Sweet Divinity (aka My Love Letter to the South)

When I write, I write almost excluisvely about the South.
Perhaps it's because I've lived in the region for thirty-three years.
Perhaps it's because there are so many characters in the South, a writer can never run out of material.
Perhaps it's simply because I love the South.

The manuscript I'm shopping around is titled Sweet Divinty, and yet it occurred to me not so long ago that there may be some sad souls out there who have never tasted the pure fantasticness that is Southern divinity candy.

As a child, I used to buy divinity twice a year at the Prater's Mill Country Fair, a fantastic gathering of artists, craftsmen, cloggers, fiddlers, tractor and engine buffs, Civil War re-enactors, farmers, cooks, and bakers.  I would dream of my culinary journey each year as the air turned crisp in the fall and again when the flowers began to burst forth in the spring.  Each year I followed the same eating routine: lunch at the Methodist church bbq shelter where I would eat fresh bbq chicken with sweet baked beans and a soft roll, a snack of Mississippi Mud Cake from aisle three, a cup of homemade vanilla ice cream while I watched the Dixie Rainbow Cloggers, and a ziploc baggie of divinity from the angels at the Shiloh Baptist Church to keep me company on the drive home.

There were so many other treats, but a girl has to stop before she gets outrageously, roaringly sick.

That perfect divinity was the highlight of the fair, one I anticipated each year, and one that never let me down.  Growing up, I always heard how difficult it was to make divinity, how the weather had to be just right, and the stand mixer had to be plugged in and ready for action.  My own wonderfully southern grandmother only made divinity one time that I can remember.  As for me, I tried making divinity for the first time just this year.  I pulled out a recipe from my Nana's old timey cookbook, bought myself a candy thermometer, and gave it a go.

The ingredients are simple: egg whites, sugar, corn syrup, vanilla, and optional pecans (not optional, if you ask me). And yet making this treat sent from heaven above (thus, the name), was a challenge, to say the least.  My students will tell you that I'm a fast-paced person, an addicted multi-tasker.  And yet there I was, holding a candy thermometer in the syrup, crouched at eye-level as I watched the little red line climb higher and higher until the moment it hit the "hard ball" stage when, as I was told, I immediately whisked the pot off of the stove and poured the contents into the running stand mixer.  There was a moment of triumph--I hadn't messed this up yet--and then I felt my life draining away as I slo-o-o-o-o-owly poured the syrup into beaten (and still methodically rotating) egg whites.  I had looked at the recipe, which read "pour slowly into egg whites (5 minutes)" and wondered what that "5 minutes" meant.  Ha--it meant that it would take me five minutes of holding a heavy metal mixing bowl in order to pour the syrup without burning the egg whites.  FIVE MINUTES of watching syrup run in the tiniest of streams into a rotating bowl.  Not so bad, you say?  Go into your pantry, grab the pancake syrup, and pour it steadily into a bowl for five minutes.  Then get back to me.

My first batch turned into glop the minute I proudly plopped it onto a baking sheet.  But after a couple more frustrating attempts to make it "stand up", as well as ten minutes on the Internet seeking hints, I plopped down a spoonful of candy and--miracle of miracles--it stood up!

As I pressed a pecan into the top of a piece and popped it into my mouth, so many memories came back.  Memories of the country fair, memories of making sand art with the little old man whose booth was always busy, memories of touring the old cotton gin and being amazed watching the waterfall power the old mill, memories of the sweetness of childhood.  I love the South, and I love that I was raised here.  It's so much a part of who I am.

But I think I'll leave the divinity making to the ladies at Shiloh Baptist Church.

Where I Am

I completed my initial manuscript of Sweet Divinity early in 2014.  It began as my project in a Creative Writing class I was teaching in 2013, and I aimed to complete it before my second child arrived in 2014.  Thank goodness it worked, because there is no way anyone could find the time to work on a manuscript with a newborn baby in the house.  Besides the obvious time constraints, the lack of a functioning brain would no doubt prevent anything literary from taking shape!

