A Tribute to Peggy Moss Fielding-Teacher and Writer

Jackie King and Peggy Fielding

Peggy Moss Fielding has taught a multitude of Oklahoman’s how to put words on paper in order to create articles, short stories, essays, and books. She didn’t stop there, she also taught those of us who were lucky enough to be in her classes, how to sell what we wrote. I was especially blessed to become more than her student. I also became her friend and colleague.

~~~~~

Life as I knew it came to a grinding halt in the late 80’s when I was faced with an unexpected divorce. After taking stock of my circumstances, I decided that what I wanted to be when I grew up was a writer. Our local community college offered writing courses and I noticed that a woman named Peggy Fielding taught most of them. So I enrolled. That day was one of the luckiest days of my life.

Romantic adventure set in 1889 Guthrie

This woman taught me the craft of writing and consequently she changed my life. I will forever be grateful. She was first my teacher, then mentor followed by friend. In 2006 we became colleagues with the publishing of CHIK~LIT FOR FOXY HENS, an anthology of novellas. Both of us told true stories based on our unexpected divorces. (Except for the perfect heroes that we made up to complete the required HEA (Happily Ever After) ending. Most perfect men in our age bracket were already married. When a good man was widowed, I never dared be interested for fear of being killed in the stampede of single women who seemed to appear out of thin air.)

Romantic Adventures for Women of a Certain Age

My tongue-in-cheek novella in this anthology was titled FLIRTING AT FIFTY. Peggy called her story, GIVING UP PANTYHOSE. You can tell by the titles that these were humorous tales. There is nothing quite so healing as laughter.

This is my only published fiction without someone being murdered in the story. Mysteries have always been my favorite read, and that’s what I write.

~~~~~

Peggy Fielding is now in the hospital with heart and other problems. In the past when she was hospitalized, she spent her time handing out bookmarks and flirting with any man who came into her room. The whole staff has always been charmed by her effervescent personality.

This time things are different. She’s annoyed that dying is so hard. “I’d just die, if I knew how,” she told her daughter Suzy.

This is so like Peggy. I’m surprised she didn’t say, “I’m no longer well enough to write or to teach. Not even to read. It’s time to move on and see what’s on the other side.”

~~~~~

The medical team says she will probably go into hospice when she is stable enough to leave the hospital.

I don’t know how many days she has left on this earth, but one thing I do know. During her 86 years on this earth, she taught a huge number of people to write and sell their books.

She will be missed. Most of all by me.

Adventure, Mystery and Romance

http://tinyurl.com/k4q5z2h

The Power of Hope

by Jaden Terrell

The television show Criminal Minds frequently features voice-overs of the lead characters sharing famous quotations that reflect or illuminate the themes of each episode. Tonight, as I was half-watching a DVR'd rerun of the show, I heard a quote from Friederich Nietzsche, who said, "Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs the torment."

In Greek mythology, Pandora was entrusted with a container (originally a jar, but in modern terms generally referred to as a box) which she was forbidden to open under any circumstances. But curiosity compelled her to open the box. As soon as the lid was opened, all the evils of the world were released. Appalled by the consequences of her act, she slammed the lid down, but it was too late. Only one thing remained in the box/jar--Hope.

We are never told why Hope remains in the box. Is the story, like Neitzsche, telling us that Hope is a great evil? Does it mean that, while evil has been released, Hope is still trapped in the box, forever unattainable?

I recall a version that ends with Pandora, realizing what she has done, opening the box a second time and releasing Hope into the world. I prefer this ending, because I believe Hope is the antidote to "all the evils of the world" and that its presence in the box was a gift of grace.

Hope is a vital component of every writer's toolbox. What else would keep us going when yet another agent or editor rejects our work, when our Amazon ratings hover in the millions, when our Kindle sales are in the single digits, or when a disgruntled reader posts a one-star review? What gives some writers the stamina to go on writing page after page and book after book until they finally get that contract or that good review, while others fall by the wayside?

The love of writing, of course, but I think there's something more. That something more is Hope. Hope that each book will be better than the last. Hope that we will write something that will touch readers' hearts--make them laugh, make them cry, entertain them, help them forget their problems, or reassure them that they are not alone. Hope that our words will make a difference.

Hope helps us stay the course.

There have been times when I've felt like I would never be a "real" writer, that I was just fooling myself with false hope. Fortunately, those times have never lasted long. My wonderful critique group, my family, my friends, and my blessedly supportive spouse have always helped me rekindle Hope.

What has helped you keep your hopes alive?

Killer Nashville's Coming

By Beth Terrell


It's that time again. That time of year when Killer Nashville founder Clay Stafford and I survive on four hours of sleep a night as we chip our way through to-do lists longer than our legs (and Clay has very long legs). It's all worth it, though, because the final result is going to be...well...Killer.


Jeffery Deaver is our Guest of Honor, and I hear Jeff is not only a delightful speaker, but a pretty fair guitar player as well. We're hoping he can be persuaded to join us around the pool for music and conversation. Don Bruns (who won the Silver Falchion Award two years ago for Stuff to Die For) will be there will his guitar, as will Stacy Allen, who sang for us at last year's awards dinner.


Since the conference begins early on Friday, many attendees arrive at the hotel on Thursday night. In the past, there have been no Killer Nashville festivities that night, but this year, Greg and Mary Bruss of Mysteries & More independent bookstore, are hosting Mystery Team Trivia at 7:30. Greg asked me to be sure and emphasize that valuable prizes will be awarded.

On Friday morning, the fun begins with a presentation called "CSI Don't Think So," in which law enforcement consultant Lee Lofland discusses how television gets it right--and wrong. Lee will intersperse interesting forensic science tidbits throughout the presentation. There are five tracks this year, because we had too many wonderful authors coming to fit them into four. Attendees will hear from a Marine sniper/sniper trainer, forensic psychologists, TBI agents, private investigators, attorneys, and police officers, in addition to agents, editors, and a host of terrific authors, including our own Chester Campbell (who won last year's Silver Falchion) and our own Bente Gallagher (aka Jennie Bentley). Among those attending are Charles Todd (NYT bestseller), Steven Womack (Edgar winner), David J. Walker (Edgar winner), PJ Parrish (Shamus and Anthony winner) and Annie Solomon (Rita Award winnier). There are sessions on character, pacing, dialogue, YA, historical fiction, marketing and promotion, and many that are designed to appeal especially to readers. And, oh yes, there's the mock crime scene staged by TBI agents Dan Royse and Mike Breedlove and solved by attendees.

I could go on and on, but I'd be sure to leave out something important; there's a detailed schedule on the conference site. (Warning: it's a slow-loading site.) As you can see, you don't have to be a crime fiction writer--or even a writer at all--to have the time of your life at the Killer Nashville Crime Literature Conference.

