The Results Are In

A couple of weeks ago I posted a completely unscientific poll with many +/- margins for error here on this blog. I was curious to see which e-reader people bought most often. The results: 75% Kindle, 25% Nook, and 1% iPad. Yes, these numbers are a little goofy since you can see that somehow the poll created a total of 101%. Still, I thought it was interesting. Did Amazon do a better job of marketing the Kindle? Not that I know of. From the outset, I saw far more advertising about the Nook than Kindle. As to how I reached the decision to buy a Kindle, see my previous post.

E-Readers--Which One?

When I decided I wanted an e-reader, I didn’t know which to choose. Early on, you couldn’t find one anywhere to put your hands on to see what they looked like. Then Sony and Nook made theirs available in retail locations. The first one I saw was the Sony at Office Depot. At the time, it didn’t have a live working model but only display sample that didn’t do anything. Later, I saw the Nook and the Kobo. What to do, what to do? I’d heard a lot of news about the Kindle, but I didn’t know anyone who owned one and they were not for sale in retail stores. It required a leap of faith to buy one online and hope for the best. In the interim, I downloaded the reader for PC from Kindle. It didn’t take me long to decide that wasn’t practical.

Just about the time I had the wherewithal to actually buy one, I made that leap of faith. But Kindles were on back order (What?! I’ve been waiting all this time, and now they’re on back order?). This reminded me of a bumper sticker I often saw on a car ahead of me while stuck in drive-time freeway traffic: The whole world is on back order. It turned out this was due to the new Kindle that was coming out, one that was more affordable and another with more muscle, but $189. About the same time, Nook had lowered their prices and also come out with a color model (ooh!), and the iPad has made its debut. I bought the 3G Kindle and I was in love. For the sake of practical hands-on comparison, I also bought the black-and-white Nook. If you’ve done any research into this, you know there are several considerations to, well, consider. Wireless or not, color or B&W, an e-reader that also doubles as a small touch screen computer, backlit or e-ink, etc.

Amazon and most other manufacturers have been rather coy about revealing their sales figures, so I decided to take it to the people. If you have an e-reader, which do you have? I’ve made it easy to join the fun with the handy-dandy poll here on this page. I’ll leave it up for a week and see what we get (and please be honest—this isn’t scientific but still . . . ).

On Writing Description

“The way she describes them, the scenery, the characters and what they are feeling, how they look, what they are wearing. It leaves nothing to be desired and allows the reader to mentally visualize exactly what everything looks like.”
 
“The setting is fundamental to the story, and feels realistic.”
 
“Her descriptions of the place and time really make you feel like you were there.”

Okay, okay, I didn’t post these excerpts of reader reviews for the purpose of blowing my horn. What I want to talk about is writing description.

This is a really fine line to walk. As a writer, if you don’t provide enough description the reader might feel detached from the story. Put in too much and your audience will lose track of the story altogether. You know, forest for the trees, etc. I once tried to get through a book written by a now-deceased author whose books were huge sellers in the 1960s and 1970s. All the minutiae and yip-yap about every detail made for excruciating reading and finally I gave up, wondering what all the fuss was about. There might have been a story but it had gotten left behind by the writer’s need to describe everything.

So let’s have a look behind my curtain and I’ll talk about what I do that seems to work. Remember the five senses—sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing.

Let’s suppose that you’re writing a scene that takes place outside on a late summer night. (I just had a conversation with a friend about this, partly because of my time-shifted hours. I see a lot of late nights.)

One of the things we talked about is how good a summer night smells. This is based on the supposition that you don’t live near a sewage treatment plant or some other industrial intruder. Summer is filled with plants and grasses that are at their prime, and their scents blend and carry, even if the night is fairly still. You can catch a whiff of lavender or a newly-mowed lawn.

Scents and odors—good or bad. I think we’ve all read something about blood having a coppery or metallic taste. I've had the unforgettable experience of smelling my own blood after an injury. The smell of an anaerobic compost pile can just about knock you off your feet, which of course, is why they need to be turned. I learned this the hard way. That nasty stink didn’t linger in my nostrils, as is sometimes written. It hovered at the back of my throat. Lots of really strong odors can do that, oil-based paint, turpentine, gasoline, some especially peaty single malt Scotches, old liniment, skunk spray on a dog, pine cleaner, etc. Other fragrances such as pleasing perfume, a sleeping person, or line-dried laundry fill your head. Scents can also be powerful memory triggers. I personally don’t like stuffed grape leaves but the smell of them cooking always makes me think of my grandmother. So does the scent of Coty face powder.

