Kristy McGinnis's Blog

Are you a member of Goodreads? It’s easy enough to join (for free) if you’re not.

You’ve got 12 days to sign up for a chance at a free signed paperback copy of Motion of intervals on Goodreads. We’re giving away 5 copies! Just follow the links below.

Goodreads Book Giveaway Motion of Intervalsby Kristy McGinnis

Giveaway ends August 16, 2023.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

Well, friends, it’s finally launch time for Motion of Intervals.

My official blurb goes like this (the down-low deets are below it):

You are allowed to find yourself.

An empowering, contemporary, literary dive into the wellspring of maternal messiness from the author of Ellipsis. Perfect for fans of Jodi Picoult and Taylor Jenkins Reid.

Kenna has been living under the shadow of her controlling mother, America’s sweetheart, Tessa Shepherd her whole life. Now, as a twenty-year-old student who has made a huge mistake, she seeks freedom and healing and she contacts her surrogate mother, Rachel.

Still grieving the death of her wife, Rachel barely recognizes the world she now inhabits. Desperately wanting more again, she decides to take a road trip with Kenna, to show her the important places from her past. Part escape, part road trip, the women uncover secret stories from each other's lives and realize they are more alike than they initially understood.

The reader is the third person in the car and in the motel rooms, privy to Kenna and Rachel’s secrets and to their transformation in this vivid, beautifully crafted tale of how people can save each other.

An often engaging tale of kinship and finding safe harbor . - Kirkus Reviews

Author Kristy McGinnis has crafted a beautifully told story that really focuses deeply on the central characters and the choices they've made in their lives that may or may not define their future . - Readers Favorite

Here’s the unofficial scoop though!

Kenna is the daughter of a celebrity everyone loves (if only they knew…)

Rachel is this super chill librarian whose wife died earlier in the year.

Kenna gets in big trouble and Mama sure isn’t happy about the scandal. SHOCKER (and not a big spoiler since it’s dropped right away in the story) Rachel was Kenna’s surrogate mother! Rachel, being the awesome person she is decides to reach out and next thing you know the pair hits the road, they’re running from someone and toward something. Am I being vague enough to avoid spoilers? As for the road trip… well they’re going to hit some of my favorite spots, and believe me- this writer knows these places intimately.

When writing this I couldn’t really think of any comps. There’s the whole Thelma and Louise road-trip vibe, but it’s really a different story. In rereads I can see the influence of some of my favorite writers, Judy Blume’s more mature stuff, Taylor Jenkins Reid’s family exploration. I think this will sit well with people who enjoy coming of age stories though- and we’re really talking about BOTH characters here even though Rachel is in her 40s because a lot of her story is rooted in flashbacks to her own young adult years.

We dropped this a few days early in paperback format on Amazon so you can grab a copy there, now. Tomorrow- August 1st, it goes live everywhere and I’ll share some links here. I hope you LOVE it. As always, I deeply appreciate you dropping a review on amazon, Goodreads, etc and spreading the word. When you do finish, drop me a comment and let me know which character you related to most!

AMAZON PAPERBAC K
AMAZON KINDLE
BARNES AND NOBLE
KOBO
HATCHARDS
BOL.COM
EX LIBRIS
LIBRARIAS GHANDI
WATERSTONES
BOOKS A MILLION

Isaac Asimov’s day has come. Sound the alarms. The robots are taking over.

If you’re unfamiliar with his name or work, he was one of the most prolific science fiction writers of the twentieth century. He’s got an entire series of short stories and novels known as “The Robots” and one of his most enduring claims to fame was coining the word, “robotics”.

In Asimov’s world, robots were programmed with three hard rules*

They could not harm humans or through inaction allow harm to come to humans, they must obey orders given by humans unless those orders violated the first law, they must protect their own lives unless that violated the first and second laws. Anyone who has seen the movie I, Robot (which is based on the same-titled novel by Asimov) knows how that goes. If you haven’t seen the movie… well you know how that goes.

