Self-fulfilling prophecy?

   It cannot be coincidence that I blogged about a lack of creative energy - and then had no blog ideas for over a month. Other factors certainly entered in: new demands at work and activities of the holiday season. Preparing to put another Christmas Day behind me now, I feel a spark of hope that the writing muse will visit me again.
   My feelings about this time of year are certainly mixed. While few people have affectionate regards for the long hours of darkness and freezing temperatures, my aversion is especially strong. I also suffer with a mild case of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). At the same time, this feels like a special time of year. Mid-way through the school year we have a break that allows us to get our second wind and return renewed in January to face the long spring semester. And a new year on the calendar does inspire personal improvements.
   Whatever goals you have for the coming year, I hope you find the wear-withal to meet them!

Creative Energy: A zero sum game or perpetual motion machine?

   One tidbit of information that has always stayed with me from physics class is Newton's First Law of Motion: An object at rest tends to stay at rest. (And no, I'm not just repeating the commercial for arthritis medication.) A day spent "resting" often results in an ever-deepening vortex of lethargy and apathy. But a day that starts with a short stroll can lead to a brisk walk and productive hours of yard work. A brief and boring journal entry can yield fresh revisions or pages of new material. An object - or a mind - in motion tends to stay in motion.

   But I have to also believe that one's supply of personal energy is limited. Each year at this time I'm tasked with cobbling together the one-act play at the school where I work. This comes on top of the everyday creative energy required for teaching. Right now I feel like all my creative energy is being channeled to these endeavors, and there's none left for writing.

   Maybe it doesn't matter which is true, and maybe both are true. In any case, the writing is occasionally being put on hold for a bit, as my responsibility right now is to my students. The important thing is to be challenged, and I certainly am that.

No such thing as bad publicity?

     The good news is that the local newspaper printed a photo of my recent book-signing.
     The not so good news is appears right beside a picture of a 9 pound sweet potato some woman dug up in her garden. It kind of puts into perspective what passes for news in a small town. Picture the retired farmer opening up the daily paper: "Hmm... this here gal wrote a novel, no doubt with careful attention to developing plot, characters, theme and ... Hey, hold up! THIS gal done growed herself a whopper of a yam! Hand me the scissors, Ma... this one's going on the fridge!"
     It's karma. I joked one too many times about the media in our area. And in truth, I like living in a town where crowds and traffic jams are virtually unknown... and where an unheard-of, self-published author like me can get full color coverage free of charge.

And ladies of the club

     Another author first for me came on Saturday when I addressed a book club at the invitation of my mother-in-law. As I'd never done this before, I was a little nervous, but they were all so friendly, they put me right at ease. The group was mostly mature ladies, many of whom I knew already. I opened with some brief remarks similar to the entries in this blog, and followed by reading a couple of one-page excerpts. These were the same readings I'd chosen for a book-signing in August, and in reciting a tense passage I thought, "Oh no! Will they be offended by the word 'damn?'" Apparently I wasn't overly shocking, as several ladies were kind enough to buy copies of the novel. The group had several thoughtful questions and I believe I managed to formulate some reasonably intelligent responses.
     One highlight was meeting a woman visiting from a major city, who passed along contact information for her running partner. She casually mentioned that this friend had a couple of published titles under her belt, and would be glad to hear from an aspiring author like me. That evening I did an Internet search on this friend and discovered she has many books and great reviews to her credit. (No, I'm not going to drop names.) Now I just have to work up the courage to actually contact her!
     So did I rake in loads of cash that day? No. Did I blow the room away with erudite literary insights? Hardly. But I successfully navigated a new experience and made some new contacts. Mostly I hope my remarks encouraged listeners to pursue their passions as I am doing. That's what I call a productive Saturday.

    

For your reading pleasure.. a second excerpt

O my soul, come not thou into their secret;

unto their assembly, ...

for in their anger they slew a man.

