A Dash of Sociopathy Anyone?

A few weeks ago I bought Psychology Today. The cover blared, “Confessions of a Sociopath.” The cashier glanced at me, then down at the cover, and said, “Be careful, you might learn something.”

Hah! I thought. I wish.

I’m jesting, but not entirely.

The author of the article is high-functioning, successful, and a church volunteer. As I read the article, I couldn’t help but wonder what my life would be like if I leaned toward the sociopathic end of the spectrum. I’m not talking violence here. Most (or maybe only many) sociopaths aren’t violent, or even bad people, per se, but they are manipulators with a lack of affect. Everything they do is for a reason, and that reason is self-serving. They mimic us “empaths” surprisingly well, most of the time. They are our neighbors.

As I was saying, I got to wondering what a little sociopathy would feel like. Because, let’s face it, sociopaths aren’t bogged down by caring about others’ feelings or opinions. They’re often fearless. They aren’t prone to depression (my issue) in large part because they have such a super-inflated sense of their own superiority.

Wow, must be liberating. Where would I be now in my writing career if I’d always known my novels were superior? If I hadn’t despaired about whether I had writing talent? If I hadn’t let others’ opinions (especially those in the power seat like literary agents) erode my confidence?

Soon enough I’ll be needing to talk about KILMOON with some kind of authority–as if I really know what I’m talking about! Yee gads…I just write, folks. Do I know what I’m doing half the time? Not really.

This is where a dash of sociopathy might come in handy. Then I’d fearlessly talk up my fabulous novel without a care in the world, not to mention stare down anyone who dared to disagree with me.

If you’re curious about the sociopathic life, check out www.sociopathworld.com. Great fodder for character (as in fictional) building!

GOOD NEWS | I’m Officially a Debuting Novelist

KILMOON takes place in western Ireland. Old burial grounds like this provided tons of inspiration.

(Read more about the novel here: KILMOON)

Yep, that’s me: debuting novelist! I’ve been debuting myself in my imagination for years, so it’s strange to be here with a baby book on its way through a gestation cycle — editing, and interior design, and cover design. Exciting!

My authorial cycle is just as hectic. Here’s the immediate to-do list:

1. New website. My current website is pretty stale now. Needs a revamp. So I need to find a website designer, decide on content, write that content…

2. Author photo! If you’re anything like me, the thought of having your photo taken — especially an official photo — doesn’t send you over the moon with enthusiasm. First there’s the pose. Shall I sit with chin on fist, looking contemplative? Or how about with arms crossed in an I’m-a-serious-writer pose? To be honest, I picture myself at a pub with a Guinness standing proud before me. Perhaps with a Guinness and with chin on fist?

And what about wardrobe? I might have to buy a few new tops, and I don’t like clothes shopping. Makeup?! Yee gads. I’m also not a fan of makeup, but I might need to buy — foundation? Hmm…I’d better ask for advice from my girly-girl girlfriends.

3. Last bits of the manuscript: acknowledgments, dedication, author bio. The acknowledgments are challenging because I’ve been revising the novel for years (off and on). I can’t remember everyone who provided feedback or research information. Lesson learned for the second novel: keep an acknowledgments list!

4. Figure out social networking, for real. It might help if I blogged consistently, eh? I hereby and with sincere hope vow to write a blog post once a week. (What’s today? Wednesday? So, every Wednesday? Do any of you dear readers have an opinion about which days are the best blogging days?)

Facebook – check. (Come find me if you’d like!) Do I REALLY need a Facebook author page? I’d better ask around.

Over the weekend, I Twitter-ized myself. Getting familiar with that. Just learned that “RT” means “retweet.” That’s a good start.

I think I might join Goodreads because I’ve been meaning to anyhow. And that’s it. No Tumblr or Pinterest or whatever the latest social-media outlet is. (I do need to finish revising the second novel in the series, after all.)

