Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Since I got nothing done today. . .

It just seems I spend my life waiting. The only real feedback I've had on my new novel The Glass Character is from friends and family, and, well. . . It's not that they don't count at ALL, but let's face it, their bias is plain to see.

It's hard to hold on to anything they say.  I'm not getting much in the way of detail, just the same "I really enjoyed your book. I liked it better than the other two" (and it seems that, as time goes by, the other two steadily get worse). I wish I knew what part of the story people liked. I wish I knew what characters they loved, hated, or were bored with.

Since none of this is forthcoming, at least not yet, I try to content myself with Blingee, an alternate to gif. I'm beginning to realize these backgrounds look sort of like the Ed Sullivan Show when Janis Joplin or Jefferson Airplane came on: there'd be this pulsating, psychedelic goo projected behind them and it would sort of mush around in time to the music.

This is a form of play for me, a way of losing myself, and boy do I need it now. I want this book to succeed, big-time. I don't know how I'll do it. I'll try magic, wishbones, voodoo, anything. But I realize how capricious is success in any endeavour. It's not a matter of trying hard, or persevering, or even of talent. It's supposed to be "who you know", but my own efforts at who-you-know-ing haven't panned out so well. It all breaks down in the execution.

It's hard to place your book in the hands of people who can determine its success or failure. There are hardly any copies left in my box now, I've given away so many, even to exotic locations in Great Britain, from which I have almost no hope of hearing.

But we have come this far by faith. I remember when I wondered if I would ever write seriously again. Just getting through a day was a gargantuan task. Slow step by slow step, year after year after year, I brought myself and Harold to this point, and by God I am determined to continue until one of us wins.

Order The Glass Character from:

Thistledown Press



  1. I suspect the average reader, including friends, would feel a little uncomfortable trying to explain to the author what they think of the author's book. There's always the risk of coming up short in the author's expectations, that the author might think them naive or even stupid. Nonspecific praise is always safest.

  2. Actually, even my daughter was enthusiastic in her praise, though she did seem a bit surprised - that she liked it that well, I mean. But she is an extremely tough critic and hates "lyrical" (she thought my first two were lyrical), so for her this was meaningful praise. There were scads of reviews for my other two - I can't help but compare the experiences, but they're vastly different. Almost all of them were positive. A new one came out every week. This time it probably won't happen that way. So how DOES one make a go of it? I think social networking ultimately won't make too many sales, though it can help get the word out. The honest truth is, you have to win a major award. In Canada, there aren't too many of them. It's a Catch-22 in that your book has to be fairly well-known already just to be in the running. Otherwise it just won't be noticed. But I do look at the box of books and think: damn, that wasn't there a year ago. I remember a time when it was just a thought in my head. And that's something.

  3. The blingees give me a headache. If you have any books left, send one to Maureen Corrigan:

  4. I've sent you an email regarding all this (too long to post here). WHAT, you don't like BLINGEES??? They appeal to the child in me, and resemble cartooning, like the gifs. Mind you, they also remind me somewhat of migraine aura, flashing away in lurid colors.

  5. They're too busy. Afraid I'd get a migraine if I looked at them too long.