Terena Scott's Blog, page 22

Fresh Blood

There's nothing like fresh blood to get the creative juices flowing again. It feels like Medusa's Muse is off life support, because my dear friend Ibis said, "Yes." Yes, she would love to help me run Medusa's Muse and market our books. Yes, because working for a micro-press sounds "interesting" and she'd like the creative challenge. Yes, because she's willing to work for no pay but lots of perks, like free business cards and twice a year dinners paid by the Muse.



Last weekend I took my publishing team out to dinner at a new Mexican/Yucatan restaurant. We all had something to celebrate: one birthday, a new book in the works, a new member of the team, and one dearly departed who we honored with a toast. The four of us chatted over a delicious meal and several glasses of wine.  Jane, my diligent copy-editor, explained to Ibis about interacting with customers on line. Ibis, my new marketing assistant, nodded and asked questions while taking mental notes. I hope we didn't overwhelm her. Rick, my design director, tossed in a few ideas and mentioned how identifying the right book for the right group of people was key. I mostly sat and listened to the excitement at the table, throwing in my own ideas and thoughts, arguing with Jane over the term "framing the message," reassuring Ibis that I would help her and teach what needed to be done, and smiling at Rick, who really made the whole thing possible. Medusa may have been my dream and I may be the drive that holds the press together, but without his technical expertise, not a single book would have made it into the world.



Medusa's Muse feels like a brand new company, thanks to fresh blood and fresh energy. Thank you Ibis, for giving us your time and ideas. I think you're going to love book publishing.






The New and Updated Awesome Staff of Medusa's Muse, 2012




Terena Scott, Publisher/ Editor/Marketing Director




Jane Mackay, Co-Editor/Copy Editor




Rick Wismar, Book Designer and I.T Support




Ibis Klimicek de Villa, Marketing Assistant

Time and Deadlines and Focus

Time is indeed the enemy. It speeds up then slows down, grows claws, whispers sweet nothings, makes promises, purrs you into sleep, then pulls the rug out from under you, laughing when you fall flat on your ass. No one has been able to control this wild animal; just when you think you've managed it, time learns a new trick and then runs away with the circus.



The only thing you can hope for is to somehow make friends with this beast, and accept the truth that you'll never really master it. Once you accept that, you can finally relax. So what if you didn't get your entire to-do list finished in one day? The list was probably too long anyway.



For the past three years, I've been on a deadline. School is nothing but deadlines: exams, papers, internships and classes. And you've got to get it all done in a set period of time, or you just keep paying more and more money.



I'm good with deadlines, but not so good at managing time.



I realized this as I was stressing out over getting all my lesson notes for my students caught up before the start of Winter break, while also finishing a book proposal, editing the new Medusa manuscript, and worrying that I hadn't read as many books as I said I would on Goodreads. My daughter was sick, my husband working all the time, the house a mess, and then I suddenly got the wild idea that I should clear out my entire house before the end of the year.



Self imposed deadlines to drive me frickin insane. I'm good at those.



I don't usually make New Year's resolutions, but this year I've decided to start. My goal for 2012 is to let go of the deadlines and make peace with time. There is never enough time in one day (or lifetime, I fear) to achieve everything I dream of. I'm one of those people who thrives on constant challenge. Maybe thrive isn't the right word. I compulsively hunt for the next challenge, even if it creates chaos and stress. This year, I told myself "No new challenges." I have plenty right here already.



The biggest one is Medusa's Muse. It has really struggled while I've been in school, but luckily the press is alive. How much longer will depend on how much time, energy and cash I can give it. We've signed a new book which I'm really excited about, so I need to get this publishing company back in top shape. And I need to breath more marketing energy into our previous books to see how much of a bump in sales we can achieve. I've asked a friend to join the team and help me with marketing; a new perspective will be great.



