What do I do now?

Oh, no! What do I do?

Faced with the unexpected, how do you react?

We're all creatures of habit. Being able to perform complicated actions with little or no thought allows us to free up our brain for creative thinking. There are likely many amazing ideas that owe their existence to the morning rituals of teeth-brushing and hair-combing.

However, as with all great evolutionary adaptations, there are downsides to this fabulous ability of ours. Getting stuck in routines which are no longer useful, is one.

Being unable to to deal with new circumstances is another. We become so used to doing things the way things have always been done, stepping out of our usual behaviour to meet the unexpected can be very discomforting.

This happened to me recently when I received a reply from a publishing house to my question about whether or not they'd care to have a look at my manuscript.

Eileen Schuh, author

Now, submission guidelines are a problem for both publishers and writers, both parties complain bitterly about them. Publishers complain writers don't abide by them and writers complain that every publisher wants something different these days, the guidelines are confusing, extensive, and at times impossible to follow.

Both parties' complaints are valid. Submission procedures used to be standardized--I know, I've been submitting manuscripts for thirty years. You used to double space on 8.5" x 11" white paper, use Times New Roman font, indent paragraphs five spaces, have one inch margins all around, and include your name, the title, and page number on each page following the first one. There used to be two spaces between sentences. On page one, you listed the word count, your address and phone number, and the rights you were offering (usually first North American serial rights). You submitted by mailing the entire manuscript from the post office and including a self-addressed-stamped envelop for reply and/or return of the manuscript.

Not one of those things is standard procedure anymore, making submissions time-consuming and confusing and resulting in many submission errors. For each submission, one must first research the submission guidelines, which are often hidden in unexpected places on publishers' websites. One must carefully, point-by-point go through each requirement and make the necessary changes to one's document and remember to remove the formatting done to meet the previous publishers' guidelines. One must find where and how to send the manuscript (email or snail mail), locate the name of the contact person if at all possible (to personalize your submission and give it a better chance of being seriously reviewed), and so on.

I've become used to doing all that, and getting better at making fewer errors. So when I received an email reply to my submission question from a large Canadian publisher yesterday--well, I'm still re-reading it. Unable to accept it as fact. Not knowing what to do next.

"Our Canadian Division," the email says, "reviews any material submitted by Canadian writers...There are no special editing or guidelines required..."

Huh? No guidelines? No...special font? No margins, page numbers, brief synopsis or lengthy author bio required? No marketing plan?  Would it help if I send them anyways? Will it annoy you if I do? If I don't? Do you want me to send you the entire manuscript? The first chapter? The first fifty pages?

The only protocol authors are advised to follow is to snail mail their submissions, no emails.

Having the ability to submit whatever I want should leave me feeling yeehaw liberated. However, I'm feeling quite unsettled. I simply don't trust my ability to decide what is needed to impress a publisher.

Out of habit, perhaps, I want to revert back to the submission standards of yesteryear. But will that make me look old-fashioned and count against me? Sending the entire manuscript these days costs a fortune in postage and since most publishers asking for print submissions want only the first few pages or chapters, is that the better way to go?

I do want to brag about my past accomplishments to further entice the acquisitions editor to take my submission seriously. Should I list  my publishing credits in a short and sweet cover letter or include an entire bio? How much of the story should I reveal up front? Just a blurb like one reads on the back cover of a paperback, or a chapter-by-chapter analysis--to encourage that editor to read right to the end (which is always the best part of a book).

I have to laugh at myself. Here I am, given all this freedom and all I can think is, "Oh, no! What do I do now?"

"What do I do now?" is brought to you by:

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Eileen Schuh, Author
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THE TRAZ

My pain is infinitesimal

I have nothing wise to say today about hitting Day #28 smoke-free. The cravings are less frequent, but their intensity has not diminished. This past weekend I was at a workshop and instead of being in the company of friends who'd successfully quit, I was with those who enjoyed their cigarettes. I could have had a puff. I could have stood outside the doors with them instead of being stuck at a table with ladies I didn't know.

