Type II (the unpublished) has lead me directly and incidentally to finding me. I was looking for something, I think, in the realm of fiction to help me hide away from the things of the world around me, but, as with all good things, it lead me straight back around to the heart of what I was running from and made me face it, head on. I had to take a hard look at the things that were surrounding me and the person I was turning into because of circumstance and weak knees and I had to pull out a pen and show myself what was going on. In a way, I had to look at myself through the mirror. I had to use my words to see what was happening to me.
I think I'm just thankful to language, itself, for giving us an outlet--- a way to say what we mean and express how we feel. But I've always been thankful that writing kind of found me, because it's saved me from myself, from those ruts others talk about, and, ultimately, from being someone else. It's weird to say "I like myself," but I do. I like who I am. And I found all that through my quest for sanity; and I found sanity through a mess of words that let me untangle them long enough to see the light of day.
I hope writing's done something just as magical for you. I can't express how much I love hearing great stories about how words have changed someone's life, so if you have a tale for me, feel free to leave it in the comments.
'Til next time, Bloggers,
~Deserae McGlothen
Friday, May 20, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Maybe, Baby
There's a wonderful word in this world called maybe, and I've learned to embrace it for all that it is.
Maybe is not a no, so when I ask my mom if I can go to an author signing in La Habra and she says, "Maybe," I try not to throw hissy fits anymore or blame her for ruining my life.
Maybe is almost a yes, so when my sister asks if she can borrow my blazer and I tell her, "Maybe," I notice that she smiles and leaves me alone for a while. I always give in despite the fact that everyone tells her she looks great in it, and I haven't gotten compliments on it in two flipping years.
Maybe means thought is being given, so when my teachers start the class with, "Well, maybe..." I can tell they're considering giving us a break. And I find that I'm beyond grateful that they even took the time to consider this. They could have started the class with "Page three hundred and ninety-four," without thought for my feelings or of what I wanted to do. So when I hear maybe, I'm thankful. Very, very thankful.
Maybe is a good thing. It spares you outright rejection. I've been rejected before and it hurts. Maybe, at least, shows you there was something that attracted a person to you in the first place. Maybe means there's something they liked enough to not just walk away, and maybe that's a good thing don't you think?
Maybe's full of hope. Hope for what could be only had a fifty-fifty chance before maybe stepped in. It's opened a whole can of possibilities. Possibilities beget opportunities, and opportunities, as you know, are hard to come by. There's hope in some words, but not so much as there is in a maybe. Maybe that's just a coincidence. But maybe--- maybe it's not.
I have a thought for you. It starts with a "what if." What if you embraced maybe for all that it is? Maybe it'll help you take pride in yourself, your writing, and the maybes you come by on a daily basis. Here's another: what if you started to appreciate them and open yourself up to the possibilities a maybe presents to you? There's something big attached to the whole "positive thinking" thing. The cards are in your favor so long as you remember you've already turned the tide. Maybe you should try it. Tell me how believing in the power of the "maybe" works out for you.
:)
~Deserae McGlothen
Maybe is not a no, so when I ask my mom if I can go to an author signing in La Habra and she says, "Maybe," I try not to throw hissy fits anymore or blame her for ruining my life.
Maybe is almost a yes, so when my sister asks if she can borrow my blazer and I tell her, "Maybe," I notice that she smiles and leaves me alone for a while. I always give in despite the fact that everyone tells her she looks great in it, and I haven't gotten compliments on it in two flipping years.
Maybe means thought is being given, so when my teachers start the class with, "Well, maybe..." I can tell they're considering giving us a break. And I find that I'm beyond grateful that they even took the time to consider this. They could have started the class with "Page three hundred and ninety-four," without thought for my feelings or of what I wanted to do. So when I hear maybe, I'm thankful. Very, very thankful.
Maybe is a good thing. It spares you outright rejection. I've been rejected before and it hurts. Maybe, at least, shows you there was something that attracted a person to you in the first place. Maybe means there's something they liked enough to not just walk away, and maybe that's a good thing don't you think?
Maybe's full of hope. Hope for what could be only had a fifty-fifty chance before maybe stepped in. It's opened a whole can of possibilities. Possibilities beget opportunities, and opportunities, as you know, are hard to come by. There's hope in some words, but not so much as there is in a maybe. Maybe that's just a coincidence. But maybe--- maybe it's not.
I have a thought for you. It starts with a "what if." What if you embraced maybe for all that it is? Maybe it'll help you take pride in yourself, your writing, and the maybes you come by on a daily basis. Here's another: what if you started to appreciate them and open yourself up to the possibilities a maybe presents to you? There's something big attached to the whole "positive thinking" thing. The cards are in your favor so long as you remember you've already turned the tide. Maybe you should try it. Tell me how believing in the power of the "maybe" works out for you.
