Procrastination lost yesterday. I finally finished my last writing assignment for LRWG. Now what will I procrastinate about?
Well, now I understand why there are so January 24, 2010
Well, now I understand why there are so few new authors in bookstores. See NY times article about James Patterson, Inc. http://ow.ly/ZV6v
The Fight for Digital Publishing Rights December 13, 2009
Despite the disparaging of e-books as cold, hard, unfriendly sources of reading, traditional publishers apparently think there’s money to be made through publishing in “electronic book publishing formats.” The authors may be long-dead, but their publishers are in a tussle with their estates over who owns whose rights. In the case of William Styron’s books, Random House expects to “continue to publish the Styron books we own in all formats, including e-books.” (Click here for the full story.) Hmmm … the Styron books they own? OK, I understand that traditional publishers invest capital and even some sweat equity in an author’s work, but just who wrote Styron’s books? Could they maybe express it differently … say, they expect to publish to the books that they bought rights to? I know I probably sound like I’m splitting hairs, but wouldn’t any author wince to hear a publisher say that he “owns” the author’s books?
When Not Writing is Writing … December 6, 2009
In a recent post, Fiona Robyn mused, “Most of the time being a writer is about looking out at the frosted grass, and sipping earl grey, and not writing.” Sometimes I think I do my best writing when I’m knitting or crocheting or sewing, when my hands are occupied with something other than typing. Even playing mindless computer games sometimes brings forth the crucial bit of action to move my story or novel forward (if I can ever pull myself away from the mindless computer game). I grew up with the notion that a “true” writer is constantly writing, at least scribbling in a notebook at every free moment. A “true” writer cannot do anything but write, write, write.
I wonder. Part of what drives me to write is the joy of creation, much the same joy that I feel when I knit, crochet, sew (but not when I play mindless computer games). Writing is like piecing together a quilt, or watching a deceptively simple looking pattern unfold from an eye-crossing knitting schematic. Unfortunately, I cannot wear my writing (except on my sleeve) like I can wear the scarves, shawls, sweaters I create. I can’t even use my writing to cover my bed like I would a quilt (well, technically I could, but it wouldn’t be as warm and cozy). If I were a full-time writer, or even a full-time knitter, crocheter, sewer, this would not be too much of a problem. But I am a writer with a day job, something that has nothing to do with writing novels or stories, or knitting up scarves and shawls, or piecing quilts. Time is finite and I want to do it all — the whole creative process that, for me, starts with the hands (knitting, crocheting, sewing, typing, hand writing) and continues through the mind. However and whenever the words make it to the page, I am a writer. It’s not the frequency of my writing. It’s just the fact that I do write.
Coming up for air November 29, 2009
I am slowly … ever so slowly … getting back into writing. I’ve been on a self-enforced hiatus for the last several months, where I allowed myself to be suck up into a lifestyle that I wasn’t enjoying a whole lot because it left virtually no time (or energy, which is more important) for writing. I’m writing this post with a bit of trepidation … am I really ready to take up my blog again? Or am I just going to make one lame post and then disappear from the blogosphere for an undetermined length of time?
Well, I’m here now, and I think that’s all that really counts … And it’s not like I’ve been totally unproductive. During my hiatus, I’ve had the pleasure of coming across a delightful blog called Dollar Bin Horror. It’s a fun blog by “Rhonny Reaper” (not entirely her real name, of course) where she writes about finding great horror films for cheap and also interviews horror writers. Yes, one of my (many) guilty pleasures is horror films, especially the old classics with Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi, and Roger Corman films. Check out Dollar Bin Horror and see why I’ve been smittened.
We the Paparazzi August 9, 2009
In some venues, the freedom to tweet, tag, or snap is being denied. Clubs are denying entry to anyone who takes pictures of other groups at the club and then posts them to Facebook. A storytelling venue prohibits tweeting during the show. An article in this Sunday’s NY Times talks about a new social media phenomenon, the idea that “some [people] are tired of living their lives on the Web,” and that others are finding that “there’s something magical about a life less posted.” In Party On, But No Tweets, Allen Salkin chronicles the disenchantment some folks are having with the chronicling of daily life, in particular, the minutae of daily life. Not too mention the embarrassment of suddenly finding yourself tagged in unbecoming photo scapes of parties gone wild.
