THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS


I’m sure several of my fellow- and sister-bloggers here will write something about the South Carolina Book Festival which took place in Columbia the last weekend in February. I saw many of them in attendance, and even got to spend time with some. I’ll leave it to them to comment on the nuts and bolts if they so choose because I want to talk about the people—the readers, volunteers, and especially the other authors who come together once a year to form a community that’s all about books. And kindness to strangers.

Jackie Cooper (another contributor here) and his wife Terry and I had a long discussion that Saturday night about this very subject. We sat in comfortable chairs in the lobby of the Columbia Hilton, sated thanks to a wonderful buffet that even included Red Velvet cake—hard to find anywhere outside of your grandmother’s kitchen any more. It was cold and nasty outside, but we were cozy and warm, sipping wine and chatting. I think it was Jackie who said something about how writers seem to be, generally speaking, a pleasant group of people. We agreed that there are certainly some egos sprinkled here and there, but that, for the most part, we’re a pretty darn nice bunch.

I can personally attest to that. I came to the festival as a visitor before I ever had my first book published. I followed it from a round building—can’t think of the name, but I believe it was part of the USC campus—to the fairgrounds and finally to the wonderful, modern convention center. Eventually I was asked to participate as a presenter, but even before that I was welcomed by just about everyone I encountered. I rustled up the courage to speak to writers whose names I recognized and many who were new to me. Almost without exception, I was gathered into the conversation and made to feel as if my two books, published by a small regional press by that time, made me a card-carrying member of the fraternity.

As the three of us sat there on that blustery Saturday night, worried about getting home the next day in the predicted snowfall, many authors stopped off to say hello. Some I knew, like Mary Alice Monroe (who told us a hilarious story about fly fishing with the interviewer from USA Today) and Marjorie Wentworth, the Poet Laureate of South Carolina, and T. Lynn Ocean who was worn out from line dancing at the party going on in the ballroom behind us. These are all women I know, though we see each other seldom, usually at events such as the festival, but we seem to be able to pick up right where we left off the year before. Others who stopped to chat were strangers to me, but not for long. Maybe it’s because we all share the same joys and worries—a new contract or lack of one, deadlines, reviews, sales numbers. Everyone commiserates and congratulates with equal feeling for the ups and downs of this precarious road we’ve chosen to travel.

And then there are the attendees, the fans of reading who braved near freezing temperatures and a frigid, driving rain to spend the day with authors, booksellers, publishers, and other book lovers. When I finished my first panel and returned to the main room to the signing table, I had a line waiting—folks who had either bought or brought copies of my Bay Tanner mysteries for me to autograph. For the published authors reading this, you’ll understand my joy. For those of you who aren’t, take my word for it—having a line is a definite trip!

All throughout the weekend, I ran across old friends from every facet of the business: the indefatigable Paula Watkins. who spends an entire year with her cadre of dedicated volunteers planning this homage to the printed word; Fran and Don, booksellers from Aiken; Ivy and Mac, book lovers from Bennetsville; Rod Hunter, my reprint publisher and his talented writer-wife, Gwen; Cathy Pickens, who moderated my first panel and who loves to rag gently on me about being a Yankee . . . I could fill up a couple of pages with the names of those people whom I may see only once a year, but whose kindness turned even those most dismal two days into ones of warmth and remembered friendship.

And every year there are new people to add their own special spice to the mix, like the young man with whom I shared a panel on Sunday who had been chased by Katrina from New Orleans to Atlanta, but who still wrote about the Big Easy with love and insight. And the woman who shared my table at lunch and talked about wanting to be a published writer. I commiserated about how difficult that is, especially in today’s economic climate, and urged her not to give up. We exchanged e-mail addresses, and I promised to give her what advice and help I could, because other authors had done the same for me back in the days when I was just a visitor to the SC Book Festival.

