All posts by Susan Jeffery

About Susan Jeffery

I am loving the challenge (sometimes) of re-entering the contemporary romance market after a lifetime of raising two fantastic children (it never ends, btw). Just when I thought I was done with kids, I accepted a position as librarian to 900 boys in a Bronx private school. I'm a vintage published author, Harlequin American #206 Fair Game (1987). Winner of the Golden Heart, 1986. Currently exploring the possibility of indie publishing under my new pseudonym (see fresh name, above).

Conference Magic: MerSisters, New Friends, and life altering moments

SusanMermaidI will confess: I live via nega-talk too often. The devil on my shoulder whispers, “Why do you even bother going to the gym? You never get anywhere, and then you cop out. Save yourself the trouble: stay home.”  She says, “Why do you keep banging your head against writing? You start and stop, change your mind, and doubts are your best friend.  Nobody will miss you…” And “Why in God’s name are you going to a conference? You spend so much money and you spend too much time being I didn’t know that last Friday and Saturday were days to change a life:  getting up early, driving with The Man down the New Jersey Turnpike and over to Iselin for the NJRWA Put Your Heart in a Book conference

put-your-heart-in-a-book Nor did I realize Sister Mermaid Denny S. Bryce, fresh off her Golden Heart win, would stroll into the hotel lobby around noon and we would get to be MerSisters for the next 36 hours. SoFreakinFine!

NJRWA DENNY I hadn’t realized Roxanne St. Claire would offer such an amazing pre-conference workshop. She didn’t realize she would talk herself into laryngitis and have to hire/persuade/inveigle a substitute reader/speaker for Sunday’s Novelists, Inc. engagement. Poor dear! She has my heartfelt sympathy and thanks.

More than anything, I learned that a small conference can be a hidden trail to change your life. The National conference is a tremendous opportunity, to be sure. But these small conferences are a little more casual, a little less intense, and a lot of fun. I saw people I’ve known for years and made new friends (a special shout-out to Kathleen Ann Gallagher – yes, it was meant to be!). The pubbed author’s roundtables offered in-depth insight into the challenges we’re facing today, with the changes in publication formats, the shrinking market, the possibilities, the challenges, and the JOY of a career in writing a romance.

Have you been to a conference you felt changed your life? Share!

 

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Is it Christmas yet?

SusanMermaidFriends, I have a confession to make today.  And a story to tell.

Confession: After a summer of industrious writing almost every single day, my writing urge came to a screeching halt.  Sometime in August, I believe. Definitely about a month ago.  Maybe more. I didn’t panic, because I was sure the root cause would be discovered eventually, and we’d get our little writing choo-choo back on track.  And, with the school year started, I’m not exactly eager to strain my back getting pages out. I have Freshmen to train, and Seniors to tame, and a library to run – that is the priority now, until next May. If the writing waits, it waits. I’ll live.

At least, after the CTRWA Cherry Adair workshop last weekend, I do know more about why my story is stalled. Gang, it’s not pretty. Ms. Adair diagnosed my story as “thin”. She had ideas, and my chapter mates backed me up with suggestions for an intriguing bad guy and a twist. Once I get her plot board out of the car, I’ll clean off the dining room table and get my butt back in chair.  And that’s my confession.  Which brings me to my story, which is about a much earlier stall in my writing career.

Where I write these days.

Where I write these days.

Story: A long time ago (about 1992), I hung up my keyboard and quit writing. I’d moved to New York two years before, and I was so homesick I really wanted to quit everything – family, home, marriage, kids, all of it. Sitting at the keyboard was an anxiety-riddled exercise. I was an award-winning author with a book out, and I needed to produce, but I was stressing myself out of it.  I’d been writing for ten years, and I couldn’t think of a thing to say. There had to be some peace, somewhere.  I was desperate to escape my disappointment and self-hatred, so I killed it, my writing, that part of me.  Writing couldn’t fight back, because it was in me, and my struggles with it were damaging me.  I announced I was done with writing, refused to think about writing, and said I was moving on. Done, Dead, Fini.

