The Entire Adventure Part 37
Poor Stacie. Her poor crew. (Some were about to die. Who would think up such disaster?)
: O
(Umm . . . that'd be me.)
Anyway, pen in hand, paper before me, the entire night devoted to this cause, I set out to write the
most intense, most horrifying scene from Stacie's story: Trapped On Deception. Just to see if I
could pull it off. Just to see if it would work. Just to see if the story really did have potential. To
see if I could write a suspenseful scene that held a reader by the throat like the real novelists could
write. To see if . . . maybe I could someday be a real novelist??
And I wrote.
It was only a second after that. Maybe even only a split second. Something sounding like a loud
pop ripped across the ravine.
And I wrote.
Except for the faint breeze blowing through the trees, the forest was silent.
And I wrote.
Movement. Above her. Stacie jerked forward, listening. Panic swept her heart into a frenzy.
And I wrote.
Stacie lifted her head slightly and watched the rifle level. Ten feet away, she faced it. She
wanted to run. Everything in her system screamed at her to run. She tried to run. She couldn't
move.
And I wrote until the scene was done. I'm not sure how many pages it turned out to be, but I do
remember I wrote for six hours without stopping, not even for a b-room break. I do remember as if
it was yesterday—my hand. I held the pen in my hand for all that time, scribbling down the scene as
it played out in my mind's eye. Six hours. I finally finished the scene, leaned back in my chair, let
out the breath I had been holding for six hours, then looked at my hand. I couldn't move my hand.
The pen was firmly gripped in my fist. The only way I could remove the pen was to peel my fingers
away from it. So that's what I did. I literally peeled my fingers away from the pen.
But then I read the words I had written. And knew. Oh, yes . . . I knew.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 38
So. I knew. What did I know?
There's this thing that happens to writers when they write something they know . . . works. I had
experienced it a little bit in my opening attempts at putting Jessie at Western. But this . . . this was
the first moment of pure overwhelming joy I experienced as a writer. I read what I had just written—
the scene where Stacie and her poor trail crew were shredded by a maniac with an assault rifle—
and I knew that it worked. That's a big discovery. To know that a scene works is a great feeling for
a novelist. Especially a total newbie novelist like myself.
And hey. If a scene worked for me—the pickiest and stingiest reader of all—maybe it really did . . .
work.
And if the scene worked, maybe the entire story would work.
There was only one way to find out. Time to write the rest of the story.
Three months later, it was written. 105,000 words. Trapped On Deception. And I became . . . a
novelist.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 39
Not everyone can be called a novelist. At least in my mind, a person has no right to call herself a
novelist until she has written a complete novel. Typed "The End" at the end. There are published
novelists and unpublished novelists. And we all know that just because a novelist types "The End"
at the end of her novel, that doesn't necessarily mean the novel is "finished."
Oh, yes. We know that well, don't we. : )
But hey. I typed "The End" at the end of Trapped On Deception. Well okay, not literally, I didn't.
But I finished the story. Stacie and her crew recovered and lived happily ever after. While I basked
in the most enjoyable enterprise I had ever known.
As I basked, there was one thing I knew for sure. Writing novels fit my lifestyle and personality
perfectly. I still don't like to say it was my "calling" or that I was "called" to write novels. I think
we tend to use that word a bit too lightly in our Christian circles. And a bit too heavily. My
opinion. One for a later post.
Anyway . . .
Perfectly. Back to perfect gifts again. Very cool.
Stacie Russell and her best friend, Melissa Whitney, became so real to me I'll never be able to
describe it. You may be a novelist yourself. You may know what I'm talking about. You've all
heard that novelists can get a bit "attached" to their imaginary friends. It's true. For me, it wasn't
that I was a bit "attached" to my characters, but that I fell headlong into their world to the point of
loving them as best friends—as sisters. They became the sisters I never had. They became the two
best friends I never had. I loved their story and I loved them. I just knew the rest of the women who
read Christian fiction would love them and their story too.
I was so wrong.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 40
Over the course of the next three years, after submitting Trapped On Deception to every Christian
publishing house listed as accepting women's fiction in the Christian Writer's Market Guide, after
attending two major summer conferences and talking with editors about my stuff, after collecting a
stack of rejection letters (I've forgotten the exact amount for Trapped; somewhere around 25), I still
thought the story worked. I still thought it had potential to make it in the market. I still trusted the
Lord to make happen whatever He wanted to make happen. But the bottom line was this: no one,
except for my friend June (who I met at my first conference) and my eleven-year-old niece, had read
the entire story. Both June and Christine loved it. I loved it. And I knew it worked. I knew it.
Finally, I paid a professional freelance editor to read it. Just read it. No heavy critique. No line
editing. "Just read it please, and tell me if it really does work. Please?"
She read it. And told me she loved it. But she also told me I had written a young-adult novel for an
adult audience.
