Rae Sanders's Blog

Stream of Consciousness; or Running off at the Mouth

Just got back from the grocery store. They open at seven for “old people”. Patty had gotten me some masks and to be honest I didn’t take one with me and felt out of place without one. I guess old people (with the exception of me) can follow rules, orders, guidelines, whatever. And, I said the other day I thought the one way aisles were a good thing and then I noticed I was going to wrong way in an aisle today. My excuse is that I have not been out of the house in two weeks. Oh, I’ve been outside but not OUT. Funny how there is a difference.

I noticed that the butter (well, vegetable oil spread) I usually use was not on the shelf. There have been several things that I normally get that have been out of stock lately. That is unusual in this land of plenty. We are so use to full grocery store shelves that seeing one or two pretty empty is a little disconcerting. I can see where the urge to buy more than you need is there. What if we come back next week and there isn’t any bread, butter milk or tp at all. Oh, I forgot,there was NO tp at all for weeks.

This brings me to two things. Have you had someone else shop for you? Someone say who hasn’t done a lot of it. Well, one of the grandsons, Brandon, went with his older brother and did good. He got sale items that weren’t on the list but we can use them and they were on sale! Made me proud. Of course the older one, Nick, used his phone to snap of pic of the soap I wanted. No need for pen and paper in this day and age.

And number two. Speaking of shortages and empty shelves, I remember my grandmother saying during WWII she found some meat in the store and was so thrilled. It wasn’t until she got home she realized it was horse meat.

So to recap; I got out of the house. Did my own shopping, which is good because of the substitutions and had a good memory about my Grandmother. Great day so far is it is only 9:00 in the morning.

Roads and Woods

And that’s about all of Frost I can think of right now. By mutual agreement, Rae and I have agreed to shelve the Bittersweet Hollow stuff for a while and try others things. She is looking at blogs and places to publish short stories. Of course, my mind is just a wasps nest of ideas and things I have started and never gotten very far with. And yet again work is interfering with my time at the computer. Well, work and procrastination.

I have something witchy that I started to work on and think I am going down that particular road. For a little while at least. I get bits and prices of it now and then. Usually when I am in the shower and then can’t get out fast enough to get it written down.

Guess I should get on with my assorted endeavors for today and see what I can come up with. As ever, Annie

One Plus One Can Equal One (Annie’s Math)

I just finished a really good book, Unscripted by Lisa Swallow. The only problem it was just Book One. Then the author blogged that she had an upsetting personal experience and the Book Two will be postponed. And it’s not as if I don’t understand all of this. I do. Because there are just some things you do not want to re-visit. And I will keep looking for the second book, it was just that good, but it did pose a question for me.

I have spent a lot of time, more than I ever have before, working on a novella. I had planned on doing a second novella to finish the story. But what if for some reason I won’t be able to finish it? Will people be disappointed? And then I have to ask myself if anyone will read it in the first place and if they do would they even want a second book? No one may even know or care I wrote the first one so they wouldn’t care if the story was finsihed or not.

Is anyone getting a hint of self-doubt here?

I have no doubt when Rae and I write. The thing is we have each other to fall back on. But this year-long project is just me. It has taken me this long because I have tried t00 take this one slower than some of the others that I have rushed to put out there before they were ready. Or should never have been published at all. Just ego wanting a book of mine in e-print.

Now, if I go ahead with the current book, which I will let’s not fool ourselves here, I’m thinking I should write a novel instead of two novellas. Just put it all together at once. Good discipline for me. Good for anyone who reads the damn thing because it will all be there. It will take longer but then I have already spent a helluva lot of time on it anyway. And when you think about it, it will not take any longer to write one novel than two novellas. Right?

The author who wrote the book I just finished said that when she couldn’t go back to writing she spent her time on the administrative/managing side of her business. And that is something else I need to work on.

But that is a blog for another day.

Take care.

As always,

Annie

Status or What Do We Call Ourselves & Does It Matter?

I friended a woman the other day who did accept my request and I went to her facebook page to check her out. I will admit this is something I probably should have done before I asked her to be friends, but then I have been known to do things ass-backward.

There I found a link to career authors.com. Helpful? Oh my yes! Professional? Yes again. It sounds as if it would really good to be one. But it got me thinking about being a career author.

I fear I am not.

I am not if being a career author means you make enough money writing books to pay the bills. After all, that is the goal of any career, is it not?

I am not if finding a reason to step away from the computer for an hour or an afternoon or a day when you couldn’t do that in any other career job makes me less of a career author. (Yes, I am fully aware that the first step to writing is to put the butt in the chair and just do it. And no, I seldom suffer from writer’s block.  In fact, I have more ideas jumping around in my head than I will ever get down on paper. I just step away now and again.)

