LOOKING FOR MY CONTEST? Scroll down one entry or visit http://tracymontoya.blogspot.com/2007/12/contest-prizes-enter-today.html
In the comments section, Mariann asked: I have this one nugget of an idea for urban fantasy, but lack the persistence to see it through. Tell me, how do you get from idea to outline and then novel??
Can I just say that from a book junkie's point of view, I would LOVE for you to finish this, Mariann? I think the best paranormal and urban fantasy romances are written by people who regularly visit the sci-fi/fantasy horror sections of the bookstore.
I'm not going to be a whole lot of help here, because what made me finish my first book was a giant stroke of good luck in the form of a book contract based on three chapters and a synopsis. Basically, the pressure of not wanting to disappoint my editor combined with also not wanting to have to forfeit my advance check helped move me along. : )
But I did get close with my first manuscript (a horror show calld Tell Me Everything that's currently under my bed awaiting burial at sea). One huge motivation came in the form of my critique group in Washington state. We met once a week over drinks (mostly non-alcoholic, sometimes not) and would talk about the scenes we'd exchanged with each other and had read during the past week. The group was always a lot more fun if we actually had stuff to critique, and I trusted those women enough that I looked forward to their feedback--so that got me to actually write so I'd have stuff for the meeting.
Another thing that helped me was Carolyn Greene's (aka the Plot Doctor) Prescription for Plotting notebook. I have a notoriously short attention span, so-- Look! Something sparkly over there!
Ahem. As I was saying, I have the attention span of an ice cube, so I write in short and sporadic fits. The notebook helped immeasurably because I could complete a worksheet in one all-too-brief sitting that asked me the right questions to help me figure out my plot.
Carolyn's honed the plotting process down to the essentials, so once you've thought your story through enough to complete the worksheets, your plot is essentially in your head just waiting to be spewed onto paper. I totally needed that when I first started writing, because I had a tendency to follow whatever "plot" line or character quirk caught my fancy at the moment, and I ended up with a lot of meandering scenes and no story to speak of. The manuscript under my bed is basically the literary manifestation of adult ADD. It scares me sometimes.
Carolyn's notebook functioned very much like a pair of training wheels for me. Now, I can sketch out a plot on a single sheet of paper, without having to even look at the notebook worksheets. People who write by the seat of their pants seem sort of magical to me--I could never do that. I have to compose the WHOLE thing in my head before I can even start putting more than one chapter down on paper.
In fact, I like to compare myself to Mozart when I'm feeling grandiose, because he also wrote his works in his head before putting them down on paper. Although my books are hardly the literary equivalent to Don Giovanni (Best! Opera! Ever!) or The Magic Flute. But whatever.Long story short, having the whole book sitting in my head is enough motivation in and of itself for me to get it down on paper and out of my poor, overworked mama brain.
And finally, I find that if I can write at least a paragraph every day, I slowly start to slap my narcoleptic muse awake, and the words just start to flow. By the end of a book, for example, I'm churning out at least 20 pages per day, and they all tend to fall into the not-bad-and-definitely-fixable category. There's just something about several consecutive days of writing that pushes me along and sparks my creativity like nothing else can.
It's only after several consecutive days of creative writing (i.e. not work-related green news articles or green living advice, not emails to friends, not the massive to-do lists I'm forced to do because of my post-partum short-term memory loss) that I start doing that wake-up-at-3-am-with-a-great-idea-for-a-story-thing. And when I get there, I know that writing has gone from a battle to something that's actually fun.
I heard a REALLY great workshop from RWA National on what to do when life has you so bogged down, you feel about as creative as a potato. It was given by Susan Mallery and called "Screw the Muse, I'm on Deadline." I highly recommend it! (Email me if you need to know where to find it.)
Monday, December 03, 2007
Saturday, December 01, 2007
CONTEST! PRIZES! ENTER TODAY!
(Was the title a bit of overkill? I just woke up and can't tell....)
