Nov 17, 2005 | Uncategorized
In my email today comes this:
Dear Lynn,
My name is Tracey Rosengrave, Marketing Manager for Xlibris Corporation, a Print-On-Demand Self-Publishing company. We are sending you this email because we have either learned about your passion for writing or we have had the pleasure of coming across some of your work. If you are interested in self-publishing, I’ve included a brief description of who we are below.
Key phrase there is SELF-PUBLISHING.
Everyday we help authors by offering flexible, inexpensive methods of publishing, editing, marketing, distributing and selling books both in trade and full color. I understand that each author has different requirements. And that is why we offer packages that are tailored to your individual needs.
Next phrases to pay attention to: BY OFFERING […] INEXPENSIVE METHODS […] PACKAGES TAILORED TO YOUR INDIVIDUAL NEEDS. (Honestly, where is the editor here? I'd write it thus: I understand each author has different requirements, which is why we offer packages tailored to individual needs.)
You should, in general, not have to pay someone to publish your work. They pay you, not the other way around. There are exceptions, sure, but be sure you know the difference before embarking on self-publishing. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but it's not the best scenario either. For a good perspective on POD, visit POD-dy Mouth (and no, the Lynn Harris mentioned on her blog is not me).
Nov 16, 2005 | Uncategorized
Um, nothing.
Non-fascinating things I did today: finally finished editing the galleys for Strong Currents 2, the anthology put out by my RWA chapter. Co-editor Michael will be pleased, because when he flies back into Honolulu tonight, after 9 days on the East Coast, he won't have to spend valuable catching-up-on-sleep time lighting a fire under my butt. 🙂
I also unpacked my Yamaha keyboard. It's only been wrapped up for almost two years. Last night, whilst attending a meeting in the parish hall, I tinkled the ivories. Oh my GAWD! I sound awful. I have forgotten so much. Joanne, my lovely piano teacher in Deutschland, would be horrified if she knew the depths to which I have slipped (note: send card to Joanne, don't mention piano playing). I have a piano, a beautiful antique thing from England, but it's naturally out of tune after being shipped halfway around the world. Have I bothered to get it tuned yet? Of course not. And not because I keep forgetting (though that's part of it) but because I don't trust just anyone to tune it. It's old and it can't be tuned to concert pitch. I'm sure your garden variety piano tuner knows that, but I worry anyway.
So, for nearly two years, I've made excuses not to practice my piano playing. No wonder I stink. I stared at the music today and wondered what the heck some of those little bars and dots meant. I could feel the disappointment rising inside me, swelling into my throat and threatening me with tears of frustration.
And then, it clicked, that lovely Bach minuet I used to play so well. My fingers remembered what my mind did not. Still, it wasn't as nice as it used to be.
Writing is the same, really. When you don't practice it, you get rusty. You forget. Sentences that once would have flowed get bogged down in the mire. You have to fight your way out, clawing and scraping to get those words back, those fresh original words instead of the stock cliches that spring from your fingers to the page. It's easy to get frustrated, to want to just plop your hiney in the mire and give up, or to put the music away and stash the keyboard in a corner.
The trick is not succumbing to that feeling.
Nov 15, 2005 | Uncategorized
It took me forever, only because I already know the story and because I was reading other things too, but I just finished Virginia Woolf's The Voyage Out for the second time. It's her first novel, and not her best, but the way in which she gets inside her characters' heads is just wonderful. They don't think the way fictional characters think. Their thoughts are random, compounding on one another, sprung from who they are and what they want or think they want. This technique comes to beautiful fruition, I believe, in To The Lighthouse.
I also just finished Lolita. Wow is all I can say. I was ambivalent, truly ambivalent, but Nabokov won me over with his style. Humbert Humbert is disgusting and witty and sarcastic and pitiful all at once. He grew as a character. He was, in a symbolic way perhaps, redeemed. By acknowledging what he did, what he caused in Lolita's life, he became someone you could have empathy for. Lolita, poor lamb, is doomed.
The book I just started is Arthur Phillips's The Egyptologist. Very enjoyable so far. I was a bit put off at first by the fact I thought the detective and the egyptologist sounded alike, but I got into the rhythm of each character's “writings” and now they are totally separate for me.
Nov 15, 2005 | Uncategorized |
First, mea culpa. When I mentioned web designers with good reputations and pretty portfolios, I forgot my friend Terry! Check out Daily Troll Design. Terry is also the personality behind I See Invisible People, a great blog about pop culture, politics, writing, and lots of other things. I've known her for over 10 years now. We first met on the now-defunct GEnie bulletin board system–waaaay back in '93, I think.
Second, did you see the NYT article about the woman who got the entire Penguin Library as a gift from her husband? He ordered it from Amazon, it cost almost $8000 (free shipping, however), arrived in 25 boxes and weighs over 400 lbs. It's 77 linear feet of books. *sigh*
I'm envious, though I do have the Great Books, and I do have lots and lots of good books on my eleven bookshelves. And I probably wouldn't really want all those books that look alike (the spines, anyway). I've got variety in height, color, pb or hb, trade size and mass market. Pleases my book-hoarding eye.
