We were going along as always, making plans, sniping and hugging, irritated and proud of each other and just like that, he left.

And suddenly, I’m single.

A widow.

A woman without a best friend. Without  someone to fight and make up with. Without the single pair of arms that made  me feel safe.

It wasn’t suppose to be this way.

And may God bless us all.

I did not write the 5th Edition of THIS BUSINESS OF BOOKS.

So I’m doing that one now. This January, 2010. Really. I mean it. Absolutely for reals. I may have to buy an interest in Mars Candy Company to recoup my investment in M&Ms to get through it, but I’m doing it. Right now. Seriously.

For six years now—six years?!  What’s the matter with you? Just write the damn thing!—I’ve promised myself to slam-dunk this revision in a matter of ten to fourteen days. A month at the outside. Six, eight weeks, tops. Definitely within a fiscal quarter.

And for six years—six years?!—I’ve found good reason to not even crack the thing open. I had clients’ work to do. I was backed up on my bookkeeping. It was still selling as is. I had other stuff to write. I didn’t want to self-publish again and I didn’t want to create a proposal. I’d gotten two negative reviews (out of about forty-five or fifty, the rest all positive —so sue me, I’m an author, just like you). Other books had taken its place. I didn’t know what I wanted to change.

I didn’t want to do all that work.

But this year—this glorious 2010 year, this tenth year since we stopped saying “nineteen” and started saying “two thousand” and now say “twenty,” this fantabulous year wherein my husband goes forth with his reinvigorated career, my daughter and her fiancée move to Boston, I sell SECRETS OF A GHOSTWRITER and even find a new agent for HIRED BODIES—this year I’m knuckling down and doing the 5th Edition.

In fact, I’ve already started. Mostly by pretty much catching up on everything else so I have no excuse left, but also by making notes in the margins of my desk copy. I’ve created a new file with a new file name that I can fold, spindle, and mutilate. I’ve collected articles and URLs with important albeit already outdated information. I’ve figured out exactly what I want to change and how I’m going to adjust the cover. I’ve determined the best BISAC Subject heading. I’ve even seriously thought about maybe starting a possible book proposal!

Whew! Is it time to take a break yet?

But no—I slog on. Neither rain nor sleet nor beckoning dirty toilets shall stay me from actually rewriting the obsolete stuff, editing the perennial stuff, updating the transient stuff, and throwing out the rest. The revision-needy text and its accompanying diagrams, tables, and sheaf of amendments sits right here before me, slightly right of my monitor, on the very top of the manuscript pile, obvious, relentless, demanding. I shall persevere. I shall overcome. I shall write the 5th edition.

But as Harry Truman would say: don’t quote me, that’s strictly off the record.

Yup, here we are again at the end of another tough year. But since it wasn’t as tough as 2008, making that list of things I did right is going to be a lot easier, right?

Of course. Because, as I wrote last year, it’s far too easy to look back and come up with everything you did wrong over the past twelve months–besides, where does that get you? Maudlin on NYE, and making a lot of ridiculous promises to not do this and absolutely do that to compensate for everything you messed up or didn’t do in the past.  Forget it.

I’d rather focus on the things I did right. That way I can start the new year feeling good about myself, and let any resolutions reinforce that forward motion. I’ve been doing this for years–about seventeen, come to think of it! I just wish I’d remember to make the list as I go through the months. But I never do, so memory must serve…

First and above all else, I hung in with my husband as he bounced from good to bad to worse and finally, to getting his life under real, permanent control thanks to a tiny little pill and a highly intuitive doctor. Thank you, and you’re welcome. (And a thank you to him for hanging in with me.)

I supported my daughter’s decision to leave school again while the others kept going. She’s waiting for them to catch up to her, credits-wise, and trying to figure out her life. I can’t really help, but I can get out of her way. Which I did. And that’s a good thing.

I nailed the structure and requisites for Ghostwriter Certification Training, and got eight people through the entire course while editing and tweaking the textbook’s contents. I think that counts as two good things. Maybe three. Whatever, I’ve helped change people’s lives for the better, and that counts for the list.

I helped a fellow writer figure out how to get her book into colleges. A BIG good thing.

