LIFE EXPECTANCY OF BOOKS

By Bonnie Stanard

I've been looking for a second copy of a Christmas music book I've owned for years. Recently, I went online as usual and typed in "Christmas music book," and once again, the search engine didn't find the one I'm after. In the past I've bought substitutes but have been disappointed. The music is never quite so simple or the arrangements don't accommodate vocal ranges or there's more obscure than well-known songs.

This year I went a step further and typed in the exact title of the book—Frosty the Snowman and Other Christmas Songs. To my surprise, the search found a match. A couple of companies offered used copies, and I snatched up one.

This has me thinking. Frosty the Snowman and Other Christmas Songs  is still a great buy, but it has been abandoned by publishers, presumably because it is "old." After all, advertisers make use of power words (going-fast, bargain, fresh). Old is not on the list.

ENDURING INSTEAD OF OLD

But is it possible that the internet may convince us shoppers that old is not necessarily bad? For example, when you order a blanket on the internet, do you know whether it's a recently offered item or a dated entry? If you like the blanket, you may be able to buy the same one again in the future. Online vendors don't put time limits on their listings, and many of them are not the "latest" or "newest."

CRAFTY BUYING

I have in my pocket as I write, the sales tag from one of two skirts I ordered online from Amazon. It is the tag from the best one. Because it is online, I may buy the same skirt again in the future, something I couldn't do if I had bought from a nearby shopping mall.

So what does this have to do with the lifespan of books? Consider the route taken by way of a brick and mortar bookstore and traditional publisher. If your book can get shelf space in a bookstore, that story is often short and sweet (or sour, as many of us discover). Unless sales are significant, it's on its way out before it can settle in. This is particularly true if $$$ isn't invested in promotionals. And then it is buried in the cemetery of out-of-print or backlisted books.

A LONGER LIFE

On the other hand, your book can be found online long after you publish it. (We won't go into how difficult it is to be found online, but bear with me.) Think of it this way, the clock isn't ticking. Our books have the chance to gain momentum over time.

Of course this doesn't apply to time-sensitive merchandise such as fashions and technology. But when it comes to books, let's hope that publishers will realize the value of investing with a view to selling long term.

DISAGREEING WITH MY NARRATORS

By El Ochiis

My internal monologue plays out as heterosexual males; they are never one ethnic group. Sometimes he is European with pale skin and other times he is an indigenous brown man of African descent. None of them have names, the only time he has one is when I give it to him. Frequently, a number of them will argue over point of view.

These men have compelling stories that they urge me to tell. The problem begins when I disagree with their point of view; the conflict; the drama and/or the plot twist. It is, at this time, when I must face the task of re-working the piece from a different perspective, that my friendly confidantes become unfriendly.

Their suggestions and stories can be misogynistic or steeped in prejudice, preferring one ethnicity over the other – may or may not yield retribution for the protagonist. Each man, can be, surprisingly, quite altruistic and, rather fair - seeing the other’s side of life – and, other times, not viewing the other’s side – and highly prejudiced - which makes my part of the storytelling process harder and, subject to confrontation.

When I veer from the original idea, my narrator can become recalcitrant, and, for days, weeks and months, refuse to talk to me. I am like a jilted lover needing a social call, I wander about aimlessly, waiting for my suitor to ring – waiting for those inner monologues that fill my brain while the engine stands idling.

I had assumed I was bordering on insanity, or sounded completely mad, until I read a story about the last great mystery of the mind – people who have unusual – or non-existent – inner voices.

One woman, who is not Italian, has an Italian couple who argue: “They were chatting non-stop before I handed in my notice,” she stated, with a hard sigh. “I’d wake up and they’d be arguing. I’d be driving to work and they’d be arguing. It was exhausting, to be honest.”

I know from whence she speaks because my narrators, when speaking to me, sometimes, can be like a TV screen, or a slide projector, that are continuously playing inside an attic, inside my head, with so many ideas that I can’t possibly keep up – it becomes overwhelming - I don’t have enough time to produce all the interesting stories they want me to write.

A neuroscientist, who studies this phenomenon, has also found people for whom there isn’t a voice at all, just silence – an emptiness - a still, warm air before a rustling breeze.

I wish I could download mine onto some sort of hard drive, so the people without any monologues in their heads, could look at it - it’s a shame no one gets to meet my guys but me.

Wait, should I be worried that they’ll be mad at me for exposing our little spats? Nah, it was their suggestion that I write about my inner voices – them – see, now that’s a tad narcissistic I argue.

SIMPLE MACHINES or MAGIC FAIRY DUST?

