by Pari

"What is it with all the clocks in this house?" complained my husband the other day. "None of them have the right time."

"Yeah . . . well," I said.

"You know, if you'd just leave them alone, we wouldn't be so confused all the time."

Ah, time.

You see, I have this incredibly weird relationship with it. Basically, I think that time is a stupid human construct with no real purpose but to make us all miserable. So, I mess with its instruments whenever possible. In real terms, that means that all our clocks are off by minutes . . . or hours.

After 16 years, you'd think my dear hubby would be used to this, but it still drives him batty.

On the plus side, my children are both quite good at math. You'd have to be in our house; every clock is an equation waiting to be solved.

Given this strange quirk, you'd might assume I'd eschew timers. But I noticed a couple of weeks ago that my efforts to free myself from the confines of time were thwarted by the little, accurate, clock on my computer. It's a damn distraction.

What could help me focus more on the task at hand and less on the passage of minutes that meant I'd have to stop what I was writing to go pick up the kids or get dinner started?

A timer?

When I was a child, my mother used one to get me to eat my meals faster. So, I had some emotional baggage there, too. Still, when I looked at the tool as a possible aid for my work, it made sense.

Guess what?

A cheapo deapo timer has made a tremendous difference in my focus and output. I'm able to let myself go in deeply to that creative place because I know that no matter how long or short the session, I won't lose myself so completely that I shirk my family responsibilities.

Who'd would've thought that something with a crappy display and an obnoxious alarm could be one of my best friends in my professional endeavors?

So there you have it. Nothing earth-shattering or profound about a timer, but it's really shaking up my way of working.

What about you?

If you could only have one new tool to help you work more efficiently — something small and inexpensive (I'm talking about less than $10) — what would it be?

by Pari

We novelists have been known to take liberties with the truth when it furthers a story. Sometimes we do it unconsciously. Other times, we know that the reality would bore readers to death.

I mean, who really wants to know how private investigators work? I did. I interviewed a well respected former policewoman who now runs a great agency in NM. She spoke about people’s expectations about the job, the ideas formed and nurtured by fiction and television, that were so far from her day-to-day efforts. In fact, the biggest parts of her work centered on research — at her computer or going through printed records — and then writing reports. Only once or twice in her career had she ever confronted a “suspect” and she regretted it. In fact, the impression I got from her was that most PIs deliberately strive not to be larger than life; they want to melt into the background, to be as invisible as possible in order to get the info they need.

However, reading about report-writing doesn’t rock most people’s world. It just doesn’t have enough oomph.

What about the CSI phenomenon?
Let’s face it, an octogenarian claiming she’s a 21-year-old Playboy model on her MySpace page is closer to the truth than most fictional depictions of crime scene analysis these days.

Yet, we writers have the resources to tell it like it is. In addition to the experts we cultivate as acquaintances and friends, there are marvelous online sources such as crimescenewriter.com, Jan Burke’s emails about crime labs, Lee Lofland’s wonderful blog — and reference books galore.

Sometimes I feel like I have an obligation to the truth, to try to counter all the misperceptions out there. However, I don’t write procedurals and to include too much info about how police — or professional PIs — investigate crimes wouldn’t mesh with what my books are about. All I can do is try to be accurate in how my protags perceive what’s going on  . . . and my protags aren’t always right.

Yet I think that readers’ expectations have changed dramatically in the last decade or so. They want more procedure, more DNA analysis and national computer databases that in reality don’t exist or are too costly to conduct.

They have all of these ideas about what the truth is and those ideas simply are wrong.

Where’s the balance? Do we keep giving them the exciting confrontation between PI and perp because it makes a good climax to our book? Do we throw in a nifty piece of evidence scraped off a ladybug’s footpad because the insect crawled on the victim’s lips after he died and that makes our take unique?

Do we write these jacked-up versions, thereby creating even more erroneous expectations?

I don’t have the answers. That’s why I’m asking you. 

Writers:  How do you handle the balance? Do you put in the reality — the length of time things really take, the lack of resources, the mistakes — or do you take liberties?
Readers:  Am I totally off? Do you want more and more procedure and CSI techniques or are you sick of those being stuck into everything?
Everyone:  What’s YOUR favorite lie/mistake in print or television vis a vis crime solving or law enforcement?

by Pari

If God is a tree, I'm in trouble.

