Contest Tuesday - Another Book Give Away!

It's contest Tuesday again...we love giving things away! On Thursday, I'm going to be blogging about writer's conferences. What's good about them, how to prepare for them, and what to do if you have a bad experience.

This week I'm giving away a free copy of A Slow Burn by Mary E. DeMuth. It's a fantastic read! In order to be eligible, you must be a follower of Fiction Flurry, and leave a comment on what your opinion is of writer's conferences.



Happy Writing!

Short Story: "Cole's Heart"

Cole has been dead for six months, four days, and 13 hours. I'm not really sure how or why I've survived since that horrid day, other than the fact that I have another child to care for; it wouldn't be fair for Chelsea to lose a brother by drunk driver and a mother by suicide. Chelsea seems to have adapted to life without her brother with a quiet dignity. I've been taking her to counseling with me every week, but she doesn't talk much. The counselor says we shouldn't push her to share how she's feeling. It's hard enough being a high school freshman, let alone one who's just lost a sibling.


As for me, there's only that split second when I wake each morning when I'm not thinking of Cole, or that waste of a human being who now lives comfortably on house arrest while my son lies in his grave. Every other waking moment, Cole is with me as a flash of memory, a burning in my stomach, an ache that cannot be soothed. I try not to talk about him much when I'm with my friends at work, though I know they would understand if I did. The fact is, I really can't talk about him at all, lest the lava of my emotion bubble through the slender fault line caused by uttering his name.

People will tell you, when you lose a child, that the best thing to ease the pain is the passage of time and the return to the routine of daily life. The problem is every part of my routine is affected by his absence. In the mornings, I don't have to enter his room multiple times to convince him to get out of bed. At the grocery, I no longer buy the cherry pop tarts or dill pickles that only Cole would eat. Chelsea always does her homework without prompting, but I used to sit with Cole at the kitchen table every evening to make sure he finished his school work. Routine daily life brings nothing but fresh reminders of the ornery, challenging, charming boy that was my son.

“Mom, you worry too much,” he would say every quarter when he would bring home his report card. “I don't need good grades to play in a band. You know I'm not cut out for college, don't you? I don't need to have a lot of things to be happy. I'll get some crap job during the day and play guitar with the band on the weekends. I won't even ask you for money all that often.” Cole's self-assured grin would somehow win me over, if only for a few minutes while my temper dampened.

Looking back, I'm not really even sure if he was serious about not going to college, or if he was just trying to push my buttons. Cole's guitar still sits in the corner of his room. Every once in a while, I'll run my fingers over the guitar's taut wire strings, thinking maybe there will be some minuscule bits of his DNA, his essence, that will rub off onto my fingers. It's the closest thing I can think of to holding him again.

Last night, Chelsea caught me holding the guitar. “Mom? Are you okay?” she asked, leaning her upper body on the door frame while keeping her feet planted firmly outside the boundary of Cole's room.

“I'm okay, sweetheart. I just like to come in here sometimes when I'm thinking about him. How are you doing?”

“You're still pretty angry, aren't you? I mean about the kid who was driving drunk that night? I haven't seen you relaxed since Cole died,” she said softly.

“I suppose I am still angry. That kid has no idea what kind of destruction he caused in so many lives just for a few beers. I fantasize about making him feel the pain that I feel, but I don't think he ever will. I'm trying to be a bigger person than that, honey. I really am. It's just so hard to let it go.”

Chelsea stood quiet for several seconds, processing what she had just heard. “Mom, I think maybe it would do us both some good to meet some of the people who received Cole's organs. What do you think?”

“I think you are wise beyond your years. I've been doubting whether I was ever going to be ready to meet any of Cole's organ recipients. But if you think you are ready, I can be ready, too.”

Chelsea gave me a gentle smile and disappeared into her bedroom. I'm not sure how I'm going to approach this challenge, but interest in meeting the organ recipients is the first time Chelsea has opened up about Cole, so I need to do this for her. Maybe I need to do this for me, too. Tomorrow, I will ask the hospital for the paperwork I need to seek the identities of people who received Cole's organs who are willing to meet with us..