:)
~Deserae McGlothen
Friday, April 15, 2011
Pitch Contest with Natalie Fischer
Every once in a while, a once in a lifetime opportunity will arrive on your doorstep.
It will never be dressed all in white, on the back of a mighty steed, adorned in sparkling jewels or flashing neon lights--- it will present itself modestly, subtly, and usually at the most inconvenient time.
Why that is, I will never know, but the fact of the matter is this: that it arrives. That it chooses you. That it knocks and it says, "Here's a chance! Are you willing to take it?" And it will be up to you to decide if you just stare at it through the peephole until it gives up and goes away, or if you open the door, and see what happens.
As I said, these don't come around very often. And if you saw the title of this post, you'll know (maybe exactly) what this particular opportunity is. But instead of giving you the ins and outs, the ups and downs, the yay-says and the no-ways, I'll give you the knock. Knock, knock, knock. It's up to you to open the door.
Best of luck,
Deserae McGlothen
It will never be dressed all in white, on the back of a mighty steed, adorned in sparkling jewels or flashing neon lights--- it will present itself modestly, subtly, and usually at the most inconvenient time.
Why that is, I will never know, but the fact of the matter is this: that it arrives. That it chooses you. That it knocks and it says, "Here's a chance! Are you willing to take it?" And it will be up to you to decide if you just stare at it through the peephole until it gives up and goes away, or if you open the door, and see what happens.
As I said, these don't come around very often. And if you saw the title of this post, you'll know (maybe exactly) what this particular opportunity is. But instead of giving you the ins and outs, the ups and downs, the yay-says and the no-ways, I'll give you the knock. Knock, knock, knock. It's up to you to open the door.
Best of luck,
Deserae McGlothen
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
I'm Writing a Book
Hello, Lovelies!
Long time no see. It's been longer than I wanted it to be (and ohemgee! I have a mini blog series I TOTALLY wanted to finish and must finish some time soon!), but I thought I'd come by and share something I read today.
You see, there's a lovely lady called Rachel Vail (author of IF WE KISS, and the LUCKY, GORGEOUS, BRILLIANT books) and she's put up a post about a trick she uses to overcome writer's block. Although I won't go into the logistics of it, I thought I'd share about my recent ventures into editing my latest WIP because I feel that maybe, just maybe, it'll be theraputic to talk about.
I've been working with this project for at least a gillion (eight) years, so I know the characters, the plot, and the flaws inside-out. In this draft, the rough edges have been smoothed, the humor has been amplified, and it's good--- that is until we hit chapter eight. Chapter eight is where I've gone dark. Where the elusive (imaginary) writer's block has reared its ugly head. Up until this point, it's been all about rearranging, subtractions, multiplications, a little bit of division and some slight additions but CHAPTER EIGHT is kicking my butt. Why? Because now, it doesn't exist. There's chapter seven. There's chapter nine. And in between there is this hole the size of Jupiter, saying, "What now?" and I'm staring at it wondering the exact same thing.
But then I read Rachel's post, and, to some, that simple exercise may not mean much, but it was like the light in the darkness that made me say, "I know what to do" and my manuscript answered, "Whoopee! Let's do it!" Short exercise, nothing much to it, but the right something to get me motivated.
It's nothing secial but I'm writing a book, and what I've learned on the blogosphere is that to do so, one must actually WRITE. So here is my word of encouragement to you: write, Baby, write; you won't ever regret it (and can always edit it later).
BTW, that video up there is not for the faint of heart. Watch it at your own risk. :)
TTYS,
Deserae McGlothen
Long time no see. It's been longer than I wanted it to be (and ohemgee! I have a mini blog series I TOTALLY wanted to finish and must finish some time soon!), but I thought I'd come by and share something I read today.
You see, there's a lovely lady called Rachel Vail (author of IF WE KISS, and the LUCKY, GORGEOUS, BRILLIANT books) and she's put up a post about a trick she uses to overcome writer's block. Although I won't go into the logistics of it, I thought I'd share about my recent ventures into editing my latest WIP because I feel that maybe, just maybe, it'll be theraputic to talk about.
I've been working with this project for at least a gillion (eight) years, so I know the characters, the plot, and the flaws inside-out. In this draft, the rough edges have been smoothed, the humor has been amplified, and it's good--- that is until we hit chapter eight. Chapter eight is where I've gone dark. Where the elusive (imaginary) writer's block has reared its ugly head. Up until this point, it's been all about rearranging, subtractions, multiplications, a little bit of division and some slight additions but CHAPTER EIGHT is kicking my butt. Why? Because now, it doesn't exist. There's chapter seven. There's chapter nine. And in between there is this hole the size of Jupiter, saying, "What now?" and I'm staring at it wondering the exact same thing.