Except it wasn’t dead. Part of me knew I was able to write, just that I couldn’t or wouldn’t make a story happen at that point. I wasn’t going to write a book, but I would write letters. I wrote looooong letters to friends (in the days when people still wrote letters, before the internet killed written correspondence). I wrote notes to my mother and sister.  I wrote directions to patterns for the sewing classes I was teaching.  And I wrote Christmas letters.

My Christmas letters eventually became the highlight of my year.  I started them by mid-November, knowing I would need a month to create and polish what I wanted The World to know about Our Life This Year.  Each character would get his/her own summary of the year’s ups and downs. I chose a theme each year, opened with a question, wound up with an answer, and a recommendation for calming down, loving everyone and eating another slice of pie. I wrote, trimmed, condensed, and molded my story to fit a single typed page. I reduced margins, added my own illustrations and signed all our names.

    I wrote every letter to a friend I had in mind as I wrote, as if I were telling the story to her.  And I wrote the ending until I cried. It was probably my favorite part of the process, because if I could write something that made me cry, I could be pretty sure my readers would feel my depth of emotion for the topic, and maybe they’d be moved, too.

Not all of the letters are in my Christmas closet, the cubby where we keep all the trimmings. Somehow I don’t worry about this much, because another friend has kept all of them, and I know she’ll send copies if I ask. It’s not so important that I have the record of them.  Writing those letters made me happy, and made other people happy. That was enough.  And yet…

Going back to my lack of interest in the summer’s writing this past month, I was wondering just this week – would I be able to kick start my writing a little bit, if I started my Christmas letter early?  I feel better, knowing I could have fun, writing another. Maybe it’ll start the juices flowing. And, since I’m wondering about it, I’ll also ask you the question:

How do you get yourself back in a butt-chair-write mood?

Iron Underpants and Sagging Middles

SusanMermaidOn Tuesday, our little family celebrated my beloved’s birthday. And, while it was a happy celebration, for me, it was bittersweet, too. You see, his birthday is two weeks before the start of school – and, for me, the signal that summer is nearly over. I need to get ready for school: my job, my real job, is in a school.

And that means my writing life, at least the life I’ve been living for the last three months, is almost over. No more planning my day around the hours of writing, no sketching out a scene on paper before hitting Scrivener. No more gleeful Facebook word count posts. No more staying up late.

I started the summer telling myself I would pump out 60,000 words before school started again. At this writing, I’ve gotten 36,000 done. I haven’t finished my story, I’ve made it to the middle. That’s it.

Where I write.

Where I write.

It’s SO tempting to throw up my hands and say, “Well, okay. You’ve failed again, you naughty girl. You said you could do it, and you didn’t, didn’t, did not. Shame on you.” Yes, I’m very critical of myself. It’s a problem, and I’ve been working on that.

Now, I catch myself. Hold on a minute, missy, I say to my inner critic. What did I do this summer besides write? Cuz I was sure wasn’t laying back and eating ice cream all summer long. Here’s what I did, I tell that silly inner critic:

— I completed six graduate credit hours, attaining 30 post-graduate hours, and that means a raise. That required four weekends of class, plus travel time, plus homework.

— I fixed two leaky faucets in our house, and that meant hours on YouTube, so I could learn how to take them apart and put them back together. And I spent $20 for the materials. Go, me! At a time when we need to save $$, I rock.

— I researched roofers (read: hours), took estimates (more hours), and signed a contract (still more hours). Next Thursday, the leaky roof will be ripped off. On Friday, I’ll wake up in a house with a brand new, weather-tight roof (note to self: make trip to hardware store for two things you said you’d get for the roofer – more hours).

— I started de-cluttering the house. Don’t even get me started on that, you know what I’m talking about: hours.

— I put together my author page on Facebook: Susan Jeffery Books. I have an online presence!

This, and so many other little things, have made my life better and filled my summer. Many times I told myself it felt that the entire summer was enchanted. Hubby decided we should go out every week this summer, just the two of us. So, we’ve seen Shakespeare under the stars, heard readings of new plays that are in development and participated in “talk backs” with the writers of those plays. We’ve enjoyed a picnic before every single evening out. We found a new place for better ice cream! (say it with me: more hours)

It’s not that I failed to make a goal. I’m allowing myself to re-focus, re-direct, and re-imagine my writing life. Sure, it cost me hours, and words.

