It’s the last day of November. Can you believe it? Sometimes I look back on the year and think it flew by. Other times, I think of certain events and it feels like they happened ages ago.
Still, it’s definitely feeling like winter to me. It’s 52 degrees outside. The heater is on and I’m bundled up in bed with my netbook. The Christmas tree is up, the lights are lit on the house, and the stockings are hung from the fireplace mantel. I haven’t bought a single present yet, but I’m looking forward to the wrapping when the time comes.
As the year ends, so does (do?) some of my favorite television shows. Sons of Anarchy only has one episode left before it goes on hiatus after a truly phenomenal sophomore season. Katie Sagal continues to blow me away in her role as Gemma Teller Morrow. Charlie Hunnam is bad boy-licious; he makes a girl want to do bad things. Ron Perlman is brilliant, as he is in everything he does. The storyline for this season broke all the characters (and therefore the club) into tiny pieces, then somehow managed to pull them all back together even stronger than they were before. It was a no holds barred ride that for many shows would have been final-season worthy. For SOA, it’s only the beginning. I can’t wait to see what happens next, and I hate that I have to wait until next year to find out.
Another of my beloved shows, Dexter, is two episodes away from the close of the season. I really enjoyed this year’s storyline. John Lithgow rocked the house as the Trinity Killer. Quinn’s animosity toward Dexter heated up. I wonder if he’ll catch on to Dexter’s Dark Passenger like Stokes did. I’ve adored Dexter Morgan from the first, but this year, he really won me. He grew as a character by leaps and bounds. He’s always had moments of dark humor, but they seemed much more evident this year. He came to some deep revelations about himself, which was fascinating to watch. I’m going to miss Dex. September is so far away…
At least The Tudors will be returning in the spring. It’s just too bad there has to be a gap in between.
How about you? Which shows are you sad to see go on hiatus? Which shows are you looking forward to picking back up again?
Aside from the family gathering at Thanksgiving, the best part of the holiday for me is the turkey sandwich later. The one you make on fresh white bread with mayo, salt, pepper, and leftover turkey! At no other time of year does this simple concoction taste as good as is does late Thanksgiving night. I just had mine. At 4 a.m. the morning after. I would have had it earlier, but, um, I came home and slept for 4 hours first.
My son and son-in-law took off an hour ago to do their traditional Black Friday shopping. They’ve been looking up sales on line and in the newspaper all week. They have flat screens and laptops on the mind. And my son, for some odd reason wants fur lined black leather gloves. Go figure.
Me? I’m going to be sleeping during the madness. I can feel the affects of the trytophan as I type. So please forgive me for slacking a wee bit on the blog today. I mean c’mon, y’all will be out shopping all day and hardly give me a thought, but if you do, I want to know two things:
What is your favorite part of Thanksgiving, and if you ventured out on Black Friday, please share and tell us what you bought! I can live vicariously through you! And when the boys return, I’ll give you the low down on their purchases. They usually do pretty good.
It’s easy on a day like today to give thanks. We’ve made a national holiday of it, we spend days ahead of time thinking about it, preparing, trying to get the family or friends gathered, working to clean the house or prep the meal or make the travel plans or find some place to go if we’re alone on the holiday. Sometimes, we ignore it altogether, if our days have been sad or we’re estranged from loved ones, and sometimes we’re in the middle of what is supposed to be a Hallmark moment where we’re cutting the turkey amidst Aunt Ethel berating cousin Lou while Uncle Manny not-so-quietly farts and pretends it’s the dog and we would be happy when the day is over. When all is said and done and the meal is served, we’ll take a few minutes and bow our heads and say a generic thanks for the blessings we’ve had and we’re through with that part of the program with barely a backward glance. Check that whole “thankful” obligation off the list.
It’s easy to be thankful for the good stuff.