The other challenge I have, besides my new job of course, is my own writing. I have a new play to finish and another one I'd like to write. So I've made an early morning appointment with myself, just like if I was going to an exercise class. My daughter catches the bus at 7 AM. Once she's gone, and while still in my PJ's, I'll go into my room with my coffee and write for one hour. I've started doing that this week and it's amazing how much better I feel. I'm no longer wondering when the hell I'll get a chance to write; I know every morning from 7 to 8 I'll be blissfully working on my play. I know it's only an hour a day, but I'm amazed how productive I can be in that brief time.



Time is tricky, though. I'm like a little kid chasing dandelion fluff sometimes; I am constantly getting sidetracked. I get on the internet to check my mail, and two hours later I've learned about the whales in San Francisco Bay, a good recipe for persimmon pie, who the newest Disney Princess will be, how many of my Facebook friends like Tazo tea, what the next full moon is called, how to refinish an antique chair, and why it hasn't rained in California all winter. I checked one email message and then got distracted as soon as I clicked on a link my friend sent me.



I am no longer allowing myself to look at the internet before 8 AM.



Someday I'll learn time management. Maybe. I do pretty good actually, when I take into account everything I have to juggle on a daily basis. But the stress gets too high when I focus only on the to-do list and forget to enjoy my life. Forget to write. Forget to give my press the energy it needs to thrive.



Focus. That's what I need. So my New Year's resolution is to gain some focus and only give energy to the things already in my life. No more looking for shiny things over the next hill.



But wait... what's gleaming at the top of that tall mountain? I've never been there before. Maybe if I check out some maps and start hiking a little just to get close enough to see what that shiny thing might be...

The Constipated Muse

My hubby and I ran away from home for Christmas: no cell service, no internet, no family, no stress. Our daughter went to stay with her dad for the holiday, granting us four days of nothing to do but lounge. We spent three nights at a B and B in Westport.  Drinking wine in the afternoon and then walking on the beach while our dog ran across the sand was the perfect vacation to wipe away the stress of this hectic year.



When I returned home from vacation, my muse was waiting for me.



"Feel better?" she asked when I walked into my room.



Setting my overstuffed canvas suitcase on the floor, I said, "Yes. Much better. You?"



"Fine. I'm fine."



I studied her pursed lips, her folded arms, the snakes twined severely on the back of her head. "You don't look fine."



"Of course I am. It was a nice break. I'm glad you had fun."



"What did you do?"



"Nothing. I decided to stay here and read."



"Really? I thought you were going up to Alaska to play in the snow."



"I changed my mind." She reached out and brushed lint from the back of my office chair.



"Are you sure you're alright?"



She nodded.



Shaking my head, I said, "Why don't I believe you?"



"I'm fine!" she snapped, taking a step away from me.



"Okay, you're fine. That's why you decided to stay home all alone and read books you've already memorized rather than go play in the snow with Alaskan wolves. And that's why you're holding your body so tight those snakes look like they might break in two if you sneeze."



She sighed. "I don't want to talk about it."



"Okay." I bent down and opened my suitcase.



"You wouldn't understand. It's a muse problem."



"Alright. We don't have to talk about it."



Pacing the room, she said, "It's painful and muses find it embarrassing, so we don't talk about it, especially not to our artists."



"If you say so." I pulled out a pile of mostly dirty clothes and threw them toward the hamper.



"I doubt you would even understand, but..." She stopped pacing and stared up at the ceiling. "Sometimes, we muses can get... backed up."



"Backed up?"



"Yes. Our energy can... get stuck."



I stood. "Stuck?"



"Yes. Stuck." Her lips pressed tightly as she stared at me, then she said, "It's very uncomfortable."



"Sounds like it. But what do you mean your energy gets stuck?"



"Sometimes the creative fires burn too hot and too much inspiration flows through me without an outlet. Since you're human, and busy..." She rolled her eyes."... you couldn't possibly handle the amount of creativity that needs release, and besides, you'd burn to a crisp, or at least your brain would."



"So it's like being horny?"



