The Needs of Other Souls — Sheila Deeth Interview

Sometimes a story comes along that immediately connects with us in a secret place. Some way or other, this author, a stranger, has found out your inner workings and put them on a printed page. Even better, when a story makes you aware that those experiences we work so hard to hide or deny, are universal. You’ll find yourself calling a friend or turning to a spouse or chatting online, because a door has been opened. It’s like we’ve been given permission to explore, to speculate, to share and to cherish that which, of course, turns out not to be so hidden or secret after all.

Author Sheila Deeth’s latest novel, FLOWER CHILD, is one of those stories; a brave exploration of the “curious relationship between a grieving mother and an unborn child who’s not quite ghost or angel.” The novel begs many questions. In the midst of such loss, do emotions distort reality? Could you let yourself believe the impossible if it could restore the one you loved? You’ll lie awake contemplating to what lengths you might go to preserve your own life, and whether you’ve known love great enough to lay down that life for someone else? Deceptively simple and poignantly effervescent, this gentle novel speculates over the limits of memory, the fine line between faith and fantasy, and that place where intellect fails us, revealed only in dreams.

Recently, Sheila said something to me in an email that I believe will represent the wisdom and unique perspectives found in this beautiful piece of fiction.

“Sometimes I think reading is a window into the needs of other souls.”

I couldn’t agree more, Sheila. I’m so glad you’re here today for this interview. Welcome!

What is your favorite quality in a person?   Trust probably. I admire people who are trustworthy, and admire them more if they’re also willing to trust.

What is your least?  Always expecting the worst is probably my least favorite quality–in others and in me.

As a child, did you dream of becoming a writer? Once I got over dreaming of being a trapeze artist (it was never going to happen) I decided to be a writer. Somehow I became a mathematician instead, but I still had dreams, and stories.

Who/what influenced you to pursue your dreams? My Mum influenced me a lot–she’s always been my greatest fan. My oldest son insisted that if I was going to tell bedtime stories they had to be in a book, so I guess he influenced me to believe it was worth writing something–not that he’d dream of reading my writing now. And the author Jane Kirkpatrick influenced me–oddly enough, I “won” an hour of her time a few years ago and she told me I was a writer. Her encouragement helped me keep going when the rejection slips stacked up.

What is your greatest love?  My faith I think. With a Catholic Dad and Methodist Mum it was something I always had to think about, and it always seemed to reward the time I spent thinking. I love reading the Bible. I love science and math and history. I love words. I love telling stories. Oh, and I love dogs!

What is your greatest fear?  Rejection–that’s a crazy fear to have as a writer–those rejection slips do pile up. But rejection’s always been my greatest fear. Of course, I’m also scared of spiders, moths, wasps and other such things.

What is your favorite place? Anywhere I can curl up with a book? My Mum’s favorite place is that path in Yellowstone where you stand right on top of the waterfall–not a good location for reading, but it’s probably one of my favorite spots too. And the glaciers in Alaska–I saw them for the first time last month. And the Grand Canyon… How many answers do you want? The advantage of curling up with a book is it can take me anywhere.

If you could give a bit of sage advice to novice writers, what would it be? Keep writing. Keep reading. And never be afraid to delete something.

Where to find Flower Child:
Her website
Amazon
Smashwords

About the author:Sheila Deeth grew up in the UK and has a Bachelors and Masters in mathematics from Cambridge University, England. Now living in the States with her husband and son, she enjoys reading, writing, drawing, telling stories, running a local writers’ group, and meeting her neighbors’ dogs on the green.
Sheila describes herself as a Mongrel Christian Mathematician. Her short stories, book reviews and articles can be found in

VoiceCatcher 4, Murder on the Wind, Poetic Monthly, Nights and Weekends, the Shine Journal and Joyful Online. Besides her Gypsy Shadow ebooks, Sheila has several self-published works available from Amazon and Lulu, and a full-length novel under contract to come out next year.

