Come to the Cocktail Party: Nametag Please

I've shared before that lurking beneath this very outgoing and "out there" personality . . . is a very shy person. I share my feelings more easily in writing than verbally. I loathe the telephone. I can very easily tell people in my life I love them . . . but I really would like nothing more than to sit in my pjs all day playing with Demon Baby and the fake people who live in my computer in my stories.

As Genius recently blogged . . . now you take people like me who would rather play with fake people . . . and demand they market to real live people. Or . . . you have people for whom the writing is somewhat secondary. They're focused on their brand or the website for a book that might not even be completed. They're networking like mad.

Which got me thinking how much of this strange dichotomy could be summed up as cyberspace being a massive cocktail party of writers. They all have nametags. You know how cocktail parties go. People scanning nametags in the pursuit of networking. People judging others by how high up the food chain they are. If you have ever been a stay-at-home mom at a cocktail party of business executives . . . you know how the eyes glaze over.

I PURPOSELY say I am a stay-at-home mom. Because I am. It just also so happens that I write. But so what? My Significant Other will sometimes come up behind me as I am spouting the stay-at-home mom thing and say, "SHE LIES. She is the author of 20 books," to which I usually step down hard on the instep of his foot and disappear to the buffet table. I don't WANT to talk to people who find me SO MUCH MORE fsacinating because I have written a book.

My bestest friend said, after yesterday's news, "Now you can say you are an award-winning children's book author." The thought stunned me for a moment. How many of you get emails from writers with their "taglines"? I sign my emails with simply my blogs and websites. But I see the marketing value of adding, "New release! April 2010!" underneath it. It is just that . . . going back to the beginning of this post, I would rather you leave me with my playmates. Self-promotion is not the first direction I go in my thought processes.

Does anyone else feel this way? All right, I'm having a cocktail party this weekend. What's your name tag?

My tag is:

Erica
Ninja Mom of Demon Baby
Writer

Belief

From the long list of qualities I offered yesterday for a critique partner, I left something off. Because it's not a "requirement." You're just lucky as hell when you get it.

You see, you can have beta readers and critique partners who are very good, but who never cross the imaginary line. What line? I think every writer needs someone who believes in them.

A certain someone knew I was having a bad day last week. He wrote what to him may have been an offhand line.

I have so much faith in you that . . . .

I don't know about you guys . . . but we all have days when the Demons of Doubt descend on us. It doesn't matter your circumstances. If you write full-time, like me, there are months, quite simply, when the checks don't come. I once had a FIVE-MONTH contract negotiation.

If you have a day job and are unpubbed . . . you have days when you wonder . . . why do I spend all my free moments writing this when I feel like I am banging my head against a wall, when the market is so bad right now, when . . . .

If you are pubbed but your print run is tiny, or the co-op you were promised doesn't materialize, or your cover isn't quite what you expected . . . there are days.

It really doesn't matter what scenarios I paint, does it? You wonder if you'll ever finish the Epic in Progess. (And welcome back . . . you were missed!) You wonder . . . you wonder . . . .

And it is something special, magical, and for a writer, life saving, about having someone who sometimes quietly, sometimes not so quietly, listens to you rant about giving it all up. And then says, "Do it anyway. I believe in you." Or even, "Shut the hell up." They cheer you when you need a little cheering, or kick your proverbial ass when you need that too. They do it without pretense. Without jealousy or falseness. They do it because they believe in you. And because, perhaps, they are practicing a speech for their own Demons of Doubt.

You can't add it to some handy list of what to look for in a writer-friend-confidant-critiquer. But when you get it . . . bow to the Writing Gods and thank them.

And while you're at it . . . my best friend's story is up over at Lurker Monkey's. I believe in her.

Thoughts? Who believes in you?

Tattoo You

Seems a lot of my friends have tattoos. My bestest friend does. And I would say about 50% of the time, I would like one. The other 50% I don't think about it. Nothing in particular holds me back. I've spent so many years off and on hooked up to so many I.V. drips, tubes, and machines, that needles don't scare me in the slightest. I don't know if my not getting a tattoo is a lack of motivation or, more likely, that my father would kill me. And yeah, he'd get over it, but maybe it's something best left for when he goes to that great Hell's Kitchen bar in the sky, where the beer is always cold, flowing and FREE. Then again, longevity is on his side of the family, so he could likely live to be 90. In which case, sooner or later I might just get one and the hell with it. In addition, he went blind this year, so it's not like he could SEE it.

If I got a tattoo, the picture is what I would get. Bonus points if you know what it is. First correct guess, in fact, will win one of my backlist titles. So guess away.

However, I wrote this somewhat lighthearted post because I was thinking about SPY'S post. What makes a writer? When do you get to call yourself novelist or author? What's the difference between people who identify themselves as authors versus those who say they are writers? And I got to thinking about identity.

Then I got to thinking about my grandmother. You see, if she was here, today, and we had ONE day to spend together (which, until we figure out how to bring people back from beyond is not going to happen), I don't think I would mention a SINGLE WORD about being a writer. Because I don't think she would be particularly proud of my having a book. Or 20 books. I don't think she would care one way or the other. And I wouldn't waste my breath telling her about them. It's not that she wouldn't be proud or happy--it's just I don't think she'd measure me any differently for "accomplishments." She loved me for being Erica. That's it. I mostly just had to breathe and show up to play 500 Rummy, and she loved me. Unconditionally. I was lucky that way to have her. So if we had one day together, instead, I would tell her all about my kids. THAT mattered to her. About my prayer life. About going to church. About what I ate--she liked to talk about food. About my guy. We'd laugh a lot. We'd play cards.

And I realize, somehow, that writing is a vehicle for me to have the life I have. To sit in my pjs and make up stories. To be here for my kids 24/7, much as days like today, I need that tattoo (guessed yet?). You see today, one of my babies had FOUR teeth pulled, and the 2-year-old decided I was paying too much attention to poor toothless, bleeding girl and so he decided to have a meltdown SO intense for THREE hours that I was ready to call an ambulance. For myself. So I could go to a place with rubber walls and white coats and QUIET. You see, life has changed of late here, and long story, but I'm now, for all intents and purposes, because of night shift work, a single mom. And with four kids and only one of me, it's grueling.

So anyway . . . I thought . . . what is my identity? Does it matter what I call myself? Am I simply a happy human being? I used to think I wanted a tattoo that said something about who I was. Now . . . . I think I would want one that was about something beyond. That transcended labels.

So if you got a tattoo, what would it be? Do you HAVE one? And do you own this label of being writer? Author? Novelist? Is it important to you?