Last year, on Sunday afternoon of the conference, one of my fellow conference organizers came to the registration table where I was sitting and said, "Beth, there are writers sleeping all over the lobby."

I knew we'd done our job.

The Giant Crane: The Power of Perception

by Beth Terrell

When I was about six years old, there was a story on the news about a little boy who had been killed by a crane. The kind of crane I was most familiar with was a long-legged, long-necked bird with white feathers. Although I knew they had sharp, powerful beaks, I couldn't imagine a normal crane having killed a child, so I knew it must have been an abnormally gigantic one. I imagined something along the lines of a feathered, long-legged teradactyl. And since it had killed a little boy, it must have been abnormally viscious as well. Cranes, I knew, were fish-eaters, but somehow, this one must have acquired a taste for human flesh. It didn't occur to me that the boy might have provoked the crane. I figured the newscaster would have mentioned a thing like that, so I was convinced that the bird was some sort of monstrous mutation, like you might see in an old Godzilla movie. Maybe it had been exposed to radiation; everybody knew how radiation could make lizards and ants--and, presumably cranes--grow to enormous sizes and turn them into savage killers.

For weeks, when I played outside, I kept an eye on the sky. I stayed under awnings and in the shadows of trees, and when I had to cross open ground, I ran as fast as I could to the next bit of shelter, expecting the long shadow of the teradactyl/crane to fall across me at any minute. When we drove out to visit my cousins in the country, I sat in the back seat and watched out the window for a glimpse of it. As soon as the car stopped, I scurried for the safety of the trees. I don't remember ever telling my mother about my fears. I just spent my days watching for the crane and planning my escape from it.

The crane never appeared, and eventually, I began to forget to look for it. It had moved on, I supposed. Found another hunting ground. There were no more reports of dead children. The world began to feel safe again.

Many years later, something jogged my memory and I remembered my fear of the giant crane and the news story that had prompted it. For the first time, it occurred to me that the child had probably not been killed by a bird at all. The child had probably wandered onto a construction site and been crushed by a piece of heavy machinery; a mechanical crane that had either run over the child or accidentally dropped something on him. That story took on a whole new meaning. It was tragic, but no longer terrifying. The event had not changed--a child had been killed by a crane--but my perception of it had.

Perception matters a lot for a writer. It determines the themes of our novels and the actions of our protagonists. It also affects our professional lives. Imagine two writers, Writer A and Writer B. Both have completed manuscripts. Both are equally talented. Both have read about the submission process and have sent out their first queries, along with a synopsis and sample pages.

Writer A receives a rejection and perceives it as a personal affront. "That agent is just jealous," Writer A says. "If he could write half as well as I can, he would be a bestselling author instead of an agent. It's a conspiracy by the stupid people in the publishing business to publish drivel and keep works of astonishing genius from seeing the light of day." Writer A writes a blog post blasting the agent who rejected him before sending out his submission package the same day. As he drops it into the mail slot, he mutters to himself, "Let's see if this one has sense enough to recognize the next blockbuster when she reads it. I doubt it, though. If you don't know somebody in this business, you don't stand a chance."

Writer B receives a rejection and perceives it as an indication that his work did not meet that agent's current needs. "I wonder if there was a problem with the query or the synopsis," Writer B says. "Is my writing as strong as it needs to be, or is this just not a good match for this agent at this time?" Writer B rereads his submission package with a critical eye, makes edits as needed, and sends it out to another agent (whom he has carefully researched and found to be a likely match). "I hope she likes it," Writer B says, "but if she doesn't, it's not the right match." Writer B perceives each rejection as an opportunity to improve his writing and as a step closer to the agent of his dreams.

Which writer is more likely to see his work in print?

The greatest difference between these two writers is perception. But what a difference perception makes! It can be the difference between fearing a teradactyl-crane and understanding a tragedy. It can be the difference between a bitter existance and achieving a dream.

How do your perceptions affect you and your writing?

I Just Want Somebody to Love

By Beth Terrell

Lately, I've had occasion to read a number of manuscripts from aspiring authors. Some have been excellent, some interesting but rough around the edges, and some in need of serious editing. One of the most frustrating issues I've seen is the grammatically polished manuscript that lacks emotional resonance. I hear the same complaint from others who are involved in the same endeavor as I. "This is very well written, but...," followed by a helpless gesture. "No spark." It's frustrating because these stories are written by good writers, writers who have worked at their craft and who clearly have ability.

Sometimes the plots are action-packed, but there's no one with whom the reader can be emotionally engaged. These stories, no matter how brilliantly-conceived, feel flat. Sometimes there is a remarkable prologue that is both poignant and authentic, with a richness of detail and a depth of emotion that made me say, "Yes! This is what it's all about." But then, chapter one would bring an adequately written scene with a reasonably likable protagonist doing things that ought to be rife with tension but somehow aren't. Often, the rest of the piece has no connection to the prologue, or the connection is only tangential. Sometimes the story is elegantly written, but the writer gets caught up in the language and forgets to tell the story. Beautiful writing can only carry a story so far; if there are twenty pages between the time our hero pours a vodka tonic and the time he takes his first sip of it, there's a good chance the story could use some tightening. (I'm talking about mystery/suspense, not literary fiction, but even in literary fiction, a writer who's going to try that had better be very, very good at it.)

I think this happens for several reasons. First, we know our characters so well, we often think we've put things on the page that we haven't. "Of course she locked him out of the house and threw his electric guitar out the window. He knew her father was an abusive drunk who beat and humiliated her throughout her childhood, but he still came home three sheets in the wind after a night out with the boys." We know our character's motivations, but unless we find a way to (subtly) show our readers this, they'll just think she's an irrational witch who just broke her husband's most prized possession without warning.

Another reason may be that we tend to do more of what we do well. Elmore Leonard does dialogue very well. You'll notice that his books have a lot of dialogue. James Lee Burke is a master of description. Guess what his book is full of. Of course, Leonard and Burke are geniuses at what they do, but we lesser souls do the same thing. I'm good at character development. The first draft of my book had almost no plot at all, but boy did it have character development. It was one long character study with a little thread of mystery woven through it. I'm pretty good at dialogue too, so naturally, people in my first draft talked a lot. To make that book into something readable, I had to become aware of my strengths and weaknesses and then work hard to showcase the former and strengthen the latter. I'm still no James Lee Burke, but I learned how and when to describe things. I'm no Philip Margolin, but I learned how to plot.

Reading these manuscripts taught me that, while the ability to write beautifully is a great gift, it can only carry a book so far. The reader has to care about what happens---and they usually only care what happens if they care who it's happening to.