*****

I pull into the driveway with Chelsea in the passenger seat. I put the car in park and grab Chelsea's hand and just sit there, silent, trying to muster the courage to walk up to the door and ring the bell. The house is a white craftsman-style structure with beds of red and white tulips lining the sidewalk. I see a child's face peering out the curtains from the front window. I have to go in now, since we've been discovered in the drive. They are expecting us, after all. Chelsea says, “Are you ready?” I nod and open the car door, stepping out into the spring air to meet the keeper of Cole's heart.

The front door opens before I have a chance to ring the bell. A slender, petite woman greets us both with a warm smile. “You must be Elizabeth and Chelsea. I'm Kate. Please come inside. I am so grateful that you made the drive to meet us. You must have had a long trip. Can I get you something to drink, or do you need to freshen up?” she says.

“Thank you, but no. We stopped a short while ago to grab a bite to eat and drink. You have a lovely home. It's very peaceful here,” I say, hoping to dispense with the pleasantries and get on with the business at hand.

“Oh that's very kind of you to say. Please come into the family room and have a seat. I want to learn about you. Tell me about yourselves, and about your son.” Kate sits on a love seat across from Chelsea and I, leaning in with sincere interest.

I've got to talk about him. I feel my muscles tighten, hoping they might put a layer of insulation between my emotions and my exterior facade. “Well, there's not much to tell about me, really. I'm just a single mom, working to support my kids...my kid. Chelsea is a freshman in high school and very smart,” I say, noticing my hand nervously patting Chelsea's leg. “Cole was a senior in high school. He was a very laid back kid, very funny, and loving. He wasn't much for sports, but he did love music. He started a band a couple years ago, and he loved composing songs. We miss him, every day...”

Chelsea, sensing that I was struggling, picks up the conversation. “Cole liked everyone to think he was just nothing special, but he really was pretty talented with his music. I brought a CD with some of his band's music. Cole wrote most of the songs on here. I thought you might like to have it.” Chelsea passes the disc to Kate, who accepts it without hesitation.

“Thank you, we would love to listen to it.” Kate sits quietly for a moment. Finally, she says, “I won't pretend to know what you are going through. I've never lost a child. But I almost lost a child. Doctors didn't think that Zoe would last through Christmas without a new heart. I hope you know that out of your pain, Zoe's life has blossomed. I really do wish that you never had to go through losing a son and a brother. But since I can't change it, I can at least let you know that your decision to share his organs saved my daughter's life. Thank you.”

“If that simple decision during the worst time of my life saved another parent from having to go through the same thing I was going through, I'm glad to have done it. Would it be possible to meet Zoe?”

Kate smiles. “Of course. She's eight, and I didn't think she was quite mature enough to hear our conversation to this point, but I'm happy to have you meet her. I'll be right back.”

I take in a deep breath, grabbing Chelsea's hand as I exhale. “Are you alright, Chelsea?”

“Kate's very nice, Mom. Everything is going to be okay.”

I lean back into the couch, noticing a myriad of photographs flanking the red brick fireplace. Pictures of two girls dominate the collection, though there's also a formal photograph of the entire family, with Kate and her sandy-haired husband standing behind the two seated girls. One picture stands out and my eyes linger there. One of the girls, blond and pink faced, looks swollen with her blue eyes bulging out from her face. Though clearly ill, the girl's smile is cheerful, as if she's just been laughing at a joke.

Kate returns to the room with her husband and two girls. I stand to introduce myself to Kate's husband. “I'm Elizabeth, and this is my daughter, Chelsea. Thank you for having us here today.”

“Hi, I'm Jack. It's our honor to have you both. These are our daughters. The younger one is Amy, and this is Zoe,” he says, guiding his older daughter by the shoulder to stand in front of him.

“Zoe, I'm so glad to meet you. You are such a pretty girl,” I say trying to make her feel comfortable with me.

“Thank you,” she says shyly, backing up into her father.

“Let's all sit down. Zoe, why don't you tell our guests about school and your teacher, Mrs. Miller?” Kate prompts.

