Publicity and Promotion: I am supposed to publicize my novel -- write a blog, do virtual book tour, network, yada yada yada. I would like to have a successful book that reaches millions of readers and pays for my children's private school and college education (or at least pays off my credit card debt), however if I continue on this path of self-promotion I might as well sell my soul because that is how awful it feels. So I'm not going to do that anymore. I fully accept the consquences. I'll probably continue with the blog, though. Like Naoko in A Tale for the Time Being, I find it fun to imagine the reader on the other side.  Unrelated to personal ambition, it gives me enormous pleasure to imagine a Ruth Ozeki smiling at my hopes and insecurities as she reads along. After all, I really am a sixteen year old schoolgirl at heart.  Update: Check this out!  As I was searching for an image to go with this blog, I found this guy, Sean Beaudoin.  He even uses the hell analogy, but it looks like he's a bit better about doing what he has to do in spite of hating it. I feel a little less alone right now...

Critics: I really am fearful of criticism. I went through extraordinarily, high-pressure criticism when I was in acting school (I know, that was another life -- I'll talk about that later -- or maybe never).  I handled the terrifying presence of a six foot five inch director doing his best to humiliate me -- but that was acting.  My writing is quite another story.  My writing really is like... my soul in code. I made choices with Dark Corner that I knew very well were not the ones I should make -- I think I said this before -- but I just couldn't choose a word that would be in the vocabulary of a typical seventh-grader when I had at my disposal a word that fit perfectly.  I did not write for my intended audience as much as I wrote for the story itself. I simply had to serve the story, and if that means a kid has to highlight a word on his tablet and look it up, then so be it! I made decisions that leave me open to criticism, nevertheless I want to hear good things. That goes back to my perpetual immaturity; I want to live in a world of lollipops and rainbows.

The Adventures of Robin Wingfield (Volume 2): If I keep thinking about marketing, self-publishing, and critics, then when will I write the next novel?  I've been spending precious hours of my life trying to figure out how to get people to read Dark Corner. I could have written several chapters by now. Maybe I won't even publish it, but the story is there (at least the outline) and I think Robin deserves to move on from Dark Corner. Perhaps I'll never have even a hundred readers, but my son and daughter will have the whole story. Priorities?

Why do I feel compelled to publish this series? I think the answer is the same reason that I wanted to be an actor at some point.  I do want attention.  I crave an audience.  I love to express my thoughts and opinions.  And yet -- and here is the contradiction -- I am about as introverted as a person can be.  I find other people absolutely terrifying, yet want their admiration and attention. I often have a low opinion of myself, yet I think I am smarter than many of the extroverts I know who are mired in social muck. Daniel Radcliffe was quoted as saying that fame is "ghastly" (so British, so cute) and I think he's probably right, but part of me would like to give it a try.

Why do I feel compelled to write this series? Herein lies a mystery of my life.  I have no idea why I need to write about Robin.  I'm sure years of psychoanalysis could tease it out.

Stay tuned for List #2 Whining and LIst #3 Appreciating

December 24, 2013

So I'm here in my TV room on Christmas Eve with a sick kid. He is sitting in the dark fiddling with a Japanese toy while my daughter is on Roblox (free time on the computer is an early Christmas gift from me). It feels strange here -- so quiet, no kids running around, no cookies being baked, not even any holiday shows.  Just darkness and quiet.

Christmas has never felt quite right to me since I left Minnesota. Here I am in PA with a similar tree, similar looking presents, and the same old songs (Ruldolph) and specials (Rudolph), but it feels wrong.  And that's a lot of years for Christmas to feel wrong.  I think a child's holiday can be imprinted on her in a similar way that imprinting works with baby animals and their mothers.  Well, first, maybe I should explain imprinting for those who might not have heard of it.

Here is a simple explanation from alleydog.com:

Imprinting: Why do chicks (baby birds...jeez) follow the mother bird and do whatever she does? The reason is that they are going through a process of imprinting, in which certain birds and mammals form attachments during a critical period very early in their lives. During this point in development, the birds are so available to form attachments, that even if there is no mother bird, or no bird at all, they may develop attachments to a substitute. For example, if you hatched several baby geese and raised them without having a mother goose around, the chicks may perceive you as the mother and imprint to you. They would follow you around, try to mimic lots of your behaviors, etc., just as if you were the mother. This is the way they learn the behaviors and characteristics of their species.

December 25, 2013

Now that I think about it, imprinting may not be quite the right word, but I would still like to use it... loosely. I have seen film of baby chicks attaching to a dog and therefore following him around and doing their best to behave dog-like.  In my own experience, my son was born, laid next to me, and he opened his eyes and stared at me.  My midwife said, "He's an old soul," because he was gazing at me so fixedly. Later, I often thought of that moment when he refused to have much to do with anyone else holding him, feeding him, or doing anything else for him.  I think he had attached to me right then and there during those first minutes of life.

