Archive for February, 2010
Writing Influences
by Angela Kay Austin
When I sit down to write, I honestly can’t say that I intend for it to be anything. I am what they call a pantser. Which is just a way of saying, I don’t outline. I’ve tried it many times, but by the second bullet, my story is completely different.
So, it’s funny to me that everything I’ve written lately fits into the Romance genre. When I first began to write, I was a pre-teen scribbling in my diary about my secret crush, and how much I couldn’t wait to get to high school. I also wrote a ton of articles and blasted them off to every pre-teen and teen magazine I could find. How cool would it be to say they were all published, but that is so not the case. It’s been about, hmm, twenty-something years of scribbling in my journals before I finally decided to begin to ‘get serious’ about my writing. And, wouldn’t you know it…someone gave me a chance to be publish. My first novella, Love’s Chance will be published by Red Rose Publishing February 11th, 2010.
But as I sit here and think about it all, it’s amazing how it all feels so connected. I was such an introvert as a child. I expressed myself through my fat pencils then, and through my keyboard, now. I dreamed of fairy tale places and Prince Charmings at 10, and now, I write about them. Well, at least, my version of them.
I use my urban African-American childhood and heritage. Hopefully, to create a unique voice that people will be interested in hearing. One critique partner of mine, not African-American, once told me that she had never read an AA Romance novel. When I asked her why, she said, “I didn’t know if I’d get it.” Why? A judge in a writing contest sent me a critique with a statement that said, “The characters don’t sound Black.” Why?
I read books by all types of authors, but it did take me time before I branched out. There was a time when only Toni Morrison, Terry McMillan, Connie Briscoe, etc. would be found on my shelves. Do you see the common factor: African-American women? I didn’t even have men, except for poetry—Langston Hughes, but still African-American. Now, oh my God, you’ll find everyone: Charlaine Harris, Christine Feehan, Karen Marie Moning, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Jane Green, Wally Lamb, Barbara Kingsoliver, and more. I cross genres, too. Whoa!
Comments like the ones mentioned earlier have made me understand that every writer’s voice truly is unique. Our experiences, backgrounds, heritage, religious beliefs, education, and more influence every single scribble or keystroke. And, those influences can win or lose readers. Now, I have to say, I don’t mind losing that judge as a reader, but I love picking up my critique partner, a multi-publisher author, as a reader.
What influences you as a reader or writer? Have you ever thought about it?
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Angela Kay Austin is an author of contemporary romance novels. Her books feature strong African-American women whose love can not be bound by race, bank accounts, age, religion or gender.
Additionally, she writes for www.eHOW.com, and www.Examiner.com/dc. Her first novella, Love’s Chance, will be released in 2010 by Red Rose Publishing.
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www.AngelaKayAustin.com
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Love’s Chance – Coming February 11th, 2010 from Red Rose Publishing
WHAT MAKES A FAMILY?
A family need not be a mother, father, sister, brother. Thankfully, we live in a diverse world. Today, in any random-neighborhood, suburban street, or city block, a single mother with three children, might live next to a couple who, married for the second time, blended their families like The Brady Bunch. Across the street might live two, happily-married, gay men with their four-year-old, adopted daughter. Three houses down, a dual-income husband and wife have been married for years but struggle with infertility.
As the infertile couple works with a doctor, they are likely to investigate the myriad of options available for them to start a family. They might look into domestic and international adoption, they could try artificial insemination, or more invasive procedures, like in vitro fertilization. If the husband learns he has problems with sperm morphology or mobility, they might look into obtaining donor sperm. If the wife’s eggs are not viable, they might consider donor eggs. They might even begin to investigate opportunities to obtain donor embryos.
If successful, either in adopting or giving birth using assisted reproductive technologies, the infertile couple may raise a child not biologically-related to one or both of them. Back to my initial question: What makes a family? Certainly, biological relation does bind some to their families. However, it need not be a factor. To me, it doesn’t matter how the family came to be, unconditional love, support, a sense of belonging are the hallmarks of family.
