You will notice I haven’t been posting much at all, much less my thoughts on ebooks and publishing. Wanna know why? I’m too busy with my burgeoning business to put any thought into a) what’s wrong with publishing (because why do I care?); b) how to go about formatting ebooks (because that changes week to week); and c) wondering if I’m ever going to get my historical swashbuckler researched and written (because I’m a writer, dammit!).
In case anybody cares, these are my current random thoughts, none of which rate the time to explore in a full-on blog post (plus, I’ve said it all before):
1) Writers: You’re screwed unless you put out your own stuff and you can market it. The old days are gone. “Getting” published is fine if that’s what you need to validate your soul. If you want better odds on getting to readers and making a little money, do it yourself. But dammit, do it right!
2) Writers: Remember that the people who made money in the gold rush didn’t make it panning for gold, chasing a vein that didn’t exist. The people selling the shovels made all the money. Learn a new skill and sell some shovels. You aren’t going to make a livable income writing for da man. Just don’t make any plans to leave your day job.
3) Book designers: Stop trying to format ebooks on a print paradigm. Ebooks are not print books. They don’t serve the same function. It’s like trying to apply a print paradigm to audiobooks. Stop it. Learn how to format serviceable, good-looking ebooks and forget about Teh Fancy.
4) Editors: Go freelance. Market your name. Make the authors who hire you put your name in the book so you can establish your brand. The curation of books in the future will depend on the editor, not the author, not the publishing house.
5) Indexers: You have a bright and shiny new field to explore. Learn how to index digitally. It’s called anchor tags.
6) Publishers: Get your metadata in gear. Seriously.
7) Publishers: The first publisher to chapter-and-verse its digital textbooks/reference/nonfiction will win the prize. What do I mean? I’ll tell you. Pick up a Bible. Any Bible, any translation, any size, any publisher. Go to John 3:16. That’s what I mean. Develop a system. Patent/trademark it then license it. Make it the standard of any good digital nonfiction book, the way good indexing is. Indexers, see #5.
That is all. I have a mountain of work to get done before I leave for NY next week.
June 27th, 2010
Tags: publishing
You may have noticed I haven’t been here much lately. There are a few reasons for that, but I’ll spare you. Following is a series of picture galleries chronicling the project that A) forced me to admit that Bob Vila lied and B) released me from three years of guilt I didn’t know had weighed so heavily upon me. Out of my humiliation came peace and a life-changing epiphany.
I did not do this myself!!! I gutted most of it myself and couldn’t go on. Dude knew who to call to finish the job. It was a Mike, although it wasn’t (*sob*) Mike Holmes. Roll over the pics with your mouse and it’ll tell you the story.
OCTOBER 2005
APRIL 2007
SUMMER 2007
MAY 4, 2010
The beginning of the end.
MAY 10, 2010
End of week 1.
MAY 15, 2010
End of week 2.
MAY 22, 2010
End of week 3.
MAY 29, 2010
End of week 4.
JUNE 2, 2010
Almost there…
JUNE 3, 2010
And…victory. At last.
Next month…our front porch.
June 3rd, 2010
Lisa at Feminist Mormon Housewives had asked Giselle Galen about her creative process for a series of compare/contrast posts for fMh, and Galen kindly brought me into the conversation of creating art; more specifically, art as a form of worship.
This coincided with a post on AML wherein a novelist/publisher wondered if God cared about our art or even wanted us to cease making it.
After using Galen and Theric as a sounding board, I wrote a bit for Lisa, and figured I’d share it here, too:
I’m a novelist. I write Mormon characters (in varying states of grace with the church) who have sex. On the page. While I’ll admit that can be seen as gimmicky, it’s really not. I write what I want to read, and I want to read characters who are like me and not The Other, The Freak, The Cultist, The Satan Worshipper, The Molly Mormon, The Longsuffering Sister, The Polygamist, The Weird Neighbor, The Prude.
Other than writing what I want to read and expressing myself in my chosen art form, my broader goal is to plant our culture and traditions and jargon into the national consciousness the way Catholicism and Judaism permeate it—a common vocabulary even if one doesn’t believe or practice that faith. Everybody knows what a rosary is and what it’s for, what mass, diocese, parish, and priest mean. Everyone knows what a yarmulke is and what it symbolizes, what synagogue, Passover, Hannukah, and bar mitzvah mean. Nobody knows us by anything but our magic underwear. They don’t know what sacrament meeting, stake, ward, and bishop mean. If we don’t define ourselves for the world, the world will define us for us, and they do. And it sticks.
