Bored, bored, bored!

That was me yesterday, though I hate to admit it. I am between projects, which is a bad place for me to be. Makes me not only bored but probably unpleasant company. A blog host sent me a list of questions for a post I’ll do in May, and one of them was how I manage to be so productive. The answer is I’m compulsive, and being at loose ends makes me very unhappy. I have never learned to piddle. I used to have a friend who could happily watch paint dry, and I always thought my inability to do that was a character flaw.

Yesterday, my Fort Worth family was in Coppell, helping Christian’s parents, half my friends are sick one way or another, and here I was with a couple of books neither of which interested me. No dinner to cook since everyone had uncertain schedules, so we had loaded baked potatoes—dinner doesn’t get much easier than that. I was at those dreaded loose ends. Much as I like to think I’m creative and independent and of even distribution, I have days like that.

I am glad to report that today was much better-- emails kept me busy until church time. After church I made some sauces for a Dagwood sandwich for tonight, made myself a tuna fish lunch, took a nap, and assembled the sandwich—which wasn’t as good as the last time I made it. I think the problem was that I had asked Central Market to slice the round of sourdough and they didn’t do it—I hacked at it with my best bread knife, but hacked is the operative word. It was okay but not what I wanted. I think we’ll abandon Dagwood for an old friend—the poor boy.

I was relieved that National Day of Hate passed without apparent incident. In fact, I got a good laugh out of one aspect of it. I read that one of the sponsors was the Goyim Defense League. Goy is the term members of the Jewish community use for males not of the Jewish faith (goyim is the plural). It is not meant as a compliment. As a one-time shiksa (the term for non-Jewish females, especially those who marry a Jew, and yes, it’s derogatory), I know this well. I find it amusing that an antisemitic group turns this Jewish term upside-down and applies it to themselves. The irony is that they seem, unwittingly, to accept the implication that they are lesser beings. Probably true.

Today was the Cowtown Marathon, and our house is about at the halfway point. Occasionally I glanced down the driveway to watch the runners go by. Heaviest activity was around nine-thirty, just when my family was trying to get out of the driveway. Watching, though, I was taken back forty-five years to the first marathon—a simple affair compared to today’s event which drew thousands to multiple races and raised funds for a variety of charities. In my mind’s eye I was seeing sleet and snow and ice-covered streets. It was truly an event to remember, not always in the best way. For that year and several years afterward the marathon was a family event—my kids wandered all over the Stockyards (did I really let them do that?) while I did publicity and their father manned one of the medical stations. A different time, a different life.

Tonight I am happy to report I am back in the routine. I get the editor’s comments on Irene Deep in Texas Trouble, so that will keep me busy for a while. Life is good.

Sweet dreams, everyone!

 

More about book publishing and an odd couple of holidays

 

After I posted about indie publishing and the world of mystery the other day, I read a blog post by Maureen Milliken on Maine Crime Writers. She points out that about four million new book titles come out a year, with 500,000 to one million traditionally published, and the rest independently published. Think of that—three million indie published books. Even with Amazon’s good service, see how easy it is to get lost in the crowd?

The publishing world now is aroused by the idea of AI (artificial intelligence) books. There are programs that let you do that, and some publishers are including in their contracts a clause that the author’s work can be used for AI training (no author ever should sign away that right!). But if people start publishing AI books, that's just more into that mix. I read recently of a magazine (sci fi, I think) that had to close to submissions because they were flooded with AI manuscripts.

Milliken say some of those millions of books published every year are really good, some not so much. Some really good books never make it onto anyone's radar. Some mediocre ones become big sellers. You can't worry about it when you're writing. The only thing you should worry about is your own stuff and making it the book you want it to be. I think that’s wonderful advice—but problematic if you’re young and trying to support yourself by writing. Years ago, when I used to do school lectures, I knew the statistics, but now I’m sure they’ve changed. Still to give you a picture: fewer than a hundred authors in this country support themselves solely by their writing. Others depend on a working spouse, a day job, or an inheritance.

Makes you wonder why anyone writes, but there it is again, at least for me: the classic answer is that I write because I cannot not write. A friend said to me last night that he, now a consultant, had worked about thirty minutes that day, and he was happy (he was volunteering if we need him because we have an ongoing family crisis that makes scheduling difficult—specifically I don’t always know when someone will be around to give Sophie her insulin shot). But I heard him loud and clear—I work far more than half an hour—probably six hours a day and eight sometimes—but I am most happy with my life.

On another less happy note, did you know that tomorrow, Saturday, is National Day of Hate? No President Biden didn’t make the declaration. It comes from neo-Nazi and fascist groups throughout the country. Their goal is to intimidate Jewish communities and spread fear. Police departments, anti-terrorist groups, Jewish organizations, and watchdog groups are on alert.

I am appalled that there are people in our country so twisted by hate, so miserable that they want to cause misery to others. As someone said tonight, “this country has more than one wheel in the ditch.” (Does that remind you of Ann Richards who said, “The ox is in the ditch”?) I am unabashedly a person of prayer, and so I pray that these tortured souls may find peace and stop sharing their destruction. But on a more practical level, I pray for safety tomorrow for all.

Some hints for helpers: If you see someone being assaulted, stand between them and the terrorist; if you see someone being harassed, sit or walk with them and try to have a normal conversation. Do what you can to divert the anger and defuse the situation. We must not let ourselves be bullied. And if you’re the praying kind, pray for an America where this happens.

Did you know there have been more mass shootings in the last twelve years than in the previous forty? And last year, every mass shooting event was linked to right-wing extremism. So you can stop worrying about Muslims—Middle Eastern terrorists are not a threat in this country (sorry, Donald trump). Our terrorists are home grown. And Republicans are lining their pockets and not batting an eye over the proliferation of gun deaths. In Texas, for instance, you can carry a concealed weapon without any training and without a permit.

On a local note: in Fort Worth, this is the weekend of Cowtown Marathon, with several “lesser” runs on Saturday and the marathon on Sunday. The other runs are only “lesser” if you aren’t running in them. But traffic is liable to be snarled, especially in the southwest part of the city all weekend. Sunday morning will find me watching the runners go by and cheering especially for the last ones, those who are going on sheer determination. They all go right by our house, so cheering is easy. A lot easier than running.

Be safe, my friends, and be kind to others. Like writing, kindness is a way of life.