Destiny Allison's Blog, page 22

Author Brenda Foster

I’m happy to welcome author and home maker, Brenda Foster to the discussion.

Brenda refers to herself as The First Lady of Fiction. She is a self-published author and currently resides in sunny Jacksonville, FL. with her saucy husband, feisty McCaw, and brazen Shi Tzu.

■From where do you draw inspiration?

Inspiration pounces on me from out of nowhere! I’m usually minding my own business when it happens, and bam! Ideas show up, characters start speaking to me, names spell out in block letters, and settings manifest from all sorts of places. I sleep with a pen and pad nearby. I’ve been known to write in the dark!

■What is the hardest thing about your creative process?

Other people interfering with what I do. Don’t tell me to get a job, I already have one!

 

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

I write something every day. It could be a quote, an article, a few paragraphs or chapters in my current book.

■How do you feel about the current art market; or art climate? 

I feel it’s booming. However, I don’t know if it’s moving in the right direction. Only time will tell.

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

I don’t think I would change anything. If you want to succeed in the art industry, you just have become more creative than the next person.

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

I’m currently working on novel number 4 titled, Just Married. I got the idea off the back window of an SUV while driving home from the market. A couple who was recently married had written on there with soap. I didn’t know people still did that. I put my own spin on the idea by adding that the couple, Elle, and Raymond Tulip in my book are literally, Just Married! It’s a battle of the Tulips!  I won’t say more than that.

■How does being a woman impact your work? 

Now that I’m a home-maker don’t nag me about work. Isn’t this what men want, someone to stay home and cater to them? I stay home, cater to my husband, and write books. My whole life is everything books plus family. I’m happy with that.

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

I would say to them, know your worth. It’s okay to think highly of yourself. Get out of cliques and get into books, sports, dance, or music; anything but neighborhood cliques. It’s okay to have friends and like boys, but know who you are separate from them

Advice for Artists and Writers About Selling Work

Over the last several weeks, women have repeatedly shared their concerns about the current art market and their ability to make a living from their art. This week, I want to share some suggestions by arts professionals that may help.

The first response is from Karla Winterowd of Winterowd Fine Art in Santa Fe, NM. Karla is an unusual gallery owner. Her degree is actually in sculpture and she truly understands the artists, the collectors, and the business. She has represented my work for a number of years.

The second is a recent blog post by Jon F. Merz. I found his blog through a Google alert and really liked what he had to say. Surprisingly, though his advice is for authors, it is quite similar to Karla’s.

From Karla:

Artists often ask me what can be done proactively in a difficult economy. These times are a great moment to step back and look at what we all are doing. Get beyond business and ask hard questions. Where do you find joy, what makes your heart sing? If each of us is not following our joy, then what steps can we take to move toward that path? Many of the artists that I engage with are using this time to dive deeper into their creative process. Consider giving your art extra time to make certain what is being created as a true intention and an object of true beauty. If you are a painter, consider building more layers into the painting. If you are a sculptor consider focusing in with more attention to the details of your final creation. Art collectors can spot quality a mile away. It will keep them looking at your art. The longer a collector looks at your art the closer they come to acquiring something they will treasure.

Other action artists can take. Talk and engage with each other, find community.  If you do not have a local artist group, then build an art critique group in your area. It all starts with small steps. Support other artists, attend art events, meet people and tell them/show them what amazing objects you create. Doors open when least expected. Open your heart to the possibilities that exsist and engage.

If you find that you have priced your art out of your market consider creating a new body of work. Something that is different from the art you currently create: a different medium, a different scale, or different imagery. Always make certain the art you create is something your resonate with, love creating and authentic to your expression.

Find a deeper joy in your art, and collectors will respond.

