Samantha Combs's Blog, page 16

You Might Be a Writer, If......

My kid asked me the other day, how did I know I was a writer?  I hastened to stuff all the smart-alec responses back down.  I answered him, then laughed hilariously in my head when I ran down the list of the answers I had to quell.  Of course, right about that time I thought, this would make a great blog post.  So, without further ado, and with the most enormous apology to Jeff Foxworthy, I present The List:
If you have to pull off to the side of the road to poke a great book idea into your smart phone...you might be a writer If every person you have ever known appears in some form in your books...you might be a writer. If during a natural disaster, your order of importance is kids, laptop, and THEN husband...you might be a writerIf you take your laptop on vacation and swear up and down you find writing your opus in the sun "relaxing"....you might be a writer.If the word "query" strikes greater fear in your heart than the word "audit"....you might be a writer.If you realize too late that you murmured your approval while in a caffeine-fueled writing-trance for what turns out to be a water hose fight INSIDE the garage....you might be a writer.If your heart stops beating if the area code (212) shows up on your cell phone screen....you might be a writer.If you watch credits roll on a movie and scan them for cool-sounding names....you might be a writer.If the idea that Snooki has "written" a book repulses you.....you might be a writer.If your recipe cards are two pages long and have flowery descriptors, like "glistening" and "unctuous" and "playful"....you might be a writer.If there is not enough room for you in the memo portion of your checks....you might be a writer.If your thank-you cards turn into thank-you letters, and your thank-you letters turn into pamphlets....you might be a writer.If you plan family vacations around NaNoWriMo.....you might be a writer.If you can't afford new shoes, but find $400 for a writer's conference....you might be a writer.And finally, if the words "the end" give sweeter satisfaction than, well, you know.....then my friend, YOU ARE  SO  A WRITER!
How bout you guys?  Got any I missed?  I'd love to hear them!

Mistakes? Who Me?

I was sitting on my sofa yesterday, in my normal position to write, in front of the Olympics and working on a new horror short, when a startling email came to me from my publisher.  A reader had noticed discrepancies in my book and had taken the time to point them out to my publisher.  She (I presume) did this not to discredit me or the publisher, but because she truly was enjoying my book and wanted to identify the errors so they could be corrected.

In subsequent discussions I had with a couple of favored author friends, I was surprised by the reactions.  I was surprised because they were so vastly different.  One author became enraged.  Her typed tirade theme was something along the lines of  "What?  Like she could do any better?" and was filled with indignity that the couple mistakes were even identified.  Two author friends, actually, had that same reaction, one more severe than the other.

Thank goodness for my third author friend, clearly the voice of reason and the one who took the same position as I.  She, like I, was absolutely thrilled about the email.  I was so moved and happy that a reader had taken the time to write the email.  The book in question has been out for a while now, and my first thought was, How many people had seen this and NOT said anything?  So happy was I to have the chance to make the corrections, (as, incidentally, was my publisher), that I am offering the reader who found them and told us about them, more of my books for free.  (Hope she wants them!  LOL)

I am only human, and so are my publishers.  Regardless of the number of edits, line and content and grammar, clearly we all missed this couple of issues.  I hope the reader stops by this blog sometime, as I want to thank her personally and publicly, right now.

     Dear Reader,
     Thank you for the time you offered me, both in reading my books, and having the integrity to notify my publisher about the potential errors you found.  I want to tell you, you were right.  Steps are being taken to make the required corrections immediately.  I am grateful that you cared enough about both me and my books, and my reputation to bring this to my publisher's attention.  Instead of posting a nasty review that would be unrelated to the actual writing, you gave me a consideration few before you have.  Thank you.  I am truly grateful.  If I ever know who you are, you will have free copies of my new books for life.

Authors and writers?  If you don't feel this same way, then who are you writing for?  If you think it's for yourself, you're nuts.  If that was true, you wouldn't bother publishing.  Or struggling over queries.  Or pining for the most perfect agent in the world.  You know you are, right?  Right.