Words alone do not make a life complete.

Not only that, I’m happy with the story I’ve put together. It’s funny and fresh, and I’m in the middle of writing the first love scene. Which, believe me, took a week or so before I’d caught the drift of what I wanted to say.

Even better, the story isn’t falling apart. There’s no sagging middle!

So here’s the moment where I pull on my iron underpants and congratulate myself: I had a good summer. No regrets.

I can say, with truth: I got a lot done.

How do you react when life takes time away from your writing? Do you get totally distracted? Or can you say to yourself, “Here is where I am needed at this moment. I’ll be right back!”

My next post will probably be about how I weathered the start of the school year and what happened to my writing mojo after September 1.

And yes, I will be back.

SusanMermaid

Nationals!

Already, our fabulous mermaids are storming the wilds of Riverwalk in San Antonio, Texas.

Yuppers, it’s #RWA14 – Romance Writers of America National Conference, 2014!

Yes, it’s hot (90 degrees at 10 p.m.). Yes, it’s crowded (4,000 women in one hotel means very crowded). And yes, it’s busy (just try to make all those workshops you had on your wish list!)

Yours truly isn’t in attendance this year, but already has intercepted various Facebook posts from others. We know they’ve survived, and some are probably, at this minute, buying cowboy boots.

Check back tomorrow, to see if I’ve managed to snag a few pictures from the Fishy Ones, and we’ll see just how sparkly their fins can be!

In the meantime, here’s what this Mermaid was doing in their absence…

Just for a day...

We were artists!

 

muse3

At last the Internet Gods cooperate… here we are, painting our hearts out instead of writing.

Hey — better than San Antonio?  Hard to tell, some people were feeling pretty good about themselves as the evening went on…

 

Pretty shakey, i must have been excited...

Pretty shakey, i must have been excited…

 

All said and done, I think we did pretty well for Left-Behinders.

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Tomorrow: experience, planning and my full-on assault of a first draft.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Living the Sorta-OCD Life

Susan-Mermaid-avatarSome of my mermaid friends know that my daughter returned to the nest two years ago. She made a brave decision, and walked away from an abusive and failing marriage.

She’s made a lot of progress since that sad day, but one thing hasn’t changed. Obsessive-compulsive living. I know, because I have it, too.

This condition, often dormant (or so we tell ourselves) has most recently emerged, yet again, as the two of us teamed up to redecorate our home’s main bathroom. The lavender color it sported for two years, on which we agreed only after hours-long discussions, was voted out. Unbeautiful, it lay on the walls with a sort of hyper-polite, John Gielgud air. Trust me, there ain’t no joyful living with a slightly grape-griege wall surface tapping on your brain in the morning as a person brushes her teeth.

20140624_104853_1She settled on a vibrant teal (inspired by a clock, but that’s another story). It’s very kick-ass.  Then, she wanted a new shower curtain. And wouldn’t it be nice to replace the laundry baskets with a woven hamper? How about a curved shower rod? New wastebasket? And oh, yeah, that cute crocheted toilet paper caddy, Mom, that you made during the blizzard when the lights were out for thirteen hours? It has to go.

And on and on. I fear, at the moment, the decorating vibe is waning, however. Twenty minutes remains to paint the window woodwork. Another thirty is needed to mount the new blind. I see no movement recently.

That’s okay, because I also decided the master bathroom could use some updating.

I’ve bought five shower curtains and returned four. Two bath rugs bought, one remains. Ditto the trash can. Just one new shower rod and rings. By sheer good luck, I happened on a yard sale and found a framed poster that will replace the current artwork.   20140624_105203_1

As a last salute to the OCD urge, I mounted the latest (and last!) shower curtain this morning, pleated the header into a neat bundle and dosed the knife edges with a nice shot of spray starch.  OCD, some?  Yeah, buddy. pleats

 

20140624_105007_1My bathroom is done.  I refuse to worry about the Daughter’s.  It’s all good, you know, to let a thirty-year old claim her project. It has me wondering, though, as I trot here and there, both buying and returning:

Isn’t this a lot like writing?

