I've never claimed to be a patient person. If I have, I was most certainly fooling myself into thinking so. Last week, or the week before, my sister posted a link on my Facebook wall. It was information regarding "Create Space" which is a self-publishing offshoot of Amazon. I clicked the link earlier this week and started reading about it. Before I knew it, I was creating a new cover and formatting my manuscript to submit.
As I said, I've never been one to enjoy sitting around and waiting for something to happen.
So there you have it, "Wiener Brain", my first novel, is now available to purchase through Create Space (click here) for $7.00. You'll get a nice shiny paperback copy upon ordering. If electronic readers are more your speed, the digital version (click here) can be downloaded through Amazon for just $5.50. I'm not going to make much money, but I wanted to keep the price down in an effort to sell more copies. Basically, I just want people to read it. Plus, this way, I can write a sequel anytime I want. I may have even started an outline for said sequel this week...
Any and all purchases of my book, in whatever format you choose, are wholeheartedly appreciated. If you have read it already and don't have a need to purchase it, leaving a review on Amazon would be greatly appreciated.
Thanks again, everybody for your support and encouragement. Now go out and get your copy of "Wiener Brain" today!
Friday, June 29, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Still A Work-In-Progress
My entire life, I have struggled with thinking positively. I have the desire to go there, but I also have the fear. It is in my head that if I should raise my hopes about something, I'm bound to end up disappointed. This line of thinking has me going into nearly all situations hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. It's almost as if I am afraid that envisioning the best outcome will jinx me and I'll be doomed to live the remainder of my days a lonely loser. It's a conundrum, and I have no clue as to the correct path I should take. It's also kind of ridiculous to make the simple act of having a positive attitude so complicated.
Let me also mention, that no matter what attitude I have going into something, the feeling is always the same when it doesn't work out. It's always the same when it does work out. So, I don't really know why I allow this to consume so much of my time. Maybe I'm crazy...nuts...insane.
Some of you may recall a couple months ago, when I mentioned that I was writing a book. Well, I finished that book. I formatted it into a manuscript and did extensive research as to the best way to get published. I went down several avenues, exploring all my options, and chose to begin by trying to see if I could find an agent to represent me. I figured, reaching as high as I possibly could and working my way down was the best way to go.
In the beginning, the logical side of me knew that just getting published would be a longshot, let alone finding an agent on my first try. I knew to be prepared for a long line of rejection. At the same time, I secretly thought I would be the exception. My attitude was positive, to a fault. I truly thought I would get picked up right away, I had that much confidence in my book. So, while I was publicly expecting rejection, I was privately expecting to blow up overnight as the next Judy Blume.
Needless to say, that first "Thank you for your submission, but it's just not what we're looking for right now", was like the punch of a heavyweight champion right to my heart.
So were the next four.
Instead of letting that destroy me, I began to look for what was broken. It would have broken me a few years ago; but then, a few years ago I would have never even tried to send anything out to be published. I've started going through my manuscript and finding that I seem to be a really big fan of commas, and other random punctuation. I've also reminded myself of what I said when I first started writing; which was that my main goal is to finish writing the book. If just one person enjoys what I've written, it will be a bonus. If it actually gets published it will be more than I could ever want. I have accomplished my original goal. I've discovered I am great at putting the cart before the horse. Then again, there is nothing wrong with being ambitious. The only problem with being too confident is becoming too arrogant to admit something needs to be fixed.
I'm not giving up until I have exhausted every avenue. I haven't loved everything I've ever written, but I love "Wiener Brain". I'm proud of it, and I'm thankful to those who have given me such positive feedback on it and if that is all I ever get, it's more than enough. I have a tendency to become overwhelmed with trying to prove something. I don't want people to know if I'm sad, so I fake it, and it eventually all bubbles to the surface until I can't sleep, or I want to sleep too much. The best way to get rid of something on your mind is to take it off.
So there you have it. I try to be positive, but sometimes it's impossible; and still sometimes, being too positive can be very disappointing. I'm trying to work on being realistic, while still going after the things I want.
Let me also mention, that no matter what attitude I have going into something, the feeling is always the same when it doesn't work out. It's always the same when it does work out. So, I don't really know why I allow this to consume so much of my time. Maybe I'm crazy...nuts...insane.