Well, I am attached to Christmas in Minnesota.  My experiences of Christmas in Minnesota with my parents, aunts, uncles, and especially my cousins made a permanent mark on my psyche.  And no amount of logic can convince me that Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Chicago, or Wyoming (obviously these are states that I have since called home) could ever provide a proper Christmas.

"Home is where the heart is."

Well, no. It's not.  Minnesota is where Christmas is supposed to be.  Trying to convince me otherwise is like trying to tell one of the baby chicks that the dog is not their mother. Logic will not win the battle.

If I were in Minnesota, would it be Christmas?  Or would it feel weird?  My parents and a few other relatives are deceased.  My childhood home was sold long ago. Wouldn't I feel wrong in Minnesota too? Truthfully, I probably would.  But I would like to breathe the cold air and walk around a bit.  Maybe even walk down Nicollet Mall (do they still have the dime zone on the city bus?).

I really am past it -- the death of my parents -- and have fully faced the necessity of moving on. I have been away so, so long. Yet on Christmas, I can still feel homesick.

I do feel a bit guilty about that, because I am making wonderful memories for my own children and that is one of the true joys of parenting for me.  I just love their enthusiasm about everything to do with Christmas. I think that sitting down in our TV room to watch Elf and then A Christmas Story is absolute bliss!  It's the day itself that is a bit bittersweet, because it is no longer my special brand of Minnesota Christmas magic; instead it is John and Maddie's Pennsylvania magic.  They are children through and through (for this, I am grateful) and someday they will be feeling bittersweet because they will be somewhere else, celebrating Christmas in their own grown-up way.

I'm glad I feel this way, because I know then that I was one of the lucky ones who really did make good memories rich with both comfort and excitement, and I know that I am providing the same joy for my own children. Did I mention that I love them?

I'm self-conscious about writing this one.  I don't think it's my best.  It's just me rambling.  Not everything has to be pure inspired wisdom.  I have a right to ramble -- after all this blog is just what it is. There is no particular focus, no particular purpose.  I just find it soothing to write. In the old days, it wouldn't be part of the flotsam floating around the Internet, but lucky you! Here it is. Actually, I think this would be jetsam, because I'm going to purposely press the orange publish button and jettison it out to the Universe (and somehow in my mind that means away from me).  Reminds me of the old (New Age) "releasing it to the Universe" idea -- well here it is Universe! All my stupid, personal Christmas magic goo.

Well, I am always skeptical about anything and everything online, but I think Compulsion Reads may be the real thing.  They have just reviewed my novel, and unlike the cut rate publicity outfit I hired to do my press release, they obviously read the book.  The review was positive but not complete treacle, and along with the compliments, they shared some of the same misgivings I have.  Namely, I have written a novel for young people that has some sophisticated vocabulary (a.k.a. "big words").  My only excuse it that I waded through Harper Lee and John Steinbeck with eighth graders; in comparison my little page-turner is a walk in the park. I just couldn't trade in some of those juicy words for sixth-grade-reading-list words.  Most kids have e readers, right? It's not like they have to trudge over to an unwieldy, big, red dictionary these days.

Click here for the endorsement criteria for Compulsion Reads.

"Sort of makes you want to treat me with more respect, doesn't it?"  -- Pig Pen

And here is their review of Dark Corner along with an abbreviated response from me.

COMPULSION READS BOOK REVIEW

Until her eleventh birthday, Robin Wingfield seemed like just a normal girl. The pink Ouija board she receives at her birthday party changes everything. The board acts like a catalyst, allowing Robin to remember suppressed memories and then to channel a mysterious force known as Odin.

Robin is both scared and enthralled by the power within herself. Even as she struggles with normal middle school troubles, like how to survive a tough math class and whether to stand up for a bullied classmate, she is also learns about a new and secret psychic world.

Dark Corner is an interesting book that sets Robin up against issues that force her to mature quickly. Friends react differently to her growing powers. Some are curious, others fearful and jealous. Robin develops a profound relationship with a mentor, but she also discovers that not everyone in her Minnesota town is so open-minded about the Wiccan beliefs.

Robin is a sweet and mature protagonist, and I enjoyed watching her grown and learn to accept her special gifts. I was confused, however, about the book’s intended audience. The novel contains deep themes about religion, conservative culture, mental health and Wiccan beliefs that I think would be appropriate for young adult readers. Robin’s age, however, suggests that this book is geared toward middle grade readers. Some younger readers may struggle with the vocabulary of this book, and parents might not feel comfortable with all of the themes.

The narrative also occasionally wandered from the main action. This is most evident in the beginning of the book when I had to learn that Deer Lake doesn’t have muck before meeting Robin and watching her birthday party unfold.