Sitting on her father's lap, Zoe hesitates. He puts his arms around her and whispers in her ear. Zoe says, “My teacher is really nice. I'm still in first grade because I missed a lot of school. But Mrs. Miller didn't get mad at me for being gone so much. She helps me a lot.”

“That's so wonderful that your teacher is so understanding,” I say. “I'm sure you are catching up on all your work quickly. How are you feeling after your surgery?”

“I feel a lot better. I'm not so tired all the time. I still have to take medicine everyday, but Mommy lets me mix it up with chocolate milk,” Zoe says with a grin. She starts fidgeting at her father's fingers laced around her middle.

“Well, taking medicine every day isn't such a terrible thing. This is my daughter, Chelsea. She takes medicine everyday too, because she has allergies that make her sneeze.”

Chelsea smiles, and says, “Yeah, medicine's not so bad if it makes you feel better. What kind of things do you like to do when you're not in school, Zoe?”

“Well, when I was really little, I liked to dance. But then I had to stop because it made me too tired. So, I like to listen to music and pretend I'm dancing. Mommy says I can start dance class again in the fall.”

“Have you ever thought about about playing music yourself? Like the piano or a guitar? It wouldn't make you so tired, plus, you could record your music and then dance to all the music you've recorded once you're strong enough to dance,” Chelsea suggested.

“That would be neat,” Zoe gleamed. “I could dance to my own music! That I made! You wanna come up to my room and see my CD player? I have my own MP3 player, too.”

Chelsea looks to Kate for approval, and with Kate's nod, Zoe and her new friend escape upstairs.

“She seems to be doing very well,” I say to Kate and Jack. “You have a lovely family.”

Kate rises from her seat and walks toward me, taking Chelsea's place on the love seat. “Jack and I really cannot express to you how thankful we are to you and Chelsea...and Cole. Our girls mean everything to us, just as I know Chelsea and Cole mean everything to you. I wish I could bring Cole back for you. But I want you to know, if there's anything at all we can do for you, we will absolutely do it.”

“This may seem odd to ask, but if Zoe expresses an interest in learning to play music, would you ask her if she would like to play guitar? Cole loved to play guitar, and in some small way, it would do me good to know Cole's heart is doing what it loves to do best.”

“I think that's a wonderful idea. Jack used to play guitar; he could teach her if she wants to learn it.”

Jack asks, “Would you like to join us for dinner? We bought enough food, hoping you would.”
“Chelsea and I would love to stay for dinner.” And we did.

****

It's Christmas again, our second one since the accident. The year passed so slowly without Cole. In the creeping days that followed our visit with Zoe, I grew to know that Cole still dwells not only in the heart that beats within a young girl's chest, but also within Chelsea's heart and my own. Chelsea recognized this fact much earlier than I.

Kate and I have kept in touch, and she sends me pictures of Zoe on occasion. Today, I'm carefully packing up Cole's acoustic guitar and sending it to Zoe for Christmas. She's been learning to play, apparently having quite a talent for it. It's no surprise. After all, her heart is really in it.

Winner of the Signed Susan Enan CD, Plainsong

Congratulations to...

BEE

She is the winner of the autographed Susan Enan CD, Plainsong!

You can visit Bee's blog here.

If you love YA, then go there...STAT!!!

(Bee, please send us a line at FictionFlurry@hotmail.com

with your address, and we will drop that CD in the mail to you!)

Book Turned Movie

What a coup for an author to have his or her book made into a movie, huh?  When it's done right, it can enhance the reader's experience of the book.  When done poorly, a movie adapted from your favorite book is maddening.  It makes you wonder if the film maker even read the book!

I've been thinking about this topic lately because one of my favorite books, The Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follett, is playing as a miniseries on cable right now.  Thus far, I'm really pleased with the film interpretation of the book.  See my review of the miniseries here.

  On thinking about the kinds of books that convert well to movies, thrillers, suspense, and horror genres come to mind.  The books of John Grisham and Stephen King have done very well as movies.  More difficult, though not impossible, is turning books that are highly character-driven into film.  The movie Bridget Jones's Diary, because of the heavy use of the main character's internal dialogue, was nicely done. 