But sometimes… sometimes I want to sit in a quiet spot alone and reflect and say the kind of thanks we don’t often admit, and often never in public:
I’m thankful to the first boy who broke my heart. He made me aware that not only could I love, but that there was the potential to find someone who would matter to me so deeply, and for whom I would matter, that no obstacle would be too great. He showed me that betrayal wasn’t a joke, wasn’t something to enter into lightly, and that when one promised to love, it meant to love, a verb, not just to reflect a feeling. Feelings can come and go, wax and wane depending on mood and circumstance, but choice is who we are. Choice is our character in action, and I wouldn’t have learned that if I hadn’t seen his inconsistency and compared it to others in my life–older couples with years and years of marriage–and realized that they made it because they chose to. I learned something more valuable from that broken heart than I think I could’ve learned from a perfect storybook romance, and that was to never take the person who loved me for granted, and to never bestow on them the kind of pain I’d felt. It was a gift, you see, and it taught me well.
I’m thankful for the times I’ve failed. They hurt, those times, because I don’t tolerate failure well, and that’s probably why I needed to fail to see that failure didn’t define who I was as a person. I’ve made mistakes and I’ve just plain bombed some things in life, and as astounded as I am with the outcome–because I am ever hopeful that my endeavors will turn out right–I’m grateful for the chances I’ve had to learn and grow. Failure has taught me things that success never could: to think outside the box, to question why there is a box, to look at failure as just a single outcome from a single attempt, not the final result, to appreciate the effort, to look to see what I can learn, to tolerate mistakes and failure in others because they’re on the journey, too. But mostly, failure in the past has taught me to appreciate the here and now, to appreciate that I am still on the journey, to enjoy the successes I’ve had and not to take them for granted. If I’ve failed, it’s because I’m still reaching for the stars, stretching boundaries, growing, learning, yearning, and that’s what life is.
I’m thankful for the friends I’ve lost. I think this is the hardest one, sometimes, because we love people and they’re in our lives for reasons that make sense, that make us happy, and there are a thousand different reasons why friendships can go wrong. We all grow at different paces, we all have different goals, we have different upbringings and value systems, means of communication and ways of handling conflict, and I think it’s so rare that all of those things stay in synch for two people who come together as friends that it’s inevitable over the course of a lifetime that friends will flow in and move out of our lives. Sometimes abruptly, sometimes harshly, sometimes just drifting away. Over time, I’ve realized that I’ve valued people and learned from them and treasured them, and even though there may have been times when things didn’t work out, I’m glad they were in my life. Truly glad. Maybe I learned a hard lesson, maybe I created the pain instead, and learned from that. Maybe we just drifted because we didn’t fully appreciate what we had and that ebbing away will reverse itself one day. The thing is, I did treasure each and every one of them, and I can look back and say, honestly, I am glad I knew them. Even the person who tried to embezzle funds, even the person who harmed me, because I learned. I learned to appreciate true friendship, and I learned to recognize it when I see it. I learned to value difference of opinions and walks of life and communication styles, and I’ve learned that there are some people in this world I’ll never do without, because they’re the kind of people who stick, who give the benefit of the doubt, who choose. We may go months without talking, and then pick right up where we left off. The friends I’ve lost taught me to hold very dear to the ones who are real, who’ve stuck. That is a great gift.
I’m thankful for the times I’ve hurt. As much as I don’t like to hurt, I recognize that sometimes, I have to feel the pain and go through the heartache in order to grow and learn and survive this life. It’s never pleasant, it’s never something I’d choose to do, and honestly, I’m really okay if I don’t have this category any longer, if the Universe is taking notes, but the bottom line is, because I recognize true pain, I also appreciate true joy and true contentment. Happiness isn’t a destination. It isn’t a magical place we’re going to be someday. Happiness, contentment, is a choice to appreciate the here and now, where you are, and I learned that from the times I hurt.
I am thankful for the times I’ve been wrong. I hate being wrong. I was always the straight-A student, the brainiac, the egghead, and until I hit college, I had an overinflated idea of just how smart I was. Boy, was that corrected really really fast. And learning how to be wrong, and be gracious about it, and admit it, and then learn from my mistakes is probably one of those dubious achievements that we shouldn’t really admit to, but which make us human. I’ve learned how easily it is to be absolutely certain of how right I am, just to find out how exactly the opposite of right I was, and the humiliation that can bring, and because of this, I have a higher tolerance for everyone around me who are just trying their best to be right, too. Most people are really just trying, you know? They just want to get through the day and be right, for once, and be recognized for that, and sometimes they’ll do boneheaded things to achieve that goal. It’s what makes us human, and really, having been wrong before means I can relate. I’d rather be the woman who appreciates the irony of being wrong than the woman who is always right, at the expense of others.