Find her on her website: http://www.sheiladeeth.com

or find her books at: http://sheiladeeth.weebly.com

Advertisement

The 7 Links Challenge — A Second Look at the Best (and Worst) of Tales of a Storyteller

Last week I was surprised to be challenged by fellow bloggers extraordinaire, Jolina Petersheim and Julia Monroe Martin, to the 7 Links Challenge. Well, folks, the first challenge was to figure out how to link something to my blog. Yes, it’s true. I am lost most of the time when it comes to point and click. So, see those little highlighted names back there? I’m proud of that. Hope it does the trick.

Now that I’ve already broken a sweat this morning, here are my seven links — a true feat, considering my blog is fairly new and I’m just happy to be here, telling my stories!

Thanks, Jolina for such a sweet encouragement!

Most Beautiful Post: The Wonder That’s Keeping The Stars Apart

I was pleased with this post and found so much beauty in the legacy of this woman. The image of her, looking beyond herself and her world in search of something greater, moved me.

Most Popular Post: What She Would Have Said

I’d like to think it was because of my wit and deft command of language, but really this post was most popular because it was my first and many friends and family came out to support the new blog. Either that, or people liked the picture of this tough little woman.

Most Controversial Post: A Story That Seeps To The Bone — Alma Katsu Interview

Now, the interview itself may not be controversial. But Alma is one of a kind and that tends to turn hairs. Her novel may not be for everyone, it may be a tough read, tackling the darker natures of mankind, but that’s why I chose to celebrate her. She is a strong-minded woman who is a gifted writer and her work may make you cringe or turn away, but I guarantee it will also make you think.

Most Helpful Post: Endurance And Authenticity — Jessica McCann Interview

While all of my interviews are helpful, this post exemplifies what I’ve found most authors have in common — not only the kind of characteristics that I believe can make you a successful writer, but also a successful person. People like Jessica, improve the world.

Most Surprisingly Successful Post: Hemingway Would Have Bought Her A Drink

Apparently, ghosts and Hemingway and drinking will get you some attention. I had a good time sharing the account of watching this woman at the Hemingway Bar in Paris. Here is the seed of a story. She still enchants me.

Post That Didn’t Get Attention: The Band Played On

All right. I know. It was a sappy memory. But it was one of those posts that sneaks up on you, unplanned. And it made me cry, listening to that old recording.

Post I Am Most Proud Of: She Began To Sing To Me

I probably should have been most proud of the post where I mentioned my wedding anniversary, but that would have been a post about my greatest blessings, not a matter of pride. So, I chose this post, which includes the first excerpt from I’ve shared from my upcoming novel. If you know me, this is a big deal. I’m just learning to talk about my writing with others.

And now here are five other bloggers (boy, this was hard!) who I enjoy reading and who I now nominate for the continuation of the 7 Links Challenge:

Amy Sue Nathan: Women’s Fiction Writer’s

Erika Robuck: Muse

Robin O’Bryant: Robin’s Chicks

Misty Barrere: Writing And Research: What Have We Gotten Ourselves Into

Susanna Kearsley: Not-A-Blog

A Story That Seeps To The Bone — Alma Katsu Interview

Careful what you wish for. That’s what Alma Katsu’s book THE TAKER whispers long after the cover has been closed. You’ll hear it, a small voice on a breeze. A cool warning to check your motives and expect them to find you out. Think twice about obsessions that lead you down winding paths. Inspect the lessons in your life and see if they hold true. And most of all, take courage. True love can overcome our greatest fears. Perhaps even conquer death. If you’re willing to pay the price…

Alma’s dark and lascivious story may not be for everyone — and folks, it will turn some hairs white and make some skin crawl, and probably offend the gentler souls among us. But the writing will transport you. It will make you look over your shoulder. And like all genius storytellers, Alma’s gift to the reader is a story that seeps into the bone and becomes your own. Like it or not.

I’m honored to have you here today, Alma. Welcome!

