A Good Blog is Hard To Find

Is It Blood or Fire

2012-01-25T07:59:00.001-05:00

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. 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. The Monroe name was used for books considered Women’s Fiction. My married name, Kruesi (pronounced as “cruise-ee”), was used for my fantasy novels. I still can’t believe I agreed to do such a thing, considering that my own family members still sometimes misspell my married name.

There I was with two contracts with two separate publishers. Sounds like a happy problem, right? Be careful what you wish for. I was committed to writing two novels in one year. At that time, I was also a young mother of three children—fourteen, eight, and six years old. It was a lot for any author to take on, much less a new one.

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. So I picked up the phone to call my friend Nora Roberts. Who else would better understand my dilemma of writing two books a year than America’s favorite romance writer with a solid reputation of churning out wonderful novels at rapid-fire pace?

From a professional standpoint, Nora has no compassion for excuses or laziness. She is well-disciplined in the craft, writing at her desk for eight hours a day, seven days a week. And she expects others to do the same if they are serious about making it in the writing world. As my friend, she also understood how hard it was to try to find the time to write while raising young children. Nora offered me the greatest writing advice I’ve ever received—and now I’ll share it with you.

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, IS IT BLOOD OR FIRE? IF NOT, GO AWAY!

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. Though, chocolate and French fries were permitted.

The advice reminded me of Virginia Woolf’s admonishment in her book A Room of One’s Own:

“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."

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. 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! I played fair. 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. He’d sit on my lap to tell me about his day.

My children learned to respect the sign after some trial and error, and a few tears. But that simple sign gave me the balance I desperately needed in my home life and budding professional career. It set boundaries, both physically and emotionally. 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. Mom’s business meant business. And yes, I finished two books that year. (I can’t say I’d do it again.)

Writing this blog entry today makes me realize that I’ve slowly slipped away from this discipline as my children left home. 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. For 2012 I’m resolved to re-establish those precious writing hours that ban all outside distractions-- unless it’s blood or fire. It’s time to put that sign back on the door!

Mary Alice Monroe is the NY Times bestselling author of more than a dozen novels. Her new book, BEACH HOUSE MEMORIES, prequel to her Southern hit THE BEACH HOUSE, will be released May 2012. Learn more at http://www.maryalicemonroe.com/.

I Ran Off with the Circus

2012-01-17T22:56:00.000-05:00

by Nicole Seitz
Some 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."

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.

Ringmaster, Kathy Patrick

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.

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.

Me, Shellie, Lisa Wingate, Carla Stewart, Marybeth Whalen

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!

Jimmy Moomaw, author of
SOUTHERN FRIED CHILD, and me

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.

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.

------------------------------------------------

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 http://www.nicoleseitz.com/ or find her on Facebook and Twitter.

Jimmy Moomaw, SOUTHERN FRIED CHILD

Bill Torgensen, LOVE ON THE BIG SCREEN

Pulpwood Queens of Eureka, Pam and Heidi

"I Wish I'd Written that" by Niles Reddick

2012-01-16T08:39:00.000-05:00

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---be persistent, don't give up, write what you know, keep a journal, do more research, get in a class. And so on. It's the superficial stuff of groups and conferences. I hate to admit to cliché, but I have probably said it to audiences and students myself. There is, however, a grain of truth in all of it and following it can be helpful. For me, all of it was helpful at some level, but the most helpful information came in remarks about my second attempt at a novel from a writer who was gracious enough to read my manuscript and offer comments and suggestions: Lee Smith. Yes, Lee Smith, one of the great Southern writers.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 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

My Writing is Taking New Turns and I'm just Flicking the Blinkers

2012-01-03T21:19:00.000-05:00

My writing has taken odd turns since the economy took its downward spiral.

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.

Instead, “Chimes from a Cracked Southern Belle,” landed in the rejection pile of about 10 publishers and my young agent just gave up.

The best piece of advice I’ve ever heard about writing is, “never give up.”

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.

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.

The smaller press seemed a better fit for me at this juncture.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Importance of Goals

2011-12-20T18:48:00.000-05:00

The Importance of Goals

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.

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: Stress-free Marketing: Practical Advice forthe Newly Published Author… a project that was not on my “to-do” list.

I wrote Stress-freeMarketing: Practical Advice for the Newly Published Author 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.

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.”

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.

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 we’ll see look before saying, “Trust me, writers aren’t going to listen to a word you have to say.”

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.”

The eternal skeptic was unmoved.

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.

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 In the Garden with Billy: Lessons about Life & Tomatoes. 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.

I like to think of Stress-free Marketing: Practical Advice for the Newly Published Author 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?

As 2011 closes, many of us wonder what the future holds. Hopefully I will finish the novel or perhaps the sequel to In the Garden with Billy. 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.”

Visit Renea Winchester’s website for more information about her work, or visit her blog: http://adviceforauthors.wordpress.com .

All Work and No Play* Makes A Dull Writer

2011-12-08T19:23:00.005-05:00

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.

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.

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.

Enter Ms. Grind.

Ms. Grind cares most about the rules.

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.

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.

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.

New ideas usually come from Crazy Daisy.

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.

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.

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:

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.

Keep Ms. Grind Out of Your First Drafts

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:

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?

Occasionally Crazy Daisy interjects, bringing flashes of brilliance, but mostly it’s Ms. Grind who stands over the writer, wielding her ruler.

Not surprisingly Ms. Grind doesn’t give up her authority easily. How can you keep her out of your head when you're drafting?

Learn How to Break the Judgment Habit

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?”

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.

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.

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.

One caveat: Crazy Daisy is very messy.

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.”

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.

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.”

*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.

Karin Gillespie is novelist who loves to pick daisies. Follow her @gillespiekarin.

The Best Advice I Ever Got

2011-12-04T18:27:00.000-05:00

By Man Martin

“Experience is a dear teacher, but a fool will learn by no other,” Benjamin Franklin

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.

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.

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.

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.

Or if not lighter, at least more productive.

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 Bombingham, 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.

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.

Two hundred words a day.

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.

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.”

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!

Thank you, Tony.

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.

Two hundred words a day.

Man Martin is the award-winning author of Days of the Endless Corvette and Scoring Bertram Wiggly, 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 manmartin.blogspot.com

Voices

2011-11-18T21:57:00.000-05:00

by Shari Smith

For a good bit, I had a stalker.

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.

“I got locked up.”, he explained.

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.

It almost didn’t.

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.

Whiners.

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.

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.

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.

I wanted Claremont to have the best.

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.

I believed it was my job, my calling.

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-

Only he kept telling me that I should write it.

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.

It ain't the first time I’ve been wrong.

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”.

She didn’t.

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.

Writers say things like they when they don’t really mean it and they always say it like they do.

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.”

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.

“Why”, he asked, “Why, why in the hell, would you let anyone else be the voice of your people?”

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.

Joe Formichella is the guy you believe. He’s that guy.

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.

That ain’t workin’.

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?”

Sam sits, every day, at the end of the table. He couldn’t understand it. “All on account of your writin?”, he questioned, and shook his head in disbelief when I answered, yes.

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,

“Has he seen ye?”

Stephen King on writing, his fears and his new book 11/22/63

2011-11-14T13:00:00.000-05:00

by Karen Harrington, author Janeology

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!

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.

Fears and First Recognition

Dressed in a relaxed t-shirt and jeans, King began his talk by stating he most often gets asked what scares him. Good question. He replied that his fears include "spiders, snakes, the elevator in his hotel room and death." 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, recalling the first time he was ever recognized in public. He was in Pittsburgh promoting a little book called The Shining. There, the men's room attendant recognized him and asked him for an autograph, all while Mr. King was, well, on the john.

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!

Researching The New Book

After a few minutes, Mr. King read from his new book 11/22/63, which features the infamous Kennedy assassination and poses the question what if you could change the past? 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 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. 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.
Here's a short interview where King talks about this new book.

Writing And Rituals

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 even he approaches a new work and "has a feeling of inadequacy" 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 a writer's job is to "get the words on the page."

Memorable Quotes And Notes

"The worst day I had in that [writing] chair was still terrific."

"I've never texted in my whole damn life!"

"I feel like Rick Perry at the Republican debates." [following a forgetful moment on stage.]

He was 17 when JFK was assassinated and heard the news on the radio while driving home from High School.

He's finished the sequel to The Shining.

The new Dark Tower book will be out in June 2013.

--

Bravo, Mr. King! I'm looking forward to reading this new book.

Visit me at www.karenharringtonbooks.com

Lucky me! I got a signed copy.

I Will Not Climb on the Roof

2011-11-13T20:59:00.003-05:00

by Susan Cushman

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

That's me, middle left, in the black and blue checks.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Until then, I'll try to learn not to climb on the roof.

Susan Cushman has nine published essays. Cherry Bomb, her novel-in-progress, made the short list in the novel excerpt category for the Faulkner-Wisdom Competition this year. In spring of 2012, her essay, “Chiaroscuro: Shimmer and Shadow,” will appear in Circling Faith: Southern Women on Spirituality, the second volume of the anthology, All Out of Faith: Southern Women on Spirituality , from the University of Alabama Press. Susan was Director of the 2011 Memphis Creative Nonfiction Workshop in September. She was a guest speaker at the Boulder (Colorado) Writers Workshop in August. Susan blogs at "Pen and Palette."

Listening to Your Life...

2011-11-09T14:15:00.001-05:00

My husband and I were talking about the difference in our lives just the other day. I started working when I was fourteen. Waiting tables by fifteen. And thus began my "real life" experiences. I remember at one season in college I had three jobs! But now life is different. If you asked me what my hobbies are I would tell you that they are writing and teaching. I have been writing now for over fifteen years. Many years for other people. And the last ten for myself. I have also been teaching for about as long. It began as teaching Sunday School for College and Career and has turned into a non-denominational Bible Study for our city. These are my hobbies. My job I feel is something different...

The great writer Frederick Buechner said we should "listen to our life." And in doing that we can often encounter the very heart of God. I spent many years just trying to "make" it through life. And a few years back after the heartbreaking loss of my thirteen year marriage I have lived very differently. And what I've discovered is that my best stories and most meaningful lessons are often birthed through movies I've seen, conversations I've had or great food I've tasted.

We live in a generation that often wishes life away. But I have found that in being truly present with the life that I have, whether it is screaming at a nine-eleven year old football game, or eating ice cream in the middle of the afternoon, or drinking a cold Coca-Cola on a Saturday morning, or walking down the streets of Charleston with a forever friend, life is speaking to me. I have one job. It is to be present in this beautiful life that I have been given. And in doing that, I am better at each beautiful opportunity I have been given, wife, bonus-mom, friend, daughter, writer, teacher.

May you take in your children today. May you really taste your food. May you actually listen to that story your spouse is telling. May you actually read the book you hold in your hands and not skim it. And may you soak in the sunshine, or dance in the rain. We only get one life. May we listen to it...

Denise Hildreth Jones makes her home in Franklin,TN where she leads Reclaiming Hearts Ministries. She enjoys riding bikes with her five bonus-kids, watching movies with her husband, good books, long walks and cold Cokes. And every now and then she writes a few novels. Her latest is The First Gardener.
Jones's novel offers comfort and challenge, and readers will find it lingering in their hearts and minds long after the last page has been turned. Publisher's Weekly
www.denisehildrethjones.com

Road Writer

2011-11-07T10:49:00.006-05:00

by Andy Straka

I've had many jobs, but probably the one that has most informed my writing was working as a sales representative.

From publisher's rep (college textbooks) to medical sales (pharmaceuticals then orthopedic implants, then medical imaging and neurodiagnostic equipment), my road warrior years gave me a street level view of multiple worlds. Big cities and small towns and everything in between. From New York City to Connecticut and Massachusetts; from Washington, D.C. to Richmond, Charlottesville and Virginia Beach, North Carolina, and West Virginia.

My novels are all set in one of these locales. And even years later, in the era of GoogleMaps, I can close my eyes and picture the sights and sounds and smells of a neighborhood in the Bronx or Richmond's West end, the tony suburbs of Greenwich, CT, a winding switchback highway in the West Virginia mountains, or a beach town on the North Carolina coast. The inside of hospital operating rooms, corporate boardrooms, military bases, fly-by-night trade schools in Brooklyn—any one of these may come to mind when I write fiction.

My writing career was born on the road as well. In lonely hotel rooms at night, where I began to bang out stories and the first draft of a novel.

I've long since given up the sales life and escaped to the woods, or at least my little piece of the woods where I am blessed to be with my family, fly my hawk, and write. I’ve also had the good fortune to travel to many other places, including China, Mexico, and South America, and maybe I’ll be writing about some of those places one day as well.

The beauty of books is they can allow us to experience places we might otherwise never have the opportunity to see. Where have you traveled, and what sights and sounds and smells of different places have you experienced in your own life? How have these memories shaped you as a reader or a writer?
---------------------------------------------------------------

Publisher’s Weekly has featured Andy Straka as one of a new crop of “rising stars in crime fiction.” His books include A WITNESS ABOVE (Anthony, Agatha, and Shamus Award finalist), A KILLING SKY (Anthony Award Finalist), COLD QUARRY (Shamus Award Winner), KITTY HITTER (called a “great read” by Library Journal), and RECORD OF WRONGS, hailed by Mystery Scene magazine as “a first-rate thriller.” FLIGHTFALL, a Frank Pavlicek novella, was published as an ebook in August. His latest book is THE BLUE HALLELUJAH a novel of suspense, just released in trade paperback and ebook.
Andy has worked as a book editor, movie production accommodation agent, commercial building owner and consulting vice president for a large specialty physician’s practice, surgical implant and pharmaceutical sales representative, college textbook sales and manuscript acquisition representative, web offset press paper jogger, laborer on a city road crew, summer recreation youth director, camp counselor, youth basketball coach, assistant parts manager at an auto dealership, assistant manager at a McDonalds restaurant, and even been registered as a private investigator. (Not to mention a longstanding stint as a stay-at-home Dad to six, which makes neurosurgery look like tiddlywinks.) A licensed falconer and co-founder of the popular Crime Wave at the annual Virginia Festival of the Book, Andy is a native of upstate New York and a graduate of Williams College where, as co-captain of the basketball team, he “double-majored” in English and the crossover dribble. He lives with his family in Virginia.
Learn more at Andy's website/blog "The Hawk Writer's Guide To The Galaxy" at www.andystraka.com

Tips for Writing at Home--by Elizabeth S. Craig

2011-11-03T00:01:00.001-04:00

We're focusing on day jobs this month at the blog. Day jobs can frequently be a hurdle to us in getting writing done.

But what if you stay at home and write? What if your day job is parenting and running a household? It seems like it should be a lot easier to get writing done...but instead, the at-home writing can be a pretty big challenge all its own.

The biggest challenge of writing at home is the interruptions. These interruptions can be as major as rearranging a day around a sick child's doctor's appointment or as minor as the continual demand of dishwashers and dryers ending their cycles.

This is what I've found helpful:

A routine: At least a skeleton of one. It's good to have at least a *plan* for working at home. We all know what can *happen* to plans, of course. But it's good to have a routine in place so writing fits in naturally.

Flexibility: This is key. When your routine is completely shot, you need to have some flexibility to write on the go. Make sure you have pencils and index cards or a small notebook in your car so that you can write when you have a second. Sometimes I even have official plan bs and cs for days that go seriously awry.

Quick recognition of a problem: If you realize you're not getting anything done at home, assess what's going on. Do you have too many windows open on your computer? Are you getting constant interruptions from the children or the phone? Can you leave and write at the library or a coffee shop for a while?