I am thankful for every cranky, snarky, grumpy, annoying, irritating, obnoxious, pain-in-the-ass I’ve come across in my life. For one thing, they’re kinda funny, if you really think about perspective, and for another, they’ve taught me to be patient, and they’ve taught me that I actually have a tremendous amount of wonderful people in my life, friends here, friends on the internet, friends in real life, who are truly inspirational, wonderful, encouraging, selfless, good, caring people.
I’m excited, and a little bit scared, about Thanksgiving.
I’ve had dreams of the turkey suddenly jumping up. It runs up and down the table, at first entertaining us all with a Broadway song and dance number, it’s trussed little feet tapping to the tune. Then the wings start flapping and the damned thing is all over the room.
Interesting.
Thanksgiving is a big day for me–it’s one of the few when I get my entire family. My children, my nephew, my daughter-in-law, niece-in-law, two great nephews, and, this year, Jeremy (my daughter’s boyfriend, the family loves him to pieces!) and his children, my cousin-in-law–a very favorite relative, along with his wife–a best friend before they were even married–and their three children, and three friends. We’re headed up to the Dolphin at Disney where we’ve spent many a holiday. (Working holidays, but hey!)
We used to try the restaurants, but that entailed a lot of rushing around, a lot of standing around, and, usually, harried service and not the best food. Thanks to Joe, we now have the meal catered to the room which makes it nice–home away from home. When traveling with toddlers, this is a great plan. When the toddlers get restless, they can move about, they are not locked into a high chair, or in a position where they’re driving the wait staff crazy. I like it. No, I love it.
So why the nightmares about the turkey?
Hm.
I’m afraid. Very afraid. We put a great deal of expectation into holidays, and forget that each person remains an individual with all the quirks and personality traits that make them–well, individual. I want everyone to be happy.
Twenty two people.
Some rise early, and some don’t. Some can’t wait to get to the parks, and some couldn’t be bothered–they want to vegetate. Some are compulsive, some are, to be kind, a bit piggy. So, speaking of Disney, I think of something that Jefferson says, paraphrased, in the American exhibit at Epcot. “Trying to get thirteen clocks to chime as one is hard enough . . . .” Jefferson goes on to say that one stroke of his pen brings about a hundred changes from congress. Hey, things don’t really change.
I have twenty-two clocks.
Here’s the thing–my clocks will probably be just fine. They won’t chime as one. Whoever wants to do whatever will do it. The parents of small children will be with their kids in the parks early, they’ll be at different parks, but they’ll be happy, and each group will do what they choose. Shayne is a loner sometimes–he’ll take off by himself to do something if no one else is interested. Derek and Zhenia now live in Connecticut–she dreams of going swimming. Some of us will head to karaoke at the Swam–where they also have super sushi. We’ll trail in at different times at night, and often wind up down in the twenty-four hour buffet.
But I can’t help thinking about my dancing turkey.
It’s not the end of the year yet, but I’m still reflective on the year. In many ways, it’s been a difficult year, personally. I–and the publishing community–lost a best friend, and a brilliant editor, Kate Duffy. We lost Pablo the cat, and Chloe, the albino skunk. Pets don’t compare to a person, but they are still gone for our lives, and since we’ve lost family as well, we know the difference. I’ve had wonderful times with my family, and with my many writing groups. I’ve traveled new places, been up and been down–oh, and in the accountants office about five times with the IRS.
But it’s Thanksgiving. And I’m grateful. I’m grateful I was blessed to know Kate, grateful for the friendship and the many favors she gave me. I still buy broccoli for the skunk, and then remember that she isn’t there, and I miss her on my lap when I’m typing. We didn’t have Jeremy in our lives until last February, and he’s a wonderful addition. I may be going through the audit from hell, but my IRS agent is a doll, helping me comprehend what I’m doing–and what I’ve done wrong, and how to fix it in the future. Most of all, I have the people in my life, and I have a career, doing what I love.
Anyone who knows me is well aware that Martha Stewart would definitely have nothing to fear from me. I am the worst housekeeper, and a “real” dinner party means buying the good, plastic coated paper plates. I am accustomed to large numbers; my brother-in-law called me “dial a party.” But I do have that thing that so many of us seem to have–it’s the mother syndrome. Somehow, we must make everyone be happy at every minute. So I worry.
