That’s right, it’s the proof copy of Household Lights! And it looks very spiffy indeed. I might be getting the hang of this book-construction thing; I only see two layout changes I want to make, and neither of them are critical. Come July 1, you can order one of these babies for yourself! Or you can hie yourself to your favorite store and preorder an ebook right now. And if you haven’t read Ryswyck yet, I’m plotting a summer special once I work out how to implement it across my distribution.
Now that the pandemic has roused the sleeping proletariat at least so far as to slap at the snooze button and miss, I’ve been thinking about professionalism in the modern age.
I was already thinking about it a little bit since watching (and re-watching) a Netflix documentary about the music mogul Clive Davis — which is really quite fascinating as a rich vein of artifacts in our cultural history. The documentary follows not just Davis’s career, but several careers of artists he’s worked with over the years; but to me the most interesting on a personal level was the career of Barry Manilow.
Now, people snicker behind their hands about Barry Manilow, and I admit I’m not a fan. But here’s the story: Manilow put out a record on a small label and it didn’t sell. Davis recruited him for Arista Records and put together a songwriter shop to compose him some hit singles. Then Manilow streaked to the top of the charts! But as his career progressed, he pushed back on singing songs he didn’t write himself, and worked out a compromise with Davis about the makeup of his albums.
It seems to me that there are some parallels between the music business and the book business. As Davis points out, you need a “continuity of hits” to remind people that you’re there and get them to take interest in the rest of your work. A similar pressure seems to be weighing on authors to be massively prolific so they can continue to meet their publisher’s ROI goals. And content outlets like Kindle Unlimited have turned books into a commodity that can be sold in bulk — and who knows how much of that money the author sees. I’m guessing it’s not much.
I didn’t know these things about the publishing industry when I was making my decisions what to do with Ryswyck. I plunged into the world of aspiring authors on Twitter and in writers’ and agents’ lists and forums; entered a few contests; wrote a few pitches. There was a pervading atmosphere of assembly-line marketing, and a tacit assumption that the apex goal of a writer’s schematic was to be accepted by an agent and publishing house and thus accorded the status of Professional Author.
I still feel the pull of that forlorn attraction. But even so, this seemed (and still seems) to me to be entirely backwards. As I saw it, the entire point of being a published author was to get the book I wrote into the world. I didn’t write a book as a means to obtain Pro Author status. I wasn’t interested in producing an upmarket, high-concept, trendsetting property of 110k words or less. I wanted to sell Ryswyck, which is (if I understand those buzzwords correctly) none of those things.
The disappointment was brief and acute. But I got up and dusted myself off, and shook out my Project Manager hat, and started making spreadsheets for all the things an independent author needs to do. And, as it turns out, really the signal difference between an independent author and a traditionally-published one is indeed that marker of status. My trad-pub author friends either have day jobs or families to support them; they do a great deal of their own marketing; their advances are designed to clear overhead and little more than that. Only the highest-grossing authors really make a living doing this; everybody else makes their living by doing “this” and some other stuff, including busting their hump to make appearances at cons and land speaking gigs.
So what makes a professional? In the modern age, we tend to judge it by the Olympic definition: a professional gets paid to compete, and an amateur pays for the privilege. But not all Olympic events are equal, and the more artistic ones suffer by this definition. Michael Jordan can play on the Dream Team and then go back to his highly-visible salaried position on a professional baskeball team; figure skaters, once they turn pro, are hardly heard from again unless they become commentators or you find yourself with tickets to an ice show. If I asked a 20-year-old who Kristi Yamaguchi is, would they know?
Our remaining tickets at the Symphony were cancelled due to the pandemic. Luckily, enough philanthropists have underwritten the losses that the professional musicians did not immediately lose their jobs. But: they’re still professionals…even if…they’re not getting paid. The performing arts are heavily subsidized by philanthropists; the publishing industry is heavily subsidized by the day jobs of their authors. And I doubt they buy their authors group health insurance either, but that’s a whole other ball of wax.
