Writing a writing blog

Writing nothing for a month in my writing blog might seem a tad worrying.  But like most things in life, having a writing career is all about finding the balance.  The balance, that is, between work and passion, even if work is the thing we are passionate about.

For years I dreamed of being a writer without really knowing what it meant.  I had images of swinging on a hammock drinking Mojitos in the romantic light of an early evening sun, typing late into the night very Hemmingway-esque, having spent the day talking to terribly interesting people.

Sadly this is not the reality, for me anyway.  I have three small children and a dog and I write at the kitchen table.  The reality for most writers – as shown very recently by Donal Ryan going public with the fact he has to go back to work full-time in the civil service to make ends meet, despite being a best-selling, award-winning author – is that we multi-task multi-jobs to hold down the roof of the house.

Finding the balance is hard – money versus creative freedom.  Jobs versus passion. For me anyway, it has taken a long time to allow myself to write my novel without feeling guilty. It is not commissioned like my previous book and might end up in someone’s slush pile but still I must write it. But I don’t have the luxury of writing it methodically.  All my paid writing work has to be done before I can write the might-never-make-any-money stuff.   It gets done squeezed in between deadlines and invoicing, and between children’s homework and dirty dishes.

That’s not to say that my ‘day job’ isn’t great.  I get to write for a living, even if it’s not paying for hammock swinging in Havana.  (It is paying for tango dancing in Buenos Aeries next month though, so I can’t really complain, can I?  More on this to come.)

I have a day job as a fundraising copywriter, working with a number of charities on their donor communications.  This can involve touring cancer research labs to interviewing people with motor neurone disease, from writing about child abuse to irrigation systems in Africa. In that sense, I talk to incredibly interesting people every day and I love it.

I also work as a freelance journalist and for my sins seem to have two completely different specialist topics – sex and death.   The sex is mostly about middle age, and I somehow have ended up as a Dating Doctor (yes, you read that right) for a weekly column on middle age dating for the Daily Mail.  I absolutely love it.  I love meeting all these people in their 40’s to their 80’s still willing to give love a go. I also write about feminism and women and all things related and  hope soon to start writing another  book on this generation of women redefining middle age.

As for death, well my own experiences caring for my mum after her stroke which led to my first book means I write regularly about parent-care, and the right to die and the many issues relating to death and dying.  This month alone I have appeared on several radio shows talking about the issues, and written several articles.

So, I have a rather schizophrenic writing life – today alone I wrote about middle age sex, child grooming on the internet, cancer research, and I set up two blind dates for people in their 60’s and wrote an advice column on not setting an age cap on love.

I took the weekend off which means this week I have to work my ass off.  Instead I spent the weekend writing my passion – 5000 words of a novel that no-one has commissioned but which I have to write.

My writing life is full of words (thankfully), interesting people and even, in fairness a hammock.  I hung one up in my garden last summer and while I rarely swing and sip Mojitos in the early evening sun Hemmingway-esque, I do occasionally lie lazily dreaming about the writers life and being rather glad I have one.

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#WritersWise is THE place on twitter for discussing everything writing-wise. Founded by Dr Liam Farrell and Sharon Thompson, #WritersWise provides a forum for writers and aspiring writers to exchange ideas and share experiences; it’s a welcoming and supportive environment. The fortnightly tweet-chat lasts for an hour (8-9pm GMT) using the hashtag #WritersWise; the transcripts of…

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What a year

2016 is being hailed as a brutal year for so many reasons, and for me personally it was also very mixed.   My first book was published making a life-long dream come true. But sadly my lovely mum died on the publication day of the book about her. Daughter, Mother, Me: a memoir of love, loss and dirty dishes follows my story of being caught in as tsunami of care, after my mum had a stroke just four days after my third baby was born, and became a bestseller.

The year ends however, with the excitement of the paperback coming out on January 5th.  Dressed with a new name – The Sandwich Years – and a new cover, it also contains an additional Afterward, which brings the story to conclusion.   I am so thrilled to be doing lots publicity over the next few weeks, and really delighted to be appearing on BBC’s magnificent Women’s Hour, being interviewed by the fabulous Jenny Murray (can you tell I’m a huge fan of her and the show!).  All being well with my red-eye flight in the morning, I’ll be sitting in the London studio feeling like a freaky fan.  I listen to Women’s Hour podcasts when I go running so how fun to be able to listen to myself next time I am struggling up the hill!