But I’ve got it covered–when the bird starts flying around, I’ll put on the soundtrack from Peter Pan, and we’ll watch it go. And, actually, once, at 3:00 on Thanksgiving, twenty-two clocks will chime as one when we sit down to Thanksgiving dinner. And I’ll be grateful for those twenty-two people, and grateful for the cacophony of sound! Thankful, just like the pilgrims, that my parents came to this country, and my holiday will include a bevy of nationalities. I’m going to be so glad that we have Thanksgiving, and doubly grateful that I have the privilege of being neurotic and crazy, and having the luxury of wanting not just survival, but happiness. The glass is looking awfully damned full.
I don’t think the turkey nightmare has anything to do with Thanksgiving day. I think it’s all about trying to get the Christmas card done. Most of our Christmas cards could be labeled “bah humbug!” cards. Trying to get all those people to smile at the same time . . . .
It’s my pleasure to welcome Karen Fenech to MurderSheWrites today. Karen writes contemporary and historical romantic suspense. Her novel Betrayal has been translated in Japanese, and her short fiction has been translated in Swedish, Danish, and Norwegian. Karen lives with her husband and daughter. Visit her website at: www.karenfenech.com.
Thank you to Debra and the wonderful authors at Murder She Writes for having me here. In addition to giving up her blog today, sometime ago Debra read my recently released novel GONE and provided a quote for the book. Imagine my delight at receiving a quote from an author whose work I had long enjoyed and admired.
Debra’s kindness and generosity, and that of other writers I am privileged to know, has made me think of our community of writers as a family. In our family, a call for help when a plot stalls or a character misbehaves brings fellow writers with sleeves rolled back, ready to pitch in and solve the problem. It’s these same people who are cheerleaders and champions of our work and, when something in our writing world derails us, they are the ones who give us a much-needed kick in the butt to get up, get going, and move on. No one else really “gets” this part of our lives.
My latest release GONE explores the subject of family. My heroine, FBI Special Agent Clare Marshall, is searching for the sister she was separated from in childhood when her mother tried to kill her. Clare has known the hope of promising clues to her sister’s whereabouts and the crushing despair when those clues reveal themselves to be false leads. Now, she tracks her sister to a small South Carolina town. This time it’s for real and Clare knows that a reunion with her sister is imminent. When she arrives in town, however, she discovers that her sister is missing and that someone from the town is responsible for her disappearance. Fearing for her sister’s life, Clare launches an investigation into her disappearance. Fellow FBI Special Agent Jake Sutton offers help, but Jake is Clare’s estranged lover and has an agenda of his own.
Here’s an excerpt from GONE:
Clare left the nursing facility and stepped into bright sunlight. She shielded her eyes with the back of one hand and with the other reached into the purse dangling from her shoulder, digging for sunglasses. A man was walking across the parking lot toward her. A trick of the light, he looked like . . .
“Jake.”
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken his name aloud until she heard it.
He was close enough to have heard as well, though he didn’t speak. His eyes, narrowed against the sun, fixed on her with an intensity she remembered all too well.
Too late to pretend she hadn’t seen him. It wasn’t too late to walk away, though. She wanted to walk away, really wanted to, and because she did forced herself to stay put and meet his gaze.
Jake now stood in front of her, blocking the sunlight. Clare lowered her hand. His chin was at her eye level. He hadn’t shaved. Black beard shadowed his jaw, made his tanned skin look darker.
The last time she’d seen him, from the other side of her bed, he’d looked a little pale. Tired from working too hard. Tired from going another ten rounds with her.
That was three years ago. He didn’t look to be suffering from sleepless nights anymore. He looked rested and fit. The blue T-shirt he wore over jeans showed his hard, tough body. Was he still with the Bureau? If so, by his casual attire, he wasn’t working today.
“I could say the obvious ‘small world,’” Jake said.
It had been big enough for her until a moment ago. But in response, she said only, “Must be.”
In the awkward silence, a group of women in hospital uniforms dashed by, causing a slight breeze that smelled strongly of spicy perfume.
Jake cleared his throat. “Don’t tell me the Bureau’s sent you to make sure I’m not lazing my days away fishing?”
