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Laura A. H. Elliott, author of young-adult and middle grade fiction
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The biggest gift 2014 gave me is the realization that:
Big dreams are our birthright.
Dream BIG. Believe. Watch what happens.
Another great gift was walking barefoot in the rice paddies.
A very Happy New Year to you, my faithful reader. You’ve stuck with me through thick and thin and now, I’m on the other side. The kind people at WordPress put this snap shot of Laurasmagicday together. I feel so blessed that people from sixty six countries are all on this journey. *raises a glass of champagne* (my absolute favorite drink) A toast to our adventures in 2015! If you like what you read, help to spread the word. I’d like to get my San Francisco cable car trips (see below) up to 100 in 2015! May all your dreams come true…
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,200 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 37 trips to carry that many people.
Click here to see the complete report.
I’ve partnered with Peter Bentley and Herman Beeftink as the screenwriter for some documentary videos for Intrepid Travel.
This is one of my favorites in the series. Thank you for letting me share it with you. We travel just outside of the Kingdom of Yogyakarta on the island of Java in Indonesia to visit–among other places–Prambanan and Borobudur temples. After a terrible earthquake, Borobudur was swallowed up by the jungle then rediscovered thousands of years later.
While touring the ruins, I got to thinking about the sacred that sometimes stays buried inside of us. What can we choose to discover every day that will lead us to unearth the sacred within? What will it take for us to unearth what we are longing to find? I’ve found that simple awareness is a beautiful start. Let the journey begin.
I sit at the fire pit where I first met him. The magic that night undeniable. There is no such magic tonight. I give a big smile to the flames and the memory and wonder why love disappears.
The asking takes me back to Bali. Why is not a spiritual question Laura, my healer reminds me.
For certain.
Flames reflect in the empty glasses friends drank from while chatting and flirting. Empty Glass the name of one of his favorite albums.
The man I thought he was would never hurt me in this way. I try to shrug off memories of what never was by admiring beautiful, wide-eyed young couples and say a silent prayer. Lord, watch over them so they never wake up wondering where a lifetime of their love went. As well as their youth.
What to do with the truth?
Perhaps it would have been better to sit at the edge of the Grand Canyon with a paper bag over my head. Denial has its place.
But, no. I was given life to live it. To risk, to love fully, to experience pleasure and pain and live authentically. In the firelight I find I’ve not only survived, I’ve thrived and discover I’m more thankful this Thanksgiving than any other.
In deep gratitude I give thanks for my strong, beautiful daughters, friends, a family which expanded this year to include people all over the world, the grace of God, my trust in the unknown, faith over fear, and wisdom which has given me peace.
A woman joins me at the fire pit. Asks where everyone went. Wonders if I’m alone.
I know now that I’m never alone, even when I appear to be.
She says she lost a diamond ring but “it’s no big deal.” With a laugh she says she’s also lost her husband.
I smile and mention that’s a bigger problem.
She says she isn’t worried.
She fans the fingers of her left hand and points to her ring finger to what she says is a four-carat diamond ring and adds of the two it’s “the ring that really matters.”
We search the sand beside the fire pit for her “no big deal” missing diamond ring. His words still so clear in my memory, I always took my ring off when I was with other women.
She gives up on the search and we say our goodbyes. And there’s this part of me that wants to find the ring she so easily gave up on.
Trying to get an idea of what to serve this Halloween? Here’s a few ideas from my 2005 trip to Club Dracula in Bucharest. The drink is called the Vampire’s Kiss!
Happy Haunting!
Here’s a few teasers from my spooky read this week. I know, I know…you’re saying Jules Verne? Zombies? Really? I mean…isn’t he all about Sci Fi and sea monsters and stuff? Zombies and Romance? That’s what I said, anyway. Jules Verne came back on my radar because a good friend said his favorite book ever was by Jules Verne called Mysterious Island. He’s a native French speaker, so it was no surprise that when we started talking about our favorite novels most of his were French, and most of them were authors I’d never heard of. I really loved Mysterious Island so I guess that’s why this title jumped out at me while I was checking out books on a recent visit to see my daughter in Boulder. I’m not really a zombie girl, but I’m hooked now. Jules Verne wrote this story in 1892.
