the tipping point...
Sunday, May 25, 2008 at 2:00AM in Toni McGee Causey Eleventy quibillion years ago, when I was in fourth grade, I wanted to be a writer. I wrote terrible poems, which I think only got worse as I got older and the teenage years descended like locusts, leaving only WOE and ANGST. By college, I had brief bouts of sanity, whereupon I attempted architecture (ohmyGod, they do not tell you about the math), business (my first accounting teacher gave me the final exam in advance, with the answers, if I would swear to her I would never, ever, take another accounting class again), and then journalism (where I learned they had the picky little annoying habit of wanting reporters to not make crap up)(this was before Fox News).
And in spite of a fine history of liking to eat and wanting a roof over my head, I still wanted to be a writer. If you asked a question, you would get a story instead of an answer. If I could sidetrack into a couple of tangents? You might as well park a while, because the stories? They would not stop.
All the while, I wrote. Much of it was bad.
I ran into a former high-school teacher, who'd also been a librarian, who asked me the tough question: why wasn't I submitting for publication? Have you ever run into one of your former teachers? THEY ARE SCARY. It's like they can retroactively fail you or their eyes shoot truth serum rays or something, and I did not want to stand there in front of my two-year-old and explain I hadn't submitted anything because I was a big honking chicken. So I took her advice and started writing and submitting to the local paper. (They were insane enough to buy the very first one. That's like feeding a stray puppy. They did not realize this, I think, until I was around so much, they added me to the regular staff AND the food staff, and this was a fairly prominent paper. One of my relatives realized that I was being assigned to write about how people COOK things. He asked, "Isn't that... fraud? You use the fire alarm as an oven timer." I look back on this as the beginning of my fiction career.)
Over the years, and we are not discussing how many, maybe more than two but less than a hundred, I wrote more articles than I can remember or count for newspapers and magazines. I started querying and submitting (and getting sales) at national magazines, but my real love was fiction. I tried my hand at a novel, but it was a spiraling mess, and my husband could see how frustrated I was. (And EVERY husband out there just substituted the words "complete raving loon" for "frustrated.") So, being a very wise man who liked to wake up breathing in the mornings, he encouraged me to go back to school for some writing classes.
For a while, I was lured to the dark side (screenwriting), and landed an agent, and did a lot of stuff that was almost-but-not-quite what I wanted to do, which was to sell something I made up. Hollywood, by the way, will kill you with encouragement, because when you meet the executives, you will be told you are the most brilliant writer they have read in forever and where the hell have you been all this time and they want to be in the "Toni Causey" business. Swear to God, they will say it and you will believe it because they are that good at sincere. Until you're sitting in the Warner Brothers commissary waiting for the next meeting, furtively looking around to see the FRIENDS stars on their lunch break (yes, I am dating myself, hush), and the same executive walks by with his arm around someone else who is not you, telling them how utterly brilliant they were, the most brilliant person they'd ever read. That's when you look down at the script in your hand that is an action thriller that everyone absolutely loves but could you make the man a woman and the woman a duck and wouldn't it be great if the horse saved the day? and you think, "I'm crazy, but I'm not this crazy." Some writers (our very own Alex and Rob) have the tenacity for that. Me? I kinda wanted to just kick people. (I never claimed to be mature.)
See, I had this idea. An idea for this funny, take-no-prisoners kind of southern woman, who loves deeply and means well, in spite of the chaos she causes, and I wanted to write that story and be true to that story. So I quit screenwriting. (I had had some offers if I'd move out there. I was not going to move the family.) I had a hard time convincing my former agent that yes, I was serious. I was quitting to write a novel. (I think she still thinks I am going to change my mind.) But I quit, and I started writing Bobbie Faye. I wrote a quick draft in script form, because I was used to that format, then a friend showed a friend, the lovely Rosemary Edghill, who said, "Send me some chapters." And I did. She gave me some notes (smart, smart woman), and taught me how to write the kind of synopsis an agent needs ("I did not think you could make this worse," she said of one draft of that synopsis, "but you did." That's because I am an overachiever. It took a lot of tries before I figured out that writing a marketing synopsis is a lot like writing a non-fiction article, and that I could do.) Next thing I know, I'd signed with an agent and Rosemary had pitched it to an editor, who made an offer, and St. Martin's Press bought that book and the next two based on three sample chapters and a synopsis. Almost twenty years from the point where I saw my old high-school English teacher and she'd said, "Why aren't you submitting for publication?"
