In February 2008, I did one more round of edits, printed my manuscript, and headed down to San Diego for yet another SoCal Writer's Conferences. This time, I had sent in the first 20 pages for three different people to read: an editor (Mike Sirota), an agent (quite frankly, I don't remember her name), and a publisher (Karen Syed, Echelon Press).

I tried to use my time wisely, by going to workshops that had information on getting published, attending a few read & critique sessions to get feedback, and hanging out with Gordon Kirkland. Okay, that last activity was only useful and wise in that I like hanging out with him.

For my advance submissions, Mike Sirota was semi-encouraging. As I sat down, he said, "Ah, at last someone I can give good news to." Then he proceeded to tear my work apart and tell me to rewrite it all from a completely different perspective and using completely different characters.

Next.

The agent was very young and perky and "played devil's advocate" with me, questioning Peri's motivation for going to Benny's place, Benny's fascination with Dean Martin, etc. She wasn't a horrid person, but I could tell that, even if I changed it to please her, we would not work well together.

Then there was Karen. She not only liked my work, she "got" it.

"Have you finished this?" she asked. "Send it to me."

(Insert girlish squeal here.)

But-but-but... I had already asked Jean Jenkins to work with me, as my editor. Although I had re-read and edited, I wasn't confident that the book was really publisher-ready. What a lovely dilemma!

Jean said to go for it, so I did one more quick clean-up, then sent it to Karen the following week.

I didn't hear from her for four months, so I figured she just wasn't that into it, and I sent it to Jean for editting. As timing would have it, that's when Karen contacted me and said, do you want a contract?

But Jean Jenkins wasn't. She's a professional editor and loved my story.

"Have you finished this book?" she asked. "There wasn't a lot wrong with it, and if it's done, you need to be shopping this around to the agents and publishers."

"It's halfway finished," I lied.

When the conference was over, I began a whirlwind of writing. After a few distractions, I finished the book before Christmas. Then I did what they had told me to do at the conference - I set it aside for six weeks.

First, I was in the middle of finishing my second edit of my first book. Oh, yes, I had written a book previously. It's a well-written piece of complete drivel, in which I made every mistake imagineable while remaining grammatically correct, and even sometimes lyrically brilliant. I plan to use it for parts - someday.

By August, I had freed myself from the 1st novel and could start on Freezer Burn, whose working title was "Hands of Time." I changed the name as soon as it dawned on me that "Hands of Time" sounded like a soap opera.

The first thing I had to do was figure out how my trusty heroine would find the clues to lead her to the solution. Being uber-organized, I put together an MSExcel file laying out the plot, listing problems I needed to address, things I needed to learn about, and defining characters. After all that, I started to write.

I went to the Southern California Writer's Conference in LA-Irvine in September, with 45 pages of a mystery.

But whose hand was it? How did it get there? Why didn't they take the ring?

I stalled on these answers, and more, until May 2007. It was Mother's Day weekend, and Dale and I were driving up to Paso Robles to see Snoopy compete at a horse show. Dale was driving, which meant that I was sleeping, because that's the way I roll. I was slightly in-between awake and asleep, when my mind began to follow a thread, from an aging starlet who had an affair with a Douglas Fairbanks-type of actor, to a homeless girl who stumbles upon a pretty ring... and her doom.

I sat up, grabbed my digital voice recorder, and laid it all out, the who what when where why.

Then I went back to blissful sleep.

I went to my first SCWC in 2006, in Palm Springs, armed with a handful of my humor essays, a kind-of-short story and an open, if clueless, mind. The conference had a topic contest: 250 words, any genre. The topic? Ice.

When I first heard it, I thought, "How stupid." But an idea began to percolate. By Sunday morning, I had written 250 words on the hotel stationary and submitted it. And guess what? I won. The entry is here:

www.writersconference.com/ps/topic/ps3topic_a.html

It's a "noir" kind of piece, with a humorous angle. At the same time, I began to joke about a new detective for the Baby Boomer generation - Peri Menopause, Private Eye. She was a gal who'd solve every crime by crying, eating chocolate and bitch-slapping everyone until someone confessed.

