writing

Responsibility Fatigue

By / August 24, 2012

I stayed up too late last night because I ran out of responsibility. All yesterday, indeed all week, I have been the organizer of schedule. In theory, the job should not be onerous because we are merely reinstating a slight variation of a long-familiar schedule. No one is rebelling, everyone is glad to fall into a routine, yet I ended up sitting on the couch at 10:30 pm with tears leaking out of my eyes. None of my responsibilities were hard: nudge kids awake, remind them of homework, check to make sure gym clothes were cleaned, post-convention accounting, pick kids up from school, provide snacks, defend quiet space for work, declare time to make dinner, assist in making dinner, oversee homework. None of it was herculean considered alone, but anyone who has exercised with low weights and high repetitions can attest to the increasing difficulty of each lift. The fatigue builds incrementally, particularly when one is out of practice. Thus I ended a day, which had run very smoothly, feeling like I’d failed and was doomed to fail forever.

When I began remodeling my office, I realized that I wanted to take the process slow. I wanted to change something, like taking out the wall, and then consider how to proceed from there. It was very instructive to notice that making one change would open up new avenues of possibility. Dwelling in the changed space let me see which step was obviously next. I haven’t reached the “obviously next” part of this new schedule. I can see what is working; morning schedule, chores, homework times. I’ve identified what isn’t; something needs to be done to give me time off. Yet, I’m still wandering around in this space waiting for my back brain to mull it all over and show me what needs to be changed.

One of the things that absorbed my thoughts last night was thinking ahead to the writer’s retreat I’m attending at the end of September. I always thought it would fall into the category of dream come true, instead I appear to be approaching it like a fearful chore, something that needs to be done because it will force us all to grow. Truthfully, the primary value of the retreat may be that having it loom in my future is forcing me to be conscious of how I set the family patterns during this transition period. Instead of excusing kids from chores, I’m insisting on them. Instead of solving problems by assigning them to me, I’m stopping to think to whom the problems really belong. Instead of setting up a system that is like spinning thirty plates on sticks and I have to run around to make sure nothing falls down, I’m trying to create a functioning engine that only needs some oversight and a little grease in spots. Even if the retreat produces nothing else, the system it is encouraging will give me more creative space all year long. Hopefully between now and the end of September that increased creative space will allow me to remember why I dreamed of going to a writers retreat in the first place.

Words are probably the answer to what comes next. Writing gives me more than it takes from me. I’ve even begun to open up writer thoughts, which is also an effect of the scheduled retreat. I can’t waste the opportunity to focus on writing without doing some preparatory work. I’m slowing reading and processing a book about rhetoric and writing construction. I’m not racing through because I want to absorb and incorporate rather than cause my writing brain to seize up trying to do it all at once. I suppose I’m renovating my writing using the same method as I used for my office. Change a little and wait for it to settle. Unfortunately I keep battling waves of worry that my words are simply not as good as they ought to be. “I can do better than this,” is a frequent thought in my mind while hitting publish on yet another blog post which I know could use more polish if only I were not so tired. Or lazy. It is very human to simultaneously want to create something glorious and at the same time to not want to work too hard at it. I need to take more time to work at writing, trusting that the focused practice will make my work better even if it does not seem any better to me. Even if the words are not better, writing them makes me happier. I need to remember that.

I finally dragged myself off the couch and proceeded to stay up too late. I knew that my responsibility was to go straight to bed so that I could rise on time and launch the next day properly. That last responsible act was too heavy, too depressing. It felt as though all year would be an unrelenting onslaught of “I must be responsible.” Instead I fixed myself a frozen pizza and watched a tv show for an hour. At the end of it I felt much better. I’d taken time to do something just because I felt like it and the process restored my ability to hope again. I’m short on sleep today, but the morning went smoothly anyway, because the patterns don’t all depend on me to keep them running. This morning I’m writing first instead of trying to discipline my brain into doing accounting. I’ll do the accounting next, because it is important, but this morning writing was obviously next. After a work out it is important to rest. A study of weigh training makes clear that rest is when the muscles actually form, making the next lifting session easier. I think that this evening will be better.

