To be honest, I have been given two of these puppies and I haven’t been gracious enough to acknowledge them publicly. I apologize.
So, the first one is from Rae Lori from way back in February. Aarrggghhh. So embarrassed. Especially since I like her writing voice. Very calm and sweet (what I’ve read of her).
This is the Premio Dardas Award, which…
…acknowledges the values that every Blogger displays in their effort to transmit cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values with each message they write. Awards like this have been created with the intention of promoting community among Bloggers. It’s a way to show appreciation and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web.
These are the rules:
1) Accept the award, post it on your blog together with the name of the person that has granted the award and his or her blog link.
2) Pass the award to 15 other blogs that are worthy of this acknowledgment.
3) Remember to contact each of them to let them know they have been chosen for this award.
Well, screw the rules (as usual). I’m just going to list a few of the blogs I read on a semi-regular basis, in no particular order.
If you’re in this list and you see yourself, considered yourself to have been tagged and you are now it. Otherwise, thank you for some awesome stuff you give me to think about on a regular basis.
Thank you for your continuing indulgence on the travails of designing a cover if you’re not a designer of covers. As I said last week, it took me almost a year and hundreds of hours of Photoshopping to come to the cover I did, which I affectionately call The Bewbies™. Originally, The Proviso was one book and it was enormous. I originally titled it Barefoot Through Fire. Then I figured I’d probably do better to split it out into 3 parts, 1 part per romance. This is the story of book 3. Read more →
I didn’t say it. Someone who shall remain nameless said that to me, and it started me thinking about The Lone Artist.
I’ve been to New Orleans, Paris, Venice Beach, New York, London, Amsterdam, and other places where The Lone Artist sets about attempting to earn a living or at least approbation from a crowd of strangers walking by.
In Paris, it was the Ecole des Beaux-Arts students drawing Mona Lisa in pastels on the sidewalk, their hats out for coins.
In New Orleans, it was a pair of pre-teen boys tap dancing on a street corner, under the watchful eye of their mother, a trumpet player on a corner down the street, and an artist setting up shop in the middle of the St. Louis Cathedral courtyard, right under Jackson’s shadow.
In Amsterdam, it was the scantily-clad prostitutes in the plate-glass windows along the canal. (Okay, as “artist” and “lone,” that one’s questionable, but it’s vivid, ain’t it?)
In London, it was the—what is this guy? Is this classified as pantomime? Definitely performance art. (Shut up. I like mimes.)
In New York, it was the oddball music played by street musicians.
In Venice Beach, it was a dude who charged $5 to create origami magic with one strand from one palm frond. I knew it was a living sculpture that would die in an hour, but I bought it anyway because it was so different and . . . unexpected. I admired that he could do it in seconds right in front of my eyes, I admired the work itself, and I kept it for the hour it lasted, then threw it away. That $5 was very well spent.
In a lot of ways, I like being a lone artist. When I go to authors’ websites and read about the difficulties they have working with a publisher, I’m glad. When I go to readers’ websites and read about how sad they are when a favorite author gets cut off mid-series, I’m glad. When I sit down to write and realize that I can do anything I want without having to account to a sales staff, I’m glad. When I know that the readership I’m gathering one by one, to whom I am ever so grateful, now has enough faith in me to go where I take them, I’m glad.
There is one respect I really don’t like it. I don’t like the near absence of distribution. But . . . that’s about the only way I can think of that I don’t like it. After all, a street performer can only play to the audience that walks by.
It’s not easy. Some days it’s damned depressing. I count on the readers to talk to me and remind me that there is something of worth in what I do, and believe me, I remember it. I count up those emails and screen shots and snippets of conversation here and there, and I keep them, put them in my hard drive bank like coins in my hat.
So when bedtime comes (if it comes) and I fall in bed exhausted from everything I have to do to be a lone artist, it’s the good kind of exhaustion.
Blogs are, by their very nature, niche. One person, or a group of like-minded people, write stuff that generally espouses one point of view. Dissenting opinions are usually always welcome, but even those with opposing opinions like those blogs for whatever reason and become regulars.
Then we have the people who stumble across a blog whose agenda doesn’t coincide with their own, and they do a hit’n’run. I did this once (that I remember) and I was very embarrassed with myself. I had no reason to haul off on that guy. I went back and apologized, but the damage was done and I can’t take that back.
So here’s a study:
One message board where I lurk is an active, established community of self-publishers, and a certain couple of traditionally published authors swoop in from time to time to berate them how deluded they are. Um, okay. Thanks? If you don’t like what those people are doing/saying, don’t go there.
On a blog where I lurk, a post hit a hot button of mine, but I almost never post there and I didn’t want to do like I’ve done before and swoop in to tell them all to shove it, because, well…I’m not an active participant otherwise. Why would I do that? All I have to do is not go there.
It’s taken me nearly 40 years to learn that keeping my mouth shut gets me in a lot less trouble than opening it.
But sometimes…it’s a fight to keep from saying something.
Thank you for your continuing indulgence on the travails of designing a cover if you’re not a designer of covers. As I said last week, it took me almost a year and hundreds of hours of Photoshopping to come to the cover I did, which I affectionately call The Bewbies™. Originally, The Proviso was one book and it was enormous. I originally titled it Barefoot Through Fire. Then I figured I’d probably do better to split it out into 3 parts, 1 part per romance. This is the story of book 2. Read more →
These are the rules:
