Holy Shitsnacks Batman! I'm a Quarter Finalist!

I will admit having been in an antiwriting funk for the last few months. I don't want to call it writer's block, it's been more like writers why-even-bother-I-suck-so-bad. AS IT TURNS OUT it was a sneak attack by the Insecurity Angel. Damn Insecurity Angel.

Then good stuff happened.

I was published.

I'm being interviewed.

And OH YEAH I'm a quarter finalist on Blue Cat.

I DON'T SUCK AND THE INSECURITY ANGEL CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF.

First things first: I wrote a snark-laden article over what farriers wish horse owners really knew for 'Gypsy Horse World' under the oh-so-clever pseudonym, 'The Grumpy Farrier'. I divulged trade secrets like don't give my number to your flakey friend with the bonkers horse and for the love of little steel horseshoe nails, bring your checkbook to the barn don't leave it at the house. People, get with the program. 

Michelle Goode, who has done the amazing job of shepherding 'Camp Wishaway' through multiple drafts into something that might actually be worth reading, runs #loglinechallenge over on Facebook. She posts the prompts. We post the loglines. It's a symbiotic relationship. Like cats and the little plastic thingy that comes off milk cartons. She interviews one participant each month and this month (like two days ago) I got the lucky email with the interview questions and felt like a complete fraud because I hadn't done very much, y'know? I had a one page article published and... nada. Some random loglines. And yet I was calling myself a writer. Such a poser!

BUT THEN the NEXT DAY I got an email from Blue Cat asking me to vote in their title contest.

What'evs.

I scrolled through it with absolutely no expectation that I'd be on the list. Then I was. Then I freaked out I was on a title contest list. I will admit that I shrieked. Then I did further reading and discovered the title contest list was actually the Quarter Finalist list. I was a QUARTER FINALIST. ME! 130 out of 1847! I did pirouettes across the living room and that evidently disturbed my dog enough he dragged himself off the couch and blinked at me like I'd lost my mind. Seriously. Tyson was concerned for my sanity.

We went walkies. That turned into runnies. That turned into wow I'm a long way from home maybe I should have done a circle. But I was so full of energy and excitement I couldn't think and I was honestly bouncing for the first half mile. Maybe further. I'm still bouncing, actually. I'm not a poser! External validation! Whoo!

15 Pages of Destiny

I'm subscribed to a daily e-paper that scours the web for screenwriting and writing stories and delivers them to my inbox in a condensed list. Random statement? I think not. I told you that to tell you this. A few days ago there was a short story about a contest closing soon. I didn't pay much attention but it was a slow news day and I was trapped in a waiting room so why not? 

What else did I have to do? Wade through the old issues of Reader's Digest and Golf Monthly? My horror script has been retitled 'Camp Wishaway' and shipped off to my script reader and I'd devoted all the thinking time I had to 'Keeper', my current project. I still haven't found a scriptwriting app that doesn't suck for my phone so I couldn't work on it. I was torn between reading old editions of People or trying something new. You know me, I decided to try something new. 

The contest details: Write the first fifteen pages based on their logline and win fame, fortune, and most valuable of all, a professional mentorship while you finish the script. It includes professional feedback every ten pages and I can tell you, that's not to be sneered at.

It's only fifteen pages. I could do that in the roughly ten days remaining before it closed. Because why not? I think that's the tagline of my life. This is what I have to work with. 

'After a storm destroys her small farm, killing her mother and father, an adolescent girl is sent off on a journey of survival.' 

Well. That's a bit boring, innit?

It had Wizard of Oz written all over it. I was suddenly less interested. But the logline wouldn't leave me. I spent the next two hours sitting in the waiting room turning it over in my mind. How could I possibly make that interesting? Could it even be made interesting?

Challenge accepted.

What's the most dangerous thing they could be farming? Velociraptors? 

Maybe the location made it dangerous? What if they were lava farmers? 

Maybe the time period wasn't healthy for a child to be alone. I edged into 'Clan of the Cave Bear' territory for a while, then swung the other way and went more 'Journey of Natty Gann'. 

