Listening to my muse . . .

So, I'd thought I was going to give myself a rest, a break. I was going to be, as folks in Hollywood say, on hiatus. I'd just finished a major rewrite of the novel I started in January 2007. I haven't even heard back from my agent about whether or not she deems it "submission ready." My sons will be home for spring break later this month (and one of them is getting his wisdom teeth out, so I'll be wearing my little nurse hat). Then I'm off to the Virginia Festival of the Book. The following weekend my husband and I will be in California celebrating my dad's 80th birthday. We're stretching out the long weekend even more to see Springsteen on April 7.

So, with all of that, it didn't make sense to immerse myself in starting a new novel. I mean, I wouldn't be able to establish any writing rhythm, and I might still have to make changes on the MS I just sent off. Giving myself a clean break would be good. Clear the decks, so to speak, so that on April 9 I could dive in. Spring is the season of new beginnings, after all, and we're still mired in winter here in The Heartland.



But you know what? All week, I've had this woman nagging at me every morning when I'm first waking up (my husband can insert his own joke here). And yesterday, the harping continued throughout the day. She poked at me when I was trying to read the paper. She followed me around the kitchen when I was putting away the groceries and loading the dishwasher. She even bugged me when I was in the shower.

So I opened a new document on my laptop. And I was her steno. I took dictation. She's got quite a story to tell. I'm just trying to record it. And I'm hoping the muse who brought her to me will keep her talking and will also introduce me to some of the other people in her life: her mom; Jim, her husband; and Maggie, her daughter. I figure they'll help me understand how she ended up in a parking lot on a hot June day about to pull the trigger.

What a Tangled Web We Weave . . .

I just don't get it. I mean, didn't we learn this as kids? Didn't we teach it to our own children? I'm not talking about little white lies ("No, that doesn't make your butt look too big.") or convenient ommissions ("Um, no, I hadn't heard that."). I'm talking lies. Mendacity. (Do you still swoon when Brick yells at Big Daddy about mendacity?)



Do people really think they're not going to get caught? Apparently so, but, not to be crass or anything, how flipping stupid are they? Or, perhaps, how stupid do they think the rest of us are?

Here's a newsflash to all the job applicants, memoirists, coaches, plagiarists, resume padders out there--you're going to get caught. In this whole world-wide-web life we live in, somebody's going to hear your lie and think, uh, whoa, I think not. Your sister, your ex-whomever, that guy you were rude to, the original writer. Somebody is going to take a second look at that resume and call one of your references. Somebody is going to see that article about the amazing, stunning book you wrote about your wretched/difficult/gang-filled life and say, um, yeah, I knew him/her and it's not true. And they're going to be able to prove it. See, there's this new-fangled thing out there. It's called the internet. Google. YouTube. Myspace. Colleges have websites. So do newspapers. And corporations. The military.

You're going to get caught. Bank on it.

And think back to that time you were five and your mom or grandpa or neighbor lady caught you in a lie. Didn't you feel lousy? But you were little and cute. You're not little and cute anymore. You're an adult. You're supposed to know better.

New Paths

For the past five weeks I've been immersed in the life of a woman coming to terms with the twists and turns and vagaries of her life. At times, she's felt like a pinball, simply trying to brace herself for the next blow before it smacked into her. She had thought for years, things were following a certain path, that her choices were leading her in a specific way, that she was in control, and that she was happy.

What did John Lennon say? Life's what happens while you're making other plans.

Well, that's what happened to Kate and to me.

I'd thought I had her figured out. I'd believed I knew her. I'd been sure I could tell her story. And, I'd been so busy being right I didn't take the time to listen, to really get to know her. Kind of like when a friend needs to talk and I am too quick with advice or counsel. I get so busy helping I forget to hear what she's really saying or asking for.

Well, in the past five weeks I finally let myself meet her. I finally quit my yapping long enough to listen. To discover. To toss out all the clutter that got in the way.

And, I let myself find Kate. And in the process I learned so much about myself as a writer. It was all pretty cool.

So, my manuscript--re-visioned, revised, rewritten--is back on my agent's desk. Did I get it right? I'll find out soon. It certainly feels as though I did. But if it isn't there just yet, I know to trust Kate to show me her world. And she trusts me enough now to let me into her heart. She knows I'll listen before I start writing.