“Alma Katsu takes the reader by surprise in the first chapter of her mesmerizing debut and never stops delivering. What a wonderful book! A dark, gothic, epic worth savoring. A sweeping story that transcends time as it moves effortless from the tempestuous past to the frightening present. Enchanting and enthralling! No question—I was taken!”
—M.J. Rose, international bestselling author

“Alchemy and love prove a volatile mix in Katsu’s vividly imagined first novel, which toggles between the present and the past… Katsu shows considerable skill in rendering a world where Adair’s unspeakable evilness and Lanny’s wild passion make the supernatural seem possible. The result is a novel full of surprises and a powerful evocation of the dark side of romantic love.”
—Publishers Weekly

“Alma Katsu’s THE TAKER is a frighteningly compelling story about those most human monsters—desire and obsession. It will curl your hair and keep you up late at night.”
—Keith Donohue, NYT bestselling author of The Stolen Child

What is your favorite quality in a person?

I don’t think I have a favorite quality. I don’t mean for this to sound flip, but I try now to appreciate people for who they are. I’ve had to work at this. For many years, I was shaped by my career, where I had to manage teams working under very high pressure, and tended to view the people in terms of what I needed from them (which was the ability to work under high pressure!) Now I realize that just about everyone has something interesting and unique to share with the world if we slow down & pay attention. I don’t mean to sounds Pollyannish. I realize there are some people who don’t deserve your attention, but you have to at least give them a chance. I also try to learn something from everyone I meet.

What is your least?

Close-mindedness. The world is a big place, full of things you haven’t even begun to imagine. I don’t understand people who think they have the answer to everything.

As a child, did you dream of becoming a writer?

Oh yes, from elementary school. I had no idea how to do this, though, no role model. The only job I saw (at the time) that paid you to write was as a newspaper reporter, so that was how I started. It was helpful in that I got to be around writers. But making the jump to fiction seemed like an impossibility.

Who/what influenced you to pursue your dreams?

I grew up in a very practical family, so I wasn’t encouraged to be a writer. I’m from the generation that was told not to take risks and to get a safe job. I’m not saying I got me bad advice: my father lived through the Depression, my mother was a child in Japan during WWII. They knew firsthand that life could be tough and uncertain. I ended up following their advice and as a result, had a long government career. Luckily, it turned out well.

But at a certain point in my life, I wanted to try again to write fiction. I didn’t think I’d get published; I just wanted to see if I could master a craft that was so complex and unquantifiable.

What is your greatest love?

Wow, that’s a tough one. I’d have to say my husband. We’ve been together over twenty years and I’ve learned a lot about life from this relationship. But if you asked what my purest love was, I’d say my dogs. Especially the one I raised from a pup. That’s probably the closest thing I’ve felt to unconditional love, because it’s impossible for them to hurt me.

What is your greatest fear?

I try really hard not to be afraid of things. What’s the worst that could happen? You experience pain, maybe you die. You’re going to die anyway. I’ve had to face some terrible fears in my life and luckily, I was young & strong enough to deal with them. I know I probably won’t be so lucky when I’m older.

What is your favorite place?

Lying on the couch in my office where I write, preferably with my dogs. It’s so comfortable.

If you could give a bit of sage advice to novice writers, what would it be?

It’s about the journey, not the destination. Trite but true. You’ll have the most fun figuring out how to write your story, so try to concentrate on that and not let yourself get anxious over finding an agent and selling your book.

The Band Played On

There’s a song in my head since I woke up this morning. I haven’t heard it since I was a little girl, a long while now, but it’s still there. Just as clear as a bell. I know every lyric and I am taken back to a time when I twirled in sock feet across the slick top of my grandmother’s living room coffee table. She had an old record, so thick and stiff it was like glass. I loved the sound of it, the hissing and scratching when she’d put it on the enormous record player, the needle touching down with a little gasp before the music would start. And then, I’d watch my grandmother’s face. One breath, two. No matter how many times I made her play that song, or how she protested and begged me to settle for a different tune, no dice. Because none of her other records did what this one could do. With the first strains of that melody, the corner of her mouth would lift.

