Letters from France

Il ya seize ans, j'ai quitté ma maison en France. C'est vrai, ma maison. I had been living there, serving an LDS Mission for two years. Je vivais là-bas, au service d'une mission LDS pendant deux ans. Cette semaine, après une épiphanie surprenant au travail, je me suis retrouvé les souvenirs de si longtemps. Je n'étais pas en France en tant que touriste, je n'ai donc pas recueillir beaucoup, sauf quelques babioles, beaucoup de photos, et quelques lettres. D'une certaine manière, dans le fouillis de la vie, ces choses chères avaient trouvé leur place dans un bac en plastique, cachée profondément dans le fond de mon garage. La nuit dernière, bien que fatigué par une longue journée, j'ai pris le temps de les sauver.

Les lettres. Fascinant mots écrits pour moi à une époque où l'internet était à ses balbutiements et que l'art de l'estampage une enveloppe a été aussi honnête que le soleil. Ils sont longs, manuscrite, scénarisé travaille avec soin de la beauté. Leurs significations et les messages me rendait triste. I miss France.

Les sons, les odeurs, les aliments-oh, la nourriture, les traditions, les fêtes, presque tous les jours, semblait-il, l'art, l'histoire, et le peuple. Oui, le peuple. Dites ce que vous allez sur le français, j'ai trouvé les gens qu'il y ait admirablement agréable. Tout comme les États-Unis, il ya une ménagerie de cultures mêlées toutes les personnes vivant là-dans les petites, à des endroits éloignés, la recherche d'une vie paisible. En 1993, un ans American mec dix-neuf qui aimait le surf et U2, se joignirent à eux.

Il ya une raison pour laquelle je vous écris ceci en français. Au contraire, je vous écris en anglais et le traduire en français. Ce message n'est pas sur l'écriture. Ça parle de moi. Si vous parvenez à lire ce texte, le prendre comme ça. Je ne cherche pas à raconter une histoire au sujet de mon livre, ou d'en parler par écrit. Ceci est mon plaidoyer pour le monde. Si la technologie peut jouer un rôle, je suis en lui demandant de prendre part à m'aider. Je m'ennuie de certaines personnes en France. Je veux leur parler, leur écrire, leur dire ce qui s'est passé dans ma vie, partager avec eux combien j'ai changé, et surtout, de les connaître. J'ai promis à certaines personnes là, je ne les oublierai pas. Je n'ai jamais fait. En fait, je pense à eux tout le temps. Aujourd'hui, révèlent des mots de l'histoire m'a rappelé ma responsabilité de ces promesses.

Pendant huit mois, j'ai vécu dans une petite ville appelée Chartres. La plupart des gens qui ont entendu parler de lui, il sait de la cathédrale. Je le sais pour la famille Zobiri. Ils signifiait beaucoup pour moi alors, et encore une grande signification pour moi maintenant, mais seulement à travers les souvenirs. Je voudrais pouvoir les trouver.

Après Chartres, j'ai été transféré dans une ville appelée Troyes. Là, j'ai rencontré la famille Cerda. Peu de gens ont eu la chance de savoir que la famille comme je le faisais. Je souhaite aujourd'hui je les connaissais.

Au fil des ans, j'ai perdu le contact avec ces familles. J'ai beaucoup déménagé, augmenté mon plaisir propre famille, et a passé quelque temps en recherchant l'excellence dans une importante société. Je ne les ai jamais oubliés. S'il y avait eu un moyen à l'époque, je l'aurais retourné vivre en France pour passer votre vie là-bas, juste pour être près de ces deux familles, c'est à quel point ils signifiait pour moi. Il n'était pas possible, à regret, et même quand je suis retourné en vacances en 1997, les voyant ne figurait pas sur l'itinéraire prévu.

Avec les lettres, j'ai trouvé un vieux carnet d'adresses. Je ne sais pas si ces familles sont toujours au même endroit, mais je vais leur écrire-sur papier. Ce message est destiné à ces familles: Je ne vous ai pas oublié. Je suis ici. Poster un message si ces mots vous joindre.

Pour toute autre personne qui parvient à traduire ce ou comprend. Merci de partager un moment à l'intérieur de mon âme.

Why I Write

When I started this adventure, I knew nothing about writing a novel. Nothing. I figured that all it took was a unique story, the determination to capture it, and then the knowhow to send it to a publisher to print. Many years before, I had filled my days writing stories and poems, so I thought I could pick up a pen—or a laptop—and let the words flow to publication. Then I started writing.

