Today, I had a taste of the writer’s life.  Some of those outside of the industry might envision a book tour, shaking hands and signings, or meetings with movie producers and merchandisers, interviews with Oprah or Good Morning America, or even sitting in a perfectly appointed office with neat clean with a large oak desk, blithely typing perfect prose and finishing another novel, piling the pages in a box to be sent to your NYC agent.

This is a fantasy. Oh, someday those things might happen but the ‘everyday of writing’ is another  matter. It’s fighting to get your kid to school and chugging down a coffee so you can jump start some semblance of your once clever brain. On the wonderful days when you don’t have to also run off directly to the day job you have to finance your writing career, you still have a house full of responsibilities, dishes, laundry, dog, cat litter, making and breaking appointment and running by the grocery store. When that is done, part of you wants to just ‘check’ your email and Facebook and an hour later you realize the three hours you were going to write is now down by one.

After getting a tea and a snack and searching for another half an hour for the notes you jotted down while at your dreaded day job, you finally sit down to the screen and the cat’s want attention, the phone rings, you realize you haven’t exercised in three days and you will soon grow to the size of a Thanksgiving day parade balloon.  You remember you had to get your daughter set up for driver’s training and now the laundry needs to be put in the dryer.

At last, after a third scoop of peanut butter, you sit and make your fingers move.  Even if it’s just a blog post, even if it’s to edit a page or three of the short story you need to send in by the end of the year, even if it’s to write down a plan to avoid all the distractions. Cause you’re a writer and once you fight through the fluff that is what you do.  So someday I may be on a talk show or meet  a producer, or my first draft might come out perfect, and I may have all the time in the world, but that doesn’t make me a writer. Today I’m a writer, because I fought the distraction and I wrote.

I got yet another rejection today and I can’t say it made me feel super happy.  It wasn’t as bad as the first, or the fourth, or the tenth, but it still had a bit of bite.  It woke up the internal voice that reminded me I’m not marketable enough, not original enough, not good enough, not something enough.

But I then I remembered, it’s rare for anyone on the writer’s path to get accepted immediately or easily, and I dig into other writer’s journeys to give me inspiration.

Sherilynn Kenyon was denied access three times to a creative writing program because they wanted to save the spot for someone who actually had a future in publishing.  She is currently a multi-multi international bestseller.  In her keynote speech to the RWA in 2011 (which I attended), she said that, “Sometimes impossible only means you have to try harder.”  For her whole really inspiring story see this http://www.sherrilynkenyon.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/-rwa%20luncheon%20speech%20delivered.pdf

I have friends who have only gotten published after hundreds of rejections.  What kept these people trying, when all common sense says that you obviously are not suited to being a writer?

My first answer is always faith, unshakable, rock solid faith in themselves and their story.  But it even goes deeper than that. I think it also has to do with attitude.

Kresley Cole (another mega bestseller) gave this advice to new writers:  “…if you’re set on publishing, then don’t dabble. Decide if you’re in or you’re out. Then do whatever it takes to achieve your goals. I had a “25” plan. At any given time, I would have my writing out in 25 myriad forms—either contests, critiques, agent queries, publisher queries, etc. I believe you have to jump in with both feet.”

Obviously, a rejection or two didn’t deter her.  I think some of her methodology comes from the fact that she was an Olympian before becoming a writer.  Half of being an athlete of that caliber is showing up and attitude.  Practice, practice, practice until you master a technique. And I believe she applied that to her writing career.

I think it’s not a bad idea for other writers to embrace this style of submission.  Just pound on the door with absolute confidence, because this is not an objective business, personal preference plays a part.  The agent could have just bought a book just like yours, or only likes dark paranormal when your book is full of humor, or it just didn’t grab them. So for every rejection or pass isn’t the end, it’s a step forward in the process of finding the agent or editor who ‘gets’ your vision.

In 2015, I’m going to have the never-give-up-Olympian attitude about rejection. Impossible only means I have to work harder.  For every pass takes me closer to the right agent and editor, the one who ‘gets’ me and my work, the one who will champion it to the world–and that I can feel happy about.

 I write.  Not every day and not always well, but I write. And I’ve been writing for a long, long time. I have consistently followed the writer’s path to publication for the last seven years. In my thirties, I took classes and started novels. Further back in my preteen years I wrote ‘The Story’, a 300 page, hand written tome, that had characters very similar to Han Solo and Luke Skywalker.  Even longer ago, I scribed a retelling of the Eros and Psyche myth in play format for my fourth grade project. I even dabbled with short stories before I knew how to write in cursive.  So when I say I’ve been writing a long time, I’m not exaggerating.

The last few years have been very similar to climbing a steep mountain side.  First the foothills, constant improvement, learning more craft, finaling in contest, finding great writing friends and critique partners.  Then I hit some tall, daunting walls: harsh critiques, rejections, financial woes, family issues, indecision about self-publishing, loss of faith.  But for every rock slide or loss of hand hold, I took two steps forward. I could see the top and nothing was going to stop me. I put my head down and worked harder.

