Saturday, May 20, 2017

In Defense of Stuff

Ok. I've had it with minimalism. It seems everyone is talking about getting rid of stuff, downsizing, giving away clothes and appliances and toys until they have only "what they love."  I call BS.

My old waterbed turned into a hall shelf,
filled with pots I made and other stuff
I like.


I love small kitchen appliances.  If it slices and dices, cooks or cleans, mixes or toasts, if I bought it, I want it.  I can juice a bag of oranges in five minutes, prepare a frozen pizza without heating up my kitchen, and make my own salsa without losing a finger chopping.

Like many women, I have a variety of sizes in my closet as well as some sentimental items.  I'm keeping 'em.  I'm entitled.  Someday one of my granddaughters might like to wear or make something from my old wedding dress or cuddle up to my mother's old faux fur coat.

My office has an enormous selection of pencils, pens, clips, and other stationary items.  They make me feel rich.  I love that I have filled three cubbies with things I have written.  I love my old typewriter though my electronics have replaced it functionally.  My old typing stand was given to me by an old friend, now long dead. Pry it from my cold, dead hands!

My pottery, made in the days before nerve issues disabled my arms, is the tactile evidence of a lifelong dream.  I'm keeping those pots and my tools.  I don't expect a miracle but I invested more than money in this.  I invested time and love and competence.  All things clay, stay.

I live alone in a three-bedroom house that can sleep seven.  When my daughter's young family was out on the street due to a fire, they lived with me.  My elderly mother lived here in her last years.  One daughter moved home to get another degree on the cheap.  This house has provided a roof to two homeless women in desperate need and to numerous cats and dogs - not all mine - who needed shelter.  Why would I get a tiny house after all that?

I wear the cast-off shirts from old friends and lovers and feel at home in them.  My grandchildren bring their toys here when they are no longer welcome at home. You can get rid of anything you want, but I like my stuff and I'm keeping it!

Friday, May 19, 2017

A few thoughts on traditional publishing

Now that I have turned in my page proofs for my first traditionally published book, I thought I would share with all of you some of the good and bad things I've learned.


I know most authors are self-publishing, largely due to the competitive nature of traditional publishing. I considered that for my nonfiction book as well, but because I want to get it in the hands of medical professionals, I knew it needed the gravitas of being traditionally published, preferably by a science or medical publisher. Amazingly, the second publisher I queried accepted the book and for the last couple of months, I have been immersed in the finalization of my book for publication.

When one self-publishes, one controls everything, which means one does everything from the writing to arranging for editing, to laying the book out and uploading it to wherever one has chosen. Marketing is all on the author as well. With the traditional route, some of this does not apply.

I probably spent at least one month reformatting my book. I had assumed the publisher would do that, and to some extent, they did, but I had to follow their very specific format for final submission. I hated doing it but I do believe it made my book better - with one exception. I had wanted sidebars in the first part of my book. They don't do sidebars. Oh, well.

Another assumption I made was that the publisher would take care of any illustrations needed. Wrong. That was on me, too. I had to purchase the rights as well as provide the illustrations. And then, I further assumed that limited color illustrations would be done. Wrong again. If I wanted color, I would have to foot the bill. Ditto for editing. Fortunately I had already had my book professionally edited.

I also thought there might be some back-and-forth on the content of my book. Perhaps some questions about my conclusions, etc. but there were none. It might be because I did such a superlative job of citing my sources, but I don't know that for sure.

I also had to provide a bio and pages of marketing leads. I expected this. My contract included signing away almost all rights with the exception of those to my first-born. It was a typical first contract, I believe, with royalties kicking in well after the cost of publication is covered and a percentage of future sales abroad. That said, I expect to make next to nothing on the book.

I spent hundreds of dollars and a year and a half of my life producing the book. I wore out a computer, a printer, several reams of paper, dozens of ink cartridges, and traveled to attend a conference related to my topic to conduct interviews all to the tune of another $1,000 or so. Thanks to my co-author, I did not have to pay for the academic papers I consulted. Otherwise, at $40 a pop, I'd have gone broke.

I didn't write the book for fame or fortune. I wrote it because I believe it needed to exist. I believe it will meet a critical need and serve people well. I do regret that the price - at $82 - is so high, but again, as the author, I had no input on that.

Now the key question: Would I do this again? I probably won't get the chance, but yes, if all the circumstances remain the same, I would still elect to publish traditionally. However, if my next book is a novel or something like a self-help book, I will go the self-published route. I think I might actually see some of the money from sales and now that I've gotten one book under my belt, I feel more confident in the formatting.

I don't think either way is always superior to the other. There are benefits and drawbacks to both. Traditional comes with greater status and perhaps, in some circumstances, greater promise for future endeavors, but self-publishing offers more control, autonomy, and potentially faster returns.

