Peeps, Pubs & Prose

PEEP PEEP PEEP! This is a blessed sound after listening to an incubator's constant obnoxious hum and whine for 28 days (in my dining room). An even more blessed sound after really doubting there was even anything alive in said annoying incubator...upon realizing after the first week of gestation that the egg turner wasn't turning...and then having two power outages, once with the incubator going below the proper temperature because it had to be plugged into your husband's pick-up truck outside for one whole cold night. I mentioned to some that if any of these 42 turkeys actually hatched, they were all getting named "Lucky." And wouldn't you know it, yesterday the first couple Luckys started sounding off, just as I was heading out the door to our town library...

A friend had informed me that Jo Knowles, a local young-adult book author, was giving a presentation on how she got into writing, got published, etc. Since I've wanted to be an author since, oh, my tween years or earlier, I was hoping it'd be insightful, and indeed it was. Jo explained all her college studies, her critique groups, her tools and tips; and the need to find an agent, who will find an editor - both of whom will help fine-tune and manipulate your work until it's worthy enough for a publisher to buy it. All this to get a measly, what!? 10% of the sales!? It seemed all very complex and stressful. In the back of my mind all these years I suppose I thought I could just be a hermit, here at my keyboard, drafting out my whimsies at will, maybe with a deadline or two, maybe just find a publisher's address in a magazine (who would of course immediately love my work) and voila! - I'd be the next Stephen King, Dean Koontz, or Patricia Cornwell. OK, maybe my hopes were not quite that high - I'm a realist after all - but still...who knew!? Now I do. It seems a bit daunting, but I was inspired nonetheless. Knowledge is power.

When I was young I wrote lots of short stories in school, even won awards, but I never actually thought I could go out and make a living at it, never considered going to COLLEGE for it (duh!). I did take a creative writing class my senior year in high school...well, only for one day...I just got such an uncomfortable vibe from the teacher (she was a large smelly woman, and far too happy - not dark and mysterious - to know anything about real writing) that I opted for a study hall instead. There was the Journalism class option offered in college when I was studying medical administration, but that sounded like newspaper kinda stuff, and that wasn't what I wanted to do. I wanted to write a NOVEL. That was the only respectable authorship goal...I thought.

After my comrades and I left the presentation, daunted yet inspired, we hit the local tavern for some grub and a brew (Guinness and UFO help with the soaking in of knowledge, I have found). We had front-row seats to open-mic night (but honestly if you're wondering if you really WANT front-row seats to open-mic night...the answer, my friends, is NO). Loud and crowded though it was, however, the singers WERE talented and ranged from hippy-inspired guitar solos to Michael Jackson tunes sung acapella. The acapella group was amazing, albeit a motley crew of college girls of all shapes, sizes, and sexual orientation...and I daresay very badly dressed (to think I thought Bostonians had clothing style confusion). I'm still trying desperately to give them the benefit of the doubt that perhaps they were going for a costumed look...oh please oh please? But back to the amazing part...they belted, puffed, spit, and serenaded their hearts out, in perfect harmony, together as one, even with all their differences, without inhibition. I was thoroughly impressed and should've bought one of their CDs. Each of them will go far on whatever path they choose, I have no doubt (except maybe clothing design).

Those college girls obviously have put a vast amount of time and perseverance into something they are passionate about and love to do...because they enjoy it, are proud of it, and fulfilled by it.

Jo Knowles puts YEARS into each book she writes...years of storyboarding, of writing and rewriting, of taking constructive criticism (and we all know a criticism is a criticism, no matter how constructive); and she waits months and months for a simple word of acceptance from her publisher, only then left to wonder if the actual reader will appreciate the end result.

And then there are my sweet little poults (those are turkey babies, to you non-poultry-loving folks)...Here they come after 4 weeks of wondering what the heck their foolish human mom was doing out here...so fragile and seemingly weak but strong of instinct, painstakingly pipping around the circumference of their shells, struggling out with their tiny little legs, flopping and flailing, wet and exhausted, finally free of their calcium wombs.

I realized I too need to persevere...to MAKE time for my passion...to find my war cry, as it were (PEEP?).

I've come to realize perhaps a fictional novel may not be where my real voice lies...maybe I need to find a little weekly newspaper to write a column for, or even a magazine someday. Until then, you few Followers will have to bear with these ditzels that encompass my blog...but even in this I find satisfaction. Thanks for your kind words of support. They mean more than you know. Someday soon I hope to have a real creation for you, something on paper, in ink that'll come off on your fingertips and leave black marks on your face because you had an itch. I will hug this creation, pet it, stroke it, and call it George (or, maybe since I already had a cat named George, something more original)...and be able to cross this one and only, tween-inspired, lifelong dream off my Bucket List.