I don't like to talk about teaching on this blog, for several reasons really, especially when I'm feeling frustrated. My blog is my space, where I have my rants, my random tangents, my exciting announcements. I usually blog for fellow writers or readers. I think I need to make an exception this time. I wrote something out after a really low day, and if nothing else, just putting it into words is my way of "saving" me. 

That comment will make more sense if you read the article below.  

No, I'm not re-launching this blog series, but something writing-related came up so I thought that I would add to my little advice column. 

Betas.

For those of you who may be unfamiliar with the term, or as I have recently learned, potentially offended by it, allow me to explain:

When a writer creates a piece and needs a test-audience, these are called Beta readers. In theory, they are the second set of eyes to see the manuscript. Thus, called Betas, as in 2's. 

I recently was witness to a verbal beat-down of someone insulted by being classified as a Beta reader, as if it directly implied that they were not important - a second class reader. While I can appreciate your right to your feelings, I do think that it's important to understand why it's called a Beta. Now, if you are being asked to help revise/create the manuscript, by all means, get mad about being called Beta, because any active type of co-authoring would then make you an Alpha. But a Beta reader should be your prototype audience. Yes, you can decide to use their feedback to make some changes, but a Beta really shouldn't be brought in if you need to make a lot of dramatic changes; exception being if you've finished your manuscript and aren't sure if it's worth pursuing any further or let it sit in the "completed" file never to be seen again. Some works aren't worth preparing for publication. I have several that were fine in the moment but not extraordinary in any way. So a Beta can tell you "Yes, it has potential!" or "Maybe next time." In either case, the expectation is not that they hunt down every little plot, development and grammar issue they encounter. 

Now, for my rant:

So, when you have decided to make the call for Beta readers, and you have decided that Betas should give you chapter by chapter feedback, please, please, PLEASE, don't revise the same chapter over and over again before posting the next one. As your Beta reader, having me reread 5 different versions of each chapter is going to result in one of two reactions.

#1) The angry little grudge. Now I'm usually pretty well-balanced when it comes to toning things down for very budding authors, focusing on big picture critiques before the nitty gritty. But if physically reading your story is now becoming a frustrating experience because there's no moving forward, I just might snap one day and take it out on your story. I don't want to. It's not my intention. But "GET TO THE FRIGGIN' POINT ALREADY!"

Or the more likely result, #2) The over-it. I've lost my momentum. I don't remember what actually happened any more because it keeps changing, and even with a fresh re-reading, I'm just getting done with reading the same lines over and over again. I'm going to glaze. I'm going to gloss right over those little changes you made, not even notice them, and just stop leaving commentary because I need this torture to end. 

I love helping with new stories. I really do. But if I sign up to be your Beta reader, especially FREE OF CHARGE! then for the love of all that's good in this world, do not force me to be your line editor. If I choose to make a comment about a word choice, that's up to me, but I did not sign up for line editing. If you really really want a line editor, we can discuss the terms. And I certainly won't be doing it chapter by chapter with your added changes. It's all or nothing. Give me the whole thing and then make your changes. We can repeat that process however many times it takes, but I cannot spend weeks on that same first few chapters. It worries me that maybe you don't even know where this is going.

There, there it is. I had to say something to stop this madness. 

I'm pricing out my costs now, because this experience will NOT happen again.

Despite the rants that I frequently post on my blog, I don't actually complain all that much. Especially in the moment in front of those who I am ranting about. 

When it's a restaurant, I don't send food back, I don't skimp on tips. I wait patiently even if it takes an hour for the food to arrive, I eat half-frozen sauce, heck, my husband and I ate a plate of slop that we aren't even sure was food because we didn't want the server/cook to feel bad... 

But yesterday was by far the worst retaurant experience I have ever had. My frustration was so great that I burst out into tears right there in our booth. Why? Because it wasn't me that had to suffer through a crappy meal, it was my kid who wasn't being fed. 

