I collect things. Well, not so much anymore, but I used to. Many of those things, I still have. They're just put away. In storage. But they're there. All the Star Wars toys from when I was a kid. Yes, I still have all of them. GI Joes and Transformers, too. Comic books. Way too many comic books (but that's a much longer tale and not what this post is about, but, you know, if you want to buy some, let me know. heh). Magic cards and other CCGs (yes, even thousands of the Harry Potter TCG cards). Some of these things, I wish I was still involved with but, mostly, it's all just put away.
I don't spend time with any of it. However, there is some amount of comfort knowing that it's there. I don't know why. My wife wishes she knew why, because she wishes I would get rid of at least 95% of it. Sometimes, I wish I could just toss it all, too, but it would leave me with the feeling that something is missing. There was a point when I was in college that I was kind of strapped for cash. Not something I was used to dealing with. I generally did a pretty good job of keeping myself in the money that I needed to get by, but, this one time, I was running low on fundage. I knew these kids that collected Transformers, and they had been lusting after my collection for months and months. Being somewhat desperate, I broke down and decided to sell some of them. Well, it ended up just being one of them: Soundwave (along with the cassettes that went with him even though they were, technically, separate figures). I've never really gotten over selling that one piece. It haunts me still. "I used to have that." "If only I hadn't been stupid and sold him." Those kinds of things. So, even though I haven't even looked at my Transformers in years, the knowledge that I'm missing that one figure from my collection pricks at my mind any time I think of them. When the kids came back to buy more a few weeks later, I told them I wasn't selling any more of them.
I could give other examples of how the losses of little, basically, inconsequential things can sit around and nag at people. Not just me. I can't tell you how many times I've heard people say, "I used to have that when I was a kid. I don't know what happened to it." Or, "yeah, I had all of those, but my mom threw them out when I went off to college." Or, "yeah, I had tons of GI Joes and Star Wars toys, but I blew them all up this one 4th of July." Yes, that's a true story. The common thread is that everyone, every single person, I've heard say anything like that all wished s/he had those things back again. Small, unimportant things. But things that had meaning to them and played some part in their lives when they were growing up. For me, things I hoard up because one day I want to share them. Sit down with my kids and explain what they meant to me, why I kept them, and pass them on.
But, in the end, they are still just things. Often things, like my wife says, that clutter up our lives and steal our space. And we don't really have a lot of that, so it's a valid concern. However, it's not always things that we want to pass on. Sometimes, it's people. My grandfather is the person that I most wish I could pass on to my kids. The person from my life that I most wish they could meet. He's the person that sat with me every night after he got home from work, smelling of sweat and motor oil, and read to me. Read to me the same books over and over, because I was the king of "read it again," and he was my throne. Little Black, A Pony. And that story about the old blue truck and the cow. And he would read them over and over to me.
He was a presence. Quiet. Strong. My mother tells me, and, you know, she knew him a lot longer than me, that he never raised his voice. I certainly never remember him yelling, but things are often different with your kids as opposed to your grandkids, but, no, she says he never raised his voice. As far as she knows, he never raised his voice to anyone. If they (my mom and her two siblings) needed shouting at, that was my grandmother's job. And he never said an unkind word about anyone. Not an individual. Not any group of people. Not even when the Cowboys lost. He was the giver of hugs. Bear hugs. The one that tickled us and caught our hands when we were too slow. He has always been the person I most want to become.
The day he died remains the worst day of my life. When the phone rang that morning, I knew what it was about before anyone answered it and was already crying even though I had no reason to think that that was what the call was about. I'd just seen him two days before, and the doctors said he was going to be fine. That they'd caught the cancer in time and that he should recover. But I knew. And, even then, I felt the loss as not just my own but as a loss for the kids I didn't yet have or have any notion of whom I would have them with.
Sometimes... sometimes the things that we keep packed away in storage are places. I haven't been "home" in 10 years. Home being the House from The House on the Corner. My parents live in it, now, and I spent my teenage years living in it with them. But, before that, it was my grandparents' house. My memories of that house go back as far as I have memories. My dog when I was two. My mom holding me and not letting me go down to him when they found him dead in the backyard, still a puppy, both of us. My cousin pushing me off a riding toy and my aunt taking care of the huge bump on my head. Hearing jingle bells one Christmas Eve and being convinced it was Santa in the house.
But home was also East Texas. Besides the house in Shreveport, my grandparents had a farm outside of Jefferson. This was the real place where I was formed. Playing in the hay barn with my cousin Sam, leaping from stack to stack of bailed hay pretending we were superheroes in Gotham or New York. Catching toads with my cousin Becky. Picking blackberries with my grandmother. Feeding the cows, especially the one called Pig with the forked tongue, the table scraps from dinner. Waking up to the smell of coffee brewing.
This was the place that I spent nearly every major holiday from the time I was born until my grandfather died when I was 20. Every Thanksgiving I can remember. My cousins and I sitting at the kids' table where my cousin Sam would pour ketchup all over everything on his plate. The nearly 20 adults sitting at the long row of tables passing food back-and-forth. With just a few exceptions, every Christmas, too. My cousins, brother, and I all slept on the floor together when we were kids. Often in the same room with the Christmas tree. But, somehow, there were always presents piled under it on Christmas morning, none of us the wiser as to how they got there. It was probably that more than anything else that convinced us of the magic of Santa.
There was also my great-grandmother's house. It was about a mile or so down the road, the dirt road. I spent as much time there as I did at my grandparents'. My Uncle Fred lived there, too. And, in the summers, my Aunt Effie would come and stay and bring my cousin Becky. I spent my summers with her. With her and my uncle's dogs. He always had at least three, and they always had the most unimaginative names. Spot. Brownie. Blackie. About as far out as it got was a dog named Ginger when I was a teenager, and that was probably because he already had a Brownie.
There were so many places there. Because, you know, when you're a kid, one place can be comprised of many universes. Under the house where the dogs would go when it was too hot, and it was often too hot, and dig holes to lay in. That was our favorite place to catch toads. The cane patch my uncle kept back behind the house for fishing poles and where there were often snakes, but we played in there anyway. The pond that my uncle dug where we would swim. And catch frogs. And where there were also often snakes, but we played there anyway. The pine woods that surrounded my great-grandmother's where we would tramp around. The loft of the barn where Uncle Troy dried his peanuts.
They had an actual well in the house. When we were thirsty, we would go and lower the bucket and bring up a pail of water and drink from it with a big dipper that hung on the post. Everyone drank from that dipper, and no one thought anything about it. The water was always cold and had a metallic tang to it that may or may not have come from the dipper. Possibly, the well tells you that it was an old house. It had a tin roof. I loved being down there when it would rain and listening to the rain pound on that roof. They kept skewers, for lack of a better term, on a nail next to the fireplace (all the time), and Becky and I would sit and roast marshmallows on cold nights.
