M. Saylor Billings's Blog, page 2

Phyllis Diller

I had a fun blog prepared but I'd like to interrupt that blogcast to tell you something you've already heard by now.  Phyllis Diller died today at 95 years old. She was a trailblazing comedian, an artist, mother, grandmother, friend, and heart attack survivor.  Her life was about love and laughter.

I'm not going to go into the "I met Phyllis when" spiel because who cares.  I was lucky, I got to meet her and work with her for a day.  And what I witnessed that day can't be taught - you just have to kind of absorb it.  She was a good person to me and my friends, she was a giver, and when I met her (when she was 90-years-old) she was still beautiful. But let's face it, that was because of all that plastic surgery.

As I work on a tribute blog for her.  Please read the following link and learn about her life.  She was truly a wonderful person and I hope she and her comedy is long remembered.

Your anger bores me.

Anger-mmercials
So a friend of mine posted a link on her Facebook page.  The link was from an angry article in a 'Women's' magazine in response to a new Facebook app that will block out your friends photo's that they post of their babies and or children.  My friends comment to this angry article was, "Yup, that about sums it up."
The article itself is witty and uses cool words strung together like "life porn andsocial networks as comparison life shopping."  Those are fun words when you string them together.  And the article is a wonderful tirade in response to something that really doesn't matter.  Not in the big picture, not in our daily lives, not ever.  (And for the record I have no less than 7 (7!)  friend's with new babies.  Do I get sick of seeing baby pictures?  Yep.  Do they get sick of me making fun of their babies pictures with pithy pokes and tag lines? Yep.  Because we're friends, we have history together, it's how we roll. I would defend their right to post these mind-numbing drool fests and they would defend my right to call them mind-numbing drool fests.) But there was something underlying in this article that disturbed me, but I couldn't put my finger on it, just yet.
So, fast forward a bit to later in the day and I've got a 'Non-Profit Radio' podcast playing in the background while I'm cleaning up the house and the entire show was this same type of tirade response to yet another product that has come out.  And that's when it hit me.  I had stopped watching regular television when pretty people resorted to eating bugs to be on the teevee and untalented half-wits were being insulted on every channel.  I stopped watching/listening to political commentary when I couldn't bare to witness the Jerry Springer-esque presentation.  I've been reduced to Niall Ferguson and Jim Lehrer.
And now I have my own strung together word, "Anger-mmercials".  That's when you can make a product with some seemingly redeemable purpose and market it with white-hot anger in social networking, radio, teevee, or blogs.  Because if you can get people to see the bad in something they will surely scream in to a void about it and voila, you have a ready-made marketing program. Hazzah!  People are talking about your product.
I'll be glad when the anger phase/craze has cried itself to sleep.  Because the only thing more boring than yet another picture of someone else's kid with "fun" sunglasses on, is reading/listening/watching an irate article/program about someone else's anger about a product.  So here's a new caption:  Your anger bores me.
NOTE:  Cool words strung together:  Your anger bores me.  That's how we roll. Mind-numbing drool fests, Untalented half-wits, and Anger-mmercials. 

Fly my pretties, fly!