Some of my favorite book-to-movie conversions are oldies:  To Kill a Mockingbird, The Wizzard of Oz, and Gone with the Wind.  These movies just seem grand, boosting up the already impressive status of the underlying books.  What are some of your favorite books that have been artfully turned into film?  What about books you loved but did not work so well as a movie?  I'd love to hear your opinion!

BookMarks: What Our Writers Are Reading

We thought we'd like to share with you today what a few of our Writers are Reading...

Rachel Dilley: I am currently reading The Outer Banks House by Diann Ducharme. The title caught my eye because my family has vacationed on the Outer Banks of North Carolina since I was a kid. The novel is set in the post-Civil War and takes place in and near a vacation cottage in Nags Head, North Carolina. Abigail Sinclair is the 17-year-old daughter of the former slave-holding plantation master and his wife who have built the cottage for summer hunting and relaxation. Abigail is pressured into tutoring her father's hunting guide, who does not know how to read or write. Despite the pressures to fit into the "society" of her parents, Abigail finds herself drawn to her "unsuitable" student and learns of the ugliness of discrimination.

Michele Downey:   Deception by Jonathan Kellerman:  Lt. Milo Sturgis is assigned a sensitive murder case involving a teacher at the exclusive Windsor Preparatory Academy.The victim is found dead in in a bathtub full of dry ice and despite having left a DVD accusing three fellow teachers of repeated sexual harassment, there is no shortage of suspects. The investigation leads to a boyfriend, students, teachers, and administrators all of whom have secrets to keep—and who will stop at nothing to keep them. As usual, psychologist Alex Delaware is by Milo's side as they navigate the delicate politics of upper crust education and discover that in this world of the rich and powerful, a perfect grade is worth killing for.

Why I chose this book: I have read almost all of Jonathan Kellerman's Alex Delaware novels, so when I saw this at the library, it was a no-brainer. Kellerman tells intricate stories interwoven with psychological insights that make his stories compelling and hard to put down.

Colleen Scott:   I am reading (just started) She Walks In Beauty by Siri Mitchell. Here is a short bio from the book:  "Clara Carter knows her family's future and her marriage prospects depends on the reception she receives during her social debut. Her family wants her to pursue eligible bachelor Franklin DeVries, But Clara questions whether she wants a high society life - especially when she meets a man who loves her for herself. Will duty or heart prevail?"

I picked it cause it's her new title, and I love everything she writes!

Beth Zellner:  Asleep by Molly Caldwell Crosby: In 1918, a world war was raging, and a lethal strain of influenza was circling the globe. In the midst of all this death, a bizarre disease appeared in Europe. Eventually known as encephalitis lethargica, or sleeping sickness, it would spread across the world, leaving millions dead or locked in institutions. Then, in 1927, it would disappear as suddenly as it had arrived.

I am a great believer in the adage, “truth is stranger than fiction,” and I read tons of non-fiction. I find it to be highly entertaining! I actually picked this title because it is a subject that just fascinates me. Also, I thought it would be a great backdrop to someday write a fictional piece about!

Writing Critique Groups

This Fiction Flurry blog was birthed from the labor of a writers critique group in Marysville, Ohio.  Our little group has been meeting every other week for a year and a half, sharing successes, rejections, and or writing.  In the process, we've developed friendships and sharpened our writing skills, I'd like to think.  If you are not part of a critique group, let me explain why you should be.

The act of writing is a solitary endeavor, introspective and thoughtful, until you're finished.  What then?  If you write for yourself, that's it.  You lock it away, perhaps re-reading it yourself from time-to-time.  If you're writing for an audience, you had that in mind during the writing process. Who should your first audience be?  What's the best way for your manuscript to dip its virginal toe in the publishing pool?  You could have your mom read it, but come on.  She's going to love it even if it is a steaming heap of dung.  Do you want an agent or editor to be the first to read it?  Hardly.  What about all those errors you missed?

A writing critique group, preferably one that meets in person, provides the perfect coming out party for your manuscript, short story, essay, etc.  This group of writers doesn't care if your writing has a few blemishes.  Your critique group's very existence is centered on finding those pimples on the otherwise flawless skin of your manuscript.  But  the group doesn't point and laugh at the huge zit on the nose of your writing.  Your group will offer suggestions for ways to get rid of that unsightly flaw, assisting you in making your writing the best that it can be.

