What I Do All Day

Posted on September 23, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on January 16, 2011 at 6:10 PM

I’ll tell you my very least favorite part of being a writer. It’s not rejections. It’s not waiting for rejections. It’s not the work. It isn’t even being called “a housewife.” It’s submissions.

I. Hate. Submissions.

I work the equivalent of a full-time job most weeks, in being a writer. I write for 3-4 hours a day (unless it’s a really good, fast day) 7 days a week. That’s about 25 hours a week. And then I spend about 2 hours on submissions each day. That’s 14 hours a week. That doesn’t even take into account editing and formatting and blogging and record-keeping. Throw in my 3 hours of critique groups each week, and hell, I’m working over-time.

I’m telling you all this not to complain (okay, a little to complain), but mostly to let you know. When people find out I’m a writer (which is not, I reiterate, the same as being a “stay at home wife”;), they often ask me, “So what do you do all day?” They don’t mean to be rude; they’re genuinely curious. I can understand that. So I’m explaining.

About half of my available working hours are dedicated solely to writing. The other half go to necessary, boring, mind-numbing crap. Hey, it’s true.

At this exact moment in time, here’s how my completed, unpublished works break down:

• 2 novel manuscripts- 2 sent out to a total of 14 agents queried, 1 partial in review
• 2 poetry manuscripts- 1 sent out to 1 poetry contest
• 2 short stories- 2 sent out to 2 publishers
• 8 flash/micro fiction pieces- 6 sent out to a total of 7 publishers
• 289 individual poems- 11 sent out to 4 publishers

As you can see, that’s over 300 works finished and always waiting to be sent and re-sent for publication/representation. That’s not even including all of my WIPs (2 more novels, 1 more book of poetry, and near-constant short fiction and poems). It’s easy to imagine how once I started becoming more prolific than my submissions it became almost impossible to catch up. But it makes no sense to me to stop writing to have time to submit. Writing is the whole point. Publication is desirable, but time-consuming.

 

The worst part of it all? That it never ends. If I got each of these accepted at the first place I submitted to, I’d be golden. But that’s not the way it works. I get rejections in the mail/email, and as if that wasn’t bad enough on its own, it means I have to send that same piece back out again. It takes at least an hour, usually more, for me to narrow down, research, and choose the perfect venue to send a poem or story. Agents are even harder. So when I get a “no” back, it means that piece goes back on my list. Not so fun.

If I were really, really rich, I would hire someone to handle all of my submissions. That’d be baller. Anyone interested in working for cookies?

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Professional vs. Personal (i.e.: why I’m painfully shy)

Posted on September 23, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on January 12, 2011 at 1:57 PM

I was watching an episode of What Not to Wear recently, and the woman they were making over said something along the lines of, “I feel like I have plenty of professional confidence. It’s just personal confidence that I need to work on.” It was like a little light came on over my head.

I’m a shy person, in real life. I’m introverted, quiet, and hesitant to start conversations with people I don’t know. I’m not so sure that has a direct correlation with personal confidence, although it seems like it should, because in general I would say that I’m a fairly confident person.

And it’s only in certain ways that I’m shy. Ask me to give a speech on a topic I’m confident in, perform with a dance team in front of hundreds of people, or go do a job interview, and I’m golden. But drop me in a room with two or more people I don’t know and ask me to *gasps* socialize? I’m done. Out. Call me a cab (as if there are cabs around here).

It’s excruciatingly painful for me to try to act normal as I talk to a near-stranger while my heart is beating faster than a squirrel’s. I try to be cool, though. You know, keep it low-key, act calm, smile, maybe even crack a joke if one comes to me. But the problem with that is that I’m not actually low-key, certainly not calm, and have no idea what to say as soon as the person I’m talking to decides to stop asking questions. At which point, I fall into silence out of sheer awkwardness. At which point I seem aloof and unconcerned with the person trying to talk to me. At which point I seem like a bitch.

Which sucks, because I’m not a bitch. I mean, I can act like a bitch occasionally when I want to, sure. But in general, I like to think I’m a relatively nice, un-bitchy person. High school’s over, people.

