Writing and Tooting Your Horn

Publishers used to be involved in both the editorial and marketing aspect of  most (if not every) books they  launched. These days, unless you are a New York Times bestselling author, publishers do little in the way of aggressive marketing, regardless of the size of the publishing house.

It has been said that authors must do their fair share of marketing. Most authors, myself included, would prefer to spend their time writing rather than promoting their books, but the truth of the matter is if we don’t do some marketing, our nearest and dearest friends, family and colleagues, may never know about our book.

I am lucky because years ago I had a small publishing company and therefore I understand some basic marketing techniques which over the years have become second nature to me. I have learned to do something much against my grain, which is to ‘toot my own horn.’

In the November 16^th issue of Publisher’s Weekly there was an article called, “Blame it On The Rep: When An Author Has to Sell His Own Book.” The content of the article really hit home with me. I love the opening line, “Along with developing a patent for a cordless extension cord, being a writer was one of my life’s goals.” This is in alignment with my belief that most of us are writers not because we want to be one, but because we have to be one. It’s a passion that pulls us. Michael Spradlin, the author of the article, began his career as a publishing rep and then began writing his own books, a similar track to my own.

The biggest difference is that when I wrote my first book in the 1980s, The Internet was not a vital part of modern living like  it is today – but selling and reselling postal mailing lists was the best option for reaching an audience. I licked one too many stamps for envelopes announcing my latest book. These days, authors do not have any excuse not to market themselves. When Penny Sansevieri’s book, Red Hot Internet Publicity was released a couple of years ago – I devoured all her tips and ideas – something an author can do in the privacy of her home, without the risk of having doors slammed in her face. This new dimension to our profession is here to stay – whether our books are in book or kindle formSo all you writers out there, promise me when you finish reading this entry, you will change screens and announce to at least one person what you are working on or what is your next release! Don’t rely on others to do what is now your work.

Memoir and Truth

Last weekend  I taught a memoir workshop at the West Hollywood Book Festival. It’s my second year doing so and it’s one of my favorite gigs. The class overflows with enthusiastic attendees who are smart and ask great questions. One recurring question in most of my workshops is, “Are you liable if you write a memoir about a mean family member or unfortunate childhood situation?” In light of all the attention given to the exaggerations and falsehoods in James Frey’s memoir, A Million Little Pieces, many people have begun to suspect memoir writers as a group, but I would like to set things straight.

The truth is when you write memoir, you are writing your truth as you remember it. It is no one else’s truth. It’s your own. You can be sued by a family member, but they might not be able to win the suit. They need to  prove that what you wrote is a lie and often this is very difficult to do. When writing memoir, in either the short or long form, the best advice is to be as honest as possible. As I mentioned in last week’s blog, our memories are not reliable and they tend to play tricks on us.

If Frey would have just written a caveat in the beginning of his book attesting to this, chances are he would have not received all the negative PR that he did. Most memoir instructors, myself included, will tell you that often times, the act of writing will help you remember and that’s why I am such an advocate of keeping a journal. It is a place to practice your writing. In her book, Fearless Confessions, my colleague, Sue William Silverman coined a term, ‘memory truth,’ where she identifies memories as completely subjective. She says, “While it’s not acceptable to make up facts willy-nilly when writing about your life, it is acceptable to convey your individual version of events—your memory-truth.” I cannot agree more with this sentiment. This is great advice,  particularly if you have already decided to head down the road to writing your memoir.

Teenage Memories

This summer marked the 40^th anniversary of Woodstock. It also marked the summer my sweet niece Laura turned sixteen. The summer I turned fifteen, my parents sent me to an International Teen Camp in Switzerland to learn French and it was one i will never forget.

This would be my first trip overseas without my parents. About one month before my departure date, I started taking the trip seriously and I began the arduous task of packing. I wondered how I’d fit my entire bedroom into one suitcase, or more realistically, how I’d go without all of my stuff for eight weeks. It’s not that I used everything everyday, but the security of all those things provided endless comfort and support in my early adolescent years.

From the attic I pulled down the largest suitcase I could find. Years later, my father reminded me that I had jammed everything into that suitcase, “except,” he added, “our kitchen sink!”

