Barbara Walters Made Me Write This Blog Post.

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Here’s the situation: Barbara Walters recently swooped upon me in the form of a dream. At least, I hope it was a dream, because otherwise I have some serious home security issues to look into.

At first, I was temporarily blinded by the sudden spotlight, and I thought maybe a guardian angel had (finally) come to call. But, when I heard the tell-tale lisping I knew it was “Baba Wawa” – the unholy ball-busting mother of the uncomfortable celebrity interview. An angel, she is not.

Why my subconscious would conjure a woman who I didn’t recognize at first I may never know, but there she was, asking me – no, imploring me – to get back to writing.

Barbara crossed her legs as she let me squirm for an extra beat,”Just one page a day. Or, one blog posshht at a time,” she spat. She leaned forward. Waaaay forward. She stared. I couldn’t believe it was her!

“Of course, I want 10%, and my name on your Acknowledgments Page if you ever make a dime.” I believed.

There’s not much you can do in the presence of such an icon, especially when you’re wiping spittle from your eyes and dodging questions about love letters you may or may not have written to Matt Damon after he appeared in Good Will Hunting. And, when Barbara Walters tells you to do something, by gosh, you do it. Because she’s one frightening witch. (And she would totally take that as a compliment.)

So, here I am.

It’s been over a year since I hit publish on the post about my new job – my beloved job (sigh) at the elementary school library where I was privy to sniffing books, talking books, and interacting with students and teachers all day long. At the end of that post, I promised to blog about how getting a day job was actually helping my writing career.

Ahem. That post was never written. Because I was too busy.

You may think it’s because I was so busy writing, making contacts, doing deals, and eating celebratory Hershey Kisses by the dump truck that I didn’t have time for a little old blog.

(You’re so cutely optimistic — thank you!)

In fact, I wasn’t really doing any of those things. Except for that last part. Kisses…yum.

What I was busy doing was working in the library. And, thinking about new things to incorporate in the library.  And, juggling life. And, stress. And, well, lots of things other than writing and submitting my work.

And, now?

I’m in graduate school full-time, and about the only writing I’ve done lately was for an essay about incorporating media literacy into daily lesson plans.

Yeah, I know.

So, for my next trick, I will eat my hat. (And, just to show the seriousness of my committment, I may also eat Donald Trump’s hair.) It’s been a crazy time. My friend Julia would call it a roller-coaster year, but I will just call it something else silently in my head since I’m turning into a passive aggressive mind-swearer. (If you’re under 18, you should cover your brain.)

It’s been tough, this temporary trading of dreams: the dream of finding my place as a writer vs. finding my place as an educator. I miss writing. I miss blogging. I miss the camaraderie.

So, here I am saying, “Hello, folks.”

Though my output has greatly decreased, my Ideas Folder has grown to the size of the ego cloud which currently hovers over the greater Los Angeles area. I hope to wade through it during my upcoming holiday break, and also finish some requested edits that are covered with dust. And mold. And remnants of Trump’s aforementioned hair.

It’s a compromise right now, choosing between two different things that I love.  Many people/writers manage to do it all, and I hope to discover that magical balance again.

So, special thanks to Babs for her nighttime visit. I’m getting back to work, and will (maybe) see you all again soon.

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How about you – have you ever “traded dreams?” What was the outcome? How do you find balance with work/writing/life? And, finally — do you spit when you speak?

Find me on Twitter @amandahoving

*Image via Wikimedia Commons

It Only Takes One Yes — Guest Post, By Erika Marks

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In honor of  the release of Erika Marks’s debut novel, LITTLE GALE GUMBO (yes, today’s the day!!!), I’m re-posting the essay she wrote for my Get Inspired series back in January. Please read/re-read, and then run out and pick up your copy of LITTLE GALE!

Happy book birthday to a wonderfully talented and supportive writing friend. Enjoy your day, Erika!

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It Only Takes One Yes

By, Erika Marks 

On my thirty-second birthday, I moved to New Orleans with my beloved dog, Olive. I took a high-ceilinged apartment on St. Charles, filled my cabinets with chicory coffee, and set the radio dial to WWOZ. I was ready for all the adventure, excitement, and, yes, romance the city could offer. And why not be ready? After several long-term relationships, I was single again and stubbornly optimistic that The One was out there.

Now that’s not to say I didn’t have doubts. Like so many of us who are looking for true love, I had begun to question how many close-calls I’d have to endure before finding The One. And like so many people searching for a road map to love’s erratic course, I took advice wherever I could.

Oh, and there was plenty.

There was the always-popular, Don’t-think-about-elephants line: “Love comes when you’re not looking for it.”

