April 2, 2002 (continuation of Year of the Horse)
HOROSCOPE (VIRGO): " Worried that a dream can't come true? Did a friend say it's unrealistic? Impractical? Poorly planned? You can fix that by doing more planning. Paper is cheep!"

April 3rd
I've begun writing memoirs in a small note book and call it SOLILOQUY.
IN THE NEWS:
ISRAEL HAS CLOSED IN ON BETHLEHEM . . . this was foretold, I understand, by Nostradamus.

And . . . CATHOLIC PRIESTS WHO'VE KNOWINGLY MOLESTED CHILDREN HAVE BEEN FOUND TO STILL BE WORKING IN PRIESTHOOD. (So, what's new? That's been the case down through the ages)

And . . . ALMOST 1/2 OF OUR COASTS ARE SO POLLUTED THAT THEY'RE DEAD (coral reefs). POLLUTION IS COMING FROM CHEMICALS FARMERS USE.

And the beat goes on.


APRIL 5th
Dennis got up a little earlier than me. He said he was sitting in kitchen listening to the radio when this large-winged bird landed on the wire outside the north window above the sink. He turned off the light and stood there looking at an owl. The owl stared big-eyed back at him. Then, he flew away after a long stare down.

Dennis came to get me up, telling me Harry Potter's owl has brought me a message that "someone wants your book!"

It was a cute thing he said, I told him as I rubbed his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

It sure would be nice if it came true.
TODAY'S HOROSCOPE: There it is! The path through the confusion! The chance to score the goal! You can think about it later; you need to act!

SHORT QUIPS

"I really shouldn't sit around waiting for a reply from agent. Like a single girl waiting for the phone to ring on Friday night. It never rings when you want, or expect it to. Prince Charming does not ride up on his steed and whisk you away to live happily ever after." Lorelei Bell

Dennis: "Sell your book so that I won't have to break my back any more."

Lorelei: "So we don't have to live here any more."

Dennis: "Yeah."

Lorelei: "I'm trying."

"The faucet may drip in the kitchen. We may have mice that sometimes gets on the counter; we're invaded by bugs (Asian Beetles, spiders, and other) but this is the best place I've ever lived since my parent's farm." --Dennis April 25th 2002

"And from now on I will strive for more inner faith." --Lorelei

4/19 HOROSCOPE: "You may not get quite as much as you'd like for your recent endeavors, but otherwise, life looks great. Money isn't everything!"

Maybe not, but I sure could use some right about now.

I read an article by Lawrence Block, the other day--it was an old one, but very good and relates very well with a struggling writer. Basically it says that not everyone who tries out for the ball team gets the job.

There are plenty of writers out there who deserve to be published. But here is where the division lies. Those of us who can grit our teeth with every rejection and still go on, despite it all, and keep writing and sending stuff out. Those who can't, don't want to face the grueling up-hill battle, the years of working on the same manuscript trying to interest someone in it. Those who can't wait--and have the money--will take the easy route and self-publish. But do they even break even?

And so I toil long hours in this room I painted orchid--to help creativity--and my husband who encourages me day in and day out because he believes that someday it may pay off.

Happy Belated New Year!

Chinese fortune cookie reads:

"Your present plans are going to succeed."

Yeah. Right. But I say that life is a crap-shoot. If you throw the dice enough times, you may come out ahead, at least once in a while. So, I keep on throwing the dice.

So, I'm looking back into my journal archives. Actually it's my own little memoir called "The Year of The Horse"--a compilation of journal entries from the year 2002--the year of the horse. And so I've chosen the following are selections from this little personal book I designed and wrote for myself--and it will go to whoever when I'm dead and gone.

December 29th 2001
Another of my delinquent short stories came back from Outer Darkness. Of course he found nothing wrong with my story, said he found the ending very different, and well written, I might add. (Of course it was!!) But he said he'd taken several vampire stories, and was looking for something different. Na-a-atrually.

