There's Too Many Kids in this Tub!

-
That's a poem by Shel Silverstein, but sometimes I feel that way about my books. I was packing for a book signing on Saturday, and I simply can't haul all of my books (and Maggie's) along anymore. I ended up taking a suitcase full, leaving it in the car, and checking with Horizon Books to see which books they already had. That way I only had to bring a few books from the car to the store, since Traverse City is a bit of an obstacle course all summer long. Gawking tourists (and I'm not complaining, since I've been that person many, many times), dogs, kids, cars, and protestors make the streets an adventure. Luckily, Horizon Books carries my work in good quantities, so I was able to navigate the streets with only a small tote bag containing the newest release.

But back to the too many kids thing. I once heard a very famous author comment that it was frustrating for him when people asked questions about his older books. "I forget them as soon as I write them," he said. "There's no sense asking me why Bill A. did something in Book Three. At Book Fifteen I might not even recall who Bill A. was."

I have to admit I find it hard sometimes to remember details of my own work. When someone asks, "Why did Susan say that on page 32?" I have to think, "Susan, Susan. Oh, yes. Simon's adopted daughter. Let's see, that would be Book Four... Now why did she say that?"

Most authors "live" in the book they're currently writing, and most of us don't have time to go back and reread or even think about earlier books. The details become fuzzy. The characters' names and personal details won't come to mind.



  As Shel said, "There's too many kids in this tub."

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A First-World Issue, Funny...Maybe

-
Image
 I have really short little fingers. I mean, I know that "little finger" should alert one to the fact that it won't be much, but mine are way shorter than the others, barely passing the middle joint of Finger #4. Why is this a problem? Because my new keyboard, which is ergonomic and supposedly hand-healthy, requires a strong push to work the keys on the top row. I learned typing in a real class, where every day we set our hands on the Home Row and learned to keep them there. That means that my right-hand little finger should operate the "Back" key without much change in hand position. Sadly, it isn't up to the task, and it really slows my typing when it takes two or even three tries to erase a mistake. Will this bring about the end of Western Civilization? No. Could I buy a more compact keyboard? Probably. I just thought it was kind of funny that as the world rages and ruins around me, something so small can be so irritating .
Read more

Book Clubs Take Note: Discussion Guide: Sister Saint, Sister Sinner

-
Image
  When I sent Sister Saint, Sister Sinner to my editor, she was (as usual) helpful about pointing out areas that needed more development, parts that repeated information already given, and places where the logic  temporarily failed. At the end, she made a comment that stuck with me: "People are going to be talking about the things you deal with in this book." To me, that meant the story was destined for book clubs. Having visited a few in my years of writing, I knew that they often begin with a list of discussion topics. Now, they often don't stay focused on them, and that's okay. Sometimes it's the wine. Sometimes it's a natural progression. But discussion leaders like having questions that can get the conversation back on track when it strays too far from the story. Every person who reads a book gets something out of it that no one else does. I had the experience once of visiting a book group where one reader didn't like the book and kept bringing up her
Read more

30 Days of Christmas Day 21: IndieBrag Blog-Hop & Giveaway

-
Image
Santa & Maggie Pill Santa was trying to get ready for Christmas, but things weren’t going well, and his droll little mouth pursed in frustration. He couldn’t find the fur-trimmed hat that went with his red suit. He needed a clean hanky to wipe away the ashes and soot after each trip through a chimney. And one of his boots had gone missing. Those were things his wife usually took care of, but she was nowhere to be found. Rubbing his little round belly, he looked in the kitchen to see if she was baking. Visions of sugar-plums danced in his head, but no. She wasn’t there. Was she in the laundry room, washing tiny elf socks and underwear? Scratching his snow-white beard, the jolly old elf peered into the small room at the back of the house. Nope. She wasn’t in the den taking a long winter’s nap, nor in the pantry sorting canned goods. When he finally found her, Mrs. Claus was in the den, curled up on the couch, reading a book on her Kindle. “What’s so interesting, dear?”
Read more