It just snowed here. Yes, in Mesa, at midday. Of course it didn't stick (it is Mesa, after all), but the wind is bitter cold and the sky is overcast. So I'm sitting in my room with a hot cup of peppermint tea and a blanket. As a bonus, the heater just came on.
I think this coming year I'd like to keep a running word-count. I can't really do an accurate one for 2010. I wrote two complete novels (Deathmark was ~90K words, and A Tale of Real Irish Tea ended up being ~80K, as I recall), but I also completed my 2009 NaNo (that needed ~10-12K more, I think), and I got ~27K into another project that I haven't touched in months, plus two more that are maybe ~3K each. I should have kept track, a writing log or something. My writing time is just not very structured, though, so November is the only time I'm really disciplined enough to do something like that.
Regardless of the unknown word count, 2010 has been a pretty good writing year for me, I think. (I will allow that my narcissism could be clouding that judgment, of course.) I'd like 2011 to be even better, but I kind of feel like my brain has been sapped of all its good ideas and it's all downhill from here. Not the greatest feeling in the world.
Oh well. It's not like I'm going to quit any time soon. What else would I do with myself if I did?
30 December 2010
26 November 2010
And, it's official.
So I verified my word count last night at 51,883 (I think that was the number- I'm too lazy to go back and check). I'm pretty sure that of my three years participating in NaNoWriMo, this is my lowest word count ever. I pretty much quit writing after I hit the 50,000 mark, which is bad because I still have eleven chapters left before the book is actually finished. I hit that 50K mark back on Nov. 16th, too, which makes my lack of progress since then even worse.
I can see the ending, I know most of what's supposed to happen from now until then, but I just can't motivate myself to write it.
Blargh.
What I really need is some device that can download the plot from my brain to my computer. And by "device" I mean something other than my fingers. Too slow-going. But then, if I didn't have to hammer everything out bit by bit, there would be pieces missing. So many little things get incorporated in the writing process, so I really should be grateful for those hours upon hours of staring at a computer screen while I force myself to type out scenes that no longer captivate me.
I am at that paradox of both loving and hating what I do at the same time. That can mean only one thing: time to eat some leftover pie.
Happy day-after-Thanksgiving!
28 October 2010
I, the rare sail
So, the tentative title for my NaNoWriMo novel is A Tale of Real Irish Tea. I kind of feel like that's false advertising, but that was kind of the point. Hee. I'll try to craft the story so that it's not entirely random (but I might just need a new title, which sucks because I hate trying to figure out titles).
In related news, I have the first four chapters outlined, and the main events of the novel listed in a nonlinear fashion. I can't go much further than that, though, because I need these beginning chapters fresh in my mind. I'm starting to get the itch to write them. I can see several of the scenes (both outlined and otherwise), and the dialogue is taking shape, and I think if I have to pin down any more details, I might just lose some of what I have already.
That probably doesn't make sense, but I've never successfully outlined more than four or five chapters in advance. The story kind of takes its own shape when I write it, and if it wants to veer in a direction other than my outline, I let it. Thus, there really is no point in working on an extended outline I'm not going to enforce, is there?
And that's all for now.
In related news, I have the first four chapters outlined, and the main events of the novel listed in a nonlinear fashion. I can't go much further than that, though, because I need these beginning chapters fresh in my mind. I'm starting to get the itch to write them. I can see several of the scenes (both outlined and otherwise), and the dialogue is taking shape, and I think if I have to pin down any more details, I might just lose some of what I have already.
That probably doesn't make sense, but I've never successfully outlined more than four or five chapters in advance. The story kind of takes its own shape when I write it, and if it wants to veer in a direction other than my outline, I let it. Thus, there really is no point in working on an extended outline I'm not going to enforce, is there?
And that's all for now.
21 October 2010
Biding time, yet again
I'm in one of those odd situations where I'm waiting around for the month to be over. It's only the 21st, I know, and I could be doing so much plotting for NaNoWriMo, but, see, my deadline isn't close enough for me to feel any need to plot more than I already have. I know what happens in the book. I know the basic order. I just haven't fit it into an outline yet, because outlining is usually the last thing I do before I sit down an write the dang thing. And I can't outline something ten days before I write it, or I'll totally hit a big fat wall of apathy by the time November 1st rolls around.
Ideally I should be coming up with a title, but that's eluding me too. I hate titles. Every one I come up with might work for a single chapter, but it's no good for the book as a whole. Kinda makes me want to kick something in frustration.
So, the good news: I finally broke down and created an Amazon account. It was only because they had a book priced $5 cheaper than B&N.com, though. If the price is within a buck or two, I don't care, but $5 is a happy meal. Or, well, five rolls of floss, since I'm more likely to buy those than a happy meal. And five rolls of floss would last me six or seven months, maybe longer!
Wait. 100 yd/roll x ~1 yd/night = ~3 months/roll x 5 rolls = 15 MONTHS!!! I COULD BUY 15 MONTHS WORTH OF FLOSS WITH THE MONEY I JUST SAVED ON AMAZON!!!
(Incidentally, I currently have three rolls of floss on reserve, so I won't be using the $5 I saved to buy floss just yet. But wouldn't that be a fantastic Amazon slogan? "Now you can afford to keep your mouth healthy. Amazon.com, saving you floss money on every purchase. You're welcome.")
Oddly enough, I also placed an order with B&N that very same day (Tuesday). Since I'm a member there, I was eligible for free 2-day shipping. The Amazon order qualified for free shipping too, but it was 5-8 days. And here's how it's all fallen out: part of the B&N order shipped today. Its estimated arrival is the 25th, with no word so far on when the missing book will ship. My whole Amazon order also shipped today. Its estimated arrival is the 23rd.
What the crud, B&N? No wonder you're hemorrhaging customers.
Anyway, it's a good thing I wanted the Amazon books first, because they're coming first. I need one of them for my NaNo novel, and the other for my backup NaNo novel. Y'know, research. And yes, I'm fully aware that I only have ten days. (It's too much time! My Procrastination Override doesn't engage until we've come within three days of the deadline!) So I guess I'll just sit here and twiddle my thumbs while I wait.
Or I would if twiddling my thumbs didn't send my right arm into a vague numbness, but that is another story entirely.
Ideally I should be coming up with a title, but that's eluding me too. I hate titles. Every one I come up with might work for a single chapter, but it's no good for the book as a whole. Kinda makes me want to kick something in frustration.
So, the good news: I finally broke down and created an Amazon account. It was only because they had a book priced $5 cheaper than B&N.com, though. If the price is within a buck or two, I don't care, but $5 is a happy meal. Or, well, five rolls of floss, since I'm more likely to buy those than a happy meal. And five rolls of floss would last me six or seven months, maybe longer!
Wait. 100 yd/roll x ~1 yd/night = ~3 months/roll x 5 rolls = 15 MONTHS!!! I COULD BUY 15 MONTHS WORTH OF FLOSS WITH THE MONEY I JUST SAVED ON AMAZON!!!
(Incidentally, I currently have three rolls of floss on reserve, so I won't be using the $5 I saved to buy floss just yet. But wouldn't that be a fantastic Amazon slogan? "Now you can afford to keep your mouth healthy. Amazon.com, saving you floss money on every purchase. You're welcome.")
Oddly enough, I also placed an order with B&N that very same day (Tuesday). Since I'm a member there, I was eligible for free 2-day shipping. The Amazon order qualified for free shipping too, but it was 5-8 days. And here's how it's all fallen out: part of the B&N order shipped today. Its estimated arrival is the 25th, with no word so far on when the missing book will ship. My whole Amazon order also shipped today. Its estimated arrival is the 23rd.
What the crud, B&N? No wonder you're hemorrhaging customers.
Anyway, it's a good thing I wanted the Amazon books first, because they're coming first. I need one of them for my NaNo novel, and the other for my backup NaNo novel. Y'know, research. And yes, I'm fully aware that I only have ten days. (It's too much time! My Procrastination Override doesn't engage until we've come within three days of the deadline!) So I guess I'll just sit here and twiddle my thumbs while I wait.
