MAKING MinceMeat Out of Lemons

Just some noobie-writer-advice from me to any other noobies out there. If you are like me, then you just might suffer from several plagues that infect your work.

It seems like I was born the red-headed-step-child, even though I have brown hair when I'm not sporting the bald look. All my life I have a bit slow on the uptake., lazy (this one is changeable), and somehow evoke animosity from others before I even have the chance to do something wrong. I'm easily distracted, and SUCK at math. I have more enemies than friends, and a low threshold for intentional stupidity. Yes I said I was born a little slow in the head, but I try not to be stupid (there's something to be said about persistence).

I'll be thirty-one next month, I said I wanted to be published by thirty, and though it's not the novel contract I always envisioned, I made my goal. And the editor who published a short story of mine along with the upcoming novella, SMELL OF THE DEAD, is wonderful to work with. Most of my life when I thought on the bright side, the dark Lovecraftian storm clouds of despair would swoop in and smother any hope of succeeding.

Some of these storms were inevitable, inescapable, one could even argue they were predestined (especially after learning how a close family member cut down early in her life had some of the problems with these said storms as I). And there are several of these storms I created and didn't know it.

We can be our worst enemy.

Point is, when it comes to living at the bottom of the barrel, I know what it's like.

When I was I born, instead of a silver spoon in my mouth, my parents went hungry at times so I could eat. Some of my favorite toys came out of garbage dumpsters. At the age of five I lost an aunt whom I was very attached to, due to murder.

Today, I'm a thirty-year-old McDonald's employee, with a dream of becoming a successful writer.

Right off the bat I'm branded a loser. Not only am I in my prime, working a crap-job that's the bane of my life, but I also live with my parents. Though I can tell you that it isn't to leech, to most ignorant people, I'm a freeloader. They have no understanding of my mother's health, the fact that my father who's almost seventy works part time (about four full months of the year) as a bus driver. And to boot, prices on everything continue to sky-rocket, I'm a babe in the woods in the land which I trudge towards in hopes of achieving my dream.

I've been writing off and on, in some form or another all of my life. When I was nine, I think, I wrote a book called, RUDOLF THE FLYING MAN. I don't remember how many pages it was, I didn't even have an editor, I'm not sure about the word count. I wrote it long hand, drew a very crude cover with Crayons, and stapled it together. I no longer have it, though I wish I did. As the years went on, I would write partial stories, mostly sci-fi, and some fan fiction of Star Wars and Star Trek. When I didn't like how an episode of one of my favorite TV shows ended, or a favorite movie, I would come up with better ideas, or possible sequels. To be honest they probably sucked. But there I was trying my best to be a writer, though I really didn't think of it that way. Some of these stories I would invent as I played with my action figures. Though I did waste so much time with playing, it at least kept the creative process going.

Around 2000, I really wanted to write a script. And yes, when I did, it sucked. At this point I didn't really have any writer friends to help me, and my dad who was a writer in his youth spent all of his criticism on my spelling, which sure it was relevant, but he wasn't a big help overall. I continued to try, and when a TV show called Mutant X came on, I got the idea for an X-Men style storyline called, THE MUTANTCY. This story was better than anything I had written, but it was still a far, far cry from anything publishable. After several pages of long hand, I gave up. How was I suppose to write a comic book storyline as a book? My mind hadn't figured it out yet.

I went back to a crime thriller I was working on around the same time called, THE GUARDIAN. This was the story where I got to kill the murderer of my late aunt, and though the character I based on myself ends up paying for it, I felt so gooooood writing his death. This story I have dissected, and will never be written. But it did give me a taste of what it was like to take what life gives you, and make mincemeat out of it.

Years later, I tried writing comic book scripts, even had a couple of artists working with me. But I was never able to get this story off of the ground. It was THE MUTANCY, only renamed as SHARDS. And though someday I want to write this one, this was another breaking point for me. I had no idea how to get this out in the published world, not to mention it was better for me that it didn't make it. Again, I gave up. I tried at it from time to time, but I couldn't stick with it.

I have had a lot of people over the years give me, “advice”. Not the kind I needed, like for writing. Instead it ranged from enemies telling me how I should live my life, to people who actually care telling what I should do, but it would have taken me away from my writing. And I refused to let that happen.

The reason I'm getting published now, is that I won't let life bury me in a mound lemons. I refuse to give up. Sure, I'm thirty-years-old, living with mommy and daddy, working a job that is responsible for serving pink-slime on a bun, and I have yet to make money at writing; but I am published, I will be signing a contract for my novella, SMELL OF THE DEAD, soon, and I have much, much more that I writing. You see, I'm bull-headed. Which can be a bad thing at times, lol, but it can also be good. The trick knowing how to use it.

