Humorous?

I'm not sure just how funny I am ... but last night, I'm lying in bed thinking about my life growing up ... and I start laughing and laughing at all the hilarious stuff we did as kids. Growing up in a blue collar, middle-class world - we were sheltered. Poor but sheltered. Hicks from the suburbs.

I should've kept those memories fresh. I could've used them later. During the years (before, during and after) 'the divorce from hell' - I forgot how to laugh. I remember thinking, after several spring times, that it'd been years since really listening to the birds sing. I had traveled a road with lots of potholes and had forgotten that life needs to be laughed at once in a while.

So I'm laying there, thinking about how much fun it was to put things in layaway! My gosh, we couldn't afford to buy crap, but we knew how to use layaway! Just looking at the ticket from time to time, got us excited. It was like saving dimes in a dime book. You knew ... eventually ... the day would come and you would be able to make that last payment at Montgomery Wards, or JCPennys, or K-Mart ... and you could take your forty dollars worth of purchases home. Man-o-man, those were the days. It was Christmas time in the suburbs!

Buying school clothes at my house was first a trip to Goodwill, then maybe K-mart. Occasionally, JCPenny got our business if they had a good sale. But my poor sisters usually got my hand-me-downs. Mom could go to Goodwill and buy a carload of clothes for twenty bucks. She was pretty proud of that.

I just laughed as I thought about living with no toaster, using the oven instead. No such thing as a microwave in my house. Not until years later, when we bought an old model of the Amana Radar Range, remember those? It had to be the biggest, honkin' piece of metal microwave ever invented. Took up the entire countertop next to the stove. Eventually, Daddy installed it over the oven. As far as I know, that thing is probably still in use.

And of course, Mama bought us shoes at the grocery store. She'd make us lie down in the Produce Section, "Here, try these on!" Cheap pieces of plastic, tied together with string. You couldn't try both on at the same time and get up and walk around. Lord, no ... you tripped all over yourself! It was about that time you'd see somebody you knew from school walk past with their Mama and stare. You knew that girl would never buy shoes from the grocery store. Hell no. They wore shiny penny loafers with new pennies in the slot. Bought from Nobles Shoe Store ... right next to Isley Brothers Ice Cream Store where they would be rewarded after buying their new shoes.

Going to the grocery store was a trip. Daddy drove, because my mama didn't have her license. He'd sit in the car and wait. And wait. For hours. And we did too. It was either that, or follow Mama around in the A&P and get yelled at. "Don't ask me for nothin'!" Sometimes, we'd just pray she'd buy a cool cereal. Like Lucky Charms, or Cocoa Puffs. But it was always ... oatmeal and maybe Cheerios. Damn.

Mmm-mmm - But when I think about ice cream, I think about Isley Brothers where I had might have had the privilege of eating there once or twice. Too expensive! Mama would wail. But we were lucky, because Daddy loved ice cream from Stricklands. This famous "soft custard" stands out by the Akron Airport. We'd get our baths and wear our pajamas to Stricklands. Course, Mama would make us all get SMALL cones. But it was the best around. Still is, as far as I know. We'd hang out the car window, drooling. Daddy would walk back with six cones in a cardboard container ... it was heaven. And the first one done had to sit and watch everybody else eat. That was miserable. So you tried to lick your cone slow. But hot August nights, it was a challenge not to let that chocolate cone drip on your clean pajamas ... you could get a whippin' for that.

Remember when McDonald's opened? My mom was in heaven. She could feed the whole fam damily for six bucks. Every Sunday after Sunday School. Just like clockwork. We'd head to McDonalds on Market Street in our blue LTD station wagon. Cheeseburger, fries, and a coke we shared with another sibling. We were rich, we thought.

Ahhh, the list goes on. Drive-in movies ... Playgrounds at the drive-in movies were the best. Walking trips up to the 'store' for candy and bottle of pop. (Pop you bought from hauling a wagon full of empty bottles back for return money.) Playing on the school playground during the summer when nobody was around. Man, it was cool ... you never had wait for your turn on the monkey bars. Fried bologna sandwiches. Butter and sugar sandwiches on white bread. (What did moms of the 60s know about nutrition? NOT MUCH.) PopTARTS! Omigosh ... we ate them raw. (Not toasted.) Just opening the bag and smelling them today, brings back memories.

Cool whip ... when that came out, we thought we died and went to heaven. Mama would bitch and moan because somebody's finger had always made a gouge in the cool whip container. Usually mine. Of course, all our meals were either fried, or made with soup. Casseroles were the things during the late 60s and early 70s.

We had a grape vine in our back yard. And cherry and mulberry trees. Those were the only sweets we got sometimes. And we'd climb those trees and that grape vine and eat until we were sick. Our clothes and shoes would be stained ... and we'd be covered with bug bites, but we didn't care. It was better than sitting in the house. We didn't have computers, or TV games, or videos. No such thing. If you stayed indoors, you better be sick or prepared to work, because my mama would put your lazy ass butt to cleaning floors, scrubbing bathrooms, or ironing piles of clothes. No kidding. (Man, I hated the smell of Comet, Clorox, and Murphy's liquid oil soap. I still do.)

Rolling down the hill, especially before bed, was always fun. Then we'd lie in bed and itch for hours. Did you ever use cardboard to slide down a hill? We did. It was sledding without snow. And if we ever had the good fortune to get a huge box to play with ... the things we didn't do to and in that box would amaze you. Making tents over clotheslines ... hiding from boys ... begging to go swimming at Jindra's Landing. Now there's one for the memory books.

Jindra's Landing was a stinky lake made into a swimming hole. Complete with lifeguards (all of the Jindra kids) and a Concession Stand. It's where I got hooked on Reese's Peanut Butter cups. But every summer, all the way into high school, it was the hang out for kids from school during the summer. You wore your best bathing suit. And that's a story for another day. My religious mother would not let me wear bathing suits below my belly button. Oh no. But then, me being the rebellious teenager, I pulled them down anyway. Then there was the day she caught me. Ha! My ass was grass for a few weeks. (The rest of the summer was devoted to heavy labor and being up to my elbows in Comet and Clorox.)

And of course, those days you were on your period ... how did you explain that to the boys who wondered why you weren't going in the pool (or lake - as it was)? But you were a pretty cool chick if you could dive off the high dive like the boys. Oh man, I remember sitting on beach towels listening to the Beach Boys, the Monkees, and Paul Revere and the Raiders, and catching occasional news reports of the latest casualties from in Vietnam. (I guess that's not humorous ... just a memory.)

I could go on and on, I suppose ... the list is endless. I'm still laughing at some of the stuff we did. I need to think of fried bologna sandwiches next time I get a rejection letter or feel my bones creaking.

I may not be a funny writer, necessarily, but I can sure think of some funny crap we pulled as ignorant hick kids growing up in Portage County, Ohio and weekend trips to West Virginia, or Marietta. Those were the days, my friend.

I believe writers need some humor to draw from ... there's enough pain in ones life to write about.

Blessings to you and yours.

Next Question

Do I seriously need to attend a writing conference? I despise name-dropping, how critical is it to meet important people in the business? How connected do I need to be?

A. Yes.

B. Semi-critical.

C. Depends on how fast you want to be noticed.

How's that for answers? Okay, okay ... it's not as cut and dried as all that. But the first question is a no-brainer. Every writer out there will benefit to one degree or another by attending at least one writing conference a year. And I don't mean three states away. Every state has a Book Festival, or even writing classes available at the local community college. There's really no excuse to not attend a weekend retreat or writing conference. Even if you have no Internet availability, your local writing guild or group should be able to give you information on local conferences in your state.

And if you want to know the benefits of a writing conference, there are numerous blogs on this site, as well as other writing sites, that list them. Networking, honing your craft, networking, open mic opportunities to read your work out loud, networking, meeting agents/editors, networking, finding your niche, networking ... you get the picture. Even if all you want to do is write letters to your grandchildren on a regular basis, taking a class on memoir writing is invaluable to you. So go to a writing conference ... they're everywhere!

Do you need to meet and know people in the business? Well, it doesn't hurt. Just don't be a pest. Meeting an agent at a conference, following up with a 'thank you' email later, and submitting your work to this agent, doesn't guarantee representation. But you become more rounded in your ability to network. The way I figure it, is these people in "the know" are just like you and me. They have dreams, goals, and faults. They put their pants on one leg at a time ... (sorry for the cliché') but damn it, they're just somebody's son, daughter, husband, wife ... they need you too. What they don't need are leaches. But if you're sincere, and you like to meet people, meeting and getting to know a few agents, editors, successful authors, teachers, and booksellers ... it doesn't hurt. Some of them even enjoy the mentoring process. Just be smart about it. Query them, but don't expect them to jump at your work just because you "know" them.

Being connected always helps. It may even get you past a slush pile or two. It can get you a great blurb for your book, or an invitation to joining them for drinks or dinner - where inevitably discussion about your work comes up. Will it get you published any faster? I doubt it. Will it get you noticed? Maybe. Then why do it? Because of the outside chance you DO get published, noticed, and hooked up with the right people. Give yourself every chance you can. There's nothing wrong with that. The competition is tough enough. You need every break you can get. Just be sweet about it. Don't hurt anybody, and be kind and courteous. Don't be a jerk, there's enough of those.

I think really, when it all boils down, the best thing you can do for yourself to get published, noticed, and receive representation, adoration, and validation is one thing.

Write a damn good book.

The rest will take care of itself ...

Blessings to you and yours.

Freaking Out

What do you do after your book is done, at the printer in fact, and you see something on the manuscript you want to change? Nothing glaring, or even blatant. Not a typo or spelling error, or anything like that. My God, after twelve pairs of eyes pouring over these stories, you'd think we would have found everything.

But then you see something minor ... a missed comma, or a word that would make more sense to change to something else. How many times do you go over something before you can say it's finished? I begin to imagine some hot shot editor or agent reading my work and thinking ... What an idiot, she used rural and country in the same sentence! Geesh.

