Love (and bribes) for the new blog

I started a new blog today at http://iamawriterdangit.wordpress.com/ because, while I love posting to this broad-based journal, I wanted to start concentrating on something more focused.

The new blog is a step toward my goal of breaking out of my current funk and into the world of published fiction.

I’ll still be posting here periodically, though, with personal stories and quips.

I hope you visit both ventures in the near future.

Please admire the following picture as a form of bribery:

 

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His First Book

Image via Wikipedia

When I picked up my four-year-old from school yesterday, he was tightly grasping at a fistful of construction paper haphazardly adhered together with scotch tape.  When I asked what it was he said, “I wrote a book.”

Imagine my pride.

He could not wait until we got home (we live six minutes from the school), so he read the book to me from the backseat as we drove.

So, risking copyright infringement, I’ll share with you the contents:

The Alien that Sneaked

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was sniffing three beautiful flowers.  She was very happy.

All of a sudden, an alien sneaked up on her and jumped out from behind the flowers and said BOO.

The girl jumped!  She did not know the alien was there.

The End.

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Cool short

I read a great short story today that drew me in and made me smile.

It’s about a girl who is a little different, trying to fit in to a new high school.  Who can’t relate to that?  But when I say different, I mean randomly-growing-new-appendages kinda different. 

And the writer is a Hill Country gal, so I thought I’d share.  Enjoy.

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Water for Elephants: yes, please.

Cover of Water for Elephants: A Novel

I have no interest in the circus.  Elephants, I dig, because they are immense in bulk and yet sweet in disposition, and I’m into that kind of contradiction.  But if you said, here’s a book about elephants, I’d likely raise an eyebrow at you and silently turn away.  Sans book.

So why did I read Sara Gruen’s Water for Elephants?  More importantly, why did I stay up way past my bedtime last night glued to the last few chapters? 

Answer:  Because it was good.  It was just damn good.

Gruen opens the novel violently, with a scene that you anticipate throughout the read.  And – after you get to know the characters – you yearn for that part to come.  And when it does, it is surprising and awesome and better than you imagined it would be. 

Freaking brill.

The main character, Jacob, flees his ivy league college in a fight or flight response to a tragedy in his life.  He hops on a train car that happens to be chock full of circus men en route to their next destination.  And Jacob happens to be a vet.  Sort of.   The Depression-era circus is just what you would expect it to be – dark, dangerous, and delightful for the kiddos.   

Another thing I found amazing about Water for Elephants was the imagery.  Gruen has a way of describing a scene that really sucks the reader into it.  You are able to see what the main character experiences.  You are drawn into his world and you really feel present in it.  You can taste the lemonade.  You can hear the men pitching the big top tent.  It’s marvelous. 

If you choose to read this book, please please please also read the author’s note at the end.  Very interesting stuff about Thomas Edison killing an elephant in an electric chair.  A very big one.  Oh, and if you can stand it, Edison recorded this process, which you can see on youtube.  I’m not linking to it.  Cause I could not even think about watching it.  Poor elephant.  All he did was kill his trainer.  Who probably beat him anyway.  I’m sure he was just retaliating.  If you’re into that, you can Google it.

Personal note:  It’s interesting that I read this book right at this moment, because recently I’ve been struggling with imagery in my own writing.  I received a reject a few weeks ago for a piece I had submitted to a literary mag.  The very polite response indicated that I was so close to being done, but I was having trouble pulling the reader in to the scene.  The editor said he felt like he was pressed up against the story, but unable to penetrate it. 

Great comments, I thought.  And true, as well.  Now I just have to figure out how to penetrate.

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eHow eliminates the Writer Compensation Program

Image via CrunchBase

I received an email today from eHow, indicating they are shutting down the Writer Compensation Program.  As a result, the site would love to buy the articles that I have published with them. (For $28 flat.  Not that much love.)  If I do not accept the offer, they will remove the articles from their site and they become mine once again.

Unlike some writers, I did not make a lot of money from eHow.  But I made enough.  Especially given the time I spent on the articles.  One article I wrote for them, in fact, on how to cure toddler yeast infections, made me almost $90.  For one measly 400-word article.  Not too shabby.

Here’s my earnings for everything in the life of my time with them (since 2009):

Date↑	Title	Views	Earnings
Total		$87.77
02/19/10	How to Prevent Infant Ear Infections	148	$0.40
06/17/09	How to Clean Your Bathroom – The Lazy Way	151	$0.00
04/21/09	How to Relieve Allergies During Pollen Season	648	$3.02
03/31/09	How to Treat a Toddler’s Yeast Infection	14,075	$84.35

So, if I were to analyze that data, I’d say people were more interested (and more click happy) on the health-related articles.  (Because eHow compensates based on how many times a reader clicked on an ad that was on your article page.  The more keywords in the article, the more relatable the ads. )

As you can see, I abandoned this income stream (if you can even call it that) a while ago.  Then Demand Studios bought the eHow platform and, instead of paying writers for clickthroughs, they pay roughly $15 to $30 an article.  This makes more sense from a corporate standpoint, as they can clearly make more money by giving the writer a set fee and then taking royalties for themselves.  (Unless they were going to pay me for the lazy bathroom article, which I doubt they would.  They are much more picky than eHow.)

