I wrote this back on LiveJournal (I feel so old) when my first traditionally published novel debuted. And… Well, I thought I might share it with you all.
I am really scared, which means I must create (you guessed it) a list.
TIPS ON BEING A DEBUT NOVELIST
1. Try not to pass out when you recieve proofs in the mail.
2. If you do pass out, try not to pass out on top of the dog. Vet bills are enormous.
3. Try not to rewrite the entire book when you see your proofs. This will be a temptation. Resist the temptation.
4. Once you mail back your proofs, stop thinking about them. Do not wonder if you should have written the dog instead of a dog. THE ARTICLE MAKES ALL THE DIFFERENCE! HOLY CRUD! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? It is over now, let it go.
5. Realize it is not truly over. Your book is going to be out there in three months. THREE MONTHS!!!!!
6. Oh my God.
7. Pass out again.
8. Thank the man standing near you for catching you. Decide he’s cute. Vow to use him in your next book.
9. Realize that the world might not notice your little book. Sure you called it I had Stephen Colbert’s Love Child. Still …
10. Rethink your title. It would have been so much better if it was I HAD STEPHEN COLBERT’S LOVE CHILD IN MY PANTS. Call editor in attempt to change it. When he refuses curse author Maureen Johnson for making you doubt all titles that do not have the tag, In My Pants.
AND HERE THE LIST GETS EVEN WEIRDER ….
11. Wonder how other authors get on CNN. Wonder how authors get awards. Wonder how authors stay sane. Wonder if they do? Any of them?
12. Then do the worst thing of all: Wonder if anyone will buy your book other than your mother and your high school creative writing teacher.
13. Panic
14. Hit your head against the refrigerator door and knock of the cat bottom magnets that you bought in a moment of weakness.
15. Realize that you bought kitty butt magnets, and you are still being published. How can this be?
16. Cry.
17. Pass out again. Refuse to wake up this time. Shout, NO. NO! I’M DEAD. REVIVE ME IN 6.2 MONTHS WHEN MY BOOK IS BACKLISTED.
18. Decide to be a dentist.
19. Wonder if you’re smart enough to be a dentist if you can’t even get the numbering of a list quite right.
20. Decide yes.
Big News!
I just published a super cool adult novel. Gasp! I know! Adult! That’s so …. grown-up?
Rosie Jones, small town reporter and single mom, is looking forward to her first quiet Maine winter with her young daughter, Lily. After a disastrous first marriage, she’s made a whole new life and new identities for her and her little girl. Rosie is more than ready for a winter of cookies, sledding, stories about planning board meetings, and trying not to fall in like with the local police sergeant, Seamus Kelley.
But after her car is tampered with and crashes into Sgt. Kelley’s cruiser during a blizzard, her quiet new world spirals out of control and back into the danger she thought she’d left behind. One of her new friends is murdered. She herself has been poisoned and she finds a list of anagrams on her dead friend’s floor.
As the killer strikes again, it’s obvious that the women of Bar Harbor aren’t safe. Despite the blizzard and her struggle to keep her new identity a secret, Rosie sets out to make sure no more women die. With the help of the handsome but injured Sgt. Kelley and the town’s firefighters, it’s up to Rosie to stop the murderer before he strikes again.
So, um, please go buy it. I am being brave, but that means that despite all my reasons for doing this, I’m still terrified that nobody will buy it and I really, really love this book. A lot.
It’s with Steve Wedel. It’s scary and one of Publisher’s Weekly’s Buzz Books for Summer 2019. There’s an excerpt of it there and everything! But even cooler (for me) they’ve deemed it buzz worthy! Buzz worthy seems like an awesome thing to be deemed!
Order this bad boy, which might make it have a sequel. The sequel would be amazing. Believe me, I know. It features caves and monsters and love. Because doesn’t every story?
We’re super psyched because this episode is sponsored by Ballsy.
Best sponsorship ever.
And why is that?
Because Ballsy is for fun couples like us who are not into lame gifts for Valentine’s Day and they have a cool gift set just for Valentine’s Day and people like us.
They are running a promo right now for LOVE DAY and all days, really. The retail price is $less than $50, and the coupon code is for 20% off.
Here is your code for you, our cool listener: DOGS20
It has the word DOG in the code. That’s so cool. Just like you’ll be cool if you give this to your special man for Valentine’s. So go check Ballsy out at ballwash.com
Share this if you want and also because it would be super nice of you!
So, it’s my anniversary and I never remember my anniversary. What I remember is the love.
The bodyguard I am married to says it this, “Every day is our anniversary, baby.”
I love the bodyguard despite the fact that he calls me baby and we are profoundly different in our thoughts and reactions and essence.
This blog is a quick excerpt of our life from awhile ago when I went to Conestoga, this convention in Oklahoma and it was super fun. I talked. I met cool people. I saw strange things. I presented on panels, but then it was time to come home to Maine with the bodyguard.
Our first sign that something was off should have been the airport. I am a person who like airports. I think they are neat. There’s all this hustle and bustle and people going off to exciting places like – um – Hawaii or something. I am never actually going to those super cool exciting places.
But to me Tulsa, Oklahoma was exciting.
This was evidenced by the airport.
The zombie airport of Tulsa
We get to the UNITED counter to check in at the handy dandy self-serve kiosk and there were only two other people there. Seriously. Two other people! There were four people behind the counter. Do you know what this means? There were MORE UNITED workers than customers. Score!
But wait, I thought, perhaps this is a bad omen. I looked around the airport. There were hardly any people anywhere. I told the bodyguard my thoughts.
He said, “Baby. Take deep breaths.”
I ignored him as I will whenever he gives me good advice.
“Oh my God,” I said. “Was there a zombie apocalypse? I totally should have gone to the panel at Conestoga about how to survive a zombie apocalypse. AND I AM IN AN AIRPORT! There are no weapons here. They don’t even have metal steak knives. Everything is plastic. How am I going to survive? Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”
The bodyguard hugged me, which is an effective way of making me stop talking. He is a smart bodyguard.
“Miss,” the airplane guy from UNITED said. “Can I help you?”
I looked up at him. His flesh did not seem to be decaying.
“You aren’t a zombie, are you?” I asked.
He lifted an eyebrow. It didn’t fall off. I figured it was safe.
