If I thought the weekend would bring me repose and rest from the heavy work week I'd survived, I was wrong. After getting my press kit finished, I had Lynette's to build.
On Saturday we took photos for our kits; I'm not in any way photogenic. Never have been. I have weird angles and large features, so I always hate seeing pictures of myself. I think they came out nice, though. I don't know why they did. Maybe we were just in the right mood or something.
The hardest thing for me was putting on the makeup. Back in the 1960s and '70s I wore a lot of makeup, but I quit many years ago. I just don't like the feel of it on my skin, and I really don't like not being able to rub an eye or scratch a cheek, if need be. It's a hassle, but I have to admit I don't look so old when I have that crap on my face. Which has caused me to rethink things. Maybe I'll start wearing it again, like when we go out, or when people come over. We'll see. Now if I could just lose about 15 or 20 pounds...
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Rare Weekend Post
No, I know that has nothing to do with this post, but I thought it would grab your attention. How cheap is that? I seldom blog over the weekend, but I think I feel a second wind coming on where blogging is concerned. Better make an entry before I find something to distract me.
I was over at Neil Gaiman's Journal and read that he sometimes wonders if he'll meet his characters when he dies. I've often thought about that myself, but unlike Neil, who thinks about being confronted by those he never gave life to, I wonder if I'll suddenly find myself outside a set of tall gates thinking, "Gee, these look kinda familiar," only to realize I'm at Chadwicke Park. That would be pretty cool, actually, because I'd love to spend a few hundred years partying with Tuppence and that lot. Better than spending eternity in church singing "Holy, Holy, Holy". Oh, no! Look! A bullet list!
Great photo, Cynthia.
I was over at Neil Gaiman's Journal and read that he sometimes wonders if he'll meet his characters when he dies. I've often thought about that myself, but unlike Neil, who thinks about being confronted by those he never gave life to, I wonder if I'll suddenly find myself outside a set of tall gates thinking, "Gee, these look kinda familiar," only to realize I'm at Chadwicke Park. That would be pretty cool, actually, because I'd love to spend a few hundred years partying with Tuppence and that lot. Better than spending eternity in church singing "Holy, Holy, Holy". Oh, no! Look! A bullet list!
- Ever since Google updated Chrome earlier in the month, my browser freezes up on me a few times a day. This pisses me off because I didn't consent to the upgrade, and I can't go get the previous version. I mean, I did, but when I tried to install it, it wouldn't let me. I hate to go back to Fire Fox, which is so much slower, so I'll probably just
whine and moandeal with it until they sort out yet another fix.
- I wish I could be one of those people who like gluten-free wheat products and tofurkey. I really do. Whenever my vegan friends post pictures of their food on Facebook, they look so blissful, smiling up at the heavens and twirling under a blue sky. And the comments they leave for each other—you can almost hear the lip-smacking and salivation. It's like they get high off of it. Do they really like it as much as they tell each other they do, or do they go to the supermarket at 3 am and buy, say, an evil loaf of white bread, or Frosted Flakes? Most of them can afford that kind of diet because they're single, or are single parents of one child, or are married with no kids. I'm not judging—I really wish I could be like that—but even if I could afford it, I doubt that I'd be happy eating what looks basically to me like bird seed and field weeds slathered in tile grout. I've tried several times to like that kind of diet, but I have to face it: I just don't.
- Ever since I was forced to put my comments on moderate, they've suffered a sharp decline. If this goes on, I'll be forced to open up this blog again to flying monkeys and marauding trolls. Please don't make me do this.
- I see that since I changed the template for this blog, the pictures I select oh, so carefully to grab your interest when they show up on your bloglist, aren't showing up there. WTF?
- Now, back to that photo up there. It was composed by a woman named Cynthia. Here's what she says about it: "My entry for MEgolddust contest. The contest is to listen to the song spark by Tori Amos (You Say You Don't Want It) and create a piece of art inspired by it. To me this song spoke of addiction... wanting something you don't want to want."
Great photo, Cynthia.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Publishing Your Book Isn't About You
(Repost from my SK Waller blog.)
There's a lot of discussion and, often, shouting, about the book vs. ebook revolution. I'm older. I've spent my entire life building my personal library, and I hate to see books go the way of vinyl records or even CDs. The smell of a leather bound edition, the feel of the paper and the gilt edging is something I ardently love. I love reading a book, of holding it, and sometimes writing notes in the margins. I love bookmarks and bookplates, damn it.
