Meet Beautiful Singles

Sheesh! When I started writing novels, it was because I just kept reading books and thinking "I could do that!" After all, I was already a writer; my overwrought Christmas newsletters no doubt kept recipients on the edge of their seats each December (make that February, as I was always late with them). And my grocery lists, well, let's just say I compose a mean grocery list.


In truth, I have long been a little too fascinated with the stories of peoples' lives -- be they the sordid tales of famous people, the unfathomable actions of "what-the-hell-were-they-thinking" criminals, or the simple stories of average peoples' lives (I am so addicted to reading obituaries), I guess I'd stockpiled enough information that I was ready to make up my own characters with their own issues. Throw in a slight obsession with what motivates people, and I guess I needed to become a novelist, or a psychologist.


However, I hadn't bargained for the whole other side of writing a book, which is promoting the thing. This aspect of publishing has eclipsed the mere writing of a book over the past few years, with the growth of the internet and the vast and boundless world of social networking. Sadly, in many ways, promotion efforts by necessity dwarf writing duties. I suspect most writers would far prefer to just get to work on another book, rather than jumping through the many, many hoops of fire in order to sell the previous one. By the time I've finished writing a book, I'm sort of finished with it: I lose perspective on the story and couldn't begin to tell you if it's good, bad or indifferent. Plus I then promptly forget the names of my characters and much of the storyline. I've loved them and left them behind.


But like it or not, promotion happens. And one of the aspects of promotion with which I have a love/hate relationship is public speaking. I hate it because invariably I become slightly terrified. I suppose this is natural -- think Jan Brady having to imagine her audience at a debate in their underwear so she didn't freeze in fear. I worry that I won't say the right things, entertain my audience, and provide them with their money's worth (not that anyone is actually paying for the performance!) all while sporting a fat piece of parsley on my teeth the entire time. I guess it's not fear of public speaking so much as fear of making a fool of yourself in public. And then having it end up on Youtube.


But the reality is, I end up loving speaking to groups. Whether they're book clubs, or at conferences, or civic organizations, book festivals, writing workshops. I am comfortable with my subject matter, which I suppose would mean the contents of my vivid imagination. I could go on for hours about the weird stuff I can fantasize about if given the chance. And if I can fantasize about it, I can write about it. And I've been around long enough to know about the vagaries of the publishing industry.


I think that's the thing: by the time a writer ends up in the position of having to speak publicly, usually said writer has been through the wringer, has suffered the slings and arrows of defeat in this business, and has experienced the great good fortune and joy of being published, which in itself is almost akin to winning the lottery. I enjoy sharing my experiences with the many people who might harbor a secret desire to write and publish a book some day. And I'm thrilled to find people who have enjoyed my writing enough to put on an outfit, hop in the car, and make it to that venue where I'm speaking. It doesn't get more awesome than that. Well, maybe even more awesome when I can elicit laughter. There is something magical about being able to entertain your audience enough that you've made them forget bad things even for a second, long enough to laugh. It's a great feeling.

Ultimately I view public speaking as a real privilege, something that came about as a result of many years of toil to get to where I am professionally, to hone my craft, to learn the business, and to do any and everything required of the world to get me to where I am as a published author. It wasn't easy, but it was so worth it, every step of the way, every mistake, every misfortune that might have befallen me even, because it seasoned me enough to be able to share my experiences and my world with others.


And if I've been able to help even one writer on the path, to pay it forward by easing their way, it's all the more sweet an accomplishment.


  Sleeping with Ward Cleaver










Slim to None













Anywhere But Here
































Winging It: A Memoir of Caring for a Vengeful Parrot Who's Determined to Kill Me










Accidentally on Purpose (written as Erin Delany)


















Compromising Positions (written as Erin Delany)



















I'm Not the Biggest Bitch in this Relationship (I'm a contributor)



















And these shorts:
Idol Worship: A Lost Week with the Weirdos and Wannabes at American Idol Auditions


















The Gall of It All: And None of the Three F's Rhymes with Duck


















Naked Man On Main Street
find me on Facebook: fan page
 find me on twitter here
 find me on my website

It seems the themes at the Girlfriends Book Club of late are keeping me honest…this time around? How do I finish the book I'm writing? That's a hell of a question!

