ROCKY RELATIONSHIP WITH WRITING?

My rocky relationship with writing took a turn yesterday.

It happens, but this one was avoidable.

Boomerpdx was offline for ten hours.

The longest ten hours of my . . . not my life. I just did other writer things.

What writer things?

Since I was locked out due to confusion about renewing my domain name, I cleared that up first.

In other words, I paid the bill.

The confusion part came up because I’d just called Bluehost after an email arrived about renewing my domain name.

The domain they referenced was a free trial deal that came with upgrading my hosting plan.

After being on the short end of the stick on other deals over the years, I figured I was locked out because they renewed the wrong website domain name.

It happened right in the middle of writing another banger of a post.

I made the phone call, then another, until we were all clear: The problem was on my end.

Ten hours later I figured out the problem, finished the post, and now I’m living happily ever after.

What really happened is I renewed the domain name then ignored the whole thing while they registered boomerpdx on servers around the world.

While waiting, I opened a ‘Last Call’ email from Writer’s Digest.

Yes, I bought the Art Of Memoir Bootcamp.

Why? Because I wrote a memoir, had it gone through three times by professionals, and let it ride until now when my blog broke down.

I like to tell people that writing keeps them out of trouble.

Blogging the way I do keeps me from over-sharing on every platform ever invented with a ‘look at me’ desperate appeal for attention.

I don’t see it that way, but it’s easy to understand why others could. I might be too much, so I’ll keep it here and let an audience stumble in on their own.

 

Drawing An Audience Takes Practice

So I bought the bootcamp class.

It’s all about getting the first ten pages, or 2500 words, in front of agents.

Will they read it as bunk, or call for more? I’m hoping for more, if you want to know.

The agency sponsoring the bootcamp is run by five agents, all women.

That was the first appeal.

Or first mistake with opening lines like this:

 

I was an eighth grader in 1969. The timing of the year was a perfect fit for junior high.

“69 is the way, man. My older brother says if you do that with a girl she will be addicted to you,” a classmate said.

Me: “Addicted? What’s sixty-nine?”

Them: “You know, 69.”

Me: “I don’t get it.”

 

Then, after some expository writing about the mid-70’s dating culture, this:

 

Those were my nostalgic thoughts when I learned I had oral sex neck cancer in 2016.

From 1969 to 2016 for HPV 16. I’ll do the math. I’m fucked.

Other cancer people caught a break since no one blamed cancer on their lady skills. Besides, all cancer is oral cancer. It’s word of mouth. The cancer I squared up on started with a phone call.

My idea was to take a topic like cancer and apply a better take than detection, death, and the miracle of life.

The first ten pages are the key.

If it passes the bunk test, then it’s a full request, full in this case meaning 91,000 words cut down from 120,000 words.

Sounds pretty full?

 

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Just like editing clothes, working on a book means taking things out.

After you take them out, where do they go?

Since you don’t throw clothes away when they’re dirty, I have a file of big edits, big cuts, and hope they become something else.

Something else might be a short story, a poem, or a novel. Something.

This is me thinking of what it could be: writing that flows like Patrick DeWitt’s writing flows.

It’s a rocky relationship.

Every decision opens up more decisions.

 

Big decisions are like The Big Time.

Where is The Big Time we hear about? Los Angeles? New York?

It’s right where you are, big timer.

No matter where you are, you’ll make decisions, small decisions that turn into big decisions looking back.

I was living alone in a studio apartment in Northwest Portland, living the bachelor life with the world at my beck and call, or at least at my doorstep.

I ruled my world, which didn’t take too much since it was so small.

I gave a girl a Darth Vader toothbrush once. Biggest decision I ever made and I didn’t even know it.

She didn’t have rotten teeth and bad breath, or a husky voice.

She didn’t want to rule the universe, or so I thought. Slowly, ever so slowly, she took over.

Then we got married and have lived happily ever after.

So far. Lol. (Hello dear)

How do you practice making decisions, big or small?

By being more aware of your actions and how they affect others.

Why don’t you decide to do that, to be more aware?

You can do it.

You might even decide to click a link to another post and leave a comment.

 

Discovery Time 

There’s saying out there that is reassuring:

If you write regularly, you are a writer. If you quit, you’re not a writer.

Since I’m not a quitter and I write regularly, I make the cut.

But a broken blog inspired me to do more.

I will submit the first 2500 words, get rewrite notes, then two days later submit the rewritten piece.

No query letter, no samples, no bio, just letting the work stand on its own.

After this I will make a plan, a schedule, and target other agents if this doesn’t go as far as it could.

Then, when boomerpdx breaks down again, I will self publish.

If you’re thinking, ‘You’ve been sitting on this a long time,’ you’d be right.

But, as a big believer in good timing, this is when things are supposed to happen.

And they will.

My memoir is the story of a time and place, a look back for reference, and a look forward to better outcomes.

‘Once upon a time . . .  ,’ that’s the story.