Destiny Allison's Blog, page 19

Identity Crisis?

Do you ever have an identity crisis?  In a dream the other night, I couldn’t get anywhere because I had lost my driver’s license.  I woke in confusion.  Who am I and what am I doing?

It was a strange dream, easily interpreted, and it has been haunting me.  For the last twenty years, I was proud to call myself a sculptor.  Achieving success in the visual art realm was the most important thing in life.  Some time ago, I was sitting at the breakfast table and vowing that I was going to make it.  My husband looked at me and laughed.  “Honey, you already did,” he said.

In that moment, my ambition screeched to a halt.  Literally.  I could hear the brakes of my heart.  He was right and it was terrifying.  The only thing I could think of was what do I do now?  Fortuitously, we had just acquired a new business and it consumed the majority of my energy for a while.  It also veered me so far off track that my galleries and clients started to wonder if I was still alive.  At the time, that was debatable.

Now, a few years later and more or less stable, I am heading in yet another direction. It is more exciting than anything I have done in years.  Yes, I’m talking about writing and it is wonderful. Most of my creative energy is focused on just one project, my back doesn’t hurt, and I am not overwhelmed with toxic fumes and bodily injuries.  Nevertheless, my focus is insane.  The odds of making it as a writer are even slimmer than they were as a visual artist and writing doesn’t pay nearly as well.

So I have been probing my choices and trying to understand just what is compelling me to go gallivanting off on this adventure.  As I am haunted by my dream, I am realizing that who I am is not defined by my career choice.  It is defined by my love of learning, the joy of creating, and pushing the limits of my own abilities.

So often we are consumed by our culture’s definition of success, but success is relative to the ambition.  For example, let’s say my desire to accumulate wealth is what drives me.  Ok.  I work hard.  I learn, grow, save, and invest.  Eventually, I achieve many of my goals.  Then what?  Once I have learned how to make money, it pretty much makes itself. Now I sit on the high plateau and gaze at the fields below me, savoring a degree of satisfaction for my accomplishment.  After awhile, I need to stretch.  I pace back and forth.  I pick up an object that symbolizes my achievement.  I put it down and pace some more.  Is that it?  Honestly, achievement is great, but it’s the getting there that is juicy and rich.

Stopping to rest on the plateau is ok, but eventually I will need to keep climbing.  There’s something up there, some deep mystery or luscious magic in a meadow or  rocky crevice, and it is calling me.  I’ll get there, but I can pretty much guarantee that the path will not be straight or easy.  If it were, it wouldn’t be worth the effort.

Long story short, my identity crisis is the result of an inaccurate definition of success.  What drives me is my need to create and discover.  I love nothing more than wrestling with the insides of my mind, the paths of my heart, and a good challenge.  Consequently, this new direction isn’t crazy.  It is being true to myself.

How about you?  How do you define success?

Coming Up for Air

I woke up at 3:30 am on Sunday morning.  The fire was out and the house was cold.  In my bathrobe, I padded to my computer to check.  The contest was still open.  I went through the manuscript again and found a slew of errors.  My eyeballs hurt.  My head was heavy.  I did not cry, though I could have.  Instead, I went to work.  Hours later, just as I was uploading the most recent corrections (two sentences that could have been a little better) the contest closed.  I cried then.  Will those few changes make a difference?  I doubt it, but I was still crushed.  Too many hours over too many days and I was a basket case.

Yesterday, I couldn’t move.  I spent the entire day watching movies and sipping whiskey.  There was a hole inside me where my manuscript had been, bleeding and ragged around the edges.  What do I do now?  I have never been good at waiting.  It makes me feel out of control, powerless, and vulnerable.

I know you are all probably tired of hearing about my new novel.  Honestly, so am I.    I am exhausted.  My eyeballs still hurt and I think it will be awhile before I read anything lengthy.  Still, the exercise was radical.  The thing is, I have almost no chance of winning this competition.  I know this.  I knew it going in and did it anyway.  In all probability, I might not make it past the first cut and the judges might not ever see the results of all my hard work.

So why did I do it?

