Rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and ...

By Ad Hudler

True Story, sad beginning, happy ending.

Finished my first novel, Househusband, and tried to pitch it to an agent I'd met at The Sewanee Writer's Conference (Incidentally, this is a great conference to attend when you're seriously ready to sell a book … lots of great networking goes on here.)

Agent said, "Love the idea, too episodic."

So I rewrote it again, this time with what I thought was more plot.

Agent said, "Too episodic."

I rewrote it again.

Agent said, "Good luck."

More than a year has passed.

Finally, I contact agent Number Two, referred by a woman I jogged with while at the Sewanee Writer's Conference.

"Too episodic," she told me. "It needs … something."

"What?" I ask. "Just tell me and I'll do it."

"I'm not sure," she says, "but it's not ready. It needs ... something."

I rewrite AGAIN.

Agent #2 likes it a little better but still won't sign me on. "It needs something."

"What?!" I plead.

"Just ... something."

I rewrite it AGAIN, this time incorporating an entire new storyline dreamed up in one of my previously published short stories.

Agent #2 says, "Okay, I'll take it now, but don't expect anything big. It's tough out there."

Within 12 hours, we have five offers. The book ends at auction, and Ad gets a big fat six-figure advance.

So … don't give up, people. Rewrite and rewrite and rewrite. If someone says it needs to be rewritten, it probably does.

Ad Hudler's most recent novel, published by Random House, is "Man of the House." He blogs at AdHudler.com and has an essay called "Tree Bitch," forthcoming in The Oxford American. He will be one of the featured authors at this year's Southern Voices event in Alabama.

Rejecting Rejection

by Zachary Steele

I made it through the entirety of high school without having to endure the potential tragedy of a date.

Now, in that, it might seem as though I celebrate that I escaped the awkwardness of a staggered and indecisive conversation over a delightful dinner at Taco Bell, or that I rejoice in the passing of another dance without collapsing in a heap atop the punch bowl by way of two very clumsy, and inexperienced steps, or even that I am proud that I never had to answer that terrifying throttle of Ahab's harpoon to the nerves, "Should I use my tongue, or would she slap me?" But that would imply a choice in the matter. Sure, I was the shy kid that would blush if someone next to me sneezed, but for the most part I gave gallant, if not altogether misguided, attempts at finding a girl who, "got me." The problem--the ultimate failing in this course--was that I spent those years of my life chasing after every single girl in the school that would rather have structured their weekends around delightfully dull dinners with their parents and younger siblings, than to have succumbed to my cherubic charm (absent the charm). It made for quite a run of rejection, to be honest. The kind that, more often than not, left me standing bewildered in a hallway of students, a mere bumper to the course, a potential ramp of skateboarding delight, wondering why it was that a slap to the face could make my feet hurt so badly.

The pure fact of it all is that rejection sucks. Sure, you can pick yourself up, you can tell yourself that they just didn't get you, and that someday you'll find someone to flaunt in front of the line of people that rejected you, and take the high road, give a simple raise of the brow, and maybe a knowing smile (which always works best with the tongue out, if you ask me), and you'll revel in your triumph, hand in hand with acceptance. But those words...those god-awful words, just never leave you.

"No, you're just really not cool enough for me."

"Yeah, um, I'm just not looking for you right now. Check back with me in a couple of years."

"You're a really great guy, and you have great potential as a companion, but I don't think you fully understand what dating is all about. Maybe you should be looking for someone with lower standards."

"You know, I might have gotten those messages, but I haven't really had a chance to listen to them. How about you call me in a few weeks, and, if I've had a chance to review your proposal, we'll talk then?"

"See, the problem is your pitch. If you had begun with the most important part--where you ask me out--I might not have lost interest so quickly. The whole, 'I've been thinking a lot about what to say,' bit is a horribly cliche start. It's the way these things work, though. I get so many offers each week, and I only have so much time to listen."

It's a tired, tired, um, tired...thing, but you carry on. You carry on because you're stubborn. You carry on because you just couldn't imagine another day without a companion by your side. You carry on because, well, because you're just plain lonely, and really want someone to share your time with. Mostly, you carry on because you refuse to be denied, and know that someday the right girl is going to come around, and that you will utterly, absolutely, and undeniably rock her world. You do this because the failure to do so, would mean the end of your dating life, which is something you just cannot allow.