My Aunt Effie actually had a house down there, too, even though they never actually stayed in it. It was, oh, probably three miles or so farther down the road. They had a wardrobe down there full of games. Most of them missing too many pieces to really be playable. On the very rare occasion, my cousin and I would walk the three miles down to her house so that we could play Mouse Trap, because that's where that game lived. There was no need for a key, because the house was never locked up, and it was never an issue that it wasn't locked up. Nothing ever went missing.
This was the place that I really grew up. Sitting and shelling peas or shucking corn on the porch at my great-grandmother's. We did a lot of that. Riding in the back of the pickup with the dogs, because the dogs went everywhere with my uncle. Unless he had to go into town, and, then, they would obediently stay behind. Digging potatoes. Playing in the mud in the ditches next to the road after the rain. Riding on the tractor with my grandfather and, sometimes, getting to steer. Going on long walks down the road with my great-grandmother and picking wildflowers for the table, when she was still strong enough to do that with us.
This place has been like that box of Transformers. Like all my Star Wars toys. Giving me comfort because I knew it was there. Giving me hope that one day I would be able to share these places with my kids. Take them there and show them. Tell them stories. "And this was the place where we were chased by the cottonmouth." "And this is the place where we found the copperhead, and my uncle came and chopped it up with a hoe." "And this was the place where we stumbled across the rattlesnake, but it just shook its tail at us and let us go." I told you there were a lot of snakes. Not all of the stories would be about snakes, though.
I've always known that it wasn't actually very likely that I would get to take my kids and show them all of these places and tell them the stories about the people that lived there, make them as real for my kids as they are to me, but there was the possibility. The knowledge that those places were there, stored away like a collection, a collection of memories, smoldered in my mind, keeping some part of me warm. I could dream of taking them and showing them the pond, long ago choked by weeds and telling them, "this is where I used to swim," and see the dumbfounded looks on their faces, because they have never known anything other than swimming pools. And take them down to the creek and show them the vines that we used to swing into the water from. And just... just sit on the porch in the old chairs where we would sit for hours in the evenings watching the fireflies (when we weren't out trying to catch them) and shelling peas.
But all of that's gone now. I just found out yesterday that all of it, all of it, my grandparents' house (where my Uncle Oscar (my mom's brother) was living), my great-grandmother's house (where my Uncle Fred still lived), even my Aunt Effie's house (where no one was still living, because she actually lives in Houston), was claimed by the wildfires raging through East Texas. It's all just... gone. And I don't know, really, how to feel about it. I mean, these are not places I'm currently involved with. Like the boxes of toys, they have just been stored away for the future. A future that would probably never be possible, but there. They were there, and I knew they were there, and I hoped. But it's all gone now. The outhouse out behind my great-grandmother's that no one ever used, because it was always full of wasps. The turkey coop. The 200 year old furniture. The tractors, at least one of which was probably 100 years old. The floor that I slept on on Christmas Eve, and the coffee pot that would wake me up in the morning with its smells wafting through the house.
Part of me feels guilty for feeling such loss to something as intangible as my memories when so many people, so many people, have lost everything that they are involved with. Lost where they actually lived. But I do. There is a numbness and a pain fighting within me over these places I haven't seen in a decade and haven't spent any real time in since my grandfather died 20 years ago. The loss of these things won't affect my life or change how I live. I won't have to make allowances to my routine to compensate for their loss. But just as I had the knowledge that they were there, I now have the knowledge that they are gone. It will be just like Soundwave. I won't be able to think about "the farm" without the nagging thought that it's gone. I can no longer imagine what it must be like for the people that have lost everything to these fires, because I can't imagine walking through the blackened earth where all that I once knew and loved once stood. I wish that I could. To make it real. Because I can't imagine those places not being there. What I do know is that, now, I can't go back. Can never take my kids and make these places real to them. That is a loss that can't be replaced.
[Just as a note: none of my family members were hurt during the writing of this piece. They all were away or got out safely. They should all be okay, too. Without going into details, they are all taken care of.]
Friday, September 9, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Campaign Challenge: The Man With No Eyes
I've had a secret project going on for a while. Part of the reason it's so secret is that I'm not really very far along on it. Work on The House on the Corner (buy it now! >grin<) and its sequel, Brother's Keeper, have kept me pretty busy over the last many months. But I do have this other story happening in little bits and pieces. Actually, I'm going to start showcasing some of it, soon, so I thought this first challenge in the campaign would be a good place to introduce Tib. Or Tiberious. But he prefers Tib, because Tiberious is what his mother always calls him when he's in trouble.
It's going to be his birthday soon, and bad things are starting to happen. I hope you enjoy this little introduction. Oh, and, yes, it comes in at exactly 200 words.
It's going to be his birthday soon, and bad things are starting to happen. I hope you enjoy this little introduction. Oh, and, yes, it comes in at exactly 200 words.
The Man With No Eyes
The door swung open as Tib approached. For just a moment the thought flitted through his head that, maybe, all the bad stuff was a lie and his mother was there waiting for him. But, no, he knew it had done it of its own accord. No, not its own. The shadows.
They were in there, waiting for him. He could see them stretching through the house and up the stairs. Moving without moving. The bright sunshine outside only served to make the shadows more distinct. More real. He could hear them in his skin as he moved across the porch. Hear them calling to him. Whispering to him. He shivered and stepped into the house. His house. The house that his mother should be in. Except that she wasn't. He just hoped it wasn't the man with no eyes that had taken her. Maybe she'd gotten away.
But, no... if she was safe, the shadows wouldn't be here. In her house. He stood in the middle of the patch of light stabbing into the living room from the open door. From the back corner of the room, a figure emerged. A man with no eyes. The door swung shut.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
A Dead God's Wrath: A Review
Review... what a dreaded word. Seriously. We all want them, but we're all scared to get them. And to give them. But, really, there's nothing more important to an author's success than reviews. Well, other than writing the book to begin with. It's like waiting to see what your grade is on a term paper. It's a topic I'm going to have to start talking more about. What a review is. Why it's important. However, this isn't a post on the topic of reviews, although, perhaps, I should have done that post, first. Be that as it may, this post is a review. And, speaking of getting grades on a term paper, I think that's the format I'm going to use when I do reviews.
So my buddy, Rusty Webb, the guy that did the spectacular cover for my book, is also a writer. Just in case you haven't picked that up, yet. He has his very first (written) offering for the public available for the Kindle. He also did the cover for this one:
You can find over on Amazon for the low, low price of just $0.99. The real question, of course, is should you buy it?
So... let's get into that, then.
