On writing - What's done and what comes next

 I'm in the middle of a few exciting projects, not least of which is This Darkness is Mine. It's kind of funny in an ironic way how far from the end I was when I typed "The End".

Even typing "The End" was kinda weird. I read through the manuscript again and found things to change, amend, edit, rewrite, etc. Then came the beta readers segment of the journey. Even though writers are anxious for feedback, I gave my readers a unique two-month timetable, and it worked out smashingly. The advice I'd been given from more seasoned writers was don't make every single change recommended by every single beta reader. Sure. I didn't follow that advice. In retrospect, I think it's because I chose my beta readers so carefully. They all saw different things in different places - except for one stretch in the middle that made all of them yawn.

That was July and August of 2019. Still not officially "the end"! What hubris it takes for a writer to type that phrase so prematurely! Or naïvete.

I've written elsewhere on more details of the journey, so I'll skip to present day. My dream literary agent Kelly at Serendipity Literary has (at last) marked my manuscript CLEAN. While that sounds like she has the final say, every change had to be approved by me. Mainly, I had to answer every question that potential readers - including editors - might have. Either that meant defending the words on the page, or clarifying, or chopping what was indefensible. I may have mentioned before in another post that Kelly's initial edit letter had no changes to This Darkness is Mine until page 317, which to me meant 316 very strong pages, which I took as a testament to my talent and skill, which I couldn't claim sole credit for. There's a reason why the acknowledgements page(s) in novels go on and on.

Ironic too that writing seems like such a solitary exercise when, in truth, perhaps a dozen or more people are involved. It's a collaboration in isolation though. Readers can't read with lots of distractions going on any more than writers can write in a roomful of activity. We need to tune out the world when it comes to the word. Each person who touches the manuscript does so in sequence, not in committee.

Now that This Darkness is Mine is CLEAN, she will begin her querying, though it's called subbing, which I guess means submitting. It's almost identical to the writers' process of querying and many of the same resources are utilized: #MSWL, Twitter feed, querytracker, Publishers Marketplace.

Agents go through the same hell, just on a different level! 👀👿

This process may be quick or long. There's no knowing beforehand, so I have no other news to report on that front.

On another front, Mack's Writers Rescue LLC is being filed, and a brand spanking new author website will launch, slated for January 1, 2021

Pages will be devoted to:

• Milo the cat
• Blog
• Excerpts, blurbs and snippets from This Darkness is Mine
• Poetry and short stories
• Interviews of women's fiction authors and mental health advocates*
• About me and testimonials
• Editing and fiction manuscript critique services (the rescue services 👮)

* If you write women's fiction (especially if you're a BIPOC author) with upcoming/published work, or a mental health advocate and would like to be interviewed, please email me mackenzielittledalewrites at gmail dot com.

Readers will be able to get a free short story when they sign up to an email list to stay in touch and stay abreast of This Darkness is Mine as I continue on toward getting published.

I even bought a LivingSocial for portraits, and I'll be gettin' my hair did so I'll look my best for the website.

On yet another front, I'm half way completed with the Developmental Editor certification from UCLA, so I'm pretty stoked about that. Up front, I have a preference for women's fiction, suspense thrillers, and some categories of self-help and nonfiction. I can be persuaded to read fantasy and your first chapter has to win me over for sci-fi. I won't touch horror, erotica, or romance.

The final front is still hush hush until I get the go ahead to make the announcement, but it'll be the biggest event I've ever pulled off, and it'll be HUGE.

I'm always happy to read comments 🠟

Be well, stay safe, and have a magical day!

Mackenzie

On Writing - Dream Fulfillment in progress

June 3rd, I was debating myself over whether or not to pitch in PitMad the following day. Luckily, I have exceptional friends. Two called me to ask whether or not I'd pitch and when I waffled, they (screamed) cajoled me to go for it.

There was no denying their enthusiasm and they pushed into the PITCH camp. I fine tuned yet another Twitter pitch, and the following morning, I was revved up. Come to find out that Pitchwars/Pitch Madness added a new hashtag for Black authors #BVM for Black Voices Matter.

Bear in mind, I've pitched in PitMad before for the same manuscript. My pitches weren't that great, but I didn't know it at the time. I pitched my heart out to crickets. I'd pitched in DVPit (diverse voices pitch) 2019. One agent indicated interest by liking my pitch, but he passed away before signing me to his agency. I survived the rough and tumble of Pitchwars and the mentorship program and #ThisDarknessIsMine got fine tuned, structured and edited. When I pitched in January, I got interest from four agents, all of whom declined representation in the end. Rather three of whom declined representation and one of whom simply ghosted me (along with 95% of the mentees, so she's on our collective shit list).