Here's what happened:

While adding to our Christmas shopping, my family and I decide to stop at one of the mall restaurants for dinner. It doesn't look busy, there are lots of open seats, and we are seated right away. Our server comes quickly, takes our drink order - since they didn't give us a kids' menu and there wasn't one in the regular menu, I ask the server if he can grab us one so that we can order for my son. He may be a year old, but he can eat just about anything, the only issue is that he doesn't have any teeth so it's easier for us to order off of the kids' menu because the food tends to be simple and easy to break apart.
The server says, "Sure thing." And then adds, "but since I'm here, do you want me to take your order? I won't ring it up until you order for the little guy."

Why not? So we place our order and off he goes to get us drinks and a kids' menu...

... or so we thought. I mean, it's a reasonable assumption, isn't it? Thankfully I bring treats with us to keep the little one happy.

He goes around to a few tables, taking orders. Which is fine. They were all side-by-side. Makes sense.

10 minutes go by. He comes back with a tray of drinks for at least three tables. We get our drinks, and it's pretty clear that that's all he has with him. So I ask, "Were you able to find a kids's menu?" I've been in places that don't get too much kid traffic and so they have to share about 5 kid menus for the whole restaurant, I'm not offended if he can't find one, but I'm ready to ask him what we could get started for my son -

but he quickly chimes in that he's working at "quadruple shift" and that he's "doing the best he can." Fair enough. No one likes a stressful day at work. 

Except that the place still isn't full. There are other servers in and out of the kitchen. And there are two hosts up front not doing much of anything. 

In hindsight, we probably should have just gone to the front ourselves to get a menu, but a) the server didn't mention that getting the menu would be such a hassle, and b) they have a whole freaking bunch up front that he just has to get, or ask someone else to grab for him.

So we have to wait for him to come back with the menu. Which he does... eventually. Long enough that I'm already getting pretty peeved and even my husband is asking me if I just want to walk out. A couple minutes after that exchange, the server comes back with a kids menu. And off he goes again. 

We wait for him to come back so we can order for my son. Done. Mini burgers. Easy. Bun, patty, slice of cheese. That's it.

So he leaves. A minute later my husband and me's food arrives. 

"Can I get you anything else?" asked random helper server (who probably could have brought us the menu if our server was so busy).

"No, we're just waiting for my son's food."

Off he goes and our server checked up on us right away. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, we're just waiting for my son's food."

"It'll be out soon," he promises.

So we wait.

We stare at our food eating the fries because the little one can eat those too.

We wait. We nibble.

Server checks in, "I saw it, it's on it's way."

I tell my husband to just eat his food. He'll be finished in no time and then he can hold the baby while I eat. It'll actually work out better this way.

So he eats. We nibble. I start breaking apart my burger so that the little one can have more than just fries.

"It's on it's way."

My husband has cleaned his plate. The server removes his plate. "It's on it's way."

I break up more of my burger and pass the little one to his daddy so that I can actually take a full bite of mine. 

This continues. I break up pieces of burger for every bite that I take and place it in front of my son. 

I never expected him to eat both mini burgers. But at this point he has already eaten the equivanlent of one mini burger plus a fair share of fries.

Now my plate is clean too.

Server takes away our plate. Still no meal. My son is done. He's curled up now, having a bottle. 

If we thought a kids' meal would be this much of an issue, we wouldn't have bothered ordering it. It's not like he's going to eat it now.

"I saw it, it's coming."

"Just put it in a box," I say. "We're done."

Do you know what we didn't have to wait for? The bill. Full charge for everything. All three meals, all drinks. Satisfaction survey code on the bottom.

He comes back with a boxed meal and asks us if we need the machine.

That's my tipping point.

I don't look for free handouts, but some acknowledgement on their part would have been nice. Instead of blatantly lying to us about his food coming. Could you imagine if we had believed him enough to start eating our meals and left nothing for our son? And if the tables you have to serve are too much to handle, then it's up to the entire staff to close off sections and limit their patrons. 

But no, here's the bill. 

"I'm a little upset that my son didn't get his food until we got bill," I say, trying to keep myself together.

Server doesn't even blink, "Okay, I'll get the manager" and off he goes like water off a duck. 

We had seen the manager go to other tables while we had been there. I don't know what over, but those tables also had children. Coincidence?

