A message from the CDC

A most disturbing newspaper headline. Please read this #CDC link: More than a mental health problem https://go.usa.gov/xQmab  via @CDCgov If you need help please call the #Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK (8255) #SuicidePrevention #SuicideAwareness

 

The Old Chateau

The old chateau

Where no windows glow

When I walk by, my gait so slow

 

I can hear the music from within

I pause a moment for the melody to begin

Shadows dance, their shape so thin

 

The ragged facade does not scare me away

I am here at midnight or at midday

This is where my soul wants to stay and play

©2018 Andi Marchal

 

What? You Mean My Novel Isn’t The Only One You’re Working On?

From idea to publish…patience…patience…patience.

Four years ago, a germ of an idea became character boards and plot outlines complete with pins and string. My writing area looked like Strategic Air Command. When I sat down at my computer and opened up that MS Word blank document, none of that mattered. The characters took over, the story developed I enjoyed hours of the best part of writing a novel…writing.

When I came to that treacherous “that” word, or the pesky “passive voice”, I stopped and noticed, but didn’t fix, just continued writing, just like the pros say to do. I cried at my last line and then cried again when I realized how much needed to be edited, but the final product was eventually ready to be set loose upon the world of publishing.

Then came the waiting. Sending the manuscript out. Waiting for someone to read (checking Submittable every hour). The strange mixture of elation/dread when an email came in. Two before one that said they were interested.

More waiting as the Publisher’s readers went into action. Accepted with changes. More editing. More readers reading until finally came the welcomed words, “contract pending”. Pending? Now what? Changes were made to the manuscript and yet another reader needed to read. Then finally, all good, RFC (Request for Contract) was put through.

More waiting….

Contract came, signed and delivered…

More waiting…

Wait a minute, how long does this take?

Calm down, more edits will be coming your way.

More edits? How long does this take…really?

A gentle reminder that there are other books being published, editors have a lot of duties.

Wait? My book isn’t the only one you’re publishing and working on? (Naive me LOL) What do I do in the meantime?

We’ve all heard it, I know. Keep writing. Write the next book. And I did. I took the initiative that I had been wanting to take and tried my hand at self-publishing a book of poetry. I was told so many times to keep writing that I did the poetry book and finished the first draft of a new novel.

Now, finally, pre-galley proofs done and sent to copy editor. Still some waiting, but the end is in sight and what I only dreamed about 4 years ago is becoming a reality.

So, the message, nothing worth the effort is ever easy. The writing is the easiest part, but truthfully, without all those edits and all that work, my writing would not shine as brightly as it does now.

So be patient, publishers know what they are doing, and don’t forget…

KEEP WRITING…KEEP WRITING…KEEP WRITING

Note: My debut poetry book, Love ~ in three aspects is available worldwide on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/dp/1985200120/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_U_x_E-MPAbZXMTWDX via @amazon

(Note: For now, I write books, not files, so not available on Kindle format, but that’s a blog for another day.)

Where it began

     Somewhere between learning the alphabet and reading Ray Bradbury’s “Something Wicked This Way Comes”, I decided to pick up a pen and write. That first book, the first that lit a fire inside me, became the inspiration for a lifetime.

This passage gave a 10-year-old the chills, chills which had nothing to do with the cool November morning, as I sat on the porch of my childhood home…

“Dad, will they ever come back?”

“No. And yes.” Dad tucked away his harmonica. “No not them. But yes, other people like them. Not in a carnival. God knows what shape they’ll come in next. But sunrise, noon, or at the latest, sunset tomorrow they’ll show. They’re on the road.”

“Oh, no,” said Will.

“Oh, yes, said Dad. “We got to watch out the rest of our lives. The fight’s just begun.”

They moved around the carousel slowly.

“What will they look like? How will we know them?”

“Why,” said Dad, quietly, “maybe they’re already here.”

Both boys looked around swiftly.

But there was only the meadow, the machine, and themselves.

Will looked at Jim, at his father, and then down at his own body and hands. He glanced up at Dad.

Dad nodded, once, gravely, and then nodded at the carousel, and stepped up on it, and touched a brass pole.

Will stepped up beside him. Jim stepped up beside Will.

Jim stroked a horse’s mane. Will patted a horse’s shoulders.

The great machine softly tilted in the tides of night.

Just three times around, ahead, thought Will. Hey.
Just four times around, ahead, thought Jim. Boy.
Just ten times around, back, thought Charles Halloway. Lord.
Each read the thoughts in the other’s eyes.

How easy, thought Will.
Just this once, thought Jim.
But then, thought Charles Halloway, once you start, you’d always come back. One more ride and one more ride. And, after a while, you’d offer rides to friends, and more friends until finally…

The thought hit them all in the same quiet moment.

…finally you wind up owner of the carousel, keeper of the freaks…
proprietor for some small part of eternity of the traveling dark carnival shows….
Maybe, said their eyes, they’re already here”.

                                                               -Ray Bradbury

     I grew up surrounded by the “Sleepy Hollow” folklore in the Hudson Valley area of New York State. Whispers of Indian legends from the Catskill Mountains,  were part of my world view. Horror movies on Saturday morning and indulgent parents who allowed me to explore dark legends and myths further fueled the creative fires.

     So unlike Charles, or Jim or Will, when the realization hit me in the same quiet moment as I read, I wasn’t afraid. No, because I wanted to be the owner of the carousel. The carousel being the world I would create. I would be the proprietor for some small part of my own eternity, the books I would write. I picked up the pen and never put it down.