Having Fun with Contests

I should have entered contests earlier. This is my first year at it, and so far each of my stories has at least made it to the final round somewhere. Sailing out of Darkness is the latest to have this honor in the Colorado Rocky Mountain Gold contest.

From the critiques of non-winning or non-placing stories, I have gleaned many insights and certainly learned that what one group likes, another may hate. The folk in DC loved one that here received a mediocre score. The folk in Toronto preferred another. The Wisconsin people lined up with the DC judges on their choice for a finalist (in DC Heavy Weather won the Marlene), but agreed with the Colorado judges on the second. This was my first time to submit Sailing out of Darkness (I think–sorry, I’ve been busy lately; hard to keep up with contests in the middle of so much editing), so I don’t really have any other point of reference for it.

The judges in each contest have obviously worked hard. From their comments, I can tell they spent a good deal of time pondering what to say. One or two had the courage to leave their email address so that I could ask questions. I used these to thank them, which was much nicer than writing to a generic Judge #00.  I’m trying to be faithful in giving thanks. The year I judged a contest, no one took the time to respond.

So, for all those judging and honoring my efforts with your time and thought, I also thank you publicly. I appreciate the affirmation this has given me. So many have written to compliment my writing, to wonder why my fiction has yet to see a publisher’s stamp on a book. I haven’t a clue, but I do know one thing: timing is everything. With each critique, I’ve learned something. And with each opportunity to revise, I think I’ve improved my work. I hate to imagine how I’d feel if my early efforts had achieved publication. So, I’m grateful for the time. Grateful for the wait. Grateful for the opportunity to learn and strive to be the best writer I can be, to craft the best stories possible.

I remember when I first tried my hand at fiction. What a huge learning curve lay ahead for this former non-fiction writer and editor. But the Bible says we’re to do with all our might whatever our hand finds to do. For me that has meant learning and studying and practicing this thing called writing. And, oh, haven’t I had fun!

Becalmed is a Finalist!

A couple of days ago, a lovely voice at the end of the phone line announced that Becalmed, Book 1 of my Beaufort stories, is a finalist in the mainstream division for The Catherine with the Toronto Romance Writers. So exciting!

Now, I’m busy tweaking the submission for the final round of judging.

We’ll see!

Cheat Sheets and other notes

There’s a lot of information floating around the blogsphere on how to write. Some of the advice is excellent, some not.

Here’s the fun deal for this editor: I get to decide which rules I like and which I don’t. For me, the writer? Well, I’ll just keep plugging away, trying to become the best “me” possible.

Does that sound rebellious? Those who’ve known me since the sixties will probably grin and say, “Yep,” there she goes again. Those who came upon me during my blending days may wonder at the emergence of this persona. But here’s the deal. Cloning doesn’t work. Cloning in fashion, in behavior, in attitude…none allows the individual, God’s creation, to shine. So, I don’t do rebellion for rebellion’s sake nor conformity merely to blend.

And I don’t want to read or write works that ooze over either edge. I don’t want safe and boring or radical and messy. And I don’t want to read or write the way the new pundits insist things be crafted. There’s a reason classical literature lasts. Bring on the Jane Austens and the Balzacs. Find me a Turgenev or a Poe.

So, come take a look at the cheat sheet I put together for Wayside Press. See what this editor thinks important, because it will give you a clue about what this writer also thinks. And perhaps, a hint about her writing….

Wayside Press Cheat Sheet

Submission Time at Wayside Press

Come see what’s needed and what the process for submission is at Wayside.  An empty slush pile means you’ll get read now as opposed to later. But come conference time next month, the pile will fill…

You know what that means!

Click on the link below and come learn more about us.

Wayside Press

Still talking hats: Wayside Press

I’ve been waiting to post about this new hatted position until the website was up and running and I could send you to it. But we have postponement.

I feel a bit like an astronaut whose flight was aborted, but this is another test in patience. Still, I’m going to put up the ready-to-go post and then link to the new website when it releases.

Some very talented people are working on a logo for us. Can’t wait to see what comes out of those creative minds. In the meantime:

 

NEW EXECUTIVE EDITOR FOR WAYSIDE PRESS:  C’est moi!

Wayside Press is the newest imprint of Written World Communications, 

 

and I’m Written World’s newest editor. (Though that news flash may already be dated, as it looks as if Kristine has also hired someone for Timeless, the magazine/imprint for the over-fifty crowd.)  Until Wayside’s launching, WWC had a place for everyone except the rest of us. Christian writers could craft fantasy or romance, speculative or young adult. Even children’s writers could make a dent, and poets found their work on the pages of one of WWC’s three magazines.

But for those who write crossover works for the general market? Nope. No room at the inn.

That has now changed, and I get to stand at the helm as the change emerges. If I were younger or more nimble, I’d turn cartwheels.

Why did Kristine Pratt, WWC’s CEO, invite me to head up this line? Probably because I’m the pickiest editor she knows. My husband calls me a grammar nazi, and I suppose I am. I began editing professionally back in the 1970s, which, I’m afraid, does date me. But don’t worry. I read eclectically and always have, so I doubt you’ll scare me, even if I am older by decades.

I know you’re out there, lurking, hoping for a home for your literary fiction that forgot to start with a bang, but whose language compels a thoughtful reader forward; the cozy or even uncozy mystery that is all about story; the romance that hangs on the romantic and not the sexual; the humorous, the satirical, the sublime, anything that makes me smile and forces me to sit up and take notice…all because you have something wonderful to say and your writing sings.

Why does the publishing world need another general market line?