Genesis 49: 6 (KJV)

The unexpected sound of the plane overhead had interrupted a productive morning at Raul’s operation. After dumping yet another barrel of kerosene into the vat, he was laughing to himself again over something a colleague had told him - that Europeans considered cocaine a glamor drug. Mopping his brow with a crusty bandanna, he watched Platon and Mario kick off their grimy sandals to slosh their sweaty feet in the vat of coca leaves. They joked together to pass the time, each one daring the other to pee into the stuff. Glamorous? This?

That was when they’d heard the plane overhead - right overhead. What idiot was flying that thing? The landing caused a ripple of excitement through the camp, as did any hope of contact with the outside world. They'd been working three weeks without a break, and were hoping to wrap up this harvest soon.

Of course there were a dozen or more volunteers to go investigate at the airstrip, but Raul knew these muchachos would take half the morning at it, and he wanted to keep the work moving. Besides, he needed to check this out himself. He barked at them to keep working, he’d be back in half an hour, and he expected to see some progress.

The wooden planks of the boardwalk groaned under Raul’s considerable weight, as he trotted through the trees, his mind racing. He was not expecting any shipments - he already had more leaves than he could process in a week, and it would be several days before he had anything to ship out. Damn them all! What kind of production schedule was he expected to keep, anyway? Approaching the airstrip, he slowed to a walk, then crept around the trees, his pistol drawn.

He saw her in the clearing. Not who or what he’d been expecting at all. The plane had apparently made an emergency landing here.

He watched her play-acting with the gun and had to smile. Then when it went off and she was scared to death, he could hardly stifle a laugh. He watched as she packed the weapon away. And whatever was wrong with the plane, she clearly hadn’t a clue as to how to fix it.

He had seen enough. He smiled and put his pistol back into its holster. He would not be needing it.

He imagined his crew bugging out at the first sound of gunfire, afraid to show their faces near camp for days. But, Raul reasoned, it might be labor well lost to get some privacy with this little gringa.

Only the lonely

     With my husband out of town for a football game, I took advantage of the silence at home, spending the better part of the past weekend chained to my computer. Cranking out pages for the EV sequel, I ventured away only for food and sleep and a few other necessities. Sunday morning I decided three days without a shower was long enough. I finally had some human contact last night at a scheduled work obligation. Today I'm staying home to nurse a lower back injury, managing within the last hour to prop myself again at my desk with alternating hot and cold applications on the afflicted area.
   A three-day composition marathon has driven home a sad truth about writing: it's a lonely profession. If my back pain allows for it, I'm ready to head for Wal-Mart and strike up a conversation with the first living soul I encounter. I remember reading once about a writer who made a point of ordering a new suit every time he started a new book, just so he'd have an excuse to leave the house for fittings and converse with another human being.
     My local writers' group has become a sort of support group in this sense. I know that at least once a month I will go out and converse with like-minded people about what I'm working on, and I hope, offer some encouragement. If you are a writer with no such group to rely on, I highly recommend you try to start one. I tried and failed to do so twice before this group formed (third time's the charm?) so don't give up if it doesn't work out right away. I'm confident you will be benefit from seeing it through.

Twenty years in the making

     Since EV "went public" a few months ago, people have been asking me how long I worked on it, or how I got started. I honestly wasn't sure, because it's been part of my life, off and on, for such a long time. I know that I created Maggie as a character about my age, and she is 28. So I looked back today at the computer journal I kept when I was 28, and there were the entries I made when this novel was just a seed of an idea sprouting in my brain. It seems almost like another person who wrote those entries. Knowing that the finished product weighs in at a hefty 620 pages, it's funny to read about my struggle to reach the goal of 150 pages. 
     I began the project soon after losing my job as a reporter. The idea of writing fiction emerged, in part, as a way to fill the writing void I was experiencing. But I also had a toddler to look after, and soon another baby was on the way. My priority in life was to be the best mom I could be, and that meant putting my manuscript on the shelf, sometimes for months at a time. I don't regret that in the least. Five years into the project I decided to pursue a teaching career. A few years after that I went after my Masters in teaching. I changed jobs four times and raised two boys.
    So while I would have liked to finish the project sooner, I don't I regret that it took so long. It unfolded the way it was meant to, along with the other important developments in my life, and I wouldn't change a thing.

