Today, I'm going to make a list.
A list of the things that have changed, and of those that have not, in the year since I signed my first book deal with Buddhapuss Ink and turned from writer to author.
I'm not good at "meta-writing". At analyzing the why and wherefore of writing, and sharing it. I get impatient with people who ask "how do you do it?" because I have no idea, and no intention of figuring it out.
Thing is, I just do. I open the writing file every morning, imagine what my characters may be up to, and drift into the writing without thinking too much about it, and after a few months the story is told, and - end of story. That's really pretty much it. Really. Honestly.
On the way toward the end courage fails me sometimes, but then I'm lucky, and I have friends who read along as I write, and they understand my stories better than I do, and tell me, yes, everything is fine, just go on, more, more, we're waiting! And so... I go back and write more.
Until it's done and the publisher rips the new novel from my hands, eager, waiting.
They've done it twice now, and they keep asking for book number 3. Gluttons. All of them.
So... that's basically it.
And since we're at it, and I know many want to hear how someone else managed to write book and land a deal, here's my only advice for you: write. If you think you have a story in you, write. Don't think about publishing it, don't worry about agents and royalties, just write the damn thing already.
End of story.
But we were talking about things that change - or not - once you have that elusive deal, right?
So here's my list.
Things that DO NOT change:
1. You are not instantly rich and famous. Forget it. One book won't make you rich and famous, unless a miracle happens, and it very rarely does.
2. Even though YOU know you just won the lottery, the general public won't. They have no idea how incredibly lucky you were, to get to sign a book contract. There are a million talented writers out there, but YOU caught someone's attention. Don't wonder why. Sign. Be happy. And ignore the puzzled stares of strangers when you dance down the street. They don't know.
3. You still have to clean the bathroom and feed the kids.
Things that DO change:
1. You are instantly rich and famous. I don't mean money-rich, but rich in a way you never thought you'd be. Let me spell VALIDATION for you. All those stolen hours, all the guilt? REDEEMED! In a moment, the one moment when you put your name on that dotted line of the contract, you are a free person, an author, someone with the License To Write. Awesome.
You can hand out your brand-new business cards and say, "I'm an author. Yes, I write books." And then watch the expression in people's faces change, take on that slightly suspicious look as they ask themselves, "Do I know her?" Ha!
2. You DID win the lottery. Let no one fool you.
3. All of a sudden, the guilty hobby isn't a hobby anymore. There are real people out there who think they can make real money with you, and they don't have time for foolishness. You have a job now, and you better do it, and do it well. And... fast.
4. If you get really lucky (like me!) someone else will clean the bathroom from now on. And get takeout lunch from time to time. Just because they are proud of you. Because you are an author. Because you did something many dream of doing, and never do.
5. and last: it is never too late to live your dream. Never. Do it.
See? I wrote a blog post about being an author. Hope my publisher sees this, too. Hope they see that YES I AM BLOGGING and getting in the swing for the next blog hop, coming up in September, for my new book, "Under The Same Sun".
Please feel free to add to the list!
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(Painting: Eric G. Thompson)
There is nothing incidental about an interview with Jon Stone, songwriter and performer. Even the room where I get to meet him seems carefully set up, the chairs placed in just the right angle to catch the light, allow my illustrious guest to stay in command. His manager enters before him. Sal Rosenberg has been working with Mr. Stone for more than twenty-five years now, from the beginnings of his career here in New York all the way to world fame. He greets me with a friendly shake of his hand, offers coffee, and then stands aside to make way for the star.
Surprisingly, Jon Stone does not look diminished close up like so many others. There is less glamor, it's true, but he still seems larger than life, imposing, in control, and he is one handsome man. At forty-six, he is one of those guys who would make you turn your head and bump into doors if you met them somewhere on the street, tall, dark, and with a smile to fry your brain.
He also makes it very easy to start a conversation by chatting about the weather and the coffee, about the restaurant he and his band visited the night before.
"Our last thing together for a while," Jon says. "The tour is over, now we get to relax."
Very neatly, with one statement, he has completely unraveled my well-laid interview plans. His legs stretched out, coffee cup balanced on his knee, he waits for me to speak. There's an amused twinkle in his dark eyes, and I swear I can see the corners of his mouth twitching.
"There is a rumor that this was your last tour."
A moment's thought, then a nod. "Yes, I think that's so. It has been a fun ride, but it's time to move on. I want to do something totally different, find out if I can do more than just write songs and perform them. Last year my wife and I wrote a movie soundtrack, and now we're going to stage the musical we created. Right here in New York, too. The auditions start in two months."
"You will do the auditions yourself?"
Again, that mischievous grin. "Oh yes, I'd not want to miss that for the world. My wife, she can't wait. She's really excited about working on the show."
He watches while I take my notes, patiently sipping his coffee. Sal is visibly bored, he's pushing sugar cubes around on the saucer of his cup.
"You have reached nearly every pinnacle in the music world," I begin, and stop again.
That man has the audacity to SMIRK at me!
"Yes?" Drawled out, full of laughter, as if he knows exactly that I'm about to wilt.
"And now you're going to stage your own musical, too. What is it that is driving you? You could well stop working and enjoy your success and wealth and lead a pleasant life."
Very suddenly, every trace of humor is gone.
"Driving me, " Jon repeats softly, "Driving me. There is something driving me, it's true." He sits up straight and puts down his coffee cup. "When I signed my first record deal I was delirious with joy. I couldn't believe my luck. For two days, I walked on clouds. And then..." A glance passes between him and Sal. "And then I felt it was not enough. I hired a vocal coach, a fitness trainer. Sal and I started looking for a band, and I wanted people who would be good to work with for a long time, who would walk this path with me. Friends, a musical family. But it was not enough."
This is startling.
"Not enough?" I ask.
"No." Jon stretches out his hand, and Sal puts a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in it. "It was a step in the right direction, but it was not where I wanted to stop." The smoke drifts between us, bluish and obscuring.
"I got my first gold record, my first platinum, and still there was this drive to prove something, to prove to myself that I was worthy of something." He pauses. "I've often wondered if this is something all creative people feel, the need to be more than just a normal human, leave a mark on this world, do something that makes a difference."
His gaze wanders toward the door and he falls silent.
"So this new project..." I prompt him, and he shakes himself out of his reverie. Again I get one of these dazzling smiles. No wonder he has so many female fans all over the world.
"Yeah, I can't wait! Working with my wife is the best thing that's ever happened to me. She's writing a book now, a novel, would you believe it." His voice grows soft talking about her, dark and velvety like molten chocolate. Listening to him gives me shivers. He isn't Jon Stone for nothing.
"She is so talented, a real artist, a wonderful poet."
Oh, now that makes me want to snicker. Here is the famous rock star, and he's raving about his wife like a teenager. Not sure his fans would like that.
Sal taps his watch, and Jon nods. "Time for me to go. My wife is waiting, I promised to take her out for lunch today. One more question."
"Your wife." Uh oh, this may be the wrong direction. His brows draw together. "She is the heiress to the Carlsson Hotel emporium, right?"
His hand comes up to stop me. "Yes, yes, but she has decided not to work in the family business." With a sigh, Jon rises from the couch. "She is my wife, and she's my writer. There's no time for all that, and I'd hate for her to be away that much." The chin comes up. "We have many plans, and they don't include the Carlsson estate. We'll end this now."
Suddenly, the air in the room seems a lot cooler. I know I've hit a wall, and the interview is over. They leave, Sal and Jon, talking to each other, their minds already somewhere else, somewhere in their own world, and I'm left behind with cold coffee and an untouched plate of cake.
