Fw: Re: Fwd: Etc.

Warning: Rant and excessive use of italics to follow.
Today I received an e-mail from the former president of an organization I've belonged to for quite some time. The e-mail came to the e-mail account that I reserve exclusively for writing-related communication—querying agents, submitting work, conducting writing club business—you know, official writing stuff.

That e-mail addy has my full name in it because I've heard agents say both online and at conferences how important it is for a writer to have this kind of addy so the agents and editors know who is sending the e-mail and so the e-mail doesn't get caught in a spam filter.

Now, I certainly would never use that e-mail account for spam. I don't send spam. I. Just. Don't. (Time out here: Literary agent Janet Reid recently addressed the problem of authors sending spam e-mails to her.) I use that e-mail account for official writing stuff.

So, I was disappointed that the e-mail I received at my official writer e-mail account was actually spam that had been forwarded and forwarded and forwarded. Yeah, it was an inspirational poem, etc. etc., etc., but it was still multi-forwarded spam.

Now, as this inspirational e-mail is forwarded again (though not by me!) all over goodness-knows-where, my e-mail addy rides along with it and becomes spammy by association.

Another thing that bothered me is that no author was given credit for this poem. I don't forward anonymous writing and I don't think others should either. It's an insult to the author.

I won't quote the whole inspirational poem because it's all over the Internet in a couple of different versions, but here's the opener:

Her hair was up in a pony tail,

her favorite dress tied with a bow.

Today was Daddy's Day at school,

and she couldn't wait to go.

I received the 2007 version where the kid's daddy died in Iraq (Oh, I've spoiled it for you. Sorry!), but there's also a 9/11 version where the kid's dad is a fireman who dies when the World Trade Center collapses.

But the poem isn't really anonymous. A quick visit to snopes.com produces info about the author—Cheryl Costello-Forshey—and the original version of her poem. According to the author, the poem was a "fictionalized account of what [the loss of her father] meant to one particular little girl and by extension what similar losses mean to all children who lose parents." See the original poem and the full explanation at Snopes.

At Snopes you'll also learn that the poem has been published in two places: Chicken Soup for the Parent's Soul and Stories for a Teen's Heart (book 2). It's under copyright.

I already send and receive a lot of e-mail. I don't need to receive inspirational messages that have floated around the Internet since 2000, are referenced in a gazillion places, and even have You-Tube videos made of them. Especially  inspirational messages that end thus:

Now that last part is what rankles. I haven't "forgotten my friends" unless forgetting to spam them somehow equals forgetfulness. Adding this passive-aggressive crap onto Costello-Forshey's poem does her work a disservice.

Upstream in the e-mail forwards, the person who sent this to the person who sent it to me, wrote this: "I shed a few tears, too; am sending it to my writers group I recently joined; will also fax to local papers; hope one of them will publish it."

Uh, no. Reputable newspapers do not publish anonymous inspirational poems. For one thing, there's that sticky copyright issue in case the real author, whose name was omitted from the first several million times this thing was forwarded, comes forward and threatens a lawsuit. For another, few newspapers reprint poems, period. Not poems that were written nearly a decade ago and already copyrighted. It's not news.

OK, rant over. Now for some advice:

• If you just absolutely have to send stuff to friends, give credit to the stuff's writer. If you don't know who created something, don't send it. 
• If you send a group e-mail, at least don't make the e-mail addresses visible to everyone.
• And if you really urgently have to forward something, remove the e-mail addresses from the previous sender.

Otherwise, you're going to be getting some interesting offers from some new friends in Nigeria,  some lottery folks in the UK, and some pharmaceutical folks from goodness knows where.

~

Countdown to Publication

Ferradiddledumday, my Appalachian version of the Rumpelstiltskin story will be released in early January. That's only a little over six weeks away. Already my publisher has made an author page for me and my illustrator and has sent me a bunch of promo materials: advance reader copies, bookmarks, and cards.

I've already sent out some of the advance reader copies to bloggers. Amy Tate's review has already appeared on her Virginia Scribe blog.

I've been putting together some press kits that I'll use for media folks who've indicated interest in doing a story.

I have several appearances already lined up. Waiting for this book to come out is kind of like waiting for Christmas when I was a kid.

~

Deja Vu at the RT Again

Once again, the Roanoke Times has, uh, recycled some of its material. This morning, I braved the monsoon (which has already dumped more than two inches of rain here since last night) to get the paper and feed the outside critters.

Feeding the horses and barn cats wasn't too bad. The mares were already waiting in their run-in shed; the barn kitties were lurking in the tractor shed. Dog-feeding was a challenge, though. After wading into the kennel to feed the dogs, I was anxious to get back to the house, shuck my soggy socks and sneakers, grab a cup of coffee, and read the paper.

Uh, oh! Page 5 of the Extra section looked strangely familiar. A quick dig through the recycling basket produced Monday's paper. Page 7 was almost identical (funnies, Jumble, Wordy Gurdy and the other puzzles—even the horoscopes!) but there were two differences. Do you see them?

 Today's page is on the left; Monday's on the right.

A quick cat scan finds those differences right away:

If the RT folks can change the Kroger ad and the birthdays at the bottom, why can't they fix the whole page? 

~

VWC Meeting

Yesterday, a few other Valley Writers and I attended the annual meeting of the Virginia Writers Club in Charlottesville. There were a couple of things about this meeting that stood out.

1. One of the attendees wasn't human. He was a hawk named Harris Potter who came with his author owner, Andy Straka. I am not making this up. The hawk was live, not stuffedHere is a picture:

2. My publisher sent me a half dozen Advance Reader Copies of Ferradiddledumday, plus a whole bunch of promotional bookmarks and postcards. (Unfortunately, she wasn't able to attend the meeting herself because her daughter was in a accident that morning.)