That's the baggage I had to let go of for June 4th, and enter the contest with beginner's mind and a new well of endless hope.

I can't tell you how exciting the day was, but I'll try. With pitching contests on Twitter, the rules want retweets and comments from supporters, but LIKES are reserved for publishing professionals like literary agents, publishers and editors. They're sticklers for this, but I was advised not to be upset when non-industry-professionals like my pitches. There's an algorithmic metric for why, and I'll let it go at that.

I got dozens of likes from non-industry-professionals. I didn't sweat it.

I got hundreds of retweets.

The main takeaway is I got interest from 14 (FOURTEEN) agents and editors. I was simply over the moon, maybe even over Mars! The day's efforts were a solid golden opportunity, and I'd nearly talked myself out of putting my hat in the ring.

When it came down to the wire, two agencies offered representation. It's a writer's dream to get ONE offer. But I had two solid offers from heavy hitters to choose from and after a couple rounds of conversations, the choice was clear: Serendipity Literary. They're the largest African-American literary agency in the States and the president is a whirlwind, nonstop champion (who happens to have a pilot's license and flies planes in her leisure time).



A word about Kelly Thomas, who's representing me. She and I have a ton in common and every time she kept me in the loop about where she was in the manuscript, she always said, "I love this story and your writing is beautiful." Her passion got my attention, but when she mentioned #PublishingPaidMe, she won me over.

We're not going into negotiations willing to get lowballed. We know the score.

That's the key ingredient for a successful professional relationship. I'd always wanted a fighter to love my story and Michelle Delphinia's struggle because I knew the publishing game is a hard one, not for the faint of heart. Kelly is my champion and I believe we're going to kick some ass together!

Follow me on Twitter: @mackenzielitt13
Follow Serendipity on Twitter: @SerendipityLit


Have a magical day!
Mackenzie

On Writing - next WIP ideas

While This Darkness is Mine is being queried in hopes of landing a contract with a literary agent, I have a couple ideas for future novels.

Before that though, finding potential readers who would have a keen interest in This Darkness is Mine will be foremost in my mind. Since the novel is semi-autobiographical, I decided to take a few cues from Michelle, the lead.

A support group isn't the worst idea in the world, so I'm planning on visiting one in Hollywood - DBSA (Depression Bipolar Support Alliance). I've been to support groups before and felt ill-at-ease, but since #EndTheStigma is important, it's time I stop looking down my nose at people who have the same struggles I do. Maybe they're not the same, but worse or less. The fact remains, we're in this together and bipolar manifests in myriad ways in different people. It's incredibly difficult to know what's real when the mind itself is malfunctioning.

To say I'm fortunate that my meds work so well is an understatement.

Having gone off on that tangent - the next ideas for novels are:

1) a doctor and her patient who get entangled in a massive corporate lobbying effort
2) a young woman who develops peripheral neuropathy after becoming a widow, and the only time she can feel anything at all is when she heals others' pain
3) an historical fiction novel based on the life of an ancestor in early 1800s San Vincent


Make someone else's day magical!

Mackenzie

On writing - What is the dream?

When I sat down for the first time to start my manuscript, it didn't have a title or a plot. I knew the beginning, some of the middle, but wasn't sure where to end the story.

I watched a tutorial on writers digest.com.
The beginning changed.

I read.
The middle changed.

I watched more tutorials.
The ending didn't change much.

A busy period loomed at work and I feverishly got the manuscript to a ready state and sent it off to beta readers, giving them a full two months to read and make notes.
They all said the story kind of dragged around the same place. Good to know.

Then came pitchwars. I didn't know what it was, but I entered, figuring I'd get the right guidance for that slow spot. I didn't expect the second half to change much, because beta readers loved it.

I think I posted about this already, so I'll cut to the chase.

This Darkness is Mine has a soundtrack in mind. I wrote it out, chapter by chapter what music I think would be appropriate if it were ever made into a motion picture.

I wrote out a list of people who I'd like to send ARCs (Advance Reviewer Copies) in hopes they'd post reviews on B&N, amazon and goodreads.

Why stop there?

I looked up to see if it's common or out of the question for fiction to have a foreword. Forewords can be included in any genre (good to know!)

Reedsy has a blog and YouTube video for how to get endorsements, so I have a few names of celebrities and mental health advocates whose endorsements I crave.

