Yesterday, I spent most of my afternoon swearing at someone.
Oh, not to their face. I was here, at my computer, going cross-eyed, trying to fix the *!@*ing mess someone had sent me for the next Spinetingler. Not someone just submitting a story for consideration, but someone submitting their edits back.
Someone who clearly didn't think the submission guidelines were anything more than constructive suggestions, to take or leave at their own discretion.
I've gotten used to it. No matter how many time you say "DON'T DO X" someone will do it.
No matter how many times you say, "WE PAY THROUGH PAYPAL" someone will tell us after their story is printed that they don't have paypal and want a cheque. (Which they won't get, btw. TFB. If we had to get Spinetingler cheques done and incur banking fees on top of postage, we'd spend a lot more money on Spinetingler... and we'd rather raise the rate of pay for the writers. Not to mention occasionally give our editors something for their trouble.)
But then, after grinding my teeth and uttering oaths until I felt fairly certain whatever is left of my soul is safely beyond redemption, I'm reminded of why we do this.
Because when Miss Snark is referencing you alongside some of the best magazines out there and saying she likes you, you realize all that hard work might just help someone land a book deal.
A stepping stone on someone's journey.
I'm glad Miss Snark likes what we do. I know we've worked hard to improve the quality of Spinetingler and to put out the best material we can each issue.
Some days, it feels like a lot of work for no apparent reason. But today, I can go back to these edits with a smile.
Even if someone did indent every paragraph with the space key 5 times instead of using a bleeping tab.
New policy. If that person submits again, they have to send a voodoo doll...
Oh, and there is a fantastic interview with Pari Noskin Taichert. Be sure to check it out!
Did you see the article about same sex marriages?
Right now, I'd settle for a some sex marriage.
(Rescue Me)
Thanks Uncle Charlie
A retired corporate executive, now a widower, decided to take a vacation. He booked himself on a Caribbean cruise and proceeded to have the time of his life, that is, until the ship sank.
He found himself on an island with no other people, no supplies, nothing, only bananas and coconuts.
After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day when the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen rows up to the shore.
In disbelief, he asks, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?"
She replies, "I rowed from the other side of the island. I landed here when my cruise ship sank." > "Amazing," he notes. "You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you."
"Oh, this thing?" explains the woman. "I made the boat out of raw material I found on the island. The oars were whittled from gum tree branches. I wove the bottom from palm branches, and the sides and stern came from a Eucalyptus tree."
"But, where did you get the tools?"
"Oh, that was no problem," replied the woman. "On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed. I found if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into ductile iron..I used that for tools and used the tools to make the hardware."
The guy is stunned.
"Let's row over to my place," she says.
After a few minutes of rowing, she docks the boat at a small wharf.
As the man looks to shore, he nearly falls off the boat. Before him is a stone walk leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white.
While the woman ties up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck. As they walk into the house, she says casually, "It's not much, but I call it home. Sit down, please.
Would you like a drink?"
"No! No thank you," he blurts out, still dazed. "I can't take another drop of coconut juice."
"It's not coconut juice," winks the woman. "I have a still. How would you like a Pina Colada?"
Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepts, and they sit down on her couch to talk.
After they have exchanged their stories, the woman announces, "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is a razor upstairs in the bathroom cabinet."
No longer questioning anything, the man goes into the bathroom. There, in the cabinet, a razor made from a piece of tortoise bone. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside a swivel mechanism.
"This woman is amazing," he muses. "What next?"
When he returns, she greets him wearing nothing but vines, strategically positioned, and smelling faintly of gardenias. She beckons for him to sit down next to her. "Tell me," she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, "We've been out here for many months.
You've been lonely. There's something I'm sure you really feel like doing right now, something you've been longing for?" She stares into his eyes.
He can't believe what he's hearing. " You mean . . " he swallows excitedly and tears start to form in his eyes.
"Don't tell me you've built a Golf Course?"
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Friday, August 11, 2006
Bearded Wonderboy Doth Protest Too Much
Denial is a strange thing. The more someone denies an allegation, the more people wonder why they’re denying it. Imagine walking past a video store with a sign in the window that says, “We do NOT sell porn.”
I’d assume they did, or had at one point. Why assert yourself as what you allegedly aren’t? Reputable businesses assert themselves as what they are. They let the truth bear witness.
It’s almost impossible to prove a negative. Nevertheless, the Bearded Wonderboy is giving it a go. Looks like the phrase de jour is Rabid Rankin Fanatic Fan Front – I wish he’d stick with the same title. Consistency, Stuart.
But it isn’t even them he’s really taking issue with. Something about a criminal records check…
I’ve had so many criminal records checks done they’re old hat. Wait. That doesn’t sound good, does it? Bear in mind every time I had new clients or switched jobs in my career, I had to have one done. (I worked in education, for anyone who doesn't know already!)
I can see why people would want to take some precautions where Stuart’s concerned. I mean, if you’ve read his books… Even Val McDermid said she almost lost her breakfast reading Stuart’s latest. That’s why the book is called Dying Light.
Side note. You know everyone knew that Stuart was the Bearded Wonderboy, but some didn’t know the name of the Author Formerly Known As God. I’m astonished.
Anyway, Stuart once moaned that I’d stop reading his blog because I’m so famous now (Where do people get this insane idea?) and I didn't have time for him.
Then at Harrogate, every time he saw me he demanded, “More pictures of Stuart.”
So, I decided to blog about Stuart today, to prove I haven’t forgotten him. Despite the fact that my brain is completely fried. I’ve been transcribing audio interview… I will do just about anything to take a break from transcription. Even editing. If it wasn’t raining, I’d consider gardening.
And in completely unrelated news, I received a response to a query today, inviting me to submit my work. Hmmm. Wonder how long that one was out there? Obviously a while…
And blogging about Stuart gives me an excuse to post kitty pictures.
But first, jokes.
This one is courtesy of Miss Ginsu Tongue
A dedicated Teamsters' union worker was attending a convention in Las Vegas and decided to check out the local brothels. When he got to the first one, he asked the Madam, "Is this a union house?"
"No," she replied, "I'm sorry it isn't."
"Well, if I pay you $100, what cut do the girls get?"
"The house gets $80 and the girls get $20," she answered
Offended at such unfair dealings, the union man stomped off down the street in search of a more equitable, hopefully unionized shop. His search continued until finally he reached a brothel where the Madam responded, "Why yes sir, this is a union house. We observe all union rules."
The man asked, "And if I pay you $100, what cut do the girls get?"
"The girls get $80 and the house gets $20."
"That's more like it!" the union man said.
He handed the Madam $100, looked around the room, and pointed to a stunningly attractive blonde.
"I'd like her," he said.
"I'm sure you would, sir," said the Madam. Then she gestured to a 92-year old woman in the corner, "but Ethel here has 67 years seniority and according to union rules, she's next."
A Relatively Polite Joke From JT Ellison, who has a new post up at Murderati
Warning! This joke is from Stephen Allan… and involves an adult toy shop.
It's the first day of work for a new clerk at a dildo shop. The manager has been training him all day and is getting ready to leave the clerk to tend the store for the afternoon.
"Just remember," the manager says, "the white dildos are $25 and the black ones are $50."
The manager leaves and the clerk's first customer comes in.
The customer asks, "How much for the white dildo?"
The clerk says, "That's $25."
"How much for the black dildo?"
"That's $50."
"I'll take a white one."
The clerk rings up the sale.
A little while later another customer comes in.
The second customer asks, "How are the white dildos?"
The clerk says, "Well, the white ones are $25."
"And how much for the black dildos?"
"Those are $50."
"I'll take a black one."
The clerk rings up the sale.
A third customer comes into the shop.
The third customer asks, "How much for the white dildo?"
"$25."
"How much for the black dildo?"
"$50."
"And how much for the silver dildo."
"Well, that one's a $100."
"I'll take the silver one."
The clerk rings up the sale.
At the end of the day the manager returns and asks the clerk how he did.
The clerk says, "Well, I sold a white one for $25, I sold a black one for $50 and I sold my thermos for a hundred bucks!"
I’d assume they did, or had at one point. Why assert yourself as what you allegedly aren’t? Reputable businesses assert themselves as what they are. They let the truth bear witness.
It’s almost impossible to prove a negative. Nevertheless, the Bearded Wonderboy is giving it a go. Looks like the phrase de jour is Rabid Rankin Fanatic Fan Front – I wish he’d stick with the same title. Consistency, Stuart.
But it isn’t even them he’s really taking issue with. Something about a criminal records check…
I’ve had so many criminal records checks done they’re old hat. Wait. That doesn’t sound good, does it? Bear in mind every time I had new clients or switched jobs in my career, I had to have one done. (I worked in education, for anyone who doesn't know already!)
I can see why people would want to take some precautions where Stuart’s concerned. I mean, if you’ve read his books… Even Val McDermid said she almost lost her breakfast reading Stuart’s latest. That’s why the book is called Dying Light.
Side note. You know everyone knew that Stuart was the Bearded Wonderboy, but some didn’t know the name of the Author Formerly Known As God. I’m astonished.
Anyway, Stuart once moaned that I’d stop reading his blog because I’m so famous now (Where do people get this insane idea?) and I didn't have time for him.
Then at Harrogate, every time he saw me he demanded, “More pictures of Stuart.”
So, I decided to blog about Stuart today, to prove I haven’t forgotten him. Despite the fact that my brain is completely fried. I’ve been transcribing audio interview… I will do just about anything to take a break from transcription. Even editing. If it wasn’t raining, I’d consider gardening.
And in completely unrelated news, I received a response to a query today, inviting me to submit my work. Hmmm. Wonder how long that one was out there? Obviously a while…
And blogging about Stuart gives me an excuse to post kitty pictures.
But first, jokes.
This one is courtesy of Miss Ginsu Tongue
A dedicated Teamsters' union worker was attending a convention in Las Vegas and decided to check out the local brothels. When he got to the first one, he asked the Madam, "Is this a union house?"
"No," she replied, "I'm sorry it isn't."
"Well, if I pay you $100, what cut do the girls get?"
"The house gets $80 and the girls get $20," she answered
Offended at such unfair dealings, the union man stomped off down the street in search of a more equitable, hopefully unionized shop. His search continued until finally he reached a brothel where the Madam responded, "Why yes sir, this is a union house. We observe all union rules."
The man asked, "And if I pay you $100, what cut do the girls get?"
"The girls get $80 and the house gets $20."
"That's more like it!" the union man said.
He handed the Madam $100, looked around the room, and pointed to a stunningly attractive blonde.
"I'd like her," he said.
"I'm sure you would, sir," said the Madam. Then she gestured to a 92-year old woman in the corner, "but Ethel here has 67 years seniority and according to union rules, she's next."
A Relatively Polite Joke From JT Ellison, who has a new post up at Murderati
Warning! This joke is from Stephen Allan… and involves an adult toy shop.
It's the first day of work for a new clerk at a dildo shop. The manager has been training him all day and is getting ready to leave the clerk to tend the store for the afternoon.
"Just remember," the manager says, "the white dildos are $25 and the black ones are $50."
The manager leaves and the clerk's first customer comes in.
The customer asks, "How much for the white dildo?"
The clerk says, "That's $25."
"How much for the black dildo?"
"That's $50."
"I'll take a white one."
The clerk rings up the sale.
A little while later another customer comes in.
The second customer asks, "How are the white dildos?"
The clerk says, "Well, the white ones are $25."
"And how much for the black dildos?"
"Those are $50."
"I'll take a black one."
The clerk rings up the sale.
A third customer comes into the shop.
The third customer asks, "How much for the white dildo?"
"$25."
"How much for the black dildo?"
"$50."
"And how much for the silver dildo."
"Well, that one's a $100."
"I'll take the silver one."
The clerk rings up the sale.
At the end of the day the manager returns and asks the clerk how he did.
The clerk says, "Well, I sold a white one for $25, I sold a black one for $50 and I sold my thermos for a hundred bucks!"
Thursday, August 10, 2006
How To Woo and Win A Reader's Love
Many authors struggle, juggling jobs while writing, not earning enough from book sales to put food on the tables for their families.
It’s easy for struggling authors to look at those who are successful and be jealous.
“Their publisher must have pushed them hard.”
“They don’t deserve it.”
“It was easier back then…”
Yesterday, I looked at some of the complaints readers have about BSP and how authors promote themselves. Today, I’m going to share with you what they shared with me, about how authors are reaching readers.
But first, I want to address some of those murmured author complaints I’ve heard. Is it really harder now than it was ten, fifteen years ago?
When I took my first Ian Rankin book off a shelf in a bookstore to read the back, I didn’t have a clue who he was. I didn’t know if he sold well or if he was popular. Incidentally, none of his books were facing forward either. I was looking for a new author, but it was what I read on the back cover of his books that made me decide to buy The Falls, which was the first book in the Rebus series I read.
Now, I know that Ian has sold approximately 17 million books worldwide in his career. A sum not too many authors would complain about.
In fact, one a lot of authors would be envious of.
What a lot of people forget is that Ian Rankin struggled for years as an author, and was in danger of being dropped by his publisher.
How does an author go from potentially being dropped to international success? You might want to read this whole article but one thing I asked Ian about was the value of promotion and how critical it was for him to do author events, as well as the Gold Dagger award, which he won for his novel Black & Blue - how much did this help his career? What made the difference?
Ian responded, “There's no doubt the Gold Dagger had a positive effect on my sales, but I've heard from other winners that it doesn't always work with such potency. My feeling is that a lot of things 'clicked' at much the same time: me relocating to UK, meaning I was able to do bookshop and library signings/talks, media interviews, etc., my backlist coming back into print (as) several of the early books had been very hard to find and my publisher finding a great new look for the jackets.”
Does he think it’s harder for authors to promote themselves now?
“In some ways I'd say the situation is actually better now than it was, in that new writers can use the internet to garner publicity, and as an outlet for their work. Back in the bad old days, it was really hard to access an audience without actually traipsing all over the country trying to meet them in bookshops, libraries, etc. These days, author websites can do at least some of the groundwork, and can get new authors noticed by publishers. There are also e-zines, etc where new writers can get work 'published' - just as well, since old fashioned literary mags, such as the ones where my work was first published, are closing by the day...
“Also, crime fiction, in the UK, is a 'sexy' genre right now, which it wasn’t in the mid 1980s when I started. Publishers are actively looking for new crime writers. Great news for the genre!”
It’s always nice when someone mentions the value of ezines to someone who runs one…
Part of the reason I was interested in looking at this topic is that I don’t want to look back five years from now and feel like I’ve sold my soul to survive. I used to joke that I was going to get the name of my book/website url stitched across the ass of my jeans, with bookmarks free for the taking in one pocket and business cards in the other.
And that all t-shirts should be printed with your info across your chest.
Very good for appealing to the male reader, anyway.
But last night I was watching one of the Harrogate sessions, The Great Gender Debate, and one of the things mentioned was that something like 70% of book buyers are women.
And then it gets more specific. More women in their fourties and up.
Some debate that their husbands read the books their wives buy, so readers aren’t just women. I would agree – Kevin reads my books. Although he buys some of his own. He’s been on an Ayn Rand kick, which is interesting, because I used one of her books as source info for an essay I did back in grade 12.
Ooops, sidetrack, sorry. Point is, having my info across my backside and my chest will hardly appeal to most women…
Yesterday, I came to the conclusion it was impossible to please everyone. This is true. But after reading reader comments, I think it is possible to reach readers without losing yourself along the way and turning into a one-man (or woman) marketing machine who lives, eats, sleeps, breathes self promotion.
Authors, I encourage you to read my post here yesterday, and also at Killer Year. But I especially encourage you to read Pari Noskin Taichert’s post on the topic of PR. Pari knows more about promotion than I do, and her posts at Murderati are always insightful.
Well, so are all the posts from the entire Murderati gang. Some days, I think my blog should just be auto-directed over there.
But before you start clicking on links, take a minute to see what the readers had to say about promotional efforts that worked for them. Oh, and then I’m going to announce the ARC winner.
Now, what do readers say? How are they discovering new authors?
“Several things, reviews sometimes, word of mouth,cover blurbs and of course recommendations on DorothyL from people who have "like taste" to mine.” – AP
“Because I collect signed 1st editions, I buy most of my books from Poisoned Pen in Scottsdale. They provide an excellent monthly catalogue, and email, that describes books and often offers the stores comments. I have found many excellent authors, both American and English, through them.” – LJ
“I like to give new authors from the small presses a shot when reading for pleasure. Find that diamond in the rough so to speak.” – Del Tinsley
“What motivates me to try a new writer… Recommendations by those who seem to share my taste on Dorothy L. Seeing, handling, being attracted by the book on my library's "New Books" shelves. I read the first couple of pages. I am careful about reading the flyleaf and back cover, though, which frequently contain spoilers ("When her best friend dies in a mysterious accident" -- although that doesn't happen until three chapters in, for instance -- dampens my enjoyment of the storytelling.)Recommendations by friends in my local circle of reading friends. Need. Sometimes I seem to have read "everything" by the writers I like and am in between new books. Airport desperation. For example, for some reason, I was never attracted to try Lee Child's books until I was caught before a cross-country flight having read my planned, faster-than-expected book. I picked up a couple of Jack Reacher books in the airport (I knew his name from DL) and was very surprised to fall in love with them. I'm trying to read all of them now.” – Terry
“Sometimes what I read on DL. Other times what a friend gives/lends me or reccommends. Sometimes what an author may say or do.” Patricia M. Jones
“Best BSP is when someone on the list is funny and I figure he/she will have humor in their book. OR when someone whose opinion I respect reviews a book I haven't read, I often decide to give it a try.” – Lonnie Cruse (Geez Lonnie, I don’t think I have a link to you yet…)
Stina Branson shares a specific example, and general ways she’s influenced to try something new.
