Why did it take me so damn longto figure this out?
I just want to have fun. That’s it. When I turned 50, I told myself I just wanted to follow all the things that made me feel happy and filled me with joy. Writing is one of those things.
Over the past few years, I’ve written three books and published exactly ZERO of them. None. I have had this idea in my head that I was holding onto them to wait for the “perfect person,” (a.k.a. Literary Agent), to find it irresistible and want nothing more than to partner with me and champion it into the world.
With the amount of people out there trying to publish a novel every day, I might have better chances at winning the lottery. Some years ago, there was this statistic that literary agents get an average of over 300 emails a day. A DAY! How is that possible? How could I expect to be picked out of that pile? And that’s only the beginning. An agent has to SELL your book to a publishing house. And even if they love it and buy your book, it takes over a year after their editors get a hold of it and want you to do more re-writes, before it will ever even see the light of day on a bookshelf in your neighborhood bookstore.
So when my lovely writing coach asked me why it was that I was so set on getting a traditional publishing contract, I thought it was so I would get a bigger team behind me and that I’d have my books in more libraries across the country, and in the bigger stores, she smiled. Apparently, most of the marketing and book tours are no longer hosted by the publisher anymore. Also, advances are strung out over a two year period and often, royalties aren’t as much as if you’d have just published the damn thing yourself.
I knew this somewhere in the back of my brain. There was more to my holding back than I was willing to admit.
I needed validation.
If I am traditionally published, I was feeling that THEN…and only then would I have “made it,” in the industry. That self-publishing only meant that nobody worthy really liked my book.
THAT IS TOTAL BULLSHIT!
I have a following. YOU are reading this and you matter. I love you readers that have supported me and YOU deserve to get my book now. Not when some yahoo out there decides I’m worthy. And I have the knowledge and power to get this done. Waiting for outside validation is only my ego talking, and as Dr. Wayne Dyer always said…EGO is when you Edge God Out.
So…I’m going to hire another editor, (my lovely Jen Graybeal is coaching now but no longer editing), I’m going to self-publish my books as soon as I feel they are ready, and will for the forseeable future.
If I decide to try my hand at traditionally publishing again, I’ll do it all on my terms, and not wait around and hold onto something for years again. As of now, I have THE CLOCK TOWER OF MAPLE CREEK, ready to be edited and it will publish in 2025, along with the second book in the series, probably around this time next year. That’s right… two books will launch in 2025 by Patti Diener. I’d imagine the final third book in the series will publish early 2026.
Damn, that feels good.
So if you liked what you read on WILDFLOWER, from my previous blog post, know this; I will do a few re-writes, (as per Jen suggested I do), but if after that, the agents don’t have time for me, I’ll self-publish that too.
I’m in the freakin’ driver seat.
I love you all so much for putting up with my doubt, ramblings and indecisiveness on how to get my books out to you. It’s a journey, learning what and how to proceed in publishing. But I can’t wait around forever, and I have a shit-ton of books in my head I want to write before I meet my maker. And now, I’m super excited I’ve made this choice.
PLEASE…if you want to support me, just share my already published book, AFTER THE FIRE, with anyone who hasn’t read it, and please keep looking out for more of my books in 2025.
Xoxo ~ Patti
*PHOTOS were courtesy of pexel.com, other than my featured photo.
I’ve shared my writing journey with anyone who will listen since 2015. That’s the year I started blogging here about the book I was writing, (that eventually got published in 2019), about the Valley Fire. AFTER THE FIRE, was a work of my deepest desire to create something beautiful from the utter devastation and heartbreak caused by the inferno that rocked my community to its core. But once it was in print, I had to move on.
So many of you keep asking me why I haven’t written a sequel. Goodness knows I have plenty of material to work with since there were countless fires our community had to contend with for many years following, and a husband that was in the fire service for 40 years. And I will…just not now. My heart isn’t ready to relive the tragedies. Instead, I offer you something else.
I’ve written several books since AFTER THE FIRE, but held onto them in hopes of getting them traditionally published, instead of shouldering all the weight that self-publishing brings, (which is what I did with ATF). I queried agents for my first novel in a proposed trilogy called, THE CLOCKTOWER OF MAPLE CREEK. Some of you might remember that. But when it wasn’t gaining much ground, I impatiently put it aside to decide on later. Then last year, I embarked on something I feel is incredibly special. I started in September of 2023 and finished in February of 2024, a novel that is completely different than any other love story I’ve written, and it’s currently being pitched to agents.
I want you to read the first chapter of my manuscript, WILDFLOWER, here on my blog. I will give you the pitch, and then the first chapter. But I warn you… if domestic violence triggers you, it might not be for you. Not that my book is all about domestic violence, because it’s not. But neglect, substance, and sexual abuse do enter into the story and my protagonist has to deal with these things. I think you will find that you can’t help but to root for Charlie Kane, and realize that everything she goes through helps to mold her into the strong and determined young woman that she will become.
Thanks in advance for reading. Here’s the query I’m working on. Might tweek it a bit more, but like a synopsis, trying to write a query can be like trying to shove an elephant into a handbag. It takes finesse.
WILDFLOWER is inspired by The Police hit, “Don’t Stand So Close to Me”, and the mother-daughter relationship of Cloud and Tully from Kristin Hannah’s, FIREFLY LANE. WILDFLOWER, is edited at 100K words and would sit nicely on the shelf next to, ONE DAY IN DECEMBER, by Josie Silver, or NOVEMBER 9, by Colleen Hoover.
Seventeen-year-old Charlie Kane wants nothing more than to escape her abusive home. An intellectual outcast, she feels alone in the world, and her only outlet is creating illegal street art when she’s not cleaning up her drunken mother’s messes. Tough on the outside, she just wants to feel safe, to belong, and maybe even loved.
Twenty-four-year-old, Jack Connors has just left a dead-end job working for a tabloid magazine in Los Angeles. While dog sitting for his uncle in Sebastopol, California, he’s deciding on his next career move and dreaming of being a writer, but accepts a short-term teaching job. Jack is acquainting himself with the small town, when he meets a beautiful, if somewhat unruly girl on the foggy, coastal streets.
Charlie and Jack meet because of a runaway dog, and have instant chemistry, but she’s spooked by how much she likes him and bolts before they exchange names. They continue to search for each other again, only to discover a disheartening truth that she’s a high school senior, and he’s her substitute teacher. Their powerful, and often strenuous love story, takes them through years of bad timing, career aspirations, and geographical distance.
And now… I give you Chapter One.
WILDFLOWER
“Be careful how you touch her, for she’ll awaken
And sleeps the only freedom that she knows.”
~ Skylark
Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains of Charlie Kane’s bedroom window and pulled at her eyelids. She didn’t want to wake and face the reality of what had happened the night before. Sleep was all she wanted. The dark void of nothingness and an escape from feeling and knowing. Still, she knew the sun didn’t give two fucks about what she wanted, and it would continue to rise each day whether she craved darkness or not.