And the old amphibian stand-by: “You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you meet your prince.”

The advice came fast and furious. I nodded. I smiled. I drained my daiquiri.

Then came dinner one damp summer night in a Quarter courtyard with a good friend who had recently found love again. Her wisdom arrived with dessert. “Don’t worry about the ones who don’t work out, sugar. It only takes one yes.”

Now maybe it was the heady smell of star jasmine in the air, maybe it was the blues band next door, or maybe it was the bread pudding drowning in whisky cream. Whatever the reason, I slung the advice around my waist, belted it, and never looked back. Why was I so discouraged? I had been so focused on all the relationships that didn’t work out, when what I should have been doing was reminding myself of the smaller number, perhaps even the smallest number of all! I didn’t need fifty men to be right for me. I only needed one.

Not long after, I met him. I was walking Olive on the banks of the Mississippi River in a misting rain, along the same stretch of levee where he was walking his dog. All of a sudden, the relationships of the past that didn’t work, didn’t matter. I had found the one. And I thank my stars every day.

As writers, we can’t help but spend a good deal of time focusing on the ones who got away, the agents and editors who didn’t want to sign us, the rejections, the passes. We know it’s not personal (as much as it may feel that way) but the No’s still hurt.

But here’s the thing: Just as you don’t need a dozen suitors racing to your door with promises of undying love, you don’t need a dozen agents competing for your work, any more than you need a dozen publishers in a heated bidding war vying for your book. You only need one agent to love your work, and one editor to go to bat for it and come back with an offer to buy it.

One.

It’s a fine number, don’t let the hype fool you. There’s nothing lonely about it.

So if it’s at all possible (and I know it’s usually not), try not to get wrapped up in the numbers. And if you must, envision a far more intimate number when you send out that query or that partial or that glorious full.

Like true and lasting love, it only takes one yes.

(Unless you happen to be a polygamist. In which case multiple offers are probably required.)

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Erika Marks is a writer of women’s fiction and an illustrator living in North Carolina. Her debut novel, LITTLE GALE GUMBO, is available TODAY from NAL/Penguin. You can find her at her blog, on Twitter, at her website, and on Facebook.

Your Job (And A Four Letter Word)

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It was a lazy Friday night and I had just finished telling my husband about day five at my new job in an elementary school library. He sat quietly for a moment, and then grinned at me in a crooked little way.

“What?!” I demanded. I thought of the ice cream I had just inhaled.  “Is there Chocolate Nut Brownie on my nose?” I wiped vigorously.

“No,” he said. (Pause) ”Well, maybe a little.” I wiped some more. “I was just thinking — it sounds like you really love your job.”

Hmmm…did he just use the “L” word in in the same sentence as work? My lines of defense bristled and came up for battle.

“Love?” I coughed. “No. Nope. I mean, it’s a job after all.” I squirmed.  “I mean, I like it, but–” I looked around suspiciously. Would members of the Disgruntled Workers Union suddenly appear in my living room and haul me off for questioning and endless viewings of Dolly Parton and Jane Fonda in 9 to 5?

But then I thought of the kids. The school. The books. And the big room filled with adventures on every shelf.

“Okay,” I finally conceded through clenched teeth, ”I lo– like it. A lot.”

Heck, I had played “Library” when I was a kid. There weren’t many super heroes and aliens present during my make-believe time.  I found my thrills by slipping Uno cards into a stack of Little House books and telling patrons (a.k.a., my mom and sister) to, “Please return the books in a timely manner.”  Now, that was power.

So why was it so hard for me to admit I enjoyed my new career? Because a job is a job.  It’s work. You get paid for a reason — because you most likely wouldn’t do it without some greenbacks and casual Friday’s involved.

Let’s also keep in mind that turns of phrase which refer to the working world are not often pretty. “The daily grind” conjures images of grey, grimacing faces being pushed to unnatural levels of discomfort (think Bikram Yoga). The enthusiastic rosy-cheeked wonder who balances her always half-full glass while settling into the spine twisting pose might not be everyone’s favorite gal. There’s a certain camaraderie among complainers. We may pass co-workers in the hallway at 9:01 on a Monday morning who are already saying, “Is it Friday, yet?” And we may nod in agreement.

But there are those who are happy to be at work. Or, at least happy to have a paycheck during a time when it’s not uncommon to run into people who’ve been out of a job for six months. Or a year.  Or, longer.

So, I feel lucky. I now wear two hats that fit me well: writing my own words, and sharing those of others. Not only am I employed, but I have jobs that I, well…, you know.

And I’m not afraid to admit it.

