Erika Mitchell's Blog, page 17

I’m Grounded, Baby

After much flying and busing and walking, I’m happily posting this from my hotel room. Some notes from my trip so far:

-I almost missed my flight despite being two hours early because I mixed up the gates and had to run across the airport all cliche-like. I made it just before they closed the gate. Whew!

-Newark is really pretty. All lush and green and dotted with lots of old industrial stuff that makes for some great contrast.

-I saw a police horse today and I really wanted to pet him.

-The Roosevelt Hotel is gorgeous. Google the lobby, absolutely breathtaking.

-Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m starving and the city is calling to me. Huzzah!!!

Hair Magic

This is what I look like when I’m embarrassed to be taking a picture of myself in public.

As I wrote this (sitting at my kitchen table on Sunday evening while Wes fries chicken for dinner {in bacon grease. It’s ok. Go ahead and judge us a little}) I am officially less than a week away from leaving for New York. As of this time in exactly one week, I will be settling down in my hotel room in Manhattan, getting ready to get a good night’s sleep before my FBI seminar at FBI headquarters early Monday morning.

Huzzah!

I’m in a good place logistically. My pitch is written (and approved by the multitude of people I’ve practiced it on), my agent research is complete, my travel arrangements are done, and my hair looks fabulous.

Wait, what? I didn’t mention I got my hair done yesterday? You bet your sweet bippy I did. You didn’t think I’d go a-pitching with unremarkable hair, did you? In the immortal words of Jack Donaghy (from 30 Rock), your hair is your head suit. I refuse to go to Manhattan with a lame head suit.

Thankfully, my hair stylist is a wizard and he worked some serious magic for me yesterday. Bright, fun color and a flattering cut. BOOM. Author-ific, baby.

Now all I have left to do is throw my daughter a birthday party, get a mani/pedi, and pack. It’ll be Sunday again before I know it!

Poppin’ Tags

Ok, ok, let me preface this post by acknowledging the obvious: You’re all sick to death of hearing about the conference. And about writing. And about my books.

“Oh my gosh, Erika,” I can just hear all of you thinking, “give it UP already and move on with your life! Get a different hobby! YOU’RE SO BORING NOW!”

Believe me, I understand. I get it. The conference (“Again with the conference!” you all say) is two weeks away and I’ve been so completely subsumed by research and prep I’ve become a one-track thought-station that shuttles solely between writing and kids. Since I don’t blog about my kids, that leaves writing so…Sorry about that.

Peggy Olson doesn’t care that you’re tired because your kids got you up at 5 AM. She wants pitches on her desk and doesn’t care what you have to do to get them there.

In case all my blathering about the same topic hasn’t made you want to swear off the Internet altogether, I thought I’d share my new approach to writing my pitch for the conference. I started off just writing a simple A-to-B pitch, this happens, and then this happens. It got the point across, but it was kind of boring and flavorless. It in no way hinted at the sarcasm that (I hope) will make my books fun to read.

Frustrated by the certainty that this pitch would wow no one, I decided to crib from Mad Men and start writing pitches like my boss ordered me to produce fifty pitches by the morning. (Except in Mad Men, the copywriters are expected to produce copious tags, not pitches. Hence, the title.) In this scenario, my boss is like an evil red pigeon, perched on my shoulder, who’s threatened to poop on me if I don’t get to work. It’s surprisingly effective.

The whole churning out pitches thing is working well. I still feel like I’m circling my really good idea, but I’m closer now than I was. I’ll just keep chiseling away until I hear the distinctive sound that means I’ve struck gold at long last.

How much you want to bet that happens right before I step on the plane to New York in a couple weeks?

Seattle Shipyard Adventure Recap

Ever since I moved from southern California to Seattle as a wee lass of 14, I’ve always been fascinated by the Seattle Shipyards and Port. There’s just something captivating about them for me. These massive ships, bound from exotic locations, laden with mysterious cargo in massive containers. It’s all just a feast for the imagination, isn’t it?

Brand-new propeller. This thing was the size of my kitchen table, and so shiny!

Earlier today, I had the incredible opportunity to meet with the head of the Seattle Shipyard, Jon Hie. I was ecstatic to find out that not only is he knowledgeable, affable, and generous with his time, he’s worked in shipyards around the world and was able to answer all my questions. He even answered questions I never knew I had!

Shipping containers are surprisingly big in person. He had a funny story about the supposed “unduplicatable” nature of customs forms that made me laugh a lot.