Leaping

By / July 24, 2012 / 1 Comment

I was fifteen years old when I jumped off a cliff. It was a camp thing and the cliff was more of a very large boulder. I think there were about twenty feet from the top to the water below. From the beach I watched others jump and it looked fun. The view from the top was a different story. Yet I knew it was likely my last summer at this particular camp. Leaping let one enter the realm of the brave. Then I could be one of those who told others what it was like. If I did not leap, I would never know. So I walked to the edge. I contemplated. I stood back and prepared myself for the run up to jumping. One had to run so that the momentum would carry you out and into the deep water. I stood there, prepared to jump, for quite a long time. Others took turns before me and I watched them run, jump, and disappear over the edge. The splash and laughter would follow in only seconds. I took several large breaths. The muscles in my legs propelled me forward and the edge of the cliff came closer at an alarming rate. In the instant that I was to plant my foot and leap, some animal instinct in the back of my brain took control of my muscles. My legs froze. I suddenly knew that jumping off a cliff was crazy and completely at odds with physical survival. The momentum carried me over, not in a triumphant leap, but in a forward plunge. I was certain I was going to die. I was too close to the rock. The water was too far. What had ever possessed me to do such a thing? I do not remember the water striking my feet, but I do remember it closing over my head and the feel of the bubbles as they skittered over my skin toward the surface. That moment lasted a long time as I went deeper into the water. Then I began to rise, my limbs moved again, striking toward the surface. I splashed back into daylight, honestly surprised to be alive and uninjured.

Today I finally recognized why I am afraid when I contemplate going on a writer’s retreat. It is that moment with one foot planted on the edge of the cliff, water below me, but knowing that all my forward momentum is going to carry me over. It is that split second in which I think “Wait. I’m not ready for this” only it is already too late for me to stop. I recognize it because I’ve experienced it many times between now and when I was fifteen. The most memorable being the moment I realized that I was pregnant with my first child. I should take comfort, I suppose, in the fact that I did survive the leap off the cliff. It was even good for me. I have a story to tell based on extremely vivid memory. The parenting thing has turned out extremely well thus far. I like my kids. This bodes well for the writing retreat. Now that I’ve identified the fear, it does seem less. But fear is not logical and instinct tells me that the action I am taking could cause me harm. That is scary, but it will not stop me from leaping. Only time will tell if this is like cliff jumping, which I’ve never done again, or like parenting, which continues to be a daily part of my life.

Fear and Flight

By / July 19, 2012 / 4 Comments

Fear is not logical, and yet I keep trying to wrestle it into behaving as if it were. I take each fearful thing and examine it from all angles, trying to explain to myself why this particular event, stress, or interaction seems to accumulate associated fears while other things don’t. I track backwards along the paths of fears to see where they come from, in the hope that I can find all the sources and empty them out. Sometimes I succeed. I am not always afraid. Fear absents itself for quite long periods of time. Then I come to a day like today when fear is pervasive, seeping into the most mundane tasks. It is ridiculous to leap from rotten apricots on the ground under our tree to a belief that I will obviously fail at everything I try since I can’t even manage to take care of ripe fruit. I know the leap is ridiculous, but if it is accompanied by a little spike of adrenaline–that fight or flight response–it takes effort to find calmness again.

Then there are the things in my life which are frightening and I can not immediately dismiss as ridiculous, even if I would like to. I booked a plane ticket today. This is my fourth trip for the year, which is more trips in a single year than I have ever had before. I feel a little guilty about that, even more so because I could choose not to take this next trip. I could choose to stay home in my comfortable house with my kids. I could choose calmness and routine. Part of my brain tells me that I should choose those things. Instead I’ll be heading off to a writer’s retreat for an entire week. This is me spending time, resources, and stress in the hope that I will write something saleable. For at least that one week I’ll pull my writing from the edges of my life and put it into the middle. And I’m afraid. I’m afraid that the retreat will show me that I do not have a building career, but instead a nice hobby.

Now that I pull the fear out into the open, it does begin to seem a little silly. After all, there is nothing wrong with hobbies. They are an important source of joy and life satisfaction. It would not be a disaster to have writing as a hobby. So if writing as a hobby is not disastrous, why then am I afraid? What if I made the wrong choice in going to the retreat? What if something terrible happens while I am gone? What if I’ve wasted all my time? A hundred other what ifs file through my brain and I begin to see that a large portion of the fear is simply ambient to the day rather than created by the decision. Then I sigh and put away all my thoughts. I’ll look at them again some other day to see if they look different.

