The Writing Biz

When asked about writing as a career, I always give the same advice: If you can do anything else and be happy, do it! That counsel comes from the heart. Having said that, I have known since I was six years old and in the second grade that I wanted to be a writer. Never wanted to be anything else. Not once. Nonetheless, it has not been an easy path.
I don't regret it because being a writer has granted me access to people, countries, worlds the average person must only read about, not experience. I have met the powerful, the unscrupulous, the filthy rich and the desperately poor, the genuinely pious and the televangelists who offer your salvation with their right hands while their left hands are firmly ensconced in your wallet. I have met politicians, murderers, psychics, both honest and corrupt law enforcement officers and attorneys, and show business celebs.
Would I change one moment of it?
Absolutely not.
And I have learned a heck of a lot along the journey
One things's for sure: The first person the writer must learn to deal with is himself or herself because writing is a nebulous profession at best. There is no one right way to write. There are no surefire rules for success or universal standards that define success and the resulting uncertainty can drive one a tad loony. One commonly accepted measuring stick is the sales figure. If a book sells x number of copies, it's a success. If it doesn't, that automatically means it's a dud.
Perhaps, perhaps not. Millions of well-written books have been published. And the number is growing with the explosion of epubs. However, few have been commercial or dollar-driven successes. Does that mean the books are failures? Only if the writer writes strictly for money.
But whether the book is deemed a failure or a success as measured by sales figures, the writer must believe in his or her talent. The writer must overcome the insecurities that accompany the sensitivity necessary to be a good writer, the sensitivity required to understand and create characters the readers will care about or find interesting.
(Writing 101: Characters are based on human beings. Writers must first understand the foibles and flaws, strengths and weaknesses, and basic motivations of the humans around them before they can create convincingly real characters.)
Next time, let's talk about rejection, dejection, and resurrection!

Writers Network of South Florida Gala

Saturday night was a wonderful celebration of writers and writing in South Florida and the culmination of the season for the Writers Network of South Florida. The main purpose of the party was to celebrate and acknowledge the winners of the 14th Annual Writers' Network Writing Contest. The venue was comfortable, the food and liquid libations were delicious, and the company outstanding. As a member, I was very proud. Enjoy with us visually the fun, the pleasure, and the pride we felt for our organization and our winners!

Congratulations to this year's winners! (Gentle hint: Perhaps next year, you'll be one of our winners! Oops, I should mention that you'll need to enter--and it's never too early begin writing and revising, searching for just the precise word, the clever idea!)

The cake reflects the 14 years the Writers Network
of South Florida has been holding a contest to honor South
Florida authors.

A happy president--all is going well!

Vinny Muttarelli (left) and Don Grimme, veteran actors present
the winning play, "Our Boys" by Peter Hawkins.



Deb Sharp is  in the foreground, as well she should be. Deb took on the task
of organizing the Gala, a major job, which she pulled off beautifully.

The young adult winners include Daniel
Rousseau, Jodi Tuchin, and Mariolga Locklin.

The short story winners are (from left) Claire Ibarra, Mark
Levy, and Laura P. McCarthy.

The second heroine of the evening is Joanne Endorf,
the contest chairman. Another excellent job!

And the winning poets are (from left) Judy Shaffer
and Beth S. K. Morris

The winning playwrightsare  (from left) Brian Reeves, Peter
Hawkins, and Don Scheer.

101 Tips Revisited

I mentioned earlier this month that I would begin including tips on writing. In fact, I'm actually creating the second edition of 101 Tips on Writing and Selling Your First Novel, a book I wrote and first published in 2003. I'm beginning with the preface, but in the weeks ahead, we will deal with the actual craft of writing and I look forward to your comments. . .

101 Tips on Writing and Selling Your First Novel

Second Edition

PREFACE

You've heard it. We’ve all heard it. We’re at a cocktail party . . . or a church social . . . or a scouting outing when someone says nonchalantly, “I could write a novel. And I’m going to. Just as soon as I have a little extra time.” No one says, “I’ve always wanted to be a brain surgeon and I’m going to operate. Just as soon as I have a little time.”

Of course, there’s a tremendous difference. Our novels do not relate to actual life and death issues. Furthermore, writers don’t bury our mistakes—although sometimes we’d like to! I would want to dig a hole and die before letting anyone read my first novel. (Although it did come in handy; I’ll explain later. ) There are also similarities. Each profession contains elements of both craft and art. Luck plays a major role, too.

RED ALERT: If you’re expecting any form of academic treatise, stop! Put this book down. Return it to the shelf. If you’re looking for practical information, carry on. You see, craft can be learned and in these pages, you will find a modicum of inspiration, lots of encouragement, and an abundance of useful information. It’s a very personal book because it contains all the things I’ve learned the hard way—by trial and error, by making mistakes, by speaking at writers' conferences in Florida, Georgia, Illinois, Nevada, Texas, Canada, and finally, from teaching adult education classes for 20+ years. It’s the book I wish I’d had when I started out.   

 

BONUS TIP: No extra charge! A sense of humor is absolutely essential  if you’re going to survive in this crazy business—and it is a business. If you don’t have one, begin cultivating it now. 

