Talking About My Books

The cover blurb (if I get that far) for Gaia’s Hands:

Dr. Jeanne Beaumont’s life has escaped her logical, scientific notions – a seedling in her lab has grown into a monstrous vine, and a man half her age courts her.

Josh Young’s world of spirits and visions informs his writing but isolates him. Then in a vision of his current crush naked in a lush orchard of trees and vines, he realizes he wants more.

As Jeanne and Josh discover each other, pieces fall together: the vine’s lush growth, Josh’s visions, the attacks on Jeanne’s life’s work. What brought them together threatens to push them apart, unless they realize that things don’t have to be logical to be true.

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I’m bad at writing book cover blurbs, and not that great at writing cover letter blurbs. It’s hard for me to find the essential pieces, keep the suspense in place, and communicate the gist of the book in as few words as possible. I’m lucky that this blurb only took two tries (but I thought the first, too long draft was perfect. Go figure.).

I might have learned something from this, however. Don’t repeat, don’t tell the whole story. I need to go over all my cover letters now and see if I can capture what I learned there. Wish me luck.

I see the light at the end of the edit!

I am done with the revision of Gaia’s Hands! I think I finally have it in a place where I like it, although it definitely needs some revision on the revision as any good novel would.

This is momentous, because Gaia’s Hands is the first novel I ever wrote.

To give you some background — I had a dream. And it was a pretty raunchy dream, raunchier than the book finally ended up, but it was also romantic. So I kept interrogating the dream, and particularly its characters, and it kept developing further.

I kept writing excerpts of the dream and its spun gossamer threads, and I kept making my husband read them. (My husband is very patient.) After maybe a half-dozen of these, Richard said, “If you’re going to write all these stories on the same topic, you might as well write a novel.”

“I can’t write a novel!” I squeaked. “It’s too long! I don’t know how to write plots!”

“Try,” he said.

So I wrote the first draft, and didn’t like it. I then wrote several other drafts, adding voiceovers and deleting them, adding a couple new characters, deleting them, turning it into a novella, giving up on that. and leaving the story in the metaphorical drawer for a while only to start again. Toward the end of the process, I handed it off to a writing coach, who pointed out that there were so many editing errors from having gone through it so many times my eyes bled, She also informed me that Gaia’s Hands was, in fact, a romance novel and I should emphasize that.

This was a revelation. I knew there was a romance involved, but there was also this fantasy element of Jeanne’s talent and Josh’s visions and the build toward a miracle at the end. Primary to the book, however, was Josh and Jeanne’s unorthodox relationship with its age difference.

So I emphasized that romance, not forgetting the fantasy elements, but using the romance as the backbone of the story. Jeanne and Josh, it turns out, make a great couple. They fight and break up in a totally believable style, and come back to each other within a week just as believably. And they make sense as the unprepared wielders of talents that come from — Japanese spirits? Gaia?

I think I’m happy with Gaia’s Hands. I think.

The Internet Created My Writing Career

I don’t think I would have become a semi-serious writer before the Internet. I like to be correct over details, and before the Internet, I would have had to do much more difficult research to write anything, even a fantasy novel. I would have spent hours in libraries, searching for books and hoping the titles yielded the information I was looking for. I might search through an encyclopedia or two to glean some data about my topic. I would have spent so much time researching that I wouldn’t be able to experience the fun of writing. It would have been a lot like writing my dissertation. Urgk.

For example, in Whose Hearts are Mountains (my favorite book to illustrate the wonders of an Internet search), my online searches included:

Underground dwellings
Owyhee Desert
Wilson’s Sink
desert flora
desert fauna
dry land crops
water reclaiming
biodiesel
jatropha diesel
castor diesel
ricin poisoning symptoms
castor pomace
sage tea
smallpox
bubonic plague
bioweapons
guanacos
mules

Imagine having to go to a library for this search. Imagine telling the librarian you need a book on ricin poisoning. Imagine taking notes on all these items (and because we’re talking about the days without the Internet it’s also the days before a laptop) with pen and paper, and trying to arrange all those notes.

Imagine trying to juggle all these notes while writing.

Imagine feeling like writing after all that. I don’t know how anyone did it.

Using the internet, though, creates a responsibility to the writer. I must check the validity of all my sources to make sure the information is correct. Here is a source that explains the process of assessing the quality of information on the Internet. I use a lot of my college training to do this process, but anyone should be able to walk through the process outlined in the website above. (The process is also handy for sounding out claims of mysterious cures, deep state conspiracies, and urban legends.)

