Yeah, I know it's been almost a month since my last post :/

I'd like to say that I've been super busy with tons of interesting stuff, but that'd be a fib. Mostly I've been blowing my nose and taking Sudafed. Harvest season always wreaks havoc on my sinuses.

I've joined yet another writers group (really looking forward to our first official meeting in a little more than a week!) and I've passed 60k words on Secret Project M. Lars's first story, Fire, is now available on Amazon (a free .PDF is still available if you email me!), and if I can just convince Amazon that I'm the same TSJ that wrote the Dubric books, it'll be all connected like it should be instead of under two separate search listings.

I've been sewing a good hunk, survived the quilt show, sent Stuart's quilt off to Scotland, and have begun working on Christmas presents, all while nursing this respiratory/allergy crud that's making me grumpy. Mostly, things are good, if cloggy, and I hope you're all doing well. :)

My talk in Montezuma

I was the opening speaker for the All Iowa Writer’s Conference last weekend**, and it was the first time in a long time (almost 4 years) since I’d been in front of an audience of strangers. And I was first.

Have I ever mentioned that I’m pathologically shy?

Anyway, I’d struggled for weeks over what to talk about, especially since I was ‘first up’ and all, and I reasoned (accurately, as it turns out) that most writers at these things talk about how they got published. While that’s helpful and can offer insights, everyone’s journey is different and, well, the information can get kind of redundant. So, with that in mind, I decided to try something different.

I decided to talk about you. Yes, YOU.

I started, as most writers do, by talking about me. About how I grew up incredibly poor in a rather dysfunctional home, and how I’ve been writing my whole life. I talked about how my mom has a story I wrote when I was seven (on construction paper, complete with illustrations) and how I wrote my first novel at 14 (hand written in spiral notebooks that got passed around school) and that, throughout my life, one constant was writing. I wrote to escape. I wrote to vent, to purge, to scream, to dream. To hope. I wrote in little snips and vignettes and scenes that just dumped out of my head. I wrote whatever I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted, and where I wanted.

And I didn’t know that was precious. I did not know that the process of writing what I needed to write for the reasons I needed to write it were vital to me. So please, every one of you, think for a minute (or however long it takes) and figure out WHY you write. Why are you compelled to put words on paper? Are you looking to vent, to explore, to give yourself a voice, to create, to explain, to learn? Are you writing in the hopes it’ll make you cool, or because if you don’t you’ll go mad?

There is no right or wrong answer for this, it’s all up to you. And you need to grasp it, hold it, and protect it because it’s IMPORTANT, okay? It’s precious, and it’s yours and you need to keep it safe.

So, I wrote throughout my whole life. Back in 2001, about the time my dad’s diabetes took a bad turn, I started a new book that became Ghosts in the Snow. It came out of me in an endless gush, a flood, anger and shame and hate. And hope. Part of this gush happened because of my dad, who’d often been a thorn in my life, a thing to fight against, was dying. I lived next door, and I had to spend a lot more time with him, tending him, than I wanted. 

So I wrote. I wrote a lot. The book ended up being one thousand and thirteen pages long, about a quarter of a million words, which was a LOT longer than a book was supposed to be. But what did I know? I was a wife, a mom, a graphic designer. A dabbler in writing. But, being who I am, I do what I’m supposed to do – whether I really want to or not – so, okay, good books are supposed to get published. So, how do I do that?

I didn’t consider WHY I wanted to get published. It was just the thing I was supposed to do, and I should have thought about it, thought about it a lot more than I did, so once you know and understand – and are prepared to fight for and protect the why you write – think about why you want to publish. Is it to be noticed? Validated? Do you want to get laid? Get rich? Have a venue for your vision?

WHY do you want to get published? Think about it, think about it really. Why? Why this quest? Do you merely need to see your words in print, hold the book in your hand, and say ‘I did this!’ then, please, for God’s sake, go to lulu.com and get a copy printed up and save yourself a lot of heartache.

But me, I didn’t know any better, didn’t think any better, so as my dad’s sickness worsened, I set out to sell the book. I did think a little, and I’d decided that I wanted a real book in a real bookstore, and that meant a New York publisher. There really isn’t any other way to get into a bookstore, not with any real distribution, unless it’s from a major house, and the only way to access them is through an agent. So, that decided, I queried agents, and when I got one, he sent it off to publishers. A few months later, Bantam bought my book.

But I didn’t think about what selling to a New York publisher meant. I didn’t stop and think about why I wrote and why I decided to send it out into the world until long after, after it was already done, after my brain broke.

