Getting Back to Business by Nancy Hinchliff

Nancy Hinchliff owns and operates a bed and breakfast in Louisville, Kentucky where she also blogs and writes on line at Examiner.com, Eye on Life Magazine, Pink magazine and Hub pages. You can find her blogging at Business and Creative Women’s Forum, Inn Notes, Inn business  A Memorable Time of My Life, and Louisville Bed and Breakfast Association  In 2008, she co-authored Room at the Table, for The Bed and Breakfast Association of Kentucky for which she won their president’s award for outstanding work. She is currently working on a memoir titled Operatic Divas and Naked Irishmen: An Innkeeper’s Tale, a humorous and poignant account of how an admittedly asocial retired school teacher reinvents herself as an Innkeeper. This intimate tale recounts 16 challenging years of self-discovery.

Getting Back To Business

...the business of writing, that is. For the past two or three months, my memoir has been sitting on an obscure corner of my desk upstairs in my office...out of sight...out of reach...out of mind. I haven't gone near it. What I have been doing is trying to figure out what in the world is wrong with it. Why do I only like Chapter 8 and Chapter 12?

I have three fourths of the book complete. And now I see that I have to do a major re-write on it. Why? Well, I finally figured it out. I can't hear my voice...at least I can't hear it all the time. It comes through in different places, like in Chapter 8 and Chapter 12, but it does not infuse the entire book. And that really bothers me.

So, what to do about it? Well, I finally retrieved my manuscript from my desk on the third floor...that's a start. Then I divided it into four sections. Each section has around four chapters. Now, what I am doing is re-writing every day for a set amount of time. I am going chapter by chapter, sticking with it until I have it the way I want it...looking for my authentic voice and planting it on the pages one sentence at a time.

Just what is writer's voice anyhow and how do you find your own? According to Wikipedia,“Writer’s voice is a literary term used to describe the individual writing style of an author. Voice is a combination of a writer’s use of syntax, diction, punctuation, character development, dialogue, etc., within a given body of text (or across several works). Voice can also be referred to as the specific fingerprint of an author, as every author has a different writing style.In creative writing, students are often encouraged to experiment with different literary styles and techniques in order to help them better develop their “voice.” Voice varies with the individual author, but, particularly in American culture, having a strong voice is considered positive and beneficial to both the writer and his or her audience.”

Finding your writer’s voice may be compared to expressing your personality in real life. It's that authentic way of thinking, speaking and telling that each one of us has. “Confident writers have the courage to speak plainly; to let their thoughts shine rather than their vocabulary.” says Ralph Keyes, author of The Courage to Write: How Writers Transcend Fear I strongly believe that one way one can find their true voice is through blogging on a regular basis. When I first started blogging a few years ago, I focused mainly on the content of what I was writing and was not too concerned about the way in which it was presented, as long as the grammar and punctuation was correct. I was not really writing to connect with my readers.

In the Elements of Style, Strunk tells us that "style is an expression of self, and [writers] should turn resolutely away from all devices that are popularly believed to indicate style – all mannerisms, tricks, and adornments." I believe that if one continues to blog, their voice will eventually be freed. “As you become proficient in the use of language, your style will emerge,” writes Strunk “because you yourself will emerge…” so the more comfortable you are with the rules for good writing, the more your writer’s voice will shine.

I have found this to be so true. And, it wasn't until I felt my true voice starting to come out that I even entertained the idea of writing a memoir. I wanted that memoir to be an expression of "me". But somewhere along the line, in trying to complete my work, I lapsed into my old ways of focusing on the content, not on my reader. And that's what I'm trying to get back.

Now, I am working that out, chapter by chapter. I am reading my writing aloud to see if it really sounds like me. This is very helpful, by the way. I had already stopped comparing my writing to other writers. Comparing how you write or your writer’s voice to other writers is destructive and suffocating. So, my motto is: admire other writers’ styles but nurture your own. And focus on ways to improve your confidence as a writer.

