Anniversary Day!

Today is our Fifth Wedding Anniversary!

January 18, 2003, what a day to remember. But for me, the words to the song below are as precious now as they were then. They still move me. We wrote our own vows, the wedding was simple. Our children stood beside us on that cold day in the middle of winter. A special day, the day we became a family.

In front of guests in a small, country church ... we cemented the rest of our lives together. I love him more today than ever. He is everything good, strong, and wise. The love of my life.

We walked down the aisle to this song by Don Henley. I don't know who wrote the lyrics, but they say it all. It was Michael's gift to me. I'll never forget it. Happy anniversary, darling.

For My Wedding

For my wedding, I will dress in black

And never again will I look back

Ah, my dark angels we must part

For I've made a sanctuary of my heart

To want what I have

To take what I'm given with grace

For this I pray

On my wedding day

For my wedding, I don't want violins

Or sentimental songs about thick and thin

I want a moment of silence and moment of prayer

For the love we'll need to make it in the world out there

To want what I have
To take what I'm given with grace
For this I pray
On my wedding day

On my wedding day

I dream, and my dreams are all glory and light

That's what I've wanted for my life

And if it hasn't always been that way

Well, I can dream and I can pray

On my wedding day

So what makes us any different from all the others

Who have tried and failed before us

Maybe nothing, maybe nothing at all

But I pray were the lucky ones; I pray we never fall

To want what I have
To take what I'm given with grace
For these things I pray
On my wedding day

On my wedding day

Catch-up Blog

Ahh, I wish I could take the time to put lots of pretty pictures on my blog. But as it stands, I'm lucky to find fifteen minutes in the morning to type any kind of blog these days.

Is it really the middle of the month? It freaks me out that time goes this fast. Yesterday it was New Years Day. It seems, anyway.

I volunteer a small piece of my time with a new group, the Author Marketing and Promotion Group in Greensboro. Yesterday, we had our first meeting of the new year. This group is for published authors searching for new ways to market, promote, and distribute their work. It consists of goal setting, challenges, sharing opportunities, and all sorts of cool and innovative means to get the word out about our books. Right now, this group is in its infancy. And really, this meeting was just a kick-off to get the ball rolling. A meeting to get the "bugs out" before adding new members. I'm excited about this group and I expect great things from it as the year progresses.

Branding, a new web site, new connections all over the Internet, and more speaking engagements ... it's all part of writing and promoting my work.

There's exciting news about my book, that I can't go into detail about today. I'll share soon! Right now, I'm working like a mad woman ... we'll just leave it at that for now. Actually, there are a couple great and exciting pieces of news on the horizon. So stay tuned.

That's my catch-up blog!

A quote by Franz Kafka ... "If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? ... we need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us."

Something to think about.

Blessings to you and yours.

One Quote Is Enough

Good grief. I do tend to be a bit windy at times. Here's a short blog for today. An anonymous quote I just heard.

“Be who you are and say what you feel because those that matter don’t mind. And those that mind, don’t matter.”

Don't you just love it when one sentence wraps it up?

Today, this one little quote said it all.

Blessings to you and yours.

What Is A Writer?

Not just anybody can write. Yet most literate people in America have written something at some point in their lives. Are they writers? I believe that certain elements must come together to call yourself a writer. Like lining up the moon, the planets, and the stars. Elements more precious than just putting words on paper. Or just because you call yourself one. Giving yourself a certificate to write … does not really make you a writer. Sorry. Otherwise, anybody who owns a pencil could call himself a writer. That, my friend, dilutes the beauty of being a writer for the rest of us.

I could call myself a singer. I have sung a few solos in public. But it doesn’t make me a singer. I could say, “Screw what everybody thinks. I’m a singer.” But I’d fall short. Though I love to sing, I’m not a singer.

My dad loves to write. He’s penned many beautiful letters. Even a few stories. But he doesn’t profess to be a writer. What he is, is a storyteller. He knows little about the craft of writing. Doesn't know. Doesn't care to know. His purpose in writing is for his own benefit and for his children's pleasure. He loves to entertain us with his humor and recollections of his childhood, and occasionally he’ll write them down and send them to us. He dabbles in poetry. He writes out his Bible lessons and his thoughts on various aspects of theology. Often, Daddy types out his childhood memories on a manual Royal typewriter. And once in a while, he records himself on tape.

He’s a brilliant man. A master craftsman in woodworking … and in storytelling. He could be a writer, if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. His other passions in life far outweigh his desire to write and publish.

So what is a writer? Writers possess raw talent, unique voice, commitment, passion, and a dedication and determination to see their work in print. The desire to have their words read by the masses is an all-consuming obsession, a force, and a fire that isn’t easily quenched.

Writers have a message. Many have had dreams to write for a very long time. I would be the first to encourage any emerging writer to press on toward the mark … the mark of an author. But remember that the reward of seeing your work in print … has to be enough. You’re not going to get rich. (Although some do, the odds are stacked against you.) Not everybody is going to flock to Borders and Joseph Beth to buy your book. Not even if you think your story is Pulitzer material.

Okay, so that's the reality of it. Ah, but wait. Is it wrong to dream about selling a million copies of your book? To harbor such secrets, such lofty goals of success in your heart? Is it possible that silly dreams like these might propel a writer to achieve local, regional, even national success? International? (Some would say, God forbid. How dare you, you conceited writer, you.)

IF writing is your passion, (there’s that word again) if you dream it, eat it, sleep it, if it bubbles out of each breath you take, then by all means, be it. Get yourself published … one way or another. New York is not the only way to get published these days. (Yet a New York agent and publisher is a big dream for many writers. If it's your dream, then hold on to it.) At any rate, educate yourself in the publishing industry. In my opinion, if you don’t have the desire to see your work in print, then writing is just a hobby. A pastime. And there’s nothing wrong with that. In a sense, the world needs those kinds of writers. And if that’s all you aspire to, do it with gusto. But yes, write to publish!

Why not?

If you study the art of writing AND if you’ve got a storytelling gene, the world needs to read your work.

Now, that being said, not everyone can write a book, and not everybody should. There’s more to writing a book than the writing of it. If you don’t have the desire to market your book, then just write as a hobby and don't go to the expense of self-publishing. And don't expect New York publishers to market for you. It's not that you're in the wrong business, it's just that you need to know what to expect from it. You are not always going to get out of it, what you've put into it. Unfortunately.

So, tell me now, how much do you love writing? More than life itself? That's good. It's going to take all that warm, fuzzy love to carry you through the dark hours when you feel like a loser. The best way to avoid those pitfalls, is to quit listening to family members, friends, and other writers and experts who are so quick to kill your dreams, squash your efforts, and belittle what you've already accomplished with their "reality checks."

What lengths are you willing to go to get your book into the hands of your readers? The bottom line is, unless you’ve experienced that kind of sidewalk-pounding-sell-your-book-out-of-the-trunk-of-your-car marketing, you have no clue. You don’t know how hard it is. Marketing your book, is the hardest thing you’ll ever do. But the rewards are tremendous. Sure, it's tough. But you can learn how to market your work. There's many a good teacher out there. Lots of valid support. Authors are coming together these days and they're finding ways to get the word out. Never let marketing scare you or stop you.

Sure fine, once again I'll say that unless you’re one of the rare few that landed a great agent with connections to the New York publishing houses, you’re not going to be rich overnight. Writers are not rich. Well, not many of them. But it still shouldn't stop you from going after that brass ring! Why not shoot for the stars? Okay, try to keep a level head about it, but why not go for it? What's stopping you? If that's what you want, don't let some mealy-mouthed wanna-be influence you with, "writing is enough. Just putting words on paper is my reward. If I'm never published, my writing makes be happy ..." Waa-waa-waa. I'm really sick of some writers criticizing other writers for wanting breakout status. Just as there's nothing wrong with being humble, meek, and writing a legacy to your grandchildren, there's also nothing wrong with wanting to see your name on the NY TIMES BESTSELLING LISTS!

