Allison M. Dickson

How Free Ebooks and Hobbes End Publishing Have Brought Happiness to My Universe

2012-02-08T15:48:00.000-08:00

When I started offering some of my work up free of charge through Amazon, a lot of people thought I was nuts. Many writers go by the credo of not giving anything away, but I was sick of seeing my work wither away with nary a download or review. Were people not buying it because they thought it was bad, or because it just wasn't visible enough or because I was an indie with not much of a proven track record? Maybe it was all of the above. I wouldn't know until people actually read it. At any rate, I decided after nearly a year of waiting for something to happen that it was time to just throw the stuff out there and let the readers decide. And decide they did. The response to my work has been quite positive overall, and it has affirmed that I'm on the right path. In the process, I've gained a number of new "regular" fans that have made the leap to buying my paid downloads, and their reviews on Amazon have been influential enough to attract new readers. My short story "Vermin," just got its 20th review on Amazon today, and my following on GoodReads is growing by leaps and bounds.

The coolest publishers wear shades.

Enter Vincent Hobbes, writer and founder of Hobbes End Publishing. He happened to be one of the thousands who downloaded some of my free stories, and he was particularly taken with "Dust." To the point where, when he reviewed it and started telling his circle of readers and fans about it, the story quickly became my most popular download. My sales on Barnes & Noble also increased. Mr. Hobbes also read other stories in my collection and after I contacted him on GoodReads to thank him, we started talking a bit. I showed him a few of my unpublished works, and he then passed on some of that work to his colleague Jairus Reddy, who runs the ship at Hobbes End.

Concept Cover for Novel in Progress

It wasn't long after that I received an offer from them to buy two of my stories for the second volume of their Endlands anthology. One of those stories is an oldie but goodie, "Under the Scotch Broom," which continues to astound me with its longevity after nearly 20,000 downloads since September. The other is one none of you have seen yet, a science fiction-meets-Twilight Zone tale called "The Shiva Apparatus." I'm particularly excited about this one, because it is also a prequel to a novel I plan to finish and shop around later this year called The Shiva Paradox. Additionally, both short story and novel are set in the same universe as "Scotch Broom" (though you only get flashes of this through some strategically placed Easter Eggs).

We likes the cover!

I'm not sure when The Endlands vol 2 comes out, but it's currently in production. You can buy the first volume right now and check it out for yourself. The quality of work in it is fantastic, and I'm thrilled that the guys at Hobbes End made room for me in the second volume. I will be proud to have my work alongside some pretty amazing talent.

So has there been some benefit to giving my work away on Amazon? That's an affirmative. Believe me when I say that when thousands have access to your work, there can be some pretty influential people paying attention. Hobbes and Reddy truly "get" the kind of writing I do, and that is refreshing to someone who has always had trouble finding publications that are the proper fit for my work. Also, I don't believe I ever would have crossed their paths if not for my decision make my work free in the place where the vast majority of folks with ereaders go for reading material.

Publishing is changing at light speed, and you're making yourself a part of a pretty incredible talent pool when you decide to go the indie route. While it can hurt the pride a little bit at first to see all that potential money go out the door, I think the long term dividends of free downloads are far greater. I look forward to letting you all know when the The Endlands vol 2 hits stores!

A Letter to Stephen King

2012-02-03T19:55:00.000-08:00

Dear Mr. King,

Ever since the age of eleven, when I used my babysitting money to buy my very first book of yours (which was Misery, by the way), you have been the voice in my head.

No, that's not quite right. It's more like you were the echo of a voice that had always been there, whispering of secret highways and secret worlds, revealing the "otherness" (sometimes frightening, but more often bizarre or fantastical) lying beneath the plain skin of ordinary life, and that the only way to articulate what might otherwise manifest itself as madness was to write about it.

I think about that every time I sit down to tell a story. I also think part of me will always be trying to reach out into the ether to say hi to you, and will always wonder what you would think about my work, because I'm not so sure I would be doing this if it weren't for you.

Though I have since moved on in search of my own voice and my own style, something that identifies my work as uniquely mine, I'm absolutely certain the landscape of my stories would look far different without the influences of such works as The Dark Tower or It or Pet Sematary or Eye of the Dragon or... take your pick. And sure, other authors as well -- Heinlein and McCarthy and Gaiman and Matheson and Poe -- but namely yours, because they just mesh with my brain waves in a way that few works ever have.

So I guess this little note is a way of reaching out into that ether again, of sending out a message in a digital bottle on the minutest off-chance it would sail across some vast binary sea to find itself in your port. And should you find the bottle and pull out this message, I hope that, if anything, you can take from it my gratitude for you being there, for "getting it", and for keeping that inner eleven-year-old in me believing even during my most cynical and uncertain moments in life that there are "other worlds than these," where shit is happening and waiting for people to write about it.

Seriously, thanks.

Sincerely,

A.

The Anatomy of a Rewrite

2012-01-31T07:18:00.000-08:00

Tear that shit down!

Today, I am going to provide you the most unequivocal evidence to date of why you should let your stories rest, and why rewriting is so very important. I'm not talking about editing, like I did back when I wrote a similar blog about my story "Vermin" awhile back. I'm talking about going back to the beginning of a story and completely redrafting it, maintaining only the kernel of the idea but scrapping nearly everything else, prose-wise.

I did this most recently with my story "George's Tonic," which you can now find on Amazon. Previous to that, the story was known as "Sweet Revenge," and it made its rounds on the literary mag circuit back in early 2009 or so, around the time I was still celebrating my first publication credit with "Aria" and thinking by that point that I'd "made it" as a writer.

What a laugh. If you're starting out as a writer, don't delude yourself the way I did. A publication credit does not make one a good writer anymore than some douchebag taking a picture of his six pack in the bathroom mirror and posting it on Facebook makes said dude a Greek god. By the time you finish reading this blog, I won't need to tell you that "Sweet Revenge," my little story about a neighborly feud, was soundly rejected by at least two dozen literary magazines. You'll be able to read for yourself why. I know I did, three years later when I opened it up for the first time and felt an overwhelming urge to flagellate myself into oblivion.

Of COURSE it was rejected! ZOMG woman! What were you thinking?! Bleed, damn you!

And so began of the process of taking what I thought was still a good idea and re-writing it using everything I had learned over the years about the craft. Flat cardboard cutout characters became more fleshy. The strange head-hopping-but-not-quite-omniscient "voice" became solidly George's, and the word count doubled in size as I fully explored the story's space. By the end of it, I felt like I knew every character intimately, and I cared for George as I would my own father.

You may not need to do this with every piece of work you have. In fact, I have material I wrote back around the same time period that, save for a few mechanical corrections, I'm still quite happy with. But sometimes you will hit a dud, and if you happen to be riding an ego trip like I was at the time I penned the first draft of "Sweet Revenge," then you will be even more convinced that your shit doesn't stink, and you will be inadvertently making a fool out of yourself by trying to publish complete excrement. Again, don't do that.

But enough of my blather. I'm here to make a complete fool out of myself again for your benefit. I'm going to show you, in the flesh, why some work can benefit from a long rest. Maybe not exactly a three-year rest, but at least long enough that when you open it again, it feels like a story someone else wrote. And that is when the real revisions can begin.

Here is the opening excerpt from the 2009 version, then titled "Sweet Revenge." This is not a rough draft. This is the "polished" copy that probably made at least two dozen managing editors even more jaded than they already were.

The fountain looked ridiculous. It was a towering edifice of three concrete pineapples, each set into the middle of a round concrete dish. The graduated tiers rose about seven feet over a blocky pedestal which also bore ghastly bas-relief likenesses of the fruit. If Medusa’s awful, stony gaze had worked upon pineapples, thought George, they would look like those on the fountain.

The Stoughtons had been George’s neighbors for five years. He had never exchanged more than casual pleasantries them, usually over the lids of their garbage cans. Only tourist traps like Las Vegas or Disney World hosted such bizarre pieces of sculpture like the fountain, but Kevin Stoughton sure was proud of it. He was proud of it like he was proud of the crude fire pit he had dug in his backyard which he often left smoldering through the night, which filled George’s bedroom with the smoke and the acrid aroma of whatever Kevin Stoughton had deemed flammable that day; like he was proud of the cheap baby-shit-colored vinyl siding he’d hung over the house’s original respectable cedar, which had already begun to pop its seams in spots; like he was proud of the pillars he had erected on his front porch which were both crooked and too big for the front of the tiny house. “They make it look architectural, don’t they?” he had asked. The word “architectural” sounded as foreign in Stoughton’s vocabulary as “caveat emptor.”

Kevin Stoughton was proud of all of his improvements, and called them his “equity builders.”George longed for a Homeowner’s Association to punish Stoughton, but no such entity existed on Maple Avenue. Two years ago, George had cashed out his 401K to build a 7-foot high privacy fence between his and Stoughton’s houses. The baby shit siding, the gaudy porch pillars, and even some of the fire pit smoke disappeared behind plank after beautiful plank of red-stained cedar. In spite of the exorbitant price of the fence, George felt he’d invested in his sanity.

Then the fountain came.

And here is the opening excerpt from the 2012 version of "George's Tonic," which is now available for purchase:

It all started with the fountain. The goddamn fountain. Well… that isn’t exactly true. It really started five years ago, when the Stoughtons moved into the little yellow house at 982 Maple and hung a confederate flag on the front door. George Abling and his wife Bonnie, who hadn’t yet been diagnosed with the brain tumor that killed her some three years later, had grimaced at one another in distaste the first time they noticed it, but they agreed to remain friendly. Union City was a quaint little town, but it had its “types,” as Bonnie had liked to call them.If it had only been the matter of the flag, they might have befriended the Stoughtons, but it wasn’t to be. There were little annoyances. The garbage cans that stayed on the curb seven days a week, the Christmas lights that went up in December and didn’t come down until April, and the jack-o-lanterns that went onto the stoop early October and were nothing more than piles of frozen orange sludge well into December.

Then the Stoughtons started amassing their hoard, little by little. But that was also around the time that the doctors found the spot on Bonnie’s parietal lobe, so George didn’t much pay attention to the Stoughtons or anything else for awhile. It wasn’t until after the funeral, when he started looking out his windows again, that he noticed just how bad things next door had gotten. A few fixer-upper lawn mowers had turned into a small mountain. Then there were the fiberglass bathtub inserts, toilets, and faucets. And the tires and the car parts and the concrete birdbaths filled with scummy rain water.

More junk was added by the week, it seemed. George learned from Andy Todd, the only neighbor he had maintained regular contact with during Bonnie’s ordeal, that Kevin Stoughton lost his job some months back, and had started buying up mowers and other things to fix up and sell as a source of income. Only none of the items seemed to be moving, and the piles just kept growing.

From time to time, George would ask Stoughton what he was working on, with the clenched jaw someone clinging to his last vestige of neighborly civility. “Oh, just building up a nice supply of moneymakers,” he’d said. But those moneymakers would just go into the backyard, and there they would rust or rot into uselessness. George imagined some intrepid archaeologist on a dig would uncover all of Kevin Stoughton’s treasures in a thousand years or so, and they would be considered priceless artifacts from a long lost civilization. Maybe that’s what Stoughton meant by “moneymakers,” but George doubted it.

No, the fountain wasn’t where it all started. But it’s where the end of it all started, and in the end, it’s only the end that matters.

I'm sure I don't need to point out the differences here. They're apparent all on their own, and they demonstrate how, at least in some instances, the element of time is necessary not only for a story to develop into something better, but also the writer. In 2009, I was just getting started doing this. I'd quite literally stumbled into a bit of luck having my first effort purchased by a publisher, and at that point I was feeling pretty bulletproof. I'd had all the validation I'd needed. Well, I got quite a wake up call after "Sweet Revenge." I didn't go on to have anything else published for at least another year, and I wrote several stories during that time period, none of which were any damn good.

So if you're just starting out, or if you're writing now and you keep striking out, I have two pieces of advice.

1. Don't throw anything away. Even if you go back to it some years later and find it stinks to high heaven with all of the things you didn't know back then, you may be pleased to find that you can take everything you've learned over the years and make it into something to be proud of now. Or you may just decide it isn't worth it at all. At any rate, it's a learning experience, and it can be a positive one if you want it to be.

2. Don't ever think you're as good as you're ever going to get. Even seasoned pros discover something new about themselves with everything they write. And if you don't think that's true, crack open something you wrote three years ago and compare that to something you wrote two years ago, and compare that to something you wrote a year ago, then compare that to something you wrote yesterday. Even if it's still essentially "you," and even if only you or your closest beta readers would really be able to tell the difference, you should still notice subtle changes. Something that shows your evolution as a writer. You can even try the same trick with your favorite authors. If you think the Stephen King who wrote wrote Carrie is the same Stephen King who wrote 11/22/63, you're on crack.

Anyway, I hope this little before and after can help some of you. I'm going to excuse myself now, though. I feel a little naked.

This is a Test of the Amazon KDP Select System...

2012-01-29T12:56:00.000-08:00

Back in December when I learned that Amazon was offering authors part of a $600,000 pot to allow the book giant exclusive rights to make their works available in a lending library, I was dubious.

For one thing, many writers saw this as a total rights grab on the part of Amazon. If Amazon finds you've violated their rather restrictive fine print by offering your story anywhere else in digital form, they reserve the right to withhold your earnings or possibly even suspend your account. Of course, anyone who dares to peruse almost ANY fine print, would likely be surprised at how many places they've signed their life or possessions away. So I wasn't particularly disturbed or surprised by Amazon's policies here. Not in the "Cloud Age," especially. If Amazon is offering much higher royalties to their authors, of course they're going to demand exclusivity, and of course they're going to protect that.

However, this means that for those writers who like to use the distribution channels made available through Smashwords, or who like to have their work available for Barnes & Noble customers, it means waiting until the three month KDP Select period is over first. Or it means pulling existing work off of all of the other ebook shelves out there before enrolling in the Select program.

And you might be asking, is it worth it?

Well, I don't know about you, but my Barnes & Noble sales are roughly 1/5 that of Amazon (for paid titles...maybe 1/3 for freebies). The Smashwords ratio is even tinier. While having my work available in other channels helps for visibility, it doesn't benefit the bottom line. The readers, or at least MY readers thus far, are predominantly at Amazon. I'm not saying that I intend to alienate my readers on other platforms. Far from it. It just means that this is the one reason KDP Select was appealing to at least check out on a trial basis.

I have writer colleagues who also seem to be making better money through KDP Select than through standard sales. Every time someone borrows a book through the Prime lending library, the royalty cut is a little bigger than if someone buys it outright. This is appealing, and I plan to see if the math bears out similarly for me with my latest release, GEORGE'S TONIC.

Of course, I'm not sure if this will be a very good comparison. GT is not a typical story for me, because it's a mainstream fiction tale rather than my usual horror/sci-fi. So if GT sees success as part of this test, I won't know if it's because people are responding specifically to my work, or if I've attracted a different audience with a different kind of story.

At any rate, I think that given the success I've had thanks to the Amazon platform, it's worth giving them a three month run with one of my stories. And on April 27th, I plan to make George's Tonic available in all formats.

If you're an Amazon Prime member, you can read George's Tonic for free right now. However, if you're without a Prime membership, don't despair! I'm allowed to have five days per 90 period to make the book free, and I will be using three of those days starting on January 30th, so everybody can get a taste of the Tonic.

I'll be back to update with my success (or lack of it). Whether the results are decent or terrible, I figure it's a good learning experience.

2011 in Conclusion, and Some 2012 Wishes

2011-12-31T16:04:00.000-08:00

It's been an eventful year. I saw my online sales take off on Amazon after a series of free titles garnered thousands of downloads and received overall quite positive reviews; I started a successful podcast (Creative Commoners) with two great friends, where we have been watching our following grow little by little and will hopefully see that continue into 2012; I did a short volunteer writing gig with Pop Blend; I released Scarlet Letters in print; I swam several miles, and I had my gallbladder out.

All in all, lots of good things.

I've also learned a lot about myself as a writer and what defines success. Although I would still be thrilled to receive that "Big 6" book deal, I have also learned that there are many ways to crack the nut of getting published, and I've learned that it's all about being open-minded, resourceful, and diverse. Whether they are people downloading content directly or buying it off the shelves, it's been a real thrill to have people I don't know actually reading my work. It's reaffirmed why I want to do this and why, ultimately, it's the thing I was made to do. I thank everyone who has read my work, even the ones who didn't like it. Without them, I wouldn't really have a very honest yardstick against which to measure myself. No one benefits from having sunshine blown up their ass 24/7. My laurels love ever so much to be sat upon, so the criticism, even when it stings, keeps me humble and makes me better.

So there is a lot in store on the creative front, but I discussed that in a previous blog post, so I don't need to go there. So I'll just conclude with a few wishes for the upcoming year.

I wish for my husband to find happiness and contentment in a workplace that appreciates his brilliance and pays him accordingly. Not only because we could use the money, but because when it comes to a job, everyone should be paid what they're worth, and he's worth a hell of a lot more than he's being paid.
I wish for my dad's business to continue to flourish and for my mom to be able to follow her passion for art and sculpting.
I wish for my daughter to enter middle school and to alleviate all of my anxieties and fears that I have about that particular era in a child's life by not becoming one of the nightmarish kids I remember from my own days in middle school.
I wish for my cat to stop barfing and stressing me out and to get the memo that he's supposed to be immortal, dammit.
I wish for people who think the apocalypse is nigh this year to get out and enjoy their lives a little more instead of obsessing over shit over which they have absolutely zero control and is probably fiction anyway. And if I turn out to be wrong about that, I really hope the apocalypse has better special effects than the Roland Emmerich movie.
I wish for Grand Theft Auto V to be released in the earlier part of the year rather than the latter, so I have more time to play it in case the previous bullet point comes to pass.
I wish to become better and better at what I do, and that not only includes writing but also includes mothering, being a better wife, eating healthier, designing better book covers, not procrastinating so damn much, and living up to my potential.
I wish happiness and fulfillment for all.

That's about it, I guess. I'm sure I could have tacked more things on there, but "moar readers" and "millions of dollars" is all pretty self-evident.

Happy New Year to everybody near and far, lovers and haters alike. May you all find reason to celebrate in the coming year.

Coming to an Ebookstore Near You in 2012! And a Word on Pots and Pans!

2011-12-28T19:56:00.000-08:00

It's official. My ebook selections have grown stagnant. I've been sitting on a small cache of short stories for awhile now, some new, some old, some ancient, and it's time to get them packaged up and out into the world. A couple of them I wanted to try out in the traditional publishing world first, but I won't lie: I'm impatient. I spent years having my work tied up with one magazine or another only to receive rejection after rejection. Not complaining or anything. That's just the nature of the beast, and if you have the patience for it, more power to you. Now that I have a growing audience and an ability to release things directly to them on my own timetable, I feel obliged to go that route more than ever now.

Not that I've completely given up on print. I will always pass my newest science fiction tales through my favorite magazines first. Publication in Analog, Asimov's, and Clarkesworld is still one of the items on my bucket list, after all. Anyway, the newest collection of short stories is called OBSESSIONS & COMPULSIONS, and it's going to be a tad more ambitious than my first one, DEAD WIVES TALES. I want it to have at least twice as many stories, and I'm thinking up some additional goodies to put in there as well. We'll see what all I can get done in the next few weeks. And as I did with DEAD WIVES TALES, I intend to offer a couple of the titles as separate downloads. One of them is called TASTE, and you should be seeing that one in just a few days.

And fret not, those who want MOAR NOVELS. It's happening. Revisions are hot under way on THE STARGAZERS, a dark contemporary fantasy about a family of witches and their twisted infanticide ritual. It even has a cover, designed by my friend Florence Sorensen. She's looking to do more covers, so if you like what you see here, shoot her an email, why don't you? Provided I don't manage to get a book deal with it (I have a few small publishers in mind to which to submit it), it will be up for download sometime in late February/early March, and there will likely be a print option to follow.

Now that I've spent the requisite time on plugging my own work, I'm going to switch gears and talk about something completely different: my new All-Clad saute pan, which I received for Christmas from my awesome mother. I've been obsessed with owning a piece (or many pieces) of All-Clad for the last decade. But its cost has always been so prohibitive, and I had a hard time justifying ditching my perfectly serviceable stainless steel Cuisinart set. Oh sure, it's total junk compared to All-Clad, but it has been good to me, and while I might not break out into a Rick Astley tune over it, I'm still not quite gonna give it up.

But will I perhaps gradually replace pieces of it with beautifully shiny All-Clad over the next several years until I have no choice but to pass on the Cuisinart to a needy recipient?

Um, yeah.

Purging the News Feed

2011-12-26T18:37:00.000-08:00

I've been in a bit of a mental fit the last few months, vacillating between moments of pure joy and moments where I feel like the world is a giant Ikea on a Saturday afternoon, and I'm about two feet high. Lost and overwhelmed, in other words. Feeling that old feeling I used to get when it was time to shake things up and do something drastic. I haven't always made the wisest decisions when I've felt this way, but I like to think experience has been my greatest teacher and I've decided to get to the root of these feelings and see what needs to be addressed before I resort to my old method of hooking a big block of C4 to my entire world, throwing the switch, and seeing what lands where.

I can only seem to narrow it down to one thing. You know those people who have managed to go through their adult lives over the last four or five years without even thinking of signing up for a Facebook account? In many ways, I envy those people. I envy that they have managed to lead productive, happy, friend-filled lives, without having their faces stuck in a screen. I used to be one of those people, and so did everyone else. Remember those days? I barely do anymore.

It isn't about not liking my friends or "Facebook drama" or anything like that. It's not like I'm having a classic "nobody likes me so I'm stomping off to get attention" melt. It's this inescapable certainty that Facebook has become more of a hindrance in my life, than the positive influence it normally is. And this is both personally and professionally. In fact, I am certain that a good bit of my brain is becoming diluted by an overdose of News Feed.

If I thought it wouldn't disturb and/or embarrass me, I would have tallied the number of hours a week I spend reading status updates, making comments, and checking for updates, but anyone who knows me knows it's probably enormous. I love sharing information with people. I love seeing how everybody in my life is doing. I get a lot of laughs and smiles and overall fulfillment from the amazing people I have met through social networking.

But I think it's gotten to the point where I'm pretty sure I can't control myself with it anymore. When I've stopped writing in one of my stories in mid-sentence just to see if someone has replied to something I said fifteen minutes ago, I know I have a problem.

So I'm going to pull the plug and go back to the basics for a bit, at least as basic as I'm used to anymore. Let's just say we'll be resetting the clock back to 2005 or so. Back before Myspace. Back when Facebook was just a social experiment on Ivy League campuses and Twitter used to just be synonymous with birds in trees. Back when I had only a blog and a dream.

I'll update this site as necessary, and without Facebook, it might be pretty often. I will maintain my email, of course, and my cell phone will remain a permanent appendage. I have made my husband an admin on my Faceook Fan Page so that when I deactivate my account, that will remain open for anyone looking for me through there.

There is no real time limit on this sojourn. I'd like to say a month, but we all know how long a month can be with something like this. Let's just say we'll take it one day at a time, and if such a day comes when I feel like I'm over this little mental hump of mine, whether it be next Friday or three months from now, I'll be back on the ol' Blue and White again.

Besides, it's not like I'm really going anywhere. I have my places in the virtual world that aren't going anywhere. I've just had a bit too much at this particular joint lately, and it's time I cut myself off and call a cab home. I have books to write and sell. It's my hope that by refocusing my efforts and priorities, I'll be able to come out of this a more focused and successful person. Maybe I will make a whole bunch of new discoveries along the way. We can only hope. It's not like I'm the first person who's attempted to get this particular monkey off her back, so I'll probably see you tomorrow. ;)

Creative Deep Freezes and Dead Trees

2011-12-19T07:06:00.000-08:00

Not yet, Egon. Not quite...

Try as I might, but the month of December is usually the time when my writer brain goes into hibernation. I think it's equal parts post-NaNoWriMo letdown and Christmas baking. I look forward to all of the culinary events of the holidays, and I'm fine taking a short break from the screen and keyboard.

However, I am beginning to wonder if NaNoWriMo is really a wise thing for me to continue doing anymore. While I'm grateful for the challenge it presents, and the opportunity to start something new, I can't get past the fact that the recovery period is awfully long for me, and it winds up putting my other projects even further behind. October was an incredibly productive month, and I can't help but wonder if that productivity might have extended into November and beyond without the self-imposed craziness of NaNo and the inevitable burnout that happens afterward. Besides, I've won four times. I no longer feel like I have to prove to myself that I can do the challenge.

Anyway, things will likely pick up in early 2012. In fact, they must, because I'm hoping to enter The Stargazers into the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award competition that starts at the end of January. And I won't be able to do that until I've put it through one last revision. Fingers crossed I can get it done in time, especially since I'll be going back to work here very soon. But if not, I have a small list of publishers I intend to submit it to before I take the self-publishing route. At any rate, I think I need to release something soon in the ebook store before my tiny legion of fans starts pounding on my door.

Finally, just because the word factory is on temporary hiatus, it doesn't mean there isn't anything new happening in Writerland. My novel, SCARLET LETTERS: THE TALE OF THE VAMPIRE MAILMAN, has just been released in print! My friend Jeff Fielder designed the cover and the layout for it, and it looks fantastic. I'm very impressed with the quality of the CreateSpace printing. You can grab it for $11.99 through Amazon or CreateSpace directly. I have to say, there are few things that make one feel like an author more than seeing your work in print. And seeing people buy it in print? Well, that just makes me all kinds of ecstatic! Besides, all the people I've heard tell me that they would buy it, but they don't have a Kindle or Nook no longer have an excuse. Trees are waiting to be slaughtered for you Luddites, so hop to it!

Holy Superhero! The JUST CAUSE LIVE Blog Tour Stops Here!

2011-12-13T22:06:00.000-08:00

Proof of his actual existence!

Ian Thomas Healy is not only one of my best friends. He's my closest professional colleague and contemporary, and really the best one any writer can have. We're familiar enough with one another's work that we speak in a sort of "shorthand" when we edit each other's things, and some of the dialogues we've had could have ended weaker friendships, but it's only made ours stronger. I know that whatever Ian says about my work is 100% the truth. He isn't going to blow smoke up my ass; therefore, I wouldn't do the same disservice to him. I guess you could say we're writer twins with our own special language or something, and now he's on his very first blog tour and I'm thrilled to be among the stops he's making around the interwebs!

You might also be a friend of Ian's, and you might also say you understand what he went through to get his first book published, and sympathize with a lot of the challenges: signing with two agents who both retired before they could complete a successful sale for him, not to mention the heaps upon heaps of rejections from other agents and publishers for his otherwise quality work. But I had an insider's view of much of it, and I can say without a doubt that are few authors who have worked as hard and as tirelessly as Ian has to get published. And although I think the trials and tribulations have jaded him somewhat (understandably enough), when I feel like complaining about my unsuccessful query processes, I think of what he's been through and shut my trap.

Smashing cover art!

Sometimes I fear he works too damn much, and I've urged him to, you know, branch out a bit and maybe take up bowling or something (though he does watch hockey, so at least there's that). But he's about as stubborn and determined as any of the superheroes in his books, and so I know I'm wasting my breath. And even if he is a workaholic, it has paid off. I've watched his craft improve to the point where his first drafts look like most people's finals. He's challenged himself with a wide variety of genres from hard science fiction to western to steam/cyberpunk to high fantasy to mainstream YA, and he's done remarkably well with all of them. And while he's built an expansive library of self-published e-books, all his hard work has finally come to fruition with the publication of his brainchild, JUST CAUSE (and three other books in that series, still to be released) by New Babel Books.

I did not read JUST CAUSE in its original "epic" iteration. By the time I got around to it, he'd put it through a severe makeover, the process of which he detailed on another guest post on Monday at Gae Polisner's blog. The book I read was much like the one you would purchase (and why wouldn't you?) today. The main heroine, super speedster Mustang Sally, has just turned eighteen and is joining the prestigious superhero team Just Cause, a parahuman force that works in tandem with the U.S. government to help stop other parahuman threats. But a lot of challenges have been thrown her way, not the least of which is confronting the man who killed her father, and experiencing first-time love and all that fun stuff. We also meet a very colorful cast of characters in a universe so richly detailed, you quickly start to understand why Ian likes to spend so much time there. The book is a smash to read, and it's a great introduction to a universe that starts to feel like home in no time. I've had the pleasure of reading the current drafts of the other Just Cause Universe novels, and I can tell you you're in for a real treat with all of them. But again, that's another blog for another day.

I posed a few questions to Ian about the nature of his universe, both the real one and the fictional one, and I'll just let him take over from here.

Congratulations, Ian! You're finally published! What are you going to do now?

Not too busy to look like a cowboy, though

I'm going to sit back on my laurels, drink a lovely beverage, and watch my royalties roll in like the tide on a summer evening.

Yeah, right.

When have you ever known me not to have irons in the fire? I still have three more books under contract with New Babel, and at some point we will start working on the release of THE ARCHMAGE. I also have my self-publishing business to run, and I'm planning to put out at least two collections of short stories during the first quarter of 2012--one with Weird West tales about the fascinating little burg of Muddy Creek, and the other a collection of Officer Harry Blaine stories. He's a parahuman cop in the Just Cause Universe who doesn't want to put on tights and save the world; he just wants to do his job and go home to his family at the end of the day.

I have three NaNoWriMo books to edit and either release myself or send off into the industry (STARF*CKER, ROOFTOPS, and PROPANE JOCKEYS). I'm still working on getting my mainstream YA book THE GUITARIST out there into the hands of agents and publishers.

