The Fifth Semester: A Writing/Residency Program

Do you want help with your writing but can't seem to find a mentor or a program that fits your lifestyle or your skill level? The Fifth Semester is worth looking into. In fact, I don't 'highly recommend' much, but if I were to design what I considered the perfect writing program, this would be it. Well, maybe I'd add men in kilts, but other than that, The Fifth Semester is the perfect writing program for anyone who wants to write a book or improve their craft. 

Even though the website has a wealth of information, I always like to know more. The Directors of The Fifth Semester were kind enough to answer all of my questions, and I'm passing this information on to you. Check out the website, read the questions and answers below, and if you want more information, email them today.

I'm going to put my disclaimer right here: I have no financial interest in this program whatsoever. My interest is in good writing. Many writers want help; they need help. I have worked with three of the five faculty members listed for The Fifth Semester and can honestly say without them, I would not be where I am now--and I'm in a good place.
  
 Sure, Craig Childs made me eat a rock, but it did make that chapter sing!

IS THIS ONLY FOR PEOPLE WHO HAVE AN MFA?

No not at all. It’s really for anyone who has a book idea, a few chapters or manuscript that they have always wanted to work on but don’t know where to go next.  It’s for dreamers and do-ers and writers who are serious about giving the writing dream a real go. People who appreciated a well-organized program that doesn’t waste their time or money.

DO I NEED TO HAVE A MANUSCRIPT IN HAND WHEN I DO THIS, OR CAN I WRITE ONE IN THE FOUR MONTHS?

The program adapts to wherever a writer is on the path to publishing. If you come to us with an idea, we’ll talk about how to make that idea a book and then put you in front of publishing professionals to get their take on it. If you come with a full manuscript, we will help you put the finishing polish on it, set it up for the query and pitch, and then give you time with editors and agents to hear their honest thoughts. Fifth Semester instructors have already successfully navigated this landscape and are doing it themselves, every day, as they continue to publish.

Ann Wertz Garvin

WILL YOU CODDLE ME ALL THE WAY?

Ann was given a great compliment about her teaching recently by a former student who said, “You don’t pamper but you’re not a bitch either. You support and encourage and then step in when needed.” This is exactly how we teach at The Fifth Semester.

We’re writers, so we know how personal writing can be. But we’re writers, so we also know what it takes to win over agents, editors, and readers. We’ll walk this very fine line with your project, and in doing so, give you the best value for your money and best shot at publication.

THAT’S A LOT OF MONEY. CAN YOU GUARANTEE SOMEONE WILL PUBLISH MY BOOK?

What is it that Clint Eastwood once said — If you want a guarantee, buy a toaster? All kidding aside, some students will find agents and editors interested in their work (check out the Feathers in Our Cap for a few examples). But publishing is a wild and fickle business, and we can’t guarantee representation.  What we can guarantee is this: we will work our absolute hardest to help make your manuscript as attractive as possible to agents and editors, and when it’s all over, you’ll have information, understanding, and the inside track on publishing. You will meet publishing professionals and have real conversations with them that are not limited to pitching your work in a 5-minute “speed dating” set-up. That’s a combination you can’t get from a book editor or conference alone.

WHAT KIND OF ‘WORKSHOPS’ ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

We will have writing workshops that focus on the craft of prose, plot, and point of view presented in such a way that even authors who come in strong on these aspects will become stronger writers. We love talking about description, conflict, emotion, and even, at times, humor. At the second residency we will discuss platform, promotion, social media, and the business of writing. And, some of the best fun comes when we help authors craft their query, build their agent list and practice pitching.

HOW MANY STUDENTS ARE AT EACH RESIDENCY?

Student numbers will vary. Depending on lodging and instructor availability we may have as few as eight or  as many as twenty.

IS THERE A PAYMENT PLAN AVAILABLE? SCHOLARSHIPS? FINANCIAL AID?

Students can put a (non-refundable) $500 down to hold a spot, with the balance due on the first of the month BEFORE their chosen semester begins (for example: if a particular semester begins on August 4th, payment in full is due by July  1st). We are working to find a source of scholarships. That is our next plan!

IS FOOD INCLUDED IN THE RESIDENCY FEE?

It’s probably easier to talk about what isn’t included in the $3,980. Residency fees include all lodging for both the Chicago and NYC long weekends, as well as a light breakfast, catered lunch, and a hor d’overes and wine reception each night at both residencies. We want people to have free time at night to eat together or apart from the group, and if they’d like, to try out the local dining scene. There are restaurants near both residency locations for easy take-out or eating in, and public transportation abounds.

WHAT GENRE/GENRES DO YOU WORK WITH? OR PREFER?

