R.E. Bradshaw's Blog, page 7
April 14, 2012
“Don’t knock it till you try it.”
I always set the print book price for my novels as low as possible. I rarely make pennies on a print book sale. I finally loaded Molly: House on Fire "correctly" to CreateSpace. According to them, I have to charge $17.10 for this print book. I'm not really happy about a book price that high, but it is a long book, 465 pages in a 6x9 format. I checked the box for Amazon basically to take control of the pricing. I'm hoping they will discount the price, making it more affordable. As it is, I am making no profit from bookstores or online retail print sales from this book. What this means is, I'm writing off all print sales as advertising. To be honest, print books are maybe 3% of my total novels sold, so I'm simply offering the book in print as a service to the readers who have not made the jump to ebooks. Such is the life of the on-demand publisher. I know, I know, some of you do not want to let go of the printed page. Holding a book just feels right to you. The smell of ink on the page, the smudges of chocolate, the water spots from the tub, the first crack of the spine, and other things you would miss too much to give up. I felt the same way and fought against the revolution alongside you. Then I became an author. Still, I went a whole year after beginning to sell ebooks before purchasing a Kindle Fire. I needed it to check the formatting and make sure the books were uploaded correctly. My entire take on e-readers changed the moment I turned it on. First, book covers look very cool in their original digital format. It’s not a reason to give up print books, but as a cover designer, it’s a plus. I won’t go into all the advantages to having the wi-fi enabled Fire. I will say, I can do almost anything on the Fire that I do on this laptop. My cell phone and a wi-fi connection are all I need when I travel. There are even some things I can do on the Fire that I cannot do on the laptop. I can read outside. Drop it in a zip lock baggie, sit in the tub, hang in the pool, sit on the beach, all things I would never do with this laptop. Still, if you’re not on the internet, it’s not a reason to give up print books. Did I mention how easy it is to read an ebook? What happens when your eyes get tired, but you want to finish that chapter? The printed page becomes too fuzzy to read one more word. When that happens to me now, I simply hit a button and make the words big enough to read easily. I gave my 74-year-old mother a Kindle for Christmas. She has always been an avid reader, but her eyes are failing her. She had pretty much stopped reading. She's reading books on the Kindle now and enjoying it again, and I assure you she is anything but tech savvy. Suppose you want to finish that chapter in bed and the person you share your bed with hates the light. No problem with an ebook, it’s backlit. No need to keep your partner awake and grumpy. No matter how you stretch out to get comfortable, the text on the Fire re-orients with you as you move. Turn the page with one touch. Highlight a word and get a definition or search text on the Internet. Highlight a section, make notes, bookmark pages, great tools for text books or research material. I’ve read more books since I bought this e-reader than I have in the last five years combined. I haven’t found a reason not to like it. In my research, I am forced to buy some books in print. I find the holding of the book, the highlighting, writing in the margins, is tedious, after learning to use the e-reader. I’ll admit it. I am a convert. I also love the ease of purchase. See a book, hit a button, and it appears in seconds in your hands, no more waiting weeks for a print book, and no shipping costs. Not to mention, ebooks are cheaper across the board, more along the lines of what I like to pay for a book. I can purchase far more books for a lot less money. That’s a win for the reader and the author. I just wanted readers to know, I’ll keep printing books as long as I can, but it doesn’t take a genius to see this business model isn’t going to last long. I write books because I can’t help myself. I need to write like I need to breathe, but I also have to eat and keep a roof over our heads. This is my job and how I support my family. Putting a book out in print just to make money for the company that prints and ships it is rapidly losing its appeal. I would rather not sell print copies, if the price is so far out of line with what I think is a fair price for a print book, something as a reader I would pay. I don’t want to see the bookstore on the corner go out of business. Going the way of the record store is a very real problem faced by the print industry. I have no idea what the solution is to that part of this equation. What I do know is that writing books that are sold by other people and never seeing a penny from those sales is real to me. I’m simply speaking for myself here. 99% of my income for 2011 came from ebook sales. The majority of my readers buy ebooks. That is a fact. I love all the readers, print and ebook alike, but I’m hoping to have persuaded some of the die hard, “You’ll have to wrench this book from my cold dead hands,” enthusiasts to at least give an e-reader a try. Save a tree, save an author, let go of that print book. I loved my eight-track, but I had to evolve with the technology. When I push play on a digital recording, I know I'm going to get the same quality every time. That's progress from scratchy records and broken tapes. Nat King Cole never sounded so clean and crisp. I'm happy for the digital recording process. I can enjoy old favorites again and again, in sparkling surround sound. I'm quite sure the ebook revolution will do for books what digital recording did for the music industry. It made their products better. I’ll borrow an old Lipton tea slogan here, “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
April 13, 2012
Stop, just stop!
A close relative called me last night. She wanted to talk about what another family member had said to her. I’m not going to call anybody out here, so let’s just call the one I was talking to E, and the other one B. E said something to B that upset B and… well, it wasn’t pretty. Both E and B are church going, practicing Christians. E spends a lot of time praying for my soul. She’s not really sure that being a lesbian is a sin, but she prays for me anyway, just in case. E also has a way of asking irritating personal questions. Honestly, I really don’t think she means anything by it. She’s just curious, and unfortunately doesn’t possess a keen since of inappropriate meddling. People that know E simply call her on it. She will then explain why she asked and most of the time it really is a harmless inquiry. I listened patiently as the whole sorted tale was laid out for me. From the description of the events, it got pretty nasty. E wanted to know if her behavior had caused B’s outburst. She wanted my opinion and I gave it to her. I don’t think it was what she was expecting. My first question was, “Did she say all that while her (barely teenaged) daughter was in the car with you?” E said that yes, the daughter was in the backseat. “That’s unfortunate,” I replied. “I hope her daughter doesn’t model that behavior, but then that’s the model B grew up with.” “But did I cause that?” E asked again. “No, that outburst has been a long time coming. B has an awful lot of baggage to carry around. You hit a nerve, and you know you do that, but her response was over the top. Think about it this way. You are pretty much what she has left of the adults she grew up with. She was going to blow eventually, so you just happened to be the one standing there when it happened. She’s hurt and scared and you were there. That was a lot of pain and anger she let loose. You saved some unsuspecting stranger from that. Maybe you had to endure it so she can heal.” E protested a bit. “But she said some horrible things about C (another family member,) and then went on and on about D (more family.)” “Look,” I said, “that’s packing tales. There’s enough of that going around and I’m not interested in what he said, or she said. I’ll tell you what I think the problem is. People used to live among family members. They saw each other frequently. We all did, growing up. We spent every holiday and most weekends with one part of the family or the other. We’re spread across the country now. I think we’d be a closer and happier family if we still had family reunions, because you can’t be an ass around your family. They will tell you all about it. People should have to look each other in the eye from time to time. It’s a lot harder to spread the venom when everyone is on the same page.” “You’re right. I’m just so upset.” “Own what you did and then reach out to her, if you want to. That’s entirely up to you. Like I said, she’s hurting and you’re really the only parent figure she has left. You can be the adult and show that child in the backseat that love and understanding can fix even the most severely broken heart. B surely has one of those.” “But her behavior…” “Stop,” I said. I’ve been dealing with my own little nest of tale packers and I was primed for this conversation. E listened quietly, namely because I did not give her time to speak, as I continued. “I’m just not participating in this. It has nothing to do with me. That’s what’s wrong with everything today. Somebody says something about someone else as if it were a fact, and that gets packed around as the gospel. What happened to looking people in the eye when you called them out? What happened to not talking about something if you were not there? What happened to coming right out and talking to the person you have a problem with? When did we become a society that would lie and cheat with impunity, because it only counts if you’re caught?” “We are all up in arms because of bullying in schools. If you ask me, the kids are just repeating the behavior modeled by the adults today. Adults lie about a co-worker for no reason other than to cause that person problems. Adults get on Facebook and mount campaigns against exes, or friends that made them mad. They talk behind each other’s backs, packing tales they know have no basis in fact, too eager to join in the bullying of another. Petty jealousies turn into all out wars. Our politicians engage in hate speech and no one calls them out. The parties bully each other, slinging unfounded accusations. Who is telling the truth anymore? I think it’s time everybody grew up. Don’t listen to gossip and certainly don’t spread it. Do you know what really happened? No, you don’t and neither do I. What does that bible you’re always quoting have to say about all this? If I remember correctly, it says something about casting first stones. You can do the Christian thing here and love her through this, forgive her pain generated lashing out, and help her find the peace she so desperately needs.” The phone grew very quiet. E was thinking. She finally said, “Well, I guess you’re right. I have to go now.” That’s how we stop it. That’s how we change the path we’re on. Stop listening to the gossip, stop packing tales, mind your own business, be kind to one another, and remember, unless we have walked in that person’s shoes, we have no idea what their life is like. No, we don’t have to stand by and take crap from people, smile and pretend their words don’t hurt, but there would be a lot less crap to take, if people would just stop listening to it. When someone starts packing tales, walk away. Maybe some day when the tales are about you, people will walk away and not listen. If you can’t look someone in the eye and repeat what you’re saying about them, then don’t say it to someone else. That’s how we regain our common decency, our humanity, our ability to really communicate. Unless the adults start modeling good behavior and upstanding character, we can pump millions into anti-bullying campaigns and see no results. “For the love of God, can't we love one another just a little? That's how peace begins.” Spoken by Eleanor of Aquitaine, from the “Lion in Winter,” by James Goldman.
