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.