Because I wanted to see if I could. Because doing something partially is not worth doing at all.  And in the end, it was cathartic. Cutting away the words I had crafted so carefully was like cutting away unnecessary baggage in my life.  During this time, bills went unpaid, email went unanswered, the phone went to voicemail.  Today, I am paying for this and discovering just how many urgent things got overlooked.

Do you know what?  None of them matter very much.  You see, while I was writing and editing and rewriting, I was also writing, editing, and rewriting the script of my life.  So today, when I emerged from my den and felt the snow on my eyelashes, shivered in my truck, and fired up the regular computer at my other office, I did it with joy.  Oops, over-drew an account.  Not the end of the world.  Oops, missed a friend’s birthday party I had promised to attend.  Ok, belated and extravagant gift and apology on the way.  Oops, forgot to respond to an email and lost an opportunity to be a guest on someone else’s blog.  Oh well.

What did I discover? 

I discovered that most of my stress is self-imposed.  The world keeps spinning, the dogs keep barking, the email keeps showing up in my inbox.  My family still loves me, though I am fairly sure they are glad that I am showering again, and everything that I had thought was urgent suddenly isn’t.  Even if I’m cut in the first round, this awareness is worth the effort I gave.  It is so easy to forget that I write the lines of my life and get to decide what is worth my energy.  Glad, for a change, that I spent it where I did.

The Importance of Rest

For the last three weeks, I have been working furiously to revise the new novel and meet a deadline.  A manuscript that started out at 156,000 + words has shrunk to 130,000.  In that process, I have tightened, honed, and drastically improved a work I had thought was already good.

Also in that time, I forgot to eat, didn’t shower, and wore the same sweat pants day after day.  It is a wonder my husband still kissed me.  Twelve to fourteen hour days take their toll, especially when the effort requires such intense conversation.

The process is winding down and yesterday, proud and exhausted, I agreed to take a day off, drive forty miles, and soak in the tubs at Ojo Caliente.  Of course, just in case, we brought the manuscript with us.

It was beautiful.  Red rock cliffs juxtaposed a brilliant, blue sky.  Snow lay in patches, enhancing the luxury of the hot springs, and soft music piped through unseen speakers.  My muscles relaxed.  My eyes closed.  I fell asleep sitting up and jerked awake just as I was tipping sideways into the water.  My husband laughed.  While he was rereading the manuscript, he had kept an eye on me – though part of me suspects he would have been greatly amused to see me topple.

Two sangrias before sundown, I had an epiphany.  Chapter 3 was all wrong.  Choppy, confusing, and dry, it had to be rewritten.  We drove home, strategizing plot points for the next book in the series, and by the time we arrived, I was reenergized.

The rewrite took less than half an hour.  It made all the difference.  Now the book flows and I am smiling again.  Today, I’m back at it, but I am less obsessed.  Instead, I have some perspective.  Though I am grateful for the deadline I imposed on myself, for the contest that kicked me into high gear, and for the knowledge I have gleaned from the exercise, I also remember what it is to enjoy the sun on my face and hold my husband’s hand.

The importance of discipline is undisputed.  What seldom gets equal emphasis is the importance of rest.  How can we be true to ourselves, our families, and our vision if we are so lost in the process that we can’t see beyond the insides of our minds?  Take a break sometimes.  It’s essential.

Latest revision

For those of you who have been following along, here’s the latest version of the pitch.  I welcome (ok, am begging for) your thoughts, comments and suggestions.  Thanks!

The Fallen

Lewis is anxious to implement Phase II of the plan, release the airborne version of the virus, and achieve total domination, but the Administrators are reluctant to agree. Some of them have succumbed to lethargy and unmitigated lust. Others have serious misgivings, worried that the plan has already gone too far.  Everything hinges on Vanessa.  Will she do what he needs?

Vanessa Kovalic is trapped in a bleak existence.  Beautiful, alone, ravaged and afraid, she knows of their plan, but is powerless to change the circumstances of her life.  Then a young girl cries out for help. Naked and battered under a park bench, the girl is a terrifying reminder of everything Vanessa has lost.

