Organization from the Anal Retentive

Quote: “Organizing is what you do before you do something, so that when you do it, it is not all mixed up.” – A. A. Milne

Quote: “One person’s mess is merely another person’s filing system.” – Margo Kaufman

When it comes down to organizing my notes, files and anything writing related (which, by my definition, is most of my home) = I MUST control.

Perhaps that little kink of mine is because most of my life has been out of control – left to the gods-that-be who think large blocks of pain and suffering are good for the soul, it builds character, and all that other rubbish.

So, blame it on my OCD or my manic bouts of bi-polar energy, but I have to have everything organized. A place for everything and everything in it’s place.

The thing is, nobody understands my thoughts on organization. And, even I have to admit, sometimes I have to stop and think. It all boils down to what ‘mood’ I was in when I’m organizing. How I file when I’m in the middle of a manic depressive episode is quite different from my manic energy episodes, which is quite different than my manic bouts with anger. Throw in my compulsive disorder and the way the chemicals in my brain decide to mix and mingle like a bad Molotov cocktail and you’ll see my dilemma.

I’m so well organized, I can’t find things exactly when I want them.

Oxy-moron you say? Well, welcome to my world. Heavy emphasis on the ‘moron.’

But, being the master of my organized writing world would be nothing without the tools that make it so. I would be lost without:

1. my external hard drive (called J-drive on my computer).
2. my filing cabinets (two tall, industrial size, one short and squat).
3. my bookcases.
4. a 24 hole mail slot case-rack-thing I have no idea the name of.
5. Rubbermaid containers (various sizes and colors), magazine holders and trays.
6. file folders – flat and accordion, in an array of colors – some with handles/locks.
7. hard, three ring notebooks of various sizes.
8. pocket folders (paper and plastic), report covers, and tabbed indexed dividers.
9. my trusty Dymo label maker.

WRITING LESSONS: I usually attend three week-long internet writing workshops a year. I also try to take 1-2 writing classes per month on the internet, as well. This information gets placed in files on my external hard drive (that way, my internal drives stay clog-free and I can hook my external hard-drive to any computer I work on and have access to my information). All writing information is found under WRITING. From there I have four sections: all things writing, research, classroom lessons, and MY original works.

Research and classroom lessons are self-explanatory and have LOTS of sub-folders in them.

All things writing is just that: all things pertaining to the craft of writing. Things like plot, beginnings/middles/endings, dialogue, structure, setting, description, scene, conflict, voice, style, atmosphere, tone, pacing, arcs, etc. I also have files on editing, grammar, master worksheets for outlines, characters, and plot, a section pertaining to the rules of certain genres, etc.

My original works consists of all my WIPs, a section of blog ideas, a section of blog ideas already written and published, published shorts, contests entries, etc.

As much as I have embraced the computer world, I have to admit my favorite way to keep everything -- EXCEPT my actual WIP – is on good old-fashioned handwritten hardcopy.

NOTES: Usually found on things like post-it-notes, half torn ‘legal pad’ yellow sheets, colorful lined index cards and bar napkins. These are thrown in a wire mesh tray, and sorted through once every three months. The items get placed in the appropriate file folders, marked by subject, organized by color code and sectioned in the first three drawers of the army green filing cabinet.

OTHER IDEAS: Things like newspaper clippings, torn-out magazine pictures, mini-cassette recordings from interviews or dictation, transcribed notes, computer printouts, souvenirs, post cards, and old photographs found at estate sales and flea markets – are placed in a black, two-tier tray (one tray for flat items, one for bulk) and sorted through once every four months. The items get placed in the appropriate file folders or small rubber maid containers, marked by subject, organized by color code and sectioned in the first three drawers of the steel-grey filing cabinet.

So, whenever I need one of the three “I’s” (inspiration, ideas or information) it is just a drawer and a glance away (unless I’ve placed it in another holding tray – this time, a maple wood tray on the third shelf of my blonde bookcase). This usually happens if I think I’ll be using the item soon, or if I have no idea how to file it. I go through this tray once every six months and if I haven’t used it/filed it/figured out what to do with it, I throw it out.

SPROUTS: These are stories that have gone beyond the note stage, germinated into some fleshed out ideas, have pictures, partial outlines, and brief character sketches. However, they are too small, too immature, to be classified as an ‘official’ WIP. I have placed these gems in very colorful vinyl file folders, marked by an identifying title and placed in the first section, top drawer in my army green filing cabinet.

I try to go through these when ever I have the ‘urge’ to work on something new, but don’t want to take energies away from my current ‘darlings.’

WIPs: All works in progress that have outgrown their ‘Sprout’ file folders are placed in what I call a “bible.”  I do this by going to my stockpile of hard-backed ringed notebook binders (twenty-five cents, used, at Salvation Army and found in my huge cedar rubber maid container), my stockpile of poly indexed tabbed dividers (stored in a bamboo magazine holder on my white bookshelf) and my stockpile of pocket folders (stored in a blue plastic magazine holder on my white bookshelf, as well.)

I assemble the notebook, dividing the sections up by plot, character info sheets, a drawn map of the town, sketches of interiors mentioned, story outline, etc. The pocket folders are added to hold pictures, clippings, and any information pulled from the “notes” files mentioned above. The result is a one-stop ‘bible’ of everything pertinent to what I am working on. When not in use, I place them on my dark wood bookcase.