First sentence:
“This story is not fantastic; it is only romantic. Should we conclude that it isn’t true, given its implausibility? That would be a mistake. We are living in a time when anything can happen–one can almost say, when everything has happened. If our tale is not very likely today, it can be so tomorrow, thanks to the scientific resources that are the lot of the future, so no one should take it into his head to rank it among legends.”
later…..
“But there was no time to lose, for it was probable that someone would enter the crypt, as soon as they thought he had fallen asleep under the influence of the sleep-inducing drink.
The work went faster then he could have hoped, since mildew had eaten away the wood around the metallic framework that held the bolts to the embrasure. With his knife, Franz managed to detach the round part, working almost noiselessly, pausing sometimes, listening, making sure he heard nothing outside.”
What are you reading this Halloween week? Happy Haunting!
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The Birth Of a Book Trailer
I knew I needed a book trailer to help promote my debut YA novel Winnemucca. First of all, I love movies. Heck, I live in Los Angeles. And, I worked in the entertainment industry. I knew the power of the trailer. Plus, how much fun would making my own trailer be?
But still, I didn’t know how to make one. Hmmm. I’d incorporated videos in my designs for years at E! Entertainment Television and at The Los Angeles Times. But they were provided to me by amazing teams of award winning videographers. And the photos I worked with were shot by Pulitzer Prize winning photographers. Who did I think I was trying to do this all on my own?
Well, that’s the best part. We aren’t on our own! Writers are some of the most generous people. And so I kept my eye open for trailers that I loved. Enter the wonderful writer Rebecca Rasmussen [@birdsisters] author of The Bird Sisterspublished by Crown/Random House. I was surprised to find out she made her own trailer. Rebecca was very generous with her support and advise. Thanks Rebecca!
So after a load of conversations I managed to conjure up a recipe for book trailers:
- iMovie application.
- A killer soundtrack.
- stock videos.
- stock photography.
and WaaaaLaaa! You have your book trailer.
A Recipe For Book Trailers
iMovie is a very easy application to work with. It’s drag and drop so no worries there. And it comes with every Mac.
A killer soundtrack is so important. I don’t mind book trailers where the author reads their work. There is something very pure about that. But, like I said, I love movies. Music that evokes your story is compelling and can draw a viewer into the trailer in a unique way. I used www.productiontrax.com. Most of the audio clips are very reasonable priced. [I splurged on this and purchased sound for $60 because I loved it and am a music junkie.]
Stock Videos. I’ve seen a lot of trailers that try to tell the story with static images and scrolling or rolling text. It’s a great effect. But, the medium is meant for video. And, if you don’t have any that you’ve shot yourself, stock video sites are great ways to add some punch to your trailer. Sites I like include istockphoto.com andpond5.com. Both have great selections and great ways to save multiple videos for your consideration so if you are busy, like who isn’t, you can come back later and make your final cut. Again, most videos are very reasonably priced, but watch it, some aren’t. And don’t worry if your video has a soundtrack with it. iMovie let’s you separate the audio channel out and you can use whatever audio you want with any video. My average purchase for a video was $15.
Stock Photography. I use the same sites I recommended above to find images for book covers and for book trailers. Again, stock photography is reasonably priced. But be sure you check prices.
As always, have a budget in mind and stick to it, mine was under $90. It’s really important to get the word out about your book, but what’s more important is how much fun you have doing it!
The Book Trailer
Winnemucca is a young-adult small-town fairy tale about a teenage girl awakening to her own intuition on an enchanted road trip. One lie will change Ginny’s life forever. The truth will will set her free.
