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I used to dream about being a writer. I saw myself sitting on a rock at the beach, with a writer's pad on my lap and my legs tucked up under me. I was barefooted, with a sweater tied loosely around my shoulders. The warm humid wind breathed clarity and inspiration into this writer's creative soul. Being locked up in motel rooms and basement study rooms of the town library aren't nearly so romantic. That was the only way I could sufficiently clear my head of distractions to let the creative urge have full rein. I love "getting in the groove" that a writer knows so well and it is terribly frustrating to be jerked out of that place by the demands of reality! I just published my second book in 4 months. That culminates 5 years of off-and-on composing, and 5 1/2 months of totally-consuming production, making a grand total of several thousand hours of work. The first book began as a challenge. I used to tell my very wise friend that she needed to write down those profound comments that frequently issued from her mouth. I've never met anyone with that kind of wisdom, and it seemed to me such a shame that more people couldn't benefit from it. One day she took me up on my admonition: "When do we begin?" I had NO idea what I had ahead of me when I casually said, "How about next Wednesday?" That was in 1994. After taping and note-taking as she monologued the things that seemed important to record, I took a one-week trip to our timeshare in another state, where I transcribed almost round-the-clock ten hours of tapes, and two steno pads full of my almost illegible notes. I only left the room to buy groceries and occasionally refresh myself by playing Christmas carols on the grand piano in the lobby. After I finished typing everything she had said, I organized the topics and comments, refined them, and then expanded them with illustrations and scriptures. I had a semblance of a book when I came home, but it bears no resemblance to the finished product. I began both books using my little old Macintosh 165 laptop, using ClarisWorks, but I soon realized that I needed more desktop publishing flexibility. PageMaker 5.0 seemed to offer everything that I needed, and I later moved all the files to the more professional format of that desktop publishing program. Amazingly, that little laptop saw me through the completion of both books, in spite of its antiquity. Two authors complicates writing. Months went by as each of us found time in our busy lives to proofread and revise the latest edition. Interest and lack-of interest ruled my progress on the co-authored book. I had given up a writing job for the Ruralite because I didn't like walking to the beat of another drummer (and I despised what editors did to my compositions), and I battled that inner conflict during the entire production of my friend's book. The text contained her beliefs, her philosophies and her experiences, and it was my job to expand the thoughts, fine tune her words and prepare it for presentation, all the while maintaining her personality. I had given this friend my word that we would do this project together, and I felt obligated to complete it even though my interest was pulled in other directions. I only have one way of doing things: the right way. It is a very good book. The subject matter is excellent. I believe in and agree with every word in that volume. I poured my life into that manuscript for more hours than I can count, but much of it is not my words and I hold it with an odd feeling of distance. My friend, on the other hand, is thrilled! She embraces the book because it is her essence. It is everything she believes and proclaims, everything she dreamed of seeing in print. My goal was to preserve my friend's personality and her unique relationship with the Lord. The highest complement I can hear about that book is when someone says, "It sounds just like Joey!" And I hear that all the time. So I am immensely pleased. After I had been pecking away on Joey's book for about a year, I knew it was time to begin my own book. It was a battle at the beginning, because I was writing about things that were extremely painful. We've raised two handicapped children, living with them in the lowest valleys and on the highest mountains. By the time I finally felt I was able to write my book about that saga, they were both grown. But the grief of having a severely handicapped adult child was threatening to disable me! Writing about our family's saga on the human rights battlefield was cathartic, and the more I wrote, the more I needed to write. I had to get it all down. My book is about our family's journey, with the kinds of struggles and victories that all families with disabilities share. More than half of the (rather large) volume is coping tips, tricks, and various resources to help families caught in the same trap. I think the reason it took me 4 years to write that book is that the story was being written as I was writing; time had to bring closure to several topics before I could wrap up several chapters of that story. In March of 1999, a young friend on our church worship team suggested I take a choir class with him spring term at BMCC, in Pendleton. What a wonderful idea: I had always wanted to go back to school! I could go to college and saturate myself with self-enrichment courses: choir, voice, piano, and swimming. And then I could write the rest of the day. And that is just what I did. While I car-pooled, I redeemed the time otherwise wasted in the 40-minute drive each direction, pecking away on my old slo-mo laptop plugged into the auto's cigarette lighter. Leaving the house early and coming home late, I rushed to a secluded corner in the college library at my first opportunity after my regimen of classes, intensive music practice and a daily half-mile swim. In the library, I had a little corner all to myself most days, where no one knew me and where I was, therefore, rarely interrupted. On the days that my car-pool came