Thursday September 21 2006
Last night was the writers meeting at Barnes and Noble. Before it began Maria called. She said she went to the Authors Luncheon at the Plaza Hotel on Sunday. That Steve (who used to run our writers meetings) was there. He must have flown in from LA for it, he has so many friends at the Luncheons he wanted to see them. Maria said she met DewAnne, who is going to be the new leader of our writers meetings. And she told me DewAnne cannot make it tonight, a replacement will be there, it is a man. And she met DewAnne and DewAnne is very nice.
And she said she is not coming to the meeting tonight because her friends from Poland arrive on Saturday to stay for two weeks, and she still has the last minute things to do to get the house ready for their visit. She had a glorious time at the Southwest Authors Luncheon, and I decided definitely I will go next month. She said it is at a different place and I wrote down the address.
I didn’t go swimming yesterday because it was cool and cloudy and swim pools are not heated yet. I wasn’t ready to face that cold water without hot dazzling Sun. So it was a long day in the house waiting for 7 PM to roll around when meeting starts. It was an even longer day for Bill because after we go swimming, he goes out on his bicycle and has his own adventure. At swim time in early afternoon neither of us wanted to leave cozy house for cold water, but by 7 PM both of us were very antsy.
Finally I found a channeling to read on the internet which totally held my interest, I was enthralled, and when I finished reading it, it was exactly the time to brush my teeth, choose a blouse and skirt, find earrings, find lipstick, find my pen, find my notebook, choose a purse, and get into truck to go to meeting. Instead of wearing the skirt I had planned to wear with black top, I wore pale yellow sleeveless cotton blouse with white ruffled skirt (and green bra!). The lipsticks were in my swim bag, and I put them on while Bill was driving. I wore white suede open-toed slingbacks, with heels. They were under the seat, and I put them on when we arrived at Barnes and Noble parking lot.
A man was sitting at the table when I arrived and I asked if he was in charge of the meeting and he said “yes” and his name is Chris. He looked like a lovely man, and we began to chat. I asked him about the Authors Luncheon next month and he knew everything about it. It will be held at the Shriners, it begins at 11:30. “I heard lunch will be $15 instead of $20.” He said “that is only if you make a reservation ahead of time, if you show up at the door it is $20.” He had a little flyer about the Southwest Authors Association and he gave it to me. And I was glad to see their phone number and web address on it. Because when Maria had decided to go Sunday morning at last minute, I had gone on google to try to find a phone number or web address, we wanted to know if luncheon was in same place or had already moved to new place, and I couldn’t find it anywhere.
The flyer also had the cost of membership 25 dollars, but the first time you join you have to pay 50 because the additional 25 is initiation fee. I said “what’s the advantage to being a member when I can just show up at the Luncheons?” He said “the advantage of being a member is there are writing groups you can join.” I said “O great I am looking for a writing group to join, maybe I will get a membership.”
I said “how come you know all these things?” And he said “because I am the president of the Southwest Authors Association.” And I thought 'I sure lucked out because anything I want to know he will know.'
He told me he is a playwright and that seemed like a lot of fun. I asked him who his favorite playwrights are, and some of the names were not familiar to me. It is a world I know nothing about, but I do watch movies all the time, I am starting to realize all those movies were written by someone.
He said he recently participated in “play-in-a-day.” This means in the morning two playwrights pair off and write a play together, then in the afternoon the actors are found, they rehearse it, and in the evening the play is performed. It is a play-in-a-day. I thought it must be thrilling for a playwright, to write a play in the morning, and that night he can watch it performed on a stage for an audience, to be able to share it with the world so fast.
Then a woman named Rebecca arrived, and a man named Joe, and another man named Ernie, and the meeting began. Rebecca is very young, she said she writes non-fiction/fiction, which I gather is the same as what I write. Also she has a job at U of A in Dept of Judaic Studies where she is writing a book about Ruth in the Bible. She said “no one ever wrote about Ruth.” She is very excited about her book.
Ernie is older man. He said he was born in Bisbee and then lived in Verde Valley near Phoenix for long time, but moved down to Tucson because his wife went to eye doctor here and he had given up driving and Tucson has great bus system. He must live in some senior citizens place because he said he tried to start a writers group there, but all they want to do is watch TV or go to the doctor. And he met someone, I forget who (maybe it was Chris), who told him to go here.
I nearly fell over when Ernie said he writes suspense romance. He just finished one book and is writing another. “Another romance?” I asked. “Yes” he said, “I like romance.”
He looked like the last person on earth who would be writing romances. He was not chatty. He had rough look. He was born in an Arizona mining town a very long time ago. He seemed as unlikely candidate for writing romance, as I would be for writing combat war stories. But he likes romance and that is what he writes. It sure perked up my interest in him.
