Nikki Loftin

Archive for the ‘Essays’ Category

Road Trip!

It’s Conference Time again, Writer Friends! I’m off to Houston to attend the Houston Writer’s Guild fall conference. I’ll get to meet Jennifer Mattson, my friend Kim Norman’s agent, and gush about how awesome Kim is. (She is a rhyming genius.) I even get to stay with an old family friend — and take my mom along for the ride. While I’m hobnobbing with the literati glitterati, Mom will be studying for some seriously scary acupuncture finals (she’s getting the equivalent of a PhD in acupuncture for infertility treatment). Of course, we will shop ever so slightly on the way there…

Exciting things have been going on in my life. First, I bought the shoes I have been wanting since I was four years old.* (When my Grandma would take me to Solo Serve in San Antonio for school shoes every August, I would put shoes exactly like this on and teeter around the section until Grandma forced me to take them off, informing me very matter-of-factly that “those shoes were for hookers.” For a long time, hooker was at the top of my secret career list, just for the shoes. I didn’t really get what the rest of the job entailed. )

Second — and speaking of Grandmas — I had a very nice email from the editor of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series (the Grandmother edition) letting me know that my essay, Silver Hair and Snickerdoodles, should appear in the March 2011 anthology. (No confetti just yet, these things take time. A lot can happen before March.)

Last, I’m pretty sure I’ll have Holy Toast ready for readers in a few weeks (I slipped a little on the timing due to some work-for-hire for another editor), so get your tickets now! Oh, and I promise to have your manuscripts critiqued very, very soon. All of you, my darlings.

(By the way, did you know I’m teaching Zumba 6 or 7 times a week now? If I keep shaking my booty like this, it’ll fall off!)

Write well, Friends, and wear fabulous shoes while you do it.

* The shoes I got are much cuter, but you get the general idea.

Turkey Eggs

Okay, this one’s weird. Tonight, my dear friend and neighbor Sue came over to celebrate her birthday (um, by bringing over her birthday presents – chocolate-covered strawberries and muscat – to share. Take note, friends. On your birthday, YOU provide the feast!). She announced that her husband Bob had inadvertently mowed down the tall grass all around a wild turkey’s nest, and that the hen hadn’t come back to her eggs since yesterday.

Most people would say this was too bad, nature in action, yada yada. Me? I said, “Cameron, take this basket, go get those eggs, and stick ‘em under Broody (our broody hen who sits on her butt in the nesting box all day, pecking anyone who reaches in to gather the chicken eggs). We’re going to raise some turkeys.” The boys were thrilled, and I became The Coolest Country Mom ever.

Now, please don’t tell me this is a bad idea. I don’t want to know. I want to see if the eggs will hatch. And then, I want to watch Broody take care of a half dozen gangly turkeys. (We’ve decided to call them The Ugly Turklings if they do hatch.)

I’ll probably be back in a few days with news that the eggs are rotting, but who knows? Maybe I’ll be posting cute pictures like this.

In writing news, I got a check in the mail from an unexpected place. Judson Press, who publishes The Secret Place (a devotional book) has accepted – and sent my check for, hooray! – a tiny piece I sent them over eight months ago. Over Eight Months. People are pregnant for less time. I had completely forgotten about it.

So, the moral is, a la Galaxyquest –  “Never give up! Never surrender!”

Also, my beta readers are getting back to me with comments on Blessing. I am thrilled. The comments so far are helpful, and doable. I feel very hopeful I can get Blessing back to Agent Suzie by the end of the month! I have to admit, the comments of one reviewer had *me* in tears. This is how I felt.

Write well, Writer Friends! And hatch lots of lovely, fluffy plots.

Mother’s Day Essays

This month, two of my essays came out in the local parenting magazine, ParentWise:Austin. I wrote one about my mother-in-law Liz, who passed away over six years ago (leaving an enormous hole in my life) and one about my own mother, who is still around and just LOVES it when I tell funny stories about her in such a public way.

Yeah, right. Sure.

Seriously, people. Be careful when and if you have kids. You never know if one of them might turn out to be a writer, and then you’ll be in trouble. If my kids ever grow up and decide to rat out my poor parenting skills in print, they’ll have material for decades. Here’s a couple of quotes from me just this week. “Two words, kid: Foster Care.” and “I have a knife, and if you touch me one more time, I swear I will cut off your little finger.”

Yeah, I’m really not gunning for mom of the year. I’m actually a lot better off than I was a few years back, when I used to dream about calling anonymous false abuse reports in to CPS so I could get a weekend away.*

In unrelated news, I sent my Blessing in Disguise manuscript to a new set of Betas yesterday (yay) and Raymond Mahaney’s Wrong Moves went out on sub on Monday (super yay!) sent by L’Agent Extraordinaire, Miss Suzie. I have a personal goal of finishing the Gingerbread WIP by June 1, which would be a bit tricky, since that means writing, like, 8,000 words a week! But it might happen. We’ll see.

