Writing Idiosyncrasies by Debra H. Goldstein

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Writing Idiosyncrasies by Debra H. Goldstein

I don’t believe in writer’s block, but I do believe certain conditions have to be right for me to be creative.

I envy my friends who successfully produce one thousand or more words a day. The ones who explain that if “you don’t put your bottom in the seat, you’ll never have anything to show as an author.” If I try to follow their method, I agonize and then end up throwing out most of what I’ve written. For me, an idea must germinate internally until it reaches a point that the muse can’t hold it back. Then, and only then, can the words magically flow from my brain to my fingertips.

Still, having the words ready to flow isn’t enough. I need to have background music when I write anything of consequence. For me, that is usually show music or artists whose songs tend to be more lyrically oriented. The music can’t be rock or heavy metal. Words are key. Sometimes, I just keep playing the same album or two repeatedly until I finish the book or story. The irony is that the same set of songs or albums usually won’t work for the next project I take on.

Then, there is the setting. One chair may be good for a particular book, but the room and chair don’t feel right for something else. Today, I futzed around wanting to write some blogs in the sunroom/office where I usually write, but nothing flowed. Although the weather is in the sixties and sunny today, I walked into my living room, crawled onto the couch, and lit the fireplace. The mood was set. I started writing and somehow four hours have passed.

Tomorrow, I want to work on a new proposal that has been kicking around in my head. Of course, I have no idea how long it will take me to know it is ready, what music is necessary for it to flow and where I should write it. Do you have any idiosyncrasies when it comes to writing or doing any other things in your home or worklife?

April is National Poetry Month FYI by Juliana Aragón Fatula

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My first manuscript was published while I was graduating from CSU Pueblo in 2008. The publisher was Ghost Road Press in Denver, CO. My editor was the fabulous Sonya who was an angel sent from my ancestors to restore my confidence and shine a light on my poetic voice. I adore her and Caleb Seeling at Conundrum Press who along with Sonya sent me a new contract to republish my first book of poetry, Crazy Chicana in Catholic City under a new book cover and ISBN but with the same contents. I of course said, yes.

One day at dinner in Denver with my publisher, Caleb, he asked me if I had another manuscript and I whipped my second poetry collection, Red Canyon Falling on Churches, out of my briefcase sitting at my feet. He published my second book with an exquisite book cover with a photo by Tracy Harmon, the prize-winning investigative journalist and Nationally renowned photojournalist, and my bff of 35 years, since we were college mates. She also does my headshots, promotional videos, etc. She is a goddess and a good human being.

In the meantime, I’m publishing poems, essays, and non-fiction pieces in anthologies and small presses. I am a published writer with a following of fans who think I’m kinda fascinating. I write about my ancestors, my dysfunctional family, my political activism, and my spirituality, my voice is strong, honest, shocking, and hilarious. I’m not bragging, I’m explaining who I am and what I write about. I write the truth even though it hurts it also heals. I’m a healer of sorts. A Chingona Corn Mother, ordained by the Universal Church, a mentor, a mom, wife, pet parent, liberal, radical feminist, and spiritual leader of my community. My community consists of members of the LGBTQ+ and the marginalized people of color, especially the immigrants asking for our help, the writing community, the social activists and hippies, the lesbian lovers, and the Pittsburgh Heroes, the indigenous ancestors who survived and gave me their survival skills. These are my people. I’m a poet.

I’ve workshopped in San Antonio, TX with Sandra Cisneros’ Annual Macondo Writers’ Workshop, with Denise Chavez in Las Cruces, New Mexico, with Francisco Aragón in Salt Lake City, UT, for the Smithsonian Our America: the Latino Presence in American Art, and in sunny Dillon Beach, CA for the first annual Chingona Writers’ Workshop.
My performances have included libraries, universities, bookstores, coffee shops, and cultural art centers in Boulder, Colorado Springs, Denver, Pueblo, Salida, Salt Lake City, San Antonio, Alamosa, and for the Department of Defense in Los Azores, Sicily, Kuwait, Dubai, United Arab Emirates, and Diego Garcia Archipelagos Islands.
My dream of being an author in the library in my hometown came true. The Rawlings Library in Pueblo has my books on the shelf between Rudolfo Anaya and Sandra Cisneros! I almost lost my shit when I realized I am a poet.