I'd already seen PDFs of what the book's interior sort of looked like and jpegs of the front and back cover. It was neat to see what the book would actually look like. 

 
Recently my author page appeared on the Cedar Creek website, with a toll-free number to advance order copies. In about two months, my book will be available. Check it out.

Meanwhile, I need to distribute the ARCs to some of my blogger buddies who have Blue-Ridge/Appalachian blogs so they can get started on their reviews. 

(Is this a post blatant promo? Yeah, I guess it is.)

~

The Woes Done Gone

My MacBook is now working the way it should. When my phone service was finally workable today today, I called Apple tech support. (Not only have I had MacBook problems, I've also had phone problems. Last weekend's heavy rain meant that water got into the underground phone lines again and produced static so loud we had to shout to be heard over it. The lines were finally fixed late this afternoon.)

I called Apple's toll-free tech support number (1-800-75-2273) to see if I could somehow get installation CDs that would replace the MacBook's Snow Leopard operating system with the older Leopard. I was talked out of that (which might possibly be doable, but then I wouldn't get tech support, etc., and I'd have to pay for them).

I referred the first tech person I talked to (Jarrod? Jared?) to my previous blog post. He took a look at the example Pages text I'd posted and knew something couldn't be right. He referred me to a higher level tech support person.

Consequently, Tammy in Apple Tech Support spent over an hour and a half walking me through a bunch of procedures that ultimately solved my word-processing problems. I could not begin to describe all that we did, but the important thing is—IT WORKS! The Pages documents in Times New Roman look great—all the weird stuff is gone. The Word documents in TNR actually print.

I no longer hate Snow Leopard. And I really appreciate the dedication of Apple's tech people.

So, I now have a phone that works and a MacBook that works. If I could just get rid of the cough I've had for over two weeks, I'd work better, too. Two woes down, one to go.

~

The MacBook Woes Continue

If you were bored by yesterday's post, don't bother to read this one.

Still trying to troubleshoot the MacBook, I tried printing various documents—one in MS Word, one in Appleworks, and one in Pages—from the MacBook to the C4680. I used a couple of different fonts on each, but each had a sample of Times New Roman.

First, as a control measure, I printed them from the iMac to the C4680. All printed fine from the iMac. I emailed them to the MacBook, downloaded and printed. From the MacBook to the C4680, results were not so good. Oddly, the Word document printed. Other Word documents didn't, though, including one that I created brand new on the MacBook. I can't figure that out.

Appleworks didn't work at all. Pages was, well, weird. I then did a complete reinstall of iWork. It didn't make any difference.

Take a look at the two samples I printed using Pages (part of Apple's iWork). After I printed them, I scanned the results and converted to a jpeg. I noted the day and time and computer on each. Keep in mind that this is the same application on both computers, both documents in Times New Roman, 12-point. Only the operating systems are different: the iMac is still using Leopard (OSX 10.5.8) and the MacBook uses the latest Snow Leopard (OS X 10.6.1)

See? The problem has to be with the MacBook. (Note: I incorrectly called it an iBook in the above sample. My elderly iBook, while limited to Panther OS, at least allows me to print in TNR.)

Could it be that this refurbished MacBook wasn't fully refurbished. Maybe it has issues that are unsolvable? Or is the problem with the Snow Leopard operating system?

What do I do now? Call Apple again. . . ?

Well, I can't call until Embarq, er, Centurylink gets the water out of the phone lines so the phone will stop buzzing/humming/whatever, so the DSL line will stop dropping the Internet connection (happened twice while I was creating this post) and so I'll actually be able to hear the person I'm talking to. They're supposed to fix the phone lines tomorrow.

It's always something.

Update: on the off-chance that it might be a keyboard decoder problem, as one of my fellow bloggers/Facebook buddies suggested, I unplugged the keyboard from the iMac, plugged it into the MacBook and tried to do a Pages document in Times New Roman. Same problems as the sample above. Changing the keyboard DIDN'T FIX the problem.


Another Update: Another online buddy thought I might have corrupted fonts. I went to Font Book to validate fonts, found some duplicates, and clicked the thingie that fixed the duplicates. DIDN'T FIX THE PROBLEM!


A bit of Googling confirmed that it's a SNOW LEOPARD PROBLEM. Check out these two discussions: 


 "Altered Font Spacing Crippling for Designers"

 "Major Font Problems in Snow Leopard!"

~

Leopard & Snow Leopard & Word, Oh My!

Warning: This is long and boring, especially if you aren't into computers. For those of you who followed the three-part saga of my kitchen countertop renovation, you'll detect similar themes.

I was so prepared to love my new MacBook. Well, it's not exactly brand new; it's a recent model, but it's refurbished. And I'd heard such nice things about the Snow Leopard operating system.

Last March, when I bought the iMac to replace the elderly G4 eMac, I'd wanted to get a replacement laptop for my elderly G3 iBook. When I recently won a bit of cash, I figured, What the heck. I'll spend my writing-related winnings on something I can use for writing. I watched the Apple Store website's refurbished ads until the MacBook I wanted (at the price I wanted) appeared. I ordered it October 29 and had it in hand on Halloween.

But let me back up here. My iMac, purchased last March, has the Leopard operating system. I really like Leopard. I like it a lot better than the old eMac's Panther system which I'd liked better than the eMac's original Jaguar system. Consequently, I was prepared to like Snow Leopard even more.

I read up on how to use the migration assistant to get all my stuff (including a gazillion documents in both Word and Appleworks, and a few in Pages) to the laptop. When I zapped stuff from the eMac to the iMac, I'd used Target Disk Mode, or something like that. The migration assistant was similar.

I should mention that I'd also ordered a new inkjet printer (HP Photosmart C4680) because it was free after the rebate. I'd already installed that printer on the iMac so everything—including printer settings—should have zapped over. Or so I thought.