Over To You
Did I miss anything? Do you have any tips or tricks from making your own book trailers? If you have anything to add to this article, or even just want to share your own book trailers, then please add it to the comments below…
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I love you,’ Buttercup said. ‘I know this must come as something of a surprise to you, since all I’ve ever done is scorn you and degrade you and taunt you, but I have loved you for several hours now, and every second, more. I thought an hour ago that I loved you more than any woman has ever loved a man, but a half hour after that I knew that what I felt before was nothing compared to what I felt then. But ten minutes after that, I understood that my previous love was a puddle compared to the high seas before a storm. Your eyes are like that, did you know? Well they are. How many minutes ago was I? Twenty? Had I brought my feelings up to then? It doesn’t matter.’ Buttercup still could not look at him. The sun was rising behind her now; she could feel the heat on her back, and it gave her courage. ‘I love you so much more now than twenty minutes ago that there cannot be comparison. I love you so much more now then when you opened your hovel door, there cannot be comparison. There is no room in my body for anything but you. My arms love you, my ears adore you, my knees shake with blind affection. My mind begs you to ask it something so it can obey. Do you want me to follow you for the rest of your days? I will do that. Do you want me to crawl? I will crawl. I will be quiet for you or sing for you, or if you are hungry, let me bring you food, or if you have thirst and nothing will quench it but Arabian wine, I will go to Araby, even though it is across the world, and bring a bottle back for your lunch. Anything there is that I can do for you, I will do for you; anything there is that I cannot do, I will learn to do. I know I cannot compete with the Countess in skills or wisdom or appeal, and I saw the way she looked at you. And I saw the way you looked at her. But remember, please, that she is old and has other interests, while I am seventeen and for me there is only you. Dearest Westley–I’ve never called you that before, have I?–Westley, Westley, Westley, Westley, Westley,–darling Westley, adored Westley, sweet perfect Westley, whisper that I have a chance to win your love.’ And with that, she dared the bravest thing she’d ever done; she looked right into his eyes.
-William Goldman, The Princess Bride
This Friday the YA Storytellers are all telling tales that inspire.
Today I’m typing in my daughter’s apartment in Boulder, CO. I gain my inspiration on my travels. Wonder is the feeling that feeds my soul. Childlike wonder. The kind I only truly experience when I’ve lost myself in another world. When the ordinary fades away. Beauty sometimes makes this possible. Natural beauty inspires but what I’d like to share with you today is a story about the beauty of courage and strength against all odds. These are the gifts that Sonam Lama (left) and Sangmo Chodan (right) gave to me.
Sangmo and Sonam are best friends. I met the girls when I volunteered as a relief worker in Boudha, Nepal. The clinic for Global Dental Relief was set up at their school, Shree Mangal Dvip. Sonam and Sangmo are students at the school and volunteered their time to help at the clinic. Sangmo, Sonam and I worked closely together organizing the kids for their dental work, at times playing with the kids, at times comforting them, giving fluoride treatments, holding the kids hands, laughing, playing string games, teaching the kids how to brush their teeth, giving them toothbrushes and stickers. As I watched and worked with Sangmo I appreciated her work ethic, her sense of humor and maturity. I thought she was sixteen years old. It was near the end of the week that I discovered she was only thirteen.
To the beats of drums and chants of a nearby puja, I entered the newly set up clinic at the Shrew Mangal Dvip school along with all the other Dental Global Relief volunteers from all over the world. Shirley, the principal, dropped in to say hello and told us that the children at her boarding school are “yakland” kids–children who live at an elevation of 10,000 feet or above. She said that many of the children walked up to a week in order to take a day-long drive to attend the school. As the journey was long and dangerous, it would be years before the children would see their families again, those lucky enough to still have families. Sangmo is one of these lucky children. Many of her classmates were orphaned as a result of the ten-year civil war that ended in 2006. The principal blushed as she shared that she’d love to get an email from Richard Gere because she admired his charity work so much. Shirley has a beautiful spirit. During our orientation, Shirley said that the children were experts at Buddha’s main teaching—turning problems into happiness.
One day, while I worked with Sangmo I asked if she stayed in touch with her family by writing them letters. She said that she did but that her mother and father couldn’t read or write. So, when they receive her letter they take a one-day hike to another village where someone there would read her letter to them. Then, her parents would take another one-day hike to another village to find someone to write a reply.
This struck me deeply. Sangmo and Sonam have very little materialistically. But they are among the happiest most polite, hard working teenagers I’ve ever met. Their light comes from within. And as children and teenagers often do, they taught me more about life and love than I could have ever taught them. They truly inspired me by rekindling a light that had died inside of me.
