Wishing You a Wondrous Holiday Season

Haven’t written much on this blog this year. My only excuse is work and life have taken more of my attention. But I didn’t want to let this season of love and peace go by without expressing my gratitude for all of you who are (or have been) clients, family and friends. You sustain me throughout the year.

I will be taking on new projects in the new year, and I’m excited about what will come into my life. I am so grateful for the clients I have had over the years, and especially those who have become friends, as well. If you have a book you’ve been working on that’s ready for an experienced development editor, or you would like the little nudge that comes from working with a writing coach, I would love to hear from you. May the peace and promise of this season settle upon you. May the love of family and friends surround you. May the abundance of the natural world visit upon you the nurture of nature. May you feel the love of the people who hold you in their hearts. Happy Holidays.

How to Know When Your Book is Done

One of the issues that comes up frequently with my clients and students, especially those who have been working on a particular project for a long time, is “How do I know when it’s done?”

1)    The most telling indication, I believe, is when you realize you are simply moving furniture around and not revising. You are no longer improving your work, but simply changing it. It’s not better, it’s just a different way of expressing what you want to express. When that happens, it’s time to put down the pencil (pen, cursor, etc.) and let it be.

2)    When you find yourself having trouble choosing between one word, one phrase, one sentence, one paragraph or another, it’s time to stop. You’re not improving, just changing things. (See above.)

3)    You spend inordinate amounts of time in indecisive revision. Despite the stories of famous authors spending days on one word, you’re not them. Hemingway is said to have rewritten the ending to A Farewell to Arms forty-seven times. Fine, he’s Hemingway, and he probably drove his editor to near suicide. Don’t be that crazy.

4)    Read your work out loud. How does it sound? If it flows, let it go. If not, fix those spots, but don’t agonize over the whole manuscript.

5)    Let it marinate for a while. Put the book (story, poem) in a drawer for a period of time. Advice varies on this—I would say at least a month, some say a year. Whatever it turns out to be, you will come back to your work with fresh eyes (and a fresh sensibility). Things will jump out needing work, or the whole manuscript will wow you. Either way you will know what to do.

6)    Go for a walk! Get away from the work. Put some space between you and the writing. This is similar to No. 5, but it’s more appropriate while you’re in active revision. I have always found a sojourn into the woods or to the beach opens up new approaches to the writing. Get away.

7)    Recognize when things aren’t working and likely never will. Sometimes the story just isn’t working. LET IT GO! At some point it may morph into something else. But sometimes you have to be brutally honest with yourself and realize some projects just aren’t ever going to work.

8)    There are writers who outline and writers who don’t. If you’re one who doesn’t, and find yourself stuck in a cul de sac, it’s time to go back to the drawing board. Consider an outline.

9)    Do you still care? If you have come to the place in your heart where you HATE this project, it’s time to step away. Perhaps not forever, but for now.

If any of these things are true for you, take stock. You may be ready to submit. Or perhaps not.

One final thought: I am assuming you are in a writing group or have been able to take advantage of writing workshops or the expertise of a good editor to get feedback along the way. If not, get yourself into a competent group or hire a good writing coach. You can’t learn how to write in a vacuum; it takes years of practice and mentoring. Take advantage of every opportunity to master writing. Then trust your gut and heart when deciding if your book is done. 

Unmasked Launched; Rabbi Mysteries Unveiled; Yuko Ready to Fly

Unmasked contributors, from left, Renata Golden, editor Marcia Meier, Tania Pryputniewicz, Lisa Rizzo, and Barbara Rockman.

Marcia and Kathleen at Carr Winery.

So much has happened in the month or so since I returned from Greece, both personally and professionally. Kathleen Barry and I launched our new anthology, Unmasked, Women Write About Sex and Intimacy After Fifty, at two events in October: A reading and signing at San Diego Writers, Ink, with four of the contributors to the book, and a reading and signing at Carr Winery in Santa Barbara. We had a wonderful turnout at both, and look forward to another reading at Tecolote Books in Montecito on Wednesday, Nov. 29, at 5 p.m. Also in the works are readings in Venice at Beyond Baroque (8 p.m. January 28), and an early February performance at Center Stage Theater of "Unmasked LIVE, Women Read About Sex and Intimacy After Fifty." Stay tuned for more details. 

Rabbi Arthur Gross Schaefer signs a book for a fan.