“Author Linda Moore is known as WhiteRaven13 in the BookCrossing forums. She's a fascinating lady and a true member of the BookCrossing community. She chats with us like she would any of her friends, not as a potential market share. She contributes to the conversations started by others. She's been instrumental in the development of the BookCrossing Top 100, an opportunity for BookCrossers to make up our very own "favorite reads" list. So when she announced her (self-published) novel, Rhaeva, we were all excited for her. Linda shared a copy of her new book with some of us through what is known as a "bookring," which permitted all of us reading the same copy to discuss it with each other online. I enjoyed it so much that I bought a copy to give to my mother-in-law.
“What makes me take a chance on a new (to me) author? Well, I don't mean to imply that an author has to be my friend and chat with me to get me to read her book. But if you are talking about shelling out $8 to $30 for a brand-new book (as opposed to borrowing a copy from the library, which I'll do on any old whim), I need some sort of personal "connectedness" to the author or the story. Maybe I heard the author speak at a con and was really intrigued. Maybe the author makes interesting posts on DL or BookCrossing. Maybe a trusted friend specifically recommended the book or author to me. And that happens a *lot* on BookCrossing. Shadow of the Wind has been recommended to me by numerous BookCrossing friends, so the last time I was at my favorite independent bookstore and had some cash, I fell under Zafón's spell and paid full retail price for a brand.”
“Give-aways are always a winner for me. If I like the author, I then make sure to buy one or two books so s/he will stay published.” Jane Cohen
“I go to a lot of signings at my local independent bookstore. I usually read something from the library to see if I like their style before deciding to go and purchase something. I don't think I have ever not bought something if I went but even if I didn't go, I did read something. I'm also drawn by a really good cover or title. Doesn't mean I'll buy it but I will pick it up and read the flap. I can also be suckered into picking up a book that has a blurb by another author I really like. Again, it doesn't mean I'll buy it but it does get into my hands. rely on recommendations from DorothyL and from the owners of my bookstore who know my taste in books. They are honest enough to tell me if a book is good or not knowing what I like. I have received postcards in the mail which general are not read. I do read, and use, bookmarks given to me at the store. Huh, I never realized that until just now.” – KR
“The best strategies that get me to read a new work are: reviews by critics I respect, meeting and liking the author via a panel at a convention such as Bouchercon and/or humorous and intelligent postings on DL. I read Jeff Cohen's work because he's such a great poster and so amusing. It's not my cup of tea, but I've recommended his work to others who might like it and I wouldn't do that if I didn't think he was a good author. Most marketing strategies such as bookmarks, postcards, etc, don't lead me to read a book.” - Wendy Lewis
“Lisa Scottoline gave away book bags if you bought 2 of her books a couple of years ago. So I bought a book for myself and a second book as a gift for my sister. Otherwise I would have gotten her book from the library.
An author at Magna one year, and I don't remember who it was, gave a paperback edition of the first book in the series if you bought the new book in hardcover. Having a way to get the book signed though is the biggie for me. I have so many books that the only hardcovers I buy are ones I can have signed by the author which means I don't get a lot of books from new authors or authors from small presses that don't travel unless the book can be ordered through the website (or the website lists places the book can be ordered signed) or the author will send book plates-Sue Grafton (sometimes) and Lisa Scottoline do that.
“Good reviews on DorothyL by some of the people I know like the same sorts of books I do. (Tilt a Whirl and Mad Mouse are examples here- and I called a bookstore in the Chicago area where Chris was signing last week and ordered both books) Free books. I can't tell you the number of times I have gotten an ARC, loved the book, then went to the ends of the earth to try to order a signed copy of it. (Cosigned to Death is the most recent-I got a review copy, liked the book so much I ordered one signed from Murder By the Book in Houston, I also bought Eight of Swords after being given High Priestess) Meeting the author. When I meet an author, hear her speak and get to ask questions I often end up buying the book to give her a try.” – Caryn
“I like thoughtful responses by authors on-list that may reference their book by describing just a bit and then directing to their website where they have chapter excerpts. I like authors who don't ever BSP but simply send good, interesting, thoughtful, sometimes funny notes to the list. Examples include Stephen Booth, Bill Tapply, Gar (aargh, can't think of his last name), Cornelia Read (until the BSP of her book by so many other authors and the brutal defense of their belief in the absolute greatness of her book started to turn me away), Jan Burke. These authors tend to participate in discussions and often don't even have signature lines touting their books. I enjoy their posts and then will seek them out on the internet and in some cases will by their book or borrow from the library.” BJ
If you want my advice today, here it is. Be willing to get out there are meet readers, but also be willing to bare your heart on the page. Be the best writer you can be. That’s what comes first. Go back and read Ian Rankin’s story about becoming a better writer.
It’s funny, because I was chatting with my friend Allan Guthrie just the other day, obsessing about something, a decision I had to make. He told me not to waste energy worrying about what was out of my control but to concentrate on the one thing I did have control over: the writing.
Great advice.
Nothing should be more important to me right now than making sure my book is as good as it can be. (Yes Kat, I am working! Honestly…)
Obsessing about sales six months down the road is truly putting the cart before the horse.
And now, for the winner of the ARC of my book…
Now, this was drama. I went through the folder of all names I had as of 4:30 yesterday afternoon and started writing names on slips of paper. But then we lost the internet. Long story I won’t bore you with, but it wasn’t until I checked around 1:30 in the morning that it was back up. So I put up the Killer Year post for Derek, and then I checked my email and saw that more entries had come in.
This is why I’m a bit behind this morning…
Anyway, the winner is Kim Reis. Congratulations Kim!
Tomorrow I’m posting some jokes. Well, not just jokes, but definitely some jokes.
It’s easy for struggling authors to look at those who are successful and be jealous.
“Their publisher must have pushed them hard.”
“They don’t deserve it.”
“It was easier back then…”
Yesterday, I looked at some of the complaints readers have about BSP and how authors promote themselves. Today, I’m going to share with you what they shared with me, about how authors are reaching readers.
But first, I want to address some of those murmured author complaints I’ve heard. Is it really harder now than it was ten, fifteen years ago?
When I took my first Ian Rankin book off a shelf in a bookstore to read the back, I didn’t have a clue who he was. I didn’t know if he sold well or if he was popular. Incidentally, none of his books were facing forward either. I was looking for a new author, but it was what I read on the back cover of his books that made me decide to buy The Falls, which was the first book in the Rebus series I read.
Now, I know that Ian has sold approximately 17 million books worldwide in his career. A sum not too many authors would complain about.
In fact, one a lot of authors would be envious of.
What a lot of people forget is that Ian Rankin struggled for years as an author, and was in danger of being dropped by his publisher.
How does an author go from potentially being dropped to international success? You might want to read this whole article but one thing I asked Ian about was the value of promotion and how critical it was for him to do author events, as well as the Gold Dagger award, which he won for his novel Black & Blue - how much did this help his career? What made the difference?
Ian responded, “There's no doubt the Gold Dagger had a positive effect on my sales, but I've heard from other winners that it doesn't always work with such potency. My feeling is that a lot of things 'clicked' at much the same time: me relocating to UK, meaning I was able to do bookshop and library signings/talks, media interviews, etc., my backlist coming back into print (as) several of the early books had been very hard to find and my publisher finding a great new look for the jackets.”
Does he think it’s harder for authors to promote themselves now?
“In some ways I'd say the situation is actually better now than it was, in that new writers can use the internet to garner publicity, and as an outlet for their work. Back in the bad old days, it was really hard to access an audience without actually traipsing all over the country trying to meet them in bookshops, libraries, etc. These days, author websites can do at least some of the groundwork, and can get new authors noticed by publishers. There are also e-zines, etc where new writers can get work 'published' - just as well, since old fashioned literary mags, such as the ones where my work was first published, are closing by the day...
“Also, crime fiction, in the UK, is a 'sexy' genre right now, which it wasn’t in the mid 1980s when I started. Publishers are actively looking for new crime writers. Great news for the genre!”
It’s always nice when someone mentions the value of ezines to someone who runs one…
Part of the reason I was interested in looking at this topic is that I don’t want to look back five years from now and feel like I’ve sold my soul to survive. I used to joke that I was going to get the name of my book/website url stitched across the ass of my jeans, with bookmarks free for the taking in one pocket and business cards in the other.
And that all t-shirts should be printed with your info across your chest.
Very good for appealing to the male reader, anyway.
But last night I was watching one of the Harrogate sessions, The Great Gender Debate, and one of the things mentioned was that something like 70% of book buyers are women.
And then it gets more specific. More women in their fourties and up.
Some debate that their husbands read the books their wives buy, so readers aren’t just women. I would agree – Kevin reads my books. Although he buys some of his own. He’s been on an Ayn Rand kick, which is interesting, because I used one of her books as source info for an essay I did back in grade 12.
Ooops, sidetrack, sorry. Point is, having my info across my backside and my chest will hardly appeal to most women…
Yesterday, I came to the conclusion it was impossible to please everyone. This is true. But after reading reader comments, I think it is possible to reach readers without losing yourself along the way and turning into a one-man (or woman) marketing machine who lives, eats, sleeps, breathes self promotion.
Authors, I encourage you to read my post here yesterday, and also at Killer Year. But I especially encourage you to read Pari Noskin Taichert’s post on the topic of PR. Pari knows more about promotion than I do, and her posts at Murderati are always insightful.
Well, so are all the posts from the entire Murderati gang. Some days, I think my blog should just be auto-directed over there.
But before you start clicking on links, take a minute to see what the readers had to say about promotional efforts that worked for them. Oh, and then I’m going to announce the ARC winner.
Now, what do readers say? How are they discovering new authors?
“Several things, reviews sometimes, word of mouth,cover blurbs and of course recommendations on DorothyL from people who have "like taste" to mine.” – AP
“Because I collect signed 1st editions, I buy most of my books from Poisoned Pen in Scottsdale. They provide an excellent monthly catalogue, and email, that describes books and often offers the stores comments. I have found many excellent authors, both American and English, through them.” – LJ
“I like to give new authors from the small presses a shot when reading for pleasure. Find that diamond in the rough so to speak.” – Del Tinsley
“What motivates me to try a new writer… Recommendations by those who seem to share my taste on Dorothy L. Seeing, handling, being attracted by the book on my library's "New Books" shelves. I read the first couple of pages. I am careful about reading the flyleaf and back cover, though, which frequently contain spoilers ("When her best friend dies in a mysterious accident" -- although that doesn't happen until three chapters in, for instance -- dampens my enjoyment of the storytelling.)Recommendations by friends in my local circle of reading friends. Need. Sometimes I seem to have read "everything" by the writers I like and am in between new books. Airport desperation. For example, for some reason, I was never attracted to try Lee Child's books until I was caught before a cross-country flight having read my planned, faster-than-expected book. I picked up a couple of Jack Reacher books in the airport (I knew his name from DL) and was very surprised to fall in love with them. I'm trying to read all of them now.” – Terry
“Sometimes what I read on DL. Other times what a friend gives/lends me or reccommends. Sometimes what an author may say or do.” Patricia M. Jones
“Best BSP is when someone on the list is funny and I figure he/she will have humor in their book. OR when someone whose opinion I respect reviews a book I haven't read, I often decide to give it a try.” – Lonnie Cruse (Geez Lonnie, I don’t think I have a link to you yet…)
Stina Branson shares a specific example, and general ways she’s influenced to try something new.
“Author Linda Moore is known as WhiteRaven13 in the BookCrossing forums. She's a fascinating lady and a true member of the BookCrossing community. She chats with us like she would any of her friends, not as a potential market share. She contributes to the conversations started by others. She's been instrumental in the development of the BookCrossing Top 100, an opportunity for BookCrossers to make up our very own "favorite reads" list. So when she announced her (self-published) novel, Rhaeva, we were all excited for her. Linda shared a copy of her new book with some of us through what is known as a "bookring," which permitted all of us reading the same copy to discuss it with each other online. I enjoyed it so much that I bought a copy to give to my mother-in-law.
“What makes me take a chance on a new (to me) author? Well, I don't mean to imply that an author has to be my friend and chat with me to get me to read her book. But if you are talking about shelling out $8 to $30 for a brand-new book (as opposed to borrowing a copy from the library, which I'll do on any old whim), I need some sort of personal "connectedness" to the author or the story. Maybe I heard the author speak at a con and was really intrigued. Maybe the author makes interesting posts on DL or BookCrossing. Maybe a trusted friend specifically recommended the book or author to me. And that happens a *lot* on BookCrossing. Shadow of the Wind has been recommended to me by numerous BookCrossing friends, so the last time I was at my favorite independent bookstore and had some cash, I fell under Zafón's spell and paid full retail price for a brand.”
“Give-aways are always a winner for me. If I like the author, I then make sure to buy one or two books so s/he will stay published.” Jane Cohen
“I go to a lot of signings at my local independent bookstore. I usually read something from the library to see if I like their style before deciding to go and purchase something. I don't think I have ever not bought something if I went but even if I didn't go, I did read something. I'm also drawn by a really good cover or title. Doesn't mean I'll buy it but I will pick it up and read the flap. I can also be suckered into picking up a book that has a blurb by another author I really like. Again, it doesn't mean I'll buy it but it does get into my hands. rely on recommendations from DorothyL and from the owners of my bookstore who know my taste in books. They are honest enough to tell me if a book is good or not knowing what I like. I have received postcards in the mail which general are not read. I do read, and use, bookmarks given to me at the store. Huh, I never realized that until just now.” – KR
“The best strategies that get me to read a new work are: reviews by critics I respect, meeting and liking the author via a panel at a convention such as Bouchercon and/or humorous and intelligent postings on DL. I read Jeff Cohen's work because he's such a great poster and so amusing. It's not my cup of tea, but I've recommended his work to others who might like it and I wouldn't do that if I didn't think he was a good author. Most marketing strategies such as bookmarks, postcards, etc, don't lead me to read a book.” - Wendy Lewis
“Lisa Scottoline gave away book bags if you bought 2 of her books a couple of years ago. So I bought a book for myself and a second book as a gift for my sister. Otherwise I would have gotten her book from the library.
An author at Magna one year, and I don't remember who it was, gave a paperback edition of the first book in the series if you bought the new book in hardcover. Having a way to get the book signed though is the biggie for me. I have so many books that the only hardcovers I buy are ones I can have signed by the author which means I don't get a lot of books from new authors or authors from small presses that don't travel unless the book can be ordered through the website (or the website lists places the book can be ordered signed) or the author will send book plates-Sue Grafton (sometimes) and Lisa Scottoline do that.
“Good reviews on DorothyL by some of the people I know like the same sorts of books I do. (Tilt a Whirl and Mad Mouse are examples here- and I called a bookstore in the Chicago area where Chris was signing last week and ordered both books) Free books. I can't tell you the number of times I have gotten an ARC, loved the book, then went to the ends of the earth to try to order a signed copy of it. (Cosigned to Death is the most recent-I got a review copy, liked the book so much I ordered one signed from Murder By the Book in Houston, I also bought Eight of Swords after being given High Priestess) Meeting the author. When I meet an author, hear her speak and get to ask questions I often end up buying the book to give her a try.” – Caryn
“I like thoughtful responses by authors on-list that may reference their book by describing just a bit and then directing to their website where they have chapter excerpts. I like authors who don't ever BSP but simply send good, interesting, thoughtful, sometimes funny notes to the list. Examples include Stephen Booth, Bill Tapply, Gar (aargh, can't think of his last name), Cornelia Read (until the BSP of her book by so many other authors and the brutal defense of their belief in the absolute greatness of her book started to turn me away), Jan Burke. These authors tend to participate in discussions and often don't even have signature lines touting their books. I enjoy their posts and then will seek them out on the internet and in some cases will by their book or borrow from the library.” BJ
If you want my advice today, here it is. Be willing to get out there are meet readers, but also be willing to bare your heart on the page. Be the best writer you can be. That’s what comes first. Go back and read Ian Rankin’s story about becoming a better writer.
It’s funny, because I was chatting with my friend Allan Guthrie just the other day, obsessing about something, a decision I had to make. He told me not to waste energy worrying about what was out of my control but to concentrate on the one thing I did have control over: the writing.
Great advice.