See, I wrote Ghosts as the opening book in a 7 volume fantasy series. But my editor didn’t like the fantasy parts, only the murder mystery that served as a catalyst for the opening, and she asked my agent if I’d be willing, and able, to cut the epic and write a mystery instead. I said sure – mostly because that’s what I do – and I deleted about 7/8 of that book, and all of the follow-up novel that I’d nearly finished.

(insert shocked gasps here)

So. Me, Tammy Jones, wife and mom from rural Polk County, who wrote little vignettes and scenes and brain dumps her whole life, found herself writing a book she hadn’t envisioned to a length and content and character list specified by others, on a DEADLINE no less, because when you’re published by New York, that’s what you have to do.

If you want to make money as a writer, you have to write FAST and to order. I have a friend who writes a book every six weeks. She is a great fit for New York publishing and she makes good money. She also writes in several genres under lots of pseudonyms, and writes books for hire that she can't claim as her own. People like her do great with traditional publishing, people like me... not so much.

See, when you publish a book, it's not your book anymore, it's a widget, a thing, that's going on a shelf in a store. Publishers pay you for your widget - and that's all it is to them, not your hopes, dreams, or identity, it's just a thing for sale - in the hopes that someone will walk down the isle, see your widget on a shelf and think, 'Oooh, that looks like a good widget! I'll buy it and try it out!'

It's no more and no less than that. Selling widgets. If you can't deal with that reality, then please do not try to sell to New York. Life is too short to be miserable making widgets.

Anyway, my first book went all right. While writing the second, my dad died. And I found myself writing full time and working full time and marketing full time and being a wife and mom full time, and I was cracking at the seams, so something had to go. So I quit my job to stay home and deal with the book mess as I got more and more miserable writing to order, but the second book, Threads of Malice, kept churning right along. I finished it early, in fact. Thank goodness. Somehow I knew I needed to get it done before Ghosts hit the stands.

When Ghosts came out, my cracks became deeper, harder to work around, let alone live with. I cried, I cried a lot. I hear of authors who relish and squee over the first sight of their books. Not me. My first sight of the books, in a box from my publisher, sent me wailing to the bathroom to scream and vomit. It has only gotten better because I’m accustomed to the angst and fear and loathing, so I just count them and put them in a closet. 

Anyway, Ghosts sold well, really well. It ran through its first printing and earned out in nine and a half weeks, which is unheard of, especially from a new author. A few months later, it won an award, and my brain TOTALLY SHATTERED, right as I was starting on my third novel, which nearly didn’t get written at all.

So think. THINK. What kind of publisher do you, just YOU, want and need. Do you just want to have your words out there for the masses and the physical book doesn’t matter as much as the words? Then go epub. Do you want control, absolute control because your words are not to be trifled with, then try self publishing. Do you want to be edited without so much conformity? Then maybe small press is for you.

I didn’t know, didn’t THINK, and, because of this, my brain broke in the spring of 2005. More than five years ago. I don’t want anyone to ever think that I’m blaming my agent and editor for any of this. I’m not. They were and are absolutely awesome and amazing people. I’m blessed to have them. The problem is with me. Because I didn’t think.

I spent months in intensive therapy just to get words onto the page for Valley, to get it out and get it done and do my job like I’d promised to do. I’m still recovering from that, from forcing out the words. Valley was another book that was totally re-written (about 2/3 of it was tossed and re-done) but that’s part of the job. If you’re writing for New York, that’s the way it goes sometimes. There are books like Threads which are nearly word-for-word matches to my first polished draft, and others like Ghosts and Valley that are completely restructured and redone.

And it’s work I did. When you get edited, your manuscript comes back all marked up with red pen – I’m sure most of you have heard of blood on the page – and it says things like ‘tighten’ and ‘need more conflict’ and ‘no - delete and redo’. It’s up to you, the author, to figure out how to fix it, and do the work. The editor just tells you what they want fixed, not how to fix it.

Stepping into this unaware broke my brain for five years, I’m just now starting to write again, and I don’t want it to happen to you. In some ways getting published was a wondrous magical thing. I’ve met lots of great people, seen places and done things I never thought I’d have the guts to do, and I have three great books – how cool is that? But, getting published was one of the biggest mistakes I made, at least for my writing brain. I broke my creativity. I did this to myself, because I wasn’t ready, wasn’t prepared, and didn’t ask the right kinds of questions of myself.

So please, PLEASE, decide for YOU why you write. Why YOU want to publish, and what YOU need from a publisher. Figure it out, protect it, and hold it dear. I don’t want you to lose it like I did.

***Please note that I don’t speak from prepared remarks, this is just a gist of what I’d actually said (there were jokes, off shoots, and TONS of questions along the way) I also talked about a few other things, which I'll post about later, but this was the meat of my talk :) ***

But my microwave is under warranty!