I’m also an active, practicing Mormon with a pagan streak a mile wide. If it weren’t for the belief that we can become gods and spend the eternities creating, I wouldn’t bother with the church at all, and I probably wouldn’t even bother with Christianity. I am willing to jump through whatever hoops I need to just in case what I believe—what I hope to be true—is, in fact, true. If it’s not, it won’t make any difference in the long run because I refuse to believe any other alternative. If I burn in a lake of fire, so be it.
That forms the core of my artistic philosophy: Creating art is practicing to become a god.
Specifically, creating paper people with souls, intellect, and free will is practicing to become God.
(Most days when I watch the news, I wonder if the Creator we worship isn’t still practicing and just hasn’t gotten it right yet. If that is so, I like to imagine we’ll all get an abject apology.)
My favorite thing to imagine is that one day, Father or Mother, whichever one likes the detail work, looked into the ocean and said, “Hm. Those could use some color.” He or She picked up a brush in one hand, and a dory fish in the other and went to town.
I like to think Father was doodling in His lab, doing some structural calculations, sketched something out and said to Himself, “They’ll call that the Fibonacci sequence and I’ll laugh my butt off while they try to figure it out.”
I express my spirituality not in small part through sexuality. I think once one starts down the path of the Mother, then pagan philosophies, it winds up there anyway. Hello, Beltane.
So I like to think Mother was sculpting in the afterglow of some really good sex and sculpted anthurium to hold onto her lover when He was off doing something else. Galen phrased it “a dildo fit for a goddess.”
Because sex is where creation begins with human beings. We created offspring before we created the tools to hunt, before we learned to farm. We started off with the Tree of Life, not the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, but we needed to eat of the Tree of Knowledge to understand the Tree of Life.
But then the doubt sets in and leads to: Are we created in God’s image or are we creating God in ours?
Does it matter? For better or worse or whatever reason or by whatever mechanism (why are creation and evolution mutually exclusive?), we’re here and we’re living our lives and there’s no getting out of it and no finding out the truth until we’re released from the bonds of mortality (or choose to take the bolt cutters to it ourselves).
When I form people and their worlds, and their characteristics, beliefs, and philosophies, then set them loose to see what they’ll do when I give them a particular set of circumstances, I am not worshipping God.
I am God.
May 19th, 2010
Tags: art, philosophy
It was one of those little moments in life where everything becomes crystal clear.
Years and years ago. English 400-something. Summer course. American Lit. Very…strange…professor. Lemme talk about her for a sec.
I forget her name. I forget what she looks like. I remember a whole lot about her:
1) In the span of one year, she had been violently raped in her home by a stranger. Twice. Not the same stranger. And yet she was…
2) …annoyingly cheerful and filled with joy.
3) She was a complete ditz.
4) She was an evangelical Christian who got married in the Loose Park rose garden in a Buddhist ceremony.
5) She had a completely random way of teaching. If you could call it teaching.
6) One of the first things she said to the class (with great exuberance) was “I want to fuck your minds!”
7) She taught me one of the single most important lessons I have ever learned, so whatever I don’t remember about Prufrock or Leaves of Grass (and surely don’t care a whit), it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the life-changing thing she taught me.
I don’t remember the text under discussion. She rarely used it, anyway (goodbye $90 for yet another Norton’s). She made the shocking proposition (prompted by some discussion of Judaism that had nothing to do with American lit) that Eve may not have sinned by eating the apple, and that they had to eat the fruit for them to have children, to know good and evil, joy and sorrow, and that Adam was just too chickenshit to do it, so she took the initiative.
It was like the sun came out. My quiet contempt of her scatteredness vanished. I was so excited I went all Horshack OOOh OOOh OOOh!!! Mistah Kottah!!! Mistah Kottah!!!
I blurted, “Yes! That’s it! That’s exactly what happened!”
Suddenly, she was all business, totally sober, like an English professor should be. She stared at me and said, “No, that’s what you believe happened.”
I was embarrassed. The class was silent, but not looking at me. There were no contemptuous snickers at me, even though I probably deserved them. I suspect it was as much a teaching moment for a lot of other people as it was for me. How had I gotten to be a senior in college without having learned this? How had any of us?