April 4, 2012
Finding a blessing in ADHD
I just listened to Vickie Winans's gospel song, "Long as I got King Jesus." It's a toe tapper, whether you're a believer or not. It's just good music. I play the song frequently, especially when I need to know I'm okay. The stress lately has been unbounded and my ADHD has kept pace with it and surpassed it at times. I look around at restful people, people who seem relaxed and at peace, and wonder what that must feel like.When I was growing up, my hyperactivity produced many unpleasant experiences, especially in school. I would bring home straight A's, or S+'s for those of you as old as I am, accompanied by a column of U's for unsatisfactory conduct. The comments usually said something like, "Talkative," "Unable to sit still," "Have a hard time keeping her busy." It made no difference to my parents that I was making top of the line grades and testing well above my grade average on standardized tests. If I couldn't behave well, none of that mattered. My father was a teacher and my mother worked in the school system. I did not stand a chance. The punishments were severe and I absolutely dreaded report card day, every time.Things changed for me in fifth grade. Diane Ransom happened to me, and thank God she did. Mrs. Ransom recognized the symptoms, way back in the seventies. I don't know if she had a name for it or even knew I had a definable problem, but she instinctively knew how to handle me. She saw a kid with an unquenched thirst for knowledge and fed me what I craved. I was the kid who flew through assignments, so Mrs. Ransom always had something else to keep me busy. If I was interested in a particular subject, she supplied me with books to read, and asked me questions when I was done. If I finished math early, she gave me harder questions, and it felt like a reward. Spelling words completed, I would be handed a list of "Advanced" words to define. Again, it was a bonus to be given these special words. It wasn't busy work, it was knowledge. I learned more in fifth grade than I had in the four previous years. Mrs. Ransom stopped trying to tame me and directed my energy down the learned path. She took the time to know all of us, what we needed to succeed, and provided the fuel for the fire. For that, I will always be grateful.There were other teachers along the way that knew how to focus me. I gradually learned to focus myself. Sometimes though, the ADHD got the best of me and I would find myself spinning out of control. At the time, no one knew what to call it. No one knew it was even a thing with a name. My parents were frustrated and so was I. Later, in adulthood, I began to read about ADHD and finally knew what was happening to me. The nervousness, inability to concentrate, projects started and left unfinished because of distractions, following conversations without becoming lost in thought, stopping in the middle of sentences – unable to finish a thought because another one had taken its place –all symptoms I have to deal with. It's not all the time, but in times of stress, it can be debilitating. If you suffer from ADHD, then you know what I'm talking about. If you don't, then count yourself lucky.I followed a doctor's advice and took medication for eleven years. Yes, it helped, but the time came when I wanted off all medication. I was weaned off the meds, (You must be weaned off. Stopping abruptly is dangerous,) about sixteen months ago. I did very well handling the ADHD for a while. Recent stresses have caused it to intensify with gusto. I met some new people this weekend and they commented on my hyperactivity. I thought I was masking it very well. Unfortunately, we don't have the luxury of seeing ourselves as others see us, and rarely can the ones around us know what's going on inside our heads. For me, it is an every day struggle to stay focused and calm.I passed this disorder on to my son. Fortunately, for him, many of his teachers understood his problem and worked with him. Sometimes I would have to go to school to explain to a new teacher what it was like to be my son. He was lucky to be admitted to a performing arts school in sixth grade, where he remained until he graduated from high school. There, his energies were focused on his first love, music. Recognition that he was going to color outside the lines and the focusing of that creative spark, by some very intuitive teachers, helped him succeed. The proud momma will add here that he is an incredibly talented musician and a successful businessman today. We deal with stressful times together, supporting each other, and understanding what it's like to feel anxious most of the time.So, yes, I look at relaxed, roll with the punches kind of folks, and am envious. I don't know what it's like to have everything done, on time, and according to plan. I don't know what it's like to sit through a movie without missing parts, where I have drifted off the topic and became lost in my own thoughts. It's like that realization, when you've been driving for a while and suddenly have no memory of the last few miles you just passed. When ADHD is raging, it's impossible to focus on everything that's going through my mind. It all becomes a jumble of random thoughts and ideas. My wife has learned to make me look at her, when she needs me to listen. She also writes things down and posts sticky notes in places she knows I'll look. It's not just me dealing with my ADHD. Those around me are challenged, as well.I announced a book release today. That's what prompted this post. Immediately after the announcement, I was asked when the next book would be out. I actually panicked a bit. The stress and anxiousness doubled in seconds. My mind started flying through questions. The biggest questions were, "When will it be enough? When can I take a break and relax, calm in the assurance that I've done all that I need to do?" Thoughts racing, I drank some coffee. Yes, caffeine, in my case, helps calm me down. I made a list of things that needed to be done. I prioritized the list, taped it above my desk, and promised myself to complete each task before beginning a new one. That's the reality of life with ADHD. I'm not complaining. I could have far worse things to deal with. I simply have to remind myself to take a breath, slow everything down, and try to focus on one thing. I think that's why I love to write fiction. I can lose myself for hours, never losing focus, remaining on topic and in control. In that world, for some unknown reason, I am absolutely calm and relaxed. It is a safe place, where stress is only felt when a character is feeling it. Someone asked me how I was able to write so many books so fast. I said I didn't know. The truth is I need to write. Writing is my medication. I gulp it down without hesitation. It is the place I go to be calm, to be free of racing thoughts and hypertension. Maybe ADHD was a gift in that way, forcing me to seek a place of serenity. I find it in the pages I write and that is a blessing.
March 24, 2012
Thanking Molly
Usually, when I begin thanking people for helping me through a novel, it is a bit like a curtain call, saving the star for last. That person is always my wife, whom I thank the universe for every day. That has not changed, but the one person I have to give the most thanks to for this novel, Molly: House on Fire, is Molly Kincaid. You might think it odd that I would thank a fictional character, but then you may not know how Molly and I became friends. She appeared during the writing of my first novel, Out on the Sound, when it was just the wife reading what I wrote. I needed a lawyer for my main characters, Decky and Charlie. Suddenly, this image of a Jodie Foster look-a-like, strolling into a courtroom, leapt into my brain. It was a joke, really, between my wife and I. When I was much younger, I was asked often if I was the famous little girl actress. We had the same hair and freckles and I must admit, the resemblance was striking at times, as we both went through changes. I do not look at all like Jodie now, but for those early years, I wore that label with pride. So, when I needed a lawyer, this Jodie-like woman popped into my head, Molly Kincaid. I do not know where the name came from. It was what she whispered to me and I just wrote it down. From the first time she appeared on the page, Molly basically told me who she was. I knew in that moment, one day I would have to tell her story. I had no idea what that story would be, but I knew she had one. Molly appeared in each successive novel, if only for one line, even if I did not identify her by name. After all, who does not need a high-powered defense attorney occasionally? In some novels, she revealed more about her character. Harper, Lauren, and the Sweet Carolina Girls called on Molly to get them out of a jam. I never had to think when I wrote scenes with Molly. She simply told me what to say, where she worked, how she lived. I was as surprised as anyone, when Lizbeth dialed the phone in Waking Up Gray and Molly answered. Who knew Molly's best friend was a socialite divorcee? I certainly did not. We, the readers and I, found out more about Molly's personal life, the kind of friend she was, and that she liked hot blonds. Then came Before It Stains. The moment came when Molly appeared. She said, "Hey, I want in on this one." I had no intention of giving Stephanie an old flame, let alone knew it was Molly. I sat back from the computer and their entire relationship played out in my head like a movie. I sat back up to the keyboard and let Miss Molly tell the tale. Again, we learned so much more about her. I realized somewhere along the way, that I was creating a whole world of characters and they were all tied to one person. The time had come for Molly to tell her story. All I knew about Molly was what I had written in the novels. I set about the task of searching every book for anything remotely connected to her. I walked the floor, talked my wife's ears off, and waited. I asked the walls, "Who are you Molly Kincaid? Where were you born? What brought you to this time and place? What is your backstory, Molly?" One day she told me the prologue, pretty much as it is written. I wrote it and turned to my wife, asking her to listen. I did not make it through that first reading. I gasped in the middle of it and could not continue. I looked at my wife with tears streaming down my face and said, "I did not mean to write that. Oh my, that's painful." I weighed the heaviness of that scene against the lighthearted romance novel I intended to write. Molly insisted I start from there and then she laid out the rest of the book, piece by piece. I did persist in having my romance, with which she, begrudgingly at first, complied. So, thank you, Molly. I have enjoyed our friendship. I cannot imagine writing without you. Your story was fun to write, even if it had its dark moments. Your courage, integrity, and yes, your heart inspired me. I enjoyed every moment and am glad to finally know you, all of you. Until we meet again, good golly Miss Molly, that sure was a ball.
