Are you an actor or the audience? I frequently go to the Broadway theatre with my daughter – I love hearing her laugh in a darkened auditorium. We are part of an audience there. We take no risks. We only listen to the actors onstage and go outdoors to state our assessment of their work. (Once, I was interviewed by a reporter for my evaluation of a play. My comments appeared in the next day’s Daily News.) We decide on the play’s worth but we don’t have to say lines in front of a house full of strangers nine times a week.
In writing a novel, we do take risks. Will the reader like me? Will he or she recommend my work to friends or family? Will he or she laugh at my funny lines? When I’m serious, will my intent be recognized?
When I write, I am like the actor. I take the risks. Work that has taken me years to finish is read in a few days. Sometimes the reader puts it in a box for donation to the library. I can only hope my audience recommends my work.
The Friends of the Library Book Sale has consumed most of my waking hours for the past several weeks. We started with boxes of donated books–over 400–and that doesn’t count the numerous plastic bags filled to bursting. It was a period of hard work, made light by many hands and a time of fellowship with scores of people who truly love books–in short, a good time and well worth the effort.
The sale was a triumph on several fronts. First and most obvious, it was an economic success, one that couldn’t have come at a better time. Severe budget cuts have forced curtailment of library services at a time when the public’s need is greatest. The money raised by the book sale won’t be enough to bridge the gap, but it will make a difference.
Perhaps as important is the transfer of books from the shelves of someone who can no longer use them into the hands someone who can. Unpacking the boxes, it was impossible not to speculate on where the books had been and where they might go next. As volunteers sorted through donated items, we frequently found ourselves sidetracked, lured into spending a few minutes reading (and sometimes sharing) a much loved passage. We teased each other at the number of volumes on the teetering stacks each of us put aside to purchase and joked that we were our own best customers.
Friday night was member preview night. Savvy dealers came armed with hand-held scanners and stocked up for the months ahead. One gentleman told me he is semi-retired and depends on his on-line bookstore to pay his health insurance–a heart-warming testament to the importance of what we had worked so hard to accomplish. Equally heart-warming was watching families shop together, sharing their delight in special favorites. It was fascinating and sometimes surprising to note the choices people made and to imagine them losing themselves in the worlds within the covers of those choices.
A lot of books disappeared, but having started with an embarrassment of riches, many were left. People asked what happened to the leftovers. I was proud to answer that they would not end up in a dumpster. At the sale’s end, we invited non-profit organizations to select books. A representative from A Woman’s Place (a shelter for abused women) chose books to sell in their thrift shop. A Temple University student filled boxes for the Tree House Project, which provides books to inner-city children who would otherwise have none. One of our board members looked for reading material for book-poor children in the school from which she recently retired. A veteran selected books to replenish the supply of a library run by the USO. There, troops about to be deployed can check out books and, if they are not able to finish them before they leave, keep them. Representatives from nursing homes looked for books their residents might enjoy. Purple Heart collected numerous boxes to sell in their shop.
As I watched the books leave the library, I found myself wondering where a particular book was going and into whose hands it would next be placed. Some, I know, will make their appearance at next year’s book sale–and begin the journey anew.
It wasn’t that long ago that the young adult (YA) market for books was pronounced all but dead. That is certainly no longer the case. Call it the Harry Potter factor or the baby boom bounce, but teens are reading and buying lots of books. There are approximately 40 million people between 13 and 19 in the United States; a recent survey shows that over 60 percent of them read books for pleasure. Of course, publishers are well aware of this trend and do all they can to snag an increasingly larger share of this audience.
Social networking has had a huge effect on YA book sales; a hot book becomes boiling hot very quickly when teens blog or post on Facebook or Twitter. Some agents who used to deal only with the adult market have switched to children’s books and YA. And formerly adult-only authors are now trying their hand at the YA novel and reeling in new readers and hefty sales. It’s arguable, but some critics believe that there is more experimentation and creativity in this market than in standard adult fare. That attracts the best writers and, in turn, the prolific readers – both teens and adults, for there is now a sizable cross-over market, which means that adults are reading books originally marketed for YA. Switch covers, shelve the books in the adult section, and you’ve got a new supply of potential readers.
So if you’re a writer, what’s the difference between writing a young adult and an adult book? Both can have gripping plots and feature young adult or teenage protagonists. Yet there are a few points that differentiate the two:
* In YA novels, your protagonist must be a teenager.