I start to sweat and wonder ... who will notice this? But I remember why I did it. I remember thinking that small towns in the middle of nowhere - to me, are rural. But in my story, I was referring to a rural spot in the country - meaning farmland, countryside, few houses - not a rural spot in a country town.

But, I'm just sure somebody - somewhere will look at this and say, "Yeah, and I'll be she says she writes novels of fiction!"

I wonder if Nora Roberts labors over her work like this? I wonder if Dan Brown spends hours and hours proofreading his work? Somehow, I doubt it. They've already "made it." They have a staff for stuff like this.

It's the little writers like me that sweat the small stuff.

Oh well, there are a few things I'm confident about. The stories are solid in their structure, they hold the reader, and they're full of conflict, twists, turns, and good old-fashioned storytelling. The characters are wonderful, you'll love them and even hate a few. They are great stories, I admit.

So, if they want to point fingers at this word, or that missed comma, they need to put it down and go read the perfect novel ... I'm sure it's out there.

Blessings to you and yours.

Going Forward ...

Blogging has been a weekly struggle as of late ... but I'm hoping now that my book is on its way and out of my hands, finally ... I can move on down the road and get things done.

But I'm tired, I want to crawl back into bed, and sometimes this blogging site moves as slow as dial-up! I just want to lie on a beach somewhere ... hmmm. Whining aside, I'm going to tackle my next question asked to me by writers. They ask it timidly, as if they don't want to hear the answer.

How perfect does my writing really have to be to land a book deal? In just one area or all of them? What kind of help can I really expect from an agent or editor?

The answer is easy for me, and should be a no-brainer to every writer out there. It has to be damn perfect. As perfect as you can get it. You better know your grammar, punctuation, and keep that dictionary close by. But besides that, you need to have a good basic knowledge in the craft of writing. Sure, you can hire an editor, and join a critique group ... but I hear so many people say, "I think I'll write a book." Not that easy, folks. Art is a craft like anything else. As much as one studies painting, or sculpture, or photography ... a writer must study the craft of composing words to create articles, memoirs, novels, short stories ... you get it ... it's a craft. The human mind has been so conditioned to writing for school, or business writing, or letters to Aunt Josephine, that we automatically think we can write a book.

Cracks me up.

It's why people hire ghostwriters. They don't want to take the time, usually, to worry about the structure of their story.

But without knowing the craft, you can submit to agents and editors until you're purple in the face, and you'll get nowhere. Don't expect much help from them either. They haven't the time. It's a different world we live in. You may get constructive criticism if you're lucky, in the form of a carefully crafted letter, or in a class at a writing conference, but all in all - editors and agents are in the business to make money. Not to teach. Bottom line.

So take classes, GO to writing conferences, join a writing group/critique group, network with other writers ... and the best thing to teach you the craft of writing is.... READ.

That's my advice on being perfect in your writing. But as we know, nobody truly is ... perfect. Sometimes, it's a matter of opinion, I think. Ah, but in the end ... it's the public that decides - your readers.

In the meantime ... we keep on trying. Never give up. Not for a second.

Blessings to you and yours.

The Next Step In The Process

It's done. SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN is done. Well, about 98.5% done. As far as I'm concerned, it's done. All the changes in the final draft went out in Fed-X last night. I made my deadline just shy of an hour. Now it's one more quick overview to make sure the changes were made, (maybe adding one or two more) and then WA-LA, the book will be off to the printer, and I just may have a finished book in my hand by somewhere around April 15th. The last three weeks have been unbelieveable day and night editing, back and forth with my layout artist, and five hours a night of sleep.

But, whew. I must say, it's a beautiful book. It's 256 pages of stories to be proud of. I'm very happy with the way it's turning out ... impressed with my layout artist- beyond description, and the printer seems to know exactly what we're looking for. A kick-ass looking professional piece of fiction (including galley copies.) Mmm-Mmm.

It's been a long ride, from 1985 when I wrote the first story in this collection. The next step in the process? There's so many, I hesitate to think. I'm backed up on so much ... I need to meet with so many people ... my book launch is planned for June 1st, and there's a ton of work that needs done for that.

But, for today, I think I'll go to the next step in the process ... take a shower before noon, put on makeup so my husband doesn't forget what I look like, make my bed, find my desk again, organize my piles, eat out (a novelty) and then maybe ... take a nap. Yeah, that's my next step.

Blessings to you and yours.

In A Perfect World

In a perfect world, I'd have time for coffee every week with friends ...

In a perfect world, Dena and I would meet each week and go over the lists of accomplishments for the week, rather than our "to do" lists ...

In a perfect world, I would have already met with Deborah, and would have our strategy mapped out entirely ... it would cover speaking and selling books in every major city and small town in the South ...

In a perfect world, I would have my talks to book groups and women’s' groups down to a science ...

In a perfect world, I'd be able to make every writing conference, event, and author appearance in my region ...

In a perfect world, I'd get up at 5, work out, get to a networking meeting, have breakfast with my husband, write for five to six hours, and spend a leisurely evening relaxing with my family ...


In a perfect world, I wouldn't be so damn anal and have to rewrite sixteen times ...

In a perfect world, everyone I love would live within an hour of me ...

In a perfect world, I'd live in the mountains with a condo on Fripp Island ...

In a perfect world, the Panthers would win the Super Bowl (I threw that in there for my step-son, Christopher ...)

In a perfect world, Mike and I would be grandparents by now ...

In a perfect world, I'd never have to put anything off, especially thank you cards ...

In a perfect world, my family would be closer ...

In a perfect world, I'd never have to use spell check, a Thesaurus, and my clever mind would not labor over every sentence--it would automatically know the correct sequence of words ...

In a perfect world, I'd write a column, send fabulous articles to a few magazines every month, and have time to spit out a novel every ten months, of which all would hit the bestseller lists ...

In a perfect world ... I am a size 6.

In a perfect world ... I'd never need Botox.

In a perfect world ... I could drink all the margueritas I wanted.

BUT THIS ISN'T A PERFECT WORLD ... and my soul cries for more time ... what I wouldn't give to add an hour or two to every day. But if I had the option for perfection, I'd have to look past all of the above and say because I've had hardships in my life, challenges every step of the way, and because I've struggled ... my imperfections are where the richness of my stories originate ... so in a way ... I guess I don't want a perfect world.

But, a size 6 would be nice.

Blessings to you and yours.

Do You Think I Died?

I'm still up to my armpits and eyeballs in work but I'm afraid if I don't write in my blog, I'll lose my readers! I tune in everyday to my friend Dena's blog, and everyday, she's like a ray of sunshine, writing a clever little blogspot ... one thing about Dena, she's never at a loss for words, and she's always there for her readers ... I aspire to her daily blogging!
www.blogsbydenaharris.squarespace.com.

I have so much to blog about, but no time. Last Thursday night, I spoke on an Author's Panel for my Sisters In Crime Group, I'm going to Chair the Sisters In Crime table at the Southeastern Independent Booksellers Alliance (SIBA) convention in Orlando this year, and I spoke at a writing conference in Lincolnton for the International Women's Writing Guild this past Saturday. I've so much to report. It's been crazy busy.

And I'm still working on the final edits of my book.

The deadline is nearly here ... (the Sunday deadline was pushed back) so I apologize for the sparse blogging. I do love to connect with my readers. But hold on, because I'll be back ... with bells on!

Ah, the life of a writer ... I wonder if Capote had these problems. Somehow, I doubt it.

Blessings to you and yours.

My Back's Against The Wall

If you write and publish, you'll understand when I say ... my back's against the wall, my deadline is Sunday, no more time to spend on anything other than having the book ready to be turned in on Sunday to my layout artist.

No more nothing until after this Sunday.

Sunday, Sunday.

Yet, I'm scheduled to speak tonight at my local chapter of Sisters In Crime, and on Saturday in Lincolnton at the International Women's Writing Guild Conference for the Carolinas.

And I'm chomping at the bit to answer all the questions in my previous blog about the writing process and publishing. I've got some great answers.

And I've got to get with my publicist, my speech coaches, plan my launch, etc. etc. etc.

And the list of things to do is as long as my arm and then some.

Whew.

But everything has to wait ... it's all on hold for now. This is the life of a writer, folks.

Now to stop blogging ... get to work. The pay off is a finished first book ... and a hopefully - a great one.

Fingers and toes crossed. And say a little prayer.

Talk to you next week ... if I'm not in the hospital from exhaustion.

Blessings to you and yours.

What's The Real Deal On Self-Publishing?

I'm back home and feeling a bit behind, to put it mildly. "Miles to go before I sleep..."

But as promised, I'm going to answer the questions I've been asked a lot lately. Remember, these are only my opinions ...

I was recently approached and asked the question on the mind of some of my local writer friends. What's the deal on self-publishing? From a writer's point-of-view, self-publishing is a way to avoid rejection and the slush pile. But there's a price to pay. Not too long ago, the stigma of the self-published was pure vanity in the eyes of not only editors, but the public.

According to the agent Kristen who blogs at www.pubrants.com ... and I quote "... I really do look at the glass and see it half-full. There have been many a fabulous story told of an author who self-published and then later had the book picked up by a traditional house. (I think Laurie Notaro and Christopher Paolini come to mind.) Remember, those stories are amazing because they don’t actually happen often ... I do want you to know that I have yet to take on an author via this medium. I didn’t keep exact stats but over the course of 4 years (my agency opened in 2002,) I’ve probably considered about 50 or 60 self-published books. Peanuts really."

It's a crap shoot. Remember that ... if you want to impress an agent or an editor with your self-published work.

However, if you can stay away from Publish on Demand and other self-publishing houses, and do the work yourself, the pay-off in terms of $ to you is fantastic. It's all yours, baby.

Sure, you have the initial outlay costs of someone to convert your manuscript into a PDF file and then the cost of a printer, but Dan Poynter's book, The Self-Publishing Manual, is one of the best to show your next step in the process. He also sites references to contact for printers, etc.