What’s striking about my novel, Double Out and Back is that it explores from a literary perspective, some of the social issues faced by a generation that has more options than ever when it comes to starting a family. What fascinates me is that when it comes right down to it, even with the technological advancements in reproduction and healthcare, families still must rely on one another to thrive.
Special note: I love the new show Modern Family! I think the photo of the fantastic cast perfectly illustrated this article!
Best to you!
Lisa Lipkind Leibow
Author of Smart Women’s Fiction
www.LLLeibow.com
February’s First Friday Fodder For Fiction Writing Prompt!
Using the following first line as a prompt, write the first paragraph of a story. Build on the hook provided. This is the actual first line of an unidentified novel. Extra bonus points for the first one who posts with the name of the novel I pulled this from.
“My father walked beside me to give me courage, his palm touching gently the back laces of my bodice.”
Have fun with this! Anyone who posts their paragraph here before midnight EST, Sunday, February 28, 2010 will receive a hand-crafted book charm/thong!
Best to you,
Lisa Lipkind Leibow
Author of Smart Women’s Fiction
Truth in My Fiction
by Megan Crewe
Even though my first novel, GIVE UP THE GHOST, is about a girl who can talk to ghosts, and I’ve never seen a ghost, I brought many pieces of my life to the book. The biggest piece–which shaped my main character Cass’s history–was inspired by something related to me eight years before I started writing GHOST.
I was in high school, the same age Cass is in the novel (16), hanging out with fellow swim team members at our end-of-the-school-year party. A few of the younger girls told me a story about someone they’d known who, in their words, had gone crazy. I couldn’t get it out of my head, and a few days later, I wrote about it in my journal:
“The girls (who had once been her friends) decided [the crazy girl] wasn’t cool enough and ditched her. One went so far as to tell her she didn’t like her, so go away. They would all move to a new table if the girl sat with them at lunch. One time, when the girl was in the hospital, she wanted to find out what homework she’d missed. She called all these people (her once-friends) and none of them would tell her, just because they didn’t like her. Oh, wait, it was that she wanted them to come and bring her the homework. Which is more extreme, but still. She ended up lying, saying she was in the hospital ’cause her dad beat her. And they wonder why she did that. Hello? For some attention maybe. How would they feel if suddenly no one liked them, and was very obvious about it? But no, it’s not any of their faults she ended up in a mental institution. She was crazy! It was all her fault.”
Even though I’d never known the supposedly crazy girl myself, that story stuck with me. The way these girls had turned on a former friend so blatantly. The way they then used her subsequent odd behavior as justification to continue shunning her in a horrible vicious cycle, without seeming to (or perhaps refusing to) recognize that their actions had played any part in what was happening to her. All of my sympathy went to the victim, and I’ve often wondered what happened to her in the following years.
So it’s probably not surprising that when considering why Cass might have shut herself off from the world of living, I decided that her distrust and suspicion of her classmates was based on the somewhat random ostracization she’d suffered at the hands of her best friend, back in junior high. It gave me a chance to explore that situation and the ways it might play out (albeit with a supernatural twist). And I think by seeing Cass come into her own as a character, and then gradually start to heal, it let me believe that other teens who’ve experienced the same thing might get through it and come out okay. I hope that if any of those teens have read the book, it helped them believe, too.
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Megan Crewe is a Canadian young adult writer whose first book, GIVE UP THE GHOST, was published last fall by Henry Holt Books for Young Readers. She lives in Toronto, Ontario with her husband and two cats, and spends most of her free time reading, traveling, and learning kung fu. To find out more about how real life inspired her novel, visit the Behind The Story section of her website (http://www.megancrewe.com/ ).
HAPPY BIRTHDAY AYN RAND
The insights Ayn Rand provides into human nature through her characters’ innermost thoughts and behavior is incredible to me. I’m guessing she may have been suspicious of my celebrating her birthday with a party. And the excerpt below illustrates just how putting on heirs might have ulterior motives. However, I assure you. I’m merely honoring Ayn Rand as one of the great masters whose work has earned the claim of modern classic. Happy Birthday Ayn Rand!