Finally, I have my new original writing to do in the upcoming year as well. That includes completing the sixth JCU novel, CHAMPION, which completes what I'm calling the Mustang Sally trilogy. Also on tap is a sequel to my ebook PARIAH'S MOON called PARIAH'S WAR. I will, of course, be participating in NaNoWriMo 2012, perhaps with the sci-fi murder mystery I've been toying with for a couple of years. And at last, there's this little steampunky piece of joy that I'm working on with a dear friend called THE OILMAN'S DAUGHTER.

And with my free hand...

What lessons have getting this book to market taught you as an author?

The biggest thing is learning to be patient. Being an experienced self-publisher of ebooks and a prolific producer of fiction has made me used to seeing a lot of my material get completed, edited, and released for sale in a fairly short turn-around period. JUST CAUSE was acquired at the beginning of May this year and released at the end of November, so just over six months from acquisition to release. At times, that has felt like an interminable waiting period, even though I know that in the world of publishing, a six month release is a blisteringly fast pace. I'm working on keeping that patience with my publisher. They're a small company and like me, they have other obligations besides just their books, and I am trying to keep that in mind. I keep telling myself "they wanted your work" and that helps a lot. There haven't been a lot of people in the industry who HAVE wanted it, so when someone does, it feels very much like a vindication of my years of strife.

I've learned that not only do things not happen nearly as quickly as I might want them to, but when they do happen, they happen very fast. That might seem like a bit of a contradiction, but when your turn comes up to get something done, the publisher has a small window and you'd better be ready to jump through it.

Tell us a little bit about your book. What would you say makes Just Cause different from other famous superhero teams like the X-Men or Justice League?

The story of how JUST CAUSE came to be is long and convoluted, and goes all the way back to my immediate post-college years when I was involved heavily in a role-playing game group. That was when Just Cause the team was first created. I haven't used any characters created by those players, but that was the era when I developed all the core teams of the JCU, including Just Cause, the Just Cause Second Team, the Lucky Seven, the New Guard, Divine Right, and the Young Guns.

The original Just Cause novel was a convoluted, multi-layered plot that stretched over sixty-odd years. After receiving well over a hundred rejections, I shelved it for over a year. Eventually when I pulled it back out, I ultimately cut all of the "flashback" sequences (which have since become plot seeds for future JCU novels), which stripped about forty thousand words from the original manuscript. I wrote twenty thousand new words and, following multiple rounds of revisions, wound up with the story that NBB acquired.

The Just Cause team is sort of a synthesis between both DC and Marvel universes (and I'll admit to being unabashedly a DC guy). Just Cause is a public organization, like the Justice League, supported by the government (in fact, during the Mustang Sally era, they're an arm of Homeland Security). The characters' identities are generally well-known, and they're not working outside of the law. On the other hand, they don't have the "cosmic" levels of power which many DC heroes have; instead, their abilities are more reasonable in scope, like among the X-Men. Nobody on Just Cause is going to reverse the flow of time or fling an errant asteroid into the sun or battle the gods themselves. Despite their abilities, they're very much "human."

What makes Just Cause different than the flagship teams from DC or Marvel is that they're accessible to newcomers. The Justice League has some sixty years of history backing them up, and the X-Men fifty. Although Just Cause has existed in my own setting since World War II, those stories haven't yet been told. Readers can get in on the ground floor and get to know these characters for the first time, something which can only happen in DC and Marvel when they reinvent the teams every few years. But even so, there's the constant weight of all that history which can intimidate potential new readers. Just Cause doesn't have that (yet). Right now, it's all still magical and new.

We all write from life in some respect. Which character in the Just Cause team would you say is the most like you? What is it about the Just Cause Universe that most makes you want to keep coming back to it?

I'd have to say Crackerjack. He's got my kind of attitude, if shorter hair. I find him to be a fascinating character. What would you be like if you could never be harmed? I rather suspect I would be a wiseacre like he is, and so in many ways, he is me. Along those same lines, writing a story with him as the main character would be very difficult for me, because I don't want to make him a Mary Sue (reference tvtropes.org for that), and as a writer, I'm more comfortable sitting off to one side, observing and recording and reporting what the other characters do instead of being on the front lines myself.

I keep coming back to the JCU because I really do love these characters. There are so many stories I want to tell, and so many characters I want to give their due and their moment in the spotlight. I've been reading comic books regularly now for more than twenty-five years, and there's something about superheroes that I can't just set aside for more "grown-up" fare.

Mustang Sally, a super speedster, is the main hero of this book. What do you think makes her a great hero? Is there a reason you imbued her with that particular power?

Another iteration of Mustang Sally,
by Jeff Hebert

Mustang Sally is a great hero because she does what she must, even when she doesn't want to, even when she's afraid to, and even when she can't. She's humble, despite the fact that in the JCU, she's one of the first parahumans to approach the "cosmic" power levels with her ability to exceed the speed of sound on foot (read about that in my short story Graceful Blur, available from all fine ebook retailers). She responds to stresses like any human, and that makes her accessible to readers. When they read how she's unsure of herself, and afraid of the consequences of her actions or inaction, that makes her seem real, because we as readers can relate to her. I gave her super speed because I think it's a fun and recognizable power. Even people who have never read comic books can instinctively grasp the concept of super speed, and approaching it from a bit more of a hard science fiction angle makes it seem more realistic, despite its fantastic nature.

For me, the most important thing about writing a superhero is not her powers, but who she is beneath the costume. Whether the book is about a young man imbued with the ability to jump real high, or a prison guard who can generate a candle-flame at her fingertips, or a frightened girl who can create vacuum pockets, what matters is making them living, breathing characters with loves and goals and problems that define them instead of letting their powers make them into caricatures.

***

Ian's ebooks can be found at all major online retailers, and you can purchase your brand spanking new copy of JUST CAUSE direct from New Babel Books or Amazon. You can also download it through Smashwords in your preferred format!

On Being Pursued

2011-11-14T07:28:00.001-08:00

I have a tendency to rush through my life. I utter more cuss words behind slow drivers than many people utter in a year. People walking slowly in front of me in a grocery store often make me imagine intense "hit and run" cart scenarios. I've broken countless glasses and bowls washing dishes, because any unnecessary second spent doing that chore is a crime punishable by death, and therefore I make mistakes that wind up littering the floor with shards of glass.

For whatever reason, I just don't like being "slowed up." I become anxious. I often feel like I'm being dragged through life by an invisible leash, held by an impatient creature on a mission who will make me pay dearly if I dither too long. I don't know what its mission is, only that I must keep going, for something "in the future" awaits, and I'll never know what it is unless I keep...on...moving.

When I was pondering this blog, lines from a famous poem kept occurring to me. It's a piece by Stephen Dobyns, entitled "Pursuit:"

Each thing I do I rush through so I can do
something else. In such a way do the days pass -
a blend of stock car racing and the never
ending building of a gothic cathedral.
Through the windows of my speeding car, I see
all that I love falling away: books unread,
jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?
What treasure do I expect in my future?
Rather it is the confusion of childhood
loping behind me, the chaos in the mind,
the failure chipping away at each success.
Glancing over my shoulder I see its shape
and so move forward, as someone in the woods
at night might hear the sound of approaching feet
and stop to listen, then, instead of silence
he hears some creature trying to be silent.
What else can he do but run? Rushing blindly
down the path, stumbling, struck in the face by sticks;
the other ever closer, yet not really
hurrying or out of breath, teasing its kill.

If ever there was a poem that personified me in a most basic way, it is that one. And sadly, my tendency to "rush though so I can do something else" carries into my fiction, where I feel that if I or my characters stand in one place too long, they'll be eaten. Only, in the story, the thing holding the leash is a hungry and impatient plot.

Many people who have read my stories say I'm good at pacing. Others say things feel too "rushed." I tend to agree with both of them. I think for people like me, they prefer things to go at a good clip. They're looking for a quick thrill, something to amp up their pulses a couple notches and keep things interesting as they continue to be pulled through life. For people who aren't being "pursued," they like to take time to soak in all of the surroundings and feelings available to them in that particular moment. They want full immersion. They're in no hurry, because they have full control over their minds and their sense of time and place. There is no leash. For them, there is no monster.

My brain understands the former, but my heart wants so badly to write for the latter. It's my dastardly brain that insists on "speeding things up a bit," that life is something so full of mundane shit anyway so 90% of it can be skimmed over. This tug of war rages in my head through every novel I write. But in my NaNoWriMo project, THE SHIVA PARADOX, I'm telling my brain to go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut. I'm only using it insofar as I need it to help me with the "sci" in the "sci-fi." But the rest, I'm taking my time on. Because Bravo is probably my favorite long fiction character I've ever written. And I want to get into his head and his life.

Yes, I can hear distant plot points starting to murmur nervously, shuffle their feet, sigh. Soon, they might even be cussing up a storm. "You're fucking doing it wrong, Dickson! WRONG, I tell you!"

However, I find if I listen to the music loud enough, I can drown out that voice and keep going. With it, I can lull that pursuing monster to sleep, stand in the moment and just be. Because you know what? Whoever said you have to hurry through life, even the mundane part of it, is full of shit. There isn't anything up ahead but more open road, and the only destination is death. Most people who think they have to rush, who think they're being pursued, will spend the rest of their lives viewing life through the rearview mirror, wishing they had slowed down, even once, and dared the monster to to eat them.

Update on the Amazon Free-For-All

2011-11-10T14:07:00.001-08:00

A couple months ago, I didn't realize I was setting myself up for having a series of free ebooks available on Amazon. In fact, I didn't even know I would be able to do something like that (Kindle Direct Publishing doesn't allow you to set your prices below $.99) until I logged into my sales page one day to find my short story, Under the Scotch Broom, had spiked in downloads by a couple thousand copies after Amazon price matched Barnes & Noble.

The following week, another of my stories, Aria, went free as well. I'd made both stories free on Smashwords after a summer sale back in July, and decided to keep them that way. Eventually the prices proliferated through Smashwords' distribution channels and Amazon got the memo.

While Aria didn't perform quite as well as Scotch Broom (about 8500+ downloads to Scotch Broom's 14000+), it was receiving solid reviews, and both are still seeing steady activity after their initial peak. It was also helping to sell copies of my short story collection Dead Wives Tales, because I had included it in there with its original ending as bonus material. I think people were curious enough to pay a buck to check it out. At that point, I was starting to see a real discernible bump in paid sales.

Two weeks ago, my shorts Vermin and Dust went free. A Concealed Hand went free a couple days ago and is performing on par with the others. While Dust hasn't been quite as popular (it's been a tougher sell, but it's received excellent reviews), it hasn't been exactly a slouch either -- about 3500 downloads in the last two weeks. Vermin has been very hot, though. Probably more overall than Scotch Broom, especially given its classic horror stylings and the fact that people were probably downloading a lot of horror for Halloween. It also got the attention of some Vine/Top Reviewers on Amazon who have since downloaded and reviewed nearly my whole catalog. Paid sales have increased tremendously ever since then.

In the meantime, I've been getting a lot more Twitter mentions as well as GoodReads and Shelfari activity. There have been a few blah reviews now and then, but that's to be expected and I don't let it get me down. Overall, people have been very positive about my work, much to my pleasure and (I won't lie) surprise. So I decided after some thinking to make all of my individual short stories free on Amazon (provided they allow it--there are a couple that they haven't marked down yet), and see if people would keep coming back for more.

And they have. No, I'm not making Amanda Hocking dollars by any stretch, and my husband isn't anywhere close to being able to quit his day job, but I'll put it this way:

Prior to having a wide selection of free titles available on Amazon, I wasn't really selling ANYTHING. And now I'm selling books every day. My list had more dust on it than your mom's 8-track collection. When I first started selling, it took several months before I received my first royalty check, because Amazon doesn't send them out until 60 days after you've accrued more than ten bucks on your balance. Sure, I was getting a few downloads here or there, and I did have one decent month over the summer, but it was easy to tell that most of my business was from friends or people associated with me in some way. Now that has changed.

It's hard to make yourself visible in such a huge pool, and a lot of it is luck. But in many cases, you have to make your own luck, even if that means you're giving away something you think is worth more because you worked hard on it. However, it's important to keep this in mind: there are thousands of people out there who have Kindles specifically because of the access it gives them to free books. And there are people who take those authors just as seriously as any traditionally published author. And if they like what you write, they will take you seriously as an author and review you and treat you every bit as well as their NYT Bestseller heroes. And if they really, REALLY like you, they'll even invest a few bucks in you and buy your paid work and review that too. And maybe some of the people who trust those reviewers will take their word on it and make a purchase, and so on and so forth.

Everything that happens after that can all be traced to the fact that you took a risk that your work was good enough to serve as its own promotion for the product that you're actually selling: you. And once you have that momentum, it's good to capitalize on it and keep putting things out. In that vein, I'll soon be putting together another collection of short stories called Obsessions & Compulsions. At least one of those stories will be made available as a free stand-alone download. Hopefully I'll have another novel up there sometime next year.

So yes, it pays to make your work free. In fact, in my experience, it can be one of the best things you can do for yourself as a self-publisher. Some people start making money off the bat. Some people really are just that lucky. But in most cases, you have to get the recognition before you get paid.

A Short Missive on Short Stories

2011-11-04T13:39:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,

While I'm incredibly grateful for those who have found and downloaded my work from the internet in recent months and have taken the time to review it -- even if some of the reviews haven't exactly been favorable (it comes with the territory), I have come away from reading some of the feedback feeling a little torqued over one particular criticism: my work is "too short."

Anyone who knows me, who has read my blogs or listened to me speak (either personally or on the Creative Commoners podcast) knows that brevity is not my strong suit. To be then criticized for being brief is a strange thing indeed.

Maybe I'm from a different school of thought, but when one writes short stories (and when one reads them), the idea is that the work will be short. No, that's not to say uninteresting or lacking in detail, character development, or plot. That's the trick of writing short fiction, and why it's harder than it looks. A short story is supposed to be as interesting and compelling as any longer piece, but it's supposed to accomplish that feat in (typically) less than 10,000 words. Or, by some guidelines, 7500. Any longer, and you start getting into novella territory, which is fine, but as of this writing, I have not released a novella into the ebook marketplace and I have no plans to. I either go short or I go all the way. That's just how I roll.

Most of my short fiction falls anywhere between 4500 and 7000 words. That's roughly 20 pages, I guess, and in my opinion, it's a fair length, and even longer than some. A lot of short story publishers don't want fiction over 3500 words, and that's one reason a lot of my stuff has not been circulated by other markets. UNDER THE SCOTCH BROOM, on its last draft, was a little over 7500. I have one piece of flash fiction available online -- SINGULARITY -- and by some standards, it's a bit too long for that category at 1400 words. At any rate, it's the shortest short I've written. Again, I'm not good at the whole brevity thing.

I've done my best to alert readers to the fact that they're purchasing short fiction. Almost all of my covers have "a short story" below the title. I also make sure I put the fact that it's a short story in the metadata (tags, product info, category selection, and such). And yet, I think this must be too subtle, because people keep complaining that my short stories are too short.

So now I'm trying to figure out what exactly people are intending to say when they say a short story is short. Do they mean that it was poorly developed? That it was too "thin" story-wise? Perhaps they liked it so much, they didn't want it to end (a great thing to say to any writer, but since this criticism usually appears in negative to middling reviews, that probably doesn't fly).

All I can figure is that the art of reading the short stories is lost on many readers. They don't know what defines the short or what it's supposed to accomplish because they're used to reading fiction in longer forms. They don't know how to appreciate the artform, because it has been dying for a number of decades, and only relatively small number of authors are trying to keep it alive.

At any rate, it's just a disappointing thing to see. I like to think my short stories are actually a very healthy length. I'm a slow reader, so I'm not the best one to gauge this, but most of them can be read in about twenty minutes or so, and I think that's more than fair. And since nearly ALL of my individual short stories are now free downloads, I'd say that's as fair as fair can get. If you got a short story that had a beginning, middle, and end, and you didn't have to pay for it, then I'd say you got a pretty good deal.

If you didn't like it for other reasons, then I'm more than happy to hear those reasons. Or just accept the fact that I'm not a universally loved author and move on with my life and keep writing for the people who dig what I do. Maybe some people think I'm shallow. Maybe they want more depth from my characters. Maybe there were a few too many typos (I try to catch them all, really I do). I only ask that I'm not berated me for the one part that I did manage to get right, and that was adhering to standard short story length guidelines.

Potpourri of Awesomesauce: Part I

2011-10-25T18:56:00.000-07:00

This ain't your grandma's potpourri. This kind smells like sex, cake, and robots.

It's been very difficult to focus on writing a new blog lately. Lots of potential topics have flown through my head, but nothing's really stayed long enough to roost. When that happens, that usually means it's time to do a "Randomness" post. But I think that title is a little blah, so Potpourri of Awesomesauce it is.

And because I'm a walking contradiction, I'm going to make this potpourri into a numbered list. But because I'm not THAT much of a contradiction, the numbers are not going to be in sequential order. Take that, OCD. Oh, and the swear filter will be off for this post. If you don't like it when I talk dirty, fuck off.

3. Tomorrow, I turn 32. I'm no longer kissing the threshold of my thirties. I'm in fully inside that hooptie. Or, more appropriately, that minivan. Because I think the 20s are the hooptie. The minivan exudes a sense of stability and perhaps a little bit of safe vanilla-ism. I'm not afraid to admit I have next to no social life anymore. Many of my friends live in my computer, but I'm happy in my domestic bliss and I have a well-stocked liquor supply. No, I'm not going to reflect morosely on the things I haven't accomplished that I'd hoped to by the time I reached this age. Namely because fuck you. What's the point of that emo bullshit, anyway? Have you read your Facebook News Feed lately? The world fucking sucks right now. It doesn't need a "Whaaa, it's my birthday and I'm an old loser" diatribe. But second, I'm actually pretty damn happy with where my life is and where it's headed. In fact, I feel more optimistic about life right now than I have in a very long time. And that's not (just) the booze talking.

Cover Design by Yours Truly

17. In case you haven't read my Facebook page and my constant bleating about it, NaNoWriMo is just days away!! And I've got a book idea that I'm pretty sure is going to make me famous. Okay, I say that about EVERY book, and it hasn't happened yet. But this one is pretty damn epic, if I do say so. And heavy on the stupendous. And sci-fi. And I'm not trying to be an egotistical douche. I'm just feeling very thankful for the Idea Fairies that have planted this idea in my brain, and I only hope I don't disappoint them like I have in the past. Have I ever mentioned that my biggest dream as an author is to write a science fiction story that people talk about and continue to read years from now? Maybe it won't be this book, but maybe it will. I just really really really want to write that book, and if nothing else, I hope this story gets me a bit closer. Here's the blurb:

In a future where humans are colonizing distant planets following the near destruction of Earth, biologically augmented humans called Advance Decontamination and Asset Managers (or ADAMs) are sent to prepare each planet for occupation by eradicating native populations with a specialized virus.

But one particular ADAM goes astray during a mission when he enters a time rift, sending him to present day Earth. There he suffers an awakening to the atrocities he's orchestrated over the centuries, and he feels compelled to save civilization before it succumbs to the events that led to his creation. The only problem is, his mere presence--and the cataclysmic virus that he carries inside him--may bring his home planet to the same terrible fate.

-276. I'm really looking forward to applying zombie makeup to my face for Halloween. I haven't done it in a very long time, and I hope I can pull it off. Considering how I look when I wake up every morning (see #3), it shouldn't be too much of a stretch. Same with the zombie walk. I've really got that one in the bag.

4. These chocolate cookies I'm eating are amazing.

77. I've really been enjoying the new fall season of television this year. So far, my favorite new show is American Horror Story. It's like if you read a Stephen King book while tripping on acid and being donkey punched by a nun. If you haven't seen it, get thee to your nearest FX channel or website and watch it. Now.

12. Speaking of scary stories, I've implemented a new pricing structure for my ebooks. All individual short stories have been marked down to the very low price of FREE. That's right. Free. Now, they are free on Smashwords right now, and will eventually all proliferate from there to the other ebook retailers over time. As for Amazon, it will really depend on if their price bots decide to match Barnes & Noble's prices, like they did with ARIA and UNDER THE SCOTCH BROOM, both of which went free in the Kindle store last month and received many thousands of downloads a piece. At any rate, if the shorts aren't free through Kindle and you still want a free copy, download the file from Smashwords. As for my longer works (novels and short story collections), those will all be priced at a (VERY FAIR) $.99. After a lot of experimenting with pricing, I've come to the conclusion that pricing something at a number I think my work is worth is not necessarily the best recipe for sales. Pricing them at a price someone is willing to download them for is the way to go. And even royalties on a $.99 sale are more than I would get from a traditionally published book sale.

Nat and her Pa with her first bass.

62. Recently, our family went camping with my parents, and we took the kids fishing for the first time. They loved it, and I myself had a grand time. I hadn't been fishing since catching blue gill out of the pond as a kid in Michigan. The kids caught a number of those, but both Nat and I managed to grab ourselves some bass too. It was an exhilarating experience to interact with nature that way again. Also very relaxing and meditative sitting out by that remote lake with all the autumn leaves falling around us like flecks of gold and bronze.

41. Also in the department of fun discoveries, I went frisbee golfing for the first time. My in-laws, who were in town for a visit last month, are avid fans of the sport, and I finally got a chance to try it. Great exercise, beautiful day, and I discovered that I actually kinda know how to throw a frisbee. Sometimes. And short distances. I'm very glad we didn't keep score.

Well, that's enough for now. There are other things I can mention here, but I need to save some things for the next batch of potpourri (which will likely smell like victory and Christmas cookies). In the meantime, Happy Halloween everybody, and Happy Birthday to me. It's been a good year, and I'm looking forward to even more awesome things around the next bend.

Nowhere to Hide Now: A Writer's Paranoia

2011-10-10T22:58:00.000-07:00

There comes a feeling of anxiety, usually late at night when I'm having trouble sleeping, when I realize that I've opened Pandora's box and there's no closing it again. The toothpaste has been let out of the tube.

I can no longer live in the cozy confines of my brain with my small and friendly social network, my helpful, warm, and lovely cheerleaders who all believe in me and want me to succeed. I love them dearly, and I believe them when they say they like me, but it doesn't quiet those ugly vapors, that paralyzing stage fright, from taking hold from time to time.

We pine so hard to get an audience, so it's a little bit of a bummer that when the audience shows up, all we want to do is cower. Most of the time, knowing large numbers of people are reading your work is exciting. Exhilarating. It's the feeling that keeps you going. But there are some nights when that knowledge is a little like finding out a large group of strangers is rooting through your underwear drawer when your back is turned. I mean, shit, tonight I found that someone had filled in character names and setting info on Under the Scotch Broom's Shelfari page. I have no idea who did that. It was both cool and scary to find, because it means someone has made themselves as intimate with my story as I have.

Now's the time when the judgments are going to start rolling in, and they're not all going to be kind and supportive. Now's the time when I'm going to have the opportunity to be evaluated by the very readers I've worked so hard to reach. And some of them are going to lob rotten fruit at me, and I'll get to decide how much I'm going to believe them or not.

Now's the time when people are going to see that I'm a hack and a fraud. That there is nothing even remotely unique about my voice and talent. I'm an unmemorable middle-of-the-roader that people will forget. I won't be able to erase my stories from their Kindles and pretend like this never happened, either. Even if I swear off writing and take the stuff down from every ebook store out there, people are going to have my work, and they're going to judge me by it.

But that's just the paranoia talking, the ugly cacophony that lives just beneath the happy chorus of joy that happens in my heart when I find a new review or a big chunk of downloads on my sales page. If I keep moving, I don't notice it as much. But if there ever comes a moment of inertia similar to what I've been having the last few days, that's when the doubt starts to trickle in. The certainty that I'm a complete and utter tool, on display for everyone to see.

On Reaching Out, Saying Thanks

2011-10-09T14:31:00.000-07:00

Is this adoring audience for me or Jay-Z? That's okay, you don't have to answer...

I decided the other day to do something that will either make me look grateful or desperate. Whenever I receive a review on Amazon or GoodReads, or a mention on Twitter for one of my stories, I will personally reply to the reviewer and thank them. I would do the same on Smashwords and Barnes & Noble, but their systems aren't set up for leaving comments on reviews just yet. When they do, I'll provide the same service. I'll do this for as long as I am able.

I have long bemoaned the lack of personal attention people receive in this industry, with its quick form rejections (if you're lucky enough to even GET a rejection these days; the new paradigm seems to be more along the lines of, "if you don't hear back in a few months, it means no") and authors who are often too busy to answer fan mail.

No, I'm not demonizing them. Not at all. I understand the workloads some people are under. I know many of them regret not being able to connect personally with fans or prospective clients. In the name of remaining productive, sometimes it's just impossible. But I'm going to try anyway, for as long as I can. I believe, especially when starting out, that when you're sowing the seeds of future fandom and good will, it's a good idea to keep your head down and give thanks to anyone who is willing to give you a chance, even if they are just downloading a free story you wrote.

Currently #2 short story on Kindle!
Thanks to you.

What I've learned is this: reviews are very hard to come by. Between UNDER THE SCOTCH BROOM and ARIA, I've had over 20,000 downloads. Out of that, I've had about ten reviews on Amazon and a handful of positive mentions on Twitter. A couple dozen people have rated it or added it to their queues on GoodReads. That kind of math tells me that when you do get a review, especially a review from a complete stranger who doesn't have the added benefit of knowing you personally and wanting you to succeed, it's an occasion that should be cherished and celebrated. And yes, thanked.

I can only use conjecture here, but since I've started thanking people on Amazon, I've seen about a two-fold increase (or greater in some cases) on my paid work. When I've mentioned to them that an alternate ending for ARIA exists in my collection DEAD WIVES TALES, I've seen corresponding sales of that collection. One reviewer seemed touched by my thanks, which tells me he or she probably isn't accustomed to hearing from a writer when they post a review. Later on, that person downloaded Scotch Broom and also posted an excellent review. I do not know who this person is, but my hope is I've gained a fan who will stick with me down the road. And who knows, maybe that one person will mention my work to a friend or two, and those friends will mention my work. And so on and so forth.

So I'm going to do this for as long as I can. If a massive floodgate opens on my work and reviews start pouring in by the dozens (a girl can dream, can't she?), it might be harder to do. I might have to limit my time to once a week. Maybe once a month. I might have to come up with another plan altogether to touch base personally with my readers so they know that yes, I'm listening. And I'm very, very grateful that they've given me a chance. Even if they think I suck.

Who's My Audience? No, Really...

2011-10-06T20:57:00.000-07:00

Who's your audience?

As a writer, I already hate this question. I'm a writer, I'm not a marketer. There is a small exception to the rule on this, but people who write books for a living are usually not born business people. But as a fiction writer? I hate that question so hard I want to punch it with brass knuckles.

But that's not good enough, because in today's publishing world, we writers can't just sit back and be creative and collect money. We have to be the business people we weren't born to be. We have to strategize, or whatever. And in order to effect a good book selling strategy, we have to know (among other things) who our audience is.

WHO ARE YOU WRITING FOR?! /Jack Bauer yell

Okay okay, put down the gun, Jack. I'm gonna try and figure this out. Let's first start with the kind of stories I write.

That's easy. I write horror stories! Except when they're not really horror, but kinda dark supernatural ghosty or science fiction. Or both. Except when they're not really about ghosts or science fiction, but just plain weird or funny. Or when I write fantasy. Or spiritual stuff. And then there's that one political thriller I tried to write and still might finish. And that women's fiction story I still want to do. And the dieselpunk-noir. Can't forget that. Or the steampunk collaboration! Or the vampire satire book. Golly, this hasn't accomplished much.

It might be easier to narrow down what I don't write. I do not, as a general rule, write:

1. Romance
2. Erotica
3. Religious stuff

And I'm pretty sure I will never write (at least from a purist standpoint, because I'm not quite nerdy enough):

1. Military stuff
2. Hard sci-fi
3. Pure historical fiction (the kind without a speculative or weird element)

That was much easier. So going back to the paragraph on what I do write, it's very hard to find a core audience for all of those genres. There are some people who do like all those things. They're usually the kind of readers who will read based on author loyalty rather than specific genres. Ultimately, I think that's why writers like Stephen King and Neil Gaiman are so popular. They aren't all that restricted by genre. They write what they want to write, whether it's scary supernatural or by-the-book mainstream, and people will read it because they trust the author will spin them one hell of a yarn.

That's the kind of author I want to be. So when someone asks me who my audience is, the answer I most want to give is, "open-minded people who like to read interesting and possibly weird shit." And then hope like hell I've delivered on the interesting part, because if I haven't, I'm doomed to be a failure.

I realize this will do nothing to help prospective publishers or agents. They want to know where my book is going to sit on a shelf. They'll want to know how I might devise a marketing campaign for my book. It will depend on what I've written that they deem salable, I guess. I know I can come up with some possible marketing strategies for the individual books I write. But what I can't guarantee is that the readers will cross over when I stray from the kind of story that drew them in in the first place. If they like my version of horror, will they come and read my science-fiction? What about the fantasy or the women's fiction? I can't definitively answer this, because (see second paragraph), I'm not a marketer, and I'm not sure any strategy I have in mind would work any better than just writing the best thing I can write. It's not my job to know whether they will follow or how. I just have to create the best conditions under which they can do so. I can try to make my own way with it, but it will likely wind up being a sloppy, mostly failure-filled effort as I make my way along this craggy cave with no flashlight.

I certainly hope they'll follow, and I'll do my best to try to entice them. But all I know is that they won't do it if everything I write isn't at least good. If tasked with trying to figure out who my core audience is right now, or the people who would follow me and my work no matter what genre I write, I'd surely fail. Based on reviews I receive and the readership I have among my friends and family, most of my fans so far are women. Nerdy women who are not terribly unlike me. But I also have my share of male fans, at least that I know of. They're also pretty geeky/nerdy.