*A final tip: try picturing one specific reader — one that you're not trying to impress – and just communicate with her.

Operatic Divas and Naked Irishmen by Nancy Hinchliff

Nancy Hinchliff writes and blogs in Louisville, Kentucky as well as on line at Examiner.com, Eye on Life Magazine, Pink magazine and hubpages. She co-authored Room at the Table, a cookbook for The Bed and Breakfast Association of Kentucky for which she won their president's award in 2008. She is currently working on a memoir titled Operatic Divas and Naked Irishmen, a humorous and poignant account of how an admittedly asocial retired school teacher reinvents herself as an Innkeeper. In this intimate and engaging memoir, she candidly writes about her challenging sixteen year journey of self-discovery. She lives in Louisville, Kentucky where she still runs her bed and breakfast. You can find Nancy blogging at: www.businesswomensforum.blogspot.com  

Excerpt from Operatic Divas and Naked Irishmen (a work in progress) 

by Nancy Hinchliff

I heard it loud and clear. I was on the third floor at my computer with my shoes off, working on a new article. By the time I finished the last paragraph, it had turned into a steady pounding . I got up and walked to the stairway, shoes in hand. Sitting on the top stair, I put them on one at a time, as the pounding got louder and louder and took on a sense of urgency. I hurried down the forty stairs to the ground floor, thinking that this must be a worker from the street who had come to tell me they're turning my water off for a while.

I opened the front door and there he stood,  completely rumpled;  his weather-beaten canvas jacket open in the front revealing a denim workshirt, hair all askew, and backpack thrown over his left shoulder. He looked a little annoyed.   

   

"Sorry," I said, "It's a big house....over four thousand square feet.........takes a while to get to the door....... Can I help you?"   

   

"Yeah, I'm here to check in"  

Check-in? Check-in? I thought, my mind racing. Did I have a check-in today? Oh my God, I think I did! But not this dirty construction worker, who was about to turn my water off.

I finally gathered my wits and said       "And you are.....Mister....?"   

   

".... Evans," he interrupted, "the business man from Virginia"  

Business man...that's a laugh. This guy is no business man. If this is a business man, where is his brief case and his computer?. 

     

"Mr Evans, of course" I smiled "Come on in"    

  

"And you are?" he asked, reeking of tobacco.   

    

"I'm Nancy, the owner and innkeeper."

Telling him to put his backpack down in the hall, I took him into the parlor to give him the grand tour. As we left the parlor and entered the dining room, I pointed out the snacks and drinks available to guests. 

     

"Is it okay if I have some of that liquor over in the corner?" he asked, completely oblivious to the fresh baked chocolate chip cookies nearby.      

Hesitating to think that one over for a bit, I answered

 "Yes" I'm such a trusting soul.   He told me he would be eating breakfast at nine and asked if his friend, the one who had made the reservation,  Roger I think his name was, could stop by later for a visit. 

Then he asked "Is there anyone else here but me?"  

I thought seriously about lying, but answered "No"   

   

 He went on " Do you live here alone?"  

A sharp jab in my stomach alerted me. Do I tell him the truth?  Why is he asking that?     "Yes", I said and sent him up to the third floor with a key, to find his room.  

I hurried to my room on the second floor and double locked the door. Sitting on the bed, I tried to catch my breath, his words whirling around in my head. Later I heard him leave, then return. I quietly went down to the first floor to check out what was going on. I entered the parlor and there he was with an already half empty bottle of Vodka in his hand pouring himself a huge drink. The brown paper sack from the liquor store across the street was lying on the floor. 

     

 "Hi," he said, looking up at me from my favorite winged-back chair. He had a crooked but friendly smile on his face. He was now reeking of both tobacco and Vodka.   

"Hi"  I countered, scurrying past him and heading for the kitchen. 

     

"Like a drink?"    

 "Oh no, thank you. I don't drink," I said, maybe a little too curtly.  