(Thank you, Mrs. Ross.)**
There is a great big huge world of "no" out there. Sometimes, following the dream does not mean hoppity-skipping down the easy path. In fact, a lot of times, it means zig zagging past mortars and incoming and a lot of almosts-not-quites and despair and frustration what-the-hell-were-you-thinking? and ugh-this-sucks and occasionally wow-show-me-more. And in spite of how long it took, and how much hard work, I have been exceptionally lucky--there have been friends and mentors who've said, "keep going," and who've said, "send that in." They changed my life. They were the tipping point for me.
So how about you? Who encouraged you? Or what's something you tried that someone encouraged you to do and now you're glad you did?
~*~
CONTEST: just stop in and say HI or name someone who encouraged you OR something you've tried as a result of encouragement. ANYTHING's fair game here.
Remember, it's CONTEST MONTH -- every commenter on today's post will be eligible for a signed copy of BOBBIE FAYE'S VERY (very, very, very) BAD DAY as well as a hot-off-the-press, not available in the stores 'til the end of the month BOBBIE FAYE'S (kinda, sorta, not exactly) FAMILY JEWELS. Excerpts from book 2 are now up HERE. Winner from this week to be announced on next Sunday's blog.
WINNER FROM LAST WEEK -- Billie! billie! Sister of the soul. ;)
Like last week, I put the names in a hat and my neighbor chose. So Billie, please email me at toni [dot] causey [at] gmail [dot] com with your address and I'll get your signed copies mailed out to you this week!
**This is part of the interview I did with Bethany Hensel over at Lux Magazine... I'll post a link here to the rest as soon as I have it. Thanks, Bethany!
Reader Comments (42)
I loved reading the story of your path to the Bobbie Faye books being published. It's a reminder that these meandering (sometimes/ often) paths to publication can take awhile and have a lot of interesting curves.
I wrote "stories" before I knew how to write. I scribbled them in fake cursive on yellow legal pads, filling every line with the pretend writing. I scratched out authors' names in the fronts of my mom's novels and wrote my name there instead. There is a photo of me at age 3 sleeping in those pajamas with feet, holding a ball point pen, my arm lying across the yellow legal pad I'd filled.
I had a second grade teacher who made a big deal about a poem I wrote, and that meant a lot to me. In eighth grade there was an English teacher who actually made us write a short story and READ IT OUT LOUD to the class on Fridays. I was mortified by the reading it out loud part, and felt my stories were way too dark and intense. So I wrote fake bad cheerful stories.
I also loved horses and cats and dogs so most of my youth was spent secretly wanting to be a writer and actively wanting to be a veterinarian. I went to undergrad and majored in pre-vet. NO one told ME about the 8 semesters of higher level chemistry! My honors English professor the first semester of freshman year pulled me aside and said it was a crime I was not majoring in English. Based on that I added English as a double major, and then as a sophomore I dropped the pre-vet altogether.
I was really lucky to have Lee Smith as a creative writing teacher during that time, It was in her classes that I wrote the first dark intense stories - the real ones - and she wrote lovely things in green felt tip all over them and made me feel like I was on the right path.
I ended up taking another path to grad school and being a therapist, but in a way, seeing clients is like writing characters. You listen to their stories and you help them edit. Sometimes you help them write a new ending. But it's all mining for the truth.
Fun to think about this morning!!
The tipping point for me? A bunch of things. First, I turned 30 and started looking at my life and what I had and hadn't done. Then I had Brennan #3 and when I was on maternity leave for four month, I read 77 books. One of the things I realized then was that I hadn't read as much as I used to before kids and family. I mean, I used to read 2-3 books a week for pleasure, then I'd gone down to like one or two a month. I realized that I was missing books in my life and cleared my TBR piles pretty quickly. I started looking at all the stories I'd started but never finished--over a hundred would be novels. I read those 77 books and thought, I can do this. I can write stories. Why wasn't I doing it?
