The Problem Turns Out to be My Head…Again

I’m having a little problem concentrating. Whenever I sit down to write, I’m all over the place. The one place I’m not is on the page. I can’t seem to go into The Zone no matter how much I want to.

So, typical me, I try to analyze why this is so. If I could just figure out the source of the problem, I could break through and get back to the bliss of writing.

Yesterday in my meditation class, the topic centered around being in the Now. As I was meditating and sat firmly centered in the Now, it came to me. My head, as usual, is the source of the problem. It thinks that it can solve problems by going into the past or effect outcomes by dancing off into the future. Oh, gee, Nancy. Stop struggling with publishers, and write the friggin book. That struggling with publishers part is purely in my head. I haven’t had any real exchange with publishers. Sometimes the focus is on finding an agent. Slow down, partner.

I’ve written one novel, which is now languishing. The YA one. I’ve decided that I need to let it settle for a bit. I think it may have some sex scenes that are too explicit in places for a YA audience, but I’m not ready to turn it into a mainstream novel either.

In the meantime, I have a new novel to work on. The outline is semi-complete. The characters are starting to talk amongst themselves, and I am missing it because my head is spending time anywhere except here and Now. When Marsha said yesterday that our creativity resides in the Now, I thought, Oh.

I shouldn’t be surprised to find out that my head is the source of the problem. It always is. I once heard a speaker talk about it and say that his head is convinced that it can kill him and keep on living. Anyone who understands that, as I did, knows how dangerous it is to let the head be in charge.

Okay, so time to regroup. As always, the answers come when my house is in order. Being here Now, not in the future, not in the past. Here Now. Proceed.

The Meaning of Sun Day

It’s a beautiful day outside. What am I going to do about it? Here in the Seattle area, a blue sky is something we catch like surfers catch waves. Especially this time of year, we go through our days, waiting for our set. Rain, rain, rain, rain, sun, rain, rain, sun, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, sun, sun, rain…. When the sun comes out, everyone gets perky.

I’m in a complete fit of excitement and stress because there are so many places I want to go while the weather is nice, and I just can’t decide. I want to go somewhere and write. It can’t be too far out there because clouds could roll in at any moment and obliterate the sun. But it can be somewhere away from the sound of traffic.

• Spenser Island?
• A bike ride to Redmond for lunch and a sit by the fountain?
• Bike ride to Snohomish for a sit at Wired and Unplugged?
• A jog around the lake and a trip to the pool before sitting lakeside with a notepad?
• A hike up to lower Wallace Falls to sit near the roar of the water at the covered picnic table?
• A drive to Deception Falls for a walk in the dewy woods and a sit on the bench in a fairy forest?
• That bike ride Terri told me about that runs between Gold Bar and Index, where there are flat rocks by the river to have a picnic?
• Those cliffs by Deception Pass with a view of the San Juans and all the way to Canada?
  
• That cafe by the water on Whidbey Island with the wonderful lobster bisque?
  
• My back yard?

Okay. Gotta go. Writing to do.

Does It Ever Get Easier?

Okay, time to break out the big guns. I’m not working at a day job right now and so have all kinds of time to write. But am I writing? I’m doing a lot of thinking about writing, but not much actual work. I have the idea, the outline, the characters are starting to whine, so what do I do?

Here’s the deal. It comes down to making a commitment. I’ve written a novel, and now I know what it takes. I know that a big piece of myself went into my first novel. I’d love to see it published, but, even if it never is, I am so glad I wrote it. The novel was a journey into my imagination and was full of magic. But it’s also a piece of me.

This next novel will command an even bigger piece of me. I already know it. I’m frozen because I am afraid. Can I tell this story? Can I tell it honestly, without regard to the audience? Can I bind and gag my internal editor long enough to let it flow and get it out?

Quite simply, I must.

I need to keep moving. I need to do two things. First, I need to finish cleaning and organizing my house, create a space to write. I realized today that the clutter around here contributes to my inability to concentrate. Or am I just making another excuse? No, I think it does.