Or I would if twiddling my thumbs didn't send my right arm into a vague numbness, but that is another story entirely.
05 October 2010
One of those days.
The weather has been fantastic today. It rained, it hailed, it sun-shined brightly. 60-70 mph winds tore down half the trees in our neighborhood. And now all is calm and the sky is pretending as though nothing whatsoever of interest has happened. Too bad the streets are still wet, the yards are still flooded, and debris is strewn everywhere.
Bi-polar weather is kind of a mainstay in these parts at this time of year, though.
I had intended to work with another random writing prompt today, but I think I'll save it for another time. I'm excessively tired, for one thing (rain and chilly weather do that to me), and it's October, for another. I have NaNoWriMo to prepare for, so I'm less inclined to spend my time writing silly, aimless stories and more inclined toprocrastinate in other ways outline my November project.
It has no name yet. That's probably because it's still in the fledgling stages of planning. I kind of dread having to write 50,000 words this year, so I really need to focus on pre-writing and catch the vision.
And on that note, I think I'll go take a nap.
Bi-polar weather is kind of a mainstay in these parts at this time of year, though.
I had intended to work with another random writing prompt today, but I think I'll save it for another time. I'm excessively tired, for one thing (rain and chilly weather do that to me), and it's October, for another. I have NaNoWriMo to prepare for, so I'm less inclined to spend my time writing silly, aimless stories and more inclined to
It has no name yet. That's probably because it's still in the fledgling stages of planning. I kind of dread having to write 50,000 words this year, so I really need to focus on pre-writing and catch the vision.
And on that note, I think I'll go take a nap.
30 September 2010
And the adventure continues!
Today’s Writing Prompt: Storm in a teacup
"When someone creates a fuss about a trivial or unimportant matter, he or she is said to have created a 'storm in a teacup', or as Shakespeare might have put it 'Much Ado About Nothing'. While seemingly founded in English domestic life, the expression can be traced back to a Latin expression, excitare fluctus in simpulo, which has been translated as 'raise a tempest in a ladle'. The Americans, on the other hand, talk about 'a tempest in a tea-pot'." (Mothballs, 2004)
***
A half-hour passed in tranquility. The captive man stirred occasionally, which always caused Erika to tighten her hold on the bat, but he made no further signs of waking up. She had plenty of time to observe him, but that didn't change her initial impression: he was a very ugly man.
Why Frances had seen fit to hit him over the head, Erika did not know. She had heard voices, but she came downstairs too late, only in time to discover the sweet-faced old woman standing over a prone figure, and nothing of what had led to that moment. Together they had hefted his dead-weight into the chair. Frances had produced the rope (Frances always produced the rope, and from who-knows-where, Erika thought dryly) and they had secured him. Then, of course, the clock had chimed and Frances recalled that she was supposed to be at a meeting of the local Ladies' Auxiliary Gardening Club, of which she was vice president.
Erika didn't want to be left behind with the unconscious man, but she wouldn't for the world have braved that den of harridans in Frances's stead. If any of them found out that Frances had a captive trussed up in her front room, there would be hell to pay.
When the clock on the wall chimed a quarter-till, Erika surmised that the club had been loath to let Frances leave. Anxiously she left her chair to peer out the little front window next to the door, hoping to catch some glimpse of the grandmotherly woman walking home. The street beyond their little yard was dark, with no sign of movement.
Erika sighed and turned back to her post. A pair of watery eyes stared at her.
"Oh!" she cried in shock, thankful that she still had hold of the bat. How long had he been awake?
"So you're Fanny's new pet," the man drawled, and his melancholy gaze swept over her from head to toe.
Erika opened her mouth to respond, but she bit back the words. Don't talk to him, she told herself. Just keep quiet and wait for Frances to come home.
Cautiously she moved around him, leaving a wide berth despite the ropes that kept him bound. If he knew Frances (and anyone audacious enough to call her "Fanny" had to know her fairly well) then there was no telling what he was capable of.
"Oh, going back to sit behind me, are you?" he continued. "Think you're safer where I can't properly see you? Or are you going to knock me over the head like she did?"
"I will if you don't keep quiet," Erika said. So much for her resolution not to say anything, she thought.
To her surprise, though, the ugly man snapped his mouth shut and trained his eyes forward again. From her vantage point behind him, she could just make out a mean set to his jaw. He'd taken her threat seriously, at least.
Silence reigned. As the clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, Erika's resolve to remain aloof began to crumble. The man never tried the strength of his bands. He never so much as twitched. He simply stared ahead, with such controlled stillness that she wondered how long he had actually been awake. Had he somehow sensed a presence behind him and pretended to be unconscious until she moved? If he knew Frances...
Erika had never felt such blissful relief to hear footsteps on the front porch. She stood as the doorknob turned and Frances poked her head inside.
Finally.
"Oh," said the white-haired old woman, "so you're awake after all, are you Amos?" She then made a great show of entering the house, shutting the door properly, depositing her handbag on the little table there, peeling the lace gloves from her wrinkled hands, and chattering as she did all of it. "The ladies insisted I stay for the business portion of the meeting, and then proceeded to drag it out as long as they possibly could. Incidentally, Erika dear, I told them you were abed with a cough and that I had to go home early to watch over you. You might want to scream into your pillow tonight to turn your voice hoarse, just in case you meet any of the ladies tomorrow."
Erika frowned but made a mental note to follow the older woman's advice.
The ugly man scoffed quite audibly.
Frances ignored him. "Then, of course, Marjorie waylaid me at the door to talk about her daffodils. The poor creature has had such a terrible season with them, so I felt too bad about brushing her off. And that is why I'm later than I said I would be. Did he give you any trouble, dear?"
"No," said Erika. "Should I go back to my room now?"
"If you'd like to. Hand me the bat, if you please."
Erika gingerly complied with that request, but she hesitated over what to do next. Frances had not explicitly told her to leave, and she would be lying if she said she wasn't curious. She hoped for some sort of cue from the older woman, but once Frances had her weapon of choice again, she seemed not to notice that Erika was even still there.
"What are you doing here, Amos?" Frances asked the man, and since she had started an interrogation in plain sight of Erika, the younger girl surmised that she was welcome to stay and listen.
The ugly man shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. "What, a man can't visit his own sister once in a while?"
"Not when that man is you and the sister is me," said Frances with a pleasant smile, and she bounced the bat against the palm of her free hand.
"You always were one to make a storm in a teacup, Fanny," Amos grumbled. "Just because I'm here doesn't mean anything terrible has happened."
"Oh, I think it probably does," Frances contradicted cheerfully. "Now, are you going to tell me, or do I have to beat it out of you?"
***
And so it continues. Incidentally, the citation at the start is from a British book, which is why it is punctuated incorrectly according to American standards. Those commas and stops would otherwise be inside the end-quotes. I am very particular about those sorts of things, you know.
***
Works Cited
Mothballs and Elbow Grease (2nd ed.). (2004) UK: The National Trust
"When someone creates a fuss about a trivial or unimportant matter, he or she is said to have created a 'storm in a teacup', or as Shakespeare might have put it 'Much Ado About Nothing'. While seemingly founded in English domestic life, the expression can be traced back to a Latin expression, excitare fluctus in simpulo, which has been translated as 'raise a tempest in a ladle'. The Americans, on the other hand, talk about 'a tempest in a tea-pot'." (Mothballs, 2004)
***
A half-hour passed in tranquility. The captive man stirred occasionally, which always caused Erika to tighten her hold on the bat, but he made no further signs of waking up. She had plenty of time to observe him, but that didn't change her initial impression: he was a very ugly man.
Why Frances had seen fit to hit him over the head, Erika did not know. She had heard voices, but she came downstairs too late, only in time to discover the sweet-faced old woman standing over a prone figure, and nothing of what had led to that moment. Together they had hefted his dead-weight into the chair. Frances had produced the rope (Frances always produced the rope, and from who-knows-where, Erika thought dryly) and they had secured him. Then, of course, the clock had chimed and Frances recalled that she was supposed to be at a meeting of the local Ladies' Auxiliary Gardening Club, of which she was vice president.