So in it to win it!

My dream expanded even more after receiving feedback from reader and writer friends after the manuscript went through the pitchwars revisions.

"Holy fuck! This is blowing me away!"

"It's a masterful display of imagery that's sucking me in...I'm over 100 pages in and don't wanna stop."

"Mack...I'm shaking it's seriously good."

"I finished all you sent me of This Darkness Is Mine. I think I enjoyed this part even better than the first! You write so well, Mack."

"This is an important story."

"Maybe five or six books I've read in my life really stuck with me, and yours is now with them. Michelle's ambulance ride - what a hoot! Michelle's attitude at the support group. You know, you've really given people a glimpse into a mind that they'd never get."

"This is riveting. I couldn't stop reading it! A star is born, Wonderful!!!"

And, I mean wow! https://www.screencast.com/t/5NrFbjUWu A full length review that I'll just tuck away and peek at whenever I need a pick me up and reason to crush writers block and self doubt.

Pitchwars showcase is literally a couple days away. Wish me luck!

Make someone else's day magical!!

Mackenzie

On Writing - This Pitchwars thing is hard

One post to vent, cry, break stuff, wail, and generally complain.

Just kidding.

Pitchwars (for more on PitchWars, there's their website www.pitchwars.org, and also a podcast on Manuscript Academy's website at https://manuscriptacademy.com/podcast Episode #64) has been a fascinating journey requiring me to toughen my hide and buckle down to get the task done. I didn't know what to expect. Really, I had no clue whatsoever. At the outset, since all my beta readers said the pace of This Darkness is Mine picked up around Chapter 15 and they couldn't put it down until the end, I figured I'd only be rewriting and editing Chapters 8-14. Not so bad.

That is not how it turned out.

The first half required the least work. A brand new Chapter 2. That was easy. A few overlays to add in some conflict between the characters, reveal motivations and stuff like that.

Those changes had ripple effects throughout the rest of the manuscript, which led me to writers block (it still happens to me, too).

The biggest hurdle and bluntest comments were about the character of Joe.

The relationship doesn't seem real.
It's too easy.
This remains difficult to believe.

OK. I wrestled here, but to be honest, I think the changes I made really deepen the bond between Michelle and Joe. My mentor hasn't weighed in yet, but we moved on to drafting pitches. I think we're going with draft #15. We moved on to searching for comps and now I'm back to that struggle. Finding adult contemporary fiction on mental illness in a minority family with a romantic subplot that deals with the effects of a cultish religion...not easy.

However, if you tell an agent there's "no book on the market like mine," they don't believe you and write you off as not knowing your genre.

On the flip side, when I think about the lack of suitable comparable titles, it leads me to toy with the idea that This Darkness is Mine is truly a seminal work. After all this turmoil, my ego needs the stroking. And it's plausible. This is not my first go round looking for comp titles and coming up with almost nothing.

What's in This Darkness is Mine?

• an imaginary romance
• a psychotic break on a plane
• a friendship-turned-romance that blows up and falls apart
• dysfunctional family dynamics
• contrast of bipolar managed well against not managed at all
• grief, loss, resilience, tenacity, denial, acceptance, and healing

It's a helluva story


Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie

On Writing - A Thanksgiving snippet from This Darkness is Mine

THANKSGIVING SNIPPET FROM THIS DARKNESS IS MINE

Michelle and Joe accepted Barbara’s invitation to Thanksgiving dinner. Once seated at the familiar pale table, Leon asked, “So how is work? Is it picking up?”

Michelle glanced at Joe and squirmed. “Um, well, it’s still slow, but--”

Joe clamped his hand on her shoulder and cut in. “She doesn’t have to worry. I’ll help her out until season picks up. She wanted to make it to a luxury level spa for a long time, at least that’s what she told me, and now that she made it, I’ll pitch in. Nobody has to worry about her future. We’ve got this.”

Michelle tilted her head at Joe and stroked his thigh. “I’m so grateful to you. All of you. You’re giving me a chance to stick it out with massage. All the therapists keep telling me it’s going to pick up in December.”

“When we got that massage table for you, I thought it was just going to be a hobby,” Barbara said. “I’m so proud that you stuck it out, honey. Here, have some casserole.”

“Massage is a suicide mission,” said Leon, shaking his head and clasping his hands.

“A hobby?” Michelle held the platter of green bean casserole midair and pursed her lips at Leon. She’d always believed the massage table indicated their faith in her.

