Interview with Novelist Wendy Blake Pottinger

Wendy Blake Pottinger  was born and raised in central Ohio before moving to South Florida. Her short stories have been published in several anthologies and she has written for PBG Lifestyle Magazine. Her love of travel throughout the United States was the inspiration for her novel, A GIFT OF GRACE. To  her, life is about family.

Pam: When did you discover you wanted to be a writer?

Wendy:  I have always been a writer. If you don't believe me, just ask to see the many journals tucked into the old trunk in my attic. On second thought, no one should ever read those. I had some issues in the 70's.

Pam:   How did your childhood influence your novel?

Wendy:  Growing up in a small town in central Ohio was wonderful. Life was right out of a Rockwell painting - sledding the hills, skating the ponds in winter; swimming and fishing in the spring and summer; jumping in the leaves, hayrides, and festivals in the fall. Mostly, these moments were made more magical by being surrounded by family.

Pam:  Is the story line in A GIFT OF GRACE a reflection of you or your family?

Wendy:  My novel traces a journey made by three siblings after losing their mother. Many of the stories come from actual occurrences throughout the years.

Pam:  Please explain a little how your story line evolved.

Wendy:  The inspiration for my novel came from one year when my three kids were home from college. I was sad to see how they had grown apart. They all lived within ten miles of each other, but it seemed to me in their independence in life, they had left behind these special relationships. My book is based on a mother who sends her children on a 21-day journey together across the U.S. to spread her ashes.

Pam:  What was the best writing advice you ever had?

Wendy:  In Stephen King's book, ON WRITING, he is explicit in his advice to write what you know. I have to agree. You have to love your characters and your story. If not, why tell it? I have three kids. My daughter did pee in a laundry basket, my son did sprain his glute muscle. Did they enjoy my sharing their stories? Yes, they did. They all had input and opinions through the writing process.

Pam:  So you got additional writing advice within the family!  Do you have specific rituals when you write?

Wendy:  I write daily. Usually mornings, but sometimes I have an idea and I've learned, if you think you'll remember that idea later, you're wrong! So, I may stop during the day and do a quick outline for a particular idea. Since I work on multiple books at the same time (I'm a Gemini), I need to keep the ideas filed with the correct book. I certainly don't want my time traveler to end up in my 1800's veterinarian story. While I might outline an idea, I've never outlined a book. That said, I usually know my beginning, middle, and end. But I love to see where the characters will take me.
           
Pam:  What's currently on your nightstand?

Wendy:  Another piece of advice is: to be a great writer, you need to be a great reader. I have a stack of seven books currently on my bedside table. Some of the authors I'm savoring at the moment are Lee Child, Barbara Kingsolver, David Baldacci, and Debbie Macomber. Also I have local authors' books, including your book, SURVIVING YOUR DREAM VACATION, and JM LeDuc's EVIL AWAKENED.

Pam:  Thank you for taking the time to read the rules and anecdotes in my new travel book! What are you working on at the moment?

Wendy:  My next novel, a love story with a time travel twist, will be out in January. The working title is SHADOW PEOPLE.
               In addition to writing, I love to help new authors. If your readers have any questions or comments or just want to say, "Hi," contact me at: wpottinger3@gmail.com

Pam:  Many thanks for your time, Wendy, and best of luck with the new book!

A Moment of Silence on September 11th

Led by President and Mrs. Obama on the White House lawn, the nation observed a moment of silence at 8:46 a.m. on September 11, 2015, in remembrance of our countrymen lost in 2001.

Steel beams in shape of a cross found in the rubble

On every 9-11, the wound reopens, the images resurface.  Each of us knows exactly where he was when he heard the news that our nations was un-
equivocally under attack.

In the northeast and mid-Atlantic corridors of this country, the tragedy was personal.  Inhabitants still name those lost from their town.  Businessmen still retell of fate calling them to an unexpected meeting that morning, while the rest of their team perished in a tower. Children still kiss their missing parents' photos, as memories fade.  Military personnel still grieve their co-workers.  Stories still bounce and carom of those who were in one of the tragic locations on 9-11-2001.

At 8:46 a.m. that day, Charley and I were at home in Massachusetts, watching The Today Show.  A repairman was working on our television.  When Katie Couric announced a plane had hit the north tower of the World Trade Center, we assumed a small plane had malfunctioned and veered off-course.  When she announced a second plane had hit the south tower, there was no doubt in our minds: we were under attack. The three of us stood with mouths open in our kitchen, waiting for the next flashes across the television.

"Where's Todd?" I said to Charley.  The previous month our younger son had spent a week in training for Lehman Brothers at the top of one of the towers.  The week of the attack, he and other trainees were on the twenty-sixth floor of the American Express Building, connected to the north tower by a catwalk.

"I don't know," Charley said.  We called his wife, Trish, in their rental apartment on Grand Street.

"I haven't heard from him and can't reach his cell phone," she said.  "As soon as I hear, I'll call you."