One more braggadocio statement if you will indulge me, it is amazing and I’m proud that I’ve won awards for my poetry but also that I’ve met and befriended so many generous writers in my journeys. Some of these amazing writers are professors at universities and have asked permission to read my poems in their poetry classes with their students. And the Albuquerque Poet Laureate, Jessica Helen Lopez. asked if she could read my poem, the Hat, in a performance. I was honored of course.

My life has changed in the last three decades since I became sober and I have to give credit to my husband for sticking with me through all the craziness.

Finally, I’d like to share the story of meeting the international icon, Sandra Cisneros. She was at the Rawlings Library in Pueblo doing a speaking tour. I met her and she shook hands with me and everyone in the room. I never thought she’d come back to the cheap seats but she did with a big smile on her face. I was impressed and a huge fan. I handed her my first book of poetry, Crazy Chicana in Catholic City. She asked me to sign it. I did. I forgot to breathe and almost passed out.

The next day at her reading she mentioned my book to the audience and talked about me for five minutes! Everyone with me in the front row, my friends and professors from CSU Pueblo stared at me with their mouths open. They cheered for me when Sandra told the audience they should buy my book. She asked if I had any copies with me. I said I had a box in my trunk in the parking lot. My BFF, Leslie the librarian extraordinaire, jumped up and shouted, I’ll fetch them. And off she ran.

I sold books beside Sandra. I had a shorter line. Afterward, she told me I want to give you an author blurb to sell more books. She said, your writing makes me want to write poetry. She also asked me to apply to her Macondo Foundation writer’s workshop. She said it’s competitive so keep applying until you get in. I applied twice and the second year was accepted.

My life has never been the same since I met Sandra. She is my angel on earth who lifts me when doubting my skills. She has introduced me to editors who have helped me improve my writing.

Denise Chavez won my heart at the Rawlings Library. I met her and she drew me into her magical world of literature. I’ve become an improved writer and human being because of my friendship with these writers. Linda Rodriguez introduced herself to me at AWP one year in Denver and invited me to join the Stiletto Gang after a few years of being friends on Facebook and emailing. She saved me hundreds of times because she had faith in me, I began to believe I could be a writer and not just a poet but a mystery writer.

I’m still revising my completed manuscript, The Colorado Sisters, but because I don’t want to write a good book, I want to write a great book, I haven’t sent it out to be published yet. It needs a good tweaking or two and then when my editor tells me it’s ready I’ll submit but not till it’s ready.

It’s not easy writing a great murder mystery. I might end up publishing it as a short story or screenplay. But wouldn’t it be great to have my first novel be a prize winner? Oohwee! I’d have a hootenanny and celebrate because I’ll have finished my first mystery and it can sit on the shelf with Rudolfo Anaya, Linda Rodriguez, Maria Melendez Kelson, Lucha Corpi, Katherine, Manuel Ramos, Mario Acevedo, and Stephen King!

Fire pit

Book People

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by Sparkle Abbey

Only Books in the Building Graphic

We spent the weekend at a wonderful writers’ retreat aptly named “Only Books in the Building.” It was located at Honey Creek, a lovely southern Iowa resort. and though this was the first year for it, based on our experience, we know that it will continue to grow.

There’s just nothing better than spending time with other writers and with readers who love books.

There were panels of authors “Romancing the Book,” “Murder They Wrote,” and “Paths to Publishing” as well as breakout sessions to discuss craft and publishing. There were sessions on “Characters Who Keep Secrets,” “Storytelling in Non-Fiction” as well as on plot, revision, and finding your theme.

Authors on writing mystery

           Murder They Wrote Panel

The sessions were fabulous and there was a wide range of genres represented but overall the theme was all about story and how that applies to romance, mystery, memoir, and more.  But best of all there were tons of opportunities to talk books!

Fire pitThe location was wonderful and we lucked out in terms of weather. So we were also able to enjoy the lake, the trails, and ultimately a bonfire.

It was truly everything we hoped for in terms of getting away, hanging out with other writers, and recharging our creative batteries. We’ve attended conferences, book festivals, writing retreats, and other book events but this one really fit the bill for an informative yet relaxing weekend of talking books!

Do you have a favorite book event that you attend? Please share and tell us what you love about it!

 

Sparkle Abbey is actually two people, Mary Lee Ashford and Anita Carter, who write the national best-selling Pampered Pets cozy mystery series. They are friends as well as neighbors so they often get together and plot ways to commit murder. (But don’t tell the other neighbors.)