HOT WIPs: Stories that I am currently ‘hot’ on get special treatment. Not only do they have their own ‘bible’ that sits prominently on my desk, but anything I edit, I print and place in a covered report folder and let it sit. Then, when I have the time, I can go through and read it – make notes, adjustments, what-nots, let it sit some more, and go back through it again. These ‘hot’ things set in my red tray on my writing table, along with the file folder of submissions.

RETIRED WIPs: My retired works in progress (whether because they are done or I no longer have an interest in them) are taken out of the three-ringed notebook. Any information (photos, maps, brochures, clippings) that can be re-used is placed in another tray (painted purple) to await me to re-file them (usually every two months). Anything immediately related to the story (character sheets, outline, sketches, etc) get placed in an accordion file, along with a printout of the story thus far. A CD of the story is burned as well, and placed in a small rubber maid container and stored in my filing cabinet with the rust at the bottom. Another copy of the story is archived on my external hard drive.

So, this is how I do my organization for novels, ideas and notes. I find that, although it sounds like a lot of work, there isn’t much effort once the initial stage is set. This does not include all my other organization of writing supplies, computer programs used for writing, and all the other stuff a writer brings to the office.

In retrospect, for me:

• An organized office – free from clutter - keeps my distractions down and my OCD at bay.
• An organized writing life keeps my brain from sweating the small, insignificant stuff and I feel I can focus more on writing than on searching. 
• The ‘organizing’ and ‘cleaning’ aspects to my writing life are a way for me to take the ‘unbridled’ destructive energy that plagues bi-polar people and twist it into something useful for my career.

Are you organized? Does it make you feel good to control this aspect of your life?  Or do you prefer the organization of clutter?

PS - sorry this was late - I was having trouble with blogger and I kept getting an error for most of the morning.

MOTIVATION from the DARK SIDE

Warning: This weeks topic – what motivates me – was a bitter, dark chapter of self discovery.

  

Upon preparing for the post, it was revealed that for my whole life, I confused and mixed personal motivation and with illustrious inspiration, and made a delightful cocktail of my own devious imagination.

After I was ever so thoughtfully pointed into the boring, yet proper direction by my beloved friend Thom (whose impressive title of ‘Mr. Know-it-all’ far exceeds that of Bullwinkle J. Moose), I started on the day long journey of discovering if I, indeed, had this elusive motivation gene everyone was clamoring about.

And if I did, what the hell was it.

What I found out both astounded my intelligence yet disgruntled my very soul.

The official definition of motivation is ‘eagerness and willingness to do something without needing to be told or forced to do.’

Motivation is complex since human nature is complex. What kicks you in the arse and gets you going might not thrill me in the slightest and vise-versa.

Yet for me to understand what motivates me to act in certain ways enables me to work peaceably with my muse. It’s also a way for me to give fair warning to those who are intimate in my life; by understanding what motivates me, they are less likely to get in my way and become road kill.

Motivation can be categorized according to whether it is a basic, instinctive drive, common to all people and animals. This type of motivation involves satisfying the needs of the physical body including hunger, thirst, shelter/safety, sexual activity and so on.

Learned motivation (or external motivation) is based on a reward system (think potty training or to cease smoking) and seems to satisfy the desires of the mind and the spirit. It includes achievement of goals, whether they be in terms of gaining knowledge, power, self-development or a loving relationship.  

So, with all this hefty knowledge in hand – did I find out what motivates me?

Ummm, yes. But it’s not pretty.

My sexual drive motivates me to be as passionate with my stories as I am to my lovers in bed. It is my WILL to pleasure all who read.

• Greed
• Anger
• Hunger
• Fear
• Power
• Sexual Drive

Interesting. Scary. Not what I envisioned as a Gay Romantic Suspense writer, and definitely not what I would consider a healthy way of thinking.

Yet, after pondering on this startling self-examination result, some key factors have come into place. I am a melancholy person. I’m in my element during stormy weather. Pain and death and loss have built me into the creature I am today. I tend to gravitate to the dark side of life. I love villains more than heroes and even my favorite heroes are considered anti-heroes.

Should that which motivates me be any different than that which I love?

GREED – as a writer, I don’t lust after money or fame and have a distain for authors who do. My greed stems from the fact I WANT to write. I am greedy with my time, my words, my talent. My greed motivates me to push past fluff and utter nonsense other writers seem caught up in. It if doesn’t involve around my world of writing, I don’t want it. If it does – it WILL be mine.

ANGER – my anger fuels me, pushes me ahead, keeps me from drowning in a sea of pauper pity. I see the injustice in my life, I see how the sins of others have inflicted me and I seethe with a righteous fire. My anger motivates me to prove myself worthy and to cast the peons who doubted my talent into the fiery path of my pen. Vengeance, even in the form of a story, WILL be mine.

HUNGER – the gnawing in my gut drives me to excess. I feast upon words, upon books, ideas, concepts, anything to fill the empty void within. I regurgitate these things, digest them and absorb them into my body. My hunger motivates me to keep on, a driving force to seek out new experiences, new knowledge, and new ideas to write about, thus propelling me even further into my craft. I WILL follow my craving to write.