5. Most important: keep writing! It’s way too easy to get sidetracked by social media and the business side of writing. I’m feeling pressure to be out there in the see-and-be-seen way. I’m the friendly sort, so this isn’t too hard–and I like meeting new people. (Just yesterday I virtually met Kristopher of bolobooks.com, a book reviewer–nice and smart reviewer!) However, since I’m the easily distracted type, this could be problematic.

There are more tasks, but I’m feeling a wee bit exhausted having written up my top five. OK, off to write the acknowledgments!

BOOT CAMP | Productivity for the Wayward Writer

Last month I had a dream, and in this dream a voice that sounded distressingly like Tom Cruise’s said, “Your mission, should you choose to accept it…”

“…is to get your shit together…”

I woke up, panicked for a millesecond, rolled over, and fell back to sleep. Even though I forgot about the dream until I started writing this blog post, I found myself restarting this patient old blog of mine. Most of all, I found myself reading a book called Getting Things Done: The Art of Stress-Free Productivity by David Allen.

I know — me, reading a personal productivity book. Those of you who know me can start laughing now. And those of you who don’t know me personally, well, imagine a woman who’s never composed a three-month plan never mind a five-year plan, who scribbles the latest important thought on her cable bill and then tosses it on top of a random paper pile, and who prides herself on her organizational skills when she jots down a dentist appointment in her At-A-Glance appointment book.

You can start laughing now.

Now roar: I bought a labeller. Yes, I now play at being anal retentive by sticking tidy labels to manila folders filled with scribbled-upon cable bills and other random stuff. For the first time in years, my kitchen pass-through counter is paper-free. It’s an amazing expanse of creamy counter top, and every time I look at it, I smile with self-satisfaction.

I have an in-box! I have a pending box! I can actually work at my desk!

All of this is prelude to the big thing, which as usual has to do with my writing life. My writing life has sucked lately. And when I’m not doing what’s in my heart to do, my life feels meaningless. And when it feels meaningless, I get depressed. Depression has been a huge part of my life. More than I like to admit, actually. So much so that I detest it when well-meaning but completely ignorant folks tell me to “just do it.” Those of you who deal with depression know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you? Those of you who don’t are probably wondering what the big deal is about saying “just do it.”

But this post isn’t about depression. It’s about productivity. Bzz-buzzing like a bee in my life. The big thing is on the horizon, and it’s all about my novel called A BONE-STREWN GROUND. No announcement yet, things pending, all that…but suffice to say that I need to have my shit together. I need to get my writing routines and habits back in sync with the writer I know myself to be. I need to maximize the very little time I have with the very little energy I seem to have these days…

So I signed up for an online boot camp workshop for writers. Six weeks of getting my arse kicked in the name of liberating myself from my worst habits and rationalizations, and working around (and accepting!) legit time suckers like earning a living. My drill sergeant and cheerleader, Lisa Romeo, will hold me accountable to my weekly writing goals, and if I don’t reach my goals, we’ll hash out why and what I can change. Every week offers lessons and ideas for improvement.

I’m ready for this. I really am. For awhile now I haven’t felt like a writer, specifically, a novelist. I feel good when I feel like a novelist. And life’s too short not to feel good, right?

Undercover Life

At the last minute, I decided to attend the Sisters in Crime* meeting, and as soon as I arrived I grew testy. Not only did I have to cram into a table with eight other people, but I kept knocking elbows with the woman next to me, who whiffed an awful lot like she’d been drinking white wine for hours already.

I was just crabby is all. I didn’t mean to be. Really, I didn’t. Yet, I couldn’t help feeling gypped because the restaurant only served enough potstickers for one each, and then disgruntled because the garlic eggplant had been cooked to the consistency of worms.

