WRITER'S BLOCK: Conquering the Troll

By Jodie Cain Smith 

Without a shred of scientific evidence, I proclaim that any writer who says he or she does not struggle on occasion with writer’s block is a liar.  Like the hairy troll under the bridge, writer’s block waits for us all, hoping we don’t know the secret to passing over the beast.  Yes, writer’s block is a hairy, evil, scary, mole-covered troll.  She must be dealt with.  Writer’s block must be overcome.

When the troll begins to drool and growl in my direction, I step away from the computer.  Extending the torture will not help.  I stand up and move.  Stretch.  Lie on the floor and think deep thoughts.  Read.  When none of these budge the troll from my mind, I take more extreme measures.

As a frequent sufferer of writer’s block, here are my top four remedies:

·        Exercise.  Go on a tough walk or run.  This is not the time to meditate with a stroll and classical music.  Pushing my physical capabilities so hard that I have to concentrate on breathing or risk passing out on the side of the road leaves no room for beating myself up about what my lead character should do next.

·        Organize something.  Attack the closets and cupboards in your home.  We all have them:  the hiding places we are afraid to open out of fear of a head injury.  Yes, seasonal décor will attack if not put away properly.  So, when feeling blocked, I take a few minutes to organize a hiding place.  I often discover what I have been struggling to write.  Unfortunately, I have struggled so much lately that my closets are immaculate.  I’m running out of hiding places.

·        Be creative in something other than writing.  Get crafty.  Explore the visual arts.  Sing.  Get your creative juices flowing without the torture of a blank screen.  I recently began toying around with acrylic painting.  My creations look like the work of a kindergarten student, but success with painting doesn’t matter.  What matters is being cleansed artistically.  For an hour, I clear my head, focusing only on brushing paint across a canvas and Tracy Chapman blaring from the stereo. 

·        Schedule a writer’s lunch (or coffee if you are opposed to food).  Going it alone as a writer is tough.  I regularly attend lunch dates with my writer buds in order to prevent writer’s block or treat symptoms as they occur.  However, this is not chitchat time.  This time is dedicated to discussing each other’s work (exchange pieces ahead of time and prepare a critique) or to explore the craft of writing.  At a recent lunch, my friend and grammar guru Kasie shared a six-point plot structure she is using to revise her novel.  After the lunch, I applied the same concept to my own work.  The answers I had struggled for months to find finally came to light.

So, the next time you face the troll, try one of my writer’s block remedies.  Here’s hoping you find safe passage.

AMERICAN HUSTLE — Digging a Way into the Past with Flashback

By Kimberly Johnson

 Last Saturday, I forked over $5.50 to see People magazine’s 2011 Sexiest Man Alive and an Oscar-winner run con games. I definitely was not conned out of my money.

Bradley Cooper and Christian Bale brought the 70s to life. It was bell bottoms and platform shoes. It was a comb-over and a curly perm. It was a well groomed seminar in applying the technique of flashback. I give an A + to director David O. Russell and screen writer Eric Warren Singer. The film opens with Bale fiddling his stringy hair in order to conceal his bald spot. He’s preening in the mirror, styling’ and profilin’, ready to meet the mark (a New Jersey mayor) with partners in crime Amy Adams and Bradley Cooper. From there, the flashback is laid down like shag carpet.

I like flashback. Uber-director Martin Scorsese does a respectable job of it, especially in Goodfellas. Personally, I have not attempted to use it in my writing so I think this is a good spot to explore it. Screenwriting instructor Syd Field states that “Flashbacks are a tool, a device, where the screenwriter provides the reader and audience with visual information that he or she cannot incorporate into the screenplay any other way. The purpose of the flashback is simple: it is a technique that bridges time, place and action to reveal information about the character, or move the story forward.”

Well, that’s what David Russell did in American Hustle. I think he wanted me to feel sorry for Bale’s character (Irving Rosenfeld), so he jumped back in to the past to illustrate what a schmuck he was and soared forward to illustrate how Irving was going to right some wrongs/do the right thing with this last big score with the FBI.  This movie inspired me to use flashback in some upcoming writings. Here are three items I liked when researching the topic:

1. Use flashback as a significant event that gives clues about the character.
2. Make sure the transition process is simple and smooth. The audience should be able to follow the action from the present, to the past and back to the present.
3. Create a physical type of transition. For example: a character sees a picture, smells a scent, or hears a specific sound which causes him to reminisce about a bygone time.
4. Tackle the age old problem of using flashback as a way to plug in a plot dilemma. According to www.scriptsecrets.com, establish the backstory early and re-establish it before you incorporate the flashback scene.

 Like a shag carpet, Bradley Cooper and Christian Bale brought the '70s to life. But it was flashback that shined like a disco ball to make the film quite memorable.

Sources: www.writersstore.com/the-use-of-flashbacks/, www.scriptologist.com, www.scriptsecrets.net

SHORT STORIES

By Mike Long                                               

I’ve been fortunate enough to have three short stories selected for publication this year, and since this is new to me (and possibly new to others), I thought I’d share my experience.                                                                                                     

“Choteau’s Crossing” will be released in late January in the Rough Country Anthology from High Hills Press. That same publisher (Louella Turner) is also publishing “Unfinished Business” later this year in Cactus Country IV. “Resurrection” is contracted for the Broken Promises Anthology from La Frontera Press, date TBA.

