I'm in one of my periodic spells of just not being able to find a book I like. Believe me, I've tried. I've tried good books - The Book Thief by Markus Zuzak; and bad books - Big Girl, by Danielle Steel. I started Anne of Ingleside by L.M. Montgomery, because I like the Anne series, but even that's failing me. So what's a reader to do?
This isn't the first time this has happened to me. I've had dry spells before. I don't finish books I don't like, but when the unfinished books start piling up, I'm in trouble. I don't know if it's me, if I'm tired of reading, or if I'm just hitting a bad patch. Probably both.
What makes it so tough is that fiction is my addiction of choice. That might sound like a joke, but it isn't. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have books to escape to. I'm not denying reality. I watch the news and read the paper and keep up on what's going on. And, as you know, what's going on is usually pretty grim. That's why I read, and write, the kind of books I do. I don't need to read about real life. I live it. Let me get away from it once in a while.
When this happens I get leery of trying something new, so I've picked up an old reliable, Rex Stout. I enjoy his Nero Wolfe books, and since I rarely remember the solution to the mystery, I can reread them without much trouble. I haven't picked the best of his titles, but at least they're readable. Hopefully they'll get me through.
I hope this doesn't go on much longer, because it's lousy. If I can't find something good to read, I might have to take drastic action. Since no one seems to be writing a book I want to read, I might just have to write one myself.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Writers Write - Right?
I have fallen into my bad old pattern of not writing, including this blog. It's not that I don't want to - kind of. I like the idea of getting into a book again. Somehow, though, I never get going. I'm not going to use the excuse that I don't have time. I've never had anything but scorn for that excuse. I have the same 24 hours in a day as everyone else, and in the past I managed to complete quite a few books while working another job. The most notable was the huge, never to be published manuscript I produced in one year while I was working in Boston. That entailed a long day with a long commute, beginning at 6 AM and ending close to 6 PM. I once did a time study on my day and concluded that, taking everything into account, my work, the commute, and necessary things like eating and sleeping, that I had 15 minutes free a day. Yet I still managed to produce that book. I'm proud of that.
It's not always that easy, though. Way back then I was single and sharing a house with my parents, which means that I was responsible for only myself. Now I'm a single mother, and I'm somewhat older. My schedule is different, too. While I no longer have the long commute, I work till 8, 2 days in the week. I'm tired at night. Sometimes I just want to veg out in front of the TV. Sometimes I want to read other people's works. And sometimes all I want to do is sleep.
Now, this doesn't mean I haven't made a start. I've compiled quite a few notes, and I've put together different scenes for "Miss Nobody". I'm close to being able to start writing it. There's just one problem. I don't want to.
So, OK. That contradicts everything I've said, not only in this post, but in others preceding it. But, there it is. I do not want to write "Miss Nobody." Though I've got some lively characters, the story itself is just too close to the Regencies I used to write. I'm tired of that. I want to move on. I want to write the first book in the Three Graces trilogy, Felicity. So the trilogy needs "Miss Nobody" as a prequeL? So what? I'll find a way to work around it. I hate doing a lot of flashback in a book, particularly at the start, and so I don't know quite how I'll fit the relevant information in. I'll manage somehow.
I've wanted to write Felicity for quite a few years. I love the main character and I like the basic premise. In fact, I'm excited about it. So, why aren't I writing? Damned if I know, except that it's my old bad pattern, formed when I started writing things I didn't really want to write, which burned me out. When writing became a real chore, it also became something to avoid. I need to rediscover my love and passion for it. And the only way to do that is not to read someone else's book, or watch the tube. The only way is to write. Gulp.
So. Take a deep breath and get started, kiddo. I'll report my progress, or lack thereof, in a future entry. For now, sleep calls.
It's not always that easy, though. Way back then I was single and sharing a house with my parents, which means that I was responsible for only myself. Now I'm a single mother, and I'm somewhat older. My schedule is different, too. While I no longer have the long commute, I work till 8, 2 days in the week. I'm tired at night. Sometimes I just want to veg out in front of the TV. Sometimes I want to read other people's works. And sometimes all I want to do is sleep.
Now, this doesn't mean I haven't made a start. I've compiled quite a few notes, and I've put together different scenes for "Miss Nobody". I'm close to being able to start writing it. There's just one problem. I don't want to.
So, OK. That contradicts everything I've said, not only in this post, but in others preceding it. But, there it is. I do not want to write "Miss Nobody." Though I've got some lively characters, the story itself is just too close to the Regencies I used to write. I'm tired of that. I want to move on. I want to write the first book in the Three Graces trilogy, Felicity. So the trilogy needs "Miss Nobody" as a prequeL? So what? I'll find a way to work around it. I hate doing a lot of flashback in a book, particularly at the start, and so I don't know quite how I'll fit the relevant information in. I'll manage somehow.
I've wanted to write Felicity for quite a few years. I love the main character and I like the basic premise. In fact, I'm excited about it. So, why aren't I writing? Damned if I know, except that it's my old bad pattern, formed when I started writing things I didn't really want to write, which burned me out. When writing became a real chore, it also became something to avoid. I need to rediscover my love and passion for it. And the only way to do that is not to read someone else's book, or watch the tube. The only way is to write. Gulp.
So. Take a deep breath and get started, kiddo. I'll report my progress, or lack thereof, in a future entry. For now, sleep calls.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Woot! Woot! Woot!
So I was at work this morning, and I decided to check the sales ranking for The Rake's Reward. The page loaded and I saw: #100 in the Kindle store. I let out a whoop and started doing the Snoopy dance, which made my co-worker jump. This happened at the circulation desk, mind you. So much for a quiet library.
What a day. I kept checking my rankings throughout the day, and whenever I was out on the floor, getting books from the stacks and pretty certain that no one was looking, I did fist pumps. As of today I've sold over 17,000 books for August. I'm projecting I'll hit over 22,000 by the end of the month. That's more than I sold in the first 6 month royalty period for some of my print books. I'm stunned. I hoped I'd have success, but I never expected this.
In my first month of publishing, I sold 5, count 'em, 5 books. Gradually my numbers grew, if not quickly, at least steadily. In May I was selling over 8 books per day, which I thought was respectable. I figured the numbers would only rise. But in June, I sold only about 7 books a day. Something was wrong. True, I didn't promote, and maybe that would help, but I really didn't want to do it. If producing ebooks makes you part of a crowd, so do some avenues of self-promotion. Everyone tweets, uses Facebook, and writes blogs, thus becoming part of another crowd. I decided I didn't want to go that way. Still, I had to do something. I'd produce more books, of course, but that would take time. I had to boost my sales somehow.
So, at the end of June, I lowered all my book prices from $2.99 and $3.99, which, by the way, I thought and still think to be reasonable, to .99. Nothing happened at first, but in the beginning of July I began seeing something. I sold 16 books in a day. Wow! Then 12. Oh, I hoped I'd sell 14, to keep the average. I didn't. I sold 20. And on, and on, until I hit 75. Over 100. Over, now, 800 and rising. I now make many times more money from my books per day than I do in my day job.
As I've said elsewhere,quitting writing 3 years ago was the right decision. Returning to writing now is the right decision, too. It's feeling good again. I'm doing the research and still writing notes, but I can feel the day when I write that first line coming closer. Yesterday one of the patrons at the library told me I'm losing money by working there, that I should be home writing. Hmmm. Is another decision on the way? Stay tuned.