Anyway, today is the launch day of my first-ever contest in honor of my December 2007 Intrigue, Telling Secrets. So read on, and enter! Up for grabs is a $25 gift certificate to BookSense or Barnes & Noble, and a copy of any book from my backlist.
Alex and Sophie were two of those characters who really "popped" for me. And, like most writers, I have a very solid mental picture of what they look like. It's always a bit of a jolt to get a cover artist's interpretation of what is fixed so firmly in my head, but with Telling Secrets, that jolt was more like a massive earthquake.
I described Alex as a 26-year-old Adam Beach with short hair. That would be this:
But with short hair.
The cover artist saw this:
Now why this guy is most definitely eye candy, he is not Alex. (Nor, for that matter, is he 26.) And I can't imagine what the model's reaction was when someone handed him that vest. For the record, Alex, a search and rescue tracker in the Washington state temperate rainforest, wears sweatshirts, his beloved Mariners ball cap, a Patagonia parka, and a good pair of hiking boots for most of the book, and wouldn't be caught dead in that vest--mainly because IT'S THE DEAD OF WINTER.
But you know, interesting covers happen. And I do like his arms, Sophie works, and the trees in the background are nice.
So on to the contest bit: On my December cover, Sophie is obviously whispering something into Alex's ear. Send me your best guess as to what that is--either by sending me an email (TracyMontoya @ aol.com -- without the spaces), or commenting here on my blog (any entry). I'll choose my favorite by Dec. 25, and, again, the winner will get a $25 gift certificate to BookSense (good at select independent bookstores nationwide) or Barnes & Noble (if there's no BookSense store near you) and any book you want from my backlist, including out-of-print ones.
Some examples to get you started:
Sophie is saying:
1) 1970 called. You can so totally keep the vest.
2) Young man, there's no need to feel down, I said, young man....
3) The toxins in my bloodstream will render you helpless in minutes.... (Obscure comic-book reference courtesy of my brother Troy. It's hilarious if you get the context.)
Anyway, today is the launch day of my first-ever contest in honor of my December 2007 Intrigue, Telling Secrets. So read on, and enter! Up for grabs is a $25 gift certificate to BookSense or Barnes & Noble, and a copy of any book from my backlist.
Alex and Sophie were two of those characters who really "popped" for me. And, like most writers, I have a very solid mental picture of what they look like. It's always a bit of a jolt to get a cover artist's interpretation of what is fixed so firmly in my head, but with Telling Secrets, that jolt was more like a massive earthquake.
I described Alex as a 26-year-old Adam Beach with short hair. That would be this:
But with short hair.
The cover artist saw this:
Now why this guy is most definitely eye candy, he is not Alex. (Nor, for that matter, is he 26.) And I can't imagine what the model's reaction was when someone handed him that vest. For the record, Alex, a search and rescue tracker in the Washington state temperate rainforest, wears sweatshirts, his beloved Mariners ball cap, a Patagonia parka, and a good pair of hiking boots for most of the book, and wouldn't be caught dead in that vest--mainly because IT'S THE DEAD OF WINTER.
But you know, interesting covers happen. And I do like his arms, Sophie works, and the trees in the background are nice.
So on to the contest bit: On my December cover, Sophie is obviously whispering something into Alex's ear. Send me your best guess as to what that is--either by sending me an email (TracyMontoya @ aol.com -- without the spaces), or commenting here on my blog (any entry). I'll choose my favorite by Dec. 25, and, again, the winner will get a $25 gift certificate to BookSense (good at select independent bookstores nationwide) or Barnes & Noble (if there's no BookSense store near you) and any book you want from my backlist, including out-of-print ones.
Some examples to get you started:
Sophie is saying:
1) 1970 called. You can so totally keep the vest.
2) Young man, there's no need to feel down, I said, young man....
3) The toxins in my bloodstream will render you helpless in minutes.... (Obscure comic-book reference courtesy of my brother Troy. It's hilarious if you get the context.)