I recently received some positive feedback from one of my all-time-favorite mentors and I thought for sure the apex was in my reach.  An agent or editor would grab my book soon and it would be all downhill from this point on.  Finally, I would be a published author.  I would be living the life of my dreams.

But as I read over my latest manuscript, I glanced up to see the top maybe further than I expected.

A lot further.

Could this have been just self-defeating, lack of confidence?  Or could this feeling be a realistic worry.  I felt frozen.  Like a climber who has miscalculated the time it would take and is worried she didn’t bring enough food. My thoughts spiraled into a vortex:  Can I financially make it without additional income for another year or two…or five?  Have I blown out my arms?  Writer speak for: Do I have the knowledge and strength to keep writing and rewriting and pushing, year after year?   Do I have enough faith in myself and my ability?

I sat and read craft books and wallowed in my story, unable to even begin the process—yet again.

I never thought about quitting. When you are this far up the mountain, you have passed the point of no return, you are committed. It’s reach the top or die.

And I remembered that it’s not just the idea of reaching the top that pushes me on day after day. It’s the journey. It’s the writing. It’s the puzzling together of a story that not only delights me but may someday delight others.  It’s the learning and the growing and the process.

I decided to find the strength and fight.  Write a new story, or dig in and edit one of the pile I have finished, or do both. Because no matter how high this mountain goes, there will always be another peek, another goal that pushes me forward, another milestone to reach.  Even when I finally get published, I will look up and realize that there is yet another mountain to climb.

Because I am a writer and that’s what we do.

Another one of my bucket list writerly dream came true. I recently attended an Immersion.  What is an Immersion?  A quick recap for the uninitiated, Immersion is a four-day crucible for writers, usually held in Colorado but luckily this time hosted in Ohio. The retreat hones participants writing skills with the help of the Bela Karolyi of writing instructors– Margie Lawson.

She has driven many writers to distraction, but she has also driven many writers to multi-book publishing deals and bestseller lists.

I arrived nervous, scared, but ready to learn. And learn I did.

We reviewed the basics according to Margie. Nothing shockingly new, earth rattling, or different.  Use power words, empower emotion and body language, white space, and the correct use of rhetorical devices. All the packets with her fantastic methods are available here and they are worth ten times the amount she charges.

We practiced the techniques and got instant feedback.  We read and reviewed and tweaked, then critiqued more, from early morning into the night, even during meals!

The experience was like receiving instruction from an NBA championship coach bent on another win. I loved every brain-squeezing moment.

Another aspect of the Immersion was the other attendees, my Immersion Sisters.  A group of mega-talented women who share my dreams, passions, and commitment.  We called ourselves the Rebel Zombie Flies. Don’t ask about the name, it would take too long to explain. But if you are curious follow this link http://www.darylscience.com/Demos/DeadFly.html.

Going in, I thought  I wasn’t ready, my work was crap, and I was still light years from my dream.

I left abuzz with an infusion of energy and faith. I push on submitting work with new vigor.  The implements in my writer’s toolbox glistening, sharpened to a diamond hard edge and my spirit bolstered by a taste of what I hope the future holds, crafting stories that are stellar, spending my time making them perfect– living the life I have always imagined.

Welcome to spooktaular October.  I have a real live ghost story to tell.  (Maybe live is the wrong word, and it may not have been a ghost, but it scared the eight-year-old version of me so I will share it with you.)

I had finally gotten to the ripe old age where I could take a bath and be trusted not to squirt the entire bottle of Pert into the water or forget to wash. I was a Big Girl.  And I had a brother and a dad and I craved some privacy.  The parents and the brother sat watching television in the living room while I locked the bathroom door and slipped into the tub. Deep into applying enough shampoo to create a lovely pointed foamy cone, I felt a wave of cold run down my back and raise the tiny hairs on the back of my neck.  The room felt arctic and I swear I could see my breath, my whole body shook.

Then a rattle.

I knew. Absolutely, beyond the glimmer of a clever-second-grader’s doubt, that I had locked the door.

The lock twisted.

From the inside.

My breath stopped. My lungs shriveled and I couldn’t take in air, and then the doorknob turned and the door swung open.  No. One. Was. There.  My airless lungs couldn’t send a scream, only a hoarse, strangled whisper clawed from my throat.  “Mom! Mom!” My heart nearly exploded. The cold feeling intensified and I felt…something there.  I tried to scream again.  Nothing came out.  I had to act. I forced myself up and snatched a towel, wrapped it around me, and ran into the living room.

Three pairs of eyes stared at me, standing, dripping and trying to speak.  I don’t remember much of what happened next, except I was told to go back and rinse my hair and stop being so silly.  All I know is that from then on I never doubted that there is more in heaven and earth that is dreamt of in our philosophies.  And going to the bathroom became an exercise in fear control.  Eventually, I stopped being scared of the bathroom, but I did think the knots in the stained wood of the door always seemed to be looking at me, unblinking. Waiting.

What about you guys?  Any spooky encounters that you can’t explain?  Please share or just say hi.