He said it with a smile, an obvious attempt at lightness. Clare didn’t return the smile.
“You’re assigned to the Columbia office?”she said.
“Resident office in Farley, actually.”
That surprised her. After they’d stopped seeing each other, Jake had put in for a transfer out of the New York office. They’d been members of the same squad for a time and had been paired off. Working together after things ended had strained them both. Jake was very good at what he did and had earned the commendations to prove it. He could have aimed a lot higher than Farley. She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t.
She didn’t know where he’d gone—didn’t want to know—but she would never have imagined him choosing Farley. He was a city boy. She wouldn’t have figured he would come here voluntarily. He must have been desperate to create distance between them for him to accept this post.
“Just me, one other agent, and an admin assistant,” Jake went on. “How about you? What brings you to our fair town?”
When she’d known him, she’d never mentioned Katie. On the nights he’d stayed at her apartment, she’d stored her cork board and files on her sister in a closet. She had no reason not to tell him about Katie at this time. Her being in Farley and the reason for it was likely climbing the town grapevine at lightning speed. But there was no reason to bring Katie up to him now, when she hadn’t before.
“Vacation,” she said simply.
He heard the lie. The humor in Jake’s gaze vanished and in an instant his gaze grew razor sharp.
“I recall you had a preference for sand and surf,” he said.
No doubt he was referring to the one brief getaway they’d taken together—a spur-of-the-moment jaunt following a particularly gruelling assignment. They’d both been wound tight. He’d asked her where she’d like to go.
White sand beach. A pounding surf. No one else around for miles.
Her words returned to her. The next morning, she’d awakened and found he’d packed her suitcase and had found the perfect place for them to go. She didn’t care for the reminder of how perfect it had been between them once.
“Not this time,” she said. “Good-bye, Jake.”
Before he could say anything further, Clare walked away from him.
Have you read or written about the subject of family? As a token of my gratitude for being here with all of you, I’ll be drawing a name from one of the commenters to win a $20 gift card at Amazon.
I’m writing a novella for my old publisher, Kensington. I finished my first draft last week, printed it and read through it.
The first 32 pages had to be thrown out, re-plotted and rewritten. Right now I am on a really tight schedule and I can’t afford the time. On top of that, I’m having Thanksgiving at my house and people are expecting food.
I’m told that Granola bars on paper plates are unacceptable…whatever.
So the last few days I’ve been alternating between cleaning, plotting, tormenting my awesome friends for help, and writing, writing, writing.
The thing that aggravates me the most is that I made an amateur mistake. In those 32 pages, most of it is back story and set up. I KNOW better than this. I’ve written a lot of books and I know better. My friend, Laura Wright, who was the first to work with me on this book TOLD me in a very nice and professional way.
Yet I still screwed up. I still didn’t “get it” until I finished the novella and read it through.
In addition to this, I have a 480 page manuscript for the third Wing Slayer Hunter book sitting on my desk that needs a pretty significant revision. My editor and I talked it over, and she had some fantastic input, including removing a significant plot thread.
I also need to revise a synopsis for the following book then write that book.
In spite of all that work, in spite of pressure, I can’t send off work that’s unacceptable to me. I. Just. Can’t. So I’m taking the time, and you know what? Now that I’ve changed the beginning, the whole novella is much clearer to me and I can’t type fast enough to get it all down. It’s working much better, moving faster and I’m confident I’ll get it fixed and in acceptable shape.
What’s my point? I have a couple actually:
1) Even though I strive to be professional and treat my work as business, writing is still a creative endeavor. The story takes as long as it takes to develop into a book. It’s frustrating and irritating, but it just is. So I will deal with it.
2) I still make amateur mistakes.
3) I should listen to my critique partners!
4) I don’t know how I’d survive this business without my friends.
But I’m still ticked off at myself for not doing this right the first time through. My sister swears it’s because I’m a perfectionist but that’s obviously not true. If I was a perfectionist, I’d have gotten it right the first time…right??? Come on, you know you want to agree with me that I’m right and my sister is wrong!
It’s been a little over forty-eight hours since the announcement that Harlequin has joined in a self-publishing venture with Author Solutions, a vanity press.
