My good friend, also named Linda, doesn’t own a Kindle and her ipad doesn’t hold any novels. Reason being, Linda is a former librarian and her love for books runs deep. When asked how she thinks writers will communicate with…
I haven’t kept my promise. Life has gotten in the way. Travel, caretaker, fundraiser all seemed more important than establishing and sustaining a full fledged writing career—in spite of the promise.
Once, on Amazon, when I offered my books for free, I “sold” 1800 copies of the second book in my series over a two day period. This garnered two reviews. After about a year of earning no money from Amazon, yet everyone downloading my eBooks for free, I quit.
I remember reading and committing the Prayer of Jabez to memory when it first came out a few years ago. I prayed it faithfully everyday because, believe me, I wanted my territory to be enlarged. So, I read the next of author, Bruce Wilkinson’s series, “Beyond Jabez”. There was a part in this best-selling book that I preferred not to touch. That was the phrase that instructed us to ask for “somebody to help”. I was scared of that part.
Mac uses his homeless buddy Rufus and some other homeless friends to help gather evidence. Eventually, the investigation leads Mac to Norris Peterson, the man who caused Mac’s downfall.
The inclusion of homeless characters, is nothing short of a Dickens (Oliver Twist-y) technique. I loved the leader of the homeless people, Lord Bozworth. He speaks with a British accent and it’s rumored that he even attended Oxford. Author Adams uses Bozworth to galvanize the homeless people to help Mac’s efforts to save the woman and to vindicate himself.
Sometimes I’m disillusioned by the extreme volume of text that has already been generated by millions of talented writers. They have told stories that are different from mine, yet the same. Tales that, in their opinion, are as interesting as mine and as important to mankind as mine.
What makes me think that my novel will generate discussion, misalign the stars—stop the earth turning on its axis—when there is a mass of dystopian mayhem already out there that no one is talking about?
I’ve begun the task of preparing my story for publishing. Quite honestly, I’m a little tired of my characters, and I’m no longer interested in returning to their neighborhood.
Now I must begin the job of extricating myself from them! That means editing without any conscious or feelings for those guys. We have broken up! I have a new interest and no matter how sexy, bewitching, or dangerous those characters were, it’s over!
If any man or woman sets a goal and works toward it, the outcome will be successful ninety-five percent of the time. I dare two people to tell me that after setting a goal and giving it their all, they didn’t accomplish what they set out to do.
I remember Mother’s Day from wa-a-ay back in the day when all of the women in the church would dress up and then set it off in hats, fur stoles, and high heels. Their looks were mesmerizing and as eye-catching as any Hollywood movie star’s. Easter was for the children, but Mother’s Day was a woman’s day to shine. I remember the famous, frothy, ice cold frappes served at the Mother’s Day Teas and the Fashion Shows put on with clothes supplied by Evans and Fashion Plate clothiers.
Something tragic happened to the old black neighborhoods where I grew up in the 60’s. In those days, most of the businesses up and down 31st and 35th Streets, from King Dr. (South Park) to Michigan were owned by our neighbors. There was a drycleaner and a hardware store, both owned by the parents of kids I went to school with. The Griffins owned the funeral home on 33rd Street.
On warm summer mornings, we’d sit on the stomp in front of our house and watch the watermelon man go by on his horsedrawn wagon,