When I moved back to L.A. three years ago, I made three compilation CDs to keep me awake through the 16-hour drive. In a rush of originality, I labeled these discs Driving Disc #1, Driving Disc #2, and Driving Disc #3.
Since then, I've bought a lot more music, which has led me to make four more driving discs. (OK, I've made five, but one was produced in the throes of pregnancy-related hormone fits, and was so utterly unlistenable I tossed the disc and tried vanquishing it from memory. Shh.) I won't tell you how they're labeled, but I'm sure you'll put that puzzle together all by yourself.
This morning, I made it to the end of the fifth disc. The first strains of Jordin Sparks's "Tattoo" filled my car and--I hate to admit this--I got goosebumps.
Also from the hate-to-admit it files? I probably listened to that song a couple hundred times while I was editing The Monster's Daughter.
Listening to the song this morning, I was overwhelmed by elation. Since I last listened to it, I moved from halfheartedly editing to actually releasing the book. Sure, there's still a little work being done behind the scenes, but mostly? I did it. That satisfaction, one I couldn't feel when I listened to "Tattoo" ceaselessly before, is one I'll surely wear on my heart like a tattoo for years to come.
Heh. I know, I know. Cheesy, right? But no matter how cheesy it may be, the heart of The Monster's Daughter is captured in these lyrics:
Don't look back, got a new direction
Loved you once, needed protection
You're still a part of everything I do
You're on my heart just like a tattoo
Just like a tattoo, I'll always have you
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
Deadlines
During my (*cough*second*cough*) senior year at the University of Oregon, I had an epiphany: Slacking off isn't much good when you spend all that "slack time" worrying about whatever it is you're putting off doing. This epiphany created a paradigm shift for me. Instead of doing everything in a panicked rush at the last minute, I did everything in a panicked rush like it was the last minute . . . except that I did it as early as possible. This left me abundant time to shoot the breeze without having to worry about anything but my already crazy credit card debt.
This has pretty much been my model ever since: pick a deadline, get stuff done. Don't pick a deadline? Don't get stuff done.
I felt triumphant after writing about biting the bullet. Hot damn, I thought, imma do this thing! Except, in an administrative oversight, I forgot to set a deadline.
In the interest of accountability--oh, and let's not forget about clearing up that mental space I so desperately need--I think I'd better remedy that. Barring rabid monkeys stealing my computers, my computers becoming possessed or my actually becoming rabid myself, my deadline for editing the second book is September 1, 2011. My deadline for editing the third book is March 1, 2012.
If these dates are creeping up and you find me hinting the deadlines are perhaps a wee bit unattainable, please:
1) Smack me over the head, then
2) Point me to this post, then
3) Remind me I am merely editing already written books, for which six months apiece was probably a lot on the excessive side.
I'd simply ask you to remember that any expletive-heavy grumbling you hear at such time should be translated as, "Thank you for keeping me on track!"
This has pretty much been my model ever since: pick a deadline, get stuff done. Don't pick a deadline? Don't get stuff done.
I felt triumphant after writing about biting the bullet. Hot damn, I thought, imma do this thing! Except, in an administrative oversight, I forgot to set a deadline.
In the interest of accountability--oh, and let's not forget about clearing up that mental space I so desperately need--I think I'd better remedy that. Barring rabid monkeys stealing my computers, my computers becoming possessed or my actually becoming rabid myself, my deadline for editing the second book is September 1, 2011. My deadline for editing the third book is March 1, 2012.
If these dates are creeping up and you find me hinting the deadlines are perhaps a wee bit unattainable, please:
1) Smack me over the head, then
2) Point me to this post, then
3) Remind me I am merely editing already written books, for which six months apiece was probably a lot on the excessive side.
I'd simply ask you to remember that any expletive-heavy grumbling you hear at such time should be translated as, "Thank you for keeping me on track!"
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Smashwords
A Season in Korea and One Time, One Thing are both free on Smashwords through March 12, 2011. Many other titles--fiction and non-fiction alike--are also free or heavily discounted during this period. Smashwords has loads of different options for reading, even without an e-reader, so I'd recommend giving it a look no matter what your reading tastes are!
Speaking of reading, my friend Sarah needs to stop recommending such riveting YA books. The urge to devour them all, pronto, is making it hard for me to engage in non-reading activities. Like typing, which I've done quite enough of for this morning. I have more Will Grayson, Will Grayson to read!
