The Reward In Print

The first time my words were in print, they were literally in print - handprinted by me at the age of nine (see my blog entry of September 28, 2008 titled First Journey).  I was hooked.  In high school, I saw my name in a byline for the first time in my school paper.  I wanted more.

Whether it has been a press release I wrote for my employer, an article in a trade journal under my name, or a piece in a magazine, seeing my work in print never ceases to be exciting.  I covered this subject in a previous blog as well: August 26, 2010's Validation.

A few days ago, I experienced that excitement in a whole new way.  For the first time, my literary efforts are in published form in a hardbound book.  I've been anticipating the sight of the brown UPS van appearing in front of my house for weeks.  When that happened the other day, I knew that the box the carrier was bringing to my doorstep held the complimentary copies of that anthology from the publisher.

Staring at the cover, then carefully turning to the table of contents and seeing my name next to my story title sent a visible shiver through my body.  And turning to the pages that presented my essay evoked happy tears and a huge grin.  The only downside to the moment was that I was at home alone.  My husband was working, so were my son and daughter-in-law, no neighbors were home, and I knew my best girlfriend was also at work.  I grabbed my cell phone and dialed my daughter's number and was rewarded when she answered and I could share my elation.

It's odd to me how much this has increased my motivation to get my novel completed  - and accepted by a publisher.  I'm continuing in earnest on that path.  Occasionally, I'll glance over at the bright red cover of Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Gift of Christmas and it renews my desire to jump that next hurdle.  I'll let you know when I get there.

Alex's Day

Our grandson Alex's birthday has always had special meaning to me, and yesterday was no exception.  He turned fifteen and, as I do every year on his day, I was reminded of the joy he brought back to our family with his birth.

We had lost my mother just two months before and I was separated by both grief and geography from my daughter as she awaited the arrival of her first child.  As her due date approached, I traveled from Virginia to Florida to stay with my dad and fulfill my daughter's request that I be present when she went into labor.

Alex was in no hurry to come into the world.  I can remember walking the hospital floor with Dawn at 3 a.m., in an attempt to awaken Alex from a nap he decided to take after labor had begun.  It wasn't until the following evening that he finally graced us with his presence.  My tears clouded my first view of him but they were tears of joy: for me, for my daughter and her husband, and for the unexpected lifting of my heart at the sight of this tiny, perfect being.

I've been lucky because, except for the first couple of months of his life, he has spent his years within moments of our house; one year actually in our house.  And, as he's grown into the young man who never ceases to surprise us with his insights and sarcastic wit, I've gained a treasure chest of memories.  He is a survivor, a lover of music and words, and someone who has always reminded me of me because of his quiet manner and introspection.

I don't mean to imply that he's always quiet.  He and his brother, Chris, are endless sources of laughter and physical craziness.  He isn't the perfect child - no child is, but I wouldn't want him any other way.  And Alex's serious side, when he seems to mirror my inner self at that age, touches me and furthers my belief that he is destined to do great things.

So, here's to Alex:  I know we celebrated last weekend with you when you came to visit, and we wished you a great day by phone yesterday, but I wanted to add these thoughts before your birthday fades into memory.  You were the first person to lift me out of the saddest period of my life, and ever since, you've made my life grander with your explorations of the world that you've shared with me.  Your grandfather and I love you and wish for you everything you wish for.  Never stop believing in your dreams because you have the brains, the drive and the personality to make them all realities.  So once again: Happy Birthday, Alex, and many, many, many more!

Getting Away

My husband and I just spent a much-needed getaway weekend to celebrate our anniversary.  We drove about 150 miles from home, through picturesque farming country in rolling hills, and discovered the historic town of Galena, Illinois.  It's a destination we've talked about visiting for several years, and we certainly weren't disappointed.

The town's importance is centered around the fact that Ulysses S. Grant lived there at one time (his house is a museum), and the Main Street reflects the architecture and time of the mid- to late-1800's.  It winds for several blocks and its shops and restaurants and other places of historical interest are plentiful and charming.

