Author Archive

Posted on May 14, 2012 - by Kim

K.I.S.S.

Keep It Simple Sister.

I know, I know. That’s not exactly how some of us learned this little acronym way back when we were tiny little writers in training. But whether we say sister or some other ‘s’ word, the theory behind it is still the same – Don’t make everything so complicated.

Question is, how? In this day of technology and the information technology where a mobile phone is outdate the minute the salesperson activates it in the store, how do we keep things simple? The answer – K.I.S.S.

1. Know when to step away. Recognize when you need to take a break from a project. Embrace it then do it. Trust me, it will be waiting for you when you get back.
2. Insulate yourself from the real world for a while. Find a nice quiet corner where you can’t see the television, are too far from the keyboard to access the internet and the radio gets horrible reception then get lost in a good book for a while.
3. Spend time with friends and family. Our creativity couldn’t survive without this kind of interaction. I can’t tell you how many fresh ideas have come out of talking and listening to co-workers over a bag lunch in the break room.
4. Seek solitude. Just like we crave company, we sometimes need a little isolation. We need to decompress. Relax. Recharge. We do ourselves and our projects – whether they are work related or writing related – no good if we are constantly in sensory overload mode.

So the next time life gets hectic and you get bogged down in the complicated, stop. Take a step back. Decompress for a minute. And give yourself a big K.I.S.S.

 

Posted on April 30, 2012 - by Kim

I Will Survive

At first I was afraid I was petrified.

Amen Gloria Gaynor! Sing it sister!

And if truth be told, I still am. Which is probably why my writing life has been close to nil in the last few months. A string of letdowns. A few remarks read and taken the wrong way. A big ol’ dose of the green eyed monster when others succeed or have more response to things they’ve written than I have and I’m right back in the pity me hole.

Why?

Because just like the song insinuates, I think too much. Worry too much about whether I’m doing this because I want to or because God intends for me to instead of enjoying the journey regardless of the final destination (publication or lots and lots of good typing practice). Needless to say, this mindset has resulted in several months of oh so many nights just feeling sorry for myself. I used to cry (don’t tell anybody but I still do on occasion). But now I hold my head up high.

Okay. So not quite yet. But soon I hope.

Why?

Because I have a survival kit. One that has saved me from these doldrums since I was a wee writer in diapers (if an adolescent could be considered wee and big girl panties seen as diapers).

And what, you might ask, exactly is in this kit?

1. A ladder, preferably of the extension variety in case I ever eventually dig the pity me hole all the way to China.
2. My favorite teddy bear. His name is Humphrey and wears a University of Florida t-shirt. He’s the best listener, can take a punch like Muhammad Ali and doesn’t mind being a bit damp from a little eye leakage.
3. Music in the form of my favorites list on my iPod.
4. A good movie. (Currently I’m in full Alan Rickman mode since his younger self strongly resembles the hero in my current WIP – or would that be my hiatused WIP since I’m still in the pity me hole- but anything in the British or chic flick genre will do).
5. Chocolate. Loads of it!
6. A sense of humor. After all, I’m not a complete Eeyore here.
7. Skin grafts to provide the thicker hide I can’t seem to develop on my own here.
8. A good book to let me know what is possible.
9. A bad book to let me know I’m not a complete failure after all.
10. A God who doesn’t mind when I rant and rail. One who loves me even when I refuse to talk to Him because of my anger, has endless patience for my stubbornness and offers fathomless grace as I struggle to hold onto my belief in the midst of my unbelief.

As long as I have those things, I will eventually find my way out of the hole so I can continue this passion of mine. And just like Gloria Gaynor, I will survive. Oh as long as I know how to love I know I’ll stay alive; I’ve got all my life to live, I’ve got all my love to give and I’ll survive. I will survive. Hey, hey.

Lyrics: I Will Survive

As performed by Gloria Gaynor

 

Posted on April 16, 2012 - by Kim

When You Can’t Drop Everything And Read

Most bibliophiles agree there are very few things in this life that’s can’t be left undone if a good book is at stake. However there is one activity when reading simply isn’t feasible. Or safe. Or even legal in most states. Care to guess what activity that is?

