Welcome Author Kelly O’Connor McNees

“Don’t laugh at the spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragical romances are hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly under their sober gowns.” — Little Women

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Kelly O’Connor McNees opens up her debut novel, The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott, with this epigraph. Then, she takes the reader’s hand and leads them deep within those words and along the path of an imaginative and believable tale about the life of Louisa May Alcott.

The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott is McNees’s first novel, but the narrative reads like one composed by a seasoned writer. Historical fiction requires hours of research and a strong passion, and McNees brings both to this story. In her “Author’s Note,” McNees talks about how she re-read Alcott’s letters and journals several times over, so that the character in her novel would sound like Alcott herself.

What results is a beautiful, heart wrenching, and genuine story about the sacrifices women must make for love, or against it.

I’m honored to host an interview with Kelly O’Connor McNees today, where she talks about the novel and her writing process. At the end of her interview, be sure to leave a comment (even your name will do), and you’ll be entered into a drawing to win a free copy of her novel. The winner will be announced next Tuesday, August 10th.

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CC: In your novel, under “Author’s Note,” you write on the journey that guided you to your story, an imagined tale of Louisa May Alcott’s summer in Walpole, in 1855. Much of that journey stemmed from biographies you read on Alcott even before you wrote your first draft. Once you decided on the story you wanted to create, how much time did you devote to research? And, how did you decide which elements to weave into your novel?

KOM: Well, first, let me thank you for inviting me to have this conversation. My favorite thing about this work, besides the actual writing, of course, is talking to other writers and readers about how these stories come to be. With The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott, the research and writing were a reciprocal process. It’s true that I did read a couple biographies before I started writing, but even then, I had certain scenes in my mind that I knew I would put in the novel. After I started writing, the research continued. I was always trying to learn more about Louisa’s life and work and trying to understand how she felt about her place in the world. I also went back to the library many times looking for obscure historical details–the color of the fabric in carriage’s interior, for example. When I was hunting for that one piece of information, I’d often uncover other interesting facts about day-to-day life that I added the story.

As for decisions about what to put in and what to leave out, those were constantly under revision as well. I wrote many scenes that I ultimately left out because, while interesting, they did not move the story forward. You can sense sometimes when you’re trying to shoehorn something in that doesn’t really fit, and you know you have to let it go. Those are difficult moments, but, ultimately, a compelling, tightly constructed story is what I wanted, so everything had to be subordinate to that goal.

CC: The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott is your first novel. Have you always wanted to write historical fiction? And, did you find it easier or more difficult to write on a real person versus a character you make up from scratch?

KOM: I hadn’t ever really thought of writing historical fiction, although I always loved reading it. It was my specific interest in Louisa May Alcott that brought me to this novel. In fact, originally, it was a contemporary novel with historical flashbacks. Louisa’s story made up only a small portion of the novel. But somewhere along the way I realized that this was her book, and these contemporary characters piecing together her story from a distance of 150 years were just gumming up the works and diminishing the impact of Louisa’s struggle. So I cut them all–120 pages–and reworked the whole thing to be a historical novel with Louisa at the center. (Yes, that was a hard day too!)

As for writing about a real person versus a fictional character, I don’t think one is easier than the other. But they are different. With a completely fictional creation, you can do anything. But that can sometimes be the burden: limitless possibilities make it hard to choose one path. Writing about a real person, on the other hand, gives you some definite parameters right from the beginning, but the challenge there is staying true to who Louisa really was while still creating a story that works as a fiction. I always remind people that while this is Louisa, she is the Louisa of my imagination. When you are writing fiction, even fiction about real people, at a certain point you depart from the record, period. And I certainly did in my story. But that’s what makes fiction fun.

CC: On your website, you offer to speak with book clubs about your novel (via technology or in person). How does that intimate connection with your readers enrich your life as a writer, as compared to meeting your fans at a book reading?

KOM: I love going to book clubs. It is such a privilege to get to talk with readers about their experience reading my book, to share about other books we’ve loved, to answer questions when I can and ask them questions I’ve wondered about. Book club members are so gracious and excited about books–what’s not to love? It’s a good reminder that I am writing for an audience who is incredibly intelligent and insightful. I think it makes me work harder on my current project. I so want to earn those readers’ time and attention again. Bookstore events are great too, but book clubs allow for an extended conversation, and that for me is the best part.

CC: What are you reading these days?

KOM: My Name is Mary Sutter, by Robin Oliveira, about a woman in the Civil War who wants to become a surgeon. It is such a lovely book. I also just finished Tracy Chevalier’s Remarkable Creatures, which I loved. I am writing right now about a woman who is interested in botany, so I really loved Elizabeth and Mary, the fossil hunters of this novel. Next up is (the goddess) Lorrie Moore’s A Gate at the Stairs, then Kate Morton’s The Forgotten Garden because a bookseller in Pawleys Island, South Carolina told me it is one of the five best books she has ever read.

CC: Do you have any final thoughts or advice for writers on the rise?

KOM: I feel too new at this to give any advice, but I will say that if you think you’d like to be a writer, write. Don’t wait. I waited a long time to get up the courage to start trying because I was so afraid of failing. Now I look back on the last ten years and think about how much joy of process I missed out on. Don’t worry about the end product or publication, though obviously that was one of my goals. The deep satisfaction comes from the practice of writing. That’s what I wish someone had told me. Come to think of it, someone probably did tell me that. I just didn’t listen!