I was having my hair done today. For me, hair dressers are all better than the best of therapists, and they’re only about a third the price. So, I was having my hair done today, and I was trying to explain this to her. She didn’t get it, but she listened. I said that to start a novel and not finish it would be like starting to build a structure in your backyard but never finishing it. Every time you go outside, the friggin thing is out there. You have to walk over it every time you go to get in your car. It’s big, it’s messy, and it’s loud. As I was talking, I suddenly had a flash in my head of the clutter of my house. There are papers everywhere. I’ve started to clear it up and organize it, but I haven’t finished. It’s in exactly the same state as the outline of my novel. The outline is well underway but it’s lying in files and in my head like the fragments of paper all over my house.

I told Terri to cut my hair short, and I resolved to go home and move through the tasks in front of me. Debbie Strom always used to tell me to just do what's in front of me. Amazing how simple that is and how well it works.

Boycott Amazon

Because of the Amazon/Booksurge ultimatum, I have elected to boycott Amazon. Here are some great places where you can order books online and live an Amazon-free life just like me:

Third Place Books
Elliott Bay Book Company (also a great site for book browsing)
Powell's

I know that there are tons of other private bookstores in the country that warrant our business, have userfriendly web sites and will ship books anywhere. These are the ones I know and have used. I am pleased by the thought that Amazon may just be the force that prompts us to return to the small, private booksellers. I know, I'm a daydreamer. Nice thought, though, huh?

Infamous

I came across a film telling the story of Truman Capote’s research and writing of In Cold Blood, Infamous. The film was excellent and had an incredible cast. Signorney Weaver, Gwyneth Paltrow, Isabella Rossellini.

Sandra Bullock plays a wonderful Harper Lee. The movie is sprinkled with documentary-style interviews. She has two is serious, tear drawing monologues that are the best performance I’ve ever seen of her. She isn’t staged to look beautiful or glamorous, but, of course, she still is, with those clear eyes that will make anyone believe anything she says.

Toby Jones, who has played small parts in so many countless movies, is a picture perfect Truman Capote. The movie is geared to show how the writing of In Cold Blood broke Capote’s spirit, and Jones makes the perfect model for this. He begins light and caricature-like, but finishes as a tragic, broken, but very real figure.

It’s impossible to see this movie without comparing it to Capote, which came out just the year before. I, personally, liked Infamous much more. The cast, the acting, the depicting of the story, the focus on Capote were all better. Both were wonderful, but Jones comes in with no need for a photo finish. Combined, the films show us that there is more than one way to render horrific vulnerability.

But why did they make this movie on the heels of the other? There must be some kind of bizarre Hollywood story behind this. I didn’t know about this film when it was in the theaters. Yet, Capote had excellent press. Strange.

On the Road Again

Life can turn a corner any time. Mine just did. My contract job has ended, and now I have time to write and read and do some of the things I love to do. I also have to find another job. The challenge is keeping the wolves at bay well enough so that I can write and make some progress. I have millions of things that I could do with this time, and I can’t afford to let fear of the future take over and rule my thoughts and energies.

Ideally, I’d love to find a job that doesn’t take 50 – 70 hours a week of my total focus. The last one did, and my personal life and interests fell off the edge.

While I’m looking for a job, I can also work on the following:

• New novel
• Queries for agents for completed YA novelSubmit flash pieces and short stories to various pubs
• Write flash
• Create application package and curricula for teaching writing to WA State schools
• Book reviews
• Blog

No shortage of work. I want to maintain a healthy daily schedule to include the list items above, as well as exercise and organizing my home. I’ve already started with my office. I have a mountain of paperwork to organize. I can’t use any of the information I have unless I can find it. Once my office is organized, I can revisit things like the information I gathered from the retreat I attended last July in New Mexico. I have contact information for the people who’ve dropped off my radar, and lots of good direction on a variety of things.

