Blogmania — One Day Only. Mark Your Calendar!

On April 30, 2010, I am going to participate in Blogmania, a one day massive blog giveaway.  Picture it as one of those 200 mile long garage sales that attract thousands of shopaholics because of its size. The people who go to those events love the pure adventure of seeing how many miles of garage sales they can personally cover in one or two days. On Blogmania, you don’t have to purchase anything. Nor do you have to wear out your shoes tramping from sale to sale. It’s all online. And every participating blog is giving away something special.

I will be giving away summer traveling companions. Sort of. Everyone who leaves a comment on my blog on April 30 will have a chance to win a print copy of Daughter Am I  — the story of an incredible journey — along with a Burt’s Bees Travel Shower Kit and a journal to record your adventures. Hope to see you at the end of April!

For more information: http://betweenthelinesandmore.blogspot.com/2010/04/blogmania-early-bird-check-list.html

Grief Update

It’s been three weeks since my lifemate died. I feel as if I am in an emotional whirlpool, spinning round and round, never quite knowing where I am or where I am going. I have days of relative calm where I can be glad he is finally at peace, then something happens to remind me of  my loss, and grief pulls me under. Most recently, I was cleaning photos out of my computer when I came across an image of him I didn’t know I had. (We did not take pictures of each other, so the only other photo I have was taken 15 years ago, and it does not look like him at all.) Last August, we took a trip to the north rim of the Black Canyon. (It’s only 20 miles away, but because of the bad road, it might as well have been 200.) The photo I found is of him, alone in that desolate place, with his back to me, looking at . . . eternity, perhaps.

I never expected to grieve so much. He was sick for so long and in such pain that we didn’t have much of a life together the past year or two. I struggled to live while he was dying and thought I succeeded, but nothing prepared me for this total devastation. It turns out that all of it, the good and bad, was part of our life together. In the movie Three to Tango is a film clip of a movie I have never seen — I think it’s Of Human Bondage.  The woman in the clip asks: “Will we be happy?” He answers, “No, but does it matter?” And, for us, it didn’t matter, at least where each other was concerned. We were connected, no matter what. And now that connection is broken. And I feel that I am broken, too.

I know someday I will find my way again. I know someday I will be able to laugh, to find joy in living again. I know that someday I might even find a new love. But for now, I don’t know how to be.

Hospice hosts a grief support group, and I’m thinking of going. If he were alive, I would never consider it — we were always each other’s support group. But if he were alive, I would not be grieving.

I hesitated about posting this — I do not want people to feel I am soliciting sympathy — but this is a writer’s blog, and what is writing if not life?

Baby Steps

I’ve heard that the death of a mate and the ensuing grief change a person, and perhaps this is true. If one is part of a couple, when he dies, so does the “we.” One cannot be the same after such a splitting apart. The world one lives in cannot be the same.

I feel like a toddler, taking shaky steps in this newly alien and dangerous world. I exercised this morning, took my vitamins with a protein drink, wrote a letter to my deceased mate (the only writing besides blogging I am doing at the moment), and I took a walk. I even managed to eat. The one thing I had never expected was how the thought of his being gone makes me sick to my stomach. When I do eat, I eat healthy, though. I got rid of all snacks a while back, so all that’s in the house is real food.

All these baby steps that I’m taking serve to take me further away from him, deeper into  . . . I don’t know what. I  just wish I could skip the coming months of pain and go directly to the part where I emerge strong, wise, confident, and capable of handling anything. But, ironically, those painful months will be the catalyst.

I never planned to talk about my grief. I thought I would just continue online as if nothing cataclysmic happened offline, but blogging seems to be in my blood. Once I started writing about my grief, I worried that I would become maudlin, but Donna Russell, a true friend on facebook, said:

You’re not being maudlin, Pat; you’re grieving. There is no right or wrong way to do it, no proper time period for it to last, no right or wrong way to feel. I just finished reading The Healing Art of Pet Parenthood by Nadine Rosin. In her book, Nadine makes this observation: “We are so careful in this culture to ignore death and anything associated with it as much as possible; it is so uncomfortable for us to have it in the open. Grief is such an isolating experience in and of itself, it’s a shame that our mores about it are so quick to support and intensify that isolation.” Perhaps if we were all more open and honest about it, as you are being, it wouldn’t be quite so uncomfortable.