Give us someone to love, though, and we'll follow you anywhere.

You Gotta Have Heart

By Beth Terrell

The topic du jour at work of late has been the Olympics. We’ve seen story after story about these athletes—the greatest in the world—and the sacrifices they’ve made to get to the winter games in Vancouver. We saw a pairs skater go onto the ice with torn tendons in one ankle; she skated beautifully, and no one watching could have guessed she was in terrible pain. We saw a speed skater with metal pins holding the bones of his forearm together. We saw a downhill skier who, after a debilitating accident, competed in her sport of choice three weeks after doctors told her it would be months before she could even begin to walk. We saw a skater perform on the day of her mother’s death, and we saw the team from Georgia carry on after the tragic loss of one of their teammates on the first day of the games. No doubt about it, these young men and women have a special kind of courage—the kind we often call Heart.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I have what it takes to hobble out into the snow with a sprained ankle, put on a pair of skis, and pitch myself down the side of a mountain. Thankfully, as a writer, I don’t have to. But I think writing requires its own brand of Heart.

Like Olympic athletes, writers spend thousands of hours honing our craft. I’ve read that you have to write a million words before you become a master of your art. That means showing up at the computer (or paper, or typewriter), whether we feel like it or not, whether inspiration strikes or not. Day after day, word after word, one sentence after another.

Like Olympic athletes, writers “put themselves out there.” There’s no place to hide when you’re the only one on the ice, or the only one on the ski slope, and there’s no place to hide when your name is on a book that can be picked up and read by potentially thousands of readers. Olympic athletes have to deal with judges and timers. Writers have to deal with critics and reviewers. Olympic athletes give a hundred percent to every competition. Writers give a hundred percent to every book. We put our hearts on the page for the world to see.

Olympic athletes never give up. In the face of injuries, poor performances, broken equipment, and discouraging words from others, they persevere. Writers persevere as well. Today, I read an article about a writer with an impressive number of published short stories—and 11,000 rejections. Can you imagine how hard it must be to keep writing and submitting after 11,000 rejections? Now, that takes Heart.

No, I don’t have what it takes to be an Olympic athlete, but I hope I have—or at least can cultivate—that special kind of courage it takes to be a writer. I hope I have a writer’s Heart.

Nathan Bransford and the Frabjous Forums

By Beth Terrell

I debated with myself before posting this tonight.

"Self," I said, "I think I will write a blog post about Nathan Bransford's nifty new website, which is virtually brimming with information and advice for aspiring writers."

"Are you crazy?" myself replied. "Everyone already knows about Nathan Bransford's informative and exceedingly popular website. Heck, half the aspiring writers in the world have queried him, half are planning to query him someday, and half (I'm a writer, Jim, not a mathematician!) are trying to figure out how to write a query composed entirely of rhetorical questions."

Nathan is not a fan of queries that open with rhetorical questions, so naturally, there is at least a small contingent of writers who think they will be able to write their rhetorical question queries with such sparkling wit and brilliance that Nathan will immediately forget his aversion, commend them on having the initiative to do something so daring, and sign them up on the spot. Do not, I repeat, do not do this.

But I said this was a debate, didn't I? So, back to it.

"Self," I retorted, "It may be true that everyone knows Nathan has a wonderful and informative site, but do they also know that he has a nifty new web design, complete with interactive forums? Do they know they can find information about writing, queries, approaching agents, and a host of other topics related to getting (and staying) published? Do they know he has links to other agent sites, that he occasionally has contests, and that sometimes the prize is a query critique or an offer to read a few of the winner's pages? Do they know that they can ask a question on the Ask Nathan forum thread and the great man himself will answer it? The answer is no, I don't think they do."

I stymied myself with that very reasonable argument, so I went to his site and jotted down this (very incomplete) list of topics I found there. (Some are from the forums, and others are blog posts.):

New Blog Series: Interview with an Agent
The Complete Guide to Hiring a Literary Agent
Help with Query Letter Submission Guidelines
Genre Writing
Literary YA
Switching POVs
Can Authors Balance Publicity and Privacy in the Internet Era?
The Batch Querying Theory
It's a Great Time to Be a Writer

He also does a weekly "This Week in Publishing" post, in which he discusses the week's developments in the publishing industry, complete with links.

If you're a writer, or if you have any interest in the business side of publishing, this is a site you should bookmark and come back to again and again. It's: http://www.nathanbransford.com.

Happy writing!

The Idea Well

By Beth Terrell

"Where do you get your ideas?"

It's a question that, sooner or later, every writer is bound to hear. In fact, just this week, Nathan Bransford (http://www.nathanbransford.com) asked his readership what had inspired our/their current works in progress, a question similar in spirit, if not in scope. And why not? I'm always intrigued by the workings of other writers' minds, by the spark that flashes when that perfect story idea flits past, and by the fact that an idea that sparks for me may be nothing but a bit of drifting ash to someone else.

Where do you get your ideas? I've heard writers give clever, facile answers:

"I get them from a factory in Poughkeepsie. I send then twenty dollars a month and they send me back ten ideas in a plain manila envelope."

"There's an idea well in my cousin's back yard. Whenever I need a story idea, I go out and pull up a pail full. I always find something I can use."

Others are more forthcoming:

"Newspaper clippings."

"Magazine articles."

"Sixty Minutes."

I think they all mean the same thing. Ideas are everywhere, fireflies on a summer night, stars in a winter sky, an infinite number of beautiful, scattered lights. One current work in progress was inspired by some inexplicable fears and behaviors my grandmother exhibited when she was suffering from dementia. As I attempted to understand what she was going through, I had the idea to write about an woman caring for her grandmother, whose "unreasonable" fears have their roots in long-buried memories. The caregiver never learns those secrets, but the reader does.

Another work in progress, the third in a series, was sparked by a conversation a friend and I had about a couple who created a garden in which thousands of small white wooden crosses represent lives lost to abortion.

Recently, I rediscovered a website I'd come across a few times before:
http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/index.html. This site is an online library of modern and historical crimes. There are also articles on criminal psychology, toxicology, and other topics useful to writers of crime fiction. Stuck for a plot? Skimming these stories about real-life criminals can spark dozens of ideas. What if Sweeney Todd had been born in Chicago in the 1930s? What if someone like Albert Fish took a resourceful child who knew how to fight back? How about a black widow story? What if there was a group of time travelers who kidnapped serial killers in their infancy and raised them in loving, nurturing environments, and what if an evil group of time travelers decided to kidnap some potential killers of their own--and for less benevolent purposes? (Yes, sometimes the idea fireflies lead us far afield.)

