My First Rejection from a Publishing House

It has happened. I wasn’t immune. No easy breaks for me; that’s just not the way things work in my life. I knew this day would come but I never comprehended the blow until it happened. I thought agent rejections were bad but this was ten times worse!

I have received my first rejection from a major publishing house. Oh, to type that out and read it, still pierces the heart. Oh, the pain! When I read my agent's message about it, I got angry. How could they not love Mr. Bohns and his factory of candies and toys? How could they not love the ugly Maryanne whose tragic beginning made you root for a happy ending? How could they not love Snowball, the mangy cat and Vladick, the vampire and so on and so forth?! I have never wanted to throw something out of anger as much as I wanted to at that moment. I paced my room, gritted my teeth and tightened my fist. Around and around I went as I mumbled and growled under my breath. “Did they even read it?!”

How was I going to break this to my biggest fans, my children? My husband? How was I going to tell them Mr. Bohns and Maryanne were not wanted? I took a deep breath and decided to get it done and over with. I left my husband a message then headed down to face the 7 kids who have included my story in their morning and evening prayers, family prayers and even as we blessed our food at each of our meals. Some have even sacrificed their birthday wishes in hopes their favorite story would find its way into the right publishers hands.

When I gathered them around, they took one look at my face (which is usually a fairly happy one) and knew my smile was fake. When I broke the news they all came to me with hugs, some even with tears, wondering why Mr. Bohns was not wanted and who didn’t adore Maryanne.

They began to fret about it and that is when I realized we were bigger than this. To get all our frustrations out I decided we were going to celebrate my failure. We would watch a favorite movie from the company that rejected us. We’d eat big bowls of ice cream with all the toppings as we watched. This was not going to beat us. 

When the movie started the grand logo of the company came up. It was glorious! We had all imagined that we would one day sit in a theater, knowing that our story of  Mr. Bohns and Maryanne was about to be seen all over the world.  Millions would fall in love with this little gothic fairytale of a skeleton and a homely girl.  But now, our dreams seemed crushed. It wasn’t going to happen. We booed the screen! We stuck out our tongues! We cocked our hands back full of gummy bears and gummy worms ready to throw at the screen…but then the oddest thing happened.  There was a hush.  We stuck our tongues back in and instead of throwing our gummies, we ate them and enjoyed the show.

We had won after all. It is true a major publishing house didn’t want our story, but one will someday. We all felt it at the same time. I think someone from up above was chuckling at us. We like to think of Him as not so serious all the time but a Heavenly Father who knows what is best. Someone who will help it happen at the right time. He will guide it and protect it and make sure it finds its way into the right hands. I know my children’s prayers will be answered. They are good kids and it is a good story.    

Skeletons Get a Bad Rap

I enjoy monsters of every sort but I have a great fondness for skeletons. It’s not like I go creeping around digging up graves stealing bones. I imagine they look rather lovely left in their pretty boxes. When I look at a cemetery (I call them ‘boneyards’), I don’t see the headstones, sepulchers, or the plastic flowers. What I see is what’s underneath. I can see wooden boxes with bones dressed in frilly gowns and fine suits.

How much do I like skeletons you may ask? I doodle skeletons in notebooks. An entire folio is dedicated to skeletons on my Pinterest page. Vintage skeleton masks, pictures, books and so many knickknacks of my boney friends can be found in my writing nook. My very best friends know what kind of gifts to give me for holidays. Instead of my children drawing me pictures of sunsets, they draw me skeletons coming out of sunsets. My children love to pick me wild flowers but they get extra excited when they find me jaw bones and skulls from little critters. Heck, skeletons even come to me in my dreams!

What I find appealing about skeletons is that one day we will be one, (well, besides those who are cremated, in which case they become bone dust, which is still bone). A skeleton is a monster we cannot avoid becoming. It will happen. We will be monsters! What a comforting thought that is to me. ;)

My skeleton will be very short, like a child’s. My skull will be tiny, like a little bouncy ball. I’ll still have that missing tooth which makes me unique. I wonder if my knuckles will still be big from popping them as a kid? I kind of hope so.

Around one’s bones lay what makes us; our veins, brains and organs. Take away all the squishy stuff and we all look pretty much the same. When I see bones, or, think about them in boneyards, I wonder who that person was. Their feet learned to walk. Their boney hands held another’s. Inside their skulls carried all kinds of memories. They were once like me and you.

So the next time you pass a skeleton on the street, maybe you should stop and say, “Hello, brother”. Remember they were just like you once and the day will come when you will join their club. Embrace our skeleton friends for they do get a bad rap.

