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Jessica Ferguson

Author, Writing Coach, Speaker

IWSG: The Mentor

February 2, 2022 By Jessica Ferguson 5 Comments

It’s IWSG DAY! 

We post the first Wednesday of every month and our purpose is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds.

 Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.

Our awesome co-hosts for the February 2 posting of the IWSG are Joylene Nowell Butler,Jacqui Murray, Sandra Cox, and Lee Lowery!

Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post—always optional.

February 2 question – Is there someone who supported or influenced you that perhaps isn’t around anymore? Anyone you miss? 

There is one person very dear to my heart who encouraged my writing—my English/creative writing teacher at Stephen F. Austin University. I took several classes from him and wrote my first novel in an independent studies class for him. He never failed to encourage me, tell me the truth and ask what I was working on. Sometimes I’d go to his office to talk writing with him and share rejection slips because he was a writer too, with poems and short fiction published. I guess you could say I trusted him with the voices in my head that wanted to be on paper.

To this very day, I hear Dr. Fred A. Rodewald’s voice in my head. Mainly, he’s telling my characters to, “Think! Think! Think!”

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When he read my first novel he pointed out that I had failed with what was called back then the action, reaction thing. When my main character acted, she needed to think afterwards. After all, one doesn’t shoot someone, or push a man over a ledge without thinking afterwards? Right?

I think my character went through 150 pages without much introspection. I finally mastered it, but later in my writing life so many of my contest judges criticized my introspection. Too much, too much, too much! they often said. I suppose there’s a happy balance in everything, even thinking.

I’ve studied writing just about all my life. Even back in the 70s I knew that one never sent out a messy manuscript that had strike-overs. Don’t know what that is? We old folks typed our books on typewriters. Every correction and rewrite was like starting from scratch. Invariably, corrections usually changed the page numbers by pushing a paragraph onto another page. Writing in the “old” days was a chore. Only those who truly loved it stuck with it.

My friend and mentor, Fred, would strike over the letters to correct the typo; he wouldn’t erase it or use whiteout. I often wondered if he mailed out his short fiction with those strike-overs, but I never asked. Do we know how blessed we are that we don’t have to do that any more–or deal with Whiteout? Boy! I do!

Dr. Rodewald and I traded letters for a good number of years, keeping each other informed of failures and successes. He’s been retired for a number of years but he still lives in Nacogdoches, Texas. He no longer writes. I like to visualize him sitting on his back porch creating poems and short stories (even novels) in his head because a real writer never quits writing. He always considered me a real writer, and I appreciated that. That was the greatest encouragement of all. In my eyes, he was a real writer too.

Fred gave me his one and only mystery novel to do with what I please. It’s about a man searching for his daughter. I still have it—somewhere.

To do with what I please.

What does one do with someone else’s novel?

Filed Under: IWSG Tagged With: Dr. Fred A. Rodewald, encouragement, IWSG, Mentor, real writer, writer

It’s IWSG Day: Our Fear & Regret

January 4, 2022 By Jessica Ferguson 20 Comments

Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!

HOW IT BEGAN: 

Alex J. Cavanaugh, the founder, noticed a lot of blog posts from writers mentioning their doubts, concerns, and lack of confidence. He also saw the positive replies they received and realized that the writing community offered an abundance of support. Writers want to see other writers succeed, which is how he came up with the Insecure Writer’s Support Group.

We post on the first Wednesday of each month. Check out our membership.

The awesome co-hosts for the January 5 posting of the IWSG are Erika Beebe, Olga Godim, Sandra Cox, Sarah Foster, and Chemist Ken!

Every month we have an optional question and they always make me put my thinking cap on and examine my writing life. This month IWSG is asking:

 What’s the one thing about your writing career you regret the most? Were you able to overcome it?

The one thing I regret the most when it comes to my writing career is my lack of confidence, or maybe not taking myself seriously. Or maybe even taking myself too seriously. They all three might go hand in hand. Seems I’ve always doubted and denigrated my abilities in an effort to prepare myself for failure. For some reason, I have always expected to fail.

Looking back and analyzing my lack of confidence, I can identify spurts of bravery popping periodically out of the blue. Like when I learned that Southern Writers Magazine needed a writer, I had a spurt of confidence and applied. Only afterwards did I hit my forehead and ask, “What have I done? Am I crazy?” I wrote for them for almost seven years.

Another spurt of bravery was when the entire staff walked out on a local magazine editor; my daughter and I walked in as if we knew what we were doing. The bi-weekly folded a year later, but we had an entire year of creating a magazine, interviewing city and government officials and business owners. Such a wonderful but hectic experience. That spurt of confidence paid off.

My spurts of confidence are sparse. I’m truly a “NO” person. When I’m asked to do something I always say ‘no’ first, then analyze, visualize the situation like a play in my head. I suppose that’s my so-called dress rehearsal.