Instead of the publisher grabbing the profit and then you getting your tiny royalty of what ... a dollar or two maybe every time you sell a book ... the profit goes in your pocket.

PROVIDING ... you're willing to work your ass off and get out there and sell it! Non-stop. Which means you don't die on the vine in three months as the typical book usually does. You control how much the public is exposed to you and your work. And there's the problem of finding a distributor. They don't like to take self-published books, so you have GOT TO SELL THEM YOURSELF!

There's the kicker for most folks. Okay, Pam, time to write is one thing, but marketing my work? You're kidding, right?

Nope. Not a bit.

Do you really think your publisher is going to put you in the spotlight? Do you honestly think the traditional publisher with his fancy publicist is going to get behind you 100% and give you all their energy to make you a success? Think again. Those dollars are reserved for Elizabeth Kostova, Dan Brown, Patricia Cornwell, and the rest of the mega sellers ... not you. And especially if you're a first time author ... ain't happenin', my friend.

Unless of course ... you breakout. But that's for another blog.

There are things you can do to insure your success; it's in your hands. You may need a speech coach, a publicist, or someone to edit your work professionally. It takes time, energy, and some money. But in my mind, self-publishing is not a mark of doom--not these days. In fact, you can create quite a platform. And if you write a hell of a story and sell a lot of books ... who knows who just might come knockin' on your door.

Any way you look at it ... self-publishing is not for the faint of heart. It's takes more courage and determination to self-publish than to lay your work at the feet of an editor. The pay off is bigger per book, but the work is endless, and you still have to find time to write your next book.

If you're thinking about it ... do your research and make an intelligent decision. Have a markeing plan. Also, don't rule out the big boys in New York, but as tough as the competition is ... you might have to get in their faces (big shot publishing houses) and sell enough of your own books first to make them sit up and take notice.

Hard to do? You're damn right it is.

Impossible? Not in my mind.

Think about it.

Blessings to you and yours.

Time Out

I took a Time Out. After spending a few days away, I'm on the road again tomorrow ... back to North Carolina ... home. I needed this time to regroup, read my stories, edit and get ready to publish.

I'm confident in SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN. It reads beautifully, the stories grip the heart, and yet leave the reader satisfied. So says my best reader, Tina. I smile and have to agree. They are quite good. My editor, Beth, was very helpful with the deadline right around the corner.

I'll be back to blogging full-time on Tuesday, after traveling all day on Monday.

My week was full of great food, fun, and time to think. Every writer needs time to think.

See you on Tuesday.

Blessings to you and yours.

Heavy Hitting Subjects For Writers

The following questions weigh heavy on the minds of writers and in the coming weeks, are ones I plan to explore and tackle on this blog ... so stay tuned.

But for now, I'm on my way out of town for the week so this blog may trickle a little for the next several days. Doesn't mean I'm not working ... I'm taking a week to finish my edits on SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN, network, visit bookstores, and chill a little.

In the meantime ... I'll also be preparing to answer these questions:

1. What's the real deal on self-publishing from an author's point of view?

2. How perfect does my writing really have to be to land a book deal? In just one area or all of them? What kind of help can I really expect from an agent or editor?

3. Do I seriously need to attend a writing conference? I despise name-dropping, how critical is it to meet important people in the business? How connected do I need to be?

4. I loathe public speaking. How do I get around it? How much of my own publicity do I honestly have to do?

5. Do I need to pay attention to all the writer and agent's blogs on the Internet? Are they written for all writers?

6. Do I need a degree? Do I need an MFA degree?

7. I'm on a limited income and budget. How do I self-publish? What's involved? What about the Publish On Demand people, would that be a good route? What's the stigma if you're self-published or better yet, is there one? Should I just risk the slush piles?

8. Do I need to hire an editor, publicist, and do I really have to join toastmasters? And what the hell is a platform?

9. What do I do if I've worked hard on a piece and my critique group thinks it sucks?

10. Is there a point where I should just give up and face the fact that I'm too young to write, too old to write, I can't afford to take the time to write, or I'm just not that good?

Like I said ... stay tuned ... I'll be delivering these answers from a writer's point of view (which may surprise you.)

Blessings to you and yours.

The Writing Process

I hesitate.

I don't think people will believe it. Although I take lots of breaks, sometimes I even do a Wal-Mart run, but basically my writing process is from 8 am to midnight. Seven days a week. Every day is a little different than the one before.

Some writers are so disciplined, they force themselves to write so many words a day, for so many hours at a time, and refuse to be disturbed. They have the exact same pattern for writing, rewriting, and submitting.

Not me. I mix it up a little. I'm anal and I'm organized, but I write constantly, so my days are dictated by my interruptions.

Between my writing, I eat my meals, shower, and talk on the phone. I have meetings with writing friends once or twice a week, attend networking meetings, and I go to book signings, meetings with my publicist, publisher, and I read blogs (sometimes spending too much time on Agent's blogs, like the Snark Agent ... but I learn, process what I want, and store the rest for later.) I study my Writer's Digest and Publishers Weekly. There are also a few projects (writing related, of course) that I'm working on. I do research, and some days I write only this blog. However, 90% of the time, I squeeze all of the above, in between my writing.

I don't squeeze writing in between my appointments.

Writing is my life. It's what I do. It's who I am. I'm not bragging about it. I don't care if anyone thinks I'm crazy. I realized a few years ago, this is what I was meant to do ... all my life. And finally, before I was too old to start, my journey began.

I also take time to read. And I'd love to start exercising more regularly again. In the future, I'm going to be speaking ... a lot. There's a great deal of work to be done selling my book, and I'm fortunate to have people who want to help me do it.

But, in the end, my life revolves around sitting at this computer and putting words on "paper." The stories in my head have to be written down. Just like I have to eat food to survive, I have to write, daily ... to feel alive.

There's no other way around it. So you want to talk about the writing process? There is none. It's not a process for me. It's a way of life.

Blessings to you and yours.

Borders Workshop

I'm volunteering to speak on a panel at Borders (in June) with a few published authors in my writers group. A workshop, if you will, on what books helped us as writers. I like this kind of workshop ... it's fun just to be with other writers and especially when they're your friends and people you care about. And I love to teach and mentor other writers.

All of us write differently. Our genres may not be the same. But the one thing we have in common ... is passion. And with passion comes the study of the craft. To study writing, one must read a lot. All the time, really. We give up many TV shows to read. (That's not hard for me to do.) We've read many books on the craft of writing by professionals in the industry.

For me, (if you've visited my web site,) you'll see I'm a huge fan of Donald Maass and his book, WRITING THE BREAKOUT NOVEL. I've studied and underlined and dog-eared every one of his books. But I also like Noah Lukeman's THE FIRST FIVE PAGES, and a little book by Elaura Niles called, SOME WRITERS DESERVE TO STARVE. What a title. Actually, I have a whole list of books on writing that I've read listed on my web site. Some are more like text books, while others, like Stephen King's ON WRITING, reads like a chapter out of his life.

Everyone has an opinion. And you know the old cliche about opinions ... they're like assholes, everbody's got one ... yeah, yeah, you remember.

In the end, (no pun intended) you have to weed out who you want to aspire to. Orson Scott Card has a fabulous web site and lots of great material for the writer. He's also written several books, one I highly recommend, CHARACTERS & VIEWPOINT. Google Orson Scott Card.

There seems to be no limit to the help established writers give to the novice. And by the far, in my opinion, the best teacher ... is to read. Period. It's by far the best teacher.

I'm looking forward to the panel, I hope (if you live in my area or are traveling to Greensboro in the near future) you'll stop by. The authors on this panel have studied hard, and they have their favorite books, I guarantee it. You might just find a new one. If you're just starting to write, or getting back into it, you'll get tons of ideas.

Sharing the craft of writing ... it's a love affair with words.

Blessings to you and yours.

Gall Bladder Blues

The results are in ... Michael's gall bladder is full of stones and has to be removed.

He's been feeling the twinges lately, nursing this thing for the past 15 years. But lately, he's been uncomfortable. Yesterday, an ultrasound told the true tale.

But do you think the doctor would call him back and refer him to a surgeon? I know doctors are busy, I've worked for them all my life. But to not call back a patient that's in discomfort when he waits by the phone all day? How about a quick call from a nurse or even a receptionist who might be kind enough to say "... sorry the doctor hasn't been able to call you yet, he's busy with patients, but we'll make sure he calls before he goes home." You think they would be kind enough to do that?

Not a chance.

Woe be unto this poor doctor's office in Jamestown. My husband, after waiting a day and half for a phone call, drove over and has parked his butt in their waiting room. "If they won't call, I'll show up in person ... eventually, they'll have to talk to me."

All we need is a referral to a surgeon, and a quick consultation. Not more than five minutes of a doctor's time. Gall bladder pains are nothing to mess with inside the body of an angry patient.

So, today we're singing the blues. The gall bladder blues.

It's not a pretty song.

Especially on Valentines Day. Which, in my opinion is hugely overrated. If you want a great idea for Valentines Day and all the holidays, go to Dena's blog. She and Blair have found the true secret to getting over this kind of commercialism. I love it. (Go to the Feb. 13th post.)
www.blogsbydenaharris.squarespace.com.

Blessings to you and yours.

Going Out In Style

If you write fiction, it's often the end of the story you write first. Not always, but once in a while you see an ending before you have a plot in mind. A writer' style dictates the type of endings he/she uses.

I've experimented with story endings. What I see from readers, people who like the type of dramatic fiction I write, is that they like a twist at or near the end, in addition to inherent conflict, and deep and complex characters they can fall in love with or hate. Readers can even appreciate a message. But I also find they want endings to wrap things up. They may love the book, but if the ending sucks, they'll throw the book in the trash. Pissed off, they stew for days and that kind of word of mouth, a writer doesn't need.

Even if there's a sequel, or the possibility of one, a reader wants to see questions answered, and feel a sense of a good ending. Satisfaction. The good guy doesn't have to win, but there has to be a hint that in the next book or story, he/she will win.