From Jon:

By Jon F. Merz

As I mentioned in a previous post, the summer usually means less activity in publishing. I’ve been hearing that the same slowdown in sales that occurred last summer for indie authors is also occurring this summer. I talked about my some of own sales tactics for combating this before, but there are other things indie authors can do during this sales slowdown that will yield better sales as things pick up again in the Fall. Think of this as your summer check-up before school starts again. (Anyone else remember those trips to the pediatrician before school started? My old doctor was named Dr. Toch and he was a brilliant albeit scary dude with a thick German accent who had volunteered to help treat injured soldiers in Vietnam. Great guy, but man, I used to dread the prospect of getting a shot from him, lol)

1. Fix your website: I started doing this last night. I’ve had some outdated pages on here for a while as well as pages with no content. I updated some of the pages (I still have more to do) and ditched the pages that didn’t have content. When I’m ready to write those pages, they’ll come back. But for now, I don’t want them being dead ends on my website. I also added a new photo on the index page, changed the sidebar on certain pages from an Amazon widget to a “Latest Releases” column with buy links to every platform. I need to rebuild my storefront here and get all of my ebooks listed out here so people who visit can find them all. Keeping content fresh on your website is vitally important. Even if it’s just a new blog post every couple of days. People who visit want to see that you’re active. If they stumble in and your last blog post was about MySpace or Friendster, then chances are you need to get into a schedule of posting more often.

2. Fix your spreadsheet: How is your sales tracker looking? I use an Excel spreadsheet to track my sales, figure out daily averages, predict monthly and yearly revenues, track which products are delivering the best results, etc. The problem is, as I’ve written more books, I’m running out of room. Instead of being easy-to-read, my spreadsheet is looking mighty crowded. So it’s time to redo it and get it back to being easy on the eyes. If yours is the same or becoming so, now would be a good time to make some changes, make sure your formulas are correct for calculating royalties, etc. Even small fixes can make a big difference – and remember: those pennies add up.

3. Fix your ebooks: It may have been a year or more since you last uploaded that ebook file to various sales platforms. During that time, you’ve hopefully written more ebooks. So here’s the question: every time you publish something new, have you gone back and updated your other ebook files – specifically the section where you list your other works? (Don’t worry, I’ve got to do the same thing…) Have you heard from readers that there might be a gremlin or two in the ebook file? Try to set aside time every day to fix or update at least one of your ebook files and then re-upload that to the various platforms where it sells.

4. Fix your schedule: How’s your productivity doing? Been a little sluggish lately, what with summer being here? If you’ve got kids or grandkids out of school for the summer, then your work schedule might be suffering a little bit. But it should suffer, frankly, because spending time with kids is never wasted time as far as I’m concerned. That said, it’s not a bad idea to take a look at your schedule and see how you can improve it for maximum effectiveness when the kids go back to school. Take some time to look at when you work best, when you exercise, when you market, and see if you’re maximizing your time effectively. If not, work on the schedule until it’s something you can commit to and set some goals for getting those new ebooks finished and on-sale.

5. Fix your perspective: Yep, it might be summer and your sales might be down. But that’s no reason to start thinking the end of the world is coming. And honestly, there’s far too much pessimism, cynicism, and outright disgruntled hatred in the world right now. The last thing you want is to add fuel to any of those fires. Instead of thinking negatively – which takes almost no energy or discipline to engage in – spread some positivity. Look for another indie author you respect and promote them on your website for a change. Introduce your fans to this other author’s work (provided your genres are at least somewhat similar). Volunteer some advice to a new indie author just starting out. Look at your own goals and focus on completing at least one new ebook before the end of the summer – remember, every time you put something new on-sale, it’s like you’re giving yourself a raise. It’s a pretty great industry to be in where you can get multiple raises every year! The point is this: ebooks are forever and they’re increasingly popular. New stats released yesterday showed that ebooks are commanding greater numbers than ever before. With more people shifting to ebooks every day, it’s likely more people will find your work – just keep writing and publishing! Not only does your craft improve with every new ebook you write, but more ebooks means more virtual shelf space for you and that’s always a good thing.

Summer is a great time to look at how your systems are doing for maximizing your production and income. I hope these five quick fixes give you some ideas on how you can improve your bottom line and your outlook at the same time.

In Pursuit of the Muse (A Woman’s Perspective)

Last night I had a long conversation with someone about an experience she had on a tour in Scotland.  At the end of the tour, everyone was asked to present a creative piece for an after dinner celebration.  This woman chose to present a serious piece justifying Robert Burns numerous affairs.  

The woman argued that while Burns loved his wife deeply, and had no desire to leave her, their three dead and nine living children held his wife’s focus so completely that she could no longer be Burn’s muse.  Consequently, he had to find his muse elsewhere.  It seems that a string of affairs with sundry bar maids provided him ample inspiration. 