I spent the summer lying down, as my baby was humongo and even walking across the room was a challenge for my lungs.  But while I was lying down, I polished my manuscript and began work on researching routes for publication.  Back in my early twenties, in the early 2000s (Ah! What a time!), I had sent out query letters to several agencies regarding a young adult manuscript I had titled Bittersweet Sixteen, and a couple years later for another manuscript, Slings and Arrows.  I hadn't gotten a single bite.  So I took an almost ten year hiatus from submitting to really figure some things out:

1. What genre of writing did I wish to write?
2. What genre of writing should I actully write?
3. Did I really believe, with all of myself, in the mannuscripts I had submitted in the past?
4. Was I really in a place in my life to take on marketing and promoting my work?
5. Did I really believe in myself as a writer?

In the meantime, I was working on a literary fiction manuscript with a workng title of The Case.  I don't mind telling you that I am still working on this manuscript.  It has been workshopped three times, totally rewritten once, and it haunts me every day.  I love this piece.  Love it.  And I'm keeping it close until it reveals its entire self to me.  So we wait.

After I finished the initial manuscript of The Case (now working titled Miranda), I began Sweet Divinity.  It sprung from a story one of my closest friends told me about her childhood, and as I wrote her story, Amanda Jane's began.  Amanda Jane is the protagonist, and she's a lot like me.  In fact, as I sat to write, the words were flowing so quickly, so easily, because so much of Amanda Jane's story was my own.

So in August 2014, I sent out a slew of query letters to agents across the United States, and then I had my baby.

I received one request for a full manuscript, and I was thrilled.  For about a month.  I was then heartbroken (the whole "new baby" thing may have played a role in the totally literary breakdown that followed) when an agent who represented authors I enjoy told me that she loved the manuscript, but did not know how to market it.

So I put my manuscript aside until May 2016 when I contracted pneumonia.
I know what you're thinking, "Who gets pneumonia in the summer?"  I do, of course!
My friends told me that it was very literary to contract pneumonia.  I agreed and added that I was thrilled that it wasn't tuberculosis, which would be the epitome of literary but also quite tragic.

While I was once again spending my summer lounging around the house (not as much fun when the baby is now toddling around, randomly pressing buttons on your computer to add to your work), I decided that perhaps I should give ol' Sweet Divinity another try.  Because I truly believe in this manuscript.  I truly believe in Amanda Jane.

But this time would be different.  I had a plan.

First, I read the manuscript again and made several changes and many tweaks.  Each time I did so, the work got stronger and I realized that as much as I loved the story, it hadn't been complete.
Next, I went back to my query letter, which sounded weak and absolutely inauthentic.  I scratched it and, remembering the previous comment on marketing, dedicated a paragraph to why this work fills a void in the market and what I am prepared to do to help it sell.
Finally, I researched agents who are interested in my genre and who had represented clients like me.  I also looked for new agents who might be building a list and so would perhaps be looking for someone new to the scene.

I sent my letters, and I was thrilled when I received a number of requests for the full manuscript.

So here I am.  Waiting.  So much of this early stage is waiting.  But I don't mind.  I've come so far with this manuscript, and I believe in it so thoroughly.

It's absolutely worth waiting for.

MPK


PS: What I'm reading this week:
Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi
The Private Lives of the Tudors by Tracy Borman
Scat by Carl Hiaasen

What I'm Reading This Week!

I am a writer, so therefore I am also an avid reader.  Makes sense, right?  And thus, I am often reading multiple texts during any given period, in addition to reading the original works of my Creative Writing students.  This week I'm reading an eclectic set of books, including a biography, a nonfiction work about teenage girls, and a graphic novel for young readers.

Charles and Emma: The Darwins' Leap of Faith, Deborah Heiligman
This book is the latest in my biography series.  Last summer I decided that I was tired of my husband knowing more than I do about history, so I decided to walk into the public library and read the first book on the shelf in the "Biography" section, no matter the subject.  I selected John Adams, by David McCullough, or perhaps it chose me.  I'd never read a biography that so captivated me; it was truly a fantastic read.  I decided to proceed alphabetcally, so the next biography I chose was Beethoven: The Man Revealed, by John Suchet, followed by Cleopatra: A Life, by Stacy Schiff.  I've been fortunate that each of these works has taught me, kept me entertained, and expanded my understanding of people.  Charles and Emma is no exception.  It is the telling of Darwin's life and the creation of Origin of the Species, but with a special emphasis on the relationship he had with his wife, Emma, who was a deeply religious woman.  So far, another compelling read.  Interestingly, it seems this book was intended for a younger audience, yet I found it in the adult biography section: lucky me!

