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Wednesday, May 25, 2011

An Uncommon Family - Preview

I was determined to write a new post for my blog this past weekend. However, I got so busy adding the finishing touches to my new novel, An Uncommon Family, that the post I had in mind will have to wait. Instead you'll get a short preview of my novel. Those of you who have read Love of a Stonemason will meet a familiar character. An Uncommon Family takes a step back in time.

Blurb and Chapter One:

A chance meeting between a middle-aged woman, a widower, and a semi-orphaned child in the city of Zurich, Switzerland, brings together three people who grapple with a past of loss and betrayal. Six-year-old Karla, whose mother died in a car crash, has a hard time accepting the loss. Anna, her aunt and guardian, struggles with her former husband's deception and her shattered confidence in men, and Jonas, artist and teacher, mourns the death of his wife.

While trying to help Karla, a talented but troubled child, Anna and Jonas develop feelings for each other that go beyond friendship. The budding romance, however, hits a snag when Anna discovers a sinister secret in Jonas’s past. While the two adults have come to an impasse, young Karla takes matters into her own hands. Together with a friend, she develops a plan to bring the two uncooperative adults back together. The plan, however, creates havoc and as it begins to unravel, Karla is forced to learn some difficult lessons.

An Uncommon Family is a story about loss, lies, and betrayal but also about the healing power of love and forgiveness. It takes place in Switzerland, New York City, and Guadalajara, Mexico.

