Uniformity or innovation…an author’s choice?

Lavish pageantry. Stunning displays of precise choreography. Did Beijing’s closing ceremonies outdo the opening performances? They were both amazing. After a few surprised gasps and several eyebrow dances, it seemed I was becoming jaded with the scope and drama of it all. Poor London, site of the 2012 Summer Olympics: what an elaborate act to follow!

China skillfully employed its greatest resource: people. Over a million Chinese applied for the 100,000 volunteer positions. I direct an annual musical production in my small community, and we hold six weeks of rehearsals for our 45-minute show. I can’t begin to wrap my mind around how many volunteer hours of rehearsals went into the dozens of complex productions.

China is proud of its numbers – its Olympic athletes earned more gold than the US. It spent $50 billion for the Bird’s Nest stadium, Water Cube and other Olympic structures. An eyebrow-raising 15,000 Chinese volunteers performed in the Opening Ceremonies alone.

Filmmaker Zhang Yimou, who directed the gala, commented that only North Korea could have outdone them. “North Korea is No. 1 in the world when it comes to uniformity,” he said.

Uniformity, the stripping away of what makes us unique as human, to achieve precision on a grand scale. That scares some people who think of uniformity as an Orwellian nightmare, all of humanity, marching like so many robots, insignificant when weighed against the whole, interchangeable, less unique even than Lego® building blocks, more like nondescript concrete bricks, easily stacked one onto the other with no pesky “protestor” bricks or bricks that might seek slip out of line, seeking freedom or individuality.

Uniformity, or individuality? Benefits can be listed for both, because both are needed. In the literary world, editors cry out for fresh, new stories – but they are simultaneously wooed by the comfort of predictable sales, which can discourage them from taking a chance on something innovative. This fear of newness (or as with China, this admiration of predictable, “sure” things) explains the growth of small presses like my publisher, Five Star Publishing, which buy more novels that don’t fit the pegs and holes of proven genres.

We authors are encouraged to write the stories of our hearts. To sell our novels, must we adjust our ideas to conform to proven storylines? What’s more important to you in your writing, uniformity to make a sale, or innovation, with no regard to sales?

Slipping through my fingers – the dramatic threshold of change and mourning loss before it occurs

Like millions of others, I just fell under the spell of the recently released movie, Mama Mia. Who wouldn’t want to spend some time on a beautiful Greek island, dazzled by the flowers and stunning costumes, set against the sparkling Aegean sea? But it was the music that enchanted, the return to Abba’s splendid body of songs, that touched me. Meryl Streep’s achingly beautiful rendition of Winner Takes It All brought me to tears. She continues to impress me with her range of talents. Pierce Brosnan contributed his masculine beauty and a charming version of SOS, and (Julie Walters) and (Christine Baranski) provided several laugh-out-loud moments as Streep’s comedic sidekicks.

I wasn’t prepared for the emotional storm produced by hearing Slipping Through My Fingers. It brought me to free-reign tears. These tears don’t well in the eyes, waiting to be released and easily captured with a subtle sweep of the finger. These tears rush down the cheeks before you know they’re coming because your heart has been touched so deeply. I was watching with my younger daughter, scheduled to return to college the next day. To avoid embarrassing her or creating guilt, I concentrated on the neutral corner of the screen for a moment to regain my composure, thinking, “Geesh! Where did that rush of emotion come from?”

Meryl Streep packs emotion in her songs in Mama Mia!

Released in 1981, Slipping describes a mother’s pain when preparing for her daughter’s wedding and the inevitable separation that shears the lifetime bonds of mother and child. The lyrics describe the missed opportunities, the sense of helplessness that accompanies the passage of time, the sense of loss that overwhelms, even though the daughter is still there. It’s those heart-heavy last moments when we slip beyond The Now, The Present, and mourn our loss before we have lost it.

How many times have we done that in our lives, mourned the loss of youth, for example, before we’re really aged? This phenomenon is powerful enough to sober even a flock of normally boisterous high school students, weighed down by the impending separation and knowledge that life will never be the same after that particular moment, because their friends are destined for distant universities and cities, or even different dorms and majors that will strip them of their comfortable life rhythms and bring permanent change.

Back in 1981, I dismissed the song. The relationship with my mother was tempestuous and bitter, so when I heard the lyrics I thought, “Of course she’s slipping away. She’s her own person and you have no choice but to set her free.” My perspective was daughter-focused.