A week ago, more than 60 people came out to Chaucer's Books in Santa Barbara to celebrate the publication of Rabbi Arthur Gross Schaefer's second mystery novel, The Rabbi Wore a Fedora, and the reprinting of his first, The Rabbi Wore Moccasins. 

Next Saturday, Nov. 11, at 3 p.m., Tecolote Books will help us bring out Dick Jorgensen's second memoir, Yuko, Friendship Between Nations, about his world tour as he traveled back to the States from Japan in 1957, and his subsequent work with The Asia Foundation in San Francisco, promoting improved ties between the two former World War II enemies. Come join us!

Keep all these Weeping Willow Books in mind as you make your holiday lists for the bookworms in your life!

On the Road to Kinsale

Charming Kinsale, on the southern coast of Ireland.

One tiny worry I had about going to Ireland was driving on the left (wrong) side of the road. Before we left, Rob and I watched videos of people driving around the Irish countryside and barreling through the roundabouts: They were absolutely hair-raising.

We spent three nights in London before flying to Dublin in late September. From there, we rented a car and drove south to Waterford and Kinsale and then west along the coast and up toward Connemara. Rob had driven in London before, so he was the first to take the wheel.

Merely getting out of Dublin was painful. We engaged the GPS unit, and soon the operative phrase was “recalculating!” We turned right when we should have turned left. We missed turns. We drove up and down streets looking for Starbucks, and Rob’s great-grandfather’s house, and, finally, the freeway so we could at last get out of Dublin. (We did find Rob’s great-grandfather’s house, which today is a preschool and the offices of a company called Torc Grain and Feed Ltd. I have video of Rob sprinkling some of his younger sister, Heather’s, ashes on the threshold.)

I learned a long time ago not to get freaked out about someone else’s driving. Honestly, Rob did a pretty good job of it, and once we got out of the city it was much smoother sailing. We drove south to Waterford that day, and stayed in a grand old hotel called The Granville Hotel on the waterfront. But it was dark when we arrived, and Rob, thinking he had plenty of time, turned in front of a poor motorcyclist and cut him off. I can’t print what the guy screamed at us as we mouthed, “I’m sorry,” through the car window. The next morning, Rob took out a couple of cones in front of the hotel as he drove up to get me and our luggage. The doorman just shook his head.

“Are you ready to try driving?” Rob asked me several times that day.

No way.

As we drove farther west and south to Kinsale, the roads got narrower and—it seemed to me—the drivers got crazier and the pace of traffic increased. We started to make fun of our female GPS, who certainly must have tired of saying, “Entering roundabout!”

Going into a roundabout while driving on the left side of the road is a special experience. Your natural tendency is to go right, but of course you have to turn left into the circle, and everyone just drives all over place. Here at home, our roundabouts mostly have implied lanes; not so in Ireland.

By the time we drove into Kinsale that afternoon, I realized I’d been holding my breath most of the day. The roads in Kinsale are all one-lane. So if you start down one street and a car comes from the other direction, one of you has to back down (or up) the street to let the other go by.

Kinsale is a beautiful harbor town on the southern tip of Ireland. When the RMS Lusitania was sunk by the Germans during World War I, many of the survivors were brought to Kinsale; a statue in the harbor commemorates the event.  

Our walking tour guide gave us a brief rundown on the rich history of this seaside town.

The Charles Fort, which guards Kinsale harbor, dates from the 1600s during the reign of King Charles I. James’s Fort, across the channel at the river’s mouth, also dates to the 1600s, and both were built to protect Kinsale from marauding Spanish and French forces. They strung a huge chain across the channel between the forts, which effectively tore the hulls off of invading ships.

Today, Kinsale is known more for its restaurants—and especially its delicious seafood. We stayed in a 300-year-old bed and breakfast inn called Desmond House, and fell in love with Michael, the proprietor. Sadly, Michael had just sold the inn to a couple from Dublin. We got to meet Paddy and Gordia one morning at breakfast, and came away feeling we had made some wonderful new friends. We know we’ll stay at Desmond House again should we return.

“Do you want to drive?” Rob asked the next morning.

We planned to drive the Ring of Kerry that day. I figured, what the heck.

“Sure.”

