Shaken Baby Syndrome

Here in Santa Fe, our clouds have a golden lining.

Snazzy, eh?

So, when I was in Memphis a few weeks ago, talking to the River City Romance Writers (many thanks to LaTessa Montgomery for inviting me!), we had a long and winding conversation. I asked them what they wanted to hear about from me: career path, digital first publishing, writing erotic, writing short, writer’s life? They said, yes.

We ended up talking about all of those things, which made for an interesting conversation.

The thing about being a professional writer, and by that I mean, wanting to make money from your work, is that most discussions about it naturally include both aspects of creativity and considerations about the market. Neither aspect can be escaped. Stories must come from our creative selves. I know there are some authors who say they care nothing about art and treat writing entirely as a business. I suspect they simply view their creativity in a different way. And, no matter how much other writers cling to the purity of art over commercialism, we’d all like to be paid well for our stories. The demands of the market cannot be ignored.

However, I’m a believer in making sure these things occur in the correct order: creativity first, then market. If you put these two things too close together, guess what results? Yes. Shaken baby syndrome.

See, our new stories, or even story ideas, are like infants. They have soft spots in their skulls. Their plot backbones can’t hold up their heads. They can’t stand alone, much less feed or defend themselves. When we have a new story, we must cuddle it close and nourish it. Lots of quiet. Some silliness and fun. Maybe long walks and wordless humming. It’s a special, intimate time.

When your story is new, you can maybe show it to a few special people. The ones you know will coo and tell you how beautiful your baby is. They might cuddle it too and speculate on what a fabulous future your baby might have. Choose these people carefully.

Because there are other people who won’t be so careful. There’s the selfish love-interest who’d just as soon kick your baby into a closet, all the better to have your attention. There’s the careless teenager who criticizes your baby. Worst of all are the industry professionals.

It’s their job – and they’re good at it – to take your baby and shake it. To shake it hard and see if it’s neck snaps. Then they’ll hand it back to you with a sorrowful look and suggest that it might be brain-damaged. They’ll tell you your baby can’t hack it in the market.

Of course it can’t – it’s just a little baby. And now they’ve damaged it. Perhaps fatally.

Now if you grow your baby up, feed it the best nourishment, work with it to make it strong and smart then, when it walks into your agent or editor’s office, it can take a bit of slapping. And likely give back what it gets. Then they give you the happy smile and say, yes! Now this kid has got what it takes. Let’s send her out on the town! She’ll take the city by a storm!

I know this can be difficult, especially when you have an agent. After all, an agent’s job is to look over your babies and tell you which ones might make it and which she thinks you should just smother in their cribs. This happened to a friend of mine. She took her new novel idea – that she was tremendously excited about – to her agent and the agent said, Meh. She said there were too many other kids out there like it. Don’t feed it, she said. Let it die.

My friend isn’t working on it. But I know she still has that baby tucked into a back room and she’s feeding it on the sly. She can’t let it die. She loves it.

I’m totally behind that. I think she should grow this kid up, like the princess hidden away in the deep, dark forest. Then, when she’s sixteen and more beautiful than anyone else in the kingdom, she can trot her daughter out and say, see? Look at *this* kid! She could be Queen of the realm.

So, my point is, baby your new stories. Realize how fragile, how vulnerable they are. It might take a lot of time for them to be strong enough to take the vicious blows of the marketing end. Don’t expose them to that. Protect them. Be good to them. Love them.

Then bring out the tough love and put them through the wringer before they face the world.

Your stories will go on to lead brilliant lives. I just know it.

Strawberry Moon Interludes

I was so het up to discuss my fashion emergency yesterday, that I forgot to mention that I skipped over to Karen Katchur’s blog, to talk about fitness and writing.

No, I haven’t gotten one of those treadmill desks. Mostly because I think it would look ugly in my office. Priorities, people!

The other thing I’ve been forgetting to mention is that I’ll be in Memphis this weekend. The River City Romance Writers are hosting me on Saturday and we’ll be talking about novellas and “writing tight.” Should be very fun. The rest of the time you’ll likely find me wandering Beale Street with a frozen daiquiri in my hand.

If all goes as planned, that is.

Today I find myself between projects. I remember this feeling, from when I was only a reader. I’d finish a novel and, still swimming in the lovely world the author had created, try to decide what to do next. More often than not, I’d turn back to the first page and start over again. Or go through and re-read my favorite bits – which usually morphed into a full second read anyway.

Then I’d choose the next book. Sometimes this would be dictated by school, or by what was due at the library soon. But every once in a while I enjoyed the luxury of spreading out all the waiting books and selecting whatever seemed most exciting.

I’m kind of there right now.

I’ve sent off all my “supposed to’s.” All my deadlines, internal and external, have been met. I’m holding off until after the RWA conf on one novel. The other is out. I’m all caught up.

Work is quiet, too. I’d really pushed to finish things, both in work and writing, because I anticipated this month would get crazy. But the projects haven’t come in yet. They’re still hovering on the horizon, like storm clouds that will eventually gain enough momentum to swoop down on us.

But for now the sun is shining and I feel like I should be making hay. Instead I’m kind of lying in the grass, lazily eating strawberries.

The Strawberry moon is a gentle moon, isn’t she? Full and sweet, serene in the twilight sky.

I might sit here and enjoy it, just a little longer.