What Stops You?

Yesterday I held one of my sporadic local meetings of The Writers Network. Having been on the board of the Georgia Writers Association for some ten years, I detest organizations with dues, rules, bylaws, limitations, board (bored) meetings, officers, and regulations. I also get overwhelmed by monthly meetings. The Writers Network, then, my own creation, has no rules, no bylaws, no officers (I call myself the director, to avoid pretentious labels such as president), and no set dates for meetings. Instead, when I feel like it, I organize a meeting at a lunch spot where writers can chew food while they chew on writing issues worthy of discussion with peers.

Yesterday's meeting proved interesting, when one attendee brought up the fact that she's studying memoir writing with Natalie Goldberg. Natalie is an award-winning memoirist who believes writers should get to the bones of their story and tell the whole truth. As a result, the woman said, she wrote a memoir about her personal medical challenge and how her family members reacted to her. One of her family members took exception with the fact that he was quoted as saying something that put him in a bad light. He felt betrayed and said he could never trust her with anything anymore.

Why did he object so vehemently? Because his words had in fact been accusatory and hurtful, and once they appeared in a form that others to see, he probably felt ashamed, embarrassed, and—let's face it—caught.

When people display anger, it often is the result of being called down for, confronted with, or exposed to their own mistakes. That family member had a right to his feelings, but he had expressed them in a cruel manner. As a result, when confronted with his own words, he exploded in anger and turned on the person who had revealed the words to others.

What is a writer to do in such a circumstance? The truth is the truth. As memoirists, should we write the truth, ignore it, or gloss over it? Should we let the truth stop us from writing down the meat of what influenced us in life?

Many opinions arose in the discussion yesterday. Some people said to write what you want and be prepared to lose the ones you love. Some people said to respect the loved ones and write about something else. I stand in the middle. I do like to keep peace among my family members, but I also believe writers should reveal the bare bones truth. Others faced with the same medical condition need to know how family members may react. I therefore suggested using the family member's quotation without specifically designating who said it.

The most important thing writers can do is keep writing. Nothing should stop us. We need to get around potential obstacles, rather than letting them impede us. Some of us have an obligation to write our stories, especially if our stories will help others. We must forge on!

Years ago, I tried to write a novel that began with the death of an alcoholic mother. After the opening, I backtracked and intended to write the story that led to her death. In novel form, I wanted to show how alcoholism affects each family member. I wrote one or two chapters and stopped. Like most writers, I had planned to draw from my own experience; my mother was alcoholic. My mother, however, had not died, and like many families, we had kept her alcoholism a secret, even when it had been difficult to hide. I allowed our family secrecy stop me from writing that book. What a shame.

Today I'm writing mostly nonfiction, and my current project covers my relationship memoirs. In it, even though I change the names, I expose many of the men I have dated. Even worse, I reveal some of my own sexual escapades. If the book gets published, I face public embarrassment and probably will never get another date in my life, but no longer can such fears stop me from writing. It's my life. I did things. Other people did things. Events took place. Embarrassments happened. Sex happened. I own it. I write about it. Nothing can stop me.

As a writer, be the warrior! Write on!

Tribute to a Neighbor

Camellias bloom in her yard.
I saw them today, and all my memories of her returned.
My neighbor always waved when I walked my various dogs over the years.

 I watched her health decline
Until she stood on the porch each morning
Hacking up phlegm
With wracking emphysemic coughs,
Trying to get her weakened lungs
To clear out mucus they could not expel,
Just like my mother’s lungs ten years earlier,
Until my mother’s final breath.

For many years after my mother’s death,
My neighbor stepped out on her porch each morning
To stand in the sunshine,
Or should I say that she almost crouched.
Her malformed spine bent, she gagged and gasped,
Coughing, leaning toward her camellias,
Probably unable to appreciate their beauty,
When simply breathing took priority.

Am I the only one who loves the flowers in her yard?
Am I the only one with health enough to love them?