Speaking of reading, my friend Sarah needs to stop recommending such riveting YA books. The urge to devour them all, pronto, is making it hard for me to engage in non-reading activities. Like typing, which I've done quite enough of for this morning. I have more Will Grayson, Will Grayson to read!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Kindle pricing
One of the many pleasing things about self-publishing is that I've got the freedom to mess around with pricing in (virtually) real time.
The last few days, I've read several articles about pricing e-books. A lot of authors stressed really low pricing as key in capturing larger audiences. That combined with my musician officemate's comments about "paying dues" early in your career pushed me toward at least testing how pricing impacts sales.
I've repriced The Monster's Daughter to $1.49. (That's a royalty of roughly $0.50.) I couldn't quite bring myself to price it at $0.99, but who knows how I'll feel in a week or two? The point is, I have the freedom to play around with it, and that's a fabulous feeling!
Yesterday evening, on the other hand, I wasn't feeling fabulous. The afternoon was beautiful, and I relished every moment my son, a girlfriend and I spent in the sun at the Santa Monica pier. I made it through the one-year mark with a light heart, but my heart sank as 5:00 neared. I tried to imagine my childhood home being someone else's home. I'm excited that someone else's future--and laughter--will be tied to the place, but it felt at the time like the definitive conclusion of my childhood.
Shouldn't that have happened a little earlier than 32? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps! I have enough good humor this morning to see that. That's in part thanks to my girlfriend's lovely pictures of yesterday, which included the following:
It's uplifting, if funny, to think that I'm the mom in these pictures now.
The last few days, I've read several articles about pricing e-books. A lot of authors stressed really low pricing as key in capturing larger audiences. That combined with my musician officemate's comments about "paying dues" early in your career pushed me toward at least testing how pricing impacts sales.
I've repriced The Monster's Daughter to $1.49. (That's a royalty of roughly $0.50.) I couldn't quite bring myself to price it at $0.99, but who knows how I'll feel in a week or two? The point is, I have the freedom to play around with it, and that's a fabulous feeling!
Yesterday evening, on the other hand, I wasn't feeling fabulous. The afternoon was beautiful, and I relished every moment my son, a girlfriend and I spent in the sun at the Santa Monica pier. I made it through the one-year mark with a light heart, but my heart sank as 5:00 neared. I tried to imagine my childhood home being someone else's home. I'm excited that someone else's future--and laughter--will be tied to the place, but it felt at the time like the definitive conclusion of my childhood.
Shouldn't that have happened a little earlier than 32? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps! I have enough good humor this morning to see that. That's in part thanks to my girlfriend's lovely pictures of yesterday, which included the following:
It's uplifting, if funny, to think that I'm the mom in these pictures now.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Thank you, Mom.
At 2:35pm on March 4, 2010, my mom lost her battle with cancer.
On March 4, 2011, if all goes as planned, the house she struggled to keep will pass to new owners. When I got the closing date call from the escrow agent, I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach.
A few hours helped me to see there's actually a kind of beauty to this. (Circle of life, anyone?) Instead of being the day my mom stopped breathing, this makes March 4 a celebration of my mom's resourcefulness. She fought hard to keep a house over her kids' heads, despite mental illness and other obstacles aplenty; in doing so, she left a legacy that will help pay for her grandkids' college. That this is a gift her kids will celebrate on March 4 seems as much reminder as gift.
It's also fitting because it means we, her kids, will be free--one year to the day--to remember her without having to deal with the painful practicalties of saying goodbye. FYI, folks: It turns out that no matter how much you love your siblings, it will never be easy to say goodbye to your childhood home.
Tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to remember my mom in style. I'm going to take her grandson--the first of many grandchildren, I hope!--somewhere that made her smile so crazy wide I could hardly believe it. Even wider than this:
Today, I'm gonna do my best to not watch the clock too closely, or with too heavy a heart. In the nine years since that "chin shot" was taken, I've had some really amazing adventures. I'm going to try thinking of those adventures--the kind my mom would've loved to have!--instead. I'll be thinking, for example, of kids in a small farm town in Japan, and how, because of my games, they'd understand today if I told them, "I'm sad."
When I started teaching them, they knew only one answer to the question, "How are you?" "I'm fine, thank you, how are you?" By the time I left, they could tell me if they were fine, happy, sad, cold, hot, hungry, sleepy or angry. This was in part thanks to lots of games played with my mood slap cards:
It was also in part thanks to my repeatedly overacting each mood. As the kids grew more comfortable with the different moods, they, too, would throw themselves into dramatic response.
When I look at my mood cards now, I remember the joy I felt the first time a student ran up to my apartment door, jumped up and down with a grin and proclaimed, "I'm happy!"
