Sandra Tayler's Blog, page 69

Not All Likes are Created Equal

I’ve been doing a social media push these past couple of weeks to promote One Cobble and Hold on to Your Horses. I should probably call it a social media creep, because I’m reluctant to be pushy. So much so, that my sister, who was watching for announcements and information, did not see any. She suggested I might want to increase the volume just a little to get any results.

My reluctance stems from a belief that merely collecting Likes or followers is not inherently beneficial. The person who is excited and interested in Hold Horses will click Like, watch for updates, and be a willing supporter of the sequel. Someone who has just clicked Like in order to enter a contest or win a freebie will probably evaporate when the time comes to support the sequel. I could be wrong about that. It could be that once people show up, they’ll stay and become engaged. I just feel better about hawking my wares if I believe I’m talking to an audience who wants to hear about them. I’m not trying to inflate the number of Likes on the Hold Horses page, I’m trying to use the number of Likes to gauge interest in a sequel. That effort will fail if I use contests or giveaways to artificially inflate the number of Likes. this article is most talking about how buying likes leads to false search data, but it also supports what I’m saying. Spending money and effort to acquire Likes or followers is wasted. Instead I must focus on creating compelling content and use social media to help people become aware that the content is available. Good content + awareness = a growing group of people interested in new projects.

So I’m working hard to be content with a slow-growth model of building fanbase. Yes I get impatient. Yes sometimes I feel like I’m tap dancing to an empty theater or an unresponsive crowd. But I’m still pretty convinced that this is the right way for me to approach social media. I just hope I can build up enough momentum to support the sequel I want to do.

Comments are open on the original post at onecobble.com.

Thoughts on Writing and Being Careful

I read a piece on how to write courageous memoir and came away understanding why my book of essays is never likely to sell. Memoir needs to pull no punches. To succeed at memoir, one has to be willing to offend relatives and friends. All those things which are politely not said need to be on display. I see what the article meant because I’ve read some careful memoir and I was constantly wishing I could have the whole story instead of the pieces I was given.

I am careful when I write, because words are like knives. If I leave them laying around carelessly they have the ability to cut long after I’ve moved on to something else. Sometimes things need to be cut, this is what knives are for, but no one wants to cut carelessly. When I write I follow an oath similar to a doctors, first do no harm. I can’t succeed of course. We are all of us causing offense every day of our lives without even meaning to. Just two days ago the guy behind me in his truck flipped me off because I chose to stomp the brake instead of the gas at a yellow light. I will offend. Sometimes my words will wound even when I don’t mean them to. Yet I can do my best to wield my words carefully, aim my cuts precisely, and reduce collateral damage.

It may be denial, but I have to believe that I can be careful with my words and still write things that are powerful. I have to believe that just because something I write is not easily marketable, it still can find an audience of people who both love it and need it. The spiritual guidance I receive seems to support this idea. I know that Stepping Stones was important, is important. I felt that when I was writing it. The multi-dozen rejections it has had since then do not change that. However my logic brain is also wary, because God’s idea of important may be very different than mine. I want important to mean that it goes out into the world and inspires people. It is possible that the real importance is that writing the book changed me.

So this turns out to be yet another post in which I ramble to myself in a way that justifies me continuing to write. I wanted to write something else, but these thoughts were on top and needed to be written before I could get to whatever comes next.

Comments are open on the original post at onecobble.com.

Running Away to Antelope Island

This afternoon I dropped all my responsibilities to go walk in knee-deep snow on Antelope Island. I have a good life full of good things, but sometimes I can’t see them as good until I run away from them for a little while. So my friend and I went to a place where the snow was covered in animal tracks and very few people tracks.

Even out at Fielding Garr Ranch, where there were people structures, most of the tracks were supplied by four legged critters. We walked out on the beach where all the sand was covered in snow. Some steps we walked along a crust on the top of the snow and it crunched under our feet. Other steps found us knee deep in fluffy flakes. We plowed our way through heading toward the water. It was only when I looked back at our tracks and they were wet that we realized we were already beyond the water’s edge. We’d walked out onto the ice.