The year has been filled with lots of magical writing experiences. From the thrill of having a book published, to the fear of starting again with a blank page: to retreating to wonderful havens for creative concentrate  in Casa Ana in Spain, and Tyrone Guthrie in Monaghan, to meeting some wonderful writers; to giving talks on writing at the Dalkey Creates festival to learning from the best at a Niall William’s workshop and hearing Emma Donoghue speak; from playing with an idea like a rubix cube until all the pieces slot into place to finding the voice that has set my fingers tapping; from writing lots of new avenues to reading lots of amazing books (post to follow on my best reads of 2016) it has been a wicked writing year.

And as we all know, when the world gets crazy and frightening, there is nothing more comforting than the whisper of pages turning. Happy reading and happy writing.

 

Learning from the best…

Some books grab us with plot, while others seduce us with connection, littered with words that seep through our skin and into our minds where they nestle for a while. We are changed by them.

Niall William’s books are like that.  I remember reading Four Letters of Love, and when I quietly closed the back cover over it’s read pages, something was different in me. I had been moved.  More of his books did the same – As it Was in Heaven, and recently the Man Booker Prize longlist novel History of the Rain. When I finished this last book, I was so moved by the words, that I sought out the author’s email address and wrote to him. Having never done this before, I didn’t have a fan-mail formula. Instead I took his inspiring words and wrote my inspired words and before I knew it, I’d poured my literary heart out.  Graciously he replied, told me to keep writing, and mentioned a workshop he was running. It took two years and three attempts before I finally drove over the ‘mohicaned lane’ in Kiltumper in Clare (he once described an Irish road in one of his books as having a green mohican hair style running up the middle and it wasn’t until I saw his road with a central line of grass that I realised how perfectly apt it was) and into the driveway of Niall William’s house. The kitchen is warmed by a smell-drenched Aga and Christine, Niall’s author wife, her smile and her cooking as enchanting as the books that have been written at the kitchen table.

Writing in Niall’s garden hoping his genius will rub off on me.

 glasses were clinked as a scraggy crew of writers gathered in the warmth. I know enough about intense writing retreats and workshops that despite not being able to remember anyones name that first night, we would all become close by the end of the weekend.

We had been warned that Niall liked to start on time, so when I and a wonderful American woman who had flown over especially to attend the workshop were cavorting over every imaginable hill and turn in search of the little school we were looking for, it seemed we might be late. Our AirB&B was worth the drive though… I could write a post about it alone –  but if anyone wants a glorious place to write (or party) check out The Safe House.

We got there eventually, and twelve of us crammed into a classroom, semi-circled around Niall who spoke in a voice like his books, soft and strong.

He started by telling us we were all going to write rubbish.  Sure doesn’t everyone? So anything we wrote over the next two days was not going to be the standard we knew we could write as we’d be writing under pressure and out of context so to let go of our egos and just write.   It was such a relief.

Then he began to wind his words of well-lived wisdom around themes such as character, scene, dialogue, interaction.   I have read so many books and attended many a class, but never have I been taken so deeply, yet so simply into these subjects.  To learn from someone who has agonised over words, has let an idea take root and then grow it with exquisite dedication of every action, every word nuanced to move the story and depth of connection along, has felt the pressure of perfection and written anyway, has learned from the business of books, should be a goal of every writer.

What was a really interesting technique was for us to read our pieces and then for Niall to ask the others what they learned from them, teaching us how much we write in our heads and don’t explain / reveal to the listener.  Sure I could see her perfectly in my head…. but the reader didn’t unless I actually described her. Realising how much someone gleans from reading your work, is an amazing way to understand what you need to put in.  He also, of course, taught us what to take out… how many times, and in how many ways are we saying the same thing? As the weekend progressed, it was obvious how much we all improved in just 48 hours.  As is the case with many of these things, your group of fellow writers plays a huge part of the experience. We were as disparate as we were desperate for a glass of wine after the first day.  Spanning several countries, ages and backgrounds, it’s like chicken soup for the soul (or should I say, a Dickens description for the reader) for a writer to be surrounded by other writers. It can be such a lonely business, that writing, listening, reading, and discussing how words work with others is uplifting.