But never mind that, we're here to talk about writing, which has nothing at all to do with anything I have thus far said. After all, people will always appreciate you for spilling your guts out on the computer tremendously more than they do if you do so in person. You need thick skin in any area of life that presents the possibility for rejection, but writing is pretty straightforward, and is unlikely to ever cause you pain, or grief, or to feel like your brains have just been sucked out through your nose.

For example, I was on the verge of snagging a literary agent once at the William Morris Agency, but was declined, after a thorough reading, not due to poorly written material, but due to problematic scheduling, and an untimely submission. See for yourself: "Though we appreciate, and value, your talent as a writer, we feel that your manuscript is just not right for our agency, or for the market at this time. Please consider us for future projects, however."

See? That's not a rejection at all, and sounds nothing like the rejections posted above! They clearly wanted to represent me, but were unable to because of the market. They just couldn't wait to read the rest of my work!

Earlier that same year, I had sent sample writings to the wonderfully compassionate, and caring, people at the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference. They were so very considerate in their attempts to encourage my writing skills, that they sent me a letter to my request that included the following: "Writing is a skill that we wish to harness, and cultivate, in each, and every, writer. We feel, though you do show great potential, that you would be best served to improve your skill further before applying again for Bread Loaf. Please consider sending us more material in a couple of years."

Again, such a willingness to lead me in the right direction! How can I feel anything but complete acceptance of my skill, and ability? Goodness knows, I might very well have languished in a perpetual state of un-improvement for years to come! Now I'm a published author! Thank you, Bread Loaf!

Sometimes--yes, even in the publishing industry!--the level of acceptance you receive from publishers, or agents, or editors, or the like, can be twinged ever so slightly with a heavy, yet suggestive, hand. You might even feel a bit put off by the words they have chosen, but rest assured that they only have your best interests at heart, and want nothing more than to see you in their fold, successful and happy! They try so hard to offer you their acceptance that they will chance to wake you from your blissful rest with a most carefully aimed bomb. For example, I sent a manuscript to Harper Collins many years ago, offering them the glorious chance to view a book I knew they would trip over themselves to purchase. What I received was a carefully worded letter, indicating that my work was such a stellar piece of art, that they wanted to ensure I knew how elated they were that such a young man (I was 18 at the time, and fresh off a new branch of female-induced rejection) had, "taken up writing as a hobby." Wow! What kind words! I mean, I'm sure that spell-check missed the, "hobby," part of that. Obviously, they meant, "career," but such are the follies of the computer age!

So, rest assured, dear friends of the craft, that rejection is not something you will ever have to deal with. Your best interests, and the cultivation of your art, will be coddled by those in your midst: by your friends, fellow writers, agents, editors, the kindly old lady in the cafe that threatened to beat you with her walker if you talked about your writing just once more, and so on. They want only to see you succeed. All you have to do is smile, and wait for the offers to pour in.

Just don't ask me for dating advice.

Zachary Steele is the author of Anointed: The Passion of Timmy Christ, CEO, and has been featured on NPR and in The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Publisher's Weekly, and Shelf Awareness. He can be found boring the world with his thoughts on his blog, The Further Promotion of ME.

Guest Blogger: Cathy Holton

MAKING FRIENDS AND INFLUENCING PEOPLE
(DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT)


My fear of rejection kept me from submitting my work for almost twenty years. Now when I talk to college creative writing classes I tell them, Don’t be like me; Don’t be afraid to submit your work; Don’t be afraid of criticism or rejection.

My son’s college punk band wrote a song with the hook, Here’s a thought; it’s just a thought. Go %@#! yourself! Now whenever I read a bad review, I sing this. Repeatedly. After that I log onto Amazon and read the bad reviews of some book I think is very well-written, a masterpiece, because this proves my point: no matter how good a writer you are, no matter how dedicated and conscientious and precise, there’s always going to be someone who doesn’t like your work. Get over it. (Martinis help).

I do think that having someone you trust read your work is important, especially during the early stages of your writing career. But be selective. Know ahead of time what your reader likes to read (or write) because if you’re writing a thriller, it probably isn’t a good idea to give it to someone who likes to read (or write) romances. I’m generalizing here, of course. There are many readers (and writers) who cross genres all the time but you at least need to know something about their preferences and background before you hand over your precious creative endeavor.

