We are born with a purpose to find ways to create: we are creative beings

a girl & her hat & her dog-setting down words

Mom's gift to me- her quilting

If you call yourself a writer/artist/quilter/photographer/musician/etc, then you know the kaleidoscope of angst and joy and marvel and frustration and success and failure that comes with our creative identities. Or, perhaps you are questioning whether you can call yourself Creative? I’m surely not in a position to define what makes for, say, A Writer, but if I tried to, I’d say: you are a writer if at times you want to throw everything you have ever written in a big word-funeral pyre and dance around it nekkid laughing hysterically while it burns burns BURNS and you’ll become a cat enthusiast or collect rubber bands, anything but to be a writer. Instead, you take a deep breath and you get back to the work of writing.

awooooOOOoooo

Here’s what I imagined would happen when I received word that my first novel would be published: I’d jump up, scream WHAHOOO!, run to hug Good Man Roger, email gamillions of people, and then go celebrate with Ketel One and tonics. Here is what really happened: I'm sitting alone in the dark. I'm sipping Deep Creek Blend, the sun just slipping over the Smoky Mountains. I read the email of how Bellebooks wants to offer me a contract. There is no sound but Not Quite Fat Labrador’s snoring. I stand, walk dazed around the little log house, and it is hours later before I tell anyone—because I might jinx it. Because it may not be Real. Because I don't deserve it. Because something will happen to screw it up. Now, first novel has become second, then third, and soon novella and fourth novel. Have I done any real celebrating? I guess not.

inspiration in nature

Hold on, I’m going to jump up and do a jig (fiddle music here--*kat does a moonshined Hill-William jig*). Okay, I’m back…thanks, whew, I needed that celebration for what I have accomplished. Now you do a jig for your accomplishments - and don't sit here and tell me you do not have any! *eagle eyeing you* - I Accomplished Something before my novels were published - I just didn't let myself believe in that. So - do your Jig! Come on - right now - I'll wait *Jeopardy music here*

finding beauty in our world

Anyone who writes knows the long, hard, frustrating, maddening journey to novel/book/any publication. The work has only just begun. The writing, the tweaking, the querying, the rejections, and then finally the acceptance are only parts of the complete package that make the word Author. Sure, there are “overnight successes” who push out a book in three days and it’s picked up by a big time publisher and hits the New York Times bestseller list two minutes later and the author is soon rolling buck-nekkid on his/her bed atop a pile of cash. In reality, most “overnight successes” have worked their arses off to make their dreams come true. The rest of us are just awed to finally see our works in print or completing a project (while secretly wishing we'll be rolling buck-nekkid on a pile of cash *teeheehee*).

Here’s the thing, my friends: each of us is born with a purpose, even if that purpose is only to live to tell a story or paint a picture, or quilt a quilt, or design a building, or Create Something. Our voices matter; we all have experiences to set down in our own way, secrets to whisper in the dark or take to the light, or ideals to shout that facilitate change. There is the purpose for which we live: we must reveal the stories in whatever forum we find inspiration from - all of us are creative in some way: Believe This.

capture the mystery of our lives

Thornton Wilder says, “…the work is not a thing that we make, but an already-made thing which we discover.”

So, what of your story? What do you long to say so your words are scattered to the winds of the universe, finding root and then growing thick and strong, the growth reaching up and reaching out? How will you find your way to your voice?


(a version of this post was first posted at Brian's Guest Author site)
Photos taken by Kat (me!)

Mardi-Gras/Birthday Supper, Riding the RollFast, So long to some things and hello to others,

I had a wonderful birthday Saturday. If you are with me on Facebook, you've already seen the photos from my bike ride on my RollFast Flightweight bike, and then our Regulars (three of our friends who we have over regularly) over to a Mardi-Gras/Birthday supper. Wheeee!

I'm deep into writing VK III now, and as well working on Rose & Thorn and some other projects. Which means my visiting you all is disjointed and willy nilly. I do try to get out and visit and see what you all are up to, for I enjoy it. However, in reality, I know I can't get around like I used to and for this I apologize to you. I know you all are busy and still you come by to support and say hello. I do try to keep up with things on Facebook because I can see things at a glance or see networked blogs, so if you are on FB, please come friend me so I can keep up with you that way, too! Also, those "subscribe to this blog" things help, for they go directly to my hotmail account and I can see them and click on them.

Do you know I went the entire night Saturday at the little log house while our friends were over with my socked-feet? I completely forgot to put on my shoes and didn't even realize it until later that evening after everyone was gone and I was readying myself for bed *laughing* . . . oh well . . . haw!

For "writing stuff Monday," I'll leave you today with an "article" I wrote for BelleBooks Blog. I'll be doing a series of posts for them here and there. This one is "Why I'm Giving Up Booksignings." Since I decided this, it feels as if a fifty-pound weight has left my shoulders! Now I can concentrate on other events here and there as time lets me, like the nursing home I'll be visiting next month, libraries, book clubs (I love book clubs and libraries!), and other events such as those. Skyping with book clubs is fun - if you have a book club and Skype and are interesting in meeting, just email me *smiling* Now I can concentrate on my writing more, as well. Believe me, the best part of book signings is meeting people, but the focus strays from that and it wears on me. Concentrating on other kinds of events will lift me up, and I hope others, too.

down in the valley

Now, I must get to work on VK III. This book has taken me on a journey I did not expect. I had to delete thousands and thousands of words: about three-quarters of the book-poof-Gone! Oh yes. I did. Lawd! But now the way is clear and I'm letting Virginia Kate tell it as she feels best. Katie Ivene (Momma) and Rebekha are coming through Virginia Kate's storytelling. It's as if she wants to tell the story of Three Mothers: herself, Rebekha, Momma. I don't know. Guess I'll see where this goes.

