Sometimes it’s hard to be totally honest. We want to show people the best about ourselves. We want to be perceived as successful all the time. I shared with friends last night that I was the child who in school always had to have my work completed first and it had to be all right, otherwise it did not meet my standards! That’s a heavy burden for a child.
Have I changed much? Probably not. But hopefully I have matured to the point where I can accept that I’m not always first and I’m not always right.
As I waited for word from the publishing company, the one that had found my book proposal online and was interested in my work, I imagined a multitude of scenarios. Yes, of course they would accept my book: they were the ones who had found it and expressed interest. Well maybe they wouldn’t like it once they saw the whole manuscript. Maybe they would tell me that I had a bestseller on my hands. Maybe they would say give up, you’re not going anywhere. Who could tell?
The email arrived: was this the end or the beginning? Let me quote again: We have completed the evaluation of your manuscript. You do have a strong concept, and there is significant potential for this to be a very good book. But unfortunately . . . They went on to suggest I have an evaluation done on the manuscript with one of their editors and then re-submit it to them for consideration.
Now what? I was disappointed for a moment but then my determination kicked in (my mother had another name for my determination: stubbornness). But I now had caught the bug. I wanted this book published. I wanted it published by this company. Once again I held on to their words of encouragement: strong concept, significant potential . . . very good book . . . I signed up for the evaluation.
Now began the remarkable journey. The editor, Susan, is one of the best in the field. Under her careful guidance, my manuscript began to come to life. I could see the changes making a difference. She was incredibly encouraging as we worked our way through.
I tackled the revision with joy. This was going to work! I just read on someone’s face book this morning that talent is spelled W O R K. If this is true, and I believe it is, then I would work.
Isn’t that true in all of life? If something is worth doing or having, it’s worth working to achieve. When things don’t work out the way we had hoped, we have a few options: we can give up and blame someone else: or we can re-evaluate, decide it’s worth it, and get going.
I chose to ‘get going’ and I’m so glad I did, because the silver lining was just around the corner! Next week I’ll bring you ‘The Silver Lining!!’
Writing is certainly a journey. It begins with a desire in your heart followed by a thought in your mind. The thoughts pile up and spill onto your page. Once you have emptied your mind of the river of thoughts: your book is done, right? Wrong! The work now begins.
So I’m sitting with my critiqued section of manuscript, but no publisher. I began to check out Publishing Houses online. While on several sites, I discovered that the big publishing houses refuse to take manuscripts from new authors. On one I was instructed to not send it in as it would not even be read.
How then can a new author get started? I knew there must be a way because new authors appear on the market on a regular basis. I was becoming frustrated when I landed on the Bethany House website. They also don’t accept new work, but they directed me to a site called Christian Manuscript Submissions. This is a site where, for a fee, you can post a book proposal consisting of a tentative title, category topic, potential market, similar books, promotion ideas, summary of your book, table of contents, and two or three chapters of your manuscript. Many publishing houses use this site to find new authors. In fact, their websites stated that they would only consider manuscripts that were posted on this type of site.
We discussed this and decided this was the route for me to pursue. I had gathered information about self-publishing but wanted to save that as a last resort. For me; I wanted the advice and criticism of an editor, the cover designed by a professional, marketing done by a professional and promoted to a wide market, etc.
Many of the things this site required, I had already done when I had sent my work in to the first publisher. It was only a matter of adding a few things and making a few changes here and there. I had it ready in a few days and emailed it in. Now to wait again. I had a six month window to leave my work on the site. If a publisher was interested, they would contact me.
Within a couple of weeks I had an email stating that a publishing company was interested in my work! I was so excited. But there is always a catch. This company was a full publishing company; editors, cover designers, promoters of books to all the major book stores in Canada, the US, and Great Britain. The catch? It is a Partnership Publishing company which means that I, as the author, would need to purchase the first 1,000 copies and sell them myself.
Could I do this? We began to brainstorm ideas of how to promote my book without going to bookstores which is not permissible as the Publisher does that. I was amazed that in a few days, we had come up with several ideas. I emailed back that I was interested.
Now the process would start again. I would be submitting the entire manuscript this time and then the wait for the decision would begin. At this point they had only seen a small portion of my work. Would they feel it was good enough to publish?
Well, that lesson in patience was about to be put into effect again. Maybe I was a slow learner and had to have the lesson repeated over and over. Whatever the reason, the wait began again.