Once I was asked to replace a speaker at a conference. I immediately said no. Hubby reminded me that this was something I’d always wanted so I called them back and accepted. I’d spoken at small conferences before but this one was a one-room conference with almost 100 people. Fear and dread consumed me but it was one of the best experiences of my life.

Another “no” came about when the director of a continuing education department of a nearby university asked me to create a writing program. No, no, and double no! Why would he think I could do such a thing? When he asked again and again, I finally said yes. What fun creating classes for writers to take, even teaching one!

When the music director at my church asked me to write a Christmas play I said no, but then God gave me an idea and I sat down and wrote the first act. Of course, I had to call her back. I’ll never forget the thrill of watching my characters come to life on stage.

I don’t tell you this to brag but to share the torture I put myself through—needlessly. Lacking confidence and saying NO out of fear is one of the most miserable feelings one can have. It’s almost painful!

Think about it: If fear of failure keeps us safe then it also keeps us from success. If we protect ourselves by saying no, if we don’t value and use the talent God gave us or take advantage of opportunities He hands us, then where are we?

Some day we might be wrapping ourselves in regret because time has passed us by.

Let’s make 2022 work for us. Let’s make a point to accomplish something on a monthly basis. If you’ve never submitted anything for publication to anyone, promise yourself you’ll do it soon. Getting one thing published will boost your confidence so much, you’ll want to submit again and again and again.

And the second part of that question … was I able to overcome it? Nope! I’m no braver than I was five, ten or fifteen years ago. I just swallow my fear …

GULP!

 

Filed Under: IWSG, Uncategorized Tagged With: Alex Cavanaugh, fear, IWSG, Regret

IWSG Day: Christmas is a-Coming

December 1, 2021 By Jessica Ferguson 9 Comments

I hate to say it but IWSG Day slipped up on me this month. I can hardly believe it’s December 1st. The days are flying by so fast, if I don’t keep a calendar near me I’m a goose, totally lost. So here goes with this month’s post:
Our purpose is: To share and encourage. It’s our pleasure to offer assistance and guidance. IWSG is a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
We post the first Wednesday of every month. That is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. This group is all about connecting!Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.
The awesome co-hosts for the December 1 posting of the IWSG are PJ Colando,Diane Burton,Louise – Fundy Blue,Natalie Aguirre, and Jacqui Murray!

Every month, we announce a question that our members can answer. These questions may prompt us to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. The question is ALWAYS optional.

December 1 question – In your writing, what stresses you the most? What delights you?

What stresses me the most? Deadlines and a blank mind.

What delights me? Deadlines and a germ of an idea.

Writing is exciting and fun. If we can’t take pleasure in every aspect of it, what’s the point? After all, isn’t it a little like volunteering for our favorite charity? We’re the volunteer and the charity is the reading world. If we think of it that way, maybe we’ll take some of the pressure off. It’s our game, people. Let’s love it!

That’s all I’ve got for you today but I want to wish you a very wonderful Christmas. I pray you have God’s peace as we celebrate the birth of Jesus.

Oh, before I forget: I have some good news to share as soon as I can, and would love for you to sign up for my newsletter. Yep, I was instructed to create a newsletter. I’ve been putting it off for a couple of years but the time has come. I promise I won’t pepper you daily or weekly. I don’t have that much to say, but you can expect to hear from me about once a month. Take this journey with me … One way or another, it’s going to be exciting.

Merry Christmas, my IWSG friends!

Filed Under: IWSG, News Tagged With: Christmas, IWSG, Jesus, newsletter, Stress

IWSG Day: With the End in Mind

October 5, 2021 By Jessica Ferguson 7 Comments

We’re here for another Insecure Writer’s Support Group Day. We blog on the first Wednesday of each month to share our thoughts and offer encouragement to any and all writers.

We hope you’ll join us on our Facebook page, Instagram and the different member blogs. Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.

The awesome co-hosts for the October 6 posting of the IWSG are Jemima Pett, J Lenni Dorner,Cathrina Constantine,Ronel Janse van Vuuren, and Mary Aalgaard!

 

Every month we have an optional question. Here it is: 

In your writing, where do you draw the line, with either topics or language?

 

For the past 25 years I’ve concentrated on clean or Christian fiction so the line is drawn for me. I want to use my gifts and talents to point nonbelievers to the Lord through the actions of my characters. I enjoy writing material that I can share with family and friends—even my pastor— without being embarrassed by its content.

Psalm 19:14

May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.

Many writers believe they have to use profanity in their thrillers, mysteries, horror fiction etc. because everyone curses in real life. Mmmm, that’s not exactly true. Many of us have left the potty mouth behind and see no reason to resurrect it even for our characters. We’ve learned there are other ways to show frustration, violence, rage, stupidity, and evil without using a curse, especially taking God’s name in vain!