Now, go grab a few fist-fulls of the day. And tell me: When's the last time you road a bike (Saturday!)? What kind of cake did you have for your birthday (I had Kings cake!)? If you write, have you ever deleted most of your book in both terror and excitment (yes!)? Have you ever forgotten to put on your shoes for a dinner party (um teehee YES!)?

Random Video (poor lonely author in a bookstore)/Random Links (R&T blog)/Randon Photos(crows)

It's raining raining raining - but, at least it's not snowing and arse-biting cold (yet?). So, Wednesdays and time for random photos/vids/links:

I've become facinated by crows - it's Virginia Kate's fault, she drew my attention to them. Yesterday, the crows were active and loud at Lake Junaluska - and some of them were chasing off the ducks, cawing loudly at them, running at them, and then fluffing out their wings and feathers when they "won." Sometimes they'll almost seem as if they are posing for me, turning to the camera, staying put even when I come closer. I need to sort through the photos I've been taking, but these were first, so I just grabbed them.

skating on ice

awww best buds or honeys

Two videos for you: One was taped when I was bored during an electrical outage- tee-hee (you can hear the rain and the creek sounds in background). The other made me laugh - when you get to the part where he says someone stood talking to him and asking him questions or whatever but didn't by his book and instead bought John Grisham's book; folks, this happens! *laughing*






And for our link today:

Rose & Thorn Blog, where R&T staffer, and our own blog friend, Janna Qualman has a post up: Quiet Enjoy!

And, GMR bought me an early birthday present (my birthday isn't until next month)- A Telescope! I am so excited! I can't wait for a clear night to use my Celestron Telecope. Ohhhh! Maybe Neil deGrasse Tyson will come over now . . . huh? You think? Maybe?

Is the Novelist Work Not Valued, or Under Valued?

it's not magic . . .

How much do you pay for a haircut? Let’s say your stylist cuts your hair in about 30ish minutes, and you return to have it re-cut every 4-10 weeks depending on you.

What about going out to dinner? Or to lunch? Or a Supreme Latte with extra supreme? Keeping in mind that once you eat/drink, it’s gone, and to have that experience again, you must buy more food/drink by opening up your wallet again and again and again.


Do you like manicures/pedicures? Do you like massages? Do you have a personal trainer? Is there something you collect?



And of all those things, and the et ceteras not mentioned, that you purchase and enjoy, do you ever expect to get them for free, or for the Service Provider to do their work for deep discounts because, just because?

Of course you don’t.

So why is it when authors talk about money they feel uncomfortable, as if they are embarrassed to even consider the idea of making money from Their Craft?

Is a writer’s work not considered Work?

A stylist cuts our hair and we shell out the money knowing that we’ll have to return to have it cut again and again and again for the same results we hope, but do we ask the stylist to give us a cut rate? Do we ask the stylist to cut our hair for free? We’d not dream of doing that—because we Value the Service.

Somehow being a novelist isn’t Valued as a Service. You can buy a book from Amazon, or your favorite bookseller, or an e-reader, (and many times at discounts), and you can enjoy that book and the feeling it gives you as many times as you want. You can lend your book (and one day, or now, e-reader books if I understand right) to a friend or relative and the author receives no royalty on that. You can sell your book to someone and the author receives no royalty on that. The author receives his/her one-time royalty when a book is purchased and that one-time royalty is a very small percentage of what the book sells for. Very small. On e-readers, authors make a bit more percentage because over-head costs aren’t as great.

But what if in some alternate universe an author made most every dime of their book’s cost, which they never would by the way, are they somehow unworthy of it?

An author takes months (some longer) writing their book, then they must rewrite and rewrite, then they may go through rejection and uncertainty, then when they have that contract, their work is not done—more editing, more waiting, more stress. When the book is published, their work begins again: marketing, promotion, personal events, etc etc etc—and many things the author pays for out of their own pockets. Then they must then create more work, and the cycle begins again.

Through all of this, the author does not know if his/her book will be loved or hated or ignored or somewhere in between; he she does not know if it will sell well or will not sell well.

It won’t matter how hard the author worked, how much money he/she spent, he/she never knows what his/her paycheck will be. And, all the while, he/she must cringe in a corner while people tell him/her that they don’t want to spend money on books, or they want to spend very little money on books, and why should they have to spend money on books?

Anyone who goes into the Novelist business to make money should not go into the novelist business. There are simply too many unknowns. There is a lot of work, a lot of stress, a lot of rejection, and there’s a lot of feeling that your work is Not Of Value—imagine going to work every day and doing the best danged job you can and your boss quibbles with you over your salary and makes you feel as if you should be giving your work away for free or whatever he decides that day to pay you based on whatever he’s feeling that day about you compared to some other worker, because your work is Not Valued.

In matters of art and the heart, it’s hard to place monetary values, but frankly, we have to. Novelists have to make a living, too, and for the Novelist to feel guilty for hoping his/her works sells so that he/she can pay the bills or contribute to the household makes this business seem as if it’s more a Hobby than Real Live Work.