I did a test print on the C4680 of one of my pictures from the iMac, and it printed fine.

Somehow, though, the MacBook didn't recognize my LaserJet, the printer I use for all my snail mail submissions. I searched online and noticed that many folks had problems getting Snow Leopard to recognize the HP P1006. I downloaded an update, and the MacBook recognized the HP1006 and allowed me to add it to the printer queue. Then I tried to print a Word document and got a blank page. I downloaded another update which took almost an hour. Still blank.

Now, I need to mention that the version of Word I used was part of Mac Office v.X from 2001. But it worked great on the iMac (as it had on the old eMac and G3 iBook), so why shouldn't it work on the MacBook?

I spent part of Monday afternoon on the phone with Earl from Apple Tech support. He had me delete the printers from the queue, reinstall them, etc. Finally I printed a test page on both the P1006 and the C4680. So far, so good—right? Wrong! I still couldn't print the Word document I wanted to print.

Earl had me copy the document into Text-Edit (which is like a bare-bones word-processing thingie, for you non-Mac users) and print from Text-Edit. That worked on both printers! Then Earl wanted me to open a new Word document, type a few lines of text, and print. I did it, but the font was Helvetica, not the Times New Roman that I generally use—the Times New Roman, I might mention, that is standard in both the college composition and writing worlds that I inhabit. I discovered I could print a document in Pages, but the TNR-12 looked weird. It had odd spacing between some of the characters making the 12-point size wider than the 12-point size I'm used to. But it did print. The printed document looked crappy, but it at least printed.

Earl, who by now was probably getting tired of dealing with me, told me to reinstall Microsoft Office, and if that didn't work, the problem Microsoft's fault and I should get in touch with them about updates.

After we'd hung up, I decided to experiment with different fonts. I could print in Word using Helvetica, Times, and Lucinda Grande, but not in Times New Roman or Baskerville. Huh? What's with that?

Then I opened an Appleworks document (in Times New Roman, of course) and tried to print. Another blank page. I switched fonts to Helvetica. The page printed. (For y'all non-Mac-types, Appleworks is an older Apple word-processing program that replaced Clarisworks and was in turn replaced by Pages.)

So it's not just Microsoft. It might be—ack! gasp!—Apple and the Snow Leopard system.

This saga—which I really hope will not drag on like the countertop saga did—will continue in a later post.

~

Kreative Blogger Stuff

Tara, over at the Bloodcrossed Writer blog recently awarded me a Kreative Blogger Award. (Thanks, Tara!)

The Rules:

1. Copy the pretty picture and post it on your blog. [Done]
2.  Thank the person that gave it to you and link to their blog. [Thanks, Tara!]
3. Write 7 things about yourself we don't know. [See below]
4. Choose 7 other bloggers to pass the award to. [This is where I have problems. I don't send stuff on. I couldn't begin to count the number of e-mail chain letters that have died with me. So here's my deal. If you think you deserve the award, I hereby give it to you.]
5. Link to those 7 other bloggers. [Let me know if you accept, and I'll edit in a link a link here.]
6. Notify your 7 bloggers. [You're readingt this; you're notified.]

Now, this isn't the first time I've received this award, so I'll try to think up some new stuff.

Hmmmm. Thinking . . . thinking. . . .

1. I don't like to watch sports, and I can't understand why people get so excited about a game.
   
2. I have problems with artificial sweeteners. Aspartame gives me bad back-of-the head headaches. Splenda raises my blood glucose levels as much as sugar does.
3. I've never been to Europe or even wanted to go. I figure my ancestors had good reasons for leaving.
4. I never ate broccoli, Brussel sprouts, eggplant, or pizza until I was in college. Mama only cooked the things her mother had cooked (which were things she'd grown herself), etc.
   
5. I never bought a school lunch (not counting the college cafeteria) until I was a student-teacher. Mama always packed my lunch from first grade (no kindergarten in those days) through high school. 
6. My goal in first grade was to quit school when I turned sixteen.
7. I'm tone deaf to sharps and flats. 

There.

~

Late October Ride

(Waxing Poetic, with the help of Edgar A.)

The skies they were ashen and sober;

The leaves they were crisped and sere -

The leaves they were withering and sere;

That passage from Poe's Ulalume pretty well describes today.My cousin Mary stopped by to ride Melody this morning. Mel hadn’t been on the road for a couple of months. But her hoof abcess had long since healed and while she wasn’t (thankfully) rarin’ to go, she went.

 It was night in the lonesome October

Of my most immemorial year:

Don’t know that this is my “most immemorial year,’ but it’s still October, and it’s night as I post this.

It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,

In the misty mid-region of Weir—

It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,

In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Well, the lake in my area is Smith Mountain Lake, which isn’t exactly a tarn (a small mountain lake). It’s a doggone big lake.

The morning fog for the last week, however, has indeed made the region pretty misty. As for ghoul-haunted, there’s Hainted Holler down the road a mile, but there was nary a ghoul to be seen today. In fact, the ghost of Jesse Chapman, the former resident haint, hasn’t been seen for more than fifty years.

Hainted Holler: the light-colored object to the left is an old dog, not a ghost.

Even the graveyard just down the road apiece didn’t spout off a fireball as it is reported to do on occasion. The buzzards who gathered were after the remains of yesterday’s roadkill possum.

Since I have nothing spooky to report, I’ll just post the pictures of Melody and Mary trucking along.

Just before Mary and Melody pass Hainted Holler, which is to the left of the road.

Coming down Blacksmith Road.

Turning from Blacksmith Road onto the trail.

Vanishing into the woods and starting a run to the top.

Just before they came out of the woods, they flushed the biggest buck I've seen.

Too bad I didn't have the camera ready.

Getting ready to cross the road to Polecat Creek Farm.

Approaching the trail that leads to the bottom.

Vanishing into the woods again.