Lists: I live by lists, and not just grocery ones. I make lists of what I want to accomplish with my book for the day. And, on days where I'm under a serious time crunch, I'll make lists instead of writing--lists about my characters (traits, their likes and dislikes, etc. ) ways to forward my plot, 5 different ways to end or begin my book, etc.)

Timers: I also live by timers. If I didn't use a timer (and there are some helpful free ones online), then I could easily lose an hour just replying to emails.

Wheel and deal with kids: Got children at home? I've had success in the past by making deals with mine--I'll play a game with them if they give me twenty uninterrupted minutes (fewer when they were very young). Then I gave *them* a timer.

Do something you didn't want to do first-thing: This is a great way to start off the day with a win. Even if the rest of your day is less-productive, you still feel that sense of accomplishment.

Make time to put the writing away: When my family is talking to me, I make a point to put the computer away and focus on them. That's another danger of writing at home--the novel is always around! Set a time to go off the clock.

Try not to multi-task: I'm a multi-tasker with *some* things (brainless activities like vaccumming or cleaning the kitchen combined with brainstorming, etc.) But if I try to update Facebook, check emails, and talk on the phone--I start feeling stressed. And I've found that I'm actually *less* productive.

Got any tips for working at home? How flexible are you with your writing routine?

Elizabeth’s latest book Hickory Smoked Homicide released Tuesday, November 1. Elizabeth writes the Memphis Barbeque series for Penguin/Berkley (as Riley Adams), the Southern Quilting mysteries (2012) for Penguin/NAL, and the Myrtle Clover series for Midnight Ink. She blogs daily at Mystery Writing is Murder, which was named by Writer’s Digest as one of the 101 Best Websites for Writers for 2010 and 2011.
Writer's Knowledge Base--the Search Engine for Writers
Twitter: @elizabethscraig

My Day Job

2011-11-01T19:35:00.001-04:00

Quick. Name the first, best job that pops into your brain when you think Aspiring Children’s Writer. Okay, bookseller works. Mom. Scout leader, camp counselor.

But I’m thinking about my own day job. The best job in the world. I was a school librarian.

I started my career in fifth grade at the Hill Demonstration School in Cleveland, Mississippi. Our school library filled up a small room on the first floor, across from the principal’s office. I was invited by the principal and my teacher to be the librarian. I don’t know who the real librarian was. I don't think we had a librarian most of the time. I spent no time cataloging, ordering, or even reshelving books. My fifth grade position entailed reading and recommending.

I read the books with winning stickers on the covers, but I’m not ashamed to say I read every single Nancy Drew book and most of the Childhood of Famous Americans “biographies” (which have since been mostly discredited as true biography. Or true anything.). Perhaps because they were shelved directly behind the Librarian’s Desk, that great, solid piece of bulk where I sat, wielding power with the little rubber date stamp.

I went on to become a Jr. High Library helper and even a high school library volunteer.

My career path was pre-destined.

After college, when friends fretted over what city to move to, what boyfriend to follow where, what school to teach in, I calmly chose the graduate school that specialized in children’s work.

I won’t bore you with my entire school library career. (Boston, Atlanta, Jacksonville, Baltimore, Summit, NJ).

But here’s what prepared me for my current career as writer of both middle-grade fiction and book reviews:

I’ve read almost every Newbery-winning novel ever published.

I know the answer to the question “Can I have the yellow book with monkeys on the cover?”

I can talk about a 250-word novel in three sentences or less.

I know when the little girl who loved the Dear America series might be ready for Lois Lowry.

Recently, a writers’ listserv shared a letter from a young Indiana girl. She’d sent this to the newspaper:

Dear the government,

I don't like that you're firing our school librarians. I am a first-grader at Childs school, and I think that Ms. Williams is a great librarian. She reads wonderful stories, and her voice goes up when it is supposed to and down when it is supposed to.

She helps me find books and makes me interested in reading and makes books

exciting for me. Ms. Williams makes us feel special. She knows each kid's name.

Childs school will never be the same without Ms. Williams in the library.

Why are you firing our school librarians?

Anna W.

If libraries are not staffed by professional librarians who know their stuff (books), love kids, and have time to connect the two--not to mention realize what parts of the story need a voice going up-- what a tremendous loss to girls like Anna.

I left the library world to write full time. But I still hang out in libraries. Researching facts for historical fiction, finding a quiet place to write, chatting with the librarians about what kids are reading. I can't even imagine what those kids without librarians do. Even in my Kindled/ Googling/ Facebooking world, I need my library.

LIBRARIANS ROCK!

Augusta Scattergood blogs about reading and writing at her own blog: http://ascattergood.blogspot.com/

Her first middle grade novel, GLORY BE, is about to launch in January from Scholastic.

A Writer By Any Other Name

2011-11-01T18:28:00.000-04:00

by
Jayne Jaudon Ferrer

I’ve had lots of day jobs over the years, virtually all involving writing of one sort or the other. When I graduated with my bright, shiny degree in English, I wanted to be a feature writer at the Tampa Tribune, which started publishing my work when I was sixteen. The editor burst that bubble right off (albeit kindly) when he pointed out that I could not waltz right into a feature writer position without paying my dues on the street. Dismayed at the thought of using my freshly acquired skills to pen arrest reports and obituaries, I walked across the street to WDAE Radio and landed myself a job writing commercials instead. That led to a job as an ad agency copywriter—which proved to be a perfect fit for a poet like me. Ad copy is all about grabbing attention quickly, keeping things short, and making it memorable. I was blessed to be surrounded by experts who’d been “in the business” for years and gave generously of their wisdom and expertise. Working for Young & Rubicam, and for other agencies in the years that followed, equipped me with knowledge and skills that have proven invaluable in marketing and promoting myself and my books.

My years as a stay-at-home mom involved more reading than writing of words—although it was during these days that my first three books were published, and those days with my sons were the breeding ground for the home and family focus upon which my writing career has become based.

Currently, I am creative director for a software development firm that specializes in e-commerce, so my days are spent writing website copy and marketing materials, doing research, exploring social media strategies, and helping customers define themselves and their markets. All of this helps me hone my own skills and keeps me on my technological toes. Some days I wish I could devote eight hours a day to whatever my current book project is, but over the years, I’ve spent so much time multiplexing that I suspect I’d miss having fingers in more than one pie.

Jayne Jaudon Ferrer is the author of four books and the host of http://www.yourdailypoem.com/. She lives in Greenville, SC. Learn more about her at http://www.jaynejaudonferrer.com/ and http://commagoddess.blogspot.com/.

Happy Halloween!!!

2011-10-31T03:14:00.025-04:00

In honor of the occasion - and since I don't have a day-job I can talk about; I write full time, in addition to handling the kids, the dog, and the husband's real estate business - I figured I'd chat a little about my favorite spooky books instead.

To be honest, I've never been big on paranormal phenomena. Vampires are creepy, werewolves are hairy, and demons are scary, not to mention scaly, and as a mystery writer, I tend to think that evil is wrong, anyway.

I do, however, have a fondness for ghosts. Not because I've ever seen one personally. I haven't. I keep hoping that maybe one of these days I will - we vacation in St. Augustine, Florida, every year, and there's a restaurant there with a haunted ladies room (swear to God!) which I make it a point to visit - but so far, no dice.

But I do love a good ghost story. I even wrote one myself once. It was the second DIY book, called Spackled and Spooked. It concerned a supposedly haunted mid-century ranch where murder had been committed seventeen years previously, and a skeleton buried in the crawlspace, among other cool things.

One of my favorite ghost stories was released 43 years ago, back when I was but a gleam in my mother’s eye, practically speaking. Barbara Mertz, writing as Barbara Michaels, wrote Ammie, Come Home in 1968, and it has one of the most chilling examples of ghostly possession ever penned. Like all of Mertz/Michaels/Elizabeth Peters’s books, it’s also marvelously written, quite funny at times, and with a very satisfying love story or two.

Since we’re on the subject of Mertz/Michaels/Peters, she also wrote Devil May Care, and House of Many Shadows, and Witch, and The Crying Child, and a slew of others, all of which handle ghosts and spirits in various incarnations, and all of which are stellar.

More recently—like last year—Jennifer Crusie’s latest, Maybe This Time, arrived in stores. She’s an autobuy for me, and you can imagine my excitement when I not only found the expected humor and fantabulous love story, but also ghosts and—yes—even an instance or two of possession.

Not that I have a particular thing for possession, you understand, but ghostly possession can be a lot of fun. To read about, I mean; like the ghost-sightings, I’m not so sure I’d like it if it happened to me.

And then there’s Lillian Stewart Carl, whose every protagonist generally deals with ‘ghost allergies.’ You can’t really go wrong with a Lillian Stewart Carl—she’s been compared to both Barbara Michaels and the brilliant Mary Stewart—but if I had to mention one book in particular, it would have to be Shadows in Scarlet, a paranormal romantic suspense romp in which Amanda, a tour guide at a historic home in Virginia, falls in love with the ghost of James Grant and ends up taking his spirit to his home castle in Scotland. I won’t go into details of the story, but it’s great, and even includes—for those of you who get off on that kind of thing—a ghost/human sex scene. There may be more of those out there, but this was the first I’d read, and quite well done, I might add. (And in case you wonder about the feasibility, as does a certain character in the book, to quote Amanda, who ought to know, “he had plenty of substance.”)

I could keep going, but I won’t. Instead, why don’t you leave a comment to tell me about your favorite ghost book, and help me add to the TBR pile.

Have a safe and happy Halloween!

Jennie Bentley is the New York Times bestselling author of the Do It Yourself home renovation mysteries from Berkley Prime Crime, as well as the Cutthroat Business mysteries, written as Jenna Bennett. You can find out more about both of them at www.JennieBentley.com

The Golden Summer

2011-10-29T21:48:00.000-04:00

Before I started my full time career as an attorney I had several part time or summer jobs. Most of them were fun including being a camp counselor for a few summers, working at the “Green Giant Cannery” for another, delivering dry cleaning another. But the one I remember best was the summer I worked as a rod man for the South Carolina Department of Transportation.

My father got this job for me the summer I was eighteen. I had just finished my freshman year of college and was home for three whole months. My stepmother was complaining that I should get a job somewhere where I wouldn’t have to live at home, but my father held firm and I stayed at home. This meant I would not have to pay rent and I could bank most of the money I earned.

The man I would be working for was named Mr. Hill. His assistant was a guy named Rick. They were a surveying crew and I was the person who was hired to hold the rod as they surveyed. Mr. Hill would pick me up in his truck every morning and then we could go pick up Rick and head toward the site of each day’s work.

Mr. Hill was a very kind and soft spoken man. He never fussed about anything and never got frustrated. He just did his job calmly and efficiently. Rick, well he was a different story. Rick knew a million stories to tell, which fascinated me. He also knew a thousand jokes. Some were a little off color but when he would get too extreme Mr. Hill would just say “Rick” and the jokes would get milder.

On the first day I asked Mr. Hill if we could stop so I could get a Pepsi and a pack of potato chips since I hadn’t had any breakfast. That automatically became part of our routine. At lunch time Mr. Hill and Rick had brought sandwiches to eat. Since I didn’t have anything Mr. Hill allowed me to take the truck and go get something to eat. The next day when it was lunchtime he said Mrs. Hill had packed some extra for me in his lunch sack and that continued all summer long.

It was a wonderfully hot, cloudless summer. My uniform was khaki shorts and a tee shirt. Most of the time I just wore the khaki shorts, and while I held the rod I got the best tan of my life. Since we walked from one area of surveying to another, except for moving to a new location, I also got in the best shape of my life.

When it rained the three of us would sit in the truck and wait out most showers. Rick would tell stories and Mr. Hill would add in a word or two. Me, I mostly just listened. I have always been fascinated by other people’s stories and I absorbed all they said like a sponge.

During that summer I was dating the cheerleader who I had been dating for a couple of years. I thought I was in love and maybe I was. At least I was for that summer. We saw each other just about every night and I actually had the money to pay for gas for my car so we rode and rode and rode. We also went to the movies or to parties with some of our friends.

Everybody needs a perfect summer like this one in their lives. It was something I definitely needed. I had been through some bad times since my mother died and this summer made me see that life still had some good spots.

I don’t think I ever saw Mr. Hill or Rick after that summer ended. The next summer I got a job in Washington State which pleased my stepmother so much. I was definitely out of the house. The cheerleader and I eventually broke up. The perfect summer lived on only in my memory.

There have been good times and bad times in my life. I have had some near perfect moments but that golden summer when I was eighteen stands out in my memory. It still brings me pleasure just to think about it.

Jackie K Cooper is the author of six books, the latest being BACK TO THE GARDEN. He also writes for "The Huffington Post."

Jackie K Cooper

www.jackiekcooper.com

Day Jobs of Our Lives

2011-10-22T22:22:00.003-04:00

High school sculpture from last year

by Nicole Seitz

It's hard to write, as it's late, and my eyes are blurry after crying through the movie, Conviction. But, I'll press on. This month's topic is day jobs, or those jobs we authors do when we're not writing. I might have a word of inspiration on that. I am thankful for day jobs. They help to keep a writer grounded and humbled and actually living life instead of simply writing about it. Currently, my day job is teaching art to some amazing kids in a local Christian school. It's funny, but I never imagined I would ever be a writer, and I assure you, I imagined less that I would be a teacher. Yet, this is where I am.

How blessed can a body be.

Teaching is, well, sort of like having children--challenging, engaging, sometimes draining, oftentimes inspiring, and all the time worthwhile. Every day that I get to know the kids more, I care just a little deeper for them, even the ones who challenge me. They're all so unique, and although I could go on and on, I guess what I want to leave you with is this: did I mention I never wanted to be a teacher? How then, did God work it out so that I started doing something I would love this much? I don't know. Boy, if I could tell you I saw it coming, but I didn't. From this post, please get this: your best adventures may be coming, and they may not even be on your radar. Wherever you are, I hope you can find peace in that.

Actually, it was out of adversity that this new calling found me. The economy got tough. I needed to do something to augment our family income. I love kids. I am an artist. When I saw the part-time position open up, I thought, hmmm...maybe I could do that. Then I set out to knock on the doors.

God opened them.

I'd like to tell you how much fun I had last week doing acrylic portraits on the playground with my high school students. I'd like to tell you about the looks on their faces when we critiqued them on the wall, and then the looks on the second day when we did it again and critiqued once more. How much they had grown! My students are amazing. Few of them consider themselves artists or artistically gifted, and yet they are the hardest-working group of teenagers you'd ever want to meet. In one quarter, they have improved beyond what I could have imagined, and so we press on, trying more, challenging more, achieving more.

I am a better person for knowing these students.

Seeing these young people each week, breathing encouragement into their lives and they, life into mine, I am humbled when we are free to pray in the classroom. I thank God for placing them in my life.

I have absolutely no idea how much money I make...from my books or from my teaching. I never even look at the pay stubs and let my husband handle all that. Because even though I started teaching to help make ends meet, something miraculous happened along the way, and all of a sudden, my dining room table is covered with paintings and drawings by my lower and upper school students...I'm entering them tomorrow in the Coastal Carolina Fair Youth Art Show, and I don't know how my students feel about it, but for me, I am a very proud mama. Whether we come home with a ribbon or not, I feel like we've all won.

Find yourself a job that keeps you coming back for more. They are out there. It may just be something you volunteer doing, or do part-time, or do for free. Just find it. Ask God and he'll show it to you. He did for me.

And in case you think my whole life has been rosy and I've always done what I've loved doing, let me give you a little rundown of the jobs that came before "author" and "art teacher":

babysitter
retail clerk
fast food clerk
VERY small-time print, runway and mannequin model
perfume spritzer
waitress
retail clerk again
Superbowl commercial transcriber
waitress again
bartender
television intern
t-shirt designer
freelance writer
freelance illustrator
telephone equipment salesperson
pre-press graphic artist
graphic designer
web designer
systems analyst
web designer again
design business owner...(I'm sure I'll think of more.)