There's nothing haughty about that. If you're going to dream. DREAM BIG. Dreams, often, come true. Whose to say yours won't?

Alright. We've stated that it's okay to dream. But let's fall back to earth for a moment, shall we? "Reality check." Oh my gosh, God forbid, but do you write because you believe the world will flock to Borders and Joseph Beth to buy your book? Do you call yourself a writer because your friends and family said your story is the greatest story they've ever read? Hmmm. Let's think about that. Right now, it may be a long shot. Some would even think it arrogant to state such a thing. But what's wrong in aspiring to it? I can't believe when Dan Brown began to write, that he never, not one time, dreamed about his books becoming successful. That he thought to himself, I'm just going to sit my butt in the chair, put my hands on the keyboard, and be thankful I'm writing. Give me a break. The man knew he had talent. He knew he was on to something. He knew that if he dreamed big enough, pushed himself hard enough, he might just see his work read by millions.

There are plenty of experts out there that have written blogs, books, chapters, and article after article to discourage you. Too many. The odds are against you. Against us all. It's true. But if you can read them and still keep your dreams of successful publishing alive, then good for you! Strive to beat the odds. Perfect your craft, attend writing conferences, take classes, write your heart out. Then go on to win that contest or publish that book.

Get my point? Lofty goals are not a waste of time, just keep yourself grounded. Don't be haughty about them. Know who you are and be the best writer you can be. You may see a few of those lofty, haughty dreams come true. Keep them to yourself and smile when somebody tells you that your only goal as a writer should be to "just write."

Speaking of keeping yourself grounded, be aware that enthusiastic career goals and believing in your dreams is one thing ... getting your work edited and finding out the first part of your book sucks ... can knock the wind out of you. There are mountains to climb along the way. Like having your work edited again and again--then after your 17th draft--when you think you've written a masterpiece, you find it needs yet another rewrite. If you still want to be a writer after working on one paragraph for a week, I salute you. If you can still call yourself a writer after a hundred rejections, then you are one. If you write NOT to be praised but because you have a message, a story, a love for the craft, then you can consider yourself a giant among many. If you can write without fear, then darling, you may just be a writer!

My point is, yes writing is an uphill climb, but know the real reality of it is that it's a juggling act. One day you're on top, believing this is your year! The next day, you don't want to be within ten feet of your computer. True. But the success of writing is not an impossible dream. Keep your dreams alive, and get all fired up (kind of like I am today) when somebody tells you to be satisfied with "just writing."

Oh yeah, here's another piece of "reality." Unless you can afford a kick-butt PR firm, or you have a degree in public relations, you’re going to start at the beginning. Like the rest of us. And learn the hard way. I teach a class at Writing Conferences called, Public Relations, Publicity, and Pulling Your Hair Out. My colleague, Dena Harris, and I pull no punches. Even with conventional publishing, you’re going to be your best publicist. BUT ... DON'T LET REALITY STOP YOU. And you don't allow discouraging people (who think they know it all) to get in your way. All in all, it's a double-edged sword you're holding. One side is painful reality, the other is the dream of success. Disappointment and rejection is a sure thing, but you can't let it stop you from dreaming. That, in itself, is failure.

So … are you a writer?

Writing is my passion, yes, but I also write because I want my work published. Oh, get over it! So do you and don’t lie. If you’re a real writer, you want to see your work in print. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s admirable. In fact, it forces you to perfect your writing, to be better than average, pushes you to breakout status and what’s wrong with that?

Those who are NOT writers don’t care if their story is well crafted, they couldn't give a flip if their characters are not larger than life, or if their plot lacks tension. They’re really not --- writers.

Make sense?

Please forgive me for being a bit preachy today. Long-winded. Mouthy. Pissed off. But I love writers. I love who and what they are, inside and out. I love and appreciate those who write out of their pain and their pleasures. I love writers with enormous dreams and big hearts. So, write for the right reasons, if you must. If you write just to make yourself happy, then fine. Write your butt off. But real writing comes from deep in your gut. It’s often painful. It sometimes rips your heart out. You’ll cry. You’ll find yourself tossing at night. You’ll laugh, too. You’ll laugh hard and long. But writing also hurts. And it cleanses. Yes indeedy, writing is about the journey, for MOST folks who call themselves writers.

For the rest of us, it’s also about the destination. And you better remember to turn around and lift another writer up along the way. Because being a writer, even a penniless one, means offering support and encouragement to any writer you meet.

Raw talent, unique voice, commitment, passion, luck … all these things are important. But in essence I’ve found that being a writer means different things to different people. Nobody has all the answers, and the rules bend. You’re a writer because you work hard at your craft and you possess the storytelling gene. You’re a writer because you’d rather write than just about anything. You’re a writer because before you die, you want to see your work in print. You're a writer because you've produced the evidence. You’re NOT a writer, just because you say you’re one.

There’s a difference.

One of my favorite authors of all time says it all: "Writing is a process of self-discipline you must learn before you can call yourself a writer. There are people who write, but I think they're quite different from people who must write." —Harper Lee

Blessings to you and yours.

A New Year of Priorities

Another year ... gone. Poof!

As I have done for the past five years, I spent last evening watching the HGTV Dream Home Special. The house they build all year long then give away to one lucky winner. This year, the house was built in the Florida Keys. A couple years ago, the house was built in Lake Lure, NC. I've been in that house. I think it's still empty. The winner sold it back to the land developer. Dream Home winners never live in the houses they've been lucky enough to win. They can't afford to pay the taxes. So ... in a way ... the contest is a joke. Just another advertising gimmick, really, that's what it is.

But I still watch, drool, and enter. Maybe this year, huh?

I've made no resolutions this year. Nope. Not a one. Zip. Zilch. Nada. I'm sick of them. They bog me down for the first three months until I can forget about them. All I know is that changes are definitely on the horizon. But I've mentioned that already. It just feels good to write it. To see it written. To hear it in my head.

If you're a writer, however, the act of sitting your butt in the chair and placing your hands on the keyboard ... must take over as a priority this year. If writing is truly what you were born to do, then you must find the time to allow your muse to overtake you. Blogging doesn't count. Blogging, it seems, has become a form of writing to "replace" the writing you put off. Blogging, though important, is no substitute for your storytelling, your poetry, your unfinished memoir.

I've clicked on some blogs that astound and amaze me. Long, beautifully crafted pieces that I'm assuming the author wants to eventually publish. But I wonder how much energy they have left to write the rest of the day. These blogs are endless entries of the blogger's travels, their gripes and complaints, their thoughts on everything from A - Z. My question is ... where is their book?

Although I love to read blogs, catch up on a few, and believe they are a way to warm up the fingers--writers who blog should not feel as though once they've blogged their word quota is up for the day. No, blogging (in my humble opinion) should be just what it is. An online journal. A way to wake up with a cup of a coffee every morning. The real work ... the writing that matters ... should come after the blog. Spending anymore time than 20 minutes on one blog entry is biting into your time. Time that could have been spent on your next article, outline, or prologue.

If you don't see a blog from me every day ... just know there's a story I'm working on instead. I'll get back to the blog when I can. Blogging is not a priority. My blogs are just a howdy. A few random thoughts on writing, a way to let off steam, a bit of sharing the events in my life. Maybe even a few pictures here and there.

And so, to end today's blog ... I begin a new year of writing. A new year of changes. A new year and a new book. A year of no resolutions. Just priorities.

Blessings to you and yours.

The Best Ever

Ten days ago was my last blog entry. Ten days. Wow. Well, what's happened since then? Nothing much. Just Christmas. A quiet Christmas in Ohio with friends and family. A little snow. A little cheer was spread. A little time of magic. No fancy holiday in New York or Mexico. Just a quiet and peaceful Christmas. Then home. For one night. The next morning Michael and I headed to Atlanta. For more holiday fun with family.

I've eaten too much, laughed too much, slept too little, watched too many holiday TV movies, drove too many miles, but we took some much needed time off from thinking about everything. Isn't that what the holidays are for? A sedative. A time warp. A chance to forget our problems for about two weeks. But now it's back to the reality of life. My life. And this year, things are going to change.

