Space Coast Writer’s Guild Hosts Editing Workshop

Space Coast Writer’s Guild Hosts Editing Workshop

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The Space Coast Writer’s Guild hosted me to lead a workshop “Editing Down to the Bones” in Melbourne, Florida.

My best advice is don’t bother editing until you complete the first draft.

If that’s all anyone learned from the workshop, then follow it and you will thank me. I know writers who have rewritten their first chapter for years and never finished the book. You cannot judge the value of that first chapter until you can look back from the perspective of the last chapter. You might end up throwing away that first chapter!

There, there. This may come as a terrible shock, but you will discard much of that first draft, because the first draft helps you find the story, discover the characters, and shape the action. That first draft is not the final product. Think of it as fertilizer out of which your beautiful story will grow. Nobody picks up a cello for the first time and plays Vivaldi. After you write your first million words, you will learn how to shorten the process of reaching that finished product. Statistically speaking, you will write five novels before you write one worth publishing.

Author Joni M. Fisher connects her laptop to the overhead projector.

We discussed how the story’s structure is the foundation for the story. Is it sturdy? Is it complete? Does it have the elements of the bestsellers in your genre?

For further reading on structure, become familiar with what the experts of storytelling have to say.

I recommend buying a hard copy of these books because they will become your reference books.

open book emitting lights

Other topics covered in the workshop were:

  • choosing a point of view—whose story is it?
  • composing scenes by cause and effect
  • ordering scenes for maximum impact
  • establishing the story question and when to answer it
  • using the value of setting
  • choosing the types and levels of conflict
  • discerning scene from sequel
  • timing the use of backstory, flashbacks, and transitions
  • developing sensory details and fact-checking
  • crafting figures of speech and imagery
  • setting the pace
  • proofreading and line editing with critique partners and professionals.

Thank you, Space Coast Writer’s Guild, for hosting my workshop. All the best to you!

If your writer’s group seeks workshop presenters on dialogue, editing, or writing for magazines, see my Events page.

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FWA Conference 2016

The Florida Writers Association Conference dominated the Altamonte Springs Hilton from October 20 to 23. As a first-timer, new FWA member, I enjoyed the event with equal parts wonder and nervousness. Wonder, because the workshops and panel discussions featured top-notch experts. Nervousness, because one of my books was a finalist in the Royal Palm Literary Awards. The theme of the conference–Carpe Diem, conquer the world one book at a time!


  • Attorney Anne Dalton tackled the topics of Fair Use and Copyright. Her presentation of these complex issues clarified the perils and pitfalls in terms non-lawyers can understand.
  • Erik Deckers shared marketing branding secrets that work. How many authors have mastered marketing? Not me. So I greatly appreciated advice from someone who has co-authored four books on social media marketing. Deckers also presented a fabulous workshop on humor writing.
  • Keith Ogorek of Author Solutions detailed the need for great stories in Hollywood and how to promote a book to producers and directors. He explained how movie deals work.
  • Keynote Speaker John Gilstrap delivered a funny and encouraging speech on the roller-coaster life of becoming a bestselling author.
  • A panel of authors, led by Chris Hamilton, conducted two hilarious and helpful Gong Show Pitchfest sessions. Brave writers took turns pitching their story concepts to the panel of experts. After the panel gonged the pitch twice, the writer was supposed to stop. The panel members then took turns to give constructive critiques of the pitch.

The forward-thinking FWA provided a spiral-bound detailed conference schedule, a small spiral-bound notebook, and–best of all–a spiral-bound copy of the workshop handouts. Seriously, I am grateful for the handouts because I don’t take shorthand and having the handouts makes it easier to pay attention to the presentation instead of trying to scribble faster. How many of us have come back from a conference with incomplete or illegible notes? Well, done, FWA. Well done.


North of the Killing Hand wins second place in 2016 RPLAOn Saturday night, the conference attendees, staff, and families of the finalists gathered in the Crystal ballroom for a steak dinner and for the presentation of awards in twenty-six genre categories. A separate youth awards ceremony  with fifteen genre categories had been held at lunch. The young writers ranged from 9 to 17 years old.

My friend Author Carol J. Post won second place in the published novella category. Her work has also finaled in the prestigious Golden Heart and RITAs. (I was especially thrilled that her work was in a different category from mine. She has published soooo many books more than I have…) The very last category winners announced were Women’s Fiction. My book North of the Killing Hand won second place in unpublished Women’s Fiction. It was published in ebook and paperback October 16. For a complete list of winners see the Royal Palm Literary Award Winner List.