It was easier than I expected. Most of the rental cars in Ireland are manual shift, and I’ve owned two stick shift cars in the past. While sitting on the right side of the car was disconcerting, at least the pedals are the same: accelerator on the right, clutch on the left, brake in the middle. The stick shift was on the left, but it didn’t take long to get used to it. Now, Rob drove a little closer to the left side of the road, and that seemed a natural consequence of the change. I found myself gently reminding him he was a little too close to the hedges on the left. But I did not freak out.

Rob, on the other hand, could not stop reminding me that I was way too close to the left side of the road. “Look out!” he kept yelling. I may have gently grazed some bushes on the side of the road once or twice, but did that require wild gesturing and screaming?

Really?

He drove the rest of the trip.

Next: The Dingle Peninsula and the West Coast of Ireland

On the Move Again

I'll miss this view from our deck in Summerland, which we've called home for a little over a year.

Re-entry after coming home from Hedgebrook has been hectic and all-consuming. My week on Whidbey Island allowed for writing and reflection, thank goodness, especially after a two-week trip to France, during which I got news that my younger sister had died. It’s been an emotional time. Now I am in the middle of moving again, to a new home across town.

We have only about four more days to pack before the move. And it won’t be long after I'm settled in that Rob wants to begin renovation. I imagine I will be spending a lot of time in the relative peace and quiet of a coffee shop once that starts. It’s never a dull moment with Rob, for whom life is all about the journey.

As I wrote from Hedgebrook, I’m going to stop posting excerpts of my memoir while I revise it. Meanwhile, I’ll write more blog posts about our trips to Ireland last fall and France last month. Travel is a marvelous way to get to know oneself better—and of course your significant other. Both trips have been incredible learning experiences—for both of us. Our next “trip” will be a home renovation…stay tuned!

In the Willow Cabin at Hedgebrook

The past few weeks have been by turns exciting, sorrowful, grief-filled, stressful and exhilarating. From flying to Paris for a two-week holiday, only to find out my younger sister had died suddenly during our overnight flight, to coming home to a house still filled with unpacked boxes from Rob’s move to Santa Barbara over Christmas, to preparing for a week at Hedgebrook, it has been a tumultuous time.

Today is my fourth day among the quiet cedars and oaks of Hedgebrook, a retreat center for women writers on Whidbey Island in the Pacific Northwest. In January, I was accepted into a Master Class with poet Carolyn Forché, and so far it has gone beyond my every expectation. There are six women here, from all over the country: Chicago, California, Texas, Washington, Oregon, Washington, D.C. We each have our own cabin, with practically every convenience. There is a tiny half-bath, which means one has to go to the shared bathhouse for showers, which was my only small concern. But the bathhouse turns out to be a warm and inviting spa, with heated floors and lovely showers and a claw-footed tub for long, luxurious soaks, lit by candles, if one so desires.

We meet in the afternoons for lectures and to share work, and Carolyn has insisted that each of us write for three hours every morning—uninterrupted. This has been my greatest challenge, of course. It helps that there is no Internet in the cabins (unfortunately, my cell phone and iPad work great, which makes it very easy to cheat, and I have—just a tiny bit). I have tried to follow the directive, though, and after three days I’m pleased with the work that has resulted. Raw, unedited, emotion-laced, my writing these past days is nevertheless exciting if only for the fact that I have long stretches of time to decompress and go deeply into it. I’ve written about my sister, and added pieces to a novel I started years ago, and I’ve written new scenes for my memoir.

I have also managed to post something on my blog each day, and hope to continue. We’ll see what happens when I go back to real life next week.

I am in the cabin called Willow. It was randomly assigned to me, but the willow has special significance to me, and so the selection seems to have been divinely wrought. I grew up in Michigan, where weeping willows are both abundant and inspiring. I have always loved them, and over the years the willow has appeared in nearly all of my stories in some fashion or another. When one of my clients independently published his memoir last year (Dick Jorgensen’s lovely O Tomodachi), I created an imprint under which to publish it: Weeping Willow Books.

Carolyn has given me some very helpful suggestions on my memoir, Face, and so I have decided to stop excerpting pieces of it on the blog—for now anyway. I want to revisit it with her advice in mind, and then will decide what to do from there.

I also have two other book projects on the front burners, including an anthology for women writers. More about those in coming weeks and months.

Meanwhile, I will keep writing about our travels, and my life, and books. I hope you’ll continue to join me here. If you’d like to receive my posts in your email inbox, you can sign up at this link. I’ll also see you on Facebook and Twitter. As always, keep writing!