I don't know if the issue is in the kitchen. With the server not putting in the order. Or with the computer just not processing kid's meals that day. But EVERYONE in the food industry knows that you don't make kids wait for their meals. You want to ensure that EVERYONE has a bad day? Make a kid wait. 

By the time the manager came out, I was so frustrated that I just started crying. This wasn't an extra 10 minute wait. This was my child not being served at all! And that's not right.

She apologized, and she comp'ed the whole meal. 

Again, I wasn't searching for handouts, I don't do that. But I did have a problem with paying for a meal that we didn't receive. I offered to pay for the two meals that we did eat, but the manager took the bill from us and said, "No. You should not have to suffer because of our issues." She apologiesed again.

I did leave some money on the table. Someone did make our meals, and while I know that the money probably won't go to the people who actually deserve it, (I didn't even leave 10%), I just don't have the heart to leave nothing, though I'm sure I had every right to. If nothing else, my son is very good at leaving a mess behind him. 

Well, I'm still very upset about the whole thing. We may or may not actually go back there, at least not until I've distanced myself from the experience. 

I was going to write about it last night, right after it happened, but I just wanted to not feel like I was going to burst into tears at any moment all night.

Having slept on it, I have decided to not name the establishment, or even tag them as I really wanted to yesterday. That being said, I'm not going to lie about it, so if you really want to know which yyc/area restaurant we went to, I'll tell you. In fact, I've already had people ask as I've been ranting about it.

I don't intent to punish the franchise or the people who work for them, and I've eaten there several times before and had fine experiences. Then again, this is the first time the little one's ordered his own meal there. 

Here I am. November 30th. With more than 15,000 words left to get to the finish line...

Yup, this year is not a win for me. But it's still better than last year where I didn't even start. 

Watching myself struggle to carve out writing time, or even finding writing time and just sitting at the computer looking at nothing and typing nothing, made me feel terribly guilty, especially since  I did walk away from the 3 Day Novel Challenge with over 43,000. If I can write 43,000 words in 3 days, WHAT THE HELL MAN?!?!

So then I started to really think about what made writing a novel in 3 days easier than writing a novel in 30.

Well, I narrowed it down to two reasons.

1st: Time off. Writing is both a solo sport and a team effort. With the 3 Day Novel taking place over a long weekend, it wasn't just necessary for me to take those three days off, but it required my partner to take three days off to pick up the slack that I created. I had to do some pre-noveling preparations like cooking and freezing an abundance of ready-made meals, and getting the whole house clean and laundry done, but then it was in hubby's hands to make sure that everyone ate, was clean, and relatively happy. It meant that any projects that he intended to work on before going back to work had to be put on hold so that I could just sit and write (and have my meals delivered to my perch).

There is no way that I could ask him to take off 30 days. And even though I technically only need a couple of hours each day to pull off 50,000 words in 30, I know first-hand how full his plate is. 

I did NaNoWriMo while doing the teaching program. But back then it was just the two of us and he worked full time in an industry that didn't give homework. Now there's three of us, one of which is a pretty demanding little dude, and while hubby is home evenings and weekends, it doesn't mean that he's done working. Times when I have been able to write for NaNo this year has been when everyone else is in bed. Well, I can only have so many good nights of that. Little one has me up at 2am and around 4:30. Hubby is off to work by 7:00am. And then it's all me until 4:30pm, at which point dinner should be started so that he can eat before having to get some more work done, and somewhere in there we like to be a family. 

When we brought the little one home from the hospital (I mean, he was already three months old by this time,) we decided that we'd schedule home office hours for ourselves so that we could get our own stuff done. That hasn't worked out so well. 

And while I know that pretty much all of the above is just a list of excuses, the point is that I decided that some things weren't worth carving out an hour of writing time for. No, we didn't HAVE to put the tree up this early. No, we didn't HAVE to hangout with friends that weekend. No, we didn't HAVE to have a family outing that day. But I wouldn't trade those things. And sacrificing sleep to make me more miserable the next day doesn't help anyone - it doesn't even motivate me to write. So I'll take my slow-going mornings where my son and I snuggle. I'll use his nap times to throw in a few loads of laundry and maybe get something updated. And I'll give my husband time to sort out his new teaching life - because I know what that's like, and as my maternity leave is coming to an end, I have to say that the mental/emotional exhaustion is just not something that I miss. 