They love to hear from readers and can be found on Facebook and Pinterest, their favorite social media sites. Also, if you want to make sure you get updates, sign up for their newsletter via the SparkleAbbey.com website

Clicking Our Heels: Our Secret Passions

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Clicking Our Heels: Our Secret Passions

 How many of us have ever had a secret passion? Did you act on it or do you keep it buried within yourself? We thought it would be fun this month to delve into the secret passions of the Stiletto Gang members and whether they ever acted on them.

 Lois Winston – I have two. I wanted to be an astronaut, but NASA wasn’t interested in vertically challenged candidates prone to motion sickness. I also wanted to be on Broadway, but Broadway wasn’t interested in singers who can’t sing, actors who can’t act, and dancers who can’t dance. Go figure!

Mary Lee Ashford (1/2 Sparkle Abbey) – My passion has always been writing so that’s not much of a secret. I will say, however, as a recent retiree that I’ve discovered an interest in history and genealogy that I just never had the time to pursue when I was working full time. It has led to some fun discoveries!

Barbara J. Eikmeier – I’d love to draw. I took informal lessons at one time and think I can draw if only I’d apply myself.

Dru Ann Love – No.

Debra H. Goldstein – For years, I wanted to be a comedian (and I can still be pretty funny once I have a microphone in my hands), a politician, or a writer. One out of the three isn’t bad.

Donnell Ann Bell – Probably my deep-seated wish for all people to find justice, forgive one another, and not turn to violence when they can’t have it. That’s why I write to release my passion to right this crazy world.

Anita Carter (1/2 of Sparkle Abbey) – It’s not a secret, but I’m passionate about the beach! Living in Iowa, beach life couldn’t be more dormant!

Gay Yellen – Even before I could read, I was making up my own poems. I wrote for a living (for magazines and businesses) beginning in my late twenties. Books were my passion from childhood, so as a published author, I suppose you could say I’m living the dream.

Saralyn Richard – I yearned to be a writer for many decades before I arrived at the place and time where I could fulfill the dream.

Lynn McPherson/Sydney Leigh – Improv. Just started taking classes and I love it!

T.K. Thorne – I always wanted to be an artist and paint. During Covid, I started playing with it and to my surprise, I wasn’t as awful as I thought I would be. It has given me many hours of joy.

Bethany Maines – Nope. I pretty much try to do all my passions.  You only get one shot at this life—do it while you can.

Debra Sennefelder – I don’t think so.

 

BOOK COVERS-Eeeek

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BOOK COVERS–WHAT A NIGHTMARE!

 

When I first started out, back in the dark ages (1980s) before the Internet—heck—before home computers, I was as naïve as a newborn baby. I joined Mystery Writers of America, the chapter that met in Houston, and met some lovely, well-published authors.

I didn’t know squat (except what I’d read in magazines and books I’d purchased). I needed all the encouragement I could get, and I did get it. After a while, I was writing and submitting and, of course, receiving rejections, learning craft (we’re always learning craft, right?) and discovering what’s-what in the traditional book publishing business. There was no real self-publishing then (though there were, as now, vanity publishers), or as we call it now, Independent Publishing.

One of the things I found out from some of these published authors was that the author had no say so over her cover no matter how many books she’d written and published. You took what you got. Oh, the stories I heard. One particularly lovely author of over 140 books, Joan Lowery Nixon (1927-2003), https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joan_Lowery_Nixon, who became a pretty good friend, regaled me with stories of her experiences regarding the covers of her books. The story I remember most is when she set a book in pancake-flat Houston, but the cover had mountains in the background. She said she’d had many “discussions” with the publisher before the book came out, to no avail.

My first published book, My First Murder, which St. Martin’s Press, Inc. published, had a colorful cover, which other than there being what one could assume was a dead woman on the cover, had no relation to the story. By that I mean the cover was in the style of Mexican art. (I like Mexican art, don’t get me wrong.) The book was set in Houston and Ft. Worth.

My First Murder, St. Martin’s Press, Inc.

The third cover of My First Murder. I didn’t keep copies of the second.

Some years later, my small press publisher contacted me one day and asked me what I wanted on the cover of the book they were putting out. You know, I had never given it any thought, my experience having been that I had no choice. One of my friends said if I was going to come up with a design for a cover, I should be paid. What did I know? I gave the publisher ideas, but by the time I sent in photographs and more information about what I thought, they had taken my original idea and run with it. The cover wasn’t that good. Years later, I’ve been re-publishing some books myself (of course I have my rights back) and am on my fourth cover for my first one.