I’m sure that when her husband planted the bush twenty years before,
She cherished the idea that he added beauty to her life.
She told me once, after he died of a heart attack in his mid-fifties,
“Never a day went by that I did not feel loved.”

A few years later, she stood on the porch alone, without him,
Coughing up the residue she and he had inhaled for years,
And after she cleared her lungs, always she lit another cigarette.

I found it hard to muster sympathy,
When I knew she had brought on her illness,
Just as her cigar-smoking husband had brought on his,
Yet she always waved and wanted to talk,
And we had many cheerful conversations.

The year I collected funds for the March of Dimes,
She gave me a whopping fifty-dollar check.
The total I received from the neighborhood:
Seventy dollars.
Only two other neighbors donated, and they each gave five dollars.
I gladly matched the total and sent in the funds,
Wondering how wonderful it would have been if more had given more.

Her nickname always cheered me up,
Yet I could never quite recall it.
It was Candy or Cookie or something mouthwatering.
I hesitated to call her by name, because I never could remember it,
Even though she always waved me in and called me by my name
Whenever she saw me from her porch.
She could not come out to meet me; I had to go to her.
Her illnesses had limited her for years;
Her scoliosis and her emphysema
Made walking not only painful but also exhausting.

Her son and his infant moved in with her a year after her husband died,
And I thought that having a grandchild around would cheer her,
Keep her active,
But one day I overheard her son say to the garbage collector,
“My mother died last week.”

He moved out about thirty days later.
The house has stood empty ever since.
For a year I've picked up papers thrown in the yard,
Scattered around the mostly ignored For Sale sign
Amid the uncut grass.

I walked my dog past her camellias today.
Candy or Cookie may be gone, but her husband’s love blooms on.

How is a Person Supposed to Get Help?

Today's posting is a vent, rather than advice. Today I responded to a voicemail message from a prospect who said she wants to write a book. I called her back, and she revealed some personal issues about which she wanted to write, and then she broke down and said she can't stop herself from doing the same things over and over, and she wants to commit suicide. She said she had thought about it for a couple of days, and she explained that she even figured out that her mother could raise her daughter, thereby keeping the daughter out of the foster-care system.

I spent more than an hour listening to and talking to the woman, doing my best to tell her to get some help. She said she was a veteran and had called the VA hospital, but her doctor was busy and had not called back.

I tried to get her address, but was unsuccessful. I at least had her number, and she told me the area/city in Metro Atlanta where she lives. When she hung up, I looked online and found a crisis line for veterans and called it. Unbelievably, I was put on hold. When someone finally answered, I explained the situation, and the man asked if the woman had made any plans. I said she revealed that she had a plan to keep her two-year-old daughter out of the system.


He said, "You need to hang up and call 911 right now."

I called 911 and was asked where I was calling from, so I told the dispatcher, but said I was calling about a suicidal woman who lived in Duluth. I was put on hold for a full minute and then someone answered. I explained the situation and was told I had reached the Atlanta Hartsfield Airport Police! Why on earth was I switched to the airport police?

Anyway, that person explained that I needed to call the Duluth police and said to hold while she got that number. I held for another full minute (thinking the woman who called me could be dead by this time), and then was given another phone number.

I called that number, and a little girl answered. I could barely understand her. She sounded 12 years old at the most. I said, "Is this a police department?"

"Yes," the little voice said.

I told the person (who I trust is older than she sounds) that I had received a business call, but while we were talking, the woman said she was in crisis and wanted to commit suicide. I explained that I had only her name and phone number, and I gave both to the woman on the phone.

She said, "Do you have her address?"

"I just said, I have only her number, but someone can call her to get her address."

"Do you have her name?"

"I just gave you her name. It's [repeated first and last name again]."

She asked, "Why did she call you?"

I said, "I said it was a business call, but she revealed that she was contemplating suicide, and I want someone to find her and help her right away. We are wasting time here."

"What's your name?"

"Bobbie Christmas."

"What's your number?"

I gave it.