March 18, 2012
Let me explain.
I have recently been accused of being anti-male, because of some posts on Facebook that drew attention to bills being discussed and voted on in the US Senate and many states. Let me first state that I have no bias toward men. I raised one that I am extremely proud of. I do have a bias toward the treatment of women. That does not make me anti-male. If I am anti-anything, it is a government dictating what should be a doctor's decision, not a legislative one.
There is so much going on right now that I will narrow this discussion to the Blount Amendment. This amendment will give employers the ability to decide what will and will not be covered by an employee's insurance. A poster (full disclosure; he was male) stated that insurance coverage was not a "right." Okay, for the sake of argument, I'll buy that. He was correct. Nowhere in the Constitution am I guaranteed the right to insurance or health care, but I am guaranteed equal protection under the law.
I responded rather emotionally to the man's post on my page. I regret that, but this is an emotional issue for me. I'm going to address a few of the issues I have with the Blount Amendment and other bills being passed in the states. First, there is a bill that would require a woman to tell her employer why she is on birth control pills. Under the HEPA law, no one has a right to know why you see a doctor, without your consent. How can they pass a bill that violates a federal law? Second, as Senator Bernie Sanders said in his opposition speech on the Senate floor, the Blount Amendment would make it possible for an employer to deny coverage based on "religious beliefs and moral convictions" for well-woman visits, mammograms, birth control, and anything he/she doesn't want to cover. (Please keep in mind that birth control pills are used to treat other ailments, and are not solely used as a contraceptive.) If this is so expensive an employer cannot afford the coverage, then why did my insurance company send me a coupon every year to have tests run. You see, the insurance company knows it is far more expensive in the long run to ignore the tests and treat the disease after it has taken hold, rather than prevent it or catch it early enough to avoid expensive long term care.
The poster stated that I could still see my doctor and pay for the tests without insurance coverage. He also stated there were other ways to have the tests run and places to get birth control at low costs. Many of these outlets are under attack as well and bills are being submitted to end these programs. I love it when people with insurance and a comfortable existence speak for the masses. (A recent study showed a person in the northeast must work over 120 hours a week at minimum wage just to pay rent.) I would like to point out that without insurance coverage for these tests, they are much too expensive for the single mother who can barely make the rent and keep food on the table. (There are lots of reasons women are raising children alone, so let's not get into a debate about single mothers.) She makes too much money for help from welfare, but barely enough to keep a roof over their heads. What happens to her children when she dies from cancer, because she couldn't afford a simple mammogram? If the children become wards of the state, who pays then? Those are real choices for real families. Feed the kids or have a mammogram? The kids get fed, as they should, but she shouldn't have to make that choice.
Suppose this woman goes years without a well-woman visit to the doctor. The poster stated he shouldn't have to pay for something that did not relate to him personally. Well, if this woman scrapes together the money, goes to the doctor, and is found to have cancer for example, her doctor will say, "If we had caught it sooner, it would be a simple procedure." Now, the woman goes to the hospital. They schedule surgery, radiation, and chemo. Guess who is going to pay for that expensive treatment. If she can't, the government will pay the bill and she will be hounded to her grave for the money. In this scenario, the poster is most definitely paying more than he would have, had the woman undergone regular screening. If she had insurance that did not cover the testing but covers her treatment, I guess that's okay with the poster. Get really sick first and then we'll cover you. The employer loses the employee for long periods of time during the treatment. What's more expensive, a simple well check or cancer treatments and lost employee work hours?
I lived that scenario. My wife developed cancer in between full time jobs. (At the time, she was working two jobs, neither of which offered insurance.) It took us ten years, but we finally paid off the hospital and doctors. It was not our choice to be without insurance; it was just the circumstances we found ourselves in. We both have always worked. Our son had insurance, food, shelter, and clothing. Our medical problems took a back burner to his needs. She now goes for a mammogram religiously and her insurance company happily pays for the visits. Again, they see prevention and early screening as cost cutting, not costly.
The Blount Amendment is not just a danger to women's health. What happens when the employer decides colon and prostate cancer screening isn't necessary? Will that change this man's opinion? What if he suddenly found himself without a job, his family income cut in half? His wife's employer says no to cancer screening and well-woman visits. She gets sick because they can't afford to pay for those tests anymore. Who pays then? Will I be paying through my tax dollars to save his wife's life? I don't mind. In fact, I'm glad my tax dollars can save lives, but I'd rather pay for preventative care than treatment. I'd also rather save lives with my tax money than pay for a Senator's top of the line insurance, inflated salary, and outlandish pension.
It may not appear to be this poster's problem that insurance coverage will be denied based on "religious beliefs and moral convictions," as stated in the Blount Amendment. He may not see that down the road his own healthcare and that of his family could be compromised. Employers playing doctor is a no win for everybody, male and female. The poster was correct, insurance coverage is not a right. What is a right, is not to work for someone who would deny you essential healthcare coverage. If this bill passes, I would hope that each potential employee would ask what is covered and what is not, before signing that contract. Having your insurance coverage dictated by someone's religious beliefs and moral convictions harkens back to the Stone Age. People who have never faced the reality of feed the kids or have a mammogram are the ones writing these bills.
I'm not fighting this bill just for me. I'm fighting for my son and his wife, my potential grandchildren, my friends, and you. I am not anti-male. I am a woman concerned about a government that seems to have lost sight of one important part of the Constitution: The establishment clause is the First Amendment provision that prohibits the federal and state governments from establishing an official religion, or from favoring or disfavoring one view of religion over another. I am also concerned that people, male and female, don't see the ramifications of such a bill. I have a feeling there is a lot of "Why should I care?" going on out there. I'm reminded of the old quote from WWII:
First they came for the communists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew.
Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me.
I for one do not want to be that person who didn't see it coming. Don't take my word for it. Read the bills being presented around the country. If you don't see a problem with them, then let them pass. Don't worry Mr. Poster, when they come for something that does matter to you, I won't remain silent - if there is anyone left to listen.
There is so much going on right now that I will narrow this discussion to the Blount Amendment. This amendment will give employers the ability to decide what will and will not be covered by an employee's insurance. A poster (full disclosure; he was male) stated that insurance coverage was not a "right." Okay, for the sake of argument, I'll buy that. He was correct. Nowhere in the Constitution am I guaranteed the right to insurance or health care, but I am guaranteed equal protection under the law.
I responded rather emotionally to the man's post on my page. I regret that, but this is an emotional issue for me. I'm going to address a few of the issues I have with the Blount Amendment and other bills being passed in the states. First, there is a bill that would require a woman to tell her employer why she is on birth control pills. Under the HEPA law, no one has a right to know why you see a doctor, without your consent. How can they pass a bill that violates a federal law? Second, as Senator Bernie Sanders said in his opposition speech on the Senate floor, the Blount Amendment would make it possible for an employer to deny coverage based on "religious beliefs and moral convictions" for well-woman visits, mammograms, birth control, and anything he/she doesn't want to cover. (Please keep in mind that birth control pills are used to treat other ailments, and are not solely used as a contraceptive.) If this is so expensive an employer cannot afford the coverage, then why did my insurance company send me a coupon every year to have tests run. You see, the insurance company knows it is far more expensive in the long run to ignore the tests and treat the disease after it has taken hold, rather than prevent it or catch it early enough to avoid expensive long term care.
The poster stated that I could still see my doctor and pay for the tests without insurance coverage. He also stated there were other ways to have the tests run and places to get birth control at low costs. Many of these outlets are under attack as well and bills are being submitted to end these programs. I love it when people with insurance and a comfortable existence speak for the masses. (A recent study showed a person in the northeast must work over 120 hours a week at minimum wage just to pay rent.) I would like to point out that without insurance coverage for these tests, they are much too expensive for the single mother who can barely make the rent and keep food on the table. (There are lots of reasons women are raising children alone, so let's not get into a debate about single mothers.) She makes too much money for help from welfare, but barely enough to keep a roof over their heads. What happens to her children when she dies from cancer, because she couldn't afford a simple mammogram? If the children become wards of the state, who pays then? Those are real choices for real families. Feed the kids or have a mammogram? The kids get fed, as they should, but she shouldn't have to make that choice.
Suppose this woman goes years without a well-woman visit to the doctor. The poster stated he shouldn't have to pay for something that did not relate to him personally. Well, if this woman scrapes together the money, goes to the doctor, and is found to have cancer for example, her doctor will say, "If we had caught it sooner, it would be a simple procedure." Now, the woman goes to the hospital. They schedule surgery, radiation, and chemo. Guess who is going to pay for that expensive treatment. If she can't, the government will pay the bill and she will be hounded to her grave for the money. In this scenario, the poster is most definitely paying more than he would have, had the woman undergone regular screening. If she had insurance that did not cover the testing but covers her treatment, I guess that's okay with the poster. Get really sick first and then we'll cover you. The employer loses the employee for long periods of time during the treatment. What's more expensive, a simple well check or cancer treatments and lost employee work hours?