Michael and I are on a quest for major changes this year. In every area of our beings. And by God, we're going to make it happen. No fruitless New Year's resolutions to waste our time, just positive changes to soul, mind, and body. Christmas brought things into focus for me this year. A time to reflect on the past few years and realize that although I've made tremendous strides in my career as a writer and speaker, there's still a part of me that's searching. Christmas did not consist of lots of presents for either of us. We cut way back this year and decided that our gifts to each other would be a better year ... 2008 ... a year of changes.

I've lost myself along the way. Not a big part of myself, just a few minor pieces that fell off in my move to the South. But one of my favorite lines in a movie is from Sense and Sensibility. "There is nothing lost that may be found, if sought."

My novel will be bought this year. My next book will be finished this Spring. My life as a writer and speaker will continue to face the same challenges as most writers. But this year, I'm going to enlighten my reader's minds and jolt my reader's hearts. Open their hands to discover the possibility of reaching out with compassion. I'm giving them more than Southern Fried delights. I'm tossing caution to the wind. It's already in motion.

And life as we know it ... will change.

Christmas was fine. One more done and gone. It was a merry one. I'm hoping your Chrismas was, as well. But I for one, am glad it's over. Because it's 360-some days to next Christmas ... and I'm already looking forward to it. Because I know this year will be ... the best ever.

Blessings to you and yours.

A Grand Christmas

It's been an interesting week. I've talked to two literary agents this week and received great feedback, as well as possible representation. Nothing set in stone, as of yet. So much to think about, so much to consider. Still waiting to hear from a California agent. But I'm encouraged and the next book is well on its way. A special project Michael and I have been working on is going well. In fact, January may hold a special meaning for us ... in addition to our five-year anniversary. It's going to be a great Christmas this year.

For one, we'll be in Ohio with our children. Although Christopher, Nicole, and our grandson will be in Arizona with Nicole's parents (we'll miss them) we get to spend a few quality days with Jillian, Aaron, and our future daughter-in-law, Annie. And, of course, our best friends Tina and Tim. Like I said, it's going to be a great Christmas.

Then there's a few days after Christmas ... we'll be in Atlanta with my sister and parents. Lots of traveling this season, but still ... a great Christmas.

I've had all kinds of Christmas's. (What is the plural of Christmas? es, 's, s' ... ah who cares?) Point is -I've had good ones and not-so-good ones. Sad ones. And one or two Christmas's that were so wretched and horrible, I've pushed them out of my mind. Forgotten. But there are many more Christmas's that hold pleasant memories. And this is going to be one of them.

Last night our dear friends, Dena and Blair, went to dinner with us at the Bonefish Grill and then we had floor seats for the Trans-Siberian Orchestra in Greensboro. I'm hung over this morning ... from not just the wine at dinner, but the LOUD music, the smoke, the faux snow, and strobe lights. Whew. I'm not as young as I used to be, that's for sure. However, this was a concert to remember. I'm sure you've heard them, at least on the radio. But this group of musicians and vocalists were outstanding and the music made your heart swell. If you were a Grinch or a Scrooge, you were no longer after the sights and sounds of this magnificent performance. Truly remarkable.

It made me realize ... this is a GRAND CHRISTMAS!

Have a more than a merry one yourself. Have a GRAND one!

Blessings to you and yours.

Christmas Tuna

Last night Michael and I visited Tuna, Texas. At the Broach Theatre in Greensboro. Funny, to say the least. A play consisting of over a dozen characters ... played by two actors, Hall Parrish and Stephen Gee, they gave outstanding performances. These two men kept their audience laughing from beginning to end.

From Greensboro, they decked the halls of Tuna, a redneck town of political conservatism, religious fundamentalism, bouffants and bad taste. Split second costume changes transformed the actors into townspeople of every age, type, and gender. The characters names made me laugh as much as anything. The town sluts, Inita Goodwin and Helen Bedd won the Christmas yard display contest ... too funny!

A true poke at the small-town South, A Tuna Christmas has been around for twenty years of Christmas' in cities from Greensboro to Lubbock. If you get the chance, go see it. After all, one can never have enough Tuna at Christmas. Right?

Blessings to you and yours.

Christmas Lite

December is typically a crazy month. Shopping, holiday preparation, cooking, all the things that come with Christmas. But this year, compared to the rest of the year, December is quiet. A slowed-down pace from Christmas' of yesteryear. The reason it seems that way, I think, is because I've been running at full steam ahead for months now. Finishing a book, speaking, and traveling. But I'm researching and working through the next novel at the moment, traveling is down to once a week or so, and I'm scaling my Christmas spending back this year. Way back.

Christmas Light.

No, not like a light on a tree. Kind of like Bud Lite. Only ... Christmas Lite. I feel good about it, too. In fact, I think Christmas has gotten out of hand for most folk. They pay for it all year round until the next Christmas and then it starts all over. I like not having to run around like a crazy person, hoping you can get to the end of your list before the stores close. That's nuts. The traffic is bad, the stores are too hot, and the lines are too long.

Instead, I've done what little shopping I need to do ... online. Now, I'm looking forward to a Christmas play this Friday at our little community theater. And next week the Trans Siberian Orchestra is coming to town and we have tickets. A less stressful December for me than ever.

Wait ... hold on.

Yesterday, Michael and I met with a marketing and public relations agency. A new one. One that has proposed a new strategy. A three-phase campaign. One that will create a huge buzz for Televenge. One that will keep me busy for the rest of my life, it seems. One that will partner with me and open doors that I've not yet touched. One that Michael and I are very excited about.

There's another personal project on the horizon that's going to consume our attention come January. I'll fill you in on this exciting achievement ... soon.

And my son and his fiancee are waist-deep at the moment, planning a June 2008 wedding.

Before I know it, it'll be Christmas 2008.

I best enjoy this relaxing December. It may be the last rest I get for a while.

Blessings to you and yours.

A Long Quote

Every once in a while a special word of encouragement from another author gets me excited. Not often, though. Writers who write books on How to Write, Why I Write, How to Publish, How to Write Bestsellers, ya da - ya da - ya da ... it's my humble opinion that these writers like to hear themselves talk. Like they got all the answers. Not that they don't have valid points, and many have great published books, but listen ... what works for one writer doesn't work for every writer.

Today I received an e-mail from a dear friend who sent me the quote below from Elizabeth Gilbert, who wrote, "Eat, Pray, Love," (you know Oprah book/on all the TV shows) well, anyway, I got goose pimples when I read it. It's a great message for writers. I'm not sure where this was published, but it's strong. Every writer needs to read it. Enjoy Elizabeth's "quote" below:

Sometimes people ask me for help or suggestions about how to write, or how to get published. Keeping in mind that this is all very ephemeral and personal, I will try to explain here everything that I believe about writing. I hope it is useful. It's all I know.

I believe that – if you are serious about a life of writing, or indeed about any creative form of expression – that you should take on this work like a holy calling. I became a writer the way other people become monks or nuns. I made a vow to writing, very young. I became Bride-of-Writing. I was writing’s most devotional handmaiden. I built my entire life around writing. I didn’t know how else to do this. I didn’t know anyone who had ever become a writer. I had no, as they say, connections. I had no clues. I just began.

I took a few writing classes when I was at NYU, but, aside from an excellent workshop taught by Helen Schulman, I found that I didn’t really want to be practicing this work in a classroom. I wasn’t convinced that a workshop full of 13 other young writers trying to find their voices was the best place for me to find my voice. So I wrote on my own, as well. I showed my work to friends and family whose opinions I trusted. I was always writing, always showing. After I graduated from NYU, I decided not to pursue an MFA in creative writing. Instead, I created my own post-graduate writing program, which entailed several years spent traveling around the country and world, taking jobs at bars and restaurants and ranches, listening to how people spoke, collecting experiences and writing constantly. My life probably looked disordered to observers (not that anyone was observing it that closely) but my travels were a very deliberate effort to learn as much as I could about life, expressly so that I could write about it.

