There is nothing that makes my fingers itch for a fountain pen quicker than quality stationery and blank note cards. All that empty space begs to be filled in with words and news and weather reports, questions, thanks, and anything else that occurs to me. With that in mind, I decided to subtly teach my oldest grandson Jordan a lesson in etiquette that has apparently not taken root in most of my children's habits -- the thank you note and a note to Grandma.
Jordan's twelfth birthday is next week and I have already sent his gift, something fun and educational that his sister Savannah will no doubt want to use as well. I figure my son and his wife can give them clothes and toys, but I want to broaden their horizons, hence the next part of the gift I decided to send: airplane note cards with envelopes. The only thing I didn't provide was a pen. Jordan is a good student and should have quite a few pens and pencils to choose from. I am not at all averse to accepting thank you notes and letters written in pencil. I'm generous and forgiving that way.
When I checked on delivery of my grandson's gift, I noticed that it had been sent to the wrong address, two doors away, the address that my daughter-in-law provided and I neglected to change. Oh, well. I called to let them know of the problem so they could walk down to the other address and pick up the UPS form to get the gift from the UPS station. I left all this in a message since no one answered the call.
My daughter-in-law called back and left me a message. They got the slip and arranged to pick up the package today, in plenty of time before Jordan's birthday, and had received the note cards, which my grandson immediately opened and began using. That's the ticket, I thought. That's what it takes to instill a little etiquette. Provide the tools and they will use them.
Blank note cards and thick, luxurious stationery have the same effect on me. I can't wait to pick up a fountain pen and mar the surfaces with words and letters, weather and news, and ask about how things are on the other side of the country, county, and world. I wish it was so easy when writing books.
The cursor blink-blink-blinking at me reminds me that I am avoiding the task of putting down words and sentences, paragraphs and characterizations, and it mocks me. There are times when the blank screen and its blinking cursor fill me with excitement and other times when putting fingers to keyboard and letting them fly is done with as much thought as breathing or the heart beating. It's automatic, like filling blank note cards with fun and pretty covers.
Then there are the times when the idea of the blank screen is enough to send me loitering over to the games on the computer to decipher puzzles, rack up points, and while away six or eight hours that would've resulted in several chapters, or at least a good way through a first edit or proof read. It should not be this difficult. It should be as easy as putting pen to blank card and letting the ink flow, but it's not.
There are expectations in that blank screen, especially with a few books under my belt and still reeling from some negative reviews, that seem impossible to fill. What if I can't write a good story? What if I'm a fraud and have been fooling myself that I can write? What if I'd be better off slaving for a pittance of a wage instead of reaching for something deep inside myself that needs to get out, something that fills my dreams with characters and places, something that sidles in and whispers plots, adventures, and dangers and then slips away? What if...?
Whenever I'm procrastinating and not writing when I should be, I have decided to try another tack. I'll open one of those blank cards and, instead of writing a friend or relative, I'm going to write stories, snippets of chapters, dialogue, and description and maybe that way I'll finish another book. Taken in the small doses provided by blank cards, it can be done. It's kind of expensive in a way, but what else would I do with all these boxes of wonderful cards except write to people and bore them to death. Better to bore them after they've paid for a copy of the book. Even if they leave negative reviews, at least it will be a return on my investment in blank cards that I seldom get from people I write to for free.
You know, it just might work. Failing that, I'll buy some 5 x 7 index cards and use them. Small snippets, a novel a bit at a time, and, if past history is any indication, I should buy a whole lot of cards. I have things to say and stories to write.
Give a child a blank card and s/he will write a letter or thank you. Give me a blank card and I could just end up with a book.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Saturday, July 09, 2011
Actual Value vs Perceived Value
A lovely young Chinese girl pours boiling water into a 400-year-old teapot, adds tea leaves, and puts on the lid. Hot tea-flavored water cascades down the sides as she explains that the patina imparted by using the teapot is what gives it value. "Some things," she says as she wipes the sides with a cloth, "have no value unless they are used."
A Stradivarius violin, the finest violin in the world, cannot be kept in a safety deposit box or safe or it will crack and dry out and be useless. Unless it is used regularly by a violinist, no matter how good or bad she is, the violin is just so much glue, pegging, wood, and strings that go out of tune. The same is true of a piano, no matter what make or model; it will dry out, crack, and die without being used.
Some things were made to be used, and so it is with books, but how do you judge a book and assess its value?
Each book is a labor of love, a work of art, no matter what the critics say. Each book is the brain child given life and form on paper, and in pixels and electrons, and lives only when it is read.
Authors regularly tout their best selling status, count their profits, and continue to create more brain children, but does that make a book valuable? It is valuable in that the book earns money, but there is value beyond money, beyond the price, and beyond the profit. There is value in every book for some reader who has read the book so many times she can quote passages by heart, giving them nuance and a flavor the author may never have intended or realized. Each book is valuable to some one -- and sometimes to many someones, until the rest of the world and fans catch on. That is what I hope happens to my books, that they are read over and over by someone -- or many someones -- regardless of how much I earn, so long as they touch someone's heart and/or mind. That is the value of a book. It imparts a view of life, a bit of magic, a soupcon of wisdom, and often a titbit of laughter, tears, or joy.
Too often, in our rush to be recognized, lauded, and to profit from our dreams and visions made real, we forget that the real value in a book is in its impact. There is no value otherwise.
I remember a story about Beatrix Potter who made up stories and painted the scenes she saw in her imagination. As a Victorian woman, her only possibility of a life was to marry, manage a household, bear children, and be a helpmate to a man. The only other option was to ruin her reputation by going on the stage or becoming a prostitute, at least if she was from a good family. Lots of jobs were available for lower class women and few cared what they were. Someone had to serve, clean, cook, manage a household staff, etc., and no well born lady would have considered for a second having a valet instead of a lady's maid.
Beatrix was from a good family with some money and position and still she wanted to continue writing stories and painting her friends. She decided to have her work published and, with her companion in tow, she went round to various publishers until she found a publisher willing to take on her project and do it her way. She would not be fobbed off with second class work. She would draw and paint her own illustrations, and her first book was born.
Beatrix wrote and illustrated several books and, to her family's utter surprise, people talked about the little books as if they were gems of beauty and value, and bought so many of the books Beatrix was able to move out of her parents' home and into her own home on her own land bought with her own money. She was free at last. The rest of the story is as fascinating as the writing, but better leave that to another time and another subject.
Beatrix's books were her brain children and children, and adults, who bought the books loved them, cared for them, and passed them down to their own children. The books aren't big in size, but they are works of art that have value far and beyond the cost of materials and publisher's fees. The books are immortal. That's what every writer dreams and so few achieve.
Is it because the writing isn't good? Sometimes. Is it because the subject is off the beaten track? Sometimes. Is it because the author didn't play the socializing, marketing, and networking game? Not always.
Sometimes books don't hit their stride right away or fans don't form clans to discuss, rehash, and proselytize for the author. It's not the book or the author's fault; it's the luck of the draw -- or not drawn.
Every book has value to some person, some individual, and to the author. In order to transcend the first flush of creation, a book must be read and readers must talk and spread the word of mouth necessary to bring a book out of the shadows and into the light. However, if just one person, or even one hundred persons, read and reread and commit the book to memory, it's value soars. A book, like a 400-year-old teapot, has no value unless it is used. Usage brings a patina of beauty that the brightest diamonds and the richest fabrics cannot achieve.
Read a book. Pick one, any one, and find within it the beauty and profundity of the author's dreams. One person, one book, or a hundred persons and a hundred books, it does not matter. It only matters that you read and keep the words and images and dreams burnished. It's the difference between actual value and perceived value.
If you're looking for a gift, what better gift to give someone you love than a book?
A Stradivarius violin, the finest violin in the world, cannot be kept in a safety deposit box or safe or it will crack and dry out and be useless. Unless it is used regularly by a violinist, no matter how good or bad she is, the violin is just so much glue, pegging, wood, and strings that go out of tune. The same is true of a piano, no matter what make or model; it will dry out, crack, and die without being used.
Some things were made to be used, and so it is with books, but how do you judge a book and assess its value?
Each book is a labor of love, a work of art, no matter what the critics say. Each book is the brain child given life and form on paper, and in pixels and electrons, and lives only when it is read.
Authors regularly tout their best selling status, count their profits, and continue to create more brain children, but does that make a book valuable? It is valuable in that the book earns money, but there is value beyond money, beyond the price, and beyond the profit. There is value in every book for some reader who has read the book so many times she can quote passages by heart, giving them nuance and a flavor the author may never have intended or realized. Each book is valuable to some one -- and sometimes to many someones, until the rest of the world and fans catch on. That is what I hope happens to my books, that they are read over and over by someone -- or many someones -- regardless of how much I earn, so long as they touch someone's heart and/or mind. That is the value of a book. It imparts a view of life, a bit of magic, a soupcon of wisdom, and often a titbit of laughter, tears, or joy.
Too often, in our rush to be recognized, lauded, and to profit from our dreams and visions made real, we forget that the real value in a book is in its impact. There is no value otherwise.
I remember a story about Beatrix Potter who made up stories and painted the scenes she saw in her imagination. As a Victorian woman, her only possibility of a life was to marry, manage a household, bear children, and be a helpmate to a man. The only other option was to ruin her reputation by going on the stage or becoming a prostitute, at least if she was from a good family. Lots of jobs were available for lower class women and few cared what they were. Someone had to serve, clean, cook, manage a household staff, etc., and no well born lady would have considered for a second having a valet instead of a lady's maid.
Beatrix was from a good family with some money and position and still she wanted to continue writing stories and painting her friends. She decided to have her work published and, with her companion in tow, she went round to various publishers until she found a publisher willing to take on her project and do it her way. She would not be fobbed off with second class work. She would draw and paint her own illustrations, and her first book was born.
Beatrix wrote and illustrated several books and, to her family's utter surprise, people talked about the little books as if they were gems of beauty and value, and bought so many of the books Beatrix was able to move out of her parents' home and into her own home on her own land bought with her own money. She was free at last. The rest of the story is as fascinating as the writing, but better leave that to another time and another subject.
Beatrix's books were her brain children and children, and adults, who bought the books loved them, cared for them, and passed them down to their own children. The books aren't big in size, but they are works of art that have value far and beyond the cost of materials and publisher's fees. The books are immortal. That's what every writer dreams and so few achieve.
Is it because the writing isn't good? Sometimes. Is it because the subject is off the beaten track? Sometimes. Is it because the author didn't play the socializing, marketing, and networking game? Not always.
Sometimes books don't hit their stride right away or fans don't form clans to discuss, rehash, and proselytize for the author. It's not the book or the author's fault; it's the luck of the draw -- or not drawn.
Every book has value to some person, some individual, and to the author. In order to transcend the first flush of creation, a book must be read and readers must talk and spread the word of mouth necessary to bring a book out of the shadows and into the light. However, if just one person, or even one hundred persons, read and reread and commit the book to memory, it's value soars. A book, like a 400-year-old teapot, has no value unless it is used. Usage brings a patina of beauty that the brightest diamonds and the richest fabrics cannot achieve.
Read a book. Pick one, any one, and find within it the beauty and profundity of the author's dreams. One person, one book, or a hundred persons and a hundred books, it does not matter. It only matters that you read and keep the words and images and dreams burnished. It's the difference between actual value and perceived value.
If you're looking for a gift, what better gift to give someone you love than a book?
Friday, July 08, 2011
The Only Good Bug
It gets lost in the switch from childhood to adulthood that sense of curiosity and awe of insects. That need to get down on all fours and watch ants pick up crumbs of food and follow them to the nest, that avaricious desire to examine all trees for a sign of a cast off cocoon or drying skin from a cicada disappears and is replaced with a feeling of crawling skin and an ick factor that goes off the charts the closer an insect or larvae get within touching distance. Out comes the bug spray and on go the gloves while steaming water rushes into a bucket where it foams on contact with antibacterial and antimicrobial soap and cleansers to eradicate every last alien hell-spawned insect in the vicinity.
Add spiders to the mix, and all the arachnid family, just makes the feelings worse. The alien hair-covered legs and compound eyes of a spider waiting to pounce from some shadowy niche to sing venom-dripping fangs into a soft portion of skin that will soon seethe with pus, turn red, and catch on fire to blacken and drop off or deteriorate into a spongy, decomposing mess engenders terror and horror the likes of which even the best horror writer never understood because it strikes women more than men. Men cringe in horror at spider webs, but secretly hope they will one day learn the secret of The Fly, as long as it happens to a close personal friend.
Insects are multi-legged aliens that must be destroyed.
Humans are the late comers to this planet. Insects emerged and differentiated long before humans had crawled from the mud in the cells of amphibians that would eventually evolve into warm-blooded mammals and eventually into humans. We are the aliens.
As a child, I crowed with sheer delight when I found a cicada husk clinging to the roughened bark of a tree and summers were spent scanning bark for any signs of an intact split skin, the hope of seeing a cicada emerge a close nurtured hope. I caught doodlebugs and heaped up little piles of dust ringed with popsicle sticks and bits of wood while I pushed and prodded the bugs to curl up and scuttle backward through the dust mounds and watched and played for hours. Each new insect -- the giant walking stick and grasshopper dad caught and pinned to the inside of a box to send to a cousin for biology, the mealy bugs that swarmed out of wet and warm cracks among the coconut trees, and the dozens of brilliant butterflies and brightly colored spiders that seethed and crawled and stalked among the debris of the jungle floor in Panama -- was a magical world of wonder and possibility that fascinated me endlessly -- until I grew up.
No longer did I spread a blanket in the summer grass and flop down onto my belly to peer through the grass to watch the silent world, not without a big can of bug spray and constantly scanning the edges for invading armies of ants and insect life. The big black ants that appeared on the my skin was a sign for a frantic Watusi until the interloper could be shaken off or squished beneath something large and heavy were signs the invading hordes were upon me. A bee or wasp or hornet sent me into paroxysms of fear while holding my breath and inching toward safety, eyes glued to the buzzing, flying death dealer. I'm allergic to bees, wasps, hornets, and other stinging insects and carry an Epi-Pen everywhere I go, avoiding dark colors and perfume that lure the assassins in.
The world became overnight an arena where death crept, flew, and stalked on six legs and eight. I remained fascinated by insects and arachnids on the television, but not in real life. I wanted them far from my sphere of influence and farther away from me. The only good bug was a dead bug -- until the other day when I contemplated buying eggs and live bugs to set loose in my garden to kill off the bad bugs, as long as I can find some way of delivering the assassins without actually touching them or having them in the house.
I received a notice from the gardening club I belong to that detailed how to purchase thousands of lady bugs and green lacewing flies and my childhood wow factor kicked in long enough to check the claims out.
A lady bug eats up to 50 aphids, thrips, and other garden pests a day while a green lacewing fly eats 1000 a day of the same pests. Good bug versus bad bug. I could handle that -- as long as the good bugs stay outside. The memory of a lady bug infestation several years ago still sends shivers through me.