Leon said, “Plus most of your own customers are only here in winter. That self-employed life you and Allen live, it’s not for me. Give me slow and steady. I won’t get rich, but I’ll be KUM-fuh-tubble. You’d be on the street if Joe wasn’t supporting you, if all of us weren’t helping you out. I hope you show him some appreciation and make him happy. But how can you? You’re not domesticated. You can’t even make up a bed.”

“Please don’t fuck things up right now, Leon.” Michelle reddened. “Joe and I are building a relationship slowly and it’s solid. I feel good about what we have.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Joe’s eyes flashed like launched missiles. “She’s got a lot on her plate and she’s very supportive, easy to talk to, and her career is going to take off now.”

“The food is delicious, Barbara,” said Janet, smiling.

“Thanks, Mom,” said Barbara, winking at Michelle.

“I’m not saying anything bad about my sister,” said Leon. “She is who she is, and I love her. I’ll help her. I’ve helped her all her life. Nobody can take that away from me. When I look my father in the eye in the resurrection in heaven, he’ll say ‘Well done, Leon. You took good care of your sister.’ That’s all I want.”

Michelle shook her head slowly and leaned over to whisper in Joe’s ear. “You see how dysfunctional my family is?”

He whispered back, “You say that like your family should be different from everyone else’s. It’s obvious they all love you. You just keep doing what you’re doing.”



***

On Writing - Excerpt from Chapter 3 This Darkness is Mine

Excerpt from Chapter 3

Michelle spent most of the following day in bed, nestled under her charcoal grey down comforter. As the sun made its descent towards the horizon, she fixed her gaze out the window. She always enjoyed looking out at sunset, even though the window faced east. In the distance, between her window and Yankee Stadium, stood a 12-story, brown brick apartment building. The building’s windows reflected the glow of the retiring sun like a spectacular piece of art, beauty so far beyond words, it was almost painful to behold.

The day after that, she stuck with her plan and returned to Florida. The family gathered at the Kingdom Hall for the service. Approximately 200 people showed up, mostly strangers to her. Knowing she’d be little support to her mother once she went back to New York, she was relieved to see so many friends show up for her mother. People spoke to each other in huddles, but the atmosphere remained silent and colorless. Internally, Michelle screamed, and imagined herself running for the exit with her father’s ashes. The white walls with bas relief and beige, industrial carpeting all seemed sun-bleached to her.

Allen and a middle-aged man in a brown suit approached her. Allen wore a dark grey suit with a tie in fall colors. “Michelle, do you remember Lon Soeur?”

Lon’s green eyes had deep crinkles around the corners, making them look merry, despite his somber expression. His dirty blond hair receding and thinning, he stood eye to eye with Allen.

Michelle shook Lon’s extended hand. “Yes, of course. Lon, it’s good to see you after all these years. Thank you for being here.”

“Of course. Yes, it’s good to see you, too, although I wish it were under happier circumstances.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you,” said Michelle, nodding.

“When Allen and your mom sat with me to craft the words of the talk I’m about to give, and they told me about your father, I could tell Allen had a lot of his same strong qualities. I could see, of course, his entrepreneurial spirit and his business sense.”

Lon kept talking, but Michelle’s mind circled around what he’d just said. At that moment, she realized that when Allen had said someone told him he was a lot like his father, the words had come from Lon, someone who didn’t know their father at all, or he would have known her father had financially propped up Allen’s business. Hopelessly anti-Capitalistic and cynical of wealthy people, her brother couldn’t take direction from bosses or from clients. His intricately detailed plans left him spinning in endless circles, barely eking out a living. Business sense?

“So,” Michelle said, “you’re giving the eulogy, based on sitting down with my mom and Allen? Leon and I weren’t included in that.” Her look of astonishment at Lon turned into a glare at her brother. She couldn’t feel her body.

“We had to move quickly,” said Allen, in a condescending tone.

“You mean behind our backs,” Michelle said, almost shouting. “Not cool. It’s bad enough that nobody who knew him even gets to say anything, but the eulogy has no input from Leon or me, like we don’t exist.” Her limbs tensed up involuntarily. She didn’t know what to do with her hands.

Lon and Allen both looked uncomfortable, mumbled, and turned to walk away.

Her stomach turned somersaults and she wanted a baseball bat to crush heads. The only way to find out what details of her father’s person had been included or overlooked would be to sit through the talk from Lon, a person who hadn’t spent any time with the man.