I’m taking some artistic license here when I compare current AI technology with the walking, talking, physical task performing robots of Asimov’s world. It’s not a senseless comparison though. Today’s AI generators are performing human tasks at the behest of humans with the presumed purpose of making our lives safer, easier, and more efficient. In medicine, AI is being used to read MRIs and engage in predictive analytics. The American Department of Defense is studying its use in military campaign modeling. Companies, small and large, are utilizing AI capabilities in accounting. In other words, AI is potentially protecting human lives and making day to day tasking easier.

For every positive outcome though, there are risks and concerns. This isn’t one of those articles that talks about how AI is going to lead to the end of mankind. I’ll leave that to the Asimovs of the world. My little corner of the world is the corner populated by The Creatives. Artists, musicians, screenwriters, poets, novelists live in this little nicheland. Many of us are worried. We’re worried about becoming obsolete. We’re worried about keeping up with machine produced material that moves at lightspeed compared to our snail crawl. We’re worried about the quality of work we’re seeing being produced. We’re worried that our own labor is now being stolen as AI crawlers take and parse our words, our music, our art and spit them back out in still-recognizable form.

Those of us who are writers who publish on Amazon, are already seeing a glut of horrific AI material. The “writing” is bad. It’s really bad. And because of the way the Amazon analytics work, when one person uploads 100 AI written books in a week- they’re going to be bumped to the top of the sales charts and human written books get pushed down into obscurity. Amazon is, apparently, taking steps to remove material like this when it’s reported enough- but this takes time and in the meantime, consumers are grabbing horrible books and legitimate writers are losing out.

Author Timothy Wolff recently shared one such book and his review of it.

With the controversy around AI books invading the KU store, I decided to review one of them. pic.twitter.com/cNvoRrT8fx

— Timothy Wolff – SPFBO 9 Author (@TimWolffAuthor) June 27, 2023

https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

I decided to give ChatGPT a test run to see just how good it could be. My results were two-fold, and I found it disturbing. I gave a simple task- write a one paragraph story about a woman with a broken heart who goes to Africa. In the first iteration, a literary version popped up in about 5 seconds. It wasn’t awful, it wasn’t great. A few lines were poetic, but there was a lot of “word souping” that detracted from a real story. I know in six months it’ll be better though- because that’s how the software works. It learns and improves (through the use of human produced art- which is the biggest issue here). Interestingly though, when I asked it to produce a story using the exact same prompt but this time asking for a really funny one paragraph story, it fell completely flat. AI, it appears, doesn’t know how to tell a joke. I’ll share both paragraphs at the bottom of this post.

Can the genie be put back in the bottle? No. Should it be? Arguably, from a publication point of view AI can help with tasks such as creating outlines, sifting through source content, editing services- tasks that take time away from the actual act of creating. I’m not going to opine here on that, because I’m not entirely sure yet where I stand on virtual assistant type tasking. If we can’t rebottle it though, then controls and guidelines (firm guidelines!) need to be put in place. Whether we’re talking about Google’s embrace of AI and the potential for Google doc content to be mined as mentioned in this article, or retailers choice to list AI written content at all, both creators and consumers deserve a clear indication about the origins of subject matter and ownership of intellectual property.

By the way, there’s a petition out there that needs signing. You don’t have to be a writer to sign it! The premise is simple- books written by chatbots/AI generators should be identified as such. You can view and sign it HERE.

Now for my “One Paragraph Story” outcome from a popular chatbot.

The literary version:

In the wake of a devastating heartbreak, Sarah found solace in the whispering winds of change. Determined to heal and rediscover her spirit, she embarked on a transformative journey to Africa. Amidst the vibrant landscapes and diverse cultures, Sarah's broken heart slowly mended. She immersed herself in the rhythmic beats of local music, savored the flavors of exotic cuisine, and embraced the warmth of newfound friendships. Africa's untamed beauty mirrored Sarah's resilience, and as she stood on the vast plains, her heart soared once again, filled with hope, and ready to embrace life's infinite possibilities.

