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Kay Castaneda, March 29, 2024March 29, 2024

That’s What Writers Do

I began writing this blog post because someone asked me a very rude question. The subject itself wasn’t the problem; the person’s tone of voice and the look on their face was the giveaway to their sarcasm. I’ll name this person Jealous Envious Maude. Don’t be offended if your name is Maude. It’s not about you. Maude really tried to push my buttons that day when she engaged me in a conversation about my book. I had recently published my new novel, Emmie of Indianapolis. She avoided me when I spread the news to family and friends. She’s not nice enough to be called a friend. She’s in the category of not quite an enemy because she loves to start trouble.

Maude approached me with that glassy-eyed grin that makes people tell her they’re on the way to the bathroom when she comes near. I didn’t have time to make up an excuse. It had to be something you firmly believed in while you told her a lie. For example, you could say that you had to go lie down in your car because your migraine was the worst it’s ever been, and if it didn’t go away in three minutes, you were going to the emergency room for a shot of morphine. That day, she caught me without a lie prepared.

I was in the break room eating brownies with James, our maintenance man, who is my favorite person at work because he’s never in a bad mood or gives anybody the evil eye. Maude made her presence known by huffing and blowing out air just like the Big Bad Wolf.  She always has to hog the conversation. Neither James or I wanted to stop eating brownies. Maude always takes away everyone’s appetite just by standing over them or when she interrupts someone. That would be every single time she gets near. James said he had to repair a hole in the roof. Since I was busy swallowing the last bite of brownie and had my mouth full, I wasn’t able to speak. Maude asked me how my book writing was going as if she didn’t know the book was finished, published and for sale.

“I am done Maude” I told her.

“Oh, I was not aware you were through with your little book yet!”

Jealous Envious Maude

Her true message was she didn’t think I could finish writing it, that I wasn’t smart enough or could barely write my name. Maude puts everyone down. They just brush her off and go back to their work. I can’t do that very well because I’m too nice. My first thought when she insults me is to do things that I really wouldn’t do. Pinch her arm, pull her hair and maybe bite her the way I bit a little brat kid in first grade who said my hair was dirty. It was certainly not! Forgive me Lord for these feelings. The last straw was when Maude gloated while asking me to tell her what a writer does.

“Isn’t writing easy? All you have to do is sit down at the computer. Anyone can write a book, even a child. Did you hear about the scientists who put a monkey in front of a computer and he wrote Shakespeare sonnets, better than him in fact!”

“Listen Maude,” I said, “I will tell you what a writer does. A writer is a person who tells stories, stories no one has ever heard. Writers explain history but don’t rewrite it. They are people who describe Grandma Celia so well until the reader feels Grandma is truly their own. Writers paint pictures of far-off places, places you will never get a chance to go. Writers argue politics, religion and solve society’s problems all within 490 pages. Writers invent characters so unique that they make you feel new emotions or remember long-dead things. Good, bad, ugly, beautiful, all colors, all sizes and personalities; writers give them to you, the reader. Writers make you think or reinforce your own ideas, or they may convince you to change your point of view. Writers introduce readers to other writers and books they’ve never heard of. So many things Maude. So many things. In fact, Maude, a writer is never done. A writer spots people on the highway who would make a perfect model for their next heroine or their next villain. Writers hear words spoken by strangers that would be exactly, or almost, what their new book’s characters would say. The work a writer does to produce a book is really never finished. They may think of ways to rewrite a scene or draw a more exact vision of a waterfall or a cave. Writers might not be satisfied how they described a ranch house where their hero lives. It’s endless, Maude, what writers do. It’s indescribable and unfamiliar except to another writer.

“You could never do that Maude. You could never write a book because you are too busy yakking and running your mouth, insulting your coworkers and those around you that characters would never speak to you the way they speak to a writer”

You would never hear them if by chance they spoke to you, insisting they be placed inside a story. I could discuss the writing process with you if you’re interested. I could tell you about the places I visited that would be a perfect location for my next book’s setting. Writing is difficult, grueling labor, Jealous Envious Maude. But they do it anyway because they love it. That is what writers do.”

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Comments (12)

  1. dgkaye says:
    March 30, 2024 at 7:04 am

    Great article Kay – because that’s what writers do. People who don’t write have absolutely no clue all that’s involved in writing. And shockingly, we also find out that our own friends or family have no curiosity or interest to read our books. <3

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    1. Kay says:
      April 8, 2024 at 1:41 pm

      Thanks for reading Debby. Yes, friends and family don’t care about what I write.

