IdeaJones

Category: Writing

  • Love Letter 101

    Love Letter 101

    How do I love thee? Um, y’know…

    It’s that time of year again!

    Anyone can write a good love letter.

    If you want to make points with a good love letter, here are a few tips to get you started.

    1. it’s not about you. It’s about the person you’re sending it to. Here’s your chance to show you are (or still are) paying attention. Everyone wants to be noticed, seen, and loved for themselves.
    2. Make it relationship-appropriate. Don’t get into body comments or sexual stuff unless you are in a relationship and already know s/he wants to hear what you think of his/her butt/chest/etc. Leave out what you want to do with said body parts unless you know for sure s/he wants to hear it. For sure. Don’t guess here.
    3. Short, simple, and sincere. A short letter that shows you really have been noticing, listening, seeing beats a long, flowery, generic letter that doesn’t sound like you.
    4. Still stumped? Pick something you love about that person, for example, the way s/he smiles. They way s/he treats people. How does that make you feel?
    5. “Dear (name): when you smile at me, my heart feels like a balloon about to rise into the sky. You are so kind to people around you and make them feel important. Just by being you, you add something wonderful to the world.” Say something you honestly feel, specific about that person, that you admire.

    Remember — love letters aren’t just for romantic love. Your mother, grandfather, friend, etc. also want to feel appreciated. That teacher who went out of his or her way to help you would probably love a note saying thanks for teaching you the mysteries of algebra or the difference between “it’s” and “its.”

    When you express love, you get to feel it yourself. It’s good for you and for the person who receives your note. Don’t be afraid to tell people you care about what it is about them you appreciate. Happy Valentine’s Day!

  • A Cinematic Book

    A Cinematic Book

    We made the quarterfinals of the ScreenCraft Cinematic Book Competition! (Update… we made the semifinals!)

    Just got the word that we made the semifinals of ScreenCraft’s competition for “cinematic” books, which means script readers could see this as a movie.

    There are a lot of great books that wouldn’t make good movies. To be made into a movie, a book needs a visual language. Long ago, we took a series of classes from Dale Wasserman, who wrote the play “Man of La Mancha.” He wrote the “book” of the play (as opposed to the music and lyrics — although he maintained some of the lyrics were lifted from his text). He also wrote for film and tv as well as theater.

    He said that books are the most literate art form, then plays, then film, then tv. It wasn’t an insult — it’s just that film and tv are more dependent on visuals than language. Language matters in film and tv, but first, you have to have pictures.

    Mark and I have placed in screenwriting contests, and Mark writes in pictures. He’s good about prodding me to look at what I’m writing and think about what it looks like. “It’s a movie in the reader’s head,” he told me one time. “When I read, I see it and hear it.” Plus, he trained me in producing for radio, where creating mental pictures is what it’s all about. It’s something I still work on… as you can tell, I tend to be verbal.

    Lots of writing is you alone with your thoughts and your computer (or notebook, or…). I talk to myself when I’m writing, wondering if anyone but me will understand what I’m trying to convey. There’s no way to tell until someone reads it. First we had beta readers, then did live readings, then got feedback from a reviewer, and at every stage, examined what was working and what wasn’t. Every time a reader says they enjoyed it, and tells me what connected with them, I want to cheer. Now we’re querying it. It’s a terrifying process.

    I overwrite, then have to cut like the villain in a slasher film. There’s always a struggle to cut what is “extra” without taking all the juice out of it.

    To know that the ScreenCraft readers, who have never met me and don’t know what I sound like, “hear” and “see” this novel is a joy. Congratulations to my fellow semifinalists, and to everyone who completed a novel they were proud enough of to enter it in a competition — that’s a big achievement right there.

  • Goodbye, 2018!

    Goodbye, 2018!

    This has been a year, hasn’t it? I mean, they all are, of course, but this one seems to have had more than 12 months in it.

    We had to spend the first eight months fighting to protect our little family. Someone got it into her head to try to take our puppy away from us. Lots of drama, strangers being sent to our door, the police sent to our house (first time that’s happened), going to court… in the end, Good won, Evil lost, and Gingeroo is right where she belongs — with us.

    It chewed up months of our lives. Our birthdays, our anniversary, everything got swallowed by The Battle For Gingeroo. But in the end, we found out we have a few really good, true friends who were willing to help us, we met an absolutely genius lawyer, and we reaffirmed that Good can triumph, if it’s willing to keep fighting and take good advice.

    We finished our novel, and saw it getting favorited on Amazon’s new book program, so much so that it made the “hot list” several times — but then Amazon ended the program. Oops! Back to square one, so we’re shopping for an agent, while writing three new books. Meanwhile, the first novel has done well with beta readers and in live readings, in addition to the love it got during the Amazon program, and a great review. So we know there’s an audience and just have to keep plugging away.

