How Did I Become a Writer?

 When I tell people my father was a journalist, they automatically assume that's why I'm a writer. That is most likely half the truth. Dad wrote articles for the Jersey Journal for forty years. He was very much concerned about libel and slander. Current events were part of every dinner table discussion when I was growing up. Dad loved to talk politics. 

However, my mother was more of a storyteller than Dad. In fact, everyone in her family could spin ordinary events into something far more interesting with outrageous embellishments. Their delivery had me hanging on every word.

The photo above shows my maternal grandparents and their bridal party. My grandparents are in the center of this photo. I am not sure about the other people in the picture. I assume most of them are my grandmother's siblings but I can't pick out who is who. Though I'm guessing that's Aunt Honey on the right. 

Grandma was the oldest child in her family and had many younger siblings. Grandma came to this country at the age of three, in 1903, with her parents. 

My grandparents had seven children of their own, two daughters and five brothers. My mom was the second oldest--and had an anecdote for everything. My grandma could spin a fine yarn, too. In fact, ALL of grandma's seven children had a knack for making any incident seem like a grand adventure.

I spent a lot of time listening to all of them--and enjoying their tales. So, when it comes to influence in wrting, I give them quite a bit of credit. 

Last week, my oldest daughter sent an article to me about children’s imaginary friends. She thought I still had imaginary friends. The truth is that I don’t have imaginary friends. I have a lifetime of stories handed to me by all my entertaining relatives. I’m just writing them down with several embellishments to make them more fascinating, of course.

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The First Time

That's little Penny. I made this sketch when I was in my early twenties, but that's how I saw myself as a kid--a skinny klutz. Notice the bandage on my shin and the scraped knee.

One summer, at the age of nine, I decided to write a book. It was a very short book. I used green ink on yellow legal paper and added illustrations. Not many people have seen it. Today it would be considered a paranormal romance--mostly because in the story the protagonist could fly. If I was able to fly at that point, maybe I wouldn't have had so many scraped knees and other injuries from tripping over my own pigeon-toed feet.

I enjoyed every moment of writing that story. That is what got me hooked on writing. Still,  I had other things to do as well--like get an education, work, get married, and raise children.

I knew, even as a youngster, that my writing would probably not be profitable--at least, not for a while.

So as the years went by, I was often too busy to write, though sometimes I wrote poetry in desperation because the urge to put words down on paper and express myself remained strong. However, my poetry was horrible--or at least when I handed it in as an assignment, the instructors wrote all over it and thoroughly discouraged me because I was not brave enough yet to believe in myself.

Courage is a necessary part of writing but it took a long time for me to develop that type of confidence.

Nurturing my children reignited all my creative juices. I read a book on smuggling as I nursed the baby at my breast. Suddenly, I had a whole novel running around in my head--and it kept clamoring to be let out.

It wasn't until my youngest turned four that the book I had been holding inside for quite a while refused to wait any longer. I was about to return to work in September. If I was going to write a book, I figured it was now or never. I set up my old manual typewriter on the dining room table and I typed out the story--page after page piled up.

Truthfully, writing in a great rush was like flying. It consumed me. I lived in the story and only came up for air to feed the family and tend to laundry. It took me two months to reach the end.

Then we went on a camping vacation and hubby took the time to read my story. He was surprised. "Where'd you learn to write like that?" he asked.

The truth was that I had a rough draft in my hands and it took a long, long time for that book to be published. However, by then I had acquired the necessary determination to survive endless rejections.

Writing is a tough business which requires the same kind of tenacity as a superhero, but writing a story is better than a magic carpet ride. Well, it was for me and still is.

That's why I write.

When Writing Is Eclipsed By Other Events

The sun on Monday, August 21, 2017, was only about 75% obscured by the moon in our area of New Jersey. That didn't matter much. Most people wanted to see the eclipse.

I wanted to see it, but I didn't have the special glasses and I hadn't made a pinhole camera. Instead of writing, I watched the event online at NASA's site. But then we went to visit my mother-in-law at the assisted living facility where she now lives. When I stepped outside to get in the car, I was surprised to see the sunlight coming down through the trees had cast crescent-shaped images on the driveway. That was quite a surprise. I was impressed.

When we arrived at the assisted living facility, we noticed that all the residents had been provided with eclipse glasses. They sat quietly enjoying the phenomena on the patio. Hubby and I were handed glasses as well and so we did get to view some of the eclipse. It was a special day and I am happy we were able to enjoy it with my mother-in-law.

But I didn't get any writing done. That's the way it is. There are many times when my writing is eclipsed by other events such as trips to the ER, plumbing catastrophes, and car troubles.

A writer should have a schedule. A writer should write everyday. But even someone with a regular nine-to-five job takes days off now and then for doctor visits, dental work, or even--on occasion--what some like to call a mental health day.

My saving grace is my capacity to juggle tasks. If I know I won't be able to write at my usual time, I write before or after that time. Or I spend the next day doing little else but writing. A writer must write, even though there's a guarantee in life that when something can go wrong, it will. But a writer gets back to work as soon as possible.

