“Lily Nash” — that would be me. Susan is an old Hebrew name meaning “pure as a lily” (heh). Nash is a family name that joined the gene pool around 1840 in the Midlands of England.
Yesterday, as I was dangling between writing a gripping international thriller and a sweeping tattletale memoir, a Tweet directed me to this article on why you shouldn’t publish your book of short stories. It recommended giving away your short story collection as a promotional freebie for your longer masterpieces.
I hadn’t been thinking about short stories at all. But then I thought of those short essays that I turned into 3-minute radio programs last year. Those youthful memories got to a lot of ears. So why not gather them up with a similar bunch of K-through-12 short-shorts and make an e-book?
Ernest Hemingway had his alter-ego Nick Adams, so I invented Lily Nash. Third person feels more literary than me, myself, and I. Gives me a little distance, allows me a little artistic license.
So this morning I gathered my files and the revisions flowed. But gosh, that Lily Nash was kind of a restless, disgruntled child, not always privately successful at living up to her public reputation for goodness. Wednesday’s child. Scorpio. Deciding early on that she needed to be completely Nancy-Drew independent (as only a well-loved child can be).