"No, not at all. After a while, too much repression leads to a slowing down of the inspirational flow, which causes the creative fire to back up. The fires build, but the outlet becomes blocked. This leads to actual physical pain for the muse."



"I see." She watched me closely as if judging if I was capable of grasping something so delicate and crucial to the muse experience. I took a deep breath and said, "It's more like being constipated."



Her eyes widened. "What?"



"Constipation. You know, when you really need to go but you can't, so all you feel is cramping and gas."



"I should have known that you'd imagine trapped creative energy feeling like the need to shit."



Suppressing a smile, I held out my hands to her. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to belittle this, I'm just trying to understand what you're going through so I can help."



"You can't help. You can only make jokes."



"I'm not laughing."



"Yes you are. You think I can't see that smile you're hiding."



"What can I do to help."



"Do you really want to help?"



"Yes, I really do."



"For starters you can finish the kids book immediately so you can finish the play. Then you can start the next play. And after that I'll tell you about the other book idea I have. I have lots of ideas to pump new energy into Medusa's Muse, including a new website and e-books. " She paced the room again. "Your workshop is ready to go forward and I have lots of thoughts on how and where to present the material. Also, you seem really excited about writing for kids, so I have several more possible subjects. And "Miranda" is waiting for you to finish, but I'm not sure that's where your passion lies anymore. Don't forget Burying Mama. You should just send it out into the wild again and see what happens." She whirled around to face me, her eyes shining. "Plus those two short stories are simply stellar, but of course need polish."



I sat down, suddenly feeling tired. "No wonder you're constipated."



Stamping her foot, she yelled, "I am not constipated!"



"I know, I know... I'm sorry. You have too many ideas for one artist. It's a big problem. I'm sorry I can't get all of your ideas done."



She gracefully dropped to the floor and sat with her legs criss-crossed. After a moment of silence, she said, "It's not your fault. It's mine. I push too hard. I want too much. Everything in the world inspires me, but the whole world is too full. That's why I stayed here in your room reading books I've already read a thousand times. I don't need any more ideas." She held her stomach tightly. "Ouch."



You need a good laxative, I thought, but decided it wise to keep my mouth shut. "I'll try to finish the kids book this week, if that will help."



"Thank you." She smiled at me. "But no pressure. Like I said, this is my fault. The creative flow is out of balance because I'm out of balance. It's time for me to focus, and help you focus, until we're both in harmony with the work.  It just takes time."



Time. That seems to be the biggest problem of all.

Solstice: the holiday that celebrates nerdiness

Solstice is a big event in my family. We decorate the Solstice tree, string the house with as many holiday lights as we can before blowing the fuses, and open most of our presents. It's the day we celebrate our family, just the three of us. There are no outside obligations, like mom wondering why we didn't invite her over, or long drives in Christmas traffic. We often have a few friends over to share a good meal and some good bottles of wine. It's a relaxed, carefree, do whatever we want, kind of holiday.




Plus, Solstice is really frickin cool!




Solstice is a celebration of the return of sunlight. The Sun has traveled as far to the southern horizon as it can get in our hemisphere and it will now begin to climb back toward the north, bringing longer days with more light. Yes, I know, the Sun isn't actually going anywhere, the Earth is doing all of the traveling, and it's the angle of the Earth in relation to the Sun that changes the Sun's position.  Which is exactly why Solstice is so cool. The Earth has traveled to this specific position on it's journey around the Sun, marking the exact location where the days will begin to get longer for us. This is as dark as it's going to get.




Ancient peoples marked this occasion and celebrated with bonfires and music, which is where we get Christmas lights and Christmas carols (maybe I made that last one up). We can't light a bonfire in our yard anymore or the cops get upset, so we wind hundreds of colorful lightbulbs all over our homes to chase away the darkness, just as our ancestors did with their bonfires and candles.