 This easily segues from my post last month, in which I think I first spoke about The Book (make that manuscript). This would be the one I've picked up and put down countless times over the past several years. It has transformed and been revised myriad times (I should say chapters here and there have been revised, since not enough has been written to constitute it being an actual book revision (insert laughter here). My first chapter alone has had so many incarnations it might well be mistaken for a cat plowing through those nine lives.

 Believe me, I have had plenty of reasons to give up on this thing. I think what's kept me coming back to it is when I've eventually reviewed the chapters here and there that I've written, I am pleasantly surprised and -- dare I say it -- impressed with what I've written. It's what motivates me: it's been like passing a kidney stone the size of an elephant. I'd hate to go through all that pain without a positive outcome.

 I have had many days in which I struggle for each sentence. This is so abnormal for me. I used to be able to crank out books with no hesitation. I could not write for months on end, then sit down and binge-write, and crank out the book I'd intended. But this book, it's stymied me. During the course of writing this, I've vacillated, I've alternated, I've roamed hither and yon in the quest to figure out what it was I was writing. Used to be I'd write a book in a fairly linear manner. I knew my starting point and I knew my ending, and the rest sort of sprung up organically. With this one, I've changed my intent, changed my theme, changed my characters, changed their jobs, changed their relationship, changed other characters, changed the intended outcome. Right now I'm still undecided about the final outcome and as I'm nearing a deciding point, I still can't pick which one is the best plan of action. But the great thing is I'm finally nearing that point, a point at which I never thought this book would reach.

I put this book down so many times for a variety of reasons. Other jobs got in the way of it. Dealing with marketing and publicizing other books posed obstacles. Life events added more roadblocks. And then there were times I was so purely stuck, I just couldn't figure it out, and procrastination seemed an easier solution. But I need to finish it. I can't let this half-written tome languish in my laptop, never to find an audience. I need to finish it so that I can have the satisfaction of tackling the untackleable. And so I have struggled through this thing, sometimes one word at a time.

Frustratingly, when I've returned to it after putting it away yet again, I have to pore through the entire thing, mulling over the slightest changes, refining and attempting to make this thing the best it can be. It's become my Moby Dick (insert more laughter here). Yikes -- maybe it's like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction when you think she's dead but she pops up yet again with that butcher knife.

 Sometimes I allow myself to get sidelined by the what ifs. What if I can't find a publishing house for it? What if this book isn't "big" enough? Big, high concept books get the attention of your publishing house, whereas lesser ones flounder and die if you publish through mainstream houses. But now I am happy to know that if I can't weed through the finicky world of mainstream publishing anymore, I'll just publish it myself. And it'll be a terrific novel and people will enjoy it.

 When I first started this book, self-doubts brought on by this Goldilocksian publishing industry really undermined my confidence, and allowed me to allow myself to be distracted by the potential for failure. But now I'm motivated to a) make this book the best it can be, b) sell it well, whether that is through a New York house or on my own, and c) finish it now. No more dithering. With each word I've squeezed out of my brain, with each chapter I've concluded, with each page I've counted as complete, I build in confidence and in knowing that this work in particular I earned, through the blood, sweat and tears it took to get me there.

 So how to I motivate myself through? I just do it. I need to succeed with this, I can't let my self-doubts get the better of me. I can't let external forces drive my end results. I can only control what I can control, and that means the final words on the page. I remember years ago hearing John Grisham talk about having to put your butt in the chair and write, every single day, that you're not really a writer if you don't do that. Back then I didn't buy into that concept because I didn't write in that way; I wrote in blasts, then nothing, and that used to work. But now, I'm subscribing to the butt in chair school of writing, and you know what? He's right. You can't publish it if it's not written.

 So now, back to work…I'll keep you posted!


  Sleeping with Ward Cleaver










Slim to None













Anywhere But Here
































Winging It: A Memoir of Caring for a Vengeful Parrot Who's Determined to Kill Me










Accidentally on Purpose (written as Erin Delany)


















Compromising Positions (written as Erin Delany)



















I'm Not the Biggest Bitch in this Relationship (I'm a contributor)



















And these shorts:
Idol Worship: A Lost Week with the Weirdos and Wannabes at American Idol Auditions


















The Gall of It All: And None of the Three F's Rhymes with Duck


















Naked Man On Main Street
find me on Facebook: fan page
 find me on twitter here
 find me on my website