CC: Thank you, Kelly! Remember, readers, to leave a comment below (even just your name if you’re feeling shy) to be entered into the drawing for a copy of Kelly’s novel. It’s a great read!

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Kelly O’Connor McNees is a former editorial assistant and English teacher. Born and raised in Michigan, she has lived in New York, Rhode Island, and Ontario and now resides with her husband in Chicago. The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott is her first novel. You can read more about Kelly on her website, www.kellyoconnormcnees.com and find her on Twitter here.

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Wed’s Word Flash Fiction: Cleaning Up

Every Wednesday, on Writing Under Pressure, you’ll find a post based on Today’s Word (from Wordsmith.org). Past essays, poems, or flash fiction pieces can be found under Wednesday’s Word on the sidebar to the right.

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This has been one of those days when life gets well in the way of writing, and swearing seems appropriate — especially when you have a self-imposed deadline at your back.

Enter Wordsmith.org’s theme this week: words about swearing and name-calling. Not the four-letter words, mind you, but a more sophisticated list of insults.

Today’s word:

odoriferous. adj. 1. Giving off an odor; 2. morally offensive.

Criticism with class.

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Cleaning Up

Carol’s position in housekeeping at the Holiday Inn never won her great respect. Her mother berated her for picking up the dirty laundry of strangers. Her daughter told her, at least once a week over coffee, that she should quit that lousy job.

“It’s a disgrace that women still make up the majority of employees in that line of work.”

“I like my job,” Carol repeated after every criticism, and she shrugged her shoulders.

She loved her job, really. She loved the sight and sound of the sheets as she snapped them and let them fall on top of the mattress. She appreciated the smell of a freshly-cleaned bathroom. And, she believed she played a large part in setting the mood for young couples who stayed at the hotel: she turned down their beds, turned on the lamps, and sprayed their pillows with a hint of Calvin Klein’s Obsession — a bottle she found in room 101 last year that she kept hidden in her housekeeping cart.

Continue reading “Wed’s Word Flash Fiction: Cleaning Up”

Wed’s Word and Flash Fiction: The Mets Fan

Anu Garg pins down the plight of every writer when he introduces this week’s theme on Wordsmith.org:

Illustrating the importance of using the right word, Mark Twain once said, ‘The difference between the almost-right word & the right word is really a large matter — it’s the difference between the lightning-bug & the lightning.’

This week’s dose of words relate more in wrongly assumed meanings at first glance. Still, the quote from Mark Twain is a great reminder that every word counts in a story, especially in a flash fiction piece.

Today’s word:

psychopomp. noun. A guide of souls, one who escorts soul of a newly-deceased to the afterlife.

I never would have guessed that meaning.

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The Mets Fan

Natalie looked down at the face of her iPhone just in time to see the reception bars collapse.

“Excellent.” She hit the send button with her middle finger several times anyway in hopes that her assistant, Rick, would still get her text.

STUK N TRAFFK. PLZ STALL MTG. U R MY HERO 🙂

Natalie was on her way to meet a client, a new client, and she hated showing up late. She’d been inching along 8th Avenue for fifteen minutes in a sea of cars, when she finally saw a break at the next intersection.  She figured if she turned right and bombed down Arcadia – which always seemed open to traffic – to 12th Avenue, she could circle back towards the business district and her office. She had whipped her steering wheel to the right, punched the gas, and looked down to finish typing her text.

That’s when the bars fell and her reception dropped.

She sighed and looked up to see a trash can on her hood and the reflection of her right turn signal blinking back at her from the Starbucks window. Starbucks was two doors down from the corner, and it was empty. No one inside. No one waiting at the door. No one parked at the curb. In fact, hers was the only car in the street now — in the middle of the street.

She gripped the wheel and peered around the trash can. “What the hell.”

She heard a knock on her driver’s side window.

She noticed the Mets hat first and then saw his face. He nodded slightly and motioned for Natalie to roll down her window. She cracked it an inch.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to step out of your car, Miss?”

He looked harmless, though a little weathered. But something about him was familiar. When he spoke, her shoulders relaxed. She rolled the window down another six inches.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

He smiled, stepped back, and pulled open her door. Natalie brushed off her skirt and swung her legs around. She climbed out of the car and into complete silence — no sounds of construction, no sirens, not even a horn to be heard. Downtown was never this quiet.

“Follow me,” he said.

She surprised herself by taking his hand.

They walked down Arcadia Lane for miles, past the bookstore and the Italian restaurant that serves the best gnocci in the county. Past the laundromat at the edge of town. She’d only been to that laundromat once, when her washer broke down. And, it was depressing: a real wasteland of lost socks and worn dryer sheets.

Natalie’s eyes followed her hand to the stranger’s, on up to his shoulder, and to his face. She studied his profile.

“You have questions,” he said, without looking at her.

“Yeah,” she said, but suddenly she couldn’t think of what she wanted to ask.

“You seem nice,” she said, finally.

“Yes. A lot of people tell me that.”

They were quiet for a long time, until she realized that somewhere along the way she had lost her shoes and her phone.

“I don’t need shoes?” she asked him.

He looked at her and smiled. “No.”

Natalie turned towards the road, which rose up and opened out into the sunset.

“This isn’t at all what I expected,” she said.

“It never is.”

He squeezed her hand and she closed her eyes.
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