The Writing Show

I went to the Writing Show last night, actually I volunteered which means getting there early to hurry up and wait. Neil was bartender. He brings out the extrovert in me. I have no idea how he does this. Here I am babbling away, telling every story I know at the top of my lungs (because when I'm confident, I'm loud). How does he do this?

There is one woman there who intimidates me because she has this attitude that strikes me as judgmental. For example, at the last Writing Show I could see from across the room she was so tense and angry the muscles along her jawline had balled up. I don't want to go into detail about what set her off since I don't want people to guess who this is but to a lesser extent her jaw is often expressing either disapproval or anger, until she is with a certain class of person. I'm not good at guessing a person's economic status so it may just be that I'm reading a person who feels strongly about whoever she is talking to and I've interpreted this to be judgmental. Anyway, I desperately wanted to ask what she thought of something I had written because I know that anyone with such strong opinions isn't going to beat around the bush and tell white lies. I never got the chance, she has a way of turning her back, drawing closer to the person she is talking to, or just plain walking off before I can even say, "Hello." Those are the moments when I wonder "Why am I hanging around this organization?"

I go back because I always learn something new and occasionally have my confidence boosted. The show was about magazine writing and I had written a short piece on my adventures with the tarantula and Hurricane Dean. I spoke to one of the editors about this and she seemed genuinely interested as she suggested I send it to her. My problem was that I think she thought I would do the professional thing and query it with a string of clips. I'm thinking clips? You want potato chip bag sized ones or hairpins because that's all I've got. I sent it to her whole which is not how things are done in the business. Now comes the waiting game. I don't actually want to hear from her yet because for the moment I'm feeling great that she wanted me to send it to her.

The last thing is that one of the magazine editors runs a magazine on parenting and it's right up my sister's alley, as in she could write for it. Some part of me is jealous when she gets published, another part recognizes that magazines are not where I put my efforts and she needs that ego boost as much as I do. She is also very talented socially which means that she understands what people want to hear and talk about. I suspect that is why I'm an extrovert around Neil. He knows how to read my personality and knows exactly what to say to make me talk. I feel confident around my sister too. I don't feel as if either of them is judging me, measuring my worth, my value to their career or social status, the way I feel when I'm around other people.

I really meant to talk about the interesting people I met! The truth is even judgmental people are interesting to me which is why I talk about them. The fantasy writer showed up in slightly more flattering clothes. This woman dresses in the most bizarre unbecoming fashions, almost as if she wants people to think she is as strange as her clothes. Hmm maybe that's why we want to know what a character is wearing. The woman who paid $12,000 to have her manuscript evaluated was there. She still hasn't found an agent who will take it on. I didn't see the man who looks like Kenny Rogers. The red wine drinker from Louisa was there. He only has one glass of wine but for whatever reason I remember him for this and the Williamsburg writer because she hates Chardonnay and likes Pinot Grigio. There were some other interesting people but I'll save them for the next writing show write-up.

Spiders in the Ficus Tree

Virginia Commonwealth University, VCU, has a First Novelist Award they've been giving out for many years now. David Baldacci is one of the people who makes this award possible through donations. The night of the award though it is his sister who attends the event. Navigating Richmond is a bear so I offered to drive his sister around. I have an ulterior motive for this, she gets invited to the best parties! Actually, the truth is, I enjoy it even when it's a book club on southside because I enjoy being around Sharon.

My problem is that I'm introvert in person, now in writing I'll say anything, lawyers love that, but in person I clam up or get nervous and say outrageous things. So when Sharon is attending these parties, I'm staring at the books on the walls, the floor, the food on the table and thinking, "this is great! I'm here, I made it to the party..." and so on in this excited vein. Of course, who wants a wallflower at their party, in particular one that has noticed that rather revealing book you meant to remove to the attic before guests arrived. I'm also staying clear of Sharon in part because I don't want to hang all over her like some overprotective mother or be a clinger because I can't socialize on my own. Then I start to worry that this is rude.

So I try and stay close and converse but then end up talking to one of the movers and shakers behind the whole VCU First Novelist Award and start some inane conversation about spiders in ficus trees. I have so panicked because this man has spoken to me I forget he was born in Redneck Tennessee where I grew up and he grew up in Birmingham Alabama where I was born. So I could have started a conversation about these places but no I'm babbling about nonexistent spiders.

