Month: October 2013

Do The Lambs Still Scream, Clarice?

I turned my novel into an editor on Friday.

I tried to find a photo that would convey shear terror and elation at the same time. Like a girl, mouth wide open with a scream, covered in blood, but also in a tutu, twirling and dancing.

Couldn’t find it.

On one hand, the tremendous work of revising and editing just to get it ready for this stage is finally OVER. I’m free now to catch up on what I had let go. Turns out the shit hits the fan around here without me. It took me ALL WEEKEND to catch up on Mount Laundry, the frat house my upstairs had become, dishes, bathrooms….UGH. And the house being up to par only frees me up for the endless list of other things I need to catch up on: that oil change, and those bills with their pesky due dates. But now I can tackle it; that’s the good news.

On the other hand, every time I remember there’s someone reading my novel I want to spit up a little. Yes, people have read it before, but they weren’t professionals, whose aim it is to find problems.

What if she hates it?

What if she tells me it’s shit?

What if it comes back so riddled in red marks I’ll never see my way out of it?

What if she doesn’t love my characters like I do?

will this excruciating fear ever end?

I wonder if authors always feel this way, or do you finally get to a point of confidence in your work? Does Stephen King write The End and think I just shit gold!

I try, I try to quell the scary thoughts and replace them with positive ones: What if she loves it? What if she has great suggestions I can’t wait to implement? What if everything’s going to be just fine did you ever consider that you masochistic nut-job?

Last night I was on the computer. My husband came in and – seeing the expression on my face – asked if I was looking at a murder scene.

Kinda. I was on a website about formatting your novel for ebook. *gulp* Seems really overwhelming. I had to take a few deep breaths and remember the words I’ve been telling myself during this whole journey — the same ones I told myself in an earlier post, Hold My Hand Until I Can Fake It , Please : I need to just take things in baby steps, and know that there are amazing, supportive communities of writers out there to help me through these processes.

I just need to reach out and ask for it. Breathe in, Breathe out.


Writers/Authors: Do you still die inside when others are editing your work? What is the best advice you could give me on self-pubbing? Or the best place you would send me for resources?

Anyone: To show you how much I appreciate you reading all the way to this point, I give you this. Don’t say I never gave you anything.

I Don't Like Mondays Blog Hop



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*Gasp* Paparazzi Are At My Door!

Welcome to the Secret Subject Swapiversary (Happy 1 Year!) hosted by the amazing Karen over at Baking in a Tornado! You’re in for a treat because this is also a Blog Hop, and Best Swap Post Contest! WOW! This week,12 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My secret subject was submitted by Jennifer of Outsmarted Mommy. If you haven’t visited her blog before, do yourself a favor! She’s hilarious!

My subject swap: you wake up on an ordinary day. When you leave the house you see people following you with cameras everywhere you go. You slowly figure out you are famous but don’t know why. How does the rest of your day unfold? Why are you famous? My response is just under the list of links below.

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Baking in a Tornado
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Searching For Sanity
Home On Deranged
Dawn’s Disaster
The Insomniac’s Dream
Outsmarted Mommy
Black Sheep Mom
Writer B is Me

It’s 5:18AM. Far too early for life to begin. I squirm into my sports bra and wrestle workout clothes onto my tired body. With one eye open, I shuffle down the hall into the kitchen, mix and force down my protein-powder-water breakfast, and feed the dog. I grab water, keys and phone and exit quietly.

BLAM! A light flashes right in my face. I instinctively flinch, cover my face with my hands. BLAM! POW! More flashes. My water bottle hits the ground. I fumble for the doorknob and rush back inside.

What. The. Hell?!

I peak out the narrow side window. There are SUV’s parked down both sides of my block. As my eyes adjust, I can see figures in my yard, on my sidewalk, on the street. All with cameras.

Did something happen? Was there a crime? What were photographers doing in my yard? Maternal instinct sets in. With no regard for my own safety, I walk right back outside to find out what the hell was going on.

BLAM! POW! “Beth, can we get a few words!” a camera man says holding a microphone in my face. FLASH! “Beth, over here for E News!” SNAP! POP!

ohmygodohmygodohmygod  A sick pit swells in my stomach as realization sinks in.

 They’re here for me. And I know why.

I can’t allow my family to find out this way. I have to get out of here! I put my arm in front of my face and make a dash for my car. They follow me like a swarm of bees. I elbow my way into the driver’s seat, and with shaky hands, turn the ignition. I drive, parting them like a herd of buffalo, and make my way down the street. Headlights shine in my rearview mirror; they’re following me!

I floor it and haul around the corner, flying through alleys and side streets in the dark. Finally satisfied I’ve lost them, I whip into a stranger’s back driveway. Good thing I still have my cell. I need to make a few calls. There’s only one reason I would go from regular, everyday housewife to front page news…….

Sex tape.

I’ll be honest, part of me always thought this day might come. I mean, who’s stupid enough to video hot romps with an up-and-coming musician? Apparently I was, but that was a-g-e-s ago. We were young and in love, and it was before he was a “celebrity”. Before I married someone else and had a family. How did it get out? Who leaked it? Surely not HIM! No way he’d want the world to know he’d ever been with a regular woman, a NON-LINGERIE-MODEL! *gasp*

I close my eyes and nod. This is really happening. My face is splashed all over the tabloids by now – my whole life is changed forever. My entire family’s lives. MTV will want to interview me. TMZ will stalk me for months, maybe even years. I’ll be a household name!

I dial the phone. I know who I have to warn first.

“Mom? Yeah, I know it’s early. Yes, everyone’s fine. Hey, you know that Kardashian reality show? Well, get ready, ’cause that’s about to be our life, but less Armenian cat fights, more Irish sarcasm. ANYway, want me to bring the corn at Thanksgiving? Hello?”


Secret Subject Swap This has been a Secret Subject Swap post! Don’t forget to check out the other fantastic links, and be sure to swing back by any of our blogs Thursday night after 8:00PM Eastern (through Sunday)  to vote for your favorite Swap post and join in The Blog Strut linky party! Woo Hoo! Thank you, Karen! You Rock!

Eyes On The Trail


I’m here, sweat dripping down my neck, fresh off a trail run. Words fight to be unleashed. I obey:

At first I’m only aware of the lack of oxygen in my lungs and intense pain in my thighs. I know it always starts this way. I run through it. I watch only three, maybe four feet ahead of me. Have to look for cracks in the Earth, roots, dips. Missing one could be disastrous.

I surge ahead, turn my music up, pushing through the awkwardness of the start. Waiting for my rhythm.

The concentration lures my mind inward. Focuses it. Feet pound off banks and leap gnarled roots. My peripheral turns to a streaky blur. The pain is gone….I’m in the zone.

And that’s when it happens. The metamorphosis is swift.

I’m no longer me. I’m someone else entirely, in her skin, seeing through her eyes. Scenes write themselves, and I know just how she’ll react because at that moment, we share a soul.

My body rips up the trail like a deer, but my mind is far away. In another world. In hers.

If you ever see me out there, on the trail, and you wave hello, pardon if my eyes seem a little glazed, or the glint of recognition is late to sparkle in them.

They’re not mine.


How about you? What gets you in your character’s skin? Music? Solitude? I can’t wait to hear!