What Writing Means to Me

Friday morning, June 29th, I awoke to Sinner's virtual poke in my ribs:

"Woman!! Wake up! It's Pink Diamond Interview day! You don't plan on sleeping the whole day away, do you? Plus, you have to go to work today! C'mon!!!"

I was extremely tired. It had been an unusually stressful week. I tried, in earnest, to remain positive amid obstacles in the face of a life changing event. But I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and dragged myself to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I wished I could have my caffeine intravenously.

When I finally sat at my computer to post Sinner's Pink Diamond Interview of Joseph V. Sultana (http://goo.gl/EhE93), I realized how much I loved writing as an Indie Author in particular and writing overall. I love all that this new career path encompasses. It's pretty awesome!

You see, I began working as a Candy Striper when I was 14 years old. Granted, until I was about 20 years old, all of my work experience consisted of part-time jobs in various fields. However, except for one year after my daughter was born, I have been lucky enough to work consistently, full time, as a secretary - for the better part of 35 years - in industries that run the gamut from advertising to hospitality and ending in the legal field. But I don't see those years as time spent building a "career."

I had kids and bills to pay, so I followed the money; or as today's youth would say: "I chased the cheddar." Quite frankly, I never really, truly enjoyed what I did. I mean, some of the people I've worked for have been really nice and my current boss stands above them all; but, some have not been so nice.

At this point in my life, I am just plain tired. I had been living my life by rote; just making sure to meet my responsibilities. I thought I would rest when I retired. Now, being so close to "retirement," I don't want to waste any time resting! I'll rest when I die!

Recently, I became a client of Ralph's Design and Deli. While discussing services with Andi Reis in an email exchange, I stated that I only really just wanted to write. I admitted that I hadn't really spent a lot of time thinking about marketing and promoting and all that stuff! Yes, that is true, but as a "Type A" personality, I need to know what's going on. I need to be able to express what I want and get it done. And that is exactly what I get from Andi so that I CAN write. Absolutely LOVE that girl!!

So, what does writing mean to me?

First, I'll tell you what it is not. Writing is NOT work for me.

It is a way for me to escape from daily stressors. Writing calms my nerves; it quiets the voices in my head and though this may sound crazy, it regulates my ADD. When I'm thinking about a current WIP or potential projects, though the thoughts are darting about in my head like shooting stars, there is no turmoil.

I'm at peace. I don't think I've ever been happier in my life than I have been since I began writing.

~~ML

Happy Father's Day - 6/17/12

I woke up this morning to a text from my daughter wishing me a Happy Father's Day. I, in effect, left her father before she was born, though the legalities would suggest otherwise as my divorce was not official for some months afterward.

Looking back on her childhood, I can honestly say that I wish I had done a better job at raising her. I wish I had been able to provide for her the kind of home life that I was lucky to have. I'm not saying our lives were unstable during those years -- we had a roof over our heads, clothing on our backs and food in our tummy but I sincerely believe that she missed out and I take full responsibility for that.

Those years were hard, but we had a lot of laughs and we did a lot of crying. We also grew up together. Like every parent and child, we have faced some challenges and continue to do so, but I am very proud of the woman she has become. Plus, she gifted me with my little man!

I often mention my Dad. The pain of his loss still lingers. Someone once put it very simply to me. He said:

"This kind of pain is like arthritis. Sometimes you have good days; and sometimes you have bad days. You've just got to keep going. He wouldn't have it any other way."

He was right.

I think of my Dad every single day. It is now 2,467 days since he's been gone.

He was my daughter's de facto father. I know she too feels his loss. He used to spoil her. The memory that is most vivid in my mind right now is the one of the day he spent shopping with her. One Easter holiday, he took her shopping for an outfit.

He had previously volunteered to drive her around to do that. She must have been about 10 or 11 years old; maybe a little younger. She already had an image in her mind for the outfit she wanted to wear. But, she still had to stop at every single store along their route to see what the pickin's were; only to end up at the first store they had visited. After all of that, my Dad stood beside her as she paid for the first outfit she had laid eyes on in the first store they had stopped in.

