There are times when I wonder what am I doing? Many days I talk to myself.
Writing is not an easy answer to a question that occupies the time. I achieve a form of satisfaction when people read my blog or books and compliment me, but the reality is I write because I enjoy it. My success is like an imaginary playmate, sometimes it appears, and sometimes it giggles, running away.
Any writer taking years or months to finish a project deserves an award. If marketing isn’t a skill, then a slow start is fueled by endless cups of caffeine, sleep deprivation, and self-doubt. Continue reading
I’m always reflective in the last two months of the year. I’ve always been this way for as long as I can remember. The changing of the seasons from fall to winter brings thoughts of the end of a year, and more often, how fast time has passed.
Time, as I age, becomes no more of a number, or a nail waiting in the wings ready to seal my coffin. In my mind, I’m still the wide-eyed, huge-smile child, the one whose picture is on my dresser—she’s in long, pig-tail braids and fashionable cat-eye glasses. She reaches through the frame and hugs me when I need it. She is my past, present, and future. Her voice is mine. Continue reading
The journey, when writing a story, is a ticket with no expiration date—It takes as long as it takes.
There are many things I look at when thinking about my next story. One is the PLOT.
Are the characters compelling enough to evoke within the reader a range of emotions: from sadness to happiness, to anger, to sympathy. . . . remorse, guilt, understanding, anxiety, fear, disappointment, romance?
I believe the reason why my writing resonates is I cut to the chase and give believability to my characters. I feel the most memorable plots are ones when life traps characters between a rock and a hard place. Urgency is the time bomb—minutes and seconds wasted can change life’s course. Think of Casablanca, The Christmas Carol, It’s A Wonderful Life, or Saving Private Ryan. Each story has a do-or-die-plot. Continue reading
Writing is a job, a skill, a passion, and a journey. In all its hard work, there is nothing better than seeing the results, of what took a VERY long time laboring. Finding my path, and hitting the mark—it is tremendously rewarding receiving the praise of what I’ve written.
My novel, The Last Merry Go Round—takes a knife and skillfully slices off the skin of marriage—will be released before the end of 2019.
“The brief segment I found in the ‘Future Books’ section of your blog site already tells much about Diane, so poignantly depicted as ‘lost between the beginning and end’ of her husband’s sentences. I must say this is one of the best descriptions of suffocating repression I’ve ever read. I also came across the Toni Morrison quote you’ve clearly chosen to live by. You’re obviously flying with little or nothing weighing you down.”‘-Irene Kavanagh, Owner, Final Writes Editing & Writing Services
I dedicate this novel to all people trapped and lost somewhere between the beginning, middle, and end. Continue reading
The unknown for me is scary. Sometimes, fear grips me, and I become very immobile. I admit this is a life-long exercise, and most times, I WIN.
I can count my demons, and wonder, how will I ever be able to put one foot in front of the other, to fill a blank page with my imagination? Am I alone in this thought? Writing cultivates fear. It strips away all clothes and reveals a writer’s words—naked—or the world to either love or hate. Continue reading
As a writer, a real fear of oblivion is EDITING.
Looking at what you wrote, believed in, and sweated over… isn’t easy taking a red pen to slash words—written out of passion—to tell a phenomenal story.
What are some words of wisdom for the dreaded editing process? Continue reading
After a long time, an agent in London expressed interest in representing me. I can say from all the solitude, self-doubt, re-writes, and happiness to have completed The Last Merry Go Round two years ago—I’m numb. Continue reading
Summer brings many things to mind, and one is the sense of space I had as a child. School recess went from June to September. A grin filled my face when the final bell rang. Happiness meant a reprieve from classmates who got on my nerves and unimaginative teachers, whose play-book was rule-driven. Finally, freedom from peer pressure about which suitable school (aka-hip) outfits to wear, or how to maneuver a full-throttle class load (parents insisted on me maintaining honors). Continue reading
Okay, summer is coming, and I realize May is one month before June, marking one-half the year gone.
Focus is stamped inside my head. Focus is the morning alarm clock. Focus has been with me all my life. It’s my parents’ voice, my teachers’ voice, and all too much—my conscience. Continue reading
As a result of meeting several women in a book club, I belong to a conversational group, gathering monthly at various coffeehouses around town.
There aren’t requirements, other than to make the time (about two hours) for weekend coffee. Attendance of writers, students, artists, retirees, self-employed, and newcomers to town varies between eight to a dozen. Continue reading