indie author

A Post Poe Pondering

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A Post Poe Pondering…

 

What, oh What, shall this Year bring?

A nominal nothing or a Mighty Thing?

 

So what is real and what is crap?

Lying wasted, I’ve had my nap.

Need to wander, ponder, saunter

Get my move on and really want to

Give the gift I have inside me

Need my muses to please guide me

Bradstreet, Poe, Dickinson, Thackeray

Though, am I worthy or full of quackery?

 

Nearing sixty and still no lasting

Works abound but still no passing

Into glory and recognition

Exiting from my field of vision

Of lasting on beyond my existence

Writing steady and with consistence.

 

Oh, Twain and Dickens, how’d you do it

Never ending, and rushed to do it!

 

I, who endlessly am lazy

Collect my thoughts yet still am hazy

Perhaps this now will be my year

To leave a tome, an atmosphere

Of something useful, mighty, keen

To once and for all fulfill my dream

 

Of leaving a mark on the earth’s blackboard

Of standing out amidst the horde

Of countess lives who all have meaning

Yet mostly silent and some left screaming

For the glory few will ever possess

Left out of history and steadfastness

Gone tomorrow and missed by none

Die in silence and no glory won.

 

Will I waken now and beckon

Will I finally face the reckon

Or still in cloud will go to sleep

And will not care if soul to keep?

 

Oh, these fates, they leave me breathless

Will I stand or still be feckless?

Grab the morrow!

Be brave and daring!

Quit the sniveling

And start preparing!

 

For the grandeur that awaits thee

Go get your glory, and let the fates be

Yours and only yours, you’re earned your places

Into history and bookcases!

 

Dorothy Hagan

December 30, 2018

Lost Dad

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Dad the Secret
Dad the Dread
Dad and empty words he said.

Dad the Absent
Dad the Lost
Dad I wanted at any cost.

Dad the Guilty
Dad the Frail
Dad who always seemed to fail.

Dad the Gone now
Dad the Still
Dad the Sorrow that always will.

Dorothy Hagan
March 7, 2017

Sushi in Two Bites? Please Don’t Judge, Stephen

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Stephen-King

This post from 2013 popped up in my Facebook memories today. I thought I would re-post to further explain my continued lack of literary fame and acclaim. And I will always grab an opportunity to plug one of the best writers in the History of Time. It is an honor to explain myself to Stephen King.

Not long ago, while sharing some sushi rolls with my eldest daughter, I sliced one in half and consumed the bite.
“You can’t do that,” said the Daughter.
“Sure I can, ” says I.
“Mom…you’re already not using chopsticks, how weird do you want to be?”

I sighed and felt compelled to explain.

“But I like the smaller bites. They fit my mouth better, and besides, that way I get to enjoy every single ingredient’s flavor. And use more ginger. And it lasts twice as long.”

Satisfied with my complete and logical reply, I get the look that says I love you and all, but that’s just not how it’s done.

I guess I have approached my writing life the same way. I go at it in small chunks, clearly on a much smaller scale than is customary. Stephen King, an author whom I adore, (though I’ve not read one single book except his On Writing: A Memoir on the Craft,) comments below. I read these words first in 2001, and they haunt me still. (See Steve, you haunt me in spite of myself. I am a colossal sissy when it comes to the horror genre. Two or three times I have turned one guarded eye toward your movies, yanked in against my will. As I am now in my fifth decade, I may be able to toss my sissified trepidation aside and tippy-toe into your written world. But no promises.)

From On Writing: A Memoir on the Craft, while discussing novelists who only write a very limited number of books, the words of Stephen King:

On the other hand–the James Joyce hand–there is Harper Lee, who wrote only one book (the brilliant To Kill a Mockingbird). Any number of others, including James Agee, Malcolm Lowery, and Thomas Harris (so far), wrote under five. Which is okay, but I always wonder two things about these folks: how long did it take to write the books they did write, and what did they do the rest of their time? Knit afghans? Organize church bazaars? Deify plums? I’m probably being snotty here, but I am also, believe me, honestly curious. If God gives you something you can do, why in God’s name wouldn’t you do it?