Nothing should be more important to me right now than making sure my book is as good as it can be. (Yes Kat, I am working! Honestly…)
Obsessing about sales six months down the road is truly putting the cart before the horse.
And now, for the winner of the ARC of my book…
Now, this was drama. I went through the folder of all names I had as of 4:30 yesterday afternoon and started writing names on slips of paper. But then we lost the internet. Long story I won’t bore you with, but it wasn’t until I checked around 1:30 in the morning that it was back up. So I put up the Killer Year post for Derek, and then I checked my email and saw that more entries had come in.
This is why I’m a bit behind this morning…
Anyway, the winner is Kim Reis. Congratulations Kim!
Tomorrow I’m posting some jokes. Well, not just jokes, but definitely some jokes.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Fed Up To Here (BSP pet peeves)
This continues my thoughts on BSP, so you might want to read my Killer Year post first and then come back for my rant, and the final day of the ARC contest.
I’m not a good person to annoy. Let me tell you a story. A few years ago, when we still lived in Vancouver, I was jogging up the stairs as the phone rang. I was in such a rush to get it before the machine picked up I did something I seldom do – I answered it without looking at the call display.
I said hello a few times. Finally someone said hello back. Then they said, in an assertive manner, “Is this Mrs. EYEnarson.” Okay, don’t know this voice, they said my name wrong…
“Who’s calling?”
“Is this Mrs. Einarson?”
”Who’s calling?”
We repeated that a few more times before the person finally said, “(company I won’t name because Kevin would have a fit) - Is this Mrs. Einarson?”
But the guy had slurred the words so fast, and I was angry, so I had to ask him to repeat what he said. I should have just hung up.
He actually screamed at me, “Are you going to answer my questions?”
Hell no, buddy. I’m not. By this time, the fact that he was calling from (company I won’t name because Kevin would have a fit) was a telemarketer, and was unbelievably rude had all sunk in.
I hung up the phone and called directory assistance. Using the number that had registered, I was able to track the call center in Ontario. And I reported the incident to a manager there, along with an explanation of why I would never consider using their services in the future as a result of that call.
Now, we’ve had a security issue in our family. I don’t automatically identify myself to anyone I don’t know on the phone. This is common sense. In fact, when we moved in here, I was being harassed by someone about cleaning our furnace. We have a boiler. Five calls along, the guy thought I was the kid. When he asked me when my mother would be home I said, “I’m not allowed to tell strangers that on the phone.”
He hasn’t called back since.
But friends, I’ve got to ask you – what the hell is a salesperson like this thinking? Ask a kid when their mother’s coming home? WTF? If I ever caught my niece or nephew answering that to a stranger I’d go ballistic on the caller, and I’d contact the media.
And I don’t think I’m overreacting. That shows a complete lack of common sense, and as someone who’s spent years working in the field of education, my radar is perhaps a bit too sensitive, but I’d rather lean that way.
Not to mention, I hate telemarketers to begin with. I mean, come on. People who knock at my door while I’m about to sit down to dinner with my husband or phone and impose on my time while I’m working frustrate the hell out of me. I can’t even stand it when salespeople hover when I go into stores, which means I’m actually looking for something. Imposing on my time, my space? If you add getting the slightest bit snippy to that you’re toast.
I recently saw a publisher moaning about how hard it is to promote new authors. Oddly enough, this is one I’d emailed about reviews, who never wrote me back. Do you want to promote or do you want to complain?
Look, I’m not saying it’s easy. It isn’t. But I lose sympathy for people who make reckless suggestions to authors, and who don’t even seek out viable opportunities right in front of them.
The sad thing is, the people who are horrid and abusive with BSP will still be awful long after people have forgotten about this post, because they really don’t seem to understand how their actions make them look, and if people feel defensive, they’ll cling to the one positive result and tune out the negatives.
It’s the people like me, who don’t want to turn into nothing but self-promoters, who will take all of this to heart, perhaps withdraw for fear of offending people.
This is the most delicate balance to walk. New authors have no choice but to find ways to reach readers. Most new authors just don’t get the push from the publishers that’s needed to get nominated for awards, to get press buzz, to get on panels at conferences, to get carried in bookstores, or even to get blurbs or reviews. The authors, more and more, have to deal with this themselves.
Then we’ve got people complaining on forums about books being delayed. Well, duh. When, exactly, are the authors supposed to write and edit when they’re so busy marketing?
Don’t get me wrong. I’ll do events gladly. If I can get on panels, that’s fantastic. But for me, the point is that I’m interested in talking to readers. It’s worth it to me to make myself available that way, which is, in part, why I have my email address available online. Although some of my lingering shyness that exerts itself at times might be interpreted as snobbishness, in truth I want to be approachable. I’m working on it.
I’m just a person, who’s passionate about books and particularly mysteries, an avid reader and reviewer (and interviewer and editor), who happens to be a writer, who managed to sell a book, which means I’m a soon-to-be-published author.
But the latter means that, to many, I’m no longer qualified as any of the former. I’ve been slotted into another category, and can never undo that.
Which, to me, is sad. Because I always want to express my enthusiasm for the works of Ian Rankin, for his influence that turned me to writing crime fiction. For Val McDermid and how she taught me to add a new dimension to what I was doing. For Stuart MacBride, a friend, an awesome talent and rising star in the crime fiction world. For Cornelia Read, another friend, someone who has become a confidante, the shoulder I always know I have if I need. For Mark Billingham, who has often provided ears, shoulders and wisdom, and Simon Kernick, who has encouraged me so much…
For all of them and so many many more, who I’ve loved first as authors, their books captivating me and inspiring me. Also people I’ve been fortunate enough to get to know and admire.
It’s just so damn easy for me to tell you to buy their books. Because their books are fantastic, compelling reads I’ve enjoyed immensely.
Doesn’t hurt that they’re all great people too.
But buy my book? I hope some people do, but not because I pressured them into it.
Perhaps the wisdom is at Killer Year today, with the comments I collected from readers.
Here, I just had to vent.
Because last night I deleted a dozen spam posts from my blog that all came in within a few hours.
And it really pissed me off.
Jason Pinter’s latest Killer Year blog post, 20 Surefire Tips To Get Your Book Published has to be one of the funniest things I’ve read in a long while. If you missed it, check it out!
Want more reader thought on the topic? Check out this thread on Mark Billingham’s talk zone. Skip the first post, where I ask forum members their opinions. Do they mind having other authors participate on Mark’s forum? Does it influence them to try new books?
You might find the answers interesting.
Win an ARC of my debut novel!
So, you can enter for every day. I don’t care, I’m easy. I’ll put all the names into a hat, and announce a winner eventually. The questions go back to my post last Thursday, and they all have clues.
Today, what will my question be?
I’ll give you three questions – you can answer any one of them. Answer two and you get entered twice.
1. The name of The Author Formerly Known As God
2. The name of the author who wrote The Torment of Others (which, despite the beliefs of local booksellers, is not a true crime book)
3. The name of the author who has a blog called On Life And Other Inconveniences
Oh, and I don’t think I said anywhere that you actually needed to answer correctly.
Email sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com and you can enter for all 7 days. Okay okay, I’ll announce the winner tomorrow, although the ARC won’t be available until next month.
JT sent me this joke, and it seemed appropriate today…
A minister concluded that his church was getting into serious financial trouble. While checking the church storeroom, he discovered several cartons of new bibles that had never been opened and distributed. So at his Sunday sermon, he asked for three volunteers from the congregation who would be willing to sell the bibles door-to-door for $10 each to raise the desperately needed money for the church. Peter, Paul and
Louie all raised their hands to volunteer for the task. The minister knew that Peter and Paul earned their living as salesmen and were likely capable of selling some bibles. But he had serious doubts about Louie who was a local farmer, who had always kept to himself because he was embarrassed by his speech impediment. Poor Louie stuttered badly. But, not wanting to discourage Louie, the minister decided to let him try anyway. He sent the three of them away with the back seat of their cars stacked with bibles. He asked them to meet with him and report the results of their door-to-door selling efforts the following Sunday.
Anxious to find out how successful they were, the minister immediately asked Peter, "Well, Peter, how did you make out selling our bibles last week?"
Proudly handing the reverend an envelope, Peter replied, "Using my sales prowess, I was able to sell 20 bibles, and here's the $200 I collected on behalf of the church."
"Fine job, Peter!" the minister said, vigorously shaking his hand "You are indeed a fine salesman and the church is indebted to you."
Turning to Paul, "And Paul, how many bibles did you sell for the church last week?"
Paul, smiling and sticking out his chest, confidently replied, "I am a professional salesman. I sold 28 bibles on behalf of the church, and here's $280 I collected."
The minister responded, "That's absolutely splendid, Paul. You are truly a professional salesman and the church is also indebted to you."
Apprehensively, the minister turned to Louie and said, "And Louie, did you manage to sell any bibles last week?"
Louie silently offered the minister a large envelope. The reverend opened it and counted the contents.
"What is this?" the minister exclaimed. "Louie, there's $3,200 in here!
Are you suggesting that you sold 320 bibles for the church, door-to-door, in just one week?
Louie just nodded.
"That's impossible!" both Peter and Paul said in unison. "We are professional salesmen, yet you claim to have sold 10 times as many bibles as we could."
"Yes, this does seem unlikely," the minister agreed. "I think you'd better explain how you managed to accomplish this, Louie."
Louie shrugged. "I-I-I re-re-really do-do-don't kn-kn-know f-f-f-for sh-sh-sh-sure," he stammered.
Impatiently, Peter interrupted. "For crying out loud, Louie, just tell us what you said to them when they answered the door!"
"A-a-a-all I-I-I- s-s-said wa-wa-was," Louie replied, "w-w-w-w-would y-y-y-you l-l-l-like t-t-to b-b-b-buy th-th-th-this b-b-b-b-bible f-f-for t-t-ten b-b-b-bucks, o-o-or wo-wo-would yo-you j-j-j-just l-l-like m-m-me t-t-to st-st-stand h-h-here and r-r-r-read it t-t-to y-y-you?
I’m not a good person to annoy. Let me tell you a story. A few years ago, when we still lived in Vancouver, I was jogging up the stairs as the phone rang. I was in such a rush to get it before the machine picked up I did something I seldom do – I answered it without looking at the call display.
I said hello a few times. Finally someone said hello back. Then they said, in an assertive manner, “Is this Mrs. EYEnarson.” Okay, don’t know this voice, they said my name wrong…
“Who’s calling?”
“Is this Mrs. Einarson?”
”Who’s calling?”
We repeated that a few more times before the person finally said, “(company I won’t name because Kevin would have a fit) - Is this Mrs. Einarson?”
But the guy had slurred the words so fast, and I was angry, so I had to ask him to repeat what he said. I should have just hung up.
He actually screamed at me, “Are you going to answer my questions?”
Hell no, buddy. I’m not. By this time, the fact that he was calling from (company I won’t name because Kevin would have a fit) was a telemarketer, and was unbelievably rude had all sunk in.
I hung up the phone and called directory assistance. Using the number that had registered, I was able to track the call center in Ontario. And I reported the incident to a manager there, along with an explanation of why I would never consider using their services in the future as a result of that call.
Now, we’ve had a security issue in our family. I don’t automatically identify myself to anyone I don’t know on the phone. This is common sense. In fact, when we moved in here, I was being harassed by someone about cleaning our furnace. We have a boiler. Five calls along, the guy thought I was the kid. When he asked me when my mother would be home I said, “I’m not allowed to tell strangers that on the phone.”
He hasn’t called back since.
But friends, I’ve got to ask you – what the hell is a salesperson like this thinking? Ask a kid when their mother’s coming home? WTF? If I ever caught my niece or nephew answering that to a stranger I’d go ballistic on the caller, and I’d contact the media.
And I don’t think I’m overreacting. That shows a complete lack of common sense, and as someone who’s spent years working in the field of education, my radar is perhaps a bit too sensitive, but I’d rather lean that way.
Not to mention, I hate telemarketers to begin with. I mean, come on. People who knock at my door while I’m about to sit down to dinner with my husband or phone and impose on my time while I’m working frustrate the hell out of me. I can’t even stand it when salespeople hover when I go into stores, which means I’m actually looking for something. Imposing on my time, my space? If you add getting the slightest bit snippy to that you’re toast.
I recently saw a publisher moaning about how hard it is to promote new authors. Oddly enough, this is one I’d emailed about reviews, who never wrote me back. Do you want to promote or do you want to complain?
Look, I’m not saying it’s easy. It isn’t. But I lose sympathy for people who make reckless suggestions to authors, and who don’t even seek out viable opportunities right in front of them.
The sad thing is, the people who are horrid and abusive with BSP will still be awful long after people have forgotten about this post, because they really don’t seem to understand how their actions make them look, and if people feel defensive, they’ll cling to the one positive result and tune out the negatives.
It’s the people like me, who don’t want to turn into nothing but self-promoters, who will take all of this to heart, perhaps withdraw for fear of offending people.
This is the most delicate balance to walk. New authors have no choice but to find ways to reach readers. Most new authors just don’t get the push from the publishers that’s needed to get nominated for awards, to get press buzz, to get on panels at conferences, to get carried in bookstores, or even to get blurbs or reviews. The authors, more and more, have to deal with this themselves.
Then we’ve got people complaining on forums about books being delayed. Well, duh. When, exactly, are the authors supposed to write and edit when they’re so busy marketing?
Don’t get me wrong. I’ll do events gladly. If I can get on panels, that’s fantastic. But for me, the point is that I’m interested in talking to readers. It’s worth it to me to make myself available that way, which is, in part, why I have my email address available online. Although some of my lingering shyness that exerts itself at times might be interpreted as snobbishness, in truth I want to be approachable. I’m working on it.
I’m just a person, who’s passionate about books and particularly mysteries, an avid reader and reviewer (and interviewer and editor), who happens to be a writer, who managed to sell a book, which means I’m a soon-to-be-published author.
But the latter means that, to many, I’m no longer qualified as any of the former. I’ve been slotted into another category, and can never undo that.
Which, to me, is sad. Because I always want to express my enthusiasm for the works of Ian Rankin, for his influence that turned me to writing crime fiction. For Val McDermid and how she taught me to add a new dimension to what I was doing. For Stuart MacBride, a friend, an awesome talent and rising star in the crime fiction world. For Cornelia Read, another friend, someone who has become a confidante, the shoulder I always know I have if I need. For Mark Billingham, who has often provided ears, shoulders and wisdom, and Simon Kernick, who has encouraged me so much…
For all of them and so many many more, who I’ve loved first as authors, their books captivating me and inspiring me. Also people I’ve been fortunate enough to get to know and admire.
It’s just so damn easy for me to tell you to buy their books. Because their books are fantastic, compelling reads I’ve enjoyed immensely.
Doesn’t hurt that they’re all great people too.
But buy my book? I hope some people do, but not because I pressured them into it.
Perhaps the wisdom is at Killer Year today, with the comments I collected from readers.
Here, I just had to vent.
Because last night I deleted a dozen spam posts from my blog that all came in within a few hours.
And it really pissed me off.
Jason Pinter’s latest Killer Year blog post, 20 Surefire Tips To Get Your Book Published has to be one of the funniest things I’ve read in a long while. If you missed it, check it out!
Want more reader thought on the topic? Check out this thread on Mark Billingham’s talk zone. Skip the first post, where I ask forum members their opinions. Do they mind having other authors participate on Mark’s forum? Does it influence them to try new books?
You might find the answers interesting.
Win an ARC of my debut novel!
So, you can enter for every day. I don’t care, I’m easy. I’ll put all the names into a hat, and announce a winner eventually. The questions go back to my post last Thursday, and they all have clues.
Today, what will my question be?
I’ll give you three questions – you can answer any one of them. Answer two and you get entered twice.
1. The name of The Author Formerly Known As God
2. The name of the author who wrote The Torment of Others (which, despite the beliefs of local booksellers, is not a true crime book)
3. The name of the author who has a blog called On Life And Other Inconveniences
Oh, and I don’t think I said anywhere that you actually needed to answer correctly.
Email sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com and you can enter for all 7 days. Okay okay, I’ll announce the winner tomorrow, although the ARC won’t be available until next month.
JT sent me this joke, and it seemed appropriate today…
A minister concluded that his church was getting into serious financial trouble. While checking the church storeroom, he discovered several cartons of new bibles that had never been opened and distributed. So at his Sunday sermon, he asked for three volunteers from the congregation who would be willing to sell the bibles door-to-door for $10 each to raise the desperately needed money for the church. Peter, Paul and
Louie all raised their hands to volunteer for the task. The minister knew that Peter and Paul earned their living as salesmen and were likely capable of selling some bibles. But he had serious doubts about Louie who was a local farmer, who had always kept to himself because he was embarrassed by his speech impediment. Poor Louie stuttered badly. But, not wanting to discourage Louie, the minister decided to let him try anyway. He sent the three of them away with the back seat of their cars stacked with bibles. He asked them to meet with him and report the results of their door-to-door selling efforts the following Sunday.
Anxious to find out how successful they were, the minister immediately asked Peter, "Well, Peter, how did you make out selling our bibles last week?"
