Why I Spent Five Hours in a Walmart Parking Lot – and LOVED It!
- At June 20, 2013
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Roxanne Writes On
- 2
So I was working on edits for my summer release with Entangled Publishing. Things have been crazy around here, so I was having some trouble. I know, I know, we’re ALL busy. I’m not claiming that my life is more hectic than yours, or that, to use the phrase coined by hubby and his coworkers, “my gash is deeper than yours.” (Yeah, yeah, I hear it.)
Anyway, I was under the gun, hoping to finish in a week.
Unfortunately, this particular week included painters, junk haulers, carpet cleaners, weekend meetings, and oh, FATHER’S DAY!!
I warned my family not to leave me alone when I was working. Don’t talk, don’t look at me, don’t call me unless someone was dying. (I was iffy on that. I mean, what am I going to do? If your number’s up, your number’s up.)
But still, every time I sat down, the phone rang. Or someone came to the door. Or a semi-urgent day-job message would pop into my in-box.
And. Then. The. Dog. Barked.
And it wasn’t a Good Doggy bark, like a full bladder alert, or a scary guy notification, or a bug sighting. This was a half-hearted “wwwuuuf” like she thought something should be happening, but wasn’t.
Our other two dogs are smart. (See Smart Black Dog, above) They understand words, vocal tones, body language. The right look and they fall to the floor, waiting for the apocalypse, sad but certain that I am the only thing keeping them alive.
But this one (sweet, loving and cute as all get out) is blank as an unpainted wall. She thinks that when you grab her scruff and yell SHUT UP, SHUT UP BEFORE I KILL YOU, it means “Hey! Treat time!”
So, defeated, I left the house and drove, yes, to Walmart where, for the five hours I worked in my car. Uninterrupted. Anonymous. Phone off. Perfect temperature, perfect light, perfectly quiet homeless dudes politely ignoring me.
And there, fuelled by Pop-Tarts and Vitamin water, I powered through to the end.
Deadline Panic and the Dark Night of the Soul
- At May 01, 2013
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Roxanne Writes On
- 3
I love playing with words. Except when I’m on deadline.
Then the fears begin to raise their ugly, chattering mugs:
“You can’t write. You’re a hack. You got lucky before. You’ll never do it again. If you can’t do it better – and you can’t – why bother? Plus, get a haircut! Oh, and you’re fat.”
Listening to Michael Hauge‘s workshop From Identity to Essence on my iPod last night (about the sixth time I’ve heard it now, you’d think I’d catch on wouldn’t ya?) gave me some more last-minute things to change/add/emphasize about the main characters in my current work-in-progress.
The one due… um… yesterday. (Don’t worry, I got an extension.)
It also gave me some fresh insight into my own fears. All of my writing contains some degree of truth and truth can be pretty freakin’ risky. So yeah, maybe this will be the book that proves me a failure. Maybe everyone will snicker at me behind my back. Maybe I’ll end up a WalMart greeter, after all.
Maybe that’s a risk I have to take because if I don’t, I’ll never get any closer to being the real person I am. To living my essence. My best, truest, self.
It’s funny, I’ve heard it said that the Dark Night of the Soul for characters generally rides in on the Dark Night for the writer. It seems you can’t write about character change and growth without taking just the tiniest peek into your own tortured psyche.
Oh man, talk about an occupational hazard.
So yeah, this is me. Living’ the dream. Dealing with exactly the problems I’ve always dreamed of having. I am lucky beyond measure that I get to explore the stuff that makes us human, take characters to the brink of despair and then lead them to their true selves. Every hero and heroine who becomes more, better, stronger than they thought they were, helps a tiny part of me become more, better, stronger.
All life is story, and all stories start with words. These are mine. Thanks for reading.
“So, What’s Your Real Job?”
- At April 05, 2013
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Roxanne Writes On
- 0
… and other stuff people say to writers.
Just to be clear, MY friends never say things like this. MY friends are supportive, loving cheerleaders… and of course, it goes without saying that my family is behind me 100%. Mostly.
They probably wouldn’t kick up a stink if I used a pen name, but they’re rooting for me, nevertheless. 95% for sure.