Book Sales to Benefit Public Library

I’m honored to be one of 60 local authors participating in the Poudre River Library District’s Poudre River Local Authors Fair this Saturday, August 8, 2015 from 11-4 at

Old Town Library
201 Peterson Street
Fort Collins, CO 80524

I’ll be reading excerpts from DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD and signing copies as well. Please stop by and say hello. I’d love to meet you!

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Participating author’s publications will be available for purchase with 20% of each sale going to support the Poudre River Friends of the Library.

Books make great gifts–especially those signed by the author!

Thank you for supporting your local authors and the public library. We couldn’t do what we do without YOU!

For more information, please click here: Poudre River Public Library

Sammy Hagar Gives Author Patricia Walker the Ultimate Shout-Out

During his recent concert at Cabo Wabo in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico on October 9, 2012, Sammy Hagar talked about how important dreams are and how one must never give up on one’s dreams. He said that he wouldn’t be where he is today if he hadn’t held fast to that belief.

 

 

Joe Satriani performs with Sammy Hagar at Cabo Wabo

 

 

 

Then, to my complete surprise, he introduced me to the crowd, saying “I wanna bring up Pat.” (Video used with Sammy’s permission)

I didn’t know if he wanted me to get up onstage with him or if he just wanted to tell people about me. It happened so fast that all I could do was stand there in total disbelief as Sammy came over and grabbed my hand. Then he went on to tell the crowd that speaking of dreams, I was a perfect example of someone who had made her dreams come true. He said that I sent him poems many years ago, beautiful poems, and mentioned that I told him that I wanted to write a book someday about all my incredible experiences. Then he said that I went on to do just that. “She wrote this great book and people bought it…”

Sammy Hagar Cabo photo by Patricia Walker 2012

Sammy kept on talking and before I knew it, he was playing “Dreams” slow and low. “Dreams” was the song that started everything for me. It was the song he was playing when I had my out-of-body-experience during his concert back in 2003. I had never heard that song before that night.

By this time, tears were streaming down my face because my emotions were over-the-top. I felt like he was playing that song just for me although I knew he really wasn’t. Or was he? (After the show, a member of his road crew told me that “Dreams” wasn’t even on the setlist that night.) Then Vic Johnson, Sammy’s guitar player knelt down on one knee in front of me while playing his guitar. When I looked up at him, he too, had tears in his eyes…

What a night.

 

Sammy and his band The Wabos perform with Jerry Cantrell (Alice in Chains) and Matt Sorum (Velvet Revolver) at Cabo Wabo

 

Sammy also sells my book in the gift shop of his Cabo Wabo Cantina in Mexico:

         

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Since this incredible shout out, sales of DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD have skyrocketed. Yes, dreams DO come true. I am living proof. Thank you, Sammy!

Just in case you’re wondering, you don’t have to be a fan of Sammy Hagar or rock music to enjoy this book. It is for ANYONE who is looking for more out of life.

Writing Update June 21, 2009

 

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I’m honored and very excited to let you know that I now have three articles published online, one of which is a feature article.

“Chickenfoot Revives Rock ‘n’ Roll” can be found at http://www.americanchronicle.com/articles/view/106286

“Chickenfoot: Self-Titled CD Review” can be found at http://www.americanchronicle.com/articles/view/106957

and “Chickenfoot Review and Photos” can be found at http://www.fortcollinslife-times.com/DesktopDefault.aspx?tabid=2297

I’m working on sending articles to various magazines online and in print and will keep you posted as to my progress there.

As for my book, “Dance of the Electric Hummingbird,” I continue to send queries to agents. The right one will come along when it’s meant to be. In the meantime, I am revising the text a-gain for probably the seven-hundredth time. It’s a labor of love though.

Thank you for all your support. And thank you to all of you who have left comments here on my blog! Keep them coming!

Writing Update Aug. 7, 2009

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So many amazing things have happened to me over the past few years, that when I was given the invitation to submit an essay about what was important to me, I jumped on it.

The “This I Believe” organization has published my essay entitled “From Ordinary to Extraordinary” and it’s now online. I guess they’ve had a lot of trouble with their website, because they notified me in June that my essay was published and I was only able to find it recently.

Please check it out if you’re interested!

