So I Write

 So I Write

I’ve always loved this quote by Stephen King: If God gives you something to do, why in the world wouldn’t you do it? So I write. 

Does Stephen King think we need yet another book in the world? I guess he does because he’s still cranking out dozens of them.  Does anyone need a book, poem or work of art from me? I don’t think so, but I do have a strong sense that God gave me these things to do. So I write. I love the writing and hate what comes afterwards—the months of sending out queries, the rejections, being ignored, feeling like I had wasted my time—every writer knows this feeling—except Stephen King, of course. 

Whenever something I’ve written is published I think of my grandmother. She raised six children, lost much during the depression, and became a widow in her sixties. I remember her dwelling alone in a small apartment above a hardware store across the Ohio River from a steel mill. She wrote novels and some poems. I relate to the need to create and accomplish something once your children are raised and you finally have the time. She dreamed of being published but her dream was never fulfilled and so sometimes I feel like I’m living her dream or at least doing it in her honor.

Long after she was gone all of her handwritten manuscripts were found in a relative’s basement. She was so short on money that the words were crammed on every page from top to bottom, front and back, to save paper. I set about sifting through the thousands of pages, some out of order or missing, and put together six complete novels and some pieces of others. They were full of good people struggling through life, just as she had. There were also letters from “vanity presses” expecting large amounts of money in exchange for publishing her work, which was an impossibility for her. I put them in 3-ring binders, and after re-reading them, I presented them to my mom. So much for the dilemma of what to do with them—until my mom died and I was left to clean out her home of sixty years. 

At that point I laid them out at a family reunion and offered them to my cousins. They took them all but it made me think about all the unread copies of my three novels and three poetry books (so far) that are languishing in my house. What to do with them? Will one of my children have to throw them out at some point or should I make a bonfire in the backyard and do that now? Because, you see, even though my books are published they are not in demand. Yes, I feel the sense of accomplishment and I am proud of all of them, but all I ever wanted was for them to be read—maybe by more than my family and friends, too. 

I’m facing the same dilemma with my mother’s art. She was prolific and spent over forty years creating beautiful and unique works. She entered many shows and won awards but she never made much effort to sell her work. Everyone in the family chose pieces when she died and many are being displayed, but, you guessed it, the rest are all stored in my house and in my sibling’s houses and none of us know what to do with them. Some of the work was experimental, class work, or unfinished, but can I just throw them in the trash? Not yet. But neither do I want my own children to have to do it. (I like to paint also, but I hesitate to put another piece of unwanted art out into the world at this point.)

I acknowledge that I have a deep need for self-expression—sometimes I envy people who do not—so I know I will continue to create. As infuriating as the internet and social media can be, the upside is that there are multiple ways to publish and share all types of creative work. This is something my grandmother could have never imagined. 

During this terrible year of a world-wide pandemic those in the arts have had to be especially creative to get their gifts out into the world. It seems like everyone is vying for attention for what they do to stay relevant and unforgotten. I am thankful for all that is available to me. Writers can self-publish now without stigma and, if they’re good at promotion, they can do quite well. Personally, I stink at self-promotion, but I will do the best I can for this new book and if God gives me another one—-I’ll probably have to write that one, too. Oh well.

No Life But This: A Novel of Emily Warren Roebling

No Life But This is based on the life of Emily Warren Roebling, considered the first woman field engineer and highly instrumental in the building of the Brooklyn Bridge. It is the perfect time to bring this remarkable woman's story to light in an era when women continue to fight for equality and to be included in STEM careers. 

 

The Musings of an Author in Search of a Publisher

 April 24, 2020

Talking to myself about publishing my third novel, which is biographical fiction:

As of this date I have been rejected and/or ignored by 124 agents and/or publishers. They have each been well-researched ahead of time to assure that historical fiction was of interest to them. I have received a number of positive responses and comments, and asked to send more chapters, or the whole manuscript quite a few times, but no one, ultimately, accepted my book. (Meanwhile someone else has published a book about my main character after her story has been ignored for 100 years. Grrrrr. )

At the point when I began sending it out to very small publishers I realized they could not do much more for my book than I could do myself. They would only put it on their website and on Amazon.

I spent 6 months researching and writing the book, had it professionally edited, and have spent over a year submitting it. It is such a worthwhile and timely story, and biographical fiction has been popular for several years. 

Recently, I began researching self-publishers. Self-publishing is much more widely accepted than it was when I self-published my other two novels. It is a legitimate way for authors to be read, and even make money, especially on Amazon, whether paperback or ebook. It is cheap and relatively easy to self-publish on Amazon, although it is not globally distributed otherwise. Amazon has a number of ways to promote books, especially ebooks, that I could not do myself.  I stink at self-promotion, so this is a plus.

Am I ready? Getting this book out has been hanging over my head for over a year. I’m ready to move on to something else. Rejections, although expected, get old. I am not a trained fiction writer. I did not intend to ever write fiction again, but this story was too good to pass up. 

Questions: 

Am I okay with only my kind-hearted friends and acquaintances reading my book as with my other ones? (If not, I will obsessively ask myself what it was all for?) 

Did I love writing it? Yes. 

Am I proud of it? Yes. 

Do I want it to sit in a 3-ring binder on my shelf forever? No.  

What do I have to lose?

APRIL 25 - One day later

In counting the number of agents/publishers I had contacted I noticed the name of someone who had expressed interest but never got back to me ––Jared Bendis of Atbosh Media in Cleveland.  I thought, What the Heck, and emailed him one more time. He responded and asked for the synopsis. I felt a twinge of hope but he had responded twice before and let the communication die.  He emailed later and asked when we could chat! I sent my number and told my husband I didn’t think he’d call–––but he did that same evening.

We talked for a half hour and he explained his whole process, the contract agreement and what he could do with the book. He said he would send me the contract that night if I agreed. What? Of course!  Then the email didn’t come that night. ( But it did show up the next day. I’m pretty sure he’s a night person because it was sent in the wee hours of the morning. 

It’s been two weeks since then. We’ve exchanged a couple emails and he says he’s putting the mock-up together but he doesn’t commit to a timeline so I must be patient.  Lou took some outdoor photos of me for the head shot and it is on his website. I signed a contract so I know it will happen eventually.  I thought this time of quarantine would be perfect for working on marketing and getting the book out there etc. We’ll see. 

It seems like one more surreal and unbelievable occurrence right now, just like the rest of life. But I am thankful, relieved and proud.