Is it because unlike the stylist or the restaurant worker or the oil tycoon or the actor/actress or the football player or the ice cream man we can do our work in our pajamas tucked in our little houses? You can’t see us working? It looks like lots-o-fun? It’s “easy” or “anyone can do it” – well, even the person who digs a hole gets a paycheck, and just about all of us can dig a hole, right?

What is it that separates the Novelist’s work from everyone else’s work? What is it about matters of art and the heart that makes the Work not valued?

Or is it because the writer, the novelist, does not teach people to value his/her work? Did we start it all by being apologetic about what we do or for wanting our work to Sell like a Product. Do we not value our own work?  Is it because many times we readily admit we'd do it all for free because we love it so much? It's all we ever wanted to do? We are begging someone anyone to just read our work and love us, please please please just love us?

What do you think?

Whoooooshhh - that's me passing by in a blur . . .

Hi Y'all - just a quick stop in to say hello, happy Friday, and that the Rose & Thorn fall issue is now Live! Hope you will go by and take a look at the prose, poetry, and our artist.

We have company at the little log house, so I need to get back in there to be sociable.

What are your plans for the weekend? Do you have changing leaves and a nice chill in the air as we do?

Next week, on Wednesday, I'll be leaving GMR, the cove, the dogs, the ghost dog, and the little log house, my mountains, for Oregon to see my son, daughter in law, and my little Norah Kathryn --so excited. Anyone have any trips coming up?

Later y'all . . .

Allowing the possibility of failure, but also the possibility of success . . .

It started out as an experiment. I wanted to jog, just a little. Part of me was afraid, because I had just a tiny glitch in my heart valve, or something or other, that my heart rate would race up very quickly and I’d be dizzy and nauseated. It’s a scary thing, glitches of the heart are. For one wonders if suddenly the heart will race out of control and then freeze up and the keeling over dead would occur and that would suck—my doc reassured me I wouldn’t die, but could pass out. Okay, I thought, I can deal with passing out as long as I won’t die. Good. Yeah. Okay.

But, the idea of running any distance or at any but a slow plodding pace seemed far-fetched for me. Still. I wanted to try it. I’d watch others at the gym or at Lake Junaluska jogging/running and they looked so . . . I don’t know . . . intense but satisfied? Happy? Healthy? Successful in their goals? Wait, I know: as if they belonged to a special club. I wanted to be in the club.

In April of this year, I began. It started at Lake J, where I’d go in one direction and GMR in another and we’d meet in the middle. Little Maggie Lou and I would jog a little, walk a little, jog, walk, jog-walk. My feet barely left the pavement. Even so, when I’d pass another runner, I’d feel a little thrill as I waved at them. They'd sprint past, but I'd not let myself feel as if I were somehow "not enough." No. I'd keep running my little pace, plod plod plod.

Even still, it seemed my heart and lungs weren’t going to be cooperative. I’d meet GMR and have to walk until the weird light-headed feeling faded. The first time I was able to jog without walking most all the way to meet GMR halfway, I was euphoric! I did it! But, I told myself, that’s only maybe a mile. And I was going pretty slowly. And . . . well . . .I wanted to see what else I was capable of. I could feel tiny changes inside of me, like knitting.

The next time I was at the gym, I stepped onto the treadmill, punched in 3.5 and did this little light jog where my feet came up about a milli-meter from the treadmill. I set a goal of twenty minutes of straight jogging. The next time I pushed it up to 3.8 and tried to go longer. Soon the dizzy weird light-head feeling came and I had to slow up, then walk. Twice a week, I went to that treadmill and set tiny little goals: I’ll go a mile without stopping. I’ll speed up for a minute and then I’ll slow down. I’ll go a little longer. I’ll go a little faster. One mile turned to two. 3.5, 3.6, 3.7, 3.8. Two miles turned to two and a half, then three, then four, then five. Two days a week turned to three days a week and 3.8 turned into 4.0, 4.5, 5.0 . . . then I tried sprints—5.5, 5.6, even yesterday 6.0 (though I couldn’t sustain that for long—yet).


Sometimes my back pain hits me hard. Sometimes I push myself too much and the old light-headed weird feeling comes on. Sometimes I’m tired and can’t do as much as I’d like. Sometimes I wonder why I’m doing all this when I could be working, or goofing off. Sometimes I look at other runners and wish I were doing what they were. Sometimes I wish I’d have started this a long time ago. Sometimes I think for all the hard work I’m doing my body should respond in ways it may not respond because I am a 53 year old woman and not a 33 year old woman.

But, I am seeing many changes in my mind and body. Progress.

I keep running. One step, two, three, four. From April until now I’ve learned things about my body and myself. I’ve grown as a runner. I’ve learned to focus on what I’m doing and to enjoy the process instead of letting my mind wander all over creation or looking way ahead to where I could be or maybe be or if I was here there or yonder or etc etc etc. I’ve learned what my weaknesses are and my strengths and what weaknesses I can make stonger or what I have to accept, and what strengths I can rely on and experiment with. I’ve learned what to accept as “it’s just how it is so get over it,” and what I can change--or at the very least that trying is better than sitting around wishing. No one gets anywhere by sitting around WISHING . . . you eventually just have to take a step, then the next, then . . . the rest.