The night isn't over, nor is the weekend. I finally end up alone on the sofa in the front room where two small children are running around overexcited by the party. They're much better behaved than my kids would have been, maybe because they were girls. Anyway Susann is talking to them about snails in the fish tank and I'm watching from a distance because I'm starting to shut down now. It's late, I'm tired, and when I've had too many humiliating moments I can no longer remember even my own name.

At this point David Robbins sits down to talk to me. The nice things about David is that if you listen, he will talk. I love people like this because, well, I tend to rattle on about spiders in ficus trees. So he's telling me about his latest book. I introduced him to my brother's father-in-law who is also a writer. They became friends. This man then introduced David to his brother, who is so important in his field of study he was specially flown to Chernobyl within twenty-four hours of the event. The nice thing about writers is that they are born story tellers and David tells me stories about this man and how much he helped David to get certain radiation facts correct in his latest book. It was very interesting to hear about and it made me feel good to know that in some tiny way I had played a part. It was tiny because I can tell you beyond making the introduction I did nothing else.

We move on to the next day. David Baldacci is doing a book signing and Sharon has invited me. The thing about Sharon is that there were a number of people there because she asked them. She is very much a social butterfly and a lot of people enjoy spending time with her, I was one. I've only read a couple of her brother's books and none of the Camel Club series. This was the last one of that series too. So here I was buying this book knowing I have to read two others first before I can read it. Because he is so popular they have to do this event with tickets and I ended up with one of the first ones called so I'm the first one to walk up there. This is not the best situation to put me in. I am painfully aware that there are a hundred people on the floor staring at me because I've been chatting away in the coffee house and now I just waltz right past them to be first in line? So I'm nervous and I do the rattling on about inane things. I hand David my little red ticket instead of the book I want him to sign. I hand the lady my book, then realize I need to reverse this procedure, and then forget my own name when he asks who to make this out to, and then remember another book I was supposed to get signed for someone else...

It reminds me of the last book signing he did. It was his children's book, "Freddy and French Fries." I had taken both my sons and it was crowded and the kids could see nothing but butts so I sent them to sit on the stairs up front so they could hear David talk. My youngest figures out that Mom is trapped in the crowd and she's not going to pinch his arm for misbehaving. So he starts to swing on the banister, slide down it, ride it like a horse, the whole time David is talking. I'm dying because my son won't look at me because he knows the instant he does I'm going to give him "that look." That time we were first in line too but I made sure that I let other people in front of me so I wouldn't have to acknowledge the wild kid was mine until I was walking out the door.

So have I made any connections that will advance my writing career? Not exactly, and I've spent my entire morning writing this instead of working on my novel. Ah well, you have to take a break sometimes and remember there are spiders in the ficus tree.

Richmond Critique Groups

Over the years I've been to several critique groups in the hopes of finding one that would work for me. The first one I went to was organized through my church. I was a bit reluctant to go since I was sure it would all be inspirational writing and quite dull. Still I was desperate and so I went. Turns out the leader was writing gay internet porn. Her words, not mine. Okay, I wasn't expecting that. She was also the best writer of the bunch. I wasn't expecting that either. It made me think twice about my own writing since she was making a living at hers and mine was lining the cat's litter box.

The next group I found was organized through my local library. I get there and it's a mixed bag. There's the woman who self published a romance novel. There's the health nut that talks about the time her parents literally gave away her five year old brother and how she was supposed to keep this a secret. There's the rent lady who told stories about tenants playing Russian roulette with a loaded gun. The list goes on. I stayed despite being frustrated by the therapy aspect of the group until the leader started charging forty dollars a year to be part of the group. I decided I'd be better off spending the forty dollars on a hair cut and let my stylist be my therapist. My writing didn't get any better but I got better looking. Okay that's a matter of opinion and I was back to trying to self-criticize my Great American Novel.

James River Writers was formed. I went to their "festival" that later came to be called a conference. There I met a lot of interesting people who had published books by real publishing houses that they didn't have to pay for the privilege of seeing their work in print. There are a lot of stories in that first conference I attended and even the subsequent ones but at the moment I'm more focused on critique groups. It was through James River Writers that I found the ones I'm currently involved with.

None of the people in my current critique groups has been published except for one journalist who now wants to write fiction. Yes, there is more than one group. Since they're organized very differently each one offers unique talents. We have a huge variety of talent too, doctor, lawyer, Army Colonel, diabetic artist, Methuselah...


What happens now? I don't know. The critique groups aren't helping me much mostly because I can't decide to really expose myself to them. It's hard because writing is all about exposing yourself, yet, I can't. I think how strange everyone is, how different from myself, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt I am stranger than they are. Do I dare write?