What a day. I kept checking my rankings throughout the day, and whenever I was out on the floor, getting books from the stacks and pretty certain that no one was looking, I did fist pumps. As of today I've sold over 17,000 books for August. I'm projecting I'll hit over 22,000 by the end of the month. That's more than I sold in the first 6 month royalty period for some of my print books. I'm stunned. I hoped I'd have success, but I never expected this.
In my first month of publishing, I sold 5, count 'em, 5 books. Gradually my numbers grew, if not quickly, at least steadily. In May I was selling over 8 books per day, which I thought was respectable. I figured the numbers would only rise. But in June, I sold only about 7 books a day. Something was wrong. True, I didn't promote, and maybe that would help, but I really didn't want to do it. If producing ebooks makes you part of a crowd, so do some avenues of self-promotion. Everyone tweets, uses Facebook, and writes blogs, thus becoming part of another crowd. I decided I didn't want to go that way. Still, I had to do something. I'd produce more books, of course, but that would take time. I had to boost my sales somehow.
So, at the end of June, I lowered all my book prices from $2.99 and $3.99, which, by the way, I thought and still think to be reasonable, to .99. Nothing happened at first, but in the beginning of July I began seeing something. I sold 16 books in a day. Wow! Then 12. Oh, I hoped I'd sell 14, to keep the average. I didn't. I sold 20. And on, and on, until I hit 75. Over 100. Over, now, 800 and rising. I now make many times more money from my books per day than I do in my day job.
As I've said elsewhere,quitting writing 3 years ago was the right decision. Returning to writing now is the right decision, too. It's feeling good again. I'm doing the research and still writing notes, but I can feel the day when I write that first line coming closer. Yesterday one of the patrons at the library told me I'm losing money by working there, that I should be home writing. Hmmm. Is another decision on the way? Stay tuned.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Let's Start at the Very Beginning
It starts with an idea.
That's the easy part. Something will leap out and grab me: a stroll on Newport's Cliff Walk, a line from a Dixie Chicks song, a jumbled dream. In this case, it was the idea of writing a Cinderella story set in Regency times. A real Cinderella story, with a poor relation heroine named Eleanor, a mean aunt, and 2 obnoxious cousins. Then the handsome earl comes along, in disguise, because he wants to survey the estate he's only recently inherited, without any fuss. And - well, you know the end of the story. Beautiful girl marries handsome nobleman, they live happily ever after, the end.
And it starts with notes. Lots and lots of notes. Ideas. Modification of ideas. Character sketches. Fragments of scenes. Lists of scenes. And in there, some startling changes. Like, what if the story's set in Victorian England, instead? And what if Eleanor, if still a poor relation, traveled widely with her father and is cosmopolitan and sophisticated as a result? And if Christopher, the earl, actually teaches math at Cambridge? Never mind that I'm lousy at math, and that I don't know anything about astronomy, his other avocation. That's what research is for. But how did all the rest of this happens?
Something happens when I put pen to paper. It's as if there's a direct connection from my brain to my hand, and I find myself writing things I never expected. Some of it's conscious, as when I decided that it was too easy to make the aunt mean; she is merely self-centered, a little silly, and a tad malicious, instead. Some of it came from nowhere. If Christopher was sickly as a child, maybe he's more slightly built than some of my characters? Wrong. Christopher told me he rows and gave me the image to go with that news. Instantly he became a broad-shouldered hunk with thick, russet-colored hair. Much more appealing.
Then there's the change in setting, to Victorian times. That means research. I'm knowledgeable about the Regency, as well as the clipper ship era in the 1840's, and America's Gilded Age. I love research, though, and working at a library I can get books on just about any subject I want. I just have to be careful not to overwhelm myself, because I don't have all the time in the world. Darn.
Finally there are the 3 not-so-obnoxious cousins - yes, 3, not 2 - who really are pretty much okay to Eleanor. Still, she is a poor relation, and Christopher is still a handsome nobleman, and maybe there's a glass slipper...
Maybe. I doubt it, but at this point I don't know for sure what's going to happen. All I know is that I just keep writing notes. After all, that's what it starts with.
That's the easy part. Something will leap out and grab me: a stroll on Newport's Cliff Walk, a line from a Dixie Chicks song, a jumbled dream. In this case, it was the idea of writing a Cinderella story set in Regency times. A real Cinderella story, with a poor relation heroine named Eleanor, a mean aunt, and 2 obnoxious cousins. Then the handsome earl comes along, in disguise, because he wants to survey the estate he's only recently inherited, without any fuss. And - well, you know the end of the story. Beautiful girl marries handsome nobleman, they live happily ever after, the end.
And it starts with notes. Lots and lots of notes. Ideas. Modification of ideas. Character sketches. Fragments of scenes. Lists of scenes. And in there, some startling changes. Like, what if the story's set in Victorian England, instead? And what if Eleanor, if still a poor relation, traveled widely with her father and is cosmopolitan and sophisticated as a result? And if Christopher, the earl, actually teaches math at Cambridge? Never mind that I'm lousy at math, and that I don't know anything about astronomy, his other avocation. That's what research is for. But how did all the rest of this happens?
Something happens when I put pen to paper. It's as if there's a direct connection from my brain to my hand, and I find myself writing things I never expected. Some of it's conscious, as when I decided that it was too easy to make the aunt mean; she is merely self-centered, a little silly, and a tad malicious, instead. Some of it came from nowhere. If Christopher was sickly as a child, maybe he's more slightly built than some of my characters? Wrong. Christopher told me he rows and gave me the image to go with that news. Instantly he became a broad-shouldered hunk with thick, russet-colored hair. Much more appealing.
Then there's the change in setting, to Victorian times. That means research. I'm knowledgeable about the Regency, as well as the clipper ship era in the 1840's, and America's Gilded Age. I love research, though, and working at a library I can get books on just about any subject I want. I just have to be careful not to overwhelm myself, because I don't have all the time in the world. Darn.
Finally there are the 3 not-so-obnoxious cousins - yes, 3, not 2 - who really are pretty much okay to Eleanor. Still, she is a poor relation, and Christopher is still a handsome nobleman, and maybe there's a glass slipper...
Maybe. I doubt it, but at this point I don't know for sure what's going to happen. All I know is that I just keep writing notes. After all, that's what it starts with.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
From Start to Finish
Sometimes when I walk past the bookshelves at the library where I work, I wonder how the authors did it. Sometimes I look at my own books on the shelves and wonder how I did it. During my hiatus from writing, I had, at most, a wistful longing to be a writer again. I had no desire to try again. No clue as to even how. While I told myself that my creativity couldn't really be gone, and that someday I'd write again, I didn't really believe it. I walked away from writing 3 and a half years ago. It was the right decision at the time, and I've never regretted it.
Then I discovered electronic publishing, and began reissuing my backlist. Epubbing gave books that had been out of print for years new life. More than that, they gave me an interest in my old career. As I reviewed books prior to publication, I found myself becoming interested again. I stopped wondering how I'd thought of certain things, and began knowing that I'd be able to think of others, if I tried.
There was a practical consideration, too. While I have a good backlist, it's not inexhaustible. The day will come when everything I've written has been published, and then what? Then I'll have to produce something new. Well, I thought, why not start now? It's true that I have little free time, but I'd written before in such circumstances. Get something started now, take my time with it, and by next year it'll be ready to publish.
I chose an old idea to start with, a novella titled "Miss Nobody." It's a story I've always wanted to write. More, it's an absolutely necessary prequel to a trilogy I really want to write. In the print world, I might be able to sell the trilogy, but no publisher would buy a novella. that's one of the advantages of epubbing. It gives niche books a place, and a market.
