That One Time When I Was a Hostage

March has been a crazy month. Crazy, crazy, crazy.

A wedding, a writing retreat, school winding down (AH! I'm graduating!!)

Life has been busy.

So yeah. The wedding was wonderful (more on that later), but the writing retreat is what I really need to talk about.

Our New York trip, due to unforeseen circumstances, got cancelled two weeks before we were supposed to go. So instead, Rick (the author/professor I work for) suggested that we do a planning/writing retreat at the cabin of a friend of his. I was excited, because how cool does "writing retreat" sound?

Okay, it's probably just me that gets excited about that.

The cabin was swanky. "Cabin" is a complete misnomer. Try "palatial winter home akin to Robert Redford's."

At the palatial winter home, we set about planning how to take over the world (good news for another post, but I'll give you a hint: e-book company) and where the best place to schmooze with editors would be (ALA conference in Anaheim this June). Then we set about enjoying the elevator (yes, there was an elevator) and lounging in the library, writing! Huzzah!

At this point in the day, I realized that I forgot to tell my family and friends (read: Mom and BFF Katherine) that I didn't have cell phone reception. We did, however, have wi-fi, so I shot off this email:

Hey I'm on a mountain in a cabin and my cell phone has no reception. There is wi-fi, so you can email me or facebook me and I'll check. I only emailed you too because you're the only ones who ever call me!

Love,
Meg

An hour later, I decided to take a break and check facebook. Abbi, my little sister, had messaged me.

Thus began an interesting conversation:

Abbi: Megan Mom needs you to call home right now!
Megan: I can't, I have no cell phone reception! What's going on?
Abbi: First, who is your youngest sister named after. Just answer and ask questions later
Megan: No one. But her middle name is for her aunt Laura.
Abbi: yes it was your old childhood friend. who was that?
Megan: Abby [Last Name]
Abbi: good. ok you passed the test. what mountain are you on what cabin are you in who are you with?
Megan: I just emailed Mom and told her. Is she freaking out?
Abbi: yes she thought someone was either holding you hostage or your computer was hacked because you had misspelled words in your email and it didn't sound like you at all.
Megan: That's funny. I typed it fast. I'm not being held hostage. I'm here of my own free will. My third grade teacher was named Ms. Alston.
Abbi: Ok. but she still wants to know where you are, who wth, and why, and when you'll be home.
Megan: [I tell her where I am, what I'm doing, who I'm with. Also deleted for privacy reasons.]
Abbi: Ok sorry for the fuss. Please be safe. And call mom if you get reception ever. let cyndi know your safe too. mom and mike practically traced her online to get her number and then called her to see where you were.
Megan: Cyndi knows already. She was there when I left. All this because I spelled "two" as "too." Let that be a testament that editing is important.

Moral of the story: NEVER misspell words. Especially if you don't want a full-scale manhunt mounted on your behalf. If I'd written for another hour, who knows what kind of swat team would have pounded down the door?

p.s. my sister's impromptu security question made me chuckle. It reminded me of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince:

Mrs. Weasley: Arthur, is that you?
Mr. Weasley: Yes. But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!
Mrs. Weasley: Oh, honestly...
Mr. Weasley: Molly!
Mrs. Weasley: All right, all right... What is your dearest ambition?
Mr. Weasley:To find out how aeroplanes stay up.
[Mrs. Weasley goes to open the door]
Mr. Weasley: Molly! I've got to ask you your question first!
Mrs. Weasley: Arthur, really, this is just silly...
Mr. Weasley:What do you like me to call you when we're alone together?
[Mrs. Weasley's face turns bright red]
Mrs. Weasley: [whisper] Mollywobbles.

Fireside Chat with Aunty Meg

Thanks for the votes on the last blog. Sadly, there were less than ten, so no video for you! Not now at least.

What I had envisioned in my head was a real treat, but alas.

Fireside Chat with Aunty Meg: Part 1

I have to call attention to how ridiculous I feel about what I'm going to say. Not that the thoughts themselves are ridiculous, but I feel like a dork saying them.

