Author: lleachie

I am an associate professor of human services at a regional Midwestern university. I am also a writer of fantasy and romance, hoping to get traditionally published. I have one husband and am owned by four cats.

Optimism

 I grew up in a household where optimism was terminated with extreme prejudice. “Don’t look forward to anything — you might get disappointed,” my mother would say, as her mother said before her and so on.

As a result, I am wary of my optimism. Whenever I submit a query to a publisher or agent, whenever I submit a poem or short story to a website or literary journal, my mind fantasizes about getting that acceptance, that stamp of approval that is going to change my life forever, and the nagging Mom-voice kicks in with the family legacy,

 


 

Most of the time, I don’t get accepted. With my short stories and poems, I think I have a 10% publishing rate, which isn’t bad. I haven’t gotten more than an honorable mention in a “high literary” outfit. Which isn’t bad, but maybe not life-changing.

As for the novel front, I haven’t gotten an agent or publisher yet despite a whole lot of improving and improving and editing and rewriting and querying and … yet every time I submit I daydream about how I’ll get picked up and my life will change.

And I will get disappointed again. Which is why I distrust my optimism. Which is the wrong thing to do.

There is nothing wrong with optimism. It helps me motivate for another try. It puts a bounce in my step. It enhances my day. Sure, I might get my hopes crushed (90% of the time I do) but the optimism is worth it.              

So I will stay optimistic despite my internal Mom-voice trying to ruin all my fun. It might pay off in the end.                                  

I don’t know what I’m doing.

 

 

I figured out why it is I really want to be traditionally published. Set all the fame and fortune* aside, the reason I really want to be traditionally published is the management prospect.

I’m really bad at the things traditional publication is good at — Marketing and advertising, book covers, etc. I want to be told what to do at this point in my career. I want to be told, “here are your choices for book cover. Here’s what we expect you to do to help market. Do some book tours here and here.”

If I self-publish, I have to figure out a “writing platform”, which is in effect a sales platform. Other than a Twitter account with 4500 followers and a Facebook page with 100 followers, I don’t know what that would be.

There’s so many things I don’t know about marketing a book.** I don’t know how to find the right cover art. I don’t know how to market. I can’t see myself selling over 100 books, and I know I would do better with traditional.

So I’m still undecided. I’m still hoping to get picked up traditionally, trying to improve my cover letters and my outlines and my pitches. I think my books have potential; I just need to find that way in.

*************

*Fortune? Not unless you’re Nora Roberts/JD Robb. Most of us won’t make a living of it.

**I know a little about designing a book cover. I know that followers are a big part of marketing. I have a blog and a website for selling for when I actually have a book out. But I don’t know how to do this well.

Class, COVID, and time



 I’m finding it hard to find time to write lately. Teaching in COVID-19 is hard work. My average class is taught live, recorded on ZOOM, and taped for further reference. This way, if a student is well, they attend. If a student is quarantined or isolated, they join a Zoom session. If they’re really sick, they watch the recorded version later.

It’s hard to manage. I’m still having technical difficulties three days later. I hope the students are forgiving, because I’m doing the best I can. One class I have enough distancing that I’m probably safe with a face shield; the other class is impossible to get distancing in, so we’re doing our best to listen.

One of the hardest adjustments for me is to trivial I don’t even want to mention it. But I will: I can’t stand not wearing lipstick. It rubs off on masks, no matter what type I try. When I take my mask off, I feel naked. I am convinced my lips are the best part of my face, and they’re — not there. 

Still trying to solve that trivial problem.


****

 We officially have 52 students out with COVID; not sure who’s just quarantined to help stop the spread. This is less than I expected the first week.

A Convalescing Chloe

 

 

 Sorry I’m running late today, but I had to take Chloe to the vet for what ended up being an infected cat bite on her foot. Despite our efforts to keep the other cats quarantined from little Chloe, Me-Me keeps barging in, and occasionally they get in a scrap.

Chloe is sitting next to me today — no, she’s not sitting. She’s making an immense effort to stand, which isn’t happening because she’s wobbly from the sedation she’s gone through to get her abscess drained. 

So right now (blesssedly I have a work-at-home day) I am supervising the wobbly little monster. She isn’t feeling much like being petted; she’s laying on the bed next to me trying to escape … somewhere. I’m not sure she knows where, because I don’t think she can see straight yet. She sort of stands up, wobbles, and falls over. She’s scared of me but doesn’t mind curling up next to me. I feel so bad for her!

There are worse things than trying to get your work done next to a wobbly cat.

Finding the Story in the Dream

 

 

I finally found motivation yesterday! It came in the form of a dream, a dream that involved a man I had a crush on, escaping from his hoodlum associates, and gossiping with women I didn’t know. 

 The story I wrote had nothing to do with hoodlums or gossip, but everything to do with crushes and letting them go.  It took interpreting the dream to come up with the connection.

I don’t do Gestalt analysis anymore, where you tell the dream from the perspective of every significant person and object in the dream, mostly because that gets very long and dry. I also don’t think it’s a superior method anymore. Instead, my husband and I reflect together on how each significant scene parallels real life. 

If you are going to do this method, you must be very aware that 1) you are aware of the symbolic aspects of dreams, and 2) many of the aspects of dreams relate to your recent thoughts and experiences. I came across this method of dream analysis when a friend and I noted how my dreams paralleled the events of a full but idyllic day we had spent the day before.

