September 24 - Everyone should live life “as if”

I realize this is not always feasible, as daily implementation of the “as if” philosophy can easily lead one down the prickly road of denial.

But for the most part... it ROCKS IF you apply the practical aspects required to make your dream life a reality.

Jack Canfield (of “Success Principles” and Chicken Soup For the Soul phenomenon) explains an activity that gives people the opportunity to feel what it would be like if they had actually accomplished all of their dreams and then some.

He suggests you throw an “as if” party with your closest friends and everyone must show up donning the persona they have become five years from now assuming their ‘best case scenario’ for the fruition of all their hopes and dreams.

The only rule is you must stay in character for the duration of the party. Which means you must speak to others as the success they envision themselves to be and also dress, act, and most of all exude the confidence you would possess in your most ideal state.

Just thinking about it makes me want to put on that little black dress, throw my shoulders back, toss my hair around (long and full of body with the best extensions money can buy) and say “Oh stop, it was nothing!” in response to another guest complimenting me (yet again) on one of my achievements.

Gosh darn but it’s fun!

And if you don’t believe me, try it. Ask a few close friends if they would be interested in coming to a party at your house (everyone pitches in for good caviar and a little champagne), based on this premise - just watch as people start to giggle at the thought that they can pretend to be whatever it is they’ve always dreamed of. Everyone’s energy automatically rises.

It’s the ultimate costume party because you get to dress from the inside out as anything you want to be.

And for those of you who are pshawing and murmuring under your breath that this party should be called, “Yeah, right, as if” with a sarcastic undertone all I have to say to you is - we all do it in life anyway, but in such bits and pieces that it doesn’t have the same magnitude as actually declaring a party in honor of what we COULD BE.

Take for instance the actual names of these two co-ed soccer teams in my hood:

“We’ll Bury You Cockroaches” and “Multiple Scoregasms.”

I love those names. Each one cracks me up.

But beneath that laughter is also an underlying message to the other team: We’re gonna kick your asses from here to the moon.

It’s all in good fun but it’s also competitive - as much as a no-ref, few rules, friendly kind of game can be (which trust me, can be really intense).

Think about it. Nobody in their right mind would ever call their team, “The Has Beens”, or “The Try Hards”.

Because I think deep down inside we all want to be the best version of ourselves possible and prefer to see a win in every situation we face.

And these desires rise through the cracks of our life and society constantly, manifesting themselves in the names of teams, our obsession with people who have ‘made it’, and even our desire to look our best when we go out on the town.

It’s just that somewhere along the way, we started to think maybe we weren’t entitled to live up to our own expectations.

Either we had an inner bully that told us we didn’t deserve it, or an outer bully in the form of negative and destructive naysayers, or parents that wanted us to live a safe, secure existence because essentially it meant that they could stop worrying about us.

Or maybe, we were simply surrounded by people who were apathetic about life - their own and existence in general. (Perhaps the most draining of all dream-busters).

Basically, there are two kinds of people who teach us subconsciously (or consciously if we’re aware) of how we want to live by their own example:

Those who teach us how to be and those who teach us how not to be.

And what I have learned is neither method is more valuable than the other.It's all a matter of what you get out of it.

NEXT - How I learned how not to be (and from who)...
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September 22, 2009 - The Process - Query, Proposal, Martini - PART II

Submitting the proposal.

I’m going to break down psychologically what that means because words carry their own underling energy based on the origins contained within them (and we act accordingly - call it an inherent gift to tap into an archaic model upon which we are all connected - a collective unconscious of sorts).

To submit.

The prefix "sub" is full of interesting implications: a prefix occurring originally from Latin freely attached to elements of any origin used with the meaning "under, "below", "beneath", "secondary", "subordinate"...

So then an offer of marriage is really just a proposed plan to spend the rest of your life with someone.

Let’s go with the best visual of the two - the marriage kind - to see exactly how one should best approach submitting a book proposal.