Each lunchtime we congregated round Christine and the Aga again, and although only two short days had past, long literary lessons were learned that won’t be forgotten by any of those who took part.  I can honestly say, that I am a better writer as a result of this workshop, and a better reader.  Niall is a tough teacher, led with gritty determination, softened by generosity and love of language. The remote beauty of the Clare countryside and soul-nourishing meals were just a bonus.

Niall currently runs two workshops a year, and details can be found on his website www.niallwilliams.com

This article was recently published on www.writing.ie

The gift that keeps on giving

What a year! In February, my first book, Daughter, Mother, Me; a memoir of love, loss and dirty dishes, was published.  That in itself was such a dream, that I still can feel the thrill in my belly when I walked into the shop for the first time and saw it sitting on the shelf.  Growing up, many of my friends dreamt of their names in lights, but I only ever dreamt of my name on the front cover of a book.  It sort of happened by accident. I had submitted a novel to publisher and they loved my writing but noticed a blog I had been writing for years about my sandwich years, trapped in a  tsunami of care looking after my mum and my children.

I was offered a book deal, and four frantic months of writing followed where I learned more about myself and writing than I ever thought possible.  I often wonder if I hadn’t run a marathon the year before, would I have known that if you just keep going, even when you’re in pain, and crying and hate everything and eat three tonnes of chocolate that you’ll get there eventually and the pain will all be worth it? I’ve written before about the pleasure of working with editors and the thrill of watching a draft turn into a manuscript, but watching my words become a book was incredible.

Amid publicity, writing for newspapers, interviews on TV and radio, the book went onto the best seller list and my little girl self beamed in happiness as my little girl daughters ran into every book shop we passed and pointed out my book (and on more than one occasion moved it to the front shelf. Sorry Easons.)

It has now been translated into Czech and is being launched there shortly. The paperback version of my book is coming out in January – with a new title The Sandwich Years, with an added chapter.  My lovely mum died on the publication date of the book that was about her, and so I have added an Afterward to bring the story up to date and bring my sandwich years to a final close. 

So it was doubly thrilling when two packages arrived the other day with my new books, new version of the old, but the same thrill.

It has been such an adventure, and it keeps going. In the meantime, I have bought another three tons of chocolate as I work on another, and there are tears and pain, but so many thrills.   

Creative collaterol

Can creativity be taught?  I don’t know.  But can it seep under your skin and and filter into your mind by sheer osmosis?  I think so. Certainly at Tyrone Guthrie it can.  The immensity of creative collateral in the air, the sweet sweat of accomplishment the bricks have absorbed, must recirculate into the ever revolving door of creative spirits that step over the threshold. (There is an actual spirit that haunts the rooms, and even sends tweets telling you when it’s your turn to be haunted but that’s another story for another day).

I had the privilege to spend a week here recently, the majestic old house groaning with art, style, and glorious ceramics and sculptures, the air filled with the sensual scent of ink on paper, books in every wall, nooks and crannies a plenty to read them in.

It has been called many things – magical, home from home, and breathtaking but most often it is simply referred to as Annaghmakerrig.

Tyrone Guthrie, in County Monaghan was bequeathed to the State to be used as a retreat for artists of all disciplines, by it’s owner of the same name.  He was a theatre director who died in 1971, and since it opened in the early eighties, it has hosted thousands of Irish artists, and others from around the world. During my visit, accents criss crossed from Belfast, Netherlands, Cork, Mayo, England, Achill Island and a native Alaskan.   Applications are made, and once accepted you can return as much as you like, provided there is space. I am reliably informed it is already fully booked next summer.

It is like a sweat shop for the soul – soaking up the sweat of others, drinking up other’s toil. There is so much damn creativity in one space, it would take someone wearing thick sheeted armour to deflect the barrage of brilliance that dances and composes and scribbles, and tinkles on piano keys in every room, every week.

The days are long and your own. There is food available in the kitchen but no communal event to mark out the hours. Only you and your own determination and discipline. But like the relief of rain after a humid day, doors fly open at 7pm and authors and artists and musicians and play writes and poets and composers spill down the stairs like ants on a mission, filing into the turf tanged kitchen where food better than your mothers, is served steaming and satisfying at a long table. The conversation is thick with excitement, projects progressing, ideas fermenting, all amidst a hum of satisfaction as warm food heats hearts like chicken soup for the soul.  The meals at Anneghmakerrig are legendary.  Your waist gains as much as your manuscript.

But for me it was about emersion. I literally emerged myself in it’s freezing waters, but also in the atmosphere.  I came away refreshed from both.