The silence is something I always notice when out on the island. This time I only noticed it when I stood still. The rest of the time the crunching of snow and my own laughter filled my ears. It is hard not to laugh when trying to walk in the tracks left by a buffalo. His ambling steps required me to make over-long strides which probably would have qualified me for the Ministry of Silly Walks.

It was cold, a mere twenty degrees, but it did not feel cold at first. We were having too much fun exploring and making tracks. Later we felt cold, because our breaks in the car to warm up allowed the snow gathered on pant legs and socks to melt and make the fabric wet. Even then we did not mind. The cold was worth it to crunch through glittering snow, see a great horned owl roosting in a tree, see a barn owl out hunting, look at little mouse tracks across the snow, read in the circling tracks how a fox caught and ate a rabbit. We saw the fox himself later as he paused to make eye contact with a passing buffalo. There were other cars on the island, but we were the only ones to venture forth knee deep in snow.

When I close my eyes I can see the glittering snow, I feel the cold on my face, and I know I have to go back again.

Comments are open on the original post at onecobble.com.

Shipping Cups and Hats

This has not been a writing day. It has been a sorting invoices, printing postage, assembling boxes, filling boxes, labeling boxes, packages for the mailman kind of day. I’m most of the way done. By tomorrow at noon I should have all the cup and hat orders shipped. That would be lovely and then I could stare at nothing for awhile to see if my writer thoughts creep out of hiding.

Comments are open on the original post at onecobble.com.

Being a Teenage Geek Girl

“Mr. P says that in ten years of teaching Science Fiction, this is the first time he’s had a class with more girls than boys.” Kiki told me as I drove her home from school. I had been startled to learn that a high school had a Science Fiction Literature class at all, but it does, and Kiki signed up for it. Apparently so did many other girls. Kiki has geeky girl friends who will agonize with her over Avatar The Last Airbender or the latest video game story. I had male friends who would talk these things, but no girls. None of the girls I knew really got it. Or at least they didn’t seem to.

In high school I was in full geek girl stealth mode. I borrowed Esprit sweatshirts from my friends, had slumber parties, went to dances. I enjoyed all of this things, but there was a whole list of things that I also enjoyed only at home. I watched Star Trek and Doctor Who. I played Dungeons and Dragons with my siblings. I read fantasy books. I wonder now how many other geek girls there were out there, also stealthed.

My daughter’s geek girl experience has been different. She and her friends have video game parties. She wears a Halo hat to school. She carried a bag embroidered with dice and the words “Bag of Holding” and got compliments for it instead of ridicule. She has never been teased for any of these things. She never felt like she had to hide these things in order to successfully navigate the social scene at school. It is possible that she is braver than I was, more geeky. However I also think there has been a significant social shift which makes it okay for girls to like these things. This shift is evidenced by the Sci Fi Lit class which now has more girls than boys when ten years ago it was exclusively male.

I’m glad for my daughters that this is so.

Comments are open on the original post at onecobble.com.

Letter Month 2013

My friend Mary Robinette Kowal is once again issuing a month of letters challenge. I participated in this challenge last year and thoroughly enjoyed it, not just because of the fun of getting and sending letters during the month of February, but also because it gave back to me something I had lost. I didn’t even think to miss it before Mary asked people to write her letters on paper. These days I so rarely write things for an audience of one, but in a letter I do exactly that. Every sentence is intended just for the person who receives it. Even when the month was over, I’ve continued sending letters because it adds joy to my life. It is a small gift I can give to people I love, people with whom I want to connect. Friendships thrive and grow deep when the people involved have more than one point of contact: Neighbors and work out buddies, Twitter friend and person to hang with at conventions, facebook friend and shopping companion. I’ve discovered in letter writing an additional point of contact and I enjoy it a lot. So I am again picking up the challenge to mail something every day in February. Packages ordered by customers don’t count. I’ll also write a letter back to anyone who writes to me.

Sandra Tayler

PO Box 385

Orem UT 84059

Will you also pick up the challenge? You can read Mary’s challenge here. There are also links to forums and communities where you can talk letter writing with other folk. Lots of people are exchanging addresses, talking pens, acquiring paper, and generally preparing to begin.