My Self Publishing Experience Thus Far

By / July 9, 2012

I wrote myself a royalty check last week. It is the first time I have ever done so. With the creation of Cobble Stones, and Hold on to Your Horses finally being profitable, I realized that it is time for the publishing company I run to be paying me as a writer. So I did the spread sheet, calculated the numbers for last quarter, then wrote the check and signed it. Right afterward, I flipped it over and signed the back so I can deposit it. Before I tell you how much money, let me tell you a couple more things.

Hold on to Your Horses took me a month to write. Granted, I probably only worked for about 10 hours of that month, but during that month I wrote little else. Finding an artist to work with used up at least 30 work hours. Back and forth with the artist took 40 work hours over three months. Layout and design took at least 40 hours, this includes the hours I spent curled into a ball crying because I was sure that I’d completely ruined the project and would never be able to make it work right. I had to wait three months to get the books. Then I took the books with me to every convention I attended. I talked about them to customers over dealer’s room tables. I did that over and over again for four years. I talked about Hold Horses on the internet. I did interviews on local television, radio, podcast, and the internet. Howard blogged about the book to all his readers. The project finally broke even financially last year. It has now paid my artist a fair rate and paid for printing costs. My royalty check for this month, the first money I’ve ever made on the project, was $15.

Cobble Stones is newer. It took me 20-30 hours to edit, layout, and create. I paid someone to help me put it into kindle and ePub formats. I spent at least 30 hours making the cover through trial and lots of error. I don’t know how many hours went into the original essays. I haven’t spent much time marketing it yet. The release got swamped by the Sharp End of the Stick pre-order. It was more a kick-this-thing-out-the-door-to-fend-for-itself than a celebratory release. I find it amusing that I co-own the publishing company, but my book got sidelined by a big money maker. There is a lot more work I can do to promote this book, but the truth is that my profit margins on it are very slim because it is a Print on Demand book. It will never make very much money. My total royalty on this book is $9.

I give all these numbers because people considering self-publishing should know. It eats a lot of time and usually does not pay a lot of money. I’m not sorry I did the projects. I continue to hope that they will earn more in the future, but they have not even begun to pay me back for the financial value of my time. Emotionally both projects are paid in full and then some. Except, perhaps, in the moment when I hold a $24 check and think “that’s it?”

The Schlock books are also self-published. They support our family as well as allow us to hire a colorist and an occasional shipping assistant. Neither Howard nor I has been able to leverage the fervent Schlock audience into sales for my books. The works are too different. My writing has to find its own audience, and I’m working on that slowly. I’m treating this first $24 check as a promise to myself. It is a starting point from whence I can grow. It certainly beats the zero dollars I was getting before. Self publishing is a long game, I need to be willing to keep working at it for years to come.

Two Careers, One Marriage, and Self Doubt

By / July 6, 2012 / 4 Comments

This past weekend was the five day weekend of Writing Excuses podcast recording. Howard, Mary, Brandon, and Dan all shut themselves in Brandon’s basement for four days (with a one-day break in the middle) to attempt to record and entire year’s worth of episodes before Dan leaves to go live in Germany. I was not part of the recording. My efforts involved making sure that Howard had quiet spaces to depart from and return to when he was exhausted. And then there was the emotional support. This was hard on all of them, and therefore hard on their support systems. But the result is 44 episodes ready to go. They won’t record again for a year, which at the moment is relieving as they’re worn out, but later it will be a bit sad for me personally because Mary will not have a business-driven reason to come to town and Dan will be far away. These are people I like being around, hence sadness. At least the League of Utah Writers Round Up in September will give Brandon, Emily, Howard, and I a solid day to hang out and talk.

