The Big O--For Everybody

        Last night was my twice-monthly writing critique night. It was held where it always is, but this time, instead of just light fare, we had dinner together.

          Our hostess--who will remain unnamed--welcomed us into the kitchen (she was putting on the finishing touches to the meal). Her first words were, "Who would like an o--asm?"

         (Her husband was out of town, and she had decided to walk on the other side of the street for a change the wild side. Of course, our hostess with the mostest is the epitome of selflessness. In this instance she only gave, she did not receive.)

       When we are all satiated (it had Creme de Cacao and Baileys, I think, along with other ingredients. I didn't pay very close attention when she was telling us what was in it. She had me at "O"...), we dined. 

         Following way too much food, we tackled the real work, the true reason why we were there--critique.

         Lynn shared her 91-word memoir submission. If you lost it or have not seen it, here is the low-down.  The deadline is October 15, and you can only send in one submission (online only).

        I shared my Bigfoot story, and got some invaluable suggestions. When I brought it to the group initially, they sent me off in a wonderful direction. I was now floundering a bit, was nearing the end, and again--they came to the rescue.

       Linda was missing last night (no O for her--at least not from Lynn) but we managed to limp along and snort and advise without her. The evening's big climax--an intestinal "concert" of sorts. All the rich pasta and the dessert items made a couple of our stomachs caterwaul like a cat and moo like a cow in pain and howl like a coyote. It was hilarious.

      (Polite people would have pretended it was not happening--they would have ignored it. But then, no one ever called us polite--at least when the five of us are together.)

       One bombshell was dropped last night. Or more accurately, several bombshells. I think all five of us are going to do NaNoWriMo this year.

      Okay there, I said it. I don't want to shout it out too loudly, because that might cause it to not happen. However, the other four of us have become inspired by Lynn. Over the past year, she's shared parts of the manuscript she wrote for NaNoWriMo 2012. We finally got tired of holding our breath and demanded she give us the entire story--we got weary of waiting for the next installment each month. Seeing an engaging novel unfold--one that was written in one month--gave the rest of us hope.

        So, it was a night filled with delectable food, delicious company, wonderful writing critique, and even a happy ending...

         Do you have a favorite beverage you depend on when you're writing? Or, do you fantasize about drinking a particular liquid as you write?

Critique Group Secrets *

        Every group of writers has their own "method to their madness," their unique way of working.

        For example, the critique group I belong to decided that the pieces do not get read aloud. Each story, every essay... **they stand on their own, unable to benefit from the writer's inflection and expressive voice. After all, we figured, that's how a story will have to make its impact if it gets published---read by the reader, silently, in the bathtub familyroom...or the bedroom.

       One problem that was solved easily by Lynn was this: how do we know for sure when everyone in the group is finished reading and scrawling out their comments? None of us wanted to jump the gun and begin too early...no one wanted to step on anyone's toes or appear too eager.

        After jotting down our last suggestion, our last bit of praise, we'd give sneaky, side-glances at each other. Ooops, I don't want the rest of the WWWPs to think I have so little to offer that my critique offerings are meager...I'll make another short notation. Then we'd look around again at each other. Is she gazing up to consider how to word "Good grief, Sioux. This piece is a sure-cure for insomnia. You should patent it" or is she daydreaming about how sweet it'd be to steal Schmeagol the Cat and make him her own? You're not sure...

       Lynn, Queen of Craft, took paint stir-sticks and decorated them. Now it's almost a joke..."Is your stick up?" if one of us is obviously finished but forgot to hold up their stick or stick their stick in-between the chair cushions.

        Recently, Lynn upped herself and gave us each these wooden faces on a stick. We all said we'd decorate them but only over-achiever Linda (she was feeling high after receiving her 197th Chicken Soup acceptance letter) followed through. (I actually think she chained her cutie-patootie granddaughter Nicole to the kitchen table and made her color it, but the police have been out to her house to check it out...no evidence was found.)

        On my next post, I will unveil my "Sioux-on-a-Stick" (not to be confused with the international sensation, Cathy-on-a-Stick).

         What clever ways has your critique group found to work more effectively? What solutions have you found? Other writing groups are curious... 

