The Long Way Home

by Scott, Jessica

The same thing does not go, however, for my website. I’m constantly looking for new themes, new changes, something that says me, without having to pay someone to help me figure that out. Call me cheap but honestly, if I’d paid someone to come up with as many different variations on my site as I’ve had by now, they would be really wealthy and I? Well, I’d still be looking to change it.

  So when the fab Michelle McGinnis of Friendly Web Consulting told me about a Firefox plugin that would help me learn how to customize CSS sheets for my blog, I was excited. I spent two days searching for themes and I won’t tell you how many I downloaded. But I deliberately stuck with free because, well, I’m always changing my mind and why pay for something that’s going to be a short-term investment when I can figure out how to change things up myself and keep it interesting?

  I found several themes that I really liked and made necessary changes. I spent one day working on a theme that I liked but ultimately didn’t stick with. Then I found the current one. I kind of like it. It’s busy but different, especially for me. I tried to stay away from browns and greys (but downloaded several that I plan on playing with later). Essentially, I was able to find this theme, change the font size (just for you, Bill) and move on with my life.

  But when I get stuck on something, ultimately, I have to stay with it until I beat it. I used to play Nintendo (I know, I’m dating myself), but I would stay up for days until I beat the game. I’d obsess until it was over. The same thing happens with me on my website and ultimately on my writing projects. My fab critique partner told me that I’m married to my projects, that this is a business, and that I need to be willing to set them aside. But my brain doesn’t work like that. When a project takes hold, I end up coming back to it again and again until I’m able to work on it. My War’s Darkest Series may never be picked up by a big publisher (I haven’t given up hope that this series will eventually be published) but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on it.

  It just means I’ll set it aside for a while until I’m able to write the stories that need to be told. Because, ultimately, this is a business and if I write just for myself, I’m not going to sell. I’ll still write them, but I have to be willing to dig into a project that will, publishers willing, sell.

  As I get further into my current project, I’m able to keep it in the forefront of my mind. But I had to beat my latest obsession—my website—out of my mind first. So now, it’s back to work.

  I’d love to hear what you think of the new design. But don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I’m absolutely certain it won’t last more than a few months.

  Fear the Revisions

  July 7, 2010

  AS I’VE GROWN AND changed as a writer, I’ve learned new techniques. Allison Brennan told me about one a long time ago: read the entire manuscript without making changes. That’s damn hard for me to do. So much so that I’ve only done it once.

  The other thing I’ve struggled with is each time I start revisions, I end up throwing out huge chunks of the book and ending up with a completely different story than I started with.

  So now that I’ve gotten feedback from several folks about Fear, I’m sitting here, letting all the comments gel in my brain.

  And I’m afraid. This version of the story I actually plotted out before revising. This version, I actually like and think it holds true to what I originally wanted to write waaay back in 2007 when I wrote the first of many drafts. And I’m terrified that as I start into revisions, I’ll end up changing the entire story. Again.

  I’m not quite ready to start on them yet. I’m working on finishing Whisper, hopefully before Nationals (just because I would like to let my brain drift during that week and not have revisions floating through it). But as I sit here, the characters are talking to me. They’re invading my sleep. I’m hearing their dialogue as I shower. I’ve got ideas to change the story, just tweaks and additions.

  What I don’t have is worry that the plot doesn’t hold. I have to clean and tighten, I think, but not rewrite.

  And I don’t think I know how to do that. Honestly, I don’t. But as I am a “non-plotter” (I hate the word pantser), this is completely uncharted territory for me. I don’t know how to revise a book without rewriting it but I also swore that I could never plot a book and then write it (I’m discovering that I really, really like the synopsis—whether that helps me sell or not is a different story).

  So I continue to dig into the current WIP, constantly consulting my synopsis to keep my plot on track and I’ve got this nagging desire to revise Fear. I’m going to be disciplined because when I do get into reading it straight through, hopefully it’ll be a little more fresh and then I can send it to the editors who are patiently (thank God) waiting for it.