Chapter 1

Karla licked the crispy cone, trying to catch the sliding droplets before they hit the ground. The raspberry ice cream was a dark purple, her favorite color. She wrinkled her nose as she caught another whiff of exhaust from the busy street along the Limmat River in the city of Zurich. It was August and hot in Switzerland. The six-year-old girl scanned the scenery in front of her with dreamy eyes.
     A longish canoe was sliding by a tourist boat on the river. People with funny-looking sun hats and dark glasses sat on the benches of the boat. Along the river on the other side, the built-together stone houses looked like a row of uneven different-colored teeth, gray, yellow, white, and some with a tint of orange. Behind the houses, on top of the hill, the linden trees at the park shimmered in their pale-green foliage and a curtain of dark-green ivy hid part of the gray granite wall.
     Karla took another lick from her ice-cream cone, then turned around and peered through the window of the art shop, where her aunt picked up two framed pictures. When she looked back at the sidewalk, her breath caught.
     “Mama?” she whispered.
     She saw the woman only from behind, but the bounce in her step, the long, reddish-blond hair flowing down her back, swaying left and right, the tall, slender figure—it must be her mother. She tossed the rest of the ice cream into the trash can, got up, and ran after the woman.
     “Mama!” she called as the woman got ready to cross the street. The light turned from blinking red to solid red, just as the woman reached the other side. Karla rushed after her, barely aware of the honking around her or of the shrill warning bell of the blue-and-white streetcar. She heard someone yell at her but by then she had arrived at the other side. The woman was walking along the river toward the Lake of Zurich.
     “Mama, wait!” Karla bumped into someone.
     “Watch it, kiddo.” A man stepped aside.
     “Mama . . .”
     The woman finally turned around and looked back, scanning the people behind her, then walked on. Karla stopped dumbfounded. It was the face of a stranger.
     A wave of despair washed over her. Not believing that she could have been so wrong, she started to run again. She didn’t see the slight indentation in the pavement. As she fell, she barely noticed the searing pain in her knees; the disappointment hurt more. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Mama would have helped her. Mama would have picked her up, hugged her, and even sang a little tune to her to make her feel better. But her mother was gone.
     “Are you hurt, honey?” a dark voice said. Karla felt a hand on her back. “Come on, let me see.”
     A pair of strong arms lifted her up. She looked into a face with a gray-white beard and kind, blue eyes below thick tufts of eyebrows. The man was tall and sturdy. He had wildish white hair. He reminded her of Saint Nicholas. But it was summer and Saint Nicholas only appeared in December.
     “Are you here alone?” he asked. “Where’s your mother?”
     The question brought a new flood of tears. “I thought it was Mama,” Karla managed to say, her chest heaving with sobs.
     “Karla, what happened? Why did you run away?” Aunt Anna came rushing toward her, clutching her purse and a large package. “I thought I’d lost you. Jesus, what happened to your knees?” She bent down, put the package on the concrete and examined Karla’s legs. Brushing a strand of wavy brown hair out of her face, she peered at the man with gray-blue eyes, the color of ice. “What’s going on here?”
     “I just happened to walk by when she fell,” he explained. “She said something about looking for her mother. Are you her mother?”
     Anna shook her head. “No, I’m her aunt. Her mother . . . died half a year ago.”
     “I’m so sorry.” The old man gently touched Karla’s cheek. “But she thought she saw her mother.”
     Anna sighed. “She still hasn’t accepted the truth.” She turned to Karla. “Tell me what happened, sweetie?”
     Karla told her between sobs that a woman had walked by who looked exactly like her mama.
     “But you know that’s not possible, don’t you?” Aunt Anna hugged her. Karla leaned her face against Anna’s chest and poured her sorrow into her sweater. It was soft but didn’t smell like her mama’s. Anna waited for her to calm down. “We have to take care of your knees.”
     “There’s a pharmacy right over there. I’m sure they have something to clean the wound and some bandages. May I?” Saint Nicholas gave Anna an inquiring look.
     Anna nodded and the man lifted Karla up. His thick hair tickled her cheek. Karla wrinkled her nose. He gave off a faint whiff of smoke, which reminded her of Anna’s woodstove. It felt a little comforting.
     At the pharmacy, a friendly lady took care of Karla’s knees. She wiped them clean, trying not to hurt Karla, who flinched and gave an occasional sob. “Sorry, hon, but we don’t want it to get infected.”
     While the woman bandaged Karla’s legs, Anna unwrapped the package she had been carrying. She handed Karla one of the pictures and held the other one up for her to see. “Don’t they look beautiful?”
     Karla nodded with a weak smile. They did look nice. She barely recognized them again behind the glass and surrounded by a fine wooden frame. One of them showed a woman, sitting on a chair and holding a little girl in her arm. The woman had long reddish-brown hair and the girl’s hair was black. They were sitting in front of a house. The stones in the wall had an irregular shape; they looked a little bit like cobblestones. It had taken Karla a while to make them look right. The other picture showed a tree with large purple and cream-colored blossoms. It was the chestnut tree in front of Karla’s old home. She had painted the pictures with her favorite pastel pens.
     “They’re gorgeous,” Saint Nicholas said in his deep voice. “Who painted those?”
     “Karla did,” Aunt Anna said.
     Saint Nicholas stared at her, then at the pictures, then at Karla. “How old is she?”
     “Six,” Karla said, brushing the last tears off her face. Anna handed her a Kleenex.
     “And she painted those by herself, without help?” The man squinted as he scanned the pictures. The wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes deepened. He truly did look like Saint Nicholas.
     “Yes,” Anna said.
     “This child is very talented. Does she get any instruction?”
     “I’m actually looking for a teacher for her. She loves to draw and paint. If it was up to her, she’d do it all day long. And it seems to help her with . . . you know, the loss.”
     “Amazing.” Saint Nicholas shook his head and continued to scan the pictures. “Well, I happen to be a painter myself. I also teach a few children.” He looked at Karla and Anna with a serious face. “I’d love to have her as a student.”
     “I’ll think about it. That would be great,” Anna said.
     “Why don’t you check me out?” The man pulled his wallet from his back pocket, opened it, and took out a small gray card. “Here is my address and phone number and on the back a few references.”  He handed Anna the card. “Whatever you decide to do though, you don’t want a talent like this go to waste.”
     Anna studied the card. “Very interesting, Mr. Bergman.”
     “Call me Jonas,” the man said.
     “Anna,” Karla’s aunt said as the two shook hands.
     “You’re not Saint Nicholas?” Karla asked, surprised.
     Aunt Anna and the man laughed. “No, I’m sorry. You think I look like him?” He brushed through his wavy white hair.
     Karla nodded. “But you wouldn’t come in summer, would you?” She looked down at her neatly wrapped knees. The talk of drawing and painting had pulled her out of her deep misery. “Are you going to teach me?”
     The man smiled at her. “You talk this over with your aunt, all right?” Then he glanced at his watch. “Oops. I guess I missed my appointment.”
     “I’m so sorry,” Anna said. “We caused you all this trouble.”
     “Don’t worry. No problem at all.” He bent down and put a hand on Karla’s shoulder. “And, Karla, I know how much it hurts. I lost my dear wife a few years ago. We were together for over twenty years. I still miss her. But I can promise you, things will get better with time.”
     Karla took a deep breath and nodded. She had heard the words many times before. “Maja lost her mother, too.”
     “Maja is a friend of hers, a girl from Croatia,” Anna explained.