Writing Excuses is the one business thing where Howard is thoroughly involved and I am not. For most of our business ventures I’m in charge of operations, tracking schedules, sending inventory, accounting for both money and time. With Writing Excuses, I arrange nothing, plan nothing, am not involved. It is kind of nice, because I’ve got lots of things to track and don’t really need any more. However it is also a bit sad because the podcast is a truly worthwhile endeavor and I’d love to be part of that energy. I’m not though. I’m vitally important to Howard and a good friend to everyone else, but Writing Excuses exists entirely without my supportive efforts. I have no claims on it. On the days I feel a little sad, I have to remember that it is good for Howard to have professional spaces which do not include me. It is good for me to have professional spaces that do not include him. Our careers flourish best when they are unshackled from each other because we have very different professional focuses. The tricky bit is balancing those against our marriage in which we share all things. The other tricky bit is that whenever Howard and I are together the room is crowded with Husband, Wife, marketing directer, accountant, merchandiser, artist, art director, graphic designer, warehouse manager, customer support rep, and best friends. All these various roles have different relationships to each other, different authority structures. It gets quite complicated, particularly when we trade roles based on context. On the other hand, if all of those roles where filled by different people getting them all into a conference room and making them to agree with each other about priorities would be a monumental endeavor. There are also, of course, the times when Howard just hangs out with Sandra and all those other people are nowhere to be seen.

I think about all of this as I look at the list of things I need to do to prepare Howard for both GenCon and WorldCon. He will be running a booth at both conventions. I will be staying home, quite glad to shed the roles of booth manager, shop clerk, and talent handler. That particular trio of roles, when combined with parenting guilt for leaving the kids, has proven bad for me emotionally. I can do it. I will do it again as necessary, but this year we’ve lined up two different dream teams for the two events. Howard could not be in better hands. Now all I have to do is scramble hard to make sure that necessary preparation gets done in advance. Now if only I can find the appropriate business focus despite the heat and long summer days which play havoc with family schedule.

Come August Howard will go and I will stay. It would be nice to be able to say that I’ll stay behind and get writing done, that at least some of my summer will be spent working on things to build my career in my own space. Thus far that has not been true. My summer fishtails between family concerns and business tasks, skidding along, never quite out of control, but never feeling straight or steady. I have spaces, quiet times, but they’re used for things not-writing. Other than the League of Utah Writers event in September, I have no professional events currently scheduled. I hope to be involved with both LTUE and the Storymakers conference, but official invitations to present have not yet come and won’t until sometime in the fall. Right now my career is idling and part of me feels a bit pretentious for calling it a career at all. In theory careers pay money, which my writing only has in small sporadic amounts.

This points up another challenge, Howard’s career is a behemoth around which our family must constantly adjust. My career squeezes in around the edges. Howard and I talk about this sometimes. In our heads both careers have equal value. In the bank, his pays the bills. Granted, he would not have his career without all the work I do. That bill payment money is as much mine as his, but it is hard on the days when I realize that my real career, the one that makes money, is “business manager” while “writer” is actually a hobby. Then I have a whole argument with myself that the value of an effort should not be measured in dollars, which I feel strongly to be true. Yet bills don’t pay themselves and so work that pays bills is important and valued. Other work comes afterward. All of which explains why my writing continues to linger in the spaces and around the edges of everything else. I just have to confront this more when Howard disappears to record with three really cool people and I’m on the other side of the closed door.

We’ve taken steps to address the career imbalances. I’ve started giving myself royalty checks and statements for both Hold on to Your Horses and Cobble Stones. We try to send me on a career-related solo trip at least once per year. This year it was to the Nebula weekend. The thing is, I think that all relationships have similar imbalances, or could if the relationship is not carefully managed. It is easy to accidentally make one person seem more valued or important than the other. In our case, I’m guilty of doing it to myself. I give myself away without even noticing I’m doing it. Then every time I mark out territory for myself, a host of voices in my head tell me how that space could be better used. All I can do is keep plugging away, keep treating my writing like it is a career, and hope that some day I’ll have financial statements I can use to pummel the voices of self-doubt into submission.

Anthropomorphizing my laptop may have been a good business decision

By / June 21, 2012

I’ve always liked the idea of personifying places and things. I think it is cool when people have names for their cars and their houses. For the most part my things acquire fairly dull names like “the van” because I don’t take time to make a cool name stick first. But this time I had it in my head that I’d like to have a Calcifer in my life. Calcifer is the flame creature which powers and runs Howl’s Moving Castle. I wanted something like that in my life, a source of magic and energy, a familiar. So the name Calcifer was already in my head when I realized that the need for a new laptop was dire. My old laptop computer (called “my laptop” even thought I’d attempted to label it Scribit at one point) had reached unusable levels of battery life and memory. Calcifer seemed a perfect name for a portable computer, so I wandered the store looking for which of the computers met my needs and seemed the most like a Calcifer. I settled on a Toshiba brand with a pleasant wood grain look to the casing.