Words Matter

This is Words Matter Week. I planned to participate, doing the blog prompts, but unfortunately real life is eating my online time, so I haven’t had a chance to answer the questions. I thought the blog challenges would make a great discussion, however, and even better, I don’t have to come up with something interesting for us talk about.

Here are the challenges for this week:

What is the most important word or words in your life? Why?

Communication breaks down when words are misused. What is the funniest, most interesting, or worst break-down you’ve ever observed?

Writers are people who take isolated words and craft them into memorable phrases, stories, poems and plays. Who are the writers who make your heart sing? What is the magic ingredient?

If you had to eliminate one word or phrase from the English language, what would it be? Why?

What person in your life helped you understand the importance of choosing words carefully? What would you say to them if you met them today?

The group No Whine, Just Champagne will meet on gather.com for discussion about words, writing, and the writing life on Thursday, March 4, 2010 at 9:00pm ET. I hope you will stop by — it would be nice to see you.

If you can’t make the live discussion, we can have an unlive one here. You first.

A Meme By Any Other Name Would Be As Confusing

There is a meme going around, and I was tagged for it by Eric Beetner, co-author of One Too Many Blows to the Head. Meme? Are you as confused by that term as I am? A meme is a postulated unit of cultural ideas, symbols or practices, which can be transmitted from one mind to another. Whatever that means. It certainly doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the meme I was tagged for, which directs one to tell six outrageous lies and one outrageous truth about oneself (or six truths and one lie if one prefers). An internet meme, however, is defined as a catchphrase or concept that spreads quickly from person to person via the Internet. Still don’t see what that has to do with lies, but in the end, that’s not the point. The point is, do I follow through since Eric asked so nicely, or do I ignore the whole situation as I normally do?

Two things work against my following through:

1) I’m not good at telling outrageous lies. If I were, I’d probably be a bestselling writer. As it is, my books are filled with truths, outrageous or not, thinly disguised as fiction. 

2) I’m not sure that posting outrageous lies on the eternal internet is such a good idea. Forever after, people will stumble across those lies and if they didn’t know the origin, they might consider them the truth.

So, I am going to compromise (cheat) and tell you two outrageous (okay, semi-outrageous) things. Both might be true, both might be lies, or one might be a lie and one might be a truth. You figure it out.

1) I don’t eat chocolate.

2) I was Cleopatra in a previous time.

I’ll let you know the answer in a couple of days. Until then . . .

Tag! You’re it!

Rules:

• Tell up to six outrageous lies about yourself, and at least one outrageous truth – or – switch it around and tell six outrageous truths and one outrageous lie.
• Nominate some more “Creative Writers” who might have fun coming up with outrageous lies of their own.
• Post links to the blogs you nominate.
• Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know that you have nominated them.

DEAD WITNESS IS WORTH EVERY PENNY by Joylene Nowell Butler

I have a very special guest today, the wonderful Joylene Nowell Butler, author of Dead Witness. Not only is Joylene an indefatiguable blogger and generous friend to published and unpublished writers alike, she is a talented writer with one book published and a second on its way next year. I am thrilled that she consented to be a guest here today! Joylene says:

Have you ever wondered why you put so much time and effort into writing that story — only to receive enough rejections to wallpaper a small room?

Some writers say they write because that’s who they are. Some say it’s not a choice but a destiny. Others say it’s for the simple joy of writing a good book. I say it’s all three.

But how do you know if you’ve written a good book?

I had a conversation at my first signing that went something like this…

He picked up a copy of my book, looked it over, then set it down. “Nice cover. Dead Witness, eh? What’s it about?”

“It’s the story of a Canadian woman kidnapped by the FBI. They fake her death, make her family believe she’s dead, and convince her that if she doesn’t stay dead, the killer will go after her children.”

 “Sounds interesting.”

“It is. But what makes this story different is Valerie finds the courage to defy the FBI and go after the killer herself.”

“Sounds a bit daffy.”