In the meantime, I intend to get caught up with my blog posts. I've also got a project waiting for me on the dining room table involving lots of frames and even more family photos. I've got a stack of new recipes to try. And I've got a whole new set of characters whispering to me, wanting to let me into their lives, their fears, their hearts. And this time, I've promised to listen more carefully than I did with Kate.

P.S. I also have a new blog post up at the group blog I belong to. It's not about writing, but if you have kids applying to colleges, you might want to check it out.

A Virtual Community Becomes Real

You know, this whole blog community is a great thing--I've written often about the friendships I've made through this virtual reality. We spread the word about our books, we develop off-line e-mail and phone friendships. We finally meet in person at conferences. It's been more wonderful than I'd ever dreamed, like just last month when hundreds of us helped spread the word about Patry Francis' paperback release. And a few weeks ago when so many of you sent me cyber hugs and support after the shooting tragedy in my town.

Well, here's another way for us to join in.

I first met Laura Bradford through her blog. Then, when we realized we both lived in the St. Louis area (and had each read about the other in the book pages of the paper!), we met for coffee. Then for lunch. And we keep meeting. And I feel so lucky that I've gotten to know this brave, beautiful, determined, funny friend. So, when she asked if I'd participate in an MS walk in April, I didn't even have to think about it. Of course. She's putting it together, gathering other writers to walk, raise money, and try to make a difference.

Please, check out her blog post to see how you can help--by walking with us (if you need a place to stay, I've got room!), by pledging money for our walk, by entering her contest to name our team, or just by spreading the word.

Oh, Baby

I have two must-reads to recommend today. I know I'm a week late coming to this party, since these two gorgeous books were released last week (to much fanfare, I might add), but I want to make sure everyone knows about these babies:

Souvenir, by Therese Fowler and Orange Mint and Honey by Carleen Brice.

Carleen, Therese and I have dubbed ourselves The Ballantine Babes (think Charlie's Angels without the guns and hotpants) since our debut novels have all been fortunate enough to find a home with Ballantine. And the BABES moniker fits quite well in some other ways--we were all very new at this and are learning together the lay of the land. And, sending out your manuscript to the world is somewhat like sending your baby off to preschool or kindergarten. It's terrifying and thrilling. I remember feeling like I needed to whisper, "Hey, I love this baby more than you can imagine and I know it's not perfect so be kind, okay?"

Carleen and Therese wrote books that are darn near perfect. They ring true, their writing is lyrical, and I was lucky enough to get to read advance copies and provide blurbs. It made me feel just a teensy bit like the big sister looking out for her younger siblings. Here, then, are the quotes I was flattered to be asked to make for their books:

"In Souvenir, Therese Fowler explores how our choices can both haunt us and heal us, and shows how love, complicated and imperfect though it may be, is the greatest power of all. Riveting, insightful, and written with stunning beauty and grace, this will be the book people talk about in 2008."

“Brice deftly shows the importance and joy of understanding our past and not only forgiving those who hurt us, but loving them in spite of that hurt. Readers of Terry McMillan and Bebe Moore Campbell will find a new writer to watch."

I meant every word of the above quotes. I'd love to shout from the rooftops for these beautiful debuts. So, if you haven't yet picked up your copy (or three!), rush out now. They're in Target, they're in all the bookstores. They're for sale on-line. Spread the love and the word for these babies!

Writers in their own words-GCC

I've been buddies with the folks over at The Debutante Ball from the beginning. So, it's been fun to get to know this year's group of Debs. I met Gail last October at the Wisconsin Book Festival, and I'll be meeting Jenny in March when we're both presenting at the Virginia Festival of the Book (fellow Ballantine Babes Therese Fowler and Carleen Brice will be there too!). I also grew up with Leave it to Beaver (I much prefer the early years!). Can anything top when the Beav and Whitey get stuck in the tea cup? I think not. So, it's fun for me to introduce you to Jenny Gardiner, author of the "fun, cheeky, often candid and thoroughly engaging" Sleeping with Ward Cleaver.

Here's a quick intro: Claire Doolittle is not a happy camper. The married mother of five seems to have lost her way in life. Swept off her feet years earlier by Mr. Right, she’s dismayed that husband Jack has turned into Mr. Always Right, and the only sweeping happening in her life involves a broom and a dustpan. Jack’s officious, perfunctory way has left fun, spontaneity and laughter at the doorstep, and Claire is beginning to wonder if she’s actually married to a modern-day version of Ward Cleaver, the stuff-shirted father figure from Leave it to Beaver sitcom fame. . . . Jenny Gardiner’s novel, winner of Dorchester Publishing’s American Title III contest, is sure to lure you into the mundane yet compelling world of Claire Doolittle and will leave you cheering for her marriage.