* If you’re writing YA, keep to a limited, adolescent point-of-view. Even when it has a teenage protagonist, an adult novel contains a narrative voice that betrays adult perspective.
* YA novels often – but not always – are shorter in length. Though character-driven, they have lots of dialogue and page-turning action.
* Though they can be gritty and no-holds-barred realistic, YA novels usually leave the reader with some hope.
All this concerns me, not only because I write YA and have just completed an historic novel for this market, but also because in my college teaching, I’ve met so many students who love this genre and aspire to write compelling YA fiction. I always encourage them to polish their craft and to keep a close eye on the publishing industry, primarily by joining organizations like the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators – the standard for the industry.
When you’re a writer, keeping an eye on the publishing market can feel a bit like selling out; it feels too far from the business of creating gripping stories. Yet we can’t afford to ignore what’s going on in the publishing world. As much fun as the creative process is, we also want readers consuming what we produce. That’s a lot more likely if we keep abreast of the trends.
Consider the power of a name. What do you imagine when you hear Ebenezer Scrooge, Holly Golightly or Heathcliff? If these names stir feelings in you, a remembrance of plot and place, credit their enduring authors. It’s no accident that great writers name their progenies with care.
Here are more names of worth: Rhett and Scarlet (need I say more?), Sherlock Holmes and Frankenstein. As I said, naming is powerful stuff. In Puritan times, girls were named Faith or Chastity to live up to those virtures, while Native Americans named themselves and their children to reflect their lives and actions. Do you remember “Stands with a Fist” in the movie “Dances with Wolves”? Her name told me the essence of her being.
The truth is, names have great power, and naming in and of itself is a great power. The Bible tells the story of God giving Adam the power to name the animals and other parts of creation. The process of naming is a creative act, one we participate in as authors.
We birth our characters and then christen them, with names of meaning and worth, sending them off into the happy, sad, romantic or mysterious worlds we’ve created. Most of all, we want readers to remember their names. As famous speaker/author Dale Carnegie once said, “Remember that a person’s name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language.” While our characters are fictional, we want their names to be the “sweetest and most important sound in any language” to our readers.
In my thriller “Deadly Habits,” for example, I chose the name Milagro for my protagonist because it means “miracle” in Spanish. She is half Mexican and I wanted to convey a sense of the miraculous in a life filled with secrets and unforgiveness. It also conveys a sense of the spiritual, as this 40-something renegade woman struggles with her life in the convent. To name her Susan or Betty, although nice, would not have had the same cojones for this character.
It’s often been asked, “What’s in a name?” The answer would seem to be “Everything!” Names tell readers who our characters are at the deepest levels. And for writers, it’s the ultimate power trip. So, go forth and christen your characters — and make their names one for the books. Literally.
It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times — what is it that compels me to write? Why, when it sometimes feels like some form of self-inflicted torture, do I persist in sitting down in front of a keyboard to try to tell a story? After giving it a great deal of thought, I’ve come to the conclusion that one of the answers might just be that I’m human.
I don’t think it’s a stretch to believe that Homo sapiens’ need to tell stories probably began with the origin of language. Our ancestors would have communicated the news of the day through their stories, as well as using them as a way to pass along the collective wisdom. (Og was fooling around with a big rock and a sharp stone and he came up with a wheel. And guess what? He found out round wheels work better than square ones!)
No doubt, human nature being what it’s always been, every time the story was repeated, it would have been embellished and tweaked to make it just that little bit more interesting. (When he wouldn’t stop chipping away at that rock, Og’s wife hit him over the head with a bone!)
I also fantasize that not everyone who sat around the campfire felt the urge to speak up and tell the stories. My guess is that Og’s tale would not have been recounted by the best hunter or gatherer in the group. The ancient storyteller of my imagination, who could just as easily have been a female as a male, was probably not the type to lead the way into dangerous territory. More likely, he or she would have been inclined to hang back and observe as others charged ahead. This is all my personal speculation, of course, but there is one thing I’m absolutely sure of … even though the storyteller may have lacked boldness, he or she would definitely have been a great listener.
When the men returned from the mastodon hunt, each with their own version of what had happened, the storyteller would have listened eagerly to them all. Later that night, the clan would be held spellbound as she wove all the details into a story … one with a beginning, a middle and an end. And, as they listened to the tale, the wide-eyed young ones, too small yet to face such dangers themselves, would learn the important lessons that would later help them to avoid some of their fathers’ mistakes. In such a way, I like to imagine, storytelling may even have played a part in the evolution of the human race.
