Facing fear

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Matisse said creativity takes courage. He was speaking of placing colors, but this is more than true of placing words on a page or screen.

I belonged to a critique group a few years back. We met in a local Borders book store, that’s how long ago it was, and one night one of our casual members, Mitch, brought his friend, a lovely older woman who was losing her sight to the group.

Mitch gave us some of her work to read, which were written in an essay form from the point of view of Violet, a fictional, delightful, eccentric older woman. She had written these, a great number of them, when she was younger.

They were wonderful.

And she had never submitted them for publication.

She was afraid – not of rejection, but that someone would steal the character. She said someone in the advertising business had told her years ago to be very careful with Violet.

And she was. I don’t think she ever sent it anywhere.

Another member of our group thought she would self-publish her children’s books because she didn’t want to face rejection.

Rejection simply sucks.

Whether you are pitching to agent face-to-face, getting e-rejections, or never receiving anything back at all from an agent or editor you’ve submitted to, it’s disheartening, to say the least. And it can make you scared to keep trying, or simply want to give up.

I nearly did.

I asked a member of the local chapter of my Romance Writers of America group, who writes as Anne Lawson, “When do you decide that it’s just not working?”

She begged me not to give up and to submit to her publisher.

I did and I have eight novellas under contract with them.

Still, I face rejection. And it sucks.

Another member of my RWA chapter, who has ten books published (or soon to be) with Harlequin, and praise for her one of her books in her suspense series from author R.L. Stine, said she got over 100 rejections before she got published.

There’s hope.

But only if you let your work see the light of day.

And with that may come rejection.

But I think of Violet who languished in file cabinets for years. I so hope that lovely lady got past the fear of someone stealing the delightful character she created and submitted it for publication, or published it herself to great acclaim, as it deserved.

And quirky Violet gives me courage to keep writing and sending things out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Why I read and write romance

I had the privilege to interview Sara after she turned 104, as a staff writer for a local newspaper.

Sara’s brother taught her to dance the Charleston when he returned home from World War I, much to the chagrin of her very strict Italian immigrant parents. She never dated her husband Vito unchaperoned until she married him when she was 17, in what she hinted at was an arranged marriage.

And she spends her days reading romances.

In the days before e-readers, everyone knew what you were reading.

I really started to devour romances when my children were babies. I got disdainful looks from people at the beach, my daughter’s dance class and on airplanes after they glanced at the cover. I wrote a couple, had an agent for one year, but no success.

I finished college with my journalism major and got a job as staff writer where I’ve been for 17 years.

I got serious about writing romance again as our nest emptied. I joined my local chapter of Romance Writers of America, and got some real help, guidance and encouragement, and have eight books under contract with Black Opal Books. Four are out, “Under the Riptides,” “Reclaiming Lexi,” “Double Dare, and “In the Depths,” (just released) “Maybe your next one will be a mystery,” my  83-year-old mother has said more than once. And my father, also 83, says, “It’s not that I wouldn’t read a book with that content…it’s that my daughter wrote it.”

I get it.

I guess.

Then I think of Sara.

She lives on her own in an apartment (not assisted living) throughout the week and her family takes her out on the weekends. I asked her how she spent her time, and what her favorite things were, did she watch TV?

“I don’t watch TV,” she said. “I read.”

“What?” I asked.

“Romances.”

She held up the current one she was reading and pointed to a neat stack she had on a table in her tidy apartment.

Rosie-the-Riveter

She raised two daughters with Vito. When her daughters were teenagers, Sara worked for the war effort during World War II in a plant in Detroit that made airplanes.

“They call me Rosie the Riveter,” she said. “If you don’t put the rivets on the right place, the planes might have blown up. When the war was over, they fired everybody to call the former workers back, but they kept me. It was nice. I had a lot of friends there,” she said.

The company wanted her to work the night shift, but her husband didn’t want her to work nights, so she quit.

She was married to Vito for 56 years until he passed away in the 1985. She didn’t remarry.

And now she gets in lost love stories, as I do, reading them and writing them.

I don’t know that Sara will read my stories, or if she is still with us.

But she is still with me, with every word I write.