Because come on! No one wants me to give them advice, hence the ironic (satirical? sarcastic? help me out here) title.

But really. I've discovered a key to life. Let me rephrase. I haven't discovered anything, just put an old idea to use in my life--and to great effect!

"I'm comfortable not trying things, because then I never fail."

As long as I don't try to do something at which I might fail, I haven't failed. It's safe. It's easier because I don't have to deal with the self-esteem backlash of the seven-letter f word.

To be accurate, I try many things and both fail and succeed. Mostly fail. But there are a few things that I'm truly passionate about that seem TOO BIG, TOO IMPORTANT to risk.

Writing and publishing a book might be first under that category. Music would be second. The boys I've liked but never pursued would be third (Gross. I'm getting waaaaay too personal now).

Back in November something changed. I'm not sure what. I'm not sure why. I'm just grateful it did.

I was freed from a moticum of the fear I felt about trying to do what I actually wanted to do with my life.

I finally felt that I, Megan, would finally write a book, let that book be seen by the world...and not care if they hated it. Which they probably would.

Not care if they hated it? Crazy talk. But really. As soon as I released myself from the anxiety and stigma attached with failure, I was free. Like this:

And that's what I want to tell you. Don't do things because they're the kind of easy that you won't fail at. Don't not do things because you're afraid that you'll be no good at them.

Gosh, it's a beautiful realization.

And it's paying off. I've fallen on my face, but there's something free-willy about accepting myself as imperfect and prone to falling down.

I've put myself on the line more these past few months and I have the bruises to show for it...

...but I also have a business card and pitch request from a certain publisher who launched the careers of multiple NYT bestselling authors...

So that's a step in the right direction.

I wish all of you many happy failures,
Aunty Meg

p.s. My "9(" key is working again. Apparently it saw me groveling and restored to me the power of parentheses (as some of you have surely noticed). I'm much obliged.

ABC, 123, Baby Baby... or Something Like That

A. I love Valentine's Day. I really, honestly do. My mom always gives us gifts on v-day, and who doesn't love gifts?!?!? Junior high through high school featured rad heart-covered socks (Mom: I miss those. Where did you find them?). This year, my mom and dad got me a beautiful bouquet of red tulips. Very nice and made me homesick for spring and gardens and joy! Ah. Anyways. HOWEVER (you knew there was a "but" coming, didn't you?). My friend Tricia suggested that we celebrate by not mentioning that it was Valentine's Day...so we went and got a cupcake after class and had a very excellent TUESDAY. We had a writing party, and I wrote about 2500 words on my novel in an hour (my personal best). Then we ate pizza. It was a lovely TUESDAY.

Which reminds me, the best part of Valentine's Day is to remember how much you love people. I sucked this year at remembering to tell people that. Everyone: I LOVE YOU! Dad, Mom, Carli (and Drew), Mike, Cassie, Spencer, Abbi, Sam, Grandma, Grandpa, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, frenemies, enemies, acquaintances, you are pretty great.

B. Adele won 6 Grammys. That's my girl. I have something I need to say about the Grammys and music in general. But this is not the time for that. It's gonna be a big beast of a blog.

C. I graduate soon. What should I do with my life? I've applied to several jobs and internships in NYC (mostly editing, some agenting). I don't expect to get any of those, but I've put my best foot forward. I love editing, but the more I write this semester, the more I fall in love with writing. It's a first for me. I've always liked writing. I've always dabbled. But this semester, I've dived into a story, and frankly I don't want to stop swimming. (Enough with that metaphor. My apologies.) I love my story. I love writing it, which is more significant to me. It feels like...whoa. Now I have this quaint idea in my head where I get some kind of merely passable job that leaves me with plenty of time and energy to write and then I get published and a few hundred people like my story and I live comfortably for the rest of my life. Could be good.