The “really funny” version:

As Sarah ventured off to Africa with her broken heart, I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of her desperate attempt to find solace in the wild unknown. It was like watching a sitcom in slow motion, witnessing her stumble through one comedic disaster after another. From her clueless encounters with wildlife, mistaking zebras for love interests, to her knack for attracting trouble like a magnet, it was clear that her journey was more about generating laughter than finding healing. Oh, the irony! But as much as I wanted to revel in her misfortune, a part of me couldn't help but hope that Africa's vibrant chaos would somehow help her find a way to move on. After all, laughter is the best medicine, and maybe, just maybe, the laughter she found in Africa would mend her heart in the most unexpected way.

Did you laugh? I didn’t.

All previous content is produced and owned by Kristy Mcginnis and may not be stolen, chopped up, and regurgitated by any robots.

Selling books in the olden days: write a great story, edit it well, sign a lit agent, sell to a publisher, see book on shelves.

Selling book today: write a great story, edit it well, write more content. Establish author brand. Feet on the pavement, query lit agents while tending your socials. Twitter, Facebook, Insta, TikTok… is there a new app yet I’m missing? Update often. Offer fresh content. Network. Establish online brand presence. Market self. Market book. Stay on top of latest trends. Hashtag TF out of that content. Freshen face. Mind your Ps and Qs (pictures and quotes…) Get over to Goodreads and stay active with the community. Fail to make it through mile high slush pile to net agent, go indie route. Mind the KDP gatekeepers. Promote book online obsessively even while managing not to annoy followers with too-frequent promotion. Invest in advertising. Better head shot. Blog! email lists! More content! Fresh content! Socials! Socials! Socials!

At the end of the day, it’s tough out there. We’ve all only got 24 hours in a day to handle our business, work our jobs, raise our families, eek out a little joy, oh and maybe catch a few hours of sleep. So you do the best you can, you believe in yourself and the value of your story, and you keep plugging away because even today- even in 2023- you can still find your book on a shelf if the stars align perfectly.

This is the whatever-is-the-opposite-of-grittiest confession ever, but the truth is I like to read books that end with positive, dare I say happy, resolutions. I know, I know, that’s super basic of me- I may as well smear a slice of Wonder bread with butter and then sprinkle sugar over it and call it a pastry. I can’t help it though. I feel like daily life is hard enough without added pile on from my literary friends. Catch that killer. Marry that girl. Win that lottery. Have that baby. Whatever the conflict was, let it end with a note of hope.

None of this is to say I haven’t read novels that have gutted me, torn my heart out, left me sobbing from the unfairness of it all- and still loved every single painful word. Some writers are so darned good at doing that, that they temporarily make me forget I craved something lovely at the end. I have to carefully ration out those reads though, so I don’t find myself getting sucked into the bleak abyss.

When I’m writing, I feel an acute responsibility to end things in a way that leaves the reader feeling hopeful. Along the journey there may be loss, grief, heartbreak. I’m not trying to redefine the role of conflict in a book. It’s necessary. A happy ending is pointless if our protagonist hasn’t struggled at all to get there after all. But at the end of the day I hope to leave my readers feeling a little optimistic because this world tries its hardest to make pessimism the defacto standard. Maybe it’s basic. But we all deserve a beautiful sunset at the end of the day… or book.

Motion of Intervals, a story that centers around a road trip, ends in Key West, Florida. This was a deliberate and obvious choice to me, because of all the lovely literary places I’ve been lucky enough to visit- none has dug its way under my skin like the lovely little Conch Republic. Key West, for all of its 4.2 square miles of actual land, has a surprisingly bright literary history. Perhaps most famously, Papa Hemingway himself took up residence and claimed the island as his own. The progeny of his six toed cats still roam the meticulously maintained confines of his Whitehead Street estate. His is not the only notable name on a storied list of literary connections.

Robert Frost escaped the cold New England winters in Key West. Tennessee Williams wrote A Streetcar Named Desire at the La Concha Hotel. Jimmy Buffett didn’t just write songs there, (songs that usually read like short stories), but also lays claim to seven books. Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree was inspired by an actual banyan tree that stood outside his Key West home. Today, Judy Blume owns the non-profit bookstore Books & Books which has become a destination in its own rite. There are dozens of other well known writers who call the tiny landmass home.

