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In 1999, I was living in Spain, taking a year off my job track to complete a professional Masters program in international relations. That was the year I decided I would never be someone else's employee again. It was also the year many of my stories were seeded—some you know, like Confession and Verse in Arabic. Others are only now being awakened and getting dressed, readied for their long overdue debut as published works.
A month or so ago, I was working on a story idea for a literary contest. Suddenly I remembered a piece I had written for the Masters program, a creative essay about the state of the global financial system, that would have been perfect for this competition. The only problem was that back then I was using floppies to save my work (imagine the horror), and had no idea where the essay was.
Several hours later, sitting in a pile of old floppy disks, I was in near-despair, for the wonderful essay I'd written was apparently lost.
I let it go... and yet couldn't. Weeks later, I slid open my filing drawers. Something was telling me there, in one of those hanging file folders—that had been patiently hanging since 1999—would be my essay.
Sure enough. There it was. A single printed copy, on A4 paper. Overjoyed, I sat on the floor with the whole file folder—and onto my lap spilled the rest of its contents: page after page of story concepts, ideas, literary embryos waiting for a writer's warm embrace to carry them to term.
And so it happened that I fell into a golden harvest this November... a harvest of story seeds preserved by inspiration set to paper so long ago, and yet more alive than ever.
It's just a matter of time now. The old seeds have taken fresh root.
~ Birgitte
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Have you ever gone away for three days and returned a changed woman or man? No, I don't mean coming back a different gender, I mean experiencing something that changes your worldview, pushes your horizons way out, or otherwise rocks your world.
Well. I would only hope little mini-versions of this happen to all of us on a fairly regular basis. If you're thinking umm, no... you're probably not thinking hard enough or you need to get out more. You're not fully alive if you're not being intensely challenged in some way.
For me, the latest such experience was the Algonkian Writers Conference up in Corte Madera a few weeks ago.
I met amazing people, made friends with wonderful fellow writers, participated in some of the best live pitch critiques you'll hear on the West Coast, and was ceremoniously sacrificed at the altar of upmarket fiction. I emerged re-born with a brand new pitch and title for one of my upcoming novels (no, not the chocolate one, that one's been sold!). A pitch that got the initial nod of interest from five out of the five literary agents I presented to.
On top of it all I met the crankiest waitress this side of the Golden Gate Bridge (and that was before we sat down for dinner). I swear she'll end up a character in one of my books some day.
For those of you still trying to decide whether a writing conference is actually worth the expense, time, travel, and gut-wrenching anxiety of pitching in front of live literary agents, stop trying. Just do it. But make sure it's an Algonkian event or something close to it in caliber.
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I'm down to the wire on my cacao novel, so I don't get out much. Except for writing sessions in the Alps (ok, coffee shops in the foothills of Silicon Valley), reunions with royalty (aka client meetings), and writer conferences (see above). I'll become social again in due time.
In the meantime, the best way to stay in touch, apart from email, that's not a reading, presentation, or the overpopulated runways of social media is the Write Practice blog where I post every other Wednesday.
The Write Practice site publishes one blog post per day, from different writers, so between my posts and those of my fellow bloggers, you're in for some very thought-provoking reads. Come visit.
Above and most importantly of all, may you and your families enjoy a relaxing and blessed Thanksgiving holiday, wherever you may be in the world.
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