Friday, November 30, 2007
On Heroes and Contests
So I struggled for awhile with the idea of writing a Native American hero. Alex Gray just popped up of his own accord in Finding His Child, my April 2007 Intrigue. I didn't worry too much at the time about his being Lakota, because he was a pretty minor character--which meant I didn't have to try to flesh out his background too much and run the risk of making some horrifyingly offensive error.
But then when it was time to write the next book, Alex popped into my head again and started talking spin-off. And he refused to go away, even when I told him flat-out to take a flying leap off my universe, because he was done. The last thing I wanted was offend every Lakota who ever lived by adding yet another erroneous Native American representation to the genre-fiction canon. We Latinos aren't off our heads over stock Latino characters that pop up in books, TV, and movies--you know, the pool boys, maids, border crossers, illegals, gangbangers, and skeezy "Latin lovers"--and I didn't want to inflict something like that on the Lakota because I'm not deeply immersed in the culture.
But Alex just wouldn't go away. So I got out my trusty notebook and started sketching out a plot, hoping that once he saw me write myself into a corner, he'd leave in disgust and I could go back to my comfort zone.
That's when I realized that Alex and I had a lot more in common culturally than I'd thought--and not just because my great-grandmother was Chorotega (a little-known and now very tiny indigenous tribe in Honduras). After Alex's father inexplicably shot and killed the first female tribal president of the (fictional) Pine Woods reservation in South Dakota, his father went on the run, and Alex's mother fled with her then five-year-old son to Washington State.
No, my dad didn't shoot someone and go on the lam. (He's a former church council president and Peace Corps volunteer who works for a farmer's credit union in Wisconsin and occasionally travels around the world giving workshops on the various aspects of farmer's cooperatives. He's awesome, but not really dramatic enough to make an appearance in an Intrigue.)
But like me, Alex lost part of his culture when his mother left Pine Woods, just like I lost some of mine when my mom moved with my dad from Honduras to Wisconsin. Don't get me wrong--mom always did her best to help my brothers and I experience and value our Honduran side. But walking the line between two cultures can be a strange experience sometimes. I've always been just a little louder and a little more demonstrative and a little more dramatic than many of my friends. (Of course, not that all Latinos are loud and demonstrative and dramatic--but my aunts and my mom could probably star in their own Central American soap opera. And yeah, it rubbed off.) And the first time I went to Honduras as an adult, my cousins were surprised at how "stiff and reserved" I was. I get the whole "You don't LOOK Latina" from some people when they find out my background (probably because I left my fruit hat and chihuahua at home.), but others--especially Latinos or Native Americans--see something of themselves in me almost immediately upon meeting me.
To my surprise, Alex had similar issues--his dark hair and dark skin mark him as different, but he didn't have the day-to-day experience of living with other Lakota. So he feels a little out of place around people who share his background but grew up immersed in the culture he and his mother left behind--a sense of belonging and yet not really belonging.
With the (unsolicited and, at first, unwanted) help of a self-professed "psychic who sucks" named Sophie Brennan, he starts searching for the truth about his father--and he ends up exploring his own identity as a result. (Not to mention atttracting the attention of a homicidal villain who wants the past left in the past. Wouldn't be an Intrigue without one!) Like me, when he goes back to his roots, he feels simultaneously out of place and a real sense of coming home.
Long story short, Alex got his story--December's Telling Secrets--and I tried my best to get the more specific details of his background right. As I do with all the people living in my head, I took great care to make him much more than a stock character, too.
So it was a little ... shocking for me to get my cover and see 26-year-old Alex, who normally runs around in sweatshirts, jeans, and a Mariners baseball cap, looking significantly older and wearing a vest that looks like it was stolen from the pseudo-Native American in the Village People.
I take full responsibility--I didn't do a comprehensive enough art fact sheet. I respect the cover artist's talent and think s/he did a lovely job with Sophie and the forest behind them. :::::White light. White light.::::: The model, while obviously older than Alex, isn't hard on the eyes.
But the vest ... it deserves mockery.
So come back tomorrow for my First! Contest! Ever! and help me mock it.
