OK, I’m back! Real life has intruded on my blogging quite a bit this spring, some of which I want to write about in some posts soon. My partner and I have been taking care of her 88-year-old Grandma Ruth, who had been ill for a long time with stage 3 breast cancer and passed away earlier this month. That whole has been a struggle for all of us, but I am ultimately grateful I had the opportunity to know her and have her become part of our family.

On a more positive note, I also got to participate in the first-ever Douglas County Sheriff’s Office Citizen’s Academy (and I now have the fancy embroidered polo shirt to prove it!). It was ten weeks long, four hours a week, and our group of 14 participants got to do a lot of things and learn a lot of things about how cops do their jobs, how jails are run, etc. We also got to meet Kilo, the drug-sniffing dog, and I hope to someday be as excited about my job as he is about his.If you are a writer and think you might ever write about the police, crime, jails, or the courts, I highly recommend looking for a program like this one.

I’m back on the blog and will be posting weekly, and I’m also back working on the fantasy novel, going through my third revision. More on that fun process to come. Anyway, it’s good to be back!

On the plus side, when I looked at the place where I might actually start my novel in the next draft, I discovered that it’s only 20 pages in. True, these are twenty pages that I have already slashed and burned and then lovingly rewritten at least three or four times (probably more, since they were part of the chunk I initially wrote and rewrote several times to go to the novel-writing workshop last summer), but still, it could have been worse.

So now I’ll do more slashing and burning and will use my jedi-ninja mind tricks to insert the necessary information from those pages elsewhere in the story as exposition and possibly a flashback or two.

Also on the plus side, almost every scene I’ve written in the second act is a keeper–I just didn’t bother to write the connective transition bits that would keep the narrative flowing and keep the reader from stopping and saying, “Huh?” So that is the task of this draft.

And finally, it’s day two of Daylight Savings Time, and I am up writing at my customary time, which is sort of miraculous. Hearing the little birds chirping outside my window helped with that tremendously; I figured if they could get up and get moving even without the benefit of hot running water and electric coffee machines, then I really had no excuse.

P.S. – Although I didn’t touch the manuscript, I did spend time thinking about it, and doing some related research about desert survival and medicinal plants, which was fun. My next research task is to go back to Hank Reinhardt’s Book of Swords and take the notes I should have taken the first time through. I have lots of people carrying around metal implements (copper and bronze) and want to make sure I don’t have them driving their dagger points emphatically into solid wood tabletops or anything like that. (Hint: bronze is softer than iron; copper is MUCH softer!)

P.P.S. – Currently listening to: The Weepies, “Painting by Chagall” (“Sometimes rain that’s needed falls…”) from their Say I Am You album. Also Iron & Wine, The Shepherd’s Dog. Highly recommended.

Yes I did see this, and it ticked me off because it’s insipid. There’s too much poetry! The good stuff gets lost! MFA programs are cranking out too many writers! This is the sort of non-news, non-thinking blathering that pontificators of every generation seem to spout.

[CORRECTION: David Alpaugh himself has helpfully pointed out that the italicized portion of the preceding paragraph, which was originally placed in quotation marks, is not in fact a direct quote. He's absolutely correct; it's my characterization of the tone and main point of his op-ed. I hope the five other readers of my blog are not too disappointed in my lapse in rigor.]

Look a the final paragraph:

“Every now and then someone asks me, ‘Who are the best poets writing today?’ My answer? ‘I have no idea.’ Nor do I believe that anyone else does. I do have an uneasy feeling that a Blake and a Dickinson may be buried in the overgrowth, and I fear that neither current nor future readers may get to enjoy their art. That would be the most devastating result of the new math of poetry. The loss would be incalculable.”

No one has EVER had ANY idea who the best poets of their own times were. It is unknowable. Blake and Dickinson are perfect examples – they were both “buried in the overgrowth” IN THEIR OWN TIMES. Why should our time be any different? And why blame changes in media and publishing for it?