    During the process, we’re learning a lot about querying, social media, all the stuff that comes with being an author. We’ve been writers (magazines, newspapers, radio), but now we’re becoming a brand. Which feels odd. And requires learning lots of new skills, which is actually more fun than I thought it’d be.

    We lost two of our friends at the same time, people who had never met but who both left our lives at almost the same moment. This is an experience I’ve had before — my mother and grandmother died 30 days apart — but is also one for which you can’t prepare. We’ve lost people slowly, and lost them quickly, and there is no “better” way. You’re never ready to lose someone you’re fond of. It still doesn’t seem quite real that both John and Kathleen are gone.

    But we’re taking what they’ve taught us into the world. Kathleen was an enthusiastic, generous person. She loved to shop. I’m not much of a shopper, so I don’t have the skills a talented shopper has. Kathleen was great about sharing tips and tricks. I recently used some things she taught me to score something Mark and I wanted, on clearance, free shipping… Kathleen would have understood why I was trying to “high five” myself (for the record, I still haven’t found a way to do it that doesn’t feel lame).

    John was a singer/songwriter, a musician and music producer. Music was his life, and he was really good at it. He was also funny, generous and kind. Even when illness was bringing him to his knees, he played benefit concerts. If he couldn’t play, he sang. Every holiday season, we would visit and join John and his wife (a lovely, fierce, wonderful lady who hadn’t planned to be a public person but fell in love with John, so I won’t put her name here) for dinner. Mark and John usually talked shop — music, audio, recording. They agreed about a lot, but had some things they didn’t agree on that became running gags.

    His wife and I would catch up on family and friends, and just, y’know, chat, the way you do with a friend. Mark and I would get tickets for the benefit John was sure to be playing, and the shows were always great, but the best memories are of the four of us around a table, eating and talking.

    One time, we went to Barton G’s in Hollywood. It was hilarious. They brought out the food with props. Popcorn shrimp in a big popcorn machine. Sushi with a sword stuck into the platter. The best were the desserts. John and his wife ordered an ice cream sundae that came in a pirate’s treasure chest (a big one), surrounded by edible gold nuggets, graham cracker crumb “sand.” John looked at the shovel sticking out of the sundae, started laughing, and said, “Do we eat the shovel? I can’t tell what’s food and what isn’t!”

    Our dessert had a cotton candy bouffant hairdo on a wig head, with candy stuck all over it. The four of us found ourselves acting like sharks, nibbling random things just to see if they were edible.

    Before we left, they invited us over and we met the sister of John’s wife, who was charming. John played tracks of songs he was working on and told scandalous stories, and we all just relaxed.

    Thinking about all of this has me more than usually aware that I need to be fully present when I’m with a friend. Not distracted by things I want to get done, or things I think I should be doing. Someone once said, “If you ain’t where you is, you ain’t nowhere.” I’m going to try to be where I am in the new year.

    I hope wherever you are, your “where” is good to you. Happy New Year!

  • If Your Holiday Isn’t Living Up To The Hype This Year:

    If Your Holiday Isn’t Living Up To The Hype This Year:

    An open letter to anyone whose holidays isn't quite living up to the hype.

  • Gatekeeper Secrets: 5 Ways To Start Off Ahead

    Continuing my online writer conference (since I had to miss the PNWA con this year). Day 5 — Gatekeeper Secrets

    Because I interviewed a bunch of “gatekeepers,” people who look over submissions and decide if they merit consideration, I have some advice to pass along. Also, I’ve been a gatekeeper (I was once an Editor for a magazine). So I’ve had to climb Mt. Slushmore in search of gold nuggets myself.

    Some of this may sound obvious. Most of it sounds obvious once you’ve heard it. But an agent at a recent conference talked about some of this stuff and it reminded me that it’s still the place most hopeful beginners fall on their climb to “published.” It also applies to other arts as well, fine art, music, acting, etc.

    Even for people who have been published, it’s good to be reminded that The Basics still count. I’m trying to go from “published in newspapers and magazines” to “published book author,” so I’m climbing Mt. Slushmore again myself. Since we’re trying to climb Mt. Slushmore and reach the peak, let’s start at the bottom:

    5) Don’t bother anyone until you’re ready to go. This is at the bottom not because it’s unimportant, but because it’s the first step, and you shouldn’t even attack the mountain until you complete it.  Agents want to know you have AT LEAST one book COMPLETED (or, if you’re an actor, have actually acted in something, taken classes, etc.).  You have a great idea? Good for you!

    Now make it. Write the songs, paint the painting, write the screenplay, etc.  If you’re trying to get an assignment to write an article (say for a magazine), and you haven’t had anything else published, be ready to work “on spec” and get paid only after you’ve written the article and the editor has decided to buy it and run it.

