March Madness, or Just Do It

My husband is deep into March Madness. He pursues the legendary dozen Krispy Kreme donuts offered as first prize by our son's Bracketology contest. I'm not interested at all in basketball, college or otherwise, so March Madness is a chance for me to have some time to myself.

I'm spending March hard at work on a sequel to Gatekeeper. The new novel is half done. I had given it up a couple of years ago to finish one I had also half finished a long time ago. I love world building. The book is a contemporary fantasy, set in the real world, but I get to develop the rules for magic. I've invented deliciously evil creatures that resemble spiders—of which I'm terrified—but these are the size of dogs, with an occasional one as large as a horse.

That comparison with horses made me remember where this interest in storytelling all began.

In fifth and sixth grades I attended school in the tiny town of Ismay, Montana. There were 8 of us in fourth through eighth grades. My teacher was a caring and nurturing woman much ahead of her times. She encouraged each of us to follow our dreams. My dream was writing stories.

I hadn't yet read the Island Stallion series so I wasn't interested in being shipwrecked on a faraway island with only a horse for company. We were too far from civilization to have television. Aside from angleworm races with a friend and never-ending Monopoly games with said friend and my father (who brazenly cheated), I delved into my imagination and wrote stories.

One story became a saga about a girl growing up on a ranch and somehow finding the best wild horse in the world just wandering the prairie. It, of course, learned to love me, followed me home and became my best friend. We did something heroic. I can't remember what. Perhaps we rescued a lamb from a bear (I always had a soft spot for lambs). My teacher helped me turn the story into a little chapter book with a cover and table of contents and all. All hand made and illustrated by me. She helped me enter it in the State Fair. I won a blue ribbon. I still have the story and the ribbon somewhere.

My mother always told my brothers and I that we could do whatever we set our minds to. We may not achieve our dreams in quite the way we anticipate, but we'll have a wonderful time along life's highway.

Think about a time when you felt eager to write, when you felt a passion for telling stories--fiction, nonfiction or poetry--and just do it.

Maybe I'll never be a rich and famous author, but my stories are out there. And I'm having the time of my life building my worlds, be they real or fantasy.

A Writer's Ephiphany or I Got the T-Shirt?

A couple of days ago I was watching a show on the History Channel about Hannibal---the one with the elephants in the Alps, who camped outside the gates of Rome. I'd forgotten how compelling his story was. As a product of Catholic schools, I took a lot of Latin. Believe it or not I still find reading in Latin relaxing. I have a copy of Caesar's Gallic Wars on the bookshelf beside my bed. I'm only short a few hours of Greek and I could have a BA in Classics. After watching the two hour show, I went to the "haven't read pile" and selected a couple books set in Rome. They didn't keep my interest. They were either too infused with unimportant historical detail---like reading a textbook---or too lurid like the HBO show called Rome. So, disgusted with my reading choices, and re-inspired by the idea of Hannibal and what he represented to the Romans, I did what any bored woman does. I went to complain to Mr Husband.

The conversation went a bit like this:


ME:  "I don't understand why no one can write a book that really brings the Roman Republic to life. They're all either too academic or too lurid. I want something smart but also exciting and compelling. Something like Gabaldon mixed with Colleen McCullough mixed with Lindsay Davis but also some fluid writing like CW Gortner. And I wouldn't mind a dash of humor too like Ruth Downie. And world-building like George RR Martin. But I don't want a fantasy, and or a mystery or a romance. Just a really cool book that brings the Punic Wars into this century."

HIM:  "What are you talking about?"

ME:  "Hannibal. I'm talking about Hannibal."

HIM:  "Silence of the Lambs Hannibal?" (Takes his eyes off the TV here.)

ME: "No. The Carthaginian one who terrorized Rome. I want a book about him."

HIM:  "So write one. You're a writer, right?" (Eyes back on the TV.)

ME:  "I can't write that. There would be too much research involved and I'd want to get it right."

HIM:  (Powers off the TV.)  "Isn't that book on your bedside table in Latin?"

ME:  "What does that have to do with anything?'

HIM:  You read Latin for pleasure when you have stacks and stacks of perfectly good books in English. Doesn't seem to me like the research would be that much of a hardship. Just start writing. See where it goes. Couldn't hurt right?" (Walks to the kitchen to fix a sandwich.)

ME:  (Following him to the kitchen.) "You really think I could write that?"

HIM:  "Turn around."

ME:  (Turning my back to him.) "What is it, a spider?'

HIM:  (Reading aloud SLOWLY as he runs his index finger along my back.) "If there is a book you really want to read that hasn't been written yet, then you must write it. Toni Morrison. Right here on the T-shirt you wear all the time." (Definite SMIRK.)

Oh, yeah. Last year's conference T-shirt.  The quote I adored. The quote that emphasizes the importance of each individual and distinct voice. The quote that pushes writers to experiment and write about people and places that interest them, inspire them, intrigue them. Like my Romans.

Why not? Why can't I write what I want to read? Who says I can't? (Sticking my tongue out at the world.)

See why I keep Mr Husband around? He makes things so much simpler.  Who knew I would actually need someone to READ my T-shirt ALOUD to me?