Yep, Size Does Matter

As you know, I love to read. AND I have a Kindle.

The other day I was surfing and came across a book for about $2.50 on Kindle. I thought, “Well, that’s reasonable.”

Wait a minute.

The book was listed as being 62 KB.  Not pages, but 62 KB.

I went back to my last two books, the one I just turned in and the one due out in August 2010.

Both manuscripts were double spaced, approximately 460 pages, and about 533 KB. Single spaced would drop it down to 230 pages.  Same word count, right around 92,000. That means there are about 400 words to a single spaced page.

The book for sale at $2.50 was approximately 14% the size of mine. (533 KB vs. 62 KB) So, 14% of 92,000 = 11,040 words. 14% = 32 pages. That’s not a book. That’s a story.

An expensive story, at that.

If the book was the size of one of my manuscripts, you’d be paying $17.86 for it.

My books are only $7.99 in print and even cheaper on the Kindle.

Yep, size does matter.

The Arrogant Worms

Awesomely funny Canadian group.

My Unvarnished Opinion – Educating Writers

I was a member of three writing organizations. I’m down to one, now. One of them was determined to spend a lot of money educating unpublished writers on the evils of vanity presses and the stupidity of self-publishing.

I’m left cold by their fervor.

A group of published authors getting together to educate all the writer wannabes (their words, not mine) just doesn’t sit well with me. It almost smacks of a “we know what’s best for you, dear,” attitude. Borderline elitism, in my opinion. And you know how I feel about that.

There are resources for writers all over the Internet. If someone wants to learn, he will.

I don’t think it’s the job of published writers to expound on the “right way to get published”.

Am I wrong?

I Love Bagpipes

I know, I know, I think it’s an acquired taste, but if you love the pipes as much as I do, hearing them stirs an echo in your soul.

This is taken from the recent World Pipe Championships in Glasglow. The song, sung by Moira Kerr, is called “When the Pipers Play” and the lyrics are listed below.

When the Piper’s Play Song Lyrics
By Isla St. Claire

I hear the voice, I hear the war
I hear the sound, on a distant shore
I feel the spirit, of yesterday
I touch the past, when the Piper’s play.

The pipes get played, for you and me
They kept on saying, we’ll soon be free
And your soul, will never fade away
You live forever, when the piper’s play

The piobrach hears, its deadly cry
On some will live and some will die
And though they fought so far away
I feel the presence when the pipers play

The pipes kept playing, for you and me
They kept on saying, we’ll soon be free
And your soul, will never fade away
You live forever, when the piper’s play

It speaks of love, I have lost
Its speaks of my eternal cost
It speaks the price I refused to pay
Of lives remembered, when the Pipers play

The pipes kept playing, for you and me
They kept on saying we’ll soon be free
And your soul, will never fade away
You live forever, when the piper’s play

The pipes kept playing, for you and me
They kept on saying we’ll soon be free
And your soul, will never fade away
You live forever, when the piper’s play

PS – a piobrach is a classic funeral bagpipe dirge

Oh, Come On…I’m Not THAT Scary!

When I was in the corporate world, working at The Almost Big Bank, my boss (a really gorgeous Senior Vice President – I know this is a segue but the guy made my little heart go pitty pat. Okay back to the point…) told me that some of the other Loan Officers were frightened of me.  I naturally asked why, and he said, “Because you always have an opinion, and you never fail to express it.”

Okay, so for about two weeks I was quiet.  Then, I just gave up and reverted to being myself.  A comment that brings us – roundabout – to this blog post.

I read on the author message board I’m on (only one in 2010) that other authors bemoan the fact that they have to blog.  They grudgingly do it a few times a month – they won’t do guest blogs.

Me?  I’m a little worried.  I don’t have a problem posting every day – sometimes, two or three times.  I get an idea, and poof! I have to share it. In fact, this post makes a whopping 700 POSTS SINCE SEPTEMBER, 2008.

That means my old boss was right.  Just as long as I don’t scare anyone, I guess it’s okay.  (Not that the other Loan Officers were really afraid.  They were just not used to a woman voicing her opinion.  Hey, it was twenty years ago.  Plus, I live in Texas, and we’re sometimes very old-fashioned here.)

Have You Seen This?

Moving and beautiful, don’t you think?

The Secret

In Adam Eisenberg’s book, A Different Shade of Blue – How Women Changed the Face of Police Work, the policewomen talked about the Wall in the Academy. The Wall was about six feet tall and one of the requirements to graduate from the Academy was to scale it. Women had a hard time climbing the Wall because most of them lacked upper body strength. The trick, one of the women interviewed said, was to start increasing upper body strength. Do push-ups, pull-ups, other exercises. Some of the women trainees would. Some of them wouldn’t. Instead, they wanted the secret.

