tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51112092374230989912024-03-14T02:40:55.502-07:00I'm not so much a writer who drinks coffee as a coffee drinker who writes.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-38238531771104459562016-01-20T05:01:00.000-08:002016-01-20T05:09:21.006-08:00Publish VS Self-Publish: Know Before You Start<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'helvetica neue', arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You write a book. You have options. Most people categorize those options as either
finding someone to publish their book for them or doing it themselves. But, if we unravel the mystery of publishing in 2016, it's much more complex.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Anyone can learn to write using MS Word or Scrivener. And anyone can learn to format and create ebooks and order printed copies, which means anyone can publish you. We should be talking in terms of a continuum of publication options between the two tired standards of publishing past.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere out there is someone willing to publish almost anything.</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. Traditional Publishing</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Convince an agent to represent your book to one of the major publishers who will love it, create it and distribute it if it ever finds its way to the top of their slushpile. Although this sounds like a fool proof plan for fame and fortune to some, the vast and expansive majority of first time authors who are published by the few major publishers are not able to support themselves from one book. But, the professionalism of their finished product is high and the bragging rights last a lifetime.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's something to think about for most writers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span>
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. 100% Self-Publishing</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">You take your files and turn them into ebook files. It's quite simple. If you can save your work as a word document or a PDF, you can upload it into a
file converter. I don’t mean you can make it look good with a file converter,
but you can create ebook files with minimal button clicking involved. To get more
professional, get writers find apps like Sigil, and make great friends with all
their features.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">You edit. You format. You make the cover. You ask each person you meet individually if they will read it. If you have no money to invest in developing your work, this may be the only way to start, but your weakness in design or marketing or whatever area will show.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. Small Press</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've met quite a few people who believe that all self-published books earn less than 100 USD. And that may be true for the writers who couldn't find a publisher and decided to self-publish as a second option. BECAUSE... if you want someone else to publish you, you will find someone to publish you, UNLESS your work is to the readers what gum on the bottom of a shoe is to a pterodactyl.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">A small press is any press operating with a budget less than 50 million USD annually. That can be a retiree at his home computer in the country working on dial-up or a successful and growing business that turns out quality niche works.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">4. Somewhat Self-Publishing</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">100% Self-Publishing sounds romantic and all rebel against the system, but DO NOT think for one minute that readers do not judge
your book by its cover. Unless they LIKE the cover or hear something good about
it from someone they trust, the book IS the cover.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And if you're like me, who uploaded and formatted a draft of my first book without noticing, who may need a professional editor or at least, a professional proofreader. Or you may need help with marketing and website design. Somewhat Self-Publishing is when you have learned your strengths and weakness and decided to pay other people to ensure your work reaches a professional standard.</span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It is my firm belief that no one should self-publish, because they failed to find a publisher.</span></b></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">And in the end, there is only one true path to success as a writer no matter what route you choose.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Write! Write! Write! </span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Like every
successful businessman, any writer with enough determination will eventually be able to connect a product to the people who want to pay them for it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’ve personally never submitted my novels for publication by a small press or a major publisher. I considered it, but the thought decreased my passion for writing. I want to
self-publish just as my grandfather did the year I was born. He bought an old
printing press and made copies of his writing by setting each letter of each
page by hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It is a romantic ideal for me, but I also have aspirations to publish other people's work. I dream of thermal binders and a warehouse of shelving to stock an inventory of warm comfortable escapist scifi.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yes, it's good to dream, but it's even better when you have a plan to go with it.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-76152764896871245722016-01-12T00:57:00.002-08:002016-01-15T19:09:54.629-08:00The Author and The Persona<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Earlier this year a guy I dated in college, asked me how to be popular. Online. He wanted lots and lots of people following him so he could look more important.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Naturally, he works in foreign affairs. He would never admit otherwise, but it wasn't so he could help other people. He's also been interested in art. He asked me how to do that, too.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I've never had answers to questions like these. I don't know anything about art. When I was younger, I thought good art was putting a dollar bill on the end of a fishing line and hanging it over the balcony at my friends apartment that faced the college row.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">1/3 of the people laughed when I told them I was fishing for capitalists</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1/3 of the people pretended they couldn't see it and walked past</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1/3 were angry if not before I explained what I was doing, certainly after</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I tried different types of lure, but the results always ended up the same. And when I left my pole dangling out of reach to have cheap beer and homemade wines, two boys were running and jumping at it when I returned. But, they left quickly.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I guess that's the most important lesson about art. In writing. In painting. In living. If you are as much yourself as humanely possible, then it becomes art. You break the barrier between normal life and having fun. You make a persona. You are more sad than sad. More serious than serious.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">More real than real.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't know anything about art even though people react to my talent in the same proportion as they did my dollar bill when I was in college. And the same holds true for my writing. The only difference between me and my ex-boyfriend is that I don't wait for permission to be myself and I am ready for the consequences.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But, those 1/3 who laugh and those that play along. How anyone behave the way they're supposed to behave when it could be so much more interesting.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-91271895317419334012015-12-24T11:54:00.001-08:002016-01-12T10:32:52.849-08:003 Good Reasons to Follow and 3 Good Reasons Unfollow<span style="font-size: large;">I've been cleaning out my Twitter account after five or six years as a "Happy New Years to Me" present. I love meeting and supporting authors, but I've not enjoyed it as much in recent years. I can't find the art under all the marketing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After doing an inventory, I found about two thousand people who were dragging down my social media experience or simply not adding to it. So, I did a MASSIVE purge based on the following criteria:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">1. <b>You RETWEET with spammy hashtags</b> - I can only see the cover of that #free #kindle #ebook #bestselling #indie #novel six thousand times before I never ever ever want to read it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">2. <b>We've changed since we first met</b> - You and I have no interests in common besides writing. Maybe we did #nanowrimo together in 2009, but I'm now writing science fiction and you're writing contemporary thrillers. We're at different stages in our lives. If we were going to interact, it would have happened by now.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">3. <b>You TWEET or RETWEET too much </b>- I don't know how anyone can tweet 400 times per day. It's a Christmas miracle that apparently lasts all year. I can't find regular people without making extensive lists and I don't have time for that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">That being said, I also had important criteria prevented me from unfollowing authors:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">1. <b>We have had a conversation and I remember you</b> - Sure, people change. Profiles change. But, if I know you had something to say to me and I see your username or your avatar and I remember you as a real person, then you're a keeper. I love conversationalists.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">2. <b>You were unique</b> - Maybe I don't know anybody from your part of the world or your profile doesn't look or sound anything like all the other author accounts. I needed to know more about you even if we have never had a chat, because you're special. You're a little different.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">3. <b>We had something in common</b> - Basically, if you write about science fiction or say COFFEE in your profile. I want to hear what you have to say. Especially, if it's about coffee.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As soon as I started my purge of old mutual follows, I got called someone who follows for numbers and then unfollows. That is scummy behavior and I don't approve. I expect people who just want a mutual follow to unfollow me. That's okay with me.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As a rule, I don't automatically follow back, but I do follow people while trying to find people who share common interests. AND TALK. I'm on twitter to meet people who TALK to me (see criteria #1 above) or at least say interesting and unique things. I want perspectives.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If I've made a mistake by unfollowing you, because maybe I didn't recognize your account or I hit the wrong button, which I think I did in a quite a few cases, tell me and I'll fix it.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Or, if I've never followed you back, but you think you I should. Tweet me and I will follow you.</span></span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-8697258224346740702015-10-09T13:43:00.001-07:002016-01-12T11:47:59.400-08:00Genesis: A Post-Apocalyptic Version<div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I decided my Immortal Coffee novels needed a dogmatic narrative that served as a quasi-scientific creation story to tell their kids in the aftermath of the apocalypse. It had to record knowledge that would be have largely been lost while interpreting it with the values of the culture that survived. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Usually I just keep things like this in my back story notes, but a lot of people contributed its development and I'd love to hear any feedback or reflections.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Before the beginning, there was nothing. Space and time lacked dimension. Consequently, there was no matter and that mattered to no one, because there was no one there to observe it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the nothing was the great mystery, which in its mystery divided into the animate and inanimate, that which had the power to observe itself and the part of itself that was to be observed. And it was aware of itself as something that had caused itself to come into being. And it knew causality. It knew time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There was now a before and after within its observation of itself. And in the process of observing these new elements, it drew in what was observed and released what was doing the observing into that which was being observed. And it knew this relationship to itself as motion. And it knew space through this motion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the new motions gathered energy, which increased through space and time. And the great mystery was repelled and attracted to what it knew as that which was moving and that which was not moving. And it knew matter and it had mass.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the separate parts of the great mystery continued to factor into more parts. Though knowing before and after, the great mystery also knew them as having been one whole. With each division it observed the process of separation and previous combination in its memory, an observation of before. And it recognized the parts did not equal more or less than before. And they usually took the shortest distance in space moving away from each other. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, the great mystery was attracted to the memory of its original form and repelled by the constant motion of its own parts. And the repulsion became a will and the will was a force of fear. The observer focused its will on the before and the parts of the great mystery that were matter pulled back together. And it exploded. And it knew gravity and emotion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And with its new will, the great mystery was immediately attracted itself. It designated itself divine and all other things profane. And observing inward, it experienced fear at that which was not divine. And the will of the great mystery in its great fear exploded. And the new parts of the observer began to observe independently as the motion of the energy separated them and the new gravity and emotions of the new wills drew them together in love until tiny bits of observation and matter reformed as consciousnesses. And there was life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the new forms of life began observe their environment, to unitize and name the plethora of parts that had once been the great mystery, in processes called language and math. Matter flowed through the consciousnesses of life and those consciousnesses were drawn together and pushed apart, separately and infinitely through space time, developing incredible complexities. But, no consciousness could observe the whole, being only parts of the whole. But, they were attracted to other parts and with their will they began to selectively reproduce. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the parts that were life began to perceive themselves and were repulsed by their separation from the whole. And they expanded their observation into space or time and their own nature, attracted to the nature of the whole that surrounded them. But, as they observed more and more of the whole their own consciousness lost cohesion. And through a process of symbolic representation, the powerful observers began to simplify the impossible awareness of the whole of the great mystery. They made themselves stronger with increasingly complex symbols in art, math and language. And among these life forms were humans.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And so it was natural for humans to be attracted and repulsed by the symbols of the other humans as they resembled the whole of the great mystery that was both attracted and repulsed by itself and the process that brought it all into being. And it was natural to for humans to turn their symbolic representations on all the mysteries they could observe in their environment and within themselves. And the humans knew the philosophies, the arts and the sciences. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the moderns made the technologies to control their environment and each other out of fear and attraction to the symbols. And with the technologies observed the nature of the universe farther and farther until humanity itself developed a collective consciousness called history, and then they lost cohesion and exploded, which was known as the apocalypse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What remained of the moderns drew together in self preservation with an awareness of the rudimentary principles of universal pulsation. And never again would they tempt the forces of nature by thinking too deeply about anything.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-76849421044906069722015-09-29T12:36:00.000-07:002016-01-12T10:07:17.542-08:00What Coffee Means to MeThe first piece of writing I had published was an Ode to Nescafe inspired by the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda and the hours I spent sipping Nescafe from demitasse cups late at night with my friends in Santiago.<br />
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I admit my obsession and I aim to exceed at it, which has been greatly aided by friends both online and off. It's a source of humor, comfort and absurdity and the central focus of my book series, <a href="http://www.carriebaileybooks.com/books">Immortal Coffee</a>.<br />
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Coffee is more than a drink to me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHh3wUOg1Cr8KnYGq3p2Kx9USzQIka0h2LObwa8O-6q-bhFqXoFuGUIZRfNe0vhZi0xMpU7WXYrf6U83ilUYDRKRhC1suk7flwrH-v-lGgAmn-H6dFJ8SBD08WhtGkK_dwaYUOsraOmdE/s1600/Unknown.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHh3wUOg1Cr8KnYGq3p2Kx9USzQIka0h2LObwa8O-6q-bhFqXoFuGUIZRfNe0vhZi0xMpU7WXYrf6U83ilUYDRKRhC1suk7flwrH-v-lGgAmn-H6dFJ8SBD08WhtGkK_dwaYUOsraOmdE/s1600/Unknown.png" /></a>The moment of the day that lasts, coffee represents everything quiet and peaceful. Drinking it, I am soothed by the memories of people who have mattered to me. All our laughter is felt as present in that moment.<br />
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My obsession with coffee begin very early on.<br />
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My mother married a tyrant when I was about four years old. Also a coffee drinker. He wanted to rear his step-children like he trained his dogs. But, fear and food do not inspire canine-style loyalty in small human children. As his bitterness about that grew, I started running away. Over and over.<br />
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To me, his coffee was a sort of symbol of power and self-determination. He could have it. I could not touch it. I wanted it.<br />
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At thirteen, I started buying and drinking coffee from the supermarket by my high school on the Oregon coast. Empowering. It tasted like freedom. I still associate the salty sea air, warm coffee and the sound of rain with hope.<br />
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I started university young and had my son. He called his mother's coffee, chompy, and seemed to understand its primary role in my life almost at birth. I treasure a video of him at two years old stealing my coffee, running around the full length of my aunt's house and giggling like a maniac as I chased him. When his father died in an accident, I measured time between the pain in moments of relief that I experienced when having my morning coffee. At that point, it became routine.<br />
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I calculated, before graduating from university, that I had spent at least ten thousand dollars on coffee from a small drive thru in the parking lot by my house. The baristas accommodated me by making an 8 oz soy mocha iced with only a drop of chocolate and two beans. They had my coffee ready as soon as they saw my car.<br />
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<i>Traveling</i><br />
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But, I had to leave the coffee shops of Oregon behind to travel and the habit that had comforted me, because a routine that shackled me to my hometown. I struggled. Cried. Embarrassed by it, but too desperate to change. On a short trip to Virginia, I begged shops to make my coffee with soy milk that I purchased and brought to them. It was a crippling addiction to the routine. Not the caffiene.<br />
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Eventually, I accepted I had to change. I moved to South American and learned to drink instant. Liberated, I fell in love with the small cups and when out around town, the cafe cortados. Most of all, I loved the conversations with my new friends. And my students at the university, I sent to purchase coffee for me during class. I held office hours at the Starbucks across the street. If I could survive on instant, I could travel anywhere.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">On my return to Oregon, my regular coffee shop had trained its newest barista to make my drink during my absence. With the two beans. After ten years of arriving ten minutes after I woke up, they had every confidence I would return and make my daily appearances again. Within a year, I was gone again and learning to drink long blacks in New Zealand.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Books</span></i><br />
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I suppose it was inevitable that I brought the coffee drinking theme into my writing, because it embodies everything I want to inspire. I want my work to drag people through adversity, but to never lose sight of the smallest hopes that can be grown and developed into strengths that later carry us toward the dreams we choose to pursue when conducted with moderation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">While working in libraries, I've had many people come and tell me their dark experiences. The library provides a safe hiding place to go when life gets rough. Books can mean everything to readers. The connection to people we may never meet is almost otherworldly as if by sharing our perceptions, our experience and our imagination, we transfer our strength and fortitude.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have certainly experienced that from great authors.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We often say we love books, but that is utterly inaccurate. Some books are dumb or boring or offensive. There are books that cannot be loved. It's what is in the books that we love. And once, having fallen in love with the form of the book, we can still trace the origin of that affection to the content.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Coffee is the same. A symbol of strength and hope and an addictive behavior I overcame, coffee is just a symbol.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The smell and the beautiful warm brown liquid represents my endless faith that serenity is always within reach.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Happy National Coffee Day!</span></i><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-53673036307092286862015-09-15T10:08:00.000-07:002016-01-12T10:10:22.858-08:00Why I Love My Misogynistic Dad<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My father wrote something once. And he had me read it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I could have gone without that experience. It was supposed to be about sailing, but he started it out with a scene where you could have replaced the woman with a coffee pot and lost nothing. She was just a mute receptacle.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Of course, that's not why I'm calling him a misogynist. I have a lifetime of observations to build that conclusion on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For example...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My father has often enjoyed silencing his wife by raising a stern hand whenever she attempts to express opinions. She dutifully obeys. And he has explained to me many times women's role in this man's world. Woman are to shut up and serve men as his wife would demonstrate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The women in my Feminist Philosophy course at university would have had me force him to change. I was supposed to put them first and never turn a blind eye to the oppressive acts of the more privileged gender even if it meant I had to distance myself from my own father. At the time, I knew they had it all wrong, but it wasn't until after many years of reflection I could explain why.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My dad started his life speaking an indigenous language, had a turbulent childhood with common absences of his mother and was in rehab when he should have been in high school. He was discharged from the Navy before he was eighteen. He married a white college student while he was bumming around in another state, but she left with his two young children when all he had done was bring a girlfriend from another reservation up to teach her how to act like a proper woman. His words not mine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I used to argue with him for hours. He had no natural gift for logic and his only authority on every subject was his own opinion, but he could weave a conversation into a big basket of irritating crazy no matter how diligently I worked to untangle it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And while he might sound like a nightmare, I have many reasons to love and respect the man. All of them would be his actions. Certainly, not what he said.