A foot bridge away, over the Galena River, we found the bed and breakfast that was to be our overnight rest, and we weren't disappointed there, either.  The hostess was delightful, and very knowledgeable about the history of her home, and other guests became instant friends as we shared stories while seated on the wraparound porch of the 14-room mansion.

A romantic, candlelit dinner at a multi-story Italian restaurant suited us perfectly, and back at the bed and breakfast, we stayed up late chatting with our new friends in the Victorian parlor.  Next morning was the same at a large trestle table in the kitchen while we enjoyed a sumptious meal.  We had lunch in the tavern of the hotel where Grant had his presidential campaign headquarters.  Then, we walked, shopped and explored some more.  By mid-afternoon, we were on our way home, revitalized and full of tales to tell everyone about Galena.

I recount all of this in order to suggest that these flights from our everyday stress and demands are more important than ever in our current society.  Throughout the two days, we were met with constant reminders of gentility, kindness,  and just plain fun -  that we either ignore or find absent in our daily lives.  Just revelling in the beauty and history around us gave us a new outlook for returning to "the norm".

Bottom line: everyone should do this - on a regular basis.  I believe we're all too involved in a milieu of distractions (many of which I personally consider unnecessary) that remove us from the beautiful and simple pleasures that still abound in our complex world.  Please: seek one out - and relax!

Unnecessary Pressure

During the summer, I got constant inquiries about when my novel would be finished.  Those close to me knew it was nearing the end of its final revision, so I'm sure they were championing my intent to get the manuscript into the hands of possible agents ASAP.  Others, I'm sure, were just being polite, knowing how long I've been at this project and wondering if it would ever be done.

I had already placed pressure on myself to finish the revision by a certain date.  That would have been a good working plan, had I just been editing what I'd already written.  However!  The last ten chapters of the book are actually being almost totally re-written.  New dialogue, total chapters deleted, a couple of new ones added, characters have been more carefully defined, and a different ending has already formed in my head.  That takes much more time but it is all to the good as I now feel the book works (and I didn't have that belief before).

The result of all this is that I've made the decision to just keep at it, and stay on the path that I know is going to give me the best end result.  I realized that I was succumbing to all this unnecessary pressure that had nothing to do with producing the work I've imagined.  I know I'm nearing the end, and the impulse to hurry and be done is a normal one - but not the best one.

When I'm not at my keyboard pursuing that eventual finish, I'm already forming my next book in my head.  I have a folder for it where I keep filing notes and ideas, and I'm excited to start it.  But, for now, my working time is well spent on this first effort.  I'll be sure and let you know when I've typed The End.

A Most Special Remembrance

I can still hear her voice.  The tone had a richness that is difficult to forget, her words were never rushed, and seldom uncontrolled.  She never gave advice unless it was asked for, but when I did request it, I always grew wiser as a result.

Her laugh is still in my sensory memory too.  She found humor in the antics of her grandchildren, or the family dogs.  She would chuckle reading the words of Erma Bombeck, and delighted in sharing her favorite passages aloud.  A good sitcom on TV, a tasteful joke, even a giggle at her own expense are moments I gratefully recall.

Her talents as a seamstress knew no bounds; from school dresses that were the envy of my friends, to a Snow White costume for Halloween, my first pair of bermuda shorts (every girl had to have a pair!), or a designer-style prom gown with yards and yards of organza accented with handmade silk flowers.  My wardrobe, and later those of our children, contained  examples of her giving expression.

Giving.  It's a word I use frequently when I talk about her.  She was never too tired or too busy to give whatever time was needed for her family, her friends, her church, or her employers.  I still wonder how she managed it all, and, thinking back to my younger years, I feel somewhat guilty about all I asked of her.  When you're a child, though, you always want your mother to be there for you - and mine always was.

Today marks the 92nd year since her birth.  I would give anything if I could celebrate this day with a cake and a special dinner as I used to, and as she always did for all of us.  But I haven't been able to do that for 16 years now.  She left this earth way too soon - all the women in her family live long and active lives (her mother survived her by five years and was almost 100). 