Exodus 20:7

“You shall not misuse the name of the LORD your God, for the LORD will not hold anyone guiltless who misuses his name.

Several years ago I belonged to a critique group that met once a week at a local coffee shop. One day we were discussing a story that had God’s name in vain a time or two. One of our writers handed the manuscript to the author and said: “I can’t read this. I don’t want to put that in my mind. I would hate to die with that word having passed through my lips, or in my mind or heart.”

She offered this in front of nine or ten other writers, and I remember thinking how brave she was, and wishing I’d been that bold for Christ. She died unexpectantly a few weeks later.

I think of her often and how she stood up for her beliefs.

Matthew 15:10-11

Jesus called the crowd to him and said, “Listen and understand. What goes into someone’s mouth does not defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what defiles them.”

I think we all agree that writing, creating our stories is fun, but it’s also hard work. But honestly, in the grand scheme of things …

I hope we all choose our words wisely—with the end in mind. Of course you realize, I’m not talking about the end of our stories and books.

Matthew 12:36-37

But I tell you that everyone will have to give account on the day of judgment for every empty word they have spoken. For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned.

Filed Under: IWSG Tagged With: Cursing, IWSG, Stories that Matter, The End

IWSG: What Would Make You Quit Writing?

July 6, 2021 By Jessica Ferguson 12 Comments

Today, Wednesday, is Insecure Writers Support Group day.

Our Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds! Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.

The awesome co-hosts for the July 7 posting of the IWSG are Pat Garcia, Victoria Marie Lees,and Louise – Fundy Blue!

Each month we have an optional question. This month it is: What would make you quit writing?

What would make me quit writing? Last month I would have said absolutely nothing. Discouragement hasn’t done it in forty plus years; and there has certainly been plenty of discouragement. With the popularity and acceptance of Indie publishing, rejection can’t crush me the way it once did.

If those two things can’t stop me, nothing can. At least, that’s what I thought. This week I know better.

I recently signed up for a webinar called The Pleasure of the Personal Essay, offered by Jane Freidman. Our instructor was Dinty W. Moore, one of my favorites. I have his excellent book, Crafting The Personal Essay.

Hearing Dinty speak about the essay stimulated my imagination, and encouraged me. I’ve always figured the essay is short and formal—not a relaxed observation with questions and answers, ponderings and research. I never realized an essay could be book-length. Have you ever heard of a book-length essay? The White Album by Joan Didion? Heavy by Roxane Gay? How did I miss the book-length essay? Is it something I’ve forgotten?

The seventy-five minutes of Dinty W. Moore’s voice was akin to pouring fuel on smoldering coals. My mind raced with all kinds of possibilities for writing essays about things that have touched me, scared me, confused me. Actions and observations that I’m still pondering from long ago and far away.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see my 97 year old mother who has round the clock sitters. Mom was a spit-fire in her day. A country girl from Arkansas, bright red hair and freckles, she was the oldest of ten kids. Her dad was an ordained, self-proclaimed Baptist minister. And Grandpa was totally illiterate. He couldn’t read. He couldn’t write. Often we couldn’t even understand the word he was trying to say.

Mom always said he was too mean to learn, but later, she amended that to too lazy. I suspect today we’d label him with a learning disability.

But my auditory processing Grandpa learned the Bible by making his eight daughters read to him. And from listening to an odd assortment of preachers on the radio. (His two youngest children—sons—became preachers too, though to their credit, they were educated.)

Mom was the first to leave home. After a failed marriage to her best friend’s brother, she hopped a bus and headed to Texas where she became a nurse. And while there is a much interesting story between leaving Arkansas and meeting Dad, I’ll save it for a later date.

Each time I go home to Texas from Louisiana, I wonder what I’ll encounter. Will she sleep during our entire visit? Will she know me? Will she bring up embarrassing childhood events as if they happened to someone else? She loves to tell stories about switching my little brother’s legs; she can’t quite remember popping me when I stuck my face out and backtalked her.

For seven years, I was an only child. My little brother came along when I was a first grader. Today, our mom fuzzily recognizes us.

This recent visit, she called me by name then wept, covering her face with her manicured hands. Thankfully, her sitters spoil her. She always wanted beautiful nails—she has them now.

When she looked up at me, she asked: “You’re my daughter? I’m a mother?” I couldn’t help wonder why that would surprise her.

My brother warned that she’d done the same with him. Over and over again, the ritual played out. She would cry, look at us with tears streaming down her face.

“Mom, why are you sad about that?” Even as I said the words, I wondered if I really wanted to hear her answer.

“You don’t understand,” she said in a small voice that wasn’t hers. (Mom had never owned a small voice.) “I’m different from most people. I cry when I’m happy.”

Her logic was impressive. It was the small, pitiful voice that was so disconcerting.