  I’m not sure if I’ve learned enough to revise this sucker without rewriting it. But damn it, I’m going to give it my best.

  I’m Not Going to Pitch at Nationals

  July 13, 2010

  SO, I’M A PRETTY good communicator. When you look back at my NCOERs and OERs as well as my Army school evaluations, I’m always top in communications (wonder where the writing thing comes from, huh). But here’s a dirty little secret: I have no idea how to verbally pitch a book. I tried telling my agent about a couple of ideas on the phone and I could practically hear his eyes cross.

  I’m not saying I can’t do it. I’m sure I can, but it takes practice and refining so that I know what I’m going to say and how. I’m better at off-the-cuff conversations that don’t start with “it’s about...”

  I just read Bob Mayer’s recent posts on getting the most out of conferences and I think I’ve decided that I’m not going to stress about my pitches. If I get to meet in person people like Deidre Knight, who held my hand when I made my agent switch late last year and made me laugh when I wanted to jump off a bridge, and Jenn Schober, who was instrumental in me getting to the New York Times At War Blog and subsequently the PBS POV blog, I think it would be much cooler (on my part anyway) to say thank you to them and maybe buy them a drink without having The Pitch hanging on my tongue, waiting to escape.

  There are authors I want to meet too. I can’t wait to meet Joann Ross and Rocki St. Claire, both of whom held my hand last year during some particularly bad writing business stuff. I want to meet some of the fab authors who sent me care packages last year and I just know I’m going to be embarrassed and not remember all of them. I want to meet Cindy Gerard, who helped spearhead the school supply drive for Iraqi kids. I want to meet up with the ROMVETs, fellow veterans and romance writers. I want to meet the RWA-WF group as well as the KOD folks that I’ve seen on the message boards. I want to meet Sarah Frantz and hug her for editing the hell out of me for PBS POV.

  There are so many people I need to meet and say thank you to. I don’t want to screw that up by worrying about The Pitch.

  Why stress about a pitch?

  Mostly, I want to put faces to email addresses and I want to do this without worrying about my own pitch. Because if The Pitch is hanging over my head, I’ll screw up, act awkward or stressed out, and generally look like a douche bag. I do enough of that already. Going to Nationals is going to be stressful enough for me because I’m (a). going to be surrounded by civilians in large crowds, (b). not going to be in uniform, which takes away a lot of my comfort, (c). going to be in heels (enough said) and (d). I only know in person maybe four people there.

  So I’m going to take Bob’s recommendation and relax. I’m going to meet people and go to workshops. And I’m not going to worry about my pitch.

  An Object Lesson in Fear

  July 16, 2010

  MY DAUGHTER NEARLY DROWNED last night. We’ve been going to swimming lessons at the Lions Club Aquatics park in Killeen and last night, my fear became reality. I was sitting about ten feet from the edge, close enough to watch but far enough that they would pay attention to the teachers and not me. She and her sister were letting go of the edge and bobbing: all good training because they both need to know that when
they hit bottom, they need to kick back to the top.

  Well, the little one got pushed back to where she couldn’t reach the edge of the pool. My heart counted the beats. One. No head poking up. Two. No head. Three, and her little arms were waving on the top of the water...and Mommy moved. All I remember is getting to the edge and seeing she was close enough for me to grab without diving into the water. I had her before the teachers did. I think I dove across the concrete because my right knee hurts like hell this morning and I scuffed it up pretty good.

  And what did I do? I snapped at her. I said, “This is what you get for not listening.” I’d been telling her and her sister not to let go of the edge.

  Really? My kid has the scare of a lifetime and I snap at her? Then she cried and I wrapped my arms around her and held on to her. And less than two minutes later, she jumped right back into the pool. It happened again toward the end of her lessons but this time, she laughed and held back onto the edge. Mommy did better this time too, except that I was getting pissed at them for not listening and continuing to let go of the edge.

