This morning I came to Starbucks to write.

I had to leave my dear husband or today would go like every other Saturday: I rise early and sneak out to the back porch with my laptop. I settle into my favorite chair, inspired by the balmy air and peaceful greenery. My fingers begin to fly across the keyboard when he tumbles out looking like a puppy ready to play. His big brown eyes droop a little and he asks, “Do you mind if I sit out here with you a while?” I love this man. How can I refuse? I push my laptop to the side. We sit and talk. I get another cup of coffee. One or both of our college age children pass through. By now it is time for lunch. We eat. I return to the porch only to find my writer’s muse chopped up in the annoying growl of the neighbor’s lawnmower.

Here at Starbucks my headphones drown out the shuffle of feet, and the conversations of people starting their day. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee surrounds me, and flows to my brain sip by sip. And now, happily anonymous, I will write.

Who are these people anyway?

I thought I knew my protagonists. They were conceived in my own mind and born through my computer. Right? Sort of. Fact is, going through my editor's exercises, including doing a Myers-Briggs test on each of them, fastening down a love language, and wrapping it all up in a solid exterior (his hair is brown, right?) makes all the difference in the world.

The difference between regular and HD TV.

I am off to (re)write the intro to my book with new definition.

Read the directions?

So, at my editor's direction, I am backing up and dissecting my protagonist. Goal is to discover her "essence" and then bring her onstage in a way that speaks clearly to that.

Being Likeable

My editor says that I have to make my protagonist more likeable.

Likeable? I haven't thought this much about being popular since I was in high school.

It was kind of hard to take at first. Truth is my main character has more than a little of me in her. Then, re-reading the first chapter I saw I had set the tension so tight she came off as having PMS.

So, I'm going back through the dialogue and softening her tone, giving her more of a sense of humor, showing her compassion, and brightening her outlook on life. Basically, upping my gal's endorphins and putting her back in the situation.

Now that something to think about, isn't it?

Getting Started

How do you write a book?

For about a year my dear friend Caroline Schermerhorn and I met to discuss writing. Caroline was a published author. I was, well, an avid journaler and crumpler of paper. We read books about writing, talked about writing, and how we could never find the time.

One book turned all my good intentions into a rough draft: On Writing by Stephen King.

Other books had left me feeling girdled, constrained.

In On Writing King tells of his son wanting to play the saxophone. So they got him one. Lessons too. The son dutifully took out his instrument for 30 minutes a day, then put it back in the case. After a few months King told his wife it was time to cancel the lessons. Why? The kid never just let loose. Never any real-play time. All practice.

King says (on page 145) that when you find something "at which you are talented, you do it (whatever it is) until your fingers bleed..." Because it makes you happy.

I felt like I could finally PLAY.

The Plan

"What cha' got worth livin' for?"

I found myself asking that question after losing my dear husband to cancer. So fast. So unexpected. Gone.

"I always wanted to write."

My inspiration: a charming book series about Mrs. Pollifax, an elderly widow. Her doctor suggests this could be a time of opportunity. "Well, I always did want to be a spy," she says. She leaves him laughing...and does it.

And so I am in the doing it phase. It's always an adventure when you reach for your dreams. So much has happened. I thought it might be fun to write about it.

So, here goes.