Whoever you are, have a good weekend. Write well, and if you have a mother you love, who still speaks to you even after you’ve sold the stories of all the embarrassing things she did when you were a child, and who has an excellent sense of humor about it all, congratulations. Tell her you love her so much you can’t help but write about her, and buy her a margarita with your ill-gotten gains. That’s the plan chez moi, anyway. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

*This is the part where I say I’m kidding, so no one actually does call CPS on me. Seriously, it was years ago. And I only thought it, like, a few dozen times. Wait! I mean, never. Just a joke. Move along, move along, nothing to see here.

Shameless

Writer Friends, I am pleased to report that my dear Writer Friend Lori and I both made our word quotas for the week. And that means you will not have the special treat of reading the fiery invective I had prepared — insults involving her parentage, her hygiene, and especially her writing technique — for at least another week.

That is, if she agrees to hold me accountable for another 5K next week. (Lori?)

This is a happy day. The only thing that makes me less happy is that I fully recognize the 5,000 words she sent me (to prove her accomplishment) far, far outclass the 5,000 I wrote this week. She is writing the funniest, coolest, most mind-bogglingly commercial YA rural/urban fantasy EVAH. Go, Lori, go!

Now, other news. I sold two essays today – Yay! Links in May when they appear. I am also working/writing  on my new Mac Book. Fun! Also, scary, as I am computer-challenged.

Tomorrow, I attend Chris Barton’s book party for his new picture book Shark Vs. Train at Bookpeople tomorrow. (You HAVE to check out the book trailer, free downloads, and poster at THIS SITE. Seriously, it’s genius marketing stuff. Ideas to steal for weeks.) If you have kids, know kids, or know people who have kids, you need to buy this book. Hilarious, great art, and clever.

Now, go away Internet. I have Old Novel revisions and New Novel word quotas, plus two essay ideas that keep pestering me. Must write more.

Write well, friends!

The Chickens Are Circling

My life is full of chickens. I have the actual living, clucking kind here on my pretend farm in the Hill Country, the hens who lay their darling little brown eggs, rendering every day of my life an Easter egg hunt in miniature — oh blissful country life! (Dang. Where is that sarcasm font?)  Also, I have the metaphorical kind. The chickens who come home to roost in weeks like this one. (I’m not planning to go into detail here. Suffice it to say that those long weeks and months of ignoring everything except my manuscripts, basic hygiene and housekeeping, and keeping the dogs/fish/kids/hens alive came back to bite me in the backside this week. Ouch.)

And sometimes I’m the chicken. Writer Friends, you know what I’m talking about. Too chicken to take that risk — the one that will make your writing/life stronger and more meaningful. I’ve been clucking around long enough. I think I have to act slightly more chicken-hawkish this week.

Anyway, I thought you might enjoy this for National Poetry Month. Poet Laureate Kay Ryan talks about chickens, cartoons, finding your work in unexpected places, and writing exactly what you like — NOT what the world tells you you should write.

On that note, I’m skipping church tomorrow to stay home and write just that — exactly what I like. I think the Big Guy will understand. I’ll be writing about Him anyway.

News: I had a short story for children accepted by a new online children’s magazine called Bumples. It should appear in mid-September. Hooray! Also, my essay Excellent Stock came out in Sasee magazine, although it is not featured on the website. Darn.

On the continuing education front, I went to the local SCBWI meeting today and heard author Janet Fox talk about character and plot. More on that later in the week. Write well, friends.

Winning the Silver

Hi, Writer Friends! Did any of you hear that news piece a few weeks back during the Olympics, about the relative psychological ramifications of winning the silver versus bronze medal? It went something like, yeah, gold is what you want, but if you have to win silver or bronze, you’ll be happier with bronze in the long run. The silver medalist, as it turns out, second-guesses him/herself for the rest of his/her life, while the bronze winner just thinks “Dude! I lucked out!” (Ah! Found it.)

Well, I’m no Olympian, but I think I would be happy enough with second. In fact, I won a second place today in a writing contest. Woo hoo! Also, this prize comes with money, which makes my mercenary heart go pit-a-pat. (Actually, I sent in three pieces, two kid’s short stories, and one essay. I got second place on one story, and Honorable Mentions on the other two. Not too shabby, eh?)

Still, if I had to pick one thing to keep from today, winning the prize wouldn’t even come in second. I would have to keep my kid’s faces after their games this morning – Son Number One beaming like the sun after he helped score the winning goal at his soccer game, and Son Number Two smiling with all those missing teeth as he raced for home plate. Score!

I hope you all have a week filled with whatever treasures your little heart desires. And maybe a book contract from the Easter bunny, hmm? Now THAT would be golden…

Tiny Scraps of News… Yum.

I did it. I just finished my torturing of a young boy… I mean, my revision of Raymond. Now, off to a couple of Betas to make sure I don’t just “think” I’ve pulled it off.