I'm not a pagan (technically I guess I am because I'm not Christian), so my family doesn't attend the Pagan celebrations in our community. I guess you'd call me a Scientific Pagan; my holidays focus on astronomy and nature. I drink champagne when NASA sends a new probe into space, or when scientists discover something new about the universe. I was absolutely giddy when they discovered a new planet in the "Goldie Locks zone." And I cried when the last Space Shuttle flight landed. No more launches.




Solstice and Equinox are the holidays that let me fly my nerd flag, when I can debate with other nerds the exact time of day winter begins. The Winter Solstice happens at the exact same moment all over the world, and is officially clocked in Universal Time at 5:30 pm on December 22nd. But what is the exact time in our own timezone? Here is an article from Earthsky that will help you determine the exact clock-time for your timezone. For Pacific Daylight Time (my own timezone) I need to subtract 7 hours from the Universal Time (5:30 pm on the 22nd - 7 hours = 11:30 pm on the 21st). Did I do that right?




I'm a science nerd, but unfortunately not a math nerd.




The universe is more beautiful and mysterious than you can possibly imagine, filled with wonders and constantly evolving. As soon as you think you've got it figured out, a new discovery will shake your hypothesis into nonsense. And the Earth, our planet, our home, is this beautiful vessel filled with just as much beauty and wonder as the universe it was created from. We should honor that wonder. Recognize the impossible odds that allow us to be here.




This is why I celebrate Solstice. This is why I proudly call myself a nerd.

Enough with the Insecurity

"Have you read your blog lately?" my Muse asks while storming into my room with a stack of books in her arms.



"Yeah. I wrote it didn't I?"



"Then you know how pathetic you sound lately."



"Pathetic?"



"Yes. Pathetic." She paces the room still holding the tower of uneven paperbacks. "Blah, blah, blah... I'm so insecure... I don't have any confidence... I'm so afraid... pathetic!"



"What are you talking about? I'm trying to help people."



"Help people? If helping people is showing what a complete wimp you are then you're doing an awesome job. Here! This is for helping people." She tosses the books at me.



Flinging out my arms to protect my head, I catch one of the flapping books as it heads for my eyes. Several land in my lap and the rest bounce onto the floor.



"Watch it!" I shout. "What the hell are you doing?"



She puts her hands on her hips and in a mocking tone says, "Helping you."



I look at the book in my hand. How to find meaning in the second half of life. "What's this?"



"It's a book to help you stop being so annoying."



Looking down at my lap I read The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People and Co-Dependent No More. 




"Why are you throwing self-help books at me?"




"Because nothing else seems to be working. You're still the same insecure, terrified, wimpy little writer and editor you always were. Only now you're too old to blame it on youth." 




"I am not."



"Yes you are."



"Not."



"Yes!"



"You're just mean!"



"God! You can't even argue like an adult!" My muse kicks Going to pieces without falling apart so hard the front cover rips.



"You know I grew up in a crazy household. It's taken me a very long time to get over it."



"But that's the problem, you still haven't. You're still living like that little girl, and at your age, it's boring."



"Will you please stop making cracks about my age."



"Not until you start acting your age. Then I might."



I stand and let the few books in my lap fall to the floor. "I'm sorry."



"Stop saying you're sorry."



"Okay, I'm... you're... right."



My muse crosses her arms. "I am?"



"Yes, you're right. I have been too focused on my own insecurity, and yes I have been writing about it too much. I'm just nervous, that's all. But I'm working on it."



"Work on it harder."



"Okay, but you know you don't help when you throw self-help books at me."



"Be happy they weren't encyclopedias."



We stare at each other, our eyes not quite meeting for fear I might turn to stone. Her snakes stick out their tongues at me.



My muse sighs. "You really have no idea how talented your are, do you?"



I shrug. "I guess not."



"Well figure it out." She turns her back on me. "And stop wasting my time."



I look down at the floor and read, The places that scare you. 




"Maybe if you didn't yell at me so much I wouldn't be so insecure."



