Tammy Seley Elliott's Blog, page 2

Will the Real Johnnie Carter Please Stand Up!

         I mentioned in a previous blog that characters can come from literally anywhere in a writer’s life.  I rambled for paragraphs that for me, they are a cacophony of people I’ve met, people I haven’t met (total strangers I’ve shamelessly observed), literary and film characters…along with some who are complete figments of one’s imagination.  The single source I omitted, however, was the author herself or himself, as an important source for character development. 

                When Mary Waddell, my best friend and first editor of The Unlikely Savior read the first (and very rough draft) of the novel, her comment to me was, “Johnnie is you!”  She, of course, referred strictly to personality traits, not any divine or mysterious qualities on my part (although my ability to make people vanish in a Karaoke bar is indeed, legendary).  Recently, while having lunch with another old friend, Jeff Allred, he asked me, point blank, “are you Johnnie?”  He was making a broader, more philosophical reference to my many years as a military first sergeant and senior enlisted leader – both jobs involve a significant amount intervention with people during life’s toughest times.

        In both conversations I immediately set about denying the many traits of Johnnie Carter that I do not share…most are qualities I wish I possessed.  Interestingly, while my friends saw things I had not, in the novel’s infancy I did discover quite by accident that in many ways, the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree as I’d developed the character of Johnnie Carter. 

       About this time last year, I interviewed Dr. Rick Boyes, a counselor and therapeutic hypnotist on the elusive subject of hypnotherapy and a number of other mind and spiritually related subjects as research for the book.  We had a wonderful and educational conversation, during which I told him about the general plot of the novel and, more specifically, qualities of the main character.  He also asked me about myself and my background in the process.  It was during this conversation that I realized some of the similarities were a little embarrassing.  Not that either Johnnie (if she were real) or I had anything to be embarrassed about…but until then I hadn’t noticed just how much of my personal experience I’d adopted in the process of bringing her to life.

       While I do not possess her utter ability to not worry about what anyone thinks about her (I’m much better in that department now than I was at her age, but still a little too self-aware), her complete refusal to take credit for things she may have done right, even if her acts were unintentional (again, I am now better than I was…but at her age? – I was a serious score keeper and was probably less subtle than I realized about ensuring I got credit when I thought credit was due).  I have been accused of over-tact, being too quick to negotiate, and have been given the ultimate insult over the years with the statement, “you should have been a politician” (forgive me for gagging as I come clean with that one).  But Johnnie?  I don’t think she was born with the tact gene and does not have a political bone in her word-built body.

       But, alas, the things we have in common are not well disguised.  The Air Force connection is the in-your-face most obvious comparison.  Like my heroine and her brother James, my siblings and I had an erratic and mobile upbringing.  Like them, we moved a lot and not under the best circumstances.  I certainly wasn’t performing miracles, causing my family to bolt from town to town (as cool as that would have been), but our dad was shifty – more crazy than a crook, but had a little, well, OK, sometimes a lot of both qualities.  I can’t speak for my three siblings, but I am absolutely certain that the lifestyle affected my ability to establish and maintain healthy relationships, which is an important factor in Johnnie’s life as well.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not singing the blues at all; I wouldn’t change a thing…but the fact is, as I launched into life, I had no idea how to be a true friend or to maintain lasting relationships as I focused mostly on moving on.  Like Johnnie, I didn’t necessarily feel lonely, I just didn’t realize what I’d been missing until it became part of my life.  My friends have taught me the art and blessing of friendship and I guess I fused that into to the story line of The Unlikely Savior as well.

                I can tell you for certain, I did not grow the main character in the next novel, Billet Doux from a Dead Prisoner, from my own rib…it would be a little weird and more than self-indulgent to continue to spawn word-people from myself.  But I guess novel writing isn’t too far from many other life exploits…we have a comfort zone and we start with what we know.  Thank you, Johnnie, for meeting me half way. 

Nonnie: The Face on the Cover

                “What adorable child is gracing the cover of your book?”

                The question has come in different shapes and sizes, the one about the sweet face on the cover of The Unlikely Savior.  But it was my dear friend, Liz Fairfax, who asked using the exact words above and my answer to her question made her cry.  While goal today is certainly not to make you cry, I do want to answer the question for one and all, and, more importantly, honor the little girl behind the face.