I’m glad to say that all was not lost. I perked up as soon as the undercover cops began their talk. I’d never thought about undercover cops as role players–the ultimate role players. These guys have gotta know their stuff. They study everything about, say, the drug biz. If a cop plays the role of a drug buyer, he knows the four kinds of cocaine, and that the brownish-looking powder was processed with diesel rather than ether, making it the lowest grade cocaine and only worthy of freebasing. They have to assume benign, trustworthy, and honest businessmen facades when meeting up with drug suppliers. These guys know how to don their masks.

Besides knowing the drug business, the best undercovers are quick-witted and have the gift of the gab. Talk about the world’s worst career for me. At the first sign of the unexpected, my tongue would stick to the roof of my mouth. I’d start stuttering, and my darned Irish skin would turn red and blotchy.

Yet, it occurred to me while I was driving home that I do pretty well as an undercover Lisa. For example, no one at the meeting knew I was testy. I gabbed with the wine drinker and smiled every time she touched my arm or thigh with over-familiar bonhomie. I introduced myself to the writers on my other side and answered their questions about what I write. When I fell silent (as I often did), I maintained a benignly pleasant expression.

I’m telling you, if I were the undercover cop and my table mates the drug suppliers, they’d have been vying to sell me their crappy cocaine. I swear. That’s how good I was.

–

*P.S. For those who don’t know, Sisters in Crime is an association of female crime writers. The monthly meetings feature cool speakers.

The Resurrection Season

The first daffodils

Wow, this is a strange feeling. Me sitting before a blank WordPress page, attempting a resurrection of sorts. My life as a blogger went down hill around 2009, when I hit the skids with my fiction and my livelihood and my attitude. The blog archive tells a sad story of a blogger who had spurts of activity in 2010, 2011, and 2012, only to fizzle out repeatedly.

Shite happens, most definitely.

I watch my mom grow dim with dementia. I work a day-job that pays the bills and provides health benefits, but doesn’t fulfill me. I plug away too slowly at my fiction, trying to rally my optimism and faith back to their pre-economic-downturn heights.

But it’s spring, right? The first daffodils are blooming, and a Northern flicker returned to tippity-tap against the wall outside my bedroom. The cat carouses outside all night, and the dog takes her time sniffing every new leaf and blade of grass.

Best of all, even though I knew we were still in for crap-cold and dismally wet weather, there was that one evening last week when the air smelled green and my skin tasted warmth. I breathed, and breathed again.

Spring like a soul’s sigh.

It may be that the long winter of my discontent is lifting. Or maybe not. Not sure. Never am sure.

The daffodils are blooming, and I’m writing this blog post. That’s all that matters.

Author Ann Littlewood’s Advice on Fear

After Ann’s book party, a bunch of us local writers (including Ann) convened for literary libations.

I’m going through, let’s call it, a phase with my writing. I call it my fear phase. It’s not writer’s block. Writer’s block I could handle. Last week I read the perfect explanation for my funkitude on Nova Ren Suma’s blog. As quoted from her guest blogger, debuting YA novelist Meagan Spooner: But sometimes the fear is all too possible—what if I send this out and it gets rejected, and the experience is so terrible that it kills my love of writing? What if by trying to reach for this dream, I destroy it?

I’ve been getting rejected for years, right? Right. Handling rejection is a job requirement for writers. Somehow, though, the agent rejections of the past year have been breathtaking, spectacular, crushing. Perhaps my ego isn’t as strong as it used to be — I don’t know — but it feels like something has withered. Picture a dessicated corpse, a tender fledgling that crash-landed during its maiden voyage from the nest. That’s why the quote above caught my attention: I’ve been grasping so hard that I fear I’ve destroyed my writing dream.

Last weekend I was pondering this fear crap as I drove to author Ann Littlewood’s book launch. She’s touring with the third novel in her zoo-dunnit mystery series. It’s called ENDANGERED. If you’re an animal lover and you care about conservancy, check out her books. Even if animals aren’t your thing, check out her books because you’ll dig her zoo-keeper protagonist, Iris. She’s just the right amount of feisty without being annoying.