If in April anyone would have told me that I’d be doing what I’m doing now, I’d have said: “Me? I can’t do that! My heart won’t let me. I have this problem, you see, where my heart rate rushes too high and I could pass out. Nope, not me. I wish, but, nah, not going to happen. Oh well. Dang. Guess I'll just WISH.”

If I had not tried. If I had not just Done It. If I had not pushed myself just a little and a lot. If I had not practiced practiced practiced. If I had not allowed myself the possibility of failure, but also the possibility of success. Then I would never know how great it feels to run. How my body has responded. How I feel as if I am a member of some club I never had access to before.

Now—take everything I just wrote about running and apply that to writing.

Enjoy your weekend!

(PS - for some reason I can't upload photos any longer in blogger - bummer! - I haven't said "bummer" in years - huhn, wonder were that came from *laugh* anyone else having that problem with photos?)

Land of a Thousand Dance Moves

When GMR was out of town, I decided to clean the house so only my mess would be there and not his...huhn. But before I picked up rag, vacuum, sponge, I slipped into the player a mix of CD’s labeled “Fun Music.” It’s an eclectic blend that GMR doesn’t enjoy so much—he loves his jazz and even sometimes "show tunes," and the like, and I like some of that (and not some of that), but there are times I am bored with Jazz, bored of what I also deem as the “Elevator Music” he listens to in the car when he’s not listening to jazz. My main requirement for the music’s enjoyment, which GMR does not enjoy, is to play it very loud. How else can I experience it properly? It’s the same way in my car or when I am running on the treadmill—I must turn it up to obtain maximum pleasure from all the thumps and fwumps the music offers. The beat has to pulse in my veins so the blood is racing willy nilly, make my marrow boil, cause my bones to rattle, jitter my ear drums.



I push “Random.” And Wait! The first song happens to be one of my all time favorites: Wilson Pickett’s “Land of a Thousand Dances.” I've told GMR when I die, go head and play that song so that my ghost will feel happy. One simply cannot be still when Thousand Dances is playing. I shake, I shimmy, I rotate, I want to watusi, alligator, and mash potato as the song instructs, but I don’t know what those dances are (and I vow right then and there to learn those moves). I do my own wild jittery dance, laughing to beat the band, “Na na-na-na-na na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na na-na-na-na.”


Once Dances is over, I begin my wiping and dusting…until! Aretha Franklin’s “Respect” blares from the speakers. Well, how can any woman clean house during Respect? It's just too too . . . ironic! I pretend I am in a karaoke bar with an audience. I point, I pose, I sing out: “R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Find out what it means to me, R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Take care, TCB,” and then I gyrate to, “Oh, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me.”

And then it’s back to cleaning. La la la tee dah (and why on commercials is it always the woman cleaning up and doing the laundry? Even when the guy makes the mess? It's 2010, y'all! Still, commercials use the woman - - well, GMR cooks, cleans, and does his own laundry, so commercial land, what's up with that? huhn, just saying!).


Big Bad Voodoo Daddy shouts “King of Swing!” right as I’m about to vacuum. Well, one can’t vacuum during Big Bad Voodoo Daddy—“When you feel your bones a shakin, and your temperature is risen… .” I do a quieter, but no less energetic, cleaning job until one of my least favorite songs comes on—it is a woman’s strange rendition of “Girl from Ipanema,” except she’s singing it as “the Boy from Ipanema” . . . bleah . . . it doesn’t have the same charm--time to vacuum to drown out her voice.


The music helps the time go by swiftly when I’m cleaning, driving, running, or maybe just goofing off.


In fact, the very first introductory lines to TG came from listening to Angels of Venice's "Lionheart" while driving with a "Natural Wonders" CD blasting. I could picture VK riding up her mountain, hair flying, hooves thundering; I saw her jump of Fionadala's back, holding her momma's ashes; saw her turn turn turn spilling the ashes . . . It was such a concrete real beautiful image, those words formed and I added them to the manuscript almost as a P.S. right before mailing off the query that brought my contract with Bellebooks.


Music has inspired me many times in my writing life, even if I can't or don't listen to it while writing. But cleaning house: yeah. Driving: definitely. Running: a must.


I bow to you Musicians: thank you all—I blow to you a kiss, a shimmy, a bust-a-hip move...Watch me work, now!


What's music for you?
-------

(Jacqueline Cook's SUNRISE is still available for give away - see post below. I do like to support other authors and their works, even outside of my genre. This is a Bellebooks author and of course I want to support my publisher's authors! I'll keep it on give away one more day and then if no one claims it, I'll donate it to the library.)

Random Photos/Random Linkages/Random Video

Video of a little mountain storm come to the cove at Killian Knob. This was the storm where we lost the top off a big tree - *sad* - and it knocked down another tree in the process. Luckily, we let our trees grow wild around us, and so does our neighbor next to us, so we hope soon another tree will take the place of the fallen one, and the one with the top off will grow back okay, or another will take its place.

So. I'm back from SIBA/Daytona, and a one afternoon/night in Savannah. I'm swamped with things to do, so I can't talk about the trip today, but I will say it was fun, and I met some wonderful people--booksellers, authors, publishers, bloggers, etc. If you are on twitter, there is a hashtag #siba10 where they 'tweeted' during the entire trade show, so that's a way for inside scoops. Some of the authors (I may do this if I have time) will be blogging about the experience on the Siba blog; et cetera, et cetera, et cetera!