I hope this never happens to any of you published writers at all, but if it does, I hope it happens this exact same way.  Somewhere out there, a reader with integrity exists.  And you know what?  I think there are millions of them out there.  'Cuz you know and I know, at the end of the day, it's you, Dear Reader, we write for.  Thank you to you all.

When Does She Find Time to Write?

While I am an author, and damned proud of it, I am not at the point where I can quit the day job.  As a working wife and mother of small children, it is still necessary for me to keep my current employment, for the betterment of the family.  I promote when I can and mention my publishing credits where I feel they will best be received.  This is most often during my business day, which takes me out of the office frequently, and in venues where being a writer is an advantage.  Regardless of where I am, I get the same question all the time: Where do you find the time to write?

Maybe a few years ago, I would have looked at you like you were insane.  Write?  Back then I would have barely had time to shower.  Babies and diapers were the watchwords of the day, not queries and blurbs and log lines, oh my.  And if there ever was a synchronized nap, I pounced on the opportunity to sleep myself, that particular activity being few and far between.

But now that the kids are older, I have been able to carve out a writing time for myself.  Let me set the stage so you can picture it yourself.

Hubs wakes at 4am for work and so he and the kids are all down  by 9-930pm.  I police the house, locking doors, turning off lights, and tucking everyone in.  Then I go downstairs and get ready.  Large glass of iced tea, my iPhone where I keep notes, and blessed peace and quiet.  I shove the ottoman up to the couch and stretch out cross both, my laptop, ironically, on my lap.  TV on in the background and off I go.  Whether its a horror night, a young adult paranormal evening, or a go-'round with my as-yet-failed attempt at a dystopic novel, I won't know until I open the computer.

As I lift the top, it's some kind of cue for Musina to join the party.  Together we decide the theme of the night and like magic, the words come.

So, when people tell me they don't have time to write, I just think they are using a stalling tactic so they don't have to face the truth; the words aren't there.  I know there are many who stand by the standard of making yourself write something every day.  That just doesn't work for me.  I know.  I've tried it.  I just end up tanking anything I forced out.  If the words aren't there, they will sound false, disingenuous.  I prefer to be called to the laptop, like a victim of a siren song from an irresistible force.  I need to be compelled to write, in the same manner I am compelled to breathe.  Musina is pretty good at that.  The compelling part I mean.  I leave my laptop right on the ottoman so it is always in sight.  And when the urge strikes, like I said, off I go.

And as for finding time to write, that's an easy one to answer; I make time.  It's just that important.

Never Miss a Moment

There has been so much tragedy this week, I feel compelled to talk about it.  I know everyone is consumed by the shooting in Colorado, and I am sick that poor state has to be the one that starts another national conversation on gun control.  I only have one thing to say about that before I move to my more personal tragedy this week.  If you buy an assault rifle, isn't it because you want to launch an assault?  Is there any other reason to own one?

Not to take away from that poor theater in Colorado, but I was touched by a far more personal tragedy that hit way close to home this week.  As a Risk Manager, I am the person who administrates when there is a car accident involving death or dismemberment.  I had one of those this week.  A lovely man who is a driver for my company found himself in an accident he couldn't even see coming.  At first it was thought his leg was broken.  24 hours later it was learned it had to be amputated.  Now, we learn, nearly a week later, that he may lose the other leg as well.

I can only pretend to comprehend the change in your life something like that would bring.  I know, from research and internet reading, it will require a great deal of acceptance, rehabilitation, and patience.  I actually was thisclose to another amputee fairly recently, and witnessed how this person changed the tragedy into amazing opportunity.  And I am fortunate to work with another, who everyday is a shining example of what a human being can overcome.  A dear, sweet friend and coworker, he has a packed full life, enjoying a marriage, a son, and a lifelong career that all came AFTER the accident that changed him forever.

When I watch all the coverage of the Colorado rampage and see people at their darkest moment, what strikes me, with startling clarity and breathless beauty, is the humanity of which we are all capable.  Like 9/11, that which did not kill us, only made us stronger.  In times of tragedy, of senselessness, it is not despair that is the prevailing emotion.