Magic.

There was a story in the song. It was simple: a boy and a girl, dancing, thrilling to one another. That was enough to make me love it. And trust me, I didn’t need an excuse to get up on that table and perform waltz after waltz, all dolled up in my grandmother’s square-dancing slip, delighted with the way those skirts billowed out around my little legs. I knew my grandmother was smiling at me. I was a little queen, then. But she had another smile, a secret smile, one I’d never seen before. It puzzled me and bothered me and made me dance harder and wilder, trying to pull her attention back to the wonder of me.

For the first time, I must have realized the woman in the little farmhouse – the person I thought I knew everything about, whom I believed had set her days to revolve solely around our family – had lived a life before us. Each time she played the waltz, I caught a glimpse of that girl. A stranger. A mystery. A pure wonder.

She taught me to make biscuits. She taught me the Lord’s Prayer. She taught me other things, too, like how to manipulate or regret decisions. She was quick to laugh, quick to judge, full of such pride in her family and weighed down with sorrows for brothers she couldn’t redeem. She loved her work, but never felt she was a smart woman. She loved her husband, and they were a gruff pair. She could work like a man in the summer garden, always lamented that she couldn’t grow a rose, and she never missed an epidsode of ‘Dallas,’ come Friday night. I knew all of this and I remember her that way to my children.

But today, I’ll put on a waltz. Because I know the corner of my mouth will lift, so like hers. And my daughter will wonder. She’ll watch me and weigh all the things she understands about my life against all the things she fears and hopes for her own, and she will tuck away the seed of what my grandmother’s waltz taught me.

She had a secret…

The Band Played On

Hemingway Would’ve Bought Her a Drink

I’d been trying for weeks to write this blog post. On a recent trip to Paris, I was lucky to visit the Hemingway Bar and was charmed all round. But my memory of the place felt like a troubling dream. The details of the bar itself were clear in my mind, but I kept trying to recall something more visceral – a feeling, something out of joint with the rest of my experience. It remained just out of reach. I stared and stared at the photographs, trying to rediscover what troubled me.

“Why do you look like that?” my husband asked while I scowled at the photo. He was annoyed that I was obsessing. “It was just a bar. A good drink. Expensive,” he said. He didn’t remember anything out of the ordinary. “What do you think? It was haunted?” he teased.

And that’s when I realized, I hadn’t been looking for a detail in the photograph. I’d been looking for a person.

She was sitting at a table in front of the bar, smack in the center of the room, the first thing you’d see when you walked in the door. But I didn’t see her, not at first. I was too busy looking at the memorabilia, the bust of Hemingway, the old typewriters in alcoves, the framed postcards from his world travels, caught up in the nostalgia and half expecting to hear Papa himself whisper a dirty joke in my ear.

It was dark and so was she, her hair, her clothes, her skin, all black. She was thin, with long arms and long legs, impossibly languorous. She must have been there when we came in but we’d been sitting at our table – and I was facing her, mind you – long enough to order our drinks and take in the atmosphere, before she uncrossed her legs. That small movement drew my eye and it seemed like she appeared out of nothing. I swear, she was like one of those pictures you look at once and see an old man and then blink and see the hidden image of a horse and cart.

I waited on my drink, but I wasn’t talking to my husband or imagining Paris being liberated. I was watching the woman, how still she could be, how she occupied space without disturbing it. Except for the occasional sip from her drink or a nod of her sleek head, she never moved. An older gentleman approached her table, asked if he could take a seat. She was gracious, but not interested. She was young. She was not anxious.