And I don’t think it’s a good idea to show your work to a lot of people. If you’re lucky, you have one or two readers who you can trust to give you honest feedback. If you’re really, really lucky you have an agent and editor who can do this for you.

The main thing to remember about being a writer is to be persistent. You have to not let anything get in the way of the work; not fear of rejection, not laundry, not self-doubt, not procrastination. I get emails all the time from people who write, I think I can be a writer! What do I need to do first – write an outline, or just start writing? And I tell them, just start writing. Write everyday. Write when you’re sick, when you’re tired, when you’re hung over. It isn’t a glamorous job. If you don’t like spending a lot of time alone in a room dressed in your pajamas, you probably should do something else.

George Singleton, in his marvelous book Pep Talks, Warnings & Screeds; Indispensable Wisdom and Cautionary Advice for Writers, writes – “Every writer who was meant to write, and who continues writing over a long period of time, will succeed.”

Words to live by.


Cathy Holton lives in the mountains of Tennessee. She is the author of Beach Trip, Revenge of the Kudzu Debutantes and Secret Lives of the Kudzu Debutantes, all available through Ballantine/Random House books. Her fourth novel, Old Money, is due out in the fall of 2010. Visit her online at http://www.cathyholton.com/ and read her blog, The Surly Wench Journal at http://surlywenchjournal.blogspot.com/.

The Pulpwood Queen Declares NEVER, EVER, NEVER GIVE UP!

The Pulpwood Queens Speaks Out On Rejection!

I could be the poster child for rejection! I was the last kid picked during my elementary days for the softball team at school. I always came in dead last in the mile run we had to do for this President’s fitness plan in the sixth grade. I never made Homecoming candidate, let alone Homecoming Queen. I was not selected as cheerleader for cheerleading tryouts during my senior year. I did not even place in the Miss Eureka, Kansas pageant back in my hometown. But something in me, (I like to think GOD), told me that I had a talent for something and I should try everything at least once. I might fail but I think everybody should get big ole brownie points for at least trying.

So when I decided, I mean really decided to become a writer, I selected children’s books. I wrote seven in all and never even made it to getting an agent. I was a Children’s Bookstore Manager/Buyer at the time and strongly felt that I could write a better book for children than some of those that were being shopped to me from my book publisher’s reps.

I was wrong.

But I kept writing, I’ve written since I was a little girl. First, emulating Laura Ingalls Wilder as I too, in fact, had grown up on the prairie, the Flint Hills of southeast Kansas. I received my first Smith Corona typewriter that fifth grade Christmas and I taught myself to type with the typing book that came with it. I spent countless hours typing away about my life in the little house on Elm Street. But my dog wouldn’t die and I did not have to traverse swollen rivers to move. We literally carried boxes across the street and down the alley when we moved to our new home on Main Street.

I had discovered the downtown Eureka Public Library by then and Nancy Drew. I could write like Nancy Drew, if I only had red hair and a convertible AND a really cool dad who never lost his cool no matter how Nancy put herself in danger. Did I miss her really hot and attentive boyfriend too! I discovered boys around that time, secretively. The typewriter went into the case and I only drug it out for typing essays or later on term papers. Years passed……

In 2000 I opened the first hair salon/bookstore in the country, Beauty and the Book. All of a sudden, the press was contacting me. A combination hair salon, bookstore, this was newsworthy!
Then Oprah’s Oxygen network, then Good Morning America…. Then I got the call that would change everything. A southern publisher called me and ASKED ME if I would be interested in writing the story of Beauty and the Book, perhaps the story of my first year. Would I ever?

I always thought I would write as an adult the next “To Kill a Mockingbird”. I have been (secretively), working on that novel for years. A non-fiction memoir, well I never!

Then I got a call from my now literary agent asking if she could represent me? Me, the last kid picked in kickball, never the lead for the school play, but always cast as one of “dancers”!
I have to laugh now looking at the popularity of "Dancing with the Stars", but I digress!

After years of working on this book that would become “The Pulpwood Queens’ Tiara Wearing, Book Sharing Guide to Life” that was published NOT by a small southern publisher but a BIG NEW YORK publishing house, Grand Central Publishing. I debuted as a writer. I was an author, a published one. Hold please, I always faint on this statement…..

