That Saturday at Mendorff's

I had "soft" views re: gun control when I started writing That Saturday at Mendorff's (about an Atlanta bookstore shooting). All I knew was that a disturbed young man had walked into a movie theater and committed an atrocity. 

I didn't write Mendorff's to be an anti-gun ownership tome. I wrote it because the ordinary world is filled with extraordinary stories: I wanted to probe deeper into who the bookstore victims had been before the incident, and who they became as a result of it. There's the question of disrupted lives, broken relationships, and physical injuries, to say nothing of emotional trauma. That process continues long after physical scars have healed. Within a fictional context, I also wanted to consider the fallout of the shooter's terrible decision on his loved ones left behind, the "designated monsters" who knew him but could not thwart his plans. 

In my work, I had conversations with a retired homicide detective, and an ER/trauma unit doctor who was interning at a Littleton, CO, hospital the day of the Columbine shootings. I visited her ER trauma unit, watched them intubate the collapsed lung of a shooting victim, and read psychological profiles on what goes into the making of a rampage killer.

But this research, the news stories — all come back to the same bottom line: This is not getting better for us, whether we advocate for gun safety or gun ownership. We're polarizing on the issue (bickering on social media) while the NRA owns the discussion, with political swag going to self-serving politicians to look the other way, or to support NRA and GOA interests. 

Right now a 9-year-old girl faces years of trauma counseling for accidentally killing a man with an Uzi. What the hell are we becoming?

Whether you believe in gun safety or gun ownership, write your elected leaders and hold their feet to the fire based on what you believe. They need to hear from more of us. Reinforce that this is a democracy and not a question of fealty to special interest groups. #‎notonemore

The ever-brilliant Mike Luckovich nails it again with a single image.

The tools and process of a famous writer: John Grisham

For the past couple years I've been trying to professionalize my writing habits, and rearranging my life to make a lot more time for writing. Cutting out TV has helped: unless I'm with someone else, I'm highly selective about what I'll watch. I'm still trying to reach a goal of completing a first draft within a season (three months).

I write better when I start in longhand. I feel closer to the challenges of each scene, and typing it up affords a second layer of writing. There are notebooks for each book project, so the initial drafts go in there, and I prefer gel pens. And perhaps because I was a single mom, over the years I'd learned to write whenever the opportunity presented itself: in the carpool line, waiting for my kid; in a bookstore between client meetings; on the plane during business and personal travel. (My 10th grade English teacher told me a long time ago, "You're able to write at the drop of a hat.")

Back in the early 80s, John Grisham was a defense attorney. One day he overheard some people talking about a brutal case, the rape of a young black girl, and he started wondering what would happen if her father shot and killed her assailants. It took him three years to write A Time to Kill, and he had 900 pages of manuscript, 300 of which had to be eliminated before publication. Since then, he's started every book project with an extensive outline — two paragraphs of synopsis for each chapter. "Sometimes the outline is more painful than the actual draft," he told one interviewer, "but it makes the book a lot easier to write."

Here's what I learned about Grisham's other writing habits:

•  He writes one book per year, usually from August to November, drafting 6 AM to noon, five days a week. And he likes to sit in the same spot, the same table and chair, with the same coffee cup and brand of coffee (sorry, didn't get that). He used the same computer for years until it finally gave out.

•  He used to analyze great books to understand their structures and plot movement. When you write a suspense thriller, he believes, you have to keep the pages turning rapidly, so sometimes you wind up foregoing details such as food, music, clothing descriptions.

•  He's very disciplined. When he was still practicing law, if he had to get up at 4 AM to get in two hours' writing before going to work, he'd get up at 4. If he had a half hour to an hour between cases, he'd hide in a law library to work on his book. (He did go through a period when he was broke, during which he sat writing at a desk between the washer and dryer of his family's utility room).

His favorite writers are John Steinbeck, Mark Twain, Pat Conroy, and John Le Carre. Grisham's bottom line? 

"Write at least one page every day, without fail. If you’re trying to write a book, and you’re not writing at least one page a day, then the book is not going to get written." 

Trusting the open road

In my work life there are clear gains to thinking and acting proactively — for example, showing early design ideas to the printer can anticipate or thwart production problems. It also helps to follow schedules and process protocols.

But in writing fiction, for the past few years I've been rediscovering an aspect of creativity that gets short shrift, an unsung hero I met in art school but hadn't seen much of in the years of production planning. 