If she couldn’t control when the August daylight arrived, she could at least control where she chose to be. Today, she wanted to leave the world behind and go to the library and dive into another book to block out last night, and how her mother had failed her once again.
As she laid on her stomach listening to the old creaky house, Charlie squeezed her eyes and hoped that the asshole Greg was gone. Her mother Cece and her boyfriend Greg, were quite drunk and belligerent the night before. When Cece told him how stupid he was, he wacked her across the cheek, leaving Cece in a limp pile on the couch, crying and sporadically laughing all at once like some insane lunatic. But Charlie made the mistake of getting involved.
When she’d told Greg to stay the fuck away from her mother, he’d turned his full attention on Charlie, forgetting her crumpled mother, who was hysterical and blabbering on incoherently on the couch.
“Oh, you want some of this sweetheart? You think you are better than me too? Fuck you Kane women! You ain’t smarter than me and you ain’t better.”
Charlie backed up against the wall of the adjoining small kitchen, as Greg had moved fast to get in her face, greasy skin and fists as big as canned hams. She was taller than him, but her skinny five-foot, ten-inch body was still only a hundred and thirty pounds, and being rail thin, he had the upper hand in weight and strength.
Charlie was against the wall with one hip at the countertop. The kitchen wall clock behind her head ticked so loudly in her ears she thought maybe it was the sound of her racing heartbeat that was pounding like a rabbit’s. Greg’s nose at her chin, he looked up into her eyes and snarled at her.
“Not so brave now, are ya, you little slut. You will learn that I don’t take no orders from a kid. You backed up now? Say you are sorry.”
Holding his eyes with hers, Charlie reached over slowly with one hand to the counter in hopes to grab a knife out of the block sitting there, but she was too far. Instead, she tried to talk him down.
“I only want you to leave my mom alone. That’s all. She didn’t mean anything by it. She’s just drunk.”
He took a step back but kept his eyes glued to her as he crossed his arms over his barrel chest. For a short guy, he was thick as a fire plug with forearms big and hairy. They looked like he could snap her in half. Charlie’s mouth was dry, and her long, curly hair was sticking to her face, neck and back. She could feel sweat dripping between her breasts and drizzling down between her shoulder blades inside her tank top.
“She’s weak. That’s what she is. But you…I think you are fiery,” he said moving closer now with a smile. “Yeah, maybe I could take a taste of you, and all will be forgiven.”
Charlie stiffened at his closeness, sickened by his sour breath. Her head against the wall, she put her hands up to block his sweaty chest from pressing against her but the next thing she knew, he was running his meaty palm up her thigh to the inside of her shorts.
“Get the fuck off of me you creep!” she yelled.
He pushed harder against her, and Charlie struggled, wondering why her mother wasn’t doing anything to stop him, to pull him off, but Cece sat dazed now on the floor. As Greg was fighting Charlie to undo the button of her shorts, she drew her knee up hard and fast, smashing into his groin, and down he went in a groan to the floor.
Charlie ran over to her mother who just sat watching but doing nothing.
“Now you’ve done it,” she mumbled softly. “Shouldn’t have done that Charlotte.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? MOM!” she pleaded.
Greg was coughing and growling, muttering words in between. “You crazy bitch,” he spat.
When it was clear Cece was in no condition to help her, Charlie ran to her room, blocked the door with a chair and flopped on her bed. She’d stayed there watching the door for quite a while before realizing Greg was too drunk and stunned to pursue her or her mother any further that night. When things got quiet, Charlie decided to leave and went out her bedroom window, propping it open so she could return later the same way she’d left.
Now with the start of a new day after only about two hours sleep, Charlie got up and looked outside to see if Greg’s truck was still in the driveway. Luckily it was gone. He must have left during the small amount of time she actually slipped into deep, dark slumber. It was still there when she’d returned just before dawn from a night out with The Guerrillas, the local graffiti artists of Sebastopol, and the Bodega Bay area of California.
Charlie moved the rickety chair away from her door and cracked it open just enough to sneak out quietly. She found her mother lying on her stomach on the ancient, sagging couch with one arm hanging to the floor. It was still early and knowing Cece like she did, she’d be out for hours sleeping it off.
Feeling a bit more relaxed with the asshole Greg gone, Charlie brushed her teeth and washed her armpits and chest with a washcloth before going to her room and changing into fresh, comfortable clothes. She raked through her uncontrollable hair with a brush and slapped on some deodorant before walking outside of their shabby 1940’s bungalow rental.
Passing by her steel-gray 1968 Volkswagen Beetle that sat lifeless in the driveway, Charlie gave a heavy sigh. It really would be so much easier if she could take her car instead of walking into town, but with the transmission still needing repairs, she had no choice until she had the money to get it fixed.
Since the library didn’t open until ten o’clock, Charlie made her way to Retrograde Coffee for a latte and bagel. She could at least read the paper or scroll her phone while she waited. Normally, Charlie didn’t like to go where she worked on her day off, feeling guilty for not working, but today she had nowhere else to go. Staying home wasn’t an option, and her list of friends to call was non-existent.
Charlie was a loner, introverted and liked it that way, or so she tried to tell herself. She only had acquaintances at school, and The Guerrillas were of all ages, and only went by nicknames so nobody could rat them out. She didn’t really know any of them on a personal level.
Street art was one of Charlie’s passions, but it was illegal, and nobody wanted to get pinched. Her alias was Star, after her love of the wildflower, Star Lily, (or its proper name Leucocrinum montanum). No one in the street art community was close with Charlie or knew her real life. She didn’t think anyone of them really were friends by day, but everyone in The Guerrillas respected each other and their work. It wasn’t vandalism, like the city ordinance claimed. It was true art, and some of these people would travel around from place to place, just creating the most beautiful and symbolic paintings in one night. Charlie felt alive in their presence. But when daylight threatened, like vampires, they all vanished.
The crisp air in Sebastopol on this August morning was refreshing. The fog hadn’t lifted yet and the streets on that Saturday were still quiet, as the Sonoma County town was just beginning to wake up. While making her way to Main Street, there were shop owners inside their buildings just turning on lights. She passed clothing stores, yoga studios, and rock shops, as well as nail salons, art galleries, and restaurants. A few other people were walking the sidewalks with their dogs and carrying coffees, dressed in leggings and North Face pullovers. It was summer, but with the coastal influence, Sebastopol had a very misty feeling early in the morning.
As she entered Retrograde Coffee, her bosses’ familiar faces were at the counter. A husband-and-wife team looked up at her and gave a smile. Charlie was a really good barista even at only seventeen years old, and she was often the favorite of many customers. Even though she liked her privacy and didn’t allow herself to have close relationships, she was smart enough to understand that polite conversation and smiling a lot gained you more tips. She needed the tips.
