Alexandra Bogdanovic's Blog: That's life... - Posts Tagged "writing"

So here I am.
As I start to write this, it's 6 p.m.(give or take a few minutes) on a Wednesday night and I should be home having dinner before racing off to my next assignment as a reporter for a community newspaper. Instead, my boss insisted that we all stick around until the final edits of this week's papers are completed for reasons that are best not publicly disclosed.
One of my colleagues is killing time by doing some "creative" writing and another is trying to finish a last-minute assignment. As I glare at the blinking cursor on my own computer screen and try to focus on writing my very first blog, the frantic tapping on the computer keyboard in a nearby cubicle slows and then stops.
Apparently one of my co-workers has succumbed to writer's block. I'm somewhat annoyed because it's contagious,but at least I know the cure. Write something. Anything. And don't stop until you've run out of things to say.
The process is called block writing and it's a technique I learned while working at a daily newspaper in high school. It's also one that I've relied upon as an award-winning journalist for more than 20 years -- and one I often used while writing "Truth be Told: Adam Becomes Audrey."
The memoir that's now available through my official author page (sbpra.com/alexandrabogdanovic/) and major online book sellers sums up more than 20 years of my life in approximately 50,000 words and took more than two years to write.
In it, I share the story of how I met, fell in love with and married the man of my dreams, only to find out that he self-identified as and wanted to "become" a woman. I also share what happened after I learned the truth.
Part comedy, part love story imbued with just a hint of tragic irony, "Truth" was written to help those who find themselves in similar situations and to share another side of an oft told story.
I hope that those of you who are generous enough to read it enjoy it -- but if not, that's okay, too.
Until next time, "that's life..."

Ah...those were the days.
Just about a year ago, I was putting the finishing touches on my book -- and I had big plans.
I dreamed of becoming a best-selling author and pictured myself doing book tours, television and radio interviews. Maybe my memoir could become a TV movie or major motion picture!
Naturally I'd need an entourage if all that happened, so I carefully selected the members of my inner circle. I couldn't think of a better makeup artist than my former Mary Kay consultant and I promised my hair stylist I'd take her on the road. With hundreds of cops to choose from, I knew picking my security chief and a few body guards would be a piece of cake...
But by the time warm spring days and sultry summer nights finally began to yield to cooler autumn climes and I finally held the very first copy of my book in my hands, reality set in. Sure, I could have fame and fortune. The only question was -- at what cost?
I didn't write "Truth be Told: Adam Becomes Audrey" to "out" my ex-husband or to exploit him in any way. And I definitely don't want to exploit my own life.
So imagine my marketing gurus' disgust when I put the kibosh on any publicity involving social networking. "No Twitter? No Facebook? No way!" they practically screamed in incredulous email messages.
"Pitch the book to a select group of media outlets, colleges with classes specializing in gender studies, and mental health professionals," I told them. "We can pitch it to the general public too -- but only as a secondary strategy."
So far, the mainstream media pitches haven't resulted in the publicity I once envisioned -- and the last time I looked, my memoir ranked No.2,194,764 in books on amazon.com.
I still have my day job, but I also have my integrity. I guess super-stardom and world domination will just have to wait.
Until next time... "That's life"

Yes, I know. I usually do new blog posts on Wednesdays.
But I'm not slacking -- I promise. I just had a really hard time coming up with something to write about this week. In fact I was stumped... until an interviewer asked me a routine question about my book.
She wanted to know how my family reacted to it. The answer came fairly easily. After all my mom, who is my only immediate family and my only relative in the United States, has been extremely supportive. I never would have had the courage to write my book, much less have it published, without Mom's unconditional love and encouragement. She is definitely my hero.
I also wanted to say something about the rest of my family, but I wasn't thinking about the relatives living all over the world.
Because I'm an only child, my closest friends are more like brothers and sisters to me. They're the people who helped me pick up the pieces after my divorce and the people who've put up with all sorts of drama. They're the people who encouraged me to share my story and pushed me to be a better person.
There are too many people to thank and too many to name. And anyway you guys know who you are...
Check out the interview at: http://www.widowsphere.blogspot.com.
Until next time, "That's Life."