I miss her every day.  I talk to her picture that hangs on my study wall sometimes, when I just need to do that, and, in my mind, I can hear her reply.  I hope that mental voice never fades.  I know, because I believe in such things, that her presence is near.  If only I could have her arms around me once again, though.  That would be the best.

Tonight, I'll share a toast to her memory, recall a favorite moment, and likely shed a tear or two, as I whisper, "Happy Birthday, Mom".  I know she'll hear it - and smile.

Inspiration

As a writer, I am often asked, "Where do you get your inspiration?"  This always evokes a smile from me because the truthful answer is that I never run out of inspiration; it's everywhere!  And any good writer knows this.

It doesn't just come from interesting people I meet.  It also comes from people I observe (and if you're a good writer, you're constantly watching other people and getting ideas!)  It doesn't just come from places I visit.  It also comes from the million and one discoveries I make when I travel.  And it doesn't just come from the things that surround my life.  It comes from the way my brain processes those things, turning them into unique storytelling props.  My point is that, as a writer, I can never turn off my brain to the possibility of a story about anyone, anywhere, or anything.

In another way, stories I read can inspire me to take it a step further and create something new from what I've learned.  Bookshelves line the walls of our house with books I read over and over.  Not a week goes by that I'm not walking the shelves of the local library in search of a reading adventure. And a bookstore is my favorite place to while away an hour or two.  I read fiction, of course, to keep up with what others in my field are writing.  I read history, sometimes for research, but mostly just to learn.  I love biographies and autobiographies, books about places I've traveled to, or hope to travel to someday, guidebooks on gardening, needlecraft, nature, and cooking.  I never can predict what I'll come home with in my book bag, and I always have a stack of books next to my bed, and another in my study.  It's my belief that you can't be a good writer if you don't read!  And I love doing it.  It was a major part of my life long before it became a necessary part of my professional life.

I keep a notebook in my purse, notepads all over my house, a writing desk at my bedside.  The purpose of all these is not to miss an idea, a story proposal, a quote I might hear, or a quick thought about a story that, if not written down, might be lost forever.  An "Ideas" file next to my keyboard is where I deposit all these notes, and I refer to them weekly.  There's always something there to get my creative juices flowing.

In the final analysis, I know that I'll never run out of ideas, just out of time to put them all on paper.  If writing is a passion, as it must be, then that should be the reality of my life.  That's my inspiration.

Validation

Although it's nice to have friends and family read what you've written and make acclimations bordering on Pulitzer critiques, a serious writer has to take such loving praise as just that, and look elsewhere for true validation of their work.

Writing groups, like mine which is stellar, can help with that.  They validate my work when it's warranted, but they are also brutally honest when I don't hit the mark, and they provide supportive criticism and suggestions which I find immeasurably helpful.

The most satisfying validation, however, comes in the form of an e-mail or letter from a publisher stating that they are going to publish your work.  I received one of those recently, and it has spurred me to work harder, edit better, and stretch myself creatively.  I'm really happy to announce that a story of mine, Our Spirit of Christmas, will be published in the upcoming Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Gift of Christmas, coming out in October.  It will be my first story in a book, rather than a magazine or regional paper, so this is big for me.  And this is a personal essay about my mother's gift to our family, so it means a great deal to me to have this story read worldwide, in a publication I've admired for years.

My point in this post is not to laud my most recent triumph - although I did want my readers to be aware of it - but to emphasize to those writers struggling with their own personal doubts to keep at it.  Read, take classes, attend seminars, join a writer's group - whatever it takes for you to get motivated.  It's true that the more you know about writing, the less you can tolerate bad writing, whether it's yours or someone else's.  You become more discerning, and, in that way, your writing becomes better.  Once you learn how to embrace that critic inside you as you write, you'll find that utmost validation coming your way more often.

In the last year, I know I have matured as a writer.  This most recent story acceptance does confirm that.  With that in mind, I'm back at my novel.  When I send it to agents, I want the confidence in knowing that it's good enough.  These last 50 pages will make or break the book, and I can't hurry that process.