tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79172456358206110262024-03-18T02:49:07.487-04:00A Good Blog is Hard To FindA Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.comBlogger973125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-76274920462701599822012-10-12T08:43:00.002-04:002012-10-12T09:07:37.697-04:00Eulogy for Julie Cannon by Karin Gillespie<span class="apple-converted-space"><b><span style="background: white; color: #516064;">“</span><i><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">I </span></i></b></span><b><i><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">think the key to making a story come alive
is being willing to rip a page from your own life, to draw upon your deepest
pain without flinching~Julie Cannon</span></i></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlHVajtsNr6zZWD2VIMH6jftBVH3g4Ei6D28LF-kVqDwrmF04069JS4OinhjIwbaNYU8gw8YHX4IF5qloAHlp2a2ZkWx6jDZCKqqNlOE0qAXXW5wBI05mXFoDHEAKXuMhPKudTGKo0lV1/s1600/Julie+Cannon+Porch+3X5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlHVajtsNr6zZWD2VIMH6jftBVH3g4Ei6D28LF-kVqDwrmF04069JS4OinhjIwbaNYU8gw8YHX4IF5qloAHlp2a2ZkWx6jDZCKqqNlOE0qAXXW5wBI05mXFoDHEAKXuMhPKudTGKo0lV1/s320/Julie+Cannon+Porch+3X5.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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Everyone who ever met
Julie Cannon knew she was a true sweetheart, the type of person who diligently
wrote thank you notes, never flipped a bird at anyone, and wouldn’t dream of
sneaking fifteen items onto to the ten-item line at the Kroger. </div>
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<br /></div>
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They also knew she was
about as Southern as they come. Sometimes my Midwestern ears had trouble
translating her heavy drawl. I remember she said to me once, “I’ve got a
craving for some machinites” and I said, “Say what?” And we went back and forth,
and finally she showed me in the convenience store a box of Mike and Ikes.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Most folks were also
aware she was somewhat of a homespun girl. She wrote her novels in longhand at
the kitchen table; when she was in 4-H she nurtured a cow, and as a kid she
loved spending her summers at her mee-maws’ farm in<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span>Armuchee, Georgia,
saying: </div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="color: red;">“It felt like pure heaven as a bunch of us
cousins rode horses bare-back down through the bottomland, plucking
blackberries and hunting arrowheads along the Oostenaula River. In the
evenings, I’d sit very still out on the porch, listening to my kinfolks
indulging in that wonderful southern tradition of oral storytelling. Their
stories were fabulous, truly stranger than fiction, and I was collecting them
like lightning bugs.” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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She was also a devout
Christian; she read devotionals every morning, and her last two novels were
written for the Christian market, but lest you think I’m describing a
scripture-spouting saint, “the gal” (that’s what her daddy called her) had a
wicked sense of humor. </div>
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<br /></div>
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One of her characters
in <i>Pearly Gates </i>was so afraid of
becoming a church lady, she secretly entered an erotic bull-riding contest.
Another character in <i>Truelove and
Homegrown Tomatoes</i> trolled the frozen food section, looking for lonely,
single would-be suitors with Hungry Man dinners in their buggies. And <span style="color: red;"><a href="http://juliecannon.info/blog/?p=1"><span style="color: red;">one of the funniest essays I've ever
read</span></a> </span>is Julie’s reaction when she found out about another Julie Cannon who
wrote lesbian romance. <br />
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In addition to her
quick wit, she also was a wonderful mom to Iris, Gus and Sam, and a loving wife
to Tom, and a dutiful daughter to her parents, Robert and Gloria Lowery, both
who had to say goodbye to their dear child far too soon.</div>
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<br /></div>
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All of these qualities about Julie are amazing and will certainly be
acknowledged at her funeral and in the minds and hearts of those who loved her.
But I will remember her most for one singular quality: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">That seemingly sweet girl, the one with the
soft brown eyes and shy smile, was <i>fierce
</i>when it came to her art.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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She had dreams of being
a writer ever since she penned “Mrs. Duck’s Vacation” in elementary school, and
like all passions should, it tested her, and twisted her and made her regularly
leap out of her comfort zones, like a shaky-kneed swimmer taking a plunge from
the high dive. </div>
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<br /></div>
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When Julie’s first
novel <i>TrueLove and Homegrown Tomatoes</i>
was published, she was shocked to learn that she’d have to speak publically to
promote it. She was terrified of public speaking, but her love for her art won
out over her fear, and she made herself learn to be a winning speaker. </div>
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<br /></div>
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She, Jackie Miles,
Patty Sprinkle and I traveled the Southeast as an author group called the Dixie
Divas and during a five-year period we must have done at least hundred speaking
engagements. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">Audiences fell in love with Julie because her
sincerity always shown through her talks, clear as a coin in a fountain. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Later, when authors
were expected to be adept at social media, Julie, who barely knew a mouse from
a modem, suddenly was friending and tweeting like a pro.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I’ve known Julie since
2004, and her career, like many writers, had its bumps and potholes and rocky spots.
There were novels that didn’t sell, and sometimes novels that didn’t sell enough.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Sacrifices were also constantly being made. She’d
joke about her neglected house, saying, “<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Cobwebs dangle, dust gathers, and roaches remain in the spot where they
perished days ago.”</span> </div>
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<br /></div>
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She’d also lament about
the frozen burritos she often served up for supper and how her husband Tom was
a “reluctant patron of the arts.” </div>
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<br /></div>
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But never once did I
ever hear her say, “I give up.” </div>
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<br /></div>
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True, she sometimes had
her doubts about her calling. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Once she wrote this: </div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="background: white; color: red;">“I love writing, but there is
a lot of blood, sweat, and tears that goes with this career. The paychecks are
erratic. Why in heaven’s name do I keep on allowing myself to write novels? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="background: white; color: red;">To stay in a business which
regularly does a number on a person’s self-esteem?..</span></i><i><span style="background: white; color: red; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;"> </span><span style="background: white; color: red;">Do I honestly have to do it? Does attention
follow desire? Or does desire simply follow attention? Because I know I give it
my utmost attention and perhaps it is one of those self-propagating things like
whirlwinds of leaves. I go round and round with this question, but still don’t
have the answer.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>”</span><span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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At some point, I think Julie
came to terms with her doubts and grew to believe God had given her writing
talent as a gift, and it was her obligation to use that gift, and that when she
sat down at her kitchen table she was co-creating with Him. Every day before she wrote, she would pray: <span style="background: white; color: #516064;">“</span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Lord, give me a heart to tell stories about Your goodness and
the language to speak it well.”</span> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I don’t know everything
Julie was doing the last day of her life, but I can promise you that at some
point she was scribbling at her kitchen table, because she felt alive when she
wrote, and she wrote every day of the week except for Sundays. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">She did not sleepwalk through her too-brief
life. She was keenly present, telling her deeply held truths with her pen,
using her gifts nearly every day, and now through the power of her words, she
will always be alive. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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At first it was
impossible for me to understand why Julie was taken away too soon; I know she
didn’t want to go. She was in the midst of promoting <i>Twang</i>, and was looking forward to the release of <i>Scarlett Says</i> in Oct 2013. In light of
all that, her death made no sense to me.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
But then, like a
character in a Flannery O’Conner novel—Flannery being one of Julie’s favorite
authors—I finally got my moment of grace.</div>
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<br /></div>
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My guess was that her
co-creator, her dearly beloved Father, had her in mind for even greater art on
another realm, and decided it time to bring her back home for a new calling.</div>
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<br /></div>
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In fact, I’m sure
that’s what happened.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">I knew Julie believed deeply that God never
takes away anything from his children without giving them something even more
amazing in return. I think she deeply
understood that every tragedy and setback contains a blessing, even if we
cannot see it right away. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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This is what those of
us she left behind must always remember, difficult as that might be. We were
damn lucky to have her as long as we did. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Julie studied
eschatology, which, in part, has to do with what happens after you die and whether
or not the dead can communicate with living. She even wrote about it in <i>Truelove and Homegrown Tomatoes</i>. </div>
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<br /></div>
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On the day of her death,
as I was weeping on my front steps, I noticed that, out of nowhere, a single
perfect daisy had sprung up in my lawn.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I think she is with us
always, and that’s why I know that she can hear me when I say: </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Good night, sweet diva.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
I love you; you meant
the world to me and taught me so much about what it means to be a writer .</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
See you soon in the
great book signing in the sky. I’ll follow the crowds to the longest line.<br />
<br />
<i>Julie Cannon died in her sleep on Oct 9. She was fifty years old. </i><a href="http://www.juliecannon.info/">http://www.juliecannon.info/</a></div>
A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com53tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-32374419861356694742012-05-13T14:05:00.000-04:002012-05-13T14:16:34.459-04:00Going Home to Jesus<strong><a href="http://manmartin.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">By Man Martin</a></strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyQ5KAHmsVJbv-tKl9XZX9-ohQ3sMKLbMAIXXb3p9unB2uE7FKRqNd-feZbHoihnrHV8LwIn-HpqkOYjqkL0rFRfUCMybHu0X-22V4gTMztXUWo3mAlunnhQrWBwKSKqi0UM3le_TgyCbj/s1600/kathy+p.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyQ5KAHmsVJbv-tKl9XZX9-ohQ3sMKLbMAIXXb3p9unB2uE7FKRqNd-feZbHoihnrHV8LwIn-HpqkOYjqkL0rFRfUCMybHu0X-22V4gTMztXUWo3mAlunnhQrWBwKSKqi0UM3le_TgyCbj/s200/kathy+p.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong>Kathy Patrick</strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_n0ktOc8LoMjiGlPrFUNeeyItzLp-wY0N2CERPvNvtU1W1Nx6-LOMYzRRJSjGzCxDYNVEcQ_IR6pH9sNl3RQU9y5hccIzO6C3Mpyd1z_CfIUmoZkDbliBbmnhqhBv9OuretyTAnNgWT1r/s1600/20149647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_n0ktOc8LoMjiGlPrFUNeeyItzLp-wY0N2CERPvNvtU1W1Nx6-LOMYzRRJSjGzCxDYNVEcQ_IR6pH9sNl3RQU9y5hccIzO6C3Mpyd1z_CfIUmoZkDbliBbmnhqhBv9OuretyTAnNgWT1r/s1600/20149647.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong>Karin Gillespie</strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When I was seven years old, my mother told me that my dog Skipper had “gone home to Jesus.” Although no one explained this at the time, I have since realized that the Lord’s calling Skipper home had something to do with his penchant for biting strangers on the ankle without provocation or warning. Since that day, much in my life has gone home to Jesus: friends – human and animal – family members, personal possessions, youth, hair. This is the way of the world we live in: everything, no matter how dear, is only ours temporarily. Life isn’t a gift; it’s a loan.<br />
<br />
<br />
Now it’s time to send “A Good Blog is Hard to Find” home to Jesus.<br />
<br />
A sad duty, but not without some compensating pleasure. There are so many wonderful writers who have written for this blog, I cannot thank them all for fear of leaving someone out. Many of them I have met at book festivals around the South. I will say that writers are a special and wonderful breed, Southern writers in particular, and writers of this blog most of all. Unfailingly, the bloggers I have met have not merely talented, but gracious, warm, and generous. It is a pleasure to be associated with them. I have to give a special thanks to Karin Gillepie who started this all up, and to Kathy Patrick, founder and grand pooh-bah of the Pulpwood Queens who took the tiller when Peggy stepped down.<br />
<br />
Thanks to them, to all of our writers, and to you, our readers.<br />
<br />
And so, farewell.<br />
<br />
Somewhere in heaven, I know, are five cell phones I’ve dropped in swimming pools, bathtubs and toilets – the Plymouth Voyager whose radiator cracked en route to Destin – about two thousand pairs of reading glasses I’ve purchased at the Dollar Store and later stepped on or mislaid – my dog Skipper – and my Granny Barr. <br />
<br />
Who’s reading this now.<br />
<br />
<strong>Man Martin, the author of Days of the Endless Corvette and Paradise Dogs, has many accomplishments in which to take pride, one of which will always be this blog.</strong><br />
<br />A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-3257978980416933242012-05-08T23:30:00.000-04:002012-05-08T23:30:00.213-04:00Say It With Musicby <a href="http://www.jenniebentley.com/" target="_blank">Jennie Bentley</a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggaWoT473D-rk5TsJGVT8G2jY4QxNIeqUc9p4hOu2eLjTt5T1SOJTwDZJIQwzkIeRrS2WUbzpo4sxiPS0bQq0Jyw0pz6Jdy5x5qCJFcf2N0sZ7xhq006Ffu3LNCM9KG0VDOd1jr1iIZsAu/s1600/BenteAuthorPhoto.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggaWoT473D-rk5TsJGVT8G2jY4QxNIeqUc9p4hOu2eLjTt5T1SOJTwDZJIQwzkIeRrS2WUbzpo4sxiPS0bQq0Jyw0pz6Jdy5x5qCJFcf2N0sZ7xhq006Ffu3LNCM9KG0VDOd1jr1iIZsAu/s200/BenteAuthorPhoto.JPG" width="149" /></a>So we're talking about music on the blog this month. Since I live in Music City - Nashville, Tennessee - I guess that's something I should probably be able to talk about, but the truth is, I don't listen to music that often. Some authors I know can't write unless they have music spurring them on. I'm the opposite; I can't concentrate on my own words if someone else's words are in the background. <br />
<br />
That's not to say I don't like music. I do. I just can't multitask when music is playing. I either listen to it - actually sit down and listen, to the exclusion of everything else - or I prefer silence.<br />
<br />
The funny thing is, I married a singer/songwriter. That's how I ended up in Nashville in the first place. And I admire his talent. I really do. Even if, at times, I wish he'd just shut the hell up, because his screaming at the top of his lungs in the shower is distracting me.<br />
<br />
Songwriting is a discipline I've never been able to master. I can write.
Sometimes, my sentences even approach brilliance. Or maybe I won't go quite that
far, but once in a while, I manage to string words together into something that
makes me happy, maybe even a little delirious. Most of the time I just write
plain sentences, though. They say what I want them to say, in the best way I can
say it, and they're perfectly serviceable. But every so often, on a rare blue
moon, the stars align and the words come together in a way that comes off the
page. <br /><br />That's how I feel about a really good songwriter. The words are
perfect; the kind that give me chills when I hear them. <br /><br />There are
authors out there who can do the same thing, of course. A friend of mine is a
great admirer of Tim Hallinan. I had the pleasure of meeting Tim at Bouchercon
last September, and I can attest to the fact that he's a lovely, lovely man. He
told me I don't have an accent, I have a "lyrical intonation." How can you not
love that?<br /><br />Anyway, my friend Beth says this about Tim's writing: "<em>I
know all those words. Why can't I put them together like that?</em>"
<br /><br />That's how I feel about songwriters. I know the words; why can't
I put them together the same way? Why can't I write something that makes people
cry? That makes them smile and laugh and feel?<br />
<br /><br />
Here's one that speaks to me. I can't listen to this song without tearing up. I can play it three times in a row, and cry each time. As story-songs go, it doesn't get any better than this. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
So what about you? Do you like music? Or lyrics?
Do you have a favorite song that brings you to tears? Or a favorite songwriter?
