To Submit or Not to Submit? That is the question.

I am a writer because I write. It's a simple statement that took me years to work up the courage to say out loud concerning my fiction writing.

During my 15-year-career in newspapers/magazines I always referred to myself as a "journalist," or a "reporter," or an "editor" depending on my job or the person asking me the question. Never once did I respond that I was a writer. In my mind, that job description was reserved for those who got paid to write fiction, or at least had their fiction published.

After my first short story was published I felt I had earned the right to call myself a writer - a real writer. But, the fiction publishing world is a fickle friend at times and, well, she hasn't been too sweet on me for quite a while. Yes, I have written three romantic suspenses, a middle grade novel, a YA and more flash fiction than I care to admit. Very little has reached the hands of readers, other than my sister and some very close friends.

So, when I was asked (several times in one week) how I could be writing for so long and have so little published I got that nervous non-publishing twitch I get.

The question was: "Are you submitting regularly?"

It's a fair question, yet I didn't know how to respond. I am a writer - I WRITE. Do you count the dozens of queries to agents and small publishing houses over the years whose rejections could wallpaper my bathroom? But, I thought about it a little more. My submissions are spotty. I submit here and there after loads of research. I don't saturate any markets. And a few dozen down I toss the manuscript or story in a drawer and move on.

Mostly it's ok with me. I write because I have to. I have no other choice. It's who I am. But if I truly want to be a regularly PUBLISHED writer I need to regularly submit. Here's my promise. I will spend one day a week submitting my work to no less than five appropriate outlets.

I need to be committed to more than writing as a writer. I need to find some readers!

There's no running from the Gator Nation

Like Coach Urban Meyer, I've run away from the Gator Nation before. When I graduated the University of Florida with a Journalism degree in December of 1989 I jumped in my VW bug and zoomed as fast as I could south on I-75 away from Gainesville. I told myself I needed a break from the insanity that revolved around the college town - the broken hearts and dreams of my well-intentioned, yet naive youth. The years of working hard, yet being torn down creatively.

Of course, I wasn't the focus of intense pride or anger (or being paid $4 million), like football Coach Meyer, but the chaos that revolved around being part of the Blue and Orange brigade became overwhelming, to put it mildly.

Like Urban, though, my first abandonment of the Gator Nation was short lived. Coach returned after a brief hiatus involving his health and so did I. I had created a newspaper career, yet I made periodic visits to see my then boyfriend who was finishing up a nuclear engineering degree. When my beloved graduated, I vowed that would be it. We would make our way away from the Swamp and create a life of our own sans Albert and Alberta.

"We'll be back someday," my new husband claimed. "Maybe I'll even work there." The thought to me was humorous at best as my beloved had chosen a career in nuclear power. The nearest plant to Gainesville was Crystal River, FL. Destiny can be tricky, indeed and we ended up back in Gainesville two years ago for a job here at the University of Florida.

So, what does this have to do with Urban's latest abandonment as head coach? He says he needs time with family and to pursue other interests. This all sounds terribly rehearsed and not at all the real reason. As human beings we're always searching and striving for balance in our lives, yet not quitting on the things we love. But his reasons are his business, not mine.

My point is, no matter how much you quit the Gators one can never really leave the Gator Nation fold if you love it with your whole heart. Gators suck you back in with pride and an ability to cajole (just as my husband did oh so many years ago). The old ball coach, Steve Spurrier, said it right when he coined the phrase, "The Swamp -where only Gators come out alive."

We're all a little battered and bruised, but that's what being a REAL Gator is about. It's not easy. It's damn hard. If Coach Meyer is gone for good this time, well, that just shows he never truly bled orange and blue.

My broken commitment to NaNoWriMo

It's only day nine of National Novel Writing Month and I am ready to throw in the towel. Truth be told I didn't even make it out of the gate. On day one I had a false start and wrote a mere 600 words. I lied to myself and said it was because I was sick and didn't feel inspired. Then I spent the next few days staring at a cold, blank computer screen wondering just where the hell my story had disappeared to and how I could find it and fast.

Oh, I've written words every day for the last nine in long hand - short stories and journaling and grocery and to do lists. There've been thousands of words jotted down, just nothing concrete that actually counted for this blasted contest I committed myself to for a freakin' month of my life. A month I will never get back!

It's laughable how much time I spent outlining and doing character sketches in preparation for this month. I'd determined this year would be my year of overcoming my phobia of commitment to one specific project. This time I'd see one great project to completion. I would fish and not cut bait. HA.