Erika didn't want to be left behind with the unconscious man, but she wouldn't for the world have braved that den of harridans in Frances's stead. If any of them found out that Frances had a captive trussed up in her front room, there would be hell to pay.
When the clock on the wall chimed a quarter-till, Erika surmised that the club had been loath to let Frances leave. Anxiously she left her chair to peer out the little front window next to the door, hoping to catch some glimpse of the grandmotherly woman walking home. The street beyond their little yard was dark, with no sign of movement.
Erika sighed and turned back to her post. A pair of watery eyes stared at her.
"Oh!" she cried in shock, thankful that she still had hold of the bat. How long had he been awake?
"So you're Fanny's new pet," the man drawled, and his melancholy gaze swept over her from head to toe.
Erika opened her mouth to respond, but she bit back the words. Don't talk to him, she told herself. Just keep quiet and wait for Frances to come home.
Cautiously she moved around him, leaving a wide berth despite the ropes that kept him bound. If he knew Frances (and anyone audacious enough to call her "Fanny" had to know her fairly well) then there was no telling what he was capable of.
"Oh, going back to sit behind me, are you?" he continued. "Think you're safer where I can't properly see you? Or are you going to knock me over the head like she did?"
"I will if you don't keep quiet," Erika said. So much for her resolution not to say anything, she thought.
To her surprise, though, the ugly man snapped his mouth shut and trained his eyes forward again. From her vantage point behind him, she could just make out a mean set to his jaw. He'd taken her threat seriously, at least.
Silence reigned. As the clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, Erika's resolve to remain aloof began to crumble. The man never tried the strength of his bands. He never so much as twitched. He simply stared ahead, with such controlled stillness that she wondered how long he had actually been awake. Had he somehow sensed a presence behind him and pretended to be unconscious until she moved? If he knew Frances...
Erika had never felt such blissful relief to hear footsteps on the front porch. She stood as the doorknob turned and Frances poked her head inside.
Finally.
"Oh," said the white-haired old woman, "so you're awake after all, are you Amos?" She then made a great show of entering the house, shutting the door properly, depositing her handbag on the little table there, peeling the lace gloves from her wrinkled hands, and chattering as she did all of it. "The ladies insisted I stay for the business portion of the meeting, and then proceeded to drag it out as long as they possibly could. Incidentally, Erika dear, I told them you were abed with a cough and that I had to go home early to watch over you. You might want to scream into your pillow tonight to turn your voice hoarse, just in case you meet any of the ladies tomorrow."
Erika frowned but made a mental note to follow the older woman's advice.
The ugly man scoffed quite audibly.
Frances ignored him. "Then, of course, Marjorie waylaid me at the door to talk about her daffodils. The poor creature has had such a terrible season with them, so I felt too bad about brushing her off. And that is why I'm later than I said I would be. Did he give you any trouble, dear?"
"No," said Erika. "Should I go back to my room now?"
"If you'd like to. Hand me the bat, if you please."
Erika gingerly complied with that request, but she hesitated over what to do next. Frances had not explicitly told her to leave, and she would be lying if she said she wasn't curious. She hoped for some sort of cue from the older woman, but once Frances had her weapon of choice again, she seemed not to notice that Erika was even still there.
"What are you doing here, Amos?" Frances asked the man, and since she had started an interrogation in plain sight of Erika, the younger girl surmised that she was welcome to stay and listen.
The ugly man shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. "What, a man can't visit his own sister once in a while?"
"Not when that man is you and the sister is me," said Frances with a pleasant smile, and she bounced the bat against the palm of her free hand.
"You always were one to make a storm in a teacup, Fanny," Amos grumbled. "Just because I'm here doesn't mean anything terrible has happened."
"Oh, I think it probably does," Frances contradicted cheerfully. "Now, are you going to tell me, or do I have to beat it out of you?"
***
And so it continues. Incidentally, the citation at the start is from a British book, which is why it is punctuated incorrectly according to American standards. Those commas and stops would otherwise be inside the end-quotes. I am very particular about those sorts of things, you know.
***
Works Cited
Mothballs and Elbow Grease (2nd ed.). (2004) UK: The National Trust
28 September 2010
And Now For Something Completely Different
Today's Writing Prompt: mileway
"A measure of time [to walk one mile]; the third part of an hour, or twenty minutes. [Whitney] Five of th[e]se degrees maken a mileway, and three mileway maken an howre. [Chaucer, Astrolabe Treatise]" (Kacirk 122)
***
"How long will you be gone?"
Frances paused in the doorway to frown back upon the speaker, a very unhappy young Erika. "Only a mileway or two. Do you think you can manage for that long without me?"
Two-thirds of an hour didn't usually seem very long, but under the circumstances it felt like an eternity. "What do I do if he wakes up before you get back?" Erika asked.
A faintly perturbed expression crossed Frances's kindly old face. "Hit him across the head again, if you don't want to deal with him. Otherwise, nothing. He's tied up quite securely; I assure you he won't be getting free of those ropes any time soon."
No, there was no fear of that, Erika thought as she eyed the thick, heavy knots that kept their unconscious captive bound to his chair.
"Really, he shouldn't give you any trouble," Frances continued. "He might not even wake up before I get back, but I must go. If I don't at least make an appearance, they'll all wonder why I'm not there, and then we'll have who-knows-who prowling around here asking questions. And that would be disastrous, my dear."
Far more disastrous than the captive waking up while Frances was gone, Erika mentally agreed. "Yes. You'd better be on your way," she said aloud. "I'll be all right here until you get back."
"There's a good girl," said Frances, and she shut the door tightly behind her.
In the ensuing silence, Erika surveyed their sleeping guest and the otherwise lifeless room. Then, she picked up the wooden bat in the corner to try its weight. Frances usually dealt with that object, but Erika thought she could manage knocking someone over the head with it well enough. She only hoped she didn't have to.
"Just stay asleep," she told the captive man. He made no response, of course, and she settled into a chair of her own to wait. The sooner Frances returned, the sooner they could get this whole business sorted out.
***
In some ways, I like random writing prompts. In others, I find them vexing. Who, for example, is Frances, and who is Erika? What is their relationship to one another? Who is the man, and why is he tied to a chair? Is he a good guy? a bad guy? a hapless burglar? Is there some sort of giant misunderstanding that landed him in the clutches of these two ladies? Are they really ladies or do they have a more questionable background? Are they the criminals? What was the event Frances had to attend? Who would have asked questions if she hadn't? What sort of time and world do they live in? Is there any supernatural element at play here?
Answer to all of the above: I don't know.
That's the problem with writing prompts. So many questions left unanswered.
***
Works Cited
Kacirk, Jeffrey (2000). The Word Museum: the most remarkable English words ever forgotten. New York: Touchstone.
"A measure of time [to walk one mile]; the third part of an hour, or twenty minutes. [Whitney] Five of th[e]se degrees maken a mileway, and three mileway maken an howre. [Chaucer, Astrolabe Treatise]" (Kacirk 122)
***
"How long will you be gone?"
Frances paused in the doorway to frown back upon the speaker, a very unhappy young Erika. "Only a mileway or two. Do you think you can manage for that long without me?"
Two-thirds of an hour didn't usually seem very long, but under the circumstances it felt like an eternity. "What do I do if he wakes up before you get back?" Erika asked.
A faintly perturbed expression crossed Frances's kindly old face. "Hit him across the head again, if you don't want to deal with him. Otherwise, nothing. He's tied up quite securely; I assure you he won't be getting free of those ropes any time soon."
No, there was no fear of that, Erika thought as she eyed the thick, heavy knots that kept their unconscious captive bound to his chair.
"Really, he shouldn't give you any trouble," Frances continued. "He might not even wake up before I get back, but I must go. If I don't at least make an appearance, they'll all wonder why I'm not there, and then we'll have who-knows-who prowling around here asking questions. And that would be disastrous, my dear."
