Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Thank you Paulo Coelho for the new book title!

Customer: Do you guys have Adultery?

Me: Yes, we definitely do!

Customer: My wife also wants it. We want to discuss Adultery at the same time.

Me: We have enough Adultery for everyone.

Customer: Can you show me where it is?

Me: Yes, of course. Adultery is right this way!

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Gah! I'm behind. I need to tell you about James Ellroy at my store and hand out my Asshole of the Month Award.

I've gotten way behind on all my projects and I need a moral boost. Looking through my planner there have been four blog posts that I was excited to write this month that I never got around to. So here they are:

The Asshole of The Month Award goes to: Lady who lives at 2374 Filbert Street in San Francisco Marina district.

You are an ASSHOLE!

This woman finger waved at me when I got out to move her cans. A tall, white woman finger waved like she was some sassy black lady. Lady, you have a garage! If you want to save a spot for your husband move your car out of the garage and put it where these stupid cans are.

To repeat. Lady, I was being nice. I drove on. Not because you weren't in the wrong, but because I chose to let the next person who thinks this is fucked up take care of it.

Our local tech guy getting off a red eye flight from China isn't going to give a fuck about your cans. Even as you finger wave he'll gladly throw them into your driveway to take this spot.

James Ellroy was at my store to talk about his new novel Perfidia : "So there's a lion fucking a zebra. Zebra says, "Oh shit, there's my husband. Quick, pretend you're killing me!"

James did not disappoint!

We were invited to ask questions like, "Why do so many women divorce you?" and "Why do you write in the time period you do?"

He answered, "I'm loyal. I'm never unfaithful, but I isolate," and "I won't write anything beyond 1973. With Hover gone and the start of Watergate, I just don't fucking care."

When asked why he writes James Ellroy said this:

In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie a bed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light 
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.
Not for the proud man apart
from the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Not for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.

-Dylan Thomas

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Remember fun?

It's the first Wednesday of the month. Time for another post for Alex J. Cavanaugh's Insecure Writer's Support Group.

Holy crap, is it September already? I completed my fourth year in a row of entering the 3 Day Novel Contest at midnight on Monday. This means all my projects have been pushed aside. Chosen, the second book of my Rebecca Ashley Mystery Series, is still going through the editing process. My short story Horror Camp is still waiting for me to push the send button to five of my beta readers.

I'm at the bookstore right now. My co-workers step around me with heavy sighs as I type away during a poetry reading we're hosting.

 I'm not as hard on myself since I've been working here.

I understand more about the traditionally published author's editing process. I am one of the thousands of beta readers that get advanced unedited proof copies of traditionally published books.

It's just me, my editor, and a handful of beta readers going through my work.My eyes twitch and shoulder muscles throb when things can't move faster. Am I the only one that feels this way? How does one live in the moment and just enjoy the process? I can't remember how I did it before.

Monday, September 1, 2014

Last lap

Almost done

I see the finish line and I'm barely going to make the page count to be in the running for the contest. It's impossible for me to know if my writing is good or bad while I'm writing. One minute I'm a creative genius, the next a waste of space, ink and paper. 

Two hours and forty minutes to go.