FEAR – is the root of my anger. I fear for my sanity. I fear to be alone in an eternity where there is no stories, no books, no words and in such an arena, my imagination would tear at itself like a starving cannibal. I fear the ever present ring of laughter from my past peers, those who told me I would never amount to anything. Surly, they can’t be right, can they? My fear motivates me to run, not as a coward, but to leave those hurtful taunts that chase me behind. I will show them. I WILL succeed.

POWER – they say the pen is mightier than the sword. I believe it, for I have fought many bloody battles with my words. Some I won, some I lost, some are pending. The ink runs in my veins, flows down onto the paper and breathes life into ALL my campaigns. With my words, I can create life, I can cast death. I rain blessings and curses with a stroke across the keyboard. My characters and my world are at my mere whims. I am a GOD and nobody can hurt me. My power motivates me to go beyond what I thought was possible. My stories WILL bow to me and obey.

SEXUAL DRIVE – some days, my need to write, to create, equals or surpasses my sexual desire. My creative juices teams with squiggling life creating properties. The hormones that course through my body scream for release in the form of words on paper, scene after scene, character within the plot and the orgasmic blow of the black moment. My sexual drive motivates me to be as passionate with my stories as I am to my lovers in bed. It is my WILL to pleasure all who read.

So, coming up to resurface from my frightening sub-conscious, I have decided I am totally mental. However, with that said, no matter how disturbing, how insane my motivations are to others, they work well with me. The sense of motivational control I have over my world is almost heady, and within my spirit house bubbles a thigh clenching “Mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha…..”

Yeah. My motivations. They work for me.

Welcome home to the dark side…

Oh no! It's a Valentines Soap Box

I tried.

I really tried.

I fought long and hard to put myself in a romantic state of mind. To write on my Wednesday blog about romance and Valentine’s Day and all that wonderful lovey-dovey, flowers, hearts, candy, and gushy-mushy sentiment stuff.

But, I can’t.

Why not? After all, I am a GLBT romantic suspense author. Surely if I can write hot man romance in stories, I could write on the subject for this weeks topic?

Nope.

Because nothing puts me in a snit quicker than to remember my love and my commitment isn’t good enough to be validated in the eyes of our government.

In other words, Valentine’s Day pains me because many of us are denied the right to marry the ones we love.

What was that? You want a little Valentines Day “whine” with my cheese? Funny. Let’s see how you would react if you couldn’t get married. If you were denied marriage, based solely on the fact of the way your body is wired to desire sex.

As a matter of fact, let’s take it one step further. How would you feel if you were married, but the state you live in, or your countries government, won’t ‘recognize’ your love, your commitment, your union?

Even if it outlasts most of those marriages around you.

And what if you were in a committed relationship for years and was not granted the rights as those married, or in some states, a common law marriage? Like claiming your partner on insurance, taxes, other benefits, the family medical leave act, or be ‘recognized’ as a family, even if there were children involved?

I bet you would be having fits. You wouldn’t like it, you would seethe in the injustice of it all, and you would be as crabby as hell on Valentines Day.

But, do take note. I believe, within my lifetime, I will be able to celebrate Valentine’s Day, taking comfort in the fact that ALL Americans will have the human right to marry who they want, regardless of the current discriminations against the GLBT folks.

An AP-NCC poll conducted in September 2010 showed that 58% of Americans in favor of same-sex marriage. In the same month, CNN did their own poll showing 52% in favor, with 2% having no opinion.

Five states (Massachusetts, Connecticut, Iowa, Vermont, and New Hampshire) plus the District of Columbia have the freedom to marry for gay couples, and there are three more states (Maryland, Rhode Island and New York) who are so close to voting for same-sex marriage it’s not even an issue. They already officially pledge non-discrimination against marriages between same-sex couples from other states. It’s just a matter of time before they jump the broom, as well.

Various states now offer broad protections short of marriage, including civil union in Illinois and New Jersey, and broad domestic partnership in Oregon, Washington, Nevada, and California. Smaller packages of protections for same-sex couples are available in Hawaii, Maryland, Maine, Colorado, and Wisconsin.

 

And we are getting closer in Wyoming and in New Mexico.

With these advances, nearly 14% of the US population lives in a state that either has the freedom for gay couples to marry or honors out-of-state marriages of gay couples. About 25% live in a state with either gay marriage or a broad legal status such as civil union/partnership. With the Illinois Civil Union Act now law, more than 40% of the US population (over 125 million Americans) live in a state which provides some form of protections for gay couples.

 

And that’s not all.

Let’s take into account that 12 countries now embrace same sex marriages as being equal heterosexual marriages. They include the Netherlands, Belgium, Spain, Canada, Mexico, Norway, Sweden, South Africa, Portugal, Iceland and Argentina.

Already with civil unions, the following countries are up for debating/voting on same-sex marriage in the next couple years are the United Kingdom, Ireland, France, Ecuador, Colombia, Uruguay, New Zealand, Austria, Germany, Greenland, Hungary, Czech Republic, Demark, Finland, Slovenia, and Switzerland.

So, if you have read this far in my post, I bet you are wondering what does all this have to do with romance, Valentine’s Day and a blog devoted to writing?