May you find joy in every job you decide to do, and may you enjoy the stepping stones and the people you meet along the way.

I don't regret any of it. All the jobs before were preparation for doing what I love today. Even the one at Hotdog on a Stick.

God bless.

Nicole is not in this photo, courtesy of hotdogonastick.com, yet she did wear this outfit, including the hat.

----------------------------------------------

Don't you just love school
photos? Nicole never thought
she'd have to take one again.

When she is not teaching or spending time with her family, Nicole Seitz writes novels. She has five of them published and a sixth on the way (Jan 2012), BEYOND MOLASSES CREEK. She is honored to know all the hard-working people who write for this blog. Find Nicole at http://www.nicoleseitz.com/, on Facebook and Twitter.

What happened to the Yard Boy by Niles Reddick

2011-10-22T05:27:00.000-04:00

That twelve-year-old yard boy is alive and well, except I've got about thirty five more years on me than when I pushed that red rusted mower around town cutting grass for elderly people. I hated mowing grass, the work, but I enjoyed seeing the result and loved the smell of freshly cut grass. I did a good job, too, except when I wasn't paying attention. One bow-legged neighbor came off her porch waiving her wooden cane at me and screaming, "Lyles, you're skinning the grass!" I couldn't hear her for the roar of the motor, except when the roar subsided because the lawn mower was choking on her thick grass, leaving a circular pattern next to her azalea row, but she said it again and again until I did. "I'm sorry," I said. I didn't like her calling me Lyles when my name was Niles and I wasn't sorry either, but it's the way my mama and daddy taught me, the way the school teachers told us to be, the way the preacher shouted we should be unless we wanted hell. I didn't want hell. I wanted that old woman's five dollars, I wanted to grow up, and I wanted to get the hell out of that town. Thirty-five years later, I live twenty miles from there and I love to drive through there, though that house is now a parking lot, and it ultimately didn't matter if I skinned her grass or not.

Next, I was a custodian and hated that, too, but today I still love the smell of Pine-sol and pour it in all three toilets in the house, so the house will smell good when I come home from work or a trip. Then, I bused tables, washed dishes, and tried to cook in a restaurant. I got "deselected" (new terminology in the corporate world) from cooking. I moved on to hotel clerk and even worked for the U.S. Air Force as a civilian while I was in college. When I graduated, I still didn't know what to do, so I went on to graduate school.

While I worked on my Master's degree in Psychology and even after I finished it, I tried to be a counselor. I didn't much want to listen to people's problems, really, but I did want to try to understand how they came to be so crazy: Why would you burn down your own house when it wasn't insured? Why would you hallucinate? Why would you have sex with animals? I often thought someone should just tell them straighten up, quit all the nonsense. When I told one fellow who had tried to saw his heart out that he should have probably come up with another method to kill himself like a shot gun, he told me I was crazy, that I was a counselor and shouldn't say that. I realized I probably ought to try something else.

So I went back to school for yet another degree and finally landed a teaching job. I really enjoyed teaching and still do. I could tell stories in class and write when I wasn't in class. At some point, someone talked me into trying an administrative job and it paid a lot more, so I took it and have been a college administrator and teacher now for around twenty years. You'd think it would be stressful and boring, and it is sometimes. Some days I feel like sawing my own damned heart out, but the stories I hear are worth it: one student asked if he could fax a check to pay tuition (the bank would deposit a fax, don't you think?); one student wanted to have a grade changed because he just didn't like the F (well, now, don't we all wish we could just twitch our nose and make the bad go away? This entitlement attitude, by the way, will become a major social problem soon enough. How about me telling Harper Collins, "I just feel my book should be published because I just know it will be a best seller"? Think that might work?); one student got a F on a paper because the work he turned in was not his (he'd bought the paper and paid good money for it, so it wasn't dishonest).

These are just drops in the bucket and why I believe higher education is an oxymoron, but it's all great fodder for fiction, and I don't think I'll ever retire. I think I'll just keep this day job. I don't think I could go back, but I do love where I've been and have no regrets. My all time favorite singer and philosopher Dolly Parton recently told the concert audience in Valdosta, Georgia that she was going to try to keep on singing and performing until she just dropped dead. I think I will keep on working and writing until I drop dead, too.


left, Audrey Reddick; center, Dolly Parton; right, Niles Reddick. Valdosta, GA; October 2011

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. 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

MY OTHER JOBS by Jackie Lee Miles

2011-10-17T22:00:00.001-04:00

When I’m not writing I do various things like cooking and cleaning and laundry and grocery shopping. Very exciting, yes? But the job that takes all of my energy is property management. Twelve years ago we bought eight houses to rent. The market was ripe. Real estate was soaring. We’d make a fortune! As the years rolled on things looked pretty good, property values were going up, we were paying down mortgages, having good luck with tenants and estimated we had quite a bit of equity as a result of our investment.

Then the crash came. We should have seen it coming, but we kept thinking (early on) that it would recover. So we didn’t sell our properties. It would have been hard to, anyway. Even though the tenants were paying their rent on time, most of them tended to be very messy. It’s hard enough to sell a rental property, let alone one that’s in total disarray. In the end we were stuck with all of the houses.

Things got worse. Recently we found out we are “upside-down” on all of them. We owe more money for each and every one of them than they are worth. Yikes! What happened to our fortune? It went down the tube like it did for so many others. What makes it even harder is we no longer have good luck with our tenants.

Two ran out in the middle of the night without paying the rent. One of them owed for the month before as well. (I tend to listen to sob stories and commiserate.) If running out wasn’t bad enough, they left the houses in shambles. It cost a small fortune to get them back into shape in order to re-rent them. I also found out the newspaper ads, which used to be inexpensive were no longer inexpensive. They wanted hundreds of dollars to run a short one to entice new tenants.

I was able to get a contract signed on the one that had the most damage (after spending my children’s inheritance to get it in shape.) Finally, things were looking up! Not so fast. The very next day the air conditioner compressor conveniently located on the outside of the house was missing. The guy I hired to mow the grass and trim the bushes to get the lawn in perfect shape for our new tenant, pointed it out. To make matters worse the compressor had components that were no longer compatible with the actual air conditioning unit itself so we had to purchase the whole enchilada, to the tune of two and a-half-thousand dollars.

Recovering from that we discovered the roof of one of the other homes was beyond repair and needed to be replaced. Once we had that done, the front stoop and staircase of a tri-level collapsed (nobody got hurt, thank the Lord and all his angels.) and had to be rebuilt.

From there it was all downhill. Dishwashers, ovens, septic tanks, garage door openers and rotten siding took over. We were clobbered with repairs bills every time we turned around. All of this makes me very thankful that I have another job: that of a writer. I can bury myself in a story and pretend that my real life is not really happening. Just last week, a tenant called and told me her toilet was backed up and had flooded the bathroom floor.

“Don’t bother me, now” I told her. “I’m in the middle of a very important scene. Call me later when you finish mopping up the mess.”

She did call later. I called the plumber. It was her fault. She’d flushed a yogurt lid down the drain and it didn’t quite make it. We added the cost of it onto her rent and I went back to my manuscript, feeling ever so happy. Maybe things were looking up in the real estate market!

Well, I can always dream. In the interim, I’ll just keep on writing.

Jackie Lee Miles is the author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing-Dwayne, All That's True and The Heavenly Heart, which is available as an e-book. Write to the author at Jackie@jlmiles.com. Visit the website at http://www.jlmiles.com.

Romance Bread and Butter by Peggy Webb

2011-10-17T10:58:00.000-04:00

A psychic doing readings at a small conference I’d attended with my husband in Las Vegas once called romance my “bread and butter.” Since I was writing full time, turning out four or five romances a year for both Bantam (Loveswept) and Silhouette (Special Edition), she was on the money.

As the years went by (twenty-six, to be precise), I turned my pen to murder and literary thrillers, completely forgetting that long-ago reading. My romances vanished from the shelves, and my mysteries took their place.

And then along came e-books. “A passing fancy,” I said. “A drop in the bucket.”

Before I could wrap my mind around this thing called e-publishing, the drop turned into a steady downpour and then a downright flood. Writers, agents, publishers and booksellers started scrambling to find a firm footing. Meanwhile, I had a backlist from Loveswept sitting on my bookshelves collecting dust.

Though I typically have to be drawn kicking and screaming into anything new, I am really thrilled at the chance to breathe new life into stories I loved writing. While I continue to write books that readers can pluck off the shelves in bricks-and-mortar bookstores as well as purchase online, I am also bringing back my romance classics as e-books.

It’s amazing to see Touched by Angels and the sequel, A Prince for Jenny, hit Amazon’s Top 100. It’s remarkable to get letters from long-time fans who are delighted to see these classics back with great new covers and in a jazzy new format. It’s astonishing to read email from fans who have just now discovered me – all because of this thing called e-publishing.

Though the challenges are great, the possibilities are endless. While I’m still learning to navigate the complicated e-publishing process, I’m delighted that I could write Christmas in Time, a time travel back to the Titanic, as a prequel for Only Yesterday, my classic time travel romance that weaves between the present and World War II.

I’d love to chat with you today about e-books. What is your reading experience with e-books? How do you like to shop for books, to read them? If you’re a writer, are you e-pubbing, either exclusively or additionally? Is it your bread and butter? Pour yourself a cup of coffee, pull up a rocking chair and let’s talk.

Best-selling author Peggy Webb has penned almost 70 novels in three genres – romance, mystery, and literary thrillers (written as Anna Michaels). She holds a Romantic Times Pioneer Award for her contribution to romance. Her classic, Birds of a Feather, is considered the first romantic comedy. Visit her at www.peggywebb.com and http://www.annamichaels.net/.

My Muse Wears Work Clothes

2011-10-15T15:35:00.003-04:00

Granted, there's nothing particularly sexy about the image here, but that's exactly the point. We're supposed to be writing about our day jobs and or the biggest writing mistakes we've ever made. Let me combine both and come clean. I've got plenty of writing mistakes behind me, and no doubt, I'll probably have more ahead of me, but my biggest mistake, by far, has to have been my slow recognition of how to live with a flighty muse.

I fell in love with words and books as a little kid and the magic holds as much of a spell on me as it ever did. Even now, watching the letters group up into words and the words into sentences on this page pleases my eyes and settles my soul, only now I know there is nothing mysterious about the magic! I once thought of my muse as this elusive creature who must be cajoled into making an appearance. I had to attend to her every need with just the right coffee/surroundings/writing pad, etc.. Otherwise, like some spoiled prima dona, she might get offended and disappear as quickly as she arrived. There's a good country word for that sort of thing: bologna!

My muse wears work clothes. She has to, y'all. Deadlines call from every corner. Oh, yes, I love words and writing as much as ever, the process will always feed my soul. But if I were waiting on a flighty muse to show up and perform, I'd be dead in the water.

Like so much else in this life, success comes when one foot, or word in our case, is placed in front of the other, time and time again. I can't get the hours back that I've wasted in the past, waiting on my muse to show up and perform, but that's okay. Experience is, after all, a mighty fine teacher. I may have stumbled towards the understanding, but I've learned that my muse, she is me. I've taken the power back and it feels good. Who knows, if she's good, I may even treat her to a caramel macchiato!

Known as The Belle of All Things Southern, Shellie Rushing Tomlinson is a national best-selling author, speaker, and columnist. She and her husband Phil live and farm in Louisiana. Shellie’s Penguin Group USA release, Suck Your Stomach In and Put Some Color On, was voted SIBA’s Nonfiction Finalist of 2009 by the Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance. The sequel, Sue Ellen's Girl Ain't Fat, She Just Weighs Heavy hit stores in May 2011 with a hearty endorsement from legendary comedian Jeff Foxworthy, a blurb Shellie adamantly denies purchasing.

Shellie hosts her weekly talk show ATS LIVE every Mon. evening from 5-6 PM CST on TALK 540 KMLB out of northeast Louisiana. The show also streams in real time on Shellie’s popular website, www.allthingssouthern.com and podcasts there for listening convenience. Shellie’s three minute daily doses of All Things Southern are carried by twenty-eight radio affiliates across the South. Shellie writes a weekly inspirational feature in Newsstar, a Gannett paper serving the Ark/La/Miss and a monthly print and online column for Louisiana Road Trips. Shellie is also blogging as the new Girl Friday at Southern Belleview Daily. Y'all come!

The Pulpwood Queen DECLARES Don't Quit Your Day Job!

2011-10-08T11:20:00.000-04:00

Everything good that has ever happened in my life is because I have been a reader. Being a reader is a part of me as my slightly crooked front tooth, the fact that I bite my fingernails, and that I am slightly pigeon toed. But I never knew you could make a living from being a reader, that came much later to me in life. All I know is what I have learned through my mistakes only now I use the word "discoveries. Funny how that sounds so much better. I have discovered you just don't quit your day job and for me that being a hairdressing bookseller.

When I was growing up education was always stressed in our family home. I never knew what I wanted to be as all the things that interested me were things that I never dreamed you could make a living from, but I tried. I grew up in the city pool, my dad managed it, so we kids were swimming as babies. I eventually became a lifeguard. Great job as you could work on your tan and get paid. For me that was $2 an hour at the Eureka Country Club. Sounds like not much but I could fill up my VW bug on three bucks, but that kind of job kind of peters out after college. This was years before I learned their were professional lifeguards, okay, but the television series Baywatch made me realize that was NOT going to be a possibility. I love art, creating, but everybody knows being an art major is the kiss of death as far as jobs are concerned. So what do I do, I go to Kansas State University and become a Design major. Well, you can dream can't you but it sure doesn't pay the bills.

After my second year of college my mother informed me I needed to get a REAL job to help pay my way through college. So after checking out the job market for a two year college student I pretty quickly learned that cooking hamburgers at McDonald's, (they turned me down as being overqualified), I needed to get a serious career. I dropped out of college and became a hairdresser. Makes sense, right? I know you are laughing.

No, seriously, becoming a cosmetologist was a legit way of making some big bucks. Vidal Sassoon was on the rise and Farrah Fawcett had driven young girls in droves to salons to emulate that iconic cut. I excelled at beauty school and became a graduate of Crum's Beauty College in Manhattan, Kansas. This was to be a means to the end of me getting a REAL education. I could work my way through college doing hair.

Fast forward to years of searching for my life work, in and out of colleges, seven to be exact to end up with my dream job of becoming a book publisher's representative. (You have to read my book to get the back story which will be mentioned up ahead).

Ah ha, you could make a living from being a REAL reader. Then I got fired, downsized, was how my boss explained it. The big box chains had come in to independent bookstore territory and were shutting them down by the dozens including pretty much all in my four state client base. I was back to square one.

That is where my book begins, "The Pulpwood Queens' Tiara Wearing, Book Sharing Guide to Life", my life story of how books have saved me over and over again. My beginning chapter began with getting fired and I aptly titled the chapter, "When Life Hands You a Lemon, Forget Lemonade, Make Margaritas", well I paraphrased that chapter title as it has been some time, 2008, since that book was published. I ended up going back to cutting and coloring hair. Yes, that's right I opened my Beauty and the Book, the ONLY Hair Salon/Book Store in the country.

So that's my day job, I do hair and talk and sell books! I love it! I have combined my two passions, creating art, (doing hair), and talking books!