Or for that matter a favorite author whose words make you weep with joy?<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
New York Times bestselling author <strong>Jennie Bentley</strong> writes the Do It Yourself home renovation mysteries for Berkley Prime Crime. Book 6, <strong><em>Wall to Wall Dead</em></strong>, will be released in September. As <strong>Jenna Bennett</strong>, she write the Cutthroat Business mysteries for her own gratification, as well as various types of romance - suspense, paranormal, and futuristic - for Entangled Publishing. Her next romance, <strong><em>Fortune's Hero</em></strong>, comes in November. You can find out more about her books and her personae on her website, <a href="http://www.jenniebentley.com/">www.JennieBentley.com</a> </div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-38535783474338163182012-04-27T12:01:00.000-04:002012-04-27T12:20:27.336-04:00Turtle Summer<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">By: Mary Alice Monroe</span><br />
Every morning I gaze out at the sea with anticipation. My back pack is filled with supplies, my probe stick stands at the ready, and my team T-shirts and cap lay patiently in my dresser drawer. My annual season of being a “turtle lady” lays just on the horizon.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loggerhead laying eggs</td></tr>
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Every spring the sea turtles begin their long journey home for a new nesting season along the southeastern U.S. coast. The stretch of South Carolina shoreline that I am blessed to call home will soon welcome home caretta caretta, the loggerhead, who will venture onto the beach to give birth. And her arrival will mark the beginning of another turtle summer for me. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Available May 8th</td></tr>
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My fellow turtle team friends and I like to bet when we’ll get our first turtle nest on Isle of Palms or Sullivan’s Island. The year I discovered our first nest of the season happened to be on May 25-- my birthday! I’ve been a member of this wonderful turtle team since 1999. My experiences inspired my first southern novel, <em>The Beach House</em>, in 2002, followed by the sequel, <em>Swimming Lessons</em>. And now, ten years later, <em>Beach House Memories</em>, the prequel of the series, is ready to make its debut on May 8th. This serendipitous timing of a new hardcover release with the start of a new sea turtle nesting season and the tenth anniversary of my first bestseller---makes this an extra special turtle summer for me. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rescued hatchling in hand</td></tr>
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It is an honor to share with readers the inspiration I’ve felt from being a “turtle lady” all these years and the life lessons the sea turtles have taught me. I hope through the pages of <em>Beach House Memories</em>, others will feel inspired by the turtle team characters of my story world and the real life details of the magnificent loggerhead that I am so fortunate to write about and share with the world this turtle summer.<br />
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What is one thing you're looking forward to that will make this summer season special for you?</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em><strong>Mary Alice Monroe</strong> is an award-winning, bestselling author of 13 novels and is an active conservationist. She lives near Charleston, SC. Her newest novel, BEACH HOUSE MEMORIES is available May 8th. </em><em>Visit her at <a href="http://www.maryalicemonroe.com/">http://www.maryalicemonroe.com/</a>.</em></span><br />
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</div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-76862849318164591292012-04-19T20:12:00.000-04:002012-04-19T20:12:29.702-04:00Angry Bird Brain<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angry Birds by <br />
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</tbody></table>I'm not sure what it is about my brain that makes me <em>need</em> to finish things. Not important things that keep the household running smoothly like doing the laundry or dishes, but more trivial things like a finishing a morning run without stopping, or completing a crossword puzzle, or killing just a few more pigs with Angry Birds.<br />
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Whatever this component is in my brain, I believe it is in high gear when I am writing a novel. Right now, I have novel characters that have become so real in my head, that I think about them when I'm not "with them" at my computer. I wonder what they're going to do next, and ruminate on what they've already done. They become as real as the young people I'm watching on American Idol week after week. I remarked to my husband the other night that I've watched these singers so long now I feel as if I know them somehow. <br />
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We went to the mountains last week for spring break. I wanted to write on the trip up, but the kids were in the car, so I opted to play games on my new gadget. I read first using my Bible app and made some very cool Biblical discoveries, then completed a whole crossword puzzle, a game of Sudoku, and several rounds of Angry Birds. When I got stuck on a level, I'd play over and over and over, determined to destroy their houses and kill those little pigs. "These are some smart pigs!" my family got used to me exclaiming. Finally, I had to flip that switch and let go of the pigs and the angry birds for a while. It took a minute or two for my heart to settle down and my temperature to cool.<br />
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The same thing happens when I'm trying to write a new chapter and crack its code. Sometimes I have to try over and over with different tactics until the chapter works. When it does, it's a feeling of immense satisfaction. It's clear to me, that writing a novel definitely uses that same Angry Bird component--the compulsive, have-to-keep-going-until-I-complete-this-thing part of my brain--and I'm grateful for it. I think it's a blessing. <br />
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So how about you? Do you have a teenager in your family who just can't stop playing video games or practicing basketball or doodling...or...fill in the blank? It might be a blessing in disguise. I have learned that God has wired me this way. I love to be fully engaged mentally. Now, I can either use this part of my brain for mind-numbing entertainment that gets me nowhere and helps no one, or I can use it for something worthwhile. My God-given stick-to-it-ness allows me to spend weeks training for a half-marathon or months in a fictitious world writing a novel. At Christmas-time I can complete massive puzzles of cats with a multitude of minuscule pieces...but I doubt that's ever helped anyone.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">At any rate, <a href="http://www.nicoleseitz.com/images/bym.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" qda="true" src="http://www.nicoleseitz.com/images/bym.jpg" width="130" /></a>I like this part of my brain. There is something there that produces euphoria, and although there is nothing scientific about this post, I'm guessing many of you understand and can relate to what I'm saying. It feels good to complete something, to work out long, complicated puzzles in novels, to solve the mysteries, to finally reach redemption for the characters who become larger than life. Before God flipped my switch and gave me my first novel, I wonder what I did with that part of my brain. Nothing quite as productive, I assure you. I think I watched a little too much t.v.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I wonder how you're wired. Have you learned to embrace that quirky thing about you and set it free? I bet if used properly, you could make a difference in the world somehow because God wired you that way. As surely as I write this, God is waiting to take your oddities and use them for his glory in a way that only he can do--only through you. All you have to do is ask him to flip your switch.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.nicoleseitz.com/images/NSeitz_head022711.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" qda="true" src="http://www.nicoleseitz.com/images/NSeitz_head022711.jpg" width="142" /></a></div>Nicole Seitz is the author of six novels, the mother of two adorable kids, and the teacher of about 165 art students. She lives with her family in the Charleston, SC area where she is currently working on her next book. Find her and her work at <a href="http://www.nicoleseitz.com/">http://www.nicoleseitz.com/</a>.A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-14222417611354319792012-04-18T06:16:00.000-04:002012-04-18T06:16:38.774-04:00Sweet Music Man by Niles Reddick<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE51qbq5BQ3ccIzGFmtWGhz8hq-UQ12aJY6wmCq5GPyIBki8qSy9uExL4eA1R-UTWnYKTbfqOt0VFYCqORdGdEBcxMSWxXYtB9mIN-WtQACesMcccFJrgBGBRMcwUVSfQXRPGZFc7h4URB/s1600/Lead+Me+Home+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE51qbq5BQ3ccIzGFmtWGhz8hq-UQ12aJY6wmCq5GPyIBki8qSy9uExL4eA1R-UTWnYKTbfqOt0VFYCqORdGdEBcxMSWxXYtB9mIN-WtQACesMcccFJrgBGBRMcwUVSfQXRPGZFc7h4URB/s320/Lead+Me+Home+cover.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: black;">My father-in-law died after a short battle with cancer last month. Not only was he a great dad to my wife and her siblings, he was a great father-in-law and a great grandfather. He was truly a good man, even a great husband, four different times! He was a reader, appreciated a good book, and was a great storyteller. Things he did or said appear in both my books and I think he enjoyed the attention. Nonetheless, our own lives are now a bit more lonely, and naturally, I've become overly analytical about my own life and direction now. I find solace in music and I always have. Maybe it's because my mother loved records and played them when we were children---great music like Joe South, The Supremes, Kris Kristofferson, Tom. T. Hall, you name it. I learned to dance as a child in the 1960's, to do the twist, listening to 45's of Chubby Checker and Larry Williams'<i> Short Fat Fannie</i> and <i>Boney Maronie</i>. Maybe I love music because I learned to play the piano and memorized many hymns in the Baptist Hymnal---<i>Love Lifted Me, I'll Fly Away, Life's Railway to Heaven, Farther Along, When We All Get to Heaven, I Am Resolved,</i> and so on. Maybe it's because I feel the poetry in lyrics and can relate to them, and it may be because I love to hear beautiful voices sing---Dolly Parton, Stevie Wonder, Tammy Wynette, George Jones, Pink Floyd, CCR, The Indigo Girls, Joan Baez, The Beatles, Emmylou Harris, The Bee Gees, and who could forget Judy Collins and her <i>Amazing Grace. </i>My list of those singers I love could go on some time, longer than anyone would want to read. And what an honor to me when a singer gets one of my books---Tom T. Hall, Trisha Yearwood, Dolly Parton---and sends back compliments. It's like eating the best piece of cake you've ever had. For me, by the way, that would be Debbie Zimmerman's pound cake, a wonderful lady in Winchester, Tennessee, and she is a great singer, too.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now, though, I think I love music and include it in writing because I really wanted to be a singer. I'm not too bad, either. I can harmonize well with Simon and Garfunkel and others in the car. I like to practice in church every once in a while and wonder what the people think when I belt it out. Of course, they shouldn't turn around and shhh me, since that wouldn't be good Christian behavior or Southern etiquette. I want to be able to sing like those I admire, like my late father-in-law who had a beautiful voice and would on occasion spontaneously break into a hymn or a Hank Williams song. Recently, I had a story accepted titled "Drifting too Far from the Shore." It will appear in the <i>Deep South Magazine</i> in Louisiana soon, and the title came from a song written by the Georgia Yellow Hammers early in the 20th century. It was an old gospel song that Hank Williams recorded and was later sung by Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner. I find inspiration in music and want to honor it and the people who sing it in my own writing. I encourage others to listen more closely to the songs---quit singing the wrong lyrics to the radio in the car and in the shower, look up the real lyrics, the stories behind them. For me, music gets me through life, gives me comfort, and gets me through long and sad days. We all have a song and we need to sing it while we can. It's life. My father-in-law taught me that, that sweet music man.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Bio: Hailed by Mid West Review as both an “intriguing and entertaining” novel, <i>Lead Me Home</i> is Niles <span class="spelle">Reddick’s</span> first. He was a finalist for a ForeWord award in fiction and for the Georgia Author of the Year award for first novel. Niles is also author of a collection titled <i>Road Kill Art and Other Oddities</i>, which was a finalist for an EPPIE award. Reddick has published in journals such as “The Arkansas Review: a Journal of Delta Studies,” “The <span class="spelle">Paumanok</span> Review,” “Southern Reader,” among others. His work has also been anthologized in <i>Unusual Circumstances</i> and <i>Southern Voices in Every Direction</i>. He is a former editor of the “The Distillery” and a regular contributor to the <i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";">Southern Literary Review</span></i> and "A Good Blog is Hard to Find." Currently, Reddick teaches and works in administration at Abraham Baldwin Agricultural College in Tifton, Georgia.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqaKo5OHF-GQWIE8qnam7MMXIa380wL8BW_aILHFGqzv4TVsoVc9E9ZtzHi2ngBDq__SGxLb8-c4nF4CDTphXR8dvknoAsf2qWxXLNvkCR4qv4HOffXsA3yihhLDInnIvUrS-Cp3V0TE6I/s1600/Niles+Reddick.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqaKo5OHF-GQWIE8qnam7MMXIa380wL8BW_aILHFGqzv4TVsoVc9E9ZtzHi2ngBDq__SGxLb8-c4nF4CDTphXR8dvknoAsf2qWxXLNvkCR4qv4HOffXsA3yihhLDInnIvUrS-Cp3V0TE6I/s200/Niles+Reddick.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-59664487569268005292012-04-10T18:31:00.000-04:002012-04-10T18:31:30.855-04:00Rebirth: Books and Gardens by Peggy Webb<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Every spring I’m thrilled to see plants that have lain dormant during the winter burst into leaf and bloom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bulbs I had forgotten suddenly send up shoots, and I can hardly wait to grab shears and fill vases all over my house with the richness of fragrance and bloom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Just as spring brings new life to gardens and fresh enjoyment for the gardener, so have e-books brought a new outlet for books and fresh entertainment for the reader.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only does an author’s front list gain fans, but the backlist now has a venue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Books that are long out of print and hard to find (sometimes very expensive, too), can be brought back to life with new covers, updated story and a brand new audience. Too, long-time fans can now enjoy the books in both print and digital format.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Before I wrote the Southern Cousins Mystery series, before I became Anna Michaels who writes literary fiction, I wrote romance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fifty-six, to be exact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My earliest romances were published under the Loveswept and Fanfare logos with Bantam Publishing Company (now Random House).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">For the past year I’ve been bringing my Loveswept romantic comedy classics back to readers in digital format. It has been fun to edit these books, to re-acquaint myself with the characters, laugh at their antics and cry over their heartbreaks. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">I’ve loved having control over everything, especially the covers. Three really good cover design artists have done some amazing covers for me. Pat Ryan did the ethereally beautiful covers for <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Touched by Angels </b>and the sequel, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">A Prince for Jenny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b>Marc Fletcher did the gorgeous cover for the time travel romance, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Night of the Dragon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b>Kim Van Meter designed covers for the five-book<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> Donovans of the Delta </b>romantic comedy series,<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>as well as the knock-your-socks-off <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Witch Dance (romantic suspense.)</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Altogether I have 15 titles from my backlist available as e-books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seven of them have been on the Kindle Top Seller list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Donovan’s Angel, </b>the first book of the Donovan’s of the Delta series, is now available FREE wherever e-books are sold.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">As a bonus for readers here at the Southern Authors Blogspot, I’ve also reduced the price of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Witch Dance to $2.99. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Enjoy your spring gardens and your spring reading! I’d love to hear what you have in your gardens as well as on your bookshelves. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Peggy Webb, a native Mississippian, is the award-winning, bestselling author of almost 70 novels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To find her backlist, go to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/">http://www.amazon.com/</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/</a> and <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/"><span style="color: purple;">www.smashwords.com</span></a> . <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she’s not writing, she enjoys gardening and playing the piano.</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9udp0aIsD3ZPeegNwRY5uVlFlfJTJ6UL7SJ28tONUpdqbNiWKofOWSNgThlUavAcMIWhcBFlS2Zkm_MprcYuIoChXBE_tulZlU9vNzwmE1yxqCd4_yTdr3IrrQvfgLdunWJjMweD7ftxq/s1600/WITCH+DANCE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" nda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9udp0aIsD3ZPeegNwRY5uVlFlfJTJ6UL7SJ28tONUpdqbNiWKofOWSNgThlUavAcMIWhcBFlS2Zkm_MprcYuIoChXBE_tulZlU9vNzwmE1yxqCd4_yTdr3IrrQvfgLdunWJjMweD7ftxq/s320/WITCH+DANCE.jpg" width="213px" /></a></div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-80880787678486864112012-03-22T21:15:00.001-04:002012-03-22T21:20:11.345-04:00A Flight of Dreams<span style="font-size: x-small;">by Zachary Steele</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">A little more than seven years ago I created a world. It happened without a bang, came without a word, and anchored itself into my mind with nary a concern for what it would do to my life. A forest evolved from darkness, mountains rose into view, the starry sky embraced a full moon that blanketed the lush terrain in a bath of iridescent light. I flew above it, gliding effortlessly, chilled slightly by the cool embrace of the night. Euphoria, giddiness, a certain boyish delight: they tempted me with recognition. I knew this place, though I had never before seen it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The flight carried me beyond the forest, skimming the surface of a swiftly moving river, where I spread my fingers and trailed them through the water, gazing gleefully at the wake left as I zoomed forward. The forest returned beyond the approaching bank and I lifted once more toward the heavens. Though the sky invited me wholly, I chose instead to zag along the treetops, cutting in between gaps in the branches. I watched the forest floor, spotting life rustling below, my path all but forgotten, my trust in the guiding force complete and unwavering. I knew my destination. I knew what I would find.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">When the forest thinned, the trees parting like open palms, the lush green turf broadened, expanded, and welcomed me into an open field. In the center of that field sat a solitary white crypt, </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">tendrils of ivy coating one side of the gleaming marble surface, a </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">faded iron door sealing the interior. I stood before the crypt, the weight of the moment abolishing my fears. I had journeyed to be here. Something magical awaited me. As if answering my call, the door opened, echoing through the field as metal ground against metal, as the hinges issued a squeal of protest. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The light from within overwhelmed my vision, yet filled me with warmth. It invited me forward. And so I walked, stepping into the light and through the doorway. My feet, which only now I realized were bare, waded across the sandy floor. I paused, the certainty that what I saw, what lay before me, held the answer to my quest, the essence of my journey. Risen upon a slab, I gazed upon the white tomb with a sense of awe and wonderment, lost in the artistic swirls along the pristine surface, mesmerized by the depth of life I sensed despite the reminder of death it endowed. Only then did I notice the angle of the lid and the revealing glimpse it offered to the interior of the tomb. I wanted to know. I had to see.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I stepped onto the concrete slab, my eyes meeting the length of the tomb, then the smooth edge at the lip. Hesitantly, I forced myself over the edge, my heart racing, and peered within and saw nothing.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">That would have been about the time the music slowed, the cadence of the choir drifting to an easy completion. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. I may have continued that stare for close to an hour, watching the images wash over me in a continuous loop. When I finally roused myself enough to gather my thoughts, I detailed the scene in a notebook. It would be the first account, in the first of many notebooks, regarding a world called Elysium. A world inhabited, created, and saved by a character known only as The Storyteller. Only recently did I compile the five notebooks of story into a massive file. By then I had already written Book One in The Storyteller series: <i>The Heart of Darkness</i>. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">A five-book young adult series--drawn from five notebooks full of research, character bios, locations, magical items, magical creatures, political landscapes, <i>actual</i> landscapes, and so much more. All drawn from countless hours of daydreaming. Daydreams drawn from a single flight above a single forest toward a single destination. A single flight drawn from one piece of music.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">One song created a world.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">It still haunts me. Granted, I want it to. Give it a listen. Fly a while. You'll never be the same.</span></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Mysterium</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">by Libera<i> </i> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/j25r-ltT8qY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBwGQAa5Bm7OanTjEg8hnfqcxd7_DJjUcjiapElrz1gwRpWo1fchOEWwETsjqecRR9qYdEdwlbaZiaMUHGHzXpOHjFHwNhyphenhyphenAQscjg4hGIca_ZhQZt7wmpKQNFH1hz8NXnG0cjYIzsBeWv/s1600/Book_of_a_Wizard_by_st3to.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBwGQAa5Bm7OanTjEg8hnfqcxd7_DJjUcjiapElrz1gwRpWo1fchOEWwETsjqecRR9qYdEdwlbaZiaMUHGHzXpOHjFHwNhyphenhyphenAQscjg4hGIca_ZhQZt7wmpKQNFH1hz8NXnG0cjYIzsBeWv/s200/Book_of_a_Wizard_by_st3to.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Zachary Steele is usually a lot funnier than this, but, oh well, what are you going to do, right? He is the author of</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Anointed: The Passion of Timmy Christ, CEO</span></i></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">, </span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"></span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Flutter: An Epic of Mass Distraction,</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> </span></i></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"></span></span></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">and the forthcoming</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> young adult series, <i>The Storyteller. </i>He</span></span></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> has been featured on NPR and in The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Publisher's Weekly, and Shelf Awareness, and can be found boring the world with his thoughts at </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #7f0c00; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><a href="http://zacharysteele.wordpress.com/">The Further Promotion of ME</a>,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #7f0c00; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> <span style="color: black;">as well as</span></span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> the newly minted blog, <a href="http://whoisthestoryteller.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Who is the Storyteller</a>.</span></span></span>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-35180687864256523292012-03-15T06:08:00.000-04:002012-03-15T06:08:36.058-04:00What's in Your iPod?<div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">What's in Your iPod?</span></strong></div><strong>Man Martin</strong><br />
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Walter Isaacson looked into Steve Jobs’ iPod while writing a biography on him, and what he found was Dylan, Beatles, and some selected Rolling Stones. I do not have cool stuff like this on my iPod. In the unlikely event my biographer would want to look in it, I shudder to think what he would discover there. In the somewhat more probable event that somebody mistook my iPod for his, I can imagine him shrieking and ripping the ear bud out in revulsion and shock.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixijyOLFfgyiPotQ1_DRnUyAHtwleiyOBU4-V_ChxdeQ91v6nDrbqmkCyn76q7gUxnPKWiTU6pFXxEJK9lvqI0KlPpnOOAVuD2VMdrbqz4ff9-TBDKJ4Asd178bYoxZgBZQUowYVqM70a/s1600/Picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixijyOLFfgyiPotQ1_DRnUyAHtwleiyOBU4-V_ChxdeQ91v6nDrbqmkCyn76q7gUxnPKWiTU6pFXxEJK9lvqI0KlPpnOOAVuD2VMdrbqz4ff9-TBDKJ4Asd178bYoxZgBZQUowYVqM70a/s320/Picture.jpg" width="279" /></a></div>I resisted for the longest time getting one of these devices, being a techno-troglodyte, by golly, and proud of it, the sort of person who secretly misses the whirr and click of a rotary dial phone. (And what’s with text messaging? Why does anyone need text messaging? You’re holding a <em>phone</em>.) But my daughter has persuaded me to begin running again and among the assorted paraphernalia of shoes and ibuprofen, I have acquired an iPod nano. Let me say, I love it. I’ve loaded it with all my favorite music, the sort of stuff that out of a decent respect for the feelings of others, I cannot listen to in the house any more than I would smoke cigars made out of old tires and bath-mats. But running along, with my ear-bud safely jammed in, I am in a private world of favorite music without giving offense to anyone; each song that comes up is like being greeted by beloved but half-forgotten friend.<br />
This is music of simple, direct emotion, simply and directly expressed. It’s the sort of thing that actually sounds better on an 8-track. Take a lyric like: “I'll see you every night Babe, I'll woo you every day, I'll be your regular Daddy, If you'll put that gun away.” In two short lines Al Dexter tells not only of undying love but a reasonable desire for self-preservation. And when I get to the end of “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” my heart simply soars. (My wife says I’m just glad it’s over, but that’s not it.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifO8H5nIBXquqbB_7DQ8qBiqvtXmlP1unv0wfi6D2G4YDlpd1R6CXisxf9uL-azru-npv8tdRzoK_kCYllpZGSEXV-mgo3DsQHTAdHhSztu4kohipXhZTMoY80ojW4pF48MXrFcTp3JvAf/s1600/Picture+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifO8H5nIBXquqbB_7DQ8qBiqvtXmlP1unv0wfi6D2G4YDlpd1R6CXisxf9uL-azru-npv8tdRzoK_kCYllpZGSEXV-mgo3DsQHTAdHhSztu4kohipXhZTMoY80ojW4pF48MXrFcTp3JvAf/s320/Picture+005.jpg" width="264" /></a></div>If someone ever does write my biography, I’ll have to buy a decoy iPod and load it up with Brandenburg concertos and Wagner, but this is the music that speaks to me; it’s the music I listened to as a little boy when I’d sneak into my mother’s record collection, old LP’s as shiny as a palmetto bug and 45’s with wide holes in the center that needed a special adapter to play. You’d set the needle on the groove, and there would come a short prelude of hiss and crackle and then a song would emerge, like “Cattle Call,” “the cattle are prowling, the coyotes are howling.” I grew up in small towns where cows were a familiar sight, but I would never have thought to describe their desultory plodding as “prowling” but no matter – when Eddie Arnold gets to the part he yodels, it just sends shivers up my spine. (Yodeling! Why aren’t there any more songs with yodeling?)<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I will never - and never attempt to – convert anyone else to my taste in music. You can’t play someone a tune like “Ghost Riders in the Sky,” and expect him to get how great it is when Vaughan Monroe sings, “all at once a mighty herd of red eyed cows he saw, a-plowing through the ragged sky and up the cloudy draw.” A song about demon cows is flying through the air just silly, unless, like me, you’ve listened to it from the time your were five – and even when the radio was playing – and you were listening to – Dylan and The Beatles – that melody and those lyrics had sealed themselves into your bloodstream and were always in the background of your imagination, so that even at the age of 52, running beside your daughter who’s listening to more sensible lyrics like, “Me and Allah go back like cronies, I don’t got to be fake, cause he is my homie,” you can shiver at the dire warning, that unless you change your ways you’ll end up chasing “the devil’s herd across the endless skies,” and the childhood afternoon stuck inside during a North Florida summer squall comes back to you, and your heart beats at that same certain rate it did four decades ago.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDEOj5sfBXrKV008QNiKAkywa-g74LsIg7jRcfKBH0P5R04SXtjEpCk-OLLFQsxqYMjmQZioJz9ttGCr5BdEZPyY1COFGd9he6bUw4JYmOq1T_h_vYVy3jw6KN_spedRGIx-EIsbbqNh8/s1600/paradisedogscover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDEOj5sfBXrKV008QNiKAkywa-g74LsIg7jRcfKBH0P5R04SXtjEpCk-OLLFQsxqYMjmQZioJz9ttGCr5BdEZPyY1COFGd9he6bUw4JYmOq1T_h_vYVy3jw6KN_spedRGIx-EIsbbqNh8/s200/paradisedogscover.jpg" width="131" /></a></div><strong>Man Martin's first novel, <em>Days of the Endless Corvette</em>, won a Georgia Author of the Year Award. His second novel, <em>Paradise Dogs</em>, was selected as "required reading" by The New York Post. He is currently at work on a third. He lives in Atlanta, where he writes, teaches, and jogs while listening to execrable country-western music. He blogs at </strong><a href="http://manmartin.blogspot.com/">manmartin.blogspot.com</a>.A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-17249400601605670762012-03-08T19:55:00.001-05:002012-03-09T09:47:48.841-05:00Circling Faith: Southern Women on Spirituality<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilRSqMEyR3dp6joaR2HK7YiZgq15OLe9f-9dIMhyG345vTxBB1ZOsHNHA_aSekMsC6shjIaxexdoOuD1j_OiLQ6xlQU53HSh80SKUVhT3fmnIvRD0uBkF9kRmfAvMFhRfZ89fj7qbG2lzC/s1600/CirclingFaithCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilRSqMEyR3dp6joaR2HK7YiZgq15OLe9f-9dIMhyG345vTxBB1ZOsHNHA_aSekMsC6shjIaxexdoOuD1j_OiLQ6xlQU53HSh80SKUVhT3fmnIvRD0uBkF9kRmfAvMFhRfZ89fj7qbG2lzC/s320/CirclingFaithCover.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">by Susan Cushman</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">The best piece of writing advice (the theme for this round of posts) I’ve ever received actually has two parts:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">1.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>Nothing is wasted, and</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">2.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>Be patient.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Writing is hard work, as everyone knows who actually sits with their butt in the chair and waits—sometimes for hours, days, and years—for just the right words to tell the story they’re trying to tell. And even if you find the right words, you might discover that you’ve been trying to tell the wrong story. That has happened to me three times since I began writing seriously in 2006.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My first novel, <i>The Sweet Carolines</i>, is still in a box in the closet of my office. I think of it fondly, the way one remembers her first training bra, or maybe her first kiss. But the time I spent writing that novel was definitely not wasted. One of the minor characters later became the inspiration for the protagonist in my current novel-in-progress. And the feedback I got from two freelance editors at the time was much like what one might learn in an MFA creative writing program.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next two books I wrote are both memoirs, also in the closet, but not because the writing isn’t good, or at least better than the first novel, but because I decided not to publish them. A New York agent was interested in one of them, but I had to apologize when I realized I really didn’t want to go public with some of the story, and couldn’t figure out how to edit out the parts I didn’t want to share without destroying the story. This is where Part 1 of the writing advice comes in.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIO7hFk75dVyaaZaJvUEy7YeE8Uv6TWDx3XyIhxclWPs2T-Jf4agc8iqmKth_8-Y9t0lbqgC2vIs2Pn7Q1IKdEGv8Wsi1jDUBnzoRspBmAhWE_b28qBExdxfztd9mLL2r2F-3Mfu-L-_p/s1600/Circling+Faith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIO7hFk75dVyaaZaJvUEy7YeE8Uv6TWDx3XyIhxclWPs2T-Jf4agc8iqmKth_8-Y9t0lbqgC2vIs2Pn7Q1IKdEGv8Wsi1jDUBnzoRspBmAhWE_b28qBExdxfztd9mLL2r2F-3Mfu-L-_p/s320/Circling+Faith.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">In 2010 I pulled together an essay inspired by one of those memoirs, “Jesus Freaks, Belly Dancers and Nuns,” for inclusion in an anthology from the University of Alabama Press—<a href="http://www.uapress.ua.edu/product/Circling-Faith,5411.aspx%20" target="_blank">Circling Faith: Southern Women on Spirituality</a>. This venue allows me to give a glimpse of that story without publishing things I don’t want to share. I’m so excited about Circling Faith, which just came out! I’m honored that my essay—<a href="http://wwwpenandpalette-susancushman.blogspot.com/2011/10/chiaroscuro-picture-of-paradox.html" target="_blank">“Chiaroscuro: Shimmer and Shadow”</a>– is included with essays by Mary Karr, Beth Ann Fennelly, Alice Walker and a dozen other amazing women authors writing about spirituality. You can read more about this anthology on <a href="http://circlingfaith.wordpress.com/%20" target="_blank">the site created by its editors, Wendy Reed and Jennifer Horne.</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Part 2 is the hard part. I turned in my essay for this anthology almost two years ago. It’s sooooo hard to wait for that first book, or in my case, even the first essay to appear between the covers of a real book. These past two years have felt like an eternity! But I’ve been using them to write a novel, which I hope to complete in the next few weeks, actually. It was two years ago this month when I wrote my first post for A Good Blog, <a href="http://southernauthors.blogspot.com/2010/03/novel-idea-by-susan-cushman.html" target="_blank">“A Novel Idea,”</a> announcing that I was writing this book. And now Cherry Bomb is hopefully coming to completion soon. I know I’m going to have to strap my patience on for what could be a lengthy process of securing an agent, getting a book deal, working on revisions and eventually (hopefully) publication of <a href="http://wwwpenandpalette-susancushman.blogspot.com/2012/03/cherry-bomb-prologue.html" target="_blank">Cherry Bomb</a>. I’m glad for the experience I’ve had with Wendy and Jennifer working on <i>Circling Faith</i>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2MiIwJ9H7wVoW9GlK6FdMj_LWsl6bj8k32IAwaw7Y_9sw9QAP8T4ShbNMtf_ZcUnDvhjNPH9pRkQXynLUG3leipgA_-Fw0NiRRB2LIA1MkU-qkDdFfhfsx0dTBIkv2nFQQp7qSJK5cHJ4/s1600/image002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2MiIwJ9H7wVoW9GlK6FdMj_LWsl6bj8k32IAwaw7Y_9sw9QAP8T4ShbNMtf_ZcUnDvhjNPH9pRkQXynLUG3leipgA_-Fw0NiRRB2LIA1MkU-qkDdFfhfsx0dTBIkv2nFQQp7qSJK5cHJ4/s200/image002.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>(Wendy and Jennifer's first anthology, <a href="http://www.alloutoffaith.com/" target="_blank">All Out of Faith: Southern Women on Spirituality</a>, includes essays by Sue Monk Kidd, Cassandra King Conroy, Lee Smith, Frances Mayes, and others. I met several of those ladies and fell in love with their writing at the 2006 Southern Festival of Books. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/All-Out-Faith-Southern-Spirituality/dp/0817315349" target="_blank">All Out of Faith</a> is available in hardback and paperback. The cover art on both anthologies is by Birmingham Artist, <a href="http://www.bethannehill.com/Bethannehill.com/Bethanne_Hill.html" target="_blank">Bethanne Hill</a>.) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhavSr_fIZNLQ80sxl2V621sf5Kyv9UYP7UxpIVh6Ku9CiLv832gZ0u_HaUcbLN0FCEJsV4I1NigX7pVA6PLUYVgT00duvxR-aCWmyJpg_uFeloRw-Gxn3uCHSPnlToWntykJbVeDh3nWbE/s1600/Susancropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhavSr_fIZNLQ80sxl2V621sf5Kyv9UYP7UxpIVh6Ku9CiLv832gZ0u_HaUcbLN0FCEJsV4I1NigX7pVA6PLUYVgT00duvxR-aCWmyJpg_uFeloRw-Gxn3uCHSPnlToWntykJbVeDh3nWbE/s320/Susancropped.jpg" width="278" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Susan Cushman has ten published essays. She was Director of the <a href="http://susancushman.wordpress.com/about/" target="_blank">2011 Memphis Creative Nonfiction Workshop</a></i>, <i>Co-Director of the <a href="http://cnfoxford.com/" target="_blank">2010 Oxford Creative Nonfiction Conference</a></i>, <i>and she is again working with Neil White and Kathy Rhodes to organize the 2013 Oxford Creative Nonfiction Conference. An excerpt from her novel-in-progress,</i> Cherry Bomb, <i>made the short list for the 2011 Faulkner-Wisdom Creative Writing Competition, which is associated with the annual New Orleans Words and Music Festival. A native of Jackson, Mississippi, she lives in Memphis and blogs at <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1409665693">“Pen and Palette.”</a></i><a href="http://wwwpenandpalette-susancushman.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"> </a></div></div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-3892294823001734142012-03-06T18:42:00.000-05:002012-03-06T18:42:24.386-05:00Do you write with vivid detail?<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="background-color: white; color: #a32626; font-family: 'Open Sans'; font-size: 19px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.25em; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"></h3><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="font-size: 19px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.25em; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">by <a href="http://www.karenharringtonbooks.com/" target="_blank">Karen Harrington</a></h3><div><br />
</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">“In all the major genres, vivid detail is the life blood.” </div><div style="text-align: center;">John Gardener, The Art of Fiction</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div>“Specific, concrete, particular details—these are the life of fiction.” </div><div>Janet Burroway, Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft</div><div><br />
</div><div><div><br />
</div><div>“Be specific. Don’t say “fruit.” Tell what kind of fruit—“It is a pomegranate.” Give </div><div>things the dignity of their names…" </div><div>Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bone</div></div></div><div><br />
</div><div class="post-header" style="color: #333333; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal;"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-1298261371099116961" style="color: #333333; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.6em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtRaT6GL7ZtbVZ2QItUgwQW3sv-LeclVRwq6sLy4Aq9-pvdcsxzCrSx58G-ODYCoWH-HN_WQmSziB8T-6yXyjoDHb8KWGFqhiUMMrylU2UYtKimxYlrHYurgxvWe5o6d-Lxp405syt5A/s1600-h/scan0007.jpg" style="color: #a32626; text-decoration: none;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249628278548117714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtRaT6GL7ZtbVZ2QItUgwQW3sv-LeclVRwq6sLy4Aq9-pvdcsxzCrSx58G-ODYCoWH-HN_WQmSziB8T-6yXyjoDHb8KWGFqhiUMMrylU2UYtKimxYlrHYurgxvWe5o6d-Lxp405syt5A/s320/scan0007.jpg" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-image: initial; border-left-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 1px; float: left; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 4px; padding-right: 4px; padding-top: 4px;" /></a>How to fill in the details of a story?<br />
<br />
As I was considering this question, my five-year old was coloring in her Disney coloring book. I am in awe of how specific she is about coloring. How she will match the color of the necklace to the hem of a dress. No one taught her to do this. She just looked in her box of crayons and made her choices. To my word-loving delight, she asked me to read the name of each crayon color. <em>Purple Pizzazz. Red Violet. Midnight Blue. Mango Tango.</em> She was just as excited about the descriptions, too. (I'm the same way. The other day, I bought a nail polish called <i>Back To The Fuschia</i>, largely because the name tickled me pink!)<br />