It is hope.

It is resilience.

It is optimism.

It is the fact that when all the words have been spoken, it's the human touch we remember, the moment when we bear witness to the immeasurable outpouring of charity and trust and goodness.  It's the aftermath that is the most important, when hearts and hands come together to mend the tattered fabric of our lives.

Right now, I want to celebrate the resiliency, the ability we as humans have to bounce back.  And I am praying for a sweet man who, like Job, is experiencing the greatest test of his life.  I promise to be there for him when his will falters, when his stamina runs dry.  I like to think the rest of you would be, too.

Is Customer Service Dead?

I'm going to deviate from the book and publishing world for a moment, because I am hopping mad and need to vent.  What the hell has happened to common courtesy in the business world?  Is customer service as a concept dead?  I have just come off of SEVERAL conversations with SEVERAL people regarding a customer service issue.  And the liberties that some companies take with you are appalling.  I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that my ignorance of the deviant inner workings of one company has allowed them to dip into my personal checking account without so much as a phone call or even an email.

I learned, upon my LOUD complaint, that somewhere, buried in the teeny weeny type of a "user agreement" I allegedly agreed to allow just anyone to stroll through my checking account and take what looks good, like a financial buffet line during senior-help-yourself hour.  I mean, what the hell?

Never mind that the economy of today, such as it is and we all know, causes me to count and then pinch every penny.  Never mind that this particular institution and I have have go-'rounds in the past.  And also never mind that a previous standard was set for phone calls and or/emails contacting me BEFORE the launched attack on my purse strings.

And it was so sneakily done, too.  Not one bulk hit, which would have stood out like a screaming siren to me in a cursory glance at my checking account.  No, this was done is a couple little hits.  These were not as visible, and after initial head-scratching, the vile truth was revealed.

I called, as I mentioned, and was treated to a well-honed game of "Not my department" segueing to a rousing round of  "Only a supervisor can help you" to perhaps my all-time favorite cat-and-mouse tap dance:  "Oh, that supervisor goes home at 5pm."  And as you may have already surmised, my casual check on my account balance happened after 6pm.  Cue the music reaching a crescendo as my blood boils.  This may have all been okay, say four years or so ago, when I was riding the wave of successful real-estate selling.  But now, let's just say it is fairly egregious.  And adding insult to injury is the absolute nonchalance of each person I was forced to talk to.  It's like the worse this country gets, the worse we are treated.  Shouldn't it be the other way around?  Am I crazy?

I have no real point to this post.  I just feel evil.  Am I alone, or has Customer Service taken a powder, left the building, flown the coop?  Do you have a similar story?  PLEASE let me know I am not alone here.

Kill Your Darlings

If you are a writer, author, or simply aspiring to be published, I am sure you have read Stephen King's not-to-be-missed tome "On Writing".  A brilliant how-to/personal journey from the master of all scary things, it is the single reason I decided that my little stories could be more than little stories.  I decided that a year and a half ago and now I have six published works.

There are so many lessons I took from that book, it's hard to point them out in one post.  But there is one tip that I have never forgotten: Kill Your Darlings.  Mr. King invites us to write until our pages overflow on the first draft, intending to please only ourselves.  Then, put on your critical hat, take out your bloodiest red pen, and prepare to leave wreckage.

Kill your darlings means to be able to hit the delete key.  And not just for a couple of words.  I mean, highlight HUGE chunks and blast them into the stratosphere.  It's not easy.  After all, you lovingly created those words, gave birth to them, nurtured them. They are your darlings.  And you have to kill them.  Sadly, they must go.

This hasn't happened to me in a while, but it did last week.  I went on an absolute tear, writing for a hours.  I thought I had this amazing concept for a story and literally SPILLED words onto the laptop.  They couldn't get out of me fast enough and I barely stopped to breathe during the immersion.  Then, exhausted, spent, I collapsed into bed.

