Introducing Russ

Hey Y’all,

I haven’t known Jana terribly long – graced by meeting her at a career fair at Athens State University where I was representing The University of North Alabama.  Either way, I’m thrilled to pieces she asked me to be a guest writer for her blog.  But maybe I’ve picked up in the middle of a conversation we haven’t even started.  Allow me to introduce myself.  

I am Russ Darracott – an Old Fashioned Southern Gentleman trapped in a 25 year old body in the wrong generation altogether.  I’m a hopeless romantic who moves at two speeds (slow and stop) and a firm believer in Southern hospitality.  If someone is uncomfortable around me – I’ve failed at my job as a Southerner.  If I neglect to open a door for another person, smile at a passerby, or wear white after Labor Day, I’ve failed at my job as a Southerner.  If guests leave a party I’m hosting after only two hours (and God forbid hungry), I’ve failed miserably at my job as a Southerner.

I come from a family of healthy eaters (I’ll let you draw your own conclusions) who know how to throw a party.  Our party typically begins at noon and doesn’t end until midnight.  No one leaves hungry (one typically leaves with a notch taken out of his or her belt) or without telling at least one good story.  Cards begin around sevenish and conclude at midnight…or until your pockets, your wife’s purse, and your car is empty of all spare change (we aren’t hardcore gamblers….we have a quarter limit on all bets.)  I’ve lived in the same small town in the same house and attended the same Baptist church my whole life.  It is a town where the sweet tea and gossip flow freely…most of the residents know the dish about you before you do.  If you have nothing to hide, it is a wonderful place – if you have something to hide, we welcome you…and your scandalous stories.

And writing is my passion, well hobby more or less.  My truest passion is taking old things and making them new again. I’m restoring my grandmother’s old home and furnishing it with nothing but antiques.  Maybe it is because I believe everything deserves a second chance.  Maybe it is because I’m cheap. Or maybe it is because I long to live in a past I never got to see…only read about and hear about through stories passed from generation to generation. My next greatest passion is as an outdoorsman.  Whether it be fishing, hiking, or just mowing my grass I’m much more at home out of doors rather than being cooped up inside.  I don’t know how many passions one person is allowed to have, but writing would follow after that (no, I take that back…it would follow after cars…I’m a car collector so that is definitely a passion.)  So I say writing is a passion, but it may fall more in the hobby category.

I don’t believe writing is this “spectacular gift of divine intervention” awarded to only a select few people.  I believe it is hard work. And I believe it is the undying belief that you as a person have a story that is worth sharing and worth being told.  Writing isn’t a concept that is only mastered by those who are master linguists.  Writing is mastered by those who are great story tellers.  A great story teller is a person that can take cold, black and white words and transport a reader to a land full of color and bold characters whether they be people who could pass as neighbors, ancestors of a past long gone by, or someone who would be a perfect best friend from a land which only a child could dream.

I write the former…stories of the South and of characters who I wish were true to life friends instead of living only in my imagination.  But they aren’t always fictitious…the best stories come from what you know.  I know Southerners.  I know hospitality, gossip, and scandal.  No offense to our Northern counterparts (or anyone who may read this above the Mason-Dixon Line), but the only place a Yankee (Good Lord, but does that word leave a bitter taste in my mouth) will ever have in any story of mine is as a villain who plays against the good nature of a Southerner.

So writing isn’t a miraculous gift – it is a passion to write what you know and stories worth being told.  I truly believe each person may not write – but every person can tell a story (or at least Southerners can).  So write what you know.  Don’t keep those stories to yourself.  There is an old saying that every time a person dies, a library burns down…and I believe that with all my heart.  Every person and every thing has a story worth being told – so tell it. (Just remember to change the names to protect the innocent.)

I’ve enjoyed our time together.  I hope I’ll be invited back.

Warm Southern Days,

Russ

You can read Russ' blog "This Old Southern House" at http://thisoldsouthernhouse.blogspot.com/.

Hopefully, I can convince Russ to come back and give us a teaser of his new novel Moonlight Serenade.  I am in the process of reading it and can't wait to finish!  Thanks, Russ, for gracing us with your presence at "The Writers' Block."

-JGP

Holy Expletive, Batman!

So, (don't you love how I start every post with "so?"  It's kind of my thing.)

SO, I was checking my email a few minutes ago, weeding through the oh so many rejection emails I receive a day, when I opened once that said this:


Dear Jana,

Many thanks for getting in touch with The Blair Partnership.

We look forward to reading your work.  Please submit your manuscript when you feel it is one hundred per cent complete as this way we will be able to make our best assessment of it.