You can't judge a book by its cover... can you?

     I thought I'd mention a word or two about the cover design for Earthen Vessels. Although there is a romantic component to the book, I didn't want to emphasize that on the cover. And with apologies to any romance authors out there, I certainly didn't want to be cast into the same category as the formulaic love stories that crowd the paperback shelves. 
     The theme of EV revolves around the idea that everything in life is for sale on some level, that we trade various opportunities or situations around much as we do with money and possessions. So I toyed briefly with featuring some kind of currency on the cover, but that wasn't quite right either.
     What I most wanted to emphasize was the heroine's journey of discovery - discovery about the world and life and herself. The plant for which the protagonist, Maggie, is searching is the perfect metaphor for her epiphany, and the beautiful rainforest backdrop of the story seemed too gorgeous not to use. I had my plan.
     I then started searching the Internet for photos I might use. I felt it was important that the photo was actually taken in Colombia. Searching for my plant, much as Maggie does, I soon discovered the photo below.

    When I saw the image of that tree, emerging from the surrounding forest, I imagined myself as Maggie, feeling her excitement as she beheld it for the first time. (Does that give away too much?)

     It was taken in 2006 in Amacayacu National Park, Leticia, Colombia. I had already worked the town of Leticia into the story, so this seemed a little like fate. I contacted the photographer to get permission to use his image, and learned his name is Rhett Butler. I've been a fan of Gone with the Wind since I was 12, so it now really seemed like fate. I explained to him that I was self-publishing the novel, and didn't expect to earn much money from it, but if it ever turns a profit, I owe his organization a cut of the proceeds. He works for a group called Mongabay. which seeks to raise interest in wildlife and wildlands while promoting awareness of environmental issues. Visit their website at Mongabay.com

And now... an excerpt

Recovering today from what I can only assume was food poisoning, so instead of an original blog, it seems a good time to share an excerpt from the novel. Enjoy.
[From page 28]

Yet man is born unto trouble

As the sparks fly upward.

Job 5:7 (KJV)

A smell of gasoline. Sputtering engine. Loss of altitude. Controls not responding. Momentary panic. Think, think, think! A scan of the horizon… nothing. Think, dammit, think!

An abandoned airstrip a couple miles north popped into Marc’s head then, and he banked the plane in that direction. A glance at his passenger, sound asleep, lucky for her. No sign of the strip yet. Pinpricks of panic all over his skin. Still no sign of a landing spot. Was he wrong? Where the hell was it?

God, oh god! No more drug-running, God. No more screwing around. Please. I’ll call my parents. I’ll make it right. Just, please!

From the corner of his eye, a break in the endless sea of treetops, treetops that were getting closer by the second. Thank you, God! Thank you! He couldn’t let her sleep any longer.

“Hey lady.” No response. What was her name again? “Maggie?” She stirred and moaned but remained asleep. “Maggie! Hey, Mary Margaret!”

They were over the landing strip only seconds later. A sudden drop, a hard bump, and a long skid were each punctuated by various yelps and screams from Maggie, and Marc’s constantly muttering, “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” They hit the ground going 90, and had to decelerate so suddenly it seemed the plane might roll end over end into a magnificent tree at the end of the strip. Maggie braced herself against the seat and shut her eyes tight. Loose cargo pitched forward, something hit the back of her head, she screamed again, luggage sailed into the windshield, glass shattered, the fuselage groaned … and then… suddenly … nothing.

