My first Base Camp 1 started years ago when I went to my husband with a wild idea.
“I want to write a novel.”
He said, “Great idea. Write one.”
To which I replied, “How?”
His answer started me on the path. “There has to be a class on that somewhere.”
Turns out there was a class. A continuing education class on creative writing at SMU, near where we lived in Dallas. I will forever be grateful for that class and for Professor Barbara Wedgwood who pulled me aside after class one night and told me “You’ve got what it takes.” She played an integral part in my journey. She was the first person not related to me to tell me I was a good writer.
So I took my first class, brainstormed plot ideas, and started my first book. Took a second class, Master Novel, and honed that book. In those classes, I learned an even more valuable lesson, how to critique. Constructive critique is critical for creative writing – say that three times fast! My classmates and I formed a tight knit critique group where we learned together. That sense of community stuck with me over the years, and I knew going forward I would always find a support group of other writers.
But back to those first classes.
Our professor somehow managed to get our class a writing retreat to Archer City, Texas where we would dine at the Lonesome Dove Inn with none other than Larry McMurtry. We were beside ourselves. We loaded up our cars and hit the road. I know Montana is considered Big Sky country but I’d put it up against west Texas any day. Once there, we filled our days writing and shopping at the local bookstore Booked Up and waiting.
Then the night came when Mr. McMurtry was coming to dinner.
We sat around the table staring at him, waiting for his priceless words of wisdom. Pearls of knowledge we could take with us in order to write timeless books. He didn’t speak for a long time. So long I was starting to think he may have fallen asleep. He sipped his soup in silence, a little of it dribbling onto his sweater. Finally, our professor asked him what words of advice he would give to young writers. Okay, here we go. We shoved our food aside and brought out our pens and paper, ready to take notes. He looked up from his soup and said, “Read the classics.” Then he left. Read the classics? What classics? Wait a minute! What about plot? What about character development? Where are the pearls Larry!
Alas, we packed up the next day and left. And, you guessed it, I read the classics. Every thing I could get my hands on from Eudora Welty to Jane Austen to Walker Percy. I even slogged through Faulkner, which almost killed my love for reading. And I went back to work on my noveel.
Then something even more exciting happened.
Based on our first few chapters, a few of us in my class were selected to attended a conference in NYC where we would pitch to publishers in person. Which I did, in a small room, alone with an older man with deep creases between his brows as he stared at me and said my dialogue sounded like it came from a soap opera. Needless to say, he would not be offering me a book deal. The excitement of the trip ended there. I gathered up my pages, thanked him for his time (oh, if I could go back and have a do over!), and walked out. Later that night at the cocktail party, someone in our group raised their hand (bless their heart) and asked what are our chances were of getting published. The same surly gentleman informed us we had a better chance of being struck by lightening…twice.
Needless to say, I left NYC a little downtrodden. But, being the tenacious fool I am (and in the words of Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber) I thought: So you’re telling me there’s a chance. See, I actually know someone who was struck by lightening, twice. But that’s another story for another day.
Anyway, I doctored up what remained of my ego, finished my book, and started querying agents. I even got the attention of one who wanted an R and R (revise and resubmit). Then something bigger happened. I had my first child. The book baby went in the drawer…on floppy discs. The real baby came into our lives.
But the siren song of writing kept calling and I answered again a few years later, discovering the process had changed dramatically in my absence. And that path proved to be my biggest learning curve yet.
Next week I’ll pick up here and share more on the insanity that is traditional publishing…
Cheers until next time!