There's nothing like sitting on the toilet when a lady bug flits into view. The first couple brought smiles to my face. The seething red and black carpet oozing through the cracks and crevices of the screen window beside me filled me horror. I was trapped, still struggling with current business, and new business was actively invading my sanctuary. I had no choice but to finish the old business before cleaning up and rushing pellmell for the kitchen where the bug spray waited waited under the sink. I could not get there fast enough, nor was I elated with the results. The can emitted a few watery spurts and died while lady bugs swarmed and oozed through the infinitesimal breaks between aluminum frame and wooden sill.
I'm not sure I can face another infestation of lady bugs, especially if only 50 aphids a day per bug are being eradicated, not when green lacewings will kill more. The question is whether or not I need that much bug power. Still, I am interested, and a bug hunt is in order.
My research provided me with several options, each larger and more lethal, culminating in three healthy and fertile praying mantis eggs guaranteed to get rid of another form of insect life, otherwise known as Mother Nature's assassins. Encarsia Formosas that prey on whiteflies, earthworms for aerating the soil, green lacewings, lady bugs, predatory mites, flea killing nematodes and dozens of other supposedly good bugs to kill off the bad bugs, and lady bug homes. I didn't know lady bugs needed homes, but evidently there are places that build and sell homes for lady bugs without the problems of mortgages and defaults, unless the owner's mortgage goes up in flames when he defaults, or just before if he's planning on collecting the insurance.
Lady bug, lady bug fly away home.
Your house is on fire,
your children are gone.
Somebody knew about lady bug homes before I did.
I may change my mind about actually handling Mother Nature's assassins if I can summon up sufficient energy to clear out the planting beds and put in something more decorative than the evergreens crouching in the beds or the nearly impossible to kill honeysuckle that is taking over the front planter. I might even consider berries, roses, and flowers that will seduce hummingbirds and butterflies to visit regularly. Butterflies I can handle, but keep the moths far away from me, or me in the house when they're swarming the honeysuckle, at least until I can find a way to eradicate the honeysuckle without digging up the lot.
There are good bugs and bad bugs, at least as far as humans are concerned, and most of the time it is difficult to tell which is which -- even with a scorecard. The only good bug is the one that supports what you do want against what you don't want. That's the trick -- figuring out which is which.
Add spiders to the mix, and all the arachnid family, just makes the feelings worse. The alien hair-covered legs and compound eyes of a spider waiting to pounce from some shadowy niche to sing venom-dripping fangs into a soft portion of skin that will soon seethe with pus, turn red, and catch on fire to blacken and drop off or deteriorate into a spongy, decomposing mess engenders terror and horror the likes of which even the best horror writer never understood because it strikes women more than men. Men cringe in horror at spider webs, but secretly hope they will one day learn the secret of The Fly, as long as it happens to a close personal friend.
Insects are multi-legged aliens that must be destroyed.
Humans are the late comers to this planet. Insects emerged and differentiated long before humans had crawled from the mud in the cells of amphibians that would eventually evolve into warm-blooded mammals and eventually into humans. We are the aliens.
As a child, I crowed with sheer delight when I found a cicada husk clinging to the roughened bark of a tree and summers were spent scanning bark for any signs of an intact split skin, the hope of seeing a cicada emerge a close nurtured hope. I caught doodlebugs and heaped up little piles of dust ringed with popsicle sticks and bits of wood while I pushed and prodded the bugs to curl up and scuttle backward through the dust mounds and watched and played for hours. Each new insect -- the giant walking stick and grasshopper dad caught and pinned to the inside of a box to send to a cousin for biology, the mealy bugs that swarmed out of wet and warm cracks among the coconut trees, and the dozens of brilliant butterflies and brightly colored spiders that seethed and crawled and stalked among the debris of the jungle floor in Panama -- was a magical world of wonder and possibility that fascinated me endlessly -- until I grew up.
No longer did I spread a blanket in the summer grass and flop down onto my belly to peer through the grass to watch the silent world, not without a big can of bug spray and constantly scanning the edges for invading armies of ants and insect life. The big black ants that appeared on the my skin was a sign for a frantic Watusi until the interloper could be shaken off or squished beneath something large and heavy were signs the invading hordes were upon me. A bee or wasp or hornet sent me into paroxysms of fear while holding my breath and inching toward safety, eyes glued to the buzzing, flying death dealer. I'm allergic to bees, wasps, hornets, and other stinging insects and carry an Epi-Pen everywhere I go, avoiding dark colors and perfume that lure the assassins in.
The world became overnight an arena where death crept, flew, and stalked on six legs and eight. I remained fascinated by insects and arachnids on the television, but not in real life. I wanted them far from my sphere of influence and farther away from me. The only good bug was a dead bug -- until the other day when I contemplated buying eggs and live bugs to set loose in my garden to kill off the bad bugs, as long as I can find some way of delivering the assassins without actually touching them or having them in the house.
I received a notice from the gardening club I belong to that detailed how to purchase thousands of lady bugs and green lacewing flies and my childhood wow factor kicked in long enough to check the claims out.
A lady bug eats up to 50 aphids, thrips, and other garden pests a day while a green lacewing fly eats 1000 a day of the same pests. Good bug versus bad bug. I could handle that -- as long as the good bugs stay outside. The memory of a lady bug infestation several years ago still sends shivers through me.
There's nothing like sitting on the toilet when a lady bug flits into view. The first couple brought smiles to my face. The seething red and black carpet oozing through the cracks and crevices of the screen window beside me filled me horror. I was trapped, still struggling with current business, and new business was actively invading my sanctuary. I had no choice but to finish the old business before cleaning up and rushing pellmell for the kitchen where the bug spray waited waited under the sink. I could not get there fast enough, nor was I elated with the results. The can emitted a few watery spurts and died while lady bugs swarmed and oozed through the infinitesimal breaks between aluminum frame and wooden sill.
I'm not sure I can face another infestation of lady bugs, especially if only 50 aphids a day per bug are being eradicated, not when green lacewings will kill more. The question is whether or not I need that much bug power. Still, I am interested, and a bug hunt is in order.
My research provided me with several options, each larger and more lethal, culminating in three healthy and fertile praying mantis eggs guaranteed to get rid of another form of insect life, otherwise known as Mother Nature's assassins. Encarsia Formosas that prey on whiteflies, earthworms for aerating the soil, green lacewings, lady bugs, predatory mites, flea killing nematodes and dozens of other supposedly good bugs to kill off the bad bugs, and lady bug homes. I didn't know lady bugs needed homes, but evidently there are places that build and sell homes for lady bugs without the problems of mortgages and defaults, unless the owner's mortgage goes up in flames when he defaults, or just before if he's planning on collecting the insurance.
Lady bug, lady bug fly away home.
Your house is on fire,
your children are gone.
Somebody knew about lady bug homes before I did.
I may change my mind about actually handling Mother Nature's assassins if I can summon up sufficient energy to clear out the planting beds and put in something more decorative than the evergreens crouching in the beds or the nearly impossible to kill honeysuckle that is taking over the front planter. I might even consider berries, roses, and flowers that will seduce hummingbirds and butterflies to visit regularly. Butterflies I can handle, but keep the moths far away from me, or me in the house when they're swarming the honeysuckle, at least until I can find a way to eradicate the honeysuckle without digging up the lot.
There are good bugs and bad bugs, at least as far as humans are concerned, and most of the time it is difficult to tell which is which -- even with a scorecard. The only good bug is the one that supports what you do want against what you don't want. That's the trick -- figuring out which is which.
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
Now Presenting . . . Who?
It never gets easier this whole networking, socializing to sell books thing. I wonder how authors did it a hundred years ago, two hundred years ago? Oh, right, people bouught books, read the books, talked about the books and more people bought the books. Of course, there weren't millions of people writing millions of books then. Only a few ever got through to the gatekeepers. The few who could afford it and paid to have their own books published had some success, depending on how good the books were. That's the real trick. Not socializing or networking but writing really good books.
I read George R. R. Martin's Live Journal blog and I was struck by the surprise that he is having such success now, especially since his ice and Fire series has been out since 1996, except for the new one coming out next week. A Dance With Dragons took about eight years to write and finish. George admits he's a slow writer and doesn't do deadlines very well.
George garnered a lot of fans, as he should since his Ice & Fire series is amazing. The writing is accessible and not overdone or heavy with description, although there is sufficient description to put you right in the action at the right time and place. Each character is unique and flawed in some way, but eminently memorable, from the Imp (Tyrion Lannister) to Eddard Stark, Jon Snow and Danaerys Targaryen and Khal Drogo. The books have been translated into several different languages and Vietnamese may be next. What George has created in Winterfell and the world where it is set crosses all boundaries and touches something inside us that believes in magic and demons and in the strength of men and women to combat anything that comes down the Kingsroad.
A recent article cited sales in one day that exceeded all of 2010 before HBO picked up the series and shoved the series to the top of all the best seller lists here and abroad. I wouldn't mind selling 40,000 books, but I'm new at the game and don't have George's track record in movies, television and books. I'm working my way up, but I do wonder what it would take to get people talking about my book the way they talk, dissect, and love George's books. Probably stop writing about relationships and the evil that men and women do in the real world and take the same elements and place them in a world of my own creation like Middle Earth and Westeros. I love fantasy and dragons and everything that goes with them, but find it difficult to write fantasy. I work best in the real world where the harms we do each other are next door and the next town over. I'd do well to create a world, set the rules and let my imagination run wild -- right after I finish the current trip into Victorian England where Jekyll, Hyde and Jack the Ripper put Whitechapel and serial murder on the map.
There is a world -- this world a few hundred years hence -- that lies under the curse of man's technology and Mother Nature's ire where vampires rule, not the vampires currently known and written about, but vampires of a different breed at war with each other and king of a world locked beneath dark skies where the sun doesn't shine and glaciers creep ever closer to the equator. It is a world where domed cities protect the ragged remnants of humanity cloned to near extinction, a shadow of itself, and ruled over by vampires who breed the humans for food and to run the machines their ancestors built.
The mother lode of humanity's best and brightest live underground safe from the ravages of nature, nurtured by vampires who archive their memories and protect what the shadow humans in the domed cities can no longer remember after generations of cloning. The underground humans and vampires protect technology, books and memories of what went before, what caused and perpetuates the season of Ragnarok that reigns on the surface, and these two worlds are about to clash over the precious seeds of life as it once was left behind that will soon be resurrected as the world rebounds and begins to bloom again. Memory will guide the way.
If I'm very lucky, then the novels I write, in the real world and in a world of fantasy, will start the buzz and word of mouth will sell 40,000 or more books. It's my dream, and one that isn't out of reach -- so far. In the meantime, I need to work more on socializing and networking because I'm not sure I could handle any more book signings where no one shows up or a dozen people stop by on their way up the aisle to join the hundreds waiting to see the author of Clifford the big red dog's adventures. George can tell you how that one goes. There's nothing like holding a book signing where everyone forgets to come.
Now, about that socializing. Do I really have to? Can't someone just start talking, someone with a big mouth and a bigger audience full of big mouths? I can only hope.
Monday, July 04, 2011
A Whole New Ball Game
This is an exciting time to be a writer. It is also a frightening time to be a writer. everything is changing. Some things are changing slowly and ponderously and everything else is changing at light speed.
Case in point: J. K. Rowling jumped ship from Christopher Little's literary agency and Little is calling foul. There may even be litigation in the future. It seems, Ms. Rowling and Mr. Little were negotiating their future together when Neil Blair left the agency to create his own agency and Rowling went with him.
The way I understand the author-agent relationship is that when one or the other of the parties is dissatisfied with their agreement, one or both can walk. Rowling took the option and walked. Little is considering suing her. Unless there is some ethics breach, I don't see that as anything but a nuisance suit, but it may likely result in scorched earth. Play nice, people.
Everyone wants to get in on the ground floor of the digital revolution. Authors are self-publishing work that publishers and agents have rejected, usually with a fill-in-the-blank form, or with a generic form, literary agents are turning into publishers and muddying the waters, and university bookstores are crying foul on professors and lecturers who are posting their notes and lectures online. Said Iain Finlayson, manager of Blackwell, a university bookshop, "Anybody who works in academic bookselling would be extremely concerned if the material in textbooks is posted elsewhere for free. Lecturers posting notes online is harmful for us and I believe it discourages students from reading around their subject area. I would discourage it. It is certainly not helping book sales, but lecturers might think differently."
Lecturers have been posting lectures and notes online for ages, at least ever since the Internet made it easy for them, so why is it only now that booksellers are complaining? Oh, right, because they are posting fewer profits, and of course the fault is lecturers using technology to give their students immediate access to lectures. At this rate, everyone will stay home and party, waking long enough to pop a pill, read the lecture and go back to partying until time for exams. I'm surprised that booksellers didn't complain when students taped lectures to listen to at their leisure and consult when studying for exams. Once again, it's more a matter of not moving with the times than the Internet doing booksellers in.
How about pricing books so they are affordable or offering digital versions of textbooks at a reasonable price in these hard economic times? When parents and students are already paying £9000 a year to go to university, it's time to make textbooks and source material affordable. The digital age is here. Embrace it and profit.
Of course, booksellers are considering lobbying the government to encourage students to use some of their bursary funds for textbooks, and that brings to mind non-compete clauses and all of the other governmental shenanigans that Ayn Rand predicted would bring economic downfall in Atlas Shrugged, and here it is in all its me-first glory.
Why not, like South Korea, consider phasing out backpacks and books and moving into the digital age? South Korea has moved boldly into the digital age and is remaking education in wired fashion. According to "...the country’s education ministry [they] will spend 2.2 trillion won ($2.06bn) to convert existing school textbooks and develop cloud computing systems to provide digitised content for learning." I don't hear -- or read -- booksellers complaining about their profits in South Korea. Maybe they have already shut their doors or moved to a new business model where they sell tablets and provide cloud computing systems, or even offer digital books to download directly to tablets.
Before the age of backpacks to carry books, people in my generation carried armloads of books to and from classes and home. In poundage alone, tablets and digitalization will save many young people from back problems and biophysical stress.Ultimately it is about what works and what doesn't. Clinging to old business models and considering litigation to keep things the way they were will not profit businesses or the public. It's not as if manufacturers of dish detergent wept into their beers and whiskey when people began buying and using dishwashers. They retooled and manufactured a line of dishwasher detergents to work with the new machines. It's called progress and moving with the times. There were still people washing dishes by hand, but automatic dishwashers provided a new avenue of business and a new arena in which to play. I do not understand why bookstores aren't catching on and finding a way to fit in.
How about putting an Espresso Book Machine in the store. As wonderful as ebooks are, being able to print a personal copy of a book that has been out of print for decades, or longer, would be worth having, and the books wouldn't have to be high priced. Profitable, but not out of pocketbook range. Print a book while you wait.
But what would they do with all that extra space? How about forming new partnerships with computer manufacturers to put sales models in the stores or offer free wi-fi and sell computer time like digital cafes? The possibilities are endless and it doesn't have to be all about books.