I lived that scenario. My wife developed cancer in between full time jobs. (At the time, she was working two jobs, neither of which offered insurance.) It took us ten years, but we finally paid off the hospital and doctors. It was not our choice to be without insurance; it was just the circumstances we found ourselves in. We both have always worked. Our son had insurance, food, shelter, and clothing. Our medical problems took a back burner to his needs. She now goes for a mammogram religiously and her insurance company happily pays for the visits. Again, they see prevention and early screening as cost cutting, not costly.
The Blount Amendment is not just a danger to women's health. What happens when the employer decides colon and prostate cancer screening isn't necessary? Will that change this man's opinion? What if he suddenly found himself without a job, his family income cut in half? His wife's employer says no to cancer screening and well-woman visits. She gets sick because they can't afford to pay for those tests anymore. Who pays then? Will I be paying through my tax dollars to save his wife's life? I don't mind. In fact, I'm glad my tax dollars can save lives, but I'd rather pay for preventative care than treatment. I'd also rather save lives with my tax money than pay for a Senator's top of the line insurance, inflated salary, and outlandish pension.
It may not appear to be this poster's problem that insurance coverage will be denied based on "religious beliefs and moral convictions," as stated in the Blount Amendment. He may not see that down the road his own healthcare and that of his family could be compromised. Employers playing doctor is a no win for everybody, male and female. The poster was correct, insurance coverage is not a right. What is a right, is not to work for someone who would deny you essential healthcare coverage. If this bill passes, I would hope that each potential employee would ask what is covered and what is not, before signing that contract. Having your insurance coverage dictated by someone's religious beliefs and moral convictions harkens back to the Stone Age. People who have never faced the reality of feed the kids or have a mammogram are the ones writing these bills.
I'm not fighting this bill just for me. I'm fighting for my son and his wife, my potential grandchildren, my friends, and you. I am not anti-male. I am a woman concerned about a government that seems to have lost sight of one important part of the Constitution: The establishment clause is the First Amendment provision that prohibits the federal and state governments from establishing an official religion, or from favoring or disfavoring one view of religion over another. I am also concerned that people, male and female, don't see the ramifications of such a bill. I have a feeling there is a lot of "Why should I care?" going on out there. I'm reminded of the old quote from WWII:
First they came for the communists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew.
Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me.
I for one do not want to be that person who didn't see it coming. Don't take my word for it. Read the bills being presented around the country. If you don't see a problem with them, then let them pass. Don't worry Mr. Poster, when they come for something that does matter to you, I won't remain silent - if there is anyone left to listen.
March 7, 2012
Thank you, Dr. Brown
Have you ever wanted to thank someone, but you couldn't? Has someone had an influence on you, helped you see the path, pointed you in the right direction, and they have no idea? I have one of those. I'm sure if I wrote to her, it would be just another fan letter in a pile, but to me it would be a heartfelt thank you. I remember that when I'm reading my own fan mail. I had no idea how my words would change the lives of others. I needed only to remember how Rita Mae Brown changed mine.
When I came out and started living the life I was meant to, I asked around about Lesbian Fiction books. I was 26 and had some catching up to do. I researched being a lesbian just like any other subject I was interested in. My wife, who had been out for a while, handed me her worn copy of Rubyfruit Jungle. I read it and found myself on most of the pages. It really helped me see things from my new perspective in a positive light. Rita Mae gave me the power of understanding. For that, I will always be grateful, but that isn't how she changed my life.
I went to the gay bar with my new girl. I had been before, but as the straight friend. Boy, did it look different from my new perspective. Anyway, I picked up the gay newspaper on the way out of the bar. In the back was an advertisement for Naiad Press and a list of lesbian books. I got busy ordering books. My next lesbian book was Katherine Forrest's Curious Wine. After that, I read a bunch of lesbian books. Okay, so there were other women out there who grew up like me, came out late like me, and found the love of their lives like me. Good to know.
In the meantime, I hunted down everything that Rita Mae Brown had written. I read it all, even the ones that didn't interest me that much. (I haven't read all the fox hunting books, but some of them.) Finding a copy of In Her Day was difficult, but I finally found it in a used bookstore in Richmond. I fell in love with the Runnymede series, Bingo, Six of One, and Loose Lips. High Hearts is a historical fiction novel and well worth the read. Whenever I drive through Virginia, I can see the cavalry jumping the fence. Rita Mae gave me that. Still, that isn't why I owe her a thank you.
I've always written. I've always wanted to be a writer. I just never sat down and completed a full manuscript. After my initial devouring of Lesbian Fiction and Rita Mae's books, life happened. I was in grad school, raising a toddler, and beginning a new life. Writing and reading outside of schoolwork just didn't happen. I read maybe one or two books a year for fun. Even after grad school was over and I had a job, I still only read job related things. I was a drama teacher, so my reading was mostly plays or research for those plays. My writing was for the stage also. I wrote a play and it won some awards. That was it, the extent of my reading and writing.
Then one day, my lovely wife came home with a book she saw while perusing a second hand store. She loves thrift stores. She hands me a copy of Starting From Scratch: A Different Kind of Writers' Manual, by Rita Mae Brown. It sat on a shelf for a year and then one day I picked it up. My life changed that day. I sat down after reading that book and wrote my first novel in 14 days. Although the book wasn't what induced me to write the novel, what Rita Mae gave me, again, was the pat on the back and the "you can do it" I felt when I first read Rubyfruit Jungle.
When I came out, it was not a pretty thing. It was three years of happiness tainted by child custody disputes and other family drama. Had I not read Rubyfruit Jungle, I don't think I would have handled it as well as I did. I knew I was not weird, or so different from others. I knew I was living my life finally and Rita Mae's book gave me the strength to get through it all. If Molly Bolt could do what she did, become the person she wanted to be, then I could, too.
Still, it was Starting from Scratch that had the most impact. Rita Mae lit a fire under me that had been smoldering for some time. My life is completely different now, and I owe Dr. Brown a million thanks for writing that book. I have returned to it many times. My first bad review trauma was washed away with her words. "The first thing I've learned is that very often people read their book, not your book. They read as though they were writing the book, and of course they would do things differently. Oftentimes these comments can be irritating but just as often they can be instructive. I am never bored at the variety of responses." Brown, Rita Mae (2011-05-04). Starting from Scratch (p. 151). Bantam. Kindle Edition. (Yes, I bought it on Kindle too, so I could have it with me all the time.)
There are many other jewels like that in this book. It's not only a manual of how to write, but how to handle being a writer. The act of writing the novel is personal; the rest is not. I learned from her how to deal with success and failure. If you're a writer or want to be, I suggest you read this book. It's old now, but most of it is still relevant. I hope it does for you what it did for me. I hope you say, "I can do this."
So, thank you Dr. Rita Mae Brown. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your novels are some of my most highly valued treasures. Your take charge and full-steam-ahead attitude inspired me. Molly Bolt saved me and gave me courage. Starting from Scratch pushed me over the invisible wall that prevented me from doing what I really wanted. I'm a writer now, Dr. Brown, and I'm living that dream. Thank you, thank you so much.
When I came out and started living the life I was meant to, I asked around about Lesbian Fiction books. I was 26 and had some catching up to do. I researched being a lesbian just like any other subject I was interested in. My wife, who had been out for a while, handed me her worn copy of Rubyfruit Jungle. I read it and found myself on most of the pages. It really helped me see things from my new perspective in a positive light. Rita Mae gave me the power of understanding. For that, I will always be grateful, but that isn't how she changed my life.
I went to the gay bar with my new girl. I had been before, but as the straight friend. Boy, did it look different from my new perspective. Anyway, I picked up the gay newspaper on the way out of the bar. In the back was an advertisement for Naiad Press and a list of lesbian books. I got busy ordering books. My next lesbian book was Katherine Forrest's Curious Wine. After that, I read a bunch of lesbian books. Okay, so there were other women out there who grew up like me, came out late like me, and found the love of their lives like me. Good to know.
In the meantime, I hunted down everything that Rita Mae Brown had written. I read it all, even the ones that didn't interest me that much. (I haven't read all the fox hunting books, but some of them.) Finding a copy of In Her Day was difficult, but I finally found it in a used bookstore in Richmond. I fell in love with the Runnymede series, Bingo, Six of One, and Loose Lips. High Hearts is a historical fiction novel and well worth the read. Whenever I drive through Virginia, I can see the cavalry jumping the fence. Rita Mae gave me that. Still, that isn't why I owe her a thank you.
I've always written. I've always wanted to be a writer. I just never sat down and completed a full manuscript. After my initial devouring of Lesbian Fiction and Rita Mae's books, life happened. I was in grad school, raising a toddler, and beginning a new life. Writing and reading outside of schoolwork just didn't happen. I read maybe one or two books a year for fun. Even after grad school was over and I had a job, I still only read job related things. I was a drama teacher, so my reading was mostly plays or research for those plays. My writing was for the stage also. I wrote a play and it won some awards. That was it, the extent of my reading and writing.
