White Space

         Yes, Lisa, I did miss out on posting on Thursday. I know. I feel badly, because I had marvelous intentions (as I walk down that paved road to not-heaven) but was busy with some Christmas craftwork that had to be ready by Friday--the Friday that just flew by.

         What was Sioux busy with, as she trotted around in her Crocs and neglected to post? 

• gluing 1,476 little jokes and snide remarks into each of 4 date books
• creating 158 pieces of hand-crafted stationary that will get used up in--at the most--4 days because the recipient sends out dozens of hand-written letters every day
• sleeping around with a couple of hairy, hunky blondes (okay, they are indeed hairy and there were probably hunks of leaves and... well, other things--hanging from their legs and tails. And they most definitely are blonde. My husband was out of town, so I had a few nights of golden retrievers gone wild.)
• making fudge for a gift (okay, that only takes 5 minutes, but when I scrape the bowl clean--straight from the spatula and into my mouth, the calories last a lifetime)

       More importantly than what I missed out on delivering was what I missed out on receiving. So yesterday afternoon I busily read up on my favorite blogs...right after I saw an episode of "Well Read" on PBS, and got all jazzed up.

        Anthony Doerr, with his book All the Light We Cannot See, was on. It sounds like an interesting novel. However, it was how he came up with the title and something in particular he said that got me hyped.

         He said he was in a train, and when it went through a long tunnel, one of the passengers got quite incensed because they no longer had use of their phone. (Duh!) This guy cursed and kept hitting his phone, to no avail. Doerr thought to himself what a miracle it was to be able to communicate, via a system of towers, and what an incredible (unseen) power it was. (He said it much more lyrically and intelligently.) He came up with the title from that encounter. So, what can we learn from that? Be open. You never know when you'll get a title or a first line or some dialogue or a bit of inspiration from what's going on around you.

         Then he slung off a line that hit when it ricocheted back at me, so I've (again) screwed up the wording. Doerr said something like, "White space is a gift to readers." I like the white space. I like super short paragraphs (a super short sentence that stands by itself.) I like mixing it up with a few dense paragraphs and then some dialogue, and then back to the dense paragraphs. In my WIP, I've broken up the writing into little chapters/scenes, with accompanying snarky or pointed or poignant titles (but not like formal chapters... if this piece-that-is-one-of-Dante's-circles-of-hell ever sees the light of day, there for sure won't be a table of contents. White space is ultra-important to poets, but storytellers and novelists should be mindful of it as well.

          Because it's all about the space, 'bout the space, 'bout the space, no lyin'...(Sorry--I couldn't resist. Now is that song in your head for a while?)



      

The Good, the Good, the Bad and the Ugly

          I'll do the bad first. Several individuals broke into our school last week and stole a bunch of ipads. My school is the closest one to the rioting and looting and burning that has been going on in Ferguson.
     
         One of the good things that happened is one our neighbors saw the stealing taking place. He drove to the National Guard station to alert them. Some of the electronics have already been recovered. I don't know if the thieves were apprehended. What I do know is this man risked his life doing the right thing. (The guys doing the stealing were quite visibly armed.) This hero was appalled, saying, "They're taking away from our kids." That is truly low...

       One other good thing is I began a couple of projects with DonorsChoose.org for some laptops. Both projects got fully funded, due to the generosity of people all over the world. (I even had a couple of donations from Sweden!)

      And now for the truly ugly. For those who have a weak stomach, avert your eyes. For those who have a delicate constitution, close this tab immediately. For those who are easily disgusted, unfollow me... now.

        (Don't say I didn't warn you.)

    
        What's that you say? You're wondering if that's a trick of light or a tear in the Croc? It's a tear. There are also some permanent stains the camera could not capture. (And they claim to be the kind of shoes you can hose off and they're good to go. I have a mind to sue 'em.) Don't Crocs have straps, you ask? Yes, but Foley (who only gnaws on MY shoes) chewed one of the straps off, so I cut off the other one. As horrible as the sight of these shoes are, the real horrifying thing is this:  I still wear these shoes out in public. (Hey! I figure the bottom of my pants covers--for the most part--the tear and the stains. And they're soooo comfortable.)

       Today the gods have smiled on me. Sleet has come. The cancellation of school has come. As Martha used to say, "It's a good thing." 
  