Comments are open on the original post at onecobble.com.

Link’s Cheevo Book

“I definitely earned the cheevo for agony.” Link said as we drove away from the doctor’s office. It took me a moment to parse this statement and I only half succeeded when I remembered that cheevo is video gamer slang for achievement. It refers to badges one can earn by accomplishing things in video games. We had not been playing video games, we’d just exited the doctor’s office after having Link’s ingrown toenail removed.

“You earned a cheevo?” I said, trying to sound like I knew what he was talking about while gathering more information.

“Yup. I need to write it down in my notebook.”

“You have a notebook for cheevos?” I was an awesome conversationalist on this particular day.

“The one I got in my stocking for Christmas. I’m using it to keep track of all my cheevos.”

Further conversation clarified that when Link is faced with something challenging, he makes a cheevo for it in his book. When he accomplishes that difficult thing, he draws himself a little badge as a reward. It seems to me that a notebook full of cheevos is a good thing to have. I love that he made it for himself.

Comments are open on the original post at onecobble.com.

Link’s Chievo Book

“I definitely earned the chievo for agony.” Link said as we drove away from the doctor’s office. It took me a moment to parse this statement and I only half succeeded when I remembered that chievo is video gamer slang for achievement. It refers to badges one can earn by accomplishing things in video games. We had not been playing video games, we’d just exited the doctor’s office after having Link’s ingrown toenail removed.

“You earned a chievo?” I said, trying to sound like I knew what he was talking about while gathering more information.

“Yup. I need to write it down in my notebook.”

“You have a notebook for chievos?” I was an awesome conversationalist on this particular day.

“The one I got in my stocking for Christmas. I’m using it to keep track of all my chievos.”

Further conversation clarified that when Link is faced with something challenging, he makes a chievo for it in his book. When he accomplishes that difficult thing, he draws himself a little badge as a reward. It seems to me that a notebook full of chievos is a good thing to have. I love that he made it for himself.

Comments are open on the original post at onecobble.com.

Forty Year Old Eyes

I’ve been looking forward to turning forty. I planned to reach my birthday and proclaim my age in defiance of cultural custom where women either dread their fortieth birthday or lie about their ages, or both. But lately my eyes have been harder to focus. What used to happen in an unnoticeable instant now takes an extra minute. It is like the lag on a slow internet connection. I have also been getting some headaches. So I trundled myself off to an eye doctor thinking that perhaps my glasses needed updating. I’ve had them for eight years. They’re due. I got there and described my troubles.

“How old are you?” asked the doctor

“Forty in two weeks.”

“Ah. The forties are not good to eyes.” He then described how I could expect things to get worse, advised that maybe I could look under my glasses when trying to focus close, and said that when it gets to the point that I’m holding books at arms length it’ll be time for bifocals. He also told me that once a person starts noticing vision differences, things deteriorate pretty quickly.

Why was I looking forward to forty again?

It is silly to be upset by a predictable body shift. I knew that eyes change as they get older. I knew that people have to get reading glasses and bifocals. Yet I am upset and I’m trying to untangle why. Perhaps it is the dissonance. Bifocals, having to hold books at a distance, and large print editions are all things I associate with being old. But I don’t feel old. Forty isn’t old. Yet forty is when these vision changes tend to begin.

The doctor ushered me out to the showroom area saying “If you’re interested in frames, these lovely ladies will be happy to help you.” The lovely ladies in question were completely absorbed by their computers, except for the one who was leaning against the wall and chatting with one of the computer ladies. I shuffled my way down the rows of frames, not really seeing them. Picking out something to wear on my face every day for the next several years felt too daunting. I dutifully looked at each frame in each row while the lovely ladies continued to ignore me. When I reached the last row I knew I was too occupied with the thoughts in my head to be able to decide on glasses, so I walked off into the larger store. Yes, I went to an optometrist inside a big box store. Eight years ago they were fine. This time the service was underwhelming. The only problem was that I’d walked off without paying for the exam, a fact I remembered later when I got home. Which meant I had to go back out into the cold and drive back to the store to pay. It was a forgetful/distracted act of the sort which usually causes me to spout profuse apologies. I couldn’t find the energy to apologize when they’d neglected to provide any sort of customer service at all. I do take a strange satisfaction in the fact that I arrived to pay just after they’d clocked out. So I did cause them some inconvenience, though I’m not sure if that is matched by me having to spend an additional 15 minutes driving in a sub-freezing vehicle.

