Despite
a few setbacks and a sometimes overburdened schedule, this
month's issue is finally ready to be put to bed. I, on the other
hand, will probably be up all night--yet again. Hey, I'm already
halfway to morning, so why stop now?
Most
of you have already heard about my little "falling
out" with Microsoft Outlook. I doubt I'll be trusting my
e-mail to that particular piece of software ever again.
Because Outlook
"ate" my e-mail, I got nervous about whether I'd be
able to put together the newsletter this month. I shouldn't have
wasted time worrying.
Bill Reiser
came through as usual, despite his own personal concerns, with
another fine Feature Article and
selections for Pen & Ink. Lea
Schizas added an Interview with Star
Publish author Epstein LaRue, and I dusted off one of my first
attempts at a Book Review. (Regular
book reviewer Carolyn Howard-Johnson is on the road, but she'll
return next month.)
Still no
columnists, unfortunately, but I hope to have the positions
filled in time for next month's issue. (If you applied before
the "crash" you'll need to resubmit.)
In the
meantime, please enjoy this month's efforts!
"Halifax West students prepare for 'biggest musical in Halifax' this
year"
Look for my response to the
Question of the Month--"What's one thing you can commit to setting aside so
that writing is a priority this month?"--in Write
What You Know #28.
As writers, you
might want to believe that most original thinking involves
artistic creativity, but you'd be wrong. One can be innovative
in almost any endeavour. Let me give a simple illustration: a
farmer living in Mesopotamia more than 10,000 years ago. What
are the concerns of such a man? Obviously, weather is important,
like wind and storms, but even more so, the predictability of
the flooding rivers that irrigate his crops. On one
unanticipated occasion, this man observes a fluke of nature. His
fields have already been well irrigated when a second flood
threatens to drown them. Miraculously, just before the
threatening waters do permanent damage, a great boulder falls
down from the mountain and blocks the torrent.
Ergo, he
conceives the first dam. Subsequently, another ingenious fellow
invents a way to release water from the dam when needed with a
gate. Thousands of years later, the principle is expanded to
include the valve and finally the switch, the precursor to
modern electronics. It all came about because of keen
observation and deduction about a rock accidentally preventing a
flood.
Today's world
is highly technical, with new concepts constantly built on those
of yesterday, all of which is readily understandable. There is a
factor that resists imaginative expressions and it too has been
around a long time. This is interpretation, one's ability to
define the environment. Until we learn to be independent
interpreters, most of our early knowledge is explained to us by
family, friends, and teachers. These preliminary influences can
affect thinking our whole lives and bear tremendous weight on
how we view the world. For example, grandfather believes that
all green people are bad; aunt teaches that all non-Kluptists
will burn in Hell; mother says never trust a fermigan; older
sister thinks Aunt Jemima pancakes are the only kind edible;
teacher compels us to think that all male students must wear a
white shirt to school and girls an ankle length dress, etc.
Interpretation
is learned as behaviour first, repudiated or adopted with the
advent of education and preferences then interfaced with
observation and knowledge to become wisdom or inference. It
seems like a simple process but is actually very complex. Have
you ever tried to explain to someone why you love a particular
brand of something and cannot tolerate another? Or a person?
More often than not, you wind up saying, "I've felt that
way forever."
Everyone, no
matter the profession--if it is loved--seeks creative expression
to better the way things are done by them. Later, perhaps after
experimentation and success, that better way is suggested to
others. You can also say, if gifted--by this I mean recognized
by many others as possessing talent--we should share our vision
for the benefit of others in a benevolent way, else life is a
narrow, insignificant playground and probably a waste. I'm not
saying you can't profit by your ingenuity. I am saying you
shouldn't keep it to yourself.
