Some women have a fetish for shoes. Some for hats. I have a fetish for trying software. If I've learned one thing, it's that companies have all kinds of tricks to sell software that sucks.
Buy it now! And you can try it for 30 days with a money guarantee. This is like going to look at a car. The owner of said car makes you a deal. You can try after you buy it. If you're not happy then, they'll give you your money back. They'll even have a good reason like "insurance." Because I suffer for typo-syndrome, I actually bought White Smoke and the sinker that came with it. (Hangs head in shame.) The program came with a virus, pop up ads to upgrade to the newest version, and a program that used all my system resources. I requested a refund a mere 8 hours later and three days later, and five days later. Promises to refund by x date which came and passed. I paid via Pay Pal so I did get my refund, but not with out some work on my part. The moral of the story is, don't buy a car without test driving it and don't buy software you can't test drive either. 7 day trial! Whoowhooo! This is like buying a horse. You arrive, the owner shows you how nice the horse walks on a lead, how well he ties. You're very excited. You can't wait to try this horse. "I don't have a saddle," the owner says. "You want me to ride bareback?" You ask. "It's up to you." Unless, you're a fairly good at riding bareback, you can't put a horse through all his paces. With seven day trials there are usually key features missing, ones standard in similar programs. The developers aren't giving you the standard 30 day trial for a reason. For the average person, seven days is just enough time to like a program enough to buy it, but not put it through it's paces. We're number one, rah, rah, rah! (We have adds everywhere, too!) This is like Best of Show at a dog show. If a hundred dogs enter, the title is meaningful. However, when there are only five entrants or the judge was paid or the judge is your mother, it is meaningless. What inspired this diatribe? I recently downloaded Microsoft Office 2010 trial. I already the 2007 version. I was just curious about new features. My first impression was, bah, there's not much new. I won't upgrade. WRONG! There are lots of new features I love and old features I just discovered what they're for. So, yes, before my 60 day trial is over I'm going to fork over the dough to upgrade. Note the 60 day trial. Scrivener is also indispensable to my writing life and comes with a 30 days trial. But there's also a note writers should take away from this, especially those who self-publish. Don't use schemes, ploys, or lies to get people to buy your work. If your writing is strong, you don't need your mother's five star review. You don't have to connive for people to like your work. I eat, sleep and breathe writing, so it really feels like overkill to talk about it on my blog. Crazy right? A writer who doesn't write about writing? But there's really only three things you need to do to be a good writer. (Thought I was going to tell you, didn't ya? Ha.)
Anyway, one of the writers in my critique group has a story with a cat in it. This got me to thinking that I could tell a few pet stories. I've had pets my entire life, except now. I live in a small apartment and I just don't think it's fair to have a cat or do. I'm a gold fish murder as well as a plant killer. So no fish. But, let me tell you about Princess. She came to live with my family when I was about five and not because she wanted a home. She was a stray who would have been happily stayed a stray if my mother wasn't late for everything. Consequently, it was a rare day that I didn't waddle into school late. On this particular morning, I left our house and walked the two blocks to school among few stranglers. We happened to be living in a Norman Rockwell kind of town. Parents rarely drove their kids, even us kindergarteners. By the time I had arrived, the bell had run and the playground was deserted except for two kids and a black and white cat. I can't remember if the kids were girls or boys. I do remember they had cornered the cat on this strange sloping architectural element. I really don't know what it was for, but on recess the big kids would kill a soccer ball up and down the slop. The cat was dirty and miserable because it was also raining. After a second bell rang, the big kids dashed into the school. I immediately re-cornered the cat, scooping her into my arms. And she promptly set about scratching and biting for the entire two blocks back to my house. I entered the house with "Mommy!" And I think this was promptly followed by some shouting as to why I wasn't in school. This was followed by several exclamations as she come out of the dinning kitchen and saw me standing there with a cat, covered