Like nearly every teen, music was an essential ingredient of my everyday happiness, but those were the days before iPods and CDs. To listen to music we had to use record players or use tape cassettes. I wouldn’t dream of venturing overseas for an entire summer without my record player. So a few days before leaving, I packed the rather large device in the middle of my suitcase, saddled between stacks of clothes. On the other side of the suitcase I tucked in my favorite forty-five records.

The Beatles song, Let it Be, had just been released and it was already my favorite. I stored that record separately in my backpack. Only four years before, the Beatles first appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show. I vividly remember my parents and I watching the extravaganza of those four cool British guys chatting with the talk show host and providing a sampling of their mesmerizing music.

By the time my trip to Switzerland came along, I had already blasted the song over and over stereo in my bedroom, decorated with neon posters and accentuated by strobe light hanging from the ceiling. One day, my music was so loud that my parents decided to install a wall-to-wall brown cork bulletin board to insulate them from the vibrations. It also gave me a chance to hang some favorite memorabilia and posters, but I think what they were really trying to do was create a sound barrier between our rooms!

The wise lyrics and pleasant melody of the Beatles song had a very calming effect on me, particularly during my homesick moments in Switzerland. Before long, I learned that it was also a favorite song amongst teens from all around the world. The song became our common denominator, as we struggled to communicate. What amazed me was how perfectly the foreigners sang the song, even though they had no idea what the words meant! I am not so sure things have changed today as people around the world still sing Beatles’ tunes.

I’m amazed about the timelessness of that song and how it still brings tears to my eyes. I am also in awe about the power of music and how it often does this so easily and with so much magic.

Now, nearly forty years later, Let it Be still conjures up images of those wonderful camp days, and the dances with boys from countries around the world, such as, France, Kuwait, Italy and the United States. I wonder what song and memories my niece Laura will have of her sixteenth year. Will her memories be as vivid and fun as mine? I surely hope so.

Honoring The Kennedys

My mother was a big fan of the Kennedy family who were popular in the way that rock stars were. The charisma of John F. Kennedy and his family lead them to their being called the figurative designation of Camelot. This name was credited by Jacqueline Kennedy in view of John’s affection for the musical. Jacqueline Kennedy was admired for her style and elegance and I vividly remember my mother trying to mimic her wardrobe in her own closet. Even though my mother wasn’t much into politics, like many other Americans, she was swept away by the family’s allure and charisma.

I will also never forget that dismal day, November 22, 1963. I was in the third grade and the principal’s voice came on the loud speaker and told us that we should stand up behind our chairs because he had an important piece of news. “I’m very sad to report that our beloved President Kennedy has just been assassinated in Dallas, Texas.” The word ‘assassinated’ became part of my vocabulary that week, It was one of our ten spelling words and echoed repeatedly all week long on the black and white television perched on the small table in our living room. Our weekend writing assignment was to write an essay titled, “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country,” in honor of Kennedy’s words spoken at his inaugural address.

Yesterday I watched Ted Kennedy’s Memorial Service, this time on a colored television but with similar feelings of admiration. As a grown woman, I now have a better understanding of the important mark some people make on our country’s history and how their legacy will live on. Ted Kennedy served forty years of his life in the senate, and after watching highlights from his speeches and interactions throughout those years, one can clearly see how much fun he must have been to work with; how his strong sense of humor lightened up some very tenuous moments. During these difficult economic times, this could be a lesson to us. Let’s lighten up, be thankful for the good things and remember to make the most of our sense of humor!

Rest in peace, Ted Kennedy.

In Memory of Rynn Williams

For me, this has been a month of loss. Early last week I had even more bad news. I received an email from my friend, Molly Fisk, informing me that our mutual colleague and friend, Rynn Williams, was found dead in her bathtub by her dog sitter. Although her death has since been determined accidental, an autopsy will be performed. Rynn was 47 and leaves behind three children under the age of 13.

I first met Rynn many years ago in Molly’s online Poetry Boot Camp. It was during her earlier years as a poet and all of us critiqued one another’s poetry online. Many of the poets were mediocre, but Rynn’s words always rose to the top. Each day, I looked forward to her latest installment. The boot camp would last five days and each of us were required to turn in our poems by 12 midnight each day. More often than not, Rynn’s poems arrived in the early morning hours, perhaps her most creative time, or the time when she finally got her little ones to bed. Her poems were rarely in what seemed to be a rough draft. They were sharp and poignant and always touched a nerve in me. I am happy that I had the chance to work with her and more than once what a fine poet I thought she was. One reviewer of her books said that Rynn’s poems are “like X-rays that scrutinize each moment.’

