WHEN ENOUGH IS A ENOUGH
It’s January sixteenth and this morning (I am not making this up) I drove by a house that was still lit up with dazzling Christmas lights. The inflatable Abominable Snow Man and Yukon Cornelius were standing firm on the front lawn. As if this perplexing incident weren’t enough, I stopped by a colleague’s classroom this afternoon and found myself assaulted with ear shattering Christmas music. Did I miss something? Didn’t Christmas come and go three weeks ago. What’s wrong with these people? Here in Phoenix the radio stations actually started playing Christmas music Halloween night. Again, I am not making this up. We’re talking about two and a half months of Christmas music. And these people still haven’t had enough?
But wait, there’s more. I had no idea I’d be entering the Twilight Zone when I expressed my confusion to my wife. Her only response was to ask me to walk a couple of envelopes out to the mail box.
“What are these?” I asked
“Christmas cards,” she said, “I’ve only got a dozen or so left to address.”
ON MARKETING AND NETWORKING
I absolutely stink at marketing my writing. This is probably because I hate marketing my writing. I’ve only been sending query emails for Spirit Guide for what - couple of months? I’m telling you it’s frustrating. I’m sick of being rejected and ignored and I’m pretty much ready to quit – dammit.
Some writers belong to writers groups. There is a writer’s group in Phoenix. I checked them out on the internet. They meet on Wednesday evenings at a quaint little coffee shop about forty miles from my front door. I mulled over the idea of attending a meeting - but forty miles is a long stinkin’ way – and I have to get up at four-thirty. And I don’t want to get all jacked up on coffee at night, but I would have to if I wanted to stay awake. And the truth of the matter is I don’t want to sit around in a coffee joint listing to people critiquing my stories. With all that caffeine pumping through my veins, I might punch somebody. Worse yet somebody might punch me back. Come to think of it, my least favorite thing to do is sit through a meeting. I would rather stick pins in my eyes than voluntarily sit through a meeting. No, the writer’s group is definitely out.
The copy of Writer’s Digest I received for Christmas lists the 101 best websites for writers, so I checked a few of them out. Spending an hour navigating these sites left me – well, agitated. I’ll try again when I have more patience, a hell of a lot more patience, like the next time I take an elephant tranquilizer.
So far, I don’t very much like the process of searching for an agent; the concept of joining a writer’s group, or the act of navigating writer’s websites. I do like writing. Perhaps for now I should stick with the very basic advice of a good friend and just “write my ass off.”
It’s January sixteenth and this morning (I am not making this up) I drove by a house that was still lit up with dazzling Christmas lights. The inflatable Abominable Snow Man and Yukon Cornelius were standing firm on the front lawn. As if this perplexing incident weren’t enough, I stopped by a colleague’s classroom this afternoon and found myself assaulted with ear shattering Christmas music. Did I miss something? Didn’t Christmas come and go three weeks ago. What’s wrong with these people? Here in Phoenix the radio stations actually started playing Christmas music Halloween night. Again, I am not making this up. We’re talking about two and a half months of Christmas music. And these people still haven’t had enough?
But wait, there’s more. I had no idea I’d be entering the Twilight Zone when I expressed my confusion to my wife. Her only response was to ask me to walk a couple of envelopes out to the mail box.
“What are these?” I asked
“Christmas cards,” she said, “I’ve only got a dozen or so left to address.”
ON MARKETING AND NETWORKING
I absolutely stink at marketing my writing. This is probably because I hate marketing my writing. I’ve only been sending query emails for Spirit Guide for what - couple of months? I’m telling you it’s frustrating. I’m sick of being rejected and ignored and I’m pretty much ready to quit – dammit.
Some writers belong to writers groups. There is a writer’s group in Phoenix. I checked them out on the internet. They meet on Wednesday evenings at a quaint little coffee shop about forty miles from my front door. I mulled over the idea of attending a meeting - but forty miles is a long stinkin’ way – and I have to get up at four-thirty. And I don’t want to get all jacked up on coffee at night, but I would have to if I wanted to stay awake. And the truth of the matter is I don’t want to sit around in a coffee joint listing to people critiquing my stories. With all that caffeine pumping through my veins, I might punch somebody. Worse yet somebody might punch me back. Come to think of it, my least favorite thing to do is sit through a meeting. I would rather stick pins in my eyes than voluntarily sit through a meeting. No, the writer’s group is definitely out.
The copy of Writer’s Digest I received for Christmas lists the 101 best websites for writers, so I checked a few of them out. Spending an hour navigating these sites left me – well, agitated. I’ll try again when I have more patience, a hell of a lot more patience, like the next time I take an elephant tranquilizer.
So far, I don’t very much like the process of searching for an agent; the concept of joining a writer’s group, or the act of navigating writer’s websites. I do like writing. Perhaps for now I should stick with the very basic advice of a good friend and just “write my ass off.”
4 comments:
We are Americans, We stretch out our commercial holidays as long as we can
Just write.
Jackson,
Thanks for stopping by! Does this mean my army has increased to twelve regular readers?
Bryan,
BRAZOS!
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