I give A Dead God's Wrath a good, solid B. And just to clarify that, a B means it's better than average. I'm not a big fan of average, and I wouldn't tell you to spend your money, even a buck, on something that's just average.Wrath, though, at a dollar, is a good buy. Even if it is short. That just means you can sit down and enjoy it all in one sitting. If you happen to like westerns, I'd say it's a must buy item.
My first impression of Wrath is that it's kind of Jonah Hex (not the movie) meets Neil Gaiman. It just had that Gaiman kind of feel to it. The everything seems normal except that something's just kind of "off." It can be hard to tell, at first, with Gaiman, exactly what that is, and I had that same sense with Rusty's work.
Rusty paints a clear picture of the environment without getting too detailed about it. There's just enough there to put the image in your mind, and, really, that's all that's needed. The dialogue is good. The pacing is great. The hero, Thomas, is realistic. He's a man up against odds that he can't beat, and Rusty never resorts to pulling some unbelievable super human feat out of his hero's nether regions to please the audience. The hero's heroism is that he faces up against a situation that he knows he has no way of overcoming, but he does it anyway. The act of a true hero. "I know I'm going to die, but I have to do this." Thomas is the guy we aspire to be, but most of us aren't.
The western story is spiced up with just a little bit of mythology. Or, maybe, it's science fiction. It's a little hard to tell within the confines of the story, but that's okay. We don't know because Thomas doesn't know, and that's how it should be.
However, the story does break down a little bit for me at the end. The first thing is that I expect that the title will make sense (in any story) by the time I get to the end. When I finished Wrath, though, I had no clearer understanding of what the title means than I did when I started it. It's a great title, though; I just don't know how it relates. It's clear that there is more to the world than what's in this one story, so, maybe, if I knew more, it would make sense. As it is, though, it leaves me feeling like I missed something, and, maybe, I did, although I don't think so.
Likewise, the reader never gets to find out what was really going on in the story. In and of itself, that's fine with me. I don't need to know everything to enjoy a good story, especially if I know there's a larger story going on, and this is just a piece of it. Basically, if the character I'm viewing the story through doesn't get to find out, I'm okay with not getting to find out. However, there is an attempt at an explanation right at the end that just falls a little short of making anything clear. From the character's perspective, I like what happens here, because it has to do with his denial of the events he's witnessed. From the reader's perspective, though, I wasn't satisfied. I felt like all of that should either have been left out entirely, or it should have been given to us in a way that the reader could get it without Thomas understanding. Rusty dances around somewhere in the middle of those two things which left me feeling sort of like I can imagine I would feel if I was watching Star Wars: A New Hope for the very first time and someone turned it off just after they escape from the Death Star. You know they got away, but you would also know that the story wasn't really resolved.
It's still well worth the read, though, and it does leave me wanting Rusty to go back to it and give us more from that world. It's clear there's more. That's really the best way to tell if a story has done it's job. Does it leave you wanting more? Or to hear it again? And I definitely want to know more about what's going on in Rusty's sci-fi western world.
So my buddy, Rusty Webb, the guy that did the spectacular cover for my book, is also a writer. Just in case you haven't picked that up, yet. He has his very first (written) offering for the public available for the Kindle. He also did the cover for this one:
So... let's get into that, then.
I give A Dead God's Wrath a good, solid B. And just to clarify that, a B means it's better than average. I'm not a big fan of average, and I wouldn't tell you to spend your money, even a buck, on something that's just average.Wrath, though, at a dollar, is a good buy. Even if it is short. That just means you can sit down and enjoy it all in one sitting. If you happen to like westerns, I'd say it's a must buy item.
My first impression of Wrath is that it's kind of Jonah Hex (not the movie) meets Neil Gaiman. It just had that Gaiman kind of feel to it. The everything seems normal except that something's just kind of "off." It can be hard to tell, at first, with Gaiman, exactly what that is, and I had that same sense with Rusty's work.
Rusty paints a clear picture of the environment without getting too detailed about it. There's just enough there to put the image in your mind, and, really, that's all that's needed. The dialogue is good. The pacing is great. The hero, Thomas, is realistic. He's a man up against odds that he can't beat, and Rusty never resorts to pulling some unbelievable super human feat out of his hero's nether regions to please the audience. The hero's heroism is that he faces up against a situation that he knows he has no way of overcoming, but he does it anyway. The act of a true hero. "I know I'm going to die, but I have to do this." Thomas is the guy we aspire to be, but most of us aren't.
The western story is spiced up with just a little bit of mythology. Or, maybe, it's science fiction. It's a little hard to tell within the confines of the story, but that's okay. We don't know because Thomas doesn't know, and that's how it should be.
However, the story does break down a little bit for me at the end. The first thing is that I expect that the title will make sense (in any story) by the time I get to the end. When I finished Wrath, though, I had no clearer understanding of what the title means than I did when I started it. It's a great title, though; I just don't know how it relates. It's clear that there is more to the world than what's in this one story, so, maybe, if I knew more, it would make sense. As it is, though, it leaves me feeling like I missed something, and, maybe, I did, although I don't think so.
Likewise, the reader never gets to find out what was really going on in the story. In and of itself, that's fine with me. I don't need to know everything to enjoy a good story, especially if I know there's a larger story going on, and this is just a piece of it. Basically, if the character I'm viewing the story through doesn't get to find out, I'm okay with not getting to find out. However, there is an attempt at an explanation right at the end that just falls a little short of making anything clear. From the character's perspective, I like what happens here, because it has to do with his denial of the events he's witnessed. From the reader's perspective, though, I wasn't satisfied. I felt like all of that should either have been left out entirely, or it should have been given to us in a way that the reader could get it without Thomas understanding. Rusty dances around somewhere in the middle of those two things which left me feeling sort of like I can imagine I would feel if I was watching Star Wars: A New Hope for the very first time and someone turned it off just after they escape from the Death Star. You know they got away, but you would also know that the story wasn't really resolved.
It's still well worth the read, though, and it does leave me wanting Rusty to go back to it and give us more from that world. It's clear there's more. That's really the best way to tell if a story has done it's job. Does it leave you wanting more? Or to hear it again? And I definitely want to know more about what's going on in Rusty's sci-fi western world.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
The Power of Art
So... this isn't the first time I've done this whole self-publishing thing. I mean, it is, but it isn't. Those of you that have been following for a while have probably caught on that this is the second edition of The House on the Corner that I just released. See, there was a problem with the first edition. A problem that turned out to be a really huge problem, but, at the time I was preparing it, I didn't think it would matter. The first edition had no cover art.
Okay, so I hear some of you groaning, right now. "My gosh! Won't you guys shut up about cover art!" Us guys being me, Rusty, and Michael. Well, probably, after this, I'll be through with the topic. At least for a little while.
Anyway...