I sense that this could be a turning point for me and my career. I can see it as an opportunity rather than a hardship.

24-hour Short Story Contest

I’ve signed up for the 24-hour short story contest, put out by writersweekly.com.

http://www.writersweekly.com/misc/contest.php

The story topic is announced at noon, central time, April 26^th, and we’re off! Only 500 applicants are allowed. There’s a $5.00 entry fee. The 1^st prize is $300 bucks and publication on writersweekly.

Why am I doing this? Because it’s my idea of fun, that’s why. I can’t resist the challenge of writing to a prompt. Being prompted or pushed is sometimes the best way to get something on paper. I love thefirstline.com, which has a quarterly prompt of a first sentence from which writers must create a story. I’ve only submitted one, which was summarily rejected. But I’ve written stories to several of their prompts. I love that they say their inspiration for the first line prompt is from the movie Out of Africa. In the movie, Meryl Streep/Isak Dinesen says that she likes to tell stories but someone must always supply the first line, and it can be absolutely anything. One of her dinner guests concocts a twisty, incongruous line, and she runs with it, mesmerizing them with the way she can create something of beauty from something meant to stump her.

This 24-hour short story prompt will either be a romp or a pile of rubble, as these things to. We’ll see.

Candy Store

Oh, happy day. I’ve found the candy store.

http://www.gutenberg.org/wiki/Main_Page

This is the place to go for all of those books I’ve always meant to read but have never gotten around to. I’ve always meant to read Jane Austen. I’ve never gotten around to reading Little Women, either. And I can always revisit some old favorites like Jayne Eyre. Good stuff!

I’ve noticed that the Gutenberg project frequently comes up in searches for references from books. For example, the other day, I was googling around to find the passage from Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio about the sweet, twisted little apples. Google handed me the Gutenberg copy of the book. Whereas Google’s own online book project hands over only portions of books, Gutenberg consistently provides the entire text.

The Ruins the Movie

I reviewed The Ruins a while back on this blog and blimey if they didn’t make it into a movie which is showing right here in my own Monroe, Washington!

I’ve never tried to write a screen play and haven’t even thought of doing it, but I love to see how books have been adapted. This one hits the cliché status of book better than. The book wasn’t written for deep thinkers. No one will ever publish discussion topics on it for book clubs. It’s a quick-read horror story.

Nevertheless, in my review of it earlier in this blog, I did present what I thought were a couple of interesting angles. The movie didn’t have them.

Even though I’ve never thought of writing a screen play, I have to admit, I’ve thought about whether or not my novels or stories could be adapted. I can see my novel in my head in a cinematic way. I can’t think of a bigger compliment than to have someone say that they want to invest the time and trouble to make my book into a movie. Well, I guess the biggest compliment someone could pay me at this point would be to publish the sucker. No lack of rich fantasy life here!

I met Robert Ferrigno at a conference once, and he said that he didn’t regret that none of his books had been made into a movie. He was satisfied that the studios had offered, saying that they give him a big fat check while they went off to think about it for a bit. He gets to keep the money whether they decide to get in bed with him or not. That’s movie talk.

I suppose I could live with that too.

Perchance to Dream, Perchance to Write

I love to sleep because I am mesmerized by my own dreams. I don’t like leaving the dream world where everything is so vivid and seems so real. Memorable people bubble up to the surface from hidden deep pools only to be forgotten by noon. The dream world seems more real and makes more sense to me than the waking one some times.

I think that writing is a world that touches the same place as dreams. Sometimes when I am unable to write, when I feel blocked, I think that it is because the similarity between writing, really going into that zone and dreaming are so close. But going there while awake feels like losing some kind of control over wakefulness. When we sleep, we’re not self-conscious about our dreams. We don’t say, it’s okay to lose control and drop our guard because we’re asleep and this is a dream. Yet we do let go in order to sleep. Somewhere in me, I trust that I will wake if danger comes my way. After all, we don’t have any choice about sleep. We must do it. And to sleep means to dream. Perchance. So, dreaming doesn’t have the same thing to overcome. We don’t say, I’m having dreamer’s block. But with writing, it really depends on what’s going on in my waking world. When I’m stressed about money or work, it’s a supreme challenge for me to let go of the conscious world and go into the zone. In the zone, I don’t see what’s around me anymore. I see the story. So on days when going to the zone would be the greatest relief, it becomes a big challenge.