So, with some trepidation, I took up pen and paper (a black stick pen and a white, narrow-lined pad), and began sketching out notes. What happened surprised me. It's back. The skill and creativity and just plain fun of writing, that I'd thought lost forever, is back. I'm ready to begin the process of creating a book again.
Come along with me as I take this journey. We'll plot the story and watch the characters come to life and do research - together. And along the way, we'll discover how I did it.
Then I discovered electronic publishing, and began reissuing my backlist. Epubbing gave books that had been out of print for years new life. More than that, they gave me an interest in my old career. As I reviewed books prior to publication, I found myself becoming interested again. I stopped wondering how I'd thought of certain things, and began knowing that I'd be able to think of others, if I tried.
There was a practical consideration, too. While I have a good backlist, it's not inexhaustible. The day will come when everything I've written has been published, and then what? Then I'll have to produce something new. Well, I thought, why not start now? It's true that I have little free time, but I'd written before in such circumstances. Get something started now, take my time with it, and by next year it'll be ready to publish.
I chose an old idea to start with, a novella titled "Miss Nobody." It's a story I've always wanted to write. More, it's an absolutely necessary prequel to a trilogy I really want to write. In the print world, I might be able to sell the trilogy, but no publisher would buy a novella. that's one of the advantages of epubbing. It gives niche books a place, and a market.
So, with some trepidation, I took up pen and paper (a black stick pen and a white, narrow-lined pad), and began sketching out notes. What happened surprised me. It's back. The skill and creativity and just plain fun of writing, that I'd thought lost forever, is back. I'm ready to begin the process of creating a book again.
Come along with me as I take this journey. We'll plot the story and watch the characters come to life and do research - together. And along the way, we'll discover how I did it.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
One Darned Thing After Another
When I’ve published my ebooks, I’ve never set a formal release date. I’ve just put them out there. As I worked on the reissue of my next book, A Summer Folly, it occurred to me that a book about summer should be released on the first day of summer. With that in mind, I set June 21 as the deadline for getting the book out.
It didn’t happen. The trip to California, complete with broken wrist, shot my schedule to hell. I will not belabor that point since I’ve already whined about it. I don’t care what my doctor said. Typing with a cast on is hard. Still, I persevered, and managed to finish the book. I even got components for the cover art done. After some back and forth, my cover artist came up with something I like and will be using. The result? A Summer Folly will be published sometime this weekend.
Real life interferes with writing sometimes. People in your life need you, other tasks demand doing, and your boss actually expects you to get work done. Writers need to persevere, though. We can’t wait around for inspiration to strike, or we’ll never get a word down on epaper. Cast or not, cover problems or not, I kept going. It’s something all creative people need to do, hard though it may be. Sometimes, it may be the only bright spot in your life. After all, if you’re like me, you were born with a burning need to create within you. Go thou, and do so.
Oh, and the cast comes off in two weeks. Yay!
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Them's the Breaks
My mother, when she was alive, used to talk about getting old, about how from one year to the next she found herself able to do fewer things. I believed her, but in an abstract way. After all, I could still do pretty much anything. Yes, I was low on energy, but I’ve always been sedentary. And I’d recovered from surgery for TMJ and a hysterectomy just fine; in fact, better than fine, in that I was able to do things faster than anyone expected. Obviously I was a fast healer. And then I broke my wrist….
Last year, on a day of snow showers, I found the one ice patch in the entire city. Out went my foot from under me; straight down I went, landing on a very well cushioned part of my anatomy, and my left hand. I knew immediately that it was broken. I couldn’t move it in any direction, and it felt curiously dead. What I chiefly felt at that moment was disgust. Yes, I knew that time would pass, and I’d get over it. I just had to deal with it, day by day. I was soon back to work, where my co-workers decorated my cast with pictures of Snoopy, and the symbol for crash test dummies. My boss even wrote a limerick. Sure enough, time passed. The cast came off and I headed for physical therapy, which I worked at with a vengeance. In time I got my strength and mobility back. End of a bad chapter - or so I thought.
Fast forward to May of this year. My daughter and I were on vacation in California. We went to Santa Monica a couple of times, and Grauman’s Chinese theater, and Universal Studios. On the last day of our trip we went to the Getty Museum, with a trip to UCLA planned for afterwards. As we wandered through the Getty’s gardens, I tripped over a low curb protecting the flowerbeds. Again I went down, this time landing on my right hand. I will not repeat what I said to myself. Suffice it to say it wasn’t nice. This wasn’t supposed to happen, I thought. I had this problem last year, and I should have been OK for a few more years. Plus I was 3000 miles away from home and my support system. How was I going to drive to a hospital for treatment, let alone get back to our hotel in Hollywood, 12 miles distant, in LA’s traffic? And then to the airport the next day? This was serious. I was the only adult in our group. There was no one I could call for help. Eventually, though, I found myself in the hands of two very helpful EMT’s. They loaded me in an ambulance, which I found vaguely humiliating. Then there we were, the ER at the UCLA Medical Center. We got there after all, just not in the way we’d planned.
I had a great orthopedic doctor. He was the best looking man I’ve seen in a long time. As he gave me his diagnosis, I was staring at him, wondering how I’d describe him back home. Dr. McDreamy has been taken. I know! Dr. Delicious! Hey, Mary. Stop staring at this guy, and listen to what he’s saying. He set the wrist, wrapped it up, and sent me on my way. I’d already given up all thoughts of driving. Hertz could come tow the car. We’d take a cab back to the hotel, and to heck with the price. Then we’d catch a shuttle to the airport the next day.
All worked out. Though I couldn’t find an open pharmacy for my prescription for pain pills (note to LA: leave the pharmacies open later on Saturday nights, and open earlier in the morning. I mean, in such a big city, shouldn’t pharmacies be more easily available)? After having my cast screened at security at the airport, to make sure I wasn’t disguising a bomb or some such, I flew across the continent with my arm upraised, for the swelling. My sister met me on the other end, and I found myself in the care of people who mean a lot to me. Now I sport a hot pink cast, with various signatures and a picture of Garfield. I’ve been given the reluctant go-ahead from my doctor to drive, thank God. When patrons at the library ask me what happened, I tell them I punched someone for returnng a book late. Thank God I can get around and work and eat chocolate, though I can’t use a fork and writing is hard. However…
We return to the first paragraph. I’m not bouncing back from this as quickly as I did as a child, or even as recently as last year. I get tired easily, and I move slower than usual. Motrin and Vicodrin are my best friends. And I can’t get up much energy to work on the book I want to put out this week. My mother was right, as she usually was. What a drag it is getting old.
This has been a long, and somewhat self-indulgent entry, but if I don’t feel sorry for myself, who will? Such is life. Thank you Pat, Marcia, Tom, Chris, Kling, Karen, and Frank, and my wonderful doctor, Mi Haisman, who asked me what I was doing back in her office. And thank all of you who’ve persevered through this long story. I promise you that better days, and better entries, are coming.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Relentless Self-Promotion
It is an axiom among ebook/indie writers that self-promotion is absolutely necessary for the success of any book. Get on Facebook, Twitter, and other social networks. Keep a blog, maintain a website, send out newsletters. Hold promotions and contests, and make sure everyone always knows what you’re doing, all to get your book noticed. Does it work? To an extent, sure. There are authors who’ve had a great deal of success because of their promotional efforts. There are also authors who haven’t. There are some who haven’t done a thing, and yet their books sell. This is all well and good, but to date I haven’t done much of it. The reason? I hate it.