I made it to the kitchen, without appearing too rude, happy that I wouldn't have to answer any more personal questions. I retreated up the back stairs to my room, which I immediately locked tight. An hour or so later, the doorbell rang and I could hear him open it and greet his friend. For a while, it was very quiet and then I heard the two of them leave.  

I finished watching the evening news and went downstairs to make myself some dinner. I walked into the parlor and was a little taken a back by the empty Vodka bottle plopped down on my antique table next to the chair where he had been sitting. I threw out the empty Vodka bottle, had dinner and retired to my room for the rest of the evening. I talked myself into believing everything would be okay and I wasn't in any eminent danger. Then I double locked the door, grabbed the phone, and jumped into bed. 

The next morning, I was up bright and early making fresh ground coffee, when I heard him coming down the stairs. As he walked into the dining room, I was surprised to see how good he looked in the morning light.   

   

"Thought you'ld have a little trouble getting up for breakfast this morning," I said.   

  

"Why's that?" he asked. 

      

I didn't want to be rude, but decided to tell him what I thought. "Well, you had quite a bit to drink last night. You finished that whole bottle of Vodka."   

   

"Oh that was nothing," he laughed, "I'm a pretty seasoned drinker."     

Seasoned drinker, I thought....more like an alcoholic if you ask me. I sort of expected him to ask for a Bloody Mary for breakfast. 

Back in the kitchen, I cooked up fabulous vegetable omelets, sour dough toast and bacon. He said he was hungry and had asked if I made omelets.

"I'm a vegetarian you know," he informed me nonchalantly as he asked me to join him for breakfast.

 Sitting across the table from him, I wondered just who this man was, who had the gaul to ask if I lived here alone.  We exchanged some pleasantries and then he asked another of his now famous personal questions.   

  

 "You know," he began, "the jails are jammed packed with prisoners"     

"uh huh," I nodded, gobbling up my wonderful eggs. 

    

 "How do you feel about that?" 

     

"About what?"    

  

"About all those prisoners?" 

     

Oh my God, I thought, he's trying to get me into a conversation where I expose my position and then he jumps on me and shoves his obsessive ideas down my throat.  How do I get out of this?     

"Well, well......I... I don't usually get into these kinds of conversations, I stammered, especially at breakfast."  

I managed to change the subject. But he just kept on trying to hook me into similar conversations.....politics..... religion.....anything controversial he could think of. Finally he gave up and began talking about himself.

He told me he was an inventor, and through the conversation, I could tell that he was quite creative and intelligent. He also told me he had invented a very hard plastic which had made him the millionaire he was today. Then the conversation switched to Roger, his friend....the one who helped him finish off an entire bottle of Vodka before dinner last night. Roger was a good friend and also an inventor he said.

"Yes, Roger is the one who invented the GPS."  

After nearly choking on my last bite of eggs, I repeated  "the GPS" Was this guy for real?"The GPS that you put in your car to tell you how to get from one place to another?"   

   

"That's the one" he said nonchalantly.   

   

"How come I've never heard of him?" I asked,  "What's his last name?" In my head, I was already on line googling GPS."   

   

"His name is Roger Easton," he answered. 

I was suddenly jerked back to reality by the sound of the front door bell. I quickly ran to the door and flung it open. And there he was...... Roger......creator of the GPS.......master inventor........ savior of the navigationally impaired.........in all his glory.   

   

"Hi Roger. Come on in. Want a cup of coffee? How 'bout an omelet?

I never asked Roger directly about his invention, I didn't want to embarrass him, in case it wasn't true.  And Mr Evans said no more.

But this is what I found on google: "The evidence shows that Roger Easton invented the GPS and is finally getting credit for it as shown by his receiving the National Medal of Technology (below). Brad Parkinson deserves much credit for his successful development of the system, but neither Brad Parkinson nor Ivan Getting (who also had been given credit) invented it. Further study about GPS has reinforced prior understanding that the Navy had the technology and the Air Force had the money to fund it."   