Our instructors have taught and published across genres. If you have a project in a genre or sub-genre that we aren’t as familiar with, we’ll get an instructor on board who is.

I WANT TO SELF PUBLISH. IS THIS STILL FOR ME?

Yes! Self-publishing requires all of the same things as traditional publishing: a great story, flawlessly-told, and the ability to both understand book publicity and execute a marketing plan.

COFFEE OR TEA?

What, no wine? What do you have against wine? Seriously, though, we’ll provide all of the glass-worthy things a writer might need to write. And snacks, to boot.

CAN I BRING MY WIFE? KID? DOG?

No. We’re sure they’re lovely, but no. This is your time for you to focus on writing. Your time. Out there is their time. (Goonies reference, anyone?)

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The Right Way to Publish a Book

I recently, finally, signed a publishing contract for my Southern noir crime novel, They Call Me Crazy.  I say finally because it has been two years since I finished the book, which by the sands of a publishing hourglass, I hear, is no time at all. But, I work hard and fast on everything, and for me, two years was a long, long time. So now I have a publishing contract, and a year from now, I should have a book.

I'm not going to tell you to keep working, keep going, keep trying---it's not my job to motivate anyone in this business because honestly, it's a hard business to stay positive in. It's filled with rejection, self-doubt, and in most cases, very little return on your creative investment. But I am going to tell you this; there is a 'right' way to publish a book, and finally,  I know what that right way is.

As writers, we have choices. We can self publish, go with a small, independent publisher, work with a medium press, contract with a bigger press or one of the Big Five. We can choose to query agents to help in this process, we can rely on our attorneys to read contracts or we can simply go it alone. We can query by email, we can go to conferences and meet people 'in the know', we can incorporate the services of book cover artists and editors, or again, we can do all of these things ourselves. We can even choose not to publish at all.

With all of these options, how can I possibly say there is a 'right' way to publish? I almost self published and changed my mind when the business side of it began to overwhelm me before it even began. I queried some publishers on my own, then found an agent who queried more, then made corrections, adjustments to my manuscript and queried again. Basically, I used the Hot Oatmeal Method: throw it at a wall and see if it sticks.  Is that the 'right' way? Well, it worked...

I have friends who are happy and successful in self publishing, small press publishing, hybrid publishing and traditional publishing.  What do they all have in common? At some point, they sat down and thought about what they wanted, what they needed, from this thing called publishing. They were honest with themselves and with others about their needs, their time expectations and what they were willing to do to promote and publish their own work. As individual as their manuscripts, they had a plan, based on their goals and their work.

 Had I been a bit more informed about all of these options and had I been a tad more in touch with what I really wanted for myself and my work, this process would have been more  streamlined than it was. I'm certain I would have found my way to the exact same destination, contracting with a smaller press as I have, but I also feel like had I taken the time to really evaluate my goals and my work, the journey would have been less stressful than it was.  Had I not listened to those that tried to tell me the 'right' way to do this I might have realized that everyone has their OWN way.

The 'right' way is your way. Don't let anyone tell you differently.

It really is that simple. And that difficult. 

They Call Me Crazy--coming soon from Red Adept Publishing

Narcolepsy and Writing

My friend Jen Boissonneault wrote a blog post about dreams, which in turn inspired another friend, Natalie Kenney, to blog about dreams, and I thought this would be a good time to jump on the dreamwagon. My dreaming is a little different than most because I have Narcolepsy.

Jen and Natalie. I was probably napping somewhere.

Not the "I'm-just-tired-all-the-time-so-I'll-claim-an-illness" kind, but the real thing. Although I'm sure I've had it for decades, I was officially diagnosed about ten years ago, and my life definitely changed.  I've tried all of the medicine on the market, but found the side effects were more than I could handle, so I adjusted my lifestyle. I sleep four times a day, for a few hours at a time. It's currently 3am, and yes, I am writing this post. I now schedule every part of my day and if my schedule is interrupted, it can be very distressing.

 I experience cataplexy almost daily, so I have learned to control my emotions. I love to laugh, but I make sure when I do, I am sitting down, or at least holding on to something. Otherwise, I may fall down. Sleep paralysis I experience quite frequently, and although I should be use to it, it is still frightening every time.

So what does all of that have to do with writing and dreams? I'm getting there. First a nap...

While many people have difficulty falling asleep and then typically take an hour or more to reach the first phase of REM sleep, I don't. My non-REM periods, the 'brain resting phase' of sleep,  are very brief. Typically, I'm asleep in less than five minutes of my head hitting the pillow; my husband claims it's more like less than a minute. But although it may appear that I'm sleeping at first, I'm really not. I go through periods of hypnagogic hallucinations, which many artists, like Beethoven and Salvador Dali, said aided their creativity. Some, maybe, but most are frightening. They seem more real than reality, if you can imagine something like that. And it is the one time during my sleep period that I don't realize I am actually asleep. I once called 911 during this period and told the operator there was someone in my house and my husband had been shot. I could smell the gunpowder. Yeah, explain that one to the cops at 2am.

