I've been sweating my NaNoWriMo word count for a few days, but no worries now. Gatsby's been helping.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
No Worries
I've been sweating my NaNoWriMo word count for a few days, but no worries now. Gatsby's been helping.
Monday, November 7, 2011
What's Your Take: Why Do You Write?
This whole NaNo thing has kicked off a bit of an existential crisis for me: Why am I doing this? This novel is going to suck. It's derivative and poorly written. It will never see the light of day. It's the third idea I've started. Yesterday I started a fourth idea.
It's almost like my brain is creating new ways to get me to fall behind. Yet today, at 10 a.m. Central time, I will put in an hour of writing before going back to slogging around the Internet looking for new work. Then I'll put in another hour. I'm going to try to get in 3,000 words today, but ... who knows if I'll get that far.
The truth is, I don't have the foggiest clue why I write. I pretend it's so that I can have some element of control over my life, but let's face it: the work goes where it goes. That's both exhilarating and terrifying. Mostly it's been terrifying lately. Yet I'm still doing it. It's like I'm the very definition of crazy.
What's your take? Why do you write?
It's almost like my brain is creating new ways to get me to fall behind. Yet today, at 10 a.m. Central time, I will put in an hour of writing before going back to slogging around the Internet looking for new work. Then I'll put in another hour. I'm going to try to get in 3,000 words today, but ... who knows if I'll get that far.
The truth is, I don't have the foggiest clue why I write. I pretend it's so that I can have some element of control over my life, but let's face it: the work goes where it goes. That's both exhilarating and terrifying. Mostly it's been terrifying lately. Yet I'm still doing it. It's like I'm the very definition of crazy.
What's your take? Why do you write?
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Halloween
Happy Halloween, folks!
Unfortunately, I'm not taking part in any festivities this year. Deadlines. Yay! Deadlines! And ... oh dear. Deadlines.
Unfortunately, I'm not taking part in any festivities this year. Deadlines. Yay! Deadlines! And ... oh dear. Deadlines.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
What's Your Take: Ebook Pricing
This year I bought a Kindle. I didn't buy it because I'm all excited about the ebook revolution; I bought it because, at the time, I was editing fiction for a small publisher, and having an ereader to which I could download PDFs was necessary. I've moved on from that job, but now I'm a script reader for a screenplay competition, and this week I'm reading fifteen scripts—all of which are now sitting on my Kindle, waiting to be read.
I have to say without an ereader, I could not do this job. It's been great for traveling, too. A couple of weeks ago I visited my folks, and instead of having to lug my iMac, as I usually do, I simply downloaded what I needed to my Kindle and I was on my way. It's been great for my fiction reading, too. No more standing in front of my bookcase, trying to decide which book to take. No more bulky backpacks that accidentally smack people in the face on the train whenever I turn an inch. I gotta say this ebook revolution thing has been great for my back and for my safety.
As for ebooks, I've heard a lot of talk about the "problem" of ebook pricing. $9.99, it seems, is too high a price to pay for a novel. Yet ebook sales are increasing all the time, so obviously someone is paying this price. What gives? Why does the ebook price have to equal the mass market price? From my perspective, it seems a couple of dollars more is a small price to pay for the convenience of not having to wait for the book to ship. With nonfiction, I'd buy every book as an ebook (if it were available) since searching through one is SO much easier than in a hard copy.
What's your take? Are ebooks priced too high?
I have to say without an ereader, I could not do this job. It's been great for traveling, too. A couple of weeks ago I visited my folks, and instead of having to lug my iMac, as I usually do, I simply downloaded what I needed to my Kindle and I was on my way. It's been great for my fiction reading, too. No more standing in front of my bookcase, trying to decide which book to take. No more bulky backpacks that accidentally smack people in the face on the train whenever I turn an inch. I gotta say this ebook revolution thing has been great for my back and for my safety.
As for ebooks, I've heard a lot of talk about the "problem" of ebook pricing. $9.99, it seems, is too high a price to pay for a novel. Yet ebook sales are increasing all the time, so obviously someone is paying this price. What gives? Why does the ebook price have to equal the mass market price? From my perspective, it seems a couple of dollars more is a small price to pay for the convenience of not having to wait for the book to ship. With nonfiction, I'd buy every book as an ebook (if it were available) since searching through one is SO much easier than in a hard copy.