Placing her order for a mocha latte and everything bagel, Teri and Michael were too swamped to ask her much about why she was out and about so early on a Saturday, or why she was there on her day off. She sat at a window table to watch the town unfold, and before long, it was nearly ten o’clock. Time for the library to open.
Charlie walked a block west and was rounding the corner of Bodega Avenue when a small dog with fluffy hair came flying towards her with a leash and no owner attached to it. The shaggy white and tan dog came barreling down the sidewalk and ran right into Charlie’s arms as she protectively blocked the critter from going any further.
She picked up the weightless dog that felt lighter than air and held it in her arms looking for anyone that might belong to the fur ball. Then rounding the corner from the Wells Fargo Bank came a stressed-out looking guy with a large Labrador on a leash. He was in shorts, ankle socks, and a sweatshirt. The worried look on his face was cute, then as he saw her holding the small dog, he almost looked apologetic, shaking his head.
“There you are. Holy shit, I’m so sorry he got away. I was trying to use the ATM machine and somehow dropped his leash.”
As the man neared Charlie, she felt herself go weak at the sight of this twenty-something hunk with dark facial stubble, and eyes that could melt your heart. He started to smile as he got closer, and he was so good looking it hurt. A dimple in his right cheek was deep and adorable, and something new stirred inside Charlie. She didn’t want to flee.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“That escape artist is Henry. I’m not sure he likes taking walks but obviously he loves to run.”
She didn’t want to let the tiny creature go because the longer she had possession of the dog, the longer the guy had to stay with her. He was tall. Taller than her, which was rare for Charlie, and he had broad shoulders which instantly she wondered how they would feel to touch.
“So, you didn’t know if he would like a walk, yet you took him for a walk with this big guy? Don’t you own him or are you a dog-napper?” she prodded, protectively holding the pup.
“He’s actually not mine. He belongs to my uncle who I’m dog sitting for. House sitting too, I guess. This one is George. Thank God he’s chill.”
He rubbed the top of the head of the large Labrador that looked to be every bit of one hundred and twenty pounds. The look in that dog’s eyes though was clear, he was laid back with no worries in the world.
“Well, we can’t all be perfect like George there. Henry might be scared of cars and people,” she suggested, holding the good-looking guys blueish-green eyes with hers.
“My uncle insisted they go on walks all the time. Maybe he’s just a runner and I let my guard down,” he smiled that irresistible smile again with teeth so perfect Charlie thought she might sigh out loud.
Holding Henry close, he started to lick her chin and wiggled wildly. Smiling, she let him down and held onto his leash for good measure, keeping him near her but not offering the leash to the attractive stranger.
“What kind of dog is Henry?”
“I think my uncle said he’s a Havanese. Apparently, they don’t shed because they have hair instead of fur. George here seems to shed enough to knit a sweater so the companion dog he got for him had to have hair. Do you know much about dogs?”
Charlie had never had a pet because her mother was far too self-absorbed and could scarcely take care of herself, much less a pet. A clear example would be in their always empty refrigerator. Most of the time Charlie took care of her mother instead of the other way around. Besides, pets required food and vet bills, which they never had the money for with Cece’s hairdresser wages, but Charlie had always yearned for something to cuddle and love. It just never worked out. Instead, she read about animals and learned from books, like she learned about everything else that interested her.
“I know enough. I know that you have your hands full with Henry here. He will require a lot more attention from you while you are visiting. Where are you from anyway? Not around here, that’s for sure.”
Her antagonistic grilling was a piss poor attempt of flirting, but what did she know of flirting? Being confrontational was her default. Putting his free hand into the pocket of his shorts as he looked at her with an amused smirk, he asked, “What makes you say that?”
“Because I would have known if you were a local.”
“Oh, yeah? How so?” He raised his eyebrows as his thick, dark hair fell over one eye.
Charlie looked at him up and down as Henry circled her legs and she sidestepped over his leash.
“For one, around here, most people wear long socks and slides. You have no-show socks and tennis shoes. Also, your sweatshirt says Long Beach. I’m guessing you’re a SoCal guy.”
He looked at his sweatshirt and laughed. “I guess that was a tell. You got me. So, you are local then, huh?”
“Very.” She couldn’t believe she was still talking to him, and that her nerves didn’t make her clam up. “So, is this house you are staying at enormous to accommodate that dog?” she nodded towards George.
“Um…” he scratched his chin stubble that was incredibly sexy and made Charlie want to feel it. “It’s fairly large. Yeah, George is plenty comfortable there.”
She was running out of things to say to keep him there. When he left, she’d be alone again. Alone with her thoughts and it was far better admiring the tall stranger than thinking.
“Where were you going before you had to rescue my dog?” he asked, turning to walk back up the hill.
Charlie fell into step alongside him, holding Henry’s leash herself. The little dog trotted beside her comfortably.
“I was going to the library,” she pointed across the street and up the hill.
“Big reader huh?”
“Yep. Books are always there for you. You can experience anything you want to in books. Do you read?”
He laughed for a second and she thought maybe he was some jock that only watched sports and never cracked a book in school. But then he surprised her.
“I was actually an English major. I studied creative writing and journalism at UCLA. Honestly, I was working for some tabloid rag in L.A. and had to leave because although it paid the bills, it’s not what I want to be doing. I want to write something great. I want to be a novelist. So, yeah. I read quite a lot.”
Charlie couldn’t believe her good fortune. He liked books! But as they were getting closer to the library, she knew soon he’d go. She could walk slower but it was still not going to be enough to stop time, and unlike most guys, Charlie wanted to get to know him.
“Who do you read?” she asked.
“Oh, well…Um so many. I love James Patteson, Grisham, Dean Koontz, the classics, ya know…Fitzgerald, Hemingway. But recently I’ve been reading Lisa Scottoline. Her mysteries are freakin’ unreal.”
“I like her too. I was wondering if you were going to list any female authors or if you were just interested in male authors. Women are really slaying it in publishing, you know? And Hemingway’s third wife Martha Gellhorn, fought hard to get out from his shadow.” She nearly bit her tongue for coming on too strong.
They looked both ways as they crossed the street to the library. The brick building had two patrons waiting outside of it and as the doors were unlocked, they went inside, leaving Charlie and the tall stranger alone on the sidewalk.
“Well, I’ll have to check her out. I’m not sexist ya know. I just read whatever interests me.”
They leaned against the brick wall of the building as the sun was piercing through the tree leaves, sending shards of light into their eyes as they spoke. Charlie shielded her face with one hand to get a better look at this hot guy. Having graduated college, he was older than her. Possibly too old. Still, he was young enough that they both seemed pulled to continue the conversation, wanting to know more. Charlie was drinking up everything he said. He loved books! Nobody her age talked about books with her, much less someone she was attracted to.
“Okay, I stand corrected then about my assumption. I read everything too. Fiction, memoir, narrative non-fiction stuff.” She closed her mouth then, worrying she was babbling.