Maybe it was on another planet? Uncle Owen and Aunty Em were moisture farmers. Everything was great until the Empire attacked.

By the time we left I had a rough outline, three acts, characters, and what is hopefully a very dramatic first fifteen pages jotted down. I was more productive in those two hours sitting and thinking about my story than I've been all week. Cornered like a rat in a trap with nothing else to do, I can come up with some awesome ideas. Go team me. Now to polish the bastard and send it in...

UPDATE: I hereby take back every uncharitable thought I had about that logline. This script is going to amazeballs. 

 

The Women Writing the Future

I refer to Amanda Fucking Palmer and Veronica Mars. Amanda's a singer and Veronica is a fictional detective, but between them they're composing the future of media in huge, sweeping brush strokes.

In Amanda's recent TED talk, 'The Art of Asking', she mentions that her older album sold 25,000 copies, and to the record label that was a failure. It wasn't big enough to be a success and that, frankly, is mind boggling to me. Selling 25,000 albums sounds like a success but to the record company it just wasn't.

Right after that she talked to a fan who gave her ten bucks for a copy he actually burned from a friend. He felt bad and wanted to pay her for it anyway. He didn't have to do it, he didn't have to say anything at all, but he wanted to and that changed everything.

Amanda became the hat in the 'pass the hat' concept. People gave her money for her music. She encourages torrenting, downloading, sharing, but she asks for help because hey, it does cost money and she's gotta eat, pay her band, and stay tricked out in those fabulous punk cabaret costumes.

She freed herself from the bonds of the short-sighted record company and threw herself into the crowd, trusting that they would catch her. Her next album, 'Theatre is Evil', would be funded solely by the fans on kickstarter. It was a historic occasion, would they break her fall or would she crash to the ground?

Her goal was 100,000 dollars and her fans (and I'm one of them) backed her to 1.2 million.

She says that asking makes people nervous and artists don't want to ask for things and that's so true. I'm on the sponsorship committee on my derby team and so it's my job to go out and ask for donations. Support my team. Please. It's hard. It really is. I don't even have soul scorching music to show for it.

Skip ahead a few months.

I watched and adored Veronica Mars as a teenager. Veronica was clever, a modern Nancy Drew and she solved her own problems. But like most clever shows, it got shoe-horned into the category of niche show, one of those cult favorites only the weirdos enjoy and when it was canceled the usual batch of useless petitions went around to save the show in some fashion, and like always, the petitions failed.

Ten years later the show's creator, Rob Thomas, managed to secure permission from Warner Bros. to make a movie. I would've loved to be in the room for that. How did the discussion go? Exactly what words got that result? I'd dearly love to know.

I'm sure you've heard the results.

Veronica Mars made their goal of 2 million dollars in 12 hours. You know why? Because instead of executives looking at demographics or accountant pondering if there was a market, they just asked the fans. They said, "Do you want this to be a thing? Will you put your money where your mouth is?"

A veritable horde of fans raced each other to kickstarter to give their five bucks, ten bucks, fifty bucks- as of right now 1859 of them gave 200 dollars each because they wanted this movie to happen. More than 50,000 people have given 3.3 million dollars in a day and a half. Roll that number around in your mind.

Every so often I go on a rant about region locked content and the occasional difficulty I've had actually, legally, paying for tv shows I like because they haven't got (and might never have) a region 1 release. I know I can watch it on youtube for free. I am not unfamiliar with this concept. I don't want to. I want to pay for it so the people that make the stuff I like get paid and can make more of it.

I'm taking the long view here. I know my pithy contribution to the coffers doesn't actually matter, but when a bunch of people band together to do something, it matters. 'Theatre is Evil' happened and I helped make it happen. It would have happened without me, but it didn't. I helped. I get a warm fuzzy feeling every time I think of that.

So take my money. Do what Amanda says. Ask for help. Don't ask how you can stop piracy (you can't) or get people to pay for this, just ask them to help. Repeat after me.

"Do you want this to be a thing? Will you put your money where your mouth is?"

They'll do it, or they won't. Give the fans the chance to show their love and fund stuff.