Even with these issues, Dark Corner is an enjoyable and well-paced adventure. Robin and her friends are sweet companions. Young readers will be challenged to consider some important themes in the book; primarily how conservative religious ideology treats the concepts of magic and nature worship. This book may be a good conduit for conversations on this topic.

So, here is my mature, well-thought out response. Every positive statement is of course -- right on, hit-the-nail-on-the-head, absolutely true.  Every negative statement is... well I wish I could say they were off-the-mark, but as I mentioned before, I do share some similar misgivings about Dark Corner. The confusion about the novel's intended audience is valid, because I'm thinking that though Robin is only eleven, the novel is better suited for those thirteen and over. For obvious reasons, I am reluctant to mention Harry Potter, because I believe that J.K. Rowling is a genius to be worshiped and someday we will probably find out that she is not actually from this planet.  In other words, I do not want to be compared to J.K. Rowling. I will mention Harry Potter, though, because in the first book Harry is turning eleven just like Robin, and J.K. Rowling doesn't hesitate to bring deep themes and sophisticated vocabulary into her first volume. The only part of the review that I truly take issue with is the thought that the little introduction to Deer Lake is wandering "from the main action."  Like every other author worth her salt, I borrow (and I don't mean plagiarism, kids!) from authors I admire. In the case of my little Deer Lake/baby duck opening, see the first page or two of Of Mice and Men. Finally, if some of the subject matter in my novel is controversial, then... SWEET!

It is 6:03 am and I have been up most of the night. Thanks to Mucinex D, I have been up trying to figure out introverted, online ways to publicize my book.  I have set up a giveaway via Goodreads and Paranormal Book Club. I am sitting in my family room in the dark.  My children are both sleeping down here, sick and breathing heavily.

It is at times like this -- little sleep -- sick children -- that my usually optimistic outlook takes a dive and I indulge in self-pity and "cruel, cruel world" thoughts.  Even though I have it so good.

Now it's 3:13pm the next day.  Those sick children woke up and we had a Sponge Bob viewing early morning slumber party.  The Mucinex wore off by 9:00am and fortunately it is Sunday so I rested.  Even so, I am  haunted by a melancholy about just about everything these days.  Let's blame part of it on public radio.  Every time I listen (which is often, and yes, I'll become a contributing member just as soon as I'm out of credit card debt) it's about man's inhumanity to man, or some sort of terrible, tragic, personal struggle story.  Thank God for Saturday with Click and Clack and those boring garden and cooking shows (boring to me because I don't garden (well) or cook (well).

Also to blame is the reality that my best friend from high school (and post high school roommate) is in prison for the rest of her life with no chance of parole.  And she is innocent (of murder -- that's what she's convicted of). That's a kind of special little tidbit to share, isn't it? I would rather not have such a special and unique story, though I do write about it.  As cheap therapy, of course. Now, I've been living with this for quite some time, but as time itself stretches on it is harder to bear.  What a whiner I am!  I'm not the one in prison! Her situation does haunt me, though.  How could someone like my best friend, which such sensitivity, intelligence, wit, and talent -- from my own pure, golden, Golden Valley be in prison for murder? It haunts me, because every time I go to a restaurant or an amusement park -- or anywhere -- I see a flash of her and I know where she is.  No ordering Chinese food for her. No sitting by a cozy fire on a snowy day. Nearly every moment of her day is structured; what a horror for an artist like Liz.

I carry guilt because I don't write her often enough. I'm never sure what to say.  What do I say?  I feel ridiculous catching her up on the latest family news on the outside because she will never be on the outside (barring some miracle -- please God or spirits or angels or whoever is out there wanting to do good -- make a miracle and get her out!). It is depressing to discuss the events that led up to her incarceration, and nothing can be done.  We also had not lived in the same city for years before the events that led to her arrest, so we had been out of touch, and I did not witness or confide with her regarding any of the events leading up to her downfall. I know she did not plan a murder, but when I am honest with myself, I know that she was obviously being led down a dark path by her little brother. I will never truly know how dark she became during that time. Well, the whole situation is just... depressing... so when I'm looking for a reason to be sad, there it is.

Then I start thinking about Anne Frank -- Anne herself, and Anne as a symbol of every dynamic, innocent being who has been tortured and murdered by the monsters of the world.

And domestic violence. And school shootings. And other shootings. And world history -- Currently, I'm reading Story of the World (Vol 2) by Susan Wise Bauer as part of a Fireside Academy class with my children. In a nutshell, the story of our world is violence. Some would attribute this to original sin and say that we are stuck with it -- no chance of peace.  We have always been a violent species and always will be, but I just can't think like that.  There is evolution, after all.  If an animal can evolve gills or something, can't we evolve to be peaceful and sane?

A little later down the road, maybe, huh?  Then we can all be like Hawkeye from Mash and see, really see the insanity of violence.