Henry was staring up at her with anticipation. She leaned to pick him up to pet him as they continued to talk. His light little body was like holding a bird even though he looked like he’d weigh much more.
When Charlie looked back at this guy that she’d just met, he too was drinking up her every word, eyes locked on hers and fully engaged. Charlie felt her stomach flip as he held her gaze. Those eyes shaded by dark lashes. Without touching her, she had the feeling of being caressed. It was like magic, this sensation of connection. It was like nothing she’d ever felt. It was wonderful and mysterious.
It scared the shit out of her.
“I love that. Yeah, I read non-fiction too. Have you read The Warmth of Other Suns, by Isabel Wilkerson? It’s a fantastic migration story. You’d like it,” he said stepping closer to her. See? I read female authors,” he smiled bright as the sun.
Handing Henry’s leash over to him she nodded, looking away and tucking a wild hair behind her ear as the breeze kicked up.
“Yeah, I will look for that one. Listen I gotta run.”
She looked into his eyes one last time, knowing he was out of her league, too busy, too occupied with a future for himself she didn’t belong in, and he was just a visitor to her town anyway. What was the point? She decided to go before it got any harder.
He looked at her puzzled and accepted the leash, but not before grabbing her loosely by the wrist and if she wasn’t mistaken, Charlie thought he rubbed the inside of her wrist with his thumb. It felt like tingly velvet and sent a bolt of energy to her heart space that surprised her.
“You in a hurry?” he asked holding both leashes in one hand.
Gathering every ounce of strength she had to straighten her spine, Charlie snickered in an effort to seem aloof and mysterious. Reluctantly, she pulled away.
“I’m a busy girl. See ya Dog Man. You really need to watch ole Henry. Don’t let him go or someone will swipe him up and take him home.”
She turned and nearly skipped away, telling herself to go. To get! Don’t look back or you will lose your nerve to walk away from the beautiful man that will just end up breaking your heart. Everyone does eventually. Don’t let your guard down.
And as she was nearing the library door he shouted, “But wait! I don’t even know your name.”
She turned with a hand on the door and said, “Does it matter?”
Charlie went inside and forced herself to move ahead without turning back.
********
So that’s the first chapter. Here’s what I’d like from you. FEEDBACK! If you want the second chapter from Jack’s POV, I will drop it here. If chapter one left you wanting more, please say so by either leaving a comment on Instagram, or Facebook, or email me at pdienerauthor@gmail.com to let me know. Also, sharing this blog or my posts from social media about this will help. It would mean the world to me. And if you happen to have an agent friend or someone in publishing…SHARE THIS.
As always… Happy Reading. More to come soon on what is going to happen to my other books in my Maple Creek trilogy.
Xoxo ~ Patti
* The photos of typing are courtesy of pexels.com.
My Unexpected & Joyful Journey on the Road To Publishing My Next Novel
Summer is wrapping up and giving way to cooler nights, the first falling leaves, and that undeniable smell of dewy earth that warns you of change. Fall is here.
I never know how to dress in fall because its chilly in the morning, warranting a cozy sweater, but by afternoon in California, you could be sweating your ass off. The swinging temperatures aside, I love fall because I really enjoy the comfort of knowing all things change.
If you’d have told me when I was younger, that eventually I’d enjoy change, I’d have said you were crazy. In fact, most people don’t like change. Being comfortable and having things remain status quo is what most folks like. Something dependable. Don’t move my cheese! Everything is exactly how I like it! Routine often gives people peace of mind.
Routine can be boring.
My fortune cookie message
Of course, change can be scary as hell but when you are excited to do something different, it can also be exhilarating!
As many of you know, I’ve written a few books since I retired September 1, 2021, and the reason I haven’t had them published is I didn’t want to self-publish again. My first novel, AFTER THE FIRE, did pretty well for a book that was released just months before the pandemic occured, (being an Amazon Best Seller the week it released), but I want more now. I want to traditionally publish and although this may take me some time to knock down the doors required to get into this difficult industry, I’m going to do it. As the fortune cookie says that I have posted at my writing desk, my dreams are bigger than my fears.
Also, I am just a stubborn-ass and want what I want. Having said that though, I am not patient, as I explained in my previous post. So, filling the waiting-game-time-slot of looking every single day in my emails for even one reply from my loads of query letters I sent to agents over the summer, I had to do something to distract myself from wringing my hands in anticipation.
So… I joined a rock band.
Yes…you read that right. I joined a freakin’ rock band. My joining was sort of by happenstance. My brother-in-law is the drummer of this garage band that started getting gigs. It consisted of four fun guys, who later in life decided to get together and collaborate their talents and have jam sessions. I was invited to come sing a few songs with them for an up-coming event and although I hadn’t sang in front of people since high school, I thought…why not?
Getting out of my comfort zone and agreeing to perform was scary and I screwed up a lot during rehearsals, but the guys were amazingly supportive and helpful. Most importantly…we were having fun! Over the course of the summer, I got better, worked out my nerves, and now feel a lot more confident. We play classic rock and when we get together, I feel like a kid again. Who knew at fifty-six years old I’d join a band? They invited me to stay on with them and I said as long as it stays fun, I’m all in. Besides, it has been a welcome distraction from waiting and waiting to get that email every writer wants to get.
OFFER OF REPRESENTATION.
I’ll admit, the waiting has been getting me down a bit, and I really was missing talking with people about books, smelling books, (yes, it’s a thing), and being surrounded by books. So I did another thing. I got a tiny job working just two and a half days a week at one of my favorite indie bookstores. Copperfield’s Books in Calistoga, California is the most adorable and lovely bookshop you’ll ever see. I love it so much and again…I’m having fun!
My husband has been telling me that I should breathe new life into my first novel, and even though I got truly discouraged because of all that the pandemic stole from us authors, (no touring or in-person events), I need to work with what I’ve got. AFTER THE FIRE, is in a few northern California stores as well as online, but the gracious and lovely people I work with are supporting carrying it in the store and even are talking of hosting an author event for my book. YAY! I’ll keep you posted.
My book
If you haven’t read my book, I can tell you it’s a story based on the 2015 Valley Fire, here in the community that I live.
Even though I hate to wait, and although I’m chomping at the bit to get my novels out to all of you that are waiting to read the new books that I’ve written, I am ever so grateful to those of you that have been following my journey. And as I said, we have to fill our time with things that excite us. To be surprised by what is around the corner and allow change to fill our cup instead of being too scared to take a chance. That’s where it’s at! That’s the magic. If we don’t get what we are looking for right away, we can’t give up, but we can find other things to bring us joy while we wait.
This fall season, be open to new experiences. If you are waiting for the life you dream of to begin, stir up some magic in the life you are currently living. Each day is a gift and we mustn’t waste it. Time is precious so fill it with things that bring you joy.
