Book revisions remind me a lot of home renovations. Case in point: the floors in my house.

Last spring, my husband and I decided, on something of a whim, to get our hardwood floors refinished. Our house is old and lovingly cared for. The floors, however, were old and hadn’t been loved in 24 years. Clearly I was in a whimsical decision-making mood at the time because, within days of that idea, I also pulled a dusty old manuscript out from under my bed and decided to revise it.

(Note: more than one whimsical decision in a week may lead to therapy)

When floors are refinished, everything must be off said floors. In the process of removing our kitchen appliances, the squirrel running our refrigerator died, as did the one running the dishwasher. A quick shopping trip revealed a dilemma: refrigerators had gotten considerably larger since the last one went into its alcove beside the cupboards. “We can get a much better fridge if we cut the cupboard down a little,” said the Martin (aka husband with a power tool obsession). Hearing only “much better fridge,” I agreed.

Two months later, when I blinked and looked around the kitchen, we had all new appliances, several smaller cupboards, as well as new lights, a new backsplash, new countertops, and a window seat we’d been talking about getting for fifteen years.

A window seat where I can recline with a glass of wine and read the manuscript I am still tweaking because, funny thing is, like refinishing floors, when you start moving things around in an old manuscript, you may as well get out the power tools because everything is up for grabs.

Here’s what my whimsical self learned:

1. Be realistic. This will be hard. Messy. You may cry. And kill people. To save your soul and the judicial system, with any luck these will be made up people only and not contractors or editors.

2. Keep an open mind. Things may not go according to plan. The book may, as Stephen King’s does in his first draft, ‘speak to you’ even as you’re getting ready to slash and burn. Listen. Serve the book (or the kitchen, as the case may be). Be ruthless.

3. Cut words, cut people, but don’t cut corners. Cutting corners and doing a half assed job may well lead to a half assed product.
Cut the swampy bits out of the book; buy granite for the kitchen. You know you want to. And it’ll be worth it in the end. But:

4. It will cost you. Time, tears, and more cold hard cash than you’d like. Whether it’s the revision or the reno, have your phone and favorite take out menus handy; bribe your kids to dial the number at the end of the day when you’re too cross-eyed to see.

5. Call in the experts: Peeps to read pages; contractors to give consultations. Serve wine. Or not. Unless it’s contractors in which case I happen to know beer or scotch at the pencil sharpening (but not the power tool starting) stage improves the bottom line. Either way, get feedback. Take what resonates; toss the rest.

6. Pretty pots and fancy phrases only go so far. Like a decent stove that fires on all cylinders, craft matters. Pay attention to the important stuff: character, conflict, story goal, structure. Nice cutlery doesn’t hurt either.

7. Remember the promise. When the dust settles and the power tools are unplugged, make sure you deliver that final product. Whether it’s cupcakes or chicken cordon bleu, edgy thriller or heart wrenching romance, give them what they came for. And leave them wanting more.

January 23, 2012 marks the start of the Chinese Year of the Dragon. In Chinese lore, the dragon is the ultimate symbol of success, prosperity, and good fortune. Dragon Years are supposed to usher in Great Things. (And any writer who doesn’t look forward to Great Things has either given up writing or is lying to themselves.)

This year it’s the water dragon. The water dragon last appeared in 1952, the year Queen Elizabeth II became Queen of England. That same year, the field of medicine saw its first successful separation of Siamese twins in Cleveland, Ohio; the polio vaccine was first tested; and the transistor radio was developed.

Along with being a year of great highs, significantly bleak things can happen in a Dragon Year too. A killer fog descended on London in 1952, leading to the invention of the word smog. And the United States introduced two highly destructive weapons – the B-52 bomber and the hydrogen bomb.

But as is often the case, it’s publishing and books I’m thinking about. Ballentine Books was founded in 1952, becoming one of the leading publishers of science fiction and fantasy. Its biggest rival, Ace Publishing, was founded that same year, as was St. Martin’s Press.

