Golden Heart

I entered my baby, my time and hard work, my manuscript, into RWA's Golden Heart Contest yesterday. It was like sending off my child to college, though I wouldn't know what that's like. At least not yet. But that's how I imagine it would be.

Did I make it strong enough to survive first cuts?

Did I give it enough tools and depth to flow through the rounds to final judging?

I think I did. But I'm just a proud parent, aren't I?

There's something very personal about writing. You pour your heart into it. You ignore the chores another day, you let your refrigerator grumble from hunger pains, and you put every ounce of brainpower into creating this work. It consumes your thoughts. Everything you see, hear, read, could be twisted to fit into your story.

So to let a part of me go out into the world is just...scary. But I sent it off. Double, triple checked the package to make sure I was sending it to the right place. I paid the postage and the mail lady took three months worth of work to the back bins.

Now, what's left you ask now that my nest is empty? I wait for judging score sheets to come out in March. Until then I query the hell out of my book and hopefully catch an agent who wants to buy it.

I'll keep my fingers and toes crossed for good scores and hope my baby takes off to new heights!

Malibu vs. Bel Air

For those of you who've ever heard the expression, "They don't make cars like they used to."

Thank God for that.

A list...

...of things I can't live without...

• my family
• love
• laughter
• the smell of fresh picked roses
• the sound of waves crashing nearby
• fettuccine alfredo
• local taquerias
• foot massages
• TiVo
• chocolate
• breakfast in bed
• a good rainstorm
• a quiet house

...of things I can live without...

• drama
• dirty diapers
• parents who think their children can do no wrong
• war
• monopoly
• pie (you name the flavor, i don't like it)
• traffic
• gusting wind
• drivers who stop in the middle of on ramps
• cell phone (this one would be tough, but hey, i could do it...i think.)

Have you made a list lately?

This, That, and the Horrible In Between

I'm a writer. I'm not yet an author, but I'm working on it. Last month I entered the "Heart to Heart Contest" put on by the San Francisco Area Chapter of Romance Writers of America. The rules stated to enter the fifteen pages where your hero and heroine meet for the first time. Score sheets would be provided after finalists were chosen.

I thought, hey, I'll get feedback either way, right? This is a win-win situation. If I win, I get my book in the hands of an editor or agent. If I lose, I get feedback from people in the biz to make my book better. Awesome.

I got my score sheets back tonight. The first one I opened killed my scene. She hated it. She said she didn't understand my undertones, my heroine was unlikeable, and my motivations were shallow. Ouch. Yeah, that one hurt. But most of what she said stemmed from the fact that she didn't read the first 20 pages of my book. She only read a small section from the middle. Okay, okay, my heroine needs to work on her likability. I'll take the blame...I created her after all.

But the second one I opened lifted my spirits. The judge stated she'd "definitely read this WHEN it hits bookstore shelves". She stated my conflicts were well-rooted, my characters popped off the page, and I painted a clear picture of my backdrop. Yeah, I'm patting myself on the back right about now.

But the problem is, the one horrible score sheet and the one fan-freakin-tastic score sheet made my average a sucky-not-winning one. My scene was not "stellar" and was not good enough to win.

The moral of the story? Take some negative, stir in some positive, and come out with some real average stew. So for the next month I'm going to be cooking up one hell of a feast to make this thing sell.

I wonder if I could get the name of Judge #2? ;)

What do men really want?

After Friday night's football game I know the answer to this simple question.

Football and boobs. Large ones, apparently. Allow me to elaborate on my epiphany.

I was at a high school football game watching my alma-mater smash another local team. (Our team won 44-0 by the way. Rah!) And the team was pumped! Lights were bright, cheerleaders were peppy, the coaches were pacing the lines like wild animals. It was a fantastic night.

And I realized something. Freud discovered that people use defense mechanisms to protect their ego's from harm. Sublimation was one of these defense mechanisms and is defined as using aggression in a socially acceptable format. (And I'm summing up his whole theory here, so don't harp on the details.) And men, otherwise known as testosterone-raging-ego-maniacs, need and love football so they can release these tensions in a positive, acceptable way. I get it.

But as I was leaving I overheard a conversation by two high school girls. I've changed names to protect identities. ;) Let's listen in...

Girl 1: "He TOTALLY like you Gretchen."
Girl 2: "He does not. Forget it."
Girl 1: "No, he does. He talked to you every single day this month, but he only answered my texts once. He TOTALLY likes you!"
Girl 2: "Sarah, I have big boobs. That's why he likes me." And she rolls her eyes.

I love Girl 2. Love her to death. She's all of sixteen years old and gets men. She is the yoda and the other girl is her grasshopper.

Football and boobs.


Need I write more?