Getting Ready to Create a Book

The path to publishing opened widely when Amazon created the Kindle book. Anyone with a tablet or computer can publish an e-book in 2014.

But, it still feels overwhelming to most first-time book writers. Where do I begin? How do I start? What should the title be? What is the best title? Who would want to read it? How many pages is too many, not enough, just right? 

Would anybody even care? What if it makes me look stupid? What if I get a horrible review? What will my friends think? 

Most want to share their experiences or write a novel, maybe a children's book or set of poems. Nonetheless, the struggle confronts us. 

Where do we begin?  I believe sets of poems distinguish themselves as intrinsically easier than novels, kid stories or memoirs. One poem at a time. 

For book projects, the angst comes in the doing and potential for judgment. We look at the behemoth, freeze ... and decide to do the dishes or watch a movie. Maybe doing the taxes doesn't feel like such a big deal after all. 

It is understandable that I allowed myself to divert into books about writing memoirs. It is understandable that I said to myself, "It is in the best interest of my family to study the repercussions of writing memoir including people who still live." But truly, I own no excuse, no pardon for my empty page. 

Next: The Blessing of Being Bossed

Can We Say, "Fail by Halloween?"

Writing is hard.
Ah, there is that passive verb again... is.  And again!  Writing is. There is.
Okay, so I am going to turn off my inner censor. There. That's better ...

"This book is gonna suck," I said to myself after a few weeks of pondering and struggling with a book I started writing. I foresaw the book I intended. It would find home on the bottom shelf.

But, I get this itch, and it never goes away. I needed this book in the last 1980s, early '90s. I couldn't figure out how to start, how to write it, the tone, the words, the voice, the ... and that lack of focus leads to boring, blah books.

"A journalism degree is valuable no matter what other education you pursue in the future because all employers want people who can communicate effectively," said Marianne Odom, media communications department chair at San Antonio College. Wise words said with a twinkle in her eye. So, I changed my major from business to journalism in the summer of 2011.

Can we say, "Fail by Halloween?" The business classes felt rather easy and convinced me I could carry a full load. I signed up for 13 credits in the "J school" and got my behind kicked. I felt like an engineering student using the alphabet instead of algebra. A student editor shredded my first story. Rewritten, the professor shredded my first story again. It went through five rewrites before it went to press in the paper on campus.

In constant deadline panic, I grew. It felt weird knowing my homework lived in the public's reach. Tens of thousands of copies sorted out to campuses across San Antonio got the attention of faculty, students, TV stations and local four-year schools. he vulnerability created a fearlessness. Picking up the phone, knocking on doors, asking questions on sidewalks - these prerequisites worked into my daily life.

I stumbled into some amazing people by just asking. Common folks who turned out to be amazing citizens and quiet fighters excited me the most. I love telling their stories. In fact, I completed the program as Distinguished Graduate for Journalism and a member of Phi Theta Kappa. Graduation Day in May 2014 felt incredible. Family in the bleachers made it even better.

The action required to photograph, document, verify twice, report, and edit for a weekly print newspaper with a daily website gave me as much joy as the aha moments of the classes and people themselves. I loved seeing the newspapers line up along the bulletin boards as we polished off another issue. We did good work. Our team won several awards.

Still, writing is hard.

Thanks for reading.

Next: Getting ready to create a book.

Silence Can - An Exercise in Verbs

Silence can never be misquoted.
Silence never misquotes.

Silence can never be heard.
Silence misses being heard.

Silence can be cowardice.
Silence hides from conflict.

Silence can be brave.
Silence bravely faces threat.

Silence can be hateful.
Silence hates.

Silence can be kind.
Silence loves.

Silence can be a full and complete expression of beauty.
Silence sings of beauty.

Silence can be a breath cut short.
Silence steals the singer's heart.

Silence can be alive in the living.
Silence lives now.

Silence can be an echo of death.
Silence echos death.

Silence can cure.
Silence cures.

Silence can kill.
Silence kills.

Silence can be a voice stolen.
Silence shuts up the soul.

Silence can be God's greatest gift.
Silence grants the unexpected treasure.

Silence can be vacant.
Silence vacates.

Silence can fill the spaces between tone and reverb, and rapture an entire auditorium of souls so that they move and feel as one.

Silence inspires an audience as it dances between the notes and tones of musicians and singers.

Silence is a gift for the young who do not wish it, and a wish for the old who no longer have it!
Silence changes as we age.

Silence, the monk's discipline and reverie.
Silence chastens and enlightens.

Sh, now.
Shhhhhhhh ...

Happy Thoughts

Today, news channels reported actor and beloved entertainer Robin Williams  passed away, secondary to an apparent suicide brought on by severe depression.

This evening, my youngest son and I watched "Hook."  Directed by Steven Spielberg, this 1991 film is one of my top three favorite movies of all time. It captures the worst of adulthood and the best of childhood, wraps it up with imagination, silliness, adventure and joy, then delivers hope with a moral to remember what is important about being alive.

My son, Mason and I sat together on the sofa and laughed after the movie finished. The joy of the characters filled our souls and we just sat there and laughed with this strange kind of full joyful peace. Truly, it was hard to stop smiling and laughing!

More than six feet long on the sofa next to me, Mason came into this world at just over six pounds in 1993, small enough to lay out on my lap. By the time Mason arrived, the lesson of "Hook" made its impression on my soul. Happy thoughts. Remember happy thoughts. Remember to play. Remember, intentionally remember the sweet stuff, the laughter, the good feelings. Remember people matter most. Love matters most.

In the movie, Peter Pan forgot how to fly. His situation demanded that he practice happy thoughts again! Now! Forced into being happy. What an idea.

One could say his happy thought resembles what business people or professional coaches call a "Big Why": a cause, a mission, a focused and articulated reason behind what someone does.

At 16 or 17, not sure when, I promised myself that I would "rise above the ashes." I set my mind, heart and soul to not repeating the chaos and need of growing-years experiences in my adult life. No, whatever the price, it would not pass through me to the next generation. This decision became my primary motivating drive for the next three decades.

Then I realized I missed something. Targeting what I did not want, I forgot to aim at what I did want. I did not have a "happy thought" as part of my personal mission. Before Mason's birth, I learned to hold onto good memories, sweet moments and savor them, keep them in my pocket and pull them out when I needed to get through difficult times or simply enjoy the good times again. But, this simple practice did not influence my actions and relationships enough to create more positive results for my mission.

Now, with my sons all grown, I see. Winning the fight, I gathered only half of the treasure.

Another decade rises with the sun tomorrow. The treasure waits. It calls an invitation with exquisite patience.

Yes. I'm on my way.

I pray Williams found his happy thoughts again, where ever he is.

Practice Makes Perfect

While waiting at the doctor's office one day about five or ten years ago, I considered how doctors work and the medical industry. I remembered industry phrases about how doctors hang a shingle and "open their practice." Suddenly I realized, "He is practicing on me!"

Doctors and lawyers practice, and we pay them "expert" wages for their exploration and learning ... on us. These professionals constantly learn and study, observe and state what they know best, so far. We believe them, usually.

So, why can't we extend the same to ourselves? We could do well with that kind of liberality and breathing room, that kind of expansive freedom.

Maybe we don't have to have "perfect" lives. Maybe it is the practice of living that makes it perfect, not the actual perfection of it.

If good doctors and lawyers can't accept their own failures, what then?

This site communicates around the idea that "Practice Makes Perfect" in real, everyday living. Yes, it applies to football and piano lessons.
It also applies to being a parent, I think. This value can extend into career, art, family, and maybe it would be really helpful if people extended it into faith or religion, which are two separate subjects for many.