I helped a wonderful new writer strengthen her novel and her skills. Yes, I know that’s my job, but she was a special case, and it took a degree of sacrifice to get  through the entire book. Both were definitely worth it. A good, good thing.

I accepted help. A lot of help. I even accepted the bizarre notion that I’m not Wonder Woman and can’t do it all myself. Very tough; very, very tough. But I did it. I even asked for it. I’m counting that as two, because the level of difficulty should affect the degree of goodness.

My list, my rules. Make your own list if you don’t like it.

What else? I gave away a lot of vital information to a lot of people. Not sold; gave away. The business people in my life don’t think that’s such a good thing, but I do. Oh, wait! I also charged for some advice! Asked upfront, “Will this would be Mastercard or Visa?” just like I’m suppose to do. So I’m counting that as two.

Yeah, I take it both ways.

What else, what else…? Ah ha! I started reading my “quirky/difficult” novel at my critique group. They’d asked me to bring something in, so I finally did. Most are sorry they asked, but a couple people are enjoying it. This book has been a touchstone in my life for a long time. No matter what else I write, my soul is wrapped up in HIRED BODIES. After two agents couldn’t sell it, I’d decided to put it in a drawer. Now that I’ve taken it back out, I find I still love it, and have even begun looking for another agent to try, try again. Absolutely, that’s a good thing.

Which leads to a bad thing linked to a good: I left my old agent and signed with a new one to sell SECRETS OF A GHOSTWRITER. Why was such a sad parting a good thing? I needed to infuse my author career with some energy. My old agent and I had gotten too complacent with each other. Another tough, painful step, but I did it. Doing tough stuff I’ve put off facing for years is absolutely a painfully good thing.

Where am I so far? Ten or thirteen, depending on how you count. My criteria; agree to thirteen.

Hmmm… anything else? Marilyn! I accepted Marilyn Jenett’s friendship and guidance into my life, which doesn’t sound like a good thing to have done, just a good thing to have happened. But since I am so resistant to close to new people, and since it took a conscious act, not to mention a leap of faith, I’m counting it as doing a good thing. No, make that a GREAT thing, because Marilyn has made a remarkable difference in my life, and I cannot recommend her FEEL FREE TO PROSPER  program enough. And no, I don’t get paid to say that. So that’s fourteen.

Oh, I bought Marilyn’s program for my sweet, wonderful, life-in-tandem sister -by-love. Definitely a good, good number fifteen.

I listened to my daughter’s ideas about how to commercialize SECRETS OF A  GHOSTWRITER. No, we haven’t made it happen yet, but the concept is wonderful and I listened instead of simply saying no. Absolutely, that was a good thing. Sixteen.

I reconnected with a friend without making undue demands on her. Another toughie. I’m counting it. Seventeen.

Finally, I made a major financial mistake this year. Major. Not bright. Easily avoided. Felt like an idiot for doing what I did. What a dumb thing to have done. But I’m going to flip it around, like a poorly constructed piece of writing, and see the good in it: I will never do anything like that ever again. I promise me. And if learning from an expensive lesson isn’t a good thing, I don’t know what is.

I think that’s it. Looking back, it’s been a remarkably healthy, growing year. I anticipate 2010 will be even more so, and I close the year with this blessing:

May you enjoy health, prosperity, rich friendships, and abundant good fortune through the coming year, and may you find yourself writing out a twenty item “Good Things I Did” list twelve months from today.

Happy New Year!

It’s been a week of meetings: phone meetings, meetings in coffee shops, meetings in bookstores, meetings in restaurants. My brain is full of meeting lint and apparently will not work again until thoroughly cleaned out with either fudge or … fudge.

Hey, there’s an idea! Perhaps I should make some fudge. It won’t make this blog anymore readable or get the newsletter any closer to being sent, but it will make me happy.

To have fudge.

Which is a very happy thing.

I go now to prepare chocolate wonderness.

Wish me luck…

Questions? Call 1-800-641-3936

There are no words to describe how difficult it is to type with a cat on my lap. He wants his ears rubbed, so he’s rubbing them my arm as my fingers move over the keys. And why you are not seeing the process, I am going back to retype every othe word because his need for pettin’s is negatively impacting my prowess. I’ve put him down four times and he, thinking it’s a game, immediately jumps back up on the desk and plops himself back in my lap. How’s a girl to ghostwrite?