Now my Daddy always told me it never hurts to learn a trade with your hands, that advice has served me well but it is books that have taken me all the places I never dreamed I would go. Or the people I would meet...including Diane Sawyer of Good Morning America, see photo above. You see my book club that I started shortly after I opened Beauty and the Book, The Pulpwood Queens, has become the largest "meeting and discussing" book club in the WORLD! 516 chapters, folks, coast to coast, everywhere inbetween and in over a dozen foreign countries. Diane even asked me and my book club to help Charlie Gipson and her kick off their READ THIS Book Club on Good Morning America. Who would have ever dreamed that this small town Kansas girl now an East Texan turned hairdressing bookseller would ever have that kind of opportunity.

Then I just recently was sponsored by Random House Publishing to film 12 episodes of an online book club talk show, Beauty and the Book, www.beautyandthebookshow.com! Who knew I would be flying to California to do shows with the likes of Janelle Brown, Lisa See, and Fannie Flagg, see photo above, and many more from my shop like, Susan Vreeland, Paula McLain, Karen Abbott, Anna Quinlen, and the like. Oh, the places reading good books can take you!

Then I have this annual Pulpwood Queen Book Club Convention every year called Girlfriend Weekend. The last two years have brought the likes of Pat Conroy, about fifty authors every year to this sold out venue, see photo of my Pulpwood Queen SIRENS of Katy, Texas!

We won't even mention or perhaps we will the Pulpwood Queen literacy adventures to Europe, trip to Monroeville, Alabama for the 50th Anniversary of "To Kill a Mockingbird", (my favorite book), or cruising to the Bahamas, and now our trip to England in December of this year with The Pulpwood Queens of Houston!

Now back to my day job, doing hair and selling books. Running the hair salon part is easy. I have a client base that is spread far and wide. Authors mecca in to my shop and book club groups too. We always have fun. The book part is hard, no doubt about it. I learned right away that the only true books I sell are local, regional, and Pulpwood Queen Book Club Selections so that is what I carry. But even selling those has become a daily battle. With online book sales offering the moon and e-readers, my only course of action is hand selling big time. Now I can talk books all day and night but I need people to come to my shop to do that so why not plan a literary road trip to my little ole independent bookstore/hair salon! We'll leave the hair dryer on for ya and recently have become a jewelry store too! We have many Pulpwood Queen branded items for sale. I only sell what I truly believe in so I think my shop is the best kept secret in the country, perhaps the world afterall, we are the WORLD WIDE HEADQUARTERS OF THE PULPWOOD QUEENS!

Everything I carry I believe is a treasure. This is my life's work creating beauty and sharing books. I may never have known what I was going to be when I grew up but God did have a big plan for me and I know now it's all centered around Beauty and the Book! So again, don't quit your day job, you never know where it may take you!!!
Tiara wearing and Book sharing,
Kathy L. Patrick
www.beautyandthebook.com, official website!
www.beautyandthebookshow.com, official book club talk show site!
www.pulpwoodqueen.com, official blog site!
www.girlfriendweekend.blogspot.com, official Girlfriend Weekend site!
www.booksalive.blogspot, official Christian Book and Author Event site!
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Keeping the Day Job

2011-10-07T06:09:00.000-04:00

Man Martin

Terry Kay once told me there were probably fifty people in the United States who made their living soley as authors. I’ve thought about it some since then, and I believe he was overstating the matter by a wide margin. Almost all of us have day jobs by which we earn the daily bread; the nourishment we get from writing is of a more indefinable quality.

I myself am a school teacher, and it is work that is so emotionally and physically taxing that, in all due modesty, I sometimes wonder how I manage to be as productive a writer as I am. You have to get up pretty early in the morning to get a head start on me. This is no figure of speech. I get up to write at Five AM every morning. Oft times do I daydream of being liberated from the daily grind and being set free to write.

Here is a sample of my day. My first period is planning, which means I have time to grade papers and prepare for class; however, another teacher “floats” in my room – the school is overcrowded – so I have to take my papers and work in the library. Today however, I’m in the copy room – second period is a speech class – recently expanded to a whopping thirty-two students – and I’m Xeroxing materials for an upcoming series of debates. Third block is another planning period, but again, there’s a “floater” in my room, so I grade papers in the library until fourth period, which is my creative writing class. (Let me say, that making a serious writer teach creative writing to high school sophomores is a torture akin to making a devout Hindu oversee a stockyard.) Then fifth, sixth, and seventh periods I have World Lit (I’m a little unusual in that I teach three different classes each day). My sixth and seventh periods are somewhat behind my fifth because yesterday students were called out of seventh period to vote for homecoming court. Then today, during sixth period there was an unscheduled fire drill.

After school, I have tutorials that last until 4:30.

Suffice to say, work can be a real drag. Sometimes I can’t help thinking, is this really worth it? Wouldn’t my quality of life improve if I ditched my job and lived under an overpass, eating sawdust and drinking water from storm drains as I work on my next novel?

But then. Today.

We’re reading Animal Farm and a student – for obvious reasons, I can’t give his actual name – we’ll call him Jamar – a real knucklehead and a thorn in my side – constantly out of his desk, messing with the girl who sits next to him, making irrelevant and distracting remarks – today Jamar – and I’m not making this up – said in a voice of wonder – I swear to you, I literally saw a light bulb come on over his head – and I’m also prepared to swear on a stack of Shakespeare these were his exact words, “Those pigs are just manipulating the other animals for their own selfish reasons.”

After class I held Jamar back just a little after the other students. “Jamar,” I said, putting a hand on each of his shoulders, “Here’s your homework.” His eyes widened slightly. “You need to go home tonight and look up, ‘the Man.’ See if your picture’s there. Because you are… THE MAN!”

I figure I can keep the teaching gig at least one more day. I sent Jamar off to do his homework, and after grading a few more papers, I went home. I woke up this morning at 5:00 AM to write this.

When he's not teaching young'uns, Man Martin writes. Booklist calls his current novel, Paradise Dogs, "simply brilliant," and the New York Post calls it "required reading." His first novel, Days of the Endless Corvette, won him Georgia Author of the Year for First Novel. You can see by his photograph that he is also devilishly handsome.

Speed

2011-10-02T19:00:00.001-04:00

by Susan Cushman

I love to go fast. I drive my car fast. I move quickly from room to room around my house, not wanting to waste time and always in a hurry to get to the next place, the next activity. One of my favorite movies is “Top Gun,” and I love this scene where Maverick and Goose talk about “the need for speed.”

That said, the older I get the more I realize the truth to the old saying, “haste makes waste.” So… the “literary blunder” (the theme for this round of posts) I’d like to share has to do with being in a hurry.

Recently I was director of the 2011 Memphis Creative Nonfiction Workshop

(September 23-25) and one of our speakers was Neil White. Neil is a close friend and mentor, and at one point during a session on the publishing process, he asked me to share my story of querying agents before I was ready—twice! Here are those stories. (da-dum! *Law and Order music here, please*)

My 36-page creative nonfiction (memoir) book proposal was polished and ready to go. The document included all the elements of a great book proposal—Chapter Outline, Author Bio, Marketing/Platform, Comparative Titles, and prologue and sample chapters. I had worked on it for months, and I had finished 16 chapters of the book, so I began to query literary agents. Of the 25 or so agents I queried over a five-to-six-month period, I received several personal replies, which was encouraging. Even some helpful rejections. But I blew it with two close encounters.

Literary Blunder #1:

A top New York agency liked the book proposal and asked for more chapters. I sent the next 50 pages of the book, and waited for their response. “The proposal was excellent, but the writing didn’t hold up. It just didn’t sing.”

Ouch! The manuscript wasn’t ready. I had revised it 5-6 times. Some of the chapters had been critiqued at workshops and by my critique group. But it still wasn’t ready. I was in a hurry to publish it and blew my chance with a really good agent.

Literary Blunder #2:

I spent some more time on the manuscript, polishing it until it “sang.” I continued to query agents, and this time another agency in New York was interested. And then it hit me: my memoir would be published. The public would read it. My friends and family would read it. Wait. Do I really want to do this? The reality was that I wasn’t ready to go public with some of what I had written. There were people who might be hurt by it. And so I apologized to the agent and told her I had changed my mind about publishing the memoir.

Who knows whether or not those two agents will give me another try when I query them to represent my novel. But you can bet they won’t hear from me until it’s good and ready. And since you don’t use a book proposal with fiction, the writing will have to stand on its own. It will have to sing.

In November I’m returning to the beach for another month-long writing retreat. Last year I finished 10 chapters. This year I hope to complete the book and polish it ‘til it shines. I’d love to be ready to query agents in December. But if the book’s not ready, I’m going to try not to be in a hurry this time. Maybe my month at the beach will help me learn to slow down.

[P.S. I was so excited to see that Juliana Margulies won an Emmy for best actress in “The Good Wife” after my last post here about what I learned from the writers' deleted scenes. But I was more excited to see that the first thing Margulies did when she received the award was THANK THE WRITERS of the show, Robert and Michelle King.]

Susan Cushman has nine published essays, one novel and two memoirs tucked safely away in a drawer, and a novel-in-progress that she hopes to publish one day. In 2012, her essay, “Chiaroscuro: Shimmer and Shadow,” will appear in the second volume of the anthology, All Out of Faith: Southern Women on Spirituality , from the University of Alabama Press. Susan was Director of the 2011 Memphis Creative Nonfiction Workshop in September. She was a guest speaker at the Boulder (Colorado) Writers Workshop in August. Susan blogs at "Pen and Palette."

Where I'm from

2011-10-01T17:15:00.000-04:00

Future writer in Sears polyester

By Karen Harrington

I am from being the second daughter of a second daughter.

I am from a yellow brick house with a red front door; from a yard that grew cantaloupe and tap water that tasted like dirt at summer’s end.

I am from hand-me-downs and hand-sewn stuffed animals and kitchen haircuts and mortal embarrassment and wistful nostalgia.

I am from rock and roll while house-cleaning and silence while writing.

I am from the computer keyboard is my piano and though sometimes it sings, sometimes needs tuning, I commit to make daily music anyway.

I am from loving a great sweater.

I am from Kerouac and Hemingway and Carver and Faulkner and the college writing professor who caught me in the hallway after making an example out of my bad writing and said, “I’m not telling you to stop writing. I knew you could take it. Keep going.”

I am from ten years later bringing my first published novel and a grin that wouldn’t quit to that professor.

I am from making my house smell like autumn using the trick my mother taught me: pressing cloves into oranges until your fingers almost bleed.

I am from believing Prayer would make a beautiful name for a baby girl, but adoring the names my husband picked out.

I am from believing my dog is fur covered affirmation.

I am from a closet that belongs to a woman with a different life, where tailored business suits have given way to jeans and a faded Mickey Mouse t-shirt.

I am from pick up your socks, put away your backpack, stop annoying your sister, is it time for Chardonnay yet?

I am from contradictions and gentle critics and second chances.

I am from using my passport, but loving my own bed.

I am from the School of Mistakes is the best teacher and hanging that degree on my wall.

I am from by the grace of God, there go I.

I am from discipline and creativity and collecting every word inside a drugstore notebook.

I am from visiting Hotel Rejection and leaving the next day in a fast car with the sunroof open.

I am from having the windows open as much as possible and getting easily distracted by that squirrel on the fence.

I am from encouraging high drama and conflict on the page, but peace in real life.

I am from sitting in the elementary school car-line and watching hope in a backpack and pink socks sprint from the school door.

I am from searching twenty minutes for my favorite pen.

I am from being the mother of one girl who wants to believe in Santa Claus, but requests proof - and another who doodles on her notebook: Wonder + Believe = Magic and how does she know this already?

I am from faith, hope and love, but the greatest of these is love.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

p.s. – I am also from this announcement that just came out from Publishers Weekly - Karen Harrington's SURE SIGNS OF CRAZY, a coming-of-age story in which a precocious 12-year-old writes letters to Atticus Finch for help understanding her mentally ill mother, her first real crush, and life in her small Texas town, all in the course of one momentous summer, to Alvina Ling and Bethany Strout at Little, Brown Children's, for publication in Spring 2013, by Julia Kenny at Markson Thoma (World).

The inspiration for this post came from this poem: http://www.georgeellalyon.com/where.html

You can find me at www.karenharringtonbooks.com and www.scobberlotch.blogspot.com

Carolyn Haines: The Many Hats of a Writer

2011-09-23T22:41:00.000-04:00

The path a writer takes seems fraught with potholes, hurdles, and sometimes steep drops off sheer cliffs. It’s peculiar, though. The things I view as “mistakes” aren’t always seen that way by others. Sometimes it’s a matter of perspective.

My agent, Marian Young, and I have discussed this, in regard to my writing career, at different points in time. We’ve worked together for the past 20 years, and she’s seen me through the joys of a book auction and movie option to the depths of depression when a phone call comes in with “your numbers aren’t great.” Trust me, in both instances, there has been much, much discussion, high-fiving, second guessing, and sometimes whining (on my part).

Marian Young

Marian has the experience of multiple authors’ careers to draw from. I have only my own, so sometimes my leaps of logic are not only startling, but downright wrong. Still, I do know there is one thing I would change if I could. I would learn about the business of publishing right from the get-go.

I’ve worked with publishers, big and small. I’ve been fortunate that my career has offered me this opportunity—to experience “bringing forth” a book with all types of publishers.

I read all kinds of books. My first love was short fiction, that cruel mistress that offers such exquisite pleasure and no chance of making a living for most writers. But I also love a chilling scary story, an intricately plotted mystery, an adventure, a gothic. I just love to read. I’m not picky about genre, but I am demanding about quality of writing. This attitude toward varied reading has bled into my writing, which is why I’ve had a chance to work with a lot of publishers.

But while I worked hard to be well read, I did not focus on the business of publishing and what came after the book was sold and out on store shelves. When SUMMER OF THE REDEEMERS came out from Dutton in 1994, I was totally unprepared to tour and “sell” my book. I suffered under the illusion that my job was done. I’d written the best book I could write, and now I had only to write the next book and wait for the royalties to roll in. Right.

Dutton sent me on book tour, and I tried hard. I was extremely shy, and I had no idea what the bookstore’s responsibilities were, nor what my own were. I had assumed there was some magic involved—that once I was published, the reading world would know all about my book. In my head, the process wasn’t about me, it was about the story I’d worked so hard to tell.

But that isn’t really how marketing a book works. It was agony for me to find myself in a strange city, going to a bookstore where everyone was nice, but I was just another in a long list of writers who had bled heart’s blood onto the page and tromped through the store trying to find an audience.

There were wonderful times and people. There is nothing more exhilarating than showing up in a store in a strange city where the staff has read my book and genuinely loved it. Life doesn’t get a lot better than that. But it was hard on me. I wanted to write—I loved my solitary time living in my imaginary world. Going public went against my nature. Though I do love to laugh and engage with readers, I had to learn how to relax and simply let it happen.

So when I finished book tour, I went home and started work on the second book, TOUCHED. I didn’t want to do TV interviews. I wanted to write, to tell the story that compelled me to do so. My job, as I saw it, had little to do with interviews and public appearances and airplanes.

What I didn’t comprehend was that promoting and selling the book had become part of the writer’s job. My job. Of course it has always been part of a writer’s job, but when Dickens traveled to America to promote his books, it sounded like an adventure. When I traveled to strange cities, it was like prying an oyster out of its shell.

Had I understood the business of publishing and the relationship between author-publisher-bookseller a bit better, I would have more fully understood my role. Perhaps book tour would have been just as difficult, but I think not. I was a photojournalist for many years, and I never let my shyness stop me from getting a good picture. Because it was my job. I knew and understood what I was supposed to do, and I did whatever it took to get that shot.