Back in January when I was doing all of this the first time and under a deadline, I didn't have any way to get any art for the book. [At some point, I'll explain about the deadline, but, for now, just accept that there was one.] Now, I know that art is important, but my logic went something like this:
1. It's just going to be online, so no one will be going into a book store and seeing it, so there's no real need for an eye-catching cover. It's all about the story anyway, right? Well, it should be, so, darn it, I'm just going to have to go with it without one, because that's what I can do, and it's about the story, not the cover art!
2. But I looked at the stock art that was available, anyway. You know, just in case there was something worth using. But it all sucked. The closest thing to what I was looking for was a close up shot of a doorknob; which is to say, there was nothing remotely close. I figured it would be better with just the title in black on a gray background, the closest I could get to the feel I wanted.
3. I have people asking for the book, people ready to buy it, and they don't care about the cover; they just want to read it, so, really, it's not that big a deal, right? Right! Of course, then, very few of those people followed through and bought the book. Near to none, in fact, but that's beside the point.
What it boiled down to, though, was a book without a cover.
It was still an awesome feeling to hold that first proof copy in my hands. Cover or no cover. And people thought it was neat that I had this book that I could show them that I wrote, and people would ask me, "When's it coming out?" And I'd explain that it was "out" and that if they wanted it they could get a copy from Amazon or from me, but they'd all look at me like there was something wrong with what I was saying and do nothing about it. Those conversations always felt weird to me, and I couldn't figure out what the problem was. Really, I couldn't.
Now, I know.
See, I have my new proof, now, the one with the cover art. I took it up to my kids' school the other day, because my kids wanted to show it to their friends. They get very excited about this sort of thing, and, hey, it's exposure, so that's good. The reaction to the version with art is... well... the response has changed from, "Oh, when's it coming out?" to "Oh! I want to buy a copy" that accompanies rummaging in purses for money. And it's all because of the cover art. It just makes it more real. It looks like a book, now, whereas before, I suppose, it just looked like a proof. Like something that wasn't quite finished.
The experience has been interesting. And there's been an offer to host a book signing. An offer by someone that really sort of dismissed the whole thing the first time. That is the power of art. Specifically, the power of Rusty's art. This whole experience has given me a whole new outlook on the whole art thing and they way people react to it and, really, just how important it is. At least, how important it is to other people.
I think my problem came about because of that saying, "don't judge a book by it's cover," which was said to me at the right time by the right person. Not someone just repeating the saying to me but someone telling me about how important it is to look beyond the surface of things to what's really inside, and I have tried to apply that in my life ever since. Including to books. Since 5th or 6th grade. I've really always just tried to look at cover art as something extra because of that and not let it sway me as to whether the contents of a book were any good. So, when it came to my book, I knew the contents were good, and I just sort of hoped that people would would use the same criteria I did to decide whether to buy.
Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. It just doesn't work that way. Well, I know, now. It was a good lesson to learn. I mean, I already knew. I knew when I decided to go back and do a second edition that I had to have cover art. That was the motivation for doing a second edition. Sure, I made some internal edits, but, if I hadn't needed a cover, I probably would have just let them go. The cover art was critical, and I spent some months agonizing over it before Rusty graciously volunteered his services. But, still, I didn't know. I hadn't experienced the difference there would be in the reactions of people. The difference between knowing the stove is hot and actually touching it. The difference in standing outside a restaurant window while hungry and watching people eat and actually getting to go inside and sit down to a meal. A whole world of difference.
So... do yourself a favor, and make sure you get some worthwhile art for anything you want to publish. It's worth it!
On that note, here's one more look at the cover for The House on the Corner (unless, you know, you actually want to click on the tab up there that says The House on the Corner -- the art will always be there):
Oh, and, if you want to buy it, links abound! Click the House tab or see the square up in the top right of this page. I'd appreciate the support, and I'd love to hear what you think!
Okay, so I hear some of you groaning, right now. "My gosh! Won't you guys shut up about cover art!" Us guys being me, Rusty, and Michael. Well, probably, after this, I'll be through with the topic. At least for a little while.
Anyway...
Back in January when I was doing all of this the first time and under a deadline, I didn't have any way to get any art for the book. [At some point, I'll explain about the deadline, but, for now, just accept that there was one.] Now, I know that art is important, but my logic went something like this:
1. It's just going to be online, so no one will be going into a book store and seeing it, so there's no real need for an eye-catching cover. It's all about the story anyway, right? Well, it should be, so, darn it, I'm just going to have to go with it without one, because that's what I can do, and it's about the story, not the cover art!
2. But I looked at the stock art that was available, anyway. You know, just in case there was something worth using. But it all sucked. The closest thing to what I was looking for was a close up shot of a doorknob; which is to say, there was nothing remotely close. I figured it would be better with just the title in black on a gray background, the closest I could get to the feel I wanted.
3. I have people asking for the book, people ready to buy it, and they don't care about the cover; they just want to read it, so, really, it's not that big a deal, right? Right! Of course, then, very few of those people followed through and bought the book. Near to none, in fact, but that's beside the point.
What it boiled down to, though, was a book without a cover.
It was still an awesome feeling to hold that first proof copy in my hands. Cover or no cover. And people thought it was neat that I had this book that I could show them that I wrote, and people would ask me, "When's it coming out?" And I'd explain that it was "out" and that if they wanted it they could get a copy from Amazon or from me, but they'd all look at me like there was something wrong with what I was saying and do nothing about it. Those conversations always felt weird to me, and I couldn't figure out what the problem was. Really, I couldn't.
Now, I know.
See, I have my new proof, now, the one with the cover art. I took it up to my kids' school the other day, because my kids wanted to show it to their friends. They get very excited about this sort of thing, and, hey, it's exposure, so that's good. The reaction to the version with art is... well... the response has changed from, "Oh, when's it coming out?" to "Oh! I want to buy a copy" that accompanies rummaging in purses for money. And it's all because of the cover art. It just makes it more real. It looks like a book, now, whereas before, I suppose, it just looked like a proof. Like something that wasn't quite finished.
The experience has been interesting. And there's been an offer to host a book signing. An offer by someone that really sort of dismissed the whole thing the first time. That is the power of art. Specifically, the power of Rusty's art. This whole experience has given me a whole new outlook on the whole art thing and they way people react to it and, really, just how important it is. At least, how important it is to other people.
I think my problem came about because of that saying, "don't judge a book by it's cover," which was said to me at the right time by the right person. Not someone just repeating the saying to me but someone telling me about how important it is to look beyond the surface of things to what's really inside, and I have tried to apply that in my life ever since. Including to books. Since 5th or 6th grade. I've really always just tried to look at cover art as something extra because of that and not let it sway me as to whether the contents of a book were any good. So, when it came to my book, I knew the contents were good, and I just sort of hoped that people would would use the same criteria I did to decide whether to buy.
Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. It just doesn't work that way. Well, I know, now. It was a good lesson to learn. I mean, I already knew. I knew when I decided to go back and do a second edition that I had to have cover art. That was the motivation for doing a second edition. Sure, I made some internal edits, but, if I hadn't needed a cover, I probably would have just let them go. The cover art was critical, and I spent some months agonizing over it before Rusty graciously volunteered his services. But, still, I didn't know. I hadn't experienced the difference there would be in the reactions of people. The difference between knowing the stove is hot and actually touching it. The difference in standing outside a restaurant window while hungry and watching people eat and actually getting to go inside and sit down to a meal. A whole world of difference.
So... do yourself a favor, and make sure you get some worthwhile art for anything you want to publish. It's worth it!
On that note, here's one more look at the cover for The House on the Corner (unless, you know, you actually want to click on the tab up there that says The House on the Corner -- the art will always be there):
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
The Wrong Answer To The Right Question
There was an interesting article, last week, in the Guardian all about whether writers can survive without publishers. Or, more specifically, the advances that they pay. If you want, you can read the article here, but I'll give you the short, sweet version in case you don't want to. Ewan Morrison, the author of the article, says, "Writing, as a profession, will cease to exist." There you have it. The summary of the article. Let me explain.
No one can deny that digital publishing is changing the industry. Morrison speculates that ebooks and e-publishing (Now, tell me, why is "e-publishing" hyphenated while "ebooks" is not. That seems unfair to me.) will bring about the end of paper books within the next 25 years. I'd have a hard time trying to argue that with him. Although I believe there will always be a demand for paper books, the expense required to produce them is going to become high enough that the average person will not be able to afford them, at least, new ones, and, for all practical purposes, bring about the demise of paper books as a "thing." Oh, well... it will save some trees, at least. I suppose, I will have to be happy with that. [However, there's a whole aspect of the ease with which censorship will be possible that I am completely uncomfortable with, but that is a topic for another time.]
This shift from the physical to the digital brings with it a price. The price of "free." There's a lot of controversy around this statement, but you can't really argue with it. Already, we're seeing the advent of the $0.99 ebook. Sure, for the most part, it's first timers just trying to get someone, anyone, to buy their book, but it causes a domino effect and the gradual de-valuing of the art form as a whole. People begin to expect that the value of a book is only $1, and, so, will not pay more than that. There's not a lot of room between $1 and free. Again, we're in a situation were the publisher (Amazon with the Kindle or B&N with the Nook) makes a ton of money selling millions of these $1 books but the individual authors making very little. Morrison goes into all of this in more depth, but, the end result, will be the degrading of quality in published materials and the loss of the "professional writer" from culture.
Of course, his premise is that the "professional writer" lives off the advances that the publisher pays for work that is not, yet, produced. Basically, author goes to publisher, "I want to write a book" and publisher responds, "Okay, here's some money. Go do that." While I don't disagree that this does fit the definition of a professional writer, this seems to be his only definition of a professional writer. I think that most people that make a living as a writer (writing is their profession and they make enough from it to be considered a "living wage") would not agree that this scenario holds true for them. However, Morrison seems to be saying that this is the only way that quality writing happens. It takes the publisher there to support the writer during the writing phase to enable works of quality to come into being. Therefore, if traditional publishers die, so, then, will professional writers and the quality works they produce.
Morrison is asking a valid question in all of this, "Can writers survive without publishers?" Or "Can the profession of writing survive without publishers?" His answer is "no," and he ends his article with a sort of call to arms for writers and publishers to band together and support each other and see the other through these, oh, so difficult times. Only together will writing prevail!
I'm not sure, exactly, which planet Morrison is living on, though. Or, maybe, I'm just not sure what floor he's living on. His supposition is incorrect on so many levels, I hardly know where to begin. Just to start off, though, the idea that a writer can only do his job if there is a publisher there to give him an advance is laughable. Yes, there are some writers that live that way. The elite writers. And the money is paid to them to lock them into a contract with the publisher so that they won't go somewhere else. It works more like an incentive. At some point, Morrison says that a writer can't live off of royalties alone (the advance is a requirement), but that makes me think he doesn't understand what an "advance" is. It's an advance against royalties. Technically, when living off of an advance, the writer is, indeed, living off of royalties. They're just royalties he hasn't earned, yet.
Here's the thing: no publisher gives someone who has never written a book an advance in the hopes that they will, in fact, write a book. The writer has to show, first, that he can, indeed, write said book. Yes, the writer has to in some way provide a living for himself during this time period, but, if the writer writes, and the book sells, the writer earns royalties and can concentrate on more writing. And here's where the advance comes in: if the publisher thinks, based on previous performance, "hey, this guy might actually make us some money," they will offer the writer an advance. This serves to allow the writer to focus more on the writing, but it, more importantly (for the publisher), keeps the writer from taking his book off to some other publisher to make the money for someone else. The writer sacrifices that amount of the royalties that come after the book is written making him dependent on the next advance. Do you see the problem here?
Just to make it clear, though, most books (and when I say most, I mean nearly all (more than 9 out of 10)) do not earn back their advance (or sell through their first print run) making it much more difficult to get a second advance. So, really, when Morrison talks about how the professional writer is dependent upon the publisher for advances in order to do his job, he is clearly only talking about the writing "elite."
Which brings us to our second problem: Morrison's supposition that only the writing "elite" can turn out quality material. I'm going to have to actually say that the exact opposite is true. At least, in most cases.
For example, William Gibson. I hate to pick on him, but I'm going to do it anyway. Neuromancer, his best and most significant work was his first novel. The novel he wrote when he was still struggling to become a professional writer. The novel that was written without the huge "elite" advance. Gibson, now being one of the writing elite, can command huge advances, because his name being on a book will cause a stir and create sales. However, Pattern Recognition, while interesting enough to keep me going, never reached a real climax and just, sort of, ended. I was left completely unsatisfied. For some reason, I picked up Spook Country anyway. I barely managed to make myself finish that one. And I haven't bothered with Zero History at all, even though I like the title. Clearly, the introduction of an advance has allowed Gibson to spend years working on individual books, but it has not increased the quality of his work. Based on the moanings I've heard, I would say the same is true for George R. R.
And there's David Eddings, whom I love. Well, used to love. The Belgariad is one of my favorite fantasy series ever. The only thing better is Tolkien. It was the series that made Eddings' career. Not his first work, but it may as well have been. Everything that came after, all the books that came with the big advances, are lesser works. To the extent that I had to quit reading him, because everything was the same, but not as good, as Belgariad.
I could go on... I mean, there's Watership Down, the first book by Richard Adams, and one of the greatest books ever written. Have you even heard of anything he wrote after that? There are more than a few. Anyway, I could go on (and on), but I'm sure you're getting the picture. The picture that it does not, in fact, take an advance from a publisher to enable a writer to create quality work or even create at all. Rowling did create Harry Potter in the midst of poverty and living on welfare.