Being Thankful

        This has been a rough week for us. My school is in Ferguson. And even though horrible things are happening, there are some uplifting things happening as well.
 
         Tuesday morning, after a night of looting and many fires and total destruction of some businesses, I drove through to check on a particular restaurant. Cathy' Kitchen was started by Cathy and Jerome Jenkins. It has the best fish tacos in town, and their apple pie makes me (a hater of apple pie) smile and purr when I eat it. Cathy and Jerome spent months renovating it (the décor and the menu have a Route 66 theme), eventually expanding  to serving breakfast along with lunch and dinner, and have been doing well.

         However, they are located right next to the Ferguson Police. This was a place where large groups of people congregated--and not all of them were peaceful.

          What happened to their restaurant--when some angry protesters threatened to destroy it--is miraculous. Here's a link to the CNN article (and I think the video is there as well)  Cathy and Jerome Jenkins

        Today I am giving thanks for my family and my friends. I'm hoping my sister-in-law, who is in the hospital, recovers quickly and completely. And on a lighter note (although it will probably end up being a heavier note), I hope I can display a bit of restraint when it comes to the mashed potatoes, the homemade gravy and the pie.

       Whether or not you celebrate Thanksgiving, have a wonderful day today... and keep peace in your thoughts.

This School is On Fire...and How My Chickens Never Did Hatch

      On Friday I almost set my school on fire. For the last week, I had been storing a few pencils in the microwave in my classroom. Before you call me "crazy," I did have a semi-logical reason for it.  Our pencils are communal, and my students have been going through 913 sharpened pencils every day.  A week ago, when I was collecting pencils at the end of the day, a student had 3 pencils in their desk instead of the normal 1. When they claimed the two extra pencils were from home--all three were different brands--I explained that pencils are always sold in multi-pencil packs, so if they would bring the "matching" pencils from home, I would gladly return the pencils to them. They never did, and the incident was forgotten...and so were the pencils. In the microwave.

      Flying into my classroom on Friday morning, the only thing was on my brain was a whole bunch of popcorn I had to microwave for the two 3rd grade classes...and it needed to be done by 10, so I was in a hurry. Shoving the first bag in, I started to sharpen the first of 913 pencils when I smelled something burning.

      It's only been a minute. That popcorn can't be burning already.

       I looked through the door, and saw a fire--a real fire--going on in my microwave. All trace of the pencils (with those accompanying pesky metal ends) were gone. I carefully carried the glass plate--the plate holding the bonfire--into the teachers' lounge (it's thankfully right next to my classroom) so I could immerse the whole mess in the sink. As I transported the pyromaniac's paradise along the hall, only one fiery bit floated up into air but I was fortunate...it fell down onto the floor instead of igniting something on a bulletin board. All of the teachers in my building are desperate for a day off, but igniting the school? Not the best way to get a break...

      So that's lesson # 1 for you. Don't microwave pencils. They don't end up being a tasty treat. But there's more in store from Sioux's School today. Here comes lesson # 2 ladled onto your plate:

       Don't count your chickens before they hatch. Let me go back a couple of weeks.

       Getting to school extra early one morning, I checked my email. The Chicken Soup people were wondering if I would be interested in going to New York. To be on the Dr. Oz show. The taping would be done on December 4--prime time for craziness when it comes to elementary school kids. Someone--Chicken Soup or Dr. Oz--would pick up the transportation and hotel bill. Was I interested? If I was, I should let them know and they would put me in touch with the PR people.

       I most definitely was interested...

       The horse donkey was out of the barn at that point--too late to rein her in. By the time the PR department emailed me late in the afternoon, I had told a few colleagues at work, my principal, my husband and my sister. My husband galloped out of the barn, too, prancing around the pasture with the news.

        The cavorting ended when the reins were pulled back with firm, reasonable hands. Things were still in the preliminary stages... The PR rep would need a head shot from me, and I'd have to interview over the phone. Then they would relay the information to Dr. Oz's production people, who would then make a decision.

          At that point, I figured it was not going to work out favorably for me. But I tried my hardest and hoped for the best.

          A head shot? Yikes. They were probably trying to ensure I was not a Cyclops...I'd have to turn my head to make it appear I had two eyes. An interview? Shudder. What were they looking for?