Maybe it’s something about people who love books, whether author, reader, librarian, bookseller, publisher, or volunteer. All I know is that I invariably come away from this last weekend in February in Columbia, South Carolina, with the feeling that I’ve spent a couple of days among old, cherished friends. It’s a wonderful gift, and I hope many of you will have the opportunity to share in the magic next year.


Kathy Wall grew up in a small town in northern Ohio. She and her husband Norman have lived on Hilton Head Island since 1994. Her 9th Bay Tanner mystery, Covenant Hall, will be released April 28 by St. Martin’s Press.

How Long Does It Take To Write a Novel?

I’m the author of four novels. My first effort a female friendship novel called Bet Your Bottom Dollar went through several incarnations. (It used to be called Who’s Your Daddy, and was first set in a beauty parlor instead of a dollar store.)

I did so many rewrites on that novel, first for my agent and then for my editor, that by the time I finally finished, the sight of it turned my stomach. To this day I can’t bear to crack it open.

When it was finished but I thought, “It’ll never be that hard again.”

Writing the next two books was like sliding down a greased pole. They went so fast I barely remember writing them. Neither my editor or agent marked them up with their blue pens; they went straight to the copywriter.

I turned into a cocky little so-so. Thought I’d licked novel writing. Figured I could turn out a couple a year with my hands tied behind my back. I was Super Scribe!

Next I had an idea for a novel set in Heaven. Sat down to write. Figured it would take me six months max…. Two years later I was still writing. Ten drafts later, still at it. WOULD I EVER FINISH?

I did. But I didn’t feel like Super Scribe anymore.

Looking back, I figured out what happened. My second and third book were part of a series. I already knew the characters and the town they lived in.
But with the Heaven book I had to make up a whole new Universe. My heaven in Earthly
Pleasures was a wee bit different from the one in the Bible. God was female and sounded like Bette Midler. Heaven was like Gatlinburg TN with Wrath of God miniature golf and Noah’s Ark River Cruises.

And the characters. I had to deal with a set on Earth and a set on Heaven. They took me on so many twists and turns it’s a wonder the book didn’t take five years to write.

After Earthly Pleasures, I decided to write another female friendship book.

In January 2007, I started GRANNY PANTY CHRONICLES, about an eighties girl band called the Bikini Panties. Twenty years later the women reinvent themselves as a middle-aged band called the Granny Panties.

Piece of cake. I’d done friendship novels before. I knew the middle-age territory all too well. Figured I could whip it out in six months or less.

Over two years later, I’m still working on it. I hope to be done in a month or so, but who knows? I’ve already undergone at least three major revisions and all those times I honestly thought I was finished.

The book has kicked my butt, but I hope, in the end it’ll be worth it. It just goes to show that we sit down and write a novel, we never know where it’ll take us and how long that journey will be. It reminds me of that saying, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.”

Lit Links

Check out the nominees for 2009 SIBA Book Awards. Congratulations to our very own bloggers Kerry Madden, Karen Spears Zacharias, Shellie Tomlinson, and Kathryn Wall.

Agents are always giving writers dos and don’ts. One blogger turns the tables.

Below is a TED lecture on creativity from the Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love

Karin Gillespie is the founder of this blog. Look for her posts most every weekend.

YE HAVE NOT BECAUSE ...

This morning I drank some strong espresso and sat down at my computer. I was faintly shocked to find an email from the Bartow Georgia Friends of the Library. I opened all of my other emails and then, with hesitation, I opened it. “Dear Julie, I know it’s been ages and you probably thought we forgot about you!” read the first line. I let out a bit of breath. It sounded fairly cheerful, upbeat enough. Didn’t it?

Actually, I didn’t think they’d forgotten about me. I thought they’d written me off their list for being a shameless opportunist; a greedy author with a highly inflated ego. This was because on January 16th I’d opened the first email from the Bartow Georgia Friends of the Library. It was a warm note from their secretary, saying she’d read all three books in my Homegrown series and that she simply adored Imo, the main character. She went on to say, “Since you are familiar with Euharlee, I wanted to let you know that a new Euharlee Library has been built! It is quite nice with a lovely screened in back porch that faces the Etowah river. Our Friends of the Library board is currently planning events for 2009. If possible we would love to have you come speak/read this summer.”