The idea of a retreat is not new. But it is special. At Anneghmakerrig, the surroundings just add to it… the glory of autumn played out twice as the lake reflects back the golden and amber trees on its far shore. Woodland walks, and lakeland seats prime locations for uninterrupted thought. But it is the time that the place gives you. The luxury of dedication.  The silence of absorption. The space for thought. And the intensity of imaginosity that permeates every room. 

There is also the love. It was my first time, and from the moment I arrived I knew it was not my last.  Most of the people I met there that week were repeat attenders, like homing pigeons returning again and again, homing their craft.  The love of the place, the love for the place, and dare I say, even the love at the place, is special.   

This has also been published on the fabulous writing resource www.writing.ie

Writing like a motherf*****r

It seems bad to swear when I’m in such a beautiful and tranquil place… at the artist residency Tyrone Guthrie by the stunning Annaghmakerrig lake.  But when I had the chance to spend the week here to write, I came armed with the advice from Dear Sugar, the anonymous agony aunt of The Rumpus who turned out to be Cheryl Strayed.  I had it written on a piece of paper and set it on my beautiful desk overlooking the lake, that was to become my writing womb for the next 6 days.

This is the desk. I have written there of course, but there are so many other interesting places to write here that, in fear of missing out on an inspiring view, or a creative hotspot, I have carried my laptop to many a place, inside and out, like a literary hobo.  A week to write!  What a luxury. It felt like an indulgence.  My day job is writing as a copywriter for the non-profit sector.  My second job is writing as a freelance journalist for various newspapers and magazines. My third job is as a non-fiction author, so my hobby is to write fiction. And it felt so insane to wake up in the first morning with no kids, no food to think about, shop for, beat into edible shape, no dog to walk, no washing to hang out, no deadlines to die for, no TV to watch, no ‘work’ to do….. just long, long days to write.  I was so jittery the first day with the fear of having to unleash that creativity with no clock to let me off the hook, that I went running in the glorious autumnal forest, drank tea with other writers, with composers, with artists until I settled down and began to feel the magic of this place.

And then I began to write like a motherfucker. To retrain myself to not tighten words and keep word count as meaningful and short as possible (which is necessary for fundraising campaigns and feature articles) but to loosen and expand, the develop every thought, to describe and deliberate, to run away with my thoughts and my words, to let the story lead me, instead of me always leading the story.

It’s my last day, and I feel the pressure of using every last minute, and sitting in every unused seat but actually I think – like all the amazingly creative and inspiring people I have met here – that I will be bringing a little of the Annaghmakerrig magic home with me.  What has been unleashed cannot easily be put back in restraints.

This week I have drunk wine and eaten glorious food with established writers who have shared their experiences, play writes who shared their stories, musicians who shared their inspirations, poets, film makers, documentary makers, who all showed me that to succeed, to really live the creative life, you have to get up every day and and write in whatever way that brings you joy.

 

 

 

 

Why Fact is Stranger Than Fiction

The wonderful Nora Ephron summed it up beautifully when she said in one of the essays from her memoir I Hate my Neck:

“ I can’t believe how real life never lets you down. I can’t understand why anyone would write fiction when what actually happens is so amazing.”

She sings my song. Ephron, of the classic scripts such as ‘When Harry Met Sally’, ‘You’ve Got Mail’ and ‘Sleepless in Seattle’ also wrote about real life in her fictional movies…. because real life is extraordinary. They didn’t have to be thrillers, or mysteries, or fantasy worlds to be fascinating and furiously intense.  She had a skill – a skill that memoirists should have – to pull the extraordinary from the ordinary life.

I recently hosted a memoir workshop for the Dalkey Creates Festival, and before we began, I asked all the participants to look around the room and take in the other faces.  We were all strangers to each other but I knew, that at the end of this long day, we would all have shared extraordinary elements of our lives.   And we did.  There were tears, and laughter, and genuine moments of connection.  And that is the beauty of writing about self in a way that makes a connection to another person’s experience – even if, despite the fact, the details of their experience are very different from yours.

The popularity of creative non-fiction in recent years has given the idea of memoir a new, modern lease of life.  From it’s early form of letters and essays it has now been dominated by the the 70,000 word manuscript in the shape of a book.  But for those of you who wish to write about your own experiences and are intimidated by the thought of a full-blown tome, it’s important to remember those early, less wordy forms, as well as new modern ones. Memoir, in it’s true sense of the word, is simply writing about our experiences and reflecting on them with a way that connects to another, whatever the length.

