Gone writin’…
November 3, 2009
Doin’ the writing thing.
Nano-ing and full bore on other stuff, too.
Not to mention a day or two off to go larking about..
Back later!
You didn’t think I’d miss blogging once nano wraps up and Christmas harks!
hugs, Oh
Real Life: Fall, falling…
October 31, 2009
Sure, autumn has its “warts,” like leaves to be raked, confusion over appropriate garb, frosty mornings requiring a scarf and afternoon sun that forces removal of said scarf, the shift in bird population (cardinals are still here, but these are now the northern cardinals from Michigan and Minnesota, not the cardinals that criss-crossed the pool all summer), a mix of comfort food and the letting-fo of summer salads and certain fruits, the pushme-pullyou of buying decorations (for Halloween, Thanksgiving and/or Christmas?) and the desire to stay home and read a book on the couch or do the fall cleaning before winter sets in and the fireplace becomes the aesthetic choice over the TV or romps by the pool, now totally and officially closed.
Gotta love it.
It also bring a change in blogging as holidays near, deadlines arise and nanawrimo whispers “yes, participate, write, pick up your pen at midnight on the Oct 31-Nov 1 and do it, do it, do it!” in the background.
This is no time really for shorter days and yet, the blessing of it all, of the seasons and reasons!
Book: My first manga…
October 22, 2009
This is not Jane Austen’s “Emma.”
It is a graphic novel by Ms Mori. I’ve read it for Dolce’s Japanese Literature Challenge III.
It was my first experience with reading “back to front” (as we would consider it), and left to right.
The book had instructions on the inside cover for neo-readers.
Nice touch.
The story:
It’s Victorian England and Emma is a maid, a beautiful maid by all accounts (tho’ we see her be-spectacled and be-hatted). She receives letters and invitations from all manner of young men and writes her regrets back to them.
Along comes a rich young lord who was nannied by Emma’s boss.
He has a friend from India who happens to show up on the scene as well.
Life goes on with the leisure class visiting one another while Emma worries about how she will afford new eyeglasses, goes shopping, visits the library.
Will the young lord win her heart? Will his Indian friend usurp Emma’s affections?
Does Emma have a clue?
The story is genteel.
The artwork is wonderful, rich with detail and accurate (for all I know!) to the architecture and costume of the time.
I took my time reading this.
I didn’t want to read it quickly, like I might read an Archie and Friends comic book.
But then, this is a book. A real book. A nice book.
The paper is nice. The covers are nice. There is plenty to look at, to stand around and stare at and appreciate.
Slow down, look around, enjoy, was my sub-mantra as I read.
Interesting how Mori chooses to use her cartoon squares. She gives us close ups on character’s faces. No hurry. She knows her art. The street scenes are wonderful. Then, with the Indian entrouage arriving, we see a certain bejeweled pomp including elephants and servants. There are also crowd scenes and street scenes where everthing is sketched, right down to lit streetlamps but sometimes, Mori leaves faces blank, undrawn.
Mori always labels the end of the chapter (except chpt 3 in my book does NOT have “end”) and follows the “end” page with a one-page “epilogue.”
I like her style.
Is the story stunning? Not yet. Is the reader intrigued? Yes, by the combination of all the elements.
Yes, I have ordered volume 2. (be careful; it’s a multi-volume story and brand new, it retails at $9.95 for each volume and there are at least 4.)
So, yeah, I would like to get the entire set…but there’s no rush.
Manga. Emma. Try it for your bedtime read.
Book: get ready…get set…
October 20, 2009
National Novel Writing Month approaches and having listened to the summons from founder Chris Baty, I have once again signed up. People prepare for marathons; writers prep for Nanowrimo, signing in, fattening up their author profiles, looking with some excitement and some joy at the word count scale and thinking, though not yet writing, about their work, the story they will trudge through to reach 50,000 words in 30 days.
Ah, November.
Why that month? so many ask. Why not wait ’til January or February when there’s “nothing to do?”
I have no idea how November won the writing olympics-of-sorts, but I do know this: if you can write when you might be shopping, planning, working, cleaning, decorating, visiting and partying, yea, if you can do these things AND write, then by jove, you’ve got some serious call to write.
It’s a heck of an exercise, one I love.
And so we stand at the starting line, pens, PCs, laptops at the ready, ready to write our way through a story.
Join. It’s a friendly place whether you get 3,000 words or 50,000. Check out nanowrimo.org.
Your blogging friends will understand if you “drop out” for a couple weeks.
Come as you are. Wear what you like. Choose your hours.
Real Life: Six Word Saturday
October 16, 2009
Bells bling-a-ring-a-sing the sweet weekend morning.
(Yup, bling-a-ring-a-sing is one word.)
I’m being followed by a *moonflower …
October 14, 2009
It was like buying magic beans.
HM found the moonflower seeds in a shop and struck by the name and the hope they would really bloom at night, he bought them.
He planted them in a huge pot in the front of the house.