I woke up the next morning and my first thought was this: the premise didn't work.  I crawled out of bed and regarded the laptop hesitantly.  The failed story was in there.  If I opened it, I had to fix it.  I couldn't face it.  So i let other things take my attention the remainder of the day and busied my brain away from the story.
And then night came, everyone else went to bed and it was just me and Laptop.  Musina was there too and she kept nudging me. She poked and prodded until I flipped open the laptop and knew I had to do it.  I had to let my story go.  I had to kill my darling.

I re-read it one more time and knew it's time was over.  Quickly, before I could lose my nerve, I highlighted the lot, and jammed the delete key.  Angrily.  It HURTS to kill them.  But, I did.  And then the most amazing thing happened.....a new idea spattered across my mind.  I wrote again, long and obsessed, but this time it was different.  I knew I was playing the right notes on my literary piano.  I finished a new short story I am proudly calling The Serial Killer's Wife.  Spooky, right?

So, like Stephen King says, you have to kill your darlings.  If you don't absolutely love every word you've written, your reader won't either. They will know, as surely as you do.  Only when the mediocrity is removed, is there room for excellence.

The Story of a Story - My Next Release: WATERDANCER -

One of the most important things I ever read on the Internet was about the toughness and loneliness of the writer's life.  How you are rejected, time and again, and how to beat the discouragement you may feel.  I have even blogged about the ways I shrug off the disappointment and soldier on.  And the single piece of advice that rang true for me was this:  Write a book, try to get published, and while you are waiting for that to happen, write another one.  And another one.

Happily, even though doing that is completely harder than it sounds, I've been able to do just that very thing. I keep at it, knowing that while I may never get rich at this, I am getting good at it and I am getting happy at it.  I now have six published books (six!) and besides my kids, nothing gives me greater joy than looking at them all lined up in a row, like pretty flowers in a garden of my own making.  And as the Head Gardener, (or Landscaper for the PC crowd), I decide what gets planted next, which seeds can be watered with the flow of words, and which lovelies are ready to be dressed up and showcased for all the world to see.  And so, I have a new flower for the yard.

WATERDANCER, published with Musa Publishing house, will be released on September 7, 2012, two months from now.  It occurred to me some aspiring writers might want to know what my whole process for the publishing is, laid out step-by-step.  So, here it is:

I submitted the completed, edited, properly formatted manuscript to the publisher on September 30, 2011.  I had one book already placed with the publisher, so predictably, I felt I had an edge.  But, make no mistake, the manuscript I submitted still had to be ready, in every sense of the word.  I felt it was, and still do feel quite proud of the story.  But, when I submitted it, I was nervous and doubtful, like I always am, of my own talent and ability to entice on a query.

On October 13th, the head editor requested the full manuscript.  A week later she offered me a contract.  I signed and was given my release date of 9-7-12.  It seemed a long way away, but I was over the moon with the acceptance.  I had four others planned for release anyway, to keep me busy.

I released my two self-published adult horror collections, TEETH and TALONS, and WAY PAST MIDNIGHT, and Astraea Press released EVERSPELL, the sequel to SPELLBOUND.  Musa also released my MG horror, THE DETENTION DEMON.  So, I was busy!

My edits for WATERDANCER began in May.  I completed two rounds of content edits and the manuscript has now gone to the last edit round, Line Edits.  Next step will be the cover design.  I'll keep you updated as to how this goes.  I have submitted my own ideas and some free images that embody my ideas.

I have experienced a couple different ways of being published, and I am happy to answer any questions you may have.  Funny thing about being an author, after the joy of typing The End, its pretty much perfunctory following that.  The steps are always the same: Proof, edit, proof, edit, tighten, organize, format, then proof and edit a couple dozen more times.  Have people read it, people NOT related to you (trust me here, Mom will love everything you write...not a good foundation for truth there) and then proof and edit it again.  Also, spell-check is NOT your friend.

