IF YOU'RE NOT A GENIUS

Love and Not Destroy

I’m delighted to have author Sandra Carey Cody as my guest this week. I think she captured those feelings most of us have about our writing.

Is there a writer alive who doesn't dream of being Shakespeare or Austen or Faulkner or Cather? We all long to write something that people will read after we’ve been dead 100 years. We'd like to be a genius. But genius is a gift and is bestowed on only a few. What about the rest of us? Should we stop writing? Throw up our hands and quit? Does the world really need more books by mediocre writers? I say no - to both quitting and mediocrity. There’s a lot of territory between genius and mediocrity and that vast space is the arena where most of us play out our lives, hoping that our efforts will bring us closer to the Genius end of the field.

One of my favorite contemporary authors is Jane Hamilton and my favorite book by her is The Short History of a Prince. It is the story of a boy's journey to manhood and his reluctant realization that no matter how hard he works, he'll never be as good as he would like to be. The teenaged Walter McCloud wants more than anything to be a dancer, but eventually has to acknowledge that he doesn't have the talent. He lacks that magical element that would allow him to be in reality what he is in his dreams. He sees others, who don't work nearly as hard as he does, surpass him. If you've read the book, you may be shaking your head at this oversimplification of a complex novel, a story of a loving family, holding themselves together through the illness and death of a child. In short, Walter's lack of genius isn't the most important thing in the book. Neither is it the most important thing in most of our lives. Most of us have families, friends, neighbors who have needs that deflect our energy away from our writing.

Hamilton, talented though she is, must have experienced the feeling of not being as exceptional as she would like to be in order to have written The Short History of a Prince. In it, she captured the disappointment most of us feel at times of not being enough. If you feel inadequate, use that feeling. Create a character who’s striving to achieve a goal that is beyond his ability. You’ll have a very human human being – a good place to start any story.

William Faulkner said: "The writer’s only responsibility is to his art. He will be completely ruthless if he is a good one. He has a dream. It anguishes him so much he must get rid of it. He has no peace until then. Everything goes by the board: honor, pride, decency, security, happiness, all, to get the book written. If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate…." As much as I admire Faulkner, I can't live that way and don't believe that I am supposed to. I'm grateful for his passion and the legacy that it created, but I don't believe it's the only way to be a writer.

I'd love to be a genius, but have come to the conclusion that, since I don't get to pick that card, I can't worry about it. I'll do the best I can today and hope that, by so doing, tomorrow my best will be a little better.

Ernest Hemingway, arguably Faulkner's best-known contemporary, said: "We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." I would add that none of us know what our legacy will be. As for me, I'll continue my apprenticeship and not let my lack of genius rob me of the joy of writing. Reading is one of life's great pleasures and writing should be too. 

LOVE AND NOT DESTROY

A baby is found in a basket on the grounds of a small-town museum during their annual Folk Festival. Twenty-two years later, a homeless man is murdered in exactly the same spot. Connection? Or coincidence? Peace Morrow, the foundling, now an adult working at the museum, is haunted by this question and thus begins a quest that explores the nature of family, of loyalty and responsibility. As she tries to reconstruct the victim's history, his story becomes entangled with her own search for family roots, a journey that leads her through the dusty boxes in the museum's basement, to the antique markets in the northern part of the state and, ultimately, to the innermost reaches of her own heart.

Amazon: http://amzn.to/NfDQqk

Amazon Kindle: http://amzn.to/wxIV81
Barnes and Noble: http://bit.ly/PRA7Kl

ABOUT SANDRA CAREY CODY

Sandra Carey Cody is the author of the Jennie Connors mystery series and the stand-alone mystery, Love and Not Destroy, She also writes non-mystery short stories. She grew up in Missouri, surrounded by a family who loved stories, whether from a book or a Sunday afternoon on the front porch. She's lived in various cities in different parts of the country, but wherever she's gone, books have been the bridge to a new community and new friends. She and her husband now live in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. To learn more, you can visit her website: http://www.sandracareycody.com or visit her blog She blogs at: http://www.birthofanovel.wordpress.com

CODY. WYLIE. IDEN. 3 Views, 3 Authors

Photo 123rf

It’s FIRST FRIDAY! Three amazing authors give their takes on one picture in 150 words or less. Their genres, voices, and visions are wonderfully different.

CODY

"It's the color of a ruby." The child's awe-filled voice broke the eerie silence following the storm. "Just like the Book of Legends says."

Murmurs rose and blended into a single, querulous hum: "That's all it is. Legend. Only part ruby. Rest … black as night. Not exactly a slipper."

An old woman stepped forward. "Might be. Fashions change."

The child reminded them, "The Book says she came on the wind."

The hum countered, "Aye … seven generations ago."

The woman said, "I've heard rumors of ominous weather down there."

The leg twitched, accentuating its unseemly length. The crowd, except for the woman and the child, stepped back. The child cried out, "She needs help."

The hum accelerated to an angry buzz: "She's not our kind. What can we do?"

"Whatever we can."

"There could be consequences."

"There's always risk."

"Not if we don't get involved."

"Unthinkable!"

At Amazon

WYLIE

In the dark shadows of the forest Mira stood out like a psychotic rainbow amongst the bland browns and greens. She had always been different; a bit wild, forever disregarding the rules, particularly when it came to fashion. Her choice of colors had never caused her harm; in fact it would often bring smiles and laughter to those around her.  She loved to smile. She loved to laugh. In the forest, she did both as she skipped and danced along the path in her favorite red and black shoes. The bright pinks, yellows and blues of her outfit swirled around her. It was not, in the end, the colors that killed her, though they did attract the fairies. The creatures didn’t harm her either, though their sudden presence startled her.  Later investigators firmly attributed her demise to the 40 foot fall down the ravine. Cause of death: six inch heels.

IDEN

I had two reactions to this picture the instant I saw it. In both, I sense the wearer of this get-up is a young girl dressed up in atrocious cast-off clothing from the seventies or eighties.

Those ridiculous heels, they’re good for a laugh. All kinds of scenes—right out of any sitcom—spring to mind.

At Amazon

Unfortunately, writing crime fiction gives you a crooked bent of mind. The other reaction? A murder scene. The girl discovers, then dons all of the blinding fuchsia clothes her mother picked up in 1978. By the time she senses the killer, it’s too late: the scene turns from humor to horror in an instant. She runs, but the heels trip her just as she attempts to escape. The picture captures the horrific irony that it was the very costume that led to her demise.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Sandra Carey Cody

Sandra Carey Cody's latest book, Love and Not Destroy, examines the ways in which destiny is shaped by family secrets. An infant is abandoned in a carriage shed on the grounds of a small town museum. Twenty-two years later, the body of a homeless man is discovered in exactly the same spot. The foundling, now an adult working at the museum, is haunted by the coincidence and thus begins a search for identity that explores the nature of family, of loyalty and responsibility. Sandy also writes the Jennie Connors mystery series, published by Avalon Books. Her website is: http://sandracareycody.com/

Book: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007JVAX3C

Jen Wylie

At Amazon

Jen Wylie resides in rural Ontario, Canada with her two boys, Australian shepherd and a disagreeable amount of wildlife. In a cosmic twist of fate she dislikes the snow and cold.

Before settling down to raise a family, she attained a BA from Queens University and worked in retail and sales.

Thanks to her mother she acquired a love of books at an early age and began writing in public school. She constantly has stories floating around in her head, and finds it amazing most people don’t. Jennifer writes various forms of fantasy, both novels and short stories.

book link: http://www.amazon.com/Flashy-Fiction-Other-Insane-ebook/dp/B007Q33YB6

my website: www.jenniferwylie.ca

Matthew Iden

I write fantasy, science fiction, horror, thrillers, crime fiction, and contemporary literary fiction with a psychological twist. A Reason to Live is the first in my debut detective series featuring Marty Singer, a retired DC homicide cop who helps the victims of past crimes while waging his own war with cancer. Marty’s story continues in Blueblood (August, 2012) and Signs (October 2012).

Find out more at my site http://matthew-iden.com and my Goodreads page (http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5313211.Matthew_Iden).

Book link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0081MW9LM

Feel free to join in. Add your vision (150 words maximum) in the comments!

Berkom, Cody, Diener--Three voices, Three descriptions

This time I've asked three very good authors to share descriptive passages: D.V. Berkom, Sandra Carey Cody, and Michelle Diener. I wanted three different styles and voices. See how they wove characters and action into their description.

D.V. Berkom

D.V. Berkom grew up in the Midwest, received her BA in Political Science from the University of Minnesota, and promptly moved to Mexico to live on a sailboat. Several years and at least a dozen moves later, she now resides outside of Seattle, Washington with her sweetheart Mark, an ex-chef-turned-contractor, and writes the Kate Jones Adventure Series.

In this excerpt from my latest novella, Touring for Death, which takes place in the Arizona high country, my protagonist, Kate Jones has just escaped from a collapsed mine and the man who is trying to kill her. Exhausted, barefoot and alone, it's the middle of the night and she's on an isolated forest service road, trying to make her way back to town and help. Headlights appear on the horizon…

Excerpt:

The vehicle slowed and pulled to a stop a few feet away. I squinted against the glare of the headlights, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. I figured folks in these parts didn't take kindly to being approached by strangers.

"Need a ride?" The voice was like a chain saw sliding over wet gravel.

I nodded.

"C'mon then, git in. I ain't got all night."

I moved to the side of the car and opened the door. An empty can of Rolling Rock bounced onto the road. Leaving it, I climbed in, glancing at the old man behind the wheel as I closed the door against the harsh night. I leaned my head back, thankful to be somewhere warm, with someone other than Sterling.

"Thanks for the ride." A spring poked through the seat. I shifted, trying to get comfortable and took a long look at my rescuer.

His bushy gray hair and beard looked like he hadn't run a comb through them in years. His pants were caked with dirt, and he wore several layers of ancient, long-sleeved flannel shirts. A khaki-colored field vest with every pocket bulging completed the outfit. He smelled like Sunday night at a polka festival; boiled sausage, sauerkraut and beer.  A worn leather cowboy hat took up prime real estate on the front seat.