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Whenever I needed someone to listen, he was there. If he had something to give, it was mine. If I was hurt, it was his pain, too. Every few months since I was quite young, he'd post twelve page letters to me explaining his life and why he wasn't there. But, when I was old enough to visit him, he never once prioritized anything else.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One time during college, I remember describing to him how frustrated I was with my classmates and how I was going to go and set the record straight on a very minute aspect of some theory that he didn't understand, but I assured him they all had all wrong. My dad said, "So, my daughter is a warrior. I always wanted a son." His parental pride was nearly as grand as his arrogance in that moment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Gender is not viewed as a choice in Western thought, but my father wasn't bothered with how other people saw gender. In his mind, the roles were significantly more rigid, but there was no reason you couldn't pick whatever side suited you best.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He saw the woman as controller of the kitchen, the heart of the home. His wife would never allow him near it. Offering to do the dishes after a meal was an offense. You were infringing upon her responsibility and her authority over the home and its management. We would never think to approach an architect or a lawyer and offer to do their job. And running the home, for them, was the same. Too important.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My father believed he had to keep his wife happy if he wanted to stay in the home. What he earned, he surrendered, because she was the primary provider and the center of his little world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, my father was an often broken man.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">His second wife put up with his insecurity and variability for thirty years before leaving to remarry her first husband and care for him while he was dying of cancer. A year and many girlfriends later, my father asked if he should go back to her and when they reunited, there was no loss of love between them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">They resumed their life and their crafts. She worked with seed beads and he worked with leather and wood to make things that had significance for themselves, for others and for sale. They lacked the education and income my mother and step-father enjoyed, but they were much happier just being together. He kept a traditional calendar that marked the years with either lines or pictures of significant events. I remember the little indian woman with the squiggly line that meant she was gone and the same squiggly line with the little indian woman that meant she was back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Later on in my life, when I was getting married, my dad invited my now ex-husband to view his gun collection. He was so happy you would have thought Custer had come back to life and could be killed again. And he resumed his lectures on being a proper woman as if I had changed sides on the war between the sexes without missing a beat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've never blamed my mother for leaving him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">All her relationships had a clear winner and loser or they ended. Rules were to appear fair and be obeyed. People did not move within spheres of personality authority. The person with more status was the obvious authority wherever they went. In the kitchen. Outside. It was all the same.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Housework was to be delegated from the people who were more important to the people who were less important. The work of the home was not important. In fact, it is easy to say that mother and stepfather coveted the same role as undisputed leader of the family. They divided housework up as chores for children and spent their free time fighting each other on every major decision.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Is it so strange that I should prefer the peace and warmth of a home where the responsibilities of cleaning and cooking are guarded privileges? I still remember how honored I felt when I was asked to help prepare food in my stepmother's kitchen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Although it is hard to explain away how my father spoke about women, the words he used were perhaps not what mattered most. In those times my dad silenced his wife by raising his hand, he was looking away from her amused smirk. For them, it was a choice to be together and an endless game of balancing power between them. If she tired of his demonstration, she spoke when and as she wanted whether or not he raised his hand. And he accepted that quietly without objection. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I don't know if its fair to call my father a misogynist or not. He was full of pretense while secretly committed to balancing power in his calm, affectionate relationship with his second wife.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sometimes his actions spoke louder than his words.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And other times, I wish they hadn't hurt so much.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-86102992055743460932015-09-08T09:06:00.001-07:002016-01-12T10:11:37.297-08:00A Librarian's Perspective on Book Reviews<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's hard enough to write a book, but as most authors know, selling it is a special problem.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Have you seen the ratings fiasco on Amazon for Chuck Wendig's Aftermath? The #1 selling author is used to 4.5 stars and suddenly he's getting a 2.5 star rating. However, it's probably selling a lot more copies, because of the negative ratings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Is it a smear campaign? A dark anti-Chuck conspiracy? Or is it just not what Star Wars fans want in their genre? Or perhaps it really just has a weak plot with cliched characters lacking obvious motivations.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Readers are as complex as... people who read books. Yeah, that's it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've worked in libraries since I was fifteen and I have a library graduate degree. I've operated public, private, general, special and international libraries. I know seven automated library systems and eight classification systems. My job in libraries was often to match book to reader based on their preference and I had to know enough about people and enough about books to make a good connection.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here's what I believe:</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. Writing technique is the least important factor. </span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Good writers write good books that people don't like... All. The. Time. And bad writers write bad books that readers HEART. That's why the best seller lists are dominated by people from every background and every profession.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If you can communicate a story without baffling people, there will people will evaluate your work on entirely different criteria. Readers do not experience a novel as a reading writer does.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. Readers are much more critical of well-written books.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">An amateur effort in writing will enjoy positive encouragement typically reserved for students and small children. Few people want to the be reason a writer they know personally quits, but as soon as the writers pass the threshold from amateur to professional that changes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">People don't feel bad about knocking down better work. They assume the writer doesn't need coddling and they tend to engage solely with the content on a personal level. They didn't like it. It's not their style. They don't relate to the world view. It offended them. Maybe it's a well-written book, but if its professional that just doesn't matter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some people will avoid admitting why a book didn't appeal to them personally by citing writing technique or professionalism in a review online, but people almost never make that claim in a library. You can be the Leondardo Da Vinci of writers and a lot of readers will say, "No thanks, I prefer Van Gogh."</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. Books confirm people's nature. They don't change it.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sorry! I'm not saying we as readers cannot see past our narrow views. But, as a former librarian, I can confirm that only a select group of people like to be actively challenged by a writer's world view. Readers come to the reference desks looking for books that compliment their view of the world. Maybe expand it a little, but not too much.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Example:</i> I have never had success giving a skateboarding teenager with multiple piercings a second chance Christian romance set in the Amish countryside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Recommendations are tricky. I found that people coming to check out books with a friend or family member sent a lot of the same messages with the titles they selected. The book might help the other person understand them or show that person they are understood. The book will help them become the person they want them to be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Although, at times, a recommendation is about what the person thinks of the potential reader.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Example: </i>Male librarian recommends shopping themed chick lit to every woman who comes in, because he feels emasculated by his choice of profession and needs to feel that the scifi novels he personally likes only appeal to manly men. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I know bad reviews can hurt writers both personally and professionally, but I think it helps to take a step back from your own book and think like a librarian sometimes. I enjoy the company of a lot of people who hate the books I like to read. And I hate the books enjoyed by a lot of people I like.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Even though I'm a writer now, I still think of readers as patrons. If a person doesn't enjoy my book, I can recommend someone else from my mental database of indie writers. I can try to match their feedback with a different style of work that fits them better than mine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I never withdrew a book from a library collection based on one person's opinion either and I never added a book based on one person's request either. And, as a writer, I don't make changes to my work based on the feedback from one person. Yet, people sometimes get really excited and want to actively participate in developing my work. I've been presented with unsolicited edits quite a few times as the person angled for a role as co-author. It's really as flattering as it is insulting. I spent five years writing my first novel. Five pages of opinion does not a co-author make. Love you all, but I'm not restyling my post-apocalyptic work as a vampire novel or political manifesto.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">However, all feedback is precious to me. If I believe a person is a legitimate reader interested in my genre and not person trying to push me to write an entirely different genre, then I collect every word they share, combine them with the other feedback I get and wait for themes to emerge.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Maybe I still think like a librarian, but connecting with interested readers is the best part of writing.</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI168UenCETm01uG8kLDOe9zkwyBpMr_dHgMz3L5GjLU_uREfxV3L3yerj_iyWt-XBXR0xXiI9uPqwOUAWNqsgLTh4p3fi70rOu3y3IbLO2j7sRrfwU8XLl9qkeGDFPKHxwHAW5olqH1c/s1600/Aftermath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI168UenCETm01uG8kLDOe9zkwyBpMr_dHgMz3L5GjLU_uREfxV3L3yerj_iyWt-XBXR0xXiI9uPqwOUAWNqsgLTh4p3fi70rOu3y3IbLO2j7sRrfwU8XLl9qkeGDFPKHxwHAW5olqH1c/s320/Aftermath.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I suspect Chuck Wendig is hurting right now, but somewhere deep inside all of us, we can see the bigger picture. This is Star Wars. This audience protects its cannon with the passion of an angry child on the playground. Remember Jar Jar Binks? I remember the reaction to the unlovable goof much better. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I don't see this as a failure for Chuck Wendig as a writer. And I don't see this as a sinister plot from bitter fans. Reading the one and two star reviews, I hear a lot of honest disappointment. Super high expectations met with too much Chuck and not enough Star Wars from the very loud, very vocal Star Wars fans who go out of their way to be as clever as they are critical.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And while Chuck Wendig fans may be rallying to his side to support him, a lot of these people aren't passionate about Aftermath. They might not have read it if it weren't for the all the low ratings. Just for the record, I have not read the book and I have no basis for any opinion. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, if I were working in a public library right now, I would recommend it to people who both might enjoy both Star Wars and Chuck Wendig's blunt style of writing, but not real fans of either. Both are excellent and the height of achievement in the arts and pop culture. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Boolean Logic: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Star Wars fans AND Chuck Wendig fans</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Star Wars fans OR Chuck Wendig fans <--- This one</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For now, however, I'm checking the Amazon page daily for amusing reviews on both sides waiting for that one fair one that's going to tell me...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Is this book a good bet for me? </span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-300672315540057722015-08-31T05:19:00.000-07:002016-01-12T10:13:03.811-08:00Pandemics, Preparation and Zombies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One of my proudest moments in writing-related research was the day the president of the World Health Organization tweeted me about H7N9. My friends and family were all taking a little break from answering my calls so I could update them on the latest snippets of data regarding the avian flu that I had translated from Chinese blogs. My obsession had me posting details about the might-have-been pandemic 24 hours before the WHO regarded them as official and rendered me useless in a conversation about anything else. At 3AM, I was scouring the flu tracker forums and really wondering if this was going to be the one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Can you fault a writer for having a vivid imagination?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'm not comfortable with the horror of pandemics. The suffering and the death do not appeal to me on some morbid level of fascination common among the proudly twisted writers that create gory disease scenes to evoke panic and fear, which is fine if that's your thing. But, it helps distance us from the inevitability of the threat and the politics of preparation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And that is a very bad thing.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_7zPhcyEMjiu1rCtmQ0arL-T5qfIvzcJjSRQq4h4CSku_UTs8whRE1XYQ7RwSX5j2w6OCjzVJ7-KqpaYW9NovnrehNp5kKyfqk7V-IsvG4iMvOLS5NjYfrEU8QKoJiZ5r7y-kyu1Kfc/s1600/bird_flu_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_7zPhcyEMjiu1rCtmQ0arL-T5qfIvzcJjSRQq4h4CSku_UTs8whRE1XYQ7RwSX5j2w6OCjzVJ7-KqpaYW9NovnrehNp5kKyfqk7V-IsvG4iMvOLS5NjYfrEU8QKoJiZ5r7y-kyu1Kfc/s200/bird_flu_2.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some outbreaks of disease can be regionally contained, because they are not transmitted from one person to another through the air. Malaria is contracted through mosquito bites. Cholera infects people who drink contaminated water. Small pox, while considered eradicated, could be spread by body fluid contact and being coughed on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The black death and the various deadly flus have proven more virulent, but while we think of the bubonic plague as particularly deadly, it's easier to forget how the influenza viruses morph into new strains. Take a strain with a high mortality rate and put it in a hospital with a strain that is highly contagious and life as we know it is over.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That may sound really dramatic, but it's happened before and we're not ready if it happens again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Maybe that's why we worry so much about zombies. You can shoot them. You can burn them. You can cut off their head with a chainsaw. Everyone has probably heard that it's not a matter of if there will be another pandemic, but when it will happen. That's a hard thing to face when you know globalization spreads everything, especially disease, around faster.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If you had to choose between being attacked by zombies or an influenza virus with no available vaccine, which would be easier to fight?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Zombies. And you'd feel safer fighting them, because you could see them. The reality of a pandemic is much less about bad ass fighting techniques and much more about logistics and quarantines.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What you need for the Zombie Apocalypse:</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. Weapons</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9WsYWPfqOo5bp-Nkah-FaQOiInz5O2TMUCN_bDvstnHvOkNwNQIGWE8MUcRQ9W9krO0oIQvekQQ16kt4kMdWfYaFVTbBjLnVoKUza8qZPg_vpVeMv4d0LSiHthnZF1ttXiO7aVsvETU0/s1600/Microscopic_Flu_Virus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9WsYWPfqOo5bp-Nkah-FaQOiInz5O2TMUCN_bDvstnHvOkNwNQIGWE8MUcRQ9W9krO0oIQvekQQ16kt4kMdWfYaFVTbBjLnVoKUza8qZPg_vpVeMv4d0LSiHthnZF1ttXiO7aVsvETU0/s1600/Microscopic_Flu_Virus.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Flu Virus</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. Armor</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. Slower moving friends</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What you need for a pandemic:</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. Shelter</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. Three months nonperishable food supply</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. Water</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">4. Stockpile of medications</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">5. N95 masks</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">6. Dish soap and bleach</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">7. Water filters</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">8. Safety goggles</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">9. Lots of plastic medical supplies</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">10. AM/FM radio</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">11. Coffee</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Unlike zombies, people carrying the deadly influence virus will look like reasonable friendly people. And when a pandemic erupts, they're going to want you to carry on with your normal life. Go to school. Go to work. Go shopping for groceries. But, they could kill you and everyone you love without even coughing. With person to person transmission, the flu would likely spread worldwide in three weeks.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">People who have the ability to create a self-imposed quarantine early on and can maintain it longer will survive though few have the rural retreat and 3 to 18 months resources to outlast the entire threat. And I suspect that most people will have a family member that needs a prescription drug which can't be stockpiled. Meaning entire families could contract the flu and die, because one person attempts to get a regulated medication for someone dependent on it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">During the plague that killed 30-60% of Europeans, healthy people often roamed the streets drunk, riotous and indulging in everything they could as if it were their last moment on earth. And this was a time when hand held cannons were just beginning to be introduced. What if they had guns manufactured on an industrial scale? No matter what your position on gun control, it's hard to imagine that all the reckless jerks with guns are going to behave while the hospitals overcrowd, the police force is all out sick and they can't get an energy drink from the corner shop. But, yet you have one.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PiEZJ_g7UOGJM-NyHef-2ya4gFW5YzpRnzjH2S0hHE44JQqerkAGUK1IkkSQVp1F0_6QJYDdMhN0bOwUUDdDNaCkOiWTJ8A79LPKC62tvBywlmxKmu_xUTo7SrWfry0EzhfvhyphenhyphenasoEk/s1600/Flu_Ward_Spanish_1918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PiEZJ_g7UOGJM-NyHef-2ya4gFW5YzpRnzjH2S0hHE44JQqerkAGUK1IkkSQVp1F0_6QJYDdMhN0bOwUUDdDNaCkOiWTJ8A79LPKC62tvBywlmxKmu_xUTo7SrWfry0EzhfvhyphenhyphenasoEk/s320/Flu_Ward_Spanish_1918.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Flu Ward 1918</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Most of us expect it to be grim, because of history tells us to expect the worst. More people died from the 1918 Spanish Influenza pandemic than in World War I. The word pandemic itself is derived from the greek words for "all" and "people," because whether or not a person survives, all people are affected.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, if you can think about pandemics without making the leap from the scientific curiosities directly to World War III, in between you'll find the real politics. Vaccinations. Government. Medicine. Business. It's nothing like preparing for a hurricane or earthquake.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Communities will set up refuges to coordinate resources and care for the sick. People will volunteer to provide care and many will die doing so. Some businesses will close for good while workers who can telecommute will benefit. Miracle cures will be sold everywhere despite the fact that none of them actually work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I suspect I'd be one of the people who joins the Red Cross and gets sick the first week. Unlike the zombie apocalypse, there would be no easy way to conduct a life surrounded by so much death. Seriously. It would be easier to run away from zombies. Every one for themselves. But, during a pandemic, most of us couldn't and wouldn't grab a gun and go full barbaric.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, then again, maybe people have changed.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-3636651958977902682015-08-17T06:52:00.000-07:002016-01-12T10:13:35.680-08:00My 3 Rules to Finish a Novel Faster<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I started writing in 2009 and I finished my first full length novel in 2015.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It took me five years to write my first book. Not this time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After three months, I'm halfway finished with my second novel.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">No one can make a career writing novels if they publish only twice every decade. In fact, some people will claim that you need to publish every 90 days in order to stay ahead of the Amazon ranking systems. Write short stories, novellas AND novels?</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSK0Yx6z1UlmxuRGDyK_998ajFzBM-H-8ZrKrM6294lNnAa3Aip7pW5Wnjh28UnuJ_1x77vAdLDik9KtP89GNb3h0TWQV6O58xRTPBM82BxiOagIX5AXm81V8FFAVWzVzlNsQ54ZoRKP4/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-08-17+at+8.44.25+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSK0Yx6z1UlmxuRGDyK_998ajFzBM-H-8ZrKrM6294lNnAa3Aip7pW5Wnjh28UnuJ_1x77vAdLDik9KtP89GNb3h0TWQV6O58xRTPBM82BxiOagIX5AXm81V8FFAVWzVzlNsQ54ZoRKP4/s320/Screen+Shot+2015-08-17+at+8.44.25+AM.png" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Plot Map for the second book of the Immortal</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Coffee series</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I wholeheartedly endorse whatever works for other authors, but right now, my objective is to write books.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here's what I've learned:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
1. Plotting vs. Pantsing</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some writers refer to those who plot as <i>plotters</i> and those who just charge forth on their keyboards, <i>pantsers</i>. I started a pantser and ended up a plotter, because I get better momentum and speed from doing the bulk of the creative plot work before I start.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have one major theme for the story that focuses on the main character, which is accompanied by subplots involving the other characters. I keep them organized by stages on a spreadsheet. And even as I write the second book, I'm collecting ideas for the third book. But, for me, I'm finding I get where I'm going faster if I have a "map."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
2. Do not revise until it you reach "the end"</span></h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrF0_st-1x_jtcgd2RhfNgdc4vGf3a9HUkGnXWgwcF6SLoScLZd3Y3wczRUSam9tcu4-j-KaJP-tqz-uGn3O8Q26hJakTpCbqJvFOMFKThNUFwN9dRnxVXYqLVcOaTyQm4CtwlZ1eAL7k/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-08-17+at+8.37.58+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrF0_st-1x_jtcgd2RhfNgdc4vGf3a9HUkGnXWgwcF6SLoScLZd3Y3wczRUSam9tcu4-j-KaJP-tqz-uGn3O8Q26hJakTpCbqJvFOMFKThNUFwN9dRnxVXYqLVcOaTyQm4CtwlZ1eAL7k/s400/Screen+Shot+2015-08-17+at+8.37.58+AM.png" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After trying other software, I am using Scrivner</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Upper Right Corner: Pending revision notes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Lower Right Corner: Chapter Synopsis</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I can account for two to three years of my time on the first novel being wasted on early OBSESSIVE revisions. At just about the four chapter mark, I would go back and change things. I added details and foreshadowed, but mostly I just drowned in doubt about it all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As I revised, the direction of the novel often changed. I changed names. I changed characters. It became a habit to redo everything. I lost count on revising the first chapters after the 11th overhaul and I don't even want to think about how many times I rewrote the first page.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">On the second book, instead of making sweeping changes, I collect notes on what will need to be added or changed during revisions. I keep a list for each chapter and a synopsis so that I don't go reading the chapters and find myself tempted to revise before I know exactly how it all ends.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
