image courtesy Jeff C...
Recently on a trip to Arizona I found myself in a new-age store full of incense and cool stones and crystals, lots of books on Jesus, and spirituality right next to tarot decks and ruins made out of wood or crystals.
When I reviewed Jason Smith's addiction memoir, The Bitter Taste of Dying, I called it "a gripping, no-holds-barred memoir," "a riveting story of addiction and recovery," and "a story of self-discovery and hope, too."
It must be wonderful to be dead and keep writing. I guess when you're a genius, nothing can stop you.
It's time to blog about returns. Not because it's a glamorous subject, but because it's an important piece of the book publishing business that too few authors (and readers) understand. And the fact that books are returnable in the first place is cause for frustration.
It's rare to meet a person who hasn't thought at some stage in their life, "I want to write a book." Whether its memoir, fiction, a children's picture book, creative non-fiction, historical or erotica, most of us believe we have a story inside us that is literally aching to be told.
On the first day of campaigning, I didn't think much of them, but by the second week, I felt like a bowling pin constantly being knocked over. How much more knocking over could I possibly take?
They retired the mic to Isaac Kirkman, on the sultry spring night I first saw him here in Tucson. Just took it right off the stand and handed it over--a sign of respect in some poetry circles. Akin to giving the game ball to the MVP, in sports.
Well, let's see. Most of the civilized world as a whole is driven by entertainment. Two of the primary platforms of entertainment are television and film.
The book is written, proofed, edited and re-read until you feel as if your eyeballs will bleed, you've "sent it out" and now the wait begins.
In 1976 Apple was started by Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak (Woz). In 1985 Steve was fired, publically humiliated. For weeks Jobs spent time in his dark room. He didn't contact anyone. He didn't go out. He didn't eat much. We all know this isn't how the story ends.
As an author, blogger, and marketer, I often hear writers lament about trolls, particularly on social media.
Sarah McCoy, author of the novel The Mapmaker's Children, and her husband, an Army orthopedic surgeon she calls Doc B, recently celebrated their 10-year wedding anniversary with a vow renewal and baptismal ceremony.
First, editors are industry professionals who can educate often-naive authors about the facts of life in the real world of publishing.
Americans love quick fixes and snake oil, they always have. It's not surprising, then, that so many writers are following what's going to be a false lead for most of them. It's really tempting to imagine yourself just a hashtag away from fortune and fame.
Imagine yourself deep in a forest. You notice your travel companions rifling through your backpack while muttering to themselves at half-volume. Unsettled, you retire to your tent where you find a mysterious key.
The Story of My Teeth, on every level, is obsessed with artifice and the slipperiness of identity. Now translated by Christina MacSweeney, in collaboration with Luiselli, the book mimics her own play with authorial identity. In the book, Gustavo Sánchez Sánchez, also known as Highway, claims to be writing a “dental autobiography,” though the question of whose words we’re actually reading later becomes complicated.