Oh my, oh my, it is a blog.

So I have been silent for awhile, and after attending the Whidbey Island Writers Conference this weekend, I've nudged myself to blog again.
You may be wondering: How's that novel going? Weren't you trying to finish it by New Year's Day? Are you writing ANYTHING?
Well, here are the answers: the novel is going. I was trying to finish it by New Year's, but life does sometimes get in the way. I've been writing in my journal some, and writing on the book some, and scrawling notes to myself daily since the commencement of '08. But I have not written one single word for Amazon.com since July 31st. Coincidentally, I received my last true pay check sometime in mid-August.
The Amazon drop-off was intentional, though I didn't necessarily plan for it to go on for so long. In fact, at this point, it may be permanent vacation. I am blessed that, on both the paternal and maternal sides of my family, I've had family who thrived in the accounting and banking worlds, and who worked long years for profitable companies on the NYSE, and chose to give me stock or a saving bond for my birthday in lieu of the ever-desired Power Wheel, or say a pony. Thus I've been ransacking the savings as I try to finish "the book."
My new "full draft, damn it" due date is April 1st. I have a "massive revision/slaughter your word count" due date too: June 30th. Then, Buddha, God, Allah, Goddess of the Moons, and Satan willing, I will begin to send out the oh-so-tedious and daunting query letters to agents in hopes of finding someone awesome and energetic who thinks my book is the most engaging thing since breastfeeding (either as an infant or with her own infant). And this awesome, energetic agent (Indulge me for awhile, okay?) and I will then do some more revision, I'd imagine under some ridiculously short time constraint. Then she/he will shop my book to the editors and publishers of the world until they're salivating over my book, prompting an exciting bidding war, that will end in a book contract at a mid- to large- sized, but respectable, publishing house. Said contract will offer me a decent first sales check, and publishing house will have design, promotional, editorial teams that are so excited about my book that they're piddling all over themselves. And then the pre-sale copies and upcoming release catalogs will go out to the major book distributors (B&N, Ingrams, Borders, Amazon, etc.), and they'll ear mark the page with my book's details and consult their staff and estimate that they'll need to pre-order copious amounts of the book. This will get the publishing house pr peeps really in a frenzy, pitching me to the Today Show and to Oprah's Book Club and the notable book review papers and magazines.... and then, well, I'll be the hottest thing since Jonathon Safran Foer or Zadie Smith or Jhumpa Lahiri.... AND well, won't I be full of myself at this time next year....
Okay, so maybe not that's not feasible, but let me say this: I NEED to finish this novel. Then I NEED to revise like there is no tomorrow. Perhaps 15 times. And then I will be begging anyone for proof reads and feedback, etc. It could be you. If not you, I encourage you to please, please, please throw tons of encouragement and love my way this spring. Because this has been the darkest winter of my soul during my life thus far, and it is time for everything to come to fruition. Let the blooming begin.

Rejuvenation and Resolution

I'm declaring March 1 my new "New Year's Day."

You don't have to follow my example. I mean, really, who am I to tell you that New Year's Day should actually fall two months after January 1st? And about two weeks after Chinese/Korean New Year's? Or a week and a half after Mardi Gras and Fat Tuesday? You are not obliged to follow my example. In fact, you shouldn't. Everyone should have their own personalized New Year's Day--the day of the year that gets you pumped up, enthusiastic, and ready to start something anew (or new). For me, that day has, for the last two years, fallen around March 1st and the Whidbey Island Writers Conference.