But for now I leave you with some photos taken from my room, all but one are from the Plaza hotel room, where I snapped them from my balcony. There is one, the last one below, taken from my hotel room window at the Savannah Hampton Inn in the Historic District on Bay Street, which was a gorgeous hotel--if you ever stay in Savannah, do look up this hotel! Bay street was lined with historical buildings and some were made into hotels--the Hampton was charming, and very very clean, comfy, and I just loved it (I have a big love for Hampton Inns anyway!)


Our own  Janna Qualman has a post on the R&T Blog - go check it out! Angie (Gumbo Writer) and I, along with our wonderful staff, are busy working to get the fall issue of Rose & Thorn Journal, and the R&T newsletter out - if you haven't signed up for our newsletter I hope you will -it's free and we never sell or give away your email address. Just Sign Up Here. We hope you'll go by and read the summer offerings on R&T Journal, because soon they will be gone--well, not gone, for we have our Archives Page you can always peruse.

All these were taken from the 'balcony' in Daytona Hotel

I also wanted to give a bit of news. I'd been talking about a novella-length work that would be published along with two other author's novella-length works. From what I understand, that is happening for sure, and the book will be released Winter 2011. The authors who I will be published with are two NYT Best-Selling authors (and I will be there one day! yes....yes I will...): Sarah Addison Allen and Deborah Smith. I saw the book cover (image later) and loved it. So, more as I know it!

from room, out of my hotel window, in Savannah

Y'all have a great day - I am going to be having some give-ways on my blog - probably starting Friday or Monday - stay tuned!

Kill yer Darlins; kill yer darlins; kill yer darlins, Clementine . . .

I was round to Nathan Bransford’s blog today, and he mentioned the “kill your darlings” phrase that has been attributed to authors, but I am not really sure who first came up with that gem.



I’ve killed me some darlin's in my time, let me tell you what! However, I do remember a time when I didn’t know just what that meant—I mean, I knew in theory kind of sort of, but in reality it only confused me. I could see the obvious phrases or words that could come out, but “Darlings?” What the heck is a Darling? I often thought, and would tear my clothes asunder.


How would I know a darling to be able to kill it?



That, my friends, is the burning question that I'm afraid cannot be answered by any writer giving advice, much as we may try. This, I believe, is one of those “Unteachable Things” that writers really must figure out on their own, in their own way. They must have their AHA moment(s) and then the mists lift and things become clear—or not, and then it’s a whole lot of guessing or hoping or experimenting or jumping up and down on our manuscripts and screaming and then running nekkid down the street pulling out our hair.

However, it does become easier. Things do become clear. The "Kill Your Darlings" begins to make sense to you - with practicing your craft. With writing and writing and re-writing and re-writing. It happens more often with second books than with first books, and even more with third books and beyond. The Delete Key becomes our best friend. Why? I dunno; well, I do, but that's a whole nuther bunches of words and this will be too long as it is.


Knowing every Darlin' to Kill verses Prose That Should Stay is, well, at times subjective, and at other times necessary, at some times clear and sweet, and at other times we run down the street nekkid screaming and pulling out our hair.


Have you ever watched deleted scenes in a movie and thought, “Oh geez, so glad they took that out!” But of course we are seeing the deleted scenes in the context of what we’ve just watched. Imagine if those deleted scenes were still in the movie—some of them may bring out a “why did they put that in there?” or “I’m bored right now;” and then others may fit right in without a glitch. But one thing is for certain, most all of the time the deleted scenes are not missed as we watch the final movie-product. It isn’t as if we are sitting there saying, “Something is missing here, I wonder if they deleted a scene?” Then again, there may be times we say, “Wait, something is missing here . . .” ah, isn’t it an ever-moving vague wavery line made of pencil that can be erased and replaced, erased and replaced, and even misplaced?


We have to use our own judgment and instincts to kill our darlin’s - unless you want to trust someone else to kill them for you . . . someone who can be cold and impersonal and . . . well, Word Murderous. I believe I have finally become Word Murderous with my manuscripts, and even in my murderous state, I am sure there are darlin's I leave, because, well, I wanna that's why.


I’ve said it before: there is no magic. There is only the writing and tweaking and rewriting and editing and hoping and dreaming and doing the best we can.


How many times have you written something you thought was GOLDEN plucked straight from the GOLDEN tree of GOLDEN words, and then when you sent your work out into the world with glee, no one mentions that GOLDEN part--what? they didn't notice your GOLDEN words! Heathens! Blasphemers! Cretins!--, but instead, they mention some other part you hadn’t even paid attention to, and in fact, you almost deleted that scene because it seemed so, well, NOT GOLDEN. We writers aren’t always the best judge of what a reader will respond to and love. That's reassuring while darling killing, isn't it? huhn.


Killing our Darlings can be one of the most frustrating or scary exercises in our writing, but it can deliver our prose to a higher level of "oh, hey . .  ." Friends, all we can do is practice our craft, practice practice practice practice, use our best instincts, did I say practice?, and when it's all said and The End'ed, hope for the best.


What do you have to say about Killing your Darlings?

Spiffing up the blog/changing the name . . . Then Going to Work

I updated the photo above with the view from my porch as I (pretend to) relax. The previous photo of my feetsies was taken at Caesar's Palace in Vegas, when my brother and I went there last summer. Boy, was that a strange and loud and colorful and exciting and "it's too too much of everything" trip--that's where some man mistook me for a . . . um . . . Call Girl! er . . . huhn, teehee. Lawd!

Wow. The evidence is shown in the pictures: I am a novelist. Definition of a novelist is "a person who writes novels" or "a writer of novels." Come to think of it, the definition doesn't read: "a person who writes novels and they are then published," so those of you who have written or are writing novels and haven't yet been published - what do you call yourself? And if you call yourself nothing, then why aren't you calling yourself something? Writing takes discipline and work - the publishing part is a separate issue - so give yourself a break and call it like you work it.

Its too late to change the blog URL (as far as I know), however I did change the "Name" of my blog to Writing from my Mountain  . . . that's certainly generic enough to encompass the whatevers of my writing and editing life.

Now, my friends, I have to glue my arse to the chair and become completely immersed in Virginia Kate. I have to have more time with this third Graces book than I did for the second Graces (Secret Graces) novel, for while writing SG there were family emergencies, illnesses of dear-ones, traveling to and fro, and my writing time was cut near-abouts in half! I made my deadline, but there are always worries the book suffers when you have to write your arse off in a smaller amount of time. This is how it is. This is what being a "novelist" means--sometimes stuff and life happens, but deadlines are deadlines. I understand this now, and, I am more inclined to give authors/novelists a break when I read their work.

I think there's also a weird thing that happens with a trilogy, or a series. The first book is exciting and wonderful and full of golden; the third book in a trilogy takes things to some fruition, a silvery ending that wraps the new with the old and there is the poignancy of coming full circle. Alas and alack, that middle book in a "series" is somehow sort of wedged in there - feeling like a stepping stone between the two. I've seen this phenom with books and movies-the middle child is sometimes outshined or outshouted by the oldest and the youngest . . . oh dear.

So, my friends, social networking will slow, my connection to reality will be even more tenuous (laugh) and my poor GMR will surely feel neglected as I listen to Virginia Kate storytell through me as she storytells through Grandma Faith and all the rest.

misty view on Kat's porch at Killian Knob

This writing of a new book, the creating of a new work large or small, is the most wonderful, exciting, fabulous, terrifying, hardest, beautiful thing I do . . . the only thing more important and more beautiful and wonderful that I've ever "created" is my son and from that comes his family -Sarah and my "Lil Boop" Norah Kathryn.

Now you all tell me: What are you up to with this winding down of summer? What projects or activities will fall bring?

Lil Norah Kathryn in the dress Granny Kat bought her

The Power of Social Networking on our Brains . . . The Herbert Mesa Twitter Follow Phenom

Our brains and thought process thereof are strange things. How synapses fire and things connect and rearrange.


This morning, I am particularly thinking of the power of social networking, and in this example, Twitter.

I’ve been kind of mindlessly and listlessly watching Food Network’s “Next Food Network Star,” not really getting into it all that much this season and not really caring who won and sort of reacting a bit negatively to the “I’m a STAR!” thing some of the FN cooks/chefs have really aggressively attached to their names more here lately it seems. But, it’s something to do, television is, when I just want to Not Think.

So, the other day, I go into my email and see that I have new twitter followers. I always check them out, and I follow an eclectic group of people, not just writers and book people, but foodies and artists and people who just make me laugh or think. I'm http://twitter.com/katmagendie .

In my new followers list was Herbert Mesa. The name sounded familiar and when I clicked on it, I saw that it is the Herb Mesa who is a finalist on Food Network Star—the account seemed real enough (sometimes people put up fake accounts), so I thought, why not? And I followed him back. His twitter account is: http://twitter.com/herbmesa by the way .


He posted a few tweets about “Hey Guys! Help me out by voting . . .” and et cetera.

Now, something curious and completely unexpected and unplanned happened next. When I next watched FNS, I suddenly “Saw” Herb as a person that I related to in a way that was connected somehow solely by my brain—he wasn’t just some two-dimensional image on the TV screen. He’d followed me; I’d followed back; he’d asked for help; suddenly I wanted to help him. Mind you, again, before this I was mostly ambivalent.

Next I know, I’m rooting for Herb to do well. Next I know, I’m going on the vote site on Food Network (something I’d not done at all before this) and clicking on his name and the word: “Vote.” Suddenly, I am rooting for this guy because he seemed—what? Approachable? A nice guy? He followed me and that endeared him to me? He simply asked? Whatever my brain synapses decided, they did it on their own and I reacted to that.

Brain whirring and deciding whatever it decided, all from that “Herbert Mesa is following you on Twitter” email I received.

We should never underestimate the power of Social Networking, but beyond that, we shouldn’t underestimate the power of just reaching out and “Following” or “Friending” someone or making a comment on their blog, et cetera—making that personal connection that says “I’m here; I’m a real person; I need your support. Hey, here I am! It’s me!”

Granted, I’ve never gone on any social networking site and asked anyone to buy my books, because, well, that’s a bit different –there’s money involved and it just seems “not right” for me to do that, and books are so personal, you know? However, it makes me very happy when social networking finds me new readers—what if social networking sent my books into Best Seller status (I've been on a couple of "best seller" lists-regionally and on kindle, however!)? I do know that through my blog I have reached many new readers all over the world—something I’d never have done without social networking. And through Facebook, readers have “friended” me and I’ve come to know them (I'm on FB with my name: Kathryn Magendie). Through twitter I’ve ‘met’ some truly wonderful people, too. I’ve found new authors on soc networking myself, and have bought their books--authors I'd never have known otherwise.