I encourage people to think about memoir in all it’s forms: essays, letters, journals, blogs, short stories, flash fiction, books, articles, newspaper columns, and even short moments of deep shared experience like RTE’s Sunday Miscellany.

Although my memoir about surviving my sandwich years came out this year in the form of a book, I feel I have been ‘memoiring’ most of my life. From magazine travel pieces in my 20’s about my adventures around SE Asia, to a decade blogging about parenting and writing newspaper articles in the ‘i’, I have used my personal memories and experiences to share and connect to others.

Another one of my favourite authors, Alice Walker, a black woman from the southern states of America once said,

“We have the capability to connect to absolutely everyone and everything, and in fact, we are all connected…When I write about my family, about things from the South, the people of China say, “Why, this is very Chinese.”

Glancing over the memoir shelves in recent years, you can see how this area is expanding into all kinds of formats.  From Graham Norton’s recent memoir structured under his favourite passions (Ireland, New York, dog etc), to collections of essays (Nora Ephron, Anne Enright), from memoirs developed from blogs (Julia & Julia, mine!), to topic based (Bridget Christie’s book on feminism) to meanderings and thoughts (Ursula le Guin), the traditional idea of memoir is constantly evolving and developing. Personal and subject driven bogs are allowing people to memoir in real time, connecting to people through experience.

As writer of several memoirs and essays Susan Cheever has recently said:

I believe that the memoir is the novel of the 21st century; it’s an amazing form that we haven’t even begun to tap…we’re just getting started figuring out what the rules are.”

And that is the key difference of a memoir.  You can only write one autobiography but you can write several memoirs.

One of my favourite memoirs of all time is Brian Keenan’s An Evil Cradling, in which he wrote about the very specific experience of being taken hostage, yet his exploration of that experience, which his readers won’t have gone through, connected to everyone who read it and made it such a successful bestseller. What he actually wrote about was humanity.  The hostage trauma was not the story of his life. It was merely a story from his life.  He recently published another memoir on growing up in the streets of Belfast.

The story you write about – childhood abuse, parenting, loss, love, illness – is your own. But what you actually write about belongs to the reader.

In my memoir, Mother, Daughter, Me: a memoir of love, loss and dirty dishes, I wrote about one aspect of my life – learning to self-care amid the maelstrom of child-care and parent-care.  My experiences are unique, but my theme isn’t and it’s the theme rather than your particular experience that will make it relatable to others.   It’s not enough to just tell your story…. there has to be a point.  This is the most important part of planning your memoir writing – be it in blog form, book form, essay form or whatever.   Every memoir has two aspects;  the internal – your experiences; and the external – the reader connection.

What is the point of writing this particular story?  Who exactly will you be speaking to, and ultimately want to connect with?    It is not enough to tell your story. You have to reflect on it, and it is this reflection that forms the point of your message. Once you have that figured out, you can answer all the questions that come up when writing.

Questions such as ‘Who Cares?’

Who will care when you write this?  Only when you can offer the reader – not just your experience – but your learning, will you be able to answer that.   You may well be plagued by self-doubt while writing about yourself – you may think you are being self-indulgent. I certainly felt that way. And the only way to overcome that is to know your point.  What did you learn from the experience that may help advise, inform, guide, comfort, others?

Questions such as what should I include? 

And most importantly what should I not include. Once you know your point, it helps you from digressing from issues on story not related to theme. Keep that for another book!   I took out whole chunks of copy that are now forming the basis for another memoir. You are not writing about all your life, so you have to decide what aspect are you writing about and stick to that.   You have to know what you’re writing about so you know what to leave out. You’ll obscure the story – and the point – if you fill it with irrelevant detours – even if they feel really important to you.

Questions such as where do you start?

Like fiction, you don’t necessarily begin at the chronological start of the story… you begin at the action. But it also answers the question where do you end?  There has to be a resolution.  Although my sandwich years were still going on when I ended the book, the resolution came in my own realisation that I could carry on.  The resolution came within me, not the experience.  My mum sadly died on publication date of my book, and I am now writing the final chapter for the paperback version which will be renamed The Sandwich Years and released in the new year. I will be adding more to the story – the death of my mum and the end of the experience, but it will only work, if I make sure I also add to the theme – what I have learned.