Hmmm.   I would have thought that if he spent more time at home changing diapers, preparing meals, cleaning house, and making clothes, his wife might have had a little more time in which to share his creative pursuits.  But maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe Mrs. Burns simply didn’t want to have sex anymore.  Without contraceptives, it was more than likely she would conceive another child.  So Mr. Burns, apparently, had to find his muse (or sex) somewhere else.  Love just wasn’t enough. 

Women don’t do this.  They don’t go galloping around the countryside in pursuit of some sexual dalliance that will trigger the next artistic creation.   Sex doesn’t usually do that for them.  While it can be really great, I can’t remember ever wanting to jump up afterwards shouting, “That’s it!  Now I’ve got it!” and dash off to my computer to finish whatever piece I happen to be working on.  Mostly, after sex, I want to cuddle.  

So where do women find their inspiration?  And just what, exactly, is a muse? Odes to the Muses populate Western literature and art.  Throughout the ages, men have made love to their muses, cursed their muses, and been abandoned by them.  Somewhere, there is a famous line about a man’s muse who turned out to be “a fickle bitch.”  These nine sisters from Greek Mythology are quite the busy goddesses with men all over the world paying tribute to them at the dark, rich shrines of willing women. 

There is, however, another definition of muse.  This one comes from French and Middle English.  In this usage, muse means to become absorbed in thought, to turn over in the mind meditatively, to wonder and to marvel (Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary). 

Ah Ha!  Now we’re getting somewhere.  

Back in the hunter/gatherer days, men were hard-wired to “follow that deer.”  They see it, they want it, they chase it, they kill it, and they bring it home.  Then they do it again.  Coming from the single mind set of hunters, men today are often easily distracted.  They typically think only about one thing at a time.  They seldom see meaning in ordinary acts or occurrences.  Simply put, they are still following that deer. 

Women, on the other hand, were trained to gather and nurture.  This means they have to be able to multi-task and hold several pieces of information in their minds simultaneously.  They might note that a berry bush will be ready for picking next week, that there is some lovely grass growing on the hill across the way that might be used for baskets, and that the mother bird is back in her nest so it is best to wait to get the eggs.  While they are doing this, they are also gathering herbs, nursing a child, and talking with a friend.  Women have remarkable memories and incessant curiosity.  It is not uncommon for them to wonder what will happen if they put a new spice in the stew, or a new color on their toenails, and they are not afraid to try. In addition, women are exceptionally good at seeing the relationships between things and deriving meaning from the least likely places.  If you doubt this, just ask any man.  

The average man is absolutely sure that there is no meaning behind an insignificant action like turning on the TV while his wife is talking.  The average woman, however, will muse on that action for days.  While she understands that he is ignoring her, she wants to know why.  Eventually, because she has the astounding mental capacity of a Nurturer/Gatherer, she will find an answer.  Then, the man will be informed of her conclusion and be inspired to do things differently.  

It seems that for men, the muse manifests as sex and women. The men see something they want, the chase it, they conquer it, and they go home.  For a man, muse equals deer.  Men get their inspiration from the object.  Women get theirs from the subject.    

Women don’t need to go galloping around the country side. They find their muse while doing the dishes, weeding the garden, and making dinner and they have inspirational choice.  They can look in the mirror and marvel at themselves, or they can meditatively turn thoughts over in their minds, wonder about things, and become absorbed in their thoughts.  No wonder the art market is so male dominated and competitive.  Just think of the amazing output of energy men have to expend to find their inspiration and then do something with it.  Their muses are few and far between.   Women’s muses are always with them.

Amazing Women Artists and Writers

Over the last several weeks, I’ve really enjoyed learning about other women who are living their passion.  What I’ve discovered is how much we all have in common, even while our media and approaches are different.  There is a community out there that is rich, engaging, and very real.  I am feeling quite blessed right now to be interacting with so many fabulous people.

This week, instead of posting an interview, I want to share some sites I have discovered that are particularly wonderful.  The women behind them are exciting, dynamic and passionate.  They explore creative process, art, women’s issues and more as they attempt to erradicate sterotypes and promote women.  Enjoy exploring these sites and don’t forget to follow Shaping Destiny by clicking on the text to your right.