So, pick your poison and publish!




Wednesday, March 22, 2017

OMG I Caught the Car!

I'm no stranger to publication. I had my first work published in my high school literary magazine at age 14.  By age 18, I was working at a daily newspaper while attending college, regularly getting published.  Since then I have written all manner of work: feature stories for newspapers and magazines, grants, public relations stuff, op-eds, speeches, you name it, I've written it.

But this week I caught the car: a traditional publishing contract for my book!  I am stunned and pleased beyond words, which is ironic, but clearly not true as I am writing this now.

My book is a nonfiction work on genetics.  I am hopeful it will help the families and doctors who must deal with a certain class of disorders not well understood.  I took a year to painstakingly write this book and a science publisher picked it up this week.

I can die happy.  I won't make much money but that was never the point.  The point has always been to provide much-needed
information to those who need it.

So yay!

Monday, March 6, 2017

On Being Nasty

I am a writer, a mother, a grandmother, a feminist, an activist, a potter, a human being.  As a writer I raise my voice to support other women and other groups in need of a voice.  I am proud to be included in this anthology and it is a great read.  Give it to your daughters, your granddaughters, your husbands, and boyfriends, your mothers, and fathers. All proceeds support Planned Parenthood.


Thursday, March 2, 2017

The Divided States of America

There is a fundamental divide between many Americans.  This goes deeper than who is president at any time.  It goes to how we see our country; what we think it should represent; and how to accomplish much of what we want.  Since its inception, Americans have been able to navigate these stormy waters without sinking, but recent events put this in question.

On the left, Americans see a big tent welcoming those of other nationalities, gender preferences, races, and economic status. They see a strong federal government regulating industry for the good of the people over the tycoons’ economic welfare.  They want education and healthcare to be available to all at a cost that is affordable.  They believe in separation of church and state and see harm when that wall is weakened.  They are often the college-educated, less religious, and more mobile in society.

On the right, Americans see a country that needs to protect itself from those outside.  This includes both foreigners/immigrants and domestics who are not like themselves: not white, not Christian, not straight.  They see more value in states’ rights, preserving unto themselves the right to determine what happens in their localities.  They believe strongly in the power of prayer and God and strive to keep this value front and center in all things private and public.  They believe everyone gets what they deserve and work for and nothing more.  They are often rural, more rooted to their homes and less educated. 

Like siblings, each group has carved out an area that they view as theirs alone.  The left touts the benefits of science and education; the right relies on faith and family.  Yet neither is the sole purview of either.  For scientists and teachers have families they love and things in which they believe and farmers rely on both science and education for their agricultural advances.  Everyone gets sick.  Everyone gets old.  Misfortunes fall on left and right equally. 

This America has a code put in place at its unlikely founding.  It is not an infallible tome, rather it is a living document that reflects both the wisdom of our founders and the changing needs and moral compass of its citizens. Our Constitution has served us well and we ignore it at our own risk. 


Wednesday, February 8, 2017

On being kind

I believe in being kind.  I think kindness can change the world. Without it, very little matters.

I take in strays, both the four-legged and two-legged.  I do it because they are hungry or homeless or so beaten down they cannot look after themselves.  I adopt the unadoptable.  I place the more winsome in excellent homes. I believe it is my responsibility as a human being to do this.

Right now, in my driveway, a stray cat eats the cat food I gave it. It has a story.  It was born into the family directly across the street from me.  When the high-as-a-kite, middle-aged son beat his aged mother, breaking her leg and slamming her head into the wall, both were taken away, she to a nursing home and he to jail.  Friends came and took their possessions and even their dog, but missed the cat.  For weeks he has been haunting the empty house, growing skinnier every day.  The situation is sad and entirely out of my control, but my humanity demands I be at least kind to this left-behind creature.

Last night, the man who cut my hedges some weeks ago came by, telling me he had lost his housing. I told him that due to the unseasonably warm weather, my grass needs cutting.  He promised to borrow a lawn mower and I gave him some money. That will allow him to stay at a shelter for a few nights.  Yes, it will also buy him some cigarettes and maybe even a bottle.  My job is not to police him, but to be kind.

I twice allowed homeless women to share my home for months on end.  I like to think my kindness made a difference in their lives. I lost track of one and the other died on Christmas last year from the illness that was responsible for her poverty and homelessness.

Why do I do this? Why not call animal control?  Why not direct needy people to some agency better prepared to help them?  Why? Because if I do not help where I can, I become less.  Most animals collected by animal control will die.  Most people who cycle through agencies fall through the social system cracks.  They may be judged too old, too young, too healthy, too something for aid. They are told to go somewhere else with no means to get there. They are pushed away to be someone else's problem.  I know this, and if knowing this, I do not help, I become less compassionate, less human.