Training classes on how to self-publish. A department to help aspiring writers edit, polish and self-publish. Connections to cover artists and illustrationists. A place to hold training sessions on every aspect of the self-publishing business and even marketing classes to help maximize sales.
There are always the old standbys of author book signings, readings and meet and greets. The possibilities are endless. Instead of whining about the decline in profits, how about using the move to digitalization and find gold in the digital rush? Anything is possible for a business owner not stuck in the past and willing to move forward with the times.
It's a whole new ball game and most poor suckers are stuck in the nose bleed seats without binoculars. The only answer is to buy binoculars or get there early to get better seats. This is the winnowing time and only the visionaries will profit and succeed.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
The Forgotten Reader
Books are made for readers and, for an author to be successful, s/he needs many readers, millions of readers. No stone is to be left unturned to turn these readers towards a specific book. One stone is seldom considered in this rush for readers -- the blind.
Someone commented on my Facebook page yesterday that he couldn't buy the paperback version of my latest novel because he was blind, but would like a link to the ebook. I thought he was making a joke. After all, an ebook is virtual print and still a printed book. He wasn't joking. He wanted to download the book to his reading machine in order to convert it to Braille or to speech. Abashed and embarrassed, if sent him the link for Smashwords to download whichever digital version would work with his machine.
As we chatted more, I realized I would have to find someone, or buy the right equipment, to record my novel as an audiobook. There have been plans for the audiobook for a while, a couple of months at least, but it costs money to do it right. I cannot afford a big name actress or voice over artist, and will likely end up recording it myself. The book is after all my story, fictionalized, but still my life and my experiences, so who better to do the job? Or cheaper. I can afford me. I had forgotten about a whole group of readers, and listeners, who might enjoy my novel. More data was needed.
According to Visions, services for the blind and visually impaired, about 2.5 million Americans are legally blind, cannot see with any kind of assistive aid (magnifiers, glasses, etc.). Less educated and often less literate, the blind are handicapped in more than one way.
Through my own ignorance, I have left millions of people out of the reading loop and didn't consider them an option. I'm usually not that short-sighted. In junior high school, I helped a blind girl, Virginia, to convert notes and lectures to Braille. I read and she typed on a Braille machine. According to Visions, Braille is the only way for the blind to be truly literate. Audiobooks do not promote literacy. Anyone can tell you a story, but to read it for yourself is something else again.
Many blind Americans are older, having lost their vision due to diabetes, macular degeneration, accident or cataracts. There are surgeries to help some of the blind see with limited vision, and often with better results, but that still leaves a lot of people unable to read who often read before they were blind. Many don't learn Braille and rely on audiobooks to fill the time.
To be unable to read a book, to transcend this existence for a little while and live in a world of danger, thrills, love and inspiration is what books are all about. Books provide a window on the world that, if you are blind, might as well be a concrete wall. There is something very wrong with the idea of leaving 2.5 million blind people in the dark without the light a book provides, especially when it is estimated that nearly 50,000 children are blind.
The blind are my forgotten readers, and likely they are the forgotten readers in every publishing company and author's mind. We don't think of the blind until we see the white cane, the dark glasses and a seeing eye dog, or someone comments on Facebook that he will be unable to read the book because it is in print. I should have known better. So should we all. These people provide a forgotten segment of the reading, or listening, population, but more than that they are people much in need of a window on the world, a window that will fill their hours with someone else's vision and maybe make them smile. It's time publishers and authors thought in terms of all potential readers, from children too poor to own a book to the blind, and include them in production and formatting of books to meet their needs. I know I will.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Waiting for The Word
It's always a surprise to get up in the morning and see a big change in the sales reports. After putting Among Women on sale this week, I expected a little bump in sales, but a big bump was just a dream. Good thing I like to dream -- a lot -- although it would be better if I had read Joe Konrath's blog before I put the book on sale because I could have included a short synopsis and a bibliography as part of the author bio in the ebook version. I have rectified that oversight and the new version should be up and running today or tomorrow, depending on how quickly Amazon does their part. I heard it helps with sales.
The hardest part of writing isn't the writing, yet that is sometimes difficult because I procrastinate at times, it's waiting. Waiting for people I know who've mentioned they bought the book. I'd have been better off not knowing they had it and were planning to read it, or were actually reading it, because then I wouldn't wonder how long it takes to read a 250-page book and when I can expect to hear (or read) their review. It's better knowing that hundreds of people are buying the book and just aren't reviewing them. I don't have their phone numbers and don't know how to get to their houses so I can pin them down and ask what they thought. Better to live in ignorance and hope they're not like me and seldom write Amazon, B&N, or whatever bookstore they frequent reviews.
I did get a big surprise a few weeks ago with a totally unsolicited review from someone I've never met who read Among Women and really loved it. They said so. In print. Well, virtual print. Online. At Amazon. And gave it five stars. It was like a late birthday present or early Christmas gift. I enjoyed reading such good things and blushed a little at the kudos. I blush easily when someone compliments me, even if it's a compliment on my book.
But then there are friends and relatives who tell me they're reading my book and haven't said anything good, bad or indifferent about what they thought. I vacillate between wanting to ask and demanding to know what they thought. I'd send Guido and Vito out to have a conversation with them, but want to have someone who will send me a birthday card and remember me at holidays, so I don't. Instead, I suffer in silence -- well, silence in the sense that they don't know I'm fussing about it here in the silence of my room. If they don't know I'm fussing, am I fussing? Okay, so it's not as good as, if a tree falls in the forest and there's no one there to hear about it, does it make a sound? Or what is the sound of one hand clapping? Depends what the one hand is clapping against. A meaty thigh works really well and so does a hard surface like a desk or someone's attitude.
I'm not a patient person when it comes to wanting answers. I am patient otherwise since I haven't cornered anyone and demanded answers. I would love to ask, but don't want to damage the person or scare them into not buying my next book, the one I'm currently finishing up as soon as I finish this post.
Life would be so much easier if I could find a way to get people to add clickable links to the opinion center of their brain, preferably when they have gotten up on the right side of the bed and aren't having a rousing fight with their spouse, lover, mother, father, children, boss, or whoever is on their hit list this week. But then we'd be in a world where people were more like machines and less like softly fleshed readers who might be cajoled or interested in putting an author out of their misery with enough time and attention, before going off to read the next book, to type a hasty "good job" in response.
Well, as long as the readers keep buying and reading, it will have to be enough.
That is all. Disperse.
The hardest part of writing isn't the writing, yet that is sometimes difficult because I procrastinate at times, it's waiting. Waiting for people I know who've mentioned they bought the book. I'd have been better off not knowing they had it and were planning to read it, or were actually reading it, because then I wouldn't wonder how long it takes to read a 250-page book and when I can expect to hear (or read) their review. It's better knowing that hundreds of people are buying the book and just aren't reviewing them. I don't have their phone numbers and don't know how to get to their houses so I can pin them down and ask what they thought. Better to live in ignorance and hope they're not like me and seldom write Amazon, B&N, or whatever bookstore they frequent reviews.
I did get a big surprise a few weeks ago with a totally unsolicited review from someone I've never met who read Among Women and really loved it. They said so. In print. Well, virtual print. Online. At Amazon. And gave it five stars. It was like a late birthday present or early Christmas gift. I enjoyed reading such good things and blushed a little at the kudos. I blush easily when someone compliments me, even if it's a compliment on my book.
But then there are friends and relatives who tell me they're reading my book and haven't said anything good, bad or indifferent about what they thought. I vacillate between wanting to ask and demanding to know what they thought. I'd send Guido and Vito out to have a conversation with them, but want to have someone who will send me a birthday card and remember me at holidays, so I don't. Instead, I suffer in silence -- well, silence in the sense that they don't know I'm fussing about it here in the silence of my room. If they don't know I'm fussing, am I fussing? Okay, so it's not as good as, if a tree falls in the forest and there's no one there to hear about it, does it make a sound? Or what is the sound of one hand clapping? Depends what the one hand is clapping against. A meaty thigh works really well and so does a hard surface like a desk or someone's attitude.
I'm not a patient person when it comes to wanting answers. I am patient otherwise since I haven't cornered anyone and demanded answers. I would love to ask, but don't want to damage the person or scare them into not buying my next book, the one I'm currently finishing up as soon as I finish this post.
Life would be so much easier if I could find a way to get people to add clickable links to the opinion center of their brain, preferably when they have gotten up on the right side of the bed and aren't having a rousing fight with their spouse, lover, mother, father, children, boss, or whoever is on their hit list this week. But then we'd be in a world where people were more like machines and less like softly fleshed readers who might be cajoled or interested in putting an author out of their misery with enough time and attention, before going off to read the next book, to type a hasty "good job" in response.
Well, as long as the readers keep buying and reading, it will have to be enough.
That is all. Disperse.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
The Entitlement Perspective
Lately, I've been reading, and commenting, on posts about paid reviews. This seems to be a sore spot with most amateur writers, and maybe even some professional writers. Writers will gratefully and happily, albeit with a wince, depending on their financial situation, pay for editing, critiquing, publishing, book tour travel accommodations and charges, meals with their agent and even publishing, but they don't want to pay for reviews, believing it somehow makes the review suspect. The idea being that, if a review is paid for, it must be a ringer and the reviewer is paid to lie -- or at least fudge the review -- making the book sound better than it is. Not so.
I've been a professional (read: paid) reviewer for nearly eight years, not that I can make my rent payments on what I earn, but it comes close some months when I churn out a dozen reviews. I do not know the arrangement Authorlink has with authors requesting reviews, but I do get paid, and I get more than twice what I made starting out eight years ago. Do I give the authors unqualified rave reviews? Not on your tin type. I write balanced and honest reviews -- from my perspective -- and I don't play nice. I play fair and I'm civil, although with a rare snark with major typos and grammatical errors in a traditionally published book that do tend to rub me the wrong way. I mention them in one sentence without enumerating all the wrongs they have done to the printed word, but I'll write about my favorites (the worst examples) in another post. This post is about payment for services rendered, to whit: one book review.
Because there are so many free sites on the Internet, and because many writers starting out, and quite a few who are wealthy best sellers, are basically frugal (I did not say 'cheap'), they see reviews as a sideline that has nothing to do with the dollars and cents (and sense) necessary to get a professional writing career off the ground and keep it flying high. Reviews are important, but who buys a book based on reviews when there are so many other criteria for choosing (writer is a jerk, great advertising campaign, personal friend, relative, employee of writer, and, sometimes, if the author writes the kind of books you enjoy). There are always the bad boys and girls of publishing whose books sell because of the vicarious thrill of buying a bad boy or girl's books, and the burning curiosity to find out if they wrote about their misadventures and nefarious exploits.
Not true.
Okay, some of that is true, mostly about writers being cheap and thinking reviews are not nearly as important as a good editor or professional critique. And there is the rub, the one word that sets a reviewer apart from a reader, the word "professional." And that, my constant reader, is why reviewers shoud be paid. They have mouths to feed and bills to pay and they like to go out to dinner, the theater, or on the occasional vacation once a year.
Book reviewing is a business and businesses run on income, that income, in the reviewer's case, derived from the business of reading and reviewing books. It is an exchange of services. The author writes a book and contracts a professional reviewer to read and write their opinion on said book. This is called a contract and, like most contracts, is sealed with a handshake (often virtual) and an agreement for payment. You wouldn't buy a house and expect the banker to give you the house on your handshake, free and clear, without expecting some money in return. Neither should a reviewer.
"But," say authors, "the reviewer gets a free book worth money. Isn't that payment enough?"
If you've had to unload as many books as I have, you wouldn't see that as payment. I give them away and often donate them to libraries and Goodwill or the Volunteers of America. As far as I am concerned, most of the books I read and review are all right in the main, but not the kind of books I usually keep in my library. I reserve that limited shelf space for authors I follow and collect, although admittedly some authors I've found by having to review their work. That does not mean I don't expect my boss to forget to pay me. I expect payment as part of my contract with Authorlink as an employee.
Does that mean I give everyone a rave review? Not at all. In fact, I lost a friend over one of my reviews when I pointed out some of the problems, repetitions and mistakes in her book. I wasn't being vindictive, just writing what I thought of a book that was all right, but could have been much better. It's how I work.
Take a look at some of my reviews on The Celebrity Cafe or on Authorlink and you will see what I mean. I don't do nice. I don't do dressed up reviews. I don't smile when I have had to read utter crap and I do not ever sandbag my reviews. What I write is what I think and how I feel about the book. The author doesn't come into it at all, unless the book is one of a series I have followed and reviewed in the past, in which case I compare the character and writing to previous books. I am not above telling a writer, who may also be a good friend, that their book needs work and then go on to list the reasons why. Does that make my reviews suspect?
How about the reviews of Michiko Kakutani of the New York TImes or any of the professional reviewers in The New York Review of Books or Kirkus Reviews? Are their reviews suddenly suspect because you now know they are paid? What did you think they did up in their ivory towers, knit? The New York Times, NYRB, and Kirkus pay their employees to write reviews. That is their job. Like editors, book doctors, agents, publishers, and everyone else in the publishing business, or self-publishing business, book reviewers are professionals and should be paid for their services. They may do a book review as a favor for a friend, but you are taking up their time and expecting to make use of their expertise, so it is just business to pay them. Just because a reviewer doesn't work for a newspaper or a recognized review source doesn't mean they don't deserve your respect -- and your money. People work and people get paid. That is just business.
Good reviewers, like any good professional, are worth their weight in gold -- even when they say your book needs work or doesn't quite hit the mark. Not everyone will like every book you write, or even every book they read, but that is to be expected. Paying for a review is like paying someone to critique your work and put it in shape for publication. You may get a kudos and a pat on the back or you may get slammed. You pays for yo' ticket and you takes yo' chances. Nothing in life is guaranteed, as any published author will tell you. Don't ignore the contribution a professional makes to your success -- and that goes for reviewers, too.
You can get free reviews from several web sites, Goodreads, and Amazon, or from any reader at a hundred different book stores, but a professional review is far above what you get with the average reader. It is worth more in terms of proof that you did a good job and in terms of cost. If you want the best, you will have to pay the best. It's that simple.
While the readers count -- and they count a lot towards popularity of an author's work -- it is the professional review that lets you know you have arrived and all your hard work has paid off. A professional reviewer will also tell you where you went wrong and what could have been done better. So will some educated and opinionated readers. A professional review is in essence a mini-critique of your work. Don't get on the bad side of karma. If you want professional, pay for professional. If you want just anyone's opinion of your book, save your money and hope you can entice, cajole and motivate the average reader to write a review of your work that makes sense and highlights your book's good points.
You're entitled to the best; pay for it. Everything else is a crap shoot.
Friday, June 17, 2011
No, Not That!