It's as hard to explain, as it is to write. I seldom wrestle with story endings. If I don't already know how I want it to end, then my characters figure it out for me as they go. But once in a while, I debate on different endings. That's when I discuss it with my critique group, or my husband, or my friends who read my work.

In the end ... it's usually one of my character’s who tells me how to wrap it up.

I just want to make sure they go out in style. My style. I think it's the best part of any story.

The End.

Blessings to you and yours.

Getting Ready for Lincolnton

It's just weeks away now, but the March 4th International Women's Writing Guild Conference is weighing heavy on my mind. I'm praying for a total success. A call from an excited Hannelore Hahn (New York City) this morning rubbed off. We've rented a large, comfy room for this first meeting of women writers in the Carolinas. Lunch is included in the $30 price, but the networking and the relationships forged are worth far more than the cost of the event.

We have a nice size group already committed to attending, but we're hoping for more. I know there are women writers out there, especially in the South ... that need this. This isn't a how-to-write conference. We're not going to discuss grammar, contrive plots, or tell you your characters aren't sympathetic enough. This group is far more than that. The IWWG is inspirational. It puts you in touch with your senses and the deep recesses of your memory to dig up ideas and places and times not thought of in years ... perfect nuggets for storytelling or writing that piece of non-fiction you've been laboring on.

This isn't your usual "Jump Start Your Writing" conference. Oh no. This is far more. Sharing and listening to other women talk about their writing, you begin to spin ideas of your own, a fresh perspective comes into view about your own writing. It's an amazing process. No psycho bull, just honest, open conversation and support.

I'm excited. If you're enterested, here's the IWWG web site ... click on Events and scroll to the March 4th Lincolnton, North Carolina event, "Each Life Is Worth The Telling." www.iwwg.org.

Blessings to you and yours.

Are Writers Really Ready For Rocks?

NYT Bestselling author, Tess Gerritsen, writes in her blog: www.tessgerritsen.com/blogs.cfm

If you want to be a writer, get ready for editors telling you your manuscript isn't good enough, critics telling you that your book is lousy, readers whining that they wasted twenty five bucks on your opus, the bloggers saying they're appalled you got nominated for that award. There's no way to avoid it. You'll get rocks thrown at you, and you might as well prepare for it now by hitting your head against the wall a hundred times, just so you get used to the feeling.

I don't know about you, but I don't write to have rocks thrown at me. Tess's blog of 2/2/06 You Can't Be A Wimp is an uncomfortable, albeit true read. I agree with her and salute her for forcing authors to look at the tougher sides of publishing. Tess has umpteen books published and is widely known in her genre and otherwise. For her to write this, she's had to been hurt at some point in her career--been stung by a few rocks.

But then, when you think about it, the most criticized book of all time is the Holy Bible. So, who are we as mere mortals? Why do we think we should escape tribulation when God's own word has suffered much more criticism for thousands of years. Geesh ... I guess if you put it that way, a few rocks ain't so bad.

Makes me wonder though, why anyone would have the audacity to think their opinions are so superior that they have the right to "cast the first stone."

Tess winds up her 2/6 blog by saying -- But if you're a writer, you'll keep writing anyway, even if you disappoint your readers or your editor or your agent. You won't give up, because then you'll disappoint the one person you can't afford to disappoint.

Yourself.

I'm certainly not going to throw rocks at myself.

Blessings to you and yours.

Confidence

Networking is one thing ... but confidence in delivering the goods ... is quite another. Just because you've been to every writing conference in the universe, met and mingled with high-powered literary-types who've invited you to send them your work, and you've moved yourself into a competitive playing field by hiring a publicist, speech coach, and wardrobe consultant ... doesn't mean squat.

How much confidence do you really have in yourself?

I've been thinking a lot about the level of faith in my work, how much do I believe in myself? After all the bumps in the road of life, the successes and the failures ... what has it done to my confidence level? What makes me think I'm going to make it as a successful author? Do I believe I write quality books? Am I a good storyteller?

Oh sure, mom, dad and hubby and can tell you you're the greatest thing since Eudora Welty, but only the public and the test of time can really tell the tale. Just because I've studied for years, read everything I can get my hands on, and have written tons of material, does that make me a good writer?

So what is it that makes me think I'm going to beat the odds? What makes me think ... after all I've heard from agents and editors over the years about how hard it is to write breakout fiction and only the teeniest percent of the cream of the crop authors get noticed ... what makes me think I just might qualify? After all the discouraging articles online, all the books by "experts" who tell us we got about as much a chance as a cliché in a manuscript to make the best seller list ... why do I bother to get up every morning and start all over again?

Is there any guarantee the stars, moons, and planets will all be lined up when I submit my novel to the perfect agent? Do I think I'm the only writer with passion, commitment, a unique voice, raw talent? Am I like those contestants on American Idol that truly think they can sing, announce on nationwide TV they have "a trained voice," and then stand in front of Paula, Randy, and Simon and make absolute fools of themselves?

Where the hell do I get off thinking I'm as good as all the other authors out there that are not only published several times over, but are fighting to stay that way. Who the hell do I think I am?

Here's my answer.

You know when you look in the mirror and see your reflection, you know without a doubt that's you ... you can't say, "Hey that's not me." You know it's you. You've lived with the same face for years. (For better or for worse.) You know your body, you even know every time something isn't quite right with the way you feel. You know when you're catching a cold, or when you're finally getting over one. It's NOT a confidence level you have in believing your body belongs to you. It's a fact, it's truth ... and there's a peace in knowing your face, your arms, legs, and memory belongs to you and can't be taken from you. That's how I feel about my writing. Just like that.

When I get up in the morning, I know where I live, I know each room in my house, I know if my body feels good or not. And I know ... I write great stories. I write NOT because of a fierce, self-serving impulse in my own heart. But I consider the potential of my writing to communicate my stories, letting others in on the lives of other people I make up.

As a writer, I want to affect the reader’s mind –to educate them into my world and enlighten– but what I wish for even more is to jolt the reader’s heart. I want my words to open a portal through which the reader may leave the world they live in and be transported into the time and space I have laid before them.

Years from now, after I'm gone, someone will read what I've written and know I was here. They may not know or care who I was, but they'll hear my words in their head speaking for me.

It's the air I breathe.

Arrogant? No. Not for a moment. Confident? I guess you could say that.

Blessings to you and yours.

Is There Anybody Out There?

Hello … Hello … Hello … is there anybody out there?

Isn’t that a Pink Floyd song?

It’s my song this morning … I read on one of my Cyber Girlfriend's blog, that blogs sell books.

According to the DenverPost.com of February 7th, Bloggers Nudge Literary Fiction to the Presses--By David Milofsky ... Lauren Snyder, publicity director for Coffee House Press, ... says ... "I do think people are paying attention to blogs and that there is definitely a market," Snyder says. "Right now it might be a cult following, but it's a following just the same, and the reach is going further and further all the time."

Caitlin Hamilton Summie, marketing director of Unbridled Books agrees. "We're all excited about the blogs," she says. "But whether or not it's going to lead to a measurable sales bump in the near future, of course we can't know. The question is whether this kind of discourse will lead to greater interest in literary authors in the future. While we've obviously lost review space for fiction in print markets, the blogs provide an opportunity to create a larger community for books."

I’d like to know, what do you think? Is there anybody out there? Does anybody really read blogs?

For me, it's a journal, of sorts ... but does anybody care about a blog enough to read the author's book? I'm taking my own poll. Any takers?

Blessings to you and yours.

It's A Gas, Gas, Gas

I love the Stones. I'm such a mixture when it comes to music. I love blue grass, country, gospel, and pop, R&B is soothing to me ... and good ole' rock and roll has its place in my "top 40 countdown."

Yesterday, watching Mick Jagger girate all over the stage in the middle of the Super Bowl, I had to giggle. I still love those old songs. Start Me Up, Satisfaction, Jumpin' Jack Flash, and all the songs that our parents hated.

"Turn that devil music off!" I can still hear it.

What I love about my generation, is the appreciation of music I share with my children's generation. Athough I'm not fond of rap or heavy metal, I'm not so quick to discount it. I don't want to listen to it, but I don't condem those who do. Unless, of course, they force me to listen when they pull their car up next to mine at a stop light. But then, I just reach over and crank up my Beach Boys CD. "That'll get 'em."

At any rate, I do enjoy all types of music ... even at his age, Mick is still a gas, gas, gas.

Blessings to you and yours.

Speech Class 101

I used to think it was easy to get up in front of a room and deliver a speech. In all my years of working in corporate America ... I led meetings in board rooms, talked to hundreds of medical students at trade shows, spoke to malls filled with people at health fairs, gave the rah-rah speeches at company picnics and Christmas parties, blended humor and "let's get down to business" speeches at hundreds of monthly company staff meetings. Been there ... done that.

But yesterday, I moved into an entirely upper echelon of public speaking. I've "bam" kicked it up a notch! Thing is ... I'm not in the market to be a speaker. There are speakers who are authors and then, there are authors who speak about their work. That's me. The latter. I never joined Toastmasters or other speaking groups (although I highly recommend you do, especially if you have no experience in giving a quality speech) ... but in the end - I don't want to be "a speaker." I know my first love is writing novels. And yet, I'm going to speak to America about my work.

So, do I want to be ordinary and "just an okay" speaker? No. I realize ... there's an art to speaking well and delivering a well crafted speech. A formula to interesting and memorable presentations ... a better way to reveal my heart and me.

I'm excited about this next phase. I'm going to work with a speech coach. I compare it to taking singing lessons. Even though I've spoken to groups, and have always been nothing less than professional and inspiring (in my humble opinion,) I recognize there is something more I'm looking to do. Find that special fairy dust, the element of touching emotions and bring down the house ... that's what I aspire to perfect. To touch the raw emotion in each and every person within the sound of my voice. To uplift. To be more than just a "feel good" speaker. Who wouldn't want to be memorable and change lives? I wish to deliver a charismatic presentation without preaching! Deliver the goods ... and yet, just be me.