1.  Women on the Verge

Women on the Verge was founded by Ana Lewis in 2009.  It is, “the place where stereotypes are broken and we are empowered by it.  Where our success is celebrated and our pain gets a hug.  What you have to say matters.   We hear you and support your voice.”

2.  Square Peg People

Founded by Karen Caterson in 2005, This site is, “A place filled with encouragement, inspiration, resources – and of course stories and humor – to fuel the experience for all of us mindful nonconformists!!”

3.  WomenArts

WomenArts is, “A worldwide community of  artists and allies. We provide free funding information, skill-building, and networking services. We also coordinate SWAN (Support Women Artists Now), an annual international celebration of women artists.”  WomenArts has a great blog and is a fabulous resource.

Beauty and Wisdom

Robbie Kaye (you met her on this site via her interview) has a different approach.  Her blog statement says, “Music can take you on a journey, make you laugh, cry and touch the deepest part of your soul… so can a photograph. I am a photographer, musician and

storyteller and I am attracted to visual narratives that define a place in time

and to unsuspected beauty in unexpected places, hoping to intrigue, inspire, and

evoke a reaction from the viewer. I am a champion of the overlooked, and see my

photography as a way to create change, giving exposure to societal issues that

need to be addressed.

What now, at ungodly hours, does motherhood mean?

I am up way too late tonight.  Despite the stars, the absent moon, the warmth of a day spent quiet with my love, I can not sleep.  I lost a son today.  I sent him away.  Recover.  Take control.  Stop drinking.  Or do nothing.  Change not at all, but leave my home.  I can love you from a distance.

I do love you.

I ache for you.

My home, with you in it, is not quiet, or safe.  You are, after all, my son.

You don’t belong here.  That bottle of Tequila tucked coolly in your back pocket as you head for the door makes me hate you.  I hate that.

You utter, “Goodbye, Bitch,” as you leave.  I hate that too.

Try as I might, you are not the victim of my cold rage and impotent anger.

I nursed you. I coddled you.  I brought you furry stuffed animals in rainbow colors, Nietzsche, strong arms in a storm.

YOU are beautiful.  Your mirror is covered black in hangovers, failed relationships, and inadequacy—though you are only in your twenties and cannot see the veil for what it is.

When your teddy went missing, I hunted across states—inadequately – for a replacement.  When your teddy was found, winter weathered and thread bare, I bought replica animals for their colors and fur.  I made your teddy a new skin.

If you asked, I believe my milk would flow.  My heart would stutter.  My world would stop.

You didn’t.

They don’t.

Dry, full, and sagging, my teats bear the brunt of your rejection.  I am not whole.  I am mother rendered automaton. Lover rendered whore.  You were, you are, my world.  Too beautiful, too smart, too talented, your self-loathing is a crease of wrinkled agony on the fabric of my soul.

Do you not see yourself through my eyes?  Do you not know the power of your languid smile, your too-perfect hips, and the magic of your shining, earth brown eyes? YOU COULD CHANGE THE WORLD.  I remember me at your age.   I remember what it would have felt like to have been loved so completely.  What I could have accomplished then!

But, like me at your age,  you do not know you are loved.  You are too busy hating.  You deny creative process.  You would rather destroy.

My introspection snags the span of your attention.  It is much more fun at the lake, in front of the TV, or in the arms of a girl whose name you do not have to remember.

I am pedantic. Didactic.  Old in middle age with a flabby belly and wrinkles no foundation can hide.   My attempts at vigor, beauty, and composure are pathetic.  As is my quiet voice, resolute and firm in its conviction, validated by those trained in the ever absconding plentitude of sanity, when it echoes out into the void.  Do YOU listen?

What now, at ungodly hours, does motherhood mean?

What does right have to do with beauty?  Can letting you fall help you to soar?

Since when are fear and loneliness bested by reason?  At dawn I hear the flapping of your wings.  At dawn I hear the gunshot and the dogs.

