L.S. Fayne's Blog

Oregon State Fair Author's Table

Book
signings sound prestigious and a road to quick money for an author, but they
are also work—a lot of work. We just attended the Oregon State Fair’s author’s
table. This was our forth year, and for me, the hardest.




People
were less interested in talking to the authors this year than previous years.
They would stand way back as if they were afraid we would force them to buy a
book. Of course, we want to sell books, but most of the time, we just want to
talk with people.  Although there were
nineteen of us this year, ten to twelve hour days standing around books is boring
if there is no one new to talk to.




This
year I also had a sad, bizarre occurrence. I found an abandoned baby! Shocking
right? Yes it was! A baby in a stroller caught my attention as I was coming
back to my station. I’m not really sure why. It was in the middle of a walkway
triangle between exhibits. I soon realized that no one was paying any attention
to it at all. People were walking around it, but not really seeing it.




I
stood and watched for a couple more minutes. Believe me, those were long, excruciating
minutes. I approached the vendor by the piano who was selling music CD’s,
pointed at the baby, and announced to her that he/she was abandoned. I was
shocked when she replied, “Oh yah, it’s been there for a while.”




Seeing
my shocked and appalled expression, she only then wheeled the stroller to the
first aid station which was ten feet away. I and another lady stood there expecting
some frantic mother to come screaming about her child being gone. No one came.
No one!




Later
that evening I returned to the first aid station and inquired about the baby. I
was told it had been collected. I asked what that meant. It meant that the
State Police was called and the father came to collect the baby. I truly hope
that whoever left that baby in the middle of the fair was also, “collected”!
The memory of that baby being abandoned haunted my dreams all the nights we
were at the fair. I am still reeling in disbelief about the whole thing!




Strange
things do tend to follow my path. My husband says it’s because I’m intuitive. A
friend of mine said it was because God wanted me to save that baby. I say it’s
because I pay attention—and will act. No more babies though!!    Everyone, take care of your own responsibilities!




The
author’s table was straight across from a, “Feeding the Hungry” booth. All the
time during the fair, they gave out soy veggie sliders (burgers). It was soon
apparent that they were doing the work of a mission. The same people kept
coming around for the free burgers. Some of them with their beds on their
backs. Some so cracked out that they made no sense at all. Most of course, had
to come over and converse, spitting food from their mouths, and trying to hold
our books with gooey fingers. I didn’t bring my small Acer computer back after
the first day. Too many people eyeballed it. I realized it would be awfully
easy to snatch and run.




I
did have three books ruined this year. Pop,
the three lettered word all of us authors dread. Of course, she didn’t even
consider buying any of the books she
had ruined. They were ruined as far as us selling them as new. She could have
still enjoyed the reading of them. What can you do? She didn’t even clean up
her mess which spread to around five feet in front of my books. I was actually
very lucky that only three books got hit. I pulled out my roll of paper towels,
got on my hands and knees, and cleaned up her
freak’n mess.




The
authors are great. We have several old timers in their eighties with us. It is
unfortunate that more people did not gather to hear what they had to say. They
will not be able to do these marathons much longer. Their knowledge and
experience is invaluable. Their passing a sorrow.



Life has a way of getting in your face at the
fair. We interact with all types of people from many different perspectives. I
would truly say that not one author leaves after the fair with the same world
view of when they arrived. Will we go next year? I really don’t know. Sales
were okay, but not great. The fatigue was excruciating. This is the third day
of being home, and I am only now writing it up. We’ll answer that question next
year after the invites go out.

Protecting Your Work!

In the U.S. a copyright is assumed at the creation of a work. While this is true, it’s quite another thing to prove it in court. You can bet that if someone has stolen your work, and is challenging you for it, they have prepared material to help them get away with the theft.
Have you prepared your work in such a way that you can prove the work was yours before it was theirs? It’s not as hard as it may seem.
It doesn't matter whether you self publish your work, or your work is accepted by a publisher. Your copyright belongs to you and needs to be protected. Having your copyright does not make your document, “published”.
Step 1:  Dating Material