I suspect that many writers know this. They look beyond the blank page and the process—sometimes joyful but mostly challenging—of filling that page with words that tell a story. I had to learn to do that by trial and error. I approached it by feel, rather than by logic or research. Because it was difficult for me and felt uncomfortable, I didn’t look at it head on, but rather with a shaded glance here and there.

Today, I really enjoy book signings and speaking engagements. I like writers conferences and giving talks and being on panels. Teaching has helped me overcome my shyness, and taking a breath and talking with readers has allowed me to see that the love of books we share overshadows everything else. Readers, booksellers, and writers love the written word and story. That gives us ample common ground so that we aren’t really strangers, just folks who haven’t met face to face. Yet.

I wish I had understood this sooner. But as they say (the all-wise “they”) things happen in the time they’re supposed to happen.

________________________________________________

A native of Mississippi, Carolyn Haines lives in Alabama on a farm with her dogs, horses, & cats. Bones of a Feather, the 11th book in her Sarah Booth Delaney series, is now available. Sign up for Carolyn Haines' Newsletter & feel free to visit her Website, along with her Facebook, Twitter, & Fan Page.

Guides for Wandering Readers

2011-09-22T22:40:00.000-04:00

by Cathy Pickens

One cold Saturday afternoon, I was browsing the aisles of my favorite local used bookstore when I overheard a young man approach the owner. “I’m interested in reading some classics,” he said.

My ears perked up. The way he said it hinted that he was just starting on this adventure. I too had, not too long before, set about filling some of the embarrassing holes in my reading, so I appreciated the thrill of his search—and how daunting it could be.

He was dressed in jeans and a “Navy” t-shirt bulging with muscles, his hair close-cropped. Home from deployment? He came around the end of the stacks to where the owner had cheerfully directed him, and he stood there, staring at the shelves. He didn’t pull a single book off the shelf. He shifted from one foot to another, one hand jammed deep in his pocket, just staring.

After a while, he wandered off to another part of the store. Then he left without a book.

I felt as though I’d failed a fellow seeker because I didn’t offer to help. But I was just another reader, a seeker myself. Who was I to intrude? I had started with Jane Austen (because C.S. Lewis said she was the best) and suggestions from Jane Smiley’s 13 Ways of Looking at a Novel. How could I know what he’d like to read?

But it broke my heart. I’m still haunted by that reader who didn’t find a book.

So how do readers find books? Would-be readers are inundated with overwhelming abundance. How to know where to begin?

It got me to thinking about how I find books. I spend far too much time in bookstores and libraries, for one. I pay attention to recommendations from friends (particularly from other writers) and reviews from trusted sources in newspapers, magazines, and online—people whose tastes I’ve learned mesh well with mine and whose judgment I’ve learned to trust. Shelf-talkers or displays in bookstores are other sources.

But some of the best guides are librarians, those who’ve turned putting the right book in the right reader’s hands into a life calling.

That day in the bookstore helped precipitate this year’s Sisters in Crime Publishing Summit Report. A SinC team met with librarians and those who provide books and services to libraries to learn some of their magic at the 2011 American Library Association meeting in New Orleans. [The 2011 Summit Report is available now on the website: www.sistersincrime.org]

From Nancy Pearl, Joyce Saricks, Neil Wyatt, and others, I learned how to talk about “appeal factors” in books as a way to guide others to books they might like. What experience is the reader looking for in a book? How fast does she want it to move? Does he prefer the tone dark or humorous? Are deeply developed characters or beautiful language important? Or do particular settings attract?

I learned what questions to ask, to guide my own reading and writing as well as to discover what others like. I learned it too late to help the guy who was ready to read the classics, though. I just hope he found someone to guide him …

Which leads me to ask: So, what are you reading? What would you suggest for others who share your tastes?

Planning a trip to Australia, I picked up one of Kerry Greenwood’s Phyrne Fisher mysteries and Arthur Upfield’s classic The Bone is Pointed, to soak up some atmosphere. And I just finished Carson Morton’s first novel Stealing Mona Lisa, a caper set in 1911 Paris and based on the real theft. How about you?

The VOICE

2011-09-20T18:45:00.002-04:00

What is it anyhow?

I'm inspired today by Kerry Madden's recent livejournal post about her Bug Man . I love how she hears what he says and translates it to the page. Even in a blog.

I hear voices all the time. In my head, reading, listening, talking—I’m surrounded by voices just like Kerry’s Alabama bug man.

But I type the V Word with great trepidation. Because I'm struggling with a voice I can't quite hear yet.

I’m speaking now of a character’s voice in fiction, how to nail it, why to bother. Everybody wants to understand it. Hardly anyone seems to be able to truly explain it. For some it comes as easily as breathing, and that may go double for anyone writing a voice we’ve heard since we first tried to talk.

The Voice Thing hit me this week when I was I shopping in a large, non-descript department store in New Jersey. (So you won’t think the good folks of my adopted state of New Jersey are all this boring, this was not Snooki’s or even Bruce’s Jersey. This was middle-of-the-state, filled-with-transplants NJ.)

Here’s a bit of that conversation:

Woman on NJ cellphone: The service was beautiful. The people were happy. The sun was too hot but we brought out folding chairs.

See, that's just so deadly dull I almost couldn't type it without "revising." I listened as long as I could to that woman in the department store. Long enough to find out she was the Preacher at that funeral. Some preachers are better at things other than speaking, I guess.

If I'd been eavesdropping in the Memphis Airport, a Jackson Piggly Wiggly, almost any other Southern place I've been in my life, the conversation would have sounded like this:

Woman on cellphone in the South: Honey, that service was just downright beautiful. You never saw such happy people. Uncle Joe looked like he could 'bout sit up and smile right out of that white satin lining the coffin. Uh Huh. Just beautiful, I tell you. But hot? Oh, lands, it was hot. And people- so many people. Had to pull out the folding chairs from last week's Dinner on the Ground so as to have a place for everybody. Didn't want them falling out from the heat, now did we.

If we depended on hearing voices like NJ Cellphone Lady to inspire us, I don’t believe anybody would read past paragraph one. Fortunately, most writers have better sense than to listen to lady preachers in the middle of a New Jersey mall.

I once heard esteemed editor—think Harry Potter— Cheryl Klein say “Voice is like air. You can’t do without it but nobody can explain it well.” (Or something close to that--I paraphrase!). The Voice is like air part made me sit up and listen. She’s written more than I can share and spoken about it often. But if you’re interested, click here for a quick run-down of some of her thoughts on Voice in fiction.

We Southerners might have an advantage when it comes to hearing characters. First off, we share a language filled with words that defy defining. Nobody has to lean on dialect or improperly spelled words to convey the rhythm and sound and flavor of Southern speech. In fact, I mostly hate when that happens, don’t you?

At her website at USADeepSouth.com, my writer friend Beth Jacks maintains an exhaustive list of words and phrases her readers tap into, comment on, and add to. Words long gone from contemporary speech most places. Corporosity and nary. Fixing to (wait, that one’s still in my vocabulary!). Swaney. A whole host of food items folks outside the South might not understand, including my own favorite road food: Nabs (No, that’s not somebody grabbing you.)

My own list of Southern Speak is endless, even after I’ve lived in the north most of my grown-up life. Words swirl around me like those Sunday dinner-time stories of my childhood.

When it came time for a character in my forthcoming novel for kids, set in Mississippi where I was “born and raised” to speak, and she said “Pure-D good” (try to get that one by a Yankee editor…) and doodlebugs and a lot of other things that sounded just right, I heard it so plainly her Voice just tumbled out.

I heard it because that’s all I knew growing up. But how do writers who’ve never lived in a place manage to nail the characters voices?

I asked my writer friend Kimberley Griffiths Little, whose second middle-grade novel, set in the Louisiana Bayou country has just been published, how she did it. How she wrote so well of that place when she’s from the opposite side of the country.

Having an emotional core about a particular character or situation that is driving us to write that story will bring out the passion and natural voice that we possess. It’s easier to lose the self-consciousness writer within us when we are passionate about our topic… When I first visited Louisiana thirteen years ago, my heart pounded in a way it never had before. I instantly felt the power and the magic of the bayou/swamp country. I returned again and again, read everything I could get my hands on, visited every small town between Lafayette and Thibodeaux, museums, graveyards, old homes, researched at the State University, talked to folks in shops and restaurants and on the street, and ventured deep into the wilds.

I wrote with love and passion and authenticity... It took patience. But all good things do, and they are always worth it.

It’s tempting here to roll to the grand finale of this piece by saying something I hear in my head a lot. An English teacher of mine used to end almost every poem she read aloud to our class with “Truer words were never spoken.” She’d pause and look up to a ceiling glowing with fluorescent lights as if it were the Good Lord in heaven. If I ever create a character like that, I have her nailed. She’s in my head. Her short, punctuated sentences. Her eye rolls, her hand-over-ample-breasts sighs, her earrings—even her desk filled with books lined up in perfect rows. And her distinctive voice.

But I think Kimberley’s onto some true words. All good writing takes a lot of

patience and hard work, among many other things. I imagine Kerry’s patiently turning over that Bug Man’s stories, listening to his voice in her head till he’s ready to spring forth on the page.

We all hear voices. With a capital V.

And for writers, that’s a good thing.

Truer words were never spoken.

AUGUSTA SCATTERGOOD reads and reviews books, works hard at perfecting her craft, and is eagerly anticipating the debut of her first middle-grade novel, GLORY BE, coming in January from Scholastic.

But right this minute, she's working hard at hearing voices.

More tips from TV

2011-09-19T01:33:00.016-04:00

by Jenna/Jennie

Last month, I read Susan Cushman's blog on learning from the outtakes from the TV show The Good Wife - incidentally my husband's favorite, as well - and I thought of my own favorite TV show.

No, it isn't new. In fact, I'm probably giving away way too much if I tell you that it debuted in 1989 and lasted three seasons. Yes, I still love it, and yes, I do occasionally give myself permission to stream a few episodes on Netflix. It’s a damned good show, and it’s held up pretty well over the years, too. Historicals have a way of doing that, since they avoid getting dated by wardrobe and hairstyle the way contemporary shows do. (Consider that a free nugget of advice: don't date your writing by being too trendy. Unless you're e-publishing, and you're willing to rewrite frequently, avoid mentioning anything too pop-cultureish.)

My husband gives me a hard time about watching all the young man-candy, and I can sort of see his point, but the truth is, I’ve actually learned a few things I can apply to my own writing from watching those old episodes. And I’m not just talking about the idea I have for a wild west mystery.

When the idea for the show was first conceived back in the 1970s, it was focused on the character called The Kid. (No, he never did have another name. It became a running joke, all the way up until the wedding in the series finale.) In early 1989, when the pilot was filmed, the series still had that focus, and was supposed to be called simply The Kid.

But in picking up the series, the network decided that it should be about all the characters, not just one. The title of the show changed to The Young Riders and episode 2, which is called Gunfighter, was about another young man. And let me take a break here to say that in any group, real or imagined — be it the cast of a television show, the characters in a book, a bunch of kids on the playground, or coworkers in an office — someone’s gonna emerge as the natural focal point. It may take time, but it always happens. And it isn’t always who you think it is.

(Although in the case of The Young Riders, let me just express my incredulousness for one measly second and say that how the hell the producers expected to use Wild Bill Hickok as one of the characters and not have him take over, is beyond me.)

But that’s the second thing I learned. As writers, let’s not presume to think we know how things are going to turn out when we first start writing our stories. Let’s please keep an open mind as to how the story will develop, and which of our characters will turn out to be more important and which less so, because too much of the time, holding on tightly to our own ideas of what’s going on can prevent us from seeing a much better storyline opening up ahead.

However, sometimes we’ve already shot ourselves in the foot by that point, and we can’t take advantage of the new direction our work is going. We can’t let it develop naturally, organically, the way it should. And here’s why, again using The Young Riders as an example:

Everyone in the world, or at least in America, has heard of Wild Bill Hickok. He was a real person with a real history, one that many people are familiar with. And there were only so many changes the producers of The Young Riders could make to his character. They made him younger than he would have been in 1861, they gave him a job with the Pony Express that he never had, and they gave him a difficult family history. The Young Riders’ Jimmy Hickok can’t read, while James Butler Hickok was actually pretty well educated.

And here’s another thing: Already in the first episode, the writers set up a romantic relationship between The Kid — who was supposed to be the main character, remember? — and the only girl in the bunch, who was pretending to be a boy in order to keep her job. That relationship hit a snag in season 2. However, another of the boys had noticed the same girl, and we got a little bit of a romantic love triangle going. I’ll give you three guesses as to which boy it was, and I won’t hold my breath while you guess.

Jimmy and Lou — that was her name — had a hell of a lot more chemistry than Lou and The Kid ever did, and would probably have been very happy together, but this was where those problems cropped up again. The real James Butler Hickok didn’t get married in 1861, nor was there any way anyone would believe that the character as he was played would have left the girl he loved to scout for the Union army. Yet that was what Wild Bill did during the Civil War. It’s a historical fact. So a relationship that had such potential on screen ended up fizzling out into nothing. Because of inconvenient facts.

Now, I know that most of us don’t write about historical characters with real histories we have to work around, but the same issues can come up in our books, if we give out too much information too soon. Some of us plan out everything about our characters before we even sit down to write, and if we put too much of that information into our books before we have to, we’ve hamstrung our characters. On the other hand, some of us write by the seat of our pants, and just give our characters a background, any background, without much thought to the future. Sometimes, something wonderful might develop in book 3 of a series. But if we’ve already established in book 1 that the character came from elsewhere, the background was different, he/she doesn’t have any cousins, is the wrong age, can’t read... we’ve taken away the opportunity to benefit from whatever wonderful thing it is.

Obviously I’m not saying not to give out the information that’s necessary to develop the character. And part of the fun of watching 18-year-old Jimmy Hickok turn into Wild Bill is knowing what will happen to him later. But in the case of The Young Riders, it also limited what could be done with that particular character, and it can do the same thing to our characters and our books if we don’t watch out.

So that’s my bit of wisdom for the day. I’m off to watch some reruns of Firefly now. Research, you know. For that science fiction romance I might write one day.

And if you have any golden nuggets of knowledge gleaned from TV or movies, feel free to share!

* * *

Jennie Bentley/Jenna Bennett writes the Do It Yourself home renovation mysteries for Berkley Prime Crime and the Cutthroat Business mysteries for her own gratification. The 5th DIY mystery, Flipped Out, will be arriving in stores October 4th, while the 4th book in the Cutthroat Business ebook mysteries, Close to Home, was released September 1st. You can find out more about both series at http://www.jennabennett.com/

WAITING ON THE STRIPPER

2011-09-16T23:16:00.000-04:00

by Julie L. Cannon

I tug on my yellow rubber gloves and read the directions on the back of the jug - “Apply in a thin layer to vinyl and wait 15 minutes. Scrub thoroughly.” Grabbing my sponge mop I begin this chore I’ve been putting off too long. What’s good is that hopefully, this will remove ten years worth of unsightly yellow Mop & Glo buildup while leaving my brain free to meditate on Man Martin’s suggested blog topic - What catastrophic mistakes have you made either in your writing or your career and what did you learn from them?

I call my husband as I am beginning my application in the corner where the phone is. I ask Tom, “What mistakes have I made in my writing career?” He takes great delight in giving me an earful about an obsessive-compulsive trait of mine which is the root of the second stupidest blunder of my writing career. Now that he’s filled my ear, and now that a major portion of vinyl is coated, I set my timer for fifteen minutes and head to the computer.