There are few things that bother me more than a hard sell, and that’s what relentless self-promotion is. I’ve come to the reluctant conclusion, though, that I have to promote my books, at least, some of the time. So, occasionally, I’ll write an entry about this book or that. I’ll try to make it entertaining, so you’ll get something more out of it than a sales pitch. In that spirit, I must say that I currently have 5 ebooks available for sale. Two are Regency novellas: “Gifts of the Heart” and “The Crystal Heart.” Two are full-length Regency romances: The Rake’s Reward and An Unsuitable Wife. One is a historical romance, In a Pirate’s Arms. I will also soon be releasing a sixth book, another Regency, titled A Summer Folly. The release date is June 21, to coincide with the beginning of summer. All my books are available at Amazon, for the Kindle; Barnes and Noble, for the Nook; and at Smashwords.com for a variety of formats. Just search on Mary Kingsley, and the titles will come up.
There. That’s the end of the promotional part of this entry. Not too painful, was it?
Indie writers don’t want to admit that traditional books have any advantages over ebooks, but they do, and it’s important. It’s the ability to browse. Go into any bookstore and browse through the books. Maybe you’re looking for something special; maybe not. But something catches your eye: a title, a cover, an author’s name, and you find yourself reaching for a book on the shelf. You read the back cover copy and the inside cover copy, and you decide that, it might be not what you were looking for, but it’s exactly what you want. Serendipity.
You don’t get that with ebooks. Amazon tries to replicate the experience by showcasing books similar to those you’ve already bought, but that puts only a few titles in front of you. In a bookstore, there are thousands. Yes, Amazon has a far greater inventory, but their books aren’t available for you to touch and hold and browse. There’s something to be said for the old way of doing things.
So, where does this leave the ebook author? Forced to push her books onto an unsuspecting public, because she knows they’re not going to show up at airport kiosks or supermarket shelves anytime soon. When I began this blog, my intention was not just to sound off, but to entertain, which is why I’ve written about such disparate topics as sleep, make-up (ah, Sephora), and daylight savings time. My intention with writing books still is to entertain, but if you, the reader, don’t know what’s out there, how can you know what to buy? Hm. Maybe self-promotion isn’t so bad, after all.
Friday, April 22, 2011
This Old Book
When I was going through my old manuscripts a couple of months back, I came across one that was never published. Facing the Music is my only semi-successful attempt at writing a contemporary romance, before I found my niche as a Regency author. And guess what? It’s not awful. Oh, it’s no masterpiece. While I did have an agent interested, it didn't sell. With experience under my belt, I understand why. For one thing, it doesn't really fit into any category. It's not a traditional category romance. It's not chick lit. If anything, it’s closer to the romances written by Elswyth Thane, one of my influences.
For all the negatives I just listed, it's still a book I like. I like the characters, who are people I'd like to meet in real life. The premise is slim, but can be beefed up. So can the characters' motivations. Do you see where I'm going with this? This book has caught me. It’s changed my direction.
I’m going to rewrite Facing the Music. It’s a pleasant little book. It’ll never set the world on fire, and it’s still unsalable in the traditional way, but that’s where epublishing comes in. It will give the old, new life.
So, after being creatively dormant for over three years, I’m going to take a deep breath to calm my anxiety and plunge in to rewriting and revising this old book, for which I hold a great deal of affection. Wish me luck!
For all the negatives I just listed, it's still a book I like. I like the characters, who are people I'd like to meet in real life. The premise is slim, but can be beefed up. So can the characters' motivations. Do you see where I'm going with this? This book has caught me. It’s changed my direction.
I’m going to rewrite Facing the Music. It’s a pleasant little book. It’ll never set the world on fire, and it’s still unsalable in the traditional way, but that’s where epublishing comes in. It will give the old, new life.
So, after being creatively dormant for over three years, I’m going to take a deep breath to calm my anxiety and plunge in to rewriting and revising this old book, for which I hold a great deal of affection. Wish me luck!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Yay, Me!
I am now officially an indie author. With my books for sale at Amazon for the Kindle, at B & N for the Nook, and at Smashwords, I have become a publisher as well as a writer. Like many another indie author, I check my sales obssessively. So I am happy to announce that I have sold 100 books in April already. Yay!
There's Cake in My Future - I Think
I met the New Bedford Free Public Library's 50 Book Challenge! Last Monday, April 11, at 11:14 PM, I finished book #50. The date and time are important because I'm in a race. My boss and I are in a competition to see who can finish first. Since she was on vacation this week she had a time advantage over me. However, I was a few books ahead, so I *think* I won. And what are the stakes of this competition? Pizza for her, if she wins; chocolate cake for me. With chocolate frosting, of course.
The last time we had a competition, to see who could read the most books in 6 months, we tied, at 82 each. I don't think that's going to happen this time. Cake, anyone?
The last time we had a competition, to see who could read the most books in 6 months, we tied, at 82 each. I don't think that's going to happen this time. Cake, anyone?
Sunday, March 13, 2011
I Want My Hour Back
I hate the first day of Daylight Savings. I'm never quite sure what time it is. Let's see, I woke up at 8, but it was really 9. Or the clock says it's 6 and it's time for supper, but my body thinks it's 5 and isn't hungry. I seem to be playing catch-up all day. Thank God it's always a Sunday, at 2 AM, or I don't know what I'd do.
That 2 AM thing has always bothered me. Last fall, when we switched back to Standard Time, I was awake, looking at my iPhone to see what happened at 2. What happened was, there was no 2. As the seconds counted down at 1:59 AM, the hour changed to 1 AM. This is the only time when 1 comes before 1. 2 AM came an hour later, which by the previous way of telling time should have been 3, but wasn't. Confused? The iPhone was; this time, it didn't know whether to spring ahead or fall back, and it made the wrong choice. At 2 AM, when it should have been 3 AM, it said it was 1 AM. So, here's my question. How can you change your clocks at 2 AM, when there is no 2 AM? And who picked that particular hour for the change? It's all very perplexing.
Telling time is weird, anyway. Without researching it, I'm pretty sure that the Romans invented the 24 hour clock. Why 24 hours? Why not? I can live with that, as well as with 60 minutes in an hour and sixty seconds in a minute (and even with the hundredth of a second, which is apparently a long time in Olympic sports). What bugs me, and always has, is that the day begins at 12 AM. Midnight, as in the middle of the night. By definition night is not day, so how can that be the start of the day? I can see why that particular hour might hold some importance. The numbering of hours probably started with noon, which is when the sun reaches its apex. Fine. That's an actual, measurable cosmic event. So, 12 hours after that is midnight. But why call noon12 PM? Why not call it 6, if you're going to stick with the 24 hour day? After all, it's midday, though with the clocks being changed, the astronomical noon probably doesn't happen at 12. (and the true equinox doesn't happen on the day of the equinox - but that's another story). If noon is considered to be six, it follows that what we now call 6 AM should be 12 AM. That way, the day begins when it really should: around daybreak. Sunrise to sunrise makes a day. Right? I'm just saying.