Then I went back to work and realized that I didn't want to be there. I had begun to hate my job, and I didn't want to hate it. Then my son's day care provider was accused of child abuse, and I drove back to pick him up, crying, having no sick time, no vacation time (all used up to take my nice 4 month maternity leave) and no way to quit my job because we needed my income to help pay for the house and food and car. I felt trapped and stuck and a month later decided that I needed to work from home, and the only thing that I REALLY wanted to do was finish one of the books I'd started and sell it.
Yes, seriously, I thought I'd write a book, sell it, and quit my day job. And it almost happened like that. I wrote five books, then sold, then wrote one more, then quit my day job.
But for me, the tipping point was flipping that internal switch that I would make whatever sacrifice necessary to write, that I would finish, I would submit, and I would keep doing it until I sold.
Like you, Billie, and Allison, I started writing fiction when I was quite young but had far more success in nonfiction.
The tipping point for writing novels came when I was pregnant with my first child and read so many "bad" (what I thought bad at the time) mysteries that I thought I could do better myself.
What hubris.
But it did start me trying and I haven't given up since.
When I told him about this international Masters Degree scholarship I'd heard about, he said, "I could never love a woman who didn't try for something like that."
when I won it, he said, "I could never love a woman who could go off to France without me."
Thanks for the shove, Kev. France was great.
Allison, not that I'd ever want you to feel trapped, but I'm really glad those tipping points came along, because I would have seriously missed out on a lot of great books and a terrific friendship. I caught Jake's daycare working downing and trying to hide a bottle of Jack while on the job, and she couldn't understand why I might think she was a little under the influence and possibly not an appropriate childcare worker. Completely horrifies and breaks your heart to realize you've left your kids with someone who was supposed to be trustworthy only to find out they weren't, and the second-guessing of your own judgment can be brutal from then on out. But your books are absolute must reads and I feel so LUCKY to have you.
Which totally freaked me out, by the way, because I thought, "If I ever write this chic again, I'm gonna want to send her everything I ever wrote, then she'll think I'll be a stalker, or that I'm one of those crazed fans that has shrines and voodoo dolls of all the authors that I like....."
But a funny thing happened. I went to a songwriter's conference about a month ago (yes, we've all flirted with the dark side) and sat in this one particular class that I really enjoyed. I connected well with the teacher. He was a skinny, likable guy with a bald head and a really long, pointy chin.
Then I found out he wrote my favorite song from high school! Like, my FAVORITE song--the one I will never learn how to sing because I'll never do it justice.
If I'd known that *before* I walked in his class, I never would have looked him in the eye--I'd have been afraid I would be standing in a yellow puddle, trembling like a teeny chihuahua. But he's a nice guy, just your everyday average geeky Joe!!!!! And you know what he said later? "You ought to send me some of your stuff so I can read it sometime." (Shock and awe! I still haven't actually done that.)
So, I realized then that writers are just people and I should not get caught up in the success (or lack thereof) of whoever is doing the writing.
Gee--that means **I** can be a writer! My overly-bloated, pregnant, sleep-deprived body and absent-minded brain might be able to cook up something that will touch somebody else.
So, thanks a bundle, Toni. And keep writing! I already have #2 on reserve at the library, LOL!
My inspiration was my ninth-grade teacher who told me to write about a splinter. That splinter gripped my mind till I was the mother of five, finally getting a college degree. Bless that splinter.
Enjoyed your story. Loved your 1st book! Can't wait to read this next one.
Bobbie Faye Part 2 (that would be Bobbie Faye's ...Family Jewels is FANTASTIC! All the sass and fun of Bobbie Faye #1 but better. Toni really took it up a notch and people are going to love it.
As a part-time bookseller, I can tell you that here is the best thing you can do for Toni (and Bobbie Faye) - pre-order this book. Go to your local bookstore and ask them to get it for you.