Wouldn’t it be fun for Shirley to get an inspiring note from Richard Gere? If you know him or know someone who knows him, or can help in any way, it would be my joy to help give back to her in this very small way. Here’s the address to send a note to Shirley: himalayanchildren@ yahoo.co.uk. If you like, you can “like” the school on Facebook here to find out more about the kids and the school.
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Some of the joy of travel is when I return home and share the fun and stories with my friends and family.
On this trip though, it occurred to me that I really didn’t have a home to come back to. Not the kind of home that I had always had. This thought kept me traveling for much longer that I had planned and would take me around the world. It was in the space of time when I left the plan behind that I realized home is no longer a place, but resides in my heart. And the heart, while fragile, has an infinite capacity for love.
Some trips shape me. Some trips change me. Some trips transform me. Some trips have affected my family and friends. And sometimes, the stories I tell and the gifts I give have reached beyond those I know and love. Far beyond anything I could have ever imagined.
This is the story of the bracelet.
Wherever I was, whether in the countryside on the outskirts of Melbourne, trekking the Himalayas, in the jungles of Java or on the shores of the Bali Sea, I had my eye out for little treasures. Unique gifts I could bring back for friends and family. As I was backpacking through the world, portability was key.
In Kalibaru on the island of Java I found and purchased a handful of beautiful handmade bracelets. For the next sixty days they would travel with me all over the world. When I returned to the U.S. I gave one to my very good friend. She loved the bracelet so much she never took it off. It stayed on her wrist as she journeyed to Wales and then to Africa.
And it found its way to a little village in northern Tanzania where a tribe of Maasai lived. The women of the village made bracelets to help support their families. The Maasai women surrounded my friend when they saw her bracelet. The idea of using different-sized beads on the same bracelet never occurred to them. The type of beads captivated them. The way the bracelet fastened was a curiosity. This gave the Maasai women lots of ideas about bracelets and their future designs. My friend bought one of their bracelets and when she returned home, she gave the bracelet to me.
And through my friend and the bracelet and the Maasi women, my home just got a little bit bigger.
So often in life we think that the little things we do don’t matter. We discount our influence or even our own significance, at times. But the biggest things we do can be the smallest. A smile. A joke. A well-timed call. A small gift. A simple treasure. The little things your heart whispers can bring so much joy to the world.
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Where will your thoughts take you when fireworks light up the night sky this weekend?
For many years I haven’t been able to see fireworks on the 4th of July. So many years, in fact, I can’t remember the last time I saw fireworks. Fire danger in California played a part. Financially strapped cities too poor to put on shows was a factor. But these themes of danger and lack would unfortunately become forces with which I’d have to contend on a much deeper, personal level.
Tonight I thank the universe that I’ll see fireworks again. Seeing them with those I love is pure magic.
The YA Storytellers are all posting “fireworks” excerpts – so hot they explode! Reading excerpts from my fellow society authors – Bryna Butler, Kasi Blake, Heather Hildenbrand, Patti Larsen, Quinn Loftis, Liz Long, Melissa Pearl, L.M. Preston, Stacey Rourke, Christy Sloat and Suzy Turner is a fun way to beat the heat this holiday weekend. I’m featuring an excerpt from Shadow Slayer (shadow series #2) which will be the featured book for the month of July at the YA Storytellers Online Book Club. I’m excited to giveaway a signed paperback to a random Goodreads commenter in the YA Storytellers Book Club Group discussion of Shadow Slayer. Click here to participate…. https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/113416-ya-storytellers-book-club
Click here to listen to the series playlist!
Here’s the “fireworks” excerpt from Shadow Slayer:
He finally slows to a stop at the last deserted bonfire. The couples gathered here when we first arrived are inside the mansion, dancing no doubt. Drew turns toward me, grabbing both of my hands and says. “You are the Shadow Slayer.” I’m not sure if it’s his torment or desperation or the fact he believes this shadow stuff with all his heart that sends shivers up my spine in the warmth of the bonfire. I swallow hard. “What’s a Shadow Slayer?”
“You’re the only human who can stop the onslaught, who can turn the tide.” Drew tilts his head as if he doesn’t know what to say next. “It’s sporadic when you’re new. Visions come fast. Some are to be trusted. It’s part of the initiation.” I miss his smile, the one he flashed in the cafeteria when our eyes first met. By the glow of the bonfire in the light of the almost full moon, Drew’s so much more than a ten, his hot factor. This simple thing, being caught in his golden gaze in the heat of the bonfire, makes me realize I’m about to believe anything he says.