No kidding, it's a tall order. I also realize there are men and women who have worked on their speaking careers for years - but in a very real sense without knowing it - so have I. All I'm wanting, is to connect with my audience in a very real, honest, and powerful way. Whether it be 4 people, with one of those my husband, or 4 thousand people ... it's how I want to deliver my work to the public ... by speaking about it.

So in a sense, I guess I'm going to be "a speaker." I respect people who choose this as a career path. Boy, do I. They have great presence and their attitudes must be up every time they get in front of a crowd ... even if they got a speeding ticket on the way to the meeting. They know how to balance acting and being real.

In today's world of publishing, an author must have a platform and an edge. My edge ... is me. When someone sees me, hears me, they'll get a real sense of my stories. I'm thankful for my new speaking coach. He's coached the careers of Tony Award winners and a Golden Globe winning actor. Sure, I could do it without him ... I could travel around and speak and do a good job. People would be happy and go away with a great book. But I want more than that. I want to give people more than that, so when they hear me they never forget me. And a year or two from now, when they see my novel on the shelves at their favorite bookstore, they say, "Hey, it's her new book! I got to have it!"

All because I connected with them on some level months before.

It's a process, and a great speech is a part of it.

Blessings to you and yours.

Gratitude and Attitude

"Mom! My ship has come in!"

That's the phone call I received last night from my son, Aaron. A young man with high hopes and simple dreams. He's of pioneer stock, I've always said. Aaron is a hard worker and a guy with a big heart. But most of all, he's kept a good attitude about his circumstances from one year to the next. (For the most part.)

If you look at him, you see my grandpa as a young man. He's got Troy Jennings King running all through him. In fact, at my grandma's funeral, people knew who he was before they were introduced. "You related to Troy King?" Oh sure, he's got a little of his dad ... his voice, his laugh, and his legs, but he's a King from the waist up.

Leaving for the Marine Corp. right out of high school in 1994, Aaron recognized his need for direction. The Marines steered him in the path of aeronautics and stationed him at the Marine Air Base in Cherry Point. After his time in the Maines was up, (of course you know, once a Marine always a Marine) he headed back to Ohio, to Columbus, where he studied and received his degree and/or Air Frame and Power Plant license to be a jet mechanic. A major airline hired him over six years ago ... and he's been there since.

He's a young man with a few simple passions. Hunting, his family, and wanting one of his own. He's a devoted man, to his employer ... to his country ... to his family. For many years, Aaron was the man of the house. A protector of little sister ... and of his mom. He's not perfect, Lord knows. But he has a great attitude. His integrity is impeccable.

It's not a secret; the kids and I had struggled through the last fifteen years. We've each one found our paths leading to peace and fulfilled dreams. Mine led me to North Carolina, to Michael and Christopher and a fulfilled dream to write books. Jillian's academic career and degrees have created a potential for greatness. And yesterday, Aaron's path was made a little clearer. His attitude has always been that if he was a good man, worked hard, loved his country, his family, and his God ... he would be rewarded. And now he is. Last year, he found Annie. Yesterday ... he was given a big break that will lead to many more blessings. When my child is blessed, than so am I.

His gratitude is immense. And so is mine.

Blessings to you and to your children, ... you know who you are.

A Blubbering Woman

Yep, that would be me.

Yesterday, I attended the wonderful Women's Business Expo & Symposium "Empowering Yourself" at the Emerald Event Center in Greensboro. Actually, I was blessed with the opportunity to take over the Writers' Group of the Triad Exhibitor table for my friend, Dena, who could not be there.

Meeting many of the wonderful professional women in the area was just plain fun. There was tremendous interest in the writer's group, as well as my book, SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN ... of course, I had my information proudly displayed.

But I think the highlight for me was the lunch speaker, Dr. Johnnetta B. Cole, President of Bennett College for Women. She talked about women's rights and how we all had to take responsibility for our actions and thoughts. She also spoke of the past and how we as women, who remember what it was like to suffer in a male dominated society, should not allow racism to creep into our lives. (Made me think of when I was 20 ... in 1975 ... and I was forced to quit my job at 7 months pregnant.) She said a lot of things that made me think.

And ... the room grew quiet as she spoke of the late Coretta Scott King who had passed away that very morning. It was a solemn time. But I couldn't help but think (when I heard the news driving to the event that morning) what a homecoming she and Martin were certainly having.

So later, after lunch, I walked up to Ms. Cole (maneuvering myself around the other women who were taking pictures with her or trying to speak to her) and ... I caught her just briefly as she was walking out. "Ms. Cole," I said. She turned to me and smiled, then she held out her hand, and the moment I touched her ... I began to cry. Don't ask me why, the tears flowed down my cheeks and dropped like fat blots all over my nice white jacket. I was able to quickly squeak out about my feelings for the King family and for Martin Luther ... relaying to her my maiden name was King ... and she smiled again. Then she said to me, "He was for all of us." She gathered me into her arms and hugged me.

It was a spiritual experience. There's no other way to explain how I felt. Of course, later ... I felt silly and stupid for breaking down like this in front of such an influential woman ... and I hoped nobody seen me blubbering. But I think somehow, she saw the raw emotion and honest feelings I had inside. It was cleansing.

So the Business Expo was more than just an opportunity for me to network. I felt like I'd been to church.

Blessings to you and yours.

The Original Storyteller

At least in my family … my dad, Darrel James King, is the King of Storytelling. He was born in a coal camp in West Virginia in 1932. The grandson of Andrew Jackson King and second child and first son of Troy and Gussie King, Dad’s first memory, or so he tells it, is at two years of age. It was 1934 and his dad bought a new Ford V8 sedan at the Braxton Motor Company in Sutton, WV and Ernest Tubb was singing, “Walking The Floor Over You” on a radio in the car dealership. He says he remembers it as plain as day.

My coalmining grandpa worked five-days a week during the Depression earning a hundred dollars a month. Coal mining was a lucrative job back then, and for most men with big families, the risk of life and limb was worth it. It kept them all in one place, which is important when it comes to putting down roots, connection with extended family members, and the entire storytelling process.

I imagine my dad running barefoot all over Widen and the hills and mountains that surrounded the town. This picture, taken in 1937, is of Daddy at five-years old, his sister, Emogene, was six, and his little brother, Delmer, was three-years old. They all entertained themselves with huge imaginations, and I believe Daddy just had a knack for telling his own stories. One of my favorites is the time he was picking blackberries in the woods with his grandma. “I was just a little feller,” he says. “All of a sudden, I’m movin’ backward, but my dern feet are standin’ still. I look down and I’m standin’ on two black snakes tryin’ to get away!”

I know … he’s a hoot. Daddy has an imaginative memory stacked with stories and often-different versions of the same story. One time he had the horse running like the wind and another time the wind couldn't keep up with the horse . When he tells his stories, my mother rolls her eyes with the “here we go again” look. She’s heard them all … over and over … she's not a fan of history, especially her own. But unlike my mother, I could listen to them ... over and over.

He tells his memories of living in a coal-mining town with such drama and wanting you to believe every word he says, because to him—it’s all true. “Me and Delmer (his brother) used to run to the middle of town each time the whistle blew. We knew somebody got hurt or kilt in the mines …”

It was a different world, a time forgotten. Unless you’re fortunate enough to have a dad like mine with stories like these, your own family history is at stake. I’d suggest, if you have any interest at all in your heritage, start writing it down. Visit older aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents if you’ve got them … write it down to be passed down.

My son, Aaron, who loves his grandpa fiercely, can relay his stories almost verbatim. It makes me feel good inside … because I want those tall tales to live on for a long time.

Eventually, my dad went to college, married my mother, spent time in the Army, and moved his family to Ohio … like so many of the young men of the 50s from coal towns in WV. The rubber companies were hiring—it was a way out. As a result, his three brothers followed suit.

If you’ve read my blogs in the past you know as a young girl I remember spending every weekend driving back to West Virginia. It was home to him. It still is.

Dad insisted that winter in Ohio was nothing compared to the winters he had endured as a boy, interminable winters when the snow reached to the eaves of the roof; and when the wind from Ohio blew away the snow, the icicles remained, “icicles as thick as your arm.”

He tells about the night on December 11, 1944 like it was yesterday. “A very deep snow came. We lived in a house my dad built on a farm at Mill Creek. It had three bedrooms and an outhouse. A living room and a kitchen … that was it. No electric. We did have a water pump in the kitchen that needed primed each time we used it. Oh yeah … about the night of the deep snow … that night our new home burned to the ground while we were all at the picture show in Gassaway. Dad moved us back to Widen in a little house on Nicholas Street with very little furniture and Mom cooked in the fireplace …”

His tales are wrapped in sorrow and in humor. We never know where the truth stops and his imagination takes over. It doesn’t matter. They’re his stories. They’re true to me. He's not trying to write a memoir and get on Oprah. He's just being my dad and doing what he loves to do. Talk about his childhood. I just hope he’s around another twenty years or more … so we can hear them all again … and again.

Bless you, Daddy.

Blessings to you and yours.

Gail Godwin, A Lifetime of Achievements

I attended a book signing at Quail Ridge, (one of my favorite book stores) and listened to Gail Godwin speak about her new novel, QUEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD. She also discussed her new book, THE MAKING OF A WRITER: The Journals of Gail Godwin, 1961-1963. She shared with us her passion for Henry James, Marcel Proust, Lawrence Durrell, and ThomasWolfe.

I have read SOUTHERN FAMILY, which I loved, and have yet to read more of Ms. Godwin, so I wanted to meet her, get her to sign my copy of Southern Family, and purchase her new books. (She looks thrilled to have her picture taken, doesn't she?)