End of excerpt

Mackenzie

On Writing - a favorite scene from This Darkness is Mine

Excerpt from a later chapter...

(Pairs well with music ♫♬ Second Sun by Sun City https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VllseHmQzds )


Michelle talked Joe into letting her travel with him to Atlanta. She’d never seen him so stony, so introverted as he was on the flight. Resting one hand on his thigh, she buried her nose in a book, glancing at him from time to time.

“How’s your book?” Joe asked, absently.

“I can’t concentrate on a single word.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can feel your distance right next to me. I don’t know what you’re going through or what you’re feeling, just know I’m here for you. I’m here with you.” As much as Michelle wanted to soothe his inner turmoil, she knew better than to rush him. She wasn’t altogether sure what he needed or how she’d be able to help.

“I’m sorry, I should have come alone. Some things are beyond words. This I can’t talk about.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

“You don’t need to apologize.” She clasped his hand. “I understand. Whenever you’re ready.” She spoke softly, unsure if he’d ever find words to express the depth of his pain.

Left with the hum of the plane’s engine to jostle with her worry, she ordered a drink from the flight attendant and nursed it for the remainder of the flight.

Outside, the Georgian heat was similar to Florida’s but a cool breeze tempered the savage humidity. They rented a car and drove to the cemetery, barely three words spoken between them. She shivered as he stared icily at the road ahead. Joe parked and they exited the car. Walking in silence, Michelle trailed a step behind, yearning to find a way to stay connected to him. She heard songbirds and for a moment wished they’d sing Amazing Grace, Silent Night, anything to soothe him.

Once they reached Dominica’s headstone, Joe froze, and the songbirds scattered into the breeze. It nearly broke her to watch him weep and convulse with sobs. She grabbed his hand, and his mourning radiated straight into her. She caught sight of clusters of white magnolias and fell in love again, but instead of butterflies, Joe’s abyss yawned open inside her. Angelic love and demonic pain thrashed a violent dance within her, threatening to tear her apart sinew by sinew. Love built up, pain clawed down. She ached to see anguish in his eyes.

With the June sun baking them, they sat at Dominica’s headstone, not touching. His sobs ebbed and he shook his head, reading the engraving on the black granite over and over.

Desperately wanting to break the spell of sadness, Michelle leaned in and whispered, “Babe, can you hear me? Tell me about her.”

A tiny light sparked in Joe’s eyes. “My Dominica? She loved to draw and play piano.”

Michelle’s intuition instructed her to be patient, so she waited for more.

“I remember her last recital like it was yesterday. She played Moonlight Sonata, beautifully, like a real master, and she was only nine years old!” A smile flashed across Joe’s face, caught up in his memories. He paused again, closing his eyes briefly. “When we get home, I’ll show you her drawings, the ones I still have.” Bitterness crept into his voice. “My ex won’t let me have more…”

Michelle shook her head and squeezed his hand. “Dominica. Stay focused on Dominica, babe.”

Joe took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Si si, yes. My daughter could draw trees and flowers and animals. Her favorite thing to draw was horses, and she got very good at it. I was so proud of her, but...”

Michelle waited but his silence wouldn’t break. “But what, babe?”

“But her kidneys turned against her much too soon.” He tilted his chin down, baring gritted teeth. “My little princess warrior. Ah, Dominica. She was so full of life and joy. You would have loved her,” he said, his joy reined in by fire. “Your smile reminds me of hers, lighting up a room like a sun goddess.”

“I’d love for you to show me her drawings.” Michelle squeezed his hand again and tears welled up in her eyes. “Of course I would love her. She sounds wonderful. You know, I’m glad I came with you. You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Nodding, he looked her in the eyes. “And...And I love you for it.”

“You sure? You tried awfully hard to talk me out of coming.” She stroked his arm.

“Si mi amor, I changed my mind,” Joe said. “You changed my mind. ‘I’m going with you, motherfucker, and that’s final.’ I believe those were your exact words.” He cocked his eyebrows.

She couldn’t help but smile. “Mm-hm. You remember that, huh?”

“You.” He relaxed a little and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, too. I don’t know if I could have handled this grief, it’s more than I can bear. Honestly, I think it could have triggered me, but…”

“But?”

“But it didn’t because you’re here with me. You are my pillar.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m your pillow.”

“Yo meto las manos al fuego por ti.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“One day I’ll tell you,” he said and kissed her hands.

“Why can’t one day be now?”

“You are my pillow.”