The fourth cover of My First Murder and I hope the final.

Anyway, now, years and a number of covers later, as an “Independent” author I have sole control. There are days I wish someone else had the responsibility, so I’d be off the hook. It’s not easy coming up with ideas. I’m a writer, not an artist. I’m about to put out the 6th in my Mavis Davis series and have been racking my brain. The title is The Underground Murders. If any of you have an idea for a cover, without knowing the plot, PLEASE contact me asap.

You may contact the author at Susan@susanpbaker.com.

Susan is the author of fourteen (14) books, mostly mystery/suspense, but not all.

Spring Cleaning for Bookworms: Tips for Organizing Your Bookshelves

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As the flowers bloom and the days grow longer, it’s the perfect time for a little spring cleaning. Inside and outside the house, my list is long for sprucing things up for this new season. From windows to linens to garden beds to around the old barn, there are dozens of tasks to check off my ever-growing list. While many of these tasks are truly chores that will take a significant amount of time, there is one area I’m looking forward to working on. For bookworms, spring cleaning isn’t just about decluttering the house, it’s also about tidying up our beloved bookshelves. And during that decluttering, we sometimes find forgotten books that beg to be read. Oh, what a wonderful feeling that is.

Depending on the size of your collection, this task can be either a breeze or overwhelming. Either way, it’s always a great feeling to have our books tidied up and in order. Whether you have a small bookcase or a wall unit, I hope these five tips may help you tackle the project efficiently and quickly. Because you have some reading to do.

Home library, wall of books.

Assessing Your Collection:

Determine your organization goals: Do you want to alphabetize your books, arrange them by genre, or prioritize your TBR pile?

Take stock of your books: Sort through your collection and decide which books to keep, donate, or pass on to friends.

Decluttering and Dusting:

Remove books from shelves: Clear off your bookshelves and give them a good dusting.

Purge unnecessary items: Weed out any books you don’t want or need and do the same with any decorative items you have on your shelves.

Organizing Your Shelves:

Choose an organization method: Decide how you want to arrange your books – by author, genre, color, or another method.

Invest in organizing tools: Consider using bookends, bins, or baskets to keep your shelves neat and tidy.

Utilize space efficiently: Make the most of your shelf space by stacking books horizontally, using vertical dividers, or adding additional shelving units if needed.

Adding Personal Touches:

Incorporate decorative elements: Spruce up your shelves with plants, candles, or artwork to add personality to your space.

Display treasured items: Showcase special editions, family heirlooms, or other sentimental objects alongside your books.

Maintaining Your Organized Shelves:

Establish a cleaning routine: Set aside time periodically to dust your bookshelves and reorganize as needed.

Stay organized: Make a habit of returning books to their designated spots after reading to prevent clutter from accumulating.

 

There you have it, five quick and simple tips for a little spring cleaning. Are you ready to tackle this project? Any other tips you’d like to share with us about spring cleaning our bookshelves or any other projects around the house? Let us know in the comments.

Happy Spring!

 

 

Debra Sennefelder is the author of the Food Blogger Mystery series and the Resale Boutique Mystery series. She lives and writes in Connecticut. When she’s not writing, she enjoys baking, exercising and taking long walks with her Shih-Tzu, Connie. You can keep in touch with Debra through her website, on Facebook and Instagram.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chicago Angels—by T.K. Thorne

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This is a true and funny story that happened a few years ago. It’s about angels and life and Bob.

I was thrilled that my book had won a national award but didn’t think it was worth a trip to Chicago just to get a photo made. Sister Laura, however, was hyped about it. She had worked hard with little credit—editing, designing the original awesome cover, marketing, and supporting me at every step of my novel about the wife of Lot (Angels at the Gate). She also wanted us to attend the BEA (Book Expo America), which was happening simultaneously.

A few days before our flight, Laura fell and hurt her ankle. BEA requires lots of walking, but she was determined to go, even if she had to get a wheelchair. Where most people would have rented one, my always-check-a-thrift-store-first sister borrowed an old wheelchair from a thrift store. It was heavy and squeaky, and not knowing its history, she had cleaned it with Lysol, which was a prudent sanitary move but, unfortunately, set off the explosive-substance detector at the Birmingham, Alabama airport.

So, wheelchair, Laura, and all of her stuff had to be hand searched. And they confiscated our wheelchair, in case it was really a bomb, I guess, promising it would be at the gate waiting for us when we arrived in Chicago.