And so, I’ve become convinced that my own need to tell a story springs from that primeval desire to organize life’s chaotic details into a coherent whole, one that will explain all its inherent dangers, not only to others, but also to myself. It turns out that the answer to the question “What is it that compels you to write?” is simply this: it’s in my DNA.
Having good ideas and telling ourselves “That would make a good magazine article, not a book” frequently delays us from writing the idea down. All ideas need to be respected. It is respectful to write them down. I have a folder marked “Possibilities”. All my ideas are stored there.
As for my book, I have a personal deadline for its publication. There is a final deadline but I have a series of deadlines that lead up to the final one. A detailed plan has mini-goals spelled out like Chapter 1: end of September; Chapter 2: end of October; query letters sent to three agents: November 15, etc.
The next step is very important. It is to ask a supportive person to remind you when your deadline is due and to inquire as to your completing what you planned. You must first give them your written plan as well as permission to remind you of your deadlines and successes.
If my manuscript is returned or a query rejected, I have three more ready to go, including an addressed envelope. That way there is no time for being depressed or contemplating what I should do next.
Those of us who procrastinate need to accept our trait and work with it. For me, setting deadlines is an effective way to do that.
Tell me what you do. Writers are flexible – I may add your idea to my resource inventory.
Recently my blog sister, Gretchen, shared with us how she used an old house to bring the past to life in her wonderful novel, GRACE RISING. Not too long before that, Joan posted about the importance of New York City in her WILD PIGS IN SNOW. Sharen uses the contrasting settings of several different countries to help define her characters in IN SEPTEMBER. And in Marielena’s DEADLY HABITS, a confused young woman’s nightmare is made more frightening because she does not recognize the room in which she awakes. If you follow other writer’s blogs, you’ll find this theme countless times. We all seem to be obsessed with setting.
Why?
How important is setting to a story? VERY. I find this especially true in a mystery, where an unthinkable act has been committed and ordinary people, nice people, are forced to look at the dark side of human nature, into the most hidden corners of their own hearts and to confront secrets they try to hide–even from themselves.
The setting for my latest novel, LOVE AND NOT DESTROY, is a small town, as picture-perfect as anything designed by Walt Disney. There are clean streets, lined with small shops, illuminated by vintage lampposts hung with colorful flowering baskets. Walking along these streets are smiling, open-faced people, civil and friendly, seemingly in control of their destiny. Can anything be this perfect? As a writer, I hope not. More accurately, I won’t allow it to be. There’s no story in perfection. I’m compelled to seek the snake in Eden.
My eye sweeps Paradise’s horizon and rests on a hill to the south. There, I see the town jewel, the pride and joy of its citizenry: an imposing, castle-like edifice containing over 40,000 artifacts documenting their history. Here are the tools and the toys, the gadgets and gimcrackery that tell how these people became who they are. There’s an exhibit showcasing the healing arts, another that features articles of transportation and communication, and countless examples of ingenious contraptions man has devised to make life better. There’s a replica of an old-fashioned schoolroom, with a slate resting sweetly on a small desk. The museum is full of inspiring displays that show items of progress and light. How nice. How comfortable. But for my purposes, not particularly useful. Let’s move on–to the very top level. There we find a gallows. Wonderful! Just what I was looking for. Could there be a more graphic reminder of humanity’s dark side?
Seeking a setting for my story, I find this juxtaposition of dark and light irresistible. I have to tinker with it, manipulate the sunshine and the shadow. I need to show how fine is the line between the two, how delicate the balance. How can I do this? I imagine our little town at the height of its perfection–a soft, sunny weekend in early May. Dogwood blossoms frame every view. Tulips nod on every lawn. The museum is at its most festive, all spruced up for Folk Fest. The civil, friendly people are in a celebratory mood, enjoying a well-earned holiday. A shout rings out: “Blood! It’s all over him.” Everything changes. The illusion of perfection is shattered–and the story begins.
Cruel? Maybe. I like to think of myself of a reasonably nice person, but as a writer, I love upsetting the applecart. I’m not alone in this. Think of all the stories set in amusement parks or empty theatres. It seems the brighter the setting, the more frightening it becomes when the lights are extinguished. Add a doll or a tiny kitten and it becomes even more threatening. Nothing produces a more delicious tingle down the spine than a scary setting. And there’s nothing more fun to create.