After Mary and Melody headed for the bottom, I drove home. I figured if they didn't return within an hour, I'd come looking for them.

A half hour after I returned home, I heard Cupcake hollering. I figured she must have realized Melody was gone. Soon, every time Cupcake hollered, I heard an answering whinny from the other side of the cow pasture. Sure enough, it wasn't long before I saw Melody.

 You can just barely see her.

  

But soon she appears and heads for the turn toward home.

Mel hollers to answer Cupcake. Ruby the dog joins Melody.

Horse, rider, and dog approach home—just the other side of the burning bush.

Melody was ready for a nap when she got home. Mary probably was, too. They were dog-tired, but Ruby the dog still had lots of energy.

~

Into the Woods

What do I see in the October woods? I see the trail winding through the trees. I see inspiration for what I'm writing.

I'm working on a YA novel that takes place in the fall. I write both what I know (settings) and what I can imagine (characters and plot). Having settings like this readily available to me helps.

My protagonist would walk on a leaf-covered path through woods like thisto get to her aunt's cabin. She'd feel the dry leaves crunching under her feet.

 Maybe the path would be wider in places and trees would tower over her head. As I walk the woods, I try to imagine what she'd notice and how she would react.

Maybe some of the trees would look spooky, like this walnut tree on Smith Farm. This tree was big even when I was a kid.

Would she notice how the limbs at the top come together to form kind of a weird critter?

Perhaps she'd pass old buildings in disrepair, like the remains of this barn that stored my grandfather Smith's hay and feed. The stalls for his horse and mule were on the left side. You can see the remains of the wood-shake roof hanging against the building. I can remember when Gen the mule and Kate the horse lived here. But what would my protagonist remember of this old place.

At the end of the path, she'd see her aunt's cabin. The picture below is actually a tobacco barn, but it's about the size of the cabin I have in mind.

And maybe something would be watching her.

You never know what might be in the woods. Or what might be in a story.

~

Fallen: A Review

This past week was Teen Read Week,  and this year’s theme was “Read Beyond Reality.” Thus it was fitting that I spent part of the past week reading Fallen, a debut novel by Lauren Kate (Delecorte, ISBN 978-0-385-73893-4 ). 

 

It’s a compelling read. I’m a sucker for quirky characters, and this book was full of them. I predict this book, which releases on December 9, will attract a huge following of female teens. 

Fallen is a YA dark fantasy—a story of immortal love and good vs. evil— that raises many questions but only provides partial answers. Sixteen-year-old Luce, recently involved in a fire that killed a boy with whom she was romantically involved, is sent to Sword and Cross, an eerie reform school somewhere in coastal Georgia. The students, watched by cameras (“reds”) must wear black, attend long and boring classes, and—when assigned—serve detention at dawn by cleaning the cemetery within the school grounds. But they also have the freedom to decorate their rooms as they like, and skipping class seems pretty easy. 

On her first day, Luce is immediately attracted to Daniel, a hunk with blonde hair, violet-gray eyes, and the requisite rippling muscles. Cam—with black hair, green eyes, and equally rippling muscles—is attracted to Luce. Throughout the book, Luce is torn between the two—obsessed and often rebuffed by Daniel but tempted by the beguiling Cam.

Turns out the reason for Daniel’s treatment of Luce is that Daniel is a fallen angel, doomed to fall in love with Luce every seventeen years throughout numerous lifetimes, but Luce always dies with their first kiss. If Daniel ignores her, they’ll be safe, right?

Uh, no—and therein lies many of the complications of this book. While both are immortal, Luce is always born as a mortal, hence her death—except maybe this time she won't die. Maybe. . . . Counterpoint to the theme is Miss Sophia, who teaches a religion class. Her lesson on fallen angels foreshadows much of what happens in the novel. To tell you more would be to give away too much of the plot. 

Now for my quibbles:

• The novel’s point of view was limited third person. The reader is told everything that Luce see, feels, does, etc., until the epilogue. I think the book would have been stronger had it been written in first person POV, which would have moved much of the telling into showing. However, I can see where younger readers (well, younger than this sexagenearian reader) might like limited third person better—so they’re closely observing the action rather than being in its midst.
• A lot of questions are left unanswered (What the heck did happen to Trevor, the boyfriend who burned up?) and I wanted answers. Perhaps Torment, the sequel to Fallen available in fall 2010, will provide them. Plus, there will be other books in the series.

I’ve never been much of a fantasy fan, but I found Fallen very hard to put down. I like Kate's concept, plot, characters, and style. You can read an excerpt here: http://www.randomhouse.com/teens/fallen/excerpt.html.

Not only will Fallen attract a huge following of female teens, it might just attract some female fans who haven't been teens for several decades.

~

Kate has another novel coming out in December: The Betrayal of Natalie Hargrove (12/11/09)  

The Pits?

Or is it the pit? Firepit, that is—rural American style.

Back in July, I bought the pergola when Krogers had a big end-of-summer-yard-stuff sale. It took a bit of shifting around, but we finally got the thing where we wanted it.

We added a windchime and a bird feeder. I thought the, uh, installation was complete. Meanwhile, my writer buddy Claudia—who lives just over yonder to the west about a mile as the crow flies—built a firepit. Well, my husband got inspired.

He decided that a firepit was what the pergola needed to really set it off. There was, of course, a slight problem. The pergola sits in what we call the "lower courtyard," but what is in reality the "septic field." He didn't want to go digging a hole over the septic tank.

Consequently, he came up with a solution that he thought went with our rural decorating style:

Naturally, when I saw what he'd done, I was aghast. Have you ever seen anything so unaesthetic?

Anyone with the tiniest sense of decorating knows the stove should be parallel to the benches so there's some leg room. I mentioned this to him but figured he didn't pay much attention until last night when he decided it would be easier to rotate the pergola instead of moving the stove, so that's what we did.