Eyes still closed, Maggie sensed it was suddenly darker out there. Was she dead? Afraid to move or even breathe, all Maggie dared to move were her eyes. Slowly, one at a time, she opened them and they adjusted to the lower light under the jungle canopy. They took in a crystal spider web, the mosaic of shattered glass, and a gaping hole in the windshield made by a piece of flying luggage. Then her eyes traveled slowly along the branch of that magnificent tree she’d seen at the edge of the runway. It had stabbed through that gaping hole like an immense, sharpened exclamation point, missing her head and Marc’s by mere inches. Over the top of the branch, her eyes met Marc’s, round and white before they rolled back and closed.

Imitating art

     Artistic excellence versus Commercial success. Are they mutually exclusive, or can a writer have both? Does having one necessarily diminish the other? If you had to choose, which would it be?
      I suppose the question is arising for me right now because of some of the reading I've done (or had to do) recently. I coach the one-act play for the school where I work, and every year I have to choose a script. Many of them are so bad I wonder how the playwright has the cajones to ask for payment. A couple in particular stand out for rehashing the same plot, setting and characters and changing the names and a few other details. These writers turn out predictable story lines, stale characters and meaningless dialogue and are getting paid for it. I have an inner dialogue that says, "I could do better than this!" followed by, "Ah, but you haven't now, have you?" I am working on it.
      The second instance was the fifth novel in a fiction series I've been reading over the last several years. The first book included a clever premise, snappy dialogue and entertaining characters. This last one feels like the author slapped it together the night before deadline so she could pick up her paycheck.
     So, turn down the big bucks for my artistic integrity or compromise my artistic integrity for the big bucks? Luckily or unluckily, I'm not in any danger of having to make that decision, since neither critics nor agents nor publishers are showing the slightest interest in me or my book. And as a writer I'm not capable of aiming for one or the other, creative merit or commercial viability. I can only  make it something I like, and try to respond gracefully to constructive criticism. If critics someday like it, great. If it eventually sells well, that's great too. I can only write what I can write.

Writing is rewriting

     In the back of a spare closet is a box filled with my rough drafts of Earthen Vessels (although it had a different title for all those drafts). Every time I thought I had the story as good as I could get it, I printed a copy, sealed it in an envelope and mailed it to myself. The idea is that if anyone ever tries to claim I'm not the author of this work, I can show the process it went through.
     There are 13 drafts in that box, spanning seven years. After that I quit printing every draft, and simply saved them on my computer. Not wanting to break the seal on the envelope, I don't have an exact page count on the first draft, but I'm guessing it's under 50 pages. By the time I reached drafted #8 the manuscript was so heavy that mailing it seemed too expensive, so I just printed it and put it in a binder. Draft #13 is 425 pages. The finished copy is 620. 
     I know all this because I just took a look into that box for the first time in years. I took a look because I've been a little discouraged with my work on the sequel the last few weeks. I just keep reworking the first 40 pages. I had to remind myself that the first book went through an enormous number of rewrites. It's gratifying to see how the project grew little by little.
     So with that in mind,  and in hopes of encouraging others who may be feeling the same way, I close now with a few favorite quotes from the greats on the subject of re-writing, and re-writing... and re-writing... and...
 

Michael Crichton: "Books are not written--they're rewritten."
 James Mitchner: 'I'm not a very good writer, but I'm an excellent re-writer.'

Harry Shaw: "There is no such thing as good writing. There is only good rewriting." 

John Irving: More than a half, maybe as much as two-thirds of my life as a writer is rewriting. I wouldn't say I have a talent that's special. It strikes me that I have an unusual kind of stamina.

Patricia Fuller: "Writing without revising is the literary equivalent of waltzing gaily out of the house in your underwear."

James Thurber: "My wife took a look at a first version and said, 'That's high school stuff.' I had to tell her to wait until the seventh draft."

 (thanks to http://fmwriters.com/ and brainyquotes.com for these quotes)
 

Ok, the THREE topics you can't discuss are religion, politics and...