Not.

No wheelchair at the gate when we landed in Chicago. Had it exploded somewhere? We finally track it down in baggage. After a start like that, we are surely over the hump. All we have to do now is get outside the terminal because Laura has arranged for her friend, Bob, to pick us up. I’d never met Bob, but he was Laura’s friend. What could go wrong?

Bob, it turns out, is 82 years old. His car is about the same age and smells strongly of gasoline. I have visions of someone in front of us throwing out a lit cigarette. Are we going to explode after all? Will the Lysol on the wheelchair add to the incendiary mix?

Bob hops out and loads us up, pulling stuff randomly out of the hatchback area to get our suitcases and the wheelchair in and then crams piles of boxes on top of them, keeping the hatch down with bungee cords. When we get in the car, I politely mention that the boxes totally block his vision on one side.

“I’m used to it,” he says, pulling out into the rain and the insanity of the Chicago airport traffic.

The “it” he is “used to,” I realize, is not being able to see . . . omg!

I text our hostess. *Landed. If we survive Bob, will be there soon.*

Miraculously, Bob gets us where we are going, an area several miles north of Chicago in Edgewater, where Laura has arranged rooms at a friend’s cousin’s condo. Why, my always-check-a-thrift-store-first sister had reasoned, stay at an expensive hotel? It is a lovely place, but this is the award night, and I am worried about us getting back into Chicago. That ride was not part of the Bob-bargain, so we are on our own. That’s a good thing, right?

At Laura’s insistence, we forgo a taxi because we are so far away, but Laura has called the Chicago Transit Authority, and they assured her that all the metro train stations are handicap accessible. Still, it is no longer raining, and we leave the condo early, me pushing the squeaky, cumbersome wheelchair that I learn randomly applies its right brake and jerks hard to the right. I should have had a clue that the plans made by a woman who borrowed a wheelchair from a junk shop, not to mention, Bob, might warrant follow-up. When we arrive at the nearest station, we find there is, indeed, a way to get a wheelchair into the station. But “handicap accessible” does not stretch to a way to ascend the many stairs to the subway platform.

Reversing course, we head to next station down the line, which does have an elevator and where we meet a nice young man with the Chicago Transit Authority who helps us up to the platform. I ask his name.

“Angel,” he says.

My first thought is how appropriate—the name of my book is Angels at the Gate! WAIT! The name of my book. . .  omg, I have forgotten a copy of my book (necessary to hold when getting picture taken at awards.) The last thing the publicist said was, “Don’t forget a copy of the book for the photo.”

I leave Laura on the platform with Angel, hurrying back to the condo. By this time, my feet are aching in my boots (which I am wearing because my skirt rises too far in front for knee-high stockings, and I will die before wearing pantyhose.)

I grab a copy of my book and switch my boots for sandals. Still need the socks, because this is Chicago, not Birmingham. I look down to see two bright pink big toes peeking out through holes in the socks.

Whoops, sandals not going to work for photo opt. I grab boots for later donning. By the time I get back, we are running late. We set the brakes on the wheelchair but, besides randomly engaging, they are not that spiffy about staying engaged. At the first lurch, Laura rolls down the aisle. I am running after her trying to catch her before she crashes at the other end.

A second angel jumps from her seat and shows us how to lock in the wheelchair. Who knew? We are from Alabama.

The clock is ticking. The whole purpose of the event is to get that photo op. We are a long way from our stop, the closest one to the (Sears) Willis Tower with an elevator.

As we discuss strategy for when we exit, a third angel pops up from her seat—apparently getting a signal from above (or perhaps watching our entrance) that there are some Alabama girls in need of assistance—and plops into the seat next to me.

“You’re going to Willis Tower? I work near there.” She kindly explains which way to walk from our next stop. We are so late now that we must take a cab.

Holding our breath against the olfactory assault in the train elevator (known as a subway by locals, even when it is above the ground), we descend to the street. I step out into the roadway and hail a cab for the first time in my life. (Again, I live in Alabama; a household is incomplete without two cars and a pickup truck.) A cab stops and looks us over, shaking his head at the wheelchair and driving on. I hail another cab, who also shakes his head at the wheelchair. We push on to Willis Tower, rolling through the puddles and treachery of cracked sidewalks. We are now very late.