I create a file on all the computers I use with just my name. Everything from then on goes into that file. It’s easier to protect one file than hundreds of files. When I start a new project, I create a new file within my, “Linda” file. It makes it a lot easier when I move my work to a new computer. I realized this when I only had use of a shared computer.
Date everything. All writers know that before our project is finished, we write and write, and then we write some more. No matter what medium you use to build your work, whether it is on little notes of paper, spiral notebooks, or computer files, save it in a way that shows date stamps. Yes, a spiral notebook can be faked. But think about your accumulation of notes. It is very unlikely that someone who has stolen your work, would take the time and energy to “fake” an in-depth  paper trail of the creation of a work; from start to finish. These people tend to be greedy, untalented, and lazy. Otherwise, they would have their own work to publish.
I rarely write things out in paper. So I make sure I save my files with a different number sequence when I finish at the end of a writing day. Example: Book called Shadows. I would save it each day with Shadows-01.doc, Shadows-02.doc, sequencing up each day.
It’s staggering just how much material we collect before we are finished with our books.
Step 2:  Legal Copyright
As soon as the first draft is complete, and before it goes to a beta reader, editor, or even your best friend; fill out the form for a government copyright. A government copyright is nothing more than a time stamp on the work in its current condition. There is no other purpose of a government copyright than to prove the work at that moment in time.
It doesn’t matter that it’s not finished, or that it has typos and needs editing. It doesn’t even matter if the plot twists, or even if the name of the book changes. It is not going to anyone who cares about such things. It is only an opportunity to protect all your hard work from theft. For the copyright, I save my book in a PDF.
Read the instructions at the office carefully, and oh yes, turn your pop-up blocker off. The system uses pop-ups to move you along their system. If the system does ruin your entry, and sometimes it does, you may have to start a new entry. You should be able to delete the old one later. Their system is arcade, be prepared to become frustrated.
In the U.S. we can upload our work electronically. It costs $35. The time stamp starts as soon as the work is received in the office, which is almost immediate. I recommend uploading it electronically, instead of sending a copy through the post. You cannot do both.
The first time I sent a work to the copyright office, I did it by post. Because of the Anthrax threats, it went through a decontamination process, never to be seen again. It took a year before I was able to resubmit it electronically.
Even if the copy does finally get received by the correct people, it may take 6 months to a year before being processed. Paper copies have to be hand scanned into the system by an employee. Even electronic copies sent on disks take manual handling to be processed.Once the work is received, and the system says received, it will take months before the paper confirmation is sent to the writer. The delay doesn’t matter. The time stamp has already been established.
The Poor Man’s Copyright:  I did this for a song. This method is to simply send the work to yourself through the post in a tamper free envelope; an envelop which will be destroyed if someone tries to pry it open. The copyright relies on the postal date stamp across the stamp area. I still have my song in such. The problem is the date stamp is no longer legible. Since I was a child when I posted it, it was near impossible for me to not mess with it. I had to hide it away. It’s amazing how hard it was to leave it alone. I guess a lab today could prove the date, but who would go to that expense to prove the copyright? Not for my little song.
Step 3:  Backing Up Your Work.
As you work, save your files to a different system than your computer. Back it up every week or month. It can be on a flash drive, hard disk, or removable hard drive. Never, ever use a public storage system. It doesn't matter what their claims are with regards to security. Things happen. This will also protect your work if something happens to your computer.
When you are finished with the project, create a permanent disk with all your work saved on it. Save all your artwork, notes, and revisions. If you have it, save it. Store the disk in a secure place. I have all mine in a small, fire-proof safe. Each book has its own set of disks. This preserves the paper trail which was so meticulously prepared.




U.S. Copyright Office

Good Luck and Happy Writing!!!

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Scooter, The Tortoise.

 Yesterday, we found an escaped tortoise marching down our street. Tortoises aren’t native to this part of Oregon. Maybe to the hotter, more eastern parts, but definitely not here in the Willamette Valley.
I had trouble at first figuring out what was down the street. We have a lot of cats, but it didn’t look right for that. I thought maybe a duck. As it got closer to me, I realized it was a tortoise. Blinking with surprise, I walked down the road towards it.
At this time a group of boys also noticed it. They arrived before I did. Not ever seeing one before, they didn’t know how to pick it up, or even if it would bite.
Our family had one in California. I can’t remember exactly where we got it. We picked it up as we were traveling home from visiting family in Oklahoma. My dad found it and took a liking to it. I’d seen some snapping turtles back there, so wasn’t too sure about our new guest.
As I picked this one up, I heard one of the boys say, “So that’s how you pick them up.” I was glad I got there before they tried. I’d hate for them to try and pick it up by its legs.  As I carried it to the house, I told them that it belonged to someone. Tortoises like this didn’t just wander around.
I put it in our yard and asked my husband to take care of it while I got the camera. I told the boys I would post the picture at the mailboxes, and asked them if they also wanted pictures, too. Of course they said yes. I also grabbed the camcorder while I was in the house.
It took the pictures and then pulled out the recorder. That turtle kept marching off to somewhere. I have no idea where it thought it was going. The way it kept trucking, it seemed to have some destination in mind. It was sure stubborn about getting there.