One of the authors groups over on LinkedIn is currently having a very interesting discussion about descriptive writing.
Questions and answers are being bandied about faster than an Olympic ping pong ball as members share their experiences and opinions. Why does descriptive writing come easily to some writers? Why do others struggle? What is the best way to include description in your story? Where is the line between too much description and not enough?
It's a conversation I happily jumped into because of my experiences as a reporter and an author.
As a reporter who excelled at feature writing I swore by the mantra, "put the reader there." So few details escaped notice as I wrote award-winning stories about truck traffic in a quasi-rural Virginia community and a former Long Island firefighter's recollections of 9/11 on the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attacks.
As an author I swear by the same mantra. But after reading the second draft of Truth Be Told: Adam Becomes Audrey, my editor cautioned me against including too much detail that would distract from my story. Heeding her advice, I deleted a lot of the extraneous details -- but not all of them.
Based on early feedback about my book, it seems some readers feel I didn't remove enough. And that's perfectly OK. In fact, they may even have a valid point.
But the truth is, I deliberately included a lot of minutia and mundane details about our marriage to show that my ex-husband and I were two ordinary people living very ordinary lives until I learned his secret.
Far from detracting from my story, I think the fact that I share details about burning the pancakes one morning, and about a disastrous Thanksgiving meal make the rest of the story even more shocking. One day everything was "normal." Then all of a sudden, it wasn't.
Readers who choose to skim these details in hopes of finding some signs that something was amiss in my marriage before I learned my ex-husband's secret will be disappointed. There weren't any. But that too makes the rest of the story more shocking.
Readers in search of a scandalous, celebrity tell-all type book will also be disappointed. This isn't tabloid fodder. It isn't the basis for a reality TV show. This is a book about real people and real life. And it it can't be more realistic.
Until next time, "That's life..."

Happy (bleeping) birthday, America! You know I love ya, but please forgive me if I'm not in a very festive mood.
It's hot. It's humid. And while everyone else in the country is out soaking up the sun, enjoying cookouts and getting ready for tonight's firework displays, I am stuck inside working on my laptop. Again. And for the record, we don't even have central air conditioning.
But as usual I do have a lot on my mind. And as usual I feel compelled to blog about it -- even if no one else cares.
You see, the members of various writers groups here on goodreads and elsewhere are currently engaged in a never-ending debate about book reviews. Some are wondering about the merits of paying for reviews. Others are wondering what constitutes an honest review. I've chimed in on those threads and for brevity's sake I won't repeat myself here.
But the bottom line is, there are no easy answers. There are just facts -- and the facts are that most authors aren't backed by big-time publishers with unlimited marketing budgets. The facts are that no matter how much we try to convince ourselves and everyone else that we're not in this for the money, we all want to sell our books. The facts are that without the backing of large publishing houses, we are all responsible for finding new and innovative ways to do that.
The facts are that the Internet provides a wealth of opportunities for book promotion including various ways of getting paid and unpaid reviews. The facts are that for every legitimate opportunity, there are likely tons of unscrupulous people looking to take advantage of new or unsuspecting authors.
Of course that isn't right, but it is what it is. After all, this is the land of the free, the home of the brave, and a bastion of capitalism -- for better and for worse.
Personally, I wouldn't have it any other way. So, God Bless America!
And until next time, "That's life..."