But then when it was time to write the next book, Alex popped into my head again and started talking spin-off. And he refused to go away, even when I told him flat-out to take a flying leap off my universe, because he was done. The last thing I wanted was offend every Lakota who ever lived by adding yet another erroneous Native American representation to the genre-fiction canon. We Latinos aren't off our heads over stock Latino characters that pop up in books, TV, and movies--you know, the pool boys, maids, border crossers, illegals, gangbangers, and skeezy "Latin lovers"--and I didn't want to inflict something like that on the Lakota because I'm not deeply immersed in the culture.
But Alex just wouldn't go away. So I got out my trusty notebook and started sketching out a plot, hoping that once he saw me write myself into a corner, he'd leave in disgust and I could go back to my comfort zone.
That's when I realized that Alex and I had a lot more in common culturally than I'd thought--and not just because my great-grandmother was Chorotega (a little-known and now very tiny indigenous tribe in Honduras). After Alex's father inexplicably shot and killed the first female tribal president of the (fictional) Pine Woods reservation in South Dakota, his father went on the run, and Alex's mother fled with her then five-year-old son to Washington State.
No, my dad didn't shoot someone and go on the lam. (He's a former church council president and Peace Corps volunteer who works for a farmer's credit union in Wisconsin and occasionally travels around the world giving workshops on the various aspects of farmer's cooperatives. He's awesome, but not really dramatic enough to make an appearance in an Intrigue.)
But like me, Alex lost part of his culture when his mother left Pine Woods, just like I lost some of mine when my mom moved with my dad from Honduras to Wisconsin. Don't get me wrong--mom always did her best to help my brothers and I experience and value our Honduran side. But walking the line between two cultures can be a strange experience sometimes. I've always been just a little louder and a little more demonstrative and a little more dramatic than many of my friends. (Of course, not that all Latinos are loud and demonstrative and dramatic--but my aunts and my mom could probably star in their own Central American soap opera. And yeah, it rubbed off.) And the first time I went to Honduras as an adult, my cousins were surprised at how "stiff and reserved" I was. I get the whole "You don't LOOK Latina" from some people when they find out my background (probably because I left my fruit hat and chihuahua at home.), but others--especially Latinos or Native Americans--see something of themselves in me almost immediately upon meeting me.
To my surprise, Alex had similar issues--his dark hair and dark skin mark him as different, but he didn't have the day-to-day experience of living with other Lakota. So he feels a little out of place around people who share his background but grew up immersed in the culture he and his mother left behind--a sense of belonging and yet not really belonging.
With the (unsolicited and, at first, unwanted) help of a self-professed "psychic who sucks" named Sophie Brennan, he starts searching for the truth about his father--and he ends up exploring his own identity as a result. (Not to mention atttracting the attention of a homicidal villain who wants the past left in the past. Wouldn't be an Intrigue without one!) Like me, when he goes back to his roots, he feels simultaneously out of place and a real sense of coming home.
Long story short, Alex got his story--December's Telling Secrets--and I tried my best to get the more specific details of his background right. As I do with all the people living in my head, I took great care to make him much more than a stock character, too.
So it was a little ... shocking for me to get my cover and see 26-year-old Alex, who normally runs around in sweatshirts, jeans, and a Mariners baseball cap, looking significantly older and wearing a vest that looks like it was stolen from the pseudo-Native American in the Village People.
I take full responsibility--I didn't do a comprehensive enough art fact sheet. I respect the cover artist's talent and think s/he did a lovely job with Sophie and the forest behind them. :::::White light. White light.::::: The model, while obviously older than Alex, isn't hard on the eyes.
But the vest ... it deserves mockery.
So come back tomorrow for my First! Contest! Ever! and help me mock it.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Eh.
So I'm having an "eh" kind of day. You know, one of those days where it's overcast and dumpy and you have no energy or enthusiasm for any of the stuff you usually find fun. I'm supposed to be busy working and keeping my house in pristine shape because it's currently on the market (NOT that we've had any visitors. NOT that I'm bitter.), but other than the work I've had to do, I've pretty much spent the entire day looking at the piles of clutter and handprints on the walls going, "eh." Pulled out a book, went "eh." Made myself a sandwich, went "eh." Went shopping for a badly needed new pair of glasses, went "eh" at most of the frames. Stared at the contents of my cupboards trying to figure out what to make for dinner, went "eh."
And no, I'm not depressed. Just "eh." I'll be better tomorrow. I think it's mostly because Maggie and Marin have been taking turns not sleeping, so Mommy's not sleeping either. So now I'm tired, but I can't nap because of the piles of clutter and juice stains and handprints all over the walls.
But judging from what I've been reading on a few blogs and hearing during some in-person conversations, some romance readers are getting kind of "eh" about the whole romance genre. Angela at the Reading While Black blog admits to being in a year-long reading slump that only Ken Follett could shake her out of. Mariann, the smart woman who unwittingly introduced me to the joys of blogging, has confessed that she sees too many similar "patterns" within category romance lines that suck the fun out of reading them. (That whole fun-sucking thing was my phrase, not hers.) A couple of good friends tell me that they don't read as much romance as they used to, because they're just eh about it all. Other friends aren't off their heads about erotica or paranormals--the current It Girls of the romance subgenre world--and have turned to mainstream fiction for light reading instead. (Please note that I am not dogging paranormals or erotica. We all have our subgenre preferences, and theirs are not paranormals or erotica.)
On the other hand, my friend Caridad Pineiro blogged today that she thinks the romance genre is "coming out of the closet," so to speak. Not because authors like Suzanne Brockmann are writing multi-faceted, heroic gay characters into their books, which is great in and of itself, but because women are taking ownership of it and are proud to read and write it. She's giving a talk at Swarthmore College about romance to a group of women who read it and are studying how it empowers women.
But it can't empower women if we're feeling eh about it and avoiding it altogether. Look at the romance stats on RWA's website, and you'll see that romance is still as popular as ever, so there's really no worry there. So why, then, are a lot of women I know (or know of) feeling eh about romance?
And no, I'm not depressed. Just "eh." I'll be better tomorrow. I think it's mostly because Maggie and Marin have been taking turns not sleeping, so Mommy's not sleeping either. So now I'm tired, but I can't nap because of the piles of clutter and juice stains and handprints all over the walls.
But judging from what I've been reading on a few blogs and hearing during some in-person conversations, some romance readers are getting kind of "eh" about the whole romance genre. Angela at the Reading While Black blog admits to being in a year-long reading slump that only Ken Follett could shake her out of. Mariann, the smart woman who unwittingly introduced me to the joys of blogging, has confessed that she sees too many similar "patterns" within category romance lines that suck the fun out of reading them. (That whole fun-sucking thing was my phrase, not hers.) A couple of good friends tell me that they don't read as much romance as they used to, because they're just eh about it all. Other friends aren't off their heads about erotica or paranormals--the current It Girls of the romance subgenre world--and have turned to mainstream fiction for light reading instead. (Please note that I am not dogging paranormals or erotica. We all have our subgenre preferences, and theirs are not paranormals or erotica.)
On the other hand, my friend Caridad Pineiro blogged today that she thinks the romance genre is "coming out of the closet," so to speak. Not because authors like Suzanne Brockmann are writing multi-faceted, heroic gay characters into their books, which is great in and of itself, but because women are taking ownership of it and are proud to read and write it. She's giving a talk at Swarthmore College about romance to a group of women who read it and are studying how it empowers women.
But it can't empower women if we're feeling eh about it and avoiding it altogether. Look at the romance stats on RWA's website, and you'll see that romance is still as popular as ever, so there's really no worry there. So why, then, are a lot of women I know (or know of) feeling eh about romance?
Sunday, November 25, 2007
T-minus One Week to a New Contest!
WATCH THIS SPACE! On December 1st, I'll be posting the rules for my first-ever major contest on this blog. (Hint: I'm going to let all of you out there have a laugh with me over my TELLING SECRETS cover. Or at me, if you prefer.)