And why have an uneasy feeling about it? Relax, read the stuff you love, look around for more stuff that you might love, acknowledge the unalterable nature of Sturgeon’s Law, recognize the 95% of everything that is crud for what it is (fertilizer for the other 5%), and enjoy life.

That is all for now.

I’m confident that I’ll still get my fair share from each e-book sold. But as an author, I’m not after your money. Well, not only your money. I have my sights on a much more precious commodity: your time. We enter into an unspoken pact, you and I: Give me a few hours, stolen moments on the subway or after the kids are asleep, and I promise to inform and entertain you. Frankly, that’s always been a tough sell, given the sundry ways you can spend your time, but at least I had a fighting chance. Curled up with a pinot noir and my book, your attention was mine to lose. Not anymore. The new generation of e-books will, in essence, merge the laptop and the book. Now if my narrative starts to drag, or I digress, readers can click onto their favorite news site to see what’s up with health care, or click onto TMZ to see what’s up with Brangelina. How do I compete with that?

Is this a reasonable worry? How much time do most normal people spend curled up with a pinot noir (or in my case, decaf coffee or  maybe a good pale ale) and a book these days?

Well, as a matter of fact, I read a whole book uninterrupted just last night, a debut YA fantasy novel from a cracking good writer and storyteller, Malinda Lo (the book is Ash, and I highly recommend it). I read it in print, a hard copy edition that I borrowed from the library.

I’m also in the middle of reading SHE by H. Rider Haggard on my iPod touch. It’s a bit of a pain to keep flipping “pages” on that tiny screen, but when I’m waiting in a doctor’s office or yes, even when I’m in bed before I turn the light out, it’s very convenient. I got that book free, too, from Project Gutenberg.

Here’s the thing: I read at least one or two books every week, and I live in a two bedroom apartment with three large bookcases that are already full. Up to this point, I’ve had what amounts to a one-in, one-out rule for book purchases. (Ash is quite possibly good enough to qualify for a purchase–but I have to decide what I’m getting rid of. Back issues of Tin House, I’m looking at you.) With this fun new device and a downloaded app or two, however, I can exponentially expand my collection of books without running the risk of being featured on that hoarders show.

Here’s what that means to those in the publishing industry: I’m the customer you can get back with e-books, if you play your cards right. Also, an e-book (like that pale ale?) is not a purchase for me, it’s a rental, so please price it accordingly. If I have the choice between paying a buck or two to get instant access to a book I’m interested in reading, or waiting a few weeks (or months) to get it through the local library, that’s something I’d be willing to pay for. If the e-book in question is $10 or $20, well…there are plenty of fish in the sea, and a lot of other books I can get right now and read while I wait for the library’s copy.

Here’s what it means to authors: if you want me to buy your book in hard copy, it has to be one I will fall head over heels in love with and want to live with at least as long as a typical marriage lasts these days. But even if I don’t want to marry your book, I might not mind a fling (electronic, of course). Your chances are better if you make the first few chapters of your book available online, free. Consider it a first date. (Herman Melville, you had me at “Call me Ismael.”)

Part memoir, part literary analysis, part psychological study, this aid to the confused and weary writer sets out to explain:

1. just what the hell it is we think we are doing (Ch 1, “Orientation”),
2. the relationship between writer and reader (Ch. 5, “Nobody to Nobody”),
3. where we go and what we bring back when we are writing (Ch. 6, “Descent”), and more.

Apply liberally during bouts of existential crisis. It’s also useful as a gift to writers’ loved ones. “When she gets that faraway look, this is what’s going on in her head.”

Negotiating is notable for Atwood’s dry wit and many fun leaps of the imagination. One of my favorite bits is the list she compiled of reasons writers have given for becoming writers. It’s telling, I guess, that the only one I can ever consistently remember is “To show the bastards.” There are two full pages more where that came from, though, and it’s a fairly comprehensive list. Atwood determined that there was no “common clutch” of motivations, and abandoned the attempt to systematize on that front.

But she spends a lot of time dealing with how one experiences what one is doing when one is writing, thinking about writing, revising, and reading, which is comforting. That’s how I experienced the book: comforting. I may be a bit freakish, but I’m not the only one!