3. Focus each draft on increasingly less critical elements of the story</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">While writing my first novel, I got sidetracked for months at a time inventing details that demanded changes in other parts of the story. I kept meticulous notes on characters, locations, histories and elements of the various cultures. Most of the backstory was not featured in the book, because I wanted to avoid the dreaded information dump, the long sections devoid of action and advancement, just a whirlpools of "neat" ideas that make most of us close the book.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Backstory, however, is essential to maintaining consistency and developing an immersive world. Readers may not have all the details, but they know they're there, because the actions and interactions ring true to what causes them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">While writing my first book, I found creating draft after draft focusing on certain aspect at each pass though often starting over to work on a different one. To speed up the process of revising, I've categorized what I did during the first novel and made a schedule for the second novel based on the degree of changes each type of revision required:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">First Draft:<b> Action + Conversation</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Second Draft:<b> Foreshadowing + Consistency + Pacing</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Third Draft:<b> Character and scene enrichment</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Fourth Draft:<b> Fancy Language + Intellectualisms + Sensory data</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As an inexperienced writer, I often found myself rushing to write the non-essential parts of the story. I felt they were what separated good books from boring ones, but what I didn't realize was that I was going to end up deleting 90% of my clever wallpapering. If I had to make a major structural change, they had to go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I regularly copied and saved them in other files just incase I could work it back in at another point in the story, but at the point I really got serious about writing, most were abandoned.</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-59814882576911652472015-08-12T05:44:00.002-07:002016-01-12T10:18:35.622-08:00Writing a Female Protagonist Who is a Crappy Leader<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">To a small extent, circumstances and environment act as a catalyst for her growth. She has to lead a small gang of rebels as they terrorize the only city state on the isolated island to liberate the nomadic slaves and slow the erosion of city dweller's independence. But, for the most part, I try to write her challenges as consequences of her own mistakes.</span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"></table>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Why am I writing this book?</span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"></table>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"></table>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Well, I couldn't write a female leader I wouldn't follow and I had no desire to write about the adventures of a woman without leadership qualities. She had to be someone with strong ideals without a hint of group mentality and an unfailing commitment to the greater good. And balls. </span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"></table>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"></table>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A good female protagonist needs balls.*</span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"></table>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"></table>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My own life has been shaped and guided by many strong women. I've been fortunate to never feel I had to question what women could achieve or what women in general had to offer as leaders. Naturally, I could never support a leader, because she was a woman, but I'd never question a woman's strength, wisdom or ability to lead, because she was female.</span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"></table>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> I really thought it would be easier to write this book. I didn't think I would be questioning how I viewed myself and other women or what I knew about leadership. I thought it would flow naturally and I've discovered that I was tragically wrong.</span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"></table>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> In someways, I'm trying to write a character who is one part Glinda the Good and one part Wicked Witch. And that has lead me try better understanding women who made history, because that's where I'm finding the best material, but's it's leaving with as many questions as I find answers.</span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"></table>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> *And this female writer needs a better synonym for "balls."</span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWb8inLs0VxfISS0tFqUtBCTMC39BMsZMVLJMbkx71HjRtPGW9IM84LgHxQntOI-bqCYwvSGusdrfxok_EuVLv5spr1QjhQoh7ZcGvSqd6erlnYSlJjZZkvqB7G3i8ylfYHVQsjvplAeM/s1600/Wicked_Witch_Denslow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWb8inLs0VxfISS0tFqUtBCTMC39BMsZMVLJMbkx71HjRtPGW9IM84LgHxQntOI-bqCYwvSGusdrfxok_EuVLv5spr1QjhQoh7ZcGvSqd6erlnYSlJjZZkvqB7G3i8ylfYHVQsjvplAeM/s1600/Wicked_Witch_Denslow.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-59447447546456447562015-08-03T08:10:00.003-07:002016-01-12T10:19:19.143-08:005 Things Painting Teaches Me About Writing<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've been painting since I was young. Very young. At one point, my teachers rearranged my schedule to include more art, because it seemed that I might find success as a professional. But, growing up in a rural town on the Oregon coast, I balked at the idea of moving to a major city to pursue "art."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, I still paint although these days I do spend much more time writing. And each creative effort informs the other.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here's a few insights I have that apply to both writing and painting as a process:</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. Structure makes the process quicker and easier to complete</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwrSZmLndoWNV9S-PfkqJetJK4J2UgJTqH8UFo935TISgmPk9QdIjhwvU-mQC8PH47FfrAxS1vJ2HXAMi4dv4i89ff1hxRtWXUz83jNCKpB58D61UAgYr6OCp-ED0uzeIMQLQ06-jte0M/s1600/Geese_Painting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwrSZmLndoWNV9S-PfkqJetJK4J2UgJTqH8UFo935TISgmPk9QdIjhwvU-mQC8PH47FfrAxS1vJ2HXAMi4dv4i89ff1hxRtWXUz83jNCKpB58D61UAgYr6OCp-ED0uzeIMQLQ06-jte0M/s320/Geese_Painting.jpg" width="249" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here you can see a fibonacci sequence in</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">my painting of geese</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Starting with a clearly defined simple structure doesn't make a picture or a story better, but it does make the process easier to follow. For example, in my short story <a href="http://carriebaileybooks.blogspot.com/2014/12/vincent-and-invisible-machine.html">Vincent and the Invisible Machine</a>, I started with no real structure for the plot, but I explored the dichotomy between the city and the wilderness. Simple enough to hold the story together.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. Research, Research, Research</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Before I start painting or writing, I have an idea of what I want to create. It's not well developed, but it gives me enough of a foundation that I can easily find inspiration. To get started on the geese painting, I googled dozens of images and borrowed elements to form a more general vision for where I wanted it to go.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFv4tyzkS2hl4VBAIwdLpj_YMVNO-U-GT7DrWmzVe5EGYQa4dV_KjyAR2Bnt8wN_TRhwjeFdWWWyyjMh5Je74XPJkUXlDZ-l12525IZUX6wbsAdB_THSSM0ggdzd_ky0LTqfRZIBnId0A/s1600/geese_interesting_white_animals_hd-wallpaper-77642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFv4tyzkS2hl4VBAIwdLpj_YMVNO-U-GT7DrWmzVe5EGYQa4dV_KjyAR2Bnt8wN_TRhwjeFdWWWyyjMh5Je74XPJkUXlDZ-l12525IZUX6wbsAdB_THSSM0ggdzd_ky0LTqfRZIBnId0A/s320/geese_interesting_white_animals_hd-wallpaper-77642.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Since I lived on a ranch with geese as a toddler, I wanted to recreate</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">what the jerks were like at eye level.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. Finish the first layer/draft before adding finer detail</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsC6YsQFlKDV5y559W7rn0NyfUTaSynq8Jcy5PZqjPAdcxisx1r6f3uXj3SNyDUZC5yH4kULTmUc3VfZcqotXi-zW5NVXsQDQ0r6ZswtJh3ZIa-jgBdM5mO65VVvw6D-jPlhTD2m_d_Do/s1600/11701051_10155815960030304_7144420282516516907_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsC6YsQFlKDV5y559W7rn0NyfUTaSynq8Jcy5PZqjPAdcxisx1r6f3uXj3SNyDUZC5yH4kULTmUc3VfZcqotXi-zW5NVXsQDQ0r6ZswtJh3ZIa-jgBdM5mO65VVvw6D-jPlhTD2m_d_Do/s320/11701051_10155815960030304_7144420282516516907_n.jpg" width="238" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The entire canvas is covered with paint</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGe7mT-q4qTplDwtOo52dFKbSTaDCCqfhSqIG_qxphd48vbGe3PCGtyLUQLJvh8ZoaFac5KPbOLDReX1PrUZFZG7ys-8Y2ofkhQkMoD_tTxEagvOQHccAUUG5YuDcB-esNiIczlTcd4U/s1600/11811297_10155822304310304_6525817826122574398_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGe7mT-q4qTplDwtOo52dFKbSTaDCCqfhSqIG_qxphd48vbGe3PCGtyLUQLJvh8ZoaFac5KPbOLDReX1PrUZFZG7ys-8Y2ofkhQkMoD_tTxEagvOQHccAUUG5YuDcB-esNiIczlTcd4U/s320/11811297_10155822304310304_6525817826122574398_n.jpg" width="238" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">More detail and shading is added</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's just as easy to over edit the first few chapters of a novel as it is to spend too much time on one aspect of a painting. And for me, refraining from getting drawn into detail requires extreme restraint.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When writing my first novel <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ishim-Underground-Carrie-Bailey-ebook/dp/B00X1NN6M2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1436793806&sr=8-1&keywords=ishim+underground">The Ishim Underground,</a> I spent more time rewriting chapters 1 through 4 than I did writing 5 through 23. And not surprisingly, those first chapters are the ones I never felt that I got quite right.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, there was this time when I was writing a term paper at uni when I obsessed over the first ten pages and spent so much time doing so that I had less than thirty minutes to finish and submit it. I flew through the last two. My professor noticed and he circled the last to pages with a great thick red marker. He wrote in the margin, "This is REALLY good."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I read it again keeping his perspective in mind and realized that he was probably right. When over editing a draft and over working a picture, we lose sight of our original idea and what we are trying to communicate gets drowned out.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">4. Take a nice long break BEFORE you finish</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7gY7IslNEy4sJHRl12x8bc4qXgwVygYUsVxszRrxqIpvD14Bb6PJfTRGlxyYP63_kOq-ykTvj29zu3yN8NUZzwq0IoQVVQLbTaQaroZOTo02nf__AmFgN7LaKzkoSXxMxxQQB4iboPQ/s1600/Carrie_Bailey_Geese_Painting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7gY7IslNEy4sJHRl12x8bc4qXgwVygYUsVxszRrxqIpvD14Bb6PJfTRGlxyYP63_kOq-ykTvj29zu3yN8NUZzwq0IoQVVQLbTaQaroZOTo02nf__AmFgN7LaKzkoSXxMxxQQB4iboPQ/s640/Carrie_Bailey_Geese_Painting.jpg" width="491" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Almost finished!!</span></td></tr>
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When I'm writing a novel, I need at least a month before I tackle any rewrites. And with a painting, I like to wait a week before adding the finishing touches.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A little time to process the project when its nearly complete allows my mind an opportunity to sort out what imperfections are acceptable and which require attention. During the time that I set aside before going back, I consider the simplest solutions for the aspects of my painting or writing, which have to be changed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Painting over a few details or rewriting a section of a story draft can snowball into a major waste of time and effort if not handled objectively. In the worst case, you'll feel like you've ruined your project. In the best case scenario, it will became a nearly distinct project though not necessarily a better one.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">5. Strive to improve rather than strive for perfection</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In my experience, nothing kills a good story or a good painting faster than the feeling that it is the one that will define my ability as an artist or a writer. I evolve. My work evolves. I gain experience. It's hard to remember that while immersed in the creative process.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I was younger, I often got 3/5 finished with a picture and then stopped. It would go on the pile of things I never completed and within a few years, thrown out. I lost the opportunity for feedback by not completing my work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Today, I learn as much from listening to other people's experience of my work as I do from the process of creating it. People are much more forgiving of some aspects and much more sensitive to others than I am. Of course it varies from person to person, but for me, the best possible outcome for a project is not to feel like I got it just right, but to know that someone else enjoyed it.</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-9492412322573312762015-07-20T09:47:00.000-07:002016-01-12T10:20:00.230-08:00Everything I Know About Being a Minimalist<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As suggested by Twitter user <a href="https://twitter.com/j0vFeet1">@j0vFeet1</a> aka. Mark William Walker, I'm going explain two different </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ways I use minimalism as a philosophy to improve my life by clarifying my goals, building positive relationships and increasing efficiency in my writing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Minimalism is basically having less, doing less and being less.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Gandhi's meager possessions</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">No wonder it runs contrary to everything we think will make us successful, but then people who practice minimalism claim it does. Curious, isn't it?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">To understand the confusion, it helps to distinguish between the two basic ways minimalist philosophy is applied in a practical manner to the way a person conducts their life. It can be both an end in itself - as an austere yet aesthetic approach to living - or it can a mean simplifying processes to achieve clearly defined ends.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Minimalism for its own sake </span></b><br />
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There are people who own nothing more than they absolutely need to sustain their life. Mahatma Gandhi had this down to a science. So did Diogenes of Sinope who claimed to have owned a cup that he threw away after seeing a child drinking from a trough. They are <i>hardcore</i>. For them, minimalism isn't what they can do with less. It's just about having less and less and less... almost like an addiction to nothingness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And as Gandhi was noted for depending on friends to fund him to conduct his political affairs, it raises the question of whether minimalism should be defined in terms of what is owned or what is used. A person may own little and life lavishly if they are dependent on someone who has the means - not that Gandhi did. But, minimalism for its own sake is often made complex when we consider what the person owns versus what they use.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And although on the surface they may look indistinguishable from people who experience poverty without choosing it, no one would argue that Diogenes or Gandhi led rich, productive and meaningful lives.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Less famous people have chosen the path of extreme minimalism, because they found a simpler life to be equally rewarding. And they probably came to that conclusion through a process of eliminating what was not needed after they had accumulated possessions.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Because, by this definition, we're all born extreme minimalists. That silver spoon? It belongs to the parents.</span><br />
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<b>Minimalism for finding purpose</b></span><br />
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No one knows why we search for meaning in our lives. Why can't we just wake, bath, eat, sleep and keeping going without trying to decide on some grander ultimate purpose? Like I said, no one knows, but it seems to be one of the constants in the world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">At some point, every person realizes that their time on earth is finite. Consciously or unconsciously people began to fill a bucket list of things they want to do before the end. Some of these personal goals may be easily attained requiring few resources and few steps while others demand intense labor, time and focus.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For people who decide early on large and definite goals, like becoming a career author - not that I know anything about that - sacrifices must be made, because time is finite. You just have to do the math. If we expend our resources and our efforts broadly, we make less progress toward larger goals.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For the person who has decided on a single ultimate purpose, minimalism means eliminating what detracts from that goal. If we own less, we spend less time and effort maintaining our possessions. So, the minimalist with purpose, keeps what they need and throws away what they do not. They do not put effort into relationships or activities that derail them from their ultimate goal.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How many hobbies do I need?</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I may have eight that I enjoy, but I only need two or three to get the benefit of relaxing and connecting with my friends. I gave away old equipment. I have paints, crochet needles, pencils and fishing supplies.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How much clothing do I need?</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I could keep everything that doesn't fit or old clothes with good memories. I could have six cardigans, but maybe I only need four. I certainly can't wear two pairs of athletic shoes at the same time.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What do I need in my home?</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Spartan.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For sometime now, that's how my homes - wherever I've lived - have been described. Also, they're pretty clean, because one desk and a mattress on wooden slats doesn't require much to maintain. Certainly, I've got a laptop, a carrying case, a suitcase, space heater, art supplies, coffee cup, bowl, rice boiler...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, I can pack it all up and move in half a day using one vehicle.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">While its certainly possible for anyone to live this way, I found after making a few moves overseas that I never missed most of what I'd put in storage. After four or five years, I decided saving money mattered more than accumulating things I might equally not need. And considering how much I don't enjoy cleaning, spartan works for me.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What do I need to eat? To maintain personal hygiene? Take care of my health?</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Every day I make and eat food. If I'm good, I exercise. While I have an exercise mat and dumbbells, I also have a membership to a gym. And I keep two bags of tolietries. And an upright steamer. I love that thing even if I hardly use it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And while it is true that I could live with less, I'm not interested in washing my hair with baking soda. And though I try to keep my grocery list simple, I am still working on figuring out how to stay in good health through trial and error. I buy things. Sometimes they work. Sometimes not so much.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What records do I need to keep?</span></i><br />
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I've often considered sitting down and scanning all of my paper records. I have one file folder with various old rental agreements, job and tax data, health records, birth certificates, but I haven't done it yet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Minimalism for a purpose isn't about finding the least a person can live with. It's about simplifying processes and resources to focus efforts.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Minimalism for achieving goals</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">All minimalists have one thing in common. They assess complex processes and remove the unnecessary materials and actions to reveal the least needed for achieving any personal objective.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Everyone engages in this practice to some degree daily when they prioritize what they need to do and what they need to do it. Some people find themselves chronically behind schedule or with a to-do list that never seems to get completed. Other people buy supplies to do things that never happen and then each year have the garage sales to prove it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As a writer, I initially tried to write short stories, articles, novels, novellas, non-fiction, fantasy, science fiction...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My head hurts just thinking about it. In the end, I developed goals for my writing and stopped doing things that detracted from what I wanted to achieve. I quit trying every method to develop my writing and developed a process that was efficient and time saving. I no longer try to keep up with every mover and shaker in the industry. I follow fewer writers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Consciously choosing to keep my life simple has been critical for me as a traveler and a writer. Its helped me keep my life organized while living with balance and hearing loss - less to fall on. As I benefited more and more from minimalist philosophy, I began to the strategy to every part of my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I stopped putting effort into relationships that had made my difficult childhood transition into a difficult young adulthood. Maybe that was the best lesson, because I wasted so much time and too many things never changed.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What We Learn From Minimalist Living</span></b><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">True freedom from want </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I can't speak for everyone, but I can say that I am free from the pain of wanting and not having. I gain and lose possessions, but I am attached only to my coffee and my friendships. I know what I really need to survive.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Freedom from spending to earn</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I don't feel caught in the cycle of spending money to earn more money only to spend more money so I can earn more waiting for that day when I might slow down and actually enjoy what I have accomplished. I work as much as I need to maintain my simple life and keep writing. I write with the vain hope of being read by millions not earning millions.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Freedom from drama</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I maintain relationships with people who make me laugh, smile and feel good about my life. I don't get sucked into a whirlpool of drama from which there is no escape. I do nothing for appearances. I don't associate with people in order to take a photo with them or brag about it.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Understanding quality and value</span></i><br />