Far more disastrous than the captive waking up while Frances was gone, Erika mentally agreed. "Yes. You'd better be on your way," she said aloud. "I'll be all right here until you get back."
"There's a good girl," said Frances, and she shut the door tightly behind her.
In the ensuing silence, Erika surveyed their sleeping guest and the otherwise lifeless room. Then, she picked up the wooden bat in the corner to try its weight. Frances usually dealt with that object, but Erika thought she could manage knocking someone over the head with it well enough. She only hoped she didn't have to.
"Just stay asleep," she told the captive man. He made no response, of course, and she settled into a chair of her own to wait. The sooner Frances returned, the sooner they could get this whole business sorted out.
***
In some ways, I like random writing prompts. In others, I find them vexing. Who, for example, is Frances, and who is Erika? What is their relationship to one another? Who is the man, and why is he tied to a chair? Is he a good guy? a bad guy? a hapless burglar? Is there some sort of giant misunderstanding that landed him in the clutches of these two ladies? Are they really ladies or do they have a more questionable background? Are they the criminals? What was the event Frances had to attend? Who would have asked questions if she hadn't? What sort of time and world do they live in? Is there any supernatural element at play here?
Answer to all of the above: I don't know.
That's the problem with writing prompts. So many questions left unanswered.
***
Works Cited
Kacirk, Jeffrey (2000). The Word Museum: the most remarkable English words ever forgotten. New York: Touchstone.
23 September 2010
Keeping promises. :)
It is Thursday, and here am I. I've had a fantastic, FANTASTIC day, too, and it's thanks entirely to divine intervention on multiple fronts, and for seemingly unimportant things. Fantastic!
I feel like I've been running nonstop since I got up this morning, and I kind of have. I agreed to help cater a place this afternoon for work, and I didn't have any appropriate duds (my one pair of jeans that fits is getting threadbare; all the other pants I own are too big, which is not a bad thing except that I have nothing to wear). So, I woke up, ate breakfast, went shopping, came home, showered, went to work, made ice cream for three hours, came home, then went to run errands, came home, made dinner, and now I'm squeezing in a blog post before going out again.
I ♥ happy busy days. I hope I have many more in the future.
(And you thought I wouldn't really write today like I said I would. Silly.)
I feel like I've been running nonstop since I got up this morning, and I kind of have. I agreed to help cater a place this afternoon for work, and I didn't have any appropriate duds (my one pair of jeans that fits is getting threadbare; all the other pants I own are too big, which is not a bad thing except that I have nothing to wear). So, I woke up, ate breakfast, went shopping, came home, showered, went to work, made ice cream for three hours, came home, then went to run errands, came home, made dinner, and now I'm squeezing in a blog post before going out again.
I ♥ happy busy days. I hope I have many more in the future.
(And you thought I wouldn't really write today like I said I would. Silly.)
21 September 2010
Scheduling Conflicts
I really should make some sort of schedule for updating this blog, something that I can actually stick to. There's no more depressing sight (or site, haha) on the internet than a blog that has been abandoned by its owner. They might be out there, somewhere, living their hectic everyday life without a spare moment to post. Or they might've been hit by a bus ages ago. And you as the reader are just left wondering.
Or, in most cases, navigating away from the page.
Anyhoo, in case anyone actually was wondering, I have not been hit by a bus. Neither have I been living a hectic everyday life without a spare moment to post. I'm just lazy. And since laziness is a vice I should overcome, I need a schedule.
Tuesdays and Thursdays, I will post here. Maybe I'll post on odd Fridays as well, but we'll see how the Tuesday/Thursday plan works out first.
There. Now that it's written, I have to hold to it. (But for some reason, the moment I typed that last sentence, I heard peals of maniacal laughter in my brain. My inner cynic has been hitting the slosh way too much lately, it seems.)
Or, in most cases, navigating away from the page.
Anyhoo, in case anyone actually was wondering, I have not been hit by a bus. Neither have I been living a hectic everyday life without a spare moment to post. I'm just lazy. And since laziness is a vice I should overcome, I need a schedule.
Tuesdays and Thursdays, I will post here. Maybe I'll post on odd Fridays as well, but we'll see how the Tuesday/Thursday plan works out first.
There. Now that it's written, I have to hold to it. (But for some reason, the moment I typed that last sentence, I heard peals of maniacal laughter in my brain. My inner cynic has been hitting the slosh way too much lately, it seems.)
13 August 2010
ABCH Erratum #1
I have a feeling this type of post may come more frequently than I like.
p. 234, line 29 should read, "Put your ankles together, please," Honey told her.
Wow, does that ever come off as questionable dialogue. Makes you want to read the book just to find out what I'm talking about, doesn't it?
My brother informed me two nights ago that I had probably made an error in that scene, and I had a very harrowing twelve hours beating myself up whilst those around me told me that it wasn't necessarily an error and might be quite funny for the reader to imagine as it was written, if they even caught it. I woke up on Thursday morning with a determination to put the book on hold and correct the mistake.
Then I retraced my steps to figure out what I needed to do.
Step 1) Identify the correct .doc file for the book's innards. There were three candidates, one of which I immediately dismissed because its last save was a month before the other two. The remaining duo, however, had save-dates of 6/16 and 6/17, and the more recently saved had the sequentially lower file name. With my crazy system, the higher number should have been the finished product (like version 2.0 versus 1.3), but the save contradicted that, and the only way to be sure would be to compare the two files side by side to figure out what the difference between them was. 'Cause, y'know, there's nothing more fun than comparing two 273-page documents with almost identically formatted text.
Step 2) Make the needed correction. This was an easy step, as it involved deleting or modifying only six words, and I knew exactly where they were.
Step 3) Convert .doc file to .pdf, per submission guidelines. This one might sound easy as well, but there are a whole slew of settings involved in the conversion. Off the top of my head, I had to select a custom paper size, embed my fonts, specify settings for bleeds and picture resolution (even though there aren't any of either in the book's interior), and who knows what else. There's a whole list of settings to check before clicking that little print button. And, I have no idea what I did with that list.
Step 4) Double-check the .pdf to make certain all the formatting converted correctly. The first test .pdf I did, for some reason unknown to me even to this day, re-sized all my fonts by half a point. (12 -> 11.5, 10 -> 9.5, etc.) Also, it was the wrong paper size, because I hadn't created the template for my custom size in my control-panel printer settings and foolishly thought that the converter would accept the preset margins of my source document. Foolish.
Step 5) Put orders for the book on hold. Easy as clicking a button, and it's not like I'd be putting anyone out. The people who really love me have already bought the book. :P
Step 6) Upload new .pdf for document approval. It took them less than 24 hrs. to approve the last one, so I can't imagine it would take much longer than that for the replacement.
Step 7) Order proof copy. Yes, I'd be out about $10, but that is the price one has to pay for perfectionism. I'm too cheap to use anything but economy shipping though, so it would set my time line back by a week at the least and three at the most, barring some unforeseen error.
Step 8) Review and approve proof copy. Again, click of a button to do that.
And that's all!
Yeah, I decided not to do it. Laziness - 1, Perfectionism - 0.
What a magnificent pain-in-the-butt that would have been. If there had been a multitude of gross errors or egregious typos, I would've. But it's six words. And of all the people who have read the book, my brother was the first to notice it.
(Actually, my mom admitted to having discovered it as well, but that wasn't until the fifth time she'd read the book. She decided not to tell me about it, because she thought I would overreact, which I obviously didn't.)
So, instead of taking that long and inconvenient path towards perfection, I've settled for making the above correction in my blog.
But it wasn't really needed at all. Emily is actually a contortionist.
p. 234, line 29 should read, "Put your ankles together, please," Honey told her.
Wow, does that ever come off as questionable dialogue. Makes you want to read the book just to find out what I'm talking about, doesn't it?