I held fast to this sentimentality until someone showed me the actual numbers, and I realized that how I prefer to read has absolutely nothing to do with how I publish my own books. Ebooks comprise 30 percent of all book sales, and those numbers are quickly rising. Did I say quickly? It's a tsunami, folks. Get to higher ground, or be washed out to sea with all of those other writers who refuse to adapt.
Back when I assiduously shopped my manuscript to publishers and agents (before I decided to go indie, but that's another blog entry), I often spent $75 in postage to overseas addresses just to have my manuscript end up in the slush pile. I liked having that manuscript in my hand, of putting it lovingly in the cardboard box made exclusively for it, and taking it to the post office, proudly putting it on the counter. I liked that the address said The Bloomsbury Group, Simon & Schuster, or Alfred Knopf. And I paid for that feeling. Some people eat; I mailed manuscripts.
Ten years later I got serious. I quit the writer klatches (online and off), of sitting in bookstore cafes "looking" and "feeling like a writer, and I wrote. Did I ever write! I realized that readers want to read, and they want to read now. They don't care about how you like to read, they care about what you write. They don't care if you like to curl up with a book, a crisp, juicy apple and a cup of tea. Most of them don't read there. Most of them read on the train to and from work, in waiting rooms, or at the gym. Most don't sit at home like I do, with all the time in the world. They're commuting. They're going to after-school ball games they're not interested in. They're busy. Trust me, when they go to bed at night, they're too tired to sit and read; there aren't enough hours in the day.
If you're strictly a reader and not a writer, then it's your call. Stick to what you enjoy. We write for you, after all. But if you're a writer who wants to be read, your reading preference doesn't really count. And if you are a writer and you're lucky enough to get signed by a publisher, your work is going to go digital anyway. That's a given. So again, sentimentality doesn't matter here.
The thing is, writing the book is about you. That's where the art is. Publishing is about the public. Once you publish your book, it belongs to them.
I'd be a liar if I told you I'm not interested in selling copy, but the larger reason that I write is simply to be read. To achieve this, I have to give up the ghost where the reading public is concerned and give them what they want. Privately, I'll curl up with my favorite books, and my apple, and my cup of tea.
There's a lot of discussion and, often, shouting, about the book vs. ebook revolution. I'm older. I've spent my entire life building my personal library, and I hate to see books go the way of vinyl records or even CDs. The smell of a leather bound edition, the feel of the paper and the gilt edging is something I ardently love. I love reading a book, of holding it, and sometimes writing notes in the margins. I love bookmarks and bookplates, damn it.
I held fast to this sentimentality until someone showed me the actual numbers, and I realized that how I prefer to read has absolutely nothing to do with how I publish my own books. Ebooks comprise 30 percent of all book sales, and those numbers are quickly rising. Did I say quickly? It's a tsunami, folks. Get to higher ground, or be washed out to sea with all of those other writers who refuse to adapt.
Back when I assiduously shopped my manuscript to publishers and agents (before I decided to go indie, but that's another blog entry), I often spent $75 in postage to overseas addresses just to have my manuscript end up in the slush pile. I liked having that manuscript in my hand, of putting it lovingly in the cardboard box made exclusively for it, and taking it to the post office, proudly putting it on the counter. I liked that the address said The Bloomsbury Group, Simon & Schuster, or Alfred Knopf. And I paid for that feeling. Some people eat; I mailed manuscripts.
Ten years later I got serious. I quit the writer klatches (online and off), of sitting in bookstore cafes "looking" and "feeling like a writer, and I wrote. Did I ever write! I realized that readers want to read, and they want to read now. They don't care about how you like to read, they care about what you write. They don't care if you like to curl up with a book, a crisp, juicy apple and a cup of tea. Most of them don't read there. Most of them read on the train to and from work, in waiting rooms, or at the gym. Most don't sit at home like I do, with all the time in the world. They're commuting. They're going to after-school ball games they're not interested in. They're busy. Trust me, when they go to bed at night, they're too tired to sit and read; there aren't enough hours in the day.