By Kasie Whitener

There were 250 Wattys winners, and I wasn’t one of them. Over the summer, I’d won the Broad River Prize for Prose and the 2021 Fresh Voices in the Humanities Awards. My unpublished novel took a 3^rd place finish in a writers’ contest in August. I was on a roll.

I really thought my serialized YA story about two kids getting kicked out of Neverland and joining the American Revolution would be a shoo-in for this online fan fiction website contest. Except it wasn’t. I wrote about the serialization project in this post. It’s a former NaNoWriMo effort that just wanted a little revision and to see the light of day.

It’s easy to add my Wattys failure to low turnout at book signings, poor attendance at speaking engagements, anemic growth on my social channels and email list, and the decision to forego NaNoWriMo this year and say my writing career is stalling.

But on October 27, I gave a well-received reading of an unpublished story to a packed bar during “Noir at the Bar.” Yesterday I delivered a keynote speech at the Aiken Book Fair. And that 3^rd-place-winning- vampire novel is in the hands of an agent who loves it.

In this writing life there are milestone events like winning awards and getting representation that seem to be critical to climbing the peak. And then there are low points like showing up to see three people in the audience and cuing up your slide deck anyway while feeling engulfed in the valley of shame.

Last week I discovered this video wherein creative coach Jessica Abel reminds us that our vision of the process for building a writing career looks like this:

1) get good at my craft,

2) get an agent and sell my book,

3) magic fairy dust,

4) retire a famous, rich, world-renowned author.

Except Step 3 (according to Jessica) isn’t “magic fairy dust.” It’s a machine. And anyone can work the machine. You just have to know how. This is a critical conversation for me because I’m using the machine to hoist, elevate, and raise my work for career sustainability, and personal fulfillment.

• Pulley: Attending conferences and festivals (makes heavy lifting easier)

• Lever: Critique groups and beta readers (gets things unstuck, lessens workload)

• Wheel and Axle: Presenting, Sharing, & Teaching (connects me with others, improves craft)

• Wedge: Awards and Recognition (separates my work from others’)

• Inclined Plane (or ramp): Associations (opportunities to lead, create, and shine)

• Screw: Volunteer (embed myself in the work, become deeply engrained in the industry)

When I think of the activities in my writing life as simple machines to move me from where I am toward where I want to be, I appreciate even the low-turnout events, even the no-win contests, and even the rejections and declines.

I am gaining ground not by waiting for someone else to sprinkle luck upon me, but by churning the gears and driving my own success. Pedal down. Roll on.

RATIONALITY AND THE WRITING WORLD

By Sharon Ewing

“Writing is not a rational act.” I had just tuned to NPR in the car, and that statement surprised me into yelling at the radio, “What the …?” As I listened, the host referred to the person speaking as a psychologist. Here I must admit my skepticism of relying heavily on psychological thought, despite a long relationship with friends in the profession. This is the result of raising children and dealing, as a teacher, with students and their parents who were psychologists.

It’s only in the last few years that I’ve come to accept the label of writer for myself. Before that, even the thought made me feel like a phony. I’ve had just one accepted submission, and that one being rather pedestrian. I wasn’t a Hemingway, a Conway, a Bronte. I believed these famous people and others would turn over in their graves should I label myself a writer. But a friend gave me Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, and that book, along with encouragement I’ve received from so many published and non-published writers, has allowed me to feel more comfortable with the description. Was this psychologist calling all these wonderful people irrational? I was offended for myself and them. Surely a rational being cannot be happy pursuing an irrational career.

I thought I knew the definition of the word ‘rational’ but maybe there was something I missed. I consulted with an expert on the matter. Pulling into the driveway, I grabbed my phone. Yep, Webster still defined rational as “having the ability to reason.” I checked the thesaurus for related words and found: intelligent, thinking, analytical, logical, cognitive. It sounded like me, someone with degrees, someone who analyzed everything to death, and knew she’d never live long enough to know all the things that she wanted to know. I also had proof that I was a rational being. One year my kids bought me a blue nightshirt. On the front was a huge picture of that famous orange cat and underneath were the words, Virgo (my astrological sign), an analytical, picky, worrywart. Both Webster and Garfield couldn’t be wrong.

Stepping into the house I turned on the radio to continue listening to the program. By the time I tuned back in, the host was speaking with an artist about how he accessed the creativity apparent in his work. I began to realize the show wasn’t specifically about writing, but about creative thought. It was not the person (the writer, the artist, etc.), but the process that was the topic. By the time I realized my mistake, the host had returned to the writer once again. He mentioned how every writer must allow freedom for ideas to flow, because many stories and characters are amalgams of people and memories storied in our subconscious.

My claws retracted; my metaphorical balustrade tumbled. And embarrassingly, I had to admit. I, a writer and a rational being had jumped the gun, acted hastily and sorry to say, acted irrationally.