For those reading this, that was after I wrote, I think, about 30 revisions and six years. Don’t let me mislead you, the ONLY way a writer can do something that is really worthwhile is to work you little tail off. Yes, good fortune did fall in my lap but only after years and years of hard labor, blood, sweat, and tears. Did I mention also six years from start to publication?

Now in these dire publishing times, I can not sit, (on my throne as the Pulpwood Queen or), on my laurels though meager they may be. I am back hard at work writing my second book, “The Pulpwood Queens’ Guide to Reading and Writing for a Higher Purpose”!

The life lesson in this writer’s life story?

Never, ever, never give up. Keep working on your craft. Take every writing course you can and write. Write every day.

I still cannot believe I published a book. I put authors so far up on pedestals that they are to me in the same realm as the Gods and Goddesses of my junior high Greek mythology days in Mrs. Perrier’s literature class. What have I learned? I have learned that life is not just about a dream. Dreams are wonderful but dreams cannot come true unless you roll up your sleeves and go to work. Work makes life worth living and then makes your accomplishments have worth.

When my agent told me that my first book should be called, “The Pulpwood Queens Guide to Life”, I spit my coffee I was drinking all across my computer. Who me? I still have to pinch myself to believe that I wrote a real published book. I did and you can too but you will have to write and work for it.

One of my favorite stories is about Mr. Milton who invented the ant farms of my youth. He lived to be really old and became really successful. When asked about how he had accomplished so much success in his life he told the interviewer. “Success in life comes from perseverance. You never, ever, never give up and you will eventually succeed”. I paraphrased that story so may not be the exact words but you get my drift. Never, ever, never give up. You may not become a published author but the story you write or stories you write could be a library of your life to your friends and family. I just happen to believe that everybody has a story and now it is up to you to work on writing it the best you can to share with others.

I give thanks this Thanksgiving for God giving me the gumption to never give up. I have a whole bunch of other things to be thankful for too like all my relationships with the others. And isn’t that what writing is all about, a relationship with the reader. Think about that this Thanksgiving and also I give thanks to laptops. Because I can’t for the life of me understand now a single cursive word I have written and I thank God for Santa bringing me that typewriter that particular Christmas.

Love, the little “writer” that could,
Kathy L. Patrick
Author of “The Pulpwood Queens’ Tiara Wearing, Book Sharing Guide to Life”, Grand Central Publishing
Founder of the Pulpwood Queens and Timber Guys Books Clubs
www.beautyandthebook.com
www.pulpwoodqueen.com
P.S. Please comment and also check out the biggest author event I have coming up for our 10th Anniversary, it’s called Girlfriend Weekend Author Extravaganza on my www.beautyandthebook.com website or email me at kathy@beautyandthebook.com and I will send you the last working program, January 13 – 17, 2010!
P.P.S. The never, ever, never give up I know is incorrect English but as I the Pulpwood Queen, I live to break the rules, so that line stays.

Niles Reddick on Forgetting Rejections

Man, do I feel honored to follow Sharyn and Joshilyn, and while I won't write about my old dog Harper Lee who I keep thinking has got to die this year since she's 16 (and if she don't maybe I'll get into the Guinness Book of World Records), and I don't remember that I've ever been on a writing retreat and probably couldn't write a word if I was on one (though I think as writers we might could go on trips and call them retreats and write them off on taxes), I think I could say a few things about rejection because God knows I've experienced that plenty of times:

1. Give up the feeling! What does that mean? It's the moment you get an envelope (now it could be an email). You see the return address or the email address and you close your eyes like you are a child wishing on a star or praying Santa will overlook all those bad deeds. Then, you read it and you have that sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, you have that frustrated feeling, and you just want to give up. You can't give up and know it, so move on beyond the feeling of it. I don't know if talking to yourself will help or not. It never helped me. It's like those imaginary friends kids had that I never had. It seemed rather stupid, but hey, if it makes you feel better, talk to yourself. Pump yourself up with all the Dr. Phil and Oprah pop psychology you can, or just quietly resolve to forget it, which leads to the next point.