She turns to face me again. "Don't try to blame this on me."



"You aren't exactly the nicest muse on the planet, you know."



"The niceness of muses is overrated. We're all bitches. And besides, do you want to be coddled or inspired?"



"Inspired, of course."



"Then pick up these books, read a few, and get back to work. Enough with the insecurity for frell's sake!"



I snap my fingers. "Just like that? You know it isn't that easy..."



"Yes it is. Stop writing about it, dwelling on it, thinking about it, and stewing in it. When you feel insecure push it aside, take a deep breath, and keep working. Simple."



I can't think of any way to respond, because the simplicity of her words is so... simple. But is it really that easy? Just stop thinking about insecurity and it will go away?



She reads my mind. "Yes, it really is that simple. If you stop feeding your fears, they die. God, I didn't have to read a single fucking self-help book to know that. Humans overcomplicate everything."



I shrug. "Okay then, I'll give it a try."



"Good." She walks out of my room, yelling, "And throw out those books, too."

Sabotage

How many of you feel that if you're not earning money with your writing, then you're not really a writer? Deep down, do you feel doubt in your abilities as an artist if no one pays you for what you create? Does price denote value?



I do. That's why I dabble at writing. I write "when I have time." When all the bills have been paid and phone calls returned and emails sent, when the house is clean, dishes done, laundry folded and put away. When the plants have been watered and my desk cleaned off and all the grocery shopping done. Then, and only then, am I allowed to write.



And this attitude bleeds into Medusa's Muse too. I edit manuscripts because I owe that to my authors; I do it for them. But everything else, the promotion of my press, updating the website, marketing books, lining up teaching gigs, record keeping and networking... all of those things that help my press thrive get put on the list called "when I have time."



This is called sabotage. I am sabotaging myself by not dedicating the same focus and energy to my press and my writing that I gave to grad school. It was easy to give focus to grad school, because that would eventually lead to a job and a paycheck. A so called real job. My press is a job, but it doesn't make much money, therefore it doesn't feed my family. The press feeds itself. I can't justify devoting time to it when it doesn't sustain me economically.



Which is bullshit, because my press sustains me in every other way but economics. It feeds my soul, my spirit, my artistic needs and creativity. Writing feeds me in even deeper ways. Why does economics always take priority?



Yes, we have to eat and keep a roof over our head. Making money is very important, especially if you have children. We live in this world which requires sacrifice sometimes to survive. I'm not knocking the importance of work.



But we must not let that importance destroy the other things that are important, especially our art.



And if you find yourself saying things like, "I don't have time to write" or "The grocery shopping is way more important right now" then it's time to take a good long look at your priorities. Are you saying this because it's true? Or are you finding an excuse to quit, and in so doing sabotage yourself.



Sabotage. The power to destroy your art before you've devoted yourself to it.



I know I'm just as guilty as anyone of sabotage, and I'm trying hard to stop. My press is important, not just to my authors, but for the joy it brings me. So why do I just dabble at publishing rather than treat it like the job it is?



I don't know, other than I must believe on some deep level that I don't deserve to be a successful publisher and writer.



Is that how you feel?

Silence and Fear

When I was 19, I dated a man who turned out to have serious mental problems and was prone to violence.  I was able to run away. He hounded me for a few months, but finally he stopped. It took many years for me to feel safe again, to not jump every time I saw a man who looked like him. I stayed underground for a long time. Then, 20 years later, I started a book publishing company and set up a blog and website.



And that's how he found me again.



At first, I wanted to shut down my blog, delete the Medusa's Muse Facebook page, and strike my name from everything I'd ever written or published. I was petrified he'd show up on my front door one day after piecing together information he'd gathered from the net. And the idea that he was now reading about me and my family from four years of blog posts made me sick.



Do I have to destroy everything I've built just to feel safe again?



He wasn't threatening me; he said he just wanted to get in touch.



Why? What can possibly be gained by talking to me?