In the early
days of television, some very gifted writers, like Paddy
Chayefsky and Rod Serling, wrote brilliant screenplays for Playhouse
90 during a short, golden era when sponsors were not allowed
to dictate what was written or interrupt a performance with
commercial advertisements. Everyone who owned a set was glued to
that broadcast and thrilled with its honest and original
messages, some of the most laudable entertainment ever
witnessed. That condition changed when sponsors boycotted and
threatened to walk out unless given dominant control over
programming. Television has never been the same since and
quality became nonexistent. This horrific negativity was caused
by ruinous interpretation. In this case, it was this: Why should
the public be given anything for free when they can easily be
exploited? The station managers sacrificed quality for mere
money and have never looked back.
In early 20th
century, Albert Einstein was drawn to several passages in
"Genesis" that seemed to suggest a plausible
explanation of universal law. After years of verification and
further deduction, he developed the theory of relativity. That
positive result was caused by exceptional observation and
inference. He reasoned: I have discovered the most useful tool
ever, one science has needed; I must give it to the world. Our
contemporary societies could not exist as we do without his
contribution, despite the fact that so many have perverted E =
MC² to much less glorious applications than the benefit of
others.
There are
thousands of such examples to be seen in every facet of life. As
writers, it is our obligation to overcome early interpretive
insights if illogical and increase our ability to observe and
infer meaning. If we train ourselves to do this, we do not
necessarily have to experience everything personally in order to
write about it. We can intuit. The great authors who write of
the past were not there, yet their stories are so convincing, we
believe they were. Ray Bradbury never visited Mars, but his Martian
Chronicles did more than entertain. The book suggested he
had insight about living on Mars.
Let's go back
to the statement: Everyone, no matter the profession--if it is
loved--seeks creative expression to better the way things are
done. What exactly does it mean to love writing? Does it mean
you should work your 40-70 hour week in a job you don't care
about then come home and write for fifteen minutes? Obviously,
no. You cannot be good at anything unless you devote time to it,
study the craft, experiment and develop style, and earn a unique
writing signature. Does it mean employ words and phrases you
have heard thousands of times every day? Of course not. There is
no you until vocabulary, grammar, and punctuation are mastered,
until you learn to be dissatisfied with common phrases and
replace them with wholly original combinations of terms. Does it
mean plagiarize, guess without researching, let others edit, or
keep your work aside for Sunday afternoons between 1:00 and
2:00? Never.
All of these
things contribute to your passion about being original, learning
to interpret the world well, sharp observation and inference,
and devoting time to the craft in order to master its
techniques.
You may have
heard these before. Perhaps they bore you as trivial matters. It
is possible you could get lucky and have an extremely poor
manuscript, essay, screenplay, or poem get published by a press
with low or absent standards. One thing is certain, in spite of
the poor state of the publishing industry today. You cannot long
sustain your reputation as a writer until you consistently prove
your works to be of high quality. When your hard-earned passion
equates energy and output with a first acceptance, the
recognition of your talent has a chance to succeed. Such
vitality is the earmark of excellence that legitimate editors
and publishers constantly seek, especially today when such a
plethora of incredibly bad writing gets printed or placed on the
Internet.
One more thing.
To truly love writing, you must read it constantly, to learn
what others did, make comparisons to your own, discover trends,
and learn why things are and are not done to be considered good
and successful. I am often astonished by wannabe authors who
have no knowledge of the great writers of the past, yet expect
miracles from their submissions. These people cannot move to the
second step of competence because they never witnessed the
first. If you have not encountered Shakespeare, Milton,
Melville, Steinbeck, Hemingway, and hundreds of other such
luminaries, your chance to be a good writer is extremely minimal
and great is out of the equation. If a specific genre interests
you, be sure you read its giants before you attempt being a
dwarf.
There you have
it, the requirements of passion.
#
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR: William
Alan Rieser, B.A., M.A., has had careers in teaching,
conducting, composing, performing music, umpiring, electronics,
supervising and finally writing in his retirement. He is now a
professional editor and has published 16 novels and hundreds of
shorts and articles.
