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GREENSBORO - There have always been two forces in Marianne Gingher's writing life: One was driving her, the other was impeding her.

The urge to write is ever-present, but life doesn't always afford her the luxury of fully exercising her passion. Her jobs, motherhood, other people's criticism of her writing -- life itself -- were sometimes roadblocks in her early writing career.

Her latest book, "Adventures in Pen Land," which chronicles her journey from "inklings to ink," is a hilarious reflection of her development as a writer. It is, at times, a neurotic journey of self-doubt and struggle for literary validation. But it has been more than 20 years since her first book was published -- enough time to cast those early experiences in the larger context of her life. And in doing so, Gingher finds humor, even in times that were most challenging.

Becoming a writer

There aren't enough bookshelves in her Fisher Park home, built in 1918. Gingher's own books are stored in boxes throughout the house. Some rest on a shelf in her kitchen over the refrigerator. The shelf is so high, that even Gingher -- who stands 5 feet, 9 inches tall -- can't reach it without stepping on a chair.

There are copies of "Teen Angel" and "Bobby Rex's Greatest Hit," as well as magazines with articles she has published. A Fred Chappell book rests on top of her own books, the words of her mentor always hovering over her. His books are found throughout her home and Chapel Hill office.

But it was the Ding Dong School Book that launched Gingher's lifelong desire to write.

"My writing life begins with a whopping lie I tell my first grade teacher. It is a calculated and dramatic lie, a lie with an agenda. I will not be punished for it, or suffer a shred of remorse. On the contrary, I will be rewarded."

"Ding Dong School" was a 1950s educational television show for children. The book she wanted so badly was filled with blank pages, marred only by the Ding Dong School logo at the top corner of each page. Blank pages awaiting her prose. To get it, she pretended to be sick. She told her moth-er it was the only thing that could make her feel better.

The empty pages of the Ding Dong School Book gave her full artistic and literary license to unleash her imagination.

In spite of her love for writing, Gingher wasn't always praised for it. During high school, college and even while earning her master of fine arts degree, her work was sometimes harshly criticized by teachers and peers.

In high school, her work was called "sappy."

The high school yearbook editor-- a classmate -- returned one of her articles with the word "Crummy" written in red ink.

A vocational counselor advised her to major in art, not English.

While she was in the MFA program at UNCG, Chappell often criticized her work. Though he now is her mentor, Gingher recalls his response to a story she wrote about a redneck trucker who pulls his truckload of live chickens into a gas station during a robbery.

"Fred sat glaring at the story. He struck a match to light his cigarette, but he held it so long, watching the flame, that I thought he was going to torch the manuscript. 'Naw,' he says finally. 'I don't believe a word. This here, darlin', is Andy Griffith meets Superfly.' "

Though her confidence was often shaky, writing was as necessary as food for Gingher. And she loved doing it.

It simply never occurred to her to give up.

A writer's life

Writing has to be an obsession if you're trying to complete a book while working or raising children.

It's best if you can find a job that doesn't drain your literary energy.

"... your brain is still word-fresh, so you have energy for writing in the evening. ... the trick of writing after you've worked all day is to have a job that saves your word skills stamina."

Gingher's first job as a high school art teacher didn't require her to read or grade papers in the evenings. Now, she advises her students to avoid jobs requiring them to write if they want to publish books. Try landscaping or waiting tables.

Finding time and energy to write was harder once Gingher became a mom. Somehow, she managed.

"... here and there I sneak a shower, brush my teeth, comb my snarly hair. I write a sentence or two, a paragraph, a chapter, the beginning of a new novel, the novel, as things turn out. If the baby can't stop me, then nobody can. I'm the Gingerbread Writer, I am, I am."

After the birth of her second son, she tried to write, teach and mother. In the end, something had to go; she gave up teaching.

"Before I leased my little office, I had to peel the wailing kids off my legs like livid barnacles -- they were big on separation anxiety. I'd bestow upon their cheeks the lipstick tattoos they were clamoring for, wave goodbye, charge outside, leap into my car, pray it would start, grieve for three seconds at the sight of their howling, steaming, crybaby faces pressed to the glass of the front door, drive around the block while the baby sitter distracted and soothed them and my guilt abated, then park and slink back into the house via the basement where I'd set up writing for a couple of hours in the musty, lackluster dimness."

Throughout her life, Gingher has written wherever she could, with whatever she's had. Whether it was a sheet of her grandmother's stationery or pages from her father's prescription pad.