   In a previous post I quoted the old adage that polite conversation should exclude the topics of politics and religion, which I didn't shy away from in Earthen Vessels. Add to that the third topic of sex, which also pops up with great regularity.
   While they were under construction, the sensual aspects of the story were confined to the privacy of my little home office. When it was just me and my keyboard, these elements provided believable developments in the plot and painted an intimate portrait of the characters. In the garish light of a reader's Kindle screen, I worry they will appear tawdry and titillating. I hate to think that the sexual content might embarrass some members of my family, especially the younger and older generations. No kid wants to go to school and hear, "Hey, dude, I like how your mom worked condoms into chapter sixteen."
   Recently I was chatting with an older relative, a lady who summons up an era of white gloves and veiled hats. I told her that I'd been invited to speak about my novel at a book club of "mature" ladies. "I hope they're not uncomfortable with the spicy parts," I told her. To my surprise she responded, "Well, it isn't all that spicy." That was the one reaction I never expected from her. It made me wonder instead if I should go back and turn up the heat on my love scenes. My conclusion in her case is that some of the sexual innuendo went over her head. This is the woman who went shopping for fluted paper cups in which to serve cashews for high tea. She asked a teenaged clerk at the discount store to show her to the nut cups and was thoroughly disgusted when she was led to (you guessed it) the athletic supporters.
   When Fifty Shades of Grey tops the bestseller list alongside Beverly Lewis' latest offering on the Amish, an author is prone to ponder where to draw the line, or draw the curtain, as it were. I once saw an interview in which Katie Couric asked John Updike, "Why is there so much sex in your books?" Without missing a beat Updike replied, "Because there's so much sex in life." I don't think I can add anything to that.
 

Above all, the two subjects to avoid are politics and...

Religion. The thorniest of subjects. There are many biblical allusions throughout the novel; the title itself is a biblical reference, Bible verses head the vignettes throughout the book, and the characters read and discuss the Bible. However, it doesn't strictly adhere to any Christian denomination. If I worried about marketing I would have done some cloying philosophy. But I don't want to use people's faith as a marketing tool, so I will probably alienate every organized religion in the known world. Non-Christians will be put off that there are any references to God and Jesus at all. Catholics may not agree with the portrayal of Yovana or Fathers Joseph and Michael. Evangelicals may be offended by the violent and sexual content of the story. (This ain't no Janette Oake novel.) But as Maggie says, if you don't want to read about sex and violence, the book to avoid above all others would be the Bible.

The title - The inside page contains the Bible verse that inspired the title: 

“We have these treasures in earthen vessels,

so that the surpassing greatness of the power

will be of God and not from ourselves." 

2 Corinthians 4:7

I'm no Biblical scholar, so I won't attempt to comment on St. Paul's intentions in writing this. I can say, however, that this verse never captured my attention until someone explained that we, God's children, are the earthen vessels. It fit in with the theme of priceless riches that I wanted to write about. As a teacher, especially, I love the idea that God has created each person with a treasure inside. My job is to uncover it and help the student share that treasure with the world.

 

You're the next contestant on...

And now it's time for a little game I like to call "Rate the Villian." I've often heard actors say how fun it is to play the bad guy, and for me the same can be said for writing the sleazier characters. In some cases I suppose it's because they say and do things we secretly want to do but never would. I'm listing my 1-10 ranking for the bad guys of Earthen Vessels. See if you agree.

Marc is what happens when spoiled little boys grow older, but never grow up. His life never rises above fulfilling his immediate primal needs. Still, he rates only about a 3. He is a villain only in that he is selfish – just too damned lazy to care about others.

Quote: “Sorry I made a pass at you before...I'm not apologizing, I just mean I regret wasting my time on someone so uptight.” [page 21]

Inez – I'd give her a 4. It's often said the idle hands are the devil's workshop, and Inez is living proof. She sleeps around with anyone, mostly just because she finds her own life so excruciatingly dull.