There will always be other events that take priority over writing. I'm glad I was able to view the eclipse and though it eclipsed my writing that one day, I more than made up for the time I lost the next day.

The Process--or Me and Matisse

When I was in college I took an oil painting course. Oils were nothing new to me. In her younger years, my mother worked in oils. I grew up messing around with Ma's paints when she wasn't looking. I loved squishing the oils around and mixing colors. I love the smell of the stuff, which is probably not a good thing but the truth is it smelled like home. I could draw quite well--freehand. I was quite sure I would get an A in the oil painting class, but that was until I met the professor.

My oil painting professor had a fondness for Matisse. Yes, Matisse created some wonderful paintings, but I am a realist at heart. I want scenes on my canvas to have a close approximation to what things look like to my eyes. To do that, I need small brushes and I work very tight--section by section. I love details--grass, hair, and rocks. That makes me happy.

My professor insisted all his students own large brushes. I knew I had no need for a large brush and it was terribly expensive, but I had to buy it anyhow. The professor wanted all his students to work on all areas of the canvas during the process. He did not want me to work in one corner at a time.

He wanted my painting to look like a Matisse. I wanted my painting to look like a Penelope Marzec. We had some basic ideological differences. I did not get an A. :^(

What has this got to do with writing? Everything. I've read plenty of books about writing. I've sat through innumerable writing workshops. I've listened to scores of writers explain their process and I've learned that everyone has a different process. Beyond the great divide of plotters and pantsters, there are various ways to get to The End.

There isn't a right way or a wrong way. There's only what works--for you. It probably won't work for someone else, but that's okay.

Despite that one professor, I never gave up painting. I've gotten some fabulous reviews for my books and some awards, but there have been some reviewers who reminded me of that oil painting professor. Obviously, I cannot make everyone happy. Still, I have not given up writing.

The fun is in the creating. The fun is in the process.

The only real rule is to do it. Put your butt in the chair and write. Now.

It Takes Courage

Writing takes courage. Writing a book takes a lot of courage--along with commitment. In the beginning, it is doubtful whether any writer will actually sell books. The process of getting to the end is long. Once the end is reached, it is necessary to go back to the beginning to revise and edit.

I write romantic fiction. I make it up but it still has to approximate reality. It must make sense and that's not easy.

This month, I joined the New Jersey Romance Writers' writing challenge, JeRoWriMo. I am attempting to add 30,000 words to a novel in which I had already had 20,000 words. I did the same thing last year and finished Patriot's Heart. I received a contract from Prism Book Group for that book and it is now available everywhere (with a gorgeous cover). :-)

A blank page is a scary thing. To compose the book, it helps to turn off the internal editor that questions every word, every comma, and every plot twist. A writer has to just let it go and write. The book can be fixed later--but there has to be something to fix.

Being a member of this challenge pushes me to throw the words down without quibbling over which word is exactly the right one. In the end, I will have a rough draft and it will need fixing. I'll turn my internal editor back on for that.

I've more than doubled what I started with on this project. The plot took a few unexpected turns, but that's fine. A few surprises can be fun.

My house is dusty and meals are usually leftover leftovers, but with one week to go, I am on target to reach 30,000 words. Wish me luck. :-)

My Lucky Day

There's me looking hopeful. All set to autograph books. All set to go home with--at the very least--money to put gas in the car.

Did I sell any books? Nope. Not one. Zero. Nada. Zaden.

Am I going to quit writing? No. I've gone through this scenario many times, though when I was younger, disappointment hit me harder. I needed extra money when the kids were younger, but writing didn't provide it. So I got a job. Still, I could not quit writing. I had stories to tell. In the quiet of the evening, when the house settled down, I wrote.

Some people live to play golf, some live to sing, some live to shop. I live to write.

And though I did not sell any books at the book fair, my books do sell online.

As far as the gas for the car, I had money in my wallet to buy it on the way home. (I always remember to be prepared.) There was a gas station on Route 1 selling regular for $3.05 a gallon. What a bargain! Plus the proprietor actually cleaned the front AND back windows for me.

It was my lucky day. :-)

Solitude and Creativity for the Writer

Writing is a solitary occupation. Putting words on paper--or the computer screen--involves a lot of concentration. As an author, I record my daydreams and then offer them to others for their entertainment. If readers enjoy my story, they might buy another one of my creations. If not, I have to come up with a better flight of fancy.

Ideas are everywhere, but a book must be specific--it cannot wander around as real life does. There must be a point to the story and it needs a beginning, a middle, and an end. That process takes a great deal of thought. Sometimes I hit a dead end when I'm writing. Sometimes I'm not sure I'm leading my characters along the right road.

I've found the creative process can often be nurtured with solitude. When I was younger and raising three small children, sometimes the only solitude I could find was in a trip to the supermarket or a session of folding laundry in my bedroom. Now that I'm older, I find a quiet walk conducive in stimulating my mind.