Thanks for stopping by! Happy 4th of July :D For more “fireworks” excerpts click here!
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Here’s a track from the soundtrack of my trip.
This song was playing at an open air bar/dance club just a few meters away. I was sitting on the beach in front of a bonfire on Gili Air with a group of new friends I’d made there. We were all talking about our lives. How they’d all met, where we might all be going. Laughing a lot. I traveled alone, but found I never was alone. It was the trip’s great gift, the company and wisdom of new friends. They were from Sweden, a guy and four girls. The guy and his girlfriend were very sweet and invited me to have dinner with them earlier that night. What struck me about him was how gentlemanly he was, making sure I had a glass of wine and that I knew everyone. Later that night I would discover the heartache he’d suffered. The gal I spoke with most of the night is an artist-yogi. A few Spanish gals and I would dance until morning.
My guru on Bali said in life three things are certain: Everyone will die, everyone will grow older, everyone will lose all that they have.
I hope to dance barefoot on the beach. Often.
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Where have I been?
Around the world, in ninety days.
A research trip for a screenplay that was supposed to be five weeks long where I traveled to Australia and Indonesia turned into so much more. Thanks for your patience while I was away. I’m in the process of understanding all the changes that I’ve been going through and putting words to the experience. Surprisingly I’ve had no jet lag when I returned nearly three weeks ago and am instead working very hard on the screenplay and some film documentaries too. There’s so much to process. The trip was life affirming as well as life changing. You’ve been great supporters of my work and I’m thrilled to have you on this journey with me. One of the places I least expected to go was Mt. Everest, and as fate would have it, while I was there the worst disaster in the history of the storied mountain unfolded. An avalanche took the lives of 16 sherpas. They were family members and friends of the sherpas who trekked with me on the Everest trail. Sometimes stories come to you. This was perhaps the biggest story I’d ever been caught up in and it influenced my entire experience in Nepal, which started off as a humanitarian trip to provide dental care to “yakland” kids (children who live above 10,000 feet) some who are orphaned (due to the ten year civil war there) and some victims of human trafficking. This is but a small a window into one of the unexpected, but wonderful stops on my journey.
I haven’t updated my about page, because I really like the fact that I had written there that one of my dreams was to travel to Indonesia. And it’s so nice when dreams come true. I don’t think I’ll update it with my new dreams yet. It’s nice to savor and celebrate moments like this. *pops the cork off the champagne bottle* *pours you a glass* Now about that stand up comedy routine…
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This week for Fun Friday the YA Storytellers are dishing embarrassing moments. There are sooooo many to choose from for me. But the one that just cracks me up is the one that happened to me in Houston. I hadn’t flown very far, it was only a four hour flight. So I can’t blame this on jet leg or even exhaustion, I guess I could try and blame it on what I call travel haze. Overstimulation. Rushing. This thing and that thing on the mind. I was not quite where I needed to be CLEARLY.
See, I had to pee. Yeah. And so I did. Only, as I did, a very deep voice in the stall next to me said in a southern, very gentlemanly accent, “Ma’am, I believe you are in the wrong bathroom.” He must have seen my pink painted toes. You know those moments, the ones where you’re like, REALLY? It sort of hits me between the eyes and the center of my stomach at the same time and I alternate between wanting to laugh and disappear. I didn’t laugh. I remember that because I was so gobsmacked, as a good friend would say–it actually is the perfect word to describe how it felt for me. So I sort of doubled over on my half-naked self and swore silently. Then he added, “I’ll make sure no one else comes in while you are in here.” And my rescuer was a very wonderful man who asked me if I was okay. And I thought I was, but maybe deep down I really wasn’t. Anyway, looking into his deep dark eyes and seeing his white smile made whiter by his chestnut skin, I felt certain he was an angel watching out for me. A perfect stranger’s kindness is usually what meets my embarrassment every time. I guess fast friends are formed in the intimacy of being vulnerable, being human. And for every time I’ve wanted to disappear when I’ve been embarrassed, I’ve been given a measure of magic too.
