Years ago, in an old movie the name of which I have long since forgotten, a writer decided his book was no good and put it in a drawer to rot. His girlfriend or maybe wife retrieved it and secretly sent it to a publisher, who (of course) loved it and put it into print forthwith. In the next scene, the author received a package containing his beautiful book, hard cover. He immediately made the Times Bestseller List and lived happily ever after on the royalties.

Alas, this does not mirror real life at all.

In early November, 2018, I retreated to The Writers’ Colony at Dairy Hollow (Eureka Springs, AR) to finish my novel Worth the Candle. This story had long been in my head, first touched paper in 2015 under the working title “Meant to Be,” resided on a thumb drive most of 2017, and was the main focus of my 2018 resolutions: finish it or shred it.

So, Yay! The writing was completed in plenty of time (I thought) to see a book  by the end of the year. My publisher, Alderson Press, quickly sent me samples of a cover to approve.

I engaged a proof reader. After 10 days rest, I read the text again to locate redundancies, over-used words, needed clarifications, and even a couple of typos.

Off the manuscript goes to the printer, who returns a “proof copy not for resale” a week later (we’re now crowding December). Believe it or not, once I looked at the proof, I decided I wanted a major change in the formatting. Might as well do it right, right? These corrections were made immediately and returned to the publisher.

Screech. That’s the sound of brakes as everything comes to a halt while everyone tends to Christmas. My book was suddenly way on the back burner. I can expect to see my corrected copy later.

The publisher assures me my novel is correct now and they have even listed it for sale on Kindle and Amazon.com. But I have not seen a final copy! I’m told it was mailed to me on December 30 and will arrive before January 9. Really?

So, just about now I could use a movie scenario. A loved one who presents me with my beautiful, finished book. A listing in the New York Times. And of course royalties for the rest of my life.

More about Worth the Candle next week!

 

When we’re together, my BFF Pat and I love to visit flea markets and seldom leave one empty-handed. On each of these visits, in a semi-joking manner, we peruse the book shelves to see if either of us has a title there. Could one of our inspired, gripping, nurtured, tweaked-to-death labors of love possibly end up in a used book sale?

I didn’t know what I would do if I ever found a book of mine. I knew it would be a new step in my writing career — whether up or down, I wasn’t sure.

Should I be downcast that someone was so over my book they included it in their castaways? Or should I be glad that, rather than molding in a box in an attic, my writing would now have a chance to find a new audience?

Last Saturday, it happened. The United Methodist Women of my home church, held their annual flea market/bake sale/soup luncheon/bazaar.

I was looking though the more than 50 books that were donated to the rummage sale (of course I was!).

And there it was. Every Day a New Day and other short stories by Dot Hatfield. A collection of award-winning submissions published in 2006.

I decided to feel good about it. It meant that new eyes would be reading these stories written 15-20 years ago. I’m satisfied with this new step in my writing career.

“I’d like to know that what I’ve done will last;
A child reads a book great-great-grandma wrote
And journals inspire stories yet untold.”
(from “79th Birthday”)

Seen scrolling across the screen of a local television news program: “Two men attack woman wearing clown masks.”

I was intrigued by that headline. I wanted to know exactly how many masks the woman was wearing when she was attacked and why.

Yes, I catch dangling participles when I see them in print. My English teacher back in the Fifties used the example: “Hanging on the line, I saw my father’s shirt.” The modifying phrase (hanging on the line) contains a participle (hanging). It is said to be dangling because the subject of the sentence (I) is not what the phrase is modifying. “I” am not hanging on the line. That would be the shirt.

Dangling participles are not the worst grammar gaffe, just the funniest.

I have a good grasp of grammar, for which I can credit my mother, Anna Alderson. When she became an orphan at the age of sixteen, her formal schooling was over. Yet Anna had excellent language skills both speaking and writing. Her six children were raised in an environment of correct English. (By the way, you can read Anna’s story in An Ordinary Day.)