But then I read Rachel's post, and, to some, that simple exercise may not mean much, but it was like the light in the darkness that made me say, "I know what to do" and my manuscript answered, "Whoopee! Let's do it!" Short exercise, nothing much to it, but the right something to get me motivated.
It's nothing secial but I'm writing a book, and what I've learned on the blogosphere is that to do so, one must actually WRITE. So here is my word of encouragement to you: write, Baby, write; you won't ever regret it (and can always edit it later).
BTW, that video up there is not for the faint of heart. Watch it at your own risk. :)
TTYS,
Deserae McGlothen
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Suh-WEET Venom!
Yippee! It's time for the Sweet Venom cover reveal! I am so excited because Tera Lynn Childs has been gracious enough to include her fans in this experience, and I'm beyond thrilled to now present to you...
SWEET VENOM
Goodreads describes this as a...
New series, in which triplet descendants of Medusa learn they are destined to guard the door between the world of monsters and the world of men – pitched as a mythological Charmed.
And if you're like me--- a HUGE fan of Charmed and a fervent viewer of its WETV re-runs--- this will have been good enough. BUT, if you're not like me, you may want to click over to Tera Lynn Child's website, or view her blog to see what other goodies you can find on this awesome book. There's now a Facebook page for it, so don't forget to like it, AND be on the lookout for an upcoming swag giveaway which I'll announce as soon as I get the swag to, you know, give away.
Let me know your thoughts on the cover! Wicked, no?
Deserae McGlothen
Monday, February 7, 2011
Being Writer: How to Write a Novel
I've been to a lot of book signings, I've read a jillion blog posts on the "secret writing formula," and I've heard authors say this a million times: there is no ONE way to write a novel. "There is no formula," they'll say. "Writing is different for everyone, the process can never be nailed down--- it's only what you make it. I can't tell you how to write your book."
But it's all lies, I tell you. There IS a secret formula. "And the secret ingredient," I tell you, "is that there IS no secret ingredient!"
Rewind.
There IS a secret formula.
Check!
But there IS no secret ingredient.
That's right.
Because you know the formula--- you knew it before you even sat down to write your novel. But tonight on Jackson Pearce's live chat, Carrie Ryan (author of the Forrest of Hands and Teeth series) said something I think will change your life as a writer forever. And, of course I'm going to bait you a little longer before I repeat those words as they were repeated to me.
The truth? Writers write. The big idea of BEING WRITER is that little you with all of your big hopes and aspirations--- YOU are willing to put something IN so you'll get something OUT. And it may not surprise you to know that the thing you're putting into this Writer Stew are the words that you want forever associated with your name.
The "Secret" Formula for the best pot of Writer Stew in the world:
YOU + IDEA + BLANK PAPER + SPILLAGE OF WORDS ONTO THAT PAPER = A NOVEL
Congratulations! You now know the first part of being a writer--- Writers write, and if you're going to be a writer, you're going to write, too.
Carrie Ryan's words are just one in a million examples that authors realize this important truth. She said, "Write. You need to put words on the page how you want them to come out, and you need to find your voice and passion." And Julie Kagawa (author of The Iron Queen) really solidifies this by reminding us that "All authors started exactly where you are right now."
Remember this, Writers; part of being who you are is producing the best piece of work you possibly can--- by producing a product that you wouldn't mind representing you to the whole world. But to get to the end you must first begin. Remember that there is no "secret" ingredient; there is only you and the page before you, what you do with it is a matter of choice, but please promise me you'll attempt to do something.
Tune in tomorrow for the next chapter of BEING WRITER. Good night, All!
~Deserae McG
But it's all lies, I tell you. There IS a secret formula. "And the secret ingredient," I tell you, "is that there IS no secret ingredient!"
Rewind.
There IS a secret formula.
Check!
But there IS no secret ingredient.
That's right.
Because you know the formula--- you knew it before you even sat down to write your novel. But tonight on Jackson Pearce's live chat, Carrie Ryan (author of the Forrest of Hands and Teeth series) said something I think will change your life as a writer forever. And, of course I'm going to bait you a little longer before I repeat those words as they were repeated to me.
The truth? Writers write. The big idea of BEING WRITER is that little you with all of your big hopes and aspirations--- YOU are willing to put something IN so you'll get something OUT. And it may not surprise you to know that the thing you're putting into this Writer Stew are the words that you want forever associated with your name.
The "Secret" Formula for the best pot of Writer Stew in the world:
YOU + IDEA + BLANK PAPER + SPILLAGE OF WORDS ONTO THAT PAPER = A NOVEL
Congratulations! You now know the first part of being a writer--- Writers write, and if you're going to be a writer, you're going to write, too.