I’m told an author makes little or nothing directly on pieces in anthologies, with a typical payoff of  $50 plus five copies of the finished work. The real benefit is exposure, at no cost. The publisher distributes the work to libraries and bookstores, and/or to major distributors like Ingram and Baker&Taylor, and perhaps readers discover the author and seek out more of the author’s work.

For me there’s been another plus. I just finished “Higher Ground,” the third novel in my series, and since Lou Turner likes my two short stories, I asked if she’d consider the novel-without the painful query process. She said yes, and asked for it and synopses for the first two novels. Since I have the rights to them, I’ve also asked her to consider becoming the ‘publisher of record’ for them, and thus take over distribution from me. If she agrees, I’ll get a much smaller cut from sales but hopefully the increased volume of sales would make up for it. Fingers are crossed but I’m hopeful, as she just nominated “Choteau’s Crossing” for a SPUR Award in the 2014 Western Writers of America competition.

In each of these cases, I regain rights after a short time and can perhaps bundle these stories into my own anthology somewhere down the pike, if I get busy and write a half dozen more.

WRITE

Marion Aldridge

Write!

Write. Whatever it takes to write, do it. Turn off the television set. Get up early. Go to a coffee shop. Don’t go to a coffee shop. Set aside the time. Take the time. Steal the time. Write.

In a yoga class this week, I had a flush of “retirement guilt” as I listened to young moms talk about how hard it is to create space in their lives to come to a yoga class. During my first year of retirement, I have been blessed with lots of free time and choices. So, I felt a bit defensive about my abundance of free time. Then I remembered that I worked my butt off for 45 years at “real jobs” and made time to be a husband, a parent, a good employee, a friend, a sports fan and a writer. J. K. Rowling did way better than I did.

Write.

Whatever the subject, write. You can delete it or throw it away later. I wrote an entire book that turned out to be pretty awful. Now I know how not to write about that subject.

Write, even if it’s bad. You will have second and third and twentieth draft opportunities. It won’t be perfect on the first draft or the fifth draft. You can research later. You can get opinions from proofreaders and copy-editors later. Just write.

I would like to be a better writer, but people who don’t write aren’t even bad writers. They are simply not writers.

I would like to be a more consistent writer, but I’d rather be an erratic author than a wisher or an if-onlier or a wannabe.

I would like to be a smarter or more clever pundit, but I don’t think the Nobel or Pulitzer prizes are in my future. I would simply like to get some ideas out there for conversation and to receive an occasional check in the mail.

So, I write. 

HONOR THE PLAYWRIGHT

By Jodie Cain Smith

I learned the rule “honor the playwright” early in my formal acting training and quickly became an actor who never improvised. I spurn actors who adlib, nilly-willy through the playwright’s achievement and spit upon my core principal.

Recently, however, in a production of Nora and Delia Ephron’s Love, Loss, and What I Wore, I went over to the dark side. For the sake of character development – an actor’s justification for all crimes big and small – I changed the words mother and grandmother to mamma and grandma and the word Baltimore to Galveston. Night after night, audiences howled at my portrayal of the sassy State Senator. But inside, beneath my stage makeup and costume, I knew my crime.

Enter self-loathing and guilt.

Were my actions truly justified? Maybe. But, I couldn’t rid myself of one truth: by changing the playwrights’ words in order to create a character I wanted to play, I failed to honor the playwright. My performance felt tainted. Will I remember this show for the privilege of working with such a talented and passionate company or will I only remember the moment I broke the rule?

Enter divine intervention, courtesy of the theatre gods.

Nearing the end of our final performance, fellow cast member Emily rose from her seat and faced the packed house. She was to perform “Geralyn’s Story”, known to all of us as “The Breast Cancer Piece.” As Emily began to speak of reconstruction surgery, two audience members hurried out of the theater. Nora and Delia’s words hit too close to home. Undeterred, Emily continued, performing each word as if she had written them herself.

Over the course of rehearsals and previous performances, I had learned Emily’s routine as I watched from my upstage chair. Pacing on the downstage platform, Emily would tell of mastectomies and lace bras, cup sizes and a tattoo in place of a nipple. Next, she would cross upstage and with a sweeping arm in the cast’s direction, indicate “the friends who’d looked after me like angels.” After that, she would sit and recall the baseball caps she wore through chemo, her “magic hats.”

However, during our final performance, after Emily made her usual upstage cross, she did not sit. “What is she doing?” I thought. A slight panic pulsed through my veins. Then, facing the audience full front, Emily began to deliver the line I knew so well, “My crushed velvet (hat) was my favorite. My Aunt Honey gave it to me.” But on this night, she changed it. “My Aunt Sarah gave it to me.”

My friend had found the most touching way to pay tribute to her sister whom she lost to cancer one year ago. Emily stood through the rest of the piece, as if to say, “Sarah, you are precious. You are missed. And, tonight, I honor you.”

In that moment, I realized the exception to the rule. I broke the rule in order to garner a laugh, a second of glory that I will soon forget.Shame on me. Emily, however, broke the rule and created higher art: that moment when a play becomes something more, something real. Emily did more than change a word. She made the words her own. I can think of no better way to honor the playwright.

