I get emails from people asking why I don’t write more blog entries about writing.  The answer is that I’m not sure how much non-writers care about writing.  But, this stuff does cross my mind from time to time.  Also, I need the opportunity to piss people off every once in a while.  Keep my hand in, as it were.

At an early writers’ meeting, when I was about a quarter of the way through my first manuscript, someone asked the guest speaker the following question:

“Are you a plotter or a panster?”

I had no idea what they were talking about.  I mean, it’s fairly easy to guess what “plotter” means.  But “panster?”   I mean, my word processing program keeps trying to change it to “punster,” so apparently I’m not the only one unfamiliar with the term.  Bill Gates doesn’t know it, either.

For the uniformed, a “plotter” is a novelist who has the entire plot of his novel outlined before he starts writing it.  A “panster” is someone who writes “by the seat of the pants”—he or she has a no more than a character or two and a basic story idea, and lets the story unfold during the writing process.

I’m a plotter.  With my business writing background, it never occurred to me to sit down and start writing a book if I didn’t have a complete outline.  Also, now that I usually write books for which I am already under contract, I’m obligated to turn in a “proposal,” which is a detailed synopsis and the first couple of chapters, in order to get paid.  And I do like to get paid!

I just finished Cry Mercy, the third book in the Mercy Hollings series, and it’s the closest I’ve ever come to a seat-of-the-pants book.  This happened because my initial proposal, which was based on an extremely detailed outline, was rejected by my publisher, who wanted me to save the proposed plot for a later installment (it will end up mostly in Book 5).    I was happy to make the change, mostly because it meant there would be later installments, but the rejection meant I had to turn in a new proposal in order to get paid.  And since I was running extremely low on cash, I threw together a new one pretty damned quickly.  It contained phrases like “after a series of events,” and “once the problem was resolved, then...”

Of course the editorial staff loved it, and told me to get started writing it.  Which I did.  Because I get paid again when the final manuscript is turned in.

I gotta tell you, writing without an outline was excruciating.  My plot was full of holes, and I had to figure out how to fill them as I went along.  Ultimately, I think it’s probably the strongest book I’ve ever written, but it took me three times as long as it should have.  And I had to do (gasp) rewrites when I would have a good idea and realize that, in order to make it work, I’d have to change something from four chapters ago.

Never, never, never, never again.

I’ve decided that you pansters that claim your process is merely different and not better or worse than that of plotters are in deep, deep denial.

In my corporate life, I used to do training on how to be organized.  I was perpetually told by disorganized people that they “didn’t have time to get organized.”  My favorite is the person with the horrendously cluttered office, in which one uses what I call “the archaeology method” to find anything – figure out how long it’s been since the last time you looked at it, then dig down to that layer.  This person invariably claims, “I know exactly where everything is in my office.”  But I never found that to be true. Not once.  These people were perpetually spending a half hour searching for something they needed in order to handle a five-minute problem, or dropping the ball on some assignment because something else got laid on top of the note telling them about it.

Seriously, I think you pansters all need to embrace the outline.    I know you’re afraid it’s going to stifle your creativity.  It’s not.  First, making the outline is PART of the creative process.  And second, filling gaping plot holes in advance will end up giving you more time in the long run.  I swear, it’s true!  And you can still rewrite and revise as much as you want. if that's what makes you (blech!) happy.  

Oh, hell, I know you’re going to do whatever you like but, as for me, I’m currently in the process of writing an outline for book 4 that will have my friends and families sending me information on support groups for obsessive anal retentives.

On Saturday, I had a book signing in the Burlington, Vermont area.  I drove the four hours up on Friday afternoon and spent Friday and Saturday night at a friend’s house—a gorgeous home with a private cove on Lake Champlain.  I hadn’t been to Vermont in twenty-five years and wasn’t sure I would still think it was the prettiest state in the USA, now that I’ve seen the rest of them (except Alaska). It turns out that I didn’t have to change my opinion – Vermont is incredible.

So I had intended to devote today’s blog to waxing poetic about the mountains, the lakes, the little towns, the delightful funkiness of downtown Burlington, etc.

Then, I got a phone call from the electric company, informing me a technician was on his way to shut off my power.

Grrr.

I was flummoxed (love that word.)

Like most writers, my income can be spotty.  I get a large check one month, then nothing for the next several. But, I had a decent financial winter, and had kept the bills current through Spring.  My brother, who is a co owner of the cottage and lives here sometimes, took over bill-paying duty until my next advance check. He’d been paying the electric company but, it turns out, still had his bill-pay service referencing the old account number, which was in my sister’s name ( I changed it to my name after I moved here). The electric company has been posting payments to a closed account since the last one I made, which was in April.  Once we found the problem, the credit balance was transferred to the correct account and the disconnect order cancelled.