But I think I may have. Squeee!

And now I face the prospect of a week at least before my Blessed Betas get back to me, before L’Agent Extraordinaire finishes reading the very rough and drafty MS I sent her last week… a week where I am free to write SOMETHING NEW!!! Something fresh and sparkly, NOT revised! Wheee! Okay… should I finish that “Highlights”-esque story I started? Or fall back into my love affair with The Gingerbread School, my dark fairy-tale inspired MG? Yummy. I think THAT one. It tastes like fudge.

(Don’t worry, Writer Friends. I haven’t forgotten. The Holy Toast is my summer fun writing project. I will get it finished this year, promise. And it will be HI-larious.)

Of course, it’s also spring break for the kiddies this week. That might throw a wrench in the works…

Ooo! Tiny scraps of news: Got an email from another magazine editor who loved an essay I sent her! So, it could be in the May issue. Final word in a few weeks. Also, two anthologies with my essays in them are out and for sale: The Ultimate Christian Living, and A Cup of Comfort for Mothers.  Also, The Front Range Review with my poem, “Burn Barrels.” I do so love my name in print.

And you, Writer Friends. I love you, too.

Post-Conference Buzz

For a writer, there’s nothing like that feeling you get when you’ve been to a really great conference, and you come home fizzy and full of ideas, encouragement from your peers, and potential writerly awesomeness.

I just got home from the Best Conference Ever. (Um, the conference was Austin SCBWI, driving distance from my house, so I guess I never technically left home.) I’ve spent the past two days going over my notes, thinking about how best to blog post about all the amazing speakers. And you know what? I’m too late. A whole bunch of other conference attendees have already done it better than I would have. (Call me lazy, I don’t care. I admit it. This was also my strategy when I was it was my turn to do the dishes/clean/whatever when I was a kid. If I just went to the bathroom — yeah, usually I was reading in there — and waited long enough, my sister would do the job. And so much better than I would have!) So, in my sloth, I have decided to direct you to my friend Shelli Cornelison’s series of blog posts (Overachiever! Stop making us all look bad), and Emily Kristin Anderson’s, and then this one and this one and this one. All very good reads.

This week? I’m waiting for a bunch of good news this week (how do you like THAT attitude;-) and enjoying reading my contributor’s copy of the Ultimate Christian Living anthology that just came out with my essay in it. This one won’t be available in stores until March, so wait for it.  Also, I’m hoping to wrap up the first draft of my MG WIP, and make some headway on another one I started last week in a fit of insanity and awesomeness… whilst including the strategies the inestimable Cheryl Klein spoke about at the conference.

Write well, Writer Friends! (And don’t blame me when I post links to your well-written sites.)

Christmas Letter

Merry Christmas Eve, Blog Friends!

It’s cold in Texas today and getting colder — beginning to feel (at last) a bit like Christmas. I got a stocking stuffer this week already — an essay of mine will appear in The Ultimate Christian Living anthology, out next March. Yay! (Of course, Santa may have to work a little harder next year — what I asked for was a book deal)

To all my friends, family, and cyber-stalkers: I hope you all get the gifts you asked for. Here’s a little something to read while you’re wrapped in your blanket/Snuggie/arms of a loved one. Grab some hot cocoa, and have fun reading Nikki’s Christmas Letter (as usual, written by Dave. Thanks, Dave!).

Stay warm, sing carols, and hug everyone you can. Tonight’s Little Baby Jesus Night — it doesn’t get any better than this.

Hello, My Name is Nikki and I Write…

Give me a second and I’ll tell you, as soon as I figure it out.

I suppose I spend most of my time writing children’s fiction. So, when people who want the short answer ask what I do, I say that. (Actually, I say Middle-Grade Humor for Boys, although that’s not entirely true. My current WIP has a female protagonist). But I also send off an essay every, well, um, every week or so, to a literary journal/magazine/contest/anthology. Yeah, I know. That’s a lot of essays. And a whole bunch of them have seen print. So I’m an essayist?

Of course, I also have three (count ‘em!) puppet plays coming out in an anthology in January, and four children’s short stories that will go public sometime in 2010. So there’s that children’s fiction thing again… but the one title I never presumed to give myself is the one I’m wrestling with today: poet.

Gulp. That’s a tricky word. First, it sounds really pretentious to use it to describe yourself, and unreal. Like a joke you would write on your application for unemployment. Also, I don’t write THAT kind of poetry. You know, those poems that seem to be everywhere right now, that remind me a tangled balls of yarn made out of words. They’re just a mess, to me. Of course, that could be because I’m too thick to untangle their meanings. Very possible.

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is this: I have had another poem accepted by a literary journal: Front Range. I am delighted, and humbled, and confused. Poets, to me, are rare creatures. Special, in a “not at all like me” sense.

I’m not sure real poets read vampire romances and books of fart jokes and drink strawberry margaritas.

What do you think?