I cautiously approached the counter wondering if I could throw my suitcase at him. BUT I DIDN’T HAVE TO! Instead of eating us, he told me that our flight to Chicago has been delayed for 500 hours.
“But we have a connection,” I said.
“You have forty minutes to make it,” he said. He frowned. “If there are no more delays.”
FORTY MINUTES!
I had sudden images of being trapped in a Chicago airport surrounded by zombies and the bodyguard trying to fend them off. I decided this was vaguely sexy.
“Um,” I managed to say. “Is there a reason for the delay like – um – like – um – zombies?”
“Did you say zombies?” he asked.
I shook my head really fast.
“It’s weather related.”
“Okay,” I say, “cool.”
Because we now had four hours to waste in the Tulsa Airport. We did this super slow walk over to the security check-in where you get to take off your shoes and walk through the cool metal detector thing, which always reminds me of Star Trek and futuristic things because – well, because I am nerdy and live in Northern Maine where we don’t have a lot of futuristic things. We do have lobsters ….
And blueberries …
Which can be kind of scary actually.
The Land of TSA and Bodyguards
So, we get to the security part and still – THERE ARE ONLY TWO OTHER PEOPLE THERE.
“We are totally in a Stephen King novel and almost everyone is dead,” I said to my bodyguard.
My bodyguard, however, didn’t hear me because he was stuck in the futuristic cool metal detector thing because he was made of metal or something and he was kind of big like bodyguards are supposed to be.
I swallowed hard as TSA agents surrounded him. Were the TSA agents actually high-functioning zombies?
“Do not take my bodyguard!” I started to say. “I totally need him to — to — um — guard my body?”
The bodyguard smiled. They let him through. He puts his shoes back on.
Side note: May I just say that bodyguards in bare feet just aren’t as threatening?
So, there were other people who have put their shoes back on. We all randomly roamed around a pretty empty concourse. I decided to go to the bathroom.
I am the kind of person who constantly thinks, “I am going to be in a ________(Fill in the blank. Car. Airplane. Deserted Wilderness. Bad theatrical production of GUYS AND DOLLS) for hours and I may never get to pee again. I should pee now.”
“I am going to try to pee,” I announced to my bodyguard. “If I don’t return, the zombies got me. Get back-up.”
The Lady In the Bathroom
And I headed to the restroom. But there was a woman with a badge there, blocking the door! The last time I was in Tulsa there was a woman security person blocking the door. It is like Groundhog Day mixed with a Stephen King novel now.
“You can’t go in there,” she said.
“Is it zombies?” I whispered.
“Go away weirdo,” she said.
I went away. I suddenly had to pee a lot more.
There was no place to pee in the Tulsa airport except the restrooms. Normally, this was a good thing. Not today.
Police came. She let them in the bathroom. Firemen came. She let them in the bathroom. I wondered if they were there to help or to pee. After hours pass, they took a fragile-looking older lady out of the bathroom. They let us in. There were blue gloves and EMT type things all over the floor. It was scary looking. But there were no zombies. I started to worry a lot about the fragile-looking older lady. When I came out, I tell my body guard.
“She’ll be okay,” he said in a very reassuring bodyguard way.
I decided to believe him.
“But will we be okay?” I asked.
“Of course.”
Getting on the Plane
This is because the bodyguard doesn’t worry the way I worry or think the way I think. He just knows, which is possibly why I married him eventually and we have an anniversary that I can never remember.
We boarded and it was the SMALLEST PLANE IN THE UNIVERSE! It was like a Playskool airplane and tall people had to sort of shuffle sideways down the aisle bent at the waist.
I was suddenly happy that I was not tall.
The happiness didn’t last though because the pilot said, “Um. Folks. The plane has been delayed another fifteen minutes. It’ll be that long before we take off.”
Fifteen minutes!
We would never get our connection. I would be stuck in Chicago forever with zombies and just my bodyguard.
Bible College Girl
The girl in the seat behind me started murmuring. I thought she was praying. She said before that she went to Bible college so I was hopeful. The plane takes off! SCORE 1 for Bible College Girl.
But no – as we were landing, the back of my seat suddenly thrusted forward. I heard a funny coughing noise and Bible College Girl’s hair seemed to touch my hair through the crack between the seat and the airplane wall. Suddenly, there was a smell of parmesan cheese and eggs. It was NOT a good smell.
I gagged.
I looked at my bodyguard who was reading. I make big eyes. He sniffed. He gagged.
Bible College Girl had upchucked all over the place.
“Sean,” she whimpered to her seatmate, this cool young guy coming back from a wedding. “Um … Do you have anything I can wipe up with?”
He didn’t.
There were no barf bag things. We were landing and the flight attendants were all sitting down. There was no way to clean up the mess. It was all in her hair. I gagged again.
“I think I might throw up,” I said to my bodyguard.
“Do. Not. Throw. Up,” he said and put his massive bodyguard hand over my mouth and nose so that all I could smell was bodyguard-hand smell, which was much nicer than parmesan cheese-acid-egg throw-up smell.
“It is in my hair?” I shrieked this but it came out all muffled because of the hand. “Is it in my hair too?”
“No,” he said after deciphering my mmphh mumpphhs. “I swear it is not in your hair.”
We landed. The flight attendant came over.
“Oh,” she said to Bible College Girl. “You poor dear.”
Bible College Girl said, “There were no bags.”
Flight attendent made scoffing noise and rushed off to get cleaning supplies.
“Bodyguard,” I said. “Are we going to be okay?”
“Yes,” he insisted and gagged. “We are going to be okay.”
We got off plane. Bible College Girl had now morphed into Throw-Up in Long Hair Girl. Satan has scored one for his team. Boo Satan!
THE SKIRT ISSUE
We got off the plane onto the tarmac in Chicago and we had to walk down these steps on this narrow staircase. But the problem was not that it was a super steep staircase.
The problem was: I WAS WEARING A SKIRT!
Anyway, there is a reason they call Chicago, “The Windy City.” This reason does not involve flatulence.
Oh no,” I said to Mr. Bodyguard aka my seat mate. “Will you hold my bag?”
“Sure,” he said as all nice bodyguards do. “Why?”
