Our First Anniversary: What is left to be said?

Not a whole lot. But of course, I’m going to try. We really do have amazing synergy. I like to think the Universe was looking out for us all (and in a burst of incredibly good karma sent these amazing women my way). We all met in person for the first time a little over a year ago, having burgers, margaritas, and our business meeting in my backyard.


I'm the dead woman (boy did we have a LOT of fun)

However much fun we had that first night...this grog was about business. Promoting ourselves, promoting each other. We were very official. We had an agenda! We had a web designer (the incredible Maddee!). We figured we’d brainstorm topics, nail down the everyday working details, settle on our name and our hook (8 women, 8 genres or subsets there of), and our partnership would be birthed.

This isn’t to say that we didn’t think we would like each other because of course we did or no one would have agreed to be a member. But something magical happened. We found something so much better than a promotional tool and cool new business associates. We found love and friendship.

The kind of supportive love unbelievably rare in a business that can be ruled by jealousy and hurt feelings.

We found: Commiseration over rejections and life’s non-writing challenges. Impromptu plotting lunches. Nights out after a rough day/week at work complete with a designated driver. Herding (yes, that was meant for Sophie :) ) friends to Romantic Times. A book sighting party on launch day. A quick read of new manuscript before a) the next round of revisions b) it’s sent to your agent c) it’s sent to your editor d) it’s sent back to your agent. Friendly butt kicking if you’ve been slacking off. Begging for the finished manuscript because we can’t wait to read it and we’re so thrilled to see an advanced copy. Screaming and cheering for NYT reviews and Edgar nominations and IMDB Lists and Mystery Bestseller Lists and Target sightings.

We found friendships we will have forever. I am so grateful and humbled and awed to call these women my friends. Whether it takes one month or one year, I know they will have my back when I sell my books. And I fully expect that the Pens will have their own table at my childrens' weddings.

On that note, I propose a toast. Here’s to an incredible first year. May the second one be bigger and brighter.

Love, Lisa

One Down...

L.G.C. Smith

When Sophie started talking about getting a group blog going, Lisa looked me square in the eye and said, "You know, she's going to make you do this."

Lucky for me, I'd already dealt with the voice in my head that shouts things like "Nobody can make me do anything I don't want to!" Because it isn't true. Sophie can make, er, sorry, motivate people to do things. There are the gentle nudges. The kind, gracious smiles that glow like polish on a steel blade. The relentless regard for the betterment of all.

This reminds me of how Sophie got us going.

Knowing this, I'd already decided I would like to be part of what was to become the Pens Fatales. I also knew that any people Sophie brought into the fold would be Exceptional. And they so are. Heck, I tear up at the thought of how much each of the other Pens has added to my writing practice and my life. I love these people. I even like them better than many of my family members.

I'm currently on a family assignment in Austin, Texas, helping my brother and his wife as they await the imminent birth of their third child, and each morning when I read the Pens posts, I feel the distance separating me from our main lair in Northern California. It's astonishing how important the right kind of people can become in a year. Thank you, Gigi, Martha, Lisa, Adrienne, Juliet, Rachael, and Sophie. Thanks also to all our amazing guest bloggers, and to all of you who have visited and participated in our first year. It turned out pretty well, don't you think?

Who Are You Again?

--Adrienne Miller

There we all were a year ago, sitting around Lisa’s back patio table feeling each other out over pitchers of margaritas. I was quiet, really quiet. Shutting the hell up is what I do when I’m in way over my head. I think it comes from that Mark Twain quote about it being better to be silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. And I really didn’t want any of these people to think me a fool. Especially not L.G.C.--I know wicked smart when I hear it. 

Usually it’s my pride that makes me not want to be seen as an ignorant buffoon, but this time I was staring down something far more frightening than a bruised ego if I stumbled. As I saw it, I was the low man on the totem pole...or patio table. I didn’t even really know why I was there--unpublished, unagented. I wasn’t a writer. Not really. Yeah, I had finished one (really bad) manuscript and was half way through another, but that didn’t make me anything but a wannabe. These guys, they were the real deal.