Art work done by one of my daughters: Bella Filetti

My Family of Misfit Toys

I am the collector of stuff. I can’t help myself. It is an addiction! I love flea markets, I love yard sales, and I love auctions and antique malls. I love the hunt of that perfect little something to add to my décor. I love the feeling I get when a little something is appreciated again. Nothing looks more pitiful to me than someone else’s junk heaped on a table for strangers to rummage through. Don’t think of me as a hoarder, for I don’t take everything. I only take what speaks to me.

Normally, I stick with old stuff or dead people’s stuff (as some like to point out). I like the history in a vintage pull toy, an embroidered dish towel or a tattered Mother Goose story book. I often wonder whose it was and what they were they like. They must have been a little like me for I was connected to their junk. Would I have been their friend? A soul mate? I like to think so.

Rarely, I’ll stumble upon something brand new, which call’s to me to be played with. When I find something at a store that I like, I always tell myself I’ll find it at a yard sale in year or so. I’m usually right; plus it will come with memories and be a whole lot cheaper.

But one day a new toy begged for me to bring her home. I found myself in a store’s toy aisle. For nearly thirty minutes I stood in front of a tiny something, wishing I was a little girl again. When my husband found me, I showed him my potential friend. I pointed out her black button eyes, her black and white striped tights and her purple hair. I had to have her. I loved her already! Into the basket she went and I think I even skipped!

When I got her home and opened her up, she was even more perfect. In my palm she sat and smiled up at me. When I looked down at her, I saw me all over again as little five year old. I might have looked like a normal child but deep down I was different and I knew my new little friend was too. She was going to fit in perfectly (or imperfectly which, ironically, fits me better)!

I looked around my writing nook wondering where I should place her. I have a thing for monsters so they’re all around me when I write. All are hand-me-down rejects and one seemed most excited for the new addition. In the giant hand of a once discarded friend, Lacy now sits. Mr. Hyde promises to be on his best behavior and Lacy seems quite content in his care.

My Ugly Christmas Kitty

Every week since November 15^th I have posted on my Facebook page a little hint of a Christmas wish. I never knew what a stir it would cause but as the weeks went by the 5 words ‘All I want for Christmas’, followed by a picture of a black kitten, generated a mountain of responses, phone calls, personal messages and face to face chats.

My heart is full. Many hoped the best for me and loved ones as far as Denmark offered adopting a kitty for me if my holiday wish failed to come true.

Christmas is now a day past and the very first gift that was given was that of the ugliest, smelliest, scrawniest, mangiest little kitten I have ever laid eyes on! He must have come straight from a trash can, I swear it! My husband went to the local animal shelter and saw this rat of a cat, shoved in a cage and climbing over the others cute fluffy kitties, trying desperately to get out. He knew without a doubt which one belonged to me.

Can you guess what I named him? The winner gets a handmade prize from me. Oh, what fun! Sorry, but readers of my Benjamin Bohns story must not play!

Hint: A black cat + crossing my path = good luck

A Peek Inside My Cozy Cabinet

During a call one day with my artist friend, the question was raised as to where I write? When I responded telling him, “in my closet”, (I’m easily distracted anywhere else) he chuckled and asked if I’d send him a picture. He wanted to see where I created my fun little tales. While still on the phone, I took a peek at my closet nook and knew I wouldn’t be sending him a picture anytime soon. My room was in desperate need of a straightening up. To change the subject, I then asked to see his place of inspiration. It didn’t take long for his pictures to arrive in my inbox. I grew envious as his place was everything I wished mine would be.

A few days later when my friend asked again about my room, I decided to take a day, fold and hang the mountain of laundry that was taking up my throne and toss out the Halloween candy wrappers on my floor. I also wanted to frame pieces of art and go through boxes full of old memories in hopes of finding pieces to add to my room.

At the end of the day my room was finished. It wasn’t as grand as my friend’s but I was pleased. Inside you’ll now find my favorite books of those who inspire me. You’ll find my childhood toys and trinkets. You’ll find gifts from family and friends who know me best. You’ll find artwork and photos that motivate me. You’ll find little notes of encouragements and illustrations of my characters from my children.

Finally, I’m surrounded by the things that make me unique; the things that scream, my room, my nook, my cozy cabinet!

Do you have a special place that you call yours?

Be sure to check out my friend’s blog. His work is amazing! http://hauntednonsense.blogspot.com/

Black Licorice Spiders and a Little Goofy Girl

Since my book hasn't quite made it to the publishing world yet, I'm constantly contacted by friends and fans hoping for a peak to tide them over until that big day happens. When I do give them a tiny glimpse, I enjoy seeing their faces light up. I love to hear them chuckle which tells me they pictured just who I've described.

