Wedding Advice

Posted on September 22, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on September 21, 2010 at 5:27 PM

I’ve done a few blogs about decorating, home improvement, etc., but today I thought I would do a little blog about my advice to couples getting married. And really, I only have one…

Hire a wedding planner.

Now, those of you who know me personally are probably in shock, because I am pretty much the ultimate do-it-yourselfer. Seriously. But here’s what I didn’t realize until after the wedding: wedding planners don’t do the fun stuff—they do the shitty stuff. I didn’t get one because I knew exactly what I wanted for everything, from colors to cake design, and I didn’t want some craft-loving mini-me to take over with her/his ideas. But the truth is, a wedding planner does whatever you want them to do, whether that be planning all of the details or simply executing them. It’s the execution that’s what’s valuable.

You might be thinking, “But I don’t have enough money to hire a wedding planner!” My answer, in almost every case, would be that yes you do. Take part of your overall wedding budget and allocate it to a planner. Even if it means less guests, a cheaper venue, or an hors d’oeuvres buffet instead of a sit-down meal. It. is. worth. it.

You still get to pick your flowers. But when the florist messes them up and dyes them pink instead of dark burgundy to match the roses (like he promised), the wedding planner will crack some skulls and either get it fixed or get you a partial refund—so you don’t have to worry about it at your reception when it’s too late or on your way to your honeymoon.

And when the baker doesn’t put the cake topper on top of the cake, the wedding planner will be there before the guests to catch it and do so. Even if you have one of those venues that “takes care of everything,” trust me, they don’t. Someone will say, “We didn’t know if you wanted the topper on top of the cake or not.” I swear to Fruit Loops this happened to me. Wedding planner.

The only circumstance I can imagine that wouldn’t be worth hiring a wedding planner would be if your wedding is well under 100 people and at someone’s house, etc. If the budget is practically nonexistent, I can’t say increasing it is a good idea. But even if you think you don’t need a planner because your aunt/grandma/mother/sister/gay best friend or whatever does it for a living and has volunteered… I’d think really hard about that one. Because they’re guests too; they want to enjoy the party, not chew out the caterer. It’s these sorts of things that a professional planner will do, not take over the show. And speaking from first person, they’d be worth every penny.

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How to Give Critique (with poise)

Posted on September 22, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on September 10, 2010 at 3:18 PM

This is a sister post to my blog, How to Accept Critique (with poise). This is not a blog about the mechanics of what to watch out for (characterization, dialogue, adverb use, etc.). If that’s what you’re looking for, there are plenty of wonderful articles out there about the nuts and bolts of good writing and how to spot them—just Google it. This is a blog about the less talked-about aspects of what makes a critiquer useful.

Don’t you hate it when bloggers use clichés? Me too. Sorry. The golden rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Now, I don’t know that I want anyone doing things unto me, but I am amazed by how many people don’t give critique as they would like to receive it. This includes actually giving critique. If you go to a critique group, receive everyone’s suggestions, and don’t offer any advice or opinions in return… well, you’re a jerk. A drain. You’re the vampire. Knock it off. (Don’t give me that, “but I’m no expert” crap. Every opinion has use-value.)

That said, there is perhaps something better than the golden rule. Because truly, different people have different ideals of how they would like to receive critique. Person A might want you to cut to the chase, give them the worst of it, and leave your happy comments in the margins. Person B might want you to be gentle, start off easy, and help them build their confidence. Both are perfectly acceptable, except for when Person A treats Person B his/her ideal way and makes him/her cry. Get it? So let’s call it the platinum rule: Do unto others as they want you to. Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it?

Nonetheless, it does speak to my most useful suggestion: find a good critique group and stick to it. Part of what makes a good critique group run like clockwork are those who I call “the regulars.” No, this has nothing to do with fiber. These are the folks that are there week after week, month after month, year after year, participating fully and getting to know each other and each other’s writing like their own family members. This is particularly useful if one or more members are bringing in longer stories and novels chapter by chapter. It’s hard to critique something in the middle of a complicated plot, so reading previous sections really helps. (It also saves time to not have to give a long backstory each week.)