Proudly handing the reverend an envelope, Peter replied, "Using my sales prowess, I was able to sell 20 bibles, and here's the $200 I collected on behalf of the church."
"Fine job, Peter!" the minister said, vigorously shaking his hand "You are indeed a fine salesman and the church is indebted to you."
Turning to Paul, "And Paul, how many bibles did you sell for the church last week?"
Paul, smiling and sticking out his chest, confidently replied, "I am a professional salesman. I sold 28 bibles on behalf of the church, and here's $280 I collected."
The minister responded, "That's absolutely splendid, Paul. You are truly a professional salesman and the church is also indebted to you."
Apprehensively, the minister turned to Louie and said, "And Louie, did you manage to sell any bibles last week?"
Louie silently offered the minister a large envelope. The reverend opened it and counted the contents.
"What is this?" the minister exclaimed. "Louie, there's $3,200 in here!
Are you suggesting that you sold 320 bibles for the church, door-to-door, in just one week?
Louie just nodded.
"That's impossible!" both Peter and Paul said in unison. "We are professional salesmen, yet you claim to have sold 10 times as many bibles as we could."
"Yes, this does seem unlikely," the minister agreed. "I think you'd better explain how you managed to accomplish this, Louie."
Louie shrugged. "I-I-I re-re-really do-do-don't kn-kn-know f-f-f-for sh-sh-sh-sure," he stammered.
Impatiently, Peter interrupted. "For crying out loud, Louie, just tell us what you said to them when they answered the door!"
"A-a-a-all I-I-I- s-s-said wa-wa-was," Louie replied, "w-w-w-w-would y-y-y-you l-l-l-like t-t-to b-b-b-buy th-th-th-this b-b-b-b-bible f-f-for t-t-ten b-b-b-bucks, o-o-or wo-wo-would yo-you j-j-j-just l-l-like m-m-me t-t-to st-st-stand h-h-here and r-r-r-read it t-t-to y-y-you?
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Touch of Death
“Today, I feel irreparable.”
I said that last week, in the midst of a rather serious email exchange. The context doesn’t matter, but it was truly, sincerely, what I felt at that exact moment when I wrote it.
I suppose we all have moments like that, whether we admit to them or not.
Author extraordinaire Anne Frasier recently posed the question, are authors broken? on her blog. Yesterday, Anne Frasier’s blog post titled Broken, part two hit me on a new level.
Something I’d never thought about before. How much death had shaped my life.
Now, I could launch into a discussion about Piaget’s theory of conservation and concrete operations, but I'd just be indulging myself with one of my side interests. Suffice it to say that at the point in my life when cause and effect was coming into focus, there were some significant deaths.
The closest thing I had to grandparent relationships were with my Uncle Ab and Aunt Elma Ruttan. In fact, my Great Uncle and Great Aunt, as Ab was my grandfather, Jack Ruttan’s, brother. Uncle Ab and Aunt Elma lived reasonably close to us. I remember staying there as a child. If you go to my website (the new design will be in place soon, btw) on the bio page there are photos of me as a child, and one is of me reading Bambi with Uncle Ab at his house.
Uncle Ab died when I was pretty young. But not so young that I don’t remember him.
We used to have sleepovers there. And Aunt Elma said that one morning, Ab got up, came to the kitchen, sat down and said, “I’m going” and died.
My Uncle Carl and Aunt Elma Stahls also lived in our town. This would, again, be Great Uncle and Great Aunt, because Elma was the sister of Uncle Ab and Grandpa Jack. When I was young, Uncle Carl engraved a silver bracelet and brooch for me, and a matching set for my sister. I still have them.
My parents used to talk about how Uncle Carl was going to smoke himself to death. So, being smart, caring kids, my sister and I stole his cigarettes and hid them so that he couldn’t do that. Boy, did we get in trouble.
Uncle Carl got lung cancer and we watched that tall, strong man wither away and, eventually, die.
I was ten when I had my most serious brush with death. Oh, I’ve mentioned being hit by a car when I was eight (well, okay, my bike was hit by the car). Landed striking my head on something, requiring stitches. Then, just shy of my ninth birthday I partially severed my right foot and lost a lot of blood.
But it was when I was ten that I really thought I was going to die.
We were camping, and my sister, a friend and I had gone to the falls. We were lying on the rocks on the edge, letting the water cool us. I should dig up a picture of these falls, if I have one. It’s hard to explain. There was the bigger drop at the top, where there was a bridge that connected one bank of the river to the other. Then, a lot of rocks that the water rushed over.
I got pulled into what I’ll call a whirlpool, being sucked straight down. I could see through the water up to the trees that hung over the river from one side. The sky was more grey than blue, at least in my memory.
I almost climbed out on the far side of the river, but wasn’t strong enough. I was pulled back in, this time over a ridge of rock and down, toward the point where the river widened and swept away at a brisk current.
This was when I was pulled out. A group of people on the shore formed a lifeline, and reached in to the water to rescue me.
That’s the facts. Doesn’t quite convey the emotion of the experience.
I think, like most kids, I was scared of death. My experiences didn’t make me want to walk in cemeteries or hang out in morgues. Rather, I obsessed about it in my head, silently. I let fear paralyze me and govern some of my choices. While others were doing reckless, stupid things as a teenager, I was constantly aware of the potential outcome of their bad choices. The idea of going on benders, trying drugs… That was jumping back into the river, for me. I suppose the most critical impact it had was in making me aware of the fact that I wasn’t immortal, as so many teenagers think they are.
I’ve had a few other incidents. Some day, I should tell you our sailing horror story and how we rescued a guy coming in off English Bay, past Jericho Beach (this is Vancouver, for those of you who don’t know the waters there). White-knuckled as I was by the time we docked, I’ll never forget the people who said they’d never risk going out on a day like that, ever.
Well, we had no choice. We’d been moored off the islands for a few days when the winds picked up and we had to come in.
But when it comes to near death, the incident that always jumps to mind is the one that happened in the Sahara. Kevin and I were in a vehicle, part of a group of vehicles. We’d spent the morning watching the sun rise over the Sahara,
then riding camels. Then we were one our way north, toward the border with Algeria. Guess this is where I should mention we were in Tunisia, huh?
Our drivers decided to go over some sand dunes. This wasn’t part of the plan, Kevin and I were on jump seats without seatbelts, there was a couple in their 70s in the vehicle, one of whom had a heart condition. The driver went up over a large pile of sand and sailed over the top, too fast to see the steep incline. We landed on the nose of the vehicle, the whole world turning dark as the sand enveloped us.
We did the audio check. “Are you okay? Are you okay?” Everyone responded at first, and I was reaching forward to help the elderly woman, pulling her back off the floor, when I turned to see Kevin.
Who wasn’t okay.
He gets mad at me if I talk about it, but he was having a seizure. Then he stopped breathing.
I have never in my life been so scared.
It’s one thing to face death yourself. I’m not saying it’s pleasant, but you own your experience. I found it far more difficult to be powerless in that situation, overcome with the fear that my husband was dead.
Why he started breathing again is anyone’s guess. He did. That’s all that matters.
Funny how things can change you. Kevin’s former military, he’s a qualified social worker, he works in the business world.
And chooses to take risks by being with the fire department.
Sometimes, when we look death in the eye we recoil and try to protect ourselves, as I did for a number of years as a teen. I’d say I started getting brave at 18, when I went to Europe, watched the wall come down, stepped out into the world. Flew in an ultralight –wow. Considering I was afraid of flying, that was a cool experience. A liberating experience.
I am not fearless. In fact, I think in what I write, it’s far more about people coming to terms with their fears than anything. Well, in the books, anyway. Now I love to fly. I have sailed off the coast of Vancouver and around some of the Islands of Indonesia. I’ve snorkeled.
I would still say that drowning is a fear of mine. I have faced my fear of the water enough to do many things I once thought I’d never do.
I just won’t swim alone.
Maybe not irreparable after all. Maybe just on a slower road to mending with some things than others.
But I’m still afraid of spiders.
So fess up. Any lingering fears, nightmare experiences? And you should really read Anne’s post. She said in the comments not to feel sorry for her, and that’s something I relate to as well. No matter how challenging one’s life is, it may explain some things but it doesn’t excuse things. It just is.
And in a way, perhaps it’s better to face tough road when you’re younger. It makes everything you do experience something you cherish, instead of something you take for granted.
I got some great jokes (or things to make me smile) yesterday and will share a few. This one, courtesy of Norby
This one is classic. Thanks Kim!
Dear Dogs and Cats,
The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.
The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.
I cannot buy anything bigger than a king-sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.
For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob, or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered.
I have been using the bathroom for years--canine or feline attendance is not necessary.
The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough!
To pacify you my dear pets, I have posted the following message on our front door:
Rules for Non-Pet Owners Who Visit and Like to Complain About Our Pets:
1. They live here. You don't.
2. If you don't want hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture.
(That's why they call it "fur"niture ..)
3. I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.
4. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours, and does not speak clearly.
Remember: Dogs and cats are better than kids because they: eat less, don't ask for money all the time, are easier to train, usually come when called, never drive your car, don't hang out with drug-using friends, don't smoke or drink, don't worry about having to buy the latest fashions, don't wear your clothes, don't need a gazillion dollars for college, and if they get pregnant, you can sell their children!!!
Isn't Tunisia beautiful? I'm so glad we went there.
FYI, I just finished Anne Frasier's new book, Pale Immortal. Full review in the next Spinetingler, but what a great read. Get it on your tbp list!
Okay, hmmmm. Another trivia question...
Email me at sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com and tell me... Oh, I'm going to make this tough.
What is the name of The Bearded Wonderboy?
Clue: He is also the artist responsible for Skeleton Bob!
Tomorrow I will be posting on BSP here and on the Killer Year blog. I've got reader input and you won't want to miss this. If you have any thoughts on the topic, one last day today to email me with your horror stories of BSP you don't like, or BSP that worked for you...
I said that last week, in the midst of a rather serious email exchange. The context doesn’t matter, but it was truly, sincerely, what I felt at that exact moment when I wrote it.
I suppose we all have moments like that, whether we admit to them or not.
Author extraordinaire Anne Frasier recently posed the question, are authors broken? on her blog. Yesterday, Anne Frasier’s blog post titled Broken, part two hit me on a new level.
Something I’d never thought about before. How much death had shaped my life.
Now, I could launch into a discussion about Piaget’s theory of conservation and concrete operations, but I'd just be indulging myself with one of my side interests. Suffice it to say that at the point in my life when cause and effect was coming into focus, there were some significant deaths.
The closest thing I had to grandparent relationships were with my Uncle Ab and Aunt Elma Ruttan. In fact, my Great Uncle and Great Aunt, as Ab was my grandfather, Jack Ruttan’s, brother. Uncle Ab and Aunt Elma lived reasonably close to us. I remember staying there as a child. If you go to my website (the new design will be in place soon, btw) on the bio page there are photos of me as a child, and one is of me reading Bambi with Uncle Ab at his house.
Uncle Ab died when I was pretty young. But not so young that I don’t remember him.
We used to have sleepovers there. And Aunt Elma said that one morning, Ab got up, came to the kitchen, sat down and said, “I’m going” and died.
My Uncle Carl and Aunt Elma Stahls also lived in our town. This would, again, be Great Uncle and Great Aunt, because Elma was the sister of Uncle Ab and Grandpa Jack. When I was young, Uncle Carl engraved a silver bracelet and brooch for me, and a matching set for my sister. I still have them.
My parents used to talk about how Uncle Carl was going to smoke himself to death. So, being smart, caring kids, my sister and I stole his cigarettes and hid them so that he couldn’t do that. Boy, did we get in trouble.
Uncle Carl got lung cancer and we watched that tall, strong man wither away and, eventually, die.
I was ten when I had my most serious brush with death. Oh, I’ve mentioned being hit by a car when I was eight (well, okay, my bike was hit by the car). Landed striking my head on something, requiring stitches. Then, just shy of my ninth birthday I partially severed my right foot and lost a lot of blood.
But it was when I was ten that I really thought I was going to die.
We were camping, and my sister, a friend and I had gone to the falls. We were lying on the rocks on the edge, letting the water cool us. I should dig up a picture of these falls, if I have one. It’s hard to explain. There was the bigger drop at the top, where there was a bridge that connected one bank of the river to the other. Then, a lot of rocks that the water rushed over.
I got pulled into what I’ll call a whirlpool, being sucked straight down. I could see through the water up to the trees that hung over the river from one side. The sky was more grey than blue, at least in my memory.
I almost climbed out on the far side of the river, but wasn’t strong enough. I was pulled back in, this time over a ridge of rock and down, toward the point where the river widened and swept away at a brisk current.
This was when I was pulled out. A group of people on the shore formed a lifeline, and reached in to the water to rescue me.
That’s the facts. Doesn’t quite convey the emotion of the experience.
I think, like most kids, I was scared of death. My experiences didn’t make me want to walk in cemeteries or hang out in morgues. Rather, I obsessed about it in my head, silently. I let fear paralyze me and govern some of my choices. While others were doing reckless, stupid things as a teenager, I was constantly aware of the potential outcome of their bad choices. The idea of going on benders, trying drugs… That was jumping back into the river, for me. I suppose the most critical impact it had was in making me aware of the fact that I wasn’t immortal, as so many teenagers think they are.
I’ve had a few other incidents. Some day, I should tell you our sailing horror story and how we rescued a guy coming in off English Bay, past Jericho Beach (this is Vancouver, for those of you who don’t know the waters there). White-knuckled as I was by the time we docked, I’ll never forget the people who said they’d never risk going out on a day like that, ever.
Well, we had no choice. We’d been moored off the islands for a few days when the winds picked up and we had to come in.
But when it comes to near death, the incident that always jumps to mind is the one that happened in the Sahara. Kevin and I were in a vehicle, part of a group of vehicles. We’d spent the morning watching the sun rise over the Sahara,
then riding camels. Then we were one our way north, toward the border with Algeria. Guess this is where I should mention we were in Tunisia, huh?
Our drivers decided to go over some sand dunes. This wasn’t part of the plan, Kevin and I were on jump seats without seatbelts, there was a couple in their 70s in the vehicle, one of whom had a heart condition. The driver went up over a large pile of sand and sailed over the top, too fast to see the steep incline. We landed on the nose of the vehicle, the whole world turning dark as the sand enveloped us.
We did the audio check. “Are you okay? Are you okay?” Everyone responded at first, and I was reaching forward to help the elderly woman, pulling her back off the floor, when I turned to see Kevin.
Who wasn’t okay.
He gets mad at me if I talk about it, but he was having a seizure. Then he stopped breathing.
I have never in my life been so scared.
It’s one thing to face death yourself. I’m not saying it’s pleasant, but you own your experience. I found it far more difficult to be powerless in that situation, overcome with the fear that my husband was dead.
Why he started breathing again is anyone’s guess. He did. That’s all that matters.
Funny how things can change you. Kevin’s former military, he’s a qualified social worker, he works in the business world.
And chooses to take risks by being with the fire department.
Sometimes, when we look death in the eye we recoil and try to protect ourselves, as I did for a number of years as a teen. I’d say I started getting brave at 18, when I went to Europe, watched the wall come down, stepped out into the world. Flew in an ultralight –wow. Considering I was afraid of flying, that was a cool experience. A liberating experience.
I am not fearless. In fact, I think in what I write, it’s far more about people coming to terms with their fears than anything. Well, in the books, anyway. Now I love to fly. I have sailed off the coast of Vancouver and around some of the Islands of Indonesia. I’ve snorkeled.
I would still say that drowning is a fear of mine. I have faced my fear of the water enough to do many things I once thought I’d never do.
I just won’t swim alone.
Maybe not irreparable after all. Maybe just on a slower road to mending with some things than others.
But I’m still afraid of spiders.
So fess up. Any lingering fears, nightmare experiences? And you should really read Anne’s post. She said in the comments not to feel sorry for her, and that’s something I relate to as well. No matter how challenging one’s life is, it may explain some things but it doesn’t excuse things. It just is.
And in a way, perhaps it’s better to face tough road when you’re younger. It makes everything you do experience something you cherish, instead of something you take for granted.
I got some great jokes (or things to make me smile) yesterday and will share a few. This one, courtesy of Norby
This one is classic. Thanks Kim!
Dear Dogs and Cats,
The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.
The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.
I cannot buy anything bigger than a king-sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.
For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob, or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered.
I have been using the bathroom for years--canine or feline attendance is not necessary.
The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough!
To pacify you my dear pets, I have posted the following message on our front door:
Rules for Non-Pet Owners Who Visit and Like to Complain About Our Pets:
1. They live here. You don't.
2. If you don't want hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture.
(That's why they call it "fur"niture ..)
3. I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.
4. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours, and does not speak clearly.
Remember: Dogs and cats are better than kids because they: eat less, don't ask for money all the time, are easier to train, usually come when called, never drive your car, don't hang out with drug-using friends, don't smoke or drink, don't worry about having to buy the latest fashions, don't wear your clothes, don't need a gazillion dollars for college, and if they get pregnant, you can sell their children!!!
