My mind is on small presses tonight. I had volunteered to research five presses for AgentQuest, the Guppies (Going to be Published) online branch of Sister in Crime. I think many of us are going on the theory that credible agents are bombarded with proposals these days and a cold query isn't likely to go anywhere. It might be better to query small presses who are less likely to be overloaded. What I've learned is that we shouldn't underestimate small prsses--small does not mean they're open to everything. Often they have higher standards (and much more complicated submission procedures) than major presses. Still my first mystery manuscript, Skeleton in a Dead Space, is in the hands of a small publisher as I write and has been for what seems to me a long time but in the publishing world isn't long at all. I queried this press because I had years ago contributed, on request, stories to anthologies they produced (western, not mystery). So I'm hopeful. But researching small presses has been interesting--some want only noir fiction (not quite me), another in Nebraska wants only fiction with a historical slant--and I bet that means northern Midwest. I know at TCU our fiction has to have a Texas slant, and I wouldn't be interested in a novel set in Nebraska. Anyway, after forgetting about this assignment for a while, I have it done and ready to send in.
And I'm researching small presses for another project--the book editor at the Dallas Morning News suggested I do a column on how small Texas presses are faring during this recession or economic downturn or whatever you want to call it. The first three responses I've gotten so far are intersting--publishing, always an iffy business and particularly so for an independent, is holding its own in Texas. Often small presses are one version or another of Mom and Pop operatons, and as one publisher said to me you don't do it for profit, you do it for love. His press is officially going non-profit this year.
Some authors who have hit it big in New York claim that's the only way to go, but I disagree. There are a lot of writers out there with talent, good manuscripts, and good ideas who aren't going to make it in New York, no matter how many conferences they attend, agents they meet, queries they write. I think small presses and even in some cases self-publishing is the answer. Publishing, like everything else is changing--it's no longer the gentlemen's profession that Maxwell Perkins (Thomas Wolfe's editor and the classic of a gentlemanly editor who really edited) once said it was. The major houses are owned by corporations who care much less about literary quality than they do the bottom line. So for those of us who love writing and reading for their own sakes, it's often time to depart the main path.
Time magazine recently published a survey that indicated 10 newspapers most likely to fold or go online only within the year--and the Fort Worth paper was one. The prediction? It would be rolled into the Dallas paper. I talked to an executive at the Star-Telegram this morning who laughed and said, "That's someone who really doesn't know this market." With the arch-rivalry between the two cities, such a merger would never happen. And the Star-Telegram is apparently the flagship of the McClatchey syndicate. In an article this morning, the publisher was quoted as saying when the recession lessens, we will see a more robust paper--good news for those of us who have been complaining about the dearth of contents. Let's hope we get back to the good old days, because I dearly love a cup of coffee and my print copy of the paper.
Another cold, damp day, the kind that chills your bones. Betty and I had sort of skirted around going out to dinner and both decided it was a stay inside night. I made myself what lately I've come to think of as one of my favorite comfort foods--creamed tuna. I make a white sauce (I tried to explain this to Jordan and she instantly gave up), add a little white wine, tuna, peas, corn, and finally grated cheddar. Warm, mild, and good. This time, even with a small can of tuna, it turned out to be more than I could eat.
Most women crave pedicures. Not me. I crave a visit to the podiatrist, and I want to give the profession a plug. Dr. Johnson trims that one toenail that I can do nothing with (and the others too), smooths off the corn on my hammer toe and the rough skin on my bunions, and makes my feet feel like new. I'd go every week if I could; as it is I go every three months and come away feeling like dancing. That's how I feel today. If anyone had ever told me I'd get to the point I can't take of my own feet, I'd have hooted. But too late, I have realized (like a lot of other things) I took them for granted all my life--and I went barefoot way too much. The doctor comforted me by saying a lot of my foot problems are genetic--thanks, Mom, for your bunions, which you always said were because you wore ill-fitting shoes as a child. Now I know better.