* There are inside-jokes our group tosses around that must remain secret. Jokes about frozen legs of lamb, a woodchipper, a nail gun, the benefits of having a personal trainer, how scary trips to South American countries can be...the list is endless.

** I slipped in as many ellipsis as I could, as I am trying to draft a story without a single ellipsis. My OEA support group (Over Ellipsis-er Anonymous) said it would be a step forward in my recovery...(Ooops.)

I'm Thinkin' Positively

      I got an email today that my story "There's No Ceiling on Dreams" has made an initial cut for the Chicken Soup for the Soul book The Power of Positive. It's a story close to my heart, because it was about my students last year. Together, we hung our dreams from the ceiling in my classroom, and my dream came true.

 (I know, Linda. You have told all of us that they sometimes pull a story at the last minute, so I'm not counting my chickens for this Chicken Soup book before they hatch. But I am remaining hopeful.)

     I submitted two stories for this collection; the other one focused on a crime committed against a friend's son. He is now a paraplegic, but maintains a positive attitude despite having to adjust to life in a wheelchair. I worked on the story for quite a while, had my critique group help me with it, it simmered, was allowed to cool, and I heated it back up again several times before sending it off. I am assuming it did not make the cut.


    The other story was a harder write. I wanted to increase my chances at getting in this anthology by sending off more than one submission, so I started it, let it sit for a few weeks, added another paragraph or two, and let it sit some more. The other piece wrote itself. This one...not so much.

     What I find interesting although no one else will is that even though it's not an old piece that was worked on in my critique group last summer, and even though it was not critiqued by the WWWP's (Wild Women Wielding Pens), I channeled them. I would look at the story and--after hearing the same comments over and over ("Too darned many ellipsis, Sioux!"  "Tighten this up."  "Your ending needs more punch.")--I made some changes. I imagined Alice's red pen flying across the pages. In my mind I watched as Beth and Lynn and Tammy and Linda read my story-- and they gave me invaluable help even though it happened in my living room around midnight, and I was the only one in the room.

     Last week I thought, 'I'm going to hear about a submission sometime this week.' Didn't happen. I thought the same thing this week. I guess if I thought that long enough, eventually I would hear something. 

    How do you keep positive about your writing?


   

    

What Comes Out of YOUR Butt?

photo by Lemon Lauren

       One of the writers in my critique group--She Who Will Not Be Named (SWWNBN)-- has done the same thing for several meetings in a row. When it comes her turn to share, she hems and haws, saying she really doesn't have much. What she has brought are "old" pieces, stories and essays that have sat by the wayside, wasting away. And as the other four of us read her piece, our mouths gape open. Our eyes spin around in our heads. Our brains whir in wonderment. Where did she get this awesome idea? How did she craft such a poignant piece that's simple and mind-blowing at the same time? How can we take her down a notch? (Okay, that last one probably only ran through my mind.)

       And her perception is her reality. She honestly thinks--each time--that her pieces suck. (That's my term. SWWNBN's far too much of a lady to say something so crass. I myself am not disabled in that way.)

       And each time, Lynn and I roll our eyes and then give this writer the stink eye. We started making jokes that she was pulling Pulitizer-prize winning stuff out of her butt.

       It came to a climax at our last critique session. After reading her piece, we each drew a set of buttocks at the end of her story. Some of us drew two butts--one like our own, with the normal "waste" coming out and then SWWNBN's rear end, with gold nuggets of words coming out. (I even think I saw one of the butts sporting sprouts of hair. Disgusting!)

       Of course, she is going to keep those drafts forever; someday, those doodled posteriors will bring some big bucks, when we all become internationally-known writers. ('Cause we sure ain't going to get known as illustrators. The drawings are proof of that.)

        It's crucial to have a sense of humor (in my opinion) when you're a member of an effective critique group. It's also important that all the writers feel safe. Tammy (oops, I just named her), with the multi-skilled sphincter, did not feel threatened at all by the good-natured ribbing we liberally dished out. 

        As a writer...create a safe community for your writing to flourish. Dish it out. And take it. Serve it up and suffer through it with the love and respect that it's generously peppered with.

        Because, of course...you're a writer.

WWWWWPD

           There is the popular WWJD. There is the lesser-known WWSD. What Would Sioux Do?  (The answers vary from "make a snarky remark," to "embarrass herself by getting her head stuck in a sink.") But with increasing frequency, I turn to WWWWWPD.