Well, it’s not. If it were writing, I’d be doing the BICHOK thing, spinning out words (like now, and on deadline, too).

However, the back and forth of choosing, modifying, changing course, writing, rewriting, sticking to a program to create the best bathroom book possible?

 

Share with me, if you dare, your obsessive-compulsive moments with decorating  writing.  Maybe there’s a pattern!

20140624_110823_1

 

 

Susan Mermaid Does Makeup

Susan-Mermaid-avatarDoing makeup on a group of male teachers – peers – who’ve never been in a theater production is a test of character.  The poor devil who gets his first “makeover” is in for a big surprise.  For me, a theater major and makeup artist for school plays in past years, it’s routine.

Over and over, they insisted the idea was outrageous.  Up to the point of hearing they would be on the receiving end of a foundation-laden sponge, they were thrilled with the idea of being in a play.  Memorize lines?  Check.  Stage direction?  Check.  Costumes?  Definitely check.  Costumes are fun! We get to pretend! We’re gonna be somebody else for an hour and fool our students into believing in our make believe for the afternoon!

And then…

Makeup?  Whoa.  No.  Not me.  You’re not doing this.  I am offended!  How could you tamper with this perfection?

Yeah. Like this.

You better not make me look like a girl!

In the end, they had to trust me.  One by one, they had to man up and (ack, ack) submit.

There were four Seniors in the cast, all veterans of high school productions.  They were the pros.  They understood.  They didn’t fight.  They threw themselves in the chair and got made up with not a whimper.  NOT ONE.

The grownups?  Oh, the bitching. The moaning.  The absurd SHOCK when they saw their reflection after ten minutes in my hands.

Foundation, powder, eyeshadow, blush. Lots of foundation, across the face, over the ears, down the neck, even on the head (many of them are going bald and the glow from their domes is… not attractive onstage).

requiring makeup on all sides. $$$

The final hurdle for every one of the men was the lipstick.  I had to touch their mouths with color – brilliant, extreme color.  It is an intimate, threatening part of the ritual, probably the hardest moment of the makeup routine, and absolutely necessary.  Only then would they be allowed to look at themselves in the mirror.

And react.

You made me look like this?

After the first “client” had done the walk of shame (“you look like a girl!”) the others knew what had to be done.

Submit.

And I realized – this is writing.  All the preparation, the denial, the angst, the sheer terror of putting yourself “out there” and allowing others to see you and your work, is part of the writer’s job.

Man up.  Pull up your big girl panties.  Get a grip.  Stop with the whining already.

Do your job. 

But remember – it’s better with lipstick. SusanMermaid

How is Writing like Fixing the Stairs?

I think everyone had an abysmal winter (show of hands, pleaseSusan-Mermaid-avatar?).  If we used a plow service (hand up here), in spite of having a nifty snowblower in the garage (hand raised again), we have to be ready to face the consequences of the yahoos who ride those trucks and wield those plows.

Which is how I ended up with a staircase at the end of my driveway, smashed on one side, and completely unsafe.  Had the plow guys told me of the damage?  No.  They tossed the broken post behind the house, hi-tailed it back home and sent me the bill.

what my stairs should look like

Will they be plowing my driveway next winter?  Uh…  you guessed it, I’m looking for a new lawn service.

But I digress.  I watched Brilliant Writer Husband and Fabulous Engineer Son work on and repair the stairs over Easter weekend.  What did I learn?

I would love to have a drill like this

The damage has to be assessed for what is usable (read over your manuscript with close attention to gaps and mistakes, forgiving yourself along the way).

attractive rusty nails, ours weren’t

Old nails have to be pulled (cut the fat and unimportant details).

Decide if you will use the tools at hand, or make a run to the hardware store (are you going to work with what you have?  Or start all over again?).

Re-assemble the parts, checking for usability and strength (decide if your story has enough sass to survive a serious edit).

Attempt the first screw, and adjust technique as you go (ditto, but with words).