Whew.

But HERE’S THE THING...

I had a hard time reaching my brother, so I didn’t get the dates, amounts and account numbers associated with the lost payments immediately.  And, although the error was his, I’m still ticked at Connecticut Light and Power, because...

1. Every time I called, I was put on hold. Ultimately, I called five times.  The longest of the hold times was about 45 minutes.

2. Each department is completely separate.  The dispatch department, who initially called me to tell me a technician was on his way, could not transfer me to collections.  Collections could fix the error, and had to refer me to customer service, a different phone number. Customer service was able to transfer the credits, but then had to refer me back to Collections to stop the disconnect order.

3. The old account was closed and paid in full (by me) a long time ago.  Why did they continue to accept payments?  If they’d rejected them, or sent a note to the old customer (who happens to be my sister), this would not have happened.  Or, if they’d looked, they’d have seen there was a new account associated with the address, in the same last name as the one on the checks.

Hmmm...I wonder what that could mean.

4. At one point, I went so far as to suggest that perhaps payments were being posted to the wrong account.  Why didn’t any representative think to check if there was another account associated with that address, and whether it had a credit balance?

I begged for twenty-four hours to get the bottom of the problem.  No way. Instead, I was told by no less than six people that unless I paid $516 immediately and in person, it was physically impossible to stop the shutoff.  Which can’t have been true because, once they found and transferred the misdirected payments, they were able to stop it immediately. (Or as immediately as anything can be that involves a forty-five minute hold.)

I am a bona-fide customer service expert. I have performed, supervised, managed, written policies and procedures for and taught seminars in customer service.  There are some very basic tenetsfor any company’s service policy.

1.  Forty-five minute hold times CAN’T happen. There is no scenario in which this is acceptable for a commercial enterprise. Period.  If this is considered routine, which is what the representatives told me, then the company’s  call center structure, procedures, and/or policy is broken.

2. Anyone who talks to customers needs to be empowered to help that customer without transferring him or referring him to another office.  In the rare cases that transfer is necessary, the initial representative needs to be able to do so without getting in line with the regular customers at the end of the hold queue, and must also stay on the line and explain the problem to the new representative, so the customer doesn’t have to start over.

3. The company needs to set up automatic procedures that prevent easily avoidable errors.  For example, transactions cannot be applied to a closed account and notifications are triggered when transactions are attempted.

4. If a customer states, credibly, that it appears an error may have occurred the representative should have a checklist of common errors and how to check for them.  (Example, check other accounts with the same name and/or address to see if any show a credit balance).

Altogether, I spent three and a half hours on the problem and, I confessed, allowed myself to become stressed over the situation.  

But the really sad thing is that none of it surprises me.  I realize that I now actually expect poor customer service from most companies, and that I’m delighted if it turns out to be merely adequate.  Customer service excellence is so rare that it always catches me off guard.

*Sigh.*

If you inspect the presets on my car radio, you’ll find that four of the five buttons are set to National Public Radio affiliates (The Hartford station first, then stations that come in clearest as I drive toward Boston, New York or Providence) and the fifth one is set to a station that plays nothing recorded after about 1979.

Pathetic, I know.  But I do listen to internet radio, my favorite being a  Launchcast station called “The Coffeehouse.”  Here’s its description: “Get real variety with an edge, but never lose the vibe.”  Whatever that means.  It also mentions a few artists: Jack Johnson (no idea who that is), John Mayer (like him), Death Cab for Cutie (WTF?), Jason Mraz (nope, never heard of him) and Coldplay (know who they are but couldn’t name a tune).

But whether or not I can identify the artists, I generally like this station.  My absolute favorite new artist is Duffy, this half-pint Welsh blonde nymph who sings with a bluesy soprano voice that warbles all over the map.

Here’s the first song I heard, that absolutely hooked me:

Try this link if you can't open the imbed.

Here’ another I like.

                                Try this Link if you can't open the imbed.

Who’s your favorite new artist?

I made the mistake of watching the following while working at the library.  I had headphones on rather that the speaker, so the disturbance wasn’t hearing the audio from the clip…it was my reaction. 

I’m STILL laughing…

 Today's Card--The Magician!

People who have known me for a long time are often surprised when they learn that I read Tarot cards.  It’s a relatively recent development—I picked up a set when I’d been approached to write a romance novel with a tarot theme.  I knew enough about Tarot to understand that it was something you can’t fake. 

Getting Tarot wrong is sort of like writing a Regency romance and putting the courses in the wrong order at dinner or addressing a Viscount incorrectly—the author gets hate mail.  Just as there are people who have memorized and hold dear every detail of early 19^th century English social convention, there are those who can recite the Fool’s Journey backwards and take it very, very seriously.

