I don’t write to be famous, I don’t write to be known, I write because I am and I want to be read. How sad to fill a room with paintings no one sees or play music no one hears. Writing is talking without sound, singing without score and dancing without movement and yet, it is all of them. It is a solitary art conjured from thought and expressed by the need to communicate.

HEAD SLAPS, SPEED BUMPS and LIGHTBULBS, one woman's WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life.

They were published once, and as every writer knows, once is not enough.




Thursday, September 28, 2017

Full speed ahead to an abrupt stop


Hear that sound?

It’s screeching wheels on pavement struggling to stop before a collision. That’s me coming dangerously close to a full on crash. My story, my BIG story has me teetering on the edge of lawyer vs. lawyer, time vs. deadline, memory vs. does anybody really care?


Do I use real names?
Do I speculate without proof?
Do I expand and interview and back up sources?
Do I delve?
And then what?

Do I throw out a short 2500 words as bait?
And if I do, where do I cast my line?
NYT, Huff Post, The Atlantic, The New Yorker, it certainly is (human interest) and nationally interesting but…I'm not a staff writer.
Hartford Courant, The Day, The New Haven Register?
Do I stay local?
Do I stay home?
Do I keep it here only?

How deep do I want to go, do I want to relive it?
My head is spinning.
What to do, what to do.

With what’s going on in the world and in this nation am I so naïve as to believe what happened to us is relevant?
It's (just) a story. It's (just) about an out of the blue,  magical rescue involving a company too big to fail... until it did. It's about the dream we all have when we put a dollar down to buy a lottery ticket.
Did our dollar exceed the reward or were we lucky. Luck had everything and nothing to do with it.

What route should I take and where do I park?

Have you ever stopped your journey before you had a destination?

Tuesday, September 5, 2017

Next project, a BIG one



I am working on a project which is movie-worthy.
It’s big.
The scope is daunting.
Combine, It could happen to you and Erin Brockovich, a feel good, and going up against the big guy kind of story, and you get the idea.

 (Interesting that both movies were NOT inspired by books).

It happened to us and as we faded into the background (for fifteen years) the (worldwide known) big guy came in and rattled cages. I don’t mean to be cryptic but I must because it’s a true story. The toes upon which I trod are attached to pretty big feet.

Every struggling family dreams about stuff like this.
 
Yes, it was like winning the lottery but what we had to give up was priceless.

I’m a little scared to take this on but I am determined. Like they say, "everybody has a story", well I do and it's a doozy.

Stay tuned.

Were you ever scared away from a story because it was too big?

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Read lines

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I thought when you submitted a manuscript, agents and publishers cut you some slack regarding editing because you are the writer, not the English teacher. I thought all I had to do was my best and they’d understand. I thought wrong, wrong, wrong. (I meant to repeat those words.) After receiving my manuscript back from a hired-by-me editor, I now know my best sucks.

When the edited attachment popped up in my inbox, to say I was shocked by all the read lines and notes is an understatement. Feeling stupid and unworthy sums it up. The repeated words, lack of correct punctuation, and sentiments which in my mind were touching, turned out to be unclear left me feeling devastated by my sense of inability.

I wanted to rush in and fix everything even though I didn’t have a clue how the computer editing program worked. And then the enormity of what was ahead had me wanting to set aside the whole damned thing. Why fix it. It’s crap. It’s shit slashed by read lines. I was depressed.

I would have shelved the entire book but for two reasons:
I drained what was left in my writing-account to pay the editor. I saved that money as an investment in myself. I did not want all that effort, all those words from the columns I’ve written, (which paid a pittance), to come to nothing. And then there is the emotional connection. The effort and gumption it takes to open myself up counts for something. My personal kind of writing puts me on display. It ain’t easy but sometimes you just have to say what you have to say.
I waited.
I took a deep breath.
I went slowly back in, one line at a time.
I found my footing.
With each word, line, paragraph and page I am learning.
The process is making me a better writer.

While implementing the edits I’m finding parts which are building my confidence. Some bring me to my knees because I am so proud of them. The tears I have shed related to a baby lost to miscarriage, my wonderful daughters, my amazing mother, Sandy Hook, and the love and loss of a special canine-companion (these are a few among many) have convinced me to proceed. This process instills in me the absolute honor I feel by creating this thirty-year record of why I write what I write AND why I wrote what I wrote and what happened after.
Will it sell?
The articles, columns and essays already have.
Wrapped in “why” will they sell again?
?
I’m sold on finishing.
I’m on it.

I'm sure this post deserves red lines. Spare me.
When was the last time editing stopped one of your projects?