<br />
So it got me to thinking that writing the details of a story has a lot in common with coloring. You begin with the thick black sketch of an idea, and then you look in your box of crayons and begin filling in the image with your own specific idea of what colors should go where.<br />
<br />
When I set out to write in vivid detail, two lessons come to mind that I gleaned in my college novel writing class.<br />
<br />
1/ WRITE VERTICALLY - As a writer, I'm a sprinter. Most of the time, I can get that black sketch outline on the page with no problem. But to be a writer of details, which I believe is essential to good fiction, I had to learn to be a marathoner. My writing professor chided me for "writing horizontally." He said, "Write vertically. Slow down and write downward, really getting underneath the scene." Good advice. When I stop and linger inside a scene, I understand what it means to stay with a specific image or idea long enough to stretch it out from north to south, instead of being concerned with going so far east to west. After many years of practice, I think I'm more conscious about writing vertically from the very start.<br />
<br />
2/ CHOOSE DETAILS THAT REVEAL - The second lesson I remember about details was when my professor made an example of me in his class. I'd written a scene about a housewife ironing that read something like, “She did her work in solitude, moving the iron back and forth as if it was her dance partner.”<br />
<br />
Nothing brilliant here. But the lesson my prof illustrated was how this sentence made an inanimate object come to life, personified it in a way that suggested this woman might be lonely, how she might be underappreciated. This example has stayed with me to this day. I like noticing how characters, and all people, are constantly revealing themselves with objects and body language like my lonely housewife. Most writers I know collect details in a notebook for this very reason. <span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.6em;">For example, I recently noted the way a woman I know rubs her thumb across the cool metal of her wedding band. Why? To check if she’s still married? Or, to check if she’s </span><em style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.6em;">STILL </em><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.6em;">married? Another observation I noted recently was when I saw a happy, bouncy woman run up an hug another woman. From my point of view, the Huggee's arms stayed by her side as she was surprised by the action and wore an expression that suggested she wasn't a hugger, or perhaps, not a fan of the Hugger. Who knows.</span><br />
<br />
So, do naturally write vertically or horizontally? <br />
Do you keep a detail notebook?<br />
<br />
-<br />
I'm the author of JANEOLOGY (2008) and SURE SIGNS OF CRAZY, due out in early 2013 from Little, Brown. Visit me at <a href="http://www.karenharringtonbooks.com/">www.karenharringtonbooks.com</a><br />
<br />
<br />
</div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-2320309866963884932012-02-15T13:58:00.000-05:002012-02-15T13:58:07.111-05:00Best Adviceby Cathy Pickens<br />
<br />
What's the best writing advice I've ever gotten? In many cases, it's the same as the worst advice I've ever gotten. For starters:<br />
<br />
<b><i>Write what you know.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
Now, that's good advice. I know about the Southern Appalachian Mountains, about being a lawyer and a daughter and a sister and an aunt. I know where to find good food to eat (but not much about cooking it). And I know I like mysteries. <br />
<br />
But when told to write what you know, it's tempting to think you don't know nearly enough. So you wander off to research all kinds of stuff that you'd like to know ... and that you would like people to think you know.<br />
<br />
That can waste a lot of time and can easily get in the way of your story. <br />
<br />
So I'd modify that advice a bit:<br />
<br />
<b><i>Write what you know ... but don't get lost on the way to your story.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
The other useful advice I've gotten? Ruth Cavin, my legendary editor, told me:<br />
<br />
<b><i>Write the book that's in you.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
That's really good advice. It might not be the book anyone else wants, but at least you'll be happy with it. And Ruth, in all her years as a reader and an editor, had figured out that any writer's best book would be the one the writer wanted to write, not the one someone suggested she write or that the market was looking for at the time.<br />
<br />
That's the gift of a writer's editor. I'm very grateful for that advice. Ruth also gave me another valuable piece of advice:<br />
<br />
<b><i>Walk beside your characters and listen in.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
All good fiction (and most good nonfiction) starts with interesting characters. Those characters bring with them the conflict that keeps us turning the page (whether we're reading that page OR writing it!). We have to know them well -- and trust that they know the story that needs to be told. We need to stay out of their way and not try to save them from their troubles all the time. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4FsQJJ_LRtIzfKDwlKOtD8mwBf-Bp66RSN5z-3Jtfuad_G4DgFtp4Mud9gVsP9PxSV7E_G7mwoYHpJEVX-kGQH3SQKLsY2_MIwep-1MmBmiLw_IqHRQ5cJP6SIxp8X3Jv6wAlS4Luu7yf/s1600/SouthAfrica.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4FsQJJ_LRtIzfKDwlKOtD8mwBf-Bp66RSN5z-3Jtfuad_G4DgFtp4Mud9gVsP9PxSV7E_G7mwoYHpJEVX-kGQH3SQKLsY2_MIwep-1MmBmiLw_IqHRQ5cJP6SIxp8X3Jv6wAlS4Luu7yf/s320/SouthAfrica.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the Apartheid Museum in South Africa.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>And lastly?<br />
<br />
<b><i>Use the BIC method.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
The only real secret to writing is ... writing. (And, of course, reading.) The BIC method is my tried-and-true, patented and registered method: the Butt In Chair method, with pen in hand. Every day, whether I feel like it or not. <br />
<br />
Inspiration ain't gonna chase you down in order to strike you. You better be waiting where it can find you.A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-80806600563149659582012-02-13T00:01:00.001-05:002012-02-13T00:01:00.907-05:00Keeping in Touch with Readers<strong><em>by Elizabeth S. Craig, @elizabethscraig</em></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqXSKhHQqGQy6NFcpDAPwcXqfWkoMUGes81cBEZmrV6rzJArebmAgmzgE5ryuAkfwFT-nY0GrkBSOaxrlc0nkbSyAqGmo8JiWrA60nVgAMrZY-iAOj6BT5yJtOUOSDOam4R6FN_SzB_sNg/s1600/file2431249302317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqXSKhHQqGQy6NFcpDAPwcXqfWkoMUGes81cBEZmrV6rzJArebmAgmzgE5ryuAkfwFT-nY0GrkBSOaxrlc0nkbSyAqGmo8JiWrA60nVgAMrZY-iAOj6BT5yJtOUOSDOam4R6FN_SzB_sNg/s200/file2431249302317.jpg" width="165" /></a></div>I was reading a parenting blog the other day for someone <span style="font-size: small;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Elizabeth/AppData/Local/Temp/WindowsLiveWriter1286139640/supfilesADE2341/file2431249302317[3].jpg"><br />
</a></span><span style="font-size: small;">who’s highly-regarded in that field. This blogger had an offer for a free PDF if you signed up for her monthly emailed newsletter. Sounded good to me. Typical promo.</span> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I got an email back fairly quickly with the PDF attached, my name on the email, and what sounded like a personal note from the writer. Politely, I emailed back and thanked them and said I was looking forward to reading their PDF.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Later, I was checking my emails and found one from Yahoo Automailer with the blogger’s name on it. The email was an auto-response to my email. It apologized for the blogger’s inability to personally respond to emails…because she was writing a book (!) She even named the book’s title in the auto-response…clearly, it was an attempt to do a little promo while basically stating she had no time to respond to emails. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">As you can imagine, I was completely flabbergasted. Reading and responding to reader emails, even banal ones like the one I sent, is one thing we <em>should</em> make time for! Why lose the opportunity to make a connection that might mean more sales or a recommendation from a reader to a friend?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">It reminded me that, as a published writer (or, in this blogger’s case, <em>about to</em> be published), our primary promo duty is to respond to readers and allow them to find and contact us. This wasn’t the case twenty years ago, for sure. But in 2012 we need to be accessible and responsive. </span><br />
<br />
<div align="center"><span style="font-size: small;"><strong>Ways to keep in touch with readers:</strong></span></div><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><strong>By responding to email:</strong> <span style="font-size: small;">Although email shouldn’t rule our life…it’s got to be dealt with. On busy days, to keep myself from feeling too stressed, I reduce the times I check email to once or twice. I give huge priority to anything from a reader…answering their emails as soon as I see them in my inbox. </span></span> <br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><em>You can create an email account</em> that’s separate from your family email through a free provider (Google Mail, Hotmail, Yahoo.) Try a professional-sounding address like Your Name @gmail.com. That way readers aren’t trying to reach you at TheSmithFamily@provider.com . </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
A personal website or a blog</b> that functions as your home base. I <i>could</i> be argued out of the notion that this is a basic…but I really do believe it is. Even one page that introduces you in a basic, professional way works fine. Both Blogger and WordPress can provide you with a blog that’s <i>also</i> a website (with different pages for visitors to navigate to.) </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><em>Basic info to include:</em> how to contact you (email), your genre, and what you’re working on now is probably good enough. You can put up a friendly looking picture of yourself or an image related to your book and call yourself done. If you’ve got a book cover and buy links already, then put those up, too.</span> <span style="font-size: small;">It’s just a way for readers to get an overall picture of who you are and makes you seem more approachable. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"></span> <span style="font-size: small;"><strong>A newsletter:</strong> I don’t have a newsletter for my readers (shame on me), but I hear that newsletters are fantastic ways of connecting with readers and letting them know what new books you’re releasing. The newsletter recipients have to subscribe to the newsletter, themselves. I’ve heard of some writers who just add anyone in their email address book to their subscribers list…we can’t do that. But a subscribe button in the sidebar of our blog or website is the perfect way for readers to sign up. </span> <br />
<span style="font-size: small;">As a reader, do you ever contact authors whose books you’ve read? As a writer, how do you make yourself accessible to current or future readers? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSL8gbvP3U5RFVthOyxy3-9beOCMH5ZOMK04GR3mSOVLowUb5EJEJx6hWVmNgMr2cXXQ9DkrRCXgp8h_hUmgCCd31ji217rV68zN-XptBETUyomgR8B-3-A9Z98jAuSpM4kJ-PsBLruVM/s1600/hickorysmokedhomicidehighres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSL8gbvP3U5RFVthOyxy3-9beOCMH5ZOMK04GR3mSOVLowUb5EJEJx6hWVmNgMr2cXXQ9DkrRCXgp8h_hUmgCCd31ji217rV68zN-XptBETUyomgR8B-3-A9Z98jAuSpM4kJ-PsBLruVM/s200/hickorysmokedhomicidehighres.jpg" width="123" /></a></div><em><strong>Elizabeth’s latest book, </strong></em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hickory-Smoked-Homicide-Memphis-Mystery/dp/0425244601/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1308434354&sr=8-1"><em><strong><span style="color: #5588aa;">Hickory Smoked Homicide</span></strong></em></a><em><strong>, released November 1. Elizabeth writes the Memphis Barbeque series for Penguin/Berkley (as </strong></em><a href="http://mysteryloverskitchen.com/"><em><strong><span style="color: #5588aa;">Riley Adams</span></strong></em></a><em><strong>), the Southern Quilting mysteries (2012) for Penguin/Obsidian, and the Myrtle Clover series for Midnight Ink and independently. She blogs daily at </strong></em><a href="http://mysterywritingismurder.blogspot.com/"><em><strong><span style="color: #5588aa;">Mystery Writing is Murder</span></strong></em></a><em><strong>. <br />
</strong></em><a href="http://writerskb.com/"><em><strong><span style="color: #5588aa;">Writer's Knowledge Base--the Search Engine for Writers</span></strong></em></a><br />
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<em><strong>Twitter: @elizabethscraig</strong></em>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-91689825909457413642012-02-09T08:35:00.000-05:002012-02-09T08:35:04.595-05:00Augusta Scattergood welcomes Celebrity Guest Blogger: LESLIE DAVIS GUCCIONE<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHyEiDOE73dQlJjQBWCV5t-LKqRombe8PCno1C4_W4mUd0Wu9UzMXQHU3GHoMlEI4Hn7iYETCRQoB-qWWz347M6zXkHY8BDfNBbfAaE-sMnYDimwks3UdzxHNRnnkl1VbrtLKlGrvvH5Zw/s1600/ldg+for+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHyEiDOE73dQlJjQBWCV5t-LKqRombe8PCno1C4_W4mUd0Wu9UzMXQHU3GHoMlEI4Hn7iYETCRQoB-qWWz347M6zXkHY8BDfNBbfAaE-sMnYDimwks3UdzxHNRnnkl1VbrtLKlGrvvH5Zw/s200/ldg+for+blog.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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I'm delighted my friend and writing mentor, Leslie Guccione has agreed to be a Guest Blogger today. Here's a bit about her amazing career.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
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Leslie Davis Guccione has published thirty-one novels for adult, middle grade and teen readers, as well as articles on the craft of writing. Her work has been translated into eight languages.<br />
She has been a finalist and judge for the Romance Writers of America RITA awards.<br />
Six books for teen readers feature deaf protagonists; one, TELL ME HOW THE WIND SOUNDS, has been optioned for television. Her works for young readers have been book club and readers’ choice selections as well as classroom required reading. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">In 2000 she took a break from fiction to teach, write articles on the craft and establish WORDS @ WORK, her manuscript review service. She is currently mentor and adjunct faculty member for Seton Hill University’s masters program: Writing Popular Fiction.<br />
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Leslie's latest novel, THE CHICK PALACE, was just released as an eBook. She's here today to tell us about this newest venture, answer a few questions, and to offer a bit of advice.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><b><i>What came to you first about this story? A memory? A quote? Is it based on anything that actually happened to you? </i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Setting came first. A small NJ lake I call “Lake Allamuchy” in the book has been part of my family for 6 generations. I knew it would be the perfect place to explore a long lasting friendship between Johanna & Lilly, my 2 empty-nesters with divergent backgrounds. I did, indeed, go south to college as a Yankee, having never been farther than my native Delaware.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKwLgdH1ld81UqTJccjLgYblLRFkUwRunTIBqvF-j8A1XZsbDuKuEk8w36qK-1_TP5mtgc_qT30oSXjW1dwh1hE56pPH2hGQCqYztOS5e2dKwQUYvlzMdTXoqVCLUw7CAmvfRGft83iJ19/s1600/tree+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKwLgdH1ld81UqTJccjLgYblLRFkUwRunTIBqvF-j8A1XZsbDuKuEk8w36qK-1_TP5mtgc_qT30oSXjW1dwh1hE56pPH2hGQCqYztOS5e2dKwQUYvlzMdTXoqVCLUw7CAmvfRGft83iJ19/s320/tree+house.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">My writer buddy Barbara O’Connor has an abandoned tree house where she and her funny next door neighbor were meeting occasionally. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Their husbands named it The Chick Palace. <i>Voila</i>. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Alas, That was the easy part. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"> I needed a plot! I had Lilly forced to share her cottage~~with the husband she has divorced twice ”Ex-ex,” <i>and</i> his paramour, a hot NYC graphic designer. Funny & full of potential but the draft still needed some <i>je ne sais quoi</i>. Then my mother died. Quite unexpectedly. Dad gave each of us children a small amount of her ashes. That was my <i>ah ha </i> moment; I’d found my hook for Johanna. She can’t bring herself to scatter her mother’s ashes as she deals with family issues and stews over her new role as “Materfamilias.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">The story and plot points are complete fiction. As an aside, however, the book is sprinkled start to finish with real episodes. To name a few:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #e06666; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14pt;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">My brother really did embellish my sister’s Ken & Barbie. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #e06666; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14pt;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">While grilling on the patio my husband inadvertently smoked a massive black snake out of the cottage roof rafters & down onto his head and shoulders. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #e06666; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14pt;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Dad really blew TAPS out the window one midnight when I lingered too long in my boyfriend’s car in our driveway. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #e06666; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14pt;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Cottage living? Indeed we still share flushes. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><i><b>Was there any part of it that ended up on the proverbial cutting floor? Something you fought to keep in, and lost? </b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Plenty got cut~~all of it my rambling yet beloved flashbacks to Johanna & Lilly in college c.30 years earlier. I teach writing the novel and should have known better. My critique partners pounced and I reluctantly agreed, c.70% had to go. They helped me see more clearly & thus keep only the flashbacks relevant to present day action. </span><br />