2012 aka The Year of You Tried

Apparently it's traditional to post a round up of what I did and did not get up to this year. Some people even post how many words they wrote last year. I can't even keep track of how many wips I've got at this point. God only knows how many words I've written and much more importantly, how many I've deleted.

So here goes.

January: Finished my first TV spec and got a brilliant idea for a horror movie. I decided that it couldn't be that hard to bang out a few feature specs 'cause I was so fabulous and talented and stuff.

February: Discovered I was delusional, it really was that hard to write a feature. I sent tv spec off to Scriptapalooza with visions of huge contracts and deals dancing in my eyes. Impressed myself with my ability to daydream.

March: Had grammar induced breakdown. If the comma was an actual thing I would stab it.

April: Started a rom com called 'Chunks' because what's a spec pile without a comedic romp about two people that don't really like each other, and yet somehow they're married? I learned the hard way about minor characters becoming more interesting than the major characters. Turns out that could very well be the death knoll of a spec. Still hadn't finished it.

Entered 50 Kisses contest with the aforementioned dreams of money and glory.

May: Got my very first script report on my horror from a for-real, professional script reader. Just recently I went and reread it to cheer myself up because the script, currently on draft 6, is SO MUCH BETTER now than it was at that point, a mere seven months ago.

Discovered Dead Roots, a zombie comic book, and pitched three or four ideas. Was soundly rejected, and then I saw a typo in the original email to the editor. Had typo induced breakdown. It was a nice change from the grammar induced breakdown.

June: Pitched more ideas for Dead Roots 'cause he never actually told me to stop emailing. In a bout of desperation, I shamelessly lifted the 'zombies appear' moment from Horror Script and he actually liked it.

Then rejected it.

July: Got feedback from the contest I sent the TV spec to. They liked it. Kind of. They explained why they didn't like it but I didn't understand their point until I was listening to Cabin Pressure. Received a revelation about tying plot lines together that rivaled Moses coming down the mountain, or Douglas finding out how much the Captain of an airdot actually gets paid when he works for Caroline.

50 Kisses announced they'd accept a second entry. Composed perfect do-over, complete with leaving off 'FADE IN' from the first line. Had another typo induced breakdown when I realized.

August: 1800 odd people entered 50 Kisses, but only 50 could win. I was not one of them, BUT both my entries made the long list, which makes me one of 16 people that could say that, out of 1800. 

So there's that. I hereby award myself an extra shiny 'You Tried' sticker.

September: Lost Scriptapalooze with my tv spec. Added another sticker to the wall.

Was 1 of 13 to be allowed in the Dead Roots Contest. I was lucky number 13, which I thought was funny. Lost by quite a wide margin in the end, but I still scratched out third place. My 'You Tried' collection is growing.

October: I've finished the first draft of a drama titled 'Keeper'. It's so bad it smells. I decided to let it compost on the hard drive for a while before I try editing it into something that isn't so eye searing bad, but honestly, really awesome mushrooms do grow in crap. I still have hope for it.

November: Found out about a poetry contest run by Brit Writers. I've never written poetry in my life, but I still managed to rhyme 'scratch' with 'snatch', revealing my natural talents and innate charm. 

I was completely devastated, but not entirely unsurprised, when I didn't win.

December: Some months back I sent a short story off for an anthology and promptly forgot about it.

It was rejected.

BUT

The editor liked it, it just didn't fit into the tone of the anthology so she told me to make it into a novella and resubmit. She pays by the word, told me to add more words, and then she wants it back.

So I suppose I ended 2012 on a high note? I don't know.

Next year Horror will finally settle on a title and be sent out into the world and Keeper will probably be joining Horror in a quest to bring me fame and fortune. Chunks may or may not be binned. Short story turned Novella will be done and hopefully published somewhere. 

A half dozen other things are in various stages of being written but there's not much to say about any of them at this point. They're not ripe yet. 

My resolution for 2013 is to sell some writing and finally sort out the comma. Or murder it. 

Whichever is easier. 

I suspect assassination on punctuation might just be the winner.

Does poetry have to rhyme?

Houston, we are a no go for the poetry contest, abort, abort, abort....