I realized this the other day when I printed out yet another few chapters of my latest manuscript. You see, I've printed out these chapters before . . . many times before. But every iteration demands better editing and changes, so many changes.

My office is full of old paper, too. Up until this year, I carried around things I'd written thirty-plus years ago. I'm not talking about the stuff of legend, brilliant versions of potential books that scholars and librarians might want when I'm nothing more than dust. No. This stuff was just baggage: old term papers, that snippet I'd penned while waiting for a cup of coffee in a now defunct restaurant in Ann Arbor, the address on the back of a napkin of a long-forgotten lover.

In addition to my own piles of insignifance, I'd kept magazines with articles about how to get published that were so old email wasn't even mentioned. There were references to agents who've been dead for decades.

On my no-Internet Thursdays, I've begun to tackle these useless relics. The joy I get when I toss that paper into the recycling bin has been wondrous. Even more pleasurable is the shredding. I LOVE shredding! My little machine has growled its way through reams and reams — more than three industrial size garbage bags — of surplus verbiage.

I'm tossing out many of the current magazines and newsletters I receive as well. The only one I keep consistently is from Novelists, Inc. and that one comes via email anyway. I'm more careful about what I print out from the internet, too. Alex Sokoloff is responsible for destroying a couple of trees because I now have her entire Murderati series about writing in a binder on my bookshelf. (Though the pines may not thank you, Alex, I do!!).

Other than that, I'm being mighty selective about what has access to my office real estate. Sorry, The Economist, you're toast after I've read you. See ya round, New Yorker.

Another paper saving measure: I now call all the nonprofits we donate to that market via snailmail. I ask them to send only one notification/request for funding annually. This means we don't want their newsletters or magazines either — just that one reminder. I decided to make this request because some orgs send so much mail it starts to feel like badgering. We stopped giving to Smile Train because of it. The same goes for National Geographic and The Smithsonian. If the nonprofits' databases can't handle the once-a-year approach; we don't donate to them any more.

And don't tell me we can opt for email contact. It's just as obnoxious (even though paper is no longer the issue).

I often call advertisers and ask not to be included on any of their lists. I don't want to know about their special offers or bargains. No, thank you. You're just cluttering up my mailbox and life with crappola.(Which is why I opt-out of almost all email contact of this sort too.)

When I consistently get something from these businesses after making the request to be left alone, I take what they've sent me — along with the other junkmail I've received — and stuff those postage-paid envelopes to the brim and send them right back. (Of course I strip all personal info off the printed materials.)

This second solution is extremely childish.

It's also incredibly satisfying!

In spite of my efforts, the deforestation continues.

Alas and alack . . .
I continue to print out multiple versions of WIPs for editing. I learned years ago that I can see mistakes and feel the flow of my prose better when I'm looking at hard copy.

So, God, if you're a redwood, please forgive me.

I am trying. I really am.

What about you?
       Are you a packrat?
       Have you developed methods to cut the clutter?
       Do you have a pet peeve as far as orgs/businesses that send you unrequested information via snail mail?
       Are you a hard copy or eletronic editor for your WIPs?

by Pari

A week ago, when I was sitting in the pediatric emergency room at the University of New Mexico Hospital, I realized that having a working cell phone might be nice. In addition to letting my husband know that our older daughter likely had a broken nose, I needed to find someone who could give our dog — who has a total heart block — his medicine.

I do have a cell phone. My father in law bought it for me sometime during the Cretaceous Period. It lost its antenna years ago and the battery holds a charge for less than a nanosecond. Also, I don't know how to answer it or retrieve messages.

It's not that I'm a technophobe; I just don't get the big deal about most "communications" advances in the last decade or so. When I see people with their Bluetooths, all I can think of are the Borg. When I'm in restaurants, stores, sporting events etc. etc., I'd rather not hear other people's phone conversations. Why would anyone WANT to text a buddy while walking on a nature path? What gives with that??

So, sure, I have to work through some hefty biases.

Up until last Monday I was fine. However, when I desperately needed to reach my husband, I wondered if it was time for me to enter technological adulthood.

Last Saturday, my hubby and I took a long walk. On the way home, we stopped at a cell phone store. Both of us were stunned by the cost. I couldn't get past the fact that people with far less money than we have — and we're NOT rich — spring hundreds of dollars monthly for these phones and messaging and blah blah blah services.