Best wishes,

The Blair Partnership

I got excited.  It's always exciting when someone requests your stuff.  But then I sat there trying to figure out which agency this is because I've contacted like 70.

Blair Partnership...Blair Partnership... I sat and thought for a few minutes.  Then I looked at the address: London.

You ready for this?  It's J.K. Freakin' Rowling's AGENCY!!!

Are they serious?!?!  They want my stuff?  Like REALLY?!  I am still shaking from excitment and nervousness.  I got to get this mug finished like ASAP!

I realize there is a one in a million chance that they will actually want to sign my book, but STILL.  This has given me a major confidence boost.  And a swift kick in the butt to get moving!

So, as of right now, I will be writing non-stop for the next who knows how long, and I would REALLY appreciate your prayers :)

SO EXCITED!!!

-JGP

Excitement

*            TWILIGHT AND JANE EYRE SPOILER ALERT            *

(Just in case you haven't read them and evenutally want to.  I hate being spoiled, so I thought I'd give a heads up.)

So, I started jotting down my little idea yesterday, and today I've been elborating on it because my computer software at work has decided to have a 'tude with me today--seriously, like every other day, it does not work.

I am so excited about this new book.  It has just been a fun idea of mine that I've had for years.  I'm not huge into the vampire thing.  I loved the Twilight books (except the last one--don't work up to some huge fight scene and then not have it, k?  And don't even get me started on the movies and Kristin Stewart now being the most paid actress in Hollywood....)  I've never really wanted to jump on the vampire crazy train, so that's why I never put words to my little idea until yesterday.

To me, it's just a fun project to work on while I figure out where Maggie's book is going.  I don't think I will ever pursue publishing it or anything, but I am having so much fun researching for it.  It's set in New Orleans, which I find to be one of the most mysterious, creepiest, coolest cities in America, and many of the characters are of Cajun descent or Lousiana Creole.

In college I had a "History of the English Language" class, and we discussed Pidgin, which I believe is where the Creole language originated--from the West Africa and Carribean slave trade (don't quote me on that; it's been years since I've had that class, but I think that's where it came from.)  And I also read The Wide Sargasso Sea in my Lit Crit class which is a kind of prequel to Jane Eyre (very interesting book anyone who is a Jane Eyre fan should read.)  It takes place in the Carribean and tells the story of Mr. Rochester's crazy, Creole, attic wife.  I love knowing both sides of the story, so I'm glad someone decided to elaborate on hers.  But don't even get me started on that love triangle and how I never liked Rochester and think Jane could've done better....

I really don't want this to be a vampire novel that glorify's vampires.  I've thought about having some kind of vampire love interest, because it seems like that would be the natural course for the book, but I don't like vampires.  I was Team Jacob.  I didn't trust the vampires.  While reading the Twilight books, I kept waiting for Edward to turn on Bella and attack her.  I think this goes back to an episode of "Are You Afraid of The Dark" I watched when I was like 7 and parts of "Interview With a Vampire" I saw when I was 10 which seriously scarred me for life.  I slept with my sheets pulled up around my neck for years.   Bottom line, vampires are not good or nice or make great husbands.  They are bad, and I don't like them.

So, to recap, having fun researching for the new book, Kristen Stewart has the personality of notebook paper, you should read Wide Sargasso Sea, and I don't like vampires.

-JGP

Boredom and A New Idea

Here's what I did for the past 30 minutes.  I've had this idea in my head for a while, and decided to get some of it out:

            I am not a vampire.

            This is something I tell myself often.  Whenever I can hear someone’s heart beating in the next room.  When I can spot a fallen nickel from 10 yards away.  When I have the urge to snarl at someone who made me angry.  I am not a vampire, and I refuse to be called one.

            My story is complicated, and it starts before my birth.

            My mother was an orphan.  She spent her life being bounced around from foster family to foster family.  Some not so bad, others not so great, but her last foster family was the worst.  When she was placed with a seemingly perfect couple at age 15, she thought that just maybe it would work out this time.  To her surprise, her foster mother turned into a raging alcoholic behind closed doors, and for good reason, as she lived with a physically and sexually abusive psychopath that brought my mother’s not so great life into a new level of hell.

            She suffered through the first few months, bravely taking the constant abuse, but one night, shortly after her sixteenth birthday, when the man and woman got into an alcohol infused fight that eventually led to the psychopath setting fire to the kitchen, she left.  In the midst of the commotion she packed her bags and made her way out her upstairs window and down the fire escape and into the streets of New Orleans.

            She started out as a waitress/stripper, then eventually started selling her body for top dollar.  It wasn’t ideal by any means, but at least now she was the one that held control of her own body, or so she felt.  For two years she lived the life of a high-priced street whore at night, and numbed the pain with drugs and alcohol during the day. 