Well, Steve, since you asked, with the exception of deifying plums, yes, I was doing all of the above. I would not think of boring you or anyone else with a list of life’s humdrum activities. But since I began writing in 1996 to the present day, I am, without reservation, eating my storybook plate of sushi in two bites, maybe even three or more. My world is full of durable afghans, well-organized bazaars, and I chase people down to pick and haul the fruit from the trees in my yard. In my defense, I am at least a two-book wonder, and that may not entirely be the last of my creative contributions.

So I suppose along with my sushi, I am consuming my literary capabilities in small, tasty bites as well. And yes, that violation of protocol does render me weird in the eyes of many. But I am savoring each bite, and leaving on the plate what I mean to leave.

To each his own, screamed someone. Probably while bleeding…in one of Stephen King’s magnificent books.

Dorothy Hagan is the author of The Offshore Triumphs of Karla Jean, not one bit scary but clever and funny as hell. She has super-duper (thanks again, Steve) reviews on Amazon. Read them. She also published a companion novel, The Edge of the Grace Period, 2000, that folks spoke of in the same breath with Willa Cather, Eudora Welty, Mary Karr and Molly Ivins. Seriously. She’s not making that up.

Speak Those Goals

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It was the end of a brutal year. I found myself facing a divorce, single-parenthood, a draining job and pretty much the loss of everything I thought life had set out before me. But for the wise advice from a life-altering therapist, there’s no way to predict how things might have turned out.

But alas, that life-altering therapist was there. I sat before her awash in tears, despondent, hopeless. She gently suggested I set out some new goals for myself. I must have looked at her as though she had sprouted confetti from her forehead. The conversation went something like this:

Her: Let’s think about some new goals for you.
Me: Goals? You’ve got to be kidding.
Her: No, I mean it. Not resolutions. Those are never effective. I am talking about goals. Short and long term. Some you will hit, some you won’t hit this year, some you may never hit. But that’s okay. Because they are goals. They are desires that you have and are giving a voice to. So what are some short term goals?
Me: God. Breathing? Not driving my car off an overpass? Not setting my ex and his girlfriend on fire?
Her: Beyond the obvious. What are some things in say, the next six months, that you would like to accomplish?
Me: Well, I need to move out. I need to deal with legal crap. I need to find another place to live. My son and I have to move back in with my mother. In Pasadena. Jesus, save me.
Her: Okay. So what about after that? Longer term. What about a year from now? What about five years from now?

So at this point I had no earthly idea. Or so I thought. Again, with her gentle prodding, I began to move forward in my vision.

Me: Well, someday I would like to own another house. A place of my own. A place of peace and safety…Ah, hell. A house with a neighborhood swimming pool! (Okay, NOW the energetic visions were popping!)
Her: What about relationships?
Me: What do you mean?
Her: Relationships. What about another marriage someday? More children?

I was stunned. In my abyss of grief and loss, the notion of having another life, actually living the life of mother with kids with husband with happiness…could those things possibly even be imaginable?

Her: I want you to go home and write down everything you want to accomplish. Big and little. Great and small. Call it your Goals List. Do you want to travel? Add destinations. Different relationships? Add names. Believe me when I say You have the Power to Speak Things into Being.
Me: Okay.
Her: Times’ up. Leave a check with the receptionist. I’ll see you in a week.

So…that’s now been well over two decades ago. And you know what? I DID accomplish nearly everything I set out on those early goals lists. I DID move out. I DID get another house. I DID remarry. I DID have more children. I HAVE had the Life I dreamed of and thought was lost forever.

For the life of me I cannot remember that therapist’s name. I remember her face and the resolute determination she had to help me. And I thank God for her and for therapists and encouragers like her.

So fellow travelers…Speak your goals. Claim your future. Accept years with little change. (The Lose 30 Pounds goal has yet to be realized. But, hey, I’ll put it on this year’s list again!)

Here’s wishing you the best possible life for 2016 and beyond.

The First Thousand Words…Are on the Page

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The first thousand words have given birth to…no…

The first thousand words have been launched into…eh…

The first thousand words have…maybe…taken flight…total bleh…

The first thousand words…are on the page. There we go. That will suffice.