Enough: 10 Things We Should Tell Teenage Girls, Kate Conner
I was gifted this book by a friend who recently sent her teenage daughter off to college.  As I have a young daughter of my own (though not quite a teenager--a "tween", she insists), my friend thought this book would help me prepare for the journey ahead.  Conner writes in a conversational way and doesn't act as if she has all of the answers.  What she does have is life experience, which she reflects upon to help parents understand the power of our words and deeds upon our daughters.  There is a religious bent, but like the rest of the book, it isn't "preachy", just a point of view, and a subtle, organic one at that.  So far, this book is giving me confidence that maybe I won't screw up my daughter's life, and maybe, just maybe, she won't "hate" me during the coming years (I hear you chuckling).

The Red Pyramid, Rick Riordan and Orpheus Collar
Let me begin by stating that the last book I read along with my daughter was Serafina and the Black Cloak by Robert Beatty.  I loved it, but my daughter had to stop reading because the vivid nature of the book frightened her.  How she has managed to read The Red Pyramid three times is beyond me;  it's pretty intense!  I think it's important to read what my children are reading (easy for me to say as my son is currently obsessed with Sandra Boynton), so in that spirit, I'm reading this graphic novel.  I've just begun, so there isn't much to say, but I've found a new appreciation for the graphic novel in recent months.  I recently read book two of the Maus series by Art Spiegelman, and I'm amazed at the way these writers use visuals to enhance their works.  I won't be adding illustrations to my work any time soon (my high school art teacher can support this decision), but I'm amazed at those who do.

On Deck:  I recently borrowed the book S. by J.J. Abrams from a former student.  I just adore experiential reads, and so I'm excited to dive in.  And on a recent trip to the bookstore with some Christmas money (yippee!), I purchased The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy, The Rain in Portugal by Billy Collins, The Spy by Paulo Coelho (autographed!), Thirst by Mary Oliver (which I have already read and gifted to friends--I decided it was time to gift it to myself!), and Upstream by Oliver.  Good times ahead!

What are you reading?  Comment below!  I love recommendations!

I am a writer....

Welcome to the official blog of writer Megan Prewitt Koon.

My first story was about a dog and a cat who climbed into a box together,  a simple story that goes to show that we all really can "just get along".

My first novel was written when I was in third grade.  It was titled From Georgia to Florida...and Back.  I'll leave you to guess the contents of the plot.

The summer of my freshman year of high school, I wrote a full-length novel based on a band trip I had taken to Europe.  My friends all got to pick their characters' names, and I got the license to add in the romance plot I had longed for and missed many important cultural sights trying to achieve.

In college I wrote a novel that helped me to work through some truly awful events I had experienced. It was therapy.

In grad school I wrote short pieces for a creative writing class that would remind me that I was actually pretty good at this.  I would send out my first query letter.

Eleven years later, countless queries later, more rejections that I care to count later, I'm still at it.

Because I am a writer.

So the short version is that I cannot remember a time when I was not writing: short stories, angsty poems, pieces that were stories but should have been poems, novels.  I love it.

I love the feeling of my fingers on a typewriter or a computer keyboard.
I've longed for a writer's callus on my finger, and for a brief period in high school I worked so diligently to make one appear.
I adore the moment a character becomes real, takes off on her own, moves beyond your own expectations for her so that your intentions are unimportant (sucka!) and hers are happening, whether you like it or not.
I live for the sentences you write before you sit back and wonder if you really wrote that, because it's so dadgum good.

I am a writer.
I am a daughter, a grand-daughter, a neice, a cousin, a daughter-in-law, a sister-in-law, a wife, a mother, a teacher, a friend.
I am a writer.
I am a creator, an artist, a grammarian, a reader, a dreamer, a killer, a goddess, a vessel.
I am a writer.

And I'm so grateful you're here with me.