My brother informed me two nights ago that I had probably made an error in that scene, and I had a very harrowing twelve hours beating myself up whilst those around me told me that it wasn't necessarily an error and might be quite funny for the reader to imagine as it was written, if they even caught it. I woke up on Thursday morning with a determination to put the book on hold and correct the mistake.
Then I retraced my steps to figure out what I needed to do.
Step 1) Identify the correct .doc file for the book's innards. There were three candidates, one of which I immediately dismissed because its last save was a month before the other two. The remaining duo, however, had save-dates of 6/16 and 6/17, and the more recently saved had the sequentially lower file name. With my crazy system, the higher number should have been the finished product (like version 2.0 versus 1.3), but the save contradicted that, and the only way to be sure would be to compare the two files side by side to figure out what the difference between them was. 'Cause, y'know, there's nothing more fun than comparing two 273-page documents with almost identically formatted text.
Step 2) Make the needed correction. This was an easy step, as it involved deleting or modifying only six words, and I knew exactly where they were.
Step 3) Convert .doc file to .pdf, per submission guidelines. This one might sound easy as well, but there are a whole slew of settings involved in the conversion. Off the top of my head, I had to select a custom paper size, embed my fonts, specify settings for bleeds and picture resolution (even though there aren't any of either in the book's interior), and who knows what else. There's a whole list of settings to check before clicking that little print button. And, I have no idea what I did with that list.
Step 4) Double-check the .pdf to make certain all the formatting converted correctly. The first test .pdf I did, for some reason unknown to me even to this day, re-sized all my fonts by half a point. (12 -> 11.5, 10 -> 9.5, etc.) Also, it was the wrong paper size, because I hadn't created the template for my custom size in my control-panel printer settings and foolishly thought that the converter would accept the preset margins of my source document. Foolish.
Step 5) Put orders for the book on hold. Easy as clicking a button, and it's not like I'd be putting anyone out. The people who really love me have already bought the book. :P
Step 6) Upload new .pdf for document approval. It took them less than 24 hrs. to approve the last one, so I can't imagine it would take much longer than that for the replacement.
Step 7) Order proof copy. Yes, I'd be out about $10, but that is the price one has to pay for perfectionism. I'm too cheap to use anything but economy shipping though, so it would set my time line back by a week at the least and three at the most, barring some unforeseen error.
Step 8) Review and approve proof copy. Again, click of a button to do that.
And that's all!
Yeah, I decided not to do it. Laziness - 1, Perfectionism - 0.
What a magnificent pain-in-the-butt that would have been. If there had been a multitude of gross errors or egregious typos, I would've. But it's six words. And of all the people who have read the book, my brother was the first to notice it.
(Actually, my mom admitted to having discovered it as well, but that wasn't until the fifth time she'd read the book. She decided not to tell me about it, because she thought I would overreact, which I obviously did
So, instead of taking that long and inconvenient path towards perfection, I've settled for making the above correction in my blog.
29 July 2010
The Neglected Reading List, pt. 2
I had something of a Jane Austen fetish when I was in my teens, as many a well-read teen-aged girl does. I made no secret of it at the time, either. I received two different copies of Emma as gifts within weeks of one another. Persuasion was the first book I ever read on Project Gutenberg. I adored the BBC's six-hour adaptation of Pride and Prejudice for its attention to detail and cursed Emma Thompson for turning Sense and Sensibility's Elinor Dashwood into a thirty-something-year-old spinster instead of the sensible nineteen-year-old that she was supposed to be (not that there's anything wrong with thirty-something-year-old spinsters, as I aspire to be one myself, but I think if Austen wanted a heroine of that age and situation, she wouldn't have specified otherwise in the first chapter of the novel).
I read all six of her completed novels. I watched multiple film adaptations (and hated most of them). I considered myself quite in the know, but I utterly refused to touch any of her uncompleted works, because I can't stand not knowing how a story ends.
Well.
The fetish waned and I moved on to other literary interests. Years passed. And then I came across a copy of Sanditon by Jane Austen and Another Lady. I thought, "Eh, why not?"
(I should here note that the bookmark currently sitting within my copy is an advertisement for the 51st Annual VNSA Book Sale, which occurred on February 10th & 11th of 2007. That means I bought this book at said book sale in 2006, because they always hand out fliers for the next year, and I always shove said fliers into one of the books I have just purchased. I don't call it a neglected reading list as a joke.)
At some point or another I read the first three chapters (or so the bookmark told me, and I never randomly place those, as that would be misleading). I didn't remember them at all when I picked the book up again a few days ago, so I started from the beginning this time. Since I already knew that there was a second author involved, I was kind of looking for discrepancies. According to the copyright page, it was written in or around 1975, after all, which is a far cry from Regency England. Would it be obvious that someone else added to Austen's unfinished manuscript? Would the two works flow together? The Chicago Tribune Book World boldly declares on the first page, "even [Jane Austen] would approve!" Would she really?
Maybe, maybe not. I don't know of a lot of people who would approve someone else coming in and commandeering one of their creative projects. But the truth is, the second author does a fine job of seaming together where Austen's manuscript ends and hers begins. If I hadn't known which chapter and line to look at, I wouldn't have noticed the change in voice at all. In that particular spot.
It has been said that a forgery is best in the moment of its creation, that as time moves away from that particular moment, a forgery will become more and more noticeable in contrast with the artist's original work. I believe this. I believe it because we each put something not only of ourselves but of the world around us into our work. The forger* usually has to combat ideals and standards of an entirely different time and place. If the original artist is particularly famous, each succeeding generation develops themes and theories on his or her work, and those themes and theories become embedded in the forger's work as unconsciously as the artist's own world was embedded into the original. Because to truly copy an artist, you have to study that artist, but you're never going to live the same life and have the same experiences that shaped another person's creative process. We each have a distinctive fingerprint.
In literature, this fingerprint is more pronounced. Or maybe it only seems so to me because I've studied syntax and pragmatics. The distinct linguistic markers that make up one person's diction are fairly difficult to mimic.
In short, her chapters are too long. Her choice of words in many places are suspect. She describes fads of the era when I rather suspect that Jane Austen would not have thought them worth describing. But of course, that's my opinion. Short of performing a linguistic analysis (which I technically am capable of doing but don't really care to attempt), I can't really comment on the structure any further.
(I stand by my assessment of her chapters, though. Austen accomplishes 11 in 71 pages. The second author accomplishes only 19 in 236. That means that 63.3% of the chapters cover 76.4% of the book. When you factor in that Emma has 55 chapters, Mansfield Park has 48, and Pride and Prejudice has 61, it's fairly apparent that Austen likes to divide her story into shorter sections than her modern-era counterpart prefers. But then, she was writing by hand, so she probably needed to take more frequent breaks to avoid cramping.)
All of this, though, is fairly moot. Why? Because despite stylistic differences, I thoroughly enjoyed the book. Thoroughly. So much so, that I went back and reread a few passages again after I had finished. And they weren't even Jane's!
Sure, I knew I wasn't reading Jane Austen. Sure, it sometimes felt like the author was trying to imitate Georgette Heyer instead (especially with a couple of incidents towards the end). But guess what? I like Georgette Heyer. And I've had plenty enough exposure to Regency-setting novels to recognize that one whose premise was set up by the great Jane Austen herself is far superior to a lot of the dross out there.
So, Sanditon by Jane Austen and Another Lady? I loved it. I'll happily recommend it. And I'm kind of glad it took me four years to get around to reading it, because I neededsome brain candy something good to read this week.
*I'm not using the term "forger" here in a derogatory or critical manner. Yes, forgers are usually considered criminals, but they are also incredible artists. It takes boatloads of talent and training to imitate a master, but if you can pass off your own work as the work of someone else, that's a forgery, regardless of whether there are criminal charges attached. In my book, anyway. I'm glad we've cleared that up.
I read all six of her completed novels. I watched multiple film adaptations (and hated most of them). I considered myself quite in the know, but I utterly refused to touch any of her uncompleted works, because I can't stand not knowing how a story ends.
Well.
The fetish waned and I moved on to other literary interests. Years passed. And then I came across a copy of Sanditon by Jane Austen and Another Lady. I thought, "Eh, why not?"