Today, I was busy at the computer when I smelled an acrid aroma. I followed my nose to the den door and saw this:

He had fired up the stove, now parallel to the benches—which makes it look soooo much better, doncha think?

Granted, the whole thing will look better after the stove blackens a bit more (which it's now well on its way to doing) and after we figure out where to stack the firewood. But it certainly makes an interesting addition to the courtyard and the birds don't seem to mind the smoke when they visit the bird feeder.

The benches warm up nicely after the fire's been going for a while. Perfect for cold weather yard-sitting.

~

Kitten Philosophy

Today's post is courtesy of the resident kittens, Chloe and Jim-Bob, who will share some of their philosophies of life. OK, mainly Chloe's philosophies. But Jim-Bob helped.

Scream when you want something, purr when you get it.

 

Feed me NOWWWWW!

Before you can shed light on anything, you first have to figure out how to turn on the lamp.

If pulling this tassel doesn't work, maybe I'll try this knob.

Sometimes thinking outside the box means thinking inside somewhere else.

 

Well, it's not like anyone was using this flowerpot.

 Being stuck between a rock and a hard place is difficult. Being stuck between the screen and the glass is no fun either.

Somebody get me outta here!

Share the good times with a buddy.

Let's pretend this rug is a wrestling mat.

 

The best defense is a look of innocence. Or surprise. Or surprised innocence.

 

What messed-up rug?! I don't know what you're talking about.

If you mess with something long enough, you might figure it out.

Let's see. . . if I bite this cord right here. . . .

When you've finished your work, move on.

I'm outta here. I didn't touch a thing!

When you don't know what to do, take a nap.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

~

Crit Group & Master Class

Yesterday, my kid lit crit group met for the first time in a couple of months. First Claudia, Amy, and I sat around Amy's kitchen table (with a fantastic view of Cahas Mountain through the window), sipped coffee, and caught up on things.

Then we adjourned to Amy's living room where we watched a DVD that Amy had heard about at the SCBWI convention last winter. The DVD was a Master Class, conducted by Richard Peck: "On Writing the Novel for Young Readers." In it, he is interviewed by SCBWI Executive director Lin Oliver. She asks really good questions about the craft of writing and Peck gives really good answers.

The 74-minute video was something I really needed to watch because I'm about to revise my middle grade novel Stuck again. I have a bit more motivation to revise because I learned today that Stuck was runner-up in the Smith Mountain Arts Council Fiction Contest. It lost to a doggone fine novel that my Lake Writer buddy Besty Ashton wrote—a women's fiction/thriller that will do doubt go on to greater things. The $400 I'll receive for second place will go a long way to paying for printer supplies, paper, and postage when I'm ready to query again.

Peck said a lot of things that I needed to hear. I especially liked what he said about the character having an epiphany, about writing in the first person, and about not having an outline. I bought and read his Fiction is Folks: How to Create Unforgettable Characters book years ago; now I need to go back and reread it.

Here is a 4-minute excerpt that will give you a taste of what the DVD is about:


I've read and enjoyed several of Richard Peck's novels, the latest being The Teacher's Funeral. Now I want to read more.

~

Who's Your Target Reader?

I'm 260 pages into the ARC (Advance Reader Copy) I received Friday of Lauren Kate's YA fantasy novel, Fallen, and I already have a pretty good picture of the target reader for this story of "fallen angels and forbidden love": She's 15 or upwards, maybe with Goth leanings, intellectual but quiet, likes paranormal stuff. She probably liked the Twilight series, but wants to move on to something non-vampire but still intriguing. She probably reads all night, even after her mother has yelled at her to go to sleep. She might be somewhat of a rebel, maybe somewhat insecure. She's the kid who used to sit in the back of the room during my English classes and never said much but would talk to me after class or in the hall about what she was reading. "Still waters run deep" could describe her.

So why am I, nearly a half-century past the target age, enjoying this book?  Maybe because I'm working on a YA paranormal novel myself. Maybe because the author hooked me with her opening two sentences: Around midnight, her eyes at last took shape. The look in them was feline, half-determined and half tentative—all trouble. How could I not continue reading after that opening?

Eventually I'll post a review of Fallen on this blog, but for now I'm thinking about target readership of my own soon-to-be-published book. ARCs of Ferradiddledumday will be ready in about two weeks or so. I'd like to think my Appalachian retelling of the Rumpelstiltskin tale will be enjoyed by all readers, but that wouldn't be realistic. It'll be enjoyed by specific readers—the target readership.

Ferradiddledumday is a kid's story—target: third grade—for kids who still read fairy tales and who are old enough to appreciate variations of those tales. It's also for elementary teachers who want to use a story in a multi-discipline unit that includes science, geography, and history of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It's for children's librarians who are looking for a little something different to incorporate into story hour. It's for grandparents to read to their grandchildren. But it's not for all readers. No book is.

However, I sometimes encounter authors—almost always self-pubbed or vanity-pubbed—who believe their books are for everyone, for readers of all ages. When I ask about target readership, they look blank. "But it's for everybody," they might say. "Everybody will enjoy it."

Uh, no. Not everybody will. Commercial publishers know that books sell best when they're targeted to a particular group. The group might be based on age, life experiences, etc., but it's a group of readers looking for exactly that kind of book. It has to be a big group, or a big commercial publisher won't be interested.

When I encounter folks who've written a book and who ask me for advice on how to get it published, I always ask, "Who is your intended reader?" Usually I get a blank look from the author (Or, if we're talking on the phone, a moment of silence.) Then the answer is almost always "It's for everybody."

Decades ago, when I was more involved with horses than I am now, I'd sometimes encounter folks who had a horse to sell. I guess they figured since I already had one or two, I'd probably like another one. Or maybe that I knew somebody who wanted a horse. Whatever. When I'd ask who can ride the horse—I'd be thinking beginner, intermediate, advanced, etc.—they'd usually say, "Oh, everybody can ride him!"