Now, I grant that this is merely my opinion, but I think a lot of writers feel left by the wayside. Their work isn’t steamy enough or violent enough or sweet enough or prosthelytizing enough to fit in the CBA or the ABA. They’ve searched the Indie publishing market and found few outlets for the sort of thing they write. And, to be truthful, many of us are disappointed with the quality of works on the shelves.

We at Wayside want to change that. I’ll be looking at submissions soon. In the meantime, leave me a comment and tell me what you’re working on that might fit into Wayside’s line. Let’s make a difference together.

For a sneak peak at some of the changes going on over at WWC, read what Kristine has to say on Facebook.

Harry Potter, A poker hand, and a whole slew of bookstores….

The Hat. Watch the Hat.

Another hint:

 

This is the hat that goes with the picture that’s on the new website that tells the story that links to the news we’re about to disclose.

 

 

(I know. It’s a tad more formal than my sailing hats.  At least I’m smiling. I was when this was taken in October [she waves at her darling daughter], and I am now. This is a hat for good news, as well as for a different kind of fun.)

Have you guessed? (If you’re part of the advance team, shhhhh…)

 

 

Think Hats

These have been my hats of choice for years:

 

Sailing California

 

Walking Ensenada’s Malecon

 

 

Sailing Sea Venture’s dinghy off Isla Carmen in the Sea of Cortez

 

At Sea Venture’s helm

 

And lunching in Mazatlan

Hats define my workplace. I sail, therefore I wear a sailing hat. In Mexico, the hat was often bigger, floppier, hiding more of my pale skin from the sun than the caps of San Francisco and North Carolina. I’ve sailed and played and written from  my big boat-home, Sea Venture.

Now, at least temporarily land bound, I’m about to don another hat for a new job. I’ll keep the old and enjoy the new.

Stay tuned.

Chila Bradshaw Woychik Writes

 

Chila:

 

A legacy lurks within me

bound within each cell—

the longing I have to matter

and passion to do it well,

to tread while leaving footprints

and live while loving hard,

to fight the wakeful sleeping

and benefit from scars.

 

I’ll fall off the edge of the boat

if I must, and sink beneath the waves

to risk the walk on water

embracing what life gives;

I risk it all for what’s ahead

and what I’ll leave behind;

I’ve nothing more than each new breath

and nothing less than time.

(from On Being A Rat, by Chila Woychik)

Her name is Chila Woychik. Yes, she is publisher/editor at Port Yonder Books. Yes, that puts some writers in an awkward position, but not this one: she doesn’t publish works like mine. So, freedom here: I have absolutely no self-serving reason at all to write well of her or her writing…except that I must. (See, Chila? One worry discarded. Poof!)

I chided Chila when she said, “I don’t call myself a poet.”  Of course, she’s a poet. She’s a sparkling word-weaver. There’s a power in her metaphors and language-juggling that reminds me of being lost in Frost as a young girl. (Think “Blueberries” and “The Road Not Taken.”) Some poems have the jaunty aspect of TS Elliot. (Oh, J. Alfred, my friend of old.) Some are merely free association: I ponder and smile.

In her new memoir-esque book, On Being a Rat, Chila flows from poem to prose to poem with word-smithing that may be too obscure for many. Sometimes she rails at life…and then pulls back with whimsy, which may then meander into darkness. She takes risks here: tread warily as you read. A person who exposes the rhythmic thumpings of her self to us, her readers, places herself at our mercy. (For this reason, I write fiction. I don’t want you examining the deepest me. In novels, I can pretend none of the dark things happened to me and none of the thoughts espoused are mine. Well, most didn’t and don’t, so I’m not lying. Merely entering another’s skin…such fun. Peopling new worlds…such fun. The created following the Creator’s bent.) Chila, instead, says, “Here I am. Love me or not.” How, when given that choice, can we turn away? How can we, careful reader, caring reader, do anything but say, “Thank you. I will hold your words close and whisper back.”

“Time respects no one,” Chila writes. “Young and old, it preys upon the world en masse; even the rocks groan. If you have a story to tell, do it; tomorrow may elude you.” She seems to be trying to stop time – or at least to leave an ash or two for memories.

Listen to this on friendship:

… I tell you truer truth after having spent the afternoon with a friend.

My tongue boils cold—

it licked a star—

sheds layers

while I add two more.

 

I storm around this Abell place

with snowshoes and a set of poles

and plant a flag of ownership—

squatter’s rights in space.

 

Now I freely give it,

piece by hard-earned piece.

 

Some friends deserve

a slice of star.

A slice of star. Do you hear it? Quickly – what picture comes to mind? Do you wish, as I do, for such a gift, handed in friendship?

She speaks of communing with Emily Dickinson: “…two porcelain spirits, confident, challenging, with a union as fragile as a poem gone wrong.

I love this, Chila’s porcelain spirit revealed here. If you have a poet’s heart or even merely an ear for fine lines, please read this book written by an imperfect woman striving – as we’re each called to do – toward the best.

 

Oh me, oh my: I WON!

Michael phoned from Grand Cayman to tell me I should open my email. So I put down my chopsticks (we were eating sushi), left my mama perched in front of the BBC’s Emma,  and toddled upstairs to the computer.

And, oh, my, there it was, with “Drumroll Please” in the subject line.

One of my stories won first place in the Marlene Awards for women’s fiction.

I’m still fanning myself and grinning. Perhaps I’ll share some of the judges’ comments later. At the moment, I’m hugging them close.

(Yoohoo, Marlene judges, thank you soooo much!!)