My parents made a pact to stand on every continent in the world. When my dad passed away, my mother went to the Antarctic for both of them. That’s when I figured there was a lot I didn’t know about mom.
When she returned with a bright orange jacket that she got ‘for free’ (don’t count the cost of the cruise), she had lots of stories to tell. Yet, when the excitement of the trip wore off, we both had the sense that we were still standing on a pitching deck with no way to sail to calm seas. A big piece of the puzzle – my dad – was missing.
“Write your memoir,†I said.
“My life wasn’t interesting,†she answered.
But the idea must have taken hold. Not long after this conversation, she called. She was done with her memoir.
“Impressive,†I mused.
It takes me months to write one novel and she finished hers in a week. When I saw her manuscript, I understood why. It was five pages long and she was eighty-five years old. There had to be more.
So began a year of weekend sleep-overs as we poured over photographs for inspiration. She had twenty beautifully documented photo albums, a box filled with pictures taken when cameras were still new fangled things.
There was mom in waist-length braids and Mary Jane shoes standing in the German village she called home.
She was a teenager in the U.S. while war raged in Europe, threatening the grandmother she had lived with, cousins and friends.
Here was mom, posing in a swimsuit she bought with the dollar she found on the street.
Mom in her twenty-five dollar bridal gown perched in the back of a hay wagon beside my father, a skinny, wide-eyed farm boy who would become a doctor.
Mom with one child. Two. Three. Five. Six of us all together. Dark haired and big eyed, we were her clones dressed in beautiful, homemade clothes. I remember going to sleep to the sound of her sewing machine.
And there were words! I bribed my mother with promises of Taco Bell feasts if she gave me details. Funny, what came to her mind.
To keep body and soul together when my father was in med school, he was a professional mourner and bussed tables for a wealthy fraternity. My mom worked in a medical lab where the unchecked radiation caused her to lose her first baby. They ate lab rabbits that had given their all for pregnancy tests. They were in love and happy and didn’t know they were poor. But St. Louis was cold, she remembered, and they couldn’t afford winter coats. Still, she insisted, they weren’t poor.
She typed, I edited; I typed, she talked. My youngest brother almost died when he was 10. She didn’t cry for a long while; not until she knew he would live. The captain of the ship that took her back to Germany was kind. She dreamed of becoming a missionary doctor. In 1954, she had two toddlers (me and my brother) and another baby on the way when she and dad drove to Fairbanks, Alaska where he would serve his residency at the pleasure of the U.S. Air Force. Her favorite outfit was a suit with a white collar. She loved her long hair rolled at her neck in the forties. In the fifties she made a black dress with rhinestone straps and her hair was bobbed. In the sixties she made palazzo pants and sported a short bouffant. She looked like a movie star in her homemade clothes. I wanted to grow up to be as glamorous as she was. She still thought she wasn’t interesting.
Mom wrote the forward to her memoir herself. It began:
A great sense of loneliness fills the house as twilight approaches. In the silence, I can almost hear the voices of my grown children as they recall their childhood years, the laughter of grandchildren and the quiet conversations of friends who have gathered here in years past, echoing through the empty rooms.
You see, she really had no need of my help as a writer.
We had seven copies printed. On the cover was a beautiful picture of a sunset. She called her book In The Twilight of My Life and would not be swayed to change it. Mom thought it perfect and not the least depressing. It was, she laughed, the truth. It was her laugh that made it right. She gave my brothers and sisters a copy for Christmas. My older brother had tears in his eyes. Everyone exclaimed: “I never knew thatâ€.
Now I have a book more treasured than any I have written. I learned a lot about my mom and I realized why I create fictional women of courage and conviction, strength and curiosity, intelligence and, most of all, spirit. It’s because, all this time, I’ve been writing about my mother.
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By the time my post is up, OCC will have passed the 30 year mark. I can only imagine the whisperings and giggling and story plotting filling the hallways at the Embassy Suites this past weekend. How many bestsellers were born that weekend, we’ll never know.
How many lifelong friendships were born, well, that’s something we do know.
If you’re a member of OCC and/or a reader of this blog, then you’ve got friends. I’ve never known a more supportive group willing to share ideas, information and a hug when needed.
That’s OCC.
Now that the publishing business is in such a flux, it’s more important than ever to share ideas, whether it’s looking for a NY publisher to self-publishing. We will continue to encourage each other to follow our dreams because that’s what we do at OCC.
That’s what friends are for.
Whether it’s helping each other through a rejection (we all get them) or celebrating with a red or pink or white rose, we’re here for you.
Even when you can’t attend the meetings, the OCC newsletter is filled with encouragement and practical information for everyone from the pre-published to the published to the self-pubbed.
No one knows how all this change will work out, but one thing we do know: from print books to e-books to whatever the future will bring, OCC will always be there for its members.