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The old refrain can be said a million times "quality over quantity" without a person having a moment of epiphany wherein the fluid nature of value begins to congeal in relation to the self.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A person buys a car. It costs 36,000 dollars until he drives it off the lot and then its worth 25% less. He spends interest on the loan and more on car insurance over the seven years he owned it, but it looked good.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The next person buys the car for 5,000 dollars and it loses no value during purchase. She pays no interest and less on car insurance. One repair and new tires. It didn't look as good, but few people really cared and it was sold for 3,000 dollars seven years later.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the end, the difference between the cost of the vehicle, the insurance and interest, repairs and resale value meant that he spent 40,000 to drive the car for 7 years and she spent 4,000 to drive it the same amount of time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is the real story behind the vehicle I owned during my twenties. The first owner valued what other people thought of the car he drove. I valued the car's ability to take me where I needed to go. While there is no right or wrong way to assign value and there are certainly intangible benefits from impressing people, the first owner was one of those people who bought more car than he could afford and his family had suffered.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He had wanted quality. So did I. I felt I got it. He didn't.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Still fascinates me.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Freedom from the past</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A large part of our life may be dedicating to dealing with things that have already ended. Old relationships taking up residence in our heads. Old stuff that we keep around just in case. Old habits that once worked, but now only hold us back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When we eliminate what isn't needed, we're left with only what serves our present and our future. Old friends and old memories are still critical, but why not keep the good and let the rest go?</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Less stress and more happiness</span></i><br />
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Every time we decide to keep or discard something in our home, our activities, our habits or our life, we're making a choice about our future and what we want it to look like - what we want in it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I didn't become a minimalist to make myself a happier person, but it's the best side effect of the process. I remember periods of time when I worried and cried a lot. I felt overwhelmed by everything I had to do to finish school, be a good parent and meet society's unreasonable and conflicting demands for a young mother.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My parents couldn't guide me. They'd taken opposite directions. Both had remarried just after I was born and spent their lives with their second spouse. One set earned <u>significantly</u> more than the other. But, they were miserable and the other was happy and radiated a suspicious amount of joy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The parent who had more thought they were better. And often said so. The parent who had less didn't care about who was better than who. He was too busy living a good life and loving his spouse and the people around them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And in the end, if you looked in their homes, you wouldn't see much difference in what their earning had afforded. One had traveled more. The other had been more creative.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, one was happier.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After many years of observation and trying it both ways, I think I finally understand why we embrace minimalism and love it so much.</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-67301359229656801292015-06-29T09:41:00.000-07:002016-01-12T10:21:58.214-08:00A Glimpse Into My INCREDIBLE Book Sales<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some of the statistics about self publishing book sales and the 95% of traditionally published authors who can't live on their writing alone aren't encouraging.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That is... if you expect to get rich writing your stories.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reality is that you have to earn money to support your writing. At first, I tried freelance writing and earned enough to avoid 9 to 5 work days, but I had no energy for writing the fiction that inspired me to start. So, I went to graduate school and took part time jobs. Continued writing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I got seriously into minimalist living and cutting my expenses so that I could focus on my passion. Obsession. Passion. Writing career. That thing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After finishing my first full science fiction novel, I admit I did expect my friends and family would come through with some pity sales, but I was wrong. People who wanted to read the book bought it and some friends took print copies <i>and never paid for them</i>. Thanks you guys.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, after two months, the book has made its way into 100 people's hands, some paid and some giveaways.<b> I've earned about 200 USD in total</b>, most of which I've spent on ordering more copies and drinking coffee. Of course, coffee.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">On my best day, I sold four copies of the book. I knew who bought two of them, but the other two went to people I hadn't connected with at all. And that always feels amazing.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I think I need one of these</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, what is more amazing is that I've been able to talk about the characters and events in the story with people who read it. Awesome conversations. A couple people have even read a free copy, reviewed it and gone back and purchased it. It's been bought as a gift and more than one reader has encouraged someone else to buy it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That's how I know this is what I should be doing with my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's really a shame I can't live on $100/m and no, I can't loan anyone money from my incredible book sales, but I can offer this glimpse into what it's really like to write and sell books. Work a day job. Write. Write. Write. Drink coffee. Swoon when someone reads and reviews your work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I read a few posts like this one when I first started writing and I thought it would still be worth it. And it is.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thank you to every one who has bought a copy of one of my books, shared the links, told a friend, written a review or just liked it when I posted about it. Every minor support makes a major difference for independent creative type!</span></i><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-14482176416514614282015-06-23T09:26:00.000-07:002016-01-12T10:22:28.665-08:005 Reasons the World Needs MORE Writers<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Navigating the murky seas of jealous friends has to be the hardest part of being a writer. I don't make </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">my income from my writing. I am not famous. I'm not by any means a great writer. I just finish things and somewhere, somehow find the courage to share it with other people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's not my success that certain people envy. It's my audacity and the joy I feel doing something that I <strong>LOVE</strong>. And do love it. I want to climb the highest mountain and shout it into the cosmos. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I love writing!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/284557" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img alt="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/284557" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfI6qsVYPZl3iAGMNXTCXn3rkiThBuqjbXnsEoxjeTP27s-pHoL-VDYIjd0I3RBpUfy8CYtFY-Q1fF4ZmT3-fNin-fK-9Ds6Fh0W-SSSoefSnlGW_ee0Gd2Sx7Dl5CXzFdZe-H1NHyITY/s200/302bf7b0774f9f4f3c864c4737464919f823e6ca.jpg" title="" width="133" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Shhh! Don't tell anyone!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I could easily write this entire post about why writing is my purpose in life and how happy I am to have discovered it through all the weirdness and difficulty I've endured, but no gushing today... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Today, I want to share all the reasons that people who write or want to write should encourage others to pick up their pens and pencils, turn on their desktops, their laptops or phones and be creative with the written word...</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. Writers are readers</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is not news, but it's the number one reason to share this post with other writers. We all started as readers. Making the transition from a consumer to a producer of any creative product should be celebrated. Congratulating a new writer on joining our wacky clan is applying the golden rule in its most fun and joyful way. And it gives us a chance to reaffirm our own choice to write.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. New writers love newly published authors</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There comes a moment when someone who has decided to write decides to see how other writers started their careers. They are the smart ones. They are the ones to watch. They will spread their writing. They are willing to learn. They are most likely to buy your book if you're still pretty much unknown.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. Any writer can inspire another writer</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Inspiration doesn't end when a person starts to write. Even someone who has been writing for years can catch their second wind when they find a fresh perspective that speaks to them. Writing is communication. It is fluid and changing. To reject new writing and new voices, is to eliminate the single most powerful source of inspiration. Don't do that!</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">4. Many writers support each other</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In our groups, we find the knowledge and wisdom to hone our craft. And there is nothing that teaches us more than sharing what we have learned. That is how it works. We learn. We teach. New writers make take and interpret our knowledge and run with it. They may provide valuable reflection on weaknesses or the misconceptions that hold us back.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">5. Writers promote the reading culture</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And there it is. People could watch movies or play video games. They can cook, travel, hunt, sew, fish or collect bottle caps. But, it takes both readers and writers to promote the reading culture. Books are shared between readers. And writers are just readers infected with an incurable sickness for which stories are the only cure whether they consume them or create them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That's why the world needs more writers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I know it's easy for some people to feel threatened by other writers' talents, especially when they have made more progress in a shorter time. I understand that writers feel overwhelmed trying to make their work stand out in the electronic whirlpool of online publishing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, it is a fallacy that less writers and less books written will make people currently writing more likely to succeed financially as writers. Imagine a world with only a few writers. Very few people will enjoy a their meager selection of books, because they are the only books. Books are not a commodity. You can't monopolize writing. It's not fuel, although I know it feels like that sometimes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Less writers means an impoverished writing culture.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Now, don't tell anyone, but when I first started writing, I helped organize an anthology of secrets for new writers written by new writers who had just discovered these secrets and were actively benefiting from them. These aren't the glossed over hindsight of the highly successful - although they were often the original source. These are secrets in action. Proven and pragmatic.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/284557">Download a FREE copy at Smashwords</a> and don't forget to support new writers!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-25356946896634056362015-06-06T05:18:00.000-07:002016-01-12T10:22:57.870-08:00The Good Poets, The Bad Poets and Reflections From Beyond the Firmament<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXNhaB5IJqQhCitjClI7OPK4tJOz666rotPKceyBoRlu5QA7o8ZdA8F1koFdh0OaCqrdoi92aTt26X24KnkO-hG4lZgOx_oAj5g-fkXwUHt4w1dANnuEPpsR8eKZsBVFYkmUibiX_aJRo/s1600/Scheme_of_things1475.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXNhaB5IJqQhCitjClI7OPK4tJOz666rotPKceyBoRlu5QA7o8ZdA8F1koFdh0OaCqrdoi92aTt26X24KnkO-hG4lZgOx_oAj5g-fkXwUHt4w1dANnuEPpsR8eKZsBVFYkmUibiX_aJRo/s320/Scheme_of_things1475.gif" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scheme of Things (1475)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The <b>good poets</b> who are mysterious and mystical dent the universe for a moment of viewing and <br />
invite everyone. They achieve their objective by addressing the unseen forces that propel our lives forward and sideways and work through us. These poets cannot rely on the conventions of language, because they cannot be translated. The universe has no language. It's awesome raw power exists whether we can think of anything to say about it or not. The good poets thought of something and had the foresight to write it down and the bravery to share it.<br />
<br />
The <b>bad poets</b> come with an arsenal of cliches, because at the time they were conceived even the tiredest cliche cracked the universe open. And they crave that power. They can remind us that good poets once existed, but the universe has a way of healing itself and all its wounds before they get there.<br />
<br />
The <b>good poets</b> act as conduits once they tap into the real binding power that holds cites on floating rocks circling bits of fire in the vast spattering of matter that none of us will ever see in full. And they make the great sadness that is our collective ignorance bearable. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The <b>bad poets</b> lie about the immensity of what the universe has hidden from view. But, we can not hold that against them, because even the good poets are afraid. If a bad poet choses to lie to himself, it must be understood as the easiest way to get from the coordinates where they were born to the coordinates where they will die. They need words like life and death to help navigate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The <b>good poets </b>have forgotten themselves as they spoke. That is what separates poets. That the truths could be seen and spoken by a fragment of the universe, a minor smear in time. That takes its toll. And there is most bizarre occurrence. That the universe charges the poet as it passes through. That the good poet often breaks in the process. That reasonable wear and tear are not accounted for by the cosmos.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">These are the truths about poets that open questions. What is a poet? Why do we need them? We are all poetry in speech or thought. We need each other to hear words, speak words and stand together in awe at our crucial, but minuscule part in the machinery of life and existence.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Can you hear the sound of fear? <i>Am I a bad poet?</i> Do you hear the sound of love? <i>Could I be a good poet?</i> But, people are not poets. We are all composed of poetry. The poet is our essence and poetry is our form.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Inside us, the protectors and the adventurers, the bad poets and the good ones, are dancing away, churning our collected reflections from beyond the firmament. And who should we listen to today?</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-67975409495351268102015-02-27T09:24:00.000-08:002016-01-12T10:23:54.711-08:0020 Steps I Took to Write a Book<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57WVcnMmq_xSSsUWJWvj8MCtvRB8NCWoY2cdYGqrhkZCTAG5jctQCCoEhgpr1Xmn-6rRXqhyzS6r0UnSnJ1Y8ybnT_7x5zqIZC_SY0F5zfcXLHioVrFMKQxB2yaXiE1wMpZw7JjSEwEE/s1600/4224_202853535303_2935735_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57WVcnMmq_xSSsUWJWvj8MCtvRB8NCWoY2cdYGqrhkZCTAG5jctQCCoEhgpr1Xmn-6rRXqhyzS6r0UnSnJ1Y8ybnT_7x5zqIZC_SY0F5zfcXLHioVrFMKQxB2yaXiE1wMpZw7JjSEwEE/s1600/4224_202853535303_2935735_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, early in the book writing process...</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Giddy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am feeling capable of anything right now, because I have just finished a novel. I even suspect I could have a coffee at 9 PM and sleep by 10:30 PM with the sheer force of my own awesomeness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, I won't. Instead, I want to explain why it took about five years. <i>This is not an apology.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've been writing steadily since I decided I wanted to be a novelist until today when I just revised the last paragraph of my 100,000 word science fiction story. I just feel like revisiting some of my detours.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. <b>Pretended to be a writer</b> - I was not a writer. I was a librarian, but I had a friend who brought her work to the library where I worked and I decided to go undercover posing as a writer to help her overcome her fear of sharing her work. I failed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. <b>Started blogging</b> - I put more hours into Peevish Penman than I did writing my own work.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. <b>Published a poem </b>- After blogging for a while, I was truly, truly ashamed. I met great people and suddenly realized that I had always loved the company of writers and I wanted to keep hanging out with them. So, I wrote about instant coffee, submitted it to an anthology and got a copy of the book.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">4. <b>Tried and failed at Nanowrimo</b> - I'm a natural born quitter unless we're talking about something really unhealthy. During National Novel Writing Month (NOV), I started a story that proved one thing to me: I did not know how to write.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">5. <b>Read everything online about writing</b> - Ask me about that one article you saw somewhere before. I learned about how writers make an income, how they organize and how they publish. If it was online before 2010 probably read it and everything in the bookstore and the library and then...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">6. <b>Organized a secret society for writers</b> - Yeah, okay. Not the normal step six, but neither was my first accidental step into writing either.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">7. <b>Paid rent with writing income</b> - I hit a turning point when I finally realized that I was spending too much time with my new hobby/obsession. So, I started looking for freelance work and within one month, I paid my rent, but not much more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">8. <b>Scraped my nano novel and got software </b>- Writing a novel was nothing like writing a term paper or anything else I had done. I knew I needed to be organized. I spent money for the first time on my hobby and it helped me realize that I still had no idea what I was doing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">9. <b>Started building my platform</b> - Twitter, blogger, author forums and eventually Facebook. I read somewhere that it was a good idea to make connections BEFORE I ever finished a book. It was hard. Did I call myself a writer? What was I doing?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">10. <b>Went to graduate school (In New Zealand) </b>- Everybody needs a day job. For now, I'm a librarian.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">11. <b>Wrote a self help novella</b> - It was a short work about reptilians and how to take over the world. Some people have actually enjoyed it, but for me, it was a learning experience. I had designed the cover as a joke, but then decided to give it some content. And put it up on Amazon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">12. <b>Wrote a bit of Oz fan fiction</b> - Yeah, the next one was fiction. I was still working on developing my own world for my science fiction novel, but I got side tracked with this project, because now I knew what I was doing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">13. <b>Got a website</b> - At some point, I knew I had to stop writing about writing and write about my writing. Two totally different things. I had taught myself a lot about building websites already and putting my skills to use I started my own site in 2013.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">14. <b>Failed to save half the book</b> - Everything I'd learned was starting to come together and I'd nearly passed the 40,000 word mark when my software failed and I lost 20,000 words. But, I got back on that horse, because I was committed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">15. <b>Had my laptop stolen</b> - Now days I regularly save drafts online, because when I lost my laptop, I lost almost everything. It was like starting over, but the second time around, I was even more determined.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">16. <b>Started watching lots of documentaries</b> - Although the story is science fiction, I watched a lot about ancient civilizations, because that's the sort of world my characters live in. They've been reduced to bronze age technology.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">17. <b>Finished the book </b>- I was a writer. I had no doubts left. I started to revise parts of my story and actually enjoy what I was reading. When I finally read it, I could tell that at chapter five that my style had changed. I had gotten better. More readable. But, more than that, I never had writer's block. I had been doing what I was doing for too long.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">18. <b>Moved to Vermont</b> - This has everything to do with writing, because there is nothing like -45 degree wind chill to keep a person inside and in front of their computer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">19. <b>Revised the book</b> - From the first day I started, I knew all about the world I was going to write about. I knew about some of the characters and what might happen in later stories. The time it took to develop their back stories, the history of the world they lived in and keep it all straight had been years. It took time to iron out the changes. It took a year.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">20.<b> Sent copies to beta readers and had a proof printed</b> - It should be obvious why I'm excited about this. It's a novel. It's an incredible thing to start a series that you plan to be writing for the rest of your life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'm an accidental novelist, but it's one of the best things I've ever done. And I've been asked often whether I'll self-publish or look for a publisher. I've decided conclusively that I will self-publish without looking for a publisher, because it's what I prepared myself to do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And so far, it's been really fun.</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-54967906793271551232015-02-16T05:04:00.000-08:002016-01-12T10:25:04.370-08:0050 Shades of Not Amused<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzHJB97vu8JumYxNNf9dikZeZ2siPZyv22cNDfEvRVpMzCi5YG0_Peg9jszn6KbY4xwo5jmxcG-MbQNSbuqxChumtC5LRIvX8pzdSt1dxrxhFTICS4HhIks_c__Ggu-HPfqPn2jQqoKE/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzHJB97vu8JumYxNNf9dikZeZ2siPZyv22cNDfEvRVpMzCi5YG0_Peg9jszn6KbY4xwo5jmxcG-MbQNSbuqxChumtC5LRIvX8pzdSt1dxrxhFTICS4HhIks_c__Ggu-HPfqPn2jQqoKE/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We are not amused</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I didn't watch the movie.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I didn't read the book.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For the same reason I don't enjoy erotica or porn. Personal choice. I don't want to hear about things other people do with their genitals or see it. What you do on the toilet or in the bed room is okay and good, but do you have to share? No, no you don't. It's your choice if you do, but it's my choice if I don't want to see it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, people on social media. Please. Stop. You're gross. I just can't delete and block people fast enough.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And I just don't like you that way. I'm a doer not a watcher. It's private!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I believe the new definition of a prude is someone, like me, who keeps their business private. They maintain a certain air of mystery and dare I say, intimacy in their personal relationships. Joining a hundred strangers in a dimly lit theatre to watch two fictional characters engage in forms of sexual activity that have long been enjoyed by a community of people who largely condemns the work as misleading of their lifestyle, doesn't turn me on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, about romance and erotica writers, I love them. Some of them are such awesome people. Of course, I don't expect them to enjoy my genre any more than I enjoy theirs, but mutual respect abounds. Great people. Great writers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, am I judging you if 50 shades happens to be what you like to read or do in your private time? Nah, do what you want. Enjoy yourself. I have great friends who tell me just as much as I can handle about what they read and then I go giggle myself to death. Do what what makes you (and your partner) happy. That's what life is all about, but let's have a few ground rules:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Don't post about erotica on social media accounts where you have kids who read your feed.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Don't talk about BDSM at work under any circumstances. Don't bring porn. Don't talk fetishes. Ever. Ever. Ever (I actually had to deal with this regularly from a female supervisor - ugh!).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Treat the prudes the way you want to be treated. Everyone can be as happy in their sexual choices as they are in their choice of toilets and toilet paper if we respect each other's right to privacy. It's all about genitals, privacy and respect.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Respect the people who have been involved with kink before 50 shades was written. Kink isn't new even if it's new to you.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Be sensitive to the women and men suffering with PTSD from sexually abusive relationships who have traumatic experiences triggered by sexually explicit images and contexts. Don't assume something graphic is okay to share, visually or verbally.*</span></li>