        For the last week and a half I sat on pins and needles. Late Friday afternoon (the same day as the fire, by the way) I got the news. Unless someone breaks both their legs and develops a horribly disfiguring--but curable--disease, they probably would not have a need for me. (Look for a show that features some of the Chicken Soup for the Soul: Touched by an Angel authors sometime in December. If I find out the exact air date, I'll include it in a post.)

       For the few hours when I thought a trip to New York was a sure thing, this is what was happening:

• Yahoo! I was going to get my hair and make-up done by a TV stylist. Oh, I know, panel guests probably don't get that kind of star treatment, but once they got one look at me, a dozen make-over experts would converge, create a plan, and work furiously to make me semi-presentable.

• Since bundt cake is not allowed on Dr. Oz's show, I'd probably get fitted with a foundation garment, too. I'm way past the muffin-top. It's a full-blown bundt cake now...

•   I was going to get a change of pace--a day or two off work!

         And that's your bonus lessons today. Fantasizing--even if it's fleeting--is a good thing and prepare for the worst, so if it's good news, you're pleasantly surprised.
   
            

      

What I Learned From Publishing My Memoir

       Linda Appleman Shapiro generously agreed to do a guest post. Without even reading her book yet, I feel we have many things in common, even though my connection is more genetic than environmental... the old nature vs. nurture conundrum.

      My birth mother and her mother (the mother of my birth mother) were both mentally ill. My (biological)  maternal grandmother died at a young age under suspicous circumstances. She was pregnant with her second child, and had been in and out of mental institutions before her death. My birth mother had three girls--giving both my older sister and me up for adoption as soon as we were born--before committing suicide (with a gun). She left a heartwrenching note, saying she was ill and didn't see herself getting any better.

       Thankfully, I had wonderful parents. More or less, I've escaped the "nature" minefield, because I had a nurturing mom and dad. I'm a mother and grandmother and writer. And I love memoirs. 

       Please read Linda's story. She has great advice for anyone wanting to publish a book. After all, she does know about birthin' babies--book babies, that is. (And you can find out more at her website:  www.applemanshapiro.com)

         At first, I thought my greatest challenges were where to start, what to tell, what to omit,
and what I, ultimately, wished to accomplish. Early in the process of writing, however,
I learned that what was most difficult was how to write without my therapist’s voice
dictating the narrative. I also had to learn how to write creatively. That is, if I ever wanted
to engage a reader’s attention, I knew that I couldn’t just report the facts of all that had
happened, I would need to describe each of the members of our family, how we dressed and
appeared, how we spoke or didn’t speak to one another, how our four room apartment
was furnished and decorated, and – not least of all – how it felt to be “the girl,” treated
like a second class citizen in an immigrant family where most of the attention and
expectations for success were placed on my brother, the prodigal son.
       To further answer your question: I suppose it is always daunting to wonder if anyone will
ever publish one’s book, let alone to think of all that has to be done to find a publisher.
Yet, for me, because I was 70 when I completed the first draft of this memoir, I didn’t
feel I had time or the inclination to send out 100 or more query letters. I knew myself
well enough to know that I was not prepared to receive letters of rejection one after
another, which I expected to be par for the course. It’s not that I thought I would be
unable to deal with rejection – especially if I were given intelligent, constructive reasons
for why my writing didn’t work. And I would encourage other authors to do what feels
right for them, what they feel they could best benefit from and have the energy to endure.
       First and foremost for me was to find a publisher I could trust, one who would be honest
and have faith in me as a writer. In feeling that urgency of time, I did try self-publishing.
I had a wonderful experience years before with a Press that was no longer in operation,
but the group I then chose for this book (which looked great on paper) turned out to
be unethical and was forced to shut its doors. So that was a waste of nearly a year of
my time. Luckily, I then thought of Madeline Sharples. A few years earlier, she had
mentioned finding a small publishing house that had published her memoir, Leaving the Hall Light On: A Mother's Memoir of  Living with Her Son's Bipolar Disorder and Surviving His Suicide. I emailed her and she readily gave me contact information. I, thereby, gained an introduction to her
publisher, Mike O’Mary at Dream of Things and will remain forever grateful to her for
opening a door I would not have had access to without her generosity.
           After sending a query letter and hearing back from him immediately, I sent a BOOK
PROPOSAL that I had learned to create and worked hard to present in a professional and
elaborately informative manner.
         He responded positively from the start. Then, after agreeing to publish my book, he asked
me to trust that he would select the right editor to work with me to reorganize some parts,
edit others, and help to change my working title and cover. It was clear to me that he was
both a man of integrity and one who respected my story. It had resonated with him and
that is what every author wants and deserves. My editor, Amy Merrick, understood me
from day one. Her sensitivity to my style of writing, my use of language, and my story
itself, was totally obvious and reassuring.
        What I learned next was the importance and need for the PR that would have to be done
after the actual publication. I was determined not to be timid about self-promoting, even
at the expense of having friends and colleagues see my posts about the book too often.
Also, in agreeing to be a part of this blog tour, I knew that it would require many hours of
writing time but, in the end could – with luck and a prayer – attract the attention of many
more potential readers than I could ever do on my own.
        Currently, I’m also in the process of contacting libraries across the country, offering to be
a part of their AUTHOR SPEAKS series, local newspapers, magazines, and TV stations,
in the hope of gaining even more visibility. It always helps to have a personal contact, but
when you don’t it’s still worth the try, as it’s impossible to predict who may or may not
be receptive.
         I am only two months into the process (post my book’s release), but I remain hopeful.
I’ve had a few very encouraging speaking engagements, a very positive professional
review from US REVIEW OF BOOKS, and many wonderful comments from readers on
Amazon.com and elsewhere. I continue to plug along, learning as the process continues,
doing what seems comfortable for me and what seems to work for my story to reach
people. Learning what is necessary to keep the book in the public’s eye is what we,
as authors, must be willing to do once we have birthed our book. It is worth whatever
energy we’re able to spend to promote it.
          With the hope that I have whet the appetites of many who will now want to read my
memoir, I wish all authors (who may be on the brink of deciding whether or not to write a
memoir) the courage and the belief in the universal appeal of their story so that they, too,
will feel propelled to do whatever it takes to write it. Begin with a Book Proposal, decide
on a theme that shows your family’s dynamics, your responses to all that surrounded
you, and learn how to bring the reader into your life in ways that make him/her want
to keep reading, having gained a vested interest in each of the people whose lives and
experiences fill your pages.
           Please be assured that once published, there are few feelings more exciting and rewarding
than holding that “baby” in your hands!