It costs nothing to allow someone in line behind you with a few items to go ahead of you.  It is cheap to add a dollar to the paper you buy from a street vendor in the cold, or the heat, or the rain.  It is nothing to pay the library fine for someone ahead of you who came unprepared for the small fee.  But for that person, it may make their day.  Someone who felt invisible will feel acknowledged and valued.  One never knows when another person may be ready to give up.  Sometimes, simply speaking to another is enough.

Sometimes kindness is welcomed and sometimes it is viewed with suspicion.  Be kind anyway.  Sometimes kindness pays dividends and sometimes it is wasted.  Be kind anyway.  Be kind, not because you desire kindness in return, but because you aspire to better, to be more than you are at this moment.

Kindness does not require that one become a doormat, or set aside one's opinions, or become impoverished on the part of another. It does not require great riches or bravery. Kindness requires only empathy.

Thursday, December 22, 2016

Outgrowing our Pants

I must preface this post by telling you that I am an old radical from the 60s.  I marched, protested, was gassed, bailed out friends who were arrested, and more. I attended a hotbed college in the heart of Washington DC.  I had friends in the Weathermen.  I knew Black Panthers.  I was against the draft and the war in Vietnam.  I was for civil rights. I was a feminist in the Mad Men days.

We once fought about the peace sign.
Some called it a broken cross and
disrespectful to Christians.  
I will also tell you that after the 60s I became a wife and mother. I got a job.  I got a divorce. I was a single mother raising two daughters.  I belonged to churches, baked cookies, and attended school plays. In short, I lived a more or less regular life. I was still a feminist.

Now, I am old. I spent my professional career observing and writing about things.  I cannot seem to stop.  So, this is what I observe now.

The election of trump (lower case intentional) is destined to bring out the best and the worst in us.  I’m not talking here about how he has lined his cabinet with white nationalists (aka racists) or how the repugs in Congress seem blind to the danger this man poses to our country.  No.  I am talking about the women who oppose all this.

A couple weeks before the election, a friend added me to Pantsuit Nation, a FaceBook group started to encourage women to show solidarity on election day by wearing pantsuits – a nod to our candidate. What fun! I thought.  After the election results, I was pleased to see this group morph quickly into one that mobilized to preserve women’s rights.  Still, I knew what was coming.

And here it is.  FaceBook is exploding with rival factions within the many groups that are either subgroups of Pantsuit Nation or splinter groups.  I knew this would happen.  It always does.  It’s not just with groups of women, it is with all groups.  It is the very reason that up until the election I have resisted joining any group.  I gave up church long ago (those split, too, BTW).  I don’t even do book clubs.  Essentially, I hate the whole group thing.  I am at heart an individualist, independent to my core.  I struggled as a student and as a parent of students to conform to the educational groups.  I was lousy at the whole religion thing.  Even my radical college split because some people were judged not radical enough.
 
I say all this to share my perspective.  This shit happens. It almost makes no difference if it is about a book deal or difference in philosophy. If it is not treason or a felony, I'm too old to waste my limited energy swatting at flies while I battle the dragon. Even that statement is inflammatory, I know. Do what you will with it. I saw this coming and joined anyway.  And this time, I’m staying.  I belong to a number of these groups.  I will never agree with all of them, especially not all the time.  But I will work my ass off and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with anyone, man or woman, black or white, willing to go up against the rising tide of American fascism.  There will be pettiness.  There will be backbiting.  There will be self-serving and breast-beating.

I don’t care. There.  I said it.  You can look down your well-powdered, middleclass, white nose at my poverty and ask why I didn’t save more.  You can point your black chin at me and accuse me of enjoying my white privilege. You can pray for me or condemn me to hell for being an atheist. I don’t care. I am not out to change anyone or seek anyone’s approval.  I am here simply to work. You don’t have to agree with me at every point and I don’t have to share your exact viewpoint.  But we do have to work together, or if not together, at least against our common enemy, instead of against each other. 

The fact is, I like the energy and passion I see. I haven’t seen this for decades. Once I sat in smoky rooms debating such philosophy and strategy. Passion is bound to spill over into hurt and anger a bit.  Be passionate!  If you are sick of people not talking frankly about race, by all means, talk about race. Force the issue.  If you see someone taking advantage of our movement, speak up.  Just please, keep your focus on the reason we are here.  We stand to lose our reproductive rights, our voting rights, our civil rights. These are the very rights for which we fought in the 50s and 60s and 70s.  We want to block alignment with those behind the atrocities in Aleppo and at Standing Rock.  We want to be on the right side of history and not lose sight of the goal while working out the details.

This isn’t about pantsuits, or safety pins, or which group is pure.
 This is about our lives, our children’s and grandchildren’s lives.  This is about the preservation of our country.  This is about moving forward, not back.  So, bicker all you like. I'm no one's apologist and I’m not going anywhere.