And that is to trust in emergence, the notion that answers and solutions will evolve out of the shadows and clouds and mists.

You write with a synopsis or plot outline. You plan each scene to carry the plot forward to a new wrinkle, a fresh struggle, but you want it to be a dynamic process built with a sense of "spontaneous order." If you keep the process open and porous, new ideas and variations will often present themselves despite best-laid plans. Think of it as making a trip, marking Point A to Point B, but learning the detours enrich the journey far more than speeding forward, blinders up, towards the destination itself. 

The world is filled with triggers to emergence: lyrics of a song overheard on the radio from the car next to you in traffic ... a TV character who has nothing to do with your book ... a random comment made by a friend or colleague .... 

The point is, if you keep an open mind, your radar will catch it, assess it, alchemize it.

You can also trust your characters. Last week I wrote a scene between a mother and daughter with a particular end goal in mind (Point A to B), but as their conversation developed (with the mother remarking upon some trees that remind her of her childhood), fresh questions came up that are natural to each character. ("Who are your people?" the daughter asks her mom. "Why don't you ever speak of them?") Suddenly both characters have an issue and a depth that I couldn't have planned when blocking out the synopsis.

So when I feel stymied — "How the hell is this book going to end?!" — nowadays I'm learning not to fret so much. Not all answers appear at once, but if you're doing your job, you're beckoning them towards you. And you only have enough energy for today's questions. Keep an open mind, don't overthink the problems, and inevitably the answers do emerge, like gold doubloons uncovered by receding ocean waves. They've been there all along, like buried treasure. And usually they're better than anything you could've planned.

Joe's Best Story, Part 2

Last week I saw that barista Joe, the one I told you about, the one whose story had been lost by the publisher who lived down his street.

Anyway, I admitted to eavesdropping on that conversation and urged him to not give up on his story. He grinned but shook his head: "I just lost all inspiration when the story was lost, and I don't know when I'll find the time. I work here during the day but at night I run my own online record label."

Me: "So you're staying creative, you're doing stuff."

Joe: "Yes, I am, but I just don't know if I can write it again."

Me: "Sure you can. That man lost your manuscript, but your idea's still in your head. You can do anything you want."

And then I didn't think any more about it.

The coffeeshop this morning was interesting: a handful of us are recognizing each other because we're predawn regulars, at least three of us writing fiction, the rest just early risers, one gentleman a diarist with beautiful calligraphic handwriting.  

Six-foot-seven and Five-foot-two asked me, "How many pages today?" and I said, "800 words, and hopefully they're not crap!" 

Customers murmured to each other in line, "Can you believe what happened?" They meant Robin Williams. It's like an earthquake that shook everything. 

Out of the blue, I see Joe, who tells me, "Hey, Miz Lucy, I was hoping to run into you today because I took your advice. I went and got a cheap notebook and I've written down everything I can remember about that story I wrote when I was a kid." 

Me: "Seriously?" 

Joe: "Yup. I'm going to keep working on it." 

Well, he made my week. The week has been made.

About the image: Howard Schultz made  a speech once where he recalled his father-in-law taking him for a walk with some well-meaning advice: maybe it was time to start looking for a real job and give up on "this coffee thing." And JK Rowling's manuscript was rejected so many times, the UK literary agency that did pick it up was so tiny, it was housed above a Chinese restaurant.

America's Sweetheart

My Facebook news feed is a flood, and every wave carries a picture of Robin Williams. He should've been able to die in a warm tranquil bed, that silly grin on his face. Rest in peace, you wonderful man.


Above: Video from his first-ever appearance on Carson.

The children of an American crucible

My next book project is a "triptych" of novellas: sandwiched between one based in Nigeria and the other in Japanese-occupied Nanking is the story of a Freedom Summer volunteer. And no, it's not about the three missing Civil Rights workers, but researching that pivotal American summer made me a student again.

It was 50  years ago today that their bodies were finally discovered in a rural dam after a 44-day search. Barely out of adolescence, they're iconic in American history, their story told and retold by better storytellers than me. But as with all icons, sometimes we sit before the canonized versions and miss who they had been as human beings. And their humanity affords us so much insight, even a half-century after their deaths on June 21, 1964. 