Just a tiny flaw. One that just so happened to be totally fatal.
I thought I knew the audience I was writing for. The third rule of writing novels (#1: Writing what
you know. #2: Conflict.) is to know your market. Write for a specific audience. I thought I was. But
I wasn't. Why? Because there aren't that many women out there like me who want to read a story
about a bunch of high-school kids. Stacie was an adult, and the story was hers to tell, but with all
the teenagers, I should have aimed the story more for the teenage audience. But I didn't, because I
knew that would also be a fatal mistake. There was no market for teenage or young-adult Christian
fiction at that time. There still isn't. Not much. Not yet . . . : )
Fatal mistakes. Not kind words to hear after years of writing, rewriting, and . . . hoping.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 41
So stupid! Of course there were not many women like me out there. Of course I wrote a young-adult
novel . . . I was (and in many ways still am) just a big old young adult! What was I thinking?
Late in 1999, near the holidays, I made a startling discovery. One that shelved Trapped On
Deception once and for all. My fatal flaw was, indeed, fatal. But I was blissfully ignorant through
the entire writing and rewriting process. Three and a half years of writing and rewriting and
rewriting and submitting and being rejected and conferencing and researching and spending a whole
lot of money on all of it . . . and I was completely unaware that from the get-go, from that first
moment back in July 1996, when I sat down and wrote that most intense scene and "knew" that it
worked . . . from that first contact with pen on paper, I was writing a "dead" novel. I was writing a
novel that was unmarketable. From that first contact with Bic pen on college-ruled paper, I was off
track. Merrily writing something that would never sell. Because I misjudged the audience I thought
I knew.
I had written the story for me. I needed to face the truth.
That didn't make it any less heart wrenching.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 42
That was a moment. Realizing I was wrong from day one.
A second moment occurred in the spring of 2000. I read a novel by a new novelist named Dee
Henderson. It was called The Negotiator. It was about this super-cool lady named Kate. Kate
didn't know what she believed about God in the opening pages of her story. In the end, she did. And
the way she came to believe . . . I was so impressed and blown away by the story and Kate's
character and the writer's abilities that I knew the time had finally come. Christian fiction was
starting to expand in my direction. This was a book I liked. No, loved. This Dee Henderson lady
wrote and would continue to write stories I would read and enjoy. Finally!
Those two moments. Those two discoveries. One not so good, the other good. Changed my life as I
knew it at that moment.
But more about that later. Let's go back a few years, back once again to late 1996, early 1997, and
talk about the other novel I hand-wrote on college-ruled paper from my desk overlooking the Pacific
Ocean. A little story I called Tender Heart of a Warrior. An intriguing idea from the file of Other
Ideas. Based on a picture in a newspaper of an U.S. Army nurse taken in a combat hospital in Saudi
Arabia during the worst of Operation Desert Storm.
Seeing that picture in the paper. Talk about a life changing moment.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 43
Okay, we will! : ) (Talk about that life changing moment.)
Back during the first Persian Gulf War, during Operations Desert Shield and Storm, I was slogging
my way through my freshman year at the University of Oregon. I had just received my honorable
discharge papers from the U.S. Air Force and the U.S. Air National Guard, and then a guy named
Saddam Hussein went and did something really stupid. You know what they say about people who
do stupid things. Sometimes those people are just plain . . . stupid.
Anyway . . .
Saddam did a stupid thing. He invaded Kuwait. Now, one thing you need to know about me:
politics is not my game. Honestly? I despise politics. Presidential campaigns almost make me want
to escape to a foreign country. Or a soundproof bubble. I don't listen to the radio or watch much
TV. I don't read many newspapers. But still the campaigns find a way to eeek into my sanity. So.
When Saddam pulled his dumb stupid stunt, I . . . honestly? Didn't much care. Oh, I certainly cared
about the people of Kuwait who were under attack, but what did the overall political repercussions
mean to me?
According to my president, they meant a lot. And they also meant I was glad I had been released
from the military. And also . . . left me a bit nervous about the possibility of being called back into
service.
We were going to war because of Dumb Saddam. Saddam Insane, the troops called him. Sad Man.
Hmm.
Well, I'm sure you remember the first Persian Gulf War. And I'm sure you have an opinion about it.
I'm sure you have an opinion about this present Iraq War. Me too. I'll not share my opinions if you'll
not share yours. : ) Okay, well, I will say this one thing. (And you can certainly share your one
thing. I won't mind.) Here it is.
Thank you, President George Bush Senior, for letting our military do the job the way it was
supposed to be done. Thank you, everyone who served and endured the build-up, hold-up, and kick-
butt of Desert Shield and Storm. Thank you all who are now serving in Iraq, Afghanistan, around the
world, and here at home. THANK YOU!!!