First I’ll share one mistake that’s always on tap. The dumbest thing I did, something that’s still following me around, is I negotiated the contract for my first book all by myself. No agent, no lawyer. Stars were in my eyes and I didn’t see the unfavorable option clauses which have tied up my livelihood for years. What I’ve learned from this blunder is that ideally, I should have found an agent who not only was head-over-heels in love with my work, but who would have negotiated a good and smart deal for me. An author’s first book sets the tone for his/her career in so many ways I don’t have the space to tell it all here. A savvy agent can steer you and your manuscript and your career in the right direction. I make it a point to tell students in my various writing workshops; “Don’t dare sign a thing until you’ve had a professional who is on your side read it over. You absolutely must have an agent who is well-versed in book contracts.”

Now for my husband’s idea of what I did wrong. I spent entirely too much time fretting over promotion for my first two novels, and not enough time with my fanny in the chair and my fingers on the keyboard. The minute those books were ‘released’ I became possessed, frantic. I poured over books on marketing, studied the internet about promotional strategies, obsessed on sales figures. It was as if the hawking, the selling was my all-consuming focus, and if I had any time left over, then maybe, if I wasn’t too exhausted, I would write a bit of fiction. I thought if I appeared on enough radio stations, sent galleys to enough magazines, talked to enough book clubs, drove to enough bookstores, mailed out enough bookmarks, appeared in enough parades as the Tomato Queen, I could generate sales and catapult my wares to bestsellerdom.

I remember what this little old lady said to me at one of my book events way back – “Honey, you just need to write more of your sweet stories.” I think I was dressed like a tomato queen and passing out tomato seeds in packets that looked like the book cover of Truelove & Homegrown Tomatoes.

Do you think she had a copy of Donald Maass’s Writing the Breakout Novel on her nightstand next to her dentures and her Ladies Home Journal? What Donald says really sells books is . . . are you ready? . . . the magic of “word of mouth.” He claims it’s what’s between the covers that sells our books. We just have to write a compelling book.

The challenge is that writing well takes time, lots of it. I can’t be constantly running all around the country trying to generate enthusiasm and hand-selling my books. I must focus my best energies, my biggest enthusiasm on the actual writing. It took Noah around 98 years to build the Ark, and I believe that to write a compelling story I need to stick to a plan that includes laying a good structural foundation. I must study the mechanics of good writing. So, instead of books on marketing, I read lots of ‘How-To’ books, and I study the bones of best sellers. I am eager to continually improve my craft, take my fiction to a deeper level. I want my stories to grip my readers’ imaginations in a way that will engender that critical ‘word-of-mouth’ element that sells books.

There are plenty more mistakes I have made along this writing journey. But it’s time to go snap back on my rubber gloves and add some elbow grease to that stripper. Then it is time to write.

Julie L. Cannon lives and writes off of Hog Mountain Road in Watkinsville, Georgia. Her latest release is I'll Be Home for Christmas. Her next novel, Twang, will be out in September 2011. Visit her website at http://www.juliecannon.info/ to learn more about Julie and her books.

The Weight of the Day

2011-09-10T19:51:00.000-04:00

by Nicole Seitz

In our master blog calendar, my name was slated to post on September 11th. It's quite daunting. I'd like to write something underlined with the importance of this day, and yet, I feel I'll fall short. Nothing I could write could come close to the true weight of the day, what happened 10 years ago. So, I'll lighten up on myself and simply...write from the heart. Here goes.

I wasted time today. In light of Septemember 11th, this feels like a grievous sin. And it was so ridiculous how it all happened. Long story short, I didn't get gas when I should have and because I didn't take two minutes to turn right and go one block out of the way to get gas, I literally didn't get anything done that I wanted to. Ever had one of those days? I didn't get to the lighting place before it closed. I didn't get my parents' computer network working properly. I didn't get home in time before the kids and husband had already left the house.

By the time I arrived back at home with nothing in hand and really nothing accomplished, I felt nearly in tears when I didn't see my husband's truck in the driveway. I felt I had wasted all this time, but I knew I could redeem it...IF ONLY I saw my family.

When you're a parent or spouse and you've done nothing at all in your day, if you spend time with your family, you've done something with eternal importance. I understand that now. I have days when I simply don't get anything done, and yet, if I spend a little time with my family, investing in them, I have done something with true and lasting value. What a gift of redemption.

Last night I watched Dateline about the September 11th attacks. I wept as I heard the stories of survivors and stories of those who didn't survive. As I watched the images again of apocalyptic New York, gray and covered in ash, twisted metal, I re-lived much of what I was feeling that day 10 years ago. What I took out of it most of all is that family is truly everything, and yet, it's the thing we take most for granted. No one who lost a loved one that day knew the importance of the day or what it would hold.

Right now, my husband is downstairs watching a football game, and I can hear my children's laughter. But you see, I'm here, writing this blog post. And although I am grateful for the opportunity to be here in such amazing company of authors and have the opportunity to share my heart with you, I remain painfully aware that I have the opportunity to go down and spend time with my family, a privilege so many lost on that Sept. 11 of 2001. I'll be honest. There have been many days like today when a wrong turn leads me to missing out on the most important things in life--my family. This has been a hard lesson for me to learn.

Now for the tie-in with this month's suggested blog post: your biggest writing blunder. Here's mine. There have been days when my writing came first.

I began writing my first novel when I was pregnant with my second child. Soon after, I published, wrote again, published, wrote again, and on and on and on, all the time meeting with book lovers, authors, doing events, etc, etc, etc. The writing seemed to come easier to me than breathing. I spent so many hours at my desk on the third floor that my husband finally had a "come to Jesus" with me and let me know I was pretty much absent in my own house.

I hadn't realized I could be there--but not be there. It was a turning point for me.

Once I understood that I seemed to be putting my writing ahead of spending time with my family, something changed in me. My books were still very important to me and my readers, and meeting my obligations and contracts, but soon, on the scale of equity, family begin to weigh more and more until they rightly found their priority in my life as number 1 (just under God). Everything else was cake. How had I blurred the lines so much? How did I slide on that slippery slope? For you writers out there, I imagine you understand. The pull of the characters, the story, the novel, can be sirens to Odysseus. Especially when you're under contract.

I thank God for my husband who helped me see that time was passing and the words would always be there but the children would not. Now that I'm beginning to write my seventh novel, I can assure you the words are NOT always there--but that's okay. Truly it is. Right now, my family is so adorable, I could scoop them up and put them in a bubble. My daughter just lost another tooth. My son drew me a picture of a farmer with an apple tree. Life is so good, SOOO good, and I realize it. Now. I don't want to have to look back on things years later to realize how good I have it now. I want to appreciate it all and savor it NOW.

There are countless families out there who lost loved ones on 9/11 who would give anything just to have another moment with them. So, if you don't mind, even though my day seems wasted and I didn't get anything done that I wanted to (except for this post and mailing a package), I will not waste this day. If you'll excuse me, there are people downstairs who are worth more to me than my writing, more than this post, most than just about anything in the world, and God has given me another day with them. Can you feel the weight of that?

I cherish this day. I think I'll go waste a little time with some children and a handsome man. I might watch some football or play a board game. We might just sit there and do nothing at all, and that would be just fine with me. In fact, I guarantee it'll be the most important thing I've done all day long.

------------------------
Nicole Seitz is the author of five novels, her next book coming in January 2012, BEYOND MOLASSES CREEK. She has two kids, a husband, a debonair cat, and a crotchety old dog with cataracts. She wouldn't trade any of them for the world. http://www.nicoleseitz.com/

Sticking to the Cemetery by Niles Reddick

2011-09-10T07:54:00.000-04:00

Most of my writing experiences have been pleasant ones. Places where I've spoke or read and did book-signings, like the Southern Festival of Books in Nashville, Tennessee, or the Cherokee Arts Festival outside Atlanta in Canton, were surprisingly fun. I enjoyed meeting folks, talking to people, answering their questions, and I always learn something. I don't know that I ever had any major mistakes, blunders, or even catastrophes with my writing (the occasional grammatical error that didn't get caught in drafts or galleys), but there have been times when I felt potential disaster was looming nearby and didn't know how to respond or what to say to others who asked me questions or made comments about my books.

The first time I recall this was when Road Kill Art and Other Oddities was first published. Somehow, readers tend to make a psychological connection with stories and characters and will often tell you their own stories at a book-signing event or conference. I recall one fellow coming up to me and saying he really enjoyed my stories and he had white-trash relatives, too, and then launched into some strange, and what I would consider, white-trash stories. I was appalled. I had never written anything in my stories about white-trash anything and certainly nothing about my relatives or friends being that way (much of this collection was based on true stories, just embellished). I didn't understand the connection he'd made, and I really didn't quite know what to say other than, "That's great. You really ought to write that story yourself," and I was thrilled another person wanting me to sign her book appeared out of nowhere.

The second time I felt there could be a looming disaster was when I was speaking to a college class about writing, and the students had read a selection from my short story collection. One student wanted to know about my treatment of women in my stories, that it seemed as if I was making fun of women. For a moment, I said nothing. What I was thinking was, "You've got to be kidding me. First of all, you've only read one story, if that. Before you become a book critic, perhaps you should write something yourself." What I said was: "I feel I treated all of my characters the same way. Sure, I make fun of some of these eccentric women, but they are based on my family members and friends and I love them and admire their eccentricities, and I give the eccentric men equal time in the book, which you'll see when you read it."

The last time I recall the disastrous feelings looming was when Lead Me Home first came out a couple of years back. I had moved to Southern Georgia and had been on a couple of TV shows, in some area newspapers, and so on as part of the initial book splash. I don't recall which now, but one of the interviewers asked me where I got the names of my characters---the Peacock family---and I told him that I based the surname on my father's paternal grandmother's family, and part of the novel was set in the small town of Pavo (latin for Peacock) named for them and where they lived. Of course, I did this to honor them, in some small way, and I received letters and multiple phone calls from people who wanted to correct me about the geography of the area, the history of the town, people who wanted to know if I knew so-and-so, people who wanted to know if I knew this or that about my relatives, and so on. Of course, none of them bought the book to read! I was stunned. First of all, it was fiction and so none of these people were real family members (I honestly did not know one member of that side of the family) and even the locations in the book did not really exist but were bits and pieces of locations from my own experiences. Sure I had driven through Pavo in my lifetime, and it looked just like every other small, rural town in America. I did the best I could in responding to their calls and letters and after a month or so of the initial sensationalism, it wore off, thank goodness. Next book, I'm sticking to the cemetery for names because those folks won't come after you like the live ones do. I do know, though, controversy can sell books, and I'm trying to come up with one that will help sell the next book!

Niles Reddick is author of a collection of 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 a finalist for first novel in the Georgia Author of the Year Awards. He is author of numerous short stories in journals and anthologies. He lives in Tifton, Georgia and works for Abraham Baldwin Agricultural College. His website is www.nilesreddick.com

A Convincing Vet Made up the Entire Story

2011-09-06T18:51:00.000-04:00

By SUSAN REINHARDT
A Veteran’s Journey Back Home: A story I had no idea was a complete lie until publication!!!

In January 2010, Andy Marlow entered the Veteran’s Restoration Quarters a broken man, his body torn and pieced together with plastic and titanium, his mind muddled with the alcohol he poured into his system to forget.
One of the big reasons those who fight for our country turn to liquor is to forget. A young man entering and battling a war can witness and endure too much.
I met Andy for lunch at the VRQ, a 7-acre, homelike center on Tunnel Road near the VA Medical Center. We talked over chicken, vegetables, mashed potatoes and iced tea.
The Veterans Restoration Quarters is a program of the Asheville Buncombe Community Christian Ministry that offers shelter to previously homeless veterans and helps them get re-established in the community.
Andy is an affable man who talks a lot and throws around his smile and laughter as if his life had been the American Dream. Not a nightmare from horrific circumstances.
This tall, lean man in the Rustler jeans with a silver-studded belt, hardly touched his food as he told a story almost hard to believe.
Yet all of it is true. Each of the more than 200 men housed here has a story, typically a brutal tale of misfortune after service to our country. They entered the military in their late teens, saw too much, and returned home craving substances to ease the mental pictures of war and the pain from rebuilding their lives.
Many, like Andy, carry metal and shrapnel in their bodies. They are too hurt to work, too mind-wrecked to care.
Andy is no exception. He was born and raised in Fairview, in a house the family kept for decades until the bank got it a year ago when Andy hit rock bottom and hit the bottle from the time he awakened until he crawled into bed at night, often a cot in the Buncombe County jail for a pair of DWI’s.
His life began unraveling as a teenage boy when he and his twin brother Johnny signed up with the Army. They joined the 101st Airborne, and at 19, were shipped to Vietnam at the end of March, 1966.
“We’d been there about a week when we got orders to take Hamburger Hill,” Andy said, his cheeks sunken from explosives ripping his lower jaw during combat.
The date was April 6, 1966. His original plan included college and a life in the country with his wife who was pregnant with their first son at the time of enlistment.
On that April day, his unit flew over the infamous Hamburger Hill, and fought to take Dong Ap Bia in the Shau Valley where one of the most deadly and well-known battles in Vietnam occurred.
Andy said there were some 258 men from the 101st and 82nd Airborne units. Only 38 survived that brutal battle, Johnny dying from a bullet through his head.
Andy caught a bullet in his shoulder, one of the lesser injuries.
“Only 22 are alive today,” Andy said, sipping his tea, pushing food around his plate. “I keep in touch with a few.”
After Johnny’s death, the War Department sent notices to the Marlow twins’ parents that both boys had been killed during duty.
“I got on a plane with his body,” Andy recalls. “Mom and Dad went down to Fayetteville expecting to pick up two coffins. When they rolled his coffin off the plane and I walked beside it, Mama fainted and Dad turned white as a ghost.”
Andy said he and Johnny were tight and looked exactly alike, except Johnny had a small black mole on his face. They often fooled dates, switching and pretending to be the other.
Losing Johnny tore Andy apart, but he returned to Vietnam, gaining medals and honors and fought as both a Green and Black Beret. He decided he’d go back to ’Nam for revenge.
“I was angry my twin was dead,” he said. “I wanted to kill every one of those Communists I could find. I changed. I became a killer.”
But other killers awaited him, ambushing the American soldiers and turning the country’s expected win into a bloody travesty.
On Oct. 15, 1973, as Andy and a friend simultaneously jumped out of a plane, the friend fell into a land mine which blew him to pieces, the remainder of fiery shrapnel ripping into Andy and, “nearly cutting me in two,” he said.
The explosion took out both hips, his lower face (now rebuilt) and part of his bowel. He had no choice but to come home, his body unable to withstand more fighting.
He arrived a hero in a patriot’s eyes, a baby-killer in protester’s eyes, and a well-decorated First Lieutenant with three Purple Hearts.
He returned to this area, started driving 18-wheelers and raising his four children with his wife and his mother in the family’s Fairview home place.
In 1975, knowing people in Texas, they all packed up and arrived there, Andy working on a ranch and finishing college at the University of Texas in Arlington where he earned a degree in bookkeeping and accounting.
He missed his home and came back in 1989, working through the pain from his metal hips for the United States Post Office for two years. His body couldn’t withstand the heavy loads, and he finally took advantage of his
Disability benefits.
For a while, life on the farmland proved quiet and healing. It all changed when his oldest son, who’d been in the National Reserves, was called to Kuwait in March 1991. Within weeks, a missile blew his Hummer apart and everyone, including his son, died.
Three months later, his wife endured a massive hemorrhage and bled to death due to undetected ovarian cancer, causing an ovary to rupture.
Two beloved family members dead within 12 to 13 weeks. Andy fell into a deep depression, finding temporary relief in liquor bottles, trying to block the pain with fifths of devils.
Morning, noon and night he drank, never becoming a wobbling drunk, but getting two DWI’s within a year.
The judge sent him to jail. This was home now.
A man who nearly gave his entire body and soul to his country, now slept in a cell, and in the meantime, lost the second most important thing besides family – the home place off Garren Creek Road. The bank took the house, and memories and heartache took Andy.
“I was in the bottle every day,” he said, standing and taking his virtually untouched tray of food to the trashcan in the kitchen. “I’d drink from 8 or 9 in the morning until 3 or 4 in the morning on my path to self destruction. I wanted to die.”
After landing in jail for his second DWI, a case manager arrived and the two began talking. He knew of a place where Andy could rebuild his life: The VRQ.
While in jail, he had a dream, more like a vision.
“I dreamed about what I was doing to myself,” he said. “I was brought up with religion and heard a voice saying, ‘Is this what you were taught? What you taught us?’ I woke up in a cold sweat scared to death.”
He had the chance to enter the Veteran’s Restoration Headquarters in Asheville, where men shredded by bullets and flashbacks, come to start over.
He never took another drink and his picture shines behind a glass frame on the Wall of Achievement.
“I’ve been here since January 2010,” he said. He’s even got a job as the coordinator of service hours for the men.
He often thought of the bank taking his beloved home, and his mother having no choice but to move into a nursing facility. The guilt of picturing her there plagued him every day.
On a good note, he’s once again enjoying relationships with his three living children.
“We’re close now, but not when I was drinking because that wasn’t me. I became something I didn’t like.”
Nothing short of a miracle unfolded when Andy fell on ice last winter and broke his leg. The VA noticed he was considered 100 percent disabled for more than 38 years, yet his pay reflected only 70 percent of the benefits in which he was entitled.
Andy adjusted his cap and ran his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.
“I got $362,000 at one time for back pay,” he said. “That was 10 months ago.”
The first thing he did was call the bank. He asked what had happened to his mother’s house.
“I discovered it was going on the block the very next morning.
“I said, ‘Can I get the house?’ and they said, ‘If you have the money.’”
Andy paid the $31,750 and used more of his windfall to restore it and fix the place like it was in better days. He also bought land near the home and saved the rest of his money.
“I got Mom out of the nursing home and packed everything she had. She said, ‘Where are we going?’
“And I said, ‘You’re going home.’”
At 94, his mother still holds a sharp mind. Another woman lives with her and tends her physical needs. One day, when she passes away, Andy will go back home, too.
But not now. He loves the VRQ and helping men like himself rework their lives and move forward.
“I feel useful here,” he said. “I got back into church and am a mentor to a fellow trying to stop drinking.
“This is where I belong for now.”
****
Within moments after this was published, relatives and friends began a massive e-mail campaign. They told me Andy made the whole story up, that none of it was true. None of it!!
As a veteran journalist with more than 30 years experience, I couldn’t believe it. I had sent the story over to the VRQ for several officials to read.
They all “signed off,” on it.
After three days of trying to press Andy for documents, he cracked.
I felt like Nancy Grace. He admitted to making the entire story up. All of it.
I thought I would be fired from the paper. Instead, I wrote a long retraction and turned it into something positive, honoring vets who did serve and didn’t lie.
The lesson I learned was no matter how much you believe someone, always ask for records, and not just people who’ll “sign off,” on the material as truth.
I’ve never been more embarrassed.
This is one reason I prefer writing fiction. No one will call you to the gallows for not telling the truth.
www.susanreinhardt.com