In looking at things this way, I don't feel so bad about not reaching 50,000 words. I don't regret what I did with my time.

2nd: The story. The novel I wrote for 3 Day had been filed away in my head for several years. It just so happened that I was able to fill in a key component that helped bring everything together. So I was pretty familiar with the overall story and my main characters before the challenge even began. 

The novel I started for NaNo is a rather spontaneous idea. Don't get me wrong, I still like the idea, but it hasn't had the same amount of time to simmer. I get distracted by second-guessing the POV's, and trying to balance out how much of this story should be humorous and how much should be heartfelt - and I still don't have an answer to these questions. So the story is much rougher. In many places it has been more forced. And while I can see the ending and think it's masterful, it's the little stops along the way that feel rigid. I'm not even sure if this story should be a 50,000 word novel. I'm not sure if the right characters are telling the story. And so, left with a lot of questions, it's been a struggle to just jump into. 

But I can't complain. I have added to my list of WIP's this year. I have launched myself into different themes, exploring scenes and structures that are new to me. And frankly, writing even one new story a year is a successful year for me, so having two novels and two shorts, plus all of the feedback I've been giving this year to help other writers, I'd say that I've used my time well. Not perfectly, no, but well enough.

So congratulations winners, as well as to those of you who added just a few words to your page. You made something! Finished or not, you did the hardest part - getting started! You've already beat out the millions of people out there who didn't even make it out of the gate this year. 

And if you are one of those still in that gate? It's okay. The year isn't over yet. And besides, 2017 is a great time for a fresh start!

Despite not being American, I stayed up watching the election map until the 270 was reached. I'm not going to get into a political rant about this. My thoughts, feelings, and solidarity with friends have been expressed elsewhere in these past 24 hours. 

What I find interesting, and defeating, is how irrelevant I find myself feeling. I wrote a post what seems forever ago now about the anger I felt over some people's blatant lack of compassion around the time of the Brexit vote. And once again I think that's what hurts most. It's not about who won. It's about the "in your face" "get over your feelings" mania. It makes the only thing I have to offer, hugs and a genuine "there there, it'll be alright," seem inadequate. And this inadequacy has me sitting in front of my computer now, 9 days into NaNoWriMo, working on a tongue-in-cheek bit of silliness, and I can't even open the document. 

Art must always prevail. It's the embodiment of human emotion, experience, and truth. And yet, what I set out to create feels so irrelevant, verging on insensitive. A little voice in my head is crying for the small fragments of activist in me to do something meaningful. But I think that's the problem. Among my own shock, tiredness from being up so late worrying about the results, and being hit with tidal wave after tidal wave of emotion from friends, strangers, celebrities, etc, I feel like a little void vacuum of meaningless.

What can I say? I am a people pleaser at heart, provided that I carry some respect for those people. I feel a need to fix this. Not even entirely sure what "this" is. I just want to be part of healing the hurt, quelling the anxieties, and yet here I sit, and, despite writing these words presently, I still feel like all I'm doing is sitting here staring at a blank screen. 

I know that this will pass. The worldwide shock will subside, and as all I can hope for, peacefully. It's not about "getting over" our feelings, it's about working through why they are so strong in the first place. I had my own revelation around the time of the Trump "pussy" comment. It was when the world was begging women to speak out about their own experiences with sexual assault, to bring us out from a shroud of shame and to help deniers see that these aren't rare isolated events. And I sat there, stunned in front of my computer, not having the heart to share my first encounter because I could not overcome the guilt of making someone who was involved feel responsible for the decisions they made leading up to the event, after it, and the justifications as to why is wasn't a big deal. And when I realized that that was the only reason I couldn't bring myself to say anything, because I was still, even now, the child needing to protect the adult as opposed to the way that these things are actually supposed to be, and that I have, for over 25 years, been carrying around that justification that it was better to dismiss that anything happened lest others feel embarrassed by it, I finally had the courage to end my duty to cater to the feelings of those who couldn't do the same for me when I needed it most, because of what it would cost their image.