During the conference, authors had their works for sale in the Capital ballrooms. Volunteers manned the store and handled sales and bookkeeping. Authors held scheduled book signings in the bookstore. A portion of all proceeds was donated to the nonprofit Florida Writers Foundation which partners with literacy programs for adults and children. In addition, two 50/50 raffles and a silent auction also raised money for the foundation. Last year the raffle and silent auction raised $1,500.


Edible chocolate framed logo and chocolate cake!

The Hilton Orlando/Altamonte Springs hosted and sponsored the conference. They fed us far beyond the expected with buffets and snacks to keep us going through the event-packed days and nights. The service was amazing. On the night of the awards banquet, the chef prepared a special desert. Each luscious piece of chocolate cake came with an edible chocolate frame surrounding the FWA logo crafted onto white chocolate. At first I thought it was too pretty to eat, then I decided to preserve it by taking a photo. Then I ate it.

Other sponsors included:, Black Oyster Publishing, EDIT911, ROY’L GRAFIX, and Author Solutions.


As an incentive to fill out evaluation forms on the workshops, FWA gave out a door prize ticket for each workshop evaluation turned in. They gave out four tickets to those who obtained a signature from the sponsors. The door prizes ranged from an FWA water bottle to paid conference tuition for 2017. Themed baskets of goodies, books, discounts on professional services, and a giant chocolate bar door prize entertained and delighted the attendees.


Donna Kelly, Carol Post, me, and Veronica Berry pose for a photo.

Of course, a great joy of writer’s conferences is meeting old friends and new. Writing tends to be such an isolated task. When we crawl out of our writing caves into daylight, we tend to celebrate life and friendship and encourage one another. We talk and talk, eat, and drink. Swap stories. Stay up too late. Rise early and repeat.


While many writers conferences offer agent pitch sessions, FWA offers one-on-one interviews with experts in marketing, humor, genealogical research, editing, audio books, collaboration, children’s fiction, forensics, and many other topics. I’ve been to other conferences in which agent pitch session last five minutes. Think speed dating with timers and volunteers to herd you in and out. FWA conducts the one-on-one sessions to be useful and less stressful for all.

My FWA conference experience convinced me to participate again in 2017.



The Writing Tribe

Over a decade ago my husband begged me to work in his medical office for a year to help straighten out the past due accounts. The past due accounts were in shambles. Patients were angry, the insurance companies were denying payment on old accounts and the both business partners were getting nervous about the potential losses.

The other physician and the office manager Sherri double-teamed me when I stopped in to the office to get Hubby’s signature on the back of his check for deposit. Sherri asked, “What would it take for you to come work here for just a year to straighten out the accounts while we hunt for a replacement collections specialist?”

I told them that I would have to think about it because the weird dynamics of working with my spouse would cause friction. I had to consider the salary and conditions that would make the situation tolerable for all of us. The last time I worked in the office was as a consultant when they switched from manual bookkeeping and billing to a computerized system. Then, the ladies in billing and accounting kept dropping hints to me that the office really really needed a new facsimile machine and a new copier and would I please pass the word along, maybe whisper it in Hubby’s ear while he’s asleep?

The office manager knew both the business of running a small business and the way to coach the best out of employees so that they worked happily and efficiently alone and in teams. So when she asked me to work for the office I knew she was prepared for the odd dynamics of having the boss’s wife around.

It took me a few days to wrap my future plans around the idea of spending almost every waking and sleeping moment with my spouse. I love my husband but just as absence makes the heart grow fonder, full-time, non-stop twenty-four hour daily togetherness practically guaranteed conflict. I would be subservient in his domain.

I would have to treat him as a boss and not as a lover and husband and father of our child. No hugging, kissing, flirting, or expecting him to open doors. At the office I would have to address him as Doctor Fisher as if we were barely friends. The situation demanded that I become and behave as just another employee. On the totem pole of authority, Hubby and his partner were the top, Sherri supported the top, beneath Sherri came the rest of the employees. In order to avoid even the appearance of favoritism from anyone I would be that part of the totem pole beneath the ground.

In my previous experience working at the office as an outside consultant I had the luxury of treating the business owners and the office manager as equals. We each had our area of expertise and mine was in creating the perfect fusion of computers and processes to maximize profit and minimize overhead. Sherri was the subject matter expert in operating the medical clinic from greeting patients to sending accounts to an outside collection agency. She understood basic business law. She knew business practices and standards. She knew medical billing and file management and equipment repairs and purchases and all the daily bits and pieces that make the whole shebang run smoothly. The other business partner recognized that I did not want to spend eight hours a day in a windowless cubicle chasing numbers around on a page.