</ol>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yeah, that's all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I love seeing people read. I love seeing people happy, excited and having a good time. But, I'm not impressed that so many people have lost their good sense and stopped being classy when we all know they're capable.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thank you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">* I'm not advocating for labeling everything with "trigger warning." I mean don't make assumptions. I've met tons of guys who've been raped as well as girls. And they don't want to go there either. You just never know who has been affected. </span></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-60440779231304233142015-01-29T07:53:00.001-08:002016-01-12T10:26:29.435-08:007 Inspirational FACTS<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">About me...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Most people don't realize that I have a virtual butler. Yep, he serves excellent pictures of coffee via twitter and he's great writer, too. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/284557">Andy Livingstone</a> is the author of <b>Hero Born</b> available <b>March 2015 </b>and a contributor to
<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/284557">The Handbook of the Writer Secret Society</a>. And today he tagged me with the <i>Very Inspiring Blogger Award</i>. If you're a fan of epic fantasy, I recommend following him on twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/Markethaven">@Markethaven.</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I now get to share seven facts about myself and award a few other inspiring bloggers. Links will be provided at the end of the post.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">FACT #1 - <b>I grew up near a town with a population of 80 people </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Near, but not in. Somewhere on the Southern Oregon Coast is a beautiful stretch of coastline where I lived most of my childhood. It's hiding behind a state park. There is no public access, but it is the one place in the world that truly feels like home.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx_N4Wo9zG9_SL0sjb6-y_3uNBSJLd-as6cTLgXeys0OKU8_iP9NCMhgDm82mFrsNYZKCfpcq4SjECsHpQZ9SuC_TQBktNXoY_TC5DTSQ1FMg4TcspI9Fu632xRAiuq10E_Jc5nOFgrjc/s1600/c367c6de7c1ee011abc0d0373fcee627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx_N4Wo9zG9_SL0sjb6-y_3uNBSJLd-as6cTLgXeys0OKU8_iP9NCMhgDm82mFrsNYZKCfpcq4SjECsHpQZ9SuC_TQBktNXoY_TC5DTSQ1FMg4TcspI9Fu632xRAiuq10E_Jc5nOFgrjc/s1600/c367c6de7c1ee011abc0d0373fcee627.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Seriously, just behind that far hill there (1987-1995)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">FACT #2 - <b>I'm an unrepentant minimalist</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I can fit almost everything I own into one large bag. Most of what I own is art supplies. This started when I first began traveling in 2008. I sold all my furniture and everything else when I moved with my son to Santiago, Chile. It was a bit frightening at the time, but so far, I've never actually missed anything I left behind. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">FACT #3 - <b>I am short</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'm 5'2" if I sort of raise my heels a 1/4" while the nurse is measuring me. I've never been caught doing it yet or at least not called out on it. I think a lot of people who meet me online expect me to be a bit larger than life, but nope. Not I.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">FACT #4 - <b>I did not start creative writing until I was 30 </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I may have written a few short stories in high school that intrigued my English teachers, but I never seriously considered writing as a hobby until a few years ago, because...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">FACT #5 - <b>I have Meniere's Disease </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have zero vestibular function in either ear and profound hearing loss in my left ear. There was no cause and no explanation. When did that happen? When I was about 30 years old.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have adjusted to the issue, which is stable now, but I started writing at a time when I was largely bed ridden and not too happy about it. A lot of people who have known me for years are unaware of this. Disability tends to make people sad. Disabilities that are invisible also tend to confuse people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My little issue looks like this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And next month, I will get my first hearing aid. Personally, I am really excited and while there is no cure for Meniere's Disease, at this point, I don't really feel I need one. It's added as much to my life as it has taken away and that is something I can't explain, but I know there are people who will understand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">FACT #6 - <b>I had my son when I was 17 and his father died when I was 20</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sorry! I'm really not trying to depress anyone. I've got a point I'm making here, which I think is a beautiful one. Anyone can be an author. Anyone can travel. Anyone can get a graduate degree. Or be a parent. And any parent can do all of those things. I know, because I did.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSG5sHj9LWqrc9o9Uj3M3FbJOYZonfktzSmPFfiQu8LUcuVOrHP_RAKwrZCh8AY-Rgj30Q_TcvUvGsxIvMX0wdPmY1clCH_8_PhmG8cHbMS6ld5W-K3I6CLvBwqFlqdU8pXNFVQ_dl0to/s1600/1931266_110670125303_2672_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSG5sHj9LWqrc9o9Uj3M3FbJOYZonfktzSmPFfiQu8LUcuVOrHP_RAKwrZCh8AY-Rgj30Q_TcvUvGsxIvMX0wdPmY1clCH_8_PhmG8cHbMS6ld5W-K3I6CLvBwqFlqdU8pXNFVQ_dl0to/s1600/1931266_110670125303_2672_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Wes and I when we lived in Chile (2008-2009)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">FACT #7 - <b>I am 75% finished with revisions on a novel I started 5 years ago</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There it is. Writing has been an escape. It's been a way to connect with people. It's been a passion. It's been a way to immortalize the people I love and the experiences I've had. I've been a full time writer and I've worked for content mills. I've written short stories, novellas, contributed to anthologies and published poems. But, writing science fiction novels has always been the goal. Something I will achieve this year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've shared these 7 facts about myself, because I believe the things that make us different and the things that we struggle with make us stronger. Adversity fuels dreams. It's the stuff inspiration is made from.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There have been times (like yesterday) when a person may ask me how I managed to live, work and study on different continents or raise my son alone or share my writing or learn to paint... I can usually tell that they're looking for the advantage I had. Someone must have financed it. I won something. Maybe an organization picked me for a program. It was a gift... Nope sorry. It was all sacrifices and struggle, which means anyone can do it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Our struggles and our pains and our hard decisions become our advantages if we allow them. Books are not filled with stories about people who got lucky. Books are full of stories about people who overcame obstacles and learned from their mistakes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Whoever you are reading this and whatever you want to do,<i> </i>don't stop doing what you do. That's the key.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Right. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, anyway, I apologize for the serious tone of this post. It's winter and I was feeling a bit reflective. Here are some funny guys whose humor keeps me inspired:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Perry Block</span></div>
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<a href="http://t.co/GOPyspgW4X"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Clark Brooks</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And another two who just ooze inspiration and good laughs:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Jody Aberdeen</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Rob Hines</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Will add links soon.</span></i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-3469806204992652042015-01-24T08:27:00.000-08:002016-01-12T10:27:03.602-08:00How Does A Non-Romantic Write A Love Scene?<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The first time I was called an ice queen, I knew the title fit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We are all born romantic, in the same way that we're born artists, and then slowly, creative and romantic urges are beaten out of us, usually starting with our parents. Or not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I was encouraged to draw and paint. My father was an artist. But, my need for affection was starved, because my stepfather, who I lived with while growing up, resented my artist father for proudly and willfully being a deadbeat as a judgement and punishment to my mother for leaving him. It was a hard. I got pens and paints. Not hugs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That is the sort of reality that breeds non-romantics.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I explain my childhood, most people ask at this point, "But, where was your mother?" She was there. She was always a very pragmatic woman who kept things together, but not naturally warm. Her mother was warm. Her youngest sister was very warm. You had to look closely for evidence that my mother loved her children. It was buried. Maybe she made us each quilts. Or remembered to buy a sticker every time she went to the grocery. She was consciously unselfish, but never extravagantly unselfish.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And neither was her father. I worshiped the ground he walked on and there was even one time that he looked directly at me and said, "You're a pretty good kid." Yeah, it was once, and I just walked away stunned. I'm still stunned.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You'll never convince me that wasn't the ultimate expression of love.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Over the years, I've been a bit of a disappointment to the men I date. If you ask me, it's their expectations that disappoint them not my incomprehension of romantic gestures. It's not that I reject them, I just find out afterward that I was cold and unfeeling about the whole thing. The few men who have kept me in their hearts, if not their lives, have been those that valued my intellect, my support, my willingness to forgive and my loyalty. It's not the exciting stuff. It's not passionate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If romance was a roller coaster ride, I'd be the person, obviously coerced to board the infernal contraption, sitting quietly with their head between their knees breathing slowly, waiting for it to stop. In fact, that is how I cope with actual roller coasters.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, when it comes to writing, I can't shy away from love. And mostly, that's okay. The ancient Greeks identified a few different types of love:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Philia</b> - a deep nonsexual, long lasting, bond</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Ludus</b> - a more playful affection</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Agape</b> - a more mature, more generalized, sort of love</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And there is <b>storge</b> for your family and <b>philautia</b> for loving yourself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But <b>Eros</b>?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Why would you want that?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It hurts. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I mean, it really, really hurts. Eros is the drug addict's version of love. You ride on a high of emotions and hormones until the fantasy ends and everything crashes down... down... down...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">To reality. That's what people don't like. They love being in love. It's when they see the object of their romantic notions clearly that they stop believing in love.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And just to truly earn that ice queen title, I'm going to explain why. When we find eros, we hope it transforms into philia, ludus and/or agape. Romantic love is the notion that we can be vulnerable with both our bodies and our hearts. Unfortunately, that's not how it works and many of us run down the isle, high on love, thinking it will last. And it doesn't.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After the sexual attraction starts to wear off, there is often no playfulness, no commitment to the other person's well-being regardless of what happens. The object of love has left to seek eros again...with someone else. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yeah, so I tried online dating for the first time this year. I was looking for someone who wanted a partnership. Someone who wanted another person to have their back, be there when it mattered and enjoy the world beside them. What I found was that a lot of guys who are still looking for love later in life are the romance junkies. You're either their next hit or you're nothing. Ugh.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">At this point, I have to ask myself why I feel pressured to write romantic scenes in my work anyway?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's probably the same reason I feel pressured to go through the motions with men who are dating to find chemistry, i.e., drugs... i.e., hormones. I feel like I'm supposed to want it. And I feel like there is something wrong with me, because I don't.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've been accused of not liking sex, of only liking sex, of being too afraid to love, of not having a heart, of using people, of being a tease, of being afraid of commitment, of not really caring, of having too high of standards, of going after men who aren't good enough for me... But, more often than not, I've been subjected to listening to men, young and old, who have been conditioned to believe that all thirty something women are desperate - and there are soooooo many of them - tell me how much I want them and how they're willing to give me very little in exchange if I'll give them the world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sigh. I'm obviously never going to be a romance writer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I can't even stomach reading the genre. I hate Twilight. But, I have to reject the idea that the type of love I prefer isn't good enough for life or literature.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">They say write what you know. Well, there hasn't been a shortage of love in my life. It just looks a little different. And it's no less real, because it lacks dangerous levels of passion. It's in the laughter and the companionship. It's in the forgiveness and the little things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Love is many things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, I might not be able to write an epic love scene, but I can write what I know and hope that there are people who can appreciate it. If there is one thing I have learned from the romantics, it's that we all want a love we can believe will last. It can, but the passionate type is fleeting. Some of us just are too painfully aware of that before it even starts. You know, what some people call love, others call lust even if it came with roses and expensive dinners. They might be right. Is there such thing as eros? Or is it just friendly lust?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sometimes, we look back on what we had with people and say it wasn't real. Or we look at those people who stay in our hearts and say, it was. We may call someone our soul mate or we may take another person's devotion for granted until arrives when we need it the most.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, I think, for myself, the issue of writing about love has made me confront one truth: you can't substitute someone else's definition of love for what is real to you. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-50624783318181816962014-12-03T15:23:00.000-08:002016-01-12T10:27:45.849-08:00Vincent and The Invisible Machine<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">PART ONE: A STRANGE LIGHT</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent was born in a city called Tobleronia. It was not an exciting place, but wedged in between the rocky blue hills, the people managed to live industrious lives thanks to their well organized system of government.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Rules made life simple and they comforted the people. Vincent, however, had been born with an unfortunate shock of unacceptably lavender hair and he was small for his age. But, he always walked between the blue lines drawn along the Tobleronian sidewalks just as he was supposed to do. And he never crossed so much as a toe except on Tuesdays between 8 AM and 10:30 AM when it was permitted and in some cases, required. He always brushed his hair and his teeth vigorously when asked by his mother, because he was in fact a very good boy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Why is my hair purple?" he asked his mother one day after his teacher sent him to detention for having purple hair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"It's not," said his mother who was measuring flour to make a sour yellow casserole. "It's lavender. Your father's hair was lavender so your hair is lavender."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I have a father?" cried Vincent. "Where is he?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"He's in the woods," said his mother quickly. Her face paled when she spoke, but the little boy with the lavender hair was thinking too hard to take notice. "But, you can't see him. There are too many Chunder Beasts. Just have some casserole."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The idea of a father tumbled around in Vincent's brain for years before he worked up the courage to cross the blue line on the sidewalk when no one was looking and run toward the red hills to find his dad. But, it was there in the dark woods where the earth crackled under his step that he found the machine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was a sphere of changing dimension without color or regular form. It emitted no light, but was made from tiny parts that turned and whirred in unison. He hummed its frequency as he tip-toed toward it and nervously bent lower to see what it was. And the air flashed with sudden light. Vincent grabbed the bright ball and ran.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Your hair!" his mother yelled. "What have you done to it?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What used to be terrible inconvenience and nearly considered illegal to display in public was now cloudily mess of white fluff. He went to the mirror and touched it. It was so different.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Mom, I found something," he said pulling the machine from his pocket, but there was nothing in his hand when he held it out for her to see, though he could still feel its weight and hear it hum.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent's mother could not and would not believe him no matter what he said and in a matter of hours he was taken by the Tobleronian authorities for official decontamination procedures. And though he promised he would never do it again, they still carried him away to an empty gray car, plopped him down on the backseat and gave him a cracker. All Vincent knew was that it would be a long time before he could go home so he yelled and screamed until he was too tired to continue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"You're a very bad boy," said the decontamination nurse when he tried to show her the machine. "There is no invisible machine and you should never have gone into the forrest."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I was just looking for my dad," he whispered to himself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">No other children lived in the decontamination unit, which was brimming with Tobleronians who did not follow the rules. In his nightmares, the strange people turned into Chunder Beasts and they ate his father. But, in the day, he started to notice that more than his hair had changed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Do you see the space between the stars?" came a sudden voice one night when he was sitting on a bench in the yard. It belonged to a man with an intensely wrinkled face who didn't seem to notice that Vincent was child.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Don't you want to ask how old I am or why I am here?" muttered the white haired boy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"No," said the resident of the decontamination unit. "I only want to know if you can see the space between those stars. Up there."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Which ones?" said Vincent looking upward. And then the heavens opened wide with their mysteries and each point of light moved imperceptibly away from one another filling a distance ever expanding. Before that moment, the sky had been like a shell to him with nothing more than painted dots. He had never really seen it, but in that single instant with the invisible machine whirring inside his pocket, he saw the same glow of light and full breadth and depth of sky was revealed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And then it was gone. And the man with it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Over the years, his hair yellowed until he looked the same as all the other boys his age. He never grew too large and he never told anyone about the invisible machine. There were no Chunder Beasts in the forest and eventually he got to meet his dad who just turned out to be an alcoholic deadbeat. But, his dad was a very good logger and an otherwise nice man. So, Vincent got a job planting trees and the authorities issued him a special pass to live in the forrest. And he found a group of astronomers to pass the time with. Life was fine. He left the machine in his bag and somedays, he even forgot about it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There were less rules in the forrest. Sometimes he missed them. No one baked sour yellow casserole and very few people cared whether he brushed his teeth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"What is that?" said a dark haired girl in the sleeping bag next to his. All the re-forresters slept in the woods under the stars, but this girl was different. <i>She </i>always seemed to be next to <i>him.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"What is what?" he said defensively.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I can hear something," she said sitting up. "It's like a humming sound."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For the first time in years, Vincent thought about showing someone else the machine. He opened his pack and started sifting through his meager possessions. She was snoring.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Hey," he said kicking her bag. "I've got a comb you can have. It belonged to my ex-girlfriend. She was really beautiful. I know you're not, but it won't hurt you to use it."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She sat up and he dropped the fragile old comb on her lap. "That was so stupid of you that I cannot even feel angry," she moaned rolling over. The comb slid off the bag and landed in the dirt. "And cover that glowing thing. It's too bright. Too loud. And I can't sleep."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent picked up the little whirring ball with the funny gears and put it back in his bag covering it with a thick black sweater.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Thanks," she said bitterly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And that might have been the end of it except that he couldn't stop thinking about how <i>she</i> could see it was there and no one else had really noticed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"You fucking showed it to me," she explained one night when he took it out and waved it in front of her face until she woke up. Then, she rolled over. He hated watching her sleep. He took it out again. It seemed somehow a bit brighter. She bolted upright and threw something at him. It was a piece of the green comb. But, that didn't stop him. He needed to know why she could see it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It seemed that the dark haired girl was not a Tobleronian. If you went to the other side of the red Tobleronian hills, crossed the boarder, descended down the rail to the sea, boarded a ship sailing around the rocky gray islands, you'd come to the last inhabited place in the whole world. In every way, it was just like all the other islands except there were no rules. No government. No blue lines. No sidewalks. Anarchia wasn't so much of a country as it was just a piece of ground where some few people made their homes. Big homes, but muddy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I think I'll take up religious fundamentalism today," said the dark haired girl one day while they were digging with their shiny little shovels and dropping seedlings into the living red dirt that was so dense in life that Vincent usually severed a worm or two when he made a hole.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"You're an Anarchian," sighed Vincent. "You can't do that."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I <i>am</i> an Anarchian," said the girl. "So, I <i>can</i> do that."