Managing Your Readerly Feels

Hello my darlings! The last Sookie Stackhouse book came out this week. It’s the 13th and final in the series and sweet baby Jeebus have people been flipping their shit over this. Not the series ending, but over the content of the book. The author, Charlaine Harris, has been getting actual threats over her chosen ending. Allow me to hop up onto my Fizzy little soapbox and address my feels on this issue. So. Like, threatening people is bad, mmkay? It’s so weird that I have to keep mentioning this. But really. Don’t threaten people. Really for any reason. Unless they stole your cupcake. Then riot away. (I’m kidding. Probably.) Here’s the rub: Books, shows, movies, anything that is passed from one person’s brain into the brains of others can and do generate super strong feels about what they are partaking in. We as consumers get ridiculously attached to characters and their fates and yes, we get hurt and upset if things don’t go as we hoped. Don’t even get me started on the weepies I had over the last Harry Potter, guys. Years later and I still can’t say Lupin without my chin wobbling. Come to think of it, I can’t really think of a series that I have finished where I felt *totally* satisfied after I turned that last page. Although, Harry Potter is the winner if there is one. And yep, I’ve ranted to my friends and unsuspecting husband over the final books of series that have left me feeling unfulfilled or disappointed. Words are our happy place to run away to and jump into fabulous new worlds while we read. It’s the most visceral of all the arts, in my humble opinion. With music, we are given what to hear. With anything on a screen,...

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Will the Real Fizzygrrl Please Stand Up?

Hello my lovelies! Several people have asked me where the name Fizzygrrl comes from. ¬†I thought I would take the opportunity to explain myself a little bit and see if I can’t help sort out the crazy that is me, ūüėČ I went to the same school my entire life until my senior year. ¬†Right before school started, we moved to a nearby town and I was suddenly a new student. I didn’t mind this at all as the school I had spent preschool through my junior year at, well, I wasn’t particularly well liked there. ¬†I got beat up a lot. My senior English teacher was a cool lady. ¬†I liked her, and she seemed to like me, even if I was the laziest student there ever, ever was. One day, she was giving us an assignment that was based off her her finding a word that she felt summed each of us up. ¬†I couldn’t tell you what¬†the¬†assignment¬†was, actually. ¬†It’s entirely possible I didn’t even do it. But I do remember being called up to her desk for her to give me my word. ¬†She told me she’d had a hard time coming up with something that could sum me up in a single word. ¬†I found this horribly flattering, by the way. In the end, she said, she’d found it. ¬†My word was Effervescent. I loved it. ¬†I was bubbly! ¬†Weeee!!! When the time came a year or so later to create an online moniker for things like email and chat rooms, I thought back to my word. ¬†It’s true, I am bubbly. ¬†But I also have a very feisty side. ¬†And thus, in the interest of having a fun email name, Fizzygrrl was born. A few weeks ago, as I was tinkering around to help...

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Fizzy-Hulk Smash – Why Being a Douchebag is Bad

Hello my darlings! So, earlier this year, when I was querying my YA, I had an agent request a full, write me several times about how excited they were to read it, jazzed about the premise, all the lovely gushings. ¬†She said I wouldn’t need to because she would get to it ASAP, but if I hadn’t heard from her in 60 days to nudge her. Cue me hitting REFRESH, REFRESH, REFRESH on my email for two months. On day 59, right ¬†as I was plotting how my possible nudge would go, I received a rejection from her. ¬†A form rejection. ¬†I was gutted. ¬†She’d sounded so excited! ¬†She was enthusiastic! ¬†And no details as to WHY I was being rejected!? ¬†OH, COME ON! Yep, I was hurt. ¬†I was frustrated. ¬†I cried a leetle. Do you know what I *DIDN’T* do? Threaten to kill her. Know why? ¬†BECAUSE THAT IS BAD, MMMMKAY?? Why did I take that leap there that most sane people wouldn’t have ever considered a possibility? ¬†Because it keeps bloody well happening. ¬†I have seen so many times agents posting about getting threatened by rejected writers. ¬†Some are even all, “Meh.” about it now because it happens that often to them. What the hell!? ¬†How is this the natural leap for enough people that it becomes common???? I am bringing this up because a very nice agent that I see around Twitterville had a death threat this weekend. ¬†I feel so ragey when this happens. ¬†1. No one deserves to feel that way. ¬†To be scared that someone might hurt them for just doing¬†their¬†friggin’ job. ¬†2. It bothers me that people take this jump and it cocks up the system for the rest of us. Look, I get it. ¬†Getting rejected is balls. ¬†You feel...

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To The Tree Houses!

Hello my lovelies! Yesterday, I was hanging out in the bedroom by myself (a rare treat in the stay-at-home-mom universe, I assure you…) and the hubster came in to find my lying on the bed with a pillow over my face. “Hanging in your Tree House?” he asked. My hubs is great people. ¬†Not only does he respect and support the craziness that is the wife who wants to be a writer, but he knows the name of the place my stories live, and can spot the signs of my hanging out in that wacky land. He actually coined the term, “Tree House” for me a few years back. ¬†It’s a place that I can go in my head where all my characters live, and I can watch the amazing things they do. ¬†I first started going there for a specific story when I was thirteen-years-old for a book that I wrote, and am hell bent on re-writing again one day. ¬†It’s my favorite story to disappear into. ¬†There isn’t an hour that goes by in my day that I don’t climb up in there and enjoy the scenery. I have multiple rooms in the Tree House. ¬†There is the oldest book whose title remains a secret from everyone in the world, Ellie and her ¬†loopy antics, Isadora who deserves better than I have given her yet, Chasing Pineapple, my next women’s fiction that I will start actually writing quite soon, and several others that stay on a regular rotation. I wonder if other authors have a place like this. ¬†I would have to assume that they do. ¬† It always feels like there is a certain part of my brain that is tucked safely away, just waiting for me to come play with it. When I was a...

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The Poignancy of Poo

Hello universe! Recently I went to the Midwest Writer’s Workshop.  I can’t recommend this activity enough to everyone.  This workshop was a blast and a half.  I learned lots, met an insane amount of awesome people, and was forced to explain the most hideous part of Fifty Shades of Gray to a table of literary agents and an 80 year old man, all while I blushed 101 Shades of Red… While there, we were invited to leave some pages in the library for other writers to leave comments on.  I gladly did this as I am a bit of a feedback whore. (Remember this if you are ever debating leaving comments on my lovely little blog here.) One of the comments that was left for me was that the scene where Ellie has the mother of all intestinal incidents in a mall bathroom was icky.  This stuck with me. Why, yes, yes, it is icky.  Even reading it now, I squirm and laugh and nod that yep, we’ve all been there.  Well, maybe not to the extreme level of publicness that poor Ellie (and myself if you recall that was based on a true story…) had to endure, but we have all had a moment where we are sure that we are about to lose an internal organ or two. Why did I write this?  Because when it happened to me it was effing hilarious.  Hideously embarrassing, yes, but after the mortification washed away, I was left with the giggles. Okay, so I get that people reading that scene might take the road of those are things we don’t discuss.  Bodily functions and the like are made to be private turmoils that we suffer through in isolated silence. My thinking is that, hey, since we all do it, why...

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