I will next update after the Line Edits and cover designing.  And look for WATERDANCER coming 9-7-12, and any of my others that might interest you.  And tell me about yours, too....I read as well!

If I Only Knew Then, What I Know Now

If you have been following this blog, you no doubt know that I have had nothing less than a tumultuous year. I lost my job in early 2011 when the company went bankrupt with no warning, not to be employed again until October, more than six months later.  As weeks turned into months, the economy and my bad attitude made the extra time seem like a death sentence.  My marriage was affected, my relationships suffered, and I began to experience self-doubt and a lack of confidence, the likes of which I had never experienced before.  I had one silver lining.....I discovered writing.

Not entirely, mind you.  I had written my debut novel a year earlier and received a contract offer exactly two months before I was let go.  I was never a super internet-y person, but I learned quickly I had better become one.  So, I joined facebook and read all the blogs I could get my hands on.  They all said the same thing....while you wait for the first book, write another.  And another.  And another.  So I did.  You would think that having all the time in the world would be wonderful for a budding author.  It would have been, if I didn't have two kids home from summer vacation.

So, I wrote at night, the same way I did before.  I wrote a second paranormal YA, a bunch of short stories, and started the sequel to the first.  I got a second, then a third contract for my novels.  I sold to a second publisher.  Then a third.  And still I couldn't get a job.  So I took more advice I found on the web and started killing off my enemies one by one.....in stories.  It was quite satisfying.  And always, always, I did the next thing on the list and remembered nothing is permanent.  Those are two of my Mum's sayings, and they saw me through.

So, I write this because I just realized that I just passed the anniversary of the publication of my first novel.  A year later, and I have a wonderful new job, my marriage is intact, my relationships thrived, and best of all, I am the author of six published books.  And the ideas still keep coming.  Thank Musina.

I also am stepping my toes back in the convention scene.  I could only go to one before I lost my job last year, but I am gearing up for two in 2012.  The Southern California Writer's Conference in Newport beach is a must.  I met agents, editors, famously published authors, and aspiring ones who have become friends.  Check it out here:  http://www.writersconference.com/la.  I hope to meet some new friends there this year.  Funny story, I read portions of Spellbound, my debut novel, in the Rogue Reads, and it was met with great favor.  I'll definitely do that again with a new work-in-progress.

I also am deciding on another one as well.  So, if you live in Los Angeles and plan on attending either the SCWC in Newport, or the Writer's Digest West Conference, check it out here: https://www.eiseverywhere.com/ehome/index.php?eventid=33554& .  I'd love to connect with you!

Why I Write

I read a jarring article today in the New York Times about Horace Mann school and the abuse suffered by many of it's students.  I am taken immediately to my own time and my own hometown of LA, where abuse of schoolchildren is being uncovered in the Los Angeles Unified School District almost as a daily occurrence.  I don't want in any way to minimize or trivialize the life-long scar something like that causes.  I abhor even having to read about it, to acknowledge its existence, the same way I abhor intolerance and violence and abject ignorance.  But, there are grand stories that come from the school districts, too.  I want to tell one.

Early in my educational career, I was determined to be what was then called a Gifted Student.  I didn't think I had done anything spectacular.  In the third grade, instead of writing a book report, I submitted a poem.  And the seed of a writer was born.

During the nurturing of my burgeoning writing talent, I was lucky to have had some amazing teachers in my school career, teachers I remember fondly by name for their passion for teaching, their love of the written words, and their ability to change a skinny little girls life.  I remember Mrs. Smith, that third grade teacher to whom I submitted my now infamous poem.  I laugh when I think of Mr. Manriquez, my 6th grade teacher who had a joy for life and teaching that was rarely matched in my continuing education.  I had a Science Teacher named Mr. Straitiff who helped me understand the changing, churning world around me.  But, standing alone in her glory in my mind is Mrs. Sleigh.