What's your take? Are ebooks priced too high?
Monday, October 17, 2011
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.
The death of Steve Jobs has lit up the online world. He was a visionary, a person who put art into technology. Not only that, he made it possible for many, many people to share in the success by allowing people to create their own apps and sell them through the iPhone, the iPad, and the Apple computer. That is the mark of someone who is truly innovative. Steve, here's to you.
Read the text of Steve Jobs's commencement address to Stanford in 2005.
Stay hungry. Stay foolish.
Read the text of Steve Jobs's commencement address to Stanford in 2005.
Stay hungry. Stay foolish.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
All Hallow's Read
Well, it's now October, and I'm looking for some really good ghost stories. Any recs?
Saturday, October 1, 2011
The Country
When I was a girl, we had to make a weekly visit to my grandparents. Grandma and Grandpa lived out in the country, in the same house they raised four girls and four boys. They were farmers, and their nearest neighbors were I don't know how far away. We could see the houses beyond the cornfields when we were driving along the road, and to my child's eye they seemed miles away. When we pulled into the driveway, my mom would remind me not to go too far back into the corn. (I was known for getting lost, even then.) I think the most I ever went back was four or five rows. I don't think I ever got seriously lost, though late one night, when my brother and sister and I spent the night at Grandma and Grandpa's, everyone went out looking for me anyway. Turned out I had burrowed deep into the covers my brother and sister had thrown off (I was really tiny), and no one found me until my brother accidentally stepped on me. He'd woken up, thought I'd wandered off into the corn, and alerted everyone in the house.
My grandparents were not "interesting" to me, I'm ashamed to admit now. Grandma always had a litany of complaints, and Grandpa, if he spoke, exhibited a Buddha-like patience when Grandma interrupted him. He would fall silent until she finished whatever tangent she was on, and then he would simply pick up where he left off, as if the interruption never took place. In the next room, they had an organ I liked to play, and like most American kids who only knew one tune, I banged out a number-by-number rendition of "The Entertainer" over and over again while they talked, before wandering outside to play.
Like any Midwestern farm, my grandparents' farm had a lot of trees. In an especially large tree in the back, Grandpa built a simple tree house, and me and my cousins spent hours there fighting, playing, and fighting again. There was also a rudimentary track—just some grass laid flat, really—that my cousins would race around on in their go-karts or their tiny motorcycles. I desperately wanted to ride one, too, but I was simply not big enough. My father still had to ride with me on roller coasters, and he always had to hook a finger into my belt loop to keep me from flying out. No way were my parents letting me on one of those homicidal pieces of equipment without a chaperone. But it didn't matter. In the country, there were all sorts of interesting things to look at: rusty tractors, snakes, apples with worms crawling out of them. It sounds impossibly quaint, but Grandma and Grandpa's truly was a big part of my Midwestern upbringing.
After a few hours, Mom would rustle the kids back inside, where we would start our goodbyes, a process that often took an hour or more. Mom would keep gently telling Grandma we needed to go. Like those performance artists whose movements are imperceptible to the naked eye, we kids would back up ever-so-slowly toward the front door. "No need to rush off," Grandma would always say, and Mom would say she needed to get home to start dinner. No matter how long we stayed, Grandma always wanted us to stay a little longer.
Grandma and Grandpa sold their land to a grocery store in the 1990s, and they spent their last ten years or so in a neat little ranch in the suburbs. It was a nice place for them to be, but I never felt it suited them. When Grandpa died (of a heart attack, right there in the house), Grandma began to lose her hold on reality. The dementia had already started before Grandpa died, but it seemed his death accelerated it. She spent another year or two in that house, with my mom and my aunt taking care of her, swearing Grandpa and his friends were playing cards under the bed. When my mom and my aunt simply could not care for her anymore, she moved into a nursing home, where she died. I know it's not what my mom wanted. But what could she do? That time comes for everyone, eventually.
I've been a city girl my entire adult life. As a kid, the country didn't feel interesting. I mean, I didn't think about it that way, even though it was. And while I love Chicago, I'd give a lot to go back to the country now. I wonder if my path will ever lead me there again.