Whose Hearts are Mountains is a story I wanted to write about thirty years ago, but I found the research too daunting. It wasn’t “writing what I know” — it had to happen in the middle of a desert, and I knew nothing about deserts. I had that dissertation to write. But I could write it thirty years later simply because of the advent of the Internet.

Happy Half-Price Chocolate Day!

Today is one of my favorite holidays — Happy half-price chocolate day!

I’m only partially joking. The benefits of chocolate are well known —

lowers cholesterol levels
prevents cognitive decline
reduces the risk of cardiovascular problems

Not to mention tastes good.

The problem with Half Price Chocolate Day in the US is that it features American chocolates which are, in a word, awful. They have a burnt-milk flavor and are overly sweet. I am not a world traveler, but I have had good chocolate. Lindt chocolates are pretty good, although aficionados don’t like them so well, calling them bitter. I have had very good Belgian chocolate, and I have had American artisan chocolates (with Burdick being one of my favorites), which are nothing like mass market chocolate. Yet I will sometimes eat American chocolate, especially if it’s half-price.

I would love it if one of you from overseas would email me some good chocolate!

A Whole Lotta Love (redux)

The problem with Valentine’s Day is that it only celebrates only one type of the seven types of love that the ancient Greeks celebrated.

So, those types of love:

Agape – love of humanity.
Storge – love of family
Philia — love of friends
Pragma – love which endures.
Philautia – self love
Ludus – flirtatious/playful love
Eros – romantic and erotic love.

Valentine’s Day only seems to celebrate eros, and it does so in a big, splashy, commercialized way.

I want people to reclaim the other types of love for Valentine’s Day and go out and celebrate them. Galentine’s Day is a good start, for those female friends who want to celebrate each other. But we should be celebrating our families, our friends, our flirtations, the world. Wouldn’t the world be better for that?

If you liked this blog post, please follow me and let me know you’re there! I need a little love!

Odd Things that Make Me Feel Nostalgic

As a writer, it’s good to examine what my personal symbolism is — first, because it may provide universal symbolism for my stories. Second, because sometimes my personal symbolism is so personal that it just confuses my readers.

I feel nostalgic seeing cars driving by in the early morning. It comes from being up very early in the morning as a child when my mom had to drive my dad to a pickup point so he could get to work. Mom would wake my sister and I up early and we would eat cereal in front of the tv watching the hog futures with Orion Samuelson (this is a 1970’s Chicago area TV reference) as it was the only thing on TV. Then Mom would bundle us up for a 20-mile car ride in a blue Buick station wagon, during which we would often fall asleep. The occasional car driving by in the dark reminds me of a moment when I felt the rest of the world was sleeping around me. I don’t know that this image would speak to anyone else.

Another thing that makes me feel nostalgic is antique auctions. I spent several weekends a year in my childhood at junk auctions as my parents searched for treasures. From rain-damp backyards to big, dusty antique barns, drinking small styrofoam cups of hot chocolate and eating hot dogs for lunch. I remember feeling special as very few children got to sit through auctions with their family. I once bought a box of junk for 50 cents and later sold the cookie jar from it (a primitive with blue cobalt glaze) for $9. Is there anyone else out there who would pull up a feeling of boredom and curiosity from the images of a junk auction?

Then there’s my experience with certain rock songs that use harmonica or sax. Think “Whatever Gets You Through the Night” by John Lennon or “Helpless” by Neil Young. I remember the first time I heard the former on the car radio (AM radio) half asleep in the car on the south side of Ottawa IL as an adolescent. The first time I heard “Helpless” was on an AM radio in my bedroom, and I was a few years younger. Very prosaic memories, yet these songs call up a portentous feeling of the past.

The caution here is that I could build these into my stories and believe I am communicating such things as nostalgia, such feelings as isolation or boredom, such universal moments that the reader will experience, but the truth is that these would speak only to me and maybe a rare reader. This is why I have to be careful as a writer to not depend on instant nostalgia to speak for me.

Home Roasting Coffee

My husband and I love our coffee, to the point that we actually roast our own. It takes an outlay of equipment and expertise, but for people who like good coffee, it’s cheaper than store-bought gourmet beans and a lot cheaper than a daily Starbucks or Nespresso.

We started with the gateway drug — whole beans and a grinder — and then I found out that one could roast their own beans with an air popper. It’s true; one can roast a pot’s worth of green coffee beans with an air-fired popcorn popper, although there are a couple specs on the air popper that need to be noted. Because it’s tedious to lift the hot lid of an air popper and stick a spoon down the chamber to fish out a bean to see if the beans are done, I bought a simple cylindrical roaster (which isn’t made any more; it was a cheaper version of this). It still only did one batch at a time, but it was a little more convenient.