And on this day, Memorial Day 2005, my thanks just don't cut it. How can I or any of us properly
say words to represent how grieved and grateful we are for all who have suffered and died in
service to our country? To set us free and keep us free. It is indeed true: We are the home of the
free because of the brave.
Thank you all. From all that I am. All to you. Thank you.
And for now, that's all I say about it.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 44
At the University of Oregon, down in the Erb Memorial Union Student Center, TVs blasted the
coverage. The build-up of Desert Shield. The hold-up of the waiting. The kick-butt of Desert
Storm. I watched as much of it as I could between Molecular Biology, Genetics, and Biochemistry.
I watched with relief, pretty much knowing the Air Force would not be calling me any time soon to
rejoin the effort. I was safe in Eugene, Oregon, watching the action on TV.
And my brother was safe too. Because he was in between bases at the time of the build-up, was "in
transit" from the Philippines and his new base in Utah, he wasn't invited to play in the Land of Sand.
My brother was a munitions specialist in the Air Force. He built and loaded the huge bombs onto
the fighter planes. Maybe, if he had been in Saudi, he could have written, "This one's for you,
Saddam," on one of the biggest bombs. But I was glad he missed out on the festivities. No one at the
time, as Desert Shield moved into Desert Storm, even remotely fathomed it would be as easy to
defeat the "elite Iraqi Republican Guard" as it had been. No one ever dreamed it would be so easy.
So. U of O. Glad to be watching the festivities on TV. Scanning the newspapers and magazines.
One picture in a newspaper caught my eye. Captured my entire being. I stared at that picture, then
tore it out of the newspaper. I didn't even save the article it came with. All I can remember is that it
was a picture of a group of U.S. Army nurses helping an Iraqi prisoner of war. One nurse was
cutting away a bandage near the man's eyes. One nurse was checking his blood pressure.
That nurse. She had a story to tell.
That nurse. Taking the POW's blood pressure. Just doing her job. She captured me. Her face. Her
life. Who she was; what she was doing. A picture. Became a person in my mind. Briefly. For
about fifteen minutes. Then I put the picture away and didn't really think about it again. Until
January 1997.
In 1997, that nurse in that picture became Erin Grayson. Erin's story became Tender Heart of a
Warrior. But Erin wasn't the warrior. She was the nurse. Christina McIntyre was the warrior.
Erin's friend and fellow soldier. Fellow healer. Chris was a medic. A Huey helicopter medevac
medic soon to welcome a new trauma nurse, First Lieutenant Erin Grayson, to her medevac crew.
Trapped On Deception was fun, exciting, and a bit juvenile. Yes. I see that now. But it was also
my "firstborn." Jessie At Western went away never to be "reborn." Tender Heart of a Warrior
became a story I totally fell in love with. But I didn't pursue it as diligently for publication as I did
Trapped. Why? I don't know.
But the Lord knew.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 45
It's amazing to me to see how the two stories came together so completely different. Putting Trapped
together was like putting together a huge jigsaw puzzle. The most intense scene came first. Then a
scene in a later chapter. Then a few scenes earlier in the book. When I wanted to write something
serious, I wrote a later scene where Stacie was struggling with her own injuries and the decimation
of her crew. When I wanted to write something light and fun, I wrote the earlier scenes showing the
camaraderie of the kids on the crew. They were typical kids, much like the kids on my own two trail
crews. They were goofy, fun loving, happy, hard working, sometimes whiners, but most of the time
good, good kids. I really enjoyed developing the characters of each of the ten kids. Showing how
they interacted. Showing how they enjoyed working for Stacie. Even if it was "slave labor."
But I really enjoyed playing out the friendship between Stacie and Melissa. Along with messing up
my market and writing a YA novel for an adult audience, I also—according to what little feedback I
received—wrote a novel with "too much female-female interaction." Yep. You guessed it. My
intention from day one in all of my writing was to write stories about the friendships between
women. In both finished stories—in every story I'd ever want to write—I knew that's what I wanted
to write about. But, at the time, the Christian market wasn't ready for this. I needed more "male-
female interaction." I needed more "romance" in my stuff.
Hah. Don't we all.
Anyway . . . yes. Trapped was a big jigsaw puzzle. But Tender Heart flowed from page one to the
end. And this is how it started. January something, 1997. Pen to paper. Start moving the hand to
write the words flowing from the brainpan.
Christina McIntyre. Good. She still knew her own name.
I'll never forget writing that one simple line. Then sitting back and going, "Whoa! Where did that
come from?"
Nah. It wasn't a question. I knew exactly where it came from. I still do.
: )
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 46
It was so nice to write a story from front to back. Page one to page "The End." For Trapped,
chapter one was the last chapter I wrote. Which is why it turned out so . . . lame. Well, let's just say
it didn't "capture and hook" my readers. And it's not a good thing when chapter one is one of the
weakest chapters in your book.