These are memories for smiles. They're also memories I wouldn't have had but for my mom's faith I could be anything I dreamed.
So what if she later told me I should just think of what I wanted to be and marry someone who did that instead? The foundation was already laid. I believed, thanks to her, I could do just about anything.
Instead of sorrow, I choose to hold gratitude for that faith close to my heart today.
Gratitude . . . and love.
On March 4, 2011, if all goes as planned, the house she struggled to keep will pass to new owners. When I got the closing date call from the escrow agent, I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach.
A few hours helped me to see there's actually a kind of beauty to this. (Circle of life, anyone?) Instead of being the day my mom stopped breathing, this makes March 4 a celebration of my mom's resourcefulness. She fought hard to keep a house over her kids' heads, despite mental illness and other obstacles aplenty; in doing so, she left a legacy that will help pay for her grandkids' college. That this is a gift her kids will celebrate on March 4 seems as much reminder as gift.
It's also fitting because it means we, her kids, will be free--one year to the day--to remember her without having to deal with the painful practicalties of saying goodbye. FYI, folks: It turns out that no matter how much you love your siblings, it will never be easy to say goodbye to your childhood home.
Tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to remember my mom in style. I'm going to take her grandson--the first of many grandchildren, I hope!--somewhere that made her smile so crazy wide I could hardly believe it. Even wider than this:
Today, I'm gonna do my best to not watch the clock too closely, or with too heavy a heart. In the nine years since that "chin shot" was taken, I've had some really amazing adventures. I'm going to try thinking of those adventures--the kind my mom would've loved to have!--instead. I'll be thinking, for example, of kids in a small farm town in Japan, and how, because of my games, they'd understand today if I told them, "I'm sad."
When I started teaching them, they knew only one answer to the question, "How are you?" "I'm fine, thank you, how are you?" By the time I left, they could tell me if they were fine, happy, sad, cold, hot, hungry, sleepy or angry. This was in part thanks to lots of games played with my mood slap cards:
It was also in part thanks to my repeatedly overacting each mood. As the kids grew more comfortable with the different moods, they, too, would throw themselves into dramatic response.
When I look at my mood cards now, I remember the joy I felt the first time a student ran up to my apartment door, jumped up and down with a grin and proclaimed, "I'm happy!"
These are memories for smiles. They're also memories I wouldn't have had but for my mom's faith I could be anything I dreamed.
So what if she later told me I should just think of what I wanted to be and marry someone who did that instead? The foundation was already laid. I believed, thanks to her, I could do just about anything.
Instead of sorrow, I choose to hold gratitude for that faith close to my heart today.
Gratitude . . . and love.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
The Monster's Daughter, circa November 1992
I turned 14 a few days before I started working on the handwritten story that'd later become The Monster's Daughter. I just pulled out all 120 pages of that handwritten early draft. I've only read the first page, but it makes me giggle.
Here's a touching excerpt:
"So, have you decided yet? Will you go out with me?"
"Rob, I knew a long time ago that I did not want to go out with you. And I told you so, too."
He gave me a look that said, "I know you're just too embarrassed to go out with me. You might feel too inferior." Egomaniacal. And that's only one of the many reasons I won't go out with him.
"Anyway, Rob, even if I did want to go out with you--and I don't--my dad wouldn't let me." Bullshit my dad wouldn't let me. I could skip school for a week, go have a vacation with forty guys and pay for it all with money I took from him and he wouldn't care. "Bye, Rob," I said as I pushed myself away from the table. If I didn't pick up my tray, one of the table monitors would get it eventually.
Oh, 14-year-old Deb, you were adorable! I could just tickle you, if I didn't think you'd punch me in the face for trying.
Do I have the courage to read on? I'd love to remember the story my 14-year-old self meant to tell, but doing so means foregoing my Jellicoe Road reading time! That's even apart from the fact reading all those pages requires actually, well, reading all those pages and thus seeing into my 14-year-old brain. Do I dare? Do I dare, especially remembering the very unfortunate meeting between Rob and Ari's dad?
...
I'd appreciate it if one of y'all could bust out a fortitude buff!
Here's a touching excerpt:
"So, have you decided yet? Will you go out with me?"
"Rob, I knew a long time ago that I did not want to go out with you. And I told you so, too."
He gave me a look that said, "I know you're just too embarrassed to go out with me. You might feel too inferior." Egomaniacal. And that's only one of the many reasons I won't go out with him.