So, this was what came out of the dream: I was looking in on a concert in the next room (crowded, night club) and guy I had a crush on was crowdsurfing right past the window but he wouldn’t look at me. Sounds like an unrequited crush to me.

Then, I’m in a room with crush and I start yelling at him about ignoring me. He listens, denies ignoring me, and then nods, and his henchmen (Eastern European bug guys, buzz cuts, dressed in black) start wrestling me. I break away and walk out. Crush has just had a bachelor party; the henchmen are anologous.

After that I break out and end up in a shopping mall. (No idea of what that’s symbolic of; I’d say finding another crush but I’m married, so it’s not something I’m seeking out although crushes make for great poetry) and run into some women in the bathroom (cleansing oneself?) I gossip about what happened previously.

 So there’s the dream, all about releasing a crush. 

The story I wrote? It’s about a woman who had a two-week fling with Oberon, king of Faerie; it ended abruptly when she asked to go to Faerie and he had to refuse her. When he returns to take her there thirty years later, she surprises him with her answer.

 Same thing, yet so different. That is the power of a dream. 

A Day for Writing

 

 

I am going to push myself into writing today. COVID has made me less inclined to write, as has editing all summer (and I’m still editing Gaia’s Hands) and a general sense of not knowing where to go. But today is a good time to start, because I’m going to have the whole day to myself —

My brain just asked, “Why not sleep? You haven’t gotten a good sleep for a while!” That’s true; my kitten Chloe has been waking me up with these claws-out zoomies across the bed. But I want to feel like I’ve accomplished something — and loading up Tweetdeck with my #PitMad entries two weeks in advance isn’t enough. I need to feel like something is going forward.

I’m struggling between staying at home and going out to the Game Cafe. The former has a too-familiar, uninspiring atmosphere. The latter has everything I need, but I’m afraid of getting overcaffeinated. 

 Tough decision. Hmmm…

But the bigger decision is what I’m going to write.  I would feel better writing a short story right now than writing on Gaia’s Hands because that feels like so much work without reward. I’m not liking it for vague reasons and I don’t know how to fix what I’m not liking. The story right now feels like a bucket that takes endless water to fill.  

 I am wondering if I should free-write to see if there’s a new story in here. My short story plots in the past have included a child trying to get back with her friends, who have been captured by the wee folk; a vampire at a NA meeting.; a woman with bipolar disorder who believes she is the avatar of a wrathful God; a parody of a noir detective story; a story about a woman’s asshole inner child escaping; two buddy stories set in space; a story about cultural differences and a second chance; an immortal who falls in love with an elderly woman and has to learn about death; a few others. 

Maybe I need to stir up my psyche with ideas that turn into stories. These stories have come from visual images I’ve experienced; prompts from contests; dreams; flippant self-inquiry, and character development for novels. 

My dreams lately consist of equipment failure and taking my clothes off in the middle of the hallway at work. And ex-boyfriends wanting to come back with me and telling me I’m the only one. (I don’t believe them.)

  Maybe I’ll try prompts from contests…

Need to get back into writing

 

 

 I need to get back into writing, back into feeling like I’m a writer.

It’s this semester, I know it. It’s been nonstop work and seat of the pants improvisation. It’s been scrambling for a foothold. 

It’s been two days, for God’s sake.

If there’s anyone else having trouble writing, I feel for you. I feel for me. This has been an insane year.

Does anyone have any ideas for short stories? I feel like if I could get a short story written this weekend, I might feel better about the writing thing. Fantasy, light or dark, would work for me. I suppose I could write something on a plain insightful fiction riff, but can’t come up with those myself. 

So, send those prompts in, and hopefully I will be inspired.

Wow, that was disastrous!

 

 

 My first day of class was a technological disaster.

It started with my email program (Outlook) displaying an unredeemable glitch. The program told me there was a corrupted file, let me repair it, and lo and behold — the file was not repaired. And I could not use Outlook. On a day where 20 or more students required my attention.

Then my Zoom link disappeared. So all my students were in a chat room that I couldn’t access. So I sent them a new link and most of them found me.

I was rehearsing what it would be like with Zoom/in-class at the same time, because that well could happen this semester. This required the spiffy new camera and microphone I got yesterday. The setup seemed to work just fine — until I got to the classroom, and then the screen got twitchy, turning itself on and off.

In the morning class, I just about passed out. I think this was an artifact of some vigorous walking, lack of water, and nerves. But I plowed through and got through my first day.

Today I troubleshoot my computer and rehearse with the microphone and camera. Wish me luck.

Needing a little push

 

 

 I’m rethinking my relationship with being a writer.

Is getting published worth it? I’m contemplating not doing #PitMad (a Twitter manuscript pitching contest) on the 3rd of September. It’s hardly anything to set up, but I’m so tired of no nibbles. I’m just tired of trying.

This may be part of a general depressive trend. There’s so much pressing down on me, most of it having to do with going back to work under COVID. There’s nothing I can do except wear that mask, sanitize surfaces, and pray.

This is not the way I want to be. I want to be productive. I want to accomplish something. I want to get published, if only I could figure out how to do that. 

What I can do is just keep doing — keep writing, keep trying to publish, meet with my classes whether in person or online, and have as good a semester as I can manage. Because if I don’t do things, they certainly won’t happen. 

I just need a push to get me going.