How I Wrote My First Book: "Retired Women- Laughing at Gravity"
I wrote “Retired Women–Laughing at Gravity,” in the glow of my first year of retirement. My husband of almost 30 years and I had “downsized” our lifestyle–leaving the acreage, horses, massive gardening, and expense of owning a “real” house, in favor of a double-wide mobile home in a senior mobile home park.
I was only 62 and felt young and free. At last I could fill my life with friends instead of time-limited psychotherapy clients. Be assured, working as a therapist was a perfect career for someone with my gregarious, curious and somewhat overly emotional personality, but no matter how close we became, my clients and I always had to say: “I’ll never forget you…but it’s time to move on.”
I wanted to share and care without a “termination” date–except, perhaps, the date of our departure from “God’s Waiting Room”, as senior mobile home parks are sometimes called.
My goal was simply to write a book from start to finish. Like many wanna-be writers, I had started many books–nonfiction and fiction–only to have them dribble away into oblivion. This book would be different. It would have a beginning and an end. It would have ten chapters. It would have a message.
I had no intention of publishing it as a “real” book–of course not! How silly even to think of such a thing.
As I write this summary of how my first little book was conceived, it’s almost as though I could write another entire book about how I wrote “Retired Women Laughing at Gravity!” There so much to share. There might be some wanna-be writers out there actually interested in how I read a bit of Erma Bombeck and decided to emulate her. A puzzled reader/writer might be consumed with curiousity about how I discovered self-publishing and put my financial faith in the self-publishing company “I-Universe” to help make my dream come true.
I’m still amazed when readers tell me they “love” my book. Of course, I love it too. And I love the women who laugh on the pages. But, believe me, I never thought I would write a second book.
How I Wrote My Second Book: "The Language of Italia"
One evening in 2011, I sat on my bed, my computer on my lap, with my Kleenex close at hand to wipe my tears and blow my nose. My heart was shattered!
He left me. My husband of 30 years. The guy I cleaned up after, forgave for not being perfect, and loved from the bottom of my heart. The one marriage I was sure would last, just went up in smoke! I had lost the foundation of my happiness.
I know–that’s going too far. Even then, in my darkest hour, I knew that I, alone, was the foundation of my happiness.
So, what to do? How to reclaim myself? “Oh well,” I thought, “why not Google the question?”
God moves in mysterious ways. Surrounded by Kleenex, somehow my googling led to my second book: “The Language of Italia–a True Adventure”.
People ask, “Why Italy?”
My answer? “My best guess is–I chose to obsess about Italy and the Italian language because I had read so many classic novels set in Italy. All I know is: that night, drenched in tears and insomnia, I fell in love–deeply in love–with a culture and a language.
Now, as I write this eleven years later, I’ve made three trips to Italy; I’ve studied the Italian language for years online with Duo Lingo and Babbel; I’ve made precious new girlfriends who are fluent in Italian; and I’ve written a book chronicling an adventure designed to rediscover my identity, my courage, and my zest for life–in other words, to rebuild the foundation of my happiness.
“The Language of Italia–a True Adventure” reveals my true self–timid in so many ways, yet infused with a daring that amazes even me.
How I wrote my third book: "Poetry for Women Without Men"
A short time before I began writing poems for my third book: “Poetry for Women Without Men,” someone at my writing group asked what I was working on and I said, “Nothing, actually. My creativity seems to be fallow.”
I was waiting. I’ve learned through experience–I will write again. To never write another word might, actually, be a relief. But it will never happen. Eventually, some impression, or experience, or something another writer has written, will fill my head and heart and my thoughts and feelings will just come tumbling out on paper.
I’ve played around with poetry in the past, but to write a book of poetry was the farthest thing from my mind. Suddenly, poetry appeared–in my sleep, when I took my morning walk, interrupting a Netflix experience.
When I write, my audience seems to be sitting there, waiting. In the case of “Poetry for Women Without Men,” my audience was comprised of the many beautiful, creative, brave, mature, single women who fill my life these days. Of course, there was no guarantee that the women I know who live without the love and companionship of a man would relate to my poetry.
The only guarantee was that I would feel so good when the poems were tucked safely into a little book with a great title and a beautiful cover, and I was ready to ask myself: “What’s next?”