Indie Chick Dani Amore
The Indie Chicks Strike Again!
Dani Amore
WRITING FROM A FLOUR SACK
by
Dani Amore
Fact: Iwas born on a bathroom floor. Literally. My arrival into this worldwas followed seconds later by an unceremonious drop onto the cold tile of St.John's Hospital in Detroit, Michigan.
You see, I was the fifth out of six children. My mother knew my delivery would be fast, butthe nurse at the hospital insisted she go to the bathroom before the doctorarrived.
Later, after the drama and I was pronounced healthy, mymother told the doctor that the nurse should have listened to her, that she hadwarned the nurse that the baby (me) was going to arrive any second. That, having already delivered four children,she knew her body pretty well.
The doctor said, "Five kids, huh? Maybe you should tell your husband to keep itin his pants."
True story.
***
Both of my parents were born in Italy. They emigrated to the U.S. in the 1950s. My father always said the biggest differencebetween Italy and America at that time was that you could work your ass off inItaly and have nothing to show for it. If you worked hard in America, you could eventually become wealthy. He started a construction company and worked6 days a week, from dawn to dusk. Eventually, he was successful.
My mother raised six children.
She is a strong woman.
Both she and my father share a love of aphorisms.
The one I remember most? "A well-made flour sack stands on its own."
It was almost like a mantra with her.
At a key point in my writing life, that phrase came in handy.
***
So there I am. I'vegot a full-time job in advertising. I'mwriting about products that suck, working for people I can't stand, and withtwo good friends, drinking every night after work. At a little bar not far from the office. I'm averaging about five or six drinks anight. Every weeknight. More on the weekends.
But on those weekend mornings, I'm writing fiction. Just short stories that I try to picture inThe Paris Review.
Everything gets rejected with remarkable efficiency.
One night, probably half in the bag, I come across THE DAYOF THE JACKAL on television. Theoriginal movie is pretty campy and the remake with Bruce Willis is a pure loadof crap. But the book. The novel by Frederick Forsyth is one of myall-time favorites.
The scene on television is the best part of the movie: It's where the Jackal is sighting in hisrifle. He paints a little face on asmall melon, then blows it apart from 500 yards away.
There's no epiphany. I go to bed. But as I toss andturn, vodka fumes in a cloud around my pillow, I think about the narrativestructure of the story. I've read thebook several times. Even have acollector's edition. The chase. The tension. The violence.
When I wake up the next morning, I make an especially strongpot of coffee. I push aside my shortliterary fiction, and start a new story.
It's about a hitman and a female escort.
Later that day, during some interminable meeting whereeveryone is throwing out insidious phrases like "let's get on the same page,"and "think outside the box," I realized what I was doing.
I was writing to please others, instead of focusing on thekind of stories and books I like.
Crime fiction. Thrillers. Suspense.
I had forgotten one of my mother's cardinal rules.
A well-made flour sack stands on its own.
***
I know it sounds melodramatic. But the truth is, everything changed afterthat night. I still despised theadvertising industry, but I no longer let it bother me so much. I begged off going to the bar with myfriends, instead choosing to work out and then get some writing done in theevenings.
Eventually, I finished several crime novels. Even landed a big New York literary agent.
But a funny thing happened. My agent, and publishers, seemed to have endless debates about how tomarket me. Should I be a hardboiledcrime novelist? A thriller writer? A traditional mystery author?
There were suggestions to change this book and change thatone. Then change it back. Then change it to something else.
But now I had learned. I was smarter.
I told them thanks, but no thanks.
It was time to stand up and be the writer I wanted to be.
So I became an indie author.
And when my first book became a Top 10 Mystery on Amazon, Iknew I had made the right decision.
Never underestimate the power of an Italian mother armedwith an aphorism.
Dani's Books on Amazon:
DeathBy Sarcasm
DeadWood
TheKilling League
ToFind A Mountain
I recently read Death by Sarcasm. What a read! All I could think was I would never want to get on the wrong side of the heroine, Mary Cooper. But I sure would want her riding shot gun with me.