Glad you asked!

Don’t you think it’s ironic that as a GLBT romantic suspense writer – someone who makes a living out of weaving love-sloppy and erotic romantic stories with happily-ever-afters – that in my own state of Michigan, in my own country, and in this day and age…

I am not qualified – not considered equal enough – to have a marriage of my own?

And until the GLBT marriage equality is rectified, and the US government allows gays to be treated respectfully with the same rights, privileges and benefits my heterosexual friends have,  I doubt I will ever celebrate another Valentines day again.

I look at this declaration as a another step further away from the closet door. Of claiming who I am. I refuse to be treated like I don’t matter, like I don’t count. I am a human being, and the last time I looked at the constitution, an equal in all ways.  

Fighting for marriage equality on Valentines Day might mean jack-squat to you. But for me, it’s all about love. And that’s the most important gift I can give to myself and future generations of gays and lesbians.

Knowledge versus Feeling: Does it matter?

This week’s question (writers: knowing vs. feeling) took me by surprise. At first glance, I thought ‘Oh. This is easy. I straddle the fence, doing equal shares of each.’

Yet, when the brass hit the balls, and I got ready to blog my thoughts on the subject, I did a little investigating into my own writing. What I discovered astounded me.

On the whole, I swing toward the ‘write what you know’ side(*gasp!)

Believe me, that didn’t settle well. You see, I fancy myself a rather eclectic writer, and I have always believed a balance of the two –knowing and feeling – is essential for a well-rounded author. However, when faced with the fact that my own works tipped a scale heavily to one side, I became rather depressed about it.

Until I realized – I write what I know because I’ve lived a rather full, colorful and eventful life. Every step, breath, moment and in each situation lived, I gain another treasured nugget of knowledge, good to stash in my writers pouch of interesting things to write about.

It also helps I am what you call a method writer. More often than not, my writing research leads me down the path of ‘do it, live it, achieve it, and make it your story’, so feeling isn’t mere speculation; it becomes first class knowledge.

In other words, you’ve heard of cliché ‘been there, done that’? Well, I have, several times, grasped the lessons, collected the refrigerator magnets and have lived to tell the tales (whether tall tales or not, I let the reader decide.)

For instance:

• • thanks to my bi-polarism, I’ve held more unusual blue-collar jobs than the average Joe.  I’ve even had a few professional jobs, including law office manager, intake coordinator, a soldier, stripper and a licensed chaplain. 
• • I’ve lived in both luxurious and impoverished conditions. I grew up on a farm, lived on a military base, in a real log cabin with no modern connivances, in many cities, and in homeless shelters and on the streets. 
• • I’ve dined at five-star restaurants, ate all sorts of exotic foods, been a vegetarian, a fast food junkie and I’ve also eaten bugs (by choice), dug food out of garbage cans and ate my own vomit. 
• • I’ve participated in riots, protests, love-ins, peace rallies, the worship of several religions, traveled with community theaters, motorcycle gangs and dance troups, and have attended every sort of  music event, comic book, sci-fi, and fantasy convention you can think of.
• • I’ve drank, experimented with some drugs, woken up with friends, strangers and  with no memories (there are even blank weeks), ran with both the wrong and the righteous crowds (and sometimes at the SAME time!)
• • I’ve seen people raped, beaten, stabbed, shot and killed.  I’ve been scared and remained hidden, the guilt forever with me. I’ve been brave and fought the attacking person.
• • I’ve been both hero and villain, sinner and saint. 
• • I’ve saved some people’s lives, held others while they died. 
• • I’ve had tons of money. I’ve lost everything. I’ve been frivolous, I’ve been a miser. I’ve re-established my whole identity twice. I have stolen and I have been robbed. 
• • I’ve been in jail cells, holding cells, padded cells and isolated community communes. I’ve appeared in court many times (on either side of the law), have explored sewers/underground tunnels, haunted houses, abandoned mines and caves.
• • I’ve experianced my world sensually, sexually, whole-heartedly and sometimes with trepidation and reservation.
• • I’ve courted death, I’ve tried to kill myself and I have fought hard to live and survive.
• • I’ve been the life of the party, the recluse, the introverted and the extroverted. I’ve been a part of a huge family, I’ve been married, single, divorced, separated and the only one left standing at the end of the day.
• • I have experienced every emotion known to man – I’ve loved, been loved, hated and have been hated, and all that is in between.

With all those experiences (chosen and forced) under my belt, I have much to draw from to write what I know. However, I can’t rely on my well-earned battle scars to carry me through. As determined as I am to live my stories, there are some things I will NEVER know. And for that, I have to reach down into my writer’s arsenal and withdraw the tactic of ‘feel.’

• • I will never know what it’s like to be handsome, a size 00 or to have a real third eye or antenna protruding from my forehead.
• • I will never know what it’s like to be a Native American Indian, a vampire, a werewolf, or a superhero with amazing powers.
• • I will never know what it’s like to give birth vaginally, or to have a successful adoption.
• • I will never know what riding a west bound train in the 1880’s felt like, what it was like to shiver in a gas-filled fox hole in WWI, or to be trapped in New Orleans when Katrina hit.
• • I will never know what it’s like to be a cop, a fireman, a doctor, a serial killer, or a  beloved/despised God of the Universe.
• • I will never know what it’s like to live on another planet, to become a pregnant man, to be a lead singer on stage or to own an exotic sex slave from the orient.
• • And I will never, ever know what it’s like to bungee jump (Never. Ain’t gonna do it.)