Xoxo ~ Patti
*PHOTOGRAPHS: The photos in this post belong to the author, me, Patti Diener, with the exception of the music room and typewriter ribbon. Those are courtesy of pexels.com.
I’ve never been accused of being overly patient. In fact, I honestly prefer instant gratification. But in my years of learning to meditate, practicing gratitude for what is, and trying to stay present, I’m focusing these days on the summer season and all that it brings.
Something I wrote in one of my novels that I’m sure I stole from somewhere else, (nobody really has an original idea or thought), is that time is a thief. The lazy days of summer only just began in what seems like five minutes ago and yet we are already starting the month of August. No time like the present to embrace those sunny, tangy margaritas, wear that vibrant sarong and dance! Since tomorrow isn’t promised, we must enjoy everything…even if what you desire most still hasn’t arrived yet and you are already in the late Fall season of your life.
I’ve wanted to be an author since I first read Judy Blume’s book, DEENIE, when I was ten years old in the fifth grade. Mr. Albertson’s class was full of creative kids buzzing around our papier mache’ projects and talking in Pig Latin. But the one thing I remember most about that year was that’s when I decided what I wanted to do with my life. I was going to be a writer.
After discovering V.C. Andrews, FLOWERS IN THE ATTIC, it solidified my notion that telling stories for a living was exactly what I wanted to do. I started writing that year in my spiral bound notebook, and with cramped fingers resembling gnarled tree limbs, I wrote diligently in pencil for two years on a story that went nowhere. I copied and most definitely plagarizing my favorite authors until I found my own voice, and even wrote some horrible poetry in my high school years.
Throughout those years, summertime was full of melting popsicles, bike rides with friends, and halter-tops. It was a time to daydream, reading scary books of Stephen King, swimming in the lake, and bonfires with beers we confiscated from our parents. We thought we’d be young forever.
Before I knew it, I looked up and I was married with children of my own, and summertime became days of hosting sleepover parties, barbecuing hotdogs and hamburgers, and setting up the slip-n-slide in our front yard. Writing seemed like a luxury I didn’t have time for. It became a one-of-these-days fantasies.
Raising a family was something I thought I had to be one-thousand percent in or I wasn’t a good mother. Time for myself and my own dreams was put on hold, largely because of my own ideologies on parenting. Summers came faster and faster, blurring like I was on a speeding train looking out the window. Before I knew it, the kids didn’t need me as much, and I didn’t know how to find myself anymore.
I still dove into books for comfort though. Margaret Atwood, Dean Koontz, and James Patterson, gave way to me later discovering romance novels of Robyn Carr, Elin Hilderbrand, Brenda Novak, and Nora Roberts. I loved the idea of complex characters that got happy endings. Let’s face it…real life is hard enough. I decided that I wanted to give writing a try again.
If you’ve been following me at all, you know I wrote and released as a self-published novel, AFTER THE FIRE, in 2019. I’ve since written a few other books but want to traditionally publish now, so I’ve been querying on two different novels, not stopping my writing process in between. Writing for me is like oxygen. I can’t stop myself from doing it. And since I am fifty-six, I know I’ve started late in the game. I don’t like the small amount of summers I have left to celebrate, but I plan to make the most of the ones I have.
Today, instead of fretting about what I haven’t accomplished, or worrying that I’m not ever going to be the next Nora Roberts, I embrace what I have, and that’s freedom. I am lucky enough to be able to write when I want to, (I retired as a public-school librarian three years ago), and Monday’s don’t give me the blues. Everyday is the weekend, summer is here, and if I want a glass of chilled rose on the beach on a random Tuesday, I can have it! Everything gives me inspiration to write. Just being alive is a good day.
Looking forward, I will also add that just because I think I want to traditionally publish, doesn’t necessarily mean that’s what will end up happening. I’ll still querying agents about my books, but my summers are coming and going faster than ice cream melts on the sidewalk. I might not wait for someone else to give me the green light. Colleen Hoover didn’t wait after all, and look how well that turned out for her. Like I said, I’m not the most patient person, but I’m trying. Maybe I will become some kind of hybrid author. Carve my own path at times and get some help with other projects. Either way, I’m going to soak up the sun while I can. If I learned anything at all on this planet, its that you have to smile more, and worry less. Life has a way of working out.
I hope you enjoy what is left of your summer, (if you are in a summer zone), and I hope you embrace your life to live fully. Be silly. Take chances. Plan a trip. See your friends. Daydream. Above all, be happy with yourself. We are all just doing the best we can.
Xoxo ~ Patti D.
*All photos are by me/Patti Diener, except the people swimming which is courtesy of pexels.com.
It’s like being a kid with all your friends casually treading water with smiles on their faces, daring you to take the plunge. The water’s fine, they say. But what they don’t tell you is the water, although it sparkles and looks enticingly refreshing, can be shocking and icy. It’s sink or swim baby! And if you want to play with them in the deep end, you better figure it out quick. There are other people lined up, waiting on the diving board for their turn and their place in the pool.
Ok, so maybe that analogy isn’t the best, but it does feel like that when you are a writer trying to break into traditional publishing. I’ve written five books so far and only published the second one, and that by self-publishing. I didn’t want my friends and dare I say… fans, to wait for my book, After the Fire, to be picked up in the trad-pub world, so I did it myself. It was really well recieved, (thanks to you loyal people who have stuck it out with me from the beginning), but I really want a team behind me. I’m ready to dive in.
With my book, The Clock Tower of Maple Creek, not being picked up after several attempts for representation, I set it aside to write something new. Back in September of 2023, I started Wildflower, and finished it this early spring of 2024. Since then I have done three rounds of edits and shared several chapters with my fantastic writing group, The Kick-Ass Women Writers. I wrote and tore apart to rewrite my query three different times and finally landed on the current one I’m sending out to select agents. You just never know for sure if the query will resonate with the person you are trying to connect with. It’s always a gamble, and like I said, there are already a lot of kids in the proverbial pool.
I’ll share with you the meat of my query so you can get an idea of what my book is about. I’m in love with my characters and dream of them often. Yes, they are real to me. Does that make me crazy? Well aren’t all writers a tad insane? Below is the sample without the salutations or closing bio.
What happens when the handsome guy you met over the summer ends up being your substitute English teacher? Charlie Kane finds out as she struggles with the agony of forbidden love, the heartbreak of a broken family, and dreams of one day leaving it all behind to pursue a life as a professional artist.
The summer leading up to her senior year in high school, seventeen-year-old Charlie Kane’s life is in shambles. An intellectual outcast with an unfavorable reputation, she has nowhere to turn, living in poverty with her addictive mother, in their small northern California town.
Twenty-four-year-old Jack Connors has just left a dead-end job in Los Angeles and is house and dog sitting for his uncle in Sebastopol, California, trying to decide his next career move when he meets a beautiful, if somewhat unruly girl on the street.
Although the two have instant chemistry, neither learns much about the other. Then worlds collide on Charlie’s first day of her senior year when she walks into her English class and comes face to face with the tall and gorgeous stranger…and he’s the teacher.
