Blogging outside My Circle

I discovered something in the past few weeks.
Blogging has a hierarchy.

Yes.

It's true.

In a moment of bias, I thought it applied only to the bloggers outside of the writing community. Setting aside my bias, I realized I was wrong. It happens here, too. Take agents, reviewers, published authors VS. aspiring authors.

Here's a for-example: It used to be fun to stop in at certain agent blogs and comment... and I never expected those VERY BUSY agents to reciprocate and come to visit my blog and comment. They might do that for other blogs who rank a wee bit higher on the totem pole, but never for an insignificant writer like myself...who doesn't always blog about writing stuff. There's a catch here. The writers who get the attention of the agents--not necessarily meaning they would get a contract--are the ones who blog about writing...or the industry. The catch being, that as writers, we should be more interested in attracting our readers. Blogging about stuff the reader can relate to.

...where was I? Oh, right. Hierarchy. Well, I've been surfing around on some Diabetes Blogs. Amazingly enough, they are also a dime a dozen. Not expecting a hierarchy there, because most of the blogs I've visited aren't written by doctors or nurses... nope, not even by diabetes educators. Just people like me who have diabetes. So, I was REALLY surprised that they didn't reciprocate. Isn't that part of the blogging world? I mean, who's going to visit you if you don't visit other people? No one will even know you're there unless you are putting your name out there. Though there are a number of ways, blog-hopping is key because it makes you seem friendly. Twittering. Networking. Unfortunately, once you've hit that higher level of Blogdom status, it means you no longer need to do that.

I'm circling here... because I'm not looking to sound like I'm whining. Boo hoo, poor me.. etc. Not that. I guess the root of all blogging is still about me. The journal or diary we kept as a kid. It's now online... and for some reason, we all think that everyone else wants to read it. :D I do have to say, though, that I read every blog post that comes to my inbox, usually enjoying it...but after several tries of network, not succeeding, I rarely go to the webpages and comment.

Not sure if this means I'm a quiter...but a person gets tired of putting out and getting nothing back! :D Seriously, I don't mean here at Romance in Writing. I have wonderful visitors and commentors. FRIENDS who love me and want to know what's going on. It's other places I'm talking about. That at this point are going to remain a personal accountability and journal. It's nice to share with people, and know that they understand where you are coming from... but it's just as nice to do something for yourself, don't you think?

have a great Hump day.
Love,
Bethanne

P.S. There's always the chance that I'm just not in the 'in' crowd over there....maybe everybody does know eachother, and I'm just the new gal, eh? Who knows. I don't have time to figure that kind of stuff out. :P

Writing about Writing - BFP contest

I should do this more often. Yes? People might start to think I'm not actually a writer.

We're having a Best First Page contest at Romance Divas. I missed the deadline...no, I missed the event completely really. How did I miss it?!!! Oh, maybe it was all the busyness of moving and house hunting and sick kids... that could be. :D

What we do on the forum is read the entry and comment/rate it. There's a good dose of honesty but NO FLAMING. Really, we're all in this together, right? Well, almost...

Wasn't I bummed a few days ago when I wrote a prologue for my work in progress? My story of Deacon and Molly is more than half finished but inspiration hit me anyway... So, I went back and added it. Then thought to myself, this would be great for the First Page Contest!

Here it is in all its first-draft roughness. Tell me what you think! Does my first page open with a hook? Are one or more of my protagonists established? Is my page grammatically correct and free of spelling errors?


Twelve years ago

He’d started with her eyes. The unusually guarded, violet eyes luminescent with summer vibrancy and large with innocence were a centerpiece for her classic Greek lines and high cheekbones. The sun had tanned her smooth skin framing glossy, pink lips. Succulent. She was a young man’s fantasy and he was that young man’s best friend.

Deacon Bonning pursed his lips in concentration as the brush he wielded shadowed the length of her neck with lush waves of dark hair on the pale canvas. Her hair was like a freaking Pantene commercial she could have starred in.

She smiled. Damn, she was friendly and open, liking him without really knowing him. Without knowing he could devour her in an instant. He chuckled. He was a man with standards, he reminded himself. Or maybe it was his mother’s voice reminding him.

This portrait he’d agreed to do would be the start of four years…
…for all of them – Charlie running off to join the Marines, he finishing with another four years of service and Molly...

He wondered what she would do to occupy her time.

Perhaps she knew what it meant to be the wife of a soldier, but he doubted it. She would grow up fast in the next year. His brush followed the line of her shoulder to the rope at her back. The swing she sat on rocked slightly and she tilted her head.

"Are you almost done?" Her question held the impatience of youth, but lacked rudeness.

"A little while longer." Little being the key word… hopefully.

"How did you ever get into painting?"

He didn’t look like your typical artist. He looked like a soldier. Today he wore his fatigues. No linen and scarves for Deacon. "High school angst."

Her laughter reached out to him.

Behind her the long lines of the Victorian home peaked out from the foliage –purple trim, white framing and gray siding. He included it on the canvas adding a row of late summer blooms along the path that wound toward the driveway.

He’d never done anything so traditional. His closet at home was filled with stark images of war, his brothers in battle and hope. With a laugh he knew this one was truly inspired.

By his attraction? Maybe.

By his genuine respect and affection for a man he called brother? Most likely.

He wouldn’t forget this commission.

He wouldn’t ever forget the girl Molly Simpson had been the day before she married his best friend, Charlie Simpson.

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