Then yesterday I spent the good part of an hour on the phone with a wonderful editor who'd been kind enough to read and evaluate a manuscript of mine. A manuscript, oddly enough, that I had initially penned a few years ago for NaNoWriMo.

We discussed the fact that it was probably my sixth attempt at a manuscript and that this one was still an early draft at best.

"You have a lot of imagination," my editor told me. "You can't teach imagination....There's a lot of good work here, but..."

Ah, the dreaded BUT. This but had to do with a need for revision. I had wanted to call the project done, yet it's still a long way from THE END.

Creation doesn't seem to be my problem. It's the follow through. It's a commitment to my craft. To create the best stories I can and then move on. Most of my stories are abandoned before they even really have the chance to see the light of day.

So, what to do? NaNoWriMo is a month for novels. So, why can't it be my National Novel Revision Month - NaNoReMo? I can make a commitment to craft at least for the next few weeks. Can't I?

Time to Fish or Cut Bait

"It's time to fish or cut bait."

This was one of my wonderfully wise father's favorite phrases. The great fisherman, he used this line on my sister and I more times than I care to remember. From boyfriends to career changes, he said it simply to grab our attention. I never really enjoyed the words when they escaped his lips as the simplicity of them reels one in. Then, when one realizes they are indeed snagged by them, it's all a bit disconcerting.

But, I guess, that was the point. Life shouldn't be so difficult. You either want to do something, or you don't. You either fish, or cut bait. I miss his simple - yet oh too true - philosophies and the ease with which he sauntered through his own life. I tend to think too much about where I am going, what I am doing and why I am doing it, rather than just doing it because it's fun.

Such is the matter of my writing these days. I spend way too much time wondering which type of writing I should be creating, what avenues I should explore, rather than just doing it. Which leads me here at the end of October with only a few days left before I buckle down to be part of November's NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month.

It's one month to get my crap together. To write only one thing and see if I can eek 50,000 words from it. Three years ago I came close with a young adult manuscript which I am just now putting the final touches on. The last couple years I've crashed and burned about half way through. Why? Because I thought about it too much, rather than just doing it. I cut bait and fast.

Not this time. I am fishing for the big one. There's this historical fiction piece I have wanted to claim as my own for nearly three years. The characters are all in my head. I have researched and researched and even have a cork board covered in the myriad of faces of my main character. She stares at me daily from the confines of my laundry room, waiting for me to make my move.

The stare has turned to a glare these days - "Fish or cut bait," she's saying. And it's true. She deserves to have her story told and I can tell it. Time to get the old cane pole and dough balls out. The big one is within reach.

My search for a single Guru comes up empty, for a reason

Just the name Guru offers me a sense of solace. In ancient Sanskrit, a guru is defined as a person with great knowledge, wisdom or authority.

In these days of confusion and uncertainty, just the mere mention of someone who knows more than I and who can offer answers to the unknown is quite appealing indeed.

Without even realizing it, I have searched my whole life for these gurus in some form or fashion - people who knew so much more than I and who could direct me, so I wouldn't make mistakes or at least make them less frequently. At first I sought out gurus for my writing - thinking if I found the perfect Master of Fine Arts program or the most knowledgeable writing coach, I would truly learn what it means to be a decent and productive writer.

Then the search continued in my practice of yoga. I beat every bush and researched every style from Ashtanga to Bikram and Kripalu wanting to find the training and the instructor who could bring me some sort of enlightenment. Someone to show me what I might be missing and how to find it.

Even in homeschooling my son, I wandered about on the Internet and within my community in search of someone to tell me what I was doing right and what I could improve upon when it came to educating a highly intelligent kid.

Each time I thought I had finally found a person to be that perfect Guru, I would be disappointed when I realized this person, or persons, was just that - a human being with frailties of his or her own. Each time I realized I didn't want or really even need to listen to anyone, anyone but myself.

Why does it take so long in life to figure out that there isn't just one person who can lead us toward enlightenment - whether it's spiritually or in the physical every day jobs we do? Why does it take so long to realize that the knowledge is within our own heart, we just have to listen to what it is saying and act upon it.

The only answer I can come up with is that it boils down to confidence in ourselves. Acquiring the confidence that we need to realize we alone can move forward and figure it all out, even if we hit a few pot holes now and again on this pathway of life.

Yes, gurus exist. I think they're all around us. They are not all knowing and all seeing people, though. They are simply other human beings on the same journey who offer up reminders that we're either a) on the right path or b) way off track. They are people like the bagger at the grocery store who tells you that your positive attitude and smile have made an impression on them. Or, the bookstore owner who says she can't believe how widely read your homeschooling son is, let alone how grown up he seems. Or the friend that sends a card for no reason at all, except to tell you she loves you and everything you are.