        What Would Wild Women Wielding Pens Do?

        As I write, even if it is not a piece I'm able to share with my writing critique group, I try to imagine what they would suggest. What parts would they advise I change? Which lines would they say I need to tighten up? Geeze Louise--what about all those darned ellipsis you use, Sioux?

       Who knew? Not only does my critique group help me immensely with my writing when we meet, and they push me to write and submit with greater frequency, but they also help me in absentia...

       If you're curious what goes on at our writing critique nights, below are some photos of the members. (I'm not in any of the photos because I took the pictures.)

We're so excited to get together on Wednesdays, this member drove to our critique meeting
(at a very high rate of speed,with her car window open). We were too nice to make a comment on her hair.
photo by Shutter2ThinkPhotography.com

All of us are quite flexible, as you can see embodied in this member.
photo by rich hinton

Between readings, we sometimes relax in Lynn's backyard.
photo by Sohail Nashir

To mix things up, one evening we went to the beach...Times Beach...and soaked up some sun.
photo by Bart Ceuppens

      

Just About Everything I Know I Learned From My Critique Group

          It's amazing. When you're part of a writing critique group, you can drink from the fountain of knowledge, and get your thirst quenched every time.

       Last night we met, and here are just a few things I learned:

• Sometimes gold is unearthed when you're digging for potatoes.

       One member ("Cammy"* Her name is changed to protect the guilty) has pulled the same prank twice in a row. She professes to "have nothing" and then the most brilliant thing in the world reveals itself on the pages of her piece. Sometimes an older piece that we've set aside--for whatever reason--is a true gem. (ELynn and I didn't fall for it this time; we're too savvy. Galinda took Cammy's bait--hook, line and sinker. We're now calling them Cammy's POOB stories--"Pull Out Of Butt" pieces, because it's as if she reaches down and pulls them out of her rear end...)

       Scour your files and folders. You just might have something that's a true gem. 

• Five wheels are better than four. One of our members had a "business dinner" (wink wink) last night, and was MIA. The night was quieter, no police were called due to excessive laughter, and substitute snorters were called into action.

     In a great group, each person has something different to offer, and is integral.

• If one member is of the same "age" as you, and informs the group that apricots make her explosively gassy, it is not a good idea to take the leftover dried apricots and gobble them on the drive home to test her claim.  Blast off!

• Along with the pajama jeans I already ordered, I am also going to order a "gut-butt dickey." One of the WWWP's lives in pajama jeans in the evening hours; her endorsement of them made my fingers do the dialing right away (before they ran out). Now I'm going to order a gut-butt dickey (and a few for my friends).

       ("What is it?" It's a band of elasticized fabric that fits around your middle, making it appear as if you have a different-colored t-shirt under your other shirt. It's real purpose: to hide your "muffin top" and any cracks that might appear.)

      I think all of the commuters that ride Pearl's bus should get one of these. However, from the sounds of it, they might wear nothing but the gut-butt dickey. 

         More lessons and tidbits will be shared after our next meeting. Stay tuned...



         

WWWP Shenanigans

       Oh, it was a wild critique session last night. Here are some of the highlights-- see if you can guess which member is responsible for which comment/prank:

• One of the WWWPs is suffering from a back problem. Or so she says. Several times while she was seated on her "throne," she dropped something, and insisted that one of us pick it up for her. We each had to take at least one turn being her lackey. After dropping 11 objects out of her purse, with intervals between each, we got a bit suspicious. Then we put a stop to it when she took a grape out of the fruit salad and asked us to peel it for her. That was going a bit too far...

• One of the WWWPs mentioned she has "such trouble putting on weight." She reportedly put on some--after working hard to do it--and then lost a few pounds. Another writer chimed in, and said she had the same exact problem. What mirror is she looking in? they all wondered. They looked at the fat rolls and the cellulite that was attempting to escape from her waistband, and silently pondered what the real story was...

• One of the WWWPs has had to hire a storage facility to hold all the letters she has received this month (and February isn't even over yet!). For every letter she gets, she sends three replies, and the cost of postage has gotten out of control. Her husband has cut her off from the bank account, as it was all getting siphoned directly into the post office. This WWWP has had to get a part-time job as a pole dancer to support her letter writing habit...(Apparently, spandex and glitter are a lot cheaper than stamps.) 