One of the policewomen is quoted as saying, “In this day and age, I think there are a lot of people who, instead of working for something, want the secret. Well, the only secret is that you have to work at it.”

Bears repeating.

The only secret is that you have to work at it.

Moral Turpitude?

Moral turpitude – love that expression. It means to act counter to accepted norms.

I’m reading a book. Scratch that, I’ve started a book where the heroine is a thief. I’m not reading any farther.  I’d feel the same way if the opening chapter showed the heroine beating a child.

It may turn out that the heroine is being blackmailed into stealing, that she has a heart of gold even though her mind is filled with larceny.  I don’t care. In fact, I don’t care if she’s run over by a bus. Scratch that. I am hoping she’s run over by a bus.

You see, she’s having a good time. She’s enjoying herself. The thrill of breaking into someone’s home is charging her adrenaline. As someone who’s been burglarized and who fights pirates every day, I’m not impressed.

We all have moral limits and this one just crossed mine.

Are you affected by characters? Or am I just, well, odd?

A Screamingly Funny Day

Ever have one of those days?

I’ve been sick for the last week. I’ve tried to be brave (hah!) but I hate being sick. Full fledged cold, until it migrated to bronchitis. I finally ended up calling my doctor and he called in a prescription.

1. This afternoon, I bundled up, dragged a brush through my hair, winced at my appearance in the rearview mirror, coughed a few times, and drove to the drug store.
2. The pharmacist wouldn’t give me the cough syrup until I swore I was not allergic to codeine. I swore.
3. On the way home, I glanced down at the second prescription, pulled off on the side of the road and called the pharmacist. I told her I was deadly allergic to a similar medication (I nearly died when I took it), was it okay for me to take this? She said (and I quote), “Oh my God, no! Bring it back, right away, and we’ll call your doctor now!”
4. On the way back to the drugstore, I get a low fuel warning, and pull into a gas station. No pumps available except the ones out in the weather. Did I mention it was raining? Pouring down rain? I’m standing there, getting the minimum amount of gas to get to the drugstore and back home in the pouring rain. Cough, cough, hack, sneeze, shiver.
5. I pull into the drive-thru at the drug store and have to wait for the manager to approve the credit. I get the right medication.
6. I drive home, open the garage door, and pull inside.
7. I hit the remote control for my security system. No answering beep, saying it’s been turned off.  Frowning, I grab the bag of medicines, open the door, and all hell breaks loose.
8. The panic button has been activated. Different shrieking alarm from the regular alarm. I turn off the alarm, re-arm the system, thinking everything’s okay, and walk into the kitchen for water to take the medicine. I must have hit the panic button accidentally – it’s all I can think of. (I confess to having a slightly cloudy brain right now.)
9. Doorbell rings. Me, thinking it’s UPS, disarm alarm, and open the door.
10. The cutest policeman in the world is standing there.  Here I am, looking like HELL WARMED OVER. “Ma’am, are you okay? We received a panic alarm.”  After I reassure him I’m fine (that damn panic button really works!), I ask for his card, tell him I’m a writer and I’ve always wanted an SAPD contact. We talk police procedures, (he showed me his gun!) and he’s on his way.

Now, if I felt a little better, I know I would appreciate how everything turned out so well, and how serendipitous it was to meet such a nice guy. I will, tomorrow, I’m sure.

Cough, hack. Sneeze.

The 90/10 Rule

I first wrote this in my FWIW column on May 14, 2006. Trust me, it still applies. I absolutely and totally understand the passion that drives someone to want to be a published writer.  That passion is part of me; it’s in my blood.  I do, however, have a very pragmatic view of the world from my little corner of the desk.  I never, never forget the 90/10 rule:  90% of what happens to you will be absolutely wonderful.  10% of it will be dreck. Strap on your lead-lined skivvies and join me on the dark side. The Internet – A reader’s blog: Karen Ranney’s Till Next We Meet should be called Till Next We Whine. .. And the writing was terrible. Horrible…It’s almost a fantastic book, just by its terribleness.  One might even think that she’s doing it on purpose, but I really think that the unfortunate truth is that Karen Ranney believes she just published a very good novel. Fan Mail, April 28th: Mrs. Ranney, I love your books. But there’s a typo on page 138, last sentence. And another one on page 337. Sincerely, A Fan Amazon Review: Yawn. This has got to be the most boring book ever. I’ll never get those hours of my life back. Letter from Editor: We need these changes back in five days.  I know the time is short, but thank you, in advance, for working quickly. ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ The real truth about the 90/10 Rule? The 10% is there to remind me never to take the 90% for granted: the great fan mail, the wonderful reviews, the readers who tell you that you were able to take them away from their lives for a few short hours.