I want to join my buddies for just one cigarette. No one would find out. The woman across from me asks what I do for a living. I begin telling her about my website, my blog, and my dream of becoming a published novelist. She tells me about a poem her young niece wrote as a tribute to our soldiers in Afghanistan. An announcement that the next sessions start in 3 minutes cuts short a very interesting conversation.

I'm caught up in the presentation on covert surveillance techniques and don't entertain a single thought about smoking until the next break. I longingly watch my buddies slip outside. I follow them, watch them through the glass doors, turn away and finger a red MADD ribbon on a display table. A framed photo of a smiling toddler catches my eye. The baby looks so much like my grandson.

"My daughter's boy," the woman behind the table says. "He was killed by a drunk driver." My heart leaps, my eyes moisten.

"I've been volunteering for Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) for the last 11 years--since it happened. I talk at schools. I talk to prisoners."

I stare at her, wondering from where she gets her courage.

"He lived with my daughter in our basement. I remember him calling up the stairs in the morning, 'Grandma, are you awake, yet?'"

A nicotine fix is the farthest thing from my mind.

"I remember tiptoeing in to see him as he slept. I remember thinking, 'I love you so much, I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you.'"

The workshop ends and I pull up to our cabin. My grandson greets me with a gurgle and a 5-toothed smile. I think of the stories that I would not have heard had I been on the other side of those glass doors.

I have nothing wise to say about being smoke-free. There's nothing I want to complain about. On a scale of 1 to 10, my pain is infinitesimal.

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Pangs, Pains, & Panic

Twenty-two smoke-free days and it strikes me that if smoking is like Twittering, quitting is like being in labour. The cravings--intense, painful, and raw--like contractions, come and go. Quitting smoking, like labouring, has positive results--that reportedly are well-worth the agony. However, that's about where the similarities end.

There's no one here to give me demerol, morphine, or a spinal to ease the pain when I'm in the throws of a craving. There's no one to assure me that the doctor won't let the cravings continue for more than 18 hours. There's no one rubbing my back, telling me that I'm half-way through my craving, and begging me to hang in there.

No one saying, "Breath deep. Keep breathing."

Two things kept me from panicking in the labour room. One was timing my contractions and knowing when I was half-way through them. The other was realizing that women for eons had being doing this and, therefore, I would too.

Knowing that the cravings will pass, provides a bit of comfort, but knowing others have successfully quit smoking doesn't help me much--because I also know that unlike labour, many have tried and failed. If three hours into labour a woman could change her mind and opt out of the pregnancy plan, we likely wouldn't have an over-population problem. However, in the quest to quit smoking, there is a choice. And everyone who tries to quit knows there is. That choice results in a hell of a lot more people failing in their attempt to quit than succeeding. I cannot comfort myself with the knowledge that all this pain is guaranteed to result in success.

I'm panicking. For over three weeks I've engaged in a distracting, agonizing, personal, and lonely battle with the nicotine demons. It's a battle I'm imagining will last forever. Again and again my soul will scream out for comfort. For years, I'll be restlessly wandering the house, empty and dark inside. Forever, I'll hear demonic voices whispering tales about the pleasures of 'Players.'

An endless battle I'm not assured of winning. The enticing option to retreat always there. No ointment to soothe my wounds. No deadline to win the war. Pangs, pain, and panic.

DOES ANYONE OUT THERE HEAR MY PAIN?

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Can Twitter help the Quitter?

Can Twitter help the Quitter? It's a question posed to me by Steve Ondersma, scientist at WSU Med School in Detroit, as I head into my third smoke-free week. "Wld lov yr thoughts!" he tweeted. It wasn't a question I'd considered before.

I hadn't joined Twitter to aid my quest to quit-smoking; I'd joined to promote myself as a Canadian author, 'get my name out there in cyberspace', curry friendships and potential readership, reach my goal of becoming a published novelist. By tweeting about my real-life quit-smoking efforts, I hoped to entice people to read my 'important' website stuff. Until Steve tweeted me, I hadn't thought that perhaps Twitter was also helping me reach my smoking-cessation goal.