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      1. dgkaye says:
        April 9, 2024 at 9:51 am

        Somehow, it just seems to be a common theme among many of my writing friends, including myself. :)

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        1. Kay says:
          April 9, 2024 at 11:18 am

          ☹️

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  2. robertawrites235681907 says:
    March 30, 2024 at 10:26 am

    Hi Kay, Maude certainly doesn’t sound like a nice person. You did nail what writers do though. Have a blessed Easter.

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    1. Kay says:
      March 31, 2024 at 11:07 am

      Hi Robbie, I am glad you liked my post about what writers do. Sadly I’ve met so many people like Maude who think writing is easy. Thanks and have a happy blessed Easter to you and your family. 🥰

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      1. robertawrites235681907 says:
        March 31, 2024 at 11:10 am

        Hi Kay, poetry comes fairly easily to me, but prose is really hard work. First the writing and then all the editing. I’ve been working on my short story collection for months and I will be starting the final round of edits next week. People have no idea how much devotion it takes to write a book.

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        1. Kay says:
          April 3, 2024 at 11:19 pm

          Hi Robbie, sorry I didn’t reply to you sooner. I’m the same with poetry. It’s easy for me also. I don’t have to edit much. I check spelling and line spacing, things like that. I have a short story collection I plan to publish sometime. There are several stories I wrote in my notebook that I need to type and edit. I’m so slow and get distracted easily. I retired 4 years ago due to illness. I have to write in the morning and early afternoon when I feel better. But during the day, my house is like Grand Central Rail Station in NY! My husband has many relatives in this small town where he grew up and they visit every day. His sister, niece and her husband live in an apartment in back of our house!!!😊 It’s really hard to concentrate. But they’re all wonderful.
          I finished a poetry manuscript several years ago that I’ve been sending to publishers without success. I think I will self-publish in June. I get disappointed at publishers and I want to quit depending on them. I’ve been looking at cover images. My novel in progress is about one third done. Spending time on that is hard. You are right about devotion to writing. An author has to have a connection to their books and poems. I appreciate your comments about my story. Thanks Robbie!

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          1. robertawrites235681907 says:
            April 4, 2024 at 11:57 am

            It is my pleasure, Kay. YOur day is a lot like mine – smile. I also compare my home to a train station. I didn’t know you wrote poetry. When you decide to publish I would love to host you for a guest interview and review the book.

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            1. Kay says:
              April 6, 2024 at 1:38 am

              I started out writing poetry then began writing other things. Thanks for your offer to host me and review my book. I didn’t know you lived in a train station also! 😍

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              1. robertawrites235681907 says:
                April 6, 2024 at 2:52 am

                Oh yes, also Grand Central Station 😂

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                1. Kay says:
                  April 7, 2024 at 1:55 pm

                  🥳

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Kay Castaneda, Author
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Kay Castaneda, Author

The Beauty Lesson

Kay Castaneda,
September 17, 2025

I still fume when I remember a boy in my 5th-grade science class. That was a very long time ago. I was shy and silent at that age and everything bothered me. My mom had moved my sisters and I away from Indianapolis to Detroit after she and my dad got a divorce. It made me sad and angry to leave my dad and other relatives here.

A mean boy told me one day that my hair was dirty. At the time, I didn’t care about hair or clothes because I was too young and depressed. When he told me that, I went home and scrubbed my hair VERY hard and soaked in the tub in steaming hot water for an hour. I poured some of my mom’s perfume, Evening in Paris, in my wet hair and went to bed. The next morning, I brushed it 100 times because I’d read that in Good Housekeeping magazine. It was so shiny! He sat next to me. I wanted to sit somewhere else, but the teacher wouldn’t let the students change seats. The boy sneered at me and didn’t complement me, but he did tell me I should use curlers. My hair was stringy, according to his opinion. What did I do that night? Of course, I curled my hair! I borrowed Mom’s brush curlers and fastened them to my head. I slept in them and tossed and turned all night because the pain in my scalp was so bad. I took them out slowly because that was the advice from Redbook magazine. I combed gently and applied tons of hairspray. The next day, that boy didn’t compliment my curly hair.

He insulted me even more when he told me I had fat lips. I used to have full lips, a lot fuller than I have as an adult, especially now as an older women. If I showed you my school picture from that year, you would see what I mean. Anyway, the boy laughed at me, and even pointed at me to the other kids. That night I practiced ways to make my lips smaller; keeping them closed and not talking to anyone, covering them with several layers of Mom’s foundation and keeping my head turned away from him.

He insulted me in many ways. According to him, I didn’t have any breasts. I was a bit confused about that one because I was obviously a girl. I went home and asked Mom to buy me a bra but she didn’t have the money. I put one of hers on and stuffed it with socks and toilet paper to make them “big”. No compliments from him, of course. I endured suffering from him about my body until Mom decided to move back home at Christmas. I never had to sit by him again.