I left the comfort of my whole childhood when my Mum remarried and we moved to a tony part of town called Del Mar, Ca.  I attended Torrey Pines High School and in that school, and likely the entire district, Rosamund Sleigh was a legend.  She wore slippers to school and scuffed along in them along the cement sidewalks till the bottoms were black.  She had this one jacket she wore all the time, a long-sleeved, swingy and sparkly affair better suited to a disco than a high school campus.  I took her Humanities class in my freshman year and made certain I had her for some kind of class the remainder of my four years there.  She didn't just teach, she illuminated.  She demonstrated.  She validated things I had believed my whole life and eradicated others.  She was dynamic and fascinating.  I remember having her class right after lunch and being so excited to get to it, I would scarf my food and rush into the room to be there first, only to find half the class already there, as excited as I.  Finally, we dropped the pretense of lunch and ate it in the hallway right outside the class.  With Mrs. Sleigh you had to be there to see the show, not just talk about what you heard.  We couldn't miss anything.  You were someone if you were in the inner circle.  And I was.

I had learned long ago to figure out a new teacher on my first week in the class, then turn in papers for the remainder of the semester written in exactly the manner they dictated.  I walked into that first Humanities classroom with the intent to do the same thing.  I turned in my first paper and got it back from Mrs. Sleigh with a big red word written across the top:  CRAP.  I'd been called out.  When I went to the front of the classroom to complain, she dismissed me without hesitation.  "Don't write it for me," she said.  "Write it for yourself.  Write what you would want to read."  And a creative writer was born.

Mrs. Sleigh taught me to grab a reader from the beginning with just a few words.  She taught me that even a paragraph has a beginning, a middle, and an end. She taught me about, "Show, don't tell" long before it was a Netflix catchphrase.  She demonstrated story arc and how to sprinkle suspense into everything I wrote. And she preached that anything that came from my pen had to be entertaining, whether it be a report, a poem, or a story.  Even during debates, which she demanded we do with no research and no rehearsal, with a topic she would fling at us from thin air, I had to draw in my listener.  She made me understand that if I didn't want to read it, no one else would either.  And she helped me realize that I had a story to tell.  I had several.

She graded hard.  She had no favorites, yet I knew I was one.  She made me work, and dig inside myself. Despite the turmoil that high school years can bring, and enormous personal changes in my home life, Mrs. Sleigh taught me to write.  A year after I graduated, my brother took her class.  He tells this story: She took role and stopped at my brother's name.  She paused and walked over to him.  "Are you Samantha's brother?" she demanded.  He nodded yes.  She peered down at him and said, "You have some big shoes to fill.  Good luck."  He relates this now and pride shines in his eyes.  And he's a damn fine writer himself.  Check out his blog sometime.

I've heard things about Mrs. Sleigh since I left school.  There was a rumor she had been committed to a mental institution.  Then Jason and I heard she had passed.  I wish I knew.  I've tried to find her but I quickly realized I didn't know enough about her to really make a good effort.  But, I have everything she taught me in my tool box.  I have that as her legacy.

So, on a day when I read about the abuse at a New York school and am reminded of the same abuses being uncovered at Los Angeles schools, I want to celebrate a teacher who, some thirty years later, is still an inspiration to this writer, author, girl.  Thanks Mrs. Sleigh.  Thanks for teaching me to write.

WAY PAST MIDNIGHT is now live on Amazon

Today is a fun day in the Combs household.  I announced the release of my 6th book, WAY PAST MIDNIGHT, and posted a release party on my facebook page.  My son and I have been monitoring the invitations and he is getting more excited than I am.  It really is fun seeing all the people pop up that are friends or fans or just supporters of independent authors.  Very gratifying to see how many people are as excited for my new project as I am for theirs.

I'll be doing giveaways throughout the day randomly, and frankly, also to names my son likes! *giggle*.  If you are a horror fan or a reviewer, I'd love you to contact me about a review copy.

Here is the Amazon link and cover:
http://www.amazon.com/Way-Past-Midnight-ebook/dp/B0088DXFP8/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1338738090&sr=1-1


Please contact me on my facebook Release Party to promote your own project.  Just as you support me, I would love to support you.  Have a great day!