Ideas are everywhere. Whether you envision them as fireflies in a field or drops of water in a well, the source is not a factory in Poughkeepsie or in anybody's cousin's back yard. You are the source, and I am, and everything we read, see, or experience helps scatter the stars and fill the well. That is the beauty of writing.

Thankful for Readers

By Beth Terrell

In one of this weeks' blog posts, Nathan Bransford asked his readers (I started to say followers, but that sounded just a little too messianic) what they were grateful for as writers. As you can imagine, the responses ran the gamut, from the ability to write to supportive spouses to paper clips. My list of things to be thankful for hasn't changed much since last year. I'm still grateful for my loving husband; the support of my mom, my brother, in-laws, and countless friends; our dogs (two papillons and a Tibetan Spaniel); my laptop; my terrific critique group; Night Shadows Press, the small press that believed in me enough to reissue my iuniverse mystery; and readers--everyone who has read my book and liked it, and everyone who hasn't read my book, but reads the books of my friends and my favorite authors, thereby enabling the publishing industry to keep on rolling, warts and all.

There is nothing like hearing from a person who says, "I read your book and loved it." One of my favorites came from a woman who said she was so anxious to see what happened that she was sneaking in paragraphs at stop lights. Another said, "When I'm not reading this book, I'm thinking about the people in it and wondering what they're doing." It just doesn't get any better than that.

We need the encouragement, because, as most of us know, few writers can make a living with their writing. I read somewhere that the average income of writers falls just above that of migrant workers. Thank goodness for the likes of Stephen King, Dan Brown, and John Grisham, who pulled the average up! Otherwise, we'd be at the bottom of the heap. One writer, responding to Nathan's blog, said she'd calculated her hourly wages and come up with a figure of approximately seven cents. It's hard to retire to Maui on that.

Then one day you're working out at Curves, and the chatter among the exercisers turns to books. The woman at the next machine, a woman you've never met and who has no idea you're a writer, says, "You know what book I love? I just read it, and it's terrific." And she names your book. You carry that glow home with you. Years later, you can still pull it out of your pocket and bask in it.

So on this beautiful (albeit chilly) Thanksgiving Day, I'd like to take a moment to thank you, the readers. You're the ones who make this crazy business work.

Happy Thanksgiving!

One Writer's Place

By Beth Terrell

Last week, I told you I was going to be spending this past weekend at a writer's workshop near Cape Cod, Massachusetts. It was really a workshop/retreat at One Writer's Place, founded by bestselling author Jacquelyn Mitchard. You've probably heard of Jackie. Her first adult novel, The Deep End of the Ocean, released in 1996, was the first Oprah selection. It was made into a movie starring Michelle Pfeiffer. Since then, she's written seven other acclaimed novels for adults, as well as a number of YA and children's books. She wrote the first chapters of that first novel at the Ragdale Foundation retreat, and it was that experience that led her to create a retreat of her own. She credits Ragdale with helping her achieve her dream and wanted to do the same for other writers.

One Writer's Place offers workshops, residencies, and manuscript critiques. The workshops, like the one I attended this past weekend, bring three to four writers together to discuss their work with Jackie and with each other. The master's workshop (the one I attended) was for writers who have a completed manuscript. Before the retreat, I sent a copy of my manuscript to each of the two other participants and another to Jackie. I read the other two manuscripts before I left for the retreat. Then, when we got there, we discussed each person's manuscript in depth. Jackie offers encouragement, but also has a gift for diagnosing a story's weaknesses and seeing what needs to be done to improve it. I went home with pages of notes and three copies of my manuscript complete with notes from Jackie and the other two participants. Jackie has said that most authors submit their manuscripts one edit too soon. Thanks to my weekend at One Writer's Place, I know mine is close to ready. According to the website, One Writer's Place offers six workshops a year, some of which are masters' classes and some of which are for writers whose manuscripts are not complete. There is no way to go through a One Writer's Place workshop and not come out of it a better writer.

One Writer's Place is also available for residencies of from one to three weeks. Residencies are free, except for a $150 cleaning fee for a one week stay ($250 for three weeks). Residencies are open to published and begining writers, but three letters of character reference are required. Application deadlines are June 1 for fall residencies and December 1 for spring residencies.

No time for a three-week jaunt to Cape Cod? No budget for the intensive weekend workshop? Jackie also offers critiques for a limited number of partial and full manuscripts. Each critique includes marked pages, written suggestions and observations, and a 40-minute phone consultation.

Thanks to Jackie Mitchard and her wonderful assistant, Pam English, my weekend at One Writer's Place included three ultra-healthy meals a day, a trip to the bay and another to the Brewster tidal flats, and some of the best writing advice I could have asked for.

Love and the Mystery Writer

By Beth Terrell

I'm writing this post from Brewster Massachusetts, very near Cape Cod. I'm here for a writer's weekend workshop. I'll write about the workshop next week, since it doesn't actually start until tomorrow. I bring it up now because, if it weren't for this workshop, I wouldn't have spent the last two days driving from Nashville, Tennessee to Cape Cod, Massachusetts, and I wouldn't have gotten a first-hand demonstration of true love in action.

Preparing for a trip like this involves a number of tasks. Do laundry; pack suitcase; make sure manuscript copies are in notebooks and loaded up; read the manuscripts of the other authors; pack a bag to take to the dog trainers' (where they'll be staying while Mike and I are gone); get Mom to take care of the house, cat, and birds; give the animals lots of attention before dropping the dogs off at "Aunt Peg's."

My husband, Mike, is also getting ready for a trip. He and a group of his friends are going to a gaming convention in Gettysburg, stopping at a number of battlefields and museums on the way. But in the midst of preparing for his trip, he took the time to print out maps detailing every step of my route. Not only did he print them, he took them to Kinko's and bound them. He made sure we had AAA memberships and that I had a brochure with all the services listed. He bought me an adapter for my lighter so I can plug in multiple devices at one time. And then he gave me an mp3 player loaded with songs he knew I'd like. When I thanked him, he said, "I'm just trying to make your trip more pleasant."

When I got into the car, one of the first things I did was plug in my GPS ("Daniel"). Mike gave Daniel to me several years ago for our anniversary, and programmed "him" with the British male voice because he thought I'd like that best. He makes sure Daniel's maps are up-to-date so that when I travel, I don't have to worry about getting lost and having to ask for directions.

You'd better believe that, when I got behind the wheel of my little black Honda Accord and plugged in my mp3 player and put the coordinates for the workshop location into Daniel's memory, I was feeling protected, taken care of, and very, very loved.

It's the same way I feel when he drops me off at the front door of a restaurant because it's raining and he doesn't want me to get wet. I don't generally mind getting wet, but it still touches my heart when he does it.