Agatha Christie’s Mousetrap opened in London in 1952, eventually setting the record for the longest, continually running production of a play in history (wouldn’t it be nice to have that publishing credit?)

As you’d expect, many books were published in 1952. E.B. White published Charlotte’s Web, one of my all-time favorite stories. Other classics that year included A Child’s Christmas in Wales by Dylan Thomas; East of Eden by John Steinbeck; and The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemmingway. Isaac Asimov published three books including Foundation and Empire. In terms of series, C.S. Lewis published the third in his Narnia series; Mary Norton the first in her The Borrowers series, and Carolyn Keene released her 29th Nancy Drew – The Mystery at the Ski Jump. Catherine Cookson published her heart wrenching The Fifteen Streets and Pearl S. Buck saw the release of her classic Hidden Flower. If non-fiction was your thing, Albert Einstein had The Principle of Relativity, and if you preferred short stories you could curl up with Daphne du Maurier’s collection Kiss Me Again, Stranger. (It included the short story The Birds later adapted for screen by Alfred Hitchcock.)

Two books published in 1952 would profoundly impact my life. One was Karen by Marie Killilea, a deeply moving true story about a girl with cerebral palsy. I read that book decades later, when I was twelve. Shortly after, I was asked to baby-sit a young child with cerebral palsy. Had I not read the book, I may not have had the courage to say yes. And looking after Marie brought me many gifts.

The other book was Sue Barton, Staff Nurse by Helen Dore Boylston. I soon devoured the entire series. For a while I toyed with the idea of being a nurse, but given my distaste for all things bloody (and thinking doctors had more fun anyway), I decided telling stories was my One True Love. Some years later, my daughter sourced a Sue Barton book on EBay and presented it to me for Christmas. It sits on my shelf, a physical reminder of the efforts of a Dragon Year and the dreams of a young girl.

Some say the dragon’s originality and imagination is the most impressive of his characteristics. He’s said to see new paths where others might see brick walls. Originality. Imagination. Opportunity. Three key words for this year. Key words I’m taking to heart.

Oh, and since the dragon is associated with spring, to make the most of a Dragon Year, we’re supposed to get started as early in spring as possible.

Ready, set, go!

As I sat down to write this, Amazon released the list of its top 10 best selling books for 2011. Two of the titles were Kindle-only releases (The Mill River Recluse and The Abby), underscoring what we know to be true – the e book phenomenon is here to stay. But I was intrigued by what took the top three spots: Steve Jobs, a biography, along with Bossypants by Tina Fey and A Stolen Life by Jaycee Dugard.

It reminded me of a simple truth. Life is about people. As we rush around making holidays happen or work hard to get words onto the page, it sometimes gets lost. In this age of tweets and status updates, of email and text messages, it’s easy to stay a step or three removed from people. I’m certainly guilty of it. I’m writing this message to people I don’t know and whom I may never meet. The irony doesn’t escape me.

I was blessed this year to connect with a friend I hadn’t seen in over twenty years. We’d been in touch electronically but when we exchanged hugs, when we sat down to eat and drink together, our friendship was renewed in a way that simply doesn’t happen when you’re dealing with those three degrees of separation.

And so my wish for you this holiday season is the opportunity to connect with friends and family. To hug and be hugged. To feel loved and appreciated. And if you’re separated by distance as I am from some of my family, perhaps once phone calls or emails are exchanged, you can put on a pot of coffee, open a bottle of wine or maybe even make a simple meal and then invite someone over to share it with you. Connecting truly is one of the best gifts of all.

I suspect Gail’s guitar is still weeping over our 40th red door retreat this past weekend. As regular blog visitors probably know, we sequester ourselves behind the Red Door for two days four times a year. At our annual December gathering, Gail brings her guitar. Usually on the second night, after working all day and fortifying ourselves with food and drink, we sing. Christmas carols, folk songs, whatever comes to mind.

Correction: Gail sings. Her voice is simply stunning; there really is no other word. What the rest of us do can kindly be described as caterwauling. (It is a wonder the neighbors didn’t call 911 fearing someone was being put down.)