                Short and to the point: the adorable child gracing the cover of the book is my sister, Rhonda Nichols, at the tender age of five.  We lost her to an aggressive form of cancer in 2008…she fought it for over a year longer than they thought she could, but then, when they gave her the prognosis they didn’t know a thing about her.

                Nonnie, as many of us called her, was as sweet as she looked as a little one.  As the oldest of four siblings, however, she kind of became a little mama to her younger siblings; our mother was very capable, but Nonnie just assumed the role as well and it worked.  Life worked hard to steal her youth and her innocence and the end result was the woman of iron character, one with an inner constitution strong enough to fight an insidious disease for much longer than seemed physically possible.  Why did she last that long?  Because in her mind, she still had to take care of those around her; she had unfinished business and she hung in there till it was all complete.  I won’t share her list, but I assure you, it was all taken care of up to and including making it through her husband Dan’s birthday – which was her last day on this earth. She decided how it was going to be and that’s how it was.

                Nonnie joined the Navy in the seventies when there were few women in the Armed Forces…we were all sure it would “change her…” make her rougher, worldlier.  We were wrong; while she quickly proved she could drink any male sailor under the table and still remain standing…she kept her very stern standards regarding personal conduct, much the chagrin of many a sailor, I’m sure. She protected her innocence fiercely, right up to and including her flat refusal EVER to even swear.  Ever. That must have broken some unwritten sailor code, but Nonnie didn’t care because there were just some things with which she wouldn’t compromise.  I’m certain every total stranger she ever scolded for their inconsiderate “potty mouth” felt as though they’d been cussed out by the direct little woman.  I’m as certain3 they thought twice about spewing four-letter words in public after meeting her.  That was just one of many ways Nonnie made the world a better place.

                And she was the only person I’ve ever known that simply would not, under any circumstances, lie.  And, believe me…that one could hurt!  But, like Popeye, she was what she was and if someone couldn’t handle that, they could go elsewhere–if they did go elsewhere, it was their loss.

                Nonnie was one of the finest human beings I’ve ever known.  She went too soon, but she ensured she lived the heck out of her life long before she knew it would be cut short.  She loved to travel, loved to go to movies, plays and ball games.  She loved family with a passion and she well understood the power of laughter; I rarely spent time with her after we grew up when we didn’t collapse with laughter at least once, and always to the point of tears.  I can still hear her giggle almost every day that comes and goes without her.

                At her final ceremony, a native American reverend told us that Nonnie would still be there and if we paid close attention, she’d let us know…through subtle ways in the world around us.  Nonnie must have heard her, because that very thing started immediately; before we left the cemetery, in fact.  Out on the grass, I saw a young lady who had worked with my sister; I had never met her and she was obviously grieving deeply.  When I put my arms around her, her hair blew across my face.  With no thought whatsoever, rather than introducing myself or saying words of comfort, I said something I’d never said to a total stranger in my life… “Your hair smells soooooo good.”

                Obviously this scene could have gone badly right away…in fact I thought it would when she pushed me away in shock.  But what she said next begun years of my sister “coming through.”  The young woman choked up and said,

                “That’s what Rhonda said to me every day at work when she’d hug me….”  The lady took me in her arms and we both cried a little, but mostly, we smiled.

                Many things happened since then that one could say are figments of my imagination or coincidence…but I always say, “Hi Nonnie…,” or “I love you too!”  I’m not the only one who has these experiences…it’s been five years, and it still happens.  We all still miss her terribly, but I feel like she’s still taking care of us in her own way.  She even pitched in with a dilemma with The Unlikely Savior.

                When I chose to self-publish the novel, I was suddenly aware that I needed to come up with my own cover design, something to which I’d given no prior consideration.  It was a winter evening when I realized this and I fell asleep no closer to an idea than I’d had hours earlier.