The
quest continues to hire writers to handle
the following monthly columns:
Paying
Markets
Contests
Online
Resources
My
apologies to everyone for the ongoing delay caused by my recent
difficulties with Microsoft Outlook (hereinafter banished from any
further appearances on my computer).
If
you applied for any or all of these positions and haven't already
resubmitted your application, please do so at your earliest
convenience.
William
Rieser (a.k.a. Penumbra) joins yours truly (a.k.a. InkSpotter) to
form the team "Pen & Ink." Each month, we'll
feature poetry
and prose from The
Writers' Association's growing list of
anthologies.
temples
and towers
by
Jan Pengelly
we worshipped in temples of faith,
hope and lust
we fed on temptations, disguising mistrust
their altars were burning
such innocence yearning
inviting the spite of excuses and dust
punch-drunk on perverseness, I
staggered and strayed
morality writhing and free will decayed
captivity's practise was always coercive
submission's attractiveness slowly subversive
hostility's wilderness briefly delayed
perplexed and delusional,
insane-institutional
I raced my reflection across a dull sun
despising life's irony
something divine in me
scorned and derided all that I had done
divided by lies, I was unhypnotised, I was
pale and confused, my deliverance come
I rolled with the rhythm of
malice-unsung
that beat on my ribs
and my ego that hung in such
desperate tatters
from sensual towers
and in all the hours that followed the sun
found the deadliest vows were
stripped bare of all powers
the emptiest vessels the easiest shunned
the headiest vices were no longer priceless,
serenity's rising the purest gold spun
we worshipped in temples
I raced my reflection,
I rolled with the rhythm
of malice-unsung
that beat on my ribs and my
ego that hung in such desperate tatters...
Leitmotif
by
Chase Hartone
Except for the drink glass in my
hand and the smile on my face--my last request--mine was only one
of four ordinary wakes at Raleigh & Blackmon Funeral Home.
Busy weekend. No vacancies. Occupied with death. Sisters, cousins,
in-laws, friends...Uncle Josh? I'll be damned. They scattered
round the room in groups of twos and threes and spilled into the
hallways. Smokers smoked in the parking lot, joking about the
rusty truck parked half in the disabled slot and half in the next
space, sideways.
Except for chuckles at the glass
held by my frozen fingers atop my abdomen, the talk was usual
funeral talk--looks peaceful; didn't suffer; lived a good
life...Aunt Mary bragged about the ornate beauty of my metal
coffin with its gold, raised curlicues, polished brass-mirror
finish, and button-tucked silk lining. I'd have a pine box if it
were up to me. Line it with a sheet. Throw me in a hole. Cover me
with dirt. Be done with it.
Floating near the ceiling, I
scanned nicely dressed friends and relatives, except for Uncle
Josh. In his dirty, holey, farmer's overalls, shoulder straps
safety-pinned atop his left shoulder, right shoulder strap hanging
loose down his side, he was...well...Josh.
My corpse was surrounded by roses,
peace lilies, spider lilies, mums, the usual daisies. If I could
sneeze, I would. If I could change the conversation, I would. I
listened in. Interesting lies. Elongations of truths. So I drifted
to the next wake, through the wall, to another room, wishing I
could lift my glass to clink to the afterlife as I left.
In this room lay a woman of middle
age. The visitors, though possessing different faces, could be my
friends and family--same conversations, same types of flowers. A
spirit floated near the ceiling. I drifted to it.
"Name's Harry, Harry
Struthers." I formed an appendage and stretched it toward
her. She was still in shock.
"Is this it? Tell me there's
more." She cowered from my makeshift hand. It disappeared
back into the spiritual blob that I was.
"Well, I'm still figuring it
out myself, sister. I'm the next room over. Looks like we're in
this together."
"We're dead?"
"Yup. Accept it. Go with it.
Wait for the Man...Heart attack. You?"
"Heart attack?...Oh. Car
accident."
"Heh, my condolences to the
car."
"Funny man. Only had it a
week. That...that old man there, in the coveralls, just walked in.
I don't know him."