Showing posts with label newspapers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label newspapers. Show all posts
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Obama on prime time
Tonight was the night for Betty and me to have our weekly dinner, and we had decided on our favorite local sushi place. But then I realized we'd miss the Obama half hour, so I called and asked if I couldn't fix her dinner. I offered chicken piccata and salad, but then I found two yellow squash in the icebox. I had a vague idea of how to do a squash casserole but decided I'd look for a recipe. Found one but of course didn't have all the ingredients: stuffing mix, well I had a tiny bit and I augmented with bread crumbs, thyme, and poultry seasoning; cream of mushroom soup--I had cream of chicken and thought it would be fine, but when I opened it, it was chicken broth. So I used half of it, put in more than the required amount of sour cream, and then, for good measure, added two eggs so it would firm up. Stuck the whole mess in the oven and hoped for the best while cooking the rest of the dinner. When I looked at it, though, it seemed to have firmed up, but it was sort of pale and uninteresting looking, so I covered the top liberally with grated cheese. Betty ate two helpings, and after taking a bit out for my dinner tomorrow night, I sent the rest home with her. I know she and Don like squash casserole. I told her, however, that I could never tell her again how to do it. Chicken and salad were good too. She was prepared to make a fuss if I didn't have dessert, but when I offered ice cream with chocolate sauce, she declined--and so did I.
I was very glad we stayed in to watch Obama's prime time show. I thought maybe he would speak for half an hour, but as those of you who watched know it was vignettes of people in this country who are struggling. I, too, know people who've had their salaries cut, had to close their businesses, don't have adequate or any health insurance. It makes me feel very fortunate, but it also worries me--for the nation, for my children, for myself. I thought Obama was thoughtful, moving and convincing tonight. (And I caught Betty with a tear in her eye.) I don't know how many people watched--I'll be curous to hear reports and commentary in the morning--and I know it did nothing to convince die-hard conservatives, but I thought it was a spell-binding program.
Last night I started to post about things I was indignant about, but I thought it was so negative, I gave it up. But these are the things: the thought that big financial companies, to whom we just gave big bucks of taxpayers money, are planning to give big bonuses to their executives. But now I hear there's a proteset in Congress that essentially says we won't regulate and forbid it, but these companies would be well advised to reconsider. And a friend whose son works for one of those companies said they had heard nothing about the annual huge bash that brings people from around the world, puts them up at first-class hotels, and throws an extravagant party. Maybe people are learning after the scandal of AIG giving a multi-million dollar getaway Caribbean party even after the collapse.
And I'm indignant--okay, maybe sad--that the Christian Science Monitor is quitting the newspaper print business to have a presence on the web. I'm afraid but sure it's the wave of the future, but I hate it. Our local newspaper has grown so thin that it's hardly worth subscribing to (and besides they've let some of my friends go) and yet I love the newspaper and my morning cup of coffee. Online isn't the same--and it's often confusing to find your way around in.
But aside from being indignant, there is much I'm grateful for--family, friends, my interesting life, good books to read, and my writing, even though the latter sometimes seems a dead end. I go from discouragement to enthusiasm like a ping pong ball. Probably a sign of the times.
Off to Granbury tomorrow. Our author, Mary Rogers, is speaking about her book, Dancing Naked: Memorable Encounters with Unforgettable Texans, at a benefit for the Hood County Library, and I like to keep up my Granbury connections, so I'm tagging along.
I was very glad we stayed in to watch Obama's prime time show. I thought maybe he would speak for half an hour, but as those of you who watched know it was vignettes of people in this country who are struggling. I, too, know people who've had their salaries cut, had to close their businesses, don't have adequate or any health insurance. It makes me feel very fortunate, but it also worries me--for the nation, for my children, for myself. I thought Obama was thoughtful, moving and convincing tonight. (And I caught Betty with a tear in her eye.) I don't know how many people watched--I'll be curous to hear reports and commentary in the morning--and I know it did nothing to convince die-hard conservatives, but I thought it was a spell-binding program.