It’s the most wonderful place in the world when I can let go and enter it. But it’s also a great risk to enter this place. I do not have any control in there. Anything could happen. What if I’m in there with my subconscious, and it indiscreetly blurts out something I’m not supposed to know? There’s no turning back from knowing. Yes. There’s great danger and great pleasure in the zone.

Ya Got Trouble in River City

Has Indiana always been so morally, um, confused?

Indiana has a new law that requires bookstores to register with the government if they sell what is considered "sexually explicit materials." The new law, H.B. 1042, was signed by Governor Mitch Daniels on March 13, and calls for any bookseller that sells sexually explicit materials to register with the Secretary of State and provide a statement detailing the types of books to be sold. The Secretary of State must then identify those stores to local government officials and zoning boards. “Sexually explicit material” is defined as any product that is “harmful to minors” under existing law. There is a $250 registration fee. Failure to register is a misdemeanor.

My first thought was How do you spell unconstitutional?

Who gets to decide what is harmful to minors? And how is this determination made? What about magazines, TV, movies? Is sexual material evil but violence okay? Geeze, Indiana, get a grip!

Then I thought of that song from The Music Man, Ya Got Trouble, and am now wondering if this musical might have been making a joke about something to which I have spent my life being ignorant. Re-reading the lyrics of this song, where the singer warns against the dangers of allowing a pool hall into the town so that he can introduce and promote his desire to start a marching band, I thought, hmmm. Has Indiana always been morally retarded?

Technical Writing or Writing Technically

Is technical writing really writing? I'm looking for a new day job, a new contract, and I am targeting technical writing jobs. When I was writing a software manual a while back for a major software company in Washington, I asked myself and others whether there would be anything left for the real writing. I found that there was. I always have room for real writing when I am excited about a project. Bottom line...writing is what I do. I read books, and I write about them. I write flash, short stories and novels. I can also write technical manuals, training materials and the like. But are those writing. When I worked at Microsoft, I decided that it wasn't. At least writing there wasn't writing. Every sentence, each keystroke was scrutinized and edited beyond recognition until the work I did became the antithesis of mine. I couldn't claim it, I couldn't see me in there anywhere.

Real writing is mine. I can claim it and see myself in it. The characters are me and not me at the same time. I feel charged and motivated. Even though I am the writer, I can't wait to see what happens next. That's writing.

A Golden Notebook Blast from the Past

In my online critique group, one of the members posted a quote from The Golden Notebook:

Think wrongly, if you please, but in all cases think for yourself.

• Any human anywhere will blossom in a hundred unexpected talents and capacities simply by being given the opportunity to do so.

• There is only one real sin and that is to persuade oneself that the second-best is anything but second best.

• What's really terrible is to pretend that the second-rate is the first-rate. To pretend that you don't need love when you do, or you like your work when you know quite well you're capable of better.

Wow. I need to read that book again. It knocked me over when I read it in the 1980s. I wonder how I'd see it now. That was a great part to quote.

I have a story to tell you about The Golden Notebook. As I said, I read it in the 1980s. Well, some years after I read it, in 1988, I was in college, doing a school year in Italy. I went on a trip to London on one of my school breaks and had many adventures. One of my adventures there was that I met a mysterious French man named Gerard. Gerard was an impeccably dressed Parisian with curly black hair and sharp blue eyes. When we met, he explained to me and my traveling friend, Margaret, that he was a psychiatrist and had been conducting research into the subject of cannibalism.