That Key West would attract and inspire so many wordsmiths is hardly a surprise. Whether I am squeezing between street acts at sunset on Mallory Square or downing a colorful cocktail at one of the many storied Duval Street bars or exploring public gardens, I’m always struck by how vibrant the sights, sounds, and smells are that surround me. It’s as if everything is just *more* there. Red isn’t just red. It’s a fiery, whip snapping, red that sears the skin. A solo guitar player isn’t just background music. She is channeling ancient Greek mousai, goddesses of music and poetry. It’s not just a floral bouquet, it’s an intoxicating perfume of jasmine and plumeria. All of the senses are challenged and for the writer- this includes that indescribable, unmapped part of the soul that filters real life into fiction.

When I need a reset, a new spring of inspiration, Key West is always the perfect destination.

The long, hot days of a Virginia summer are creeping in. Along with the usual soul-killing humidity, heart pumping music festivals, cursed mosquitos, welcome sound of children playing outside, and that big pile of flip flops near the front door comes a big announcement.

In coming weeks pre-sales will open for my next novel, Motion of Intervals. I’ve spent the past few years chewing on an idea, teasing it out on paper, and finally polishing it up enough to share for consumption. Writing a book is a lot like raising a child. You start out pregnant, dreaming of what this child will look like, how you’re going to raise them, who they will become. Then it turns out Billy is actually Susan, and they’re resistant to your masterful plans of just how your house will stay organized because you’re never going to be that kind of mom, and despite all your efforts to the contrary- they’re little thieves. They’re not robbing banks, but your silverware begins disappearing sometime around preschool and this trend continues until well into the college years. Intervals stole my spoons. The end result looks quite different than my original vision, but I find I like it anyway.

Intervals, by the way, is not destined to be an only child. For now though, we’re going to focus on it and I’ll introduce it’s sibling in the future.

What’s this one about? Four women take the stage in this story. There’s the narcissistic mother whose name everyone knows and loves. There’s the beleaguered, suffering young adult daughter who finds herself suffering in scandal beneath the cruel public eye. She really needs something, someone, in her corner. There’s the soft-hearted, grieving woman who once served as a gestational carrier. And then there’s Delta. Strong, plucky, amazing Delta whose presence is felt long after her physical body has gone to ash and dust. These four women weave a tale of desperation and hope.

I’ve chosen to weave a lot of musical inference and theory into this story. The title itself refers to this. In music theory, the concept of motion of intervals refers to the way in which the distance between two notes in a melody or harmony changes over time. Another theme that is omnipresent is nautical, or of the sea. One of our main characters was raised in a home of a seagoing man. Another of our characters is a Coast Guard veteran. Except for the opening chapters, this story is set along the American southeast coast. The ocean and all of the literary gifts she gives are perhaps the fifth woman in this tale.

Growth, journey, roadtripping, strong female role models, found family, and the vibrant hues of Key West are some of my favorite things. Motion of Intervals feels personal because of that.

Coming soon!

Oh hey. Do you remember that weird kid with the scratched up Huffy, the one with the yellow banana seat and the little horn that didn’t make a sound that was exactly… well… hornish, anymore? The one with the scraggly pigtails and the chipped front tooth who used to ride barefoot along the sidewalks shouting Olivia Newton John lyrics to the clouds because someday she was going to be a spandex and leg warmer garbed superstar too?

I disappeared then too. There was always another move. That was Navy family life. You knew me, and then you didn’t. So nah, you probably don’t remember me at all. You’re forgiven- I never did show up on your MTV anyway.

I’ve never quite learned how not to disappear, but I’m trying! The past two years, what a crazy ride it’s been. Ellipsis was better received than I ever dared dream and I wondered if I had another story inside me. Maybe I was a one and done? Since then I’ve moved to Virginia Beach, I’ve seen all three of my little birdies out of the nest, I’ve walked the Camino de Santiago, I’ve made new friends, I’ve survived a global pandemic and I’ve lost some loved ones. I’ve also written another book. It turns out there are more stories, after all.