On a clear night, especially beyond the urban influence of light pollution, the stars are very visible, as are some planets even with the naked eye. Since I grew up and lived my whole life in the city, I’m not accustomed to seeing the sky that well at night. I attended a writer’s conference years ago at a facility in the Columbia River Gorge. It’s really dark out there! The moon was full, and I was astounded to discover how well I could see by its light. It casts shadows and everything. But that same light can make objects look a bit colorless, like a faded photo. As the Moody Blues observed in “Nights In White Satin,” “red is gray and yellow, white.” And if the character is in a wide-open place, that dome of midnight blue, moon, and stars truly looks infinite.

What does a kiss taste like? If it’s forced upon a person it can be extremely unpleasant. Given in lust or love, the effect will be different. Have you ever gotten a mouthful of sea water? It tastes just like it smells. How about the flavor of wine that has gone bad? It's not enough to say that it tastes like vinegar; we all know that. Could it strip paint? Keep the flies off roadkill? It’s not surprising that taste and smell can intertwine, which is why food is about as interesting as library paste when you have a cold.

Touchy-feely—in one of my books I said that a character’s personality grated on another’s like sandpaper on a sunburn. Two for the price of one! It’s easy to imagine the feeling and the aggravation. How about the surprising and sharp pain of a knife cut? One night a few years ago I was slicing a potato with a mandolin–no, no, not the stringed instrument. It’s a kitchen slicer. Mine has a hand guard but I was in a hurry and forgot to use it. The blade on that thing sliced off the pad of my ring finger and let me tell you, the shock of that moment pulled the breath right out of me. When you think of touch, don’t forget about textures: soft, coarse, rough, smooth. How do you think you’d describe the feel of an elephant’s hide (and it’s a pretty safe bet that most of us don’t know so we’d have to study a photo and make a good guess)?

Hearing. The wind in summer trees with their green leaves rustling, or bare-limbed winter branches rattling like old bones. A dog barking in the distance on that starlit summer night. Imagine a character lying in the dark in a cheap hotel bed, the sheets rough beneath his bare skin, the smell of a thousand cigarettes exhaling their stale reek from the drapes and furniture, the sharp taste of whiskey swishing around his mouth, headlights crossing the wall and ceiling while someone’s car alarm keeps going off in the streets below. All right, that’s depressing, and sort of clumsy. But it makes you want to know more, doesn’t it? Even I’m curious, and wow, for some reason the character just became Russell Crowe in my mind’s eye, that wonderful tool writers have.

It’s your job to create a vivid image in the mind’s eye of your reader too.

D'oh!

There are times when I feel like I can identify with Homer every day. Doing this job involves a lot of things besides writing. I do my own promo stuff and everything else connected with the business of being a writer, so despite my best intentions I manage to goober up something. Recently I put out the word that I'd posted an excerpt from my upcoming book, Home By Nightfall, on my website. Today I received an e-mail from an understandably confused reader who read Home By Morning and said she couldn't find that excerpt anywhere in the book. I suppose that was because I forgot to change the title at the top of the web page. I have since fixed that error and you can find the same excerpt right here.

So thanks budde1600 for alerting me to this.

Most Romantic Holiday of the Year

No, the banks don’t close and yes, you’ll still get mail delivery. Filled with candy message hearts that are more fun to read than eat (sorry, to me they taste like antacid tablets), chocolate, flowers, jewelry, naughty lingerie and just about any other personal gift one could think of, it’s the day on which we celebrate romance. With all of its heartaches and joys, runaway pulses and tears, Shakespeare said in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, “The course of true love never did run smooth.”

As a writer and from personal experience, no one is better acquainted with that fact than I am. My stories abound with bumpy roads and the quickening of love—new, old, and revisited. Some years we have a love to celebrate. Other years we’re eating popcorn and watching old movies with the dog or the cat. Never mind about that. If you’ve got an e-reader, I’ve got a love story for you, complete with bumpy roads, the breathless anticipation of a blooming romance, and a happy ending.

PLUS, I’m offering something special at my website: an excerpt from my new book, Home By Nightfall. I confess that I’ve been dawdling about finishing it—ask any author and they can come up with at least ten reasons that keep them out of the word processing program and busy with something else. By giving you this small gift, I’m giving myself one as well. A reason to put my butt in the chair and my hands on the keyboard. I can’t take credit for this advice. Author Linda Needham always told aspiring writers that it’s the only secret to writing a book. She’s right, of course.

So have a wonderful Valentine’s Day, either with your co-celebrant or with my fictional lovers. Or both!