If you're strictly a reader and not a writer, then it's your call. Stick to what you enjoy. We write for you, after all. But if you're a writer who wants to be read, your reading preference doesn't really count. And if you are a writer and you're lucky enough to get signed by a publisher, your work is going to go digital anyway. That's a given. So again, sentimentality doesn't matter here.
The thing is, writing the book is about you. That's where the art is. Publishing is about the public. Once you publish your book, it belongs to them.
"Ebooks and indie publishing are going to rescue the art of writing. Why do you think you're being told to limit your wordcount by cutting adverbs and adjectives? It's not to make you a better writer, it's to cut the costs of ink and paper. Publishing an ebook costs nothing. It's a computer file. Don't tell me all this about better writing; most of the publishers out there have degrees in business and marketing, not English Lit. And the agents aren't going to care about your art, they have to bend to the publishers so that they can make their cut. Do we consider Virginia Woolf or Mark Twain bad writers? Bullshit. It's about the publishers' bottom line, not about your art." Lynette ErwinI especially like what Lynette said about the indie revolution rescuing the art of writing because I can see that happening already, not only in the written word, but in music as well. My youngest son, Micah Atwell, belongs to a huge, global network of indie composers and musicians who write, record, produce, and market their own work, and it's so much better than what's on the radio these days. It's not cookie cutter music dressed up in crotch-grabbing, pouty-lipped sexuality, it's art.
I'd be a liar if I told you I'm not interested in selling copy, but the larger reason that I write is simply to be read. To achieve this, I have to give up the ghost where the reading public is concerned and give them what they want. Privately, I'll curl up with my favorite books, and my apple, and my cup of tea.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
A Wine Repost
I don't drink wine very much any more. Well, compared to some of you, I probably drink more, but really, I only have wine in the house these days when we can afford it, which is about once a month. Anyway, I bought a bottle of cheap chianti and I'm enjoying it very much, thank you. In celebration, I thought I'd repost a blog entry I made some time back. Here it is:
Chianti and I have a very special relationship. I'm not even quite sure when it began, but I think it was in Laurel Canyon one night when I and several other people sat on a livingroom floor playing guitars and singing songs for each other while enveloped in plumes of incense and illuminated by silken, flickering candlelight.
Through the years, Chianti has juiced my creativity more times than I can count. Poems, songs, and journal entries have been inspired by her and short-lived love affairs have been forged by her. I cannot imagine my life story without her.
Although she has lately begun to tickle my sinuses and make me sniff and snuffle when I drink her, she has not lost her poetic hold on me. Nothing sets me into a flight of verbosity quite like she does. I don't drink her often, but when I do I always wonder why I forsake her for obsequious whites or flippant reds who want only to be her.
And so tonight as I sit sipping a glass or three, I dedicate this post to the red-blooded muse who resides so passionately within the basket bottle, waiting to be set free upon the hapless artist.
Chianti and I have a very special relationship. I'm not even quite sure when it began, but I think it was in Laurel Canyon one night when I and several other people sat on a livingroom floor playing guitars and singing songs for each other while enveloped in plumes of incense and illuminated by silken, flickering candlelight.
Through the years, Chianti has juiced my creativity more times than I can count. Poems, songs, and journal entries have been inspired by her and short-lived love affairs have been forged by her. I cannot imagine my life story without her.
Although she has lately begun to tickle my sinuses and make me sniff and snuffle when I drink her, she has not lost her poetic hold on me. Nothing sets me into a flight of verbosity quite like she does. I don't drink her often, but when I do I always wonder why I forsake her for obsequious whites or flippant reds who want only to be her.
And so tonight as I sit sipping a glass or three, I dedicate this post to the red-blooded muse who resides so passionately within the basket bottle, waiting to be set free upon the hapless artist.
“We are all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine.”
(Eduardo Galeano)
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Changes
After changing the template and futzing with the masthead, I began going through all my posts to clean out any images that were lost somehow, and to weed through the one-line, nothing posts. Because this blog is nearly ten years old, that took me a couple of days. And I still didn't throw out as much crap as I could have. Someday I'll have to do that.
I read a few posts while I was at it, and I couldn't help but notice how much my "voice" has changed through the years. The change is good. I'm not the snark beast I tried to be in the past and, since I started steering clear of politics, the overall tone is much happier. This tells me that I'm happier. That negative crap never really suited me anyway--it was just a defense mechanism I'd created after coming out that last relationship. But that was a long time ago, wasn't it.