In spite of my numerous reservations about cost and undesired accessibility, I think we're going to take the plunge. That's where you come in. At the moment I'm feeling like I need another Master's Degree to sort out all the choices. I'm overwhelmed. My disinclination to have a phone in the first place isn't helping.

I need to hear from people who like cell phones and who've done the research. I think that means YOU.

You have your favorite phone and plan. Would you be willing to give me a bit of advice?

Here's how bad it is: I don't even know if we can buy a cheaper phone at Target or someplace like that OR if we have to buy the phone from the provider that gives us the service. The cell phone store we went to certainly led us to believe we had to buy the instruments from them, that there was a compatibility issue. But I felt like I was being B.S.'ed.

Our requirements:
1.  At least one phone dial pad needs to have larger numbers for our child with the vision impairment.
2.  As few bells and whistles (we don't want a phone that thinks for us).
3.  Decent service with options for low-minute usage because we don't plan to depend on the darn things.
4.  An ICE button (ICE: In case of emergency).
5.  We don't need, or particularly want messaging capabilities, internet accessibility, cameras, video streaming, computer hook-ups, or a phone that can wipe our . . . well, you get the idea.

What kind of phones do you like? What plans/brands rock your world or thrust you into the depths of despond?

Please. Educate me.

Oh.
Yes. Her nose is broken, but she's not in pain and the break was small.
Yes. Our dog is still alive. But we're terribly worried about him; he's only five and it's heartbreaking to know he's so sick.

by Pari

It sounds easy enough:  Commit to one internet-free work day each week.

That resolution is related to another one this year: start each day with writing rather than email or other distractions.

But wouldn't you know? On Wednesday, after taking my older daughter to school, I started my computer and went straight to the Inbox. It took a few minutes before I realized what I was doing.

On Thursday I was smarter. I didn't turn on the computer at all.

You see, the internet is a comfortable habit, a ritual. It's also an incredible time and creativity black hole. When I spend the first hour of my day reading and answering emails, visiting blogs, checking out news sites – my mind is already crammed with other people's concerns and ideas. It's even worse than that; the habit leads me to internalize much of what I read and begin thinking stupid thoughts such as:
*  Why bother writing at all when the publishing industry is going to hell?
*  What do Sasha's adventures matter when compared to our failing economy?
*  Who'd care about Darnda in the face of global warming?

We all know how productive those kinds of questions are.

When I read JT's recent posts on the writing life I realized I'd been thinking along the same lines. What were my work habits? Were they helping or hindering me?

The most important question of all was: Why do I feel so overwhelmed and undercreative?

Problem #1:  CLUTTER
Physically —  my office and house are full of unnecessary crap. Compound my packrat ways with three other people and you've got a real mess. There's no visual peace.
The good news is that I can throw stuff away, get rid of the papers I've kept since grade school. Shedding the junk, the tangible things, of my past life is incredibly liberating.

Mentally — Oh, boy. Talk about running in circles. Whether it's on the internet or worrying about the kids, my husband, my career, money, making dinner . . .

I never feel like I'm doing enough.

Here's the kicker: Mental quiet nurtures my creativity like nothing else. It's essential. But I've put myself in a position where it's so rare it almost feels like cheating. I've forgotten how to BE quiet without feeling guilty.

A remedy for this is a little more difficult to build into my life than you might think.

Problem #2:  Marketing
I honestly believe that just about everything an author does that touches others can fall under the rubric of public relations/marketing. Because of this, I've allowed myself to feel like I HAVE to do everything. Every email MUST be answered personally and sincerely. New marketing outlets MUST be found, researched and pursued. Every blog MUST be visited. You get the idea.

I feel like I'm never doing enough.

Here's the pisser: You've got to have new product to market. Otherwise it's a case of diminishing returns when you're only flogging your past works. If I'm constantly worried about marketing, I'm not writing my fiction and expanding my "product base." I know that sounds utterly unromantic, but it's a business reality for my career trajectory.

Back to last Thursday . . .
One of the things I noticed when I sat in my office chair that day was that the computer pulled at me even though it was off. There was this weird palpable vibe, a nervous tingling in my stomach. A hum. I felt tethered from the machine right to my heart.

