Pantsing, and a NEW CONTEST.

I feel like we haven't talked about "pantsing" in at least two weeks, so I can't resist.

Pants-ing.

My sister-in-law was terrified of that movie as a kid, so in honor of my having just seen her last week, let's have a CONTEST about childhood fears. Tell me, in the comments, about something you were scared of as a child. I'll mail the winner a book, and you can read it under the covers at night with a flashlight for full effect. I'll give you a choice of a couple of books-- but it'll be something awesome, I promise.

Contest will be open until Monday the 4th, or whenever I get around to turning off comments on this post. Good luck!

This will be the writers' year, man.

Tarantino said so. 

What will this look like for you?

Don't register your copyright before you query.

Here's a great post from Victoria Strauss at Writer Beware explaining why you don't need to register your copyright before querying agents or publishers: in short, your work is automatically legally protected as soon as you put the words on the page. 

Here's something she doesn't mention in the post: to include your copyright information in your query letter or on the manuscript itself looks amateurish. If you wrote it, of course it legally belongs to you; that's what copyright means. Amateurish, and maybe a little bit paranoid too; I admit it's a bit of a red flag for me, in a query letter, that the writer may prove difficult to work with. Good relationships are built on trust, and that's a poor way to begin.

(That whole thing about mailing the work to yourself and putting it in the freezer is a myth, too, of course.) 

Can you think of any other publishing- and writing-related urban legends? 

Winner, winner!

I'm going "not random" for once, in picking a winner from last week's "sell me on February" contest; I loved all of your entries, but Anne Shirley's comment made me laugh out loud:

For everyone who has survived February in the past (presumably anyone reading this), the knowledge that February was named after an ancient Roman purification ritual should surprise no one. After all, there is no month like February when it comes to testing one's character.

These tests take many forms, beginning with the screaming pile of bills from Christmas. Inanimate and yet still saying so much, these bills provide a wonderful excuse to ignore the income tax paperwork lying on your counter. The weather also offers many opportunities. Whether it's the snow plow who promptly re-fills your driveway after you've shoveled or the furnace repairman who can't come for another five days, the chances to embrace your inner Yogi are endless! (And hey, you DID just resolve to lose twenty pounds this year, so hop to it!)

Of course, the greatest challenges in February come from family. By the seventeenth snow-related school closing, when your daughter is bo-o-ored with her new 'Dora' videos (the ones you memorized the day after Christmas) and your son demands to 'go to Disneyworld like Bobby's family!', you can cheerfully improve your math by tallying the minutes until they'll be at college. And when your husband refuses to help carry in the groceries because 'Canadian men are genetically mandated to watch hockey', you not only get to test your patience, you get lots of extra exercise!

The survival of February is a celebration. It proves I am the master of my own domain, or at the very least the master of my own impulses (disproving what my mother said about me thirty Februaries ago back when I put my Barbies in the oven 'to see what would happen'). And in three days I will smile at my adoring family and hold my head high, serene in the knowledge that I'll almost certainly allow them all to live another year. Huzzah!

Congratulations, Anne Shirley! Send me an email to let me know which prize you'd like: a critique or a book. (Sorry to say I don't have any raspberry cordial.)

Thanks to all who entered-- we'll do another one soon. Tell me in the comments what would make a good contest. I'm loving the creative entries.

Longform Friday.

Here is Zadie Smith on joy, with perhaps the best description of parenting I've read in some time:

Occasionally the child, too, is a pleasure, though mostly she is a joy, which means in fact she gives us not much pleasure at all, but rather that strange admixture of terror, pain, and delight that I have come to recognize as joy, and now must find some way to live with daily.

The link to the piece is here.

What's giving you joy these days?

New CONTEST.

Tell me in the comments why February is the best month of the year. If you disagree with this statement (and I actually do), here's your chance to show your debate or fiction prowess and convince me otherwise.

Winner wins something, either a book or a two-page critique on the blog, your choice.

You can have TWO entries if you make your pitch for February in a comment and post about the contest on Twitter; put a link to your tweet in the comments section.

Contest is open till I close the comments, which will probably be on Monday the 25th.

So, whatcha got?

Three day weekends.

Do three day weekends feel like a good break to you? Or do you cram five days' worth of work into the four remaining days?

I'm traveling this week, so posting may be a little infrequent, but I'll be back to my regular schedule a week from today. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves in the comments...