He took me on a tour of the shipyard that comprised everything from the dry docks (which I got to explore all the way up to the top!) to the container yard (where we discussed how one might smuggle something onboard a cargo ship), to the construction area where they were building a brand-new firefighting ship (brand new boats look beautiful, by the way), through the metal and wood shops, and then onto an actual tug boat where I got to visit the engine room and learn everything I needed to know to sound like one of those really smart thriller writers who actually knows what she’s talking about.

These future propeller shafts were MASSIVE. Solid metal all the way through, and weighing more than a full-grown elephant apiece.

It is nothing short of amazing what they do there. The ingenuity of the dry docks alone was enough to impress me, let alone watching someone hand-paint the name onto a boat while someone else used an acetylene torch to weld something. All those skilled people, I had to restrain myself from asking too many questions!

The chains they use to restrain cargo ships. Each link weighs between 50-70 lbs. I tried to lift the clip that clips onto these and I couldn’t even manage it. Unreal!

My favorite part, though, was discussing possibilities with Jon. We came up with ten different ways to explode a ship and make it look like an accident, and let me tell you, that is an awful lot of fun. (Note: This was an imaginative exercise. No one is planning any kind of violence whatsoever, NSA, so stop worrying.)

This is one of the engines in a tug boat. According to Jon, the engines in a massive cargo ship stretch 1-2 stories high and are 50 feet wide. CAN YOU EVEN CONCEIVE OF AN ENGINE THAT BIG?!?!?!

And of course, I got to wear a fetching orange hardhat and safety glasses the whole tour, but I was so busy looking at everything around me (and trying not to either trip and/or fall to my death) that I never got a picture of myself. So here’s a picture of a crane who watched me rather judgmentally while I parked my car.

This heron is tired of putting up with my crap, apparently.

I can cross this item off my bucket list, but don’t worry, I’ve got lots more. I have the feeling the longer I write thrillers, the longer and more unique that list will get. Now, if I could just get the CIA to give me a tour of their headquarters we’d really be talking…

THREE. WEEKS.

Not since the long, sleepless days of my last pregnancy have I felt such overwhelming terror at the prospect of three short little weeks. Back then, I was terrified by the prospect of just three short weeks separating me and the reality of having two kids.

Now? I’m thinking three weeks is not nearly enough time for me to finish everything I need to do to prepare for the International Thriller Writers conference in New York City.

Ever since I booked my tickets a couple months ago, I’ve been in a happy state of denial. Mostly so I can get to sleep at night. When I’m too excited about something, I tend to have a terrible time trying to get to sleep. My brain happily whirls through everything I need to do, and all the things that could happen, and before I know it, I’ve whiled away two hours of nighttime silence I could have enjoyed unconscious.

I told myself New York is so far away, there’s no sense getting all worked up about it. I focused on finishing book #3 (Never Say Bai) and beginning revisions on book #2 (Take the Bai Road).

Now, though? New York is next frigging month and I need to get my butt in gear.

The trouble was, I was intimidated. I’ve been dreaming about the day I’ll get to travel to New York to pitch something I feel confident about for years. This is it. My big chance to either sink or swim in the gigantic, competitive world of New York publishing. I’ve worked my fingers practically to the bone whipping my work into shape and I feel ready.

The trouble is, getting ready. Just because my work is ready doesn’t mean I am.

For those not in the know, pitching at a conference, especially a big one like this, takes a lot of preparation. At least, if you want to do it right (and who wouldn’t?). You need to write your pitch. Then you need to delete your whole pitch and rewrite it because you decide all of a sudden that it sucks. You need a logline, an elevator pitch, and some snazzy business cards.

Once you have those in place, you need to do your homework. I’m attending PitchFest, which means I’ll be speed-dating with 40-50 agents and editors, not all of whom are looking for the kind of fiction I write. This means, I need to figure out who will and won’t be inclined to ask for more from me and research them. Figure out which authors they work with, what kind of fiction they tend to like, and common points of interest so that when I meet them we can have a pleasant conversation as opposed to a desperate scramble for a business card.

I feel like I need to clarify here that I will not be stalking these people. I’ll just be studying their websites and author lists with interest.

This is a lot of work, and until this week I was too scared to get started. There comes a point, though, where you simply have no choice but to kick your own ass. So that’s what I did.

Ready. Set. Go.

Good: 3 Bad: 1

I have good news and bad news and good news. I’ve decided to present them in convenient bullet-point form, because 1) I am lazy and 2) It’s convenient. Just because I’m lazy doesn’t mean I can’t be considerate.