As it was marching, a snake came out from under one of the cement blocks and crawled under it. It just marched right over the snake.
The boys wanted to keep the tortoise. I could tell that one of the boys thought of it already as his since he found it first. He asked how big of an aquarium was needed to hold a turtle like that. I had no idea. When we found the snake, I did let him keep that! I’m sure his mother was real happy about him bringing home a snake. Not my problem!
It wasn’t much later, when it seemed all the boys in the neighborhood had gathered outside to see the turtle. I didn’t want to, but I told them the turtle was put away for now. One boy nodded in understanding.
I could see their disappointment. They probably even thought that I had no right to do that, but it would be a bit much for the turtle to suddenly have twenty boys fussing over it.
I posted the picture with our name and address. I also requested that the owner not delay. I really didn’t want to be taking care of a tortoise for very long.
Big turtles aren’t as easy as people may think to take care of. I had no idea of what it was used to eating, or if it would eat the paper bags I had lined the plastic ben with. I put down water and gave him a sprig of lettuce. He didn’t touch the lettuce. Probably, because he’d been munching on the grass as he marched.
About an hour later someone knocked at the door. I opened the door to see two women. One had the notice clinched in her hand. She’d had that turtle for over twenty years. His name was Scooter, fitting name.
She had stopped at the mail boxes before going home. She had a shocked look as she told the story about seeing the picture of her tortoise out there on the notice board. She hadn’t even know he was missing at the time. She has  hurried home to fine the gate open.
I swear, Scooter seemed as happy to see her as she was to see him. His head lifted upwards in greeting. She knew how to handle him. I knew she was the true owner. She blanched when I told her about the boys. I’m sure Scooter will not be escaping anytime soon from his yard.
Attached is the video of Scooter, the snake, and the boy.  Enjoy!

Perspective of Life

I was picking blueberries. I like doing this. My own back
yard, a beautiful sunny day, a piece of heaven. I was thinking about family. In
particular, about a conversation I had recently with my sister-in-law. We are
at the age where our children are starting families of their own. Suddenly, we’re
informed that we didn’t do a very good job as parents. Feeling anger and hurt, I
had to think about these rather harsh words. I think maybe this is a natural
process. When the next generation starts thinking of how they will raise their
own new babies, they start thinking of what we did wrong. They haven’t realized
yet that we can’t give our children everything, and our children shouldn’t get
everything. They haven’t figured it out yet that they will not be able to be
everything for their own new babies.




It’s okay for our children to feel what they feel. Whether
they feel that we didn’t treat all the children the same, or whether we weren’t
there enough for them. Maybe it’s true. We did our best with what we had at the
time, and with what we knew. There might be child raising books out there now,
but they will soon learn that every baby they raise is going to be different
from the one before. There is no one way, or right way for everyone.




As they reflect back, I only hope that they realize the
adults who raised them and loved them would have given their lives for them. We
might have been one of those who left the poor squalling infant in a dumpster
somewhere, or cared too much about our next fix to provide food for their empty
stomachs. We did not. We held you and loved you, and did our best by you.




My advice for all of us is to feel as we do, respect those feelings, and hopefully be able to move on. Let's not punish each other for being flawed and human. That's why we were all put here to be. By all means learn from our mistakes, but be sure, you will find your own which you will bleed and shed tears over. Such is life.

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Druantia's Children - Book Four

Finally, my book has a name, Pledge of Spirit and Soul. You know it's becoming a book when it finally tells you its name. I even have an idea for the cover. Now to write!!