You get down on one knee (ie; take a submissive position - there’s that sub prefix again), ask someone to spend the rest of their life with you (ie; invest time, energy, money and effort), and show them the ring (hook ‘em in the first paragraph into wanting to hear what you have to say as they stare at that glistening diamond that could be theirs).

When you see that look on their face that says they’re not convinced you spend the next few minutes (ie; pages) using the best arguments you can come up with to prove that what you are offering will bring them terrific dividends in the form security, contentment and hopefully some bonus elements beyond their expectations - like great rollicking sex for the next twenty years (ie; a bestseller).

It’s a delicate matter.

Some agencies request a proposal that sounds more like a bragfest: 'If you marry me, I will not only promise you the moon, I’ll deliver' (that would be the marriage proposal in movies that takes place on the big screen during the ninth inning at White Sox game) while others want ‘Just the facts ma’am’ (sit me down in a nice restaurant and tell me what you’re offering and how being with you is suppose to make my life better).

But when your book is humorous it’s hard not to want to get that across in the proposal since it may be the only chance you have to strut your stuff: I’ve got so many insights on cyber dating I make the view from the Sears Tower look like the inside of a maximum security prison.

The bottom line is, like in a marriage, you have to find someone that is a good fit.

And just like dating, you gotta kiss a lot of frogs before you find someone willing to turn into your literary advocate prince (or princess).

When you start to go through agency after agency, you start to get a feel for what they’re looking for and what they might be like to work with.

Some of it is based on their website, but a lot of it can be based on the tiniest things that send subliminal messages that trigger a ‘gut feeling’, like photos of their agents actually smiling or a clever sentence: eg: We license rights in every territory on earth - and, in case you were wondering, throughout the universe.

I loved these guys. In law school when people asked me what kind of a lawyer I wanted to be I’d say: “I’m going to be the first intergalactic lawyer so that when we make first contact I’ve got the market cornered”.

I just had to write them. As luck would have it, I received a favourable response. (Fingers crossed).

Then again, I looked at websites that made me feel no matter how clever I might be, (or easy to deal with), these people would rather chew off their left arm rather than be stuck in a bear trap with the likes of me - I don’t have enough credentials to satisfy the standards required to qualify trying their grandmother’s chocolate chip cookies never mind read through the proposal.

And that’s totally understandable. The funny thing is I don’t take these things personally. You simply cannot.

If all agencies were the same, it would be a dull world indeed and you would need sub-agencies just to weed out those writers who have no business contacting anyone because they can’t actually formulate a sentence let alone pull a story together.

So I get it.

And then you have the agencies who pretend they’re ‘open to submissions and unsolicited materials’ who send you what looks like an ‘auto-reject’ response ten minutes after you’ve just painstakingly fired off another query letter or proposal tailored to their specifications.

That’s okay too. They just want to look like the good guy even though they’re not really looking. That’s the woman who rejects your proposal of marriage who, even though she put out all the signals that she wants to settle down and have kids, never had any such intentions in the first place. But she just doesn’t want to look bad because she thinks this is what is expected of her.

I just want to find an agency that is a best mirror reflection of me.

They work hard, but know that life must also be balanced. And when they’re under the gun they can still operate with a sense of humor and compassion, yet deliver what they promise.

So when you’re ready to find an agent, send out as many feelers as you can, but use your gut instinct to find the ‘good guy’ and focus your intent on that one. There’s nothing worse than being stuck with someone not suited to you who only believes in you half-heartedly.

Nobody wants their marriage to end in a messy divorce.

As for the martini part? There’s no secret in that.

Once you’ve sent out a whack of these proposals, you have to celebrate.

It doesn’t matter that no one has responded yet or even that you’ve had auto-rejections. The point is, you did it.

And all the little steps in life that are designed to move you forward - regardless of outcome - must be celebrated.

NEXT: Act “As if”...
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September 18, 2009 - The Process - Query, Proposal, Martini - PART I

It was a helluva week.