Back around the age of 19, I had started sending my short stories out for publication. My goal was to publish something (anything, anywhere) before I died. I collected only massive piles of rejection notes for years. I cannot explain exactly why I had the confidence to be sending off my short stories at the age of 19 to, say, The New Yorker, or why it did not destroy me when I was inevitably rejected. I sort of figured I’d be rejected. But I also thought: “Hey – somebody has to write all those stories: why not me?” I didn’t love being rejected, but my expectations were low and my patience was high. (Again – the goal was to get published before death. And I was young and healthy.) It has never been easy for me to understand why people work so hard to create something beautiful, but then refuse to share it with anyone, for fear of criticism. Wasn’t that the point of the creation – to communicate something to the world? So PUT IT OUT THERE. Send your work off to editors and agents as much as possible, show it to your neighbors, plaster it on the walls of the bus stops – just don’t sit on your work and suffocate it. At least try. And when the powers-that-be send you back your manuscript (and they will), take a deep breath and try again. I often hear people say, “I’m not good enough yet to be published.” That’s quite possible. Probable, even. All I’m saying is: Let someone else decide that. Magazines, editors, agents – they all employ young people making $22,000 a year whose job it is to read through piles of manuscripts and send you back letters telling you that you aren’t good enough yet: LET THEM DO IT. Don’t pre-reject yourself. That’s their job, not yours. Your job is only to write your heart out, and let destiny take care of the rest.

As for discipline – it’s important, but sort of over-rated. The more important virtue for a writer, I believe, is self-forgiveness. Because your writing will always disappoint you. Your laziness will always disappoint you. You will make vows: “I’m going to write for an hour every day,” and then you won’t do it. You will think: “I suck, I’m such a failure. I’m washed-up.” Continuing to write after that heartache of disappointment doesn’t take only discipline, but also self-forgiveness (which comes from a place of kind and encouraging and motherly love). The other thing to realize is that all writers think they suck. When I was writing “Eat, Pray, Love”, I had just as a strong a mantra of THIS SUCKS ringing through my head as anyone does when they write anything. But I had a clarion moment of truth during the process of that book. One day, when I was agonizing over how utterly bad my writing felt, I realized: “That’s actually not my problem.” The point I realized was this – I never promised the universe that I would write brilliantly; I only promised the universe that I would write. So I put my head down and sweated through it, as per my vows.

I have a friend who’s an Italian filmmaker of great artistic sensibility. After years of struggling to get his films made, he sent an anguished letter to his hero, the brilliant (and perhaps half-insane) German filmmaker Werner Herzog. My friend complained about how difficult it is these days to be an independent filmmaker, how hard it is to find government arts grants, how the audiences have all been ruined by Hollywood and how the world has lost its taste…etc, etc. Herzog wrote back a personal letter to my friend that essentially ran along these lines: “Quit your complaining. It’s not the world’s fault that you wanted to be an artist. It’s not the world’s job to enjoy the films you make, and it’s certainly not the world’s obligation to pay for your dreams. Nobody wants to hear it. Steal a camera if you have to, but stop whining and get back to work.” I repeat those words back to myself whenever I start to feel resentful, entitled, competitive or unappreciated with regard to my writing: “It’s not the world’s fault that you want to be an artist…now get back to work.” Always, at the end of the day, the important thing is only and always that: Get back to work. This is a path for the courageous and the faithful. You must find another reason to work, other than the desire for success or recognition. It must come from another place.

Here’s another thing to consider. If you always wanted to write, and now you are A Certain Age, and you never got around to it, and you think it’s too late…do please think again. I watched Julia Glass win the National Book Award for her first novel, “The Three Junes”, which she began writing in her late 30’s. I listened to her give her moving acceptance speech, in which she told how she used to lie awake at night, tormented as she worked on her book, asking herself, “Who do you think you are, trying to write a first novel at your age?” But she wrote it. And as she held up her National Book Award, she said, “This is for all the late-bloomers in the world.” Writing is not like dancing or modeling; it’s not something where – if you missed it by age 19 – you’re finished. It’s never too late. Your writing will only get better as you get older and wiser. If you write something beautiful and important, and the right person somehow discovers it, they will clear room for you on the bookshelves of the world – at any age. At least try.

There are heaps of books out there on How To Get Published. Often people find the information in these books contradictory. My feeling is -- of COURSE the information is contradictory. Because, frankly, nobody knows anything. Nobody can tell you how to succeed at writing (even if they write a book called “How To Succeed At Writing”) because there is no WAY; there are, instead, many ways. Everyone I know who managed to become a writer did it differently – sometimes radically differently. Try all the ways, I guess. Becoming a published writer is sort of like trying to find a cheap apartment in New York City: it’s impossible. And yet…every single day, somebody manages to find a cheap apartment in New York City. I can’t tell you how to do it. I’m still not even entirely sure how I did it. I can only tell you – through my own example – that it can be done. I once found a cheap apartment in Manhattan. And I also became a writer.

In the end, I love this work. I have always loved this work. My suggestion is that you start with the love and then work very hard and try to let go of the results. Cast out your will, and then cut the line. Please try, also, not to go totally freaking insane in the process. Insanity is a very tempting path for artists, but we don’t need any more of that in the world at the moment, so please resist your call to insanity. We need more creation, not more destruction. We need our artists more than ever, and we need them to be stable, steadfast, honorable and brave – they are our soldiers, our hope. If you decide to write, then you must do it, as Balzac said, “like a miner buried under a fallen roof.” Become a knight, a force of diligence and faith. I don’t know how else to do it except that way. As the great poet Jack Gilbert said once to young writer, when she asked him for advice about her own poems: “Do you have the courage to bring forth this work? The treasures that are hidden inside you are hoping you will say YES.”

When WHAT IF Isn't Enough

My nasty red nose can't stop my fingers from flying over my keyboard today. I'm going to finish my second novel. Just because I have a cold, it won't stop me today. Not today. I'm pouring over my notes and research for Mountain Lamb. A much shorter book, Mountain Lamb is roughed out and ready for Draft number 2. I expect to be finished with this manuscript in a few months. I find myself consistently examining three conflicts in my writing: religion, the extent to which a parent will go to save their children, and issues of race. God in His wisdom, I am sure, also deals with these human frailties. So I have no answers, just messages. I present the story. The reader deals with his/her own heart and conscience.

What if? It's one tool a writer uses to create a plot. But the political and current events throughout my lifetime have created so many questions inside my brain and heart that often times--a what if just isn't enough. Questions I would love answered. Faults, flaws, and the inconsistent behaviors of mankind that grate on my mind.

In my early days of being a flower-child, my peace and love days as I call them, I protested the Vietnam war and yet my heart went out to the boys caught in the middle of that "conflict." I was only a few miles from the campus during the Kent State riots, and yet a friend of my family was one of the National Guard that day. A young man who shot into the crowd of students. Mixed emotions? Yes, you could say that.

I sat and watched hours of the civil rights movement, glued to the TV each and every time Dr. King spoke. I'm probably one of the few Caucasians that wanted to be black as a little girl and go march on Washington. And then I didn't understand why later, some African-Americans delivered a much more violent message. I was angry about it. Conflict and unanswered questions? You bet.

Unconditional love. Is it impossible?

I burned my bra and then spent my lunch money on the latest shade of Cover Girl, the shortest mini-skirt I could find, and was thrilled to take home a fifty dollars a week in 1972. A fourth of what my male counterpart took home. Preach one thing, do another?

It's human. We all find ourselves talking out of both sides of our mouths at some point in our lives. Other than the Mother Teresas of the world, the rest of us are fickle and float around in life chasing our convictions and trying to get over the guilt of not achieving the goals that go with them.

I never missed church. I believed, tithed, raised my hands in every service, answered hundreds of altar calls, gave love offerings instead of paying my water bill, Trusted and obeyed. Every day. For years and years. I ended up homeless, rejected, divorced. So where was God? My children suffered. How could I save them?