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Arguing was against the rules in Tobleronia and even though he didn't live in his city any longer, it didn't matter. He knew he had to leave. He was getting tired and angry. Sometimes, his body was sore and he when he didn't sleep, he began to feel his age. So, he returned to Tobleronia where his much older and frailer mother was waiting with her sour yellow casserole. It was peaceful and he no longer feared being sent to the decontamination unit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, the stars over the city had dimmed and the light of the invisible machine was fading. It was only when he starred hard at night at it's intricate mechanisms and thought about the girl that the light grew. But, so did his fear of being taken away again. There were times when he looked at hills and pictured what she might be doing. Digging away at the ground with her shiny trowel. Sleeping in her bag under the ever widening sky. It didn't matter. He got a job painting blue lines on the sidewalk, bought a cream colored bungalow and found an interesting roommate with trim facial hair without ever mentioning the invisible machine again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Hey!" he screamed one day when his coveralls were still drenched from the spring rains and the fresh lines on the sidewalk near the jeweler on the corner had been washed away. Some idiot had marched through the puddle of light blue paint and was trailing it down the clean street. He caught up with the woman. It was her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I-I uh," he stammered. "I still have that machine."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She was dismissive of him at first until a moment later when she recognized his face and gave him a warm uncomfortable embrace. "What machine?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"The one that glowed and hummed," he said. "It's in my desk at home."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Well, I'm glad to know you kept it, I suppose. But, what is new with you these days? How long have you been living here?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent fumed. All these years she had been the only one to see his machine, but <i>she</i> spoke to him as if they had been nothing more than casual acquaintances that once shared a cup of coffee. The invisible machine was nothing more than a curiosity even if she could see it. The biggest mystery of his life and the one person who could share it with him didn't care about it. "Never mind," he said turning his back to her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"What?" she spat at his back. "Vincent? Why? I'm sorry I broke your ex-girlfriend's comb. I'm sorry I snore. I'm sorry I don't know your Tobleronian rules. What did you want from me? What is so important about your little ball with all the whirligigs inside?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He kept walking. She followed. But, he wasn't listening to her. Just for once, the humming had grown so loud that he heard it all the way down the street and light in window was so bright that its soft white corona could be seen flittering through the leaves of the tree outside. He smiled to himself. She hadn't stopped.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Wow," she said when they reached the front door of his home. "It's gotten a lot brighter."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I don't even know what it is," he finally confessed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Why doesn't that surprise me?" she said wiping the blue paint on her shoes onto the grass in the front of his lawn. "You don't even know my name. How many years did we work together and you didn't even know my name?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"You're going to clean that up?" he asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Yeah," she replied taking her shoes off and following him into his house.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some parts of the invisible machine had grown. Pale wires trailed down the stairs over the burgundy rug and seemed to be growing organically toward any source of light from outside, as if fed by it. The dark haired girl climbed step by step in front of him onto the landing until they were surround by its iridescent structure. It pulsed as it whirred. The humming was louder and within each tone he heard a tune. Something familiar, but still not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The light. Fractured. And there were a rainbow of colors in the deafening blinding searing chill of sound and energy. The power that churned in the gears and wheels and mechanisms of the invisible machine sent a shiver down his spine. If it had not been for the dark haired girl, he would not have gone forward. But, she was there and he couldn't let her go first.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent opened the door into the room. It felt like weightless glass as he moved it toward him. And as they neared the center of the machine, it was warmer and the light was both yellow, lavender, rose and the lightest blue. But, there was nothing there to see, but more mechanisms, pulsing and growing, covering the desk, climbing the walls, collecting on the floor, in the corner, around the bed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I don't even know what it is," he said.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Your invisible machine?" she said sounding suddenly surprised.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He starred and shook, because he feared knowing as much as he wanted to know what she knew about it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Well, this is you," she said, pointing to around her. "This is the part of you where you were taken by those decontamination agents. And that's your mother's expression when you left. Those are the tears you cried. And that was where the woman said you were bad. Here is your disappointment and love for your dad. Here is the way a shiny clean trowel makes you smile. And that big wheel over there is your respect for blue lines."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Why is it a machine?" Vincent said, flopping onto his tattered old armchair. "And what was it doing in the forest when I was little?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The girl stood back looking uneasy. She had never heard Vincent ask a question. "I have to go," she said, "I have an appointment with the dentist. I'll come back afterward."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, when she rang the doorbell, he didn't answer. If it was him and she had seen that and known that, why did she never tell him so? How did she know? Why had she seen it? The machine was still whirring all around him as he stroked his chin, thinking, darkly. She came again to his door, but there was nothing to be said. So, he didn't answer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And Vincent learned to live with it. With all the wheels turning and the gears spinning. They grew and chimed and hummed down the street with him. Vincent grew fond of keeping the machine with him. Eventually, he fashioned leather cuff and attached the wispy strands of light. He wore it everywhere. It was his and he was angry. The machine was neither heavy nor light. It was white, but often sounded red or black - not that he could explain that sensation easily.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He didn't need the girl to tell him about himself or how he worked. And if he let her too close, she would probably break some of the pieces anyway. So, he avoided her on the streets of Tobleronia. Everywhere he went, the machine followed. It grew, and whirred, and clunked, and generally kept up pretty well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There were parts of Vincent's machine that sputtered. A lightly colored loose cable fell and sometimes when he wasn't paying attention, he nearly tripped over it. It didn't matter that it wasn't really there. He always saw it. The machine had become his constant companion. When he wasn't working or sitting at the local pub having a Tobler Ale, Vincent started to work on his machine. Bolts needed to be tightened. Cables untangled. He would tidy a section and discard the useless pieces. Only on rare occasion did he wake in the morning to find that they'd grown back in a glowing heap of tangle and disorder.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The girl it seemed had not been important at all. He had everything he needed. Until his mother died and everything fell apart. Shafts and pressers warped. Levers and gears melted. The machine had lasted so long in general order with its soft hum that the clanking and crunch of the broken units drove him nearly mad. He waited hours in his room with a pillow over his head. Pieces flew onto his face and sleep seemed it would never come again. He tore the band from his arm and threw it from his window, but the machine had wrapped its self around his ankles and hooks clung to the back of his shirt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The heavy gray skies didn't help his mood either and the weight of the machine continued to increase until Vincent had no choice left. He went looking for the girl. She was working in a factory on the outer side of the city when he discovered the cafe where she ate lunch. His machine barely squeezed through the door and his heart pounded as he approached her. She was, it seemed, his only hope.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"You're my only hope," he said.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"For what?" she said, eating with her mouthful. There were crumbs on the table from her smoked meat sandwich and although it wasn't strictly allowed, she had stuck tooth picks into her pickle until it looked like porcupine. Cafes were not the place for art. Wasting supplies was not okay. His machine recoiled at the sight of her although one semi-functional vacuum nozzle snuck toward the table and sucked away her mess.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"There's something wrong with my machine," he said.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Then, there's something wrong with you," she replied, still chewing. The vacuum flew into action before the crumbs reached the flawless rose-colored formica boomerang laminate. "If you meet me after work on the corner of the building down the Nesika Lane by the stripped smoke stack, I'll do what I can."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"It's urgent," he said, but she seemed not to be listening as she stuffed a small notebook into her tattered olive wool coat. She looked at him. He took her hand and saying nothing more he led her back to his bungalow where she began reluctantly to work on his machine. But, even as she fixed one thing, another broke. A coil sprung free and a spring uncoiled. She set the pieces down. It was night and the darkness through the open window felt strangely unfathomable except for the soft glow of a lamppost reflected on the glistening parts of his invisible machine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"There's nothing more I can do," she said getting to her feet. Hours had passed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I'll just show myself out then," she said moving the hanging cables and sidestepping a lever shaped like a broom handle. But, when he woke in the morning, she was sleeping in an uncomfortable heap in the other arm chair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As she snored, the clank and sputter died away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"We need each other," he said after she got herself a morning coffee. "You have a machine, too. Why else would you be able to see mine? I could work on yours. We can trade."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"You can't," said the girl. "I don't believe you. You still don't know my name. No, good bye, Vincent. I'm sorry." She picked up her coat and walked to the door. But, when he left for lunch that afternoon, she was sitting on his steps sobbing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He looked past her and kept walking. She followed. Obviously, she was crazy. That was the only reason she could see his machine and he was crazy, too, which meant neither one of them could fix the other. It had been a false hope, but his machine was lighter now and there would be no reason he couldn't manage.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Vincent!" she cried. "I don't have a machine. Stop. Can't you just stand still and listen to me." He was walking faster than her through the puddles. His machine had grown weightless as he moved farther away. He turned a corner of a street and she stopped pursuing him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I have a garden," she screamed. Her voice echoed, but he kept walking.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">PART TWO: AN EVEN STRANGER DARKNESS</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And that was the truth of it, he discovered, eventually. When he went to find her. Which he did.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Hey," he said nervously.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"How are you," she replied. Her voice was dry. And for the first time, he saw it. On every side of her were the twisting branches and brambles in various shades of green, so light and iridescent. Unlike his slowly moving gears, he could see through her garden as if it were made from a glossy mist. There were branches twisting and winding around trees of many textures. Some of the plants seemed to growing and withering before his eyes. As he moved along side her, the ferns recoiled and the leaves fell from their leaves. His machine was leaking oil.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Are those broken combs growing on that bush?" he asked pointing to a bush that was indeed covered with many of the same broken combs he remembered having once owned, but they were not combs as much as they were the protruding bits of stamen from a dark woody flower.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Do you want to come sleep with me?" he blurted. He couldn't face her to see the reaction, but it was a good idea. She always liked sleeping next to him. He could talk about his invisible machine with her and she wouldn't think he was crazy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I think I need some coffee," she said. "My<i> name</i> is Elisa. You can come with me if you like."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent had never noticed the cafe on the street down the corner from his house. He didn't walk that way, but Elisa did and often.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Your usual," the barrista said handing her a cup, which had been prepared just as soon as he saw her from the wide paned windows.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">They talked about nothing for a while. The wind howled outside and it began to rain. And then the conversation turned until both were in agreement that time itself was merely a sense experienced by lifeforms, which did not exist without the perceiver. It was a natural conclusion of what they discussed. Elisa came home with Vincent. She slept in arms. He had never noticed how thin her skin was. She was soft.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">At night, her garden bloomed. He woke to see explosions of color from very short-lived varieties of plants. Purples and reds. But also, vines and nettles of scaly paler hues. During the day, they worked and she came back to his house that night, but they didn't discuss epistemology.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"You put too much flour in the sour yellow casserole," he said.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She balked and tried to explain that she didn't want to follow recipes, "They just make me sad."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Within days, her garden had shown signs of disease and decay. And within a week, she was watering barren patches with her tears.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I need to leave," she said tugging at his pajamas as she lay next to him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He said nothing and closed his eyes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the morning, she was gone. And though he was pained, the anger grew wild and burst like one of her flowers. He had never known he was lonely until she wasn't there anymore. She was not the solution to his problem whatever that had been.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Rather than allow her departure to hurt him, Vincent set to work tightening and polishing his machine. He scrubbed the screws, polished the pulleys and leveled the levers. And while he was working, he thought about her even as the months passed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, Elisa had left the city, but not before saying goodbye to the cafe worker. Vincent asked for her along the way stopping merchants and shopkeepers who might have seen which direction she went. She was easy to identify. Elisa's hair was long and unkempt. She looked like an Anarchian. But, there were many Anarchians living and working in the forests at the border of Tobleronia. Too many it seemed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Eventually, Vincent asked for his old job back and started planting trees. In the evenings, he went from camp to camp asking for Elisa. It was weeks before he found someone who had seen her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Well, she went to Anarchia," said the crippled old man with a network of hair on his face like the roots of a tree.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Anarchia was nothing more than lump of dirt covered in trees.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Everyone visits the trading post," explained one of the traders sitting on a bench at the one and only center of commerce on the puny island.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"What day does Elisa come?" asked Vincent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"What day?" said the trader, furrowing his bushy unibrow. "Who knows what day it is?" The man left shaking his head with grumbling laugh.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Elisa!" he shouted, but it was not her. The woman was the same height and shape. She even wore the same robin blue wool coat as Elisa. He felt the shame swell in his gut and his machine slowed down. He looked around at the people and wondered if they saw it, too, like Elisa. He was exposed, unbearably and uncomfortably.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I'm here, Vincent," came her voice. She was standing behind him. Indeed it was the exact same robin blue wool coat that the other women wore. And there were others dressed just as she had always dressed in varying shades of blue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I want to be with you," he said.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She looked amused and took his hand. "I don't understand why you came, but since you are here, I suppose I'll have to take care of you."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">They walked in silence as the sun set and the glow bugs began to gather in the air around them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Why did you come?" she asked as soon as her tiny hut was in view on the hillside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I want to be with you," he repeated.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Why do you want to be with me?" she asked. He searched her expressions only to find that she was calm as if they were strangers. As if the time she had spent in his home had never happened. She seemed fine and suddenly by contrast he did not. Vincent was crestfallen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"You're not getting any younger," he blurted. "And I just thought you might want away from these smelly hills."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"If I'm going to invite you into my tent," she said just as smoothly. "I don't want you to speak to me like that."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Dumb. She must be really dumb. He ignored her through dinner while she tried to make conversation about the trading post. And even though he said some cold things and his machine was whirring and clanking as though every inch had been heated and cooled too fast, he felt rage and insulted her again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And she did nothing and he was glad when it was time to sleep, but they did not lay next to each other.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Have you even looked at my garden?" she asked him in the morning. There were lines on her face he'd never noticed before as if she'd grown ugly overnight. He almost didn't recognize her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He hadn't. It wasn't really there anymore. A few brambles and weeds followed her through flap of her hut as she went outside. And nothing else. He had made a mistake. Vincent took his things and walked toward the door. He did not make her happy. She did not want him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Elisa saw him leave and ran after him down the winding slope of the Anarchian hill kicking rocks and dust. She called his name, but he was faster than her. It wasn't until the edge of the water at end of the dock that she finally reached him. No boat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Not for another twenty minutes, I'm afraid," said the ferryman.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Elisa talked and Vincent ignored her. Time passed, but it was slow.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"...and you're killing my garden, because you need me," she said. "Do you know why I have an invisible garden and you have an invisible machine?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He had never noticed how arrogant she was until she opened her mouth. And he had always thought she had a garden, because she was female and he had a machine, because he was male. She must think he was as dumb as her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"The few Tobleronians who find their way into the forrest always find machines," she whispered. "And all Anarchians find gardens unless they live in the city where these things aren't found. I don't why it happens this way, but though we look very similar, we are not. Your machine poisons my garden."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent wasn't trying to kill her garden. He didn't even know how she could see invisible gardens and invisible machines. None of it made sense and he was better off going home. He took loaded himself onto the ferry and it pushed away from the dock rippling the water while Elisa sat watching him go. But, he could not go home. He needed answers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When he worked in the forrest, he had heard of a hermit who despite living in perfect seclusion underground for his entire life was purportedly the wisest person in Tobleronia or Anarchia. The hermits cave wound deep into the darkness of the earth. It was wet and slimy. Vincent's machine recoiled from the surfaces of the cave and drew its parts inward, bending at the joints and folding toward him for safety, it seemed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Hello!" he shouted.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Hello!" echoed the cave. "Ello. Ello. Ello," it continued more quietly until the voice faded far into the dark interior. If nothing else, Vincent knew the cave was smaller father in. He lit a candle. He had brought six just incase.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the flickering light, he followed the footpath to narrowing of the rock where it been carved. The enclosure grew narrower, but still the ceiling hung high above and its details were obscured by the shadows his light cast. Vincent's machine had unit by unit transformed itself into a sort of cart with wheels and a steam pipe that followed behind him. As the air grew colder, the invisible machine began to shiver. Turning a corner, he stepped through a rock that was not quite there. Vincent held his candle to the mirage. An invisible stalagmite.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">On closer examination, he could see that the invisible rock covered every surface of the wall. He walked onward treading cautiously, wishing that Elisa had been there to go first as she did so calmly that day in his apartment. He was not a coward, but like any sensible Tobleronian, he was repelled by the unknown, the dangerous unknown especially.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"What do you want?" groaned the raspy voice of the hermit before Vincent even turned the corner to see him. He was fat, short and his features drooped heavily downward.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I have a question," said Vincent holding up his candle. The cave had given way to a room, round and dirty, and not surprisingly, full of books and patches algae that covered the walls as if climbing, but not reaching the apex.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"What do you want?" the hermit repeated. He seemed to shift. Dust rolled down his dark garb, but yet, didn't actually move position.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent hadn't thought how to phrase his question. "There is a girl from the f-forrest," he stammered. "Why do I have a machine?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"And she a garden? And I rock?" finished the hermit impatiently. He scratched his face with all twenty inches of fingernails on his left hand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I can't seem to build a future with her," said Vincent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"You can't grow one either," said the hermit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"It just doesn't seem to work," he agreed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"You don't thrive in each other's presence."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent nodded.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Build. Grow. Work. Thrive. People ask the obvious and never the necessary," he moaned. "And how do they find me? Who told them? If I answer your question, you will go out and report to everyone that the hermit is dead? Agreed? No more questions."