The more I wrote, the more I realized how little I knew—about EVERYTHING. The grammar was horrible, the story was flat, and the future of my naïve ambitions had been exaggerated. Still, I wrote. Every page I keyed told me something about the characters inside and a little bit about myself. I was learning. I started studying the rules again, paying attention to the grammar I had forsaken and shunned, and learning about the industry. I played with my outlines and worked to develop subplots and complex characters. I challenged myself to write better and more often. I kept writing.

Slowly, a habit formed. I had to write. It wasn’t an option anymore. Like breathing and eating, the need to create wrapped around my schedule and took every moment I could spare. I made mistakes. I edited. I chopped entire chapters and threw away complete scenes that didn’t make sense. (Incidentally, I keep all of those cut pieces in a file. You never know.) New characters found their way into me and the story continued to grow. Then I had it, my first novel. 68,331 words and a story that had a beginning, middle, and an end. It’s nothing great, in fact, I’ll never publish it, but it gave me the start of something that has overwhelmed and changed me.

The stories inside are screaming to escape. Soon after finishing the first book, I started on a sequel. I even wrote outlines for a third and a fourth book. The plot was amazing and captivating. Then a month or two into that, I changed my mind. I decided that I could write a better story about another character, someone who had appeared briefly in the first book. Immediately, I started On Fallen Wings. At first, I tried to write the book in third person. I was hooked to that point of view and despised reading books written any other way. I thought it was the ideal way to tell a story. Why not? Who doesn’t want to know everything that’s going on? The freedom of multiple point of view allowed me the chance to explore the story in creative ways.

Then one night, I tried writing in first person. The experience was amazing. I felt that expressing the needs and emotions through first person was a better fit. I found it easier to connect with the character and the story. This was also painful for me. My main character is a seventeen-year-old girl. I constantly read the words, “write what you know.” Teenage girls are not something I know much about and can relate to easily. Also, I was 35,000 words into the novel. Changing the POV at that point meant I was starting over. So, I did.

I decided that this would challenge me and was willing to suffer for the sake of the story I wanted to tell. I started over, weaving the same plot into the new point of view, discovering more about my character and her motivations in the process. Three months later, I completed the first draft.

I say it often because I believe it. Life is about experiencing the journey. For me, writing is no different. I’m a different person than I was two years ago. I’m also a different writer. Years from now, I’ll look back and say the same thing. I’m writing a new book now. When it’s finished, I’ll write another. I write for the same reason I live; I want to discover what’s on the next page.

Moon Season

Photo: NASA

It’s a full moon.

I draw my energy from nature, and have always found comfort in the blue rays from our neighbor in the sky. They remind me that there’s something out there, something we cannot touch or completely understand. The moon warms the depths of my creativity and sparks the flames of inspiration. On occasion, late at night, I’ve raised my arms to its glory and accepted its call to the mysterious unknown—shush, don’t tell anyone. Yes, I love the moon, and when it’s full, I’m at my prime.

I was born during a full moon. Since then, the moon and its phases has welcomed and guided me. When dark, I'm allowed to search the stars. When brilliant, I enjoy its magic and grace. Even when it's hidden by clouds, I know when there’s a full moon close; I can feel it.

Why am I sharing this? What could the moon possibly have to do with writing? To me, it’s everything. The people in the books I create worship nature. Every whisper of the wind, every storm, every star, has a place and a memory that is sacred to them. Their struggles revolve around the moon as much as their humanity. For them, the moon takes an entire season to cross the sky.

The original name the first book I keep mentioning was Moon Season. A huge part of me still wants to call it that. The main Character in my books is a girl named Rhiannon Phillips. She’s a Faerie. Her struggle during the Moon Season is the premise for the story. In my world, Faeries are chosen; they are sacred representatives of the village and its rites. I now title the book On Fallen Wings because I want to show the conflict Rhiannon faces.

This blog is about my adventure in the publishing process, and as nature speaks to me, I’ll share how it’s influencing my actions and try my best to explain my motivations. We live in a busy world that’s full of chaos and rumblings, and I’m hoping that, through my writing, I can take you away to a fantastic place where I’ve been escaping. I don’t want to give too much away before I can attach “published” to my bio, but I’m hoping you’ll join me for the journey. As Homer said, “the journey is the thing.”