There are times when an author's life is not interesting, usually when editing and rewriting endlessly to make a book just right. I think of Goldilocks and what having everything just right did for her and I cringe. It's hard for a perfectionist to get past the need to keep tweaking a book. An error might have gotten through numerous edits, even from someone else's eyes, and when they pop up later, usually after the book has gone to print, the groan and gnashing of teeth can be heard at least half a continent away, if not all the way to the next continent and beyond. At least with ebooks it's easier to change things and upload the new version, and somewhat easier with print versions as long as you self-published and have already gotten through the first print run, which usually isn't all that big a deal. There is, of course, the issue of cost because printers tend to charge you when you make too many changes and approve the proof. Into every life and all that.
I suppose the worst thing to deal with is bad reviews. I expect them. One reviewer actually emailed me to tell me she couldn't get into the book and therefore would not publish a review. I heaved a hearty sigh of relief since any review she would have written would have been horrible. I can handle bad reviews if someone actually bought the book, but I am ready to ignore pointedly any bad reviews from people who got a book for free. After all, I review books and there are times when I have to write bad reviews, always doing my best to point out something positive, even if it's a nice font. It's something nice, so give me a break. I don't do cleaned up reviews. You pays yo' money and takes yo' chances. I expect to get what I give so frequently.
However, when a bad review seems to have been written about your book that in no way resembles your book, it's hard to forgive and forget. Mostly, it's hard to forget. It haunts you in the night and creeps up on you unawares at the worst possible moments, like in bed with your husband/boyfriend/lover/whatever. You sit up and scream (mostly just scream), "What book did s/he read?" It takes all of one's might and discipline not to hunt the person down and demand an explanation and a diagram with colored markers and bullet points.
Too many authors have gone head-to-head with reviewers in wanting to know why and where and how dare they. It's a bad idea that ends in tears and public ridicule the likes of which one can only imagine given the Internet and the speed at which ugly gossip flies. It's best to take a no comment stance as though walking up the stairs to jail or to the courthouse where you're being arraigned for heinous acts against humanity -- and wearing fur. This is a wired world where everything is connected. Even if you make a snide comment in Outer Mongolia below your breath, someone will hear you, snap a picture on their phone and record the video to show on You Tube where someone will mention it to someone else and in a matter of nanoseconds you have gone viral with a big red sign painted on your forehead that reads "IDIOT." There is such a thing as bad press when there are too many cameras, phones, video recorders, and other devices to foil any attempts at denial, and the nonchalant (not that it's too late) shrug of the shoulders or a saucy wink will not make the situation better.
You have become a joke. An obsessive author with delusions of adequacy. And your books will be avoided -- by most people who don't want to be associated with someone who can't keep their professional cool. Not a good idea at all. Avoid at all costs.
I look at reviews, all reviews, and smile when they're good, frown a little (makes wrinkles) when they are marginal, and hide all sharp objects and projectile firing instruments just in case the reviewer crosses my path at a convention or at the grocery store where I've tracked him (or her) to have a quiet word.
When it happens to you -- and it will happen eventually -- smile and find something else to do, like write another book and give more people more chances to sling mud and fire pot shots at yourchildren books. Keeping busy is a good thing. I think that's where the old adage, Idle hands are the devil's workshop, came from. It must have been an author out to scalp, torture and dismember someone who gave a bad review.
I suppose the worst thing to deal with is bad reviews. I expect them. One reviewer actually emailed me to tell me she couldn't get into the book and therefore would not publish a review. I heaved a hearty sigh of relief since any review she would have written would have been horrible. I can handle bad reviews if someone actually bought the book, but I am ready to ignore pointedly any bad reviews from people who got a book for free. After all, I review books and there are times when I have to write bad reviews, always doing my best to point out something positive, even if it's a nice font. It's something nice, so give me a break. I don't do cleaned up reviews. You pays yo' money and takes yo' chances. I expect to get what I give so frequently.
However, when a bad review seems to have been written about your book that in no way resembles your book, it's hard to forgive and forget. Mostly, it's hard to forget. It haunts you in the night and creeps up on you unawares at the worst possible moments, like in bed with your husband/boyfriend/lover/whatever. You sit up and scream (mostly just scream), "What book did s/he read?" It takes all of one's might and discipline not to hunt the person down and demand an explanation and a diagram with colored markers and bullet points.
Too many authors have gone head-to-head with reviewers in wanting to know why and where and how dare they. It's a bad idea that ends in tears and public ridicule the likes of which one can only imagine given the Internet and the speed at which ugly gossip flies. It's best to take a no comment stance as though walking up the stairs to jail or to the courthouse where you're being arraigned for heinous acts against humanity -- and wearing fur. This is a wired world where everything is connected. Even if you make a snide comment in Outer Mongolia below your breath, someone will hear you, snap a picture on their phone and record the video to show on You Tube where someone will mention it to someone else and in a matter of nanoseconds you have gone viral with a big red sign painted on your forehead that reads "IDIOT." There is such a thing as bad press when there are too many cameras, phones, video recorders, and other devices to foil any attempts at denial, and the nonchalant (not that it's too late) shrug of the shoulders or a saucy wink will not make the situation better.
You have become a joke. An obsessive author with delusions of adequacy. And your books will be avoided -- by most people who don't want to be associated with someone who can't keep their professional cool. Not a good idea at all. Avoid at all costs.
I look at reviews, all reviews, and smile when they're good, frown a little (makes wrinkles) when they are marginal, and hide all sharp objects and projectile firing instruments just in case the reviewer crosses my path at a convention or at the grocery store where I've tracked him (or her) to have a quiet word.
When it happens to you -- and it will happen eventually -- smile and find something else to do, like write another book and give more people more chances to sling mud and fire pot shots at your
Book Giveaway
Goodreads Book Giveaway
Among Women
by J. M. Cornwell
Giveaway begins June 21, 2011 and ends September 21, 2011. Winners will be chosen from UK, Australia, Canada and the United States. Eight autographed copies will be awarded.
See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.
Enter to win
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Procrastination or Plan?
There are problems with creating, mostly procrastination. With editing. With rewriting. With being bombarded by great ideas when I'm supposed to be focused on another book that needs to be finished. So, is it procrastination or avoidance or just good sense to come up with an idea for a series of books, especially when series seem to garner the most attention -- and sales?
I'm going to go with great idea.
Looking at Piers Anthony, who my brother and youngest sister have raved about for years and I have avoided, brought me to a description for the first novel. He wrote hard and slick science fiction and then he hit upon fantasy and made his fortune and enshrined his name in Franklin Mint history with figurines from his best selling series.
I'm having trouble getting people to notice my serious books. He had problems getting noticed, although not as much as I have had. He decided to write fantasy and changed his fortune. I could write a series, other than the Memory series currently waiting in the wings to be typed up and published, and use the tarot cards. It's not a big deal. I wrote several articles, with examples, on using the tarot cards to spark that creative fire and create stories.
Why not, my brain insisted while I struggled through the usual dictations, use the fool's journey, which is the heart and origin of the tarot cards, to write a series of books, calling each series by the designations of the cards? Major Arcana, Minor Arcana, and four series to go with the wands, swords, cups and coins? I'll bet that would sell, and I might find the beginning for the fairy novel set in the event horizon of a black hole (time dilation which explains the whole few hours in faery and years lost on earth) I've been contemplating for a while. Anything is possible, and it makes good sense physics-wise. I think strange thoughts when I'm deep into sleep debt, and my dreams are very vivid. This is no dream. I was awake at the time and I think it would actually work.
The problem is not to think it to death. I have a problem with that, too. I plan out everything and then still end up writing by the seat of my pants. I'm a pantser. I admit it. I do, however, have dreams of being more disciplined, but I'm not. I work best when I wing it.
Anyway, it's an idea, one that may not last beyond this post, but an idea all the same that might propel me from the ranks of the obscure into a cabin in the high Rockies with a guest house, a jeep and the time to write while giving up wage slavery forever.
I kind of like that idea. Now I have to wait and see if it passes the next day test, sort of like dyeing your hair or getting it cut. If it still looks good the next day and I don't regret it and want to shave my head, then it's a good.
There. I've made a plan. On to the procrastination portion of this program.
I'm going to go with great idea.
Looking at Piers Anthony, who my brother and youngest sister have raved about for years and I have avoided, brought me to a description for the first novel. He wrote hard and slick science fiction and then he hit upon fantasy and made his fortune and enshrined his name in Franklin Mint history with figurines from his best selling series.
I'm having trouble getting people to notice my serious books. He had problems getting noticed, although not as much as I have had. He decided to write fantasy and changed his fortune. I could write a series, other than the Memory series currently waiting in the wings to be typed up and published, and use the tarot cards. It's not a big deal. I wrote several articles, with examples, on using the tarot cards to spark that creative fire and create stories.
Why not, my brain insisted while I struggled through the usual dictations, use the fool's journey, which is the heart and origin of the tarot cards, to write a series of books, calling each series by the designations of the cards? Major Arcana, Minor Arcana, and four series to go with the wands, swords, cups and coins? I'll bet that would sell, and I might find the beginning for the fairy novel set in the event horizon of a black hole (time dilation which explains the whole few hours in faery and years lost on earth) I've been contemplating for a while. Anything is possible, and it makes good sense physics-wise. I think strange thoughts when I'm deep into sleep debt, and my dreams are very vivid. This is no dream. I was awake at the time and I think it would actually work.
The problem is not to think it to death. I have a problem with that, too. I plan out everything and then still end up writing by the seat of my pants. I'm a pantser. I admit it. I do, however, have dreams of being more disciplined, but I'm not. I work best when I wing it.
Anyway, it's an idea, one that may not last beyond this post, but an idea all the same that might propel me from the ranks of the obscure into a cabin in the high Rockies with a guest house, a jeep and the time to write while giving up wage slavery forever.
I kind of like that idea. Now I have to wait and see if it passes the next day test, sort of like dyeing your hair or getting it cut. If it still looks good the next day and I don't regret it and want to shave my head, then it's a good.
There. I've made a plan. On to the procrastination portion of this program.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
I'm So Confused
Everyone is talking about books, reading books, mentioning books, advertising books and yet it's nearly impossible through social networking, hobnobbing, commenting, posting and talking about my own book to get anyone's attention. Must be information overload or I just don't know the right people.
It seems like the publishing industry is finally taking notes. Agents aren't as reluctant to sign a self-published author, although I suspect trying to tune up the work, get better cover art and guide the writer through the morass of punctuation, grammar and spelling (Spell Check doesn't get everything, especially when writing in the vernacular and what looks like vernacular but is just bad spelling). According to one publishing insider, publishers are willing to admit (after the flogging they endured at BEA in New York) that they don't know what sells and what people are reading. That came as no surprise to me as I have watched publishers put out dog after dog with huge advances and very little return. In fact, according that the publishing insider, 80-90% of all books published by the big guys fail to earn out advances or make them any money, and that's with 52.5% of the profit pie. I guess when there's nothing left but crumbs, 52.5% does not amount to much.
My task as been to maximize my income by choosing (and paying for) the best advertising. I had a brief and noticeable surge in sales when I advertised my novel in Kindle Nation for a day. It was not enough. The sales continue on a trickling basis, but I need a major gush that turns into a sustained and continuing spring runoff the likes of which will sweep away the southwestern part of the U.S., at least figuratively. Add in sales from the UK and Denmark (Amazon added those two venues to my ebook market) and I could just about make enough to pay for the advertising I need. Yes, it still takes advertising. After all, how am I going to find out the names and addresses and information on thousands of librarians, booksellers and book clubs without advertising?
It's all so confusing. It seems as though no one wants to buy and read a book about a young woman who is taken in by a con man, cast homeless onto the streets of New Orleans without friends and, just when things are looking up, is arrested and forced into close contact with (gasp!) criminals. What is a girl to do? She can hide in her cell, except that is not allowed. She can find a corner she can defend with a plastic fork that will likely break at a crucial moment. Or she can listen to the criminals and find out what really brought them to this low pass -- and then write about it. Well, I thought it was a good idea when Ilived wrote about it. Now, I'm not so sure.
How does a writer get noticed without someone trumpeting from the rooftops? Read this book. It will expose the dark underbelly of New Orleans. Where is a town cryer for the thousands of towns all across the nation when I need one?
On a limited budget, the only thing is left is Twitter and Facebook, and I'm not good at the whole being a sparkling wit while dropping bits of wisdom, wry commentary and magnetizing the iron filings that are people to hover around my personal space panting for my next words. I write. I don't do socializing. I have no time. I have to earn the money to pay for the advertising.
AuthorBuzz costs between $1250 and $1850 for the cream of the advertising campaigns offered. Kirkus wanted my book three months before it was to debut in stores, except I decided to self-publish about two weeks before I actually self-published, having worked on the novel, refining, polishing, and tarting it up for two years. Every avenue I explore has a caveat and each caveat says, not here and not now. We needed your information six months ago. The gatekeepers are still keeping the gates shut, no matter what that publishing insider says.
So, until the gatekeepers review and change their policies to include intrepid authors jumping the queue and self-publishing, and until I can afford the kind of advertising campaign that will get my novel noticed, I'll have to wallow in the Horse Latitudes of self-publishing, commenting on well known blogs, writing posts like this, and saving up the money for advertising campaigns to promote my book.
In the meantime, I am writing another book. Anyone interested in a story about the woman who Dr. Jekyll tried to erase from his life through chemical ingestion onto create Edward Hyde and begin the most famous (and infamous) murder spree in Victorian English history?
It seems like the publishing industry is finally taking notes. Agents aren't as reluctant to sign a self-published author, although I suspect trying to tune up the work, get better cover art and guide the writer through the morass of punctuation, grammar and spelling (Spell Check doesn't get everything, especially when writing in the vernacular and what looks like vernacular but is just bad spelling). According to one publishing insider, publishers are willing to admit (after the flogging they endured at BEA in New York) that they don't know what sells and what people are reading. That came as no surprise to me as I have watched publishers put out dog after dog with huge advances and very little return. In fact, according that the publishing insider, 80-90% of all books published by the big guys fail to earn out advances or make them any money, and that's with 52.5% of the profit pie. I guess when there's nothing left but crumbs, 52.5% does not amount to much.
My task as been to maximize my income by choosing (and paying for) the best advertising. I had a brief and noticeable surge in sales when I advertised my novel in Kindle Nation for a day. It was not enough. The sales continue on a trickling basis, but I need a major gush that turns into a sustained and continuing spring runoff the likes of which will sweep away the southwestern part of the U.S., at least figuratively. Add in sales from the UK and Denmark (Amazon added those two venues to my ebook market) and I could just about make enough to pay for the advertising I need. Yes, it still takes advertising. After all, how am I going to find out the names and addresses and information on thousands of librarians, booksellers and book clubs without advertising?