What makes a professional? Besides the Olympic definition, there’s the class theory definition: a professional is someone who completed an education or training course and has been certificated by the profession’s constituent authority. A tradesperson…sells goods or labor for their income. But very often they also have to get certified — I mean, you’re not going to hire an uncertified electrician for your house remodel. When I worked as a library paraprofessional — that is, a person with two degrees neither of which was a Library Science degree — I often thought that the market had become overprofessionalized. But now I think it’s the opposite: no one is a professional anymore; we are all in a trade. We all sell our labor and our goods for our living, only some (many) of us need some kind of certification to do so.
I don’t have the chops to go into how this is both levelling and massively difficult if not impossible in late-stage capitalism. Suffice it to say that while the publishing industry makes a good (if ruthless) business model, it makes a very poor guild.
If there’s a conclusion to be drawn from this, I don’t yet know what it is. Except that I think it’s high time we artists set about to rethink the definition of our professionalism and stop overlooking how much we subsidize our own careers. If these chin-stroking plutocrats admire feudalism so much, wait till they have a real guild to deal with.
Having learned the hard way not to push on a recalcitrant chapter before it’s ready to move, I put aside Chapter 6 of The Lantern Tower to await more comprehensive inspiration, and then pursued inspiration by other means, viz. freeform dreaming.
Which seems to have been somewhat fruitful. At least as fruitful as getting the eff off of Facebook except for short moments responding to contacts and crossposting from what Charlie Pierce calls “this here shebeen.” I’m not Boston Irish, so I’ll have to call this place something else.
I also took advantage of the holiday weekend so far as to pick up Household Lights, and the time away from the manuscript seems to have done some good; the problems I and my betas have identified I could view with greater clarity, and I’m about 70% of the way to a solution for them.
I’ve also made progress lining up cover art for the book, so (God willing and the creek don’t rise) I should be able to release Household Lights in mid-Spring as planned. Yay! Further updates as events warrant.
Honestly, as weekends in November go, this one wasn’t bad.
I got a scene finished in Chapter 3 of The Lantern Tower and started another. I’m introducing two new POV characters in this book, one of whom had a throwaway mention in Ryswyck which interested me enough to pull his thread, so now he’s in the story. I haven’t got round to the other one yet, but I’ve got lots of dialogue sketches socked away for when he appears.
This is not, as I may have mentioned, my optimum time of year, either creatively or mood-wise, so having produced two and a half chapters so far is rather a cause for cheer. Also, we’re off Daylight Saving Time, so getting into the last trough of time toward winter solstice is progress, of a sort.
Meanwhile, the new season has opened at the symphony, and I went on Saturday night with the usual suspects — three of us are coincidentally former senior wardens of our church, and perhaps less coincidentally, we have dinner beforehand at some place where we can drink well. I had a house Manhattan that was chalked up on their blackboard as “ABV = a lot” — so I only needed one.
And on the program this weekend was Bruckner’s Seventh. After Erica’s friend mentioned it as the background to her enjoyment of Ryswyck, I was curious to be in the same room with the piece. I think my main takeaways are: 1) yes, it’s long 2) if I am going to be hearing an extended restatement of several themes, I’m not sorry it’s these ones 3) Bruckner may have adulated Wagner but I know who I like better 4) it’s all still Very German, which is confusing to my Very Yorkshire genes 5) the program notes said that the third movement was based on the laendler and I was like, I don’t remember the Captain and Maria dancing to anything like this, are you sure? 6) I kind of like Wagner tubas however 7) the piece afforded some awesome opportunities for sections to play in a rich unison, showing off how well they blend, which means that 8) the KCS played it very well indeed. Someone yelled “BRA-VO” before the reverb of the last note cleared, and one of the violas bounced in her chair at the end, obviously having fun.
So, clearly I owe N. a Belfry Manhattan (ABV = a lot), not just for adding enjoyment to my musical calendar, but also for reccing Ryswyck in multiple venues. She’s responsible for more of my recent sales than I am, I’d judge!