Will you go down?  Bridge earthly tenure with suicide by compliancy? Wing-clipped, overly-tracked bird of a dying era, I love you.  Fly again. Fly high.  Sober.  With the wind at your back and the sun in your eyes, feel the current.  This is life.  Nothing else.  Nothing more.  Ebb.  Flow.  Rise.  Fall.  Your brothers, in spite of what they hold in themselves, in spite of their spark and life, wish they had what you do.  Wish they could hurt you, hold you down, say – as they head for the door one last time – “Goodbye, Bitch.”

Let me go.  Let the sagging weight of breasts appreciated but not understood be the weight of progeny.  Of hope.  Clip my wings.  Hate me some.  Call me seldom.  Be, finally, free.  In the current.  In the wind.  Fly baby bird.  Fly.

Once, when I was younger than you, I took something that made sex dull and my boyfriend boring.  The drug enticed me to walk barefoot toward the sun rising on the Atlantic, sore jaw and all.  In the early morning light, rainbow lit sand reefs and eddying water, I came upon a tidal pool, brilliantly lit in salmon colors.  I smoked a cigarette.  I clenched and unclenched my aching jaw.  I moved closer.

In the pool, there were two stingrays. Black, fluid, and too big for the space they occupied while dawn rose pale on a horizon that didn’t care, they fought each other.  For space.  For air.  For the right to be alive as themselves.   The rising sun, the incessant heat, the tidal flow – ebb, swell, ebb, swell – meant nothing.  They were all about fighting.  But here’s the sickness, the sadness, the sheer waste:  Both, regardless of the outcome of their seemingly noble battle were already dead.  Two hours at most and they would shrivel, shrink, and flail.  At the end, their posturing was their demise.

On the shore, at a reasonable distance, with drug sore jaw and fear in my belly, I watched the struggle and the stings.   The fight was incongruous, irrelevant, a show.  The death, though neither knew it, was in the stagnation, in the lack of flow.

Middle-aged mother of an incorrigible son

I am up way too late tonight.  Despite the stars, the absent moon, the warmth of a day spent quiet with my love, I can not sleep.  I lost a son today.  I sent him away.  Recover.  Take control.  Stop drinking.  Or do nothing.  Change not at all.  Leave my home.  I can love you from a distance.

I do love you.

I ache for you.

My home, with you in it, is never quiet, beautiful, or safe.  You are, after all, my son.

You don’t belong here.  That bottle of Tequila tucked coolly in your back pocket as you head for the door makes me hate you.  I hate that.

You utter, “Goodbye, Bitch,” as you leave.  I hate that too.

Try as I might, you are not the victim of my cold rage and impotent anger.   

I nursed you. I coddled you.  I brought you furry stuffed animals in rainbow colors, Nietzsche, strong arms in a storm.

YOU are beautiful.  Your mirror is covered black in hangovers, failed relationships, and inadequacy—though you are only in your twenties and cannot see the veil for what it is. 

When your teddy went missing, I hunted across states—inadequately – for a replacement.  When your teddy was found, winter weathered and thread bare, I bought replica animals for their colors and fur.  I made your teddy a new skin. 

If you asked, I believe my milk would flow.  My heart would stutter.  My world would stop.

You didn’t.  

They don’t. 

Dry, full, and sagging, my teats bear the brunt of you r rejection.  I am not whole.  I am mother rendered automaton. Lover rendered whore.  You were, you are, my world.  Too beautiful, too smart, too talented, your self-loathing is a crease of wrinkled agony on the fabric of my soul. 

Do you not see yourself through my eyes?  Do you not know the power of your languid smile, your too-perfect hips, the the magic of your shining, earth brown eyes? YOU COULD CHANGE THE WORLD.  I remember me at your age.   I remember what it would have felt like to have been loved so completely.  What I could have accomplished then!

But you hate the world.  You deny creative process.  y introspection snags the span of your attention.  It is much more fun at the lake, in front of the TV, or in the arms of a girl whose name you do not have to remember.

I am pedantic. Didactic.  Old in middle age with a flabby belly and wrinkles no foundation can hide.   My attempts at vigor, beauty, and composure are pathetic.  As is my quiet voice, resolute and firm in its conviction, validated by the those trained in the ever absconding plentitude of sanity, when it echoes out into the void.  Do YOU listen?

What now, at ungodly hours, does motherhood mean?