READING AND WRITING

By Bonnie Stanard

This morning as I was eating cereal and reading an article in The New York Review of Books, it came to me that one reason to write arises from reading what somebody else has written.

I had been reading a review of biographies of former president Dwight D. Eisenhower in which his handling of international politics was contrasted with that of his successors. Every president since Eisenhower has ignored traditional military art. That is to say they have merited the idea of a partial victory (an oxymoron). According to the article, our military leaders “promise quick victories with little pain” resulting in exploits such as Kennedy’s attempt to overthrow Castro and his sending “advisors” to Viet Nam. Dabbling in conflicts or sending small contingencies of combat troops into hostile territory is anathema to Eisenhower’s credo that war is an all-or-nothing game.

Reviewer Thomas Powers put forth simple and fundamental ideas which rang true. My reaction was to get an email off to my sons and friends, to broadcast my reaction to this information, to make my thoughts on it known.

Years ago when I read the diary of Thomas Chaplin, I began a literary journey that resulted in three novels, something I never anticipated. From my experience of sharing Chaplin's life—his toothache, his boat in a storm, his fields of cotton, his fight at the agriculture society—arose the character of Tilmon Goodwyn, who began to take shape as a man who considered himself a good person. The slave girl Kedzie appeared to prove him wrong.

Writers get inspired by the works of other writers. Owen Wister’s The Virginian inspired The Log of a Cowboy by Andy Adams. Sometimes that inspiration takes on a life of its own resulting in books written in response to another. Literary allusion, or writing that throws light on other writing, has been around since the Bible. Homer’s Odyssey has spawned numerous literary works such as James Joyce’s Ulysses, Atwood’s Siren Song, as well as poems by such as Walcott and Tennyson. More recently Michael Cunningham used Virginia Wolf’s Mrs. Dalloway as a springboard to write The Hours, which was made into a successful movie.

I guess my point is that success breeds success. Good books give rise to more good books. But you have to read them first.

The Business Of Writing

By Sarah Herlong

It dawned on me recently that I wasn’t doing enough with my writing. I was concentrating on upping my writing hours and completing stories. But what about all the other aspects of writing I need to do?

For instance I need to spend time educating myself about writing as a craft. I get called out sometimes about my problematic point of view. After doing some research, I bought some good books. Now my goal is to spend a certain amount of time per day studying.

Because I write children’s literature, this is another area I need to research. I need to learn all about the different genres for the various age groups. I also need to read inside my genre to learn more about my audience.

But as a writer I shouldn’t just read within my genre. I should read anything and everything I can get my hands on, newspapers and magazines as well as books. I never know where my inspiration will come from. It could be that magazine I just picked up at the doctor’s office, or a column in the newspaper about an upcoming poultry festival. By the way the poultry festival did inspire me, and will eventually be showing up at a critique group near you.

Then there is the aspect of getting your work ready for submission, working on query letters, and synopses. If I don’t put in time for this, I need to question my reasons for writing. I have a format query letter I can personalize for the person and story I’m trying to sell. I’m also working on doing my synopses ahead of time to prevent that rush to complete one at the last minute for an agent.

Next in the business of writing that I need to work on is finding literary agents to submit my writing to. Those don’t usually fall into your lap. You have to search for them. And this for me is the area where I drag my feet. Hopefully you don’t have this problem. Not only are there agents to submit to, but magazines, contests and publishers. All of which are just waiting to be found.

.

There is one other area that is an important part of being a writer and that is the need for a platform. My only foray into that realm is being on this blog and on twitter. Being a recluse, I plan to use my expert skill of procrastination to avoid working on this one for a while.

Mitty to Mitty

By Laura P. Valtorta

The doors of the Columbiana Grande cinema went “whoosh” as the renowned movie critic, Laura P. Valtorta made her way to see the latest Ben Stiller flick – The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. “The Bluffington Post” had sent her free tickets. She made her way to the back of the theater, amongst the other important critics, some of whom spoke French. “Bonjour,” they saluted her.

“This should be good,” said her husband, Marco, gobbling popcorn and jarring Laura from her reverie. “It’s nice to continue our Christmas day movie-going tradition.”

Their son, Dante, stretched out between them, hogging both armrests and sending twitter messages on his phone.

“Put your phone away,” Laura told Dante, hoping he would switch from the artificial electronic stimulation of his cell phone to the artificial electronic stimulation of the cinema “Since we’re at the movie house now, let’s watch the movie up there.’

That was the theme of Ben Stiller’s Walter Mitty – everyone needs to stop zoning out and pay more attention to what’s happening in the here and now. It was a message Laura enjoyed, especially in a world where people seem unable to sit alone at restaurant without chatting loudly with someone in another city on their phones, or staring at the screen of a laptop, lost in a distant world, far away.

We’ve lost the art of people-watching. We’ve all become Walter Mitties.

In the Ben Stiller movie, Walter eventually stops daydreaming so much. Getting fired from a job cures him. He travels to Iceland and Greenland, he climbs mountains in Afghanistan to find Sean Penn, and he learns to court the woman of his dreams. Unlike the 1947 version of the movie, starring Danny Kaye and an overbearing mother, Ben Stiller’s Walter ends up being helped by his mother (Shirley MacLaine) – not smothered. Unlike the main character in the short story by James Thurber, Ben Stiller’s Walter is not married to a harpie. He wants to get married; and women are not monsters.

