The Review Is In...

The review has been finished. It isn't great and it contains a spoiler which is kind of major but it's out there. Whatever. I agree with her that it is definitely a first novel and all that entails. It's a little rougher than most because it's a first. However she spends about a third of the review complaining about the cover being plain and her inability to get over certain characters, like gods and monsters, having different type faces. The first one I actually had little control over but okay. The second complaint is...interesting seeing as how I am not the only or first author to do so. Tamora Pierce, for example, does the exact same thing.

But, when it gets down to the nitty gritty, she generally likes my book. She thinks it should go slower (although I think the speed is great. I hate drawn out books. Mine takes a few breaths to deal with subplots which is what an adventure fantasy should do. Just a different opinion which is what I wanted from this review.) but she likes the characters, the "lovingly imagined locale" and believes I have promise. 3 out of 5 stars. Grand.

I've been kind of blase about the review. I read it to my sister though who just went "Wow, that's condescending," about a couple of things. All in all, Rissa is taking the review personally and she didn't even write the book. Hah. Silly supportive sister. Alright. Off to get a milkshake and see my honorary brother, Philip, who will probably be as ridiculously supportive as Rissa.

Ms. Sylvester, the author of the review, if you for some reason see this I want to thank you for taking the time to review my book. I appreciate your perspective! :D

Freak Out

So I'm a little on edge right now. My book has yet to go up on Amazon or Borders, as it should have already, AND I'm waiting nervously for my first review. I keep getting all antsy going "Gah! Why hasn't she written the review yet?!?" then I remember she only got it on the 5th. While one could read a book that quickly (I can read six in that amount of time if I so choose) I'd really rather she didn't rush through it and make a hasty decision about the book.

Or would I?

Maybe I'd rather she read it really really fast and had no time to notice how terrible it is. Hmm...no no! I want an honest review and....and I'm sure my book is good enough. I really hope that this is a normal thing for authors; fearing their book isn't nearly good enough and waiting for everyone to bash it and tell them they are worthless.

My friend Philip and my sister Rissa keep telling me that it's a good book and that it will do just fine. And I can tell when they're lying so they really think that...but is that just because they know me? Uggawug! I don't know.

And then the whole thing where my book isn't available on Amazon and the like is just freaking me out a little. It has me worried that something is wrong. I trust Lulu so it isn't anything like that I'm just worried that my book somehow didn't meet the global distribution qualifications (which it ought to have).

Okay, better plan. Write and DON'T think about these two subjects. Sounds good, yes?

Grinning Like A Loon

So I met Tamora Pierce on Sunday. Well...met is such a strong word. I listened to her speak, waited FOREVER in a line of people who reminded me why I hate people and then I stood in front of her with a stupid smile on my face whilst she signed my copy of Mastiff. Plus side, I didn't say anything stupid. As Ben Franklin once said "It is better to be silent and thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt." Although, I did notice her tattoos as we got to the front which gave my sister something to talk about.

Of course I COULD have thanked her for her wonderful writing or told her that she inspired me to be a writer. But did I? NOPE! Just stood there, grinning like a loon. She honestly gave me a look like "This girl isn't going to attack me, right?"

Listening to her speak was so amazing though. She described a lot of her process and the things she does to people in her life and it sounded a lot like me. If nothing else, she admitted to conferring with her characters just as I do. The way she comes at her husband when she has gaps in her stories is exactly like what I put my sister through. OH, and she too collects weapons which she messes around with. It was neat to know that I may be crazy but at least I'm the same brand of crazy as a very successful and well loved author. It gives me a moderate amount of hope.

My Tease of a Muse and Shri Devi

I hate this period of time. In my writing that is. I'm at that point in my writing wherein something major has happened. It was big, awesome and beautiful. Now I'm stumped concerning how to get to the next major event. It's so annoying and it's the reason why I've been drawing, playing games and listening to music rather than writing. (Alright, I listen to music in an attempt to fuel the writing but still...)

My muse, as previously stated in poetical form, is a tease. She keeps me up late, pleading for her to give me that smidgen of information I need in order to progress, when I should be in bed resting up for pilates. She drives me crazy. She is why I wrote that poem about poetry reading hipsters. She is the reason I accidentally wrote poetry about this sculpture I was looking at today. No really, it was an accident.

I was writing about this beautiful bronze statue of the Hindu goddess Shri Devi for art class. I started writing a about her posture, her figure and her expression. Next thing I know, it is randomly poetic. "Scantily clad goddess/ Clinging clothe etched into her thighs" rot like that. Although the statue was beautiful. She was the picture of fertility (with breasts swollen with milk and her hip popped to the side as though she were holding a child) and also sexuality (said breasts covered at the nipple by a small band, an open and inviting stance and a seductive expression on her face). Seriously, this little statue was amazing. But was it worth my muse possibly exerting all of her energy? NO! At least not as far as I'm concerned.