Then one day, my lovely wife came home with a book she saw while perusing a second hand store. She loves thrift stores. She hands me a copy of Starting From Scratch: A Different Kind of Writers' Manual, by Rita Mae Brown. It sat on a shelf for a year and then one day I picked it up. My life changed that day. I sat down after reading that book and wrote my first novel in 14 days. Although the book wasn't what induced me to write the novel, what Rita Mae gave me, again, was the pat on the back and the "you can do it" I felt when I first read Rubyfruit Jungle.
When I came out, it was not a pretty thing. It was three years of happiness tainted by child custody disputes and other family drama. Had I not read Rubyfruit Jungle, I don't think I would have handled it as well as I did. I knew I was not weird, or so different from others. I knew I was living my life finally and Rita Mae's book gave me the strength to get through it all. If Molly Bolt could do what she did, become the person she wanted to be, then I could, too.
Still, it was Starting from Scratch that had the most impact. Rita Mae lit a fire under me that had been smoldering for some time. My life is completely different now, and I owe Dr. Brown a million thanks for writing that book. I have returned to it many times. My first bad review trauma was washed away with her words. "The first thing I've learned is that very often people read their book, not your book. They read as though they were writing the book, and of course they would do things differently. Oftentimes these comments can be irritating but just as often they can be instructive. I am never bored at the variety of responses." Brown, Rita Mae (2011-05-04). Starting from Scratch (p. 151). Bantam. Kindle Edition. (Yes, I bought it on Kindle too, so I could have it with me all the time.)
There are many other jewels like that in this book. It's not only a manual of how to write, but how to handle being a writer. The act of writing the novel is personal; the rest is not. I learned from her how to deal with success and failure. If you're a writer or want to be, I suggest you read this book. It's old now, but most of it is still relevant. I hope it does for you what it did for me. I hope you say, "I can do this."
So, thank you Dr. Rita Mae Brown. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your novels are some of my most highly valued treasures. Your take charge and full-steam-ahead attitude inspired me. Molly Bolt saved me and gave me courage. Starting from Scratch pushed me over the invisible wall that prevented me from doing what I really wanted. I'm a writer now, Dr. Brown, and I'm living that dream. Thank you, thank you so much.
February 28, 2012
Holding a Memory
I find the strangest memories in my novels. Yes, it's true. I'll admit it. Some of the things in my books really happened to me. Like the eel story in Out on the Sound. My wife really did go screaming from the water, dragging this poor eel with her, with me doubled over laughing, telling her the whole time, "Just drop the pole." She's Charlie in the scene that went like this:
"Drop the pole! Just drop the pole!"Charlie screamed back, "It's the only weapon I have.""Stop running, it won't hurt you.""I know all about eels. I've seen them bite the hands off divers on TV. Remember 'The Deep!""Jacqueline Bisset, wet tee shirt, yes I remember The Deep.""Not the tits, the eel, you idiot."
Welcome to saltwater fishing, Okie. She also had the whole conversation with me about not liking to wade too far into the ocean, because things would eat you in there. I told her catfish would eat you too. Her answer, "Yeah, after you're dead, not make you that way." Her being born in Texas and growing up in Oklahoma has been a culture war with my east coast, Carolina Outer Banker roots. It has also been the source of many hours of laughter and fodder for my novels. I'm still trying to get used to that catch the catfish with your bare hand mentality in Oklahoma. Nope, not going to be doing that. Where I'm from you don't stick your hand in a hole unless you know what's in there. I love the guy talking about "reachin' up in d'er and grabbin' holt to a beaver, 'bout ate me alive." I imagine if I were a beaver and some strange hand came at me, I'd react adversely too. I'd at least want dinner first.
I'm telling this, after having to defend myself with the novel BEFORE IT STAINS. No, I did not cheat on my wife. No, she did not cheat on me. I wrote a book about relationships, and though there are some things in there I may have said or thought, the book is definitely not autobiographical. Yet, so many times there are parts of me in a book. The next novel to come out will be MOLLY: House on Fire. At the very beginning of the process for this book, I found a picture of me. I was at my parents' house, digging through old pictures and I found this one. I left it in the drawer and I'm going to look for it when I go home again. At the time, I didn't know it would surface in this book.
I'm standing on the end of a dock, on Gaston Lake in North Carolina. I am scrawny, probably six or seven, stringy dirty-blond hair down to my waist. I am tanned, in a bathing suit that is too big for me. (I was really skinny. That didn't last long.) Oh, and the best part, I'm missing my two front teeth. I know this because of the huge grin on my face. I'm holding a catfish almost as big as me on a stringer. I caught that fish with a balled up piece of bread, stuck on a hook, weighted with a washer, and tied to a piece of twine. Catfish will bite anything. Good thing the line was tied to the dock, or I would have gone in with the fish. I remember one of the older boys had to help me bring it in.
As I was writing this book, I ventured back into the main character's childhood. The image of that little girl, beaming back at the camera, kept resurfacing as I wrote. The picture ended up in the story, only it's Molly with the fish, or is it? I'm certainly not a wealthy lawyer, with the life Molly leads now or in her past. So, don't read anything into that, please. What I am is an adult that remembers things, the good and the bad things that a child just never forgets. There is a child in all of us that still hurts or laughs, because of things that were said and done in our youth. Catching that fish was a good memory for Molly and me.
Memories like that pop up in all my books. Some happy, some sad, and most of the time dressed up so thoroughly in fiction, no one would know unless I told them it was true. I like it when someone says the characters in a book fall in love too fast, too soon. I can honestly look at them and say that I fell in love with my wife the first time I saw her. I remember every second of that first meeting, nearly 25 years later. I had those inner monologues with myself before blowing the doors off that closet, leaving the hinges smoking. So, some of my characters have fallen that fast. It's true, it really happens. Electricity does shoot up your arm, your knees go weak, and you loose the ability to form complete sentences. At least, it happened to me that way and that's what happens to some of my characters. There is truth in fiction.
I'm often asked, "Is this you?" I get emails from people all the time, asking if something in a book is true. I also get emails telling me that I've written someone else's life. People recognize themselves in a story I wrote and I don't know how that happens. I guess we're all part of some human experience. We carry baggage and hurts, laughter and dreams with us throughout our lives. Some of them must be shared. So, if you see yourself in a book, just know I see myself too. I'm in those books. I'm the hopeless romantic, closeted, straight girl, falling madly for the lesbian, and having to chase her down. I'm the woman who knew the first time she kissed her, that she was the one. I'm the girl who grew up playing on the beaches and sounds of the Outer Banks. I'm the teacher, the singer, the writer, the softball player, and the child. I'm a picture on a wall, a little girl with a big grin, holding a memory.
"Drop the pole! Just drop the pole!"Charlie screamed back, "It's the only weapon I have.""Stop running, it won't hurt you.""I know all about eels. I've seen them bite the hands off divers on TV. Remember 'The Deep!""Jacqueline Bisset, wet tee shirt, yes I remember The Deep.""Not the tits, the eel, you idiot."
Welcome to saltwater fishing, Okie. She also had the whole conversation with me about not liking to wade too far into the ocean, because things would eat you in there. I told her catfish would eat you too. Her answer, "Yeah, after you're dead, not make you that way." Her being born in Texas and growing up in Oklahoma has been a culture war with my east coast, Carolina Outer Banker roots. It has also been the source of many hours of laughter and fodder for my novels. I'm still trying to get used to that catch the catfish with your bare hand mentality in Oklahoma. Nope, not going to be doing that. Where I'm from you don't stick your hand in a hole unless you know what's in there. I love the guy talking about "reachin' up in d'er and grabbin' holt to a beaver, 'bout ate me alive." I imagine if I were a beaver and some strange hand came at me, I'd react adversely too. I'd at least want dinner first.
I'm telling this, after having to defend myself with the novel BEFORE IT STAINS. No, I did not cheat on my wife. No, she did not cheat on me. I wrote a book about relationships, and though there are some things in there I may have said or thought, the book is definitely not autobiographical. Yet, so many times there are parts of me in a book. The next novel to come out will be MOLLY: House on Fire. At the very beginning of the process for this book, I found a picture of me. I was at my parents' house, digging through old pictures and I found this one. I left it in the drawer and I'm going to look for it when I go home again. At the time, I didn't know it would surface in this book.
I'm standing on the end of a dock, on Gaston Lake in North Carolina. I am scrawny, probably six or seven, stringy dirty-blond hair down to my waist. I am tanned, in a bathing suit that is too big for me. (I was really skinny. That didn't last long.) Oh, and the best part, I'm missing my two front teeth. I know this because of the huge grin on my face. I'm holding a catfish almost as big as me on a stringer. I caught that fish with a balled up piece of bread, stuck on a hook, weighted with a washer, and tied to a piece of twine. Catfish will bite anything. Good thing the line was tied to the dock, or I would have gone in with the fish. I remember one of the older boys had to help me bring it in.