Andrew Goodman (b. 11/23/43) grew up in New York, the son of affluent and progressive professionals. Intelligent and unassuming, he attended the Walden School and Queens College: hearing Allard Lowenstein describe Mississippi as "the most totalitarian state in the nation" sparked Goodman's application to the Mississippi Summer Project. He knew the risks and dangers; each volunteer had been thoroughly trained and forewarned. "I'm scared, but I'm going," he told a friend. He arrived in Mississippi the day of his death, enthused and ready to work, knowing he'd lived a sheltered and privileged life, hoping to learn from the summer ahead. Check out the foundation in his name: www.andrewgoodman.org

James Chaney (b. 5/30/43) was finding his way in life that summer. He'd been disqualified from the army (asthma), tried apprenticing as a plasterer, then volunteered his services at the Meridian CORE offices, where he was quickly befriended by Mickey and Rita Schwerner. His value was that as a native Mississippian, he could go places white CORE volunteers could not. Although quiet and shy in public, his family described him as a cut-up at home. On the day he left, he promised his little brother Ben he'd take him for a ride as soon as  he got back. His daughter, whom he would never meet, was born during the 44-day search. www.jecf.org

Michael "Mickey" Schwerner (b. 11/6/39) was the "old man" of the group, a New Yorker who'd studied rural sociology at Cornell and felt an "emotional need" to work in the South for a more integrated society. Nicknamed "Goatee" by suspicious Mississippi locals, by June '64 he was the most despised and conspicuous Civil Rights worker in the state, and the Klan's leader, Sam Bowers, had ordered his death. Schwerner was married, described as "full of life and ideas," and believed all people were essentially good. He had a dog named Gandhi, loved sports, poker, WC Fields, and rock'n'roll.

His widow Rita remarried, became a lawyer, and is now a grandmother. In an interview she said, "I think anything that broadens one's understanding of the issues that people struggle with, the life decisions that people have to make, helps in your understanding as a lawyer. Nothing in your life happens in a vacuum."

Things that impede creativity: 1. Self-congratulation

I spent most of the morning developing a synopsis for my next book project and wasn't quite sure what to post here, but then a friend just told me about a Facebook status where a woman gloated over the extravaganza planned for her birthday, something sure to run into the tens of thousands of dollars. 

I've also seen shrill Facebook posts re: new cars, new boats, and new home theater units. ("Envy us! We are the lucky ones! Don't you admire us?!")

So here it is: If you're lucky enough to immerse yourself in a continuous stream of high-end material goods, more power to you. I'm happy for you. What you choose to do is nobody else's business, and I hope you can keep padding your life with rampant consumerism (if that's what's important to you). 

All I suggest is that you don't confuse your financial good fortune with presumptions that you're of better vision, character, or work ethic than anyone else on the planet. (I spent most of my time, money, and effort on giving my kid the best education I could afford — that didn't keep me in new cars or large-screen TVs, but it's an unquantifiable "commodity" that promises huge ROI). 

Stephen King keeps a pretty simple work schedule: write all morning, return calls and email at midday, read all afternoon. What's fascinating about King isn't just how massively successful he's been, but how prolific he is despite that success. Some of the more compelling millionaires I've ever met are social entrepeneurs or fulltime philanthropists who don't just throw money at a cause but get to know its inner workings so they can create more durable fixes. I admire the example set by the late Dr. and Mrs. Brumley, who used their insights and good fortune in life to establish the Whitefoord project in Atlanta, which has benefited thousands of schoolchildren.

Creativity takes courage (Henri Matisse). Creativity requires calculated risk-taking, self-examination, and the "letting go of certainties" (Gail Sheehy). You have to be willing to accept a bit of discomfort. The paradox of regarding your possessions as achievements is that over time you numb out — you forget what the journey towards real achievement feels like....If you prefer to be defined by material goods, and to believe it's the beginning, middle, and end of your inner reserves, then you're going to miss out on a lot, not just as a creative but as a human being.

Currently there are plenty of industrious Americans working in jobs they can't stand, hoping to keep kids in college and elderly parents in assisted-living, hoping to make it to retirement, hoping just to survive. Plenty of Millennials are still struggling to find their first jobs, or trying to kickstart careers in unpaid internships. This nation's still recovering from the worst recession to hit our homes since the Great Depression. 

If you've got good stuff, be grateful, not gleeful, and maybe read up on philanthropic opportunities (give a thousand children their very first b'day party instead of blowing it all on yourself). Anyone can suffer a reversal of fortune, and until all of us are doing better, none of us are really doing better — so learn a new level of grace. It'll fuel your creative endeavors too. #getoveryourself