D. I'm in a writing group. Two groups to be precise. One is for the class I'm taking from Brandon Sanderson (Writing Fiction). They're good people and I like them. My other writing group is outside of class. I call it "Saturday Writing Group." Very original title, I know. I should be a writer or something. (You respond: "or something." Thanks.) Greatly missed former member Denece called it "the perfect writing group." Seriously, though. It's pretty sweet. One day I thought that I wanted to start a writing group to give me an excuse to write. I told my writer/editor friend Tricia and together we pulled together a bunch of people we knew. It was a crap shoot, but things turned out well. We all get along really well, and what I thought would be a handy excuse to write has turned into something more serious, and I love it.

E. That's the update on my life. I am a horrible blogger, but mostly because I think that no one really cares what happens in my life. Most of it is boring, but at least now everyone who cares is caught up.

You Won't Believe the Things My Head Thinks Up

...or maybe you will.

Huh. Hadn't considered that possibility. Am I predictable?

Don't answer that.

Full-speed ahead.

I've been writing a new book lately. It's funny. At least, I think so.

The main character practically walked out of my brain. And when I say "walk" I mean she sped away in a fast getaway car taking with her the family jewels, a million bucks, and possibly my good sense and dignity at the same time.

And I just can't be mad at her.

Poor damaged darling.

I can hardly consider myself a writer yet, but I have noticed that writers tend to talk about their characters like real people. And I get why all of the sudden.

Because when would I in my right mind write a line like this:

"Besides, seeing that hottie Fezzik will probably take my mind off the Other Person. At least for an hour and a half."

Yes. My character's shocking opinions and questionable taste in men have taken over. (For those who aren't as nerdy as me, Fezzik is the giant from The Princess Bride. Also, some of you may remind me that I too have questionable taste in men: Daniel Radcliffe anyone?).

I'll be expecting a call from my mental health professional first thing Monday morning. You know. The one from my nursing home. I'm sure that one of you kind-hearted Samaritans can be thanked.

Also:

Editor Cage Match

Rant, rant, rantity-rant.

Today, readers, we're going to talk about publishing. Since I want to be an editor, I try to keep up on the changes the publishing industry is undergoing; specifically how it's adjusting to the explosion of the ebook market (which includes a dreaded s word: self-publishing).

Writers: I know that the e-publishing/self-publishing world is as intoxicating as the smell of a new book, but LISTEN for a moment.

There are rabid supporters of self-publishing, and a few of those wolves have made heinous accusations against me and my people (editors, for those readers who are feeling a leeeetle slow today).

I mean, as far as I'm concerned this a full on dynastic/species clash. Monsters vs. aliens, vampires vs. werewolves, zombies vs. unicorns. Sarah Palin vs. American History.

DO NOT, AND I MEAN NEVER, SAY THAT YOU DON'T NEED AN EDITOR. YOU DON'T HAVE A QUICK QUOTES QUILL.

Specifically, I've seen it said on the internet that editors choose books based on what is or could be the next Twilight/DaVinci Code/Harry Potter clone. Like, so much commercialism? Many other editors, authors, and agents have argued against this claim, and explained why good editors are necessary. They are more intelligent and eloquent than I.

So let me present my opinion in a different form: The monologue. Three of them, to be precise.

Clone #1

Editor 1: "Could you maybe make x people an alien race? I don't know...maybe, like, make them glitter or something? Oh, and also, I want Eduardo to want to destroy Linda-Bonny-Bella while simultaneously loving her obsessively. Great. Get me those revisions by next week."

Clone #2

Editor 2: "Okay, Jimmy. Loving the cowboys. Man, are they hot or what? Yeah, I know how much you like them too...Listen, kid. Got some hard news for you. This isn't going to sell. Nope, it's just not going to sell. No one wants cowboys these days. What the people want are caves with secret paintings and religious artifacts. And labyrinthine mysteries with a few wacky murders thrown in for kicks and giggles. So let's say that the main cowboy is actually an art historian. [Thinks a moment]. Yeah, I'm liking that. Make him an art history professor. Then he needs to meet a pretty American Indian guide. Oh yeah, and her grandfather, you know, the one that raised her [wink, wink], he hid those religious artifacts somewhere for his granddaughter to find. But he can't tell either of the main characters because he's been brutally murdered on top of some hieroglyphs. Anyways, you get the picture, so vamoose. Ta!"