As I was writing this book, I ventured back into the main character's childhood. The image of that little girl, beaming back at the camera, kept resurfacing as I wrote. The picture ended up in the story, only it's Molly with the fish, or is it? I'm certainly not a wealthy lawyer, with the life Molly leads now or in her past. So, don't read anything into that, please. What I am is an adult that remembers things, the good and the bad things that a child just never forgets. There is a child in all of us that still hurts or laughs, because of things that were said and done in our youth. Catching that fish was a good memory for Molly and me.
Memories like that pop up in all my books. Some happy, some sad, and most of the time dressed up so thoroughly in fiction, no one would know unless I told them it was true. I like it when someone says the characters in a book fall in love too fast, too soon. I can honestly look at them and say that I fell in love with my wife the first time I saw her. I remember every second of that first meeting, nearly 25 years later. I had those inner monologues with myself before blowing the doors off that closet, leaving the hinges smoking. So, some of my characters have fallen that fast. It's true, it really happens. Electricity does shoot up your arm, your knees go weak, and you loose the ability to form complete sentences. At least, it happened to me that way and that's what happens to some of my characters. There is truth in fiction.
I'm often asked, "Is this you?" I get emails from people all the time, asking if something in a book is true. I also get emails telling me that I've written someone else's life. People recognize themselves in a story I wrote and I don't know how that happens. I guess we're all part of some human experience. We carry baggage and hurts, laughter and dreams with us throughout our lives. Some of them must be shared. So, if you see yourself in a book, just know I see myself too. I'm in those books. I'm the hopeless romantic, closeted, straight girl, falling madly for the lesbian, and having to chase her down. I'm the woman who knew the first time she kissed her, that she was the one. I'm the girl who grew up playing on the beaches and sounds of the Outer Banks. I'm the teacher, the singer, the writer, the softball player, and the child. I'm a picture on a wall, a little girl with a big grin, holding a memory.
January 25, 2012
Another Brick in The Wall
There is a place, a bounded land where I go to write books. It is a safe place I guard fiercely. As of late, I've let other people's emotions and needs push hard on the walls I built around my favorite place. A few bricks fell out of my castle tower, a hole emerged here and there. The detritus of other people's narrow mindedness and mendacity seeped into my writing world. It's not a good mix. By nature, I am an empathetic person. I take on the moods of others. I feel their pain beyond sympathy. It served me well as an actress, this ability to feel so deeply what it was like to be someone else. I feel sure that empathy at this level makes me a better writer than I would be if I couldn't understand what it was like to be a whole different person, with emotional scars for which I have no actual frame of reference. It has been both a blessing and a curse. The curse comes from the very real pain this empathy can bring. As authors, readers contact many of us because a novel we wrote moved them in such a way that they were compelled to communicate that to us. My email address is on all my novels and I encourage people to write to me. There's nothing quite as motivating as knowing something I wrote changed someone's life in their eyes. Readers also share heartbreaking personal stories that often leave me astonished, in tears, and a true believer that truth is stranger than fiction, (if truth can be found on the Internet.) I've also been deceived and perplexed at why someone would lie to me, a total stranger. To what end, I always wonder? Still, it's a small price to pay, to listen to a reader's troubles, but email has made authors so accessible, it can become overwhelming and time consuming. I had to learn to respond politely and, respectful of the person's feeling, offer a short "hope it gets better." That may sound heartless, but becoming emotional invested in the lesbian dramas of the world would be a full time job and one for professional therapists. I am not qualified. That point was driven home to me very recently. I still enjoy getting email and I will read everyone. I simply put a brick back in the wall. I don't read reviews. I am in agreement with Rita Mae Brown on this one. Once the book is published, a review isn't going to change how the book is written. It's already out there. Nothing I can do about it now. My wife reads the reviews. If she thinks I could learn something from a bad review, she tells me. She's very intelligent, fair-minded, and not afraid to challenge me on what I write. She also reads me a good one now and then, just to keep me motivated. All of this was learned behavior, after a particularly nasty personal attack by an unsatisfied reader. I am also reminded that there is a distinct difference between a "review" and a critique based on classic literary definitions and themes. I'll take a critique any day. The delete button is my friend and I don't seek out sites that review my books or those of other authors. Another brick back in the wall. I belong to several groups, one of them my own. I love my group. We talk about my books, other people's books, ask questions that puzzle us, share answers and have fun. I only had one person post anything negative and I just happened to be online when it happened. Her racist remark about the President was met by a quick banishment. Problem solved. I belonged to another group that did nothing for my writing career and caused me anguish. Removing myself from the group brought instant relief. I hadn't known how much I dreaded opening the messages until I was out. That brick was a pleasure to mortar back in place. I had alerts set up to let me know when new topics popped up in several lesbian fiction discussion groups. I only responded in the groups when a direct question was asked about one of my novels. After weeks of nothing but notifications of one particular overly enthusiastic new author, tooting her own horn to the point of obnoxiousness, I disabled the notifications. If I was anything close to that verbose in my excitement at becoming an author, I do humbly apologize and ask forgiveness. If someone is truly interested in my books, they know where to find me. That brick went back in pretty quickly and the silence was golden. Readers sent me transcripts of conversations from other groups that I am not a member of. It's amazing what people will say when they don't think the person they are talking about will ever see those words. After several of these, I asked the kindhearted readers, that were only trying to defend me against what they deemed unwarranted attacks, to please just leave me out of it. Let them talk. To give it another thought would be lowering myself to the level of middle school "she said – she said," and quite frankly, I'm just too old for that. If another author or anyone involved in this genre feels the need to bash my novels in public, more power to her. Everyone is entitled to his or her opinion and it just might trigger a reader to go find out for herself. I, for one, believe there is room for lots of lesbian fiction authors and no need to attack each other, since the far right does such a good job of it. Another brick in the wall. I became involved in the marketing and daily grind of running my own publishing business. Lawyers, accountants, editors, formatters, sales and taxes, the realities of running your own business. Communication with readers is also essential in today's market. I gladly spend time each day on Facebook. I have, however, begun to watch my time there more closely. It's on in the corner of my screen while I write and when I take breaks I pop over to see what's happening or comment. Facebook can suck two hours away before you know it, so I check the time when I click on the page. I know exactly how much time I'm spending there. If I'm stuck or plotting, it's a nice diversion for a while. The most important thing I realized is that the people on my FB friends list are already readers. That's how they found me in the first place. No sense in wasting writing time, chatting with them all day. They would rather I were writing anyway. A small brick in the corner went back in. That brings me to my final brick. My fortress is almost as good as new, as pristine as when I began this journey. I was alone in my fantasyland back then. No one but my wife knew I was writing. It was blissful in that world, no voices of decent, no distractions, just me and a keyboard. I didn't worry about what the readers would think. I never thought there would be any readers. I wrote that first novel for my wife and me. I shared it with a few close friends. They liked it. I was hooked. I wrote like a demon possessed and turned out four manuscripts in less than nine months. Every spare moment was spent in my little very productive world. I saw that production decline as the popularity of the novels I eventually published rose. Distracted by this and that, I longed for the peace of just writing. That heart pumping excitement that greeted me each time I sat down at my desk. The days when all I thought about were the characters and plot lines, and what to cook for dinner. I truly missed it. I set about putting my house back in order. A friend told me yesterday that another author said to her, "Readers read and writers write." She went on to say, and I paraphrase (hopefully well,) "anything beyond that is just extra." Readers want more books to read and writers want to write them, it's as simple as that. Get back to basics, what got you here, why you began to write in the first place. I'm doing just that. I made up my mind this morning to put the last brick back in the wall. As my hands shook from anger, I wrote a long scathing post in one of the last two groups I'm in, outside of my own. I didn't send it. I realized my heartfelt response would fall on deaf ears. I am the odd man out here, and out I'm going. I wouldn't hang out with people I don't trust in the real world, why should I do it in the virtual world just because we "seem" to be in the same profession. In "real" life, I would simply walk away, because my life is complete as it is. My mother-in-law has a saying. "Life's too short to hang out with people you don't like." She also says, "Don't put yourself in situations you know you don't do well in," meaning eventually I would go off on a rant, because I don't do well staying quiet while others clog the air with deceit and complete self-absorption. I was going to blow a gasket if I stayed in that group. I'm going to take that advice. The last brick goes back in the wall and I am once again shielded from the distractions of negative karma. I am writing this while taking a break from the novel I'm working on. I was amazed at how freely the words flowed this morning. A weight has lifted and I am once again in my safe place. If I feel intense emotions like anger and anxiety, I want it to be in the middle of a scene I'm writing, not staring at group messages. I get all the support I need from my family and readers who enjoy my work, and let's face it, writers thrive on feedback. I'm remaining in one group only and if at anytime the pleasant atmosphere dips to negative drama, I'm out. If this is poor marketing strategy, because word of mouth plays a huge role in this tiny little incestuous genre, then so be it. My blood pressure will remain at healthier levels. I'll do a better job of protecting my space from now on. As an author, my brain is my only asset. If I clutter it up with things that really have no relativity to my work or my family, then I'm misusing my instrument and disrespecting the people who truly love me for me, not because I write books. If you are an author reading this, then you've probably already had these revelations. You've learned to manage your time and not let things interfere with your work, and are nodding your head, "Been there, done that." If you are a reader, then know I truly appreciate your support and if you're not a nut case, I'll probably keep talking to you anytime you feel like dropping me an email or a message on FB. (don't flame me over the use of the term "nut case." If you've been on the Internet, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Let's be real here.) Don't freak if I don't answer right away. Know I'm writing and managing my time better. That's what most readers want anyway, more books. There have only been a few readers that expected more than I could give, but that few taught me valuable lessons. It was a hard lesson for me, fraught with hair tugging and tears, but I made it back to my turret, where I gaze now over the land I've created. The tower is again a stronghold, and I write, and write, and write, because after all, what good is a castle without a fairytale.