Fear and Anticipation

I signed up for my first Writers Conference and I’m scared to death.

Certainly, the experience will be fantastic. I’ll spend three days immersed in the craft that I’ve chosen to pursue, surrounded by authors, agents, and editors. There will be well-planned courses, a boot camp to review my first chapter, and a chance to talk face to face with the people who work in publishing. I am grateful just to have the chance to attend such an event. Still, I’m afraid.

Until recently, I had been hiding in the shadows of the writing world, silently tapping my keyboard.

When I wasn’t adding to my word count, I was researching everything I could about the craft, silently absorbing all the information available to find. I Googled, I read, I looked up every blog I could find. If someone mentioned writing online in the past several years, chances are, I examined what they posted. Because I was new to the experience, I wanted to know everything. Hidden, I completed two novels. I’ve mentioned before—I didn’t tell anyone, except my wife, kids, and a few friends.

So, here I am, a writer—still unknown, and still dancing in and out of the shadows that have been kind to me for several years. On May 5th, I’ll walk into a brilliant hotel lobby in Salt Lake City and introduce myself to real people who have been doing this for a long time. That’s the moment I fear—the gasping breath before I discover if the air is safe.

If you are there, I look forward to meeting you.

Music and Writing

Take a deep, slow breath.

Exhale. Look down at your chest. You’re bleeding; there’s no time to find out why. Ahead of you, bound by the enemy, someone you love is about to die. You step forward to save them. The music plays your theme while the action commences.

Writing with emotion is tough.

You dig deep to discover what your heart feels, capture that, and then offer it to the world with carefully chosen words. That’s not easy to do and it’s often a painful process; however, reaching the best that’s in you, and revealing it through the emotional journeys of your characters is necessary for great writing

Music is my method for revealing emotions.

Nearly every strong memory I have is connected with a song. There were times when I heard a particular song while the event happened; other times, a song on the radio registered a memory inside of me, and an emotion attached to that memory. Whichever the case, when I hear the song again, the memory and emotion returns.

Many authors create a play list for their characters prior to writing their first words.

Some look for songs that their main character might listen to, while others look for themes in the music they choose—songs with words to match the story they’re about create. I look for emotional ties. When I’m writing an important scene with intense emotion or action, the most effective prompt I go to is music. I select the music to match my need and listen to it while plotting a scene. Fortunately, I have a long commute to work every day. That time becomes valuable while I concentrate on the emotion for the coming night’s writing and collect the mental motivation to transfer to my characters. I try to pick songs to draw the strongest emotion that I want to share.

Whatever the use and whenever the need, writing needs music. I think it’s a universal stimulus that evokes the deepest parts of us all.

Back to the description listed at the beginning of this post. Imagine Promontory from the Last of the Mohicans soundtrack. If you’ve seen the movie, then you know the song (perhaps even the scene), even if you can’t name it. It’s an all-time classic motivator for me. Thinking of that song pulled images and emotions from the movie, which I listed briefly above. When I need a reminder of what’s at stake and the courage to face it, that song does it every time.

Does music help you write, create, imagine?

Another Type of Contest

After some self doubt and internal debating, I have decided to throw my hat into another type of contest. Shelley Watters has teamed up with the magnificent agent Suzie Townsend of Fine Print Literary Management to present an Epic follower/Blogfest Contest. The winner of the contest receives a FULL MANUSCRIPT REQUEST from Suzie. That's a big deal!

I'll need your help with my entry. I'm allowed 140 characters to pitch my novel, On Fallen Wings, to the agent. Every word, every character, every space is valuable and could doom my entry or help it soar. I'll post my initial thought below and it's your job/duty/pleasure to tear it apart and tell me what you think. Here it is:

When her boyfriend disappears, a Faerie's search for answers forces her to choose between the life she loves and the life he could lose.

Revision 9:40

I love all of the feedback. Give me more! Many of you have asked that I incorporate names into the pitch. I agree; I think the names of the characters add value to the pitch. The dilemma is the 140 character limit. The next version doesn't have names. Let me know what you think. Here's the latest:

When a Faerie's boyfriend is kidnapped, her quest to save him forces her to choose between betraying her village and watching him die.

Something else. 10:40 pm

I'm putting in the name! Let me know how this works:

When Rhiannon's boyfriend is kidnapped, her quest to save him forces her to choose between the Faerie life she loves and losing him forever.