Screw that!

I left the room and edited hardcopy at the dining room table. I wrote with pen on paper.

And . . .
I had breakthroughs in plot points that had been bugging me for months.

In the afternoon, I went back into the office and began throwing out some of the junk I'd kept for  future maybes. Jettisoning an old term paper would make me think of something in another part of the house and I'd get up and throw that out too. In the middle of that flurry of activity with all those connections coming to the fore and all those synapses firing, my mind was wonderfully at ease.

I could feel the shift and it energized me.

My internet-free work day demonstrated that peacefulness is more complicated and less easily defined than I thought. Much of the noise comes from within. Guilt is born from a misguided idea that accessiblity or the old butt-in-chair AT THE COMPUTER technique is synonomous with productivity.

It's not for me. 

I realize I've painted myself into a psychological corner. I've surrounded myself with technological temptation and noise and have convinced myself that it's my real work. It's easier in a fragmented life like mine — with kids and other obligations — to justify grabbing a few minutes to shoot off an email than it is to sit there staring at a blue sky.

But which activity is ultimately more important?

Which one fosters the mental environment for creativity?

I know that my happiness and productivity are linked to finding more time for blue-sky gazing. So far, a potential antidote is to turn off the computer at least one work day a week. Since I can't go on long retreats, it's the respite I can provide myself that will keep me in touch — and will affirm and strengthen — my attempts to find the quiet to be creative on a daily basis.

I might end up w/o the computer more frequently than that; it feels so good. Or maybe I'll find something else that's even better.

The internet/technology aren't intrinsically bad. Not at all. But I've found they're culprits in the way I approach my craft.

What about you?
How do you find the consistent and real silence to hear your own thoughts, to let your creativity speak?

by Pari

Am I Cassandra? I wonder. I find myself worrying in broad strokes about our culture. The questions I ask are big. Even the ones that appear trite feel huge to me. None have easy answers.

For example: What impact do thesauri in word processing programs have on contemporary language?

Yeah, I know. Weird. But I really do think about these things.

Consider this:

In the MS Word thesaurus, the word mystery yields these choices: (n.) secrecy, anonymity, obscurity, ambiguity, inscrutability, vagueness. (adj.) unknown, anonymous, unidentified. (n.) whodunit, detective novel, thriller, crime novel.

Without getting into the question of whether "mystery" is ever really an adjective, I will say that the above alternatives are perfectly serviceable. There's nothing wrong with any of them.

However, when I look up mystery in my old Roget's International Thesaurus (circa 1977), something very different happens.

I'm forced to think.

I can imagine Dr. Peter Mark Roget sitting across from me. He's wearing those square glasses that Benjamin Franklin wore; they're halfway down his nose. He puts down his quill and shakes his head. "Mystery? What do you mean, Mrs. Taichert? Are you considering enigma or fiction? Are you referring to occultism or perplexity? Inexplicability or wonderfulness? Please clarify that I might offer assistance."

Merely by looking at the options in the book's index, my way of thinking about the word has expanded. I go to the enigma entry and find: enigma, mystery, puzzle, puzzlement, Chinese puzzle, crossword puzzle, jigsaw puzzle. Hmmm. Some of those might work. But there's more: problem, puzzling or baffling problem. I like the word baffling. Haven't thought of it in years. On I continue to question, question mark, vexed or perplexed question . . . Oh, I like this: mind-boggler, floorer or stumper, nut to crack, hard or tough nut to crack; tough proposition. How cool are those?!

Right below the enigma entry is one for riddle, conundrum, charade, rebus, logogriph .  . .

What the hell is a logogriph?

So then I look up to the larger idea category and see that it's Unintelligibility and I start to think about that in relation to mysteries and the mysterious.

Wow.

All that thinking: the consideration and discarding of irrelevant words; the grouping of ideas and expansion of their meanings; the stumbling into different concepts I'd never thought about in relation to the word "mystery;" the meeting of old friends — words I'd forgotten I liked; the curiosity kindled by words I'd never encountered before . . .

This was no mere collection of synonyms; it was an intellectual exercise. After those few minutes of searching, I felt enriched. I grew and made connections that stimulated my mind and sparked creativity.