I don’t want to quibble over definitions, so for the purpose of this article I use “self-publishing” and “vanity press” as meaning any book that an author pays to produce. Call it what you will, but the money is flowing FROM the author to a printer (I hesitate to say “publisher” because that’s insulting to the reputable publishers.)
There are legitimate reasons to self-publish a book. A family history, for example. Many schools use self-publishing as a fundraising tool, such as an annual recipe book or collections of stories written by students. Some small churches will self-publish prayer books. And sometimes, authors who have been rejected across the board but (and I stress the BUT) have had impartial and repeat praise for their work might turn to self-publishing as an alternative. It’s a viable alternative when there is an established audience.
But if you self publish, you need to know what you are facing. Spending thousands of dollars on your book before it is printed. Spending your money on marketing, promoting and publicizing your book. Buying up copies to sell to your friends and family. Spending hundreds of hours being a bookseller, a marketer, a retailer–hours that would be better spent writing your next book.
If you are a writer who checks their email daily, you have seen the messages about Harlequin Horizons, the self-publishing arm of Harlequin Enterprises. You know what it’s all about, so I’m not going into detail here. You can read about it here, here and here. And that’s two of three links that are Harlequin information and responses. Here’s Writer’s Beware on the matter.
But here’s the scoop:
* Harlequin has created a self-publishing imprint called “Harlequin Horizons” which requires that you, the writer, pay to have your book published. There are a variety of options starting at $599, plus 50% of net proceeds. So not only do you pay to produce and print your book, you’re splitting the royalties as well. They have no risk–you have all the risk. Yet they still get 50% of every copy sold. After YOU pay to publish the book. Does anyone else see something wrong with that?
* If you submit a manuscript to Harlequin and they reject it, they’ll send you a little note suggesting self-publishing–and Harlequin Horizons–as an option.
* Harlequin has stated that they are not using the Harlequin brand on the Horizons books, that they are simply using the Harlequin name to entice writers to consider self-publishing their romance novels using the services they provide through the vanity press Author Solutions.
$599 is the bare minimum cost. It goes up–WAY up–from there. For example, if you want an “Editorial Review” that’ll cost you $342. Okay you’re thinking–$342 is a very reasonable price to have your manuscript edited. Think again. This covers the first chapter only. You want line editing? That’s .035 cents a word. Content editing? Another .042 cents a word. Or get the whole package–evaluation, content and line editing for .077 cents a word. That’s $7,700 for a 100,000 word novel.
Then there’s marketing, book trailers, review copies, and a host of ala carte services. But they also offer packages which include some or all of their services.
Let’s say you buy the basic $599 package, but want the full editing. $8300. You have a trade book printed at $15 cover price. You think that $15 is yours?
Think again.
There is a cost to printing. Notice that Harlequin Horizons only pays you 50% of net proceeds. What is net? Hmm, don’t know. In traditional publishing, the retailers generally “pay” half the cover price. So a $15 book is $7.50 to the retailer and $7.50 to the publisher. Out of the $7.50 to the publisher, they pay for printing, overhead (editorial, cover design, marketing, shipping, etc) and $1.125 per book to the author at a 7.5% standard royalty rate for trade.
There is a cost to print the book POD (which is higher per book than a mass printed novel), e-tailers who sell (i.e. Amazon) take a portion, etc. But let’s be generous and say that the net proceeds are $10 on a $15 book. You, the author, get $5. Yeah! You’re already making nearly five times more money per book than the schmuck who goes the traditional publishing route.
Except, you need to sell 1,660 books to recoup your hard outlay to get that book in print. That doesn’t include your website, ads, etc where you need to try to SELL your book to the public because your book will not be distributed. How will people find your book on Amazon? You need to drive them there. How? LOTS of money, time and hard work.
I am not picking on Harlequin specifically, though it may seem so because they are under the gun right now with this venture. And honestly? They should be. Harlequin is a fantastic brand that has proven to be the face of romance. They publish quality romance novels at an affordable price and appeal to a mass audience around the world. Yet now they are diluting their brand, IMO, by printing self-published books. Because you know that every one of those authors who self-publishes will put on their website and promotional material that they are a Harlequin Author.
Romance Writers of America made a very brave and ballsy statement to the industry by removing Harlequin from its recognized “eligible” publishers–essentially limiting the perks available to Harlequin at RWA expense at conference. I commend RWA and its board of directors for standing up for writers of all genres, and romance writers in particular.