It's all so confusing. It seems as though no one wants to buy and read a book about a young woman who is taken in by a con man, cast homeless onto the streets of New Orleans without friends and, just when things are looking up, is arrested and forced into close contact with (gasp!) criminals. What is a girl to do? She can hide in her cell, except that is not allowed. She can find a corner she can defend with a plastic fork that will likely break at a crucial moment. Or she can listen to the criminals and find out what really brought them to this low pass -- and then write about it. Well, I thought it was a good idea when I
How does a writer get noticed without someone trumpeting from the rooftops? Read this book. It will expose the dark underbelly of New Orleans. Where is a town cryer for the thousands of towns all across the nation when I need one?
On a limited budget, the only thing is left is Twitter and Facebook, and I'm not good at the whole being a sparkling wit while dropping bits of wisdom, wry commentary and magnetizing the iron filings that are people to hover around my personal space panting for my next words. I write. I don't do socializing. I have no time. I have to earn the money to pay for the advertising.
AuthorBuzz costs between $1250 and $1850 for the cream of the advertising campaigns offered. Kirkus wanted my book three months before it was to debut in stores, except I decided to self-publish about two weeks before I actually self-published, having worked on the novel, refining, polishing, and tarting it up for two years. Every avenue I explore has a caveat and each caveat says, not here and not now. We needed your information six months ago. The gatekeepers are still keeping the gates shut, no matter what that publishing insider says.
So, until the gatekeepers review and change their policies to include intrepid authors jumping the queue and self-publishing, and until I can afford the kind of advertising campaign that will get my novel noticed, I'll have to wallow in the Horse Latitudes of self-publishing, commenting on well known blogs, writing posts like this, and saving up the money for advertising campaigns to promote my book.
In the meantime, I am writing another book. Anyone interested in a story about the woman who Dr. Jekyll tried to erase from his life through chemical ingestion onto create Edward Hyde and begin the most famous (and infamous) murder spree in Victorian English history?
Monday, June 06, 2011
Technology: Making Life More . . .
Technology has its uses, but there are times the old fashioned way is easier -- and better.
I've been preparing a package for mailing that needs to be out by June 15. Unfortunately, my laptop did not recognize my printer and every time I deleted a job it hung the computer up for about 24-48 hours. I had to delete the printer and re-install, something I've had to do three times with regard to this particular package. I won't even go into printing the proper postage so I can send the package. It would have been easier to type out a label and take the package to the post office to be mailed, except that since I pay for being able to print my own postage and labels with my laptop it seemed such a waste of money. It was also a waste of time.
So much is made easier by technology and so much has been made more complicated by relying on technology. Heaven forbid we should have to go back to the old days when manuscripts were handwritten and posted to publishers in brown paper tied up in string. There are far too many wannabe and actual authors to have to go through each handwritten manuscript one at a time. The luck of the leprechauns was with you if you received a typewritten manuscript since so few people owned typewriters and knew how to use them. Reminds me of the dark days when the average person couldn't read, and then the printing press made printed books available and then everyone had a better chance to learn to read and decide things for themselves.
Now that I have that last task completed, I think I can move on, but technology may get in the way again. This time the technology is my job, which I do from home and which requires the bulk of my time, leaving little time for reading books to review, or for entertainment, and writing, not if I plan to bathe, do laundry, cook meals, wash dishes, clean house, run errands, buy food, vacuum and garden. No wonder people feel they need servants. There aren't enough hours in the day.
Technology helps with the usual household tasks, like washing dishes and clothing, vacuuming, etc., but the tasks still take time. Machines have to be set up, primed with the right kinds of liquids and powders, loaded and unloaded only to load and unload another machine. Then there's the folding, putting away and hanging up of clothing, and the putting away of dishes to take up more time. And then it's time for shopping for food to prepare for cooking, actually cooking and then eating, creating more dirty dishes, and often dirty clothes when food is spilled, and we're back to the laundry and dish washing again. There are some items that have to be hand washed (dishes and clothing) and that requires more time. I need a housekeeper, and I'll hire one as soon as I can afford it, which I cannot do on the salary I earn with my day job, and there's not enough time to write so I can get another book published and begin earning money on it. It is a vicious circle.
Virginia Woolf was half right. A woman needs a room of her own and sufficient monies to support the writing, but she also needs servants and money to pay for them and technology that doesn't require too much time and energy to work and keep working. I don't want much, just a cabin high up in the Rocky Mountains with a good bit of land, no neighbors, a town that is not too far away nor too close, a guest house and a sturdy lock on the door to keep people out when I'm creating. I also need a housekeeper. Now all I need to do is write more books, publish them and begin to build a recognizable name so people will buy lots of my books and help me afford my decadent lifestyle. I won't even go into the social and business online networking time that needs to come out of the writing, chore, and day job time because it's the reason I am deep into sleep deficit already.
I've been preparing a package for mailing that needs to be out by June 15. Unfortunately, my laptop did not recognize my printer and every time I deleted a job it hung the computer up for about 24-48 hours. I had to delete the printer and re-install, something I've had to do three times with regard to this particular package. I won't even go into printing the proper postage so I can send the package. It would have been easier to type out a label and take the package to the post office to be mailed, except that since I pay for being able to print my own postage and labels with my laptop it seemed such a waste of money. It was also a waste of time.
So much is made easier by technology and so much has been made more complicated by relying on technology. Heaven forbid we should have to go back to the old days when manuscripts were handwritten and posted to publishers in brown paper tied up in string. There are far too many wannabe and actual authors to have to go through each handwritten manuscript one at a time. The luck of the leprechauns was with you if you received a typewritten manuscript since so few people owned typewriters and knew how to use them. Reminds me of the dark days when the average person couldn't read, and then the printing press made printed books available and then everyone had a better chance to learn to read and decide things for themselves.
Now that I have that last task completed, I think I can move on, but technology may get in the way again. This time the technology is my job, which I do from home and which requires the bulk of my time, leaving little time for reading books to review, or for entertainment, and writing, not if I plan to bathe, do laundry, cook meals, wash dishes, clean house, run errands, buy food, vacuum and garden. No wonder people feel they need servants. There aren't enough hours in the day.
Technology helps with the usual household tasks, like washing dishes and clothing, vacuuming, etc., but the tasks still take time. Machines have to be set up, primed with the right kinds of liquids and powders, loaded and unloaded only to load and unload another machine. Then there's the folding, putting away and hanging up of clothing, and the putting away of dishes to take up more time. And then it's time for shopping for food to prepare for cooking, actually cooking and then eating, creating more dirty dishes, and often dirty clothes when food is spilled, and we're back to the laundry and dish washing again. There are some items that have to be hand washed (dishes and clothing) and that requires more time. I need a housekeeper, and I'll hire one as soon as I can afford it, which I cannot do on the salary I earn with my day job, and there's not enough time to write so I can get another book published and begin earning money on it. It is a vicious circle.
Virginia Woolf was half right. A woman needs a room of her own and sufficient monies to support the writing, but she also needs servants and money to pay for them and technology that doesn't require too much time and energy to work and keep working. I don't want much, just a cabin high up in the Rocky Mountains with a good bit of land, no neighbors, a town that is not too far away nor too close, a guest house and a sturdy lock on the door to keep people out when I'm creating. I also need a housekeeper. Now all I need to do is write more books, publish them and begin to build a recognizable name so people will buy lots of my books and help me afford my decadent lifestyle. I won't even go into the social and business online networking time that needs to come out of the writing, chore, and day job time because it's the reason I am deep into sleep deficit already.
Saturday, June 04, 2011
The Jig is Up
There is a conspiracy going on in publishing and has to do with the reluctance, nay, the determination not to embrace digital technology.
Publishers price ebooks nearly as high as hard cover books. The thinking would appear to be publishers are determined to get more money for the writer. That is not the case. I figured out what is really going on when I looked at Kindle versions of authors I was interested in reading. The cost of the ebook was $14.99, an outrageous cost in my estimation, and the hard cover was $18.99. There is no way I am going to shell out $14.99 for ones and zeros sent at the speed of light (or whatever approaches light on wireless) when I can get the hard cover for four dollars more. I can even buy the hard cover for less than $10 if I buy new or used from secondary sellers.
I hit the button to purchase a brand new hard cover copy delivered free for $7.49. That's when it hit me what was happening. It's the publishing version of the protection game.
Consumers, especially in the current economic climate, do not want to waste money. They want value for their dollars and $14.99 is not value for what is in essence a copied digital file. It's cheaper to get the printed version of the book, even if delivery takes longer. That's the whole point. By pricing ebooks at or near the hard copy version of a book, consumers will opt for the print version instead of the ebook, unless they have lots of money and don't care how much an ebook costs. It's the siren call of doing business the old way.
Forget about the claims of rampant book piracy and how ebooks endanger author royalties and the publishing industry. It's all about forcing someone to take what you want them to have rather than giving the consumer what he wants and prefers.
Ebooks will not be the death of the printed book. They are an alternative to print, not replacement for print. It's like buying the paperback copy of a novel and liking it so much you're willing to buy the hard cover so it will last longer. Paperbacks did not ruin hard cover sales and ebooks will not ruin paperback or hard cover sales. That's a myth, a myth propagated by publishers to maintain control of consumers. It's wrong thinking and completely self serving.
In the old days of gangsters and neighborhood crime, a shop owner was approached by gang members, or their representatives, and offered insurance. When the shop owner refused, a demonstration of the insurance's value was staged. Windows were broken. Locks were smashed. Goods were stolen. When the representatives returned in a day or so, shaking their heads and commiserating with the shop owner, they offered the insurance once again. Recalitrant shop owners held out -- as long as their stock and ability to replace the property held out, or until they were killed -- while less well heeled shop owners gave in and bought the insurance -- from the people who would have robbed and destroyed their property without it. Publishing is now in the same business.
Instead of embracing ebooks and offering them at prices in line with the product, publishers offer insurance to consumers by pricing ebooks out of range of their actual value and worth. Publishers don't trust consumers to be intelligent enough or willing enough to buy hard cover or paperback books when ebooks are available, thus alienating and angering a segment of the population that prefer ebooks to print, just as there is a larger segment of the population that prefers print to ebooks. For those bottom line thinking MBAs, that's just bad business.
Good businessmen know that by offering several formats across a wide range of formats will net the most return in sales. Bad businessmen (read: publishers) try to force consumers into the slaughtering chute by hook, crook and the old protection game. It will not work. Consumers will catch on and avoid buying your books, turning instead to secondhand bookstores, piracy and remainder stores where they can get what they want. Profits will fall and you will be out of business when authors jump ship for self-publishing or an indie publisher that will offer better terms, larger royalties and the same (lack of) services. Take heed. The writing is on the wall and the news is all bad.
Short-sighted publishers will soon be a vanishing breed, and good riddance to them all. Piracy will continue when prices remain high, especially in a difficult economy like this. More authors, like Barry Eysler, Joe Konrath, and others, will continue to jump ship for indie publishing, or for the new kid on the block, Amazon, or they will dive into self-publishing with a vengeance. Those publishers who will survive the coming storm will buy a clue and get smart. They will price ebooks at competitive rates while continuing to sell hard cover and paperback at the usual prices. Smart publishers will give value for the product and revise author contracts and royalty percentages. The rest will end up where Al Capone ended up: broke, insane and eventually dead. When some archaeologist or tabloid journalist decides to enter the sealed room where they once purportedly kept their hauls, it will, as Al Capone's vault, be empty and silent.
Read the writing on the wall or find someone who speaks the language. The old methods do not work. Move with the times or be buried. The jig is up.
Publishers price ebooks nearly as high as hard cover books. The thinking would appear to be publishers are determined to get more money for the writer. That is not the case. I figured out what is really going on when I looked at Kindle versions of authors I was interested in reading. The cost of the ebook was $14.99, an outrageous cost in my estimation, and the hard cover was $18.99. There is no way I am going to shell out $14.99 for ones and zeros sent at the speed of light (or whatever approaches light on wireless) when I can get the hard cover for four dollars more. I can even buy the hard cover for less than $10 if I buy new or used from secondary sellers.
I hit the button to purchase a brand new hard cover copy delivered free for $7.49. That's when it hit me what was happening. It's the publishing version of the protection game.
Consumers, especially in the current economic climate, do not want to waste money. They want value for their dollars and $14.99 is not value for what is in essence a copied digital file. It's cheaper to get the printed version of the book, even if delivery takes longer. That's the whole point. By pricing ebooks at or near the hard copy version of a book, consumers will opt for the print version instead of the ebook, unless they have lots of money and don't care how much an ebook costs. It's the siren call of doing business the old way.
Forget about the claims of rampant book piracy and how ebooks endanger author royalties and the publishing industry. It's all about forcing someone to take what you want them to have rather than giving the consumer what he wants and prefers.
Ebooks will not be the death of the printed book. They are an alternative to print, not replacement for print. It's like buying the paperback copy of a novel and liking it so much you're willing to buy the hard cover so it will last longer. Paperbacks did not ruin hard cover sales and ebooks will not ruin paperback or hard cover sales. That's a myth, a myth propagated by publishers to maintain control of consumers. It's wrong thinking and completely self serving.
In the old days of gangsters and neighborhood crime, a shop owner was approached by gang members, or their representatives, and offered insurance. When the shop owner refused, a demonstration of the insurance's value was staged. Windows were broken. Locks were smashed. Goods were stolen. When the representatives returned in a day or so, shaking their heads and commiserating with the shop owner, they offered the insurance once again. Recalitrant shop owners held out -- as long as their stock and ability to replace the property held out, or until they were killed -- while less well heeled shop owners gave in and bought the insurance -- from the people who would have robbed and destroyed their property without it. Publishing is now in the same business.
Instead of embracing ebooks and offering them at prices in line with the product, publishers offer insurance to consumers by pricing ebooks out of range of their actual value and worth. Publishers don't trust consumers to be intelligent enough or willing enough to buy hard cover or paperback books when ebooks are available, thus alienating and angering a segment of the population that prefer ebooks to print, just as there is a larger segment of the population that prefers print to ebooks. For those bottom line thinking MBAs, that's just bad business.
Good businessmen know that by offering several formats across a wide range of formats will net the most return in sales. Bad businessmen (read: publishers) try to force consumers into the slaughtering chute by hook, crook and the old protection game. It will not work. Consumers will catch on and avoid buying your books, turning instead to secondhand bookstores, piracy and remainder stores where they can get what they want. Profits will fall and you will be out of business when authors jump ship for self-publishing or an indie publisher that will offer better terms, larger royalties and the same (lack of) services. Take heed. The writing is on the wall and the news is all bad.
Short-sighted publishers will soon be a vanishing breed, and good riddance to them all. Piracy will continue when prices remain high, especially in a difficult economy like this. More authors, like Barry Eysler, Joe Konrath, and others, will continue to jump ship for indie publishing, or for the new kid on the block, Amazon, or they will dive into self-publishing with a vengeance. Those publishers who will survive the coming storm will buy a clue and get smart. They will price ebooks at competitive rates while continuing to sell hard cover and paperback at the usual prices. Smart publishers will give value for the product and revise author contracts and royalty percentages. The rest will end up where Al Capone ended up: broke, insane and eventually dead. When some archaeologist or tabloid journalist decides to enter the sealed room where they once purportedly kept their hauls, it will, as Al Capone's vault, be empty and silent.