“Um ….” I coughed. I stuttered. I ended up pointing at my flouncy skirt. This same flouncy skirt made me get patted down by a TSA officer in Manchester, NH. She said I could hide things in there.
Let me tell you: I needed more than two hands to hold that baby down.
So, once down on the ground, I grabbed my bag back and sprinted across the tarmac towards the airport terminal. “My skirt!” I explained. “I only have (gasp!) thirty minutes to get to my next flight. ARE WE GOING TO BE OKAY?”
Mr. Body Guard nodded. He had to wait for his carry-on luggage, which became carry-under luggage during the flight.
I sprinted to the terminal. Bible College Girl With the Vomit Hair (as she is now known even to her mother) sprinted behind me. I held the door for her so she wouldn’t touch it and spread germs and then scooted inside, holding my breath so I didn’t have to actually smell her and become Writing Person with the Weak Stomach and Vomit Hair of Her Own.
Inside the building were masses of people waiting for some delayed planes, more masses of people were in a customer service line complaining.
There was no easy path through the sea of people and luggage. I am not super tall or big. I could not push my way through.
“Excuse me!” I yelled. “I need to get through.”
Nobody moved. “Excuse me! Zombie attack!” I yelled.
Nobody moved.
“Excuse me! Brad Pitt! Oh my God. Is that Brad Pitt getting off that plane?” I yelled.
Everyone rushed to the window screaming.
I took my clear path and dashed up the escalator looking for the screen that would tell me where the next flight is.
I gasped. It was not good.
Our flight was in C terminal (at the end of it). I was in F terminal (at the end of it). We had a mere twenty minutes to get there. Could Mr. Bodyguard sprint that far carrying me in less that 20 minutes? Wait! Where was Mr. Bodyguard?
I had lost Mr. Body Guard in a sea of carryon luggageand zombie humans
I looked around frantically. Mr. Bodyguard was nowhere! I was a lowly writer without a bodyguard.
Screaming, I went down the escalator I just came up. Mr. Body Guard was going up the escalator. We were on different escalators separated by a divider thingy.
“Mr. Body Guard!” I screamed waving frantically at him. “Our flight is 42 miles away! And we have 20 minutes! And I am going the wrong way on the escalator!”
Mr. Bodyguard assesses the situation and reached over the escalator divider and yanked me up and over. I was now heading in the right direction.
“We are going to have to run,” Mr. Body Guard said. “Run!” I gasped. “Like Whitney and Kevin Costner in that movie? About the bodyguard?”
“No.” He shook his head and grabbed my hand. “And please stop talking about that movie. I hate that movie! And that song! No, I meant like in the tv show CHUCK when there’s about to be an explosion. And if they don’t run they will explode into tiny little body parts and not even their teeth will be whole.”
And right then I realized that Mr. Bodyguard was not actually all that different from me.
“Got it,” I said, clutching his hand getting ready to run. “Are we going to be alright?”
“Yes, baby.” He smiled even as I cringed and he kissed me before adding. “It will always be alright.”
So, happy anniversary to my more stable, stronger half, the man who gives everything to take care of his girls, who steps into the role of full-time dad and anxiety coach with ease. It’s hard to imagine anyone else I could ever feel safer with or love any more. That’s because there isn’t anyone. Sometimes we both suck because we’re human, but there’s nobody I’d rather go on adventure with, fight against the zombies with, or make a podcast and life together.
Other News
Hey! Ballsy is sponsoring our podcasts this week and it is an awesome company.
They are running a promo right now for LOVE DAY and all days, really. The retail price is $less than $50, and the coupon code is for 20% off.
Here is your code for you, our cool listener: DOGS20
It has the word DOG in the code. That’s so cool. Just like you’ll be cool if you give this to your special man for Valentine’s. So go check Ballsy out at ballwash.com
I just publish eda super cool adult novel. Gasp! I know! Adult! That’s so …. grown-up?
Rosie Jones, small town reporter and single mom, is looking forward to her first quiet Maine winter with her young daughter, Lily. After a disastrous first marriage, she’s made a whole new life and new identities for her and her little girl. Rosie is more than ready for a winter of cookies, sledding, stories about planning board meetings, and trying not to fall in like with the local police sergeant, Seamus Kelley.
But after her car is tampered with and crashes into Sgt. Kelley’s cruiser during a blizzard, her quiet new world spirals out of control and back into the danger she thought she’d left behind. One of her new friends is murdered. She herself has been poisoned and she finds a list of anagrams on her dead friend’s floor.
As the killer strikes again, it’s obvious that the women of Bar Harbor aren’t safe. Despite the blizzard and her struggle to keep her new identity a secret, Rosie sets out to make sure no more women die. With the help of the handsome but injured Sgt. Kelley and the town’s firefighters, it’s up to Rosie to stop the murderer before he strikes again.
So, um, please go buy it. I am being brave, but that means that despite all my reasons for doing this, I’m still terrified that nobody will buy it and I really, really love this book. A lot.
Share this if you want and also because it would be super nice of you!
When my first books went under contract, another debut writer interviewed me and asked me:
Now that you’re under contract, does your family better appreciate your writing?
Interviewer person
This was a hard question because I was always the weird, youngest child by fourteen years, the one who didn’t fit in, the self-righteous weirdo with Snoopy shoes. My brain didn’t think like the rest of my family and it was always, really obvious.
“Aliens dropped her off,” one of my siblings would say as I wrote 274-page long Star Trek fan fiction in my notebooks or hunted for Big Foot in our woods or re-enacted all of the movie E.T. with myself playing every single role or when I started donating money to the New Hampshire-Central American Network and tried to start an Amnesty International chapter with my fifth-grade friend.
Does your family appreciate you? Do they Better Appreciate you now?
And it would be a hard question now because my immediate family of two daughters and husband? They love my writing always. It doesn’t matter to them if I get published or not. What matters to them is that I get to write and create stories.
Which is so cool, honestly.
Also, they prefer it when I’m not cranky and writing makes me not cranky.
If there was no such thing as “make money to pay for health care and shelter and food” I would never have any worries about writing at all.
But, thirteen years ago when I first got published, my parents were still alive and this is how I answered that question:
Now that you’re under contract, does your family better appreciate your writing?
This is what my dad said.
“Someone bought your book? That’s great. What’s it called?”