January 16, 2012
"The only thing to fear is fear itself."
"People fail to get along because they fear each other; they fear each other because they don't know each other; they don't know each other because they have not communicated with each other." ~ Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Today, I was digging through the copious quotes on the Internet honoring the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The man certainly was quotable and a visionary. The quote above stuck with me and after about an hour of reading, I came back to it. Those words ring so true, we hate what we fear and fear what we hate. I have never experienced horrible injustices because of my skin color. I'm Caucasian, dirty-blonde hair (I love my hairdresser. She is the queen of color,) and blue eyes. Thanks to good guidance from some awesome adults as I grew up, I was taught to believe that the content of one's character was much more important than where you came from, what your parents' do for a living, how much money you do or don't have, the color of your skin, how much education you have, etc. You get the picture. I listened to Martin Luther King, Jr. and other civil rights leaders as a child and thought they had a point. Separate is not equal, any six year old (my age at the time of his death,) can tell you that. I understood and finally America did too. We grew and are growing in our understanding of the words this country was founded on, "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." I know that some people don't want the LGBT community's struggle for equal rights compared with the Civil Rights Movement of the sixties. Okay, I won't do that here. What I will do is reflect on the quote above by the great Civil Rights leader himself, "People fail to get along because they fear each other; they fear each other because they don't know each other; they don't know each other because they have not communicated with each other." King knew that if people began to know each other as human beings, then it would be so much harder to hate someone. So, what can we do in the LGBT community to allay the anxieties of those who fear and hate us? I suggest we speak up, at least those of us that can without fear of reprisal, and make a new LGBT ally every day. I suggest we show people that our everyday lives are not much different than theirs and we are not to be feared. After all, what some people think they know of our community is what they've heard spouted by hate mongers. They fear us because they really don't know us. For example; I'm a lesbian fiction writer. When I tell people that, I get the look. You know, the look. The, "OMG! You write porn," look. Trust me folks, my novels are about as vanilla as they come, according to my voracious lesbian fiction reading friends. I blush when I read a scene in public that fades to black before the action starts, simply because my imagination knows what is about to happen in the character's world. In my explanation to the shocked onlooker that I do not write porn, or erotica, I try to point out that sex is generally not the center of our lives. It is a big part of it just like it is in the hetero world, but so is doing the laundry, buying groceries, and going to work. I write about human beings getting on with life, they just happen to be lesbians. "Oh," accompanied by a doubtful look, is usually the response. We have to do a better job of letting the public know that we are not a deviant bunch that spends every waking minute seeking the next sexual encounter. Okay, yes, some of us are on the hunt 24-7, but in my case, I'm chasing my wife around the house. That also seems to happen in healthy hetero marriages. I am extremely happy that after almost 25 years, I still like to chase my wife around and I don't need Viagra. (Sorry guys.) We're healthy adults with normal sexual desires. We are not pedophiles stalking the school parking lots. (Being lumped in with pedophiles is one of my biggest pet peeves. Hey folks, the Penn State dude is married with children. Claim your own.) The only difference between my marriage and hetero marriages is that mine has lasted longer than most of theirs.There is no need to fear us. We work, we play, we eat, sleep, dance, sing, and we love just like other humans. I can't imagine a creator that would put this wonderful human being on the earth, somehow let us find each other, and then not want me to love her. I just can't wrap my mind around that. I think ignoring the gift of love I was given would be a bigger sin, than living this happy life we've led. My wife and I are not alone. Millions of LGBT people live quite "normal" lives. Our lives can be as routine as the next family on the block, simply getting by, living and loving. So, the next time your neighbor waves and smiles, spend a moment to just be friendly. You don't have to start every conversation with, "Hi, I'm gay. Gotta problem with that?" I rather like it when someone says, "Oh, I didn't know you were gay. You're so normal." I smile and say, "Yes, I am." Sometimes the person can't believe they've befriended a gay person and you see the light come on. Suddenly, we don't seem so scary, so much of a threat to "normal" people. We are teachers, doctors, lawyers, clerks at the market, policeman, military personnel, artists, writers, dancers, singers, preachers, your neighbors, your friends. "Get to know us before you fear us," is my message to the haters. "Help them understand," is my message to the LGBT community. Make an LGBT ally everyday. Dispel the fear and teach them. Dr. King was right, "…they don't know each other because they have not communicated with each other " Open the lines of communication today. I'll close with another King family member quote, one of my all time favorites:"I believe all Americans who believe in freedom, tolerance and human rights have a responsibility to oppose bigotry and prejudice based on sexual orientation." ~ Coretta Scott King
Today, I was digging through the copious quotes on the Internet honoring the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The man certainly was quotable and a visionary. The quote above stuck with me and after about an hour of reading, I came back to it. Those words ring so true, we hate what we fear and fear what we hate. I have never experienced horrible injustices because of my skin color. I'm Caucasian, dirty-blonde hair (I love my hairdresser. She is the queen of color,) and blue eyes. Thanks to good guidance from some awesome adults as I grew up, I was taught to believe that the content of one's character was much more important than where you came from, what your parents' do for a living, how much money you do or don't have, the color of your skin, how much education you have, etc. You get the picture. I listened to Martin Luther King, Jr. and other civil rights leaders as a child and thought they had a point. Separate is not equal, any six year old (my age at the time of his death,) can tell you that. I understood and finally America did too. We grew and are growing in our understanding of the words this country was founded on, "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." I know that some people don't want the LGBT community's struggle for equal rights compared with the Civil Rights Movement of the sixties. Okay, I won't do that here. What I will do is reflect on the quote above by the great Civil Rights leader himself, "People fail to get along because they fear each other; they fear each other because they don't know each other; they don't know each other because they have not communicated with each other." King knew that if people began to know each other as human beings, then it would be so much harder to hate someone. So, what can we do in the LGBT community to allay the anxieties of those who fear and hate us? I suggest we speak up, at least those of us that can without fear of reprisal, and make a new LGBT ally every day. I suggest we show people that our everyday lives are not much different than theirs and we are not to be feared. After all, what some people think they know of our community is what they've heard spouted by hate mongers. They fear us because they really don't know us. For example; I'm a lesbian fiction writer. When I tell people that, I get the look. You know, the look. The, "OMG! You write porn," look. Trust me folks, my novels are about as vanilla as they come, according to my voracious lesbian fiction reading friends. I blush when I read a scene in public that fades to black before the action starts, simply because my imagination knows what is about to happen in the character's world. In my explanation to the shocked onlooker that I do not write porn, or erotica, I try to point out that sex is generally not the center of our lives. It is a big part of it just like it is in the hetero world, but so is doing the laundry, buying groceries, and going to work. I write about human beings getting on with life, they just happen to be lesbians. "Oh," accompanied by a doubtful look, is usually the response. We have to do a better job of letting the public know that we are not a deviant bunch that spends every waking minute seeking the next sexual encounter. Okay, yes, some of us are on the hunt 24-7, but in my case, I'm chasing my wife around the house. That also seems to happen in healthy hetero marriages. I am extremely happy that after almost 25 years, I still like to chase my wife around and I don't need Viagra. (Sorry guys.) We're healthy adults with normal sexual desires. We are not pedophiles stalking the school parking lots. (Being lumped in with pedophiles is one of my biggest pet peeves. Hey folks, the Penn State dude is married with children. Claim your own.) The only difference between my marriage and hetero marriages is that mine has lasted longer than most of theirs.There is no need to fear us. We work, we play, we eat, sleep, dance, sing, and we love just like other humans. I can't imagine a creator that would put this wonderful human being on the earth, somehow let us find each other, and then not want me to love her. I just can't wrap my mind around that. I think ignoring the gift of love I was given would be a bigger sin, than living this happy life we've led. My wife and I are not alone. Millions of LGBT people live quite "normal" lives. Our lives can be as routine as the next family on the block, simply getting by, living and loving. So, the next time your neighbor waves and smiles, spend a moment to just be friendly. You don't have to start every conversation with, "Hi, I'm gay. Gotta problem with that?" I rather like it when someone says, "Oh, I didn't know you were gay. You're so normal." I smile and say, "Yes, I am." Sometimes the person can't believe they've befriended a gay person and you see the light come on. Suddenly, we don't seem so scary, so much of a threat to "normal" people. We are teachers, doctors, lawyers, clerks at the market, policeman, military personnel, artists, writers, dancers, singers, preachers, your neighbors, your friends. "Get to know us before you fear us," is my message to the haters. "Help them understand," is my message to the LGBT community. Make an LGBT ally everyday. Dispel the fear and teach them. Dr. King was right, "…they don't know each other because they have not communicated with each other " Open the lines of communication today. I'll close with another King family member quote, one of my all time favorites:"I believe all Americans who believe in freedom, tolerance and human rights have a responsibility to oppose bigotry and prejudice based on sexual orientation." ~ Coretta Scott King