But I was. I started straightening my clothes, worrying about my jet-lagged complexion and my fuzzy hair. I took a drink from my gorgeous, rose-adorned glass and swallowed wrong, coughed. I smiled for a couple of silly photographs with my husband and then we paid the bill. And all the while I kept watching the other woman. I was an American tourist, out of place, giddy and too friendly. She could have been anyone. Or no one. If I blinked, she could disappear altogether. How did she do that?

It was a secret she wasn’t sharing. Still isn’t.

Look. Right there she is, in the photograph I took of the bar. I hadn’t even noticed her yet, and maybe that’s why I’d forgotten her when I went back to look at these images. Do you see her? A dark outline? Will you wonder about her the way I do? Is she a ghost? Is she waiting for someone? Is she lonely?Most probably at some point in her life, she will be all of those things. But for me, every time I look at this photograph, I search her out. Mesmerized by never knowing.

Wouldn’t Hemingway love that? He’d have bought her a drink, I bet. He’d have given her a thousand names.

A Little Perseverance – Lisa Turner Interview

My guest interview today is with another woman who inspires me: author Lisa Turner, an indomitable personality and new talent whose soulful mystery, A LITTLE DEATH IN DIXIE, released June of 2010 by Bell Bridge Books, impressed me as powerfully as the author herself.

Here’s a nice quote on this debut novel:

“Memphis, the Mississippi River, and the underbelly of human nature they’re all exposed in the dark brew of this fast-paced Southern Gothic suspense. Page-turning and atmospheric, this tightly-plotted novel turns the screws and sends readers racing to its surprise conclusion.” ~Michael Finger, Senior Editor, Memphis Magazine

Born in Memphis, Lisa Turner spent her childhood either on the back of a horse or reading fiction. At times she did them simultaneously. Flannery O’Connor and James Lee Burke were her literary heroes long before she knew the term  “Southern Gothic.”

From the experience of managing her family’s interior design firm, she earned a PhD in the peculiarities of human nature . . . talk about Southern Gothic!

More recently, she and her husband bought a home in Nova Scotia, where the landscape changed from cotton fields to lobster boats. She currently shuttles between the Deep South of her childhood and the wildly beautiful coast of Nova Scotia.

I know you’ll enjoy getting to know her through these thoughtful and provocative responses and I’m so thankful she took the time to share today.

Welcome, Lisa!

 

Q. What are your favorite characteristics in a person?

A. Dependability, humility, and a touch of fire.  Melded, those qualities produce a person of honor without arrogance, and yet with a spark that drives them to accomplish great things.

I enjoy watching Charlie Rose interview the “brightest and best” in science, film, politics, architecture, literature—every field imaginable. Charlie regularly asks the question, “How did you achieve this breakthrough; how did you create this masterpiece?”  The really great ones look a little puzzled. They answer, “I just worked hard.”

 

Q. What are your least favorite characteristics?

A. That would be “envy,” defined as the unhappy feeling of wanting someone else’s success or possessions for oneself.

What motivates envy? What does one person’s achievement have to do with another person’s success or lack of it? Of course, I’m not referring to a hungry person watching someone else eat a quarter-pound cheeseburger.  That kind of imbalance and lack of opportunity starts wars.

Pursue your passion to the best of your ability and pay no attention to what someone else has on their plate.

 

Q. As a child, did you dream of becoming a writer?

A. Reading was a big part of my childhood, and I enjoyed writing, but I never said to myself, “One day I’ll be a writer.”

However, I was always fascinated by words. Even as a child, combinations of words were like music for me. I still overwrite sentences because I’m hunting for the music. The next day I’ll have to rewrite the whole thing, because I’ve missed the point.  A scene has to be more about the story and the character’s voice and emotion than the lyricism of the words.

 

Q. Who/what influenced your dreams?

 A. I love, love, love old movies. They’ve influenced every area of my life.  The best of them provide great storytelling, dialogue, wonderful sets, and costume design.  When I write a scene, I like to use strong visual details along with a lot of texture. If I can infuse a bit of Southern culture into the mix, I’m happy.