“Tips on Having a Gay (ex) Boyfriend.“
My dad began laughing, “Ho boy. Ho … boy. Wait till I tell your Aunt Athelee that one. Tell me that again…. Gay what?”
“Tips on Having a Gay (ex) Boyfriend.“
My father then laughed some more. “Let me write that down. That’s really the title? Ho … boy.”
Then today, about six months later, I was talking to my dad on the phone while simultaneously trying to make vegan shepard’s pie and he said, “How many books have you sold?”
I told him that I had three books under contract.
“Three? Three! In less than a year?”
“Yep,” I said, dicing onions, which always makes me cry.
He was really quiet and then he said, “Your grandfather was a really literate man. He was a great reader, you know. And my mother … she loved poems.”
“I know that, Dad,” I said, wiping my eyes with a paper towel that smelled like onions and only made things worse.
Then he swallowed so loudly I could hear it and he said, “I’m dyslexic you know. I don’t read very well.”
“I know, Dad. You’re super smart though,” I said this because sometimes my dad forgets that he is super smart.
The silence settled in and he finally said, “I’m just really proud of you. You know that, right? I’m really, really proud of you.”
So, even if no lovely people ever buy my books, at least I know that I did something that made my dad proud.
When I sold my first book, my mother said, the way my mother always says, “Oh, sweetie. That’s so wonderful. I knew you could do it. I am so proud of you. My daughter, the writer.”
To be fair to my sweet mother and to be honest, this is what my mother says about everything I do. Like the first time I made an angel food cake she said, “Oh, sweetie. That’s so wonderful. I knew you could do it. I am so proud of you. My daughter, the angel food cake maker.”
The rest of my family, I think, are appreciative of the fact that I sold a couple of books. It makes me more legit to them somehow. Which is strange but typical I guess. In our culture it often seems that the process of learning and creating is often only considered worthy if a tangible product comes from it and if that tangible product has market value.
But to me … the big value is that I made my dad think about his parents and think about books and think about me and made him proud.
Here’s the thing. We have to embrace our differences, our weirdness, even when other people scoff or demean us. This isn’t easy when the dynamics of oppression are built in, but it’s worth it. Trust me, it’s so worth it.
Dogs are Smarter Than People
This week’s podcast is up and excited to be there! Join 154,000 downloads and see how weird yet helpful we are.
Big News!
I’m about to publish a super cool adult novel. Gasp! I know! Adult! That’s so …. grown-up?
Rosie Jones, small town reporter and single mom, is looking forward to her first quiet Maine winter with her young daughter, Lily. After a disastrous first marriage, she’s made a whole new life and new identities for her and her little girl. Rosie is more than ready for a winter of cookies, sledding, stories about planning board meetings, and trying not to fall in like with the local police sergeant, Seamus Kelley.
But after her car is tampered with and crashes into Sgt. Kelley’s cruiser during a blizzard, her quiet new world spirals out of control and back into the danger she thought she’d left behind. One of her new friends is murdered. She herself has been poisoned and she finds a list of anagrams on her dead friend’s floor.
As the killer strikes again, it’s obvious that the women of Bar Harbor aren’t safe. Despite the blizzard and her struggle to keep her new identity a secret, Rosie sets out to make sure no more women die. With the help of the handsome but injured Sgt. Kelley and the town’s firefighters, it’s up to Rosie to stop the murderer before he strikes again.
So, um, please go buy it. I am being brave, but that means that despite all my reasons for doing this, I’m still terrified that nobody will buy it and I really, really love this book. A lot.
LEARN WITH ME AT THE WRITING BARN!
The Write. Submit. Support. format is designed to embrace all aspects of the literary life. This six-month course will offer structure and support not only to our writing lives but also to the roller coaster ride of submissions: whether that be submitting to agents or, if agented, weathering the submissions to editors. We will discuss passes that come in, submissions requests, feedback we aren’t sure about, where we are feeling directed to go in our writing lives, and more. Learn more here!
“Carrie’s feedback is specific, insightful and extremely helpful. She is truly invested in helping each of us move forward to make our manuscripts the best they can be.”
“Carrie just happens to be one of those rare cases of extreme talent and excellent coaching.”
It’s with Steve Wedel. It’s scary and one of Publisher’s Weekly’s Buzz Books for Summer 2019. There’s an excerpt of it there and everything! But even cooler (for me) they’ve deemed it buzz worthy! Buzz worthy seems like an awesome thing to be deemed!
Order this bad boy, which might make it have a sequel. The sequel would be amazing. Believe me, I know. It features caves and monsters and love. Because doesn’t every story?
There are certain reasons why I don’t usually leave the house in super baggy pants, a gray fleece jacket, and super wild, frizzed-out hair.
The main reason I don’t?
Because every time I do, something bad happens, like public spectacle bad.
So near the end of one Ellsworth Middle School basketball game, I slinked in and sat down on the bleachers hoping nobody would see me in my Yeti-state.
I put my cellphone and car keys on the bleacher in front of me so they wouldn’t fall out of my slanty pockets.
Oh, I thought. I am soooo smart.
My daughter Em came over in her cheering uniform, flew up the bleachers, plopped on my lap and hugged me.
Ah, I thought. I love my kid.
She opened up her cheerleading-coach-approved healthy cheer snack and her foot shot out knocking something under the bleachers.
“What was that?” asked my friend who was sitting next to me.
“Popcorn?” Em suggested.
“Your cell phone,” said another nice guy nearby.
“Oh,” I said. “Oh . . . no!”
Em and I started looking for it. The nice man started looking. Another nice man started looking. Em and I walked down the bleachers. Everyone stared at us more than the stared at the seventh-grade ball players hustling back and forth on the court. Em and I search under the bleachers. People peek under the bleachers to see what we’re doing down there.
“Lost my cellphone,” I say in an apologetic way. “Not being creepy! Promise!”
“Oh no!” people said
Ah, I though. I am wearing super baggy pants, have Yeti-hair, a pimple on my forehead and everyone is staring.
(Yes. I had a pimple. A real pimple. It was above my left eyebrow. This was soooo wrong. It was obvious I had been evil and the karmic payback had been declared by the god of facial imperfections. Why? Why?? What hath I done to deserveth this?)