So, meanwhile, my brain has flickered and rearranged and somehow decided that I should root for Herb Mesa on Food Network Star, just because he followed me, just because my brain worked out that this was what it wanted me to do. So, well,—go Herb!

brain image

What if publishing your book was like accepting and working for any other job?

If we were to think about our writing life, and publishing life, as a Job, we may consider things quite differently. You interview and you then sit by the phone and wait for it to ring, sweating, hoping. Phone rings—you didn’t get the job. That happens again, and again, until finally that phone rings and the answer is Yes! The job is yours! You put on your work clothes and—

My advance will be six figures—I’m in the money!

You accept the job and they offer you some “upfront” money to come work with them. That upfront money will take care of expenses and such until you show them how successful you will be and how much money you will make them, or how much output you provide to make yourself a worthwhile risk. They’ll hold back your salary until you work enough to make up that upfront money. If you work for a huge company and they have reason to believe you’ll make them lots of moola, your advance could be Big. But, if like most of us, you are a bit more of a risk, advances aren’t going to be big, and some “companies” do not pay advances at all.

I receive small advances on my books and they are manageable enough to pay back quickly. You have to “pay back” that advance—meaning, you have to sell enough books to cover the advance before you begin making royalties. Dream big, but know the realities.

I’m going to buy a car and a house and ten gallons of gelato from my trip to Italy.

Better check your salary again! Whether big business or small, the money earned has to go many different places. Imagine Bill’s Tools & Supplies. Bill the owner hires you to make tools, and when you make those tools, he sells them. From that money, he has to pay rent or mortgage on his building, utilities and other expenses; he has to pay taxes, insurance; he has to buy inventory; he has to pay all of his employees; he has to pay himself. If you provide Bill with a service, you are only a part of the entire operation of who has to be paid. The money has to be spread around to keep the business afloat.

So, your book is published (and I’m talking print here, not e-book). Everyone involved receives their cut. Industry standard royalties are anywhere from 6 to 15 percent—the low end for paperback and higher end for hardcover. So, let’s suppose you get 10% royalty on each book you sell, and your book sells for $15.00 (and SELLS for that, not is priced at that; there is a difference. After any discounts are taken, the final price is what your royalties are based on).

Ten percent of $15.00 = $1.50 per book. (If you have an agent, take 15% from that $1.50 and you get less than that).

Takes a whole lotta books to make a living off that, doesn’t it? Imagine working for $1.50 an hour—can you make a living on $1.50 an hour? Not likely. And it’s unlikely you are selling a book an hour every day for 8 hours a day, five days a week, but, even if you sell twice that seven days a week, that’s still not enough to go yacht shopping by any stretch.

(E-books do offer better royalties, simply because there is less overhead.)

Be realistic about your salary. Royalties can be really good one month and not so good another month. You have to factor in expenses, too. Again, dream big, but temper it with the realities of just how difficult it is to make a good living being an author.


My book will be reviewed by: Magazines, Oprah’s Book Club, New York Times Books, Publishers Weekly, et cetera.

You’ve been working hard. You’ve put in your time and then some. You walk by The Big Boss’s office every so often, showing him/her your determined face, your sincere attitude, the nights you’ve stayed late, the weekends you’ve worked. You’ve gone to meetings. You’ve put out good work. You’ve done everything you can think of to be noticed by The Big Boss. And, well, he/she just doesn’t notice you. He/She has so many other employees who are doing the same thing, and some of them are backed by supporters or agents who are able to slip into Big Boss’s office and put in a good word or, some other employee just happens to be in the elevator with The Big Boss when she/he’s in a good mood, or when he/she just happens to be looking for that particular person’s smile or nod or look or good morning. Or somehow, an employee has some buzz going on a project he did.

There’s a lot of competition for space out there. And many times, the Big 6 published authors garner the most attention. Next are authors who’ve already had best sellers, or are gaining attention for some other reason, et cetera. It’s a saturated business. It’s a tough business. The Big Boss is busy, and important, and frankly, doesn’t have time to get to know every little employee out there—no matter how sincere or hardworking, and even, no matter how lovely your work is.

My book will be in many bookstores across the land.

Your proposal is done. You’ve worked hard on the Slim Slam Piddly Lam account. It’s all done up in a nice folder, and you are proud of it. Now time to get it to the right hands. There’s two-hundred offices in the building; heck, if you could get even one-hundred or so Boss Peoples to look at your proposal, even that would be great; better to have all two-hundred, but, you’ll settle for half. You take your shiny proposal for the Slim Slam Piddly Lam account and make a hundred-fifty copies. You put them on your desk and wait. One person comes by—it’s Ms. Office Fifteen. She’s been a casual acquaintance and you bought her coffee. She takes a proposal, then because she likes you, she takes three more. You are so happy! Four proposals! The other hundred-forty-six sit. So you make the rounds of a few offices: “Will you take my Slim Slamp Piddly Lam account proposal?” And a couple take one, but it ends up under a big stack of other proposals.