“Not at all. She’s willing to risk her life to save her daughters.”

“She still sounds crazy. How much is the book?”

“Twenty dollars.”

“That’s expensive for a novel.”

“That depends on what a few night’s entertainment is worth to you.”

He shrugged and bought a copy.

The next morning he emailed to say, “Joylene, I stayed up all night reading your book. I could not put it down. Thank you for writing such a good story. Yes, it was worth every penny.”

I’ve received many responses like this since publishing Dead Witness in July 2008, but that first one – well, it was my first. Yes, I wrote Dead Witness because it was a story inside of me fighting to get out. And yes, I write because that’s who I am; I can’t imagine not writing.

Marketers tell you that you must believe in your work to be successful. But until I heard from my readers, for years (24 to be exact), I never truly believed in my ability. Those responses were a validation. If they loved my book, then it must be good. They weren’t family and friends; they had nothing to gain by lying.

One day I received a bad review, and something very special happened. Instead of becoming an emotional cripple and folding like an accordion, I realized that everyone is entitled to an opinion. I know Dead Witness is a good book, and I know I can’t please everyone.

If you’re a writer, then write. Learn your craft. Know that if you doubt your ability, time and effort will diminish that doubt. One day you’ll be overwhelmed with the most powerful and beautiful feeling ever: My book is worth every penny.  

* * *

Joylene Nowell Butler was born in Manitoba and raised in British Columbia, Canada. She attended Douglas College and Simon Fraser University. In 1992, she and her husband retired to a community in central BC called Cluculz Lake. There, Joylene wrote 4 other books and is currently working on her sixth. Her novel Broken But Not Dead will be released in 2011 by Theytus Books.

See also: Dead Witness Excerpt by Joylene Nowell Butler
                Pat Bertram Introduces Valerie McCormick, Hero of Dead Witness by Joylene Nowell Butler

Even Comment Spam Can Sometimes be Tasty

Spammers have discovered one of my more obscure blogs, but some of the spammers got wise — instead of the usual gibberish (which I was going to post here to show you how totally giberishy it is, but decided I’d better not attract their attention) these spammers post quotes, and it works! I don’t delete them. Just goes to show that not everything is all bad, not even comment spam. So, here are a few of the quotes left on the blog, author unknown (at least to me):

I’m all in favor of keeping dangerous weapons out of the hands of fools. Let’s start with typewriters.

The ‘Net is a waste of time, and that’s exactly what’s right about it.

God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh.

Memory feeds imagination.

To avoid situations in which you might make mistakes may be the biggest mistake of all.

Let us so live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry.

Quotation, n: The act of repeating erroneously the words of another.

The whole dream of democracy is to raise the proletarian to the level of stupidity attained by the bourgeois.

Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes… the ones who see things differently — they’re not fond of rules… You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can’t do is ignore them because they change things… they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do.

Being in politics is like being a football coach. You have to be smart enough to understand the game, and dumb enough to think it’s important.

Get pleasure out of life…as much as you can. Nobody ever died from pleasure.

In real life, unlike in Shakespeare, the sweetness of the rose depends upon the name it bears. Things are not only what they are. They are, in very important respects, what they seem to be.

On the plus side, death is one of the few things that can be done just as easily lying down.

The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.

Temptation rarely comes in working hours. It is in their leisure time that men are made or marred.

I write because I’m afraid to say some things out loud.

As long as you derive inner help and comfort from anything, keep it.

The first step to getting the things you want out of life is this: Decide what you want.

Part of being creative is learning how to protect your freedom. That includes freedom from avarice.

Prolific Blogger Times Three

The blogosphere has spoken. For two years I have kept up this blog to little acclaim, and now that I’ve taken a step back for a short while, barely blogging once a week, I have won not one, not two, but three prolific blogger awards! So now that the blogosphere has spoken, what is it saying, that I’m more interesting when I don’t blog? That I should hurry back and refocus my energies on blogging again? I hope it’s the second. Perhaps by the end of this month I will be able to return to a more regular blogging schedule, but until then, you should check out the blogs of those who gave me the awards. They really are prolific and terrific bloggers!