I got to thinking, though, how much I must have paid for all the books I have. I've never counted, but I reckon I have several hundred. It's scary when you think of it like that–5oo, for instance, times $10 (averaging out hb and pbs). Whoa. Don't tell my husband.
On the other hand, I didn't buy them all at retail. Some were gifts, some inheritances from others, and some I got at library sales for bargain basement prices. (Yes, I am a believer in buying books at retail so the author gets paid, but when I see a title I want in a library sale, I'm going for it.)
Where do I find the time to read them all? Reminds me of a Groucho Marx quote. I find television very educational. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book.
Nov 14, 2005 | Uncategorized
Even a construction site looks lovely in this city! I don't know what they're doing here, but this site is in front of the Royal Hawaiian hotel (also known as the Pink Palace) and it sits on the main street through Waikiki.
Last Sunday, when we were wanderering through Waikiki, I decided to snap something other than the typical beach and palm trees. Here is the only revolving restaurant in Honolulu. I've never eaten there, but they claim to have a fantabulous view. I'm sure they do. It's hard to have a bad view when you're several stories up and only a block from the beach.
But my favorite experience of the day was the Catholic church. Mike, Mark, and I were walking along when I decided to veer off and go into the church. Why not? In Europe, churches (cathedrals, really) are always open and the public is welcome to wander in (unless there's a service). Indeed, people expect to see a group of camera wielding tourists pointing and standing with their heads tilted back at unnatural angles.
I entered the gate, then walked back toward the glass doors of the church. A lady was coming from inside, but she didn't blink when I opened the door (after peeking inside first). The worst that could happen, I figured, was I'd feel uncomfortable, like I was intruding, and then I'd turn around and leave.
But, no, I felt a sense of calm the instant I walked inside. One man sat in a pew, about a third of the way up, and the sunlight shone rainbow bright through the stained glass. The ceiling soared, up and up and up, like an inverted ship's keel; I'm not sure, but it looked as if it were lined with small strips of teak or bamboo.
I sat on a pew in the very back and gazed at the light-drenched church. Amazingly, though busy Waikiki is right outside, and the ocean is across the street, no sound penetrated the interior. No cars, no people, no crashing surf. I didn't take a picture of it, but all along both sides of the church are ornate, almost porthole looking circles in the walls. And the circles have cutouts to the outside, no screens, no glass that I could discern, and still there was no sound from the outside.
In spite of the simple beauty of this church, it hits me that I miss the cathedrals of Europe. Entering one of them is like walking inside a treasure chest. You never know what you'll find: the ornate tombs of saints, the sculptures and frescoes of Michelangelo (or his tomb), the soaring ceilings ringed with angels and cherubs and saints, intricate wooden altars, golden altars, vials or boxes of saint's blood or hair or bones, a robe of Christ (Trier), intricate stained glass windows, an organ that Mozart or Bach or Beethoven once played, medieval crypts, and a million other things I can't even begin to list. The tiniest church in the smallest village can house a masterpiece of Renaissance art. The big churches take your breath away with their soaring vaults and chilly air and intricate altars.
In contrast, and I know it's not fair, American churches are often plain in comparison. Once, while visiting my inlaws in Florida, Mike and I had occasion to drive to Ocala. We passed this gigantic, sprawling complex of modern looking buildings. I only realized it was a church by the presence of a cross on one of the buildings. In fact, it turned out to be one of those churches that broadcasts its Sunday service on television. You know the ones: huge auditorium structures that look like they'd be just as capable of hosting a Shriner's convention as a religious gathering.
Maybe they're spending all that dough on nice cars and Rolexes, or mascara as the case may be, but is it too much to ask to funnel a little bit of money toward some nice frescoes, a medieval crypt or two? 😉
After I pondered the delicious irony of an Episcopal priest videotaping inside the Catholic church (it's a long way from the Reformation, yeah?), we headed out to the street once more. I kept thinking about the church, however, about how quiet it was. I told myself I would come to Waikiki during the week and I would go to the church and sit inside for as long as I wanted.
But I won't do it, just like I won't do many of the things I think I will during the week, like go to Waikiki with my Neo and sit in the Honolulu Coffee Company and write. Why? Because I start to think about the traffic, when's the best time to go downtown, what time do I have to leave to avoid the afternoon rush, and where will I park that won't cost a lot. That takes all the fun and romanticism out of the idea.
And really, when the sun is shining right outside my window, and the beach is a short car ride away, do I need to go to Waikiki? It's just another day in paradise, where yesterday was like today and tomorrow holds the promise of more sun and sea breezes. In fact, though I might miss the majesty of European cathedrals, the true majesty is right here every time I walk outside: soaring lush mountains, lapis lazuli skies, white waterfalls, and a turquoise sea. Even Michelangelo can't compete with that.