Calcifer came home, and here is where giving him a name makes a difference. If I left him sitting untouched for too long, I started to feel guilty. It was not the guilt of “I spent money I should use this thing” it was the niggling feeling that my friend Calcifer was lonely, that he was waiting for me to use him to write stories, or blog entries, or something. In the month that I’ve had Calcifer I’ve spent a lot more time dwelling in a writer mind space. Today I drafted fiction for the first time in I don’t know how long. It is a weird little psychological feedback loop. The existence of Calcifer in my life encourages me to write. Then I like Calcifer better because he nudges me to do writing. The more I like Calcifer the more motivated I am to make sure he isn’t lonely. I’m quite aware that this laptop I’ve named Calcifer is in fact inanimate. It doesn’t think or care, but names have power over me. I like the results of bestowing this one. Now I just need to get Calcifer a pretty sticker to cover up the Toshiba.

My Deep South Con 50 Experiences

By / June 19, 2012 / 7 Comments

The lobby chairs were pulled into an irregular circle and we slouched in them comfortably. It was Sunday night and all the events of DeepSouth Con were complete. Many of the guests and most of the attendees had already departed for home. Those of us who remained clustered together talking. In many ways it was like the closing scene of the pillow fighting episode of Community where two characters keep hitting each other with pillows for hours because they know the minute the pillow fight is over, then so is their friendship. We sat there and talked late into the night because once the talking stopped, DSC 50 would be done.

Conventions are hard to sum up in a single blog post, because a convention is not a single narrative, it is a multiplicity of interwoven stories. Many of them rely on in-the-moment humor which is hilarious, but can’t be retold because the context is no longer present. This convention’s running joke for Howard and I was Rosie’s Cantina, which was recommended as a restaurant choice on our first night. Our liaisons, Robert and Laura Nigg, attempted to find it, but multiple cell phones came up with multiple locations and driving directions, so we went somewhere else. However Rosie’s Cantina did not go away, We saw signs and advertisements just about every time we left the hotel. Huntsville was taunting us with the existence of this Mexican restaurant. Two different concierge’s recommended it, so on the third day we resumed the quest and succeeded.

In the end the food was solid Ameri-Mex fare, nothing particularly special, but we felt satisfaction in finding the place and eating there. Rosie’s Cantina was an oft referenced source of humor for us and the others who shared our quest. Conventions are made of stories like these, small experiences which become shared contextual humor between the people who experienced them. Since the convention-going population is fairly small, we’ll run across these same people again in a few years. Then we will regale others with The Quest for Rosie’s Cantina in such a way that reconnects us and brings others into the laughter. Many times over the weekend I played audience while others shared their mutual remembrances. This is how communities are made and reaffirmed.

One of my treasured parts of the convention was meeting Lois McMaster Bujold. I’ve read every book she’s written multiple times. Lois’ words and thoughts express some of my experiences so well that it is simpler for me to reference her words rather than finding my own. I very much wanted a chance to talk to the person who created those words. I was pleased that more than one opportunity arose.

Here is Lois talking with Dr. Demento while Toni Weiskopf of Baen stands and speaks to David Drake. Yes, that is a total name-dropping sentence. Yes I had the opportunity to converse with all of those people. This is part of the attraction of conventions, particularly smaller ones. Everyone there is in awe of someone else. These admirable people are all people who are quite happy to sit down and talk about writing, music, food, exercise, pets, and a host of other topics. While I was feeling honored and pleased to be included in conversations with Toni and Lois, they were both feeling fangirl squee about getting to speak with Dr. Demento. I found Lois to be a wonderfully pleasant person. Our conversations tended to be short, as there were many people around, but each time it felt as if I’d picked up a long-running conversation with a long-time friend. It almost certainly did not feel that way to her, which did lend an imbalance to the conversations. I did get to ask her about the narrative structure of the Sharing Knife series which is so very different than her other books. The structural differences threw me off during my first reading of them because I’d expected the familiar structures of her other books. I’m pleased to know that these differences were a conscious and deliberate exploration, rather than a result of being lost in the story. I was certain that had to be the case, but she confirmed it. I also noticed that Lois attended panels all the time. Many of the pros I know are busy at conventions and rarely attend a panel unless they are participating in it. I know that is the case for me. I have a hard time sitting in the audience listening when I feel like I could add to the discussion. I’m reconsidering that. If Lois, with all her experience in writing and fandom, finds things to learn in panels, perhaps I should try to be more teachable as well.