During the closing credits at the Columbiana, the famous movie critic Laura Valtorta spoke in French and Italian to her cohorts and opined that Ben Stiller’s movie was superior to the 1947 version – more thoughtful, more meaningful, and less critical of the female sex.

“The Danny Kaye version was just plain silly,” Laura said. “I bet that Ben Stiller gets along well with his mother, Anne Meara, and with his wife, Christine Taylor.  James Thurber was married, twice, but he probably preferred E.B. White.”

The other film critics laughed.

I Don’t Want a Niche

By Marion Aldridge

Current wisdom for writers and for many other professions is to find a niche market and focus. You can’t just write about travel. You have to write about gay travel or traveling as a handicapped person or travel in the Florida Keys or travel by dugout canoe. If you choose to specialize in travel by dugout canoes, you need to decide whether your canoe will be dug out of maple or cedar. Niche marketing.

My trouble is that I am curious about everything. Don’t limit me. I see a bumper sticker that says, “Eat Bertha’s Mussels,” and I wonder what that’s about. Who is Bertha? Where is Bertha? Can I get to Bertha’s by suppertime?

The world has always had a love/hate relationship with generalists. One of the first words I remember being taught in a classroom is the word “dilettante.” It describes, I was told, someone who is “a jack of all trades and master of none.” Apparently, to be labeled a dilettante is to be insulted. I prefer to think my interests are eclectic. I may read the biography of a baseball player one day, a financial analysis of “Tulip Mania” the next, a science fiction novel the next, a book about Buddhism the next and a Civil War history the next.

“Where the Pavement Ends” has been my attempt at writing a travel blog in the year since my retirement. 

http://marionaldridge.wordpress.com I have written about New York City, Shreveport and Machu Picchu, but I have also written about football, colors, grief, friendship, patriotism, race relations and alternative medicines. Travel, it turns out, is too narrow a topic for my interests.

I admire people who have specific, marketable skills, who are expert in a particular area, those who can craft fine furniture, who can wire a house for electricity, who can play the flute, who can teach children in a classroom, who can perform surgery. Some people are brain surgeons, play the flute and make fine furniture. I am not one of them, but I am happy the world has people who cross disciplines. Too narrow a focus makes us less than we might be.

An old joke tells of St. Peter giving new residents a tour of heaven. As they pass certain sections, he shushes the recent arrivals, motioning for them to be quiet. Later someone asked, “Why did we need to be quiet back there?’

St. Peter responded, “Oh, that’s where the Baptists stay and they still think they’re the only ones here.”  

Retirement has been good for me because it freed me from many of the restrictions of my life that were employment based. Being restrained by others and limiting myself drives me nuts, but it is somewhat inevitable in the workaday world. Nowadays, every morning, I drink coffee from a cup that is inscribed, “Never affirm self-limitations.” When I begin my morning and the sun is rising, I want my ears sensitive to all that is happening around me and I want my eyes wide open. I want to see, taste, touch, hear and smell it all. Bring it on. No limits.

New in 2014: One Writer’s Resolutions

 By Jodie Cain Smith

As 2013 draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on the last 12 months. I perfected the most flattering angle when taking a selfie. I learned the answer to a question I never thought to ask regarding what a fox might say and that I am completely unprepared for the inevitable zombie apocalypse. I was confused by men in skinny, high-water pants and prayed for the sagging trend to finally end. (My prayers were not answered.) To be truthful, I revel in the opportunity to leave narcissistic photos, annoying earworms, the compulsion to build a bunker, and strange fashion choices in the past.

However, 2013 wasn’t a complete bust. It provided so many writing lessons that I feel compelled to make a few New Year’s resolutions in order to capitalize on what I have learned. (Please note that as a realist with a fragile ego I try to avoid situations in which I set myself up for failure. Therefore, I rarely make resolutions. Is it fair for me to vow on December 31^st to go to the gym five days a week knowing that I will fall off the fitness wagon by February? No. That just paves the road to self-loathing, which I detest.) Yes, failure is quite possible, but with all of you holding me accountable, I may succeed. So, in 2014, I resolve to:

1.      Stop being lazy. I recently learned that I used the word had 480 times in my novel, The Woods at Barlow Bend. Rather than choose a better, more descriptive verb, I remained faithful to had, using it every chance I got. Had been. Had seen. Had gone. Had had. The word lost all meaning by page 200. Thank goodness for editors.

2.      Get out of my lead characters’ minds. As fascinating as I believe my leads to be, after all I created them, perhaps their constant reflections and silent soliloquys are not the best way to tell a story. Can we get a little action on those pages, Jodie?

3.      Break up with adverbs. Seriously, I absolutely promise to only use adverbs sparingly in 2014.

4.      Be ever cognizant of perspective. This will be my hardest resolution to keep, as I prefer to write first person narratives and struggle with laziness (See #1). I fear that around March 2014 I will falter and begin creating character after character with psychic abilities and the superpower to read minds.

I challenge each of you to create your own list of writing resolutions for the New Year. Would you like to explore a new genre? Perhaps your goal is to submit more pieces for publication. Or, maybe your resolution is to write without fear, to destroy inhibitions with every sentence? Maybe, just maybe, we will become as brave and skilled with our writing as we are with the built-in camera of our cell phones. Now, should we discuss all those photos you’ve been posting?