This time I was waiting for a long envelope to arrive via mail. The wait seemed long. Isn’t that always the way; we don’t like to wait. We live in an ‘on demand’ society. But again there are lessons to be learned in waiting. Apparently patience was one of the things I needed to learn.
One day when I wasn’t even thinking about it, it arrived. Now I sat holding the future in my hands. Would there be encouragement or only criticism? It was like receiving university marks by mail. I’d done my best, but was it enough?
Five typed pages greeted me when I at last opened the envelope. I decided to read each word as I came to it and not jump ahead. The critique was very detailed and very useful. The criticisms listed made sense to me and I could see where I would be able to make my book much stronger.
At last I arrived at the ‘Potential’ section. I was most interested in this. It would decide the fate of my manuscript. If they felt it had no potential; there was not much hope. Let me quote some of their comments:
“This is a good story, better than many that publishers see and could have a good chance at being accepted for publication.”
“The story is a good one . . . publishers will be able to see the strong plot of the story and the good characterization provided by the author.”
That was enough for me. It was a green light to continue. Now I just needed a publisher!
Where to begin? How would I find a publisher? That in itself was a journey. In my next blog, I’ll take you on that journey.
I received my reply by email. When the email popped up, I felt my knees go weak. Would I be on my way to having my first book published? Or would I be back to square one?
There’s no point in delaying the inevitable. It is whatever it is. I opened the email.
Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately we are unable to publish it at this time. We have our quota for fiction for the year. Your work has potential. May I suggest you have it critiqued? (condensed and loosely quoted)
Hmmm. Were they really booked solid? Or was that a kind way to say we don’t like your work? I’ll never know. I decided not to be upset or disappointed. They did say my work had potential. I would cling to that. I also felt it would be wise to follow their advice. One thing I knew is that I was the newcomer to the field. It would be foolish not to take the advice of people who had made this their career.
Fortunately they had provided me with a site, Guild Critique Service that would do the critique. I ventured onto the site and checked it out. After their title, they have a question, “Can you take it?” It was a bit intimidating but I decided, yes, I could do this!
I would be able to send 3500 words. Which 3500 to send? My manuscript had 120,000 words! I chose the prologue, chapter 1 and chapter 59 (one of my personal favourites). Now I began to polish. Each word was scrutinized; some were discarded, others were replaced. At last I had it where I felt it was the best I could do at the moment.
I contacted them, was accepted, and forwarded my manuscript via email. Once again the wait began. Could I take the shredding of my words? Would there be any encouragement in the response? Four to six weeks to wait.
Was this a lesson for me in patience? Sometimes we learn things we aren’t expecting to learn. That’s a good thing. It’s important to always be open to the lessons being taught. Don’t miss out on them. They are the life lessons that help us grow as a person. I thought I was learning how to write a book (and I did), but I was also learning patience and humility as I waited, and as my work was taken apart and critiqued.
Remember; don’t miss out on those hidden lessons!
Rufus
Dust drifted in little eddies along the path outside the village. Warm rocks to the side of the trail made good breeding places for small birds. Chirps could be heard coming from the concealed nests. Rufus kicked the dust with his bare feet sending it in a shower over the dog ahead of him. The dog shook his shaggy coat and sneezed.
“What’s the matter Geezer, don’t you like dust?” Rufus sent another spray over his back. The dog gave one look over his shoulder before setting off at a running pace. Rufus laughed, holding his sides, before he gave chase to the dog. Bare feet and thick paws pounded the dirt in unison. They arrived in the village, panting from their run.
Maria looked up from the vegetables she was peeling while sitting in the doorway of their hut. “Rufus, what are you panting about?” She shook the short knife she was using at him. “Your father’s been looking for you. You’re late with the sheep again.”
Rufus didn’t bother to answer her as he turned down the pathway beside their hut. He could see his father in the field struggling with a sheep who was protesting vigorously. As he drew closer, the wailing intensified.
“Father what’s wrong?” Rufus ran the last distance throwing himself down over the sheep to keep her still. The ewe thrashed beneath him until he grasped her head and talked softly.
“She’s having trouble with the lamb. It just won’t come.” Proctor continued to probe in the depths of the sheep. “I can feel a hoof. That’s a good thing. Hold her steady while I pull it out.”