“A girl should be two things: who and what she wants.” Coco Chanel

I thought about him the other day, and I don’t know why. Maybe it was when I washed my hair and used the curling iron. Hurt lasts a long, long time. Those people who were abused when they were younger make me feel sympathy with them. I secretly rejoice when the bad guys get outed. But those celebrities and so-called important people escape to sex-addiction clinics with equine therapy, yoga, gourmet meals, and other luxuries at the $30,000 six week stay. Six weeks to ride horses and have aromatherapy massages? Baloney! Caca in Spanish.

Now many people are coming out of the woods to bring the evil to light, and it is evil when somebody assaults a person sexually, emotionally and physically. Words can hurt. I wish I would have said something to my Mom or a teacher about that boy.

And I wish I could have told someone about abuse at my jobs as an adult. That is another story…
... See MoreSee Less

The Beauty Lesson

Kay Castaneda, 
September 17, 2025

I still fume when I remember a boy in my 5th-grade science class. That was a very long time ago. I was shy and silent at that age and everything bothered me. My mom had moved my sisters and I away from Indianapolis to Detroit after she and my dad got a divorce. It made me sad and angry to leave my dad and other relatives here.

A mean boy told me one day that my hair was dirty. At the time, I didn’t care about hair or clothes because I was too young and depressed. When he told me that, I went home and scrubbed my hair VERY hard and soaked in the tub in steaming hot water for an hour. I poured some of my mom’s perfume, Evening in Paris, in my wet hair and went to bed. The next morning, I brushed it 100 times because I’d read that in Good Housekeeping magazine. It was so shiny! He sat next to me. I wanted to sit somewhere else, but the teacher wouldn’t let the students change seats. The boy sneered at me and didn’t complement me, but he did tell me I should use curlers. My hair was stringy, according to his opinion. What did I do that night? Of course, I curled my hair! I borrowed Mom’s brush curlers and fastened them to my head. I slept in them and tossed and turned all night because the pain in my scalp was so bad. I took them out slowly because that was the advice from Redbook magazine. I combed gently and applied tons of hairspray. The next day, that boy didn’t compliment my curly hair.

He insulted me even more when he told me I had fat lips. I used to have full lips, a lot fuller than I have as an adult, especially now as an older women. If I showed you my school picture from that year, you would see what I mean. Anyway, the boy laughed at me, and even pointed at me to the other kids. That night I practiced ways to make my lips smaller; keeping them closed and not talking to anyone, covering them with several layers of Mom’s foundation and keeping my head turned away from him.

He insulted me in many ways. According to him, I didn’t have any breasts. I was a bit confused about that one because I was obviously a girl. I went home and asked Mom to buy me a bra but she didn’t have the money. I put one of hers on and stuffed it with socks and toilet paper to make them “big”. No compliments from him, of course. I endured suffering from him about my body until Mom decided to move back home at Christmas. I never had to sit by him again.

“A girl should be two things: who and what she wants.”   Coco Chanel

I thought about him the other day, and I don’t know why. Maybe it was when I washed my hair and used the curling iron. Hurt lasts a long, long time. Those people who were abused when they were younger make me feel sympathy with them. I secretly rejoice when the bad guys get outed. But those celebrities and so-called important people escape to sex-addiction clinics with equine therapy, yoga, gourmet meals, and other luxuries at the $30,000 six week stay. Six weeks to ride horses and have aromatherapy massages? Baloney! Caca in Spanish.

Now many people are coming out of the woods to bring the evil to light, and it is evil when somebody assaults a person sexually, emotionally and physically. Words can hurt. I wish I would have said something to my Mom or a teacher about that boy.

And I wish I could have told someone about abuse at my jobs as an adult. That is another story…
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Kay Castaneda, Author
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Author of Emmie of Indianapolis, historical fiction set in the Midwest. WIP is a mystery series. Go to @kay_castaneda for my opinion on the world. 📒👩🏻‍🎓🎄

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KCastanedauthor avatar Kay Castaneda Author @KCastanedauthor ·
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https://substack.com/@kaywriterwarrior/note/p-173829177?r=q4mfg

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KCastanedauthor avatar Kay Castaneda Author @KCastanedauthor ·
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"The quiet novel. Rather than climactic plots and thrilling storylines meant purely to entertain, a quiet novel speaks more to our inner life. They are contemplative works of art that derive meaning from silence rather than spectacle." Poetic Outlaws
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My latest post is now published on my blog. Thanks!

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