Shortly after the conference, I married the topic contest entry and Peri, and envisioned Peri finding more than an ice cube tray in the freezer...

How about a severed hand?

Naw, not compelling enough.

How about a severed hand wearing a big, expensive ring?

Viola! A story begins to take shape! Now all I had to do was figure out who the hand and the ring belonged to and how they got in the freezer.

My family and I took a cruise to Alaska. The picture above is the view from our balcony. It was a perfect cruise - great views, 24-hour grazing, and a bartender who always knew just what I needed.

While we were away, Snoopy got his cast off. Now he's wearing a thick leg wrap, but he's still confined to his stall for another month, after which we can start hand-walking him (hopefully). I'm hoping he's not spinning like a June bug on a string when we finally take him out for some exercise.

As far as the book goes, I've sent my bio and the jacket blurb to Karen. Next, I think I get editorial notes. The whole process takes a bit of time. In the meantime, I'm thinking of all kinds of ways to promote and market. I made a new friend, Vic (and his lovely wife, Lynne) who is going to help me film two short videos to be posted on YouTube and anywhere I can get them.

If you read this blog, I'd like some feedback about book signings:

1. If you are in a bookstore and there is an author signing taking place, what entices you to go buy a book and have it autographed?

2. If you are not planning a bookstore trip, what kind of advertisement would get you to go to a book signing? Or would you only go for someone you know?

I'm trying to figure out ways to make bookstore visits as profitable as possible, and I can use all the help I can get!

later.

A publisher wants my book! My-book-my-book-my-book! My murder mystery, Freezer Burn, will be published by Echelon Press. Many, many thanks go to the following:

Jean Jenkins, the editor who gave me lots of ideas of how to make my writing stronger;

My grandmother, who taught me out to tell a story;

My friend, Kip Mistral, who kicked my butt hard enough to get me to start writing;

My husband, Dale, who just assumes that I will write many books, be a best-selling author, and make tons of $$ (we'll see about that last part);

And, of course, Karen Syed, publisher and CEO of Echelon Press, for finding my little murder mystery about a 50-year old female P.I. engaging enough to put between two covers!

Stay tuned for more info about this grand adventure!

Right now, he's very bored. I put a toy in his stall, but he's not interested. He wants interaction, human and horse. My friend, Kip, gave me a funny visual of Snoopy - greeting the guys who clean his stall by throwing his front legs around their necks and hugging them, grateful tears in his eyes. Very funny!

There. I said it. For a long time, I've been trying to write gently teasing items in my humor column about the parents who go to their children's events - concerts, plays, graduation exercises - and behave like they're at a Dodger game, after about ten beers. 

Now I'm taking the gloves off.

I'm tired of trying to hear a performance while the adults behind me talk because their child isn't currently on stage. I'm tired of the small child who keeps talking next to me because their parent doesn't shush them. I'm tired of the screams of the parents, yelling their kid's name, whistling, using airhorns, and all right in my ears.

I've been to two of Marcus' performances in the past month, his choir and his band. At every event, EVERY EVENT, the people behind me were talking. Not even whispering, but talking, in a normal tone of voice. At the choir concert, a small child was coughing, too, behind my friend, Sylvia. And by coughing, I mean parting Sylvia's hair in the back from the force.

There's only I can say to these people: SHUT UP! (And teach your child to cover her mouth!)

The school orchestra has a new addition to their grading policy this year, called respecting others. While one group is playing, everyone else must sit quietly and listen. The kids aren't crazy about having their grades based on this policy, but I'm in love with it.

Maybe the next generation will be a little more polite.

We think that his run-in with the stall door aggravated a cast sore on his leg, causing it to seep. Since infection is to be avoided at all costs, Tina took him back to the hospital yesterday, where they cut a "window" in his cast to examine and treat the sore. Dr. Fisher wants to keep him a couple of days to make certain his cast will still keep his leg immobilized with a hole in it. If it does, he'll be sent back home, where hopefully he won't do some other boneheaded thing to put him back in the hospital. If the cast doesn't stay together...

Okay, I don't know what happens then. I'll try to hunt down the doctor today and get more answers.

The good news is that everybody at the hospital just loves Snoopy, even if he is, in their words, "a little mouthy." A little?