I push the rickety wheelchair as fast as I can until we hit a crack in the sidewalk that stops us dead, shoving the wheelchair handles into me and nearly dumping Laura, book, and boots onto the sidewalk into a puddle because, yes, of course, it is now raining again.

Willis (Sears) Tower is massive. We enter and proceed via elevator to a winding corridor down to the security station, surely close to our goal, only to find we are at the wrong door and have to be escorted through the labyrinth of the Tower to the service elevators in order to reach 99th floor and the Independent Publisher’s party and awards announcement. We are finally here! We register, pick up our ID’s and a program . . . from which we learn “Historical Fiction” is #15 on the list and they are now announcing #26.

We missed it. All the way from Alabama to Chicago . . . and WE MISSED IT!

I wheel Laura to the bathroom. I feel worse for her, since she really wanted this, and it is as much her award as mine because cover design and layout are also considered, along with the story and writing.

While waiting for her, I notice we are sort of “backstage” to the awards announcer, and a beautiful young woman is standing (on the stage) with her side to me, so close I could touch her with a step. She is obviously connected to the proceedings. Hearing one of my father’s oft-repeated life lesson in my head— Only the squeaky wheel gets the grease— I take that step and tap her shoulder between photo setups, whispering that we had difficulties and just arrived, and is there any way we could go out of order? She steps out of the big room and consults a list, asks my name.

“T.K. Thorne.”

She brightens. “Oh, you are T.K. Thorne? I loved your book!”

“You read it?”

“Yes, I really loved it; it was my favorite book out of all of them.”

There are 80 national categories. No idea how many submissions in each category or how many she actually read, but that’s a lot of books, even if she meant in my category. As far as I am concerned, I am happy.

Dianu. (Hebrew for “it is enough.”)

She graciously arranges for us to get called up, Laura hobbling at my side. They put a huge medal worthy of the Olympics around my neck and, to my delight, around Laura’s too. And I have the book in hand! Success! Photo snaps.

 

You wouldn’t have even seen the pink toes. We head to the bar.

 View out the Willis Tower, drink in hand  View out the Willis Tower, second drink in hand

Over the next several days we encounter angels and references to them in rather odd ways. In addition to the transit guy named Angel, another “angel” (whose friend is Angela) shows me how to use Uber (Yea! No more wheeling for blocks to the train station); the Egyptian uber driver mentions his son’s name is translated as “Angel in Heaven”; and a book publicist at the Book Expo America (BEA) advises me to “listen to my angel.”  I keep looking for a flutter of wings out of the corner of my eye!

On our last day, Bob picks us up, and we load wheelchair and baggage. After bungee-cording his car hatch down (not because of our luggage, just normal procedure), we are off to the airport with an extra hour . . . just in case. It is bitter cold, but I roll down my window because I can’t afford losing any more brain cells from the fumes. There is so much stuff in this car, it is unidentifiable. I try not to think about what all could be in there and just hope there are no rodents that live near my feet. This time I am in the back seat, and I reach for the seat belt. I actually find one, but there’s no buckle, so I just loop it around one shoulder. There’s a chance if we hit something at just the right angle, it might help. Laura is in the front seat. “What’s that noise?” she asks, forehead wrinkled in concern. Is it the engine?

“I don’t know,” Bob says. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

Laura: “Sounds bad.”

Bob: “Unless the wheels fall off, I usually just turn up the radio.”

I couldn’t make this up.

Postscript:  Despite appearances, Bob was one of the many Chicago angels, for sure. He has spent most of his life traveling around the world helping people in disasters, which is how he and Laura met. I really wish I could spend more time with him and hear his stories . . .  just not in his car.

T.K. Thorne writes about what moves her, following a flight path of curiosity, reflection, and imagination. Check out her (fiction and nonfiction) books at TKThorne.com

Dreaming of the Perfect Writing Tool

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By Barbara J Eikmeier

I wrote an entire novel in my dreams the other night. It was a suspense thriller with a mysterious murderous. The plot was riveting and the characters vivid in my dream world imagination.

When I woke, I knew I’d dreamt a novel but didn’t remember a single detail. How frustrating is that?

Whenever I have a clever idea for a story, I make notes. If it’s for a current project I prefer 3 x 5 cards, a holdover from my college days where I learned to write nursing care plans on little cards. In novel writing I use them for scenes – it’s easy to shuffle them around as the narrative is coming together. And I’m a big fan of spiral notebooks, although it’s sometimes hard to find my notes when I need them, and it takes extra time rewriting as I type into the computer. If only there was a tool that would convert my hand written notes to digital text.