2. Forget it because you will. It may take a few days or weeks or years, but once those rejections clog a file in a cabinet or a special folder in your Outlook mail, and you've finally published the book, you will have forgotten about those files of rejections. You might, however, go back to those files. I do. Read them again all at once and laugh. The form letters are the best, so Oxford appropriate. Once in a while, you have a publisher or agent who actually read your submission (10 pages, 20 pages, 30 pages, the whole manuscript if you're lucky) and comment and inspire you with a little hope. Sometimes, they even suggest revisions, which won't work at all. But sooner or later, you'll forget them because they aren't what is important---just like we forget what at one time were somehow meaningful events in our lives---age does that. A childhood friend of mine and I got together last year and talked, and in our 5th grade play, he thought he played George Washington and I played Lord North. I had it in my memory banks just the opposite. I asked my parents and they didn't remember either!!! I thought they were supposed to remember all those things for us! Then, I saw another old friend from high school in the courthouse and he remembered a drunken night a group of us had in Atlanta on a school trip. I didn't remember going. I emailed 2 other old high school friends (or should I say I face-booked them?). One responded I was there and the other one responded I wasn't there. The best example of forgetting is my trip last spring to Disney World. I got a good deal (I'm all about the deal) and stayed on one of the Disney properties (don't recall the name, but it looked like an Incan Pyramid). I was so worried that we would lose the kids or they would get abducted, and I would've worried about getting killed on the monorail, but that was before the crash, so it wasn't in my mind yet. Somewhere between the race cars and Dumbo, I noticed a family all wearing the same shirts---a loud yellow and orange that stood out in the crowd, and the memories of having been there with my parents, my two brothers, my sister, and my Granny Reddick, all wearing matching outfits my mother had made---a 70's blue paisley shorts and tank top sets--which looked good with our matching Jesus sandals--came rushing to my mind. I tried to call mom on my cell, to tell her she was a genius for thinking of matching outfits, that people were still doing this, but I was in a dead zone. When we finally got back to Georgia, we stopped by to visit them and I was so excited as I told her about the outfits, my memory. She told me I was nuts, that she'd never made us matching outfits, that my grandmother hadn't gone to Disney with us, and so on. I knew she had forgotten and felt sorry for her until I pulled the photo album and realized she was right. How could I have so vivid a memory that was so not true? So, who knows what reality is. You'll forget the rejections and it won't take Alzheimer's to do it. Stress will do it. Age will do it. I've heard or read (don't recall now), actually, that age doesn't do it---that if we are forgetful as we age, we always were that way, but forgot that we were and blame it on age. Whatever, the point is that you will forget! If you're like me, you'll forget the rejections and create memories of acceptances you remember but can't find.

3.Keep on keeping on after the rejections. It's so cliche to talk about the little train that could, but it's so true! To **** with the experts, keep it up. My first book, Road Kill Art and Other Oddities, took three years to finally get published. One publisher had it for a year and couldn't make up his mind, but I was trying to be ethical and not submit while he was considering :( (You ought to forget that, too, if you can.) And it was the little things that kept me trying. Elaine Fowler Palencia had inspired me to write the first book with a comment: "You should put these stories in a collection." And others were inspiring to me: Lee Smith, Inman Majors, Janice Daugharty, Sharyn McCrumb, and many, many more. Don't give up seemed to be the resounding message at events where writers spoke and where I listened. The second book, Lead Me Home, which comes out in February only took a few months to get published. I knew a bit more about who to submit to, how to sell it myself (if I couldn't get the agent), and it worked.

I know a whole lot less about reviews. I had a few with the first book and I guess there will be some with the second one. Most of them were good. One review had a smart alec comment and made me mad, but the overall review wasn't bad. Of course, that's the half-empty, half-full glass. It's mostly perspective. Sometimes the negative can do you as much good as the positive. You have no further to look than the politicians or actors for proof.

I guess in the end, it's having done it, the process, that mattered the most to me. I often find myself saying, "I don't know" when someone asks me a specific question about why I did something the way I did (Actually, it may be that I don't even remember having written it). It could have been done differently, I suppose, but at the time, it just didn't work out that way. Each experience has an effect and helps shape us in a different way, direction, and I suppose that's what the reviews and rejections have done and continue to do for me.

