Literary Ladies Guide to the Writing Life

I just finished reading THE LITERARY LADIES GUIDE TO THE WRITING LIFE by Nava Atlas.  A writer friend of mine told me about one of the metaphors Madeleine L'Engle uses about letting her ideas simmer slowly, with several pots cooking at once, she drops ideas in each one until the pot is full and then brings it to the front of the stove. That's the story she begins to write. I really enjoyed it!

[On Writing] "To work on a book is for me very much the same thing as to pray. Both involve discipline... Ultimately, when you are writing, you stop thinking and write what you hear." 
~ Madeleine L'Engle

Some of the authors that Atlas shares with us include Jane Austen, Louisa May Alcott, Charlotte Bronte, Willa Cather, Edna Ferber, Virginia Woolf, Edith Warton and many more notable women writers. What I found most amazing was from the mid 1600's to today all women writers struggle with writing time, developing a voice, recognition of their work, fighting inner demons, handling rejection, making money and finding inspiration. They found their stories in not only day-to-day issues, but global ones as well. From letters and interviews we learn a lot about these classic authors. And personally, it warmed my heart to see that we still share the insecurity and the heady excitement as such esteemed authors.

[On Reviews] "You read these things, you hear them, you face them as you would face any misfortune, with as much good grace as you can summon. Success or failure, you go on to the next piece of work at hand." ~Edna Ferber

We're all familiar with Uncle Tom's Cabin, A Wrinkle in Time, My Antonia, Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Little Women, A Room of One's Own, just to name a few of the notable works we've been hearing about since we were children. Many we've read or seen the motion picture, so the stories and characters are familiar.

[On Writing] "Risk is essential. It's scary. Every time I sit down and start the first page of a novel I am risking failure." ~ Madeleine L'Engle

I like to think that what Jacqui, Susan, Maggie, Mary and I are trying to do at Author Expressions is similar. Sharing our experiences and encouraging other authors along the path. I hope you'll ask questions, share ideas and concerns with us and keep the discussion going. And if you get a chance to read this book, it's a good glimpse into the lives of some of the greats.

Enjoy the journey my author friends.

When Jane Met Rochester

by Libby Sternberg
www.LibbysBooks.com

Recently on my own blog, I hosted a discussion of favorite scenes from Bronte's Jane Eyre, the inspiration for my own September release, Sloane Hall, which is set in old Hollywood as films shifted from silent to sound.

A favorite Eyre scene for a bunch of folks was when Jane first encountered Rochester, not knowing who he was, on a walk near Thornfield Hall.

Here's how I handled that scene in Sloane Hall, when chauffeur John Doyle encounters his starlet employer for the first time, not knowing who she is:

In a refreshed state of mind, I decided one Thursday afternoon to set out on a dirt road just north of the house, one that led away from the fields and into more barren land. I'd traveled nearly five miles by my reckoning and just made my way to the crest of a hill when I saw a tiny ball of fur in the middle of the road, trying to scamper to the side with no success.

Pushing my hat back on my head, I bent forward to help the poor creature. It was a baby rabbit with a leg cramped tight against its body, and it wouldn't last long. Not in this land with sun and wind and other creatures aiming to hurt it. I felt the need to do something, so I took my hat off to scoop it up and into the brush where it could at least rest peacefully before death surely claimed it. Before I had a chance to touch its downy back and soothe its fright, I was put into a fright myself.

Heehaw, heehaw! A motorcar horn split the air, as out of place in that barren region as a snow-draped Christmas tree. I jumped back, just in time to save myself from being run over by a spitting new Duesenberg J, its long nose jutting down the road like a ramrod.

"What the . . .?" My head twitched as I saw the large wheels crush the animal into the earth. Damn that driver! Damn him to hell!

My gaze turned up to the vehicle, careening into a ditch while its driver cursed with a vocabulary I thought only my fellow reform-school inmates had mastered.

My hands clenched into fists. I marched toward the car, ready to give that driver more than just a piece of my mind. Out here on this sun-baked road, I could pound that rascal's head into the ground, and no one would know but me and God. And I was sure, at that moment, that He was on my side.

But that feeling faded as I took long strides toward the car and . . . damn. Damn if the driver wasn't beautiful. Soft and pretty like the small thing she'd destroyed.

A porcelain doll. A translucent face, too pale for California's savage sun, and eyes as piercing as old Milqueton's but blue instead of brown. Blue ice. Or blue flame, I suppose, depending on your perspective. Now they burned with anger, and her small rosebud of a mouth pursed in annoyance. Her hair was blond -- white blond, like blinding sun--in one of those new short, wavy styles all the girls were favoring, and she wore a long-sleeved dress--something yellow and silky that gave the impression she had nothing on underneath. I was beaten back by all that, by the softness and the beauty. . .

. . . Opening the door, she jumped onto the road, but the car was leaning at an angle that made the distance from running board to ground farther than she'd counted on. Her knees buckled for an instant and she herself would have fallen had I not stretched out my hand to catch her arm.

Here was Eve herself. Soft skin, even though she herself was thin and bony, and sweet scent. . .

. . . I had to steady her with both my hands, while she latched onto my arms with her slender fingers. It was then that she looked me in the eyes and laughed. Here was the apple. That laugh. A silvery sound that rippled into the empty space like birds trilling in the distance, jangling my nerves. . .

"Dear boy, you look like you've seen a ghost."

I hope you enjoyed this little excerpt. What scenes from favorite books do you like to re-read?

(For more about Sloane Hall, be sure to visit my blog at www.LibbysBooks.blogspot.com! Or to pre-order the book, go to amazon.com or bn.com!)