January 14th Monday

I sent mailing off to X X Agency. A revised copy. I'm glad to have this done. Now it's a waiting game.

Crappy day out there.

Dennis gives me this year to sell my book. After this we both have to find something else to make money, and get out of here.

I knew there was a reason I was feeling pressure.

Also, my typewriter is on its last leg. I couldn't write another book, or even a short story, if I wanted to. Can't afford to fix it, or buy a new one.

Jan. 15 Tues.

Last night Dennis made dinner. Baked a chicken, rice and beans all by himself. While he was cooking--he's so in a zone & happy when he cooks--he came out and blurted, "You're my pot of gold!"

I thought that was a nice thing for him to say, so I thanked him. Later on I asked him what he'd meant by it. He said he just felt that I put so much hard work into my writing, he just feels like someday it'll pay off.

Normally I'd just figure, "Okay, that would be nice." But Dennis will say things like this out-of-the-blue, and they happen. He's very intuitive. It's as if he's tuned into some invisible wave length.

All I can do is hope he's right about this. He's never said anything like this before to me.

Jan 24th Thursday

Dennis isn't used to seeing me not writing, but he understands I needed some down time. I just want to veg-out . . . take some time off, take care of the house, like a regular housewife.

Dennis' mom is so behind me with my writing. I sent her a copy of my ByLine article so she'd have something to show off. Also sent a picture of myself at my desk. When Dennis took it he didn't realize the cardboard angel I had hanging down from ceiling fan was caught in the shot, and it actually was facing the camera at the time, so appeared to be hovering over my head. Mom wrote back and said the angel couldn't be in a better spot. She felt it meant something. We're always in her prayers. I need someone to pray for me. It seems to do me no good to pray for myself.

I feel as I did way back in 1984, thinking that I had a chance, just because I'd had a few things published. I thought that when I took that class in Dubuque, I'd get somewhere.

I wasn't the only one with a dream. I've often wondered if any of the other people there published whatever they were all working on. One did, of course, while I was there.

But, that was 18 years ago. My writing has improved greatly, and it wasn't from what anyone had taught me. I've had to learn it all on my own, using other writers as my guide and the few suggestions I've gleaned from [writing magazines], like ByLine. It has been my only connection with other writers, as of late. If it weren't for my one article published there, I think I'd be pretty miserable and unpublished, right now.

I've heard of writers having long droughts between published pieces. I don't know if I could survive it, so late in the game.

January 26th 2002

Had a strange dream. The place I saw evolved from one thing to the next without reason. The place had huge wooden rafters and in the center was a tree. Not alive, because a winding staircase was carved into it, all the way around. I saw people using it.

The whole place gave me the creeps. Seems like some secret thing had happened, or something bad about the place.

I think my mind may have been working on ideas for something new. Yesterday I looked through a piece of old writing I did in 1980. My writing, of course, not very good; my spelling was poor, and plotting and characterizations--just all of the writing skills just not honed, or even there at all. I must comment here that I see only a slight improvement from this piece, before classes in Dubuque, to after. Without help I was going nowhere. I'd called it The Castle, a supposed murder mystery. The dialogue was terrible too. I reveal way too much.

So, I'm looking through this 72-page piece of crud I'd written 22 years ago, and think I've come a long way since then. Maybe it was good that I'd kept it around to compare my writing from now to then.

Then, I took something out called "The Cemetery" which is dated from Oct. 83'. In the original, the woman is walking through a cemetery, near her mansion--where she lives. Her discovery of a body is the scene I begin with. In the original version, the body is her son, stabbed with the dagger she's used in rituals. At the end of the scene I have a man and woman who know her discover her holding the dead boy in her arms and assume she killed him.

I've been mulling over ideas for this story. Even considered making it into a mystery-suspense. But I just don't have enough experience in mysteries right now.

The Cemetery

1960

The child called out to her.