The heat of the day sizzled as man and boy sweated over the ewe until a fuzzy little head and body appeared. The mother gave a welcoming blat to her baby then began the thrashing process all over again. Father and son grabbed her and held her still.
“Well I’ll be. I think there’s another one coming.” Proctor straightened, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and leaned over the sheep again. Quickly this time a second little lamb was born. The ewe gathered them close and began to lick their faces. Father and son moved away.
“I never get over the sight of a new lamb.” Proctor stood back adjusting his robe which was covered with dirt and grass. “Let’s go, son. We need to clean up.”
Rufus lowered the bent bucket into the village well pulling up the cold water. He handed the first bucket to his father who scrubbed himself clean before joining his wife in the doorway. Rufus then lifted a second one for himself which he poured over his head. As the cold water slid down his body, he shivered with delight. He dried himself with a piece of cloth his mother had given him turning to watch the children playing a game in the dirt. Smudged faces grinned and shrill voices filled the air.
These were the sounds of home. “The village, my whole world.” Rufus looked out over the dirty lane, across the fields, and up the sides of the mountains. “I know it’s beautiful, but I long to see what’s beyond those mountains.” With his eyes shaded by his hands he tried to imagine walking up and over them. “What would I see?” He turned away shaking his head slowly. He ran his fingers through his dark curls which were drying in the intense sunlight, rubbing vigorously to get out the last of the dampness.
When he turned again, he could see someone walking along the path toward the village.
“Father, come quickly, there’s someone on the path.” Rufus jumped up and down to see farther.
“What’s all the noise about?” Proctor emerged from the shade of the hut into the sunshine. He too shaded his eyes from the brightness.
“Someone’s coming. Look.” Rufus pointed toward the path, excitement filling his voice.
“It’s probably one of the shepherd boys coming in early.” Proctor waved his hand at Rufus and turned to re-enter the hut.
“No, it’s not a villager. Look at his clothes.” He grabbed his father’s arm, bringing him back where he could see the path. “Even from here you can tell his robe is purple. No one here has a purple robe.”
“You’re right son.” Proctor scratched his head as he stared at the stranger approaching. “Now who would be coming here? No one ever does.”
“Hail friends.” The stranger raised his hand as he approached the two.
“Hail to you. What brings you to our village?” Proctor inclined his head to the stranger.
“I think I took the wrong path once I left the last village.” He pointed back down the path as he lowered his pack to the dirt with a sigh. He leaned heavily on his stout stick.
“Then you must stay the night. Some from the village may know the way you seek.” Proctor led him to the entrance of his hut where Maria stirred the pot over the fire. They sat around the fire where others soon gathered.
The stranger introduced himself as Lucius. Introductions were made all around the circle of villagers as they ate. Ragged homespun robes mingled with the fine purple. Dusty bare feet made room for leather sandals that graced manicured feet. But the wide eyes of the villagers stared without guise as the stranger in their midst shared their fire and simple fare.
The women and children disappeared into the huts soon after the meal and the men settled around the fire, some on logs, others sitting on the ground. Without the blazing of the day sun, the fire spread its warmth around the circle. Flames shot into the night sky with bursts of ash clinging to their tails.
Rufus sat near the fire listening to the men talk. He drew up his knees, circling them with his arms, and rested his chin. As he listened, his eyes glowed bright from the fire. The cooling evening air made no impression on him as his mind was roaming the paths of the forbidden world as Lucius talked of events happening outside the village. Tales were told of another life and of other places.
One by one the men left the fire to return to their huts. Morning came early for these mountain people. Rufus hung back, hoping to talk to the stranger. He sat watching as the smoldering fire sent streamers of smoke rising into the night sky. An occasional flare leapt from the glowing logs. Rufus loved the snap of the fire as the wood was consumed. Dreams could be made while watching the sway of the flames.
“I’ve been observing you all evening.” Lucius stood before him, hands on his hips. Rufus looked up into the eyes of the man before him.
“I think you may be the person I’ve been looking for.” Rufus’s mouth fell open and he blinked twice. “I . . . I . . .” He jumped to his feet brushing the dust from his tunic. Wide eyes stared at Lucius.
“Would you be interested in traveling with me as my servant?” Lucius raised his eyebrows as he inclined his head toward Rufus.