Best,

Niles

Niles Reddick lives in Tifton, GA with his wife Michelle and two children, Audrey and Nicholas. He holds degrees from Valdosta State University, the University of West Georgia, and Florida State University. Author of numerous publications, he was a finalist for an Eppie Award in Fiction for his collection, Road Kill Art and Other Oddities. He is currently Professor of Humanities and Vice President for Academic Affairs at Abraham Baldwin Agricultural College in Tifton. Read more about his forthcoming novel Lead Me Home at www.nilesreddick.com or email nreddick@abac.edu

Sharyn McCrumb: Shaggy Dog Story

Four Christmases ago, when our dog who-was-older-than-dirt finally died, I told my husband that what I wanted for Christmas was a little cat-sized dog to keep me company in my office while I write. We went to the dog pound in search of a dust bunny with teeth, and found nothing remotely resembling such a beast. What we did find was a hulking Golden Retriever/Hound of the Baskervilles crossbreed, who could probably pull your tractor out of the mud. So we came home with "Pippin," which is just as well, because we have a large farm, and dogs that large seldom find homes because they do need so much space.

Pippin is still alive and well, and enjoying country life, but when his best buddy-- our other rescued dog-- died of cancer last year, I decided to try again for a mini-pooch. This time I found an ad in the newspaper for Pompapoos-- half Pomeranian and half poodle, and that was exactly what I wanted.

We brought her home on Halloween. She has a curly black coat, and she's about the size of a fluffy bunny bedroom slipper, maybe 5 lbs. Currently she is going by the name of Madame Pompapoo, while we debate the name issue.

She is very good about staying and snoozing next to my desk or on the sofa in the evenings. Our other dog generally ignores her, and the cats all stare at her pensively, as if trying to decide whether she ranks above them or below them on the food chain, and, if the latter, then what sort of wine goes with "Tribble." But no one menaces her. I think she is generally acknowledged to be a infant, and therefore beneath their notice.

Now we are dithering about what to name her. How does one choose a dog's name?

I have decided that dogs' name are the new Rorschach test. I think you can tell a lot about people from their choice of pet names. The least well-read and most unimaginative people I know call their animals names like "Spot" and "Midnight." (Although, this could also be an indication that they allowed the young children to name the pet. But I still think it says "unimaginative.") When I was three years old, I was given a teddy bear with a music box inside, to lull me to sleep at night. I named the bear "Chamberlain." And this was long before Wilt was a basketball star. A chamberlain is a servant of the bed chamber, and I knew this from the fairy tale books which were read to me. I still think that is a clever name for a three-year old to have come up with on her own.

When someone names their pet "Sarah" or "Emily" or "Bailey," I figure the animal is the new baby in the family, tail or no tail. People who pride themselves on being clever generally come up with literary or historical names (we have had "Griffindor," "Pendragon," and "Hillerman.") A lot of pets are named after people in show business: Dylan, Springsteen, Celine, Shania. Someone named a cat after me once. I 'm sure they meant it as a compliment. Although I thought their medication needed adjusting, I smiled and thanked them prettily. It's not my idea of a compliment, although I admit to having done the same thing myself. We have a big rangy yellow tom cat with a nose that takes up most of his face. He is sweetness itself to humans and other non-competitors, but a deadly hunter, ruthless to his peers. We named the cat after the NASCAR driver Clint Boyer. (I would describe Clint Boyer, but I believe I just did.)

The most popular dog names in the country for male dogs are an unoriginal collection of jock names: Max, Buddy, Jake, Bailey, Rocky, and Charlie. The most popular female dog names sound to me like "We really wanted a baby" choices: Molly, Bella, Lucy, Maggie, Daisy, Chloe, Sophie...

So what to name the Pompapoo?

My college-age daughter Laura was all for naming the puppy something deeply pretentious like Banrigh, which is Gaelic for "queen." (Although she would not dream of actually naming a dog "Queenie.") And in this family usually we do plump for literary names--having had a Griffindor, and a Martin the Warrior, and a Pippin. Then there's dubh sidhe, which means "black fairy" in Gaelic, but which would be pronounced too much like the word "douche," so scratch that.

I toyed with exotic names like Kurokumako, which is "baby black bear" in Japanese, or "Chantage," which is French for blackmail, and had she, in fact, been male, I would have used that name like a shot. I like the play on words, although the French would never get the joke. But then I started thinking she looks very non-regal and silly. Cassidy (caside) means "curly" in Gaelic, but it sounds like a Yuppie baby name. Sasha is cute, but for a French poodle/Pomeranian (i.e. German) cross, why choose a Russian name? Oh, and wait, Sasha is the name of a current First Daughter, isn't it? Well that would get me in trouble. Darn.