I love my writer friends, and I love working with them. I always respect them, and do everything I can to help. First thing is, to allow yourself to be who you are. Now if you are the kind of person who is mean to others even when you're in a good mood, or maybe you just can't to be in a decent mood no matter how your life goes, then my advice doesn't apply to you. But if you feel like you are held back, that you can't quite be the person you want to be, and that person is decent, and caring, then I say be you! That's right, even everyone around makes your life hell, be you. If they can't accept you, that's their problem. Sure, they might be successful, maybe they could careless about your opinion of them, but they're ignorant. They think they got you all figured out. That they know you better than you do. And they seem to have it in their head that you can't thrive living your dream. You're a joke to them. Well guess what? They should be a joke to you.

Make mincemeat out of them. How? First off, know yourself. Know what you want, work at figuring out how t get there, and keep at it. The idiots will never go away, and odds are good no matter how well you do in life, they will always find a way to make you a loser in their minds. This isn't about them or their ignorance. This is about, and your craft. About finding you. This starts from within, folks. No quick fix here. You have to know yourself, your strengths, your weaknesses, and you write the best you can. The ignorant people who make life rough for you, use them in a story. Just change the name a little so you don't get sued. But seriously, do to them what you have imagined every time they make you miserable. Make them suffer in those pages. Never wrong a writer. Because you want to be a successful author, you have to believe in yourself, and call yourself a writer. Not a wanna-be, not an aspiring author, you are an author. You are a writer. Okay, so maybe you're not published yet. This like a baby who just started to crawl thinking, “why can't I run yet?” You're a babe in the woods, just like me. But, you'll grow.

I gave you a brief look at where I come from not to bore you, but to show you that anyone can make it. Sure, I haven't got out yet, but you know what, I will. I may live a life that is deemed “LOSER”, but I'm not a loser. I'm a lot of things some good, some not so good, but I know who I am. And if I was loser, I would have not have picked up the pen again. I would either end my life, or worse, choose to work fast food for the rest of my existence. Two things which I cannot do.

I. Am. A. Writer. Writers write like humans breath. We do it because it's who we are. The kicker is, we need to learn how to do it right. We need to be willing to take the time to learn, study, read a LOT, vary that reading. Help your fellow writers when you can. Or help people in general, helping others helps us to keep some semblance of sanity. Not to mention, the people you help now, might be able to help you later. Treat them how you want to be treated, but always maintain a backbone. You can be the sweetest human being alive, but never allow others to own you.

Your head, is your head. The more others control you, the more they invade your space. Your heart, is your heart. The more you hate, the more they own you. I know, this is something I'm still trying to master, but, keep at it. Be stubborn on this. If it helps, use the anger and hatred to your advantage. Use it when you write. Us writers write what we know. In some fashion or another. We might write some great stuff when we're happy, and we might write some great stuff when we're sad, and the same goes when we're ready to kill, and the biggest problem is that the characters we kill aren't the voodoo dolls we imagine them to be. But we keep at it, snicker at the calamity we put our enemies through, and odds are good they'll never know.

Maybe you think it's fate for you to fail. Well, I don't enough about fate to argue, but what I do know is, maybe it's fate for you to feel that way only say, ENOUGH! And be bull-headed enough to break free from these bonds. Hey, maybe this is a battle you get to fight for the rest of your life. Not all battles are meant to be won. Some you either lose, or keep fighting. But if you stop fighting, not only do you lose, but don't get anywhere. The more you fight, the better the odds of succeeding.

It's okay to cry, or to feel overwhelmed. Who wouldn't when life bears down like a ten-thousand megaton weight? But only do so enough to vent, don't let it dig its hooks into you. Don't let despair take you. Own it! Make that despair your pet monkey, and when that monkey gives you attitude, shove your steel-toe-butt-kickers up its chili-ring, and make it scream!

A writer is not made of glass.

We have to be strong! We have to be like Sam Jackson. Would he let life trump him? How about Chuck Norris? What would they do? The would make mincemeat out of adversity. And, a lot of that adversity, is needed to make us the people we are today. Though I know I could have done without some of it, we all could, but a lot of it we need.

A Phoenix is not significant until it is destroyed. It cannot rise from the ashes without first being turned to ash. Maybe it's fate that you own your destiny.

A writer does not allow him/he-she/herself to be swallowed in the void of life. They write. And write. And write. And write. And write.

Let the lemons come. Let them pelt us into the ground, and may God have mercy on their existence, because we won't.

And remember, it's always the darkest before the dawn...