 I worried all that afternoon that one of them was going to realize their mistake. Sorry, we thought you were someone else. You understand.

And I really didn’t want to go. Everyone was smiling and laughing and talking about people and things I didn’t completely understand. So, I watched and listened, and I got to see the first glimpses of all the strengths that ended up making this group so powerful--Sophie’s natural leadership, Juliet’s drive, Rachael’s joy, L.G.C’s intelligence, Lisa’s determination, Martha’s strength and Gigi’s poise. 

The year went by, and what a year it was. Books came out. Rejections came in. Some of us went to every writing conference scheduled in the western hemisphere and others stayed home and wrote in the quiet(ish) corners of cafes after work. I knew everyday when I checked my email there would be a message from one of the Pens. If one of us had something going on, good or bad, we always knew that we had seven others behind us, cheering us on, pushing us when we needed it...and some of us needed it a lot. It didn’t matter if one was mustering up the courage to send out her first query (me) or another needed help picking out her dress for a major award ceremony (so not me). We could always count on each other. 

Little by little, I started feeling less like a wannabe and more like the real thing. I was really doing this. I wrote every day. I started making choices based on my writing schedule. When people asked what I did, I told them I was writer. 

Writing is lonely and it’s hard, not coal mining hard, but rough in its own confronting-your-personal-demons-on-a-daily-basis kind of way. And its awesome. Life changing awesome. Endless possibilities awesome. The kind of awesome that’s best if you can share it with friends. 

A year later I realize how lucky I am...even if I’m still a little uncertain of what the hell I’m doing here.

Isn't a grog some sort of pirate libation?

So a little over a year ago my (still fairly new) friend Sophie says to me,

"Hey, want to be on a grog?"

Not being up on my pirate drinks, I say: "Sure...um...isn't grog sort of like mead, or honey wine? Couldn't we just have scotch?"

"No, it's a group blog. Want to join us?"

"Um...er...no thanks." Says I. "I'm unclear on the whole concept. I mean, I have nothing to say. And why would anyone care what I think about anything, anyway?"

"Super," says Sophie. "We've got a planning meeting set for Saturday. Bring margarita mix."

And before I knew what hit me I was traipsing around in a graveyard, where the Pens Fatales were posing for rock album cover-style photos (with the talented and eternally patient Gigi handling all technical aspects, luckily) and all the Pens were so cool and snarky and accomplished I couldn't say no.

And now a year later, I'm not sure what I would have done without them. Because, among other things, if it weren't for them I would have no friends.

Not because they're my only friends, but because they've helped me avoid alienating even the most devout buddies. Take it from me: if you want to write, long term, you need writing pals.

Imagine, if you will, how quickly the eyes of friends and family glaze over when I wax on about the unfairness of bookstore shelving placement and why copy-editors hate semi-colons. And how normal people (with commutes and day jobs they abhor) start seething when I whine about having to be creative every single day. And is there a non-writing person alive who could understand why I fantasize about those cardboard stands near the bookstore registers? (*oh*, how I want me a cardboard stand full of my books!)

My son's idea of the ideal T-shirt to wear around his mom

And this effect is only intensified by our typically solo work situation.

Here's the moral of my story: a writer without writer-friends is soon a writer without any friends at all.

Other writers have your back. Series discontinued? A long treatise on the idiocy and lack of foresight of the publishing industry. Bad review? Snarky comments about how the worst reviews are written by wannabe writers who don't have a shot at publication. Can't remember how to write? Hilarious plot development over chicken and waffles at the Merritt Bakery. Can't remember why you ever wanted--in fact, chased after-- the unending Sturm und Drang of this underpaid, overstressed profession? Gossip over single-malt scotch in an illegally smokey Oakland dive bar.

So spare your non-writing friends and family. If you want to be a writer, and someone offers you a grog, just say yes. The alcoholic kind is surprisingly good, and the group blog kind...well...if my experience counts for anything, it's priceless.

--Juliet