Now, This is Cool...and True

...and it has been ever thus.

Hey, it’s not my fault! I come by this honestly. Really.

Ever since OSV’s friend Janet Smith used the phrase “genetically irritable” to describe her cantankerous nature—something I instantly identified with!—I’ve been pondering a question about who I am, and why I’m wired the way I am. The question usually goes along the lines of “Why am I so cantankerous?” Or “Why do I always seem to see things differently than the majority?” Or “Why am I always the one who says ‘the emperor has no clothes on’?” “Why can’t anyone else see this this way???” All these questions, I’ve been asking myself for years, because I have this interpersonal handicap. St. Paul had his thorn in the flesh…I’ve got mine. I don’t “do” group-think well. If a majority of people think something, almost invariably, I believe the opposite. (I’m probably the only person in America who, all through the OJ trial, kept saying, “He’s being framed.” That’s how bad this is.) 99% of the time, I never cared for the #1 hit songs on the hit parade (now, there’s a phrase that’ll date me!). I either liked the “B” side of the record (another phrase that’ll date me)—or I’d heard another cut from the artist that I liked WAY better than the monster hit. Or, a third possibility that occurred more times than I can count: I didn’t even like the artist to begin with. In some cases, “loathe” was not too strong a word. I’ve never watched Survivor. I’ve never watched American Idol. I consider such things a colossal waste of time. I never watched Seinfeld until my kids started watching it in reruns. Same with The Simpsons. And the jury’s still out as to whether either of those, or any of a thousand other hit shows out there, are worth spending time on. Ditto for the majority of movies that come out lately…and I love movies. But there are only so many bathroom or gutter jokes you want to hear when you’re past seventh grade. All that could be dismissed as just my tastes being out of the mainstream. But, oh, if it were only that simple. And if only I still got rewarded for “unique insights” with As on my papers, like I got in grade school and high school and college. But when you grow up, “unique insights” don’t make you friends. You aren’t “unique” anymore…you’re “out of step.” You “just don’t get it,” you don’t “understand,” you “need to loosen up,” or, in the worst case scenarios, you get called nasty names. In rare instances, you get credited for being a “conscience.” I got that a couple of times. It was wonderful. But it’s also lonely. Just ask Jiminy Cricket…we may have to “let our conscience(s) be our guide,” but that doesn’t mean we want to invite them over for drinks after the show. (They probably wouldn’t have liked the show anyway.) So what’s a contrarian to do? My life coach suggested some new ways to think. To try to get myself to understand and appreciate the group dynamics in my writers’ organizations, at work, wherever. To use that steel-trap brain of mine to think ahead about what I’d say and how I’d say it. To tailor my words so that other people are “right,” and I’m only being “helpful.” And I tried, really, I did. I still do. People have no idea how many bite marks there are in my tongue; I spend a lot of time reframing things before they even come out of my mouth. But what comes out, either of mouth or keyboard, invariably still is more contrarian than it is conciliatory. At last, though, I may have an answer for why this is happening. This may not even be a thorn in the flesh…as painful as it is at times. This may, in fact, be exactly what I’ve been called to be from the beginning, and if I start thanking God for it instead of trying to figure out how to “fix” it, there may be exciting things ahead. When did I come to this miracle conclusion? Well, Janet Smith’s tongue-in-cheek label helped. I won’t deny that. But then I realized this goes deeper even than a wry observation about how I’m “wired.” This goes, ladies and gentlemen, clear to my patron saint. Now, before you go running off to see who my patron saint is, I’ll save you the trouble. It’s Bartholomew. Otherwise known as Nathaniel. No, I’m not named either of those things, obviously. But Bartholomew/Nathaniel’s feast day is…my birthday. So in at least one sense, that makes him my patron saint. If I’d just remembered that, and put it together with the account we have of him in Scripture, I would have understood this hard-wiring of mine so much better. Walk back with me in time to the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry, when He’s calling the disciples. He taps Philip on the shoulder and says, “You.” What does Philip do? He runs to get his brother, of course. His brother…Nathaniel. What follows is one of my favorite passages in all of Scripture. For the first thing that Nathaniel says, when he finds out that Philip is so excited about this guy from Nazareth…is contrary. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” In that passage, that's pretty much a rhetorical question. It’s supposed to wake Philip up. Give him a whomp upside the head and tell him, “You ninny. That can’t be the guy.” (Or…”You ninny. The emperor’s still naked.”) I’ll leave you to rummage into the second chapter of John’s Gospel and read the rest for yourself, but I never fail to chuckle when I read those words. Because I’m right there with Nathaniel. I’m the one saying, “Wait a minute. Are we sure this guy’s for real? What did he say that convinced you? Who told you? How do you know?” And, blessedly, I’m also right there when Jesus looks at the contrarian and says, “You are without guile.” Jesus knows me. He knows what you see…is what you get. With Nathaniel, and with me. So, you see, I come by this whole thing honestly. It’s straight from Scripture, from my patron saint. And it’s not a flaw. It’s not a thorn. And I can stop trying to correct it. I can thank God for it. I can rejoice in being a contrarian…and see what happens next. Because the very thing I may have been looking at as a flaw, as a personality fault, or as a burden, may in fact be something else entirely. It may have been a birthday gift that, until now, I was too blind to see for what it is. It may be something truly special. Something that, now that I’m changing course and considering it a blessing…may turn out to be something so powerful it'll knock my contrarian socks off. How about you? Does this ring any bells? What “gifts” might you have…in disguise? Looking forward to unwrapping things further, Janny

Supporting Each Other…or...Not

Was perusing the blogosphere today and came across this on the BookEnds blog: http://bookendslitagency.blogspot.com/2007/04/writers-revenge.html …and read the comments. And was dismayed. But, sadder still, wasn’t shocked. Or surprised. Being discussed was the issue of writers who pick on each other, undermine each other, snipe at each other, turn on each other…etc. What you might call your garden variety of “Writers Behaving Badly.” And it seems everybody’s got a tale to tell in this regard. Some of them were legitimately brutal. Some of the perpetrators would deserve nothing more than to be kicked out of the creative writing realm and barred forever from any contact with students, mentorees, or even fellow writers. But then again, others fall into a gray area. The gray area of “What I consider legitimate criticism, or merely a business decision, you could think is abuse and bad behavior.” Or, worse, “What you consider bad behavior isn’t bad…it just didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear.” I’ve been on at least one person’s “Writers Behaving Badly” list in the past year. And I didn’t snipe at anyone to get there. I didn’t undermine a single other soul to get there. I didn’t pick on anyone. All I did was express a belief I had. A belief that, in my professional organization, as well as in the writing world in general, apparently isn’t “okay” to hold. Because I did that, according to many, many posters, the best thing that could have happened to me was pretty much unprintable. I’ve also had people jump down my throat for a legitimate critique after claiming that’s what they wanted. I’ve had people tell me, “My creative writing teacher says it’s fine not to punctuate anything or capitalize anything. That’s my voice.” (Answer to that one? Your creative writing teacher might be an incompetent idiot.) Or, “All the _______ (you name the genre) books I see have this in them, so why can’t I do it, too?” (Answer to that one? You did it, all right, but you didn’t do it well yet, and I’m trying to help you do so.) Or, “How dare you tell me this isn’t good enough to get published? Big Name Vanity Publishing Company (or Small Penniless Press) says I’m the next shining star!” (Answer to that one? Follow the money. ‘Nuff said.) So consider this a cautionary note from one side of the trench…not to necessarily jump onto a bandwagon too fast when you’ve only heard one side of the “crit groups stink” or “only readers count, other writers are just jealous” sentiments. For every person who knows how to take legitimate criticism and work with it, there are a hundred who think you’re being “mean” or “dumb” or “arrogant.” And you’ll get labeled that way…and talked about that way…and sometimes, that kind of talk can hurt your career. It can certainly hurt feelings. Which is what some of these complainers forget: that the people they at times take such pleasure in vilifying are also human beings, with feelings, and with the same desire to succeed, and to look good doing it, that they have. Yes, protect yourself. Yes, have the guts to stand up to an abuser and tell him or her to take a long walk off the nearest short pier. But don’t let a few bad, rotten apples in the field scare you off letting anyone see your work, critique it, edit it, or brainstorm it with you. No one knows how to improve a writer like another writer. If you want undiluted praise, give your stuff to your friends. If you want to improve, however, odds are much better of doing so if you share it with another writer and mutually learn from the experience. My take, Janny

Serendipitous Sadness

I always hate it when I go to look up a musician…and find out he’s no longer with us. At first that sounds a little weird, I know. If I was such a fan of the person, wouldn’t I already know that? Not necessarily. Sometimes you lose touch, for one reason or another. The band breaks up, the artists fall off the horizon temporarily, they go into realms of music I’m not particularly interested in, yatta, yatta. We get busy, we move on, and then…sometimes…we get a jolt. My two latest ones have come online. I have to admit, I still don’t always think in terms of any of my favorite artists having online presences. I’m still in the dark ages when it comes to flitting around the cyberworld, in many ways, one of them being searching for people. It always feels vaguely like a violation of someone’s privacy to go clicking on links with their name to see what the sites look like. (I know, “Get over it.” Not to worry. I am.) Anyway, sometimes you go looking for things and find out other things that you wish you hadn’t learned. I found out about the death of Johnny Cunningham (Celtic fiddler extraordinaire) while doing a Google search, down various avenues, looking for Silly Wizard CDs. For those of you who don’t know who Silly Wizard was, you’ve missed one of the great musical experiences of all time. Fortunately, you can still hear it, as most of the Silly Wizard CDs are available through normal channels (except, of course, their best one, A GLINT OF SILVER, which when I last saw it online was going for something like $75!). Anyhow, in efforts to find AGOS in something other than pricey mode, I started entering Google searches of band members’ names—sometimes, you can come at these things through a back door—and learned, to my dismay, that Johnny had been felled by a heart attack not too very long ago. I blinked back a tear and said a prayer for him, and I dearly hope that when I enter heaven, I have a certain wild-eyed Celtic fiddler on hand to greet me. That will truly make heaven even more heavenly. But this week, I got another one of those jolts. One a little closer to home. If you know me for any amount of time at all, eventually you learn that I was, am, and probably always will be one of many truly die-hard, hardcore Cryan’ Shames fans. They were the only band I ever went to see more than, say, twice. (!) They were the band of my teenage years, and extra special in that not only were they a fabulous bunch of musicians, but they were from the Chicago suburbs…some of which I rode through on a regular basis. Remember those wonderful teenybopper days when just being within the same general air space as your idols made your day? Well…I can attest to many wonderful days being within these guys’ general air space. Yeah, I made a fool of myself over them more than once. And of course, I had a major crush on at least one of the guys in the band…that went with the territory. Bands and crushes went together, especially for a girl with a big brother who played in a series of garage bands himself, and thus paraded a motley group of guys in and out of the house in front of his baby sister anyway. My crush was on a certain bass player. Not one of the original guys, by the way—one who joined them after their first hit album had come out, when they went through a slight personnel shift. This guy played lead guitar, but he wasn’t averse to playing bass, and the band was smart enough to sign him on. That’s how Isaac Guillory came into my favorite band and into my life. Okay, “into my life” is an overstatement, maybe. He never knew I existed. But I sure knew he did. Tall, dark, handsome, and a virtuoso musician—what else could I ask for? And if he had tweaked one little finger in my direction when I was, say, 17 or so…who knows how differently my life might have turned out. (Makes my heart feel like a teenybopper’s just thinking about it!) Suffice to say for a couple of golden years in there, I was in pretty much teenybopper heaven any time I could go see the band, stand stage right (where the bass player normally set up) and watch him work. It gave me a pure joy that I’ve never quite gotten over. When I say pure joy, I mean just that. There’s an element of female who hangs around rock-band concerts looking for something else entirely; that wasn’t me. In fact, the very thought that those girls who hung around with the band didn’t care about the music—they were just after…er—that—horrified me. (The fact that guys in a band were usually looking for girls who were after that was one of the great disillusionments of my teenage years as well.) Call me naïve, but I really thought all those girls were there for the music. I certainly was. If it came wrapped up in a great package, all the better. But I wasn’t drooling over this guy because I wanted to notch a bedpost with him. I have a literally visceral reaction to music, and that’s all the high I needed at that point. I loved to watch those long fingers of his play bass as if it were another melodic element in the band, instead of just being continuo…and the fact that he was easy on the eyes only made life better. Well, you know what’s coming. Once again, I was doing a search—not even sure why, this time. His name had just popped into my head, and I began wondering what had ever happened to the guy once the Shames called it quits as a regular playing/touring gig. I caught up with him once on a Donovan album, which was singularly underwhelming; that’s because overall Donovan is underwhelming anyway. But Isaac? Isaac, unfortunately, is no longer with us either. This time, felled by cancer that “had gone undetected for too long.” Apparently, this happened on New Year’s Eve of 2000. One can only imagine, and feel for, that suffering. But as far as legacies go, if that counts, the man left a staggering one. A wife, four children, and—even better, as far as us musicians go—an array of Google sites that unhesitatingly called him the best guitar player on the planet. So not only was the guy good-looking…apparently he really was as talented as I thought he was. Which is an affirmation of sorts, even in the sadness of wishing I’d have had a chance to hear him in one of his later guitar concerts before the axe fell. Apparently, they were truly special. I know he was. And I’ll miss him. I can only hope he’s playing accompaniment with Johnny even now, rehearsing for when I get there. (Hang in there, fellas. There’s a soprano in your future.) R.I.P., Isaac. And thanks for all you were. Janny

Was Jesus Ticklish?

Yanno, maybe this seems like an odd question to ask in Holy Week. But every once in awhile, I get to thinking about weird questions like this, and I think it’s a unique meditation in itself to give yourself a chance to think about it. 

In my personal files on the computer at work, I have some precious and wonderful pictures of Jesus laughing. Someone sent me one of those a long time ago, and I couldn’t resist going to the website where more are featured and just drinking them in. I especially loved the ones where Jesus is clearly teasing people, especially kids, and having fun with them. It’s a side of Jesus we don’t think about too much, but I think we could stand to. 

I do acknowledge and agree that when I see Jesus with my own eyes for the first time, as He is, I will not “teach Him to dance” or sing or shout or cheer (no, not even “Go Blue!”). I’ll be dumbstruck, as well I should be. I have a feeling that that first lightning-glance of Him will be something so terrifically wonderful that it’ll rob me of any capacity for speech. Hard to imagine as that may be, I really think it will. (!) 

But while we’re here on earth, it’s also not a bad idea to keep remembering that He was one of us. 

I have seen other speculation in other places, curiosity about how He lived as a human being. And there are some patently ridiculous superstitions out there under the guide of “reverence” that, were they not completely silly, might be utterly tragic. 

There’s one slice of devout Christians who actually, truly believe that Jesus’ life was earthly…but not really. They believe, for example, that Jesus’ clothes grew with Him. So Mary made the one outfit, maybe when he was walking, and it just kept growing. She never had to make more clothes again. (At that, I can hear Mary, in her best Jewish-mother voice, saying, “WHAT!?”) 

Some people don’t go so far as to attribute magical/miraculous qualities to His clothes, but they attribute them more to His person. As in…Jesus didn’t sweat. Or get acne. Or get dirty. Or skin His knee. Or fall out of a tree. Or spill, break, or mishandle anything. He didn’t go through the adolescent-boy stages of not being able to walk through a room without knocking things over. And heaven knows He didn’t have to put up with His voice squeaking at puberty. He lived a human existence…only not quite so gritty, up close and personal. Less messy. To which I would say, in my best Jewish-mother voice, “Horsefeathers!” 

I believe in a Jesus whose clothes got dirty, who outgrew His sandals, and who probably—yes—even got acne. I believe in a Jesus who knew what it felt like to have a tummy bug. I believe in a Jesus whose eyes watered in bright sun—and who even got sunburn. A Jesus who was chilled when the desert winds blew cold. Who got splinters, especially in His line of work, and knew how to dispatch an unwanted insect or snake from the house if Mom needed that done. Who got sore feet, even blisters, maybe, from walking all those rough roads. And—in my blatantly realistic moments—I find myself wondering why He came in an age and area of the world where there wasn’t even indoor plumbing. 

But I also believe in a Jesus who knew how to party. Heck, He had to have been fun to be around. How else would He have been at Cana, not to mention all those tax collectors’ houses for dinner? He had to be an “ordinary guy” in many ways—a carpenter’s son who knew how to mingle with the working people in the neighborhood. 

What did people fix for dinner when Jesus was coming? 

What were His favorite foods? 

What after-dinner games did they play in His day? (The image of Jesus playing charades is something worth contemplating in itself.) 

Did He help with the dishes? 

What kind of sense of humor did He have? Did He love puns or slapstick? 

Did He make plays on words? (I’d bet He did, considering how many of them there are in Scripture.) 

What tickled His funny bone? For that matter, what tickled Him? 

Maybe thinking about Jesus this way isn’t important. Maybe only picturing him as an infant, an itinerant preacher, and a Savior died and risen is all that’s important. But I don’t think so. 

We can certainly consign Jesus to a “human” experience that’s more ethereal than real. Some of us consider that Jesus’ humanity is best seen in those poor, wretched, ill, imprisoned, hungry, cold, thirsty, and naked among us…and we react accordingly. And there’s nothing wrong with that. 

But in our zeal to minister to Jesus as He appears indirectly, let’s not forget that He really was, directly, one of us. Personally. 

Human, in all its dirt and “ouchies” and irritating moments. 

Think of what a wonder that is! In the history of religions as we know them, this was, and remains, an act unprecedented in its impact. It’s actually considered sacrilege in many faiths to believe in a God made man. Yet we have Him. Like us, in all things but sin. 

All things. 

Which means that, as we sing Alleluias this Easter, we need to listen in between for Jesus’ voice joining in.

For His cheering us on in our delighting in Him. 

That will tickle Him, for sure. 

So if we listen close, we just might hear His laughter. 

It’ll be there. 

Count on it. 

Janny

Keeping the Fire, Making the Magic

It’s been an interesting several weeks (months?) in the writing life, and your comments and observations about the “non-competitive life” post have been encouraging. The consensus seems to be that one keeps on because one never knows what effect one’s work is having on the greater world. This seems at first to be a little grandiose, to say the least. I mean, whom do we really think we are, anyway? Are we really going to change the world with our words? Are we really touching anybody? The obvious answer may not be the most accurate one. Because on the surface, it seems like we’re not getting very far, whether we’re writing away and collecting rejection letters, or singing away and not getting solos. The kicker is, the more lasting effect we may be having, we can’t see. At least not obviously. But we may be able to “see” it, or at least grasp some of it, if we reflect for long enough. Now, I’m not talking about the eternal effect of what we’re doing. It’s a given that if we’re Christians, and we’re trying to do our lives to the glory of God, we’re going to have at least some lasting treasure accumulated in a heavenly bank account, and I for one plan to write checks on that with glee when the time comes to cash in. It's the temporal effect I'm talking about. Sometimes we can’t see that effect, because all we can see are the ways in which we haven’t “made it.” But the bottom line is, everything we do affects someone in some way. For proof, all we have to do is think about ourselves, and how we got into writing in the first place. Wasn’t it because someone wrote something that meant something to us? Wasn’t it, sometimes, because we had stories to tell—but it took someone special to “give us permission” to tell them on paper? Wasn’t it because someone in our academic world, our friendships, or our families—or all of the above—said to us one day, “You know, you really ought to be a writer"? That’s the temporal effect we’re having, whether we realize it or not. If we put any writing out there in public…if we lay ourselves and our aspirations out there for the world to see…if we counsel, mentor, guide, or edit one other writer along the way…we’re having a temporal effect, and it’s a good one. That, too, shall count toward the heavenly checkbook. (Yippeee!) But it’s nice to consider that it also counts here on earth. And while we may not have thousands of people applauding us for those efforts…someone, somewhere, is benefiting from them.And they’re passing it on. And so on. And so on. Mind-boggling, isn’t it? Whenever I coach a school musical (of which I’ve done a few), or a performance of any kind, I always try to put into my pep talk the following sentiment: Remember when you go out there that not everybody can do what you’re about to do. Very few people can put themselves on the line the way you’re going to. They either don’t have the talent, or they don’t have the courage. You have both, and that’s why you’re going out there. But remember, most of all, that somewhere in that audience is a kid who’s never been to a live performance of this kind before. A kid who’s going to sit there and watch and listen to you…and be enthralled. A kid who’s going to come out of this performance this day saying, "I wanna do THAT!" Someone did that for you, and that’s why you’re here today. So when you go out there today…remember that kid. Perform for that kid. Make magic for that kid. In the end, that’s all that matters. So make the magic, as only you can. Someday, someone else will be where you are now, eternally glad you did. I think if we could all give ourselves that pep talk, preferably on a daily basis (!)…it’d make the rest of this feel a lot better. I’m going to try to remember it myself, and I hope you can, too. Now, let’s go make magic happen! Janny

Now, this is fun!

What Poetry Form Are You?

I am heroic couplets; most precise And fond of order. Planned and structured. Nice. I know, of course, just what I want; I know, As well, what I will do to make it so. This doesn't mean that I attempt to shun Excitement, entertainment, pleasure, fun; But they must keep their place, like all the rest; They might be good, but ordered life is best.

Experience the fun for yourself...

Janny

Just another ordinary day in the workplace...

What's It Like?* (*the noncompetitive life, that is)

Yesterday I was e-mailing an associate when I came out with the thought: You know, I spend more than half my waking hours teetering on one edge of rejection or the other. What do people's lives look like who don't compete for anything? Would I even know how to live a life like that? And it started me thinking. Especially since I sang an audition last night and didn’t get the solo. Not that I haven’t been through this gut-wrenching experience before. Heck, if I’ve been through it once, I’ve been through it dozens of times. It’s part and parcel of a business like music…or writing. But at what point do you say enough is enough and stop trying so hard? Or is it ever a good idea to stop? And then what does your life look like when you do? I have to confess: I don’t know what that kind of life would look like anymore. I’m not even sure I can wrap my mind around it, because I have lived my whole life, in one sense, on the edge. No, I don’t do daredevil stunts (well, okay, I like rollercoasters)…I don’t spend 18 hours in an operating room fixing things that other people consider incurable…I didn’t embed myself in a war zone to be on the “front lines” of any particular battle. In short, in a way, I don’t “do” anything dangerous. But in a bigger sense, “dangerous” has many forms. Emotionally, I’ve been in a danger zone for most of my life. Some of that wasn’t of my own making…but in the realm of competitive professional “chances” I continue to take—it is. I put myself on the line on a regular basis, doing two things most people will never do: I sing in public, and I submit writing for publication. And the great majority of the time, those to whom I am submitting or auditioning for a “step up” say NO. There are gigs where you have an assured route to success in both of those endeavors, of course. If you go to journalism school, and you’re reasonably coherent, you will probably be able to latch onto some small newspaper, broadcast outlet, or (now) a web site, and work your way up the “ranks” in the field. Sometimes, with a few breaks, the jobs start coming looking for you; that’s the best place to be. Same goes for music…to a point. You go to a good school, you study with good teachers (this kind of element is much more important in music than in journalism, from what I’ve seen), you sing or perform with certain performing bodies…and you get a gig. Or two. Or a dozen. And then, once again, the gigs come looking for you. There’s also a difference between wanting to be a success at something and wanting to be the BEST. Wanting to stand out. To be a star. And, with the amount of talent I’ve been given, I feel I owe it to God, to myself, and to the world, to get to darn near that last level. Not worldwide fame, necessarily—but substantial achievement. From whom much is given, much will be required. But in both the fields of singing, which I am in, and novel writing, which I’m also in, the gigs that come looking for you are way fewer and farther between…and stardom is almost statistically impossible. Yet I feel I have to try to get there. And that’s what turns this into agony at times. That’s what makes one wake up, look in the mirror, and say, “What in the world am I doing to myself?” You see, sometimes, you do everything right, and the right things still don’t happen. Or they happen in small ways, but you never “get over the hump” and get the Big Success. You keep giving yourself pep talks, you keep trying, you keep chanting to yourself that it’s a “numbers game,” and the odds will eventually be in your favor… …but this goes on for years. Then decades. And the odds never change. You never quite get to that real success, as you’ve defined it. You never get to that point where you feel you “should” be, where you “ought to” be, where you’ll have given all you have and “the universe” will have rewarded it. Then what do you do? When is it time to step off the edge? To back away from it? To stop deliberately putting yourself through those highs and lows? Some people say if you’re in the highs and lows in the first place, you’re going at the thing wrong. That it truly is, simply, numbers. Or it’s “who you know” (or, in the case of music, more likely “who knows you”). Or it’s dependent on things you can’t possibly control (which it is), so just keep showing up. But when does “showing up” become an embarrassment to you and to others? What’s the point at which people stop admiring your persistence, and just wish you’d go away? When have you moved from “persistent” to pathetic? I, for one, am tired of moving through life with a figurative hat in my hand. “Please, sir, may I have some more?” I’m tired of trying to act “professional” and cool as my heart gets broken…again. I’m starting to wonder if I’m fooling myself about the level of talent I actually possess. But most of all, I’m scared. Scared on one hand that if I stop, I’ll have come up the proverbial “one step short” and “just miss it.” Most of us have had that drilled into our skulls so much that it’s part of our marrow now. We can’t quit, even if we’re tempted to, because we’re haunted by the image of stopping just short of the pot of gold. And I’m scared on the other hand that reality, and age, will finally catch up with me…and I’ll run out of “one more steps” to take. In the case of singing, your body’s ability to produce beautiful sound DOES eventually take a hit. If you have excellent training, which I did, that hit doesn’t have to happen too early. But it does happen. It will happen. Even I had excellent training a little late in life. So my breaking point may come that much earlier. On the writing front, obviously, the same physical limitations don’t apply. But once again, the rigors of repeated trying and failing take their toll on one’s creative spirit. Eventually, one starts to go from “wow, this is a great idea” to “well, maybe it’ll fly.” The passion leaves. The fire is gone, and you lack the flint to start it up again. I’m starting to wonder if my breaking point, in both areas, is coming already. Or has come, and no one’s had the heart to tell me. And if I’m moving into that “pathetic” realm, and just don’t know it. The feedback I’m getting on the quality of what I do—in both worlds—doesn’t say so. But the gigs I’m not getting are telling a different story. The question is…what do I do if I stop competing? What becomes of my talent? Have I let everyone in the world, including God, down? What’s next? Ideas? Janny

By their sounds, ye shall know them…

A hundred years from now, when the archaeologists are digging up our scraps and trying to put together what kinds of people we were, one of the things they’re no doubt going to find is a lot of little rectangular machines with headphones attached—the "primitive" musical machines we call iPods. They’ll have a chuckle over those, no doubt. But more to the point, if the things are still able to play in some way, they’ll have some direct access to the tastes of at least some of us. If you think about that long enough, that’ll either give you reason to hope, or make you cringe. :-) So what’s on your iPod? And what does that say about you? You may not think of your favorite songs that way, but I always have, I confess. Music has always been more than mere entertainment to me, even more than an occupation or something I got my degree in. Music affects our internal chemistries, if we let it; at the very least, the right song can snap you out of the blues, or let you have a good cry, or make you laugh so hard you forget any troubles you may have been worrying about…for a few moments at least. It can be way more than just being something pleasant to listen to, a diversion, or background noise you like to work to. Added to this element the fact that what you collect, what you download, what you keep, ends up being what people are left with when you’re gone. Someone’s going to know, someday, that a sixteen-inch piece of multicolored crocheted yarn meant something to me—but without an explanation, or a sound effect, or a note, they’re not going to know that I saved it because that was the first crochet my daughter ever did, which she made into a necklace and gave to Mom. (Although now they can know, if my blog survives me in the ether!) But without detailed explanations in your will (!), is anyone going to know why you kept the songs you did? What they meant? Maybe it’s worth writing a little journal and keeping it with your iPod…just for the sake of giving the archaeologists something interesting to put on the Discovery Channel. :-) Or, maybe not. Maybe it’s just fun. Which is, in itself, another way to define who we are. So what’s on your iPod? Not the complete list, but a highlight or two? What’s the most unusual piece of music or sound you’ve captured and kept? Probably mine would be the Suite: William Byrd, as recorded by Frederick Fennell and the Cleveland Wind Ensemble. Not necessarily because people wouldn’t download that…but how many people have it on their iPods because one of those pieces was part of their wedding music? What’s a song you figure very few other people have on theirs? Mine would have to be Leave That Baby Alone by Saturday’s Children. I’d be willing to bet that less than a fraction of a percent of the people who come across this even know who Saturday’s Children were, much less love that purely-fun song as much as I do. Ditto for Rainmaker by the Cryan’ Shames…and yes, there’s a story or two connected with that one as well. What’s the song that gets you going better than anything else? That will perk you up when you’re down? For me, there are so many of them on there it’s hard to pick. But I’d have to say one of my true treasures is Phoenix by Dan Fogelberg. Someday, when you’ve got a couple of hours, I’ll sit down with you all over coffee and tell you why. So…you get the idea. Share, share, share. Come on. And if you don’t have an iPod yet and want one—tell me what you’ll put on it when you do! Or what songs you have installed on Windows Media Player. Or Real Player. Or what you’ve burned to CD. If music be the food of love, what do you love…and why? Tell, tell! Singing and dancing her way into the hearts of…a few, Janny

Old Scammer, New Clothes...

Some of us just have to keep learning the hard way...but if I can keep you from having to do it with this guy, it's worth a link or two. As always, writer beware! More later, Janny

Make Money At Home! Easy New System! :-)

Now, why didn’t I think of this? 

Here I am, minding my own business in the heartland, doing the writer thing of getting ideas, thinking about those ideas, mulling those ideas, having a spark come to me that prompts those ideas onto the screen and onto paper…and working all this around the normalcy of having a day gig. Yeah, it’s a bit of a juggling act time-wise, and it’s even more of a juggling act money-wise.

And here, all I had to do to relieve the strain was figure out how to structure a raffle! 

Man, what a great idea to rake in some freelance income. Just wish I’d thought of it first… (sigh) Janny

Beware the Tyranny of the "Shoulds"!

Q. When does a blog cease to be "just" a blog? A. When it becomes a tool you’re using for some other purpose.

Q. Well, that's a great idea, right?

A. Not necessarily.

I found myself in bit of "blog" and "should" overwhelm this week. I was reading a blog from one of my compadres in which it was asserted, quite strongly, that author blogs should be aimed at marketing themselves, and nothing that doesn’t have to do with promotion and professional image/branding should be there. I.E., if your written body of work has to do with, say, nineteenth-century music, amateur sleuthing and metallurgy, nothing else should be on your blog but aforementioned music, sleuthing and -lurgy. That means should you have the urge to talk about your children, your pets, your religion, your football team, or your latest recipe for spinach dip…those things need to be on another blog (if they need to be anywhere at all). The rationale is that you want readers who come to your blog to learn about you as an author, not necessarily as a person. Therefore, if they come to your blog expecting to read about what you already write about and, instead, come upon a blog entry about your cats, they’re going to be upset at you for wasting their time, your blog will be a marketing failure, and they’ll go elsewhere, convinced you’re a hopeless amateur. Do we all really believe this? And if so, why? I don’t mean to poke holes in any particular point of view here. As far as marketing, branding, etc., go, the advice is probably good. It may even be the Gospel According to the Latest Marketing Gurus, and/or people who have sold a heck of a lot more books than I have. But I think it’s a serious mistake to look at this advice, swallow it hook, line, and sinker, and take it as the only way to go, with any other way marking you as unprofessional. The comments about this post were telling. Some agreed it was a great idea. But I also remember one particularly adept author saying something along the lines of, “I’m just starting to figure out how to have one blog working, and now you’re saying I need to have two? Forget it!” To which I said, “Amen, sister.” The internet has brought us an unprecedented opportunity to get information in what can be a very solitary and isolated occupation. This is a good thing. It’s wonderful that we can, with one click, avoid re-inventing the wheel in so many ways. Thanks to instantaneous communication, we can avoid a lot of mistakes and get some very useful instruction, sometimes instruction that we would have had to pay big bucks for in the “olden days” of only being able to get this stuff from a classroom. We can also, however, go into overwhelm very quickly if we try to take all the information available as the only way we “should” be running our writing careers. Because there’s no such thing as a single way a career “should” go, in any enterprise—and especially in a creative one. So consider today’s entry a voice for caution. For reading all the information out there, and still trusting your gut as to what’s going to work for you. And above all, for avoiding the notion that anything “should” be the way to go for you, the only way to go, so help you God. I for one couldn’t disagree more with the frantic branding and marketing blogs that I see from authors. Not that marketing isn’t important; of course it is. Not that setting up a good website isn’t a good idea; of course it is. And if you truly want to have one “marketing” blog and one “personal” blog, and you honestly have the time and inclination to keep up with both of them…more power to you. But for this blog reader? I go to agents’ blogs to hear about agenting, and I go to editors’ blogs to hear about editing, true. But I also enjoy hearing about them as people. And when it comes to fellow authors, this goes double. Yeah, sometimes we can go overboard—or have a series of blog entries that makes people wonder what we’re really about. I don’t enjoy author websites that have inferior writing samples posted…but superior quality photographs of their horses. (Someone might be in the wrong line of work!) If all your blog talks about is your kids’ achievements, or your farm in Connecticut, I may or may not visit it very often. If you’re purporting to be a writer, at least some of your blog probably needs to be about writing! :-) But overall? A blog with a personal touch means I’m more likely to stick around. Yes, information about book signings is pertinent…but so is your perception of the industry from a purely personal POV. Yes, information about your upcoming releases is valuable…but not if that’s all I read, and it sounds like a press release. I'd much rather see a whole person in your blog. Tell me some of your opinions. Be multi-dimensional. That, to me, is what blogging is for. The rest of it we can use news sites, publisher sites, our writing groups, and our publicists (especially the unpaid ones, otherwise known as family and friends!) for. In your blog, I want to get a glimpse of who you are. I can’t get that if you transform your blog from a glimpse into your thought processes, work style, and life to something that’s clearly structured to be a marketing machine. Those things turn me off, each and every time. This is only one author’s opinion, as a reader and as a writer. But I think it’s sad that in this brave new world of information we’re all experiencing, we’re in some senses being put into the same restrictive boxes we would have been without it. We can even more easily get awash in “shoulds,” get convinced we’re missing the boat, and get down about failing (yet again) to recognize the “secret handshake” that’s “going to make all the difference.” Let’s not go there, because in reality, there’s really no such thing as “the way your blog should be.” Your blog “should” be what you want to make of it. That’s only fair for creative people on a creative, worldwide bulletin board. Here’s to blogging for the sheer joy of it— Janny

Happy Ash Wednesday!

Happy beginning of Lent! I haven’t even thought of “giving up” much of anything for this Lent, to be perfectly honest about this (and we should be perfectly honest, even though we’re imperfect, capisce?). But I am seriously considering actually trying to observe the old-fashioned 40-day fast that my mother’s generation got used to. That'll be sacrifice enough, even if I only manage it part of the time! We’re pretty soft nowadays—we only need to observe a “real” fast on two days out of Lent, and abstain from meat on a few more. But when I was growing up, my parents were obligated to fast all weekdays of Lent…and I think I remember a lot more meatless days in there, too. My only problem is that I do verge on low blood sugar problems, so I can’t get too enthused about this fasting thing or I start to get this other, lightheaded thing. But today’s going well so far, I’m not obsessing on food (although I can’t promise that I won’t be reallyreallyreally looking forward to a fairly decent sized dinner this evening!)… ...and I’ve already been warned not to give up both chocolate and wine, as I did during one noble year. Apparently, I got a bit more feisty that season than anyone has a right to be. (!) Anyhow, be sure to pay attention to those ashes. And I love the fact that our priest says the old-fashioned admonition,”Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” After years of the more “modern” version (something along the lines of “turn from sin and embrace the Gospel”)—which sounded for all the world like it was written by someone more concerned about our self-esteem than self-sacrifice—it’s nice to have the “old rugged” version in mind during this special season. So for Day #1, think dust…ashes…and “Long Live God!” What’s your favorite part of Lent? Janny

Annoying Day Jobs, part 2

A friend and I have coined the acronym "ADJ" to refer to our day gigs...as in Annoying Day Job. The theory, of course, is that if we didn't have to do these annoying day jobs to make a living, we'd be home all day, drinking endless pots of coffee, holed up writing thousands of words a day on our Great American Novels. That, of course, would be the Good Life. We wouldn't have to put up with regimentation of our days, we wouldn't have to get out of our jammies if we didn't want to, yatta, yatta. It's a shame, really. We artistic types shouldn't be bound to having to slave away with irritating supervisors or coworkers that drive us nuts... Yeah. Okay. Right. You know that's a fantasy, don't you? Not the part where you sometimes have irritating supervisors or coworkers who drive you nuts. But the part where, left to our own devices, we'd be holed up with that large pot of coffee and writing endlessly, to the point where our production would skyrocket, we would be blissfully happy, and we'd at last be living True Artistic Lives. Fantasy, all the way. How dare I say that? Better still, why am I so sure? Well, I could name a couple of reasons, and they're titles of computer games (!)...but that's not the whole reason. It's just that I'm beginning to come to an "ugly" realization about myself, and I suspect many of us realize the same thing deep down...only we dare not speak its name out loud, under penalty of being considered somewhat less than a "real" artist. The ugly truth? On some level...we LIKE having day jobs. It's hard to shoot holes in the folklore and admit that because, somehow, it just seems to make us...less legitimate as artistic people. REAL writers, after all, despise routine. REAL writers, real creative people, loathe the ball and chain of going to a salaried job every day. REAL writers want that unfettered freedom of writing, submitting, being paid, lather, rinse, repeat. REAL creative people consider cubicle life as death, office worlds as stiflingly boring, and are only truly happy when they've busted out of those chains and are following their muses, come hell or high water. Hogwash. Yeah, there are days when we don't want to go into the office...but that's not because we don't want to work so much as it's because the weather is just plain too nice to stay indoors, period. Which means that, barring a convenient place to put a laptop, we won't be writing, either. Or even if we have a convenient place to put a laptop, we ain't gonna be in the mood to write...because we're too busy soaking up sun, enjoying the breeze, thinking about making iced tea or having a picnic. I know. I've worked from a home office, and I've worked "legitimate" day gigs. And there is a difference. Day gigs are easier. We as creative people have been sold a bill of goods for a long, long time. We've willingly bought it, too, especially those of us who are children of the Sixties, when the rallying cry was "Down with the Establishment!" and we were "flower children" who thought we could live on love. Hey, the idea of dumping a day job, or never getting one in the first place? COOL, man. HEAVY, dude. Or, as kids said a generation later...awesome! Too bad the bill of goods isn't real. When you don't have a steady day gig, how do you pay for your car to be fixed? What do you do when you need to go the dentist? When do you take the cat to the vet? When all you have is your own self, freelancing or selling novels, you have a LOT to pay for. You have a lot of responsibility, and no group insurance advantages to make it cheaper. And this frees up your creativity and inspires your muse...HOW? So as we look forward to another work week, I would submit it will go much less painfully for many of us if we stop lying to ourselves. If we stop beating up on our jobs, our employers, or ourselves for--on some level--feeling good about having the job in the first place. If we just admit that, for a lot of reasons, maybe we don't really want to be on our own. Left on our own, many of us would drift. Or waste time. Or wonder if what we're doing really matters.

Irritating coworkers or not...some of us would panic, or at least be at a loss, without them.

There's no shame in any of that.

There's no diminishment of "artistry" in saying, "Hey, I like feeling productive. I like feeling like I go to a place where my work is needed, where I perform a service that, were I not here, wouldn't get done."

Of course, if I won the lottery tomorrow, I'd rethink lots of my life decisions and situations. I might even quit my day job. But then again............. Thinking about Monday through Friday, Janny

"Reading" People

This started out to be a ramble about my latest reads, but as I thought about it...well, you'll see. This rumination began when I started (and really tried to read) an old Grisham book, The Broker. I’ve never read Grisham, and he’s one of the authors I keep telling myself I ought to read, so when I saw this title in our work library, I thought I’d give it a try. The premise sounded intriguing enough; however, I just couldn’t get into it. I gave it several chapters (probably 40 pages or so—I gave it a good sampling) before I gave up. I just couldn’t care about anybody in the book…and unfortunately, for me, that usually means it hits the wall. It did get me thinking, however, about reader expectations. Those of us who call or have called ourselves “romance” authors over the years are fairly steeped in this notion of characters the readers can care about. Whether or not you buy into the notion that these are just elaborate and printed fantasies in which women place themselves really doesn’t matter: bottom line is, readers of genre fiction and romance in particular expect to make the acquaintance of a character for whom they can “root” early on. This doesn’t mean that the character is necessarily all that sweet to begin with…although it usually does. What is necessary, however, is to build a character about whom we care. For whom something is at stake, something we can identify with, something we also care about. The problem is, what I care about may not be what you care about. This explains the phenomenal success of someone like Nora Roberts/J.D. Robb…who I just cannot get into, no matter how I try. I’ve tried to read her stuff three times, and lost interest before I got through the first twenty pages. I just didn’t care about her people. I don’t know why that is; I know people who gobble up everything this woman writes, and there are a LOT of people who do the same thing. Me? No, thanks. Can’t do it. Don’t have the slightest interest in her characters. They leave me cold, and once they do, I leave the premises. The flip side of that is Jan Karon, whose books I devour, but whom I found out (to my surprise) not everybody “gets,” either. When the Mitford books were still pretty much the hot new thing on the block, I actually heard a multipublished author giving a talk in which she said, “Lots of people love these books, and I suppose they’re okay…but you go through At Home In Mitford and nothing happens. I mean, the whole story is nothing more than this preacher’s trying to decide whether he’s going to keep this stray dog or not. That’s the whole book!” Dumbfounded, I waited for her to elaborate further along the lines of “Well, okay, so that’s not ALL there is to the book,” but she didn’t. And she wasn’t kidding. Which left me wondering how she’d managed to read that whole book and completely miss the story question—a story question which had been spelled out, in quite poignant terms, in one sentence in the very first chapter. One you couldn’t miss…or so I thought. And, no, it wasn’t about whether Father Tim was going to keep the dog. :-) Why did this happen? Who knows? This was a bright woman speaking. Normally, she was pretty quick on the uptake. So I had to wonder if it wasn't a case of there being such a subtlety to that early Mitford book that people who are used to slam-bang in-your-face characters just couldn't take the time, or didn't know how, to walk at a more leisurely pace and get to know the people in this particular book a little better. I bonded with Father Tim from that first story question/issue, and I’ve reread those Mitford books probably each at least four times. This despite the fact that I have no particular love for “southern fiction” (and these are set in North Carolina)…that the books are overtly preachy at times…and that my ex-husband’s name is Tim (so I have a hurdle to get over automatically!). All of these things could have put me off the books; none of them did. Why? Because the first story was much bigger than a man and his dog—and mostly, because the people moved gently into my world and became so real that I couldn’t wait to find out what they were going to do next. Lawrence Block has been quoted as saying “Fiction is folks.” For this plot-driven writer, sometimes that’s hard to wrap her fingers around when she’s trying to write it—but I certainly know it when I see it, and have an inevitable sense of letdown when I don’t. So…read any good characters lately? Janny

Quit Messing With My Magic!

I've expressed this sentiment elsewhere, but I think it bears repeating.

 And yes, I know I'm bucking a trend. So be it. 

 But I HATE having a novel in my hand that has, as one of its selling points, a note on the cover that indicates there is a "Reading Group Guide" included. 

Puh-LEEZE, people. Can we please stop this runaway train before it drives the few of us who DO read over the edge into the land of "No, thanks"? 

We bemoan the lack of reading in our culture as a whole. We worry about the generation coming up who may not be able to sit still long enough to read graphic novels in the future, much less books with no pictures in 'em. (!) 

We wring our hands over the fact that, in some senses, we're writing for a dwindling audience. 

Now why would any of these be true, if it weren't for the unfortunate phenomenon all of us experienced in school--the Required Reading Lists? 

Let's face it. Some of those books were just plain AWFUL. 

I'm thinking of things like Catcher in the Rye. Is there any good reason anyone would read CITR if they weren't forced to do it? 

Or The Great Gatsby? (Don't hit me, all you Fitzgerald lovers, but I'm sorry;I've read that book twice--the first time because I had to, the second because I was really trying to see why anyone would have to read it. Failed on both counts.) 

Some of the books actually were good, but those were few and far between. And, it seems, the moment an English teacher saw something kids might actually enjoy reading on there...off that list it went onto the "optional" list, of which you were only allowed to read a few to "count" toward a grade. 

The rest seemed to have as a requirement that they be either a) depressing, b) full of foul language, depravity, or perversion, or c) both. If they had all the previous, they were considered great, meaningful, and enlightening to the students. (The singular exception being that if they were about the Holocaust--outside of the obvious "depressing" points, which no doubt would carry them anyway--they didn't have to have too much of the rest of the above, because they automatically were Important.) 

The end result of all this force-fed "literature" is twofold: 1) Cliff's Notes, which aren't bad in themselves as a supplement...but we all know that's not how most people apparently use them. 2) The end of reading, as we know it, once we are out of school and don't "have to" do it anymore. 

It's not just TV, the Internet, or other influences that have prompted people not to read. It's the stuff they're forced to read, and analyze, for grades. It's books with agendas, books with "themes" and "universal" messages, books full of allegory and satire and symbolism and metaphor and parallel universes and metaphysics and the Real Meaning Of Life, Which Is, Of Course, That Life's A Bitch And Then You Die. 

I don't BLAME people for never wanting to read after a steady diet of that stuff. Who would? 

Well, a few of us would. And did. We're the ones who came into school loving to read already, and we were too stubborn to let "education" take that fun away. 

Some of us get out of school still loving to read for pleasure. Still understanding what that's about. And still seeing the value in it. 

So what happens to us? 

We go to our bookstores and we stock up on some horking good reads... ...only to find them suddenly bearing a striking resemblance to textbooks, when we actually get to the end. 

Study guides. 

Study questions. 

"Suggestions for group discussion." 

WHY??????? 

 Yes, I know there are book groups out there by the hundreds now. Many people I know have belonged to book clubs for years. They read Important Stuff, the best-sellers, Literature, the Oprah lists, whatever. And they talk about them. And there's some good conversation and sharing that goes on there. And no doubt they're enlightened by some of it...although truth be told, most of the people I know who go to book groups go there as much to gossip and eat chocolate as they do for intellectual/literary enlightenment. Or they go to compare the book to the movie, which is about the same as gossip. :-) 

But they also have a remarkable ability to come up with their OWN questions. 

Sometimes they have one or the other of the team take charge of leading the discussion; this is great. Sometimes people are encouraged to write their own discussion questions to share, which is also fine. Because that's what these people are doing with these books, because they WANT to. 

But how did we go from that spontaneous, creative exercise to publishers thinking that groups wanted PREMADE lists for them? And most of all, why do publishers assume that any reader buying this book will consider this list at the back an asset? 

Note to publishers: I READ FOR PLEASURE. 

Translate: if I'm going to get a deeper meaning out of a book, I'LL FIND IT MYSELF. YOU DON'T NEED TO LEAD ME TO IT. And I especially resent the subtext of these sections at the back of novels, as if to say, "Just in case you didn't get the point of what we're trying to teach you in this book, here's some help." 

I DON'T WANT TO "GET THE POINT." I WANT TO READ A GOOD STORY. PERIOD. 

I hate this trend for more reasons than one, too. Not only does it come across as arrogant, overbearing, and "instructional..." but it can absolutely ruin the end-of-book experience. I can't tell you how many times I've finished a book, gotten to what feels like the end, and then looked on the next page and seen SUGGESTED QUESTIONS FOR STUDY right after that beautiful, sigh-producing, satisfying ending.

Do you know what that does to your story, people? IT REDUCES IT BACK TO PRINT AGAIN.

It takes the magic and dumps cold water on it. 

Do you really want to have your reader yanked back to reality that fast? 

WHY? 

 

I hate the rumblings I've heard throughout the industry that, more and more often, authors are expected to supply these questions now. To me, this is missing the point of why most of us read fiction in the first place--and it steals the magic from the ending of the book. And that's just plain wrong. 

When I want a textbook, I'll BUY a textbook. When a novel is a keeper, I know why. But I also know what I get out of a book often isn't what anyone else is going to get out of it. I know, because nine times out of ten, I'll hear people talking about a book I've read and say, "It's a story about ______."...and I'll hear that and think, "No, it's not. It's not about _______ at all." 

So anything you put into a list of questions for me is only meant to do what? 

Steer me toward a conclusion you want me to draw? 

Again, WHY???? 

Note to my future publishers: if you require a list of questions, I'll give you one--and one ONLY-- for the end. It'll consist of this: "In 50 words or less, if you like, write down what the best part of this book was for you. The part that made you laugh, made you cry, or touched you in any way. Then sign it, put it in an envelope and address it to the author. She'll love hearing from you." 

And it'll be on a page SEPARATE from the end. With at least one blank page in between. 

 If you insist on more, you'll write them yourself. And put them on a website, separate from the book. A place people can go to when they're ready. When they've already closed the book and eased back into reality, and if and when they want to think about it further.

But you put those things on page 601 after I've spun a beautiful tale for 600 pages... and you've just robbed both me and my reader of magic I sweated blood to create.

If you feel the need to do that...how much do you really LOVE fiction? 

Or do you get it at all? 

Cantankerously yours, 

Janny

"Being Jessica Fletcher"

Some time ago, there was a rather successful movie called Being John Malkovich. Several people I knew saw the movie; I didn’t. But the concept, as I understand it, was that the cast of the movie spent time literally “being” actor John Malkovich, being in his skin, being in his life, for a limited period of time. They experienced life as someone else, another actor, within the same movie. Yeah, the concept is pretty surreal, and so was the movie—again, from what I understand. Whether it “worked” or not, cinematically, seems to be a matter of some debate. A more interesting question is, does it ever work in real life? Now, your first knee-jerk reaction to this might be, “Oh, for pete’s sake, of course not. You can’t be somebody else. Besides, it’s not good to even try to be somebody else. You need to be yourself. You need to be true to your own muse, your own drummer…” etc. Yatta yatta. You know the drill. And partially, that’s right. Hey, that’s what we teach our kids, mostly so that they get the message that we really don’t want them to become the kid down the street with the spiky orange hair and multiple body piercings…er, I mean, so that they’ll be happy being themselves. And it’s generally good advice, unless you really don’t know who you are, in which it’s kind of like a chicken-and-egg thing. You need to try on different personas until you find the one that fits your skin. But one day I found myself, literally, having grown remarkably close to someone else’s persona—and it wasn’t a bad thing. A surprise, yes. But a good one. And something I definitely have decided I want to pursue much further. Let me explain. I am a great Murder, She Wrote fan. I wasn’t a fan of it at the very beginning of the show—I listened to too many people saying, “That’s not real. She’s supposed to be a writer, and they never show her actually writing anything!” So for awhile, I didn’t watch it. But my inlaws were fans of it, and I saw it at their house a couple of times, and …well, long story short, I soon became hooked. Yeah, the scriptwriters caught on that they needed to show J.B. Fletcher actually producing work and/or at least appearing to go through the motions of some of the actual writing life, and they did show her hammering away on her old typewriter, then a computer, eventually. But their attempt at a semblance of a wave at realism wasn’t what connected me to the show, in the end. Other things did. I love a good whodunit; I love the “cozy” sort of mystery that they took and made uniquely American (a nifty trick, with a British actress in the title role :-) ). I enjoyed the small-town feel for the show, the continual development of characters (in all senses of the word), and pretty much the whole world that these writers created... …to the point that one day, I said out loud, “When I grow up, I want to be J.B. Fletcher.” Think about it. She was a retired English teacher, which meant she probably had a pension. She might have even had her deceased husband’s pension as well, considering he was a war hero and all, so she had no money worries. She lived in a gorgeous house with small-town roots, where she was a local celebrity. She supported herself by being a best-selling author; she had more “nieces” and “nephews” (who can forget Grady Fletcher?) than any woman should have, everywhere in the world. She made friends like breathing, she always knew the right thing to wear, the right thing to say, and the right way to stand her ground without becoming either a shrew or a doormat. She traveled, she enjoyed life, she kept up with technology and the latest things in the world without letting the pace control her, and she had people all over the country who loved her. So it's no wonder I would latch onto someone like that as a role model...fictional or not. I was struggling to be published in the first place as a novelist, never mind being a bestseller. I was far from self-supporting; I had been raised in a family that was almost pathologically antisocial. I hated my real cousins, and I certainly didn’t have many “adopted” ones I could claim. In short, there wasn’t much I had in common with J.B. Fletcher. At least not at first… But then, things began to happen. I got a job doing corporate newsletters in which I was forced to exit my "comfort zone" and learn how to "schmooze" (something I actually enjoyed, but was afraid of). I took my own stab at technology: I tackled a computer for that job, for the first time, with fear and trembling—then dove in and began to enjoy it. I joined AOL, became a Community Leader and began hanging out in the Writers area, then began mentoring people (not quite an English teacher, but close!). After receiving dozens of mentoring e-mails asking the same questions, I started an online workshop, ASK THE MENTOR, which fast became one of the most popular places to hang out online. In the process of workshopping, I made friends of other hosts and chatters alike; I coached people, critiqued work, and found myself on the receiving end of quite a few nice compliments for my efforts. And then…I had a friend visit from Texas, a friend who co-hosted with me on AOL…and took a vacation later that same year in which my husband and I stayed with another workshop hostess, this time in Louisville, KY. It didn’t dawn on me until much later(when I was busy pitching my newly sold novel to my online friends) that delcaring wishes out loud can be a powerful thing. :-) I had a community of people across the nation with whom I was close enough to stop in and visit, should I be in their neighborhood. (In fact, I was told point blank that if I didn't stop and visit, I'd be in big trouble!) I had an extended family both from school and from various work connections; people whom, literally, my daughter didn't know we weren't related to until I told her. I was a successful writer—not financially independent, but successful in various corners—who had won a national writing award, had published a book and several magazine articles, had written a newspaper column, was a regular online teacher and was actually presenting at writers’ conferences… When I realized this, I sat down and grinned a lot. I still have a bit to go to “grow into” that persona. I do live in a great house in a small town now; I need a better figure (J.B. Fletcher is tall, something I will never be...sigh) and a better wardrobe; I need more tact and composure; I need a tougher skin at times. On the other hand, I have handled myself pretty well in a controversy in which I was, however briefly, a "lightning rod" both online and in my professional organization. I’ve performed so well as a book editor that I’ve netted kudos and tangible rewards alike; and I still mentor and encourage writers all over the country…several of whom I plan to get to know a lot better. So I’m getting there. I’m, slowly but surely, moving toward “Being Jessica Fletcher.” And the best part is, I don’t have to step over dead bodies to do it. So who would YOU like to grow up to be???? Worth a little daydreaming, Janny

A Fool and His Money...