I was always a good student and I’m pretty good at fact absorption, so I figured it would be easy to learn Tarot.  I bought Tarot For Dummies and a Rider-Waite deck, and started at lesson one.

And I did learn.  I learned there were 78 cards in the deck, including 22 Major Arcana (unsuited) cards and 56 Minor Arcana (suited) cards.   I used various mnemonic devices and other learning tools to memorize the cards.  And I did readings, lots and lots of readings.  My friends, my family, my coworkers and my neighbors must have gotten tired of me chasing them around, deck in hand, begging them to let me read their cards.  One card readings, three card readings, Celtic cross readings...I tried them all.

But it just wasn’t clicking.  I’d lay the cards out and ponder the meanings, progressions, reversals and combinations, often having to resort to reference books.   I’d recite the memorized meanings and people would look at me blankly. 

So I went back to the text books—by this time I’d accumulated a stack of them—and found that I was supposed to not only read the cards, I was supposed to “interpret” them.   I was getting frustrated and about to hang the whole thing up when something happened.

Several of my text books and a couple of readers I consulted had all given me the same piece of advice:  If the cards aren’t “speaking to you,” then try a different deck.  And, oh boy, did I.     Buying Tarot decks became an obsession.  At one point I had a couple of dozen. 

Then, one day I was looking on line for some hints about a puzzling configuration I’d drawn in a reading, and I came across the image of a single card.  It was the Fool, the zero card in the Major Arcana, and wasn’t even one of the cards in the spread I was trying to interpret.  A reference in the article told me the name of the artist who had drawn the card, and I went to his website and ordered the deck.

From the moment I held this new deck in my hands, everything changed.  The spreads made sense.  The progressions were as clear in my head as if I had GPS.  The blank looks of my victims  subjects were replaced by expressions of startled recognition.  And, suddenly, I was really enjoying doing readings.

Like most readers, I am more or less unable to do a reading for myself, as I tend to put the spin I want to see, rather than the spin I need to see, on the combinations.  But I do draw a single card, sort of like checking out your horoscope.  I have found that, on those days I don’t like the cards message, shuffling it back into the deck and drawing a new card does not work.  About half the time I draw the same card again, and the other half I draw a card that means substantially the same thing.

My beautiful deck, the Gilded Tarot by Ciromarchetti, is no longer being produced, but you can still find cards out there.  The artist has a new deck, the Tarot of Dreams, that I find almost equally compelling.  

I do free 3-card Tarot readings at all my book signings.  Stop by!  I’d love to do one for you.

Hey, all!

I’m the guest blogger today at the Harlequin Paranormal Blog.  (They stuck an announcement for a charity fundraiser in on top of me, so a lot of people might miss it, but it would be evil of me to complain, so…)

Stop by, read, leave a comment…I’m in pretty fabulous company there and want to show them I can stand up next to the big girls!

The FIVES (Thanks, Hilda)

Top Five Rock 'n Roll Hunks

I just spent two weeks in a pool house in Long Beach, California.  “We really need to get a TV out there,” said my hosts.

“Don’t bother,” I replied.  “I’ll be fine.”  I wasn’t sure I would be, but I figured I could always go into the house and sit in their darkened media room and watch the big LCD if I needed a fix. 

But, surprisingly, I didn’t.  I was busy, had writing to do, had correspondence to handle, a radio and some books to read.  I just didn’t feel the need, which surprised me.

I’m not an anti-television snob.  I was listening to This American Life and there was a story featuring a man who literally did not watch any television, and he joked about people who pretend they don’t watch network television but secretly do.  “I don’t usually watch television,” they say.  “But I do enjoy Nova.”

Seriously, I try not to be a couch potato but, if it’s on, I watch it.  And, I am one of these people that when the TV is on, I watch it in a trancelike state.  Sitcoms I hate. Reality shows that horrify me.  Commercials.  Even bad commercials—the ones that make me feel as if I’m chewing aluminum foil.  I can’t seem to stop myself.

I live in a tiny cottage where the largest central room contains my office, my dining table and my living area.  Oh, and the TV.  So, yes, it does get watched. 

In my defense, my brother is living here, too, and he does turn on the TV when I probably would not.  In addition to movies, which he loves, he watches local sports team and the channel that broadcasts all public meetings involving the state legislature.   The people that get up and speak in favor or against a bill are more interesting than you might think. 

When Bob moves back to his summer home in a week or two, the real test will begin.  Will the hours I spend spellbound by ads for products for which I have no use decline?  Will I limit myself only to the shows I consider to be really good:  House, Grey’s Anatomy, Ugly Betty, and Desperate Housewives?