I researched 98 agencies that might be willing to consider unsolicited material. In other words:

“Hey, nobody asked you to purge enough blood, sweat and tears to leave your body vacuous of any remaining fluids just to write a frakkin’ book that people might or might not want to read, but you’re here aren’t you? What the heck, we’ll look at it anyway - if all the stars align.”

Welcome to the world of agents.

Bloody hell.

And through the course of my research, I found out hardly anyone actually writes a non-fiction book without finding out if someone wants to buy it first. (I wish I had known that before I started this little project nine months ago and put in over 1000 hours to write the damn thing - even though I would do it all over again).

Fiction books are different as any story has the potential to be a bestseller. In a way the forum is open to anyone who has discipline enough to see a story from beginning to end.

But there’s a catch.

A good idea for a fiction book, no matter how clever - boy goes to wizard school and must combat evil until he practically pukes snakes (Harry Potter) - only delivers if the writer has a great voice and knows how to develop a story - in other words; there better be talent in them thar hills.

So when you submit a query for a fiction book (a one page letter giving a synopsis of the story and whatever writing credentials you might have), you also get to include twenty pages of manuscript. Because the proof is in the pudding.

With fiction, you get to show ‘em what you got upfront. So if you’re a good writer, even if you’re a virgin novelist, sooner or later some smart dude will recognize that you have the X factor (ie; talent). And that’s elusive. It takes a wicked eye and an open mind to recognize it. That is a talent in itself. And that’s why good agents make the big bucks.

It’s one thing to be a casting director and see tangible charisma in a newcomer who oozes blockbuster poster child from every pore of his being, but the written word is more elusive. There’s no face attached so you have to be able to see what other people might see in this author that would make their particular style of writing popular.

Are you starting to see what I’m getting at?

But fiction and non-fiction operate from different platforms.Non- fiction books are in a class all by themselves. Above all, they are informative. And I’m starting to get that they’re big business.

How-to books are the literary world’s version of reality TV.

If you are organized enough to write a good outline and give chapter summaries, chances are if there is a wide enough audience and you know what you’re doing, someone’s gonna buy it - more so if you are an expert in your field.

No one is going to buy a book about how to make a million dollars from a pauper, but if Donald Trump writes one, then the odds of it hitting the best seller list increase significantly.

How-to books can make a lot of money for everyone (at least that’s what I have assessed based on the submission requirements) because they come with a platform expectation that specifies the various satellite operations launched by the book that can also make money - speaking engagements, websites, seminars, supplementary materials... the list is as long as your imagination allows (and the money any publishing house might have to promote you while you’re working to bring in the big bucks).

So, you might think you can do it. You might know, in your gut that what you have to offer is the bomb, but...

...you have to prove it before they even read anything you write. And that’s a helluva tall order if you’re name isn’t Dr. Phil.

While some agencies only request a one page query, in a non-fiction proposal you don’t attach your pages. Initially they don’t want ‘em. They just want to see if you have an idea they can market.

And if you were able to successfully hook them in your query, then they might ask you for a proposal.

If you can hook them in your proposal (which can be anywhere from 20-40 pages long) they might read the two sample chapters you attached.

If they read those and like them, they might ask you for your manuscript.

If they like your manuscript, they might offer to represent you.

If they offer to represent you, they go to bat for you by trying to convince a publishing house that you are indeed a good investment upon whom they will make a good return.

In essence, I need to be a valuable commodity.

Except as a non-fiction author, I’m a no-name brand playing in a big name game.

For now.

Once I get one book under my belt, I just know... *call it a gut feeling*... that I could become a recognizable name brand. And I have more book ideas to keep me busy (and any publishing house) for the next fifteen years. Let’s just say I know I can deliver.

The question is will someone let me stick my foot in the door? Cause if they do, I’ll be damned if I ever let them slam it shut...

Next - PART II writing a proposal

September 15, 2009 - Show 'em what you got

Yeah, I’m finished the book.

I am ALL THAT AND a couple of bookends. Move over JK Rowlings, the new Lit “It Girl” is movin’ in!

Now I’m gonna kick back and wait for those royalty checks to show up in my bank account...