Well, I love Euharlee, Georgia, a small rural community 45 miles NW of Atlanta. A place where the rhythm of life is still slow and where signs saying “Jesus and tomatoes coming soon” pop up on the roadside along about June. Euharlee is home to Georgia’s oldest covered bridge, as well as a restaurant that serves frog legs. But, more dearer to me still, it’s the setting of Truelove & Homegrown Tomatoes, ‘Mater Biscuit, and Those Pearly Gates.

When I began the first drafts of my Homegrown novels, I set them in Armuchee, Georgia. The Oostenaula river, which flows through Armuchee, became as much a character as the people. The books are fiction, but like many writers, I have plenty of family things woven throughout, and the fact that I still have plenty of family members living in Armuchee made me think twice before those presses started rolling. I just didn’t want to have to defend myself or cause a split in the family tree. So, since Euharlee is a farming community as well, and since it is just 30 miles from Armuchee, situated along the picturesque Etowah river, it just seemed the perfect solution.

When I first read that request from the Bartow Friends of the Library, I immediately thought, “YES! By all means! You just name the date.” I’ve been told that creative folks are right-brained, and that the right side of the brain is random, intuitive, subjective, and “looks at the whole”. Well, the whole looked great. I love Euharlee, and I love libraries, and it sounded like a perfectly fabulous way to spend a Saturday (Euharlee is about three hours or so from my hometown of Watkinsville, Georgia). But, there was one problem with me jumping the gun. I don’t drive, due to a head injury 25 years ago, and I must rely on my husband to be a patron-of-the-arts. I prefer to ride with him when he’s a cheerful, willing patron-of-the-arts.

In fact, what stopped me from this knee-jerk “Yes!” response was the specter of my husband’s face hanging right above the keyboard. He looked exasperated. Now, Tom holds an MBA in Finance and he is a very analytical soul. He uses the left side of his brain very well. Logical, rational, objective, the man “looks at parts”. Tom looks long and hard at every single infinitesimal part. Parts I don’t even know exist! Which is why he has counseled me ad nauseum as to why I cannot continue to accept each and every invitation to book clubs, libraries, Red Hat clubs, university groups, etc... who ask me to come in the name of loving books. Lord knows I have done HUNDREDS of these events on my own dime. I’ve done it for the sake of Art. I’m a creative soul who loves to pour out and to give back and to encourage other people to write.

“You need to just tell them this is your JOB,” Tom counsels me often. “When they ask you to come, tell them you’d love to, if they PAY you.” I listen to him, but still. Every now and again I’ll wonder why I’m so reluctant to ask for compensation. Is it the southern female part of me that’s shy when it comes to talking about money? Still, it just seemed wrong to me to charge money (gasp) to come and talk to folks about my books. This gift I have is to be shared, and that urge down inside my soul is to freely squander, to spread the joy. In my mind, the word sharing connotes “free.”

Funny though, I have no problem with other authors asking money for appearances. I have one author friend who won’t go anywhere for less than $2,000. Nowhere. And the girl gets plenty of invitations! Another fellow author, also very well known, actually urged me last year to start asking for fees. He told me that us authors owed it to each other, that we needed to band together and demand fees when we went somewhere to speak. “After all,” he said, “it’s our time, and our time is money. That’s time we could spend writing.”

He’s right, of course, it truly does take time and resources from my family. Don’t get me wrong, I have gotten money, good money, from many libraries to come and speak/read. When they offer me a nice speaking fee plus mileage, up front, it makes it really easy.

For four long days I agonized over answering that email from the Bartow FOL. How would I word it, asking them to PAY me to come and help celebrate Euharlee’s wonderful new edifice filled with books? To the very setting of my novels? At last I composed what I thought surely had this undercurrent, this lining of selfish ambition. But, I swallowed hard and clicked “send.” Then I set about waiting. The days passed, turned into weeks. SIX WEEKS to be exact. I’d given up hope until today, sure that my greediness had made them aghast, made the lemon squares at their last board meeting stick in their craws (throats).