I’ll share those details very soon. Quick summary though of where I’ve been- I haven’t become Olivia Newton John. I have become Kristy McGinnis though, and she’s not so bad.

This isn’t your typical bookish article. It’s not going to really talk about books at all. The subject matter though, is the holy grail of literary prowess. Waffle House and Walmart and women in colonial costumes. Trust me.

Recently, I was chatting with some friends and the story I was telling included an offhand reference to that time I worked at Waffle House. One friend stopped me and asked, “Wait, you worked at Waffle House?”

“I recommend you get those smothered, covered, and chunked.” I replied.

My friends knew about some of my prior jobs, but this was a new one and it prompted an entire conversation about my wayward employment record. Understand, no one was being judgmental about my rather speckled resume- they were genuinely curious about it and wanted to hear more.

As background, I did not go to college as a young adult. No beautifully framed MFA certificate from Columbia dons a wall in this house. Wait, let me honestly amend and extend this confession. I also didn’t graduate from high school. After a really rough few years that involved very little actual school attendance, at the age of 16 I asserted to my quite naturally shocked parents I was done. Finis. I was working a triple threat waitressing gig at a hotel downtown at the time. Mornings were spent serving platters of pancakes and mugs of coffee in the coffee shop portion. Evenings meant steaks and glasses of wine in the chop house. Late nights meant an even tighter and shorter skirt, and trays full of drinks in the cocktail bar. Between the three gigs I was doing okay enough financially to move in with a boyfriend and some friends and have one hell of a party for a few years.

Eventually the desire to leave my hometown and a thirst for adventure led me to join the US Coast Guard as a seaman. Over the next few years I was able to discover my natural sealegs, save some lives, and meet the man who I’d eventually marry. Not long after marrying, I ended my enlistment and took on the role of Chief Emotional Supporter, packed my bags, and began a 29 year journey following my husband around the country to a long list of Coast Guard units. We’d move every 2-4 years on average, often coast to coast, and along the way we collected an assortment of babies as one sometimes opts to do. I did actually end up going to college, earning my associates degree in a field I never actually worked in, and an accompanying certificate I’d thrown in at the last minute that actually did turn out to be useful.

Moving often meant changing jobs fairly frequently, but let me be honest here. I also changed jobs frequently because I have a moderate case of getboredfastitis. Throw in three kids that spanned eight years in age that needed some relative stability since their father was often deployed or on duty and Mama needs flexibility. 

At times, when I’d have a very young baby, I’d stay home completely. I savored those special full-time homemaker days, but we also figured out fairly early on that we liked to pay our bills and clothe our children and take vacations and drag them to Jimmy Buffett concerts so it worked out that I had more working years than not, at least on a part-time basis.

After leaving the Coast Guard my first job was of course at a marina, because it just made sense. I quickly discovered that wasn’t going to work, as I found myself pregnant with my first child. I moved on to clean rooms at a lovely little mom and pop owned inn on Cape Cod. The owners were extremely kind and allowed me to bring my baby to work. He’d go room to room with me in his little bucket, nurse and play whenever he wanted, and we’d be finished by lunchtime. I don’t enjoy cleaning my own house, but it turned out I was good at cleaning other people’s shit up and so I supplemented my income by cleaning houses on base when people moved out. There was actually a lot of satisfaction in it- there’s something rewarding about seeing the product of your hard work in clean white walls and a freshly scrubbed oven. Here is a revelation: hard work can be satisfying, if the result is visual.

The hotel gig was great but the one flaw was on the Cape, hotels are seasonal. When that first winter hit I knew I needed to find something else to support my book habit and I happened upon an ad that was seeking a telemarketing manager at the local Electrolux store. I’d never telemarketed in my life, but I was suckered in by that manager title. At the ripe old age of 23, “manager” sure sounded like an exciting and powerful title. I got over that quickly by the way. Anyway, I went in for an interview. Apparently no one else showed up because they gave me the job. I went on to do that for the next few years. I hated cold calling, but I had other duties that weren’t so bad- and my boss gave us a $500 shampoo machine for free so I stuck it out. Wouldn’t you stick out a crappy telework job for a free $500 carpet shampooer?