Some of you may recall a couple months ago, when I mentioned that I was writing a book. Well, I finished that book. I formatted it into a manuscript and did extensive research as to the best way to get published. I went down several avenues, exploring all my options, and chose to begin by trying to see if I could find an agent to represent me. I figured, reaching as high as I possibly could and working my way down was the best way to go.
In the beginning, the logical side of me knew that just getting published would be a longshot, let alone finding an agent on my first try. I knew to be prepared for a long line of rejection. At the same time, I secretly thought I would be the exception. My attitude was positive, to a fault. I truly thought I would get picked up right away, I had that much confidence in my book. So, while I was publicly expecting rejection, I was privately expecting to blow up overnight as the next Judy Blume.
Needless to say, that first "Thank you for your submission, but it's just not what we're looking for right now", was like the punch of a heavyweight champion right to my heart.
So were the next four.
Instead of letting that destroy me, I began to look for what was broken. It would have broken me a few years ago; but then, a few years ago I would have never even tried to send anything out to be published. I've started going through my manuscript and finding that I seem to be a really big fan of commas, and other random punctuation. I've also reminded myself of what I said when I first started writing; which was that my main goal is to finish writing the book. If just one person enjoys what I've written, it will be a bonus. If it actually gets published it will be more than I could ever want. I have accomplished my original goal. I've discovered I am great at putting the cart before the horse. Then again, there is nothing wrong with being ambitious. The only problem with being too confident is becoming too arrogant to admit something needs to be fixed.
I'm not giving up until I have exhausted every avenue. I haven't loved everything I've ever written, but I love "Wiener Brain". I'm proud of it, and I'm thankful to those who have given me such positive feedback on it and if that is all I ever get, it's more than enough. I have a tendency to become overwhelmed with trying to prove something. I don't want people to know if I'm sad, so I fake it, and it eventually all bubbles to the surface until I can't sleep, or I want to sleep too much. The best way to get rid of something on your mind is to take it off.
So there you have it. I try to be positive, but sometimes it's impossible; and still sometimes, being too positive can be very disappointing. I'm trying to work on being realistic, while still going after the things I want.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Are You There, Judy? It's Me, Lindsey
Beginning with the first time I read "Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing" all the way to my second pass through "Summer Sisters", Judy Blume has been a constant in my life. I have always looked to Judy (and my mother, of course) to walk me through the big stuff. She has always managed to explain it to me in a way I can most effectively relate. She showed me that having a little sister (or two) isn't all that bad; and neither is having your first period. My first time had long passed by the time I met Katherine and Michael, but reading about them did manage to bring back a sweet and hurried memory. It also released some of the guilt I felt for moving on in my own similar situation. Vix had "The Power" to show me how to grow into a mature woman, and to learn from mistakes in an effort to make the right decisions down the road.
Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing resonated with me in a way that resonates with any older sibling who resents their younger (and often cuter) sister or brother from time to time. We find a way to convince ourselves that mom and dad love them more than they love us. No matter how many times our parents try to tell us otherwise, we believe they are just saying what they have to say; as if loving each of your children equally is mandated by both Federal law and God himself. Then something happens, and you find yourself imagining your life without this smaller and cuter version of you. You then realize you would never want to live without them. Simply put, the book is about true love. It is about having someone who drives you absolutely insane; someone you have considered giving away to the next person walking down the street; and accepting that they are never leaving. Not only that, but you would never want them to leave. You live with their tendencies toward being annoying and infuriating; not just because you have to, but because you want to.
When I first watched "The Movie" in school, I was effectively terrified. I walked out of the "girls only" classroom fully ready to turn in my female card. I wanted no part of THAT. The mere concept of having to deal with such a disgusting and uncomfortable thing once a month was revolting. My fear was constant until I read Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. It's acutally a book about a girl's struggle with religious conflict having been born to one Christian parent and one Jewish parent. Having two Catholic parents myself, this never presented as a personal or social problem for me. Therefore, Margaret's introduction to puberty is what remained with me beyond the last page; when my stomach-churning anticipation upon becoming a woman became somewhat tolerable. Imagine my surprise, though, when she described her pretty pink belt. I don't care how pink it might have been, "The Movie" never said anything about enduring this "curse" with a medieval torture device around my waist. I approached my mother in a panic, and she quickly soothed me with stories of advancements in adhesives over the previous twenty-plus years. I was relieved to have the clinical nature brought on by "The Movie" warmed with flowery descriptives on "becoming a woman". Margaret became my hero and Judy Blume, my idol.