But, you know these damn characters we create. Tricky little bastards, the lot of them. You give them breath, and they take over the page. There will be circumstances and situations that come up in a story and just when you have it figured out (either go with the knowledge or the feel), something changes. 

That’s when being a writer truly comes alive for me – I believe I’m at my peak as a writer when I can combine my hard core realism (knowledge) with my soft porn 

fantasy (feeling/Internet research). 

For instance – let’s say I want to write about a past prime prostitute whose had a bit of bad luck lately. For this character, I can draw on my experiences of street living, the flavors, textures, smells, sounds that shape those who have experienced the rough side of life. Having your body the only thing left to offer – and yet, being rejected again and again, because you’re no longer young looking. Sex with strangers, sex without love, feeling worthless, and being so desperate, that you want to end it all. The only thing left to cover in this piece is the actual selling of the body – and although I may NOT have had that particular experience, in the past, I have sold my soul for less. There’s gotta be a similarity between the two feelings. 

Or, let’s shoot for another situation – let’s say something along the lines of going on a cruise ship, getting drugged, mistakenly kidnapped by Dungeon and Dragon role players and taken to New Zealand, where the character wakes up in 1760’s, in a Governor’s mansion, forced into a domination role, made to whip the owner’s grandmother - who is actually a time traveler from the 25^th century…. (Whew. No, I’m not this kinky. I was just trying to make up something that would be hard for me to wing it one-way.)

So, I would look at it this way: 

• • I’ve never been on a cruise, but I’ve been out in the open water, and fortunately, I used to watch a crap load of the Love Boat. 
• • I have first hand knowledge about getting drugged and loss of memory, but nothing about being kidnapped – but wait! I have been tied up against my will – surely there are some similar feelings (helplessness/fear) there? 
• • Okay – D & D role players – weird people, all familiar territory. Easy. 
• • New Zealand? I KNOW I have some friends on Face Book from there. I’ll touch base. But what about  New Zealand in the 1760’s? Did it even exist? That there will definitely be some Internet/paper research. However, I have seen pictures of period mansions and fashions, so that will help in the draft.  
• • Domination? Totally got that covered, and I’ve played with a variety of whips (that comes from living on a farm and attending that BDSM convention/workshop) to know enough on what to use for what damage, etc.
• • What  about the grandmother? Hmmm. That might be a little tough. Let’s add a twist, change it to a cross dressing grandfather.
• • And as for the time travel….

Well, you get my drift. You see how my mind works… (scary, eh?)

Bottom line? In a perfect world, the balance between writing what you know and writing what you feel would be equal. 

However, I believe this swings according to the author’s age, maturity level, comfort with the dimensions of the writing craft, life experiences and how far the writer is willing to go in order to bring that research to life so the story will be both believable and entertaining to the reader.

Now, where’s that website devoted to historic 1760’s mansions in New Zealand… What? It sounds like a damn good story to me….

WANTED: Lonely author seeking same for companionship...

“Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer’s loneliness, but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day.” Ernest Hemingway

Alas – the lonely writer. A dying breed of the classic author. A throwback to the romantic writing era when one claimed to be a serious writer, would sequester themselves for days on end. Haunted by inner demons, the sober somber author of olde would draw down the shades, live off booze and cigarettes, and become one with the typewriter.

Ah, their stamina! Their power! Their ability to flail themselves upon the keys and churn out something worthwhile and holy! The mere thought of those stoic kindred spirits of the past make me want to grab my crotch, hock up some sinus phlegm and hope I get published.

You see, by today’s standards, I am in the minority. I am a lonely writer.

Even while using the plethora of writer’s community opportunities that are at my fingertips, there are those nights where I sit in my dark, studio apartment and cry in the isolation I find myself in. Yet, I ask for no sympathy because this is a path that I have chosen.

That’s right. I choose to be alone.

Perhaps it’s due to my bi-polarism. And the fact that I have the attention span of a Golden Retriever. I’ve never been one to fit in with my peers. I don’t get all excited to go to writer groups and workshops. I don’t get inspired working on my story in a clustered coffee shop. I am not a social creature. I loathe the social interaction of Twitter, Facebook and Skype. It steals my creative energies and takes way too much time away from my first love – my story writing.

I guess I tend to look at things outside the box. I love the solitude, the aloneness writing provides me. I love to squirrel myself away for days, weeks, doing nothing but typing, research, plotting, editing and occasionally taking time to sleep and eat. It exorcises my personal demons, it cleanses my soul.

I love the quiet bliss of a story unfolding under my fingers with no distractions other than the occasional furry ones under my feet. I believe solitude is a state of mind rather than an environmental state, and one that writers should realize and embrace. Not many do. And while I hold those quiet qualities with the zeal of a born-again experience, I have to accept the inevitable: loneliness will be a part of my life. And I’m okay with that.