You can view it by clicking here: http://thisibelieve.org/essay/65675/

As far as progress for my book, I have finally finished what I hope to be the last really major revision (of my own doing, that is). In between work and family, it has taken me more than 10 weeks to complete. I’m giving the manuscript to my editor next week and we shall see what transpires after that. This time I really feel DONE though. I’m feeling really good about it, although I know it’s waaaay too long—100,000 words and needs to be cut back. That’s where the expertise of someone who’s objective comes in; one tends to become rather fond of one’s own words sometimes!

So please stay tuned. I have a lot of posts in the works and ready to add to my blog; I’ve just been working like mad trying to finish my book.

Here are some samples of what’s to come: “Rock ‘n’ Roll Hell is Heaven,” (about Aerosmith), “Drummers and Mysticism,” “Mitochondrial Eve,” “John Donne’s Holy Sonnets” and more!

There’s a Supernatural Force…

Nov. 22, 2009

…that desperately wants me to tell my story, DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD.

Capoeira in the sunset

I’m absolutely positive about this because my post, “Semantics,” dated Oct. 21, 2009, almost didn’t get published, for the same reason I keep working so hard at DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD. I’m trying to cross all my “t’s” and dot all my “i’s” and bending over backward to get everyone’s approval every step of the way—I’m so afraid of offending anyone.

But I believe our interpretations of the events in our lives and the meaning of those events is something that is strictly personal and comes to us in a way that’s unique to each person’s way of understanding. What’s right for one isn’t necessarily right for someone else. This goes for tastes in food and living conditions as well as spiritual beliefs.

Just when I’d been hesitating to publish “Semantics,” I received an update from the founder of the Northern Colorado Writer’s Association, of which I am a member. Kerrie Flanagan’s blog featured a gifted writer by the name of Laura Resau, who wrote about how shamanism played a major role in a lot of her books. Laura said shamans believe that their power comes from a divine source and this power translates itself into words or stories, much like what writers have to do. She also provided a link to a talk by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of the immensely successful EAT, PRAY, LOVE.

In Gilbert’s video, she spoke about the insecurity writers have, and the need for us to learn to distance ourselves from the world’s criticism.

She mentioned that in his last interview before his death, the famous author Norman Mailer said: “Every one of my books has killed me a little more.”

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Wow, can I relate. Each and every revision of my book has killed me a little more too—how much do I reveal? How much do I leave out because it’s too personal? What are people going to think of me?

One of my favorite songs is “Pages,” by 3 Doors Down. It’s about spilling one’s heart out for the world, bleeding for the eyes of the public and wondering if it’s all really worth it. But as artists, we have no other choice, we can’t not do it, that’s what makes the process so painfully wonderful.

So as I listened to Gilbert talk about creating distance between herself and other people’s reactions to her writing, I was even more surprised when she said that one’s art isn’t the result of the artist at all, but the result of some sort of spiritual “being” speaking through the artist. Now this may sound odd, but it makes perfect sense to me. I too, have felt its presence from the beginning of my writing this book. I’ve called it a supernatural force—and it is. It has directed all of this from the start. Perhaps it even directed me to Gilbert’s video, because it “just happened” to come along when I needed it most.

Gilbert described writing as: “the utter madding capriciousness of the creative process… that does not always behave rationally and in fact can sometimes feel downright paranormal…”

Oh yes.

jukebox on the beach

She said it makes more sense to believe that “the most extraordinary aspects of your being… were on loan to you from some unimaginable source for some exquisite portion of your life to be passed along, when you’re finished, to somebody else…” than to bear the entire egotistical burden that the artist is solely responsible for the end result.

Believing in divine influence was readily accepted in ancient times, so where did we get the notion in these contemporary times, that we are more than mere vessels to deliver the message? How many authors, singers, songwriters, poets, actors have attributed their talent to God or other supernatural forces?

Lots.

For me, it all comes down to trusting in that force to take me where I’m supposed to go. If I can keep believing in that, and according to Elizabeth Gilbert, the notion that it is responsible for what comes out of my pen or my keyboard, if something wonderful is gained by others because of my effort, that’s the greatest possible accomplishment! And if not, I can always blame the outcome on that force: “Damn! You really messed up this time, didn’t you dude?”

I like this idea! It takes the pressure off of me to try and please everyone. 🙂

Even Thoreau said: “Say what you have to say, not what you ought!”

¡Olé!