home early, I locked myself in a basement study room at our city library until the dinner hour. No one knew that I was in town, so no one bothered me. College campus libraries are really incredible today a far cry from my study-home in the '60s. On-line computers are designated for the hours it is okay to chat and E-mail, and the on-line "resource computers" are flanked by CDs filled with materials that I have never even known to dream about! It's okay to consume your lunch in there, so long as the drinks have lids. Along similar lines, few consider talking in hushed tones, and librarians don't usher students out if they are having too much fun. But I spent so many hours in my little "nest" that my newfound library freedoms far outweighed the momentary distractions. I had the lofty idea that I would finish one book each month I was at college. I was right on schedule with the first book, having it ready for Joey to do an almost-final proof at the end of April. I at last was able pursue my passion: my book. When spring term closed, my second book was almost ready to go to the proofers. The seven proofreaders obliged me with a rapid 2-week turn-around, during which time I fine-tuned Joey's book that she had returned. Every time I would pass Joey's book back to her to double-check, I would go back to working on my book with renewed fervor. Proofreaders are a necessity for this writer: they bring dimension and diversity to writing that I cannot. And I was amazed to learn that I wasn't always quite as good writer as I thought, finding incredibly sloppy mistakes in what I thought was a well-honed manuscript. I also know I have a problem with introspection, and sometimes because of that I lose the ability to write with power and clarity. Proofers are a wonderful commodity (and they get to read the book before it ever hits the bookshelves). A single line of acknowledgment in my books is not sufficient recognition for the part a proofreader plays! Not everyone prepares a book to go directly to the printing presses. There are a bazillion options for authors I chose the least expensive (dollar wise...) and the most taxing option (but also the most satisfying one, I think). I did not like the idea of someone else tearing apart my manuscript after I fine-tuned it. Editors have an embedded liberty to change a manuscript to make it what ever they like. That's risky business in my eyes (ask anyone who has ever been interviewed by a newspaper...the printed version is almost always not quite like it was told to the reporter). I had the skills and the self-interest to see my books to their completion by the works of my own computer-hands. So if there are any mistakes in them, it's all my fault because my books were camera-ready when I overnite expressed the manuscripts on computer disks! That is a heavy responsibility, though, because one must learn everything about book writing to get it ready for the printer. (The closest I have been to the printing business is 45 years ago when I hand-set type (really!) and cleaned platens as an after-school job, and then a few years ago when I toured our newspaper office. Both are a far cry from today's high-tech book-printers.) One can understand that it is wonderfully satisfying to have accomplished such a monumental task! The actual "birthing" stage of my books is the most challenging. It seems like I cannot re-read the volumes enough times, because I seem to find an endless supply of errors and omissions that need attention. From curly quotes facing the wrong direction, to improper grammar, to misspellings as a result of sloppy editing, to formatting every page so every line break and every page break is "just so" it seems like my manuscript will never be perfect enough to ship. But at some ill-defined point in time (which might possibly be ruled more by fatigue than objectivity), the book is ready to release, although tenuously... I went through the same writer's remorse in August, when I shipped my first manuscript to the printers, as I did when I dropped my second manuscript off for next-day air in November. I'm like a nervous twit, unable to let go of that baby that I have nurtured for so long, suffering from the fear that I missed something really obvious. Whenever I write, I am totally consumed by the project, to the exclusion of almost everything else. For 12-18 hours a day, I would work on my books. After spring term was over, I reluctantly settled in at home to finish the projects; reluctant because the phone rings, the doorbell rings, the mail and delivery people knock, faxes beep, and family drifts in and out. With an invisible DO NOT DISTURB sign hung all over me, I would spend most of my waking hours in my "nest," surrounded by my tools: thesaurus, dictionary, various resource books, bibles, resource files and clippings, pens and highlighters, different strengths of eyeglasses (depending on how tired my eyes were), and half-empty homemade lattés and glasses of water. Housekeeping, cooking, eating, socializing, paying bills and sometimes even E-mail get ignored, not to mention my husband and extended family. I am always most productive in the evenings and late nights, but before both books were shipped, I worked round-the-clock for more times than I care to admit. It just seemed such a waste of time to go to bed! I'm tired. I have written books almost every day since April, having only taken two exhausting months off to work in Romania. I'm anxious to get my second book back from the printer. I achieved one of my life goals. I never got to the beach. Maybe I'll go there to write my next book.
Interested in writing books? . . .Thinking about self-publishing? |
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Music in the Midst of Chaos
by Jean Conklin368 pages $16.95 |
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It Works, It Works, It Really Works!Life-Changing Truths Found Only in Christby Joey Duff and Jean Conklin168 pages $11.95 |
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