I’m also influenced by writers who open with killer first paragraphs. After a couple of pages, you can tell if they have the talent and the authority to build on their beginning. Any writer who starts strong and is able to carry that momentum through to the end is impressive. No one knows what an accomplishment that is until they try it.

 

Q. What is your greatest fear about writing?

A. That’s easy. I’m afraid I’ll write something trite or obvious without realizing it. It helps to have astute critics and great editors looking over your shoulder. But it’s important to choose those readers carefully. Be sure they don’t have a hidden emotional agenda, like envy, that would lead to distorted advice.  Fortunately, I’ve had supportive people helping me all the way.

 

Q. If you could give a bit of sage advice to novice writers, what would it be?

A. Read everything. Stay current with your genre. Talk to other writers. Study the craft by reading books about writing and attend professional conferences. Mastering the basic tenets of storytelling will save you the misery of wondering why your beloved manuscript, after hundreds of hours of hard work, just doesn’t cut it.

Pay attention to the details of life and make notes. Be aware of the subtext that goes on in everyday conversation.  Hunt for fresh story ideas until one grabs your imagination and you can’t stop thinking about its possibilities.

I have a note card in the bookcase to the left of my desk.  It says: “Never, never, never give up.”  Do that, do the work and you’ll have a manuscript that will make you proud.

Writers Who Inspire – Hope Clark Interview

Lucky me, one of the most satisfying parts of my experience as a writer has been the other writers I’ve met along the way. Their stories – both personal and professional – are compelling and inspiring. Their love of their craft is individual and passionate. Their insight and sage advice, invaluable and almost always offered with an open hand. And so I’ve chosen to feature a writer who exemplifies all of these qualities as my first Writer Who Inspires interview. I know she’ll inspire you, too.

Hope is editor of FundsforWriters.com, chosen by Writer’s Digest for its 101 Best Websites for Writers for 2001 through 2011. She’s published in The Writer

Magazine, Writers Digest, numerous Chicken Soups and multiple trade

magazines. Her newsletters reach 40,000 readers.

What is your favorite quality in a person?

Respect for others, which means a strong sense of honesty. I’m adamant about

this quality in a person. If I can trust you, I can let down my guard. I don’t know if that comes from being a shy person growing up, fearful of showing my feelings, but if someone crosses me, I have a serious problem with being able to let them in my circle again. But be loyal and trustworthy, and I’m as strong a friend as anyone could have. A person who respects is a person who can love deeply as well.

What is your least?

Without a doubt, someone who lies. Not accidental distortions, but true cons

who know the truth. My friends and family know that lying to me is about as bad

a mistake anyone could make in my eyes.

A close second in terms of my least favorite quality is someone who cannot listen. I was taught to never interrupt, and therefore, learned how to listen hard to others and their opinions. Someone who runs over my conversation loses my respect in a snap. It’s a sign of them thinking of how to dominate a conversation instead of participating as an equal.This habit probably falls in the lack-of-respect category.

As a child, did you dream of becoming a writer?

Funny, but while I loved writing, I never dreamed of becoming a writer. I was an honor student, with a strong emphasis in math and science.Sure, I was in honors English and wrote well. I was copy editor then editor for the high school yearbook. But I saw writing as a talent, not a profession.

You have to realize that in my high school and college days (in the 70s), women lived under plate glass, double-paned ceilings. Raised by parents who both worked during a time that the mom stayed home, I was taught to go for the gold. I interpreted that as being strong enough to go for a man’s career – business, math, science. I entered pre-veterinary school, shifted to zoology, then to agronomy (soil science). But writing for a living wasn’t an option, even though I was offered a scholarship to journalism school. Looking back, I may have missed an opportunity, but I’m not one to look back for long. I move forward. Regret is a waste of energy and creative juices.Besides, my novel was founded upon experiences at my day job.

Fate is a marvelous thing.