When she was 18, she became pregnant with me—ending her night life.  She got away with it for a while, but she could only hide me for so long.  Her pimp kicked her out of her apartment, so she was forced to take shelter with the homeless addicts in a basement on 5^th.

When she was about six months pregnant with me, she was afraid of losing me to starvation.  She went down the alleys behind the strip and looked for restaurants who could spare some leftovers, expired goods, anything to get her by.  She built a good relationship with a young, Cajun restaurant owner, Lisette.  Lisette would always put her leftovers aside for my mom, and every evening she would come by.  Lisette took pity on my mom.  She helped her sober up and offered her a job waiting tables at the restaurant.  Things were finally starting to look better, but it didn’t last long….

One night while mom was taking the trash out back, she was met by a tall, handsome man with jet black hair and dark coal eyes.  His appearance was pleasing, but his aura menacing.  He lunged at my mother and silenced her before she had the chance to scream.

Lisette noticed she hadn’t seen my mother for some time, so she went out back to check on her, and that’s when she found my mother—neck mutilated, body drained of blood, cold, and lifeless.  Almost.  Lisette saw movement in my mother’s belly.  She went into labor in the midst of her attack, and I was struggling to get out.  Lisette ran to the kitchen to grab alcohol and a knife and in the back alley, performed my C-section.  She got to me just in time.  I was blue, suffering from affixation, nearly dead.  She revived me, cleaned me, and brought me in.  She called some of her less than respectable regulars to come clean up the mess, and they dumped my mother’s body into Lake Pontchartrain.  After all, it was New Orleans.  Who cared about the nobody whore who was killed in Leftover Alley.

Aunt Lisette, as I know her now, raised me as her own.  She was a hero for taking in the abandoned baby left in the trash behind her restaurant.  Only she and I know the real story, and why I am the way I am.

Mom was attacked by a vampire.  She was drained of blood.  I was filled with venom.  Because of my newborn age, my size, and my current state, I wasn’t turned by the attack.  But I was changed.

My name is Anika, and I am not a vampire.

Thoughts?
-JGP

I Got One!

I got my first snarky response from an agent:

Hi Jana,

I just glanced at this since I am closed to queries, but you should know that it is a big faux pas to query incomplete work. It must be finished (and revised!) before you query. Many agents request quickly and you're expected to send it within a day or three. 

M

I sent her an email back explaining my situation:

 

M,

Hi.  I know some agencies require the manuscript to be completed, but I've had several agencies request my work knowing that it is incomplete.  I would never submit an unfinished work to a publisher, but I am looking for an agent that wants to be part of the writing process and help me develop my story.  I apologize for inconveniencing you.

-JGP

 

 

I realize that a lot of agencies won't request anything from me because my work isn't complete, but I'm looking for assistance.  A small little agency that wants to develop me. I realize that may be a tall order, but I think that person is out there, and in the mean time, I will continue to work on my stories and characters. 

 

Besides, I've never been known to do things conventionally anyway. ;)

 

-JGP

Noah's Song

This is a song I wrote for my nephew, Noah, who passed away from complications of brain cancer on May 18, 2012.  I will always love you, and you will always be my hero, sweet boy.

You can see his memorial on http://www.prayfornoah.com/.

The Bravest Boy That Ever Lived (Noah's Song)

We are never promised tomorrow.

You always lived for today.

Running through the valley

With a smile on your face

Arms open wide

Waiting to embrace

Whatever life God gave you,

And you did it with grace.

I can only hope that one day

I can be that brave.

When I feel like giving up,

When I feel like giving in,

And it seems like the battle I cannot win,

When I think I’m losing strength,

I give it all that I can give,

Because I remember who I am

To the bravest boy that ever lived.

I always worry for what’s to come.

You took one day at a time.

Fighting this battle

While having the time of your life.

Ready for anything,

You kept running the race.

You pushed fear aside,

And laughed in the enemy’s face.

When I feel like giving up,

When I feel like giving in,

And it seems like the battle I cannot win,

When I think I’m losing strength,

I give it all that I can give,

Because I remember who I am

To the bravest boy that ever lived.

And you gave everything you had

With every ounce of strength you had left,

Loving, and hoping, and fighting,

Until your last breath.

So when I feel like giving up,

And when I feel like giving in,

And it seems like the battle I cannot win,

When I think I’m losing strength,

I give it all that I can give,

Because I remember who I am

To the bravest boy that ever lived.

Because you never gave up.

You never gave in.

You never lost the battle.

Victory was yours in the end.

You never lost your strength.

You gave it all that you could give,

Because you knew who you were

To the bravest Man that ever lived.