After forty years of struggling, these questions of why I can't save the world from these frailties still haunt me. I know that I can't, so to deal with the conflicts of my soul, I write stories. Deep, meaningful, strong-plotted, and character-driven stories that hopefully will touch on some level of emotion in my reader. Because to me, everybody is plagued with the guilt and pain of the world's problems. If they aren't ... they're not honest. It touches us all.

Blessings to you and yours.

Aching

I wish I could say I'm busy writing like a mad dog these days ... but the truth is, my head is full of nothing but snot. I've come down with the cold of the century. Blowing, sneezing, fever, headache, aches and pains ... but each day I get a little better. I'm blogging today. That's something, at least.

During this time of chicken soup, boxes of Kleenex, and bags of cough drops--I've spent time reading and catching up on ideas surrounding my next book project. Televenge is still up for grabs. We're hoping to hear something soon, at least after the Holidays ... as to an agent and publisher. But for now, it remains in my computer. Waiting.

I must say that waiting is not one of my favorite things to do. Not a strength I attest to. I hear so many great stories of successes and failures. Televenge will be published, that much I know ... how and when ... is anybodys guess. There's more than one way to skin a cat, my dad says. It'll get published.

It's a ripping great story. Told from the inside out. It's well written, clean, and carries a message for the ages. A message of survival for those who have been offered little. Those who want to believe in God. Those who have been rejected, wronged, and left with nothing. It's powerful. It's eye-opening. And it's unpublished. So I'm aching. From this damn cold and from the fact this manuscript needs to find a home.

Ah, well. Faith. Something I write about, attest to. It's time to hang on to some of it. Right?

For now I think I'll put on a cup of tea, curl up in a blanket, and read. I'm starting Lisa Tucker's One Upon A Day. I pray colds and flu stay away from your door this winter.

Blessings to you and yours.

The South Seeps In

I spent Tuesday night painting pottery and soaking up lots of one-liners. In a room full of good ole' Southern gals, you expect it. So I kept quiet and made lots of mental notes. Like this one: "He may sleep in my house, but if he ain't careful he's gonna wake up in Hell!"

Ha!

Good one. You may see that in one of my stories.

One little gal blurted out something about Santa, "My mama says believin' is receivin'!" I do believe that's found in the Bible somewhere, as well.

Oh sure, you can be smug about your vow to keep a few of your Northern traits. Some folks have taken up residence in the Southland and proudly proclaim their Yankee status. They eat healthy salads and refuse hush puppies, never partaking of barbeque. They laugh and carry on about the twangy accents around them that filter through their ears. Ah, but this is South. This is a way of life. It's not an act. It's not even a gimmick. It's who we are. And to the smallest degree, it will ooze into your pours after you've been here awhile ... like it or not.

This Dixie speech directs us and grounds us. Even those who hail from states above the Mason Dixon Line, eventually it'll seep into your vocabulary. A few words at first. Then suddenly, red is no longer one syllable but two. Sara Evans and Brooks and Dunn tunes begin to trickle off your tongue and you're apt to order grits with eggs and sip a sweet tea for the fun of it. A few Southern girlfriends is all it takes to trigger your tongue's ability to twang.

So the next time you bite your lip to keep a "bless her heart" from flying out, just let it. It's like taking your bra off before bed. A relief to give into a moment of freedom.

Blessings to you and yours.

Feast and Family

A special time, indeed. My sister's house in Atlanta overflowed with the trimmings of feast and family this Turkey Day. Jillian drove from Ohio to my house in North Carolina and together we descended on the King family in Georgia. Michael stayed at home this year to tend to his family's Thanksgiving, but I drove south to mine. Traditions cannot be set in blended families, it seems. But who cares, really? Every year is different. Keeps it interesting, at least.This year Kathy's house filled to brim with the "King girls." It was fun to be with my nieces. Britney, Bethany, Sara, Kelsey, Shaina, Marissa, and my great niece ... little Brooke (Bethany's baby.) My one lone nephew, Sam, came home from college in Louisiana with his girlfriend, Megan. (So that added yet another girl.) And there was Britney's husband, DJ, and their two precious boys, Evan-3 and Adam-2. Add my Jillian into the mix ... and of course mom, dad, my two sisters, Kathy and Lisa, and brother-in-law, Dave ... it was a houseful. And we can't forget the cats, Ginger and Jag, and the dogs ... Bo (or fondly known as Butt-Bo) and Mr. Bently. And Duke. How can I forget Duke?My Aaron and his fiancee, Annie, couldn't be there due to work. Eric, my brother, was missing-- (as usual--there's one in every family, isn't there? We love him, but we NEVER see him.) And we also missed Bethany's husband, Greg and their son Caleb-3, who stayed at home in Texas.But it was the first time that many of us were all together under one roof to celebrate a holiday in way too many years. Kathy's BIG, beautiful home was more than accommodating, it was beautifully decorated. Turkey and all the side dishes covered one whole table. Every cook came to share their special recipe. We laughed ... we cried ... we ate until we popped. This one was for the memory books.
Enjoy the pictures!

My hope is that your family remains close, and above all else stays healthy and happy through every holiday season.

MANY blessings to you and yours.

We Rocked!

Dena Harris http://www.denaharris.com/ and I rocked the house this past Saturday at the North Carolina Writer's Network Fall Conference. Jam-packed with great information on PUBLICITY and PUBLIC SPEAKING our class, we believe, was one of the best.

Afterward, one lady reported she had signed up to take another class (one that was noted as "full" prior to the conference.) This woman went on to say she was bored in this "full" class so after ten minutes--she left and wandered the halls wondering which class she could sneak into. Then she heard the commotion from our room. "Wow! This was the best class the entire weekend," she said to me. "I think I got more information from you two than I have in a month's worth of classes!"

Well, bless her heart. She may have been exaggerating a bit, but it was an hour and a half of fun, sharing, and well, hey ... when you put two publicity and public speaking queens in a room ... what do you expect?

I think we gave them their money's worth. Enough that we received a special shout-out from the NCWN's Executive Director, Cynthia Barnett at the dinner on Saturday evening.

Thing is ... when it comes to delivering information, Dena and I want to make a difference. Just like the North Carolina Writer's Network makes in the lives of writers across the region. This network is there for beginning writer, the emerging writer, and the experienced writer.

Jill McCorkle, Keynote, spoke Friday night. Her speech hit on censorship. That writers must have freedom in their writing. To censor one's writing is to stifle the creative process. I loved her delivery and I agree with her. But to me, censorship is also about those in the industry attempting to not only "censor" what we write but HOW we write. Censorship seeps into the minds and hearts of the writer and all but stops creativity. Because somebody says, "you can't do it that way, and get published," it causes writers to become mentally challenged with severe limitations. They never progress any further than the next "HOW-TO WRITE and PUBLISH" book on the market or the next authority figure that thinks they know what it takes to "make it."

It stinks in the nostrils of God. (In my humble opinion.)

I'll bet if anyone told my dear friend, Gail Cauble Gurley that she couldn't produce and write the screenplay for her book, Red Dirt Tracks just because she'd only written three books and all of them self-published, and because she's a senior citizen ... she'd laugh in their face. Because indeed, it is now a motion picture to be released in the spring of 2008. The movie, Red Dirt Rising, http://www.reddirtrising.com/ is a testament to the human spirit and the determination of one woman who ignored the "experts" and did things, HER WAY.

So, yes. I loved Jill's speech Friday night. Indeed I did.

Chatting with my good friends at Press 53, and other writers, agents, editors, publicists ... the conference is always a boost to my writer's soul. I'm thankful and grateful to the network for continuing in the face of adversity. I know there are challenges ahead, and the road will not be an easy one for the incoming Executive Director of the NCWN, (Ed Southern.) But the network will flourish, as long as they have instructors and presentations at their conferences that rock like ours certainly did!

Blessings to you and yours.

These Dreams

I think there's a song by Heart with that title.