She is torn. Does she risk the consequences and help the girl, or does she walk away?

Across the park, Jeremy watches from the shadows.  Vanessa’s choice is critical.  This is the moment for which he has waited.  His life and the lives of everyone he loves depend on it.

Vanessa pulls a wet leaf from the girl’s face.  Tears prick her eyes and her stomach tightens.  Oh, God, will it never end?  Will they never cease to exact their punishments?  She hesitates.  A chilling call rings out across the square.  Vanessa is forced to make a decision. Her action triggers a chain of events that will determine the fate of the world.

The Fallen is a dystopian novel set in the near future. Drawing from recent events, conspiracy theories, and breakthroughs in behavioral genetics, it twists and turns in a compelling drama full of action and suspense.

Pitch for the New Novel

Please let me know what you think of this.  Thanks.

The Fallen 

When the violence was quelled, people emerged from their homes desperate for food and information.  Who had staged the rebellion? Was it true that a bio-terrorist attack was ravaging the mainland?  A communication blackout had left them isolated and afraid. 

What they received was a flyer that outlined the mandates of a New Social Order.  Many complied. Those that did not were labeled the Fallen and cast out of the Zone to fend for themselves on the city streets. Thousands died from starvation and exposure.  Thousands more died in a retaliatory purge aimed at eradicating all traces of the People’s Protest.  A few of the survivors went underground. 

The city of Eden became an incubator as the Designers implemented their plan. Using genetic engineering, they grew a new breed of people who were free of greed, anger, ambition and lust.  The plan, however, was incomplete.  As Lewis worked to implement Phase II, Vanessa Kovalic discovered that everything was not as it seemed. 

Six years later, a young girl cried for help.  Naked and bloody under a park bench, she reached out to the one person who might be able to help, triggering a chain of events that shattered Vanessa’s reality and determined humanity’s fate. 

Members of the underground, a rogue cop, and a sympathetic Army Colonel worked with Vanessa in a race against time.  Would they stop the virus?  Would Vanessa get her revenge?  Or would Lewis succeed in his diabolical plan to thwart the Designers and take over the world? 

The Fallen is a dystopian novel set in the near future.  Using elements from the real Occupy Movement and present day conspiracy theories, it examines how and why history repeats itself and presents a picture of what might be.

Author and Artist, Jessica O’Gorek

Posting a fabulous interview with author and artist, Jessica O’Gorek, this morning I am again heartened by the voices of women in our world.  Over the holidays, I had the pleasure of hosting my cousin and her fifteen year old daughter, Lena (name changed to protect her).  Lena is bright, precoscious, and exceptionally sweet.  She is artistic, musical, and passionately interested in theater and film.  She also lacks an innate confidence, is worried about her weight, and is struggling to reconcile who she is with what the world expects her to be.  In short, she is concerned that she doesn’t fit.  As I continue to post interviews with women authors and artists, I am more and more convinced that the way our culture defines power and success are at serious odds with the real definitions of those words.  For me, being successful and powerful have more to do with cultivating the essence of yourself and shining your light in the world than they do with money, appearance, or accolade.  Enjoy the interview and don’t forget to follow the blog!

About Jessica​​

I was born in Chesapeake, Virginia on April 19th, 1979. I was raised within the American Indian religion and was taught great respect for the earth and all its living beings. Powwows, sweat lodges, vision quests, you name it, I’ve done it. I was the weird kid who would confront kids on the playground in elementary school when they squished a bug. I would very sincerely tell them what they were doing was morally wrong and then I would pray for the bug to come back as a butterfly in its next life. I grew up in the Bible belt. Reincarnation- not a popular concept. ​​

​I grew up admiring my father, Barry Weinstock, as an author. He took me around the country to different places so he could research and write his Wilderness Survival books. One of his greatest works, “The Path of Power,” was written with a great medicine man, Sunbear. When I was twelve I started hand writing novels. My first one was two thousand pages. My dad always encouraged me and would rave about my writing. He gave me the confidence I needed to keep writing and follow my dream. My daughter, who is twelve, is currently working on her first novel. I hope to continue the legacy.

