Inspiration or Perspiration?

    I've had a lot of nice comments about my writing but most of the people who read my books have an unrealistic idea of what goes into writing a book and even less what is involved in publishing of it. Let me state first of all that writing is not done in a flash of inspiration. That flash of inspiration is only the birth of an idea. Turning it into a book can be a long, drawn-out process. 

   My most recently published book, The Flow of the Big Spring, is a prime example. It was five years from the day I agreed to try write it until the book was released to the public. I was working on the writing about three years and the rest of the time it was in the publishing process. The layout was complicated because there were so many parts to fit into the proper spaces---text, footnotes, photos, captions, and sidebars. The person who did the layout said it was like putting a puzzle together.

   After I finished that book I said I am retiring and will only write short stories and articles from now on---unless something really good comes along. Maybe I shouldn't have added that qualifier. Something good did come along. It would just be a small book with a story of something that happened in the 1700s. The history and size is what triggered my interest in trying write it.

   I was sailing along with the first draft and nearing the end when I discovered I had made a huge mistake in the timeline and correcting it meant starting over. I trashed it and started again from a different point in the story. Yesterday I decided that one isn't working either. I'm too stubborn to quit so next week I will start again for the third time. I may strike out but I hope this time I will hit a home run.

  All this to say, writing is not something you do on a Sunday afternoon while you sit under a shade tree. Inspiration does not write a story; it takes perspiration and determination.

Flow of the Big Spring

  In early May five years ago, I met with a committee who asked me to write the history of a farm that had been in the Martin family more than 200 years. After looking at the enormous amount of material and family heirlooms they had preserved and collected, I knew there was more than enough material to write a book. It looked overwhelming but I agreed to try.

  I began with the Native Americans who were the first to drink from the big spring and camp on that land. William Penn was the first European owner of the land, but it is highly unlikely he ever saw the spring. I worked through each owner from the first Welsh immigrant in 1734 until it passed out of the Martin family in 2007 and became a living history museum.

   The project stretched out year after year with many revisions and additions. After I was finished writing the text, someone else did the layout which stretched out due to unavoidable circumstances. At last, in March, it was at the printer. Then plans were made for a formal release date of May 2.

   The meeting was held at the Martindale Reception Center. We got there at 6:15 thinking we were in plenty of time for the 7 p.m. start of the meeting. People were already there buying books and shoving them at me to sign before I had a chance to sit down. I signed books before, during, and after the meeting. I was thankful I was not on the program and could just sit there and sign my name.

   The committee was surprised at the big turnout and so was I. 

   They had brought 800 books thinking it's better to have too many than not enough. We were nearing the end when someone reported we had sold 642 books and more were sold after that. People bought multiple copies and even cases to give to their families. Most of the 800 books were sold.

  The committee spent a lot of money to produce this book. I was paid by the hour for my time, someone else was paid to do the layout, and then there was the cost of printing. I'm glad there was such a good turnout and market for the books. They need to sell a lot of them to break even on the cost of production.

   I can't deny my name is known as an author, but I am not the main reason people came to the meeting. It is a nice hardcover book with a lot of high-quality color pictures that makes it attractive. I had nothing to do with that part of it except to submit a photo or two. The reason for the high sales is the fact that the farm was in the Martin family for six generations. The last owner was a bachelor, but the others left many descendants. The Martins are so prolific that Martin is almost a generic name, especially if it is coupled with John. 

   Some people can trace their lineage to this Martin family in more than one way. I knew when I agreed to write the book that I had a connection to it myself. My great-great-great-grandmother was born and raised there. Her name was Lydia Martin and she married Jacob W. Stauffer who was a leader in founding the Stauffer Mennonite (Pike) church.

   As the years dragged on, I sometimes wondered if I'd live long enough to see the book finished. I did, and it is always a satisfying feeling to see the finished product. May the story and preservation of the farm inspire and encourage people to treasure their heritage and pass it on to the next generation.

After all our hopes and dreams

Have come and gone,

And our children sift thru all

We've left behind,

May the clues that they discover,

And the mem'ries they uncover,

Become the light that leads them,

To the road we each must find.

O may all who come behind us

Find us faithful,

May the fire of our devotion

Light their way.

May the footprints that we leave,

Lead them to believe,

And the lives we live

Inspire them to obey.

O may all who come behind us
Find us faithful.

Memory Lane

   A couple weeks ago my sister presented to me a big box of about twenty years of the weekly emails I had written to her. She printed and saved them but now is trying to downsize. She gave them to me to do with as I wish. I've been enjoying reading through them, finding things I didn't remember, and also getting a picture of myself which isn't always flattering. I picked out a few to save. One of our sons said he has saved every one in a file on his computer. They are there if anyone ever wants anything from them.

   Reading through them is a trip down Memory Lane. I'm finding details of things I had forgotten, like the time a hurricane came through and we were out of electric for 122 1/2 hours. I was bored to tears with nothing to do. I'm reliving trips we took, some of our children's weddings, remodeling jobs in the house, family weekends at the cabin, and much more.

  I had the privilege of babysitting a little grandson one day each week, from the time he was a few weeks old until he went to school. I treasure those memories. I was also much stronger and more ambitious than I am today. I am surprised to see how much work I got done in a week back then. I volunteered at the historical society for about twelve years and enjoyed the work. But as I read how much time I spent running around to trace genealogy, I see it was consuming too much of my life. It was fun and learned a lot but it was overdone. I have repented and will not let myself get sucked in again to that degree.

   I'm also reliving the work that went into some of the books and historical articles I have written. My newest book will be released tomorrow evening at a public meeting. After I finished that book I declared it is my last one; I will stick with short stories and articles from now on and not write any more books.

   I did bend that promise a bit by giving Christian Light some stories that had been in the story papers to be published in a book. That kind is a cheater because the stories were already written. It will appear on the market sometime later this year. I said that will be my fifteenth and final book--unless something too tempting comes along.

   Guess what! Something too tempting came along last week and I'm at it again. It will be a short book, nowhere near the size of the one being released tomorrow that took five years to produce. I hope it will convey a message that will have eternal value. So what can I say? Old writers never die, they just scribble away.