Depending on the online dictionary you use, an amuse-bouche is defined as "a single bite-size hors d'oeuvre" (Wikipedia), "a small complimentary appetizer offered at some restaurants"(merriam-webster.com), or "a small, savory portion of food served before a meal, typically without charge at restaurants" (yourdictionary.com).
Because it has been so hot that my poor little brain feels like it has been fried -- and because I can't think of a bloody thing to write this week -- I am hereby serving up a literary amuse-bouche in the form of an excerpt from Truth Be Told: Adam Becomes Audrey.
Bon appetit!
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I didn’t want to tell anyone about my past, much less anything about Adam. After all, I had come to Virginia to put it behind me and start a new life.
Nevertheless, curiosity abounded. People wondered what brought a single young woman from the New York City suburbs to Warrenton, of all places. I told them -- a bit gruffly -- that I needed a change of scenery and that I had left everything I’d ever known to join the staff of what had once been one of the best suburban newspapers in the country.
I never imagined the first person I’d confide in would be a high-ranking cop. Yet somehow, even though we’d only known each other for a few months, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could trust Major Paul F. Mercer Jr.
“I got married at a horse show -- at the Hampton Classic Horse Show, one of the most prestigious shows on the east coast,” I told him on what promised to be a typically hot and humid June day. “It was a fairy-tale wedding. We got married on the grand prix field. We had a horse-drawn carriage, seventy-five invited guests and three thousand spectators. Oh, and it was on TV,” I added, almost as an afterthought.
Traffic on Route 50 crawled past the Upperville Horse Show grounds, and then came to an abrupt halt behind a motorist who wanted to turn into the wrong gate. Major Mercer stepped off the grassy shoulder to talk to her and quickly pointed the wayward driver in the right direction.
“So what happened?” he asked when he returned to his cruiser.
“What?” I said.
“You were saying you had this fairy-tale wedding. Apparently, things didn’t work out. What happened?”
I wanted to tell him. I just didn’t know how.
Sitting on the ground behind his black Ford Crown Victoria, I began pulling up blades of grass. One by one, I let them slip through my fingers.
“I’ll tell you,” I replied, eying the trim, uniformed man with short, prematurely gray hair who, as third in command, was also the public information officer at the Fauquier County Sheriff’s Office. “But only if you promise not to tell anyone else.”
“I promise,” he replied, becoming uncharacteristically grave.
“Okay.” I took a deep breath, dropped my gaze and resumed uprooting the grass. “So, you know what a transsexual is?” I asked.
Rip, up came another fistful of grass. Rip, rip, rip. Tattered blades fell softly back onto the earth.
“Yes.”
“Well, Adam -- a couple of years after we got married I found out Adam is really a woman -- or wanted to be a woman. We got divorced. He went and had the surgery and everything, so he’s ... she’s Audrey now.”
I bit my lower lip and dropped another handful of shredded grass before I finally looked up, dreading a look of dismay, disbelief or disgust and half-expecting to see his trademark grin.
He remained serious. “Alex,” he paused. “I’m a country boy but I’ve also been a cop for a long time and I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my career. I can’t understand why anyone would do that, or begin to understand what you’ve been through. I will never tell anyone and I will never tease you about it -- unless you open the door. Okay?”
He extended his hand and I reached up to take it. The lithe major’s strength surprised me as he pulled me to my feet.
“Okay,” I said, meeting his gaze and returning the handshake. “Thanks.”
It turned out to be the first of many conversations we had about my ex. The subject became a matter of dispute, debate and more “counseling sessions” than I cared to admit. Paul was never shy about doling out personal and professional advice, and teased me relentlessly about billing me for it. He also kept his word and never joked about Adam unless I fired the first salvo.
As much as I loathed talking about my ex, time made it easier to share my story with friends, sources and coworkers. More often than not, I broached the subject when female acquaintances bemoaned the rough times in their own relationships.
“That really sucks,” I would inevitably say after listening to their tale of woe. “But I bet I’ve got a story that tops it.”
In time, it became an inside joke among my closest friends.
“Trust me,” one of my best pals, Christiana, said when the dinner party conversation at her house once turned to crappy relationships, “Alex has a story that can top that.”
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Until next time, "That's life..."

While doing some book promotion last Friday, I unexpectedly landed in the proverbial hot seat. And believe me - it had nothing to do with the fact that it was 90 degrees in my house.
It happened during an interview for a podcast with Eat Sleep Write host Adam Scull. Even though Adam asked all of the right questions about my background, my memoir and the challenges associated with writing Truth Be Told: Adam Becomes Audrey, I had a tough time answering them. In fact, I felt completely unprepared -- and unsettled.
The more I tried to relax, the more I stumbled. The more that happened, the more annoyed I got. I didn't understand why this was so hard. After all, as reporter for more than 20 years I made a living interviewing people. This wasn't my first time being interviewed, either. I aced my on-camera interview for the episode of A Wedding Story that featured my nuptials all those years ago. This interview should have been just as easy.
Sensing my frustration, Adam -- who began our video chat by sharing some tips for a successful podcast -- stopped recording and gave me some more advice to help me settle down.
With my confidence restored, we re-recorded some of the earlier questions and answers before moving on to new ones. And by the time we finished the second "take," Adam seemed pleased with the results.
"This will be fairly easy to edit," he said. "Once you got going, you did very well."
Until next time, "That's life..."