If you don't have a local bookstore, call ours (Mystery Lovers Bookshop in Pittsburgh) or order it online:
http://www.mysterylovers.com/index.php?target=products&product_id=49188
Early sales are very important - they mean more re-orders, early buzz about the book, and ultimately better overall sales and more Bobbie Faye!
Mazeltov, Toni!
June, I remember your telling of that splinter story and it was very very funny -- I'm so glad your teacher encouraged you! I know your own students are benefiting tremendously from having you as an example.
Kathy, I LOVE you. I'd offer to bear you more children and even RAISE THEM and give them back to you when they were, you know, not annoying. Like when they're 30sih or somethng. And have jobs. Okay, maybe not, but I would have thought REALLY HARD about it. Thanks for the kind words!
But I think the real defining point was my former fiancee Anne. She always stood behind my writing one hundred and ten percent (cliche I know, but it's true). When she died, it was her memory that kept me writing. It really was my saving grace during that rough time.
Now, I'm once again with a really wonderful woman, Jessi, who encourages me to keep striving and reach my writing goals. (Of course, it doesn't hurt that she writes too.)
As for my writing 'career' I had two tipping points. One was hearing Eloisa James give a kickass interview on NPR where she defended writing romance and talked about how she did it despite her father being Robert-freakin-Bly. Listening to her, I realized that I'd convinced myself I couldn't sit down to write until I was ready to write the Great American Novel. Boy, was I dumb. I didn't even like *reading* the Great American Novel!
The other tipping point came when I realized I didn't want to have kids of my own--but I still needed to create *something*. At the time I naively believed I could crank out a book in roughly the same amount of time it would take me to churn out a baby. As it turns out I'm still typing away, which could indicate I was wrong but more likely means I'm blessed with the gestation period of an African elephant.
Still, one day, my baby will pop out all red and dripping and screaming, and I'm sure I'll love it and be proud of it and think it's darling even though it looks like an overcooked prune. It will probably have to live out its entire life under my bed, but that's okay too. I'm planning on a big family.
Anyway, Brent liked the style so much he asked me to do a weekly column. After a couple of years of that, he said "hey, you know, you're pretty good, why don't you write a novel"?
So I guess he's really to blame.
Brent's demons finally caught up with him a couple of years ago and he passed away. He was only 57. I realized I had never thanked him properly, so I dedicated SAFE AND SOUND to him.
For me, it's always been words and stories; told aloud by my father's childhood pal, on the pages of all those library books Mrs. Wells and Mrs. Borland let me take home when I was a child, song lyrics, poetry, screenplays, stageplays, text set to classical music. Words in my ears, words on my tongue, words trailing (too slowly!) from my fingers.
So it appears, Toni, that I was born tipped, and there's no help for it.
Right now capital-L Life has intruded pretty badly. But I'll get back to work somehow. Can't seem to help it.
Short story featured in 4th grade 'Bethel Lutheranians - Yea!'. Something about how Ivy became "Poison." Very well received.
Multiple attempts at authoring various self-help books only to realize that I needed the help, and should not be dispensing it.
Distracted by painting and making jewelry and oh yes, school and more school and this thing called a career.
Several non-fiction tear-jerking articles published in an anthology around the time my Dad died and husband bolted.
Compiled and edited an anthology called 'Mending America's Quilt'. Which went no where. No market at the time for teaching tolerance.
When my idea for a movie sold, I attempted the script writing thing. 4 scripts later, two definitely suck and the other two kind of suck.
Oh, and then this TONI girl wrote this fab book called 'Bobby Faye.."
Around that time something really awful happened to 'Someone, aka Mr. Smarty Pants' who had been enormously cruel, mean, and sheer evil to me. And a premise popped into my head for a novel. A funny novel. And I told Toni. And she said, go for it.
And yes, I have an alibi.
I'm very excited about Bobby Faye #2. Thanks Toni!
And RIP, Mr. Smarty Pants. After all that, you were a Tipping Point.
;-) Bella
*snicker*
Oooh... tipping point(s).
