Yup, it’s true. I’m one of the 53,000,000 people you know who has written a book. It’s not a lot of fun trying to get it published, let me tell you. Imagine giving birth to a child and then some funky law requires you to walk up to strangers who may or may not like children and being forced to ask them exactly what they think of your baby, only these strangers do not have the social skills required to lie to you. They are going to tell you up-front just how butt-ugly your baby is. And when they’re done, you’re supposed to do it again.

The great thing is these people invented the line, “It’s not you, it’s me.” No one tells you that you have no ability to string six words together in any coherent fashion, or that your main character is as interesting as watching paint dry. Nope. These people say darling, hope-inspiring things like, “This is a very subjective business, so my opinion may not count,” or, “Your manuscript is intriguing, but I cannot take on a project like yours.”

Fortunately, there are some helpful websites and blogs, such as writersdigest.com, writersmarket.com, and guidetoliteraryagents.com/blog. There are, of course, oodles of sites out there that are helpful, but these are a few that have been kind to me so far.

Luckily, you don’t live close enough for me to snag you in the grocery store and make you read pages from book. If I did you’d never see the light of day again until you had finished it and given me glowing praise on what is sure to be the next great American novel. Or at least help me make my car payment.

I read something somewhere that said I can further my writing career if I do more social networking.  Since all of my previous social network hasn’t extended further than letting people with one item go in front of me at the grocery store, I decided to devote today to creating accounts on all of these websites that are designed to get your name out there.  Too bad everyone makes up fake names to sign up with.  Seriously, I won’t believe that your mamma named you AgileRocker6.

So with a fire roaring on this rainy day and a glass of wine in my hand, I signed up for not only Twitter, but Facebook as well, and while I was at it made a whole new Yahoo email account to use for both and a second blog on this website.  I’d hate for potential business contacts to read this blog and think I was an alcoholic.

I spent the most time today on Twitter, mostly because I’d had the account for fourteen minutes before I had my first follower.  I’m not self-centered in the least.  I checked out who was following me so I could decide if I needed to take out a hit on him or not.

I went searching on Twitter for some of the big names in my business, which incidentally, is writing.  If you need anything written, and I don’t just mean written down, I’m ya girl.  So I found one of the first big names that popped into my head and checked her out, reading everything she had Twitted, er, Tweeted, for the last few weeks.  I learned a few things:

Her life is more interesting than mine.  She recently had champagne with another Twit in her new apartment, attended a book signing in Brazil, and sent out loads of work-related network things, probably making her Employee of the Month at her job.

However, I also read that she was stuck in traffic on a place called the BQE and later that week had to get a new car battery.  Really?  I can do this?  I can send out messages that I bought a different shade of hair dye to cover my gray, recently changed the channel, and had to put a new bag in the vacuum cleaner?  And people will read this?

I hate to admit that I spent about twenty minutes cyber-stalking this poor woman on Twitter, amazed that her life in New York City was so amazing, while the coolest thing I did today was cut up some celery to snack on while watching a football game on television.  I felt like a thirteen-year-old girl who just switched soda brands after reading that Justin Bieber liked a different variety.  I was completely engrossed in the life of this woman, simply because she was someone who worked in the field I was trying to break into.  I’m afraid I might be pathetic.

It does make me feel good to know that at some point, if I play my cards right and Fate smiles on me, there will be legions of people stalking me from the privacy of their homes, dying to know what I’m going to have for lunch the next day.  I can’t wait.

It’s the age-old writer dilemma: where do story ideas come from?  There are so many answers to that question, all depending on the individual writer.  And I can’t swear that my tried-and-true method is not widely used by many of the greats. 

The voices in my head tell me what to write.

In all seriousness, it is the conversations I have with myself that give me ideas.  I’ve also had major plot changes crop up while driving and talking to myself.  I mean, like, whole characters DIE who originally weren’t going to.  Don’t make me talk to myself about you, is all I’m saying.

Then there’s the quirky stories that come up because I’m bored, maybe while sitting in the parking lot waiting for another tiny tots ballet class to hurry up and end.  So there are these brilliant but detached thoughts, like, “I wonder what my appliances are doing while I’m not home?”

 The rest of the time writing is just as difficult as any other job.  People who bolt upright in bed at two o’clock in the morning having some revelation that greatly affects their jobs can come in all shapes, sizes, and occupations.  Of course, being ADD helps, as long as you’re really fast with the notebook and pen.