As I was cooking a few days ago, I needed a teaspoon measure for an ingredient. I opened the drawer and pulled out my Grandmother Nancy’s old metal ring of measuring spoons. I think of her every time I use those spoons.

My grandmother was a very independent woman. She left the farm at the age of seventeen years and enrolled in nursing school. Her first nursing assignment was on an Indian reservation in Oklahoma. She had to ride a mule to get there -- in a dress.

Then I thought about Rita Gallagher, another very strong, independent woman. She passed away on Feb. 1 (ironically, Grandmother Nancy’s birthday), so the loss of losing Rita is still fresh. How many things will remind me of her? A phone number on my bulletin board, an e-mail of congratulations when I finaled in a contest, and I pass her condo going to the library near my home.

She said only good writers, those with a natural talent, made her classes. But it was her job to take that talent and mold it.

For the past eighteen months, I was in her third Saturday of the month class. My last class and the last time I saw her were six months ago. Rita and I had a great visit that day. She was full of tales about her just completed Alaskan cruise. We compared notes because I was taking the same cruise on a different cruise line, the next month.

Rita became more to me than just a ‘writing teacher’. She also gave me advice about life. My time in her class has affectionately been dubbed (by Jesica Trap), chapter one hell.

It began in the spring of 2002. I was diligently writing, attending RWA chapter meetings and still pouting over the rejection letter from Harlequin Intrigue. Obviously to me, my writing needed a miracle -- a little magic. But I didn’t know where to find it.

At a West Houston RWA meeting, I attended a workshop led by Rita Gallagher, grand dame of Romance Writers of America. Now I’ll admit, I knew very little about the background of RWA except that Nora and Sandra (you know the biggies we want to be when we grow up as writers) got their start in RWA. I knew even less about Rita, even though at one time or another I had read her book, You Can Write a Romance. That was the limit of my knowledge of RWA and Rita.

Rita was the main attraction on that day’s program. She began the workshop with a quick rundown on the beginning of RWA and some of the writers she had been acquainted with over the years. At one point I heard the words, “Sandra Brown said if she didn’t get published soon, she was going to give up…” My ears perked up and I looked around the room. Did anyone else hear that? Sandra Brown almost quit writing!

I was hooked. Whatever pearls of wisdom this woman had to give me, I would gladly accept. When I learned she was starting a new class, I eagerly signed my name to the list.

A few weeks later, an application and instructions from Rita arrived in a fat envelope. I mailed her my application and chapter one from the manuscript that HI had rejected.

I began to wait and sweat. What if Rita rejected me? Then I would know for sure that I didn’t have a smidgen of talent and all those years my mother said my writing was great, was just a mommy fib. What would I do? I have always dreamed of being a writer.

Weeks went by until the envelope with the “yes your writing equals Nora. Please, pretty please join my class” or the “you’ve wasted my time – go back to school and be anything but a writer”, arrived. I ripped the envelope open and squealed with delight. I was in!

Rita said several good things about my work but she also emphasized that I needed her class so I could be taught and molded. My feelings weren’t hurt. I was in and that’s all that mattered.

I was scared to death when I went to that first class in October 2002. What if the other students ate me alive? What if they said, “Rita, she’s awful, why is she here?” Some of those students had been with Rita for a couple of years. I was a beginner compared to their experience.

With shaking knees I entered Rita’s home fifteen minutes early. I was the first one there. While Rita finished dressing upstairs, I soaked in the ambience of a real writer’s home, touched her awards, and drank in the pictures on the wall with my eyes. Wow, I was impressed.

Three other students arrived and introduced themselves. Susie Nickson, contemporary romance writer and West Houston member; Susan, time travel paranormal; Melanie, legal thrillers; and me, romantic suspense, were the students my first class day. The only one missing was Linda Jacobs, another West Houston member.

Rita began the class with a lecture. She dictated at the speed of light and I scribbled until my hand cramped. Then after lecture, Rita read each student’s chapter aloud. We listened then critiqued each other. We were there not only to learn the craft of writing, but also how to critique. Rita, of course, had the final say on your work. Her critique was sacred.

Thank goodness my chapter was the first one read aloud that first day or I would have been very intimidated. The other students’ work was flawless. I was in awe of them. They are a very, very talented group of writers.

The ladies were kind to me after the reading of my chapter. I received many favorable comments– you’re definitely a suspense writer, your quality is very good, the action flows well, etc. I preened like a new mother.

Then the constructive comments began. My chapter was ripped to shreds. I thought, glad you liked it. What would you have said if the writing had been horrible? Rita, wise woman that she was, answered my unspoken question. She said only good writers, those with a natural talent, made her classes. But it was her job to take that talent and mold it.

Great, now I was a clump of clay!

I took all the comments from that first class, the second class, the third, the fourth, and edited, edited, edited. But I dreaded when it was my turn to critique my fellow students work. Their writing was good, the premises of their books interesting and unique. What could I, the new kid, possibly offer them?

I whined to students in another class. I wasn’t getting it; the lights weren’t coming on upstairs. I thought I was wasting my time and I was discouraged. The magic still wasn’t happening.

So I changed my strategy. After class, I spent that Saturday evening reviewing my notes and editing my chapter according to the critiques. On Sunday, I made the changes on the computer. Then I would put the chapter away for a couple of weeks.

During class a few months later, it was my turn to critique someone’s chapter. The student’s writing was, as always, perfect, but confidently, I asked her what did that chapter accomplish? It was chapter three and according to Rita, it should have been the turnaround chapter.

My lights had come on! After that I felt more confident during critique sessions and I eagerly waited for the constructive criticism of my own work.

But chapter one hell for me continued a few more months. Finally, Rita said, you are ninety-nine percent there. It was anti-climactic. That one-percent seemed as elusive as me waking up twenty-years younger.

I decided to be daring. This book had been the book of my heart for almost two years. It had been requested, then turned down by Harlequin Intrigue and chapter one had been running the gauntlet in Rita’s class with a group of tough critics.

I was ready to take a test drive in new territory. I entered the first four pages in the RWA Salt Lake City chapter’s “Great Beginnings” contest. It placed second in the suspense category. That reaffirmed to me that every minute I spent in Rita’s class was worth it. The next month I graduated from chapter one hell to chapter two hell.

I learned many things in Rita’s class – how to be a better writer and critique partner, persistence and how to accept criticism. I know that no matter how good a writer I may become, I’ll never stop learning the craft. Each piece of work I produce will only give me the desire to turn out something bigger and better. I also realize that all the progress I’ve made as a writer is a result of being a member of RWA. The workshops, the contests, even the opportunity to meet Rita, are from RWA.

After social time at each class, Rita would laugh and say, “ Let’s get started. I’m not getting any younger.” If we’d only known then that our time was limited. I will cherish the words she wrote me in an e-mail. They will definitely become my mantra during the tough times…

HANG IN THERE! That old IC (usually called WRITER’S BLOCK) hits all of us one time or another… It’s the price all TALENTED WRITERS must pay. The most devastating part of this writing DEMON is that it makes us doubt ourselves! Don’t let it!… keep fighting!

Thank you, Rita, for touching my life. To my fellow writers, keep fighting!

Nancy Frazier has been writing romantic suspense for four years. She placed second in that category with her manuscript, MINE TO PROTECT, in an RWA sponsored contest. Recently, she submitted an erotica romance manuscript at the request of Red Sage Publishing, for their Secrets line. She is working on her second erotica and waiting for “the call”.

Copyright © 2004 Nancy Frazier. All rights reserved. Used with permission.