THE MERCER MUSEUM
Doylestown, Pennsylvania
Naseem Rakha is an award-winning broadcast journalist whose stories have been heard on NPR. Her debut novel The Crying Tree reaches into the heart of a family nearly torn apart when a mother decides to forgive the man who murdered her son.
Acclaimed as dramatic, wrenching, and ultimately uplifting, The Crying Tree has also won praise from Sister Helen Prejean, author of Dead Man Walking, who says: “For anyone who has ever wondered how forgiveness is possible, even when the pain is overwhelming, wonder no more. The Crying Tree takes you on a journey you won’t soon forget.”
I “met” Naseem through the online community of writers at Backspace (www.bksp.org) where I have joined in the general excitement as her debut novel begins to make its appearance on the Best Seller charts. I’m so pleased that she has agreed to share some of the steps along her road to success with readers of Birth of a Novel.
SHAREN FORD: What inspired you to write The Crying Tree?
NASEEM RAKHA: In 1996, I was assigned to cover Oregon’s first execution in more than thirty years. Condemned killer, Douglas Write, had forgone his appeals saying he wanted to die for his crimes, which included killing three homeless men and a child. The night of the execution I was at the prison, standing outside as the “procedure” began. On the other side of the fence, I could hear a rowdy group of partiers celebrating the event, and I knew whatever story I wrote for the following day’s news, would never cover the depth of the issues at hand: justice, pain, loss, grief, and the unspecific and unrecognized emotions of all those touched by the man’s crimes, and his subsequent punishment. That night, as I listened to the people outside the gate break into a cheer as the execution began, I promised myself that I would learn more about this thing we call justice, and that one day I would tell that larger story.
That promise led to years of research and interviews. I spoke with inmates, crime victims, prosecutors, and defense attorneys. I spoke with Sister Helen Prejean, author of Dead Man Walking, and three exonerated death row inmates. Then one day I had the good fortune to meet Aba Gayle, a sixty-something woman who had just returned from visiting a “friend” of hers on San Quentin’s death row. That friend, she said, was the man who brutally stabbed her daughter to death twenty years before.
I was stunned by her story of forgiveness, and by the time I left her small home I knew I had found a way to tell the story I had been seeking since the night of Douglas Write’s execution.
In June, 2004 I began writing The Crying Tree, a work of fiction that examines two premises – what if the mother of a condemned killer forgives the man for killing her child? And what if the man who must conduct the execution of the killer, does not want to do his job? I completed The Crying Tree in November, 2007, and found an agent (Laney Katz Becker, Folio Literary Management) in December of that year. Five months later, she sold the novel at auction to Broadway Books of Random House.
FORD: When you decided to write a novel, did you find your background in journalism helpful, or was the transition to fiction difficult?
RAKHA: First off, I was not a print journalist – I was in broadcast, and more specifically, I was a broadcast journalist for public radio. There is a big difference between writing for the radio, and writing for a newspaper, and much of that lies in the word story. The majority of newspaper articles tend to convey a straightforward plot – who, what, where, when and why – in a clinical fashion, devoid of emotional content. This isn’t always true, and a good investigative piece can read like a good piece of fiction, but for the most part journalists tend to train themselves to focus on just the most overt setting details and character traits, and thus miss the nuance that brings life and heart to a story.
While radio can also be quite elemental and dry, it is by its auditory nature more of a “story-telling” medium. That is why I was drawn to it, and why programs like NPR’s All Things Considered, or This American Life, have so many listeners. People love to be drawn into a story, and radio gives journalists potent tools for doing just that.
As a broadcast journalist, I learned how to convey setting, character, conflict and emotion through sound and narrator voice. I learned the importance of the subtle detail, the nuance in move and expression that told more than words conveyed. I learned to listen for the pattern in speech, the subtle gestures that flavor dialogue, the rhythm of words. I learned how to interview people, to research, to focus my questions, and thereby focus my plot line. And best of all, I learned to write in any setting, at anytime no matter what was going on around me. All of these skills served me well as I switched from writing fact to writing fiction.
FORD: You obviously researched the execution process and the Death Row experience extensively. Was this hard to do?