Then, finally, I get to the good stuff. The REM sleep, the dream state. This is the best part, not only because I dream lucidly every time, but because I can control my actions in my dreams. There's a fancy medical term for that, too, but basically, if I'm having a nightmare, I just change it. I turn monsters in to puppies, or I fly away. I like to jump off buildings and mountains and then catch myself just before I hit ground. Call it my dream hobby. I guess this is my sleep reward for making it through the hallucinations without going crazy.

Then I wake up, almost directly from REM, and can go right back to whatever I was doing before my nap. And, yes, I do this at least four times a day.

So, of course I have the cataplexy to deal with, and my brain will eventually burn out from lack of rest, if I don't die of a heart attack during a horrifying hallucination first, but there are benefits,  as a writer.

My creativity meter is always on high. I've found myself 'creating' a scene in a dream, watching it, changing it, smelling it, feeling it, and then waking up to write it. The middle of the night is my most productive time, because the house is quiet, I've just had a two hour bout of inspiration, and can sit down and write non- stop for hours.

Then it starts all over again.

Please check out Jen Boissoneault's blog post about dreams facts and Natalie Kenney's blog post about her own dreams as inspiration for writing.Then feel free to jump on the dream wagon with us this week!

32 Years to Write a Novel

Recently, someone mentioned that they were thinking of writing a book and asked me how long it takes to write an entire novel. This person knows I love to write and that I work for hours each day at the craft, and I guess he assumed all writers are alike. It's like building a house, right? A professional contractor can construct an average house in 60 days, so surely there is a standard time frame on writing the average book.  

 My response: It takes 32 years to write a novel.

In January, 2009, I began writing what I call a 'big book', Ragtown, a historical novel set during the building of the Hoover Dam. I finished it in November, 2011 and in December of that year, started querying it.  The exciting thing about that time was the quick responses I had to look at pages, which only convinced me that yes, it was a 'big book'.  I started writing a second novel in January. Might as well have the next one ready, right?

What was not nearly as exciting about that time were the rejections.  The writing they loved, the story they loved, but 1.and 2.and 3.and... After several months of this, I had to face the fact that although I loved the story, all of the comments I had received were valid. And it was time to kill my darlings.

It's not that I have a problem revising, not at all. But no one could pinpoint exactly what it was that Ragtown needed or lacked.  I certainly couldn't, as I was too close to the manuscript, and I tweaked and cut and added and reworded and...until I felt brain fluid leaking out my nose.  The problem was definitely in the first 75 pages, but, what, exactly? Four well established professional authors, two editors, twelve critical readers and thirty rejections later, I still wasn't satisfied.

So I started with page 1. I know that sounds like the obvious place to start, but for a writer, it's 'easier' to just revise what you've written. However, I had a half completed manuscript stuck in a drawer that I just decided wasn't the book I wanted to write, so I knew it was the right way to go.  And I began:

Once Upon A Time, in a land where hand cramps and eye strain rule...

I rewrote the first 75 pages. And again. And again. And again. Back through the channels of editors, writers, readers and rewrote again. And again. And again.

Today, 3 years and 1 month after I began this 'big book', I am satisfied--no, thrilled--with the first 28 pages.  28? What happened to 75? Well, after reading all of the comments from those above, I figured out the problem.  Going through the rest of the manuscript is proving to be--I don't want to use the word easy, because writing is not an easy game--but manageable. I know the problem. I know how to fix it, and I'm burning through pages now like a wildfire on crack.

Since I'm a tireless worker and don't seem to require much sleep, I should have it completed and ready to attack the query trail again in just a few months. I'm excited about it this time: for the right reasons.

3 years and 30 days to finally be satisfied with 28 pages. That is 32 years to write an entire novel.  Sound easy? Go for it.

Now querying THEY CALL ME CRAZY

Soon to rise from the depths of the Colorado River:  RAGTOWN (again)  

Christmas Fiction: The Fix-It Box

Trees are going up, Santa is on every corner and parties are everywhere.  But Christmas is also a very difficult time for so many people.  Please remember to keep them in your hearts.  

I wrote this short story ten years ago and thought I would share it this week.  I hope you enjoy.  

The Fix-It Box

by Kelly Gamble

Poker in hand, I watch as the small fire burns in the fireplace. I can attack the logs and attempt to stir the flames, or I can let them die naturally. This is my first fire, and I'm not very good at it. Frustrated, I lie in the middle of the floor, small bicycle parts surrounding me, strung in every direction. With Christmas morning only hours away, I am considering giving up. I am not much of a single parent, and would have never chosen to be one. But David made that choice for me.

