The Writer's Mind Game

     It amazes me how much writing is like a mind game. We talk about this in sports. If you want to be the top of your sport, you have to believe that you can do it.
     Even for top athletes, this is not easy. Thoughts come. "It's too far. It's too high. You won't make it this time. Your opponent is better than you." When you are breaking records, you are asking your body to go beyond what it thinks it can do. If you give in to those negative thoughts, all of your physical efforts will fall short. You won't make it.
     You have to turn it around. "I can do this. I'm good at this. I will reach my goal. I can push harder because I have even more to give."
     Artists know about the mind game, too. Your emotion is visible in the lines you create. What do you think about as you portray your subject? Whatever it is will be visible in your art. The end goal is different (no marathons or long-jumps here), but you still have to have joy in what you do.
     Joy.
     If you love what you are writing, there is a much greater chance that, regardless of your genre, people will love reading it. They will pick up on your joy as a writer.
     People love joy.

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A Hard Goodbye

"You're more poet than anything." I folded my arms and glared at Ian. He sat perched on the edge of the roof, dressed like an adventurer. I coveted every part of his outfit -- the breezy shirt made of course cloth, the sturdy breeches, the leather boots that laced up to his calves, the dagger on his hip. Tomorrow he would set sail to a life I craved more than anything. But did he appreciate his opportunities? No. And I hated him for it. "Do you despise poets, Ingrid?" His voice was sad, but a grin twisted at the corners of his mouth as he finished his question. Those blue eyes of his cut in my direction with a teasing flash. "They don't DO anything." My thoughts and emotions ran in torrents, but I could see his flowing smoothly and quietly. Even in his uneasiness about the morrow, his face was a peaceful as a child falling asleep in his own bed. ...

The Countdown: Eight Days

Eight days. Do you know what that means? Barely over a week. Tomorrow will be one week from the announcement date. Are you excited? I am. So, today, I want to talk to those who wrote something for the contest, whether or not you entered it in the end. What made you start writing your story? What was the first inkling of an idea that tickled your brain? What was it that you liked about your premise? As you wrote, did you have a favorite character or a favorite scene? And are you glad you wrote it down? Do you feel like you learned and grew in your ability as a writer as you tried out things for this contest? And, if your story isn't included in this year's Rooglewood anthology (either because you didn't submit it or because it didn't fit with the other four stories selected), what will you do with it? Will you market it elsewhere? Or will you lock it away in a drawer?

Goodbye and God Be With You

It's rather fitting that some things come to a close on this day -- the last day of the year. I submitted my last entry into the Rooglewood contest this morning. I can hardly believe it took me until the day of the deadline to send it in because I'm usually earlier than that. And, even with the extra time I took, I still felt a little bit like maybe I could have done better if I had more time. But there was no feeling of regret when I hit "send." Mostly it was just a prayer that Rooglewood would hear the heart of the message when they read it and that maybe, if I win, they could help me bring the full potential out of my little story. And there was also a feeling, after working on these stories for more than six months, that it felt good to close that chapter and move on to the next one. I did it. I wrote them. And I'm really proud of them. Last year, the act of hitting "send" on my contest entry catapulted me into an anticipatory state....

The Pen of a Ready Writer

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