January 13, 2012
Lost in Translation
In an effort to cut through the language barrier. I emailed this helpful guide to the difference between sharing and stealing to Yamlugue1980@yahoo.ar and Yamluge@yahoo.ar
Yamila Luciana Guerrier
Cochabamba 948
Ciudad de Buenos Aires
1150 Argentina
Yamila,I saw that you spoke on the phone with my friend Layce Gardner. Yes, she posted the transcript of your phone conversation. You see, lesbian fiction is a very small genre and we're a bit like a large family of sisters. Just like any family, we don't always get along, but we have rallied around one cause - Putting you at the top of the most wanted pirates list for illegally posting copyrighted material. In your conversation with Layce, I detected a slight translation problem and I'd like to clear up any misunderstandings. The word "share" seems to be a stumbling block in your conversation. Share can be used both as a verb and a noun. The noun "share" means a portion of something, as in "your share of the pie." It implies ownership. The verb "share" has several meanings. In one sense of the word, when you share you allow someone to use or enjoy something that you possess, as in "I will share my water with you." "Share" can also mean to tell, as in "I will share my thoughts with you." There are other definitions of "share," but these should help you comprehend the difference between sharing and stealing. Stealing, thievery, is the taking of something that isn't yours from it's rightful owner.You say you don't "steal" copyrighted material, you "share" it. See, this is where I think the language barrier may come into play. Where I grew up sharing was okay, stealing would get your ass kicked. I was under the impression that most people knew this. Alas, I wish you had grown up in my house, because we were taught the difference between sharing and stealing. When something is shared, there is implied permission. When something is stolen, no permission has been granted. So, for the sake of this argument, let's say you did buy one copy of each ebook. (By the way, you must be a huge lesbian fiction fan, because you have illegally copied every big name in the business.) If you shared your copy with a few friends, while it is still not good for my business, I really don't have a problem with one or two people reading your copy. That is sharing. I loan books to friends myself. The word loan implies that it will be returned to me. I participate freely in the lending programs at my authorized distributers. I don't know too many authors that have a problem with loaning and sharing books. What we do have a problem with is the illegal uploading of complete ebook files to thousands and thousands of people. These people are not your friends. They are Internet strangers you seem to desperately need to please. This, by the way, is probably due to your low self-esteem and emotional issues. I'd get that checked by a mental health professional. I am sorry that you must buy your friends using my work and that of others. It's sad really. If you are a fan of lesbian fiction, then I suggest you cease and desist damaging the earnings potential of its authors. We are not mainstream authors with huge publishing corporations behind us. (I think pirating the wealthy authors is just as despicable, but at least they'll keep eating.) We are women (for the most part) who have families to feed and bills to pay, just like the women who legally purchase our books. Some of those women struggle to fit lesbian fiction into their budgets, but they buy the books, and I am forever grateful. The money I get from those sales goes right back into publishing my next book. The rest goes into the family budget. I don't live in a big house, or drive fancy fast cars. My wife works, I write, and we get by. I'm a REAL PERSON. I am not a virtual entity and that is not virtual money that you are taking out of my pocket. I am respectfully asking one more time, (and now that we've cleared up that translation issue, you should comprehend exactly what I'm saying,) that you stop stealing from me. I am sharing my opinion with you in hopes that the creator gave you your fair share of humanity. If this falls on deaf ears, as all the other requests have, I hope the thieves come in the night, steal from you, and share your belongings with anyone that wants them. I hope you have your share of misery and bad karma. I'll share with you something I read in the news. The US is threatening to stop sharing with countries that do not respect copyright laws and punish the thieves appropriately. Trust me, your government doesn't want trade blocked with the US. When the government shares its displeasure with pirates, it won't be the big upload sites sharing the bill. They will laugh behind their corporate lawyers while the blame is shared by the pirates. I hope when the law catches up to you that the court shares with you the severity of your crimes and gives you the appropriate jail sentence, where you should be happy to share everything you own with your new roomate. Hopefully she will share your love of lesbian fiction and you can share your stories into the cold dark nights. I hope the judge also takes my share of the money you have cost me and shares it with me in one lump sum. I hope you now understand the difference between sharing and stealing.R. E. Bradshaw
Yamila Luciana Guerrier
Cochabamba 948
Ciudad de Buenos Aires
1150 Argentina
Yamila,I saw that you spoke on the phone with my friend Layce Gardner. Yes, she posted the transcript of your phone conversation. You see, lesbian fiction is a very small genre and we're a bit like a large family of sisters. Just like any family, we don't always get along, but we have rallied around one cause - Putting you at the top of the most wanted pirates list for illegally posting copyrighted material. In your conversation with Layce, I detected a slight translation problem and I'd like to clear up any misunderstandings. The word "share" seems to be a stumbling block in your conversation. Share can be used both as a verb and a noun. The noun "share" means a portion of something, as in "your share of the pie." It implies ownership. The verb "share" has several meanings. In one sense of the word, when you share you allow someone to use or enjoy something that you possess, as in "I will share my water with you." "Share" can also mean to tell, as in "I will share my thoughts with you." There are other definitions of "share," but these should help you comprehend the difference between sharing and stealing. Stealing, thievery, is the taking of something that isn't yours from it's rightful owner.You say you don't "steal" copyrighted material, you "share" it. See, this is where I think the language barrier may come into play. Where I grew up sharing was okay, stealing would get your ass kicked. I was under the impression that most people knew this. Alas, I wish you had grown up in my house, because we were taught the difference between sharing and stealing. When something is shared, there is implied permission. When something is stolen, no permission has been granted. So, for the sake of this argument, let's say you did buy one copy of each ebook. (By the way, you must be a huge lesbian fiction fan, because you have illegally copied every big name in the business.) If you shared your copy with a few friends, while it is still not good for my business, I really don't have a problem with one or two people reading your copy. That is sharing. I loan books to friends myself. The word loan implies that it will be returned to me. I participate freely in the lending programs at my authorized distributers. I don't know too many authors that have a problem with loaning and sharing books. What we do have a problem with is the illegal uploading of complete ebook files to thousands and thousands of people. These people are not your friends. They are Internet strangers you seem to desperately need to please. This, by the way, is probably due to your low self-esteem and emotional issues. I'd get that checked by a mental health professional. I am sorry that you must buy your friends using my work and that of others. It's sad really. If you are a fan of lesbian fiction, then I suggest you cease and desist damaging the earnings potential of its authors. We are not mainstream authors with huge publishing corporations behind us. (I think pirating the wealthy authors is just as despicable, but at least they'll keep eating.) We are women (for the most part) who have families to feed and bills to pay, just like the women who legally purchase our books. Some of those women struggle to fit lesbian fiction into their budgets, but they buy the books, and I am forever grateful. The money I get from those sales goes right back into publishing my next book. The rest goes into the family budget. I don't live in a big house, or drive fancy fast cars. My wife works, I write, and we get by. I'm a REAL PERSON. I am not a virtual entity and that is not virtual money that you are taking out of my pocket. I am respectfully asking one more time, (and now that we've cleared up that translation issue, you should comprehend exactly what I'm saying,) that you stop stealing from me. I am sharing my opinion with you in hopes that the creator gave you your fair share of humanity. If this falls on deaf ears, as all the other requests have, I hope the thieves come in the night, steal from you, and share your belongings with anyone that wants them. I hope you have your share of misery and bad karma. I'll share with you something I read in the news. The US is threatening to stop sharing with countries that do not respect copyright laws and punish the thieves appropriately. Trust me, your government doesn't want trade blocked with the US. When the government shares its displeasure with pirates, it won't be the big upload sites sharing the bill. They will laugh behind their corporate lawyers while the blame is shared by the pirates. I hope when the law catches up to you that the court shares with you the severity of your crimes and gives you the appropriate jail sentence, where you should be happy to share everything you own with your new roomate. Hopefully she will share your love of lesbian fiction and you can share your stories into the cold dark nights. I hope the judge also takes my share of the money you have cost me and shares it with me in one lump sum. I hope you now understand the difference between sharing and stealing.R. E. Bradshaw
