On Writing…

I’ve been reading a lot lately. Thinking and reading. Reading Dorthea Benton Frank, Sue Monk Kidd, Kaye Gibbons, LuAnne Rice, and Melissa Senate. I took a whack at Faulkner, but I drooled and ruined the book. (wink)

This process always leads me to some navel gazing while reading the authors’ bios.

“What kind of writer are you, Rachel? What kind of writer do you want to be?”

Kaye Gibbons said this about her success, “To be able to write literature that sells taks an almost surreal amount of stubborn persistence; imagination; the ability to forego distractions (ah-hem. be gone internet!); and a willingness to lock oneself in a room and submit oneself to constant, ruthless, self-criticism.”

That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Hard work? Digging deep. Going beyond what I think I’m capable of doing. I’m not claiming to be a literary. I don’t want to be a literary writer. I want to be an excellent author. As excellent as I can be.

I’ve got a few notes for Ms. Gibbons, though. Shorter sentences! Reading her is hard work. Great story, nice writing, but sentences that rival the Apostle Paul. No wonder her book Ellen Foster is now used in colleges. Gotta make it hard to earn those A’s.

Truth is to find my stride and keep working hard. I’ve gone out on a limb here and exposed my heart. Forgive me, please don’t misunderstand me. I am, after all, emoting.

Speaking of fun, excellent writing. I’ve also been reading/critiquing Tracey Bateman’s “Claire” mom lit series. It’s fun, fabulous and witty and to be honest, I’m amazingly honored to be a part of this series.

Tracey’s one whom I envy in a good way. When great stuff happens in her publishing career, I am as happy as if it happened to me personally. She’s worked hard to gain her success. I love and admire her. What a great friend and soul-sister.