But Tender Heart's chapter one . . . wow. You shoulda seen me. Up, eat, work, eat,
writewritewrite, sleep. Up, eat, work, writewritewrite, sleep. Yep, sometimes I even forgot to eat.
I'd go to bed at 2:00 a.m. Get up at 8:00 to go to work. I had energy like you would not believe.
Well, I guess it didn't take much energy to sit and writewritewrite.
I can hear you novelists say, "Sure it does! It's hard work! It takes lots of energy to write!"
Nope. For me, Trapped and Tender Heart flowed like chocolate milk from my brainpan. I wrote
and wrote and wrote, then re-drank in the thick, ice cold sweetness, then let it flow again to re-drink
it in again and again. Woo-wee. For someone who had honestly known little excitement in her
pathetic life, this was almost too much. Fun fun fun. Till Daddy took the T-bird away.
(Or should I say T-writer. But more about that later.)
Yes. Fun. And the entire time, every time I glanced at that picture of "Erin Grayson," a part of me
wondered what her real name was. Where was she now? Oh, what stories she could tell me about
her time in the desert. I wished (and still do) I could hear those stories.
How could I ever tell her how grateful I was? And still am?
(The picture I cut out of that newspaper all those years ago is here. Check it out.)
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 47
So. Yes. Tender Heart of a Warrior. Fun fun fun. Two women, fellow soldiers, meet during
Operation Desert Storm and form a close friendship, only to have that friendship disintegrate in a
moment of horror. Five years later, the two women reunite. One helps the other deal with a new
tragedy. Then helps her find the One who can hardly wait to save her. As soon as she dares even
glance His way.
Erin Grayson. Christina McIntyre. Two women. Two friends. Yes. My goal as a Christian
novelist. To write about the friendships between women. To show how God uses friendship and
the perseverance of friends to reach those who need Him.
Nope. The market just wasn't ready for what I was trying to sell. Here are parts of the review the
Writer's Edge gave Tender Heart in June 1998. (With my own comments in parentheses.)
Dear Ms. Fleisher: (Yep, that's me!)
You have a strong, commanding writing style. I don't think you need to worry about readers
dropping off to sleep during this novel! (Well, that was a load off.)
(Their suggestions.) First, your action-paced writing style sometimes comes off as choppy. (Etc.)
Second, I don't think the title will help you promote this book. It sounds like a cliche. (Hmm.)
Third, I love the strength you have given the women in this book. But one problem does worry me a
bit: will readers think that they are lesbian? This would be a "no-sell" for the Christian booksellers
market . . . (etc, etc.) (I mean . . . HUH? And, NO KIDDING!!)
Completely floored me. I mean . . . completely.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 48
Anyway . . . Writer's Edge heard from me three times between 1996 and 1998. They were my first
submission for Trapped in December 1996. A year and a half later, I submitted Trapped again,
along with Tender Heart. Well, you heard the review they gave Tender Heart. But get this. They
also "judged it a superior manuscript." That about blew me away! My readers may think my
characters are lesbians, but they should like the story because it's a superior manuscript!
Give me a break.
Well, now, don't get me wrong. Seeing those words tempered seeing that other word just a bit.
Hmm. Surely if a manuscript had been judged "superior," it would get picked up for immediate
publication, right?
Wrong.
I'm telling you . . . I was so wrong.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 49
Rewriting is the backbone of writing. Something like that. A novel gets written, but it isn't truly
finished until it has been rewritten about twenty times. (Some more than that.) In early 1999, I knew
a few things for sure about my writing. 1) No one wanted my stuff. 2) The market wasn't ready for
my stuff anyway. 3) I needed to keep praying, submitting, and waiting to see what would happen. 4)
I needed to keep writing. 5) I had already written two stories. If these didn't sell, I really did not
want to write a third. I remember thinking, If I can't write novels and make a living at it, I'd rather
not write them at all because I can't live in this fantasy land and still carry on a "real" life.
It was true. I had been completely overwhelmed by the fantasy. Yet still managed to carry on a
"real" life.
So I did not start a third novel. But I did keep on writing. How? I wrote expansion scenes for
Trapped. Hah! Sounds technical, doesn't it? Nah. It isn't. All it means is that I wrote the stuff I
knew would never fly in the published version of the story, but stuff I wanted to read because I had
fallen in love so hard with the characters and their situations. You know. Those filler scenes that
have no place in a "well-written" story. But hey. This was my story. And obviously it wasn't so . . .
"well-written." And these were my "best friends." So I wrote stuff that didn't advance the story.
Stuff that carried on the dialogue way past the point where it should have been cut. Carried out the
backstory filler. Basically, just let loose and had a ball. My 105,000 work novel ballooned into a
150,000 word novel. But, in the meantime, I had written 45,000 words. I was writing. And that
was good enough for me.
I figured I might as well make Trapped something I'd always cherish. It looked like no one else
would ever get the chance to read it.
To be continued . . .