Fast forward twenty-seven years, and my perspective is mother-focused. I have a joyous relationship with my two grown daughters, and after decades of living, my reaction to the song has changed. When Streep sang these lyrics…

What happened to the wonderful adventures

The places I had planned for us to go

(Slipping through my fingers all the time)

Well, some of that we did but most we didn’t

And why I just don’t know …it struck a chord of regret. There were so many “wonderful adventures” I had planned to share with my daughters, but time and childhood passed and we didn’t do them. Rather than regret, I should be pleased and warmed by the memories of all the marvelous adventures we did share, but it is this issue of time passing, of not being able to go back and add a finishing touch to the past, that brings a sense of loss and helplessness because change is shutting the door with the hard, cruel thud of forever.

How remarkable, my contradictory reactions to the same song, all due to my life experiences and changing perspectives. I will remember this when my novels deeply touch some people, but not others. It could be an issue of timing.

How marvelous that songwriters Bjoorn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson captured that feeling in their lyrics. It inspires me to articulate such passions in my own prose.

A final note about Mama Mia – if my reflections here lead you to believe it’s a sad movie, it certainly is not.  Like life, there’s a little angst here and there, but the movie’s bursting with joy and laugh-out-loud fun.  So now I’m going to march right back to living, and quit with the mourning losses before they occur. Life’s too short, too glorious. If you don’t believe me, go see Mama Mia!

 

 

 

 

 

Blind trust

Here’s your assignment for today: slip a narrow box over your head, and let it slide down the length of your body, all the way to your knees.

This box you’re now wearing is more narrow than a casket and, unlike an MRI scan, it has no windows cut out, no soothing fan to help you overcome the knee-buckling claustrophobia you’ll feel once you realize you can’t see, you can’t move your arms, and breathing is difficult in this hot, suffocating space.

Now imagine there is another person standing next to you, wearing a similar box, and you are surrounded by six hundred other people with similar boxes, and you’re all crammed into a tiny space that allows no movement other than up and down.

Sound like a scene out of a Stephen King novel? Nope, it’s what several hundred Chinese men endured to present the Harmony show, just one of the many presented at the Olympics Opening Ceremonies.

Viewed from the top, we didn’t see that this display – which resembled one of those boxes with hundreds of loose, dull nails that you can put over your face or hand and pull it back to see it represented in 3-D. In their confining individual chambers, the men moved in perfect synchronization to create a wave effect and, every now and then, the Chinese character for “HARMONY” stood out in relief.

When they revealed that the display was made up of hundreds of individual people stuffed in this narrow tubes, I was stunned. Not being able to see, how did they synchronize their movements? A friend suggested that each man wore headphones, each person had an assigned number, and each one stood up when they heard their number.

What planning. What patience and endurance to execute the master plan.

So like writing a novel, isn’t it? We know our characters, we’ve plotted turning points and our protagonist’s inner story, but in those early chapters, we’re in the dark; the story tries our courage. What if we step out of time and ruin the big picture? But we approach the keyboard and trust the master plan, and in the end, we emerge, blinking, owl-like, from having been confined in a dark, scary space, and we face the sun.

To the unsung heroes who embrace our dreams

JR, my 'Patron of the Arts'

“No man is an island,” but especially for those of us in the arts, a dream can seldom be achieved in a vacuum. Most of us have or have had someone who encourages us when we need it, supports us emotionally, financially, socially, mentally–any or all of the above.

Pity them. Most of them didn’t ask for the job, but rather had it foisted upon them when we decided, at some point in our lives, that we wanted to write a novel.

Talk about being blind-sided! How nice, they said at first. A novel. A little pecking on the keyboard now and then, ruminating, reflecting, and then the agent takes it from there and we’ll collect royalties.

Instead, much like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole, they found themselves chasing a mystifying and often annoying creature whom they thought they knew well.

Writers. God love us ‘cause we’re one mega short of a byte. Our Patron of the Arts wannabes are left shaking their heads when we hand off our Coors Light to them at a party, leave a conversation mid-sentence and rush to the car to scribble down scene notes. When we forget to pick up Junior after soccer because we’re figuring out a way the killer can dispose of the body and still catch Flight 218 to London. Or when we run into the truck in front of us in traffic, puncturing the radiator, because we’re rehearsing our hero’s marriage proposal.