Another benefit to knowing your fellow members well is that you learn their skill levels. The platinum rule practically demands this, because there’s little use in editing for grammar if a writer is struggling with basic plot structure. To be the most useful to him/her, you really need to know where they stand in the spectrum. Novice, intermediate, professional? Critique accordingly. That might seem “biased,” but it is all about being the most useful to each individual writer that you can be. This means that your critique style should change according to the person and material being critiqued. Every. single. time.

Finally, a word about courtesy. To be a decent critiquer, you have to respect the other members of the group and their work, even if it’s not up your alley. This means turning off your phone, spitting out your gum, not talking socially during someone else’s time, not reading a book, and not leaving early. Everybody has days you need to come late or leave early. It happens; it’s life. But on those days, be considerate and don’t ask for critique. If you can’t return the favor to everyone else, it’s rude to ask them to work for you. And it should go without saying, but never, never make your suggestions personal or about anything other than the piece of work at hand.

If you follow these tips, you’ll be well on your way to being a key member in your critique group in no time. Happy critiquing!

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Leaving a Mark

Posted on September 22, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on September 13, 2010 at 2:23 PM

What is it about history that makes us want to leave our mark? When we were in Colorado, we stopped at a really neat historical ghost town that had lots of buildings still standing (though on their last leg). As I was marveling at the age, beauty, and atmosphere of it all, I suddenly noticed on the side of a house where dozens of people had carved names and dates into the wood. My automatic reaction was one of mild outrage. How dare these people ruin history with their vandalism? Have they no respect?

But then a quieter thought sank into my mind. It had to do with the way history seems to become sanctified once it’s about a century old. What about the people who built these houses in the middle of these stunningly beautiful mountains? What right did they have to ruin the natural beauty with creations of their own? Had they no respect for their surroundings? If someone were to do this now—build a village in a beautiful, isolated natural landscape—we would judge them poorly for it. Why does the fact that this happened years ago make it not only okay, but worth preserving?

This is when the quietest thought of all came to me. Perhaps, just maybe, it was all okay. The intrusion on nature, the preservation of random history, the vandalism of that preservation, the tourism… all of it. It wasn’t evil or blasphemous or sanctified or holy. It just was. Simple as air.

There are thousands, perhaps millions, of history buffs, museum curators, historical societies, and bookkeepers who would disagree with me, but I simply don’t feel passionately about preserving the past, and I don’t think that makes me a bad person. Don’t get me wrong; I would never vandalize any property, but that’s because I think you should leave others’ things alone, not because I think the past is sacred. Not even my own past. I’ve never been one to reread diaries or feel unable to change the original version of a poem. In fact, when I get around to it, I plan on burning my old journals as a sort of ritual to let them go. I don’t want that weight trailing me forever.

I certainly don’t have anything against other people being passionate about history. I understand the practical need for history (personal and societal), and when you get down to it no one can rid themselves of the past because it makes us who we are. I even enjoy history as a passing interest (I like museums and ghost towns as much as the next person). But I don’t believe in grasping onto it as if it were our savior. I believe in letting it be a dynamic, fluid force that molds us as people. History is not a textbook or a preserved building; it’s a catalyst. One that can’t be pinned down.

Perhaps this wasn’t all so clearly articulated in that one moment in the ghost town, but it passed in an instant and changed the way I saw the graffiti. It was different then. It was less about vandalism and more about the need to live past death—although I still felt mildly annoyed that the markings ruined the atmosphere. But ultimately, the people who built this village left their mark. Truly, were the tourists with their penknives any different?