At home, in their house in a small town near Zurich, Aunt Anna fixed lunch. She heated up the leftover bean and vegetable soup and made grilled cheese sandwiches with tomatoes. The smell of food awakened Karla’s appetite. She was quiet and thoughtful but no longer desperate.
     “He was a nice man,” she said, folding the colorful paper napkins she had made herself with potato stamps. She put them on the blue-and-white place mats on the oak-wood table in the kitchen.
     “Would you like to take drawing and painting lessons from him?” Anna poured the soup into bowls and slid the toasted sandwiches onto the plates.
     Karla nodded. “Yeah, that’d be cool.” She smiled and traced her finger along the spots on the tabletop, where the sunlight, filtered by the leaves of the magnolia tree in front of the kitchen window, had sketched a pattern of light and shadows.
     “Cool, huh?” Anna smiled and gave the girl a hug.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

5 stars for Love of a Stonemason - A true "vacation" book

I am very happy that my novel received another lovely and insightful review:

Reading Christa Polkinhorn's Love of a Stonemason is an inner visual experience. Not only will you "see" locales in Switzerland, Peru, and Italy, but also, because her main characters are artists, you'll feel you've toured a gallery of paintings and sculpture.

Karla, the painter, and Andreas, the stonemason, meet in what at first appears to be a typical romance plot device, but it's not. These characters have depth, which the author portrays with sensitivity and realism. The darkness in their pasts threatens the relationship they form. Their torments and troubles drew me in. At times, I wanted to comfort them; at others, I wanted to smack Karla or shake Andreas.

Just when Karla finally faces the last of her demons and deals with it, Andreas' personal hell erupts with full force. Each time, as these characters stumbled, I thought I knew what would come next, but I rarely did.

The author weaves the threads of her story into a beautiful tapestry. This debut novel is a worthwhile read and almost doubles as a vacation escape. Well done.

Linda Cassidy Lewis
Author of The Brevity of Roses

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Author in Training, Part 2: Revising – How much is enough?

I am in the process of translating my novel “Love of a Stonemason” into German. Having been away from the text for several months—I published it independently back in 2010—I look at it with fresh eyes and I’m beginning to see things I haven’t noticed before. When you translate a text, you pay close attention to every word and you notice details that escape you even with careful editing.

I have translated several books by other authors before, not novels but books on topics of Jungian psychology, which had been traditionally published by reputable American and Canadian publishers. I remember catching not just the occasional typos but inconsistencies in content that escaped the scrutiny of the author as well as the editors. Just goes to show: a text is never perfect.

However, that shouldn’t discourage us from trying to make it perfect, and one way to do that is to hire a good editor AND a proofreader. I had my novel edited twice. What I didn’t do is hire a separate proofreader and although my editor caught many of the spelling errors, he didn’t catch all of them and I may have added some as I was making the final revision. A few of my friends read the manuscript before I published it and discovered a few inconsistencies and typos. But even now, after its publication, a fellow author as well as a friend of mine are reading the book and are finding typos and other blunders. Although I cringe and hang my head in shame every time someone discovers a mistake, I am of course very grateful to all these people who contribute to the fact that one day, my novel will be (almost) perfect!

The wonderful thing about ebooks is that you can upload new and improved versions easily. With printed books it is a little more difficult but it can be done as well.