I went so far as to buy a second hand gadget without really understanding what I was buying. (Oh the woes of buying second hand!) It had a small tablet sized screen and an electronic pen. Surely, it would work. I asked my techno-savvy daughter to teach me how to use it. Alas, it was a graphic design tool, not intended for text at all. A graphic designer herself, my daughter happily took it off my hands.

Like most writers, I conduct informal research in airports. I’ve observed the introduction of all sorts of gadgets by watching what people are using on flights. Do you remember the short lived series of Samsung phones that were the size of an Ipad? The only place I ever saw anyone use that phone was on an airplane. Then there was that time I thought a lady had left her dental floss on the seat. Her visual relief at noticing the small white case seemed out of proportion for dental floss. Come to find out they were $100 ear buds, common place now, but cutting edge at the time.

On a flight a few months ago I saw a businessman using a slim notebook sized gadget with an electronic pen. When I ran into him in the terminal during a connection I asked him about it. He gave me the name, along with a glowing review. Then he surprised me by pulling it out of his carry-on and showing me a few pages during a 3 second tutorial. I wrote ReMarkable 2 in my spiral bound notebook and proceeded to my next gate where I jumped on the internet and looked it up. 5 Star Reviews across the board. I sent a text to my daughter who replied instantly, “I’ve heard it’s good.”

Using a bit of mad money I had stashed away, I order the ReMarkable 2. I’ve had it for about three weeks now. I’m still learning which features are best for me, but so far I’m loving it.

Is this the tool that will replace my towering stack of 49 cent spiral notebooks? Will it clear my kitchen counter of endless to-do lists? After all, I can still handwrite those beloved lists on its opaque paper like surface. Will the text conversion work well enough for me to cut and paste into a manuscript or in Skrivner, finally breaking me of a decades old habit of using 3 x 5 cards?

I think the answer is yes, it will do all those things. What it won’t do is capture that complete novel from my dreams.

Do you use a digital notepad? Has it increased your productivity?

Barbara J. Eikmeier is a quilter, writer, student of quilt history, and lover of small-town America. Raised on a dairy farm in California, she enjoys placing her characters in rural communities.

FOUND OBJECTS: FODDER FOR YOUR IMAGINATION

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For over 35 years, I’ve been writing, attending conferences and workshops, and making appearances. Like other authors, I’ve often been asked, “Where do you get your ideas?” (Even this morning at a coffee!)

With my background as a probation officer, attorney, politician, and judge (plus having worked s**t jobs over the 9 ½ years it took me to get my B.S.), in addition to being a wife, mother, daughter, aunt, grandmother, and having traveled around the world and lived in several states and countries and being a voracious reader—reading even the backs of cereal boxes and graffiti in public restrooms, I have no shortage of ideas. However, I have an additional resource I’d like to share: Found Objects.

I own a former fruitcake tin in which I keep found objects (except money, which I spend) unless the item is too big to fit inside. When I stumble upon something, my imagination takes off as I scurry to my Found Objects’ Tin to enhance my collection.

Once in the stall of a casino ladies’ room, I spotted a money wrapper on top of the toilet paper container. As a ex-bank teller, I knew money wrappers should not be in the same location as toilet paper since they aren’t used for the same purpose. Why was the wrapper there? Who left it? Should I tell the casino manager? Was someone embezzling money and going to head off down the road like Janet Leigh in Psycho?

One time at a conference, I found a slip of paper on which someone had written “Joe Loves me” “Joe Loves me Not” “Joe Lo” For years I’ve been wondering whether or not Joe loved her (or him). Was she/he at the same conference? Was Joe there? Is she/he married? Is Joe? Are they going to run away together? Maybe she’d been in Las Vegas and embezzled money and was questioning whether or not to flee with Joe? (Maybe she’d seen Psycho).

When my backyard was being prepared for landscaping, I found an earring. My house once belonged to a “mafia” family. Could there be a body below ground? Should I dig?

What about the love letter where a man named Richard apologizes to Phyl for leaving her for a few days while he sorts out his problems. What are his problems? Who is Phyl? For that matter, who is Richard? Does she really occupy all his thoughts as he states in the letter? Or is he thinking about going surfing with his friends while she takes care of the puppy he brought her as a peace offering?