Will I get more reading done?

Will I get more writing done?

By the way, I am working on a proposal for a book that has me so excited I have a hard containing myself.  I can’t reveal details yet, until I have the proposal in the hands of my agent and thus documented—but it’s HOT.  Maybe I better unplug the TV until I get it done.

When I first decided to become a writer, I fantasized about the day when I would go on a book tour.  I’d travel to wonderful cities, stay in nice hotels and eat room service breakfasts before heading off to a round of speaking engagements where I would meet my adoring fans.

I was disabused of this fantasy during one of my earliest writers’ conferences, when I sat in on a discussion group of seasoned writers, including some who had appeared on the New York Times Bestsellers list.  It was an eye opener.

First, none of them had tours arranged by their publisher.  Some were prosperous enough to employ publicists to do the footwork, but most of them made the calls and set the schedules themselves.  They talked about how reluctant many book store owners and managers were to work with them, how far in advance schedules had to be set, and how they often showed up to find the bookstores had forgotten to order copies of their books.  (Note to self—call the Barnes & Noble in Long Beach and make sure they are ready for this Thursday.) 

None (as in NOT ONE) of their publishers paid for transportation or accommodations on their tours.  I heard stories of how they traveled in groups, four to a two-bed room in a seedy hotel, and lived on Top Ramen.

Then there were the actual appearances. Every one of them had experienced a signing where they sold not a single book.  One told a hilarious story about waiting for hours, unnoticed, at her goodie-laden signing table, only to be snubbed by all passers by.  Finally, a friendly looking woman approached her.  “I don’t want a book,” she said, “Can I still have a cookie?”

One author had even written a humorous song about a long afternoon spent at a table in front of Walden Books at some unnamed mall entitled “Nobody Came.”  He sang it for us.  All four verses.

I laughed dutifully.  And vowed it would never happen to me.

But, it did!  I arranged two group events for the Connecticut Romance writers that turned out to be total busts.  I toured libraries and, on two occasions, had no one show up for my lecture.

However, I was still determined to have a book tour.  With a real launch party.  At a location that appeared in my book.

So, for my May 1^st release, I made a plan.  Agreeing to do all the footwork, I was surprised when my publisher actually did come up with a (very) little money for the event, and printed up posters for me.  As earlier posts show, I found getting people on the phone just as difficult as that group of writers warned.

But I still did it.  I scheduled a two-week tour in California, with six appearances and a real launch party.  I sent engraved invitations, put ads in papers, called reporters, notified local civic leaders, talked to libraries, dropped off bookmarks and flyers—the works.

I also arranged for free lodging and transportation.  No room service, but my friends’ pool house is at least as comfortable as any hotel room.  And my borrowed car runs just fine, although having no air conditioning has required some logistical strategies to arrive at signings with hair in order and no visible sweat rings.

I’m halfway through and so far, it’s been pretty great. 

Okay, so there were a few road bumps.

The posters with which I had intended to paper the town where the launch was held did not arrive until two days before the event.  I got them up, but I’m not sure how effective they were.

Some of the notables who had sent RSVPs for the launch were no-shows.  This included the Mayor Pro Tem of Newport Beach, several important book store owners, representatives of the Travel and Convention Bureau.  On the other hand, some unexpected old friends showed up and my liquor bill was way lower than I feared.

The store for the Friday night signing forgot to order the books, but scrambled to get copies from some other branches.  Luckily, I had a few in my car.  Also, it was at a trendy outdoor mall and I had no idea this became a hangout for teenagers beginning about 6:30 PM.  Luckily I sold enough books to adults before then to make up for the line of non-buying adolescents that lined up to talk to me and take advantage of my bribes (free Tarot readings) in the later hours.

On Saturday, I sat in one of the emptiest stores I have ever seen.  A huge, well maintained and beautiful Borders, there was barely enough foot traffic to keep the doors open.  I somehow managed to sell about ten books—I’m an excellent ambusher.

Then, there was yesterday at the Fashion Island Barnes & Noble in Newport Beach.  This made up for everything.  They’d remembered to order, including copies of Beg for Mercy, the first book in the series, and gave me excellent placement.  I sold out of every copy they had in stock and had to go get more from my car.  Whoopee!

I have a couple of days off before I resume my appearances, and then fly back to Connecticut.

Has my tour been everything I dreamed of, back in my naive first days?  No, of course not.  But I can’t complain.  

I’m definitely going to do this again next year, when the next installment comes out.  I’ve learned a couple of lessons and gotten (too late for this trip, but excellent—thanks Jann!) a good list of local media contacts. 

And I just love this pool house!