This also means that I won’t be getting my little $10 checks every month in my paypal account.  There goes my book/itunes fund!

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Fat fat fat … there, i said it.

Image by Beach650 via Flickr

A few months ago, I finished (bwahaha – never is it really finished) the latest update to my young adult novel, which holds the working title Achilles Heel.  (It’s still a “working title” simply because of the apostrophe.  What do I do with that thing?  It’s possessive, so it should be Achilles’, right?  Or, per Strunk and White, Achilles’s?  But if you are referring to THE Achilles heel, a person’s singular weakness (which I am), then no apostrophe is appropriate, right?

Yeah.  So that will probably change.

After the edit was complete, I sighed with relief, sat back in my chair, and dreamed of the New Releases shelf at the big-box book store (incidentally, not Borders).  It’s always nice when a project is complete, though, it’s also sad in a way, because you’ve bonded with those characters and it’s sort of like leaving old friends.

After basking in the glow for a moment, I opened a new Word document and started to rap out my next great query letter.

Except, I didn’t.  Or, couldn’t.

There are books out there, written by professionals in the industry, that tout the true simplicity of a query letter.  You must reduce your novel down into one paragraph, they say.  And if you cannot do that, then you are NOT finished.

I’m resistant to this suggestion, of course.  My book is just too complicated, I think.  There are too many elements.  It’s not that I don’t have a good story, it’s just that the story is … complex.

Ah, crap.

Here I go again.  Doubting the worth of something I’ve worked so hard on.  So, I do some research.  And I come across this article called YA Fatphobia, by Kathryn Nolfi.

And it occurs to me that my novel could be what Nolfi is crying out for.  My main character is an overweight girl who is comfortable with herself and who she is.  YAY!  I’m marketable!

And then something else occurs to me.  I have not actually described my character as overweight.  Or (the less painful) chubby.  Or even (the socially acceptable) curvy.  This realization sinks in as I open my manuscript and do a quick search for these words and nothing comes up.  I then glance over scenes in which I know I have described her, but here’s what I get:  nada, nothing, zilch.

Several scenes entail my main character glancing at herself in the mirror, comparing her dull features to the vibrant beauty of her mother.  But that’s it.  I never say she is fat.  I also never say her mother is fat, which she is … in my mind.

And here’s something else I noticed.  I just typed the word fat twice … three times.  And each time, I cringed. 

I’ve never been thin.  In high school, I was always “the smart one” among my group of friends – a moniker they still seem to think I cherished.  And as a kid, I read the Sweet Valley Twins and Baby-Sitters Club series, which Nolfit discusses in the article:

Women who read the Sweet Valley High series as teens imprinted on Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield’s hallowed “perfect size six” figures. (In the subsequent series reissues, the twins have downsized to an even more perfect size four.) Those who read the Baby-Sitters Club series can’t escape noticing that Claudia is always described as thin with good skin (although she eats lots of forbidden junk food). When readers are obsessed with series that routinely describe characters’ bodies — the thin ones as desirable and the fat ones as disgusting and flawed — said readers can’t help but internalize those attitudes themselves.

I can’t say I remember the perfect size six of the Wakefield’s.  I also can’t say I cared.  I was happy as a child, overweight or not.  And that is how I intended to write Savanna in Achilles Heel (no apostrophe).   But I guess, I just didn’t. 

Why?  Could it be that the Wakefield’s destroyed my ability to say the word fat without aching inside?  Even as I struggle with why I failed to describe my character, I know the answer.   It’s because of that ache.  I avoided showing Savanna’s true nature because of my own true nature.  Because, even though I was happy in my size 12 jeans, I was also aware that I was bigger than the other girls.  And I always wanted to be a 10.  (I never even dreamed of being a six.  In my mind, that was not even possible.)

So maybe, just maybe, I’m not finished with the novel.

Maybe I have to go back and examine my main character – and myself – and give Savanna a little more … well … fat. 

Interestingly enough, maybe that is my Achilles Heel.

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Fiction in a Flash

I wrote a VERY short story recently, and have been researching flash fiction markets for submission. 

And today I read a great short that I have to share with you. 

Banshee Lullabies, by Chazley Dotson.  The writer was able to create warm characters and a deep storyline in less than 1,000 words.  Great achievement.

Enjoy.

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Ix-Nay on the Alking-Tay

Since we’ve lived in the Austin area, we have been in a housing situation that is less than ideal.  (These circumstances will be changing soon – we’ve secured a house for ourselves and will be moving in August.  Stay tuned for happy dance.)  And since I work from home, the fact that we don’t actually have a home (we are living in someone else’s) has been troubling.  Thus, I’ve escaped to the library on a daily basis in order to concentrate and work.

Luckily, we live close to a small university town, where the library and its resources are phenomenal.  So I’ve taken advantage of the free Wi-Fi nearly every day since our arrival.  

