An Unlikely Motivation

In a nonfiction story, Patti Callahan Henry, author of Between The Tides, shares what motivated her to become a novelist. I doubt most of us would guess that being a preacher's kid led to her fiction writing. In her Chicken Soup for the Soul story, "The Preacher's Kid," she gives us an inside look to what it's like growing up with a preacher for a father and how he influenced her own career.

When I read her story, it was one of those Aha! moments. What she points out is so clear, and yet most of us would not have thought of it on our own. No portion of a Chicken Soup for the Soul story can be reproduced without specific permission, so I will offer the link to the story for you to read on your own instead. It's found at
http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/11/The-Preachers-Kid.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=networksplus.net#comments

After you read Ms. Henry's story, you may look at your own preacher in a slightly different light the next time he/she preaches a sermon.

Chicken Soup for the Soul sends a daily story to their subscribers. I find them entertaining and also inspiring. Besides that, it helps me to know what the editors of this popular anthology are looking for, what kinds of stories make it into their books. What might have been a shoe-in in the very first book might not have gotten through the process today. These long running anthologies follow trends just like novels and other nonfiction books do. Take a look at their website and sign up for the daily story at http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/index.aspx

A Good Historical Fiction Book

I picked up Ken Follett's latest novel, Fall of Giants, at the library last week. I'd had it on reserve/hold for so long, I'd almost forgotten about it until the notice that it was ready arrived in my e-mail. The size of the book startled me, so I asked the librarian at the check-out desk how long I could have it. "Three weeks," she said.

I checked when I got home to see the number of pages. Almost a thousand! Well, nine hundred and eighty-five to be exact. With everything else going on in my life and the Thanksgiving holiday coming up soon, I wondered how in the world I would get it finished in only three weeks.

I had read only a few pages to know that I would be able to read the book in the allotted time. Ken Follett hooked me almost immediately. This book is the first in a trilogy that deals with the entire twentieth century. We're introduced to a large cast of characters which I found quite easy to deal with. The author follows the lives of five families in the pre-WWI days and moves on into the war years and the 1920's. We become familiar with families in Wales, England, Germany, Russia and America. Their lives intertwine in various ways, and without even realizing it, the reader is treated to a painless way to learn history. Follett's research teams must have worked overtime to make the historical events accurate in the telling of this story.

I find myself wanting to pick up the book and continue reading several times each day and evening. I'm a third of the way through the book and my interest has not waned one bit. Historical fiction is one of my favorite genres to read, and Ken Follett has not disappointed me in this multi-family saga of a distinct period of World History. Love, war, the feminist movement--all are included in this intriguing story.

I'd definitely recommend it, and if many-paged books intimidate you, don't get it at the library. Purchase your own copy or put it on your Christmas List. It's a bargain at Amazon for $18. Order it at http://www.amazon.com/Fall-Giants-Century-Trilogy-Follett/dp/0525951652/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1290008964&sr=1-1 If you know someone who enjoys historical fiction, it would make a nice Christmas or Hanukkah gift--perfect for reading in the cold, snowy days of January.

I've written a few short stories that are classified historical fiction, but I can't imagine writing a book or trilogy of this enormity. I'm glad that Ken Follett has done so.

Sharp Words Can Be A Wake-Up Call

Once, a doctor sent me a note along with some test results that showed higher numbers than is desired for glucose. "I want this number below 100!!!!" he wrote. Not exactly the movie script type of kindly, country doctor. Those four exclamation marks at the end of his directive made me aware of the situation I was in. If I didn't get the number down I was headed for diabetes, only pre-diabetes at this time, but now was the time to do something. And I did, thanks to my doctor approaching me with a strong statement and those glaring exclamation marks.

Last week, I received sharp words from an editor which turned out to be another wake-up call. This particular editor has published several of my articles that deal with the craft of writing. I sent her a new article that dealt with seven ways to sell herself as a writer. The editor wrote to me saying she fully expected to buy whatever I'd sent her as she knew I was a good writer. That had me preening my feathers a bit, at least until I read further. She chastised me in no uncertain terms saying that the article was 'muddled' and covered two topics. I'd be interested in seeing an article that....... she concluded. An invitation to resubmit in her statement.