When I first heard about Olympic Gold Medalist Gabrielle Douglas being nicknamed The Flying Squirrel I thought it was a perfect nickname/term of endearment.  She does have those little poofy cheeks when she smiles.  And her smile is one of those smiles that make's the world feel lighter.  And then I thought, 'that'd be cool to give all the gold medal champs a super hero nickname.  Jack Black could be in charge of it, he's so gung ho about things like that, a la Kung Fu Panda.  Hell, it could even be a Wheatie's like national contest or something.'  Seriously, if anyone deserves little plastic toys made with their impressions on them, their faces on cereal boxes, and be labeled with national terms of endearment, it's the Olympians - not the made up super-hero's.
But the next thing I know there is a bend to the whole notion of referring to her by that moniker.  Apparently, there are some who thought the "flying squirrel" nickname was derogatory and or racist.   Truth be told, that's up to her royal awesomeness, Ms. Gabrielle Douglas.  That conversation would go like this:
Me:  Hi. I think you're an amazing gymnast.GD:  Thank you.Me:  As a matter of fact you also have a beautiful smile that lights up the whole gymnasium.GD:  Thank you.Me:  Watching you at the Olympics’ while I sat on the couch and stuffed my face with pork rinds and cookies made me very happy.GD:  I'm glad it brightened your day.Me:  I heard someone nicknamed you the flying squirrel.  Can I use that term for you?  Can I too call you the flying squirrel?  'Cause I've got this idea to give all the gold medalist superhero nicknames.  Wouldn't that be cool?GD:  (Smiles)  I have to go. I'm on a schedule, but thank you for your support.Me:  Ah! You're blinding me with that bright smile.GD:  Ma'am, you're getting pork rind grease on my sleeve.
Of course I just made all that up, I don't eat pork rinds.
But it's not the first time I've made some kind of racial faux pas.  I grew up in a small southern town so white the only "others" we had were Catholics.  I didn't know black from white. It didn't even register in my young mind that there were "colors" of skin.  I can't actually recall ever hearing the word "Nigger."  (Yeah, I said that and I'm gonna do it again.) 
One of my favorite shows was The Jefferson's.  (I think I was too young to know it was a spin off of Archie Bunker.)  I loved it when George would do that funny walk where he'd make his arms really stiff and take long strutting strides. I would then imitate that walk around the house and call my older sister "Weezie!"  SO then there was that episode with Willie and Lester.  (Willie Tyler was a famous ventriloquist and his dummy was called Lester and they were Black/African American.)  It was possibly the funniest thing I had ever seen on television.  All my young self saw was this guy who made his doll talk to people and everyone laughed.  Well, then the Sears catalog came,  THE CHRISTMAS EDITION! (I told you it was a small town.)  And there in the toy section was Lester.  Man, I wanted that dummy so bad.  I could do that thing where I don't make my mouth move when I talk and people will laugh.  I was so excited.
Fast forward to Christmas.  This was spent out of town with relatives;  Aunt's, Uncles, Cousin's, Grandparents the whole 'fam-damily' would be there.  Amazingly, I had gotten Lester and my mom even gave me some 'ventriloquist lessons' - how to use the letter N instead of M, and D instead of B so my lips don't move.  It was a great Christmas morning.   I loved that Santa shopped at Sears.  (I was a naive 7 year old.)
We get to my Aunt's house to exchange gifts and do the dinner thing and of course I bring Lester cause now we'll have a bigger audience.  As we all sit down for the gift exchange,  (To this day, I can still see the room and where everyone sat.) I pull out Lester.  And my Aunt howls out, "Oh! You got her a nigger baby! Look at that nigger- baby!"  I can still see two of my cousins laughing in this garish fish-eye lens of memory.  I didn't understand what they meant.  "Are you gonna make that nigger-baby talk?!" 
I can still see the steely poker face of my mother who locked eyes on me and managed to widen her mouth into a thin-lipped grin for me.  But her toes always gave her away and they were curled under, not a good sign.  I didn't understand the words, but I understood I was being laughed 'at', not 'with'.  I understood something cruel was happening.  Why does she keep saying 'nigger-baby?'  I remember the look of horror on my older sisters face.  I remember feeling absolute terror.  I knew this game, if you cry they will mock you.  I looked down at Lester.  He had brought this on me.  He was the nigger-baby and he was bad.  At some point someone made the teasing stop and my mother tried to encourage me to show them all how Lester works.  But I couldn't, I couldn't even lift my head up.  (We would never spend Christmas with that Aunt again.)  Later, I would play with Lester.  Quietly, I'd shut my bedroom door and pull him out of the bottom of my toy chest and practice not moving my lips. 
BUT NOT THIS TIME YOU TURDS!  If Gabrielle wants to be called The Flying Squirrel then she is the HIGHEST FLYING-EST SMILING-EST SQUIRREL THERE IS!  I don't care what color she is, what color the squirrel is, what color her little leotard is.  Her performance was GOLD!  So everyone on both sides of this craptaculous racial debate shut it.  Let her have her moment.  Let everyone revel in it, let us give her a term of pride and endearment.  The Olympians are as close to a "super-hero" physical performance most of us will ever see in real life.  And that goes for all of the Fierce Five too.  Flying Squirrel! Butterfly! Wasp! Dragon! Betty! Fly my pretties, fly!

The O Line Mysteries Blog: You are not alone.

The O Line Mysteries Blog: You are not alone.: And you are not going slowly but inevitably stark raving mad.  Then again, maybe you are.  But the good news is you won't be alone in that ...

You are not alone.

And you are not going slowly but inevitably stark raving mad.  Then again, maybe you are.  But the good news is you won't be alone in that padded room, barefoot and giggling.  There's nothing like a little validation to set the world right, is there? I found this blog article and, as a self-publishing author, the world seemed right again.

