This opening scene from the narrative of The Spinster’s Hope Chest (Maine Authors Publishing, 2018) reveals the difficulties of rural life for the Millett sisters at the end of the Civil War. Resolution of their problems is the arc on which The three-volume Lizzie Millett Series is built.

When I anxiously await arrival of something so important, I can come to wonder what went wrong. Did the printer run out of my selected paper color? Did a larger order get pushed ahead of me? Yet, all such concerns quickly dissolve in the sweat generated by carrying the book boxes to my storage room and running to my local stores and libraries to make sure they have my latest title. Not to mention the sweat and muscle aches of stocking four cords of wood. DELIVERY When will my

Every time the truck is filled it is a test for its carrying capacity. Every time a new novel is submitted to my publisher Maine Authors Publishing, my doubts and worries about acceptance are also tested. Have I done enough to make it possible for the editor and designer to turn my rough work into a book which readers will enjoy? AND, how long will it take to finish creation of my masterpiece? LOADING THE TRUCK (Editing and design) The truck is finally back. Its capacity has

Back at it after a break, I have put all the pieces in order and read the text for the third or fourth time. If what I read pleases me, a DIY edit begins. There are obvious typos and lousy sentence structure to be rectified. Names may be misspelled. Incorrect times of day. These seem like small details, but making small changes will save me money when the real editor goes to work. This is also a good time to visit with my artist neighbor to come up with a cover design.

As with the chef who may have practiced making your bbq chicken pizza twenty times before it became your favorite, I may rewrite sections of my narrative several times until it comes out to my satisfaction. The beginning may be moved to the end. Or vice versa. My favorite scenes could be deleted from this next novel and perhaps saved for the after that. Every creator learns from trial and error. And so, the tale of my writing process continues.

More organized and orderly now, the crews break out chainsaws smaller than those used in the winter woods. Tree-length logs are craned onto a long sawbuck or propped up on a sturdy wooden frame, The cuts are uniform, set at lengths required by customers to fit into their stoves. Those cut for me would be 18-20”. Working in the sun and out of the winter woods gets easier as the weather warms. My own writing process also gets easier as I start the rewrite.

Many authors will dramatize their writing process, creating a myth that their effort is akin to a religious experience. I’m here to tell you that although what I go through to write a novel is often difficult and requires resilience and patience, the process is similar to much of the work every reader does in their own works. Is making a fabulous meal less creative? How about putting in the efforts required to build a house? Or, in the case of my series of posts in May, make

Many authors will dramatize their writing process, creating a myth that their effort is akin to a religious experience. I’m here to tell you that although what I go through to write a novel is often difficult and requires resilience and patience, the process is similar to much of the work every reader does in their own works. Is making a fabulous meal less creative? How about putting in the efforts required to build a house? Or, in the case of my series of posts in May, make

Chief John Ross, leader of the Eastern Cherokee Nation sat at his bare desk. His files and office supplies were already packed in wooden crates against the wall behind him. Across the desk sat Reverend Samuel Worcester, Christian missionary to the native Cherokees of western Georgia and eastern Tennessee. The minister, a tall man in his late thirties with wavy brown hair, was dressed in a close-fitting black suit with a ragged collar. His sun-darkened skin was nearly the same

On the seventh day cloudy skies foretold an approaching storm. Winds began to blow from the north and first snow of the season soon swept into the wagons where the weakest huddled under heavy bedrolls. Those walking alongside the wagons pulled heavy blankets tightly around their bodies to shield from harsh gusts. Children old enough to walk with adults found a bit of fun with the icy white flakes, gathering the snow in handfuls, making snowballs, and tossing them in the air.