Anything worth doing is worth doing well…
Oh, I think I just broke out in parental hives. Deciding to go for it and publish has been exciting, terrifying,exhausting, and exhilarating. Nothing has gone as I expected it to, and that’s okay.
It’s resulted in a wealth of self-knowledge. For instance, I hate making my own cover art. The one on my book at the moment was made by an author friend, Christa Maurice.
My attempts were pathetic. It’s just not my thing. Without Christa, the books would be naked. I’m not doing that anymore.
Meanwhile, it’s time to set to work seriously on the third book in my series, Home from the Hill. The last story is the one I’ve been looking forward to from the beginning. Luca Brine, who you may have met in Home is the Sailor, is in charge of the Carry Bell and flying her into trouble like she’s never seen before or will again.
I’m practically giddy. This book, I just want to be writing all the time. It’s a movie in my head, but I can’t turn it off, even if I wanted to. My only regret is that it took me this long to just do this. Just write and let it go.
Damn the torpedoes, and full speed ahead!
By the way, I thought I’d share a not-so-well-kept secret today. My novels are, somewhat, unoriginal in their titles because I named them from a poem, and old one, but there’s more to this story. That poem is all wrapped up in a childhood memory.
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you gave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
As a young girl, my sister and I watched old movies. We loved them all; Cary Grant, John Wayne, The Topper Mysteries, musicals, dramas. Nothing out of all those old films stood out like John Wayne’s Wings as Eagles. Of all the films, that was the one that stuck in my mind.
Spig (Wayne) struts happily into his house on leave to an exhausted and angry Maureen O’hara, and right into a domestic. He jokingly and brazenly shouts, “Home is the sailor, home from the sea, and the hunter is home from the hill”. It stuck in my mind. For the rest of my life, the epitome of manhood would be John Wayne spouting heroic poetry.
I think it’s why I would rather be writing than do almost anything else on Earth because of that thrill of a big man using big words to explain ideas on life, marriage, failure and strength that I could barely understand at that age. I understand them all now. It’s a complicated, harsh mess, is marriage, romance and life in general, but, underneath it all, the secret is there in those old movies of the sea.
Damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead!