Scaling Author Mountain – Part Two

So let’s assume you’re not one of the lucky few who gets swept up into the arms of an effective agent and generous publisher. You’ve been sending your queries and the occasional manuscript out to every  agency or publishing house (large, small and everywhere in between that accepts submissions from writers without agents) listed in Writer’s Market that even skirts the fringes of your type of novel, and you’ve run out of options. 

Is it time to look at options for self-publishing? 

The world of self-publishing options is broader and more sophisticated than it was even ten years ago. What are some of the advantages of paying to have your book published? 

First, there is the total control over how it’s done.  Your choice of hardcover or soft. Your decision about page size and font size (although it may cost a bit more).  No one tells you to cut the word count, and no one edits out that humorous scene in chapter five that made you chuckle as you wrote it. In fact, no one tells you what stays and what goes or what must be rewritten in another way. 

Second, unlike traditional publishers, the turnaround time from submission of your manuscript to holding your book in your hand is measured in weeks or months rather than a year or more. 

Third, you can control your costs by choosing a print on demand publisher, or keeping the initial run small until you’re able to generate some demand. 

Of course, then there are the down sides of self-publishing. 

When you have a traditional publisher, your book will go through multiple rounds of editing.  As mentioned previously, this can be a negative if you really don’t want to let go of some of what you’ve written. However, the truth ( admittedly painful) is that professional editors do know what flows well, what really contributes to moving the story forward, and what content helps or hurts a book’s marketability.  No matter how precise your grammar is, or how many friends you had read your book to pick up on inconsistencies or other problems, a professional editor will make recommendations that will make a better book. 

One round of edits isn’t enough to find all the potential issues. When my book, Autumn Colors, was going through the third round of edits, my attitude was “what could possibly be left?” And yet, we not only found misspellings and grammatical issues then, but again on the following two reviews. And when the book was published, I found three more. There’s no denying the value of careful and multiple edits. This is not done with self-publishing. Some self-publishers will say they do copy-editing, which is usually no more than the same grammar and spell checks you can do with your own word processing program.  

The editing process also picks up on licensing issues (like if you quote the words of a song or poem) and may identify questions of accuracy.  During one of the edits of Autumn Colors, my editor questioned a reference I had made to the drinking age in New York State in the mid-seventies. I lived it, so I knew I was okay, but I had to research when NYS raised the legal age for drinking to reassure her that the reference was accurate. 

Another (big) downside of self-publishing is the credibility with which the book is viewed. Lots of excellent writers have their work rejected by traditional publishers. Chances are, if they self-published and were meticulous about their own editing, their book could be as good as any that are on the market. But it will not be viewed that way.  Self-published books, novels in particular, have an uphill battle in the marketplace. While almost anyone can get their book on Amazon, getting into the major bookstore chains is next to impossible unless you are already famous or a highly acclaimed expert in the subject of the book. Even then, the chains look for endorsements by famous individuals and reviews by the likes of Publishers Weekly or Kirkus. Without those, you have little chance of getting your book out in the mainstream. 

And the double whammy – it’s almost impossible for a self-published author to get reviews by any of the top reviewers. Some reviewers say up front that they don’t review self-published books.  Others don’t say that, but ignore your book when you send it to them.  Autumn Colors came from a traditional publisher, but the publisher doesn’t assist with getting reviews. So even though my novel was published traditionally, it didn’t appear that way when I sent over 400 copies out to reviewers, newspapers, magazines and celebrities (authors and actors). At the publisher’s recommendation, I used a marketing entity (a dba of my own) to send them. But with them not going out from the publisher, they had the appearance of being self-published. The recipients are deluged regularly with such books, and they don’t take the time to read your cover letter which points out that you have a traditional publisher. 

The point is, when you self-publish, you and your work do not receive the same respect as a book published by a major publishing house, with the possible exception of your already being a celebrity or being in a field where you can access celebrity endorsements and major reviews. And the side effect of that is you don’t get your book into the major bookstore chains. You’ll make more money on each book you sell directly, but you have little or no chance of selling enough books to make either a living or an impact. There are exceptions – the Chicken Soup for the Soul series of books started out self-published. But that is the rare exception. 

The next posting will deal with what you need to anticipate after your book is published. There are ample resources out there, although most deal with non-fiction books. Novels are a tougher sell. We’ll continue scaling Author Mountain next time.

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Scaling Author Mountain – Part One

Scaling Author Mountain – Part One 

Whether you’re fifteen or fifty, when you finally decide that you must put pen to paper, you begin an arduous climb up what often is an unforgiving mountain. I think if you knew in advance what it would be like, you might consider aborting. But if you’ve ever climbed a challenging peak you know that there are many points along the way where you think you are almost there. That belief pushes you onward. You see that crest just up there where the trees are thinning and you think, “I can do this.” The surge of adrenalin at the thought of achieving your goal moves you forward and upward, only to reach that crest and see that the mountaintop still soars high above.  That experience repeats itself until, at last, you think that you can’t handle one more disappointment, can’t push one more time. But then finally there it is – the treeless summit that can’t possibly be the kind of mirage you’ve been dealing with all along. It has to be the top. You’ve done it! Then you exhaustedly haul yourself up over those final rocks to the highest point, look around, and see that you are surrounded by higher mountains which block the view you had anticipated for so long. Discouraged and seemingly defeated, you collapse on a rock smoothed by eons of winds and weather. You open your pack and pull out refreshing water and an energy bar or bag of trail mix. Breathing in the fresh, crisp air, you close your eyes. The refreshment of the snack and water begins to do its job. You look down and see that even in this hostile environment, tiny creatures live and rugged plants grow. Reaching this summit, you realize, is no small feat. You can appreciate that. But there are those other, taller mountains out there. What is the view like from those? As you make your descent, you’re already planning what you need to do to conquer one of those other mountains. You don’t know, at that point, that there are more mountains on the other side of those mountains. 

Many a writer gets discouraged and gives up. Another climb, another struggle, another disappointment just isn’t worth it. There are other pleasures in life. 

But not you.  No matter how tired you get or how late in the day it is, you always seem to have more water and trail mix you pull out and devour, feeding your body and energizing your soul, preparing you for the next surge. 

My guess is I don’t need to make the direct connection for most aspiring authors between climbing the mountain(s) and achieving your writing goals. But I’ll do it for non-writers who might not understand what most writers go through before they make a name for themselves. I’ll abbreviate it in recognition of the potential boredom factor. 

The first mountain you climb is little more than a hill, but it doesn’t feel that way when you’re starting out. It’s disciplining yourself to write regularly and actually finish something. It’s overcoming any insecurity you feel about the quality of your writing and getting the story or essay or poem  or whatever onto the paper and taking it to The End. Edits and rewrites follow, of course, but that’s really the descent from the first mountaintop. You’ve finished something and you’re beginning to think about the next climb – getting it published. 

After all the rewriting you’ve done, you’re pretty pleased with what you’ve written. You’ve done enough reading about getting published to know you need a good query letter. That letter is your ticket to getting an agent or publisher to say yes, they’d like to see your work. Failing that, you’ll paper your walls with rejections. And note well, “failure” is not just defined as not writing an effective query letter. It’s also the result of not knowing exactly what it is the agents or publishers are looking for at the time of your submission.  Lots of homework required there, and even that might not give you enough to avoid the canned response: “Sorry, not quite right for us at this time.” 

First you send your query to places that allow multiple submissions. It’s a time-saver, after all. You know that it will take weeks – maybe even months – to receive a response. One by one the impersonal responses trickle in, with the occasional carrot like “Great writing, but we just took on a similar work.”  It’s those carrots that keep you from getting completely discouraged. Surely, if a New York City agent or publisher says “great writing” your work will be picked up by someone. 

There are exceptions, of course. You read sometimes in Writers Digest about a new author who was accepted by an agent on the first query and went on to a six-figure advance and/or a multi-book contract. But make no mistake, this is rare. 

Months, or more likely years, after starting your search for an agent or publisher you may (or may not) finally receive a positive response. Up to this point, many writers have begun to consider self-publishing. That “great writing” message way back when pushes us forward. Surely, if you can bypass the bureaucracy of the formal publishing world and get your book into the hands of readers, they’ll appreciate what you’ve written, right? 

Ah, yet another mountain.

(To be continued…)

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WHAT PRICE, THE GIFT OF LIFE?

Through the years since I was in college, forty years ago, I donated blood several times a year. I never rose to the frequency allowed by the minimum wait time between donations of whole blood (8 weeks), but generally I gave about four times each year. I always tried to plan my donations around peak blood need times, like holidays, and summer. I happen to have a less common blood type (A-negative), so I received regular requests between donations to give again. It was never a big deal, and I often wondered why more people didn’t do it. It didn’t take a lot of time, and it was so valuable to the recipients who needed all or part of the donated blood. I had problems periodically with being lightheaded or actually blacking out after donations, but that only happened if I had skimped on breakfast or had insufficient fluids, and I had control over that. 

Ah, but then the years progress and our bodies age. 

About ten years ago I began to notice that for a few days after a blood donation I experienced dizziness and could not climb stairs without severe air hunger. I was pre-menopausal, and as it turned out, slightly anemic. I simply factored that into my planning for donations. Although I was exercising regularly, going a few days without a workout wasn’t a tragedy. 

Over the past ten years, that “few days” increased to a week or more. My aging body simply wasn’t replacing red blood cells as quickly as it had in my youth. In the meantime, I’d started a much more active workout schedule, including training for half and full marathons. Depending on the timing, losing a week or two of training made a big difference. Not only did I lose conditioning, I also lost momentum. I’m not a fanatical athlete, and if I go a while without workouts, inertia sets in. Giving blood began to seem like more of a personal sacrifice. 

My very active lifestyle kept my blood pressure and cholesterol numbers better than I ever dreamed, considering my family history. And bonus was I could keep my weight in a healthy range without paying a lot of attention to how much I was eating or whether I had a glass of wine every night. I believe we all have personal responsibility for our health, for managing our controllable risk factors with diet and exercise. But I also know it’s very hard to do that. That’s why so many people succumb to the temptation to take pills to keep their numbers where they should be and to control diabetes if they are overweight and that becomes an issue. But I’d rather not take pills, or would rather take the lowest dose possible (because lifestyle doesn’t always do the whole job if your genes are working against you). And so I try to eat fairly healthy, and count on my activity level to do the rest. 

So back to donating blood. I gradually decreased the frequency of my donations to twice a year, feeling very guilty (and sometimes giving in) when the Red Cross would call and tell me they were desperate for my blood type.  I’m very torn – do I do what I need to do to keep my own body healthy, or do I risk falling out of my exercise routine by giving blood and taking two weeks off to recover? The former seems personally responsible, the latter seems less selfish. 

It’s not like I never take time off from running and working out. I had three months this year when my activities were somewhat curtailed by injuries. The mind was willing but the body wasn’t cooperating. Perhaps I should have given blood then. But I kept thinking: maybe by next week I’ll be able to run again, and could still do that half marathon in September. 

So now I’m back to running, injury free for the moment, and it feels so good I don’t want to break stride. I have my sights set on giving blood around the holidays, when it’s especially needed, and when I’d be likely to slack off on my runs anyway. But is once a year enough? Should I be more generous with my blood and less selfish about my running and give blood more frequently? I’d give ALMOST anything not to feel guilty about not contributing to the blood supply. I’m just not sure which obligation is more important – keeping myself healthy or helping someone else back to health. It should be a no-brainer, and maybe just by writing this I’m convincing myself to give at least twice a year. It’s more than what most people do, and better than not giving at all. 

Still, I do believe it’s time for the younger generations to step up to the plate. I’m sixty-one years old. Who knows how much longer I’ll be able to give even without the activity issue? Now that I’ve thought this through, I’ve reached a decision: I’ll continue to offer up my blood a couple of times per year, as long as I’m healthy, planning donations right after scheduled running events, when it doesn’t matter so much if I have a gap in training (and when, truth be told, I usually take a little break anyway). 

But young people everywhere need to do their share. A unit of blood from a healthy young person is not even missed. I know that from experience. And it does so much for the folks who need it. It’s an easy way to do something very important for others. Give the gift of life. Give blood.

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Stress Management Ruminations

I want to do it all! 

I expected the past week to be tough , but it got tougher. I knew I had to go to NYC for my full time job for three days. I don’t like to give up my workouts, so, on Tuesday I rose at 2a.m. so I’d have time to make the 1hr and 10 min commute to the gym, run 6 miles and do a weight workout, and arrive at Amtrak in time to purchase a ticket and get on the 6:30a.m. train. I planned to use my time on the train to work on my new book, but I was so tired I fell into a sound sleep in the “quiet car.” I hit the ground running when my train reached Penn Station, taking the subway to Wall Street and walking to the site of my day’s work on Water St. Once again, I planned to use my evening alone in a hotel to eat in and get some work done. But one of my colleagues was staying at the same hotel and we agreed to have dinner together.  The recommended restaurant, which was supposed to be a few blocks from the hotel, proved to be over a half hour walk. Not a hard walk physically, but certainly adding to my lost work time. Dinner was a delicious but protracted event, and it was after nine by the time I was back in my hotel room – not late until you think back to my rise-and-shine hour of 2a.m. 

Wednesday wasn’t quite so bad, since I was already in the city. I did manage to accomplish some work between my 5a.m. wake-up and my 8a.m. walk back to Water St. Took Amtrak home at the end of the work day and cozied up to my dog and husband (shamefully, in that order) at about 8p.m. 

Thursday was a repeat of Tuesday. Even for me, a morning person, these 2a.m. mornings are wearing me down. After a long day in NYC, including a presentation, Amtrak and I traveled back to Albany, and I drove home arriving shortly before 10p.m. Had to drive with the windows open to stay awake. 

I’m getting my third cold in about 6 months and hadn’t had a cold previously in several years. Between all the book stuff and work and trying to be consistent with workouts, I’m stretched beyond what my body and mind can handle. What I want to do and what I really can do seem to be competing. I’m coming up on one of the busiest times of year at my full time job, and my publisher is looking for results from my book marketing efforts for Autumn Colors, and I really want to have another manuscript ready to send to agents by January, and my personal trainer (who, admittedly, I pay to push me) is looking forward to preparing me for another marathon. 

Something’s got to give. I feel stressed most of the time, and have so much going on in my head that I sometimes lose track of my long “to do” list. I look at my options. I so wish I could retire from my full time job, but that’s simply not an option financially. Could we cut expenses enough to survive on the paltry income we’d have with two small pensions and two social security checks? Probably, if we were willing to live in a hovel. Our house and related costs are the biggest ticket items on our expenses list. But we do love our house, and when I’m working at home the view of the river and our property gives me such pleasure.  Life would be easier in a no-maintenance living arrangement. But right now that’s not a choice we’re willing to make. 

Promoting my book has become priority one for me. I don’t expect to make a lot of money on this one, but I do hope that I can make enough of a mark with its sales record that a reputable agent would be more willing to consider my next book – which in turn would mean I’d have a better chance of book #2 being picked up by a publisher who would make more of an investment in its success. I’ve repeatedly said I believe I have only one chance to make this mark. If I can’t make Autumn Colors succeed, I may never have another book published. It’s imperative, for my long term plans, to make this a success. 

So I can’t quit my day job and I can’t cut back on my promotional efforts, and I can’t stop working on book #2. 

Yesterday we went to my family’s annual clam steam, a sort of reunion of family members and friends. The hostess commented about the importance of making time for pleasure now, not living exclusively for the future, and not being obsessed with having a lot of money. I don’t know what their financial status really is – I suspect they are comfortable because they’ve lived a fairly simple life and I would guess she has been diligent about savings. But I believe her when she says they’ll never be rich. Still, in recent years they have made it a point to take major and minor trips together, carving out the time and reserving the money to pursue some pleasure now (between the hard work days) rather than focusing exclusively on doing things in retirement. Which is what my husband and I have been doing. It got me thinking… 

I still have to keep my day job, with its travel and long commute. And I will have regrets if I don’t give my all to promoting my book. So what’s left? 

Training for another marathon? 

Giving up workouts entirely would be counter-productive. However, might it make sense to go into a maintenance workout mode, at least until the surge of the book promotion efforts is over? In terms of actual hours saved, it really wouldn’t be huge. I could maybe get up at 3:30a.m. on workout days instead of 2. And could maybe work out 3-4 days instead of 5 or 6. And could limit my weekend long run to 1-2 hours instead of 3 or more. 

All doable. But what would that do for my stress level if I don’t build in some pleasure time?   

I think I need to carve out at least a half day, or preferably a full day, every weekend or even every other weekend to focus on doing fun things with my husband and dog (in that order this time!). Perhaps turning off the “must do” mode for a day would refresh my brain and attitude enough to improve my efficiency the rest of the time.  Studies show that people on a job who take regular breaks work more efficiently the rest of the day. Might that theory apply here also? 

I’d still rather retire from my full time job. 

But I’m writing this to be productive, not to whine. So focus on the positive. The world won’t stop turning if I, a back-of-the-pack runner, don’t run another marathon before fall of 2011. Actually it won’t stop turning if I never run another marathon, but I don’t want to go there, since I really get a healthy high from crossing that finish line, especially if I’m not the last runner across. And stressed or not, I’m not yet willing to give anything up permanently. 

What I want really isn’t a lot, compared to achieving great wealth or celebrity or an Olympic gold medal. My goals are higher than some but still not unreasonable.

 And I still want to do it all eventually!

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It’s All In The Attitude

Earlier this week I had the pleasure of spending two full days with my 94-year-old mother-in-law. Yes, you read that right; it was a pleasure. Most of what made it enjoyable was her attitude. She perceives her life as full, in spite of physical and (more recently) mental limitations.

My husband and I invited her to spend a few days with us. She hadn’t wanted to come during the peak of summer because we don’t have air conditioning and she doesn’t tolerate extreme heat and humidity well any more. We had a lot of that this summer. But she really looked forward to spending time sitting on the shore of the Schroon River, where we live, and that required good weather. Like many elderly people, her body doesn’t regulate temperature well any more. So anything outside a narrow comfort range leaves her unable to stay warm or with difficulty breathing in the heat. The forecast for Labor Day and the following day was perfect, and both my husband and I had the days off from work, so we jumped on it.

We had agreed that I would pick her up at 1pm Monday. That morning she called to ask when I was coming – yes, her memory is going. When I said 1pm she asked, “Isn’t that late for lunch?” We had originally agreed that she would have lunch before I arrived. “I’ll buy if you want to go out for lunch.” What could I say? I had a lot to do and didn’t want to lose an hour, but really, what’s one hour? There will be a time in the probably near future when she won’t be around, or won’t be capable of doing anything like this. Savor the times with your loved ones while they are here.

So I picked her up a little before noon.

“It’s a little early for lunch, isn’t it? I just had breakfast.” Well, she probably had had breakfast three hours ago, but what’s time in the mind of a ninety four year old woman?  

“If you’re not hungry yet, I have a great idea. Let’s eat closer to home (we live almost an hour north of her). “

That worked for her. We chatted amiably as I drove. Well, there’s the challenge of her hearing limitations, which meant most things I said had to be repeated louder and slower numerous times. And the short term memory thing, so during the ride I heard the same stories multiple times, slightly changed each time. But she was so obviously enjoying herself, it made me feel good.

We had lunch at Lizzie Keays, a delightful restaurant carved out of an old factory building that pleasantly serves fresh and healthy foods at a very reasonable price. Mom has to choose soft foods on any menu because she’s lost most of her teeth. Somewhere along the line someone convinced her that it’s better to keep your own teeth than resort to dentures. Well, that’s indisputably true, but not when you’re down to so few teeth. But it’s her choice, and she seems to find plenty of foods she enjoys eating. Our lunch was no exception. Lizzie Keays has a sort of make-your-own-sandwich menu – you choose the ingredients from a generous list, one from this list, up to three from that, your choice of hearty breads, rolls or wraps and a dressing. We had the tomato bisque soup and half sandwich combo. Mom chose, not surprisingly, the egg salad. Between slowly chewed mouthfuls she raved about the food and the décor of the restaurant, and the beautiful sunny day outside. She was having a grand time. It took close to an hour, but she finished everything on her plate except for the whole grain tortilla chips and sighed with obvious satisfaction. And paid the bill with change back from her twenty. She’ll never remember the name of the restaurant, but she’ll remember that we had good food at a reasonable price.

Over lunch I had surprised her with a copy of my novel, Autumn Colors. She hadn’t known I was a writer, and she was so awed by holding a book with her daughter-in-law’s name on the front. She started listing all the people she had to tell. She may actually forget by the time she gets home, but it was fun to see her get so excited over it.

By the time we got home she was quite tired and a bit chilled. Rather than go down by the river, she requested that we sit by the fireplace and read for a while (which for her also means napping). I hadn’t planned a fire, but we don’t turn the heat on this early, and I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable. It actually was nice – we haven’t had fires all summer, of course, so the coziness of a fire on a cool September afternoon was rather nice.

Dinner was goulash, which I had made earlier – another soft menu choice. We had planned to eat on our screened porch, but she was already cool, making that unrealistic. My husband was home by then, so we discussed options and all agreed to having dinner while watching an old movie (which I had taped over the weekend).

Between the movie and food and warmth of the fire and activities of the day, we were all ready for an early turn-in. As I assisted her with getting ready for bed, she said repeatedly what a nice day it had been. We hadn’t done anything big, but she took such pleasure in just being able to do anything, and in having caring family around to do it with.

On Tuesday after breakfast we packed a picnic lunch and left to shop for a new cushion for her rocker. She’s had two hip replacements and is, well, old, so even though she’s still able to walk, it’s a very slow process. In the time it took for my husband to park the car and walk back to the store, we had barely made it halfway down the aisle where the cushions were displayed. Not surprisingly, the whole process took so long it was time for lunch as we left the store. We had decided to drive to the top of Prospect Mountain and have a picnic there. We couldn’t have pleased her more! She raved at the panoramic view of Lake George and the mountains beyond. Several times through lunch, between other conversation, she sighed happily and just stared out over the view.