I know the care and feeding of a mystery writer can be challenging sometimes. We spend our "mad" money on writers' workshops and conferences, we need a boatload of reassurance that we do indeed have talent, and--as Ben pointed out after his trip to Croatia--we think of murder at the strangest times.

So I'd like to thank my husband, Mike, for all the many little things he does to show support and love for this mystery writer.

May you all be lucky enough to have someone who'll do the same for you.

A Writer's Retreat

By Beth Terrell

I'm writing this post in my favorite writer's getaway, a cabin in the mountains not far from Gatlinburg. There's a fire burning in the fireplace and a mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table, and if I step out on the back deck, I can see a waterfall shimmering in the moonlight. I take a deep breath and smell damp leaves and burning cedar, the slight chlorine smell of the hot tub on the deck. It's the perfect writer's retreat, and I'm fortunate enough to be able to come here whenever I like.

Yesterday, my writer's retreat was a little bungalow on the beach. My bare toes curled into sand still warm from the afternoon sun, and when I licked my lips, I felt and tasted the grit of salt. Tomorrow, I think I'll write on a houseboat on the lake. The day after, a cottage in Scotland.

Money is no object, not because I'm wealthy enough to rub elbows with Bill Gates, but because I carry my writer's retreat with me wherever I go. As a figment of my imagination, it's whatever and wherever I want it to be. I can close my eyes and summon up the sights, smells, textures, and tastes. A crisp apple, a bowl of steaming oatmeal sprinkled with melting brown sugar, a threadbare quilt smelling of lavender.

This ability to conjure up a total sensory experience is good for more than creating imaginary cabins. It's what makes it possible for a writer to bring a setting to life. Does your character, pursued by a killer, plunge through an overgrown meadow? Can you feel the tall grass whipping across her legs? Feel her heart pounding? Can you smell rain in the air, hear the killer panting behind her? Can you bring that experience to life for your reader?

Through the magic of words, you can. You can take your readers anywhere, show them anything. You can make them love, feel...and believe. What could be better than that?

Loving Your Inner Editor

By Beth Terrell

November is approaching, and with it comes National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). More than 100,000 people from all over the world will write a 50,000-word first draft of a novel between 12:01 A.M. November 1 and midnight of November 30. The writers range from teenagers to octogenarians. Some are professional authors who will later edit their NaNo novels into something worth publishing. (Sara Gruen's award-winning novel Water for Elephants began as a NaNo novel.) Some will populate their stories with time-traveling ninjas, flying monkeys, and random song lyrics. It's a month-long writing exercise and a month-long celebration of creativity. It's a little bit crazy. And it's a heck of a lot of fun.

Soon the "I Hate NaNoWriMo" blog posts will begin to spring up like mushrooms across the internet. These are generally written by aspiring or little-known authors who believe the flood of dreadful NaNo manuscripts will somehow keep their masterpieces from being published. Successful writers rarely feel this way; Sue Grafton and Neil Gaiman are two of the many well-known authors who provide the pep talks that go out to participants each week of the event.

The NaNoWiMo forums mention muses a lot. How to attract your muse, how to keep your muse happy and busy, the care and feeding of a muse. NaNo is all about the muse, which is as it should be. The exercise is about messy first drafts, raw and unpolished but fresh and genuine. That first draft is to a writer what a block of clay is to a sculptor. You can't make art without it. Yay, Muse!

There was one thread, though, that gave me pause. It was about all the ways in which people might keep their metaphorical inner editors away during November. All I can say is, there's a lot of resentment toward inner editors out there. Most of the suggestions involved stuffing Inner Editor (generally bound with ropes or chains) into a closet or trunk, locking the door or lid, and hiding the key until December 1.

I fully understand the need to keep Inner Editor from interfering during the first draft process, but all this talk of binding and stuffing makes me (and MY inner editor) a little uncomfortable. After all, Inner Editor has valuable skills we're going to need when it's time to make something beautiful from that big lump of first-draft clay. Maybe, instead of gagging her and handcuffing her to a radiator, we could take a different approach.

When Creative Self and I are working on an early draft, Inner Editor leans over our shoulder and mutters, "You call that writing? Hemingway would turn over in his grave," I remind her that her turn will come--Creative Self is busy making a beautiful, flawed first draft for Inner Editor to carve and polish into a thing of beauty. She gets starry-eyed at the prospect, and I give her chocolate and send her away to bask on a beach somewhere until Creative Self proudly calls her back and plops a finished draft into her hands.

Inner Editor can be critical and sarcastic, but when treated gently and reminded that constructive criticism can still be kind, she's a team player. Assured that her turn will come, she's content to let Creative Self play, with only an occasional nudge ("Hey, you just wrote paedcpm. Didn't you mean peacock?"). As she works her magic, she's happy to let Creative Self watch and weave in a little magic of her own. The editing process becomes a dance between the analytical ("This back story is interesting, but does it really move the story?") and the creative ("Wait, I have a better idea!").

In our celebration of the Muse, let's not forget a kind word for the oft-maligned Inner Editor. Come December, we're going to need her.

Evolution of a Manuscript

By Beth Terrell

Thriller writer Gregg Hurwitz said the way to learn to write is not to write 50 books, but to write the same book 50 times. I take comfort in that, since that seems to be the way I'm heading with the second book in the Jared McKean series.

The first time I finished the book, I did several intensive edits followed by a final polish, then sent it to six trusted readers for feedback. Their reactions were overall very positive, but they had a number of excellent suggestions. Unfortunately, one small change often leads to another, which leads to another, and so on. What seemed like a series of minor changes turned out to be another extensive edit. Finally, I was done.

My agent submitted it to Warner Books. The editor he submitted it to loved it (hurrah!), but the higher-up editors decided it was too similar to another book they had coming out that summer. Alas, they decided to pass on it. After several more rejections, I suspected there was something missing and took a good look at the manuscript. It was pretty good. Close-but-no-cigar good. I knew it needed something, but I wasn't sure what.

Then I went to Don Maass's Writing the Breakout Novel workshop. I went in thinking my manuscript needed a little cosmetic surgery and left knowing it needed a heart-lung transplant. Fortunately, Don had given me the tools I needed to do that. I did a massive overhaul. The basic story remained intact, but suddenly it went to a deeper, richer place.

I took that "finished" manuscript to Don Maass's High Tension workshop. (Are you sensing a theme here? Seriously, if you get a chance to study with guy, take it. Take the Breakout Novel workshop first; it lays the foundation for the next one.) This time, my manuscript only needed liposuction, a nose job, and a couple of knee-hip replacements.