“Dear Julie, I know it’s been ages and you probably thought we forgot about you! Not so! We are still quite interested in having you come to the Euharlee Library and speak. We understand you need to charge a fee plus mileage and we would like to offer you ----$. In addition, one of our Friends board members has offered his home for you and your husband to stay in overnight if needed. It is a large, older home with a “B&B” feel to it. He’s a great chef, too!”

I knew what Tom was going to say when I called him at work and read the email. The satisfaction in his voice was unmistakable. “Great, Sweetheart! Why don’t we drop in and see some of your family in Armuchee while we’re up that way?”

Now, if Tom’ll suggest seeing my family, you know he’s pretty pleased. What is the moral of this little tale? I guess it’s that famous Proverb we’ve all heard: “Ye have not because ye ask not.” As far as doing something noble in the name of Art, for the pure selfless love of writing and sharing stories, there’s usually at least one soul at each book event who’s intent on giving up his/her day job and pursuing a career in writing. “Of course you can email me that novel/essay/short story/poem you’re working on!” I say to them, after listening to a nice, long oral synopsis. “I’ll be happy to read it and offer you some advice on editing or hunting an agent.” That always makes me feel better.

You can read more about Julie L. Cannon and her books at julielcannon.com

On the Right Path

Raindrops keep falling on my head—no, it’s snow, in Georgia! March 1 we had a snowstorm that lasted for hours. While it didn’t stick around long, it provided wonderment while it lasted. I realize snow doesn't sound exciting to folks who have shoveled for months, but for us down here, it was magical. Big heavy flakes falling, falling like they would never stop.

I am taking time to enjoy the miraculous and the wonderful more these last few months. Maybe because the news is so bad? To hear everybody moan and groan, you’d think none of us every went through any hard times before and we are entitled to much better things. Reminds me of the first year of each of my sons’ lives, when I was certain they were going to be under one forever, and I would never get past the “can’t walk, can’t talk, can’t do anything exciting” stage of motherhood.

Or it reminds me of 1989. That was the year my husband lost his job in April, and mine ended in October. For the next nine months we had little income other than the advance for my third book—and those who write mysteries know that didn’t support a family of four for six months.

But you know what? I learned some valuable lessons in that year.

I learned to appreciate my family and to know my real friends. They are the ones who happily came over to roast weenies and marshmallows over the sticks we collected from the yard and didn't complain we didn't serve wine. The people we could laugh with, cry with, and not have to pretend with.

Trite as it sounds, our family really did rediscover free ways to have fun. Bike rides. Hikes. Telling ghost stories in the dark. Swims after dinner at a free beach. Public libraries and festivals in the park. When that year was over, one of the boys said, “I think we laughed more this year than ever before.”

We learned how to squeeze a dollar until it squealed, and how to evaluate whether we really needed to spend it or could wait another day or two. We learned that most purchases can wait. I learned the pleasure of reading through a catalogue and filling out the order form for everything I wanted to buy, then tossing it in the recycle bin.

I learned to identify with people who live like that every day of their lives, who don't have a good job, who barely have enough to buy what they need and never have enough to buy what they want.

I learned how much I and my own circle took for granted that a gracious, plentiful lifestyle ought to be ours because we worked hard and "deserved" it. I learned how quickly that myth can dissolve. I learned the taste of shame when I couldn’t go out for lunch, and winced when friends criticized poor people who buy steak, because I was a poor people, and I'd learned that when you have very little, you need a treat now and then to remind you that you are still human.

I eventually learned that we were no less worthwhile as human beings for not having work or money. That was hard.

Even harder, but maybe most important, I learned I can survive fear. Waking up at four a.m. and wondering what we would do when the money ran out. Praying the boys wouldn’t fall and break a limb because we had no insurance. Worrying that my husband would lose heart before he found work. I learned that fear, like a broken heart, doesn’t kill you unless you let it.