Anyway, enough about her. I should be off to bed since it is well after 5am. Just to drive my point about my muse home, this is a normal bedtime for me. BLUGH!

The Result of Poets

A poetry reading in someone's side yard
Oh this will be a treat
It's literally a patch of grass
Surrounded by a white picket fence and
Lit by tiki torches and a porch light
I walk through the squeaky gate
(I feel they purposefully don't oil it
Because they ironically enjoy the squeak)
I find myself lost in a sea of flannel
And thick rimmed glasses
The girls all wear
The same sort of things
Full length skirts catch on their "vintage"
High heeled boots
And they wear their pleather jackets with pride,
Flipping about their jaggedly cut hair
Which has been styled to look like they don't care
No doubt with enough hairspray
To leave a carbon footprint greater than
Any industry about which they rant
While the women are similar
The men are exactly the same
Cardboard cutouts of the same manboy
Prance around the little yard
Sporting the same porn star mustache
Skinny legged jeans, leaving little to the imagination
And little to be desired
I could look past the fashion, but oh,
To hear them talk
Causes me physical pain
Such general statements are tossed about:
"Oh don't get me started on the economy"
"Fucking Bush man!"
"Yeah, it's so environmentally sound"
Then they swig on cheap beer and wine
And act like the silence where there should be an explanation
Is meaningful
Pretension so thick
You could cut it with a knife
Though perhaps a razor blade would be more apropos
When the poetry actually begins
I sink into the little lawn chair,
As it sinks into the over watered lawn,
Perhaps it feels the same despair
The hostess approaches the mic
Only moderately drunk
And speaks into it as if she is
A DJ on NPR
She speaks with her lips to the mic
Like she's giving it a sloppy kiss
And keeps her voice low and soft
She brings up the first poet and
My hope is renewed
Her work flows like a constant rushing stream
And her imagery draws me into
This person she's describing and I find
I almost love him too
Her poems are lovely
But end too soon
The hostess, a bit more drunk than before,
Announces the next poet like she
Is the love of her life
Then my hope is squashed by a girl
Who thinks that her phrasing
Is elegant with a comical twist
She thinks a wry smile and throaty laughter
Make up for her lack of original thought
So continues the progression
Of plainly petrifying poets who
Pronounce pedestrian pieces
And pretend they are perplexing and profound
And the hostess, god love her,stumbles toward the mic
Poet after poet
Drink after drink
And so this waste of a night
Filled me with a frightful urge
To write

SOMEONE PULLED THE UNDERWIRE OUT OF MY BRA (metaphorically speaking.)

You know, I spent many years writing my book and then a couple of years trying to get it published. All the while everyone I knew kept saying "Let me know when it's published. I'd love to read it!" Now I know they were liars. Oh everyone wants to be so supportive when you're trying to make something happen, but when you make it happen all the support fades away. It's like the opposite of any story about people getting rich or famous.

"No one believed in me and then I made my first album and suddenly I was surrounded by people saying that they knew I could do it."

How did I get the crap end of this deal? It's like somebody pulled the underwire out of my bra and now the girls are freefalling. (Which would be very uncomfortable considering.)

You know I never wanted to have my book do well, to be quite honest. I just wanted to be able to share it with my family and friends. I wanted people who knew me to take a good look at it and go "Wow, Ariana is seriously self-impressed!" Or maybe they'd look at it and understand me a little. But instead my book is doing just as well as I am. People feign interest and don't bother to look beneath the surface. It's more than a little frustrating.

ON THE OTHER HAND, I've found out what people are really cool and actually supportive. My great aunt bought four copies! My great grandmother (who is actually my step great grandmother so I wasn't sure if she'd even care) has a copy and is dying to read it because "I watched her grow up. Of course I want to see how she's done." My cousin David bought the book but was repaid for his support by having FedEx LOSE IT. Then of course there are Marcy, Jaime and Shaina who aren't related to me or anything and bought copies basically just to be supportive. These are my favorite people.

Of course I understand the people who can't afford to buy my book. My one friend who is having issues finding a job and a place to live keeps apologising because she hasn't bought my book yet. "I promise I'll buy it as soon as I can! I can't wait to read it!!!"

Honestly....I'd prefer it if she could afford to live. I'll give her the damn book if she wants to read it. It's just annoying to have all this support I once had completely withdrawn from me. People who encouraged me to publish myself if agents wouldn't do it. At this rate I will never be able to repay the loan my grandparents gave me. And I feel bad complaining about it. I feel like it makes me seem like a selfish brat but I can't help but feel this way.

Bluh.

I Hired My Sister....OH THE HUMANITY!

It's true! I knew I was going to be a writer at the ripe age of two. So I made a few calls and figured out how babies were made. It was difficult talking the stork into letting me pick out my own baby sister but I was a smooth talker in those days. From October of 1991 onward, I trained her. It seems to be paying off too since basically only her friends have bought my book.

