Inspiring Pieces: The Inspiration for the book, "Scattered Pieces"

    Few things are more amazing than seeing your vision come to fruition. Opening the box sent from the publisher and removing from it the review copy of my book felt surreal. I held the hardback in my hands while examining every inch of it, seeing for the first time my words, my thoughts, my feelings captured on bound pages, and in that very moment my mind raced back to the morning when I drafted the first line in a marble composition book that I had since my first semester as a college freshman, at Delaware State University.

    They say in psychology that one of the best ways to bring a person to self-awareness is to have them draft their autobiography. And, that's exactly what I did as I recovered from my surgery, January 2009. My husband demanded that I remain in the bed to properly heal, and aside from watching senseless television, I had nothing better to do than to think about why I am how I am and why am I so often misunderstood. I decided to think back to the beginning--to the very first memory that jumped out at me. Thus, ladies and gentlemen, you have the introduction to my book. My mind was flooded by the introductory scene. It was as if it was screaming to be freed from the thought. On my dresser I noticed a marble composition book. It happened to be the book that I took my Literature and Composition notes in as a first semester freshman, at Delaware State University. I found a blank page to begin my release. I copied the scene onto the pages exactly as it played in my mind. I captured everything in it that I could remember but the smell of the duplex. The smell was overshadowed by what my eyes witnessed and my mind locked away. As I wrote, tears streamed down my cheek to drip onto the pages. My right hand quivered as I continued to grip the pen. I wrote as if my life depended on it. It was almost as if I re-lived the moment. In deed I did. During the remainder of that week that I rested, I penned the first three chapters of what became to be Scattered Pieces, and when that week came to a close and the demands of work took precedence, I closed the composition book, sat it back on my dresser, and didn't bother to touch it again until mid-March 2009. After all, what time does a high school English teacher have to create, especially when she is giving all she has to ensure that her students can pass the writing section of their state testing, and when she is dedicating what little time she has left to her first semester as a graduate student majoring in English?

The composition book and I reunited during Spring break when I found plenty of opportunities to write: at the airport, on the plane, and in my best friend, K's, bedroom while I lay awake bored as she continued to enjoy her slumber.  One afternoon, while she and I visited a small Santa Monica cafe, K perused my sketchbook. She followed every carrot and arrow while ignoring every cross-out and side notation and became engaged in my writing. She asked questions and named characters and believed (from her television producer perspective) that the beginning phase of my book had the potential for greatness. She saw possibilities for my sketches that I had yet to envision. At that moment, I became confident enough to publish, but she nor I had the first inkling as to how to go about doing it. Later that evening, she introduced me to someone who was very knowledgeable about book publication, and he gave me an overdose of his vast understanding of the field. I took K's encouragement and his guidance to start conducting my own research, and the word "overwhelmed" does not begin to explain what I felt. I came to a crossroad: Do I place all of my energy into a work only to have someone else determine its worth, or do I invest into something I believe in? This crossroad is better known as the publishing dilemma: Should a writer seek traditional means of publishing or take the risk to self-publish? I'll share with you the path I chose and why during our next meeting, on Tuesday, February 2. So, until we meet again...

Peace and Love,


Flora Season