Anyone who has visited Whidbey Island--or any of the San Juans in the Puget Sound/Strait of Juan de Fuca waters--knows that this is a stunning region to pass a few days. Rain or sun or snow, I don't care. It is divine. Wednesday evening, I arrived on Whidbey during a surprisingly thorough snowfall. I took a Community Transit bus from the U-District. I have to commend my bus drivers who, due to the sudden onset of the snow storm, did not have chains on and had to drive up and down some steep, snowy hills amid a plethora of Bad Seattle Snow Drivers (BSSDs--I swear, this city takes the cake, abandoning cars on floating bridges and express ways to walk home instead). My drivers were wise to show so much caution as we passed two jack-knifed Community Transit buses en route to the Mukilteo/Clinton ferry boat. On board, I listened as people complained about their treacherous commutes. My writer friend, John, met me near the ferry terminal on the Island and we drove back to our temporary homestead, a 2-bedroom house that perched atop a hillside overlooking Admiralty Bay and Bush Point. The roads were dark except for the headlights on John's Honda, which illuminated the snow-glazed pines along the road. The world felt so still. Outside the cabin, I studied rabbit footprints in the snow. The clouds parted to let the moon sneak out, along with a handful of scattered stars. Inspiration curled its way from the snow beneath my feet, through my toes and ankles, thighs and hips, belly and breastbone, up into my lips, eyes, ears, crown, my mind. I let it seep through me and in the morning, when I awoke, I was hungry for more.

I spent Thursday walking in sunlight, watching the snow melt gradually--dropping off the boughs of trees and power lines overhead and mushing under my hiking boot heels. I ventured to the South Whidbey Island State Park to wander. A far-off deer and I engaged in a staring contest. The deer won. In the blue morning sky, a bald eagle circled. In the afternoon, when the clouds came in again, I walked down to Bush Point to the beach and collected beach glass. A blue heron hunched over on a piling 25 yards from the shore. I went to bed refreshed and ready to learn.

For me, the conference began officially on Friday. After a ho-hum keynote address by an editor at Hyperion (she was really all over the map) and a panel of lit. agents and editors (interesting, but I'm not there yet), we broke into our groups for the afternoon Fireside Chats. Fireside Chats are the WIWC's signature event, where island residents graciously welcome writers into their homes for an afternoon of discussion. There are fireside chats for most interests and genres of writing: publishing, nature writing, humor, screenplay, poetry, short stories, literary fiction, mystery, romance/erotica, childrens, YA (young adult). Both years, I signed up for the literary fiction chat. While I enjoyed myself thoroughly last year with oral storyteller Jack Dalton and novelist Chris Bohjalian, this year blew last year out of the water. If you know anything about contemporary literary fiction, you should recognize some of these ladies and you'll know that they are pretty much literary ROCK STARS: Dorothy Allison. Karen Joy Fowler. Gail Tsukiyama. Jane Hamilton. AND our island resident host? Elizabeth George, author of the Inspector Lynley books and subsequent BBC/PBS Mystery! series. I about blew a brain gasket. No joke.

So I could have been speechless and googly eyed all day. But these women are so down-to-earth, funny, smart, and thoughtful, I forgot to be awestruck. After listening to them talk about creating vivid characters (Karen), powerful openings (Gail), the quandaries of plot in literary fiction (Jane), and writing violence (Allison--by far the most incredible talk I heard all weekend), I felt so safe and warm, why not ask them my questions? I asked them what they did to make ends meet before they published successful novels and what they do now. And I asked them how they retained balance in their lives between their work and their personal relationships with family and friends. And they each gave me the most thoughtful responses: Making ends meet before? Odd jobs and husbands and sheer desperation. Making ends meet now? Teaching at conferences, serving as writers as residence, judging literary contests, husbands, short story sales, an advance now and then. Balancing art and relationships? Apparently this struggle doesn't ever stop--Karen said her marriage almost collapsed in the first few years of her writing success, Dorothy tries to take an away residency every other year that avails her alone time to write, and Gail is the single girl, though not necessarily by choice. The most beautiful thing about these gals is their tremendous friendship. They're best friends! I am so excited about the prospect of making such awesome writer friends, and I covet those I already have--there is nothing like spending a few days with a group of like-minded artists who know how to laugh too.

The weekend offered more opportunities to learn from seasoned writers and meet others who are in the throes of that first novel too. I could go on and on and on. But I've already over-indulged my urge to gush. So, a new year begins today. I WILL finish a complete draft of my novel this year. I will also post here about writing much more, as apparently the agents like to see that. Some posts will be about my writing adventures (like this one), some will be more craft focused, and some will be excerpts of my writing. I promise not to post bad poetry--at least not often. And only for laughter's sake.