Inspired by the 1972 song, “Wildflower”, by Skylark, The Police hit, “Don’t Stand So Close to Me”, and the mother-daughter relationship of Cloud and Tully from Kristin Hannah’s, Firefly Lane, Wildflower, is edited at 100K words and told in dual POV. This book will appeal to female fans of Colleen Hoover, Jojo Moyes, or Josie Silver.
So wish me luck on this querying journey I’m embarking upon once again. In the meanwhile, I’ll be writing with the hubby on his children’s book he’s making and learning more about the picture book industry. That’s what’s happening in my world. Thanks for stopping by.
Sending you all much love. Xoxo ~ Patti D.
*Swimming pool photo and girl with tattoo are courtesy of pexels.com. Others are mine / Patti Diener
Juggling My Writing Life, Traveling, and Attempting to Appear Normal
I keep telling myself that I’m going to get a little part-time job to fulfill my need and desire to squirrel away some dough for my travel nest-egg. You know… play money. I mean, hubby and I are doing fine if I don’t, but I often feel guilty using our household money for my egocentric, self-absorbed, hairbrained ideologies of world travel, (for which The Mister has little interest in). But at the end of the day, my retired days are filled to the brim with activities that leave little to no room for me to work in a job.
What’s a girl to do?
Recently I went on a roadtrip with my hubby across part of the US on a three week adventure. You can see from the above photo of me that I took this journey very seriously. I figured if they didn’t want me on the dinosaur they shouldn’t have put a saddle on him. The Mister might not be super enthused about world travel but seeing the United States, he’s totally up for. This included fourteen states, seeing friends and family, a total eclipse, dodging storms, and witnessing the complications and dangers of breeding thoroughbred race horses. That’s an education you can never un-see again. As my brother-in-law pointed out, she doesn’t even get dinner and a movie first.
But in small snippets of time along the way, I was able to sneak in moments of solitude to finish up my novel, WILDFLOWER. I will share a draft of the first chapter in a coming blog post. This is a project I started back in September of 2023, and right after I returned home from our trip, within days I had my first draft completed. I cried of course. I usually do whenever I finish my first draft of a novel. Anyway, since I’m now in the editing stages, about to leave again for Arizona for my niece’s graduation, and then will embark on another solo journey up the coast of Oregon to see my first-born, who has the time to apply for a little three-day-a-week jobette?
Not this girl.
Another thing about being retired is the fact that some days arrive and I’m unsure of what day of the week we are on. The weeks driving without my schedule and structure, I seem to have become a bit crazed. Also, my house is now full of things we brought back from Kentucky, (boxes, furniture, and paperwork), that have been dropped off into corners and on tabletops left for “someday when we can get to it.” I try to go through a few boxes a day while returning to my writing schedule and picking up the pieces of business left unattended to after three weeks. But honestly, my house looks like some kind of highfalitin flea market, or an antique store with pieces of the past piled in places you have to weed through. I’m craving some order around here, but that will come in time.
In the meanwhile, my brain has been on some kind of awakening. Call it spring, call it monkey-mind, but my dreams have been crazy weird and seem to take up all night long, so that when I wake in the morning I feel as if I’ve been vacationing in another universe and not been alseep the last eight hours. Wild. I am forcing myself to walk during the day more, drink more water, and probably need to add some magnesium to calm my mind but I never think of these things until I’ve lost my noodle a bit. Either way, it makes for some interesting conversation, these wacked dreams.
I’m looking forward to querying agents about my new book though, so editing has been pretty exciting and fairly pleasureable. Most of the time I dread the editing but this go-around I’m having fun with it. I’ve also connected with some wonderful women in a new writing group. I cannot recommend writing groups enough. Getting that support and constructive critisism has always been crucial for me. I welcome input and have also been extremely fortunate to have had Jennifer Lynn Alvarez, (author of eleven novels, including YA thrillers LIES LIKE WILDFIRE, and FRIENDS LIKE THESE), as a personal friend who gives me honest and helpful feedback. If you are writing, find a group of people to bounce ideas off of. It’s invaluable.
Me at Elton John’s Piano
So in the coming months, I will be sharing more about my latest book WILDFLOWER, the quest to find the perfect agent to represent it, and I promise to give you snippets from the early pages. Its another romance novel but moves away from the sweet style I wrote before in THE CLOCKTOWER of MAPLE CREEK. This one is darker and has more drama.
Like I always talked about when I recorded podcast episodes in BEAUTIFUL SECOND ACT, (which is still available to listen to), I encourage you to get out there and explore your own desires. To chase the things that light you up and make you feel excited to greet the day. Plan a trip with a friend. Get to know your community as if you were a tourist. Travel to a neighboring community and find out what fun things can be discovered, or start a new hobby. Life is a journey that is meant to be fully enjoyed. Be grateful for life’s simple pleasures as well as the wonderful milestones of your time. They are equally important.
And please know I truly appreciate your love and support as I maneuver through my own crazy path on this publishing journey. Without you, the readers, who would know about my wild imagination? I’m profoundly grateful.
When I retired at the age of 53, most people thought I’d lost my mind. What the hell do you think you are doing? That was the reaction most people had until they realized I was serious, that I was done with public education and being a K-7 librarian just wasn’t what it used to be. Then they changed their tune. At least to my face they did, and there were well-wishers all around, encouraging me to go do my thing.
The first thing I did was dive head first into everything that I enjoyed, wearing all the hats. Truly, I tried to learn everything I could shove into my brain in the alotted amount of time my ass would allow me to sit in a chair each day. Writing my next novel was first priority, or so I told myself it would be. But the guilt of not bringing in as much money as I once did sort of made me feel like I had to build an at home business that might be more promising than banking on the concept of selling my next novel, since I’d only ever self-published. I had lofty ideas.
I started a podcast,…as one does in midlife when they are trying to figure themselves out. It was incredibly hard, super time consuming, and I loved ever single minute of it. I interviewed people from all over the world, we chatted about the incredible changes life throws at us and how valuable, wise, and vital we all still are even though we are past the age of fifty and gravity has long since become a real bitch. Despite the fact that we’ve hit menopause, need therapy, and are struggling to decide whether to color the gray or not, we’ve also discovered the powerful feeling of freedom that aging brings. I for one, have never been happier than I am now in my mid-fifties, (I’m fifty-five).
Along the way, I wrote a book that I queried agents about and proposed as the first in a trilogy. I started the second one, then tabled it for a wildly better idea. In between times though, I’d started a paid monthly membership to go along with the podcast, and Facebook group. I also started a book club, because obviously I didn’t have enough going on already. Did I mention I’m married too? And for some weird reason, my husband actually wanted to see my face once in a while and liked a home cooked meal periodically. This required that I get out of my cave and away from my computer now and then.