Inez, so bored, wondered now, as she often did, if she was asleep or awake. She could hardly tell and it hardly mattered anymore. [pg. 273]
 

Instead of enjoying the many pleasures of the flesh with her, he’d left her lying there, exposed and vulnerable and humiliated. She had half a mind to not try it again. [pg. 273]

 Raul – He's nasty on a lot of levels- rate him about an 8. Like a lot of people who do rotten things, he sees himself as just trying to get by in a world that's been so unfair to him. If he has to earn his living through drug deals or child prostitution, that's certainly not his fault.

For Raul, greed always came before lust. After all, he figured, there were always plenty of women, and never enough money. [pg. 35]

Jorge – rates at least a 9. He tops the villain list in this work. He could make a living any number of ways. He simply prefers doing it by wringing the life out of innocents. He is cold as ice, caring more about soiling his clothes than destroying people.

"This was the first time he'd been ordered to kill someone personally. He found it distasteful and beneath his station... He was good at his work and he liked it... He liked the money especially, and would do what he had to to keep it coming. [page 509]

And on the seventh day...

On Sunday we rest. The principal at the Catholic school where I work has asked the faculty to refrain from scheduling school activities on Sunday. It's harder than you might think.
One of the cable channels has been running Julie & Julia. If you don't already know, it's the story of Julie Powell, who commited to preparing 500 of Julia Child's recipes in one year and blogging about it every single day.
I find that inspiring and admirable. But I wonder about the 24/7 world we live in. The Internet is never closed. The worldwide web never sleeps. And what constitutes a "business day" in 2012? Isn't every day a "business day" these days?
I'm taking Sundays off from blogging. I'm sure the world will go on turning, and I'll ahve something better to write if I give myself a day of R & R. I hope you all do the same.

Write what you know... or don't

“Write what you know.” At first blush, that oft-given piece of advice doesn't seem to apply here. I've never visited the rainforest (though I would love to,) and please believe me when I say I have no first-hand knowledge of cocaine smuggling. But like most authors, aspects of my own life appear between the lines of every page.

The elements I wanted to write about just gelled this way. The theme that kept coming back to me was selling the unsellable, putting a price on priceless things (Priceless was the working title for a long time, but I found it had already been overused.)

The elements of the story came to me often through the daily news. Accounts of lives traded for cocaine not only worked with my theme but also suggested Colombia as the location. Reports of unexplored and endangered treasures of the rainforests of South America reinforced that theme and locale. Advertisements for “mail order” brides from the third world suggested a sub-plot. 

 

More on inspirations in future blogs, but now it's time for your Character of the Day:

Caleb Luis Vasallo, Maggie's love interest. I got his last name from the Spanish word for "bondsman." If we go back to the adage of "write what you know" it was only natural that I base my romantic lead on the man I've been with since my teens. More endearing than the stereotyped romantic hero who is arrogantly convinced that he alone can save the heroine, his greatest trait is supporting the heroine as she endeavors to save herself. Again in contrast with those confident Casanovas, I wanted Luis to be quiet and mystified by the opposite sex.

"Watching Maggie as she slept, Luis' face was puzzled, as if he didn't know how she'd gotten there, as if he weren't the one who'd brought her here. Two days ago he'd left home to load up on supplies. Now he was returning home with nothing but 50 feet of rope, a sack of corn flour... and a woman."

 

Author's Bio

   Writing a book is a challenge, but promoting a book is even harder. At times the two endevours seem at odds with one another. The writing process began in the privacy of my own fevered little brain, and incubated privately at the keyboard. But a work of fiction isn't complete until it becomes public, which requires the author to bare her soul in a most un-private way.
   A few years back a literary agency responded to my query letter, asking for sample chapters, an outline and <gulp> an author's bio. With no credentials to list, I considered passing on the opportunity rather than embarrass myself with my life non-story. 
   I've had to construct and update my author bio over the years, and although that agency passed on my manuscript, I'm grateful for the challenge they presented, and grateful I was able to meet it.
   Below is the author bio I'm using right now. I wonder how different it will be in a couple of years.