I did attend some panels at DSC. I even got to moderate for a panel where Howard was one of the panelists. It is always a little odd for me to moderate Howard, rather like long-time dance partners switching which partner leads. I felt the panel went well and several people corroborated that opinion.
Howard was, of course, on many panels. Conventions schedule their GoHs pretty thoroughly. One of his panels was about designing aliens, his co-panelists were Tedd Roberts, Travis Taylor, and Stephanie Osborn. I’m told that video of this panel will hit the internet after a quick editing pass. I’m also told that it was fantastic and that everyone will want to see it.

Howard and Travis Taylor of Rocket City Rednecks hit it off really well. After listening to Travis’ stories, we’re convinced that we need to get our hands on all the episodes because it is like Mythbusters with more materials science and physics. Plus, Travis made us laugh all weekend long. Some of that funny must end up in the show too.

Howard and John Ringo did a joint panel, which has also been recorded for future internet viewing, though I’m told that one will take longer to clean up and prep. They hauled almost the entire audience from that panel into the dealer’s room where The Missing Volume was selling both John and Howard’s books. This made Glennis quite happy, and us happy too. Howard and John even stole the autographing table from the hallway. No one minded because it was empty at the time and we un-stole it forty minutes later when John and Howard had to head off for a panel.

This convention was one of the few where Howard was able to announce a Watch Howard Draw event. Fans gathered around while Howard scribbled out comics. Howard was quite glad to get some work done (He always feels behind) and he loved having the relaxed environment to converse while doing it.

One fan even had a Schlock themed birthday party


Yes that is a cake. There was also a little sculpture for the birthday guy. Howard signed it.

I knew that DeepSouth Con had a hard science fiction, history of southern fandom, and funny music focus. These are not areas of expertise for me, so I expected to mostly drift through the weekend in observational mode. I did play observer quite a bit, and I paid more attention to photography, but then I was pulled in. I had several long and deep conversations which left me thinking new thoughts to think. There was a small group of attendees who gathered around me after a panel and we held our own mini panel/discussion about organizing life to support creativity. It was extremely gratifying to be sought out that way, and I’m very glad that some of the things I said seemed useful to them. There is nothing better than turning one of my experiences into something useful for someone else.

A particular shout out is owed to Gray Rhinehart here. I’d never met him before this event and knew him only slightly online. But we talked for hours. This is also one of the hidden treasures of conventions, when I meet someone new and their current concerns intersect with mine. Conventions give me friendships which last long after the convention is over. Conventions give me chances to renew friendships begun at a previous convention. I’m learning to be patient and play the long game in building a writing career. I don’t have to push to have the critical conversation with a particular agent / editor/ author, because there will be another chance. This chance is not the only one.

Huge thanks are due to Toni Weiskopf. This show was her baby. She pulled together a dream team of Southern convention runners. I think this may have been one of the smoothest-run convention I’ve ever experienced. I did not hear any of the usual politicking or kvetching which I’ve come to believe is inevitable when highly stressed people care very much about something but have different opinions about how it should be done. We are so glad that she included us. This was exactly the weekend we needed it to be.
To close out this very long convention post, I leave you with a photo of Dr. Demento dancing on stage with a pair of belly dancers.

Shipping day…somewhere in the middle

By / June 6, 2012

This week it is very hard for me to hold on to the day. The part of my brain which measures time by events is sure that we’ve had at least a week since Monday. Physiology agrees with that estimate, surely I can’t have hefted 4000 lbs of boxes in a smaller span of time. Schedule keeper knows full well that we have lots of week left because there are events planned for this week which have not yet occurred. The planner wants to estimate me backward in time because there are many tasks yet to get done before those scheduled events and with all these tasks, surely we have more days for them. Visual cues are confused as at least a couple of my children haven’t changed clothes in several days. Kids do that if I am sufficiently distracted. My computer thinks today is Wednesday. It is probably right, though I have to work hard to believe that it is not Tuesday or Thursday instead.