My grandparents were not "interesting" to me, I'm ashamed to admit now. Grandma always had a litany of complaints, and Grandpa, if he spoke, exhibited a Buddha-like patience when Grandma interrupted him. He would fall silent until she finished whatever tangent she was on, and then he would simply pick up where he left off, as if the interruption never took place. In the next room, they had an organ I liked to play, and like most American kids who only knew one tune, I banged out a number-by-number rendition of "The Entertainer" over and over again while they talked, before wandering outside to play.
Like any Midwestern farm, my grandparents' farm had a lot of trees. In an especially large tree in the back, Grandpa built a simple tree house, and me and my cousins spent hours there fighting, playing, and fighting again. There was also a rudimentary track—just some grass laid flat, really—that my cousins would race around on in their go-karts or their tiny motorcycles. I desperately wanted to ride one, too, but I was simply not big enough. My father still had to ride with me on roller coasters, and he always had to hook a finger into my belt loop to keep me from flying out. No way were my parents letting me on one of those homicidal pieces of equipment without a chaperone. But it didn't matter. In the country, there were all sorts of interesting things to look at: rusty tractors, snakes, apples with worms crawling out of them. It sounds impossibly quaint, but Grandma and Grandpa's truly was a big part of my Midwestern upbringing.
After a few hours, Mom would rustle the kids back inside, where we would start our goodbyes, a process that often took an hour or more. Mom would keep gently telling Grandma we needed to go. Like those performance artists whose movements are imperceptible to the naked eye, we kids would back up ever-so-slowly toward the front door. "No need to rush off," Grandma would always say, and Mom would say she needed to get home to start dinner. No matter how long we stayed, Grandma always wanted us to stay a little longer.
Grandma and Grandpa sold their land to a grocery store in the 1990s, and they spent their last ten years or so in a neat little ranch in the suburbs. It was a nice place for them to be, but I never felt it suited them. When Grandpa died (of a heart attack, right there in the house), Grandma began to lose her hold on reality. The dementia had already started before Grandpa died, but it seemed his death accelerated it. She spent another year or two in that house, with my mom and my aunt taking care of her, swearing Grandpa and his friends were playing cards under the bed. When my mom and my aunt simply could not care for her anymore, she moved into a nursing home, where she died. I know it's not what my mom wanted. But what could she do? That time comes for everyone, eventually.
I've been a city girl my entire adult life. As a kid, the country didn't feel interesting. I mean, I didn't think about it that way, even though it was. And while I love Chicago, I'd give a lot to go back to the country now. I wonder if my path will ever lead me there again.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Don't Give Me An Excuse to Stay Home
I was over on Mira Bartok's blog the other day and saw this interview with Andy Laties, who wrote the book Rebel Bookseller.
In the interview, he makes the argument for the indie bookseller and why consumers should shop their local bookstores instead of Amazon or one of the big chains. (Or, actually, the only big chain left.) It's interesting reading, and he makes some great points. I haven't read the book yet (though I plan to), but as far as his interview ... I don't agree with the activist approach.
As a reader, I try to support authors by buying new books. And I shop in indie bookstores because I do care about where my money goes after I spend it. But the truth is, I have only a little discretionary income. I don't want to be guilt-tripped into spending my money in certain places. Indie bookstores who talk like they're nonprofits ("Support us!") only grate on my nerves. They're not nonprofits. They're businesses.
Here's an example of a bad experience. One summer I strayed across a one-weekend only book sale stationed outside of an indie bookstore. I made the mistake of attempting to buy a couple of books, only to be berated by one of the staff because they weren't open yet. Not corrected, not "I'm sorry, we're not open yet." Instead, she snapped. I went back and bought those books later that afternoon (they were hard-to-find gems I knew I wouldn't stray across anytime again soon), but after that I never went back to that store. Just one bad experience ruined that store for me.
Perhaps it's capricious of me, but the reality is the onus isn't on me as a consumer to "support" a business. I do what I can, but I'm not going to shop in a store that gives me the same or even worse service than Amazon or a big chain. I think the smartest approach indies can take is to focus on what they can do that Amazon can't: giving welcoming, personalized service in their stores. Appealing to the consumer's sense of fairness and right/wrong will get indies about as far as it has the green movement. Far too often I see indies take their customers for granted. These days, it's just too easy for people stay home and order online. Indies shouldn't make it easier by being jerks to their customers.