But…I was an avid reader. I tried to write a novel at age nine. I wrote fabulous

term papers that made the teachers marvel. But I never saw myself as a

future writer. I felt writing was a gift I’d use at whatever I became professionally.

Who/what influenced you to pursue your dreams?

Let’s start with WHAT. I’d reached upper management in a small federal agency.

I was second in command for the state of South Carolina in that agency. Writing

had played a major role in that advancement. I wrote for Congressmen, political appointees, program directors, and agency administrators. I headed task forces, managed employees, and prepared briefs, strategic plans and technical documents that wielded influence. I was known for my writing ability. I even laughed at being able to write “government fiction.” A director could tell me the side he wanted to take on a matter, and I could spin it in writing. But the stress was intense. A peer once asked me over lunch, “When are you going to write for yourself?”

His words hit me like a brick. So I went home, told my family that I had fifteen minutes each night to myself behind a closed door to write. They were not to interrupt me unless:

1. they were bleeding; 2. a bone was broken; 3. the house was on fire. I maintained a 10-12 hour workday with three teenagers, but I kept my private appointment each night. It evolved into a habit, building more and more until it was an hour a day and many hours on the weekend. Once I’d spent three years writing part-time and proved I could earn wages as a writer, and reached the minimum age to negotiate an early retirement (25 years service; I was 46 years old), I left the rat-race. But only after setting my family down and asking if they minded. My husband said he’d be thrilled to see me working at something I obviously loved so much. My children said much the same. Once I took the leap, they actually said I was a much more fun person to live with. Okay, a back-handed compliment, but I gladly accepted it. Because I was indeed happy.

The WHO influence ranges over several people. How do you ever choose one or two? My tenth-grade English teacher, Mrs. Janet  Hilton, convinced me I had writing talent. She dragged me as a shy teenager onto the yearbook staff and made me write copy. My husband cheered me on as I wrote into the night attempting fiction, poetry, essays, anything other than technical government work. I still have the first icky draft of my novel coming out February 2012, a 12-15-year old document, that has his A+ on it in red pen. It stunk but he knew I spent two years writing after work just to see if I had a novel in me.Apparently I did, just not then.

A journalist, KD McIntosh, once asked me for help in finding funds/income since she was ill and still trying to work from home – back in the 90s when that was not the trend. In return, she showed me how to compose and produce a newsletter. She told me I had a niche – grants – that I could teach to writers. I cringed at the thought because it ran too close to being the day job. Reluctantly I started the newsletter, hoping to combine editorial writing with providing grant resources to writers. The newsletter took off. I sent a long, heartfelt thank-you note to her three months after I started FundsforWriters, crediting her for being so wise. I sent it to the hospital where she’d been admitted. I had no idea for what ailment, but I didn’t want to wait until she was home. It was returned unopened. She’d died from ovarian cancer.

That twist of fate slammed me hard. So I took up FundsforWriters with a passion

after that. She obviously knew what she was talking about. That was in early 2000. I had 1000 readers. Today I have 40,000.

I think people shift in and out of your life, influencing as they go. I could name

Pari Noskin Taichert, a mystery author out of New Mexico I chauffeured to a book signing in Scottsdale, Arizona, to the Poisoned Pen bookstore. Over dinner she asked if I did more than FundsforWriters. I mentioned my old novel on the shelf. She told me to take it down and rewrite it. She said I was more mature in my writing now. She told me I’d regret not doing so. I pulled it out the next day. Again, it’s the novel coming out in February.

I could go on and on about people who influenced me. That’s why I try to

influence others, give them a hand along their journey. It’s my way of

passing it forward.

What is your greatest love?

In terms of people, of course my husband and sons. In terms of the universe, I’m enamored with nature. I’m addicted to dirty fingernails, seedlings, weeds, the smell of grass, the stain of garden tomatoes on my shirt, the odor of mulch in summer. I deal with stress in the outdoors, whether seated by the lake watching fish and listening to tree frogs, or weeding and pruning my landscape. Throw in my chickens, and you probably get it. I love the seclusion of the country. It empowers me. I spend Easter relaxed outdoors instead of at church. It’s closer to God. Green. Give me green. My absolute favorite color because of what it symbolizes. Natural. Honesty. Purity. Growth.

