Sooooo, how’ve you been? How’s your summer?

It’s been awhile since I’ve been here. I know. I know. If my log in weren’t automatically remembered by firefox, I likely wouldn’t remember it myself.

How’s my summer been? (Thank you for asking.)

My summer has been goooood. I’ve been running a lot before dawn. I love running early in the morning. Once the sun is up it is too dang hot to even think about running. Seriously. Then I would melt into the crack of the sidewalk….

And, also, I’ve been writing. Lots and lots and lots of writing. Hours. And I’m getting closer to finishing another round of revisions. I knew that writing a book was hard work. And you know what? Now that I look back, I was naive in my assumption. Writing a book is DANG hard work. (Utah slang. I love it.)

Still, I love writing.

But, mostly, right this minute, I’m too hot too think, but lucky the cracks in the couch do not require much of me. I think I’ll hang out here until it cools off a little. . . .

I love St. George.

I love the mountains. I love the sun. I love the running paths. I love the Virgin River and the little birds in the bushes. I love the shopping. But these were all a fringe benefit for the real reason I went there.

To WRITE.

I attended a writing workshop called “Death by Writing.” I know I have told you that already, but I want to be clear for all my new readers. If there are any. Maybe one or two. You never know. It could happen.

So, the days would go as such:

Meet in the morning in the board room at the Ramada Inn and have Dave Farland, author extraordinaire, teach us about writing, publishing, outlining, you name it–he could probably write a book on it.

Then we would go to lunch with everyone. I usually got salad. I ate a lot of good salad that week. mmmm. I need to buy lettuce. And cucumbers. Wait. Where was I? Ahem. Lunch.

Then after lunch we would break up and go and write. Dave would schedule individual appointments with us in the afternoon to help us with our writing and give us advice, etc.

So, when you go to these things, part of you thinks, wouldn’t it be really great if he just loved my stuff. And told me how great it was. And wanted to publish it.

And then reality sets in and you think: it’s okay if he doesn’t like it. It still needs a lot of work. He can help me make it better and that’s why I’m are here after all. Right? Right.  No big deal.

So, then I met with Dave. (Who has helped anywhere from 300-400 writers get their starts by giving advice and helping them with novels that they are having trouble selling. He’s a guru that way.I’m just saying.) And I really wanted him to like my stuff. And I was nervous, but brave. After all, we can’t be published if we are not brave.

And then the best thing happened (the one that I hoped for and didn’t expect), he really liked my stuff. So, much that he didn’t have any suggestions. He thought it was great and professional and publishable. And he loved the voice. And he genuinely liked the story.  And it was all so great. Just like I dreamed it would be. And that is a happy thing. Because it is a rare thing. And I’m going to enjoy it. And remember it before all the rejection letters pile up.

And then a couple days after I got home he blurbed about me in his Daily Kick in the Pants email that he sends out to thousands of subscribers.

Here is what he said:

Now that the “Writers Death Camp” is over, I did want to mention that it was an awful lot of fun, and I found a number of very talented writers in the group. Of those that are ready to debut, I mentioned Regina Richards last week, but Melinda Morley also impressed me as someone to watch over the next few months. So here are two talented women, both with consonance in their names.

And that is very happy for me. I was nervous to share that, but I appreciate all the well wishes and sincere congratulations that I got from my friends, family, and fellow writers. I’m so glad to have so many people rooting for me. Thank you, everyone!!!

So now I’m revising like crazy. My book is almost done. I get butterflies typing that because I can’t hardly I dreamedbelieve it’s true. I’ll have a book to send out into the world. It’s a book that I’m in love with and I can’t wait for you to read it. I think the story is amazing, and I can’t take credit, because it feels so inspired. It came to me like rays of light and I have loved putting it down on paper and bringing it to life.

Now, I must go and revise some more.

If you aren’t receiving Dave’s Daily Kicks, I highly recommend them. Dave knows his stuff. Check him out here.

Here is the cover of his latest Runelord novel. So. Cool.

(Here is a pic of the hot trucker I did NOT meet.)

So, the week is over. And yesterday I drove home from St George, which is USUALLY a 5 hour drive. I had a few little car problems.

This involved stopping every two hours. Like clockwork, but not. And filling up the radiator with water. More than three gallons of water to be exact, but not.

I blame this on one of three things:

A- A hole in the radiator somewhere. I guess. Mystery hole wherever you are, reveal yourself because this car does not leak when it is parked OR when I’m only driving short distances.

B-The hills. The mountains. And eventually short inclines. Because it got to where every time I went up one, my car would overheat. Unless my car has the hots for hills. Wow. That was an incredibly bad joke and I’m leaving it, so that you can groan and moan over it. I’m nice like that. Also, I never realized how MANY hills there are between here and St. George. Ridiculous number. Really. They could have tried a little harder to smooth it out. Well, at least I’m not a pioneer with a handcart. That’s what I tell myself when my car is overheating. And I guess it would make me feel better if I really thought about it, but I was too worried about getting stranded and getting picked up by some trucker. Oh. Deer.

3- (And I think this is it.) My car is simply possessed. I was hearing weird voices when I drove to St. George. In the dark. With no one but truckers and a few stray deer as my companions. I just spelled that dear. Hmmm. Freudian slip? Let’s hope not. And so what if the voices were just a random radio station coming in and out of reception. It was fuh-reaky.

So, I’m back and alive. And really glad that I went. I feel refreshed. I got some positive feedback on my writing. I feel encouraged and motivated. In fact, I almost wish it were Monday already so that I could write. So, that is why you are getting some blog action, because I’m itching to finish my story.