(In case you’re interested, here’s a link to hear “Pages”)

The Agony and the Ecstasy: Having it All

April 5, 2009

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Publishing your most intimate thoughts is like clawing your way into your own guts, pulling them out while they’re still throbbing and oozing and holding them above your head for the world to pass judgment upon. Once they’ve been ripped out, you can’t put them back.

When those words are exposed, they are metaphorically tossed to the mercy of the critic’s sword which has the power to fashion them into gold or slice them to ribbons.

Which will it be this time?

Gold.

Last weekend, I attended my second writer’s conference. These gatherings are a means for those of us who adhere to the calling of writing, to network with fellow authors, booksellers, publishers, agents and like-minded ilk.

During one of the workshops, for the first time, I pitched “Dance of the Electric Hummingbird” to literary agents. I also submitted a few pages to be read aloud before a large audience which included more agents. I was astounded by the reviews my book received from the professionals:

“Fascinating!”

“Agents are going to eat this up!”

“Well-written.”

And while I was deeply honored to have received this feedback, an even greater gift was about to be bestowed upon me…

Wrapping up the two-day seminar, the keynote speaker was a woman named Trish Downing. Prior to 2000, Trish had been a competitive cyclist and an avid swimmer, working toward her goal of one day competing in the Olympics. Then something happened that forever changed her life. While riding her bicycle, she was struck by a car and paralyzed from the chest down.

In spite of this, Trish went on to become the first female physically-challenged athlete to finish the Ironman Triathlon (2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike and 26.2 mile run).

Trish Downing

As I watched her maneuver her wheelchair up the ramp to address the crowd last Saturday evening, Trish’s presence didn’t make me think: What a waste. In fact, the more she spoke, the less I noticed her wheelchair. Instead, what I saw was a beautiful young woman whose liquid brown eyes were filled with a depth most of us never realize. It was something solid and real that could only be delivered from the soul of a person who was not only motivated to succeed, but by someone who cared enough to show the rest of us that we mustn’t be hindered by our own “wheelchairs.”

While Trish told her story, I thought about all the events in my life that had led me to the place where I found myself at that moment.

Sitting at a round table adorned with a white linen tablecloth, the remnants of my half-eaten slice of cheesecake wallowing in strawberry sauce on a glass plate in front of me, I suddenly realized how blessed I was. And it wasn’t because I was thinking: There but for the grace of God, go I.

Trish enriched me as a human being and it went beyond the fact that she had overcome great adversity. She showed me that all of my dreams had already come true.

Like Trish’s triumph of crossing the finish-line despite great odds, I too, had crossed my own finish-line. Not by overcoming hardships anywhere near what she had been dealt; this was not a contest over whose accomplishments were superior. My finish-line that day was having survived the culmination of years of hard work and preparation: a weekend filled with the stress of having to pitch my book (fling my guts to the proverbial sword) combined with the exhilaration of making new friends, colleagues and contacts and learning skills to improve myself as a writer.

I thought about the process of writing my book: the frustration of sometimes being unable to make the words sound right, the countless hours of revising the text, eating on the run or sleeping too little. I thought about my self-inflicted guilt for allowing mounds of dust to build up on my living-room furniture, for sacrificing spending time with those I loved in order to “fix this chapter” or forgetting to pay the bills.

And I thought about my family, friends, co-workers and the new acquaintances I’d made that weekend, including Trish, who had directly or indirectly offered their support of what I loved to do most of all—write.

I also thought about Sammy Hagar, all the amazing things that had happened to me as a result of the mystical experience I had at his concert six years ago, the vast opportunities he has so unselfishly granted me and the world he has opened up for me—the “me” he has opened up for me. Because of this mystical experience, every step I have taken since that moment has brought me more joy and fulfillment than I ever dreamed possible. I have experienced things I never could have conceived of—things that have advanced my soul in huge ways. And I have met incredible people.

Without any of them, I wouldn’t be in this place of spirit where I find myself at this moment.

As I listened to Trish speak about never giving up on one’s goals that night, I realized I had already achieved mine.

Everything was perfect in my life. It was perfect in spite of the fact that I hadn’t slept for the past two nights because I had been so nervous, or that my stomach was churning because I had eaten cheesecake and I’m lactose intolerant. It was perfect even though I didn’t have all the “things” I wanted or that my grey hairs were multiplying along with the lines on my face.

It suddenly didn’t matter if my book was published or if I accomplished another thing.