Test each re-assembled part for durability, then move on (as with the stairs, you MUST continue working forward in order to finish).

Finally, take a walk up the stairs, holding on to the railing, and celebrate your good work (huzzah!  you stuck with it! a hearty pat on the back for you!)

Close enough – just 34 years old!

Of course, the repairs didn’t go exactly like that.   Mark broke one hammer, the best hammer is missing, the middle hammer has one of the claws broken.  The battery-operated drill needs its battery pack replaced, and we had to pull out my father’s old Sears model, which doesn’t have the features of my DeWalt 9v.  I stood to one side, collecting bent nails in a soda can for disposal and looking helpful.  Finally, I left father and son to their own brilliance, and returned to celebrate the wonders of the repair.

And, in writing, it’s the same a lot of the time.  Discovering that two scenes of my manuscript can’t be used because I killed off the father before the book starts,  another chapter has a scene missing that has to be written.  There’s not enough energy between hero and heroine yet.  I’ve run through the easy parts and it’s getting harder.

Outside, the stairs are still put together – they have been for two days.  There has to be a lesson in that!

How do YOU find inspiration to keep going?

 

Golden Heart and Rita nominees, oh my!

SusanMermaidFriends, this is the LAST DAY in 2014 when RWA members will be in the dark. Yes, tomorrow is The Day for the announcement of Golden Heart and Rita finalists!

Hi, Rita! <3

Since you all know I’m incredibly helpful in dealing with anxiety (first lie), I offer these ideas (gleaned from the incredible brains of the young men I teach).

– play video games
– watch movies
– go to the gym
– play sports
– listen to music
– lock yourself in a dark room and avoid talking (really!)
– get your guitar and rock out
– there is no such thing as anxiety in my world (yes, he really said that)

courtesy Darien Times

This, as opposed to the usual stress ideas I see on other blog posts, which usually I include references to cookies, ice cream and alcohol consumption.

Also, I have two family members who are entered in the Golden Heart this year.  Just imagine the free-floating anxiety at home today…

So, GOOD LUCK to all our GH and Rita entrants!  Throwing copious sparkles in your direction today and please allow me to offer an online fruity drink.  With parasol.  And fresh fruit garnish.

Getting My Butt Kicked

Susan-Mermaid-avatar As I’ve always said before, I generally avoid New Year’s resolutions.  This year, for a change, I made several:

–       I will join a critique group

–       I will allow myself to mentor someone, and ask for a mentor

–       I will submit material for publication

At the January meeting of CTRWA, I was right there with the club’s critique group.  We found much to say about each other’s work (both pro and con) and left feeling we’d encouraged each other in the best ways.  Resolution One:  check.

Also in January, responded to the semi-annual offer of matching Yodas and Grasshoppers.  Don’t laugh – our most accomplished writers are called Obi-Wans.  However, with the snag of a badly typed email address, I didn’t make the deadline for getting matched.  The coordinator felt badly for me and offered herself up, saying she didn’t feel she was Yoda status yet, but was willing to try.

Resolution Two: check.  Mentor achieved, and by the skin of my teeth.  But what an experience.  It has already changed my life.

You see, Joy asked an interesting question: what did I want from a Yoda? She had already joined the critique group, so she knew my writing.  (A side-resolution: I would be honest in my answer)

“I want someone to kick my butt.”

She wanted to see the synopsis for the book I was closest to finishing (not the one I was working on).  The next day, I had an email:  “We must meet.  This week.  When are you available?”  We settled on Sunday afternoon.

As luck would have it, I had a car accident on Friday.  Spent Saturday feeling like someone had squeezed all my back and shoulder muscles into one big knot (I’mostly fine now.  Really).  On Sunday, I asked Himself to drive me to the meeting spot in Connecticut, where my mentor was going to kick said butt.

I’d already told him he was NOT to sit with us.  Even though he’s a writer.

Thus, my husband of nearly 34 years found a table nearby, placed his lunch order and opened his Kindle.

Ninety minutes later, Joy said something I don’t remember ever hearing:  “I don’t need to see your chapters.  I already know from what I read in critique group, and from your synopsis, that you can write.”  And she asked a question I’d never had to answer before:  “Why are you writing?”