I think that's why I sit here lost in silence now. It's where I'm so used to being. Don't say anything that might upset someone. Don't do anything that might make us look bad. Well, I'm getting stronger. And I feel like I am getting closer and closer to standing my own ground. My inner battle now is about where the line is drawn between open honesty and public shaming. 

I'm trying to be less silent. But it's a hard balance to maintain when that's been my default setting for so long. I'm starting with drawing more lines. I don't need to appease people I don't respect, and I shouldn't have to force myself to respect someone simply because it's expected of me. 

There was an article written a while ago about a woman who experienced the harassment and digital sexual assault while playing a VR video game. When the developers read her statement, they immediately took action to find a way to protect all people who would otherwise be powerless and forced out of these environments for the sake of their own self-preservation. And the way they have chosen to explore this is through a "power stance", a way that a player can instantly stand their ground and eliminate unwanted interactions without having to "report" or "complain", giving them active control over themselves and not simply making them crawl away to the sidelines as a victim needing to justify their victimization. You can read about it here.

This is what I want to find a way to accomplish for myself. The Power Stance. Not having to justify why I feel victimized, simply taking control of the environment that I choose to be in. And to start, I began with the one environment I had left as a more neutral ground, my personal Facebook page. Always second guessing if I really want to make a statement that bold, or that truthful. Censoring what I say, what I think, and in some cases, where I travel to because I have managed to keep my real world life pretty void of the drama I was forced to endure as a minor. And when I realized that I was only doing it to protect the "dignity" of someone who clearly doesn't have any integrity of their own, living only to impress the flavour of the week, and to preserve the story that they present about what a good parent they are, I finally called her out on it. And I freed myself from my own censorship. I ended the arbitrary Facebook friendship and finally felt free in my own space. I had done the same thing in real life, setting limits on when, how, and how long any in person interactions go. And then when it came to my wedding day, I caved in again, feeling guilt that as her only child I would be denying her one and only chance to be a part of something so special. So I laid out a very conditional invitation - one that was tested a few times - and I had people I love and trust on stand-by, waiting to see if the mother-of-the-bride was going to go off-the-wall defensive, passive-aggressive, or basically do anything that would possibly ruin the day. And while a few instances of unnecessary commentary were brought to my attention after the fact, for the most part we survived the obligation of having her present. 

Well, I gave in again. Having her only grandchild, I gave up my month of sweet freedom on Facebook, allowing her to see some footage of her grandson that everyone else in the family has access to. And so far, my need to scream at the computer screen has diminished. Now I don't know for a fact if she's reduced her show-off online behaviour, or if she's put me on a restricted list, but either way, I now know that I am not afraid to defend my space. And while I did contemplate (for months actually), whether I was going to put her on the restricted list so that she could maintain her image of friendship to her friends, I decided that I have no obligation to maintain the facades that she creates for her acquaintances. I don't have to pretend to be someone's "friend" just to make them feel better about themselves, especially when it's just to allow them to continue to deny their own actions.

Well, I've come this far, so let's have it out, shall we?


I was 11 years old. I warned my mother that her boyfriend kept trying to get his hand down my shirt. She dismissed it as him not meaning anything by it - after all, I moved away to prevent anything from "happening". Even being in tears telling her how uncomfortable I was, she acknowledged that I felt uncomfortable, but she wasn't about to screw up a good thing just because her daughter felt "weirded out". This wasn't a long term boyfriend, mind you. He wasn't supporting us. He was a friend-with-benefits who was able to pop in and out as my mother found herself between other relationships. But we were visiting him at the time, staying with him at the other end of the province, so I was pretty much stuck where I was.

Fast-forward just 24 hours. My mother went to bed after watching a movie (something that ended up being more pornographic than she had intended, but was pretty lax about me witnessing anything sexual - probably explains why I'm a bit of a prude now.) Well, it was late, my "bed" was the couch, and there was only one, so I couldn't really go to bed until everyone left. Everyone at this point, of course being the boyfriend. But he didn't feel like leaving.