Read the writing on the wall or find someone who speaks the language. The old methods do not work. Move with the times or be buried. The jig is up.
AUTHOR BIO:
At the foot of Pikes Peak, in the shadow of its usually snow-covered shoulders visible from the bedroom window, J. M. Cornwell writes while looking out over the abandoned-appearing back yard on the other side of a weather beaten, snaggle-toothed fence. She transcribes dreams into words and calls them novels.
Ms. Cornwell is the author of fourteen books, contributing stories to several Chicken Soup, Cup of Comfort and various anthologies and writes book reviews for Authorlink. Ms. Cornwell's first novel, Past Imperfect, was published by L&L Dreamspell July 2009. Among Women is the latest novel, the first in a two-part series on New Orleans in 1984.
At the foot of Pikes Peak, in the shadow of its usually snow-covered shoulders visible from the bedroom window, J. M. Cornwell writes while looking out over the abandoned-appearing back yard on the other side of a weather beaten, snaggle-toothed fence. She transcribes dreams into words and calls them novels.
Ms. Cornwell is the author of fourteen books, contributing stories to several Chicken Soup, Cup of Comfort and various anthologies and writes book reviews for Authorlink. Ms. Cornwell's first novel, Past Imperfect, was published by L&L Dreamspell July 2009. Among Women is the latest novel, the first in a two-part series on New Orleans in 1984.
Friday, June 03, 2011
Say It in Writing
One of the hardest tasks an author faces is sitting down in a chair to face the blank page. There is no doubt that after yesterday's announcement that V. S. Naipaul said that no woman could equal him as a writer because of sentimentality and female tosh, the task of facing the blank page got a bit easier. Naipaul seems to find inspiration in controversy and feuds. Since his 15-year feud with Paul Theroux has ended, he needs something new to boost his ego and his writing, thus his attack on women.
While controversy makes for interesting news and provides ample fuel for bonfires of some writer's vanities, it is not enough to rely on when it comes to sitting down and facing the blank page of work on a novel, short story or article. There is no substitute for hard work and discipline, even though many writers have dived into bottles and drugs to support their creativity. Having seen some of the resultant work, I cannot agree that drugs or alcohol, or whatever chore or tasks takes the writer away from the central task of writing, ever works -- or works for very long. Physical deterioration detracts from work, it does not enhance it.
Some writers have no problems with ending one project and beginning immediately on the next, while other writers find themselves in the midst of a blue funk with completion of one novel and unable to dive in and begin the next. Everyone is different and no one rule applies to all writers, except the one unbreakable rule that in order to have a book one must write it first.
My biggest problem is getting back up on the horse -- or in the chair and writing the next book. Once a project is completed, I must also see it through to publication since I am self-publishing, manage the marketing, do interviews and handle all the myriad details of getting attention for my work. There is no point in writing, unless it is for personal use only, if no one knows what has been written. With tens of thousands of books published every year in one for or another, getting noticed is more important and requires a substantial amount of work.
It would be easier to dive right into the next book, and preferable in most circumstances. It's not that easy to manage with all the work required of the author in promotion and advertising. Time is finite. Promotion it seems is eternal. The downtime between projects makes it that much more difficult to sit in the chair, put fingers to the keys and begin typing. Distance and time are not a writer's friends, at least not where output is concerned. The days of taking a year or two, or even five, to write the next book and still be in the public eye, are gone. The world moves too quickly and writers are quickly forgotten before they ever find an audience.
It all comes down to numbers: pages written, words written, books written, etc. The numbers either are or are not in favor, which adds yet one more burden to the already over burdened author. One can only handle so much before crumbling beneath the sheer weight of expectation.
All of this comes from my own personal fight with the post book blues, my name for the funk that surrounds me when I am finished with the bulk of marketing and promotion and know that I must now sit down and write another book. My current project has me stymied. All the research and incorporating it into a fictional novel, coupled with the ongoing promotion of my last book and the inevitable fears that I may not be up to the task come crashing down like the contents of Fibber and Molly McGee's closet, battering me to the floor.
And then I read Naipaul's condescending and egotistical comment that women are sentimental and what they write is not equal to his own work. After all I have read about Naipaul since I happened across his comments, I can see how he would think that, since he does not believe that anyone, male or female, is equal to him. Suddenly, I have a reason to sit down in the chair and face the blank page so I can fill it with proof that female writers are not just sentimental and that some female writers know exactly what it means to be master, or rather mistress, of a home and shoulder all the burdens normally handled by a big, strong male. I've been doing it for decades and am none the worse for it, although I think my sentimentality has been relegated to cards and pictures from my children and grandchildren.
One might think my sudden returning writing fervor is because I have something to prove, and maybe I do, but not to V. S. Naipaul or any fan. I must prove to myself that I have the strength and determination to continue in the face of incredible odds. My book is selling well and I need something to back it up to show I'm not a one, or in this case fourteen, book wonder. I have something to say that is not sentimental or female tosh. I have truths to impart and miles to go before I sleep. I have purpose. I am a writer.
Whatever it takes to get your bottom into the chair and your fingers whizzing over the keys, find it and don't stop until you do find whatever makes you mad enough, excited enough, or determined enough to get back into the saddle and write. Sometimes it's discipline and sometimes it is a bigoted, misogynistic, egotistical gas bag with a penchant for creating controversy. It's one way to stay in the public eye and make people remember who you are, even if they cannot manage to get through one of your books. This may be a man's world, but this woman still has a lot to say and will continue to say it in writing.
While controversy makes for interesting news and provides ample fuel for bonfires of some writer's vanities, it is not enough to rely on when it comes to sitting down and facing the blank page of work on a novel, short story or article. There is no substitute for hard work and discipline, even though many writers have dived into bottles and drugs to support their creativity. Having seen some of the resultant work, I cannot agree that drugs or alcohol, or whatever chore or tasks takes the writer away from the central task of writing, ever works -- or works for very long. Physical deterioration detracts from work, it does not enhance it.
Some writers have no problems with ending one project and beginning immediately on the next, while other writers find themselves in the midst of a blue funk with completion of one novel and unable to dive in and begin the next. Everyone is different and no one rule applies to all writers, except the one unbreakable rule that in order to have a book one must write it first.
My biggest problem is getting back up on the horse -- or in the chair and writing the next book. Once a project is completed, I must also see it through to publication since I am self-publishing, manage the marketing, do interviews and handle all the myriad details of getting attention for my work. There is no point in writing, unless it is for personal use only, if no one knows what has been written. With tens of thousands of books published every year in one for or another, getting noticed is more important and requires a substantial amount of work.
It would be easier to dive right into the next book, and preferable in most circumstances. It's not that easy to manage with all the work required of the author in promotion and advertising. Time is finite. Promotion it seems is eternal. The downtime between projects makes it that much more difficult to sit in the chair, put fingers to the keys and begin typing. Distance and time are not a writer's friends, at least not where output is concerned. The days of taking a year or two, or even five, to write the next book and still be in the public eye, are gone. The world moves too quickly and writers are quickly forgotten before they ever find an audience.
It all comes down to numbers: pages written, words written, books written, etc. The numbers either are or are not in favor, which adds yet one more burden to the already over burdened author. One can only handle so much before crumbling beneath the sheer weight of expectation.
All of this comes from my own personal fight with the post book blues, my name for the funk that surrounds me when I am finished with the bulk of marketing and promotion and know that I must now sit down and write another book. My current project has me stymied. All the research and incorporating it into a fictional novel, coupled with the ongoing promotion of my last book and the inevitable fears that I may not be up to the task come crashing down like the contents of Fibber and Molly McGee's closet, battering me to the floor.
And then I read Naipaul's condescending and egotistical comment that women are sentimental and what they write is not equal to his own work. After all I have read about Naipaul since I happened across his comments, I can see how he would think that, since he does not believe that anyone, male or female, is equal to him. Suddenly, I have a reason to sit down in the chair and face the blank page so I can fill it with proof that female writers are not just sentimental and that some female writers know exactly what it means to be master, or rather mistress, of a home and shoulder all the burdens normally handled by a big, strong male. I've been doing it for decades and am none the worse for it, although I think my sentimentality has been relegated to cards and pictures from my children and grandchildren.
One might think my sudden returning writing fervor is because I have something to prove, and maybe I do, but not to V. S. Naipaul or any fan. I must prove to myself that I have the strength and determination to continue in the face of incredible odds. My book is selling well and I need something to back it up to show I'm not a one, or in this case fourteen, book wonder. I have something to say that is not sentimental or female tosh. I have truths to impart and miles to go before I sleep. I have purpose. I am a writer.
Whatever it takes to get your bottom into the chair and your fingers whizzing over the keys, find it and don't stop until you do find whatever makes you mad enough, excited enough, or determined enough to get back into the saddle and write. Sometimes it's discipline and sometimes it is a bigoted, misogynistic, egotistical gas bag with a penchant for creating controversy. It's one way to stay in the public eye and make people remember who you are, even if they cannot manage to get through one of your books. This may be a man's world, but this woman still has a lot to say and will continue to say it in writing.
Thursday, June 02, 2011
Kindle book of the week
It takes time to get a good marketing roll going, and this is the next step. Don't be fooled. It also takes money to get a marketing roll going. In the end, though, it is up to the author and the book to keep the readers' interest. Here's hoping the interest continues for Among Women. It's not your average novel, but something more akin to Scheherazade's tales in the 1001 Arabian nights tales, except with women inmates in a New Orleans jail. Get it while it's hot.
That is all. Disperse.
That is all. Disperse.
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
Into Every Life a Little Rain
The controversy and discussion, heated at times, continues over the cost of ebooks in terms of price and of sustainability, sustainability being the watchword of the beginning of the 21st century. Some pundits decry the death of the print book, as if print will ever go out of style, and blame ebooks on the substandard quality of books currently printed. Printed books already had planned obsolescence built into them a long time before ebooks came on the scene, a very long time. Some of the complaints about eReaders include the cost of breaking them down and returning them to their components parts for disposal, many components of which are toxic to the environment (notably battery acids and the need for power to run them). No innovation is every cheap or doesn't have an impact on the previous technology and, yes, print books are technology of a different sort. The one thing forgotten in this equation is the positive impact on readers.
Technology changes quickly and it is doubtful many people still have their first computers, except a few packrats who save everything they've ever owned. Although trees that are used in the creation of paper for books are specially grown, harvested and used in the manufacture of books, the content of the paper has changed drastically in a very short time. Cloth is no longer a part of the mix and has not been since the middle of the 20th century, thus relegating books to a very short shelf life. Books with durable cloth and wood pulp paper cost money to make and leaving out the cloth ensures books will deteriorate and begin to crumble within five years so that new books must be purchased. This does presuppose a use rate that hastens the decline of the paper, necessitating purchase of another book.
Books are not made to last. Is anything these days? While it was de rigueur to keep a book for the life of a private library, or pass it on to a secondhand shop or libary to be sold adn resold, most books, usually brand new books that have been fingered and not purchased, usually end up in landfills by the tons. That won't happen to ebooks. Digitized files made of ones and zeroes and transmitted at the speed of light (depending on analog or non-analog technology) cost very little to make and will last as long as the technology lasts to support it. Current eReaders could soon go the way of the 5.75" floppy or the smaller floppy disk and not last for ten or twenty years (more like 2-5 years), but the files will remain. Some vendors have a loan feature so that ebooks can be shared between friends. The birth of the virtual lending library.
Public libraries, and some bookstores, lend ebooks over and over to readers who download the copy to their device for a specified period when the book reverts back to the library. A lot of publishers are doing the same thing with Advance Reading Copies of new publications so that the time available for reviewers to read and review is limited. At least the IRS won't need to count those books as income since they disappear within 55 days. Sad, but true. One of the perks of being a book reviewer has just bitten the dust.
Paperback books were created to provide a cheaper copy of the hardback book, which is made of better stuff (still no cloth), and lasts a bit longer. Many readers prefer hardbacks for that purpose, but the cost is usually 3-4x the cost of a paperback, which is made to last about five years, less with more handling. Part of the complaint of the physical book cadre is that print copies cannot stand up to the low cost of ebooks. The low cost of ebooks is a myth, except in self-published circles, because publishers are charging nearly as much for the ebook as for the hard cover book, a business move that will doubtless cost publishers in the end. With ebooks priced at between 99 cents and $5.99, NYT best selling authors' books priced at $12.99 to $16.99 will not fare well and people will either buy the paperback or the hard cover version, which is what publishers want anyway. They make more money on physical books than on ebooks, a point that is not lost on readers since piracy of digital files is on the rise. Price a book too high and the invitation to piracy is engraved and hand delivered.
It is harder to pirate a print book, but not unheard of. It's not more difficult that copying a Van Gogh or da Vinci and selling it as authentic. Happens all the time in every trade from antiques made yesterday and carefully aged to bring a higher price from collectors to now include publishing. It was inevitable. Runway show for designer fashions this week and next month the haute couture is on sale at bargain basement prices in retail outlets everywhere next month. It is the price of doing business when business prices are too high. Everyone wants haute couture but at a more reasonable price. It's why businesses like the Price Club and Wal-Mart do so well -- lower prices.
The glass, plastic, metal and chemicals that go into the manufacture of an eReaderdo indeed cause an impact on the environment, but so do cars, planes and batteries, to name a few, all over the world. Junk yards came into business to dispose of the component parts of cars, planes, batteries, and all sorts of toxic and nontoxic component parts and no doubt eReaders will go there when they die and become part of the wonderful world of breakdown and redistribution. Today an eReader and tomorrow a car in Nagasaki or a cooking pot in Australia. The possibilities are endless. With print books, the only place to go is back into the earth to provide land upon which to build houses and businesses or provide nutrients to grow more trees to make into paper to print more books. It's the cycle of business life.
One of the points that no one seems to be making is that ebooks provide an alternative to readers with arthritis or other debilitating diseases that make holding print books more and more difficult since the size of books has increased with the cost. A friend told me last night that she had to quit reading Stephen King's The Dome because it was too difficult to hold with her arthritic hands. She still doesn't know how the books ends and won't find out until she breaks down and gets the ebook version.
With the move to smaller homes with less space for living, let alone having shelves for private libraries, an eReader can hold more than a thousand books available at all times, and some come with lighting that is actually useful in the dark. Some people have streamlined their homes to less than 300 square feet, which is smaller than my first apartment, or my tenth apartment for that matter. The idea seems to be taking up as little space as possible, something that seems lost on cemeteries since the smallest receptacle is a box to hold ashes, while funeral directors are still selling plots that must be lined with a cement casing to hold the coffin to keep the fluids from leaching into the soil as the body decomposes. No more will people have to worry about decomposing bodies in the soil, not with airtight cement liners and coffins built to last longer than the pyramids. The silk lining will decompose, but not the coffin.