Pushing onward in the cold darkness, her feet crunched through the crisp autumn leaves, which carpeted the ground. She glanced back toward the mansion. Rectangles of golden light dotted the otherwise dark hulking shape behind her. She could see lights on in the third floor windows. She didn't understand that, but turned back toward the sound of her five year old's voice, which called to her from the cemetery.

6/21/02--Rewrite:

The ground came up quickly as Christine Renwick stumbled. Her hands and knees took the brunt of the fall. Her temple bounced twice on the leaf-carpeted earth. Numbing pain jolted her, shattering the black void like the shell of an egg. The crisp smell of autumn leaves and moist loam beneath caught in her nostrils.

Urgently, she pushed herself up, her breaths sharp, rasping, as though coming out of a nightmare. But the nightmare had only just begun. Becoming aware of the chill in the night air, she drew her arms about herself, rubbing her hands over bare arms. Within those frazzled first seconds, seeing her own breath cast from the bright silvery moonlight, she realized where she was. She gazed up into the night sky and found a full moon framed by the jagged canopy of oak trees--and tombstones.

It was happening again.

January 30th (2002)

It's been snowing since noon, it's now 3:00. Very fine snow, it hasn't even covered the grass, yet. The pine trees have a nice powder-sugared look to them. The white outlines of individual branches stand out against the rest of the tree. They look pristine.

I, myself, am still in a writing purgatory. I tried to work on a short story, but I could tell my heart wasn't into it. It's as if I get into these non-writing moods and it takes a long time before I can pull myself out of them. I'm not interested in writing anything. I was so bored I began reading through back issues from ByLine. Found appropriate article that tells us that writer's block is a myth. I believe it is. We have natural windows of creativity . . . [the article] suggests to not ignore these natural windows to creativity . . . allow the mind to relax, wander and daydream. Staring out the window is good, or go for a walk--the absolute best way to getting the mind revitalized and refreshed. Says not to force the mind to create. Give it a coffee break.

Well, I think I need a big, long coffee break. I'm not about to force myself to write, or create.

Also in that same article it suggests to make a list of all your beliefs about writing, talent, creativity, and success. I've written PAGES on this. What more can I write?

My beliefs about writing is that some people are lucky and catch a break by being in the right place and the right time, or they know someone--or are someone [famous].

Some people write very well, and maybe it takes them a long time to get a lucky break (like me).
The difference between success and having none is all the matter of getting your idea to the right person in a tantalizing way. But how do you know what will tantalize someone you've never met before?

Success may have a lot to do with whether you can afford to put your mss. out there again & again, and again--depending upon whether there's still a market for them, that is.

No one is given a dream without the power to make it come true.

Feb 10th 2002

The Chinese celebrate their New Year today. This is the Year of the Horse. I've learned that this is the zodiacal sign I am born under. The last year it was the year of the Horse, in 1990. It won't come back around for another 12 years.

I just wonder if in this year, things go my way, for a change. That would be nice.

FROM FORTUNE COOKIE (both of ours) "Luck is coming your way."

Feb 12th '02

My submission to XX Agency was returned with letter stating:

"While your manuscript is greatly improved, it still needs work. Have you read Self Editing for Fiction Writers?"

"Why, yes, I did!"

By the way, it was a very thin book. But I learned a great deal from it. What the hell did I miss?

Toward the closing she states:

"Vampire novels are difficult to sell, but not impossible."

Oh? Is that why dozens of [books] come out every year, a movie or two comes out once a year about vampires? Or, is Anne Rice standing in a soup line these days???

"I hope you prove me wrong," she wrote at the end.

Okay, BITE ME. Or better yet, I hope Dracula visits her.

Anyway, I intend to. I'm sending it out again. I spent the whole afternoon finding someone who may be interested in this book.

I want to give up. But something in me says not to. I've never gotten beyond a rejection, and this is so depressing, I just want to cry.

Amazon.com has 743 vampire related books on their site . . .

Barns & Nobel 1,488--I looked it up.