(I should here note that the bookmark currently sitting within my copy is an advertisement for the 51st Annual VNSA Book Sale, which occurred on February 10th & 11th of 2007. That means I bought this book at said book sale in 2006, because they always hand out fliers for the next year, and I always shove said fliers into one of the books I have just purchased. I don't call it a neglected reading list as a joke.)
At some point or another I read the first three chapters (or so the bookmark told me, and I never randomly place those, as that would be misleading). I didn't remember them at all when I picked the book up again a few days ago, so I started from the beginning this time. Since I already knew that there was a second author involved, I was kind of looking for discrepancies. According to the copyright page, it was written in or around 1975, after all, which is a far cry from Regency England. Would it be obvious that someone else added to Austen's unfinished manuscript? Would the two works flow together? The Chicago Tribune Book World boldly declares on the first page, "even [Jane Austen] would approve!" Would she really?
Maybe, maybe not. I don't know of a lot of people who would approve someone else coming in and commandeering one of their creative projects. But the truth is, the second author does a fine job of seaming together where Austen's manuscript ends and hers begins. If I hadn't known which chapter and line to look at, I wouldn't have noticed the change in voice at all. In that particular spot.
It has been said that a forgery is best in the moment of its creation, that as time moves away from that particular moment, a forgery will become more and more noticeable in contrast with the artist's original work. I believe this. I believe it because we each put something not only of ourselves but of the world around us into our work. The forger* usually has to combat ideals and standards of an entirely different time and place. If the original artist is particularly famous, each succeeding generation develops themes and theories on his or her work, and those themes and theories become embedded in the forger's work as unconsciously as the artist's own world was embedded into the original. Because to truly copy an artist, you have to study that artist, but you're never going to live the same life and have the same experiences that shaped another person's creative process. We each have a distinctive fingerprint.
In literature, this fingerprint is more pronounced. Or maybe it only seems so to me because I've studied syntax and pragmatics. The distinct linguistic markers that make up one person's diction are fairly difficult to mimic.
In short, her chapters are too long. Her choice of words in many places are suspect. She describes fads of the era when I rather suspect that Jane Austen would not have thought them worth describing. But of course, that's my opinion. Short of performing a linguistic analysis (which I technically am capable of doing but don't really care to attempt), I can't really comment on the structure any further.
(I stand by my assessment of her chapters, though. Austen accomplishes 11 in 71 pages. The second author accomplishes only 19 in 236. That means that 63.3% of the chapters cover 76.4% of the book. When you factor in that Emma has 55 chapters, Mansfield Park has 48, and Pride and Prejudice has 61, it's fairly apparent that Austen likes to divide her story into shorter sections than her modern-era counterpart prefers. But then, she was writing by hand, so she probably needed to take more frequent breaks to avoid cramping.)
All of this, though, is fairly moot. Why? Because despite stylistic differences, I thoroughly enjoyed the book. Thoroughly. So much so, that I went back and reread a few passages again after I had finished. And they weren't even Jane's!
Sure, I knew I wasn't reading Jane Austen. Sure, it sometimes felt like the author was trying to imitate Georgette Heyer instead (especially with a couple of incidents towards the end). But guess what? I like Georgette Heyer. And I've had plenty enough exposure to Regency-setting novels to recognize that one whose premise was set up by the great Jane Austen herself is far superior to a lot of the dross out there.
So, Sanditon by Jane Austen and Another Lady? I loved it. I'll happily recommend it. And I'm kind of glad it took me four years to get around to reading it, because I needed
*I'm not using the term "forger" here in a derogatory or critical manner. Yes, forgers are usually considered criminals, but they are also incredible artists. It takes boatloads of talent and training to imitate a master, but if you can pass off your own work as the work of someone else, that's a forgery, regardless of whether there are criminal charges attached. In my book, anyway. I'm glad we've cleared that up.
26 July 2010
I think I'm out of my league here.
So CreateSpace has listed my book as "Live on Amazon" for the last few days, but they didn't provide me with a link (that I could discover), and nothing I typed into Amazon's search engine brought it up. I was pretty well confused and a little annoyed.
I searched by title, author, and ISBN. Nothing, nada, zilch. In final desperation, I navigated to someone else's book link and swapped out their ISBN with mine in the web address.
And the heavens opened.
Seriously? What a horrific pain-in-the-posterior.
I am one of those rare weirdos who has absolutely no Amazon experience. I don't have an account there, I don't browse there, I don't have their homepage bookmarked. The scant few times I've wanted to buy something from Amazon, I conned someone with an account into doing it for me. I think. I don't really spend money all that often. (It's a side-effect of living off savings while pursuing a far-fetched dream.)
So, I have no idea what to do with this listing. Maybe I don't have to do anything. Maybe it'll start showing up in the search engines on its own. The book apparently needs to be tagged, and there are no reviews, obviously (hint hint, sister). I guess I need to break down and register for an Amazon account, yes?
Meh.
I searched by title, author, and ISBN. Nothing, nada, zilch. In final desperation, I navigated to someone else's book link and swapped out their ISBN with mine in the web address.
And the heavens opened.
Seriously? What a horrific pain-in-the-posterior.
I am one of those rare weirdos who has absolutely no Amazon experience. I don't have an account there, I don't browse there, I don't have their homepage bookmarked. The scant few times I've wanted to buy something from Amazon, I conned someone with an account into doing it for me. I think. I don't really spend money all that often. (It's a side-effect of living off savings while pursuing a far-fetched dream.)
So, I have no idea what to do with this listing. Maybe I don't have to do anything. Maybe it'll start showing up in the search engines on its own. The book apparently needs to be tagged, and there are no reviews, obviously (hint hint, sister). I guess I need to break down and register for an Amazon account, yes?
Meh.
14 July 2010
Okay, children. You can stop pestering me now.
The proof is in the pudding. Actually, it's sitting underneath my massive Encyclopedia of Mythology as I try to get its curling cover to relax a bit. But I digress.
I approved it for sale today. The E-Store is here. It can take up to fifteen days for it to appear on Amazon. I have no idea what shipping is, as I have absolutely no intention of buying a copy of my own book.
(What? I've got the proof already. Do I really need morefuel for the fire?)
I've set the list price at $10.86, and no, it's not an arbitrary number. (Is anything I do really arbitrary? I wonder...) They have this whole calculator thingy to figure out what you can sell your book for, so I knew the approximate range. 1086 was the year the Domesday Book was completed.
I ♥ the Domesday Book.
Plus it seemed fitting to make a flighty connection between the oldest English public record and a book where the government controls everything. Ha.
Buy at your own risk. The cover of mine, as I previously mentioned, curls something fierce, and the lamination has started to peel at the very edges. My cousin tells me this happens quite frequently with trade paperbacks and has recommended that I bind the edges with clear tape. I think it's too much effort for something that's just going to sit on my bookshelf for the rest of eternity.
(I don't have to lend it out anymore. I'll just tell people, "You wanna read it? Buy your own copy.")
Would I publish with CreateSpace again? Yeah, if I was inclined to self-publish anything else, I would. Especially now that I'm familiar with the hoop-jumping routine. (It's not a very rigorous one.)
And there you have it.
I approved it for sale today. The E-Store is here. It can take up to fifteen days for it to appear on Amazon. I have no idea what shipping is, as I have absolutely no intention of buying a copy of my own book.
(What? I've got the proof already. Do I really need morefuel for the fire?)
I've set the list price at $10.86, and no, it's not an arbitrary number. (Is anything I do really arbitrary? I wonder...) They have this whole calculator thingy to figure out what you can sell your book for, so I knew the approximate range. 1086 was the year the Domesday Book was completed.
I ♥ the Domesday Book.
Plus it seemed fitting to make a flighty connection between the oldest English public record and a book where the government controls everything. Ha.
Buy at your own risk. The cover of mine, as I previously mentioned, curls something fierce, and the lamination has started to peel at the very edges. My cousin tells me this happens quite frequently with trade paperbacks and has recommended that I bind the edges with clear tape. I think it's too much effort for something that's just going to sit on my bookshelf for the rest of eternity.