RAKHA: I would not describe the process as hard. Fascinating, yes. Gut wrenching, sometimes. Confusing, mind-boggling, emotionally charged, and even aggravating, of course, but not hard. For me hard comes when I have to do something I’m neither motivated or interested in.
That was not the case while researching the issues central to The Crying Tree. After covering the execution in 1996, I was drawn to the topic of crime and punishment, and felt inspired to know the deeper stories that lay on both sides of our prison walls. For me, the research experience might have been somewhat akin to what an explorer feels when delving into uncharted territory. I was curious, enthusiastic, and more than anything, filled with an enormous desire to accurately portray what I was learning.
FORD: You address two particularly thought-provoking issues in The Crying Tree: the death penalty and forgiveness. The death penalty is, of course, extremely controversial, and some might find it almost incomprehensible that a parent could forgive a child’s murderer. What has been the reaction from your readers?
RAKHA: The reactions to The Crying Tree have been staggering. Almost every day I receive letters from people who tell me how much the book meant to them. Some of these people have gone through terrible tragedy, or have friends who are struggling with significant loss. They see hope in The Crying Tree, and want to talk about it with others. Other readers are drawn into the book for different reasons, and come out finding themselves moved to reconsider their beliefs about crime and punishment. These people express their thanks for writing a book that touches their heart and compels them to talk about their experience with others.
This reaction is all any author could hope for. My goals in writing The Crying Tree were that it not be a polemic, and that no matter what an individual’s beliefs, they could have empathy for the characters’ decisions. I also wanted to write a book that would appeal to men and women of all ages and backgrounds. Based on the feedback I’ve received, I think I have accomplished those goals.
FORD: A writer’s work is inevitably informed by her own experiences. You are the mother of a son. How did that affect your ability to write about the murder of a child? And what helps you to persevere, even when writing becomes emotionally challenging?
RAKHA: I am the mother of a child who is gifted with wit, perception, honesty and a great deal of love. I am the mother of a child who has taught me about myself and my own capacity to love more deeply than I knew I could. And I am the author of a book about a mother who looses her gifted, loving son. Why would I write that? Why would I even let my mind go there? There is no greater terror to a parent then the mere suggestion that we could lose a child. Yet, it happens all the time, and when it happens, isolation, pain, hate, and even shame are common consequences.
When I met my friend Aba Gayle, the woman who forgave the killer of her eighteen-year-old daughter, my son was three years old. I did not understand how Aba Gayle survived her loss, let alone came to befriend the man who deliberately caused it. It was unfathomable to me, and I was compelled to learn how such a thing can happen.
Yes, writing the book was emotionally challenging, but not as much as you might think. I was not putting my mind in dark places without reason. I had purpose, and that was to discover how people not only survive great loss, but come out more whole.
Some think writing about difficult subjects must be a drain. I find it expansive and life giving. It sets me free to fly into dimensions that I had not seen before and it teaches me to be more than I was before I put my mind and hands to work.
FORD: You have cited music, especially Aaron Copland’s “Appalachian Spring”, as an inspiration for The Crying Tree. How do you go about using music to spur your creativity? Do you listen to a particular piece before you begin to write, or have it playing as background while you work?
RAKHA: Most of the time while writing, I have music playing in the background. It both soothes, and helps me better visualize scenes and character. Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring is a good example. Long before I knew many specifics about The Crying Tree, I knew its end. Or, at least I knew what feeling I wanted to leave my readers with which was the same feeling I would have whenever I listened to the closing moments of Appalachian Spring. Invariably, those last few minutes would give me a sense of both melancholy – a day was ending, things were closing down, getting dark – and hope as one by one stars would begin to flicker in a limitless night sky.
Many other scenes relied on different music. I created a playlist of some of that music and it is available on my web site www.naseemrakha.com
FORD: You’re currently involved in all the promotional activities surrounding the launch of a debut novel. How much of your time does that take and is there any left over for writing? If so, have you begun work on another book?
RAKHA: My book came out in July. Prior to that I was promoting the book. Since then, I have been promoting the book. Some of the work is fun, some, not so much. All of it takes time. Loads of it. I am on the road right now. I am on the road in a beautiful part of the country (the Washington Coast) and have been on the road in beautiful parts of the country since July. I have met wonderful people, have heard incredible stories, and developed new networks with authors and booksellers. I have been asked to blog and write articles for newsletters, journals, magazines and papers. I have been interviewed, and asked to give presentations, and sit at tables signing books. I am happy to do these things because I believe in The Crying Tree, and its power to reach people.
