Follow Your Dreams...and Carry Bandages

People say, "Follow your dreams" all the time.  They say it with regret, as if speaking of something they wish they had done themselves.  Sometimes they say it hopefully, speaking of something they intend to do.

What they generally don't tell you is that this pursuit is not a joyous romp through Candyland.  They leave out the part about a desperate chase through nettle patches and bog-water, when your dream speeds by you so quickly that you're lucky if you're able to catch it by the tail and hold on for dear life.  They leave out the part about the road rash, the torn fingernails, the aching hunger for the thing that is always just out of your reach.

So here you go:

Follow your dreams.  It will be hard and painful.  You'll end up bruised, scarred, and exhausted.  But you have to trust that the chase is worth it.  You have to do it for love, so that when you're getting battered and bruised you can laugh through the pain because you'd rather be there in that place battling away than sitting on a cotton candy cloud somewhere eating Danish.  But do sometimes keep chocolate in your pocket.  It helps.

Take it from someone who's in the midst of the bruising process.

On a side note, Violet Shadows is free today on Kindle.  Whee...and also Ouch!

Fashion and the Overactive Imagination

News first!  I'll be brief.

Thrilling development #1:  I've just enrolled in a travel writing course through MatadorU.  The course material looks amazing and I've already met some exciting new people!  I've been obsessed with good travel writing since the day I picked up a copy of Norman Lewis's book, Voices of the Old Sea, and fell in love.  My brother-in-law is also enrolled in Matador's travel photography program.

Thrilling development #2:  My latest project has been to produce a fresh new edition of the alphabet book which my mother and I collaborated on so many years ago.  It's coming together.  Look for it soon!

Finally, Stephanie, from the blog Layered Pages, was so kind as to interview me this week.  Thanks Stephanie!

...and now for the real post.

***

I recently stumbled over an article describing how one should dress in the case of a zombie apocalypse. Though the zombie motif is somewhat (translate: really) overdone, I am pleased to see someone taking a practical and imaginative view of fashion.  Said article also led me to examine my reasons for dressing the way I do.

I am of the opinion that clothes should always be comfortable, serviceable, and attractive.  I like to look nice, I like to be comfortable, and I like useful things.  I love pockets.  I also have an overactive imagination, the gift of a firefighting dad who is always analyzing possible emergency scenarios, and a mom who regularly met my remarks about guys I liked with, "He sounds nice, but you know they say Ted Bundy was a really charming man".  (This is not a complaint.  My mom has my eternal gratitude.  She probably saved me from getting into vans with serial killers.)  My parents are also advocates of always having walking shoes handy, the obvious result of driving old cars which had a habit of breaking down in inconvenient locations.  Thanks to their teaching and my own nature, I like to be prepared.  I also freely admit to watching too much Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  This leads to an inordinate amount of thinking, "There could be something supernatural and sinister down there."  Below are the three most important factors I tend to think of when I'm picking out clothes.

1. Flexibility is the most important feature.  Perhaps my ballet training is to blame for this one, but I don't feel comfortable unless I can heave my leg at least past waist level.  Thus, if I wear jeans they are loose-fitting or stretchy, and I'm a huge fan of flared skirts with tights or leggings.  Pencil skirts are the bane of my existence.  In the same way, I don't like shirts or jackets that restrict the movement of my arms.

2. Versatility is key.  Heels are your friends.  They double as weapons.  However, comfort is also important, as you might have to run in them.  Compromise is necessary.  I once saw a movie version of The Three Musketeers where two women pulled long, sharp hairpins out of their hair and dueled with them.  I remember nothing else about the movie, but that touch was genius.

3. If you get slightly tangled in it getting into a car, you'll tie yourself in knots fighting for your life in a dark alley.  Certain fashion fads confuse me, especially those involving lots of hanging things, be it fringe or what have you.  I don't want to struggle with my own clothing.  I'm clumsy enough without making it worse.

To clarify, I don't make a habit out of getting into fights in dark alleys, but I take comfort in the idea that if I ever did, I'd be prepared...and you know, if the Zombie Apocalypse does happen, my husband did get me a machete.

To Tweet Or Not To Tweet

I know Twitter is old news.  I have become painfully aware of late that for an author peddling their wares to not have a Twitter account is becoming nearly as rare as writing on papyrus.  In exploring online marketing tools for writers I have come across a growing number of sites offering to spread the word about your book or your website.  "Just tweet your info to..."

I don't want to!