I was wondering when, if ever, the mind-numbing ubiquity of social media would catch up with us. Are we really “products just to be harvested.” Is that all social media has to offer: a commodification of ourselves? We are valued by the number of followers we have on Twitter, by the number of friends we have on Facebook, by the number of social media where our blogs are listed, by the number of pictures in which we are tagged. We become the merchandise that we sell. So what happens with that other product–our writing–that was the point of all this social media? At least for someone like myself, who came to the game rather late, the writing suffers the most.
An American Tradition Is A New Literary Market July 12, 2009
The Saturday Evening Post has “revamped” and is looking for new fiction. With the dwindling newspaper and magazine market, this is a bold effort by the Post. Hopefully, readers will be rewarded by good, fresh writing. Click here for the Post’s submission guidelines. My thanks to fellow blogger, Georganna Hancock of A Writer’s Edge, for tweeting this truly news-worthy info. This is great news for someone who has fond memories of reading the Post when she was much much younger than she is today 
Self-publishing field continues to grow June 14, 2009
Another website has opened up, to give self-published authors more visibility: IndieReader.com. Read the article here in the Christian Science Monitor. IndieReader.com describes itself as being “For self-published and print-on-demand books and the readers who love them.” Founder Amy Holman Edelman proposes to do for self-published books what Sundance has done for independent films. For an annual fee of $149, IndieReader.com will “promote, market and sell your book” on its website, if they deem your book to have met “certain standards of quality, both in terms of basic spelling and grammatical errors and content. All books must be well written and offer something of value to our customers.” Be sure to always read the fine print when $$ is involved. From the IndieReader.com Terms of Service:
2. Annual Fees and Costs. a. The fee for inclusion on the website is $149.00 per year, regardless of the number of books that each author features on the IR site. The fee for submitting the first book is included in the annual fee, however, there will be a submission fee of $25 for each book after the first. b. This fee is NON-REFUNDABLE.
IndieReader.com is a business and as such should charge fees, and it should reserve its right to reject books that don’t meet its standards. Yes, that makes it sound more like traditional publishing with all its gatekeepers, but IndieReader.com holds the promise of access to good writing, regardless of the author’s name recognition.
Fat May 31, 2009
This is off the writing track, but it’s one of my pet peeves that gets peaked now and then: fat as in body weight and body image. Here’s an excellent article in the Sunday NY Times revealing how celebrities contribute to our (at least, women’s) shaky self-image: Bingeing on Celebrity Weight Battles
My suggestion: Why don’t we start by not using the word “fat” to describe people. It’s derogatory, not descriptive. It demoralizes rather than motivates. And it’s an industry fed by celebrities, Big Pharma, agribusiness … (pun intended) that needs consumers to be self-conscious about their weight in order to survive. Best quote: “Americans equate body size with Puritan values. Thin means self-discipline and hard work; fat implies laziness, gluttony and lack of willpower.” Watch enough TV and you’ll see ads for weight-loss gimmicks following ads for all you can eat country buffets. How can we demand self-discipline when our society relentlessly throws temptation in our way? Maybe I’m just bitter because I know I’ll never see 120 again (unless I get ravished by cancer), or maybe I just want to enjoy life (and some chocolate) while it’s here.
The Reality of Being You May 10, 2009
“Depression, truth be told, is both boring and threatening as a subject of conversation.” So writes Daphne Merkin in her essay on depression in this Sunday’s New York Times Magazine. As someone who has struggled with depression and anxiety off and on (and, lately, fortunately, it’s been mostly off), Merkin’s essay resonated with me in a far deeper way than any essay I had read before. Perhaps it’s the cold truth of her insights: “Surely this is the worst part of being at the mercy of your own mind, . . .: the fact that there is no way out of the reality of being you, . . ..”
For most of my life, I found the reality of “being me” often hard to bear. Like Merkin, “I was fascinated by people who had the temerity to bring down the curtain on their own suffering,” people like Virginia Woolf, Anne Sexton, and Sylvia Plath, who also just happened to be writers.
Merkin takes us on a journey from her most recent bout of deep depression, through her attempts at recovery in a clinic, and, finally, to a seemingly spontaneous resolution. Granted, this is her own personal story, and others who suffer from chronic depression might have very different experiences. As with so many other ailments, both physical and psychological, one size does not fit all. But I finished Merkin’s article feeling heartened, at the least because the fog lifts just enough for her to imagine a life without it.
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