As far as writing another book. I am doing that – although much more slowly than the first.
In her recent blog, “Writing What You Know,” Joan Barth discusses her fascination with New York City in the 1880s. This fascination, in part, is because her grandmother emigrated from Ireland at that time. I understand Joan’s interest in this era. My young adult novel Grace Rising is set in Philadelphia during the 1918 influenza pandemic. My interest in this Philadelphia time has similar personal connections.
First of all, my mother was born in 1919 in Chester, Pennsylvania, not long after a sibling had died from the flu. As is usually the case, a dead sibling haunts one’s life, at least a little. Almost every family in the Philadelphia area lost someone in that terrible epidemic. Several years ago and shortly before she died, my mother’s best friend told me of how irrevocably her life was changed by the loss of her father to the flu in 1918. Rose King’s mother never remarried. Instead the family – Rose and her sister – moved in with Rose’s strict grandmother and her mother had to go out to work. Rose never knew her father. She was well into her 80s when I last spoke with her, yet that death still loomed over her life.
Places can fascinate as much as facts. My novel begins and ends in the house in which I now live, a parsonage built in the 1870s in Bucks County. When we first moved here almost eighteen years ago, we had the singular honor of meeting a woman who had lived in the house in 1918 when her father was minister of the nearby church. It was a Sunday morning and my husband and I were, as usual, working on the house when we noticed two people staring at us, or as it turned out, the house.
Alice Ramer and her middle-aged son were visiting the church from out of town and Alice, in her 80s at the time, had a yearning to remember. To her delight, we invited her into the house to explore. “It is just the same,” she said of the house – music to the restorers’ ears. Thus began a correspondence that lasted until she died several years later. She wrote me of the deaths during the epidemic, how her minister father could scarcely keep up with the funeral services. But that’s not all she related. She remembered the white hydrangeas beside the road, the corn sheller inside the carriage house, the Oxhart cherry tree in the backyard with its large sweet fruits. My fascination grew. I made my novel’s protagonist, Grace, a minister’s daughter living in what is today my house.
A sense of place is so important to a novel and if the historical writer can channel specifics, so much the better. Most of my novel takes place in Old Philadelphia where my heroine volunteers to help fight the flu. During the epidemic, Grace lives with her aunt and uncle in a tiny colonial-era house that still stands at Fourth and Locust. My mother lived in that house when she was 19 years old. Now 89, my mother still recalls the house’s spiraling pie-crust stairs, the attic bedroom she inhabited, the kitchen overlooking the rear yard. Memories are powerful things. The old ones don’t fade nearly as much as one would think.
Yes, writing the historical novel means lots of dusty research in libraries, but it can also mean connecting with people with living memories, even if that’s through their diaries and letters. For writing historical fiction reinforces our connections to the past, our links to the lives of our predecessors, calling back the places they once lived, the objects they touched, the streets they strode. Almost as good as a time machine.
Word of the week: Lurkers. If you’re reading this blog, chances are good you’re a lurker. For those of you who do not know what a lurker is, rest assured it’s not some sort of Internet perversion. A lurker is simply someone who reads discussions on a blog, or chat room or forum, but rarely participates by contributing their comments.
I understand. Before we started our Birth of a Novel blog, I, too, was a lurker. Honestly, I had difficulty finding time to read blogs, much less post comments. Now that we have our own blog, I’ve been pondering this concept of lurking. It’s not all bad. In fact, I believe that as a writers we ARE lurkers.
Although the word can have a sinister meaning, at its essence it means “to exist unobserved or unsuspected.” As writers, that’s what we do. We stand quietly by, observing life. We watch people. We listen to conversations and pick up snippets of dialogue. We soak in stories, from people we know and from other sources — newspaper clippings, television, history books.
My point? Writing requires a good amount of lurking. But writing requires something more. And that’s where the writing and lurking paths part. Lurkers will read a blog, take what they need, and move on. Writers feel compelled to take what they’ve observed and mold it into words. We feel we must comment on the larger blog of life.
So, if you’re reading this as a lurker, feel free to lurk away. If you decide to comment, even better. Either way, we hope our blog is giving you something you need – as a writer or in your personal life. We’re here every week. And we’re happy you stopped by.
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