Another re-write, somewhat less extensive, but still substantial. Done! Right? Well...almost. I entered in a contest, and while I didn't win, I got some valuable feedback from the judge. The flaws she saw in the manuscript seemed like easy fixes, but when I sat down to do them, I realized that a manuscript is like a well-woven sweater. Each thread is entwined with the others. It's hard to tug on one without unraveling the whole thing. Still, I think it's almost there. I feel a sense of satisfaction with the manuscript that I haven't had before. Before, I knew the opening and the last 100 pages were strong, but there was something not working in the middle. I can feel that "something" changing, those flabby chapters taking on the right shape.

Just in the nick of time, too. With the first Jared McKean book about to be re-released in October, it's time to get that second one in the chute. The third one is still a shapeless mess, and the fourth and fifth ones are just loose outlines, but I have faith that they too will come along in time. Maybe it will get easier.

Or maybe it won't. I'm not a natural writer. I read John Hart's Down River and Dennis Lehane's Mystic River and despair of ever achieving that level of artistry. But what I lack in raw talent, I hope I make up for in tenacity.

So why am I telling you all this? If you've been struggling to become a better writer and wonder if you're the only one who has to work this hard, maybe knowing it's all part of the process will help you get over the next hump. Or if you're one of those natural talents for whom golden phrases flow like milk and honey from the promised land, you can go to bed tonight knowing that--even though the rest of us secretly hate you--you've been truly blessed.

Happy writing!

A Visit With A. B. Guthrie, Jr.

by Jean Henry Mead

The Pulitizer winner called himself “Bud” because he thought Alfred Bertram was a “sissy name.” He lived near the face of Montana’s rugged Sawtooth Mountain Range on a 160-acre, sagebrush-covered hideaway with his wife Carol, who was nearly as young as A. B. Guthrie’s spirit.

The newspaper man-turned-novelist had been credited with bringing respect to the Western genre, but his work wasn't always well received by the reading public. A perfectionist, his outspoken criticism of popular Western fiction, environmental issues, and various social problems often left him up the proverbial creek with mainstream America. But those of us who worry about the planet’s future applauded his ominous warnings.

The novelist’s first and highly acclaimed novel, The Big Sky, was followed by Pulitzer winner, The Way West. The later, he said, was written in six months because his publisher was on the verge of bankruptcy. Four novels followed in his Western series as well as four mysteries, a collection of short stories and a children’s book. Three of his Western novels were adapted to screenplays and Guthrie wrote several others without prior experience, including “Shane” for director George Stevens.

Visiting the wise old man of the Western literary mountain was no small feat, but well worth the journey. The trail leading to his comfortable, modified A-frame home in north-central Montana followed a narrow, patched and potholed road to a pair of cattle guards and small metal bridge which emptied into earthen tire tracks. A quarter mile off the road, hunkered down in native foliage, was Guthrie’s Garden of Eden, at peace with its surroundings.

Books were the main source of entertainment there and the Guthries read and talked until two or three in the morning. Television reception was nonexistent in the area, and they debated whether to invest in a satellite dish. Guthire called the receivers “unsightly” so they decided against buying one. Their nearest neighbor was three miles away, but frequent visitors arrived from various parts of the country to talk shop and renew old friendships.

A black toy poodle announced my arrival long before I reached the front door. Greeted warmly by both Guthries, I was invited into the kitchen for a slice of warm, home-baked coffee cake and a cold glass of milk. The author’s wife hovered in and around the interview area, serving, when needed, as her husband’s memory. She also added comments of her own and made it clear that her husband was not in the same league with other Western Writers.

When asked about his heritage, Guthrie said the information could be found in Who’s Who, but when pressed for his own version, he promptly complied. Basically a shy man, nervous man, he revealed a native humor that immediately put me at ease.

(Next week, the interview.)

Hit and Run

By Beth Terrell

As usual, I was running late yesterday morning. A few too many minutes snuggling with the dogs after the alarm went off, a little too long in the steaming shower, and I was faced with a choice I'd been making all too often lately: take the interstate to work and (if the traffic is no heavier than usual) arrive on time, or take an alternate route and pull into the parking lot fifteen minutes late--ten if the lights were with me.

I took the interstate. It was raining, and the streets were slick and shiny in my headlights. Traffic was heavy, but moving briskly. I needed to cross three lanes of traffic and merge into the far left lane by the time I-24 split off toward Chattanooga. All around me, cars sped up and slowed, sped up and slowed. A gap formed between two cars, and I slipped my little Honda into the next lane over. (I love my Honda. It's black with a sprinkling of blue glitter that can only be seen under certain lights. It's like a beautiful little secret between me and the car.)

I left my blinker on, and the car in the next lane sped up to keep me from merging. (Why do people do that?) I fell back and let him pass. Then another gap appeared, and I made it into the next lane. Only one to go. I put the blinker back on and after a few minutes, merged into the far left lane, what the police officer would later call the fast lane, but which was also the only lane that would take me to I-24. A small dark car was in front of me, a big red pickup truck behind. He was moving fast, and I felt a momentary twinge, but he fell back a little, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I turned off the radio; with the rain and the traffic, I wanted to be at my most alert.

We cruised on toward the split in our little vehicular dance. Then the line of traffic in front slowed and compressed. I eased off on the gas and touched the brake. The gap between me and the car in front narrowed, but I knew I would have plenty of room to stop if I needed to. I glanced into my rear view mirror, where the red truck suddenly looked alarmingly large. I had a single lucid thought: He can't possibly stop. I turned the steering wheel to the left, knowing it was too late.

The impact snapped my head back against the headrest and shot the Honda forward. Somehow, I kept my hands on the wheel. Somehow, I guided the car into the space between the concrete barrier wall and the car in front of me. A foot to the left, and I'd have struck the concrete wall. A foot to the right, and I'd have been accordianed between the pickup and the car in front. I eased the car to a stop, hands clamped to the steering wheel, and all I could think was, "Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Then I looked back into the rear view mirror and saw black. It took me a moment to realize I was looking at the crumpled lid of my trunk through the empty pane where my rear windshield used to be. The back seat sparkled with crumbled glass. I fumbled for my phone and called our site manager. "Um...Steve," I said. "I'm going to be late. Do you happen to know the number for the police? You know, that one you call if you're not about to die?"

After I hung up, it occurred to me that the driver of the pickup should have come over to trade insurance numbers by now. Maybe he'd been badly hurt. I glanced in the side mirror. Funny. I should have been able to see the truck behind me. Surely, oh surely, I thought, he's just somewhere outside the view of my mirrors. Surely he did not just drive away. I dialed the police dispatcher and then stepped out of the car to check on the other driver. No red pickup.

I began to tremble. Not only had the driver not stopped, no one stopped. If I'd been badly hurt, I would have bled to death and no one would have stopped to help me. For a moment, it was the loneliest feeling in the world. Then I told myself that f I had been on the right shoulder instead of the left, or if we had been coming home instead of heading for work, people would have stopped to help. Probably several people. That helped a little.