Now, I’ll admit to using colloquialisms that are not grammatically correct. “I ain’t got no …” (Texas-speak for “I do not possess any of those items,”) is one I might admit to reluctantly and only on occasion.  There are times when I will end a sentence with a preposition, if to rewrite will sound too stuffy, like something “up with which I will not put.”

Recently, I thought I had caught a gaffe when I saw this headline: “Man Shot in (small town) for Third Time This Year.” But when I read the story I found that the same man was actually shot three separate times this year (in a small town in Arkansas).

All I can say to that is, Bless his Heart.

 

Wonderful opportunities come my way as a result of having access to a Fax machine.

I have had several offers for bargain weekend accommodations at Branson or Cancun. I’ve never taken advantage of these invitations. I’m just a little skeptical. I have to wonder what sort of hotel room is available in a resort town for the price they quote. “Certain restrictions apply”? “Available only during hurricane season”? or “Double occupancy only”?

I know. Usually the “guests” are subjected to a hard-sell presentation for a time-share somewhere in the vicinity. So much for the vacation lures.

However, a fax message that caught my attention recently stated that I am pre-approved for a $69,000 small business loan. Whoa! I don’t own a small business but I might just start one. After all, I’m pre-approved.

My latest correspondence informed me that I am “being considered for inclusion into the 2017 Women of Distinction …”  I will be listed among “the most accomplished professionals . . . for having expert status” in my field. All I have to do is fill out the form and fax it back in. (It’s interesting they want to include me when they don’t even know my name.)

What is it about my life that inspired this recognition? I’m a Mom, a Grandma, and a (Great) Grandma Dot. I will admit I excel at that. When I kiss a boo boo it stays kissed.

I’m a writer. Wow! How exciting if I were being honored for my fiction. But, alas, I doubt it.

I’m also an amateur actor. But applause during the curtain call is really all the kudos I need there.

I’m a secretary, which is the position that gives me access to the fax. Perhaps this is where I have gained distinction. I answer the phone promptly – usually – and operate a mean copy machine. I can shred like nobody’s business. I can also perform “other duties as assigned.” Let’s face it, a good secretary/ administrative assistant keeps the place running and everyone on task, but seldom wins awards for her/his job performance. Satisfaction comes from knowing that the lowest person on the totem pole is often what holds up the whole cotton-picking totem pole.

So, there it is. Fill out the form and be included in the Secretary Hall of Fame. I’m being seriously considered. Maybe even pre-approved.

What a surprise for me to find that some were offended by my letter to the Arkansas Democrat Gazette.

I was trying to be funny.

Okay. One of the first things writers learn is that humor is subjective. What amuses one, goes over their neighbor’s head. What makes one laugh, might anger another. Someone takes your hyperbole literally. Perhaps I should have put quote marks around “wrong.”

What I had hoped to convey (in a humorous way) is how we pass over the important issues and let the trivial raise our hackles. It was (supposed to be) a hint that maybe we all should lighten up a bit. Another thing writers hear is: don’t try to explain your humor. So I’m done with that.

However, I was NOT criticizing the artist. If I knew his/her name I would give credit. I would never be critical of anyone who can draw a picture in which the object is recognizable.

While I may be stupid, as one insinuated, that is a matter of opinion. I am not ignorant (there’s a difference) to the original instructions for hanging toilet paper. I knew the U.S. Patent office cleared that up years ago.

I just find it ludicrous that anyone who doesn’t live in my house should care so deeply about how I install the TP roll. Again, an attempt at humor.

So, consider me properly chastised. Now we can get back to the important issues.

Is it INvelope or AHNvelope?

The uncredited drawing appeared in the Arkansas Democrat Gazette on February 17 and again on February 18, 2017. The letter to the editor appeared February 22. This post is not intended to speak in any way to the issue the Op-ed and Editorial addressed.