MOMA – Love of Bove: NEW YORK CITY, Day Three (12/07/2013)

By Laura P. Valtorta                                     

Art begets art. Nothing speaks more profoundly to a writer than a modern art exhibit. I’ve seen some Picassos before, but the selection at the Museum of Modern Art is astounding – particularly “Girl Looking in a Mirror,” and “Dream of Undie,” or something like that. Brilliant mauves and yellows. Beautiful browns.Then there are the giant Matisses “The Dance.” “The Red Studio.” Marco took lots of photos.

Carol Bove’s sculpture “Equinox,” (a display that fills an entire room), was the most captivating piece I saw. The textures of driftwood, steel, painted piping, feathers, seashell, glittery curtain, and a decomposing mattress created surprises at every turn.

Sixth Street was an ant hive of tourists. This time I had Marco as a barging partner.  We ate at Pret a Manger. Sandwiches. Scarce wood benches.

We began the morning walking on the High Mile and thinking about James Barilla’s book My Backyard Jungle. There are some beautiful views of the water from that walk, as well as some astounding construction. Construction workers were hooked precariously to enormous bunches of steel “cages” where the concrete will be poured. It’s supposed to be a housing hi-rise by Spring 2014, right next to the High Mile.

           

Last night, the unnamed, pukey film festival featured a film by Jill McTwattlebum (not her real name) that spent a lot of time whining. “My mother punched me around, so I need to become a second rate boxer to get over it,” etcetera. Getting a job that pays money might be a better kind of therapy at 40.

What interested me was Jill’s prior career as a pole dancer. She wrote a stage play based on the gyrating dancers that got good reviews. Then she made this film about herself, PTSD and boxing. Jill did a pretty good job of extracting stories from female boxers – stories with beginnings, middles, and ends. Unfortunately they all dealt with physical abuse. Jill’s husband had the best line – “I gave up Tai Kwan Do because after getting hit in the stomach a few times, I figured, I have an MBA, so I don’t need this.” Well said, Gary. Getting beaten up is a young person’s sport.

Writing the play allowed Jill McTwaddle to do a pretty good job of editing the film. Which shows once again that art produces art.

The trip to MOMA inspired me to work on my stage play, Bermuda while Marco is shopping at the stereo store in some kind of acoustical heaven.

           

Tomorrow – Broadway.

New York City; Coen brothers film premiere SHADOW BOX FILM FESTIVAL Day One (12/05/2013)

By Laura P. Valtorta

On Wednesday in Harbison, SC I ate fish and chips at the Bulldog Café with Bonnie, Ginny, and Sarah as a last-meal type of thing. My flight to Newark went smoothly, Instead of dying, I ended up in New York City.

Sixth Avenue is weird. It took me 50 minutes to walk from the 700 block to the 1300 block to see a premiere (invitation, only) of the Coen brothers film – Inside Llewellyn Davis. The crowds were thick and multilingual, but I barged my way through. I missed Milanese Marco who knows how to part a crowd.

Upon arriving at 1350 Avenue of the Americas (a tall glass building), I could not find the Dolby 88 theater. The people in the bank were snooty. They did not know. I explored the side streets. Two women carrying a printout reminded me of movie-goers. I followed them into the bowels of the bank. A guard motioned me in, past some electronic barriers.

Two young men – hipster types with those black glasses and skinny pants -- found my name on a list and I was “in.”

The seats were plush and reclining. The room was about 120 degrees too hot. I barged into the center of the seats and plopped myself next to a bored New York couple (jeans, long hair, air of chic superiority) on one side and an older white British woman sharing M&Ms with a black British guy on my left. Neither side was up for conversation (with me, anyway) so I shut up.

We were all sweltering. An older New York man stood up behind me and bellowed – “Hey, turn on the air conditioning! We’re burning up in here!”

“Thank you!” I said to him. That’s what I like about New York. People are NOT afraid to speak up.

Six out of ten for the Coen brothers. The movie bumps along because you feel for the musician and want him to succeed. It’s frustrating because he does not. Why cast a guy who is not Italian and call him half Italian? It doesn’t work. We can see through all that. We can look at his body, and we can interpret the names of the cast.

I wanted Llewellyn to learn something. I wanted him to sign the correct contract and earn royalties. I wanted him to join the merchant marines. He did not.

As usual, Justin Timberlake saved the day with his acting and his hilarious song, “Mr. Kennedy, don’t send me into space.”

           

Now, off to the Shadow Box Film Festival.

Disaster! SHADOW BOX FILM FESTIVAL

By Laura P. Valtorta                                                        

Marco and I had a grand time watching White Rock Boxing in the 269-seat movie theater at the beautiful School of the Visual Arts in New York City. Alone.

That’s right. We were the only ones who showed up. The flat-nosed boxing reporter who promised to show up (he was there to watch the Dutch documentary two hours earlier) decided to hang out with some boxers who attended the short films in the other theater.

White Rock Boxing looked brilliant on the big screen. Even the music sounded good. The colors were just right. One hundred percent of the audience was delighted with the film.