I wonder how many people take the time to do this anymore? I know that most kids who compose on their computers don't bother with what I think of as a real thesaurus. The quick approximation is good enough for them. I can tell this is happening in popular literature as well. Words that are a little different stick out; they're becoming obsolete.

Is it because they're anachronistic? Or is it simply because they don't pop up in our computer programs?

I don't know. These questions nag at me.

Are we bankrupting our vocabulary, our language, because of convenience? What price will we pay for this laziness? 

What do you think?
Do you have a favorite word that seems obsolete now?
Is there a word you'd like to bring back into usage?
Am I looking for problems where there are none?

by Pari

Writing is a dangerous profession. Neither Kevlar nor Teflon, fire retardant nor bubble wrap, can keep us ink-stained wretches from harm.

In spite of the peril, Dear Reader, we pursue our craft because we must . . .
and because we love you.

Over the years, I've maintained a private catalogue of a few of the potential hazards of this deceptively sheltered job. I hope, by mentioning them here, that I can in some small way make the world a safer place.

Papier Slitus
You've heard the expression, "blood, sweat and tears." Well the blood comes from folding, grabbing or pulling a piece of paper too quickly. The sweat and tears are self-explanatory if you're dripping all over a full manuscript or galley.
Prevention:  Wear gloves. Latex works better than wool.

Lingus Slitus
Who knew that licking envelopes could be fraught with danger? Lingus Slitus is always painful. The fact that so many agents still insist on snail mail queries is a crime. It puts would-be scribes at peril every day.
Prevention:  Wear a condom on your tongue. Even this isn't 100 per cent effective; abstinence is the only sure way to prevent this injury.

Scrivitori Spasmaticus Minorus
A spasm of the wrist or fingers wherein excruciating paralysis inhibits motion for brief moments of time. A secondary feature of this injury is numbness.
Prevention:  Rotate wrists and wiggle fingers for a few minutes during each hour of writing.

Scrivitori Spasmaticus Majorus
A more serious condition than its cousin above. This is a spasm of the writer's creativity: A.K.A. deep brain freeze, writers' block, creativity interruptus. Often accompanied with groans, moans, posturing and dwelling past successes, this injury can also result in extreme head banging against hard surfaces.
Prevention:  Show up. Write through the spasm, but take the pressure off. Remember, not everything you create must be brilliant during the first, or even eleventh, go round. Poe and Doyle had their bad days too.

Lardus Butticus
From lithe to pear shaped, writers' glutteuses become maximus from sitting long hours each day.
Prevention:  Get up, damnit! Take a walk. Dance. Jog. Pace in your living room. Just do it for at least 30 minutes daily.
(Caution: Worry is NOT a form of exercise.)

Onlinititis
An excessive attachment to blogs, social networks, computer games, virtual worlds, email, iPhones (and other telephonic devices), text messaging, websites, internet research, listservs — resulting in diminished creativity, literary lack of resolve, paltry productivity.
Prevention:  Turn off the f*cking electronics! ALL of THEM! Go ahead. Be inaccessible. It's all right.
Relish the quiet. Give your mind the peace to hear its own music.

Ego Bombasticus
The pernicious condition of being self-impressed.
Prevention #1:  Read other writers.
Prevention #2:  Read all of your reviews.

Ego Inthepitsticus
A potential side-effect of the above-mentioned preventions for Ego Bombasticus. This condition results in a total lack of confidence in one's own abilities.
Prevention:  Get over it and WRITE. If you're right and your work is crap, the only way to get better is to keep at it. If you're wrong and your work is good, you'll find out soon enough.

Today, I implore you. Please do your part.
Help identify other hazards so that all writers may benefit from your experience.

Forewarned is forearmed.

___________________________________________________________

Happy New Year to all of you who've made my experience here at Murderati such a tremendous joy. May 2009 surpass your highest hopes and never descend to your deepest fears.

by Pari

The phone call wasn't what I'd hoped for. My agent didn't like the direction I'd taken my rewrite. We talked for an hour, analyzing what worked and what didn't. After the conversation, I thought about my options:

Quit writing
Abandon this manuscript
Eat three pounds of chocolate in one sitting
Abandon the new series
Find a new agent
Pout
Drink some of that new scotch I'd bought for special occasions
Beat the crap out of the punching bag in my back yard
Throw myself into yet another rewrite
Rework the beginning to make the entire book more solid

Since I'm writing this particular blog with bloodied and sticky fingers, you can probably guess which choices I made.

