End of an Era

     Well, it’s official. Today I received a black-bordered e-mail from RWA National that begins: “We regret to note that the final date for renewing your membership with Romance Writers of America (RWA) has passed. In accordance with RWA’s bylaws, your membership in the organization has been terminated.” 

      So ends an era that began in 1991. I wanted to write novels and, after every publisher in the country rejected my first, I was advised to join a writers' group and get critiques. I saw an ad in the paper for the local RWA Chapter and went to my first meeting where I learned why every publisher in the country had rejected my novel. I realized that I, a former editorial secretary with a B.A. in Creative Writing, had to go back to writers' kindergarten and learn the whole process from the ground up. (A business journal is not a genre novel.) 

      Lots of learning, lots of growth through good times and bad. Thanks to RWA I learned to write fiction (plots, character development, dialogue, pacing, POV) and tons of "how to be a writer" stuff, like critique groups, how to query and submit, identify publishers, how to find an agent, how to get rid of an agent. I felt really good about serving on the Board of my local Chapter, first as Secretary, then Treasurer, and for the past years as Newsletter Editor--again, lots of work but tremendous learning (I got to read all the articles posted to the Editors' loop). And I'm one of those nuts who enjoys obsessing over formatting and type-fitting. 

     Je ne regrette rien. But sometimes one’s just gotta move on, so I chose not to renew my membership in RWA. 

SF Poetry Contest Result

I just got notice that the poem I entered in the Science Fiction Poetry contest did not make the final cut. I am not at all surprised. If it had--now that would be a surprise!

Sold a story!

My alter-ego Christie Maurer just signed a contract for a short story, "Heritage," to appear in the October issue of White Cat Magazine.

"Heritage" is about two nasty people and a ghost in a crumbling Victorian. It came out of a writing exercise at a Monterey Bay Romance Writers meeting several years ago. The assignment was to write a brief scene of two people outside a house. There is something inside that one doesn't want the other to see. One tries to get in, the other tries to keep him/her out. Other members of the group came up with a dead body, a hidden treasure, drugs, or stolen loot. In "Heritage" it's none of the above.

Entered a poetry contest

I saw a post about the Science Fiction Poetry Association contest on the BroadUniverse listserve  http://www.sfpoetry.com/contests.html For kicks I checked it out and it looked feasible. So, what the heck, I went over "Loriano's" two poems with a fine-toothed delete key and entered the one about Sacerdote Danestor and the Dark Lady Death. I won't hear the results until November, but oooo it's exciting to put something out into the world!