We couldn’t find the stupid cellphone. We eventually give up and returned to the Land Above the Bleachers. More people were definitely now watching us than the game. To be fair, the score was 46-5 in the third quarter.
Someone brilliant gave me their cellphone to call my cellphone. Everyone listened. Everyone stared. Or, well, at least it seemed that way. It was like we were moose waiting for a mating call after a really long, really boring winter.
Please, I thought. Pleaasseeeeeeeeee.
And then. we heard it, the siren call of a nation.
We finally spotted the ugly thing, pushed up against the front bleachers. Em crawled under again, bringing it to me. I made my way up the bleachers thinking, I hate my pimple. I hate my cellphone. I hate my baggy pants.
Then someone kind of clapped. The clapping became bigger.
Someone else says, “Thank God.”
Someone else says, “That’s a good kid you have there, helping you out.”
Em bowed.
And they were all right. But the cool thing was that everyone was helping me out, or else, maybe using that as an excuse to check out the Yeti hair. I don’t know.
There is something beautiful when people help each other over big things and small even when you look like a Yeti. All those people helping us look for that cellphone chose altruism and kindness. They did the right thing, supporting us and problem solving as a community so that there was a positive outcome.
How cool is that?
I wish some of the people in power could do that too.
Dog Love for the Day
Sometimes our fears are more alive than our dreams, more real.
Don’t let your failure become your truth.
Be a manatee if you want. Wear a goofy hat. Write. Do. Make a difference in this world.
It may be Monday, but you’ve got this. Go make your dreams live.
xo
Sparty Dog
Big News!
I’m about to publish a super cool adult novel. Gasp! I know! Adult! That’s so …. grown-up?
Rosie Jones, small town reporter and single mom, is looking forward to her first quiet Maine winter with her young daughter, Lily. After a disastrous first marriage, she’s made a whole new life and new identities for her and her little girl. Rosie is more than ready for a winter of cookies, sledding, stories about planning board meetings, and trying not to fall in like with the local police sergeant, Seamus Kelley.
But after her car is tampered with and crashes into Sgt. Kelley’s cruiser during a blizzard, her quiet new world spirals out of control and back into the danger she thought she’d left behind. One of her new friends is murdered. She herself has been poisoned and she finds a list of anagrams on her dead friend’s floor.
As the killer strikes again, it’s obvious that the women of Bar Harbor aren’t safe. Despite the blizzard and her struggle to keep her new identity a secret, Rosie sets out to make sure no more women die. With the help of the handsome but injured Sgt. Kelley and the town’s firefighters, it’s up to Rosie to stop the murderer before he strikes again.
This week’s episode is here and it’s all about how to tell a good story (aloud or on paper). And last week’s episode is here and it’s all about how to be happy, Big Foot, and statues that pee, so basically Shaun’s head.
The Write. Submit. Support. format is designed to embrace all aspects of the literary life. This six-month course will offer structure and support not only to our writing lives but also to the roller coaster ride of submissions: whether that be submitting to agents or, if agented, weathering the submissions to editors. We will discuss passes that come in, submissions requests, feedback we aren’t sure about, where we are feeling directed to go in our writing lives, and more. Learn more here!
“Carrie’s feedback is specific, insightful and extremely helpful. She is truly invested in helping each of us move forward to make our manuscripts the best they can be.”
“Carrie just happens to be one of those rare cases of extreme talent and excellent coaching.”
It’s with Steve Wedel. It’s scary and one of Publisher’s Weekly’s Buzz Books for Summer 2019. There’s an excerpt of it there and everything! But even cooler (for me) they’ve deemed it buzz worthy! Buzz worthy seems like an awesome thing to be deemed!
Order this bad boy, which might make it have a sequel. The sequel would be amazing. Believe me, I know. It features caves and monsters and love. Because doesn’t every story?
One day I was hanging out in the hallway of the middle school with some other mommies, waiting for all the sports practices to be over so we could shuttle our kids home.
These two other moms standing next to me were talking about diets and diabetes. They were both on Weight Watchers. One mom had lost tons of weight. The moms talk about the effect of weight on piercing private places and all this incredibly personal stuff.
And I am completely uptight so I basically listened with my mouth hanging open while backing up a step whenever I thought that they wouldn’t notice me backing up a step.
Then they started talking about sugar and sugar substitutes (Splenda and Aspartame).
One mom said, “That Aspartame. I stay away from that stuff. It makes the back of my throat feel funny. I think it does something to rats.”
So I said to the ladies who were just thirty seconds earlier talking about private part piercings, “Aspartame gives me seizures.”
I swear both their mouths dropped open and they both actually stopped talking, which was a big deal, because they NEVER stop talking.
And I learned: You can talk about your diabetes, your husband’s joy stick, your own special piercings, your kids’ bed wetting, but you can’t talk about epilepsy.
And, this? This just totally sucks.
Because, I’m someone who is really, really lucky. I know what makes me have seizures so I avoid those things, but other people aren’t lucky at all. About one person in every 50 will have epilepsy at some point in his/her life. And they don’t always have the choice of disclosure, and they just have the stigma.
So? What does this have to do with writing?
Lately, I’ve been thinking about the choices I’ve made in the books I’ve written. With Belle, the protagonist of Tips on Having a Gay (ex) Boyfriend, I made her a member of Amnesty International for really important reasons. I also gave her seizures, the same kind of seizures I have, caused by the same thing.
Her epilepsy is not a part of the plot. It’s not a part of the character development. But it’s there.
And, no matter how bad my book is, or how good, or that it won awards or made me a traditionally published writer, I am really, really glad I made that choice for Belle.
Gabby’s Monday Motivation
Good Morning!
The world? It can be scary.
But put on your best warrior face.
Go surprise them with your kindness & how fine you are.
Look at you!
You’re so shiny.
Let the world see that. Let the world see you. Face that scary with beauty. You’ve got this.
xo
Gabby Dog
Big News!
I’m about to publish a super cool adult novel. Gasp! I know! Adult! That’s so …. grown-up? I’ll be sending out more news about this soon!
COOKING WITH AN AUTHOR
This week’s Cooking With an Author – vegetarian recipes with a quirky, author twist is here. It’s all about hangover burritos. You do not have to be hungover or to ever have had alcohol to enjoy them.
