What's real?

I've had so many wonderful experiences with people who do not want my characters to stop being in their lives. I just talked with a woman this morning who just read my book twice so she could keep them in her life a bit longer. So, my daughter's come up with a plan, and that is to create snippets of Langsberry life right here on my blog and post the happenings as they occur.

 A lot of people have wanted to know how much of this is autobiographical. They think because I'm a fiber artist I made Grace one. That's not how it happened at all though. While writing the book I would get visions in my head of what Grace was making, and since those visions wouldn't go away, I devised ways to make what I saw. Therefore, Grace made me a fiber artist. Hm...

What is autobiographical? I really did have a dear friend died of ovarian cancer. I really did work for my husband in his office and despised it. However, it was a chiropractic office, not an accountant's. I did leave him, but I did it long after the manuscript was written. So, again Grace did it first.

I live and work on a square now, but didn't while writing the book. I really didn't even know anyone who did until moving to McKinney, TX in 2008. I did grow up in the Dallas area. My mother is still alive, but my dad died of myocardial infarction (better known as a heart attack) when I was 24 years old. I was married for a hundred years to the same person and we have a daughter, unlike Grace.

What's interesting to me is that the husband character, Jack, is really based on someone I had a crush on in high school. When Grace is talking with Gordon about what her high school boyfriend said about love, that was a conversation I had had with this guy back in the '70s.

As soon as I graduated from Bishop Lynch High School in Dallas, I did go to Western State College in Gunnison, Colorado. I did meet the man I would eventually marry there. He was two years older than me, but I did complete my undergrad degree before marrying, unlike Grace.

We did live in a small town in Colorado, but there was no square to be found there. As a matter of fact, it was a metropolitan area compared to Langsberry.

The question I get asked the very most is if there was a Gordon in my life. The answer is no, and yes. It was interesting because I happened to be in Aspen one weekend editing my manuscript. I was on a page that described Gordon's flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots. There were very particular things about his clothing, and I had just read it when a friend of mine from college called to take me out to lunch. When I got in his car, he was wearing exactly what I had written about Gordon's attire. This man and I did not do art together. However, he opened me up to my own love of flying. The first time we flew together was from Aspen to Gunnison on my 48th birthday. The next day I asked for a divorce. I wanted to fly in every aspect of my life. I still do.

Finally

I have spent the day on the computer. Do you know how much information there is on this thing? In five minutes alone I've been on multiple sites and have no idea what I was looking for in the first place.

I've spent so much time lately in my studio creating amazing artwork that I've never done before, nor have I seen anything like it either, and now it's time to get it out there and market it. First, I had to see what there is out there to market to. What I discovered is what is there NOT????

I'm blown away by the enormity of the market out there. The universe is truly abundant. There is so much at our feet. Looking through the possibilities on the net is like going to the ocean with semi-trailer trucks and pipelines for water instead of the thimblefuls I've been picking up. (Thank you, Wayne Dyer, for that imagery.)

So, my book has been selling without much advertising by me. I don't know who's buying them, but I am so very grateful. I'm finishing up my work with the PR department so the book tour will be starting by next month at least. The main character, Grace James, is a textile artist, which is something I've also become, so my latest art pieces will be traveling with me. I've discovered that there are a lot of people out there who have no idea what a fiber artist does. That encompasses anything with fibers. I choose not only fabrics, but threads, papers, and even stretch the definition to include paints and beads.

So, Grace and I will be hitting the road soon. In the meantime, I'm gearing up for a lot of marketing, setting up websites, and blogging like crazy. I'll be on the radio on March 18th at 8:00 p.m. central time. Once I get more of the facts, I'll let you know. To the life of a writer and artist. Finally, I'm doing it...

Believing anything

The very first copy of my very first book. As my father would say, "How 'bout them apples?"

The very first time I saw the digital proof of the cover I was working for a shaman in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. I pulled it up on the computer at the front desk, and my heart pounded to see my name in print. The cover is in Tibetan prayer colors, my shaman's wife informed me. She said that it would be perfect to sell in the office with her Tibetan singing bowls and her red and gold decor. The book never came to life there in Steamboat. It took a year after moving to McKinney, Texas before it materialized.