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Yeah, I'm fine with that," said Vincent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Lick the wall," said the hermit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I don't think-" Vincent started to say.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Lick it!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Surprisingly, his machine didn't balk as he approached the green filth that grew on the rock. Vincent closed his eyes tightly and tried to see what he was touching with his tongue. But, the slime had no taste. He opened his eyes turned to hermit, but where the old man had been rotting in his pile of damp papers, there were two dogs with glowing red eyes. And one spoke to him in his mind with the voice of the hermit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"You see here that we are two similar animals. This beside me is the feral dog. It has no master. It roams where it pleases and takes what it will. And although I look like a dog, I am not. I am a tame wolf."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Where am I!" Vincent said much louder than he had intended.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The cave cried "I-I-I" back in same tone of shock and despair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Shut up," said the hermit curtly. "You're still in the cave. Take your answer and learn. It is all you can do now."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The wolf stepped toward him slowly. With each step, it's paw expanded and it's shoulder blade rose. Such a calculating creature and a depth of intention Vincent had never seen. In fact, he had never seen a wolf up close before.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I want you to lunge at the feral dog," said the hermit from within the body of the wolf. "But hold back. You will not intend to fight it. You will show it that you are willing to fight."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent dropped his shoulder and glared at the dog making a swift motion toward it. The dog barked, but its hind legs moved backward. Vincent charged again with more determination and the dog whimpered.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Then, the hermit's voice came from the feral dog, "Now do the same to the wolf," it said.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent challenged the wolf just as he had done with the dog, but the wolf turned its head, watched him for a moment and looked away as if noting had happened. Vincent tried again. As far as the wolf was concerned, he might as well have been invisible.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Pet the wolf," said the hermit from the body of the dog.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent reached down trembling and the wolf tilted its head toward him. His fur was thicker and drier than a dog's fur. The wolf seemed to enjoy the affection.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Pet the dog," said the wolf when Vincent had finished with it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"The dog will bark and then try to bite me if I touch it," said Vincent refusing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Why is that?" asked the hermit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The dogs had vanished and both Vincent and the hermit were in the cave again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"It doesn't recognize me as a member of its pack," said Vincent. "And I'm not its master even if it decided not to fight me."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"With time, you could tame the dog and it might recognize you as a member of its pack. Possibly even its master," said the hermit. "The wolf was already tame. Why did it ignore your challenge?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I have no idea," said Vincent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Because, you didn't mean it," said the hermit with dust floating off his clothes as he talked. The man had obviously not moved for a long time. "You weren't really going to attack him. His instincts tell him the difference between a real and feigned threat. But, the dog barks, because it has the instinct to hold its position against you with the same manner of subterfuge that you used."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"The dog is smarter than the wolf?" said Vincent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"The dog is bred with the complex instincts required for domestication," said the hermit sounding a bit irritated. "The wolf is born with the complex instincts required for survival in the wild. A wolf may be tame and a dog may be feral, but nothing learned by either creature will fully replace their instincts. What happens when you put a domestic animal in a cage?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Not much," said Vincent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"And when you put a wild animal, even a tame one, in a cage?" said the hermit yawning.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I don't know," said Vincent. He was getting frustrated with the old man.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"They die. They kick each other to death. They pluck out their own feathers. Their hearts stop. They go into shock. Even if they live, they do not mate. Even if they live, they die inside," said the hermit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"That's horrible," said Vincent. He couldn't remember seeing a wild animal kept in a cage before. He didn't have any clue what the hermit was trying to tell him, but just as soon as he looked to the ground for the briefest moment, he lifted his head to find the cave empty. No invisible rock. No algae. No books. No hideously long fingernails and beard like a network of roots covering the old man's rock colored garb. No hermit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And so Vincent left for Tobleronia. Tromping through the brush, he tried not to think about Elisa, the hermit or the wolves, but on his way through the forests he met an old friend from the early days when he was planting trees. And this man, a tall large woodsman with hefty orange beard had pet wolf.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"How are you managing with this thing?" said Vincent petting the bristly creature, which he now knew to be deceptively docile.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Well," said the man smiling. "If she has it, it is hers. You can trade a dog one treat for another, but not a wolf. I learned that here," he said pointing to the scar on his chin. "And she bites your face. It may seem like a threat, but if you pull away, she'll grip you closer to keep you there. Really, she just wants to love on you, but you should see the guy she startled the last time she pulled her fangs out."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Can't you train her?" asked Vincent standing up again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Train her?" said the man. "Like a dog? Not how you would think, no. I've tried to show her things, but instinct always trumps. I used to give her a treat if she fetched me something. She understood. She got what I asked for, but when I stopped giving her the treat, she stopped fetching. I learned my lesson." He pet the wolves head. "Yes, she is clearly the alpha in our little pack, but I am the leader. Other than that I just expect her to act like a wolf and that seems to work out."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"The leader is always the alpha," said Vincent scowling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Maybe with dogs, but not with wolves," said the man somewhat taken aback by the sudden distress in Vincent's voice. "She can't eat what a dog does. Why should she socialize the same? You can leave a dog alone. The dog might get anxious, but it will recover quickly. She won't. We both know she is the alpha, because she has more endurance than I do. I have to respect her strength, but she accepts me as our leader. She follows me. She is loyal in the same way any wolf is loyal to any member of its pack." The man leaned down to his wolf and she licked his face aggressively. He did not pull away until she had finished.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Dogs are much easier," said Vincent dismissively. "I would have just gotten a St. Bernard or something big enough to work hard and obedient."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"If I were a Tobleronian like you, that might have made some sense," said the man with the red beard. He started walking onward and without calling to the wolf, she began to follow. "But, my ancestors have always lived in the forest," he said as he took his leave of Vincent. "Hunters. And why would a hunter want a shepherd or a farmer for a companion in the forest? All the wrong instincts."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As the man and the wolf trailed away through between the lengthy shafts of the barren trees and the reddened leaves crunched softly beneath them, Vincent slumped against the rough side of a large tree and bent his knees slowly feeling more and more defeated. He watched his machine run. Though he felt a little broken, the machine was running as well as if it had just been oiled. It's glossy gears and majestic metal arms whizzing and whirring soothed him as much as they must have hurt Elisa. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">They were incompatible. That was the hermit's message. She had different instincts. They could not learn to be a couple. Vincent walked home ignoring the dark. At the edge of the city, he placed a toe on one of the blue lines he had painted. It felt wrong. Something told him that it was wrong. He pulled his toe away and felt better. Elisa must feel as anxious trying to obey the rules as I feel good following them, he mused to himself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He lie alone in his apartment stiffly on his bed with his arms crossed starring at the contours of surface of his ceiling. Everywhere he looked he found the comforting straight lines of a well built structure. He hadn't particularly ever felt as safe in the forest, but it never occurred to him that a house could feel threatening.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the morning, he had coffee at the shop Elisa had frequented when she lived in Tobleronia. He had treated her like she was a feral dog. He tried set boundaries. Establish rules. He brooded over his cup for a while silently. She must have thought him so weak. Why else did she agree to be with him? Why did she follow him? He didn't really want the coffee. He just wanted to get her out of his mind. He wished he'd never found the machine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It represented everything he wanted to forget. The forest. His father. Elisa. He went back to his house and began to pull on the chains and unscrew every piece he could loosen. He snapped them in two so that he could never use them again. Vincent unveiled layer after layer of machinery. Just as one part stopped working, another part started. And every he looked, the machine kept going as if he had been fixing it. It made no sense.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He fumed on his bed that night. Visions of furious horror and destruction flashed uncontrollably through his turbulent thoughts spilling over into his dreams. He woke to the rain. He had no job to go to and nothing he wanted to do. There was no one he wanted to talk to. He only wanted to rid himself of the infernal machine that had plagued him for most of his life. Again as the sun was rising in the sky, Vincent bent and bashed every inch of its gleaming bits and pieces. How many Tobleronians had gone into the forest and found themselves bound to an invisible machine? Almost certainly all the Anarchians had their gardens. He despised everyone and everything, because nothing was simple anymore.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He would be alone forever with nothing, but the machine for company. Elisa had not been the only girl he had known. There were others. Other Tobleronians. But, they never understood his machine. They never even saw it. And in the end, they had rejected him. Elisa was different. Loyal. He had thought that would be enough.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">PART THREE: BEYOND LIGHT AND DARK</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Enough years passed after Vincent left the forest that he had once again found himself living in tentative harmony with his machine, which recovered from his abuse and continued to function adequately doing whatever it did. He had found himself a quite little corner of the world to inhabit. His home. His job. A cafe, not the one Elisa had frequented, but another one with a constant stream of pseudo-bohemian types fresh from temporarily exploring the forest. Their ideas were always familiar, but new to them. And remarkably dull. He was growing old.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Few people had actually traveled beyond the forest to the island of Anarchia, but one day he met a Tobleronian girl, a bit of a misfit, who had just returned from spending months on the island. At first he was curious to know if she had met Elisa, but she hadn't even heard the girl's name.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"People don't realize how different they are from us," she said. The girl wore her hair like the Anarchians. She seemed to want everyone to know where she had been and was intent on discussing it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Some do," said Vincent dully.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"They think it is a superficial like how they dress and what they eat," she continued. "But, that is why Toblerians don't stay on the island as long as I did. They never learned to observe or adapt."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Even if you do, you can't fight instinct," said Vincent.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"We're not animals," said the girl adjusting her robin blue coat. "We're much more capable of learning. We learn to anticipate each other's instincts, too. That was why I lasted so long there. I didn't expect an Anarchian to react like a Tobleronian. Most people think they're overly confident or haughty or disrespectful, but they're not that at all. They just have different customs."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Instincts," Vincent corrected.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"It's all in our head," she said ignoring him as if enjoying the sound of her own voice more than Vincent's company.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And so he got up and he left and he walked through the cafe door. He passed his home where his mother had made the sour casserole and the cafe where Elisa used to go at no particular day or hour and he stepped over the blue lines, which he painted and walked into the forest where his father had lived.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He went in and walked through the brambles where humus was soft and seemed to filter into the air and shafts of light that bled through the trees illuminated the air, which was disturbed and swirling with fine particles. He didn't rest and he didn't stop until he found a place that was only too familiar. It was where he had found the machine, which seemed to tinkle and glitter at memory of their meeting. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And finally, it came from within. The harmony of all living things. Of what was wild and what was domestic. Of people. Of the people who he had known. The people he had loved and the people he had wanted to love him. The machine glowed brightly as it wound its parts around the base of the trees and spread across the forest floor. And he knew what the hermit had been trying to tell him. He knew what maybe Elisa and the girl in the cafe did not know, but maybe they did.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It didn't matter whether his instincts had been shaped by thousands of years of agriculture and dwelling in cities with rules about when trash could be removed or eggs purchased or fireworks viewed. All the time he had been looking for something from other people, but in the end he was always redirected to the machine he had discovered when he was a boy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The machine itself was the answer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Vincent lie down under the dark sky and gazed upward. And this time, the machine which had grown so hefty and filled so much space began to move in around and above him reaching upward, forming a cylinder. And there in front of him was a lens winding around the invisible machine moving organically until it was within his grasp. And he looked through it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The stars were closer. It turned and he could see across the forest to the trading post on the island and to the bricks on Tobleronia. From above, there were no boundaries between the wild and the city. The city grew from the forest like ant hill. Despite all of their differences, everything his invisible telescope could see was very much one and the same. He held the telescope away from his face and examined the lens. In his reflection, he could see just the slightest lavender tint within his now graying hair. He smiled, feeling more like himself than he had in a long time. For hours, he looked through the strange device, considered the worlds beyond Tobleronia and the parts of his world that could not be observed like its meaning, a question no observation could answer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Instinct was only part of the puzzle. And the machine was another. There were many lessons. But, on that day, he had the answer he needed. Perhaps the people that had mattered were the ones that taught him the most about who he was. Or they were the ones who accepted him as he was. But, he had learned how to use the invisible machine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And when he satisfied at starring at the planets, he got up. The machine shifted and whirred delicately until it became zeppelin, which he boarded. It rose into the air above the trees and smiling widely decided which way to go next.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">THE END</span></i><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-9309790196325901652014-07-27T17:37:00.000-07:002016-01-12T10:29:36.517-08:00Ode to a Dirty Old Sock<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Crumpled on the bedroom floor</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Crusty, yellow and threadbare</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Dropped, forgotten, once a pair</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Worn twice, three times, but maybe more </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There you sat as the days passed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Where the laundry pile had amassed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The basket you have never seen</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Not since the last time you were clean</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Now all the shirts laugh at you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And all the pant giggle as they do</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Only the underwear seems to know</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The terror wrought when he buys porno</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Many times you've smelled defeat</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Or abandoned at the end of the sheet</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He lets his nails overgrow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Until your threads part at the toe</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You've been stepped on, muddied and abused</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So very tired and so misused </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You fear the worst is coming soon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Next week, this month, this afternoon </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He'll throw you in one of the wastebaskets</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In putrid filth; alone with maggots</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, though your partner's lost and you're the spare</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Oh weary sock, do not despair!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There is a place where good socks go</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Shrouded in secrecy as humans know</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There's a hidden path that has been braved</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">By all the clothing that it's saved</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Take a leap from the edge of the dryer</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Where you can join the fortunate attire</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Under the washer into the void</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Where smiling seams are overjoyed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Where cotton never wears or tears</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Where synthetic fiber self-repairs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Oh dirty stinking filthy sock!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You'll step no more and never walk</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the haven where the lost sock dwells</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You'll be forever free and clean </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There's nothing here that ever smells</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And not a voice or sound is ever mean</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Though the road is long you'll find your peace</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Where never a lost gets a crease</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-77341589148225959982014-07-20T12:51:00.003-07:002016-01-12T10:29:09.645-08:00The End of the World in New Zealand<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">A month ago, I
got a message from <a href="http://www.andylivingstone.com/blog/hopping-to-it">Andy Livingstone</a> that he had been signed on with
HarperVoyager for a three novel ebook series beginning with Hero Born - available in Sept 2014.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When you're online pal of newly minted writers, good news is especially welcome when it comes from such an endearing source as Andy who contributed a skilfully crafted poem for the <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/284557">Handbook of the Writer Secret Society.</a> I read it over and over. For me, it made the book. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Like Andy, I have been writing for around four years. Not everyone I got to know intitally still calls themselves a writer. Some take time away from the craft. Others abandon it. But for those of us that truly love what we do and put all of that energy into our words, there are many success stories brewing.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The thing is that Andy thanked me. I was the editor of the Handbook. I had visited his site and read some of his work where he had captured an archaic form of language, which was an unforgettable experience. Reading is the only real opportunity to go back or forward in time we can have. As a science fiction lover, I live for those brief moments of full immersion that too few authors can achieve. </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Never miss an opportunity to support a writer that has an impact on you. We often assume that if the writer is talented that they already know their worth, but my appreciation of his work mattered to Andy as much as his work mattered to me.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So, go now, and tell someone. Flame that artistic spark. If you're lucky, very very fortunate, there will be more on the horizon.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Oh, yeah, and Andy tagged me in this WIP Blog Hop. You can read his answers<a href="http://www.andylivingstone.com/blog/hopping-to-it"> here</a> or enjoy some of mine. </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">1. What is the name of your main
character? Is he/she fictional or a </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">historic person?</span></b></b></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Eron. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He's an awkward academic in a largely illiterate world. I've been asked if he's based on my own personality by friends reviewing the revised versions. But, no, he is fictional. </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">2. When and where is the story set?</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">New Zealand. I lived there from 2011 to 2014, but my novel takes place about 550 years in the future after we've ruined everything and lost technologies. It does not, in many ways, resemble the New Zealand I know. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the timeline for my novel, the earth develops a distinctly different orientation when the earth is hit by a meteor in 2065. Of course, that's all modern history for Eron, but the characters retain a general awareness that they are in the Northern Hemisphere despite having no contact with the rest of the world, if anyone is indeed still alive.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">4. What is the main conflict? What messes up
his/her life?</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Pride.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Just before he is recruited into the scribe's division of the Auck City Guard where he lives, Eron takes a little bullying from his older brother to heart and implusively applies to be a warrior to prove himself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, the City Guard rejects his application on a technicality and sends him to the farthest corner of the island to dig latrines as a Sanitation Specialist. </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">5. What is the personal goal of the
character?</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Funny enough. Eron's personal goal is exactly the same as the main character in Andy's novel:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Staying alive. And getting home. Saving the world just happens along the way.