OK, I'd think, and then ask—thinking Western, saddleseat, hunt, dressage, etc.—"What's he trained for?" The hopeful seller usually answered, "Why, he's trained to ride!" Sometimes they mentioned they'd even trained him themselves (the equine equivalent of self-publishing).

I know that a horse that everybody can ride is the horse that nobody can ride well. Horses have a target ridership; books have a target readership.

I pitched Ferradiddledumday to a couple of agents and editors of mid-size publishing companies. But those agents and editors didn't want to deal with a book that's for a niche market. Consequently, the small publisher who did take on Ferradiddledumday specializes in Virginia books and will gear the marketing toward the target readership.

While I've self-pubbed and vanity-pubbed my narrow niche projects, I didn't want to go that route with Ferradiddledumday because I knew there was a larger market—at least a more scattered readership—than is practical for self-pubbing projects. When the book is be out in three months, when I do my already-scheduled library readings in January and February, I'll meet my readers in person. And I expect most of them to be teachers, grandparents, librarians, and kids.

My middle grade novel, Stuck, has a different target readership. Stuck is currently out of the query-queue because it's locked into a contest for a while, but I already know its target readership: girls (ages 8-12) who've lost a parent or gained a step-parent, who've moved away from home and friends, who love horses, who've dealt with a bully, or who are fascinated with ghosts and mysteries. Of course, I hope it will appeal to readers of all ages—especially people who are stuck in something, but my target is a particular age group. When I resume querying, I'll target the agents that represent middle grade paranormals. I won't waste the time of those who don't represent the kinds of books I write.

As for my YA paranormal, some of the girls who like Fallen might enjoy it. Not all, but some. And maybe some others.

When I've finished—and revised—that book, I'll have a better idea who can ride that horse. But I know it's not everybody.

~

Kitchen Completion

It's done!

The kitchen is finished. The installer—Ed of Moonlite Renovations—arrived around noon and spent a couple of hours adding the trim, attaching the microwave, redoing some of the caulk, checking the sink connections, etc. I'm really pleased with the job he did. Lowe's is lucky to have him do their installations. (Besides kitchens, Ed also does baths, decks, fencing, and senior living improvements.)

The stainless steel sink looks so much better than the 1978 harvest gold one did. The "pampas"color of the counters coordinates nicely with the "bisque" color of the appliances.

The kitchen has a cleaner, more streamlined look. It looks so good I almost hate to fill the counters up with junk again.

If I have one complaint (other than the cutting and measuring errors made by the laminate company I'll call *****), it's this:

No, not the seam, which really should be in the corner (again a decision by *****). See the little crack in the corner? It's about as long as the nail on my little finger. I didn't notice it before I signed off on the work. I noticed it when I was wiping the counter and felt something snag.

Oh, well. Nothing's perfect. But I figure Lowe's owes me a gift card or rebate or something to make up for all the delays—and then this crack. Wonder if I'll get one?

Edited to add: I did. Lowe's is refunding $200 for my inconvenience and getting their laminate people to provide color-matched sealer for the crack.

Meanwhile, I need to clean the cabinets. Anybody know a good wood cleaner I should use?

~

Heck's Kitchen

An upgrade from how hellish things were yesterday. The installer arrived way early and got busy tearing out the old stuff. First the bar countertop went:

Then the other countertops. The original backsplash is still in place at this point:

I had to move even more stuff out of some cabinets. Floor space in the den is now at a premium:

The kitchen looks kind of naked with the countertops, backsplash, and harvest gold sink gone:

Installer fits backspash around the window, where the seam is supposed to be. The laminate people originally had the seam halfway between window and den wall. The installer is very efficient, skilled, and organized:

Microwave and stove had to be pulled out. Notice the backsplash is leaning at an angle? Despite all the fancy laser measurements, whoever cut the backsplash made this part too big (their second measurement error). The installer had to fix what the laminate people screwed up. Luckily he had the tools and know-how to fix it:

Anyhow, the kitchen is now half-done and should be finished tomorrow. Power is out in the kitchen, but we have an extension cord running to the microwave and refrigerator.

The kitchen saga will continue tomorrow.

~

Hell's Kitchen

. . . No, make that "Kitchen From Hell." More specifically, "Kitchen Renovation from Hell."

Rant Warning: This is long and boring and has nothing to do with my usual posts about reading, writing, rural living, etc. (And, in accordance with FTC rules about goods and services mentioned on blogs, I disclose that have received no remuneration from any company or its products that I will complain about mention in this post, and what you are about to read are my own experiences as I have, uh, experienced them and are unrelated to any other person's experiences—either real or imaginary—with any companies or products herein mentioned, etc., etc.)

For  couple of years—OK, since 2001—I've planned to replace the 1978 harvest gold sink and the white-with-gold-flecks counters in my kitchen. The original harvest gold stove was replaced in 2001, and the original harvest gold dishwasher has been replaced twice, in 1999 and again a few months ago.

The kitchen, with cabinet drawers removed, so installation could proceed.

Note 1978 harvest gold sink.

A few years ago, I'd even bought a stainless steel sink in anticipation of a kitchen redo:

Note sink is NOT harvest gold!

Last summer Lowe's had installed a new roof, and my roof experience had been nothing but positive. I was delighted with the professionalism and promptness of the roof installers. I figured the kitchen renovation experience would be equally positive. So, on July 14, 2009, I entered into a contract with Lowe's to have installed new laminate countertops in a color that I call basic beige and they call "pampas." I wrote Lowes a check for approximately 2/3 of what my first new car cost back in the 1960s.

The installation should be done in a few weeks, the woman at Lowe's said. First the counters had to be measured.