So I'm pretty sure I'm writing for nerds and geeks. But that's not enough. There are a lot of people on the nerd/geek spectrum. The ones who insist on utterly perfect science and correct minute facts are going to hate my guts. I'd love get a demographic breakdown of the 15000 people who have downloaded UNDER THE SCOTCH BROOM the 3000 or so who have downloaded ARIA so far, but I'm not sure it would reveal more than "people who like free books."

So I write for broke nerds/geeks. That's probably the least desirable audience right there, because if they can't find your stuff for free, they're probably smart enough to pirate it from elsewhere.

Great. I've really effed myself now.

But in all seriousness, good things are happening in Allie's indie world. For the first time since I've started doing this, I'm getting some actual exposure with my writing. And it seems a small handful of them have come back to buy something that costs money. And the reviews I've managed to scare up so far have largely been positive. I'm grateful for the bump in paid sales, and I'm utterly stoked that thousands of people are giving me reason every day to refresh my Amazon sales page once every five minutes or so. It means maybe I'm making some fans out there. That people are interested in my stuff. That they might follow me wherever I go, or at least recognize my name in their heads if they ever pass it in a bookstore. We'll see. Maybe if any of those fans are reading right now, they can tell me their age, gender, race, socioeconomic status, preferred political party, and whether they like Coke or Pepsi., and then I can put together a real demographic chart. The kind that gives marketing people wet dreams.

Until then, I guess I'll just keep writing what I want and see who sticks around for more helpings. All right, Mr. Bauer, you may fire when ready.

Allison M. Dickson: Amazon Top Seller? For Real?

2011-09-23T08:06:00.000-07:00

As of this writing, my short story Under the Scotch Broom has just topped 4000 downloads on Amazon since yesterday. It's also currently the #1 download in the Top 100 Science Fiction and just dropped to #2 in the Top 100 Free short stories (it had been #1). It's currently #49 overall in the Free category.

You might be asking how this happened, and you wouldn't be alone. I check my figures at Amazon every morning. Usually, the results aren't surprising. Sales are steady enough but painfully slow, and I admit freely that it's because I haven't put a whole lot into marketing myself. I'm terrible at it. But as I've always said, my sales are usually in proportion to the amount of effort I put into selling my own work.

Yesterday, however, something changed. When I logged into Kindle Direct, I noticed an increase in sales across all my titles. But none more so than for Under the Scotch Broom. For the first time ever, I was staring at a 4-digit number in the sales column. At that time, it was something like 2847. The number has been increasing steadily by the minute. In the 18 hours since I've made this discovery, people have downloaded over 1200 more copies, and the number is climbing by the minute.

But at first, I refused to believe it. I stared at that number for a few minutes, not reacting. I glanced back and forth between the number and the sales column. Number, sales column. Sales column, number. Clearly this was a mistake. Why this story? Why that many downloads? It just didn't make any sense.

Then I went to the product page and understood at least a little more. Amazon had marked my $.99 download to Free.

Now before you get all pissed off on my behalf, let me explain a few things.

1. Under the Scotch Broom has been a free title on Smashwords since July. I did that on purpose. I firmly believe in offering a free title as a means of self-promotion. And it's worked somewhat successfully. People have read the story and have positively reviewed it.

2. I wanted to offer the story free on Kindle as well, but Amazon does not as of yet allow authors to price their wares below $.99. The only caveat is that Amazon, per their Terms of Service, reserves the right to price your story to match the competition. So if it sees, for instance, that you have a story offered cheaper elsewhere online, it will adjust its prices to match or beat that price. At any rate, Amazon finally got the memo on Under the Scotch Broom, because it's now free. And that's when the downloads started happening.

Of course, this only explains why Under the Scotch Broom is free. What it doesn't explain is why so many people are downloading it at the rate they are (4030 as of the last refresh). There are hundreds if not thousands of free ebooks available on Amazon. Amazon is the largest bookseller in the world. I considered it a huge feat when I cracked the Top 25 on Smashwords during the Summer Sale, when my sales were a tenth of what I'm seeing here. My brain almost refuses to believe it.

There are a lot of possible avenues this could take me. My work on Amazon in general will be more visible. But I still want to know why! Why this story? Why now? Under the Scotch Broom was the first ebook I ever put up for sale. The cover isn't up to my current standards, and I'm sure the formatting isn't great either. It was originally intended to be an experiment in how to use Kindle Direct Publishing. I never really expected people would download the thing en masse, whether it was free or a buck. Aria is another free Smashwords title that Amazon could mark down any day now, so I'll be watching that one closely.

I'm expecting at any moment for the ride to stop, and that all of this will be revealed as an extended dream sequence fueled by painkillers following my gallbladder surgery earlier this week. And even if this is for real, is it possible that people will want to come and buy my other work if Under the Scotch Broom does it for them? I can only hope so, but I've learned to remain extremely cautious in my optimism. Maybe what will really happen is that everyone will see me for the hack I am and they'll all be avoiding my work from now on.

I can't escape the certainty that I'm not worthy. Just when I thought I was over my Impostor Syndrome, it rears its ugly head once again. I'm more afraid of success than I am of failure. Last night, I dreamed that everyone wrote horrible reviews about my work. There is a price that comes with increased visibility. It's the one where people will finally see you for the crackpot you truly are, or where after you've climbed high enough, people will start rooting for you to fall. For now at least, I can't hide behind the ocean of other hopefuls.

But enough of my paranoia. I'll just focus on the positive and let the rest play out on its own. For now, I'll keep repeating to myself that one MY stories made it as a Top Download on mother-freakin AMAZON (4059 downloads now)!

I know, right?

Stamping Out A Daughter's Shame

2011-09-14T14:28:00.000-07:00

No one should have stand on a scale and cry at the number it reads. Especially if that person is ten-years-old. And as much as I wish I could say I've shielded my daughter from my own lifetime of shame and hate for my body, I can't. That would be a lie. She's seen me diet to lose weight countless times. She's seen me drink special shakes and eat salads while everyone else was eating a normal dinner. She's overheard conversations between her father and me about weight loss. She's seen me cheer at lost pounds. She's seen me struggle to maintain my composure in dressing rooms. Hell, I think I even took her to a few Weight Watchers meetings and weigh-ins when I was still giving my money to those worthless assholes.

And that's not even including all the times she's seen the pretty, thin girls become the heroines in TV or movies, or fat people being ridiculed and used as examples of what not to do or how not to live. I'm sure her friends and other people at school have made fun of a few fat kids. I know that even if I hadn't been such a poor example of body acceptance her entire life, she might still have found reason to cry when she stepped on that scale and saw the number "103" glaring at her like a reprimand.

So I sat her down last night and I told her that the path I took at her age, the one where I noticed for the first time (with help from others) that I was "fat," was blocked. That she would not go the way I did. She wouldn't be the one searching desperately for a solution, no matter how destructive, to a problem that doesn't exist. A non-existent problem that only becomes a problem when we try to solve it. I told her that I would not allow her to be driven by shame and loathing, from herself or others.

I know that I have done this to her, and it is perhaps my greatest failure as a parent. But I didn't realize then the damage I was doing. That hating myself in front of her was teaching her to hate herself.

It's not too late to fix it, though. Of this, I am sure. My intelligent, generous, loving, artistic, funny, compassionate, animal-loving (and, yes, beautiful) daughter will know how very precious she is. I will teach her the habits I should have had at her age. That to live, love, sing, dance, run, swim, laugh, cry, and eat is all part of being a human, and that her long legs, her wide hips, the pooch of her belly -- however they may grow or change shape as she ages or bears children someday -- are a lovely vehicle in which to do all of those things, and she should cherish it and nurture it and love it. Not starve it or cut it or deny it or hate it.

I will love myself as much as I can, if only to be the example I have failed to be her entire life. Maybe we'll sit down and read these ten beautiful rules together so she can better understand the many nuances of this very important issue. I hope I'm not too late.

New Writing Gig and Other Updates

2011-09-12T10:13:00.000-07:00

The New Gig

A couple weeks ago, a friend of mine encouraged me to apply for one of the open writing positions at entertainment blogging site, Cinema Blend. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I sent the editor some writing samples, crossed my fingers, and then promptly forgot about it.

A week later, I received a positive response. They liked what they saw, and the next day I was writing my first story for their pop culture section, Pop Blend. It's been an interesting experience so far, and in many ways unsettling. In much the same way it's unsettling to have someone publish one of your fiction stories, but perhaps worse because the audience is much larger, and the stories have to keep coming at a rate of five or six per week. And people on the internet can be, for lack of a better word, jerkfaces if they don't like or agree with something. Thankfully I haven't had to deal with anyone like that yet. But Cinema Blend articles appear regularly in Google News and other aggregates, so eyes are landing on what I write in a way they never have before. And if I get something wrong, it's not only my reputation on the line, but the credibility of the people I'm writing for. So while it feels like blog writing in tone, I'm no longer playing in my own playground, and I feel a little intimidated and unsure of myself at the moment. As such, my writing personality has felt a little more formal and buttoned up than it's used to. Eventually, as I get more comfortable in those shoes, I'm sure a little more of my typical irreverence will come through.

So although I wouldn't disparage the term "journalist" or "reporter" by comparing myself to one, I can kinda understand that pressure a little more. You want to get things right. You HAVE to. At any rate, I consider it good practice, and I hope it gets my name out there a little more and opens up to bigger opportunities down the road.

Other Updates

Fall is fast approaching. My favorite time of year, no doubt. I've already made some great pickle relish from a bounty of cucumbers, and I'm soon going to be starting on my yearly apple and pear butter extravaganza. Bread baking and other goodies will soon commence, as the cooler temperatures drive me into my yearly domestic goddess paradise mode. The family and I have also been embarking on a largely meat-free endeavor with our diets, and I've done some experimenting in the kitchen to fantastic results. So expect some foodie posts here in the near future.

Apart from that, I'm also working hard to wrap up the first draft of my dieselpunk-noir COLT COLTRANE AND THE LOTUS KILLER by the end of the month so I can start concentrating on the next book, which will be written during National Novel Writing Month in November. Originally, I was going to be writing a sequel to SCARLET LETTERS: THE TALE OF THE VAMPIRE MAILMAN. It seemed to be a fun and lighthearted way to spend the month. But then something else started tugging at me again, and I decided I couldn't ignore it this time. I now know it's time to return to a world I'd always believed in but long left abandoned during a time when I didn't feel like I could do the story proper justice. And that story is THE LAST SUPPER, a dystopian science fiction that envisions a future riddled by grain blight and overbearing theocracy.

This will be my third attempt to tell this story. The first version was a novella, and it was based on a gimmick that I now realize is too neat to be at all compelling or believable. My second attempt at the story was an expansion into a novel (my first attempt at a novel, period), which made it to about 80,000 words before I realized I had no clue where I was going with it. That story still has some very compelling elements and characters I'd like to borrow for this version, but the rest is being scrapped and the whole story is being redrafted into a different monster.

The overall tone of this book is going to be far different. It's not going to be the sweeping grand epic I was originally going for. I'm paring it way, way down and focusing explicitly on the characters, leaving the world as a backdrop so chilling that backstory of the cataclysm won't really be necessary. In that way, it's going to have more of a feel that's comparable to The Road (although I will likely be using punctuation, and I'm not nearly as good a writer as Cormac McCarthy). It'll be quieter, more thoughtful, less action-driven than most of my other stuff. But it will say everything I wanted to say originally. I won't be pulling any punches this time. I can clearly hear the voice of this story in my head, and I'm very excited about it.

Although I do plan to return to the SCARLET LETTERS universe eventually, I want to do it during a time when I have little else to work on. The sequel would be going directly to Smashwords/Amazon, and although I'm okay with that (the first book has been very successful thus far), I still have several projects that I intend to try on the traditional market, and I'd like to finish those first.

On Eating "Gourmet"

2011-08-31T11:12:00.000-07:00

I love food. From the time my mom let me into the kitchen to make my own grilled cheese sandwiches as a kid, I've been obsessed with all things culinary. I've become a self-taught student of the vocabulary, the gadgets, the technique. Before the Food Network and the age of the celebrity chef, there was the crazy Cajun guy, the Frugal Gourmet, and of course Julia Child. But my favorite was the show Great Chefs, which took the cameras right into the kitchens of some of the world's greatest restaurants, and the chefs there would prepare the most amazing or frightening but almost always beautiful concoctions I'd ever seen. I was most obsessed with the pastry chefs, not only because I have a major affinity for eating baked goods, but because I love the process that goes into making breads and desserts. Part of me, a very large and thriving part of me, still wants to be a chef. Still believes that this is very much an unanswered calling.

I still have a dream one day of owning a bakery, with a bookstore attached to it. I can so clearly see this dream in my head that I have no doubt that someday, it will be a reality. It will be in a quaint little town. There will be a bell on the door that jingles every time a customer comes in. I will hold book release and signing events for local authors. And they will stay for my fabulous artisan breads and cookies, bars and cakes. There will be Belgian waffles every Sunday morning. I'll have a spate of regulars whom I will all know by name. People will come from all around to try the food and browse my eclectic literary collection while sipping their coffee. All the fillings and fruits in my pastries will be homemade from locally grown, seasonal ingredients. I'll even buy locally milled flour, and maybe even offer some confections for the gluten-free crowd. Everything will have that rustic, handmade look. My coffee will be incredible and freshly ground from fair trade beans. Someday, my kids will one day inherit this business and make it their own. The business, and the philosophies on which it was built, will be our legacy to them and future generations.

I used to think eating gourmet would mean having to bypass a lot of ingredients I typically don't like. Olives, stinky cheeses, weird meats and fishes, unfamiliar fruits and vegetables. I also used to think it would mean that I would go hungry. That if I spent extra money on great food, it would be in tiny portions and I'd be craving a cheeseburger two hours later. I have since discovered that none of these things are true. That when a food is prepared properly, there is almost nothing I won't at least try, if not love. At a wonderful little French bistro a couple weeks ago, my husband and I sampled a wide variety of foods, most of it locally grown and prepared with the utmost care. The pissaladière (or French-style pizza) we ate for our first course had goat cheese and nicoise olives on it. I traditionally dislike both of these foods. The pizza was nonetheless delicious, and I didn't pick a single thing off it.

The portions were on the smaller side, but neither of us left hungry. In fact, we were nearly too full for dessert, but we ate it anyway -- a tiny flourless hazelnut cake that was so rich, three or four bites was more than enough. And three hours later, we weren't hungry for more food. We'd been perfectly sated. Not too much, not too little. All great ingredients, carefully prepared and delicious. My body and appetite were equally at peace with one another, which is something that is too rare.

How often does this happen for anybody anymore? How much better off would we be if we all ate in such a way? Enjoying rich and delicious high-quality ingredients, not thinking of diets or calories or fat grams, but quality through and through? I have found that when I'm consistently giving myself the very best, I simply don't need as much. When the food is perfectly nourishing and appealing, a little bit of it goes a long way.

This is why the French are so healthy while eating their butter and froie gras. This is why you can go to Italy and nosh on pasta for days, and probably not gain a pound. Why in Japan, you can eat little pieces of sushi, with generous portions of white rice, and drink delicious teas and soups, and not feel like you're nine months pregnant with a gigantic food baby.

We have it backwards here. We're eating cheap and nutrient-hollow food, in enormous enough quantities so that we don't notice how very malnourished we are. Modern convenience cuisine was thought up in a corporate boardroom by guys who have no care in the world where a food comes from or whether it tastes great, so long as people can get a whole bunch of it for a few bucks.

This is why I want to take more culinary risks in my own kitchen now. And why I won't shudder at the prices of better food if I know I won't need as much of it to feel happy. It's nourishing in its own way to know my money is going to sustain the local farmer who is growing beautiful food for the love of it, and that the money I give him is going right back into his crops, crops that probably feed his family too.

It's the kind of eating that feeds more than hungry stomachs. It sates the conscience and the need to be creative. It opens us up to new experiences and cultures. It makes us more delicate and mindful even about the way we cut the food and put it in our mouths, how we taste it and use our tongues to find and appreciate every ingredient, the way we use our eyes to study the brushstrokes in a beautiful painting.

When the food is truly good, it fuels our souls and our dreams.

The Things We Leave Behind

2011-08-24T15:56:00.000-07:00

It's interesting the things that people hang on to throughout their lives. Today, as I watched my mother sort through the belongings of a recently deceased 94-year-old woman (it's a long story I won't go into here), I got a true sense of the memories a person can accumulate throughout a very long life.

No, this woman wasn't a hoarder. She was very sentimental, and understandably so. The deaths of her children and her husband long preceded her own, and her home was a memorial to the life she'd led before, during, and after tragedy came to define it.

She'd saved every scrap of their lives: photographs, report cards, plaques, artwork, records, toys. Every piece of furniture in her house had been in the same place for forty or more years. Most of it is now sitting on a truck headed to Georgia in a short time, likely to be distributed to surviving family members down that way, or maybe even sold off in some cases. It was all very well kept, but old. The house itself was in desperate need of updating. I don't imagine it will fetch much on the market with all the work it needs, but it's hard to imagine another family inhabiting that place. Of course, it will happen. Just as I'm now living on top of someone else's memories, and strangers will one day be living on top of mine.

Because of my mother's relation to this woman, she got to take a number of these things with her, and I imagine when she's gone, many of those things will be passed on to the rest of us. A chair, a photo album, a vintage Pepsi wastebasket. These precious objects will never really die within the protective circle of the family, and the memories they hold will be passed down to the younger generations.

It got me to thinking about what I would leave behind when I die. I don't keep photographs in albums. I keep them on physical and virtual hard drives. I haven't saved every report card, every scrap of paper my kids have brought home. I've never been much for scrapbooking. I'm content to keep most of my memories in my head. The closest I come to recording the events of my life is through blog or status updates. Or when I interpret my feelings and observations through fiction. There aren't that many scraps of paper to represent me, really. When I die, there will be some furniture, books, kitchen stuff. A few of my favorite knickknacks. Oh, but who am I kidding? The furniture I'm sitting on now likely won't last another five years. These days, there are few people who could afford a couch that would last forty years perfectly intact, much like the one I saw today. We are living in the Ikea Age. Nothing is built to last anymore.

I've kept a selection of the kids' artwork and things, but only enough to fit into a small box. I have almost no baby mementos. No first locks of hair or baby teeth. No favorite rattles or baby shoes. No well-loved stuffed animals. When it comes to saving things, I've never been particularly good at it. The clothes and things were donated to people who needed them more. We have pictures, but they're digital.

How would things be if I died not now, but several decades from now? What more will I have accumulated? Or will it be even more digitized than before? Will my kids and grandkids ever sit in my home for hours or days, sorting through my leavings, laughing, crying, remembering? Having that catharsis that I think is often necessary to be able to properly deal with the death of a loved one?

And what about my kids, and their kids, and so on? Their physical footprint on this world will be even fainter than mine. They likely won't have many books at all, because they'll all be stored on an electronic device. Same with their pictures, music, and other vital documents. Newspapers will be things they look at in museums or old movies as relics of another age. School work will be relegated exclusively to tablets over the next decade.

And although I rejoice in some of these technical marvels, I can't help but feel the sense of emptiness it creates when it comes to the end of someone's life, and the sum of all their feelings and memories and experiences can be stored on a few pieces of silicon, and the rest sent to a landfill, because it was too cheaply made to be salvageable. The stuff that's worth keeping, it might fit into a few small boxes. Unless you were lucky enough to inherit something from a dead grandparent or have an interest in antiquing or all things retro.

If you're an adult older than thirty reading this, you will likely be the last generation of people who will find it commonplace to sift through those old boxes full of books, photo albums, scrapbooks, those yellowed newspaper clippings, those relics of an age when people lived forever and had a whole lot of "stuff" to show for it.

It was sad to see much of Helen's life boxed up and carted away. Her stuff is now the property of many. But in a way, it seems like the most natural thing in the world. It's how families pay tribute, how they grieve and remember.

Not long from now, there will be a death in a family, and each survivor will get a specialized chip with their loved one's life etched onto it, reducing the whole process to something more binary. This seems a little hollow to me. Too fragile to sustain itself. As we age, I think we will have to work harder than ever to be indelible in our increasingly intangible world.

The Thing in Writing that Can't Be Taught

2011-08-19T07:33:00.000-07:00

I used to harbor a certain illusion about writing. I used to think if you can read or speak, then certainly the ability to write isn't that far off. It's a rather romantic attitude to have, and I think it makes writing one of the most widely attempted art forms, the one that everybody thinks they can do or would do "if they didn't have such a busy life." Because apparently, writing a book or a story is "easy," and all it takes is a "really cool idea."

I can't tell you how insulting that is (and I hear it a lot). It's on par with someone who might say, "Oh, I'm sure I could compose a piano concerto, but I have better things to do than sit on a bench all day plunking keys. But hey, kudos to you!" Of course, no one would say that, because everyone knows that playing the piano is hard, and playing it to the level that one could compose something coherent and beautiful is only within the grasp of the truly talented pianists out there. I certainly know I couldn't do it, and I've dabbled in music.

I didn't realize that the same was true of aspiring writers until I started freelance editing. In the time I've been doing this, I've read dozens, perhaps by now even hundreds, of manuscripts. And now, I can honestly say that the number of people who have submitted work to me that is even remotely publishable, original, daring, or potentially awesome, can only be counted on one hand. This isn't about typos. This isn't about bad metaphors or even grammar. Those things are usually the product of poor teaching or just plain rusty mechanics that most adults have when they decide to take up the art many decades after their last English class. I'm not excluded at all from that group myself.

This track? Not so good...

No, there is something more that makes a piece of writing connect with a reader. It's almost intangible. It's that thing where you are following along without even trying. Where you don't have to question the logic or authority of the storyteller, because they're guiding you efficiently along a well-laid track, which allows you to experience all the events of the story without having to go, "Wait... I thought we were just here... and now we're here? What?" It's where you don't feel like you've just been taken on a tour of a strange city by a guide who is drunk and/or schizophrenic.

And I firmly believe that this is the one thing that separates even the "okay" writers from the rest of the pack. Even the supposed worst writers on the shelves right now, the ones I harangue mercilessly, the Pattersons and the Meyers and the Dan Browns. Even they, on their worst day with their laziest metaphors and driest prose, can do that "thing" I'm trying desperately to describe. They can guide you the reader from Point A all the way to Point Z without once making you feel like the stable and known universe has taken a nosedive. You know from the minute you open the cover of one of their books that you're going to get a full and complete story that makes sense, at least on a fundamental level. It might not be the prettiest or most creative story, and you might find you even hate the characters or think they're poorly developed or have terrible dialogue, but you can STILL identify it as a complete and coherent work. You are able to properly evaluate the story for all its good and bad attributes because the storyteller ultimately delivered.

Many of you probably still don't know what I'm talking about. You'll undoubtedly tell me how many books you threw aside in disgust when you lost interest or whatever. And I get that. There are some pretty crappy books and stories out there, endorsed by some of the biggest publishers in the world. But unless you're someone who reads rough writing for a living, who gets to glimpse the hopeful efforts of someone who just decided one day they wanted to write a novel because it would "be easy," you probably won't get it. But agents, editors, and freelancers like me? They get it. And in my own way, I understand why they're so jaded.

I think they get that when it comes to writing, no matter how pretty you make your prose, no matter how eloquent some of your metaphors, no matter how precise your punctuation and grammar, if you don't have that intangible "thing" that allows you to draw someone in and follow along and give a damn (even the littlest bit), you're not doing the work of a writer. I thought The Walking by Bentley Little was one of the worst books I've ever read in my life. And yet... I finished it. That has to say something. I knew what his main character was, what he was motivated by, and the story followed a logical path to a logical conclusion (even if that conclusion was lame). I've since read manuscripts that made The Walking look like James Joyce.

And that's about 99% of the manuscripts I receive.

I wish I could teach this. I wish I could open people's heads and dump this ability in there. It would sure make our jobs easier. But I don't think this is something that can be taught. I think this is purely innate. You can teach someone to better develop aspects of their art, but I think that generally ends at prose-related stuff. I think the logic that drives an overall story, that magic that compels someone to turn the page, is really the talent that every true writer possesses, and few people have it.

So what's the point in telling you all this? Two things:

Only in my dreams...

1. Writers: Don't take your art for granted. If you've got that gift, treasure it and use it with pride. If you're confident you can draw a reader along the track, but just need help further fleshing out the world around that track, don't despair. You can improve that with practice. Be assured you already have the most important part down.

2. Everybody: Don't think that "anybody" can be a writer. It's insulting to writers. It's no different than any other job. Not everybody can be a doctor. Not everybody can be an engineer. Not everybody can dance a good and sexy samba. Spend a few hours reading manuscripts people have to read for a living, and you'll soon realize how very rare it is to find even a competent writer.

And to those who do it and aren't sure if they have that "thing,' don't think I'm trying to shatter your hopes here. I suppose if there is any message I have for all the dreamers out there, it's this. Don't for once ever think that what you're doing is easy. If it feels that way, you're probably doing something wrong. As Stephen King said it once, don't come lightly to the page.

Throwing words onto a page is easy. But writing, the real kind, is hard. It's damn hard.

Review: The Help

2011-08-17T07:16:00.000-07:00

Some people are calling The Help a lighthearted, feel-good movie. More virulent viewers are calling it a cesspool of white guilt, stereotypes, and liberal pandering.

I'm not sure we were watching the same movie. In my version of the film, I saw a touching and moving story about the culture of racism in the early 60s in Jackson, Mississippi, and the institution of middle-class "society" families using African American maids to raise their children and clean their homes, but won't allow them the dignity of using the indoor bathroom. It's a story told with humor, intelligence, and grace. It's as uplifting as it is infuriating, because while we're seeing a very ugly and shameful part of American culture, it has a sense of hope and optimism about it that not all humans are assholes, and that some people will prevail in a system that was built to beat them down. Sometimes we need to know that.

If you want a cold and unflinching look at black poverty and oppression, watch Precious and then try not to slit your wrists afterward.

There are many plots and subplots throughout the film, but the basic story is as follows: Skeeter (Emma Stone, who seems to be everywhere these days, and I'm perfectly fine with that), a peppy and non-conformist who refuses to settle down with a man and become a domestic goddess like her mother and friends, returns home after graduating from Ole Miss to get a job as a journalist. Of course, the only column offered to her is that of Miss Myrna, who I guess is the Dear Abby of house cleaning. To gain some perspective on domestic duties, she asks her high society friends if she can talk to their maids. She would have talked to her own, but she was disturbed to learn that her mother fired her while Skeeter was gone at school. This sad note later becomes a thematic turning point in the latter part of the film.

One of Skeeter's friends reluctantly agrees to let Skeeter talk to her maid (so long as it doesn't interfere with the maid's work), and this is where Skeeter meets Abilene, the main maid of the story played by Viola Davis in a heartbreaking Oscar-caliber performance. Skeeter, perhaps because she managed to get a college education and escape the prejudiced systems of life in Jackson, is troubled by the undignified ways her friends treat "the help," particularly by Hilly, the racist high-falutin socialite queen of Jackson played so effectively by Bryce Dallas Howard that I'd happily hit her in the face with a pie if I saw her on the street. She decides she wants to interview as many maids as she can for a book that shows their perspectives as women who are forced to raise white children while their own kids live in poverty.

What they're doing is risky and even technically illegal, and it's happening during the most volatile time of the Civil Rights Movement. A feeling of danger permeates through what they're doing, and although the film doesn't capitalize on this too heavily, I found myself to be kind of relieved about that. Like I said, such things belong in a different kind of movie. I loved these characters. I cared deeply for them. The last thing I wanted to see was something terrible happening to them because of some Drama Law that requires a character must die in a horrible way before we can finally give a damn. Death is not the only way to achieve a catharsis.

The script does suffer a tad from being overstuffed. There were some half-baked plot elements that should have been cut altogether, and which probably resulted from trying to remain too faithful to the book. However, that complaint is minor. The movie shines so much through its performances that a few dull spots here and there hardly matter.

Movies like this have a tendency to make me want to be a better person. They ignite in me the fury I have against social injustice. The racism exhibited in this film isn't quite as loud and in our faces today, but it's still very much there, spoken in whispers and in code words. The Hillys of the world haven't gone anywhere. They've just learned to sing their tunes a little differently. White guilt, you say? Hell, I'd say we have a lot to be guilty about.

Grade: A

Confessions of a Terrible Fighter

2011-08-16T15:02:00.000-07:00

Maybe I'd do better if I had a Hatori Hanzo blade...

I give up on myself way too easily. When I read stories of bloody-knuckled persistence in the face of all rejection and adversity, I manage to feel like a woefully inadequate human being, because I when it comes to trying. I mean REALLY REALLY trying, I suck. When a hard enough punch is thrown, I remain on the mat, even when I know I have enough in me to get back up and keep fighting. I think it's because by that point, I just don't want to get knocked back down again. It hurts too much, and I figure that since so many people have already dealt me defeating blows, what's to say the rest of the people won't either?

Then I read stories like the one about Kathryn Stockett, author of bestselling novel The Help, and how she'd submitted her manuscript 60 times and had it rejected each and every time (some of those rejections, in fact, were pretty damn mean), until the 61st. After that, her life changed dramatically. It's times like this when I realize how much of a wimp I truly am. I haven't submitted anything 60 times.

In fact, if you total the number of submissions I've made for the two novels I've submitted to the market thus far, the total is probably still only half that. I stopped submitting after the tenth or twelfth rejection on either book, and really, that's just ridiculous. Shameful, even. Instead of enduring more possible rejection, I've moved on to the next project, treated the stuff I've "given up on" as ebook material.