What was the delay? I have no answer for that. I realize that I'm not in a rush for so much in my life. Before, years before now, I wanted everything NOW. Now, now, now. Now, I just want to be in the now. Now, I want to pay attention, to absorb the textures of what's around me, to have the sounds sink in, the colors swirl through me, and I want to feel the joy in it all. And after a whole bunch of nows, the book is finally published. And the length of time it took doesn't matter. It's here now. It's on the couch beside me as I type this. There are many, many moments throughout my days and nights where I forget it's done. It used to consume me, and now I can go through most of my waking hours without a thought of it.

Now, what consumes me? Besides the PR department at the publishing company? Besides the artwork that flows through my thoughts? Besides the to-do list that sits on the coffee table in front of me? Besides the dirty footprints and pawprints on the floor that need to be cleaned up? Besides all of that, nothing really. Nothing.

And if you believe that...well, you'd believe just about anything.

As of yesterday, January 19, 2010, I experienced a dream come true, a dream I've dreamt since I was in fourth grade. I received the galley of my first novel. For the first time in my life I held in my hand the very first copy of my very first novel -- ever.

I expected something different since I'd dreamed it for so long, but what came over me was a calmness, an absolute peace. I'm not sure if having a dream of such magnitude arrive in the mail has sent me into shock or what. It feels like a calm knowingness, an utter peacefulness of knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that this has already happened and I'm now just catching up to what's been waiting for me.

I've spent today reading. It's a 261 page novel. I'm on page 99 and took a break to call a fellow writer in the Colorado mountains. And now I'm still taking a break while workers are up in the attic in my studio. (It's too distracting to concentrate.)

I'm reading to look for errors. I'm checking for anything that's not to my liking, and here's what I've discovered. Even though I've been editing, re-writing, and meticulously combing through this manuscript for years, I'd change a multitude of things even to this day. Because why? Because I'm different. Because I'm different I want my characters to respond differently, my wording to be joined differently, and my messages to be conveyed differently.

That's why it's taken so long to rewrite this. How do I know when it's finished? When I say I'm done. I'm feeling very done. I feel it's time to finish diapering this baby, pat it on its butt, and send it on its way. It's time for me to move on, to accomplish the next thing in my life I feel called to do. It's time for me to explore new venues, to speak before crowds, to design new images, and to create new worlds, not continue to rewrite the ones I've already been through.

So, that being said, it's time to get back to reading page 99 and the rest of its relatives. And the men are still crawling around the attic above me with the ladder pulled down behind my chair. I can proof anyway.

Because it's time to call this bad boy done. Ah...I feel the load lifting as I swivel my chair back around to the book. Soon, it will be available to the masses through Amazon. Its name is Healing Grace, and mine is Jill Luigs. And with a few clicks on the computer the book could be in your hands too.

So, let me finish reading...

my best night ever

I have been blessed with an amazing friend that travels extensively. He happened to be in town last night, and my daughter, another friend, and I met him at one of our favorite restaurants, Cafe Malaga.

Cafe Malaga serves tapas that are out of this world. Eating their delicacies transports me to lands I've never been before, and to top it all off, my dear, wonderful traveling friend told us of some of his many adventures. Since my daughter has lived in Italy, the two of them took off to foreign land packing us with them. It was so much fun reliving their experiences of coffee and gelato near a piazza. My daughter's tale of how she spent the last of her lire on gelato before heading back to the states was enamoring. Our traveling friend leaned forward, plastered a broad smile on his face, and nodded before jumping in with his adventures in Rome.

The night, the music, the wine, the conversation, and especially the people, especially my traveling friend, made me want more. I wanted to travel more, read more, write more, just be more than I've been before. I just want more, more exciting moments with laughter and crazy-ass dancing. I want to hear foreign languages in an Italian villa. I want to feel textures of Parisian couture. I want to meander through the Louvre. I want to take a boat down the Amazon. I want to fly a single engine aircraft over a volcano.

There's so much to experience. Where to start? Well, I started with the trips I took last night with some of the most enjoyable people in the world sitting together at Cafe Malaga sipping Spanish wine and learning about the Brazilian airport named after the first aviator. (And we thought it was the Wright brothers...)