A few days later, the installer arrived to measure, but he wasn't quite sure what to do with the hump in the corner, so (several days later) Lowe's sent out (at extra expense) another guy to laser measure the counters, so we could get it right. He spent about an hour shooting the laser all over my kitchen and making a detailed diagram. That guy figured that the installation would be a lot easier if the corner hump were eliminated, and I agreed.

So far, so good. (This was now the first week in August, if anyone is keeping track of time.) The order was sent for the cutting of the countertops. I cleared my schedule around the week of the anticipated installation—about three weeks away.

A few weeks later, the countertops were delivered (they had to use a bigger truck than the regular countertop delivery truck, so that cost extra, too). After the two delivery guys wrestled around a refrigerator and some other major appliances, they unloaded the countertops I noticed a chip in one and what looked like a crack in the backsplash and mentioned it to the delivery guys, but that wasn't their problem. They said to call Lowe's.

See chip at bottom.

I called the lady at Lowe's and voiced my concerns. Fortunately the installer was coming out in a few days and he'd take a look. Meanwhile, I had to remove all the cabinet drawers and all the stuff on the countertops. I did that the night before. It took over an hour to make all the preparations, including moving Olivia and the kittens out of the garage and into the downstairs bathroom, moving vehicles from the garage, etc.

When the installer arrived I pointed out the chip, but he said it would be covered. No problem there. However, what I thought was a crack in the backsplash turned out to be a seam (that would be midway between the window and the den wall and hence VERY VISIBLE) and the backsplash wasn't even tall enough. Arrgghh! The installer got on the phone and explained the problem to Lowe's Lady. He explained in great detail. Then he told her he would be stopping by Lowes with his notes.

Lowe's agreed to get the backsplash fixed, which meant contacting the laminate people and setting everything in motion. Again. Another couple of weeks delay. Arrgghhh! (Meanwhile, I had toe surgery.)

Finally, I received word that the stuff had been delivered to Lowe's, and the installer could pick it up on his way out as soon as we arranged a workday. He called and we arranged the next available day—October 7—the day that Pen Women were to meet. Even though I was supposed to introduce the guest speaker, I emailed my regrets, cleared the kitchen, ignored my aching toes, removed drawers, moved vehicles and cats, etc. I was ready for the installer when he arrived at 9:00 AM.

Except he didn't. At 9:30, I called Lowe's. Lowe's Lady said she'd call him. Shortly I received a call from the installer. His truck was being repaired. He'd called Lowe's the day before. They were supposed to call me last night. Except they didn't. He'd call me as soon as he knew which day, etc.

I put on socks and sandals (not being able to get shoes on yet) and dashed off to Roanoke for Pen Women. That evening, I put the kitchen stuff back and waited for a call.

The installer called me last Sunday night to let me know he'd be out today. First, he'd stop by Lowe's, pick up the correct laminate, and be at my house by 9. The next day, Lowe's Lady called to verify.

Ah, finally the work will get done, I thought. Last night, I moved stuff out of the kitchen (see photos below) and into the adjoining den for —what was it now?—the third *#^!* time.

I moved a litter box into the downstairs bathroom. I arose early, fed the outside critters, and moved felines. I knew the drill.

At 9:15 the installer called. He'd been at Lowe's for an hour, the backsplash that the company had cut was exactly the same as the first one—despite his instructions!—and he said Lowe's Lady would call me sometime today. If he could get the correct laminate in time, he could maybe do the job tomorrow or Friday. If. . . .

Meanwhile, I went to liberate cats from the bathroom.

It's amazing how destructive two very small kittens can be. When I opened the door, Jim-Bob emerged from a little basket on the floor, a basket that earlier had held the guest washcloths on the counter. Washcloths were tossed all over the floor. Guest soaps, no doubt mistaken for fragrant kitty toys, were scattered about. Chloe had somehow climbed onto the counter and rearranged a pile of towels into a suitable nest where she was napping. Only Olivia was in the cardboard box that I'd provided as a cat bed. To their credit, the felines had at least used the litter box properly. (They were glad to get back outside, though.)

A couple of hours later, Lowe's Lady called and apologized and said that the laminate folks would be in touch to re-measure (Huh?). I told her they didn't need to do that. If they'd just give the installer a roll of laminate that was the correct height, he could take care of it. As soon as she hung up, a guy from the laminate company called to make an appointment to come out and measure. I told him what I'd told Lowes Lady. He said something about getting back in touch with her. . . . AAARRGGHH!

So, here I am—stuck in kitchen renovation limbo. Will the installer call tomorrow? Will the counters be replaced within the next few days? within the next week? within the next couple of months? this year?

Stay tuned to this blog for updates. You know the drill.

~

Edited to add update: This afternoon Lowes Lady called me to apologize again and report that suitable material was available and installer could come tomorrow and begin. However, he couldn't stay all day, so he'd have to finish Friday. I said that he should come tomorrow because I still have everything out of the kitchen. 


Now I'm wondering, what if something comes up on Friday?

Works in Progress

Over at his "Nathan Bransford—Literary Agent" blog, Nathan recently posted his "The Third Sort-of-Annual Stupendously Ultimate First Paragraph Challenge," wherein commenters post the first paragraphs of their works-in-progress for a chance at some nifty prizes (like a critique!).

Anyhow, I posted (at 9:28 on Oct. 12) the first paragraph of my YA novel-in-progress, tentatively titled What the Dogs Told Me. So far, I have eleven chapters and fragments of a few others for this novel about a young animal communicator who tries to deny her gift but is eventually forced to reveal it. Here's the opening paragraph:

I generally don’t let it be known that animals tell me things. “Folks think you’re tetched if you go around saying things like that,” my great-aunt Myrie once told me. She also has the gift, although her gift is not like mine. Sometimes, I think my gift is more a curse than anything else, for it separates me from other people if they know. I keep quiet, so most of the kids at school don’t even notice I’m around. I always sit by myself in the back of the bus. But I notice them. And I know more about them than they can imagine.