One night I had what may have been a vision and may have been a dream. I was walking on a three-foot wide path between grassy meadows. Gradually the sides sloped until the path was six feet high, then twelve feet above the ground. I walked more carefully, aware I could fall off. Suddenly the sides sheered and I was walking across the Grand Canyon! My path ahead looked like a thread, and I stopped, terrified. A voice said, “It’s the same path.”

It is, you know. Hardship is part of the journey. We writers know that characters who don’t experience hardship and setbacks make very dull reading. In real life, too, tough days shape who we become and make us far more interesting people.

Would I want to relive that year? Doubtful. And yet what I learned and experienced that year is currently going into a novel called HOLD UP THE SKY, which is about four strong women going through really tough times, who learn that true strength lies not in independence but in interdependence.

This kind of economy is a real good teacher of that truth. So as you walk in the valley of the shadow where life is hard and the future uncertain, my hope is that you newly learn to appreciate those who support and love you, that you rediscover a few simple pleasures you've forgotten as you've kept up with the technological age, and that you learn your own worth is not tied to what you earn or do for a living.

My gift to you is what I know: It IS the same path.

Patricia Sprinkle

HOLD UP THE SKY will be released in March 2010 by Penguin Putnam. To read more about it, visit my website, http://www.patriciasprinkle.com/

A Good Story

I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me. I joined a book club a little over a year ago and had found myself skimming so many of the books that we were reading. Then the other day I got my good friend, River Jordan’s new book Saints in Limbo in the mail for an endorsement. I opened up the pages and began to realize that it wasn’t me! I just hadn’t read a good story in a while. Every word captivated me. I didn’t want to miss one of them. Because each one held in it an emotion, an experience, a story.

A couple weeks after that I got another advance copy in the mail by another one of my good friends Nicole Seitz, her new book, One Hundred Years of Happiness. Once again, I didn’t miss a word. I just put the final touches on my endorsement for another friend, Rene Gutteridge’s new book, Never the Bride. And once again I read every word.

Granted they are all my friends, but trust me, I don’t read every word even of some of my best friends books. And the other beautiful thing is that these books were all very different stylistically. From Literary Fiction, like Rivers, to contemporary Southern Fiction, like Nicole, to chicklit like Renee’s. But it was the power of the story that was captivating. The ability to take me, the reader, to a place worth going and touching my emotions along the way.

From the time I was little I loved the power of a story. The ability to take people to places they’ve never been, places they’re hearts long to go, and teach them things their hearts are hungry for. My first book offering wasn’t fiction. It was non-fiction. I wanted to write books that changed people’s lives. But no publisher wanted to publish it. No, it was the first fiction book that I had ever written about a rigged beauty pageant, where women taped their boobs and sprayed their butts. That was going to be my offering to the literary world. It was a bitter-sweet moment for me. I wanted to write books that challenged people’s lives, touched their hearts and reached them in their deep places.

I’ve realized over the years that fiction can do the same thing. As I mopped up tears after reading each one of my friend’s stories and as I belly laughed until the bed shook, I realized the real power and privilege we as story-tellers have. Some take advantage of that. Others, well…there are others. People walk into a bookstore and are about to give us as authors two of their most priceless commodities. And two commodities that once spent can never be retrieved, their money and their time. May we be good stewards of both. And good stewards of the stories that lie in the soul of each of us…


Denise makes her home in Franklin, Tennessee with Sophie and Maggie, where they take long walks and read good books. She enjoys coca-cola and every now and then writes a few books.

www.denisehildreth.com
www.denisehildreth.blogspot.com
www.denisehildreth.typepad.com "Flying Solo" A blog for singles

Guest Blogger: Sybil Baker

On Travel and the Writing Life

Whether from nature, nurture, or a combination of both, I was probably destined to travel. My father grew up during the Depression watching the planes fly overhead as he picked cotton on the family farm in Arkansas, wondering where those planes went. At 17, he joined the Navy, sailed to the Far East, and never looked back.