Way back this past April, Bill and I bought a new microwave/hood to go above our stove, mostly because the old one occasionally shot sparks, which surely were not a good thing.

Totally loving the microwave, btw. It's an Amana, it's white, and it nukes things quite well. Installing it was a bit of chore (it's taller than our old microwave and Bill had to cut and remove ceramic tile to get it to fit) but it's worked beautifully.

Anyway, a week or so ago, I noticed that there's a little, itty-bitty crack forming near the bottom of the handle. We had this problem before with the microwave at the old house, and it became kind of a PITA to use the microwave once the handle snapped completely off. I'd rather not go through that again, so we went to Menards to see if they had any suggestions.

Well, our microwave comes with a full one year warranty, and they said we could either order the part directly from Whirlpool for free, or call for a free service visit and have it fixed. Okay, we thought - knowing how crazy-nuts our life has become and how Bill already has too many 'fix it' projects - we'll just call for service. So we did. Last Wednesday or Thursday, I believe. And the service guy was supposed to come today, sometime between 1 and 5 pm.

Did I mention we've been kinda busy lately? Bill's working overtime, Laura's working and has college, I have writing, quilting, errand running and quilt-shop duties (plus the ever looming quilt show that's coming up) and, well, we haz thingz to do! Especially during those prime hours of 'thingz to do!' time. ;)

But we made a point to be available all afternoon. Bill stayed up until I got home from writing while Laura was at school, and I busied myself downstairs while the clock ticked along. Gozer, the poor guy, was banished to his pen in the back yard in case he decided to attack the service guy, or, more likely, lick him to death. All in all, folks every day face the 'wait around for the service people' issue, and it's really not a big deal, other than Goz desperately wanting in the house instead of being alone, in the rain, out back.

He was crying. It bothered me, okay?

About 5 minutes 'til 5pm, I called to see if they were gonna make it out today, mostly so I could let Gozer in. It's not like I have anywhere else to be this evening. Really, my life is VERY dull and I was kinda looking forward to watching the 'microwave handle removal and installation procedure'. Hey, you never know when something like that might happen in a book. Anyway, I called, and they had no idea what the bleep I was talking about.

The guy on the other end of the phone keyed in our phone number and had no service call listed. Nothing. And the information that popped up was for an address I'd never heard before in a town that's about eleven miles away for a name that's definitely not us, and they had no record of requesting a service call today. So he ran our address, which gave him some random non-local phone number and name. Our name turned up something totally not matching anything resembling our lives, and whenever he tried to re-enter information to match *us* instead of the whomever the computer said we were, it wouldn't let him key it in.

So, we and our microwave apparently do not exist, and if we *do* we never had a service call for today.

About twenty minutes and much confusion later (it's rather surreal to give someone your address several times and have them repeat it back each time as something totally different) we're supposedly scheduled to get a new handle tomorrow. Between 1 and 5. And all names, numbers, addresses, and things repeated back match our information. Finally. Here's hoping they'll still match tomorrow.

Gozer, however, will stay inside this time, I think. No reason to traumatize him twice. ;)

Classes and such

Been a really busy couple of weeks. I'm working part-part-time at a local quilt shop and, tonight, am attending a class there where 30 of us share strips of fall fabrics to make an autumnal quilt. I spent one day most of last week cutting those fabrics (each participant supplied 2-1/2 yards of their fabric which I then cut into strips) and I know that some of the fabrics are severely cool. Mine is kinda funky (see the pic to the left) and I bought extra for borders or binding or whatever. There's one leaf print that's omg amazing and a pumpkin print that I wish I'd seen on the bolt so I could buy a ton of it too. I'm really looking forward to tonight. If nothing else, it'll help round out my fabric stash. ;)

Since I've mostly been sewing on large or complicated projects lately, I've kind of taken over most of the kitchen with my sewing stuff. Bill has suggested rather strongly that I might want to move the whole operation downstairs since there's more space. I've started packing and moving things to get that going (gotta clear out the back living room closet, find new homes for all that stuff, pack all the fabric and such upstairs, sort the misc crap I've accumulated... you know the drill). That's my big goal for this week, to get the upstairs office emptied of my sewing stuff so Bill can rewire it and maybe turn it into a guest room. In case we have guests. lol. (I think it'll end up being more of a reading room than anything else, a bit of quiet with someplace soft to sit or lie down).

Stuart's quilt is finished other than about 4 feet of binding (which I should finish up tonight) and it even has a label. I always seem to forget the labels, but not this time. ;) I also finished a doll quilt for Vicki's child care business, and got the foiling on an art quilt I'm making for the show (from a class I took a couple of weeks ago by Ilene Bartos). I also sewed a lap quilt top in French Country fabrics, and a table runner, and have three more tops ready to stretch and quilt. And another big quilt is about due to be back from the quilters, so I'll have to sew the binding on it, too.