Linda Cooke's secret ambition to be an author has taken many detours over the years. In the course of her career she has held jobs ranging from dishwasher to library clerk to closed circuit TV personality. Currently she teaches English Language Learners at the elementary level. In every job, however, she always finagled some writing into the mix. Most recently this has included writing and editing short scripts for the high school speech and drama teams she coaches. Before that it was writing up a monthly employee newsletter, or editing articles for a company history, or dreaming up stories for her kids. “I guess I've always been a writer,” she says. “I just didn't always know it.”

Central Casting

At our most recent writers' group meeting I was pleased to see some new faces. We are becoming an ecclectic bunch, raning from age from high school to post-retirement, rpresenting genres from fantasy to hisotrical western, non-fiction to poetry.
One member commented that it is sometimes helpful (and just fun) for writers to imagine  their book as a movie. I've done that countless times, and even refer to "scenes" rather than "passages" in the novel.
In imagining this hypothetical film, a primary question is who would you want to play each part? When I started Earthen Vessels 20 years ago, I had certain actors in mind who are now probably too old for the parts.

I'm thinking maybe Rito Moreno for Yovana.

Maybe Edward James Olmos


 or Tony Plana for either Raul or Salvador,

Judging just by this picture, Adan Canto for Caleb Luis?

 

 

I'm at a bit of a loss for my main character, Maggie. Rachel McAdams, maybe?

 

 Any suggestions?

Leaving the nest

Artists and writers sometimes say that the works they produce feel like their babies. After selling several copies at a book signing in August, I felt like a few of my little chicks had flown from the nest. I found myself wondering where they had settled, who was spending time with them, and if they were keeping their new companions entertained.
A similar thought occured to me recently as I was talking with a fellow writer about the need for outside critiques. We can't be objective about our own work, just as we can't be completely objective about our own kids. As parents, we occasionally need to hear from a teacher or coach that our kids may not be as perfect as we believe. Those comments can be hard to hear, but without them, we can't effectively help our kids to grow.
Likewise, years ago I believed I was submitting a master opus to a certain agent, and was deeply hurt to hear him say otherwise. But without his critique I would never have worked to create the novel I'm so proud of today. I'm sure I'll encounter other such criticisms in the future, but I think I can more easily accept them now as part of the growth process.

Inspiration: You never know when it will hit.

Inspiration truly does strike at the most unexpected moments. The other day I was pulling into the driveway, muttering curses at the garbage men who left the trash barrel in my way - again. Then like a bolt from the blue I knew exactly how to phrase my theme for Earthen Vessels. Mind you, this has been tickling at the back of my brain literally for years. I always knew what the theme was, even felt I'd developed it fully in the text, but couldn't state it in a compelling and concise way. Until now:

"What is the value of hope and freedom and human dignity, and what is the value of life without them? This is a story about the series of exchanges that make up the balance of life."

FINALLY! It's like when you finally get the sliver out of your finger. The question that's been stuck in my brain for years is finally resolved in 36 little words! WHEW!

Can a Muse wear out her welcome?

   My creative writing energy has always come in intense bursts that last maybe a week or 10 days. This latest surge, though, went on for three weeks! I pounded out 40+ pages in 20 days. This may not sound like much, but many writers with a day job feel lucky to put out a page a day.
   Usually I feel disappointed when my muse moves on, but this time I was a little relieved. It was like a wild friend had moved in, wanting to party all the time, waking me up at all hours. The dust on my furniture was an inch thick and I hadn't cooked a hot meal in weeks. I was happy to bid my muse good-bye... for a while.
TODAY'S CHARACTER: Maggie, la protagonista. Colorado farm girl cum pharmecutical rep. Cancer has claimed her mother's life, and now threatens her sister's. She gets wind online of a plant growing in the jungles of Colombia that may have anti-cancer properties. When her employer deems research for the plant too risky to be profitable, Maggie is the type of girl who goes after it herself. Finding herself in a primitive village, hiding out from the regional cocaine cartel, it occurs to her that maybe she didn't really think this one through.