In fact, I'm pretty sure a lot of the ardent defenses I make about self-publishing stem from the hurt of my rejections, and my desire to seek shelter from the barbs of ruthless competition. And although I am fully in agreement about a lot of the arguments made in favor of independent e-publishing vs print, and how I don't think the traditional market does many authors any favors, there is no denying that I'm engaging in the use of defense mechanisms. That I've considered the route of self-publishing due to my sometimes crippling fear of rejection. At least, if I sell poorly on Amazon or Smashwords, I can simply say it's because it's harder for an indie author to stand out in the crowd. It's certainly not because of my writing. Not because of my ideas.

It's comforting to think that way, even if in reality what I'm doing is selling myself short. Taking the easy road.

I've decided that it's time to start setting higher thresholds of professional pain for myself. I need to work harder. Oh, I'll keep e-publishing. In fact, I fully stand behind the quality of what I have to offer on the marketplace, and I'm very proud of that work. But I need to be more dogged in my attempts to work the other half of the market. The one where legends are still born, despite the sad stories we hear daily about the publishing market.

I need to get bloody, and then, when I'm sure I can't take it anymore, I need to go even further. My heart has not given up the idea of a book deal. I need to fucking stop acting like it and show what I'm really made of, because I've treated my sensibilities far too lightly.

I have not yet begun to fight. But that ends now. Where's my sword?

Excerpt from Colt Coltrane and the Lotus Killer

2011-08-15T11:22:00.000-07:00

I don't normally post excerpts of my WIPs here on my blog, but I've been hard up for topics of late, and I figure I might as well share a little bit of what's been occupying my time these days, just to keep this place from falling completely into disrepair.

A little background. This book is a dieselpunk noir detective thriller, set in Los Angeles during the 1940s. Colt is your classic hard-boiled detective investigating a series of grisly murders taking place in and around the murky L.A. River. But the story has a bit of an Asimovian twist. Colt's partner is a robot. PETE (or Patented Electric Tactical Enforcer) units serve alongside most of the LAPD detectives as part of a pilot program developed by the shadowy Takahashi Industries. They serve mainly as recording devices during an investigation, and they also have some minor data storage and can also do some deductive reasoning. They also have a handy pursuit mode that can make it easier to pursue criminals on foot. Colt's PETE unit is even more special, though. But I won't reveal why here. In the following excerpt, we see Colt interacting with his friend, Mack McIntyre, former small-time bookie and owner of The Parts Bin, an underground night club/casino run mostly by disused and abandoned bots he's salvaged and re-purposed in his workshop.

This is still in first draft form, btw, so expect things like typos and other basic inconsistencies.

Chapter 6

Pete and I were on the way to the Parts Bin after a call from Mack raving like his ass was on fire. He’d been that way ever since he’d gotten that first peek into Pete’s innards six weeks ago, and he was making new discoveries in that crazy workshop of his every day. I didn’t know what all those things were, but from what I could pick up from Mack’s gibberish, I was about to find out.

The last month and a half had been a non-stop bloodbath. We had four definite cases on the books for what the press had dubbed "The Lotus Killer," and one more that was a maybe. That vic, a homeless vet we later identified as Anson P. Raglan, didn’t quite fit the M.O. First of all, he was an American male. All the other vics were Asian or Asian-American women. Second, there was no lotus at the scene. But the strange circular markings and the overall mutilation of the body pointed toward the same murderer. We figured maybe the flower had washed away, or that the killer had gotten spooked while dumping the body and forgot to leave it.

And that was another thing. We could find no tracks to or from the scenes, either foot or tire. It was like the vics had fallen from the sky, or were belched up from the sewers below. There had been some minor speculation on that last thing, but no one had done more than a cursory expedition down there. The network of tunnels and drains running beneath the city were as tangled as the hair on the back of a busy whore’s head. There had also been a lot of rain over the last few weeks, and no one was willing to risk drowning just yet.

Tracking the source of the flowers was also a dead end. The Orchid Man from the Flower District came forth with all his sales records, but there was nothing indicating regular or large purchases of white lotus blossoms. Same with the District’s other vendors. I was sure at this point that the killer was growing them himself.

Mack McIntyre was listed as one of the Orchid Man’s clients, but Komiko Takahashi’s stage dressing had to come from somewhere, and there was nothing else linking either of them to the murders. Their alibis were rock solid. I would know that, because when Pete and I weren’t working the case, we were usually at The Parts Bin, shooting billiards or listening to Komiko sing.

I won’t deny it. The dame had me in her snares, like a bug caught in a Venus fly trap. She’d revealed nothing new to me about the nature of her relationship with her father or his machines. Instead, she looked into my soul from the stage, singing in a language I didn’t know. But I somehow knew the words, deep down in that place where I think every human being understands each other, no matter how different they are. She was singing about a pain that mirrored my own. It was etched into her perfectly painted face, those parted red lips, those black eyes rendered into slits as she lost herself in the music.

I could only watch her, never touch. Her number still rested in my coat pocket, but I never called it. She was Mack’s girl. And even though Ava had officially locked me out of the house two weeks ago, I was still a married man.

I did tail Komiko on a few occasions. For one thing, she fit the victim profile, and I wanted to be sure she was safe. But I also wanted to see where she would go, if her errands took her anywhere near the L.A. River. Turned out, she never ventured more than a few blocks from the Bin, and it was mostly to shop.

The workshop at The Parts Bin was busier than I’d ever seen it. Sparks flew everywhere as about a half dozen guys worked grinders and welders at their stations. Judging by the array of metal arms, legs, heads, and torsos being slung around, it looked like several new bots were under construction. A manly musk of ozone, sweat, and grease filled the air.

I found walked up to one of the workers who didn’t look as busy as the others. In fact, he looked downright confused by the mess of wires and gears lying before him. “Where’s Mack?” I asked.

He turned around and noticed me and then goggled up at Pete. He didn’t have much by way of teeth in his head, so his mouth had a sunken in quality about it. “Uh, I think he’s over in the stacks checkin’ inventory. Somethin’ like gat. Say, that’s some bot. I never seen a PETE up close before.”

“That’s a good thing,” I said. “Most folks who do are on their way to jail.”

“Dammit, Simpson! Why didn’t you tell me Colt was here? I’ve been waiting for him all morning!” Mack walked up to the table carrying an armload of small boxes and set them down on the workbench.

The guy I’d been talking to, who I guess was named Simpson, nodded furiously and dropped his eyes down. “Yessir. I was just about to come and get ya.”

Mack rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure you were.” He turned to me. “Pardon the mess here. Just hired on a few new guys this past week, and they haven’t all caught on to the way things work around here.”

“How come you’re so busy?”

“New contract. Security company in San Diego wants a whole set of my tin soldiers. And I can build ‘em cheaper than that Jap uptown.” He jerked his head over to Simpson, who was applying a socket wrench to an arm joint without much success. “Dammit, Simpson! What the hell do you think you’re doing? That’s a hexagonal nut. Use a 12-point socket! I swear I’d brain you with that wrench if you didn’t work so cheap.”

“Yessir, right on it,” Simpson said, not seeming at all perturbed by the way Mack was talking to him. He grabbed the right socket, fitted it onto the wrench, and got back to work.

“So this is what you wanted me to come all the way down here for?” I said. “To see your little robot sweatshop?”

Mack laughed. “Man, I pulled most of these schmucks off the unemployment line. They even get a free meal benefit. I’m doing them a favor. I’m one of the good guys, remember?”

“Sure,” I said.

“But that ain’t why I had you come down here. Nope, I got something major in the works right now. Top Secret stuff, my man.”

“What is it?”

“Can’t tell you that just yet.”

I was getting impatient with this back and forth. It was early in the day for me to be here, and I was still hungover from the night before. My head felt like an overblown party balloon. “Well why the hell did you bring me down here? I’m on duty, you idiot. If this doesn’t pertain to the Lotus case, you’re wasting my time.”

Mack held out his hands in a defensive gesture. “Now now, Colt. Don’t get hasty. Nothin’ I do is a waste of time. There’s a method to my madness. But I just need to have Simpson here get your measurements.”

I glanced at Simpson and back to Mack, who was doing that excited “kid who has to take a leak” dance again. “If you can’t tell me what this is about, I can always come down here with a warrant.” It was probably the only building in town I could still get a warrant for, given how things were going lately. But my threat was weak. Mack was the only friend I had that wasn’t made of metal.

"I love it when you talk dirty, Colt, but you’re just gonna have to trust me. I can say that it’s for you, and possibly this Lotus case. And it’s the most important work I’ve ever done. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’ll change the world, and you’re going to be the very first person to experience the finished prototype. Besides, I tried getting your measurements from your old lady, but when I mentioned your name, she screeched into the phone like a diseased jackal.”

I stared at him for a minute and then sighed and took off my coat and hat to hand to Pete. “Jesus Christ, okay. Can we just make it quick? I have a murder investigation to get back to.”

“Simpson! Grab the tape measure and get this man’s inseam, chest, and arm measurements. Also get his head circumference. Definitely don’t wanna forget that.”

“Yessir. I’ll get right on it.” Simpson stopped what he was doing and started poking around on his workbench.

After a few seconds of watching this, Mack sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Check the your tool belt, Simpson.”

Sure enough, the white spool of hash-marked tape was hanging from the hip. Simpson approached with some hesitation, the tape outstretched in his greasy hands. Having been to a tailor a few times in my life, I knew the drill and lifted my arms. Simpson wrapped the tape around my chest and called out the measurement to Mack, who was standing nearby with a small notepad and pen in hand. “We got a hundred-and-six on the chest.”

Mack looked like he was physically in pain now. “Jesus jumped on a flaming pogo stick, Simpson! Inches, not centimeters!”

Simpson flipped the tape around. “Yessir. All right, we got forty-two on the chest.”

“Christ, Colt. You’re a scrawny bastard,” Mack said.

“I keep active.”

“Yeah, on gin and cheap cigarettes.”

“And your mother’s love.”

Mack shook his head and grinned. “You’re a cold s.o.b. No wonder we’re such good friends.” Simpson managed to finish the rest of the measuring without incurring the wrath of his boss, and a few minutes later, Pete and I were leaving the Parts Bin and heading back toward the station.

3 Reasons Why Novelists Should Blog: A Rebuttal

2011-08-01T06:07:00.000-07:00

This morning, Galleycat posted an article entitled 3 Reasons Novelists Shouldn't Blog, based on an article by Livia Blackburn about why novelists should consider why they're blogging.. While I contributed a comment, I thought the more natural thing would be to (waste considerable time not writing a novel) come over to my corner of the blogosphere and elaborate further.

First, I want to say that Blackburn makes some cogent points about the pitfalls many novelists fall into while blogging. Namely that they spend way too much damn time talking about writing. I've written a number of blog posts about writing. It's a natural tendency for many career writers, because it's our trade, and we want to write what we know. But ultimately, that's only going to net you a few readers. And VERY few buyers. I know this from personal experience, just looking at Google Analytics. My most popular posts are not about the craft. Well, not exactly. The most popular post on my blog is a review I wrote for a portable word processor, the Alphasmart NEO. So it's about writing equipment, not necessarily about writing itself.

But the next most popular blog post on this site was an open letter I wrote to the First Lady, Michelle Obama, about her plan of attack against obese kids. In fact, I'd say that even though it hasn't had quite as many hits as the NEO post, it's more popular because of its rate of growth. The former has had two years to build up steam. I wrote to Mrs. Obama back in March, and it's had nearly as many hits. The third most popular blog post was about my attempt to make Peruvian-style rotisserie chicken. Go figure.

So there you have it. Three top blog posts from a relatively active blog, two of which have nothing at all to do with writing. What does this tell me? If I want to have readers, I'm better off not spending all my time talking about my work. It bores most people, and writers are a very small niche. And with the variety of blogs out there already devoted specifically to the craft, my stuff becomes invisible. That, and well, if you spend too much time tooting your own horn, you look like a self-absorbed douchecanoe.

So why blog?

1. I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been putting my thoughts to the web since 2005. After that long, it's become a reflex. While my sites have undergone some major changes and rebirths since then, I'm still here, and I'm not going anywhere. I get a respectable number of hits a day, even if I don't get a lot of commenters, but that's okay. I'm a pretty prolific thinker, and I have a lot of interests that I like to discuss openly, such as movies and politics and cooking and parenting and random general stuff. I recently took up a swimming hobby, so I've been talking about that too. Writing is not all I'm about. If it were, I'd be pretty goddamn boring. This site has my name on it. It's meant to encompass all of me, not just my authoring career. If this sounds like you, keep blogging.

2. Some days, writing anything at all is a victory. I disagree that time spent blogging is time spent away from working on my latest and greatest book or story. If I'm ready and willing to delve into my make-believe, I damn well do, and very little will stop me. If I'm gonna procrastinate, I'm gonna procrastinate. For me, time spent blogging is usually time spent away from watching TV or doing housework or napping. I'm not going to talk to you like you're misdirected little children. You know yourself better than anybody else. If you truly would rather be working on your book than anything else, you will. Trust me. In the meantime, don't feel guilty about blogging or doing anything else not related to your writing project. Guilt is not conducive to higher productivity.

3. I've said this before in other articles, and I'll say it again. In this brave new world of publishing where we must market our own work, people make the mistake of only marketing the work. They forget about themselves. If I think you're a total bore, I probably won't buy your book. The best way for me to know you're not a total bore, at least if you're not already my friend on Facebook or Twitter? Your blog. People talk so much about platform, platform, platform. Well, in my opinion, when you're trying to sell your own fiction, a huge plank in that platform is you. Use your blog to tell us who you are and what you're about. Your own life is a story. You might think it's boring, but trust me, the most successful websites are often about people who are doing nothing more than being themselves. The same goes for salespeople.

If your blog isn't accomplishing those three things, then it might not be the most successful venture for you. That doesn't mean you shouldn't keep doing it. Just don't expect to get a whole lot in return other than your personal enjoyment. In the meantime, I will hold on to blogging as a viable way to not only interact with a potential audience, but also one of the many ways to have FUN in life. I've found that to be one of the most essential ingredients for writing the other stuff.

Review: Cowboys & Aliens

2011-07-29T20:57:00.000-07:00

I wonder if this thing could write me into a better movie...

I love a gritty Western. I also love a great alien movie. Putting them together just seems like a very natural fusion, like the salted caramel of fiction. So when I first saw the trailer for Cowboys & Aliens sometime ago, I about wet myself. And that was even before I saw that Daniel Craig was in it. I also figured that since it was in the hands of the guy who made Iron Man, we were golden.

Boy, was I just setting myself up for a broken heart.

Let's first talk about how the movie begins, because that was the good part, with a dirty Jake Lonergan (Daniel Craig) sitting up in a desert with no idea where or who he is. He also has this weird bracelet on his arm, whose purpose is pretty evident on any number of the movie's posters. (NON-SPOILER ALERT: It shoots holes into aliens n'shit). He quickly disarms some bounty hunters in that standard Bond-like badass fashion that we can expect from Daniel Craig. This seems promising.

Flash forward to the failing gold mining town of Absolution, full of all the requisite archetypes (wise country preacher, gruff town sheriff, affable barkeep, powerful rancher with a spoiled idiot son). Turns out Lonergan is a wanted man, and even though he can't remember his crimes as a stage coach robber, he's about to get hauled off to prison anyway. That is until alien drone ships start dropping bombs all over the place and kidnapping people by wrapping cables around them and zipping them off through the air to wherever. It's at this point that Lonergan finds out what all that wrist bracelet of his can really do, and he accompanies the remaining survivors on a "harrowing adventure" (notice my ironic quotation marks) to get their townfolk back. Immediately after that, the story starts slamming on the brakes and veering out of control, and it never quite finds its way again.

In fact, the entire movie reads like one two-hour-long anticlimax. And there is absolutely no reason in the world, with this formula and with these actors, that this should be so. But it is. Trust me, it is.

There's nothing quite so disappointing as seeing good onscreen talent going to waste on a terrible script. This is especially so with Harrison Ford, who first begins as a brutal tyrant and at some point becomes the honorable old man hero without any of the character development that makes such a journey believable. The same could almost be said of Daniel Craig, whose character is so under-developed, joyless, and monotone I had trouble caring about him. A better script would have more skillfully fine-tuned the whole "brutal silent type with a heart of gold" thing (see: Daniel Craig in Casino Royale). Instead, I was just forced to admire how mighty fine he looks in a cowboy hat and a pair of chaps. Not that there is anything inherently wrong with that, but a man of Craig's talents deserves better material.

And maybe that's the problem with Cowboys & Aliens. It wastes every opportunity it has to thrill and engage its audience, and instead combines too many things and underbakes them all. As a regular Western, it might have been damn good. It would have been allowed to breathe and really explore the relationship between the lead characters. Maybe if they'd been blowing up something other than aliens, I would have been able to enjoy all its good Westerny elements instead of wondering why the stupid aliens look like the love children of cave trolls from Lord of the Rings and the Alien Queen from Ripley's universe.

I later learned this film had something like eight writers, and it took a decade to get the concept off the ground. These are never great signs. But it's also a damn shame that Jon Favreau couldn't have overseen it with all the skill he showed on Iron Man, though it was clear in Iron Man 2 that his tendency to love himself too much could get the best of his judgment. I have a message for ya, Jon. You might wanna get control of your ego a bit. A couple more movies like this, and people will start mentioning you in the same breath as M. Night Shyamalan when they lament directors who had so much promise before they were swallowed whole by their own bullshit.

Grade: C

Their Version of Success; My Version of Success

2011-07-20T13:28:00.000-07:00

When I first started swimming, I never thought that in a month, I'd swim a mile. And that I'd be able to do it in roughly the same amount of time it initially took me to swim a half mile. Ever since I've been doing this, I feel, for lack of a more elaborate word, happy. I have my old glide back. My body feels like a well-fitting glove. And even on the days when I'm positive I've sapped the last of my energy, I find I have something left to give.

Still, people will continue to measure my success with their own benchmarks, the most common of which is weight. It's the question I hear most often. "Wow! You're doing great! So how much weight have you lost??"

I tell them I don't know. I tell them I don't care. I tell them I'm certainly not dieting, and that I deprive myself of very little. That while I'm burning massive amounts of calories, I'm also replacing a good number of them as well. If I didn't do that, I certainly wouldn't be sustaining this rigorous exercise routine. And I certainly wouldn't have the enthusiasm for it that I do. There's nothing exciting or fulfilling about controlled starvation. And there's certainly nothing sustainable about it. I've learned that over many years of dieting, so I just don't do it anymore. I killed a promising kickboxing hobby that way--by overwhelming myself with a strict eating plan in addition to a hardcore fitness regimen, and when I failed at one thing (the diet), I quit the other. I'm certainly not going to start that shit with swimming.

What has been fulfilling about this experience is that I've been giving my body the attention and nourishment it deserves, by keeping it active and feeding it well. This has been an entirely positive experience for me. So positive, in fact, that I couldn't imagine quitting. I dream of the water. I sigh when I enter it. By focusing on health rather than merely weight, I've found the way to do something for the love of it. Oh sure, there have been some days when I'm just not all that into it, but every swim ends the same way: with gratitude.

But people are still curious what sort of changes my body is undergoing. And though I haven't made that the centerpiece of my fitness efforts, I can't help but take a little satisfaction over some of the differences in my appearance over the last couple months. I've lost at least eight inches off my waist and hips/ass. My arms are thinning out, with muscles becoming a bit more prominent, especially in the shoulder area. My thighs don't rub together as much as they were. My spare tire in the upper abdominal area is visibly shrinking. My brand new bathing suit is getting baggier by the day. I'll probably need another one by my birthday in October. My knees no longer hurt. I'm noticing one of my chins is shrinking.

So yes, my body is transforming as it adapts to the new physical routine. It's doing what it's supposed to be doing, and I'm just letting it happen. It's liberating not to think about it in terms of inches or pounds or pants sizes or whatever. I'm just relishing the endorphin rush. The certainty that when I step into that pool, I'm motherfucking Wonder Woman, and when I step out of it, I'm motherfucking Wonder Woman after an epic brawl with an aqua monster.

As for my total weight loss after six weeks or so of regular lap swimming? 5 pounds. That's it. 5 pounds. If I were merely dieting (without the rigorous exercise), I'd have lost twice as much weight by now, and for some reason, I'd have a perverse feeling of accomplishment at that. "Yay, I successfully deprived my body of calories! Sure, I'm hungry all the time and I have to constantly deny myself food because I'd go over my Points or run out of Jenny Craig food or that scary woman from Biggest Loser will crush my windpipe. And I'm pretty sure that, like a rubber band that's been stretched far enough, I'll eventually snap back and do what my body was programmed to do: eat and store calories. And I'm sure I'd be twenty pounds heavier in six months and then gain even more weight because of the sense of defeat and inertia that a failed diet always instills in me. But yay me! Pass the celery and grapefruits!"

So no, I don't care about the pounds. I don't count calories. I use common sense. Most of the time. The scale is tucked away under my bathroom counter behind the toilet paper and cleaners. I only pulled it out that once, before sitting down to write this blog. It told its story, and I quietly put it away, my emotions neutral. That piece of tempered glass no longer has the power to make or break my day. Why should it, when my eyes, my clothes, my rock-hard delts, and my overall well-being tell me that I'm just fine, thankyouverymuch?

If I could go through the rest of my life feeling this way and never lose another pound, I'd be happy. I don't have time for that kind of self-torture anymore. What's the point, when I already know with this saggy, fat and flabby body of mine, I'm capable of remarkable things? There are more milestones I look forward to crushing, and crush them I will. And I'll happily jiggle while I'm doing it.

E-Publishing FAQ

2011-07-19T07:42:00.000-07:00

I get a lot of questions about e-publishing from readers and writers alike, so I thought I would compile some of the most common ones into a handy dandy blog post. Keep in mind that I'm not an expert on this topic. All of my answers come from my own personal experience. My hope is that anyone reading this will either feel compelled to e-publish their own work or maybe download a few ebooks to read. No, you don't necessarily need a Kindle or similar dedicated device to read an ebook, but we'll get to that.

1. What made you decide to try e-publishing? Isn't self-publishing for people who couldn't hack it in the real publishing world, i.e. people who suck?

There are two answers to that last question: Yes and No. It's like one of those logic puzzles. Most sucky writers are forced to self-publish, but not all self-published writers are sucky. More and more writers from the traditional market are turning to e-publishing so they can have more creative control over their work and higher royalty payments. Others do it because their work has made the rounds, and though they were assured by many agents and publishers that their work was solid, the book deal just never happened.

I decided on e-publishing for a couple reasons. One, it's a very fast-growing market, and I wanted to be part of it. Two, I have a number of short stories, and I feel self-publishing is increasingly the way to go with them due to the ever-shrinking short story marketplace. I currently have my novel Scarlet Letters up on all the major ebook retailers. I never could quite get an agent to bite on it, but I didn't want it gathering dust either. And thankfully I made the decision to e-publish it, because it's doing quite well. This has spurred me to consider other novel projects for self-publishing.

Ultimately, I think people choose self-publishing because they want people to read their work. And who better to decide on whether a book is worth buying than people who read?

Maybe not this kind of gatekeeper, but close...

2. Aren't you worried about the lack of gatekeepers in the e-publishing world, and legions of terrible writers contaminating the talent pool with their terrible terrible stories?

I used to be, yes. But honestly, I can't allow myself to become too fixated on that anymore. I only need to worry about how good my own work is, and how I can get it in front of as many eyes as possible and just trust that the Darwinian system that has guided all living things through the millennia will also work here. There are gatekeepers in self-publishing. They're called readers. And the readers will naturally gravitate toward the better work, and they will come to expect a certain standard. They want stories that are coherent and properly edited. They want authors who can competently tell a story. They want the same experience they get from any book they pluck from a Barnes & Noble or library shelf. Writers who fail to live up to those standards will gradually fall away.

3. How much does it cost to e-publish your work?

First and foremost, the act of uploading a book onto Smashwords, Kindle Direct, or Barnes & Noble's PubIt is completely and totally free. If you have a story sitting in your files right now, you could click on either of those sites and get it uploaded in minutes and on the market place almost immediately (in the case of Kindle and BN, it can take a couple days to clear the vetting process). However, you don't necessarily want to go about it that way.

If you don't have extensive editing experience, it's recommended that you have your manuscript professionally edited or proofread. Your book will look and sell better if you do. If you don't know someone who can do this for you free of charge, consider an affordable freelancer. Aside from editing, there is the matter of proper formatting and a good cover. If you're handy with a photo manipulation program, you can crank out a cover pretty easily, following the dimension guidelines set by the publisher. You can search the Creative Commons site for images you can use. With the exception of the cover for Scarlet Letters (designed by the awesome Jeff Fielder) I did all of my covers myself using GIMP, a free open source photo manipulation software. As for formatting, each publisher has its own formatting and style guide that can make the process easier. I personally prefer the one at Smashwords, as it's more in-depth and works for all publishers. Once you learn proper formatting, the process of getting your manuscript ready for upload only takes a few minutes.

After you take all of these things into account, e-publishing is actually not all that difficult or expensive. But you have to put some work into it if you expect results.

4. Which publisher is the best? Kindle, Smashwords, etc?

Why not all of them? The key is getting your work into as many markets as possible. The beauty of Smashwords is that they will crank out your book into every file format. They will also distribute your work to places like Sony, Apple, Diesel, and Barnes & Noble. You can even get free or cheap ISBN numbers through them. However, distribution to these other stores through Smashwords can take a couple weeks, and they can also be slow on reporting sales through these other markets. So I like to upload to Smashwords and then Barnes & Noble and Amazon manually. That way, I'm in the top markets faster (where the big sales happen), and I can track those sales in real time.

Smashwords is also handy because they give you nice author pages, and they allow you to participate in more promotions and generate coupons. You can even make your work free if you want to (the other sites set a minimum price of $.99). They also have better sales analytics so you can track your downloads better. Smashwords is an essential tool in any e-publisher's toolbox.

These royalties were made possible by Amazon

5. What sorts of royalties do you get, and how often do you get paid?

Things can vary slightly among publishers, but for the most part you get a 70% royalty on things priced $2.99 and higher, and 40% on things priced below that. Things change in foreign markets (Amazon UK and Deutsch all have different royalty rates because they have things like VATs and currency conversion rates to worry about, same with Canada), but it isn't a huge deal.

Royalties are generally paid out quarterly from the publishers. However, there are delays in paid sales from vendors Smashwords distributes to. So you might not get your money from the Apple store, for instance, at the same time you get paid by Smashwords for your direct Smashwords sales. It might take another month for those stores to pay Smashwords, which means those payments will be in the next quarter's deposits.

6. I wish I could buy your books, but I don't have a Kindle/Nook/iPad. Now what?

Contrary to what you might think, you don't need either of these devices to enjoy an e-book. Yes, I know, it's certainly the more desirable way to do it. I have a Nook, and I adore the thing. However, if the purchase of such a device is out of your reach at the moment, you can download the Kindle and Nook reader apps for your computer free of charge. Also, if you happen to have an Apple or Android device (tablet or phone), you can also download the apps for that, and share your library between devices. I happen to love the Nook app for my Android phone, and often if I'm without my Nook device, you can catch me reading on my phone. I never thought that would be something I'd enjoy, but my phone's display is nice and big, and it's actually a comfortable experience for me.

If you purchase downloads from Smashwords, you can get them in HTML, Java, and PDF formats, all of which make it easy for you to read on your computer. So there are ways to enjoy ebooks that don't require the purchase of a dedicated device.

7. How do I decide what price to set my e-book at?

I discussed this to some degree in my last blog about why I'm currently giving my work away. But to sum it up, I believe that digital content should be priced in such a way that is compatible with current attitudes. People in general don't like paying for downloads at all if they can help it. I find $2.99 to be a fair price for a novel. Short stories, I'd price $.99, if I priced them at all. Keep in mind that when you're starting out of the gate, it's not going to be easy to get people other than your closest friends and family to invest in your burgeoning writing career. And if you are a writer, chances are, you're broke off your ass anyway and can't afford some kind of spendy marketing plan. And even if you could, chances are, you won't get a return on your investment anyway. Your writing is your best advertising, and the best way to entice people to read it is to make it as cheap as possible.

People might try to disagree with me, saying that a cheap ebook might reflect poor quality. I don't think that formula applies to digital content, where songs can be downloaded for a buck and awesome apps can be downloaded from Android or Apple mostly free of charge. I personally plan to always have a selection of free stories available on Smashwords, even when my sale ends after July. If they like my free work, they'll like my paid work too. Those writers who think they should never have to give their work away or at a price readers are willing to pay either are making bank on charging $5 per book, or are enjoying a readerless life at the top of their ivory towers. And if you're in this strictly for the money, then you're setting yourself up for perpetual disappointment. Worry about your karma first and your bank account later.

8. As a reader, how else can I support my favorite ebook authors?

Okay, I don't know if this is an actual question anyone would have, but I'm writing it and answering it anyway, because I think it's something important for all readers to know. If you have a favorite author who is struggling to get their work noticed, the very best thing you can do for them at this stage in their career is review, review, review. It doesn't have to be something long or involved. I just mean, after you finish reading the book, go to the site where you bought it and select the number of stars you thought it was worth. Or write a quick, "Loved it!" Or hell, even if you don't have something effusive to say, put that down too! The important thing is just letting other people know you read it, because it can inspire other buyers to buy it too. Reviews, even the lackluster ones, are the best gift you can give a writer.

Who wouldn't buy an ebook off this guy?

9. What's the best way to promote my books?

This could inspire an entire blog topic all by itself. But I'll list the quick and dirty options here. Familiarize yourself with sites like Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads if you haven't already. Offer your work up free of charge. Or, think up some fun giveaway contests related to the content of your book. If your book fits in with a particular holiday, for instance, maybe tie in a promotion with it. Also spend some time promoting work for your fellow authors, if you have the time. Do favors for them, and you may just get a favor in return. It's all about karma.

But perhaps the most important piece of advice I'd give to anybody who has a book to sell is this: don't spend too much time marketing your book. It makes you look like a self-absorbed writer. Not to mention a spammer. Instead, market YOURSELF. Make you the product. Show personality and realness, and be likable in some way. Make them want you to succeed. If you draw people to you, they may just buy your book. And if they buy your book and like it, they'll recommend it to other people. Your name is ultimately your brand, and you have to put yourself fully behind that brand by getting yourself out into the world and showing them that you're more than just a writer. They want to see the mind that's alive behind those pages. If you can't get people interested in the real you, then what makes you think they'll want to buy your book? People are connected through social media now more than ever, and they're not content with faceless names, let alone faceless names on book covers.

Some of the most famous authors in the world spend a lot of time on Twitter, and I can tell you this much: they hardly ever talk about their books.

10. Vampires are created that way? Seriously? What the hell were you smoking when you wrote that?

(Okay okay, cheap self-plug alert. However, I ran out of questions, and my absolute insistence on nice, neat whole numbers meant I couldn't end this list at 9 questions). Alcohol and nicotine were my best friends when I wrote Scarlet Letters: The Tale of the Vampire Mailman. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, well then you'll just have to download yourself a copy and find out exactly how vampires are created. It's available FREE on Smashwords until 7/31!

An Experiment on Giving it All Away

2011-07-14T22:53:00.000-07:00

My life as an "indie" writer has been more or less without surprises. I knew when I uploaded a few short stories and a novel onto Amazon and Smashwords, I wasn't going to get rich. And I was right. I haven't. Not even close. Not even not even close.

I can name a number of reasons for this. Namely, I haven't been much of a salesperson. In this vast sea of Amanda Hocking hopefuls, it takes a lot to stand out, and although I've followed a lot of the recommended techniques, it hasn't been quite enough to push me beyond what Malcolm Gladwell would call the "Tipping Point." My success has largely been in proportion to the amount of effort that I've put into promoting myself, and I'm overall satisfied with it. I have plans to add more to my online library over the next several months, and I'm feeling optimistic about the future.

The question has now mainly become one about pricing. I've always felt my price points were directly in line with people's expectations of what they think is a fair price for downloadable content. $.99 for short stories, $2.99 for novels. Any more than that, and people will generally start to hesitate. It doesn't matter what I think my work is ACTUALLY worth (I think it's worth more than what I was already charging, but so what?). It's what people are willing to pay for it. Amazon knows this, and it's why they're tops in the business right now. They deeply discount their products to bring in more customers, and it works.

There's also the fact that people largely don't like to pay for downloadable content at all if they don't have to. The ones who do pay have to be a particular brand of passionate not only about reading, but about the future of e-books.

You can throw Dean Wesley Smith algorithms in my face all you want, but what has worked for him will not work for everybody. Most writers don't have followings ranging in the thousands. Most of us have followings ranging in the dozens. And when it comes to books, most people are still reluctant to purchase electronically. There is no use in comparing ebooks to MP3s at this point in time. CDs are far more irrelevant in the marketplace than physical books, and it'll be a very long time until that changes. In the meantime, we have to work within a realistic framework. People generally don't like paying more than a couple bucks for digital content of ANY kind - music, phone apps, games, and even books.

And that's without even getting into the fact that many people who download content are pirating it. Again, the lack of a price tag is more appealing for a generation of people who don't believe they should have to pay for digital content. This has never been more true to me than in the last week, when I started giving my work away as part of the Smashwords Summer Sale.

In doing so, I have discovered that there is a great demand for my work. In the first 24 hours of giving away my short stories, I'd made more sales than I had in three months. Did I care about all the money I was "losing"? You can't lose what you were never making in the first place.

Every day since then, I've been selling an average of twenty stories a day. Some days are more, some days less. Yesterday was close to fifty, and the numbers are on an upward trend. Stories that were once my lowest sellers are now my highest.

I didn't want to stop there. It was only my short stories that were free. My book, I had marked down to $1.49. But that still wasn't really selling as well (at least on Smashwords... my novel sales have generally been much higher through Amazon). So I decided today to make that one free as well. Within hours, the sales of that book have more than doubled.

This tells me a few things:

1. People are cheap bastards. Of course, I knew that already.

2. There is some kind of a demand for my work, or people wouldn't be downloading it the way they are.

Do I care that the income I could've been making over the last week might have paid this month's electric bill if only people weren't such cheap bastards? No, not really. Whining about that is futile. I'm a cheap bastard too. I get it. It's folly entering into something like this expecting people to behave any differently than I would myself. It takes a particular kind of person to invest even a buck into an unproven writer. And by unproven, I mean someone who hasn't been published by a traditional publisher or at least reviewed by someone with some clout.

I never went into self-publishing for the money. I wanted the exposure. I'm a writer, and I want people to read what I write, and giving away some of my work is a valuable marketing tool. In letting the work speak for itself, and letting people have free access to it, I could very well build a following that I might never have if I'd kept everything behind a pay wall. The name recognition and brand building is worth far more in the long run than the measly double-digit quarterly royalty payments I've been receiving.

If we expect to be breaking down the barriers of tradition and being avant garde with this whole e-publishing thing, then that should also have to extend to how we wind up generating income. We may have to consider short-term losses for long-term gains.

In fact, I'm considering keeping the bulk of my catalog free. I feel far more rewarded as a writer when I see one free download after another than a stubborn trickle of paid downloads. I know a lot of my writerly peers will call me crazy for that, but I'm thinking about the long game, and in my opinion, if the story isn't making you any money after several months, why bother charging? At this stage of my career, I'd rather the readers know my name. The money can come later.

It's Time for a Creative Commoners Writing Challenge!

2011-07-11T09:29:00.000-07:00

Every object has a story. Yes, even your hair dryer...

Have you ever looked at your favorite faded shirt or your beat-up cell phone or shiny car fresh from the car wash and wondered what it would say to you if given the chance? What about your kid's stuffed doll with that creepy button-eyed stare? We bet all these things have stories to tell, and we want you to be their voice.

We at Creative Commoners believe that personification of an otherwise inanimate object is a great way to stimulate creativity. You can strike any emotion, from humor to horror to heartfelt tragedy to scatological nonsense. Or all of the above. It's your object. It's your playground. Really give it your all. Do your blender (or recliner or favorite socket wrench) proud.

But there's another point to all this. The best entries will be featured on a future Creative Commoners episode, where you will live in audible infamy! Those goofballs at NPR's Three-Minute Fiction are nothing compared to us.

A couple key points:

We would like the piece to be in letter format. Imagine your chosen object is writing directly to you.

Entries should be in the body of an email or a Word document. Brevity is key. No more than a couple double-spaced pages. That's anywhere from 300-500 words.

Deadline for entries is August 8th. Email them to creativecommoners@gmail.com. We can't wait to read them!

Swimming the Distance

2011-07-01T14:44:00.000-07:00

I've loved swimming my whole life, but I never did it for sport--never even really tried to--until the last month or so, when I finally decided it was time to start using that YMCA membership I've had for the last year. One thing or another kept getting in the way. Transportation was an issue at first, but my husband got his own car a few months ago, so I really had no excuse after that.

All I knew was I desperately needed to get my body moving again. I'd become so sedentary this past winter, it was painful to even get out of bed in the morning. It's easy to slip into that when you do a job like mine, which requires no athleticism apart from limber fingers and the ability lift a coffee cup to one's mouth. And when you don't like exercise in general. Walking/biking/hiking/treadmill/elliptical wasn't going to do it this time. One day of that would do me in for the next week. And that kind of exercise feels like an utter chore to me.

There's one important mantra about exercise that I think everyone should keep in mind. Any consistent exercise you enjoy doing is far better for you than inconsistent exercise that you hate doing, even if the exercise you prefer is not exactly the most effective one. The key is to be consistent. And I knew that swimming was it for me. And you can't burn more calories with such low impact unless you move into orbit.

But when I first began, I had no concept of proper technique, and I only have an inkling of it now. I had no idea how to do that whole keeping my head in the water until it's time to come up for a breath thing, and coordinating kicking with the strokes is something I'm still working on. I had no goggles or swim cap to start out with. I also didn't have the proper bathing suit for swimming laps (I still don't, but that will be remedied in a few days). Basically, I got into the lane with my baggy swim dress on and paddled my ass from one end of it to the other until I couldn't do it anymore.

Then I started looking at the way some of the more polished people were swimming, and I wanted to be able to do what they did. And I wanted to move more efficiently through the water to reduce any strain on my shoulder joints. I got on the internet and YouTube and watched tutorials on how to do front crawls and backstrokes, and I bought a good pair of goggles and hit the pool again. This time, I was going to swim "properly."

But it wasn't easy. I inhaled or swallowed about a gallon of water as I taught myself how to time my breathing with my strokes, and how to keep from bringing half my body out of the water when I wanted to take a breath. It took about a week of consistent swimming before I found an actual rhythm at it. I'm far from perfect now. I'm still occasionally inhaling water, and my form could still use work, but I'm a far cry better than I was when I started this a few weeks ago.

In order to conserve my stamina, I alternate front crawls with backstrokes, which helps a lot, but I'm about to start spacing my backstrokes out more. Even after the first month of doing this, I've noticed a big increase in stamina.

As far as distance goes, I could only do five laps (ten lengths of a 25 yard pool) when I first started. I was surprised by how much of a workout even that was. A few days later, I was doing anywhere from eight to ten laps with minimal breaks in between. I celebrated it as a small milestone. Increasing my laps day by day, a little here and a little there, I'm holding steady at 18 laps, or a half mile. I'm well on track for the full mile within the next three weeks. I haven't been following any strict regimen of laps. I'm just listening to my body, pushing myself when I know I can, but remembering to enjoy myself.

I'd had no concept of how difficult this sort of thing was for some people. I though anyone could swim a mile. Then I later read that swimming a mile is in water the same benchmark as someone running their first 5K. I'm steadily training myself, and soon I'll be able to get to that mile and beyond.

I should note -- there are conflicting reports out there on the internet about what constitutes a lap and what doesn't. At first, I was counting lengths as laps. I've now learned I should be counting a lap as two lengths, so what I thought was a mile was actually a half. I've chosen not to let this discourage me, however. When I do make that true mile, the moment will feel even more momentous than it did the first time.

You could of course forget about counting laps entirely and just focus on your time spent swimming and maybe honing your technique. However, I'm a person who's pretty driven by milestones and deadlines, so counting laps works to keep me motivated. Like writing or any other pursuit, the key is to do it in a way that keeps you wanting to come back.

My Humira Nightmare

2011-06-27T14:38:00.000-07:00

One of my hands, before Humira

I can't remember the last time I looked at my hands and saw healthy, flesh-colored skin. I don't mean that as a turn of phrase. I really can't remember. I have a vague memory of sitting on the back porch at my old house in Washington and noticing one red psoriasis lesion forming on the middle finger of my left hand. I didn't think much of it at the time. While I'd always had permanently inflamed areas (like my elbows and scalp), the little spots always came and went. A year or so later, that one spot came to cover about 85% of both hands and arms. The disease often attacks in mirror images. Who knows why.

But I've lived with it for close to ten years. No one who knows me is new to the stories of my struggle with this shitty disease, so I'm not going to go into that here. I'll just reduce things down to a few little nuggets before getting to the point.

After repeated insurance denials over the last decade for the newer biologic medications to treat psoriasis, I was finally approved to start taking Humira back in April. This was not an easy process, and I entered it reluctantly. I'd heard of the side-effects. Some of them were downright deadly. But at that point, things were getting worse with it, and I felt like I needed to try something new.

It took several blood tests to check for things like Hepatitis and anemia, as well as a skin test for tuberculosis. They needed six vials of blood. I'm not an easy person to stick, so it took them three tries in three different veins to get all the blood they needed. I also had an allergic reaction to the tuberculosis test, which caused a red, itchy rash to form. Which meant I had to go for a chest x-ray to completely rule out exposure to TB. Also, because I'd apparently been previously exposed to Hep. B, I had to go back for yet another blood test to confirm that I didn't actually have an active infection

A month later, improving

So after all that hell, the doctors worked their magic with my insurance company, and a week later, I was contacted by the pharmacy to schedule my first delivery. All I had to do was pay them a $4 copay. That part seemed almost too easy. Of course, it was. But I didn't have to worry about that for the first month, as my starter pack arrived, and I took the first four doses as instructed. I started to notice some results after the first two weeks, and by the end of the first month, things were looking better. While there hadn't been any real clearing of the redness, the psoriasis had stopped proliferating. It no longer hurt or scaled up at all.

Like clockwork, the pharmacy contacted me at the end of May, I thought to schedule the next delivery. Only they told me that due to changes in my insurance, I had to go through this other pharmacy. Since they've been such incredibly incompetent assholes from beginning to end, I thought I'd go ahead and give you the name of this new pharmacy: Curascript.

A quick aside to anyone who ever has to deal with a home delivery pharmacy, if you are ever put with these people by your insurance, RUN. They are the purest definition and demonstration of incompetence you will find anywhere. I'll discuss more on that in a bit.

So I called Curascript immediately to set up my new account with them. They hadn't received my information yet from Diplomat (aka, The Better Pharmacy), but they at least got my name and insurance info into the system so that (theoretically), I'd be all set to go when my information from Diplomat arrived. I was told they would call me as soon as they got that info. Well, it didn't quite work that way. I did receive a phone call, but it was only to tell me that they hadn't received the information yet, and that they were contacting my doctor to get a new prescription, and that once they had it, they'd call me again. Um, okay...

A week passed, and I realized I was due for my next shot in another week. So much for them calling me, right? So I called them back. They still hadn't done anything with my case yet, but rest assured, they'd DEFINITELY call me by Thursday of that week. Right? Wrong. It was Friday afternoon when I called them back.

This was when I learned that the reason no one had moved on my claim was because my insurance had maxed out. Of course, none of them had bothered to call and tell me this before. It was almost as if they took a look at my case file and decided, since it was was more work than they felt like doing, they'd assumed someone else would handle it. Fail.

When I called Anthem to confirm that my prescription benefits had indeed maxed out and that they were only going to pay 50% of the costs, I called Curascript back then to tell them that I couldn't afford this medication out of pocket, which would cost me $900 a month. More than my rent payment, in other words.

They told me to call the Patient Assistance Program at Abbott, the maker of the drug, as they can usually provide a little bit of money toward the costs. Isn't that nice? They dole out thousands of dollars a year per patient for people who can't afford it, yet they still charge $900 a shot for the shit. In a matter of minutes with the Abbott folks, I was approved. I was told they would apply $1200 toward the first month's supply of the drug and (so they told me) $750 toward the subsequent months. While I wasn't sure this was going to be enough, I went ahead and signed up for it, figuring it will at least get me through this next month.

I was instructed to call Curascript and give them the information for the payment plan. It should be noted that it took Curascript another THREE days to get it into their system, because the first guy didn't enter it right, and the next person who apparently fixed it never called me back to tell me it was fixed. What should have taken 24 hours took 72. I was now a day and a half away from my next scheduled dose.

Get your first month for only $3600!

So I finally received two more shots the next day. $1800 dollars worth of medicine. Holy shit. Well, at least I could finally relax for a couple weeks. But there is no better demonstration of how fast two weeks really can pass when it comes to something you've been dreading. When Curascript called to reschedule the next delivery, I held my breath and went through the whole rigmarole, expecting it to be a nightmare. But when the girl said I'd only have to do a $5 copay, and that I was all set for a Tuesday delivery, I was floored. Was there some of the $1200 from Abbott left to cover toward the next month? Are you people sure you didn't fuck something up?

Perhaps it was stupid of me to assume that these people knew what they were doing.

This was Thursday of last week. As of today, I was set for a Tuesday delivery (tomorrow). Then I got a phone call an hour ago telling me I was actually on the hook for $500.

The girl asked, "Would you like to take care of that with your credit card on file?"

"Um, NO," I say. "Why the hell wasn't I made aware of this when I talked to you people last week?"

"Well, we only ran your insurance yesterday, and after your insurance and the assistance program, there was still the $500 left to pay."

"You know what? No. I can't afford this medication. I can't handle this bullshit anymore." I could feel a lump rising in my throat. I'd finally had enough. Even though I would've had to pay that money regardless, it was shitty to let a person pay $5, thinking that's all they owed, only to be told the DAY before their next delivery that no, you actually owe 100 times that much. Could the woman who originally called me not see my information on the screen in front of her? Why hadn't they run the insurance sooner?

The answer is simple, really: Curascript is run by dumbshits.

The girl then put me on hold to see if they had any other assistance programs, "so you won't have to go without your medication." And all I wanted was to scream, "Isn't that nice how this system works? Get approved for an astronomically expensive medication on shitty insurance, which you're charging full cost for no doubt, only to be told that I can't get it unless I can cough up another $500 or more a month for it. And then you act like you give a shit that I might have to go without it?!"

Instead, I said, "Look, it's not a life-saving medication. And thank god for that, huh? If this was a chemo drug or insulin, I'd probably be having an aneurysm over the phone right now. So no, I'm done."

She gave me the numbers for a few non-profit organizations made for people just like me: under-insured broke people who need expensive medication but can't afford it.

I checked these places out. They seemed decent enough, but they couldn't help me. They either did not allocate funds for my particular disease, or they had already allocated the funds they do have for it. Either way, I've likely exhausted all avenues for help with Humira, which means I'm no longer going to be able to take it. I could afford maybe a $100 monthly copay. But not $500.

I can now sit here with the knowledge that if I truly ever got sick, the insurance I have would be completely useless to me. I can now understand, in a roundabout way, how thousands of insured and uninsured people DIE every year in this country as a result of our shitty health care system. I don't weep for myself and my annoying and uncomfortable, but undoubtedly non-lethal condition. I weep for those who those who have been forced to make the choice between dying and paying for medications they can't afford.

As such, I'm going to enjoy the little bit of remission I've had with this disease for the first time in ten years. Sure, the redness is still there, but my skin has been so smooth and soft, I have hardly noticed it. I don't know if it'll bounce back right away upon stopping the medication or if it will come back worse than ever. I was only on it for a couple months, so hopefully it won't be too bad. But it's hard to know. I feel lucky that my condition, as it was, was at least somewhat manageable. There are people who are much worse-off than I am, and I am so very sad and angry for them right now.

As for me, I'm finding the silver linings. The potential side-effects for this drug are downright scary. And I don't want to go into the fall and winter months with a suppressed immune system anyway. People have experienced some horrible things taking this drug. They've also experienced a recurrence of their respective diseases even while still on it, which means I might not have been "cured" for long anyway.

I can also continue to try and beat it down with other avenues of treatment. I've been researching holistic and nutritional remedies for this disease and plan to hit the health food store for zinc, B vitamins, Omega-3s, and organic vegetables for juicing. I'm going to keep swimming. I'm going to nourish my body so that it can heal itself, which is perhaps what I should've been doing all along.

No one ever got tuberculosis, multiple sclerosis, and lethal fungal infections from drinking vegetable juice and taking vitamin and Omega-3 supplements. But many HAVE experienced complete clearing of their psoriasis from doing so.

So in the end, I'd like to thank Humira, Curascript, and Abbott Pharmaceuticals for this hassle. The good thing about this particular nightmare is that I can wake up from it. My life will be so much easier without this over-priced poison.

New Happenings: A Podcast with Yours Truly

2011-06-23T19:26:00.000-07:00

A couple months ago, an interesting meeting of the minds took place between me and my friends Chris Armstrong and Corey Bishop. The subject: a Podcast about the creative process, where we could talk about our various projects and provide something of a support group for ourselves and other people who could relate to balancing creative pursuits with domestic responsibilities.

The three of us have known each other for many years, though Chris and Corey have known each other much longer. I didn't come along until high school, when I met Chris in freshman year German class. And though we were always friendly acquaintances, it wasn't until around senior year and thereafter that we really bonded. I didn't meet Corey until around then. But we always clicked as a group, with similar interests and great banter. And we eventually logged enough gaming hours together to make a formidable team. And that team, nearly a decade and half and a good span of adulthood later, has become Creative Commoners.

The one thing I love most about our group is that we come from different enough backgrounds to offer a varying enough perspective to all sorts of people. Chris is a pop culture hound who runs a web comic, Detective Agency, and has always had an uncanny ability for making up new words. He also has a brain that absorbs movie dialog like a sponge, as you'll probably notice from time to time. Corey is a programmer by trade and is just starting to get into game development as well as short story writing. He also has a short story coming out in a pulp mag pretty soon (more details on that as it's released), and has gleaned a lot of his inspiration from his tabletop gaming hobby. As for me, I'll be bringing a lot of my experience from writing stories and novels to the table, as well as my adventures in trying to get published in the traditional market while also trying to build a sustainable business with self-published work and freelance editing.

Over the first few episodes, we have discussed our creative origins, key inspirations, and some details of our recent worldly travels (like my trip to the Pikes Peak Writers Conference, as well as Corey's trip to the Google I/O Conference and Chris's trip to Ireland). At some point, we hope to branch the show out a bit more to include listener questions and special guests, because we realize there are creative commoners out there just like us who could use the sort of support and stimulation that comes from mingling with other people who are on similar creative journeys. And we like to think we're pretty damn funny/entertaining, and that listening to us is like listening in on a light and casual group discussion.

At any rate, we hope you'll become a fan of Creative Commoners at both our website, Facebook, and Twitter, as well as subscribe to our feed on iTunes! Episodes will be airing every Thursday, so update your iTunes subscription feeds and your RSS feeds! We've so far taped five shows, and the first one is now available to listen to on our website as well as in the iTunes store. Just search podcasts for Creative Commoners!

In Water...

2011-06-15T08:08:00.000-07:00

My body is used to being judged. By eyes, but especially by gravity. I often feel like this gargantuan mass roaming about society like a moving flesh island, my lumbering movements akin to continental drift. Walking and running and hiking remind me on a regular basis that though my muscles and bones are pretty well adapted from a long life of lugging around this wide load, I'm limited by my size. Or at least I feel limited.

I'm not as daring as I once was. I used to scamper and bounce more. I think part of what limits me now is fear of injury. I broke my leg falling down some stairs ten years ago, and my scampering days came swiftly to a halt. I can still feel that bone snapping. I never want to feel it again. But I'm reminded of it every time I go for a long walk or try to jog, and that plate in my tibia begins to sing. And I'm reminded that as easily as I can still move around for someone of my size, it's just not as easy as it used to be. And when I'm lagging several steps behind my husband as we go for a walk, because my natural pace is half again as slow as his, I can feel gravity telling me, yet again, that I'm no match for it. That if I don't get stronger, it will win.

Of course, as that Radiohead song says, gravity always wins. But I'm not giving into it yet.

The water doesn't judge. In it, I feel free. Reborn. It doesn't tell me I'm too fat to move swiftly and with grace, because I can do both. In water, I feel rejuvenated. Released from the inexorable pull this world has on me, I can float as if on a cloud, or propel myself like a fish. I can do flips and handstands. With my children, I can be the human jungle gym that their father always is on the floor.

If I tried to run even a quarter of the distance I can swim, I'd crumble into a gasping, wheezing, sweating puddle of lipids and misery, and I'd never want to move again. But I can swim nearly a mile (and hopefully, at some point, beyond that) and go about the rest of my day feeling happier, firmer, and fully aware of my body's miracle. I'm a thinking, breathing, moving, capable, powerful, worthy, fully actualized person. I feel the way I deserve to feel. That's what good exercise can do. And the water is my medium.

Every time I enter the welcoming embrace of the water, my whole body sighs. And it believes.

Review: Super 8

2011-06-12T16:05:00.000-07:00

I didn't want to slap any of these kids.

Remember when there used to be movies starring kids you didn't want to throttle in some way? Kids in movies used to be funny and gutsy and maybe even a little foul, rather than artificially obnoxious, politically correct, or saccharine. They used to be fully fleshed out people instead of plot devices or marketing tools. They sometimes swore or acted uncouth, because when your parents weren't around, isn't that what you used to do too? I know I did. I was also certain there was magic in the world waiting to be unlocked or discovered under any rock or behind any tree. We wanted to DO things. Play pretend, write stories, become rock stars, brilliant athletes, or filmmakers. Every neuron was firing at that age. Everything was possible. My friends and I, we had plans, dammit. Nothing was bigger than us or standing in our way.

That's how Super 8 made me feel all over again. It took every exuberant, thrilling, dangerous, and sometimes scary and sad moment from my childhood, and injected it into a film that is every one of those things and more.

The year is 1979. Young Joe Lamb (newcomer Joel Courtney, who I predict has a long career ahead of him) lives in a small Ohio steel town. He just lost his mom in an industrial work accident, and his dad (Kyle Chandler of NBC's Friday Night Lights), becomes even more detached in his grief and immerses himself in his duties as the local Sheriff Deputy. Meanwhile, Joe occupies himself with a group of friends who are busy making a zombie movie to submit to the Cleveland Film Festival. This introduces us to a colorful cast of kids. Riley, driven director. Cary, the burgeoning pyrotechnician. Martin, the soft and sensitive type. Of course, their film needed a feminine touch, so they brought Alice (the extremely talented Elle Fanning) on board. Joe has a thing for her, but because his dad hates her dad, their association with one another causes some understandable friction.

As they're filming a pivotal scene for their flick on the Super 8 camera, they witness (and are nearly killed by) a huge and explosive train derailment that makes the one in Harrison Ford's The Fugitive feel positively anemic. With massive train cars flying several feet into the air, or through it like missiles, a wreck of this scale would be impossible in the physical world, but that's not the point. From the kids' point of view, they're practically in World War III and we the audience feel their abject terror.

Sinister things spawn from the wreckage, and over the course of several days, it turns their small town into a military zone. I won't reveal the details and spoil the fun of discovering them, but I will say that the execution of the plot from this point was highly evocative of E.T. and Jaws. Writer and director J.J. Abrams studied intently in the School of Spielberg (who happens to be the film's producer), and he wisely doesn't show too much too soon. Instead, we see people disappearing from the town, along with all their electronics, car engines, and dogs. And these kids, of course, feel driven to investigate.

Any other writer and director would have made all these characters and their conflicts feel both overwrought and flat, but J.J. Abrams is smarter than that. The grieving deputy is handled with just enough subtlety to keep him from becoming a cliche, and the kids--products of an era where manners and respect for one's elders were both still in wide practice--never fall into that tired and overused trope of "we're smarter than all the adults around us." In contrast to what you might see from any other film featuring a young cast, the kids aren't made into heroes by comparing them to stupid grown-ups. They're shaped by their circumstances. They're also scared as hell, and because they're good kids and we believe them as actual human beings, we care for them and are afraid for them.

Super 8 feels like Spielberg nostalgia on steroids. It doesn't go for cheap scares or laughs. Nary a fart joke will be found here. Its human interactions are genuine and moving, on par with those you'd find in the Harry Potter films, and the plot is engaging and well-developed.

It's difficult to classify this as a family film, because the offerings of that genre today range from cringe inducing to cheap and hollow. Your kids will not be coddled or asked to swallow an easy pill. Super 8 will scare them a little, but rest assured that the film is also smart enough to know when to pull its punches and let the heart and humor shine through.

I personally can't wait to show this film to my 8 and soon-to-be 10-year-old, because it features the kinds of kids I know or have known. Or once was, myself. This is the best movie of the year so far.

Grade: A+

Review: X-Men: First Class

2011-06-04T13:39:00.000-07:00

Xcellence x Infinity

WARNING: THIS FILM REVIEW CONTAINS OPINIONS NOT INFLUENCED BY FANGIRL SENTIMENTS. ALLISON DICKSON HAS NEVER READ A SINGLE X-MEN COMIC, AND HAS NO INTEREST IN DOING SO.

With that out of the way, let's talk about the movie, which manages to be the best this over-saturated genre has offered since Christopher Nolan's last contribution to it.

I know that probably sounds a bit surprising when you take into account the more recent offerings from the X-Men franchise. X-Men: The Last Stand, directed by the perennially uninteresting Brett Ratner, had all the appeal of a cracked plaster wall with one of those hideous wallpaper borders featuring ducks or the color mauve. And I once summed up X-Men Origins: Wolverine with the following haiku:

The only part that

showed any real charisma:

Hugh Jackman's eyebrow

So my expectations were somewhat circling the drain, and when I casually mentioned to the guy behind the popcorn counter that I hoped this thing didn't blow donkeys, I learned of its positive buzz. He said, "I heard it was the best of the entire series." He wasn't talking out of its ass after all.

After that, I felt a little less dread about the whole thing. After all, James McAvoy is in it, and he's been stomping on my Anglophile button for awhile now. And the guy who plays Magneto (Michael Fassbender, who among other things played a short but excellent role in Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds) has deftly avoided any and all contact with the ugly stick. The same could be said for Jennifer Lawrence (in the role(s) of Mystique/Raven), who could eat crackers made out of tetanus-coated razorblades and still not be kicked out of bed for it.

Director Matthew Vaughn is making all the right movies lately (Kick-Ass, Stardust, Layer Cake), and he escapes the clutches of mediocrity by combining elements of historical fiction (namely the Cuban Missile Crisis) with the over-the-top-bordering-on-absurd fun of other superhero franchises of the 1960s. Don't expect earnest realism or historical accuracy here. If you can buy the existential plight of a chick with blue skin, then you can forgive the less-than-accurate portrayal of the day we almost nuked Russia. But X-Men First Class greatly escapes eyerolls and cynic "whatevs" on the strength and emotional weight of its lead performances.