Poor Stacie. Her poor crew. (Some were about to die. Who would think up such disaster?)
: O
(Umm . . . that'd be me.)
Anyway, pen in hand, paper before me, the entire night devoted to this cause, I set out to write the
most intense, most horrifying scene from Stacie's story: Trapped On Deception. Just to see if I
could pull it off. Just to see if it would work. Just to see if the story really did have potential. To
see if I could write a suspenseful scene that held a reader by the throat like the real novelists could
write. To see if . . . maybe I could someday be a real novelist??
And I wrote.
It was only a second after that. Maybe even only a split second. Something sounding like a loud
pop ripped across the ravine.
And I wrote.
Except for the faint breeze blowing through the trees, the forest was silent.
And I wrote.
Movement. Above her. Stacie jerked forward, listening. Panic swept her heart into a frenzy.
And I wrote.
Stacie lifted her head slightly and watched the rifle level. Ten feet away, she faced it. She
wanted to run. Everything in her system screamed at her to run. She tried to run. She couldn't
move.
And I wrote until the scene was done. I'm not sure how many pages it turned out to be, but I do
remember I wrote for six hours without stopping, not even for a b-room break. I do remember as if
it was yesterday—my hand. I held the pen in my hand for all that time, scribbling down the scene as
it played out in my mind's eye. Six hours. I finally finished the scene, leaned back in my chair, let
out the breath I had been holding for six hours, then looked at my hand. I couldn't move my hand.
The pen was firmly gripped in my fist. The only way I could remove the pen was to peel my fingers
away from it. So that's what I did. I literally peeled my fingers away from the pen.
But then I read the words I had written. And knew. Oh, yes . . . I knew.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 38
So. I knew. What did I know?
There's this thing that happens to writers when they write something they know . . . works. I had
experienced it a little bit in my opening attempts at putting Jessie at Western. But this . . . this was
the first moment of pure overwhelming joy I experienced as a writer. I read what I had just written—
the scene where Stacie and her poor trail crew were shredded by a maniac with an assault rifle—
and I knew that it worked. That's a big discovery. To know that a scene works is a great feeling for
a novelist. Especially a total newbie novelist like myself.
And hey. If a scene worked for me—the pickiest and stingiest reader of all—maybe it really did . . .
work.
And if the scene worked, maybe the entire story would work.
There was only one way to find out. Time to write the rest of the story.
Three months later, it was written. 105,000 words. Trapped On Deception. And I became . . . a
novelist.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 39
Not everyone can be called a novelist. At least in my mind, a person has no right to call herself a
novelist until she has written a complete novel. Typed "The End" at the end. There are published
novelists and unpublished novelists. And we all know that just because a novelist types "The End"
at the end of her novel, that doesn't necessarily mean the novel is "finished."
Oh, yes. We know that well, don't we. : )
But hey. I typed "The End" at the end of Trapped On Deception. Well okay, not literally, I didn't.
But I finished the story. Stacie and her crew recovered and lived happily ever after. While I basked
in the most enjoyable enterprise I had ever known.
As I basked, there was one thing I knew for sure. Writing novels fit my lifestyle and personality
perfectly. I still don't like to say it was my "calling" or that I was "called" to write novels. I think
we tend to use that word a bit too lightly in our Christian circles. And a bit too heavily. My
opinion. One for a later post.
Anyway . . .
Perfectly. Back to perfect gifts again. Very cool.
Stacie Russell and her best friend, Melissa Whitney, became so real to me I'll never be able to
describe it. You may be a novelist yourself. You may know what I'm talking about. You've all
heard that novelists can get a bit "attached" to their imaginary friends. It's true. For me, it wasn't
that I was a bit "attached" to my characters, but that I fell headlong into their world to the point of
loving them as best friends—as sisters. They became the sisters I never had. They became the two
best friends I never had. I loved their story and I loved them. I just knew the rest of the women who
read Christian fiction would love them and their story too.
I was so wrong.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 40
Over the course of the next three years, after submitting Trapped On Deception to every Christian
publishing house listed as accepting women's fiction in the Christian Writer's Market Guide, after
attending two major summer conferences and talking with editors about my stuff, after collecting a
stack of rejection letters (I've forgotten the exact amount for Trapped; somewhere around 25), I still
thought the story worked. I still thought it had potential to make it in the market. I still trusted the
Lord to make happen whatever He wanted to make happen. But the bottom line was this: no one,
except for my friend June (who I met at my first conference) and my eleven-year-old niece, had read
the entire story. Both June and Christine loved it. I loved it. And I knew it worked. I knew it.
Finally, I paid a professional freelance editor to read it. Just read it. No heavy critique. No line
editing. "Just read it please, and tell me if it really does work. Please?"
She read it. And told me she loved it. But she also told me I had written a young-adult novel for an
adult audience.
Just a tiny flaw. One that just so happened to be totally fatal.