<span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">(<i>A plug here for the importance of cold readers & critique partners</i>!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">The only thing that didn’t pass my agent was the word “bling” for splintered sunlight on the lake surface. I mention this because it’s the kind of minutia all writers deal with all the time. In the end, my agent won.</span><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 13pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><i>What's been your experience once THE CHICK PALACE hit the market?</i></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Joyful tears and vindication! It had been rejected on the grounds that characters on the “far side of fifty” are too old for today’s market. I revised and added a more substantial younger-characters subplot based on graffiti & sneaky behavior of my protagonists’ kids. But in the end it was chosen by B&N because they did indeed want to target “the far side of fifty.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"> This is my 31<sup>st</sup> book and first in this brave new techie world. My agent placed it with Barnes & Noble’s “Nook First.” It debuted the day after Christmas. Thanks to their promotion and word of mouth, it spent 2 weeks in the top ten and even shot to #1 on the eBook best seller list. Heady stuff looking at The Chick Palace snuggled up to James Patterson, Ann Patchett, <i>The Help</i>, <i>Heaven is for Real</i>… . That translates to c.30,000 copies sold in 3 weeks. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">I received a wonderful e-mail from the B&N editor telling me my sales confirm their belief that women’s fiction and mid-life women readers are a driving force in today’s market. It’s also marked as a staff favorite. (I repeat: vindication.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">After the January exclusive with B&N, it’s now at Amazon/Kindle and more widely available. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><i>What have you done to promote it? </i></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">B&N promoted it heavily all month and I added e-mails blasts, the book cover as my Facebook profile, and daily blogs offering snippets, photos and links.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">It never gets easier and the publishing sands are shifting beneath our feet as I type. From kid lit to adult fiction, you have only to follow the blogs, twitters, public events, &/or classroom visits of pros like Claire Cook or Carla Neggers; Brian Lies & Barbara O’Connor; new YA voices Kimberly Marcus or Jessica Warman to see how well-oiled promotion engines remain part of the writing life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><i>What's your fabulous writing advice for somebody just starting out? For writers with lots of experience? For someone thinking of giving up?</i></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">For those starting out I reply as a teacher of novel writing at the master level & a freelance mss consultant: </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14pt;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Read everything in the genre you write. 20 -30 titles for starters, <i>published within the past 5 years. </i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14pt;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">I cannot emphasize this enough:</span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"> Beware of the glorified ease of bypassing the agent/publisher/editor route and self-publishing instead. Whether eBook or hard copy, every manuscript benefits from~~demands~~cold reading and thoughtful professional critique. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14pt;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">If you go it alone, it’s worth your time and investment in a writers’ group (close by or online), writing conferences, &/or freelance manuscript consultation. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">For those who’ve been in the game awhile: I share your exhaustion, elation, depression, determination. I spent the first 10 years writing to the market: 30 books for multiple houses from Harlequin to Scholastic. I’ve written as work-for-hire (a packager), a handful under other writers’ names, a few for existing teen series, five as Kate Chester for my own series HEAR NO EVIL. My steamy romances paid the mortgage & consistently hit genre fiction bestseller lists. My single title books for kids won awards and are still used in classrooms.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Then the dry spell… .</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">I lost my Scholastic editor and could never sell them another story. The romance treadmill lost its charm and burned me out. I spent the next 10 years fielding rejections for my manuscripts from the heart. My pit bull agents (Denise Marcil and Katie Kotchman, who had not made a dime off of me in lo those 10 years) shook more publishing bushes than I knew were planted. We struck pay dirt last summer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">And a final bit of free, fabulous advice for inspiration I give to my students:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14pt;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Read Andrew Scott Berg’s</span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Maxwell_Perkins:_Editor_of_Genius&action=edit&redlink=1"><i><span style="color: maroon; text-decoration: none;">Maxwell Perkins: Editor of Genius</span></i></a> (1978), an expansion of his Princeton thesis and a glimpse of the industry we wish still existed.</span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14pt;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Rent the DVD of Cross Creek (and watch the additional interviews), the somewhat fictionalized story of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings. </span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 14pt;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Get yourself to her preserved homestead Cross Creek, FL for that matter. (Or Hemingway’s in Cuba, they tell me.)</span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><b><i>Lilly has such a ring of truth to her. How did you, a non-Southerner, create such an honest portrayal? </i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">Ah, “voice”. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">I try to stretch myself as a writer & <i>The Chick Palace</i> was my first foray into first person point of view. Writing as Boston bred/New Jersey resident Johanna was easy, even if she had the tougher plot line.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">As for Lilly! As a Yankee at Queens College (now Queens University of Charlotte) I was an observer. So much was new & exotic that impressions of what set “all of y’all” apart have stayed with me. As well, some of my dearest friends are southern transplants. Those TX, SC, MS buddies who write were invaluable critique partners. (I realize I paint this with a very, very broad brush). I think I ran every bit of Lilly’s dialogue past one pro or another. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><i><b>Any tips on how you make setting work so well?</b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">I have a reputation for vivid settings which I attribute to being a visual learner. My degree’s in art. I think visually; I gravitate to books with a strong sense of place and atmosphere. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">I also attribute it to churning out novels while raising three children. (My protagonists have always been folks around me I could pester: pediatricians during all those visits, cranberry growers, sailors, boatyard owners, cops, firefighters…) </span><br />
<span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">I set my stories under my feet, atmosphere I know intimately: “Lake Allamuchy,” NJ, the cranberry bogs of Massachusetts; the harbors of coastal New England; rural Chadds Ford, PA. During our four years in Pittsburgh, I wrote my Hear No Evil series for kids (as Kate Chester) and my last romance <i>Borrowed Baby</i> as tributes to the city. (A fabulous place for intrigue and romance, by the way.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><i><b>Where's your absolute favorite place to write? </b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;">I’ve had 5 residences and until 2 years ago it was always a dedicated office, first with a ten-ton IBM Selectric, then one or another PCs. I switched to a MacBook and the laptop now lets me write most anywhere, from my sunroom to, um, the bed I’m sitting in right now. (Adjusts pillows)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"> <i style="color: black;"><b>Thanks, Leslie! We loved having you here. Come back soon!</b></i></span><br />
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</b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><i style="color: black;"><b>Keep up with Leslie's informative and fun blogposts via </b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><i style="color: black;"><b><a href="http://lesliedavisguccione.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">her own blog: http://lesliedavisguccione.blogspot.com/</a></b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheQL-47hSdNJK50ZfGW8w0B7UOGHSu8iuUnwxBEte2yTY-eRUs5GIwTVqtp22Z5nSa17wvWSrAWKjd8B2WFeYP51wYmoZP18HHu3I-EhONKWMUZcBvdnha4pckcVinz0iUxOoflSZ7Cqi8/s1600/chick+palace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheQL-47hSdNJK50ZfGW8w0B7UOGHSu8iuUnwxBEte2yTY-eRUs5GIwTVqtp22Z5nSa17wvWSrAWKjd8B2WFeYP51wYmoZP18HHu3I-EhONKWMUZcBvdnha4pckcVinz0iUxOoflSZ7Cqi8/s320/chick+palace.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 14pt;"><i><b>Even better, click on over to <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-chick-palace-leslie-davis-guccione/1108055479" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a> or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Chick-Palace-ebook/dp/B0072HYDSY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1327698240&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Amazon</a> and order THE CHICK PALACE. You are in for a real treat.</b></i></span></div><br />
</div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-56929732222254491932012-02-05T23:27:00.006-05:002012-02-05T23:27:00.191-05:00Best Writing AdviceGood morning, ladies and gents. As you read this, I'm winging my way to New York City and from there to Europe, so I'm not around to deal with this blog personally today. Instead, I give you <a href="http://www.jadenterrell.com/" target="_blank">Jaden Terrell</a>, author of the Jared McKean mysteries, and - yes - definitely a Southern author, Middle Tennessee born and bred. She's the president of the Middle Tennessee chapter of Sisters in Crime, the executive director of the Killer Nashville crime writers conference, and the nicest person you'll ever meet. <br />
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Put your hands together, folks, for the best writing advice Jaden Terrell ever got:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://entertainmentrealm.files.wordpress.com/2012/01/racing-the-devil.jpg?w=450" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://entertainmentrealm.files.wordpress.com/2012/01/racing-the-devil.jpg?w=450" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had written the first draft of my first mystery, a private detective novel in which former homicide detective Jared McKean is framed for murder. I was struggling with the first scene, which required Jared to sleep with a woman he’d just met in a bar. He just wouldn’t do it. Or rather, he would do it (since I’d given him no choice), but no matter how I wrote it, it didn’t ring true. I came at the scene from various angles. </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This isn’t me</i>, he’d say. </span></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’d scowl at him and say, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It has to be</i>. </span></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was still wrangling with the problem as I drove to <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Florida</st1:place></st1:state> for the SleuthFest writer’s conference, but I promptly forgot my troubles when I saw Daniel Keyes on the program. Daniel . . . Freakin’ . . . Keyes. The man who wrote “Flowers for Algernon,” one of the most perfect short stories I have ever read. I’ve always said if I could only write one thing in my life, I’d die happy if it were as good as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">To Kill a Mockingbird </i>or “Flowers for Algernon.”</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Keyes spoke on character—or, more specifically, on being true to your character. “Never make a character do anything he wouldn’t do,” he said. “And if he has to do that thing, you have to figure out a motivation that is powerful enough to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">make</i> him do it.”</span></div><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They say when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d heard<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the advice before, but it hadn’t resonated. Maybe I just hadn’t been ready to understand it before. Maybe it was because it was being said by a man I’d kept on a pedestal since I was a teenager. Whatever the reason, this time, it was like being struck by lightning.</span></div><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I knew Jared wasn’t averse to having sex, or even to having sex with someone he hadn’t known that long, but he wasn’t one to pick up strangers in bars. So why did he do it this time? What would make him do it? His ex-wife was celebrating her first anniversary with another man, and Jared was lonely and grieving, but obviously that wasn’t enough. I asked myself, what’s his weakness? What would make him vulnerable to a stranger? Answer: his Galahad complex. His need to rescue others, be a hero. So if the stranger was in trouble . . . A jolt of excitement went through me. I was on the right track, but I wasn’t there yet. What kind of trouble is she in? A flat tire? How could she know he would be the first one to stop? What if . . . ? Then it hit me. What if she came in, all bruised and beaten up, and she asked him to protect her from an abusive boyfriend? It would push all his button and he’d be reeled in and tied off before he knew what was happening. Then she’d use her fear and her desire for comfort to seduce him. He’d be a sitting duck.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That was all it took to make that scene work. </span></div><br />
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</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now whenever my plot stalls, I ask myself if it’s because I’m asking my characters to act against their natures. Sometimes it’s not; it’s a plot hole or a dead end, and I need to go back and fill in the gaps or go in a different direction. But often I realize that the plot calls for a character to do something that’s foreign to him—something he’d normally be opposed to or just not interested in. Then I either need to find an alternative, or I need to discover what would motivate that character to do what needs to be done.</span></div><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That lecture has helped me through more plot problems than I can count. </span></div><br />
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</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank you, Daniel.</span></div><br />
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</div><br />
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</div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-64008345885991130842012-01-25T07:59:00.001-05:002012-01-27T10:43:11.645-05:00Is It Blood or Fire<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Back when I was struggling to make it as a young author, I launched two books under two names---Mary Alice Monroe and Mary Alice Kruesi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The premise behind this poor advice from my agent---that at the time seemed like a good idea---was not to confuse the readers because I had sold two different kinds of books to two different publishers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The <place w:st="on"><city w:st="on">Monroe</city></place> name was used for books considered<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Women’s Fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My married name, Kruesi (pronounced as “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cruise-ee</i>”), was used for my fantasy novels. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still can’t believe I agreed to do such a thing, considering that my own family members still sometimes misspell my married name. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">There I was with two contracts with two separate publishers. Sounds like a happy problem, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be careful what you wish for. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was committed to writing two novels in one year. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that time, I was also a young mother of three children—fourteen, eight, and six years old. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a lot for any author to take on, much less a new one.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">One day I burst into tears, sure that I was going to fail as a writer, as a mother, and pretty much as a human being.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I picked up the phone to call my friend Nora Roberts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who else would better understand my dilemma of writing two books a year than <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">America</place></country-region>’s favorite romance writer with a solid reputation of churning out wonderful novels at rapid-fire pace?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">From a professional standpoint, Nora has no compassion for excuses or laziness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is well-disciplined in the craft, writing at her desk for eight hours a day, seven days a week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she expects others to do the same if they are serious about making it in the writing world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As my friend, she also understood how hard it was to try to find the time to write while raising young children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nora offered me the greatest writing advice I’ve ever received—and now I’ll share it with you.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Nora told me how, when her two boys were young, she put a sign on her home office door that stated in big, bold red letters<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, IS IT BLOOD OR FIRE? IF NOT, GO AWAY</i>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">What Nora taught me that day was that a successful writer had to have enough respect for her time and craft that she wouldn’t let trivial distractions interfere with serious work time. Once the author was committed, she had to buckle down and see the project through without tears or excuses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though, chocolate and French fries were permitted. <br />
<br />
The advice reminded me of Virginia Woolf’s admonishment in her book <em>A Room of One’s Own</em>: <br />
<br />
“A woman must have money and a room of her own to write fiction... So when I ask you to earn money and have a room of your own, I am asking you to live in the presence of reality, an invigorating life."<br />
<br />
That very same day I wrote the message in red magic marker on an 8X11 sheet of paper and slapped it on my office door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My children thought it was funny at first and ignored it. Were they surprised when I firmly ushered them out of the office and closed the door in their faces! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I played fair. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the same time I established a writing schedule that began the moment they went to school and I turned off the computer at three o’clock when they returned home. For years, my youngest thought it was very special to come into my office when he arrived home knowing I was waiting for him with my full attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d sit on my lap to tell me about his day. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My children learned to respect the sign after some trial and error, and a few tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that simple sign gave me the balance I desperately needed in my home life and budding professional career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It set boundaries, both physically and emotionally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The process taught me how to respect the craft of writing, my writing space and time, and it taught my children to respect it also.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom’s business meant business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yes, I finished two books that year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I can’t say I’d do it again.) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Writing this blog entry today makes me realize that I’ve slowly slipped away from this discipline as my children left home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am at the office every day, but I take for granted my free time and allow phone calls, drop-ins, even pets to disrupt my schedule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For 2012 I’m resolved to re-establish those precious writing hours that ban all outside distractions-- unless it’s blood or fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s time to put that sign back on the door!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua";">Mary Alice Monroe is the NY Times bestselling author of more than a dozen novels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her new book, BEACH HOUSE MEMORIES, prequel to her Southern hit THE BEACH HOUSE, will be released May 2012.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Learn more at <a href="http://www.maryalicemonroe.com/">http://www.maryalicemonroe.com/</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-77720758635607883962012-01-17T22:56:00.000-05:002012-01-17T22:56:26.761-05:00I Ran Off with the Circus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-ash2/373475_121816365611_1791536396_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kba="true" src="http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-ash2/373475_121816365611_1791536396_n.jpg" /></a></div>by Nicole Seitz<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">S</span>ome of the most unexpected blessings of my entire writing journey have been the people I've met and friendships formed along the way. Not something you'd expect to hear from a girl who, on her kindergarten report card, had "Cannot throw a ball" and "Does not play well with others."<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I've come a long way, baby. My husband makes this puppet-moving-mouth movement with his hand when I talk too much...to strangers. I like strangers. They're strange, just like me. And over the past several years, strangers are becoming my fastest, bestest friends. Let me explain.</div> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/403921_10150604719465225_714400224_11428164_90915728_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" kba="true" src="http://a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/403921_10150604719465225_714400224_11428164_90915728_n.jpg" width="143" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ringmaster, Kathy Patrick</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Last weekend, I ran away to the circus. Really. If having the time of your life, dressing up in costumes and laughing the nights away with a bunch of clowns and animal tamers is the circus, then I'm not lying. I am still riding high after an amazing trip to Jefferson, TX, where every year the Pulpwood Queens book clubs congregate to party down at Girlfriend's Weekend. Kathy Patrick, friend to all, is the mastermind and Energizer bunny behind all of this. She was probably the girl in kindergarten that everyone fought to sit next to. She is a magnet for good times and fellowship, and people flock to her and the the quaint historic town of Jefferson. <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>This was my third straight year of attendance, and for me, it just keeps getting better and better because of the PEOPLE! I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed visiting with friend Shellie Rushing Tomlinson (author of SUE ELLEN AIN'T FAT, SHE JUST WEIGHS HEAVY). We met three years ago at the same Jefferson Convention center--I was dressed as a cicada Barbie with wings and she was a rainbow. We just hit it off. This time, we sat talking in Beje's Diner with Christian karaoke going on in the background dressed in pink prom attire. It was just what we needed. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/379566_10150602356725225_714400224_11419367_548524475_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" kba="true" src="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/379566_10150602356725225_714400224_11419367_548524475_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Shellie, Lisa Wingate, Carla Stewart, Marybeth Whalen</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I also got to spend time with other amazing authors and friends, River Jordan, Michael Morris (I bought his wife's painting in the silent auction), Karen Harrington, Kathryn Casey, Marybeth Whalen, Lisa Wingate, Carla Stewart, Judy Christie, Marcia Fine...okay, I'll stop here, because the list is just too long, but you get the point! And I haven't even mentioned the Pulpwood Queens who have touched my heart year after year! </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/399894_10150602488940225_714400224_11419819_1606812361_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" kba="true" src="http://a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/399894_10150602488940225_714400224_11419819_1606812361_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jimmy Moomaw, author of<br />