                At about three o’clock the next morning, I sat bolt upright in bed and all I could see was Nonnie’s first grade picture in my mind.  It was a black and white photo…one of hundreds of pictures from my childhood.  That face was the perfect age and depiction of the heroine, Johnnie Carter, during the only childhood scene in the novel.  It was her and I knew it was right.  I also knew that with my mother’s blessing, Nonnie would be on the cover of my first book.  But it never occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t my idea after all.

                It was my friend Liz, in tears after hearing the story of who the child was on the cover, who said, “Your sissy woke you up….she wanted to be on the cover!”  I felt so silly.  Of course it was Nonnie, taking care of me, yet again.  Still.

I smiled, and to myself, I said, “I love you too, Nonnie.”

                I hope I’ve done her proud.  And now you know who the face belongs to.  The adorable child who graces the cover.

 

Characters Welcome!

              When the USA television network first began using this phrase, I didn’t quite get it.  Now that I write books, and more importantly, create characters, I get it…in fact I live it!

                I waited years to start writing, but I’ve been a huge reader all along.  Although I could never pinpoint a preferred genre – I try to widely vary the kinds of books I read – I’ve always greatly admired authors who create vivid, memorable characters.  I was a Stephen King freak back in the day when you had to wait for a book to arrive at the book store and stand in line the day of the release; yes, I am that old.  I was not a horror story junkie, although I’ve read my share, but I knew good characters when I saw them.  Regardless of how far out, spooky, or downright bizarre King’s story lines are, his characters are priceless.  In fact, he was the first author who taught me the importance of depicting characters the reader can relate to.  When I read his books, I either felt like I knew those people or could literally picture real life folks they reminded me of.  Most importantly, whether I liked the characters or not, I could relate to them.  As a reader of books and a student of people, that had an enormous impact on me.

                So here I am, a real live novelist now (sometimes I just say that to impress myself), and I put serious stock into my characters.  I have been extremely happy that much of the positive feedback for The Unlikely Savior has been how “real” the characters are.  I nearly needed resuscitation when one reader actually used the words, “I feel like I know these people!”  Soon after, others noted that the characters seem so alive, or they felt like they were inside the character’s lives while reading.  Of course I’d love to sell trillions of books, but even more, I want to introduce good characters…“create” people that start in my mind, but become real in someone else’s mind and heart.

                I’ll be the first to admit that all stuff just sounded a little syrupy and sappy…although it was honest.  But the less poetic part is to tell you how I come up with these people.  I’ve been asked quite a lot (as I’m sure most writers are asked), “where do you come up with your characters?”  As much as I’d love to spout that it’s a “writer thing,” that we have a secret-squirrel code allowing us, and only us, to concoct imaginary people from the collective universe of amazing souls…but that would be a big fat lie, not to mention a little more than cheesy.

                My characters come from every person I’ve ever known in my life.  And they come from a LOT of people I’ve never known…but observed.  Sometimes movie or literary characters make part of my brain go crazy, brewing hybrid sole mates, not yet created.  But more often than not, as creepy as it may sound, I watch real people with such keen interest, I need to be careful not to be stalkerish.  And…the worst of all social evils, I am a shameless eavesdropper.  I listen in the buffet line, in the bathroom at Walmart…I listen to the conversations of very noisy patrons who obviously want to be heard in every venue known to man.  I don’t listen because I am judging them or even because I’m particularly nosy; I listen because there could be a character in there…or a tone, or an innuendo…or a one little seed which, if planted in my imagination, can grow not only a fictional character, but possibly a whole story!    And sometimes they are just born in my head with no help at all.   

                In fact, the entire story line (and opening scene) of my next novel, Billet Doux from a Dead Prisoner, was born during a real life and very unpleasant experience I had while attempting to rent a car for the simple purpose of driving to visit a friend in Ogden, Utah for a few days.  After the ordeal, as I drove out of Boise, completely exasperated by the experience, I was distracted by an unfamiliar (and nonexistent) person…a new character?  Simultaneously, I realized that the experience I’d just endured would be a great way to introduce that very character in a story which was yet unknown.  I never turned on the radio or plugged in a CD for that four and a half hour drive, but by the time I pulled into my friend’s driveway, amid sloppy notes on scattered napkins, I had a cast of characters and the idea for my second novel.  I suspect it won’t always be that easy for me, and I’m sure thousands of other authors could offer their anecdotes and experiences, expanding the horizons of character creation for all.