The emergency responder was wonderful. He stopped traffic, allowing me to get across the interstate to a safer place. The responding officer, Jeb Johnston, and the ambulance drivers were kind, professional, and solicitous. "You were hit by a Ford," said the officer.

"Oh," I said. "Did someone see it?"

"No." He shook his head, a hint of a grin on his lips. "We found his front grill. It's in your trunk."

For some reason, I found this immensely funny.

This would be a better story if the grill had landed there after the impact, but the truth is, the emergency responder picked it up off the road and tossed it into the trunk. Fortunately, I'm a writer, and my mind is already turning this lemon into lemonade by planning a scene in which the protagonist of my work in progress is rammed from behind by a bad guy in a red pickup truck. And in that version, guess where the front grill will end up?

There's a lot I still don't know. My little Honda may or may not be totaled. The driver of the pickup may or may not ever be caught. My insurance rates may or may not go up. But I did not die on the interstate yesterday, and for that, I feel very, very blessed.

The Joy of Revision

I know writers who hate to edit, but I love it. There is nothing like watching a pile of ordinary words begin to shine. But once you have your masterpiece in your hands, this squalling red-faced newborn with its squinched-up face and its misshapen head, how do you shape it into the beautiful baby you know it can be?

First, put the manuscript away for awhile. A month is good if you can manage it. Then read the manuscript through with your colored pen in hand. Look at the Big Picture. Does everything make sense? Where do you need more development? Where are you spinning your wheels? Do you have too many characters? Not enough? Do you have the right balance of plot and character? Are your characters consistent? Is your pacing right? Does everything move at the same speed? Where do you need more information? Where do you need less? Do not fix the problems; just note them.

Go through the manuscript again, correcting the big problems you noticed above. If there is a pacing problem, decide which scenes need to move faster, which might need a slower, more thoughtful pace. Sentence length and structure can affect the pacing of the story. Are all your sentences the same length? Try varying them. Add necessary scenes. Take out unnecessary scenes, even if you love them. (I keep a folder called “Jared scraps” for things I like but which don’t fit this book. That way, I don't feel so bad about cutting things I like a lot. I may never use them again--but they're there if I want them.)

Use the edit/find function to look for “filler” words: that, just, very, etc. You don’t need, “She was very beautiful” or “The stench was pretty awful.” “Very” and “pretty” dilute “beautiful” and “awful.” Do a global search for these words and eliminate every one that you don’t absolutely need. (I'll bet you can do without "beautiful" and "awful" too. What does beautiful look like? What does awful smell like? Rotten eggs or an overused outhouse?) While you're at it, look for your own pet words and phrases. We all have them. Do another search for those words and see if you can replace some of them with more vivid words, phrases, or images. (In one book a popular author whose work I generally admire used “the tires chirped” or “I pulled away with a chirp of tires” at least half a dozen times. It was an interesting line and sounded original the first time, but after a while it just seemed odd. Do tires chirp all that often, really?

Replace meaningless gestures with meaningful ones. Shrugging, grinning, and smiling are fine for first drafts, but look for the telling gesture or detail. Another good use for the search feature.


Look at the rhythm of your sentences. Try to end your sentences with the word that has the most weight. (Not, “After I talked to Moretti, I picked up a sausage McMuffin and went down to the docks to poke around,” but “After I talked to Moretti, I picked up a sausage McMuffin and went down to poke around at the docks.” Not, “There was a star-shaped hole in his head, and a thin line of blood trickled from it,” but “A thin line of blood trickled from the star-shaped hole in his head.”)

Read your dialogue aloud. Does it sound natural? Does it sound too natural (uh, um…I mean, like, really...)?

Replace generalities with specific details. Not, “She was the nicest woman I’d ever met,” but, “I knew she only had ten dollars to last her until payday, but she pulled a crumpled five from her pocket and stuffed it in the blind man’s cup.” Look for bland nouns and weak verbs. Replace them with strong, vivid ones. Don’t settle for the almost right word. Go for the lightning, not the lightning bug.

Keep your characters’ eyes in their heads. (“His eyes slithered down her body.” Well, that’s just gross.) Personally, I'm not bothered when people's eyes meet; that's such a common phrase it hardly registers any more, but there are many readers who are bothered by it, so why take the chance?

When you say something like, “Running for the bus, he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk,” make sure the two actions you’ve chose really can be (and would be) done simultaneously.” Not, “Falling onto the bed, she dialed the phone.” Fall first, then dial. Or dial first, then fall. It would be very hard to do both at the same time.

In the same vein, watch for misplaced modifiers: Mary moved to a little Irish village with nothing but a suitcase and an extra pair of overshoes. Does the village have only a suitcase and overshoes? No, try this instead: With nothing but a suitcase and an extra pair of overshoes, Mary moved to a little Irish village.

Are you showing when you should show and telling when you should tell? Or vice versa?

Beware the information dump, especially of the “as you know, Bob” kind, in which two characers tell each other things they both already know.

“Hardy Boy Syndrome,” she quipped. Just don’t do it. “Said” is good. Rule of thumb: only use a descriptive speech tag if the way a thing is said belies what is being said (“I hate you,” she said sweetly.), or if it’s necessary for characterization or effect. Note: you can’t hiss anything unless it has a lot of sibilants. It might be important to tell us if someone whispered or murmured something. Sometimes.

You can’t smile a word, grin a word, smirk a word, or frown a word. Not: “They’re beautiful,” Jen smiled. Instead, try: “They’re beautiful.” Jen smiled.

Read each sentence aloud. I usually point as I go, since it’s very easy to miss typos, such as repeated or misspelled words.

Exhausted yet? Put the manuscript away for awhile and then read through it again. Happy? Now find several readers and/or writers whose opinions you trust and ask them to read your manuscript for you. Ask them to make places they didn't understand, or places where their attention wandered. Read the suggestions of your readers with an open mind. You will agree with some of their suggestions. Others, you’ll disagree with. If you hear the same thing from several readers, they probably have a point. There is probably something wrong with that section of the book. The solution may be different from what the reader or readers suggested, but there is something there you should work on.

All right. Your book is perfect now, right? Wrong. Put it away again for a while and work on something else. You know your book so well you can practically recite it. But because you do, you read the sentences as you mean for them to be. You will invariably overlook some typos. Our minds provide meaning and correct errors without our knowledge. So read the manuscript again—backwards. (Thanks to Kathryn Wall for that tidbit!) By reading each sentence in isolation, you have a better chance of catching any errors that may have slipped by.

All done? Congratulations! It’s a book! Your beautiful new literary baby is ready to show the world.

