My Life as a Writer

I know old people who retired and then decided to write a novel.  They have been reading books for years, so it should be a simple thing to write a murder mystery or a romance novel.   They are amateurs.  l am NOT one of those.

I published my first short story in the school paper when I was in junior high.  In high school my journalism teacher saw a story I had written and published three installments in the school newspaper.  Neither of these was a good piece of writing, but I did not realize it at the time.  All I knew was that I was a writer.

At Texas State College for Women I majored journalism.  I also took a course in “creative writing” in which I wrote short stories that, again, were published by the school in its “literary” quarterly. Mamie Walker, our creative writing teacher said,  “Ilene thinks of the whole life of her characters.”  I knew then that short stories would not work for me.  I wanted to write novels.

After graduation I worked for the Fort Worth Press, writing reports on weddings and women’s clubs.  I wrote feature stories on local women, always interested in how background and experiences shaped their lives. But I did not want to do this for the rest of my life.  I enrolled in a course in “Modern Drama” at TCU.  Also in the class was Wallace Gaarsoe, a young airman stationed at Carswell Air Force Base who was trying to complete his sophomore year of college. He persuaded me to marry him and go to Chicago where I was to work and help him obtain his degrees.

First I worked as a secretary in the Chicago office of The Billboard, the entertainment weekly.  A fun place to work but my boss told me bluntly, “The Billboard has never had a woman reporter.”   Then I found a job at Retailing Daily, where I reported on lamp manufacturers, curtains and drapery retailers, and got to go to the semi-annual furniture markets at Joseph Kennedy’s Merchandise Mart.

My career came to a halt when I became pregnant with Karl.  I became a stay-at-home housewife and mother.  While pregnant with Martha I completed a long novel about a group of women growing up together who all had very different lives.  Wally was furious when he found out I spent time typing instead of scrubbing floors.  The novel went into a box on the closet shelf.  For years all the writing I did was letters to my mother and Sally. 

At last my three children were all in school.  I wrote a second long novel.  I sent the manuscript to Simon and Schuester, who kept it six months then sent it back with a printed note, “We only consider books submitted by agents.”  I spent the next year trying to find an agent.  They all said, “We only handle published authors.”   That novel went up on the closet shelf, too.

Wally and I were divorced.  I went to New Mexico where I participated in a play-writing seminar at the University of New Mexico.  I also met Joan Leslie Woodruff, who has had 13 books published and who assured me “You are a real writer.”  I wrote a novel, “The Baglady with the BMW”, based on my experiences during the difficult years when I was suing Wally for support.  I could not find a publisher who would look at it.

Today I have boxes and boxes of manuscripts, boxes I’ve moved from a house in Illinois to apartments and a house in New Mexico and on to a house in Garland, Texas, and to two retirement homes. 

My son David said, “Mom, you need to get published.”  He set up the blog, where I have been venting my opinions for the past seven years.  I often wrote about my travels.  One of my most loyal “followers” is my grandson, Doug Schumann.  He said, “Grandma, let’s publish your blogs as a book.”   With his encouragement I put together a story based on the trip I made to Europe with David when he was a little, thirteen-year-old kid. 

“Mama Goes to Paris” is almost ready for publication.  Will anyone buy it?  For me it will be the satisfaction of finally seeing one of my books in print.