BLOOPERS AND BLUNDERS

2011-09-05T22:00:00.000-04:00

When I received news that my novel Roseflower Creek was to be published, I got overly excited. And when the day arrived for my first booksigning I was still pretty much flying high. Not even the article I read about booksignings being a lesson in humiliation could dampen my spirits. It said if you’re an unknown author, usually only two people attend your event: your mother and the person who booked it. I arrived at the book store early and spied the stack of my debut novels prominently placed near the front door. A desk and chair awaited me. I took my seat and quickly realized the article I’d read was most likely right. No line appeared in front of me. Then something exciting happened. A woman walked in the front door, spotted me sitting at the table and approached. She said she’d be delighted to purchase a copy. Since I wasn’t expecting many people to attend a booksigning for an unknown author, I’d brought along a book to read so I wouldn’t feel so foolish sitting there by my lonesome. It was a copy of Terry Kay’s Taking Lottie Home, which had just been released. Excited that I would be autographing a copy of my book for the very first time, I quickly opened the front cover and wrote: In honor of the written word, and signed my name. The women tucked the book under her arm and proceeded to the check-out line. Shortly thereafter she reappeared at my table and explained that she wanted a copy of Roseflower Creek and handed the book back to me.

Imagine how silly I felt when I realized I’d signed Terry Kay’s Taking Lottie Home! I learned my lesson. I no longer bring a book to read at my signings.

During my book tour the following month I was slated to appear at three stores in North Carolina that were in cities close enough to each other that I could stay at the same Hampton Inn. I’d be there two nights and three days as I had one signing set up per day. The first event was at a Barnes and Noble and everything went very well. I even managed to sell a dozen books. The next day I arrived at a Borders store and discovered I was not scheduled to sign that day at that location. The young girl at the information desk said she’d call the manager and see if he could sort out what had happened. It wasn’t hard to figure out. This was Wednesday. I was scheduled to sign on Thursday. I’d mixed up the stores. I arrived an hour late to the signing I was to be at in the first place and had to explain I’d gone to the wrong store. I told a small fib to cover my embarrassment, exclaiming that I’d been to so many book signings that month my head was swimming and to forgive my confusion. I learned to be more careful when reading my schedule and it never happened again.

Several years later at a book conference I was presenting at, I drew a nice crowd and was prepared to do my very best in presenting Bring Your Characters to Life. During a short introduction of my publishing history, I was interrupted by a conference staff member who had an announcement to make. She stepped up to the podium, a stack of papers in her hand, and explained that several of the remaining sessions had to be reassigned to different locations (she gave no reason and I didn’t ask.) and she would be passing out copies of the changes. She picked up the stack of papers she’d brought with her and made sure each attendee received one.

Now I was ready to begin my presentation. I looked down for my carefully typed notes that had all the information I would be sharing clearly spelled out. I needed those notes because I have trouble memorizing and it was the only way I’d be able to follow through with my presentation. But, my notes were nowhere in sight! I searched through my handouts that I planned to pass out later, but they weren’t there either. I panicked. I’d never be able to do the presentation without my notes to guide me. I apologized to the class, explaining my notes had disappeared and perhaps the woman who’d arrived to hand out the conference changes had picked them up by mistake. I went looking for her, catching up with her at another session. Sure enough, she had my notes tucked at the back of her stack of papers. Thankfully, she hadn’t them out by mistake or I would have had to kill myself. So far I’ve never lost track of my notes again when presenting at book conferences, but I always bring along an extra copy just to be sure I have a back-up plan in place.

Any other authors out there with embarrassing events to share? I’d love to hear them. I won’t feel so alone in my stupidity.

Jackie Lee Miles is the author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne, and All That’s True. Visit the website at http://www.jlmiles.com. Write the author at Jackie@jlmiles.com.

The Awesome Power of the Writer by Peggy Webb

2011-09-04T20:00:00.000-04:00

In my twenty-six year career, I’ve made one literary blunder than stands above all the others: I unwittingly brought two dead characters back to life! The blunder occurred very early in my career – not because I was a newly published writer, but because I had written a book, Donovan’s Angel, that I had no intention of turning into a series.

Stand alone books don’t require keeping a story bible that includes lengthy charts on all the characters, their frequently used phrases, notes on the cars they drive, the houses they live in. Stand alone books also don’t require long-term plans which detail how the series will play out.

Several years after the book’s publication, I vaguely remembered that I had created several brothers for the hero, Paul Donovan. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to follow the Donovan brothers in a series?

Since there was no story bible, I scanned the book, and sure enough, there was Paul’s brother, Tanner, and the mention of other brothers whom I had not named. Perfect!

I immediately set about writing the second book in the series. It was such fun to give Paul and his parents a brief cameo. I thought how pleased the readers would be to know what had happened to these beloved characters in the intervening years.

Sure enough, on publication of the second book of the Donovan Series, I got a phone call from a long-time fan.

“I adore this series,” she said.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” I said. “Don’t you just love Mr. and Mrs. Donovan?”

“Yes. But in the first book they were dead.”

BIG PAUSE…then BIG IDEA….

“How wonderful that I have the power to resurrect them!”

I learned my lesson. In 2008 when I started writing the Southern Cousins Mystery Series, you can bet your britches I immediately purchased a little spiral bound black leather journal that became the story bible. It contains copious notes on Elvis (the basset hound who thinks he’s the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll reincarnated); Callie Valentine Jones, his human mom; Lovie Valentine, Callie’s cousin who has had more boyfriends than Elvis has fleas; Jack Jones, Callie’s almost-ex; Ruby Nell, Callie’s mom who has a penchant for gambling on Callie’s dollar. All the major players in the series.

As Fayrene developed over the first two books into a major player, she got her own page. The story bible is an ever-evolving journal. It contains plans for each book and each character.

Over the years, those plans have changed, so I’m constantly adding notes and ideas. The story bible is written with a pen. Each year my scribbles get more jumbled and harder to read. Please don’t be surprised if Lovie’s tattoo moves from one hip to the other and if Mama’s red Mustang convertible turns blue.

I can’t claim perfection, and I certainly can’t claim a perfect memory, even of characters I’ve created. The main thing is for my readers to have as much fun reading the Southern Cousins Mysteries as I have writing them.

Publisher’s Weekly and Romantic Times love Elvis and the Tropical Double Trouble, the fourth book in the series, available now for pre-order and in bookstores September 27^th! If you’ve already started reading this series, I’d love to hear about your favorite character or scene, and what you’d like to see happen in future books. If you haven’t yet discovered Elvis and the Valentine gang, tell me about your most beloved series and why you enjoyed it.

Peggy Webb is hard at work on the fifth Southern Cousins Mystery and invites you to enter the fabulous contest on her website – www.peggywebb.com. Prizes in the contest include a signed copy of Elvis and the Tropical Double Trouble, signed copies of select romances from her backlist, and a signed copy of her debut novel as Anna Michaels - The Tender Mercy of Roses, hailed by Pat Conroy as “astonishing.”

Judging the Author by the Cover

2011-09-03T19:11:00.000-04:00

We’re all familiar with the saying, “You can’t judge a book by its cover” but in my hometown it appears that the photo on the cover of my book has generated quite a buzz.

This week while visiting a high school friend I was puzzled when she said, “Tell me about your marriage.”

After explaining how I met my beloved, and that we truly were a case of love at first sight, I noticed a frown lined her forehead.

My book...not my husband.

“So, your Facebook profile picture…what’s that about?” she asked.

“My profile picture is a copy of my book,” I explained.

Nodding she said, “I know it’s a copy of your book; but is that your husband?”

I wanted to say, “Duh, it’s a photo of Billy Albertson, you know, the man behind the title: In The Garden With Billy.

Growing up in a small town it was common to have this type of misinformation ripple through the community; but my friend is a jokester so I said, “You’re kidding me, right?”

“I’m very serious. All of Bryson City thinks he’s your husband.”

“Well, he’s not.”

“I’m just telling you what they think. You need to post a new photo…like now!”

Even though I was wasting my time, I explained to her that I don’t list personal information on Facebook. I never mention my beloved’s name or post anything that might lead someone to my home. Authors must do this. It’s a matter of safety and common sense. It is also a matter of respecting the privacy of my husband.

“No, I’m serious,” she insisted. “You need to go home and put his photo on your site. People are talking.”

I relayed our comical conversation with my mother, who of course laughed, until her tone became serious. “You know people have started treating me different since the book came out.”

"How so?” I inquired.

“I’m getting funny looks in the grocery store. I guess people do think that I’ve raised a gold digger.”

The Cracker Queen and Renea Winchester:
neither are married to Billy Albertson.

Next Friday I’m scheduled to return home and spend a little time with my parents. Currently, my profile picture is of me with Loretta Hannon, The Cracker Queen. The image was captured during the grand opening of The Hive. It was a glorious day.

(She's married also...and not to Billy Albertson).

Any suggestions on how to handle this small-town situation?

Renea Winchester is the author of In the Garden with Billy: Lessons about Life, Love & Tomatoes. A true-life tale of the last farmer in Roswell Georgia (who, by the way, is NOT her husband.)

Her next book titled: Stress-free Marketing: Practical Advice for the Newly Published Author will be released in October. This is a must-read for all authors whether self-published or represented by a traditional publishing house.

The Good Wife: What a Novelist Can Learn from a Hit Television Show’s Deleted Scenes

2011-08-14T20:15:00.000-04:00

by Susan Cushman

The (optional) theme for the next round of posts here is “Literary Blunders, what catastrophic mistakes have you made either in your writing or your career and what did you learn from them.” Well, since my “career” is still pretty young, I don’t have a lot to share in that department yet. But it did get me to thinking about literary “mistakes” that all writers make and the courage it takes to delete the part of any story, script, or book that isn’t working. I think there’s a lot to learn about this from television script writers.

Robert and Michelle King, creators and writers for the CBS drama, “The Good Wife,” co-authored a piece for the New York Times on July 10 called, “What Would ‘The Good Wife’ Do?”

I read the article after spending a few weeks re-watching Season One of “The Good Wife” (my favorite television drama) on DVD and taking notes on the writers’ comments concerning the deleted scenes for each episode.

The Kings agree that although the scenario is ever-changing—as wives of philandering husbands in the political limelight aren’t always standing by their men these days—the melodrama of political scandals still makes for good television. And watching what ends up on the cutting room floor makes for good lessons for writers of any genre, although, as the article says:

“Reality is also usually grayer than fiction. The bad husband must have some good in him, or why would the wronged wife love him in the first place? And if the husband is not all bad, if this indiscretion is just a moment of weakness, or a decade of weakness, is there hope? Is there something in the husband for the wife to forgive?”

Whether you’re writing fiction or nonfiction, there are lessons to be learned from watching the deleted scenes. (And it’s lots of fun!)

In the Pilot, the scenes that were cut were mostly due to time. The writers were trying to play out the arc of Kalinda’s (played by Archie Panjabi) attitude towards Alicia (played by Julianna Margulies)which was difficult because of the political dynamic with Alicia and Cary (played by Matt Czuchry). When they lost their assistant to another show (“Community”) some adjustments were called for which wouldn’t happen to someone who was writing a novel.

In “Crash,” a scene was cut because the writers agreed that the viewer “got it” without an additional scene to reveal a plot point. This was helpful to me to watch and observe how this same thinking can play out in novel-writing. Sometimes we “over-write” and don’t give the reader credit for understanding something the first time we reveal it.

In “Boom,” a scene was re-written and re-shot, rather than being deleted, because the tone was off. A character was too angry for what was going to happen next. If that type of nuance in writing for television is important, it’s also important to the fiction writer.

Diane (played by Christine Baranski) has a scene in “Bad,” in which she is playfully, almost sexily “romancing a gun.” I actually liked the deleted scene, which was cut because of time, and because the writers believed that the point was made in other scenes. I’m wondering how hard it is for television writers to let go of those precious scenes when it’s necessary, just like those of us writing fiction hate to delete sentences and metaphors that we think are beautiful, if they’re not working.

Another example of deleting a really good scene, I think, happened in “Unplugged.” Kalinda receives a life-threatening bee sting (she’s allergic) through which the writers wanted to show more of her Achilles’ heel. But in the end, the scene had no content—it existed on its own and was interesting and oddball, but it didn’t serve the story.