Isn't Tunisia beautiful? I'm so glad we went there.
FYI, I just finished Anne Frasier's new book, Pale Immortal. Full review in the next Spinetingler, but what a great read. Get it on your tbp list!
Okay, hmmmm. Another trivia question...
Email me at sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com and tell me... Oh, I'm going to make this tough.
What is the name of The Bearded Wonderboy?
Clue: He is also the artist responsible for Skeleton Bob!
Tomorrow I will be posting on BSP here and on the Killer Year blog. I've got reader input and you won't want to miss this. If you have any thoughts on the topic, one last day today to email me with your horror stories of BSP you don't like, or BSP that worked for you...
Monday, August 07, 2006
Inch Given Mile Taken, But It Stops Here
When we first bought this house, our only immediate neighbour had a great big pile of dirt in their back yard. A pile of dirt that had been dug up to pour the basement for their house, so when I say “great big pile of dirt” I mean a great big pile.
But I’m not really being accurate when I say it was in their back yard. They had it partially dumped on our yard.
We said nothing. It was about… five months before they removed the pile. She and He had split, so She was trying to sell the place for an outrageous pile of money and her father was slaving away to finish things off on a property that then had no landscaping, because She and He had originally bought the lot from the person who sold us our property.
Yes, the woman we bought from had once had a massive property, five lots wide. Our property is 100 x 130 feet. We have a corner lot that backs on to a lane, hence, only one immediate neighbour.
And the one immediate neighbour is enough of a fucking nightmare to make up for ten.
Okay, I’ve grumbled about them before. I remember writing about how they stole our coffee table. Our doggie-diarrhea-infested coffee table. Like I care if they want to put their barbecue down on that and wonder what’s with all the flies, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s theft.
And, again, I said nothing.
Their kids play in our yard. They leave garbage and toys and when I mow the lawn I have to pick it all up.
And I say nothing.
They play their music so loud sometimes I have to close my office window to concentrate, because they have shit taste in music too.
Oh, and they let their cat run loose. We find it in our shed, in the dog pen, it runs around just out of reach of our dogs, so yeah, guess what? Our dogs bark. There’s a bi-law here about cats running loose. $500 fine for letting your animal run off your property. In the 2.5 years we’ve lived here, I could have phoned them in almost every single day.
But I haven’t.
But that’s about to change.
Last night, it was after 11 pm when someone was banging with a hammer. And then dropping something metal that clinked. Then banging, then dropping.
And you could hear the fire in our bedroom, it was so big.
Kevin said it was the people doing construction a few houses over. And the people across the street with the fire.
Earlier, when he’d been out, it was. But not after 11. It was our immediate neighbours. The fire wasn’t regulation. Shooting embers. Pretty damn fucking close to our trees – we have some beautiful trees that blossom in the spring. I don’t know what they are – to me, they’re just pretty. Sort of sums up my gardening expertise right there…
I finally said something.
And my neighbour didn’t like it.
They kept it up until well past 2 am. It was only because of Kevin that I didn’t report them. Kevin and I are funny that way – we always play opposite to each other. If I don’t care about something, he will. On a different day, it will be me in a rage and him indifferent.
It wasn’t that he was indifferent, either. It’s more what are you supposed to do when the neighbour is drinking, had a huge fire, tools out and is swearing their head off at you?
See, I perhaps not so politely, told them to play with their toys in the morning.
Which launched them into a tirade about my “fucking dogs”.
Oh, that would be my dogs, that bark at your cat when it’s on my property, and bark at your kids when they’re on my property… Well, and I should say, “dog”. Nootka has only once, ever in his 19 months of life barked at someone. He’s a discerning dog, not a barker. But he is a howler. Nootka sings beautifully if I’m late with a meal, but that happens in the basement.
Koona, on the other hand, doesn’t face their property when she’s outside. Therefore, she doesn’t bark at them much – just Chinook.
Who, by the way, would kill a cat. Because before we adopted him, he’d been improperly confined and killed rabbits. It is a husky instinct to supplement their diet with kill. We don’t trust him with our cats, and if he actually caught their cat in our pen, the cat would be dead. We know this. It isn’t rocket science either. The fact the neighbour’s cat isn’t dead already is a bit surprising, because fox and coyotes run through the yard, as well as skunks, loose dogs…
There is only one good thing about this. I’m absolutely itching to start on my Wednesday post for this week, which is already turning out to be very interesting, based on my research for it.
So I needed something I felt like venting about.
But what I really need is a solution. We need to put up a fence, but that becomes a huge headache when you’ve got nutters to deal with. Hence, being here 2.5 years and not having it done.
We really need to deal with it.
Funny, Kevin pulled a title from a self-help book (of sorts) yesterday. “How to stop a runaway horse.” His answer? “Shoot it.” (Yeah, we’re both a bit warped in the humour department.)
I feel fairly confident shooting my neighbours isn’t an option. But they’ve officially reached out and touched my inner bitch.
Thankfully, JT Ellison has been sending me funnies.
*GETTING THE JOB DONE*
*The LAPD, the FBI, & the CIA are all trying to prove that they are the best at apprehending criminals. The President decides to give them a test. He releases a rabbit into a forest and each of them has to catch it.
The CIA goes in. They place animal informants throughout the forest. They question all plant and mineral witnesses. After three months of extensive investigations they conclude that rabbits do not exist.
The FBI goes in. After two weeks with no leads they burn the forest, killing everything in it, including the rabbit and they make no apologies. The rabbit had it coming.
The LAPD goes in. They come out two hours later with a badly beaten bear. The bear is yelling: "Okay, okay, I'm a rabbit, I'm a rabbit."
A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded: "Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and dirty. You're crazy to go to Rome. So, how are yo u getting there?"
"We're taking Continental," was the reply. "We got a great rate!"
"Continental?" exclaimed the hairdresser. "That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?"
"We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's Tiber River called Teste."
"Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody think s it's gonna be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump, the worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly, and they're overpriced. So, whatcha' doing when you get there?"
"We're going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope."
"That's rich," laughed the hairdresser. "You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."
A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.
"It was wonderful," explained the woman, "not only were we on time in one of Continental's brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot. And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodeling job and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no extra charge!"
"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I k now you didn't get to see the Pope."
"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained tha t the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand; I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."
"Oh really! What'd he say?"
He said: "Where'd you get that shitty hairdo
Oh, yeah, and a contest question for day #5…
Well, let’s do a little recap.
Day 1. What name would I have given a son if I’d had one? Answer on last week’s Killer Year blog post (Wednesday).
Bonus: tell me what you thought the stupidest thing I criticized about The Book I Didn’t Like was (my Thursday post)
Day 2. Name three of my kittens.
Bonus: Name all four.
Day 3. Name three books by Ian Rankin
Bonus: The title of his forthcoming release this October in the UK.
Day 4: What is the name of my debut novel? I’m thinking about switching it, because The Happy Hooker Goes to Canada had such a nice ring to it…
So… Day #5.
I know. Send me a joke. Because I need some smiles today so that I won’t be Perma-Grumpy Bear.
OR: post a suggestion for what I can do to my neighbours to get even. You can do both and I'll put your name in twice.
But I’m not really being accurate when I say it was in their back yard. They had it partially dumped on our yard.
We said nothing. It was about… five months before they removed the pile. She and He had split, so She was trying to sell the place for an outrageous pile of money and her father was slaving away to finish things off on a property that then had no landscaping, because She and He had originally bought the lot from the person who sold us our property.
Yes, the woman we bought from had once had a massive property, five lots wide. Our property is 100 x 130 feet. We have a corner lot that backs on to a lane, hence, only one immediate neighbour.
And the one immediate neighbour is enough of a fucking nightmare to make up for ten.
Okay, I’ve grumbled about them before. I remember writing about how they stole our coffee table. Our doggie-diarrhea-infested coffee table. Like I care if they want to put their barbecue down on that and wonder what’s with all the flies, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s theft.
And, again, I said nothing.
Their kids play in our yard. They leave garbage and toys and when I mow the lawn I have to pick it all up.
And I say nothing.
They play their music so loud sometimes I have to close my office window to concentrate, because they have shit taste in music too.
Oh, and they let their cat run loose. We find it in our shed, in the dog pen, it runs around just out of reach of our dogs, so yeah, guess what? Our dogs bark. There’s a bi-law here about cats running loose. $500 fine for letting your animal run off your property. In the 2.5 years we’ve lived here, I could have phoned them in almost every single day.
But I haven’t.
But that’s about to change.
Last night, it was after 11 pm when someone was banging with a hammer. And then dropping something metal that clinked. Then banging, then dropping.
And you could hear the fire in our bedroom, it was so big.
Kevin said it was the people doing construction a few houses over. And the people across the street with the fire.
Earlier, when he’d been out, it was. But not after 11. It was our immediate neighbours. The fire wasn’t regulation. Shooting embers. Pretty damn fucking close to our trees – we have some beautiful trees that blossom in the spring. I don’t know what they are – to me, they’re just pretty. Sort of sums up my gardening expertise right there…
I finally said something.
And my neighbour didn’t like it.
They kept it up until well past 2 am. It was only because of Kevin that I didn’t report them. Kevin and I are funny that way – we always play opposite to each other. If I don’t care about something, he will. On a different day, it will be me in a rage and him indifferent.
It wasn’t that he was indifferent, either. It’s more what are you supposed to do when the neighbour is drinking, had a huge fire, tools out and is swearing their head off at you?
See, I perhaps not so politely, told them to play with their toys in the morning.
Which launched them into a tirade about my “fucking dogs”.
Oh, that would be my dogs, that bark at your cat when it’s on my property, and bark at your kids when they’re on my property… Well, and I should say, “dog”. Nootka has only once, ever in his 19 months of life barked at someone. He’s a discerning dog, not a barker. But he is a howler. Nootka sings beautifully if I’m late with a meal, but that happens in the basement.
Koona, on the other hand, doesn’t face their property when she’s outside. Therefore, she doesn’t bark at them much – just Chinook.
Who, by the way, would kill a cat. Because before we adopted him, he’d been improperly confined and killed rabbits. It is a husky instinct to supplement their diet with kill. We don’t trust him with our cats, and if he actually caught their cat in our pen, the cat would be dead. We know this. It isn’t rocket science either. The fact the neighbour’s cat isn’t dead already is a bit surprising, because fox and coyotes run through the yard, as well as skunks, loose dogs…
There is only one good thing about this. I’m absolutely itching to start on my Wednesday post for this week, which is already turning out to be very interesting, based on my research for it.
So I needed something I felt like venting about.
But what I really need is a solution. We need to put up a fence, but that becomes a huge headache when you’ve got nutters to deal with. Hence, being here 2.5 years and not having it done.
We really need to deal with it.
Funny, Kevin pulled a title from a self-help book (of sorts) yesterday. “How to stop a runaway horse.” His answer? “Shoot it.” (Yeah, we’re both a bit warped in the humour department.)
I feel fairly confident shooting my neighbours isn’t an option. But they’ve officially reached out and touched my inner bitch.
Thankfully, JT Ellison has been sending me funnies.
*GETTING THE JOB DONE*
*The LAPD, the FBI, & the CIA are all trying to prove that they are the best at apprehending criminals. The President decides to give them a test. He releases a rabbit into a forest and each of them has to catch it.
The CIA goes in. They place animal informants throughout the forest. They question all plant and mineral witnesses. After three months of extensive investigations they conclude that rabbits do not exist.
The FBI goes in. After two weeks with no leads they burn the forest, killing everything in it, including the rabbit and they make no apologies. The rabbit had it coming.
The LAPD goes in. They come out two hours later with a badly beaten bear. The bear is yelling: "Okay, okay, I'm a rabbit, I'm a rabbit."
A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded: "Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and dirty. You're crazy to go to Rome. So, how are yo u getting there?"
"We're taking Continental," was the reply. "We got a great rate!"
"Continental?" exclaimed the hairdresser. "That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?"
"We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's Tiber River called Teste."
"Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody think s it's gonna be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump, the worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly, and they're overpriced. So, whatcha' doing when you get there?"
"We're going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope."
"That's rich," laughed the hairdresser. "You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."
A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.
"It was wonderful," explained the woman, "not only were we on time in one of Continental's brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot. And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodeling job and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no extra charge!"
"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I k now you didn't get to see the Pope."
"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained tha t the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand; I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."
"Oh really! What'd he say?"
He said: "Where'd you get that shitty hairdo
Oh, yeah, and a contest question for day #5…
Well, let’s do a little recap.
Day 1. What name would I have given a son if I’d had one? Answer on last week’s Killer Year blog post (Wednesday).
Bonus: tell me what you thought the stupidest thing I criticized about The Book I Didn’t Like was (my Thursday post)
Day 2. Name three of my kittens.
Bonus: Name all four.
Day 3. Name three books by Ian Rankin
Bonus: The title of his forthcoming release this October in the UK.
Day 4: What is the name of my debut novel? I’m thinking about switching it, because The Happy Hooker Goes to Canada had such a nice ring to it…
So… Day #5.
I know. Send me a joke. Because I need some smiles today so that I won’t be Perma-Grumpy Bear.
OR: post a suggestion for what I can do to my neighbours to get even. You can do both and I'll put your name in twice.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
A Very Tasteless (no pun intended) Joke & the ARC contest, day 4
“This is the husband. This is the wood he used to barricade the door to stop us from rescuing his wife, who was inside, on fire. And this is what gay couples who insist on getting married have to look forward to.”
Ah, yes, evilkev has been watching Rescue Me. And it gets worse: He made me watch it.
I’ve been having difficulty with any of those firefighter movies or shows since he joined the department. What the mind can do to you is bad enough when he’s out on a call – I don’t actually need visualizations in my head.
But I have to admit, this show is pretty funny. Guy says his wife’s been yapping at him for 42 years and he decides today’s the day – he’s not going to take it any more. Douses her with kerosene, lights her on fire.
Lovely. My kind of humour. Cynical and dark. This is why I don’t yap at Kevin. I just glare, and occasionally shoot projectiles.
I’m still trying to persuade him to do a ‘life with Sandra’ post. Perhaps I should put up his phone number so you can all call and try to talk him into it?
Another lousy trivia question for that ARC
This question is really easy. What is the name of my debut novel? Email me at sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com and tell me that, and you’ll be entered to win an ARC of my debut novel.
If you didn’t enter yesterday, you need to name three Rankin books, as well as tell me the name of his forthcoming novel to be released in the UK in October.
I’m not sure anyone wants to take responsibility for sending me this one. I’ll be sure to mention their name if they tell me they have no shame.
I was in Wal-Mart buying a large bag of Purina for my Labrador Retriever and was in line to check out. A woman behind me asked if I had a dog.
On impulse, I told her that no, I was starting The Purina Diet again, although I probably shouldn't because I'd ended up in the hospital last time, but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms.
I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works is to load your pants pockets with Purina nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry & that the food is nutritionally complete so I was going to try it again.
I have to mention here that practically everyone in the line was by now enthralled with my story, particularly a tall guy behind her.
Horrified, she asked if I'd been poisoned and was that why I was in the hospital.
I said no.....I'd been sitting in the street licking my balls and a car hit me.
Ah, yes, evilkev has been watching Rescue Me. And it gets worse: He made me watch it.
I’ve been having difficulty with any of those firefighter movies or shows since he joined the department. What the mind can do to you is bad enough when he’s out on a call – I don’t actually need visualizations in my head.
But I have to admit, this show is pretty funny. Guy says his wife’s been yapping at him for 42 years and he decides today’s the day – he’s not going to take it any more. Douses her with kerosene, lights her on fire.
Lovely. My kind of humour. Cynical and dark. This is why I don’t yap at Kevin. I just glare, and occasionally shoot projectiles.
I’m still trying to persuade him to do a ‘life with Sandra’ post. Perhaps I should put up his phone number so you can all call and try to talk him into it?
Another lousy trivia question for that ARC
This question is really easy. What is the name of my debut novel? Email me at sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com and tell me that, and you’ll be entered to win an ARC of my debut novel.
If you didn’t enter yesterday, you need to name three Rankin books, as well as tell me the name of his forthcoming novel to be released in the UK in October.
I’m not sure anyone wants to take responsibility for sending me this one. I’ll be sure to mention their name if they tell me they have no shame.
I was in Wal-Mart buying a large bag of Purina for my Labrador Retriever and was in line to check out. A woman behind me asked if I had a dog.
On impulse, I told her that no, I was starting The Purina Diet again, although I probably shouldn't because I'd ended up in the hospital last time, but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms.
I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works is to load your pants pockets with Purina nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry & that the food is nutritionally complete so I was going to try it again.
I have to mention here that practically everyone in the line was by now enthralled with my story, particularly a tall guy behind her.
Horrified, she asked if I'd been poisoned and was that why I was in the hospital.
I said no.....I'd been sitting in the street licking my balls and a car hit me.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
A Sign of Dysfunction or of Evolution?
Skittles has been invited to join a Catster Group, called Orange & Orange and White Kitties Only.