I was cruising along, nearing the two-year mark for this community I’d built, when I decided to host a live, in-person event. This went well, if not fairly small, but it was well received. I, along with my co-host who works for The Blue Zones, gave away swag, we each held a talk, and refreshments were served. It was fun. It was exhausting. I never did it again. Not because I didn’t like it, but because I realized I hate organizing shit and would much rather just show up, speak, and drink wine.
Me with Dad at my wedding day 1991
Then the most unthinkable thing happened. The person I’d leaned on my entire life and who always seemed to have the best guidance and advice for me, died. My father, my rock, the center pole to our circus in life, left this earth and I was not only shattered, I was in shock. I shouldn’t have been, as he’d been ill for a while, but you never really believe you will have to go on without your father.
But go on I did, because five days after he passed, I was scheduled to go to England, on my first ever trip abroad. I’d never even had a passport until just before this trip and although I told the family I thought there was no way I could go, they all insisted I do just that. “Dad would have wanted you to go!” they all said. Of course I knew they were right.
The trip was magical and surreal all at the same time. The majestic structures that held secrets of ancient times cast a spell on me that made it impossible to feel badly that I was actually enjoying myself, when only days before my father took his last breath. An adventurer himself, I knew Dad was smiling down at me and proud I’d been brave enough to go.
But something shifted over the next few months. Something that slowly, layer by layer started to shift inside of me again, causing me to take notice that my spirit was trying to tell me something. I had to listen.
Part of it was my deeper inner-knowing, and the other part was Dad telling me to stop wasting time doing what I thought I ought to be doing and get going doing that thing I’ve always known I was born to do. Write!
The membership long gone, the book club a thing of the past, I realized that as much as I loved the podcast, it was eating away precious time that I needed in order to be a successful traditionally published author. That has always been my dream. Self-publishing gave me the first taste of success as a writer, as my novel After the Fire, sold really well (before Covid), and the first few months I was an Amazon Best Seller. But I had to pick a lane. All the multi-tasking was not allowing me to be fully successful in either the podcast or with my books.
So I’ve announced to the Beautiful Second Act Community, that it was fun while it lasted, but those doors are closing and I’m stepping into a different place where writing will be the main event. It’s all I’ve ever truly wanted since I was ten years old and started writing stories.
The interesting thing is, after all my mentoring people to live their best life in the second half of life, I’m just now going all in for myself. Maybe the gods or spirits wanted me to create Beautiful Second Act, for the people I needed to reach. To send the message out there to whoever needed to hear it, that it’s never too late to do that thing your heart desires. To take a chance and be brave enough to challenge yourself by getting out of your comfort zone. To not only eat the cake and drink the wine, but grow as a spiritual being and allow yourself to reach higher, dig deeper, and live fully.
But most importantly, to stop disappointing yourself for fear that doing what you really want will disappoint others. We must stop betraying our own needs and desires because we are too afraid it will upset someone else. That’s the worst kind of betrayal. Depriving yourself your own longing and not being true to who you are because it suits others. No one wins if we do that.
So jump in the deep end with me my friend. Do what lights you up inside and gives you enthusiasm. When 2024 hit, I promised myself that my word for the year was INTENTION, and I’m focusing all my energy on the intention to be traditionally published. So I’ll be blogging more on this, staying focused on the writing community, author life, and honing my craft to be the best I can be. I appreciate your support.
Staying in the right frame of mind has been something I’ve struggled with most of my life. I am good for quite a while then BOOM! Disappointment strikes and I used to fall flat on my face, (or into a tub of ice cream, or a bottle of wine). These days, I’m different.
Being a middle aged person has it’s benefits. I’ve learned so much over the years and the biggest lesson I think I’ve learned is to not be too obsessed over expected outcomes. It’s hard to put that into practice sometimes. But the first four decades of my life when I would cling so tightly to a scenerio in my mind for how things were supposed to be, always left me disheartened.
The saying, “Life is what happens when you are busy making plans,” is so true. We can have a plan and move towards that goal, but when things don’t go according to that plan it’s so important that we are flexible and able to pivot. At the very least, re-evaluate your approach. I am getting better at this.
In my search for the perfect agent to represent my work, I’ve gotten close and then fallen short. Like the ocean that ebbs and flows, I’ve moved forward and back many times with people having some interest and then it not being a good fit. This dance in the publishing industry is not one for the anxious or impatient. I’ve learned to be hopeful, put myself out there, and then let it go.
TRUST THE UNIVERSE.
So, as to not obsess. I put in the work, I query agents, and I’m still writing (lately two different novels). I’m not sitting around and wringing my hands praying day in, day out, that I will get an agent. I believe in divine timing. I have so many interests and many reasons to be joyful.
I love to travel!
I have a daily practice of gratitude. I really mean that too. I have to PRACTICE it. The more I practice the more joyful I become and it’s now an easier thing for me to do. One of the things I’m very grateful for is travel.
We weren’t able to do it during the pandemic and I missed it tremendously. Also I’ve only ever traveled within the United States, so when Covid hit, I was alarmed. HOLY CRAP! I never went to Europe! These thoughts made me promise myself that after everything opened back up, that I would go.
Even though I am still hunting for just the right agent, I am doing a lot of other things that make me happy. I’ve been photographing the gorgeous spring we are having here in Northern California. I’m going to England for the first time with a dear friend soon. I’ll be celebrating my birthday shortly (turning 55), and the 2nd anniversary of my podcast, Beautiful Second Act, in May. I also just recently hosted an in-person event for Beautiful Second Act at a lovely new shop that just opened in my community.
Me at Flickerstix Candle Co.where we held the event.
So, regardless of the fact that yes, I wish I had an agent to help sell my books, I am still loving my life just as it is every single day. Yes, it is my dream to be traditionally published, even though I have already successfully self-published. I know I can do that again if I wanted to so I have options. But I’m not dismayed or crestfallen because my hopes of being traditionally published hasn’t happened yet.
I still enjoy every day!
There have been times where I get disappointed. Somedays are harder than others to bounce back into my happy place. But I’ve learned the tools that help me to re-set faster than I used to and I know what a blessing life is. I just don’t want to waste a moment taking the beauty of this life for granted.
So, I’ll continue the hunt. I will continue to write. And if you are of a mind to, send up some good vibe thoughts to God, The Universe, or Spirit…however you talk to your Higher Power, with the intention for my books to be represented and published. I’d love the support.
In the meantime, keep reading, and get out there and embrace your life with gratitude!
I’d like to say this past year flew by but to be honest, every freakin’ year flies by faster now than the previous one. I’m 54 + years old and on the speeding downward hill towards my earthly final destination. I only hope I don’t hit too many bumps as I coast along, and pray for some flat terrain periodically that will slow my pace. Either way, the wind is in my hair and I’m enjoying the view.