There are few experiences in life as daunting and exciting as beginning a new novel. I know this to be true because this is the beginning of Novel Number Four. (Five if you want to count an uncompleted half novel, which I don’t.) This little announcement will be succinct because I am driven and anxious to get back to the story. The characters are all alive, new ones being born every minute, and they are having conversations in my head so fast it is challenging to get the notes down, before they jump headlong and escape from the creative bowel of alphabet soup.

Many things will be different this go-round. First, I am twenty years older than I was since I began novel writing at thirty-five. A lot of Life happens in twenty years. Likewise, I have already made the hundreds of greenhorn mistakes that a writer simply has to make. There’s no short-cutting the the writing ropes, and I know this now. Finally, being older and wiser (and frankly, a much better writer) I will be pursing this venture with vastly different end goals in mind. Fame and Fortune are still distant sirens, but ones calling from near the bottom of the Lists of Things To Do.

And with that declaration, this indie writer will announce this to the world: it will be my focused and complete intention to submit this fourth novel for traditional publication upon completion of the polished manuscript. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. I am writing because I love to write. And I will share it because I want to share.

So here we go. The first thousand words…are on the page.

Old Gal Rap

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Wedding Singer

Another day to see and be, a day of opportunity, a day for me to make my plea, a day to prove this comes E Z to me.

Rappin’ and clappin’ , creating a song, keep the words coming, doesn’t take too long, waxin’ and wanin’ is where I belong.

How can I make it more complicated? That’s what I’m sittin’ here contemplatin’…am told I’m too old to really solicit, lines and words that are really explicit…not in a Hurt way or Dirt way at all, just no “yo’s” or “yolos” allowed to fall.

See, I’m middle-aged, just a white old lady, hardly in the league with the great Slim Shady, but that don’t mean that my words ain’t weighty.

Whoa now!

Okay, the English teacher in me, won’t allow me to be, up with the “ain’t” that gets dropped for free.

Contractions are actions that need to connect, in proper use and be correct, “ain’t” ain’t a word that you can dissect. What is an “ain” I ask anyway? Language like that should be put away.

So how do you know when a rap’s all done? When the words are laid out, and the sentiments won? When the piece has then reached it’s right conclusion?

Guess it’s a trait, I must learn to relate, before I can take, the slate, and partake in the make, of the right formulate, of a Slim Shady resolution.

Cuz I need to be in it, for at least four minutes, to be in it to win it, concoct it and spin it.

To speak of a cause, a story, a lesson, tell of a pause in confession, profession, to make some point within this session. My reason to be, my purpose and plea, causes me to believe, I must do this, you see.

So it is with sincere respect, I attempt to connect, with the art and the rhythm, that are found here within, my mind and my home, my heart and my soul.

So it’s YOLO, yo, don’t be hatin’ on me. I’m just an old lady tryin’ to set myself free, learnin’ what I can from the boyz on TV.

 

A Plug of One’s Own

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While slurping my morning coffee, to my utter astonishment, I opened an email from Amazon asking me to give 1-5 stars for a list of books which somehow included both of my own. They’re kidding, right? Taking the bait, I proceeded to blow the daylights out of my own legendary horn.

And may I just say, that in addition to writing darn fine novels, I can toss off two quite excellent reviews as well? There is every reason to believe Amazon will never allow them to see the light of day, as authors aren’t really allowed to review their own work, but hey, if offered a plug of one’s own, (thanking you, Virginia Wolff) who would resist?

First of all, to a degree that is professionally intoxicating, my books have been mentioned in the same breath with writers such as Eudora Welty, Willa Cather, Fannie Flagg, Billie Letts, Mary Karr, Mollie Ivins and Erma Bombeck. To a degree this list is proof-positive that my work won’t fit into any known genre, well, it is also likely why I’ll never retire from my literary earnings. But that’s okay. Don’t vex me with genre. Pshsf…categories…who needs them?

So here are my reviews, my own plugs, if you will.

