Why Historical Fiction?
Why do I write what I write? Why historical fiction? I write it because it needs to be written. I recently visited the US Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington DC. I wanted to go specifically for one small exhibit – the children’s artwork from Terezin, the Jewish ghetto outside of Prague. As I expected, it moved me, made me even more committed to telling the story of those children who were (mostly) all sent straight to the gas chamber. I feel like I’m helping to protect and preserve those stories.
Confessions of a Non Editor
Confession: I was truly ignorant in regards to the process of writing/preparing a novel for publication. Having just finished the developmental editing phase of publication, I can say without a doubt: I was right. Enter: My Editor. Btw, my editor is fabulous. I was finally given a little direction on major edits. And I loved it! the developmental editing experience was not just essential to get Diamonds in Auschwitz ready for true book form, but it was an amazing lesson.
Confidence is not ‘They will like me.’ Confidence is ‘I’ll be fine if they don’t.’
Sending a manuscript to publishers is a fresh new hell, especially for those who suffer from low confidence and/or crippling imposter syndrome. In all my classes during undergrad, which I took ALL the creative writing ones, never was it mentioned the fortitude of spirit that would be needed to be a writer. Not everyone will like what I wrote, and I will be fine even if they don’t.
Writing and Middle School Robotics
Have you ever attended a middle school robotics competition? In these competitions, there are a lot of misplaced outbursts of anger, a lot of asking “why am I even doing this?”, a lot of tears. I was recently faced with the same dilemma – continue down the path of the novel I was currently writing with very little hope of publishing OR completely start over in hopes of making something spectacular. There was definitely one night of lying in bed deciding that I was done. Done researching, done writing, done trying to make this dream come true. If my twelve-year-old can do it; so can I.
A Blank Canvas
I learned to see a new work in progress like a blank canvas. The blank page is not a sign of failure or backtracking. Where will this new adventure take me? To a haunted cathedral of Charleston, across the sea to England during the Age of Enlightenment, or deep into the rooms of the Constantinople harem during Ottoman Empire? Stay tuned to find out what my blank canvas becomes.
The Living, Breathing Streets of Prague
I knew nothing of the city, nothing of its people or its experience during World War II. But as the story unfolded itself to me, starting backwards in Auschwitz, reversing in time to Terezin, the origin became obvious to me. It’s more than a place. It’s a living, breathing part of the story.
The True Tragedy of Rachael
In truth, it sickens me to think of what I had to write, but I had to write the truth. As awful as it was to put into words, and as awful as it will be to read, it needs to be remembered.