Apparently, a grisly murder had occurred in Paris, where a husband had killed his wife and then cooked her and ate her. Ew. Well, Gerard was traveling the globe researching any similar wife or spouse eating cases and was gathering all of the information he could on the topic. Quite taken with himself, he went on at length about how cannibalism appears in fairy tales (Hansel and Gretal) and even embodies a sacred Christian ritual of holy communion. At some point, Margaret stood up, announced she was going to bed and abruptly left me alone with the guy. In spite of his morbid mind set, he was awfully cute, and I couldn't resist accepting his offer to spend the following day together in London.

Ever have one of those weird things where a word you would never normally see on a given day seems to crop up all over the place? Well, in bookstore windows, on bus advertisements, sprawling across the walls of the tube station, we found the word, Cannibalism. At each instance, Gerard would solemnly nod his head and tell me in his French accented English, "See? Et Ees everywhere."

After dinner, we decided to attend a theatre performance and found that A Winter's Tale was playing nearby. Shakespeare in London, oh, yeah. So, we rushed to the theater only to arrive a minute after the curtain rose. The theatre attendant informed us that we would have to wait until the end of the first act before we could enter and take our seats. As we stood in the empty lobby with her, I noticed that the theatre attendant had a dogeared copy of The Golden Notebook on her chair. "Oh!" I said, "You're reading The Golden Notebook. I loved that book. How are you liking it?" We chatted, as Gerard lifted the copy off of her chair and opened it to a random page. Suddenly, his eyes opened widely, his finger jabbed at the page. We both looked, and, you guessed it, he was pointing at the word, cannibalism. "Cannibalism!" Gerard exclaimed. "Es thees book about cannibalism?" I couldn't believe it. As you know, The Golden Notebook es not about cannibalism. Neither the theatre attendant nor Gerard understood why I had collapsed in hysterical laughter. Throughout the performance of A Winter's Tale, Gerard was fidgeting to get out of that theatre so that he could acquire a copy of The Golden Notebook. I'm sure he read all 700+ pages of it, looking for clues.

Ah, those days of youth. If you're gonna have a one-night-stand, make it interesting, I always say.

Oi

I have given myself irreparable damage by finishing The Ruins and shifting to the memoirs of Virginia Woolf. Sweet pain. I think that Virginia Woolf is the greatest woman writer of all time.

I'm reading one of the entries in a collection of her essays about her life for the writer's retreat I'm about to attend at the Ghost Ranch in New Mexico. I'm so excited about this retreat that I can hardly concentrate.

So, wouldn't you know that after about a month-long dry spell with my freelance writing business, I mean NO business, I am now a week away from leaving for my retreat and all kinds of business is coming my way. I've had to turn down a couple of editing jobs because I wouldn't have been able to finish them before next Saturday. Now, I'm thinking that I should ride the wave as far as I can. Business-related fear crops up. What if I've finally arrived, and now I'm leaving for an extended vacation. Everything's going to fizzle up and die. The, of course, I'll die, and then it won't matter.

I know that I need to cut myself some slack. I need to find a way to get through the dry times without panicking. I guess they're just going to happen. In the meantime, I am scrambling to make as much progress as I can this week and still finish the pre-reading for this retreat, get everything in order, find a caregiver for The Princess and be ready to hit the road this Saturday. ROAD TRIP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Huzza.

The Ruins

I just finished reading The Ruins by Scott Smith. If you plan to read it, stop here, because I'm about to take a stroll through it.

Reading The Ruins as a writer, got through the first 75 pages and asked myself how this writer managed to get me to follow these people into the jungle when I didn't particularly like any of them.

The Ruins is about four recent college grads on vacation in Cancun, who go off on an adventure to help an acquaintance find his brother. The college grads are comprised of two American couples, Eric and Stacy and Jeff and Amy. Although they have distinct personalities, none of them stands out as a person I would follow on a day trip away from the beach. When their German friend, Mathias, tells them that he must travel to an obscure Mayan archaeological dig to retrieve his lovesick brother, Jeff volunteers himself and his friends to keep him company. And let the foreshadowing begin.