Thinking that was the translation, she melted. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I’ll never shut you out.” Michelle thought back to wanting to tell stories of her father after he died, and no one would listen. She wouldn’t make Joe suffer like that. Her intuition to draw him out gently turned out to be exactly the right way to be present for him. She rubbed the top of his hands, their physical touch a bridge across the gaping abyss.

Joe spent the next couple hours sharing more stories of Dominica’s vitality and battle for her life until a healing process led him into a soft-edged silence. The wind rustled a few magnolia petals and maple leaves onto the headstone. Michelle gathered them together and tucked them in her purse. They left rings of flowers at her grave, and walked hand-in-hand towards the rental car.

END OF EXCERPT

MACKENZIE
leave a comment below or shoot me an email mackenzielittledalewrites at gmail dot com

WRITING EXERCISE - on addressing 5 senses

A writing exercise that became part of

This Darkness is Mine


As the morning sun peeked through gaps in Joe’s black window shades, she felt his arm draped across her and rolled over to face him.

She smiled with a hum and had to move in very close to detect his scent. Discreet, natural, earthy and masculine, his scent wafted through her mind, and connected tongue-in-groove with her memory of Atlanta peaches and magnolias. Sweet summer peaches with their promise of youth, pleasure and vitality, and the pristine white magnolias, like clusters of virgins whose time was not yet ripe for enjoyment. Joe’s aroma opened like magnolia petals, letting her remembrance nestle in its center, mesmerizing her in the same way as the lit torch in the courtyard fountain where they’d first met had. “Good morning, my love.”

“Buenos dias, mi amor,” Joe said.

“I have a question for you.”

“Ask away.”

“Tell me about these scars.” She caressed his bare chest, running her finger along the subtly discolored skin marking grooves deep like furrows in his bronze skin.

He stroked her exposed arm and stared intently at her hair before clearing his throat. “Those scars are from my ex-wife.”

Her chest clenched and she reached for humor. “I’d guess rough sex." But empathy took over. "Except you look so sad now. What happened?”

The Election is over, so now I get back to writing

While the election results for the Florida governor's race and the US Senate seat were disappointing for me, I still need to live my life.  That means writing away.  Writing means reading, too: reading what I've written so far to check that my storyline is intact and that the words convey the right meaning and feeling.  By "right" I mean, what I intended to express.  Reading also means reading others' stories, words of inspiration and words of encouragement.

In all of this, I'm finding the more I empower my protagonist, the more I realize I must empower myself to match her.  Even though most of the novel is based on a true story, there is some fictionalizing involved.  As Michelle Delphinia grows, I find she grew because her real life counterpart grew.  Where she needs to excel, I must excel behind her and catch up or lose sight of the way she's going.

All the characters tend to stray from the final chapter.  They take on a life of their own, and I must corral them to make sure we all make it to the climax and resolution.

Because it's based on a true story, it doesn't necessarily follow every single rule of storytelling.  There are villains who don't show up until much later.  All I can say is life broke the rule and it's a detail to which I'll remain true.

I've gotten satisfactory and helpful feedback from a few different sources, including my writing coach, my writers group and you.  I'll be forever grateful that you've taken time out of your day, away from your activities and perhaps from your own writing, to read Chapter 1.  I'm an untested writer.  You have no way of knowing whether my style is like JK Rowling or Ken Follett or some long forgotten novelist that no one ever read twice.

While the decision to post an entire chapter came partially out of insecurity, I had to honor it.  To shore up my guts, I've decided not to post another chapter.  Now that I've addressed the comments that I felt were crucial, the rest is up to my private consultations with my coach and writers group.

Life is amazing, isn't it?

I've seen many quotes that comparison is the thief of joy and we'd all be much better off if we didn't compare ourselves to others.  However, the human brain is deeply hardwired to make comparisons, so I'm not going to undo that.  My writing compares favorably in certain ways to others' writing, and just as good in other ways, and perhaps needs boning up in yet other ways.

I'll figure it all out.  Sooner or later, the book will be finished.  I refuse to take 10 years to write my first novel.  I'm anticipating that my coach and I will have a finished manuscript to send to a literary agents by March 2019.

What matters is ultimately it's my story to tell in my own language.  Body language, facial expression, words, tone of voice.  It all matters.  It all develops characters.  It reveals what I've observed.

The book is a soup of sorts.  Stone soup, perhaps, where many members of my village brought a different ingredient for flavor and nourishment, and in turn we all get fed.

Doesn't matter who's in the governor's mansion in Tallahassee.


Make someone else's day magical!
Mackenzie