I am not if education has anything to do with being a career author. No degrees in English Lit or journalism here. In fact, I’ve barely made it through an English class in my life. If it weren’t for my sister heaven alone knows what my work would look like. Well, my sister and Grammarly.

Anyway. Moving on to the What Do We Call Ourselves part. I write books. I have a need to write. I have a compulsion and a desire. I can call myself a writer. Not because I’ve ever had anything published but because I write.  In fact, there are some days I am able to sit in my PJs all day and just write. If that constitutes a career I am all for it. I wish I had known about that earlier.

And Does It Matter. At this point in my life, I like myself enough to take whatever I am and accept it. I write and I am still learning. Can not say enough good things about The 12 Fatal Flaws of Fiction Writing.  And I am going to closely watch careerauthors.com and learn all I can. But I am still just a writer, part-time and sometimes self-published and often in PJs.

As Always,     Annie

P.S. I do urge anyone interested to check out careerauthors.com. It looks like it’s full of good ideas and great points and helpful articles. And I absolutely love The 12 Fatal Flaws of Fiction Writing.  I have read some books that were terrible but until I read T12FFOFW I didn’t know why they were so bad. Or what I was doing wrong in my own writing and more importantly how to (hopefully) correct it.

And everyone must check out the webpage Candi has been working on this past week. It is fantastic.  Maybe I should have mentioned that first?

 

Status or What Do We Call Ourselves & Does It Matter?

I friended a woman the other day who did accept my request and I went to her facebook page to check her out. I will admit this is something I probably should have done before I asked her to be friends, but then I have been known to do things ass-backward.

There I found a link to career authors.com. Helpful? Oh my yes! Professional? Yes again. It sounds as if it would really good to be one. But it got me thinking about being a career author.

I fear I am not.

I am not if being a career author means you make enough money writing books to pay the bills. After all, that is the goal of any career, is it not?

I am not if finding a reason to step away from the computer for an hour or an afternoon or a day when you couldn’t do that in any other career job makes me less of a career author. (Yes, I am fully aware that the first step to writing is to put the butt in the chair and just do it. And no, I seldom suffer from writer’s block.  In fact, I have more ideas jumping around in my head than I will ever get down on paper. I just step away now and again.)

I am not if education has anything to do with being a career author. No degrees in English Lit or journalism here. In fact, I’ve barely made it through an English class in my life. If it weren’t for my sister heaven alone knows what my work would look like. Well, my sister and Grammarly.

Anyway. Moving on to the What Do We Call Ourselves part. I write books. I have a need to write. I have a compulsion and a desire. I can call myself a writer. Not because I’ve ever had anything published but because I write.  In fact, there are some days I am able to sit in my PJs all day and just write. If that constitutes a career I am all for it. I wish I had known about that earlier.

And Does It Matter. At this point in my life, I like myself enough to take whatever I am and accept it. I write and I am still learning. Can not say enough good things about The 12 Fatal Flaws of Fictions Writing.  And I am going to closely watch careerauthors.com and learn all I can. But I am still just a writer, part-time and sometimes self-published and often in PJs.

As Always,     Annie

P.S. I do urge anyone interested to check out careerauthors.com. It looks like its full of good ideas and great points and helpful articles. And I absolutely love The 12 Fatal Flaws of Fiction Writing.  I have read some books that were terrible but until I read T12FFOFW I didn’t know why they were so bad. Or what I was doing wrong in my own writing and more importantly how to (hopefully) correct it.

And everyone must check out the webpage Candi has been working on this past week. It is fantastic.  Maybe I should have mentioned that first?

 

The Art of Deep Thinking

No one would ever accuse me of being a deep thinker. I do not know if I am even capable of very deep thought. The deepest I ever think is in planning a murder and Rae helps me with that.

I do, however, often procrastinate. My question is this: If I put writing off and do not think about it is that procrastination? Or by not thinking about it am I letting those creative juices simmer? I mean if I still think about what I’m writing then I’m not really putting it off, am I? I know there are times when you have to take a step back and let your brain rest. Is “letting my brain rest”a euphemism for procrastination? And if so, is procrastination a bad thing?

Okay, what’s gotten me to this sorry place you may ask. Or you may not give a hoot. Either way, I’m going to tell you.  I thought I had a novella almost finished. I knew what I was going to follow it with, a second book that would tie up some loose ends. Loose ends? Hell, I had a cliffhanger. I have been dragging my feet in the process of re-reading trying to catch typos and such when it hit me last night. I need to finish this in its entirety. No cliffs, no hanging, no second book, just a nice clean finish. Was my procrastination my mind telling me this book was not done when I thought it was?

