 |
| Meet Sherry Rentschler |
You can follow Sherry on Facebook as well as Goodreads to keep up with her writing and her many exploits. In a world where so many are trying to see what they can get out of you to benefit them, Sherry is a lady who gives and your life will be richer for knowing her.
So, sit back and enjoy this Saturday's delight. You will not be disappointed and I am sure you will make a new friend.
Chasing Immortality
(or why I self-published)
by Sherry Rentschler
I always wanted immortality.
I wanted to be published.
I don’t remember exactly
when I was “bitten.” I don’t recall exactly when this compelling desire
consumed me. All that is certain is that this passion, this overwhelming need,
was something I knew in my soul would
happen.
My being a bibliophile
began when was very small. Read to before I could read, then reading
voraciously on my own, books were always my friends. Borrowing, owning, purchasing
them - - I relished the feel of linen or parchment under my fingertips, the scratchy
swish sound of pages turning and the
hushed echoes in the library, the fresh smell of a new book, the click of a
spine the first time a book is opened. I always cherished these things and they
have been a part of my psyche.
As soon as I learned to
read, words held a strange fascination. When I would ask, “how do you spell...?”
Mother would respond with the classic, “Look it up.” When I couldn't pronounce
the word, phonetics aided. Lessons in vocabulary: if you don’t know how to
spell it or what it means, don’t use it. All were lessons to build the child
into a person for whom language was an ally and not an obstacle.
Therefore, it comes as
no surprise that this love of books and words developed into a love of
composition. My first published poem was when I was seven. At 13, my first
published article appeared in the newspaper and earned me five dollars! Dad
said, “Well, now you’re famous.” It was a hint, a taste.
Trespass quickly
through the years to high school where I discovered the card catalog in the
library. I loved research. Discovery of information was a discovery of new
stories. But it was more than this – the library became a place of memory,
permanence, history, and records. A place where words remained forever. Immortal.
Realization cemented as I held these
treasures, smelled the paper, felt the texture of the linen and parchment
pages. The librarian explained that once books received a Library of Congress
Catalog number, they became a part of the national archives. They became a part
of history. The words, the book, remained forever. Immortal.
I think this is when
the dream, the desire, was born. I desperately wanted to see my name on the
spine of a book, sitting on a shelf, with a catalog number inside, a thing of
beauty that would live forever. I wanted immortality.
 |
| Sherry's book, Paper Bones |
Married a third time,
this time forever. Retired from the military and took to writing with more of a
purpose. Well, sort of. The World Wide Web came along (not “the internet” just
yet). More discoveries. More development. Web pages, online writing, working
for an online magazine. Poetry drifted in and out and then took hold hard for
several years. The lines blurred between what was craft and what was
hobby.
Suddenly one day the
fiction took me over. I was writing and developing online stories. I co-authored
a serial story online that was a big hit. The urban fantasy bug bit me hard. I
tried my hand at co-authoring a contemporary fiction novel that didn’t fare
well. This writer and I met online as poets. We tried to be novelists. Neither
of us was ready. Lessons learned, but I realized I was still seeking that
elusive bit of fame, that immortal touch. It was more elusive than ever and
more desirable. I had much more to write!
Years went by.
Gradually the surging poetry faded to a trickle and I was writing fiction full
time. Web stories, short stories. I had a byline series about poetry in the
Amateur Poetry Journal but I wanted more, something bigger. Went to work for a
local newspaper as a staff writer and photojournalist. The photography provided
a creative outlet; the articles gave me front-page visibility and a byline. The
“bug” was back. Whispers of “archives” and “history” lingered in my memory. This
was only a local paper and there were no archives and long-term history and I
knew then I had to get out and find my own way. It was 2005.
Since then a great deal
of poetry happened, along with researching a novel. I gave up the web site
where I had written for nearly a decade and turned my attention to books. Books
about writing, books on better writing, books in the genres I wanted to write
in. LOTS of books. Trade magazines and contests for chapbooks.
Then I started
collecting rejection slips. Oh, the pretty letters that told me nothing.
“Sorry, not right for us.” “Thanks for submitting, keep working.” “Read more in
your chosen genre.” So I did. I read more, I studied, and I worked. Writing
demanded practice every day. I made it my job and then it was my addiction. How
had I lived without doing this every day?
However, how do you
know what you want to write, what you should write, what has been written,
unless you read? The best writers read voraciously. Every published author
always said in articles, I love to read; I read all the time.” So, the girl who
loved books, who loved to read, read. Oh boy, did I read.
You should see my
“library.” I have books stacked on the floor, shelves that are three deep with
rows of books. I read poetry, urban fantasy, historical fiction, paranormal
fantasy, horror, classics, how-to, how-not to, biographies, even children’s
books. And I kept writing. I even tried some vampire fan fiction.
Slowly, I found the
voice that was unique to me. My storyteller voice. My true poet. My writer's
voice thankfully – finally – emerged complete.
Three years ago, I
attempted to secure a traditional publisher, working my Writer’s Market edition
for all it was worth. I also tried, half-heartedly, to get an agent. Obviously,
not a success. Two years ago, I decided I would start working to put myself out
there and self publish. I wouldn’t need an agent, but maybe I would have better
luck if I had some success to my name and a book under my belt while I worked
on my novel.
So, more research. I
read everything I could about self-publishing, including everything in Writer’s
Digest online, Self-Publishing for Dummies, The Fine Print by Mark Levine
(about good/bad contracts and pitfalls), Dan Poyter’s Self-Publishing Guide Vol
1, and so many other how-to’s. I read about every self-publishing company
online and looked for reviews and horror stories. I chose my publisher, took
deep breaths, and jumped, eyes open.* * *
I’ve only just landed. I’m
still learning but there is a book with my name on the spine. A hardback with
delicious creamy pages, the smell of linen and ink, of magic and hard work. Moreover,
it has a Library of Congress Catalog number. The bibliophile in me is sated. I
am not immortal. But I did find immortality.
 |
| Sherry's signature line and title of her blog |
Today I’m working on
more poetry, more stories, my murder mystery novel, and a vampire urban fantasy
novel. Immortality’s whisper beckons again; I think the best is yet to come!
* * * *
Thank you, Robbie, for
allowing me to share my story. I’m honored to be a part of your Mess.
It was great having you here, Sherry. Thank you for sharing your journey with us and I wish you the best of luck in your writing. I have no doubt it is going to do great.
* * * * *
It was great having you here, Sherry. Thank you for sharing your journey with us and I wish you the best of luck in your writing. I have no doubt it is going to do great.
* * * * *
Did you enjoy what you read? Leave me a comment and then join me at The Mess that Is Me on Facebook!
Other posts you might enjoy ~ The Mess Welcomes Tess Stenson
Thanks for visiting The Mess! Keep chasing your dreams!
No comments:
Post a Comment