Not to mention that Tolkien was never what one could consider a professional writer. He was a professor. Writing was just this thing he did after he went home from work.
Still... Morrison is not wrong about his assessment that people will come to expect their books for as close to free as possible. You can look at the music business and the movie industry for evidence of this. It takes low prices to have any chance of combating piracy, and even that doesn't really work. The only real solution to piracy is offering everything up for free. So how is a writer to live if people expect that the writer's work shouldn't have to be paid for?
That's the real dilemma we're facing. Not "can writers survive without publishers?" but "can writers survive in a world of valueless art?" There are answers to this, though. One of those will answers will have to include an awareness from people that artists (writers, musicians, whatever) deserve to be supported in their work. That they provide something of value and deserve not just recognition but the ability to sustain themselves by providing that value to people. Right now, we are still caught up in the super star mentality that has evolved through the world of the corporate machine, and we see these people as undeserving of our support because they already have the big bucks, but that attitude will change. I think. I hope.
I'm also certain that advertising will play some part in a writer's ability to provide himself a livelihood. Advertising is increasingly the way everything online supports itself. And everything points to a future where we are even more inundated by advertising than we are now. But there are other options, too, like the way some established authors are, basically, drawing their advance from the people. "Pay me to write my book." Once they have achieved whatever payment they're looking for, they release the book for free. And, I'm sure, other options will evolve as time goes on.
The one thing I am sure of is that story telling won't pass from existence, although I do wonder if it will change form, but that's a topic for another time...
No one can deny that digital publishing is changing the industry. Morrison speculates that ebooks and e-publishing (Now, tell me, why is "e-publishing" hyphenated while "ebooks" is not. That seems unfair to me.) will bring about the end of paper books within the next 25 years. I'd have a hard time trying to argue that with him. Although I believe there will always be a demand for paper books, the expense required to produce them is going to become high enough that the average person will not be able to afford them, at least, new ones, and, for all practical purposes, bring about the demise of paper books as a "thing." Oh, well... it will save some trees, at least. I suppose, I will have to be happy with that. [However, there's a whole aspect of the ease with which censorship will be possible that I am completely uncomfortable with, but that is a topic for another time.]
This shift from the physical to the digital brings with it a price. The price of "free." There's a lot of controversy around this statement, but you can't really argue with it. Already, we're seeing the advent of the $0.99 ebook. Sure, for the most part, it's first timers just trying to get someone, anyone, to buy their book, but it causes a domino effect and the gradual de-valuing of the art form as a whole. People begin to expect that the value of a book is only $1, and, so, will not pay more than that. There's not a lot of room between $1 and free. Again, we're in a situation were the publisher (Amazon with the Kindle or B&N with the Nook) makes a ton of money selling millions of these $1 books but the individual authors making very little. Morrison goes into all of this in more depth, but, the end result, will be the degrading of quality in published materials and the loss of the "professional writer" from culture.
Of course, his premise is that the "professional writer" lives off the advances that the publisher pays for work that is not, yet, produced. Basically, author goes to publisher, "I want to write a book" and publisher responds, "Okay, here's some money. Go do that." While I don't disagree that this does fit the definition of a professional writer, this seems to be his only definition of a professional writer. I think that most people that make a living as a writer (writing is their profession and they make enough from it to be considered a "living wage") would not agree that this scenario holds true for them. However, Morrison seems to be saying that this is the only way that quality writing happens. It takes the publisher there to support the writer during the writing phase to enable works of quality to come into being. Therefore, if traditional publishers die, so, then, will professional writers and the quality works they produce.
Morrison is asking a valid question in all of this, "Can writers survive without publishers?" Or "Can the profession of writing survive without publishers?" His answer is "no," and he ends his article with a sort of call to arms for writers and publishers to band together and support each other and see the other through these, oh, so difficult times. Only together will writing prevail!
I'm not sure, exactly, which planet Morrison is living on, though. Or, maybe, I'm just not sure what floor he's living on. His supposition is incorrect on so many levels, I hardly know where to begin. Just to start off, though, the idea that a writer can only do his job if there is a publisher there to give him an advance is laughable. Yes, there are some writers that live that way. The elite writers. And the money is paid to them to lock them into a contract with the publisher so that they won't go somewhere else. It works more like an incentive. At some point, Morrison says that a writer can't live off of royalties alone (the advance is a requirement), but that makes me think he doesn't understand what an "advance" is. It's an advance against royalties. Technically, when living off of an advance, the writer is, indeed, living off of royalties. They're just royalties he hasn't earned, yet.
Here's the thing: no publisher gives someone who has never written a book an advance in the hopes that they will, in fact, write a book. The writer has to show, first, that he can, indeed, write said book. Yes, the writer has to in some way provide a living for himself during this time period, but, if the writer writes, and the book sells, the writer earns royalties and can concentrate on more writing. And here's where the advance comes in: if the publisher thinks, based on previous performance, "hey, this guy might actually make us some money," they will offer the writer an advance. This serves to allow the writer to focus more on the writing, but it, more importantly (for the publisher), keeps the writer from taking his book off to some other publisher to make the money for someone else. The writer sacrifices that amount of the royalties that come after the book is written making him dependent on the next advance. Do you see the problem here?
Just to make it clear, though, most books (and when I say most, I mean nearly all (more than 9 out of 10)) do not earn back their advance (or sell through their first print run) making it much more difficult to get a second advance. So, really, when Morrison talks about how the professional writer is dependent upon the publisher for advances in order to do his job, he is clearly only talking about the writing "elite."
Which brings us to our second problem: Morrison's supposition that only the writing "elite" can turn out quality material. I'm going to have to actually say that the exact opposite is true. At least, in most cases.
For example, William Gibson. I hate to pick on him, but I'm going to do it anyway. Neuromancer, his best and most significant work was his first novel. The novel he wrote when he was still struggling to become a professional writer. The novel that was written without the huge "elite" advance. Gibson, now being one of the writing elite, can command huge advances, because his name being on a book will cause a stir and create sales. However, Pattern Recognition, while interesting enough to keep me going, never reached a real climax and just, sort of, ended. I was left completely unsatisfied. For some reason, I picked up Spook Country anyway. I barely managed to make myself finish that one. And I haven't bothered with Zero History at all, even though I like the title. Clearly, the introduction of an advance has allowed Gibson to spend years working on individual books, but it has not increased the quality of his work. Based on the moanings I've heard, I would say the same is true for George R. R.
And there's David Eddings, whom I love. Well, used to love. The Belgariad is one of my favorite fantasy series ever. The only thing better is Tolkien. It was the series that made Eddings' career. Not his first work, but it may as well have been. Everything that came after, all the books that came with the big advances, are lesser works. To the extent that I had to quit reading him, because everything was the same, but not as good, as Belgariad.