Tune in next time for…I don’t know what. Probably I should wrap up the Alter series before the year ends. We’ll see how many brain cells I can scare up before solstice.
Now that the conference is in the rearview and work has calmed down a little, I should be back to posting Genuwyne Quality Content on the regular. Starting with a small gallery of my Albuquerque trip.
I took 250+ shots of the Balloon Fiesta ascension, culled those for FB posts, and then drew a tiny representative sample for this post. In the midst of working the conference, my fencing buddy S, who introduced me to Beth in the first place, flew in to ABQ, rented a car, and picked me up for a side trip to Santa Fe for Beth’s gallery opening reception, which was amazing, of course. You can see why I was so honored for Beth to make room for Ryswyck on her easel! (And obviously I need to get on the stick and read more Ray Bradbury.)
Speaking of Ryswyck, somewhere in the midst of prep work and travel and long hours, I’ve managed to finish two chapters of The Lantern Tower. This is not at all my prolific time of year, but I’ll eke out whatever I can in the fall months. The themes so far appear to be secrets and shock tests, and unsurprisingly du Rau is responsible for a lot of that. I suppose it’s his revenge for my not using his POV this go-round.
It’s been rather busy chez moi, as my work has just concluded their fall conference here in town. A lot of rolling out of bed at Oh My God It’s Early, putting on actualfax makeup, and tooling downtown in my nice work clothes in the pre-dawn, then dragging back to trip over the kitty at sundown. It’s a lot of work, but it is fun to see our members at these things. One conference down, one more to go before the year’s end.
Meanwhile, I decided to move on from storyboarding to actual work on the sequel to Ryswyck, which I’m calling The Lantern Tower. I have the first chapter finished and the second chapter started. When I’m working on a project, there’s sort of a breathing rhythm between my efforts to nail down an outline of the plot with lists of scenes and sketches of dialogue, and points at which I have to just start writing to draw down the pressure and provoke more insight. I’ll probably write until I hit a sticking place, let it percolate, and turn back to editing Household Lights, which I hope to get out next spring. It’s not really multitasking; it’s sequence tasking. I loathe multitasking both as a concept and as a requirement: I mean, does anybody really thrive on doing five things at once with equal quality? Don’t tell me if you do.
Anyway, some things about The Lantern Tower. I’ll be introducing two new viewpoint characters and changing POVs on a couple of others. I’ve already got some scenes sketched, and have organized the movements into roughly five short acts. And boy am I glad I siphoned off the opening sequence for Household Lights — that first chapter was a hell of a lot easier to write without dragging that weight.
There’ll be fencing, both literal and metaphorical, court intrigue, spycraft, love, hate, kissing, fightin’ words, secrets, reluctant partnerships, a dash of hurt/comfort, and of course beloved enemies. I wouldn’t tell myself a story without that!
So that’s the state of the state. Now, I must sally forth to get some goodies for the concert my church is hosting. Carry on, as you were, &c.
Once a year the religious community I belong to gets together for an annual meeting, in which business is accomplished, Eucharists are celebrated, songs are sung, and wine corks are popped. This year we were at the Sisters of St. Joseph Carondelet retreat center in St. Louis. The century-plus-old monastery is right on the river, and of course at the moment it’s even more right on the river than usual: all the rivers in the broad vicinity are vast expanses of opaque and purling water, draining as best it can toward the distant Gulf of Mexico. I had booked a train trip out there, but due to diverted freight traffic Amtrak was forced to bus us to and from our destinations: cue me making a face. I’ve actually seriously considered abandoning my usual stance of recreational complaining and writing a Strongly Worded Letter lamenting our collective priorities when it comes to infrastructure. Of course, I can do both.
Disappointing non-train trips aside, it was great to reconnect with my companions, to breathe back life into the round of daily prayers, to sit and talk late into the evening with popcorn and snacks and wine, and to remember what is so valuable about holding our lives in common. Our collective charism is an undergirding to what we do in the places where we are, and we all wish for more than one chance a year to refresh that knowledge.