Tropical beach scene on a sunny day in Oahu, HawaiiI presented my offer with a high hourly rate for the position. I did not need benefits like retirement and health care insurance because I was already in Hubby’s health care plan as a dependent and I had my own retirement account as an independent contractor. In addition to the rate, I wanted a bonus at the end of the year equivalent to the tuition and expenses needed for me to attend the ten-day Writer’s Retreat and Workshop in Maui, Hawaii. I submitted the brochure with my proposal and left the office so the two business partners and the office manager could discuss whether or not it was worth this amount to bring me in for a year. I included the Maui trip as incentive to face cubicle walls day after sunless day. I am a lover of words, not numbers. I can handle working with numbers, but it isn’t pleasant or soul-satisfying for me.

Hubby came home that night and told me that the company had agreed to all my terms. Gulp. I had asked for such a high hourly rate that it amazed me that they accepted it. This told me two things. The first thing it told me was that they believed and trusted that I was up to the task of straightening up a huge stack of past due accounts. The second thing it told me was that they had waited so long that the problem was snowballing on them and they feared monstrous write-offs.

Hubby asked if I could start the next day. I agreed. Every day meant more accounts were passing their deadline for refilling, and once passed, the insurance companies had no obligation to pay or even to negotiate.

I borrowed a pair of scrubs to comply with the employee dress code (that as a contractor I had helped write). Scrubs felt as comfortable as pajamas with pockets and they went well with sneakers. I soon learned that the combination of loose clothing and junk food would conspire to pack twenty unwanted pounds of blubber on my frame. Parts of me jiggled when I walked that had not jiggled since pregnancy.

The worst part was that when we were at work we talked about work. When we got home at the end of long tediously repetitive work, we talked about work. I wanted to read a book to empty the numbers from my brain. I started dreaming of numbers, account numbers, ICD-9 codes, insurance company codes, referral codes, supply codes and all the various information translated into codes that simplified billing into what would fit on the forms. I researched the accounts and rebilled the past dues that had been rejected for lack of a secondary form or code or proof of a procedure, such as a copy of the dictation or the operative report. I rebilled insurance claims that were on the care of children because the original claim failed to include the name or policy information on the guarantor or parent. I rebilled claims that showed no proof of having been billed.

I argued with insurance companies day after bloody day until I wanted to reach through the phone line to slap a few offensively ignorant clerks who failed to follow their own company policies and the law. The game playing of the insurance companies drove me to drinking. Coca cola all day and wine at night kept me buzzed with caffeine and crashing at night. Sleep happened occasionally but it wasn’t restful because I spent my dreams on the hunt for numbers.

My eyes were sore at the end of the day from staring into computers and struggling to read blurry, poorly photocopied documents and crappy handwriting so it wasn’t fun to read a novel at night. I watched the most vacuous television shows just to crowd numbers out of my consciousness before I went to bed.

After a few months, I had memorized the voice mail menus of Medicare. I knew that Blue Cross Blue Shield’s voice mail purgatory system never ever allowed access to a live human and that rebilling with a letter of explanation only meant that the claim and the letter would be separated at the Blue Cross Blue Shield billing office no matter how many staples were used to secure the two papers.

Sherri taught me how to process insurance checks so I could read them well enough to find underpayments and rebill the claims based on the explanation of benefits form that arrived with the checks. I learned how to handle all the tasks in recovering past due accounts from the various screw ups that caused them to be rejected by their insurance companies.

To my shame, I never learned how to transfer a call on the office’s new telephone system. The problem wasn’t in my brain. I understood the procedure. The problem was that each employee’s phone required a transfer code. To forward a caller to Doctor Fisher I was supposed to press the key labeled TRANSFER and then press the 1 key on the phone because doctor Fisher’s phone was phone number one. Well, days before I arrived at the office to work, the phones had been upgraded.

The codes posted on the cubicle wall over my phone were the OLD codes. Every phone had been issued a new different number and the list of new codes had been typed up and posted in every cubicle but mine. I wasn’t hired to answer the phones, so it was expected that calls would be transferred to me not from me.

Patients expect that one call to an office should be enough to connect them to anyone in the office and that that one call could be transferred to another employee within that same office without an ordeal or a disconnection. So here I was telling people to pay up on their copays and deductibles and when they asked to schedule their next appointment I was accidentally disconnecting them. Not great customer service if you know what I mean.

I became known among the veteran patients as that new kid in collections, the one who could not handle the phone equipment. I was the new kid for twelve miserable months.

writing tribeIn late August, at the end of my one year sentence in the four by four by five foot cubicle, I was released to my own recognizance. Freed at last, amen and amen. I packed my novel manuscript, pens and steno pads with a laptop and printer. There was a little room left for clothes and toiletries. I flew to Hawaii for the second time in my life and this time I was on my own for ten glorious days.