Fassbender as the vengeance-minded Erik Lenhsherr was captivating from his first scene, as he seeks out his Nazi tormentors, applying his mutant capability of controlling metal with ass-kicking ferocity. He's mainly on the hunt for Sebastian Shaw (a delightfully menacing Kevin Bacon), whose forays into genetic experimentation for the Nazis turned him into a bit of a, to put it lightly, genocidal asshole. Oh yeah, he also killed Erik's mom, so dude was asking for it.

When Erik meets up with the suave and cocky young Charles Xavier, a non-handicapped telepath who has devoted his education to the study of genetic mutations, we can already see where things are headed. Xavier wants to cooperate with the humans and create a harmonious existence between man and mutant by forming a team of other mutants to work with the CIA. But Erik wants to avoid any possible tyranny and inevitable experimentations. As a concentration camp survivor, he has reason to be suspicious. And because we can equally understand Xavier's more compassionate and optimistic approach, we find ourselves liking and sympathizing with both men and (at least in my case) wanting to be the meat in their Bromance Sandwich.

This interplay between "good and evil" has always been the X-Men franchise's strongest point. We know they're mutants, because the ability to disagree about politics over a game of chess is clearly superhuman. These two men need and respect one another, and when their kinship inevitably crumbles under the strain of their philosophical differences (nobody's perfect), the pain feels real.

Add in the other strong performances, amusing cameos, and the way we can glimpse the seedlings of what's to come in the series we're already familiar with, X-Men: First Class grabs us hard by the collar and takes us for a seriously fun ride. I've grown weary of comic book movies. We have several more ahead of us this year alone, and next year's slate is jam-packed. I fear this one will be lost in all that noise, but am grateful to see the genre still has plenty of life in it (at least until Zack Snyder sucks it out), and I look forward to seeing what this group comes up with next.

Grade: A

New eBook Release and Other Writerly Happenings

2011-05-26T14:18:00.000-07:00

I haven't provided much of an update in the world of Allie (the writer) since returning from the conference.

Yes, I've epublished my book Scarlet Letters: The Tale of the Vampire Mailman on Smashwords and Amazon, but more on that in a minute.

First, I received a response from Joanna Volpe, whom I pitched on The Stargazers at the Pikes Peak Writers Conference. While it was ultimately a rejection, she was incredibly helpful in identifying areas that she thought were weak as well as the ones that were strong. She remembered me specifically from the pitch and was incredibly supportive and friendly there as well, so I'm so pleased I met her. I hope to be able to query or pitch to her again in the future, because those who have her as a representative are incredibly lucky and I'd love to be among them.

But because I've had my head buried in that story for three months nonstop working on revisions, I've decided to put it away for awhile so I can just let it (and my brain) rest. See, I've discovered something recently. It was when I cracked open Scarlet Letters to revise it last week. I hadn't looked at that particular book in the better part of a year, and as some of you might have read a few months ago, I had originally decided to shelve it permanently, giving it up for lost.

Louis Cross, hero of Scarlet Letters, through the brilliant artistry of Justin Wasson

In other words, I let the story (and the rejections it received...and really not all that many rejections, like maybe a dozen or so, which is basically nothing) defeat me. I'm more easily cowed than I think. My very supportive husband and friends (who had read the story in earlier drafts and enjoyed it, and who wouldn't just blow sunshine up my ass either) didn't agree with my decision. They thought it was a fun read and didn't want me to give up on it. My husband suggested maybe I was just feeling a little jaded by rejection and I wasn't seeing the same story everyone else was.

That stuck in my brain. After all, never has there been a better (and easier) time to self-publish. I already have a Smashwords store and a small presence on Amazon and other online bookstores. Why not bring it up to current standards, put it out there, and let the people decide? Of course, it needed a great cover, and I knew my writer/graphic designer friend Jeff Fielder was up to the task.

The act of hiring him really inspired me. It put a new sense of action and purpose into the project. It was like, "Hey, I just paid someone to help me put a real face on this book. This is for real. I need to make sure it's as good as it can possibly be so it will sell." It was no longer just a whim, but a business venture.

Another illustration by Justin Wasson

With the editing process, I put to use the great tips and lessons I'd learned about narrative voice at the conference, and I think the story really pops now. The original narrative was just so uptight and heavy (like most of my narratives unfortunately...that is my weakness as a writer). I also cut about 3000 words worth of info-dumping and other unnecessary words. On my next blog, I'll post some passages so you can see the difference. But even with the voice issues, the book was better and less simplistic than I remembered it being. It's a good book. It was time I forgave it and gave it the chance it deserved.

With The Stargazers, I intend to attack it again after a few months to give it the same sort of attention that I can't right now because its current rhythms are so embedded in my brain, and I will start the query process anew, because I believe the book can and will be published someday. Every professional who has read it so far has had the same thing to say: "Concept is great, but the voice needs to be stronger." My query has caught the attention of some pretty big agents. So I just need to let the manuscript live up to its promise.

Finally, I have two (well, actually three...no wait, FOUR) projects in the works. First is a diselpunk noir/murder mystery, Colt Coltrane and the Lotus Killer. If you like pulpy, dark stories featuring hardboiled detectives in an anachronistic 1940s Los Angeles with a little bit of H.P. Lovecraft mixed in for fun, this is for you. If you're wondering whether I was inspired to write this by my obsessive play of the new game L.A. Noire, you'd be right. Hey, I've always wanted to write a story like this, but now I actually feel inspired.

I'm also putting together a short story collection for release on Smashwords and Amazon later in the summer called Cigarette Burns. It'll feature about 10 stories, some previously published work, some already written but never published, some as yet written but in my head. Why that title? Because in searching for a common theme among my short work, I think most of the characters experience a "dark spot" in their lives that signals a "changing of the reel." So to speak.

The third project will be a return to my co-authoring steampunk project with Ian Healy, The Oilman's Daughter. It's taken forever to get this one rolling again, but we're about 40,000 words in, and a recent re-read of the material affirms that it's a hell of a story that needs to be finished.

Last but not least, I'm finally bringing about a return to my movie review site, ReviewKu. Originally intended to be a haiku-film review fusion, it's going to be featuring mostly straight-up reviews and other musings on movies. Though I'll probably throw in some haiku for the hell of it. For those who don't know, I used to write movie reviews many years ago, and for whatever reason (namely laziness), I gave it up to pursue other things. Reading some of my old pieces recently, I realized that many of them were pretty damn good. And I miss it. So expect to see an announcement about the revamped site in the next few months.

Well, that's my present and immediate future as a writer. Great things are happening, and I look forward to seeing what the later part of the year brings. Glad to have you all along for the ride, and do check out Scarlet Letters. It's the best three bucks you'll spend on a laugh. Promise.

Busy Work, Reading Logs, and My Middle Finger

2011-05-19T06:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Educators,

I hear all the time about how the standards in our education system aren't high enough. Students in American public schools are performing woefully low in the areas of math and science. And as demonstrated by many protest signs, literacy rates are equally appalling.

I used to wonder why this was. And then I had a couple kids of my own and sent them off to school, only to learn that what was truly appalling was how very unproductive their time was during those six hours they were gone every day. And I don't mean that they were doing nothing while they were at school. Oh, I know they're doing stuff. Their bags come home every day packed with the evidence of it. Myriad worksheets with myriad scribblings of numbers and letters. The occasional writing assignment here and there. Occasionally there is the indication of some kind of kinesthetic learning via an art or science project. I sure wish I could see more of that. But I'm sure there are things like time and budget to consider.

So no, I don't think the lack of productivity is evident in the volume of work I'm seeing done. It's rather in the IMPACT of that mountain of worksheets, and how, to make up for that lack of impact, kids are carting home more and more work to do after hours. This, I find fundamentally unacceptable.

I'm sure are some teachers who understand that busy work does not equal learning, but I have yet to meet one yet. I guess they're too busy making sure there isn't any child left behind. And they must do so by pulling them along on a sledge made out of worksheets and reading logs.

And let's talk for a minute about those reading logs. This simple form that's supposed to constitute a "partnership" between parents and teachers to encourage reading is nothing more than a meddling, micro-managing ploy by educators to turn reading into a chore for kids who should by all rights be learning how to read for pleasure. By turning the log into a source of failure and stress for a kid, which will be naturally associated with the act of reading over time, your reading logs are having the opposite effect they're intended to have. And how exactly is this a partnership when, regardless of my stance on the issue, my child is punished for not cooperating?

Where exactly is MY say in this ritual?

This morning, I signed my last reading log. I won't be enforcing that sheet at home any longer. My kids have enough to do when they get home, the most important of which is spending time with their family in the relaxing and warm environment my husband and I have created for them. One that has made them the easy-going and intelligent kids they are today.

Oh sure, those math and spelling worksheets wait for no one, but if they want to unwind and stick their heads in a book for a little while, I won't subject them to the tedium of writing down what pages they read. They know these things. I know they know these things. I'm a writer. My husband I are both avid readers. Words and the reading of them are big priorities around here. It's evident in my kids' vocabularies and their reading comprehension levels, which have been consistently at least a grade ahead since they started attending school.

In fact, I think reading logs are an invasion on the way I choose to run my home. And my new policy is that I'm no longer going to be a "partner" in something that's really nothing more than a form coercion endorsed with my initials every day. Now, instead of my signature, you're going to be getting my middle finger.

If you want kids to live up to a higher standard as they make their way along the educational path to success, stop putting so many goddamn tacks in the road. Make better use of a kid's (and a parent's) time by making education engaging and memorable rather than simply "busy." Enough with the agendas, logs, and worksheets. Stop turning my kids into paper pushers.

As for those reading logs, when they come in next year, I'll be encouraging them to do what any kid would do with a useless piece of paper:

Technique vs Art

2011-05-09T09:48:00.000-07:00

I was watching an episode of my favorite cooking show last night, Chopped, when I discovered the competition was forming itself into the classic battle between flawless technique and pure authenticity. I had this discussion before after I saw the movie Black Swan, so this seems to be a recurring theme for me.

There was the young but eager guy fresh from culinary school who made everything he put on the plate look like something out of MoMA, and his opponent was Mr. Meat and Potatoes, an executive chef at a steakhouse who had been in the business for thirty years, but didn't have much formal training.

While both chefs had obvious talent, they both had their flaws. The Meat and Potatoes guy wasn't the most creative, and his dishes lacked a certain flair and unity that a more trained chef would be able to accomplish. And the super artsy chef, while making some really bold and creative choices, was putting otherwise bland and insipid tasting food on the plate.

Can anyone guess who won?

It was the steakhouse guy. While his food was not very elegant, the judges enjoyed eating it more. The artsy chef was producing food fit for magazine covers, but none of his heart or soul really went onto the plate. It was entirely cerebral, and the guy knew it. I think it's something a lot of would-be artists (self included) struggle with.

And that's where the metaphor for writing (or any other art) comes into play. If you're so consumed by looking perfect and following technique to the letter, I can guarantee your writing will have no soul. It'll be boring and no one will remember it. People read to be emotionally moved, and sterile writing will never accomplish that. As far as I'm concerned, real beauty comes out through people's flaws. It's what makes them unique and gives them a flavor no one else has. This isn't to say technique isn't important, but what separates a technician from an artist is that the artist has the sense and the intuition to know that technique should never get in the way of authentic expression.

Don't be afraid to get yourself a little dirty. If your sentence demands an adverb now and then (especially because it meshes well with the persona of your narrator, or because you can think of no better way to express that precise feeling in that moment of your character's life) fucking use it. Sometimes, when you scrub your work of every potential "flaw," you're robbing the readers of your voice.

But most importantly, people would rather read, eat, or view art that isn't produced by automatons. As for those who read for a living (editors, agents), they can tell the difference between a lazy, unskilled writer and a one who is in enough control of the craft to commit a few "sins" while still getting the job done.

It's a tough balancing act, but I think the most important thing any writer can do is to get the hell out of his/her own head and just let the work (and themselves) breathe.

Big Conference, Big Mountains, Big Hopes, Big Fears

2011-05-02T08:29:00.000-07:00

Pikes Peak and the road ahead

The Pikes Peak Writers Conference is over, and now that I'm installed back on my favorite seat in the house, at my favorite altitude, I figured I'd take a few minutes and share some highlights and lowlights of the experience.

It was my first major conference. I'd attended a few local events several years ago, but not at a time when I could have gotten as much out of the workshops as I can now that I'm actively pursuing publication with finished work. The Pikes Peak conference is one of the biggest of such events in the country, and because some great friends of mine also live in the Colorado region, it was a fantastic way to get to meet them as well as further my writing career.

As far as the latter was concerned, I had two goals in mind when I decided to attend this year's event. I wanted to attend workshops that would help strengthen my writing in key areas (namely voice, but that's going to be in a future blog) and I wanted to entice an agent with my latest manuscript to the point that they would request more materials. I'm happy to say that I achieved both of those goals.

I pitched to agent Joanna Volpe of the Coffey Literary Agency, and she was fantastic and friendly in spite of my nerves, which I never could completely conquer before going in. The first moment you sit down to discuss your work with an industry professional is one of the most nerve-wracking in existence. At least it was for me. Writing is such a solitary thing, and the first time you come out from under a rock to seek validation for it in public can be terrifying. It's like any other audition, only it's for a particular talent that largely exists behind closed doors. Rarely do we write aloud in front of audiences. But she did attempt to break the ice by complimenting my shirt, and that helped. After I got my legs under me at least a little, I pushed through, and although my words were rushed and shaky, and although I wandered so far off my carefully rehearsed discussion points (due to many of the questions she asked, which I'm thankful she did, because it also allowed me to discuss parts of the book I might otherwise have missed), she was interested enough to request the first 50 pages. Do I have the highest hopes that she will fall in love with those pages, request the full manuscript, and then promptly sign me? Of course. Do I think it will happen? Absolutely not. But hey, you have to tell yourself these things in order to keep going. "No" is a word you expect to hear until the "Yes" comes.

I also attended a Read and Critique session. That was on Friday afternoon, and it involved a group of 30 people gathering with an agent and each of us reading our first pages aloud (also nerve-wracking) and allowing the agent time to give us a critique on her first impressions of the story--what grabbed her, what didn't. This is important, because it gives you a clue as to what might make an agent or an editor decide to reject your writing or ask for more. I knew going in that I had a particular problem, because my original draft began with a prologue. For those who don't know, a prologue often puts a writer at a disadvantage while shopping around work. Agents and editors are wildly divided on a prologue's usefulness. While some are completely open-minded about the process, others have a strict "I hate them" policy and will often reject work on the spot that contains a prologue because they see it as a sign of weak storytelling. It just so happened that the agent I was reading to was one of these types.

However, her criticism had a lot of merits. She said my particular prologue's voice didn't match the genre of what I was writing, and you know what? She was right. While she gave me a lot of kudos for my descriptiveness and general writing ability, that was the main stumbling block. The prologue was crippling my chances to even get my story read by publishers and agents. It had to go. And now that I've eliminated it and have set about sprinkling its pertinent parts throughout the book, the story is a lot stronger for it.

Are any of these people as terrified as I am?

Overall, the experience at Pikes Peak was a positive one. I met so many friendly people (and great writers) and learned a lot about the craft and the industry. If I return next year, my goal is to put myself out there even more, and that means swallowing all of my fears and doubts about my work and not being afraid to pitch to other attending agents and editors. Many of the writers there do this in the course of dinner conversation and social engagements, but I just couldn't quite go there yet. I was struck with blind terror at the prospect of pitching at a scheduled appointment. The thought of doing it spontaneously in a hallway or over a meal... forget about it. First of all, I have a lot of illogical fears to overcome, but I also know my personality. Until I feel comfortable in a situation, my first instinct is to hold back until I do. Or until I've had a few drinks. Maybe I should have been pitching after a few Cosmos.

Rehearsing the pitch, take 1000

As such, I kept to myself a lot, and seeing people who didn't have such fears getting multiple manuscript requests was discouraging to me at times. There was a low point Saturday afternoon where I holed myself up in my room and cried for a little while, completely convinced of my cowardice, lack of talent and ambition, and the futility of even trying to pursue this dream. But then I got it out, fixed my makeup, and focused on my breathing and my story (which is GOOD, dammit, even if I have trouble believing it at the times when I feel most vulnerable). I stumbled through my pitch and got a positive response, and even if I don't get any more out of it than that -- even if Ms. Volpe rejects my manuscript, I can at least say that I'm making baby steps toward a larger goal. I just have to keep moving forward. Retreat isn't an option at this point.

As one of the many speakers at the conference said during a particularly motivating speech, you have to be present to win. I'm going to remember that as I soldier forward. I'm present and I'm not going anywhere. As long as I keep that in mind, I will win someday.

P.S. There is a lot more I learned and experienced at the conference (and my overall visit to Colorado--like my how my aversion to high altitudes is completely incompatible to my love of beautiful mountains) that I couldn't possibly cover in one blog, so I might be talking about this for a little while.

Friendship Should Be Easy

2011-04-19T19:47:00.000-07:00

Relationships can be tough. If we compare all the ones in our lives to various types of plants we raise in our gardens--marriages, kids, parents, bosses--we'd find that some are more high-maintenance than others. A marriage is like a bonsai, which needs careful pruning and frequent attention in order to stay looking good. A kid is a lot like a rosebush. In the right conditions and soil, you can can produce some beautiful blossoms, but if you don't handle them carefully, their thorns will make you hurt. Either way, such relationships are a lot of work, and even with regular love and care, they can still sometimes get the best of us.

But friendships are different. While we have to pay attention to them like any other relationship, they shouldn't be arduous in any way. Using the gardening metaphor, a friendship should be no more difficult to keep than a pot of pansies or violets on a sunny windowsill. They should smell sweet and be a source a comfort and pleasure.

A good friendship should allow its individual members to thrive in positive light, but should be hardy enough to weather any storms that come its way. But those storms should be infrequent. A good friendship should allow its members to co-exist as individuals who shouldn't have to live in constant fear of the clouds. Unlike a marriage, where two different people must find a way to survive together for the good of family, children, and assets, a friendship should not be subject to such things. If you can't enjoy each other for the mere sake of enjoyment, then the friendship should cease to exist.

No one, in any relationship for that matter, should wonder if their words or actions might be met with vitriolic rebuke, but this is especially so with friendships. A friend is supposed to be a refuge from those things. Except for cases of tough love if one of us becomes a crack addict, an anorexic, or a Scientologist, we shouldn't have to regularly lay in wait for a shit cyclone to come rolling through our day from someone we call friend.

And the older I get, the more I realize that I have no problem expecting these things. And while I will always maintain friendships where there are differing viewpoints on certain topics, I expect those who friends disagree with me to do so politely, and if they can't do so, then they should have the decency to say nothing at all. And of course I'll do the same, because I want to continue being a source of smiles, comfort, and amusement for my friends, and if I ever become a bore, I welcome anyone to depart. Maybe I'm not for you. That's okay. If we can't provide light for one another in this dark ass world, then we should freely look elsewhere for people who can.

If I ever made any of you feel terrible or like less of a person because of my particular passions, I apologize. I'd rather live the life of a wounded ant than to step on anyone I care about just to feel a little bit bigger.

On Stargazers

2011-04-07T21:14:00.000-07:00

I just completed the third draft (and pretty much final, save for some much-needed proofreading and line edits) of my second full novel, The Stargazers, and this is the part that's the most unnerving. In fact, I should be writing a query for it right now, but I find myself here blogging about it in hopes that speaking about the novel in a more purposeful way will help me segue into writing a sales pitch.

Unlike Scarlet Letters (my first book, which was a humorous urban fantasy with no other point than to poke fun at the pop culture phenomenon of vampires), Stargazers is far closer to the kind of writing I typically do in that it is fairly dramatic and dark, and tries to be at least somewhat thematic. Aster, the main character, experiences some some pretty black moments on her journey, but I like to think I've balanced those things with just enough lightness and action to keep the story from being dirge-like. With the help of my beta readers, I was able to take the story to the next level in terms of plot and character development, making the story richer and very much what I first envisioned it to be when I started it back in November for NaNoWriMo.

The story has magic, a little bit of romance, and also some themes that are very personal to me. The main one is family obligation vs personal freedom, or making that leap from childhood (where our thoughts and beliefs are often a carbon copy of our parents'), to adulthood, where we must start to establish ourselves as individuals and allow ourselves to bloom, regardless of whether or not our family would approve. I tried to speak about this very real struggle in a metaphorical way, framing it in a fantasy story about a family of witches.

I struggled a lot with forging my individuality as a teen, and I've carried that struggle with me into adulthood. In fact, it's only recently that I feel like I've really started to claim my life as my own, and because I wrote this book for teens, I feel like this was a way to telegraph back in time, to tell myself to be strong and confident in who I am, that even when there are times when I feel completely lost in the dark, there is still enough light in the world to help me find my own way if I trust myself.

I can only hope that same message comes through for other readers.

Other themes and metaphors were so buried in the subtext that I didn't even know they were there until I was in the middle of revisions or until someone pointed something out to me. I think those are my favorite discoveries, as it reminds me that writing is by and large a subconscious process.

Anyway, I don't know if it's perfect even now (or if it ever will be, but I have to eventually leave well enough alone and let the work stand on its merits), but I feel I've nurtured Aster and her world(s) pretty well, and I hope to be able to revisit her again someday and see how she's doing and if she has another adventure to show me. But first, I have to write that query. Then, maybe if it goes all the way, I can start planning that sequel.

Self-Publishing and the Indie Hipsters Douching It Up

2011-03-24T15:44:00.000-07:00

There are some some major shifts happening in the publishing world lately.

In the last few days, we've had big news of Kindle millionaire sensation Amanda Hocking leaving the self-publishing wings for a (rumor has it seven-figure) traditional book deal at St. Martins Press and bestselling thriller author Barry Eisler has left a half-million dollar book deal behind in order to self-publish.

Two very different authors making two very different decisions for two very different reasons. And both having me tilting my head and putting on my patented WTF look.

Eisler's move confounds because he kicked a very lucrative sure thing (and probably his agent) in the mouth in the hopes of capitalizing on the self-publishing trend that seems to be generating waves all over the place thanks to J.A. Konrath and others who have carved out a niche for themselves selling ebooks on the Kindle marketplace at $2.99 a pop. This may or may not work out better him. It'll take selling roughly 250,000 ebooks for Eisler to earn out what would have been his $500,000 advance from the traditional publisher (of course, the publisher was offering that half-mill for a 2-book deal, so his odds of doing well on a per-book basis are slightly better). What he's getting in return, of course, is more creative control and ultimately more in royalties than he might from the traditional market, two of the biggest pulls of self-publishing right now. But it will take time to build that, especially without a publisher's marketing machine behind him, and he will have to of course supply his own editing and artwork from that budget.

It's possible he'll do well, sure. Hocking has half a million books ebooks in less than a year. But she's also writing in a genre that's competing directly with Twilight, which is more popular now than Jesus skateboarding across the Sea of Galilee with Harry Potter on his shoulders. Eisler writes thrillers, which is another popular genre, but I don't think he'll be turning Twihard numbers anytime soon. So it's a gamble.

But back to Hocking. Here she is already a proven commodity in the self-publishing world. She's probably the poster girl for the ultimate success story that any self-publishing hopefuls could look at and aspire to be, and she seems like a pretty cool and humble chick who just wants to write and be read and never thought of the money or about being any sort of activist when she got into self-publishing, so I don't think of her as a sellout. But there are some who undoubtedly do. Most people self-publish with a dream in mind to be just like her. This is a fine (if slightly deluded) aspiration to have (face it, Hocking is the Powerball of self-publishing), but here's the thing that sticks in my craw.

I've read articles over at Konrath's blog ridiculing people still sniffing at the asses of "legacy" publishers. Mainstream writers been called vain and foolish (in so many words), seeking the approval of others when they could be forging their own way in this new digital frontier, making bank, reaching readers, while maintaining all rights over their stuff. Konrath in particular has painted self-publishing as a mecca for the self-aware non-sheeple of the writing world who have decided that they're too good to need validation from the traditional publishing world.

It's all bullshit, of course, but he's entitled to his opinion. Of course, if it's so great, why are Konrath, Eisler, and these supposedly principled self-publishing juggernauts now bitching about not being included on the NYT Bestseller lists? Look, there are certain things you sacrifice when you eschew the mainstream. You likely won't be considered for any major book awards. You probably won't be reviewed by any major book review house like newspapers, Kirkus and Publishers Weekly. It's not as likely your book will be optioned for film rights. And it's highly, highly unlikely your sales will be recognized alongside those of the traditional publishing industry. When you make a principled decision to turn your nose up at that sandbox, you can't then claim some sort of faux oppression for not being allowed into said sandbox. When you burn down your house, you can't be mad when the insurance company doesn't cut your arsonist ass a check. When you decide to go vegan, you can't be pissed that cheeseburgers are off the menu.

So what do you really want, "indie" folks? Do you want to be completely off the teat or not? Do you really not care about validation from traditional publishing gatekeepers and reviewers? Or do you want to be mainstream, but are just spouting your self-righteous bullshit in order to make yourself feel better about being up in the nosebleed seats in the arena of public awareness? I won't lie. I want the brass ring. I want someone in a New York high-rise to say I'm awesome enough to be let into their exclusive club so that my books will be on store shelves with blurbs on the back cover, even if I make less money than you. I want it so bad I can taste it, and I'm not afraid to admit it. And I'm keeping my eye on the self-publishing market too, waiting for the tide to truly shift. Not for you to tell me it's shifting. Really, it's been shifting for a decade or more. Wake me up when the new paradigms are finally in place.

At any rate, it's nice to see writers making their own choices in the widening market. Time will tell who will fare better. We're all full of opinions and there is no right or wrong at this point. But I think I've heard enough indie-hipster bullshit from the self-publishing crowd to make my brain feel saturated with PBR.

Dear Mrs. Obama

2011-03-16T08:39:00.000-07:00

I admire you in many ways, but I need to speak plainly to you about your Let's Move campaign aimed at "fighting" and/or "defeating" childhood obesity by first telling you that while your intentions seem to be in the right place, this is a terrible idea that will have horrible consequences for our already ailing society.

I speak to you as a fat woman who grew up as a fat kid. Fat by your (and everyone else's) standards, anyway. Even at my most active and health conscious, I've always been at least 30 pounds overweight, and by any medical standard, that makes me obese. I've always had good to excellent health, but a few things have started to creep up on me. Most of those things exist in my family (who is by and large not obese) and are likely genetic, but many would try to blame it on my weight, simply because that's the easy thing to do.

I've spent 31 years in this body and for roughly the last 21 years, I've been stabbing myself with metaphorical knives of fat hate. I've dieted, only to gain the little weight I've lost back and then some. I've put myself down so much for being fat that when I read back some of the words I've written in blogs about myself, I want to cry. Because no one should hate themselves as much as I have hated myself.

And I see the results of my years of self-hatred reflected in my kids now. I have an 8-year-old son who utters the word "fat" like it's a curse word, and I sometimes wonder if he's made fun of any fat kids at school. It wouldn't surprise me if he did, but that's my fault, not his. My 9-year-old daughter draws pictures of herself that make her look like an emaciated supermodel, in stark contrast to the curvy body she is currently growing, one that will likely resemble her mother's someday. I live in fear that she will look at her little pooch of a belly and think she can starve it off, like I once did when I was just about her age. I don't know that I will ever forgive myself for inadvertently planting the seeds in their brains that fat is a defect. But I've done my best to start reversing the damage. They love being outside and they love the green smoothies I'm making for them. I'm trying to make them as socially conscious their father and I are so that they will make choices not merely because they want to maintain a svelte figure, but because the health of their bodies and that of our planet matters.

But you know what? Those same seeds of self-hatred were planted in my brain and they were planted in the people who planted them in mine. And I dare say they were also planted in yours. Now you're working hard to sow them into the minds of our youth at a time when people in this country are more volatile than ever toward those who are "other."

I just cannot abide by that.

Our heavier-than-average children are not defects that need to be fixed. What you should be addressing is our country's overall approach to health and nutrition. The government you and your husband represent is in bed with agricultural lobbies and corporations that seek to genetically modify our food supply to boost profits. GMOs may have devastating effects on our health and environment, the longterm of which has yet to be observed but may already be happening. Meanwhile, you're subsidizing a grain industry that stuffs GMO corn into cattle that have 40% more saturated fat and far greater risk of e. coli infection than that of grass-fed animals. And the chemicals and feces in the run-off from these government-subsidized farms and feed lots has contaminated lakes and rivers and oceans with oxygen-depriving nitrogen and deadly bacteria, destroying entire ecosystems and creating "dead zones." The Gulf of Mexico was already suffering long before BP got its hands on it. Our destructive agriculture is also causing foodborne illness in our vegetation crops. We're now getting e.coli on our spinach, strawberries, and in our peanut butter. Food recalls are through the roof as the industry deregulates itself more and more, at the hands of former big agriculture/food industry CEOs posing as regulators. Kids of all shapes and sizes are DYING because of illnesses caused by these practices. Why aren't you bringing attention to that?

To make it worse, that same government-subsidized grain is also going into chemical sweeteners that then go into the cheap processed foods that people who are struggling in this economy (destroyed by the very corporations and banks that our government bailed out) buy because it's all they can afford, or because the crafty ad executives hired by these companies tell people that "everything's okay in moderation" and that their sweeteners are "all natural."

Well it's harder than hell to be "moderate" when high-fructose corn syrup is in everything from commercial "fruit juice" to loaves of "whole grain but not really" bread.

These sweeteners have been shown to have a very detrimental effect on people's health and metabolisms. People then seek out pharmaceuticals to treat the ailments--their diabetes, their high cholesterol, their cancer--caused by this industrialized food. And all this, of course, makes the drug companies--which receive massive tax breaks and other subsidies--richer by the minute. And all this, of course, creates a great conflict of interest when it comes to doing the truly healthy stuff, doesn't it? You represent a government that has inextricably linked the overall health (or lack there of) of our nation's citizens to the wealth of corporations and their shareholders. Millions are suffering for the financial benefit of a few

THOSE are the defects that need addressing. That is the campaign you should be waging. And that's only the very tip of a very sick iceberg.