"Anyway, Rob, even if I did want to go out with you--and I don't--my dad wouldn't let me." Bullshit my dad wouldn't let me. I could skip school for a week, go have a vacation with forty guys and pay for it all with money I took from him and he wouldn't care. "Bye, Rob," I said as I pushed myself away from the table. If I didn't pick up my tray, one of the table monitors would get it eventually.
Oh, 14-year-old Deb, you were adorable! I could just tickle you, if I didn't think you'd punch me in the face for trying.
Do I have the courage to read on? I'd love to remember the story my 14-year-old self meant to tell, but doing so means foregoing my Jellicoe Road reading time! That's even apart from the fact reading all those pages requires actually, well, reading all those pages and thus seeing into my 14-year-old brain. Do I dare? Do I dare, especially remembering the very unfortunate meeting between Rob and Ari's dad?
...
I'd appreciate it if one of y'all could bust out a fortitude buff!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Biting the bullet
You want to know what's less fun than editing one book written in a week? Editing three books that were written in roughly a week apiece. (Such books don't start out especially, um, coherent.) Unlike the pleasure:fun ratio described in a familiar bubble gum ditty, triple the pleasure is not triple the fun!
When I wrote The Monster's Daughter six years ago, I wrote it as a trilogy. I wanted the first book to stand alone in case I got lazy. Which, turns out, I did! I've waffled on editing the latter books pretty much since they were written.
Rather than bore you with an epic narrative of the pros and cons of tackling all three books, I'll boil it down to one determinative factor: a conversation (let's call it "To Emergency Room or Not to Emergency Room") I had with Ba.D. after our son cut his face on a toy a few months ago. The conversation--as I recall it*--went roughly as follows:
Ba.D.: We should take him to the emergency room. That's an awful lot of blood.
Me: Face wounds bleed a lot.
Ba.D.: True. But it's so much!
Me: We could get some stuff from Rite Aid and try our hand at it.
Ba.D.: We could. But what if it's not enough? WHAT HAVE WE DONE TO OUR BABY?!
Me: Do you think we should go to the emergency room?
Ba.D.: I don't know. Maybe we can handle it? But what if we can't?
Me: Are you driving or am I?
There's a point in dialogue--with yourself or others--where you go, "Do I want to keep having this conversation?" In the end, that question swayed me. It's time to stop that do-I-do-I-not dialogue and just freakin' tackle those other books already. If I don't, that irritating question's gonna keep running circles around my mind.
I'd rather just have it done, clear up that brain space already and focus on other projects. I could plow forward with the non-fiction project I'm 12k words into. Or start the YA urban fantasy I'm going to set in Florence, OR, like Florence could ever really qualify as "urban." ;)
Enough waffling already. I'm cracking my knuckles and doing this thing! Now if only those first drafts were a tiny bit more readable . . . .
* I'm just putting this caveat in here preemptively to appease Ba.D.
When I wrote The Monster's Daughter six years ago, I wrote it as a trilogy. I wanted the first book to stand alone in case I got lazy. Which, turns out, I did! I've waffled on editing the latter books pretty much since they were written.
Rather than bore you with an epic narrative of the pros and cons of tackling all three books, I'll boil it down to one determinative factor: a conversation (let's call it "To Emergency Room or Not to Emergency Room") I had with Ba.D. after our son cut his face on a toy a few months ago. The conversation--as I recall it*--went roughly as follows:
Ba.D.: We should take him to the emergency room. That's an awful lot of blood.
Me: Face wounds bleed a lot.
Ba.D.: True. But it's so much!
Me: We could get some stuff from Rite Aid and try our hand at it.
Ba.D.: We could. But what if it's not enough? WHAT HAVE WE DONE TO OUR BABY?!
Me: Do you think we should go to the emergency room?
Ba.D.: I don't know. Maybe we can handle it? But what if we can't?
Me: Are you driving or am I?
There's a point in dialogue--with yourself or others--where you go, "Do I want to keep having this conversation?" In the end, that question swayed me. It's time to stop that do-I-do-I-not dialogue and just freakin' tackle those other books already. If I don't, that irritating question's gonna keep running circles around my mind.
I'd rather just have it done, clear up that brain space already and focus on other projects. I could plow forward with the non-fiction project I'm 12k words into. Or start the YA urban fantasy I'm going to set in Florence, OR, like Florence could ever really qualify as "urban." ;)
Enough waffling already. I'm cracking my knuckles and doing this thing! Now if only those first drafts were a tiny bit more readable . . . .
* I'm just putting this caveat in here preemptively to appease Ba.D.
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