The Write. Submit. Support. format is designed to embrace all aspects of the literary life. This six-month course will offer structure and support not only to our writing lives but also to the roller coaster ride of submissions: whether that be submitting to agents or, if agented, weathering the submissions to editors. We will discuss passes that come in, submissions requests, feedback we aren’t sure about, where we are feeling directed to go in our writing lives, and more. Learn more here!
“Carrie’s feedback is specific, insightful and extremely helpful. She is truly invested in helping each of us move forward to make our manuscripts the best they can be.”
“Carrie just happens to be one of those rare cases of extreme talent and excellent coaching.”
Two years ago, on the last day of 2017 (the no-good, terrible year), I was in the grocery store line and the cashier said something nice about me making a good meal for my man and how cute we are together and then she said, “You’re best buddies. Best buddies forever. Me and my — ” Her voice caught on grief. “We were like that.”
And my heart broke right there.
And I said, “C–, you’re breaking my heart and you’re working and I can’t get over there on the other side of the grocery belt thingy and hug you because you’re working.”
The bagger girl at the end of the lane looked away. I don’t think she’s good with emotion.
But C– just smiled at me and said, “It’s okay. It’s okay. I have a new man in my life and he’s so sweet to me and he showed up just when I needed him and my J–, I think he sent him to me.”
Her J — is her long-time, forever buddy, her husband who died.
So, I basically emoted all over the place while she rung up my crackers and I was like, “C–! You are killing me. I’m crying because I’m sad. I’m crying because I’m happy for you. I’m crying because you’re so beautiful. And this is all… it’s all so… It’s poignant.”
She laughed.
The bagger kept looking away.
And when I walked out of the grocery store, this person I don’t know, he touched my elbow to make me stop my mad-fast hustle to the car. It was -2 out. It was cold.
The guy who was all bundled up and wearing some Carhartt’s said, “You know. When you have a heart as open as yours, it’s going to hurt sometimes.”
And I said, brilliantly, “Oh.”
“It’s worth it,” he said. “Do good out there, Carrie. Do good.”
I was a little freaked out, but I thanked him, got to my car and sat there, and I just stared at this cold, Maine, parking lot and the people rushing through the grayness that seems to sometimes overwhelm everything during winter and my heart got so full that I started emoting everywhere again because that random Carhartt-wearing man took time out of his day to talk to me. He stopped in the cold to talk to me.
This guy knew my name somehow, but bigger than that? This guy knows about hearts.
Gifts Out There
So, here’s the thing – there are gifts out there (big gifts and little ones) and they can come from the weirdest places. They’re connections. They’re motivations. They are these tiny times where you get to see inside other people’s minds and hearts.
Savor them this year. Try to dwell on those good things as much as we all dwell on the bad.
And let both the good and the bad inspire you to make a difference in your own life and maybe even other people’s lives (big ways and little ways).
cat, cat wisdom, catandkitten, kitten, Maine cat, maine
Thank You
Thank you all for everything you’ve done for me this year. You’ve listened to me worry about things like suddenly being a full-time mom again. You’ve celebrated with me about book stuff and podcast stuff. You’ve mourned with me when Charlene died.
You haven’t mocked me too hard because Grover (the muppet) is my internal cheerleader and John Wayne (dead cowboy movie star) is my internal editor. You’ve been brave with me on Be Brave Fridays when I shared my art, which is still scary by the way.
Some of you have bought my books and become my patrons. On social media, so many of you have been so kind over and over. And you haven’t unsubscribed to my newsletter. That’s such a big deal to me.
Thank you.
I really appreciate how kind and giving you’ve all been and if I write any more I’ll start crying. And there’s no random stranger guy here to make me feel better.
But there is Gabby….
Gabby’s New Year Wisdom
Love is being right in the moment. It’s about enjoying everything around you. And really feeling it, being open to it.
This includes the couch.
It even includes squirrels.
It’s not giving or taking, but who you are in relationship to all else (especially the couch) at that moment.
The elves arrived at the house today, but there was a lit of an incident. No worries! They will be all set to keep watch and pursue hijinx tomorrow, much to Em’s chagrin. She thinks they are ‘creepy.’ Silly girl.
After a catastrophic arrival, one elf decides to put his feet in ice (yes, that is a price tag on there) and get some support from a kind snow person who is using a Christmas tree to prop up the elf. It sort of looks like a normal scene after bar close in Bar Harbor actually. (Minus the price tag.) They promise to not talk about what happened later on social media because… Well, we’re trying to keep this PG rated.
So, um, Elfie made a couple moves on Rudolph’s girlfriend the next night. She appreciated his marshmallow hot tub. He appreciated her appreciation. Because that’s how elves roll in Bar Harbor.
Unfortunately for Elfie, Rudolph heard about the indiscretions with his reindeer boo. While Elfie basked in his memories of the night, Rudolph brought along reinforcements.
Overwhelmed with a flimsy sort of remorse after having had a bit of an encounter with Rudolph’s boo, Elfie looks to Mrs. Claus for counseling, but then begins to admire the curvature of her apron.
And well…
That’s just how this Elfie currently rolls. Don’t tell Santa!
After his session with Mrs. Claus, Elfie got groovy and jammed out with the boys that night. Here he is looking at the fingering and trying to memorize it so that he can use it later to impress the ladies.
After some counseling with Santa, Elfie has rethought things.
He’s rethought a lot of things, honestly.
He would like to apologize to the ladies, gender non-identifying and bending, as well as to the men of Christmas for his antics and promises to be better as soon as he finishes the episode of Brokeback Reindeer Mountain.
I’m up in Vermont doing four days of school visits with the most amazing kids and this has made me a bit off my blogging game because of all the other work I’m doing this week like:
Writing
Editing other people’s writing
NaNoWriMo
Podcast stuff
So, I’m treating (cough- pretend it’s a treat) you to the answer to these questions:
1. How old were you when the craft of writing called you to perform?
I wouldn’t say I was ever ‘called’ because that makes me think of being a priest and the thought of me being a priest is just so scary that I can’t handle it. Although, it would be fun to wear the clothes and hang out in confessional and stuff because so many stories.
The first thing I remember writing is a haiku in second grade for Mrs. Joyce Snearson. Her son now writes for Entertainment Weekly.