I shall blog again when my hands are free.

So I’ve decided to blog. The upside of this conviction is that it takes me away from rewriting a section of Secrets of a Ghostwriter I don’t feel like looking at because it entails doing some research, which means getting up from my chair and walking out of my office and actually finding the title I need to support that particular passage.

Would I ever balk at doing such a minor task if I were working on a client’s manuscript? Of course not! I get paid to complete those books. And hence, the subject of this blog: completion and its easy avoidance.

I spoke to a creative writing/critique class last week, and someone asked me how long it would take me to write a client’s novel from scratch. Without hesitation, I said, “Ten to twelve months.” Because that’s how long it would take. If it was a major work, maybe fourteen months, but  never longer. I write on deadline for my clients.

Not so for myself.

Have you ever noticed that? What we can whip out for pay we mosey along with for personal expression.

Another writer’s meeting got me to thinking about audience. Whether ghosting fiction or nonfiction for a client, I’m always aware of the potential reader. Yet, I confess, when I work on my own novels, I never give audience a first thought much less a second. I write entirely for my own enjoyment, completely for myself. I write the story I want to read — in fact, that’s why I write it, so I can read it (and not forget it).

Here’s another confession: I apparently never told the agent who first represented my first novel that it was autobiographical; I only made up one character, who turned out to be a composite of … never mind. The point is, all the other characters in the book were me.

Now she has to re-read it, she says. Hmmm.

I also haven’t told my current agent that I not only have come to realize the book will never find a publisher — it’s about three clicks past David Sedaris as far as quirky, about two clicks past Rosanne Barr grabbing her groin as far as uncomfortable (in spots), and about a click and a half past Al Franken’s Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Liar as far as outrageous — but that when my tiny little publishing company puts it out, the cover is going to be a plain brown wrapper.

This is no politically correct Pulitzer contender.

All that said, by now you must admit I’ve avoided working on that passage long enough that it’s too late for my mind to concentrate on finishing it. I’ll start again in the morning — except, of course, I have a meeting first thing and have to get in touch with somebody else — anybody else — shortly thereafter. But I will finish the rewrite. I will. Seriously. Soon.

I really mean it.

This has nothing to do with being able to write “2009″ instead of “2008″ on letters, checks, and memos. It has more to do with my visual image of time passing. This part of the year is crystal clear in those visualizations but never quite present in my physical experiences.

Mine is the mind of a ghostwriter. We are not normal people. We are not even normal writers. We are invisible. We are ghosts.

I also start every year with a padful of plans and goals. I rearrange furniture. I make new alliances. I re-invigorate old ones. I sadly put away (every year) those jeans that are now either too small, too large, or just too worn. It never fails; January is goodbye beloved jeans month.

And so the year starts.

For 2009 I have even more plans and goals, but, alas, fewer stores of energy. I need to accomplish all my wondrous dreams and ambitions between the hours of 9 AM and 5 PM for a change. A normal work day for most people, but not,as y’all know, for ghosts, who tend to work from early morn to past nightfall.

This is also the time of year when I dream of doing something else–almost anything else–other than write. Fact is, I’ve written. I no longer feel that craving first-time authors have to “have written.” I’ve done wrote. I’ve wrotted lotsa stuff. Muy good stuff. Some not-so-good stuff. Several more than a few bad stuffs. Been there, done that. Book #100 came and went. It was accompanied by no trumpets. No band struck a chord or sounded a flourish. No parade marched past my window, no confetti needed sweeping up.

Instead, I received an email from a college instructor asking when I’d be coming out with the Fifth Edition of This Business of Books.

Never fear, I answered her: “Soon.” In fact, I’ve been answering “Soon” to that oft-repeated question for quite some time now. Book #101 and 102 passed, and still I answered, “Soon.” But, alas, I fear it is a lie, for I am blowing all my time working on the 2nd edition of Secrets of a Ghostwriter instead. And creating a series of booklets called Better Papers Mean Better Grades. And rewriting chapters for my historical-romance client. And planning and teaching classes and workshops.