But it was not until today that I was able to snag the most coveted seat in the house. 

There is a small glass-enclosed room in the back of the library reserved for “quiet study” for those of us who long for the library-like environment of olden days, when there were no latte machines in the lobby and the rickety old woman with cat-eyed glasses behind the desk would shush you if you got too loud.  

I used to write in the library proper, but people are just too conversate-y out there.  I’ve grumbled and gritted my teeth while trying to concentrate through the gossip of old men, the sarcasm-laden chat of teenagers, and – most recently – the work-related complaints of census collectors.  

Seriously.  I’d had enough. 

So I retreated into the quiet room and was immediately enveloped in the warmth of the silence.  

In this room is a corner table that is constantly occupied.  The table enjoys a great spill of light from the window and is situated near the largest power strip in the library.  And it never fails – every day I arrive and the table is taken.  It’s as if these people get here at the crack of dawn.  

I came into the quiet room today and sitting at this choice table was an old German man dictating to his assistant, who was dutifully rapping out emails to artists whose work the old man intended to purchase for his gallery.  I tolerated them because 1) they were in the room alone before I came in and therefore laid more claim than I and, more importantly, 2) I loved hearing the man recite to his assistant in very proper English with just a soft hint of accent.  His words were eloquent and the way he spoke of the art could only be described as poetry. 

I could listen to that man all day.  Even in the quiet room. 

But the librarian wasn’t having it. 

She came in – sans cat-eyed glasses – and told them if they were going to talk, they would have to relocate to another part of the library. 

I was the only other person there, so I spoke up and said they were not bothering me.  The librarian huffed.  It didn’t matter – they had to go. 

The eloquent old man thanked me and also apologized. 

I was sad to see him go.  But as he shuffled out, I realized what he’d left behind was the most desirable table in the library.  And – finally – it was within my grasp. 

I stared at it longingly for what I thought to be a respectable period of time, then – when I was sure the man was no longer within visibility – eased over to the corner table.  It felt like stealing second base. 

Oh. Yeah. 

The small round table sits in the back corner of the quiet room, under the portrait of Tula Townsend Wyatt, who donated the collection of books that surround me.  Behind me is a window where the midday sun shines through, and before me, if I look over the top of my computer screen, is the whole of the library for me to surmise. 

The chair needs a bit of a cushion, but other than that, this is indeed the best seat in the house.

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Grammar geeks rejoice – typos DO matter!

Typos have gotten a lot of hype recently.

First, there was the possibility that the stock market crash was caused by a typo. 

Then, Julia Louis-Dreyfus received her own star on the walk of fame – with her name misspelled.

For those of us – ahem – geeks who see typos everywhere (street signs, billboards, ads) and ache with a desire to scratch out the offender with a big red felt-tip pen, such publicity is welcome. 

“Yes!” we cry out.  “It does matter!”

Today, Bob Greene addresses the recent propaganda surrounding this little pet peeve in the CNN Opinion section, where he tells of his own little run-in with a typo.

Now, as a disclosure (as I’m sure there may even be typos in this VERY blog post!), I don’t think it is possible to live your entire life typo-free. 

All I ask is that before you hit “enter” on a million-dollar stock trade, please be sure you didn’t accidentally type Billion.  And if you ever add my name to a star on the walk of fame, it is spelled Mamas, not Mama.

That’s it.  I’m not so demanding.

Oh – and if you get to the end of Greene’s article and you are eager for more, pick up a copy of Eats, Shoots & Leaves, by Lynne Truss. 

I read this great non-fic book in a university library a few years ago and was shushed a few times.  You know you are a geek when you get scorned for laughing too loud at a grammar book. 

What can I say?  It’s my kind of comedy.

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That’s it! I’m selling out! (sort of – see update at bottom of post)

I just joined the Amazon Associates program, which pays a small percentage on the purchase of the books that I recommend in my blog. 

Mamas gotta make the bacon.

I wanted you to be aware of this because … well, it just seemed right to tell you. 

Say you read a review I’ve written and you say to yourself, “self, this is the very next book I want to be reading.  I must have it!”

All you have to do is click on the link I have so graciously provided and you will be taken to the Amazonian world of retail literature.

Say you buy said book.  Amazon, by way of saying, hey, thanks for sending us a customer, wink, wink, will send me a check for like $1.27 or some such.

Please allow me to delve further into sell-out-topia and mercilessly show you pictures of my very needy and adorable children.

Poor kids.  They need that $1.27, don’t you think?

In all seriousness, you should know that I will never review a book I did not enjoy and would not recommend to my best literary friends.  In fact, if I do not think a book is worthy of reading, I will not even finish the work, therefore rendering a review impossible. 

See?  I’m not so bad. 

Right?

Bueller?

(Update:  I did this once or twice and then stopped.  It was just too much hassle.  Er – I couldn’t really figure it out in a timely manner.  I write the reviews out of love.  But I love my time, too.  So I opted to not waste it on trying to make this thing work – tech savvy folks, feel free to suggest quick sell-out methods that I can successfully employ, thank you kindly.)

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