So, tell me: Do you like your job? Do you, (dare I say) LOVE your job? If so, does this little tidbit about you annoy your friends and love ones? Please share.

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*Next week, I’ll talk about how getting a day job (and having less time to write) is actually helping my writing career.

Find me on Twitter @amandahoving

Five Things I Learned On Blogging Vacation

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It’s become clear that I’m not one of those people who can successfully blog and “do summer” at the same time. Kind of like those unfortunate folks who can’t rub their bellies and climb Mt. Everest while simultaneously trying to figure out a better name for Generation Z.

Wimps.

Thus a blogging vacation ensued. One week passed. Then two. My continued silence led some to believe they were witnessing a bloggy funeral. There may even have been wailing. (By me.) Or indigestion. (Also me.)

Truth is, it hasn’t been the best summer ever, and I’ve been busy trying to salvage our final days so that we’ll always remember this as the most mediocre vacation of our lives.

Ahh…memories.

Though my reader stats currently number in the unmentionables, my blogging break was just the refresher I needed to help me jump back into the conversation, and also super-charge my writing focus.

A few things I’ve learned while on blogging hiatus…

1) It can be healthy to turn off your blogging radar. Think of all the time you spend on writing blogs. Reading blogs. Commenting on blogs. (Have you vomited, yet?) Often it’s well worth it, but there’s no (serious) penalty for taking a break, or working on other projects. Relax. The posts that are meant to be written will continue to shout for attention.

But…

2) You’ll be able to drown out the shouting if the view is pretty enough. Before you sink indefinitely into your Bieber Fever beach chair, jot down a few notes on the margarita napkins. They’ll prove helpful when you’re ready to blog again and need some interesting prompts. (Warning — you may need assistance interpreting said notes later.)

3) It’s OK to ignore other forms of social media, too – the world won’t forget you. Actually, that’s a big fat lie – they’ll forget you after about six minutes. But with one well-timed Charlie Sheen tweet, you’ll be back in business. The world is forgiving that way. And a little short on IQ points.

4)  Let quality content rule your return. Feelings of guilt or falling view counts aren’t good enough reasons to press publish when your heart isn’t in it.  Don’t feel forced to post drivel just so you can adhere to a schedule — wait until you have something worthy to share. Also, do as I say, not as I do. Obviously. 

And the most important thing I learned while on my blogging vacation…

5) Indoor water parks breed Jack Nicholson tattoos and ill-concealed firearms. And that makes for some great future blogging material. You have to live a little to write about life.

I realize I’m going against expert advice which preaches consistency (especially for those building platforms), so I’m curious…Do you take blogging breaks? If so, do you find them helpful? And, do you believe Speedos make for a comfortable holster? Please share your thoughts in the comments.

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Find me on Twitter @amandahoving

Eight Days Without A Refrigerator (Life At Room Temperature)

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We have deemed this season as, “The Summer of our Discontent.”

No matter my pledge to be present for my kids during these sunny months, life has posed some distractions. In the past four weeks, our basement flooded, the phone line went down, and the air conditioning in my car blew up. There have been scheduling issues, hospital visits, Lego disputes, and I believe the ground squirrel who lives in our gutter is in need of therapy.

And then, last Tuesday, our refrigerator – our four-year-old refrigerator – started blowing warm air onto about ten bags worth of newly purchased groceries.

Now, I’m a gal who likes her ice piled high, and the fruit served cold. And I shall not even speak of the frosty sheen I prefer on the bottles of my favorite evening beverage. So this situation was an alarming one.

The next day I looked expectantly at service-man extraordinaire, Big Jim, as he gave me the news. “Your compressor is shot, so we’ll be back next week to replace it.”

Me: “Oh, okay then.” (Pause) “Next week?!”

Big Jim: “Yep. Gotta wait for the parts to come in.”

I thought of the sad shape of my sour cream. “Isn’t this considered some sort of refrigeration emergency?” Big Jim gave me a blank stare. “I mean, I have four kids home on summer break.” He didn’t blink. “Four eating kids, and two eating grown-ups.” No response.

I tried another tactic, “I have a hankering for chicken and peppers!”

“Sorry. We’ll be back on Wednesday.” Apparently Big Jim was more of a steak and potatoes fella.

I surveyed the contents of our sweating coolers. After just one night, things were already looking wet and droopy – the rainbow sherbet had been a hard and early loss.

I called my sister. “How long does butter last when it’s cool-ish?”

“Well, when you think about it, they used to just wrap it in paper, and put it in the cellar.”

They, of course, meaning the good folks from The Little House on the Prairie. Hmmm…WWLID?! (What would Laura Ingalls do?)