in scratches, and wearing copious amounts of blood. I quickly explained how I had bravely saved the cat from the big kids, embellishing of course. I had rushed in under the spray of stones to save the cat's life from bully's who then chased after me. I'd had no choice but to bring her home. I don't really remember how I persuaded my mother to let me keep the cat or her transition from feral stray to a member of the family. Maybe, she believed the story I'd told. At any rate, she was named Princess. I do vaguely remember arguing with my sisters on what her name would be. I don't really know who chose it. Princes was a unique cat. I don't think we tamed her, but rather she adopted us. She and my mother both shared a fondness for cheese corn and TV. The cat and my mother would sit on the couch watching late night shows. If Princesses dinner wasn't timely enough, she'd get into the pantry, pull out an individual packet of cat food morsels and open it. She never had a litter box. She came house broken and would yowl at the top of her lungs until she figured out how to open the back door and let herself out. I don't believe she could open the front door. She came and went, living with us when it suited her and living in the wild when it suited her. At some point, she started bringing us gifts of dead squirrels, skunks and opossums. She loving deposited them on the front porch for us to find on our way to school in the morning. Despite being wild, she let my sisters and I dress her up in baby clothes. We even put blush on her checks and rolled her around in a baby carriage. Next to our house with a random duplex. Crotchety, Mrs. Blake lived next door. She had a fat gray cat and was probably a cat lady. She'd watch my sisters and I rolling Princess around in a stroller dressed up in baby clothes. "Stop abusing that cat!" She'd shout. I don't know if we were or not, but I do know for certain Princess didn't mind. She was a character and by that I mean, she hated everybody but us. One of her favorite pastimes was to lay on the side walk ( and later Mrs. Blake's walkway.) She'd roll over like she wanted her belly rubbed. A strange cat, she actually enjoyed being scratched there and all the neighbors had seen us petting her like that. So, at one time or another about all of them walked up to her lying on the sidewalk and reached down to give her a pet. At which point, Princess would lock on to their hand, all four claws and teeth, and not let go until it suited her. Usually, after the neighbor had started shouting for help. Our mother would come out of the house and say, "Princess," in a stern voice. Princess always released the neighbor in a way that could only have been her idea. She'd then go bounding to our porch and sit upon the railing like a queen to her thrown, tail curled around her paws. When she did this she always wore that hard, disapproving look only cats have. Over time, the neighbors would gaze up at her as though asking for permission before passing our house. If Princess came off the porch, many would cross the street. And that brings us back to Mrs. Blake, the cat lady. She thought that she had a way with cats and was determined to rescue Princess from being dressed up in baby clothes. And was promptly attacked by Princess. After that day Mrs. Blake held a deep hatred for the black and white cate. Princess apparently felt the same way because she took to find creative ways to surprise Mrs. Black. This included spring from a tree branch onto the old woman's shoulder when she went to get her news paper. She'd also just lay on Mrs. Blake's walkway staring at the door and flicking her tail the way cat's do when they think. After that, her favorite spot became Mrs. Blake's front step. The old woman took to leaving the house by the back door. After several years of being haunted by Princess, Mrs. Black moved. And that's when the whole neighborhood knew without a doubt that Princess ruled us all. Everybody is talking about potential lawsuit by the DOJ against six of the ten top publishing houses. Everybody is talking about self-publishing versus traditional route. I'm not really too concerned with what happens-- it's a gonna happen with our without me. So I don't really have a dog in this fight other than to say, I'm glad I have the option of self-publishing. Still, I can't help but speculate a little. I think it comes with the nature of writing. Today, I sat down and made ppt. about my speculations for the future of publishing. ( It took about 45 minutes. ) See the file below. So, what do you speculate the future publishing industry will look like? Do you have a dog in this fight?
If you follow American Idol, you already know that that the top 13 have been chosen. One of these 13 will win and it isn't necessarily the most talented.