Driving!

Let’s face it folks. Your eyes simply can’t be in two places at once (despite the number of college graduates who as students made study cards on either spiral bound index cards or punch holes in regular ones and use binder rings in order to lay over the steering wheel so they could study while they drove. Not that I have any personal experience with such things). Thus the dangers of texting and driving (the newest incarnation of the index cards over the steering wheel).

But just because one shouldn’t read and drive (if for no other reason than fear of a ticket from the local constabulary) doesn’t mean one can’t enjoy the written word. Or at least the spoken version of the written words known as audiobooks.

That’s right. I said audiobooks. With the advent of iPods, downloads and satellite radio, they aren’t just for people whose eyes just can’t hold out to read a publisher’s conventional print.

Now while I am not advocating them as a replacement for the smell of parchment and the angelic melody of turning pages, they certainly have their place. Like in the car on the way to Huntsville or Montgomery. Or on an iPod during a particularly boring meeting or sermon (again, not that I have any experience with such things).

Aside from the benefits of hands free literary enlightenment offered by such technology, one should consider the entertainment value found in the melodious voices of the narrators. Like Alan Rickman reading Return Of The Native. Unabridged. (I swear that man’s silky baritone and crisp accent could make my teeth sweat reading the phone book (and he ain’t hard on the eyes either). Don’t believe me? Just watch the scene in Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban where Rickman’s Professor Snape orders the students to turn to page three hundred and ninety-four. Insert delicious shiver here).

So the next time it just isn’t prudent to drop everything and read, don’t despair. Visit your local library or pop over to one of the download sites and help yourself to an audiobook. I promise you won’t regret it.

 

Posted on April 2, 2012 - by Kim

Provided For

Jehovah-Jireh – the Lord will provide. How many times have we heard those exact words of assurance? A thousand? Perhaps as many as a million? Yet we never quite believe it. Until He proves it to us. Just like He did with Abraham in Genesis 22.

You remember the story. God came to Abraham and told him to take his beloved son Isaac to a mountain in Moriah. Not for a little sightseeing. Not to get in touch with nature. But to be sacrificed. Bound. Laid on an altar. Killed by Abraham’s own hand.

It’s difficult to imagine the heaviness in the old man’s heart as he journeyed with his boy – the apple of his eye – knowing he would be making the return trip without the nonstop chatter of a child. And then the question. The determination-shattering question asked as only a child can. “Where is the lamb for the sacrifice?”

It’s you, my son, Abraham’s heart must have shouted. It’s you, my precious boy, his soul must have sobbed as he fought to keep the tears from his eyes. And oh how he must have doubted when he answered, “The Lord will provide, my son. The Lord will provide.”

And Isaac trusted. Even as his father tied his hands and placed him on the altar. Even as the man who wiped his tears when he fell and scraped his knees raised the knife. He trusted because his father said God would provide. And Daddy didn’t lie. Neither did Daddy’s God.

Sure enough, Jehovah came through. With a fat old ram stuck in a bush. Just like He came through with an unexpected check for the exact amount of the car repair. Or the casserole a neighbor brought by because she had the extra to spare when your larder was down to a jar of dill pickles and a bottle of Tabasco sauce.

Jehovah-Jireh. The Lord will provide. In spite of all our doubts. Despite our assurances that we can take care of ourselves. He will provide. Even His name assures of that.

Posted on March 19, 2012 - by Kim

Across A Crowded Bookstore

There! You refrain from pointing because it is bad manners. Nevertheless, there is no doubt you have found THE ONE here. Just beyond the squat balding man who doesn’t seem to have a clue the willowy blonde he’s chatting up isn’t giving him the time of day. And though there is too much distance to hear an accent or pick up a snippet of the conversation you are certain is an interesting one, you know. Call it instinct. Call it your gut. Call it whatever you want but you know beyond a shadow of a doubt you’ve found your perfect match.