  That night, as they were getting ready for bed, I told her how proud I was of her for getting back in the water when any other kid would have screamed and cried and refused. She says in a small voice “I’m proud of you too, Mommy, for saving me.” And I laughed my ass off because it was cute and she was brave and she got back after it after she had the daylights scared out of her.

  But, see, here’s the thing that I wanted her to take away from it. Never mind that it shaved another year off my life. Never mind that the old taste of panic that I had in Iraq about not being there to protect my children rose to the surface like a bad memory. She got back in the water. Something bad happened and she faced her fear and got back in the pool. She even went off the diving board.

  I can’t always be around to protect my kids. Maybe it’s the nature of my life in the military that I know this, but on an instinctive level, it rips my soul out to send my kids out into the world without me being there. I have to trust. I have to trust that the school will do the right thing. The swimming instructors were working with other kids and were all within five feet of her. But no one had seen her go under. Except me. I still trust that they’re doing their best, but I’m there. Think of it as risk mitigation on my part.

  I have to prepare my children for life without me because when they’re in school, when they’re at their friends’ houses, when they’re grown, they will make decisions and have to react to things that no one will have prepared them for. And I have to trust that they’ll do something in those situations when they’re scared.

  So I am proud of my little girl. She got back in the water and she still thinks she can swim even though she sinks like a stone. But we’ll keep working at it. The best thing I could have done for her last night was get her back in the water and even though my adrenaline stayed high for the rest of the lessons, she got back in.

  I don’t think I can ask more than that.

  Why I Passed on a Reality TV offer

  July 17, 2010

  SO LAST NIGHT I tweeted about getting an email about a reality show that’s looking for a female soldier/mom. The show is something about the hardest working moms in America. Which is cool. I think it would be good for folks to see what some mom’s go through.

  Just not me.

  I politely emailed the casting agent who contacted me and said “Thanks but no thanks.” Oddly enough, there were tons of folks telling me I should go for it. It’s a huge potential platform (for all those books I haven’t managed to sell). It’s a good opportunity. I could be a role model (better than Heidi Montag).

  All of that is true, for the most part. (Although I highly doubt I am a role model for anything other than the definition of insanity). It would be a good opportunity for book sales. It would help build a platform. But it would probably destroy not only my family, but also my career, and my self-esteem. I don’t watch a lot of reality TV, but the snippets I’ve seen from a few shows are always high drama. There is enough stress in my life just getting the kids out the door to make it to formation on time. The last thing I need is a camera in my three year old’s face when she’s melting down as we’re walking out the door. The last thing I want to see is me losing my patience and having CPS show up because of something they see on the TV.

  I’m a writer. I’m a soldier. And I’m a mom. I’m not a TV star. While every author hopes to be on Oprah someday, that would be about the extent of it. I was offered a chance to work on a phenomenal project earlier this year but I had to decline because it would have taken me away from my family right after I’d gotten home from Iraq. I regret having to turn that project down because it’s going to be awesome but at the end of it all, the project will go on with the other writer and will have just as much impact as it would have without me.

  The TV show would have been fun, at least to start. It’s kind of neat when you think that people might want to see what my life is like. But really, I’m just like every other mom out there: stressed out, busy, and trying to keep all the balls in the air while ensure my children are prepared to face the world.

  Putting them on TV would not be the best way to do that.

  And the impact would not only be on my kids. I’m getting ready to take command of a signal company. My soldiers deserve me coming on board, ready to lead, challenge, and mentally prepare them for the next deployment. How on earth would I accomplish that if there were cameras in our company training meetings? How effective would that be, all so I could have my fifteen minutes of fame?

  No, the TV show might be fun if there wasn’t a war going on. But there is and there is too much upheaval in my life and my soldier’s lives to compound it with a TV camera in their faces.