SOUTHERN FRIED CHILD, and me</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In addition to some old friends I've made along my writing journey, I got to make some new ones. I cannot name them all, but let I'll give you some highlights: driving author Robert Hicks (THE WIDOW OF THE SOUTH) around and around between Shreveport and Jefferson, missing my turns because he's such an amazing storyteller. Being outfitted by the lovely Pulpwood Queens of Eureka (and Woodlands) in a pink prom dress, gloves and silver shoes. Staying at the Benefield House Bed and Breakfast and being spoiled by sweet owner Donna. Visiting last year's bed and breakfast, Steamboat Inn, just to visit with those sweet owners. Meeting Jimmy Moomaw, who turned 75 years old with us and told me to buy her book "Because it's really good. No crap." I liked her frank style and the way she boogied on the dance floor so I bought that book and cannot wait to read it. And how could I forget talking about how I missed my family back home with author William Torgenson (LOVE ON THE BIG SCREEN), and learning he turned sentimental on me and went to call his own family after our chat.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/378741_10150604593260225_1155365002_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" kba="true" src="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/378741_10150604593260225_1155365002_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The point is, I never knew playing with others was so much fun. What was I afraid of before? What's amazing to me, is that when it comes to a love of books, people seem to be able to reach a deeper level of intimacy quicker, and therefore, the relationships seem more meaningful. I have become more open to others because of writing my books and I've learned to reach out and truly connect. Of course, I realize there is a divine hand at play because the connections seem so poignant and perfectly timed. All in all, I am blessed with many people I truly care about now, and that is a far cry from the girl who, not so long ago, liked to keep to herself behind a computer screen. I'm fairly sure when I'm too old to remember any of the titles of my books, I'll still have some of these friends around to haunt me with freakish photos from our weekends in Jefferson. Knowing me, I'll just invent my own past and convince myself I really did run away to the circus. And you know, that doesn't seem like such a bad way to go.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">------------------------------------------------</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Nicole Seitz's latest novel releases on January 31, BEYOND MOLASSES CREEK. She is the author of five other novels and often paints elements of her book covers. She lives in Charleston, SC, with her sweet family. Visit her web site at <a href="http://www.nicoleseitz.com/">http://www.nicoleseitz.com/</a> or find her on Facebook and Twitter.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/381792_10150604592635225_714400224_11427015_1654877952_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" kba="true" src="http://a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/381792_10150604592635225_714400224_11427015_1654877952_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jimmy Moomaw, SOUTHERN FRIED CHILD</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a3.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/379514_10150602354515225_714400224_11419336_1346102707_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" kba="true" src="http://a3.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/379514_10150602354515225_714400224_11419336_1346102707_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill Torgensen, LOVE ON THE BIG SCREEN</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/382583_10150604591785225_714400224_11427000_348300393_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" kba="true" src="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/382583_10150604591785225_714400224_11427000_348300393_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pulpwood Queens of Eureka, Pam and Heidi</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-32528411172134453842012-01-16T08:39:00.000-05:002012-01-16T08:39:16.877-05:00"I Wish I'd Written that" by Niles Reddick<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE51qbq5BQ3ccIzGFmtWGhz8hq-UQ12aJY6wmCq5GPyIBki8qSy9uExL4eA1R-UTWnYKTbfqOt0VFYCqORdGdEBcxMSWxXYtB9mIN-WtQACesMcccFJrgBGBRMcwUVSfQXRPGZFc7h4URB/s1600/Lead+Me+Home+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE51qbq5BQ3ccIzGFmtWGhz8hq-UQ12aJY6wmCq5GPyIBki8qSy9uExL4eA1R-UTWnYKTbfqOt0VFYCqORdGdEBcxMSWxXYtB9mIN-WtQACesMcccFJrgBGBRMcwUVSfQXRPGZFc7h4URB/s320/Lead+Me+Home+cover.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<b>The interesting thing about writing advice is that there is always someone willing to give you some and often it's the same old advice</b>---<b>be persistent, don't give up, write what you know, keep a journal, do more research, get in a class. And so on.</b> <b>It's the superficial stuff of groups and conferences. I hate to admit to <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">cliché</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">,</span></b><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:DoNotShowComments/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<b> </b><br />
<b>I'd first attempted a coming-of-age story, hammered out on a Brother typewriter in a garage apartment in Carrollton, Georgia. It had some good stories and I pulled it last year when I felt dry of ideas and reread it to see if I could get anything. I couldn't. Then, I had attempted a novel, written in Tallahassee, Florida, in Word Perfect, and told through the perspective of cars. Yes, cars!!! Lots of good, old cars---the Bel Air, the Bonneville, the Skylark. I'd thought of them as reflecting the personalities of the family members who drove them. I like to think once in a while that I was ahead of my time with the cars idea given the success of the animated films. The "cars" attempt was better than my first attempt, and I had some good stories, lines, characters, description, and dialogue. </b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggUfKCx6Rt4ljJu64bESgr1Mjc4W1f0hH7GL3qsoAoR_4F75pl_T8uoy3ncP0prikfAYV1B2gssHXPO3QqoeByorGMm6TJv0H_wMK7l1sI1J1MwGgOlZqvhQ6fOTaxaM1L_0nambdrV35M/s1600/RoadKillArt_Front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggUfKCx6Rt4ljJu64bESgr1Mjc4W1f0hH7GL3qsoAoR_4F75pl_T8uoy3ncP0prikfAYV1B2gssHXPO3QqoeByorGMm6TJv0H_wMK7l1sI1J1MwGgOlZqvhQ6fOTaxaM1L_0nambdrV35M/s320/RoadKillArt_Front.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
<b>I'd traveled to Raleigh from Tallahassee to interview Lee Smith. Once on the North Carolina State campus, where she was writer-in-residence, I found the English department and sat outside Lee's office on the glossy wooden floors. When I heard the hall door shut, I noticed a woman wearing red shoes, a red rain coat, and sporting a red purse. "Hey," she said. Not only was I honored to have interviewed her, I was honored when the interview was accepted in an anthology. Near the end of the interview, Lee asked me about my writing and said she would be glad to read something of mine. I was honored. Back in Tallahassee, I quickly bound my "Cars" attempt and shipped it off to her.</b><br />
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<b>Within a couple of weeks, I had a package. Amazing! Editors, agents, and publishers take six months to a year or more sometimes to get back to you, and one of best Southern writers had only taken two weeks. Sure, there were writing and notes all over the manuscript---grammatical notations, suggestions, and I had anticipated that. But other comments caught my eye. They stood out to me, like cake at a child's birthday party, and I devoured them one by one and went back and read them again and again. I showed my friends and professors. One comment in particular stood above all the others: "I wish I'd written that." I didn't breathe for a bit. I couldn't believe my eyes. A famous author was envious of something I had written. It was a moment of both validation and motivation.</b><br />
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<b>As the years passed, and I wrote stories for journals and finally a collection of stories and then a novel, and as I received hundreds of rejections from agents, editors, and publishers, I often went back and read Lee's comments or reflected on them to keep me motivated and I am forever appreciative.</b><br />
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<i>Niles Reddick is author of a collection Road Kill Art and Other Oddities, which was a finalist for an Eppie award, and a novel Lead Me Home, which was a finalist for a ForeWord Award and was a finalist for first novel in the Georgia Author of the Year Awards. </i><i>He is author of numerous short stories in journals and anthologies. He lives in Tifton, Georgia, where he works for Abraham Baldwin Agricultural College. His website is www.nilesreddick.com </i>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-67262760431501851972012-01-03T21:19:00.000-05:002012-01-03T21:19:02.717-05:00My Writing is Taking New Turns and I'm just Flicking the BlinkersMy writing has taken odd turns since the economy took its downward spiral.<br />
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A novel I loved, as did my former agent at one of New York’s biggest firms, thought it would go to auction – that heavenly place writers dream of landing.<br />
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Instead, “Chimes from a Cracked Southern Belle,” landed in the rejection pile of about 10 publishers and my young agent just gave up.<br />
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The best piece of advice I’ve ever heard about writing is, “never give up.”<br />
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I knew the novel was good enough for publication, so I sought a smaller press and we are working on it now. The process is slower, more personal than with the big New York houses, but I’m just glad to get the thing on paper and draped in an adorable cover.<br />
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It may not be a big-time hit, but it’s my “baby” and I had to bring it into the world, whatever way possible. Some of my writer friends are going Indie or doing E-books.<br />
<br />
The smaller press seemed a better fit for me at this juncture. <br />
<br />
The best advice is to write EVERY day, to read in the genre in which you love to write, and steal tricks from the best authors out there.<br />
<br />
Currently, besides all the wonderful books by the bloggers on this site, I’m loving Billie Letts, and am studying her style and how she puts it all together like a wonderful quilt.<br />
<br />
It’s just as important to learn from books as to enjoy them. By reading, we absorb more about how to write great dialogue, how to plot and how to entertain and inspire.<br />
<br />
My only problem is I have a troubled family member who needs a lot of help, and his issues drain me. Most of my reading lately is Al-Anon material. But heck, there’s even some good writing in these self-help books.<br />
<br />
Recently, I had a unique opportunity to collaborate with 11 other (some famous) authors to write a spoofy serial novel for one of the country’s top bookstores – Malaprop’s in Asheville. We each wrote a 6,000-word chapter and it’s almost in publication and getting great reviews and press.<br />
<br />
The point is, I’m not the star of this book, but a mere contributor. However, this will get my work “out there,” and that’s another bit of advice for writers. Do what it takes to get your name floating in literary circulation. We didn’t get paid, but when Charles Frazier wrote a glowing review of the book, that seemed good enough.<br />
<br />
Make time each day to write something pretty, to read something interesting, and to take good enough care of yourself physically and emotionally to keep the Muse fed and fueled.<br />
<br />
<strong>Susan Reinhardt is author of the best-selling “Not Tonight Honey, Wait Till I’m a Size 6,” and three other humor books. She is also a Sarah Palin impersonator and stand-up comic and public speaker. </strong><br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb1BaLLYsnyhPxDzwM6IsaGiWzy3_BL3Db0vKsqU7ca5odzo3Hxz0w9npaeoaK8oxT52M01b22HuvNT5jd_cmOyLiZsqJ7hYUNoV2j_gLqeHH_3Tyi7GGWlV_YMQAN-WolIoxGLLdKyCoT/s1600/Penguins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb1BaLLYsnyhPxDzwM6IsaGiWzy3_BL3Db0vKsqU7ca5odzo3Hxz0w9npaeoaK8oxT52M01b22HuvNT5jd_cmOyLiZsqJ7hYUNoV2j_gLqeHH_3Tyi7GGWlV_YMQAN-WolIoxGLLdKyCoT/s320/Penguins.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-1532034299850280412011-12-20T18:48:00.000-05:002011-12-20T18:48:03.828-05:00The Importance of Goals<div class="MsoNormal">The Importance of Goals<o:p></o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkMaljghjLnS4IppoRYlxi6lOjckGPIm_p_2ZeDlwjrAM2A8j2CY2uGVmQPRzHlJB2yYDvdytcxCeeH51AUg32qUM2CXtqbaSn8flSxt0Vc1Kh_i6KosNCCSZDIZ5B7uAGfhl-AKiWHab/s1600/jjandfiretruck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkMaljghjLnS4IppoRYlxi6lOjckGPIm_p_2ZeDlwjrAM2A8j2CY2uGVmQPRzHlJB2yYDvdytcxCeeH51AUg32qUM2CXtqbaSn8flSxt0Vc1Kh_i6KosNCCSZDIZ5B7uAGfhl-AKiWHab/s320/jjandfiretruck.jpg" width="274" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">In preparation for the 2012, I clean house and set goals for the new year. This week, I found a Polaroid of my daughter taken when she was in kindergarten. It was fireman’s day, evidenced by the lopsided hat atop her tiny head. She stood with her friends, all were smiling, looking directly at me and the future ahead. Beside the picture was a Steven Covey journal with a ten year old personal mission statement which read, “someday I would like to write a book.” Blinking away tears, I realize so much time has passed. My daughter has grown into a beautiful teenager and my dream is a reality.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Becoming a published author made me realize the importance of community. It also added pressure to produce more than one book. This year instead of finishing the novel I was working on, I released: <i><a href="http://www.authorsroundthesouth.com/STARS/bookstore.php" target="_blank">Stress-free Marketing: Practical Advice forthe Newly Published Author</a></i>… a project that was not on my “to-do” list. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wrote <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Stress-free-Marketing-Practical-Advice-Published/dp/0983966001/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1324424377&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Stress-freeMarketing: Practical Advice for the Newly Published Author</a> </i>after meeting two North Carolina authors at a conference. One had a beautiful memoir filled with professional photographs. However, in today’s market the $ 34.95 price tag was professional suicide. The second author remortgaged her home only to see her dream disappear in foreclosure while unsold stock gathered dust. Each day images of these women haunted me making it impossible to focus on my manuscript. Then the muse fell silent. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Upon sharing my intent to write this book, my husband and I had quite the “discussion.” He argued I was making a terrible mistake. He believed emerging and self-published authors are obstinate, opinionated and “dead set on doing what they want to do regardless of who tries to help them.” Further, he explained, “this is why they self-publish, because they don’t want to listen to anyone in the industry.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I defended that “even though I am not self-published, if someone had tried to share marketing tips with me when I was starting out, I would have listened.” Surely, I reasoned, newbies would listen to someone who had “been there” and “done that.” Surely they would want to do everything in their power to sell the books they had worked so hard to write.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He crossed his arms and reminded me that I am “not like everyone else.” He reminded me that I had spent months researching my market and compiling contacts. Then he gave me a <i>we’ll see </i>look<i> </i>before saying, “Trust me, writers aren’t going to listen to a word you have to say.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I tried not to cry as his resolve remained. I explained that writers help each other and that I am “doing my part to pay it forward.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The eternal skeptic was unmoved.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Veteran authors whom I interviewed agreed with my husband. They suggested I lead marketing workshops, instead of authoring a book aimed at emerging authors. I listened…kinda.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Partnering with local brick and mortar bookstores and small businesses, I now offer workshops to emerging authors at a ridiculously low price. Workshop attendees receive a copy of the book, a password to a community blog specifically designed for new authors, and two hours of instruction from yours truly. Businesses who host a workshop receive half of the fee. This is my way of saying thank you for shelving copies of <i>In the Garden with Billy: Lessons about Life & Tomatoes. </i>I hope these classes will encourage and teach emerging authors as well as benefit small businesses, especially in the winter months when business is slow. The workshops will not make me independently wealthy and the fact that I am not promoting this book with a tour means those who monitor sales information won’t be pleased. Insert pouty face and crossed arms from the beloved. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I like to think of <i>Stress-free Marketing: Practical Advice for the Newly Published Author </i>as a community service project…voluntary, not court-ordered. Someone needed to guide the fledglings and who better than a fellow fledgling that experienced extraordinary success with her first publication. Thank you readers, booksellers and book clubs! Offering the workshops have allowed me to rest knowing that I have written something that, when read, will guide others on their pathway to publication. I have done my part. The rest is up to referrals and the magic of social media. If I can save one author from financial ruin, my work is done. Once again, the muse is smiling. Once again it is time to set attainable goals. Have you set goals for 2012? <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As 2011 closes, many of us wonder what the future holds. Hopefully I will finish the novel or perhaps the sequel to <i>In the Garden with Billy</i>. I will continue to support independent booksellers and volunteer at the public library, both need our help. And my personal mission statement remains, “I will write a book.” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Visit <a href="http://www.reneawinchester.com/" target="_blank">Renea Winchester’s website</a> for more information about her work, or visit her blog: <a href="http://adviceforauthors.wordpress.com/">http://adviceforauthors.wordpress.com</a> . <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-76508194037371782142011-12-08T19:23:00.005-05:002011-12-09T12:49:51.764-05:00All Work and No Play* Makes A Dull Writer<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUVlz0mWghL20N3hrxjuJKpGEYaTbaJUryjkWylslbiYKLzIHzUks5HXcPdYG_4-nZPBOLhjucwnpQI14LzqHHP3Nr_qKiZ6RwBIjMI6RrjA3W5pnhViagGWXUqskfHt1oCM_jyD5ps59/s1600/blue-dress-children-clouds-daisy-field-flower-field-Favim.com-37776.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUVlz0mWghL20N3hrxjuJKpGEYaTbaJUryjkWylslbiYKLzIHzUks5HXcPdYG_4-nZPBOLhjucwnpQI14LzqHHP3Nr_qKiZ6RwBIjMI6RrjA3W5pnhViagGWXUqskfHt1oCM_jyD5ps59/s320/blue-dress-children-clouds-daisy-field-flower-field-Favim.com-37776.jpg" width="255" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Have you ever read the work of a young, uncorrupted writer? It’s like venturing into a jungle: Fresh. Green. Wild. Monkeys beating their furry chests. Parrots shrieking. Anacondas curling around trees. A chaos of creativity. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Such a writer is ruled almost entirely by her subconscious. The subconscious—let’s call her Crazy Daisy -- doesn’t know the difference between a gerund and a dangling participle; she only cares about expressing herself. Writing is play not work.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately Crazy Daisy, charming as she is, has a problem: Her work meanders like a toddler strewing petals at a wedding: she needs to be reigned in. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Enter Ms. Grind.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Ms. Grind cares most about the rules. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She’ll tell Crazy Daisy that a sentence can’t run on for three pages or that exclamation points shouldn’t be showered over a page like pepper. She’s so bossy and judgmental she frightens away Crazy Daisy. Ms. Grind doesn't care; she doesn’t needs that wild little girl hanging around anyway. Yet when she tries to have fun with her prose, it’s scary like having Dick Cheney ask you to pull his finger. Most of her writing comes out freeze-dried and soulless. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Fact is, all writers are slightly schizophrenic, their mind divided between Crazy Daisy and Ms. Grind. We usually start out dominated by Crazy Daisy but once we immerse ourselves into the sea of endless writing rules, Ms. Grind tends to take over. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Can Crazy Daisy and Ms. Grim live harmoniously in a writer’s head? In other words, is it possible to create prose that’s technically proficient but also has passion, wonder, and playfulness? Yes, but only if you allow Crazy Daisy and Ms Grim to play to their strengths.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>New ideas usually come from Crazy Daisy</b>. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">You’re talking a walk or daydreaming and suddenly… BAM! You get a great idea. Crazy Daisy, impetuous minx, wants to start writing immediately. It’s like she has a case of diarrhea. You’ll be tempted to run with her. Don’t do it. Stop and take a moment to diaper the little imp. <b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Believe it or not, it’s time to bring Ms. Grind into the equation—not to shoot down the idea--but to structure it. Ms. Grinds loves outlines and plans and she’s good at them. After a little structure work, she might find that the idea isn’t workable after all. Sadly not all of Crazy Daisy’s ideas are golden. She likes to take risks and some don’t pay off. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">In fact, it’s wise to begin with every writing session with Ms. Grind and structure your thoughts when you sit down to write, whether to compose a short scene or a brief essay. You’ll satisfy Ms. Grind and give Crazy Daisy some perimeters. T.S. Elliot summarized this process:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">When forced to work within a strict framework the imagination is taxed to its upmost and will produce its richest ideas. Given total freedom, the work is likely to sprawl.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Keep Ms. Grind Out of Your First Drafts <o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Once structure’s in place, time to let Crazy Daisy loose. Allow her to scribble on walls, turn somersaults or eat paste. Sometimes she might break down structural walls and that’s okay too. Ms. Grind, however, isn’t allowed in. Why? Because she’ll keep up a steady stream of inner dialogue that sounds something like this: </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">That sentence was abysmal. It must be fixed immediately. Can’t you do anything right? Who do you think you are, passing yourself as a writer?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Occasionally Crazy Daisy interjects, bringing flashes of brilliance, but mostly it’s Ms. Grind who stands over the writer, wielding her ruler. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Not surprisingly Ms. Grind doesn’t give up her authority easily. How can you keep her out of your head when you're drafting?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Learn How to Break the Judgment Habit<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Most people aren’t aware of the stream of criticism flowing in their mind while they’re writing. Thinking is so fast and transitory; it can be hard to catch Ms. Grind’s endless digs. That why it’s helpful to develop a habit of sitting quietly and meditating for fifteen minutes each day. Ms Grind will no do doubt object saying, “What a ridiculous idea. Do you realize we’re wasting valuable writing time sitting around doing nothing?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She’s no dummy. Ms. Grind knows that meditation is the best way to access all of Crazy Daisy’s wild brilliance. Meditation helps you to recognize Ms. Grind’s judgmental thoughts, and to ignore them when you’re drafting a piece.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">When Crazy Daisy takes over the draft, watch out, because diamonds and gold nuggets will start shooting out of your computer. BEWARE. Don’t pat yourself on the back because that, too, is a judgment and any time you make a judgment, you’re issuing an invitation to Ms. Grind. The time for judgment, positive or negative, is in the re-write. Not now. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Writing will suddenly be fun again and as effortless as letting out a whoop of joy. You’ll find yourself falling in love all over again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>One caveat: Crazy Daisy is very messy. </b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">When you go back to revise, you might be horrified at the results. Yes, the writing was intoxicating but the hangover’s a killer. Ms. Grind will say, “I told you so.” Don’t listen to her. Simply ask her to help you clean it up. She’ll balk at first, saying, “If you left things to me there wouldn’t so much clutter.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">True but neither would there be so much fresh, wild writing. Give it a try and see. It can be a little disorienting. You might not even recognize your own prose. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">By the way, there’s an easy way to tell which personality dominates your writing. If you love the drafting phase and hate structure and rewriting, Crazy Daisy probably dominates your writing. If you like outlines, loathe the drafting phase and love to polish your prose, you need a T-shirt that says “Team Ms. Grind.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">*If you resisted reading this article, thank Ms.Grind. She’s not interested in articles about making writing fun. It threatens her authority. She much prefers list articles like “Ten Ways To Punch Up Your Dialogue.” They’re useful; this article is a waste of time. Crazy Daisy, indeed. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-size: x-large;">Karin Gillespie is novelist who loves to pick daisies. Follow her @gillespiekarin. </i></div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-51437019149880081352011-12-04T18:27:00.000-05:002011-12-04T18:27:21.644-05:00The Best Advice I Ever Got<strong>By Man Martin</strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19Jd_0qhNchcSSETaUeUIMb3YCl0AdzVZ1l90baaTW5s9tIqt8zarv-nfePFi6Bxz2NoCxyrHSTv5yZsRR0LqI4oqsJHtGK2pJthpacottI8x-sx3-g7Lsy-ADl7Rgy5F0_Ul1B1TBAzJ/s1600/man3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><img border="0" dda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19Jd_0qhNchcSSETaUeUIMb3YCl0AdzVZ1l90baaTW5s9tIqt8zarv-nfePFi6Bxz2NoCxyrHSTv5yZsRR0LqI4oqsJHtGK2pJthpacottI8x-sx3-g7Lsy-ADl7Rgy5F0_Ul1B1TBAzJ/s1600/man3.jpg" /></em></a></div><em>“Experience is a dear teacher, but a fool will learn by no other,”</em> Benjamin Franklin <br />
<br />
<br />
I am a school teacher, and one thing life has taught me is that you have to be very careful what you say around students. The same child who cannot master a simple lesson you have drilled into his head for three weeks will be able to recall verbatim a random wisecrack you made in passing and quote it back to you, often in the context of a parent-teacher conference.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB77Avb5XKG9WGTREomNr74JI2w35i_oeQo_tXALdM28zoUyXLGs41eh4VGIVDeBHenX1K_JvFNX1M_BBVyqOuAdOQRHuQnlzMBjIKjJtHBOF7VLcjx2kCP7_OjKEpbOYLo4bcGTETjOny/s1600/man4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB77Avb5XKG9WGTREomNr74JI2w35i_oeQo_tXALdM28zoUyXLGs41eh4VGIVDeBHenX1K_JvFNX1M_BBVyqOuAdOQRHuQnlzMBjIKjJtHBOF7VLcjx2kCP7_OjKEpbOYLo4bcGTETjOny/s1600/man4.jpg" /></a>I myself, who have been educated to within an inch of my life, have often taken away more from a teacher’s passing comment than from all the carefully planned curriculum on earth, largely because most of what writing teachers have to offer is advice, and I have never been good at taking advice. This is not owing to a lack of good advice coming in at regular intervals from all sides. I am not proud of the fact I’m not good at taking advice. Had I taken advice, my teeth would be whiter, my cholesterol lower, my waist slimmer, my bank balance fatter. But, like I said, I’m not good at taking advice.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>I do not know if this is because I’m cocksure, stubborn, or just a slow learner. Certainly being a slow learner is part of it. Usually I appreciate the value of advice – “Check your tire pressure every week” – only when I’m already stranded on the side of a long, deserted stretch of black top with a broken jack and a spare that is – also – flat.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxt-MZYmrGXe_1OEu1O6TZirMqEbMZbqJC_c6PTZcu8N6vDiygeq9rYMFkExCT_DD5ZzJAP1smpTNhm2as-34spnCP2C8DlyiBeyzHazjKhN22O6zXWHximmvhA7yRLp1J0kzmlhWLaviw/s1600/paradisedogscover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxt-MZYmrGXe_1OEu1O6TZirMqEbMZbqJC_c6PTZcu8N6vDiygeq9rYMFkExCT_DD5ZzJAP1smpTNhm2as-34spnCP2C8DlyiBeyzHazjKhN22O6zXWHximmvhA7yRLp1J0kzmlhWLaviw/s200/paradisedogscover.jpg" width="131" /></a>I have received boo-coos of writing advice, all of which I’ve ignored, which is understandable enough when it comes unasked from friends and family, but which is downright inexplicable when it comes from respected professionals whom I’ve paid, at least in part, for the valuable advice they offer. I’m talking here about college professors under whom I’ve studied writing and who must have on more than one occasion shaken their heads in pained wonderment at my mulish stubbornness, persisting in doing things the way I want to do, dammit, and not listening to their seasoned wisdom which would have made my task lighter in oh, so many ways.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Or if not lighter, at least more productive.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO2whN8nHuimZopp0Vn7XPciThG1MiyaGyRiH7tRKUTa9nmCsbbF6_Ioe83Gfqo6u3EVBqHUsLk4xdc8VESJm2VvCQjENpJBgld5mg3QRvkonxyqTbI3DVHW4bVT7SwvMLcoH4quzgY_9W/s1600/imagesCAPH8LBH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO2whN8nHuimZopp0Vn7XPciThG1MiyaGyRiH7tRKUTa9nmCsbbF6_Ioe83Gfqo6u3EVBqHUsLk4xdc8VESJm2VvCQjENpJBgld5mg3QRvkonxyqTbI3DVHW4bVT7SwvMLcoH4quzgY_9W/s1600/imagesCAPH8LBH.jpg" /></a></div>Tonight as I type this the advice that comes to mind is from my dear teacher Tony Grooms. Grooms, author of Trouble No More and <em>Bombingham,</em> was one of my writing teachers at Kennesaw State University and taught me many things. He taught me the essential quality of a character is that he or she must care about something. “It doesn’t matter as much whether they care about their lover, their children, or their rosebushes, but they have to care about something or the reader won’t care about them.” He also said that while an ambiguous phrase might be very nice in poetry, it should probably be avoided in fiction. Clarity is the sine qua non of fiction. Next to characters we can care about, what the reader wants to know is just exactly what the hell is going on.<br />
<br />
But all of this wisdom, plus much more besides, wisdom that I heard and neglected until I’d pounded my own fool head against the concrete for myself, testing that, yes, pounding your head on concrete probably is a bad idea and something that should be desisted from in future – Tony also warned me against excessive cleverness or “cuteness” in my writing, a lesson I may never learn – the thing that sticks in my head is one phrase.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHn14A4smS8lKxrGKrvQxy535qL98-gEhhljIrhcv4r4KmK_SqbdF7tB2i63T3Yr00p-N6Lkdu6TC2h-s6-AGW4Y55tgWRBjhpZCaLwTblgRldbDRP2Ezbxir91Y7AYHVOwZdnffkeui1O/s1600/imagesCAQCK51D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHn14A4smS8lKxrGKrvQxy535qL98-gEhhljIrhcv4r4KmK_SqbdF7tB2i63T3Yr00p-N6Lkdu6TC2h-s6-AGW4Y55tgWRBjhpZCaLwTblgRldbDRP2Ezbxir91Y7AYHVOwZdnffkeui1O/s1600/imagesCAQCK51D.jpg" /></a></div>Two hundred words a day.<br />
<br />
He said this in an off-hand way during a summer workshop. He had graciously opened his home to his class, and we met there weekly to exchange and critique stories. It was there I debuted the first chapter of Long Gone, my novel and Masters Thesis, the only copies of which sit on a shelf somewhere in the KSU Library. The thing was never published and never will be; it was what we euphemistically call a “learning novel.” Too much ambiguity and the characters didn’t care about anything, is my post-mortem diagnosis.<br />
<br />
Anyway, one summer afternoon before or after workshop when I was enviously admiring the tomatoes he’d already gotten from his garden long before ours were ripe, he said apropos of nothing much, “If you wrote just two hundred words a day, at the end of a year, you’d have a seventy-thousand word novel.”<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3wW_83Pj8J5821Go-2O1f5GHstc7DvtwMJrpcQhqwyu8e9TCZIljG17kyWW5xZelce3YMj_z9538WKlxS2sTHyDRJtmVrUc92-tCrWT42JjhrVe3xxkctP_t71KJ4koZDP1X8abQ7Ljh/s1600/imagesCA3851ZH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3wW_83Pj8J5821Go-2O1f5GHstc7DvtwMJrpcQhqwyu8e9TCZIljG17kyWW5xZelce3YMj_z9538WKlxS2sTHyDRJtmVrUc92-tCrWT42JjhrVe3xxkctP_t71KJ4koZDP1X8abQ7Ljh/s1600/imagesCA3851ZH.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">He said this in the most casual way imaginable, a man nonchalantly observing that three hundred sixty-five times two hundred is seventy thousand, but what a light bulb went off in my head! Two hundred words a day. Anybody could do that! I could do that!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Thank you, Tony.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I have written two novels and am well into a third. Given my nature, I have had to learn the other lessons you taught me the hard way, pounding my head over and over against stubborn realities until the stubborn realities sank in. Stubborn Realities: 1, Head: 0. But I was able to learn what little I have because of that other thing. The two hundred word thing. I know I have a lot more to learn, and God willing, I’ll learn at least some of it before I die. But if I do, I’ll learn the hard way. Pounding my head. Pounding my head. Pounding my head.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Two hundred words a day.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong>Man Martin is the award-winning author of <em>Days of the Endless Corvette</em></strong> <strong>and <em>Scoring Bertram Wiggly,</em> a novella. His second novel, Paradise Dogs, was selected by Atlanta Magazine's December "Best Of" issue, as one of the top five novels for 2011. He is writing a third novel, 200 words a day. He blogs at </strong><a href="http://manmartin.blogspot.com/"><strong>manmartin.blogspot.com</strong></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-862245005003271022011-11-18T21:57:00.000-05:002011-11-18T21:57:09.117-05:00Voicesby Shari Smith<br />
<br />
For a good bit, I had a stalker.<br />
<br />
He read a piece I wrote about the boys who hang out at the Claremont Café and liked it well enough to repeatedly call the Café and leave messages. I knew that would wear thin in no time. They don’t much care to answer the phone when someone wants to place an order to go. Not much chance they would enjoy playing at being my secretary. He continued to call until one day, he told Angie that if she could get me to call him, I’d have to leave a message because he’d not be available for a few days.<br />
<br />
“I got locked up.”, he explained.<br />
<br />
I immediately sent an email to all my successful writer friends and told them that they could have all the awards they could carry, lock in their big, fat advance money and count up all their loyal fans but mine would literally give up their one call to a lawyer or bail bondsman just to tell me they liked my writing. Joe Galloway said he’d kill to have that story to tell but it belongs to me.<br />
<br />
It almost didn’t.<br />
<br />
I’ve had the names of some of the South’s best writers in my speed dial for more than ten years, now. Been to dinner with them, cooked dinner for them, arranged readings for them, sold a pile of books for them and been trapped in a car with a couple of them I felt like killin’. It’s true that some folks need killin’ and two I know of are from Alabama.<br />
<br />
Whiners. <br />
<br />
If they ever perfect beaming a body from one place to another no one will choose to ride in a car with either of them, again.<br />
<br />
In February of 2006, Sonny Brewer told me I should write. He said I was good at it. He turned to me, one night, while we waited for a buddy of his to buy pork rinds and bottled water at a Run-In grocery and gas station which everybody knows it just wrong. Pork rinds should only be eaten while drinking a Sundrop or a Cheerwine, if you can get it. Sonny told me that I needed to take it more seriously when good writers told me to get busy. I said that I was a reader, not a writer and I meant it to sound as haughty as it did.<br />
<br />
Claremont is full of storytellers. I used to listen to them, mostly in the Café, and run home to write emails and send them to all my writer friends. In reality, I was writing to only one of them. I thought he was the best, still do. I thought that he was the best as writing about the people in my South, working people, real people who line up at sewing machines or pound together furniture frames, people who can never quite get the red clay stains off their hands or out of their overalls.<br />
<br />
I wanted Claremont to have the best.<br />
<br />
I knew when I had a good one. I’d listen hard to get the dialog right. Mess that up and the story is ruint, a shadow of what it might could have been if you’d been paying better attention. I wrote them as fast as I heard them, one after the other, and believed that if I could just get one to stick, one to make its’ way in, I would have given my people the thing they most deserved. They would not have to settle for a writer who would portray them as sweet or quaint or any other word that sounds like a compliment but is not.<br />
<br />
I believed it was my job, my calling.<br />
<br />