"Uncle Josh? He's harmless.
Wandering around like me. Want to check the next room?"
"I...I guess. I'm Margie
White. I need to get my bearings. Wait. Wait. I'm coming." I
floated through the wall; she followed. The coffin seemed smaller.
As we approached, she stopped abruptly. "Oh my God."
"Damn! No," I said.
"Not a young kid. I hate it when it's kids. Hate it. Don't
you?"
"Yes. Had two myself."
"Watch out, Margie! Behind
you."
Zzzoooom. Swwooosh. "Yehah! I
can fly. I can fly."
"Slow down, son. You scared
her."
"Yippi! Who are ya? Ain't this
neat? You can fly, too? Watch this, I can go through walls."
"Wait, son. You okay there,
Margie?"
"Yes, just a boy. Let's go
calm him down. Look, your Uncle Josh. He's laughing. He must be
hitting all the rooms, paying his respects."
"The boy went through that
wall. Come on."
Room four was packed. The boy
zipped circles around a beautiful grand dame in an elaborate
casket then dashed to a corner ceiling where a spirit calmly
settled. "Are you a grandma?" he said.
"Why, yes, son. I'm a great
grandmother."
"I'll say. More people in here
than the other rooms put together. You must be great. Who's the
old man in the overalls?"
I approached. Margie followed.
"That's Uncle Josh. He's just a little eccentric."
Uncle Josh looked up at the four of
us and put his thumb under his shoulder strap. "A little?
Nothing little 'bout me. You never realized how special I am?
Think."
People in grandma's room turned and
looked at Josh, talking to the ceiling. I had this image of Uncle
Josh--always in the background at other funerals--apart from the
rest of the crowd. "Are you the Man?" I asked.
"No, but I'm here for you, by
and by. Come see Ol' Betsy." He motioned us to follow.
We floated behind him to the rusty heap.
"Get in." He pointed to
the truck's back bed.
We settled obediently, figuring he
was in the know. After all, he was the only one who could see us.
The muffler roared and smokers
looked our way, and as we passed them, the truck's tailpipe
belched a huge cloud with a boom that made them jump and
disappear. They swatted the thick exhaust, trying to see Josh's
rusty hulk. But Betsy lifted off into the blue behind it. Uncle
Josh laughed and bellowed. "Betsy to Heavens!"
We were long gone by the time the
cloud lifted, marvelling at galaxies.
and
you and you and you
by
Jan Pengelly
and you and you and you
too soon, too soon, the eagle flew
while you were busy drawing down
the moon into your icy hands,
purchasing one-eyed wisdom
to crowd your poppied mind,
until you could no longer stand
but gently tumbled tousled thoughts
to fall asleep in twilight lands,
asleep in the laps of legends.
and, as you dreamt, a river of woe
washed over you and carried you down
to those blasted banks, where the rocking stone
could be toppled by the gentlest touch;
you stroked the smooth-skinned serpent's egg
and, though asleep, you cried real tears
for emotions that somehow eluded you,
and for the names of the faces you seemed to remember
with a distant and palsied anxiety.
and you dreamt you wrote a mystic piece
where vague and shuffling demons danced;
where Odin cast aside his mask
and settled on your shoulders, round,
a mammoth task...
a burden irredeemable, a lance;
a lance to bear in diamond jousts,
advancing through the teeth of fear
to seize that chance to win the soured prize.
Methuselah, with his long grey beard,
whispered in your sleeping ear of
fools and wise men, sons and daughters;
of the Devil's love for holy water;
of a single, human footprint in the sand;
of the perils of duplicity,
the rigours of respectability,
of such passions as can tear apart a man.
and on the sharp infliction of
such sorrow's textured wounds, you woke
with knotted hair and eyes still chasing phantoms;
and even though the dark stream coursed
still dully in your veins, you spoke
of fields of blood and lonely death's cold tantrums;
and lifelong cravings threatening to choke...
to strain and break the slenderest of throats...
with that distempered mind you reached
for lightless needles littering the floor;
and as a stray dog to its vomit, warm,
to poisoned dreams did you return, once more.