It was no surprise to me when years later I learned that Rynn won the Prairie Schooner Prize for Poetry for her first collection, Adonis George. I recall months later attending her reading in Grass Valley, CA with Molly Fisk. A mentor once told me that if a poet’s words stay with you long after their reading, then that’s the power of a good poet. Rynn had that power – so much of her work continues to resonate with me. I had been in touch with Rynn over the years – her emails, like her poetry, were terse, yet caring. Some time later, I was honored to join Rynn for a coffee in New York. For obvious reasons, that rendez-vous is now more poignant than ever now. The events of these past few weeks are a reminder to enjoy every day and moment spent with loved ones.

Here is one poem from Adonis George:

West Chelsea

I am going to leave the city tonight,

the handball courts and the Gemini Diner,

I am going to forget about east 33^rd street,

the penthouse, the Rawhide, the banks of elevators,

I want to forget the route of the C train,

the smell of the tracks when you jump down

to cross them, I want to fall asleep

and not dream of multitudes, I want to forget

that on West Fourth and Hudson my friend

held his forehead together with his hands,

I am going to abandon my FDNY cap

on top of a hydrant in alphabet city,

my Lucite stilettos on a shrine in the Bronx,

I want nothing but horizontal lines

so I don’t have to get on my knees in the intersection,

I am going to pick up my body and move it

to a town where the streets are perfectly logical,

I am going to drive east on the LIE

until the only rumble is in the pit of my stomach,

I am going to shred all my take-out menus,

I am going to eat dinner at six o’clock,

I am going to be a loser and love it –

get in my car and drive east to the ocean,

until I can’t stand the silence

and have to come home.

 

 

Journaling About Spirituality

For the past few weeks I have attended a Sunday lecture at the Vedanta Temple. The temple is situated in a peaceful mountain setting and the atmosphere permeates with naturally-growing sage and magnificent views of the Pacific Ocean. Something about being on the property or even sitting on the temple stairs, nourishes and restores the soul. The energy or karma of the environment has a massaging quality, whether it is the, views, singing birds, the book store with hard-to-find books, the talks or a combination of all the above, something draws me back each week.

I am not a religious person, but I am spiritual. The Vedanta philosophy prophesizes a oneness of spirit. The ideas is that God or Brahman exists in every living being. Religion is considered a search for self-knowledge (which I am a big advocate of), or a search for the divine within ourselves. Vedanta philosophy believes that there are no accidents, only destinies as a result of cause and effect. (I really believe this also). It also stresses the idea of self-effect.

I find the Sunday lecture subjects to be both fascinating and captivating. Last week the Swami spoke about visualization and how our five senses make us feel one with the world. Having said that, we can see that if a memory haunts you, then the experience and visual memory can actually bring back the memory. In order to visualize something it’s good to start with something simple and then become familiar with the object through visualization. Start with a vague image of a person or thing and then as you become more familiar with it, you will notice even more details. Keep in mind that the emotional connection with the person or object gives us the will to visualize. In summary, we all affect our own future by using our imagination.

This past week the discussion was about the first Swami who brought the Vedanta teachings to the west. As a writer, the most interesting part of the lecture was his discussion about how reading biographies of great people is a form of spiritual practice. It was said that we if we can identify with these people, then we can change and improve our own lives. In view of this, I began thinking about my childhood and our weekly trips to the library where I would always head directly to the biography section. I loved reading about real stories about real people. I suppose that was my own personal spiritual practice which continues this many years later.

What do you think?

Happy 106th Birthday Grandma !

Last week my grandmother, Regina would have celebrated her 106^th birthday! After studying her life while writing my recent memoir, Regina’s Closet: Finding My Grandmother’s Secret Journal, I realized that even though there were many aspects of our personalities which were similar—our lives and times cannot to be compared.