Questions such as can there be fiction in fact?

My truth and your truth are very different things. Think of a family event. Five people might attend but you will all have a different take on it depending on individual perspective, mood, role, emotions and history.  All truths are right. Memory can alter fact so knowing your point will help you when you possibly need to re-order to make sense, make up dialogue to keep the story going.

Questions such as how do write about the hard stuff, or the stuff that might offend, hurt or expose someone?

Knowing your point is crucial for this.  Will telling this bit help achieve the point of your writing, or not?  I had to write about some really difficult things relating to my mum’s care. Eventually I spoke to my family, and they told me if it was going to bring comfort to someone else in the same situation, then I should write it. We all knew the point of the book was not to expose intimate details, but to highlight an experience that is rarely talked about.  It is those bits I got the most letters about telling me how much my book had helped them.   Do not be afraid of offending if you treat the subject with respect and if it strengthens both the story and the point.   Other people will need you to tell the painful truth.

There are many more questions to ask when writing about self, and most of them can be answered by knowing the point of your writing.   In whatever format you start writing in the memoir form – blogs, letters, short stories or a full-blown manuscript, remember that everyone is just trying to make some sense out of his or her existence, to find some meaning in the world.

And that’s the value and opportunity of memoir. It’s therapeutic for the writer, and will hopefully go on to inspire, guide, comfort, engage, motivate, encourage, support, connect to the reader.

I will leave the last quote to Jeannette Walls, whose memoir details her escape from poverty to success but how her past came back to nearly destroy her.   It took her 20 years and 4 attempts to write it but when The Glass Castle was published, it was on the New York Times bestseller list for over three years, sold more than two million copies, has been translated into 23 languages, and will soon be a movie.

“Memoir is about handing over your life to someone and saying, ‘This is what I went through, this is who I am, and maybe you can learn something from it.’ It’s honestly sharing what you think, feel, and have gone through. If you can do that effectively, then somebody gets the wisdom and benefit of your experience without having to live it.”

This has also been published on www.writing.ie

Paperback writer..

Love being able to quote a Beatles song on a Monday morning…

Paperback version of Daughter, Mother, Me due out early next year…. I particularly like the fact that ‘I’ look much better than the real me!  Available to pre-order on Amazon

Learning from the best

I learnt a few valuable life lessons this weekend.  The first is never to say anything bad about someone else  in public- they could hear you!  I was buying a copy of Emma Donoghue’s new book The Wonder, and I was LUCKILY talking about her kindly and how much I was looking forward to hearing her speak.  “I hope you enjoy it” came a voice from behind me. I turned to see the shy smiling face of said Emma Donoghue.  Could you imagine if I’d been saying we had trashed one of her books at my book club!  (We haven’t). Then social faux pas number two nearly happened when my pal and I then proceeded to follow said Emma Donoghue to the lecture hall where she was speaking, and practically followed her onto the stage before we realised that we should actually be using the audience door.

But the real lessons came from hearing her speak. As a busy mum of three, juggling jobs, it was a real bolster to hear her speak about the pressures of getting the writing done before the kids come out of school. She writes as a novelist, a screenwriter, and a journalist and fitting  them all in, on top of family life is a challenge.  She confessed that her children provide an inspiration to work hard wherever you are and not get precious about writing in a certain way.  I’m the Martini girl of writing – I have trained myself to write any time, any place, anywhere. I’ve had to. But often when you hear of writers sitting at their desk for 9 hours a day, or writing all evening, I feel insecure about the way that my life forces me to write – when I can.  So hearing Emma admit to the same was really encouraging.

She talked about finding the nugget of a idea, and researching around it and letting it build until it becomes a full blown story.   How dialogue drives her and that she has had to work on plot because she doesn’t find that comes easy to her.  Again, encouraging to hear as someone who wrote her first book (still in the back of a drawer somewhere) with lovely writing and real chapters and everything but not a single thread of plot!  It was good to hear that writers as good as her can still struggle with some aspects of the work.

She talked about not letting genre or fear of being pigeonholed stop you from writing the way you want to write.  That honesty is the best policy and to write what you feel.

But most of all, it was learning what the feeling is you want to inspire in a reader.  When Emma read from the first chapter of the book, everyone in the room groaned when she stopped. We wanted more.   That’s how a book should make you feel.  And when asked what inspired her, she said other writers, and other books.  Just like she is inspiring many others.