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Archive for January, 2011

I love this blog post by urban fantasy writer Stacia Kane about how people react differently to you once you’re published.

Honestly, I thought I was just being paranoid. I’ve never heard it put so clearly before. The context is how it’s hard for a writer to publicly review other author’s books once they themselves get published, but the experience she describes applies to most authors from the big six NY publishing houses, I reckon. Although let me say that I am so glad that I am published by a major New York house. It has changed my life for the better in many ways. But…

You have no idea how lonely writing is until you’ve done it. Especially not after you’re published. Especially not after you’re NY published, and most especially after people seem to think you’re actually successful, when everything you say is scrutinized and people don’t know how to respond to you or simply don’t understand where you’re coming from. Suddenly enemies pop out of the woodwork; people you’ve somehow upset or offended without knowing how, people who think you’re a crazed egotist.

I know that I was completely blindsided by any sort of reaction to me, especially since I had no warm-up period. I was just a blogger who suddenly had a book deal before I had written an actual book. I don’t think at that time I had ever even met a published author before, much less thought of myself as one.

I have the following happen all the time. Note to all aspiring writers: If I’m giving you advice, it’s because I like you. Really, really.

You offer someone advice and they snap and get defensive. Someone else says the exact same thing and they’re thanked.

This too:

You ask an innocent question and it’s taken as berating. You answer someone’s question, thinking maybe you can help, and suddenly everyone thinks you’re totally full of yourself and are swanning around like you know everything. They resent you for it. They go out of their way to slam you for it.

This is why we published writers cling to each other like Grim Death:

You talk to your husband or your best friend or whatever, and they help. But you know who actually understands? The only people who actually fully understand, the people who can confirm for you that you actually haven’t changed and aren’t being an egotistical shithead? That it’s not you, it happens to everyone? Other writers.

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According to the Hollywood Reporter, director Kevin Smith bought his own $4 million horror film Red State for $20 instead of auctioning it at Sundance as promised.

Smith plans to take the movie on the road himself prior to its October release.

Smith said that he had never intended to get into the business of the movie industry — noting that he’s simply a “fat, masturbating stoner” — but the state of the industry essentially forced his hand.

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Just wanted to write a quick update before I hide my wireless router from myself for the day so I can get some book writing done.

I’m starting to feel more embarrassed than usual when people ask me how the book is going, because I keep falling in love with and then completely dropping manuscripts. I wonder if people are thinking, “Amy is really flaky.” I mean, they probably think that already. What kind of linear progress and constancy would you expect from someone who first got published for writing about going on 50 dates?

I also wonder if people think I can’t publish again. That DATING AMY was a one-time thing.

It wasn’t, or at least I don’t think it was. The thing is, it’s hard to know which book is going to be the most viable. Financially, I mean. I read this really brilliant quote on twitter last year that writing a novel is like filling out a lottery ticket for two years.

I don’t know what’s going to take off in the marketplace, but I can at least make an educated guess. The last two books I was working on (since 2008? Ish.) were memoirs, and even though I love them and other people love the idea of them, I am not completely certain I want to risk all my time and pin all my hopes on memoirs. As far as I know they’re not selling to publishers really well. By that I mean they’re not hot.

So I have switched yet again from my memoir about Los Angeles (which I LOVE, by the by, and have written 200 pages of since November 1), to a young adult novel about witchcraft, kinda. It’s my first YA and my first try at fiction. And… now I even sound flaky to myself.

Sigh.

I’m also completely enthralled with the idea of self-publishing, especially for paranormal books, because you could crank them out like an old-fashioned serial without the two-year publishing time lag. The entrepreneur in me gets all excited about selling books directly to readers through Amazon, etc. Also the 70% royalty rate is the bees knees. (The usual with traditional publishing is like 8-12%)

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Another great article with my favorite Mad Man. It’s worth the ad you have to run first.

Vincent Kartheiser: “When you’re in a shitty car, no one looks at you.”

Meet with him for two hours and you will perceive a deviousness that dwells not too deep beneath the surface. He could play the quintessential horror-twins breezily — one sweet cherubic, blue eyes pure as Potagonia glaciers, the other possessed with a wicked malevolence.