In the sudden silence, night birds called to each other, branches creaked in the evening breeze. The light from the fire seemed to dance in the stranger’s eyes and throw grotesque shadows on the huts behind him. Rufus dug his toes in the soft earth, eyes on the ground. His mind swirled with bright visions and dark fear. At last he looked up.
“I’d really like that.” Rufus grinned at him as he wrapped his robe around him. “I’ve always wanted to see what’s beyond our hills.”
“What will your parents say?” Lucius leaned over and spoke softly. His eyes held Rufus’s.
“I don’t think they’d let me.” He glanced down again watching his toes describe circles in the dust. When he once again met Lucius’s eyes, his were clear. “But please, I want to go.” Rufus joined his hands in front of him as he waited the answer.
“Then, we’d better not tell them.” Lucius nodded his head while placing his hand on Rufus’s shoulder. “We’ll need to leave well before dawn. Can you be ready?”
“Oh yes, I’ll pack my bag and join you by the fire once my parents are asleep.” Rufus jumped over a log and ran toward his hut. His heart was bursting with excitement.
“I’m going to see the world.” The thought kept dancing round and round in his head as he ducked to enter the hut. It was very quiet inside. His mother and siblings would have been asleep long ago and his father usually fell asleep quickly as a shepherd’s day started early.
Rufus had few belongings, but these he carefully tucked in his shepherd’s pouch. He slipped from the hut as the moon was just appearing over the horizon. The soft silvery shaft illuminated the front entrance in stark outline. He had a moment of regret but quickly swallowed the feeling. This chance was all that he had ever dreamed.
The night was eerie with a soft glow from the dying fire and the moonlight etching the trees with silver. Lucius appeared to be sleeping when Rufus settled down beside him.
“Welcome Rufus, I’m glad you didn’t change your mind.” His voice coming out of the darkness added to the mystery of the night. Rufus spread his blanket beside him and was soon asleep on the rough ground. He awakened when Lucius gently shook his shoulder and indicated it was time to leave. They hoisted their packs and without a sound, left the sleeping village behind. Rufus never looked back once they passed the well on the outskirts.
They traveled a good distance before the sun rose gloriously in the east. Rufus had never seen a more beautiful sight as streaks of gold streamed across the sky. He stopped to stare and absorb the morning of his first day away from his former life; he wasn’t afraid, just curious and excited with anticipation.
“What are you thinking, Rufus?” Lucius leaned on his walking stick and smiled at him.
“Just trying to see everything at once.” Green slopes gentled away from the path into deep valleys which abruptly thrust long arms into the sky. He turned in a complete circle, arms stretched wide before he moved toward Lucius, adjusting the pouch slung over his back to a more comfortable position. “And, I was thinking how hungry I am.” He rubbed his stomach and grinned.
“Then it must be time to eat.” They broke their fast overlooking a sunny valley with a gurgling brook close by.
The villagers, too, were watching the morning sky as they began their daily chores. In Rufus’s home, Proctor had left the hut several minutes before Maria awakened. She rose, being as quiet as possible to let the children sleep longer. One by one they joined her as she pounded the grain heads and boiled them in water over the fire that was still spreading its heat before the hut. She stirred the mixture as steam escaped into the quiet morning air.
“Where’s Rufus?” Mother pointed her wooden spoon at the last one to arrive.
“He’s not here. Maybe he left with father.” The child stretched and yawned, dropping to the ground beside his brother. The two nudged each other with sharp elbows and grinned.
“You’re probably right. Stop your foolishness and use some of that water in the basin and get yourself awake.” She turned to face the others. “All of you.” They scampered away to do her bidding.
The meal was ready by the time Proctor had completed his early morning work with the animals. Maria carried the pot carefully from the fire. Proctor entered the hut and greeted his family.
Maria looked behind him, her brows drawn together. “Why isn’t Rufus with you? Is he still with the animals?” She put the pot down on a low stool.
“Rufus? Isn’t he here?” Proctor looked from one to the other as he washed his hands and then splashed his face with the water left in the basin. Mother handed him a rough cloth which he used to scour his face dry.
“Maybe he went with Jonus.” Maria shrugged her shoulders as she broke the bread she had baked earlier.
“That’s likely it.” Proctor nodded his head, his lips in a thin line. “He’s done that before. Jonus doesn’t like leading the goats up the mountain by himself.”
“He’s done it several times before.” Maria was smiling now as she ladled thick porridge into the wooden bowls Proctor had carved.
It wasn’t until night that the family realized he was missing.