Last night I started to post about things I was indignant about, but I thought it was so negative, I gave it up. But these are the things: the thought that big financial companies, to whom we just gave big bucks of taxpayers money, are planning to give big bonuses to their executives. But now I hear there's a proteset in Congress that essentially says we won't regulate and forbid it, but these companies would be well advised to reconsider. And a friend whose son works for one of those companies said they had heard nothing about the annual huge bash that brings people from around the world, puts them up at first-class hotels, and throws an extravagant party. Maybe people are learning after the scandal of AIG giving a multi-million dollar getaway Caribbean party even after the collapse.
And I'm indignant--okay, maybe sad--that the Christian Science Monitor is quitting the newspaper print business to have a presence on the web. I'm afraid but sure it's the wave of the future, but I hate it. Our local newspaper has grown so thin that it's hardly worth subscribing to (and besides they've let some of my friends go) and yet I love the newspaper and my morning cup of coffee. Online isn't the same--and it's often confusing to find your way around in.
But aside from being indignant, there is much I'm grateful for--family, friends, my interesting life, good books to read, and my writing, even though the latter sometimes seems a dead end. I go from discouragement to enthusiasm like a ping pong ball. Probably a sign of the times.
Off to Granbury tomorrow. Our author, Mary Rogers, is speaking about her book, Dancing Naked: Memorable Encounters with Unforgettable Texans, at a benefit for the Hood County Library, and I like to keep up my Granbury connections, so I'm tagging along.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Downsizing
Our local newspaper let 130 people go in one fell swoop on Monday, and a good friend of mine was among them. She'll be okay--her husband has a good income, she's creative, and I know she'll land on her feet. But others among that 130 have young children to care for, and mortgages and debts to pay, gas to put in their cars, taxes, insurance . . . . what do they do? In a city with only one major newspaper (that's most cities these days!), its hard for journalists to find another job--the market is glutted. Melinda in my office pointed out that when publishers Harcourt Brace closed in Fort Worth, they unleased a whole lot of people with the same skill set on the job market. Some of them are still not working.
McClatchey, the syndicate that owns our paper, let either 3,000 or 5,000 people go across the nation. They're downsizing, saving on paper by cutting out features and all the things I want to read, plus aiming at thirty-year-olds, who aren't the people who read the paper. They want us all to read the news online, but their website is confusing and never develops stories in depth. I want that copy of the paper with my morning coffee, and slim and poor as it has become, I still read my homestown newspaper.
Marshall McLuhan predicted the end of print decades ago, and it hasn't happened in the book world. Granted we move toward digital all the time, but we'll never lose the print versions. I'm not so sure about newspapers' survival--and it saddens me. When we compiled an anthology titled Literary Fort Worth several years ago, we found that some of the best writing about our city was done by the journalists, mostly from the Star-Telegram. If anyone tries to compile a second volume ten or fifteen years from now, there will be many few writers to consider.
We had a gullywasher this morning, one of the hardest rains I've seen in a long time--and it didn't scoot on by like so many storms. It seemed to linger over us for 20 minutes or so before declining into a drizzle. The sky was dark the thunder and lightning constant. Scooby was not about to budge from his bed, and I left him for about an hour until he started to roam the house--a sign he needed to go outside. He was determined to go out the front door, which would have been folly. I couldn't hold him as scared as he was. So I dragged him bit by bit through the house, all the while whispering encouragement. Once I got him out the back door, I didn't even feed him for fear he'd ignore the food and bolt back in the house, where I can't leave him alone. I barely made my 8:30 meeting. Tonight Scoob gets double rations, though it is supposed to rain again. Other than working about the dog, I enjoy good storms. I'm sure if I were in the Midwest I'd no longer say that.