Both the air popper and the Fresh Roast are what are known as fluid bed roasters. This means that the beans float on a fluid bed (usually air) to allow them to roast easily and not develop hot spots. Fluid bed roasters for the home user usually roast smaller batches (taking a half pound of beans at most) and don’t have much versatility if one wants to experiment with the depth of the roast (light, medium, or dark roast).

Photo by Chevanon Photography on Pexels.com

Eventually, as we drink home-roasted coffee daily, we invested in a Behmor 1600 (as they were phasing in the 2000s, it was half the price of the new model) and we roast a pound of green coffee beans a week. The Behmor will roast 1/2 lb-2 lb coffee at a time and uses a drum to move the beans for even roasting. Richard is our roaster now, because one of the important ways to determine roast strength is listening for the cracking of the coffee bean, and my hearing doesn’t allow for that anymore.

Where does one get unroasted beans? We use a source called Sweet Maria’s Coffee, a mail-order outfit with a great variety of beans ever changing with growing seasons in its various sources. We tend toward adventurousness in our beans, reading flavor notes in the reviews and choosing by those. Then when we’re drinking our morning cup, we rate the coffees on a four-point scale:

I wouldn’t give Grandma this coffee
Grandma drinks this coffee
Grandma should be drinking this coffee
Grandma called: she wants a dime bag to go with this coffee.

We like coffee in the 3-4 range (I’m old enough to be a grandma).

Even with the outlay of the roaster (again, we got it on deep discount because we shopped for sales), we pay a lot less than Starbucks, somewhat less than we would for gourmet beans at the store, and a little less than generic canned coffee, and we get a premium product that’s almost like wine in its complexity.

It’s worth the learning curve.

COVID Hypochondria

I think COVID hypochondria is a thing.

I have a sore throat right now — not even a bad sore throat, but the beginnings of one. It hasn’t gotten any worse from last night. I keep taking my temperature and it’s normal. But still I am swamped with a “what if” scenario. Not a worry, just a “what if”.

Is my sore throat getting worse? (No.) Am I running a fever? (No.) Have I lost my sense of smell? (NO!)

I however stay ever vigilant, because I will be malingering if I don’t go in to work, and I will be irresponsible if I go into work with COVID. Being an educator seems to be about making a series of choices, all of them wrong, at this point.

If you search for “covid hypochondria” on Google, you get a self-screening checklist. I guess I’m not the only one.

Ego, or Facing My Prejudice About Romance

I’m adjusting to the fact that I write romantic fantasy or fantasy romance. Fantasy romance is romance with fantasy conventions; romantic fantasy is fantasy with romantic elements. Given this dichotomy, Gaia’s Hands (the bastard child of my works that I’m currently editing) is fantasy romance, while the others are romantic fantasy.

I think I’ve internalized a subgroup’s perception of romance as tacky and trivial. I admit titles like “The Billionaire’s New Secretary” make me cringe because of the obvious and outdated gender roles (but at the same time they’re making more money than I am).

Romance sells like popcorn at a movie theater, at the same time that the readership of other genres are decreasing. Because it sells, I might have a better chance at getting my books read. At the same time, there’s part of me (the egotistical part) that thinks my books have to Mean Something. At this point I would best chat with my ego and point out that High Art sitting on my computer isn’t doing any good.

I’m not writing Books That Mean Something. I hopefully am writing books that people care about. That’s where I want to be, and my ego better clear out and let me do it.

Needing to Learn New Skills

I feel like I have the writing down: get an idea, write, revise for everything from grammar to readability to spelling to word choice, find a developmental editor, revise again.

What I need to learn is the promotional part. I’m learning bits and pieces. Where I am:

I have 4700 followers on Twitter
I have 215 followers on Instagram
I belong to a few writer’s groups on Facebook (all romance; I need to get into some fantasy groups)
I have written promotional materials for The Kringle Conspiracy (last Christmas’ romance)
I have explored Booksprout (for advance research copies), Goodreads (to get in contact with readers)
I have a decent bio on Kindle
I have this blog and another (lleachie.wixsite.com)

I just don’t seem to be getting much traction. For example,

I have 10 people following this blog, and one or two other readers (unless WordPress is missing more than a few people)
I have had few sales on The Kringle Conspiracy, and I won’t have more until next Christmas season
I don’t know how I should be proceeding.

There’s so much more to writing than writing. That’s the part that throws me. My skills are in writing; they’re sadly deficient in promotion. I also can’t afford to hire someone to promote me, nor do I think that’s a wise idea, because that’s giving up my persona to someone who doesn’t understand me or my work.

Woman with painted face, one side black and one white, smearing the black into the white. — Photo by Dids on Pexels.com

So I still have a lot to learn.