Reading the title of this blog, I hope you don't think I have only three men in my life who inspire me; there are many, both part of my daily life as well as those I respect because of their work or good deeds. But, today, I'm speaking about the three who make up the male side of my writing group.
All three write with distinctively different voices, and I find all of their work well written and interesting to read. One has recently become a published author, and we cheer his success. When I'd entered this group, I was concerned that my style of writing wouldn't be accepted or critiqued honestly, but I have come to admire these three men because of their serious attention to my efforts. Let me explain.
As a general rule, men do not read character-driven women's fiction. My book develops from the reader's caring about what happens to the characters; in other words, the characters drive the story. That is different from the way plot-driven novels, such as those the men write, are constructed. To be honest, during some of our sessions, I have had to defend my writing because of this difference. But, even when they didn't exactly follow my writing path, they gave their honest attention to what I presented.
During our most recent session last week, however, I felt a break-through. We were critiquing a pivotal chapter in my novel, one I was nervous about. It was essential that the reader believe my characters because what happens influences major moments in the chapters to come. I'd worked on these pages extensively, but still needed a critical sounding board to know if I'd "nailed it".
The break-through from the men came when they each expressed emotions about the characters and their actions. For the first time, I felt they were really into where this novel is going, and were enjoying it. Such comments as, "I hope she breaks up with this guy" and "there's something about him - I'm not sure what - but I think she's smart enough to catch on to him soon" made me know I had hit a nerve. For men who don't read these kinds of books, they were hooked! And that meant, if I had captured their interest - and they were being led exactly where I wanted them to go in the reading - I had succeeded in more ways than one. It was the fuel I needed to keep going.
As I've explained in a previous post, this novel is being revised from one I've worked on for years. I believe in this book, but I always felt it needed more. I've been happy with how this latest revision work is proceeding, but to hear those enthusiastic words, from guys I respect - well - I couldn't be more inspired! So, now, back to work.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Another Year To Celebrate - And Remember
In the months leading up to my ninth birthday, I relished every shopping trip to the downtown Sears store in Miami because that was where I could stand in the bicycle department and covet the most beautiful bike I'd ever seen. It was a top of the line J.C. Higgins; blue and white, with red detailing. I knew my parents weren't able to afford it for me, but I could still imagine myself riding it in my dreams. I never shared this dream with them - or so I thought.
On my big day, my mother and dad explained that we had to go to Sears to get some tools my dad needed for his job. Once there, however, they walked me straight to the bike area where my secret desire on wheels stood. A salesperson approached us and, in shock - but grinning the entire time - I realized my parents were buying the bike for my birthday present! The only time I spoke was when my dad asked, "the man says they can deliver it tomorrow; is that okay with you?" I grabbed the handlebars and shyly asked, "Can't we take it home now?" I still hear my parents' laughter and my dad's words, "Well, sir, I guess we're taking it now!" Even more vivid in my brain is the image of me, walking my impossible dream come true across busy Biscayne Boulevard; my mom on one side, my dad on the other, traversing the crosswalk at a traffic light. In that moment, I was certain everyone viewing us thought I was the luckiest girl in the world! When I was older, my mother explained that my father had taken on extra jobs to get the money for that gift. It is a joyous birthday memory that needs no further explanation.
My twenty-first birthday holds an indelible memory, too, but one that was bittersweet. I was a newlywed of less than four months and had just spent Christmas in San Diego with my groom, who was stationed there with the Navy, soon to deploy for the second time to Vietnam. Only a few days before my birthday, we shared a tearful goodbye, him begging me to stay for my birthday and me, explaining that my parents had special plans for my twenty-first celebration and I couldn't let them down. I still remember looking out the plane window before the stairs were pulled away (this was before the days of enclosed loading ramps), seeing my husband's sad face as he waved to me, and feeling a strong desire to bolt down those steps and risk incurring my parent's disappointment. But the dutiful daughter in me prevailed and I felt the tears roll down my face as the plane taxied away from the terminal.
The welcome home, the gifts, the luxurious dinner at a skytop restaurant and all the happy tidings from family and friends were appreciated, but my longing to be back with my husband cast a cloud over it all. I was never able to hide my true feelings from my mother for long and she confronted me before bedtime. I surprised myself with my candor, having struggled for two days to keep my emotions inside. After she left me and I lay in bed crying, I could hear my dad from their bedroom, loudly asking, "Why didn't she stay there then? Why did she think she had to come home?" His tone was one of confusion, not condemnation. It was then that I realized I had mistakenly been thinking as a daughter first when I should have been thinking as a wife first and foremost. Within the week, my parents had given me the best birthday gift of all; a ticket back to California. Their understanding and forgiveness remain so strong for me. Decades later, I still recall their final hugs, smiles and words of support before I boarded that plane.
Today, I mark a milestone birthday and I feel extremely lucky to be celebrating with my family. Although my parents are no longer here to share with me, I know they are here in spirit. I still feel their love, laughter and good wishes because of the memories they created for me so long ago.
On my big day, my mother and dad explained that we had to go to Sears to get some tools my dad needed for his job. Once there, however, they walked me straight to the bike area where my secret desire on wheels stood. A salesperson approached us and, in shock - but grinning the entire time - I realized my parents were buying the bike for my birthday present! The only time I spoke was when my dad asked, "the man says they can deliver it tomorrow; is that okay with you?" I grabbed the handlebars and shyly asked, "Can't we take it home now?" I still hear my parents' laughter and my dad's words, "Well, sir, I guess we're taking it now!" Even more vivid in my brain is the image of me, walking my impossible dream come true across busy Biscayne Boulevard; my mom on one side, my dad on the other, traversing the crosswalk at a traffic light. In that moment, I was certain everyone viewing us thought I was the luckiest girl in the world! When I was older, my mother explained that my father had taken on extra jobs to get the money for that gift. It is a joyous birthday memory that needs no further explanation.
My twenty-first birthday holds an indelible memory, too, but one that was bittersweet. I was a newlywed of less than four months and had just spent Christmas in San Diego with my groom, who was stationed there with the Navy, soon to deploy for the second time to Vietnam. Only a few days before my birthday, we shared a tearful goodbye, him begging me to stay for my birthday and me, explaining that my parents had special plans for my twenty-first celebration and I couldn't let them down. I still remember looking out the plane window before the stairs were pulled away (this was before the days of enclosed loading ramps), seeing my husband's sad face as he waved to me, and feeling a strong desire to bolt down those steps and risk incurring my parent's disappointment. But the dutiful daughter in me prevailed and I felt the tears roll down my face as the plane taxied away from the terminal.
The welcome home, the gifts, the luxurious dinner at a skytop restaurant and all the happy tidings from family and friends were appreciated, but my longing to be back with my husband cast a cloud over it all. I was never able to hide my true feelings from my mother for long and she confronted me before bedtime. I surprised myself with my candor, having struggled for two days to keep my emotions inside. After she left me and I lay in bed crying, I could hear my dad from their bedroom, loudly asking, "Why didn't she stay there then? Why did she think she had to come home?" His tone was one of confusion, not condemnation. It was then that I realized I had mistakenly been thinking as a daughter first when I should have been thinking as a wife first and foremost. Within the week, my parents had given me the best birthday gift of all; a ticket back to California. Their understanding and forgiveness remain so strong for me. Decades later, I still recall their final hugs, smiles and words of support before I boarded that plane.
Today, I mark a milestone birthday and I feel extremely lucky to be celebrating with my family. Although my parents are no longer here to share with me, I know they are here in spirit. I still feel their love, laughter and good wishes because of the memories they created for me so long ago.
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