Getting Published Takes Matzi

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Just like the blooming of this tree that lives in my front yard, I am having fresh and new ideas in my heart right now.  I’ve begun the process of sorting out my thoughts towards the first story that is jumping inside of me trying to get out.

I’m trying right now to decide which direction to go, and the way I see it, there are three options on how my book could come out.

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Option 1:  Not so sure about this one

Write the story as it truly happened.    However, the drawback on this is that I would have to list real names and people and this could hurt others.  Since hurting others will never be my intention, this option may not be viable.

Option 2:  A real, live, grown up Novel?

Write the story as a Novel.  This would be fun because I could take liberty in parts and really get creative and add many things to the story line.  I could take the characters wherever they want to go and really have fun in the process.  I really like this option the most  because what’s in my heart is to write an inspiring novel like Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers.  She took a hard story and turned it in to a spiritual solution without being overly “religious” – which I definitely don’t want to do!   I just know in my heart that there are ways to share and touch people with bringing in the spiritual aspect that can give hope, and that is my ultimate goal.

Option 3:  Non-Fiction Self Help

I could write it as a Non-Fiction Self Help book.  Now this would be good as well because I could offer true and practical tips and help.  This one would require tons and tons of research and the like – but what a fun challenge.

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In the end, I realize more than ever that it really takes courage to write anything at all.  I probably have this on my mind as I’ve been reading Courage to Write.  What a wonderful book for anyone to read before they would set out to publish a book.  I think just the fact that I am “aware” that the fear can be there,  gives me strength to go ahead instead of allowing myself to be paralyzed n the fear.

Even just pushing publish on this post requires a certain amount of steel.

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Naked Authors?


10904_10205068959856692_8260032182457779553_nQuestion for you… What fancy computer program is the famous author using to write his or her book?  

The answers might surprise you.  They sure did surprise me.     

  1. Ernest Hemingway balanced his writing between a simple pencil and a typewriter.
  2. George Clooney is not good at technology – he was quoted as saying “literally when I cut and paste, I cut pages and tape them together.  But somehow we make it work”.
  3. Danielle Steele uses a 1946 Olympia Typewriter and writes in 20 hour blocks.
  4. Quentin Tarantino never uses a typewriter or computer.  He writes the whole thing by hand.  He goes to a stationary store and buys a notebook, just one and then fills it up, telling himself it will be his next big seller.
  5. Mark Twain wrote lying down in bed.  He also experimented with left handed writing when his writing became painful, and eventually began dictating his stories.
  6. Ernest Hemingway typed standing up.
  7. Victor Hugo, writing “Hunchback of Notre dame”, wrote naked so he couldn’t leave his house in order to make a deadline.  (naked?!  Really?)
  8. Many authors have special pens and/or pencil preferences, to the point of being a bit quirky.
  9. Vince Gilligan used index cards to line out the “Breaking Bad” story line. 

After completing this study, I went to the store and spent $10.00.  I bought an orange spiral notebook and two pretty pens.   I handed the $10.00 bill to the cashier while I reminded myself that this notebook will contain my next big seller.   It made me smile.

In the end, I think this said it best:  

There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are. 

W. Somerset Maugham

 

Stepping Out, Looking Crazy, But Doing It Anyway

cropped-1276913_10201178584239733_1250361750_o1.jpgI like to walk.  On most days, I will take a walk because I like to listen to the birds singing and observe the nature around me.  I get nervous and tongue twisted around people, and I generally fear what they may think of me, so going on a walk is a perfect time to spend alone.  Spring is my favorite time to be out and about.

There is a path that I generally walk.  Along this street, there is a particular house that I always notice and pay special attention to because I love the flowers and landscape.  I am curious about all of the flowers around that house but especially the beautiful little tree out front that has gorgeous white and pink blooms and then lovely dark green and purple velvet looking leaves after that.  I notice it particularly because it is so little.  It beckons me.

This particular day, I am not walking by, but driving.  I happen to have my camera in my car and as I’m driving by, the idea strikes me that I could go to the door and ask the person living there what type of tree it is and get permission to take a picture of it, so I could add it to my ideas for my own landscape.  I argue with myself for a while because I’m shy and I wonder what will she think of a stranger asking about her yard?

I drive past her house.

Then, I stop and put the car in reverse and back up slowly to her front yard.  Steeling my self composure, I get out and walk up to the front door and bring myself to knock.

(I can hardly breathe at this point.)

What a surprise when a friendly lady answers the door with her gardening hat on and gloves.  I bring myself to tell her how I feel about her little tree and ask if she would mind me taking a picture of it.   I will never forget her sideways grin and broad smile!  “Well, heavens yes, my child.  Thank you so much for the compliment.  Come on out and have a look at it.  It’s a dwarf ornamental peach tree.  It will not get any taller than 4′ – isn’t that amazing?”

I follow her to the tree and *snap* I take a picture of it.  I’m feeling really good because I can tell that she is so delighted to have someone interested in her tree.

Then, the best part comes.

She looks at me with a sneaky little grin and says “Say, you wouldn’t like to have a starter of this tree, would you?”

I gush and say yes, of course.  She takes me to the side of her house where she has a tiny little seedling of tree.  She explains all about the little plant to me and tells me how to take care of it.  I get a lesson on all sorts of plants that she has.  The little gardener in me was so excited and happy scooping up all this wonderful info.

As I am walking back to my car holding that little seedling, I feel so glad that I took the chance to stop and knock.   I smile with pride, excitement, and wonder.  I admire it’s tiny little leaves.  I imagine it fully grown and visualize the years in between.

I am so glad that I took the risk of looking crazy to a stranger and smile with the knowledge that now I have a new friend.  We spent quite a bit of time talking that day and I often wonder how she is doing.  Now, seven growing seasons later, I wonder how she is.  I should take a picture of the full grown tree today and take it to her.  Or better yet, invite her over to see.

Perfection?

2784e178ab2a40e9c635568ff222a531In a perfect world

I would slip out of bed unnoticed by my family.  The coffee maker would already be brewing and I would hear it percolating as I am walking down the hallway.  As I slip onto my balcony overlooking the beautiful bed of water that I live by, I notice the birds chirping – already awake and beckoning me to join them in creativity.    I become aware of the gentle smoke of fog rolling across the waters’ edge as it hides the mountains from my view.   My laptop is already there with the cursor blinking at me, and as I sit down to type, my soul and fingers seem to work in tandem.  The creativity flows from deep within me.  I feel the same as I do when I’m playing music on my piano with my eyes closed, the point where nothing exists beyond myself and my music.

In the real world

In reality, I’m scattered and may forget to set the coffee maker to work ahead of time, so I will be sleepily making the coffee while trying to be quiet so as not to wake up the three teenage girls.   When the coffee is brewing, the dog will jingle his way down the hallway and spin in circles until I let him out, while my beautiful kitty will be at my feet EXPECTING to be loved on.  There will be no body of water or mountains outside my balcony because I live in Kansas.   And the honest truth is that the minute I sit down to write, I will hear something else percolating.  It will be the sounds of two or more of my teenage girls squabbling over a hairbrush or any other myriad of items they may be trying to gain possession of upon waking from their slumber.   The day will start.

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And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

William Shakespeare – A Midsummer Night’s Dream