...or her money, as the case may be, often part company in the name of "publishing." And yes, ladies and gentlemen, we will soon get another chance to part with our money if we so desire, just for the privilege of calling ourselves "published" authors.

Cheryl Dickow, a Catholic nonfiction author, has just started a new venture called Bezalel Books, offering the opportunity for Catholic fiction writers to have another place and outlet for their manuscripts. She (rightfully) bemoans the lack of a Catholic presence in inspirational fiction, which is presently pretty much dominated by the Prod end of things...something many of us Catholic girls have been complaining about for awhile. :-) However, what she proposes to do about it is...shall we say...less than enthralling.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, for the small price of $775, give or take a few other charges that will no doubt creep into the mix, you can sidestep all the "traditional" publishing headaches, avoid paying an agent a commission to get you into the Big Bad World of Real Books...and publish your book through this new press.

Self-publish, that is. As in, pay her to do the publication for you.

If I've never said it before on this blog, it bears saying here: the fundamental principle of publishing is MONEY GOES TO THE AUTHOR. NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND.

Please understand, self-publishing is not inherently evil. Some books start out self-published and then are picked up by regular publishers after they've proven to sell. (Self-publishers are quick to trot out those titles, so with a little research, you'll find them.) And many books are self-published for good reasons. A very happy self-published author I know said, "Hey, I've got the money, I just want the thrill of having real books in my hands, my friends and neighbors all buy these, we have a good time. I'm happy."

For him, self-publishing works. He spends an average of $1500 per book to get the things out there--ridiculously steep in terms of anyone thinking of actually supporting themselves by writing, in any degree--but he's retired, he has the cash and nothing else he'd rather spend it on, so God bless him.

Another book I'm familiar with is a good example of another great use of self-publishing. The author probably had a good idea his target audience--primarily college baseball players!-- wouldn't necessarily be a large enough market segment for a major publisher to want to take on his book. I've read parts of the book. It's well written, it's an accurate portrayal of what college baseball is about, and I get a kick out of it because it's focused on the University of Michigan Baseball team as it was composed when my son was a member of said team. (My son even is a character in the book, albeit fictionalized and disguised, as are the other teammates of this particular author. Gotta love it.)

For that type of use, for that focus, self-publishing is a perfect solution. But for the rest of us? Not so much. At least not if we have a dream of being paid for our work, even if that payment is small.
Or if we have a dream of establishing a readership in any meaningful channels.
Or if we have a hope of being considered worth investing in for a major (or even minor) publisher someday.

Because if we have dreams and hopes of being published by a major house, paid anything at all, or having our books actually available for our friends and neighbors to buy--without having to sell them literally out of our garages--we definitely should not go the self-publishing route.Because, contrary to the claims on most of these sites, it's not easier to do the self-pub route; it's harder.

Most self-publishers will charge you more for actually editing the book.
Many of them have steep art charges if you don't have a cover designed yourself.
Many of them have small staffs with very limited resources, so if you need something done or redone quickly, it just isn't going to happen.
But the biggest drawback to self-publishing, by far, is the lack of distribution channels.

You see, it's not getting the book published that gets your name out into the marketplace. It's getting the book read. And bought.

Which means, your success as a published author isn't contingent on what it costs to print the book, or even what it costs you to get a cover made, to correct errors, and to get it bound attractively and legibly. Your success as a published author strictly depends on whether you can get your books into bookstores. Or whether people can order copies of your book through online or other channels. Or both. And that's where the self-publishing promises break down.

Self-published authors too often learn after the fact, and to their pain, that a promise that their book will be "available" for sale through Barnes &Noble, or Borders, or Books A Million...doesn't mean the book will actually be on the shelves. Most of the time, the book will not be there. The great majority of the time, the book will not even be listed in the computer systems of these bookstores. And if it ain't in the computer, boys and girls, you average bookstore clerk isn't going to be able to order it for you.

So in reality, while your book may be "available" to these places, it's not going to be ordered by them. If it's not ordered, in reality, it's not there. And won't be, because the great majority of self-publishing outlets have no network of distributors. They have no distribution channels in place. Most of them don't even have contacts in the industry that they can then tap and say, "Hey, I've got 20 great novels for you to take into the marketplace."

Which means you have no means of getting the book into the hands of readers.
Which means you will, in essence, have no readers...unless you do all the distribution yourself.

Some authors have tried a variation on this, by the way. There are "drive by" authors out there who'll do things like place their book on bookstore shelves. Just put it there. Some of them have even told tales of getting their books "put into" the computer systems at major bookstores that way, because the clerks don't know any better, just assume the book wasn't listed in error, and put all the ISBN information, etc., into their databases.

On the surface, this sounds pretty clever. A little guerilla marketing, as it were. Forcing them to acknowledge the book exists, and then giving them the means to reorder it.
The only problem is, that doesn't work.
Oh, a few authors may have had this actually turn in their favor. But then they went online and spread the word that "all you have to do is..." and a lot more people started trying to do this. Bookstores got wise to it. Clerks got wise to it. And those books got, respectfully, tossed.

They didn't get bought. They didn't get inventoried. They most certainly didn't get put into the databases. What's worse, the authors and their publishers were flagged for later reference...and not in a nice way, either.

So where's the win here? Answer? There isn't one. Your literal only alternative as a self-published author is to sell the books yourself.
If you have a speaking platform, this is a little easier. If you're affiliated with a university, this sometimes is easier (although don't try it without asking, because if anything, universities are even pricklier than major bookstores when it comes to "contraband"--i.e., something published other than via a university press!-- coming from one of their own). If you are like that guy in the video with the FREE HUGS sign, and you have no problem approaching complete strangers by the hundreds with books in your hand and a pitch on your lips, then maybe self-publishing, and its associated self-distribution, is for you.

But for most of us? Again, not so much.
Not even because most writers tend to be introverts, which is reason enough for most of us to crawl under our desks in the fetal position at the very thought of "marketing" and "distribution" like that....but also because, let's face it. Traveling the world to distribute a self-published book can get...shall we say...a little pricey. As in expensive. As in, expenses you may or may not ever recover from book sales, and probably won't.

So the moral of the story? If you have cash to spend, don't mind how you spend it, and don't care if you ever sell beyond 40 copies to your sisters and your cousins and your aunts...and you're fed up with the cycle of writing, revising, submitting, getting rejected, resubmitting, revising and re-revising, tinkering, pitching, etc., etc., etc...self-publishing may be the way you want to go with a novel. Otherwise, you'll want to refer back to the basic principle of the publishing industry--money goes to the author--and play the game in such a way that someone's willing to take your work and pay you for it.

Because that same someone will also make sure the book comes out with no misspellings in it (up to and including your name), has a cover that doesn't repel a reader, and has all the pages included, right-side up and in the proper order.
Because that same someone will have an editor who will (if you're fortunate) improve the book for you and make it sing, someone who knows what you're trying to say and helps you say it better.
And most of all, because that someone actually knows how to get those books into the marketplace so readers can read them, and love them, and recommend them to all their sisters and their cousins and their aunts.

Why? Because that someone will have already invested money in the operation, and they want to at least recoup some of that money. So they'll make it their business to at least do a minimum amount of publicity, and pitching their distributors, so they can make that happen...or they won't stay in business long.

Take the high road, folks. It's better for all of us in the long run.

My take,
Janny