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619 Western in 1917

Aw, crap. It looks like the 619 Western building may be razed. I love this old building and hanging out there at all the gallery/workspace parties on First Thursday. I raise a plastic glass of Charles Shaw merlot (for $1 donation) to you, 619.

From CityArts blog:

According to an email sent to the building’s tenants earlier today by a representative of WSDOT, due to safety concerns, they are recommending the building be demolished.

“While this was not an easy conclusion to reach, we believe it is the best for the safety of the tenants, visitors to the building, and construction workers,” the email read

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As part of my “going out despite the weather this winter” project, I attended the first First Thursday artwalk of the year. Since none of the friends who had promised last month to come with me are adhering to the same “going out” project, they all bailed.

All I cared about was dinner. One of the women I was supposed to meet recommended Built Burger, which everyone is always talking about, but there’s no way I could have eaten what I was sure would be a half pound of beef with all the trimmings.

I walked around for what seemed like hours and eventually came upon a cheery, well-decorated place called Cafe Paloma. It was Mediterranean-ish and I was starving, so I took a seat near the picture window. There was lots of red and a tuba hanging from the ceiling. The crowd seemed to be drawn from the art walk–lots of black clothing and nice eyeglass frames.

I ordered “whatever is closest to chardonnay” off the wine list and the waitress told me they actually do have chardonnay as their house wine. Note: For the sake of my pride I should mention that if they had amazing Turkish wines, I would have blindly ordered one as I subscribe to the When in Rome doctrine. But they didn’t.

I chose the mucver (zucchini pancakes) after much deliberation and was eventually informed that the chef said they weren’t available. Also, my chardonnay hadn’t been chilled so I needed to select something else and would pinot grigio be okay? It would. I ordered a cup of the spinach and chicken soup.

I cast a glance at the couple next to me. The tables are really close there.
“If you could just not freak out, then everything would be okay,” an attractive young brunette woman was saying to an attractive young brunette man.
“The important thing in a relationship is just not to freak out.” He literally did not say a word. Not while she paid her share of the check, not while she excused herself to the ladies room. I soon figured out the likely reason he was speechless: he was in rapture from the flavor of the food.

My wine came and it was fine. My soup came with warm grilled pita and it was some of the best soup I’ve ever had in my life.

The art in the 619 building was standard. I tried on earrings I didn’t buy. I had chips and smokehouse almonds and mango salsa that I did buy for $1. I took the bus home and my seatmate felt that the movie he was watching on his phone was more important than me having a place to put my arm.

That soup, though. That spinach and chicken soup.

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So you should buy this book, Shaffer’s debut Great Philosophers Who Failed at Love, for the title alone. Or because he is a Huffington Post contributor. Or maybe because he has actually stalked Jonathan Franzen while wearing a cloak.

Here’s a guest post by Andrew:

On DatingAmy.com, Amy wrote, “Men say the wrong thing. Constantly. It’s in their DNA.” Some of the most intelligent men who ever lived, the men whose wisdom we revere — the great Western philosophers –are no exception.

Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770-1831) loved to stick his foot into his mouth, especially when talking about women. “The difference between man and woman is the same as between animal and plant,” he once wrote. “Women can, of course, be educated, but their minds are not adapted to the higher sciences, philosophy, or certain of the arts.”

He was an anachronism even in the 1800s. Fellow philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer called Hegel “a lasting monument to German stupidity.” Although Hegel eventually married and had two children, he confided in his sister that he had never been happy with his wife. Then again, is it possible for an animal to fall in love a plant?

Read Hegel’s story in “Great Philosophers Who Failed at Love,” on sale now in bookstores and online. For more information, visit www.greatphilosophersbook.com.

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…at least for now.

The beleaguered theater is using creative tactics to stay in business according to Seattlest.

They decided that the best way to keep things going was to sell all the theaters seats, or at least, sponsorship of the theaters seats. For just $100, you could own a seat in a theater, and presumable write your name or put your picture on the back of it

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