It’s not that we’re antisocial. We can’t control the Muse when it hits, or when it abandons us, so what if we drink a little, trying to coax her back? (Sorry about that broken ice luge, Honey.) We might get nervous, too, when we have a proposal or query letter in the mail. We might pace. We might even resort to smoking. Hell’s bells, we’re on deadline! Release the dams. If the Muse abandons us, we’ll chew nails, stick twenty-seven Post-it notes about plot on the headboard and greet dawn still staring at the monitor. We’ll eat seventeen Twinkies in a row or read quotes from Maharishi Mahesh if it’ll prime the pump.

So what if our moods swings make Britney Spears seem stable? Depending on the incoming mail, we’re perfectly capable of doing an impromptu Venus Williams jump-dance (no matter the setting) or bawling our eyes out on the backyard glider. It’s not our fault. We’re totally at the mercy of the judges. Or editors. Yeah, all those $@(!%* people with the power, because we have none, and we get a little cranky about it, so watch your tone when you say “royalties.” Repeat after me, “We *love* two-for-one coupons at McDonald’s, and free samples lunch on Fridays at Sam’s Club is mighty tasty.”

My husband has abandoned the “fight” side of the “fight or flight” option. He gave it a valiant try one year, attending the Rocky Mountain Fiction Wrirers’ summer picnic.  Deluged with a foreign language, he retreated.  What’s the matter with him?  Wat’s so threatening about Deus ex machina, CRMs, remainders, galleys, ARCs, blurbs and em-dashes? Guess it didn’t go well with his mayo because now he seems to grow wings for his “flight” pattern each year when picnic time rolls around.

Then there’s conferences, a kind of Woodstock-for-the-Bookies, a loll in Fiction-Land, a Literary Love-in where writers flock in a shameless communion of lectures, lamentations, levity and liquor, all conducted in that same jargon-laden vocabulary that addles our mates’ minds.

Even vacations aren’t sacred. The unsuspecting Patron of the Arts might join you on a cross-country trip to view the fall colors in Vermont, only to be taken on a 500-mile side trip to Kansas – with a teething toddler – so you can add authenticity to your description of a farm in Kansas. Or she might not-so-enthusiastically agree to being dragged up a fourteener so you can determine if scree is indeed slippery enough that a 120-pound villain could push the hero off the mountain.

They support us when the book sells, and when it doesn’t. They’re with us when sales are good, or bad. Their support is one of life’s true gifts.

They love us in spite of ourselves. Loyal to the end, they indulge our manic need to visit yet another book store, or endure long critique sessions when we invade their living rooms on an otherwise serene Saturday. They might lovingly video a book signing or workshop so we can promote our latest book, and sacrifice in countless other ways so we may pursue our writing dreams.

It is in honor of our true life heroes that I write today, and it is with the deepest appreciation for my own Patron of the Arts that I propose we give this award to our unsung heroes, if for no other reason than they can read something we write — with love and dedication — to them.

Janet hereby nominates her DH, John, for Patron of the Arts. He has supported her writer’s dream for ten years.

 

 

Too hot? Remember Jack London’s “fine powder of frost”

We’ve just come off of an all-time record heat wave in the metro Denver area – over twenty straight days with temperatures above ninety, which included a reading of 101 degrees F. on Sunday. For air-conditioning hold-outs like my family, that meant sweltering nights with fitful sleep as the fan whipped around the air of Hades in an impossible effort to cool the room.

And in the heat of the night, I thought of a dog with its “fine powder of frost,” of ice, and air so cold that spittle crackled and froze before it hit the ground. Yes, I was thinking of one of the most memorable short stories I have ever read, To Build a Fire, by Jack London (1876-1916). I recall learning that London wrote that story from a beach chair on one of the Hawaiian islands, and my initial disbelief that anyone could write such convincing prose about the perils of death by freezing – while he lounged, carefree, the sun warm on his skin. Such was London’s skill, and such is the magic of fiction. We can change our environment any time, just by stepping into the pages of fiction. No matter how oppressive the heat, our minds are free to roam cooler worlds. We need only our imaginations and, thankfully, given the current financial climate, it’s free.

You can read this amazing short story at http://www.kingkong.demon.co.uk/gsr/fire.htm

Do you recall a time when fiction took you to a radically different world or environment? A time when, like a welcome balm, fiction healed or rescued you from harsh reality? If time permits, please share.