Barbara
To learn more about Dani, visit her at http://www.daniamore.com
Dani AmoreWRITING FROM A FLOUR SACK
by
Dani Amore
Fact: Iwas born on a bathroom floor. Literally. My arrival into this worldwas followed seconds later by an unceremonious drop onto the cold tile of St.John's Hospital in Detroit, Michigan.
You see, I was the fifth out of six children. My mother knew my delivery would be fast, butthe nurse at the hospital insisted she go to the bathroom before the doctorarrived.
Later, after the drama and I was pronounced healthy, mymother told the doctor that the nurse should have listened to her, that she hadwarned the nurse that the baby (me) was going to arrive any second. That, having already delivered four children,she knew her body pretty well.
The doctor said, "Five kids, huh? Maybe you should tell your husband to keep itin his pants."
True story.
***
Both of my parents were born in Italy. They emigrated to the U.S. in the 1950s. My father always said the biggest differencebetween Italy and America at that time was that you could work your ass off inItaly and have nothing to show for it. If you worked hard in America, you could eventually become wealthy. He started a construction company and worked6 days a week, from dawn to dusk. Eventually, he was successful.
My mother raised six children.
She is a strong woman.
Both she and my father share a love of aphorisms.
The one I remember most? "A well-made flour sack stands on its own."
It was almost like a mantra with her.
At a key point in my writing life, that phrase came in handy.
***
So there I am. I'vegot a full-time job in advertising. I'mwriting about products that suck, working for people I can't stand, and withtwo good friends, drinking every night after work. At a little bar not far from the office. I'm averaging about five or six drinks anight. Every weeknight. More on the weekends.
But on those weekend mornings, I'm writing fiction. Just short stories that I try to picture inThe Paris Review.
Everything gets rejected with remarkable efficiency.
One night, probably half in the bag, I come across THE DAYOF THE JACKAL on television. Theoriginal movie is pretty campy and the remake with Bruce Willis is a pure loadof crap. But the book. The novel by Frederick Forsyth is one of myall-time favorites.
The scene on television is the best part of the movie: It's where the Jackal is sighting in hisrifle. He paints a little face on asmall melon, then blows it apart from 500 yards away.
There's no epiphany. I go to bed. But as I toss andturn, vodka fumes in a cloud around my pillow, I think about the narrativestructure of the story. I've read thebook several times. Even have acollector's edition. The chase. The tension. The violence.
When I wake up the next morning, I make an especially strongpot of coffee. I push aside my shortliterary fiction, and start a new story.
It's about a hitman and a female escort.
Later that day, during some interminable meeting whereeveryone is throwing out insidious phrases like "let's get on the same page,"and "think outside the box," I realized what I was doing.
I was writing to please others, instead of focusing on thekind of stories and books I like.
Crime fiction. Thrillers. Suspense.
I had forgotten one of my mother's cardinal rules.
A well-made flour sack stands on its own.
***
I know it sounds melodramatic. But the truth is, everything changed afterthat night. I still despised theadvertising industry, but I no longer let it bother me so much. I begged off going to the bar with myfriends, instead choosing to work out and then get some writing done in theevenings.
Eventually, I finished several crime novels. Even landed a big New York literary agent.
But a funny thing happened. My agent, and publishers, seemed to have endless debates about how tomarket me. Should I be a hardboiledcrime novelist? A thriller writer? A traditional mystery author?
There were suggestions to change this book and change thatone. Then change it back. Then change it to something else.
But now I had learned. I was smarter.
I told them thanks, but no thanks.
It was time to stand up and be the writer I wanted to be.
So I became an indie author.
And when my first book became a Top 10 Mystery on Amazon, Iknew I had made the right decision.
Never underestimate the power of an Italian mother armedwith an aphorism.
Dani's Books on Amazon:
DeathBy Sarcasm
DeadWood
TheKilling League
ToFind A Mountain
I recently read Death by Sarcasm. What a read! All I could think was I would never want to get on the wrong side of the heroine, Mary Cooper. But I sure would want her riding shot gun with me.
Barbara
To learn more about Dani, visit her at http://www.daniamore.com
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