The Business of Writing

See? Creating worlds is very cool.
Writing grant apps? Not so much.

Being a writer isn't only about creating imaginary worlds and characters to explore them.

It also includes tasks that range from writing grant applications to writing bios both lengthy and short and sweet. It also means perfecting blurbs, tweets, and elevator pitches to catch and hook the attention of readers, editors, and publishers.

All of these efforts take creative thought into a different direction and help to promote both a writer and their work. It is the business side of our industry and is as important to a writer's career as is writing the best book possible.

Today, I work on author bios for Sourcebooks, who purchased Little Pickle Press, the publisher of Spaghetti is NOT a Finger Food. Author Bios are basically a humble or even not so humble brag about yourself and can be quite challenging. The goal, in my mind, is to encapsulate who you are, your writing style, and to pique interest in your work. No worries. I have a fresh pot of coffee brewing and a chocolate reward waiting.

This may need some work...

You can purchase Spaghetti is NOT a Finger Food by clicking here.

Gestures of Kindness

As a writer, I have a natural and often insatiable curiosity about people.

What motivates others to act the way they do? Say the things they do? I'm also intrigued by how other people see the world and each other.

Many years ago, I read a newspaper article that featured a homeless man. When asked what was the worst thing about living on the street, he didn’t answer what many of us would think the obvious - the cold - the hunger - the danger.

Nothing even close.

He said something along the lines of,  

“When people see me, they no longer see a human being. When folks toss money into my can, they never look me in the eye. I’m no longer worthy of a smile.”

Such a tiny gesture of kindness. A smile. A friendly, “Hello.” To be given the common courtesy of being looked in the eye. Treated like a fellow human being.

That stuck with me. The need to matter – to count as important. How hard is it look someone in the
eye?

I changed the way I treated those with their hands outstretched. I stopped judging and starting smiling. It made me look for the good in people.

All people.

I'm not perfect, nor do I ever aim to be, and I'm certainly not 100% at finding the good in people. Trust me, it can be a challenge. Sometimes I'm too cranky or self-involved with my own life to be the kind of person I want to be.

But, I'm trying. I'm still a work in progress, as we all are, really.

Has there been a moment, an event, in your life that made you change your viewpoint? 

I'd love to hear about it.

Hello, My Name is Jodi and I am a Type A

beforeandafterdiy.com

Once upon a time there was a different me. I was serious. Now don’t shake your head like that. It’s making me dizzy.

It’s true. It was a long, long time ago when the earth was still flat (as was my tummy) and I didn’t give a hoot about the whole breast v.s. bottle feeding debate. (Secretly, I still don’t. Do what works, mothers. They’re your babies and your boobs, after all.)

I wasn’t always this carefree, stay-at-home writer mom, and 1/8^th time school secretary. It’s true. “Other Me” went to work early every morning and often worked late into the evening. I was driven to succeed in the harsh world of business. Other Me was a financial planner. Please, I implore you, stop shaking your head. It’s stirring up my vertigo. I realize this is hard to believe, but I even wore a fitted, scratchy wool suit. The girls were locked and loaded. Isn’t that what they say on TLC’s What Not to Wear? Except my “girls” have always been fine just hanging out, they’ve never been in the need of a blazer lock down. They’re too polite to get carried away and make a run for fun and those lacy tank tops.

Wait a minute. What was I blogging about? Right.

I’m a recovering Type A Personality. I like to think that I’m in remission and settling into a long, blissful future of Type B tranquillity. Life’s worries will slide off me like butter on a cob of corn or hot fudge off ice cream. Yum.

But here’s the point, and surely there must be one, I’m like a zebra, posing the age old question – black horse with white stripes or white horse with black stripes?

nowsourcing.com

Am I Type A personality in recovery, or have I always been an undercover Type B? Although Other Me earned an overflowing truck load of cash, she was stressed, somewhat frantic and lived for the weekends. “Today’s Me,” earns a half-full little red wagon of cash, is nearly stress free, still a bit frantic, and lives in the moment.

So, Other Me, you’ve been put on notice. You will stay securely in the past as long as we can still pay our bills, save a bit for the future, and enjoy the present with our kids. But the minute I need you, I’ll dust off your resume, dress you up in a navy blue pant suit, and have you in a tidy office on Broadway, before you can shake your head. Slowly. Vertigo. Remember?

First Annual Anita Factor Retreat...a Success!

     We wrote, like prisoners on weekend leave from our city lives, shared those freshly written words, learned about each other’s writing journey, and laughed til’ the tears ran and our bellies ached.

     On the discussion table were active versus passive verbs, creating believable, strong character voices and building great stories that tickle our readers’ curiosity and grab their intention the moment they read the first line of our novels. 

    We mulled over Gabe’s overuse of the dash, Mel’s love affair with the semi-colon, and my addiction to the comma.

    Our brain breaks consisted of walks through the cottage community of Ponemah, Manitoba, where we poked around a handful of derelict cabins; our writer's minds buzzing with possible reasons for their abandonment. (It was Candice’s idea. She’s an instigator. There’s always one in every group.)

    This year we were down in numbers and those missing Anitas were toasted by candlelight, as we made a pact. Same time next year Anitas.  So, clear your calendar, dry-clean that musty sleeping bag you've tucked away in your garage, and prep your kids and husbands. There are words to be written, country air to be breathed, and cabins to be trespassed.

     Only 363 sleeps to go.