What I learned from this experience is that television rules. When White Rock Boxing aired on South Carolina Educational Television two times (count ‘em – two) we had a potential audience of four million viewers each time.  At least I like to believe that. South Carolina ETV rocks! It’s mentioned as an excellent venue in the book the Screenwriter’s Bible.

The venerable Cliff Springs (owner of Genesis Studios) and I are wrestling with the conundrum of distribution. How can independent films find the largest audience? Film festivals? Television? Streaming on demand? So far, television seems the best bet. We also have to try out streaming—but where? DVD sales. How? All ideas welcome.

For people trying to find work – here’s an idea. Cook up a plan to market independent films. Because the films are all so different (length, quality, subject matter), the service has to be tailored to each film. And find a way for producers to make some money. You will be a millionaire in no time.

The Sundance festival sucked in more than 12,000 entries. This gives some idea of how many independent films are being produced each year. My short was not chosen. But this sparks in me a desire to produce more films. I want to get better. I’m sure other writers and producers like me share the same passion.

New York is not a total bust. Marco is here! Next on the agenda: MOMA.  ;-)  ;-)

My Fictional Past

By Sarah Herlong

When I was young and sensitive about critiques, I asked my mother to read my story. I wanted to know if the actions of my characters were realistic. She pointed out to me that putting gas cans full of gasoline in the trunk of a car was not a safe thing to do. I was crushed. The gas in the trunk was very important to my story…it was crucial!

I wanted to write stories that didn’t sound like a kid wrote them. Unfortunately I was maybe 10 years old. I decided to stop writing. I wanted to wait until I was older and knew more about the world.

I then turned my attention to art deciding to merely illustrate my friend’s book instead. We were 13. I pursued art through college. I wanted to take a creative writing course, but bottom line I was too chicken to take it. I wondered if I had anything to say that wouldn’t scream that I was only 20 years old. 

It was only after college that I started to write. A lot of writing was skewed and imprinted with depression. It wasn’t completely worthless, but was damn near close. I still have those writings to remind me of a place I don’t want to go back to.

Finally in my thirties I took a writing class. It was a fiction class and it was all about getting words on the page through prompts. We wrote during the class and at home. It blew my mind. I was in the midst of a mania induced creative period. I dreamed what every writer dreams, to quit my job in order to write. But that job inspired my writing.

Then I got laid off from that tyrannical job, worked for a funeral home and started writing again. This was the ultimate job to inspire writing. I did a comedy routine about it. Wrote stories about it. And put together and delivered a career-day presentation on the funeral business—for middle schoolers.

Then the depression returned and the writing stopped. It wasn’t until I met a little cat named Sparky that my inspiration returned. Three Sparky stories in and I think I’m safely entrenched in writing for the long haul. The irony is now I want to write children’s stories that have a realistic kid’s voice, instead of writing for my age.

Selfie, Hottie, and Twerking: My 8th Grade English Teacher Would Faint

By Kimberly Johnson

Who would’ve thunk it? A Disney alum would spark controversy and add a newfangled word into the American lexicon. Yeah, I’m talking about Twerking. It’s a verb. According to Oxford online dictionary it’s “dance to popular music in a sexually provocative manner involving thrusting hip movements and a low, squatting stance.” It’s a noun. According to my Google search, there are 195 videos on the subject. London’s Daily Mail announced last week the winner of the first Twerking championship.

Mrs. Taylor, my 8th grade English teacher , would take a nosedive in front of the chalkboard if she knew words like selfie and hottie entered the hallowed pages of the Oxford Dictionary. She was a taskmaster. Here’s a lady who insisted on diagraming sentences. BTW, selfie is the Word of the Year by Oxford Dictionary. 

Who am I to be judge, jury and executioner on which words meet some unwritten seal of approval? All I know is that these seemingly fad words are a good thing. They bridge the generational gap. A guy from the MTV Generation may embrace reading/writing and become the next John Steinbeck. What I find interesting is that these trendy terms are seductive enough to sneak into my vocabulary bank. While watching E! News, I blurted out actor Gerard Butler is such a hottie. (Sorry about that.) Here are some listed in my pocket phrasebook.

Hottie: an attractive guy or girl  

Selfie: self- portrait snapped on a smartphone

Bazinga: A catch phrase to accompany a prank, similar to “You’ve been punk’d”.

Swagger: To walk around being overly self-assured 

Gangnam Style: Similar to swagger

Friend me/Like me/Tweet me: To leave a message

Who would’ve thunk it? Miley Cyrus and Mrs. Taylor – in the same story. Whether it is a verb or a noun, trendsetting words are a part of the American vocabulary and maybe we should embrace a word or two.

Sources: www.urbandictionary.com, www.dictionary.com, www.oxforddictionaries.com

What Would Jane Do?

By Leigh Stevenson

I had a huge realization. My return to the stage and the press surrounding it taught me something. Never has so much been written about so little. Really. The one-act play I did was funny, true. But articles in every publication in town, Facebook advertising, Twitter and then FRONT PAGE of the newspaper? Are you kidding me? Suddenly we were sold-out. The playwright, Robbie Robertson also our publicist/media guru, master of networking and blitzkrieg, was responsible.

