Some people say that a coach can do only so much.
The argument goes like this: after a certain point, there is only so much a riding instructor can say to change a rider's skills. Most of the results come from the rider. After all - if the rider chooses not to (or simply cannot) do what the instructor says, then how much can one person do?
So I haven't posted in a while, but I have two very good reasons - one, I was in Tennessee (yes, I have pictures of the gorgeous place, but I haven't uploaded them yet) and two, the day we came home, I was felled by the flu. I'm recovering now, but it was sheer misery for about two days, and it's gotten to where it's only 1/4th misery.
You know when you run your mouth and think you can do something and then the deadline starts looming and, surprise!, you might not be able to do what you said you were going to? *nervous laugh* That’s kind of what I did. Kind of. Because I think I might still be able to make it happen if I turn off the internet and duct tape myself to my computer.
But, y’know, it’s the weekend and I’m home with my family and all I really want to do is chase my nephew around humming the Jaws theme song and driving his mother crazy.
In case you don’t have the slightest clue what I’m talking about, I promised myself and many other people that Summer Rush’s sequel, California Girl, would be all pretty and polished by April 1st and that I’d be posting it on all my usual sites.
Well….
Just know that a lot of blood, sweat, and tears are going into this effort. A LOT.
The answer just might be yes because this is exactly what is happening to Jamie McGuire. Jamie originally self-published her book Beautiful Disaster and the sales were so good that a publisher wanted the book. So now the book is with a publisher. Cool, right? You'd think so except for this thorn that cropped up. Amazon is sending out mass emails to people who bought…
You think that title is a joke, don't you? Trust me, it isn't. Once you start "researching" agents it quickly turns into borderline stalking. (But in a totally harmless way. *cough*)
A while back, I made a very long, very rambly post on literary agents and querying, but one thing I didn't focus enough on in that post is how exactly you…
From Ch. 2:
On the day I left home, I came to Rush’s room to say goodbye. It was immaculate almost to the point of looking unlived in; there was nothing of his in there besides a picture.
But now it was clear that he and Maya were staying indefinitely. Car posters covered every available inch of wall space. Rush was just slightly obsessed with fast cars. Just slightly. Notebooks, hardcover books (mostly automotive manuals), and magazines (mostly car ones), covered his desk along with pencils, crumpled pieces of paper, and dozens of sticky notes.
His bed was unmade, his pajamas tossed on the floor beside it. A stack of running cleats sat in front of the opened closet, which was close to exploding with unwashed laundry. Tiny picture frames covered his dresser top, and I walked carefully through the minefield of crap on his floor to see the pictures.
They were mostly of him and Maya and Dad and me, but some were friends from back home, and one was of him and my two best friends, Tasha and Jenna. He had an arm around both of them, and they all had their faces painted.
He looked happy.
My conscience beat me down all over again. You’re a horrible, horrible person, Lexus Breckerson. He’s going to hate you and you’re going to deserve it.
Against my will, my mind transported me back to earlier that summer, when Rush Santorini, my childhood friend turned nemesis, the guy I loved to harass and vice versa, told me he loved me.
Just thinking it hit me like a pillowcase full of bricks all over again. I’d never seen him so serious, so vulnerable. And I’d run away. Like a little baby, I tucked tail and ran off to Barker, and I’d never answered his phone calls, and I barely even talked to our parents, or my best friends. I’d sequestered myself in Barker like it was a fortress that could keep everything out.
And by F-word I mean Facebook! I can’t believe your mind even went there.
I’m sorry. I just wanted the opportunity to write “F-word” in a post title, because I’m mentally two years old and it makes me giggle. Yeah. Like I said. I’m mentally two years old.
Who wants to be the first one to like me?! I mean, I know you already like me, but it’s not official until it’s Facebook official. And now I’m going to stop being a retard and try out being mature.
I feel like I have my bases covered now:
Facebook. Twitter. Wattpad. Figment. And, of course, WordPress! I’M TAKING OVER THE UNIVERSE BY FIRST TAKING OVER THE INTERNETS.
In writing news, I’ve still done absolutely nothing out of class, but I had a mipiphany (aka, mini epiphany) in class today, so I possibly know what I’m going to do with a story idea I’ve been ruminating on. Possibly. It seems like a good idea, but I’ll have to actually start writing it before I know if it’ll work.
I’m currently reading HEIST SOCIETY by Ally Carter, which is about cool teenage thieves, and after that I’m starting on JOSIE GRIFFIN IS NOT A VAMPIRE. Anybody read either of those?
As one of my university writing courses has a heavy emphasis on writing book reviews, I might have to start reviewing the books I read. You’ve been forewarned!
We have already discussed four enemies of the art--Approval Addiction, Psychic Vampires, F.E.A.R, and pride. What I find so fascinating is how all of these enemies seem to link together, forming a net that can ensnare us, trapping our muse and strangling her. When we are addicted to approval, we are far more likely to tolerate Psychic Vampires.
