instagram pinterest linkedin facebook twitter goodreads facebook circle twitter circle linkedin circle instagram circle goodreads circle pinterest circle

Jean's Blog (Check out links to Guest Blogs in lefthand Column)

Golden Days

 

The Players Club

The past three days have been smoky grey, sunless, and speckled with a rain so light that it seems almost an illusion, Suddenly there are puddles in the street and a wet film everywhere. And I have been watching in wonder street trees definitively turning to gold, some of them rich with a deep coppery gold like resounding bass notes in this orchestra of beauty. Others seem sprayed with captured bits of sun, light luminous gold scattered between gleaming wet branches. Leaves that have stayed a dusky green are thick, and seem ready to stay where they are, no matter what the weather has in store, but with each day a thin golden carpet has been steadily filling in across the damp grey streets, turning the streets of Manhattan to gold despite the insult of machinery, the crush and hurtle of cars and bicycles, the steady tread of people on the pavements.

I try not to think of the winter that is to come.

Meanwhile, I had my first event for Footprints on the Heart at the Players Club. It was a wonderful moment, people gathering and listening as I read from my first novel, and then letting me know how much they liked the sound of it and coming over to the sales table to buy the book. May the word-of-mouth begin!

I was leg-wobbling nervous and could hear my voice wobbling along with my legs, demonstrating (at least to me) how nervous I was to stand on a stage and present.

But the microphone was perfectly placed, the podium the right height, and the audience so receptive that I soon lost my panic and began to enjoy myself, and the comments that followed lit a glow in my heart that echoed the gold-dappled fall landscape that thrilled me on the ride home.

 

Be the first to comment

The cry of the writer

Please post your review on Amazon or Goodreads

I need patience. I have none. Thoughts flitter in and out of my mind like fireflies against the window panes of the country house in June. Yes, I know. FOOTPRINTS ON THE HEART is receiving a magnificent bouquet of early 5-star reviews, but now when I click anxiously onto the site, there are only the ten that were there last week. Why haven't they spawned more and more of themselves? Folks tell me they have bought the book. Some say they have read it, and having read it, they love it. They will post a review. They will suggest it to their book club. Be patient! Be patient!

But I am almost 82 years old. I am living the opening chords of the dream I had for myself when I was nine years old. I knew in my heart that I would carve stories from nothing, I knew with such certainty that I would find the words to dazzle the world, that I would be a writer when I grew up.

I grew up and was blessed to live my life among writers, amplifying their work to the best of my ability. I loved their books. I loved my work. But now they fly on their own, and it is my turn. I am a writer, now. I am a novelist, but the fans and their laudatory words swirl about and vanish. Will you write another, they ask? I say I am waiting to see this first child of my mind reaching an amplified readership, being recognized by my peers. I may not have time for a second book. Mind or body may fail me. I am almost 82 years old and filled with an anxious energy to see my dream fulfilled. No time for patience. I need it NOW.

Be the first to comment