She said, "We'll see what we can do, but we don't have her address..."
I asked, "Can't someone call and ask her for her address? Is anything going to be done?"

"We'll see what we can do. Thank you for calling."

"What's your name, please?" I asked.

Bzzz...I got a dialtone. She had hung up.

I can only hope that the woman in crisis got help today. I did what I could do. I'll always wonder what more I could have done.

Ask the Book Doctor about Copyrights, Mentors, and Simultaneous Submissions

Real questions writers have asked; real answers, from a real book doctor

Q: After a book is written, how do I go about protecting my work with a copywrite [sic] before sending it off to prospects? Is the standard initialing acceptable? Would I need to initial each page? Would I need to get it notarized, so the idea cannot be taken by someone else?

A: According to current law, you own the rights to your copy—hence copyright, rather than copywrite—the moment you complete a body of work. If you find that someone has used your material without permission, you have the right to sue, whether or not you registered the copyright or published the book. You don’t have to initial the manuscript, register it, get it notarized, or anything, because you automatically own the rights to your intellectual property, based on the fact that you created it. The law protects you, should anyone use your material without your permission.

Professional editors, publishers, and agents also know the law and will not steal your material. On the flip side, when editors, agents, or publishers see that an author has copyrighted a manuscript, they perceive they are dealing with a paranoid person or an amateur, so don't prematurely register the copyright on a manuscript and give others the opportunity to make an incorrect assumption.

Manuscripts are always open to change, whereas copyrights are not, so a copyright should not be registered until the material is edited, proofed, and laid out, right before the book goes to press.

If you sell your book to a publisher, ask your publisher if it handles the copyright registration. Most publishers register the copyright in your name for you, prior to going to press. If you plan to self-publish, register the copyright right before you send the final file to a printer. Follow the procedures outlined at the government website, http://www.copyright.gov/register/literary.html.

Q: Where can I find a mentor to tell me where to send my poetry to get it published?

A: Mentors are a rare find indeed, and they don't hang out shingles announcing their availability. I was blessed with a mentor early in my career, because we had been friends in college before he became an accomplished poet. He read my poetry, picked out two specific poems, and told me a magazine that might be interested in them. He was right, and the magazine accepted both poems, for which I received two contributor’s copies. I was on my way, though, and after that, I found my own markets.

Instead of waiting for a mentor to appear, patronize literary magazines. Buy single copies of many literary publications or subscribe to several and support the market, because publications need supporters, too. Subscribe to WritersMarket.com, which lists poetry markets and gives their guidelines. Once you become familiar with the poetry market, you will know when, what, and how to submit to each potential publisher.

Q: What does "simultaneous submission" mean?
A: When an author sends the same book proposal or novel query to more than one agent or publisher at a time, it is called a simultaneous submission. For several reasons, the method favors those who are doing the submissions. It speeds up the process by allowing writers to send out many submissions at a time, an important ability, when responses sometimes take months, if they come at all. In addition, if more than one agent or publisher shows an interest, the author has negotiating power. For that reason, some agents and publishers don’t care for simultaneous submissions and prefer exclusive submissions.

Those that do not accept simultaneous submissions will say so in their guidelines. When you see such a note in the guidelines, submit to those agents or publishers last, after hearing back from most or all others. If, however, you have only one particular publisher in mind, submit your query or proposal to that publisher first, with a note that it is an exclusive submission. If you receive a rejection from that one publisher, you can then send simultaneous submissions to others.

At the end of the cover letter of all simultaneous submissions, add a line that states, "This is a simultaneous submission."

Bobbie Christmas, book editor, author of Write In Style (Union Square Publishing), and owner of Zebra Communications, will answer your questions, too. Send them to Bobbie@zebraeditor.com.  Read more “Ask the Book Doctor” questions and answers at http://www.zebraeditor.com/ or http://www.zebracommunications.com/.

