Napping after a frustrating morning

When I napped this afternoon, I had the clear sense that I was in my childhood bedroom in the house in Chicago. My mom and brother were talking softly downstairs, because sound carried in that small row house. Downstairs were living, dining, and kitchen; upstairs, three bedrooms and the house’s lone bath. The house was only sixteen feet wide, though as a kid I thought it large. Delicious feeling to be back there again, even in my dreams. I’m sure Mom had cookies waiting downstairs.

The most frustrating morning today. I decided I could do advance reading copies through Amazon’s Create Space program without hiring an expensive designer or formatter. But I ran into problems, which I thought I could solve with a quick call to Amazon. Hah! There is no such thing as a quick call to Amazon, though their support service is willing and hepful. Still, I spent almost the entire morning on the phone, being bounced between techs at Kindle Direct Publishing and Create Space. By eleven, still in my pajamas, I reluctantly cancelled my lunch arrangements. I finally got it done and ordered the copies that were really needed last week, but it’s not a lovely professional job, good enough I hope for advance copies.

The market for mysteries these days is heavily skewed toward ebooks, and I honestly don’t sell many print. I’m old-fashioned enough that I want a print copy in my hands, but I’m also a realist—and today I made myself be a financial realist, balancing the advantages of print against the cost. When the book, Murder at the Bus Depot, comes out in May, it will be available in print, but I might advise for the ebook, which will be available on several platforms, not just Amazon.

I’ve been accomplishing a lot this week, and my other triumph for the day is that I finished the novel I’m editing for friend and fellow author Cindy Bonner. Cindy published several good novels in the nineties, until life called her to other occupations. Now she’s back to writing, and I’m delighted. The novel follows a Texas boy to England where he flies for the RAF in WWII, meets a Canadian female pilot, eventually flies for the USAAF. It’s compelling well done, accurate and convincing about the business of flying and life in England at the time. I look forward to seeing it in print. Meantime, though, Cindy’s agent advises it’s too long, and I’m charged with the task of helping her cut a whole lot of words. Yikes!

Tonight I’m allowing myself the fun of playing with recipes. French onion panade, anyone? Perhaps Fettucine Alfredo is a bit more accessible.