Now I’m back at my desk and back to work, and making my plans for the next months. Launching Ryswyck was six months of really hard work, and slowly but surely it is paying off; but I’m definitely ready to recharge.
So I think I’m going to put aside the ‘verse for a month — not do any writing, or any stewing about not writing — and read. When writers who are just starting out ask me for advice about how to develop their writing, I agree with all the authors who say: read. Read a lot or read a little, read good books or read bad ones, read people you know and people you don’t know (and that goes for both authors and POV characters), read in familiar genres and in genres you’ve never touched.
I believe in this advice wholeheartedly: more than half of what I know about writing comes from studying my favorite books — or any books — and working out how the authors did it. (The other half comes from failing again and failing better, because you have to do that too.) But. While I am in the actual act and process of writing, I just can’t spare much headspace for consuming new books. While I am writing, most of my reading consists of making dinner and then opening a Vorkosigan omnibus to a random page, or something similar.
So when I’ve finished a project, or a stage in a project, I’ve started taking reading sabbaticals, seeking out books I haven’t read a billion times and opening new thought-territory. Plus, it pays to keep up with one’s field.
While I was on the road for work, I read the first book and half the second of the Steerswoman series by Rosemary Kirstein, and have been enjoying that very much. So I’ll get back to those. And then there are always the monthly reads for my book club, which always comprehend a great variety.
But I want recs. What are you reading right now? I’d like to read something new, or something old brought back from the margins. Something a middle-aging white Midwesterner might not run across on her own; something that has a damn good story to it. Or: something you want to read but haven’t got to yet.
That sort of thing. Or as my sister likes to say: Okay, recs, go.
Though, as promised, the paperback has been launched a few days early. Thank you to the folks who participated in my little marketing research survey; but even with advance planning it turns out I underestimated the amount of time it would take author copies to ship. If you order your paperback now, you will probably still get it faster than I will get the order I placed three days ago.
For my readers’ added convenience I’ve placed quick links to distributors on the home page; for now, Amazon is the only venue where a paper copy is available, but for those who read their books in pixels, there are several choices. Ryswyck is now also up at Overdrive (and other library purchasing channels!) — so my posse of librarians, you know what to do — !
There’s also a Goodreads link for those of you who are members there. While you wait for your copy to arrive, you can mark Ryswyck “Want to Read” — and when you’ve read it, please do leave a review either there or at the venue of your choice. Remember, this is for posterity, so please be honest. (I’ll give a donut to the first person to identify that reference!)
As for me: while I’m definitely excited about launching the result of my labors so that others can read it, one very satisfying box has already been checked. As I’ve mentioned before, getting to read this book was a prime motivator for writing it, and since my proof copy arrived, it’s traveled from my bedside table to my livingroom couch to my patio to the bar at my local pub — all favorite places of mine to read (although at the latter I do tend to divide my attention between reading material and Royals games). And since generating the proof, I have tweaked the book to be even more like the product I envisioned. It pleases me, and I’m proud of it, and all the branding work I’ve done basically boils down to that.
In preparation for the Memorial Day festivities, your intrepid author is making a list and checking it twice planning for the softcover launch ahead of time. I’ve talked to any number of folks who’ve mentioned wanting to purchase a paperback copy of Ryswyck, including those who were all ready to roll up and put their names on the proverbial Girl Scout cookie order sheet.
So here it is. In fact this is better than ordering Girl Scout cookies, because you won’t be reaching into an empty sleeve and wondering where the hell all your Thin Mints went. With a book, you can read it more than once!
So, if you’re one of those people who wants a paperback, please use the form below to order 5 boxes of Caramel Dee-Lites — no, give the author 5 boxes of Caramel Dee-Lites — no, hang it, I mean let the author know your intentions so she can plan accordingly. (The author is certainly not going to promise that a gift of cookies will expedite a local distribution order. Nope, no indeed.)
All facetiousness aside, I promise not to make nefarious (or possibly even noticeable) use of your email, or expose it to spammers, or put you on my newsletter subscription list — I’d have to start producing a newsletter first. (Which I may do in the future, with a separate signup.)