Proper Punctuation Makes a Big Difference

Words and Word People

I love words, so it's no surprise that I love other people who love words. In last month's issue of The Writers Network News, I reported a discussion I had with a member about the use of "sneak" versus "snuck" and the fact that "snuck" is used in spoken English, but it is considered substandard in written language, except in dialogue. This kind of stuff fascinates me.

Having discovered Scrabble on Facebook and then adding it to my iPhone as well, I've become a complete addict of Scrabble, playing with friends and strangers alike. In case you think I'm some sort of master at Scrabble because I'm a great editor, it's not so. I am not a master at the strategy of Scrabble, and worse, I am not the best at looking at a jumble of letters and making long, point-scoring words out of them. I often miss excellent opportunities and end up losing, yet I get right back in the game, with the same friends or with strangers. Why? Because I love words.

My fascination with words began when I was young. My father read books to us kids at night, acting out the dialogue and adding emphasis to the narrative. He made me long to learn to read, and I eagerly grasped the skill when I finally entered first grade. Kindergarten was not available at the time, or I would have learned earlier, I'm sure.

I certainly hope that everyone with children will read to them when they are young. It gives children a boost for life. Even after I learned to read, my teacher used to gather us cross-legged on the wooden floor and read about Jane, Dick, Sally, and Spot and their adventures, reading to us at a much higher level than we could yet read, and it made me want to read even better, so I could read more intricate stories. My father and my first-grade teacher made me yearn to learn, and I did.

As an adult, I read to my son even before I was sure he knew what I was saying, but he sat quietly in my lap and helped me turn pages when he was small, and once he began speaking, he was able to finish my sentences when I read him his favorite books. Children learn by repetition, and while it may annoy adults to read the same stories over and over, doing so is the best thing we can do for children.

By the time my son was five, he was sight reading signs that passed by quickly on the highway, and when he reached grammar school, he excelled in all his courses, because he so easily read his textbooks. He breezed through college and veterinary school, and it comes as no surprise that he is also an excellent writer. In addition to practicing veterinary medicine, he writes a veterinary column for a regional magazine.

My daddy has passed on, but his legacy lives on, in me and in all his children and grandchildren, all of whom have done well in life. What started all this success? Words. No wonder I'm a word person!
Oh, and by the way, because I bought and paid for a house strictly from my income as a writer and editor, I call it "The House that Words Built."

Yes, I love words, and I would wager you do, too, because you are reading this blog.

Where to Start?

A friend called the other day. She’s had a book in her head for ages, and she’s finally ready to write it, except for one tiny detail. Where should she start? She hadn’t written a word yet, because of her fear she might start in the wrong place.

I told her that the best place to start is with the first thought that comes to mind. With computers we don’t have to worry where to start, we simply have to get the words down. Later, we can revise, revamp, and reorganize the material, but we can’t get anywhere until we get the words down on paper (or in the computer, as it is, today).

When she asked where to start writing, the little devil in me wanted to say, “In the kitchen, in the office, in the dining room, in the bedroom; wherever you keep your computer. That’s where to start!”

Her fear of starting in the wrong place brings up a deeper issue. We all have fears, be they mild or serious, that thwart our efforts, if we’re not careful. In this case, she was afraid to begin writing a book. I have a project—not a writing project, but still a complicated thing I want to learn—that I keep putting off, because I have fears around it. Oh, I have devised all sorts of excuses, such as I want to wait until I have a large block of time to work on it, or I’m not smart enough to learn it. It’s been bugging me for a couple of months. I should listen to my own advice: just start it! What’s the worst that could happen?

Do you have fears that are keeping you from writing or doing other things you need or want to do? Let’s face those fears together. By the end of this month, I intend to have started that project, just as my friend will have started writing her book. It doesn’t matter where I begin, only that I begin.

One more note: Write In Style, my award-winning book on creative writing, is officially out of print. New copies are selling for between $75 and $220 on Amazon. While they last, however, you can still buy one of the few remaining new copies at the original price of $12.95. To purchase, go to http://zebraeditor.com/book_write_in_style.shtml. Hurry! Supplies are rapidly dwindling. Only a few dozen are left.