“Here. … Boy, you look fine! Better than ever. How do you do it, you lucky bastard? I have so many things to tell you! How did it go down in Washington? Everything all right?” And before Keating could answer, Francon rushed on: “Something dreadful’s happened to me. Most disappointing. Do you remember Lili Landau? I thought I was ll set with her, but last time I saw her, did I get the cold shoulder! Do you know who’s got her? You’ll be surprised. Gail Wynand, no less! The girl’s flying high. You should see her pictures and her legs all over his newspapers. Will it help her show or won’t it! What can I offer against that? And do you know what he’s done? Remember how she always said that nobody could give her what she wanted most—her childhood home, the dear little Austrian village where she was born? Well, Wynand bought it!—and had it assembled again down on the Hudson, and there it stands now, cobbles, church, apple trees, pigsties and all! Then he springs it on Lili, two weeks ago. Wouldn’t you just know it? If the King of Babylon could get hanging gardens for his homesick lady, why not Gail Wynand? Lili’s all smiles and gratitude—but the poor girl was really miserable. She’d have much preferred a mink coat. She never wanted the damn village. And Wynand knew it, too. But there it stands, on the Hudson. Last week, he gave a party for her, right there, in that village—a costume party, with Mr. Wynand dressed as Cesare Borgia—wouldn’t he, though?—and what a party!—if you can believe what you hear, but you know how it is, you can never prove anything on Wynand. Then what does he do the next day but pose up there himself with little schoolchildren who’d never seen an Austrian village—the philanthropist!—and plasters the photos all over his papers with plenty of sob stuff about educational values, and gets mush notes from women’s clubs! I’d like to know what he’ll do with the village when he gets rid of Lili! He will, you know, they never last long with him. Do you think I’ll have a chance with her then?”
Excerpt, The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
Help me celebrate Ayn Rand’s birthday by leaving a comment! I can’t wait to hear from you.
Best to you,
Lisa Lipkind Leibow
Author of Smart Women’s Fiction
www.LLLeibow.com
Expeditions
A few years back in Cambodia I made an assessment in a remote part of the North-East with the help of my translator and a surveyor. Not only were we to do this via an equally remote province to the north, but it was to be carried out in the rainy season, on mopeds.
The first day out in the bush involved fourteen hours of mopeding. We were either drenched in sweat from the heat, or soaked to the skin from downpours. Much of the time we were just covered in mud from dragging our bikes through swamps, or muddy ravines, or just falling off.
We eventually arrived in the cluster of villages and made our assessment over the following days. On completion, my two companions refused to return the same way, stating they’d rather wait there until the dry season. Democracy dictated that we would take a new route to the south.
The team set off early. There was only one road, along which the villagers drove buffalo and oxen. We spent six hours of slipping in the mud, falling, sinking, and recovering bikes from buffalo deposit-filled quagmires, to reach the last village 12 kilometres away. The next challenge was the deep forest. Progress improved, however, as the light faded, there was no sign of civilization. The mud track also deteriorated as it had rained. In the dark we tried to navigate the water-filled potholes. By 9.00pm the surveyor’s bike became too damaged to continue. The team were horrified that we would camp alone in the forest, with fears of robbers and wild animals. However, with no choice I set about tying our hammocks to some nearby trees.
I lay in my hammock, trying not to think about snakes, and watched as the stars gave way to the black shadows of encroaching clouds. And then the rains returned. Our synthetic hammocks, I soon discovered, were just the right design for catching and storing large amounts of water. I lay shivering and miserable for what seemed like hours.
By midnight the rain was less heavy, and through the muffled forest orchestra, movement could be heard from inside the camp. I turned on the torch to see my translator stomping around, muttering to himself. His hammock was now on the forest floor, and the small tree, to which I had tied it, was uprooted and bent over where he’d been sleeping. I don’t think I have never laughed so much. He re-attached it to a different tree, mumbling to himself throughout. Within ten minutes I could hear snoring from his new nest through the patter of the ever-persistent rain.