Good news: My days of having a bad knee may be coming to an end! I saw an incredible physical therapist on Friday who figured out that the reason my knee keeps shredding meniscus and hurting all the time is because there’s something wrong with my….FEET! Turns out my problem is simple biomechanics (my feet prolapse, which tweaks my lower leg, which tweaks my knee, which shreds my meniscus). It’s a simple fix: Custom orthotics and physical therapy. Bam. I may just have my life back. I can’t even begin to tell you what a heady, hopeful feeling that is.
Bad news: Bai Tide did not make the cut for the PNWA Literary Contest. Yes, I’m disappointed, however…
Good news: …I’ve made peace with rejection! My first rejection broke my heart, but in the years since I’ve been doing this whole writer gig I’ve learned that rejection is just a part of life. Like changing dirty diapers when you have a baby or performance reviews when you have a day job. I was definitely sad to not make the cut, but rather than discourage me, I was able to shrug it off by reasoning that my book just wasn’t to the judges’ taste. And that’s okay. Not every will like my stuff, and that’s okay.
Bonus good news: I heard back from the Seattle shipyard that they’re going to let me come take a tour! I set a large portion of one of my books in a shipyard and on a cargo ship, and it’ll be completely invaluable to be able to get real-life experience. It’ll make those scenes come to life and also make me look like I know what I’m talking about. Bonus!

It was a challenging week, but not without good news. Any week you can outnumber the bad points with the good is a good week, by my reckoning.

Rejection:The Price of Admission?

Snoopy gets it.

I entered a contest earlier this year run by the Pacific Northwest Writers Association (PNWA). Well, technically, I entered two contests. I entered Blood Money into the Nancy Pearl Book Award contest for new books published in 2013, and I entered Bai Tide into the Literary Contest.

I did so with my heart in my hands, knowing it’s a tough contest. I’m sure the Nancy Pearl one is tough, too, but it’s brand new so I have no idea what the competition looks like for that one yet. The literary contest, however, is certified tough.

I entered it in 2011, back when Blood Money was called Petra and featured a 20-page prologue. I’d thought it was pretty good at the time, mostly because I didn’t know as much about the craft of thriller writing as I do now, and was crushed when I didn’t win. After I picked myself up off the floor, I took a good look at the critiques the judges provided and used them to fix and rewrite my book. A few months later, Champagne Books picked it up and published it for me.

It took me three years to write something I thought might be contest-worthy again. I spent hours editing and revising the first 27 pages of Bai Tide, incorporating changes suggested to me by beta readers and analyzing my entry as critically as possible. When it was as polished as I was capable of making it, I printed it out and entered it into the contest.

Ever since then, I’ve been telling myself not to think about it because the finalists aren’t announced until early June. It mostly worked, but May inevitably came to an end and I’ve been waiting on tenter hooks ever since Sunday for word back.

According to the good folks on Twitter, quite a few people in a variety of genres have already heard back that they’re finalists. This leads me to believe that, even though I haven’t gotten my critiques back yet, I probably didn’t make it. I mean, it’s unlikely, right? They’re not going to alert all the other finalists first and then just wait a few days to alert the last stragglers.

I knew when I entered the contest that this was a long shot. This is one of the biggest literary contests in the country, it’d be arrogant to assume I’d make the cut my second time out of the gate.

Still, the rejection hurts. Well, the supposed rejection. It’s not over until it’s over, but let’s face it, it’s probably over.

It’s okay, though, and do you want to know why? It’s okay because rejection is a rite of passage when you want to be a professional author. If you want a successful writing career and all the cool stuff that comes with it, you’ve got to earn it, and that means getting rejected. And learning what you can as often as you can. Improving, stretching, and experimenting, that’s the ticket, and you can’t do that if you never have to work for it.

So this is me. Working for it. Despite the doubts and insecurities, I’m going to keep going and putting in the work because you know what? That’s what a professional does. Fake it ’til you make it, baby.

On Humility and Being a Small Fish

Because I am very, very lucky and spoiled, I have opportunity to attend at least one major writer’s conference every year, and have since I first started out. One of the major draws of every writer’s conference is the Big Fish, aka The Guest of Honor Whose Name is Printed in Big Letters Across the Tops Of Those Books You See at the Grocery Store and Airport.