New Year, New Dog, New Carpet

Isn’t she a little darling? Sweet face, good disposition, and beginning to feel right at home. I’ve had Roxanne since December 9th. She was timid and nervous at first, and why not? She’d been a stray, rounded up and consigned to a death sentence at a kill shelter in Houston. Then she was rescued, fostered for a while in Texas, and sent North. That meant a five-day road trip to Portland, Oregon in a windowless trailer with eight other dogs.

Now with a steady, balanced diet, she is losing her old coat, shedding enough hair to make a couple of very itchy sweaters (if one were so inclined). Dog bunnies float by on every bare surface. With the new coat she's also getting new markings, and has chewed the corners off the furniture, a pair of $165 shoes, a few slippers, and an appliance cord. I'm ecstatic! It’s great! So great, in fact, that I have engaged a private trainer, endorsed by Cesar Millan–the Dog Whisperer, who will be here on Wednesday to help offset the fact that an estimator came out today to give me a quote on new carpeting and hardwood for the first floor of the house. Apparently Roxanne making herself right at home includes all of the above and peeing in the dining room and living room. Oh, boy! What joy!

The little darling. 

 

Accustomed to doing research on the job, I have studied this problem from every angle and followed a lot of advice. I bought a crate. I have set the stove timer and taken her outside every 30 minutes to do . . . nothing. If it’s raining, she’ll wait under the eave at the patio door while I stand in the rain trying to coax her out. I've wheedled. I've ordered. I've commanded. I've offered a bribe. If the grass is wet, she might take a magnificent leap over the low garden fencing that keeps the chickens off the patio, run around the yard a couple of times and then come back, having done nothing. She flies over that fence just like Lassie. On walks, she does nothing. She saves every ounce for her chosen spot, the carpet. Obviously, all of this has resulted in a lot of exasperation and some downright horror.

I’d have to say that nothing can snap me out of writing mode more effectively than stopping to clean up another of Roxanne’s leavings.

But. She’s a great watchdog, and is such a joy to ride with in the car. I adored my last dog, Chrissie, as I’ve mentioned, and I still mourn her loss.
She was loving, loyal, and compared to Roxanne, she was a Rhodes Scholar. She never had an accident in the house, but to take her anywhere in the car was a nightmare. She got so hyper and barked so much, I had to leave her at home most of the time. Roxanne won’t stay in the back seat unless she’s restrained, but she’s content to watch the scenery go by and stick her nose out the opened window. She's not a leash-puller so walking her doesn’t require a trip to the hospital for rotator cuff surgery.

The new flooring won’t be installed until she has learned that it’s not okay to use the house for her toilet. So in the interim, the carpet shampooer, the new vacuum, and my Bissell Little Green are getting the workouts of their mechanical lives.

I’m getting by on store-brand acetaminophen for the backaches that come with operating the machinery. Wine works too and is more fun. You can't take both together, more's the pity.

There’s Something About A Western

Sunday afternoon I went to the movies to see True Grit. I didn’t see the original; I confess I’m not a big John Wayne fan. That’s just personal preference here. But on the other hand, have you ever thought about how many criminals and other infamous people have been named John Wayne Something? Just off the top of my head, I remember John Wayne Gacy and John Wayne Bobbitt.

But I digress. True Grit held me captive to the screen for its full running time of 110 minutes. I never once looked at my watch, didn’t sneak out to the bathroom, and I was sort of yanked from my spellbindings (I know, not a real word) when the credits began to roll. I learned from my friend Lee B to always sit through those to the very end because it’s part of the experience, and she’s right. My being a big fan of Coen brothers’ films didn’t even enter into this, except that they've made another wonderful movie.

True Grit reminded me why I’ve so often been drawn to write westerns.  I have studied and researched this part of our heritage, always entertained and sometimes surprised. The American West even now holds a fascination for many people, including those from other countries. It has been my privilege to visit south Texas several times, Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada (not just the casinos) and eastern Oregon and Washington. These and other western states were the birthplaces of real heroes, genuine psychopaths who could and did maneuver openly through society because there was no way to really stop them. Life was hard and those people who survived did so without our conveniences and advantages, the lack of which would probably kill us now. Many couldn’t read or write. Others were educated and cultured to a point that a lot of us would not even recognize today. A good example can be found here: http://tinyurl.com/9umtw6. US Army Captain Sullivan Ballou wrote a letter to his wife that is so eloquent, so beautiful, it’s hard to imagine that we’ve devolved to a point in time when I read posts on the internet that are simply incomprehensible.

So, my thanks to Joel and Ethan Coen, their brilliant cast and, most importantly to author Charles Portis for crafting this great story.