There is so much to say about a book; I think the place to start is to tell you where the idea for Down At The Devlin Bakery came from.

A friend of mine, Jan Hood, and I are members of a genealogy research group called Genbuds. While we usually have guest speakers at each meeting, we occasionally don’t, and in that case, we use the time to share interesting tidbits about our family heritage. During one such meeting, Jan told us about her generational family-run bakery that had been in existence starting in the late 1890s in Martinsville, Illinois. As a little girl, she spent many summers with her grandparents, who lived in an apartment over the bakery. She watched her grandparents prepare, bake, and sell their loaves of bread, biscuits, and pastries.

After being intrigued by Jan’s story, I can only say that the universe soon began telling me a story I never could have imagined. It was a story about a married couple who retired from their farming life and ended up owning and running a bakery late in life. The story began and continued like a play was running in my head.

Segue here. Shortly after the story began playing out in my mind, a woman who knew I had done some writing suggested I write and submit a story to Daughters of the American Revolution annual contest due in February 2020. Actually, some ladies begged me to write as our chapter had never won a prize in the category “Literature and Drama, Fiction and Non-Fiction.†I put aside the ideas about the bakery book and wrote a story, the theme for that year being The 19th Amendment. Again, the story rolled around in my head for the next few months until mid-January, when I figured I’d best start typing it. The deadline for an entry was February 12. Early in March, I received an email from the national headquarters of DAR, informing me my story had won third prize out of 174 entries. Quite an accomplishment, indeed.

I was now free to return to my thoughts of the book. Again, the story started rolling around in my head when I wasn’t preoccupied with work until Covid hit. My husband, a heart patient then, and I panicked. People were dying on both coasts by the hundreds every day. Businesses were closed, and I had no work.

We decided to pack up as much food as would fit in our cars, and along with our dogs, we drove three hours to our house in Show Low, Arizona, for April. I have told you all this to get to one point. Now, in Show Low, I had nothing to do but cook and clean the house; my mind was virtually quiet. As I walked toward the kitchen each morning to make coffee, the main character, Ella, began telling me her story. Frankly, Ella wouldn’t shut up. I had no recourse but to start typing. As long as Ella was telling the story, I continued to type. I typed for five days straight. If I became tired, the writing slowed and stagnated, and I knew I had to quit for the day.

I had enough experience under my belt to write decent sentences with the information Ella imparted. The objective is to get it on the page; type or write. I call it, burping it onto the page. Do it while it’s fresh and hot in your mind. Worry about mistakes later; editing is a vast process when you think you have finished writing.

It didn’t take long before I knew I had the makings of a book coming through my consciousness; therefore, I followed Ella’s lead and continued to write over the next months, which turned into a couple of years.

A fascinating part of my tale was that ideas would enter my head without wondering why or what meaning they may have. I typed them as they came to me. Interestingly, a connection between what I wrote came full circle chapters later. Then, I knew why I wrote scenes, the seemingly odd or unimportant ideas or bits and pieces about a character.

I ended one chapter with a big revelation, but then I couldn’t figure out how to start the next chapter. Where does one go after such a surprising event? Over the next two weeks, I sat at my desk, and nothing came to mind. Finally, I found how to begin again; a segue came to mind that worked. Sometimes, you have to be patient with the universe. See the beginning of chapter VII.

If all this sounds like magic, it is. There is no other way to describe it. If you are open to the universe, it will drop information and ideas into the creative side of your brain; when your mind is quiet and free from other distractions, the mental images will flow.

There were times when I thought I had finished. Then, another author told me I needed between 60,000 and 80,000 words. I was sitting on about 56,000. Nope, I was not done. I continued to write.

A moment, please; I’m sorry if this sounds more like the blog category, About Writing. I admit it’s difficult to separate the book’s subject from the writing process. I can only tell you that if you have an idea, if something is rolling around in your head, get writing or typing. You never know where it will lead.

As I wrote, various characters popped into the scenes. I instantly knew what they looked like. I saw Mayor Bigby as a short man with a paunch, friendly, loud voice, down-to-earth, and more intelligent than he first appeared. He used his good old-boy demeanor to appear friendly and approachable. Where I got the name, I can’t tell you. All I can say is, with a moment’s pause, I had it; John Bigby. Other characters received their names from real people I had known.

I should tell you about Ella. My great-grandfather had a little sister named Ella. She was born and died before he was born. I found her in my genealogy research, and she touched my heart. I don’t know how she died; I could never find her death certificate, but I know she was about seven years old. Ella’s last name was Walton.

Patricia Snyder, I named after a dear woman I met in Lafayette, Louisiana. We did research together. She opened her house to me. She is now deceased. It upsets me when dear, lovely people leave this earth. I miss folks like her.

Tom Watson’s name quickly came to mind. Other characters received names for no reason other than that is what came to me at the time they appeared in the script.

Alexander Schroeder is a family name, as is Raymond Krug. Alex’s secretary, Sophie, is a name I have always liked. My friend, Carol, has a dog named Sophie. Sharon; I have a friend named Sharon. As my fingers flew across the keys, the names of Jessica, Natalie, and Susan came to mind.

Marion Devlin. We had a distant relative named Marion Carson. I don’t know how she was related; she was adopted into the family by whom I have no idea. As a kid, I never bothered to ask anyone who she was related to, her adopted parents. I saw her infrequently when she came to Michigan for a visit. She always brought a present for me. She was caring, open and sweet. I could tell she wanted to feel like she belonged to the family. Like many other relatives, I wish I knew more about their lives and connections.

Ending the book was an exciting time. I researched bad endings to books. I learned that many famous writers have endings to their books that their readers dislike. Well, isn’t that interesting? Later on, when I write for the blog, I will tell you all about it. 

I think this gives you some information about the book. There is more to write at a later date. If you have questions or comments, they are always welcome, so please take a few minutes and write to me.

Deborah Goodacre