I should have never signed for three years and certainly should not have given away my copyrights. In my happiness of being discovered, I didn’t investigate as well as I should have. No printed books, no royalties and no copyright to start over with in my name. Poof, like a fog after sunrise they evaporated. I’d write them and was told that they were working on the marketing angles. I couldn’t be happier.īut weeks went to months and no books. I called family and friends to tell them the great news. I announced it on my blog, Twitter, author pages, Facebook, and on my writing sites. I couldn’t wait to share my good fortune with the world. The company said all the right things, including that my book was scheduled to go to print. I signed a contract for three years and suddenly there I was on Amazon! I was ecstatic and stepped immediately in marketing mode, as well as, beginning to write the second book. I was published in magazines, and in an anthology, but never picked up as an individual. They understood keeping a pad and pencil close by, everywhere I went and even beside me when I slept.Įven though I have another career, I wanted to take my place in the world of authors.

I found my niche around friends that understood the voices insistent to declare their individuality. I started attending writing conferences and building my blog and joining writing sites.

Characters developed, taking on an existence of their own. Poetry, short stories and eventually manuscripts took life on my computer. Being an avid reader himself, he gave me the support I needed to be able to have the time to write. I told him of all the stories clamoring around in my head. When empty nest syndrome hit, I sat down with my husband and explained that I wanted to write. I remember making up stories for my kids when they were tiny or reading stories to them just to be able to read. Between babies, a farm and full-time jobs there wasn’t time for the luxury of reading let alone writing. Whatever adventure I went on that day, whatever treasure I dug up, whatever bug or animal I befriended, became a story. Writing was an escape for me as much as reading.

I couldn’t get enough and would always check out the maximum allowed. My favorite time of day was library time. Not a line or two or one book once in a while. As far as my memory goes back, I remember reading and writing. If the ability to write was suddenly taken from me, I would be crushed. But there is nothing depressing about Lena, who despite falling into a trap all writers would wish to avoid, has come out smiling more doggedly than ever. I am honoured to welcome Lena Pate today – she describes herself in her blog as a transplanted Yankee living in Texas because winter depresses her.

The Kammersee Affair by John Holt