No matter which end of the print book versus ebook controversy you choose, there are pros and cons to both sides. The only reliable and unassailable fact of life is that everything changes. Print books are not going out of style; they never will as long as there are people who cannot afford to buy a single book, let alone a shelf full of paperbacks quietly and quickly aging into pulp. Print books are here to stay. They don't last as long as the hand illuminated manuscripts carefully lined and limned on papyrus or parchment (made of animal skin) and ebooks will last as long as the technology remains available to read them. Someone will find a way to make the devices cheaper and smaller with more functions, but the word remains. Books are here to stay in one form or another, and that makes my job a little easier since I write so people can read.
Pick a side, any side, and hang on for the ride. Everything is changing -- eventually.
Technology changes quickly and it is doubtful many people still have their first computers, except a few packrats who save everything they've ever owned. Although trees that are used in the creation of paper for books are specially grown, harvested and used in the manufacture of books, the content of the paper has changed drastically in a very short time. Cloth is no longer a part of the mix and has not been since the middle of the 20th century, thus relegating books to a very short shelf life. Books with durable cloth and wood pulp paper cost money to make and leaving out the cloth ensures books will deteriorate and begin to crumble within five years so that new books must be purchased. This does presuppose a use rate that hastens the decline of the paper, necessitating purchase of another book.
Books are not made to last. Is anything these days? While it was de rigueur to keep a book for the life of a private library, or pass it on to a secondhand shop or libary to be sold adn resold, most books, usually brand new books that have been fingered and not purchased, usually end up in landfills by the tons. That won't happen to ebooks. Digitized files made of ones and zeroes and transmitted at the speed of light (depending on analog or non-analog technology) cost very little to make and will last as long as the technology lasts to support it. Current eReaders could soon go the way of the 5.75" floppy or the smaller floppy disk and not last for ten or twenty years (more like 2-5 years), but the files will remain. Some vendors have a loan feature so that ebooks can be shared between friends. The birth of the virtual lending library.
Public libraries, and some bookstores, lend ebooks over and over to readers who download the copy to their device for a specified period when the book reverts back to the library. A lot of publishers are doing the same thing with Advance Reading Copies of new publications so that the time available for reviewers to read and review is limited. At least the IRS won't need to count those books as income since they disappear within 55 days. Sad, but true. One of the perks of being a book reviewer has just bitten the dust.
Paperback books were created to provide a cheaper copy of the hardback book, which is made of better stuff (still no cloth), and lasts a bit longer. Many readers prefer hardbacks for that purpose, but the cost is usually 3-4x the cost of a paperback, which is made to last about five years, less with more handling. Part of the complaint of the physical book cadre is that print copies cannot stand up to the low cost of ebooks. The low cost of ebooks is a myth, except in self-published circles, because publishers are charging nearly as much for the ebook as for the hard cover book, a business move that will doubtless cost publishers in the end. With ebooks priced at between 99 cents and $5.99, NYT best selling authors' books priced at $12.99 to $16.99 will not fare well and people will either buy the paperback or the hard cover version, which is what publishers want anyway. They make more money on physical books than on ebooks, a point that is not lost on readers since piracy of digital files is on the rise. Price a book too high and the invitation to piracy is engraved and hand delivered.
It is harder to pirate a print book, but not unheard of. It's not more difficult that copying a Van Gogh or da Vinci and selling it as authentic. Happens all the time in every trade from antiques made yesterday and carefully aged to bring a higher price from collectors to now include publishing. It was inevitable. Runway show for designer fashions this week and next month the haute couture is on sale at bargain basement prices in retail outlets everywhere next month. It is the price of doing business when business prices are too high. Everyone wants haute couture but at a more reasonable price. It's why businesses like the Price Club and Wal-Mart do so well -- lower prices.
The glass, plastic, metal and chemicals that go into the manufacture of an eReaderdo indeed cause an impact on the environment, but so do cars, planes and batteries, to name a few, all over the world. Junk yards came into business to dispose of the component parts of cars, planes, batteries, and all sorts of toxic and nontoxic component parts and no doubt eReaders will go there when they die and become part of the wonderful world of breakdown and redistribution. Today an eReader and tomorrow a car in Nagasaki or a cooking pot in Australia. The possibilities are endless. With print books, the only place to go is back into the earth to provide land upon which to build houses and businesses or provide nutrients to grow more trees to make into paper to print more books. It's the cycle of business life.
One of the points that no one seems to be making is that ebooks provide an alternative to readers with arthritis or other debilitating diseases that make holding print books more and more difficult since the size of books has increased with the cost. A friend told me last night that she had to quit reading Stephen King's The Dome because it was too difficult to hold with her arthritic hands. She still doesn't know how the books ends and won't find out until she breaks down and gets the ebook version.
With the move to smaller homes with less space for living, let alone having shelves for private libraries, an eReader can hold more than a thousand books available at all times, and some come with lighting that is actually useful in the dark. Some people have streamlined their homes to less than 300 square feet, which is smaller than my first apartment, or my tenth apartment for that matter. The idea seems to be taking up as little space as possible, something that seems lost on cemeteries since the smallest receptacle is a box to hold ashes, while funeral directors are still selling plots that must be lined with a cement casing to hold the coffin to keep the fluids from leaching into the soil as the body decomposes. No more will people have to worry about decomposing bodies in the soil, not with airtight cement liners and coffins built to last longer than the pyramids. The silk lining will decompose, but not the coffin.
No matter which end of the print book versus ebook controversy you choose, there are pros and cons to both sides. The only reliable and unassailable fact of life is that everything changes. Print books are not going out of style; they never will as long as there are people who cannot afford to buy a single book, let alone a shelf full of paperbacks quietly and quickly aging into pulp. Print books are here to stay. They don't last as long as the hand illuminated manuscripts carefully lined and limned on papyrus or parchment (made of animal skin) and ebooks will last as long as the technology remains available to read them. Someone will find a way to make the devices cheaper and smaller with more functions, but the word remains. Books are here to stay in one form or another, and that makes my job a little easier since I write so people can read.
Pick a side, any side, and hang on for the ride. Everything is changing -- eventually.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Book Trailer: Among Women
After much worrying and a bit of nail biting (I used clippers), I finally got the link for the new book trailer for Among Women and it's pretty good. Check it out.
If you'd like to read the book, it's available on Smashwords, Barnes & Noble and Amazon as an ebook, so far, and available at your favorite bookstore in paperback, including Amazon, of course. Feel free to read and review. I'd like to know what you think of the first part of the New Orleans story. Yes, there is a second book.
If you'd like to read the book, it's available on Smashwords, Barnes & Noble and Amazon as an ebook, so far, and available at your favorite bookstore in paperback, including Amazon, of course. Feel free to read and review. I'd like to know what you think of the first part of the New Orleans story. Yes, there is a second book.
Magic at The Majestic
When I read a bad review I want to go directly to the source and read or watch what caused so much trouble -- usually. There are some writers and actors that get an immediate down turned thumb from me. Jim Carrey is at the top of the listu. Yes, he's a great comedian with his rubber face, flat feet and seemingly elastic joints, but he gives me a pain ever since Dumb and Dumber and his performance in Batman as the Joker. I much preferred Cesar Romero.
I decided to take another chance on Carrey and watched The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and I prefer the animated version with Boris Karloff reading the story. It was much closer to Dr. Seuss's tone and message. The multi-car pile-up that was the Carrey version was simply sappy and I didn't even finish watching it, although the little girl who played the little Who girl was quite charming. I avoid Jim Carrey at all costs -- until a couple weeks ago when I decided to give The Majestic a chance. At least it was drama and not comedy, or Carrey's brand of comedy, and he has done fairly well in other dramatic parts before he started believing his press. I was amazed.
The Majestic is nominally about the red scare during the 1950s when Joe McCarthy got a bug up his bottom about communism and communists. This time it was Jim Carrey as a screenwriter post World War II who gets it in the neck by the studio, his fiancee' and his government because he signed a membership roster of what turned out to be a communist group. The screenwriter was in search of the loose morales of a certain young lady of his acquaintance and did not have the hots for socialism or communism.
Carrey decides to run away, or at least put some distance between himsef and Hollywood and the witch hunt, and ends up in a wreck that sends him flying down the river and onto a secluded beach near a small town in northern California where he is mistaken for one of the hometown boys, now missing for nine years. Since he's lost his memory, he reluctantly goes along with the people in hopes of recovering what he's lost. Instead, he finds something he never knew he needed.
The Majestic is about the 1950s, but it could not have been written or produced or shown during that time. Joe McCarthy and his Red vigilante group wouldn't have killed it in its infancy. There is a nostalgic feel that fits post war America through the beginning of the movie that then descends to a bit of camp and thumbing noses at the senate inverstigative committee in front of which Carrey eventually appears. However, the movie still works with all the schmalz and good feelings that characterize this kind of drama. Carrey gives an -- for him -- understated performance that sparkles for the most part. He is real where he needs to be real and honest and eats the scenery a bit in front of the senate committee, for which I think this time he can be forgiven.
Despite the flaws in this movie, I did enjoy it and heartily recommend it for the underlying message of hope and hometown values espoused. It might remind you -- if you're old enough -- that there was a time when going to the movies was a big occasion. People called babysitters and dressed up in their best finery and went to the air conditioned confines of the magic factory where the seats were plush and the surroundings opulent and full of magic. That's the kind of entertainment I remember, the kind that is far from spectacular chase scenes, over done pyrotechnics, special effects that didn't need computers and acting that was dark and gritty and mostly well done. There were stinkers back in the 1950s, too, but it was also the time of Ben Hur, The Ten Commandments, and movies that touched the heart like The Boy With the Green Hair. It was magic.
I miss dressing up and going out on the town and so much about the times of my youth, and movies like The Majestic go a long way towards bringing them back. If Jim Carrey continues in this less flamboyant style I may go back to watching his movies. This is the actor who tempted me closer with his short-lived comedy The Duck Factory and didn't completely ruin my belief in his abilities with The Truman Show. Of course, that was before he became famous and lauded for his comedic turns. Give me more of movies like The Majestic no matter who stars, like David Ogden Stiers and Martin Landau, among others, and I will get dressed up and go to the movies once again because that will be entertainment.
I decided to take another chance on Carrey and watched The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and I prefer the animated version with Boris Karloff reading the story. It was much closer to Dr. Seuss's tone and message. The multi-car pile-up that was the Carrey version was simply sappy and I didn't even finish watching it, although the little girl who played the little Who girl was quite charming. I avoid Jim Carrey at all costs -- until a couple weeks ago when I decided to give The Majestic a chance. At least it was drama and not comedy, or Carrey's brand of comedy, and he has done fairly well in other dramatic parts before he started believing his press. I was amazed.
The Majestic is nominally about the red scare during the 1950s when Joe McCarthy got a bug up his bottom about communism and communists. This time it was Jim Carrey as a screenwriter post World War II who gets it in the neck by the studio, his fiancee' and his government because he signed a membership roster of what turned out to be a communist group. The screenwriter was in search of the loose morales of a certain young lady of his acquaintance and did not have the hots for socialism or communism.
Carrey decides to run away, or at least put some distance between himsef and Hollywood and the witch hunt, and ends up in a wreck that sends him flying down the river and onto a secluded beach near a small town in northern California where he is mistaken for one of the hometown boys, now missing for nine years. Since he's lost his memory, he reluctantly goes along with the people in hopes of recovering what he's lost. Instead, he finds something he never knew he needed.
The Majestic is about the 1950s, but it could not have been written or produced or shown during that time. Joe McCarthy and his Red vigilante group wouldn't have killed it in its infancy. There is a nostalgic feel that fits post war America through the beginning of the movie that then descends to a bit of camp and thumbing noses at the senate inverstigative committee in front of which Carrey eventually appears. However, the movie still works with all the schmalz and good feelings that characterize this kind of drama. Carrey gives an -- for him -- understated performance that sparkles for the most part. He is real where he needs to be real and honest and eats the scenery a bit in front of the senate committee, for which I think this time he can be forgiven.
Despite the flaws in this movie, I did enjoy it and heartily recommend it for the underlying message of hope and hometown values espoused. It might remind you -- if you're old enough -- that there was a time when going to the movies was a big occasion. People called babysitters and dressed up in their best finery and went to the air conditioned confines of the magic factory where the seats were plush and the surroundings opulent and full of magic. That's the kind of entertainment I remember, the kind that is far from spectacular chase scenes, over done pyrotechnics, special effects that didn't need computers and acting that was dark and gritty and mostly well done. There were stinkers back in the 1950s, too, but it was also the time of Ben Hur, The Ten Commandments, and movies that touched the heart like The Boy With the Green Hair. It was magic.
I miss dressing up and going out on the town and so much about the times of my youth, and movies like The Majestic go a long way towards bringing them back. If Jim Carrey continues in this less flamboyant style I may go back to watching his movies. This is the actor who tempted me closer with his short-lived comedy The Duck Factory and didn't completely ruin my belief in his abilities with The Truman Show. Of course, that was before he became famous and lauded for his comedic turns. Give me more of movies like The Majestic no matter who stars, like David Ogden Stiers and Martin Landau, among others, and I will get dressed up and go to the movies once again because that will be entertainment.
Monday, May 23, 2011
The Tyranny of Series Novels
Since George R. R. Martin blogged about how some of his fans were actually angry at his slow pace on putting out the fifth book in the Fire & Ice series, many authors have been asking who is in charge, the author or the fan. It's seems like a simple answer. The author is in charge. The answer is not so simple. The author is in charge of writing, but publishers, editors and fans have more control than you would think.
When Stephen King posed this question, he came up with a novel length answer: Misery. King put the author in danger and in the hands of a psychotic fan enraged that he had killed off her favorite serial character, Misery Chastain, and changed both their lives. Seeing that as one dangerous extreme of the author-fan spectrum, what is the other end?
Writing a series of novels around a character or group of characters can be fun -- for a while. It's a great way to build up readership and a loyal fan base, but it's also hard work that often ends in tears and flat writing.
Traditional publishers are all about the series because it brands an author and that leads to pseudonyms, writing on a tight schedule and often repetition. The publisher cracks the whip. What next? The author complies with an outline of the next book in the series and the work begins again . . . and again . . . and again, and so on until the author is played out or on the verge of a major snit fit. Too often the publisher's demands exceed the muse's well of creativity and newness and the books suffer. The writing is flat and bordering on repetitious, if not downright repetitious, and rabbits must be pulled from an assortment of hats. I've seen it happen to too many series that started out wonderful and ended up boring.
Anne Rice's famous vampires were fresh and interesting once upon a time, but they became boring and irritating and no longer any good. That happened about the time that Memnoch, the Devil came out and the series didn't survive very long after that. Anne even took a powder and decided to write something else, turning her back on her vampires for religious writing.
Katie McAllister's books were fun and innovative with her vampires looking for their one true soul mate to save them from their wicked, wicked ways and make them whole. I read several and noticed that the same situations cropped up in almost the same point in the next story as in previous tales and there was little variation in the characters or their dialogue and demeanor. I have not read her dragon series or her steampunk novel, but I'd be willing to say there is a similar issue with those as well.