Not to mention cleaning the toilet. Contemplating my need for a manicure. Musing about finding a partner to play gin. Toying with the possibility of moving a picture from one wall to another. Making piles of receipts to input and constructing lists to check off.

Hmmm… is it possible I’m avoiding the 5th Edition of This Business of Books?

O, Me, say it isn’t so!

Sorry, Me, I think it is. Buck up, kiddo, it’s just another version of a book you’ve written five times that is still selling even though you refuse to market it. It’ll be fun!

Oh sure, says me. But what about me?

Enough! I thought this blog was suppose to be about ghostwriting!

It is! Except when it’s not.

Which is pretty much my state of mind come every January. I have not written the 5th Edition now for five years. This is the year–it says so right on my list of plans and goals–that I finish the 2nd Edition of Secrets and put together the 5th Edition of TBOB.

And this time, as Larry Miller would say, I really mean it.

Twitter this at http://tinyurl.com/5vhjwf

Every December/January I make a list of things I did right during the previous year. It’s soooo much easier to list all the things I did wrong, but I force myself to look at the positive so I can spring forward into the new year knowing that, even during the toughest of times, I nevertheless step up to the plate more than I allow myself to realize.

Do you do that? Look back and dwell on all the mistakes you made? Maybe that’s the whole point of those lengthy holiday letters people send out; they focus on all the good. But that’s the good of the family, not the good of the individual. It’s o, so very easy to extol family, friends, and circumstances, isn’t it? Not so much, at least for some of us, to truly appreciate our own positive deeds. I normally do this in private, but what the heck–time to take the great leap and try it in public.

This is the year my husband, who had been ill for over a year, got much, much worse–as bad as it gets without getting to the end. Then in mid Fall, he came back! He’s now almost fully recovered, back to making music, and “sprung forward” into serious leadership and maturity. Nothing like a near-death experience to put things into perspective, eh? Can’t really claim any responsibility for his recovery except from a distance: I provided the support that allowed him to get through his personal hell and come out the other side. I guess I can take that as something I did right these last two years.

Hey, it’s my list, I’m taking it!

I got all four kids (one birth child, three acquired by love–don’t ask; long story) back into college, figured out how to cover the costs they couldn’t cover themselves,  helped and encouraged when needed, and stayed out of the way (mostly) when not. The staying out of the way may have been the hardest part. Nevertheless, they’re all doing well, getting good grades, and ready for next semester, so I’m taking that as something else I did right

Again, my list, not yours. You don’t agree, make your own list.

I had a major emotional/psychological melt-down in May, the first real “break” of my life. (As I said, lots of ebb.) Discarded my birthday as a result and almost punted my career in the process. But I gritted my teeth, dealt with the breakage as my brother-by-love would say, worked through the pain, and finished a excessively difficult manuscript for an extremely demanding client by deadline–some of my best ghost work so far, in fact. So yeah, I’m definitely counting that fortitude and diligence in the face of drastic strain as something I did right.

That makes three. Not bad.

My daughter drove my beloved ’91 Honda Civic Wagon with its almost 360-degree visibility into a telephone pole, cracking her lower back and utterly totaling the car. Talk about mixed emotions! If she had been going 5 mph faster or was 20 lb. thinner, she’d be as dead as the Honda. My baby recovered, but my baby died. I don’t think I can count it as a good thing that I did not smother her in the hospital bed for killing my car. It only had 230,000 miles on it! It coulda run for another 100,000 miles, easy! *sigh* No, I don’t think I did anything right in that situation. I did my mom stuff and said the right things–I even meant them–but six months later I’m still mourning my auto-baby. No–no points for me here. Let it go, let it go, let it go. Working on it.

What else? Came up with what I thought was a tremendous idea: ghostwrite a great story in public. In fact, I still think it’s a tremendous idea; just have been so busy with all of the above I haven’t had a chance to get its wheels off the ground yet. But it helps Ron (the author), it helps Wayne the artist, it’s entertaining for history buffs and online readers, it’s educational for students and aspiring authors and beginning ghosts. Yeah, ReadAsWritten.com was a great idea.

I’m taking it.

That makes four.