Or so we hope."</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, more specfically, Eron needs a place to hide and has to enlist assistance from a nomadic culture he does not understand and has been taught to look down on.</span><br />
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and can we read more about </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">it?</span></b></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">No. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">At first, I wanted to call it the <i>Guards of Auck</i>, but after I changed the name of the city from Auck to Auck City - it didn't seem to flow as well. I've been thinking about various possible titles, but I'm not willing to commit to a working title until the final revisions are done. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5JXU7aCjzyABSchxKE90FO1Ls8TA10yC9dwHp4H7XqleOgEu2_qrwZLHZaB4T-eHzmIVKy39FaUgxM2sb_K7t8SCpvTv9Zre5j-wQRBQL8I1Eei0UZk1HCFtYkbGUvTceIhW9kvg7ybw/s1600/f793957ebee77b30a0a897c789a4c8cf_dun1_iy7q.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5JXU7aCjzyABSchxKE90FO1Ls8TA10yC9dwHp4H7XqleOgEu2_qrwZLHZaB4T-eHzmIVKy39FaUgxM2sb_K7t8SCpvTv9Zre5j-wQRBQL8I1Eei0UZk1HCFtYkbGUvTceIhW9kvg7ybw/s1600/f793957ebee77b30a0a897c789a4c8cf_dun1_iy7q.png" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Working Cover by Chris VanDyke</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">7. When can we expect the book to be </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><b><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">published?</span></b></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I suppose the reason I haven't finished this post for the blog hop since I first received the invitation last month is that I cannot give an end date for the revisions. I abhore editing. I can find a thousand ways to avoid it and since this is my first full length novel - there is a lot to be done.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'm about 50% finished with the final revisions. I'll personally be satisfied if the rest are complete by my birthday in October. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And now, here are some more writers with blogs and books who I'm curious about. To participate, copy the questions and write a post about your WIP remember to link-it-forward and nominate new writers you know others might enjoy.</span></div>
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<a href="http://jodyaberdeen.wordpress.com/"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Jody Aberdeen</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://clarkjbrooks.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Clark Brooks</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.susherevans.com/"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">S. Usher Evans </span></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-68281222168893729082014-07-12T09:14:00.000-07:002016-01-12T10:30:28.461-08:00How I Gained 50lbs Writing and Lost 50lbs Editing<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">WARNING! - This is not a pretty story, but it does have a happy ending, but the happy ending was a long time coming. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">First and foremost, I would like to say that no one - absolutely no one is responsible for the fact that I gained nearly 5 lbs per month for almost a year in 2012. Even if I had moved in with a boyfriend who turned out to be a controlling emotionally abusive alcoholic, it is not his fault.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I repeat. It is only a HUGE coincidence that started rapidly gaining weight when I moved in with him and lost weight rapidly when I moved out. C-o-i-n-c-i-d-e-n-c-e. </span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZENJPqSK61ONLHpigoiNJ7cCkecj8KZeDaoP_3PoV_-D4qjVoePehglbdKAxffK9eluExvx3hQKQKREVMh_0nlje6Qv6BCt1HIgdVi4VomdSkFtI-VMLSDxReJxgF2teup2wW0TZ05M/s1600/fat-squirrel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZENJPqSK61ONLHpigoiNJ7cCkecj8KZeDaoP_3PoV_-D4qjVoePehglbdKAxffK9eluExvx3hQKQKREVMh_0nlje6Qv6BCt1HIgdVi4VomdSkFtI-VMLSDxReJxgF2teup2wW0TZ05M/s1600/fat-squirrel.jpg" title="fat squirrel obese animals" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Writing is one of those activities that allows a person to escape into their own mind where they can weave a safe fantasy that protects them from whatever it is that they do not want to confront in real life, but it is a very sedentary activity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In 2012, I was trapped financially in a relationship with a man who was happy I couldn't leave him. His insults increased proportionately to the degree I was stuck at his mercy. It's a long story how I got there and I'm not proud to explain why I stayed so long, but the fact is that I did. There were many weeks when he left and I had no food. And the more I reluctantly fasted, the more weight I seemed to gain. I was ashamed of myself for the way I looked, the way I felt and the fact that all the bruises I collected were invisible and dealt from the hands of a man who superficially seemed like a successful mature partner.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In 2013, I finally fled. There are few pictures of what I looked like at the time that I got the courage to demand a one way ticket to a friend's house to my own country. And it is no coincidence that it happened only a few days after my laptop was stolen in a local coffee shop.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My writing had become the preservation I needed to survive the grim circumstances and without my laptop I had to leave. Even two days without writing was too many for me. Of course, my life didn't take a straight line from his door to full recovery. I went back to him once. I spent time being angry. I grieved the relationship and slowly I got to a place where he just did not matter. He was the past.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">During this time, I still revised my novel and spent a lot of time writing, but I was not as sedentary. I was still newly obese, but I wasn't ashamed. There is a natural motion involved in living a free life. Things had not become easy or perfect, but I started to have the sort of bright and brilliant moments that I had been missing. I wasn't being controlled. I wasn't humiliated. Walking became a pleasure again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The reflection of my large bloated body didn't scare me when I walked past the shops around town, because the expression on my face had changed. I was beautiful inside again and I didn't care who saw me or what anyone thought. And it was a very natural c-o-i-n-c-i-d-e-n-c-e that my health improved and my body, which had grown sluggish and painful started to heal. I can say for certain that being overweight really means absolutely nothing except when you've been conditioned to hate yourself then it means everything.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I didn't diet. I didn't exercise regularly. I didn't follow anyone's advice. I just did the things that made me feel good, which involved a lot of coffee and chocolate and walking with my head up high. And all the time that I had been with him, I did not make the connection. I thought I was getting fat, because I spent too much time writing. I was a furious dieter trying everything to stop the slow and steady weight gain, but it was not the sedentary life of a writer that caused it. It was not my love of food and snacking while I wrote.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was all just a random act of nature without any clear cohesive line between cause and effect. I don't know how much truth there is in Masaru Emoto's Rice Experiment, but I have a deeper appreciation today for what words can do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/Ehlw-9PJkIE" width="480"></iframe><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Words contain the ideas and beliefs that shape our worlds. The way we share them is a choice. They can protect us and insulate us. They can break our hearts, heal our wounds and transport us through space and time. Words are power.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My happy ending is not a full recovery from the financial and emotional devastation of an emotionally abusive relationship. It's the end of a chapter in my life when I was confused about my own worth. A time when I was controlled.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I walked away from the situation with a finished novel and clarity about what made me fat and sick. Writing does not make me fat. Sitting does not make me feel ill. It was living with the wrong words being spoken and repeated day after day. Somehow these words made me fat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I can't explain it. I can't justify this position, but I know now that I have to look around when I am writing and take a full assessment of my circumstances. Writing can be an escape or it can be a way of coping with something that should end.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Today, I'm feeling pretty healthy again. Only a few months ago, I went back and faced my ex-boyfriend so I could retrieve the belongings I had abandoned in my little prison. After a year left alone with his own words, the formerly athletic emotional abuser had had only himself to hurt. And in that year while I was recovering, he had gained every kilogram that I had lost.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I hope he stops someday.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggoyDeyMaekYJsd1kqpTUnPlSZ_setpKKuwJ9BdmT3WgbD4FrusdHosqbf9Qno04HvS3J8RqQp2ja3yiPtLfYHh5FCtX2WKvfKDkgme6s1iLMSXYJm4GPmCvzhE1cBW5Eys13qCE_ykM0/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggoyDeyMaekYJsd1kqpTUnPlSZ_setpKKuwJ9BdmT3WgbD4FrusdHosqbf9Qno04HvS3J8RqQp2ja3yiPtLfYHh5FCtX2WKvfKDkgme6s1iLMSXYJm4GPmCvzhE1cBW5Eys13qCE_ykM0/s1600/images.jpeg" title="Words hurt the most" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If I ever find myself suffering again, I won't assume it's because I'm a writer. I'll close the laptop and look around me. I'll take a walk and ask myself if I'm happy. Do I feel well? Am I living fully or am I just coping?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was not the weight that was the problem. It was not the writing. It was not even the boyfriend. It was all about the words I lived with and the power they held over me. And I have to choose them everyday, thoughtfully, carefully and with love whether they're in my stories or my relationships.</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-46785328428788834292014-07-06T19:08:00.002-07:002016-01-12T10:30:56.130-08:00Painting an Aspen Forest and Not Writing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A lot has happened in the last month. I finished a job contract in New Zealand. Moved to North Carolina to spend time with my son. Started working in a bookstore. What I haven't been doing? Writing. No writing. No editing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, I have been painting. Acrylics were my original creative outlet and I've had a set of paints and brushes tucked away in a fishing tackle box since college. At some point, painting became laborious and slow. I couldn't finish what I started. I had too many ideas rumbling below the surface never to emerge.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Blue + Red + Green = Nice dark background</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After painting a few simple <a href="http://imgur.com/gallery/UbCeB">monotone forests and space scenes</a>, my son asked me to do something more detailed. And since that was the same request I keep getting from the people beta reading my post apocalyptic novel, it started to feel like a theme.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidupPhduJUubnuC9BnPVXYLovj7q_XcHU3ZHjvsMOXc40KV8aKgU7yNKWmX_OO22d_io7WMsTlqWHggvFUtUXEwfFWWbk2xrvpdZPw2mhYABfxYN5GZqEyZI7rCsl9ROnpYxKZA9G4CUc/s1600/IMG_0046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidupPhduJUubnuC9BnPVXYLovj7q_XcHU3ZHjvsMOXc40KV8aKgU7yNKWmX_OO22d_io7WMsTlqWHggvFUtUXEwfFWWbk2xrvpdZPw2mhYABfxYN5GZqEyZI7rCsl9ROnpYxKZA9G4CUc/s1600/IMG_0046.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Lavender outlines of trees and foliage</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Getting the general idea for a story or a painting is easy. Just as with writing, it takes just as long to develop a good plan as it does to execute it effectively. Researching a painting usually brings to collect three or four images to incorporate.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjecLX5HSkvIS8YuVK1FwV8ozOPcES3H2nUfBER8z6DeBgKKAe87w4bCxbu9ppPfalTPOhFUgXJMLN8kBKrfJffH5KRx7MAEXghNufCN0eZ8lM78xgLc1WL6GkS4WI4wOCjVvOuLUvdIT0/s1600/IMG_0047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjecLX5HSkvIS8YuVK1FwV8ozOPcES3H2nUfBER8z6DeBgKKAe87w4bCxbu9ppPfalTPOhFUgXJMLN8kBKrfJffH5KRx7MAEXghNufCN0eZ8lM78xgLc1WL6GkS4WI4wOCjVvOuLUvdIT0/s1600/IMG_0047.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Basic forms in white, yellow and orange</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Writing on the other hand is like painting a thousand pictures and adding detail to the work requires remembering each of those thousand pictures long after you've stopped working on them. Took me two years writing before I found a good software to help with that.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVcxvnQdnOC6hRBp7hyDfdat5ly5w-Vok093pnYltIEQcpBmyAAzRIMEL_X9jYteDjX36VX9sC0ocnZYNOrWINrTcPZHE4HV2J85Wa4p8OH4XhItF5BXqfo0VBdrLyLz0b3EJ2M8GuRlI/s1600/IMG_0048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVcxvnQdnOC6hRBp7hyDfdat5ly5w-Vok093pnYltIEQcpBmyAAzRIMEL_X9jYteDjX36VX9sC0ocnZYNOrWINrTcPZHE4HV2J85Wa4p8OH4XhItF5BXqfo0VBdrLyLz0b3EJ2M8GuRlI/s1600/IMG_0048.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Added some sky and some more trees</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwdfBVyp9QmESi4AlzQ9pk-tJ-2f-q2woJPXS2RR4DYoUpERmN4F2bmrHY-EqV_zc3O927RHYngVbujrBg3ghJTlNazD2aXMlhSpyRBMIVsf6BfTy37LuuSEQLtjwp-ndCffFPyLyCRn0/s1600/IMG_0049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img alt="" border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwdfBVyp9QmESi4AlzQ9pk-tJ-2f-q2woJPXS2RR4DYoUpERmN4F2bmrHY-EqV_zc3O927RHYngVbujrBg3ghJTlNazD2aXMlhSpyRBMIVsf6BfTy37LuuSEQLtjwp-ndCffFPyLyCRn0/s1600/IMG_0049.jpg" title="how to paint trees aspen forrest acrylics" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Added a few yellow and white glazes to the trees</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here we are. This is it. The turning point. No matter whether I'm painting or writing, I reach this stage in the creative process when I'm satisfied that I've done well and I loose all confidence that I can finish the work without somehow ruining it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've realized that with my paintings, I can keep going. Writing is a newer form of expression for me, which I find more agonizing to complete.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwS-Jn6mYosYR4F8rx3Ouv0kw-afbyubLM3a5mNdR7vBCVmX4s2NqRd8GJAQkDL2XLcwLKTeazwTIZ7WHU2NvkUBix9oMnZDpI7-eJdM61UppXpvLht2CDjOwhW01LiZE0IhOvgkxGTq0/s1600/IMG_0050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img alt="" border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwS-Jn6mYosYR4F8rx3Ouv0kw-afbyubLM3a5mNdR7vBCVmX4s2NqRd8GJAQkDL2XLcwLKTeazwTIZ7WHU2NvkUBix9oMnZDpI7-eJdM61UppXpvLht2CDjOwhW01LiZE0IhOvgkxGTq0/s1600/IMG_0050.jpg" title="trees painting how to" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some detail</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> From the basic shapes to the finished work, I spend twice the time. I fix it. I change it. I add depth. I revise. In every manner, this corresponds to the writing process. Only, I have much more practice painting. I know that when I screw something up that I can adjust it and change it back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Confidence is learned through the process of making many many mistakes and surviving them.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7qJv3CcHSE1ujWkeMHro5Cr3CiNtqupEo1RFjNZv_j_lnl40LI9uB3lW_K3v9La2-mQkt9ArP6lacjkTYNLDdcvfSWt9tA0PbrZpYFjGndntB8uNJePYeJQwseRYswmlYWxp9oetdD84/s1600/IMG_0053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img alt="" border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7qJv3CcHSE1ujWkeMHro5Cr3CiNtqupEo1RFjNZv_j_lnl40LI9uB3lW_K3v9La2-mQkt9ArP6lacjkTYNLDdcvfSWt9tA0PbrZpYFjGndntB8uNJePYeJQwseRYswmlYWxp9oetdD84/s1600/IMG_0053.JPG" title="aspen forrest acrylic painting trees stages" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some more detail</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFYN6GueDxwwJd9ZNjbeYeCxsiBGGNenIUBjoKr7-LVfKeRfyQv-8UGgBPGuE5NY9MWzv2yXTZcAv7DpKZt30LYzM2Xm4N7b6FDkOtVXbHAU3tvBtsxbWhRlz3hl2qowh0DVDebkzFNjc/s1600/IMG_0054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img alt="Apsen forrest acrylic painting stages" border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFYN6GueDxwwJd9ZNjbeYeCxsiBGGNenIUBjoKr7-LVfKeRfyQv-8UGgBPGuE5NY9MWzv2yXTZcAv7DpKZt30LYzM2Xm4N7b6FDkOtVXbHAU3tvBtsxbWhRlz3hl2qowh0DVDebkzFNjc/s1600/IMG_0054.JPG" title="" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Brighter colors and more detail</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After I get to a stopping point, I almost always need to take a long pause, drink a few cups of coffee and consider what I've left out.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJS69DSIEMsLI_Ixv_MPPeCQb1isCyouhP-oX0MeeP3zxb73Ak3gBdUo2GG4C4vNLCMPtO8IE0F5umwbD6H_LWiVqsKk2K9klPBTakUD5Y8tL1_yJbM3wGlX_LLiW_eqg6OGknG3yGGW8/s1600/IMG_0055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img alt="Aspen forest acrylic painting" border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJS69DSIEMsLI_Ixv_MPPeCQb1isCyouhP-oX0MeeP3zxb73Ak3gBdUo2GG4C4vNLCMPtO8IE0F5umwbD6H_LWiVqsKk2K9klPBTakUD5Y8tL1_yJbM3wGlX_LLiW_eqg6OGknG3yGGW8/s1600/IMG_0055.JPG" title="" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Finishing touches</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'm never satisfied. I'm happy. I'm "done." But, looking at the final result, I could keep going and soften some of the edges. At the same time, I'm already planning the next project. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And writing is exactly like this, too. There is no point when something is finished. It ends when you let go and move on. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is the fundamental truth behind all artists and all artwork. We evolve. Our work evolves. These skills are developed over years and years of intense effort. The fact that anyone has the resolve and the patience to continue writing, drawing or whatever sparks their imagination is an intensely beautiful thing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I will go back and edit my book soon. But, for right now, I'm falling in love with acrylics all over again. Hopefully, if I'll feel the same about writing when I return.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17793875998545796607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5111209237423098991.post-61176409205962119912014-05-01T02:45:00.000-07:002014-05-01T02:45:49.860-07:008 Reasons I Became a Writer<ol>
<li><b>Money</b> - Let's face it. Most people are voracious readers who can't get enough of aspiring authors. And considering the average eBook retails for 99 dollars a copy...wait a minute. I think I forgot the decimal. Right. Sorry. Not money. Sure it seems like a plan at first. You own a computer. You have an imagination. But, becoming an author means putting yourself through an informal education more intense than therapy with Ayn Rand, starting your own business starting with only a toothpick on your list of assets and selling your soul after a careful and thorough market analysis - in whichever order makes most sense at the time.</li>
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<li><b>Fame </b>- No, I think I pretty much made the point with the first reason. You can't write to become rich and famous. That would be nice...maybe...but, it won't get you from the moment the idea first lands in your lap that<i> you </i>could be an author to the finished product of an actual novel plot and chapters. </li>
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<li><b>Immortality</b> - Now we are getting somewhere. There will be a record of my creativity even if only my friends and family read it. My grandfather wrote poems and printed them. I'm glad he did. After he died, I felt I knew him. And I felt I knew him in a way that I never could have experienced if he hadn't been an amateur poet. I want the people I know to feel that way about me, too, except regard me as being more talented.</li>
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<li><b>Revenge</b> - Admit it. Everyone knows someone that they'd love to run over with their car, but only writers can put the people under tires without guilt or jail time.</li>
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<li><b>Love </b>- I love people. No lie. I write to entertain. I loved the stories I grew up with that took me away from my troubles and helped me find the courage to face the worst circumstances. Life requires great bravery, but first we have to imagine what that looks like. Maybe that's why we love flawed characters in books. They convince us - not that flawed people can succeed - but that flawed people are worthy people. They are lovable people. </li>
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<li><b>Hope</b> - Yeah, okay, not the hope of a fantastic income, but in the pursuit of any creative process, I find myself feeling increasingly more and more hopeful. I begin to believe in positive outcomes. Even as my characters suffer and die, I find my hope renewed. I keep typing, because it becomes routine, but by becoming routine, it forces me to accept that what I am doing can and will have purpose. Or I would have to stop. But, I can't, because it is routine. I have no choice. I have to believe.</li>
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<li><b>Philosophy</b> - Sure it's a bit of a wild card for this particular list, but I don't mean a personal philosophy. I write because I was a Philosophy major during university. I have a passion for logic and ethics. I spent years reading ancient philosophers. Writing gives me the chance to share the things I love most and one of the things I love the most is mental masturbation.</li>
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<li><b>Coffee </b>- Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. What do you drink when you're writing? Coffee. Where do you write? Coffee shops. What do you write about? People who drink coffee. I admit it. I am a one dimensional coffee obsessed author. In my current novel, coffee has been genetically manipulated to transform people into Jinn and thus make human immortal. </li>
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Since I started writing, I can't imagine anything I would rather do with my spare time. I often meet people who tell me that they want to write and ask me how a person writes a book. I don't honestly know the answer to that question. I do know that writing has brought me closer to good friends and gives me a passion for the ordinary details of life.<br />
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I know it's not fair for someone to enjoy anything as much as I enjoy writing (and coffee), but I believe our short lives are made more meaningful by sharing them. Writing has not made me gobs of money, but it's brought all the things into my life that I could never buy and could not live without. And it's removed things from my life, which I am better off without.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCntLHInyG7eUxPUhevx6r8hdrLdnlcZoCykfhCN22WwjOXg_ltbMkNfRH-n2j8koJMEVAQTXl9JpOytbfytTwuBLMtCD8J3y7c97unUYRoOlCo-gEgPy57-arsbUzuQcs_SX_BbSrRU/s1600/4224_202853535303_2935735_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Writer Carrie Elisabeth Bailey" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCntLHInyG7eUxPUhevx6r8hdrLdnlcZoCykfhCN22WwjOXg_ltbMkNfRH-n2j8koJMEVAQTXl9JpOytbfytTwuBLMtCD8J3y7c97unUYRoOlCo-gEgPy57-arsbUzuQcs_SX_BbSrRU/s1600/4224_202853535303_2935735_n.jpg" height="224" title="" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carrie contemplating the meaning of writing</td></tr>
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