So now the world knows the secret of my little sister, Rissa. She's actually a hired professional. I've been keeping this a secret for twenty years but I cannot continue with the lie. I'm sorry everyone. I think I may have to return her now. Or does this void the thirty year warranty?

New Directions

I finally did the thing that I was so certain I wouldn't do. I used Lulu and published my book my own damn self! (Hold your applause all....none of you.) I got fed up with leaving my destiny in the hands of agents with dollar signs in their eyes (not a fair generalization but this is my blog!), took out a small loan from my grandparents and took off.

I would be remiss if I didn't take a moment to say how great Lulu is. I was completely in control of my project the whole time, in touch with my "project coordinator" Ken on a fairly regular basis and yet I was able to rely on them for all of the hard stuff.

Of course, no matter how great Lulu was I was still plagued with my inner writer. She's horrible and angsty. She kept trying to convince me that I'd made a big mistake as an artist. She told me that no one would take my book seriously or respect me because I had to publish my book on my own. She kept trying to convince me that I couldn't do this on my own. See? Isn't she a horrible bitch? Then, my proof copy came in the mail. I opened the package and saw the beautiful cover, my decent picture on the back and my name on the front. That was pretty nice. Then I opened the book and saw my words. I almost cried. Suddenly it didn't matter that I published my own book. What mattered was that it was here in hard copy. I may or may not have snuggled it.

My shame and self doubt was renewed when I realized that it was available on Lulu.com but wouldn't be available on Amazon or the like for another month or so. Then I was wondering "Should I tell people or should I wait until it's on Amazon?" So I showed one of my best friends, Philip, that it was available on Lulu and he went NUTS! He was so excited and enthusiastic! Suddenly it didn't matter how I'd published it, just that it was out there and I could get people to see it since all I ever wanted was to share these characters and this story.

I continued fretting, of course. Philip said, "No! No self doubt! Tell that bitch to get out of here!"

"But," I said, "it makes things easier. See, it lowers my expectations.

"No," Philip insisted. "You should have high expectations."

"But this way I can see that I've sold four copies of my book and, instead of crying, say 'Hooray! That's twice what I thought I'd sell!' Then I skip away."

Philip paused. "I see no flaw to this logic. Doubt away!"

Then I told everyone in the world (okay, all of my facebook friends) about my book. People were all kinds of supportive telling me how awesome it is but they can't afford to buy a book right now (blah blah blah! LIARS! lol). Of course, despite the fact that I didn't buy a publicity package I have....a publicity system. My friend Philip, sister Rissa, cousin Jenelle, aunt Lauria and mother (LaDonna, since they all got their names) all began advertising my book like my own PR firm. Then two of my sister's friends, Hugo and Ryan, also posted the link to my book. My grandparents have possibly e-mailed everyone they know and my aunt Carole (grandfather's sister) has bought copies for people she's been telling about my book. I couldn't have more support if I tried. They are all so awesome.

So now I'm....moderately pumped and I figured I should bring my blog back but send it in a new direction. I can't do this serious thing I've been doing. I'M NOT A SERIOUS PERSON! I am a person who sat in my sister's room just a few hours ago making juvenile jokes about male genitalia. I'm not a grown up. I don't even pretend to be one in life, why should I pretend that much on a blog that nobody reads?!?! I mean, I know why I did it before. I was looking for an agent. Well the hell with that! I choose not to care anymore.

I say good day! (or good night as the case may be.)

Confidence

I guess I took a little break. I haven't been too...sure of myself as of late. I've had overwhelming fears telling me that maybe I'm never going to have an agent want to represent me. It's a shame because now I know that people do like my writing. I have, and I'm not entirely proud of this, written a story on fanfiction. It wasn't real fanfiction to be quite honest. It was moderately based around the science and religion of PC and KristenCast's House of Night series. But I added my own mythology and changed some things. I didn't steal their characters like most do. I just...got inspired by the idea of their books being based in fact.

Long to short (too late, I know) I wrote a pretty amazing story that a lot of people read. I was actually pretty surprised by my readers. When you think fanfiction you think lame romance stories about characters and people who can't think for themselves enough to create their own characters and circumstance (though I have read a few that are the exceptions). My readers were actually pretty smart and passionate about my story. It confused me a little but ultimately gave me confidence.

Contrary to the claims of agents, I do write what the people want to read. I just don't write what they assume people want to read. This makes me feel wonderful about my writing but terrible about my prospects in terms of being published. So what do I do? Selfpublishing? That does not seem like a great option.

Oh well, I'll keep working on this paranormal/urban fantasy book I've been working on since September or so. Maybe it will get my foot in the door and I can get my baby published. I feel like the little engine sometimes. Between writing and school. I just keep chanting to myself "I think I can. I think I can." and hope that it's true.