My daughter and I often recall that story. We always crack up laughing and I always end up with tears in the corners of my eyes.

Yea. He was Superman alright! I would have been pissed off if she had done that to me and he just supported her in her quest for the perfect outfit. Not a single complaint came out of his mouth to her.

When he later recounted his shopping jaunt to me, his frustration escalated as he told the story. In the end, he just laughed it off, saying:

"Typical woman!"

Since my father's death, I've often thought about how he would feel about my newfound passion for writing. I can only hope he would be proud. While I sit here and type out this post, my heart beats a little faster. I struggle with the sting building up in my nose and the tears that burn in the corner of my eyes now threatening to break through the dam.

All I want is to smell his essence, I want to put on some bright red lipstick. I want to kiss his bald spot. I desperately want to hear his voice again, even if it's just to hear him tell me to "stop doing that shit!" ... those are the words he would use. And, I want to watch him as he shakes his head to and fro in either utter annoyance or total disbelief that I would be so silly.

Finally, I want to make him laugh out loud and I want to give him a bear hug.

Ay Papi! I miss you so much! I don't think I'll ever stop hurting.

To all my friends who are fathers, both men and women, Happy Father's Day!

Enjoy today as it is in your honor. But don't forget the indelible memories you have etched -- and will continue to etch -- in the hearts of those who call you "Father."

~~ML

Andrew Harding Is Our Pink Diamond Interview for May

Hello friends!

Sinner has conducted her Pink Diamond Interview for May. This is an in-depth interview you won't want to miss.  This month, she spends some time with our mutual friend, Mr. Andrew Harding.  Andrew is the author of The Hybrid Series, as well as The Spirit Trilogy. 

Both equally fascinating paranormal stories.

Click here and you'll know what I mean: Andrew Harding - Pink Diamond Interview

Enjoy!

~~ML

Happy Birthday Superman!

My favorite picture of my Dad c. 1948

Today is what would have been your 84th birthday. I can't quite put into words what I'm feeling.

The word "bittersweet" comes to mind as memories flash before my closed eyes. Memories like: 

How awed I was the day you told me you were Superman; how you and I did our homework assignments together -- you with your English lessons, me with my elementary school lessons.

I remember you teaching me how to dance merengue, guaracha, guaguanco and even a bolero. I remember how you kept emphasizing that I needed to let the man lead me in a dance and to stop trying to lead. I have always loved music and you saw that in me as a very young child. Oh, but I LOVED dancing with you! Whenever I hear Luther Vandross' "Dance With My Father," I lose all semblance of control and I break down and I do the ugly cry. You know the one -- that's the one where every orifice in my face leaks! 

I should be stronger...  

Bittersweet. Yes, the word aptly describes what I am feeling today.

I vividly remember July 29, 1969, the day man first landed on the moon. I was an innocent 12 year old Daddy's girl. You had a cold. The sun was shining brightly through the living room window and you were sitting at the end of the couch watching history unfold on television. I got up into your lap and laid my head on your chest. I can still smell the Vicks VapoRub Mami had rubbed there. You scolded me saying I should get off; that I would get sick. I wrapped my arms around your neck, breathed in deeply and said I didn't care if I got sick. Then, I set about trying to breathe in tandem with you; get my heart to beat in rhythm with yours as we watched the astronauts stick the American Flag into the surface of the moon.

I remember the summer before I started my second year at Junior High School. I was no longer going to be bussed to school. I had to learn how to travel via public transportation, so you rode the bus with me back and forth that summer making sure that I not only learned the direct route, but that I also learned alternate routes in case there was a problem and had to find another way home. Needless to say, that was before cellphones :)

I remember the first time I got drunk. You were really angry, but you let me sleep it off. As soon as I was up, you sat me down at the kitchen table, set a bottle of Bacardi between us and said: 

"You think you're a man? We will sit here together and drink this bottle. I will show you how it's done." 