• One of the WWWPs wrote a story that was so full of brilliant phrases and imagery, it makes you ticked off that you didn't create them. After we read the piece and we picked our jaws off the floor, she said, "Thanks. You really like it?" Jeeze!

• One of the WWWPs ate several pieces of fudge during the evening, but since her body is seemingly impervious to calorie accumulation, the rest of us began gluing pieces of the milk-chocolate goodness onto her 6'3" frame. She went home with Viggo Mortensen. We'll see how that hook-up works out...

       Send your answers to me...Major prizes if you get all 5 correct. The winner gets a half-eaten plate of fudge...Oops, sorry. That prize has already been snapped up...

     

WWWP Highlights

         Last night was our twice-monthly writing critique night. One of our group was missing in action, so it was a bit more sedate than usual, but extremely productive, as always.

         Here are some of the highlights:

• ClickClickClickClickClickClick. The sound of pills shaking against the inside of a plastic pill bottle. Three of us sat up on our back haunches and begged, unblinking, expectant and transfixed. (A member of our group just got off painkillers, and we were sure she was shaking one out for each of us.)

        Oh, those were toothpicks being shaken out, for the appetizers? Awww. Oh,
        well.

• "Change the focus of the piece to your children, take out the 'essay' parts, and this would make a wonderful story." Too often we look at a piece and box it in, thinking it would not be suitable for a particular publication/contest. Repurpose it. Retool it. Tweak it, then send it off.

• The power of self-fulfilling prophecy. Two years ago, my students each hung up their dream in our classroom. There were clouds hanging all over the place, swinging on fishing line. My dream was up there, too: "I dream of being a published writer." That was in September. In December of that same year, High Hill Press accepted my picture book manuscript. Coincidence? I think not.

       This year, all five of the WWWP's are going to be in the Chicken Soup for the
       Soul Parenthood anthology. We're going to do book signings (they will be the
       most raucous book signings ever!) and we're going to be fierce. Have any of
       us been accepted yet? No. But it will happen...

       Have any of you had first-hand experience with a self-fullfilling prophecy? I'd love to hear about them...

It's Thursday TMA (The Morning After)

      Lately, a couple of times a month, I binge on Wednesday nights. I get wildly drunk. I revel. I carouse.

      Of course, since one glass of wine loosens my tongue to the point of embarrassment (mine) and amusement (everyone else), I'm not talkin' 'bout booze. Since my after-hours life is so pathetically sucky, the level of the revel is not too high.* And since I'm so menopausally and sleep apnea-sleep deprived, the carousing is not too late ("Yikes! It's quarter after 9!") nor does it ever result in a call to the police. (However, there's always that frozen leg of lamb or the wood chipper...that just might end up getting the cops' attention!)

     A couple of Wednesdays a month, I meet with a group of wild women with pens. The laughter, the kinship, the sharp barbs...that's the whipped cream, because why we're really there is to hone our writing ability and increase our submissions.

Here are a few things I've learned so far from my "chicka peeps":

• When you're tempted to wait for a friend to get out of their car so you can knock on the door together, and the friend has a bunch of flowers in hand (and your hands are empty), race to the door, and make sure you make your own entrance. That way, your lack of thoughtfulness will not be so evident. 
• Looks can be deceiving. Sometimes women can be thin, young, cute and talented in the area of writing. They can also be genuinely wonderful people.  It doesn't happen very often, but when it does, I've found I like them in spite of it.
• When faced with self doubt...when you get a rejection letter...when you're worried your writing sucks...Think WWSD.

          What would Sioux do?  Sioux would say, "_____   _____." (It's one of her favorite phrases.) It just tears and wears you down if you obsess over the opinion of others. Work your craft. Let your talent shine. And let doubt fall to the wayside.

      What charges your battery? Who are your "chicka peeps" (or your "scratch and sniff pals," if you're of the male persuasion?) What snappy comeback do you give--at least in your mind--when you get rejected? Inquiring minds want to know... 

         (How did I do, Hope?)

* Although my husband got us tickets to see John Prine in December, and I'm shrieking with delight. Shay, eat your heart out.