I had heard for a while from professionals that getting your work out into the media, using all formats, is important. You create your own stir. I resisted this and basically ignored it. I thought, “Who would really read all the hype?” I guess I’m a throwback to Jane Austen. I just wanted to write. Not self-promote. Finally, a full year after a good friend said it was imperative, I created a blog. Slow study doesn’t quite cover it.

What Robbie taught me is, IT WORKS. However painful and makes me want-to-hide-under-the-bed-embarrassing, IT WORKS. If you create enough stir people will notice. I wish it was a different world. But it’s not.

Also, I wonder if the new technology intimidates anyone else. Is it just me? First, computers. That was a challenge, but I mastered the basics. Every time I talk with someone who knows more than I do (which isn’t hard), I pick their brain and take notes. In pencil. Remember pencil? By the way, do you notice that young people, I mean the ones that grew up with computers, are annoyed to show you how to do things on the computer? As if your ignorance wasn’t enough of a handicap, you feel dumb about being ignorant. I want to remind them; even they had to learn to read. We don’t spring from our mother’s loins with technology implanted. Or reading skills.

Next was email. I stuck a tentative toe in the water and then dove. I loved it. A fast, efficient way to correspond. Apparently it wasn’t fast or efficient enough. Then came (I’m not sure in what order, so don’t sue me) Websites for Everything and Everyone! Texting, Twitter, Blogging, Skype, Smartphones (what does that even mean?), Cloud technology, Nooks, Kindles, iPads, and on and on. I’m sure I’m behind on even naming them.

The point is, I feel I have to be a magician to keep up. I’m trying, heaven knows. I’m not sure, however, with all of this corresponding and sharing of information… if people are still talking. How’s the art of conversation faring with the How r u’s and LOL’s? How about handwritten letters? I used to love letters. Even a greeting card makes me happy. Oh sure, I love to get them via email, but there is something about holding them in your hand. Books, too. I don’t want to be a dinosaur about it but it’s true, there are things to miss. Some traditions worth hanging on to. I still love Jane Austen. What on earth would she have done?

I Can’t Find My Louboutins: Looking for a Fashion Writer Who Knows Where They Are

By Kimberly Johnson

I think I lost my shoes during NYC Fashion Week. Maybe if I put an all-points bulletin to the famous fashion bloggers and columnists I just might get them back in time for Christmas. For two days, I played Columbo and stumbled around the Internet. 

I Googled fashion writers. I learned that most editors want a niche writer with a proven track record. Start a blog to generate an audience is what the editors suggest. www.fashionista.com has over 937 K Twitter followers and 155K Facebook fans. Columnist Rachel Strugatz is legendary for her work for at Women’s Wear Daily and the Huffington Post. Here’s a sample highlighting jewelry worn by First Lady Michelle Obama.

“The one-of-a-kind Naeem Khan gown Michelle Obama donned for the state dinner stole the spotlight initially, but it was her show-stopping earrings that stole our hearts. The first lady borrowed the rose cut, amber, and tourmaline pear shaped earrings from Bochic, brainchild of New York-based David Aaron Joseph and Miriam Salat.”

John Jannuzzi, Jessica Quillin and Shala Monroque are prominent fashion writers-turned-editors that use Twitter and Facebook to maintain a strong social media presence. I located Olivia Fleming of London’s Daily Mail.  Maybe she can tell me where my shoes are. Fleming highlighted Louboutin in a November 11 article:

“Christian Louboutin is introducing a capsule collection of heels that promises to elongate your legs by matching the color of your skin. Five classic Louboutin styles have been re-imagined in five shades ranging from a fair blush to rich chestnut, which aim to 'closely match the color of a customer's skin tone'.”

 I Googled fashion writing. The result was a hodge podge of advice ranging from invest in a good dictionary to develop a tough hide to the quote “Writers are not born, they are created through hard work.”  Interestingly enough, a fashion writer internship popped up. 

“Want my job? Write a headline and 250 words on the person you would most like to interview in the fashion industry – it could be a designer, a show producer, a make-up artist, a hair stylist or a model. I want to know who inspires you and why.”  (from Rebecca Lowthrope, the fashion features director for Elle UK)

I think my shoes are truly lost. But I did find out that the fashion industry has creative writers in various genres. Fashion writers adhere to the same principles as a non-fiction writer, a memoirist, even a cookbook writer. The only thing different is the red carpet, the fabulous clothes, and the celebrities. Ok. I don’t really own a pair of Louboutins, but I do have a pair of Calvin Kleins.

    

Sources:  www.vogue.com,  www. ultimate-luxury-community.com, www.EzineArticles.com/3400120, www.dailywritingtips.com

SCBWI Conference

By Sarah Herlong

Recently I went to the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators conference.

Fortunately room service was great! The hotel was very nice too. I found their preparations beforehand very organized and helpful. Online they had 3 publications. One was a Conference Brochure. It contained a conference overview, hotel information, conference schedule, workshop descriptions and faculty bios. All handy anytime I needed to access it.