Anyway, I've spent most of tonight searching for screenshots and mastheads that this blog has worn through the years. A lot are missing, but here are a few you might remember:
I know there were others, like the pale blue one that had the cartoon of the guy with a caffeine drip in his arm. Then there was a beachy looking one for summer. My very first blog (which I hosted from my own server and built in Frontpage) was deep royal blue and had stars in the sidebars.
If I come across any others, I'll let you know.
I read a few posts while I was at it, and I couldn't help but notice how much my "voice" has changed through the years. The change is good. I'm not the snark beast I tried to be in the past and, since I started steering clear of politics, the overall tone is much happier. This tells me that I'm happier. That negative crap never really suited me anyway--it was just a defense mechanism I'd created after coming out that last relationship. But that was a long time ago, wasn't it.
Anyway, I've spent most of tonight searching for screenshots and mastheads that this blog has worn through the years. A lot are missing, but here are a few you might remember:
This was my very first Wordpress template.
It lasted a while, but I tired of WP very quickly.
This--and a number of variations of it--was the most popular masthead.
I always liked this one, but no one else did, so I dumped it.
I scarcely remember this one.
And I don't even remember this. I think that was
back when I was drinking too much wine.
This one didn't last long, either.
I created this one just for summer one year.
I remember this. I remember that I grew to really dislike it.
This one is pretty recent.You may remember that I changed
the items on the shelf according to the closest holiday.
And this was the last one. It's my favorite and may show up again.
I know there were others, like the pale blue one that had the cartoon of the guy with a caffeine drip in his arm. Then there was a beachy looking one for summer. My very first blog (which I hosted from my own server and built in Frontpage) was deep royal blue and had stars in the sidebars.
If I come across any others, I'll let you know.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Be Prepared
I'm seriously contemplating lightening up this blog's look. Just thought you should know.
Later...
Please be patient. I'm working on it.
Even later...
Not thrilled with the masthead. I'll probably make a couple until I get one I like. Actually, I have one that is a collage of pictures of myself through the decades. Would it look to ego-centric to use that, I wonder...
Later, even...
Whoa! That's a whole lot of me up there! [cringe] Well, I'll keep it for a bit and see what I think. If nothing else, it'll piss off a few people...
So much later, it isn't even funny: Okay, I made a new masthead with the "tools" of my trade included. I can live with this one.
Thanks for all your input. You guys are the best!
Later...
Please be patient. I'm working on it.
Even later...
Not thrilled with the masthead. I'll probably make a couple until I get one I like. Actually, I have one that is a collage of pictures of myself through the decades. Would it look to ego-centric to use that, I wonder...
Later, even...
Whoa! That's a whole lot of me up there! [cringe] Well, I'll keep it for a bit and see what I think. If nothing else, it'll piss off a few people...
So much later, it isn't even funny: Okay, I made a new masthead with the "tools" of my trade included. I can live with this one.
Thanks for all your input. You guys are the best!
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Morning Things
Here are the things I really cannot start my morning without. My yearbook from the Chelsea Arts Club (a gift I received from Tobiah) and my mala beads.
Of course, the obligatory cup of coffee goes without saying.
Of course, the obligatory cup of coffee goes without saying.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Flying, Hovering, Occasionally Landing
My days have gotten kind of busy this week. Now that my book is out there, I'm spending my daytime hours finding ways to market it, and there are a lot.
I love this part of the creative process. When I was an entertainer, I acted as my own manager. I booked gigs and schmoozed, and had a great time doing it. I'm discovering that marketing a book about rock and roll is really no different that marketing the music itself.
Plus, I've been writing things for the Boomers and Books blog while working on my second book, so I haven't had much time to drop a post in here. I do come in, though, and check things out. Not many comments, but that's what I get, I guess.
I do visit your blogs, so don't feel neglected. Sometimes I leave a comment and sometimes I don't, but I'm there every morning while drinking my coffee, just as I always was.
I love this part of the creative process. When I was an entertainer, I acted as my own manager. I booked gigs and schmoozed, and had a great time doing it. I'm discovering that marketing a book about rock and roll is really no different that marketing the music itself.