But they didn’t. We were left alone to let off steam after a full day of work. Because that’s what these retreats are about. Sure, there’s laughter and camaraderie (and singing in December) but we come together to talk about the business of publishing and the craft of writing.

The first order of business this time around was discussion about It Happened at Midnight, our soon to be released group anthology of short stories. Now that they’ve been independently edited, we’re moving forward with cover art but we needed some short ‘blurbs’ to describe what each of the stories is about. After spending some time on those, we moved on to the practicalities of release venues and dates. We’re aiming to have the anthology available for download from Amazon early in the New Year. Watch this blog for more details.

A couple of us needed brainstorming sessions so we spent time discussing characters and motivations and plot points. This is one of my favorite aspects of the red door. I find it energizing and helpful to look at all aspects of story, whether it’s mine or someone else’s.

After a long walk to stretch our legs, Vanessa pulled out some whack cards to stretch our creative muscles in new directions. And then we turned back to an issue we all struggle with at various times in our careers – boosting our productivity.

EC pointed out a blog she’s found helpful – Rachel Aaron’s Pretentious Title site – http://thisblogisaploy.blogspot.com
The five of us quickly pulled up her entry for Wednesday, June 8th, 2011. Aaron writes about how she went from writing 2,000 words a day to 10,000 words a day. It was an eye opener. She focuses on three things: knowledge, time, and enthusiasm. If this subject matters to you, go read it. You won’t be sorry. She also has another entry describing how she plots. We glanced at it but didn’t have time to explore it in detail. It’s on my list of things to read before we gather for the next red door in March.

For that one, Gail’s guitar stays home. I’m sure the neighbors will be pleased. But come to think of it, there may be caterwauling anyway. You just never know.

Maybe it’s in my genes. As a kid growing up, my grandparents believed that when things went bump in the night, there was probably something there. As far as they were concerned, ghosts were as real as tomato soup, though even harder to pin to the wall. They believed in magic anything, full fat everything and moose meat.

I never got the moose meat thing. Full fat we won’t talk about. But ghosts, magic and all things paranormal? Yes. Curiously, vampires were not part of the equation. Their tastes extended more to episodes of The Ghost and Mrs. Muir or Tales from the Twilight Zone. I’m sure it’s due, in part, to my grandparents that I adored paranormal fiction long before it was even categorized.

So in honor of my grandparents and All Hallow’s Eve which is thought to be that time of year when the veil between this world and the next is at its thinnest, here are a few books featuring ghosts, magic and things that go bump in the night.

Heather Graham’s Bone Island Trilogy (Ghost Night; Ghost Moon; Ghost Shadow) is set in richly detailed Key West, which becomes a character in itself. While the books are loosely connected, they’re very much stand alone reads. Spooky, sensual and layered with history, the stories make you think and the ghosts make you laugh, particularly Bartholomew, the pirate (correction privateer) who is afraid of a haunted house.

Grittier is Kat Richardson’s urban fantasy Greywalker series. Harper Blaine is a private investigator living in Seattle. After dying for two minutes and being revived, she discovers she can see ghosts and has become a Greywalker, a person able to move through the grey, that area that exists between our world and the next. Though these stories are designed to stand alone, I started this series with book 4 (Vanished) but felt lost a few times. Only after going back and starting with book one (Greywalker) was I hooked.

In the YA realm, I’m currently engrossed in Kimberly Derting’s The Body Finder series. Violet Ambrose has kept her ability to sense dead bodies a secret from everyone but her family and her maybe-he-is, maybe-he-isn’t boyfriend, Jay. And Violet doesn’t sense just any old bodies. Only the echoes from people who have been murdered. Book one (The Body Finder) sets up books two and three (Desires of the Dead and The Last Echo.) Creepily well done, especially the passages in book one told from the pov of the murderer.