For the most part, I have made peace with the fact I will have those pangs of author loneliness. My angst breathes strong on the nights where my labor has ended and I’ve birthed some beautifully written piece. Why? Simply because I would rather live in the world I created, where the setting, the characters and the plot are more appealing to me than my real world.

Sometimes I forget what it means to ‘have a life,’ not because I don’t get out and interact with society (I am very active when I choose to be), but mostly because my characters are not a part of it. You see, the voices in my head are so real, so genuine; it’s hard to remember they aren’t flesh and blood people. And when I feel nobody else can understand where I’m coming from, that’s when I get lonely.

Another time I feel lonely is when I think about the bigger picture. Since I share my thoughts, feelings, experiences and views to the world through story, I often ask myself: ‘What is the purpose of this story? What do I want to achieve by writing it?’ And, more selfishly, “Are my stories gonna touch anyone? Will it be worth all the blood, sweat and tears I have poured in?”

Take for example, Father McKenzie in the Beatles song ‘Eleanor Rigby.’ Many writers believe that their creative efforts will be in vain. No one will read it. Could this be what blossoms the loneliness belief – the fear of obscurity which then leads to a fear of mortality? I mean, when you really think about it, only a handful of writers live on in the infinity of their works. The rest of us only pray our stories don’t turn to dust in the wind at the same time our mortal bodies get pumped full of cold preservatives.

Whether my loneliness is brought on by self-imposed isolation, an overwhelming feeling of being insignificant in this world, or if it is magnified by a particular piece that touched my own heart, the fact of the matter is: I cherish my moments of loneliness, for the power of its yearning is what drives me to soar beyond the threshold of emotional stagnation and to challenge myself by achieving greater heights in my writing.

Important December Anniversaries

Ahhh, December! Noted for being the month of ‘peace on earth, good will toward man’ with all its many religious observances, it is also the month with some pretty interesting ‘anniversaries.’ Past events taking place in the wonderful, wacky world of December include:

• Van Gogh cuts off his ear
• Rosa Parks gets arrested
• Rock group Led Zeppelin disbands
• The national flag of Canada becomes the only world-flag with a leaf
• The Simpsons television show debuts
• The Endangered Species Act goes into American law
• Flight 19 disappears in the Bermuda Triangle
• The infamous ‘chad’ debate is resolved, designating George W Bush as president.
• Shakespeare’s ‘King Lear’ performed for the first time
• Earthquakes in Hengchun (2006), Indian Ocean (2004) and Bam (2003) happen on the same calendar day.
• John Lennon murdered in front of his NYC home
• Berlin’s Brandenburg Gate re-opens, unifying East and West Germany
• Small pox declared ‘completely eradicated from nature’
• George Washington crosses the Delaware River
• ---and, one that makes me smile – Edward VIII abdicated the royal throne for his American Sweetheart, Wallis Simpson.

However, of these and the many other worldwide events that did not make this list, the one that best defines the month of December for me is the one event that affected me the most.

1976. The burning of the Keetch farmhouse.

I remember the day well. Our sixth grade class was all a-buzz. It was Friday, December 17 and, within four hours, our official Christmas party would start. It was snowing outside, Christmas vacation was just around the corner, and there was not a single problem in my 12-year-old world.

Until 9:45 that morning.

The crackle of the intercom box alerted the classroom that Joe Keetch was to be sent to the office. A chorus of hushed sniggers and “awww – you’re in trouble” washed over us fidgety students and instantly turned into groans as Mrs. Chappa felt it was important to assign us an extra page of fractions.

As I watched my good friend and next-door neighbor (the nearest one by a quarer of a mile) trek off to the office, I wondered what was going on. Joe was not one to cause trouble. On the contrary, he was easy going, blended in with the crowd, and never crossed anyone. In fact, he was the type who always tried too hard for people to like him.

The mystery would grow deeper as, within fifteen minutes, Joe returned, his head slunk down as he walked into the coat room and returned with his jacket and boots. Mrs. Cadieux, who accompanied Joe back to the classroom, motioned for Mrs. Chappa. After a brief, whispered conference, our teacher nodded, went over to the class Christmas tree, picked out Joe’s ‘secret Santa gift, a sock full of candy and her gift to him. When he looked up, his expression was blank and his eyes red and wet with tears. He was ushered out of the classroom. This time, our young voices rang out our confusion, shouting out ‘bye’ and ‘Merry Christmas.’

When the door closed behind our teacher, we ran to the windows and watched as she walked Joe out to Deputy Benac’s police car. His younger brothers, Duncan and Larry-Kevin, were already waiting for him inside. Mrs. Chappa gave our classmate a hug and then wrapped her arms back around her plump frame, trying to keep some warmth in her body. She watched the car take off, turned, and headed back to the classroom. We, of course, scrambled back to our seats, noses down and pencils scribbling, sneaking sideways looks at our tablemates.

It was after our first recess Mrs. Chappa decided to tell us what had happened.

“Joe’s home caught on fire this morning. There is nothing left.”

A collective gasp went through our class. Since I was his nextdoor neighbor, I knew his Dad was a farmer and his mom stayed at home with two of his little brothers. “Did everyone make it out? Was it just the house or the barn too?”

Mrs. Chappa smiled. “Everyone is fine. I don’t know about the barn.”