Similarly, in “Hybristephilia,” a happy scene at home with Alicia is deleted because the plot isn’t advanced; no character is upturned.

Brook Kennedy, Executive Producer, talks about the importance of each scene and each character: “Bits about ourselves are revealed in these characters.” That’s why we’re glued to it, right?

Archie Panjabi, who plays Kalinda (my favorite character on the show) says, “Even in a legal-procedural show like ‘The Good Wife,’ all the characters are complex.”

Robert King adds, “Each episode ends with some sort of moral question or ambivalence.”

Just like chapters in a novel should end with something that drives the reader forward.

In June I participated in the Fairhope Writers Colony Retreat, hosted by Sonny Brewer in Fairhope, Alabama. Each day, local authors joined us to talk about the art and craft of writing, changes in the publishing world, and anything else that came up. One day C. Terry Cline was our guest author, and we got to talking about the importance of each chapter, and each scene in a book. Terry believes that each scene should contain the following four elements:

1. Conflict

2. Character development

3. Carry the story forward

4. Multi-layering (sights, sounds, smells)

He added that it helps for each chapter to end with a cliff hanger—the more subtle, the better—but something that again makes the reader keep reading.

As I’m heading into the final third of my novel—and revising as I go because I can’t help myself—I’m hoping to put to use the wisdom gleaned from the writers of good television dramas and novels. What are your favorite television shows? (I’m thinking of studying the deleted scenes in “Mad Men” and “Parenthood” next.) Have you studied the writing to see what pearls are there to help you move your own stories forward in a gripping way? Join the conversation here by leaving a comment.

Susan Cushman has nine published essays, one novel and two memoirs tucked safely away in a drawer, and a novel-in-progress that she hopes to publish one day. In 2012, her essay, “Chiaroscuro: Shimmer and Shadow,” will appear in the second volume of the anthology, All Out of Faith: Southern Women on Spirituality, from the University of Alabama Press. Susan is director of the 2011 Memphis Creative Nonfiction Workshop coming up in September. She blogs at "Pen and Palette."

Organized Chaos by Anna Michaels

2011-08-12T19:51:00.000-04:00

I love this month’s topic - managing time. But I have to chuckle at the idea that anybody in the writing profession can actually plan a day’s writing and have it turn out that way. That might have been true twenty-six years ago when I started my career. I got up in the morning, made breakfast for my husband and children, then went into my office and wrote, first on an electric typewriter where revision required two gallons of whiteout, and then later on a cumbersome old computer powered by DOS, which made me cry every day for three weeks after I switched from electric to electronic.

Today, here’s how those plans turn out. I get up every morning and make breakfast for myself. What luxury. The whole day is mine! I take a cup of green tea chai into my office and open up the computer. I plan to finish Chapter Three of my next Anna Michaels book. (I say this because I write comedic mysteries under my own name, Peggy Webb, and literary fiction under the pen name, Anna.)

First, though, I check my email. Sound easy? Try checking a personal email which contains an urgent message from one of my editors that he needs promo material for the next book, pronto.

“No problem,” I reply via email. “You’ll have it by this afternoon.” Add that to the calendar.

Next, go to the two business email addresses for Peggy and Anna. Two people want interviews with Peggy and have sent questionnaires, three want to book Anna for signings and lectures, and fans on both sites have sent lovely letters that absolutely must be answered that day so they will love me forever and recommend my books to the thousands of people on their Facebook pages. Not to mention their Twitter accounts.

Oh, did I forget to mention that I then hurry to post something on my two Facebook Accounts...and send new material to my web guru to update my two websites? And I’m feeling guilty because I haven’t yet opened a Twitter account under either name, and I hardly ever say a squeaky word on Beyond Her Book and Goodreads and so many more great places where readers and writers gather that it makes me dizzy to think about it.

Where did the time go? I wanted to be writing by ten, and here it is noon and I’ve tackled only two of the urgent requests, I still haven’t written the promo material, and I don’t know whether I’m Anna or Peggy. Sigh! Since it’s lunchtime I decide to be both so I can eat for two! Fun! Two hamburgers, two bags of chips, two ice creams. Wait. I think I’ll leave off one of the ice creams or I won’t fit in my chair.

Now it’s afternoon and I’m exhausted because I have a deadline and I’ve been busy all morning but I still haven’t written a word. I take a ten-minute power nap to refresh myself, and I don’t even have to loosen my clothes because I’m still in pjs. I meant to wear real clothes today, but I got caught up in the business end of my career and couldn’t find a place to stop.

Since the day is half gone, and I’ll be in pjs in a few hours, I’ll just be comfy while I write. At last!

The doorbell rings. It’s the UPS delivery man with a box of books from my publisher. I try to act as if I’m an Eccentric, Exciting Writer in Cute Lounge Clothes, instead of a disheveled-looking woman in wrinkled pajamas.

With that crisis over, I’m finally back at the keyboard, ready to do what I love best, telling the story. By five o’clock I’ve written only half the amount of material I need in order to meet my deadline. Here’s the real discipline. Here’s the time management. I keep writing. I don’t let the clock dictate when I should leave the office. In twenty-six years I’ve never missed a deadline, and I don’t intend to start now. I write until I’ve met the page quota I set for myself. Sometimes that’s till seven o’clock, sometimes till 1 a.m. I do what it takes to complete the real work of an author – writing the book.

My time management plan can best be called Organized Chaos. When I sign a contract to deliver a book, I figure out how much time I need to write it, then I factor in travel and emergencies in order to plan monthly and weekly page quotas. The next step is to meet those quotas, No Matter What. I can’t control what other people do, and I certainly wouldn’t want to miss a single one of the invitations, letters, and requests that come my way. But I can control whether or not I meet my writing deadline. It’s called Discipline. Plain and Simple. And it’s the best time management plan a writer can have.

I’d love to hear from you about the ways you meet the challenges of too much to do and too little time.

Anna Michaels is the author of The Tender Mercy of Roses, a novel Pat Conroy calls “astonishing.” She is now in love with a new set of characters and the story they are whispering in her ear. She is also working on another Southern Cousins Mystery as Peggy Webb, who has produced almost 70 books in a career that spans 26 years. Visit her at www.annamichaels.net and www.peggywebb.com and on FB under both her writing identities. Ask for Free bookplates on both her websites. Enter her Goddess Contest. Win signed books. Send chocolate.

Too Dark For Superheroes

2011-08-07T12:44:00.003-04:00

A ghost story

By Andy Straka

. . . .Maybe somewhere in the e-book future lurks the Ghost of Legacy Publishing Past . . . .

I half expected the old man in the green eyeshade not to show. But when I stepped off the elevator on the twenty-fourth floor of the Acme Legacy Publishing building in New York a few minutes after midnight, there he was.

In his corner office with his shirtsleeves rolled up, nursing bloodshot eyes. The nub of a cigar protruding from the side of his mouth like a bad memory. On the ink-stained blotter behind him, a half empty bottle of Scotch flanked the empty glass in his hand.

There was something lonely, even heartbreaking about him, I decided. I wasn’t sure why I’d come. He regarded me with a cagey stare, even in his weakness. He was an industry icon. He was still chained to his desk.

“You’re late,” he said.

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know what I expected, exactly. I guess I thought you’d be . . . with everything going on . . . a little more on top of things.”

“Well, I’m not. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Disappointed?” That brought a guffaw out of him.

“I’m just a writer.”

“Just a writer, huh?” He twisted his lower lip, adjusting the angle of the cigar.

“What are you doing here at this hour, anyway?”

“I could ask the same of you,” he said.

“You invited me. Remember?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.” He turned and looked at the stack of manuscripts piled in his corner, before looking back. “But you’re the only one who accepted the invitation, my friend. Everybody else just wanted to do it by email.”

I couldn’t think of any response to that, so I kept quiet.

“You want a drink?” he asked.

“Why not?”

“Here. Pull up a chair.” He beckoned toward the one empty chair in his office and reached for the bottle of Scotch. He produced another tumbler like his from somewhere, filling both glasses while I sat down. “Cheers.” He handed mine across to me.

“Cheers.”

The Scotch tasted good. We regarded one another for a moment.

“You’re some kind of spirit, aren’t you.”

“You might say that,” he said.

“I figured as much . . . when I got the message, I mean.”

He took another long pull on his drink before rubbing his hand across the stubble on his chin. “You know why you’re here, don’t you?”

“I think I do.”

“There’s no use sugarcoating it. We’re going to have to let you go. We aren’t offering you any more contracts on your books.”

“I know.” I took another sip of the Scotch. For ghost Scotch, it really did taste good.

“Of course you do,” he said. “You’ve been out there like everybody else, as soon as you could find an opening in your contracts or write something else, publishing for yourselves on those infernal electronic gadgets. Going straight to your readers.”

“Apparently, I have some.”

He paused for a moment. “You.” He smiled, pointing a bony finger at me that looked for all the world like Robert De Niro smiling and pointing at Billy Crystal in Analyze This. “You haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“Not yet.”

He laughed, but his countenance suddenly darkened. “They’re all dead now.”

“Dead? Who?”

“The real, old-fashioned writers. They’re all dead, or worse, gone over to the dark side like you.”

“I’m sorry. I suppose that’s true.”

“We had them all back in the day. All the great ones. You could go downstairs and smell the ink flying off the presses before the books were sent to the bindery, just as the writers could smell the ink on the typewriters. It was magical, I tell you. That’s what it was.”

I nodded, not wishing to puncture his dream.

“Huxley had it right, you know.” He picked up a sheaf of papers from in front of him, snapping the sheets together against his desk like they were precious gems. “It’s all become a brave new world now. We’re going to need a lot of brave new writers.”

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

“You plan to be one, kid? You plan to be a brave new writer?”

“I guess I am already.”

He smiled. “Well, I guess you are . . . one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“You won’t have me to kick around anymore. You won’t have me to blame for your rejections or your editing issues or your lack of marketing or whatever else. It’s all on you now. It’s all on you.”

“I get it.”

“You’ll have to do everything. Everything, you understand? From the copyediting to the book jacket, layout, publicity, tours . . . You not only have to write, but you have to figure it all out and make it work, and hope that they sell. Why you’ve practically got to become a damn superhero.”

“Well, I don’t quite think that—”

“Do you even know what you’re up against?”

“I hope so.”

He turned in his chair and looked out the window at the sparkling late night jewel that was midtown Manhattan. “It’s too dark out there for superheroes, kid.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“But I sure could’ve used you, back in the day.”

“Wish I could have been there.”

He smiled once again at something, maybe the memories. “We could’ve told some good stories, couldn’t we?”

“You bet.”

“’Cause that’s all it’s really ever been about, hasn’t it? The stories, I mean.”

“Pretty much.”

“Kind of sad when you think about it though, isn’t it, kid? Sweet for you, I mean. Sad for me.”

“Sad and sweet for all of us.”

“Maybe,” he said. “You’re the poet, kid.”

“But that’s not the worst part of it,” I said.

“Oh, yeah?” He arched an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“I’ve got a feeling the party’s just begun.”

He glared at me for a long moment. Then he leaned his head back and howled, a laugh so loud it startled me into a new awareness as both he and the glass in my hand dissolved into bright particles.

Coming fully awake, I found myself staring into my computer screen. 2014? 1984?

I looked around the room to make sure I was back in my own office. I was indeed. Turning to look at my bookcase as the personal book-sales-per-minute counter on the laptop in front of me bleeped another dozen downloads.

Publisher's Weekly has featured Andy Straka as one of a new crop of "rising stars in crime fiction." His books include A WITNESS ABOVE (Anthony, Agatha, and Shamus Award finalist), A KILLING SKY (Anthony Award Finalist), COLD QUARRY (Shamus Award Winner), KITTY HITTER (called a "great read" by Library Journal), RECORD OF WRONGS (hailed by Mystery Scene magazine as "a first-rate thriller"), FLIGHTFALL (a recently released novella), and a new thriller, THE BLUE HALLELUJAH, coming this September. You can follow him on Facebook, on Twitter @AndyStraka, or at www.andystraka.com. He is no longer published by a major publisher, yet he sold over eleven thousand ebooks last month.

Carolyn Haines: The Thirty-Hour Day

2011-08-05T23:12:00.000-04:00

Time management is an issue no matter what profession a person chooses, but I think it is a particular problem for those of us in the creative realm. While a banker must balance his books, a writer can avoid writing for months at a time-until a looming deadline crashes in. And for those writers who are working on spec rather than a contract, it can often be harder to motivate to spend that solitary time in pursuit of “the greatest scene ever written.”

Because I teach fiction writing at the University of South Alabama, I get to look at the issue of time management from many different angles. My own perspective—a full time teaching load, grad students with thesis projects, the paperwork, politics, and committee work of participating in an English department, not to mention book promotion (a 24-7 job), touring, giving speeches, and trying to write the next book.

Add an animal rescue on top of that, which brings so many emotional upsets as well as hard physical labor and expense, and I am extremely busy.

The thing is—I love all three aspects of my life. I could give up teaching, but I don’t want to. I love being able to share what I know with students who are fevered to write. If I gave up the animals, who would care for them, and some need a lot of care? And I’ve written stories since I was nineteen. Not much chance of leaving that behind.

I have made many sacrifices, though. Many. But those are personal and a blog is not a place to explore them. Let me just say that I believe the writing life often costs women a lot more than men. I’m sure this is a point that could be debated, so I do not speak it as a truth, only as my opinion.

The writing life is demanding. It requires total focus for long periods of time. In teaching hundreds of students, I have come to see how vital the role of time management and perseverance plays in getting published.

Many people think talent is the key to publishing. Yeah, it sure helps. But raw talent is of little practical use unless a writer also has discipline, drive, tenacity, and the ability to take criticism constructively. I see many young people with talent so pure and raw that it takes my breath away. But if they miss deadlines, procrastinate, make excuses, or dither away their time, I also understand that these students will likely never publish. Unless they mature into better time managers.

Because the drive to write comes from within, an external teacher can’t force a student to “do what’s necessary.”

There’s a bit more to it here—many of these students are nineteen or so. At that early age, I had no great discipline for writing fiction. I wandered around in the world of writers who intimidated me to death. Try reading Doris Betts or Lee Smith or Flannery O’Connor while you’re struggling with your own short story. That’s a ticket to true despair. While these writers have so greatly motivated me, they can also prove to be intimidating to the green writer.

But the urge to write has to push aside fear and ego and all of the things that keep people from writing. The story has to be told—and it is my story, so I must tell it. (A writer must have a bit of an ego to think that people will want to spend their leisure time reading his/her work. This ego is leavened by abject fear, though!)

I feel that I have an obligation to my readers. Many have followed me through 11 Bones books and numerous other stories. They buy my books and spend their reading time on my creations—and I owe them the best story I can tell, which means a whole lot of work.

I can’t get that work done if I procrastinate. I hate being up against a deadline. I hate that pressure. I worked as a journalist for 10 years, and I met numerous DAILY deadlines. But I was writing 200-400 words at most. The hard thing about a novel is that it can be up to 100,000 words and the work stretches over a year. That means 365 days of work even when I don’t feel like it or would rather watch a SUPERNATURAL marathon on TV. Some days I want to be entertained without using my brain at all!

So I try to do my hard writing work in the morning, so it’s done and I can’t begin to find excuses not to do it. I do my editing in the afternoons. I work everyday. Even when I am not actively writing, I am working because I am thinking about it.

But if I am sick or traveling—I give myself that time off. Illness robs me of my creativity and focus. Travel discombobulates me and I am not grounded enough to write.

That’s how I handle the writing life. I stay focused in the moment on what I’m doing and I never accept excuses about how hard it is or how I’d rather clean toilets than write. I have those days, but I don’t let them beat me.

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