It's about the "shadow career" we all take up when we self-publish.  The "shadow career" is the maze of self-promotion, marketing, and whatever social media construct we wade through daily to make a sale. In other words, your career is writing and the shadow career is promoting your work.  "Platforming" are the Facebook pages, blogs, or whatever online box you must stand on and shout into the echo-less chasm.

This is the link http://janefriedman.com/2012/07/31/extra-ether-shadowy-platforms/ and Jane Friedman does a great job in breaking all of this screaming into the echo-less chasm down.

I'm not a great self-promoter. I hate it. I become quite curmudgeonly when I have to do it. Even though I try to do a little bit each day.  I imagine there are many writers who feel the same way. We gnash down and bare our teeth to form something that can be easily mistaken as a smile.  BUT, and here's the kicker, as self-publishing authors, we took this on.  I chose this.  You chose this.  It's ("platforming") cleaning the dishes after making satisfying yummy cookies.  Don't get me wrong, I totally and completely agree with Ms. Friedman. I'm grateful to her for bringing it all together and for not making me feel alone in my bemoaning.  And the takeaway I got from the article was be careful that platforming doesn't eat you alive.

As a side note, I had previously called platforming by a different name.  I will not mention it here because it's a compound dirty, dirty word.  But I saw the online world a bit differently - the actual 'platforms' (blogs, Facebook, social media, etc.) as billboards, the online communities as a marketing niches, and Tweeting as a place where I could imitate my insane Uncle who thinks he's a beer vendor at a baseball game...every day.  "Books 'eeere! Get your books!"

The Sidekick

Poirot had Hastings, Laverne had Shirley, Shaggy had Scooby, Sherlock had Watson, Lucy had Ethel, and I've been thinking about the sidekicks, straight "(wo)men", and enduring friendships in both fiction and reality.  What is the bond that glues them?  Would I put up with Sherlock or Poirot as Watson and Hastings did?  Why did Ethel always back Lucy in one way or another?  Why do these matchups appeal to us?  I've had friendships that have waxed and waned for well over three quarters of my life now. And I try to bring what I've learned about those friendships to the page in a fictional friendship between Lorna and Annie.  Annie, like Watson and Hastings, puts up with a lot of annoying eccentricities from Lorna.   But I also see Annie's point of view in this, I have my fair share of outrageous and eccentric friends.  They really do bring a zest to life. 
Every time Person X calls I think, 'Oh boy, here we go.'  And I generally end up with my purse clutched to my chest sitting across a table from a notorious person in a dank basement thinking either, 'No one is going to believe this,' or 'How am I going to explain this?'  Every time Person Y calls  (left to our own devices, neither of us are into drinking and carousing) we end up somewhere we can remember getting to (like the desert?) and someone is missing a shoe.   And every time Person Z is in town I'm so worried that I'm going to be on the wrong side of a DEA investigation I find myself taking a lot of headache remedies and checking the bottom of my car for strange black boxes.  These are the people who bring out parts of my personality that lay dormant most of the time. (Thankfully.)  Or possibly I do the same thing to them.  Let's just blame it on our chemistry together.
The older I get the more I cling to these old friendships mainly because we have "history" and there is a lot of water under those bridges.  And I find it easier to recognize new friends, not all of which where we end up goading each other into a troubling situation. (Again, thankfully.)  But for Annie and Lorna, two people in a fictional world who became fast but enduring friends?  Book 3 The Rot is Deep left one of them (possibly) dead. Which leaves me with a big fat plot question to begin book 4 Red, White, and Scotch?  And that leads back to my original thoughts on the binding of sidekicks and enduring friendships and a lot of 'what if' questions.