I won't go into the rest of it. No, I wasn't raped, but he did expose himself and grabbed me, because apparently 11 years old is a good time to learn what to do with it. I fought. I got out of his grasp. But I was 11, in a strange city, with no where to go. And as I said before, my default is to remain silent.

He went to bed, and I was alone until he went to work the next morning. That's when I told my mother. She listened, and she took notes, about what I'm not sure. I don't know if she was writing out her thoughts, the facts, or was at that moment creating the story that she would tell herself.

Either way, I was told that it wasn't his fault. He had been drinking, a lot - probably also why I don't drink at all. I was also told that it was a good thing that I didn't do something stupid like calling the police, because "nothing happened anyway."

Months later, after a few other relationships to occupy her, said friend-with-benefits came to our house for a visit. I was given explicit instructions not to be rude, or bring up the past incident, or do anything that would embarrass him. If I felt so inclined, I could lock myself in my room for the duration of his stay. Trust me, at night I did.

This is what I have been protecting. Well, consider this my power stance.
​ 
“Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child you have stolen, for my will is as strong as yours and my kingdom as great. You have no power over me!” - Jim Henson, Labyrinth

This is my space. I do not need to justify my pain, fear, anger, or anxiety, your job as a human being is simply to acknowledge that I have these feelings, accept that you don't always know the whole story, and it's my choice to choose to share it. 

Well, it wasn't in time for the election. And it probably wouldn't have mattered anyways, we're not American. But please, everyone, accept my sentiments about your feelings as genuine. My hug, in person or in digital space, is heart-felt, and rather than feel inadequate, I will work towards perfecting my power stance, even if I might need your help to do so, and I promise to help you with yours to.

So shortly after my energy-rush happy dance, sprinkled ice cream, and post-blogging crash, I did what people should probably never EVER do: I took a peek at the "competition". I use the word sparingly because really the 3 Day Novel is a self-challenge, you should only be competing against your own procrastination and self-doubt, so anything you produced ends up being a win, so long as you surpassed what you would normally do on your regular schedule. Even the contest rules are pretty lax about what you actually produce during this weekend sprint. 

Nonetheless, I hopped onto twitter following the #3daynovel tag and looked through what other participants had accomplished. Clearly, just by doing this I had relinquished the reigns of my brain functions from "rational reason" and let "emotional impulse" be in control for a little while. 

I don't want to throw down the stereotype card and say "it's a girl thing", but I will fully admit that it's a me thing. I do this. And it never ends well.

Now, the fact that the whole day after the contest I felt like I had been hit by a bus, probably didn't help either. I think that "rational reason" was struck trying to boot up from a system that still ran off of Windows Vista... and in its absence, "emotional impulse" just steps in before the whole place has a nuclear meltdown while left unattended... and then proceeds to put the whole system into nuclear meltdown standby in a matter of minutes anyways, so all in all it's a very faulty system and I should probably get it upgraded or refunded, but then I wouldn't be the lovable me who walks into walls and is determined that every conversation should be riddled with obscure quotes that no one else really follows...
​
Other Person: I'm aware
Me: "I thought you said your name was Victor."
Other Person (who incidentally is NOT named Victor): ????

...Good Burger, in case you were wondering...

Anyways! 

If you recall, I did over 43,000 words, and I had to rush through what probably should have been at least the last 10,000 words in the final 15 minutes so it ended up being just a few sentences per scene that I had to cram in there. But, nonetheless, I did it. It's pretty much garbage at the end, but it's there - sort of. And yet, despite the quality that was produced, I was, and still am, pretty freaking proud that I pulled all of that off in just 3 days. 

So there I am, scrolling through the twitter results, and there are the cries of victories. And, of course, I am happy for them! We just did something that shouldn't be humanly possible! We are superheroes with obscure/useless powers, but they are superpowers nonetheless, damn it! (That last part was the Hugh Jackman Van Helsing in case you were wondering, if you could hear me, I said it in a very specific voice - and yes, sometimes I do say what I write aloud - which I didn't notice so much before this 3 day sprint, but holy hell do I mutter a lot when I write!)