Now, because I am a busy mother of two and happily married and a busy writer and and and, I don’t have as much time to read as I would like. I read from a book every single day, but it’s usually a chapter or two before I go to sleep so I make it through a whole book roughly once a month. This means, very few of the Big Names twitterpate me. If I’m apt to get flustered, it’s because I get to meet an author I’ve been reading for years. Trust me when I say, I don’t read books unless I love them. I’ve stopped reading countless books after a few chapters because they just don’t grab me. I quite simply do not have enough free time to squander on books that don’t move me.

The ones that do, however? Oh, wow, those are like a breath of fresh air. A big old breath of fresh air after riding in an elevator with a person whose BO is so bad it’s practically a tangible presence.

Where am I going with this? Yes. Quite. The point. I’ll find that for you and return to it.

One of my favorite takeaways from Jim’s appearance? He doesn’t believe in writer’s block. When you’ve got a job to do, get it done regardless of your mood.

Regardless of whether I’ve read their work or not, I learn so much listening to these writers speak. It’s immensely edifying to listen to what these giants have learned, and I always take away something that I end up using.

Inevitably, however, I also end up taking away something else: A big old dose of humble pie, and a reinforcement of the fact that I am, indeed, a very, very small fish.

Point in fact, Wes and I had the pleasure of attending one of Jim Butcher’s book signings on Friday night. The line was out the door, and every single chair in the venue was filled with people who were thrilled to be in the same room as one of their favorite authors.

I couldn’t help but think about how I’m thrilled to see any people I don’t already know at my book signings. I’ve got a long, long way to go, you guys. A looooooooooooong way.

I think the humility and self-awareness is good. When you’re a no-name author, scrapping your way up from the bottom and doing your best not to squander any and all opportunities, you’re hungry and willing to do the work. I’m determined not to be complacent, to keep my eyes on where I want to go and keep learning as much as I can from whoever is willing to teach me.

Maybe someday, in the very far future, I’ll have packed signings of my own to go to. Wouldn’t that be something?

29

As of Sunday, I am 29 years old. This is it. The last year of my twenties. Starting Monday, every day will be an opportunity to put a cap on an action-packed decade that, among other things, held the following events for me:

I got married.
I bought a house.
I got a dog (whom we still miss every day).
I had two babies.
I wrote six novels.
I curated and edited a cancer memoir for a friend.
I visited four countries.
I realized one of my huge life goals in getting published for the first time.
I gained and lost over one hundred pounds.
I shook Anne Rice’s hand.
RL Stine told me I turned out okay.
Paid off two student loans.
Graduated college with honors.

All this, and I’ve still got one more whole year to go out and do stuff with. The twenties were a great decade for me. I mean, not universally. There was the year where Wes and I both lost our jobs within a week of each other. We had to give up our beloved dog for medical adoption when his medical expenses got to be too much. I lost my dad in my twenties, a heartbreaking loss just a few months before my son was born. I’ve survived two surgeries, found out my knees aren’t terribly reliable, and gotten plenty of writing rejection this decade. It was, like every other decade, full of things from both sides of the emotional spectrum.

And yet, it was great. It was the decade that lasted forever, it feels like. As of next year, I’ll have been married for 1/3 of my life. Wes and I have crammed a whole lot of living into that decade, and I’m optimistic we’ll do the same for the next. And the one after that, and the one after that.

So here’s to 29. The bright red cherry on top of the huge, intricate, tasty, and probably fattening sundae that was my twenties.

My Friend the Photographer

So I have this friend. His name is Aaron. He just so happens to be married to one of my closest friends. Her name is Jennifer. They just moved here from Missouri, which makes me super happy because trying to drink margaritas together from half a continent away doesn’t really work. Not well, anyway.

So my friend Aaron, he’s a photographer. A really talented one. Believe me when I say I don’t throw that word around lightly, because I don’t. Even I, with my plebeian eyes, can tell he’s got an eye, so that should tell you something.

Photo credit: Aaron James Imagery

Anyway, he’s getting his photography business set up here in Washington. This means he’s offering a special that’s so good I have to blog about it and share because seriously? You’d be crazy to pass this up.

Photo credit: Aaron James Imagery

Are you ready? Because here it is: He’s doing family photography sessions for $75! Amazing!!!

Photo credit: Aaron James Imagery

He took my family’s pictures last year and I was thrilled with the result. Those pictures are worth every penny.

Photo credit: Aaron James Imagery

If you live in Washington and have a family you’d like amazing photos of, contact him. Take advantage of this offer while it lasts!