None of the Americans really seem happy to leave the beach. Eric is so hung over, I expect his eyes to start bleeding, Stacy doesn't seem to think about whether she wants to go or not...she just follows Jeff's lead and remains the classic follower until there's...um...no one left to follow. Amy whines about going but then remembers she's been criticized for whining and summarily shuts up and goes. And I follow right along with them, thinking, "They're not really prepared. Do they know where they're going? Should they trust Mathias?" They have a hand-written map, where public transportation only takes them within 15 miles of the spot. The bus ride is ominous, the pickup truck ride to the trail head is stressful, the truck driver tries to warn them, they encounter an entire town of Mayans who try to stop them, and Amy continues to snap photos. At the last minute, a smiling Greek, bearing the gift of three bottles of tequila, joins them.

That the Greek speaks no English is only one of the language barriers the Americans encounter. They can't talk to the Mayans either. And the Mayans are clearly trying to tell them something kind of important. Something like, Don't Step Onto The Hill With The Red Flowering Vine. They do, of course, and that seals their fate. Looking back, I don't know why I didn't predict the end. They all die. There are no heroes, no survivors. Their collective penchant for sniping at each other and their private pools of fear and self-doubt take them straight to their deaths.

That pretty red-flowered vine turns out to be a carnivorous plant with super human abilities. It can mimic them in their own voices and knows just what to say to hurt them better than a kid sister with a crush on her sister's boyfriend. When hunger makes them swoon, it can engulf the hilltop with scents like freshly baked bread or steaks barbecuing. Yep. It's one mean plant. But the two couples, the German and the Greek never really question what it is or why the Mayans feel the need to keep them on the hill at gunpoint. They never try to find a weakness in their enemy. Nor do they work to make a plan to escape. They wait, hoping that the Greek's companions will come for them. Two other Greek men, who don't speak any English, Spanish or Mayan, are their only hope for survival from this situation.

Is there a message here? Something beyond entertainment? The Ruins does break a lot of formula expectations. No survivors, no heroes, no escape plan. They are four Americans, newly graduated from college, affluent, white and ready to begin adult life. By American standards, they are four young people who have the world by the ass. Yet they are not prepared to survive any difficulties. In fact, they are all basically lead to their deaths, whining and longing for another drink.

Another thing that Smith does is he keeps them all alive for an agonizingly long time after their fate is sealed. I kept expecting people to start dying off. But no one dies until more than 3/4 of the book is gone. Once the first one dies, though, Jill comes tumbling after...they drop pretty quickly. The sad part is, I'm grateful to see them go. They're the kind of people you might have a drink with at a tavern and never remember any of their names an hour later.

Okay...since I said at the beginning that I was going to go through the book, I don't feel like I've spoiled anything for anyone. Just thinking it through.

Literary Discussion Groups

I long for a literary discussion group...someone to read with and talk about books. A group of women I know started a group, but it only met for three months before the women started whining about how it was too much work to do the reading. Sigh.

I could go to the internet and look for a group in Seattle. Surely there must be one that also has enough technical prowess to be able to advertise in a way where I can find them. I came across a blog of a discussion group in Sarasota through an email exchange with a woman I met on Nathan Bransford's blog. The group's reading list is incredible and goes back ten years.

I wonder if the group has remained static in its membership all this time. There must be a core group which has maintained attendance over the years. What do they know of each other's lives outside of their monthly discussions of Kundera or Murdock or Garcia-Marquez? How much could you learn about a person over ten years by discussing nothing but literature?

Ah, lovely pastime...

Two more rejections from agent queries. How lovely. Now I can check these off my list.

I was ready, though, if they wanted me to send the first 3 chapters. I have decided to offer electronic submissions in the body of an email, as a Word attachment or in pre-shredded format.

Write well, query widely. The problem is, how do I know that I've written well? I am not in a position to be objective about my book. Those who've read it have all raved about it...that is, all except for John, who merely stated that it wasn't his genre. Should I keep having people read it? What's the deal here?