Ginny, in Winnemucca, a small-town fairy tale has an embarrassing moment when she realizes she’s falling for the local axe-murderer…at least that’s what her best friend Lizzy calls him. Of course this happens the day she’s planning to breakup with Bobby, her fiáncee. Here’s the excerpt:
Clyde placed his murdering hand on the doorknob and took his
eyes off me for the very first time. He walked out of the stock room
but something floated in the air behind him and whatever-it-was
caught in the door Lizzy held open. I bent down, and freed the
paper, but it was just an empty toilet paper roll. I tossed it into the
garbage but when it landed on a pile of folded Pampers packing
boxes, I saw what I hadn’t seen when I held it in my hand––ribbons
of blue words.
“What’s that?” Lizzy said pawing my hand.
“Nothing.” I rolled it over in my fingers trying to make sense of the
scribbling. But, it wasn’t scribbling. It was, poetry. Even had a title,
No one loves you like me. Dated the day before.
There’s a circle, a spiral I walk
with dear Ginny
and a wish we’d never part
as we lift over our barbed wire sea
Ginny. Me. Clyde signed his name so hard it indented the
“Let me see,” Lizzy said. But I stuffed the poem in my apron like a
used Kleenex. Like it wasn’t the most enchanting moment of my
life––that a man I’d never spoken to wrote a love poem about me.
And for the first time I didn’t believe the rumors about Clyde.
Lizzy unloaded another box of shampoo and I peeked at the next
line:
The Devil’s rope around my heart
I wanted to know more about Clyde as desperately as I wanted
nothing to do with Bobby.
“Now, you girls get back to work,” Charlie said, all fake mad, his
forehead a sea of wrinkles, his tuffty eyebrows formed a V like a
Muppet. Tie Guy sighed, scribbling on his clipboard again.
“Anna knows where you are. Bobby’ll be here any minute,”
Lizzy whispered in my ear.
I rolled Clyde’s poetry in my fingers, trying to read every word.
“Let me tell Bobby.” Lizzy eyed the poem.
I shook my head, dropped the poem into my apron pocket and
grabbed Lizzy by the hand so we could catch up to Clyde. My cell
vibrated again. I searched up and down every aisle but Clyde had
vanished. The clocks on the new majestic shelves in aisle nine
weren’t running. I stared at them anyway.
“Why are you just standing there?” Lizzy asked.
Clyde walked past empty picture frames and table lamps.
He met me at the frozen clocks and leaned his mop against the
majestic shelves.
My cell vibrated again, and all I wanted to do was breathe in
Clyde’s big-sky, blue-eyed stare. My stomach sank knowing why.
My heart had Devil’s rope around it too. I held tight to Espy’s
“Lizzy Fairchild, to the register,” Charlie announced over the
Lizzy said, “Keep away from my best friend, Convict.” She threw
Clyde an axe-murdering gaze on her walk down the aisle. She
was a master at axe-murdering gazes.
I’d never really seen Clyde before. And right then he wasn’t just
one of the people on the edges of my life anymore, he was front
and center.
“Straddling the fence is the same as straddling the middle of the
road,” Clyde said, like he knew the ripening would seal our fates.
Like he’d been with me when my sleep went thin and I’d straddle
the open road. And there, in aisle nine, I fell for Clyde. It was
wrong. It was lousy timing. But it was real. My heart jack-hammered
and more than anything I wish I had the power to freeze time.
Thanks for stopping by. If you feel like sharing one of your embarrassing moments, feel free to comment and we can have a laugh together. Check out all the fun posts from the other YA Storytellers here. Have a wonderful weekend! *waves* from Indonesia.
Clyde placed his murdering hand on the doorknob and took his
eyes
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I’ve been researching and trying to write a story based on my family’s experience in World War II for about ten years now, ever since Dad started to open up about his experience. For ten years we’ve been sitting down with each other, talking about events, locations and his experiences, getting clear about the “when” and “wheres” of his time as a prisoner. When we first sat down together, it was difficult for him to remember just how many prisons he was in and how long he had been a prisoner. But, together, we pieced the puzzle together. I’ve read that “why” isn’t a very spiritual question. I kind of like that insight.