The phone rang.  It was our older son.  "Where's Todd?" he demanded.

"We don't know.  Are you in the City?"

"No, I'm in Jersey today. Call me as soon as you hear anything."

Todd had seen the first plane ACCELERATE past the windows of the American Express Building.  "Let's get out of here!" he yelled.  "There was no doubt in our minds it was an intentional act," he said later.  He found the stairs and ran down twenty-six flights with his peers and team leader.

Inside St. Paul's Chapel

On the pavement, the scene was horrific. The south tower had been hit at 9:03 a.m.. People were screaming and stampeding in every direction.  Employees had begun jumping from the north tower.  Without a working cell phone, Todd headed up Broadway.

In forty-seven minutes after it was hit, the south tower crumbled.  By then, the Pentagon had also been attacked.  Todd found a rotary pay phone and called Trish.  As ash billowed through the streets, thousands flooded the pavement under their apartment, attempting to escape over the Williamsburg Bridge into Brooklyn.

At 10:00 we heard from Trish.  "He's ok," she said.  "He's walking to our apartment."

"Thank god!" was all I could say.  "His brother's been calling, so we'll let him know.  Are you all right?"

"Yes, now that I know where he is!  I'll stay in touch with you."

Trish and Todd could not leave the City for days.  The ash from the collapse of both towers had made the area below 14th Street, where they were living, unsafe.  Eventually the American Express Building, along with others in the immediate area of the World Trade Center, was condemned.

A firefighter's gear left in remembrance in St. Paul's Chapel, where first responders rested.

When they were able to leave, Trish and Todd arrived at our Massachusetts home.  While I held Trish, Charley hugged Todd.

A moment of silence wasn't nearly enough!

Link to Joyce Wadler's Humor

At the beginning of each week I'll try to post a link to something that relates to the latest blog I posted. It may be humorous or informational or just plain interesting. This week's link is to Joyce Wadler's humorous column, "On the Road with Mothers," from the March 3, '13 NY Times, which I mentioned in my latest post.  If the link doesn't open, type in the entire name of the site.  It's worth it!


http://www.nytimes.com/2013/03/03booming/on-the-road-with-mothers.html?smid=pl-share

To Urn or Return?

When my kids were toddlers, I'd deposit them in the play room at the indoor tennis courts and we young mothers would exchange recipes or discuss what the kids wouldn't eat or where our husbands were on business.

When my kids were in school, we'd discuss our work, our kids' schedules, their report cards, and family trips.  We wouldn't stick around for a drink afterward because we had to run the carpool route or get the kids home to finish homework before hockey practice or organize our own material for a meeting.

When my kids were in college, we could sit afterward and mostly talked about vacations we were planning or work.  Or the cost of college educations and what kind of jobs the kids might find later (yes, there were plenty of choices then).

In retirement, an after-tennis discussion recently revolved around whether we were planning to be cremated with a memorial service or have an open or closed coffin with wake and full funeral or just a service. And whether we'd talked with the kids about it.

(The tennis was pretty good, really...no correlation to the topic!)

Which brought to mind something a friend recently printed for me - an old column by NY Times writer Joyce Wadler titled, "Queens of the Road" (March 3, 2013).  Joyce has become my new favorite humorist.  Her point in the column was to NEVER travel with your mother long-distance.  "Unless maybe you are disposing of her ashes. And then there's a very good chance you will hear her voice in your head:
     'You packed the box with my ashes without double-wrapping it in plastic and putting it in a baggie?
Look at this box:  It's cardboard, it's nothing.  What if I spill all over this suitcase?...By the way, how are you planning to do this?  If there's a wind, make sure it's not blowing at you, and when you open the box, make sure you don't pour it over your head.  Don't say, 'Everybody knows that,' because everybody does not know.  I hope you didn't invite your father's cousin Marvin.  I can't stand that man.'"

Back to the question posed at the tennis court.  To urn or return (in open or closed casket)?

I've been thinking about my parents a lot recently, doing book promotions for ELDERLY PARENTS WITH ALL THEIR MARBLES.  They'd signed up with The Neptune Society to be cremated and prepaid for the service, which included scattering their ashes at sea.  Dad got seasick on any boat he stepped foot in and they most certainly did not want to be scattered at sea!  What they did want was to be co-mingled and divided in half for my sister and me to dispose of on each of our properties.

We had a lovely memorial service for my mother.  She sat in a cardboard box on a shelf of Dad's bedroom, waiting.  Not too long, as it turned out. When Dad passed almost exactly a year later, we had another lovely memorial service.  The ashes went back to The Neptune Society, which mingled them, provided the paperwork, and sealed the urns.  My sister and I transported them in our respective cars, she to Virginia and me to Massachusetts.


Maybe there's a bench at a tennis court somewhere where Charley and the kids could sit to reminisce about our lives together. As for the rest, I'll leave it up to them.  I doubt they'll hear my voice telling them which way the wind is blowing.