But now I can post my entry here. It's not too horrible, but I am rather biased.

The rules: 100 words or less and it had to contain the phrase 'Brit Writers'. The theme was 'The changing faces of publishing and our world of words'. I'm not even sure what that means.

I think I'll call it... 'I Tried'.


I pour my soul out on the page,
I write my words in a passionate rage.
But rejection is my daily bread,
The editor doesn't care how much I've bled.


Self-publish, e-publish or the more traditional way,
In the end does it really matter? I just can't say.
I send off and send out and apply and appeal,
All the while seeking that one fateful deal.


I rewrite and redraft and start again from scratch,
It's one simple chance I'm desperate to snatch.
Brit Writers everywhere, stay strong and persevere,
There will be a sale somewhere, I promise, never fear.


I am extremely pleased about the fact I rhymed 'scratch' with 'snatch'.

What? C'mon, that's funny. I have to amuse myself somehow.

Stay away from the Waiting Place!

I clawed my way up to 3rd in Dead Roots. Not nearly good enough to be published, but it's the closest to winning I've ever been. Congratulations to the winner, David Scullion! I got beat fair and square, it's still gonna be an awesome book even without my own little brilliant contribution. Thank you everyone that voted for me.

Which leads me to add up my recent triumphs and realize... I hadn't got any. I've either been told no or heard radio silence for all my submissions lately. I'm taking the shotgun approach to a writing career and firing off something for everything I can find. Eventually something will be the right fit, but until then it's a bit of a downer.

That got me thinking about healthy ways to deal with disappointment. I know plenty of unhealthy ways, but living at the Chinese buffet is not something my waistline or my wallet can handle long term. 

Getting drunk is right out. That's a rabbit hole I want to stay far away from. Drinking when I'm down in the dumps, I mean. I've got no objection to alcohol otherwise. Besides, I'm taking up home-brewing. I'm starting my first batch of cider in a few days and it will be the most magnificent apple cider EVER. So say we all.

I have a few different ways to bounce back from disappointment. Because of the shotgun approach, I always have things out. I'm waiting to hear back on three other submissions, a film treatment for amazon, a short story, and a poem. 

I'm about twenty pages away from finishing my next script, a drama thing tentatively titled 'Keeper', and about to embark on rewrite number... 6? 7? 9 gazillion? on Untitled Horror script of horribleness that's currently trying to pull itself into two separate movies like demented conjoined twins.

They're right. It isn't the writing that's the hard part, it's the mutherduckin' rewriting. 

Also it's about to get cold and rainy all the time and that always cheers me up. I loath the summertime. Nature's too damn cheerful for my taste. The sun, IT BURNS.

The other way I drag myself back up to an optimistic place is to consult the good Doctor for a motivational pick-me-up.

I can hear you say it. "What doctor? Doctor Who?" <-- you see what I did thar? I crack myself up. 

No, not this time. Doctor Seuss. He keeps me from wallowing in the waiting place. 

I have places to go.

Me. The Zombie Queen.

Or I could be. I'm a finalist in Dead Roots, the zombie comic book anthology I blogged about before. Go look at their contributors' page. My story is in the running to be published in a book that contains all my favorite sci-fi writers! How cool is that? Seriously? It's the closest to 'cool' I've ever been in my life.

James Moran, the reason I refuse to swim someplace I can't see the bottom because what if there's bear traps? Jason Arnopp, whose book got me over my deep abiding fear of reporters. I could just go on and on and on but there's a catch. A HUGE SCREAMING CATCH.

The winner is determined by votes. Facebook 'Likes' to be precise. Right now 1st, 2nd, and 3rd are all within ten votes of each other. I'm bouncing between '1st = published' and '2nd = sucks to be you'. There is no consolation prize. It's win or nothing.

I need all the help I can get, so if you're on Facebook go ahead and 'like' my story, and please share it with all your friends! You can even friend me if you want, though I warn you I only use facebook to yak about movies, tv shows, comics, and roller derby. 

It's come down to a social networking battle and like the zombocalypse, I'm determined to survive.

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=366852903394758&set=a.366852350061480.87029.122886321124752&type=1&theater