  Stop and Smell The...

  July 19, 2010

  I’M WILLING TO BET you thought it would be roses. You’re wrong. I’m not much of a flower person. I tend to kill all things green so the most you’ll see growing in my house is the dust bunny collection.

  No, what I mean to end the sentence with is “your kids.” Now, if you have a teenager, you probably don’t want to take that advice, but for me, who still has two little ones, I did it this morning. See, we’re at the eight month mark. Eight months since being home from Iraq. Eight months since we got in the car in my mom’s snow-covered driveway and headed south, down to Texas with the kids, the cats, the dogs, and the kitchen sink.

  It’s been a rough eight months but lately, things are settling down. I went to see a therapist to help find some techniques to deal with my inability to manage it all. At the end of the day, I’m still a working mom, writer, housekeeper, et al., and everything was falling apart around me. I couldn’t keep up and neither could the kids. I reached my breaking point (along with some serious prodding from friends), so I went to the social worker and said, “Please help me not be crazy any more”. I wasn’t myself and I wasn’t doing anyone, not my kids, not my commander, not my husband, a damn bit of good.

  I got help and you know what? Getting help has made things a hundred percent better. My kids no longer have to scream and cry because everything is out of control in their lives, too. I’m better able to deal with my frustration, my anxiety, my everyday life, and that makes it easier for them because when Mom is freaking out, everyone else does, too.

  But this morning, my oldest got up and walked out to me. I’ve talked a lot to her about when Mommy has anxiety issues my chest gets tight and it’s kind of hard for me to breathe. I tell her when that happens, Mommy needs to take a time out to get it back under control. Well, she came out today and said she had the same feeling. So I crouched down and said, you know what would make it better? A Mommy hug. And I hugged her and while I did, I breathed in the clean, soft smell of her hair. Her skin. Just the scent that makes my daughter my daughter. And when I dropped them off, I did the same thing with my little one, who still has just enough fuzz at her hairline to remind me of the baby she was when I left.

&
nbsp; I took a minute today and just stopped and smelled my kids. It might sound bizarre but it was just one moment where I remembered everything that I’ve tried to do right with them and let the guilt about everything I’ve done wrong slip away. I kissed them on the forehead and sent them to school and was happy that we had a good morning with no crying, no yelling, and everyone doing their part to have a good morning.

  Sometimes, that’s all you can hope for.

  Trip Report: RWA 2010, Day 1

  July 25, 2010

  I HAVE TO SAY, preparation for the trip was worse than the trip itself. I spent a week worrying about what to pack, two days packing, one day stressing the hell out to the point of tears on at least two occasions.

  The night before we left, I seriously considered saying to hell with it and not going. But today, after fourteen hours of driving, I’ve got to say, so far, so good. The kids travel well. Play-doh and The Chipmunks: The Squeakquel make for a nice ride. Oh and pretzels. Things they never get to have unless we’re road tripping. So today was nice. But yesterday?

  Bad. Really. Bad.

  It’s not usually this bad. Usually, I spent a day worrying about packing, two hours throwing whatever we need into a couple of bags, and getting in the car, dogs in tow, cats fending for themselves with the remote control and a bucket of cat chow.

  This is different. For starters, it’s my first business trip as a writer. I’ve stressed before about being surrounded by large groups of civilian women but the gals (and guys) of Austin RWA brought me right into the fold, even when I’m a horrible member and have only make it to like three meetings since coming home from Iraq.

  This is different. This is folks from the community of romance writers at large, many of whom supported me last year in Iraq. I feel an obligation to at least try to be sociable (translate: not stressed-out psycho-mom eager to ditch her kids but feeling guilty for doing so for a few minutes of Mommy time) and yet, I know that won’t happen. Not to mention that I packed my entire wardrobe of business clothes and every cosmetic item I own, plus a few I bought special for this trip alone. Hubby was a little annoyed to see just how much I actually had packed.