What does right have to do with beauty?  Can letting you fall help you to soar?

Since when are fear and loneliness bested by reason?  At dawn I hear the flapping of your wings.  At dawn I hear the gunshot and the dogs.

Will you go down?  Bridge tenure, suicide by compliancy, wing-clipped, overly-tracked bird of a dying era, I love you.  Fly again. Fly high.  Sober.  With the wind at your back and the sun in your eyes, feel the current.  This is life.  Nothing else.  Nothing more.  Ebb.  Flow.  Rise.  Fall.  Your brothers, in spite of what they hold in themselves, in spite of their spark and life, wish they had what you do.  Wish they could hurt you, hold you down, say – as they head for the door one last time – “Goodbye, Bitch.” 

Let me go.  Let the sagging weight of breasts appreciated but not understood be the weight of progeny.  Of hope.  Clip my wings.  Hate me some.  Call me seldom.  Be, finally, free.  In the current.  In the wind.  Fly baby bird.  Fly.

Once, when I was younger than you, I took something that made my jaw hurt, that made sex dull, and caused me to walk barefoot toward the sun rising on the Atlantic, sore jaw and all.  In the early morning light, rainbow lit by sand reefs and eddying water, I came upon a tidal pool, brilliantly lit in salmon colors.  I smoked a cigarette.  I clenched and unclenched my aching jaw.  I moved closer. 

In the pool, there were two stingrays. Black, fluid, and too big for the space they occupied while dawn rose pale on an horizon that didn’t care, they fought each other.  For space.  For air.  For the right to be alive as themselves.   The rising sun, the incessant heat, the tidal flow – ebb, swell, ebb, swell, meant nothing.  They were all about fighting or dying.  But here’s the sickness, the sadness, the sheer waste:  Both, regardless of the outcome of their seemingly noble battle were dead.  Two hours at most and they would shrivel, shrink, and flail.  At the end, their posturing was their demise. 

But I, on the shore, at a reasonable distance, with sore jaw and fear in my belly because there was no where further to go, watched the struggle and the stings.   They would, I supposed, both die.  The fight was incongruous, irrelevant, a show.  The death, though neither knew it, was in the stagnation, the lack of flow.

Excerpt from Shaping Destiny

During that summer, I talked with my mother and retiled her bathroom. I taught my kids how to catch a snake and ride a horse. I watched the days roll toward autumn and dreaded having to live in the world again. I didn’t trust myself. All my life, I had the luxury of asking why. Why do I live? Why do I love? Why do you love me? Why do we fight?

Asking why allowed me to look at the points of light that made my life flow. This question was an easy thing, a diversion. It was a lovely game of cause and effect that began with assumptions that never got anywhere or changed anything. The question, “Why?” permitted me the luxury of rarely having to deal with my day-to-day life. Now, in reaction to the end of my marriage, I had to look at the shadows. I had to ask, “How? How do I live, how do I love, how do I fight?”

Amazing Woman, TaMara Goode

TaMara E’Lan Goode, a Personal Chef and Writer, is the single mother of two children in Indianapolis. From her diverse professional and personal experiences; this “Culinary Artist” utilizes her passion for words and food to feed others “mind, body and soul”. A contributing writer of Viewshound, TaMara is a Poet and author of the forthcoming novel TIMELESS: Through the Eyes of a Poet.

Q & A

From where do you draw inspiration?

As a writer, throughout the years, I have been inspired greatly by my grandmother’s vivid life in politics and interest in the arts. In was common for politicians such Congressman Julia Carson (aunt) or Jesse Jackson and various artists to frequent my grandmother’s humble home for networking, food and fun. Such events never resulted in a dull moment, and my grandmother made life itself, is an inspiration. It was my grandmother who taught me my love for reading and writing, and by the time I was in elementary school, it was very evident that my calling would be within the arts. When other children were playing, I was in the corner drawing/writing mini comic books and stories. Much to my grandmother’s amusement, as well as patience, the only times I got in trouble in school was when I was talking or writing when I wasn’t suppose to. Since then, I find inspiration as a single mother and single spirit.

What is the hardest thing about your creative process?