Here's Jenny in her own words:

1.) How did you come up with the idea for this book? Are you more driven by plot or by character?
I always liked the idea of exploring a disintegrating marriage, ever since my parents marriage ended up in very bitter divorce after 25 years of marriage. The title came to me when we'd been talking about some guy we knew and I sort of laughed and said "Sheesh! He'd be like sleeping with Ward Cleaver!" And then I kept thinking how catchy that sounded. So I had to write a story to go with it, which is when I started compiling so much that had built up in my thoughts over the years...

2.) Who's your favorite character in this book and why?
I am partial to Claire. I loved that she was in a state of despair and decided to not let it rule her life, instead chose to fix what was wrong. I also liked that she did it with humor. And I have a little spot for Todd, because he was such a jerk and he redeemed himself and proved that he didn't have a heart of glass after all.

3.) What's your writing process/writing environment like?
Oh, my God. You should see! Grand Central Station. My desk is smack in the kitchen/living room/dining room in an open floor plan Three teens, two barking dogs, a loud and deliberately annoying parrot and a cat who walks across my key pads. Phones, television, husband who works at home. I have had to learn to focus, which is amazing for me as I'm not a really focused person! But it's great because I really can work anywhere. Sort of like a soldier in the desert learns to sleep everywhere, I can just plunk myself down wherever and write!

4.) What's your favorite part of writing?
The creative process is so empowering and so much FUN. It's really a privilege and a thrill to be able to write. I always wished I could draw or play an instrument well, but it was not meant to be. So I really appreciate that I have that ability to write.

5.) What's the best piece of advice you've ever gotten about writing?
believe in yourself. It is a brutal business fraught with rejection, and there might be a day in which people are slathering at your feet. But to get to that day, you'll be chewed up and spit out repeatedly, so you need to have the faith in your ability to get through the hardships.

So, I think, on this first post-Valentine's Day weekend, this is the perfect read.

Next week, I'll wax eloquently on two fantastic releases by some Ballantine Babes.

* * * * *

A heartfelt thanks to all of you who commented on my post last week and/or e-mailed me. Your concern, care and support meant more than you can imagine.

Sometimes the Real World Intrudes

Less than 5 hours ago, sirens roared down my street. My husband and I were finishing dinner, my stepdaughters had already headed upstairs to do homework. We watched Ernie,our dog, leap up and run to the front door as he always does when he hears sirens. We didn't give it any more thought.

Then, my stepson called from work a few blocks away. "Somebody's running around with a gun!" My husband asked for clarification (he's a skeptic and my stepson has been known to exaggerate). "Well, that's what I heard," he said. My husband told him to be careful, hung up the phone and began to rinse the dishes. It was a normal night. Boring. We were almost to the end of what had seemed like a long week. It was about to get a hell of a lot longer.

We heard more sirens, so I checked on-line. The headlines were startling. "Shots Fired in Downtown Kirkwood." Uh oh. This is Mayberry. This is my home. We flipped on the TV. By now, you've probably heard the news. It's been on MSNBC, CNN, and all the other shows. It's the kind of story I used to hear about, shake my head, and think, when can we get rid of the guns. But, it always seemed so far away.

Not anymore.

This is my town. I know Mayor Swoboda (as I write this, he's in critical condition with a gunshot wound to the head.) He was at a 2000 election night party at my house, attending with a friend who is on the city council. I supported Connie Karr in her previous campaigns. I was going to vote for her for mayor in April. She died tonight. I had a yard sign for Mike Lynch when he first ran for city council a few years ago. He died too.

Two police officers died. I don't know their names yet, but I'm sure I've run into them, talked to them. Maybe when we had a fire in my driveway. Or at the farmer's market. Or maybe they stopped one of my sons for speeding. And gave a warning rather than a ticket. We're a town of friendly faces. Just last week, when we had 8 inches of snow, a stranger stopped and plowed out my driveway when he saw me outside with the snowshovel.

And a grenade just landed in the heart of my home.

I was at City Hall on Tuesday to vote in the primary. 5 people died there tonight from gunshot wounds.

I really don't know what to say. If you're a person who prays, I'd ask you to lift up my town.

Hug your families and friends. Look around and relish getting another day. Laugh. Breathe.

And maybe think of ways we can reduce violence. And ask yourself if we really need such easy access to guns.