Literary
Lapse (103
members) is a prompt-based
mailing list. Members receive weekly writing prompts and are
encouraged to share their work with the rest of thelist and give each other feedback.
Once
a month, I select
my favourite story, essay or poem for publication and pay
the winner $5 (US funds).
The
Prompt
Since I'm gearing up with a new newsletter, Heritage
Writer, I thought I'd get you to try writing about a family
member--anyone from an immigrant ancestor to a newborn
grandchild.
The Winner
Congratulations to Krys
Douglas for her story "Elinor's Letter."
EDITOR'S
NOTE: Choosing a a winner was especially hard this month, since
there were so many fine responses to this prompt.
Elinor's
Letter
by
Krys Douglas
Danville, Kentucky, Sept. 21, 1819
My Dearest Alice-
I regret I have been so long in replying to
your last letter. I plead the vagaries of teaching school in
this remote frontier. It is-alas-not! Philadelphia. But there is
great desire on the part of parents to have some education for
their children. In this river town we do have considerable
commerce arising. That stimulates a need for at least the basics
of reading and arithmetic. Sometimes a student appears who
desires more than the basics, and then we all delight in
offering as much knowledge as my sisters and I have between us.
There has been some new excitement in town of
late. The Kentucky Presbytery chose our town for this year's
meeting of the Synod. So for two weeks the population has been
greatly enlarged. The congress of ministers ended yesterday,
and, oh! something most wonderful occurred! A young minister
delivered the afternoon sermon. I had not seen him before in the
press of strangers in town, but Mama insisted that, there being
to her mind a dearth of religious practice here, we should seize
the opportunity to hear as many ministers as possible.
Our small church being nowhere near large
enough to accommodate all those who would attend the sermons,
most have been held out-of-doors. There is a glade a short way
out of town. It forms a natural amphitheatre, with a grove of
tall oak trees at one side. It was here that Mr. Reed stood to
deliver his words of peace and reassurance from the Gospel. The
sun's warmth was accompaniment to the warmth of his words. As he
spoke, the gentle breeze lifted his brown hair from his brow,
and his eyes, the bluest possible blue, looked into mine. I'm
sure I blushed and I can only hope he thought my colour the
result of sitting so long in the sun. I felt as if his glance
pierced to my very soul. I pray that God will forgive me for
paying more attention to the sound of Mr. Reed's voice than to
the words he spoke.
After the sermon, Mama approached him to thank
him for his message. Alice! She invited him to supper this
evening. I pray I shall not be the perfect fool! My next letter
will follow fast on this one to say what happens.
This
is the space where subscribers get to do a little bragging about
their own writing successes. Don't be shy. We want to hear from
you.
We're looking for a few good women! Scheherazade
Tales Romance E-Novels is interested in
acquiring manuscripts for a new romance e-book section featuring
"older" heroines. If you're sick and tired of heroines on the
young side of thirty, with perfect features, perfect hair, perfect
Barbie-doll figures... If you're ready to see more realistic stories
involving a true-to-life heroine in the prime of her life... If you can
write a gripping story of passion between two mature adults seeking love
and romance... Then come strut your stuff with our new line of romance
e-books called "Hot Flashes!" Whether it's romantic suspense,
paranormal, light-hearted humour, or matron-lit, we want to see stories
aimed for maturing baby-boomers who still love a gripping, tender,
passionate romantic tale. Sensuality from sweet to spicy, but no
erotica. Minimum 40,000 words (novel-length only, no novellas). Query
with sample of writing or send entire manuscript by e-mail
attachment.
The MuseItUp
Club, a Writer's Digest 101 Best Writing Site of 2005,
is launching a new informative zine The
Muse Marquee. Each monthly issue will contain columns to
teach and enhance a writer's craft. This will be a paid
subscription of $10.00 for 12 issues, loaded with prompts and
exercises, as well.