But there is one reoccurring theme among my fellow victors that I just can't get over. How many of them had time to go back over their whole story to revise before submitting. I barely finished my story, let alone got a chance to read it over! How in the bloody hell does someone write 50,000 words in a weekend, reread it, and edit it, all within 3 days?!?!!?! 

At this point I feel very out of my league. My accomplishment is nothing. I probably shouldn't even have submitted it for entry. I do not have superpowers - even useless ones...

So I follow up with some of these godly accomplishments...

20,000 words.

At first I read it as they just wrote 20,000 words in the 3rd day, which makes total sense because if your minimum novel is 50,000, then 20,000 words per day over three days is a great 60,000 word novel! But that still doesn't answer how the hell they can manage 20,000 words per day and still have time to reread and edit!

Then it hits me.

They didn't write 20,000 words per day! They wrote 20,000 words TOTAL!

And then this is where S#*% gets real...

IN WHAT F***ING UNIVERSE IS 20,000 WORDS A F***ING NOVEL!!!! *table flip* *rage quit* *Hulk smash!*

Luckily I'm pretty much a bottler, so rage brain didn't venture out into the twitterverse, thank god! because I would not want live with a permanent reminder of how rage brain rages. Now is okay, because rational me is in the operation booth again, so we can look back safely at the rage brain meltdown that happened when happy, light and fluffy emotional impulse noticed a small crack in the system. Besides, since I'm not screaming at anyone, in person or at a computer screen, I can acknowledge that I do have a point.

I in no way mean to belittle the accomplishment of anyone who pulled off 20,000 words or fewer. You wrote, and that's all that matters. But I'm kind of a stickler for following the rules, and I take the written word pretty darn seriously, so when it says "3 Day Novel", I associate 50,000+ words, or else it would be the 3 Day Novella Contest, or the 3 Day Novellette Contest, or even the 3 Day Story of Any Length Contest. But, it specifically says "Novel" on everything, and so, "Novel" is what I went for. 

Why did this bother me so much? Well, just days before the contest began, I started spontaneously developing another older idea I've had floating along with me in my mental Rolodex, and I pushed it aside because I knew that the story wouldn't be rich enough to get me to 50,000 words. I rejected a shorter story because it would not be a NOVEL. 

Understand the rage quit now? Had I gone with that idea instead, I too probably could have finished it, reread it, and submitted it with some knowledge that I must have caught at least a few typos and missing words. 

Live and learn. 

But knowing me, I probably still wouldn't have used that idea. I challenged myself to write a novel, and a novel is 50,000+ words. I wouldn't have accepted any less from myself. And while I know that 43,000 is not 50,000, I know for a fact that when I get my hands back on it and fix it up, Among Beasts will be well beyond 50,000!

The lesson here: I'm petty and pretentious. Sorry. Apparently that's my superpower.

The last Golden Ticket has been found! And by that I mean that the last of the giveaways have been won. 

Top Left: USA; Top Right: Canada; Middle Left: UK/Ireland; Middle Right: Australia/New Zealand; Bottom Left: "Everyone Else!"; and Bottom Left was the whole world together. 

Look at that, USA. You nearly beat the whole world. I don't think that surprises anyone. 

All of the books are shipped, have a shipping order ready for Monday's mail, or are safely in the hands of their new readers. So far only one book was unable to complete it's intended journey, but thankfully my printers covered the cost of returning the book safely to me. It was a bit of a pickle since they aren't allowed to store copies, so "return to sender" really meant that the book would be lost forever. Luckily we caught it right away. I'll see to it that it finds a good, loving home!