If I haven’t made it clear up to now, let me point out that this woman, who can barely walk, has lost all of her important contemporaries, and has to rely on the kindness of others to go anywhere, repeatedly talks about how lucky she is. She doesn’t have a lot of money, but she feels rich – she revels in the fact that she can pay her bills and still have some money left over for whatever she wants to buy. She’s always lived a simple life, so those things she likes to buy are, for example, the $12 cushion she bought at Walmart that day. The fact that she can do that without sacrificing food or wondering if she’ll have enough for her rent brings her great satisfaction. She doesn’t need a lot, and she doesn’t need anything expensive. She’s happy with what she has and where she is in her life. Occasionally she’ll remark that she’s lived too long. But feeling ready to go is not synonymous with not enjoying life day to day. It’s an attitude we could all emulate, and I certainly hope if I live as long as her that I’ll still choose to see the little pleasures in life rather than dwell on my limitations.

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Becoming a Published Novelist

Recently I’ve had conversations with caring friends who are concerned about the amount of work I’m doing for my soon-to-be-published novel. They say a “real” publisher would be doing much of this work for me, and that in reality this publisher is a vanity publisher in the disguise of a traditional publisher. In other words, they’re saying they are scamming me. I’m not going to mention the publisher’s name. Suffice to say that I’m well aware that a major publisher would do more for me than this publisher is doing. However, even major publishers are very limited about what they do on the marketing end for new or mid-list authors. And I want to add that I’ve not been expected to do anything that wasn’t clearly spelled out in the beginning of my experience with them. And that they have provided resources for me to learn about the things I have to do that may be foreign to me. I’ve actually been grateful for this part of the experience, since I’ve amassed a huge array of skills and knowledge that I never would have if it had all been done for me.

The odds are stacked heavily against finding a publisher who will take a chance on a new writer who is not a celebrity. There are exceptions, but they are miniscule minorities. Many authors who are committed to seeing their book in print will resort to self-publishing. I was reluctant to do that, for many reasons which I will go into later.  When my book was accepted by Publisher X, I was elated. The fact that they told me up front what my obligations would be, which were above and beyond what most traditional publishers would do, did not deter me. They offered enough of the services I associate with a good publisher, and I had read enough about publishers losing money on most of their books to understand why a publisher would be conservative in its investment in any new author.  In my view, they were sort of a hybrid, offering more than a vanity press while limiting their financial investment while I was an unproven asset. As I said in a prior posting, I tend to be gullible and trusting, so in the beginning it was possible to believe that the naysayers could be right. But my experience since last August, when the book was accepted, has only reinforced my position. Granted, I don’t have the book in hand yet. But that to me is proof they are more traditional than vanity. They put me through multiple (4 or 5 – I lost count) content and copy editing cycles, cleaning up the language and flow and reducing the word count to a more marketable level. In other words, they took their time and resources to get the book as good as it could be. Their cover designer produced two covers in response to my input, and I chose the most appealing one. Yes, I paid a small, refundable fee up front. But the hours my editor and the design and PR folks have put in have more than covered that – and I still expect to get it back. Otherwise I don’t pay a penny until I get my book supply, and then what I pay is determined by how many books I choose to order myself. Would I have preferred to have my publisher seek the reviews and endorsements that could make the difference between success and oblivion? Of course. But they don’t. That’s up to me. I’ll be sending out close to 500 copies of my book in hopes of getting a handful of reviews and endorsements. And that’s if I’m lucky. But I’m a pragmatic person, and if that’s the way it has to be, I do what I have to do, and hope that some kind reviewers and celebrities will decide my book is worthy of their words.

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The Long and Winding Road to Publication

I was thrilled this weekend to receive the “final”pre-printing manuscript of my novel, Autumn Colors, for review and approval. The next step would take it to the printer and the book – review copies, at least – would be available at last. I felt like I had been at this for so very long, with no fewer than five readings and editings since last August when the book was accepted for publication. After all those readings, I thought, how could there be anything left to correct? Surely this would be a slam dunk. I’d go through the ritual of reading it (again) over the weekend and be able to send off my signed approval on Monday.

Alas, I learned otherwise. It’s amazing that a book could be read that many times and anything could be left unnoticed. But there they were, those three mistakes. I debated whether to bother changing them – maybe my readers wouldn’t notice. But they haunted my sleep last night. Yes, readers – and worse, critical reviewers – would notice the two slips from third person to first person, holdovers from the very first version of the novel, which was written in first person. And there was that errant paragraph that “slipped” two paragraphs out of place, probably due to a cut and paste during the cutting that took place to reduce the word count. Did it really make a difference? Well, you tell me. The errant paragraph referred to the main character’s spring semester in college, but was placed in the middle of the summer vacation action. The reader would be distracted, at the very least, confused, and possibly annoyed at the dissonance.

And so I felt compelled to communicate these corrections to the publisher, knowing the flow of the process would be disrupted or at least slowed.  I so hoped for an early fall release, to take advantage of the seasonal connection with the novel’s title. But before release we need 3-4 months for the review copies to be distributed, with the hope of obtaining some good and influential reviews to help with the book’s promotion and chances of success. Depending on the turnaround time for the corrections and the time it takes for printing, we’re looking now at a mid- to late fall release, and that’s if all goes smoothly.  We’re getting perilously close to the holiday season and its associated releases by much larger publishers.

This has been quite a learning process. I always wondered why publishers’ guidelines would talk about 15-24 months from acceptance to release. I was pleased that my publisher boasted 9-12 months. I thought that meant to release date, but it really meant to the date of printing, and the extra pre-release months have to be added to that. There’s really no way to hurry the process. And considering I found mistakes even after five previous edits, I guess I wouldn’t want to.

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When It’s Time To Say Goodbye

My friend Bruce Flagler died Tuesday. I wasn’t expecting it. Oh, he had ALS, and I knew it could only go one way. But I just saw him two weeks ago, and – while he was obviously deteriorating – death did not seem imminent. May 26 was his birthday and I sent him a card with a promise of a birthday hug when I saw him next. I planned to visit him on Wednesday. A day too late. I thought I had months, or at least weeks. But you never know.

It goes back to what I said in my earliest posting, Gaining and Losing: don’t wait to tell someone how much you care, because five minutes from now you may never have the opportunity again.

Bruce’s lungs failed before the last of his skeletal muscles did, and it was a blessing. I couldn’t conceive of the terror of being locked in a body with no way to communicate and no way to do anything for yourself. According to his sister, he died as he lived, with dignity and on his own terms. He took a couple of slow breaths, and then closed his eyes, never to take another.

Bruce’s funeral was today. I went with a couple of friends. I was proud to make it through the service without breaking down. A color guard consisting of 6 or 8 motorcycle-riding buddies, at least some from ‘Nam, drew attention to the long line of cars on the way to the cemetery. A couple of military reps did the flag folding ceremony and handed the flag (there actually were two, as Bruce had twin sons) to the boys. Then someone began playing Taps. My self-control faltered and failed. I didn’t do any all out sobbing, but there were a lot of tears and sniffling.

We all placed flowers on the casket and said our final goodbyes. It’s never easy to lose someone. And it always seems like you had some unfinished business. I never gave him his birthday hug. But I’m grateful that he escaped the body that was fast becoming his living tomb.

So long, Bruce.  It’s been a privilege.

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Whining as Therapy

What can you write about when you’re feeling down but don’t want to sound like a whiner?

It’s not like I don’t have anything to feel down about. Right?

Well, it’s all relative.

I’m home alone on a glorious holiday weekend. My husband, who works for a marina during summer months, is of course working today. And being alone isn’t the worst of it. I’m also sidelined from the one activity that keeps me and my inherited moodiness on an even keel. Running. Achilles tendonitis. It’s sunny and warm, so I could be down by the water (we live on a “wild and scenic river” in the Adirondacks) enjoying the hypnotic tranquility. But it’s also black fly season, not to mention the mosquitoes. I’d have to be covered from head to toe with either impenetrable clothes or toxic bug spray.

Wah, wah, wah. You see what I mean? Even I can’t stand my own whining.

So if I weren’t home alone, on my screened porch, playing on the computer, where would I rather be and what would I rather be doing?

Hm-m-m. I’d like to be on one of those boats at my husband’s marina, with my husband and maybe some friends, out on the lake, basking in the sunshine, reading or snoozing, and falling into the water to cool off periodically. We used to have a boat. We sold it when we bought the property on the river. Bought a new canoe instead. Which would be terrific also. But pretty useless, alone on a glorious holiday weekend.

Aha! So that’s the real issue. I’m feeling sorry for myself because my husband works weekends and I work week days and we never get to have fun together any more. And because we can’t afford, these days, to buy a boat, which we decided after we went a few summers without one that we really missed.

It’s not like he chooses to be away from me on the weekends. It’s that there aren’t a lot of decent jobs in the Adirondacks, especially for a man in his early sixties. And we need the money. No, scratch that – we like having some extra money, so we can afford to do fun things.

Oh, right, we can’t do fun things together because we work opposite schedules. But if he quit the job, we wouldn’t be able to afford to do fun things.

And therein lies the circuitous dilemma.