Staying silent seemed like the best option, and that included staying silent as an artist.




[image error]
image from http://www.clubsilence.alt7.com/





How many of us have been silenced by fear of the past? Or afraid of what the power of our words could bring? How many writers have been gagged because others fear their words? For women, silence is particularly powerful. We are taught to stay quiet, because girls who speak their minds get punished.



He tried to contact me again, but I have decided not to shut down my press, or my blog, or website, or Facebook page. I will not change my name. I will not become quietly anonymous. I am no longer that terrified 19 year old girl hiding in the bathroom because she thinks her boyfriend is going to kill her, staying silent because he said if I made a sound he'd hit me. I am a grown woman with a voice and a vision and yes I'm still afraid. I'm afraid of him. But I won't allow that fear to silence me.



Not anymore.

Fourth anniversary of the launch of the first book I published, or, how I became an Orientation and Mobility teacher.

This past weekend marks the four year anniversary of when I published the first book from my press, Medusa's Muse. Traveling Blind: Life Lessons from Unlikely Teachers, by Laura Fogg, is a memoir of Laura's 30 + years teaching children with vision impairments, and ultimately what those children taught her about life, love, loss, and joy. Laura has been my daughter's teacher since Queen Teen was 3, and when I discovered Laura was also a talented writer, I offered to publish her book. After a year-and a half of edits, revisions, and debates over cover design and font choices, her book was launched at the California Association of Orientation and Mobility Specialists Conference. The other teachers were excited and impressed, and we sold almost 100 copies in two days. Laura was ecstatic and I was thrilled. I was also intrigued by the other O and M teachers I met at the conference and the work they so obviously loved doing. A few days after the launch of Traveling Blind, I decided to go to Graduate School and become an O and M teacher too.




Four years later, I attended the Orientation and Mobility Conference again, this time as a credentialed O and M Specialist with a Master's Degree and a job working side-by-side with Laura. I'm still a publisher, but I'm also a teacher, working with visually impaired students throughout all of Mendocino County. It was a long, exhausting crawl to get my degree, as many of you saw if you've been reading my blog for the past three years, but so worth it. I love teaching, I love Orientation and Mobility, and I love my students.




The conference is held every other year in Monterey at a hotel right on the beach. About half of my classmates from SF State were there, as were my teachers. My main focus as a teacher was learning about GPS systems for the visually impaired because I have a student who may benefit from using such a device (see, I already sound like a teacher. "may benefit from using such a device." lol). On Saturday was a GPS treasure hunt in downtown Monterey where teams of six competed against each other to find all the clues and get to the last location before anyone else. Our leader was a visually impaired man who just so happens to be the President and CEO of Sendero Group, the manufacturer of the GPS we were using. Is that why we smoked the other teams, arriving 20 minutes before anyone else at the bar, where we waited near a warm fire and drank cold margaritas? But the best moments for me were when I got to spend time with my classmates, catching up on our lives and our teaching jobs while sharing wine and champagne. I've missed everyone so much! It's like we're part of a submarine crew, a small group of highly trained people sharing very specific experiences that hardly anyone else can really understand.




There was a raffle to raise money for the scholarship fund, so I donated four copies of Traveling Blind. As I was sitting in the audience listening to a speaker talk about the pros and cons of using GPS on a smart phone, it suddenly hit me how much my life has changed since the first time I was at this conference. Last time I was a publisher sitting behind a table covered in copies of Laura's book. Now I'm a teacher, just like Laura.




I'll always be a book publisher; no way will I give that up. But it's very hard to make a living publishing books, so I teach to support my book habit. Thank goodness I love my "real" job. 

That's not my name! New Video from PRSMA authors Heavy Load

"They call me retard... they call me mental... they call me special... THAT'S NOT MY NAME"



Right on!

Happy Halloween, from Medusa

Medusa pumpkin carved by Ray Villafane. See more of his creations at http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/pictu...