On Research: Notes from a Congenital Geek

When I was seven years old, a television show called Sunrise Semester came on every morning just after Farm Digest. The show consisted of a university professor teaching college-level math and science classes. These were strictly lecture-style lessons--no bells, whistles, or special effects. I got up early every morning to watch it and sat riveted in front of the TV, despite the fact that I never understood a word of it. Recently, I shared this with my friend Cindi, who shook her head and said, "There was never any hope for you, was there? You were born a geek."

It probably tells you something about both of us that we considered this a compliment.

For a congenital geek like me, one of the great pleasures of being a writer is that it provides an excuse to spend hours doing what is generally called "research." Yesterday, for example, I researched how to pick up, hold, and release a venomous snake. This is an activity best experienced vicariously. (Never try this at home!) I also learned that a timber rattlesnake (Latin name Crotalus horridus) is a kind of viper, that the viperids have longer fangs than the elapids (such as coral snakes) and that, because of this, each type requires a separate and specific kind of hold. The number of people who keep venomous snakes (they call them "hot" snakes) is truly remarkable.

Why was I looking up ways to catch and release venomous snakes? In this case, there's a scene in the book I'm working on that involves an angry timber rattler and a very unhappy detective. I had very specific question in mind when I embarked on my virtual quest. That's the tye of research I do most often. I need to know something about how police process a crime scene or how to determine the time of death or methods of carrying concealed firearms, so I go in search of an appropriate site (check out http://www.virtualautopsy.com for good information on autopsy procedures), an appropriate book, or an appropriate person to interview. The Writer's Digest Books Howdunit series is an excellent source of information for any crime writer. These include Lee Lofland's excellent book, Police Procedure & Investigation, Poisons by Serita Stevens and Anne Bannon, and Forensics by D.P. Lyle.

There's another kind of research--the serendipitous kind. This kind of research can be likened to taking your camera and going for a liesurely ramble in the woods. You don't know what you might find, but there's a pretty good chance you'll turn up something wonderful. I think of it as "found research." Another great thing about being a writer is that everything you learn becomes grist for the mill. Nothing is wasted. It may not find its way into this book or next, but it may lead you to something that will. Or it may find its way into another plot line years down the road. You just never know.

A great place for a crime writer to do this type of research is truTV Crime Library. This site has a wealth of information about criminal psychology and modern and historic crimes. Want the real scoop on Bonnie and Clyde, Leopold and Loeb, or the real Sweeney Todd? This is the place to go. Reading through old cases can spark the imagination of a crime writer. I may not want to write about a pair of Depression-era criminals, but a couple of modern-day lovebirds with antisocial tendencies might be just the ticket.

But information doesn't have to be crime-related to be valuable to a mystery writer. A site about Native America legends might inspire a historical novel based on Native American culture, a modernization of the Blue Corn Maiden legend, or a mystery about a missing Native American artifact. A visit to a site that shows a line drawing of a woman being created from the skeleton outward might inspire a character based on the woman being drawn or on the artist who might be drawing her. For the congenital geek (or the self-made writer), everything is fodder.

So go ahead, take a ramble through the internet or through the shelves of your local library. Invite your muse to come out and play. After all, that's one of the great things about being a writer.

Why Write?

By Beth Terrell

A few years ago, I went to a small conference in North Carolina. In the drawing room of a lovely old hotel, several authors spoke about the process and business of writing. I talked about editing and the multiple drafts it takes to get a book to the polished level professional authors strive to achieve. (Granted, a privileged few get it perfect the first time, every time, but they are mutant geniuses who must be destroyed...um...of course, I mean "honored.")

Anyway, I spoke about editing and gave out a handout with a number of steps toward, one hopes, scintillating writing. Then another talked about the process of finding an agent or publisher and getting your book accepted. Still another spoke on marketing and what it takes to make a living as a novelist.

One woman in the audience finally raised her hand, and said in a voice of quiet desperation, "But what if I don't want to do all that? What if I just want to write?"

At another conference, a would-be novelist said to me, "Our critique leader said I needed to read a lot if I want to write. But I hate to read. Do you think she's right?" Over the years, I've heard multiple variations on this theme. I love to write, but it seems so hard. Do I really have to do all this?

My answer is always, "It depends on what you want from your writing."

Yes, if you want to be successfully published, you have to read, you have to write, you have to edit and polish and edit again. You have to pursue a writing contract (or publish your book on your own), and once the book is out there, you have to market the heck out of it. It's a lot of work, and if you want to be the next Dennis Lehane or Janet Evanovitch, you have to make a real commitment to do it. Jim Rollins was accepted by the fiftieth agent he submitted to. J.K. Rowling submitted the first Harry Potter novel over 100 times. If your goal is to be a professional writer, you must do what it takes to make your work as good as it can be, and then never give up.

But if what you want is to put ideas down on paper for your own enjoyment, for catharsis, or so your children and grandchildren will someday read your words and know who you are, then all you have to do is put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and let fly. Writing is fun, and it's for everybody. There's no sign on the door that says "AMATEURS KEEP OUT."

That word, amateur, is sometimes used in a pejorative way, but it is not a pejorative term. My dictionary defines "amateur" as "a person who engages in a study, sport, or other activity for for pleasure rather than for financial benefit or professional reasons." That sounds like a great reason for writing--or doing any other form of art, for that matter. Oil painting, for example. I suspect there are millions of amateur painters out there, some of whom paint well, some of whom paint poorly, some of whom create exquisite works of art, but all of whom paint only for themselves or a few friends. No one thinks they should give up painting just because their work will never hang in a museum. The process of painting brings them joy, and that's enough.

But with writing, for some reason, there's a sense that, if you aren't writing for publication, you might as well hang up your laptop. Want proof? Every year, thousands of people join in a joyful frenzy of writing called NaNoWriMo (National Novel-Writing Month), in which the goal is to write a 50,000-word novel in a month. And every year, like clockwork, the "I-Hate-NaNoWriMo" blogs spring up like mushrooms. "These people have no business writing," they say. And, "The flood of horrible books makes it harder for us real writers to get published."

You never read rants by fine artists about how the millions of people for whom painting is a hobby are screwing it up for the real artists. So why do some writers think putting words on a page is the sole purview of the professionals?

There are a million reasons to write: creating characters that come to life on the page, building a world that once only existed in your mind, setting down a history of family stories that will otherwise be lost, getting an email that says, "I was reading snatches of your book at stoplights; I couldn't put it down." Of course, we mustn't forget the accolades and the six million dollar movie deal.

Me, I want the whole shebang--to be a full-time, published author, making a living doing the thing I love the most. The woman in my North Carolina audience wanted something different, and that's okay too.

That's the great thing about writing. Amateur or professional, we are richer for having done it.