Eventually, we transferred down to Southeast Texas where I started taking college classes. Alas, college classes don’t pay for movie tickets and new flannel that you worked really hard to distress and make look old (it was the mid 90s! Hello grunge!) so I reentered the workplace again. I tried Walmart at first, it was okay. Wait, I’m lying. It wasn’t okay. I left fast. Next up was waiting tables at Waffle House. Now, I know there’s a certain imagery of the clientele at a Waffle House, and I’m sure some people have very strong ideas about folks who work there but this is the truth. I enjoyed it! A lot! Employees would work the jukebox, playing our favorite playlists and enjoy lots of joking and bantering behind the counter. The customers were mostly great too. 

Some were regulars, they’d show up every day. Some of them affected a certain curmudgeonly manner, but they were old softies at heart and we all knew it. Others were always full of smiles and kind things to say. I remember one regular, a nice bearded man named Steve who would walk down every day without fail to enjoy a cup of coffee- he’d leave his dog tied up outside the door where he could watch him and believe me, the dog never minded. Everyone who walked in would greet him and he’d excitedly wag his tail. One day, Steve and the dog failed to show up. We learned later in the day that they had been hit by a car. At his funeral, which was sparsely attended (not a shock, Steve was a pretty quiet guy), those of us who worked the morning shift headed over in our waffle house uniforms and sat respectfully in the back to say our goodbye to Steve. That’s the kind of people who work at Waffle House.

Eventually, a friend convinced me to join her over at Blockbuster so I left Waffle House and moved on to telling people to be kind and rewind. At Blockbuster I had first access to all the new releases. As a movie lover, this was paradise! It was a pretty laid back position, even in the heyday of movie rentals, and there was plenty of downtime to gossip and joke with fellow staff.

Future travels would take us to multiple cities in Virginia (multiple times), Honolulu (twice), Charleston SC, and a tiny village in Alaska. In each, I found work. I’m not writing a novella here, so I’m going to just give my readers a list:

Bowling alley bartender. This entailed basically opening bottles of beer and handing them over. If you ever want to be a bartender but don’t want to have to actually work, let me recommend a bowling alley that only serves beer.Dry Cleaners. I mostly sat on a stool behind a counter and read paperback books. Once in awhile someone would interrupt me and drop off a pile of shirts. I must have read thousands of books when I worked at this place!First paid writing gigs. Somehow I tapped into the old Suite 101 entity back in the earlier days of the ‘net and they paid a pittance for lifestyle articles. I specialized in military life. This then led to a small column in the local newspaper that was devoted to military families in the area. Please understand, I don’t actually like writing about military families. My jam has always been fiction. But it was pretty neat to see my name on a byline and the small checks they paid no doubt paid for some of our Goo Goo Dolls and Wallflowers tickets (We are still in the 90s here folks.)The commissary. I was a grocery cashier and look, this is a strange admission, but I sort of enjoyed it other than the fact my feet hurt like hell by the end of the day. This is a lot like cleaning hotel rooms- it’s rewarding to actually see the result of your work instantaneously. Watching those cart loads shrink as items were quickly scanned and moved aside was pleasing somehow.Substitute teacher. Who in the hell would put a high school drop out with a potty mouth and questionable taste in music, in charge of a classroom? Well, I won’t out them but I found them! I wasn’t too bad at it either, by that point my kids were old enough I’d proven I could keep a child alive much longer than a plant, so I had that going for me.University cooperative satellite office- assistant. This was actually a really cool gig, we lived in rural Alaska and it felt like my work efforts really improved people’s lives, in some cases they may have even helped save them as I ran several maritime safety programs.Army Public Health secretary. My first time working for Army, I loved being surrounded by soldiers who were mostly friendly and eager to converse. The office mission was also something I loved- we were helping soldiers recover from TB, handing out condoms to keep the love clean, and ensuring everyone got their jab in time for flu season. That’s meaningful work, even if I didn’t see the results immediately.National Park Service- interpretive park ranger. For the first time since the Coast Guard, I geared up in a real uniform. I’d lead huge packs around our battlefields and recite a speech about the historical significance of each spot. I’d never tried public speaking before, but I learned I was surprisingly good at it. Seriously. I’m all over Yelp and Tripadvisor by people who’d attended my tours, some of them leaving in tears over the stories I’d told. Stories. Books. Wow… I’m seeing a connection here.Colonial ghost tour guide. This is where things get wonky folks. Yes, I wore an entire colonial woman costume and walked the streets of Colonial Williamsburg leading groups from one haunted home to another, under the pale moonlight. For the record- I don’t actually believe in ghosts.Theme park VIP and roller coaster tour host. If things got wonky with the Colonial woman get up, they flat out exploded into zaniness with this job. I was paid to give people behind the scenes tours and to ride roller coasters with them. Read that again. I. Was. Paid. To. Ride. Roller. Coasters. Why oh why did I ever quit? Oh yeah… money. It turns out you don’t make a huge salary riding roller coasters.Military Finance Office, admin assistant. It paid better than riding roller coasters but it was nowhere near as fun. I don’t really know what else to say about this one, it’s too fresh.Full time author. You knew this one was coming, didn’t you?