The clever winner will receive a $25 BookSense or Barnes & Noble gift certificate, and your choice of any book from my backlist. (I even have a secret stash of some of the out of print ones. Or you could have a French copy. Or an Icelandic copy. Or an Italian copy. Or....)
So come back December 1 to find out the details and enter.
(Please. I'll look like a huge dork if no one enters.)
The clever winner will receive a $25 BookSense or Barnes & Noble gift certificate, and your choice of any book from my backlist. (I even have a secret stash of some of the out of print ones. Or you could have a French copy. Or an Icelandic copy. Or an Italian copy. Or....)
So come back December 1 to find out the details and enter.
(Please. I'll look like a huge dork if no one enters.)
Monday, November 19, 2007
E-Readers: Suckfest or ... Not?
So I've never been in love with the idea of e-books. I'm too cheap to buy a reader, because to me they just look like heavy, carpal-tunnel-aggravating little monsters with blindingly bright screens--a headache in a box, if you will. And as I spend so much time on my computer all day, the LAST thing I want to do is read books on it during my leisure time. When I've bought e-books (generally by friends), I usually print the things out--an act of environmental terrorism that I'd rather keep to a minimum. (Can't give a printout to charity or a used bookstore for reuse, after all.)
But I clicked on Amazon.com today to find a letter from CEO Jeffrey Bezos introducing a little e-reader called Kimble, and I have to confess, my curiousity is piqued. OK, I'm actually kind of salivating over the thing. Not that I'm ready to convert all of my books to Kimble, but I'll be watching this little device to see whether my fellow readers (who aren't technophobes when it comes to all things book-related) are feeling the love.
Bezos' first two paragraphs didn't set my hair on fire. First, he says:
The physical book is so elegant that the artifact itself disappears into the background. The paper, glue, ink, and stitching that make up the book vanish, and what remains is the author's world.
For me, that's not true. I love the reassuring weight of a book in my hands. I love the crack of a fresh binding and the crisp smell of new paper and fresh ink (hopefully it's soy ink, or I'm probably giving myself a lung condition...). I love flipping a book over sporadically while I'm reading to look at the cover art and reconsider the artist's interpretation of what I'm reading. I REALLY love beautiful books--with interesting fonts, beautiful cover art, or even evocative illustrations or photos. The physical book is very much a part of my reading experience--it's never disappears on my planet.
Then, Bezos says:
I've also been infatuated with the idea of electronic books. The booklover in me often has asked the nerd in me, "Is there a way to get the emotions and experiences I love from books, but combined with the possibilities of advanced technology? Can something as evolved as the book be improved?"
He almost lost me there. For the reasons stated or implied above, I've never been infatuated with e-books. And I don't think the paper book can be improved--other than perhaps printing it on more eco-friendly paper that isn't going to eat the rainforests, decimate entire animal and medicinal plant populations, and exacerbate global warming to the point where my family's future destination of Minnesota might actually become warm and beachy within my lifetime.
I have to admit, I find a geekalicious joy in shelving my pristine-as-possible favorites on my beautiful oak bookshelves, occasionally pulling them all down to dust and re-alphabetize, just because for some peculiar reason, I find that soothing. I love going into brick and mortar bookstores and losing myself among the shelves, pulling down book after book and feeling its promise like a weight in my hand--it's my therapy after a week gone wrong. The thought of all of that disappearing makes me want to pelt anyone who would dare render the paper book obsolete with clunky, garishly bright e-readers until they cry, "Aunt!"
(My brother is shrieking, "NERD!" at his computer screen right now. Shut up, Tom, who has every Voltron, Defender of the Universe DVD ever made on his Christmas wish list.)
But because I'm procrastinating (Shocker.), I kept on reading Bezos' letter. Kindle, it seems, is a wireless, portable reading device that enjoys access to more than 90,000 books, blogs, magazines, and newspapers, downloaded in 60 seconds or less.
