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STORIES MY MOTHER TOLD ME

October 15, 2011 by in category Archives tagged as , , ,


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 that”.

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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Looking For Harry

October 13, 2011 by in category Archives tagged as ,

by Bobbie Cimo

Last week while I was on my lunch hour taking my daily siesta in my lounge chair that’s comfortably situated on the helicopter pad at CBS, I got a text from one of my co-workers that read “Harry Connick will be at the Grove at 4 today.” My response was simple, “So will I.”

When I got back from lunch, all my other co-workers excitedly asked me if I got the text about Harry. It was easy to tell by the smile on my face, I had. When 3:45 PM rolled around and I was about to leave for my clandestine meeting, my working cronies cheered me on, like I was the lead-off batter at a baseball game.

As I walked through the turnstile that connects CBS to the Grove, I wondered how many people were going to be there. On a normal day, when Mario Lopez of “Extra” does these interviews, it’s to a fairly small crowd. I was hoping that today, it would be even smaller. I wanted to get as close to Harry as possible. It isn’t that I haven’t been close to him before, because I have. But to me he’s like a drug that you can’t get enough of. Like the song said, “The more I see you, the more I want you.”
I cast my eyes on the spot in front of the three story Barnes and Noble, where these little interviews are customarily shot. No cameras, no crew, no Harry.

I took out my cell phone and called my office. My office posse assured me they saw the sign, announcing Harry’s scheduled appearance. They even told me where the sign was. Not that I didn’t trust them, but I had to see it for myself. They were right. When an unsuspecting security guard passed in front of me, I pointed to the sign and asked, “Where’s Harry?”

He looked just as confused as I felt when he looked towards Barnes and Noble and saw there was no action in front of the bookstore. And then, as if a light bulb went on over his head, he said, “They probably moved it to the front of the fountain”. Not that I needed it, but he offered to escort me over. But again, there was no Harry nor any evidence of any sort of production going on.
So what does a security guard do when he can’t find an answer? He gets back-up by calling over another security guard. This other guard was more creative in his thinking, he was sure that “Extra” was doing Harry’s spot in the park next door.

I looked at him incredulously and asked, “Are you sure?” I think I scared him because he responded with, “Let me take you to the concierge.” Yes, the Grove does have a concierge who dresses in a suit and stands behind an outside desk. As a matter of fact they have several. As helpful as he tried to be, the concierge did’t have an answer for me, so like the guard, he called over back-up, another concierge, who knew even less than he did. I should have walked away then, but it was too late. They had now called over a PR person for the Grove. And in a matter of moments, I had several guards, a couple of concierges, and a PR person, all looking for Harry Connick, Jr. It’s when they pulled out the walkie talkies that I knew that this had gone way too far. But it was too late to walk away, they had me surrounded. Finally, with three security guards, two concierges, a PR person and a partridge in a pear tree, they had an answer for me. Harry had canceled his visit.

My office gal pals all shared in my disappointment when I told them of my defeat. The ironic thing about all of this was, that very night Harry Connick was less than a football field away from me, appearing on “Dancing With The Stars”. Since DWTS is an ABC show, not a CBS one, and because of the threats made against some of the celebrities on the show, it’s practically impossible to get onto the set. To put it bluntly, a terrorist has a better chance of getting passed customs, than a CBS employee has of getting on the set of “Dancing With the Stars”. That is unless you have a special badge, that’s only given to people at certain levels. And I’m definitely not one of them.

As I sat down at my desk, I mumbled out loud of my discontent and how unfair I thought it was to be so close to Harry, and yet not be allowed to see him. Then I heard someone in my office say, “You’re right”, and the next thing I knew, a manager who owns one of those special badges handed his over to me. He then got on the phone and called the head stagehand of “Dancing With The Stars” and asked if he could find a space for me in the audience.

In less than thirty seconds, I was out the door, without my purse, no lipstick on, but a special badge around my neck.

Not only did I get to see Harry Connick, but I also got to hear him sing in person, as well. So I’m happy to report I went looking for Harry, and finally found him, too.
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Happy 30th Birthday, OCC! by Jina Bacarr

October 11, 2011 by in category Archives tagged as , , , , , , ,

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:

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How I Became a Publisher

October 9, 2011 by in category Archives tagged as

On 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!

I quickly signed with an agent who quickly sent my book out to eight of the biggest New York publishers. Both of us had high hopes. But the best we received was two replies of “we almost bought it.” As it turned out, chick lit was dying.
A few more years went by, but no one was enamored with my new stories, including my agent. She’d found her niche and it was Romance with a capital “r”. But that wasn’t precisely what I was writing. After four and half years, we amicably parted company and I sat down to figure myself out once again.

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?”

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!

Kitty Bucholtz decided to combine her undergraduate degree in business, her years of experience in accounting and finance, and her graduate degree in creative writing to become a writer-turned-independent-publisher. Her first novel, Little Miss Lovesick, was released in September 2011 as an ebook and will be available by December in print format.
Kitty has also written magazine articles, devotionals, and worked as a magazine editor. She is the co-founder of Routines for Writers where she blogs every Wednesday. Her next novel, Love at the Fluff N Fold, will be released in Spring 2012. You can keep up with Kitty on Facebook, Twitter, or on her web site.

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Steve Jobs: iVisionary

October 9, 2011 by in category Archives

I have a confession. I don’t have an iPod. I don’t have a Mac. I don’t have an iPhone. I do have an iPad, bought in the rush of excitement the week of its launch…but I seldom use it. I’ve managed to buy a couple of things on iTunes, but I’m a mass of insecurity about what happens if I want to transfer them to other devices. It seems easier not to try. I looked at buying a MacBook when I needed a new PC recently, but decided the Mac was too expensive and would cut me off from some nice PC-only applications.

All up, I’m not much use to Apple. But I suspect Apple is of use to me in ways I don’t even know about. Whether it’s keeping other companies on their toes, or developing technologies that influence innovation in products I do use, or even changing the way I think about how markets (including publishing) work, Apple has snuck in there.

But the fact is, I don’t think of Apple as Apple. Mostly, I think of it as Steve Jobs.

So even though I never knew him, and even though his company has many flaws (reports of atrocious conditions in iPad factories in China cannot be glossed over) Steve Jobs’ death seems significant, and a loss. A loss to global innovation , and a loss to Apple. Few of us can expect our lives to be celebrated or our passing to be mourned on such a scale.

But above all, Steve Job’s death is a tragic loss to his family. Which is something, hopefully, we all can expect. And while that’s what hurts most, it’s also what matters most.

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