 I quickly scanned the picture to see if it was the Roger Easton I had had coffee with that morning at the breakfast table.  But it was not; it was a different Roger Easton, the one who had invented the GPS. I don't know who Mr Evans introduced to me to that morning and I guess I never will.

The Lemonade Stand: A Guest Blog by Nancy Hinchliff

Nancy Hinchliff is the Innkeeper of the Aleksander House. After teaching in Chicago's inner-city highschools for twenty years, she returned to the university to work on her PH.D. in Education in 1995, where she taught Highschool Teaching Methods and Curriculum and Instruction. Upon retirement, she moved to Louisville and bought a lovely 1882 Victorian home in historical "Old Louisville".  Nancy writes primarily journalistic pieces, creative non-fiction, and poetry.  She has four blogs, so you could also say she's a blogger and has recently turned her attention to memoir. Please help me welcome Nancy Hinchliff...as usual, if you leave comments, I will make sure Nancy gets them. 

The Lemonade Stand: The Joys of Being a Positive Thinker
by Nancy Hinchliff (visit her at http://www.businesswomensforum.blogspot.)

To begin with, I must say that my life has not always been easy. I've had lots of disappointments, losses and medical problems. I would list them, so that you could understand a little better where I'm coming from, but I really hate dwelling on negative things, which is the whole purpose of this piece. Just let me say that the list includes everything from suicide to cancer.

I am one of those people who has been blessed with a very positive outlook on life. Don't know if I was born with it or if I picked it up along the way, but it has gotten me through some of the darkest moments of my life. I am not unrealistic, in fact I don't like Sci Fi, the comics, or sitcoms for that very reason. Strangely enough, dyed in the wool realist that I am, I have a very well developed sense of humor, which also has helped me through rough times.

On reflection, I think I would have to attribute my positive attitude and sense of humor to my family. I had a grandmother who was absolutely hilarious! She should have been a stand up comic. Many are the times she had me rolling on the floor or peeing my pants with laughter. She has always been my idol and I chose to identify with her. We even look somewhat alike (I think I'll use her picture for my avatar for a while). She had a pretty positive attitude, but it was my mother who developed the most positive attitude in the family.

I find myself thinking like my mother all the time and working out problems the way she did, coming from a positive and upbeat place. It's amazing to me that she could remain so positive, because she had a lot of adversity in her life to deal with. For one thing, she was crippled from the time she was a very young child. What a curse to have to deal with, and yet, she dealt with it quite well.

She met my father, a handsome young musician, when he came into her hair salon for a manicure. She was only 22 and she and her family had moved north from a small town in North Carolina, so that her father could make more money. He was a carpenter and a plumber. She managed to finish beauty school and open up a shop on the lower level of the Detroit hotel where my father was booked to play for a couple of weeks. They fell in love and married a few months later.

Life with my father wasn't always easy. He was very handsome (Tyrone Power handsome) and talented. On stage all the time with an orchestra in the 30s and 40s, he definitely attracted beautiful women. Now that I think about it, it must have been very hard for my mother to cope with. After all she was just a little southern girl from North Carolina, who happened to be crippled. I know my father loved her and she loved him, but I'm sure jealousy raised its ugly head from time to time.

Anyhow, she managed to stay positive and grow emotionally strong, with a few setbacks along the way. I never realized what effect that strength and positive outlook had on me, until I was faced with some serious problems myself. I can't say I sailed right through, but I was and still am a fighter and a problem solver. I have even amazed myself from time to time at how that positive image of my mother keeps reaffirming my actions.

To clarify something, neither my mother nor my grandmother ever set about to teach me anything about life. I was left pretty much to my own devices. However, by watching and living with them, I learned the rewards of a positive attitude and a sense of humor. I saw how it got you through some of the worst times and how refusing to lapse into a negative mode has saved me many times over. As simplistic and corny as it may sound, I truIy believe that if life hands you a lemon, your best option is to make lemonade.