However, as I go through my book again, I also find not just typos but stylistic things that could be improved: two choppy sentences that could be merged into one, sentences which could be eliminated to make the text a little tighter, and so on.

The question I’m asking myself now: Do I leave the book the way it is (with the exception of typos, etc.) and use what I learned in my future novels? Or do I revise further? How much is too much? When becomes the desire to make it better an obsession?

Any thoughts on this? Authors: How much do you revise? When is enough enough?

PS: I’m going to talk about my experiences with writing and independent publishing for the next few weeks, so if you’re interested, click the Follow button on the right.

Happy reading and writing. And leave a comment, if you feel like it!

Monday, May 9, 2011

Author in Training: The formatting of an ebook

Last year, I decided to publish my debut novel, Love of a Stonemason, on my own. My second novel is at the proofreader’s at the moment. Since I began to publish my books through my micro publishing venture, Bookworm Press, I have been following the development of independent publishing with great interest. I make it a point to read as many indie books as possible, not just to support my fellow authors but also to find out what’s out there and, last but not least, to learn what works and what doesn't work. As an “author in training” I believe that the best learning experience is reading the books by other authors and learning from both their strengths and weaknesses.

I discovered some wonderful books that really impressed me. To be sure, in many cases, the writing is still a little “rough around the edges.” However, one thing they all have in common: The authors have great stories to tell, stories that matter, stories they care deeply about. And I believe this fact alone gives them the right to be “out there” and available. Craft can be learned. However, the desire to write something that has meaning and that matters not just to you but to someone else is, in my humble opinion, the foundation of good writing.

As I mentioned, I am an “author in training.” I’m not an expert. I am just an avid reader and passionate writer. And I hope I’ll get some feedback from readers and writers as well as editors who happened to read these posts.

I want to start by pointing out an issue I have come across in many ebooks, and not just in the ones published by indies: FORMATTING. I can’t tell you how many times I felt like throwing my Kindle against the wall when I read a good story that was so poorly formatted that it more or less ruined the reading experience for me. I’m not talking about an occasional wrong indentation or a space where there shouldn’t be one. The transformation process from MS Word or HTML to the different ebook formats is not perfect.

What I am talking about is, for instance, inconsistent justification of the text: one paragraph being left-justified and the next one flush left and flush right. Or, what’s even worse, different fonts all through the book, font changes within paragraphs, the size of the font changing from one paragraph to the next. As a reader, you don’t know if the changes are voluntary or accidental. Sometimes authors use a different font or italics on purpose, for instance to set a flashback to a past event or action off from the ongoing plot of the story. So, an involuntary change from one font to the other can completely throw the reader.

Poor formatting is not only confusing but it makes the book look unprofessional. You can always spot check an ebook version before publishing it. On Amazon, for instance, it gives you the opportunity to view at least an approximate likeness of your book. And it wouldn’t hurt to download the book after it has been published (even if you have to pay for it) and check it out on your Kindle or on your computer with the free Kindle for the PC. If you publish on Smashwords, you can download all the different ebook versions for free. There is also an excellent formatting guide on Smashwords (also for free). If you detect formatting problems, you can always upload a corrected version.

If you do the formatting of your ebook yourself, there is an easy to understand and free program a friend of mine recommended. It lets you create several different ebook versions on your computer. You can then check them out carefully before you upload and publish the book. It’s called Calibre and it can be downloaded from here: There are other programs such as this. This is just the one I happened to come across and use for my books. It works well for me.

If you don’t want to do your own formatting, there are now many services out there that do the formatting for you at a reasonable cost. Since I have done my own formatting so far, I don’t have any personal experience with them. Suggestions are welcome!

The most important thing, however, is to check the formatting of your ebook carefully, whether you do it yourself or use a service. It shows that you care about your book and, most importantly, about the reader.

A good cover is important as well, of course—very important. But the best cover does not compensate for a poorly formatted ebook. On the contrary, a reader who buys your book because of its attractive cover and then discovers the formatting mess will really be irate.

Happy formatting! Check back for more blog posts on the fascinating and exciting world of independent publishing and all those writing pitfalls we struggle with, like spelling—ouch!!

And leave a comment!