Charlaine Harris has fallen down the rabbit hole with her latest addition to the Sookie-verse and several other authors have fallen down the same hole, albeit with a different landing zone.
It's nearly impossible to sustain the enthusiasm for a single character or group of characters unless you're either very committed or have an endless range of stories that fits that particular universe. Boredom sets in for reader as well as most discerning fans, although the die hard fans will drive the author nuts demanding the next book in the series -- or else. Fans can be so possessive of what they consider to be their books and their characters, hence King's premise in Misery.
Many authors of genre fiction choose to write the same style of books without following a single character, like David Baldacci, although David does branch out a lot and remains firmly entrenched in the thriller genre. It's the one he knows and knows how to write very well.
A few decades ago, I picked up a novel, Children of the Lion, by Peter Danielson and was introduced to writing that mingled fact and fiction with what were purported to be the children of Cain. You know Cain, the first murderer who killed his brother Abel so his god would love him more. I enjoyed the books thoroughly and couldn't wait for the next book in the series, until I hit The Golden Pharoah. I had a big problem with the short reign of the Shepherd Kings in Egypt during the schism and the fifty-year bondage of the Israelites. That much disbelief I was not willing to suspend. I was done and didn't go back. I had the same problem with Anne Rice's Mayfair witches series that took off from the Vampire Chronicles to follow the line of Mayfair witches and who had the power in the next generation. The first book was wonderful, the second a bit bizarre and, with brief forays into more interesting territory, the books and writing descended into bland territory and I was done.
Maybe I don't have an obsessive gene that allows me to overlook banal writing, predictable plots and endless repetition or maybe I just don't have the stamina for an endless stream of books built around the same characters or situation. Whatever it is, I fail to understand the need for a fan to dictate to an author what should and shouldn't be written and on what schedule.
It could also be that I'm an author with lots of stories to write and I know how hard it is to be fresh and original with the same character or group of characters. I have never loved any character that much, even though I will be returning to New Orleans to tell the rest of Pearl Caldwell's story and write what happens when Pearl and J. D. Bath meet again, and they will meet again. It's only one more book and not a real series. Series aren't really series until they get past trilogy. So far, there is no plan for me to venture into that particular territory. Two books are okay. I can even envision a trilogy, but I doubt I'll head into series territory any time soon, or within my lifetime.
George R. R. Martin is writing the fifth book in his series and it looks like there will be another one after that one. How many more he plans is up to him. His fans have been rude and demanding and refuse to understand that some authors just don't do deadlines well. A book takes as long as it takes and fans need to understand that or Stephen King's fantasy may well become real.
My advice to readers and fans is to accept what is given in the time that it is given and be glad when you get it. Treat it like a Faberge egg: priceless, enjoyable and one of a kind. I felt that way about Frank Herbert's Dune series. His was the one series of books that never got old, wasn't repetitious and was always fresh and new. He was a rare author and I followed his stories whenever I could find them. I have also read his son Brian's continuation of the series and have enjoyed them so far, but there are only so many hours in a day and I must write my own books -- and book reviews. They are my Faberge eggs -- so far. I hope they stay that way.
As for publishers demanding additions to the brand names they feel that they have created (chain gangs authors are being tied to), buy a clue. An author is a rare and precious thing able to create wondrous worlds and memorable characters. Treat them gently or they will find someone who will. Series work on television because writing is done by committee.
When Stephen King posed this question, he came up with a novel length answer: Misery. King put the author in danger and in the hands of a psychotic fan enraged that he had killed off her favorite serial character, Misery Chastain, and changed both their lives. Seeing that as one dangerous extreme of the author-fan spectrum, what is the other end?
Writing a series of novels around a character or group of characters can be fun -- for a while. It's a great way to build up readership and a loyal fan base, but it's also hard work that often ends in tears and flat writing.
Traditional publishers are all about the series because it brands an author and that leads to pseudonyms, writing on a tight schedule and often repetition. The publisher cracks the whip. What next? The author complies with an outline of the next book in the series and the work begins again . . . and again . . . and again, and so on until the author is played out or on the verge of a major snit fit. Too often the publisher's demands exceed the muse's well of creativity and newness and the books suffer. The writing is flat and bordering on repetitious, if not downright repetitious, and rabbits must be pulled from an assortment of hats. I've seen it happen to too many series that started out wonderful and ended up boring.
Anne Rice's famous vampires were fresh and interesting once upon a time, but they became boring and irritating and no longer any good. That happened about the time that Memnoch, the Devil came out and the series didn't survive very long after that. Anne even took a powder and decided to write something else, turning her back on her vampires for religious writing.
Katie McAllister's books were fun and innovative with her vampires looking for their one true soul mate to save them from their wicked, wicked ways and make them whole. I read several and noticed that the same situations cropped up in almost the same point in the next story as in previous tales and there was little variation in the characters or their dialogue and demeanor. I have not read her dragon series or her steampunk novel, but I'd be willing to say there is a similar issue with those as well.
Charlaine Harris has fallen down the rabbit hole with her latest addition to the Sookie-verse and several other authors have fallen down the same hole, albeit with a different landing zone.
It's nearly impossible to sustain the enthusiasm for a single character or group of characters unless you're either very committed or have an endless range of stories that fits that particular universe. Boredom sets in for reader as well as most discerning fans, although the die hard fans will drive the author nuts demanding the next book in the series -- or else. Fans can be so possessive of what they consider to be their books and their characters, hence King's premise in Misery.
Many authors of genre fiction choose to write the same style of books without following a single character, like David Baldacci, although David does branch out a lot and remains firmly entrenched in the thriller genre. It's the one he knows and knows how to write very well.
A few decades ago, I picked up a novel, Children of the Lion, by Peter Danielson and was introduced to writing that mingled fact and fiction with what were purported to be the children of Cain. You know Cain, the first murderer who killed his brother Abel so his god would love him more. I enjoyed the books thoroughly and couldn't wait for the next book in the series, until I hit The Golden Pharoah. I had a big problem with the short reign of the Shepherd Kings in Egypt during the schism and the fifty-year bondage of the Israelites. That much disbelief I was not willing to suspend. I was done and didn't go back. I had the same problem with Anne Rice's Mayfair witches series that took off from the Vampire Chronicles to follow the line of Mayfair witches and who had the power in the next generation. The first book was wonderful, the second a bit bizarre and, with brief forays into more interesting territory, the books and writing descended into bland territory and I was done.
Maybe I don't have an obsessive gene that allows me to overlook banal writing, predictable plots and endless repetition or maybe I just don't have the stamina for an endless stream of books built around the same characters or situation. Whatever it is, I fail to understand the need for a fan to dictate to an author what should and shouldn't be written and on what schedule.
It could also be that I'm an author with lots of stories to write and I know how hard it is to be fresh and original with the same character or group of characters. I have never loved any character that much, even though I will be returning to New Orleans to tell the rest of Pearl Caldwell's story and write what happens when Pearl and J. D. Bath meet again, and they will meet again. It's only one more book and not a real series. Series aren't really series until they get past trilogy. So far, there is no plan for me to venture into that particular territory. Two books are okay. I can even envision a trilogy, but I doubt I'll head into series territory any time soon, or within my lifetime.
George R. R. Martin is writing the fifth book in his series and it looks like there will be another one after that one. How many more he plans is up to him. His fans have been rude and demanding and refuse to understand that some authors just don't do deadlines well. A book takes as long as it takes and fans need to understand that or Stephen King's fantasy may well become real.
My advice to readers and fans is to accept what is given in the time that it is given and be glad when you get it. Treat it like a Faberge egg: priceless, enjoyable and one of a kind. I felt that way about Frank Herbert's Dune series. His was the one series of books that never got old, wasn't repetitious and was always fresh and new. He was a rare author and I followed his stories whenever I could find them. I have also read his son Brian's continuation of the series and have enjoyed them so far, but there are only so many hours in a day and I must write my own books -- and book reviews. They are my Faberge eggs -- so far. I hope they stay that way.
As for publishers demanding additions to the brand names they feel that they have created (chain gangs authors are being tied to), buy a clue. An author is a rare and precious thing able to create wondrous worlds and memorable characters. Treat them gently or they will find someone who will. Series work on television because writing is done by committee.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
The Mythos of Frank Herbert
When my cousin by marriage, Michael Vanderboegh, told me I should read Dune by Frank Herbert, I wasn't interested. There was nothing wrong with what he told me, but I could not get interested. There were too many other things going on in my life, like adjusting to being divorced with three small boys, only one of whom was in school (first grade) and working two jobs to make ends meet. I didn't have time for books, even for the science fiction I enjoyed so much.
Books had not been a part of my life for a few years, at least since getting pregnant and having children. Babies tend to suck up all available time and energy until there is nothing left for the good stuff, like reading. Dune was off the list of available things to do. There were not enough hours in the day for reading. The only time I had to myself was in the shower, if I got it before the boys were up or after they went to sleep, and falling into a dead faint at the end of the day.
I had much more time a few years later and picked up the book at a secondhand store while trying to add to my Andre Norton collection. I happened across the book and took a glance at the back cover and first few pages. I got lucky. The book was available in hard cover, and so I bought it, took it home and found a few minutes to begin reading. I was reluctant to put the book down to cook dinner, do laundry or go to bed. I was mesmerized -- and hooked but good.
The sweep of plot, characters and worlds took my breath away and the story was a real page turner, despite its deceptive size. I recognized many of the so-called ancient words drawn from Greek, Italian and Muslim origins, but that wasn't the real draw for me. It was the scope of the plots and stories that intertwined, leaving me hungry for more without ever feeling lost. That was artistry. That was good writing and I couldn't wait for the next book and the ones after that.
I did read some of Herbert's short story collections, and they were good, but it was with Dune that he reached his true calling as a storyteller. I go back and read Dune and the rest of the books from time to time, and I have read several of Herbert's son Brian's additions to the mythology and history of the worlds and people, answering questions about their origins and the beginnings of feuds, how the navigators evolved and where the whole thing was going in terms of religion and history. One thing I learned from Herbert, even though I knew it already, was that everything dies. Every religion, every system and every civilization reaches a pinnacle and is replaced by something new, something born from seeds planted long ago. About the only thing that lasted in Herbert's vision was Judaism.
Catholocism had evolved and become a breeding and martial arts program that, in concert with melange, the spice that extends and enhances life, created super beings, like Paul Muadib Atreides, Leto III the God Emperor and eventually an entire race of Atreides spawned humans who were no longer visible in the minds of those that could track every being in the universe. Islam became an entrenched society of people devoted to the violence of war and the protection of every drop of water on Arrakis (Dune) so that the planet would one day be carved up between rivers, lakes and seas between which ran grassy plains where cities and towns careless of water would spring up. Leto III made that possible with his breeding program and his reign of over three thousand years.
In one small part of the universe there were hidden pockets of Jews still practicing the ancient rites of their religion waiting for God as the chosen people. That did not change, and there is still the question of what Frank Herbert believed and saw for the future of mankind.
The stories and layers that came after Dune were the icing on a very rich cake that lingers still on the mind and in the heart. Few stories like that come along. It's no wonder the book has been made into a movie and a mini-series, each done by different directors that add more pieces to the puzzle. From the elegant and regal Dune of David Lynch's vision to the Sci-Fi TV mini-series directed by John Harrison, which is closer to what Herbert envisioned, except with the navigators, Frank Herbert's dreams live and continue to evolve. The scope is awe inspiring and the story a small tale of what happens when religion and ambition take precedence in government and commerce.
Some books remain long after the last page is read and call to the reader to return and look a little deeper, find a little more. It is all there between the pages, waiting for a new perspective and new eyes fresh from the cauldron of time and experience. Dune is still one of my favorite books and doubtless always will be.
Books had not been a part of my life for a few years, at least since getting pregnant and having children. Babies tend to suck up all available time and energy until there is nothing left for the good stuff, like reading. Dune was off the list of available things to do. There were not enough hours in the day for reading. The only time I had to myself was in the shower, if I got it before the boys were up or after they went to sleep, and falling into a dead faint at the end of the day.
I had much more time a few years later and picked up the book at a secondhand store while trying to add to my Andre Norton collection. I happened across the book and took a glance at the back cover and first few pages. I got lucky. The book was available in hard cover, and so I bought it, took it home and found a few minutes to begin reading. I was reluctant to put the book down to cook dinner, do laundry or go to bed. I was mesmerized -- and hooked but good.
The sweep of plot, characters and worlds took my breath away and the story was a real page turner, despite its deceptive size. I recognized many of the so-called ancient words drawn from Greek, Italian and Muslim origins, but that wasn't the real draw for me. It was the scope of the plots and stories that intertwined, leaving me hungry for more without ever feeling lost. That was artistry. That was good writing and I couldn't wait for the next book and the ones after that.
I did read some of Herbert's short story collections, and they were good, but it was with Dune that he reached his true calling as a storyteller. I go back and read Dune and the rest of the books from time to time, and I have read several of Herbert's son Brian's additions to the mythology and history of the worlds and people, answering questions about their origins and the beginnings of feuds, how the navigators evolved and where the whole thing was going in terms of religion and history. One thing I learned from Herbert, even though I knew it already, was that everything dies. Every religion, every system and every civilization reaches a pinnacle and is replaced by something new, something born from seeds planted long ago. About the only thing that lasted in Herbert's vision was Judaism.
Catholocism had evolved and become a breeding and martial arts program that, in concert with melange, the spice that extends and enhances life, created super beings, like Paul Muadib Atreides, Leto III the God Emperor and eventually an entire race of Atreides spawned humans who were no longer visible in the minds of those that could track every being in the universe. Islam became an entrenched society of people devoted to the violence of war and the protection of every drop of water on Arrakis (Dune) so that the planet would one day be carved up between rivers, lakes and seas between which ran grassy plains where cities and towns careless of water would spring up. Leto III made that possible with his breeding program and his reign of over three thousand years.
In one small part of the universe there were hidden pockets of Jews still practicing the ancient rites of their religion waiting for God as the chosen people. That did not change, and there is still the question of what Frank Herbert believed and saw for the future of mankind.
The stories and layers that came after Dune were the icing on a very rich cake that lingers still on the mind and in the heart. Few stories like that come along. It's no wonder the book has been made into a movie and a mini-series, each done by different directors that add more pieces to the puzzle. From the elegant and regal Dune of David Lynch's vision to the Sci-Fi TV mini-series directed by John Harrison, which is closer to what Herbert envisioned, except with the navigators, Frank Herbert's dreams live and continue to evolve. The scope is awe inspiring and the story a small tale of what happens when religion and ambition take precedence in government and commerce.
Some books remain long after the last page is read and call to the reader to return and look a little deeper, find a little more. It is all there between the pages, waiting for a new perspective and new eyes fresh from the cauldron of time and experience. Dune is still one of my favorite books and doubtless always will be.
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