All that matters is what I am RIGHT NOW.

I already have it all.

Patricia Walker–Featured Writer This Week

January 6, 2010

Published author Tim Northburg, a fellow member of the Northern Colorado Writer’s Association has featured me and my book, DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD on his blog this week!

You can read it here: feature-northern-colorado-writer-pat.html

Thanks so much for your support, Tim!

 

Tim Northburg

T.A. Northburg

Oh, the Drama of Writing (and Achieving Goals)

January 17, 2010

I’m scared to death. My book is finished. I’ve been sending queries to prospective agents. Last week, one of them emailed me back and requested my manuscript. Oh my God…

A million thoughts are running through my mind. What if she doesn’t like it? What if my writing is no good?

Worse, what if she does like it? What if she finds a publisher for me and my book is released to the world? Then, what? I might as well stand stark naked in the middle of I-25 at rush hour, with a blinking neon sign and arrows pointing to me! Am I really willing to do that?

I sometimes compare my book to The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. If you haven’t read this, I highly recommend that you do. DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD is a modern day and true story version of this fictionalized tale about a shepherd boy seeking his Personal Legend—the purpose of his life. And just like in The Alchemist, now that I’m standing on the edge and I need to let go and jump into the abyss—solo and without a parachute, I’m paralyzed with fear.

“Just DO it,” Nike says. Yeah, easier said than done, pal.

Apparently this is a common reaction. We want our dream to come true. We want it with all our might, have perhaps even spent our entire lives working toward it. And then, just when we are about to see it come to fruition, most of us back off. Why? Because of all of those fears I mentioned. Then the final hurdle consists of facing the notion that we may actually be more afraid of achieving our dream than we are of not achieving it!

This isn’t as absurd as it sounds. Now that I’ve arrived at this point, I find myself wondering, What if I’m successful? Then I’ll have an entirely new set of conditions to deal with and right now, I have no clue what they could be. It’s much safer to remain with my known world; I pretty much know how to deal with that.

So what am I doing about the letter from the agent? I’m stalling. I’m finding all kinds of excuses to keep from emailing my reply. I’ve written it, but I can’t seem to make myself push “send.” “I have other queries to get to other agents,” I tell myself, so I work on them instead. And I’m writing this post! I’ve also come across a very good lead, and I’m doing the same thing there—stalling instead of writing to the author involved.

Oh, and www.addictinggames.com keeps seducing me with stupid tactics like: “You need a break. Your mind is tired. Just play a few rounds and then you’ll be able to think clearly again and write a better letter.” Wink, wink.

Like the boy in The Alchemist, I must make that leap into the unknown, let go of the trapeze bar, fling myself to the mercy of the void and trust that there’s another bar out there coming toward me. I haven’t worked this hard to stay where I am. But still…

And then this morning, I receive an email that says: “If we don’t change, we don’t grow. If we don’t grow, we are not really living. Growth demands a temporary surrender of security.” —Gail Sheehy

I suppose I should take this as a sign that the Universe is trying to tell me something!

Give me a minute. A hot cup of tea is calling. Oh wait; I’ve already used that excuse. I’ll get to the email tomorrow when my mind is fresher. Really, I will!

(P.S.–I sent it.)

A Roger Ebert Story and an Excerpt from “Dance of the Electric Hummingbird”

March 4, 2010

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One of my readers sent this to me recently and I wanted to share it with you, along with my reply to her. (She has given me her approval.) In her email, (I’m paraphrasing here) she told me that film critic Roger Ebert had recently appeared on the Oprah Show. For more than eight years, he’d been battling thyroid cancer that eventually spread to his salivary gland and jaw. Because of this, most of his lower jaw had been removed and it left him unable to speak or eat. He uses a computer into which he types what he wants to say and it replays the words.

Ebert wrote in his journal that the purpose of our lives is to make the lives of others a little happier and to make ourselves happier. Anything contrary to that is a travesty because unhappiness is the breeding ground for crime. He said that he didn’t always know this, but was glad that he has lived long enough to realize it.

When asked about his appearance, he replied that nobody is perfect and that we have to accept who we are and keep on living.

My reply to her email:

I hope most of us don’t have to go through what he did to realize that what he says is true. Unfortunately all we have is our words to help us convince others of the things we know will improve their lives. Here’s an excerpt for you from my book. The setting takes place in a coffee shop, where I’m talking to a famous poet. In this scene she has just finished reading some of my work.