He’s already been invited to join some other groups. The named after food group is one of them. Buttons has been invited to join some groups as well.
Poor Rascal feels awfully alone.
I haven’t put pages up yet for the rest of the clan, but I’ll get there. Eventually. It’s just something that got me thinking this week, as I received a half dozen email requests for my various pets to become buddies with other animals on Catster.
It strikes me that more and more, people are looking for ways to connect to others in the world around them through their keyboards.
I know that shouldn’t be surprising to someone who has a blog, who has a website, an ezine, hangs out on a few forums - even belongs to a Husky forum! Wow, did that come in handy when we were first dealing with Chinook, and then Nootka.
Is it convenience? The mere ability to eliminate the physical boundaries that used to dictate who our friends were, who we knew? Will this give rise to people unable to interact with others in the flesh because they spend more time with words on screens and emoticons?
Occasionally, I find it amusing to check out my referrals for the blog and see where people are coming from. In the past week, people have ended up here by searching for rubber nun outfit and horsefucking. Someone did a search for Helena inkspot bed and breakfast. I feel fairly confident they didn’t find anything remotely close. There was a hit from someone searching for Derek Ruttan songwriter. Psst. Spelled his name wrong.
I had two hits from people searching for David Simon. And – tada! – a few hits from people searching for Sandra Ruttan. Undoubtedly, the only people who stood a chance of being satisfied with the results of their search.
And even that isn’t a guarantee.
I like my virtual groupies. I like the fact that I can pester Stuart from thousands of miles away. As much as I love chatting with Cornelia we lose way too much time when we get on the phone. Same with JT. We have to discipline ourselves to use the internet so we don’t end up with eight hour phone bills!
The way I see it, the internet isn’t perfect, but it has helped break down barriers and produced a dialogue where none might have previously existed. From fellow blogger (and master ranter) Amra in Australia, to Miss Ginsu Tongue in Arizona to Vincent, Russel (who was not at Harrogate but will be at BoucherCon, which is a damn good thing!) and this guy who goes on about sheep (must live in Wales) I’ve been able to meet some wonderful people. Then, of course, there are people like Steve, with whom I have the best arguments.
And the evil Satan. Who spares me a trip to the doctor’s office for the regular blood pressure checks.
But when I hear of kids being lured by online predators, I’m reminded of the dark side of the equation. It’s one thing for us adults to use the internet. Quite another to know how to draw the lines where kids are involved.
My sister recently dropped by my blog and said, “It’s pretty irreverent.” I smiled. Ah, my work was complete! I don’t even have my “real life with a touch of irreverence” slogan at the top at the moment, and she still picked up on the tone.
Contest question for today.
By now you should know you can go back to Thursday and enter for every question I’ve put up so far.
What will today’s question be?
Name three books written by the author I recently met in Edinburgh.
And, for a bonus question, What is the name of the forthcoming title by that same author, which will be released in the UK and Canada this fall?
See, I’m not even making these too hard. I’m so nice.
He’s already been invited to join some other groups. The named after food group is one of them. Buttons has been invited to join some groups as well.
Poor Rascal feels awfully alone.
I haven’t put pages up yet for the rest of the clan, but I’ll get there. Eventually. It’s just something that got me thinking this week, as I received a half dozen email requests for my various pets to become buddies with other animals on Catster.
It strikes me that more and more, people are looking for ways to connect to others in the world around them through their keyboards.
I know that shouldn’t be surprising to someone who has a blog, who has a website, an ezine, hangs out on a few forums - even belongs to a Husky forum! Wow, did that come in handy when we were first dealing with Chinook, and then Nootka.
Is it convenience? The mere ability to eliminate the physical boundaries that used to dictate who our friends were, who we knew? Will this give rise to people unable to interact with others in the flesh because they spend more time with words on screens and emoticons?
Occasionally, I find it amusing to check out my referrals for the blog and see where people are coming from. In the past week, people have ended up here by searching for rubber nun outfit and horsefucking. Someone did a search for Helena inkspot bed and breakfast. I feel fairly confident they didn’t find anything remotely close. There was a hit from someone searching for Derek Ruttan songwriter. Psst. Spelled his name wrong.
I had two hits from people searching for David Simon. And – tada! – a few hits from people searching for Sandra Ruttan. Undoubtedly, the only people who stood a chance of being satisfied with the results of their search.
And even that isn’t a guarantee.
I like my virtual groupies. I like the fact that I can pester Stuart from thousands of miles away. As much as I love chatting with Cornelia we lose way too much time when we get on the phone. Same with JT. We have to discipline ourselves to use the internet so we don’t end up with eight hour phone bills!
The way I see it, the internet isn’t perfect, but it has helped break down barriers and produced a dialogue where none might have previously existed. From fellow blogger (and master ranter) Amra in Australia, to Miss Ginsu Tongue in Arizona to Vincent, Russel (who was not at Harrogate but will be at BoucherCon, which is a damn good thing!) and this guy who goes on about sheep (must live in Wales) I’ve been able to meet some wonderful people. Then, of course, there are people like Steve, with whom I have the best arguments.
And the evil Satan. Who spares me a trip to the doctor’s office for the regular blood pressure checks.
But when I hear of kids being lured by online predators, I’m reminded of the dark side of the equation. It’s one thing for us adults to use the internet. Quite another to know how to draw the lines where kids are involved.
My sister recently dropped by my blog and said, “It’s pretty irreverent.” I smiled. Ah, my work was complete! I don’t even have my “real life with a touch of irreverence” slogan at the top at the moment, and she still picked up on the tone.
Contest question for today.
By now you should know you can go back to Thursday and enter for every question I’ve put up so far.
What will today’s question be?
Name three books written by the author I recently met in Edinburgh.
And, for a bonus question, What is the name of the forthcoming title by that same author, which will be released in the UK and Canada this fall?
See, I’m not even making these too hard. I’m so nice.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Oh !*@!
For those interested in the review of The Book I Did Not Enjoy, you should check out M G Tarquini's excellent post about pop culture references.
I really meant to post a link in my regular post today. Then I thought I should wait until tomorrow...
Anyway, my apologies to Mindy for the oversight. I turned off my computer abruptly last night in the midst of thunderstorms, got distracted with emails at 2 am, and then woke up grumpily around 6:30 to hear about the tornadoes.
I'm now going to go put my head on straight...
Don't forget the contests.
Oh, and here's a bonus question for today for the ARC contest: you get two entries if you can name all FOUR kittens.
I really meant to post a link in my regular post today. Then I thought I should wait until tomorrow...
Anyway, my apologies to Mindy for the oversight. I turned off my computer abruptly last night in the midst of thunderstorms, got distracted with emails at 2 am, and then woke up grumpily around 6:30 to hear about the tornadoes.
I'm now going to go put my head on straight...
Don't forget the contests.
Oh, and here's a bonus question for today for the ARC contest: you get two entries if you can name all FOUR kittens.
Echoes and Dust
I was reading JT Ellison’s latest flash fiction piece and it got me thinking.
About Tom T. Hall.
Okay, so I have a strange mind. We all know that. But The Carroll County Accident was suddenly front and center in my thoughts, and I had to go listen to it.
Oddly enough, my sister and I used to get in trouble for lying about the house reading. I wouldn’t exactly say we were encouraged to have a love of books.
But while I was sitting here listening to The Carroll Country Accident, followed by The Year That Clayton Delaney Died, I realized that it was through music that I had a love of storytelling instilled in me. That shouldn’t really be surprising. Music was always on in our house, from the radio, from records, or live from the sound system in the basement.
Of course, what was really weird is that The Year That Clayton Delaney Died was followed by 16 Shells From a Thirty-Ought-Six because I have such eclectic musical tastes.
The other thing that occurs to me is that a lot of the songs I listened to as a child were about death. Smiley Bates singing about dead kids. Oh, and a classic. He Stopped Loving Her Today by George Jones. That was a bit puzzling to a kid – if they were carrying him away how could he be over her?
See, that’s what I remember lying in bed thinking about as a kid.
You know what the funny thing about kids wanting stories read to them at bedtime is? It isn’t about the books, usually. It’s just that they want the security of spending that time with their parent without distractions.
But instead of bedtime stories, I got Hank Williams, George Jones, Tom T. Hall, Smiley Bates, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Loretta Lynn.
Deric Ruttan did a great job bringing back some story songs to modern country, particularly with Tom and Annie. And it will be celtic folk music playing at my funeral, by the same band who I used music from for our wedding. You can find some of the lyrics to Long Night here if you’re interested.
Never know. It might pop up on the trivia questions over the next week.
Or not.
I can’t believe this is Gravenhurst. Kevin came in at an ungodly hour to tell me the town I grew up in was on the news, that tornadoes had ripped the roof off the curling rink.
I took skating lessons at that rink as a child.
It’s startling, because you think you can always, eventually, get the nerve to go home. That the pause button will still be down for you to release, that things will be the same.
Except the house I lived in isn’t a Ruttan home anymore. Even Mrs. Cook’s house (my neighbour two doors over) has burned to the ground. Well, it wasn’t her house anymore. She passed away years ago, like our other neighbours. June and Nick Zorich, Ruth and Bill Alton. Ruth once made me a set of figurines for the story of Mary Had A Little Lamb – it was beautiful. I still have the 1850 Foley Bone China teacup and saucer (made in England) that June left me in her will.
But I don’t have any photos of them. Just memories, of picking apples with Nick, of staying with June after school the day my mother’s truck crashed.
Echoes and dust.
All that's left are echoes and dust. The hometown you can never really return to - the first Jack Roberts book.
You find yourself wondering how much of the past you idealize in your mind. Do you remember people for who they were, or do you strain out their faults and only remember their good points? CS Lewis talked about that in A Grief Observed, when he realized he was remembering a person who never really existed because he was only remembering his wife’s good points and was forgetting to see her for who she really was.
But then something like this happens, and everything comes back to you with surprising clarity.
Which just throws another wrench into the title debate for book #2…
Today’s trivia question for the ARC contest:
Name three of Sandra’s kittens.
Send the answer to sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com with ARC Contest Day 2 in the subject header.
I don't even think you'd need to go to the archives to find the answer. Just last Sunday.
Not too late to send in answers to the questions I put up yesterday, either. See, I’m so accommodating, despite what evilkev says.
ITALIAN DIVORCE COURT (Courtesy of JT Ellison
Angelina and Giuseppi were standing before the judge in divorce court.
Angelina says: "Your honor, we beena marry 25 years ana Giuseppi he always picka his Nose ana when we maka love he a never letsa me on topa. I justa canna taka dis nomore."
The judge listens solemnly and then addresses Giuseppi. "Giuseppi, is disa true. You always a picka your nose and you never let Angelina on top?? What have you gotta say fora yourself?"
Giuseppi says, "Well your honor, itsa true. I picka my nose a lot and, yeah, Angelina, I tella her she'sa gotta be onna da bottom. Itsa all go's aback to when
I'mma a younga boy. My poppa, he's a very smarta man. I always do ev'ryting he's a say. My poppa one day he says, "Giuseppi, I gotta tella you da two main secrets of a hava successful life: Number one, you always keepa your nose clean. ana number two, never screw up."
And the winner of the signed copy of Crimespree Magazine with my story, The Butcher, in it is….
Evilkev drew two winners. Susan Robinette and Amra Pajalic! Congratulations to both, and now I need you to email me your addresses.
Thanks to all who entered!
About Tom T. Hall.
Okay, so I have a strange mind. We all know that. But The Carroll County Accident was suddenly front and center in my thoughts, and I had to go listen to it.
Oddly enough, my sister and I used to get in trouble for lying about the house reading. I wouldn’t exactly say we were encouraged to have a love of books.
But while I was sitting here listening to The Carroll Country Accident, followed by The Year That Clayton Delaney Died, I realized that it was through music that I had a love of storytelling instilled in me. That shouldn’t really be surprising. Music was always on in our house, from the radio, from records, or live from the sound system in the basement.
Of course, what was really weird is that The Year That Clayton Delaney Died was followed by 16 Shells From a Thirty-Ought-Six because I have such eclectic musical tastes.
The other thing that occurs to me is that a lot of the songs I listened to as a child were about death. Smiley Bates singing about dead kids. Oh, and a classic. He Stopped Loving Her Today by George Jones. That was a bit puzzling to a kid – if they were carrying him away how could he be over her?
See, that’s what I remember lying in bed thinking about as a kid.
You know what the funny thing about kids wanting stories read to them at bedtime is? It isn’t about the books, usually. It’s just that they want the security of spending that time with their parent without distractions.
But instead of bedtime stories, I got Hank Williams, George Jones, Tom T. Hall, Smiley Bates, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Loretta Lynn.
Deric Ruttan did a great job bringing back some story songs to modern country, particularly with Tom and Annie. And it will be celtic folk music playing at my funeral, by the same band who I used music from for our wedding. You can find some of the lyrics to Long Night here if you’re interested.
Never know. It might pop up on the trivia questions over the next week.
Or not.
I can’t believe this is Gravenhurst. Kevin came in at an ungodly hour to tell me the town I grew up in was on the news, that tornadoes had ripped the roof off the curling rink.
I took skating lessons at that rink as a child.
It’s startling, because you think you can always, eventually, get the nerve to go home. That the pause button will still be down for you to release, that things will be the same.
Except the house I lived in isn’t a Ruttan home anymore. Even Mrs. Cook’s house (my neighbour two doors over) has burned to the ground. Well, it wasn’t her house anymore. She passed away years ago, like our other neighbours. June and Nick Zorich, Ruth and Bill Alton. Ruth once made me a set of figurines for the story of Mary Had A Little Lamb – it was beautiful. I still have the 1850 Foley Bone China teacup and saucer (made in England) that June left me in her will.
But I don’t have any photos of them. Just memories, of picking apples with Nick, of staying with June after school the day my mother’s truck crashed.
Echoes and dust.
All that's left are echoes and dust. The hometown you can never really return to - the first Jack Roberts book.
You find yourself wondering how much of the past you idealize in your mind. Do you remember people for who they were, or do you strain out their faults and only remember their good points? CS Lewis talked about that in A Grief Observed, when he realized he was remembering a person who never really existed because he was only remembering his wife’s good points and was forgetting to see her for who she really was.
But then something like this happens, and everything comes back to you with surprising clarity.
Which just throws another wrench into the title debate for book #2…
Today’s trivia question for the ARC contest:
Name three of Sandra’s kittens.
Send the answer to sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com with ARC Contest Day 2 in the subject header.
I don't even think you'd need to go to the archives to find the answer. Just last Sunday.
Not too late to send in answers to the questions I put up yesterday, either. See, I’m so accommodating, despite what evilkev says.
ITALIAN DIVORCE COURT (Courtesy of JT Ellison
Angelina and Giuseppi were standing before the judge in divorce court.
Angelina says: "Your honor, we beena marry 25 years ana Giuseppi he always picka his Nose ana when we maka love he a never letsa me on topa. I justa canna taka dis nomore."
The judge listens solemnly and then addresses Giuseppi. "Giuseppi, is disa true. You always a picka your nose and you never let Angelina on top?? What have you gotta say fora yourself?"
Giuseppi says, "Well your honor, itsa true. I picka my nose a lot and, yeah, Angelina, I tella her she'sa gotta be onna da bottom. Itsa all go's aback to when
I'mma a younga boy. My poppa, he's a very smarta man. I always do ev'ryting he's a say. My poppa one day he says, "Giuseppi, I gotta tella you da two main secrets of a hava successful life: Number one, you always keepa your nose clean. ana number two, never screw up."
And the winner of the signed copy of Crimespree Magazine with my story, The Butcher, in it is….
Evilkev drew two winners. Susan Robinette and Amra Pajalic! Congratulations to both, and now I need you to email me your addresses.
Thanks to all who entered!
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Skewer the Reviewer Challenge (& a contest to win my book & -thank GOD! - funnies)
Yes, here it is, the day I’m finally going to post comments on a book I’ll admit to not enjoying.
Before we begin, I’d like to point out the following:
1. Today is the last day to enter the contest to win a signed copy of Crimespree Magazine with my short story in it. Send me an email with the name of the short story and you’ll be entered. Winner will be announced tomorrow.
2. There will be a contest launched at the end of this post, to win an ARC of my novel, Suspicious Circumstances. The ARC won’t be available until next month, but you get one. Which is more than I can say for the people who don’t win.
3. There is a point to this post, and it isn’t to offend people. If you’re going to read it, I hope you’ll read it to its conclusion, because there’s a moral to the story.
4. For the purpose of this post, the book will be referred to as The Book I Didn’t Enjoy.
The Book I Didn’t Enjoy was one that I had several issues with. I hated the mention of fashionable clothes. I’m not a fashionable person myself – I have no interest in brand names or designer clothes. A movie like Miss Congeniality is what I’d go for – a good laugh at the glamorous life, but The Book I Didn’t Enjoy looked at that aspect of the character to the point it turned me off.