I’m just as disturbed by the disconnect in her mind. How can one forget children of sixty and seventy years? The intimate things shared and learned together. The fights and disagreements? How can one forget much loved shopping trips?

Oh, how I dreaded those shopping trips, just as much as I loved the new clothes. Mom touched and examined every garment, every price tag, and then went back to the beginning and touched, examined them all again, wondering, visualizing, making her decision about the wisest investment. The quality. During my growing up years, she owned two starched nurse’s uniforms, bright white, not a stain anywhere, and two dresses for church. My closet was full.

How could she forget those unique bell bottoms she bought for me, or those black leather pants? I had matching shoes for my skirts and dresses. Pointed toes. T-straps. She was a shoe lover; and I was the recipient of her love for shoes. No matter the size, if they were on sale, they were mine. My toes scrunched into six and a half narrows and I stuffed cotton and Kleenex into the eights.

When I remember the life we shared, the laughter, the tears, the anger, the disagreements, the hostility, the sacrifice … I wonder where it is in her mind? What corner of her deteriorating brain protects those memories, because she is … was … a hoarder, of sorts. She has to be saving memories somewhere, doesn’t she?

She saved tiny chunks of Dial soap in bags—just in case. Not sandwich bags, but large plastic grocery bags filled full. Just in case we became a world without Dial.

Where are her memories? Maybe we aren’t in her mind anymore, but stuffed deep down in her heart. With her love for nursing. I always thought Mom loved nursing so much more than she loved us. But in hindsight …

The second day I saw my mother, she still knew my name, but when I told her I was her daughter, she laughed. An unrecognizable giggle, not the belly laugh I grew up with. My mother never giggled in her life—at least, not during my lifetime.

“Why are you laughing, Mom?” I asked.

“Because I’m so proud of you.”

Proud of me?

She doesn’t remember the hateful words, the times I disappointed her. She doesn’t recall her continuous sacrifice that couldn’t possibly have been fun. Sacrifice was something she did without thinking, for her family. Her second nature.

“I’m so proud of my children.”

Just like in the old days, through tears and laughter, we love each other.

For four days, we entertained each other with foreign dialogue that neither of us understood, and I came away knowing more about myself, my own life. Asking myself hard questions that may or may not have decent answers. I know one thing for certain: When asked what can make me quit writing, the answer will be … will always be …

I’ll write forever, until my children sit beside me and I look at them in dismay and ask: “You’re my children and … I’m a writer?”

 

Filed Under: IWSG Tagged With: Dinty W. Moore, discouragement, essay, family, I, illiterate, Inspiration, IWSG, Jane Friedman, love, memory loss, mothers & daughters, Questions, The Pleasure of the Personal Essay, writing

IWSG Day: Researching Stories

November 5, 2019 By Jessica Ferguson 12 Comments

If it’s Wednesday, then it’s IWSG Day! I’ve missed a month or two, but I’m back. IWSG stands for Insecure Writers Support Group and was founded by Alex J. Cavanaugh.  You can follow other IWSG members here or on twitter using the hashtag #IWSG. We also have a Facebook page.  The purpose of IWSG is to share and encourage, and answer any questions new writers might have. Remember, there’s no such thing as a dumb question.

 Our awesome co-hosts for this posting of the IWSG are Sadira Stone,Patricia Josephine,Lisa Buie-Collard,Erika Beebe,and C. Lee McKenzie!

 Our interesting optional question this month is: What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever googled in researching a story?

A few years back, I was offered an opportunity to write a novella for Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll series published by The Wild Rose Press. My characters popped into my mind immediately. One character was so incredibly evil he surprised me. I had to research his kind of evil. I needed to find some way he would mark his family and I did. He branded them. To my surprise, people really brand each other and themselves. I’m not talking about tattoos. I mean like cowboys brand their cattle. I tip-toed in to communities where they discussed it and told what they used: keys, cookie cutters, wire, anything decorative that they could heat, sear and mark the skin. When I say I “tip-toed” in to these sites, I mean I peeked with one eye closed because I’m pretty queasy when it comes to any kind of pain and torture.

My book was called The Last Daughter and it’s a story very close to my heart. It’s about love and evil, and sincere, heartbreaking forgiveness. It’s out of print now and “waiting” for revision so I can republish under my own imprint. I hope in early 2020.IMG_9314.PNG

Today, I’m excited to announce my latest release called Christmas In Love. No evil here. Just love sweet love. I’ve coupled two of my previously published short stories with a brand new story that I’m pretty proud of. Take a look at my cover. Isn’t that hero yummy? I thank the multi-talented Heather K. Duff for finding him, designing the cover and formatting the book.

If you give Christmas In Love a try, I hope you’ll leave a review—good or bad. But, hey … if you leave a bad review, at least tell me why or what you didn’t like about Christmas in Love. It might be something I can fix.

I hope you’