I was in my meditation chamber earlier (my shower) and I thought, maybe this first novel will be something I come back to ten years from now and think, "Wow! I can't believe I sent this out like this." And then I'll see how to turn it into something that sells.

S&S Snafu

Okay...I'm not an expert in the publishing industry as of yet. But I am a techie, and, as a techie, I've been wondering in what ways the internet and technical advancement will change the way books are published and presented.

I don't know about you, but I'm reading more and more from my computer screen. I'm not actually reading novels from my laptop, but I'm reading a fair amount of short fiction and tons of non-fiction from my internet connection. Not only that, but I'm ordering books from Amazon more than anyplace else these days, since they can supply everything in print and lots of things that aren't. And all of my local book sellers are out of business. Oh, I will go to Elliot Bay Books in Seattle or 3rd Place Books. But my Totem bookstore in Monroe closed its doors last year, and I've been hitting that evil "Buy Now With 1 Click" button more than I care to admit. Amazon has gotten practically all of my book and music buying business these days. If you want to make me feel guilty about it, don't. I fully realize what my consumer practices do to the little guy.

Anyway, the point is that I'm using technology more and more to acquire books and music. If I want to find something like a short story by John Cheever or the lyrics to a song sung by Petula Clark, I can find 'em through Google. If I'm doing research, I can search databases my local library subscribes to from my computer at home. I can even access the articles and print them out.

Speaking of Google, the folks at Google have embarked on a Library Project. The goals of the project are as follows:

The Library Project's aim is simple: make it easier for people to find relevant books – specifically, books they wouldn't find any other way such as those that are out of print – while carefully respecting authors' and publishers' copyrights. Our ultimate goal is to work with publishers and libraries to create a comprehensive, searchable, virtual card catalog of all books in all languages that helps users discover new books and publishers discover new readers.

Is the penny about to drop yet? How about this:

If the book is out of copyright, you’ll be able to view and download the entire book. In all cases, you'll see links directing you to online bookstores where you can buy the book and libraries where you can borrow it.

Now, think the words, Print On Demand...yes, Print On Demand...POD, POD....

So, if the book was first published by S&S, it will never go out of copyright, right? You may be able to borrow it for free from a library, but you'll never be able to download it for free.

So, who benefits here if the book publisher never relinquishes the rights? Just the publishing house? What about the writer who would not get any royalties for a book which is being freely distributed through Google's library? It's not just Print On Demand, it's Download On Demand.

There are so many implications here, and I haven't thought them all through. I'm just blathering here, but my mind is all over this. What if a book, Tammy's Tasty Chocolate Syrup Sculpting Book, went out of print and became a downloadable free, public domain book through the Google library. Tammy spent her $5000 advance several years ago, and S&S doesn't even remember that they published the dang thing. Then, Archie Ballinger, the famous fetish sculptor and confection enthusiast mentions Tammy's book on his enthralling reality sculpting TV program and 3,475,219 people download the book from the Google library for free. S&S doesn't know about the potential money it could have made through print copies, let alone by offering it as an internet download. But it's scratching its head, wondering how to maximize its profits. In the meantime, Tammy has pawned her candy thermometer to buy catfood.

Alternately, S&S retained rights to the work, so, when Archie becomes the tipping point for this work, S&S can offer downloads of the book for a price. They don't sell as many copies as were downloaded in the free scenario, but they make a profit and Tammy experiences an unexpected windfall.

Okay...that's just one scenario. I know there are all kinds of things I haven't considered. And maybe I'm way off base and am missing the whole point. But we be living in interesting times. Yes, indeedy.

Phrase a Week

As a writer, I'm always interested in word, their origin and understanding how they're put together. Well, I thought you all might be too. There's this thing called a phrase a week, where they'll send you an email explaining the origin of that week's phrase. To sign up for it, just go to this web site:

http://www.phrases.org.uk/a-phrase-a-week/subscribe.html

And give 'em your name and email address. This week's phrase is pasted below:

By and large

Meaning

On the whole; generally speaking; all things considered.