Then there was the downloadable Conference Information brochure. This contained all the guidelines and deadlines for manuscript critiques, portfolio reviews, first pages/ first impressions, red eye critiques and portfolio displays. This was very helpful to have all in one place. There was also a copy of the critique form used by the entire faculty. This form for manuscript critiques was very thorough. It was covered front and back with boxes for the editor/agent to fill. They had to list the positive aspects of the work and elements that needed improvements. They had to provide notes on character development, plot and structure, language diction, voice, and marketability. There was even a section for next steps and extra comments. I found this produced the best critiques I’ve ever gotten for my work, especially the editor’s comments. Their perspective is so different than an agent’s. Having this form in advance also helped me tailor my questions around what they would have already covered in their critique. It made me more professional as well as their critique more informative.

Then most interestingly was the Newcomer’s Guide. It contained helpful tips for those attending their first conference as well as anyone who wanted to make the most of their conference experience. It included all sorts of tips to make the most of my 15 minute critique and even icebreaker questions to help you make connections with other conference goers. Frankly I got more questions about my work from the room service personnel than from the conference goers, but I’m antisocial.

 One of the things that were very helpful was a little map of the lobby with the conference rooms all labeled. This meant there was no confusion as to where my critiques and workshops were being held. I was never late for anything.

Being neurotic I came up with three questions for the conference coordinator, and she responded within a few hours with answers to all my questions. This I found impressive.

Another great thing was that afterwards there was a computerized critique of the conference itself that included boxes to expand on answers for each question. They asked specifically about each workshop, if it was as good as expected. I took that opportunity to squeal on the agent who talked about music instead of middle grade fiction. Yes, that really happened.

All in all it was a great conference that expanded not only my knowledge of the children’s market, but music as well, unfortunately.

23rd Annual SCWW Conference

 By Ginny Padgett

“Writing for Publication” was the theme of the one-day symposium hosted by SCWW on Saturday, October 26 at the Columbia Metropolitan Convention Center. There were about 65 attendees who enjoyed presentations from seven industry experts: Holly McClure, agent-author and owner of Sullivan Maxx Literary Agency LLC; Betsy Teter, founder of Hub City Writers Project; Cindi Boiter, author and Editor-Publisher of Jasper Magazine; Shari Stauch, marketing specialist and creator of Where Writers Win; Aurelia Sands of Deer Hawk Publications; along with our own McKendree Long and Fred Fields. Professional critiques were offered for purchase at the website. A dozen or so attendees and spouses gathered afterward at the Flying Saucer for author readings, door prizes, conversation and conviviality.

By all accounts it was a successful day even though it was a pared-down event. I heard words like “focused,” “informative,” enjoyable” and “professional.” We owe a round of applause to Kia Goins, 2013 SCWW Conference Chair, for organizing a day of sharing and expanding.

SCWW Columbia II won the Chapter Submission Challenge; Laura P Valtorta took Second Place in the Individual Category. The 2013 Petigru Review made its debut. The anthology is available at the website and soon to come to Kindle.

Save the date for next year’s conference: October 24-26, 2014, Hilton Myrtle Beach Resort. Beginning in January, keep an eye on the website for details: www.myscww.org/conference/  

  

Finding a Publishing Home

By Jodie Cain Smith

I was finished writing. Every word had been carefully crafted into my perfect 300-page newborn:  unspoiled and unpublished. However, I knew my bouncing baby manuscript would not be fully realized as a novel until I put it out into the world. Succeed or fail, I had to try.

But how? I have been asked this several times since finding a publisher for my baby. How did I do it?

First, I did my research. For weeks, I dug through websites such as Poet & Writers, Writer’s Market, and Publishers Weekly. I attended classes on the publishing industry. I purchased and read nearly every word of 2013 Writer’s Market:  Where and How to Sell What You Write.

Next, I put my gigantic, sometimes fragile ego in check. Had I written the next Pride & Prejudice? No. Had I written a story I believed in; one I wanted to share? Yes. Had I written a story with a great hook? Definitely. My baby was begging to be published, but which avenue should I choose?

Shelving my ego allowed my true publishing goal to emerge. I wanted the experience of working with a professional editor without coughing up the cash, so self-publishing was out. I had also learned aiming for the Big Six as an unrepresented author would be equivalent to flying to the moon. Let’s just say that NASA is not banging on my door.

I was left with one choice:  query agents or submit unsolicited to small presses? I decided to roll the dice with small press publishers rather than attaining an agent first. Sharing 10% of nothing didn’t appeal to me.

After compiling a list of over 100 small presses from around the country, I began eliminating those organizations deemed “a bad fit.” I removed all genre specific and nonfiction publishers from my list. My baby is mainstream fiction. Querying the we-pride-ourselves-in-scaring-the-piss-out-of-tweens publishers would be a waste of time, paper, and ink. I read offerings from several small presses, evaluating each for quality and parallels to my book. Yes, I was looking for novels similar to mine. My baby needed siblings, a family of books in which to belong.

After the elimination round, I knew I had a group of real contenders: twenty small presses who accepted simultaneous submissions from unheard-of authors. Most of the presses’ catalogs were comprised entirely of Southern authors writing mainstream fiction. As a woman of the South, I dreamed of being counted among them.

I spent the next month writing twenty query letters, infusing each with specific reasons why my baby would be the perfect addition to their family. I double-checked submission guidelines for each before licking the stamp or pressing send. I was a mother sending her baby off to college. Would she come back to me rejected from the cruel world or return triumphant with the hope of being molded into an even better version of herself? 

Nineteen presses tossed her aside. But one, one said, “Welcome home, baby.”