Carrie Ryan's words are just one in a million examples that authors realize this important truth. She said, "Write. You need to put words on the page how you want them to come out, and you need to find your voice and passion." And Julie Kagawa (author of The Iron Queen) really solidifies this by reminding us that "All authors started exactly where you are right now."
Remember this, Writers; part of being who you are is producing the best piece of work you possibly can--- by producing a product that you wouldn't mind representing you to the whole world. But to get to the end you must first begin. Remember that there is no "secret" ingredient; there is only you and the page before you, what you do with it is a matter of choice, but please promise me you'll attempt to do something.
Tune in tomorrow for the next chapter of BEING WRITER. Good night, All!
~Deserae McG
Friday, February 4, 2011
I Think I Know #1
I open my eyes and he's gone. I can't hide my disappointment.
Even though I know he won't be here when I wake, a wave of depression washes over me every time I have to face it. I miss him already, but cling to the thought of seeing him tonight. I need him and he knows it; I pull the comforter tighter around me and pretend its warmth is him.
I close my eyes and he's here. The sun is gone and darkness has already consumed the room. He lets me slide onto the bed first. I love that he lifts the cover for me and doesn't let it go until he's tucked by my side. My back is to him, but I like it best this way. I don't want to look at him... not really... I know what I'll see and what I won't and I don't like to deal with how that makes me feel because he'll ask and I'll answer and I don't want to talk about it. I just want to be with him. I just want him to be here.
His body and mine fit perfectly beside each other, as if he were made for me or I for him. His arm is stretched over my waist and my mind concocts a million reasons why my heart should be racing and I should be melting under the weight of his touch. It feels good to know he's here, but I don't melt. It's not logical. I love us like this: my back turned to him, his arm around me... But I don't love him. I can't. He says he loves me and sometimes--- at these times--- I think I know I love him too. But I never say it. I can't say it. And if he can say it and mean it, but I can't say it and think it, it must mean I don't mean it, even if I want to.
When he exhales, so do I; our breathing is in sync. He breathes in, I breathe in... Silently, we remind each other that we're here.
He brushes my hair away from my neck and places his lips on my skin. I savor his touch because I know the feeling will escape me if I don't. The feeling, itself, doesn't last long, but the memory of that touch lasts forever. Even when he pulls away, it lingers because I won't let it go.
He runs his hand along my waist, up and down, up and down. I burrow into him and it makes him smile. "What's wrong?" he asks. I take a deep breath about to speak, but I hold it in, afraid to give him more than I think he'll let me take.
"I don't know," I say. But I do. There's always something, isn't there.
I'll leave you with that, Lovelies. I hope you enjoyed!
'Til next time,
Deserae McG
P.S. Reminder: Monday starts the BEING WRITER series. This series won't interrupt ITIK. :)
Even though I know he won't be here when I wake, a wave of depression washes over me every time I have to face it. I miss him already, but cling to the thought of seeing him tonight. I need him and he knows it; I pull the comforter tighter around me and pretend its warmth is him.
I close my eyes and he's here. The sun is gone and darkness has already consumed the room. He lets me slide onto the bed first. I love that he lifts the cover for me and doesn't let it go until he's tucked by my side. My back is to him, but I like it best this way. I don't want to look at him... not really... I know what I'll see and what I won't and I don't like to deal with how that makes me feel because he'll ask and I'll answer and I don't want to talk about it. I just want to be with him. I just want him to be here.
His body and mine fit perfectly beside each other, as if he were made for me or I for him. His arm is stretched over my waist and my mind concocts a million reasons why my heart should be racing and I should be melting under the weight of his touch. It feels good to know he's here, but I don't melt. It's not logical. I love us like this: my back turned to him, his arm around me... But I don't love him. I can't. He says he loves me and sometimes--- at these times--- I think I know I love him too. But I never say it. I can't say it. And if he can say it and mean it, but I can't say it and think it, it must mean I don't mean it, even if I want to.
When he exhales, so do I; our breathing is in sync. He breathes in, I breathe in... Silently, we remind each other that we're here.
He brushes my hair away from my neck and places his lips on my skin. I savor his touch because I know the feeling will escape me if I don't. The feeling, itself, doesn't last long, but the memory of that touch lasts forever. Even when he pulls away, it lingers because I won't let it go.
He runs his hand along my waist, up and down, up and down. I burrow into him and it makes him smile. "What's wrong?" he asks. I take a deep breath about to speak, but I hold it in, afraid to give him more than I think he'll let me take.
"I don't know," I say. But I do. There's always something, isn't there.
I'll leave you with that, Lovelies. I hope you enjoyed!
'Til next time,
Deserae McG
P.S. Reminder: Monday starts the BEING WRITER series. This series won't interrupt ITIK. :)
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