Back to “it’s all relative.” These days we should be grateful to have jobs. We should acknowledge the value of a home on water. We should revel in our good health, Achilles tendonitis aside. While we don’t have a lot of cash flow, we’re able to pay our bills. No one is repossessing our cars or foreclosing on our house, and we’re not “under water” with our mortgage.

But, wah wah, we wanted to be retired by now, enjoying the fruits of nearly four decades of labor.

But, tsk tsk, a generation ago no one dreamed of retiring at our age. They worked until they could work no more, and at least until sixty-five. If they lived many years after that, lucky them, getting to enjoy the leisure of a long retirement.

Considering that few companies offer pensions any more, and employment for young people is both transient and uncertain, the next generation may be more like our parents, working until they max out Social Security, if it exists by then. Hopefully, they will have saved enough money and be healthy enough to enjoy their eventual retirement, though with the rate of obesity and related chronic diseases, it kind of makes you wonder. But I digress.

So what’s the big deal about having to work until I’m sixty five?  We do need to find a way around the clashing work schedules, because at our ages we shouldn’t be living only for tomorrow.  But otherwise the working part isn’t a tragedy. And much of our life is pretty damn good.

Okay, I feel much better now. Guess I just needed to get the whining out of my system and move on.

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WHAT’S IT ALL ABOUT?

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about my life – past, present, future. Wondering if there’s some grand scheme that’s been guiding it, determining what happens, how I’ve responded, how I’ve chosen to live my life, what I was supposed to learn from it all.

Or has it all been random chance? Good luck and bad?

Sounds like the ruminations of a dying woman, which I’m not (that I’m aware of anyway!). Although when you think about it, we’re all dying – some of us are just farther from the end stage than others.

I know that there are some things I’ve done that could easily have turned out very negatively. Yet they didn’t. (Unless you count the guilt I live with, the nights I lie awake thinking about all the horrendous potential outcomes and wondering “why was I spared?”).

There are so many things I wish I had handled differently – times when I could have spared others’ feelings, when I could have shown more compassion, when I could have done more but didn’t. It’s not that I ever intentionally hurt anyone. More like I wasn’t tuned in to the potential effects of my actions or inactions. Why was that? I always wanted to do the right thing. Yet so often I didn’t – and most times didn’t understand it until it was too late to repair the damage.

Why?

Which brings me back to the grand scheme concept. I’m not a religious person. But it is hard for me to swallow that there’s no meaning to anything – that our lives are all random, no different than the squirrel that runs across the road in front of your car and makes it versus the one who causes a bumpy thud under your tire and a sick feeling in your gut.

I recently read Do Dead People Walk Their Dogs?, in which author Concetta Bertoldi repeated what I’ve read in so many other philosophical writings – that we’re here for a purpose, to learn lessons in this life that help our soul grow, lessons we take to the “other side” and eventually into a future life.

If that’s true, what am I supposed to be learning and accomplishing in this life? I’m busy all the time, doing and producing, but is that what I’m here to accomplish? I’ve lived and relived a thousand times all the mistakes I’ve made, and I try hard now not to make any of those mistakes again. Is that enough? I’ve learned the importance of forgiving – both myself and others. Is that my lesson? Or have I missed the boat entirely? Should I be doing something entirely different with my life, or am I in the right place at the right time? Have I missed any subtle cues that were meant to nudge me in one direction or another?

I bury anger. But I have not learned to let it go. Is that another lesson for this life (I’d better live a very long time if it is!), or will it carry over to the next?

I’m a pretty pragmatic person. When something goes wrong, I don’t spend a lot of time on wailing and gnashing of teeth. I simply look for what I need to do to fix it, to make it right, the sooner the better. Is that a good thing – or a control freak weakness? Should I embrace this part of me or should I be feeling more, embracing the emotions of adversity?

I keep coming back to the same place. What is the point of all this? Do we pass through this human incarnation for a purpose, or are we just putting in our time like any other living creature?

I feel driven to leave a part of me behind when I leave this life. It’s one of my motivations for writing, and for pursuing publication for years until someone finally said yes to a manuscript.

But is that sufficient? Why do I feel that – although having a book in print is nice – what I really want to leave behind is something less tangible? Yet my pragmatic side says the memories you leave with people die with them. The printed word remains. So is it possible to make a difference in people’s lives for generations to come by writing a superior book with a message that transcends the limitations of past, present or future?

Hm-m-m-.  Maybe.

But would the time and commitment to writing such a powerful and far-reaching work – what perhaps may be no more than a colossal ego trip – take me away from what I’m supposed to be doing, after all, in this life of mine?

Which brings me back (again) to my original question: why am I here? In other words – what’s it all about?

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