I’m waiting....

(Could you get with the program? I got bills to pay!)

Still waiting...

(Think you could you, uh... move it along?)

Still...

wait---ing...

hmmmm....

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Hark!

What is that deafening silence I hear?

As far as I’m concerned any moment now someone should come knocking on my door, acknowledge the writing genius that I am and offer me a three book deal that will put all my kids through school debt-free, fix the credit my ex-husband ruined to live a life of leisure, and give me raison d’être behind every dotted “i” and crossed “t” I ever wrote with the sweat of my soul, while justifying every sleepless night spent in front of my computer instead of out socializing like a normal human being.

Or not.

Because that’s not the way the universe works.

While there are overnight success stories of beautiful women being plucked out from their dreary jobs as supermarket cashiers so their faces can grace the cover of a magazine (à la Michelle Pfeiffer), chances are if I get a job at Walmart in the hopes that some publisher will stop me in the middle of scanning their toilet paper and say: OH MY GOD, YOU HAVE TO QUIT THIS DREARY JOB RIGHT NOW AND COME WITH ME. I BOOKED YOU ON OPRAH FOR THAT NOVEL YOU WROTE I CAN PSYCHICALLY SEE SITTING ON YOUR SHELF - it’s not gonna happen.

And frankly, I think that’s when most people give up.

They spend all this time and energy into something creative and when they’re finished they realize:

What? You expect me to do MORE?

And unfortunately, most writers totally suck at promoting themselves - we are after all suppose to be socially challenged as every stereotype attests - that’s why we chose to be writers in the first place - so we could live out our emotionally protected lives in the confines of our tiny apartments living large through our keyboards while ordering take-out from the same Chinese restaurant every Friday night at exactly the same time until we die at the age of 89 with our seven cats - alone but carrying a faintly recognizable name to some foreign lit undergrad student in a remote college somewhere in the Bahamas.

But not me.

I say to HELL with that.

Time to kick that stereotype in the ham n’ eggs.

I CAN’T WAIT to show you a thing or two about what I got.

I learned something from a professor in university about writing exams that I’ve carried with me forever. She was my Shakespeare prof (and not an easy one to please). But when I was sweatin’ like a marathon runner on mile 26 about the upcoming final, she turned to me and said:

“I don’t know why people don’t like writing exams. It’s your one opportunity in school to show everything you’ve got. I used to love it”.

After I got over thinking she was on crack, the truth of her statement sunk in and I realized she was right.

From that moment on, I knew that all the work you do behind the scenes is something that sits as unfinished business until you actually do something about it. And part of that equation is ruffling your feathers to someone else about it - the public and perfect strangers.

And that is some scary stuff.

‘Cuz ironically, it ain’t over when you write The End. Writing the book is only part one of a three part mini-series (writing, promoting, and sustaining).

It makes me wonder how many great works of art are sitting somewhere on a shelf or what dusty paintings are hanging on faded walls that no one else will see because someone didn’t realize the journey they undertook did not end when they completed their piece.

For some perhaps it did... but never for those of us who do what we do because we can’t imagine doing anything else.

If life is one big learning experience, then you realize it’s not enough to work on your craft. Bringing your talents into fruition is simply one part of the equation.

The other, is the piece that all artists struggle with - am I good enough? Will someone actually want to read my stuff and pay to do it? Look at my painting in a gallery? Pay to watch me dance? Do I risk showing someone else?

I am fortunate that in spite of my insecurities I’m not afraid to make an ass of myself and face rejection. Putting myself out there as a viable business investment (which is really what selling yourself to a publisher amounts to) is something I embrace with the same enthusiasm I had when I wrote every exam in university (except maybe for Civ Pro in law school- that was bitch).

And I’m not saying I wake up every day thinking, I can’t wait to hurdle another obstacle. But I do wake up thinking:

Just hang in there and keep at it. One of these days you’re going to hit critical mass and just when you think it’s not going to happen, it will all come flooding your way and this time, you’ll be ready.