“I’ll check with the others. Maybe someone knows where he is.” Proctor rubbed a hand over his graying beard, lines of worry etched on his forehead. “This is not like him.”
“You ask the men and I’ll check with the women.” Maria wiped her hands and set aside the basin she was using to prepare the meal. The two left the hut moving quickly.
“No, I haven’t seen him since last night. Didn’t he stay at the fire after we left?”
“No, he didn’t go with me. I asked him, but he said he couldn’t go today.”
“Not since last night.”
“Maybe he wandered off for the day and will be back soon.”
The two heard the same reply everywhere. No one had seen Rufus. Proctor approached the last hut where his uncle sat outside on his stool.
“Have you seen Rufus today?”
“Rufus? Today?” Uncle squinted his eyes up at Proctor. “Can’t you find him?”
Proctor related all the replies to his uncle. His uncle scratched his head, nodding it slowly.
“He’s gone off with that stranger, that’s my guess.” He pursed his lips while still nodding his head.
Proctor gasped as his eyes widened. “I never thought of that.”
“You can’t trust strangers, my boy.” He shook his finger at Proctor, still shaking his head.
The villagers were gathered by the well discussing the disappearance when Proctor joined them. He mentioned the stranger and many agreed with his uncle.
“Did anyone see Lucius leave this morning?” Proctor scanned the group, his face drawn in a frown.
The answers were all the same. Many just shrugged their shoulders. No one had seen him leave.
Proctor’s brother, Minna, stood beside him, one arm draped around his shoulders. “There’s nothing we can do before first light. If he’s with the stranger, they’ll be stopped for the night as well.” He looked into the face of each man while squeezing Proctor’s shoulder. “Those who can, meet us here just before daybreak.
When Proctor crawled out of bed in the still dark hours of the morning, his wife stirred by his side. By the time the men were gathered to begin the search, Maria was seen hurrying in their direction.
“Wait.” She waved her arms as she ran towards them. Proctor drew his brows together as she approached. Her hair was flying in the morning breeze without benefit of her usual scarf. She stopped beside Proctor, cheeks flushed and panting.
“I’ve had a dream.” She gasped while pushing her hair back from her face. “Rufus will be fine.” All eyes were on her. Proctor leaned over, mouth open, and stared at her.
“No one is to look for him.” Maria glanced at Proctor, tilting her head.
The men stared at her wide-eyed.
“He’s fine. There’s no need to look for him.” Her arms were folded over her robe and there were tears in her eyes.
The men looked to Proctor. He shook his head as though to clear his thoughts, looked at his wife again, then slowly nodded. “Let’s do what she says. She’s had these dreams before and they’ve all been true.” He bowed his head and his shoulders slumped. “We’ll just have to trust her. Thank you, men.” He swallowed hard, sighed deeply then turned to follow Maria back to their hut.
Rufus and Lucius stopped at small inns along the way for food and rest. The days were weary yet wonderful for the boy who had never been outside his village. He reveled in the sights he saw. A high rushing waterfall caught his attention as the water tumbled down the steep mountain side. Words were impossible with the roar of the water plunging out of sight to the valley floor below.
In the inns strange talk intrigued his ears as foreign dialects abounded.
“What are they saying, Lucius?” He leaned toward Lucius with his hand covering his mouth. He couldn’t help staring.
“You’re hearing a dialect common to the area. It’s one I don’t speak, but can usually follow the meaning. They’re talking about the price their sheep may get at market.” Lucius smiled at Rufus and gently punched his shoulder. “You’ll be hearing many more tongues before we reach out destination.
The closer they came to Ephesus, the more travelers there were on the road. Tunics in reds, purples, and rich blue intermingled with white. Rufus began to feel shabby in his homespun until beggars began to meet them from the city gates. A time of contrasts as rich and poor merged together, shepherds and merchants rubbed shoulders, servants and masters walked side by side, a feast for the eyes and Rufus took it all in.
The gates of the city loomed in the distance. Flocks of sheep destined for the marketplace, butted and shoved each other as they tried to enter the gate together. A group of tall men on horseback parted the sheep with bleating and tumbling.