Lifting our faces to life – risk-taking

A sudden downpour inspired this beautiful music lover to soak up the elements at this past weekend's Keystone Jazz Festival

Photo opportunities come when you least expect them, and I stumbled into this gem at last weekend’s Keystone Jazz Festival.  I admired this woman’s zest for life and her natural reaction to the rain.  Falling in late afternoon, the sun slanted into the pavillion from the west, golden sunshine that made the cascading droplets of water sparkle as they slid down the curved edges of the tent.  Outside, the rain had let up to a sparkling drizzle.  I didn’t capture the golden rays of sun from this angle because I was fighting for a straight shot through a dozen other photographers, but I captured her mood and the splashing raindrops. 

     Her spirit of adventure inspired me, reminded me that we harbor too many inhibitions in life; that letting go can provide more of the special moments in our lives, the “nows” that arrive unexpectedly, a surprise gift that we often refuse because we don’t want to get wet, run our mascara, ruin our hair–our freedom cut short by other’s expectations instead of our own good instincts.  She had more fun that day than I did.    

     This is the kind of adventure I like to capture in my novels.  My protagonists are more adventurous than me, more spontaneous, less fearful.  Fiction is great fun because we can take more chances.  What kind of risk-taking have you savored in fiction, spontaneous actions you wish you could do in real life?  Have you lifted your face to the rain since childhood?  Something to think about when the showers come again.

Old Posts from my Website

July 29, 2008  Cool off at our Barnes & Noble Book signing this Saturday!

I checked the forecast in this morning’s newspaper – predicted highs of 99 today, 99 tomorrow and Friday and 101 on Saturday!!  Cool off and stop by and visit me at the Thornton Barnes & Noble, browse the shelves in air conditioned comfort, and enter my contest, in which one lucky someone will a 14th century anagram, similar to the one on the cover of Tabor’s Trinket.  It’s a real conversation gem because its design incorporates clues to a word puzzle that, when solved, means “Love conquers all.”    I’ll be signing copies of Emerald Silk, part two in the Coin Forest Legend series.  My critique partners and Five Star friends will be joining me at this signing, so you can see their debut novels.  19th century Denver comes alive in Pamela Nowak’s novel, Chances, and with Margaret Bailey’s debut novel, Diamond in the Sky, you can visit the magical Ice Palace of 19th century Leadville, Colorado.  

July 16, 2008  Self-inflicted torture

I’ve been bogged down with website software, aka “self-inflicted torture, LOL. 

After pouring through two tutorial books about Dreamweaver, I know enough about the

program to appreciate its power and versatility, but not enough to free my creativity, so I’ve

returned to a WYSIWYG program called Web Page Maker.  If you’re reading this, it means

I’ve been successful at updating and uploading my web pages, which means I’m thrilled! 

After having test-driven three WYSIWYG programs. Front Page and Dreamweaver, I feel

more in touch with what’s being offered in the market, and know which features are most

useful for me.

UPCOMING BOOK SIGNINGS – Sat., August 2 – Thornton Barnes & Noble, with fellow

Five Star Expressions authors Pamela Nowak, whose debut novel, CHANCES, is set in

1800′s Denver, and Margaret Bailey, whose debut novel, DIAMOND IN THE SKY, is set in

silver-rush-era Leadville, Colorado.  If you’re in the area, please stop by and say hi!

July 14, 2008  My EMERALD SILK book signing was fantastic!  Thanks

to everyone who could make it, and a special HUZZAH! and thank you to my friends

Georgia, Diane, Kristin, Heidi, Steve W and Steve K for performing my Singing

Synopsis! I’m going to upload the songs to YouTube so I can share them with you.

The delay has been getting the video uploaded from my digital videocamera to my

computer.  The video didn’t “stream” as promised.  I’ve spent the last several weeks

swimming upstream,it seems, fighting the techno-battles and losing.  I fully intend

to persevere, however, and win the war. 

April 16, 2008  Exciting news!  My editor emailed me with the latest review on Emerald Silk.  It’s a thoughtful review that includes a thorough summary of the story without any spoilers, and I am thrilled.  This is why we write – to tell our story, to share the inspiration in our hearts.  It’s so gratifying to see it come true, to send it “out there” – and see that the message was received.  I’m walking on air out here in Colorado.  Thanks to Anthonette Dotson of Romance Reviews Today!  We’ve never met or communicated, but I hope some day I have the pleasure.  Here’s the final paragraph from her review:

A page turner filled with prejudice, betrayal, loyalty, shame and passion.  The journey Kadriya and John embark upon to find the missing chalice will hold readers in captivity from beginning to end.  Secondary characters play strong roles in teaching John that not all Romani are evil and, similarly, not all English are righteous.  EMERALD SILK is a powerful tale that shows the destructive power of racism and the enlightening journey one can take to overcome what seems to be a lifetime of differences.  It is a stand-alone story despite being part two in the Coin Forest Series.  I haven’t read the first story, and I was able to totally appreciate EMERALD SILK.  This is a story that I would recommend to all.  …Anthonette Dotson, Romance Reviews Today.