The vines began, huge green leaves.
And then the deer discovered them.
HM put some ratty old wire mesh around them as protection.
I waited for a note in our mailbox from the neighbors. (None came.)
The spindly vine continued but the leaves looked to be fainting in the summer sun and so we moved the pot near a tree by the pool.
Suddenly they thrived. I shouldn’t say “they.”
There was no “they” yet.
There was only more and more huge broad green leaves, very nice, very ordinary.
About three weeks ago, as I stood on the patio just after dark, wondering whether to stay in the balm or go inside and “do” something, I caught sight of something white and shining.
I would say that it called my name, but it didn’t quite.
But it said something, because I turned suddenly to see it.
It was the first moonflower.
We had heard that people have moonflower parties, set up their chairs and wait and watch for the bloom to open. It happens in a minute.
I ran indoors to get HM and dragged him outdoors.
Flower drama.
Yes, the moonflower blooms late afternoon, early evening and all night long.
It’s over and done by daylight the next day.
It is said to be fragrant although we didn’t notice that particularly.
It is huge, the size of a small plate.
It is silken and can barely hold it’s own, nearly draping over itself.
If I wrote a children’s story, it would be in it.
I examined the vine the next day to see how many more blooms might happen.
There were about eight “buds.”
The weather has cooled considerably.
The plant has slowed down, though there are about 12 possible blooms to go.
However, the frost threatens and the moonflower, like other flora, does not like frost.
Next year, I”m plunking my chair next to the vine and watching.
It is a magical thing to have a night-blooming flower.
Real Life: … in the kitchen…and the closets…and the drawers
October 12, 2009
Got that Fall thing going on
cleaning up and cleaning out
sighing over memories
memorizing them again
then, tossing the bits and binders of paper on which they’re marked
awash in photos of then and now, however,
I cannot be so blithe
and so will change the way of working te photo albums and journals,
marrying them,
allowing them to become totally non-chrono
because what is a life?
It is not a stream straight from here to there
it’s layered and zigs and zags.
This picture, though, of a kitchen towel and three limes?
It’s to be future ephemera, lost on a CD of saved pics
or
maybe I’ll print it and pile it up and later sort, on a someday, sort the photo pile
and we’ll laugh and remember the moment
at the store when HM and I purchased the towel
much needed (we use them like crazy in the kitchen)
and thought we’d get just one, just one at first,
to see how it held up, to see if later in the wash, the color would run out of it.
Just to see, we bought one.
And the limes? they smack of summer.
We’re on the verge of ignoring them.
They’ll make it into a fajita dish.
We’re on, going on ahead, on to the apples now.
BOOKS
Soon there will be something to report.
I am reading the ARC of CLEAVING, Julie Powells’ new book.
Oh, are you all in for a surprise!!!
And reading concurrently Eleanor Lipman’s THE WAY MEN ACT. I haven’t read her before. I like her writing.
More on both later.
Oh, and there are all those New Yorker magazines to catch up on.
Real Life: Let sleeping bees lie…
October 11, 2009
Do bees sleep? I dunno. But this one spent the night (alone?) on this flower.
I know because I wanted to cut all the flowers and bring them in as we closed up the pool area. But here he was, still, the next morning, same flower, same position, his “jacket” all dewy. Very ”punk.”
Very much alive.
Maybe he just wanted
some time away from the hive.
Real Life: book sales…
October 8, 2009
Several weeks ago, a writing friend suggested I attend the Strange Folk Festival in Illinois to be part of the “Writer’s Block.” Perhaps ill-named, it sounded like an opportunity nonetheless. The Festival was reserving two pavilions covering two dozen picnic tables for “local” writers (any writers) to come and sign and sell their books. It was free; just sign up and show up and if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be invited back next year. Also, the Festival attracts approx 10,000 people during its two-day, weekend run.
Sounded like a good op, different. I signed up.
I contacted my publisher and bought some books at the author’s discount to mule over to the fair. I packed up a huge pink shiny tablecloth, also got tons of brochures and bookmarks (from the publisher), had all kinds of $$$ change, bought some clear bags (to make a nice little package – autographed book, bookmark in the bag, sealed with a cool pink sticker), you know, for the “presentation” factor.
I thought it might work out since one of the books is the PINK PRAYER book; the second one, newly released PRAYERS FOR COPING WITH CANCER ,would come along, too. After all, October is breast cancer month so, I thought, there might be some interest. And I just wanted to see what it was like, what it was about.
HM volunteered to come along with me. He knows his way around that part of Illinois. He was interested to see what was what. We would be there from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. , a nice little 6-hour gig. He brought along his guitar. He could sit and play a little, look around. Joked about putting his hat out, you know, to maybe make some money. Ha ha. Let’s just say that if he had done so, he likely would have made more than I did.
We arrived. The organizer had made wonderful table-size name tags for each of us – about 14 authors had signed up.