"What're you doing way out here? Ain't nothing but coyotes and crazy old men." He chuckled, setting off a round of explosive coughing. He hammered on the dash like the phlegm was in the car instead of his lungs.

"Dinner date gone bad. How far am I from Durm?"

Sandra Carey Cody

In Left at Oz, Jennifer Connors's car is stolen while she's shopping at a country flea market. She receives an anonymous message that the car was "left at Oz". She follows instructions given in the message and finds the car - with the body of Robin Langley, a sometime babysitter for her children, in it.  After the initial shock passes, Jennie doubts that this was a random act. Only someone close to her would know that, as a child, she had been obsessed with Frank L. Baum's Oz books. She borrows a car, drives as far as she can, then retraces the path that led to the discovery of the body.

Excerpt:

            A crow on a low-hanging branch screeched a warning.  She ignored him and once again proceeded down the weedy gravel track on foot. The car was gone now.  The space where it had been was marked with yellow plastic ribbon.  Heavy black letters proclaimed “CRIME SCENE - KEEP OUT” interminably along its sagging length.  She hesitated only a few seconds before ducking under the tape and going directly to the area where the car had stood. 

            From there, she saw that old road continued into the meadow and disappeared behind a barn that looked ready to collapse.  The delapidated building stood on the crest of a small knoll, making it impossible to see how much further the road extended or where it went. Grass and weeds stood semi-upright between narrow tracks leading from where the car had been to an area near the barn.  Something about this bothered her.  She studied the road in both directions, until, finally, it hit her:  The way the stalks are bent.  It looks like they drove in from the other side.  She remembered the stiff, unbroken weeds scratching her bare legs as she walked toward the car two days ago and was convinced that's what had happened.  So they didn't pass by Oz.  But they knew about Oz and used it to draw me here.  The thought fed her growing conviction that the terrible event had been directed at her as well as Robin, and was almost enough to make her turn back.  She pushed it away, took a long, slow breath, and faced the crime scene.

            Inside the cordoned-off area, the vegetation was trampled, not quite uniformly.  The tire marks of Jennie's car were easily discernible.  Just beside them was a similar set of marks.   Maybe they drove the police van out here.  She considered this briefly, then shook her head.  The way the weeds are broken down . . . these tire marks were made by someone coming from the barn. 

Michelle Diener

This is a short excerpt from my historical suspense novel, In a Treacherous Court. My heroine, Susanna Horenbout, who has come to Henry VIII's court by invitation, to paint for the king, has some important information to pass on to him. She has waited for hours to gain a royal audience and is accompanied by one of Henry's courtiers, John Parker, who is one of the Henry's 'new men' – courtiers who were not of noble birth, but to whom Henry gave powerful positions, because of their loyalty and efficiency. Henry wanted to curb the power of his nobles and fostered a meritocracy to some extent, using men like Parker for jobs that required real action and dedication instead of noblemen who were appointed because of their connection to court, rather than any real skill. I don't say all that, though, I try to show it by showing the very real tension between many noble courtiers and the new men Henry relied on. The noblemen were very threatened by these courtiers who worked so hard and earned the King's approval and patronage through their usefulness. I tried to show how, without openly snubbing Parker in front of Henry, the noblemen try to hamper him in any way they can. I also used the scene to show how much Susanna sees everything in terms of her art – I always like to make my scenes work very hard :). My inspiration for this particular scene comes from a genuine charcoal sketch of Henry which art historians have not been able to attribute to anyone. It depicts the exact scene described below, of Henry eating his lunch at a table set for one, with his courtiers milling about behind and to the side of him, in a high-ceilinged privy chamber with tall windows. My inference is obviously that Susanna Horenbout is the artist in question, although I have no evidence of that at all, but it would be fun if it were true.

Excerpt:

She and Parker had waited for the King through 13 dishes, each dish served with the ceremony of a state occasion, but it seemed the meal was at last at an end.

The King rose from the elevated, canopied table set for one, and Susanna noted the conversations of the courtiers who stood on either side and behind him changed in tone.

Their voices faded, and Susanna was struck by the tableau they made, the dark colours of their robes strangely lit by the pale, rain-muted light from the tall windows. The King, by contrast, shone brighter than a fresh-drawn illumination in his scarlet and gold.

Susanna looked down at the charcoal drawing of the scene she’d made to spin out the time, and wished for her paints.

Henry did not approach them. He looked directly at Parker and nodded, then turned and walked through the courtiers to the door leading to his closet.

Moses could not have parted the Red Sea more efficiently than the King of England parted the crowd in the room as he made his way across it.

Parker stood, his frown lifting, and Susanna rose with him. He took her elbow and made to follow in the King’s wake.

But the Red Sea was merging again, determined to see nothing special about Moses’ follower. A wave of bodies crashed back into place, set on being merry, loud, and unseeing

Susanna looked up at Parker, and was surprised to see his mouth twitch in amusement.