Mrs. Obama, leave the fat kids alone. They never did anything to you. But you and the rest of this country who has its head on backward about health, nutrition, and body image are doing a hell of a lot to hurt them by reinforcing the damaging message that there is something wrong with them simply because of their size.

A Necessary Cause

2011-03-14T19:19:00.000-07:00

It may sound like a cliche, but there simply are no words to describe the horror coming out of the earthquake and tsunami ravaged areas of Japan.

That's why between 3/15 and 3/22, I will be donating all proceeds from my e-book sales through Smashwords to AmeriCares, an excellent disaster response charity.

I don't have a lot for sale. Just a few $.99 downloads. And you're more than welcome to bypass me and donate directly to any charity of your choice, of course. But if any of you happen to be buying some stories from me over the next week, you can rest assured knowing that your money will be going to a vital cause for our friends in Japan.

Like the rest of you, I want to do everything I can to help, and even though my gestures aren't nearly big enough on their own, I believe a bunch of little butterflies flapping their wings can generate a heck of a wind. At the very least, we should all be doing something while we're sitting here safe and dry.

Thank you in advance.

-Allison M. Dickson

Junk in the Trunk: Giving Up on a Novel

2011-03-11T14:51:00.000-08:00

I think almost every would-be author out there has a trunk novel. In fact, I bet at least one. I have a few finished projects that I tried to have published but will never see the light of day. Two or three short stories, a novella, and now one novel.

The novel in question is my humorous urban fantasy, Scarlet Letters. Intended to be a satire combining the nerdy wit of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy with a hapless mailman who was turned into a vampire by his doctor, it was a fun little romp but ultimately about as lacking in true substance as beaten egg whites.

But because it was my first completed novel and an interesting enough concept (I envisioned it would have the sort of popularity that stories like Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter would have), I put it through the query process and I even submitted it into the contest for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award.

I got a couple requests for manuscripts, but at the end of the equation sat a big ol' R for rejection. By the end of it, I wasn't terribly surprised. And eventually, I came to be relieved.

Why relief?

Because I'd had misgivings about the book from the get-go. I don't think the story is rich enough, for one. I like stories that are heavy in the use of themes and deeper characterization, and Scarlet Letters had neither of those things. It was a bit too satisfied with its smarminess. It was self-indulgent. It had the over-confident swagger of a fifteen-year-old boy that a fifty-year-old person would look at and go, "Kid, give it up."

It was also comedy. While I enjoy writing humorous dialogue, it's not where I live. Scarlet Letters is not the kind of writing I want to be known for, and in the back of my mind as I was going through the querying process, all I could think of was how if this thing did get picked up and did become successful, how on earth was I ever going to segue into the darker speculative fiction that is my bread and butter? I'd have to completely reinvent myself. And while there are a lot of authors I look up to who aren't hemmed in by genre (Stephen King, Neil Gaiman), they have a firm platform of horror and/or fantasy beneath them and they use that to branch off from. In other words, I don't to establish myself with what was essentially an experimental kind of work. I have a mainstream fiction project I've been contemplating and even started working on, but the same goes with that. I don't want to try to establish a career on it until I've achieved a firm footing as the kind of author I generally want to be. Horror/SF/Fantasy.

I toyed around with the idea of self-publishing Scarlet Letters on Smashwords/Amazon/Barnes & Noble like I have with some of my other stories, but again the question is why. I no longer believe in it and I would feel disingenuous trying to sell it.

Sometimes it's best to step back and evaluate a dud for what it was and move on. Here's what I got from my first trunk novel:

1. It was my first completed novel. It taught me that I can finish a story. And I had great fun rollicking around in Louis Cross's world for a bit.

2. It taught me a lot about writing a query and a synopsis. I feel more confident entering the query process again with a book that is more definitively "me."

3. The few people who did read it enjoyed it, and it gave me a confidence boost in that maybe I can do this kind of thing for a living with the right kind of stories. My friend Justin also drew some great artwork of Louis for me, and I will forever have the image of that character in my head. I will always look back fondly on him and his story, and maybe even go back and visit him from time to time.

Now that I have released Louis and his friends back into the ether, it's possible he'll come back in another form. Perhaps in the form of a better story. At any rate, that will never happen until I let him go. And let go I must. There's no shame in it. Every single project is a learning experience. Even the failed ones.

Awesome isn't usually Cheap. And Why Should it Be?

2011-03-08T07:51:00.000-08:00

With all this talk floating around lately about the "Kindle Millionaires" and the coming exodus of writers leaving the traditional publishing world for the supposedly greener pastures of self-publication through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, etc, I've been having a bit of an existential crisis as a writer. What does this mean for me? Should I self-publish too? Granted, I have a few titles for download on Smashwords, but mostly I've been using it as a place to put my reprints. And I've sold a decent number of copies so far, considering I haven't done much by way of marketing.

But for all the romantic platitudes about forging one's own destiny, or whatever Fleetwood Mac sang about going your own way, there exists one kernel of truth behind the success of these (select few) authors. Consumers are flocking toward cheap, impulsive buys. There is very little a buyer needs to risk with a $1-$3 download. If they like it, it was a very huge payoff, and if the author has other books to choose from, they can own that person's entire catalog for the price of one hardcover. Or less. If they didn't like the book, they're only out a couple bucks and no one feels particularly violated.

Cheap price points appeal to people in all matters. Hell, one could argue that the human pursuit of cheap, and the ever-waning perception of value in this country is perhaps at the root of our economic woes. And it continues to get worse every year. When we pay for anything these days, we're no longer thinking about the stores it keeps open or the people our money helps to keep employed. We could give a shit less about the salaries of editors--or really even the writers--artists, marketers, lawyers, etc that buying a traditionally published book pays for. We'd rather buy cheap coffee beans from exploited African farmers than pay a little more for Fair Trade beans. We'd rather buy a cheap bookshelf from Ikea that will probably fall apart within a few years than a piece of furniture from an actual local craftsman that could last a lifetime. Of course, the latter piece of furniture would probably cost three times as much and that furniture maker would probably be able to feed his family nicely with the proceeds from his furniture-making sales, but we don't think about that. We think about what it will cost us right now. How much is it going to put US out, even if in four or five years we're out buying another cheap bookshelf?

Borders is closing nearly half their stores right now, and we rush out to rip books from shelves that only have a 20% markdown. That amounts, roughly, to about three bucks on a trade paperback. Three freaking dollars. A multi-billion dollar company is going bankrupt and sending hundreds of unemployed people onto the streets because, theoretically, they couldn't coax you into their stores unless they gave you a discount that amounts to the price of a Starbucks latte that most people happily pay for (sometimes multiple times a day) without even thinking?

What the hell is wrong with people? Why are we so obsessed with getting more for less? Isn't a book that has been labored over for months in terms of content, marketing, etc worth the money in terms of the pleasure it gives us? In my lifetime, I've spent thousands (probably tens of thousands) of dollars on brand new and used books, and so far I've spent a couple hundred on downloads. And I've always felt happy about it. Like I was doing something good for myself. I've always seen buying books as something like spa treatments for the mind. You could argue that publishers are buying and releasing crap, but not every book a publisher releases is going to be great or written for me.

The world doesn't revolve around me.

And that is perhaps the most salient point. It isn't all about me. Therefore, when I pay for something, I expect there to be a lot associated with that price apart from what it brings ME. I don't mind keeping editors and copy editors and marketers and agents and illustrators employed. Because I've already lived too long in a country where millions of people are without a job, and it sucks. I will pay $9.99 for an ebook if I believe that book is going to be a superior read from a decent author, and I will often pay that $9.99 before I'll pay $2.99 for a self-published book sight unseen. Because editing means something to me, and I can tell you right now that even a book edited by a lone freelance editor (like me) is STILL not going to be as good as that same book edited by a team of people at even a tiny publishing house.

And I can tell you right now that each and every book on my Favorite Books of All Time list came from a traditional publisher. We might as well stop lying to ourselves if we think for a minute that the best self-published book is going to be of the same quality as a book that comes from a traditional publisher. Even Amanda Hocking admits she could use a better editor, and most self-publishers are trying to be their own editors, which spells disaster for even the most prodigious raw talent. I would be VERY remiss to put out a novel of my own that hasn't had a professional edit of some sort, and I bet you most of the NYT Bestsellers would say the same thing.

That being said, I want all people to prosper. I'm glad J.A. Konrath and Amanda Hocking have found a way to make the e-publishing thing work for them, and I'm behind anybody who wants to try it. I would be lying if I said I wasn't just a tad bit jealous of the rare success stories. After all, they're making their own way. And there is a very big allure for me to try it for myself and see how I do.

But I think it's wrong to do it under the precept that traditionally published books aren't an excellent value and that those who work in publishing don't deserve a paycheck and are simply exploiting artists for profit. Oh sure, there is some fat that can undoubtedly be cut from the system, but that's the case with everything. And it's certainly not the same as looking the other way while an entire industry burns, particularly because its gatekeepers wouldn't let you in. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not continue to wax cynical about the industry that brought me 1984 and The Stand and The Road and Little Women and The Moon is a Harsh Mistress and so forth, because I'd love more than anything for one of my books to be mentioned in the same breath as those. And I know how they got there and how most writers today will continue to get there, even with the advent of e-publishing.

I will continue to hope every day for the survival of the publishing industry and its gatekeepers and editors and proofreaders and illustrators and printers and distributors, even as I cheer for the success of the indies. As a writer, I understand the need to write and for people to read what we write, and e-publishing is a wonderful outlet for that. Because not every writer is going to make it through the gatekeeper system. Hell, probably not even me. The odds are never in an individual's favor, which makes success in this business a huge triumph.

But make no mistake: excellent products and services do and SHOULD come at a premium. Because we're all in this together, doing what we love, and if we can live off the proceeds of doing what we love, then we're all the richer for it. Not just with books, but with everything.

Going Medium Rare

2011-02-28T12:15:00.000-08:00

I've had a lot of conversations with myself that have gone something like this:

"You really need to stop eating that. It makes you feel like shit." (usually in reference to refined carbs, dairy, and red meat).

"Yeah, I know, but I just do not want to eat a salad right now."

"How come?"

"Well, for one thing, one salad almost always has to turn into more salad, because when you feel you're strapped for healthy eating options salad ends up being pretty much all you eat. Followed up by steamed or grilled chicken. I find most salads to be soulless and boring, and I don't always have the ingredients on hands to make the kind I'd like to eat."

"What kind of salad is that?"

"Oh you know, some mixed greens and tossed with diced tomato, avocado, bacon, and balsamic vinaigrette. Maybe also some gorgonzola."

"That sounds tasty."

"Yeah. But I can't exactly eat that every day. I just don't dig crunching on a big bowl of vegetables every day. Eventually, I tire of eating them and go right back to the burgers and ice cream because they're familiar and they taste good."

"Even though you always feel like crap after you eat those things? You're like a drunk who keeps falling off the wagon."

"Yeah. Sigh."

"Well what about soup? Soup is good."

"I love soup. But I hate canned soup. I could make a big pot of it to last a couple days, but I tend to tire on leftovers really quickly. Also, there are some vegetables that are healthy but I just don't like eating, period. Like dark leafy greens such as kale."

"So what you're saying is you like fresh ingredients, but you don't like the idea of a big bowl of rabbit food or vegetable soup every day?"

"Pretty much."

"And you'd like to be able to enjoy the health benefits of these foods if they were provided to you in a more palatable way?"

"Totally."

And, for either lack of funding or initiative or ideas to get my diet how I wanted it, I'd usually go right back to the foods that I was used to, even though I know with every bite, they're pretty much killing me. Or I would try to supplement those things through pills and powders and whatnot, never really feeling the same benefits I feel when I eat the ACTUAL foods. I have high blood sugar and am on Metformin. My LDL cholesterol is too high, and I am in a constant state of inflammation in regards to my skin (psoriasis). And I'm usually in various stages of tired. If I don't get hold of this soon, I'm going to have a doctor trying to shove all kinds of pills down my throat, and I DO NOT WANT THAT.

I need more actual vegetables and fruits. In fact, I need my diet to be constituted of them by AT LEAST half. I know this, because the short period of time I have been able to sustain a diet that was mostly vegetarian and particularly low on things like bread and sugar, I have never felt better. And while I can drink a glass of V8 every morning, I'd really need to drink five or six glasses to get any benefit out of it. And there is enough sodium in that stuff to choke a horse.

And it isn't just about me. It's also about the kids. They definitely need more vegetables in their diet, and a couple Flintstone vitamins a day isn't going to make up for what they're not eating every day. They need the nutrients from those colorful veggies and fruits every bit as much as I do, if not more.

The one delivery method that I know works for me--soups and smoothies--has been mostly kept out of reach because I've been lacking the proper appliance for it: a high powered blender. So three days ago, I ordered the family a Vitamix blender.

I've wanted one for about ten years. I would see the demonstrations at state fairs and Costcos and I would watch chefs use them on TV and cooking magazines review them, all the while saying to myself, "some day, I'm going to have one of these machines."

And those who don't know the difference between a Vitamix and a $30 Oster are really missing out. These babies have so much horsepower that you can throw a whole apple into one, seeds, core, stem and all, and it will be ground into a smooth puree in seconds. Pineapple slices with the core? No problem! Unlike juicers, these blenders use the entire foods and allow you to get as much nutrition (and fiber) as possible by breaking down cell walls far more than a typical machine would, keeping the foods in their otherwise uncooked state but leaving them easier to digest.

I've been studying lately the benefits of an increased raw food diet on autoimmunity and other disorders like diabetes. The benefits are so intriguing that I feel, especially armed with the Vitamix, that I can take on this challenge. I'm not looking to go 100% raw right now. It's not a commitment that I feel most people can make overnight, but the idea is to replace as much processed food as possible with whole, unadulterated foods with help from the Vitamix. I feel it will have a tremendous positive effect not only on my health, but that of my husband and kids. My daughter is so excited to try a green smoothie, and I couldn't be more excited about that.

But the idea isn't to just drink smoothies. It makes preparing all sorts of dishes easier, such as nut butters and "milks," salsas, guacamole, soups, and even ice cream (made from any number of dairy alternatives). Also, it allows one to grind whole grains into flour as well as knead bread dough. Also, with my passion for making seasonal fruit butters, I will get a very smooth grind and be able to use the whole fruit with help from the Vitamix in no time flat.

Honestly, I haven't been more excited about something in a long time. Suddenly, I feel like a whole world of neglected natural foods will finally be available to me in a way that I can actually enjoy them. And the more we enjoy these kinds of foods, the more we crave them--in EVERY form. It's a way of eating that is not only easier on the body, but also on the planet. Sure, I'll still enjoy cooked meals from time to time, but I'll feel better doing it knowing that I'm nourishing my body far better than I have been.

For more information on the benefits of raw foods, I highly recommend the documentaries Food Matters and A Beautiful Truth. I was a major holdout on the idea for the longest times until I really started wrapping my head around the science of it. Both films are available on Netflix streaming as well as online. Also check out the Vitamix website for demo videos and testimonials. I look forward to documenting my adventures with it and sharing new recipes here. I also look forward to unlocking my body's true potential and watching it heal itself from the inside out.

I also look forward most of all to the increased mental clarity and the kind of creativity that I know springs forth from it.

A Problem of Uniformity...

2011-02-17T06:49:00.000-08:00

I recently got a job at Meijer, a Midwest one-stop shopping chain. The editing business is going through its slow period and I've been looking for a reason to get out of the house and make a little bit of side money, so a retail gig seemed like the best option. The job pays very little (like most retail gigs), but it's high energy and keeps me from getting bored. Seems like a win-win. Not only that, the store is right up the street and convenient to get to and I'd be working in the garden department, which is something that sounded like a lot of fun when offered the position.

However, the training process for Meijer is, to put it lightly, tedious bordering on joy-killing. I have worked in a number of retail environments, and this one is the most intensely dissatisfying. There is no hands-on learning going on here. It's all sitting behind a computer screen for hours listening to one dry lecture after another, learning nothing. For a job that's all about thinking on one's feet and being engaging, the training program couldn't possibly be more antithetical to those things. And it's not just one day. I've spent nearly a week in training classes. Even the cashier class has been in a classroom. And not even on the computer. You have to sit there and flip through a thick binder, struggling to stay awake, while someone monotonously rattles off how to scan coupons, do lane returns, and enter PLU numbers for produce and other items. In other words, stuff that would have been much more easily retained if taught in the actual cashiering environment rather than in a dry lecture. Oh, but the training isn't exactly over yet. Apparently hands-on training begins Saturday, where we get to put to use all of the stuff (most of it) that didn't stick in my brain on Tuesday.

The company also has a very Big Brother attitude that I find off-putting. The two-minute grace period for clocking in (the computer dings you for disciplinary action if you're more than two minutes late) is a bit much even for my ultra-punctual ass. Two minutes in my universe is like no time at all. Someone's watch could be off by 120 seconds, easy. Why two and not five? Isn't that a bit more fair or reasonable? Already, I'm feeling less than enthusiastic about this company.

All that being said, these things would be acceptable to me if not for one seemingly small (but not) caveat: the uniform.

You're provided with two red polo shirts and are asked to furnish either black or khaki pants. Heck, even denim is totally acceptable. That's a bonus. It's not much different than the Target uniform, or so I thought. There is one key difference: you are required to tuck in your shirt. No exceptions. And it is with that (again seemingly) small demand that I find a stumbling block.

To some (or perhaps even most), the requirement to tuck in a shirt seems like a no-brainer. But it has never been for me. I never tuck in a shirt. Nev-er. To do so runs counter to a lifetime of strategic body camouflage that has made it possible for me to walk out of my house every day with my head held up. I can look strangers in the eye with a smile because I feel secure that the parts of myself that I don't want them to see are safely hidden behind a panel (or two) of fabric. Asking me to tuck in my shirt is, on an emotional level, not wholly unlike asking me to expose my breasts. It would be easier if I could wear an apron or a vest of some sort, but no.

You might think this is hyperbole and you're allowed to think that, I guess. You don't live in my head or in my body. I've gone through life with an overly-long torso and a stomach that has never been flat. The struggle to find shirts that are even long enough to cover what I want to cover has been never-ending. Let's just say that the word "tunic" is the most prominent word in my clothing language and if shopping in a catalogue, I seek out shirts that are, on average 30-32" long.

Still, I didn't want to be a baby and punk out on my first day in the Meijer uniform just because I'm self-conscious about my body. I was determined to see if I would look or feel as bad as I imagined I might when told the uniform requirements during training. When I had asked the lady if I absolutely must tuck in my shirt, she nodded (with a touch of sympathy because she too is not a small girl) and said, "I just get a size bigger and blouse it out. The shirts are really long."). So I was willing to give it a go. After all, the shirts were indeed long. In fact, too long to wear untucked without looking pregnant or stupid (see, there is such a thing as too long of a shirt, and I think they designed them this way for easier tucking).

So I tucked the shirt into my black slacks (the most flattering and slimming pair I own) and bloused it out as far as I could and looked in the mirror. A feeling of panic set in not unlike what happens in that dream where you suddenly appear naked in front of a crowd. Everything I'd hidden my whole life was "out there" for the world to see. Every step I'd made in learning to appreciate my body a little more was erased and I was thrust right back onto square one again. I wasn't ready for this. Even the most confident of us have some sort of comfort threshold, and mine was being violated ten times over. I wanted to rip off the shirt and tell Meijer to suck it. I wasn't going to do this to myself for $7.50 an hour. If my job is to be open and engaging and able to sell something, I can't do it when I feel embarrassed and uncomfortable in my own skin.

But I didn't quit right there. I didn't tell Meijer to suck it. I went to work. And spent the next several hours carefully examining the eyes of others to see if they were glancing down at my bulging belly and feeling my cheeks burn as I walked away, terrified that they were looking at my fully-exposed ginormous ass.

I've only begun my battle on attaining a positive self-image, even in light of my "flaws," but that fight is still in its infancy and this is not the way I'd intended to go about it. This is the self-esteem equivalent of being tossed into shark infested waters, covered in reeking chum, and told to swim.

No, it doesn't help that I see women and men of all shapes and sizes walking around in their tucked in shirts. It doesn't make me feel better that I can purchase a Meijer-sanctioned fleece cover-up. For one thing, it'll be Spring in a month and we're enjoying a spate of 60-degree weather as I write this. For another, I'll be working outside. The fleece will be a temporary security blanket at best and what then?

I have left a message with my manager asking if there is any possible way the company will work with employees who can't abide by the dress code, but I already know the answer and it makes sense that they wouldn't cater to me specifically. If they do, then they will likely have a whole legion of Meijer employees ripping their shirts out of their pants. Besides, if I want the freedom of wearing a uniform top that actually flatters me and makes me feel like a professional, I can always go work at Target again, where untucked shirts are welcome with opened arms.

So I'm still in the middle of this quandary. Nothing has yet been decided. I'm weighing between biting my tongue and just seeing if I can get used to it and telling them that making myself feel this way is not worth $7.50 an hour and that I'll keep looking for work that better suits me. Bottom line, I feel guilty for letting people down because of my insecurities. But if I can't feel comfortable in my own skin, what good will I be? If I can't wear the uniform with pride, isn't it best to open the spot up for someone who can?

Calling forth our Black Swans

2011-01-30T08:43:00.000-08:00

I watched the film Black Swan the other night feeling fascinated, horrified, and most of all empathetic. Natalie Portman (in some of the best acting I've seen ever, let alone all year) plays a ballerina obsessed with perfection. And when asked to portray a role in Swan Lake that embodies both the pure and delicate white swan and the seductive and dangerous black swan, she runs into problems. Her fragile personality and years of hardcore training (and mommy issues) have made her the perfect white swan, but she struggles when she's forced to let go of that and embrace the freedom and sultry imperfection of the black swan.

Well, that puts it lightly. In the film, she basically starts losing her mind, but that's all I'm gonna say about the film's plot.

The point is, the main theme of Black Swan, apart from the whole divided nature thing, seems to be centered on dangers of perfectionism, and that is what really struck a chord with me, and I think it does with anyone who pursues any kind of art, be it ballet or painting or writing.

Writers are constantly climbing a mountain of self-improvement. We're told "never use adverbs." And "never, ever use passive voice, except when you must use it." Or "for the love of god, stop using so many adjectives and dialogue tags!" And that's only the beginning. Hell, I say these things all the time as an editor, and over the years I've worked to hone my own writing in a similar manner. But it is possible to go too far in the other direction by scrubbing the humanity completely out of your work.

But we follow these "rules" because, like Portman's character, we "want to be perfect." We're force-fed the belief that perfection equals success. And if we follow all these rules and lessons, our work can be pretty damn close to perfect. At least on a technical level. The problem with technical perfection is that it leaves little room for art. Truly beautiful art is not sterile, at least in my humble opinion. While it's fun to read about robots, it's not so much fun to read the writing of a robot.

I found myself ruminating on my work as I pondered the movie. Certainly, there is nothing wrong with clean technique. Portman could never have become the Black Swan without the prodigious skill that made her the perfect white swan. But there is also something to be said for letting go. To stop obsessing over every little step (or adverb and adjective as the case may be). Sometimes you need to get dirty to tell the most compelling story you can. People are seduced more often by the emotion you put into a story than anything else. How else to explain the amazing success of writers who, technically at least, aren't very good? They write with full abandon and belief, and I truly believe that is the most important thing we can do. While there is beauty in perfection, there is nothing about it that tugs at our heartstrings.

And that's what the arts are really about. To make people feel something and to remember it.

Watch this movie and tell me if you weren't physically moved when Portman donned that gorgeous black costume and danced from the depths of her soul, when the strings that bound her to her "white" self were finally severed, allowing her to breathe and spread her wings. That is when we saw her true beauty burst forth. Tell me if you remember any of her dancing before that moment.

That's how I want to write and that's what I like to read.

And really, you should see this movie.

Self-Editing: Before and After

2011-01-18T10:49:00.000-08:00

I'm editing my old story "Vermin" so I can put it up on Smashwords today or tomorrow. This was my second published story, and in many ways it reads worse than my first one, which at least had received a thorough edit before it went to print.

"Vermin" wasn't so lucky. Believe it or not, most non-professional publications don't put your manuscript through a thorough edit before they run it. Proofreading is about as good as you can expect. And unfortunately I was still pretty wet behind the ears with this sort of thing. However, once it went live, I wished I could take it down. While I enjoyed certain parts of the story, it wasn't up to my standards even in the two months between acceptance and publication. I can now see why it took so long for the story to find a home.

This isn't to bash the fine people at the publication where it still resides in the online archives (hopefully to never again see the light of day in that form). They obviously saw a glimmer of promise in it and me, and even though the work is no longer up to snuff, it's still a publishing credit that gave me the self-confidence I needed to keep producing better stuff.

Still, the original version is a hot mess and I've been buffing away all morning. To illustrate, I'm going to post the opening paragraph of both the original published version and the one that is going to be in the Smashwords edition. Maybe you'll see what I'm talking about:

BEFORE:

Oscar drove his Rid-Rite Pest Control truck up the winding, steep driveway of the old Martindale house and ground the vehicle to a stop in the dusty circular driveway. The Cape Cod-style house had once been home to Senator Abner Martindale and his family, but had stood empty for over two decades. A large sticker with a bright red SOLD blazed across the front of a weather-beaten For Sale sign, as if to proclaim to the world, “I’m baaaack!”

Like I said, hot friggen mess, and the story was rife with paragraphs like this. There are too many descriptive words (winding, steep, old, dusty circular, etc). It's trying to tell too much in the space allowed, and it overwhelms rather than intrigues. Furthermore, the phrase "pest control truck" stumbles in the brain and on the tongue no matter how many times I've read it, and I struggled then to fix it before finally giving up. Never mind the redundancies of the words "driveway" and "house" in the first two sentences that someone should have caught--either the editor or me (the editor's eyes were fresher than mine at the time, so yeah, I'm pointing a very small finger). It's also lacking a distinctive voice and tone. Two years ago, I couldn't have conceptualized such a thing, but I've improved somewhat since then. Time for the scalpel.

AFTER:

Oscar parked his Rid-Rite Exterminators truck in front of the infamous Martindale house.* The old Cape Cod had stood empty for over two decades, but someone just bought the thing. The weather-beaten For Sale sign now proclaimed SOLD!, which felt more like a taunt than a boast.

By contrast, we have an introductory paragraph that is both shorter and clearer. That tongue-twisting phrase is gone too. Why I didn't think of that the first time, I can't tell ya. I removed most of the infodump about it being a Senator's house and sprinkled that stuff more judiciously throughout the story instead. Finally, the last sentence adds both foreshadowing and voice, telling us something about the house and Oscar. The original version attempted to do the same thing, but the execution was clumsier.

Anyway, you might not agree with my reasoning here. Maybe you thought the original paragraph was just fine. Maybe you don't think the second paragraph is much of an improvement. But I feel a lot happier with it as a whole. I'm putting myself out there like this to demonstrate a couple points:

1. There is always room for improvement. Although it was an amateur market, this story was "published" this way. Someone paid me money for it. Not all published work is good work, and by the same token, not all good work is published. I have stories a million times better than this that I am still struggling to publish. Don't ever think your skill level has reached a peak. I may look on my "After" version in another two years and see what I could have done differently. But I figure I'll be done with such torture at some point. There are only so many unnecessary words you can take out of something before you have nothing left.

2. Less is more. Full stop.

*Thank you to my friend Karyn for leading me to think of an improvement on the improvement. The line originally read, "...in front of the old Cape Cod. The infamous Martindale house..."

New, Streamlined

2011-01-17T11:23:00.000-08:00

The site is getting a bit of a makeover for the new year. In many respects, I was tiring of the old page. It was too big. Too garish. Too fucking obnoxious, really. Also, I wanted something new to go in conjunction with my new venture over on Smashwords, where I'm offering more of my titles (both previously published and those that never could find a home but are still damn good yarns, I promise) up for sale. As more stories become available, I will be adding them to the sidebar. The next one is my creepy-crawly story called "Vermin," which ran in Reflection's Edge last year. Be on the lookout for that. You may also expect to see my funny urban fantasy novel, Scarlet Letters, up for sale soon as well.

Formatting stories for e-publishing has been a bit of a crash course for me, but I think I'm starting to get the hang of it. Designing covers is not my strongest suit, but GIMP has been good to me so far and I've been able to make pretty good if limited use of its features. The documents themselves haven't been too difficult at all. That's due mainly to the minimalist education I received in formatting manuscripts over the years. No fancy fonts, no unusual paragraph styles or headers, and avoiding the tab key like the plague goes a long way toward prepping your manuscripts for converting to ePub and other electronic formats. The less you have to mess around with Word removing extra artifacts (that shouldn't have been there in the first place if you have been a student of proper manuscript formatting), the better off you'll be.

At any rate, I hope you like the new design. Yes, it's a bit monochrome. But I like monochrome. In a way, it reflects what I write, which is what I always strive for. If I'd put weeping puppies up on the background, you might have been a little thrown when you opened your copy of "Dust" and started reading about little gray particles of matter eating people alive. Anyway, even if you don't have a Kindle or a Nook (or the corresponding device apps), my stories are available in all formats, even HTML or PDF. Soon, Smashwords should be distributing the stories to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, the Apple store, and other retailers. And then I shall RULE THE WORLD! Or be a few bucks richer anyway. We must take what we can.