Who in my neighborhood played tennis and lost a tennis ball in my yard? Or was the ball evidence of something? What about the teaspoon I found half buried in the dirt? And a key that could be from a stolen jewelry box? Did the person who dropped the grocery list remember everything she needed to purchase in order to create the perfect meal for her new mother-in-law? Was the skeleton earring part of a costume someone was wearing to a Halloween Ball? Was the inmate letter dropped by the intended recipient, or was it supposed to be trash?

My sister-in-law recently found a drone in her front yard. If I’d found it, I would have wondered, “Why is a drone in my yard?” “Was the drone hovering over my house?” “Is someone stalking me?” She posted about it on Next Door and returned it to the claimant. I’m not sure I would have…though it wouldn’t have fit in my Found Objects Tin.

What creative ways do you use to find ideas?

Susan P. Baker is the author of fourteen books and three in the works. She fends off ideas every day.

 

 

 

Getting a Life

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Getting a Life by Linda Rodriguez

Yesterday I just crashed. I slept late. I couldn’t get myself moving on anything I had to do, not this blog post or a manuscript report that’s due, not my usual stint on the WIP, not any of the several business emails I needed to take care of, not trying to clear some of the clutter and mess that have collected in my house as I’ve battled illness and injury, taking care of a slew of freelance commitments, and preparing and teaching several workshops along the way. Usually I rise early, take a deep breath, gird my loins for the day’s battle with the endless to-do list, and kick into overdrive, but yesterday I couldn’t muster the energy or the will to do much of anything productive. This is not like me.

While driving recently with my husband past Kansas City’s Plaza, which is a premier pedestrian shopping mall/outdoor art gallery full of fountains, intricate and colorful Spanish tiles, ornate buildings, and beautiful sculptures, I reminisced sadly about the good times we used to have walking the Plaza and sitting on one of the many benches to watch the parade of people. I reminded my husband of the fun we had taking picnic lunches to some of Kansas City’s many great parks to enjoy after a refreshing walk. I waxed nostalgic over the weekend day trips we used to make to explore lovely small towns all around the Kansas City area—I’ve given many of their best features to my fictional town in my Skeet Bannion series of novels. The strange thing is that, though we don’t do any of those things any longer due to lack of time, we used to do them when I had an ultra-demanding, 60-70-hour per week university job. Now that I’m a full-time writer, however, I have no time to enjoy leisure activities with my husband or any of the other things I used to do to make a real life—cooking, fiberart, gardening, going to Shakespeare or concerts in the park, lunches with friends, etc.

How did this terrible imbalance in my life occur? Isn’t one of the joys of being a full-time writer supposed to be the flexibility of time that allows you to lead a fuller, richer life? How did I manage with that old job and all its hours and responsibilities to weave in time for recreation and fun, time with family and friends, time to feed the creative well inside me, yet now I can hardly find time to even wash dishes or do laundry, the minimal tasks required to keep us from sinking into total chaos?

If I were just writing my books, I would have time to enjoy some of these activities still, but I have to promote those books in an effort to constantly increase sales. Publishers are dumping, left and right, amazing writers who have received impressive reviews and award nominations because their sales are just not spectacular enough. So, I must work harder to try to get the word out about my books and persuade new people to try them. The writing and publishing (with its line edits, copy edits, and page proofs) when combined with the promotion and marketing (with its touring, social media, conferences, and events) are two full-time jobs. Since my writing career is still not earning enough to support me, I must take on freelance writing/editing/evaluating/judging/teaching contracts, yet another full-time job. It’s no wonder I’m so tired!

I’m hardly the only writer in this predicament. Writers who are far more successful and have been doing this for far longer than I have are facing the same dilemma. The Sisters in Crime listserv periodically rings with the cries of authors who have run out of steam trying to do all of this. Some are even seriously thinking of giving up writing, which they love, because they just don’t think they can do all of it any longer.

As a country, we are moving more and more to a freelance or independent contractor environment, where we don’t have paid vacation and sick days and where we can find ourselves working all the time—or feeling as if we ought to be. How do we make a go of this kind of career and still have any kind of life outside of work?

I’m the first to admit I don’t have the answers to that question. I will be spending my next few days trying to find some, however. How we spend our time is our actual life, even if we think we’re just doing it until we bring in enough money or reach a certain level of success. I intend to find a way to bring those elements of a real, lived life back into mine. Can I do it without shortchanging the efforts I need to put into my writing and promotion of my work to create a successful career? I’ll have to find a way.

How do you manage that career-personal life balance that can be so difficult to get right?