Other questions flew. “What started it?” “Did they have a place to stay?” And, the big one on every student’s mind – “What will they do for Christmas?”

“The firemen say it was faulty Christmas lights. I think they will be staying at a hotel until after the holidays, and then the five brothers will be split up between relatives. As for Christmas, I don’t know what they will do.”

Needless to say, this had put a damper on the classroom Christmas cheer.

By lunchtime, the Keetch’s predicament had burned through the school like wildfire (sorry). It was something that not only affected our 6th grade class, but Duncan’s 4th grade class and Larry Kevin’s 2nd grade class. And, with Christmas vacation starting the next day, there was no time to start a clothing, Christmas present or household drive. If something like this were put off until school resumed, it would just not be the same.

So, at lunch time, me (the class treasurer), the class secretary, class president and the captain of the safety patrol held a powwow. We skipped class and went straight to the principal’s office. Because I had the biggest mouth, I was the one to explain things.

“We could take a class vote. All of our presents and candy can go to the Keetch’s. We could give them our class Christmas tree, too. And we have over $300 from the football game cookie sales. We don’t need a class trip to Mackinaw Island when we could help the Keetch’s this Christmas.”

Mr. Brooks sat back in his seat and looked thoughtfully at the four of us. (I think I shook the most, as that was the first time I was ever in his office and NOT in trouble.) Finally, he broke the silence. “Does Mrs. Chappa know you’re here?

We shook our heads, no.

He scribbled something on a pink slip of paper and called in Mrs. Caudiex. “Please escort these students back to their class. Stay there and have Mrs. Chappa come to my office. Pronto.” Leaving the office, I heard the feedback of a microphone as Mr. Brooks called for the 4th and the 2nd grade teachers. I exchanged guilty glances with my fellow classmates as we followed the office secretary back to our classroom.

To make a long story short, based on our idea, each teacher in the school (a northern class D, K-12th grade was 500 students) polled their classes on how they wanted to contribute.

The result was unbelievable.

I don’t know how many classes donated all their presents, Christmas decorations or party treats.

I don’t know the effort took to keep the gymnasium open until nine pm that night, setting up a donation drop off for clothes, furniture, and other household items.

I have no idea the how, in the limited time, the school reached out to area businessmen. They were able to help by donating a house so the family of seven could stay together (complete with their dogs and cats) while working on clearing the burnt house and rebuilding a new one, big enough to fit the growing boys and keeping in mind it was a farm house.

I DO remember that each class that had a treasury for class trips donated nearly $4,000 dollars to help this family.

And, it all started with four twelve year olds with an idea at lunch time.

This is what Christmas is all about. Giving. Sharing. Helping your fellow man.

I wish we could remember that all year long.

A Christmas dedication to Joseph Lawrence Keetch – 1965-1989 – friend, brother, and so much more. See you on the other side, buddy.

KISS YOUR GOALS GOODBYE! Keep. It. Simple. Stupid.

To tell you the truth, neither one of this weeks topics thrilled me. I've been 'forever' perfecting a story outline that thinks outside-the-box for the attention disorder that cycles with my bi-polarism (close, but no hookah smoking orange cream flavor to scream "Eureka" as I jump from the bathtub and run naked down the street.)

I also felt a little funky chatting about setting realistic goals for writing. After all, I'm the one who still thinks it's fun to take the adult son up on his challenge to eat a 2 pound "shamu" burger without training for it first (I mean, come on! I've rocked premie babies who weighed less than what I was wolfing down!)

However, I decided to go with the lesser of two evils - and chose to write about setting realistic writing goals. Yeah. This coming from someone born under the sign of Capricorn (as many sea-goats sport tunnel vision when it comes to their goals. They disregard everything else - family, friends, even their own emotions - while in pursuit of their goal.) I was also born in the Chinese year of the Dragon, which may explain how I HAD to learn to temper my 'Let's go get 'em' goal attitude, as Dragons are extremely tenacious.

So, out of years of trial and error (heavy on the error part), I've come up with the surefire formula for goal setting, guaranteed to work for Capricorn/Dragon/bi-polar/eccentrics like me who are ready to kiss their goals goodbye -- because they'll be looking at their accomplishments in the rear view mirror of life.

Don't believe me? Then, my doubting friends, read on.

The plan is based on the anagram K.I.S.S. = Keep it simple stupid.

Now, this is not to be mixed up with Margie Lawson's wonderful DUH plan =

1. Do it first -- or as close to first as humanly possible


2. Understand that it will be inconvenient and/or difficult and do it anyway


3. Hurray! Celebrate! You did it!

The main objective in KISS is just that - keep your goals simple, realistic, specific, manageable, and attainable, while still being able to live life, act like a human, breathe, eat, sleep and have sex.

Espesically the 'have sex' part. Really important there, especially if you want to write a great romance.

Before I get into the fundementals of what has helped me maintain a healthy set of realistic writing goals, I would like to take a moment to mention something about the concept of 'time management.'

It does not exist.

No such animal.

A made up term that belongs in the last century, along with dentists who drill on teeth without novocaine or gas.

Think about it. Time can't be managed. Time is uncontrollable and we can only manage ourselves and our use of time.