My grandmother lived through two world wars, and although there were already two wars in my own lifetime—The Vietnam War and The Gulf War—their physical proximity only were only as close to me as my television screen. What must life have been like in 1903 without radio and television? Imagine only knowing of the beginning war from the soldiers marching through the streets of your hometown or some distant newspaper finally making it to your doorstep? Surely, life was tougher when technology was not an integral part of society, but in many ways it was much less complicated—priorities were family and survival and the wondrance if the daily bread would appear on the kitchen table, or even be delivered to the corner grocer because of war-torn districts. Now we worry about whether the newspapers will survive the technological advancement and stressful economical times or if our environment will survive our waste.

In the end, we must always have our lives in the proper perspective.

Journaling About Authors and Food

“Sometimes people say I am unusual because I cook and write. I smile and nod and think aren’t these things that everyone should do? I cook and write for one reason; I like to make stuff.” These are the words of writer Greg Atkinson in the forward of an anthology called Literary Feast: The Famous Authors Cookbook. I truly believe in Greg’s words and feel honored to be included in this collection put together by The King County Library Foundation. However it wasn’t easy to decide which recipe to include in this collection. After being married for 32 years and raising three kids, I have my share of favorites. I started by pulling out my self-compiled handwritten cookbook and listing in my journal the family’s all-time favorites. The recipe I chose to submit has been carried with me from my childhood—Wiener Schnitzel. I was asked to write a few words before introducing the recipe and here’s what I wrote:

“I have an Austrian mother and had a Polish grandmother, so this crispy Schnitzel recipe, with home-fired potatoes, was a staple in our home. It was the dish we had once a week and was always served when visitors were invited for dinner. You can say that I was brought up on this meal. Also it was often accompanied by a sliced cucumber salad marinated in vinegar and water. Although I didn’t mention this recipe in my recently published memoir, Regina’s Closet: Finding My Grandmother’s Secret Journal, it was a huge part of my childhood. My children, now all grown, have also learned to love this favorite dish of their ancestors.”

This wonderful collection also includes recipes from 90 authors, including David Baldacci, Elizabeth Berg, J.A. Jance, Jonathan Kellerman, Alexander McCall Smith and John Saul. By the way, it makes a wonderful gift for all the writer friends in your life.

You may order a copy for $22.95 from: www.thriftbooks.com. Happy cooking! Until you get your own personal copy, here is my recipe:

Wiener Schnitzel

4 thin slices of veal scaloppini

bowl of flour bowl of bread crumbs

2 eggs oil salt and pepper

• Assemble three deep bowls. In one put the flour, in the second beat the two eggs and in the third pour the bread crumbs. Start with moderate amounts of flour and bread crumbs, you can always add more as needed. • Flatten the veal with a meat mallet. Season on both sides with salt and pepper. • Dip both sides of the veal in the flour. Shake off excess. • Dip the flour-coated veal into the egg, making sure veal is completely covered. Lift up and allow excess to drip off. • Lay the veal in the breadcrumbs and make sure it gets coated on both sides. • To help the breading adhere to the meat during cooking, you can place the cutlets on wax paper in the refrigerator for one hour. • Use a large frying pan and heat oil (can use half oil and half butter) until it gets hot enough that the cutlet sizzles when you put it in. It usually only needs about 2-3 minutes per side. Drain on paper towels. Serve immediately. This is also delicious served cold for the next day’s lunch.

Journaling During the Santa Barbara Fires

It has been said that writers tend to write more during times of difficulty. Well, I bring you this blog entry from my home town Santa Barbara, which has just been through four major fires in less than two years—Zaca Fire, Gap Fire, Tea Fire and now the recent Jesusita fire. My husband, dog and I have had to evacuate for the last two fires, but I must tell you that The Jesusita fire was the most frightening because of the strong sundowner winds, every firefighters nightmare. Luckily, we happened to be out-of-town for most of the fire, but friends here emailed and called to say that it might have been some of the scariest days of their lives—Apocalyptic in nature—a multitude of helicopters caressing the air space, high winds and power failures sprawling from one end of the city to the next.