Contests like American Idol or Amazon's Breakthrough Novel Award offer a lot of exposure in a very short time. This makes it that much easier for an artist to sell their product to people. But despite TV's attempts to make it seem like they KNOW what's popular, they cannot actually predict whether the winner of said contest is ever going to land on the A list. For every hit show like American Idol there are thousands of failed pilots, hundreds of C list shows, dozens of B list shows, and handfuls of A list shows. American Idol is an A list show, but the idea that the producers could actually see into the future and predict how popular it was going to be is all smoke and mirrors. Creative Genius is an after the fact title. This is why it's ever so important for writers to write a lot of different things. But, be careful there is a cliff. When I was in first grade I got a bird's eye view of this cliff. I drew a whale in art class. Before I drew whales, I drew horses. My horse's never got a prize but my whale won me second place in our schools art show. After winning the prize ,I drew whales. I drew so many whales my art teacher said I drew too many whales. You see contestants on reality TV do this all the time. They get positive feedback and they repeat the same thing, seeking that positive feedback, bang their heads against a wall when they don't get it. Of course sometimes they do themselves too and fail. But at least that was an authentic failure. There really is no better way to fail. I'm gonna sound like a broken record here, but the only answer is just to do you. When you are you, you are authentic. You may not be the most popular kid on the block. But hey, the A list is really just an accident anyway. An if you accidentally trip over it while being you, just pretend like that's what you intended. This is how you become a creative genius. I'm not an idiot-- Okay. So that's not entirely true. But on most occasions I can be counted on to know the date and time of a specific event. I got a notice this morning-- if you don't live in Korea, you probably got it yesterday afternoon-- the second round winners for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest were posted. This was a surprise to me because I had thought the news wouldn't come until the 28th. I set my own contest dates for the 29th, a day after the second round results from Amazon's contest would be announced. I even checked the dates before I posted. What probably happened is a little thing called biased. I don't know whether I saw it was the 23rd and forgot, or simply saw what I had expected to see. The brain is funny that way. Any author who has tried to edit their own manuscript can attest to how easy to miss errors because you see what you think you wrote, not efewth.
This got me to think about biases. I've always be intrigued bias. You cannot have an intelligent discussion with a truly biased individual. Bias plays a huge role in a reader's relationship with writers. Previously, I wrote that I trusted readers to know what they want. Hence, I'm putting out both a horror and literary collection side by side. But this bias thing got me to thinking. How often have I picked up a book because I know an author rights the kind of story I'm in the mood for? If I go any deeper, this post is going to be really long so I'll just end it here by saying that I think it's much easier for a writer to define themselves as x, y, and z, than redefine themselves after years of being only z. Here's a wiki link to a long list of biases in case your board and don't forget that thanks to my on biases the Write While You Wait Contest runs until the 29th of February. I think just about everybody knows what of Yin and Yang. They were two guys who walked into a bar... Just kidding.
Yin yang is the Chinese concept of opposites being interconnected. I was thinking about that today in relationship to writing. I write in several different genres, most often horror and humor. I wouldn't say that horror and humor are opposites because I see how they intersect. But my eclectic tastes as a writer has left me wondering, should I split into multiple identities-- one that writes only horror, one that only writes science fiction, you get the point-- so I won't confuse people? Conventional logic says, yes, it's a way to lose readers. I wonder how solid this logic is? Publishers have long been deciding what will and won't sell. ( Read last week's round up over on Nathan Bransford's blog to get a better grasp on all the hullabaloo.) I've decided that answer is no. In part because I feel that, for me at least, there's more of a continuum than division going on. The other thing is and think this is really important. Authors should trust readers make their own choices. To me it's that simple. Sure I've read books I didn't particularly like by authors I adore. And I continue to devour their books. Why? Because for the most part, I like what they write. So my next project(s) are a bit of an experiment. ( I always have multiple projects going on, so this too is a continuum.) I'm going to release two collections of short stories. One will be a collection of literary fiction. The other is a collection of horror and humor. I don't know if I'll release them together-- probably not. There's a lot that goes into prepping something for publication. But the releases will be close together. Sink or swim, this is just what I'm gonna do. _I think this is going to be a long one because I'm going to address a couple of things that will on the surface seem completely unrelated which means I'm jumping into everything is everything thinking . I've never tried to put this thinking in writing before, so bear with me.