What is your greatest fear?

Loss of husband and children. I can cope with absolutely anything else. While I grew up shy, I also grew up strong. People don’t realize that shyness isn’t a weakness. In many cases, it’s an introspective strength that powers us through life.

What is your favorite place?

I grew up as a military brat, so I learned to enjoy wherever I was at the time. However, after having touched 42 states and lived in seven, I gravitate back to the Southeastern US each and every time. My Southern roots date back to the 17th century. I’ve spent most of my life in South Carolina. Even though I was born in Mississippi, I consider SC home. I live on the banks of Lake Murray, and it’s hard to tear me away from the water, woods and wildlife. I’ve never had a desire to apply for a retreat or fellowship, because my muse parks her backside here, in a study facing the lake.

If you could give a bit of sage advice to novice writers, what would it be?

Find a reason to get hungry about writing. Then fight that hunger with a diligence that can’t die. Become known for your diligence. When people ask you what you do, have them walk away stunned at your passion. Write daily.

I speak to writers every day. When I hear comments like they don’t have time right now, or they have children, or they work a day job and need a grant to have time to write, I know better. A sincere writer doesn’t make excuses for not

writing. He beats himself up for missing an opportunity to write and makes up

for it the next day by writing more. A sincere writer fights to improve. A sincere

writer edits to the extreme, deeply driven to perform well. It isn’t about publishing ten ebooks in two years because the industry has shifted to embrace new media. It’s about being the best at what you do, and investing the time, study and research to make it happen. Whether it takes two years or twenty.

Be diligent. That’s what I have to say. Be diligent to write well.

The first book in Hope Clark’s Carolina Slade Suspense

Series will be released by Bell Bridge Books in February 2012.

You can find Hope at:

Editor, FundsforWriters, www.fundsforwriters.com
Writer’s Digest 101 Best Web Sites for Writers – 2001-2011
Over a decade of recognized excellence
Blog – www.hopeclark.blogspot.com
Twitter – www.twitter.com/hopeclark
Facebook – www.facebook.com/chopeclark

About.me – http://about.me/hopeclark

Save Your Soul Pound Cake

It’s a hundred degrees here in north Georgia and too hot to do much of anything except remember summers in my Granny’s kitchen. Usually, she had a pressure cooker going full steam, putting up vegetables from the garden. I’m sweating in my house and I have air conditioning and steam-in-a-bag veggies from Publix.

For some reason, that makes me want to get out my cookbook. It’s a binder full of recipes she put together over the years and slid into plastic sleeves so I’d be able to feed my husband and children right one day when she wasn’t around to tell me how to do it anymore. Every time I pull out these recipes, I think of her. And today, she’s telling me I need to quit worrying about the – forgive me, Lord – bikini I’ll be squeezing into in a few weeks when I travel to Europe, and sustain my soul with a lemon pound cake.

So, here you go. I’ve copied the recipe as she wrote it, word for word. If you don’t understand, shoot me a comment. It’ll heat up your house like a sweat lodge and rid you of all impurities.

Old Fashioned Pound Cake

2 cups plain flour

1 cup Crisco

2 cups sugar

5 tbsp Sweet Milk

5 eggs

2 tbsp Lemon Flavoring

Cream sugar and Crisco. Beat one egg at a time into mixture, alternately adding bits of flour and tbsps of milk. (Add part flour, mix, add 2 tbsp milk, mix. Add rest of flour, mix. Then add rest of milk and flavoring.)

Grease bunt pan and pour in batter. Bake at 300 degrees for 1 hour, or until brown on top.

You might want to put a cookie sheet on the lower rack in the oven to catch anything that drips out.

Serve with vanilla ice cream.