In the interview, he makes the argument for the indie bookseller and why consumers should shop their local bookstores instead of Amazon or one of the big chains. (Or, actually, the only big chain left.) It's interesting reading, and he makes some great points. I haven't read the book yet (though I plan to), but as far as his interview ... I don't agree with the activist approach.
As a reader, I try to support authors by buying new books. And I shop in indie bookstores because I do care about where my money goes after I spend it. But the truth is, I have only a little discretionary income. I don't want to be guilt-tripped into spending my money in certain places. Indie bookstores who talk like they're nonprofits ("Support us!") only grate on my nerves. They're not nonprofits. They're businesses.
Here's an example of a bad experience. One summer I strayed across a one-weekend only book sale stationed outside of an indie bookstore. I made the mistake of attempting to buy a couple of books, only to be berated by one of the staff because they weren't open yet. Not corrected, not "I'm sorry, we're not open yet." Instead, she snapped. I went back and bought those books later that afternoon (they were hard-to-find gems I knew I wouldn't stray across anytime again soon), but after that I never went back to that store. Just one bad experience ruined that store for me.
Perhaps it's capricious of me, but the reality is the onus isn't on me as a consumer to "support" a business. I do what I can, but I'm not going to shop in a store that gives me the same or even worse service than Amazon or a big chain. I think the smartest approach indies can take is to focus on what they can do that Amazon can't: giving welcoming, personalized service in their stores. Appealing to the consumer's sense of fairness and right/wrong will get indies about as far as it has the green movement. Far too often I see indies take their customers for granted. These days, it's just too easy for people stay home and order online. Indies shouldn't make it easier by being jerks to their customers.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
9/11
Like all Americans, I was deeply affected by 9/11. But I don't think I realized just how deeply until 2003, when I was teaching at the Dallas School of Music. Some of us had our students play a little concert for the local firefighters.
Before the concert started, we all stood facing the American flag, our hands on our hearts. One of my colleagues played "Taps." It was one of the most haunting and life-changing experiences I've had. I'll sound crazy when I say this, but I could swear I felt all the fallen souls in the room there with us, silently acknowledging our tribute.
Today I make another tribute of reflection and silence. You will always be remembered.
Before the concert started, we all stood facing the American flag, our hands on our hearts. One of my colleagues played "Taps." It was one of the most haunting and life-changing experiences I've had. I'll sound crazy when I say this, but I could swear I felt all the fallen souls in the room there with us, silently acknowledging our tribute.
Today I make another tribute of reflection and silence. You will always be remembered.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Savory Oatmeal
In theory, I like oatmeal. I like it sweet, and for a while I was eating oatmeal sweetened with spices and a banana.
Only I don't crave sweet foods in the morning. I want savory foods, like eggs, cheese, potatoes. That sort of thing. Of course, these foods aren't healthy to eat every single morning, so I usually settle for cereal or maybe some rice.
But today I tried savory oatmeal and I'm pleased to report the results were good. I put a little cheese in the oatmeal and topped it with one sunny side up egg and a little salt. I cribbed the recipe from here (even though I didn't really follow it), but I don't have the "high quality" ingredients the recipe calls for. Just regular grocery store ingredients. Still, I liked the results. Problem solved, I think. Now to try new recipes.
Only I don't crave sweet foods in the morning. I want savory foods, like eggs, cheese, potatoes. That sort of thing. Of course, these foods aren't healthy to eat every single morning, so I usually settle for cereal or maybe some rice.
But today I tried savory oatmeal and I'm pleased to report the results were good. I put a little cheese in the oatmeal and topped it with one sunny side up egg and a little salt. I cribbed the recipe from here (even though I didn't really follow it), but I don't have the "high quality" ingredients the recipe calls for. Just regular grocery store ingredients. Still, I liked the results. Problem solved, I think. Now to try new recipes.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Progress
Tonight I went to my first training session to register voters. Had to drive an hour to get there, but I don't mind. Can't wait to get out there and start talking to people.
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