I know many of you are probably sick of all of the number updates. Especially if your giveaways had already come and gone. Or worse, if you had no interest in any of the giveaways at all! Well, that's it for this summer. And probably this year. As an independent author, you don't want to know how much money I just spent on 25 books shipped between Vancouver Island to Russia, all in USD which is not friendly to the Canadian wallet. This is why I have to be very blunt about the random messages I get for mailing you free books just because you want one. I'm happy to have been able to do this, but really, that's me asking you to mail me 4 years of your hard (unpaid) work for free. I understand that everyone like free stuff. And artists generally like the stuff that they make. So it sounds like it could be win-win. But it just doesn't work that way. It's one thing for me to choose to gift something, but please don't be that kid who demands a birthday present because it's someone else's birthday. "But you gave Billy a present!" Yes, I did give Billy a present, because it's His birthday, and I Chose to acknowledge that. Plus, he probably isn't a greedy little jerk, thus I felt proud to give him a present that I put my little heart into...
...You get the idea. 

So happy reading, winners! I look forward to your reviews. And seeing how many "used" copies are floating around for profit. I'm serious. I see them. If you want to know about approved sellers, check the book pages I have for my titles. And if you see a copy somewhere, you can just shoot me a message to verify. If it's a-okay, I'll add it to the webpage. If it's this guy:

...just "No". Please just "No". I mean, you can spend $300 however you want, but since I wrote it, I'd rather you give me at lease a portion of what was probably a giveaway from 2013. (This has totally been listed since my 1st edition Freakhouse giveaway so I promise you that this isn't even the cover of the book he has.) Is it sad that I probably spent $20 to have him make $300? So, again, please, just "No".

Besides, Freakhouse will be released on August 26th for a much more reasonable price. And then I can make like, maybe $2.00! Don't forget, e-books are also available on Kindle and Kobo, also for much more reasonable prices.

The original title of this post was going to be flat out "Why I hate e-books", but that was when I was in the height of formatting Galen so my temper was very short on the subject. Thankfully Freakhouse has not been as aggravating so I'm coming down off of my tyrannical high-horse - just by a little bit though.

So I'm going to tell this story backwards - at least in terms of how I lived it out:

Formatting Freakhouse was actually pretty straight-forward. File conversions through Kindle are pretty easy, and as long as I go back through in the webpage viewer and re-create page breaks, everything pretty much looks the way that I want it to. So Freakhouse only took two file submissions for me to be happy. Kobo is a little more finicky in that you really don't have any idea how it looks until you see it in the actual device you want to use, so basically as long is it seems logically laid out, I'm happy enough given that I won't know about EVERY device until someone using something I don't have sees it. 

So this is the good story. Freakhouse isn't a visually complex text, and purposely so. 

Galen, on the other hand, is very purposely formatted. There are three sections which are best identified visually based on the font and structure you're reading. I'm very proud of how the three formats come together in the pattern that they do. I worked very hard on that unique feel that I believe Galen has. 

When a file gets converted to be an e-book, the ideal is that all you need are the words to tell the story, and thus the words can be re-manipulated (visually) to fit different reader needs. So whether you're reading from different devices or even just need to adjust your word size/style to fit how you read on your own device, the words will still be the same regardless of how you manipulate. Do you see how I might have a problem with this?

Galen was not written with e-book in mind. Nor can I see myself writing purely for an e-book format. I'm old school. I like to hold a book. I like to feel a book. And, yes, there's nothing like dusty old book pages - those restricted sections behind glass in fancy libraries, yeah, those are fun just to look at, and even though you can actually hold those books with special gloves, I wouldn't have the heart to touch them because they seem sacred and I am not worthy to be in their presence... I think you can already tell another reason why I'm less sympathetic with non-paper books, and I'm still only halfway through my point.

The e-book is less forgiving with style-specific reading. The Kindle so far seems to be handling it alright, but I'm sure there's a reader out there that loses all of the font variety. That brings me to Kobo. I'm sorry Kobo readers, but the version of Galen you get is not the version of Galen that I love. And THAT is why I have little love for the e-book. Sometimes a book is so much more than just what the words on the page say. Anyone who writes poetry should be able to appreciate this. Where the words go, how they are placed, how big or small the font is, how light or dark, how traditional or innovative the style, it all says something. Now I'm not going to pretend that every piece of fiction I write is a visual work of art. But I do like to believe that I write with intention. 

I have never been a big fan of reading e-books, and now as I try to to format for them, my appreciation has decreased. What meaning might I be losing just because I don't see it the way that it was intended to be seen? I want to experience these books, not just read them.