I could go on... I mean, there's Watership Down, the first book by Richard Adams, and one of the greatest books ever written. Have you even heard of anything he wrote after that? There are more than a few. Anyway, I could go on (and on), but I'm sure you're getting the picture. The picture that it does not, in fact, take an advance from a publisher to enable a writer to create quality work or even create at all. Rowling did create Harry Potter in the midst of poverty and living on welfare.
Not to mention that Tolkien was never what one could consider a professional writer. He was a professor. Writing was just this thing he did after he went home from work.
Still... Morrison is not wrong about his assessment that people will come to expect their books for as close to free as possible. You can look at the music business and the movie industry for evidence of this. It takes low prices to have any chance of combating piracy, and even that doesn't really work. The only real solution to piracy is offering everything up for free. So how is a writer to live if people expect that the writer's work shouldn't have to be paid for?
That's the real dilemma we're facing. Not "can writers survive without publishers?" but "can writers survive in a world of valueless art?" There are answers to this, though. One of those will answers will have to include an awareness from people that artists (writers, musicians, whatever) deserve to be supported in their work. That they provide something of value and deserve not just recognition but the ability to sustain themselves by providing that value to people. Right now, we are still caught up in the super star mentality that has evolved through the world of the corporate machine, and we see these people as undeserving of our support because they already have the big bucks, but that attitude will change. I think. I hope.
I'm also certain that advertising will play some part in a writer's ability to provide himself a livelihood. Advertising is increasingly the way everything online supports itself. And everything points to a future where we are even more inundated by advertising than we are now. But there are other options, too, like the way some established authors are, basically, drawing their advance from the people. "Pay me to write my book." Once they have achieved whatever payment they're looking for, they release the book for free. And, I'm sure, other options will evolve as time goes on.
The one thing I am sure of is that story telling won't pass from existence, although I do wonder if it will change form, but that's a topic for another time...
Friday, August 26, 2011
The House on the Corner
[Edit: The House on the Corner is, now, also available on the Nook for $2.99!]
Here's what I need from you guys... yeah, yeah, I know, but, really, there is something I need from you. I mean, other than just buying the book. It would be great to get some reviews. Preferably good reviews. :) Good reviews would be awesome. Especially on Amazon. So, yeah, this is what I'm asking: if you buy the book, read the book, like the book, please review the book. On your blogs would be great, but posting on Amazon and Goodreads would be awesome. Really awesome. Now, if you don't like the book, well... I'm not going to say don't review it. Because, you know, if you hate it and think it's the worst piece of crap ever written, it would be kind of wrong to just keep that to yourself. But I'm pretty sure it's not that bad. Of course, I'm biased. I mean, it's not Tolkien, but it's better than... well, I won't name names, but it's better than a lot of the traditionally published stuff out there right now. By "a lot", I might mean most.
Okay, I'll (mostly) be finished talking about The House on the Corner (for the moment).
As some of you might know, there's this blogfest thing going on. You know, this one:
Some of you are new followers from the blogfest, and I've picked up a few new blogs to follow, too, although I haven't had time, yet, to get around to as many as I would have liked. So far. It had something to do with trying to get the formatting finished for the Kindle edition of House. At any rate, I plan to spend more time making the rounds next week, now that I have the bulk of the work for House finished. Although, I didn't plan the timing, it seems to me that this is a good time for all of this (House becoming available for public consumption), since this is, theoretically, the purpose of the blogfest. Cool, huh? Interestingly enough, part of my participation in the Platform-building blogfest has included a re-evaluation of some of the blogs I already follow. What does that mean, you ask? It means I actually quit following some of them. I know! Horror of horrors! I exercised that "quit following" button. It's kind of a weird feeling. But! I just want you to know that I didn't do this indiscriminately. There were criteria. Things like it having been months and months since a post. I mean, if your not gonna post, there's nothing to follow anyway, right? Never responding to comments. And I don't just mean my comments. I mean if people leave comments but the author of the blog never responds to anything... well, let me just say you have to have a very, VERY interesting blog for me to follow you if you're not going to be involved with your followers. There were other things, but those were the main ones.
At any rate, the reason for dropping some is so that I have room to add more. heh Unfortunately, time is sort of finite, and I can only fit some many blogs into the time I have. Once I get that technology perfected for freezing time, I promise to follow everyone's blog. No, really, I do promise! We're working on it. However, with the news that the Higgs boson particle probably doesn't really exist after all, there may be some delays in the completion of the project.
Oh, and last (but not least), I received a blog award from Jennifer over at Serendipity's Library. The
And, now, I'm supposed to pass this one on to 5 other blogs with fewer than 200 followers and encourage them to do the same. So...
1. Has to be Rusty Webb. Even if he hadn't just done the cover art for my book, he'd be my pick for top slot. He always (well, pretty much always) has something interesting to say, even when he does things like title his posts "Most Boring Post Ever." And, really, he's just an all around nice guy who actually encourages dialogue in his comments.
2. Because she has a blog that is always full of useful information shared with excellent writing on the side, Alyssia Kirkhart over at Small World, Big Dreams. Really, her following does not reflect the quality of her blog.
3. Because she shares her Magic Eyes, Amanda Leigh Cowley. You'll have to stop by her place on the web to see what I mean.
And, well, actually, that's gonna be it. Everyone else I would award this to either already received it or has more than 200 followers. However, if I find 2 more blogs I think are deserving during the blogfest, I'll pass it on in a belated fashion.
That's it for me... for now, at least.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Accordion Days and Blogfests
I'm not sure if I mentioned it before, but my daughter plays the accordion. Yes, really. Out here where I live, they have an actual accordion festival every year. Yes. Really. We spent Sunday at the festival. It was kind of nerve-wracking. See, we got there kind of early, but there was already no parking. To complicate matter, we had to go in two cars, because my oldest wanted to bring his girlfriend, which caused an overflow situation. So, not only do we have to find parking, we have to find parking for two cars that is relatively close together. And here's where it gets complicated. I didn't bring my keys to the car I wasn't driving. However, I'm usually the one with the keys and the one that makes sure the car is locked.
About the time we get to gate to get into the festival, I say to my wife, "You locked the car, right?" This is important, because my daughter's accordion is in the car. She has to play it a bit later, but we didn't want to have to carry it around with us for hours ahead of time. My wife turns to me and says, "I thought you locked it." I'm like, "I don't have my keys with me..." So there is the mad dash back to the car to make sure it's locked. It wasn't. In a panic, I pull the door open, and, sure enough, there's another accordion in the back seat with my daughter's.
My daughter really does play the accordion, and there really is an accordion festival. We even really had to take two cars and had a hard time finding parking because of it.