"What has the world come to?" I lamented to my publicist. "Are people really relying on faceless friends and electronic messages of 140 characters or less for moral support? What happened to family and friends? Phone calls and hugs?"

One of the hardest parts of my stop-smoking strategy was announcing my intentions to family and friends--a necessary step in order to increase one's chance of success, according to smoking-cessation specialists. It was difficult to do, not only because I was scared that I was setting myself up for a very public failure, but because people's reactions are not always helpful. Comments like "It's about time!" or "Now you won't stink!" are a little tough on a fragile ego, especially when delivered by people you love.

On the other hand, announcing my decision to the entire world via Twitter was surprisingly easy, perhaps because I was masked in anonymity. Perhaps because with Twitter, escaping judgement was simply a keystroke away. Unlike my announcement to family and friends, my Twitter announcement had to be succint--less than 140 characters. There was no room for parlaying reasons, excuses, history, and blame. All I had to say was, "Hey, World. I'm gonna quit smoking."

Come to think of it, I have found Tweeting to be a lot like cigarette smoking. It takes less than five minutes. It provides short, intermittant breaks from the daily grind. It's readily available at all hours of the day and night. It provides a small burst of pleasure. It's addictive--the more you do the more you want to do.

Tweeting has soothed me when I was uneasy, energized me when I was tired, lifted my depression, and offer a me a social connection that rivals that of the smokers' circle. It's something I look forward to doing--something that gets me out of bed in the mornings.

Twitter's simularities to smoking, especially when coupled with its differences (such as much lower cost and no proven ill side-effects), may indeed prove Twittering to be a valuable alternative to smoking--just not when one is driving. Please.


Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Quest to Quit Smoking

My pre-planned quit date was September 1st.

I was on a road trip to Alaska with two friends and my husband as the days ground toward that dreaded last cigarette. Champix, the smoking cessation drug, built up in my system as the miles slipped behind us. I struggled to cut back on the amount I smoked and ended up smoking more as I desperately sought comfort from cigarettes which were no longer offering that pleasure. I crocheted, I laughed, I drank wine, watched grizzlies, and took photos of glaciers.

On the fifth day of taking Champix, 22 August 2009, I wrote in my diary. "Concentrated on pleasures from other sources: the kiss of my puppy, beautiful scenery, laughter of friends, beautiful flower baskets, the crunch of a Smarties' candy shell and the smooth chocolate beneath. The bite of dark roasted Arabic coffee. I feel better to have taken some conscious and deliberate steps to wean myself, rather than passively waiting for the pills to 'cure' me. Gives me a sense of control participation and counters the panic I feel when I contemplate life without cigarettes. If I quit Champix, cigarettes would again give me pleasure. However, the nicotine demons would demand my health and dollars in exchange for their service. I don't want that.

I realize the instant, on-demand spurts of nicotine pleasure have dulled many legitimate opportunities to experience positive emotions. Not only through the addiction aspect, ("Here, take the grandson. I need a smoke!") but also by dulling the senses of smell and taste. These two senses are closely linked to memory. I think of being a child and inhaling the smell of rain, dew on roses, frogs. Sharp cheese, fresh mown hay...spontaneous pleasures. Gifts: no sacrifices needed."

Day 11, 28 August 2009: "Have done well cutting back. Had 5 cigarettes all day. Cravings, if resisted, vanish in 5-10 seconds. Cravings only happen every 3-4 hours."

Day 14, 31 August 2009: "Felt depressed, as if saying farewell to a friend who for years has been there to comfort me. Have difficulty concentrating on good things about not smoking. Had about 4 cigarettes today. In the evening, I throw my last one into the campfire embers. I contemplate how one simple decision (to quit Champix) could bring back my friend. I do not feel at all like celebrating. I mention it to no one."

September 1st: Quit Day: "Over-riding feeling of depression throughout the day. Past traumas and tragedies mull around in my brain. Can I live with bad memories and current stresses without nicotine?"