I thought I knew the audience I was writing for. The third rule of writing novels (#1: Writing what
you know. #2: Conflict.) is to know your market. Write for a specific audience. I thought I was. But
I wasn't. Why? Because there aren't that many women out there like me who want to read a story
about a bunch of high-school kids. Stacie was an adult, and the story was hers to tell, but with all
the teenagers, I should have aimed the story more for the teenage audience. But I didn't, because I
knew that would also be a fatal mistake. There was no market for teenage or young-adult Christian
fiction at that time. There still isn't. Not much. Not yet . . . : )
Fatal mistakes. Not kind words to hear after years of writing, rewriting, and . . . hoping.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 41
So stupid! Of course there were not many women like me out there. Of course I wrote a young-adult
novel . . . I was (and in many ways still am) just a big old young adult! What was I thinking?
Late in 1999, near the holidays, I made a startling discovery. One that shelved Trapped On
Deception once and for all. My fatal flaw was, indeed, fatal. But I was blissfully ignorant through
the entire writing and rewriting process. Three and a half years of writing and rewriting and
rewriting and submitting and being rejected and conferencing and researching and spending a whole
lot of money on all of it . . . and I was completely unaware that from the get-go, from that first
moment back in July 1996, when I sat down and wrote that most intense scene and "knew" that it
worked . . . from that first contact with pen on paper, I was writing a "dead" novel. I was writing a
novel that was unmarketable. From that first contact with Bic pen on college-ruled paper, I was off
track. Merrily writing something that would never sell. Because I misjudged the audience I thought
I knew.
I had written the story for me. I needed to face the truth.
That didn't make it any less heart wrenching.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 42
That was a moment. Realizing I was wrong from day one.
A second moment occurred in the spring of 2000. I read a novel by a new novelist named Dee
Henderson. It was called The Negotiator. It was about this super-cool lady named Kate. Kate
didn't know what she believed about God in the opening pages of her story. In the end, she did. And
the way she came to believe . . . I was so impressed and blown away by the story and Kate's
character and the writer's abilities that I knew the time had finally come. Christian fiction was
starting to expand in my direction. This was a book I liked. No, loved. This Dee Henderson lady
wrote and would continue to write stories I would read and enjoy. Finally!
Those two moments. Those two discoveries. One not so good, the other good. Changed my life as I
knew it at that moment.
But more about that later. Let's go back a few years, back once again to late 1996, early 1997, and
talk about the other novel I hand-wrote on college-ruled paper from my desk overlooking the Pacific
Ocean. A little story I called Tender Heart of a Warrior. An intriguing idea from the file of Other
Ideas. Based on a picture in a newspaper of an U.S. Army nurse taken in a combat hospital in Saudi
Arabia during the worst of Operation Desert Storm.
Seeing that picture in the paper. Talk about a life changing moment.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 43
Okay, we will! : ) (Talk about that life changing moment.)
Back during the first Persian Gulf War, during Operations Desert Shield and Storm, I was slogging
my way through my freshman year at the University of Oregon. I had just received my honorable
discharge papers from the U.S. Air Force and the U.S. Air National Guard, and then a guy named
Saddam Hussein went and did something really stupid. You know what they say about people who
do stupid things. Sometimes those people are just plain . . . stupid.
Anyway . . .
Saddam did a stupid thing. He invaded Kuwait. Now, one thing you need to know about me:
politics is not my game. Honestly? I despise politics. Presidential campaigns almost make me want
to escape to a foreign country. Or a soundproof bubble. I don't listen to the radio or watch much
TV. I don't read many newspapers. But still the campaigns find a way to eeek into my sanity. So.
When Saddam pulled his dumb stupid stunt, I . . . honestly? Didn't much care. Oh, I certainly cared
about the people of Kuwait who were under attack, but what did the overall political repercussions
mean to me?
According to my president, they meant a lot. And they also meant I was glad I had been released
from the military. And also . . . left me a bit nervous about the possibility of being called back into
service.
We were going to war because of Dumb Saddam. Saddam Insane, the troops called him. Sad Man.
Hmm.
Well, I'm sure you remember the first Persian Gulf War. And I'm sure you have an opinion about it.
I'm sure you have an opinion about this present Iraq War. Me too. I'll not share my opinions if you'll
not share yours. : ) Okay, well, I will say this one thing. (And you can certainly share your one
thing. I won't mind.) Here it is.
Thank you, President George Bush Senior, for letting our military do the job the way it was
supposed to be done. Thank you, everyone who served and endured the build-up, hold-up, and kick-
butt of Desert Shield and Storm. Thank you all who are now serving in Iraq, Afghanistan, around the
world, and here at home. THANK YOU!!!
And on this day, Memorial Day 2005, my thanks just don't cut it. How can I or any of us properly
say words to represent how grieved and grateful we are for all who have suffered and died in
service to our country? To set us free and keep us free. It is indeed true: We are the home of the
free because of the brave.