Atwood is good at spinning engaging hypotheses and making lots of imaginative leaps (but with pretty good logic underpinning most of them).  She explores many metaphoric roles that other writers have either tried on or had forcibly applied in the past (writer as priest, writer as murderous twin/uncanny double, writer as hero venturing into the underworld — also, especially for the girls, writer as grim virgin or blood-drinking dark priestess), and pokes at them to see what insight they yield about this whole shady enterprise.

I find some of her experiences, especially having to do with being a woman and a writer, are vastly different from my own, because of differences in generation, geography, upbringing, and personality. For the most part, I’m very happy about that; I think women writers of my generation have it much easier in many ways than hers.

Even if you don’t find Atwood’s metaphors completely relevant to your immediate situation, her line of inquiry invites further consideration: what is it, actually, that I think I’m doing when I’m writing? Being a writer is qualitatively different from being a plumber or a cook or a kindergarten teacher, and to pretend otherwise is a distortion that doesn’t help the process (unless you’re on a deadline, when “sausage factory worker” may be exactly how you feel about what you’re doing).

One of the metaphors Atwood touches on only briefly is probably closest to my idea of the writer: the artificer. I think of a writer as a sort of optician, patiently grinding lenses and looking through them. Some are abandoned as flawed early on; the rest get perfected and polished. Each reveals different details of the surroundings, and all can betray the myopia, astigmatism (and one hopes, far-sightedness) of their creator. In each case, though, the lens-maker sets the latest project aside or puts it in a shop window for sale and starts on the next one. That one will show her everything she wanted to see.

Find Negotiating with the Dead at a nearby library or purchase it.

These things come in various sized blocks; pictured is part of an 1800 calorie block, which is enough to feed one person for one day. They also come in 2400 and 3600 blocks, the idea being a handy block of shelf-stable food you can easily throw in an emergency pack or your glove compartment (or in with your camping gear).  Main ingredients: flour, vegetable shortening, and sugar. Tastes like slightly lemony shortbread as made by a very large institutional bakery (think: schools and prisons). The 3600 calorie block also doubles as a handy defensive weapon.

I originally thought, given the ingredients (it’s a cookie!), that I might be tempted to blow through two or three of the blocks at a time. Turns out this is not the case; eat one and you are ready to stop eating for several hours at least (and go out foraging in the meantime for wood sorrel, dandelions, clover, tall fescue, or anything resembling a vegetable).

And if it’s lightweight, calorie dense food guaranteed not to go bad for years that you need, you could just buy a 12-pack of Twinkies (though they aren’t nearly as compact).

So basically, made for true emergencies and for people who don’t actually like eating.

In other news, I’m going camping tonight, which I may use as a reason to try out some of those just-add-boiling-water pouches of freeze-dried camping food, another fave of many emergency preparedness advocates. I’ll report back.

First thing at work, my boss, who for now works in a different building than I do (I’m moving over there in a couple of weeks), IM’ed to say she’d brought some pastries and fresh fruit to celebrate my one-year service anniversary. I’ve been working here since 2000, but only working for her for a year. Nice. So I headed over, snacked and chatted a bit with her and a coworker. She had also planned to take me to lunch for said anniversary; we went to Teller’s, where we discussed me changing my hours a bit to accommodate my writing schedule (same number of hours, configured slightly differently). She had no problem with that, and added that as a workgroup we all needed to work on being more sane, less perfectionist, and less “give 110%” at work to avoid burnout. Right on.

I think she was very glad I didn’t run off to join the circus or whatever at the end of my two weeks at the workshop. And after two weeks of comparing notes with various folks, I’m actually very happy to have the day job that I do.

And THEN, at the dentist, which I had been dreading because I go there every three months so they can use this water-pick-on-steroids thing on me that makes my gums feel like cubed steak, the dental hygienist said that my gums and teeth looked great and asked what I was doing differently. “Um, I’ve been drinking more beer,” I replied.

So my first day back was actually surprisingly good.