The Sisters in Crime listserv is great for learning new words and catching new phrases--I particularly liked "Only visit grown-up but stay in childhood," spoken by a man in his nineties. I think I've talked about skanky and hinky, two new words, I've learned--and then there's earworm, a name for that song that gets in your brain and won't leave. And I was particularly moved by Mario Cuomo's tribute to Tim Russert in which he said the late newscaster "regarded any day not lived with enthusiasm as an opportunity lost."
I'm on Chapter Four--almost done with it--on the first draft of my new mystery, and I'm enthusiastic!
McClatchey, the syndicate that owns our paper, let either 3,000 or 5,000 people go across the nation. They're downsizing, saving on paper by cutting out features and all the things I want to read, plus aiming at thirty-year-olds, who aren't the people who read the paper. They want us all to read the news online, but their website is confusing and never develops stories in depth. I want that copy of the paper with my morning coffee, and slim and poor as it has become, I still read my homestown newspaper.
Marshall McLuhan predicted the end of print decades ago, and it hasn't happened in the book world. Granted we move toward digital all the time, but we'll never lose the print versions. I'm not so sure about newspapers' survival--and it saddens me. When we compiled an anthology titled Literary Fort Worth several years ago, we found that some of the best writing about our city was done by the journalists, mostly from the Star-Telegram. If anyone tries to compile a second volume ten or fifteen years from now, there will be many few writers to consider.
We had a gullywasher this morning, one of the hardest rains I've seen in a long time--and it didn't scoot on by like so many storms. It seemed to linger over us for 20 minutes or so before declining into a drizzle. The sky was dark the thunder and lightning constant. Scooby was not about to budge from his bed, and I left him for about an hour until he started to roam the house--a sign he needed to go outside. He was determined to go out the front door, which would have been folly. I couldn't hold him as scared as he was. So I dragged him bit by bit through the house, all the while whispering encouragement. Once I got him out the back door, I didn't even feed him for fear he'd ignore the food and bolt back in the house, where I can't leave him alone. I barely made my 8:30 meeting. Tonight Scoob gets double rations, though it is supposed to rain again. Other than working about the dog, I enjoy good storms. I'm sure if I were in the Midwest I'd no longer say that.
The Sisters in Crime listserv is great for learning new words and catching new phrases--I particularly liked "Only visit grown-up but stay in childhood," spoken by a man in his nineties. I think I've talked about skanky and hinky, two new words, I've learned--and then there's earworm, a name for that song that gets in your brain and won't leave. And I was particularly moved by Mario Cuomo's tribute to Tim Russert in which he said the late newscaster "regarded any day not lived with enthusiasm as an opportunity lost."
I'm on Chapter Four--almost done with it--on the first draft of my new mystery, and I'm enthusiastic!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
The times, they are a-changing
I remember recently telling Jamie that I so much don't want my kids and grandkids to think of me as old. (The subject was the fact that I sometimes don't answer my cell phone when it's under my nose, and I had seen him and Melanie exchange what I interpreted as alarmed looks as one of them said, "Jude, your cell phone is ringing." It does play "When the Saints go marching in" rather loudly, so it's hard to miss but I guess I tune it out.) He said they were not alarmed; they just thought it was funny.
But it occurred to me today that I'm in grave danger of becoming one of those old folks who reminisces about "the good old days." Everything around me is changing. My university is changing its physical appearance boldly and dramatically, building elaborate gateways and entrances to the campus, huge buildings that are right up on the curb, leaving no welcoming green space. The new student union under construction has been described as LaQuinta with an arch. We once had a vice chancellor in charge of buildings and grounds who insisted that the campus have lots of trees and lots of inviting green space, so students could study outdoors and classes could meet on the lawn. It was warm and inviting. I read this morning where a Starbucks customer complained the store had lost its "mom-and-pop home-away-from-home" feel, and that's how I feel about the campus.