And we did just that.  To this day, I can't stand the smell of Bacardi or any rum for that matter!

I remember my first love and how pissed you were at me for how that whole thing went down.

I remember high school graduation. How you beamed when my name was called!

I remember my wedding day and how, as we walked down the aisle I whispered,

"I don't really want to do this."

You said I didn't have to but I couldn't bear the embarrassment I knew you would feel -- or at least thought you would feel -- if I didn't go through with it. Needless to say, the only good thing that came out of that marriage was my daughter, Mari.

I remember you polishing my toe nails because I couldn't bend over to reach them as I was so swollen with pregnancy. You did it lovingly because I asked you to, promising to buy me a car if I had a boy.

I will never forget your face when you first laid eyes on a newborn, chinky-eyed Mari. You immediately began calling her your "Little Ms. Piggy." I didn't get the car, but you gave Mari the down payment for her first car. By the time she was ready to buy a car, she had given birth to a boy. So, in essence, you did, indeed buy one of your female descendants a car after she had birthed a son -- even though she paid you back  :) 

And the list of memories goes on. As I got older, we bonded on a different level. You were always the one I went to when I had man troubles. I would start those conversations with: "Papi, as a man, can you please explain to me why.....?"

You would smile and you'd say, 

"You have time?"

That line still brings a smile to my face to this day.

As I write this, I realize how lucky I was to have had you in my life for as long as I did. I have 48 years of wonderful memories. I miss you so much. I miss our chats, our debates; how you always challenged me to learn something new -- everyday.

You were not only a father to me and my brothers and sister, but you were a father to my daughter. She misses you probably as much, if not more, than I do. Dayne, your great-grandson, still talks about you. He calls me "crybaby" when he and I talk about you and I tear up. I can't help it. 

In a weird way, I want him to know that I am not Superwoman. I want him to know that I am human and that I have vulnerabilities and faults so that it doesn't hurt so much for him when I'm gone. But I also think that if he has just half the love for me as I do for you, then, I don't know...

I already feel badly for him and Mari. You have no idea the impact you had on so many lives.

I love you Papi. I still want to pick up the phone to call you and ask:

"Papi, as a man, can you tell me why.....?"

Papi in his later years

Happy Birthday Superman ;'(

~~ML

Katie Salidas -- Guest Blogger

Hello!  Today's guest blogger is Katie Salidas.

According to Katie, "Vampires can often be more human than you think."

Before you go to her post, our giveaway celebration is still ongoing. Read Katie's post then answer the following question in the comments section:

What does Katie consider as the biggest payoff regarding writing about vampires?

After you've answered the question in the comments section, send an email to me at lahongrais@gmail.com letting me know that you've left a comment. The first five people to do that and answer the question correctly, will win a copy of "Sinner's Ride" in the format of their choice.

So, don't waste any more time. To read Katie's post, go here ---> Katie Salidas - Guest Post
Happy reading!!

~~ Sinner

It's My Anniversary and Katie Salidas is my Pink Diamond Interview!!

I remember it as if it were yesterday! It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon one year ago today. The breeze was blowing and the sun was shining high in the sky. I was downtown with a friend and there was street fair taking place along Third Avenue. We walked a bit then over to Lexington Avenue toward the train station and we got on. She got off at her stop; I continued on.

Two stations from mine, my blackberry buzzed.  I checked to see who it was and found an email from Xlibris advising me that "Sinner's Ride" had just released. I wished I wasn't on the train; I wanted to scream and holler and dance around on my bad knees in excitement. But you know, I was on a train in NYC where nutty people are all around.  I thought it best to keep my cool :)

It has been an absolutely wonderful year for me and I want to thank all who read my blog posts; those who exchanged witty comments with me on Twitter and Facebook and those who put up with me when I thought I wasn't good enough. Your love and support is what keeps me going. It is for you that I strive to continually improve on my craft and provide you with stories that will keep you coming back for more!!