 A.F. Stewart’s Blog

JaxPop, Haunted City Writer

Joylene Nowell Butler, One Moment at a time on Cluculz Lake


Congratulations are especially in order since blogging on a regular basis is giving way to microblogging on sites such as Facebook, Twitter, and Friendster, particularly among young people. Apparently, the long form of blogging, which tends to be 300-500 words, is way too involved and time-consuming for the younger set. Those of us over thirty are still plogging away.

And while I have your attention: are you a romantic who loves baseball? Be sure to enter J. Conrad Guest’s contest, and you might win a signed copy of his novel Backstop and a signed baseball. All you have to do is write 200 words about a romantic baseball date, either real or imagined. 200 words? Not much for all you prolific bloggers out there! Send your entry to secondwindpublishing@gmail.com.  I’ll put in a good word for you. (Now you only have to write 199 words!)

I Smell a Blog Coming . . .

My brother sent me the Google Maps image of my parents’ house. There were several cars and a couple of people in the driveway of the house, and he was trying to figure out who the people were. I, of course, had no idea, but it turns out that one of the people was . . . me! I’ve made only a few trips to visit my parents in the past three years, and strange as it seems, during one of those trips Google photographed the house. Spooky as hell — no one on earth took that photo, yet there I am, frozen forever in the Googleverse.

I really had no intention of blogging about this, being in an unblogging frame of mind, but after we realized that the person was me (I always wondered how people recognized when someone looked like them — I didn’t even recognize myself!) my brother sent me an email, “I smell a blog coming  . . .” So, not to disappoint him, here it is. A blog about Google Maps and Me. (That was the title I had planned to use, but somehow I couldn’t pass up free words, so I used my brother’s instead.)

This sounds as if it has the makings of a good mystery. A woman is checking at her house on google maps to see if a new photo with the improvements she made have shown up, and she sees an unfamiliar woman skirting the house. Thinking it’s a meter reader, she thinks nothing of it, but then she finds out that all her meters are read automatically and becomes obsessed with finding out who the person is. Is someone casing the joint? Is her husband having an affair? Is her son?  

Or, use the scenario of my photo — my brother and I cannot figure out who the people are, though we ask around. So we become obsessed with finding out who the people are. One turns out to be a neighbor, but the other . . . the other is a siser we never knew we had.  What happened to her? Why didn’t we know about her? 

I smell a story coming on . . .

Making Time, Finding Time, Having the Time of Our Lives

Once upon time when I worked in retail, I noticed that whenever a day seemed to go slowly for those of us womanning the cash registers, customers would complain about how the day was dragging. Conversely, when the day seemed to fly by for us, customers would also comment on how fast the day was passing. I started taking an informal poll then, asking people if the day was moving fast or slow. With but a single exception, the days went either fast for everyone or slow for everyone, which made me think that time was variable, though somehow our bodies and artificial timekeepers managed to key into the new time speed, so there was no way of knowing that time moved at different rates.

Oddly, time is no longer variable for me. It speeds up and keeps speeding up until I wonder how twenty-four hours manage to fit into a single day. Except when I write, of course, then it seems as if time doesn’t exist.

Time is a major factor for all of us. People often ask me how I juggle promotion, writing, and offline life, but the truth is, I don’t juggle very well. I always drop a ball or two so that a single ball is kept in the air at a time. (Am I mixing metaphors?) Right now my offline life is taking precedence (nothing particularly good or bad, just work). I am doing almost no promoting, not keeping up with my discussion groups (except for this one), doing a single blog post a week, and yet all that and more used to fit into a few hours a day. Now it barely fits into a week.

So, let’s talk about time. How do you make the time to write? For those of you who are published, how do you find the time to promote? How do you make sure that you are having the time of your life when you are writing, or does it become work after awhile? If you don’t want to talk about time, feel free to talk about any aspect of writing or your writing life.

Let’s talk.

My writing group No Whine, Just Champagne will be discussing this article during a live discussion about writing and the writing life on Thursday, January 21, 2010 at 9:00pm ET. I hope you will stop by our Writing Discussion #96. If not, leave your comments here. I always enjoy seeing what you have to say.