I’m proud to be a member of OCC.
Best,
Jina
A bit of nostalgia: Here’s a photo I snapped at OCC’s 25th Birthday party showing our newsletters throughout the years:
4 0 Read moreOn Friday, I was a guest at Writers In The Storm Blog. (Thanks, Laura, Jenny and crew!) I just self-published my first novel, Little Miss Lovesick, a couple weeks ago and we’ve been having an interesting conversation over there about self-publishing. I thought I’d reprint that blog here and we could continue the discussion…
When I started writing, I published a few articles and devotionals, and then I tried to figure out what kind of novel I wanted to write. I found out that romance novels accounted for about half of the paperback market. I thought, I like romance, I’m happily married, I’ll write one of those.
I wrote and wrote – Christian romances, category romances, stand-alone romances, first person, third person, contemporary, 1940s – whew! I tried everything looking for my voice. Then one day a friend asked me if I’d heard of chick lit. Suddenly, the light dawned and the heavens opened and I danced with angels for a while! I’d found myself!
Back in the 1990s, I heard a woman speak at our writers group about all her rejections and how she finally decided to self-publish her book. By the time she spoke to our group, she’d sold over 100,000 copies of her children’s picture book on her own. A couple publishers who had rejected it earlier called her up and offered her 12% royalties to take over. She said no.
So here I was, thinking about my career – or lack thereof – knowing I’d found my voice, and finding everywhere I researched that “everyone†was saying that a humorous voice in a “with romantic elements†story was hard to sell. I went to grad school to get my MA in Creative Writing thinking I would simply become a better writer and then I’d start getting contracts. But I kept hearing that publishers were buying less than ever due to the economy, and I was getting tired of waiting.
During my final semester in early 2011, I decided to do some more research into digital self-publishing. Things had really started to take off in that arena, but I understood that the biggest obstacle would be finding my audience. What kind of person would like what I wrote enough to buy it, and how would I reach her?
I flew to New York for the Romance Writers of America conference and pitched my superhero book to editors and agents there. Regardless of where the industry was headed, most revenue in books was still being generated by print copies from big publishers and distributors. But I only heard more of the same – “It sounds fun, but I don’t know how to sell it,†and “I like your story idea, but romantic comedy doesn’t sell well. How much sex is in it?â€
By the time my plane landed back home in Sydney, I’d decided to self-publish that already-completed book from 2004. It wasn’t doing anything sitting on my computer, and worst case scenario I’d be out about $600. I’d already made notes about some edits I wanted to make to my book and then I was going forward! It’s true that your friends and family can only buy so many copies of your book, but I’d been hearing potential readers tell me for years, “I just love how you write! When can I buy your book?†If I could find my audience, I could at least make a living, even if it was only barely enough to get by.
I signed up for a 10-day online class about how to format your book for Kindle. Let me just say, this is not a process for the technologically challenged or the faint of heart! I worked all day, every day for those ten days and barely got my book up on the last day of class.
But it was up! My novel, Little Miss Lovesick, was available for sale on Amazon!
More confusing hard work got the book up on Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, and Apple’s iTunes/iBookstore. In 2 ½ weeks, I’ve sold 58 copies and have three reviews posted (one, not even written by a friend!). I have a three-page To Do list that is probably missing a lot of things I need to do that I don’t even know about yet. I had a couple days this week where I got very little done because I was so overwhelmed by both the amount of work and the newness of it all. How do I do this or that?
But I’ve never felt better about my career in my life! Even though I have to move to a different country next month, I don’t want to stop. I’m creating business strategies for pricing, for finding my audience, for the publishing order of future books. I’ve got our DBA name registered with the state of California, and I’m working on getting a separate checking account. I’m researching all the small business paperwork that needs to be done, and I’m preparing to write an ebook on that, too!
Self-publishing is a time-consuming and difficult job, and a lot of the work eats away at your writing time. But I talked to a friend who got her first publishing contract this year, and her publisher is asking her to do about 75% of the stuff I’m doing! She doesn’t lounge on her deck writing her next book every day. She, too, is rushing to meet the next deadline while also creating a Facebook presence, a Twitter presence, building a better web site, brainstorming how to blog differently/better, etc., etc.
Neither of us thinks we have it easier than the other. Publishing your book – no matter how you do it – is more time-consuming in 2011 than it was when the authors we grew up with were doing it. I encourage you to do your research no matter which direction you go. It’s a rewarding process either way. But it’s also a lot of work. So do the research, choose a path – or take both paths with two different books! – and then remind yourself every day, I love my job!
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More info →A Slice of Orange is an affiliate with some of the booksellers listed on this website, including Barnes & Nobel, Books A Million, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords. This means A Slice of Orange may earn a small advertising fee from sales made through the links used on this website. There are reminders of these affiliate links on the pages for individual books.
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