(I don't have to lend it out anymore. I'll just tell people, "You wanna read it? Buy your own copy.")
Would I publish with CreateSpace again? Yeah, if I was inclined to self-publish anything else, I would. Especially now that I'm familiar with the hoop-jumping routine. (It's not a very rigorous one.)
And there you have it.
25 June 2010
Nothing to See Here
It seems like every time I go to update this blog, I get interrupted or distracted. It's not that big of a deal, given that this is really just a place-holder at the moment (I certainly haven't sat down and mapped out my vision of what I want to do here), but I have to wonder if, perhaps, the cosmos are trying to tell me something:
[Voice from the Heavens]: You suck as a blogger.
I do. That's what practice is for, though. I just need more uninterrupted practice time.
(I say that, but really, if I had it, I'd just waste it playing FreeCell. I'm honest enough to admit it.)
[Voice from the Heavens]: You suck as a blogger.
I do. That's what practice is for, though. I just need more uninterrupted practice time.
(I say that, but really, if I had it, I'd just waste it playing FreeCell. I'm honest enough to admit it.)
18 June 2010
Well, That was Quick.
I just opened up my email account to a notice that my files had been reviewed and approved for printing. So, I went and ordered my proof copy, which may or may not ship within the next five days. Being the thrifty soul that I am, I went with Economy shipping, and that had an estimated arrival of July 7th.
I don't care. I can check off my goal of ordering the proof. That's two completed for this month, and ten more to go (including finishing that book I ranted about a couple posts ago).
Tonight I'm tagging along with my mother to learn how to make ice cream with liquid nitrogen over at my uncle's house. He went and bought a Sub Zero franchise and has many business dealings afoot. There are perks to having such ambitious family members--namely the delicious ice cream. I've had a craving for sweets for the past week at least.
I don't care. I can check off my goal of ordering the proof. That's two completed for this month, and ten more to go (including finishing that book I ranted about a couple posts ago).
Tonight I'm tagging along with my mother to learn how to make ice cream with liquid nitrogen over at my uncle's house. He went and bought a Sub Zero franchise and has many business dealings afoot. There are perks to having such ambitious family members--namely the delicious ice cream. I've had a craving for sweets for the past week at least.
17 June 2010
The Woes of a Would-be Author
I swear.
Well, not really. Swearing is a bad habit that typically reveals a lack of mental creativity under duress.
But I digress.
Today I decided that once and for all I was going to upload my files to CreateSpace so that I could get my free proof copy (since it seems a shame to let that gift certificate go to waste two years in a row). I had to reformat my two PDFs and upload them to the site. Then I had to create a list price.
Logically, wouldn't the whole pricing part come after the files have been approved for printing? It just seems a little cart-before-the-horse to me. But, these print-on-demand places are in the business to make money, I suppose. So, when the time rolls around for A Boy Called Hawk to show up on its little eStore, it'll come with a price tag of $10.99.
Highway robbery, I know. But such it is. I've submitted the files for approval and they're supposed to respond within 24-48 hours. If all goes well, then I'll be able to order my little proof copy before my gift certificate expires at the end of the month. If all does not go well, then I'll probably tear out half my hair and curl up underneath my bed for a good cry.
I jest. I would never tear out half my hair.
Well, not really. Swearing is a bad habit that typically reveals a lack of mental creativity under duress.
But I digress.
Today I decided that once and for all I was going to upload my files to CreateSpace so that I could get my free proof copy (since it seems a shame to let that gift certificate go to waste two years in a row). I had to reformat my two PDFs and upload them to the site. Then I had to create a list price.
Logically, wouldn't the whole pricing part come after the files have been approved for printing? It just seems a little cart-before-the-horse to me. But, these print-on-demand places are in the business to make money, I suppose. So, when the time rolls around for A Boy Called Hawk to show up on its little eStore, it'll come with a price tag of $10.99.
Highway robbery, I know. But such it is. I've submitted the files for approval and they're supposed to respond within 24-48 hours. If all goes well, then I'll be able to order my little proof copy before my gift certificate expires at the end of the month. If all does not go well, then I'll probably tear out half my hair and curl up underneath my bed for a good cry.
I jest. I would never tear out half my hair.
16 June 2010
Graduating Seniors of the Neglected Reading List, pt. 1
Sometime about two (three...? four...?) years ago, my dear cousin Melia handed me a book and said*, "You need to read this! I think you'll really enjoy it!" I glanced at the title and mentally agreed with her, even while I reluctantly took the book from her hands. The words "you need to read this" inevitably throw my brain back to high school English and that harried, annoyed feeling that came with every reading assignment. How many high school reading assignments did I actually finish? None come to mind at the moment. (Sorry, teachers.)
But, well, the title of this book was Alpha Beta: How 26 Letters Shaped the Western World by John Man. What's not to like about that?
Except that it was now basically assigned as homework, of course.
So I dutifully took it home with me. At some point, I read the first chapter (32 whole pages!), and I did find it interesting. It's not the sort of book one reads in a single sitting, though. I am a single-sitting reader, not because I have an excessively long attention span, but because if the book doesn't grab my attention within that single sitting, I set it aside and forget about it.
This becomes a problem with borrowed books. For the last two (three? four?) years, this particular book has transferred from place to place within my bedroom. It is not allowed to mingle with my books. I have kept it wholly separate because it belongs to someone else. However, it is something of a fixture, and I've always known exactly where it was. I thought for a bit that I should just return it, but there comes a point (when you might have read the book thirty times over, I think) that I decide I really do have to read the danged thing before I give it back. Besides that, I'm a language nerd, and the prospect of reading a book about the rise of the alphabet as a writing system really does appeal to me.
(As a side note, yes, my cousin knows I still have it. I make certain to mention it to her once ever few months, and she seems perfectly fine with letting me keep it as long as needs be, much to my chagrin.)
At long last, this month, I determined that I would read it once and for all. I am now halfway through.
And I despise it.
To be fair, the book is loaded with gobs of interesting information about writing systems in general, archeology, etc. The circumstances surrounding the creation of the Korean alphabet were fascinating. The excavation at the Wadi el-Hol in Egypt was equally so. The real problem is the narrative. With each chapter I read, I dislike the author more and more.
I couldn't quite put my finger on why until yesterday, though.
Chapter 5, "Into Sinai"
Here the author diverges away on a tangent. There is no physical evidence of the Hebrew people having any ties to the land of Egypt before or during the assumed time of the Exodus in the Bible. Fine, I don't care. The Hebrew alphabet apparently does hold resemblance to Proto-Sinaitic, and their history claims ties to Egypt, so somewhere along the lines, somehow, they must have picked up and developed those marks into a serviceable alphabetic writing system, which they put to good use in recording their customs and beliefs. There. I've just summarized all the relevant information from the chapter.
Would that Man could have been so succinct. Instead, he decides to detail how many things are wrong with the Biblical account, both of Abraham's grandkids moving to Egypt and with the mass Exodus from it. There is no physical evidence for a Hebrew enslavement in Egypt. Obviously, those were just myths the Jewish people told to make themselves and their religion look more important. If he'd just left it at that, even, I might've overlooked it with little more than an eye-roll.
But no. Because he feels the need to explain how the Hebrews might have come into possession of their alphabet, he describes a totally hypothetical and equally unprovable scenario: maybe at some point, some insignificant group of Hebrews were living in Egypt. Maybe they took part in this little failed rebellion attempt against the pharaoh (a random event to which we do have archeological reference!), and had to flee afterward, and they took this newfangled writing system with them. Somewhere in the desert, their leader (who we'll call Moses, since it's convenient for a Moses to exist in this totally hypothetical situation) was overcome by... dementia, hallucinations, delusions of grandeur? In Man's exact words, "He conceives the idea that he is under the direct guidance of a godhead." (p. 143) That explains how the Hebrew alphabet became such an entrenched part of their religion.