Blogging came to a screeching halt last spring. I just wasn’t feeling it because I was too focused on querying agents for my latest book, The Clock Tower of Maple Creek. I put all my energy into that and my midlife mentoring group, Beautiful Second Act.Simply put, I had a lot of balls in the air and had to set one down.
But now I’m fully energized and ready to catch you all up on what I’ve been doing and where the heck I’ve been.
As I said, I was pumping out the query letters to agents for months upon end without a deal. I realized something was off and took a long, hard look at my query letter. It sucked!
I mean, at first glance it was pretty good, I guess. But looking closer I realized I was too close to the project. I needed a fresh perspective. Cue in my friend Jennifer Lynn Alvarez, (who is successfully published a dozen times). I was right. It needed work. I am so blessed to have her as a writing mentor and for the support she’s given me.
So the query letter was being re-worked and I started my next novel. After all, writers have to keep writing. Book deal or not. This way I know I will have more projects to showcase should my dream agent ask me, “So, do you have anything else?”
Meanwhile, we planned an epic family vacation that was supposed to happen in 2020, but we all know what happened there. So finally, after two years of waiting, my husband and I flew ourselves, our two grown daughters and their significant others, all to Disney World in Florida.
When all the Youtube videos on how to use the new app for The Happiest Place On Earth, said to prepare for the most expensive vacation you’ll ever take, I thought it was a joke.
It wasn’t a joke.
That being said, we had a great time and even met up with some friends while there. Would I do it again? No. Was I glad we had the experience? Absolutely. It was an amazing time, if not ridiculously expensive. I told Hubby I could have gone to Italy 2X over for just what we spent on ourselves. But at the end of life I will have that beautiful memory of when we got all the grown kids together to go have a blast.
Once back in California I spent more time on my new book, which is the sequel to The Clock Tower of Maple Creek. I’m writing this as a trilogy so Kentucky Sunset, was set into motion on my writing trip two weeks later.
In order to get the story started, or finished, I usually go away on my own for a writing sabbatical. It clears my head, allows for uninterrupted time alone, and sets the mood for creativity. Plus I don’t have to break in the middle of a good session to put the dogs out, cook dinner, or visit with my family. I just write.
The Mendocino Coast has been my go-to place since 2015. I’ve found it to be so magical and relaxing that I go back at least once, if not twice a year. The places I’ve stayed have been cozy, quiet, and with views to inspire. It’s truly a writer’s paradise.
Besides the views, I’ve eaten at some wonderful restaurants that gives me a break from typing away, and it allows for leisurely time to ponder while feasting on sumptuous food and drink.
Once back home and grinding away again with research on which agent to query, I felt uninspired to press the issue. I decided to focus on the new book instead. At least for awhile.
This was good for me, but too soon the days clicked by and then the holidays were upon us. Most agents close down for the holidays and don’t accept new queries until the new year. I decided to just let it be and believe in Divine Timing. I’d wait until 2023.
So here we finally are. It’s January of 2023, and I am fully charged and ready to roll. This is a great time to get back in the saddle! I’m super stoked about what is coming next and I’m open to great possibilities.
With a new, fully revised query letter at the ready, I am seeking an agent that wants to be in it for the long haul. I want to find that perfect person who will partner with me for years to come. I know they are out there. Hoping we find each other soon.
Here’s wishing you all a beautiful, blessed, and truly happy 2023. Make your life what you want it to be. YOU are the architect of your life. Build what you dream.
What Early Retirement Has Been Like For This Writer
In March of 2020, when the world stopped turning, I began to spin a scenario in my mind of what my life could look like. When we were all forced to stay home and try to be productive in ways none of us were accustomed to, I decided to dive deep inside of myself to find a new path. One I truly desired. That’s when I realized I would apply for early retirement.
At only fifty-thee years old, early retirement seemed rather rash in the eyes of some of my friends and family. It wasn’t what some viewed as responsible, or advised. After all, who was I to think I could retire when most people worked in their fields until at least sixty-two? I hadn’t paid my dues yet.
Before I could retire, I knew I had many ducks I had to get into their neat little rows. I was working in public education, a school librarian and only in that position for eleven years. My writing had been for the past decade done on weekends, evenings and vacation. I’d managed to publish a book working those hours, but it took me four years of hard determination. Imagine, I thought, what I could accomplish if I wrote full time!
So in the fall of 2020, when public education was dealing with at-home-studies, or hybrid schooling, I worked along those brave enough to go in and do the job, (masks, vaccines, isolation, and angry parents), full well knowing it would be my last school year. Early retirement might not have looked attainable to some, but for me it was the only way I’d survive. The job had become suffocating, soul sucking.
With each month moving along like molasses in January, I soothed myself with the notion that it was the last November, or the last December, I’d ever have to work there. It gave me hope and excitement for my future as a full-time writer. Writing was what I’d dreamed of since I was ten years old, in the fifth grade, when I read my first novel and wrote my first essay in school.
So fast forward to August of 2021, I had to start off the school year, but I got to pass the baton onto a new and more energetic librarian. Someone who wasn’t burned out by the public education bureaucracy. On September 1, 2021, I became a free woman. I was scared, but I was elated by the prospects of living the life I wanted. I became a full-time writer.
Last days in the library.
The end of anything can be somewhat sad, but I only shed a few tears. In the first few days of my early retirement I felt a bit guilty. It’s like that when you no longer have to do something. I still got up early, although not nearly as early as my 5:30am wake up I used to do. Having my coffee and writing in the quietness of the morning felt indulgent. At first I wasn’t very productive because I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. After setting some goals, I got the hang of it.
Now I travel when I want, I write every day, and I finished my second novel, The Clock Tower of Maple Creek. I’m currently querying agents for representation on this one because I’ve decided that traditionally publishing is the path I want to go. I see a future with a team of folks in the publishing industry in my corner. Although I self-published successfully with my first novel, After The Fire, (buy link here), it was a lonely and difficult road.
In addition to writing, I dove into another line of work. Podcasting has become a great love of mine and this May, 2022 will be the first anniversary of my show, Beautiful Second Act. You can listen from anywhere you get your podcasts but the most popular are Apple, Spotify, Amazon Music, or IHeartRadio. It’s about living in midlife or beyond, striving to live our best life in the second half of life. I plan to build on it in this second year. I currently have two seasons. It’s very exciting to interview like minded people who help me to grow, motivate me, and inspire us all. I also have many solo episodes where I share all I’ve learned along the way towards living a more authentic life. I hope you’ll check it out.
The main thing I’d like to share today about early retirement is that THIS IS YOUR LIFE. If you love your job, great. But if you don’t…if you wake each day wondering what the hell you are doing and are stressed beyond your limits, then make a change. You are the only one who can steer your ship. If you feel in the deepest part of your soul that you are meant to be doing something else, then by God, DO IT! Do it now before too much time passes. You cannot put a price on happiness. A bigger payout in retirement won’t buy you back the years you loose in suffering. Do what it is that brings you the greatest joy! You won’t regret it.