Thank you all. From all that I am. All to you. Thank you.
And for now, that's all I say about it.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 44
At the University of Oregon, down in the Erb Memorial Union Student Center, TVs blasted the
coverage. The build-up of Desert Shield. The hold-up of the waiting. The kick-butt of Desert
Storm. I watched as much of it as I could between Molecular Biology, Genetics, and Biochemistry.
I watched with relief, pretty much knowing the Air Force would not be calling me any time soon to
rejoin the effort. I was safe in Eugene, Oregon, watching the action on TV.
And my brother was safe too. Because he was in between bases at the time of the build-up, was "in
transit" from the Philippines and his new base in Utah, he wasn't invited to play in the Land of Sand.
My brother was a munitions specialist in the Air Force. He built and loaded the huge bombs onto
the fighter planes. Maybe, if he had been in Saudi, he could have written, "This one's for you,
Saddam," on one of the biggest bombs. But I was glad he missed out on the festivities. No one at the
time, as Desert Shield moved into Desert Storm, even remotely fathomed it would be as easy to
defeat the "elite Iraqi Republican Guard" as it had been. No one ever dreamed it would be so easy.
So. U of O. Glad to be watching the festivities on TV. Scanning the newspapers and magazines.
One picture in a newspaper caught my eye. Captured my entire being. I stared at that picture, then
tore it out of the newspaper. I didn't even save the article it came with. All I can remember is that it
was a picture of a group of U.S. Army nurses helping an Iraqi prisoner of war. One nurse was
cutting away a bandage near the man's eyes. One nurse was checking his blood pressure.
That nurse. She had a story to tell.
That nurse. Taking the POW's blood pressure. Just doing her job. She captured me. Her face. Her
life. Who she was; what she was doing. A picture. Became a person in my mind. Briefly. For
about fifteen minutes. Then I put the picture away and didn't really think about it again. Until
January 1997.
In 1997, that nurse in that picture became Erin Grayson. Erin's story became Tender Heart of a
Warrior. But Erin wasn't the warrior. She was the nurse. Christina McIntyre was the warrior.
Erin's friend and fellow soldier. Fellow healer. Chris was a medic. A Huey helicopter medevac
medic soon to welcome a new trauma nurse, First Lieutenant Erin Grayson, to her medevac crew.
Trapped On Deception was fun, exciting, and a bit juvenile. Yes. I see that now. But it was also
my "firstborn." Jessie At Western went away never to be "reborn." Tender Heart of a Warrior
became a story I totally fell in love with. But I didn't pursue it as diligently for publication as I did
Trapped. Why? I don't know.
But the Lord knew.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 45
It's amazing to me to see how the two stories came together so completely different. Putting Trapped
together was like putting together a huge jigsaw puzzle. The most intense scene came first. Then a
scene in a later chapter. Then a few scenes earlier in the book. When I wanted to write something
serious, I wrote a later scene where Stacie was struggling with her own injuries and the decimation
of her crew. When I wanted to write something light and fun, I wrote the earlier scenes showing the
camaraderie of the kids on the crew. They were typical kids, much like the kids on my own two trail
crews. They were goofy, fun loving, happy, hard working, sometimes whiners, but most of the time
good, good kids. I really enjoyed developing the characters of each of the ten kids. Showing how
they interacted. Showing how they enjoyed working for Stacie. Even if it was "slave labor."
But I really enjoyed playing out the friendship between Stacie and Melissa. Along with messing up
my market and writing a YA novel for an adult audience, I also—according to what little feedback I
received—wrote a novel with "too much female-female interaction." Yep. You guessed it. My
intention from day one in all of my writing was to write stories about the friendships between
women. In both finished stories—in every story I'd ever want to write—I knew that's what I wanted
to write about. But, at the time, the Christian market wasn't ready for this. I needed more "male-
female interaction." I needed more "romance" in my stuff.
Hah. Don't we all.
Anyway . . . yes. Trapped was a big jigsaw puzzle. But Tender Heart flowed from page one to the
end. And this is how it started. January something, 1997. Pen to paper. Start moving the hand to
write the words flowing from the brainpan.
Christina McIntyre. Good. She still knew her own name.
I'll never forget writing that one simple line. Then sitting back and going, "Whoa! Where did that
come from?"
Nah. It wasn't a question. I knew exactly where it came from. I still do.
: )
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 46
It was so nice to write a story from front to back. Page one to page "The End." For Trapped,
chapter one was the last chapter I wrote. Which is why it turned out so . . . lame. Well, let's just say
it didn't "capture and hook" my readers. And it's not a good thing when chapter one is one of the
weakest chapters in your book.
But Tender Heart's chapter one . . . wow. You shoulda seen me. Up, eat, work, eat,
writewritewrite, sleep. Up, eat, work, writewritewrite, sleep. Yep, sometimes I even forgot to eat.