Lucius and a wide-eyed Rufus entered the city gates just ahead of a camel caravan which had caught up with them on the road. The dusty beasts plodded behind them, no doubt anxious to be relieved of their burdens. Inside the gate the sights and sounds of the city were overwhelming for Rufus. The marketplace teemed with people buying and selling or just passing through. Strange smells assailed their nostrils as animals and people vied for space. Food was cooking over fires and offered for sale. Rufus absorbed what he could while he waited for Lucius to carry out some business transactions before proceeding to his home.
They left the busy marketplace and entered a quieter section of the city. Here the homes were large and secluded. Lucius stopped before a gated courtyard where a large white house could be seen through the gate. After life in a mountain hut, this home seemed massive.
Rufus was handed over to the chief household servant for training. He was to be the personal servant to Lucius. The duties were light as Lucius was not a demanding master. Rufus learned quickly and soon became an expert in the ways of his master.
Life in Ephesus settled into a pleasant pattern. Rufus learned quickly and was happy to serve Lucius whom he had grown to love like a father. He put his own family out of his mind while he learned all he could about Ephesus. The marketplace always held the greatest fascination for him, as well as visiting the businesses with Lucius. The plan was that Rufus would learn the business and work with Lucius.
Unfortunately, a catastrophic downturn in Lucius’s business led to the loss of his home and property. The servants were left without home or work. Lucius tried to find other places for them but his personal problems were so severe he was hampered in his desire. Rufus found himself alone in a big, unfamiliar city.
“What’s in store for me now?” He stood in the street outside his recent home and contemplated his immediate future.
· Dear Reader: you will meet the adult Rufus in Antipas: Martyr. Life continued for him in a very interesting and unique way.
Periodically, I would like to post some snippets of stories that I am writing.
These will be posed under the Story Snippets category.
I hope you enjoy them.
Now I sat with a completed manuscript on my computer without any idea of how to proceed from here. My husband suggested I contact a friend who had experience dealing with publishers. I’m not good with cold calls, but if I wanted to make this happen, I had to take the steps offered.
I made the call! He was very helpful, giving me the name of a publishing company and the name of the person at the company that I should speak with. He directed me to their website where I could get the email address.
This would be the first foray into the unknown. Could I do it? It’s a strange sensation; putting yourself and your labour of love on the line, out there where no one knows you and will look at your work with a critical eye. But my dream would never be realized if I didn’t take that step.
The email address was easy to find. I worded my message carefully, checked it twice, then hit ‘send’. Now for the wait. To my surprise I received a response the same day. And, he asked me to complete a ‘New Book Proposal’ which he emailed to me. I was ecstatic. I began working on it the same day. I was on my way!
It was a very valuable yet challenging exercise. I had to write a copy line, a one sentence description, a one paragraph description, describe my audience, categorize my work, record the tone, give reader benefits, compare and contrast my work with other published works, prepare a table of contents, write chapter synopsis, as well as a bio. The work was pure joy. Someone wanted to see my work! Someone other than family or friends.
Would the manuscript be accepted? Would this be my first rejection? Was I prepared for either scenario?
It’s a little bit like life, isn’t it? Some things go the way we want, but at other times we’re rejected or denied our desires. We need to be able to accept both, knowing that both make up the fabric of our lives. Take heart if you have been rejected. That doesn’t have to be the final comment on your life. As the old expression goes, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get on with your life.
Once the manuscript was complete I experienced a feeling of accomplishment. If I could never take another step with it, I had done it! I had written a book! That was the first part of my dream fulfilled.
I made the decision that I would advance as far as possible with the story. If I could find a publisher, that would be my first preference. If no publisher materialized, I would self-publish. One way or the other, I would be able to hold my first book in print.
I spent several weeks editing the manuscript. Spell-check is the first line of defense, but as most of you know, it helps some but is not reliable to find all the errors. Once that was complete, I read through the entire manuscript on the computer, making changes, tweaking, adjusting the flow; anything I felt would improve the story.
Once that was done, I printed the pages and checked it once again, this time in hard copy. Maybe it’s from my years as a junior high teacher marking a multitude of papers, but I do my best editing when it is on paper in front of me.
About this time, a friend directed me to a public library that was hosting a “writer in residence.” I was able to sign up for one of his workshops. Fortunately the topic was, “How to Publish Book.” I learned many things from him. One of the most important was that you need to know when to stop working on your manuscript and consider it done. There are always changes you can make, but you must stop or it will never be published.
He also encouraged us to be prepared for rejections. Every author gets them. He said you must be prepared to believe in your book and keep going until you find the right publisher. I left with renewed determination to continue with the process.