Let me explain about my daughter. She chose the accordion. She was 7. She started playing in January of this year and is her teacher's star pupil. Her teacher has been teaching accordion for decades and says she has never seen a more driven student than my daughter. We're very proud of her. My daughter, that is, not her teacher. She played in front of a local grocery store last Friday after school for an hour as a promotion for the accordion festival and made over $30 in tips doing it. Needless to say, she was very excited by that.
Anyway... the main thing I like about the fact that she chose the accordion is that she chose the accordion. How many kids do that? Choose to play the accordion? I mean, most kids don't choose to play any musical instrument, but, when they do, it's almost always something typical. Mainstream. The violin. Piano. The guitar (it's always the guitar (my oldest plays the guitar)). Oh, or the drums. The bane of the parent. In fact, I've known kids that chose to play the drums specifically to torment their parents. But my daughter chose something unique, and I like that. It's a show of her personality and her individuality.
In a copycat society, and we are a copycat society, I tend to be for things that stand out. People that have the courage to choose their own path and walk it. What comes to mind is that bit in Holy Grail where Arthur says, "We're all individuals," and the guy from the crowd yells back "Not me! I'm not!" We all want to believe that we are, oh, so unique, and, I believe, we could be, but we spend so much of our time just following the crowd. Doing what we're supposed to do. It's disturbing. It's disturbing that people voluntarily give up the things that make them unique in favor of fitting in. Especially when they continue to go on about how unique they are. At this point, the guy saying "not me" is the one that's most individual!
So, yes... I like, no, love, that my daughter chose to play the accordion. And I also love that she is good at it. I mean, she's really good at it. Amazingly so, actually.
To apply all of this to writing, I think more of us should choose to write accordions. There are so many guitar books out there already. And piano books. They're all the same. You don't even have to be good at it because the belief is that people will by piano books and guitar books, so they just keep getting published. The problem with that is that you have to be, like, the Eric Clapton of guitar books to stand out. And, you know, if that's what you want to be, then you should go for it, but it would be nice to have some options. What I'm saying is don't do it just because everyone else is doing it. Find that thing that you like, that thing that you choose, and go for that. Don't just do the thing that everyone else is doing because everyone else is doing and because you think someone will publish you because of it.
In other news, there's this blogfest going on... maybe, you've heard of it? It's Rachael Harrie's third writers' platform building campaign. The link. If you're writer, go check it out. Unless you came from there, in which case you know all about it. In any case, there's a lot of opportunity to meet new people there, so you should drop by and read what it's about and how to get involved. If you're a writer. Because, you know, if you're not, you have no reason to care. Unless you're looking for something good to read, in which case, you might find something interesting by one of the participants.
Speaking of reading, check out my The House on the Corner tab (or click the link). I have the cover posted, now. Thanks to Rusty Webb for that excellent bit of art work! Hopefully, the new edition of House will be ready to go by the end of the week, or, at least, by Monday. We'll see...
Oh, and speaking of Rusty, make sure you check out his short story "A Dead God's Wrath." I'm about halfway through it, and it's quite good. It's only $0.99, so you can't really go wrong! I'll post a review once I've finished it and had time to write something up. So far, though, it was well worth the buck.
About the time we get to gate to get into the festival, I say to my wife, "You locked the car, right?" This is important, because my daughter's accordion is in the car. She has to play it a bit later, but we didn't want to have to carry it around with us for hours ahead of time. My wife turns to me and says, "I thought you locked it." I'm like, "I don't have my keys with me..." So there is the mad dash back to the car to make sure it's locked. It wasn't. In a panic, I pull the door open, and, sure enough, there's another accordion in the back seat with my daughter's.
My daughter really does play the accordion, and there really is an accordion festival. We even really had to take two cars and had a hard time finding parking because of it.
Let me explain about my daughter. She chose the accordion. She was 7. She started playing in January of this year and is her teacher's star pupil. Her teacher has been teaching accordion for decades and says she has never seen a more driven student than my daughter. We're very proud of her. My daughter, that is, not her teacher. She played in front of a local grocery store last Friday after school for an hour as a promotion for the accordion festival and made over $30 in tips doing it. Needless to say, she was very excited by that.
Anyway... the main thing I like about the fact that she chose the accordion is that she chose the accordion. How many kids do that? Choose to play the accordion? I mean, most kids don't choose to play any musical instrument, but, when they do, it's almost always something typical. Mainstream. The violin. Piano. The guitar (it's always the guitar (my oldest plays the guitar)). Oh, or the drums. The bane of the parent. In fact, I've known kids that chose to play the drums specifically to torment their parents. But my daughter chose something unique, and I like that. It's a show of her personality and her individuality.
In a copycat society, and we are a copycat society, I tend to be for things that stand out. People that have the courage to choose their own path and walk it. What comes to mind is that bit in Holy Grail where Arthur says, "We're all individuals," and the guy from the crowd yells back "Not me! I'm not!" We all want to believe that we are, oh, so unique, and, I believe, we could be, but we spend so much of our time just following the crowd. Doing what we're supposed to do. It's disturbing. It's disturbing that people voluntarily give up the things that make them unique in favor of fitting in. Especially when they continue to go on about how unique they are. At this point, the guy saying "not me" is the one that's most individual!
So, yes... I like, no, love, that my daughter chose to play the accordion. And I also love that she is good at it. I mean, she's really good at it. Amazingly so, actually.
To apply all of this to writing, I think more of us should choose to write accordions. There are so many guitar books out there already. And piano books. They're all the same. You don't even have to be good at it because the belief is that people will by piano books and guitar books, so they just keep getting published. The problem with that is that you have to be, like, the Eric Clapton of guitar books to stand out. And, you know, if that's what you want to be, then you should go for it, but it would be nice to have some options. What I'm saying is don't do it just because everyone else is doing it. Find that thing that you like, that thing that you choose, and go for that. Don't just do the thing that everyone else is doing because everyone else is doing and because you think someone will publish you because of it.
In other news, there's this blogfest going on... maybe, you've heard of it? It's Rachael Harrie's third writers' platform building campaign. The link. If you're writer, go check it out. Unless you came from there, in which case you know all about it. In any case, there's a lot of opportunity to meet new people there, so you should drop by and read what it's about and how to get involved. If you're a writer. Because, you know, if you're not, you have no reason to care. Unless you're looking for something good to read, in which case, you might find something interesting by one of the participants.
Speaking of reading, check out my The House on the Corner tab (or click the link). I have the cover posted, now. Thanks to Rusty Webb for that excellent bit of art work! Hopefully, the new edition of House will be ready to go by the end of the week, or, at least, by Monday. We'll see...
Oh, and speaking of Rusty, make sure you check out his short story "A Dead God's Wrath." I'm about halfway through it, and it's quite good. It's only $0.99, so you can't really go wrong! I'll post a review once I've finished it and had time to write something up. So far, though, it was well worth the buck.
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