Freedom Earned

It was now clear that the door was swinging open widely:  “Catch me if you can” was the prime directive.  Suddenly life had become more alive. Nothing surrounded me except my own personal joie de viv. The need to behave, conform and worst of all fit in were now shed like last summer’s stretched out bathing suit.

The sheer guts it took to keep walking, in fact, skipping forward was now a game of spiritual aerobics.  All the happy camper things I had learned so long ago, that had been shelved for enforced behavior mod and believing in the corporate song and dance were now awakening again.

Life would certainly be intriguing. If nothing else, I’d do what I’d always wanted to do:  live off shore in a cool place (to be defined) and WRITE!  Wheels up!

 

 

Confessions of a Closet Novelist

I’ve read copious volumes of how-tos on writing, publishing, writing a proposal and diving into social marketing. Call me a rebel with a cause but I find most of it a bit dreary and a buzz kill.  Still, I shuffle on to some ever-present voice suggesting subtle innuendos.

I once attended a fabulous workshop for Mystery Writers.  At the time, I was more interested in the fluffy side of things….you know, fantasy, happy ever after stuff.  But I threw myself into a milieu of fairly creepy individuals for three days and three nights.  Yes, wine was involved after 5.  It was a grand experience in climbing out of one’s zone and into another.  Hey, there was even a class entitled, “How to commit murder and get away with it.”

I’m not at all implying that the class about getting away with murder was a how-to per se.  But I have to tell you, the attendees jumped in with both feet.  What I concluded is that we all have parts of us that meander into some pretty freaky realms.  So I sat in the back and listened.  That room was filled with “what if” specialists.  A good mystery isn’t worth a damn without surprises and twists and turns.  That is the business of a “what if” specialist.  For the first time in all my writing years, I was in the room with people who definitely climbed out of their boxes on a daily basis.

One of the best workshops was a dialog with someone from the CIA sitting opposite another person from the FBI.  Priceless!  It caused a stirring, not in my loins, but in my what if? o meter.  I started me thinking about writing a thoroughly creepy novel.  It toys with me to this day.  It will not write itself unless I am in a room full of creative writers and have a prompt.

The first page started in a precious group of women seeking joy and peace.  As we proceeded around the room to read our treasures, I wondered if I would be thrown out for sheer shock of what I had on the paper in front of me.  They had read about their search for self, climbing of the obstacles of being a woman and the general healing of female comradery.  I, on the other hand had written something that was a cross between a spy novel and a potential murder mystery.  When I read it aloud, I looked up.  Their faces were shocked but a good shock.  One of the writers asked, “How on earth did you write that cool thing?”  I responded, “I haven’t a clue”.   She then asked, “What happens next?” I answered: “I haven’t a clue”.   And so my career as a mystery writer is still on the outer edge of possibility.

I try to surround myself with “what if” specialists but I guess it is up to me and my muses to keep going on this one.  Recently, I met a woman in her fifties and I paused and stared. There she was!  I couldn’t help myself and commented.  “Wow, you look exactly like the main character I am writing about.”  The woman is a very serious medical doctor with a minimum of creative humor.  She said, “What on earth do you mean?”   I bowed my head and said, “Forgive me, but I am writing a mystery novel and you fill the part of the protagonist.”  True to form, she smiled dimly and walked on.

So here I am, wondering.  Will my babe in question be an MD with a secret, one that will get her killed, or will she in her flowing cape save the world?  I’ll answer again, “I haven’t a clue.”

Back in Scotland, when I was writing my Merlin novel, I had the habit of going to the pub of an evening.  In defense, it had wi-fi.  It also had the best fish n chips and draft brew in all of Scotland.  I would stare out at the waves and write.  The publican, also a writer, would ask me to read to her.  I did so but softly so not to disturb the locals.  One night, one of the locals asked:  “Where is Merlin now?”  I smiled.  He had actually heard me reading.  I responded:  “He’s been riding his horse in the middle of the night for three nights.  I can’t figure out how to get him off the horse.”

One day I had lunch at that auspicious pub.  Again, I was reading to my helpmate who would suggest things to me.  A fellow over to the side spoke. “I know where you can get that published.”  I smiled.  “Really?”.  He gave me the name and I wrote it down.  I then, the scientific side of me said, “Off hand, why this person?”  The fellow went into somewhat of a lengthy story about the frugality of Scots.  I finally stopped him and asked, “Sorry, I don’t get what you are trying to tell me.”  He smiled. “The publisher lives very frugally and loves your kind of writing.  I know him.  He will love your book.  And by the way, he is the one who took a chance on Harry Potter.”

Now you’d think I would have grabbed him and got his name et al.  I didn’t.  I just sat there and loved the moment.  Call me naive.  Call me a dreamer but I plan to hand deliver my manuscript to that very publisher this summer when it is done.  Oh and it is a mystery fantasy so I’m still dealing with the what ifs.

Maybe what I have learned is writing is a journey.  Like little Red Riding Hood (Writing Hood????), I follow the bread crumbs along the path.  Maybe that was Hansel and Gretel. Hell, I don’t remember, but bread crumbs along the path are actually clues and I am wide open to clues.

This summer, I’ll jump back into that mystery gig of 4 days.  THIS time, I’ll be one of them.