I was so hungry for the world of writing, the world of words and story that I ached for it. It took three connecting flights from Orlando to reach Maui and each served breakfast. I read a book on each flight.

In Maui I shared a cab with man who said he was going to the conference. We struck up conversation. He was one of the instructors for the workshop, he said. He would run the daily workshop for a class of screenwriters and was I a screenwriter? No, I admitted that I had signed up for the fiction workshop class for help on my first novel. I handed him my business card. Under my name was “writer, pilot” and my website listing.

He handed me his card. Jeff Arch. The Jeff Arch who wrote the screenplay for Sleepless In Seattle. He admitted he was very excited to be at the conference as an instructor not just because it was a paid trip to Maui, but because the solitary of life of writing wore him down. He said he gets renewed at conferences, where people speak his language and share his love of the craft of storytelling.

His confession nearly brought me to tears. It was exactly how I felt. That is the reason I chased numbers on a paper for a year, to be with my writing tribe, that peculiar group of people who love words and stories. The retreat and workshops fed my writer’s soul. After ten days among my tribe, the numbers left my head.

The Writer’s Life and Conferences

Just returned from a week-long stint at the Romance Writer’s of America conference in Anaheim. Tossed my suitcase in the room and headed over to the Convention Center to unpack and haul books for the Literacy Signing. Did we haul books! The next day I volunteered for the Librarian’s Day Goodie Room–where publishers and authors woo librarians with free books of all types and sizes. How can I describe the faces of bliss as the librarians chatted with authors over free books? Transcendent joy comes close.

What does my husband think I do at these conferences? Argue the merits of sans serif fonts? Does he imagine that we meet like hermits dragged from solitude into the light of day? I have been afraid to ask. Hubby is an orthopedic surgeon. At his conferences they discuss life and death issues and often practice new operating tools and techniques on cadavers. Oh, wake up and smell the formaldehyde. Eeeew.

A group of my colleagues in the Kiss of Death Chapter (writers of suspense, mystery and thrillers), took a tour with the LAPD. As AJ Brower summed it up, “Men in uniform, on horseback with guns.” She then bragged about her high-speed thrill ride on a training track with one of the merry men in blue. Many of the women on that tour bought tiny silver handcuff pins to commemorate their day. Next year I’m booking an earlier flight!

Day two hubby called to ask if I was okay and if I felt the earthquake.

Earthquake? No, dear.

And what about the riot nearby?

Uh, what riot?

With concern in his voice, he asked if I ventured outside at all.

No, dear. Having a great time. I could almost hear him shake his head. All his sweet concern was wasted on me as I enjoyed the estrogen storm of two thousand women at conference. The community of writers is a diverse, welcoming, generous group of professionals. Okay, generous until the publishers host book signings and give away free books–then it’s more like a shoe sale at Macy’s.

While all the attendees wear name badges, many add pins to them for bling. Pins to identify their chapter. Pins to identify winners of the Golden Heart and RITA awards, pins to show leadership positions, pins that promote books, and goofy pins as well. The name badges also sport colored ribbons to denote status–Speaker, Librarian, Book Seller, First Timer, RITA Finalist, Golden Heart Finalist, volunteer, and so on. Perhaps the oddest combination of ribbons was on my Tampa Area Romance Author colleague Karen Fleming, whose namebadge was flagged with First Timer and Golden Heart Finalist. There is something almost wrong about that combination, however, that could be jealousy talking.

Karen Fleming accepting her Golden Heart Award.

Karen Fleming accepting her Golden Heart Award.

The highlight of the week was the awards ceremony for the RITA and Golden Heart Awards. The RITA Award is for published books of 2011 and the Golden Heart is for unpublished works. Two of my friends were finalists in the inspirational category of the Golden Heart Contest. Karen Fleming won and her friend, critique partner, and co-finalist Carol Post cheered her on. Author Karen Rose congratulated her with a hug. I thought we’d have to take Karen Fleming down with a tranquilizer gun to get her back to her room before her early flight home, but dancing wore her out.

After a week of late nights and early mornings, I’m back home awaiting three boxes of books to be delivered via FEDEX. I am an admitted book addict. Will share the loot with my book club pals and friends. The joy of reading is what writing is all about. One day I hope readers will be eager to settle into their beach chairs and sofas to be swept away in one of my stories. I strive to write the kind of story I long to read.

Back to the desk I go, like a hermit.