Some shake their heads no. They have enough proposals, no more space. You realize you just don’t have time to go to all hundred-forty-six offices, so you place your Slim Slam Piddly Lam account proposals on your desk, again, and hope word will get around. Your supervisor who works with you on accounts is helping, too, taking half of those proposals and sending out word, newsletters, samples, et cetera. A few more proposals are placed, but, nowhere near what you thought.

The truth is: sometimes you and your publishers (agent/editors/publicists, whomever) have to practically beg a bookstore to stock your book—even if you are traditionally published by a viable press. Bookstores have limited space and they’re going to stock the “bigger names” –that means bigger in publishers and in authors.

Sadly but true, you can be a champion of brick and mortar bookstores, but when you approach them, they may or may not care. They may or may not stock your book. They may stock one just to be nice. Since you can’t conceivably contact every bookstore there is, there’s no way to get your book noticed by many bookstores—for them, it’s about their budget and sentimentality usually goes one way: The author may be sentimental about having their books in brick and mortar bookstores but the sentimentality is often not returned—it’s a hard cold world out there in this book business. Make friends with your local bookstore owners and you probably will have success there, at least.


Once I have one book published, I am assured to have more published.

You landed the Shots a Lot account! Oh Happy Day! Surely now the next couple of accounts will be Yours! You can kick back and relax now. Or . . . not.

With each book, you (or if you have an agent, the agent) still need to convince your publisher/publishing editor to take on your book. Even if the last book was successful. Now, granted, if you’ve had success with your first book or books, the chances are higher; however, you still need to present the book and have it approved.

This means: just as with the first time, you’ll write your novel without knowing whether you will have it published and without knowing whether all your work will be realized in print. You write regardless of the outcome. You write never knowing where it will take you, or if you will be published, if you will ever make a dime, or if you will only make a dime.


How many jobs would you take knowing these kinds of odds? How many jobs would you take making an unknown salary? How many jobs would you take where you could work your arse off for weeks, months, a year, or more, and Maybe MAYBE get paid, and maybe not? Would you take that job?

You have to love this business and have a crazy amount of faith and hope and daring.

 I want this job—do you?

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Rose & Thorn summer issue is Live . . .

Rose & Thorn Journal summer issue is now live! Stop by and read the eclectic offerings in prose and poetry, and as well, our guest cover artist.



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Enjoy!

O chi, chi mi na morbheanna (Oh, roe, soon shall I see them, oh, )

Hi friends. The Blue Ridge Book & Author Book Fest was wonderful. Even though it was their first one, I'd never have known it - I thought they'd been doing this for longer. It was well-attended and well-coordinated. A success, and next year should be even better.

I met Carol from the Writer's Porch and she is something else! I just loved her energy, her laugh, her big ole smile, her peronality. I didn't know where she was, so I just wandered around the bookfest, attended some talks...yes, I had her phone number, but since I'm a phono-phobic kind of person, I didn't want to call - I figured I'd leave it all up to chance *teehee* -that's how I do I suppose. I wanted to see Gary Carden a wonderful gifted storyteller that I adore, and since Carol was seeing him as well, she saw me sitting there with my usual dazed expression of "All these people - I see Live People! auuughhh!" * Carol gave me the biggest dangest bear hug I've not felt the likes of since ....since I don't know when. Her personality is strong and lively and down to earth - you can't meet a better person. I was my usual ...um... dazed and confused and jittery self. I mostly just blinked in the headlights and laughed and mumbled, I think. Haw! Carol took Gary Carden, Vicki Lane, and me out to dinner that night - it was good to sit with a storyteller, a mystery author, and a lover of books and people and life (carol!).

The last speaker Carol and I saw was Jeff Biggers - WOW! I'll tell more about that later. If you look to the right on my sidebar, you'll see a widget thingee for I love the Mountains Mountaintop Removal....please, do check this out. More on that later, as well. But if you peruse those websites, you'll get an idea of what Jeff 's book is about, what mountaintop removal is - imagine that name: Mountaintop Removal...imagine it. Picture it. Think about it. Mountaintop Removal; roll it around on your tongue--how does it taste? Bitter? Nasty? Can you swallow it down easily? Does it lodge in your throat as it does mine? If you've read Tender Graces, you know how Virginia Kate (and I) love sweet sister mountain, the mountains of West Virginia - if you've known me, you know my love of our mountains. Look at the photo above--that is not "the Rocky Mountains" - that is a mountain that at one time had trees and birds and plants and soil and critters - bald, gone - 1000 feet blasted to hell and back - the impact of that photo isn't enough - nuff said (for now).

Happy Mother's Day to all you mom's ou there!

Somewhere, over the mountains, there's a Book Fair....

Blue Ridge Book & Author Showcase

I'm looking forward to this. My only regret is that I didn't know about this in time to become involved as an author! However, I am going to support the other authors and those who support them.

This teaches me, however, that I need to find out what book fairs are out there for me to see about being a part of, or writers' conferences that perhaps I can be on a panel or whatevers - with in reason, of course; for, the best thing I can do now is to get the second book all ready for print for winter 2010! I am looking forward to the Louisiana Book Festival, where I will be involved in some capacity - yay!

I'll be seeing Carol from The Writer's Porch there! And fellow author/friend Susan Reinhardt - who we only meet face to face at these kinds of things and that's a shame, and Glenda will be there, and etcetera.

So, ta ta for now, and I will see you all later. Authors! Books! People who love books! And beautiful mountain surroundings.