How could you not? After all there’s intrigue in the way all the pieces fit together. A physical attraction to the sharp lines and angles. Never has there been a more flawless specimen.

Baldy shifts and, for a heartbeat, you think all is lost. So you crane your neck and pray this perfection incarnate will still be there… Your breath catches when Blondie has enough and moves toward the exit followed by Mr. Clean revealing you haven’t missed your chance.

Not caring about politeness and upbringing, you push your way forward, keeping this wonderful creation in sight. Each footstep brings you closer until you can reach out, your fingers brushing the cool card stock. A surge of energy passes through you as if the spine has touched yours.

Of their own accord, your fingers curl around this glorious tome. Bills. Gas. Food. All of it can go to rot if it means you can possess this treasure. If you can but stroke the cover over and over until you can move beyond its beauty to the marvels its sheer elegance promises.

Okay. So that might be a bit of an exaggeration. But let’s face it. The attraction to a book starts with the cover. And it can be as tangible as the physical attraction to a handsome face or a crisp accent from the British Isles. While the blurb might draw you into the story, its the photograph or the artwork on the front that takes up the space left by the title that what leads you to pick up book in the first place. Don’t believe me? Just take a look at a few of the ones in my recently read, currently reading or in the cue to be read next pile.

 

Mary Swan Middleton has always taken for granted the advantages of her family’s wealth. But a tragedy that touches all of Atlanta sends her reeling in grief. When the family maid challenges her to reach out to the less fortunate as a way to ease her own pain, Mary Swan meets Carl–and everything changes. For although Carl is her opposite in nearly every way, he has something her privileged life could not give her. And when she seeks his help to uncover a mystery, she learns far more than she ever could have imagined.

 

 

 

 

 

On the last night of 1937, twenty-five-year-old Katey Kontent is in a second-rate Greenwich Village jazz bar when Tinker Grey, a handsome banker, happens to sit down at the neighboring table. This chance encounter and its startling consequences propel Katey on a year-long journey into the upper echelons of New York society—where she will have little to rely upon other than a bracing wit and her own brand of cool nerve.

 

 

 

 

Grace Bradley went to work at Riverton House as a servant when she was just a girl, before the First World War. For years her life was inextricably tied up with the Hartford family, most particularly the two daughters, Hannah and Emmeline.

In the summer of 1924, at a glittering society party held at the house, a young poet shot himself. The only witnesses were Hannah and Emmeline and only they — and Grace — know the truth.

In 1999, when Grace is ninety-eight years old and living out her last days in a nursing home, she is visited by a young director who is making a film about the events of that summer. She takes Grace back to Riverton House and reawakens her memories. Told in flashback, this is the story of Grace’s youth during the last days of Edwardian aristocratic privilege shattered by war, of the vibrant twenties and the changes she witnessed as an entire way of life vanished forever.

 

Posted on March 5, 2012 - by Kim

Bring ‘Em Back Alive

Whether it be Severus Snape in the Harry Potter series or John Coffy in The Green Mile, sometimes we readers just can’t get past the injustice of a favorite character’s (even the ones we love to hate) demise at the hand of the author. And I have a feeling some of those authors wish they’d done things a little differently, too. Though, to be honest, that reaction may be in response to the outcry of vocal readers who aren’t afraid to tell the world (or entire theater) just how much said character deserved a second chance.

But what if those characters could be brought back from the veil? Given a second chance at their own happy ending without repercussions for the author or the plot? Think a mulligan in golf or a do-over in any childhood game where the inventor of the game is getting beat.

Well, that’s what I’m proposing. A national Bring ‘Em Back Alive Day celebrated on March 20^th in honor of the Spring Equinox. On this day, authors can rectify a great wrong by bringing the dearly departed back from the great beyond without wrecking the plot and we readers can rejoice with a little coffee, cake and perhaps a Hallmark card.

So what do you say, folks? Shall I start the petition? Lobby Congress and the House of Commons to demand that these characters’ rights be preserved and their death sentences commuted posthumously?