These are the gurus in my life. They are the daily reminders that I am doing something right, even if it seems all wrong every single day.

I think all we can do is follow our hearts and that will lead us to where we need to be. No one person has all the answers, thank goodness. But maybe, if we listen a little to a lot of people we will find the answers together.

A Magical Moment

No, it wasn't Harry Potter who showed me the magic this weekend when I visited Islands of Adventure in Orlando, it was a wand wielding kid wizard I've known since his grand entrance into this strange and mysterious muggle world almost nine years ago.

This special young man in my life never ceases to amaze me. He's not connected by blood, but the ties to my heart are such it would seem so. He believes with his whole heart and loves that way, too. His ability to cast a spell on others rivals only Harry's, truth be told.

He's a magical creature, this Charlie of mine. How is it this boy child I adore is so able to see life clearer than I? Charlie has the ability to make me stop and take notice of this or that. He ambles through life, never rushing unless it's to his favorite snack or to give someone he loves a hug. He doesn't miss a moment, he's observant of it all and he is a true and honest believer in the magical realm.

There are days I think there is no magic left in the world and I am a fool for ever believing in fairytales or happy endings. Then some magical something happens and reminds me I AM a fool and that's ok. It's the foolish belief in 'the land of make believe' that keeps the child within alive and in awe. It is what fuels my enthusiasm for life. And that's what Charlie and his beautiful older sister did for me this past weekend.

As it just so happens, Charlie was picked from a room of onlookers to take part in a performance at Olivander's (the wand maker in the Harry Potter books and movies) shop. He stood front and center as Universal's version of Olivander sized up his wizarding abilities and searched for a wand that might serve Charlie's gifts well - one with a phoenix feather at its root.

Never did Charlie believe it wasn't real. Olivander had chosen him to give a special wand to. A wand that actually had chosen Charlie (as the wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around, you know).

The moment was magical indeed, but Charlie kept the magic alive. He was careful not to let others touch his wand. He wanted to be a good wizard and use his powers wisely. He marched around the theme park with his wand box tucked tightly under his arm, as proud as Harry Potter when he first received his. He even created a few new 'spells' to try out.

I teared up when the realization hit me. There's magic everywhere we look, if only we choose to see it and embrace such marvels with our hearts - like Charlie does each and every day. But if we ignore it - poof, the magical moment is gone.

This Quitter is Gonna be a Winner

Quitters Never Win. Winners Never Quit.

These two phrases have been swimming around in my Beached Mermaid's head over the last few weeks. As Summer has morphed into Fall (even if the Gainesville heat index won't budge), I found I'd FALLEN back into old habits. Ones like: spending way too much time doing anything but WRITING. I was even cleaning the bathroom instead of putting pen to paper. So, as that light dawned on this marble head I did what any intelligent and well adjusted woman would do - I became a quitter.

Now, to say I quit everything I do in my life would be an exaggeration. I didn't quit my volunteer gig that I love with the butterflies. I didn't quit what I call my "real job" - homeschooling my son or anything that needs to be done for survival in the Real World. I did, however, quit a bunch of small gigs I'd accumulated. All of which I enjoyed in some form or fashion, but realized they had become a smoke screen of sorts to excuse my lack of writing.

This epiphany came with a jolt. Actually, to be fair and honest, it came when my husband said, "You'll do anything to avoid writing."

Ok, so maybe it wasn't that harsh. Close enough. He's a very direct man. Lovable, but painfully direct. I contemplated his sharp, yet wise words while alone on the bathroom floor cleaning the tile with a magic eraser (rather than writing). It was at that moment I realized I'd gone too far. (Yes, I was PMS-ing, but still). Just who the hell cares if my grout is sparkling white or not?

I vowed then and there to become a quitter. It's so freeing. Considering I have a hard time saying no, I have a lot of perplexed people in my life right now. They're wondering what I'm doing. What I am up to. Why I don't go so many places or involve myself with lots of people.

Quitting is what I finally had to do to remind myself of what I really want - to write stories that people will enjoy. It's as plain as that. That's my number one goal and if it truly is what I desire I need to give it the time it deserves and that my future readers deserve, for that matter.

I keep wondering, though, can quitters ever win? I hope so. Otherwise, I'm gonna have to quit being a quitter, I guess.

Oh, and for the record, the grout cleaning was a once in a lifetime event. I quit that wretched job first time out as I am not Cinderella, but the Beached Mermaid...