So our topics today are: "How much personal stuff should a writer share?" "Do you ever feel like two people?" Brain injuries. Since this is everything is everything, none of these things are unrelated. It doesn't matter which one I talk about first because it's connect deeply with the other two. But I have to start somewhere, so let's start with "Do you ever feel like two people?" If we were in classroom with a professor at the white board with his little black dry erase marker poised for work, I'd be the first to raise my hand. "All the time!" I'd shout. I'm not sure to what extent others have experiences this sensation, but for me it goes back to my earliest memories. I'm going to say now that I was divided in two by my name and nickname. Later I'm going to suggest that maybe I was born into duality, that we all are. But for now, let's say my names divided me in two. I was one part the nickname my family called me and I was one part my full name. And my first grade teacher, tired of me writing one one and then the other on my papers, said "You must choose who you are." I said, "But why?" She shook her head. To her the issue was simple. It made grading papers easier. For me it was a huge philosophical question, with my identity, my idea of self lying at its core. I was two people, a situation acerbated by home life. See my about page as I added a lot of personal stuff to my bio. This leads us to, "How much personal stuff should a writer share?" I don't know. I've chosen to share a bit more, which, and because I several distinct personalities— I don't actually have DID. When you don't have DID but have dived personality traits, you're called moody. Nobody has ever called me moody, but it's a good word. Anyway, I am simultaneously shy and outgoing, quite and loud, calm and bundle of energy. This brings us back to "Do you ever feel like two people?" "All the time," I answer. "And what's more research into brain injuries suggest that we might all be two people." In the early 18th century hypnotists reported seeing evidence of second personality while their patients were under. Some doctors dismissed the notion. Others said the patients had multiple personalities. But again, we're not talking DID manifestations here. Just incongruity or duality. If we fast forward to modern times, there's evidence to support that the left and right brain are in fact distinct personalities. Patients whose corpus callosum was severed either due injury or brain surgery. The corpus callosum is a band of brain tissue connecting both hemispheres of the brain. Each hemisphere has separate duties. In general terms, the "right brain" is artistic and the "left brain" is analytical. Speech tends to be orientated on the analytical side and vision on the artistic side. Now, I'm over simplifying a very complex system. What you need to take away from this is that corpus callosum allows for communication between the two hemispheres. When this is severed, scientists have seen some interesting things. Remember the hand from Adam's family. Well, some people with a severed corpus callosum experience "wondering hands." This can be anything from groping to punching someone. There was also a simple experiment where patients were asked their ideal job was, first verbally, and then in shown the question in writing as well as a set of pictures to choose from. The patient might say banker, but choose a picture of a racecar driver. In fact, when asked what they wanted to be the verbal response was most often an analytical job while the visual response was often artistic. I suspect that this is intuitively recognized in language. See: "Me, myself, and I" and whenever we refer to ourselves in the the plural. And we're back to "How much personal stuff is too much?" and "Do you ever feel like two people." There's an old saying: "I'm of two minds on this." Two years ago a friend of mine was staying at my place. She had to catch flight from Incheon Airport. I was living in Wanju at the time, about two hours by direct bus. She got up at Six A.M.. Because of insomnia, I sometimes don't sleep for weeks at a time. When it's at it's worst, I might get an hour an night. Falling asleep can take hours and sometimes not at all. If I do fall asleep, I'll wake up in as little as thirty minutes. It makes me grouch and irritable and not myself. When I agreed for her to come stay with me a month prior, I was getting about five hours a night. By the time she came, I was in a rough patch, not having slept more than three hours a night for two weeks. As would have it, we stayed up late chatting and around one, I fell into the deepest sleep I'd had in months.