If so, call Bring M Back. That’s 274-646-2225 and let’s stop the injustice of a character’s untimely demise!

Lines are open! Call now and let your voice be heard!

Disclaimer – All phone numbers in this blog have been changed to protect the innocent. Any resemblance to actual phone numbers is a complete coincidence. No telephones were harmed in the writing of this blog. Dial at your own risk!

 

Posted on February 20, 2012 - by Kim

Music, Music, Music!

It’s a scientific fact that movies aren’t movies without the soundtrack. Scenes lack intensity and depth when there is no swell of strings in the background. And we’ve all seen flicks where the background tune just doesn’t fit. That can turn a deeply dramatic moment into a farce. But when the music is just right, you often have an Oscar-worthy moment.

Perhaps that is why the Oscars have had a Best Original Score category since 1934. After all, would Harry Potter and Star Wars be Harry Potter and Star Wars without John Williams’ memorable score? And would The Pink Panther be as pink without Henry Mancini? I think not!

While we might not know that the familiar tune that opens up the Indiana Jones movies has a name (The Raiders March), we certainly leave the theater humming it. More than that, we identify the tune each time we hear it or each time the movie’s title is mentioned. In that way, the score is as important as the catchy dialogue or the actor’s body language.

And while we might forget the names of the composers who spend hours trying to create the perfect theme for the hundreds of feet of film, we never forget what they make us feel. The tears they urge and the laughter they create with eight bars of notes and a couple of codas.

So here’s to John and Henry and Richard and Robert and all the rest! May the next generation of talent live up to the high standards you’ve created!

Now, for a bit of fun…Can you match the score’s composer with the movie? (Hint: The movie and/or the score was nominated for an Academy Award

1.         ____ Harry Potter And The Sorcerer’s Stone

2.         ____ Breakfast At Tiffany’s

3.         ____ Love Is A Many Splendored Thing

4.         ____ To Kill A Mockingbird

5.         ____ The Bridge Over The River Kwai

6.         ____ Rocky

7.         ____ Chariots of Fire

8.         ____ The Way We Were

9.         ____ Gone With The Wind

10.       ____ Dr. Zhivago

a. Vangelis   b. Max Steiner  c. Elmer Bernstein  d. Maurice Jarre  e. Marvin Hamlisch  f. Malcolm Arnold

g. John Williams  h. Henry Mancini  i. Bill Conti  j. Alfred Newman

Tune in this evening for the right answers!

 

Posted on February 6, 2012 - by Kim

Love Isn’t Selfish

Two five year olds sit around a table in their Kindergarten class enjoying snack time. Suzie always has a snack packed lovingly by her mother. But Sadie never produces anything from her lunch bag. The teacher, in her eternal wisdom and kindness always keeps a few packs of kid-friendly edibles for just such an occasion. She offers the snackless child something from the stash.

Sometime before the first week of school is out, the Suzie produces two snacks from her Barbie lunchbox. She leans over to Sadie and whispers. “I brought you a snack today.” Pushing the choices toward her little friend, she smiles. “And you can choose either one you want.”

Every day the exact same scene plays out before the teacher’s eyes. One day, a few weeks later, the teacher runs into Suzie’s mother at the local Wal-Mart. She thanks the young woman for providing a second snack for her daughter’s schoolmate and tries to tell her it is completely unnecessary as there is a special drawer in the filing cabinet with enough edibles for Sadie to indulge in for weeks to come.

“It’s not my idea,” Suzie’s mother shrugged. “Suzie came home after the first week of school and asked if I could pack an extra snack for her on Monday. When I asked her why, she just looked up with her big blue eyes and said, ‘Sadie never has a snack and I just want her to have something to eat like the rest of us do.’ “

Or so goes the story a Kindergarten teacher (the one in the story) related to me a few weeks ago.  I had all but forgotten about it until 1 Corinthians 13:5b became my topic in this round of blog posts. Whether little Suzie realized it or not, by not only providing the snack but allowing her friend to choose which one to take, she embodied ‘Love does not demand its own way’ (NLT). Once again, I find myself humbled by the innocent acts of children.