I believe Ms. Godwin is a treasure. A graduate of Peace College, many of the young women from Peace were in attendance. I’m sure she inspired them, as her real life reads like a novel … a struggling writer through the 50s and 60s who comes to the realization that she is a novelist, not a journalist. And after traveling the world, keeping a writer’s journal, and having some connection with Thomas Wolfe through her mother, she finds success in her writing. Sounds all dreamy and movie-like, doesn’t it? Like something out of a Virginal Woolf novel.

In her memoir, she also writes about her terror of facing twenty-six with nothing to show but a rejected novel and a stack of debts. "I do not feel like a failure," Godwin insisted as she sat down to an empty page. "I will keep writing, harder than ever." Simply inspiring.

But, I believe we can look back on these writers … Gail Godwin, Elizabeth Spencer, the late great Eudora Welty, among others, and see a world that has come and gone. During the question and answer session, many of the questions were rather fluffy to me … “What was your greatest experience at Peace College?” “Will we see the character of Margaret again?”

I wanted to ask, “Ms. Godwin, what do you think about the publishing industry today versus when your first book was published?” My question just didn’t seem to fit in with the fluffy questions. I should’ve asked anyway … it might have added a little spark to the conversation.

Ms. Godwin is a well respected and a genuinely loved author and teacher, but the talk lagged on. Personally, I was ready for her to stop at the end. Meaning no disrespect, because I think she is a wonderful writer, but it’s a good thing she’s already established. The new writers and novelists of today cannot sell their books out in the trenches if they drone on for an hour. I DO HOPE my readers understand my comments have absolutely nothing to do with the quality of her writing. But I also hope young writers, unpublished or newly published writers understand … we’ve got to be better speakers, sharper, clearer, louder, and shine a bit more at our presentations than the established authors of yesterday (even if they are continually published.)

It’s only one part of getting your work sold. I love the networking I’m able to do while at these signings. I always meet people who are interested in my work, as a writer. They asked for my card and web site and it helped to make the trip to Raleigh feel like I haven’t entirely wasted my time.

I sincerely wish Ms. Godwin all the best with her new books, and I’m sure I will enjoy them as much as I enjoyed Southern Family … maybe even a little more.

Blessings to you and yours.

Meeting Authors

As you probably know, if you follow my blog or web site, I get around to many of the author signings, in my area and otherwise. I learn a great deal from these events. What to do, what not to do ... which high-priced books have authors that can speak, as well as write. (Believe me, most of them cannot speak well.) Unfortunately, that really doesn't matter for some well-known authors with a dozen books in print. People show up to hear them, because they love their work, and they love the person that writes the book, not because they're known for their entertainment value on stage. Those authors are few and far between.

For some authors, they may shine in their writing ... but when it comes to performing it, talking about it in front of an audience ... they suck at it. I think we have to be honest, if you're going to go out there and talk to people ... know how to captivate them, seduce them, entertain them. You'll sell more books, but you also come off looking like the professional you feel you are.

But like I said, some need a speaking coach, a few acting lessons, and you need to watch every other author speak that you can ... watch the audience's reaction. You learn a lot that way.

So after many years of watching ... I'm investing in a coach. Someone who will take what I feel is already a kick-ass presentation and make it dynamic, inspirational, and leaving the listener with something to think about. I don't want anyone to feel they've wasted their time by coming out to hear me speak.

No longer can you get away with putting on a little humility act, reading for five minutes, being hokey, and answering a few questions. It's about being honest and putting everything you have into your writing and that includes your speaking about your writing.

That's how I see it anyway.

Blessings to you and yours.

Mama's Fishbowl

A fish swimming around in a fishbowl knows nothing at all about water. Water is the fish’s life. It’s enclosed and implanted in water. In that sense, the fish doesn’t really know water. If you want the fish to really understand water, you have to take the fish out of the fishbowl and say, “Look, that’s water.” Now … if you put the fish back in … the water never looks the same again to the fish.

Well, possibly, that reminds you of your mama; she’s never been out of her fishbowl.

Caught up in the pain of divorce, most women naturally want to share it with their mama. It may take a day. Maybe a week. But sooner or later, there’s going to be that moment when it can’t wait any longer. You might be pumping gas, or dropping the kids off at school. It could hit you at work, or at the dentist. Maybe not until the next time you step on your mama’s front porch. But sooner or later there’s going to be a second when you can’t exist another moment without sharing your pain; the latest crap he’s pulled, and how you can’t sleep without the TV on to numb your mind. You may be a bit daring and reveal the time he hit you and you’ve finally got the nerve to tell her; or how you cried for three days straight when he walked out. Ignoring all hints of caution, you might even tell her about your recent message from the Lord.

You’re a woman, you need to talk to her. But she says, “I’m sorry, Sugah. Don’t fret, it’ll be fine.” Somehow that’s not good enough. You respond, “But Mama, I was standing in line at the Food Lion when Jesus spoke to me ...” and your mama interupts, “Uh huh. Sorry honey, what d’you say?”

You watch her eyes glaze over as she smiles, nods, and glances over your shoulder out the window at your dad, worried he doesn’t mow over her newly planted hosta. So you try a new approach. “You know, Mama, I found a psychiatrist,” and before you even finish—the dryer buzzes, she pats your hand, then heads to the laundry room. “That’s nice,” she says like a good Stepford wife.

But suddenly, she’s giddy when your sister calls to tell her about their new car and invite her and your dad to dinner. Your mama hangs up from your sister and replays all the great things you’ve missed because you married too young. After all, your little sister is on her third new house … and you’ve yet to own a first one. Her comments pull down on the corners of your mouth as you try hard to smile while she lists all the wonderful things your sister can do because she married the right man. A man with money. Like throw that big party she gives every year for your dad’s birthday … where everyone asks about you, and inevitably about your ex.

Then she jumps to last night’s episode of “Unsolved Mysteries.” She insists on telling you about the abused and missing women. Her voice raises as she shakes her head and clucks her tongue. She just can’t believe women put themselves in such predicaments. And you want to crawl out of your skin.

She folds towels at the kitchen table, avoiding your eyes, but you say it anyhow. “Mama, I have a bankruptcy hearing next week.”
You hear yourself sounding pathetic. You know, in your world, if you start a sentence like, “I received a final shut off notice…,” that doesn’t sound odd. But can’t you just see your mama rolling her eyes? You’re going to have to choose between sounding pathetic … and being silent. You long to go home … where you can be normal.

And maybe your life seems over back home. Empty. One that was once really comfortable and promising … only now the rug’s been pulled out from under you. Oh boy. All those times you tried to get her to understand your world. Some of it feeling a little forced as you could tell she didn’t want to hear it. Your heart had been ripped out of your chest wall, but she just didn’t want to hear about it.

Your relationship with your mama might not feel like it used to. Like an old pair of jeans that’s comfortable … but no longer your style. And you think, “I just can’t do this any more.”

You have become independent and genuinely concerned about the world outside. About other people. Stronger. Braver. Better than you were before divorce opened your eyes to the way the world looks at you. The life you had planned for yourself might not seem big enough all of a sudden. You’re thinking about changing directions. A new career. Maybe even a new home. Move out of state. How will she ever understand?

Does it matter?

Time to move on.

There are a thousand little ways in which the world doesn’t fit from this point forward. Television commercials look really stupid. Material possessions have no meaning. Your mama’s house is now disgustingly sanitary. Salespeople look at you like you’re an idiot when you try to bargain, but they’ve got money in their pockets, you don’t. And everybody has too much … stuff.

Even words don’t seem the same. You hear, “Family Court.” Family Court is a place … it’s not just words any more. How could you possibly have imagined spending the rest of your life getting chills whenever you thought of the words, “shared custody” and “court-ordered child support,” with the steady haunting cry of your children in the background. Who else will ever understand that? The world is never going to be the same again.

So what do you do? First, forgive your mama. When she listens to you it reminds her of the hell she never wanted for herself. Her idea of trash comes from a long line of pretentious women. Face it, she’ll never, not in a million years, understand you. It’s not the same as having been there. You know that. Your dad worships the ground she walks on. Always has. She quit high school to marry him and never worked in the public a day in her life. Sure, her life wasn’t a bed of roses, but her husband loved her to pieces … she got past the thorns.

You look hard at other people’s marriages now, fully aware nobody knows what goes on inside one. Be assured, they’re going to be looking at you too, and listening to see how you survive this. After all, you’ve lived it. It’s changed you … it hasn’t changed them. So you have to be a little patient with them … you have to be a little forgiving if they don’t quite get it. But I think you can only do that if they are willing to let you be the person you have become.

It is not the crap you’ve been through …and it’s not the good things that you’ve done since that have to be shared. It is who you have become that has to be shared. You don’t have to find people who’ve been divorced to understand you, but you have to find people to understand you. Can accept you and your mistakes, love you unconditionally. And if your old friends won’t let you be the person you’ve become, make new friends. There are a lot of good people out there. You know that single mom down the street? The one that mows her own yard, and has a garage sale every year to make ends meet? Go talk to her.

You’ll find friends who can confirm who you are … and who you are becoming. Even if that is not clear to you now. In many ways, the person you will be six months from now is still developing right outside of consciousness. You don’t know yet how much you’ve changed. And you won’t know for another six months or a year. It isn’t a good idea to make any major life decisions before then. You might want to … but give yourself some time.

Find a cause … something that you believe in … and work for it. If the world doesn’t fit any more, then you have to create a world for yourself that does fit. A place where you can feel at home.

Some of us have been taken out of our fishbowls and put back in again. Your mama’s from another time, another place. It’s her life. It’s the way it is. Love her, but go on. After all, she’s never been out of her fishbowl.

Every Life Is Worth The Telling

Some of you know, I'm a supporter of the International Women's Writing Guild. This March 4th (Saturday) Hannelore Hahn, the Executive Director and Founder, is coming to Lincolnton (near Charlotte) to lead a workshop with women writers from both North and South Carolina. This will be a casual meeting of women who have an interest in writing and/or a connection to the written word. I have traveled to hear her speak in New York City on numerous occasions, each time coming away encouraged with lots of fresh ideas. She is a unique woman, but the conference will center around each and every one of us. It's a one-day event, not a far drive (if you live in the Carolinas,) and I would like to encourage you to go.