And, as soon as she got her degree from Appalachian State University, my mom loaded up her car and drove to Florida to accept a teaching job—much to the shock of the small North Carolina community she’d been raised in. When we were growing up, my dad managed to save at least one or two weeks of his vacation time so our family could travel up and down the East coast in our pop-up camper. So it’s no surprise that I enjoy traveling to new places.

Still, when I moved to South Korea to teach abroad for a year at the age of thirty one, no one, especially me, knew that one year would turn into twelve. I stayed for many reasons; I loved my job teaching at Korean university, the pay and time off was plentiful—but even more than that, I became addicted to travel, which I did for months on end.

Now that I live in less exotic (but just as interesting) Chattanooga, Tennessee, I still love to travel, not because it’s fun (which it often is) or that it expands my horizons (which it does), but because I believe traveling makes me a better writer.

I’m not alone in this thought. Travel across the country, from city to country, to Europe or even farther has been considered a rite (or should I say “write”) of passage for many writers such as Hemingway, Faulkner, Baldwin, and Cheever. These days, bestselling memoirs like Eat, Pray, Love use travel as journey for self-discovery. The best thing travel does for me and my writing is to broaden my sense of the world and its possibilities. Even if I never write a short story or novel about my three weeks in Mongolia, for example, I’m sure my memories of staying in a yurt, the enduring the pervasive smell of mutton, and feeling the sand of the Gobi desert in my hands have indelibly affected the way I see the world and write about it.

Because of my love of Thailand, I decided to center much of my debut novel, The Life Plan, in that country. Unlike me, Kat, the main character, doesn’t want to travel—especially to a third world country—and her comfort zones are expanded more than she would like. By the end of the novel, though, Kat has a new appreciation for other cultures and lifestyles. Whether my stories take place in the American south or in other countries, my characters are challenged and shaped by the place they live.

For writers, I believe travel can be a great way to get inspiration or give you a new perspective on a character or scene. Of course, many writers don’t have the time or money to travel like I have, so I want to expand the definition of “travel.” Travel can mean going to a new street or store in your own town or just getting in the car and driving, seeing where you’ll end up. For example, one night I may go to our city’s most exclusive private club where I’ll listen to rich old men drink and lament the world that is leaving them behind, and the next night I’ll go to the all- black soul club near my house and dance the night away. Or I’ll go to a restaurant in the small Hispanic area a few blocks from my house and order food off the Spanish-only menu.

Another type of travel is from health to illness. My father died of cancer a few years ago and one of my closest friends, still in her thirties, has stage four breast cancer. While I’ve been fortunate enjoy a life of good health, the journey I’ve witnessed others take has definitely affected how I see the world and how I write about it.

Travel is a state of mind that allows you expand your comfort zones, which in turn allows you to add depth and compassion to your writing. If you have writers block or feel that you need inspiration, I encourage you to step out of your comfort zone and travel—whether it is to a hospital, a church, a mosque, a homeless shelter, the forest, the middle of downtown, or even just a street away from where you’re reading this now. Go on, take a step, take a breath, see something new, then return to your work with fresh insight and a new perspective.

The allure and alienation of American travelers and expatriates have heavily influenced Sybil Baker’s writing, including her debut novel The Life Plan. A fast-paced romp through exotic Thailand, The Life Plan has been called a “screwball comedy for the 21st century” and “the most original, no-holds-barred, well-informed and readable traveler’s guide to Thailand.” Her stories and essays have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies including upstreet, Alehouse, A Woman’s World Again (Traveler’s Tales), and The Writers’ Chronicle. She is currently a creative writing professor at the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga. For more information visit http://www.sybilbaker.com or her blog at http://sybilbaker.blogspot.com. You can see the book trailer for The Life Plan at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-RVu8VbHEbY&fmt=18.