The hardest thing about my creative process is the balancing of time with creative energy. Seemingly cursed at times by the writers God, when I have the time to create, nothing seems to manifest. However, the moment when life carries me away, I feel as if my head will burst from all the words and story concepts running like a hamster on my mental wheel.

Do you work every day, or only when inspiration/opportunity strike?

Because I lack some discipline and my schedule varies, I don’t have a working daily writing schedule as I should. I often envy other writers who work consistently daily, and perhaps with less pressure in doing so. However, my insomnia filled nights are a veiled blessing as I get the majority of writing done during these times in bulk, sometimes twenty pages. Sometimes it helps by just sitting down and making myself write when I’m not inspired, but more often I write better when in the zone uninterrupted. I’ve been working on developing a more healthy, stable working writing schedule that I can stick to…hopefully.

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

As an African-American Woman Writer, I have mixed emotions about the current market climate with the emergence of substandard literature and art that has more commercial appeal than actual artistic empowerment or quality.

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

If I could change more things about the art world it would be to ensure our children a place in the art world by consistently promoting art as essential in schools (especially inner city/low income public schools where many art programs are being cut when arts enrich other academic areas in a child’s education).

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

My current project is the screen play to my debut novel, “Timeless: Through the eyes of a Poet”. Originally, I was working on a poetry book in 2002 when I began developing a concept which combined my poetry with narrative prose, and the story evidently became Timeless. I have been actively seeking publication for the novel since 2009, while pitching the screen play to indie film producers. I have a one act play, “Reflections” that is completed, as well as I a working treatment/concept I am writing for film titled “Dog Tags”.

How does being a woman impact your work?

Being a woman impacts my work because of the insight and life I write into my story lines and/or concepts. It is my goal to write stories that women can relate to and be inspired by. I hope to bring the spirit of courage, culture and over coming adversities.

If you had the opportunity to address a group of young girls, what would you say to i nspire them?

My motto is “To dream big is to dream HARD”. I believe that writing is therapeutic, essential to mobility in life, as much as it is entertaining. In working with a group of young girls/women, I want to encourage them that nothing is impossible for God and a disciplined mind. Be a dreamer, dream as hard and as much as you dare, but be willing and able to put forth the steps to make the dreams reality. As an artist of any medium, if blessed with gifts, use them. As they say “work like play and then play like hell”.

Powerful Woman, Alma Alexander

I am delighted to welcome Alma Alexander to the conversation. 

Alma A. Hromic (who now writes as Alma Alexander) was born in 1963 inNovi Sad,Yugoslavia, on the shores of the riverDanube. Her father’s employment with international aid agencies meant that the family spent twenty years living in various countries inAfrica, including Zambia,Swaziland, and South   Africa.

Educated in the United Kingdom and South Africa, Alma graduated from the University ofCape Town with an MSc in Microbiology in 1987. She quickly left the lab in order to write about it instead, and spent several years running a scientific journal for the Allergy Society of South Africa before she moved to New Zealand in 1994. She also worked as a literary critic for several publications in South Africa and England.

In New Zealand, she obtained an editorial position with an international educational publisher, where she worked for several years. Alma is the author of several books.  Her works have been published in multiple languages and are best sellers around the world.  In addition, Alma is a prolific writer of essays, poetry, book reviews and even travel articles.

Q & A

From where do you draw inspiration?

From living every day. From reading. From being passionate about things and ideas and people, enough so to want to tell their stories – to NEED to tell their stories. From the earth and from the sky, from water and mountain and wood and stone. From a wolf. From an eagle. From a newborn fawn. From people I love, and from people who love me – and also from people who might hate me simply for being who or what I am. From all that surrounds me and shapes me and makes me into the woman that I have grown up to be.

What is the hardest thing about your creative process?

Truthfully, rewriting and polishing. The thing I love about writing and being a writer is *telling the story*. The post-production tweaks and twiddles, although I accept their necessity, are tough – because they inherently mess with the shape of the original story in my head and thus change it and sometimes I fight against that change with a primal instinct even while my conscious mind insists that it needs to happen. For that reason the editing and rewriting processes in my writing arc are the most procrastination-prone bits of it – because I find myself shying away from it all and doing almost ANYTHING else instead. My house is at its absolute cleanest when I have a big edit sitting on my desk waiting for my attention.