To find out more about Jessica, visit http://1geminirising.wix.com/geminirising

The Interview

From where do you draw inspiration?

My father was an author and he died on Oct. 6th 2012 of lung cancer. He wrote and published several books. (Path of Power, Barry Weinstock and Sunbear) I grew up moving around the country with him so he could research. My motivation was simple; I wanted to be like my daddy. When I was twelve, I started writing 2000 page novels, hand written pages! I would ask him to read them/edit them and he said he would, but never got around to it. I’m 33 now and when I handed him my manuscript of Gemini Rising and he knew his time was limited, he finally read and edited the first 300 pages. He had no idea what that meant to me. When he was in his last days, I looked at him, dead serious and said, “Dad, I’m going to be a famous writer one day.” His response was, “I have no doubts about that, honey.” 

I also draw inspiration from my 13-year-old girl who is on her first novel too. I want to be able to send her to college and not owe thousands in student loans. I want to be able to take her to Disney World, just once. Writing is in my genes, creativity is a wonderful, addictive disease. 

What is the hardest thing about your creative process?

The way it cuts on and off intermittently and cycles through. For example; I used to write for a couple of months, draw/paint for a couple of months and then read for six. I seemed to go through phases. However, I have now been working on my series for over two years and I have three novels to show for it. The older I get, the more my mortality means to me and the more I want to accomplish. The other thing that’s difficult is that I love to do so much and don’t have the time to do it all! With my books I have had the pleasure of creating my own cover art and of creating character pictures and profiles. This way, I get my passion for art and for writing sated at the same time.

Do you work every day, or only when inspiration strikes?

I used to write or paint only when inspiration hit, but I do it every day now. My characters live and breathe and I miss them if I don’t spend time with them. 

How do you feel about the current art market/art climate?

I feel the arts are underfunded and short cut in society and in our education system. If people were exposed consistently to their creative tendencies starting at a young age, our society would be a less violent and a more mentally stable place.

If you could change one thing about the art world today, what would it be?

I would make art and creative writing a mandatory course in all grades K-12. It would not be an elective. This would guarantee some kind of exposure.

Talk a little bit about your current project and why you decide to embark on it.

I saw the Twilight Saga films, I read the books and then I read the Host. I took all of those books and went into a different universe. I was riding back from my inlaw’s house, after Thanksgiving dinner 2010 and I told my husband and my then 11 year old that I was going to write a book. I told them all about it and they said it sounded amazing. Onyx and Violette were born. Its going to be a series. I am not sure how long its going to be yet. I guess the why of my project is really simple. I enjoy writing.

How does being a woman impact your work?

I have found it very difficult to balance be the main bread winner in the family, with a full time job, a mom, a wife and Jessica, all at the same time. The only impact my sex has on my work is to my benefit. I am a mature multitasker, I am sensitive and insightful, yet persistent and tenacious with my dream. I think being a mother has helped me with all of these traits. I recently lost my high paying, high pressure job and it may have been a blessing. I actually have time to blog, promote myself ad write! Its freeing.

If you had the chance to address a group of young girls, what would you say to inspire them?

Absolutely under no circumstances should you give up or let anyone belittle you and tell you cannot achieve what you set out to do. I have come back from an abusive relationship, a crippling drug addiction and a crazy, self destructive adolescence. I have been clean for ten years, I have a house, a car, a beautiful daughter and husband and all of my mistakes and regrets have brought me to this point. Choose your battles wisely, repeat the serenity prayer as many times as needed and remember that old cliche, “Everything happens for a reason,” because it truly does.

Defining Success

Yesterday I had the pleasure of reading a post by author, Ciara Ballintyne. She talked about writers’ need for validation.  One quote I particularly liked was “how soul-destroying is it to go through the painful process of writing fiction and have nothing at the end of it?”

By this, Ciara meant that without the joyous birth that follows creative endeavor, without the terrifying roller coaster ride of watching your child grow and become its own entity in the world, the creative process would be hell.  Writers and artists need the external validation that comes through sales and recognition. It is not enough to just create.