April 14, 2008  Links and kinks.  I’m just about ready to upload my newly improved website.  You know how it is with software – I’m hoping it all goes smoothly once I publish it, that WYSIWYG is true and all links will work.  Technology is a blessing when it works, a curse when it doesn’t, and like all non-tekkies, I’ve had my share of hair-pulling frustration with software.  If you’re reading this it means I’ve been successful.  Hope you enjoy my craft articles in “Writing,” and news about my writing.  Read excerpts from my stories, browse my photos, and I’ll be honored if you read my novels and drop me a line about them at janet at janetlane.net  Thanks for reading!

March 17, 2008 – Luck and bunny madness.  Happy St. Patrick’s Day!  May your pockets

be heavy and your heart be light, May good luck pursue you each morning and night! … Irish

blessing    I’ve been spending a considerable amount of time monitoring my tulips.  We have a

wealth of bunnies, and they have been nibbling the new tulip leaves, just as they emerge from the

ground.  A local gardening club recommended sprinkling the flower beds with human hair.  I

stopped at a main street hair salon and asked for a bag full of human hair.  Yes.  Once I convinced them I was merely an innocent gardener, they obliged, and I sprinkled generously.  The nibbling, unfortunately, did not stop.  Good news is that the tulips are growing fast enough to survive the toothy attacks.  Meanwhile, the release date of Emerald Silk gets closer – May 15 is my Tattered Cover book signing.  If you’re in or near the Denver area, please come and help me celebrate.  I’ll be raffling wonderful new books written by my critique partners, and if the timing works, I’ll present another version of my Singing Synopsis.    Meanwhile, I’m wishing you much good luck and a happy spring!

January 4, 2008 – Happy New Year!  Hope your holidays were wonderful in every way, and that you’re energized with the prospect of a new year, new adventures, new and/or updated life, career and relationship goals.  The release date of EMERALD SILK, my second historical novel, is approaching – it’s still set at April 16, a little irony since my DH is a CPA and will have just finished his tax season, so we’ll both have something special to celebrate.

Much time has also been involved in pre-novel-release activities – final read-through of the novel, a last opportunity to catch any errors that have eluded the editors and me during the last two edits.  I’m participating in a four-author promotion that will span ten states, and I just completed designing my bookmarks.

I’m taking an e-course on Defeating Self-Defeating Behavior, offered by Margie Lawson of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers.  It’s a great mental tune-up course, just the ticket to help me re-think my long-term goals and set new or adjusted goals for 2008.

Congrats to Linda Chaput, Ontario, winner of the November anagram contest.  I’ll be shipping her fourteenth century anagram necklace tomorrow.

Finally, Happy New Year!  I hope it’s a year of good health, much love and wonderful opportunities that will bring you closer to realizing your special life dreams.

November 28, 2007 – Tales from Mistwillow.  I’ll brave the fresh snowfall tonight to travel to downtown Denver’s Tattered Cover bookstore, where I’ll join the other authors of Tales from Mistwillow, an anthology about Mistwillow, a legendary Colorado town nestled in the Rocky Mountain foothills, shrouded with myth and mystery.  If you can make it, I’d love to see you there! 

A note to my fellow writers about Query Letters –  I was recently given the unique opportunity to sit at a successful literary agent’s desk and watch as she filtered through query letters.  Talk about eye-opening!  The agency, Nelson Literary Agency, secures six-figure advances for her authors, and it was fascinating to hear what a successful query should contain.  Read my new article by going to Writer’s Tips.  Finally, congrats to our October contest winner, Robin Soroe of Kenner, Louisiana. 

October 30, 2007 – All Hallow’s Eve - Halloween began 2,000 years ago.  The Celtics held

an annual celebration to welcome the New Year on November 1st, which brought an end to the

summer harvest and a beginning to winter, a challenging time of darkness and death. 

Superstition held that the lines of life and death crossed on this night between the old and new

year, that the spirits of the dead returned to earth.  Huge bonfires were built to scare the spirits