Druantia's Children - Book Four

  Another sample from Book 4 of, "Druantia's Children", now being written...
  Two of the other bikers stepped forward to strip the body. Sheila could smell the bleach as one of them started wiping the woman down. The other started shaving her hair. They collected the hair and placed it in a container. When they were finished, others placed a white sheet over the body.     Their faces were expressionless—no fear, revulsion, or even sadness. Horrified, Sheila turned into Carl’s chest. He held her tightly.     “Assemble,” the leader called out.     There was no talking as they climbed onto their bikes and waited for their queue to proceed. No one even glanced at the naked body under the sheet—one of their own. They turned to stare at Carl and Sheila as they waited. Carl and Sheila, with trembling bodies and clumsy feet, climbed up onto their bike.     “Ride,” the leader called.     Carl paused when it was his turn to follow the group onto the highway.     “Ride,” several voices echoed from behind them.     Carl clinched his jaw tight and gave it the gas. His intention was to race away, but those in front of him quickly blocked their escape. Sheila felt the bike slide as Carl tried to avoid hitting the bikes. The riders had not even attempted to get out of their way.     In all actuality, they weren’t going very fast when they hit the pavement. Sheila rushed to pick her foot up off the foot peg just before it touched to the blacktop. She just started to hear the screech of metal as she felt herself flung off the bike. She landed hard! The wind knocked out of her. Carl was instantly at her side carefully removing her helmet.     “Sheila!” She could hear him shouting at her.     She blinked rapidly at him trying to tell him she was okay. Blood was dripping from the gash she could see through his ripped leathers. He seemed unaware that he was hurt.     “Okay,” she gasped out.     “Don’t move,” Carl yanked his helmet off. “Are you hurt?”     She focused down her body and realized that miraculously, she was only winded. She carefully used his arm to pull herself into a sitting position.     “You’re bleeding,” she told him.     He glanced down his leg, but shrugged. He held her tight as he looked around them. Two of the riders had pulled their bike up on its kickstand and was checking it over. The others just stared at them.Sheila pushed herself up from the ground and marched over to their bike.     “Move!” She demanded.     Surprisingly, they moved aside. She picked out the first-aid container and marched back over to Carl, ignoring those who stared after her. Carl used a pocketknife to cut his pants from the wound giving Sheila more room to work. Silently, she cleaned Carl’s gash and pulled together a tight bandage around the calf of his leg.     Just as she finished, the Wizard hauled her up from the ground.     Carl shot up after them. His fists clenched tightly. Three riders blocked his way. Carl was chilled by their expressionless, dead eyes. His eyes met Sheila’s terrified gaze. Her lips trembled. The Wizard shoved her helmet towards her.     Not knowing what else to do, she shakily put it on.     “No more trouble,” he growled at Carl, “or she will die. Now—all ride.”     The Wizard effortlessly hauled Sheila up and dropped her on the rear seat. Carl felt a push. Another biker had pulled up beside him. His helmet was pressed into his numb hands, and he was shoved towards the bike. Their Harley was being ridden by a different pair. He hadn’t even noticed the shift of people to bikes. He quickly mounted behind the rider as the Wizard rode out with Sheila.
Druatia's Children Series:
Christmas in the House of O'Byrne:     Amazon     smashwords

Druantia's Braids:     Amazon     smashwords

There Can't Be Shadows Without Light:     Amazon     smashwords

A sampling from Book 4 of Druantia’s Children Series – bo...

A sampling from Book 4 of Druantia’s Children Series – book in process...
She was still concerned for Natilie. Natilie looked well enough. In fact, Jeri had to admit, she looked vibrant. She just couldn’t let go though. It had been hard. Natilie had almost died! Natilie seemed to be controlling her gifts, but what if they took off with her again? Would she be able to get back that hard earned control?
Natilie and Emily might have made oaths to each other long ago, but Jeri had made a silent oath to both of them. She would never ever let anything happen to either of them, if it was in her power to prevent it.
Her thoughts turned to Thymane and her stomach turned queasy. She felt so helpless. If she, a double-gened O’Byrne couldn’t help Natilie, only Druantia could.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Druantia,” she yelled out loud.
Jeri jumped when Druantia was suddenly in the pool with her.
“You were saying?” Druantia asked drolly.
“You know!” Jeri said stubbornly.
Druantia faced her. Her vivid, red hair was bound up into its twenty-one braids. Her eerie green eyes with the white pupils stared hard into Jeri. She, like Jeri, was without clothes. She had a flush, beautiful body.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Druantia told her, “but it doesn’t matter. It’s Natilie’s choice. Don’t push on this, or I may indeed, switch her problems to you. That—I can do!”
“Do it then!” Jeri demanded angrily.
“Silly wench!” Druantia said as she disappeared.
Jeri shivered. She hadn’t really meant it, and Druantia knew it. As much as she loved Natilie, she knew she wasn’t as strong. She could never manage the Daemon. She would have perished the first time the gifts had stolen away her will. Not Natilie, she had been strong enough to fight free.
Jeri knew that Druantia was warning her to not interfere—again. Jeri pressed her eyes tightly closed. This probably meant that something bad was coming their way.
“Damn it!” She muttered and sank to the bottom of the pool.

Hello, I took a break from writing fantasy to write a non...

Hello,
I took a break from writing fantasy to write a non-fiction book about Fibromyalgia. I’ve had fibromyalgia since a supposed minimally invasive surgery left me wrong. I woke up wrong and have been wrong since. This book tells about the fears and frustrations of fibromyalgia, and also about the things I do to keep walking, keep smiling, and to keep living. I hope it helps others who have fibromyalgia to not feel alone, and those who know someone such as I, to understand what their daily life is now like.
Now that I have done that which I felt I must, I can re-submerge into the fantasy worlds once again. I love to pull them upwards so others may visit them, too. Always remember to embrace life and joy. They do not last forever.
Fibromyalgia Chatter