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Dear Home Depot,

Posted on September 22, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on September 7, 2010 at 4:00 PM

I love your store. I have a nickname for your store. (The Home Pot—inspired by a sign with burned-out letters.) With the vast quantity of home improvement and craft projects I do, I practically live in your store. I know it like the back of my hand, and often find myself directing stragglers to the correct aisle. But it is important to note, Home Pot, that when I come into your store, I am more often than not one or more of the following:

• anxious to start on a project
• covered in paint, mortar, spackling, and/or unidentified particles of stuff
• in the middle of a project
• in a huge rush
• exhausted, aching, and grumpy (exchanging the wrong piece with the right one or buying more of what I ran out of)
• mumbling measurements to myself that I have to remember at the peril of failure

Lately when my lovely, handy husband and I have been perusing your aisles for such reasons, we have come across a lady. A very specific lady who approaches us with a big smile and a clipboard. The first time this happened, I somehow failed to notice that she was not in the orange apron your employees are either required to wear or sport for fashion. She asked us about our kitchen, and—unwittingly oblivious to her tapping fingernails—we answered. For about three minutes. THREE MINUTES.

(Now, I am aware that in our fast-paced society we must all take some time to slow down, stop, smell roses, and do yoga. But this is the hardware store, not temple, and to understand my frustration with this, you must reference: above list.) After realizing that this woman was not, in fact, a regular Depot worker but an overzealous “guest employee” with all of the fervor of working on commission, we politely declined her pleas and progressed to the plumbing aisle.

Where we were approached by her again about five minutes later. I guess the pressure of getting a sale had clouded her vision, because she didn’t even recognize us. About fifteen minutes after that, in the flooring department, she stopped us again. By this time I felt like yelling, “MY GOD LADY THIS STORE IS HUGE GO FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO PESTER.” I mean really. We have since ducked behind displays to avoid her on multiple subsequent trips to your store.

By this point, dear Home Pot, you might be wondering why I am complaining. Essentially, I am complaining because I want you to get rid of her. That’d be rly gr8t.

Kthnxbai,

Annie, esteemed benefactor and Co-President of Team Kyle

PS- Your receipts are waaaay too long. Knock it off, tree killers!

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Lammas

Posted on September 22, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on August 25, 2010 at 4:30 PM

Just for funsies, I recently took this quiz, “Where Are You On The Road to Publication?” by Randy Ingermanson. You answer some questions and then he gives you a grade: freshman, sophomore, junior, or senior. I got 27 out of 50 points, which puts me as a lower-level junior. I have to be honest: this result really surprised me. I thought for sure I would be a senior.

I went back and looked at my answers and his suggestions to raise your score for each one. Basically, the only questions that put me below “senior” involved going to conferences. I’ve never been to a writers’ conference before, so that pulled down my score. I’m too scared. I have social anxiety.

Laurell K. Hamilton recently blogged about a Wiccan holiday she’s celebrating right now called “Lammas” (not to be confused with Llamas). The part that is relevant to what I’m going to talk about is this: “Lammas is also a celebration of […] the male principle that must be harvested/die so that food can be eaten and seeds saved for next year’s harvest. […] This year, we’re thinking what parts of our personality, habits, job, relationships, need to die because they are no longer growing.”

Essentially, Ms. Hamilton has let go of her fear—or rather, let go of letting that fear limit her. She in particular has a phobia of flying, and although that’s still true, she no longer makes decisions based on that fear. You can read the full blog here.

That struck a chord with me. It was a bit of synchronicity that I read this blog shortly after taking that quiz. I realized that she was right. Sometimes we have things in our life that we don’t need. Things that actually hurt us, keep us from sprouting new seeds. My fear of social confrontation is one of those things. But Lammas isn’t like Lent; you don’t give something up for a month and come back to it. You have to be willing to throw it away. Give it up forever. That’s a big commitment, and I felt pretty serious about it. I didn’t jump in. I thought about it for several days. Really, truly, am I willing to give up my fear? Or rather, am I willing to stop allowing my fear to make decisions that affect my career?

Yes. Yes, I am. You’ll be happy to hear that I am now officially registered for the DFW Writers’ Conference coming up in February. And it doesn’t stop there. I’m following a few agents I would love to speak to, and if they announce their attendance at any conferences reasonably near here, I’ll try hard to go to them.

To quote Laurell once again, “So, happy Lammas. What part of yourself is limiting you right now? Are you ready to let it go?”

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