I have to admit that those sharp words made me feel like a child being scolded by her mother. They hurt. The article had been through a critique session at my online critique group. None of those who critted it saw what the editor pointed out at that time. Part of the article dealt with selling yourself as a writer to editors and part of it was directed at selling yourself to readers. I stewed over the whole thing for a few days, sent the article back to the wac group for another objective viewpoint, and finally agreed with what the editor had told me.

Lots of other things going on kept me from answering the editor's message for over a week, and perhaps that was a good thing. Had I fired back an answer that first day, it might not have been the same one I sent yesterday. I'm glad I took some time to consider her words and to take a good hard look at the article before revising it. I wrote to her yesterday to let her know I was willing to revise the article and resubmit it.

Last night, I worked on the article, slashing parts and adding others. I wanted it to sit overnight before I sent it as sometimes things that look good at the time of writing can appear fairly lame the next day. When I opened my e-mail in-box this morning, there was an answer to my message I sent to the editor yesterday. It's a good feeling when a writer and editor can have a positive working relationship. I'm hoping she'll like the revision better and will buy it. Stay tuned!

Once again, I have reason to be thankful for sharp words that opened my eyes. If the words sting, take some time to step back and look at whatever it is as objectively as possible. You'll grow as a writer and just might sell more articles.

One Big Party For Writers

November 15th is I Love To Write Day. A man by the name of John Riddle is the brain behind the idea. He began his grassroots campaign to bring writing to the attention of everyday people nine years ago. Like so many ideas, he started small and each year the number of people taking notice has swelled.

Nine years ago, his idea was only a seed and it's blossomed with 20,000 schools signed on to participate last year. His goal for 2010 is 25,000 schools. This Delaware author of 34 books has dubbed I Love To Write Day as the biggest party for writers. It certainly is as it spreads across the USA.

November 15th is the day Mr. Riddle selected to urge people to write something. It's not a day for only professional writers, this one's for every last person in our country. Today is the day to sit down and write a personal essay, write a poem, or write a letter to someone. Write in a journal, write a postcard, write song lyrics. But write! Write anything you like, but write! .

Learn more about I Love To Write Day at the website Mr. Riddle uses to spread the word. http://www.ilovetowriteday.org/ Then share it with your friends, your family, your school administrator or your child's teacher. If they can't participate this year, they can plan for it in 2011. It would be a wonderful learning tool in schools across our nation.

You don't have to write with the aim of publication. Write for personal satisfaction. Start a folder for the things you write every November 15th. Celebrate I Love To Write Day with me and thousands of others.

Celebrate I Love To Write Day with words--the ones written by you!

A Day Late

My mother, father and me in 1942. I was almost three years old.

Yesterday was Veteran's Day, but it wasn't until last evening that I had a chance to sit down and write something about it that I posted at Our Echo. It began as a Veteran's Day thoughts and suddenly veered off into my WWII memories. I was only a little girl during those war years, but I have memories of the way things were then, memories perceived from a child's view.

Maybe reading them will trigger memories of your own from those years, or the Korean Conflict, Vietnam or the present day wars. Write about them, save them in your family memories book. You do have one, don't you? If not, there's no time like the present to begin.

You can read  my Veteran's Day and WWII memories which might help trigger some of your own.

Veteran’s Day 2010 and WWII Memories

By Nancy Julien Kopp

It’s nearly the end of another Veteran’s Day. Newspapers, TV, local radio stations—all have given space to commemorating this special day.

In the troubled times we live in, I’m pleased to see the recognition of our veterans, whether they be octogenarians of WWII, the Korean conflict, the Vietnam situation, Desert Storm, the present Iraqi War or Afghanistan. Old vets or young  enlisted men and women, all are worthy of celebration and appreciation.

In my community (Manhattan, Kansas), the day began with a special breakfast with sausage and gravy on biscuits, a Midwestern specialty. The parade down our main street followed with veterans, soldiers from Ft. Riley, and 1200 school children marching proudly. Flags flapped in the strong Kansas wind this morning, and the sun spread its rays over those in the bands. More than a thousand people lined the streets, bundled in jackets to ward off the morning chill. Hearts swelled with pride and thanksgiving.