The International Women’s Writing Guild
In honor of National Women’s History Month

Is calling on all women of the Carolinas …

1) To meet each other

2) Participate in “Each Life is Worth the Telling” workshop
led by IWWG founder, Hannelore Hahn
(no previous writing experience necessary)

3) Read a brief excerpt from your work
and/or listen to the work of others

4) Have lunch together

Saturday, March 4, 2006 from 9 am – 5 pm
Lincoln Cultural Center
403 East Main St.
Lincolnton, NC 28092
Entrance on North Cedar Street

$30 includes the program and your lunch

Please makes checks payable to – The International Women’s Writing Guild
Mail by February 28th to:
The International Women’s Writing Guild
P. O. Box 810, Gracie Station
New York, New York 10028

(212) 737-7536
www.iwwg.org

RSVP to Pamela Cable, IWWG North Carolina Regional Representative at cable854@earthlink.net

The South And Its Signs

They crack me up! The signage in the town I live in is sometimes cute and sweet, as well as silly and full of bad grammar. Of course, if you live in the Bible belt, every corner church tries to outdo the next one with their “front porch” signs … in an attempt to make you think about the condition of your soul.

But the signs that never fail to catch my eye … the signs that make me laugh, are those that mix advertising their good food with religion. A couple months ago, a local eatery in my town said, “Praise the Lord, Brunswick Stew is back!”

Made me want to march right in there and order
myself a big ole’ bowl of Brunswick stew!

A local barbeque place uses a pig as it’s mascot and on much of its signage (which makes sense … pigs and barbeque, right?) But it also sells T-shirts with that cute, fat, pig on the front. And what do you think it says on the T-shirt?

Come eat the best barbeque in the state! Nope – guess again. Barbeque-R-Us? Not even close.

The T-shirt with the smiling pig reads … Jesus is Lord.

I’m not kidding. I haven’t decided if its sacrilegious or just the owner of a barbeque that flat out loves Jesus and isn’t afraid to tell the world how he feels.

Here are two local signs you’ll find interesting. The places are within a few miles of my house … I swear.

Enjoy!

Blessings to you and yours.

Sometimes Blogging Takes A Back Seat

It's been a busy week and a week of fighting the flu. For the past three days, blogging has taken a back seat on my list of priorities.

So, in case you're one who reads me and is wondering if I've given up blogging ... the answer is 'No' ... I'm just "takin' a rest" ... like my grandma used to say.

Tune in next week ... there's lots more coming. I'm working against deadlines for my book, SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN, and it grates on my worn out self to be behind ...

I'll be back in full swing soon ... promise.

Blessings to you and yours.

How Small Is Your World?

Hearing Angela Davis speak last night, as I attended a Martin Luther King Jr. celebration at UNCG, made me realize that just because we think we're tapped into current events with the media blasting into our homes everyday, does NOT mean we're getting the truth. The media is often biased, it does not always accurately report world events.

Civil rights activist, Angela Davis, reported to the few thousand people who packed out the campus auditorium that our prison systems are a mess, that Katrina victims are still out there and just because the media has abandoned them does not mean the problem has gone away. Her speech focused on about a dozen other moral and social issues that all of us should but don't think about. Not giving us any solutions, her message was to the youth ... it's time you find solutions and tell us how to solve these problems.

I remember Ms. Davis from the 60s and 70s ... I remember hearing what a trouble-maker she was. A black militant and what was worse, she was a woman. Being but a young teenager at the time, my life was boys, clothes, and the Rolling Stones. The last thing I wanted to think about was what was this woman all about. (Shame on me.) Last night I sat and listened intently to her message, and though I didn't agree with 100% of it, I was stirred by the intent and the devotion to which she has dedicated her life around it.

Her message is that racism in our country has NOT improved. Racist laws may be off the books, but the racists still exist. There is still a struggle among all the races. She even addressed the conservative views of some African Americans, as well. I liked when she said ... that it's not about the color of your skin, it's your political beliefs in making this planet a better place in which to live.

She asked the question more than once, "What would Dr. King say about the Katrina victims?" "What would Dr. King say about political prisoners today?" I believe Dr. King would call the nation to prayer. I believe he would be ever present in Washington and keep human rights in the forefront of the nations problems to be addressed. Rights for all people of every nation.

Her delivery was riveting, and I personally found myself thinking about issues I'd not thought of in a long time. It made me realize just how small my world is (and how small minded many people have become- they close their eyes and refuse to believe these problems still exist) ... that none of us can change it all, but we can do our part by becoming involved in a program or a group or writing letters ... something to make our world a better place to live.

Blessings to you and yours.

He Makes Me Cry

When I was a little girl, my father told me I was related to the great Martin Luther. (Being the non-violent and loving man that he was, and is ... I had no reason to doubt him.) And because my last name was King, I believed him wholeheartedly.

I told everybody--I was related to MLK. Can you imagine it? A little white, barefooted, blonde-headed girl running around town in the 60s, and in places in the south where there was still such things as a "colored holler" ... telling everybody who asked my name, "My name is Pamela King ... I'm related to Martin Luther King." My mother had a hard time shutting me up.

I didn't know the impact of this man at the time. But the looks on faces as I said it back then, I've never forgotten it. I address issues of race in many of my stories. I have problems with any race exhaulting itself over another in any capacity. I believe Martin Luther was a man of great spiritual authority and I believe he was one of the greatest orators of our time. But many believe that. It's not a declaration you haven't heard before - right?

But I remember the first time I heard his "I have a dream" speech. It made me cry. Even reading it, it still makes me cry. It's the most powerful speech ever written, in my opinion. I don't tear up at the Declaration of Independence, or even the Gettysburg Address. I don't believe there's another speech could ever be written as moving and soul-gripping as that one. I remember that for a period of time after hearing this speech, I wished I was black and could feel the pride he instilled in the African American race. Because as a young white girl, I felt ashamed that this type of speech ever had to be written in the first place.

Now, years later, I've realized that Martin was talking to all of us. Anyone who believes in the equality of the races can take on that speech as their own. It belongs to all of us.

"And when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and hamlet, from every state and city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children--black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Catholics and Protestants--will be able to join hands and to sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, 'Free at last, free at last; thank God Almighty, we are free at last.'" - Martin Luther King

It belongs to all of us.

He still makes me cry.

Blessings to you and yours.

Getting It All Done

I read, and sighed, over my friend's blog from yesterday. Dena Harris, as you know, is one of my favorite writers. http://www.blogsbydenaharris.squarespace.com/.

I love my freedom and flexibility also. It is truly a gift few enjoy ... working from home. But I agree with her, there are those days when you think it'd be easier to go back to a 40/hour a week job, do what you're told, and come home. Problem is, I always found ways to bring it home with me. And when you're the boss, as I typically was, those 40/hour weeks turned into 60/hour weeks. Sixty hour weeks making somebody else rich.

I do understand her thinking, however. Being a writer and juggling that which makes money and that which does not is difficult at best. Because those projects that really aren't generating you a cent, do add to your credits, your resume, your reputation, and your experience.

But you still have to eat and pay the bills. I know what she means. I still have to write the stories, the novel, that will eventually pay me.

And I still work 60 hours a week, but now I work for myself. I get started the minute my coffee's been poured ... three minutes out of bed. My hair looks like a bad impression of a Dolly Parton wig, and I don't shower somedays until noon, (or later depending on the intensity of my work.) I can take a long lunch or no lunch and not get the cold shoulder from any "boss" or co-worker. I don't have interruptions, and I don't have to take phone calls. And if I want a long week-end away with my husband, I don't have to call in sick or run it by the "boss." I can eat at my desk, and I can sleep at my desk. I can play music and arrange my work to fit me, not some department head that needs it done yesterday. And thank God, I don't have to waste time sitting through mind-numbing meetings because some yahoo department head likes to hear him/herself talk.

But I don't knock off at five, either. I'm at it until bedtime. Usually 11 pm or later. I spend a lot of time on projects for other writing groups, writing articles, working on publicity, and I do a considerable amount of time on research. None of which pays me a dime. I'm lucky, I have financial support from a supportive husband who believes in me. But all these things, including writing this blog everyday and wondering if anybody's reading it, distract me from my passion ... writing my stories.

In my case, I'm fifteen years Dena's senior ... I'm working against time. Though I don't like to admit it. It all happened the way it was supposed to. My life experiences lend a richness and a connection to the written word that may not have happened for me at 30 or 35.

The question remains, how do we set the right priorities, get it all done, stop wasting time on stuff that doesn't matter, and get paid for what does? It's easy to repeat the old cliche, "learn to say NO." But how do you know what to say No to that will bog your work and paycheck down, and what to accept that will benefit you as a writer in the long run. If anybody has the answer to that question, I'll pay the bucks to hear you speak at the nearest writer's conference. I love to know.

Blessings to you and yours.

Today's Woman

Yep ... it's me! On page 57 of the new magazine. It hit the newsstands in North Carolina this week! A editor contacted me a while back, and I'm one of the six women in "Women to Watch."

A great bi-monthly magazine with wonderful articles written for women. Articles on health, human interest articles, and even wedding information. I've been passing them out everywhere. Yesterday, I had a meeting in Charlotte and handed them to ladies from New York who came to plan a writer's conference for the women of the Carolinas ... today, I laid them on a media table during a local networking morning meeting in Greensboro.

It's amazing what you'll do when you're picture is in a magazine. My mother-in-law took them to the hair salon, I mailed them to family members, and friends in other states. Thing is, it's all part of the marketing plan ... get the word out about my books. Give them to strangers on the street. Send the subscriptions soaring!

I've been told I'm going to be on the cover in September. A cover girl. Well, it's about damn time. I wanted to be Cybil Sheppard and Cheryl Tiegs when I was 17 ... now all these years later, I'm going to get my chance. Maybe if they like me, they'll want to read my stories.