Publishers vs. The WORLD

Billibatt is coming to a library near you! 
Seriously, I'm coming to a library NEAR you.  So I've been sort of keeping up with this entire hullabaloo about digital rights and eBook contracts. Sort of in the same way I see an object out of the corner of my eye and if my brain deems that object not to be a threat I just go about my business.  The same with the library slash publisher’s e-book distribution battle.  Now there's a thing. 
If you don't know about it here's a quick and generalized run down.  Publisher's want to limit the amount of times an e-book can be e-checked out so they've pulled all their e-books from library e-shelves.  Publishers are saying it's a financial problem and that libraries are taking food from their babies, the author's babies, and the entire literary industries baby’s mouths.  Libraries are like "Wahhh! We are the industry!"
I find this battle fascinating.  I think it basically amounts to the publishers winning a battle but losing the overall war.  (So much so that I've got some working theories as the plot unfolds. I'll tell you about them in a minute.)  There are about 122,000 libraries in these United States of those 17,000 are what we know as pubic lending libraries' (the ones you take your kids to including the book mobiles).  Keep those numbers in mind.  So the publisher’s fight is predicated on the assumption that they are losing customers because of public lending libraries....sooooo, they are choosing not to sell their eBooks to - at the very least -10,000 libraries.  THINKING to themselves, (and not another person outside their little bubble) 'Aha! now we've got you.  We aren't going to sell our books to you! We will forgo thousands of "sure bet" sales and attempt to sell our books in a down and depressed market during a HUGE  worldwide recession! So take that! You bad sharing people.'  And who's going to suffer for that?  Publishers?  Who have hundreds of authors in their stables in which they make about half the cover price of a book and the author gets about 10% up to 15% or about $1.50 for a 25.00 book?  (P.S. These numbers are not exact but a general figure of which I extracted from the Author's Guild.)
Let me just side step here, what is a public lending library?  Yes, it's a precious resource for blah blah institution blah. But what are they to publishers?  And authors?  As an author I see it as a marketing tool - the greatest and most untapped marketing tool available in the self-publishing world.  We, as self-published authors could spend 100 dollars on an advertising blip for a computer screen that no one is going to even look at OR you could buy a bunch of your own books and market them to libraries. Where people are going to actually look at them, and put at least some thought into and make a decision on.  If you're lucky, you get into the library, if not, you move on.  You are just one person doing the drudgework and you are going to get rejected, get over it and move forward to the next one.  Libraries are where authors get discovered, one curious mind at a time.  They are like - a gateway drug to the unwashed masses of readers, and who are readers?  Buyers. And talkers.  Books are conversation starters.  Okay, there are always two sides to everything.  What is the publisher's side of the equation?  The embattled -hanging by a thread- industry has got to make money as they are, in fact, an industry where thousands of marketers have jobs.  So let's not begrudge them at least a fighting stance in something they feel they are being short changed on.  They feel that if they don't put a maximum loan out on e-books (which is not even a negotiated number yet. 25? 50? 100?) then the industry will suffer.  This is not something that the actual book selling industry deals with because of the first sale doctrine. (Go look it up.)
So there you go. Publishers: Waaah! I'm bleeding money. And Libraries:  Get over it, you make more money on the books that the actual authors (the source of the industry).  At this point my money is on the libraries.  There is a library in almost every county in this country.  They have face-to-face human contact (called humint in the intelligence agencies, thank you public library) people are involved with their libraries. What do publishers have?  Publishers weekly.  Where people inside the industry go to kibitz about...the industry. See my point?
Oh wait, right, my working theories.  Okay so you know how in episode 3 where the publishing industry is all "we're getting short changed so we want to put a lending limit on the e-books, even though there is not one on paper books because of that pesky first sale doctrine."  Well I think in further episodes we're going to find out that Krystle Carrington was too late to realize what Alexis was really up to when she baited Blake Carrington into a fight about eBooks when what Alexis really wanted was to get rid of the first sale doctrine all together because, BECAUSE, are you ready for this?  Because Alexis realized that the only people that were buying her books was actually Blake!  If she can make him buy the books more often than she can make her industry whole again!  But then Blake, who really is the most powerful one, since he has constant contact with the people doesn't budge and he's all, "F.U. Alexis I'll just train my trophy wife, Krystle here, how to write good books and make them available to the people. Stop making your bloated industry my problem! And that British dialect you use sounds pretentious, you've lived in America for 60 years!"
Okay I threw in that last line.  And that is why I'm coming to a library near you.

Problem solved

I needed to combine an earlier edition of Nobody, really, Likes You (published by another) with the current one published by Billibatt.  After about an hour of searching the amazon author central website the website instructed me to call amazon.  Here's how that went:

Mary (amazon employee, I'm assuming this of course.)  My name is Mary how can I help you today.
Me. I need to combine two editions of the same work, Nobody, really, likes you.
Mary. And you are Lorna or Saylor? Or are you both?
Me.  I'm both.  Lorna is a character from my mystery series and I wrote Nobody under her name.
Mary. I see.  And you want to combine these to the same page?
Me. Yes Ma'am. The red cover is no longer available.
Mary.  I see.  I can help you with that today.  Do you want to keep the reviews?
Me. Yes Ma'am.
Mary. What is your full name?
Me. My full name is Marla Saylor Billings
Mary.  I see.  That's a pretty name.
Me. Thank you.
Mary. And where are you from?
Me. Uh,(BRRRT! what an odd question) my family is from Tennessee.
Mary.  I see. That explains it.  I'll combine those now for you.
Me. Thank you.
Mary. You have a good day.
Me. You too.
Click.

