Since I signed my book contract with Pearlsong Press, I have been learning the truth of something Sharyn McCrumb wrote in Writers Digest more than a decade ago. There are now two sides to the story of my writing life.
In one version of the story, I am the solitary writer at my desk, fingers speeding (or taking a slow stroll . . . or hopping in place) across the keyboard. It's just me and my characters. I listen to them, listen for them and do my best to express how they feel by way of dialogue, action and interaction. That story of my life is familiar from many years of experience.
Recently my father started cleaning out the garage. While I burrowed through some of my own boxes, left and long forgotten on the shelves at the back, I discovered a manuscript I wrote and revised nearly two decades ago. Cross legged on the dining room floor, I looked over the first page, only to find myself a chapter into the story ten minutes later. Though I remembered the manuscript, I had forgotten many of the details. Those opening pages, about a young female horse dealer examining a broken down race horse, startled me. When I wrote that scene all those years ago, I clearly tuned in to the character's expertise as well as her compassion toward the lovely, lame horse. What would she do, decide to rescue him or walk away from the ongoing expense his healing required?
I write very different stories now, but that process remains a constant in my life. The other side of the story of a writer's life is still new. Contacting likely venues for booksignings. Investigating groups who would enjoy readings. (For Love is the Thread, that ranges from women's groups, cancer support groups, andknitting circles as well as the more traditional option of bookstores.) The public face of my writing life continues to develop, stretch and evolve.