To show my appreciation, particularly to the woman who started it all for me, I am honored to have Katie Salidas as my Pink Diamond Interview this month in celebration of  "Sinner's Ride" and the new lease on life she has given me!

Click here for the interview:  Katie Salidas Pink Diamond Interview

~~ML

How do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time.

Writing, like almost everything in life is very much like eating an elephant. Everybody has problems. Everybody tackles those problems differently. Most people will take a problem apart and deal with each of its aspects individually until that problem is either solved or a happy medium is reached.

Writing is just like that. You have this elephant: your story and you go through the process of telling it in an engaging manner. Your goal is to get your reader to eat it -- one bite at a time; one word at a time. For me, that elephant is the story I'm telling in its entirety.

So, I start with an idea. I build that story on that one little, tiny idea. How? One bite at a time. But, you first have to thaw and marinate your elephant.

Thawing: For me, my stories play out like a movie in my head. I see the beginnning, the middle and/or the climax, then I see the end. Sometimes I see the end first and then I work my way backward. Sometimes I don't know how it will end, but I do have a general idea about where I want the story to go. Sometimes even that will change, but ultimately, I know I will finish my story. In other words, I will eat the elephant.

Seasoning and Marinating: First I write what I think is the whole story. This, in reality is really just an outline. Then I put that outline aside for a bit and muse about it. Sometimes I write notes down, sometimes I record voice notes, but mostly I do this all in my head -- where the story was born. This is when I name all my lead characters. I research names and their meanings and I try to choose names that will best suit my characters and their personalities. Sometimes I choose names just because I like they way they sound when I say them out loud.

I imagine scenarios and settings. I imagine what these people might wear, what they might look like, what their psychological make up is, what their backgrounds might be and how they may relate to others. Based on all of that, I work out how they might react under certain conditions. When I think the story has been properly seasoned and has marinated for a bit, I'm ready to cook and it goes into the oven. The heated pressure is on.

Cooking: I start out slow with lots of turns and lots of basting. The juices take a while to get going but once they get to bubbling, it's like a volcano beginning to rumble. It begins with a slow tremor deep inside waiting to burst like the juices of a sweet and tangy marinade just starting to reach it's boiling point. Slowly, it seeps through the the crevices of the meat of the elephant. I poke at the sections that are done and give it a little more heat. Twisting and turning it -- making sure that when poked, the juices flow evenly. Sometimes when I stab the meat, a shocker of juice spurts forward right in my eye, surprising me. I chuckle, blink and keep going. Damn it! Didn't see that coming! This happens quite a bit! I continue cooking at a steady pace and keep turning sometimes encountering sections that are a little raw. So, I turn up the heat a little bit then walk away and let it simmer.

Getting Ready for the Final Turn: It's almost done now so I go back and review, edit, revise then print the whole thing out. It'll take me a few days, but I run through the story out loud, beginning to end. Sometimes I record myself reading it and listen to it on the train so I can see how it flows; how it might read to someone other than me. I can't believe I wrote this! Really? Wow! As I listen, I'm taking notes. Once I'm done with this process, I go back and tweak it a little more -- or in cooking parlance - I poke the elephant a little bit and make sure it's not under or overcooked. This is the point at which I will share with my critiquing buddies. I trust they will be honest in critiquing my work. And once additional edits/revisions/more edits are done, I'll send it off to the proofreader/editor followed by more edits/revisions.

I'm not there yet, I'm still cooking. The point is this: I see a lot of tweets, and other postings about how many words are accomplished on any given day or are contained in a story. I was caught up in that at one point as well. What I realized is that it's not the number of words but the content of your story. If you have a story to tell and it is well told, the words are there. It's not something you need to keep track of. It takes A LOT of words to tell a good story and you shouldn't be worried about the numbers. Tell your story the only way you know how.

And that is by eating the elephant one bite at a time. I promise, you will find it very satisfying.

~ML