The Odyssey of Writing a Bestseller (I can dream, can’t I?!)

A little over 10 years ago, I saw a video of a busy city street with crowds of people on the sidewalk and small dragons fluttering down like pigeons looking for food. That image sparked several questions. What would a high fantasy world look like after 2000 years or more of technological advancement? Would magic be old-fashioned? Would technology remove the need for magic and it became lost? Or would magic reduce the need to develop technology in the same way we had?

 The story began to unfold. It seemed that kids in that world would see magic as boring. Much like this world, tech is where it’s at. In my first draft, Will was my protagonist, but I realized I was playing into what had been provided to me… another story about a boy out having adventures.

Here’s a little tidbit about me. I read a lot of books like My Friend Flicka when I was a kid. All the stories I read were about boys having adventures on ranches in the West. Is it any wonder I went to bed at night praying, “Dear God, when I wake up, please make me a boy living on a ranch in the West.” Representation does matter.

 I knew I wanted the protagonist to be a strong, smart girl, and suddenly the story got a lot more interesting. Opal became the lead, and Will her sidekick. The book went through a complete rewrite, and it took many versions to get all the pronouns switched, too. Those pesky pronouns.

Having done so much rewriting, it was time I hired an editor. I hired big-timey editor, one far better than I deserved at that point. Looking back at those early drafts, my writing was awful. It was repetitive, as I tried to find just the right way to get my point across. Having come from 20 years of writing screenplays, I was woefully in need of more description. Screenplays are stripped-down, efficient means of getting visuals across to the director. Books require pulling the reader in with lush description or rapid action, depending on what’s needed in the scene.

The story was there, and the setting was original, but my writing skills needed improvement. Still, I began sending off query letters to agents, even as I kept pumping out edited versions of Fear Unleashed, hoping someone might recognize the excellent story under my bad writing. No one ever requested more pages. It was demoralizing.

Despite the rejection, I started writing book two. I was about halfway through when I decided that if agents weren’t going for this book, it was silly to write a sequel. Self-publishing was a thing, but at that time, it was considered the last resort, and traditional publishing was still what everyone wanted. Not seeing a point in continuing, I abandoned the project and wrote a different book about a girl who finds an old camera that takes her on adventures in time. I developed enough time travel plot twists to span a series. Someday I’ll get back to that one, too.

From time to time, I’d take another stab at Fear Unleashed. I hired another editor to try to clean up the mess I’d made with my multiple edits. Then life happened. Due to stress and other factors, I stopped writing and even lost interest in it. When I went into freelance writing and editing, it became work I did for others, but wasn’t doing for myself.

 That is, until one night at a networking event. Someone asked me what I did, and when I answered I was a writer and editor, they asked, “Have you published anything?” This is a common question when you say you write. And I gave my standard response, “No, not yet. But I’m working on it.”

But inside, I knew that wasn’t true. Yes, I had three completed books on my hard drive, but I wasn’t actively working towards publishing any of them. What was wrong with me? I didn’t ever want to give that answer again without knowing I was working toward publication.

I went home after that, determined to pull Fear Unleashed up and start working on it again. It was better than I remembered. I had my last editor’s notes and began the work of completing those edits. I found a cover artist. I started to research the steps to self-publishing. Then a publishing date was set.

Now, here I sit with a completed novel that I love, just waiting for the map to be done. While I wait, I keep reading it over and over. I enjoy it so much. I can’t wait for other people to read it too.

Years ago, I heard the saying, “Art is never finished, only abandoned.” I fully understand that saying now. With each read, I find a little word to tweak here, or a phrase to drop there. At some point, I’m just going to have to abandon it and hope for the best.

The marketing portion of this project is my weak point. The good thing is that as a self-published author, I can keep pushing it until it finds an audience. Traditional publishers pretty much abandon a book, marketing-wise, after the release. I will keep trying to find people who enjoy it, and hope for a little luck.

As soon as I upload the book, I will order a proof of the paperback so I can read it and make sure the layout is good. I look forward to holding the book in my hands. And I can’t wait until the next time someone asks me if I’ve published anything. I can’t wait to answer, “Yes! The book is Fear Unleashed. You can get it at any bookstore or on Amazon.”

I’ll let those on my mailing list know when pre-orders can be placed. You can join the mailing list, read more about the history of this planet, and learn more about the characters there. You can even read the first chapter at fearunleashedbook.com.

Fear Unleashed will be available in paperback on August 6th. You can purchase it from Amazon, or go to any bookstore and request a copy there. The ebook will be available at a future date.

I can’t wait to know other people are holding my story in their hands, and going on a grand adventure with Opal and Will through familiar, yet unique landscapes and cultures. I hope the book’s readers come to love these characters and their world as much as I do.

A Day at Neverland

The first few years of my career in Hollywood were filled with experiences my teenage self would never have believed could happen to me. I don’t really talk about those experiences since moving back to the Midwest. There are so many more interesting things to talk about. But lately, one memory has been popping back up — my trips to Neverland Ranch to work with Michael Jackson. So I think today, I will share.