So this week as I struggle over writing the perfect query letter (and my much larger proposal - in the hopes of convincing some lit agency or publisher they will fatten their retirement fund if they bank me), I take the advice of my professor with me.

It's time to show ‘em what I got.

Let the chips fall where they may. Gods be with me.

Sept 10, 2009 - Knowing your worth, constructive decadence and more Cuban cigars - PART II

Good-bye Stoicism. Hello Epicureanism...

Epicurus was one of the big boys of Ancient Greek philosophical thought. He believed that ‘moderate hedonism’ was the best way to live.

Unfortunately (or perhaps as a matter of course), some of his followers chose to interpret his live in the moment, enjoy life to the fullest philosophy as a license to INDULGE.

How convenient.

(Give me a bottle of good cognac, throw some fresh oysters my way and let me tell you a thing or two about life).

But you can’t really blame them. I can see how using a good solid philosophy like Epicureanism as a hallmark can give one (ahem) permission to live life to the fullest - especially when it lies in a belief system that promotes ‘the moderation of desires and the cultivation of friendship’.

In other words: “Be nice to each other. Enjoy. We’re here for a good time, not a long time”.

Who is going to argue with THAT?

Enter Lunch at the Inferno and my new Epicurean friend, SCAR. (With two names like that, I should have known it was going to be one hell of an experience).

Now, I had a pretty good idea from what my AP told me, that lunch would be a long and indulgent affair. Nobody can say, “Can you spare a few hours for lunch with Scar?” without also implying because this is going to be an exercise in learning how to let someone else spoil you for a change.

And spoil us he did.

And the feeling started even before we had ordered any food.

While other people were sitting politely at their tables sitting across from each other in standard fashion, we chose to sit in a semi-circle at a square table. This way, we could each face the sun, enjoy what few days of summer remained, but also nestle in closer proximity to each other for story sharing and food dispensing.

We didn’t care if we were different than our more conservative bistro patron counterparts. Let ‘em look. Let ‘em talk. frak' em!

Because we were there to embrace the DIVINE.

We were going to enjoy this day to its fullest and if that meant we had to see-saw back and forth to nibble at our food in order to avoid sharp corners AND better enjoy the warm sunshine, well then hell. Isn’t that what life is all about anyway?

It didn’t take long for my composure to change.

By the time we had finished our second bottle of good wine, all I wanted to do was take my hair out of that stupid ponytail I thought made me look more ‘sex-in-the-city’, shake free my locks, throw my head back and laugh - HA HA HA! - at all the plebeians in the world who had NO idea what they were missing.

Maybe it was the savoury appetizer of mussels. Or the freshly baked focaccio bread cut in cubes that we dipped into the sauce.

Maybe it was the two (or was it three?) orders of fresh oysters flown in the day before that Scar drenched in lemon juice and doled out to us, careful not to spill any juice. Or the thin slice of I-can’t-remember-what-kind-of-expensive cheese we ate to wash it down.

Maybe it was the vertical food entrees of scallops and shrimp, the light salad topped with wild Alaska salmon or maybe it was simply that 3rd bottle of expensive wine?

Perhaps I will never know what defining moment tipped me from conservative, stoic nerd to a reformed and better version of myself with a whole new appreciation for the God Dionysus and his crew of hedonists.

But then again, maybe I do.

It wasn’t the food, (though it was amazing). It wasn’t the wine (though I had my share). It wasn’t the decadent chocolate desserts (though I’ve never had better) chased with an aperitif (or two - I don’t remember).

Nor was it the Cuban cigar that finally got us thrown out (after five hours of remembering what it was like to be human if only we allowed ourselves to honour that part within that utilizes all of our senses to truly enjoy life once in a while).

No. It was the WAY we did it. It was the way Scar did it.

Not only did he insist that we “order whatever we want”, but when the food came, he would carefully and very lovingly dole out portions on small plates, spoons, forks, and hand them over bite by bite (always serving himself last) until we felt so well taken care of, all that was missing was a lounger, two Egyptians waving palm leaves over our heads and a batch of grapes hanging from the rafters.

