The Party is Over!

The pity party is over. It doesn't endear me to my husband or make me look thinner, so I'm not going to spend any more time dwelling on the fact that I sent 443 incoherent words to published authors. I'm not going to feel bad that I didn't contemplate my creation for ten minutes before submitting it to a writing competition that won't take place again until 2012. I'm totally over it.

I tell my girls all the time that every mistake we make gives us a chance to learn something. I'm quick to point out each and every one of their mistakes so that they can learn a lot. I've even started recording them on a notepad so we can study them together after they stop crying (or bleeding, depending on the circumstances). It's that sort of dedication that produces self-confident, intelligent children. But I digress.

What I discovered is that I need to improve my writing skills. I need to study grammar and comic timing and working with word count limitations. Since I can't afford the time and financial commitment of earning a degree in English or Journalism, I'm just going to have to do it myself.

So, off I went to the local library and started checking out books.

My favorite is "You Can Write a Column!" which I snatched up because it sounded so enthusiastic. Who needs friends and loved ones to encourage you when there's a guidebook? Monica McCabe Cardoza believes that if I read her book and follow her action plan, I can be published. Who am I to disagree? Apparently, I'm only 10 chapters away from worldwide syndication!

Every 'expert' has a different point of view. Some blogs, books and articles will tell you that you'll never get published, others map out a strategy that is guaranteed to be a sure fire success. There are millions of websites that ask for submissions and hundreds of vague competitions you can enter. I have no idea where to start. Nearly everyone recommends sending query letters to local publications, but what would I send? Right now I have 8 unfinished columns ranging from packing a lunch to the Home Shopping Network. I doubt there's an editor sitting at a computer somewhere thinking, "Why hasn't anything on an exploded juice box come across my desk lately?"

Many publications ask you to include the rate of pay you expect to earn for the piece. How on earth do I calculate that? I can't base my rate on what I currently earn. I get paid $0 per hour with no benefits, unless chronic numbness of the brain is considered a perk. On top of the crummy paycheck, I'm stealing from my employer. Typing on the clock while there are untold numbers of shirts to be ironed is strictly against company policy. I should pay back my husband twenty dollars every time he comes home to find a completed article and minute rice for dinner.

Through all my research, I've found some people suggest to write what you know, while others tell you to write to your specific audience.

If I choose to write about what I know, then I'm limited to articles describing the smell coming from the garbage disposal, the pros and cons of removing the crusts from a ham sandwich, and the difficulties of cleaning cat puke from a wool rug. I don't think that is sustainable nor marketable.

If I write for my audience, then I'm going to need your help. Maybe all seven of you can get together at a Starbucks and come up with a list for me. I have no idea who you are, and frankly, I don't know why you're here. I think an explanation is in order.

Seriously though, I sincerely appreciate all of you who took the time to make me smile when I was feeling bad this week. I treasure all of your kind words, although I need to remind you that lying is a sin, even when the lie is an anonymous comment on a blogging site. Commandments aside, I appreciate your support. I can't tell you exactly why I keep posting or why I like to draw attention to it when I'm so critical. For some reason, whether I post something good or bad, it brings me an incredible amount of joy to know someone out there can relate.

I write this for every husband who's ever wondered what his wife did all day.

I write this for all the women out there who'd rather wear their husband's briefs than start a new load of laundry.

I write this for the person who warmed up yesterday's coffee and forgot their appointment with the dentist.

I write this for the mom who raided her daughter's piggy bank for latte money this morning.

I write this for anyone who's ever maxed out their credit card while stocking up on half-priced pantyhose.

I write this for every parent who has ever drawn a blank when asked, "What year was your
oldest child born?"

I write this for myself, who is guilty of all of the above and much worse.

I know I'm not alone. As long as there is a pile of dog poop to step in, a child with a mysterious rash, or a lint trap to be cleaned - I will write about it and share it with you. If you've laughed at even one of my columns, take a moment to email it to someone you hate, forward it to a local publication, or denounce it in a musical YouTube rant. That's the greatest compliment I can get. Thank you.



(c) 2010, Kelsey Robbins