Boomer
Women Speak - The fastest growing site
for baby boomer women on the Web has launched an advertising
campaign. Join Dotsie Bregel in the forums where boomer women
encourage, connect, and support one another every day.
This book combines two of my favourite elements:
cats and wizards. The striking cover art catches the eye
immediately, and the story synopsis completes the allure. My
previous familiarity with Duane’s work is limited to her Star
Trek novels, but I consider her contributions to be a high point
of the series. All these things combine to make this a novel I
would want to buy at first glance.
Chalk it up to my love of cats, but I find it
easy to step into their world. Or maybe it’s the writing. Either
way, the transition is smooth. The plot unravels slowly, building
to a climax that is well worth the wait. Duane’s attention to
character development pays off. The reader cares what happens to
the four feline wizards.
The fact that most of the characters are cats
could have been reduced to the level of gimmick. This is an area
where Duane’s skills as a storyteller are quite apparent. She
invites you into a willing suspension of disbelief, and you
happily accept. While the cats seem as "real" as people,
one never forgets that they are cats. Body language, indeed. Every
movement, every reaction, is true to feline behaviour.
Each of the cats has a distinct personality,
which keeps the reader's interest even through the slower parts of
the story. Urruah is the most entertaining, with his sardonic
attitude toward just about everything. Saash is the
ultra-professional, despite the fact that she has the most to
lose. Rhiow functions well in her central role, giving the reader
an accessible heroine. Arhu is the most riveting of the main
characters. He undergoes the broadest changes, which serve as a
benchmark for the developing plot.
As much as I like Ith, I find it difficult to
take him seriously. Maybe it all comes down to the image of him
casting spells with his stunted arms. I realize Duane must have
meant to make him exceptional, to break the "stereotype"
of the dinosaur, but he is the weakest part of the story. In the
midst of the climactic scene, along comes Ith and the tension is
blown.
Overall, I enjoyed the story. Duane has created
some wonderful characters. Their interactions ranged from
hilarious to poignant without ever losing realism.
#
EDITOR'S NOTE: This was one of the first reviews
I ever wrote. I received a pre-publication copy of the book from a
local bookstore and provided my feedback, along with line edits,
to the publisher (and, indirectly, to Diane Duane). I later posted
the review to Amazon.com.
Epstein LaRue has been a nurse since
1992, and has worked on medical, surgical, emergency, telemetry,
rehabilitation, and psychiatric units. These attributes made her
the perfect candidate to write the non-fiction informative book Highway
Hypodermics: Your Road Map to Travel Nursing.
Besides being a multi-published author, Epstein
also has a successful e-publishing business, Epstein Publishing.
To get to know this wonderful lady further, link here: http://www.epsteinlarue.com/
I was fortunate to get a quiet moment from her
hectic schedule for an in-depth interview with this multi-talented
lady.
When did you first get the inkling to write Highway
Hypodermics: Your Road Map to Travel Nursing? And why?
When I started out on my travel nursing
adventures, I immediately started saving all of my information and
taking notes. I starting writing them down in article form, then
created the website www.highwayhypodermics.com.
When I first started the writing, it was because I couldn't find
any other books on travel nursing. Since then I have found one.
Even though I started chatting with the other author, I never read
her book until after my book was out. Amazing how the two have
some of the same information but put into a different format.
There is also a wide variety of informational differences in the
two books. The real purpose in writing this book is to give people
a glimpse of what life is really like out on the road full time,
and dealing with contracted assignments every three months.
We've heard it numerous times that writing in
general is fun but tedious work. What were some of the upsets you
faced while writing Highway Hypodermics: Your Road Map to
Travel Nursing?
I think my biggest "upset" would be
the fact that once I had written all these articles about travel
nursing, I had to put them together in a fashion that made sense.
Some chapters were really short and others were really long, so I
ended up putting some articles together to make a chapter. But
then I needed to re-title the chapters so the titles would make
sense. It was like putting together a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle,
which isn't easy when you live in an RV.
