I Could Sell Used Cars

January 18, 2006 | Writing

I met with my critique partners, Beth and Sloane, last night. We celebrated Sloane’s sale to Triskelion with champagne, talked about writing for awhile, and then, they proceeded to kick my butt until 11pm. I was prepared, open, and took it like a trooper. Then I decided that maybe selling used cars, would be a much better career. I’m not saying anything derogatory about used car sales people. I’m just picking on them. I can at least take heart in the fact that my story is solid, my characters are developing, the black moment between Elizabeth and Stephen is about to happen, and I’ve got point of view down. It’s me and comma’s, and I’ve exorcised my fascination with the word ‘that’, but apparently picked up a couple more. Easy fixes and I made notes and will correct all of the problems, PLUS, rewrite my basement love scene. Somewhere along the line, I went out of point of view and all sensuality disappeared, like the heat in the basement. So, this evening, I’ll read the lecture Beth wrote on writing love scenes, put on some Barry White, put myself in Elizabethan point of view, close my eyes, and hope my son and husband don’t come in the room and think I’m having a seizure. Well, I know hubby won’t think it’s a seizure, but he’ll get other ideas. I don’t think he wants me asking questions about what he’s feeling, physically and mentally during our ‘private time’. So he would just turn around and leave.

Yes, sell used cars. It’s not a bad job. I could get lots of fresh air, meet different personalities, schedule my own hours, and even write while working. I want to hear my name called from a microphone, and as a sales person it would be. “Yasmine Phoenix to the showroom.” “Yasmine Phoenix, where are you?” “Yasmine Phoenix, your agent on line two.”

So this morning, I’ll clean up around my house, scan and make notes on Strunk and White’s, The Elements of Style, and run errands. Then this evening will be free to get back to line editing and get the entire manuscript for them to read before I send it out.

Writing is in essence a lonely career and harder than it looks. If we’re not beating own selves up, some agent or publisher is doing it for us. When we get the call, and finally see our story in print, friends and family either wonder what took us so long, or think ‘Hey, that looks easy.’ It took Tom Clancy over ten years to get The Hunt for Red October published. As writers, we go ‘there’, as Beth calls it. We go where our characters live and love. We feel their emotions, and put it on paper. Then we tear up the first draft and do it again.

It’s like I was taught in tennis, one point at a time, one game at a time. Writing is one word at a time, one sentence at a time, one emotion at a time, one paragraph, one story at a time. So, I’ll keep the car sales position in the back of my mind, but I’ll keep working on being a damn good writer. What job have you thought would be easier than writing? I hear they’re looking for owl vomit collectors?

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7 Responses | TrackBack URL | Comments Feed

  1. Mentally, I think many jobs would be easier than writing. Physically, I don’t think it gets much better than parking your ass in a chair for hours on end. 🙂


  2. How can you doubt your ability? You took a depressing moment and turned it into comedy. OWL VOMIT! I love it.

    Trust in yourself, Yasmine. Learn Strunk better than you know your Bible. You are a writer with talent, lots of talent. You need to focus.

    Now get your head out of the toilet and back in the basement!


  3. Oh yeah, almost forgot, day care is easier than writing and you know how I feel about fifteen runny noses.


  4. Ooo, I’ve got the perfect job for me . . . a worm farmer! LOL! Okay, back to writing.

    ~Ann JR 🙂


  5. Dear Anne
    Apparently we’ve been watching the Discovery Channel a little too much. Sloane thanks for the encouragment. Now, my bathrooms are clean and I can return to writing.


  6. Anything has got to be easier than writing. Although I draw the line at mortician. Y’know, embalming a dead guy just doesn’t seem like a good way to pass the time.

    “Hey, Jenna, was work busy?”

    “Oh yeah. We’d racked ’em up like ribs. Like ribs! Speaking of which, I could go for ribs. Anyone smell anything strange?”

    So, I’ll, um, pass on that job. Anything else though…bring it.


  7. Thanks for ya’ll comments. I’m continuing to sit my ass in a chair and write. Then the only thing bigger than my sales will be my butt. Can you say Lipo!


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