I'm not talking about hopes, goals ... those kinds of dreams. I'm talking about sleeping dreams. What do you dream about, if you remember? Most dreams are forgotten within hours of waking. I'll bet that's a good thing. I forget most of mine within minutes. Unless I wake up and write it down immediately, I have no chance of recalling my "in-house cinema."

Nightmares are another thing. I have a recurring one. It involves ... tornadoes. Oh sure, I've had the flying dreams and the dreams of finding myself buck naked in a room full of people. Oh God, the worst. But these tornado dreams occur every few months or so. They've been whirling around my sleep cycle now, for ... years. And there's usually more than one tornado in the dream. But I always manage to get away from it. I'm usually watching them tear the world to pieces. It's pretty scary. Do I know what they mean? Nope.

I just know I'm glad to wake up from one. I have one other nightmare that haunts me from time to time and that's about the house I grew up in. Of course, I believe it's haunted. Rumor has it that the original owner (way back at the turn of the last century) died on the staircase in that house. Who knows? I do dream dreadful dreams about that place. Although, my memories of growing up there are for the most part ... good ones.

The brain is a strange thing. I hear we only utilize a small part of it. (Some of us utilize less than others, I think.) But it makes sense to me that your soul is in your brain. That part of you that goes on after you no longer breathe. And I wonder why we dream what we dream? Maybe it's your soul and your subconscious talking to each other. I'm sure somebody (some psychic or soothsayer) might say that my tornado dreams are about the "tornadoes in my life." Maybe they are. I'm sure every dream-reader has an opinion.

But once in a while, I have a great dream. One I don't want to wake up from. Like winning the lottery, or the Pulitzer, or I'm on Oprah ... or something way out crazy like that. Dreams are a funny thing. And sometimes wacky. And all too often, scary. I have lived in nightmare situations, however. So maybe it's just a way of my old brain cleaning house.

Again, who knows?

I'm just always glad to wake up.

Blessings to you and yours.

Just Me, Trying To Find Something To Write About

Let's see ... it's been a few days since my last blog ...

I don't mind telling you ... the wait is not just grueling. It's exhausting. It's hard to wait. But it's the holiday season. So any further responses to my query letters and manuscript may hold off until January. Who knows? I have hope, however. The positive news is that four agents requested the manuscript. I'm happy, despite it all. But it's tough to zero in on the next project and keep writing ... knowing ... Televenge may be in print next year. Or thereabouts. Oh gosh ... my head spins thinking about it.

I spoke to a mother/daughter tea this past Sunday. It went ... okay. At least I got paid for speaking. Book sales were light. But that's probably because I spoke to the same group last year and many of the ladies already had my book. And truthfully, senior citizens (the over 70 and 80 crowd) are not big book buyers. All in all, a great group of women, though. Sweethearts.

Today, Dena and I practiced our presentation for the North Carolina Writer's Network Fall Conference. It's this weekend in Winston-Salem. We're teaching a class on Publicity, Public Speaking, and Pulling Your Hair Out. (Something we know quite a bit about.) It's going to be a fun weekend mixing and mingling with writers, editors, and agents. http://www.ncwriters.org/

For me, I'm always glad to see January come. I'm not one to bask in the holiday season and its moods/music/drama. I suppose I've had a lot of bad ones, maybe that's why. My husband, however, loves it. So I try. Maybe next year. I think things will be different next year.

In fact, I know they'll be different. So stay tuned.

Well, hey. A few paragraphs are better than nothing.

Blessings to you and yours.

Greensboro's Finest

Lisa, Brenda, Dena, Carol ... some of Greensboro's finest artists, writers, entrepreneurs. My Shundi group. I've blogged about them before, but we sat in the hotel lobby of the O'Henry and had "tea" yesterday. China, linen, comfy couches, finger foods, and us. I realized as I sat looking at my friends, in their 30s, 40s, 50s, and 60s ... it's not just the common ground of friendship that draws us together for moments like these ... it's the need. The need to feel that friendship.

True Girlfriends are a special lot. Those who are true friends, not just acquaintenaces looking for good dirt or gossip, but true friends who care ... are hard to find. Though our lives have all taken different paths, we recognize that friendship must be handled with care. Nurtured. Treasured. Though we cannot keep constant tabs on each others day-to-day events, we know that coming together once in a while and catching up is enough to make us feel close again.

Friends. Lending our shoulders, our hands, our resources, and sharing our smiles ... and our tears.

Blessings to you and your special girlfriends.

November Already?

Kicked off the beginning of the 'holiday' season with a trip to Charleston, WV and a meeting with a literary agent. I met her for a casual lunch and a long talk into the afternoon about everything literary. Including my manuscript! She's damn impressive and I like her. A go-getter, that's for sure ... but like I said, it was chance for both of us to get to know each other, goals-dreams-those kinds of things ... and lots of smiles all around. Loved it. Every minute of it. We'll see.

The mountains of WV are in full bloom autumn colors ... sugared and crisp, the air relays winter warnings. Makes me hungry! For winter foods. Like chili, hearty soups, holiday food! But hey, a great place to eat in Charleston is Joe Fazio's. Real Italian cuisine right smack dab in the middle of the city. Reservations needed, believe me. Standing room only on Saturday night. But if you're ever in the Mountaineer State, make Fazio's a must eat place.

This morning Michael and I headed to Burlington, NC. I spoke to the First Presbyterian Church Ladies Group. The sanctuary was full and I think they were quite pleased with the presentation ... at least so many of them spoke to me afterward and said so. Coming Out Of The Dark, a speech that moves many to tears, is hard to give. However, I am consistently amazed at the response. I sold LOTS of books, which is always a good thing, especially since 20% goes back to their organization. If you've followed my blog, you know I've given this speech many times over the past two years. But for me, each time I get up to give this ... it's truly like the first time out of my mouth. I still cry. I still feel the hurt. I still glory in its ending. I'm still grateful I'm free.

It reminds me to count my blessings. Every day. Not just on Thanksgiving.

What a way to start out the month of November! One busy day after another.

Blessings to you and yours.

The Real Ghostbuster

Halloween. A day for ghosts, goblins, little kids dressed in dime-store costumes ... just how seriously do we take this "holiday?"

Most evangelicals ban the word Halloween from their vocabulary. A good friend of mine talks about how her church-going parents hid in the basement on Halloween with the lights out, refusing to answer the door or allow their own treat-or-treat starved children to go out. (That in itself is pretty scary, if you ask me.) Some, however, have a church party and encourage their children to dress up like Bible characters.

Hmmm.

Anyway, then there's the other extreme. People who create haunted houses, visions of Hell, and demonic-looking costumes that frighten even the most avid party-goers. And what's with all the gory movies on TV this time of year? Just flipping through the channels with the remote creeps me out.

Thing is, I'd venture to say most folks want to have fun with Halloween and don't consider it any more real than Santa Claus. Or the man in the moon. My dear friends, Dena and Blair, are doing the Harry Potter theme this year. Next year they say, it's Pirates of the Carribbean! What fun. Their whole neighborhood gets into decorating and they have a blast. I personally plan to enjoy the little kiddies who come to my door for their treats. But even Dena has had a poltergeist moment, as of late. (See Dena's blog of October 18th. http://www.blogsbydenaharris.squarespace.com/)

There's no harm in pretending there's no such thing as monsters, ghosts, boogie-men, or a crazy witch who flys on a broom. Or a werewolf that howls at a full moon. Come on. Not real. Right?

Well, there are some of us, who know better.

There is another side. And the only reason I say that, is because members of my family have experienced it. In small, non-threatening ways. And so have I. Things that go bump in the night. My brother, my mother, my niece, and I have all experienced a paranormal "happening" at some point in our lives. And I believe my sister has, as well. Something that could not be explained away. Something that no matter what anybody said as it being a figment of our imagination, we knew ... this was real.

These "happenings" often show up in my stories. (Read Southern Fried Women.) But I also know ... where there is darkness, there's light. My belief system is strong in that for every demon, there's ten thousand angels to conquer it. Fear is a strong manipulator. And normal people go out of their way to live those normal lives without thinking about being afraid of things they don't know about. Halloween gives them a chance to have fun with their fears. It's a way to say, "Hey, this is all in fun!"