Plus, I've been writing things for the Boomers and Books blog while working on my second book, so I haven't had much time to drop a post in here. I do come in, though, and check things out. Not many comments, but that's what I get, I guess.
I do visit your blogs, so don't feel neglected. Sometimes I leave a comment and sometimes I don't, but I'm there every morning while drinking my coffee, just as I always was.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Dreams Do Come True
Well, kind of. Way back when girls were screaming at the Beatles, keeping me from really hearing the music, I used to say, "I don't want to marry a Beatle, I want to be a Beatle." Now, thanks to FaceInHole.com, that dream has come true. It is now John, Paul, George, and Bergo.
And yes, I do play drums, thank you veddy mooch. I come from three generations of drummers.
And yes, I do play drums, thank you veddy mooch. I come from three generations of drummers.
Colder than a Satanic Sea Monkey's Uncle
Are you kidding me? Minus 19 degrees, feeling like minus 34? Did you know that there are parts of Oklahoma that are colder than the South Pole today? (Hat tip to Ville for that bit of info.)
Fortunately, I can stay indoors where it's warm, with the cat cuddled around my feet. Although this cottage is old and has its problems, frozen pipes is not one of them.
I think the kettle will be singing regularly throughout the day.
Stay warm everyone!
Fortunately, I can stay indoors where it's warm, with the cat cuddled around my feet. Although this cottage is old and has its problems, frozen pipes is not one of them.
I think the kettle will be singing regularly throughout the day.
Stay warm everyone!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Snow Devils!
No, not that kind.
No, not that either.
That's the one.
We have them all over the place today, thanks to the, perhaps, foot of dry, powdery snow we got overnight. And it's still coming down.
When you've been basically snowed in for a week, little things amuse you.
Has anyone else been having trouble with Blogger lately? When I'm in the dashboard, the resolution is huge and clunky looking. I notice the dashboard is also taking a long time to load.
Has anyone else been having trouble with Blogger lately? When I'm in the dashboard, the resolution is huge and clunky looking. I notice the dashboard is also taking a long time to load.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Cry, Guitar, Cry
From the BBC:
The renowned rock guitarist Gary Moore has died in a hotel room in Spain. Mr Moore, 58, was, originally from Belfast, and was a former member of the legendary Irish group Thin Lizzy. Adam Parsons, who manages Thin Lizzy, told the BBC that Mr Moore had died in the early hours of Sunday morning.
Mr Moore was originally drafted into Thin Lizzy by its singer Phil Lynott. He later gained acclaim for his solo work and was a former member of the Irish group Skid Row. The Northern Ireland guitarist was only 16 when he moved from Belfast to Dublin in 1969, to join Skid Row, which featured Lynott as lead vocalist. He was later brought into Thin Lizzy by Lynott to replace the departing Eric Bell, another guitarist from Northern Ireland. Mr Bell told the BBC on Sunday he was still "in shock" at Mr Moore's death.
"I still can't believe it," he said. "He was so robust, he wasn't a rock casualty, he was a healthy guy."
The renowned rock guitarist Gary Moore has died in a hotel room in Spain. Mr Moore, 58, was, originally from Belfast, and was a former member of the legendary Irish group Thin Lizzy. Adam Parsons, who manages Thin Lizzy, told the BBC that Mr Moore had died in the early hours of Sunday morning.
Mr Moore was originally drafted into Thin Lizzy by its singer Phil Lynott. He later gained acclaim for his solo work and was a former member of the Irish group Skid Row. The Northern Ireland guitarist was only 16 when he moved from Belfast to Dublin in 1969, to join Skid Row, which featured Lynott as lead vocalist. He was later brought into Thin Lizzy by Lynott to replace the departing Eric Bell, another guitarist from Northern Ireland. Mr Bell told the BBC on Sunday he was still "in shock" at Mr Moore's death.
"I still can't believe it," he said. "He was so robust, he wasn't a rock casualty, he was a healthy guy."
Friday, February 4, 2011
Who's Complaining About the Snow?
A lot of folks seem to be complaining about the snow, and with good reason, but in times like this (it's started in again here in Stillwater) I like to look to people who have it a whole lot worse. Take these photos, for instance. All images enlarge.
Hat tip to Lynn for the link!
For more photos, click here!
Hat tip to Lynn for the link!
For more photos, click here!
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