So here’s the lessonish bit. Every single job I held, from scrubbing toilets, to slinging beer, to ordering office supplies- has contributed to my current job. I would not be the writer I am today if I hadn’t had those experiences, if I hadn’t worked with a wide diverse field of human beings who came from every background imaginable. From each work environment, I extracted some nugget of truth, some deeper understanding of the people who inhabit the same world as me. All of those experiences add up to the grand sum of: One Author.

I feel no shame over my blue collar background or my late educational blooming. I don’t take any particular pride over the fact I now only clean up after my own shit, or that I sit on the customer side of the waffle house counter these days.  I didn’t accomplish anything particularly great by moving on- instead what I did was continue the journey and find new experiences to fill the gaps.

I’ve never had a career. I’ve had a series of jobs that fed and cultivated my craft. I’ll die having never had a real career. I’m a-okay with that. I’ll always have a rich tapestry of memories and real life characters to draw from though as I create my stories.

A bit about process… and a big reveal!

The creative process is organized chaos. I learned two books ago (“Two books ago? But I only see one book authored by you for sale?” Exactly. Read on.)

I learned two books ago that just sitting at a keyboard and typing willy nilly with a book idea in mind is a bad idea. This is how you end up with loose ends and unstable character arcs. It’s also all too easy to miss out on critical literary devices like pinch points.

These days I start with a very loose and broad outline- and step one is to write a super brief synopsis. I then move to a chapter by chapter outline. I’m not doing anything fancy or too involved. I simply break down the most basic point of the chapter with a few sentences, and I identify when one of the 7 point structure elements is introduced. I also write up a brief bio for each character, and an accompanying timeline (I tend to lose dates and if I didn’t do this I might end up with a woman getting married who references her birth date some seven years before )

So with this kind of… skeleton… in place, I can then fill the rest in and create the story. Does this inhibit surprises? Not at all!

As I’m sussing (fun fact- autocorrect hates this word) out the actual story sometimes something wonderful happens. A stranger shows up. One I haven’t preplanned or expected, who is going to change some of that carefully planned outline.

“Surprise! Let me introduce myself…”

In my current work-in-progress, this happened just yesterday. Woah! Never saw HIM coming!

And now for the reveal- I’m excited to share my next title with you all.

𝘽𝙀𝙂𝙊𝙏𝙏𝙀𝙉

I’m hoping to finish my first draft in the next few months, and then there will be the long editing and rewriting and querying process, publication decisions, etc etc etc. Nothing about this is going to be quick, but I think readers are going to really love these characters- although maybe not so much our new stranger. Him, well, he’s not such a nice guy.