Slowly, the fire burns, hanging on to what life it has. I try not to focus on the dancing flames. They entrance me and keep me from the task at hand.  As is typical of this time of year, my mind is flooded with memories and although I am trying to focus on the assembly of my son’s bicycle, I am overwhelmed by the thoughts of those who have tried to help me over the past year.   

My family has tried to convince me that I am not to blame. They tell me that I should get on with my life and try to forget the past. My father calls David a coward; my mother never mentions his name. Jacob, my brother, at a loss for anything else to say, simply reminds me in his cheerful tone to ‘keep my chin up.’  None of them will be over for Christmas this year.

I look at the directions again, this time attempting the Spanish version. I don't speak Spanish, but it sure can't hurt. My anger grows as I realize what a waste of time this is. I at least need tools, but I can't bring myself to go to the shed where David kept his fix-it box. That was his place, and I'm not ready to enter it.   

I have talked to three counselors. They wait while I voice my questions, then wait again for me to answer them myself. If I had the answers, why would I spend what little money I have on them?   I have quit going to therapy, quit trying to make sense of the nonsensical.  There are no answers.  He left no note, he showed no sign that he was unhappy. Although I have never considered death a choice, it is the choice David made.

I consider throwing the directions in the fire.  There are too many pieces; the puzzle is too much for me.  Instead, I regain my supine position amongst the parts and cover my eyes with the paper.

I try not to think selfishly, but it's the little things I miss the most. Someone to change the light bulbs, to fix the television, to make sure the oil is changed in the car; someone to put a bicycle together for our eight-year-old son. Jimmy. He's now the man in the family and tries to protect and comfort me. It's hard for me to look at him sometimes. I can't remember when I last saw him smile.

As I lay among the pieces, I scream. "I hate you for what you did to us!" Then I curl into a ball, crying myself to sleep as I often do; missing David's smile, his scent, his touch.

I wake when I feel a cold chill as the front door opens. I turn as I hear it close, and see my husband, dressed for the weather, standing in the entry.  As he removes his coat, he looks at me and forces a smile. I cannot speak.  Closer, closer he moves toward me and sits with me amongst the puzzle.  He looks into my eyes, and touches my cheek.

"I'm sorry," he whispers with finality, as if there is nothing more to say.

I have no way to respond. I watch silently as he begins putting together the bike, using the tools from the fix-it box he thought to get from the shed. He talks as he works, showing me how to use the many gadgets that are in his precious box. "You can fix just about anything with this stuff," he says as he begins replacing the tools in their designated slots.

"But not everything," I manage to whisper.

I want to know why he chose to leave us, but I am afraid to ask. More importantly, desperately, I just want him to stay. Without looking into his face, I say, "I can't do this without you."

He leans toward me, gently kisses my forehead and traces the tear that runs down my cheek. "I will always love you," he whispers as he stands and turns to leave.  As I feel the cold chill of winter rush in again, I realize David has no answers.  There is no reason, no resolution.  If he cannot account for his actions, why do I continue to expect an explanation?  I cannot continue to allow myself to die inside because he chose not to live.  Suicide was David’s choice; it is not mine.   

I wake Christmas morning to the sound of Jimmy running down the hall. I'm sure I look a fright, still in my clothes from the night before, but Jimmy's eyes are focused on the bike: or what resembles one.  He kisses me on the forehead, just as his father used to do, and says “Merry Christmas, Mommy.”

It is our first winter without David. The laughter that had always filled our home on Christmas Day isn't present this year. I go to the restroom to clean myself up and take a long look in the mirror.  I am here, I am alive, and I can do this.  I dress and comb my hair, and Jimmy and I make the best of our party of two. 

The gifts are all open, but one small box remains under the tree. Jimmy picks it up and hands it to me. "It's for you."

I tremble slightly, holding the small gift in my hand. "Open it," Jimmy urges.

Inside the box is a small key, one that I recognize. I pick it up, hoping its weight isn't more than I can bear.

"It's the key to Daddy's fix-it box," Jimmy says softly. "If we learn how to use all that stuff, maybe we can fix some things, too." He glances briefly at the bicycle, and then lowers his eyes, cautiously waiting for my response.

I gently take him in my arms, feeling a tear trace the same path that it had the night before. "Thank you, Jimmy. It's perfect."

As I rock my son, I clutch the key tightly in my hand, wishing the items inside the box could fix everything. I glance at my fire, which struggled through the night but survived. I have to smile.

I have the tools. It's time to learn how to use them.

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