I am honestly trying to remember, because I put my first story down on paper when I was about four (in crayon with pictures) and I've always told stories to anybody who didn't run away fast enough. I guess that partly it was reading the Almost But Not Quite The Worst Novel Ever (and it was published!) and partly having George Lucas's artistic vision betray me (we do *not* mention any Star Wars movies released after "The Empire Strikes Back" in *this* household, sweetie, let me tell you...) and partly the fact that the vampire-hunter market had dried up (oh, loooooong story) and anyway: novel. And then another novel. And then another one...
(hi there.)
Anyway, it totally rocks. I loved #1, and #2 is even better. So get yourselves out there the moment your bookstore opens on Tuesday, and don't put it down until you've finished it. I'll be buying at least 3, and passing them out to anyone who doesn't out-run me.
I am currently waiting for my tipping point. I guess it has to be something that will let me look past the fear of whether I can do it. Wish me luck. ;)
There have been many others along the way, but that was probably the first pour of concrete in my foundation.
Doh.
There *are* no other Star War movies after The Empire Strikes Back. I thought that was a Rule of the Universe.
R.J. - what a cool thing for a teacher to do. I love it when they think outside the box for kids. (Mrs. Ross was like that -- she came up with ways to actually make grammar fun for the guys. Seriously, she gave them all musical instruments and they had to "play" their instrument, i.e., make as much noise as they could... but only when their particular punctuation was called for in the sentences we were diagramming. I have never seen boys pay so much attention. She also gave out candy. We loved her.)
And Anne is so beautifully and well-remembered, R.J. -- what a fitting tribute you give to her, the way you live your life. I know Jessie's got to be proud of you, too, and I'm glad you've found someone so special.
What a great point about writing what you love to read, and how perfectly put!
Dusty, clearly Brent was an incredibly smart, savvy man. *I* wish I could go thank him for giving you that advice. Seriously.
Tom -- I love that line, that you were "born tipped." I sometimes wonder if writers really are born so completely different. Are we made that way? Or is it something genetic? Fingers crossed for you that real life starts running smoothly; I truly know how that feels, for there to be too much chaos to be able to get the words on the page.
Pammy, you've been funny since the first day I met you. (I swear, I *never* can predict what you're going to come up with next.) If anyone should be writing, it's you.
Helen, what a beautiful memory! And I love that you passed it on and read out loud to your aunt, as well. I didn't read as much to my kids as I wish I had, but I'm going to get to do a lot more reading with grandkids, and I plan to make sure it's a tradition, like you've done. Beautiful inspiration, thank you.
On Saturday the teacher asked us to bring in a sample of our work on Sunday so the class could critique it. As I had no samples, I had to quickly write a short story so I'd have something to read in front of the class the next day. That night I wrote my first piece of fiction about a gambler at a horse race (my inspiration, the Kentucky Derby, had run that day).
I was pretty nervous, but I offered to be one of the first to read my story to the class. My teacher and classmates couldn't believe that it was my first piece of fiction and that I'd just written it the night before. I received lots of positive feedback for that story and realized I just might be able to write fiction after all.
Now I'm deep in the throes of writing and have dreams of one day being a published fiction author. But, darn it, I need to finish a manuscript first. ;-)
Does having my ex say one too many times that I couldn't leave, he'd kill me first (thereby giving me the gumption to get my ass the hell out of that house, that state even, and leading me to my current husband, a man well worthy of the position) count?
My parents, who recently read a draft of my book out loud to each other, which really touched me. Rick Blackwood, who also lured me to the dark side of screenwriting for a while. David Madden whose advice is always helpful even if we sit on opposing sides of the spectrum and often disagree. And always, always, my first fiction teacher Mr. Lewis who taught me to accept criticism graciously and who helped me develop my thick skin. Stephanie Nash, who's incredibly insightful and always willing to read something. Clarence Nero, who taught me a lot about being true to your story while everyone else is trying to change it. Jamey Hatley, who by being my friend and fellow writer, is teaching a master class in writing every time I see her. My sister Aimee - when we were kids, we'd write stories about our stuffed animals. Every day, when we'd begin to write, I'd say, "Now let's read everything we wrote yesterday, refresh ourselves and edit it up a bit." And she'd yawn and say, "Let's just write."