Regarding The Edge of the Grace Period,  2000, this is a raucous and poignant story about people living on the edge of everything: the edge of family function, the edge of forever friendships (and some not), the brink of industrial, southern sensibilities, the fringes of faith, the tipping edge of bravery to grab Life by the throat and swing…it was this first book that elicited the above author comparisons.

Regarding The Offshore Triumphs of Karla Jean, 2012, I spent seven years researching the offshore world (among other things) for this book. At the end of The Edge of the Grace Period, a story mostly about Darlene and her best friend, Karla…Karla goes off to work offshore. From that very moment I wanted to know how that happened and how that went. (I am personally a former merchant mariner; I went to sea in 1978 as one of about six total females sailing in the world.) Every last one of us gas up our cars easy as you please, without a second thought, never wondering how that sweet fuel gets from a hole in the ocean to our corner store. This is just one person’s story about who goes and fetches that fuel for us. It’s a unique story, from a unique perspective and that is seriously understating things.

Karla is a tall, skinny, gutsy, verbally-unfiltered 20-year-old who goes to work as a roustabout in 1980. (For the life of me, I always picture Sandra Bullock or Sara Gilbert.) She is hit with an onslaught of “you don’t belong here-isms” in what was and still remains an almost exclusively man’s world. She is a victim to every prank of the trade but after 26 years ends up as the boss. After hundreds of helicopter rides to rigs large and small, she is on her final trip home to begin a second career, one that is entirely out of her character. But on this last trip her helicopter goes down, and she is missing in the Gulf of Mexico. Her family and friends are gathered for a gigantic Welcome Home party; instead they await her fate.

Karla (Karla Jean to Dooley Wade, her whacked-out Vietnam chopper pilot and constant thorn) hasn’t cut her hair since childhood. Why not? She sports a braid so long is can double as a weapon. Find out how Karla gets pregnant, even though she is allergic to children, and it’s all her husband’s fault. So many twists and turns…and finally, find out what this new career is, because you won’t see it coming in a month of Sundays. Then there’s the whole “Is she dead or alive?” thing going also.

Don’t take my word for it. Go to Amazon (or Barnes & Noble) and read the reviews for yourself. I am happy to report there are more than just mine, which probably won’t show up anyway. Read them, enjoy them, share them.

And thanks for reading this…I not-so-humbly submit…a Plug of One’s Own.

Sushi in Two Bites? Please Don’t Judge, Stephen

/ dorothyhagan / 1 Comment

Stephen-King

This post from 2013 popped up in my Facebook memories today. I thought I would re-post to further explain my continued lack of literary fame and acclaim. And I will always grab an opportunity to plug one of the best writers in the History of Time. It is an honor to explain myself to Stephen King.

Not long ago, while sharing some sushi rolls with my eldest daughter, I sliced one in half and consumed the bite.
“You can’t do that,” said the Daughter.
“Sure I can, ” says I.
“Mom…you’re already not using chopsticks, how weird do you want to be?”

I sighed and felt compelled to explain.

“But I like the smaller bites. They fit my mouth better, and besides, that way I get to enjoy every single ingredient’s flavor. And use more ginger. And it lasts twice as long.”

Satisfied with my complete and logical reply, I get the look that says I love you and all, but that’s just not how it’s done.

I guess I have approached my writing life the same way. I go at it in small chunks, clearly on a much smaller scale than is customary. Stephen King, an author whom I adore, (though I’ve not read one single book except his On Writing: A Memoir on the Craft,) comments below. I read these words first in 2001, and they haunt me still. (See Steve, you haunt me in spite of myself. I am a colossal sissy when it comes to the horror genre. Two or three times I have turned one guarded eye toward your movies, yanked in against my will. As I am now in my fifth decade, I may be able to toss my sissified trepidation aside and tippy-toe into your written world. But no promises.)

From On Writing: A Memoir on the Craft, while discussing novelists who only write a very limited number of books, the words of Stephen King:

On the other hand–the James Joyce hand–there is Harper Lee, who wrote only one book (the brilliant To Kill a Mockingbird). Any number of others, including James Agee, Malcolm Lowery, and Thomas Harris (so far), wrote under five. Which is okay, but I always wonder two things about these folks: how long did it take to write the books they did write, and what did they do the rest of their time? Knit afghans? Organize church bazaars? Deify plums? I’m probably being snotty here, but I am also, believe me, honestly curious. If God gives you something you can do, why in God’s name wouldn’t you do it?