Rae and I are venturing into Bittersweet Hollow again. At this point, we both feel good about it. We will see how we feel by chapter five. Five is usually the magic number for us when we either go ahead or scrap what we have and start over. We have taken pains this time to avoid the starting over business and I hope we have managed to get the outline right and can just forge ahead.  Deep thinking about murder.

Still waiting for warm, or warmer, weather and get depressed every time I look out the window and see snow.  Bittersweet Hollow is now at the end of June and we are looking forward to the 4th, on paper at least.  Yet another reason to write.  Everyone take care and stay warm and I’ll catch you later,

Annie

More Idle Thoughts on The Struggles and Rewards of Self Publishing

You’ve finished the story you’ve been working on for months and months. Re-read it twenty times, put it through your spelling and grammar programs and even let a  friend or two read it. A back cover synopsis now has to be written. Only a few paragraphs but for some of us that can take a few days.  (I think the next time I am going to write this first and then see how close it comes to the finished product).  But then—-

You have to pick a cover. I have had several books out there and they have gone absolutely nowhere. I don’t think they were bad, but they did have boring covers.  With the Cozy books we have an editor who takes care of that sort of thing. She picks a few and sends them to us to choose the final one and when we agree it’s a done deal. I love her for this alone.

I don’t have that luxury with my self-published books and I can’t stop writing them. I think they are getting better and I love the writing part. But I have decided that I need better covers and that means actually paying money for one.  That means I will have to take a gamble and actually sell so many books at x amount to make the y amount I spent equal to my bottom line z even before I make any money to blow on a pedicure. (High finance has always intrigued me.)

So I am looking at a cover that has either a scantily clad couple or a guy half naked with great abs and maybe a loose tie around his neck or just tight jeans. Whatever. I think this is what really sells books today.  The promise of totally naked guys.  And I am talking adult romance books here so all the naked bits are a given.  And it’s not like I’m ready to hit the publish key. It will be after the first of the year. And I’m not really sure I am grousing about any of this. It is a process after all, and one I guess I like or I wouldn’t be doing it. I guess self publishing is a lot like real life. Looking for the right half-naked guy for the cover of your book is a lot like looking for the right half-naked guy period.  Sometimes you get lucky and sometimes you don’t. The point is you keep on looking.  And writing. And self-publishing.

As ever,  Annie

The Perils Of Reading

I read once the only thing better than reading a book was writing one. The problem, for me anyway, arises when I try reading books while writing one. I allow another’s POV and feelings to influence mine. Maybe others are strong enough to avoid this, but I am not. Sooooo, I find myself changing direction, rethinking plots, questioning characters, It slows me down to the place where I have to question where this is going. Do I stop reading or stop writing?

Of course, we’re all influenced by the books we have read. From Agatha Christi and Raymond Chandler to Stephen King and Frank Herbert. And we will be influenced by the authors we read tomorrow whether it’s Melody Anne or Karin Slaughter or the collected works of William Shakespeare. But I just can’t read while I’m working on a book of my own!!

And this just made me think about the books my sister and I write. Are we going to influence someone? I don’t think we’re out there to influence anyone so much as take you on a mini vacation to a place we like with people we enjoy being with. I hope we do that and I hope you enjoy it.

I had said I was going to scrap five chapters in the book I was working on. Then I had Candi read the first chapter and it came back with errors highlighted in colors. (Yes, plural colors there.) In fact, it was mostly in color. I guess you could say there is nothing black and white about my writing. Bad jokes aside, I am going to scrap the entire thing. Not the premise or the characters, I can work with those. So before we start on our next Bittersweet Hollow mystery, I am going to work on my writing from a different perspective and try to stay away from being so colorful. It will save my sister a lot of work, and make her happy. And I should apologize to every English teacher I had ever had. It wasn’t you, it was me.

So for everyone out there who is not writing one go ahead and read a book. Of course, I hope it’s Final Sale and Down A Deadly River.

As  always, Annie

Iowa, Tractors and Cozy Murders

The husband and I drove out to the lake yesterday for our annual Fat Saturday deep fry where once a year the two of us, along with a few of the kids, grandkids and friends, spend several hours of a sunny mid-summer day paying homage to anything that can be breaded and cooked in the portable deep fat fryer. We also manage to drain several cans of cold beer and a bottle or two of cheap wine. But this isn’t about Fat Saturday. Or the greasy yet tasty food. Or the bubbly beverages. This is about the ride to the lake and soaking up all the scenery during the last warm blush of summer.