Would you keep reading?

While I'm on works-in-progress, I'll update you on my other two.

Ferradiddledumday, my Appalachian version of Rumpelstiltskin, now has its own ISBN number and will be available in January from Cedar Creek Publishing. I already have a couple of readings and signings lined up. Promoting this "new spin on an old tale" will be fun.

Stuck is my 40,300-word middle-grade paranormal novel, in which an eleven-year-old girl—stuck in grief over her mother’s death—helps a ghost who’s stuck on earth until she finds her daughter. Here's the synopsis:

Jacie Addison returns from horse camp—where she was stuck with her nemesis—in time for her birthday. Her father gives her a locket and introduces her to Liz, his former high school sweetheart and now fiancée. Jacie, angry about her father’s decision to remarry six months after her mother’s death, is soon stuck with her future stepmother in a five-hour drive to a farm in Virginia. When Jacie can’t stand being stuck with Liz’s obnoxious nephews, she retreats to the woods and encounters Callie, a ghost stuck on earth until she locates her daughter. The locket’s history and a bit of sleuthing help Jacie find the information Callie needs. Before Callie leaves, she promises to send a sign if she finds Jacie’s mother on the other side. When Jacie has almost given up hope, the sign arrives in a way she never imagined.

Stuck, which has received a handful of agent rejections (some with very helpful comments), has been revised again and is currently entered in two contests. Consequently, I’m not querying again until the contests are over. One is the Smith Mountain Arts Council Novel Contest. Entrants had to submit 50 pages, and the judge picked three finalists who then had to submit their entire manuscripts. I'm one of the finalists, so I'll be in the money. I should know if I'm first, second, or third in about a month. The other contest will announce a winner on October 31. This one usually has four or five hundred entries, and some years no winner is chosen.

Meanwhile, I've been playing around with Stuck for a bit. I've imagined my main character Jacie telling her story in a school essay:

Jacie Addison

English 7: Miss Macy’s 2^nd period class

Assignment: Essay About a Major Life Problem

Being Stuck

You might not think that being stuck is a major life problem. But it is. I know about being stuck. I’m an expert.

Two years ago I was stuck in grief because my mom died. I really missed her. I still do. I was also stuck with a really mean, conceited, hateful girl in my class who made fun of my mom and played bad tricks on people. Nicole (that’s the girl) was stuck in her hatefulness and her dream of being in her sister’s wedding. I was even stuck with Nicole at horse camp. After she had a horse accident, I learned that Nicole was stuck with a mother who wasn’t very understanding, so maybe that’s why she was so horrible.

I guess my dad was stuck in missing Mom. He was stuck having to look after me by himself and do the housework and hold down a job. Then he lost his job and was stuck trying to get his new job started. When Dad told me he was marrying a woman he used to know before he met mom, I was stuck being angry at him for a long, long time.

Then I was stuck with Liz, the woman Dad dated in high school and who he wanted to marry now that Mom wasn’t ever coming back. I see now that Liz helped get Dad unstuck, but I didn’t realize it at the time. All I realized was that as soon as I was forced to live with Liz, I was stuck in a strange place without my friends.

I guess Liz was stuck with me being a real pain. Plus for a while we were both stuck with her pesky nephews (who also got stuck in the old outhouse until I helped get them unstuck). Then—and I know you are not going to believe this, Miss Macy, but I swear it’s true—I met a ghost who was stuck on earth until she found out what happened to her little girl.

Anyhow, it’s a very long story, but I finally became unstuck. So did everybody else. It would take a whole book to explain how all this happened, so you will just have to take my word for it.

What I am trying to say is that everyone gets stuck in something. But being stuck isn’t forever.

—The End—

Please, Miss Macy, do not read this essay to the class. The ghost part is very hard to explain.

I’ve set part of Stuck in Union Hall, Virginia—near Smith Mountain Lake. I've imagined the house that Jacie’s stepmother owns must look something like this one, which is on a farm next to my family's homeplace.


In Stuck, Callie's tombstone sometimes emits a ball of light. I based the cemetery where she's buried on one down the road from me where reportedly a tombstone occasionally emits a ball of light which rolls down the hill and into a pond. (I haven’t seen the ball of light, but I know people who have.) There are some other “hainted” places near where I live, but this cemetery is the one I used for inspiration.

A closer view:

Would you read Stuck? My goal is to have it published or at least represented by an agent within the next two years. (I got the idea of posting my goal from Angie over at Notes From the Writing Chair. Figured it can't hurt to do so.)

~

Another Red Sky, Another View

From my study window last evening, I noticed the clouds glowing red. The window faces north. Why was the northern sky so red? Last evening's sunset was spectacular—another sky so blazing with fall color that I guess the western sky couldn't hold all of it. I went outside for another view.

From the front porch, I took this picture:


The Peaks of Otter appear as blue barely above the tree-line at the far right. That's north.

Moving my camera westward, I saw the sky even redder:


From the deck, and facing westward, I could see wisps of clouds reaching upward:


I peeked through the pines that divide my lawn from the pasture, and saw the western sky ablaze:


If I were writing a story that took place at sunset, how much of the sunset should I describe? To go on and on for pages would be boring. How could I capture the grandeur of the sunset in a few words? How much setting is really important to plot.

Is much nature-type description even necessary when the action is what's important? So, what action might have been happening yesterday evening?

Not much, just a mantis couple wanting a little privacy on my house's back wall:


Would the mantis picture be more effective if the setting were included? After all, the female will kill the male after their little tryst is concluded. And that red sky in the background can lend an ominous tone to what's happening in the foreground.

See?


Just something to think about. So many words, so little time. . . .

~