Gingher wrote much of her first novel in an office at the Sternberger Artists Center, a space no larger than a closet. In length, it measured the height of your average professional basketball player. In the summer, it was unbearably hot. And the view -- broken concrete, dented trash cans -- was sad. But it was a space where Gingher could write uninterrupted.

She knew her manuscript had evolved into something more substantial when, about 600 pages in, she began to fear it might be stolen or destroyed by fire. So, she kept it in the freezer when she wasn't working on it.

Completing that first novel is much like going through a courtship. It's fun because you don't know what its future holds. You just imagine all the possibilities.

Once it's finished, that's when the marriage begins.

Life after publication

When writers fantasize about publishing their first books, those fantasies don't usually include the mundane routines of daily life.

The reality is that if you are a wife and mother, you still have to cook dinner and bathe and entertain the kids. Even if the New York Times did publish a positive review of your book, "Bobby Rex's Greatest Hit," calling it "almost rhapsodically lyrical ... spangled with brilliant, exact images."

For Gingher, life didn't change that much. Her husband launched a new business, and needed her help. Her sons wanted to hear bedtime stories about imaginary extraterrestrial creatures.

Although Gingher's book keeps its focus on her journey from "inkling to ink" -- the publication of her first book -- the final chapter hints at what's to come: her husband's business would fail, and they would come close to bankruptcy before divorcing. She would teach creative writing again. The book ends with the possibility of more stories ahead.

And there were more stories and more successes. Gingher published a second book, "Teen Angel," two years after "Bobby Rex's Greatest Hit." And in 1992, NBC made the movie "Just My Imagination," based on Gingher's first novel.

But success doesn't mean a writer doesn't still struggle. Nor does it guarantee an end to financial worries. Once, Gingher even considered teaching public school art again.

It was a few years after her divorce. Her two-year position at Hollins College had ended, and she couldn't find a college teaching job in the area. She was offered a job teaching writing at Syracuse University but turned it down because she shared joint custody of her sons, who were 8 and 10 at the time. Taking the Syracuse job meant separation from them.

Gingher thought her only option was to teach in the public schools, which meant that she needed to take courses to become certified to do so. But when she called the UNCG art department to inquire about summer courses, the woman answering the phone that day recognized Gingher's name. She discouraged Gingher from following through with it. Go write another book, she told Gingher.

After that, a position became available at UNC-Chapel Hill, where Gingher has remained ever since, grooming her own crop of future writers.

For all the times when people seemed to discourage her writing, Gingher always had an equal number of supporters. Through the years, she always seemed to attract people who could see her potential. Among them was Max Steele, UNC-CH's legendary creative writing director. He offered her a teaching job in his department when she was just 28 and unpublished.

And there was her agent, who persuaded her to venture from short stories to attempting a novel.

Gingher has learned two things about the writing business: Persistence pays off, and a writer can't succeed without help. There's a dedicated editor, agent or mentor behind every publication.

Nobody does it alone.

The next chapter

At 61, Gingher is a published writer, a college professor and mentor to budding writers.

Most conversations with her are speckled with girlish laughter. She even looks much as she did when her first novel was published. Her mostly blond hair still grazes her shoulders, though she often wears it up. A straight veil of bangs covers her eyebrows.

She still has a kid's sense of fun, though she hasn't jumped up and down on her bed since Louisiana State University Press bought "A Girl's Life: Horses, Boys, Weddings and Luck" in 2000. But the faintest whiff of literary flattery is still as intoxicating as champagne.

There have always been two constants in Gingher's life. She has always been a daughter. And she has always been a writer.

Except she's not writing much these days. Grocery lists don't count.

Between teaching in Chapel Hill, visiting her aging mother who lives at Well Spring and editing a book of short stories to be published by UNC Press, there's just not enough time to write her own stories.

Her writing room has been transformed back into "boyland," now that her son Rod is home from the Peace Corps. It's the only room in the house with a television and a record player.

For now, Gingher's muses must be contained. If they can just wait until summer. She'll have time for them then.

But Gingher can't go long without writing. She becomes anxious, even a little grumpy. The urge to write will force itself upon her, and it will be the only way she can clear the clutter overtaking her brain.

You can't always control your muses. And somewhere, blank pages are waiting, as clean and inviting as the long-ago pages of the Ding Dong School Book.

Contact Tina Firesheets at 373-3498 or tina.firesheets@news-record.com