While I was at the big box store I returned an item and went to go pick up one other thing that Howard asked me to get. I was also supposed to pick up a treat for the kids. Except I couldn’t remember what Howard asked me to get. I called him for help remembering. Then I paid and left only to remember that I was supposed to get a treat too. So I went back into the store and purchased the treats in a separate transaction. Yesterday was not a good day for focused attention to detail.

The next day things look brighter. They usually do. Which is why one of the optical purchases I’ll be making will be a pair of non-metaphorical sunglasses. I’m tired of having to squint will driving in the snow which continues to cover every available outdoor surface. As for growing older, I suspect I’m having the forty year old version of the upset Gleek had a couple of weeks ago when she curled into my lap and cried because she doesn’t want to grow up. All of my kids have had a similar cry right around the time that they turn twelve. I’m having my moment of “getting old” angst. This means it is time for me to get on with living my life so that forty is a good place to be.

Comments are open on the original post at onecobble.com.

Renewing My Spaces

Every so often we would look at our walls and say “We really need to repaint.” Sometimes the words were triggered by corners where the paint had completely chipped away, other times it was contemplating the way that dirt collected on the sections of walls in front of the studs, thus creating a grid pattern in dirt. The declaration of the need to paint was always a launching point for the conversation, because if we were going to improve why stop with paint. “These cupboard need to go. The drawer fronts are breaking off. While we’re at it we should move the pantry and knock out this wall to connect the kitchen and the front room. Then we can expand off the back to add a dining room.” Soon we’ve imagined spending enough money to double our mortgage and the whole project gets filed in the “when we can afford it” pile to get dusty.

The problem is that the state of the walls triggered this sort of conversation increasingly often. We began to feel like the house is falling apart and we were powerless to fix it. We weren’t. It just required me to think about it differently. I had to think of fixing the house in small pieces rather than in massive projects. I had to apply the “do a little every day” philosophy which does not come naturally to me, but which I’ve learned is amazingly effective at getting things done. I needed to see the need for paint and treat that as a project in itself rather than as a small piece of a larger project. I’ve been staring at ugly paint in the front room for the last ten years. Putting new paint on the walls took $80 and 15 hours of work. I spread out that work over a week and a half, moving furniture and washing walls, masking, and only on the final two days breaking out the drop cloths and paint. Now the walls of my front room make me feel accomplished instead of helpless. It leaves me excited to proceed with putting on baseboards and finally replacing that stupid plastic windowsill which we’ve hated since the day we moved into the house fifteen years ago. Each of these projects takes some time, but if I spread out the work it becomes and enjoyable project rather than a massive and disruptive effort.

How we arrange our physical spaces can have a major effect on our mental spaces. I noticed this when we remodeled my office last year. The moment when I realized it was possible to remove a wall and join a closet into the room let me imagine the room I wanted instead of the room I was stuck with. I don’t think it is coincidence that I’ve been finding mental energy for my writing and projects since I created a physical space for them. So now that the walls in my front room are a pleasure to look at, I’m also looking around the room and thinking “What do I need this space to be?” Our front room should be a home for our antique piano, a place where people can enter our house and sit down to visit, and a staging area for things entering and exiting the house. It’s done fairly well at two out of three, but I don’t know that it has every succeeded at being a pleasant place to sit and visit. We’re going to fix that. Fixing it will require me to once again knock down a closet wall. It’s not that I have a thing against closets. I like them a lot, but not when they’re plunked in the middle of floor space which could best be used for actual living.

Little by little this house is going to be customized for the way we live. It will be full of small thoughtful details because such things delight me, and making my home full of small happy details seems like a worthwhile pursuit. The process will be slow, because both money and time have to be carefully apportioned, but $80 and 15 hours is well worth being able to sit in my front room without hating the walls.

Comments are open on the original post at onecobble.com.