So for those of you who've never had the chance to ask me about my story and have always wanted to know a little more, let me introduce you to Maryanne.

In high school you can bet that Maryanne sat alone in the lunch room. She wouldn't have minded a friend but since there wasn't anyone, she’d hum to herself while gazing out the window eating something like a mayo sandwiched and bruised banana. You can bet she was the last to be picked in gym class. Partly because she was goofy looking but also because she was uncoordinated. She wouldn't be afraid to tattle on the football star who found it okay to cheat off her algebra test and instead of carrying a tissue around to wipe her runny nose, her sleeves worked just fine. You can bet there was a time she had toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoe or the back of her dress tucked into her granny panties. But even with her imperfections she was confident enough to ignore the scoffs and snickering but every once in awhile, one would stick and her little heart would break. Still, she’d pick herself up and all alone, she’d move ahead.

Since she was an honest person and a hard worker, she was a perfect employee at a certain toy and candy factory. The factory came with strict rules and her boss was a stickler about obeying them. While other employees murmured about the regulations, Maryanne happily embraced her boss’s wishes. Knowing he expected a top notch product from each of his employee’s, Maryanne perfected her craft. Her black licorice spiders soon became the hot product and because of this…her life, her boss’s life and many others are thrown for a loop.

Please visit my website! http://www.authorcarriefiletti.com/

Little Yellow House on the Dusty Road

Mine and Mike’s first home together was a little one bedroom farm house with a leaky roof and six foot black snakes that slithered about in the basement. In the winter we froze along with our kitchen pipes. In the summer we’d sit in front of a fan that blew out hot air. But even though we were poor as church mice, we loved our little home because it was ours and we were finally together.

With the approval from our dear landlord, we decided to paint our home a soft yellow. Since Mike worked at a mom & pop hardware store, he brought the gallons of paint home one day. To my surprise, the paint was bright as sunshine! I frowned at Mike’s choice for we couldn't afford to fix the mistake. Our humble little farm house, on the top of the old gravel road, suddenly became quite popular. I’m sure after it was finished, it could be seen from the moon!

To match the house, I also painted the mail box the same yellow. As carefully as I could, I painted our names upon it without using a stencil and even painted the flag with stars and stripes. As the days went by, we’d secretly mail letters back and forth to each other just so we would have reason to check the mail box. On our way home from work or town we’d try to beat the other by yelling out, “I wonder if we got any mail?” It became a game and we still play it today.

As it happens too often in life, new jobs and opportunities force us to move. We packed up our few belongings, said good bye to our home and moved away. Eventually we found ourselves hundreds of miles away from our first home. The memories have never left us though. That house is where our first ones were made. We had happy memories and sad ones but through it all we grew as a couple and our bond was strengthened. We have often talked about going back to visit but life often throws us curves and money and time is always tight.

Our little yellow house is now crumbling down and has trees growing from the wooden floors. I’m sure those snakes in the basement have turned into alligators! I’m sure our kitchen pipes are shattered from the cold.

No one moved into the little yellow house after Mike and I left so our memories are the last ones that lived there. This makes me happy and sad. I know the house was happy to have us, for within its walls was a time it held laughter and joy. I’m sad for the obvious. I wish I could pick it up, move it here and fix it, but that would be impossible.

I've always wanted a physical piece of the house but because I live so far it was impossible…that is until a dear sister went to visit our family farm and stomping grounds. As she took her family on this little trip they passed by the little yellow house. Thoughts of me came to her. My secret desire to own a piece of the house was made known. After special arrangements, from old friends and neighbors, she was given a piece to give to me.

In the mail one day, out of the blue, a big package came. I curiously opened it and to my surprise was the mail box I had painted so many years ago! Its bright yellow paint is chipped and mine and Mike’s names are faded but they are still visible. I burst into tears as the memories flooded back and my kids stood dumbfounded at why I was crying over an old metal hunk of junk. I quickly told them it was from the little yellow house, for they all knew the stories. They hugged me and tears even came to many of their eyes. I called Mike, even though he was in class, and shared the news. He too was touched.

It’s funny how garbage can sometimes be worth more than gold. It’s the memories that make something invaluable. Already, the kids are fighting about who will be willed this little piece of their parent’s history. Thank you my dear sister Laura and her old friend Beth for helping this piece of the past find its way back to me and my family. It now sits safely in my home away from the elements. From time to time, I find little treasures tucked inside from my children. I know this new tradition will move forward as the years go by.