My love for Martha's Vineyard, and my sadness at the fact that I don't have a definable "great love of my life" stems from Summer Sisters. I have read this book twice; once at 20, and the second time at 30. I saw it differently each reading. I saw the relationship between Vix and Caitlin in different ways. I left each visit with completely different views on Bru. The first time, I had many questions. I didn't understand why Vix made some of the decisions she made. Why did she forgive the people she forgave? Why didn't she forgive others? The second time around, I found myself much more satisfied at the end, despite the obvious lingering questions the reader is left with. I got it. I could accept all outcomes. I understood her reasoning. I saw her mistakes and how she learned from and became a better person through them. Both times however, after reading, I closed the book and held it to my chest. I could almost smell the sand and salty water amongst the definable "library book smell".
I now find myself gravitating toward the likes of Chelsea Cain and Lisa Lutz, and even some of those old broads like Charlotte Bronte. While I haven't cracked the spine on a Blume in a few years, chances are I'll be reacquainting myself with my old pal Vix when I hit 40, just to see if she's changed at all.
Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing resonated with me in a way that resonates with any older sibling who resents their younger (and often cuter) sister or brother from time to time. We find a way to convince ourselves that mom and dad love them more than they love us. No matter how many times our parents try to tell us otherwise, we believe they are just saying what they have to say; as if loving each of your children equally is mandated by both Federal law and God himself. Then something happens, and you find yourself imagining your life without this smaller and cuter version of you. You then realize you would never want to live without them. Simply put, the book is about true love. It is about having someone who drives you absolutely insane; someone you have considered giving away to the next person walking down the street; and accepting that they are never leaving. Not only that, but you would never want them to leave. You live with their tendencies toward being annoying and infuriating; not just because you have to, but because you want to.
When I first watched "The Movie" in school, I was effectively terrified. I walked out of the "girls only" classroom fully ready to turn in my female card. I wanted no part of THAT. The mere concept of having to deal with such a disgusting and uncomfortable thing once a month was revolting. My fear was constant until I read Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. It's acutally a book about a girl's struggle with religious conflict having been born to one Christian parent and one Jewish parent. Having two Catholic parents myself, this never presented as a personal or social problem for me. Therefore, Margaret's introduction to puberty is what remained with me beyond the last page; when my stomach-churning anticipation upon becoming a woman became somewhat tolerable. Imagine my surprise, though, when she described her pretty pink belt. I don't care how pink it might have been, "The Movie" never said anything about enduring this "curse" with a medieval torture device around my waist. I approached my mother in a panic, and she quickly soothed me with stories of advancements in adhesives over the previous twenty-plus years. I was relieved to have the clinical nature brought on by "The Movie" warmed with flowery descriptives on "becoming a woman". Margaret became my hero and Judy Blume, my idol.
My love for Martha's Vineyard, and my sadness at the fact that I don't have a definable "great love of my life" stems from Summer Sisters. I have read this book twice; once at 20, and the second time at 30. I saw it differently each reading. I saw the relationship between Vix and Caitlin in different ways. I left each visit with completely different views on Bru. The first time, I had many questions. I didn't understand why Vix made some of the decisions she made. Why did she forgive the people she forgave? Why didn't she forgive others? The second time around, I found myself much more satisfied at the end, despite the obvious lingering questions the reader is left with. I got it. I could accept all outcomes. I understood her reasoning. I saw her mistakes and how she learned from and became a better person through them. Both times however, after reading, I closed the book and held it to my chest. I could almost smell the sand and salty water amongst the definable "library book smell".
I now find myself gravitating toward the likes of Chelsea Cain and Lisa Lutz, and even some of those old broads like Charlotte Bronte. While I haven't cracked the spine on a Blume in a few years, chances are I'll be reacquainting myself with my old pal Vix when I hit 40, just to see if she's changed at all.
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