I've written Secret Project M through the end of Chapter 8, so that's coming along, if slowly, and I wrote about a thousand words this afternoon while waiting for Laura to finish up at school. She works almost full time and has decided to add one community college class to her already kinda busy schedule. While she's in class, I've committed myself to working on the book so, at the very least, on Tuesday and Thursday, from 11:30-1:30 I shall write.

The three ebooks have had a LOT of sample downloads and a few purchases, which still boggles my mind. Their numbers have taken a HUGE jump since they appeared on BarnesandNoble.com. Please remember that all three short stories are available for free if you email me at tambowrites AT gmail DOT com.

Still trying to decide what to talk about at the conference in a couple of weeks, but my books have arrived. I purchased 10 of each title so I'd have something for folks to buy, should they want to, and even if they don't it's nice to have some around the house for a change. I almost never have copies of my books around, which is really weird when people ask about them. Uh, yeah, I wrote three novels but I don't have any. Oops! ;) Seriously. My only copy of Ghosts is a red-covered galley with my notes in it. Not cool. And my copies of Threads and Valley are both ARCs. I tend to disburse any actual books I acquire, but I think that, should any be left after the conference, I'll put one of each aside for me. Maybe.

I've also been really busy with my two writers groups. Not only did I spend a fun couple of hours with the Sisters In Crime gals down in Des Moines, I spent last Tuesday evening chatting, laughing, crying, and generally gabbing away with W at the local group meeting. She's just awesome and great to talk to about all the angsty crap rattling around in my head.

Mostly, it's just keeping on keeping on, and keeping busy. I hope you all are having a great week, too!

Writer's Conference - housing update

My buddy Michele, some friends from Sisters In Crime Iowa, and yours truly are going to be spending the night before the conference together talking, laughing, and generally having a good time. If any of you are planning on coming to the conference - and want to get in on the fun of hanging out with writers until the wee hours of the morning (assuming we can stay up that long) email me at tambowrites at gmail dot com and I'll give you more information on our hotel choice.

The post where Tam grumbles about her characters

I have't been writing lately, oh the past couple of weeks or so. I've been sewing. There's a show coming up and I'm entering eight quilts (I think) and most I need to finish up. 

But.

My characters, they plague me. Especially Lars and Jess. They have so, so much story left to tell - Dubric is apparently quite happy with his paperwork and new wife - but I don't know how to tell their story without it being, well, boring as hell for everyone but them. So I tell the kids I'll get to them later. They're just not listening anymore. Nope. They want to get on with it, whether I do or not.

I NEED to work on Secret Project M. Which my agent has green-lighted. I NEED to work on a mid-Mage War short story for an anthology (also green-lighted), and I certainly have other viable, sell-able books partially finished on my hard drive. Like SPORE. I've lost count how many folks have seen bits of SPORE and still pester me about it. And Stuart has asked several times about SLIPPAGE. 

Arrgh! This is all so diddly dang frustrating. There's plenty of viable, publishable work I could be doing, yet my brain keeps landing on Lars and Jess and their gushingly happy - yet violently tragic - future.

Dang kids.

Writing Conference

I'm going to be at the Montezuma All-Iowa Writer's Conference on Sept. 18th in Montezuma Iowa. Here's what info I have to date:


Make plans to come to the 2010 Montezuma All-Iowa Writers’ Conference! It
will be held in Montezuma, Iowa at the Montezuma Community School on
Saturday, September 18 from 9 – 5, with registration starting at 8:30.
Join us for an all-day event where you can learn writing tips, get advice
on how to choose a publisher and learn new ways to market your work. Iowa
authors scheduled to attend and inspire include: Donald Harstad, Shirley
Damsgaard, Kathy Bacus, Leigh Michaels, Tamara Siler Jones and Kali Van
Baale. Admission is only $25! If you have ever dreamed of writing a book,
this is a must-attend event! Email debwrite@zumatel.net for more details
or look us up on Facebook at Our Front Porch Books Publishing Company.
Details and a registration form will soon be available at
www.ourfrontporchbooks.com.

Our Front Porch Books is sponsoring a fiction writing contest! Winners
will be announced at the 2010 Montezuma All-Iowa Writers' Conference (you
don’t have to be present to participate). Entries must be 1500 words or
less, no more than 2 entries per person. Fee is $5 per entry. Mail to: Our
Front Porch Books, P.O. Box 902, Montezuma, Iowa 50171. Deadline is
Friday, Sept. 10. Good luck!