Many times you won’t know whether to laugh or cry. You'll be over the moon when you make a sale. At other times, you’ll feel like throwing the computer out the window and giving up. However, in the long run, tears and anger and feelings of personal rejection are not only nonproductive, but a waste of your most precious commodity—time.

So learn to laugh at the rejections, at the slights...this is a tough business. You’ll find an abundance of people who’ll tell you your talent is not “significant” or that you’ll never make it as a writer. Just paste a smile on your face. Thank them—nicely. Then get back to your work...which is writing and and editing and constantly learning to write more effectively and efficiently. Success is the best revenge.

Keep writing.
       Always.
         That’s what successful, professional writers do, you know.
                 We write.
                     Day in, day out, we write.
                          Headaches, backaches, heartaches, stomach aches, we write.

The good news is that you’re never completely alone. You’ll find you gravitate to other authors who will cheer you on and agree with you that the editor/agent is a no-talent idiot who would probably have rejected William Shakespeare. And by all means, keep us posted. When you sell that splendid first novel, drop us a note so we can cheer with you!

Prudy Taylor Board

Delray Beach, Florida

May 2012

Love at first sight

Most women have experienced the fabled love at first sight. You see him—the golden boy—and time is suspended while you drink in his physical beauty, his strong even sturdy physique, the golden sheen of his hair, and his eyes…oh. . .those eyes light brown with golden flecks. You rush to touch him, to hold him, and in that moment, even though you know better, even though you know he’s selfish, mischievous, disrespectful, and has no respect for material objects, in that moment you are completely besotted.

It happened to me most recently on December 14, 2011. In the parking lot of a McDonald’s in Boca Raton. When a co-worker from Taylor and Francis introduced us, he clung to me, looked up at me with those golden eyes and I could swear he smiled. His whiskers twitched and I am sure he was purring to himself, “Landed me a good one this time! Sucker!”

I was told his name was Pumpkin, but somewhat indignantly, I responded, “He is neither a fruit nor a vegetable to be brought out only in the Fall. He is a handsome redhead and henceforth he shall be known as Handsome Harry because he reminds me of Prince Harry of the House of Windsor..

And thus he became a member of the family.

And yes, he is a cat.
And yes, he is both handsome and beautiful.
And yes, I am still besotted.

But oh, what I have had to give up since Harry came to live with the family. Tidbit and Phannie Love accept him. Sophie and New Year’s Evita (another story) adore him.

I can no longer relax in my recliner in the living room to watch television. As soon as I turn the TV on, Harry jumps up on the stand, weaves his way through the minefield of objects I have placed there to dissuade him, and watches TV. His head swivels from one side to the other as the characters on the screen move. That’s bad enough, but soon he’s bored so he stretches up to the top of the TV where he scratches. The only way I can watch TV is to put him in the bathroom—where he’ll tear up the toilet paper and drag everything out of the cabinet beneath the basin.

I can no longer take a bath without Harry watching and sometimes falling into the tub. In addition, because Harry finds me so fascinating, he is now joined by Sophie and Evie. Having your every move in such an intimate setting observed and judged is extremely discomfiting. Furthermore, I can no longer simply brush my teeth because running water fascinates him. He jumps up on the counter. I put him down. He jumps back up. I repeat the motion. So does he. Finally, I brush my teeth and put on my makeup maneuvering around his gorgeous orange tiger head.

Then there’s the issue of my jewelry. I used to have an earring tree from which I could see and easily select the earrings to go with whatever I was wearing to work. No longer. The earring tree is hidden in a drawer along with my necklaces and rings.

And visitors to my home who needs must use the “facilities,” are told where I hide the toilet paper. And if they wash their hands or rinse a cup in the kitchen, they are told where I hide the paper towels.

It’s been ages since I’ve eaten sitting down, but to be fair that’s not entirely Harry’s fault. The cats automatically assume that anything I’m doing is more interesting than typical feline pastimes and what I’m eating is tastier than their cuisine.

Is it worth it?

Yes. Handsome Harry saunters into the living room, puts his paws on my thigh, and looks up at me with incredible love and acceptance. He is gentle. Regardless of how fiercely we play, he never scratches me, never draws blood. At night, he takes his section of the bed out of the center, but he’s gracious and lets me have room. Then he nestles next to me and purrs. Okay, so occasionally he wakes me up to play with my toes at 3 or 4 a.m. I can always go back to sleep. And he is so funny, so awkward sometimes, that he makes me smile and laugh.

Sometimes love at first sight is genuine. Handsome Harry is proof.

A Requiem for Pearl

A Requiem for my feline friend Pearl Rudolph

I lost a friend this past Saturday, a gorgeous black cat named Pearl Rudolph. She “owned” a good friend of mine to whom her loss was even greater than mine. Pearl’s life was coming to an end and while that helped assuage, it didn’t approach the sense of loss.

            I have lost cats, too. My last three Homer Sue (she was such an ugly kitten I knew she’d be a “homer” and only later discovered she was a “she,” hence the Sue) died at 19. Black Pearl and Oliver both died at 17. They had been with me during the most difficult years of my life—losing a husband, reentering the work place after 15 years, and rebuilding a life in a brand new town. Suffice it to say, the years 2010 and 2011 contained some very sad moments. As luck would have it, I now live with five rescue cats so I am no longer sad although the memory of a pet never dies.