My church is changing--the order of worship changes almost weekly, most of the people who "were the church" for me are gone. My good friend Betty, who involved me in lots of things, has retired. I knew our last minister and exchanged writing words with him a lot, he married Jordan and Christian; I'm not sure the new minister could put my name with my face. The Church and the Arts Committee of which I was an active member for years is on hold, virtually inactive. Part of my disconnect is of course my own fault--because I don't feel like it's my home-away-from-home, I've stopped going regularly. But I'm afraid if I go back--and I will--it won't be the "good old days." I don't want to change churches--I want my church to be for me what it always was.
Our daily newspaper is changing, now so slim it barely lasts you through a cup of coffee. There are few features, lots of glitz and glamour (I do NOT want to read another word about Britney on that dumb page called "Blab!"), syndicated book reviews. They did publish the letter I wrote about the disappearing newspaper and several friends contacted me to say hooray for you for writing. But the newspaper didn't listen. I don't want to take the Dallas paper--I want my hometown Sunday paper to take over an hour to read.
Change is inevitable--and good. I know that as well as anyone. But it sure does come with a price. Maybe, just maybe, I have to work on my adaptability.
But it occurred to me today that I'm in grave danger of becoming one of those old folks who reminisces about "the good old days." Everything around me is changing. My university is changing its physical appearance boldly and dramatically, building elaborate gateways and entrances to the campus, huge buildings that are right up on the curb, leaving no welcoming green space. The new student union under construction has been described as LaQuinta with an arch. We once had a vice chancellor in charge of buildings and grounds who insisted that the campus have lots of trees and lots of inviting green space, so students could study outdoors and classes could meet on the lawn. It was warm and inviting. I read this morning where a Starbucks customer complained the store had lost its "mom-and-pop home-away-from-home" feel, and that's how I feel about the campus.
My church is changing--the order of worship changes almost weekly, most of the people who "were the church" for me are gone. My good friend Betty, who involved me in lots of things, has retired. I knew our last minister and exchanged writing words with him a lot, he married Jordan and Christian; I'm not sure the new minister could put my name with my face. The Church and the Arts Committee of which I was an active member for years is on hold, virtually inactive. Part of my disconnect is of course my own fault--because I don't feel like it's my home-away-from-home, I've stopped going regularly. But I'm afraid if I go back--and I will--it won't be the "good old days." I don't want to change churches--I want my church to be for me what it always was.
Our daily newspaper is changing, now so slim it barely lasts you through a cup of coffee. There are few features, lots of glitz and glamour (I do NOT want to read another word about Britney on that dumb page called "Blab!"), syndicated book reviews. They did publish the letter I wrote about the disappearing newspaper and several friends contacted me to say hooray for you for writing. But the newspaper didn't listen. I don't want to take the Dallas paper--I want my hometown Sunday paper to take over an hour to read.
Change is inevitable--and good. I know that as well as anyone. But it sure does come with a price. Maybe, just maybe, I have to work on my adaptability.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
On Becoming a Recluse
Today, I thought it too tempting to become a recluse. My head cold still bothered me. I woke in the early hours, and though my eyes wanted to sleep, my nose didn't. At one point I heard an alarming noise outside--I guess I had dozed off--and then realized it was just my breathing. I couldn't breathe easily and when I could, it was a noisy business. No wonder Scooby went outside early. When I finally got going, I had to force myself to make my two grocery store trips--if I hadn't needed things from each store so badly, I'd have curled up at home. But once home, I felt better and did a lot of chores--even including scooping up the poop pile in the back yard and finally getting rid of that dead baby rat. But I realized I could too easily return to being housebound--which I once was--and I really need to keep making myself go places. Tomorrow morning I'll go to brunch with Betty and then Jordan, Christian and Jacob will come for Twelfth Night dinner.