The wireless part is intriguing--you don't need a WiFi hotspot or a wireless modem at home, because it uses cell phone technology (satellite, maybe?). Best of all, there are no Faustian, interminable contracts where you pay the monthly equivalent your children's college tuition for spotty, unreliable, perpetually call-dropping service. That spotty, unreliable service is free!
It weighs 10.3 ounces, so no carpal tunnel aggravation there. And, Bezos claims that the "electronic paper" technology used on the screen is sharp, natural, glare-free, and nothing like reading a computer screen.
They've got a little video on the Kimble product page featuring none other than Toni Morrison endorsing it, if that kind of thing matters to you. As well as some dude with the unfortunate name of Guy Kawasaki. Neil Gaiman claims it's "just like paper," and James Patterson calls it "kind of magical."
I promised myself I'd try to calm down with the book buying next year and calm down with unnecessary purchases, as well. But I have to confess, for the moment, I'm not hating on the thought of an e-reader. I think I just drooled a little, too....
But I clicked on Amazon.com today to find a letter from CEO Jeffrey Bezos introducing a little e-reader called Kimble, and I have to confess, my curiousity is piqued. OK, I'm actually kind of salivating over the thing. Not that I'm ready to convert all of my books to Kimble, but I'll be watching this little device to see whether my fellow readers (who aren't technophobes when it comes to all things book-related) are feeling the love.
Bezos' first two paragraphs didn't set my hair on fire. First, he says:
The physical book is so elegant that the artifact itself disappears into the background. The paper, glue, ink, and stitching that make up the book vanish, and what remains is the author's world.
For me, that's not true. I love the reassuring weight of a book in my hands. I love the crack of a fresh binding and the crisp smell of new paper and fresh ink (hopefully it's soy ink, or I'm probably giving myself a lung condition...). I love flipping a book over sporadically while I'm reading to look at the cover art and reconsider the artist's interpretation of what I'm reading. I REALLY love beautiful books--with interesting fonts, beautiful cover art, or even evocative illustrations or photos. The physical book is very much a part of my reading experience--it's never disappears on my planet.
Then, Bezos says:
I've also been infatuated with the idea of electronic books. The booklover in me often has asked the nerd in me, "Is there a way to get the emotions and experiences I love from books, but combined with the possibilities of advanced technology? Can something as evolved as the book be improved?"
He almost lost me there. For the reasons stated or implied above, I've never been infatuated with e-books. And I don't think the paper book can be improved--other than perhaps printing it on more eco-friendly paper that isn't going to eat the rainforests, decimate entire animal and medicinal plant populations, and exacerbate global warming to the point where my family's future destination of Minnesota might actually become warm and beachy within my lifetime.
I have to admit, I find a geekalicious joy in shelving my pristine-as-possible favorites on my beautiful oak bookshelves, occasionally pulling them all down to dust and re-alphabetize, just because for some peculiar reason, I find that soothing. I love going into brick and mortar bookstores and losing myself among the shelves, pulling down book after book and feeling its promise like a weight in my hand--it's my therapy after a week gone wrong. The thought of all of that disappearing makes me want to pelt anyone who would dare render the paper book obsolete with clunky, garishly bright e-readers until they cry, "Aunt!"
(My brother is shrieking, "NERD!" at his computer screen right now. Shut up, Tom, who has every Voltron, Defender of the Universe DVD ever made on his Christmas wish list.)
But because I'm procrastinating (Shocker.), I kept on reading Bezos' letter. Kindle, it seems, is a wireless, portable reading device that enjoys access to more than 90,000 books, blogs, magazines, and newspapers, downloaded in 60 seconds or less.
The wireless part is intriguing--you don't need a WiFi hotspot or a wireless modem at home, because it uses cell phone technology (satellite, maybe?). Best of all, there are no Faustian, interminable contracts where you pay the monthly equivalent your children's college tuition for spotty, unreliable, perpetually call-dropping service. That spotty, unreliable service is free!
It weighs 10.3 ounces, so no carpal tunnel aggravation there. And, Bezos claims that the "electronic paper" technology used on the screen is sharp, natural, glare-free, and nothing like reading a computer screen.