Like most girls in the late 70s, I had a huge crush on Michael Jackson. I played Off the Wall  until I knew every song, and had a dance routine worked out. I hopped around and sang into my curling iron for hours.

When I got a call from my boss in either late 1992 or early 1993, and heard I was being sent to Neverland Ranch, I remember jumping up and down and screaming with my roommate. 1992 was just before the accusations, so there was no dark cloud. Michael was close to being at his peak in fame. It was an unreal thought that this South Dakota farm girl was going to work with the Michael Jackson.

The crew met up and we drove in a caravan along hilly roads several hours north of LA. I found it amusing that going onto the Ranch, we had to cross cattle guards. I grew up in a place where cattle guards were the norm on entering a rural ranch, but it seemed strange that Michael Jackson’s ranch had the same feature. Once we drove onto the property, it became clear by the roving cattle, that those guards were actually practical.

Before being allowed onto the ranch, we had to sign all sorts of non-disclosure agreements. I have no idea if I’m violating them right now, but I would assume that since Michael is dead, the ranch is no more, and I have nothing negative to say, I’m not going to be sued.

We drove on a tree-lined, winding road past the house, and parked at the movie theater/dance studio. Just across the road was the amusement park. After unloading my gear and setting up the teleprompter, the crew guys who had been here before, showed us around. The theater was attached to the dance studio. We were told to help ourselves to any of the candy behind the counter. And I did. There were three types of chocolate bars and I took one of each, ate two, and still have one. I’m sure the chocolate is inedible by now, but I felt the need to keep one intact. I also kept a few of the napkins. In the picture on the left, there are some acorns from his tree resting on the napkin.

The theater had traditional seats, but in the back were hospital beds for kids who were too sick to sit up. Everything was designed with children in mind.

Michael wasn’t there, so the crew guys passed the time by telling stories about the tours they had gone on with him. Everyone who knew Michael spoke about him with such love. They also told me that once you worked with Michael, and he came to trust you, he would only work with you… thus, there would be a good chance I might go on his next tour with him if this worked out. My head was spinning.

When Michael still hadn’t shown up by noon, his personal chef prepared lunch for us. I seem to remember it was chicken in some sort of delicious sauce, veggies and rice pilaf. As the afternoon wore on, we began to venture further out. I wandered into the amusement park, looking at the merry-go-round and the ferris wheel. Out of nowhere a security guard approached me, and I was sure I was about to get thrown off the ranch. I tried to come up with a good explanation to my boss of how I’d gotten fired from this job. Instead the guard smiled and said, “Want me to start any of the rides up for you?” I mumbled, “No, that’s okay,” and rushed back to the theater.

Behind the dance studio was a ravine with a small zip line over it. Several of the crew had a blast going back and forth, but I was convinced I would fall and break something, so instead I crossed the suspension bridge and went to the massive oak tree nearby. It had a tire swing hanging from one limb, and a winding staircase around the trunk leading to a platform. On the platform was a pirate’s chest full of blunderbusses and swords.

It was winter, and by late afternoon it was starting to get dark. That’s when the real magic of Neverland Ranch appeared. The trees were wrapped with lights, turning the whole place into an enchanted fairyland. I sat on that tire swing, surrounded by light, marveling at the beauty, and the fact his electric bill was probably more than I made in a month.

At some point not long after, Michael finally showed up full of apologies for being delayed. Trust me, I don’t think one of us minded. It had been an amazing day.

In the early 90s, Michael still looked like Michael. He had started down the plastic surgery road, but hadn’t gone far. Even so, I found it uncomfortable to look at him… until he smiled. He had an amazing smile. I also found it strange how normal he was. He chatted with old friends on the crew, talking about the Lakers game the night before. He was just a guy, hanging with friends, talking about sports. Weird… yet not.

We did our work. He said goodnight, and we packed up our gear to make the long drive back to LA. I had to have been floating as I drove out through those light-covered trees. It was a job I will never forget.

I worked out there again, because true to the crew’s prediction, once Michael had let someone into his circle, he would rather limit his exposure. I remember very little from that job, other than it involved a satellite link with Jimmy Carter.

Then the abuse accusations were made, the Ranch was raided, and Michael had pictures of his privates taken. He wanted to make a public statement about this series of events, and once again I got the call to go to the ranch for this taped statement. However, not long after, I got another call. My boss explained that Michael would be uncomfortable with a woman running his teleprompter while discussing such delicate matters, and he asked that I be replaced. It was completely understandable.

Once things had been settled, he left the country to live abroad, and my opportunity to work with him was over. I have my thoughts on the accusations that ended his career for almost a decade, and if you ask me in person, I may even give them to you.

It was a most remarkable experience, and one that would have seemed wholly impossible to the kid shoveling manure in oversized overshoes while wearing hand-me-down clothes.

And yet it happened.

Isn’t life strange?