But enough with the puss-filled metaphors. It's best that you find a writing critique group that meets in person.  Online critique groups are better than nothing at all, but your online partners might not have the sensitivity that your in-person group will have.  Just as unintended "tone" can come across in e-mails, the same is true for online critiques of your work.  We writers can be a sensitive lot.

A relatively small critique group works well.  You want to have enough people to get a variety of perspectives and opinions, but not so many that it's overwhelming.  A group of eight to ten people is a nice size, at least in our experience.  If you can't find a local writing group, start one.  Put up flyers in your library, book store, or church.  Post something on an online community website.  You'll find that there is interest.

If you live in Central Ohio and are looking for a critique group, let us know.  We'd like to add a few people.  Do you already have a critique group?  What value has it brought to your writing? 

Rare Opportunites (Win a Susan Enan CD)

Tall and willowy as a reed, Susan Enan takes her seat. Her dark hair pulled back into a snug ponytail, she shows no amount of pretentiousness but is, perhaps, the slightest bit self conscious. She picks up her guitar and gently eases into an acoustic number off her first CD, entitled Plainsong. In a long, hot summer chockfull of family health crises and personal disappointments, Susan Enan, it seems, is my proverbial drink of cool water. If ever I should find myself trapped on earth, I only pray that my remaining time be spent thus: on a comfortable summer’s eve, in a candlelit room, a fragrant glass of wine at hand, with the melodic, lilting melodies and haunting lyrics of such a fine singer/songwriter as this to soothe me.

Through a fortuitous unfolding of events, this past Sunday I was invited to attend a House Concert. These intimate occasions are popular in certain parts of the country and are (rightfully so) gaining in popularity. It was a welcome, rare opportunity for me. This evening was attended by perhaps two dozen or so people, and was hosted by a writer acquaintance of mine, Julie Nelson. Julie has been raving about Susan Enan for months, and will quickly tell you that Enan’s music is at the top of her play list. Julie creates a unique play list for each of her works of fiction, and from the first moment she heard one of Enan’s songs, was enraptured with the music of this gifted “new” talent. In point of fact, Enan worked on her album for five years, and jokes that she hopes to have the second one out within the next five years from now.

Perhaps you have heard of her. One of Susan Enan’s songs, "Bring on the Wonder," was recently featured on the hit television series, Bones.  If you are not yet familiar with Susan Enan, then I predict that you soon will be. She is an artist whose passion for performance has not been adversely affected by what she herself will tell you is the perversion of the business: the labeling, packaging and auctioning off of the arts – as well as of the artists themselves.

Eschewing the bright lights – and nail biting negotiations – Enan has taken on the music world on her own terms. To date, she has logged over 8500 miles plus on this “tour” giving concerts in the homes of individuals. After a total of twenty-two stops, she estimates she will have seen about 11,000 miles of the United States and Canada – all by car!  From here, Enan will continue on her pilgrimage with dates booked across numerous countries well through 2011.

I have to say that I fully and completely concur with Julie: Enan’s evocative and thought-provoking music is indeed a fine accompaniment to writing. And so here is your rare opportunity: you can experience the wondrous sounds of Susan Enan for yourself just by following the Fiction Flurry blog. Every follower will be entered to win an autographed copy of Susan Enan’s CD, Plainsong. Even better, answer the following with a comment and you will receive TWO entries to win:

So, I want to know: what’s on your play list? Who are you listening to right now? And who do you turn to when you need to get your creative juices flowing?

(Contest will remain open until midnight EST 8/6/10. Winner will be announced here on 8/7/10.)

For more information on Susan Enan, or to view her upcoming House Concert dates, you should check out her official website.

Special thanks to Julie Nelson for graciously opening her home and sharing with all of us her inspiration (you can visit Julie's blog here). Julie, your house is, indeed, a place beset by positive energy, creativity, and welcoming muses. I wish you much success on your writing journey!

Beth Zellner

http://www.bethnbijoux.blogspot.com/