Where did you find the time to write with
your heavy workload--nurse, writer, e-book publisher, and
newsletter guru?
Oh yes, but don't forget that I am also a
homeschool teacher, mother, wife, and Civilization Strategy game
fanatic! I work nights, so my nights off [are] my computer time. I
can work at the computer and be quiet while the family is
sleeping. Our sacred time is dinnertime. Everyone eats together
and we use that time to catch up on what is going on in our lives.
I met my husband online, so a lot of our communication is still
based online...and we chat with our son on the computer from one
end of the RV to the other end. I love to cook, but hate to clean
house and fold clothes; therefore, I have a maid, laundry person,
chauffer, and nanny...oh yeah, his other name is hubby :) Yes, I
am spoiled rotten! I haven't done laundry or cleaned the house in
eight years, well, except for the laundry I did for a patient last
month. One night every two weeks I publish an e-book...One night
every two weeks, I publish a newsletter. One for the writers
groups, NUW (Not The Usual Way) and the other for my nursing
website: Highway Hypodermics. My son is great at doing self-study,
and one day a week we do his unit testing. If he needs help, then
either hubby or I do some explaining. When I start to feel bogged
down, I just stop everything and play few hours, well, maybe days,
worth of the strategy game, Civilization. As soon as I have
conquered the world, then I'm ready to step back into reality and
continue on the journey of life. We also take a lot of educational
journeys to historical sites wherever we are located in. For
example, being in Mississippi right now, we're doing extensive
research into the Civil War of the 1860s and the Civil Rights
movement in the 1960s.
From all of your above careers you are
involved in, is there one over the other that you love the most
and why?
My ultimate goal is to do travel nursing during
the winter months and then to be at my home on the lake in Idaho
for the summer months to do nothing but write, fish, and play
golf. By the age of 50, I want to be "semi-retired,"
only having to work three months a year, and otherwise just
sitting on the beach somewhere in the sun. Another option would be
to use my education degree and my nursing degree to teach nursing
school and write.
What has been the highlight of your travel
nursing career so far?
Living the dream! Always had the dream of
travelling and doing nursing. Currently, I work three to six
months then take one or two months off. Just this last year, I
have worked in California, Arizona, Oklahoma, and Mississippi. My
biggest dream come true? Getting to drive my Mustang Convertible
from Monterey to San Simeon, California, along Highway 1 (Pacific
Coast Highway) with lunch and a shopping trip at Pebble Beach Golf
Course.
Do you find writing more difficult than
nursing, or the reverse, and why?
Nursing is a natural for me. I love people, and
I love to take care of people. I find that I have a need to keep
my hands and mind busy, and in my spare time I was reading a lot
until I said to myself, "Hey, I can write just as good as
these guys can." My first novel, Love At First Type,
was my true inspiration since it is based on the story of how my
husband and I met over nine years ago! I have been in
nursing since 1990, and my first published novel was in 2001.
Nursing is more natural for me, and I struggle with writer's block
at times. My toughest time in my writing career was between Love
at First Type and Crazy Thoughts of Passion, related to
the fact that I suffered for almost a year with writer's
block...just never had the urge to write anything. I starting
writing a page a day, and soon the bug left me. I feel like I have
to work at writing, whereas nursing is more natural to me. I have
learned to keep my writing notebook with me everywhere I go,
because you never know when inspiration is going to hit you. One
of my latest greatest "hits" was the day we got lost in
Jackson, Mississippi, and asked directions at this farmer's house.
Hubby is from Wyoming, and I'm originally from Oklahoma. Poor
feller, I had to get out of the truck and translate the directions
for my northern-born mate!
You've written fiction and non-fiction books.
Do you have a preference over the two, and where do you get your
ideas from?