I found several interesting articles on solitude and creativity but this one, The Lost Art of Solitude, by Leo Babauta, offers a good guide to finding some quiet space to allow your imagination to flourish.

Give solitude a try.

A Tale of Sleep Deprivation

I need about seven hours of sleep to function. I don't usually have a problem falling asleep. However, there have been many times in my life when I did not have enough hours in the day. The only way to find more time was to steal from my bedtime hours, but that did not help me work any better--or write any better.

Way back when I was a college student I worked at a glass factory. For two summers, I endured rotating shifts because the wages were great. However, I found it next to impossible to keep my eyes open. Mostly I stood and packed bottles into boxes, but every hour or so, I got a chance to sit down and watch the bottles twirl by the light box. I was supposed to be looking for bad bottles, but the twirling bottles quickly turned into lovely dancing ladies in long dresses as I started dreaming. I am lucky I did not fall off the stool.

I know many authors who do not get enough sleep. They get up early, write, and then put in a full day at their real job. I never did that. The thought of crawling out of bed at 4:30 a.m. to write never appealed to me. I love writing, but I like to do it with a clear head.

There are the writers who stay up late into the wee hours to write. I never did that either. I actually tried it a few times, but the next day I was not up to par.

I tend to do my best writing in the evening after supper. I don't watch television so I don't have that distraction. I have not written as many books as some authors, but I know my limitations. Not getting enough sleep will make my blood pressure go up and that is a bad idea. So I sleep when I am supposed to sleep and write when I can.

When do you write?

Are You Still Writing?

Since I grew up in the county, taught in local schools, and have been an active member in several organizations, I often chance to meet people I may not have seen in several years. I bump into them at the deli counter or in the mall and very often the conversation starts out, "Are you still writing?"

Oh well. They are not great fans and haven't looked me up on Amazon or Barnes & Noble lately. That's okay. From what I've heard, there are a lot of people too busy to read. :^(

I find it a disconcerting question. My sister thought as a conversation starter it was a step above, "Are you still breathing?"

At any rate, I figure I'm lucky they recognize me.

But yes, I'm still writing. I started writing a long time ago and I enjoy the process. Telling stories is what I do. I retired from teaching, but I am not going to retire from writing--unless I become too feeble to type.

Other writers understand the joy of it. I had a blast the other day typing out my heroine's dream sequence. I suppose some people thinks that's really crazy, but I can't help myself. I've got plenty of stories to tell.

Nevertheless, I feel I need a witty comeback for those people who ask if I'm still writing. Any ideas?

Under Siege

2010 was a difficult year for my family. Each of my daughters spent time in the hospital for various, serious ailments. Thankfully, they all took turns. Still, things became complicated when my in-laws went into an assisted living facility and my mother-in-law did not want to sell her house. Then my father-in-law, who had broken his hip the previous year, fractured his pelvis at the beginning of December. Finally, right before Christmas, my father fell and broke his hip.

There have been times during all this chaos when writing became impossible—and it’s not that I didn’t have ideas but there were days when I didn’t have the heart or the time, and many more days when I didn’t have the energy. (I still have a "real" job.) I often felt as if I was under siege—being bombarded by doctors’ acronyms.

So what did I do while the enemy was scaling the walls of the castle? I tried a few ways to keep my mind on writing--even if I wasn't writing. Here are some of my ideas. If you have any to add, please add a comment. I would love to know what works for other writers, too.

1. Remember this won’t last forever or as my father always says, “This, too, shall pass.” In the meantime, I asked for help when I could. I am not Superwoman.

2. I kept a pen and paper handy. I wrote blog ideas. I took notes about what the doctor said. I scribbled down a few in-depth character studies. (There are lots of characters in a hospital.) These might be useful later on.

3. I read The Sea Wolf, by Jack London. That's a far cry from the usual romances I enjoy. However, when Dad wasn’t ready to read or even listen to me read to him, my paraphrased version of the plot held his attention.

4. I re-read my last draft from the beginning and I edited it. It's only 29 pages, but that doesn't matter.

5. I made plans to go to a writers’ conference when the siege is over.

Writing Sisters

I have been a member of the New Jersey chapter of the Romance Writers of America since 1988 and I have been to every one of their conferences. There are plenty of workshops offered along with editor and agent appointments, but the best part of the conference is the camaraderie with other authors as well as future authors. They are my writing sisters--they understand what it takes to write a book.

What we all need are more people who will read our books. There's a lot of good stuff between the covers. :^)

Reading will improve your vocabulary, make you smarter AND more interesting.

When was the last time YOU picked up a book and read it? Turn off the television and the internet, sit down, open a book, and savor the words.

You don't have to read the whole thing tonight. Just a chapter. It won't take long. Tomorrow night you can read another chapter.

See what we writers do. We work with words. Using them we can make pictures in your head. It's magic. (Well--sort of.)

So please buy a book today, or borrow one from the library. Your brain will be glad you did.