What I’ve realized, now that I heard that random person on TV say it, is that for me, the difference is the setting. Or more specifically, the set-up. I’m confident when I’m giving a speech, leading a group of people, or, oh, I don’t know… writing a blog, because I’ve been given – directly or not – the permission and authority to act on behalf of something more than “me.” I have a role, so to speak. Not necessarily a false one (it’s still me, I’m not acting), but I have a purpose to rely on. When I’m in real life with real people and they want to get to know the real me, I’m all on my own.

What to do with this, I don’t know. Becoming more outgoing (or less panicked when approached, at least) is an ongoing effort for me. I doubt that my revelation will help me overcome that so much as it has illuminated it. But hey, it’s good to know, right? And in spite of my shyness, I really do love people, so please don’t be afraid to approach me (slowly, and with no loud noises).

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Snow

Posted on September 23, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on January 10, 2011 at 10:48 AM

It’s snowing! I’m up inordinately early so the plumber can do his thing, so I came into my office with Buttons to work for a few hours that I would usually be sleeping. But I gotta tell you, snow is a pretty big deal to a Texan. Even Buttons is enchanted.

The bulk of it came yesterday morning, while I was asleep, and when I woke up there was a pristine, fluffy blanket covering everything. That was kind of fun, like waking up to a brand new world, but this is cooler. It’s like seeing where magic comes from. How are all of these tiny, slow-moving little flakes floating around going to accumulate to such a solid coat of white? Cool.

The best part of winter is over (Christmas), and nothing new happens until Valentine’s Day, which hardly even counts as a holiday – peoples’ birthdays *ahem* notwithstanding – but this snow gives me some sense of encouragement that the rest of winter will be okay. Cold, but okay. Pretty, for a while, at least.

For those of you who don’t have snow, I’m sorry. Make believe? For those of you who do: enjoy your snow day.

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The Hard Part

Posted on September 23, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on January 6, 2011 at 3:31 PM

There are a lot of difficult things about being a beginning writer. Some of them are obvious and much talked about: finding the willpower to make yourself sit down and work, getting rejections, learning your craft, networking, landing an agent, etc. But for me personally, there are two things in particular that make what I do hard, and in a way, they both involve waiting. 1) Not having my writing read by people (at least not wide-spread), and 2) battling hope and disappointment.

I write because I love writing. I’m good at it, dedicated to it, and passionate about it. For me, there is something innately fulfilling about creating (and truly, I don’t know how anyone in the business survives without feeling that way; it’s too hard to be an “eh, okay” job). So to reiterate, I do not write for the sole purpose of being published. But I do desperately, whole-heartedly want to be read. Really, truly read by lots of people that I don’t even know. It’s different than sharing with my select few loved ones; it’s different than getting feedback at the critique groups. It’s the fulfillment of all this work. It’s the pieces’ destiny: to be read.

I don’t know quite how to explain that. There are plenty of people out there who write solely for themselves, and that’s fine. But that’s not what I want. I live for that spark of acknowledgement when someone gets exactly the humor I put down, or looks tense when they read an action scene, or tells me they cried, or laughs out loud. It’s like little broken pieces of myself come flying back to me and fit themselves in to make me more whole, more complete. There’s something achingly sad about working for years now to never have that. To put all of my effort and heart into these novels and stories and poems and not be able to share them. It breaks my heart a little bit.

And yes, I know I could post things on my website or on various websites just to have them read, but that’s not how I roll. It’s delayed gratification, I guess. I want the good stuff. I want someone to hold my physical book(s) in their hands and feel the cover as they read my words. I’m not willing to sacrifice that opportunity for a little feedback now. I’ll hold out. Which brings me back to the original point: the hardest part of this career choice, for me, is waiting.

It’s the same issue, in a way, as waiting for a yes or no once I’ve submitted something. Even though this technically falls under the same category of “waiting,” it isn’t the time that makes it hard. It’s the hope. Hope breaks my heart every time.

It’s oddly reminiscent, for me, of the hope and disappointment cycle of having an alcoholic dad. Every time he would try to sober up or go to a rehab clinic, I couldn’t help but hope. I couldn’t help it. No amount of cynicism or past lessons or logic could reason my emotions out of wishing with all of my heart that he would get better – that it would work this time. I loved my dad, and until the day he died, all I wanted was for him to be happy again, sober. And I don’t know what the cause-effect relationship of those experiences is with the submission-rejection relationship of my writing experiences, but I know it feels a lot alike. That knowledge that I shouldn’t get my hopes up – and that inability not to.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not in constant anguish to the degree I was with my dad. I’m jaded enough now (after at least 50 rejections for all my various projects, not even counting individual poems in annual contests, etc.) that I don’t get my hopes up for faceless agent queries. I don’t care about most individual poems, either, since I have so many to fall back on. But sometimes, when I fall in love with a particular agent or think a magazine is a perfect fit for a certain story or there’s a big poetry contest with my name on it… well, then I’m suddenly not so jaded.