So, fine. Because of the Romans we're stuck with a weird start to the day, and because of Ben Franklin we have to adjust our clocks twice a year. Yes, good old Ben came up with the idea of Daylight Savings, and it was enacted during World War II. In recent years, it starts earlier than it used to, and ends later. It has to do with conserving energy usage. But did you know that not all states in the country follow it? Hawaii doesn't have Daylight Savings. Neither does one county in one of the midwest states. Can you imagine that? Every county in that state is at one time, except for this one. So if you live in County A, but you work in County B, you'd better keep an eye on the clock and make sure you're where you're supposed to be at the right time, or it might be 2 when it's supposed to be 3.
So here I am at 10 PM, reluctantly deciding that I should probably start getting things ready for tomorrow, and another week of work. But it's really 9! Last night at this time it wasn't last night at this time. I had another hour to go. Today I don't.
I miss that hour. Think of what I could have done with it. I could have slept later, written more, done a craft, even cleaned (well, no). It doesn't matter, really. That's my time that got stolen, and I feel cheated. I want my hour back!
That 2 AM thing has always bothered me. Last fall, when we switched back to Standard Time, I was awake, looking at my iPhone to see what happened at 2. What happened was, there was no 2. As the seconds counted down at 1:59 AM, the hour changed to 1 AM. This is the only time when 1 comes before 1. 2 AM came an hour later, which by the previous way of telling time should have been 3, but wasn't. Confused? The iPhone was; this time, it didn't know whether to spring ahead or fall back, and it made the wrong choice. At 2 AM, when it should have been 3 AM, it said it was 1 AM. So, here's my question. How can you change your clocks at 2 AM, when there is no 2 AM? And who picked that particular hour for the change? It's all very perplexing.
Telling time is weird, anyway. Without researching it, I'm pretty sure that the Romans invented the 24 hour clock. Why 24 hours? Why not? I can live with that, as well as with 60 minutes in an hour and sixty seconds in a minute (and even with the hundredth of a second, which is apparently a long time in Olympic sports). What bugs me, and always has, is that the day begins at 12 AM. Midnight, as in the middle of the night. By definition night is not day, so how can that be the start of the day? I can see why that particular hour might hold some importance. The numbering of hours probably started with noon, which is when the sun reaches its apex. Fine. That's an actual, measurable cosmic event. So, 12 hours after that is midnight. But why call noon12 PM? Why not call it 6, if you're going to stick with the 24 hour day? After all, it's midday, though with the clocks being changed, the astronomical noon probably doesn't happen at 12. (and the true equinox doesn't happen on the day of the equinox - but that's another story). If noon is considered to be six, it follows that what we now call 6 AM should be 12 AM. That way, the day begins when it really should: around daybreak. Sunrise to sunrise makes a day. Right? I'm just saying.
So, fine. Because of the Romans we're stuck with a weird start to the day, and because of Ben Franklin we have to adjust our clocks twice a year. Yes, good old Ben came up with the idea of Daylight Savings, and it was enacted during World War II. In recent years, it starts earlier than it used to, and ends later. It has to do with conserving energy usage. But did you know that not all states in the country follow it? Hawaii doesn't have Daylight Savings. Neither does one county in one of the midwest states. Can you imagine that? Every county in that state is at one time, except for this one. So if you live in County A, but you work in County B, you'd better keep an eye on the clock and make sure you're where you're supposed to be at the right time, or it might be 2 when it's supposed to be 3.
So here I am at 10 PM, reluctantly deciding that I should probably start getting things ready for tomorrow, and another week of work. But it's really 9! Last night at this time it wasn't last night at this time. I had another hour to go. Today I don't.
I miss that hour. Think of what I could have done with it. I could have slept later, written more, done a craft, even cleaned (well, no). It doesn't matter, really. That's my time that got stolen, and I feel cheated. I want my hour back!
Monday, February 21, 2011
The 150 Book Challenge
Several years ago, someone in an Internet group challenged herself to read 50 books. That idea caught on with other people in her group. Soon, the 50 Book Challenge became known far beyond this little Internet community, into the wider world of ordinary readers, including me.
I read a lot, and I read fast. 50 books in a year is nothing for me. For the last 3 years I've challenged myself to read 150, which I have yet to do. Still, I keep going. This year I'll make it.
In addition to my own challenge, I'm also taking part in the New Bedford library's 50 Book Challenge, which was my idea. It got amazing publicity, showing up in newspapers and TV stations all across the country, and on websites from as far away as China. Well over 300 people have signed up for it. In spite of TV and DVD's, in spite of computers, reading is holding its own.
So where am I today, Feb. 21? I'm at 28 for the 50 Book Challenge, which started in December, and 25 in my own challenge. I've had a few books I didn't finish, but there have also been a lot I really liked. I'll probably have the 50 read during April, and I'm well on track to meet the 150 total. Did I mention that I'm having fun?
It's not too late for people to read 50 books this year. I'll bet a lot of you read more than that, anyway. If you want to do it in an organized manner, and you live in SouthCoast Massachusetts, why not join the New Bedford library's challenge? Check it out at the library's website, at http://www.newbedford-ma.gov/Library/ Once you read 50 books you get a prize, and we're planning various get-togethers and author appearances.
So, what are you doing reading this blog? Go pick up a book! I'm going to.
I read a lot, and I read fast. 50 books in a year is nothing for me. For the last 3 years I've challenged myself to read 150, which I have yet to do. Still, I keep going. This year I'll make it.
In addition to my own challenge, I'm also taking part in the New Bedford library's 50 Book Challenge, which was my idea. It got amazing publicity, showing up in newspapers and TV stations all across the country, and on websites from as far away as China. Well over 300 people have signed up for it. In spite of TV and DVD's, in spite of computers, reading is holding its own.
So where am I today, Feb. 21? I'm at 28 for the 50 Book Challenge, which started in December, and 25 in my own challenge. I've had a few books I didn't finish, but there have also been a lot I really liked. I'll probably have the 50 read during April, and I'm well on track to meet the 150 total. Did I mention that I'm having fun?
It's not too late for people to read 50 books this year. I'll bet a lot of you read more than that, anyway. If you want to do it in an organized manner, and you live in SouthCoast Massachusetts, why not join the New Bedford library's challenge? Check it out at the library's website, at http://www.newbedford-ma.gov/Library/ Once you read 50 books you get a prize, and we're planning various get-togethers and author appearances.
So, what are you doing reading this blog? Go pick up a book! I'm going to.
The Bad Old Days
I liked my old computer. I really did. I liked Windows XP, the full-sized keyboard, and floppy disks. I didn't like it when it got that virus that almost crashed the hard drive. Fortunately my computer repairman managed to fix it, and even find some extra space on the drive. By then I'd decided, though, to buy a new machine, a cute little laptop. The desktop was almost 4 years old, ancient in computer years, and the drive was almost full. It was time.
I didn't really like the laptop at first. I didn't like Windows 7. It's vastly different from the various Windows systems I've used in the past. I've been computer literate for 30 years. I've worked on IBM and Univac mainframes, and my first PC had to be booted up every day with a 5 1/4 inch floppy. I'm used to change in the computer world. But I was also used to things being done a certain way, and working with files in a certain way. The keyboard feels different. The screen looks different. And I sure as hell don't like the touch pad. Frankly, I missed my old machine. Only the facts that my office is in a renovated front porch, which isn't too well insulated, and that it's been freaking cold, kept me from using it much. About all I did was get my data out to switch to the laptop.
A little over a month has passed, and I love the laptop. It's the best purchase I've made lately, even better than the iPhone. I've gotten used to Windows 7, and the purchase of a mouse makes life infinitely easier. Plus it's portable. I can sit in my room, nice and warm, and do my work. I've converted my files from Wordstar, a word processing program that was cutting edge in the 80's, and I've been having fun getting them ready for epublication. The only problem is that it's not hooked up to a printer yet, and I need hard copies of my manuscripts. That meant returning to the old machine.