Joe said his name is Joe Smith and when cops stop him they don’t believe that is his real name and he has to show his drivers license and he showed it to me, and it said Joseph Anthony Smith. He said he is massage therapist, and his name was in the paper recently because he led a demonstration in downtown Tucson. Here in Tucson they will let you do massage if you have been to Desert Institute or another one of the Institutes which teach it, but if you happen to have a talent for it and want to do it, they won’t let you do it. And Joe said “this is wrong” and I agree. His hobby is racing motorcycles, and his name was mentioned in the article about the fastest motorcycle racer of all time.
He said he is here cause he met Chris in a men’s group. “Men’s liberation?” I asked. “Yes” he said. And I realized I made booboo when I made that joke before the meeting began. Chris had been saying something about books, the kind of books put out, and mentioned “save the whales,” so Joe had said “and save the males,” and I giggled and said “why do men need to be saved, I’m sitting closer to Rebecca.” But if Joe and Chris were in a men’s liberation group together, they take it seriously. I said “I believe in liberation, liberation for everyone.” Joe had said “women had their turn, now it’s our turn.”
I liked Joe a lot and he liked me. When I spilt the ice water all over table when I was trying to pour cups of it for everyone, he got me napkins so I could put my notebook down and write in it.
Joe said he’s not a writer but he wants to be one which is why he is at this meeting. When Chris suggested we join writers’ groups, I said “yes the Southwest Authors Association has them, maybe I will join one of them.”And Chris got very nervous. He said “but those groups are very established, they’ve been together long time, they already have 8 members in them and they won’t want anymore people.”
And I thought to myself, ‘Why would I pay $50 to join it, so I could be in one of their writers groups and then find out their writers groups are closed because they don’t want anymore people in it.’
He suggested taking a writing class at Pima or U of A. I know that works. I have done that in New York City. I took a writing class at New School. It meant each one got up and read what they wrote and you got to find out if there is an audience for your work. But I’ve just recently expanded my life into going to the writers meeting at Barnes and Noble a mile away, and to Authors Luncheons. I am not quite ready for weekly class at a college.
Chris warned finding an agent is not very easy, and especially warned against any agent who asks for money up front, he said “the idea is for them to make money for you, not you give them money.”
And Ernie told about a terrible experience he had when he gave money in good faith to have a literary appraisal of his book given him. He said when he was in college back in 1951 he decided he wanted to learn how to dance, and there were Arthur Murray classes given. You could sign up for 3 classes, “they were half hour each and it cost 75 dollars, which was a lot of money back then.” He said the first class they danced for 20 minutes, then 10 minutes was sales pitch, second class they danced 10 minutes, 20 minutes was sales pitch, and third class whole half hour was sales pitch, they wanted him to pay $1200 for series of lessons. He said “all I got for my $75 was half-hour of dancing.” (I wonder if this story is accurate, just because Ernie is a laconic westerner and grew up in tiny mining town, does not mean he is not Leon, with my dad’s exaggerative mind.)
Ernie said he brought his book to self-publisher here in Tucson, and he asked about literary appraisal, this means someone reads your book and lets you know what are your chances of it selling, and gives you whole critique. They suggested an outfit in Illinois and he sent them his manuscript with check for $250. What he got back was a page. They said his commas are fine, his spelling is fine, and then were 5 sentences about the book. And he felt cheated, altho they said it was a very good book.
This is when Chris suggested writers groups as a solution and it is a good solution. Ernie could read one chapter at each meeting and he would get feedback. A writer must have feedback to have confidence in their work, else they won’t know if they communicated or not. But I am not sure if paying a professional to read it is the way to go, because it doesn’t clue you in if there is audience-- they would approach it as a chore, which is a strike against your work to begin with.
Maybe Ernie would like to read a chapter of his suspense romance book on Layla’s tv access Tucson show. Layla would interview him for few minutes and then he would read. Layla could ask him what I was too shy to ask him, how did he come to write romances? what is it he likes about it? and also what was Bisbee like back then? Bisbee is tiny town high up in mountains near Mexican border, when the mines closed it became hippy town.
There are a lot of interesting things to ask Ernie, and his suspense romance might be interesting to hear too. Ernie should loosen up a little, not sit there with that same stern face he had at meeting and look less glowering. Altho of course that is why I fell over when he said he writes romances.
Then Chris showed copies of books where we could send our work to. He showed a copy of Paris Review. And I thought ‘Forget it!’ I remembered when I lived in New York City sending all my stories to them and getting them all right back. My New York City stories were all better than my Tucson stories, I had so much more content to work with, plus I had my whole past. It is very rare now that I write a story about my past. And no way would Paris Review, now located in downtown Manhattan, want to publish my story about shopping at Grocery Outlet. I might find it very interesting what Grocery Outlet has on its shelves but I doubt Paris Review would. If they would not publish my story “Criminal Mischief” which was a hot little story, why would they publish my story about how I bought blueberry pancake syrup.
