Novelists Strike

No one notices. ;-)

http://www.theonion.com/content/news/novelists_strike_fails_to_affect

Who We Are Inside

By opening our literary veins and spilling something akin to blood on paper, we are able to somehow be the people we really are inside.--Jeff Fielder, fellow Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award semifinalist

Why do you write? Not for the money, surely, as there isn't much in it for most of us.

Is it your love of language? I don't know about you, but there's something about a well-turned phrase that tickles my inner thesaurus. Nevertheless, I've come across writers who can't seem to put two words together in a logical sequence, but still, they write.

Is writing your one-man/woman-crusade to correct bad grammar, poor spelling, and sloppy punctuation? Some of us are hopelessly picky about such things. I once corrected the spelling on a hastily scrawled note my friend left for her family. She was cheeky enough to laugh at me, but right is right.

Are you a good story-teller? I love stories. I believe in their power to inform, transform, reform. And there's always the good old-fashioned entertainment factor.

Maybe you're the kind of person who can't help but describe what you see, hear, smell, taste, and feel with intense accuracy, because you see, hear, smell, taste, and feel things intensely. It just happens. I remember walking into a reeking bat exhibit at the Memphis Zoo and exclaiming, "Ew. It smells like a diaper that's been in the pail three days too long." My sister-in-law shook her head at me. "You can tell you're a writer," she said. "Anyone else would have just said, 'It stinks in here.'"

Is it the challenge of expressing your thoughts--your very heart--in a way that stirs the soul of another human being? Ah, now perhaps we're getting somewhere.

Or is it simply that God put words in you that clamor to get out? Truths that itch to be etched across a sheet of paper or a computer screen.

Whatever it is, I think Jeff Fielder pegged it. For me at least.

Why do I write?

Because it's who I really am inside.

The First Thing I Published

The first thing I published was a short story in a mid-size magazine a dozen years or so ago. The bimonthly ran a fiction contest, and the winning entry would be published in the January issue, prize enough for an aspiring author.

I worked and worked on my submission, mailed it off with great hopes, and never heard a word. Ever the optimist, I figured the editor wanted to surprise me so I waited patiently for the first issue of the year.

At last it arrived! I turned to page fifteen and stared, dumbstruck, at the winning story with its beautiful illustrations. I should have been proud. But it wasn’t mine.

Cruelly rebuffed, I gave into a massive dose of chocolate, but not even that helped. How could I have lost the contest? My story was brilliant. Pure art. Literary genius.

In a depressed funk, I swore off writing (it wouldn’t be the last time), wondering why I’d subjected myself to such public humiliation (also, not the last time). The fact that probably no more than two editorial underlings had read my story didn’t matter. Okay, one, maybe.

The next day I headed to the library to check out a book or two on crafting stories, having ditched my resolve never to write again. My swearing off rarely lasts more than six hours. I thought maybe—just maybe—I could pick up a thing or two. Or a dozen things. Two dozen. Turns out I’d made every amateurish mistake in the book. So I read another book. And another. Then I took that little story and re-wrote it. Re-submitted it. Never heard a word from the editor.

I traipsed out to the mailbox one day in April, pulled out a couple of bills, a piece or two of junk mail, and the next issue of the magazine. It had lemons on the cover. I stood there at the curb and wondered if, by some miracle, my story might be in it. Gingerly, I turned to the table of contents. Ran my finger down the first column of listings. Nothing. The second column. Nada. Oh, wait. I backed up. Yes! There. “Important Things” by Caron Guillo. My heart pounded. My vision blurred. I blinked. YES!!!

I wanted to do a happy dance right there in the street, but, instead, reined myself in and headed for the front door. For the record, I did not do a happy dance inside my house. I simply squealed and jumped up and down like a caffeinated kindergartener on a pogo stick. Four seconds of that, and my ankle gave way, dropping me to the floor faster than you can say, “reality stinks.” I crawled to the couch boasting a ridiculous smile considering the circumstances. The limp only lasted a couple of days; the euphoria longer.

Maybe I’ll dig out that story sometime and publish it here. Or maybe I’ve learned a thing or two since then and wouldn’t dare put it online.

Yep. The last one. :)

So, What's It About?

I'm currently writing a humorous novel entitled A WORK IN PROGRESS.

Somewhere along the way, Becca Jacobson has gotten lost in her own life. Widowed twenty-two months ago, she's determined to compile, edit, and publish a collection of her husband's articles on baseball legends, but navigating the approaching teenage years of her son, Tyler, doesn't leave her much time or energy to do so. And a male co-worker--the self-absorbed P.E. teacher at Thomas Edison Elementary School--has set his unwelcome affections on her. Add to that, she's forced to take a second job when the alternator goes out on her 1993 Honda dubbed "Old Blue," she has an imprudent relationship with Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk, and she doesn't remember how to dream. But with help from an American Idol wanna-be and a female adventurer from the past, Becca finds the courage to rediscover and redefine herself.

Why I Wrote CHILDREN OF LIGHT

(Click on the title of this post to link to a free downloadable excerpt of CHILDREN OF LIGHT)

Several years ago I read an intriguing novel about the crusades which sent me to the encyclopedia in search of more information on the topic. At the end of the World Book article, I came across a few lines about a children's crusade that ended in tragedy, most of the participants either dying prematurely in the Alps or being betrayed and sold into slavery in Africa.

I actually gasped and re-read the paragraph three or four times. What in the world would possess children to set off on such a misadventure or their parents to allow it?

Sometime later when I had the tools and time to research the subject properly, I discovered that at the forefront of the so-called children's crusade was a charismatic and egotistical young commoner named Nicholas, that most of the "crusaders" were young adults, and that parents were generally terrified of the movement, seeking to protect their children from a disastrous end.

I couldn't let the story go. Why would unarmed, untrained, unfinanced peasants think they could accomplish what professional armies had not? How desperate or deluded must an individual be to join such an ill-fated mission? And what about all those young people sold into slavery? How did they live with the consequences of their mistakes?

I began to envision a young woman who would do anything to win freedom from her past. A young man who dreams of rising above his lowly status to change the world. A would-be warrior looking for a fight, and perhaps a bit of fortune.

And so began my exploration into the lives of three young commoners who thought they had nothing left to lose.

A Work in Progress

A WORK IN PROGRESS is not only the name of my new writing blog, but the title of the novel I'm currently working on, and an accurate description of my writing journey.

I hope you'll check in often for updates, excerpts, behind-the-scenes glimpses into my stories and characters, thoughts on writing, and "First line I wrote today" posts.

Let me know what you think. I'd love to hear from you whether you're an established writer, a beginner, an avid reader, one of my cheerleaders, or simply a curious bystander.

Thanks for stopping by!