Menu planning was going to be tricky. We had already wasted cash on the spoiled food, so I didn’t want to go crazy with takeout. I figured this was the perfect opportunity to thin out the pantry.

Menu, Day 2

Breakfast: Toast with peanut butter, and Crystal Light

Lunch: Peanut butter sandwiches, and lukewarm water

Dinner: Bread with butter(!), and orange drink juice boxes (which everyone hates)

Clearly, there was room for improvement.

On Day #3, we went through the pasta, crackers, and stale corn flakes. We ate our grapes at room temperature. Like the Pilgrims.

Day #4 consisted of “Canned-Food-Buffet!” (Two things: #1 - It really is possible to have too many beans, magical fruit and all. And, #2 – The use of exclamation points doesn’t make a meal any better.) That night, we dug out our old, tiny, temperamental fridge from storage, and sprung for the staples: milk, cheese, and Cookie Dipped Drumsticks.

On Day #5, I pretended to be one of those people who likes to go to “the market” each morning to pull together a lovely, fresh, organic meal. I also pretended to have naturally curly hair, and speak with a French accent. I came home with donuts.

Days #6 and #7 were a blur of gastro-depression. We ate out once. We finished the diced chiles, the For-The-Food-Drive-Olives, and a two-year-old bag of garden veggie pita chips. We wept.

Finally, it was Wednesday morning. Big Jim arrived early, and was now looking oddly like a shishkabob in a toolbelt. He fired up his blow torch and secret refrigeration lasers, and by 11:00 am he was done.

I clapped my hands a little. Oh, the food I was going to store! Oh the ice I was going to freeze!

Big Jim: “Remember, it takes 24 hours for the box to cool down enough to fill up again.”

Sigh

Menu, Day 8

PB&J on end pieces (Who knew they weren’t toxic?), and Dum Dums from the dry cleaner’s.

Bon appetit.

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Note: I realize there are far worse problems than my refrigerator mishap – things like war, poverty, sickness, and missing the early-bird specials at Kohl’s. Thanks for indulging me. I’m currently at the grocery store.

Find me on Twitter @amandahoving

On Being A More Observant Writer (Or, Why Is There Still A Poinsettia In My Kitchen?)

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Every fall, on the day after Thanksgiving, my family and I take part in our annual tradition of dragging out of all of the Christmas boxes, and competing in the, “Who can last the longest at putting up all of the decorations?” contest.

I always win.

On January 1st we hold another competition. This one’s called, “Who can last the longest at putting the decorations away?”

I also hold this title.

Yay me.

Yet today I noticed there is a Christmas poinsettia on top of my kitchen cabinet that has been there since November 26th, 2010.

Now, this isn’t the first time I realized it was there. Just like the inky miniature fingerprints that dot every doorway of my home, I noticed this green and red be-ribboned plant a couple of times right when guests were walking through our front door.

There was also the night I spied it through half-shut eyes as I slowly trudged to bed thinking, I’ll pull up a chair and grab it in the morning.

I didn’t.

Once I even noticed it while I was talking on the phone. I vowed to take it down as soon as my call was finished.

I forgot.

So, the days, and weeks, and months passed, and this happy (fake) little plant faded into the background, becoming a part of the everyday scenery. The same thing had happened with the purple streamers that hung from the lights three months after my daughter’s birthday. It had also happened when I stopped seeing the green paint spattered across our ceiling from the afternoon of Spin-Art-Gone-Wild.

But this morning, as I sat on the couch rubbing my eyes awake, I happened to look – really look – around the house, and I finally zeroed in on the target. And, ugh, I wanted to blow it up! How had I missed it for so long?

As a writer, I’m supposed to be observant — stashing away those finer details of the senses which I can later bring to life on the page in a way that makes readers think, “Wow! I understand.”

I enjoy doing this kind of writerly research. Citing the smells at a summer BBQ. Watching the way an elderly man grimaces while taking the stairs at the mall. Noting the pleading whine of toddler who only wants her mom to, “Look! Please look!”

A writer is supposed to soak in the minutia, letting it simmer and grow into something that will help the reader “see” better. A writer is supposed to discover and fix the holes in their story before a reader falls, breaks a leg, and sues for time lost to bad plotting. Yes, a writer should be aware of their surroundings.

And, still — there’s a poinsettia in my kitchen that has been there since November 26th, 2010.

Sometimes you have to remove yourself from a situation to see it more clearly. A fresh pair of eyes can bring things into focus. This is true for writing — what with our first readers, critique groups, editors, and the approval of our spouse/friends/mailman.

It’s also true for life.