From now on, refer to this snagfu as "self management." And it's up to YOU to stop making excuses, get off your duff and do something other than complain and whine about not being able to reach your goals.

Now, with that being said, there are common "time wasters" dancing like dust faries with the toys in our attics.

I'm talking controllable things like personal disorganization, your inability to say "No" to anybody with a request, interruptions such as the telephone, email, TV or drop in visitors ("Have you got a minute?"), stress, anxiety and fatigue, procrastination (what are you avoiding?), conflicting schedules with children's or spouse's activities, indecision, ineffective delegation (come on, do you have to do it all?), acting without total information/ignorance, dealing with other people’s issues or problems, unclear communication, unclear objectives and priorities, lack of planning.

Get the point?

No approach to realistic goal setting for writing your novel is gonna work if you don't get the other crap straightened out first. Period.

One last point before I lay down the blueprints that will change your life.

You need to get a firm grip on reality. Take off the purple and round John Lennon glasses and remember you are wearing big-boy underpants (and in some cases, a few are in frilly white lacey things that would make Ernest Hemingway bristle with envy).

If you're working full-time and are coaching little league three times a week or are a big time Scout Master with duties at home: think. What are your priorities? Where will you make the time to write?

If this is your second time around in the relationship department and you have a revolving door of his kids/her kids every weekend: think. When? Where? Be concious of your decisions and stick to them.

If you work outside the home, have two kids and a husband who doesn't lift a finger for mealtime, bath time or homework - are you really gonna set a goal of writing 3 hours a day? How are you gonna manage?

Don't get me wrong. It's alright to stretch yourself (in fact, you want to), but it's not alright to stretch yourself beyond a sensible limit. Unrealistic goals will have you crying like a little girl. Before you know it, you admit defeat and run to the refridgerator, right into the arms of Ben and Jerry.

For the sake of your hips, you really want to avoid this ice cream scenerio (well, unless B & J were part of the making time for sex chat we had earlier, but then that would be just too kinky even for me and I'm not going there).

After you've given honest assessment of your current situation and have dealt with all the time wasters, proceed with this simple, yet effective plan.

1. Set your time goals.
Some writers decide on a specific amount of time they are going to spend writing each day. Whether they can only manage half an hour or are able to devote 8 hours a day to their craft, they sit themselves down at their desk and they stay there until that goal has been met.

This is also where they give themselves a time limit. A self imposed deadline or a publisher's submitance deadline. Maybe even a holiday deadline. It's up to you, how much you are willing to write and how stretchable you are (within reason). See? Simple!

2. Set a time to write.
If you really want to be invested in your writing goals, then you need to take this first step seriously. Again - it doesn't have to be a huge hunk of time. Just some 'time' - an hour? 90 minutes? More? Less? Your choice. Keep it simple and attainable.

You may be a morning person and most creative then, or like to write in the evening when the day's work is done. No matter. Set this block of time aside everyday when you'll be writing. This doesn't mean every moment of that time is going to be devoted exclusively to writing. It does mean that the daily discipline of being there sets the standard for your craft. See? Simple!

3. Set page goals.
If the time you spend at the desk doesn't feel right for you, set a minimum number of pages to write per day. Whether it's 1 or 5 or 10 pages a day, set your goal and stick to it.  I tend to shoot for 3 pages a day and on the nights I don't sleep well, I allow myself a page or a page and a half. Maybe off set some with editing what I did do the week before. See? Simple!

4. Set aside a special place to write.
This can be a certain room in your house or even a special place at the kitchen table or elsewhere. For a couple of years, I actually did my writing in the bathroom closet.  (insert - and yes, I have a ton of coming out of the bathroom closet jokes.) Wherever you can carve out a spot, do it. Then, when you sit down there at your appointed time your focus is on writing. See? Simple!

5. Decide when to stop.
Whether or not you have spent your alotted time or finished the number of pages you set for your daily goal, it's alright to stop. But, it's a good rule to stop just before you reach the end of what you want to say. By stopping there, you will automatically have a place to start the next day. See? Simple!

6. Focus!

Really concentrate on the goals you want to accomplish, and be as specific as possible. Don't say "write a book." That's too vague of a goal to lead to any direct action. Say "write a paranormal mystery story for Kensington that has a Christmas theme," or something to that affect. Embellish your statements to make them clearer.  See? Simple!

7. I challenge thee...


Make your goals challenging, but not impossible. Writing down "write seven 90,000 word novels in a year" is not only stupid, but it will become obvious so early that you'll probably stop pursuing the goal altogether. And what of the story line quality? It would suck. Trust me. Stating something more doable, like 3-4 stories, will challenge, but, in the end, you'll still have a life and will still be writing. See? Simple!

8. Sins of the Past

List the reasons that your writing has failed in the past. Not to self flagellate in the wee hours of a bad day, but to steer you back on the path to submitting your book!  Look; what tendencies derailed you before you could even get started? I find by identifying the barriers that brought me to a halt previously, I will be more aware and breeze on by them, rushing to the victory line. See? Simple!

See? Simple. Realistic. And plenty of time for a healthy sex life.

Now, get started immediately. Keep going, don't stop, and don't skip listing your failures. If you don't address them, you'll be doomed to repeat the same mistakes again and again. Till next time, KISS - Keep it simple, stupid!