As you can imagine, I was not particularly happy to be woken up at 6 A.M.I didn't get up to see her off, which resulted in her slamming things. We hadn't seen each other in a while, so she'd kind of come for my company as much for convenience. Well, I don't really know how a two hour bus ride to the airport was convenient. I wasn't being a good friend-- I was awake by then, but drifting in and out of sleep -- and knew it. But I was too exhausted to drag myself out of bed. I remember telling her there was some fruit in the fridge. I think it was apples. It was a sad peace offering. "I brought my owned damned tangerines," she barked. "I know," I barked back. "Refrigerators don't generally make their own fruit." I fell asleep and by the time I woke up, she had gone. We made up later. In the meantime, I had a great idea for a story. In it, the refrigerator would produce fruit. The story was first called "Don't Eat the Fruit." I later retitled it, "Irresistible." I'm particularly proud of this story. At the time, I hadn't done anything remotely like it. You could say it's my first real story. Today, it found a home with Bards and Sages Quarterly. Freud compared the mind to an iceberg. Our conscious is everything that we see above water and our subconscious is everything below the surface. I first became that much of writing was subconscious some months after finishing my third book. I realized I'd writing 100,000 words or so about hunger. Yes, it was horror with a decent monster, but all that time I was writing about monsters, I was also writing about hunger. But not, the emotion limited to the intake of food. My soul ( or some deep part of me) was / is hungry. To my own ears this sounds rather melodramatic but it's true. So I wrote a whole book about hunger and not one word of it was conscious. Now that's not to say, I won't bring the themes out as I edit it.
The unconcious is a nonverbal beast. It has no words of it's own so it enters out lives in odd ways. We do things and we don't entirely understand why we're doing them. I have a theory that what drives humans to dance, sing, and write stories is an unconscious need to share our experiences. Carl Jung, a psychologist, purposed that all of the human experience is contained in the collective unconscious. I purpose that the collective unconscious is very real. It is all around us, in the music, art, movies and literature we share. How else can we explain why one mention of fire by Robert frost calls to mind Dante's inferno? Ultimately, I think transference of knowledge is at the core of what drives us to tell stories, to read, to watch and to sing about them. Stage 1: My Writing is a Gift to You!
This a time when a write believes that all that they write is good, no great, a master piece. Which is very important since, fledgling writer's spend twice as much time day dreaming about making the big time as they do putting pen to paper. Writers at this stage are simultaneous unaware of rules and entirely confident that such things would only be a hindrance to the creative process. Stage 2: Rules Rule and Humble Pie is Served! At some point every writer must extract their head from their ass and get down to the business of writing. While eating his or her fair share of humble pie, the writer will become an expert on the rules. He or she will set forth to deliver the message of the rules to all parties, willing and unwilling. The rules are as fine a feathered friend as God himself. While simultaneously handing critique partners their hat for not obeying the rules, writers at this state will bemoan the very rules they worship. State 3: Thou Shal Break the Rules Because Thou can At some point writers begin to reach the level of competency. They not only know the rules but have learned to use them to varying degrees of effect. They have eaten a lot of humble pie and served large slices to other writers while smiling kindly; humble pie is best served with a smile. But the pride in the rules has passed. They are no longer a thing to worship but an object of intrigue. Writer's at this stage are like children with a knew toy. They bend twist and sometimes obliterate the rules and despite total anarchy, people respond favorably. Yes, there are those still thumping the Rule Bible (this is not a real thing) but they are free to do what they want and confident because they know exactly what they are doing when they do it. This is a time of experiment and discovery. The three stages of a writer's career really aren't stages at all. They are a continuum, often overlapping and sometimes experienced simultaneously. Nobody can gain equal mastery over every skill at the same time. And sometimes we will forget something we know while learning something we didn't. Anyway, this is what I was thinking today and so I wrote it down. |
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