We get busy. We take the scenery for granted. We become blind to the little things until they smack us across the head via a “helpful” medium. Like a neighbor who wonders why we still have paper snowflakes on our windows in June.

I’m at a point in my current work-in-progress where I’m adding the dazzle. Fleshing out the bare bones to (hopefully) make the the images, the characters, and the story sing. My eyes are open. Wide.

So I’m staring at this poinsettia, and at the chair that I can use as my step-stool to rectify the problem in five seconds flat. And then I think, Christmas is less than six months away.

I’m leaving it.

What little things around your home do you no longer see? Writers, what do you do to capture the details for your readers? Where do you conduct your writerly “research?”

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Find me on Twitter @amandahoving

Thinking Like a Kid (and Like a Sea Monster!) — Guest Post by Author Kate Messner

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It’s time for another Get Inspired Monday! – a series created to help you dig into your week and find inspiration in unexpected places.

Today’s post comes to you from award-winning children’s author, Kate Messner. Kate is a class act — not only because she’s a fabulously talented (and prolific) writer, but she’s also quick to offer support and encouragement to other writers and educators in the community.

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Thinking Like a Kid (and Like a Sea Monster!)

By, Kate Messner

Children’s Author, Kate Messner

After three days full of presentations, book signings, and lovely author-educator dinners at the International Reading Association Convention, I made one last stop before heading to the airport to go home – a K-6 elementary school in Orlando, where I gave my first presentation to the K-2 students.  After my talk about my new Marty McGuire chapter book series with Scholastic and my upcoming picture books with Chronicle, SEA MONSTER’S FIRST DAY and OVER AND UNDER THE SNOW, a bright-eyed first grader had a fantastic question.

“Do you have to think like a kid when you write your books?  And is it hard?”

Her question made me smile, because my answer to the first question is absolutely yes. And the answer to the second?  Definitely no.

It’s not hard at all for me to think like a kid because…well…the eight-year-old Kate inside me is still very much hanging around.  I write about catching frogs and getting muddy, about playing in the snow, tracking animals, and imagining playful sea monsters taking on the neighborhood fish in a game of Marco Polo because I still love all those things, just as much as I did when I was little.

That’s really at the heart of writer’s inspiration for me…thinking like the kid I was…and like the kid I still am inside.

We live right on the western shore of Lake Champlain, and several years ago, on a calm glassy-surface kind of evening, my son called me to the living room window.

“Mom, what’s that?”

I looked out and saw a long, serpent-shaped, bumpy-on-top….something in the water. It wasn’t a log; it was swimming and leaving a wake.  Sometimes it would submerge a bit and come to the surface again.  And it was moving in a curving sort of way, as if it were long…and snake-like.

“Well….that’s….that’s…”

I watched a little more.

“That’s probably a…”

It wasn’t a fish. Or a log.

“I think that’s….I think it’s what people must be seeing when they say they saw Champ.”

Champ is Lake Champlain’s legendary monster, who made his first historical appearance in Samuel de Champlain’s 17th century journals and has been resurfacing every few years, it seems, ever since, with various sightings around the lake.

We went outside and watched for five or ten minutes until whatever it was went under the water and didn’t come back.  The following week, we saw the same thing.  This time, there were two of them, and they stayed, swimming back and forth in front of the house, for almost 20 minutes before they disappeared.

This was five or six years ago, and we haven’t seen anything like it since, though we look every day. I don’t know what it was, but the truth is…I love that we saw something.  I love the mystery and the maybes, and it’s in those kinds of maybes that I find my inspiration for writing stories.

What if it was the lake monster?  What must Champ’s life be like down there?  Is there only one of him (or her!) or are there more?  And what do the fish think of something so large and prehistoric?

A whole lot of questioning and wondering and playful imagining along those lines led to this:

SEA MONSTER’S FIRST DAY is my very first picture book. It’s about a sea monster’s first day in a new school….of fish! It’s illustrated by Andy Rash and published by Chronicle Books, and comes out in June.  And every time I see that cover, I smile and remember those two nights out by the lake.

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Kate Messner is the author of The Brilliant Fall of Gianna Z, winner of the 2010 E.B. White Read-Aloud Medal, as well as Sugar and Ice, the Marty McGuire chapter book series, Sea Monster’s First Day, and Over and Under the Snow (Fall 2011). Kate is also a National Board Certified middle school English teacher, and the author of REAL REVISION: AUTHORS’ STRATEGIES TO SHARE WITH STUDENT WRITERS. She lives on Lake Champlain with her family and loves spending time outside, whether it’s kayaking in the summer or skating on the frozen lake when the temperatures drop. Learn more at her website: http://www.katemessner.com. You can also read her blog, or follow her on Twitter.