September 2nd: "Awake to rain and puppy piddle on the mattress at my feet. No showers in this campground. Remnants of weird, busy dreams. It's so cold. Cravings are frequent and intense--but short-lived. I'm prickly with my friends. Moody. Quiet. Depressed."

September 3rd: "Wake in a more cheery mood. Today I feel better, stronger, more committed. This morning my mouth felt cleaner--the first advantage of non-smoking I've experienced. I wish I wasn't travelling so that I could engage in more exercise and have easier access to healthy snacks. Bought a 4-pound sack of Rockets candies. I don't fit any of the jeans I've packed."

September 4th: "Dark, bottomless emptiness into which 100 sour candies, a steak supper and two pieces of apple pie fall. Coffee and Irish Cream. I'm never sated, never full. I could eat forever. Sugar, caffeine, alcohol. Deep breaths of mountain air, long hikes. Four pounds of Rockets. Half a jug of white wine. 14 hours of sleep. Nothing is ever enough. Nothing fills the emptiness."

September 5th: "Coffee and cream liqueur. Two-hour hike through mountain muskeg. Fall colours, red berries, green moss, blue lakes, quiet. Friends. Hot sun. Slow nagging headache. An afternoon nap turns bad. I can't wake up for supper. Tired. So tired. Tummy stirs. Eyes close. Day 5. Yes. I can do it."

September 6th: "If I knew cigarettes would give me pleasure, I'd fall for the temptation. It's the bane of the addict--the drug always calls..."

Today, 12 September 2009, is my 12th smoke-free day. It has not been easy. It is not getting any easier. I feel like a baby that's lost its soother, a toddler bereft of her teddy bear, a child letting go her mother's hand to step into the classroom on her very first day of school.

Friends, I've been there, done all that, grew through it all and survived. We all know that this time will be no different.

Check out some tobacco trivia at http://www.eileenschuh.com/did-you-know/

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Day #3: Guilty Pleasure

Even though my quit date isn't until 1 September, I feel guilty about continuing to smoke. It seems odd that as I tell people I'm quitting, I'm lighting up.

I'm in a better mood today. Champix lost its edge and the damned cigarettes were half-assed pleasurable again. I guess that's why the dosage doubles on day #4 and again on day #8.

According the product insert from Pfizer, the manufacturer of Champix, "...it is not known exactly how the drug works in people." [Leaving me to wonder if it is known how it works in rats--just kidding. Their wording sounded strange to me, though.]

"Champix," the brochure says, "does not contain nicotine, but it has been shown to affect the nicotine receptor that is thought to be most related to smoking addiction....it acts like a weaker version of nicotine, and also blocks nicotine from getting to the receptor because it binds more tightly..."

I feel like I should be doing more than popping a pill. When I light up, I wish I'd resisted at least a little bit. I wish I'd kept up with my "Track a Pack" log--perhaps I am smoking less and don't know it. I've noticed my cigarettes often end up dead and only half-smoked in the ashtray. Yesterday, several times I paused in my websurfing, Twitter-learning, tweet-sending, and discovered my cigarette had gone out in my hand.

That NEVER used to happen! My cigarettes got smoked right down to the filter--every time without fail! After all, they cost way too much to waste!

Could it be this easy? Will I go to bed on September 1st and realize I didn't have a cigarette all day? Will there be no struggle? No pain? Will cigarettes just become unimportant to me?

It doesn't seem right that I don't have to pay with the agony of withdrawal for my sin of having smoked for thirty-odd years. Or, that I don't have to recommit to not smoking a hundred times each day, every time the Nicotine Demons whisper.

I'm taking a bit of a break from cyberspace to concentrate on a project. I thank you all for your support and when I come back, I'll update you on the joys of being a non-smoker.

Think of me on September 1st. I'll be thinking of you, and those thoughts will keep me strong!

Cheers!

The hero in my Back Tracker series struggles to quit smoking--a habit he picked up when working uncover with The Traz biker gang.

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/