I’ve tried five different times to write the story as a novel. And, well…it just wasn’t happening. Each attempt fell apart for one reason or another. And then, after I’d taken only a few storyboarding classes at Art Center at Night, creative fireworks went off and I saw the whole story. I like to write my novels cinematically, so I guess the transition to screenplays is natural, even as I have a lot to learn. Part of the reason why this story hasn’t come together as a novel has to do with the fact that the scope of the story has seemed so epic to me, spanning several generations, and like my screenplay writing instructor said, “that’s the trouble with true stories”…all the details. The story needed focus and that’s what I’ve been working very hard on over the past few months. Here is the opening scene from Gamelan.
EXT. JAPANESE POW CAMP, TJIMAHI, OCCUPIED JAVA 1943
A bamboo and barbed wire fence. An old, white man’s emaciated wrinkled, shaky hand clenches three cigarettes. The boney, but steady hand of HANS (19) takes the cigarettes from the old man.
HANS hammers a crooked nail into a rough-hewn wooden plank.
NINETY YEAR OLD MAN WITH A DUTCH ACCENT (V.O.)
Liberty is something you can’t understand until it’s taken away. You become a different person. You become a prisoner. You learn what it is to survive.
Last weekend my family had a reunion where we celebrated Dad’s 90th birthday!
Happy Birthday Dad!
NOTE: I’m thrilled to have Lisa Nowak guest post here on Laurasmagicday. She’s not only a dedicated writer but a lot of fun and a passionate gardener. I’m so happy to have gotten to know her and her fiction over years when my travels took me to the Pacific Northwest. I met an amazing group of authors there and we went on tour, click here to see pics of the fun we had on the “Rain boots required” book tour. I’m very happy to have Lisa talk about her creative process and her latest series. Take it away Lisa!
Almost a year and a half ago, while my husband and I were driving to a friend’s house, he told me about a story he’d read in the Portland Mercury. According to the article, fifty years from now much of the United States will be devastated by climate change. The Pacific Northwest will remain relatively unchanged in comparison, which will result in an influx of climate refugees.
“That sounds like a great set up for a dystopian YA novel,” I said. Within minutes, I had the basic premise outlined. The Pacific Northwest, disgruntled over the population boom, secedes from the United States to form its own country with a closed border. Wealthy Americans want to buy their way in, so poor people begin disappearing off the streets. Naturally, I needed a romantic aspect, but I wanted to give it a twist. I decided my protagonist would be a girl whose family had disappeared, and the love interest would be the boy whose family had displaced hers.
Over the coming weeks, the idea grew to include an existing political movement to form a bioregion called Cascadia, Portland’s major league soccer team and its rowdy band of fans, the Timbers Army, and a rock star-turned-activist who becomes the first president of the new nation. My husband, friends, and fellow writers supplied me with myriad excellent ideas and educated me about the subjects of history, politics, computer science, medicine, and soccer.
Several writers I know have been experimenting with serialized stories, and this idea seemed perfect for that venue. I envision it much like a season of a television series. Each short episode gives you part of the story, with the entire plot-line playing out over a nine-book “season.” I currently have the first three episodes published, (you can buy them individually, or as a box set) and the fourth will be released in early March. If you aren’t sure this is for you, fear not. You can try the first episode absolutely free at any of the retailers listed below.
What if the Pacific Northwest seceded from the United States? In 2063, it has.
The climate change that’s devastated all but the Northwest corner of the U.S. has been around since before Piper Hall was born. She doesn’t spend much time thinking about it, the secession that created Cascadia, or the closed border, erected to keep out climate refugees. All she wants is to get through high school and earn a medical degree so she can pull her family out of poverty. Piper’s sure her little brother’s stories about poor people vanishing are just rumors-until she comes home to an empty house. Losing her future, her family, and her freedom and forced into hiding, Piper has to find a way to get to the bottom of the disappearances. But the only one who can help might be the very boy whose family has displaced her own.
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Beautiful! Happy Holidays Laura xxx
:) Thanks so much Suzy! Thanks for stopping by. Merry Christmas and all the best for 2015…*schemes a way to visit you in Portugal this year :)*
Oooh yes that would be fabulous, Laura!!! xx