Life-changing? Exaggeration? No. She distilled an entire lifetime of being told this is the truth and there is no other truth, and those who don’t believe this truth are worthy only of our contempt and then shattered it.
(As it happens, my playlist popped up with the soundtrack of Shine: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
Yesterday I happened upon a post by a well-educated adult who, for all her proclamations of learning empathy through fiction, displayed none for a flesh-and-blood woman. She proudly told of her shock and horror at this woman’s lack of understanding of The Truth, drew several condescending conclusions from what little the woman had told her, and then went on to pity her. I guess that’s the empathy part.
Yet she didn’t actually ask the woman why she did not buy into The Truth and made no effort to understand someone else’s point of view. Whether the author of the post agreed or not was irrelevant; it didn’t occur to her to ask why the woman felt that way. It didn’t even occur to her to think up possible reasons for the woman’s viewpoint.
I still believe that my truth is The Truth, but every once in a while I get shocked out of my comfy little philosophy by someone who thinks her Truth is or should be everyone else’s.
May 18th, 2010
Tags: philosophy
I make this with different measurements all the time because A) it depends on what I have on hand; B) I never measure; and C) I can’t be arsed to write it down. This is how I made it today, and all measurements are approximate:
3 lb hamburger
1 diced yellow onion
1 T minced garlic (I use the stuff in the jars)
salt
pepper
1/4 c basil (dried)
1/2 c oregano (dried)
1/2 c parsley (dried)
Fry all that up together, then drain off the grease.
5 4-oz cans mushroom pieces and stems (with water)
2 cans tomato sauce
5 cans tomato paste
water to make it the consistency you like
Mix all that up really well, let simmer for a while with the lid on it. On low, you could keep it on the stove all day if you wanted. The idea is to let the herbs steep. I’ll add more oregano* once I get it stirred up, as I like oregano. Lots.
Serve on whatever shaped of pasta (cooked) that you like.
If I have stewed tomatoes on hand, I’ll use those. If I have whole tomatoes on hand, I’ll blanch, peel, and use those. I don’t use olive oil because I think the beef provides all the oil necessary, and I’m not a fan of olive oil anyway.
As we all know, this is a heavy dish. When I’m low-carbing, I can have a bowl of it for breakfast (yes, I said breakfast) without the pasta (with parmesan) and I won’t have to think about eating again until bedtime. No matter how much I love it, though, I will never get over thinking it’s weird to eat it without the pasta.
It freezes well, and one of these days, if I ever get around to learning how to can, this is the first thing I’m going to can.
*Went to a Mexican restaurant where they loaded their salsa with oregano. WTF? I went for Mexican food, not Italian. A little was good. A lot was not better.
May 16th, 2010
Tags: comfort food, spaghetti
This is my office right now:
It doesn’t look organized, but it is. It’s organized two ways, and one is more effective than the other.
You see, the (1) clutter demands attention and for good reason: It’s important. Stuff I have to do. Stuff that, if I file it neatly away in the (2) three-ring to-do binder buried underneath all that mess, I will forget about and never do and screw up my life.
The goal is to not screw up my life.
But what about filing? you ask. Eh. Filing is for stuff you have to keep but rarely use: tax returns, vendor catalogs, vehicle and health and vet information. Stuff like that. If I had my ’druthers, I’d be able to stick it all in a file box like the one I keep my year’s tax receipts in after I’ve entered the bucket full of receipts into Quicken.
What about tossing? you ask. Yeah, what you’re looking at is after having ruthlessly tossed and shredded. Trust me, I get rid of whatever I can the minute I lay hands on it and determine it’s worthless to me.
So after ruthlessly tossing-and-shredding, and piling things on my desk in a way that will remind me of its importance, the best way I’ve discovered to not screw up my life and still stay clutter-free is to hang all the important stuff up on the wall.
This demands cork. Or steel/whiteboards magnets. Something. Just get it off my effing desk! I want elbow room and work space. Throw in some effective cord management.
Stylishly.
I want style.
Because there is no style here. I can stick pins in the sheetrock all day long and it’ll do the trick, but I want some style. Martha Stewart Living style. Only more realistic. And cheaper.
So what I’m working on in my organizational efforts is to find a stylish way to hang all my stuff on the walls where I can see it at a glance without boxing myself into a stylish but useless and expensive space.
But I can’t even decide on a paint color.
May 2nd, 2010