It wasn’t just the fashion name-drop. It was the place name-drop. Saks or wherever. Whatever. I had the feeling when I read the book that I was expected to know things about the locale, and interpret that into the book, instead of having the book introduce me to the setting. Which added to the feeling of snobbishness for me. I was interpreting the scene with nothing but presumptions, because it was a place I hadn’t been to, and I didn’t feel the author described it to me, but assumed I should know it already. Maybe it’s being Canadian and just my own shortcoming?
I think this is where you start to say that if one or two things about a book aren’t working for you, you might be inclined to pick up on a whole bunch more and be really nitpicky. This book isn’t a police procedural. So I must be persuaded at why it is the cops are failing to solve the crime, while our amateur sleuth is piecing it all together.
There is a cop in the book. Somewhat strongly featured, for a secondary character. He drove me nuts, too. Part of the reason was that he referred to the protagonist using a nickname that referenced her hair colour. Okay, points to the author for finding an original way to tell us she’s a blonde. But having some guy calling her Blondie? And she’s a fashionable shopper who works out her angst with a credit card at a department store? Oh, gag. I know I’m supposed to respect the character because she’s got some degree of intelligence to hold the job she does, but I can’t relate to her life, and I don’t want to.
And the thing with the nickname has connotations to it that made him read like a bit of a sexist prig, which only heightened the contrast, I supposed, trying to make our heroine look more evolved. I actually don’t mind if a character is a bit of a dog – Pelecanos’ character Derek Strange and his fixation with… well, er, no spoilers… comes to mind – but because the cop in this book came off like a bit of a prop to the main character, it read like overkill to me.
Anyone want me to stop yet?
I am not as keen on 1st person narrative as 3rd person, because I am a person who looks to the subplots and likes to see all the threads start to intertwine. I love layered plots and I think you tend to see more of that with the average 3rd person narrative. Authors like Simon Kernick have utilized alternating protagonist viewpoints by combining 1st and 3rd person effectively. His Milne books, which are 1st person, work for me and work well, so a 1st person narrative doesn’t automatically mean a miss. But in this book, it didn’t work for me.
I must really connect with a character in a way that makes me want to spend time with them. I don’t have to agree with their life or approve of it – I certainly don’t endorse most of Milne’s choices, for example – but there must be something in them that makes me want to follow them on their journey.
The Book I Didn’t Enjoy failed in that regard. Now, it’s been a solid 20, 21 months since I read The Book I Didn’t Enjoy. And it’s a popular book. Written by a popular author in the crime fiction genre.
But it wasn’t for me.
One of the other realities is, you start to guess who the villain is. And when you guess early on and then there aren’t any surprises, it’s a let down. I mean, you can guess who it is and have the author still make the discovery, the motives, whatever, be compelling enough to satisfy you. I’ve had that happen too. But… not this time.
Now, what value would there be in the author reading this review? There’s no reason to think the author will, and I don’t see there being any value that would come from having them reading my opinions.
You see, this is as honest as it gets in an assessment of a book from me, and I don’t believe this is of value to anyone.
For me, it was a debut book. That isn’t a blank slate to a person to approve poor writing, but the structural things – thin plots, guessing the ending – should tighten as a writer gains experience. So, it doesn’t matter if there were some mistakes. After all, even a talented artist starts off drawing stick figures, the first model a boy builds will not be anything resembling St. Paul’s Cathedral from toothpicks. We all start somewhere.
I believe what I’ve stated here, honest as it is, is a completely subjective opinion. I can critique writing structurally and try to talk about technique alone, but in some cases that would be as much of a review of the editor as the author.
This is why I feel that reviews should always be qualified as a personal assessment. Reviews are based, in part, on taste. It’s very different for a reviewer to get excited about a book that heavily focuses on a character that puts them off to the point of personal dislike. And that might be for no other reason than the protagonist reminds them of their soon-to-be ex-wife, for example.
Personally, I prefer books set in the US outside of the major centers. New York City? Kind of overdosed on Law & Order and a zillion TV shows already.
Conversely, no matter how many times David Simon puts out a Baltimore series I’ll be there in a heartbeat. I feel he’s introduced me to the city in a way that helps me understand it and love it, and really want to see it. If asked for US places I’ve never been to but want to visit, Mesa Verde and Chaco Canyon and Connecticut are rounded out with Baltimore.
It comes down to what works for me, and what doesn’t. That’s why it’s possible you read this book and loved it. And you wouldn’t be wrong. There is a part of the reading experience that is based on the reader, and there may be reasons we fail to enjoy a particular offering. We might return to it later and have a vastly different opinion. It may be nothing more than we didn’t want to read about a character going through a divorce with our own pending, or something like that.
One person’s peanut buster parfait is a death sentence. To another, it’s salvation from the heat and worth the extra ½ hour on the treadmill three times this week. There are some things that have no right or wrong to them. They’ll just be different for each and every one of us.
Except Rebus. You must all love Rebus.
Because I said so.
And what really kills me is I know some people won’t like my books, and will say things that will be hurtful to me about them. Just as I think this would be hurtful to the author of this book as well. Which is why I haven’t named the book, or the author. Because I don’t want it to come off like a personal attack.
But I will name one book I didn’t finish. Birdman. I’m sorry, but the protagonist read to me like a spineless, pussy-whipped shell of a man I just couldn’t respect.
I hate guys who stay with manipulative women they don’t love, just for sex and out of guilt because they’ve stayed for sex.
Sorry…
But it isn’t a comment on the writing. Just a character that failed to get me that time. I may try again – the book is still here.
And if you’re wondering why I did finish The Book I Didn’t Enjoy, I was reading it for a group discussion, so I sort of felt committed.
My friend, DesLily, has a post up about going to a Lord of the Rings convention. If you’re a fan, you might really enjoy this. I did.
The sensational Anne Frasier (whose soon-to-be-released book Pale Immortal is my current reading material) put up a post about authors being broken that really got to me. Some of you will have read it already, but if you haven’t, reading it will perhaps explain why I get along so well with Anne.
And now, the launch of the contest to win an ARC of Suspicious Circumstances
I could make this easy, or I could make this hard.
I decided to do a bit of both.
Every day over the next 7 days, I will post a question. You can email me the answer to be entered. You can enter every day, once. SCRATCH THAT. You can enter for every question, once. Which means if you miss the question Saturday because you have better things to do than read my blog, you can send the answer in on Sunday, and still answer Sunday's question as well, two separate emails. Just include a massive apology for missing the original post and I'll consider forgiving you (joke). In fact, if you do enter for every question, I will add 5 extra entries with your name on it, just because that’s impressive. And must mean you really want a copy of the book.
Obviously, regular readers of my blog (as in people who read it regularly, not just those who are regular) will have a bit of an advantage. But I’ll try not to make it too challenging.
So, for today, the question is:
If I had had a son, what name would I have given him? (Clue: It was my grandfather’s name, and also what CS Lewis was commonly known as, and if you’re still in doubt, I answered the question on my Killer Year blog post yesterday. See how helpful I can be?)
Bonus question – yes, today, you can enter twice:
What was the stupidest thing I criticized about The Book I Didn’t Like?
Email: sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com with ARC Contest Day 1 in the subject header.
And if you haven’t talked to me about being on my ARC list for reviews, you aren’t getting one. So there. I stick my tongue out at you. Na na na na. (What was that I said yesterday about seeing myself as a 10-year-old?)
I must thank my good friend Deletta for sending me these. Priceless.
ZEN THOUGHTS FOR THOSE WHO TAKE LIFE TOO SERIOUSLY
1. Save the whales. Collect the whole set.
2. A day without sunshine is like, night.
3. On the other hand, you have different fingers.
4. I just got lost in thought. It wasn't familiar territory :(
5. 42.7 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.
6. 99 percent of lawyers give the rest a bad name.
7. I feel like I'm diagonally parked in a parallel universe.
8. Honk if you love peace and quiet.
9. Remember, half the people you know are below average.
10. He who laughs last, thinks slowest.
11. Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.
12. The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese in the trap.
13. I drive way too fast to worry about cholesterol.
14. Support bacteria. They're the only culture some people have.
15. Monday is an awful way to spend 1/7 of your week.
16. A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.
17. Change is inevitable, except from vending machines.
18. Get a new car for your spouse. It'll be a great trade!
19. Plan to be spontaneous tomorrow.
20. Always try to be modest, and be proud of it!
21. If you think nobody cares, try missing a couple of payments.
22. How many of you believe in psycho-kinesis? Raise my hand...
23. OK, so what's the speed of dark?
24. How do you tell when you're out of invisible ink?
25. If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.
26. When everything is coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.
27. Hard work pays off in the future. Laziness pays off now.
28. Everyone has a photographic memory. Some just don't have film.
29. If Barbie is so popular, why do you have to buy her friends?
30. How much deeper would the ocean be without sponges?
31. Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.
32. What happens if you get scared half to death twice?
33. I used to have an open mind but my brains kept falling out.
34. I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.
35. Why do psychics have to ask you for your name?
36. Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened.
37. Just remember - if the world didn't suck, we would all fall off.
38. Light travels faster than sound. That is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.
(Tomorrow's joke will involve sex and Italians...)
Before we begin, I’d like to point out the following:
1. Today is the last day to enter the contest to win a signed copy of Crimespree Magazine with my short story in it. Send me an email with the name of the short story and you’ll be entered. Winner will be announced tomorrow.
2. There will be a contest launched at the end of this post, to win an ARC of my novel, Suspicious Circumstances. The ARC won’t be available until next month, but you get one. Which is more than I can say for the people who don’t win.
3. There is a point to this post, and it isn’t to offend people. If you’re going to read it, I hope you’ll read it to its conclusion, because there’s a moral to the story.
4. For the purpose of this post, the book will be referred to as The Book I Didn’t Enjoy.
The Book I Didn’t Enjoy was one that I had several issues with. I hated the mention of fashionable clothes. I’m not a fashionable person myself – I have no interest in brand names or designer clothes. A movie like Miss Congeniality is what I’d go for – a good laugh at the glamorous life, but The Book I Didn’t Enjoy looked at that aspect of the character to the point it turned me off.
It wasn’t just the fashion name-drop. It was the place name-drop. Saks or wherever. Whatever. I had the feeling when I read the book that I was expected to know things about the locale, and interpret that into the book, instead of having the book introduce me to the setting. Which added to the feeling of snobbishness for me. I was interpreting the scene with nothing but presumptions, because it was a place I hadn’t been to, and I didn’t feel the author described it to me, but assumed I should know it already. Maybe it’s being Canadian and just my own shortcoming?
I think this is where you start to say that if one or two things about a book aren’t working for you, you might be inclined to pick up on a whole bunch more and be really nitpicky. This book isn’t a police procedural. So I must be persuaded at why it is the cops are failing to solve the crime, while our amateur sleuth is piecing it all together.
There is a cop in the book. Somewhat strongly featured, for a secondary character. He drove me nuts, too. Part of the reason was that he referred to the protagonist using a nickname that referenced her hair colour. Okay, points to the author for finding an original way to tell us she’s a blonde. But having some guy calling her Blondie? And she’s a fashionable shopper who works out her angst with a credit card at a department store? Oh, gag. I know I’m supposed to respect the character because she’s got some degree of intelligence to hold the job she does, but I can’t relate to her life, and I don’t want to.
And the thing with the nickname has connotations to it that made him read like a bit of a sexist prig, which only heightened the contrast, I supposed, trying to make our heroine look more evolved. I actually don’t mind if a character is a bit of a dog – Pelecanos’ character Derek Strange and his fixation with… well, er, no spoilers… comes to mind – but because the cop in this book came off like a bit of a prop to the main character, it read like overkill to me.
Anyone want me to stop yet?
I am not as keen on 1st person narrative as 3rd person, because I am a person who looks to the subplots and likes to see all the threads start to intertwine. I love layered plots and I think you tend to see more of that with the average 3rd person narrative. Authors like Simon Kernick have utilized alternating protagonist viewpoints by combining 1st and 3rd person effectively. His Milne books, which are 1st person, work for me and work well, so a 1st person narrative doesn’t automatically mean a miss. But in this book, it didn’t work for me.
I must really connect with a character in a way that makes me want to spend time with them. I don’t have to agree with their life or approve of it – I certainly don’t endorse most of Milne’s choices, for example – but there must be something in them that makes me want to follow them on their journey.
The Book I Didn’t Enjoy failed in that regard. Now, it’s been a solid 20, 21 months since I read The Book I Didn’t Enjoy. And it’s a popular book. Written by a popular author in the crime fiction genre.
But it wasn’t for me.
One of the other realities is, you start to guess who the villain is. And when you guess early on and then there aren’t any surprises, it’s a let down. I mean, you can guess who it is and have the author still make the discovery, the motives, whatever, be compelling enough to satisfy you. I’ve had that happen too. But… not this time.
Now, what value would there be in the author reading this review? There’s no reason to think the author will, and I don’t see there being any value that would come from having them reading my opinions.
You see, this is as honest as it gets in an assessment of a book from me, and I don’t believe this is of value to anyone.
For me, it was a debut book. That isn’t a blank slate to a person to approve poor writing, but the structural things – thin plots, guessing the ending – should tighten as a writer gains experience. So, it doesn’t matter if there were some mistakes. After all, even a talented artist starts off drawing stick figures, the first model a boy builds will not be anything resembling St. Paul’s Cathedral from toothpicks. We all start somewhere.
I believe what I’ve stated here, honest as it is, is a completely subjective opinion. I can critique writing structurally and try to talk about technique alone, but in some cases that would be as much of a review of the editor as the author.
This is why I feel that reviews should always be qualified as a personal assessment. Reviews are based, in part, on taste. It’s very different for a reviewer to get excited about a book that heavily focuses on a character that puts them off to the point of personal dislike. And that might be for no other reason than the protagonist reminds them of their soon-to-be ex-wife, for example.
Personally, I prefer books set in the US outside of the major centers. New York City? Kind of overdosed on Law & Order and a zillion TV shows already.
Conversely, no matter how many times David Simon puts out a Baltimore series I’ll be there in a heartbeat. I feel he’s introduced me to the city in a way that helps me understand it and love it, and really want to see it. If asked for US places I’ve never been to but want to visit, Mesa Verde and Chaco Canyon and Connecticut are rounded out with Baltimore.
It comes down to what works for me, and what doesn’t. That’s why it’s possible you read this book and loved it. And you wouldn’t be wrong. There is a part of the reading experience that is based on the reader, and there may be reasons we fail to enjoy a particular offering. We might return to it later and have a vastly different opinion. It may be nothing more than we didn’t want to read about a character going through a divorce with our own pending, or something like that.
One person’s peanut buster parfait is a death sentence. To another, it’s salvation from the heat and worth the extra ½ hour on the treadmill three times this week. There are some things that have no right or wrong to them. They’ll just be different for each and every one of us.
Except Rebus. You must all love Rebus.
Because I said so.
And what really kills me is I know some people won’t like my books, and will say things that will be hurtful to me about them. Just as I think this would be hurtful to the author of this book as well. Which is why I haven’t named the book, or the author. Because I don’t want it to come off like a personal attack.
But I will name one book I didn’t finish. Birdman. I’m sorry, but the protagonist read to me like a spineless, pussy-whipped shell of a man I just couldn’t respect.
I hate guys who stay with manipulative women they don’t love, just for sex and out of guilt because they’ve stayed for sex.
Sorry…
But it isn’t a comment on the writing. Just a character that failed to get me that time. I may try again – the book is still here.
And if you’re wondering why I did finish The Book I Didn’t Enjoy, I was reading it for a group discussion, so I sort of felt committed.
My friend, DesLily, has a post up about going to a Lord of the Rings convention. If you’re a fan, you might really enjoy this. I did.
The sensational Anne Frasier (whose soon-to-be-released book Pale Immortal is my current reading material) put up a post about authors being broken that really got to me. Some of you will have read it already, but if you haven’t, reading it will perhaps explain why I get along so well with Anne.
And now, the launch of the contest to win an ARC of Suspicious Circumstances
I could make this easy, or I could make this hard.
I decided to do a bit of both.
Every day over the next 7 days, I will post a question. You can email me the answer to be entered. You can enter every day, once. SCRATCH THAT. You can enter for every question, once. Which means if you miss the question Saturday because you have better things to do than read my blog, you can send the answer in on Sunday, and still answer Sunday's question as well, two separate emails. Just include a massive apology for missing the original post and I'll consider forgiving you (joke). In fact, if you do enter for every question, I will add 5 extra entries with your name on it, just because that’s impressive. And must mean you really want a copy of the book.
Obviously, regular readers of my blog (as in people who read it regularly, not just those who are regular) will have a bit of an advantage. But I’ll try not to make it too challenging.
So, for today, the question is:
If I had had a son, what name would I have given him? (Clue: It was my grandfather’s name, and also what CS Lewis was commonly known as, and if you’re still in doubt, I answered the question on my Killer Year blog post yesterday. See how helpful I can be?)
Bonus question – yes, today, you can enter twice:
What was the stupidest thing I criticized about The Book I Didn’t Like?
Email: sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com with ARC Contest Day 1 in the subject header.