Maybe, if I did it, if I wrangled a lion into telling the story of Claremont, North Carolina, it would pay them back for the way they made me family though I am not kin to a one of them. Maybe it would make up for all the tourists who drive by Exit 135 without noticing there’s a town here, without realizing what extraordinary kindness and laughter waits on them if they would forget about getting to Asheville for art galleries and $200 meals and, instead, take a left off Oxford and a right onto Depot Street. If I could give them a book, a real book, they would finally know, these good people, that they are worthy of being written about, of living forever as words on paper and they would know how much I love them. It was a good plan, one I believed would work-<br />
<br />
Only he kept telling me that I should write it.<br />
<br />
Hanging with writers had taught me that they say things like that when they don’t mean it and that they always say it like they do. I’ve heard it said to the woman standing in line to get her book signed who is sure her Great Uncle Kenny should have a book written about him. I’ve heard it said while a writer is trying to shut his car door and drive to the next bookstore but can’t without knee capping the man who won’t cut short his tale of the time his daddy shot a bear. Besides, I believed we were friends and friends try not to hurt your feelings if they can help it.<br />
<br />
It ain't the first time I’ve been wrong.<br />
<br />
On this November weekend, four years ago, I was introduced to a publisher as “the best unpublished writer at this conference.” It embarrassed me. “I’m a reader, not a writer.”, I insisted, as I shook his hand intent on being the only person there not to try and pitch to him a book idea. A writer I met that night liked my Claremont stories so much she would later tell folks she “discovered me”.<br />
<br />
She didn’t.<br />
<br />
But it was on Sunday afternoon, out on the Waterhole Branch of Fish River, at the dining room table of Joe Formichella and Suzanne Hudson that I started listening. We sat for hours while I told them the stories I knew, told them of how I came to Claremont, how I stayed hidden and distant for too long from the very people I now call my own. Feeling good, feeling safe, I told them my plan, confided that I was going to get my people in a book and it would be a best seller, it was just a matter of time. Suzanne said that I should be the one to write it. <br />
<br />
Writers say things like they when they don’t really mean it and they always say it like they do.<br />
<br />
I said, no, of course, that was a bad idea. It needed to be a king, a man whose name is as big as he is. “They deserve that.”, I insisted. “My people. They deserve him.”<br />
<br />
Joe stared at me from across the table. When he spoke, it was almost a whisper. I didn’t know it, then, but I know it now, that the quieter Joe Formichella speaks, the more he feels it.<br />
<br />
“Why”, he asked, “Why, why in the hell, would you let anyone else be the voice of your people?”<br />
<br />
If I was a writer before that day, I never knew it but it is the day, the moment, I first took the deed to a parcel I would come to own as mine, to a label I would be proud to wear. It was in the time it took for Joe Formichella to finish his sentence that my plans changed, that I began to work at something I now, unbelievably, get paid to do. It was the day I took to heart that I need not to let them down, to honor the privilege of being their voice, the voice of people mostly unheard, often unnoticed.<br />
<br />
Joe Formichella is the guy you believe. He’s that guy.<br />
<br />
That editors pay me to be that voice is largely disbelieved by the folks in Claremont. Doesn’t sound like an honest day’s work to them because it isn’t. I’m not climbing ladders to paint a house or jumping in and out of a truck to read meters or herd cattle that got gone. They know what work is and it ain't sitting at a computer writing about the time someone set their outhouse on fire trying to rid it of spider webs or the night the Baby Jesus got took from the manger at St. Marks.<br />
<br />
That ain’t workin’.<br />
<br />
I told the Boys at the Back Table of the Claremont Café about my stalker when they demanded to know why a police car had been parked in my driveway. I explained that I had a diehard fan who didn’t know that he didn’t know me, that because I tend to write about things most people would consider highly personal, a reader had decided that he loved me true. Rick Bumgarner said, “And that you are gonna love him back even if it takes rope and duct tape?”<br />
<br />
Sam sits, every day, at the end of the table. He couldn’t understand it. “All on account of your <em>writin</em>?”, he questioned, and shook his head in disbelief when I answered, yes.<br />
<br />
Jerry took off his hat and scratched his head with the same hand. He put it hat back on, leaned on his elbows on the table and said, <br />
<br />
“Has he <em>seen</em> ye?”A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-74556176248321916252011-11-14T13:00:00.000-05:002011-11-14T13:00:52.335-05:00Stephen King on writing, his fears and his new book 11/22/63<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjND0WMjIlMG5C32SjL9rSl88Vv3u-bcoC5GplDqT9Z3kFUqQkfa0jyrIaxlwFXnc5XnHnLj0B44q22m7fmWte0K2grCslbrbmoWGsH7kv_6gq_YTsdBBq2cD3U5ZfBPnS0EHVRlPPP/s1600/king.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; color: #666666; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjND0WMjIlMG5C32SjL9rSl88Vv3u-bcoC5GplDqT9Z3kFUqQkfa0jyrIaxlwFXnc5XnHnLj0B44q22m7fmWte0K2grCslbrbmoWGsH7kv_6gq_YTsdBBq2cD3U5ZfBPnS0EHVRlPPP/s1600/king.jpg" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 1px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 4px; padding-right: 4px; padding-top: 4px;" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">by Karen Harrington, author <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Janeology-Karen-Harrington/dp/1449502660/ref=tmm_pap_title_0" target="_blank">Janeology</a></i></span><br />
<br />
Last Friday, I had the privilege of hearing Stephen King speak to a 1,000 member audience in a Dallas suburb. Now I know this month's blog series is about exploring our day jobs as writers, but since mine is currently all about meeting an actual writing dead-line, I hope you won't mind if I share a post I just wrote for my own blog about Mr. King's inspiring talk!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">I was delighted to find him optimistic, charming and entertaining throughout his entire 45-minute event. Like so many established writers, King is not only a talented writer, but also a natural oral story-teller.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><b>Fears and First Recognition</b></span><br />
<u style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></u><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Dressed in a relaxed t-shirt and jeans, King began his talk by stating he most often gets asked what scares<i> him</i>. Good question. He replied that <b>his fears include "spiders, snakes, the elevator in his hotel room and death."</b> Then he followed this subject by scaring us with the fact that "1 in 75 people will leave their homes unlocked allowing a psychopath to get in." He said that probably 50 people in the audience had left their cars unlocked and how we might want to check our backseat before we got into our cars. This drew a laugh from the audience, though I'm sure some folks laughed with unease. He went on to talk about his life as a writer,<b> recalling the first time he was ever recognized in public. </b>He was in Pittsburgh promoting a little book called <i>The Shining</i>. There, the men's room attendant recognized him and asked him for an autograph, all while Mr. King was, well, on the john. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">A few years later, he said, he was at a dinner with Bruce Springsteen when he noticed a young girl approaching their table. King prepared to demure to the singing idol, but was elated when he discovered it was HIM she wanted an autograph from!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><b>Researching The New Book</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">After a few minutes, Mr. King read from <b>his new book <i>11/22/63</i>, which features the infamous Kennedy assassination and poses the question what if you could change the past? </b>In the novel, his protagonist uses time-travel to do just that. But before setting out to write the book, he did research. He said that<b> writing "is a visual process for me. I need to know what's on the left and on the right" when writing about a place.</b> He came to Dallas and spent a good bit of time in the School Book Depository, even getting special permission to sit in the perch where Lee Harvey Oswald fired the fateful shots. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Here's a short interview where King talks about this new book. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/MVQxh79ZWtA" width="560"></iframe></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><b>Writing And Rituals</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">In the end, Mr. King concluded his talk by revealing that while most people might say, oh, he's a professional, he's a hot-shot writer, they would be wise to remember that<b> even he approaches a new work and "has a feeling of inadequacy"</b> at first. But he said when he gets going and "warmed up" it's as if he's under some kind of hypnosis and the work begins to flow. He shared his writing rituals, which include making hot tea and setting out his toothpicks before diving back into a story and employing that powerful admonition that <b>a writer's job is to "get the words on the page." </b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><b>Memorable Quotes And Notes</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><b>"The worst day I had in that [writing] chair was still terrific." </b><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I've never texted in my whole damn life!" </span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I feel like Rick Perry at the Republican debates." [following a forgetful moment on stage.]</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was 17 when JFK was assassinated and heard the news on the radio while driving home from High School.</span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He's finished the sequel to <i>The Shining.</i></span></b><br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The new Dark Tower book will be out in June 2013.</span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br />
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bravo, Mr. King! I'm looking forward to reading this new book. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Visit me at <a href="http://www.karenharringtonbooks.com/" target="_blank">www.karenharringtonbooks.com </a></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltbyiTIkIFtt2z-Dth9gef6cUFx98A6ye7RJt0Qu-Ro5PbTwXuKeaAozks2QW_TDG1pKbMS53qpqR5u6fwhNdCpPtAghRmHx0NwghaKYtM23TtpevFnhmiNwasDJ4f7dFtLM-gVsg8Gff/s1600/kingbook.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltbyiTIkIFtt2z-Dth9gef6cUFx98A6ye7RJt0Qu-Ro5PbTwXuKeaAozks2QW_TDG1pKbMS53qpqR5u6fwhNdCpPtAghRmHx0NwghaKYtM23TtpevFnhmiNwasDJ4f7dFtLM-gVsg8Gff/s400/kingbook.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lucky me! I got a signed copy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917245635820611026.post-77950876557037053852011-11-13T20:59:00.003-05:002011-11-14T09:47:40.852-05:00I Will Not Climb on the Roof<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;">by Susan Cushman </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve always had an entrepreneurial spirit. The first money-making opportunity I remember was in fourth grade. My sixth-grade brother talked me into climbing on the roof of the school with him to collect baseballs to sell. It would have been a great idea, except that when we were climbing down I jumped onto the catwalk that connected the main building to the temporary classrooms and broke a hole clear through the tin roof. I landed on the sidewalk, but fortunately only sprained my ankle. I don’t remember selling the baseballs, but I do remember staying after school every day for a week writing “I will not climb on the roof” over and over for an hour. And my parents made us use our “fair money” to pay for the roof repair. I think that’s the year I started thinking that boyfriends were a good idea for things like the fair.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Another job my brother and I did together (still in elementary school) was selling used Christmas trees after they were tossed out of the classrooms when the holidays started. Mike and I would pull the old tinsel off of them and set up our own Christmas tree stand with great prices for used trees a week before Christmas. It’s amazing how many people wait ‘til the last minute.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In fifth and sixth grades I canvassed the neighborhood selling personalized Christmas cards for the Friendly Card Company. Easiest money I ever made—just took the orders, made the deliveries a few weeks later and collected up to $500 a season. That’s when I realized that the money was in sales.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5yx-Fcslkq6dDzZmd9aP89O1iAFas3kb0-ozjCq8_mVHmy1TDipugSdBN4KIufnfh78iNVXYUyQkwARtFoWriCaPOFL3rYuFtJBTO902R5kb8_WbewsmGA_p5js6sub-vTfb-SuPRhgU2/s1600/Junior+High+Cheerleader+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5yx-Fcslkq6dDzZmd9aP89O1iAFas3kb0-ozjCq8_mVHmy1TDipugSdBN4KIufnfh78iNVXYUyQkwARtFoWriCaPOFL3rYuFtJBTO902R5kb8_WbewsmGA_p5js6sub-vTfb-SuPRhgU2/s320/Junior+High+Cheerleader+cropped.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">By junior high school I had moved on up to selling lottery tickets. Well, I don’t know exactly what you call what I was doing, but there was this company (how on earth did I find this pre-internet days?) that would offer all sorts of items—transistor radios, watches—to people who would sell chances to win them. I was selling these tickets at school when the principal found out and called me into his office and threatened to call the police. (Worse than that, he threatened to kick me off the cheerleading squad.) I never did find out if it was illegal or just against school rules. But I got some cool junk before they made me quit.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My sales career ended with a Christmas season of working in the children’s clothing section of a department store while I was in high school. Minimum wage (I was 16) and boring boring boring. That’s when I knew I needed to be doing something more creative.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At Ole Miss I typed (and edited and ghost wrote a few) papers for other students, for which I charged different rates, depending upon the amount of editing/writing they wanted. This was when I knew I wanted to be a writer. Or an editor. It almost didn’t matter what the subject was. The joy of putting those words together on the page (I even like to type) and making the piece look good got under my skin.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">During the early years of our marriage I worked as a medical secretary to put my husband through medical school. This was the least rewarding work I ever did. Science just doesn’t interest me, and transcribing medical reports and dealing with insurance companies was definitely not my cup of tea.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_K3oaw0jaf-Tg98__CaACCdDpX6r2xJxjNz_gZj-NaLbmAQ9oBvDJugtIkTGBYdv3cySIRzCGxuQWkhKTuSyZrqQ4pLJowz17pOfQYQIIe4dAQJcax74fXO5hhZX4bfkIlgQqjNQLFBZk/s1600/aerobics+instructors+1985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_K3oaw0jaf-Tg98__CaACCdDpX6r2xJxjNz_gZj-NaLbmAQ9oBvDJugtIkTGBYdv3cySIRzCGxuQWkhKTuSyZrqQ4pLJowz17pOfQYQIIe4dAQJcax74fXO5hhZX4bfkIlgQqjNQLFBZk/s320/aerobics+instructors+1985.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's me, middle left, in the black and blue checks.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">I took a detour in the early '80s to run an aerobic dance studio (yes I was that girl--see photo at right) where I "had the time of my life" but didn't do any writing. But choreographing aerobic dance routines and inspiring women to live healthier lifestyles while struggling with my own warped body image and eating disorders definitely informed my future writing projects. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Newsletters caught my interest next, and I produced several for corporate businesses, and even served a year as newsletter editor for the Memphis branch of the Society for Technical Communication. On the non-profit side, I produced our church’s first newsletter, for about 15 years, for which I also did most of the photography and the layout.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQF7Nbe3F9yHtcU61VjfHU8PS5IKj7UUkW53Z0eqjFMPGcz-33Vmo8RciKTn2GSkCGncDJF7iBC_4vayOdYGNvYdpJTDpazlPB_5ep1bE3RU0gysSVlgcyeTgSFQi1RcB-bpwD37aCTi6N/s1600/From+the+Publisher+w+caption.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQF7Nbe3F9yHtcU61VjfHU8PS5IKj7UUkW53Z0eqjFMPGcz-33Vmo8RciKTn2GSkCGncDJF7iBC_4vayOdYGNvYdpJTDpazlPB_5ep1bE3RU0gysSVlgcyeTgSFQi1RcB-bpwD37aCTi6N/s320/From+the+Publisher+w+caption.jpg" width="187" /></a><br />
By the early to mid 1990s, I was back on the entrepreneurial track—this time publishing a trade magazine for builders and architects. (see left) This was probably one of the most valuable experiences I had in the publishing world, since I did almost all of the work of putting together each (monthly) issue—writing most of the articles, selling all the ads, going on photo shoots and helping set up the shots—but I still wanted something more. I wanted to be telling stories, not selling houses and products.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvRPnRFH93QWFuThy6o789f_vGjLBr8mQJYj2rIiLqPOJRV2RM2majvyy3bzfBkKfEi1y6wKoMw4pWzWasYqU1patk819rXqGveyi7RggrZfUijxxRup-5rMrKQF94hZ56MiKVoD2f_6h/s1600/SusanwMoOlympia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvRPnRFH93QWFuThy6o789f_vGjLBr8mQJYj2rIiLqPOJRV2RM2majvyy3bzfBkKfEi1y6wKoMw4pWzWasYqU1patk819rXqGveyi7RggrZfUijxxRup-5rMrKQF94hZ56MiKVoD2f_6h/s1600/SusanwMoOlympia.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the early 2000s I followed a spiritual path, studying the ancient liturgical Byzantine art of iconography, mostly at Orthodox monasteries around the country. I learned to write (which is what painting icons is called, because you are writing the life of the saint with color) icons and then did commissioned pieces and taught workshops for a few years. I officially “retired” from iconography a couple of years ago to focus exclusively on my writing.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Looking back, I can see the benefit that each of those “day jobs” has brought to my present work as a writer. My novel is peopled with characters who are as colorful as the real people in the many worlds I have inhabited in sixty years of living. And with the publishing industry the way it is today, it will certainly help to have some background in sales! I’m thankful that my husband “keeps me” (as we say in the South) these days so that I can write full time.</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Having done some freelancing (magazine articles) somewhere in this story, writing essays and sending them out for publication came naturally to me, so that’s where I began. I also wrote a “beginner novel” and two memoirs (which are all on a shelf) while working on those essays. Nine published essays later, I’m finally close to finishing a novel that I would be proud to have published.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Until then, I'll try to learn not to climb on the roof.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Times;">Susan Cushman</span></i></b><span style="font-family: Times;"> <i><span style="color: black;">has nine published essays. </span></i><b><span style="color: black;">Cherry Bomb</span></b><i><span style="color: black;">, her novel-in-progress, made the short list in the novel excerpt category for the Faulkner-Wisdom Competition this year. </span>In spring of 2012, her essay, <b>“Chiaroscuro: Shimmer and Shadow,”</b> will appear in </i><b>Circling Faith: Southern Women on Spirituality</b><i>, the second volume of</i> <i>the anthology,</i> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_2105041321"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">All Out of Faith: Southern Women on Spirituality</span></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%20http://alloutoffaith.com/"><span style="color: blue;">,</span></a> <i>from the University of Alabama Press. <span style="color: black;">Susan was Director of the </span></i><a href="http://susancushman.wordpress.com/"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">2011 Memphis Creative Nonfiction Workshop</span></a> <i><span style="color: black;">in September. She was a guest speaker at the <a href="http://www.boulderwritersworkshop.com%20/"><span style="color: blue;">Boulder (Colorado) Writers Workshop</span></a> in August. Susan blogs at </span></i><a href="http://wwwpenandpalette-susancushman.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none;">"Pen and Palette."</span></a> </span></span></div><br />
</div>A Good Blog Is Hard to Findhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13823958967965785849noreply@blogger.com11