Lighter in tone (and not new but worth seeking out) is Meg Cabot’s six book Mediator series. Protagonist Susie Simon has been able to see and speak to ghosts all her life. As a mediator it’s her job to help ghosts deal with their unfinished business so they can move on. Saddled with several annoying step-brothers who keep things entertaining, it’s the sexy 150 year old ghost named Jesse haunting her bedroom who keeps things hot. These are some of my favorite Cabot books which is why they’re staying on my keeper shelf.

Finally, there is Jennifer Crusie’s first new novel in several years – Maybe This Time. A new twist on an old classic (Turn of the Screw), Maybe This Time is trademark Crusie with wacky relatives, witty one-liners and a fabulous heroine named Andromeda (Andie) Miller. There’s romance too but in this novel the ghosts prevail. While they aren’t scary enough to keep you awake at night the story is so good it probably will.

What is your favorite ghost story these days?

Until my last rejection, I never paid much attention to the ‘men are from Mars, women are from Venus’ school of thought. I know the theory and I happen to be married to a man who has his share of Martian. But since he’s deliciously human most of the time, I don’t dwell.

So what if we approach life differently? That’s one of the things I love about him. I also love that he accepts my obsession with writing. That he’ll talk character development and submission strategy. That he’ll read the occasional chapter or brainstorm a nasty plot knot. That he brought me flowers once when I got a rejection.

He is supportive. Hugely so. In case you missed that part.

But a few weeks ago his Martian side flared. And I’ve been running scared ever since.

I’d gone east to see a family member. Before leaving, I reminded him that internet connections could be spotty at my destination. They were. For some reason, I could download email from my personal account but not my professional one. Since I had a full submission out and was expecting a response, I was antsy. (And, yes, I could have alerted the editor that I was leaving town but I optimistically hoped to access my mail. Plus, I didn’t want to give the impression I was nudging for an answer.) When I realized there was an issue, I asked the Martian back home to check my professional account once a day and let me know if there was anything from the publishing house.

He didn’t. To be fair, he had stuff happening. Work stuff. Home stuff. Teenager-getting-his-first-car and having-an-accident-two-days-later stuff. And a kitchen reno he was trying to finish as a surprise for my homecoming (Clearly the whole reno thing is a Martian trait; I would have been happier returning to a clean house and dinner reservations).

By Friday when my son’s accident happened and my relative took a fall, I didn’t think to ask about email. I was simply relieved everyone was still alive. Besides, it was the weekend. I’d be home Sunday. I’d deal with email Monday.

The Martian had a better idea.

His greeting as I came through the arrivals door was loving and warm. He knew my trip had been trying; he was being his usual supportive self. After collecting my bag, we headed to the car.

“What’s that paper on the dashboard?” I asked as he stowed my luggage in the trunk.

“Oh, that’s your rejection letter.”

I laughed. “No. Seriously. What is it?”

“Seriously,” he said. “That’s the rejection letter. I downloaded your email like you wanted me to.”

I still didn’t believe him. My Martian has a wicked sense of humor. Nevertheless, my laughter trickled to a stop. “It’s an acceptance, right? That’s why you brought it?” I was mentally jumping ahead to a waterfront table at my favorite restaurant. Champagne. Sablefish in a brown butter reduction.

He shook his head. “No. It’s a rejection.” Compassion flared in his brown eyes. “I’m sorry.”

My stomach turned upside down. “You brought my rejection letter to the airport?” I don’t think I screamed but people did stare. Who brings a rejection letter to the airport? Who puts it face up on the dash where anyone can read it? “What were you thinking?”

“I thought you’d want to know and face it and plan your next step,” he said as he reached the driver’s side. “I didn’t think you’d want to wait.”

I stared at him across the roof of our spaceship. Emotions danced across his face: sadness, disappointment, confusion. He clearly thought he’d done the right thing. He obviously felt bad. “It’s okay,” I said, squelching celebratory thoughts and climbing into my seat for lift off. It wasn’t okay on any level but why beat up a Martian? Especially one you love. “Let’s just fly on home.”

My Venus peeps were waiting.