Why am I feeling so rebellious on this subject?  It's hard to say exactly.  Partly, I suppose I am just old-fashioned, though there are other reasons.  As it is, there are so many tools available for book promotion that I have to make myself stop, or the next novel would never be written and I would lose myself in web pages and end up stuck in an author's cafe somewhere tangled in karmic chains.  (By the way, karmic chains are wonderful things, but they can get distracting.)  So the first reason is:

1. Time, obviously, and complication.

2. I'm turning into more and more of a hermit.  Oh, I love people, but I also like running away from them.  I like being alone, having time to think, and I find that I'm much nicer in company if I've spent a nice long day on my own ahead of time.  I realize the days of the reclusive writer are over, but this blog and a Facebook page are relatively easy to avoid if avoidance is required for my peace of mind.  But the more connected to the world I become, the more I long sometimes to rid myself of it all and run away somewhere, perhaps the Channel Islands, to scrawl novels with pen and ink, possibly on papyrus.

3. I have a crippling fear of turning into one of those people who tweet uncomfortably personal details of their lives, or stuff that's just plain boring.  Would I, for lack of subject, end up tweeting every time I trim my fingernails or find something spoiled in the back of the refrigerator?  Doubtful, perhaps, but terrifying to contemplate.

4. I'm mulishly stubborn, often about the most pointless things, but I get a considerable amount of satisfaction out of not giving in.  What is the the point of this free will of mine if I don't use it?

These may all be very feeble reasons, but there they are.  Anyone with any arguments for or against please feel free to comment.

Giveaways and Such

For those who haven't noticed the nifty little widget to the right of this page, I am doing a giveaway through Goodreads for three signed copies of Ashford.  It's a good way to maybe get your hands on one if you're interested but aren't sure about shelling out the cash.  Signing up with Goodreads is pretty easy if you aren't already (I wasn't until just recently, being rather behind the times) and it's a great way to find out what's going on with your favorite authors and discover new ones.


Making progress on the new novel, though I'm not far enough along to share any real details yet.  Hopefully soon!

A Launch, a Load of Self-Promotion, and a Hedgehog

Yes, it's been a week and a half, and I completely forgot to update my blog concerning the outcome of my book launch, which is doubly bad because I have this URL listed in the front of the book as my website and I hate the thought of people thinking, "oooh, blog" and then finding it stagnant.  Not that they would, necessarily, be thinking, "oooh, blog" but they might, and I would hate for them to be disappointed.  


In any case, the launch went very well.  There was a steady stream of people, and by the end my face hurt from smiling, so I think that would generally indicate success.  Afterwards I went home to collapse on the couch with Kezia while we consumed pizza and Strongbow and watched An Education (great film by the way, based on a memoir) and had a lovely evening.  Since then I've been wrestling with the beast known as Self-Promotion, which does not come naturally at all.  I've known people who were simply genius at it, but I am not one of them.  In a way, the online promotion part is easier.  Those people don't know you.  And Very Old Friends, who've watched you slave over the novels for years and even perhaps read manuscripts...those aren't bad either.  It's the hometown promotion that's the hardest, I find.  Suddenly you're approaching people who, though they don't really know you, per se, have seen you about town and known of you since you were a midget.  I can assure you, I was thoroughly unimpressive as a midget.  Yes, I had fabulous adventures in my head, but who was to know?  I certainly didn't tell them.  Cancer threw me a little more into the public eye, but who wants to be known for being disease-ridden?  Anyway, approaching people who know you in the aforementioned vague way, and saying, essentially, "Hi, I've written a book.  Please buy it," can feel rather odd.  However, I have been gritting my teeth and getting it done, though generally in a less blunt fashion.  The online promotion has slowly been coming along as well, though it's a lot to learn.  There is, in the end, so much that could be done for promotion, with all the resources available, that I find I have to make myself stop, to set it aside and go back to the writing.  After all, the writing is what really counts.  Without it, there would be nothing to promote, not to mention that without it I would turn into a sodden mass.  We write for the same reason we breathe: because without it we would not survive.  Numbers and sales seem petty things then.


I have acquired a new friend recently.  His name is Ferdinand, or Ferdy for short, and he is an African Pygmy Hedgehog, an anniversary gift from my husband.