Hmmmm … anything else?

Oh, yeah! I promised myself I’d finish each chapter of the second edition of my text on ghostwriting in time for each week’s class–and I pulled it off! Could feel little bits and pieces of my mind dropping away as the weeks went by, but I made my own deadline. Now all I have to do is rewrite, edit, and publish. Ha! Piece of cake (she wrote, laughing hysterically beneath her breath).

Five. I made it to ten one year. Not so much in 2008.

Let’s see, going down the list: didn’t do much for my parents this year. Had a reapproachment with my dad, but he initiated, not me. Still, it’s a very, very good thing and I could have easily responded the wrong way. I’ll give myself a half since it took both of us. Didn’t do anything wonderful for any of my friends this year–broke in May, remember? Have hardly spoken to most of them until recently. Had a great class this Fall, but that was, again, a mutual thing with the students so … okay, I’ll take the other half. That makes six.

I think I’m going to count as the last thing I did right this year the fact that I started to learn to let people help me. Very tough nut for me to crack. As a writer I am by nature and definition a loner. I tend to do for myself when sometimes, maybe more times, I need to let someone else do for me. Toward that end, my husband and I made our daughter Chief Operations Officer of the company, and I have promised myself (and her, of course) that I will step back and let her do her job. It’s the right thing to do, and letting other people take pieces of the elephant off my plate is such a major struggle for me that I think it’s reasonable for the count. Perhaps including it will remind me next year to stick with that course. One never knows, do one?

That’s it. Seven. Did LOTS more things wrong, of course. But I did seven things right this year. Can’t compare with the year I flew to Arizona and drove my husband’s piano home from his mother’s house as a birthday surprise. Or the year I rescued my daughter from her school’s hate campaign. Or the year I helped save a friend’s life.  Or the year I drove my sister-by-love’s moving van to New Mexico. But as tough years go, not as bad as had I thought before I started this piece.

Oh, yeah, I did one more thing right: I helped break the color barrier of the White House and change our international image. I helped renew the country’s sense of hope, not to mention my own. I voted for Obama. I have no illusions that he can singlehandedly fix all of America’s ills in the next four years, but I have hope that things will get better. I’m counting that as eight.

As a side note, I’ve somehow gotten a number of hits on this site from people searching for the word “penis.” I don’t know why. Until this blog, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned the word “penis” before. Of course, now I’ve mentioned it twice. And it’s not a bad word, but it’s certainly not something I’ve done deliberately, so I can’t exactly count that as doing something right. However, if you’re looking to increase the hits on your site,you might try sprinkling “penis” in here and there. In an arena as intimately impersonal as the Internet, it’s an interesting glitch in the ethersystem. Just a thought, not something I particularly did right. You’ll note it is not in my tags. Hmmm–wonder what would happen if it was? NO! Bad thought! *slaps* Bad bad thought.

Here’s my Right Thought for 2009: may we all have a healthy, properous, gratifying, and productive year with scads more Elliott Wave flow than ebb. Goodbye 2008! As William Shatner’s Kirk said as he kicked Christopher Lloyd’s Klingon over the cliff, “I have had enough of you!”

So I gave her permission to not be current. I also gave her permission to not know everything she needs to know about the book business, because there is too much to know for anyone to know everything. I have no cosmic authority to bestow such permission, but my friend felt better for receiving it.

It gave her pause; it made her realize that no one can possibly keep up with the news from so many sources (so we get a variety of perspectives, of course), plus the news of their own industry, plus the new techniques and innovations of the web and other media AND still have the time to get their own work done.

Sometimes it’s even too much to get through all the newsletters that condense the daily changes. We’re not only suffering from information overload, we’re battered by excessive information availability.

So here’s my global Holiday gift for all my female readers who have the weight of the world on their shoulders and flaming whips urging them ever onward:

This is a reusable gift that flourishes when given away.

Unless you’re dealing with fire, flood, chest pains, difficulty breathing, or copious blood loss, you have my permission to stop, sit, and daydream about totally irrelevant matters. And to eat something that makes you happy.

This isn’t Oz and I don’t have a curtain and giant head, but the Great Ghost hath spoken.

You have my permission to not be perfect today.