And here I must explain. I am Editor of the two books I’ve worked on with Liguori. I wrangled people across the country to submit prayers. Heart felt, heart-wrenching prayers that are actually tiny tales in and of themselves, tales of triumph in some way. I wrangled some really good writers to submit essays. I wrote the preface. I edited, organized and coordinated the book, got one or two “big” names to say something.
For that, my name went on the book. It’s not all my writing. Literally, I am not the author. Also, I’m not all “churchy,” I’m not a church lady, nothing like that though my spirtiualism runs deep. I am the product of a Prebyterian upbringing, now married to a Roman Catholic who was educated through to graduation by the Jesuits. Still, had you asked, I would never have thought to produce two such books.
Please note that sometimes a successful book project happens because of connections, because of who you know. I know a senior editor at Liguori Publications. Because she reads my journalistic stuff that’s out there, she knew I like/love writing and asked if I would do these projects for Liguori. She is an excellent editor with publishing savvy. I said yes. The PINK PRAYER book has, as she promised, done amazingly well out there in the first year of its publication. The second book that just came out, will likely do the same thanks to Liguori, its professionalism and its reach.
All that aside, I stood there that beautiful fall day (and sometimes sat) two weeks ago, opting to sell the prayer books. It was interesting. It was hell. I prefer not to do it.
Here’s what I learned:
Position is everything. On my left was “goth.” On my right was “sci fi.” There I was in the middle: “prayer.”
Choose your venue. Had I been at a breast cancer awareness conference or a religious convention, perhaps people would have been less shy to browse the book, ask questions, etc. As it was, several people stopped by my table, got tears in their eyes, told a little story about themselves or family member, and walked away. I wanted to pat their hand or hug them more than try to sell them a book.
Feel the book; trumpet your wares. Like the “goth” girl on my left who told people as they approached that she had “the book they were looking for, that the death count in each of her novels was more than 60 percent.” Meanwhile, she “dressed” the part of her book, in drapey red and black clothing, scary hair, table draped in skulls. She said she did tons of these fairs, selling a few books. The money was at the conferences.
Sell other stuff, too. Like the Sassy Scribes across from me. They had a raffle for a basket of books. And they had a big bowl of (free) candy. I thought of entering their raffle AND eating some of their candy. (but I didn’t!)
Pick your book price. Think carefully. Do you want to sell and make a profit per book above what you paid considering your discount? (I thought I did. Wrong!) Do you want to price it under the internet prices on Amazon, etc.? Yes. (I did.) Do you want to get it into as many hands as possible regardless of price? Here you must give some weighty thought. In retrospect, I should have sold well under my discount price, just to get it into other people’s hands. But that would mean more people would have come to our “area” which was located at the far outskirts of the fair (unfortunately) and nowhere near the food (unfortunately!) Not to rationalize or anything, but like I said earlier “position is everything.” Very few people knew we were there. Um, no, I wasn’t going to run around the thick of the fair handing out brochures. I just couldn’t do that, say what you will about marketing.
Have someone do this sales/marketing thing for you. I was uncomfortable from the moment I arrived. Don’t get me wrong. I love to address a crowd, will give a speech to 500 strangers, will sing in a bistro with the band now and then, will give corporate presentations, will hostess parties and organize events and talk to strangers about writing and publishing, will teach workshops about writing to newbies and semi-pros and will do it with a smile and not a second thought. But this was not my thing, this picnic table in the wilderness where honestly, more people were interested in the ribbon fries than books and craft frippery. HM stepped up for me every time someone came to the table; he made them comfortable, chatted them up, did his sales thing which comes naturally. Further, it was great talking with other writers, what they were doing (all had full time jobs, too), how they whipped up bookmarks, what they had seen at other fairs, how much time they spent hawking, the profit from Amazon vs doing it this way on their own, etc. Still…
Be realistic. Having talked with the other writers that day, all but two others were self published and were there, “just to see” how it might go. Two showed up with a box of books and nothing else. Two came with all the booth-y bells and whistles you can imagine. Several claimed that at such a 2-day event, they hoped to sell two books.
I gave two books away: One to one of the Sassy Scribes who mentioned that a family member had just been diagnosed with cancer. The other book, to the woman who had organized the Writers Block thing for us. She would put it on display at the O’Fallon library. Good. I was beginning to feel that my purpose was mainly to get the word out, that people knew the book existed in case they needed it.
When the rains came at 2 o’clock, complete with hellacious lightning and thunder and the floors of the pavilion were flooding, I looked at HM, he knew “the look,” we packed up in a NY minute and were out of the there, with cheery goodbyes and sincere thank yous to the others we had met and shared space with for four hours. Goth girl, now wrapped in a blanket with her son, and the writer who brought nothing but his book he had written 10 years ago, waved cheerily and said “You’re not really leaving now, are you?” Everyone was great. Each had a story.
I’m glad I went there.
I’m glad I left.
I’m glad I am now intent on writing my own book(s) and will find a way, traditional or not, to get them out there.