To subscribe, write to info@todayswomanmag.com.

Blessings to you and yours.

Haven Kimmel, A Girl Named Zippy

When I think of Haven, now that I've seen her and heard her speak, I think of one word. Smooth. Oh yes, and one more word. Precious.

Last night I was totally (leftover word from the 80s) blown away by her reading. It was as if she'd memorized her entire book, because she barely looked at her pages. Reading from her new book, SHE GOT UP OFF THE COUCH--a memoir about her mother, she kept the jam-packed room at The Regulator in Durham mowed over with her humor. I laughed, I cried. Her delivery and timing were perfect. I kept thinking ... how could she speak so clearly, so precisely, and be so damn funny at the same time?

If you've read A GIRL NAMED ZIPPY, you'll instantly fall in love with her. First of all, the picture on the cover is worth a million bucks. But her anecdotes and metaphors are beautifully written. And now that I've met her (which I could kick myself for forgetting my camera) I can see why the voice in her books is so original. Because Haven is her voice. She isn't one way on the page and another in person. And frankly, I loved every minute I sat there mesmerized by her.

Later, when she signed my copy of ZIPPY, I was again surprised by her concern about ME. Mentioning I was a writer, she immediately grabbed a pad of paper and said, "Here, write the name of your book and web site down ... I want to read it."

Who knew that a girl who used to be called, Zippy ... could be so cool and collected when she grew up? But I'll bet Haven would argue that she's still a little girl at times ... inside ... and when she sits down to write, she's still and always--Zippy.

Blessings to you and yours.

2006 Whirlwind

It's started ... but then, I knew it would. I've spent the past two days up to my armpits in e-mails, meetings, and a business plan for 2006. Yes writers, you too can write a business plan.

It's a carry-over from years of working in the corporate world ... and now, I'll be damned - it's a little handy-dandy thing to know. Sitting with a publicist yesterday over a three-hour lunch meeting woke me up to the fact that even with a background in marketing and having poured myself over endless Internet articles on promotion, I still need professional guidance to get my book where it needs to be. There's more that can be done than Michael or I have time for ... my days need to be geared in other directions, mainly to my writing. A publicist can pull all the loose strings together. If you get the right one.

I'm hoping I've found her. She's a professional in my area with all the contacts and current know-how to put it all together for me. I'll keep you posted on how this is going. We're meeting with her again soon. She's an amazing woman that impressed the hell out of me -- so stay tuned.

Keeping the blog short today ... I'm going to stay on schedule if it kills me.

Blessings to you and yours - as always.

Another Tip

I don't remember who said this, but it's posted on my monitor. I read it daily, every time I sit down to write. "The best 'author tip' on handling conflict I know; Find the main character's Achilles' heel (the root source of his/her internal conflict) and stomp on it (external conflict.)"

Donald Maass says, "Write down what would make your protagonist suffer. Then, make it worse. Raise the stakes." Actually, his teaching is much better than my little take on it, but conflict is truly --- what sells books.

I know, I know ... plot, larger-than-life characters, kick-ass scenes, and good clean, clear, streamlined writing will help you get an agent ... but it's the conflict, the page-turning prose that causes one reader to tell another, who will tell another, and that reader will recommend it to their sister, and the sister will tell her best friend who will then buy it for her mother ... and so on and so on.

That's what sells books. Pure and simple.

I've been reading, studying actually ... pages and pages of opinions from million-dollar-deal authors and high priced publicists to the little old lady on the street ... one opinion after another of what it takes to get the word out and reach readers. I think I've bought every book written on publicity. The opinions are as varied as the people offering their 2 cents.

There is no magic formula, when it comes right down to it. It's hard work. Writing, publishing, and promoting. It's competitive.

But if you can lay your head down at night and know for certain you've done your best that day ... then it's all you can do.

And here's one last free tip for today ... to create conflict on the page you have to keep peace in your home. Think about it.

Blessings to you and yours.

Murder We Write

(I just read my blog from yesterday, whew. Talk about a mood swing. It must be these mid-life female hormones ... think? Good grief! I haven't been feeling tippy top lately, and I guess it showed yesterday in my blog!)

But last night! What fun! Spoke to a very responsive and eager bunch of wonderful women (and two men) all part of Sisters in Crime. Our chapter is called Murder We Write. My talk, WRITING CONFERENCES/CLASSES - WHAT THEY CAN AND CAN'T DO FOR YOU ... rocked!

After spending the past two and half years touring around the country to dozens of conferences and writing classes ... some big, some expensive, some free and in the next county ... I can get excited talking about them. To me, it's all about the networking! It's worked miracles for me!

My desire is to encourage other writers, the more timid writers, to get out there and do some handshaking. Take advantage of the opportunities at conferenes to meet your colleagues, editors and agents. Obviously, I've got lots to talk about when it comes to writers' conferences. Check out my web site ... it's all on there. www.pamelacable.com

If you write mystery ... or if your stories only have elements of mystery (like mine) ... visit your local Sisters in Crime chapter. They are a fabulous group of mostly women that support each other, talk about their writing, and bring in guest speakers/authors every month to help you in your research, or encourage you to keep going.

My local Murder We Write ladies are the coolest. Southern women poised with pens in one hand and a gun in the other. giggle

Blessings to you and yours.

Why Do I Care?

I've felt like a pile of poop the last few days ... don't ask. Heating pad, and lots of Tylenol. Great way to bring in the new year. And I'm on a deadline. The train ain't slowin' down any.

I read the blogs of other writers that seem to have these wonderful spurts of energy and are so witty as they meet every deadline, teach classes, and schedule book tours. Their words just leap off the page, they're all having a great day, and the universe of publishing kisses them on the forehead and awards them with a new book. The only problems in their wonderful world of writing is managing to spend quality time with their toddler and dealing with snail mail. God, I hate it when they paint such damn rosy pictures.

Can we have some honesty?

Every once in a while, I need to take more time thinking about what's going on inside of me and how I feel. And today it's, why do I care so much that everybody like me. Today, I wonder if anybody even reads this damn blog. Today I'm thinking ... why do I care ... nobody else does.

Self-pity takes a lot of energy. I'm just having one of those days.

Blessings ... I suppose I should count mine.

Tragedy In Tallmansville

I woke up this morning to find that 12 of the 13 miners trapped in the Sago Coal Mine were dead. It made me sick.

Thirteen miners had been trapped 260 feet below the surface of the Sago Mine since an explosion early Monday. The mine is located about 100 miles northeast of Charleston, West Virginia. As rescue workers tried to get to the men, families waited at the Sago Baptist Church during an emotional two-day vigil. I can't imagine the grief inside those family members.

What were the miners dying thoughts? Did they pray? Were they at peace? I shudder thinking about them, huddled down there together. I had read how they tried to shield themselves from the deadly gas they knew would probably kill them.

And it did. All but one.

Coal Group Chief Executive Officer Ben Hatfield said during a news conference, "It's sorrow beyond belief." His name is Hatfield ... ring any bells?

My heart goes out to these families and to the area. The violence erupted, it seems, after somebody made a tragic error and announced they had all survived, then later ... retracted their statement ... the miners had perished. I'm not sure how I would've responded to that horrible mistake. Probably the same way the people of Tallmansville did.

As you know, my family is from a town not far from this place. My grandpa was a miner for 37 years. The history of my father's family is mining people and living in Appalachia. The mountains in this region are dear to my heart ... and these people, and the towns they live in.

Coal mining is still better than strip mining, but the dangers--even in the 21st century--are still as horrendous as ever. To the coal companies I say ... "Time to pay the piper boys ... take real good care of those families!"

Will it ever get safer, easier? Who knows? Nobody's been able to guarantee a miners safety since they started sending men into the bowels of hell over 100 years ago to dig for coal. And I doubt they ever will.

Blessings and comfort to the families in Tallmansville today.

I'm Exploding

It's January 3rd ... the holidays are finally over! I'm looking forward to Spring! Ahh ... but not so fast. If this year is going to be "explosive" then I'm the one that's got to get the work done.

Before I start expolding, I've got to tell you about a great blog. (Especially for women writers.) The blog belongs to author, Karin Gillespie. You can get to her blog easily through her web site at www.karingillespie.com. The best blog I've ever seen for links and a totally gracious heart to teach what she knows about the business of writing. I've never met her, but I've joined her Girlfriend Cyber Circuit. Her writing is funny, her books are fun reads, and she seems to be a warm individual with a giving spirit. I like that. I highly recommend you check out her blog.

My list of things to do grows ever longer, and only weeks left to get my stories completely edited and ready for my deadline. Over the next few days, I'll work out my plan of attack on the new year. If I'm going to "explode" this year, I've got to get started. Exploding, that is.

Let's hope by this time next year, I've exploded all over the place.

Blessings to you and yours.

Explosive 2006

The only thing explosive today has been me running to the bathroom!

After a night of New Years Eve fun (and it really was a great time, thanks Ed and Terry) I'm paying the piper today. Maybe I had a bit too much to eat and drink ... not doing that again anytime soon.

A New York City psychic (a well known psychic) told me in 2004 that 2005 was going to be my year of opportunities ... and she was right. It truly was that and more. Then she said 2006 was going to be explosive. Hmmm, what's that mean exactly. Explosive good or explosive bad?

I suppose if you're a psychic ... the word explosive just covers your butt for whatever way it turns out. Think?

My husband believes it's a good thing. He quotes it often. At times, his confidence level in me soars far above my own. But I depend on his cheerleading abilities to keep me going on those days when self-doubt rages.

I suppose today ... I'll not worry about it. There's so much to consider and take on in this world of writing. The business end of it is mind-boggling. Today is January 1st and my deadline for Southern Fried Woman is closing in fast. I've just spent the morning reading tons of information on the Internet about publishing. I'm on overload.

Time to drink a tall glass of water, pop another Tylenol, and take a nap.

All while I contemplate the word ... explosive.

Blessings to you and yours.