And for the most part, it is.

But somewhere, in the back of my mind ... I remember the time the hair on every square inch of my body stood at attention when my mother told me about the demon that appeared on her closet door while she was holding her infant son and said, "You can't have him." If you knew my mama, you'd know ... she's not some lunatic or druggie or crazy woman. But my mom has had numerous wild experiences with the real thing. Maybe because she's so child-like in her faith and her belief system. And because, my mother is not afraid of these things. She knows how to call on God. Believe me. She believes in the "things we cannot see."

So when you talk about Halloween to me and my family, we allow our children to live free from fear, and enjoy the "holiday." They've had bucket-fulls of candy to spill after canvassing the neighborhood. And they've all watched a spooky movie and dressed up like Frankenstein or Dracula at some point.

But sometime during our lifetime, the line between real and imagined gets fuzzy. That's when we call Mom. Or Grandma. She prays. Hard. She's the real ghostbuster in our family.

I'm not sure how to say this without sounding overtly religious. This is my favorite scripture. Enjoy your own brand of Halloween!

“Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” Ephesians 6

Blessings to you and yours.

In The Ear Of The Listener

As beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so is humor is in the ear of the listener. With my Ipod blaring, "The Best of Bread," I imagine most kids today would laugh at my long-haired groups from the 60s. Even Fleetwood Mac, God forbid. I heard twenty-somethings on TV the other day making fun of Tears for Fears and other 80s and early 90s rock groups. Laughing at the lyrics.

Then I thought of the lyrics from the popular groups and celebrities of today. It's all relative. Get my drift?

Did your folks like the Beatles? Mine neither.

Then again, I found my folks brand of humor--humorless. Of course, they laughed at the old Amos and Andy radio shows, along with many of the old TV talk shows. But I only smiled and shrugged. Often just laughing at my parents.

My point is, FUNNY is not the same for everybody. Never before had I thought of that fact until yesterday where I spent the better part of the afternoon at the beauty shop. In the south, hometown beauty shops are the place to go for a writer like me. It's like feasting all day at the local Golden Corral. But as I laughed my behind off at every piece of gossip, comment, or group of words heard, I realized ... some of what these women bantered back and forth with, was not meant to be funny.

Though much of it was hysterical to me, I also realized this is their way of life. The way they communicate. My hairdresser, who I call Truvey (yes, think Steel Magnolias) is about as precious as they come. Her shop on the north side of High Point is a busy place for local Southern Belles. Her sister, Donna Beth, works the chair next to her. Wonderful women with a great sense of family and pride in their Southern heritage.

I spent the afternoon getting the scoop on a lot of "goin's on" in High Point yesterday. Finally, at the lunch hour, Donna Beth hollers, "I'm off to the Hobble & Gobble for chicken and grilled onions. Anybody want anything?"

The Hobble & Gobble? "I've never heard of that restaurant," I said ... quite seriously. It was Truvey's turn to laugh at me. "That's what we call the K&W Cafeteria. You know, where all the blue-haired senior citizens go for lunch." I roared. (Well, you had to be there.)

My point again, when she said Hobble & Gobble, it was with a serious, straight face. The rest of the afternoon I listened intently to their conversations. They were rich with the flavor of these Southern Women and their hopes and dreams. I made many mental notes, I assure you. Much of what I found funny, wasn't meant to be, but was great material.

Until Donna Beth said, "Tell Pam about us runnin' outta gas on I 85!" Seems Truvey and her sister were in Charlotte at a hair show. At the show they had false eyelashes applied. Donna Beth's eyelashes even sparkled. But on the way home, they run out of gas. Sitting on the side of the road, they called the AAA. Finally, a cop stops. "Oh no!" yells Donna Beth to her sister. "He's gonna shine the light in here, my eyelashes are gonna sparkle, and he's gonna think we're strippers fresh off the pole!"

The story goes on, but we all belly laughed, I assure you.

When my son tells his Marine Boot Camp stories of Parris Island, most of us laugh. Now that it's over. But not his sister. She leaves the room. They make her cry, she says.

I hear jokes about 9-11 and Katrina, these days. They may be funny with light humor, but some may find them offensive. Some look at a fat woman and find it hilarious. Except for the fat woman. Sure, they may laugh in the face of a joke at their expense. But it's not funny when they're alone. Then again, like anything else, you have to find humor in life. And in adversity. You have to find humor in tragedy even. Just to get through it often.

My last point is this--to find humor in as much of life as you possibly can. It just makes the journey a little easier. Even if you have to laugh at yourself.

Blessings to you and yours.

Think Positive

Another POSITIVE perk in my day! Another agent has requested the entire Televenge manuscript!

If you know anything about the business, you know that's a great feeling. To receive that kind of news puts a positive spin on the tail end of a few days of wondering ... what was I thinking?

Over the past few years, I've sat in a few notable authors' presence. Women who've proudly announced, "I was blessed in that I didn't have to go through that awful submission process. I got an agent. Immediately." Right about now I'm wondering just how true that statement is. I suppose if your second cousin is an agent, or you've won an award of magnitude, or you've sold 80,000 copies of your first self-published book, or you have incredible luck, then maybe ... but I tend to believe everyone, no matter the quality of their writing, goes through this process the same way.

One grueling day at a time.

And yet, the slightest piece of good news is encouraging. Even from writing friends who keep sending those "atta girl" e-mails! I hang on every word of encouragement these days. However, the few rejections have even been positive. (If you can call a rejection positive.) Mostly handwritten notes and all with kind comments like "strong subject, great writing, just not for me at this time, subjective business ... best of luck and thanks for sending ..."

Okay. I can deal with that. I think Nicholas Sparks had umpteen-hundred rejections before The Notebook was bought. The list of best-selling authors is filled with thousands of rejections. You must gird yourself for those. And ... know that the planets, moon, stars, sun, and multiple universes must line up. But it will happen. I know it. I feel it. It's all about chemistry. Timing. And my sixth sense, which kicked in as of yesterday.

They're tough odds to beat. But somebody has to. Although, when you think about it, nobody's really "deserving." It's the hard work, the diligence to your craft, the power of positive belief in one's ability and struggle that makes a difference. The knowledge that you've written more than just another great story. You've poured your blood, sweat, and tears over the keyboard for years. That's what keeps you reeling toward breakout status. You hope.

Funny, too, though. I have great support in my friends, but there are those few who cast their ever-present seeds of doubt into your path. Well-meaning folks, family and otherwise, that don't see you as anything other than they way they've always seen you. So you have to learn to ignore snide comments, or questions like, "how's that book coming along?" Geesh. You wish everyone knew just how hard you've worked. But even if you take the time to explain it in detail, they won't get it. Not now. Probably not ever.

Don't kid yourself. All the dynamics with friends and family plays a great part in your success as a writer. You can allow the petty comments, boo-hoo blogs, and cruel comments get you down ... or you can concentrate on the positive. Negative people will always be just that--negative. And often, unintentionally cruel. They assume so much and know so little. They've not walked in your shoes, or led your life to know--someday you'll be on top. Stay close to those who have given you the most support, and keep going forward to that light at the end of the tunnel.

Circumstances can change overnight. Friends come and go. Family too, it seems. The human race is a fickle bunch. It's going to be fun to see who's really there when it all shakes out. When the dream comes true. When the book is finally out.

It's only a matter of time. Think positive.

Blessings to you and yours.

News, National and Not

More news on televangelists. Richard Roberts this time. Son of Oral. According to the news, there are accusations of illegal money handling and other dirty misdeeds. Whether true or not, we may never know. And most Americans have gotten used to hearing ugly media about these "men of God." But the megachurches are filled every week, folks. The prayer line phone numbers flash on TV screens all over the country and billions of dollars flow through TV ministries from coast to coast every week.

Religious broadcasting is here to stay. Like it or not.

High Point Literary League Fall Conference today! Sharyn McCrumb, one of my favorites, spoke and signed her books afterwards. It was such a pleasure meeting her.