In my Sasha Solomon series, I've prided myself on big first lines — the kind that make an impression — that get the laugh. While these fit Sasha's personality, I think I made deeper assumptions about first lines that were naive.

I was thinking too small.

A first line does not a book make.

Perhaps that's obvious to you; it took me five years to figure out.

Many of us were raised with the adage that "first impressions last a lifetime." I still think this is true. But there's squiggle room in a first impression; it doesn't happen all at once.  In writing, there is the first line and then some . . .

The first sentence begins the set up and influences how the reader will settle into the book. It brings with it the power to affect every perception that reader has about the ensuing story.

But it doesn't need to scream.

Ever since my conversation with my agent, I've been studying the first few paragraphs of books I like. What I've decided is that these initial introductions are promises. They set the stage and they'd better set it right.

Sasha is a smart aleck. So the first line of The Socorro Blast is spot on for her: "If Hell exists, it's filled with old boyfriends . . . and a cat."

With Darnda Jones, I've had to pull back. My new protagonist is a strong and witty character too, but she's far more secure in her life and world view. She knows herself better; she's mature. She also has a really weird job.

My first first line for Darnda was: "My name is Darnda Jones and I look like Cher should."

It's a great intro, but Darnda doesn't really care what she looks like. Vanity isn't a priority for her. So the lede is misleading. It's also bawdier than my character is. The promise here has a Janet Evanovich-y tone that I don't think I could or would want to sustain.

One of my next attempts was: "The palmetto bug limped, slowly making all the wrong decisions, as if suicide was on its tiny mind."

Another good beginning. It was also closer because of Darnda's work. However, it required too much up front explanation and slowed down the action. And I wasn't sure how many readers would sympathize with a giant cockroach.

For now I've settled on this version: "When you work as a psychic, you bump up against a lot of attitude. I didn't mind. With millions of lives at stake, snide comments were the least of my concerns."

This intro doesn't have the "sexy" punch of my others — it'd never work in a Sasha book — but it absolutely sets the scene and gives insights into the character right away. Darnda is on a mission. It's an important point and gets to the heart of what motivates her in her work.

I don't know if I'll stick with this newest beginning. Right now it's helping me ground the first few chapters. I have a feeling that if I put more of a foundation in those, the rest of the manuscript will make more sense.

At least that's what I'm hoping . . .

–What do you think about the role of first lines in a book/story?
–Do you have favorite firsts? Can you explain why they work alone or within context?
–Authors: Do you struggle with first lines. Do they come easily?
–Readers: Do you pay attention to those intros or are you committed to read more than that when you start a new book?

by Pari

here is little Effie's head
whose brains are made of gingerbread
when the judgment day comes
God will find six crumbs

stooping by the coffinlid
waiting for something to rise
as the other somethings did —
you imagine His surprise

Dear E. E.,

I was pleased to receive the first two stanzas of your newest poem, "here is little Effie's head," though I'll admit to being a bit perplexed by your unconventional punctuation. Do you really think readers benefit from the lack of commas, periods or capitalization? As these stanzas stand now, the reader has no clue where to pause, to take a breath.

While I'll admit I'm new to editing poetry, it seems that a few hints might help the reader grasp your meaning and meter more effectively.

"Coffinlid" should be two words.

Also, is it possible to be more specific in lines six and seven? I'm not convinced the use of "something" and "somethings" works here. Are you referring to crumbs? To souls? Do you really want to bump your readers out of the poem with these kinds of questions? The same objection could be made to line eight. To whom are you referring with the word "you?"

While creativity takes time, I have faith that the remainder of your poem will arrive – as we originally agreed – before the end of office hours tomorrow.

Best,
PN Taichert

From the moment I dreamed of being published, I held an image of the perfect editorial relationship. My editor would be experienced with a marvelous breadth of knowledge about effective storytelling and the many nuances of American English. We'd have a partnership. I'd supply the nearly done sculpture and the editor would supply the kind of professional eye that would take my work to an even better level.

Perhaps this image is outdated.