My email updates to friends around the country questioned whether this was the price we had to pay for living in a paradise like Santa Barbara, which some call the French Riviera.  Our beautiful surrounding mountains are now covered with ash. I have frequently hiked the Jesuisita Trail (the fire’s namesake) to a scenic peak called Inspiration Point which offers  the most magnificent panoramic view of the city. It’s the place I love to take photographers and out-of-towners to point out the magnificent town framed by majestic mountains meeting the expanse of the Pacific Ocean. These trails are often visited by runners, bikers and hikers. In fact, there is speculation now that the grass was so high in certain areas that you could not even see your feet as you ran and that one of the visitors might have used a power tool to clear the brush and this might have precipitated the fire—an act that might have been well-meaning, but it was not well-thought out and definitely, ‘back-fired.’ (excuse the pun).

Aside from Santa Barbara’s natural beauty, the inhabitants of our town appreciate the quality of life which cannot be had any other place in the country. Many of the people now living in Santa Barbara visited years ago, fell in love and relocated. Others were lucky enough to have been born here. We are a fine eclectic collection of writers, artists, students, professors, engineers, entrepreneurs and developers. We’re a friendly bunch living in a crisp, clean, sunshine-filled paradise where rain is either thought of as either as a treat or hindrance, but, these past few days, most of us agree that we will put up with our umbrellas to save our town’s beauty!

Striding For Inspiration

I recently read Joan Anderson’s biography, A Walk on the Beach, a gem of a book and also a wonderful gift item for that middle-aged woman who has everything, but seeks deeper meaning in her life through growth and exploration. The book’s sentiments are akin to those offered by Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays with Morrie.

Anderson decides to spend a year alone in Cape Cod where she befriends Joan Erikson, the late widow of the psychologist, Erik Erikson. Joan Erikson bestows her years of wisdom on Anderson and the book unravels alongside their extraordinary developing friendship. Anderson quickly learns the power in having a mentor. After living all those years with her therapist husband, it would seem logical that she’d have a good grip on how to cope with life’s ups and downs. While reading this book, I made sure my notebook was alongside. Each page had potent insights to spark my own thoughts and serve as kernels for future essays and stories. The last section of the book compiled these nuggets of inspiration into a reusable list.

I love reading books which offer insights to inspire my own writing. I also enjoy books which open my eyes to new activities, such as walking which cleans the cobwebs out of my mind and also unlocks writer’s block. By the time I reached the end of the book, I decided to make walking a part of my daily routine. Since moving to Santa Barbara nearly four years ago, I’ve noticed that many people favor walking as a hobby. For me, it’s a time to meet new people, but it’s also a time to nurture reflection and creativity. Santa Barbara offers a unique blend of calm and an unexplainable creative force. I often wondered if this is a result of its unique location, where the ocean meets the mountains.

Patricia Fry wrote an article called “Meditation Walking for Writers,” which I read with great interest. She suggested a walking meditation technique to help if you’re stuck in your writing. She says that there is no altered state of consciousness needed to embark on this type of meditation, and that it’s just a matter of quieting your mind and finding the stillness from within. She does admit that you have to want to do it and then you will see results.

The technique is simple. The first step is to establish a schedule, anywhere between forty-five and sixty minutes each day. Dressing comfortably and finding a quiet place to walk, is critical. Santa Barbara, thankfully, has a glutton of perfect walking locations. Fry suggests that while walking you focus solely only your senses—hear the sound of your shoes hitting the pavement, a sprinkler turning on, or the birds chirping. Then she suggests feeling the air against your skin and how the muscles in your legs tighten with each step. Pay attention to the aromas, whether it’s the blooming flowers, budding trees or grass being cut. In other words, put yourself in the moment.

Beth Baruch Joselow in her book, “Writing Without the Muse,” also suggests in her chapter “Go Outside,” to explore the outdoors and discover something unfamiliar—something growing in your garden, something living under a rock, something discarded in the alley. She suggests bringing that something back to your desk to examine all its facets. She recommends writing a description of it using all your senses. She takes the exercise one step further and suggests describing the item using someone else’s voice, someone you know.

Once you try these mind-clearing techniques, you can start allowing creative ideas to filter in. Fry claims that meditation walks provide an ideal arena for problem-solving. When she feels overwhelmed, she walks change her approach to life, whether it results in slowing down or figuring out what to do next. She suggests replacing negative thoughts with positive ones. If you think positively, then chances are it will soon become a reality. Meditation walking is a way to relax and increase your awareness while getting some of that fresh air and exercise we all need and who knows, the side effect might be a fabulous poem or story!