Tonight I'm watching the presidential debates on the theory that I'm so confused I ought to do everything I can to educate myself--but the programming is so filled with media padding that you don't often hear that much from the candidates. A sort of discouraging thing. Would Iowa and New Hampshire be that important if TV and newspapers had other things to focus on?
Speaking of newspapers, I wrote a letter to the editor recently, and they called yesterday to verify that I'd written it, so I expect it will appear in a day or two. Our local newspaper keeps shrinking--the paper claims that the print form is losing money and they'll focus on the internet. I think the print version is losing money because it gets slimmer and slimmer--less hard news, lots of fluff like a silly section called "Blab!" They have "rolled together" several sections--arts and lifestyle on Sundays, food and lifestyle on Wednesday. There go two of my favorite parts of the paper! I'm sorry, but I really like to linger over the paper with a cup of coffee, particularly on Sunday, and I find it increasingly dissatisfying.
Fixed myself a good dinner tonight. Last night I braised three chicken thighs in a chicken broth/white wine sauce, but that's really the kind of dish that's much better the next day--and it was. My neighbor Sue's parents are Canadian snowbirds--they winter on the Texas Gulf Coast every year and always spend several weeks at Sue's house. One night when they invited me to dinner, her mom fixed a casserole of artichoke hearts and Brussell sprouts--delicious. She used frozen Brussell sprouts but tonight I roasted fresh ones--so good! The casserole sauce for 1 pkg. Brussell sprouts (or equivalent fresh) and 1 can quartered artichoke hearts is 1/2 c. mayonnaise, 1/4 cup melted butter, and 1/4 cup Parmesan. Brussell sprouts always make me think of my nephew, Russell--when he was little we called them Russell sprouts. They're an under-rated vegetable--true, boiled, they're kind of boring, maybe even unpleasant. But try roasting them--trim, cut in half, drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper and toss with your hands. Then bake at 450 for 15-20 minutes, turning frequently--they carmelize and turn a lovely brown, but you don't want them to burn.
Tonight I'm watching the presidential debates on the theory that I'm so confused I ought to do everything I can to educate myself--but the programming is so filled with media padding that you don't often hear that much from the candidates. A sort of discouraging thing. Would Iowa and New Hampshire be that important if TV and newspapers had other things to focus on?
Speaking of newspapers, I wrote a letter to the editor recently, and they called yesterday to verify that I'd written it, so I expect it will appear in a day or two. Our local newspaper keeps shrinking--the paper claims that the print form is losing money and they'll focus on the internet. I think the print version is losing money because it gets slimmer and slimmer--less hard news, lots of fluff like a silly section called "Blab!" They have "rolled together" several sections--arts and lifestyle on Sundays, food and lifestyle on Wednesday. There go two of my favorite parts of the paper! I'm sorry, but I really like to linger over the paper with a cup of coffee, particularly on Sunday, and I find it increasingly dissatisfying.
Fixed myself a good dinner tonight. Last night I braised three chicken thighs in a chicken broth/white wine sauce, but that's really the kind of dish that's much better the next day--and it was. My neighbor Sue's parents are Canadian snowbirds--they winter on the Texas Gulf Coast every year and always spend several weeks at Sue's house. One night when they invited me to dinner, her mom fixed a casserole of artichoke hearts and Brussell sprouts--delicious. She used frozen Brussell sprouts but tonight I roasted fresh ones--so good! The casserole sauce for 1 pkg. Brussell sprouts (or equivalent fresh) and 1 can quartered artichoke hearts is 1/2 c. mayonnaise, 1/4 cup melted butter, and 1/4 cup Parmesan. Brussell sprouts always make me think of my nephew, Russell--when he was little we called them Russell sprouts. They're an under-rated vegetable--true, boiled, they're kind of boring, maybe even unpleasant. But try roasting them--trim, cut in half, drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper and toss with your hands. Then bake at 450 for 15-20 minutes, turning frequently--they carmelize and turn a lovely brown, but you don't want them to burn.
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