We're Asking the Wrong Question

2011-01-11T11:51:00.000-08:00

I have always intended to keep this part of my web presence politically neutral. Anyone who knows me knows where I stand, and they can interact more with me on a political basis on Facebook or Twitter, but in the aftermath of the Arizona shooting, I have been doing a lot of reflecting and have decided to put my thoughts on the matter here, not to generate debate, but just to express what conclusions I've come to over the last few days.

When I first heard the news, seeing it juxtaposed with that fated Palin cross-hair map, I became enraged. The map, the vile rhetoric and increasing anti-government sentiments floating around the media, the target--all of it seemed like too much of a coincidence. We were finally reaping the seeds of political hatred this country has been sowing for the last two years. But then as information about Jared Loughner started coming out, it seemed more like this individual had slightly different motivations, namely mental illness. Certainly he had political reasons for doing what he did, but they seem muddied by his delusions.

Of course, the pundits and political figures that were feeling unjustly scrutinized for their vile rhetoric didn't hesitate to leap at the chance to proclaim, "See? See there? He wasn't a Republican! He was just plain crazy! It wasn't our fault after all!"

But that last part has yet to be proven. We don't know if he acted alone or with an accomplice. Information about this person can only be gleaned from his leavings on Myspace and YouTube, and we only know what the ever-speculative media is telling us. When Loughner goes to court, more information will eventually be revealed, but for right now, it seems as if the people on the far right are more than inclined to exonerate themselves of any role in inciting this particular young man to go on a shooting spree. But everyone seems to be missing something very important in all of this. The question shouldn't be: "Is the vitriolic political rhetoric of the day to blame for this shooting?"

Instead, we should be asking: "Isn't it a poor reflection of today's environment when we even have to ask that question?"

The relentless search for vindication and validation I'm seeing by certain figures seems to be an implicit admission that the political environment they were creating, with the help of the media, is certainly capable of spawning a violent and deadly event, and to me, that's enough for me to say, "Well fix it."

It's a bit like the climate change argument. We have one side presenting the science and another fighting it tooth and nail to find holes in it. And to what end, exactly? To continue the status quo? To those people, I say: stop fighting to vindicate yourself so you can continue being a thoughtless moron. Science or no science, it's best to err on the side of GOOD, is it not. Wouldn't we ALL be a little better off if we stopped spewing pollutants in the air, recycled a little more, and conserved electricity and water?

Wouldn't we all be better off if we were a little less angry, a little less greedy? It has been demonstrated time and again, both in science and in real life, that lasting change, the kind that actually benefits people, is best achieved through positive means. So how about we use a little more of that and a little less of the acid that's slowly wearing away our souls?

Why must people insist on fighting for their right to continue being assholes and instead stop being assholes and see that we'll have a much better world for it? Maybe then, in a better world, they would have far fewer reasons to be assholes.

I'll end here. But I think we should all think not about who is to blame here but what would cause us to point fingers in the first place.

Trying Something Crazy: Self Acceptance

2011-01-06T13:53:00.000-08:00

I've had a lot on my mind the last couple days, and this could get long-winded, so bear with me.

A couple weeks ago, when I discussed possible resolutions for the new year, I wrote about how I wanted to focusing more on self-love and that maybe my first goal to good health should be to focus on my overall health and happiness, to love myself and accept myself for who I am, my body for what it is, and forgo the whole weight loss thing as a main goal. Let it be more of a side-effect of good living, if that is to be the case.

Then I went to the doctor and had some standard bloodwork done. Cholesterol, metabolic panel, etc. When the results came back the next day, I received a call from my doctor's office saying I would need to come back in and go over a few things because my bloodsugar came back elevated. For fasting, it was 135. Not exactly disastrous, but certainly higher than it should be. More tests will be necessary of course to see if this wasn't some kind of fluke. My bloodsugars have always been normal, and my previous doctor always used to run Hemoglobin A1C tests just as a precaution, and they always came back in the 5.5 range, but I have a genetic history (and a fat ass) so it was always better to be safe than sorry.

When I got the news of the elevated bloodsugar, however, my world crumbled in that instance. It finally happened. My fat ass had finally turned diabetic, just as all the news reports, scientists, doctors, and well-meaning friends and family all said jt would, because I'm (in my own words, but let's face it, the sentiments are the same) a gluttonous cow who must eat powdered donuts by the truckload in order to tip the scales as high as I do. I was ashamed of myself. The self-hatred I had been breeding since I was 10 years old and began to grow taller and thicker than all of my peers finally gave birth to an ugly, insulin-resistant baby that pointed its pudgy fingers at me screaming, "HA, told you so fatty! Shoulda stayed on that diet! Too bad you're weak! Weak weak weak!"

I stormed out into the garage to gather up all of the packets of Medifast food I'd been holding onto in the event that I was ready to start clinically starving myself again and tossed them onto the table. And the next day, I started the ghastly regimen of liquid and semi-liquid meals followed by a dinner of steamed chicken and broccoli, all the while miserable, tired, and so very very hungry. The kind of hunger and weakness I remembered feeling when I first did this in April, bound and determined to punish myself for being gross and corpulent.

Then last night, I started reading more about obesity, really reading about it. I started reading more about Type 2 diabetes. I started reading more about the science of weight loss through constant dieting. And then I got up and made myself a sandwich. You know why? Because I was fucking hungry. And because I've been reading about Health at Every Size, which is the most common sense approach to good health I've ever seen. And I started reading the Shapely Prose blog at Kate Harding's site. It has since been closed, but there is a wealth of info in the archives.

I'm DONE dieting. I'm done with commercially-supported starvation that will surely backfire in 6 months, a year, two years, or three, or five (it's been scientifically demonstrated that almost all dieters gain their weight back and then some inside five years) and put me back in the same pit of self-hating despair I've been in most of my life. But most importantly, I'm done thinking I'm inferior because I'm fatter than you and that I should therefore punish myself.

Because isn't that what all weight loss programs end up boiling down to? At the root of every single one, no matter how sensible they sound, is the belief that we are not good enough. We are fat, therefore we suck. Therefore, we shall never eat at a holiday dinner or restaurant with friends, we are unworthy of respect and dignity and love, and we will only be acceptable as humans when we've reduced our bodies enough to fit in a template that our culture has deemed acceptable and desirable.

Do you know how many years I have lived this life in a constant state of "I'm not good enough?" Let's do a brief history of Allie's childhood, teen and early adult years just so you get the idea:

At age 10, I was wearing a women's size 12. By this point, when several of my friends were starting to take an interest in boys, it was made clear to me that my size was making me a target for ridicule rather than a source of attraction. One of my friends was already dabbling with anorexia, so I mimicked her behavior. I would starve myself with her while at school as a sign of solidarity, not eating breakfast or lunch, and then gorge myself when I got home because I was so hungry. This developed into a pattern of eating that exists until this day, and wouldn't you know I kept getting fatter.
At age 12, in the seventh grade, I skipped school as often as I could to avoid facing the bullies who used to tape pictures of back tits on my back, follow me down the hall making Godzilla sounds, etc. My mom left for work early in the morning and came home after I was due home from school, so this was easy. I watched soaps and worked out to this Kathy Smith aerobics tape we had. And I watched this VHS recording of Terminator 2: Judgment Day so many times I had memorized every line of dialogue. I don't know how I managed not to flunk that grade.
Age 14: So roiled with low self-esteem and a certainty that I would never be good enough for anyone, I give myself to the first boy that shows me the least bit of positive attention.
Age 16-19: My weight actually reaches a point of stability. I wear a size 18 and overall am pretty satisfied with myself, even though I'm still (at least in terms of my BMI) obese.
Age 20: I move to Washington state to be with my now husband. After a couple traumatic experiences with my health (and going on Depo Provera), I put on about 50 pounds in a matter of six months. While I had grown somewhat more sedentary and wasn't exactly eating great (I'm a carb junkie, I admit it), that was a lot of weight to gain in such a short period of time. I go on my first diet program, Jenny Craig, and drop 25 pounds in time for my wedding. A few months later, I'm pregnant with my daughter and then deal with a bout of post-partum depression and antidepressants that cause me to gain more weight.
Age 23-25: I have since given birth to my second child and have ballooned up another 40 or 50 pounds, bringing my weight drastically close to 400 pounds. An inexplicable number to me, really. My feelings of dread, doom, and disgust have never been higher. I can't even look at myself without wanting to vomit. I join Weight Watchers and lose 70 pounds.
Age 25-29: Turbulence in my marriage puts my life on the rails for awhile, and my social life explodes into nightly acts of drinking and debauchery. I very slowly but very steadily gain back all the weight I lost.
Age 29-30: My husband and I get back together and I decide to give up the debauchery and start taking my writing seriously. As such, my life becomes more sedentary and the weight increases by another 20 pounds or so. Terrified of the fat, I go on South Beach and drop about 20 pounds. That fails a few months later and then I try Medifast. I lose about 25 pounds in the course of 6 weeks, but my god what a tough six weeks that was.
Now: I've been off Medifast since April and I haven't gained much of the weight back (about 5 pounds or so with a few vacillations in between). And for some stupid reason, I think resorting to another unsustainable eating program is somehow going to be the ticket to good health.

Here's the thing, I know I can lose weight when I really put my mind to it. But the sad fact is that MOST people don't stick to these programs because they're not sustainable, because the minute you stop doing whatever it is that's making you lose weight, your body goes right back to doing what it was designed to do: store calories. Diets focus on deprivation and self-punishment. These two concepts are not COMPATIBLE with basic and happy human existence. Humans are social and emotional creatures. We enjoy food. We assemble rituals and holidays around it. We gather around the table and share stories and laughs. We craft new and amazing tastes, celebrating the bounty the earth gives us every single day, because unlike any other creatures, we have brains capable of processing this complex information. And whether we're fat or thin, we're all a part of these rituals. But when you're fat, your participation in these rituals is always marred by guilt and shame, because for some reason in this culture your fat means that you're "not one of us." You're immoral, unclean, sloppy, smelly, or taboo. You're "other."

It doesn't matter that diets don't work for the longterm. That we endanger our health by repeatedly forcing our bodies to go against their biological grains by trying to beat and starve away the calories that for whatever reason they insist on storing. That we're doing irreparable damage to millions of self-esteems and self-images by reinforcing these ideals. To be loved and respected and beautiful, we must. be. THIN.

Well here's the thing. I am loved. Always have been, even when I didn't think I deserved it. I have amazing family and friends. I've never been starved for dates and have some pretty incredible memories of my times between the sheets. I have an amazing husband and two beautiful kids (who are not fat, because contrary to what the media tells you, it's possible for a fat mother not to have and raise fat children). I don't smell because I have excellent hygiene. Up until this latest round of bloodwork, I have always had excellent cholesterol and sugars and blood pressure. My body chemistry has been a direct contradiction to what all of the "experts" say it should be for a person of my size, and I'm pretty sure that if there wasn't a world hellbent on demonizing people for being fat, I wouldn't think there was a damn thing wrong with me unless I was diagnosed with an actual disease.

This isn't to say I'm giving up on myself or that I'm going to do nothing in the face of a diagnosis of diabetes, that I'm going to subsist on a diet of twinkies and McDonald's. First of all, I don't like Twinkies or McDonald's and I never subsisted on those things to begin with (believe it or not, I don't eat more than an average person eats, and probably less than many of my thinner cohorts do). But the status quo is not acceptable. I haven't been feeling as good as I know I can feel, and there is more I can do about that without putting some harebrained goal of thinness in my path that will only wind up disappointing me.

I will get out and move more, not to lose weight but because when I do, I feel better. And when I'm not focused on the primary goal of burning fat, I enjoy the activity so much more. Also, my mind works better and I'm happier overall. Furthermore, I'm going to eat the kind of foods that make me feel good. That might be fish and vegetables one night, but it might be a hamburger or taco the next. Either way, they will be wholesome foods that are kind to the earth and to my body, but if I want a cookie (a delicious, homemade cookie made with wholesome ingredients), I'm going to have one. And if I do in fact have diabetes, I will check my bloodsugar frequently, see how my body responds to what I eat, and then act accordingly by either exercising or making better choices that are better on my body. I will take an intuitive approach to food, but I will not put myself through controlled starvation. If I lose weight as a result of doing these things (and I'm pretty sure I will, just because I know my body well enough to know it responds pretty positively to being treated well), so be it.

I'm also going to engage in new hobbies and ways of expressing myself. I'm going to make new discoveries that force me to put myself out into the world more and force me to make use of this wonderful life I've been given. There is no reason in the world I can't achieve anything I want to due to my size. I've gotten far in life the way I am, and I will fight for the acceptance I deserve and defy anyone to stop or demean me based on how I look.

Most importantly (and perhaps the one thing that will probably cause the biggest change out of all of them), I'm going to eat when I'm hungry. I'm going to stop eating when I'm full. I'm not going to binge on food to prop myself up in some way emotionally or entertain myself when I'm bored. I'm going to eat slowly and mindfully and savor every bite and taste. I'm not going to punish myself by this perception that I'm "cheating" or "being bad." I refuse to feel shame. I'm going to stop excluding myself from social engagements because I feel too fat to be seen in public. I'm going to be more positive and stop pressuring myself to be something I'm not and wasn't born to be, and thereby fuel my self-loathing even more. I'm going to make peace with this body by doing what fills my soul with light.

This is going to take a long time for me to do. You can't undo a lifetime of self-hatred overnight, but this is the first time I'm putting a concerted effort into it, and I'm determined to make it work. I think everyone around me will be happier as a result.

My daughter and I were sitting together the other night when she looked over and said, "Mommy, you're beautiful." At that moment, I wished I could believe her. But now, I'm damn well going to. Not only because I need to do it for myself, but because I don't want to raise kids that think fat = miserable = shame = diet = fat again.

If someone calls me fat, I'll respond with the only word that is worthy: "Duh."

Brick by Brick

2011-01-03T22:21:00.000-08:00

Trying to get short fiction published in this current market is about as easy as making it through airport security with a foreign name and unfondled genitals. This is particularly true if you're A. a horror writer, and B. if you want to get paid for being one. There are many reasons for this, but because I want to be professional and maintain my pretty much nonexistent reputation in this field, I'm not quite ready to unleash my fury just yet. Instead, I'm going to focus on generating solutions.

I love short stories. I love reading them and I love writing them, and I like to think I'm getting pretty good at it. I have written several, and I'd love to get them out to readers, even if they don't make me rich. What can I do to break through this ever-mounting wall of bullshit standing between me and "legitimate" publication? I've decided on a hybrid plan of action.

First, I've decided to stop spending hours and hours sifting through markets that are drying up left and right (click on Pro Markets on Ralan.com and you will see what I mean). There are still industry stalwarts out there that pay well, have solid followings, and can help authors advance into organizations like the SFWA and HWA, and gain notice by various awards folk like Hugo, etc. Such markets include Analog, Asimov's, Clarkesworld, Fantasy & Science Fiction, Apex, Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show, and a few others. I've assembled a Top Ten list of such markets that best represent what I write or might write, and I will attempt to place my short stories into one of them first. I will do that because such institutions still mean something. Just as even the most jaded garage band would still love to cart home a Grammy, I would really love a Hugo Award and a membership in the SFWA someday. No, it won't define me as a writer, but it's just a dream of mine. Don't knock it.

Why have I narrowed down the market list so much? It's simple, really. I want to aim high. It not only forces me to write at a higher caliber, but it also is a matter of me respecting my own work by trying to sell it to people who know what they're doing and can get it in front of a lot of people. If I can place my work with a professional publication that pays pro rates, or even with a lower-paying publication that at least has good circulation (similar to the markets in which I've already published stories, like The Absent Willow Review or Reflection's Edge), I will do so. In the event I will be unable to place a story with a desirable market, or when the rights on a previously-published story revert back to me, I will self-publish.

I have already done this with one story, "Under the Scotch Broom", which ran in Absent Willow last April. It is currently sitting on Barnes & Noble's website available as a $.99 download for those who might like to add it to their Nooks or Nook-app-having devices. Eventually, I will be doing this for my other previously published stories, "Dust," "Vermin," "Aria," and a few others that I'm pretty confident won't find a home with a publisher, not because they are sub-par so much as they're just strange little orphans who haven't been able to find a the right home.

Actually, I uploaded "Scotch Broom" to the Barnes & Noble PubIt! site back in October when the service first launched, mostly as a test case to see how the process worked. While I still have some things to learn in regards to formatting, the whole thing was up for sale in a matter of a few hours (most of that involved making the cover art). I didn't advertise it much, because I wasn't sure if it was something I was going to pursue as a regular gig. But the more I think about it, the more I feel this might end up being the best course of action for getting more of my work out there and maintaining more control over that work.

So pretty soon, you will see a "Downloads" section up and running here on the site. Of course you'll know more when it happens. I'm looking forward to the future. In the meantime, if you have a Nook-compatible device (Nook, Nook Color, iPhone/iPad/iPod, PC, Android phone/tablet), why not download Under the Scotch Broom? It's one of the few awesome things you can get for a buck these days. And it's DRM-free! Not to worry, Kindle fans, it should be up for sale on Amazon in a day or so, and I will post accordingly.

Resolutions of Body, Heart, and Mind

2010-12-21T21:22:00.000-08:00

I've already set writing goals. But what of personal ones? I decided to do a Body, Heart, and Mind theme this year, as I think the goal of any new year or new phase in life should be to improve one's spirit. to achieve some sort of growth

Body:

I will spend this year making up for the year of neglect my body faced in 2010 due to lack of health insurance. I let myself go in the latter part of 2010, and I don't mean merely with weight. I have actual health issues that need to be addressed in addition to my nutrition. I have a hurt shoulder in need of examining. My bloodwork needs an update. I need a fucking pap smear (tmi?). I also endeavor to love my body more this year by feeding it better and moving it more. This isn't really about weight loss, but about general health as well as the joy that comes from pushing myself to new heights, to see what I'm capable of doing, making, seeing, feeling, and accomplishing. Gone is the mere goal of thin, which is akin to trying to grab a cloud from the sky. More on this in a bit...

Heart:
I resolve to end the fakery in my life. I will not be forced into situations where I must be surrounded by people who clearly don't give a shit about me and vice versa. I mean really, why sugar-coat it? It's neither good nor healthy for one's emotions to grit one's teeth and swallow the shit other people are shoveling simply because they think that's all there is to eat. Nor is it acceptable to be expected to abide by someone else's idea of happiness when clearly NO ONE is happy. I will also not allow myself to be shoe-horned into someone else's mundane and dusty traditions. In fact, I intend to reboot my own Tradition Machine every two to three years, because I think traditions are like nooses the creatively challenged use to choke the fun and variety out of life. We get one trip on this planet in this body and with this mind. WHY must we spend it wearing blinders and rictus grins? Excusing the people who piss on our legs by saying we were cold and needed the extra warmth? Enough already. If I'm going to have a better heart, it has to start from a place of honesty.

Mind:

I resolve to stop being disgusted with my body every time I look in a mirror. Why should I judge myself by unrealistic standards set by an industry of Photoshop wizards? Why should I feel like a disgusting human being because my folds, rolls, creases, stretch marks, and other flaws are more visible than yours? Why should my physical flaws be more damning than the character deficits of those who have caused me to look on myself with loathing and shame? I have a message for those who think there is only one way to be beautiful, who think people like me are disgusting, and who regularly devalue people of size or think we should be ashamed: go piss up a rope. It's pretty damn hard to love oneself in a culture so obsessed with vanity and superficial values. It's like trying to walk up a hill while every passerby swings crowbars at my kneecaps. Maybe if people spent more time fostering a sense of compassion, of educating themselves on the many facets of nutrition, metabolism, genetics, and cognitive and emotional traits that all contribute to one's body type, or maybe if they just accepted the REALITY of varying body types period, they could affect positive change. Feelings of self-worth motivate people to better themselves. Shame is like brakes on a car.

I will love myself. I will relish my authentic emotions. I will feel no shame over who I am, what I look like, or how I feel.

And with that, bring on 2011, bitches.

Another Year, How This Dream Works, and Haggis

2010-12-17T07:51:00.000-08:00

At the start of every new year for the last four years or so, I've said to myself: "This will be it. This year, I'm going to break out, break through, whatever it takes. I'm on my way." And every year that has passed, I've realized that all I'm doing is giving myself a pep talk just to keep moving. The book industry is by and large not designed for those who value or demand instant gratification. In many ways, it's like The Shawshank Redemption. We chisel little by little through that stone wall for years, taking all sorts of lumps along the way but also learning valuable lessons. Then we wade our way through a whole bunch of shit before coming out on the other side to the swell of a beautiful score that reflects the culmination of years upon years of toil. Of course, with writing, sometimes we get our charter boat in Zihuatanejo and most times we find there is another wall waiting for our rock hammer.

This past year, I made a number of accomplishments. I published a couple of short stories and wrote a few more that I'm trying to get out into markets right now. I completed two novels and started a third joint project with a friend. I had some lucrative (and insanity-inducing) editing contracts, and I received a partial manuscript request from Nathan Bransford (which he ultimately rejected, but I'll remember that request for the rest of my life). So the year has been sprinkled pretty evenly with moments of writers' ecstasy, which were very welcome given how tough this year has been overall.

I'm continuing to work and write, setting myself up for a big writer's conference in Colorado Springs next year where I'll actually get to rub elbows with industry folk in the hopes that one of them might just see some promise in my work. So maybe, just maybe, the little pep talk I'm sure to give myself on January 1st will have an edge of truth to it. 2011 may just be my year. Or maybe 2012, since even if someone does buy one of my books next year, it will likely be another year before it hits the shelves.

Baby steps. Agonizingly slow baby steps...

Next year, I'd like to complete four books, three of which are already in progress. I have Archer's Velvet, The Oilman's Daughter, and The Last Supper (complete rewrite) waiting in the wings. I also have an idea for a "punk-like" science-fiction book that I'm tentatively calling, Native Alien.

And of course, the goal is to try and get a few more short works published. What a long slog that is, though.

Overall, my goal is to continue to find little lily pads of peace amid waters that grow murkier and more hostile with every passing year, to discover little diverticular pockets of joy in the steadily-rotting colon that is American civilization. I will read more books. I will continue to find new and bold fascinations to explore. I will add more facets to my multifacetedness. However, I will not try haggis, no matter how much you pay me.

Carding Your Friends and Family

2010-12-07T10:45:00.000-08:00

Aside from baking and decorating and enduring gobs of Christmas music over store PA's, it's also the season of spending. Love it or hate it or rail as much as you like against the evils of American consumerism, it's difficult to avoid spending at least some money this time of year on the people you love and/or tolerate. Over the years, I've done a lot of homemade gifts. Candies, cookies, jams/fruit butters, bread. My weight-conscious friends and family love me for it, I swear. Most of the money we spend, however, goes toward the kids and immediate family members. There's only so much of the green stuff to go around, so we're forced to prioritize.

But more than ever, I've been pondering the emotional oddity of the gift card. It seems many people hate giving those little pieces of plastic, or they turn to them as a last resort. Personally, I have difficulty purchasing a gift card without some measure of guilt, especially when giving the kind of "general" gift cards from places like Target or Amazon, where people can basically get whatever they want (as opposed to restaurant or movie gift cards or other specialty ones, which at least imply you had a person's tastes and/or interests in mind). Not only does it say, "I didn't know exactly what to get you and didn't bother putting much thought into it," but it also shows exactly how much money you were willing to spend on that person, which flies in the face of the custom of removing price tags from gifts before wrapping them. A ten dollar book can say a whole lot more about the thought you put into someone's gift than a $50 Wal-Mart card. But at the same time, who wouldn't love a free fifty-dollar shopping spree? What to do?

As much as I try to resist getting gift cards for people, I love receiving them and I never feel offended when I do. There's nothing better to me than heading out the day after Christmas with a Barnes & Noble gift card in hand, or logging onto iTunes to get some new music. Who turns their nose up at free money? So which emotion should I be paying more attention to here when it comes to buying gift cards? Because inevitably, I will be buying a few this year. Some people are just really hard to buy for, and I'd rather convey a message of, "I know you're difficult to buy for, but I know you love books/movies/music/coffee, so knock yourself out" than, "You're really difficult to buy for, so here's a shiny new wrench or other thing I know you'll never use but bought anyway because I have a principle against giving gift cards."

Do you like buying gift cards for people? Do you like receiving them? I guess there is something to be said either way, but I like knowing where other people stand on the issue.

Anyway, given my lackadaisical blogging schedule of late, I may not make it back here until after the holiday. So I hope everyone reading this is enjoying the holiday season, and my thoughts are with those of you who are having hard times this year.

NaNoWriMo Aftermath: The Dude Abides

2010-12-01T08:58:00.000-08:00

The enthusiasm going in was high. My goals, lofty. I wasn't only going to make my 50K with speed and gusto, but I was going to finish the entire first draft in one month. But when I started, everything changed. The energy slowed. I became very laidback. It was no longer a race. It was a mosey. While people were sprinting ahead of me, I hung back, strolling along, stopping to pet a few dogs and smell some flowers. At some point, I bought a cup of lemonade from some kids and the little bastards didn't have change for a twenty...okay, this metaphor's gone far enough.

As such, I didn't make the 50K goal until about noon of the last day. But the best part is, I also managed to finish the first draft a few hours later. That was my original goal from the start this year, and though I had given up the possibility of accomplishing it, I did anyway.

The final count ended up being 54,460, including The End. Barring any major lightning strikes from the Idea Fairy, will probably be closer to 60K after revisions. Still on the shorter side, but it's a Young Adult story, and those tend to be a tad shorter.

I think my completion has a lot to do with the nonchalant approach I took this time. I refused to hurry. I took four days off last week for holiday prep and celebration without any real regret. There were days I only wrote a few hundred words. Other days where I wrote a few thousand. I didn't worry that I wasn't going to make the goal and I didn't care if I made it or not. Doubt, at least in the form of "will I finish this?" just didn't factor into the equation. I found a groove that worked, and when I do that, nothing can shake me from finishing it. When a story feels right, its completion becomes a foregone conclusion. And if I'd finished it December 4th instead of November 30th, so be it.

There are other things I did differently this time around that I think helped a lot. I didn't focus so much on the plot or world-building. It was painful throughout certain parts, because some areas were total black holes, and as I was writing, I was saying to myself, "Nothing is happening. This is boring. This is bland. You're forgetting to put in that thing you wanted to put in earlier! Dammit, make something awesome happen!" But as I was writing those scenes, I was doing something else, and in hindsight, something better. I was getting to know my characters. I was fleshing them out, hearing them speak, nailing down their personalities. I was screaming back to that voice in my head, "Screw you, plot! You're not the boss of me!" I was ENJOYING myself, and sometimes I did hit plot pay dirt, especially when I wasn't trying too hard.

But the third act/climax went almost all according to plan. And after having paid much more attention to my characters the first time around, I was more emotionally invested in the story and their outcomes. I was also far less stressed out. Plotting is exhausting work for me, and it's discouraging when I'm not getting it right. I have now learned it's much easier to construct a plot around characters I actually care about, when I can look at them as real people and say, "Okay, you go here. And, hey, you in the back? Go there." And it's also easier to bridge additional story arcs off existing chapters than to build an entire structure as I go along while worrying about every other element in the process (narration, POV, dialogue, etc).

When I go back for revisions, I'll fine-tune all of that, and I'll also lay down the "rules" of my magic world, do some much-needed research, and better establish settings that right now feel one-dimensional.

As it stands, the first draft of Stargazers looks like a one of those crude handmade dolls, with its stitches all crooked and sloppy and those button eyes that are kinda creepy. But at least it's whole. And I'll always consider that a mammoth accomplishment for me, The Girl Who Doesn't Finish Much (take note, Stieg Larsson...oh wait, you're dead). At any rate, I'm going to take it easy and just let it flow. It's the approach that seems to work best for me.

NaNoSlowMo: Observations from the Other Side of the Halfway Mark...

2010-11-17T11:48:00.000-08:00

As of this writing, I'm at about 31K and some change into my NaNoWriMo book, Starflower, which is about where I should be by this point. It could be better, but I'm not complaining. At the rate I'm going, I will finish with a couple days to spare. In previous years, I always managed to pass 50K by the 20th/21st. I'm not sure I'll quite beat that record this year, though I can't account for any sudden spurs of manic creativity and motivation that might just make that happen. My desire to avoid the weight of a deadline hanging over my head in preparation for the holiday next week is always a great motivator. I'm not sure I'll meet my self-made goal of completing the entire first draft in one month, but that's okay too. One day at a time.

My pace has been much slower with this book for a number of reasons. For one, I have found that the story is far more character driven than my other work. While I had major plot points outlined from the beginning, I've had to dig into my characters' heads a little more than usual to figure out what they're going to do and/or say to get to those points. I consider this a good thing, because I've had some pretty incredible insights and ideas on themes I'd like to explore.

Another reason I'm going a little slower than usual this year is, I think, subconscious (though I guess now that I'm attempting to analyze it, it's not exactly subconscious anymore). I have found the "balls-out" style of writing that NaNoWriMo tends to encourage winds up making me put out something that is almost too bad or intimidating to revise. So a slower and more deliberate approach, for me anyway, results in better writing and something that won't likely result in the post-NaNo fatigue where, at the end of the month after I've driven myself to the breaking point, I don't even want to think about writing for at least two months, let alone look at the mess of word vomit I evacuated in November. And that normally results in a (permanently) unfinished book.

So I'm taking it slow and allowing myself to enjoy the process of storytelling as I normally do. In fact, I'm not even really all that concerned if I happen to "fail" and not collect my winner's certificate this year. I mean, I very likely will, and I'll smile and post my little web badge up in the corner when I do, because hey, I earned it. But I'll just keep on plodding (or plotting?) along until it the book is finished. Writing Starflower feels now like the sort of writing project I would tackle at any other time of the year, where I'm content to nurture my story and characters for however long it takes to get to the end. It's no longer a NaNo book. It's my Work in Progress.