Ernie said his understanding is most authors self-publish now. And I perked up a lot at that. When I lived in New York self-publishing was called “Vanity Press,” and the idea was if your book wasn’t "good enough” to be published by a "real publisher” you could pay a fortune and publish it yourself.
This idea was enough to keep me banging my head against a brick wall and keep sending out my book to "real publishers" who always sent it back. Quite a lot of effort time money went into it and got me nowhere. In fact feelings got built up which I am going to have to deal with. That is what I read in that channeled thing before I left for the meeting. “You are going to have to admit that every single experience you have had in your life, you had because it was your own thoughts, words, actions which created it, your beliefs created it, your own mind brought these experiences into your life, and if you want new experiences which are better, you will have to change your beliefs and change your mind.”
I’m not ready right now to have long heart-to-heart with myself about the trillions and billions of editors who rejected my stories. There is no magazine I didn’t send them to. No book publisher I didn’t send whole book to. I covered the waterfront in my own way. I even sent them off to publishers in England.
When Chris suggested we send our work to The New Yorker and Atlantic Monthly because they pay $1000 if they take your story, I just let it flow thru the top of my head. I’m sure I sent both of those magazines a zillion stories when I lived in New York. I would no more send a story to one of them now, than I would go swimming in a down jacket and dungarees.
Why repeat the stupidity I have done before. I just want to be very clear with myself. Yes it would be foolish for me to do what I mindlessly did before. I never had objective input whether the magazines I was sending my stuff to would want it. I didn’t want objective input. I just wanted to send it off to them and for them to take it.
Bill once said “why do you send your stories to the New Yorker, your stories are funny, and they have no sense of humor.” But I thought ‘what does Bill know.’ Quite a lot it turns out. I just didn’t want to hear it. It was the one thing I needed to hear if I were to succeed: who does want it and who doesn’t want it.
But I just didn’t want to know that then. The whole enterprise was mindless and resulted in fruitlessness. Which I don’t regret. Even from mindless fruitless enterprises there is a lot you learn. All experiences enrich you in some way. I just want to be sure the bitterness about it is healed. When I first moved to Tucson I went to a writers conference here and I was astonished at the heat of bitterness the word editor brought up in my mind. Each time an editor took the podium I made secret nasty remarks about editors in my mind.
By the time I went to Steve’s first writing group a year and half ago the word “editor” had no associations for me, it was neutral word, it didn’t recall my own vivid experiences. Steve would talk about New York editors, and I was so Tucson minded it had no reality to me. It was only when Chris showed us a copy of Paris Review last night and suggested we send our stories there, and then mentioned The New Yorker and Atlantic Monthly right afterwards, that I remembered these are not unfamiliar names to me. And a slight wave rose.
I know the wave was very slight, but I don’t know what was under it. Even if I choose the route of self-publishing this time-- it seems so logical because the other enterprise I already did. I know I did it all wrong and it failed. Maybe if I have long heart-to-heart with myself I can undo the exhaustion and defeat at idea of doing it again. But I am not so sure I want to. I mean I want to have heart-to-heart to remove all the bitterness, to accept responsibility for everything which happened.
It happened the way it did because I did it, not because of what “they did to me.” I’m not saying I wouldn’t make 5 attempts. Harry found an agent in Los Angeles he likes a lot, I would send it to her. And Steve told us about a small press in Scottsdale and Sierra Vista, I would send it to them. And if there are small presses in Tucson, I would bring it to them. As long as it is fresh and new in some way.
But oddly enough I am gung-ho about self-publishing if I can afford it. I know it’s a big project, but it is a project which interests me. I have no ego about my books, I simply want them in the world. I have zero interest in things like recognition, why would I want recognition. All I want is for people to read them and enjoy them, that the gift I created when I made them, is delivered.
So when Ernie started to talk about how much it costs to publish our books I paid close attention and wrote down the figures. He said “don’t write down these figures, I am just guessing.” I said “but I just want an idea of the kind of money involved, I want to know if it is affordable.”
Then Joe went to get me another napkin, I had been using my fingers to get the stains off my notebook. And Ernie got concerned that Joe left, because Joe is going to drive him home. And everyone thanked Chris for the great meeting and said they learned a lot, and Chris was pleased because he had tried so hard. And Bill put down the football game magazine he was reading, and we got in truck to go home.
“Thanks Bill” I said when we got into our driveway, “I did learn a lot.” I didn’t know what I had learned, my mind was totally confused when I walked in the door, but these meetings have purpose for me.
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