It took forever to boot up. The monitor screen is gorgeous, but it was cluttered with all these icons. Copying files from old floppies to the machine meant opening screens and minimizing them, again and again. So did copying from the machine to the thumb drive. Plus, it was just so cold in the office. OK, I told myself. This is a lot better than typing a manuscript on an electric typewriter and then bringing the pages to a copy shop, as I once did. A click here, a click there, and the files were copied in no time. Still, compared to the file handling in Windows 7, it was clunky.
Then there was the printing. I remember now why I always allowed a full day for printing a manuscript for submission. It takes time to print a 300 plus page book. Plus something was always going wrong. The paper would get jammed, or, more than once, I'd run out of ink. Today I shut the printer off for a moment, and now it won't turn back on. Aargh! What a pain. It was wonderful when I was able to send the books in by email.
Last week I sent a manuscript electronically to an electronic publisher, and voila! Instant book. I searched for images on stock photo sites, and, what do you know? I had a book cover. I'm playing with 3D software to create "people" for future book covers. OK, I could probably have done this with the old machine, but somehow this new little computer, with its amazing capabilites, has me trying new things, and loving it. I've come a long way, baby.
30 years ago I learned computer processing on a "mini computer", mini in the sense that it filled a small classroom, not a huge computer room. I don't know what it had for memory, or how large its disk drive was. I do know that it used a text editor, not word processing, and that it had no graphics. The screen was green, with white printing. Today I have a machine that's not even 2 inches thick, and is many times more powerful. Someday I'll probably be enthusing over a different computer, and wondering how I ever survived with my old one. Not yet, though. These are the good old days, folks, and I'm enjoying every minute.
I didn't really like the laptop at first. I didn't like Windows 7. It's vastly different from the various Windows systems I've used in the past. I've been computer literate for 30 years. I've worked on IBM and Univac mainframes, and my first PC had to be booted up every day with a 5 1/4 inch floppy. I'm used to change in the computer world. But I was also used to things being done a certain way, and working with files in a certain way. The keyboard feels different. The screen looks different. And I sure as hell don't like the touch pad. Frankly, I missed my old machine. Only the facts that my office is in a renovated front porch, which isn't too well insulated, and that it's been freaking cold, kept me from using it much. About all I did was get my data out to switch to the laptop.
A little over a month has passed, and I love the laptop. It's the best purchase I've made lately, even better than the iPhone. I've gotten used to Windows 7, and the purchase of a mouse makes life infinitely easier. Plus it's portable. I can sit in my room, nice and warm, and do my work. I've converted my files from Wordstar, a word processing program that was cutting edge in the 80's, and I've been having fun getting them ready for epublication. The only problem is that it's not hooked up to a printer yet, and I need hard copies of my manuscripts. That meant returning to the old machine.
It took forever to boot up. The monitor screen is gorgeous, but it was cluttered with all these icons. Copying files from old floppies to the machine meant opening screens and minimizing them, again and again. So did copying from the machine to the thumb drive. Plus, it was just so cold in the office. OK, I told myself. This is a lot better than typing a manuscript on an electric typewriter and then bringing the pages to a copy shop, as I once did. A click here, a click there, and the files were copied in no time. Still, compared to the file handling in Windows 7, it was clunky.
Then there was the printing. I remember now why I always allowed a full day for printing a manuscript for submission. It takes time to print a 300 plus page book. Plus something was always going wrong. The paper would get jammed, or, more than once, I'd run out of ink. Today I shut the printer off for a moment, and now it won't turn back on. Aargh! What a pain. It was wonderful when I was able to send the books in by email.
Last week I sent a manuscript electronically to an electronic publisher, and voila! Instant book. I searched for images on stock photo sites, and, what do you know? I had a book cover. I'm playing with 3D software to create "people" for future book covers. OK, I could probably have done this with the old machine, but somehow this new little computer, with its amazing capabilites, has me trying new things, and loving it. I've come a long way, baby.
30 years ago I learned computer processing on a "mini computer", mini in the sense that it filled a small classroom, not a huge computer room. I don't know what it had for memory, or how large its disk drive was. I do know that it used a text editor, not word processing, and that it had no graphics. The screen was green, with white printing. Today I have a machine that's not even 2 inches thick, and is many times more powerful. Someday I'll probably be enthusing over a different computer, and wondering how I ever survived with my old one. Not yet, though. These are the good old days, folks, and I'm enjoying every minute.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Synchronicity
Sometimes seemingly unrelated events come together in surprising ways, so that what happens next almost seems inevitable. It's called synchronicity. The first time I heard the word, I had just gotten the contract for my knitting mysteries. A friend of a friend was going to go to a wool festival in Connecticut, where her friend was having a booth. I'd never heard of such a thing, but a few weeks later I found myself in a damp, drafty barn somewhere in the country, in a heavy downpour. From that experience came the setting for the second knitting book, Knit Fast, Die Young, as well as an idea for what would have been the third book. Had I not met this friend of a friend at just the right time, none of those things would have happened. Synchronicity, indeed.
When I stopped writing 3 years ago, I never intended to stay away from it forever. I did, and still do, intend to stay away from traditional publishing. I planned to publish ebooks someday. Well, someday unexpectedly came last week. A patron at the library showed me an article about people self-publishing their books. That got me thinking. Then a co-worker, who owns a Nook, told me a little bit more about ebooks, and, before you know it, I was researching the topic myself. The upshot is that this past weekend I published an ebook. It's a reissue of one of my old Regency short stories, "Gifts of the Heart." I'm still surprised at how events came together, and how quickly they affected my life. I'm publishing again. Yay!
This is an interesting time in the publishing industry. Ebooks have been around awhile. In fact, one of my mysteries, Death on the Cliff Walk, has been available for quite a few years. It took the development of such devices as the Kindle and the iPad to make them really popular, though. At Amazon ebooks are outselling print books, and that trend is going to continue. Someone's got to supply those books. That's where the self-publishing revolution comes in. While books by established authors are going for $12.00, self-published authors have the luxury of setting their own prices, often at $2.99 or less. Those prices haven't been seen in the book world for many, many years.
At those prices, it wouldn't seem that authors could make much money, but a few have. due to high royalty rates - as high as 70% in some cases. One young woman made over half a million last year with her books; another author, whose books are also in print, made about $50K in January alone. I don't know if I'll ever hit those lofty heights, but if I sell enough books at .99, with a 30% royalty rate, I should do OK. We'll see. What do I have to lose? "Gifts of the Heart" was published in an anthology almost 20 years ago. I love having it in print again. Best of all, I've already been paid for writing it. Anything else is just icing on the cake.
Synchronicity. It's led to a new adventure for me. In the future I'm going to be reissuing the works over which I have control. 1 down, 20 to go!
Buy my book, please? Gifts of the Heart is available for the Kindle at Amazon, under my penname of Mary Kingsley; at Smashwords.com, in all other formats, under Mary Kruger; and soon for other ereaders such as Apple's ibookshelf and Barnes and Noble's Nook. It's only .99. I guarantee you, it'll be the best .99 you've ever spent.