In many ways, she is right.  So every day creatives dutifully tweet and post on facebook.  We write blogs and ask for reviews.  We submit our work to the often uncaring eyes of the world and hope that someone (or multitudes) will tell us that our work is good.

When I published Shaping Destiny, I read everything I could find on publishing, book marketing, and how to be successful.  Like all expectant parents, I was ebullient.  I could do this.  I absolutely believed in the book, knew it had marks of genius, and that it would eventually change the world.  Now, nine months later, I’m like the exhausted young mother who realizes that her baby will probably not die or be scarred for life if she takes the time to take a shower.

During these crucial months of gestation, trepidation, and giddy excitement, I have learned a few things.  Most of them have been about myself.  In much the same way as the the birth of my children shattered my expectations, my experiences as an author have taught me that expectations have little to do with reality.

Here’s what I’ve discovered:

1.  Nobody gets my work like I do. Or, to say it differently, everyone else’s relationship with my book is different than mine.  They love it or don’t for reasons of their own.  Now that it is in the world, its successes and failures have about as much to do with me as the successes and failures of my grown children.

2.  Marketing and sales are, surprisingly, much less important than feedback and reviews.  While I continue to enjoy the monthly checks, they are not what fulfil me.  In the same way, I don’t really care how much money my children make or how many diplomas hang on the walls of their office.  I simply want them to find someone who will love them and be happy.  Who knew?

3.  All the stuff you are taught usually gets thrown out the window because most of it doesn’t work for you. My journey, while similar to that of others, is unique.  I cannot become someone I’m not to try to ensure the book’s eventual success in the world.  Nor, for that matter, can my book.  It is what it is.  Sometimes, it stands on its own two feet and sometimes it falls.  Just like me.

When I was a young mother, all the books said I shouldn’t pick up my children every time they cried — especially at bed time.  I used to pour a stiff drink, go outside, and put my fingers in my ears to shut out their agonizing wails (I had twins first).  After a time, I couldn’t take it anymore so I went back inside and pulled my babies close.  Then, I was a double failure.   I couldn’t follow the advice of the experts and I made my children suffer needlessly in my endeavors to “do it right”.  There were a thousand contradictory opinions on how to be a good mother.  Most of them didn’t line up with what I instinctively knew.  Eventually, I stopped reading books about childrearing and behavior.  Instead, I listened to my heart and my children.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of reading a post by author, Ciara Ballintyne. She talked about writers’ need for validation. One quote I particularly liked was “how soul-destroying is it to go through the painful process of writing fiction and have nothing at the end of it?”

By this, Ciara meant that without the joyous birth that follows creative endeavor, without the terrifying roller coaster ride of watching your child grow and become its own entity in the world, the creative process would be hell. Writers and artists need the external validation that comes through sales and recognition. It is not enough to just create.

In many ways, she is right. We pursue validation in a thousand ways. We tweet and post on facebook. We write blogs and ask for reviews. We submit our work to the often uncaring eyes of the world and hope that someone (or multitudes) will tell us that our work is good.

When I published Shaping Destiny, I read everything I could find on publishing, book marketing, and how to be successful. Like all expectant parents, I was ebullient. I could do this. I absolutely believed in the book, knew it had marks of genius, and that it would eventually change the world. Now, nine months later, I’m like the exhausted young mother who realizes that her baby will probably not die or be scarred for life if she takes the time to take a shower.

During these crucial months of gestation, trepidation, and giddy excitement, I have learned a few things. Most of them have been about myself. In much the same way as the the birth of my children shattered my expectations, my experiences as an author have taught me that expectations seldom have little to do with reality.

So how do you define success?

I define it in much the same way I define my success as a mother. Yes, I made a ton of mistakes (which my children didn’t hesitate to point out during the violent throes of their tumultuous adolescence), but in the end, the mistakes didn’t matter all that much.

My children’s place in the world is determined by who they are. They have their own hang ups, insecurities, and amazing beauty. So does my book.