My haiku was posted on the wall because:
1. I understood what syllables were. 2. I wrote in just one sentence like she asked. 3. It did not involve Tonka trucks, Barbies or hunting.
I thought writing might be okay if you always got praise like that.
My haiku (for the record)
Spring is fun you see Because flowers grow with rain and robins come home.
My next big writing excursion was a Star Trek story for my brother. It did not go so well.
2. What’s your favorite writing outfit?
If I am dressed I consider it a miracle.
3. What computer program do you use for your writing?
Microsoft Word
4. What’s the name of your most difficult character to write?
You know the random guy in the restaurant? The one who doesn’t do anything? He’s just background noise. And then sometimes he’s in the hall at the high school, or maybe at the gas station while stuff is going on?
Him.
5. When is your favorite time of day to write?
When I am fully awake. This sometimes never happens.
6. What’s your favorite genre?
Oh, I am a genre whore. I’ll do anything. Wait, you don’t even have to pay me, so that means……
I guess I’m not a whore. I’m just easy.
7. What writers have inspired you the most in your career and why?
My teachers at Vermont College: Rita Williams-Garcia,TIm Wynne-Jones, Sharon Darrow, Kathi Appelt because they are:
1. Awesome writers 2. Pretty fine dancers 3. Unafraid to give generously to others 4. Cute
8. Do you think you’re smarter than a fifth grader?
I think that depends on the fifth grader, but in general – no.
9. What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re stuck on a scene?
Have crushes on people.
10. If you could give one piece of advice to your fellow writers, what would it be?
Ignore advice.
Fine. I won’t be snarky. Um….
How about:
Write the way you want to write. Write about what you want to write. Write like you, not like John Green or E. Lockhart or Stephanie Myers or M.T. Anderson or Rita Williams Garcia or Sherman Alexie. Write like you.
WRITING NEWS
LEARN WITH ME AT THE WRITING BARN!
The Write. Submit. Support. format is designed to embrace all aspects of the literary life. This six-month course will offer structure and support not only to our writing lives but also to the roller coaster ride of submissions: whether that be submitting to agents or, if agented, weathering the submissions to editors. We will discuss passes that come in, submissions requests, feedback we aren’t sure about, where we are feeling directed to go in our writing lives, and more. Learn more here!
“Carrie’s feedback is specific, insightful and extremely helpful. She is truly invested in helping each of us move forward to make our manuscripts the best they can be.”
“Carrie just happens to be one of those rare cases of extreme talent and excellent coaching.”
It’s with Steve Wedel. It’s scary and one of Publisher’s Weekly’s Buzz Books for Summer 2019. There’s an excerpt of it there and everything! But even cooler (for me) they’ve deemed it buzz worthy! Buzz worthy seems like an awesome thing to be deemed!
Order this bad boy, which might make it have a sequel. The sequel would be amazing. Believe me, I know. It features caves and monsters and love. Because doesn’t every story?
Get exclusive content, early podcasts, videos, art and listen (or read) never-to-be-officially published writings of Carrie on her Patreon. Levels go from $1 to $100 (That one includes writing coaching and editing for you wealthy peeps).
A lot of you might be new to Patreon and not get how it works. That’s totally cool. New things can be scary, but there’s a cool primer HERE that explains how it works. The short of it is this: You give Patreon your paypal or credit card # and they charge you whatever you level you choose at the end of each month. That money supports me sharing my writing and art and podcasts and weirdness with you.
I am a firm believer that humans should help other humans. A couple of people have asked me about manuscript critiques.
So, I’m going to take a quick moment and explain about manuscript critiques and how it relates to dating.
BIG QUESTION NUMBER ONE:
What tip can you give to best approach another writer’s manuscript in critique?
Here’s the thing:Critiques are like mini-relationships.
If you go in there and look at that piece of work (be it a person or a manuscript) with an insecure attitude, you are going to do harm even if you don’t mean to do harm.
I’ve broken up with critique groups because members would make one published (former bestselling) author cry every single time they met. It wasn’t because she was the one who was insecure. It was because they attacked her writing over and over again.
Yes, I yelled at them before I quit. Yes, I was a little drama queen about it. I was a new author back then and like now, I get a bit self-righteous.
2. Since critiques are like mini-relationships, try to present your best self as a critiquer. Do not go in there with an attitude. Do not go in there insecure and hoping to cut someone down in the guise of helping. So not cool.
If you’re on a first-date do you really want to be snarky? Do you really want to spend the whole time showing off how smart you are about narrative arcs or quotation mark punctuation?
I hope not. If so? You and me? Not dating.
I think the best dates and the best critiquers talk about specifics (good and bad) but also listen to intention. It isn’t about them showing off. It isn’t about them being jealous about how hot their date (or their date’s manuscript) is. Instead, it’s a connection. It’s a communication. It’s about making the real world or the writing world (in the form of the manuscript) a slightly better place.
3. If you’re in a critique group or a workshop, beware of the group mind mentality. This goes for dates too.
Have you ever gone on a date and felt like the person you were talking to wasn’t just presenting his/her opinion but the opinion of:
a. Mom. b. Best friend. c. Stephen King. d. Everyone they went to high school with. e. A president (past or present).
Sometimes group critiques can be like this with everyone’s individual opinions melding into the opinion of OH GREAT ONE.
OH GREAT ONE can be:
a. The tenured professor b. The alpha female c. The alpha male d. The super-published author e. A muppet with a butcher knife
If this starts to happen, please PLEASE please do not be a lemming. It’s sometimes so hard, but remember your opinion is just as worthy as the alpha’s opinion, and the award winners and presidents.
And the person who is being critiqued NEEDS TO HEAR YOUR OPINION, too. Don’t be afraid to have a different opinion. It’s totally allowed and needs to be heard.
BIG QUESTION NUMBER TWO:
What’s an editorial letter like?
For all you non-writers out there or my friend, William, an editorial letter is what you get after the miracle happens.
The miracle is called: MY BOOK HAS BEEN ACCEPTED BY A PUBLISHER CAN WE HAPPY DANCE IN THE KITCHEN FOREVER?
The editorial letter is typically suggestions from the editor about how to make your book made of awesome.
Let me give you a quick run-down of some of my editors.