I am so very tired.
But happy.
Today I was flipping through invoices and noticing how many of the names I recognize. I see them year after year as we release books, names from all over the world. I’ve never been to Finland, Germany, Indonesia, Spain, France, India, or Portugal, but our books are going there. I see these names and remember the wonder of it all, that Howard and I, who feel very ordinary, can be part of something that travels so far and brings at least a small measure of happiness.

I’m also happy because the new “small batches every day” system has succeeded in lowering the intensity of my stress. I still get stressed. There isn’t any less work, but the work is getting done. Next time we need to leave Howard more lead time on the sketching, but he’s being amazing, as always. The first batch of sketched books will go out tomorrow. All of the unsketched books are sent.

The kids have been amazing troopers. They’ve fed themselves breakfasts, helped make dinners, and not complained when we have to kick them out of the family room to get work done.

Tomorrow begins early, all my days do this week. Tomorrow is…Thursday.
I’m pretty sure.
Whatever day it is, it’ll be a good one.

Book Announcements and News

By / May 15, 2012

It is a newsy sort of day.

First and most important. Pre-orders are open for Sharp End of the Stick. They opened yesterday morning which meant that yesterday was not a good day for clear thinking. You’d think we’d be more relaxed about this after 8 books, but we aren’t. Too much depends upon pre-orders. I always have a pocket of fear that this will be the time that the whole system falls apart. Then we’ll have massive bills and no big pile of money with which to pay them. One of the scariest things about running our own business is accumulating bills that run to four and five figures. Book printing and shipping costs do add up. Lots. So on pre-order day I do one of two things, I either hover over the internet checking figures and obsessively doing math to see if we’ve made enough money to breathe easy for the next six months. OR I run away from the internet and try to pretend that it is not pre-order day. (I call this the “la la la, I can’t hear you” approach. Very mature, I know.) Yesterday manifested as a run away from the internet day. Today I settled in and began to process orders and do math. So far so good. I must say it warmed my heart to see that at least a couple of people ordered copies of Cobble Stones.


Which leads me to the next newsy thing: Cobble Stones is available as an e-book on Amazon. It will soon be available in the Barnes & Noble online store as well. (Any time now. *drums fingers*). And of course you can buy a physical copy in our store. If you have already pre-ordered Sharp End of the Stick and would like to add Cobble Stones to your order, just place a separate order for Cobble Stones and then email schlockmercenary at gmail.com with both order numbers. I’ll happily combine the orders and refund the extra shipping costs. This is the sampler book for which I’ll someday actually create a marketing plan, which will probably include sending copies to book bloggers and encouraging people to do interviews. The trouble is that I launched this book right in the middle of also launching the SEOS pre-order and that simply has to get more attention right now. But one thing I learned from Hold on to Your Horses is that my creative works do not need to be blockbusters right out of the gate. Hold Horses took three years to pay back its expenses, but it continues to sell at a steady trickle. More importantly it continues to be useful and make people happy.

While I’m finally putting my writing into formats where people can actually buy it, my sister has put together two anthologies containing my stories. The Awards Weekend Anthology includes my short story Immigrant, previously published in the DAW anthology Ages of Wonder. The Mind of the Beholder features one of my earlier stories Bethan’s Garden. For the longest time this story only existed on my website, but Nancy felt like it was a perfect addition to a book which addresses science fictional characters who are neuro-divergent in autistic ways. The book also features Nancy’s Nebula and Hugo nominated story Movement, which is worth the cover price all by itself.

Project Fugue

By / March 19, 2012 / 1 Comment

Rather unexpectedly my two days of drifting after sending SEOS off to the printer transformed into several days of driven project fugue. I discovered all of my creative energies and spare moments spent upon pulling together my 2011 One Cobble at a Time book. While I was doing it, I identified a pile of blog entries to be considered for my sampler book. Then I had a realization about what the cover needs to look like, so I spent energy on that. This tearing hurry is because I realized that if I want to have copies of my sampler book in my hands in time for LDS Storymakers, I need to send it off for POD printing by April 6th. I’ve only got three weeks for editing, layout, and cover assembly. It can be done, but only if I do not waste any time. Which is why I spent all of today on this. And now the 2011 One Cobble book is done. Tomorrow I will do a quick edit on the probable sampler blog entries and send them off for opinions from my two volunteer critiquers. Then I will emerge from project fugue and pay attention to everything else. Like my house, which definitely could use some attention.