What Writers Need

        In the years that I've been writing, I've discovered some things that I need as a writer. Please feel free to add what you need as a writer...

• Quiet. Or instrumental music. I love Paramore. I love Regina Spektor. I love really loud funk and disco and Jethro Tull. However, I can't write when music with lyrics is playing. I get distracted. (I probably need Ritalin.)

                                           This isn't as quirky as Regina Spektor usually gets,
                                                                        but it is lovely...

• Food. I love hearty soups--stuff that I can ladle into a bowl, slurp up, and get back to writing. Pistachio nuts are also great--it takes me time to shell one, and while I'm doing that, my brain gets a break, and sometimes an inspired event occurs.

       Here is a soup my husband makes. It's one of my favorites. He does most all of the cooking at our house.

BLT Soup

1.  Cook one 12-oz. package of center-cut bacon.     Cook until well done.

                   2.  Remove the bacon from the pan. Drain half of the grease (leaving 3 tablespoons).
                   3.  Add one 18-oz. package of romaine hearts lettuce. Cook until well-wilted.
                   4.  Chop the cooked bacon into half-inch pieces. Add the bacon to the lettuce.
                   5.  Add 4 cans of tomatoes (fire-roasted ones—by Hunts—work well), liquid along with
                        the tomatoes.
                   6.  Add 4 cups of chicken stock.
                   7.  Add 2 tablespoons of “seasoning for greens.” (You can find this in most spice shops.
                        It's optional, but it does add some kick to the soup.)
                   8.  Add 1 teaspoon of liquid smoke.
                   9.  Bring it to a boil. Turn off the heat. Stir in one cup of grated parmesan cheese. Simmer
                        for 30 minutes.

Adjust spices as needed. You can serve with some croutons in each bowl of soup.

 

• Honesty. I appreciate my critique group. They tell the truth. When my beginning stinks, they tell me. When my story is confusing, they say, "Huh? You lost me..." When my ending falls flat, they give me suggestions to help pick it up. Writers who want their writing to grow don't need a fan club to surround them--they need honest critique of their work.

What do you need as a writer?