It has been a very busy week here, full of new things for me as I explore new territory in the realm of self-promotion.  I find myself grateful that the golf season is over, even though that means I'm currently unemployed, because it's been giving me time and energy to devote to Ashford which I would not have otherwise.  Yesterday was probably the most frustrating, as I spent the morning re-formatting the novel for Kindle.  I nearly threw my computer out the window in a violent rage.  However, it is now available on Kindle, and it is also available on Amazon.com as a paperback.  I'm attaching the link below, for the paperback version.  So far the one for Kindle is easier to find in a search for some reason.  I've also been setting up a book launch at the local coffeehouse where I used to work.  This is more my thing.  I'm not a Kindle person.  Never will be, I fear.  I like the feel of paper, and the book smell.  And the launch combines two of my favorite things.  Books, and coffee.  My husband will also be providing live music for the launch.


http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1466371730/sr=1-13/qid=1319056178/ref=olp_product_details?ie=UTF8&me=&qid=1319056178&sr=1-13&seller=

Flooding, And A Motley Collection Of Thoughts

The sun is shining, and I've just come in from a glorious lunch and iced coffee on the deck with a good book for company.  I'd like to think it's my reward for spending yesterday stressing about the hot water heater (we had no hot water at all yesterday and I was terribly afraid we were going to have to replace the whole tank, but luckily it was only the thermostat) but my more sensible self is pretty sure today was going to be lovely whether I paid my stress-dues yesterday or not.


I did find time yesterday, however, to walk down and look at the flooding in the park.  The creek hasn't flooded the park since the mid-1990s, and even then I don't remember it being this extreme.  There was water running down both sides of the highway as well, and Lincoln St. was completely flooded.  Luckily it seems to be subsiding somewhat now, and the dry weather of the past two days is helping immensely.

I have, without question, an extraordinarily good life.  Sometimes I feel rather guilty about it... that I have what others do not, that I can spend an hour absorbing sunlight and reading delicious prose, that I have a good husband who encourages my various obsessions and thinks it's cool that my dancer's feet have serrated edges.  I feel guilty for having what others lack, and I feel guilty for wanting... other things.  True, wanting is part of the human condition.  Everybody looks for the perfect life that is free from any sort of longing; yet longing, striving, craving, is so much of what it means to be human.  Healthy striving makes us grow.  Unhealthy striving distorts and shrivels us.  I think mine is the healthy kind, mostly.  I want to succeed in my various creative endeavors.  I want to not be dependent on others.  I want days spent in the sunshine with a good book without feeling that I should be doing something more important.  I want to travel.  I want to help people.  Sometimes I want pie, or a massage, or red shoes and a striped ball gown.  But is it healthy?  Or is it reaching for the ridiculous?  Ought I to be content to share my creative endeavors with my friends, sans fame and fortune?  I've already traveled more than many people my age.  I can bake my own pies, paint my old shoes red, and sew myself a striped ball gown.  (Here my mother's voice calls in my head, "Where would you even wear a striped ball gown?")  I already spend days in the sun.  Is it so important that they come without remorse?  Perhaps I should be striving more in the material sense, picking up more work, but I come from the school of thought that says if you spend all your time toiling for the perfect life you miss the good one you might have had.


So, for now at any rate, I shall enjoy my hours in the sun, and use the twinge of guilt as a motivator to keep me from abusing the privilege.

An Ode to Secondhand Bookshops.

So, I thought it was high time I dedicated a post to the haven of all literature and history lovers: the secondhand bookshop.  Is there one of us who can walk into a room full of dusty old tomes, ripped comic books, and back issues of Good Housekeeping without feeling that little thrill run through our innards?  Personally I skim over the comic books and Good Housekeeping, but I do know others who are as thrilled by them as I am by the dusty tomes.


Chewelah has, as do most small towns, its own particular gem in this area, made up of a deli in front and a wilderness of old (sometimes soiled or moldy and always dusty) literature behind.  I can never eat at the deli, because the old book smell permeates even the dining area and the atmosphere resembles a cross between a bad school lunch-room and your grandmother's closet.  However, I often go through to the back and spend a considerable length of time riffling through the clutter... for it's one of those delightful places with very little order and a goodly number of cardboard boxes.  I've found some of the best treasures in said cardboard boxes, particularly the ones under the "25 cent" shelf.  There I discovered copies of Thomas Costain's The Darkness and the Dawn and Elizabeth Goudge's Gentian Hill, among others.  Semi-forgotten authors, but none the worse for that.  It was through this place as well that I became familiar with the work of Anthony Trollope, and when you can buy Plato's Republic for a dollar it really seems a shame not to read it.  So you see, a great deal of credit for my post-high-school education is owed to the dusty back room of a deli.