    I keep meeting nice people who have ideas for books, articles, radio stories, etc. that they “just need someone to write up,” or that they are writing and have yet to finish, who expect to find buyers for their uncompleted (or in some cases, unstarted) debut projects. You are up against people who are working at their craft. Taking it seriously. Developing their chops.  Be a professional.  Respect your idea by taking it seriously.

    After you’ve created it… edit, revise, polish. You’re trying to convince people you are a producer of diamonds. Have at least one polished diamond to show them.

    4) Get your supplies in order. Your book, your article, needs to be as good as you can make it. Professionally edited, if you aren’t an editor (and even if you are, have someone else check it, proofreading, notes, etc.).

    Workshop your novel, and pay attention to audience reaction. The best advice I’ve gotten so far (regarding improving my work) was, “Read it aloud.” Mark and I started participating in an open mic night for writers, in a book store, reading our work and paying attention to the reactions, both from the other writers, and the people in the book store. If attention is wandering, make a note where it starts to drift. I have to tell you, watching people linger in the stacks, taking a book off the shelf, putting it back, repeat, repeat, to hear the end of your story is a high.

    If you’re only writing for  yourself, great, you don’t need to know what people think. If you’re writing for an audience, you do.

    3) Research the mountain. No matter what professional mountain you want to climb, someone has climbed it before. Never in the history of humanity has information been so easy to come by. Sure, you have to look at the source and figure out how reliable that information is… but that’s doable. And you can average. If 25 people with professional credentials tell you that you need a certain sort of rope to climb that sort of mountain, you need to look closely into getting that sort of rope.

    For writers, you can go to professional conferences, join writing organizations, and yes, read. I mean, if you don’t like to read, why do you want to write? Take writing classes. Do writing exercises. In California, the California Writers Club, for example, has chapters all over the state, with workshops, speakers and sometimes even those open mic nights.

    If you were an acrobat, you would stretch a lot and do muscle-strengthening exercises (or you’d plunge to your death. At least writing isn’t that dangerous).  Whatever profession you’re trying to break into has its own series of stretches and exercises. Expect to do them.

    2) Don’t Be An Asshole. Good advice generally, but in the arts? Crucial. Plus, in the internet age, everything lives forever and comes back to haunt you. Be polite to the Receptionist. Don’t argue with people and get defensive (especially the people you’re trying to get to consider you. Have you ever been argued into liking someone? No, and neither have they). And every career has its ups and downs. You meet the same people going both directions, and sometimes they can give you enough of a boost to stop you from falling off the mountain entirely. It’s good ethics, good karma. Don’t fawn (don’t lick boots unless you’re addicted to the taste of shoe polish). Just be polite.

    This includes other people in your field. Again, both for professional reasons, and so you can like yourself. It’s not like there are only so many cookies, and if someone gets a cookie, you get none, so don’t run down other people.  It makes you look insecure. And it’s nice to be able to talk to people who get what you’re trying to do and think it’s worth doing (because they are, too). In radio, I’ve referred other engineers and field producers when I couldn’t take a gig — and they’ve referred me when they couldn’t.

    1) Follow. The. Guidelines. The most obvious advice is still the advice most people don’t bother to follow. If you’re submitting to agents or editors (or whatever is the equivalent in your art form), look at the website. Read the Submission Guidelines. Treat them like gospel.

    Every publication, every agent, has The Way We Do Things Here. By not reading and following those guidelines, you come off as an arrogant amateur. It’s basic courtesy, really. If you rang on someone’s doorbell and asked to come in, and he said, “Well, okay, but we have a white carpet, so you have to take your shoes off,” would you say, “I paid a lot for these shoes and matched my outfit to them, so even though everyone else takes his shoes off, I’m special?”  If you did, you should expect to feel the door slamming shut on your snout. It’s rude. It’s inconsiderate. And it’s dumb.

    It doesn’t matter how you like to do things. You are approaching that publication, that editor, that agent, and asking to be considered. You are ringing their doorbells. They aren’t ringing yours. Don’t cheese them off by swanning about, expecting them to bend the rules for very special  you.

    Some agents, for example, want the first ten pages. Others want the first  two chapters. Some want a bio and a synopsis of the book. Others don’t care about that unless they like the first chapter. Some want a letter. Others don’t.  Whatever they want to see, that’s what they feel they need to see in order to get a feel for whether or not they’re interested in you.

    As the agent at the workshop said, “By following the guidelines, you lift yourself above 50% of the people who submit from the start. And I’m not kidding. It might even be more than that.”

    Why start climbing by stepping on your own toes?

    Whatever mountain you’re trying to climb, be it Mt. Slushmore, the Hollywood Hills, or your mountain of choice, climb smart and you might just make it. I hope we both do. Good luck!