March 13, 2011
Anne Geddes photo copyrightedI still don't exactly have a topic not unless a main character named Jane who mysteriously lands on an island named Nombubu without her memory counts? I thought not.
Everyone has to start somewhere. Just start.
Everyone has to start somewhere. Just start.
My childhood from age 2 when my name was Kelly? Moving on.
A famous NY Times, best selling author who has since had her books translated into film, divulged, "Just Write!" Along with a few other tips, on how to get started with your novel.
Meanwhile, I have 3, started.
I do feel as though I've uncovered my talent, which I've been searching for all my life. What a relief, whatever would I do without my talent. What would Tinkerbell say?
All my life I've been wanting a career and I've finally found one.
It's exhilarating despite its many obstacles when you've finally found what you've been looking for.
Like that lost set of keys, or lucky pair of panties.
You are whole again and can move on to the next phase of your life or moment.
As a child I remember copying other people's romantic poetry and stories from the greats to see what it felt like to mark the world with brilliance.
My high school English teacher loved me. Mr. Fidel, he called me, "my girl" and showed me how to start my paragraphs with words other than I and my, and how to be fearless in my writing and of a certain authority with your words. He'd give "BIG SQUIRT" every time administration in the school bothered him about one thing or another and Mrs. Rossi from elementary school made up songs so I could remember grammar..grammer?? its grammar right?
In college my first A was on a paper I wrote about Androgyny, my second on Schizophrenia.
Then it was time to pay the bills and student loans so I started with a broadcast writing gig for television and radio.
Writing nothing but news for ten hours daily, my fingers only stopped typing when the towers fell on 911, as did the news and the world for that matter, and in a small sense, so did I.
From my 129th street apartment, while those in my main office on 42nd st. watched out the window in horror as two planes crashed into the buildings, which graced their view across the street, the World Trade Center towers fell, and the city and the news just stopped.
The restless city, ceased all movement for a very long time.
The eye witnesses wondered if they were next as did a great friend, while he watched on the Brooklyn bridge, and saw it all from a long shot view.
Overly courageous, full of that NY energy, not yet realizing the full velocity of what took place in my untouchable town, I went down to help and was stuck downtown for hours that day, wondering if I'd ever get out.
It was at this point, broadcast writing began to become a thing of the past for my words.
Finally, I saw my name in print, with a piece of myself, in a glossy magazine article. I stroked it for days, and I was hooked on that feeling. I was touching peoples lives, reaching them with the written word and my visions with photographs.
Like showing the world what you see through your eyes and hear through your ears.
Since then, I've written for newspapers, blogs and films. My writing for a NY Times publication brought an offer to go to Brazil and run a couture fashion program that would save poor neighborhoods and feed the starving area four times daily. I topped the charts on a Canadian website, Orato, for a first person story, which took painstaking tears to write.
How do you go from being a photojournalist to a novelist?
I've been studying under an NYU professor, while he critiques my blogs. I'm sure he'd shutter at my rambling on this one. Thanks for paying me Peter, when I should have been paying you. He meanwhile is gracing the world with his award winning films to date.
Doing as I've always done, to push forward and publish a book I feel is worthy; feels like walking out into your neighborhood stark naked.
With the use of my savvy Manhattan education, that city is froth with a knowledge the finest of Universities could not package. Harnessing what I recall from my college education, which my mother continues to remind me she paid for, and what am I doing with it, while my grandmother reminds me, I can't have all of my success when I'm dead.
Holding firm to self taught, hard knock research to bring something I can't refuse but bring, and you can't refuse to read.
Carrying me forward, reading for inspiration and direction, running, meditating, practicing on perfecting my yoga and continuing to harness all that I am.
My current read is about a graduate student now professor not getting published, I mean at all, anywhere, and her frisky roommate grabbing all the good glory with her ambitious, motivated, athletic, energetic, self-persistence. She doesn't leave the house before jogging five miles and writing two pages. "Amy Inspired" by Bethany Pierce.
For more on my Good Reads from the past see: http://www.goodreads.com/review/list/4718847-sarah-k?shelf=read