Whatever we ultimately christen her, my husband will call her "Mutt" forever, probably. And my son Spencer, the evil genius of the family, weighs in with snappy suggestions: "Ma Barker." (Get it?) Or "Nora Bone-steal." (N.B. He made those suggestions to annoy me, becaase he knew it would.) -- I think what you name your dog says a great deal about who you are, and where your interests lie. So perhaps my indecision is indicative of an identity crisis. I don't know who I feel like anymore. I used to be all for high-flown names, but now it hardly seems worth it. You end up having to spell it six times at the vet's office, and people always get it wrong or shorten it, so that our romantically named Himalayan cat "Dalriada" is invariably called "Dolly."

I read somewhere that animal owners (elderly people, anyhow) have lower blood pressure, because of the calming effect, so I hope that proves true of Mme. Pompapoo's effect on me.

But it's going to be a long, isolated winter, and I think... what's-her-name... will be good company. I have two novels coming out in the spring: a new Ballad novel called "The Devil Amongst the Lawyers," and "Faster Pastor," a comic Southern novel co-authored with NASCAR-ARCA driver Adam Edwards. Until their publication sends me out on the road, I plan to enjoy the solitude here on the mountain with the animals.

Joshilyn Jackson: Things to Do on Writing Retreat

We were supposed to talk about rejection, but I have been on retreat and missed the memo and came home and realized OOPS I AM UP. SO...I will instead tell you

Things to Do on Writing Retreat

1) Choose a bird totem. If your bird totem is spotted, this mean excellent word count Mojo and good plot idea Juju is sure to descend upon you. If you have even the most rudimentary understanding of Ornithology, you can stack the deck to CAUSE Mojo/Juju. I, for example was on retreat by the sea. I chose a pelican, so Mojo descended and dive bombed for fishes every four minutes.

My friend, an altogether ballsier object, chose Ravens. I thought she might be shafted, but apparently, the folks at this hotel drop bits of Raven approved sandwiches with promiscuous abandon, and the place was all OVER ravens.

2) Talk about people the other person does not know, because if the other person does not KNOW them, it escapes the Pernicious Sin of Gossip clause. I think. Well, maybe not. But MAYBE. I decided yes. The Pelicans backed me.

Sample conversation:
Me: Maybe she should try match.com?
Her: Oh NO! Never. She won’t go on the internet.
Me: You mean, she won’t go on the internet to look for dates?
Her: No. I mean…she won’t go ON the internet.
*baffled silence*
Her: Seriously, she has an iphone, and IT is willing to go on the internet, but she only uses the PHONE part.
Me: What does she think the i in iphone MEANS?
Her: Perhaps she thinks it is a personal pronoun.
*baffled silence*
Me: So…wait. Then I can BLOG this?
Her: Why not.

3) Discover lizards. We discovered MANY MANY kinds of here-to-fore unknown beach lizards, including, but not limited to:
Orange Head Lizard
Skinny Black Lizard with Daring Yellow Stripe
Too Fast To See Probable Lizard
Stupid Lizard Who Wants To Die in a Hot Tub (rescued!)
Frivolous Curly Tail Sprouncy Lizard.


4) Discover New Cocktails. I personally discovered a Pom Tree. It has about 90 things in it. All of them are good.

5) Take pictures of your glamorous view and text it to Patti Callahan Henry so she can text back that she hates you and then you can text back that you would love to talk more about this but the beautiful oiled cabana boy is ready to begin your poolside foot massage.

6) If you get really, really, really desperate, you can write.

The good news is?
We must have both been REALLY desperate quite a bit.
We both made massive progress on the books. I got 13,500+ words drafted, and I have a clear idea of where to go next.

Also? We saved a lizard. Total success.

New York Times Bestselling novelist Joshilyn Jackson lives in Powder Springs, Georgia with her husband, their two kids, a hound dog, a scurrilous Boggart-cat, one alive Beta fish, and a twenty-two pound, one-eyed Main Coon cat named Franz Schubert. She wishes their neighborhood was zoned for goats.

Her latest book is The Girl Who Stopped Swimming, and Entertainment Weekly called it “a wild, smartly calibrated achievement." It makes a great hostess-best friend-teacher gift, and plus your mom told me she wants a copy, so you should definitely run right out and get a couple. Oh heck, get three, they are small.