And if we had asked for it, we would have gotten that too.

I have never in my entire life, felt so nurtured or spoiled.

But the best part is that it was all genuine, it was done unconditionally (because as he said, “life is suppose to be feel like that once in a while”), and it was supported by a warm sharing of stories, compliments that were genuinely felt and given, musings about the meaning of life, and a reminder that ‘all work and no play makes us all dull boys and girls’.

So when the manager (with the carefully plucked eyebrows and high strung energy) came to our table a second time (after first giving us permission to smoke a Cuban cigar on the patio which he shortly thereafter recanted), asked us to leave “because the tables are filling up and I asked you to put that out five minutes ago!” I was slightly annoyed (having been stirred from my resting place with the Gods n’ all that).

“WHO IS THIS PLEBEIAN?” I thought, “OFF WITH THIS HEAD!”

But he was obviously intent on a pissing contest with Scar who replied:

“You can’t be serious” As he looked around at the mostly empty patio, “I just paid almost five hundred dollars for lunch and you’re asking us to leave?”

My AP in her usual dignified self turned to Scar and said, “Don’t worry about it. We were just about to go anyway” and promptly put out the cigar on an empty dish.

Well, you would have thought she had just thrown a pie in the manager’s face.

“What are you - ? What the - ? How disrespectful!? WOULD YOU DO THAT AT HOME???” he cried, turning so red I thought he had just eaten a habanero pepper.

Very calmly and with the utmost class my AP replied:

“As a matter of fact I would.”

I turned to her, proud to be her friend. Then I turned to look at him. I leaned forward, tilted my chin up just enough to show a sparkle of defiance and very proudly stated:

“So would I!”

“Well I NEVER!!!” he replied without so much as a decent comeback.

We took one more bite of desert, swigged the rest of our cognac, gathered up our belongings and headed out with our dignity intact.

Nothing could ruffle our feathers.

We had just spent five hours enjoying each other’s company, living each moment to its fullest in the fresh air and sunshine, with the greatest appreciation of life and each other possible.

We had enjoyed every bite, every sip, every smile, every joke and every compliment to its fullest. And no tightly wound, sex-deprived, power-hungry, dissatisfied regulite was going to rain on our parade.

Scar had been kind and generous to the waitress. He had been nurturing, indulgent, and gentlemanly towards us.

There was not a single thing that we did or said that warranted the reaction we received from the manager, except that perhaps we had enjoyed ourselves too much in the presence of someone who had somewhere along the way, forgotten the meaning of life - to be kind to other human beings and just relax.

Life is over much too fast to get your panties all in a twist for nothing.

And the ability to recognize that life is a gift is a gift in itself.

Once in a while it is your duty to honour yourself by allowing others to spoil you. When you learn to receive, giving of yourself, also becomes easier. Scar showed me through his deeds what it felt like (perhaps for the first time) to have someone to do that for me.

So it wasn’t the lunch. It was never the lunch.

It was the feeling.

By nine o’clock, my carriage had turned into a pumpkin, my dress was back where it belonged on a hangar in the closet and I was once again that nerdy girl, trying to make her own dreams come true.

As usual, I was contemplating my writing schedule for the next day and wondering how I was going to manage also doing my errands when I had so much yet to accomplish.

But something was different.

When I climbed into bed that night, I had to ask myself: given the chance, could I do this every day?

Instantly, I knew the answer was no. I was far too steeped in Stoicism to live a life of leisure.

But the light of Epicureanism was lit and the bar was raised.

On one hot summer afternoon, I learned that it was okay to feel spoiled.

On one hot summer afternoon, I felt worthy enough to allow someone to be kind beyond any logical reason whatsoever except that they wanted to be.

On one hot summer afternoon, I became allergic to not being appreciated, simply because one man saw fit to show me that I was, (and told me so) without any expectation whatsoever in return.

And for that, I am truly blessed.
Amen.