Quick Synopsis

From the "dust jacket:"

In a compelling story of debt and redemption, Earthen Vessels follows American Maggie Boyce on an impetuous flight into the lush but lethal Colombian rain forest. The pretense of her journey is to find a medicinal plant to treat her sister's cancer. Her true purpose, however, is to buy some time away from her family's medical crises. Her search yields discoveries she hadn't bargained for; entanglements with the narcotics trade, unexpected romance, and renewed spirituality.
It is in her search that Maggie is found by Luis Vasallo. Years earlier, his sister Beryl was sold into the prostitution ring of the regional cocaine cartel. Now Luis has a chance to redeem Beryl, but only by selling Maggie out to the cartel. All along he knows that whatever choice he makes will cost him dearly.
Together Maggie and Luis take on the ultimate search - the search for what gives value to life. Are they willing to pay the price for the treasures they seek?

Circa 1982

Would I have been a more successful author or less successful 30 years ago, before personal computers, Internet, e-mails and blog posts? I doubt I would have had the patience to hammer out 600+ pages of a novel on my old electric typewriter, and publicity in 1982 can't compare to what's available via the Web today. Still, I haven't yet got the hang of this whole blog thing. Entries that I thought were going on the blog were going to my g-mail account. <sigh> Little by little, I'm approaching the 21st century, though. I hope I get there before it's all over!

Character for the day: Yovana. A healer, she's based loosely on a certain retired nurse I know – someone who can't help herself from helping others.
Quote:

“Bueno, bueno. Don’t help an old woman," Yovana moaned. "Just forget all the kindnesses I’ve done you all your life. Forget how I helped bring you into this world twenty-odd years ago - feet first, I might add.”  

“Will you never stop bringing that up? As if it was my fault!" Luis retorted. "Oh, all right, she comes with me. But not until tomorrow. Maybe I can get my work here done today - unless you have something to say about that as well, Abuela?”

“Me? No. What say do I have in your life?” The old woman smiled at him.

Earthen Vessels: Just getting the word out

The purpose of this blog is to get the word out about my first novel, Earthen Vessels.
It is the result of many years of research and planning, outlining and drafting, critiques and rejections, writing and rewriting... and rewriting... and rewriting again.
Though I'm a triffle nervous at finally having it exposed to the public eye, I'm pleased to finally share it, hopeful that readers will enjoy it, and I look forward to hearing comments.

Character Relationships

Authors sometimes describe their work as either character-driven or story-driven. I'm confident that Earthen Vessels can hold its own in terms of action, but at its roots, I believe it's more about the relationships between characters. Here are my favorites:

Maggie & Marc – Basically, they annoy the hell out of each other – what could be more attractive than that? Their budding relationship is interrupted, leaving the reader to wonder if they will ever get the chance to pick up where they left off.

Quote: “Dear Lord,” Maggie prayed, “Please grant Marc safe passage to town and back.” It wasn't that she cared so much one way or the other about Marc, but she would prefer him to come back alive to help her out of this mess.

Caleb & Beryl. I think Caleb's is an exaggerated example of a common feeling: “I wish I'd done more for the sibling who's now out of reach.”

Quote: These last seven years, Beryl’s name had always been followed by words like misfortune, abuse, and tragedy. Now ... in Caleb’s mind, ... her name was peacefully rolling around with words like hope, and home and miraculous. [pg. 296]

Caleb & Inez. “Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson.” They're attracted to each other on a superficial level despite (or because of?) it being so wrong on every other level. Definitely not a healthy relationship.

And now Luis had a new problem to contend with, namely, how to keep Inez quiet without prostituting himself in the process. The agonizing pleasure of her touch was so intense in his memory, he struggled to remind himself what exactly would be so terrible about prostituting himself…just for an hour or so, two or three times a week, more if she insisted. (Capitulo 10, pg. 160)

Stay tuned for more!