And try as I might to busy myself during the waiting time or remind myself that my odds are 1 out of 10,000, I still can’t wait to hear yes or no. It’s just awful, because it’s almost always a no. How do you defend against that? The answer, I think, is that you can’t. Whether it’s praying for the chance of your dad getting better or waiting for the results of a national poetry contest, you just have to let yourself hope.

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Vampires and Zombies, part V: surviving the living dead

Posted on September 23, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on January 2, 2011 at 1:15 AM

Okay, we’ve talked about the sources of the myths, the popularization of the myths, and the distinctions and similarities between the myths. Now, the most important thing of all: how to survive if the myths become realities.

We’ll start with vampires. You’ve heard before that the best defense is a good offense, but in this case, the best defense is a good, well… defense. Ahead of time. A truly prepared person (which should, according to logic, include any and all boy scouts) doesn’t wait for vampires to make themselves known. Now is the perfect time to string your porch with garlic, place crosses (backed by faith, of course) on each door, scatter your yard with grains of rice, and catalog-order those silver bullets. And don’t forget the wooden stake! These items will not deter the truly determined dead, but much like a security system, it will likely send them roaming to your neighbor’s house instead – a much easier target.

If it’s personal, such as a relative or lover returned from the grave to seek vengeance or convert you to the immortal, they’re coming to your house no matter what you put up. In this case, you’ll be happy to hear that the ultimate stopping power belongs to you: the power of no. That’s right kiddos, just say no. To get into your house, a vampire must first get an invitation over the threshold. And unless you’re a bit of an idiot, you won’t give them that. Well, maybe that was a bit harsh. The emotional pull of seeing someone you thought was dead now standing on your doorstep could easily become overwhelming… but don’t give in. They are not who they were; they are now a soulless body seeking blood. Send them away. Stay inside. Call your local vampire executioner. And never ever EVER look a vampire in the eyes.

So if bloodsuckers are your pest of choice, you’re all set. Let’s move on to zombies. There are two basic schools of thought when it comes to surviving a zombie apocalypse: 1) fortify and stay put or 2) keep moving and don’t let them find you.

The thinking behind strategy one is to minimize chance of exposure to the zombies. If they can’t get to you, they can’t chomp you. The more you move, the more likely you are to meet other uninfected and be coerced to take them on – thus upping your general risk factor. Pros to this strategy include normality, a schedule, and the potential for something that resembles regular life. Cons to this strategy include trouble obtaining new resources and the possibility of being discovered and overpowered by the undead. If this is the strategy you decide to go with, the most important thing is to choose a good location for your hide-out. You need defenses such as high walls or natural barriers as well as ample food and fresh water supplies – preferably renewable resources. Have an exit strategy, don’t let in strangers, and never, ever relax your guard.

The theory behind strategy two is to escape the threat. Surrounded by zombies? Just leave. Okay, it’s not quite that simple. It is a risky choice in the immediate present, but if you travel light enough and move quickly enough, you may be able to reach an uninfected location. Pros to this strategy include new opportunities to obtain better resources, excitement, and the unlikelihood of being cornered. Cons include the possibility of running into brigands, becoming stranded, and physical and mental strain. If this is the strategy you decide to go with, it’s important to set some ground rules: are you allowing outsiders to tag along? Who is in charge of decisions? Don’t forget to ration provisions, weapons, and gear. Where are you going? It’s important that the whole group knows the plan, be it one or fifty. Know how much you’re willing to sacrifice, always thoroughly check new stop-sites, and build trust with your travel mates.

Hopefully the dead will never walk the earth, but if they do, you need to be prepared. Good luck, and Godspeed.

Be sure to check out the other posts in the series:

Vampires and Zombies, part I: introduction

Vampires and Zombies, part II: the popularization of vampires (in western culture)

Vampires and Zombies, part III: the popularization of zombies (in western culture)

Vampires and Zombies, part IV: compare and contrast

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