I'd go to bed at 2:00 a.m. Get up at 8:00 to go to work. I had energy like you would not believe.
Well, I guess it didn't take much energy to sit and writewritewrite.
I can hear you novelists say, "Sure it does! It's hard work! It takes lots of energy to write!"
Nope. For me, Trapped and Tender Heart flowed like chocolate milk from my brainpan. I wrote
and wrote and wrote, then re-drank in the thick, ice cold sweetness, then let it flow again to re-drink
it in again and again. Woo-wee. For someone who had honestly known little excitement in her
pathetic life, this was almost too much. Fun fun fun. Till Daddy took the T-bird away.
(Or should I say T-writer. But more about that later.)
Yes. Fun. And the entire time, every time I glanced at that picture of "Erin Grayson," a part of me
wondered what her real name was. Where was she now? Oh, what stories she could tell me about
her time in the desert. I wished (and still do) I could hear those stories.
How could I ever tell her how grateful I was? And still am?
(The picture I cut out of that newspaper all those years ago is here. Check it out.)
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 47
So. Yes. Tender Heart of a Warrior. Fun fun fun. Two women, fellow soldiers, meet during
Operation Desert Storm and form a close friendship, only to have that friendship disintegrate in a
moment of horror. Five years later, the two women reunite. One helps the other deal with a new
tragedy. Then helps her find the One who can hardly wait to save her. As soon as she dares even
glance His way.
Erin Grayson. Christina McIntyre. Two women. Two friends. Yes. My goal as a Christian
novelist. To write about the friendships between women. To show how God uses friendship and
the perseverance of friends to reach those who need Him.
Nope. The market just wasn't ready for what I was trying to sell. Here are parts of the review the
Writer's Edge gave Tender Heart in June 1998. (With my own comments in parentheses.)
Dear Ms. Fleisher: (Yep, that's me!)
You have a strong, commanding writing style. I don't think you need to worry about readers
dropping off to sleep during this novel! (Well, that was a load off.)
(Their suggestions.) First, your action-paced writing style sometimes comes off as choppy. (Etc.)
Second, I don't think the title will help you promote this book. It sounds like a cliche. (Hmm.)
Third, I love the strength you have given the women in this book. But one problem does worry me a
bit: will readers think that they are lesbian? This would be a "no-sell" for the Christian booksellers
market . . . (etc, etc.) (I mean . . . HUH? And, NO KIDDING!!)
Completely floored me. I mean . . . completely.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 48
Anyway . . . Writer's Edge heard from me three times between 1996 and 1998. They were my first
submission for Trapped in December 1996. A year and a half later, I submitted Trapped again,
along with Tender Heart. Well, you heard the review they gave Tender Heart. But get this. They
also "judged it a superior manuscript." That about blew me away! My readers may think my
characters are lesbians, but they should like the story because it's a superior manuscript!
Give me a break.
Well, now, don't get me wrong. Seeing those words tempered seeing that other word just a bit.
Hmm. Surely if a manuscript had been judged "superior," it would get picked up for immediate
publication, right?
Wrong.
I'm telling you . . . I was so wrong.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 49
Rewriting is the backbone of writing. Something like that. A novel gets written, but it isn't truly
finished until it has been rewritten about twenty times. (Some more than that.) In early 1999, I knew
a few things for sure about my writing. 1) No one wanted my stuff. 2) The market wasn't ready for
my stuff anyway. 3) I needed to keep praying, submitting, and waiting to see what would happen. 4)
I needed to keep writing. 5) I had already written two stories. If these didn't sell, I really did not
want to write a third. I remember thinking, If I can't write novels and make a living at it, I'd rather
not write them at all because I can't live in this fantasy land and still carry on a "real" life.
It was true. I had been completely overwhelmed by the fantasy. Yet still managed to carry on a
"real" life.
So I did not start a third novel. But I did keep on writing. How? I wrote expansion scenes for
Trapped. Hah! Sounds technical, doesn't it? Nah. It isn't. All it means is that I wrote the stuff I
knew would never fly in the published version of the story, but stuff I wanted to read because I had
fallen in love so hard with the characters and their situations. You know. Those filler scenes that
have no place in a "well-written" story. But hey. This was my story. And obviously it wasn't so . . .
"well-written." And these were my "best friends." So I wrote stuff that didn't advance the story.
Stuff that carried on the dialogue way past the point where it should have been cut. Carried out the
backstory filler. Basically, just let loose and had a ball. My 105,000 work novel ballooned into a
150,000 word novel. But, in the meantime, I had written 45,000 words. I was writing. And that
was good enough for me.
I figured I might as well make Trapped something I'd always cherish. It looked like no one else
would ever get the chance to read it.
To be continued . . .
| page four of my entire adventure |
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