As a writer, I will say, don't be afraid of the blank page. Just
write. You can edit your mistakes later. Don't make creative process
mechanical, but organically.I urge you to learn the craft of writing and
suggests
networking with writer groups as a powerful tool. Attend workshops and
conferences whenever possible and read books suggested by the group. It
is another Novel Profile-Raising on the blog. Enjoy reading!!
D.O: Welcome Jo Barney.
JO: Hello! Thanks for having me!
D.O: Don't mention, please.
D.O: What type of books do you write?
JO:
My books are novels, several are what I call “Women’s Contemporary” and
this last one is a thriller. All have feminine protagonists in the
midst of change: job, marriage, aging, loss. Each in her own way
discovers that she it capable of dealing with change and in fact, she
herself is changing in the process.
D.O: Is Graffiti Grandma your first book?
JO:
No, I have written three others and am finishing a fifth this month.
The last three books, The Solarium, Graffiti Grandma, and the untitled
one are or will be self-published as ebooks and paperbacks. The first
two are “practice” novels and may remain in a folder on my computer. But
I do like them and may some day rescue them from my private slush pile.
D.O: What is it about, tell us shortly?
JO:Ellie,
a cranky old woman who cleans graffiti off her neighborhood’s mail
boxes meets Sarah, a street kid in punk garb, on a street corner. They
have nothing in common except that they each have lost a family. Neither
imagines that she will soon be making her way through the town’s
forest, looking for the serial killer whose victims are homeless
teenagers spending time in the park nearby. Each nearly dies in the
effort. Seems strange but the theme of this novel centers on our
universal need, no matter who we are, even serial killlers, for family,
either the one we have or the one we create.
D.O: What inspired you to write it?
JO:I
disliked the tagging and graffiti on my neighborhood’s mailboxes so
much that I went out with remover and scrapers every couple of weeks and
removed it from the eight or so boxes in in the area. Scrubbing away, I
had time to imagine what would happen if one of the kids who probably
did the tagging came up and tried to talk to me. Ellie fleshed out from
that thought, as did Sarah, Jeffrey, a five-year-old who grows up to
become a psychopath, and Matt, a policeman with a autistic child. I did
quite a bit of research for the book: the drugs, homelessness runaway
youth, crime. As a former school counselor, I knew a few kids like the
ones I wrote about in Graffiti Grandma. I guess I can say that the
inspiration came out of my own experiences with graffiti and with
teenagers. I have never experienced a serial killer, though.
D.O: How does it feel to be published author on a right foot?
JO: The “right foot” became evident when Graffiti Grandma received
starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Kirkus, two well-known review
publications. Then Kirkus named Graffiti Grandma to its 100 Best Books
of 2013 and this recognition has been very gratifying. It is difficult
for an author to know how others will respond to what she has created,
and I am pleased with the positive response the book has received.
D.O: Are you a mainstream author, an independent author or a self-published author?
JO:
I have had shorter pieces published in journals and magazines and when
it became evident that finding an agent was going to be difficult, I
decided to self-publish. The process is exciting and creative and I
enjoyed it, especially opening that first box and holding Graffiti
Grandma in my hand, For me, the most difficult part of self-publishing
is the marketing and I work hard at it.
D.O: I wish you all the best you need to succeed in the Literary Markets.
JO: Thank you for this opportunity to spread the word. I do appreciate it.
CHAPTER ONE
SARAH
October 2009
We both were shivering a little in the gray morning air as
we headed towards the first mailbox, me, in my black skirt and boots,
Ellie in her old lady sweatshirt and red sneakers. I carried her
supplies and towels stuffed in an old garbage bag like usual, and I
could tell she was still mad at me, at my knowing how the graffiti got
on the mailboxes. I was thinking about that, too, but she didn’t know
the whole story, not then.
“Spray!” Ellie ordered and I stopped remembering and pointed
the bottle at the box in front of me. We scrubbed, Ellie not talking to
me yet. After a couple of minutes, the black polish on my nails began
to melt like the paint scrawls we were working on. Ellie muttered
“Good,” when she saw me rubbing at them.
As soon as the blue metal was as clean as Graffiti-X could
get it, we headed towards the next mailbox. By the time we got to the
street with the big trees, I was getting hot and glad for what little
shade was left, the limbs above me almost bare. Orange and brown leaves
crunched under my feet.
Rich people lived in these apartments. I could tell by the
doors, polished brass knobs, and the pots of flowers beside them. They
probably sat on their upstairs terraces and felt like they were living
in the arms of the trees. I was imagining eating breakfast four stories
up and feeding a squirrel a piece of pancake when I stumbled and heard
the heel of my boot snap. Shit, my only shoes was my first thought. I
picked up the broken piece and had to walk like a cripple, one leg
short, one long.
“Take ‘em off!” Ellie said, shaking her gray head at me.
“Stupid to wear boots like that; you look like a baby hooker.” She took
the bag of supplies from me and I leaned against a tree and bent down
and yanked. The cold from the sidewalk seeped through the leaves and
into my toes. Ellie’s disgusted frown told me not to complain, so I
shoved the boots into the bag. Maybe I could get the heel fixed
somewhere.
She marched ahead, not waiting up for me, calling over her
shoulder, “We’ll finish up with the next box. When we get back you can
borrow a pair of my old sneakers.”
I watched where I was going, hoping I wouldn’t step on dog
poop or something yucky hidden under the leaves. That’s when I saw the
white basketball shoe sticking up from a pile of leaves at the curb.
Someone must have lost it. Except that the shoe also had a sock in it.
And in the sock, a leg.
I grabbed Ellie’s arm and pointed. She looked back, made a
sound like she was choking, whispered ”Oh no,” and shut her eyes.
Without thinking, I made my way to the gutter and pushed
sticks and leaves away from the rest of the leg. Familiar, worn denim
jeans appeared. Then I recognized a plaid patch on a thigh and a hand
with a small ink tattoo of a smiley face at the wrist. I was bawling by
the time I uncovered his head, brushed bits of dirt from his eyes,
understood that he was dead. Peter.
Ellie came close and leaned over me, her words sharp as
broken glass. “Leave him! Not our business.” She pulled me upright and,
sobbing, I shoved at her against the trunk of a tree. “It’s trouble!”
She reached for me again. “Nothing good ever comes from a dead body.”
She dragged me away from Peter through a tear-blurred trail
of leaves. “I’ll call 911,” she said. “When we get home. Anonymous.”
And she did and now I’m lying here half alive in this
hospital bed, wires and tubes beeping and bubbling, hoping she’s not
dead somewhere....
REVIEWS
Kirkus
Reviews: Ostensibly about a serial killer, Barney’s (The Solarium,
2011, etc.) novel is about much more than that. It’s also the story of
people who are down but not out and a rumination on family, courage and
responsibility—a book that reverberates long after the last page.
(3/11/2013)
Publishers Weekly
review: Barney weaves a multifaceted narrative with quick shifts in
time and focus to show how flawed individuals overcome, or are destroyed
by, failed relationships. The destructive impact of alcohol, drugs, and
sexual abuse on children is abundantly displayed—and made stronger by
the absence of graphic or exploitative portrayals. . .The grim,
understated scenes of young people coping with the seamy side of life
ensure that this is no lighthearted read, and Barney's convincing
portrayal of ambivalent teen psychology. . . provides a powerful
glimpse of an underground world unknown to many, whose inhabitants are
capable of transformation through love and acceptance. (3/1/2013)
WEBSITE
AMAZON
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