Money flows TO the author. Repeat as needed anytime you get the urge to give someone money to publish your book. Or listen to Harlan Ellison:
I went over to Nathan Bransford’s blog this evening with the title: You Tell Me: Why Are So Many People Writing Books These Days? I posted a comment which said that perhaps instant communication has just spread the news so more people SEEM to be writing a book, when in the past–pre-Internet (remember those days? I do. My kids don’t.)–no one knew who was writing and who wasn’t.
I’ve been writing nearly my entire life. Why? Because I couldn’t NOT write. It’s the way God made me. I love to write, even when I hate it. I love stories, even when I’m pulling my hair out because I can’t get a scene right. It’s part of me like my eye color–it’s in my genes. I am a writer.
Are more people writing a book? Probably. Why? Because they think it’s easy to get published. And guess what, it is. If you have the money, you can be published. Can you sell those books? Who knows? But you can be “published.” Or, rather, printed.
How many times have we heard: “I could write a book if I only had the time.” My answer? Bullshit. (Pardon my French.) Writers MAKE the time. We would rather write than sleep. When I started seriously writing in 2002–meaning, I stopped playing around and decided to focus on becoming a better writer and finishing a book–I gave up television, I gave up a couple hours of sleep, and I created a block of time to write and learn and improve and screw up and write some more.
How many times have we heard: “Writing’s easy.” Really? Easy? Finish a book, edit the book, get an agent, sell to a publisher (who pays you) and then tell me it’s easy. And I have news for you (okay, not YOU, faithful readers of MSW, who already know this) but it doesn’t get any easier.
How many times have we heard: “My book is better than the crap publishers are putting out” or “Readers just want to read junk.” Ahem. Publishers publish books to make money. Readers buy books to be entertained or learn something they want to know. Publishers make money when they sell to a large audience, hence the phrase (not the format) “Mass Market” or “Mass Audience.” There is a market for niche books, and small press and e-press are filling those spots very nicely–with books that the authors don’t have to pay to produce (over and above our hard expenses of computer, paper, postage, and chocolate or wine–you know, the necessities for writers.)
There is an easy way to be published–do it yourself with your own money. Write the book, edit the book, print the book, market, distribute and publicize the book. But that doesn’t make you an author. It makes you an author/editor/printer/marketer/distributor/publicist.
Writers write. Editors edit. Publicists publicize. Pick your profession and be the best at it you can be. But if you are promoting and selling your books? That’s time away from your writing, and you’ll never get better if you don’t write.
I’m a member of a lot of different writing organizations….International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, National Association of Women Writers, Novelists Inc, Science Fiction Writers of America, Romance Writers of America, Horror Writers Organization, and the Writers Guild of Acadiana. I’m probably forgetting one or two at the moment, but whew, just listing them tires me out! My primary reason for joining these orgs was to network with other writers. It didn’t take me long to figure out, though, that you get a lot more out of an org if you give them more than just an occasional appearance at a conference. In essence, if you volunteer for different projects, more information and contacts come your way.
One of the biggest challenges for any org, especially non-profits, is the lack of help. Volunteers are hard to come by. Everyone’s life is so busy that even the thought of adding one more responsibility to that mile-long TO-DO list makes me ill. But I think it’s worth it. A volunteer often stands at the front lines. They’re usually the first to know what’s going on in the org, first to hear the latest in the industry, first to meet some of the biggest names in the business. Plus they get a sense of satisfaction at having earned those perks and at having contributed to an industry that puts food on their table. Their voice is heard. They make a difference.
And let’s face it, if anyone plans to survive in this business for any length of time, it’s all about the who and what you know. Idealism wants to rest on laurels, holding fast to the belief that a writer’s work will speak for itself. Not true. Just look at the national best-sellers lists. Not all of those authors reached that pinnacle because of his or her vast talent in literature. Many of them got there because of who they knew. That said, it sort of makes sense to immerse yourself in many aspects of the business as you can, and writing organizations are the perfect venue with which to accomplish that. You never know what opportunities may arise.
Do you belong to a writing org? If so, what’s its biggest benefit to you?
Other Posts by Sylvia Day 
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