                But for me…real life is, by far, the most fascinating source for character searches, although if you are discussing something quite personal and I am nearby, you may want to lower your voice or put the conversation on hold!  Characters welcome?  You bet.

Beam Me Up, Scotty!

      I grew up watching Star Trek…the real one with Captain Kirk, Dr. Bones McCoy and Mr. Spock.   Although the series was woefully short-lived, it wasn’t until the reruns made it the epic American institution in now is that I became a real fan.  And at that exact time, during its revival, I was also a budding writer, finding my way through the pains of adolescence by writing poems, short stories and whatever else seemed to spill from my pen.  Little did I know that these two worlds would collide some forty years later as I navigated my way through writing and publishing my first novel.

                It started, this parallel with Star Trek, as the story’s plot seemingly took over my life.  I mean, really, it not only invaded my brain, but became an active part of my world. I knew there might be a problem the first time I literally left my purse in the shopping basket in the parking lot of the grocery store, not realizing it until I was home (and didn’t realize I was home until I pulled into the garage and tuned back into the world around me).  By the third time this happened, I quit carrying a purse and worked a little harder to actually pay attention while behind the wheel.

                Where was I, when I didn’t seem to be “here?”  Clearly, I had been beamed out of my daily life and into the alternate universe of my novel.  That may sound ludicrous to you unless you’ve experienced this phenomena…this beaming thing.  Watch an old episode of Star Trek and observe how Kirk and his crew literally leave one world and enter then next in a matter of seconds.  Yep, that’s what it’s like, minus the sound effects and the visible breaking down of your body into particles as you leave one place and reassemble in another.  And I never once said, “Beam me up, Scotty.”  Although I have said, repeatedly, “How the hell did I get here?” or “Has anyone seen my purse (replace last word with keys, toothbrush….brain… depending on the day)?”  The bad news was, it appeared to those around me that I was losing my mind.  The good news was, as a Star Trek fan, it was all perfectly explainable and, more importantly, the plot advanced.

                I had never written a novel before, so I had no idea how you have to become the characters to make them come alive and believable.  And they do come alive…but then, in order to properly represent them, you must get into their mind.  As I sat at my computer one day trying to really, really, articulate what Johnnie Carter must be thinking and feeling, I found myself virtually doing a Vulcan mind meld on her, ala Mr. Spock.  I’m not kidding you, I realized my hand was in the air, claw-like, as if I were actually placing my fingers in those magic spots on her face to complete the connection – you know, the mind-meld circuit.  You may be a little creeped out right now (I am too, to be honest), but based on the feedback I’m getting on the novel – I think it worked!  Folks are telling me they feel like they really know the characters.  Is the method my madness?  Perhaps, but I must give credit where credit is due.  Star Trek: the consummate writer’s friend.

                Even if you are not a Trekkie (which I, by the way, am not; there’s a clear line between being a fan and a Trekkie…I love the show and characters–I do not, however, have 20 Federation uniforms in my closet, know every script by heart, or have the exact episode names and numbers cataloged in my head…), you may very well be familiar with arguably the most famous episode, the Trouble with Tribbles.  This is where very adorable little furry critters (tribbles) mass re-produce throughout the ship until they are virtually EVERYWHERE, and I mean everywhere, in gobs, stacks and piles.  This, my friends, is what happens in your life when you are in creative mode.  You open the closet, and there is your story.  You whip back your shower curtain, and the tub is filled with your story, not unwelcome (kind of like the tribbles…they were cute, after all), but certainly uninvited.  Even in the midst of conversation with real people, your characters horn in, pile up and, generally, make themselves a nuisance.  The trouble with tribbles is they were invasive and plentiful…as is the trouble with a growing world in the mind of a writer.