At our house today, the American flag fluttered in the strong breeze all day. It was our statement that we believe in our country. We believe in our military personnel of today and we honor those who served in the past.

I was only six years old when WWII ended, but I remember hearing the president on the radio telling the American people that the war was over. A long war which brought shortages of sugar, meat and gasoline to the American shores, while it brought loss of life to many in the European theater and in the Pacific. I remember my mother taking our ration books to the meat market and the grocery store, Dad handing his ration book over at the service station when we needed gas. He drove as little as possible to conserve on the tires. No possibility of getting new tires during wartime.

Even as a little girl, I remember another sign of shortage in WWII. A young woman who lived in the basement apartment of our section of a large apartment building provided great entertainment for me. I stood in the basement doorway as she hiked her leg over the laundry tub and painted her legs to look like she was wearing hose. She even managed to make a straight vertical line up the back of her leg to indicate a seam. When she’d finished one leg, she started on the other one. Satisfied with her artwork, she smoothed down her skirt and skipped back to her apartment.

Another WWII memory was a trip my mother, grandmother, little brother and I took. We boarded a troop train and traveled from Chicago to Phoenix to visit my mother’s brother and family. I would celebrate my fifth birthday in sunny Phoenix, Arizona. It was 1944, and perhaps some strings had to be pulled for us to be allowed to travel on that train. We had a small compartment, but during the day, I wandered up and down the aisles making friends with the soldiers, sailors and marines. I should have had a knapsack to store all the candy and gum they gave me along with the smiles and chatter. It made a big impression on me as I remember it well.

My parents were movie buffs, and they took me with them to watch the double features during the war years. Besides two full length movies, we had a cartoon and the world news shown in black and white. Battles of weeks earlier were shown while we munched on our popcorn. It seemed surreal, like it was part of the make-believe movies we also watched. Surreal until the news of a wartime death hit the family of one of our neighbors or friends.

It was all so very long ago, and yet, here we are, living through yet another war. Are the people of the world slow learners? Did they not figure out the cost of war is far higher than the benefit of the winner? Have we not learned to love one another as Jesus taught?

Perhaps not.

Meanwhile, all we can do is to tell those who have fought in the past and now that we love them and thank them and will continue to support them.

The Story With Two Titles

Yesterday, I wrote about one of my stories being published in a Canadian magazine. The editor used a completely different title than the one I had chosen. I called it "The Long Night" and he dubbed it "The Night My Dad Was Buried." I promised to post the story today so you can decide which title fits best. I'd love to hear what you think.

Read the story at the link below. It's been published three times now--once in a teen ezine and at Our Echo, now in the Canadian magazine geared to adults.

http://www.ourecho.com/story-3727-The-Long-Night.shtml.

It's Out Of My Hands

I sold a story to a small magazine published in Canada several weeks ago. My copy and check arrived in yesterday's mail. When I received the acceptance message from the editor, he told me how much he liked the story. Of course, I was happy to hear that.

I thumbed through the magazine to find "The Long Night" which is a story I wrote for teens that also has some adult appeal, which is why the editor bought it. It's historical fiction about a coal mine cave-in in a small town in Iowa. The protagonist is a young teen who had argued with his dad one morning, went off to school and then had to face the possibility later in the day that he might never have a chance to see his father and make things right again.

I chose the title The Long Night because of the eternity it must have felt like as the boy and his mother waited with the other townspeople for a rescue. So imagine my surprise when I found the story on page 4 with the title in two fonts. The editor changed the title to "The Night My Dad Was Buried." The last two words (Was Buried) was in a much larger font, so caught the eye immediately. Shock value? Probably. A hook to pull readers in? Most likely. Necessary? I doubt it.

To me, the new title is misleading, because the first thought would be that this is a story about someone whose father died and was buried in a cemetery. But the title does tell the truth about this story since the father was 'buried' in the mine cave-in. The reality is that the cave-in blocked the way out for the miners and the boy is the one who can squeeze through and help the rescue team in clearing it. The miners were not 'buried' in debris.

It all boils down to the fact that I was not happy about the title change, but in the writing world the editor has final say. It was out of my hands as soon as I accepted the offer to purchase. I know that and I accept it, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

I'll post the story tomorrow for those who might like to read it.