My husband handled the week exceedingly well without me. I think this is an omen that I need to sign a book deal and go on tour. Because he can totally handle it. Five kids and he even made casserole and soup. Gotta love a man like that.

My youngest turned seven yesterday. I’m not sure how that happened and I’m going to punish him for growing up behind my back. So not okay. I just can’t think of a good punishment. If he weren’t so darn cute . . . .

Well, with my family being gone so much this month with their play practice, I will have my novel done in no time. And then onto the next. Good things are coming. I can feel it in my bones. Okay, not really, but it sounds kind of cool to say that. Like I can predict the future. Maybe I can. I’m just saying.

So, I met some great people at the workshop and felt like I learned a lot. I’m just itching to finish my book. Did I just say that?

Cause I am.

And then. I’ll get it published. And then. You can read it.

Deal?

Deal. (I said that for you, but I knew you’d say it if you were here. I know. I’m a little psychic. And psycho. It’s all good.)

Now I’m going to Ward Choir Practice. Even though I can’t sing, because I sang (belted really) most of the six+ hour drive home yesterday. That and I carried on some great conversations with myself and the deer. No truckers. I had to. I had to stay awake somehow.)

So, enough about me. How have you been?

Mel

I’m here at The Death By Writing Camp put on by the fantabulous Dave Farland/Wolverton (for those who would rather be dead than unread–that’s me). I have another seven days to go, so this will be my only post until it’s over since the whole point of the camp is immersion. I must resist the call of the Internet. And the lure of my dear readers. And the general distractions of the world overall.

Still, I love you all.

Oh, and did I mention that St. George has great running trails? Yesterday I booked six miles and most of it along the Virgin River trail. Beautiful and not too cold. And did I mention that the sun was shining? I heart the sun.

And I stayed with Grandma Morley and she is a great lady. She is a professional at taking care of people. And she likes the temperature at 72 all night long. Sweet! (Especially since I didn’t have Ken with his uber hot calves to keep my feet warm.) Last night I stayed at Dave’s house and I had to sleep with my window open in order not to succumb to paint fumes. Room temp was…about normal for me at home and I really missed Ken’s calves.

Oh, I did get a call that my kitty had passed on to the other side. She had been acting a little under the weather and we wondered if she caught something while in the pen because other animals could be carrying stuff. But, we weren’t alarmed by her symptoms, in fact she was starting to act like she was feeling better.

Then she died. (Feel free to pause here for a moment of silence.)

She was a good kitty. We are sad to lose her. Why is the good die young and the old ornery ones live forever?

And, I do have a scary Halloween story to share about my lonely car ride from home to St George in the dark, but I’ll save that for another day and strange voices.

So, I am off to brainstorm and do some character and world building and then, oh, I don’t know, think of some additional conflicts for my characters and look for ways to fill my plot holes because me story is a stinking sieve at the moment. You get the picture.

Oh, and I must write a scene. And other and another and another and, well, you get the picture.

Have a great week!

So, I go to Lagoon and ride on all the scariest rides until I’m no longer afraid of heights. (Though, I still think the skyride is the worst–you really could slip out under the little bar holding you in and impale yourself on the sharp thing sticking up from the carousel Iamsonotkiddingaboutthat–and I refuse to ride Roc-o-plane and the Wild Mouse because they make me sick.)

And occasionally I gives talks in church. I love public speaking, but it is scary. Pass out at the pulpit scary.

And sometimes I drive to places and events that I’ve never been to and it really scares me. Will I get lost? Will I find parking? What should I expect? These things can be nerve-wracking if you are an introvert like I am and could LIVE in my bedroom. Seriously, I only need a fridge and I think I could go weeks. But, I try to be brave and take my kids on field trips, etc. and not once has anyone died. Yet. I’m just saying.

So, as you all know, I write. Writing is a little scary. It’s scary to put yourself out there. What if you are lousy? What if your characters are flat and your writing cliche? What if people laugh at you and not with you?

But that is not the scariest thing.

The scariest thing is letting yourself go.

I’ve been holding back because I was afraid that I would become, I don’t know, obsessed. Driven. Mad. A slave to the written word.

So, I when I had the urge to write, I held back. Feeding the monster within only enough to keep it alive. Afraid that if I fed it too much it would grow out of control and consume me.

But then I read a book called Graceling. It was sooo good. (Disclaimer: YA book with sexual content .) Besides that, it was fabulous. Loved it. It is a fantasy book where people are born with “graces” or gifts. Not everyone gets them. But if you have one, your eyes change colors and they don’t match. So cool. Anyway, there is a part in it where a guy–Hot Prince Po, which is also my son’s nickname (Po)–has a grace of sensing things without using his eyes. He holds back and tries to control his gift, but it often overwelms him. Finally he just lets go and stops fighting it and viola, it focuses itself and becomes easier for him to focus.

So, I realized that I was holding back on my writing.

I decided to let go.

Now it’s like opening a floodgate.

And I’m feeling a little consumed. Or A LOT.

And the feelings and emotions of my story are washing over me like waves. And I want to take everything in. My senses are heightened and aware. Everything around me is heightened and intense. And I want to feel it all and cage it in words on the page.

I know I can’t stay this way all of time. It would be exhausting.

But what a relief not to fight it.

But I don’t think I can fight it and be a good writer. I have to trust myself enough to let myself go: to write freely.

We will see where it takes me from here.

And no one had died yet. At least not in real life.