Do you work every day, or only when inspiration/opportunity strike?

Every day, if I can. But “work” doesn’t necessarily mean sitting down and just typing. That’s mechanics. Work can mean delving deep into dozens of books for research, or simply taking a long solitary walk in order to untangle a plot knot in my head. Writers are always writing, even when they aren’t physically stringing words together on a blank page. It’s part of our lives.

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

Confused (as I think a lot of people are) and often frightened. Frankly, the apparent itch of the publishing industry to transform itself into Hollywood and publish ONLY sure-fire blockbusters and absolutely nothing else appals me – in literature there is a longer time frame that is in play, and there used to be a period in which a writer was given the time and opportunity to actually BUILD an audience before being yanked off the shelves and remaindered after three weeks unless the book hits the New York Bestseller lists. That isn’t the case any longer. Your one shot is your one shot, and if you don’t break out you’re doomed. That’s why there is such a proliferation of smaller presses and indies and even self-publishing – people who write need room for their readers to BREATHE, and that is becoming harder and harder to get with the traditional publishers – but on the other hand, it is the trad guys, the BIG houses, who are the only ones who still pay “Advances” on books, in amounts that someone can live on (even if it’s just ramen noodles and cat food) until such time as a book flies. Advances of $5000 or less, often MUCH less, which is what smaller and more cash-strapped publishers offer for a novel-length work, can be absolutely meaningless in today’s world especially since publicity and marketing seem to have fallen to the authors to manage (and pay for) rather than being taken up by a publisher of ANY stripe. Do the math and you’ll see that tiny advances don’t go very far at all. And many places now offer advance-free deals with higher royalites – once again, something that depends on the sales of the book, which depend on publicity/marketing (which you have pay for up-front). It’s no wonder so many writers are neurotic these days, juggling all these uncertainties on a daily basis.

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

I’d find a legitimate way for the creators of art to actually make a legitimate living from it. As someone famous whose name now escapes me once said, “In America a writer can make a fortune – but he can’t make a living”. There are countries in South America which offer their writers a social pension in their old age if they’ve produced a certian number of works which have contributed to the cultural  and intellectual life of their country – and I think that is not in itself a bad idea. Taking a LITTLE bit of care of its artists is the only way a society can actually (in the long-term) keep them.

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

I’ve several on the go at any given time. My newest novels are “Midnight at Spanish Gardens” and the US release of the otherwise internationally published “Embers of Heaven” – but these are two very different books (both available as e-books (on Smashwords and on Kindle) and the former is currently, and the latter soon-to-be, available as paperback editions, too). I am currently at work finishing my YA series, and after that there are several things on the burner. I am also doing the ebooks of the Alexander Triads, themed mini-collections of three short stories per book – currently five are available, with number six coming imminently and three more on the way. These are showcases for the range and spread of my shorter work – and they’d probably be good places to dip an experimental metaphorical toe into my oeuvre…

How does being a woman impact your work?

I see the world through a woman’s eyes, through a female perspective. And I then tell the stories that I see, through that lens. I think it is an important point of view, and one worthy of a reader’s attention, despite the fact that so few books reviewed in the more august publications are by women writers.

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

Don’t be afraid to dream – yes, you too can have adventures and they are just magical, just as vivid, just as valid as any ever embarked on by the OTHER half of the human race. You too can conquer mountains and dive into the deeps, or face monsters and win. You are strong. Believe in yourselves, and the world can’t help believing right along with you.

To learn more about Alma, visit her website at www.AlmaAlexander.com

A Great Review of Shaping Destiny!

I was surprised and honored this morning to discover an incredible review by blogger, Hilary at Novel D’Tales. 

Here is an excerpt:  ” Shaping Destiny is a beautifully written novel about the journey Destiny Allison took to learn who she was as a person, mother, artist, friend and woman.  This unique novel was written with such passion, skill and finesse that I from the very first paragraph I was drawn in and couldn’t put it down.  Destiny writing style is absolutely flawless and incredible.  She paints a picture in your mind so vivid you feel as if it is your life.  The entire journey I was taken on really hit home, being …… “  To finish reading her review, please click here.

Thank you Hilary.  Your review brought tears to my eyes.