I have found that I'm not as talented at writing
fiction. I do best with stories that are based on reality. My
second novel was totally fictional, and I found it very difficult
to gain the vision. I scan the nursing discussion boards, find
areas of interest, do my research, and write about current events
that affect travel nursing. I have found that for me, non-fiction
sells much better than fiction. I don't know if non-fiction makes
[me] an "expert" or any more intelligent but being
published in Nursing2004 sure does look good on the resume!
Is there anyone whom you credit to your
success? A person who has been there for you from the start?
When I signed to publish my first book, Love
At First Type, there was this author who wrote romance just
like me, and she even lived about two hours from me. I lived in
Lake Havasu City, Arizona, and she lived in Mesquite, Nevada. We
seemed to get along just great online and in e-mail, but every
time I suggested meeting in Las Vegas when I took my husband to
the VA doctor, she was always busy. I truly believed she didn't
like me. We had traded books, and I felt like hers was so much
better than mine and got an inferiority complex. She was better
than me and didn't want to have anything to do with me! Although,
she did invite me to be a charter member of this new writers group
that she was organizing. After about two years, the romance diva
announced that she was moving to Arizona. That's nice. Come to
find out, where she was moving was only one hour away from
me. Finally, we met for coffee one day, and the rest is history.
When we get together, the hours roll by. We talk on the phone now,
and before long an hour has gone by. Both of us consider our best
book signing (so she tells me) is the one that we did together.
The greatest test in our friendship and authorship was the
creation of the book, Highway Hypodermics. I can't count
the number of e-mails we sent back and forth with cover ideas and
changes. Being a true friend, there were times when she said,
"Epi, get your head screwed on, you know that won't
work." Then I would think, "Why did I even think of
that?" She kept me on track and edited my book (That
is what is called true friendship!) I write like I talk,
and sometimes y'all, the redneck grammar jest comes writ out
yonder there? That is why, I would consider my greatest influence
in my writing career my publisher, my editor, my friend...the
great southern belle and diva of romance...Kristie Leigh Maguire.
How did you come to your decision to choose
Star Publish from all the other non-traditional houses? Or even a
traditional house, for that matter?
I was with another publishing house with the
other books, but I knew this book had to be top quality;
therefore, I made the decision to switch to Star Publish. I never
have even thought about a traditional publishing house because I
like to do things my own way. I have never regretted my decision
to go with Star Publish and never will. Working with Kristie has
made publishing so much more fun to produce a top quality product.
Are you happy with the service you received?
And would you recommend them to another writer searching for a
Print On Demand publisher?
Very happy with my service? Will never leave
Star Publish, and have referred several other authors to
Star.
Who have been some of your inspirational
authors?
Don't really have a definite answer. I just love
to write, love my job nursing, and love putting the two together.
As a mentor to new writers, what helpful
tip(s) can you offer them?
Get a notebook and write down your helpful
hints, then never leave the house without that notebook. Write
whenever you get inspired. If writer's block does occur, don't get
overwhelmed with a project; just take it one page at a time.
What do you see in the future for yourself,
as a writer? Will there be another book?
Would really love to write for six months out of
the year and travel for six months of the year. As of now, I work
for three to six months and then take a month or two off to
concentrate on writing and travelling. Yes, there will be another
book. My first book was published January 2001, my second January
2003, and my third one January 2005? You guessed it! Look for my
next exciting paperback in January 2007.
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Wow Betty,
So sorry to hear about the computer problems.
They seem to be generalized these days. Makes one suspicious...
Anyway good luck getting it all together. I
myself do not trust Outlook Express (generator of viruses)! You
may want to consider The Bat for your mail program. I think it is
tops, you will never lose your mail, you can save everything in a
quickly searchable database! Check it out here: http://www.ritlabs.com/en/products/thebat/
I have not had time to delve into your
offerings, but I look forward to a little extra time to do so,
soon!
Have a great day,
Gena Hall Lumbroso, a new and enthusiastic subscriber
EDITOR'S NOTE: Any other letters
from the previous month have gone the way of Microsoft
Outlook--never to be seen on my computer again.