 

Following is an excerpt from DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD. It’s from Chapter 28 — Beyond the Holes of Words:

(9-25-11: This chapter has been edited out of the manuscript. Sorry for any inconvenience!)

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“What exactly are you trying to say here?” She points to a line in my poem with her pen.

I fumble a bit, unsure of how to respond because I’ve sugarcoated my meaning. I take a sip of my mocha latte to stall. It tastes even better than before. I take another. Then I look around the small room—the walls are painted light pink and there are dark, wooden shelves displaying coffee products for sale. Three other customers sit in overstuffed chairs arranged facing one another near the windows. The entire atmosphere is one of warmth, relaxation, and trust. It seems to say, “Go ahead…”

I’m trying not to focus on the fact that Victoria is the perfect image of a teacher, which she is, after all, because in my mind, teachers had always been harbingers of doom. Of course, this is my own silly notion left over from my Catholic school days—Victoria is not dressed in a black and white nun’s habit. She’s wearing a floral print button-down blouse, impeccably ironed, and white pants, her grey hair cut short and neatly styled. Why do I do this to myself?

“Do you mean ‘vagina’?” Her soft-spoken manner seems contradictory to such frankness.

“Yes.” I’m quite caught off-guard.

“Then say ‘vagina.’” She crosses out what I’ve written and scribbles the word “vagina” with her red pen.

I take another sip of my latte, swallowing hard in an attempt to disguise the little smile creeping over my face.

She and I had become friends when I’d signed up for the Writing through Loss grief support group after my parents died. Over the years, I had attended several of her writing workshops and poetry readings, hoping to absorb as much knowledge from her as I could. And now she was the person in charge of the class I’d enrolled in.

During one of the sessions, as the group of mourners sat writing in our chairs, she quietly approached me.

“I really love your writing. I was wondering if you’d be interested in working with me on your poetry.”

“I’d be honored!” I was a little embarrassed because I wasn’t used to compliments like this. But I sorely needed help and direction with my writing, and professional advice. I had so much inside of me that I wanted to say and I wanted it to come out as art so others could relate, but sometimes I didn’t know quite how to say it. I didn’t want to offend anyone.

And now, sitting across from her, I realize that she’s not judging me. She’s treating me with respect for what it is I need to say as an artist. What ridiculous notion had convinced me that she would immediately reject me based on one word? I feel my body relax and I gain even more respect for her—this tiny woman with a big soul.

But I learned from an early age to care what others thought of me, which stemmed from my worrying about what God thought of me. Growing up I learned how not to bring attention to myself. I was always on the lookout for what others expected of me and strove to live up to their expectations. And the things the girls at school said about me hurt me deeply, so I knew that words had a lot of power. Prepubescent girls can be horribly cruel, but I never fought back; I couldn’t conceive of hurting anyone else on purpose, even if they’d hurt me first. It went completely against my nature.

So the words thing was obviously deeply ingrained in me. I was concerned that people would form the wrong opinion of me for that reason.

Thoreau said, “Say what you have to say, not what you ought.” And here is the poet telling me pretty much the same thing.

Art is supposed to incite raw emotion.

So when it comes to writing this book, a much bigger project than writing one poem, trying to explain all this is very much like trying to explain Zen: no matter which words I choose, the only way another can truly know how it feels is by personal experience. Nevertheless, my soul screams that I have to try. I have to tell this story. It’s a quagmire I just know I can conquer if not with words, then through some sort of osmosis that whoever is meant to hear and understand, will. And yet, my ferryboat is built of words.

D. T. Suzuki writes:

Cannot Zen be so explained that a master can lead all his pupils to enlightenment through explanation? Is satori something that is not at all capable of intellectual analysis? Yes, it is an experience which no amount of explanation or argument can make communicable to others unless the latter themselves had it previously … For a satori turned into a concept ceases to be itself … Therefore, all that we can do in Zen in the way of instruction is to indicate, or to suggest, or to show the way so that one’s attention may be directed towards the goal. As to attaining the goal and taking hold of the thing itself, this must be done by one’s own hands, for nobody else can do it for one…

I can’t wrap its message into a neat little package others can take with them like a piece of chewing gum that releases some great philosophical truth when you bite into it. If I could, believe me, I would.

END OF EXCERPT.