I'm still waiting to hear from my chosen agents. Two have requested partials, one has the entire manuscript. In the meantime, I'm working on ideas for two more books. God in his wisdom keeps me sane through this waiting period.

With constant news on the evangelical front, I'm hoping Televenge strikes a chord with many. It's like I've said from the beginning ... in God's hands. But it doesn't stop me from feeling like I'm on some lost highway, waiting to find my dream at the next stop for gas.

Blessings to you and yours.

Rooms Full of Savvy, Flamboyant Women

Last Thursday, I spoke to the American Business Women's Association at the High Point Country Club. Is there an Author in You? Many women in business have mulled over writing a book. Or writing articles, columns, giving written advice in their field of expertise. But being busy mothers, most of them, with full schedules ... writing always gets put on their back burners. But a few of these women were retired and one in particular, though still quite young, was a breast cancer survivor. She had something to say and wanted encouragement as to how to start. A fun evening, the group gathered around my table afterwards with questions and ... of course, I sold books!

Yesterday, I spoke to a large group of Red Hatters at Roseglen Village in Wilkesboro, NC. They gathered from five counties to benefit the Alzheimer Association. A group of really cool women dawned red and purple, and turned into their alter egos. It's amazing what a red hat will do to a woman. Those under 50 wore pink and lavender. But the room was packed! Talk about a blast. Although, I do believe my husband had as much fun as anybody, taking pictures of this sea of red and purple ladies. And the line formed once again at my signing table afterward.

I continue to sell Southern Fried Women. It's a great little book of short stories and women are drawn to it. I'm happy to say, Michael and I are into our third printing. I think the fun for me, besides meeting so many great people in our travels, is knowing they take a piece of me home with them. It's astounding when you think about it. Artists have the capability of touching lives into future generations.

Although, I remind each one of my audiences that you don't have to be an artist or a writer to record your family history. Who knows but someday, your great-great-great grandchild, or neice, nephew, or even your godchild may find it and write your story. All because you took the time to scribble it down on paper. It may not be all that interesting to you, but it may be the beginning of greatness for them. It's part of leaving your legacy behind.

Can you imagine what a young girl might think to go into her grandmother's room and find a big red hat with purple feathers? That either her grandmother ran a secret brothel, or she was a proud and flamboyant woman with a spicey personality and a whole lot of character. She might even want to write about it.

Blessings to you and yours.

As Long As It Takes

Okay. So I read this morning in my hometown newspaper that it took John Hart a year to find an agent, a year to sell his novel, and a year to get it published and make the Times Bestseller List. Hmmm.

In the meantime, I'll write. And, with any stroke of luck or good fortune, my timeline won't be quite as long. But who knows, really? This publishing business is a crazy one. It's chemistry, it's timing, it's truly--pure luck. But I think, more than anything, it's commitment to your work. Knowing without a doubt your book is not only salable, it's damn good. You can't be shaken awake from that dream.

I'm still speaking, writing, and going on with life ... and keeping my phone on and my email checked. It'll happen.

I even watched a great movie the other night! I seldom venture to the TV, but just felt like having somebody else tell me a story for a change. Wow, have you seen Blood Diamond? Violent, graphic, bloody, and horror all wrapped up into one hell of a great movie. Okay, hold on. I'm usually the first one to admit not liking that much violence. That's true enough. I'll take a great romantic comedy over blood and guts any day of the week.

But something drew me in quickly. Maybe it was Leonardo DiCaprio. Typically, I'm more mowed over by guys in my generation ... you know, Harrison Ford, Kurt Russell, Tom Hanks, and Kevin Costner. But this actor (and active environmentalist) has become one of the great actors of the century. I assure you. Who knew? This little kid I used to watch as an extra on sitcoms, has turned into the Valentino of the movie industry.

I was impressed with his performance in Titanic, but you should see him now. This movie, for which I believe he won an Oscar, is his finest hour, thus far. (In my humble opinion.) What a fantastic story. Although, I have to admit, it was disturbing enough that I had to turn off the sound in some parts and switch the channel for just a moment to just get through parts of it.

But the story is real and speaks to the heart of mankind. I loved it. It not only drew me in, days later, I'm still thinking about it.

I want to be that kind of writer. Write those kinds of stories.

I believe Televenge is one of those. So, I'll wait as long as it takes to show it to the world.

Blessings to you and yours.

Dynamic Duo

No, not Batman and Robin. My parents. The two of them have melded minds, I swear. I suppose after 54 years of marriage, that happens.

Mom came out of her surgery with few problems, while Dad seemed to know that life at home would go on as usual. Not a worry in his body. While the rest of fussed and tried to tie her to the bed to keep her down, Dad went on with his daily activities, knowing not much could keep her in bed except a strong pain pill.

The dynamics of family is a fascinating thing. It changes as the years wear on. You can go for months without much sibling contact, then wham! It's like you've been talking forever. It's been said you can't pick your family, whereas your friends are a different matter. The trick is ... how do you make your family members into your friends? Not all siblings think alike. In fact, sometimes you wonder how two totally different people come from the same parents.

The important thing is knowing when to set aside your differences and come together for the task at hand.

Our dynamic duo needs watching over these days. They try, God bless them, to fit into this new tech-smart world, but ... they are definitely a product of the 50s and 60s. Computers, HDTV, and cell phones are not part of their world. Even an answering machine is a complicated piece of machinery. I wonder, are they better off without them?

My mother surprised me when she came out of the bedroom with a leather wallet. An old one. One she's held on to for over 50 years. Inside was a love letter from Dad to her, odd slips of paper dating back to the 50s, as well as my baby picture and a picture of a much younger and handsomer Dad. And dog tags. Hers, mine, and my dad's. The three of us spent nearly two years in Germany from 1955 to 1957, while Dad finished his time with Uncle Sam during the Korean war. Why, I wondered, did she wait until now to show me this precious piece of history? It touched me.

The past few days at my parents home has made me slow down a bit, and think about what really matters in life. As much as I pride myself with my "technical knowledge," I'm way behind some of the younger folks these days. But that's okay. I'm hoping someday our kids finds Michael and I as dynamic as I do my own parents.

Despite their inability to reset their VCR.

God bless you and your dynamic duo.

Waiting With Mom

Heading to Atlanta ... my mom, bless her heart, just had yet another surgery today. She's fine, at least for now. We're all praying for her speedy recovery. But Michael and I are going down for Dad, too. God knows, Daddy has special care and feeding needs, especially when Mama is down sick. At least if somebody's in the house, she won't feel like she has to get up from her sick bed to fix the man some food. What is it with that generation? Good godamighty.

Anyway, I'm taking my dump drive along. Just in case some out-of-breath agent calls, indicating my query letter is the best ever, and demands my entire manuscript overnight! Don't want to leave the poor person hanging. At least I can get on over to Kinkos, run it off, mail it, and then ... wait some more.

This waiting and wondering is tough. Not for the faint of heart. Every time the phone rings, I jump. Of course, I've sent out queries to my top picks. And I have to keep remembering the rejection stories from all the greats. But it doesn't make it any easier. I will, I assure you, be reporting on this entire process, once its over. I'm keeping track of who rejects me, who wants me, who answers quickly and just how they answer, and who just blows me off entirely. Oh yeah, I'm learning a whole lot of how this system of submissions works. Hopefully, with any luck, the stars, moon, and sun will line up, the chemistry will zing, and the timing will be perfect for one lucky agent. Lucky agent? Should I be so bold to say that?

Well, sure. Lucky agent, lucky editor, lucky me.

But right now ... who that is, is anybody's guess. I'll keep my phone on. This whole process has been in God's hands from the beginning. Until then, it's still a waiting game. And then again, one of my top picks has asked for the entire manuscript, and it's in her office at this very moment. She said she'd get back to me after October 8th sometime.

Might as well go wait with Mom and Dad. At least they'll keep me laughing and my mind off the fact that ... I'm still waiting.

Blessings to all y'all.