There are certain to be more -- but those are a few that came to mind. I think it started to read like the acknowledgments to my book, so sorry. :)
So, so happy for you, you never gave up! You are a perfect example of someone who never gave up on their dream. Was in the New Orleans airport a few months ago and picked up a copy of Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans; wonderful stories.
How's the Grandma part of your life going, I've never seen the baby,haven't seen Jake for a long time. Are you having another book signing at Barnes and Noble?
So many congrats on your second! book, will be looking forward to getting it!
BTW, I did fianally get photos of Angels Grace, she looks like you. Yes, that is what we needed, another little Toni!
Love ya lots! Much success!
PS - math? are you kidding?
Also, Toni, when you and Carl first got married you told this hilarious story about your grandfather (?) shooting more than one deer at the same time or something. I don’t’ really remember the story, but I remember laughing more than I usually do at those get togethers. So, will you tell me and everybody else that story? It was just too, too funny.
My tipping point is actually in relation to a whole bundle of things that might be referred to as life. I have always been relatively shy and unsure of myself, and stepping out of my comfort zone was not even an option. There was a list of things to pin that on- lack of funds, four stair-step aged kids who needed me, hubby, blah, blah, blah. But when it came down to it, I was just bogged down with fear of the unknown.
I went to work at a local business just because of the benefits, and although I liked the place, working in the mailroom wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Ever wonder why postal workers “go postal’? Try making sense of mundane menial work that is done day after day for the sake of some crappy insurance you think you have to have. But hey, that’s what I had settled into, so there I was.
The worst of it was that there were only three of us in there and the other two people hated me. Wonderful, sweet little ole’ me! I mean hated me. My daily drives home were sprinkled with prayers, cussing, crying or lengthy diatribes that I wanted to unleash on the two ugly mailroom stepsisters, but instead saved for the enjoyment of my steering wheel. This went on for about three years (I’m persistent to a fault), when the editor of our newsletter asked if anyone wanted to write an article for that month. At this point my shyness and fear had taken a backseat to my absolute need to get out of the mailroom! So, I stuck my neck out and wrote my first article. Within a month I was asked to write an article for our magazine, and soon after I was asked to move down to the publishing department. How da ya like that! I was astounded that I had actually found my way out!
Now it seems that there may have been more of a reason for me moving down the hall than just to write articles. My editor, Wendy, is twenty years my junior, but the most self- assured person that I know. She really didn’t understand my hesitance to move forward. She really didn’t understand my lack of belief in myself. How could I not know how intelligent I was? Why hadn’t I told them that I could write before now? How could I stay in the mailroom position for so long? And why, exactly, did I allow those two mean, ignorant women to get to me? I didn’t really have any good answers for her, and all of a sudden, I started to get it. I was experiencing a spurt of personal growth and self awareness that everyone needs. Wendy started to rub off on me.
And none too soon. About a year after I started work on the magazine, I found out that I had uterine cancer. Now, I am not going to tell you that I was not scared out of my gourd. I was worried about my husband, Doug, and my grown kids, but I knew that if the doctor could just do a hysterectomy, maybe I could cheat this thing. Any other time I would have done my neurotic thing and freaked out early on, but I just decided to wait on that until I knew more.
So when they did the hysterectomy and it was just barely contained inside the uterus, (the tumor filled my uterus and most of the uterine wall; two more millimeters and it would have spread to other organs) I knew I could lick this thing. I had radiation treatments and went through the whole thing, and I had my family and my faith by my side all the way. But you know what else I had with me? Wendy had given me a belief in myself and the knowledge that I actually had plenty left to give and do. The girls in that department really loved me, and I couldn’t help but realize what a difference it had made to leave that old position in the mailroom.
Today, I have been at this magazine job for three years, and I love it. I don’t know where I am going with my writing, other than what I do on a regular basis, but I know that I CAN do whatever I want! WOOOOHOOOO! That’s a liberating thing, you know?
(One more note here- it’s a real kick in the pants that my cousin’s wife happens to be writing these crazy novels about this wonderful, pleasantly deranged Louisiana girl!)