EXCEPT THAT IT'S ALL HYPOTHETICAL.
Here's the thing, Mr. Man. That whole "no archeological evidence to support this story" sword cuts both ways. Don't make up crap just because you don't happen to believe the explanations already provided. Any science that deals with events that happened prior to our time is full of gaping holes, meaning that there are many things for which we have no physical evidence to prove or disprove. (Trust me: if someone could categorically disprove that the Hebrews were ever in bondage to Egypt, it would've been broadcast from the rooftops.)
Ultimately my frustration lies with the pseudo-intellectual, "everything I say is more plausible than what anyone else could have possibly come up with, especially if that person is at all religious" mentality. Why should I trust John Man's account any more than I trust the Biblical one? If you're trying to report history, stick to the facts. That might require saying something along the lines of, "Although Biblical accounts link the early Hebrew people to the Egyptians, there has never been uncovered any physical evidence of that event. We don't know exactly how their alphabet developed, but it does not seem beyond the realm of possibility--indeed, given its close resemblance to Proto-Sinaitic, it seems quite reasonable--to suggest that the knowledge of an alphabet traveled across Sinai and into Israel via their Hebrew ancestors." Then include an explanation of how the Hebrews used their alphabet, perhaps some details of its earlier incarnations (if such details even exist), and move on.
Oh, but then the chapter would be about twenty pages shorter. We can't have that.
/sarcasm
Anyway, I do plan on finishing the book. I only have five chapters left, and now that I've ranted about the smarmy narration, I feel renewed enough to ignore it some more. Basically, the history of the alphabet I find to be very interesting. I just don't like the vessel that's being used to convey it.
And I'm glad it was a borrowed book. Sucks to be the poor schmuck** who's paying $21.33 for it on Amazon.
*To be fair, she probably did not say these exact words. Seeing as how this event took place two (three, four) years ago, and my memory is by no means perfect, I am merely conveying the message my brain received at that moment in time.
**My cousin Melia is no such person, I here note. I am 92.2% certain that she purchased this book at the annual used book sale we frequent together, at considerably less than its MSRP.
But, well, the title of this book was Alpha Beta: How 26 Letters Shaped the Western World by John Man. What's not to like about that?
Except that it was now basically assigned as homework, of course.
So I dutifully took it home with me. At some point, I read the first chapter (32 whole pages!), and I did find it interesting. It's not the sort of book one reads in a single sitting, though. I am a single-sitting reader, not because I have an excessively long attention span, but because if the book doesn't grab my attention within that single sitting, I set it aside and forget about it.
This becomes a problem with borrowed books. For the last two (three? four?) years, this particular book has transferred from place to place within my bedroom. It is not allowed to mingle with my books. I have kept it wholly separate because it belongs to someone else. However, it is something of a fixture, and I've always known exactly where it was. I thought for a bit that I should just return it, but there comes a point (when you might have read the book thirty times over, I think) that I decide I really do have to read the danged thing before I give it back. Besides that, I'm a language nerd, and the prospect of reading a book about the rise of the alphabet as a writing system really does appeal to me.
(As a side note, yes, my cousin knows I still have it. I make certain to mention it to her once ever few months, and she seems perfectly fine with letting me keep it as long as needs be, much to my chagrin.)
At long last, this month, I determined that I would read it once and for all. I am now halfway through.
And I despise it.
To be fair, the book is loaded with gobs of interesting information about writing systems in general, archeology, etc. The circumstances surrounding the creation of the Korean alphabet were fascinating. The excavation at the Wadi el-Hol in Egypt was equally so. The real problem is the narrative. With each chapter I read, I dislike the author more and more.
I couldn't quite put my finger on why until yesterday, though.
Chapter 5, "Into Sinai"
Here the author diverges away on a tangent. There is no physical evidence of the Hebrew people having any ties to the land of Egypt before or during the assumed time of the Exodus in the Bible. Fine, I don't care. The Hebrew alphabet apparently does hold resemblance to Proto-Sinaitic, and their history claims ties to Egypt, so somewhere along the lines, somehow, they must have picked up and developed those marks into a serviceable alphabetic writing system, which they put to good use in recording their customs and beliefs. There. I've just summarized all the relevant information from the chapter.
Would that Man could have been so succinct. Instead, he decides to detail how many things are wrong with the Biblical account, both of Abraham's grandkids moving to Egypt and with the mass Exodus from it. There is no physical evidence for a Hebrew enslavement in Egypt. Obviously, those were just myths the Jewish people told to make themselves and their religion look more important. If he'd just left it at that, even, I might've overlooked it with little more than an eye-roll.
But no. Because he feels the need to explain how the Hebrews might have come into possession of their alphabet, he describes a totally hypothetical and equally unprovable scenario: maybe at some point, some insignificant group of Hebrews were living in Egypt. Maybe they took part in this little failed rebellion attempt against the pharaoh (a random event to which we do have archeological reference!), and had to flee afterward, and they took this newfangled writing system with them. Somewhere in the desert, their leader (who we'll call Moses, since it's convenient for a Moses to exist in this totally hypothetical situation) was overcome by... dementia, hallucinations, delusions of grandeur? In Man's exact words, "He conceives the idea that he is under the direct guidance of a godhead." (p. 143) That explains how the Hebrew alphabet became such an entrenched part of their religion.
EXCEPT THAT IT'S ALL HYPOTHETICAL.
Here's the thing, Mr. Man. That whole "no archeological evidence to support this story" sword cuts both ways. Don't make up crap just because you don't happen to believe the explanations already provided. Any science that deals with events that happened prior to our time is full of gaping holes, meaning that there are many things for which we have no physical evidence to prove or disprove. (Trust me: if someone could categorically disprove that the Hebrews were ever in bondage to Egypt, it would've been broadcast from the rooftops.)
Ultimately my frustration lies with the pseudo-intellectual, "everything I say is more plausible than what anyone else could have possibly come up with, especially if that person is at all religious" mentality. Why should I trust John Man's account any more than I trust the Biblical one? If you're trying to report history, stick to the facts. That might require saying something along the lines of, "Although Biblical accounts link the early Hebrew people to the Egyptians, there has never been uncovered any physical evidence of that event. We don't know exactly how their alphabet developed, but it does not seem beyond the realm of possibility--indeed, given its close resemblance to Proto-Sinaitic, it seems quite reasonable--to suggest that the knowledge of an alphabet traveled across Sinai and into Israel via their Hebrew ancestors." Then include an explanation of how the Hebrews used their alphabet, perhaps some details of its earlier incarnations (if such details even exist), and move on.
Oh, but then the chapter would be about twenty pages shorter. We can't have that.
/sarcasm
Anyway, I do plan on finishing the book. I only have five chapters left, and now that I've ranted about the smarmy narration, I feel renewed enough to ignore it some more. Basically, the history of the alphabet I find to be very interesting. I just don't like the vessel that's being used to convey it.
And I'm glad it was a borrowed book. Sucks to be the poor schmuck** who's paying $21.33 for it on Amazon.
*To be fair, she probably did not say these exact words. Seeing as how this event took place two (three, four) years ago, and my memory is by no means perfect, I am merely conveying the message my brain received at that moment in time.
**My cousin Melia is no such person, I here note. I am 92.2% certain that she purchased this book at the annual used book sale we frequent together, at considerably less than its MSRP.
15 June 2010
Choices, choices
I know that setting up a blog is just a series of point-and-clicks, that you can go back and change most anything in the style or look of it, and that you don't have to have the whole thing designed and laid out in one go. It still tires me out to perform all those point-and-clicks.
No, I'm not a morbidly obese, bed-bound shut-in (not that it's any of your business if I were). I just don't like making decisions, especially decisions that aren't particularly important but demand to be made anyway.
Whatever, I'm done. Hello again, world.
No, I'm not a morbidly obese, bed-bound shut-in (not that it's any of your business if I were). I just don't like making decisions, especially decisions that aren't particularly important but demand to be made anyway.
Whatever, I'm done. Hello again, world.