This is one of the experiences in my life that taught me that a good expedition is an excellent setting for an entertaining story and is something that I have draw upon in the series of books about Mr. Tinfish and his lighthouse. It has also taught me that a lot of care is required in selecting where you choose to tie up your hammock.
Chris Wardle holds a bachelor’s degree in physical geography as well as a Master’s degree for water supply in developing countries from Cranfield University in the UK.
Over the last ten years Chris has travelled extensively in developing countries working on charity projects in poor communities. He has been able to draw on his numerous experiences to inspire his creative works, particularly living for long periods in communities with different cultures in Africa and Asia.
An orphaned kitten in Northern Uganda was the inspiration for Mr. Choli’s character in the Tinfish series. He now lives in the UK with Chris’s family (via a few months with a foster family in France to organise his European passport). Please visit the Tinfish website at www.mrtinfish.moonfruit.com
THE SMELL OF LOVE AND OTHER EMOTIONS
Smells can bring back a flood of memories, or elicit a visceral reaction based on a traumatic experience. It’s funny, I grew up among a generation of grandparents who smoked like chimneys. I live my adult life as a member of a “non-smoking” community. Those friends that do light up, tend to do it on their own time, since restaurants, office buildings, and other public buildings no longer allow smoking. So, while I’m not that fond of the smell of cigarette smoke, I savor the memories of my grandparents and great aunts and uncles that it conjures on the rare occasions I smell it. I built on this emotion to help show Amelia’s longing for her parents in Double Out and Back. Here’s an excerpt.
Her daddy and Mr. Knudson would sit on the stoop together. Mr. Knudson would smoke Marlboros and her daddy would smoke his pipe. He’d switched from cigarettes to pipes when the Surgeon General confirmed that cigarette smoking was harmful to your health. But while Amelia found the aroma of cherry pipe tobacco intoxicating, it did nothing to prevent lung cancer from riddling her daddy’s body and killing him. That notwithstanding, Amelia‘s memories of him with Mr. Knudson survived as times when her daddy acted the most relaxed and happy.
He used to sit on the porch wearing pants from his electrician’s uniform and a sleeveless undershirt with a small tuft of chest hair peeking above the neckline. His bangs were swept back with a little “tonic,” as he called it. His broad mouth held teeth clenched around the mouthpiece of his favorite pipe. Carved out of ivory, the pipe’s bowl, shaped like an eagle’s head, looked as if it were singing an aria, with the hooked beak slightly opened and eyes wide.
As he visited with Mr. Knudson, he would effortlessly use his thumb to pack tobacco into the pipe. Then he‘d strike a match against the brick steps and hold the lit match to the ivory eagle’s hollow skull, now packed with cherry tobacco. As he’d puffed on the mouthpiece a few times, the flame had danced, growing larger, then smaller again with each inhale and exhale. The tobacco began to glow as it caught the flame. Then that delicious fragrance of cherry tobacco would drift through the air – her daddy’s scent, warm and inviting.
Amelia lit cherry tobacco as incense in her home to evoke her daddy’s aroma on days when she missed him most, but it was just not the same. The cherry tobacco alone did not do the trick. It must have needed to be mixed with the scent of the honey-roasted peanuts he ate, and the perfume of his prize-winning peonies in the garden, and the Old Spice cologne he slapped on his face after each morning‘s shave, and the Mr. Bubble brand bubble-bath soap he secretly borrowed from her, and him…and him…and him.…That warm, home, Daddy smell only survived as an olfactory memory. She wished she could have bottled it.
Excerpt Double Out and Back by Lisa Lipkind Leibow
What aromas have you encountered that brought back welcomed memories? What stenches might you imagine in a story that could bring back a dreaded memory for a character? Share some ideas, here – fact or fiction.
Best to you,
Lisa Lipkind Leibow
Author of Smart Women’s Fictionhttp://www.LLLeibow.com