As I have hurtled and stumbled through the world of self-promotion, marketing, publishing, et al, I am reminded of a book I read a long time ago. In that early feminist work, the author talked about how women lived vicariously through their offspring (especially their sons). After the initial creative outlet (birth) these women, who were not allowed to work, spent the rest of their lives coddling, nurturing, nagging, and meddling. In the end, the children grew up, moved away, and left the mothers alone with little more than the hope of grandchildren to comfort them in their old age. Ouch.

This metaphor is a powerful one for me. I never wanted to be a woman like that. So rather than coddling, nurturing, nagging, and meddling past my book’s infancy, I am focusing on writing another book. Tweeting is fine. So is Facebook. Both are like the phone calls I exchange with my children. We touch base, check in, and exchange news. There is comfort in that. Nevertheless, the phone calls will not determine the choices they make or the relationships have. I’ve done my job. No longer infants, or even kids, they are functioning in the world. Who they are will determine the interactions they have.

These days, the grades my children made in elementary school are irrelevant. The pats I got on the back for their achievements while they were still in my care make for some fond memories, but that’s about it.

In the same way, my sales numbers and the occasional institutional acknowledgement for the merit of my work have little to do with the meaning that readers derive from their interaction with my book. They’re important, but I wonder how important?

Sure, this is a business as much as it is a creative expression, but in reality successful businesses ensure that they are relevant to their customers and that they offer a quality product at a competitive price. Then, once they’ve let people know they exist, their most effective marketing tool is word of mouth.

Having done that over the last nine months, I’m not as worried anymore about how well my baby will do in the world.

Success is ultimately not measured in numbers. For me, it is measured by the peace in my heart, the joy I take from human connection, and the satisfaction I get from my current creative endeavor. The rest of it is beyond my control and not really worth my time.

A Cat Named Hercules?

On Saturday, I finished the first complete draft of my new sci-fi novel.  156,000 words of dystopia, angst, love and loss.  The villain is vile.  Some of the good guys had to die.  As I was reading the ending aloud to my husband, he started to cry.

Then last night, as my husband and son listened to the story from the beginning, they vied with each other to object to fine points.  I was baffled.  This is our fifth or sixth read of the first part of the book and it took them until now to voice complaints.

At first, I balked thinking that their objections were minute and irrelevant.  Then, I realized they were right about most of the points they were making.  Population density was an easy thing to fix.  So were sections that didn’t make sense now that the book is complete.

The tricky one had to do with the heroine.  My son doesn’t like her very much.  After much discussion, he finally articulated what was bothering him when he suggested that she love a mangy cat.

It turns out, I spent so much time describing my character’s internal landscape that I ignored the actions that would make her whole.  It was a profound realization that applied to me, as well as to my character.

Most of the time, I don’t pay attention to the small, every day acts that define me to those who are not privy to my internal dialog.  When I divorced my first husband and was buried under the weight of grief, insecurity, and fear, I didn’t really pay attention to the little things that moved me forward.  I just did them.  I made sure our first holiday after the divorce was full of magic, even though I couldn’t afford expensive gifts.  I played with my dog.  I read books to my children in front of the fire every night.  We sang songs, danced to “American Pie” and used our toothbrushes as microphones before bed.  In short, my grief and angst were my own, private wasteland.  They seldom saw daylight and those who knew me then did not see the person I saw.

As I rewrote sections of the book this morning, I incorporated the cat for my son.  I also incorporated the cat for me.  The small, starving, and ragged creature my heroine feeds every morning from bits of food she has stolen from herself is named — at my son’s suggestion — Hercules.  He loved the irony of the name.  In the end, I loved the name for different reasons.  It was not just Hercules’ strength that enabled him to prevail.  It was his courage and perseverance.

I wonder how many women, facing divorce or the loss of a husband, an abusive situation, or an intolerable work environment see only their internal landscape instead of the small acts that make them both whole and beautiful?  What would it be like to hold up a mirror that lets them see themselves through the eyes of those around them?