Another thing I learned was that it is a worthwhile experience to enter writing contests. The library was holding one at that time, so I wrote a short story and entered it. I didn’t win, but the exercise of writing the story and preparing the manuscript was rewarding.
It’s interesting how so many factors come into play when you want to move ahead with a goal. When you are ready, let others know your goal; they’ll be alert to opportunities to help you along the way.
And never, ever give up on yourself. Believe in your work and go as far as is humanly possible. Others may enjoy your work, but only you will experience the satisfaction of accomplishing your goal.
Once the decision to write had been made, it was down to business, enjoyable business, but still business.
One day during the last year before I retired, I was reading chapter two of the book of Revelation when I came across a name I hadn’t noticed before. Christ is talking to the church of Pergamum and says, “. . . even in the days of Antipas, my faithful witness, who was put to death in your city, where Satan lives.”
Antipas, interesting name, but I didn’t know anything else about him. I checked for other references in the Bible: none. I checked historical sites: minimal information. Something deep inside me said, “This is it!” I knew I had my story.
I started to write. Quite literally that is what I did. I didn’t have a plan, I didn’t develop characters beforehand, I didn’t work out a plot; I just wrote. The story was inside of me, in its entirety. I just had to get it on paper.
The writing was pure joy. I would sit at my computer and the story poured out. I never knew ahead of time what would happen that day. I often would sit back and say, “I didn’t know that was going to happen.” I know this is not the way everyone writes, nor will it be the way I always write. But for this book, for this time, that is the way it happened. Once the characters were established, they seemed to take on a life of their own and whisper their story to me. I just tried to get it down as truthfully as possible.
The story took unexpected twists and turns as the events unfolded. I researched names so my characters would fit in to the times in which they were living. I researched customs and clothing styles of the day, camel caravans and care of camels, cities he would visit so I would have a feel for the marketplaces and other interesting sites, the god of the times, and their places of worship just to name a few. I learned many new things and incorporated things I had known forever. History lessons of the past came back with their information ready to be placed in the manuscript. (Special thanks to my high school history teachers. I’m glad I paid attention in your classes!) The book would be a combination of fact and fiction.
The exciting thing about being the author of historical fiction is that you can work with the known facts, but you can also adjust those facts to fit your characters and your story. This blend is acceptable and desirable to help your story flow and be believable.
Over 120,000 words later, it was done. I had found my genre. I was comfortable. It was a fit. This is not surprising as historical fiction is most often my reading choice. I have steeped myself in it for years.
So when you write, choose what’s comfortable. Write from your heart using all the experiences that have made up the pages of your life. Follow your interests; let your mind show you the way. But most of all, just write.
I finished my career as an educator two years ago, so that means I’m retired, right?
Wrong! What it means is that I now work for myself. I do things that have been dreams for many years. But I didn’t arrive at my current schedule overnight.
I love organization. I love being organized. So, it seemed a natural progression for me to seek to organize the things I hoped to accomplish. I had seen the movie, The Bucket List, and decided I needed my own bucket list. For those of you who are not familiar with the expression, it is a list of things you would like to accomplish before you die (or kick the bucket, as the expression goes). That became job number one. I must say that I was surprised at some of the items that ended up on my list!
Some of the things on my list are:
- Visit Moscow
- Publish a book
- Learn to ride a horse
- Learn to swim properly
- Take a conversational French course
- Work on my Masters Degree
- Drive on the 401
- Get over my fear of snakes
I finished my list and went, “wow”. How can I ever do all that? Then I remembered how to eat an elephant, “one bite at a time.” Which “elephant” should I tackle first? I checked the list carefully, loosely putting things in order of priority. Which would be most fulfilling? Which would fill my time in a purposeful manner? We’ve talked about a trip to Moscow and it doesn’t look impossible. In another couple of years, that may happen. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to get over the snake fear, because it would mean coming into contact with “them”. How would the master’s degree help me at this point in my life? I can live without driving on the 401.
There was no question in my mind that publishing a book should be the first one. I think it is the one I most desire. So the decision was made. For all you aspiring writers; remember to make the decision first; don’t worry about what your topic will be or how you’ll ever get enough words on paper, or who will publish it. Make the decision to write. Once that is made, the other things will fall into place.
And keep reading my blog postings. I will lead you step by step along my personal writing journey.
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