When I stopped writing 3 years ago, I never intended to stay away from it forever. I did, and still do, intend to stay away from traditional publishing. I planned to publish ebooks someday. Well, someday unexpectedly came last week. A patron at the library showed me an article about people self-publishing their books. That got me thinking. Then a co-worker, who owns a Nook, told me a little bit more about ebooks, and, before you know it, I was researching the topic myself. The upshot is that this past weekend I published an ebook. It's a reissue of one of my old Regency short stories, "Gifts of the Heart." I'm still surprised at how events came together, and how quickly they affected my life. I'm publishing again. Yay!
This is an interesting time in the publishing industry. Ebooks have been around awhile. In fact, one of my mysteries, Death on the Cliff Walk, has been available for quite a few years. It took the development of such devices as the Kindle and the iPad to make them really popular, though. At Amazon ebooks are outselling print books, and that trend is going to continue. Someone's got to supply those books. That's where the self-publishing revolution comes in. While books by established authors are going for $12.00, self-published authors have the luxury of setting their own prices, often at $2.99 or less. Those prices haven't been seen in the book world for many, many years.
At those prices, it wouldn't seem that authors could make much money, but a few have. due to high royalty rates - as high as 70% in some cases. One young woman made over half a million last year with her books; another author, whose books are also in print, made about $50K in January alone. I don't know if I'll ever hit those lofty heights, but if I sell enough books at .99, with a 30% royalty rate, I should do OK. We'll see. What do I have to lose? "Gifts of the Heart" was published in an anthology almost 20 years ago. I love having it in print again. Best of all, I've already been paid for writing it. Anything else is just icing on the cake.
Synchronicity. It's led to a new adventure for me. In the future I'm going to be reissuing the works over which I have control. 1 down, 20 to go!
Buy my book, please? Gifts of the Heart is available for the Kindle at Amazon, under my penname of Mary Kingsley; at Smashwords.com, in all other formats, under Mary Kruger; and soon for other ereaders such as Apple's ibookshelf and Barnes and Noble's Nook. It's only .99. I guarantee you, it'll be the best .99 you've ever spent.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
I Guess I'm a Writer, After All
3 years ago this past Thursday (Jan. 27), I was sitting in front of my computer, trying to write and failing miserably. I had a deadline coming up in less than a week for 6 chapters, and I'd barely written 2. I could not, for the life of me, write a coherent sentence. Writing, the thing I'd once loved to do, the thing that had once defined me, had deserted me.
It was a miserable Sunday. I'd planned to write all weekend, but you know what happens when you have a lot of time to do something. You keep telling yourself you have time, you have time. Now I didn't. I'd gone to the mall with my daughter, and I kept thinking, "I should be writing." And then I thought, here I am with my daughter, who won't want to be with me in a few years. I wanted to be enjoying it. Instead, the "should" of writing had taken over my life.
It wasn't always like that. I used to live for writing. But times change. Instead of being young and free, and writing as my sole career, I was a single mother, working full-time. Writing was no longer supreme. I'd plotted my current book in the summer, and I'd liked the story a lot. Somehow, though, I coulldn't write it. Throughout the fall I'd think, "I wish I didn't have to do this." The voice of reason always came back: You have a contract. Just write it. It's going to be your last book. You'll be going out with 20 books under your belt, and that's a nice round number. Just do it.
And so I came to this day, this miserable Sunday which couldn't decide if it should rain or snow, staring at the computer and literally unable to write. I wish I didn't have to do this, I thought, and this time a different voice came back, the voice of a different reason: You don't. Buy yourself out of the contract. You don't have to do this.
It was as if a weight physically lifted itself off my chest. Instantly I was filled with elation and relief. I didn't have to write this book. I didn't have to write at all. I was free.
I waited until Tuesday to call my agent. I wanted to make sure that I was making the right choice. I knew I was letting a lot of people down. I knew I was throwing away what was beginning to look like a financially promising career, and possibly the chance of ever publishing again. But every time I thought of my decision, my spirit soared. When I talked to Meredith there was deadly silence for a moment. Then she told me what I already knew, about buying myself out of the contract. I said that I knew, hung up, and started crying. At the same time, I flung my arms out in joy. The publishing career that had started 20 years earlier with a panic attack ended with the Snoopy dance.
I never regretted that decision. Never. Sometimes I looked at books and wondered how authors wrote them, how I once had known that secret, and felt wistful. But the pressure was gone. Writing the very large check that got me out from under legally, hurt. But what price peace of mind? Now I could think of the date that was supposed to be a deadline and not flinch. The "should" was gone.
Just before Christmas of this past year, 2010, my computer died. While my genius of a repairman was able to resucitate it, I knew it was only a matter of time before it went for good. I bought myself a cute little laptop, and decided to put my old book files on it, before they were lost forever. Of course they were stored on floppies, and my laptop does not have a floppy drive. Of course the early books were written on a word processor from the 80's, so old it ran under DOS instead of Windows. Of course, MS Word couldn't read these files. Even Notepad couldn't read these files. I was stymied, until I found a small, free program (note the word "free") to convert the files. Voila! Suddenly they were readable again. I could get them produced as ebooks, and in large print. I had a chance to make more money from writing, without actually having to write.
Something funny happened as I reformatted the files into Word, though. I started liking what I was doing. Yes, I liked the stories, but I liked the process just as much. One manuscript was converted, and then another, and before I knew it I'd done a third and started reading others. I was staying up until as late as 3 AM, and loving it.
I discovered a few things. I realized that Matt, the hero in my Gilded Age mysteries, really needs to lighten up, and Brooke, the heroine, needs to grow up. (just after I thought this, a character in the book told her the same thing. My writing instincts always were sound). I learned that I can bring a fictional scene to life, and though I don't remember the research I did, the results were there, and done well. And I learned that, man! can I create a romantic hero! I fell in love with Nat Howland of Beyond the Sea, and in severe lust with Brendan Fitzpatrick, the pirate of In a Pirate's Arms. What I realized finally is that Mary Kingsley, romance novelist, is a far better writer than Mary Kruger, mystery novelist. There's a reason for that. Mary Kruger never liked her books as much as Mary Kingsley did.
Have I come full circle? No. I don't have a book needing to be written, or a character begging me to tell his story. While the process of producing a book is beginning to look attractive again, I need the passion to tell a story to keep me going, for all the time and effort and emotion it takes. That's not back yet. Three years ago, though, I didn't know I'd feel as much as I do now. I thought writing was gone for good. It turns out I needed only a rest, and freedom to make my own decisions. I'm not letting that freedom be taken away from me again.
Nearly 30 years ago I was walking along Cambridge Street in Boston, on my way back to work at lunchtime, and thinking about the book I was writing. I had a revelation then. It clarified something that I'd known all my life, and defined me in a way that few other things have done. I've had that revelation again, and it's just as important and momentous now as it was then. I know again something vital and crucial and yet, very simple.
I'm a writer.
It was a miserable Sunday. I'd planned to write all weekend, but you know what happens when you have a lot of time to do something. You keep telling yourself you have time, you have time. Now I didn't. I'd gone to the mall with my daughter, and I kept thinking, "I should be writing." And then I thought, here I am with my daughter, who won't want to be with me in a few years. I wanted to be enjoying it. Instead, the "should" of writing had taken over my life.
It wasn't always like that. I used to live for writing. But times change. Instead of being young and free, and writing as my sole career, I was a single mother, working full-time. Writing was no longer supreme. I'd plotted my current book in the summer, and I'd liked the story a lot. Somehow, though, I coulldn't write it. Throughout the fall I'd think, "I wish I didn't have to do this." The voice of reason always came back: You have a contract. Just write it. It's going to be your last book. You'll be going out with 20 books under your belt, and that's a nice round number. Just do it.