Clone #3

Editor 3: "I'm loving this existential quest your protagonist is having with the kitchen table and math book. It's genius.

Yeah, so I just talked with marketing, and they're asking for something with more pizzazz, right? So, I'm thinking that the kitchen table--or the math book, you choose since it's your novel--yeah, so either the kitchen table or the math book turns into a magical portal and takes the main character to a school for Magical Design. You know, avant-garde decorating ideas with a little something something extra in the making, and all that. We'll call it "Poghaus". Excellent. One more thing: Molly Painter is gonna to need a couple of trusty sidekicks. And a rich, snotty frenemy. And definitely, definitely a BIG BAD. Oh, I've got just the name. Shopradamort! Great. Whose book is gonna be the best bestseller out there? Yours is, that's whose! What, no, I can't hear you. Must be your end of the line. Send those revisions to my secretary to look over! Goodb-"

The End

NO. Just no. Not gonna happen.

Get real naysayers, and stop blaming editors for the fact that commercial publishing hasn't worked for you yet. And furthermore, I don't really care how gifted you are as a writer, YOU NEED AN EDITOR.

OH, and P dot S dot

This is what a good editor looks like:

How Many Megans Does It Take To Calculate Real Friends?

Hi. It's me. Blogging for a third time. Everybody look at me, I'm so cool right now.

A few items of business: First, if I'm measuring my real friends as opposed to my fake friends (parameters being facebook) 6 of my 473 friends are real. The rest are fake.

How did you measure that number, you ask?

Comments. (And maybe I didn't count right, but drop it because math is a TOUCHY subject with me. In case you were wondering 9x9 equals forty-freaking-nine and don't tell me its 81 BECAUSE I SAY IT'S NOT. See what I mean? Touchy).

So, you other 473 minus 6 friends (You do the math)ARE YOU REAL FRIENDS OR NOT? Consider this your challenge.

Second, my blog layout is boring. How do I remedy this situation? All of my other friends with blogs have awesome formats and fonts, and things that glitter and make them money. I really like glitter. And money. Any suggestions?

Third, I'm planning on running away from home for Winter semester 2011. I've been researching ways to get to Florence on this cool website called transitionsabroad.com. That site is a veritable spark to my travel fever. Add a few thousand dollars and BAM! I'd be hopping on a plane right now if I could. Anyone want to 1) run away with me and 2) fund our adventure? Make checks payable to me. I'll take care of the rest.

Fourth, yesterday I said something goofy in front of my family that I need to get off my chest. Tell me if this is not hysterical and typically me. Spenny (my little brother) was telling us yesterday about EFY. He loved it. Anyway, working in Helaman Halls I've become acquainted with the quaint habits of the EFY and sport camps students. Yeah, that means that I think that they can be obnoxious, bless their hearts. We love them anyways. Somehow in the course of the conversation I referred to them all as EFers. Sound that out. effers. Yes. That is what I said. EFY-ers...Efyers...effers. I didn't do it consciously, but my subconscious was having other ideas.

Fifth, I have a new idea for a novel. Let me back up here a few steps and talk about how I'm losing in the great Katherine Gee/Megan Gadd Writing Face-off. It's okay because Katherine is losing too. Basically, this is the idea. We have established three milestones: 10,000 words, 25,000 words, 50,000 words. Best two out of three wins the competition, buying me a plane ticket to her wedding. (It makes perfect sense in our heads). Anyways. I am stuck on my novel at 7,000 new words (meaning since the contest started) and about 15,000 total words. I need to get unstuck and soon. I don't have money to buy a plane ticket to her wedding.

But yesterday as I was sitting in Relief Society, this new idea starting pouring out of my brain into my notebook. I've never had a plot come out so fully formed. It's practically screaming to be written. And my fingers are itching to get to it.

I guess I could tell you what my two novels are about, but I probably won't. Sorry.

To all of you real friends, vi voglio tanto bene.

To all of you fake friends, meh.

:)

Third post, out.