I had a chance to ask Ann about fear, and here’s what she had to say:

Winston Churchill defined success as “the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm.” That’s hard to pull off. Failure is debilitating, sucking out energy and leaving nothing much behind. But it can be thwarted if you see the possibility of non-success. Here’s some strategies I’ve used, with varying results.

1. Acknowledge that only a certain percentage of new ventures will succeed, whether they are possible friendships, sales calls, new plants in the garden, or whatever. And that’s OK. To paraphrase what a friend once said, “Of course I fail more than other people. I do more than other people.”  This leads to ….

2. Have more than one growth point to your life. If one wilts, focus on another for awhile. Then maybe come back to the first with renewed energy. And…

3. Have the next step in mind. If this round of agents all reject the manuscript, my next step will be to…write a different book, try short stories, submit directly to publishers, self-publish, and so on. Always know what you will do next if the current strategy does not pan out.

I was one of the last to leave…:-)

4. Look for benefits that you weren’t expecting, that aren’t your primary goal, and savor them. Met new people? Learned something interesting? Had to try something scary and felt good about that?

This stuff isn’t easy. It takes all your self-knowledge and self-discipline to decide whether and how to stay in the game. The alternative of inaction and depression is, however, not the least appealing.

As for publishing, my take on it is that success requires a good manuscript, a ton of persistence, and a surprising amount of luck–a big random factor. The longer you stand out in the field, the better the chance that lightening will strike you. (And I really need to come up with a less  lethal metaphor!)

I’ll take some of that lightening, please. Thanks, Ann!

Toenails and Mindfulness

Pretty good for a first timer.

I promised myself I’d blog every week. So now I’m here, online, writing, and the only topic that pops up is the pedicure I gave myself last night. My toes look mighty pretty painted a Jordan-almond lilac, but so what?

<shrug>

I’m not sure, so I’m just going to write, right here and now, and see what my preening is really all about.

First off, it occurs to me that last night was my very first DIY, full-on pedicure. Make no mistakes, I’ve paid for pedicures, and I’ve slapped on the quick, last-minute coat of paint. Last night though, I soaked my feet, scraped my callouses, excavated the gunk around my nail beds, pushed back my cuticles, clipped and filed the nails, slathered on the foot creme, AND THEN applied the bottom coat and two coats of the childish lilac. (Forgot the top coat though…next time.)

I was proud of myself when I woke up this morning. I might as well have been a bride-to-be holding out her hand to gaze at her engagement ring. Admiring herself, admiring myself.

I’m astounded that I’d never given myself a pedicure before. And, even more astoundingly, I sat around with Angie, a fellow writer, watching old BBC episodes of “Absolutely Fabulous” and drinking red wine while I did it. I’d never before engaged in a girly evening like that either. I’m serious, never, not even as a teenager. My best girlfriend and I used to play chess. Either that, or we were drinking with our neer-do-well friends. Call us bad girls with nasty toenails.

Angie was surprised by my cluelessness. I had a mom, I had sisters, I had many best girlfriends growing up. How did I miss this girly right of passage (sans the red wine–or maybe not)? How could I not know why we use a bottom coat? No clue. For most of my life, I’ve treated my feet, well, like feet. I need them to transport myself, and to hopefully maintain my balance.

Here’s the thing: DIY pedicures require a quiet mind. Otherwise, what’s the point? To rush through the process, thinking ahead to the many other tasks I must cross off the to-do list, fretting about aspects of my life over which I have no control…Perhaps this is why I’ve never indulged in the DIY pedi before now: I tend to inhabit the land of the future, and this land is fraught with imagined obstacles and turmoil and conflict.

It’s quite exhausting.

So maybe I keep gazing at my confectionary toes because they return me to mindfulness. Simple pleasures in the here and now, you know? I could get used to girly frivolity; it might even be good for me. And even better, doing it with a friend! Angie taught me, for example, that two thin coats of paint are less likely to chip than one thick coat.

Who knew? (I certainly didn’t.)