My son gave me a great gift last night.  This morning, I’m sharing it with you.  What small things do you do everyday, regardless of how you are feeling, that enrich the lives of the people you interact with?  Do you play with your children even when you are tired and stressed?  Do you make time to take your mother to a doctor’s appointment or call a friend who is ill?  Do you listen to your husband talk about his day and smile, even when he forgets to ask about yours?

Women are pretty amazing creatures.  My son’s gift was a lovely reminder of the essential truth that our internal dialog, our perpetual self-critisism and self-doubt, are balanced and even overcome by our actions in the world.  We love.  Deeply.  And often against all odds.

Hope you spend the day thinking about your small acts of courage and beauty.  I know I will.

Writer’s Block

I sat down this morning to write a post for the blog. As of this moment, I’ve written several.  None of them are complete.  They’re all horrible.  Over the last few weeks, I’ve had absolutely no trouble working on Book 2 of my novel.  Those words flow easily.  I’m not worried about great meaning or deep insight.  I’m just telling a story (even if I’m making it up as I go along).  It is not unusual to do more than 5,000 words a day and still want the time to do more.

So why is it that I’m having such a hard time here?

It might be because I pressure myself to make this blog meaningful to those who are kind enough to read it.  I want to inspire, support, and encourage my followers to do the work that matters to them.  I want to connect like minded people so that a community might be created in which we get the support and encouragement we deserve.  In short, I suppose I want this blog to matter. Unfortunately, today I can’t seem to find anything worthwhile to say.  So, as an exercise in faith, I’m babbling in case you too stumble up against the walls of your own intentions on occassion.  And, rather than try to expound on the thoughts that are flitting about in my head, I’m just going to list them.  Let me know if any of them are things you think about too.

Form is supposed to follow function but what if, for people, function follows form?  What if what you choose to do and be determines the form of your life instead of vice versa?
For the first time in my life, when I look in the mirror I am not focused on my flaws.  In spite of a few extra pounds, a bunch of wrinkles, and new streaks of gray, I see someone beautiful.  Why did this take so long?
If it doesn’t snow soon, there’s going to be trouble.
Why, of all the possible places, did the woodpecker choose to bore into the wood trim on my house right outside my office window?  How do you get rid of a woodpecker?  (This one comes every day at exactly the same time.  It is always right when I am most engrossed in my writing).

That’s it.  Probably not a single thought worth sharing.  As it turns out, reading this through, I probably should have skipped the blog post and gone for chocolate.  What are you thinking about today?

Author G G Collins

My guest today is G G Collins.  G G is an artist and an author.  Her views are fresh, personal and a delight to read.  Here’s what she has to say about herself:

“If I’d been born with a Crayola in my hand it wouldn’t have surprised me. For the first 25 years of my life I painted in several mediums, did pencil drawings, dabbled in pastels and even fired a few ceramics. After marriage, it took a few years, but the writing bug bit hard. When I snagged my dream job of journalist, I was thrilled when promoted to arts editor. The best of both worlds; writing about art! That resulted in a few journalism awards and a fellowship at Duke University. These days, I’m writing my Reluctant Medium series and creating my own book covers. In my spare time (smile), I write posts for my blog. That’s fun because I get to explore some subjects that aren’t, well, mainstream. Recently, I’ve begun taking photos for it. And I promise, I’ll get better!”

To find out more about G G, visit her Blog at: http://reluctantmediumatlarge.wordpress.com

The Interview:

From where do you draw inspiration?

When I was reporting, I would find my inspiration in my research and interviews. Oddly, now as a fiction writer, that is still true. The difference is that I follow my interests now instead of an assignment editor. For instance, while working at a book publisher I ran across a Native American ceremony to return the dead. The instant I read about it, I asked, what if the wrong spirit returned? I’ve had a few strange experiences which might have been paranormal so I began researching these phenomena. I even accompanied a ghost hunting group on one of their investigations. It was fascinating! My character, reporter Rachel Blackstone, tries to return her dead father in Reluctant Medium, but an evil spirit slips through the portal she opened. I’m also interested in animal communication, so I added a spirit wolf to the storyline.