And if you haven’t talked to me about being on my ARC list for reviews, you aren’t getting one. So there. I stick my tongue out at you. Na na na na. (What was that I said yesterday about seeing myself as a 10-year-old?)
I must thank my good friend Deletta for sending me these. Priceless.
ZEN THOUGHTS FOR THOSE WHO TAKE LIFE TOO SERIOUSLY
1. Save the whales. Collect the whole set.
2. A day without sunshine is like, night.
3. On the other hand, you have different fingers.
4. I just got lost in thought. It wasn't familiar territory :(
5. 42.7 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.
6. 99 percent of lawyers give the rest a bad name.
7. I feel like I'm diagonally parked in a parallel universe.
8. Honk if you love peace and quiet.
9. Remember, half the people you know are below average.
10. He who laughs last, thinks slowest.
11. Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.
12. The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese in the trap.
13. I drive way too fast to worry about cholesterol.
14. Support bacteria. They're the only culture some people have.
15. Monday is an awful way to spend 1/7 of your week.
16. A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.
17. Change is inevitable, except from vending machines.
18. Get a new car for your spouse. It'll be a great trade!
19. Plan to be spontaneous tomorrow.
20. Always try to be modest, and be proud of it!
21. If you think nobody cares, try missing a couple of payments.
22. How many of you believe in psycho-kinesis? Raise my hand...
23. OK, so what's the speed of dark?
24. How do you tell when you're out of invisible ink?
25. If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.
26. When everything is coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.
27. Hard work pays off in the future. Laziness pays off now.
28. Everyone has a photographic memory. Some just don't have film.
29. If Barbie is so popular, why do you have to buy her friends?
30. How much deeper would the ocean be without sponges?
31. Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.
32. What happens if you get scared half to death twice?
33. I used to have an open mind but my brains kept falling out.
34. I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.
35. Why do psychics have to ask you for your name?
36. Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened.
37. Just remember - if the world didn't suck, we would all fall off.
38. Light travels faster than sound. That is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.
(Tomorrow's joke will involve sex and Italians...)
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Of Contests, Sandra and Rebus
My blog post is up at Killer Year and I have been interviewed by Julia Buckley.
Undoubtedly, there is more than enough of me on the web already for one day. One week, even.
But I am having that contest, so if you'd like to win a signed copy of Crimespree Magazine, email me at sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com and just tell me the name of the short story I have in Issue #13. I'll give you a clue - the answer is online and you don't have to look to hard. It may be one link away, or closer than you think!
I'll be launching a contest tomorrow to win an ARC of Suspicious Circumstances so be sure to check that out. It will follow a negative review I'll be posting (says she, with fear and trepidation).
And I feel fairly certain the victim in this case was an old school friend of Rebus. Which is why when he retires he's going to seek justice for his friend and end up working a case on his own that will bring him to Canada and have him form an uneasy alliance with Jack Roberts.
Well, I can dream, can't I?
Undoubtedly, there is more than enough of me on the web already for one day. One week, even.
But I am having that contest, so if you'd like to win a signed copy of Crimespree Magazine, email me at sandra.ruttan@spinetinglermag.com and just tell me the name of the short story I have in Issue #13. I'll give you a clue - the answer is online and you don't have to look to hard. It may be one link away, or closer than you think!
I'll be launching a contest tomorrow to win an ARC of Suspicious Circumstances so be sure to check that out. It will follow a negative review I'll be posting (says she, with fear and trepidation).
And I feel fairly certain the victim in this case was an old school friend of Rebus. Which is why when he retires he's going to seek justice for his friend and end up working a case on his own that will bring him to Canada and have him form an uneasy alliance with Jack Roberts.
Well, I can dream, can't I?
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Should Authors Be Jerks? Should Reviewers Be Friends With Authors?
…and a story from evilkev.
The last night of Harrogate, I didn’t go to bed. Instead, I found myself ready to pass out around 3 am from sheer exhaustion, but I needed someone to sign books. So, I was waiting. And it was a solid 5 am before he finally gave up on the conversation we were embroiled in.
Which had to do with reviewers not writing honest reviews.
The person who’d raised the discussion hasn’t been writing. Whether or not they will start now, I don’t know. So, their view was as a reader at the festival. The one thing they didn’t like was seeing all the reviewers and authors schmoozing together, because they felt that too many reviewers were trying to stay in favour with authors and therefore failing in their responsibility to be honest to readers.
Of course, then I went on DorothyL and read a ton of comments about reviews. And decided to write out a negative review, with a challenge. The post is too long for DorothyL and the conversation there has moved on. But I’ve promised to post it here Thursday, and there will be a challenge and chance to win a special prize.
An ARC of my debut novel. (The ARC won’t be available until September, but still. You win, you get one.)
Anyway, the conversation was an interesting one, and I won’t rehash the whole thing for you, but it did make me think. One of the things I said was that I was actually in the worst position of all, as an author also writing reviews. By nature of my dual roles, that means I’d be more inclined to want to keep authors on my good side, as peers, wouldn’t it?
I don’t particularly like writing negative reviews. I know how much time and trouble an author puts in, from my own writing I imagine how important their book is to them. And how personally they’ll take it. But at the same time, I don’t ever intend to be dishonest. Which means walking a very fine line in how I phrase what I say in reviews. I used to read a book, like it, then review it. Always books I bought for myself. Now, I get piles of ARCs. Chances are, I won’t like some of them.
So, I’m trying to be fair and balanced. To qualify what is a matter of taste, to clarify who the book would appeal to (unless I’d venture to say nobody but the author’s grandmother). It’s hard. Yes, I worry a bit about hurting feelings. Truthfully, I could be out of the reviewing side of the equation tomorrow and it wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.
I recently came to a hard conclusion, and that’s that there’s a group of people I can’t review books for. It isn’t because I doubt my ability to be fair and objective. But because of the nature of my relationship with this group of people (not good) if I were to write anything less than a positive review, it would be seen as a personal attack. Now, in this group there are only a few authors anyway. So it isn’t a big issue in my life, except that by nature of association with this group I feel I’d have to turn those authors down if they approached me, although none of the authors have been involved in my conflict with the group’s administration.
I’ve always maintained nobody would believe it was objective if I wrote a positive review of a Rankin book, or one of Val McDermid’s, come to think of it. Which is why I haven’t reviewed books by either of them. I’m thinking about reviewing a book by Val, but haven’t decided.
Not that it matters much to them if I review their books anyway. They get tons of reviews.
So why put myself through the grief?
And it still doesn’t address the initial question. Should reviewers meet/be friends with authors? Does it throw their objectivity into question?
Have you ever read a review and discounted it because you know the author/reviewer are friends?
I know, I know. All these heavy questions. But I wear three hats, guys, and I do worry about this stuff. To the point where I don’t read submissions that come in from people I know, just so that I’m not put in an awkward position. Although it’s still my job to type the rejection letters…
Now, this niggling question about reviews is still bugging me, and if you know me, you know I’d be happy for any excuse to stop reviewing. But on the other hand, there are a lot of authors out there who are great writers who aren’t getting a lot of reviews who can benefit from the exposure.
Opinions wanted. And I won’t consider any of your comments to be partial. Even if you’re an author I’ve got an ARC from.
And does anyone know agents who specialize in overseas sales? I suppose I should be doing something about my unsigned rights one of these days…
Oh, and evilkev will really want to know what you think of his story. You can send the fan mail to thethorninSandra'sbackside@artistwhoneedstobeflatteredconstantly.com
Cozy Noir Contest
It isn’t cozy. And it isn’t noir. The premise is simple: a cozy story featuring a noir protagonist or a noir story with a cozy protagonist.
There are sample stories here and you’ll find they cover a fairly wide range of styles.
We haven’t actually decided how many winners we’ll pick, so while it says you’ll receive one book as a prize by one of the authors listed, that’s actually a lie. In some cases, we have more than one book by the author that we’re giving away (three by Ian Rankin, for example) so sharpen those pencils and get writing!
Entry deadline is September 5, 2006.
And yes, we’re still taking regular submissions. We won’t be looking at them until September either, though.
Affirmative Action
by K. Robert Einarson
I knew it was going to be bad when I found the head at the bottom of the stairs.
“The neighbors reported hearing a scuffle, then a scream, then nothing.” The uniform paused to flip the page in his notebook. “Then they said they thought they saw a tall man with dark hair running off.”
I climbed to the top of the stairs and examined the body. She was wearing a long housecoat and other than missing a head, looked rather peaceful. There was some evidence of the reported scuffle, a broken fingernail and some bruising on her wrists and what was left of her neck.
“Detective Taylor, we’ve found something.” I walked toward the Crime Scene Tech in the adjoining room. He pointed to a six-inch butcher knife on the floor. A thick layer of blood coated the knife. As I looked up, I noted the broken window and the splintered glass underneath the window frame. It was starting to come together.
“Well, it looks like the perp entered through this window and…”
A shrill meow behind me broke my concentration and I instinctively looked back. A uniformed officer was holding a black cat, a gold badge dangling from his neck.
‘Son of a bitch.’
“Lt. Puss Puss, I didn’t know you were coming down here”
Merrooow, Meow, Meow.
“Sir, I think it is too early to question anyone, we don’t even have a suspect.”
Hiss, Meow, Merrooow.
“I understand it’s the mayor’s daughter, but we need to take our time to be certain we get the right person.”
Merrooow, Meow, Meow, Merrooow, Meow.
I turned away. ‘Fucking affirmative action. What kind of idiot would think that we don’t have enough cats in management positions? I mean the last crime that fucking cat solved was the great tuna caper.’
“With all due respect sir,” the sneer was evident in my voice, “ I find it hard to believe that she was killed because of an argument over a catnip mouse.”
Hiss, Hiss, Merrooow, Hiss.
“Insubordination! I’ll show up fucking insubordination!” I grabbed Lt. Puss Puss and threw him out the window. “Let’s see if you can fly, you little fucker.”
Well as luck would have it, Puss Puss landed on the murderer, who was hiding out in the bushes under the window. After a brief struggle, a seriously scratched up perp was arrested by two uniforms.
Lt Puss Puss was given a medal for heroism for catching the murderer and promoted to Captain.
And my reward? I now walk a beat in bum town and think of all of the ways to skin a cat.
And evilkev and I watched the Foul Play from Harrogate last night and enjoyed a great laugh. Stella and Mark... Too funny. I think Laura and Shane should have followed up on the war wound and discharge a bit more. Glad I got that on video.
The last night of Harrogate, I didn’t go to bed. Instead, I found myself ready to pass out around 3 am from sheer exhaustion, but I needed someone to sign books. So, I was waiting. And it was a solid 5 am before he finally gave up on the conversation we were embroiled in.
Which had to do with reviewers not writing honest reviews.
The person who’d raised the discussion hasn’t been writing. Whether or not they will start now, I don’t know. So, their view was as a reader at the festival. The one thing they didn’t like was seeing all the reviewers and authors schmoozing together, because they felt that too many reviewers were trying to stay in favour with authors and therefore failing in their responsibility to be honest to readers.
Of course, then I went on DorothyL and read a ton of comments about reviews. And decided to write out a negative review, with a challenge. The post is too long for DorothyL and the conversation there has moved on. But I’ve promised to post it here Thursday, and there will be a challenge and chance to win a special prize.
An ARC of my debut novel. (The ARC won’t be available until September, but still. You win, you get one.)
Anyway, the conversation was an interesting one, and I won’t rehash the whole thing for you, but it did make me think. One of the things I said was that I was actually in the worst position of all, as an author also writing reviews. By nature of my dual roles, that means I’d be more inclined to want to keep authors on my good side, as peers, wouldn’t it?
I don’t particularly like writing negative reviews. I know how much time and trouble an author puts in, from my own writing I imagine how important their book is to them. And how personally they’ll take it. But at the same time, I don’t ever intend to be dishonest. Which means walking a very fine line in how I phrase what I say in reviews. I used to read a book, like it, then review it. Always books I bought for myself. Now, I get piles of ARCs. Chances are, I won’t like some of them.
So, I’m trying to be fair and balanced. To qualify what is a matter of taste, to clarify who the book would appeal to (unless I’d venture to say nobody but the author’s grandmother). It’s hard. Yes, I worry a bit about hurting feelings. Truthfully, I could be out of the reviewing side of the equation tomorrow and it wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.
I recently came to a hard conclusion, and that’s that there’s a group of people I can’t review books for. It isn’t because I doubt my ability to be fair and objective. But because of the nature of my relationship with this group of people (not good) if I were to write anything less than a positive review, it would be seen as a personal attack. Now, in this group there are only a few authors anyway. So it isn’t a big issue in my life, except that by nature of association with this group I feel I’d have to turn those authors down if they approached me, although none of the authors have been involved in my conflict with the group’s administration.
I’ve always maintained nobody would believe it was objective if I wrote a positive review of a Rankin book, or one of Val McDermid’s, come to think of it. Which is why I haven’t reviewed books by either of them. I’m thinking about reviewing a book by Val, but haven’t decided.
Not that it matters much to them if I review their books anyway. They get tons of reviews.
So why put myself through the grief?
And it still doesn’t address the initial question. Should reviewers meet/be friends with authors? Does it throw their objectivity into question?
Have you ever read a review and discounted it because you know the author/reviewer are friends?
I know, I know. All these heavy questions. But I wear three hats, guys, and I do worry about this stuff. To the point where I don’t read submissions that come in from people I know, just so that I’m not put in an awkward position. Although it’s still my job to type the rejection letters…
Now, this niggling question about reviews is still bugging me, and if you know me, you know I’d be happy for any excuse to stop reviewing. But on the other hand, there are a lot of authors out there who are great writers who aren’t getting a lot of reviews who can benefit from the exposure.
Opinions wanted. And I won’t consider any of your comments to be partial. Even if you’re an author I’ve got an ARC from.
And does anyone know agents who specialize in overseas sales? I suppose I should be doing something about my unsigned rights one of these days…
Oh, and evilkev will really want to know what you think of his story. You can send the fan mail to thethorninSandra'sbackside@artistwhoneedstobeflatteredconstantly.com
Cozy Noir Contest
It isn’t cozy. And it isn’t noir. The premise is simple: a cozy story featuring a noir protagonist or a noir story with a cozy protagonist.
There are sample stories here and you’ll find they cover a fairly wide range of styles.
We haven’t actually decided how many winners we’ll pick, so while it says you’ll receive one book as a prize by one of the authors listed, that’s actually a lie. In some cases, we have more than one book by the author that we’re giving away (three by Ian Rankin, for example) so sharpen those pencils and get writing!
Entry deadline is September 5, 2006.
And yes, we’re still taking regular submissions. We won’t be looking at them until September either, though.
Affirmative Action
by K. Robert Einarson
I knew it was going to be bad when I found the head at the bottom of the stairs.
“The neighbors reported hearing a scuffle, then a scream, then nothing.” The uniform paused to flip the page in his notebook. “Then they said they thought they saw a tall man with dark hair running off.”
I climbed to the top of the stairs and examined the body. She was wearing a long housecoat and other than missing a head, looked rather peaceful. There was some evidence of the reported scuffle, a broken fingernail and some bruising on her wrists and what was left of her neck.
“Detective Taylor, we’ve found something.” I walked toward the Crime Scene Tech in the adjoining room. He pointed to a six-inch butcher knife on the floor. A thick layer of blood coated the knife. As I looked up, I noted the broken window and the splintered glass underneath the window frame. It was starting to come together.
“Well, it looks like the perp entered through this window and…”
A shrill meow behind me broke my concentration and I instinctively looked back. A uniformed officer was holding a black cat, a gold badge dangling from his neck.
‘Son of a bitch.’
“Lt. Puss Puss, I didn’t know you were coming down here”
Merrooow, Meow, Meow.
“Sir, I think it is too early to question anyone, we don’t even have a suspect.”
Hiss, Meow, Merrooow.
“I understand it’s the mayor’s daughter, but we need to take our time to be certain we get the right person.”
Merrooow, Meow, Meow, Merrooow, Meow.
I turned away. ‘Fucking affirmative action. What kind of idiot would think that we don’t have enough cats in management positions? I mean the last crime that fucking cat solved was the great tuna caper.’
“With all due respect sir,” the sneer was evident in my voice, “ I find it hard to believe that she was killed because of an argument over a catnip mouse.”
Hiss, Hiss, Merrooow, Hiss.
“Insubordination! I’ll show up fucking insubordination!” I grabbed Lt. Puss Puss and threw him out the window. “Let’s see if you can fly, you little fucker.”
Well as luck would have it, Puss Puss landed on the murderer, who was hiding out in the bushes under the window. After a brief struggle, a seriously scratched up perp was arrested by two uniforms.
Lt Puss Puss was given a medal for heroism for catching the murderer and promoted to Captain.
And my reward? I now walk a beat in bum town and think of all of the ways to skin a cat.
And evilkev and I watched the Foul Play from Harrogate last night and enjoyed a great laugh. Stella and Mark... Too funny. I think Laura and Shane should have followed up on the war wound and discharge a bit more. Glad I got that on video.
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