Oh dear.  A question I didn’t know how to answer.  Did I want to be published again?  Sure.  Was I willing to do what it takes to make that happen?

You’re writing, she told me, because you want to see your book published.  You want to know people can read your book.  You want them to see it and know how amazing this story is.  And the way to do that is to submit.  And the way to submit is to

Finish

The

Book

writing space susan 2010

Amazing, how this women – in less than two hours – cuts though the all the crud of my denial and strips away my excuses.  Since our meeting on Sunday, I’ve read through the first ten chapters of THE LAKE EFFECT.  I see lots decent writing, and some of it is terrific.  I also see disjointed scenes, clumsy scenes, awkward phrases, bad word choices and incomplete sentences.  This, I realize, will be my first second draft.  What an idea!  It’s almost something to look forward to – like a strange and unexpected adventure.

Which brings me to the question:  what scares you most about writing?  What would you discover if you dared?

SusanMermaid

Writing Lessons: What a New Shirt Taught Me About the Muse

I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

Susan-Mermaid-avatar   I had a “fashion” moment last Saturday.

I’d been to the hair salon for a cut and color – an absolute must before a major holiday!  I’d driven with bestie Colleen to Danbury for shopping.  First, I said, let’s stop for a bite to eat.  Then, I promised, we would attack the mall and our Christmas lists.

But, as I crossed the parking lot, I realized:

  • The shirt I was wearing didn’t feel “good” on my body anymore,
  • It was too short for the current styles,
  • And it was faded.

We must detour, I insisted.  Just a quick stop at JCPenney, I promised.  Yes, I typically take several hours to decide on anything, but this will be different!  Zipped in, scanned the offerings, tried on three shirts, selected one.  I wore it to the cashier and held out of the tag dangling from my wrist:

“I realized the shirt I was wearing is too old to be decent.” (Colleen holds up the shirt I’d arrived in as proof) “So I found this shirt, and I want to wear it right now – can you ring it up without me taking it off?”

Like this, but prettier.

Do you know, this might be my favorite shirt now?  It got me out of a fashion pickle, allowing me to shop for several more hours without that sneaking sense of frumpdom.  I even cuddled the other shirt, safely wadded up in the JCPenney bag the sales associate had offered us, gave it a farewell pat… and stuffed it in a Food Court garbage can.

That’s how determined I was not to be lured into wearing it again.  Its twin (same print, different color) is still at home, but in the bag for Goodwill.  Let someone else deal with it.

You might wonder what this has to do with writing?  Well, when opportunity knocks, you answer.  You don’t hesitate, you act!

When it’s time to write, you don’t wait.  You don’t tell yourself  “Oh, I’ll remember that!  It’s such a good idea, how could I forget it?”  You can!  You can forget it!  Give your brain five milliseconds of distraction and your inspiration is gone!

You don’t tell the Muse to hang on.  When you have the idea, it’s time to buckle down and get your work done.

I hit JCPenney with an idea in mind.  I was determined to act on the idea.  It happened.  Not because I dithered.  Because I acted!

So, here’s the lesson.  Grab your Muse, shake it loose and tell it to get off its sweet hiney and give you material.  Then, don’t wait around for that fickle bitch to show up.   Make the material happen.  She’ll figure it out.

You can do this!  It’s your choice.  Are you gonna wear that tacky old shirt and hope the writing shows up?

I’m saying that the right man for you might be out there right now and if you don’t grab him, someone else will, and you’ll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that someone else is married to your husband.”

You can do better.  If you choose to be a writer, find it in yourself to step away from the tacky old shirts, the worn-out excuses, the distractions, and the do-overs.

The fact that you’re not answering leads me to believe you’re either (a) not at home, (b) home but don’t want to talk to me, or (c) home, desperately want to talk to me, but trapped under something heavy. If it’s either (a) or (c), please call me back.

Stupid delay tactics.  They neve work!  Which is why Harry had to run across New York to find Sally and claim her, at last, on New Year’s Eve.

Good for him.