Editor #1 has not given me any editorial letter. He is a very mysterious man. He simply told my agent, “I don’t think we need to do anything.”
This makes me nervous.
Editor #2 has given me multiple editorial letters on a single work, which is NEED!
Anyway this editor who may or may not be Michelle Nagler? She mails them. They are full of suggestions like, “Carrie, you have said the word ‘hands,’ 5,342 times in this manuscript. Would you mind changing that?”
Or, “Um … the entire middle is a bit … It sags. It needs a tummy tuck. Can we speed up the pace?”
Her letters were amazing because they were so detailed and structure oriented. I loved them because they gave me ideas about revision. Occasionally, I would read a comment and have a panic attack, but then within 20 minutes I was always ready to fix things.
Editor #3 gave me editorial letters on the phone. They weren’t letters. This editor who may or may not be Andrew Karre? He would talk, reading off his notes about the book. I would take my own notes while he talked. They were often about theme and character and he would say things like, “I think it’s about longing.” Or sometimes he’d say, “You know. There are no details about the physical world. How would those details show where the heck she is and longing?”
Then I would get 1,004 amazing ideas and be all jazzed up to write.
This would happen a couple times during the process for some books. In one book it only happened once.
Once, my editorial letter (on the phone) was: Carrie! You changed EVERYONE’S name. Is there a… Is there a reason for this?
I also know that this editor does not always work that way. He emails letters. He snail mails letters. He’ll do anything his author needs.
Here’s the thing: Just like dating, critiquing is a relationship and there’s a lot of trust involved whether the critiques is another writer or a reader or an editor. All good relationships? Well, they are about respect and communication. The intentions should always be about making the strongest book ever and encouraging the author to do just that.
The Write. Submit. Support. format is designed to embrace all aspects of the literary life. This six-month course will offer structure and support not only to our writing lives but also to the roller coaster ride of submissions: whether that be submitting to agents or, if agented, weathering the submissions to editors. We will discuss passes that come in, submissions requests, feedback we aren’t sure about, where we are feeling directed to go in our writing lives, and more. Learn more here!
“Carrie’s feedback is specific, insightful and extremely helpful. She is truly invested in helping each of us move forward to make our manuscripts the best they can be.”
“Carrie just happens to be one of those rare cases of extreme talent and excellent coaching.”
It’s with Steve Wedel. It’s scary and one of Publisher’s Weekly’s Buzz Books for Summer 2019. There’s an excerpt of it there and everything! But even cooler (for me) they’ve deemed it buzz worthy! Buzz worthy seems like an awesome thing to be deemed!
Order this bad boy, which might make it have a sequel. The sequel would be amazing. Believe me, I know. It features caves and monsters and love. Because doesn’t every story?
Get exclusive content, early podcasts, videos, art and listen (or read) never-to-be-officially published writings of Carrie on her Patreon. Levels go from $1 to $100 (That one includes writing coaching and editing for you wealthy peeps).
A lot of you might be new to Patreon and not get how it works. That’s totally cool. New things can be scary, but there’s a cool primer HERE that explains how it works. The short of it is this: You give Patreon your paypal or credit card # and they charge you whatever you level you choose at the end of each month. That money supports me sharing my writing and art and podcasts and weirdness with you.
It is I, the lovable monster Grover, and I have taken over the blog because … How do I say this? Carrie is not doing well. Oh no, she is not doing well at all.
National Novel Writing Month is where writers try to draft out 50,000 words of a first draft of a novel in a month, which amounts to 1,667 words a day. Carrie’s very first published novel was drafted like this all the way back in 2005 or something. Carrie and I (Grover) are not good at dates.
I am Carrie’s internal cheerleader, which is what she uses to combat her internal critic, but I must tell you that I, the furry, blue, superhero of a Muppet that I am? Well, I am at a loss.
Carrie is pretty much at the point of Writer TOTAL Breakdown. Have you not heard of this? I, Grover, will explain.
Writer Nervous Breakdown is where writer (in this case Carrie) screams and cries and then folds into a tiny little ball and cries some more. At some point she gets up and gets tissues because her face is all snotty. At another point she rocks back and forth mumbling, “Plot structure… Plot structure… Plot structure.” She will then most likely decide to quit being a writer.
I am her official cheerleader but I am at a loss people. I think she is beyond all hope.
She has named the story LETTERS TO KARDASHIANS, but she can’t remember how to spell Kardashian. Things are dire!
If you’d like to friend her on NaNoWriMo, she is pixiewritermaine. She will send you all her support because writers? They are people, too, and they need support.
She likes friends and also care packages, five-star reviews, libraries, puppies, kittens, and Grovers.
And carbs. She really likes carbs.
Writing News
LEARN WITH ME AT THE WRITING BARN!
The Write. Submit. Support. format is designed to embrace all aspects of the literary life. This six-month course will offer structure and support not only to our writing lives but also to the roller coaster ride of submissions: whether that be submitting to agents or, if agented, weathering the submissions to editors. We will discuss passes that come in, submissions requests, feedback we aren’t sure about, where we are feeling directed to go in our writing lives, and more. Learn more here!
“Carrie’s feedback is specific, insightful and extremely helpful. She is truly invested in helping each of us move forward to make our manuscripts the best they can be.”
“Carrie just happens to be one of those rare cases of extreme talent and excellent coaching.”
It’s with Steve Wedel. It’s scary and one of Publisher’s Weekly’s Buzz Books for Summer 2019. There’s an excerpt of it there and everything! But even cooler (for me) they’ve deemed it buzz worthy! Buzz worthy seems like an awesome thing to be deemed!
Order this bad boy, which might make it have a sequel. The sequel would be amazing. Believe me, I know. It features caves and monsters and love. Because doesn’t every story?
Get exclusive content, early podcasts, videos, art and listen (or read) never-to-be-officially published writings of Carrie on her Patreon. Levels go from $1 to $100 (That one includes writing coaching and editing for you wealthy peeps).
A lot of you might be new to Patreon and not get how it works. That’s totally cool. New things can be scary, but there’s a cool primer HERE that explains how it works. The short of it is this: You give Patreon your paypal or credit card # and they charge you whatever you level you choose at the end of each month. That money supports me sharing my writing and art and podcasts and weirdness with you.