                Once the novel was completed, I thought I could put Star Trek away, back into the re-run schedule (or the DVD cases, as my husband is still hooked, and has every single episode at an arms-length reach) where it belonged.  Wrong again!  The first time, in the post-writing process, it reared its head was when an agent asked me for my “marketing plan.”  Marketing plan?  And there it was, in my head, the voice of Dr. Bones McCoy, saying, “Dammit Jim!  I’m a writer, not a marketer!”  And he pretty much moved in after that.  Once I decided to go the independent route rather than traditional with an agent/publisher, etc, I reluctantly discovered the many roles I’d be forced to play.  As evidenced in my last blog, the social media demands of self-marketing were well out of my comfort zone…and knowledge zone.  Bones’ McCoy spat it out for me, in rapid succession…

      “Dammit, Jim!  I’m a writer, not a ­­_______ (choose your term: I.T. Expert, Book Promoter, Twitter-er, Web-Page Designer…and yes, Blogger…)!”  Tell it like it is, Bones!  But like him, I assumed the necessary roles just like the good doctor ultimately wore every hat the brilliant leader, Captain Kirk, thrust at him to meet the challenge of the day. 

                I started my next novel, Billet Doux from a Dead Prisoner, this week.  I assumed my old friends from Star Trek would join me in the journey and as I typed, I almost waited for one of their voices or mannerisms to invade my world.  But they didn’t.  I had barely begun when the story began to change before my very eyes when it happened. Instead of Captain Kirk or Bones McCoy, I was shocked to hear Tom Hanks – or more specifically, Forrest Gump, whisper into my ear, “Writing is like a box of chocolates…”  Well, you know the rest…

Writing a Novel? That was the EASY part!

While I wrote my novel, and since, many folks asked me, “Isn’t it hard to write a book?”  Or “How do you do that?” or even, “I always wanted to do that, but I don’t know where to start.”

The quick answers to the questions are: writing is like breathing to me; it’s not hard, I just do it and starting is way less a problem for me than stopping.  I’ve often diagnosed myself with word-diarrhea (should I put one of those “disturbing image” warnings on this blog?).   I can, however, very much relate to the questions listed above, because although writing is something I feel pretty good about – the list of things I cannot do well, or can’t do at all is quite lengthy.  In fact, if you can find it under the “it takes the left brain to do this” heading, I probably stink at it–if I even know what it is.

Case in point; I wrote a big ol’ long novel in a matter of months.  If I had actually devoted more time and discipline to it and could have subtracted the time lost to a couple of family crises, my own double-broken shoulder (now there’s a story!) and a subsequent surgery, well it would have been weeks.  I can do stuff like that. But, give me something mathematical, scientific, or God forbid, technological, and all of a sudden I’m the one asking, “Isn’t it hard to do that?” or “How do you do that?”  Although the odds of my saying, “I always wanted to do that, but I don’t even know where to start,” are about as likely as my saying, “I was thinking of sawing my arm off this afternoon…but just don’t know where to start!”

You see, since I waited years and years during my military career to have the time to just write a darned book, all I envisioned was that book (and many more) completed and on the shelf.  I sort of left out the need to find a publisher, get known and all that stuff.  The world has changed since I first set my goal and is changing quickly.  There didn’t used to be Kindles and e-books, or ways to just do it yourself.  Going the traditional route takes lots of time and patience and alas, I am not getting any younger.  Thus, I chose the self-publishing route; I cut out the middle man, get my work out faster and it’s all up to me.  That, I thought, was a huge adjustment for my way of thinking, but I just nodded my head and began the journey. 

“I can do this,” I thought, “I wrote a whole book, for heaven’s sake!”

It was very soon that I discovered my right brain was flailing with the things necessary to electronically publish, and even more so, to market said book.  I needed my left brain, and no surprise, when I finally found it, it was so emaciated from non-use in the two short years since military retirement that I had to nurse it back.  Honestly, I thought I’d lost it completely at first…but there it was, all white and shriveled, kind of like E.T. when he got all sick.

Add to my woes, I am also fifty-two years old and not a frequent driver on the social media lane.  Yes, I have a personal Facebook account…I do electronic banking, although I’m still convinced I am the last person in my generation to have made the switch.  I was proud I could operate e-mail and navigate my one-year old smart phone (it’s still smarter than me). But then I opened the door to the necessities of a self-published author.