In my forthcoming book I’m once again following my inquisitive nature—something I haven’t been able to shake since I was a three-year-old child. But instead of asking why the sky is blue, lately, I’ve been studying astral projection and the lost continent of Lemuria. Yes, you’ve guessed it; they’ll be a part of the story.

What is the hardest thing about your creative process?

Honestly, getting the words right. I love to write, but when I’m working on the rough draft of a project, I just want to get it down. Rewriting is where I really pay attention to the words I use. I ask myself, how many times have I used that particular word? Is there a better way to describe this scene? Should I tell this through dialogue? Should this be suspenseful or can I interject some humor?

Now that my first book is out, I find it more difficult to write because of all the marketing. But there is a rhythm I’m beginning to pick up. It’s becoming easier to balance the two.

Do you work everyday, or only when inspiration strikes?

I work every day, although I do try to take off most weekends. When you’ve been meeting newspaper deadlines for many years, you learn to write with a headache or a heart ache. You write whether there is inspiration or not, because the paper has to come out—will come out, regardless. I don’t believe in writer’s block. We just have to sit down and start stringing words. If you can’t think of a lead, then write what comes easier and come back to the opening. I do the same thing with fiction. If I’m really stuck on a particular scene, I take a walk. By the time I return, things are percolating again. Writing is less inspiration and a great deal more perspiration.

How do you feel about the current art market/art climate?

As an arts editor, I was encouraged about the art market and climate, despite the Great Recession. There always seemed to be a new wrinkle in the art world as ideas and mediums developed. Having begun my life as an artist and later an art major, I found I needed that art background when I morphed into indie author. In fact, I used some of that capacity to create my book cover. The backdrop is a painting from my college era with items placed in still life and photographed.

The publishing field is changing at light speed. The traditional bricks and mortar book publishers are diminished. The system for choosing writers and their projects was so antiquated that many good writers were falling through the cracks. With the arrival of eBook technology, some of those writers are finding their way out of anonymity and establishing rewarding careers as indie authors and publishers.

 

If you could change one thing about the art world today, what would it be? The lack of interest in the arts is troubling. The US is experiencing a 12-year low in attendance; after gains were made prior to 2007 (Americans for Arts, National Arts Index).The arts lag near the bottom of the public’s interest. I know of one newspaper who polled its subscribers and arts came in last! Whether it’s visual art, performance, books or theatre, there is a much smaller audience than say for a football game, a shopping trip to a mall or a “reality” show on TV. With that said, if I could change anything, it would be to place arts back in all schools so kids can have more choices. You will never want to dance, if you don’t see dance.

Talk a bit about your current project and why you decided to embark on it.

Embark is the right word. Astral travel is definitely a voyage to unknown parts. Having set sail on the Reluctant Medium series, I of course had to write the next installment. The action begins in a Santa Fe art gallery with a painting that has powers (and the first chapter, albeit early draft, is available to read on my blog). Once the painting has worked its magic, a friend of Rachel’s disappears. The trip to rescue her is out of this world.

How does being a woman impact your work?

This question is really making me think. Since I’m not a man, I don’t know how a male would approach this type of story or even if he would. And I’m an unconventional woman at that: no children, known to travel alone, don’t have a conventional job and practiced yoga before it became ubiquitous. But it’s important to the arts that women come from many experiences and each voice is heard. We are stronger, and more interesting, when our differences merge. And even in a book such as mine that is purely entertainment, readers watch as Rachel becomes stronger with each attempt she makes to overcome the malevolent being she inadvertently unleashed. Women have always been strong, but we are now found in power positions that the average woman in the l800s couldn’t dream of, let alone achieve. I believe the contemporary changes more of us are experiencing are reflected in the books we write and the art we create.

If you had the chance to address a group of young girls, what would you say to inspire them?

I used to carry pencils with the inscription: “Girls can do anything!” I wish I could find them again. When I saw a young girl having a bad day at an airport, I handed her one of the pencils. She read the message and gave me a smile. It was as if we had a secret, just the two of us. I’m not a mother, so I don’t know what advice or inspiration mothers give their daughters in this era. But I hope it amounts to “Girls can do anything!”