Well, Steve, since you asked, with the exception of deifying plums, yes, I was doing all of the above. I would not think of boring you or anyone else with a list of life’s humdrum activities. But since I began writing in 1996 to the present day, I am, without reservation, eating my storybook plate of sushi in two bites, maybe even three or more. My world is full of durable afghans, well-organized bazaars, and I chase people down to pick and haul the fruit from the trees in my yard. In my defense, I am at least a two-book wonder, and that may not entirely be the last of my creative contributions.

So I suppose along with my sushi, I am consuming my literary capabilities in small, tasty bites as well. And yes, that violation of protocol does render me weird in the eyes of many. But I am savoring each bite, and leaving on the plate what I mean to leave.

To each his own, screamed someone. Probably while bleeding…in one of Stephen King’s magnificent books.

Dorothy Hagan is the author of The Offshore Triumphs of Karla Jean, not one bit scary but clever and funny as hell. She has super-duper (thanks again, Steve) reviews on Amazon. Read them. She also published a companion novel, The Edge of the Grace Period, 2000, that folks spoke of in the same breath with Willa Cather, Eudora Welty, Mary Karr and Molly Ivins. Seriously. She’s not making that up.

B is for Buy This Book

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Okay, with all due respect to Sue Grafton and her enormously clever list of titles, it seems that since mentioning her in a post, I have had an awesome increase in traffic, well-deserved or not. So…thank you, Ms. Grafton, for your skirt tails and titles for which to grab a hold. That said, behold…a shameless self-promotion.

The Offshore Triumphs of Karla Jean is a rollicking good read, with tales of feminism, addiction, religion, goofy families, awesome friends and an ending so fun and unexpected you will be smiling for a week. So, please, do me and yourself a favor and Buy This Book!

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=the+offshore+triumphs+of+karla+jean&x=0&y=0

Happy summer, amigos…

A is for Apology

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Being a fan of fairness and civility, I wanted to share that Sue Grafton (her very own self) alerted me to the knowledge that she had in fact offered an apology to the indie publishing community, following some not-very-well received comments some time ago. She didn’t have to do this, and I appreciate that she did.

That said, I remain frustrated with the hordes of others (still waiting for your contact, Mr. Green) who just don’t seem to get that Art is Art…Stories are Stories…and One Man’s Drivel Is Another Man’s Peach. That Peach may fall straight from the tree, sit all by itself and rot in obscurity. Or the lucky thing may be picked up by Dole Company and end up swimming in syrupy goodness on your table. It’s a Peach either way. So please don’t judge that Peach unless you have had a look at it, a discernible sniff and maybe even an unbiased bite.

Not to belabor the point, but the following bears repeating. Dismiss the following self-published authors, if you professionally dare: Gertrude Stein, Walt Whitman, Virginia Wolff, Beatrix Potter, Edgar Allen Poe, Rudyard Kipling, Henry David Thoreau, Anais Nin, Deepak Chopra, Bernard Shaw, James Joyce, Zane Grey, William E. B. DuBois, Strunk and White, E.L James, et al. I personally cannot imagine my literary life without them. They cared enough to share their work; they said Yes when others told them No. Good for them. Good for us.

If you are sitting in a well-marketed can of Peaches, jolly good for you. You have my sincerest good wishes and congratulations. But to those of us still struggling to get noticed, lying on the ground in either the sun or the weeds, let’s aim for some mutual respect, and hope that we can all fall into a vat of Peach cobbler. If you know someone with some ice cream, by all means, ask them to bring it.

Dorothy Hagan is the indie-published author of The Offshore Triumphs of Karla Jean, (2012) seven years in research, writing and publication. (This book is actually a heck of a Peach, and has great Amazon reviews to prove it. Unusual story about a young woman in the offshore world of men. Have a bite. It’s tasty.) Another deliciously published Hagan Peach is The Edge of the Grace Period. This did in fact fall from the same tree, being a companion novel.