So…after the brain-equivalent of the P90X workout, I get my head and psyche up to snuff, at least enough to follow all the guidelines to reformat my document for e-publishing.  Yay!  I asked my graphic artist friend, Gerry Teano to please help me with the e-book cover design, using a single photo (that backstory will be another blog).  He did it beautifully.  Yay!  I’m cooking with gas, right?  But then I hit the social media requirements and the whole stove blew up.

Twitter?  Are you kidding me?  I thought I was a damn genius when I set up my extra Facebook page to market myself and my books.  I had sworn year ago that I would never have a Twitter account (no self-respecting G.I. would communicate via something called a “tweet,” right?).  But I do indeed have a Twitter account now.  I recovered from that.  I did.  I still need to figure out how to scare up more than eleven followers, but the account is there! (If that statement generated enough sympathy and you are a Twitter-er…feel free to follow me at @TSSeleyElliott!)

Yes, I recovered just in time to have to figure out how to link the Twitter to the Facebook.  I remember when links were in the dog’s chain or things to be undone with needle nose pliers when a necklace broke.  Now I was totally without tools as I manipulated electronic links.  All by myself.

I had started drinking, heavily, when I got the need for the mechanism by which you read this very entry.  A blog.  One more thing I swore, swore, swore I would not subscribe to (although I had one brief encounter while stationed in Iraq, but I wrote that off as a moment of weakness while far from home).  But I done did it (as Homer Reeder, in the Unlikely Savior would say).  Yes, I established my own blog and, without even having a brain aneurism, managed to link it to my Twitter and Facebook.  I did it and I didn’t need therapy or a twelve step program by the time I was done.  It might not be perfect…but it works.

Then the Website.  I was feeling pretty confident when I Googled up Yola…it was touted to be pretty idiot proof (one of my criteria for any technological service I subscribe to) and cheap…and has a great customer service reputation.  That last one is very important to me, because I am that customer.  Just ask my IT guys from back in early 2000 when I called them in complete frustration because my documents kept disappearing from my computer screen and I never knew where they went till I powered down the computer at the end of the day and I’d briefly see them ALL pop on the screen just before they went away forever.  That’s when I was introduced to that little button with the dash on it at the top of the screen; you know, the minimize button.  The one I apparently hit unwittingly and often, making my documents disappear.  Yes, I am that customer.

But you know?  Without opening a single bottle of wine, without swearing (much), and without calling the Yola customer support, I suddenly had a website and it weren’t bad at all (said as only Homer could say).

I will still write…and write and write. I will still probably cringe whenever something requires me to push and click virtual buttons on a screen, choosing terms I still don’t understand and will never understand how they end up doing what I want.  But by God, I set up a Facebook Page, a Twitter account, a blog, and a website…and I even know what a widget is (a month ago I would have probably thought it was a type of weird Munchkin), I can simultaneously Tweet, post on Facebook and chew gum.  I can even create an RSS feed, although I have absolutely no clue what that is.

To quote Helen Reddy, “I am woman” – or writer – “hear me roar!”

And So It Begins…

I’m not sure when my love affair with words began.  My family would probably say it started when I uttered that first word since it’s been suggested I haven’t shut up since!  But I think it was a slow reckoning which grew with a lifetime of experiences that I wouldn’t dare try to alter.

The art of communication is a thing I eventually came to respect, value and eventually strive to master.  Like everyone, I had things I wanted to share…I wanted to be heard.  But the fear of consequences seem to strangle the spoken words for many of the early years.  I did, however, discover the liberation of a pen to paper.  It changed me…and while that relationship morphed from pen to keyboard, and sat quietly waiting on the backburner while I lived life (marriage, children…oh…and throw in that 29.5 year military career!), I found my actual voice and the words came with experience and confidence.  I was able to use them as helper and leader in the finest military forces the world knows.  Public speaking challenged and changed me…and hopefully touched a few others along the way…but it was the writing I missed and longed for.  Non-military, nontechnical writing, that is. 

I retired from the US Air Force in 2011 and wrote my first book, The Unlikely Savior, in 2012.  While I’ve led a rich and wonderful life, and wouldn’t change even the darker times, I can honestly say, writing that story felt like coming home.  And I never want to leave again!