            Sometime ago, I wrote a poem to commemorate the passing of Humdinger, another cherished catfriend, and I offer it here in Pearl’s memory and dedicate it all those who have loved and lost a loyal feline companion.

That Other World

Beyond the woes and sadnesses of this world lies another

Where old cats taste again the joys of kittenhood,

Where joints are supple and keen ears hear the secrets of the wind,

Where teeth are sharp and noses scent out the aromas of the night.

In this world, as real as ours,

Kittens and old cats scamper side by side, tails held high,

Merrily chasing, but never catching the foolish mice and dainty butterflies.

Ere long we’ll all meet again in that other world, Beloved Pearl,

And we shall stroke your shiny coat and rub your ears,

And you shall purr and we shall laugh for we will be

Friends together once again.

The Search for Robert Louis Stevenson's Single Malt

Perhaps 10 years ago, I attended Love Is Murder, a mystery writers conference in Chicago. One of the bonus events they offered was a Single Malt Scotch tasting. A dashing Scotsman wearing a kilt led us into a small room with perhaps a half-dozen tables. On each table  was a paper placemat. In the center of the placemat was a map of Scotland with squares around the margins. In each square was the name, description, and the distillery or area of Scotland where that particular single malt was produced.  As the evening progressed, we tasted each of the eight single malts, following each taste with a swig of distilled, room-temperature water to cleanse our palates.

The evening was delightful. I enjoyed the history and the malts, some more than others, of course, but the highlight of the evening was hearing the Scotsman call out, “Is there a woman here named. . .” and he paused and looked again and said, “Prudence?” I wish I could tell you that we immediately knew we were soulmates and that he whisked me off to his castle in Scotland in his private jet. However, although he was a genuine Scot and a great guy, he worked for the whisky distributor so had no castles. What he did have was a bottle of 18-year-old Talisker which, he informed me, I had won—even though I didn’t realize I’d even entered a contest.

At home, I sipped the Talisker as I had learned at the tasting. I used a tulip glass, which is shaped like a tulip to force the bouquet into your nostrils; I swished it around to prepare the glass before adding just a drop or two of room-temperature water to release the flavor; and sipped. Connoisseurs have described the flavor as peaty with a slight fishy overtone. I just know it had a splendid taste and immediately became my beverage of choice.

Research revealed that Talisker was writer Robert Louis Stevenson’s favorite whisky. In his poem. "The Scotsman's Return From Abroad," Stevenson mentioned "The king o' drinks, as I conceive it, Talisker, Islay, or Glenlivet." (I have since tried Glenlivet and Islay, but Talisker remains my favorite.) In the movie Charlie Wilson's War, the CIA agent gives U.S. Rep. Wilson a bottle of Talisker, which is bugged and allows him to listen to the Congressman's conversations. In "Assegai" by Wilbur Smith, General Penrod Ballantyne's favorite whisky is Talisker. My expertise as a Scotch taster was further validated when 18-year-old Talisker won "Best Single Malt In The World 2007" at the World Whiskies Awards.

As the years passed, I continued my research and learned that Talisker is produced on the shores of the Isle of Skye by the Talisker Distillery in Carbost, Scotland. Then, in a juxtaposition of fortuitous circumstances, I discovered that my friend Juli Townsend was moving to Scotland because her husband had taken a post at Edinburgh University. A few months later, friend Maria and I were on our way to Europe with a visit to the Talisker Distillery on the agenda.

I was the only Talisker aficionado, but my friends Juli and Maria indulged my whimsy and journeyed with me. The tour was informative and fun. The distillery was founded in 1830 by Hugh and Kenneth MacAskill and built in 1831 on the Isle of Skye at Carbost when they acquired the lease of Talisker House from the MacLeod of MacLeod. The distillery was rebuilt between 1880 and 1887 and enlarged in 1900. When a new lease for the distillery was negotiated with the chief of Clan MacLeod in 1892, the annual payment was a ten-gallon cask of best-quality Talisker and £23.12s ($36.62. Today you can’t buy even a fifth of 18-year-old Talisker for that.). It was rebuilt in 1960 after a stillhouse fire destroyed the distillery. Five exact replicas of the original stills were constructed to preserve the original Talisker flavor. This was the facility we toured.

We learned the distillery operates five stills and that its distinctive flavor derives from a combination of unique factors. The stills use worm tubs (condensing coils), which are believed to give the whisky a fuller flavor; the malted barley used comes from Muir of Ord, a village in the Highlands; and the lye pipes taking the vapor from the still to the worm tubes are swan necked. A loop in the pipes causes some of the alcohol to condense before it reaches the cooler where it goes through stages in which the level of alcohol increases as it cools. It then runs back in to the stills and is distilled again.

After the tour, we were treated to generous samples in the gift shop where the staff wished us well and sent us on happily our way to Loch Ness. That’s another story for another day.

Copyright 2012 by Prudy Taylor Board