Origin

Many phrases are wrongly ascribed a nautical origin just because they sound like mariner's lingo. This one really is and, like many such nautical phrases, it originated in the days of sail.

To get a sense of the original meaning of the phrase we need to understand the nautical terms 'by' and 'large'. 'Large' is easier, so we'll start there. When the wind is blowing from some compass point behind a ship's direction of travel then it is said to be 'large'. Sailors have used this term for centuries. For example, this piece from Richard Hakluyt's The Principall Navigations, Voiages, and Discoveries of the English Nation, 1591:

"When the wind came larger we waied anchor and set saile."

When the wind is in that favourable large direction the largest square sails may be set and the ship is able to travel in whatever downwind direction the captain sees fit.

'By' is a rather more difficult concept for landlubbers like me. In simplified terms it means 'in the general direction of'. Sailors would say to be 'by the wind' is to face into the wind or within six compass points of it.

The earliest known reference to 'by and large' in print is from Samuel Sturmy, in The Mariners Magazine, 1669:

"Thus you see the ship handled in fair weather and foul, by and learge."

by and largeTo sail 'by and large' required the ability to sail not only as earlier square-rigged ships could do, i.e. downwind, but also against the wind. At first sight, and for many non-sailors I'm sure second and third sight too, it seems impossible that a sailing ship could progress against the wind. They can though. The physics behind this is better left to others. Suffice it to say that it involves the use of triangular sails which act like aeroplane wings and provide a force which drags the ship sideways against the wind. By the use of this and by careful angling of the rudder the ship can be steered slightly into the wind.

The 19th century windjammers like Cutty Sark were able to maintain progress 'by and large' even in bad wind conditions by the use of many such aerodynamic triangular sails and large crews of able seamen.

Stacking the Deck

Okay...here's the plan. I am going to create the perfect writing environment for myself tomorrow and dedicate the day to working on my novel. Yes. The novel and nothing but the novel. No tech writing, my freelance customers will have to sit on their thumbs for a spell. No work on my flash writing class, even though I'm falling behind. No searching and fearless inventories. Nada, niente, nuttin. Just the novel.

I will rise early and drive to Seattle. Yes. I can drive now. I replaced the broken iPod and just finished synching it with my iTunes, so it will be okay to get in the car and go somewhere. When I got in my car this morning and the iPod made a screeching noise, I looked at it and saw that it actaully had an unhappy face on it! :( "This is no time to be cutsey, Apple," I thought, as I turned the car off and returned to my laptop. The apple support page for iPod confirmed my fear that I had experienced a hardware failure.

Here were my choices. Cancel my vacation. Don't go to the roomofonesown writer's retreat at the Ghost Ranch in New Mexico next month. Just buy a few half gallons of ice cream in assorted flavors and surrender to life's terms in my own small way. Or, I could name this unfortunate event an emergency and bring out the tools reserved only for emergency measures...My Credit Card!

The Nano is not like the iPod, in that it only holds 4 gigs. Who would ever think that my music and my audio books would fill it to capacity? I have about a quarter of a gig left. But I'm almost through listening to Barbara Kingsolver's Prodigal Summer. I read it when it first came out and was intrigued when I saw that the audio version was narrated by the author. My audio reading list is growing out of proportion now that I'm working from home. I used to get a lot of reading done when I commuted. (Is it reading if you listen to it?) I have four books and a stack of the New Yorker to listen to.

Anyway, this brings me back to my writer's morning in Seattle tomorrow. I will be able to go only because the iPod disaster was averted through the use of the emergency-only credit card.

So, I shall go to the Panama Hotel, order a pot of Earl Grey with Lavender tea and sit at one of their wicker tables with a notebook and work on my novel. There will be no butterscotch for those who let three days go by without working on their novels! Tsk tsk.