I´ve come to the conclusion that I´m definitely a glutton for punishment.
As if writing and marketing one book isn´t enough. I´ve decided to write another one. In fact, I´ve just started the research for the book that will be based on my father´s life as a staunch anti-Communist and political refugee in post-World War II Europe.
As you can imagine, the research will involve extensive travel and quite a bit of digging. The hardest part will probably be dredging up a lot of painful memories, but I should be used to that by now.
I honestly wish I could tell you more -- but I don´t want to put the proverbial cart before the equally proverbial horse. But I can tell you this. My father´s family was fairly influential in the former Yugoslavia. A lot of people didn´t like that - and a lot of people certainly didn´t appreciate him monitoring national elections for certain wetern bloc country(ies). The rest, as they say, is history... So stay tuned!
Until next time,¨That´s Life...¨

I'd like to think I'm a pretty intelligent, somewhat open-minded person. But to be honest, I didn't really realize how much I took for granted before I went to Europe.
Among other things, I didn't fully understand or appreciate the complexities of the English language. Or maybe I just forgot about them. After all, I have been speaking English since I learned how to talk.
Being in predominantly non-English speaking countries forced me to concentrate on the basics and allowed me to forget how much some of the idiosyncrasies that find their way into everyday speech and writing bug me. Now that I'm back in the States, I'm painfully aware of how much certain things drive me up the wall.
My biggest pet peeve in both speech and writing is the use of needless or repetitive redundancies. (Yes, I did that on purpose).
Here are just a few examples:
ATM machine. I mean, come on. Really? Last I heard, the acronym stands for Automated Teller Machine. So why must people constantly refer to automated teller machine machines?
Left to go. This is common sports jargon, so tell me if any of this sounds familiar. There are five laps left to go in the race. He scored the winning goal with less than five minutes left to go in the fourth quarter. Give me a break. There are either five laps left or five laps to go. Right?
End result. As defined in Webster's II New College Dictionary a result is the consequence or outcome of an action, and to result in something is to end in a given way. So I can understand the use of the terms "immediate result," "short term result" or "long term result." But "end result"? No way.
What are some of your pet peeves? Think about it and let me know.
Until next time, "That's life..."

Did you miss me? Did you even realize I didn't post anything last week? Did you care?
For the first time since I started this blog five months ago, I decided not to write anything. I didn't want to write a word and frankly I didn't care about the repercussions. My decision partially stemmed from the fact that I'd run out of creative energy -- but mostly from the fact that I was really, really, really angry.
Fresh from a one-week stay in Serbia -- a country where the government frowned upon freedom of speech for years, I returned to the good 'ole U.S. of A to find our duly elected representatives embroiled in the petty bickering, mudslinging, muck raking and gridlock that ultimately resulted in the partial government shutdown the remains in effect.
I vented my own frustration about the Affordable Care Act or Obamacare in a poem. In it, I took a few pokes at the Left and a jab at the Right for good measure.
I sent it off to a few newspapers, hoping they'd run it as a letter to the editor. To date, no one has done so. The editors of one website said they liked it. It was funny -- and right on target, they said. But they didn't want to run it. It was too controversial they said. It might offend people... It was too risky.
Whatever happened to freedom of speech? I thought. This is the United States of America. It's not Serbia. It's not China, or North Korea, or Iraq or Iran or Afghanistan... I'm not screaming fire in a crowded theater. I'm exercising my Constitutional right to self-expression.
As Americans and more importantly, as writers, we cannot take our freedom and our Constitutional rights for granted. We shouldn't be so afraid of offending someone that we censor ourselves, or worse let the government censor us.
Vladimir Putin recently said that Americans aren't really free -- that it's all an illusion. Of course we reacted angrily. But if we take a good, hard look in the mirror and are brutally honest with ourselves, we will have to admit that he's got a point.
That being stated, here's my take on Obamacare....
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Although it's neither here nor there,
I do not want Obamacare.
So I won't enroll a few weeks from now,
I can't afford it anyhow.
I suppose I'll just pay the fines in my taxes.
I'm sick of politicians grinding axes.
I know our healthcare system's broken,
But Obamacare is a foolish notion.
Alas, there's no way to defund it.
Just ask any White House pundit!
Senator Cruz -- he's so full of bluster.
But please God, no more filibusters!
They'll never heed the people's voice,
In Obamacare we have no choice.
Now I rest my case, so simply stated.
Obamacare is over rated!

Until next time, "That's life..."