They've got a little video on the Kimble product page featuring none other than Toni Morrison endorsing it, if that kind of thing matters to you. As well as some dude with the unfortunate name of Guy Kawasaki. Neil Gaiman claims it's "just like paper," and James Patterson calls it "kind of magical."
I promised myself I'd try to calm down with the book buying next year and calm down with unnecessary purchases, as well. But I have to confess, for the moment, I'm not hating on the thought of an e-reader. I think I just drooled a little, too....
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Psychic Vibes
So I got this email this morning about psychic Melissa Alvarez being on a romance podcast and doing free psychic readings. Utterly unable to resist the lure of a free psychic reading or an excuse to procrastinate, I called in. Our house just went on the market today, and I was curious to know how long she thought it would take to sell.
Basically, I just wanted someone to say, "It will sell by early January at the latest, for FAR more than your asking price, and don't listen to the mean, wicked realtor who's telling you to put all of your bookshelves into storage."
Unfortunately, Melissa did not say that. She predicted six months. I am hoping that knowledge of today's truly craptacular real estate market interfered with her psychic vibes, and what she REALLY meant to say was, "It will sell by early January at the latest, for FAR more than your asking price, and don't listen to the mean, wicked realtor who's telling you to put all of your bookshelves into storage."
(BTW, my realtor is actually a very nice man who is just trying to help me stage my house so it sells well. But honestly, put my BOOKS in the GARAGE? He might as well ask me to put my HUSBAND in the garage. And yes, I'm exaggerating, but STILL....)
I also told her we were headed into a time of major life transitions, and asked if she thought that the direction in which we're headed (in JANUARY, dammit! JANUARY!) was the right one.
Melissa said that our move is going to be a good one. She said it's going to be colder (and with a plan to go to Minnesota, we can't really get much colder. Unless I wanted to be Cathy's neighbor. Which, lovely as she is, I do not.). She also predicted that I'm going to have some kind of new opportunity, which will unexpectedly fall into my lap, where I will be working with books and rolling files. I have never had a burning desire to be a librarian, but I do love editing, so we'll see! And she said that the book I'm working on now will be published in a year and two months.
Guess I need to get cracking on finishing that proposal. (It's not an Intrigue, though I still plan to keep writing for Intrigue for as long as the editors can stand me.)
It will be fun to see what happens.
Basically, I just wanted someone to say, "It will sell by early January at the latest, for FAR more than your asking price, and don't listen to the mean, wicked realtor who's telling you to put all of your bookshelves into storage."
Unfortunately, Melissa did not say that. She predicted six months. I am hoping that knowledge of today's truly craptacular real estate market interfered with her psychic vibes, and what she REALLY meant to say was, "It will sell by early January at the latest, for FAR more than your asking price, and don't listen to the mean, wicked realtor who's telling you to put all of your bookshelves into storage."
(BTW, my realtor is actually a very nice man who is just trying to help me stage my house so it sells well. But honestly, put my BOOKS in the GARAGE? He might as well ask me to put my HUSBAND in the garage. And yes, I'm exaggerating, but STILL....)
I also told her we were headed into a time of major life transitions, and asked if she thought that the direction in which we're headed (in JANUARY, dammit! JANUARY!) was the right one.
Melissa said that our move is going to be a good one. She said it's going to be colder (and with a plan to go to Minnesota, we can't really get much colder. Unless I wanted to be Cathy's neighbor. Which, lovely as she is, I do not.). She also predicted that I'm going to have some kind of new opportunity, which will unexpectedly fall into my lap, where I will be working with books and rolling files. I have never had a burning desire to be a librarian, but I do love editing, so we'll see! And she said that the book I'm working on now will be published in a year and two months.
Guess I need to get cracking on finishing that proposal. (It's not an Intrigue, though I still plan to keep writing for Intrigue for as long as the editors can stand me.)
It will be fun to see what happens.
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About Me
- Tracy Montoya
- Tracy Montoya writes romantic suspense for Harlequin Intrigue.