What about you? Have you been the embodiment of love isn’t selfish or witnessed it in the acts of others? Inquiring minds want to know.

 

Posted on January 23, 2012 - by Kim

The Swan House

Move over Margaret Mitchell. Stand aside Harper Lee. There’s a new kid on the block…relatively speaking. Or at least that’s what I thought when I read The Swan House by Elizabeth Musser.

This fantastic novel, published in 2001 is set in the author’s native Atlanta in 1962, is the coming of age story of one Mary Swan Middleton – a child of privilege from Buckhead. But money and the fine education she is receiving at the elite Wellington School doesn’t save her from the tragedy that leaves not only her family but the entire city grieving.

The story opens with a very grown up Mary Swan finally agreeing to tell her pregnant daughter the story of her sixteen-year-old self and the paintings that hang in Mt. Carmel Church in Grant Park. Thankfully, we get to go along for the ride as she tells of first loves, the slowly evolving racial climate in the city, the pain of secrets kept too long and the struggle to find a faith she didn’t know she was searching for.

From the very first paragraph, Elizabeth Musser draws the reader into the world of the South in 1962. Every word seems to pull you farther into a city still rising from the ashes of the past. Through the eyes of the characters, you feel like you are in Oakland Cemetery or standing on the expanse of lawn at the Swan House. You can feel Mary Swan’s pain as she grieves for her mother and struggles with the secrets uncovered as she tries to solve the infamous Raven Dare. You experience the confusion of being attracted to two possible first love and having to chose between the kind boy who could make her a social outcast and the sweet young man who drives a new convertible and goes to as elite a private school as she does. In short, you will cry her tears and laugh her laughs. And come out a better person for it.

 

Elizabeth Goldsmith Musser, a native of Atlanta, Georgia, attended the Westminster Schools and then received her B.A. in English and French from Vanderbilt University, where she was a member of Phi Beta Kappa and graduated magna cum laude.

Though passionate about writing since childhood, Elizabeth’s first book was not published until 1996. Two Crosses was the first of a trilogy set during both the Algerian War for independence from France (1957-1962) and the present day civil war in Algeria. Her work has since been translated into Dutch, French, and German.

Since 1989, Elizabeth and her husband, Paul, have lived in Montpellier, France, where Paul serves on the pastoral team of a small Protestant church. The Mussers have two sons, Andrew and Christopher. (Taken from the Barnes and Noble website.)

 

Posted on January 9, 2012 - by Kim

The Blank Page

Fill it.

That’s the best advice I’ve ever been given when it comes to this writing stuff. Actually, the advice was a bit more poetic than that: You can’t fix what’s not written.

Which is true. If it scientifically impossible to fix something that isn’t there. (And if some scientist hasn’t written a treatise on this, they should.) So if you have a story in your head and you never put it down on paper you’ll know if it is fixable. Or if it ever needed fixing in the first place.

I guess that’s the long way of saying if you don’t try you’ll never know if you could. And that applies to more than just us writers who are questing toward publication. (I think the published writers out there would agree that quest doesn’t end with the first contract either.) It applies to life.

If you never tried new food, you might miss out on something absolutely decadent. If you never tried new hobbies, you might miss out on a lifetime worth of enjoyment. If you never tried to make new friends, you might find yourself on the wrong side of lonesome.

Of course all this trying and fixing does have its drawbacks. You might end up with a drawer full of rejections. You might end up with food poisoning. You might cut a finger off or poke your eye out depending on the hobby you choose. You might get hurt if you put your hand out in friendship and have it knocked away.

Every thing in this life from the moment of conception is a risk. And we are all just human. Making mistakes and having to pick ourselves up and fix them are as much a part of our DNA as our eye color. That’s why some brilliant person put erasers on the end of pencils. All we can do is try. Fix our mistakes to the best of our ability. Start over when necessary. We can’t expect ourselves to be perfect.

After all, God doesn’t.