With all this technology and all these websites it's nice to know that help is still just a phone call away.  As someone who is the first in line to bemoan the lack of civility in society and online I can relate that this was a most pleasant exchange.  Working with the G.P. (general public) is never easy so thanks Mary, (or whatever her real name was) who works at an amazon call board (or wherever you are).

Nina's on board

Remember Nina?  She played Annie (and voiced several other characters) on the O Line Podcast.  So I gets a call from her, "Why aren't I reading the O Line for the audiobooks?"
"Because," I begins to explain before she so rudely interrupts me."And another thing I need help with my computer, so you need to get over here and fix it, NOW!"That's the thing about audio recording it never actually transports the true nature of a character. You'd think that the voice that played Annie would be perpetually kind and generous of nature.  You might even say she was "pathologically nice".  But I go over to her home and she ties me to a chair in front of her jacked up computer and says "WRITE something NICE for me to say!" Then she withholds coffee from me. "Please Nina, I can't write without a sip of the dark elixir, it fuels my fingers to type."So she makes a pot of coffee and says, "Can you smell that? I bet it smells good to you, wouldn't you like to have a cup? WRITE!"Finally after three hours I'm able to escape from her torture chamber/kitchen table.  But as I escape she comes out after me with her hounds of hell. Luckily those hell hounds still had their leashes attached.  The leashes get caught up around her legs and she does a face plant in her outside flower bed.
None of this is true of course. Except the part about Nina doing a face plant in the flower bed because of the dog leashes.  But what is true and exciting is Nina has agreed to read the O Line Series for audiobooks. And I, personally, could not be more pleased if Meryl Streep called me and said, "Oh Saylor, I would be honored if you'd let me read The O Line Mysteries for Audiobooks."Because then I'd say, "Oh Meryl, you'd be wonderful but there really is only one voice for the O Line, and it's not you. Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go stick my head in the oven."
So, fire up the digital audio interface!  We are mic ready! as soon as Nina's face heals...
Get well soon Annie.

Happy 4th!Let me preface this story with a note. We have ...

Happy 4th!
Let me preface this story with a note. We have a new kitten who has such a strange little personality.  Nothing frightens her. Not the older and 4 times her size male cat. Not loud noises, not fire, not water, nothing, she's just kinda fearless that way. So onward,

Remember those little fireworks that were sometimes called snakes?  A little puck that you'd light with a match and it would grow out of the puck like a squirmy black snakes?  So I see a fireworks stand (which are run by non-profits here and this one was run by the local historical society ladies) and I think  'hm, I wonder what Margaux Martine (the kitten) would think of those little growing snakes? I think I'll stop in a get a couple. I remembered them as being like a quarter for a box of like 6 or something and it'll be nice to help out the historical society.

So I pull up next to this large 10 ft by 30 ft cage which holds about 6-8 women and a shit-load of gun powder.  Now you can't really see anything inside very well because of the fencing but immediately someone from within asks me:  "What can I get you?"
"Do you have those little snake things you light, y'know?"
She holds up a package of 8 canisters, probably holding about 50 of the snake pucks.  I don't really need that many, I think.
"Can I buy just like one of those?"
"Well, hold on now.  There's another one here." And she holds up a pack of like 6.
"You can give them to your friends."  One says from within.
"That's fine," I say.  "How much?"  Since they don't have the prices displayed.
"2.49."
I hand in a 5 dollar bill a little ways down the assembly line.
"What's your first name?"  I hear the woman who helped me call out.
That's kinda weird, I think. But it is post 9/11 and who knows what kind of mini-disaster I could create using the snake pucks. So I say, "Marla".
Then another snarky voice from within pipes up, "Way to spend big, Mar."
I know.
But that's not why I was taken aback.  That shit spewing mouth is sitting in a cage with enough gun-powder to blow her and everyone around her to kingdom come taking half the parking lot with her.  Having that much hate and frustration in your heart is dangerous.  The reason I didn't reach into my purse and throw a lit match at her was because I am sane.
I looked over to see another woman stuck in that danger cage who locked eyes with me and said, "Thank you, it's fine. It's fabulous."

And now of course I feel guilty, I should have rescued the nice fabulous lady from the cage and then thrown the match in.