We live in Minnesota but I spent half of my life in Iowa and it’s there that my roots are planted. However, as far as scenery goes, there’s not much difference between southern Minnesota and southern Iowa. One looks remarkably like the other and as we drove along country roads past farm fields sprawling across the land, I looked out the window at acre after acre filled with tall, tasseled cornstalks and plump green soybean plants.  Oak, maple, birch and a myriad of other trees stood proud and tall, each spreading its full, leafy canopy like a peacock strutting his tail feathers for the ladies. Farmhouses—some old, some new—sat amidst grassy lawns and I could smell that sweet aroma of fresh mown grass and hay. We made our way past horses, cows and a few sheep, all safely grazing behind wire fences. Many farmsteads had neatly weeded gardens ripe with an abundance of fully mature, colorful veggies. We spotted a farm stand or two with sweet corn, cabbages, onions, summer squash, peppers and tomatoes for sale.

Varying hues of fragrant flowers and shrubs in full bloom were splashed liked watercolor brush strokes across the lawns and around the farmhouses. And I was struck as I always am this time of year by the absolute richness of it all, the so-very-greenness of corn and beans and grass and leaves that can only be found in the heartland during summer’s peak, right before she decides to loosen her grip on the season.

As one thought led to another I recalled an article I read a year or so ago about cozy mysteries and the Midwest. I don’t remember the writer’s name or very much about his article (serves him right) but I do remember his criticism that went something like this, and I paraphrase: Please deliver me from a cozy mystery set in Iowa with tractors and cornfields. He went on to say the whole idea of such stories is trite, which is what he thinks of the middle part of the country. Apparently crime amongst the tall corn of Iowa can’t hold a candle to crime amongst the tall skyscrapers of New York, at least in his opinion.  And he could be right.  I admit I can see the difference in a probable storyline.

New York: Murder is committed with a long, sharp switchblade knife, perp sneaks along the dark streets of the city, flags down a taxi and says, “Just drive,” until he reaches Big Lou’s Bar where he orders a double scotch on the rocks before disappearing among the crowd.

Iowa:  Murder is committed with a rusty, antique garden tool, perp sneaks through a chicken coop, jumps on a John Deere tractor and plows through the back forty before he reaches a corn field where he scares off a few hungry raccoons before disappearing among the stalks.

Still, if I could remember the writer’s name, I would invite him to visit the heartland during a week in mid-August.  How could he not be impressed with a leisurely trip to the lake, riding along country roads running beside fields of tall corn and hardy soybeans, past grassy lawns shaded by old oaks and maples, the scent of purple clover filling the air? I’m sure he would realize this is a pretty cool place and might even be an okay backdrop for a little cozy murder. As a matter of fact, I’d bet my tractor on it.

Best regards,

Rae

Save

Save

Ramblings Of An Imperfect Mind

Read a FB entry yesterday from another Cozy Cater who is setting her next book in the 1960s. She was doing research on the clothing and I rambled on about knee sox and hairspray, cutoff sweatshirts and pink lipstick. But it got me thinking about the “Good Old Days” of the 60’s. There was a lot going on when you stop to think about it. Kennedy’s trip to Dallas, the war in Vietnam, the pill, the peace movement, women starting to push themselves up to the male dominated table to demand an equal serving of wages and benefits. More killings and more social change. It wasn’t all short skirts and go-go boots.

Anyway, Sally got me thinking. Maybe because it was my generation I think it was so full of special things and world changing happenings. Maybe everyone thinks that about their own generation. Maybe they’re right.

Change of subject:

They say you should write about what you know. I’m thinking maybe I (we) should write about the 1960s. Which we know. But then we write about murder. Well, when you write about murder what can you say? I mean you don’t have to commit one to write about one. So, are THEY wrong?

Another change:

Just finished a book by one of my favorite authors, Karin Slaughters’, The Good Daughter, and I do not want her to have the first-hand experience about shotgun deaths and vicious rapes. She can be very explicit and gruesome. It must be a gift. Anyway, I absolutely love her books. One of the few authors I do not think I could ever write like. As in, I couldn’t copy her style at all. I wonder how she gets the amount of detail she achieves? I have to go back several times to fill in on my bare bones work, so does she have to go back or is it all there painstakingly at once.

Diana Gabaldon says she works on one paragraph until she is completely satisfied with it and then never goes back to it. Man, there would be days, weeks ever that I would not be able to move past that one paragraph. Okay, let’s be honest. I never feel satisfied with my work. I have never reached perfection. So, I’m not gifted in my writing. I am gifted with my sister who is good at it so that still counts, right?

Now I must go. I’m going to ignore the vacuuming, the dusting, and the shopping until 12:30 when I am going to meet a friend for lunch and then after I eat I’ll go buy food for my family. Until then I am going to write! Nothing perfect, but still I’ll be writing. Later,

As always, Annie