And so I came to this day, this miserable Sunday which couldn't decide if it should rain or snow, staring at the computer and literally unable to write. I wish I didn't have to do this, I thought, and this time a different voice came back, the voice of a different reason: You don't. Buy yourself out of the contract. You don't have to do this.
It was as if a weight physically lifted itself off my chest. Instantly I was filled with elation and relief. I didn't have to write this book. I didn't have to write at all. I was free.
I waited until Tuesday to call my agent. I wanted to make sure that I was making the right choice. I knew I was letting a lot of people down. I knew I was throwing away what was beginning to look like a financially promising career, and possibly the chance of ever publishing again. But every time I thought of my decision, my spirit soared. When I talked to Meredith there was deadly silence for a moment. Then she told me what I already knew, about buying myself out of the contract. I said that I knew, hung up, and started crying. At the same time, I flung my arms out in joy. The publishing career that had started 20 years earlier with a panic attack ended with the Snoopy dance.
I never regretted that decision. Never. Sometimes I looked at books and wondered how authors wrote them, how I once had known that secret, and felt wistful. But the pressure was gone. Writing the very large check that got me out from under legally, hurt. But what price peace of mind? Now I could think of the date that was supposed to be a deadline and not flinch. The "should" was gone.
Just before Christmas of this past year, 2010, my computer died. While my genius of a repairman was able to resucitate it, I knew it was only a matter of time before it went for good. I bought myself a cute little laptop, and decided to put my old book files on it, before they were lost forever. Of course they were stored on floppies, and my laptop does not have a floppy drive. Of course the early books were written on a word processor from the 80's, so old it ran under DOS instead of Windows. Of course, MS Word couldn't read these files. Even Notepad couldn't read these files. I was stymied, until I found a small, free program (note the word "free") to convert the files. Voila! Suddenly they were readable again. I could get them produced as ebooks, and in large print. I had a chance to make more money from writing, without actually having to write.
Something funny happened as I reformatted the files into Word, though. I started liking what I was doing. Yes, I liked the stories, but I liked the process just as much. One manuscript was converted, and then another, and before I knew it I'd done a third and started reading others. I was staying up until as late as 3 AM, and loving it.
I discovered a few things. I realized that Matt, the hero in my Gilded Age mysteries, really needs to lighten up, and Brooke, the heroine, needs to grow up. (just after I thought this, a character in the book told her the same thing. My writing instincts always were sound). I learned that I can bring a fictional scene to life, and though I don't remember the research I did, the results were there, and done well. And I learned that, man! can I create a romantic hero! I fell in love with Nat Howland of Beyond the Sea, and in severe lust with Brendan Fitzpatrick, the pirate of In a Pirate's Arms. What I realized finally is that Mary Kingsley, romance novelist, is a far better writer than Mary Kruger, mystery novelist. There's a reason for that. Mary Kruger never liked her books as much as Mary Kingsley did.
Have I come full circle? No. I don't have a book needing to be written, or a character begging me to tell his story. While the process of producing a book is beginning to look attractive again, I need the passion to tell a story to keep me going, for all the time and effort and emotion it takes. That's not back yet. Three years ago, though, I didn't know I'd feel as much as I do now. I thought writing was gone for good. It turns out I needed only a rest, and freedom to make my own decisions. I'm not letting that freedom be taken away from me again.
Nearly 30 years ago I was walking along Cambridge Street in Boston, on my way back to work at lunchtime, and thinking about the book I was writing. I had a revelation then. It clarified something that I'd known all my life, and defined me in a way that few other things have done. I've had that revelation again, and it's just as important and momentous now as it was then. I know again something vital and crucial and yet, very simple.
I'm a writer.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Women in Red Hats
You may have heard of the Red Hat Society. It's a nationwide organization of women of a certain age, who get together occasionally for fun events, wearing purple dresses and red hats. The inspiration for the group comes from a poem called "Warning," the first lines of which are:
"When I am an old woman I shall wear purple,
"With a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me."
The poem goes on to detail other outrageous things the speaker will do when she gets old, though she now has to stay sane, raise the kids and pay the bills. Someday, though, she will wear purple.
There are a few older women who come into the library who continually amaze and amuse me. All are active, vibrant people who don't let much stop them. There's Jo, who's always meticulously groomed, in casual but attractive, well-fitting clothes. Her hair is always perfect, as is her makeup. Jo does not suffer fools gladly. She keeps fit by walking and by gardening, which seems to be her passion. I want to be like Jo when I grow up, except that I don't garden.
And then there's Clara, who delights in telling me that she rose at 5 AM, got her house cleaned, and then prepared an enormous meal for two friends. She details exactly what's in the meal, knowing full well that she's torturing me, since everything sounds so good. Then, with the table set and ready at home, Clara will sit down to read the newspaper, and to make friends with whoever sits next to her. I want to be like Clara when I grow up, except that I don't do housework.
Finally, there's Emily. Emily likes watching complete seasons of TV shows on DVD's, the racier, the better. She loves The Tudors, for example, and she considers the doctors in Nip/Tuck "yummy." Once she was talking to another librarian about the movie The Reader, and about Kate Winslet. Into a momentary hush in a busy afternoon, everyone heard her say, "But she [Winslet] always looks good without her clothes." The woman I was waiting on, a young mother, looked at me, startled, while I burst out laughing. I want to be like Emily when I grow up. I already like yummy men.
All of these women are in their 80's. They live independently, take care of themselves, keep up with their families and the world around them. Of course they've had their share of troubles, but they don't seem to let much bring them down. Instead they go on, cheerful, and maybe just a little outrageous. They are living their lives as they see fit.
And they don't have to wear silly red hats, either.
"When I am an old woman I shall wear purple,
"With a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me."
The poem goes on to detail other outrageous things the speaker will do when she gets old, though she now has to stay sane, raise the kids and pay the bills. Someday, though, she will wear purple.
There are a few older women who come into the library who continually amaze and amuse me. All are active, vibrant people who don't let much stop them. There's Jo, who's always meticulously groomed, in casual but attractive, well-fitting clothes. Her hair is always perfect, as is her makeup. Jo does not suffer fools gladly. She keeps fit by walking and by gardening, which seems to be her passion. I want to be like Jo when I grow up, except that I don't garden.
And then there's Clara, who delights in telling me that she rose at 5 AM, got her house cleaned, and then prepared an enormous meal for two friends. She details exactly what's in the meal, knowing full well that she's torturing me, since everything sounds so good. Then, with the table set and ready at home, Clara will sit down to read the newspaper, and to make friends with whoever sits next to her. I want to be like Clara when I grow up, except that I don't do housework.
Finally, there's Emily. Emily likes watching complete seasons of TV shows on DVD's, the racier, the better. She loves The Tudors, for example, and she considers the doctors in Nip/Tuck "yummy." Once she was talking to another librarian about the movie The Reader, and about Kate Winslet. Into a momentary hush in a busy afternoon, everyone heard her say, "But she [Winslet] always looks good without her clothes." The woman I was waiting on, a young mother, looked at me, startled, while I burst out laughing. I want to be like Emily when I grow up. I already like yummy men.
All of these women are in their 80's. They live independently, take care of themselves, keep up with their families and the world around them. Of course they've had their share of troubles, but they don't seem to let much bring them down. Instead they go on, cheerful, and maybe just a little outrageous. They are living their lives as they see fit.
And they don't have to wear silly red hats, either.
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