A month ago, I told you that my novel was finished. That was a true statement at the time. I took my re-edited last chapter to my next writing group meeting and the members gave me some excellent pointers and ideas to improve it even more. I thought about their advice, pondered some ways to strengthen the ending, and have worked to do just that.
I'm still doodling with word choice, etc., but the book is really done now. I have been researching agents, publishers, checking out the market to see who's buying the type of writing I'm trying to sell, and I've also been scouring the internet for article and short story markets. So, I haven't been idle; I've just waited until I was sure I'd done my final editing on that memorable last chapter to share my thoughts about why I did it.
I read recently a blog by one of my inspirations, Hope Clark, who is having her first novel published this fall. She shared her journey, which also included several rewrites of the ending of her book. So, I know I'm in good company! I suppose the reason for this post is to help other writers realize that they can't just put their work out for sale until they're completely satisfied with the end result. It does take more than one draft, or two, or three - it takes what it takes to make it your best, and you have to be wise enough to know when you've done it right.
So, back to work on my synopsis. I'm sure I'll have lots to share about the next part of my quest.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
It's Done!
I know there's been a long interval between my last post in October, and today. But, in that last post, I did promise that I would let you know when my novel was completed - and today is the day!
Actually I finished it several weeks ago, but I wanted to present it to my writing group, then make any revisions, and be certain that I was happy with the final result. Reading the last line aloud this morning, I declared (to my dogs, Shayla and Molly - no one else is home), "Yes, I love it! It's right - and I'm done!"
"Done" required several more rewrites of my last two chapters, and a completely different ending page - in fact several different ending pages. It was in my head; it just took awhile to get it right. But I'm pleased that I no longer feel that further changes will improve it (that's sometimes hard for a writer).
Of course, being done with the creation of my beloved work does not mean I'm finished with it. Now comes the business part, seeking an agent to represent me, and getting the novel sold and published. This is the hardest part for a creative type like me. Granted, I did have a former career in the entertainment business, and was told I was great at getting all the details right. Let's hope I haven't lost that talent. I have to admit, though, that creating is much more fun than business.
My focus now is on a query letter, a synopsis of the book, and, when that is done, and agents are being queried, I will be working on a few short stories for submission, and begin research on my next novel (it's only an idea just now - doesn't even have a working title). So, I'll try and keep my blog current with my many efforts and, of course, you'll be the first to know any good news about publication. Think good thoughts for me!
Actually I finished it several weeks ago, but I wanted to present it to my writing group, then make any revisions, and be certain that I was happy with the final result. Reading the last line aloud this morning, I declared (to my dogs, Shayla and Molly - no one else is home), "Yes, I love it! It's right - and I'm done!"
"Done" required several more rewrites of my last two chapters, and a completely different ending page - in fact several different ending pages. It was in my head; it just took awhile to get it right. But I'm pleased that I no longer feel that further changes will improve it (that's sometimes hard for a writer).
Of course, being done with the creation of my beloved work does not mean I'm finished with it. Now comes the business part, seeking an agent to represent me, and getting the novel sold and published. This is the hardest part for a creative type like me. Granted, I did have a former career in the entertainment business, and was told I was great at getting all the details right. Let's hope I haven't lost that talent. I have to admit, though, that creating is much more fun than business.
My focus now is on a query letter, a synopsis of the book, and, when that is done, and agents are being queried, I will be working on a few short stories for submission, and begin research on my next novel (it's only an idea just now - doesn't even have a working title). So, I'll try and keep my blog current with my many efforts and, of course, you'll be the first to know any good news about publication. Think good thoughts for me!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
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!
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!
Monday, September 20, 2010
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!
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!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, August 30, 2010
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.
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.
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