And I continue my travels today walking from RejuveNation LifeSpa to my studio above Spoons. Who knows where that trip will really take me. Yesterday in Rick's Chophouse bathroom a whole new world opened up for me. While in the center stall, I overheard a conversation that crystallized the first scene of my next novel. Last night we called it Lightning Bolt in the Bathroom. We'll see what it turns out to be when it grows up, but in the meantime, I'm getting off the computer and beginning my next journey across the square.

To my wonderful, beautiful friends and daughter who created my best night ever with me, thank you from the bottom of my heart. My greatest wish is that we take this conversation over to the best coffee shop in Italy sometime soon.

final submission

Finally, after receiving a birthday card from my best friend from high school more than 13 years ago, daring me to write a book, I finally, yes, I repeat that, I finally approved the last detail about it so that it can now go into production.

Thirteen years, two months, and six days later, it is done. Dear God, what was the frickin' hold up? Life? Moving several times? Going for my pilot's license? Getting a divorce? Raising a teenager? Working waaaay too much? I don't know. Maybe it's always about everything being in perfect timing.

In the meantime, between the date when I first wrote the first sentence to this morning when I approved the last correction on the book jacket, I raised my daughter from teenage hood to adulthood. I designed and had built a new home. I took flying lessons. I traveled to foreign countries. I got a divorce. I moved to the mountains in Colorado. I fell in love. I moved to Texas and finally finished the book.

I did not sit on my hands while working and not working on this book. I discovered myself and rediscovered myself. I entered relationships that pulled me in directions I didn't know existed before. And I fell in love. Again and again and again. I fell in love with the mountains, and then I fell in love with McKinney, Texas and the people here. I also fell in love with my daughter all over again. And with all these experiences I fell in love with the best parts of me.

I love me. I truly, truly love me. I am capable of the grandest of lives, the utmost bliss, and the most amazing experiences. I walk through this life knowing that all is well at all times. I open my eyes to the joy, my heart to the love, and my arms to the ability to give. I am. I am. I am.

And nothing more needs to be written.

Releasing

December 2, 2009, my last change made to the book jacket. Manuscript already in print. One more look over on the jacket and off it goes. Healing Grace becomes reality. How 'bout that?

Since I was a little kid I wanted to be a writer. I was a writer. In fourth grade I wrote my first novel. The main character had all of her parts replaced with bionic ones. Interesting that it turned into a show years later, and it had nothing to do with me. Or, did it? The more I know, the more I don't know. I sit and ponder the workings of the universe, and I know for a fact that I know nothing. It's all a complete mystery to me. As a matter of fact, this morning on the way into the square, I wondered what would happen if we all collectively decided to disavow the belief in time and space. Since we were taught from the beginning that there are such things, what would happen now if we all simultaneously chose to disbelieve in them? If thought is matter, then what would happen?

I digress. I can, you know. It's my blog. It's my portion of cyberspace and I can do anything I want in here. I imagine myself, a particle of myself floating around in what could possibly look like cyberspace. The particle that is me, whatever that is. I know that me is not my body, so therefore, there is a me that is not limited by time or space. There is a me, the real me, in a formless energy that defies all laws concerning time and space. And if that's the real me, then what's the fake me doing pretending to be smaller? I sit here silently, and now not so silently, concerned about book tours, marketing strategies, talking in front of people, self-promoting, etc. Will I be able to do it? Will I go crazy from it? Will I...? What the fuck difference does it make? I am this formless, timeless, spaceless being capable of all and nothing at the same time. I can let this book go, let it out into the universe without doing a thing about it, without thinking twice about it, and it will still land perfectly where it needs to. What do I care? Hm, programming. I see how the programming catches me up every now and then, so much more than I care to admit really.

The programming, the beliefs, the societal rules, the guidelines...just trappings to keep us small. If we really knew who we are. I mean if we really knew, we wouldn't care about any of those things. We wouldn't hide ourselves behind masks or phoniness. We would display ourselves in full glory, ride that train, leap off that cliff, and savor the moments of ecstasy because it would all be ecstasy, even the sorrow, even the depths of despair. If we really knew who we are, we would be scared of nothing, judge nothing, and relish in it all.

So, with that, I release my second novel out to the universe, knowing full well that it is right where it needs to be. It's released, and so am I.