I know many authors who dis their editors as being too young or not having a clue. They tell horror stories — especially about copyeditors — who correct incorrectly. I love the example Susan Slater refers to where someone in New York kept changing the word "adobe" to "abode" in a work about New Mexico.

But I also know writers who adore their editors and cherish their comments more than gemstones.

In my experience at UNM Press, the main editors tend to focus more on herding manuscripts through the process and making sure all the pieces come together on time for publication. This is a valuable service. But I've never had a discussion about broader concepts in my works, about whether a particular character is neccesary or a certain resolution works.

The copyediting is great for line edits but there's little attention paid — at least vis a vis my works — to the overall picture.

Don't get me wrong. I'm very grateful. I just want more. I want to be the best writer that I can be, to be pushed to be better.

Yeah, right, Pari. Dream on. The publishing business doesn't work like that anymore.

Why not? Why not!

Sure, everyone is overworked. There are too few people to do the job. Still, I yearn for that give and take and hope to experience it in my writing career . . .

But back to the beginning of this post:

Over on the listserv at Novelists, Inc., one of the members posted this link:

http://weekendamerica.publicradio.org/display/web/2008/11/22/axls_editor/

Please take the time to read what an editor might do to Axl Rose's "Sweet Child O' Mine." (It's the reason I decided to toy with e.e. cummings' famous poem.)

And then let's play:

Tell me about your editor or dream editor.

Or

Pick a short piece of literature and edit it, like I did at the beginning of this post, and share your fun with the rest of us.

I can't wait to read what you all have to say.

by Pari

Page 1:    She steps into the room. Orange-gold light from dozens of candles paint a mosaic on her slender face. She flicks a strand of hair from her forehead. He notices the impatient motion. In the moment their eyes meet they forget every other love, every other joy, they've ever experienced.

Page 70:   He slaps her. The sound of his hand against her flesh silences the birds and makes the squirrels run for cover. She laughs at the sting of his touch. The baby isn't his anyway.

Page 153:  The bump on the back of her head oozes blood and a strange clear liquid that shines in the illuminated circle of a lonely street lamp. She wanders the rough pavement on an old sidewalk in an unfamiliar town. The policeman spots her crouched in a doorway, shivering in only a long tee-shirt and one woolen sock.

Page 226:  "No! You can't have him!" She hurls herself at the elderly woman.

Page 332:  Still wearing their soccer uniforms, two teens take a detour through a shorn wheat field. There's an odd lump in the flat landscape. By the time they're close enough to figure it out, both will be scarred by the vision of that one hand emerging from the coffee brown soil — the gray fingers curled around a mangled photograph.

Amid the wonderful posts of the last few weeks, the exhortations to buy books for holiday gifts, I've felt that something wasn't quite being addressed.

It's taken me time to figure it out and I hope I can express it well here . . .

Books are essential because of the dance between author and reader, between reader and the written word. It's one of the most crucial pas de deux in the human repertoire.

For years, I've heard how books (and other forms of writing) make people work, that they're effortful. We're urged to simplify, to dumb down our prose, to apologize for the old technology of print or text-heavy passages without graphics.

We writers, booksellers, publishers, reviewers, scholars, have missed a fundamental truth about this medium — especially as it compares to others.

Even though the cultures of industralized societies are trending toward the flashy whizbang of electronic media, I think that it will be books that save and nurture human imagination.

The problem with all the new media: from movies to television, from video games to virtual worlds, is that we let other people imagine for us. While some of these works are interactive, astounding, mind-blowing, they're still passive in that we're seeing or playing by others' rules. 

It's like taking our food intravenously rather than tasting it.

But the written word is different because it forces us to own it, to make it ours, to make it personal. In the quiet of our own minds, we dance and create because of what we read.

I suspect that's why Brennan #2 was disappointed with the movie TWILIGHT;  she'd built her own images already and they didn't match those of the director.

That's why I wrote the sketchy story at the beginning of this post. I wanted to prove how much we all fill in the blanks, how active we become with the written word. And yet, no one reading those paragraphs will see the two women and man in the same way. Each reader will make dozens of different assumptions about them, about the whys and hows of their lives. Without realizing it, every one who takes the time to ponder the story will have created scenes and explanations far beyond those few hundred words.

So, yeah, books make us work. And guess what? Without exercise, our minds and imaginations atrophy.

I believe that books are the primary prophylactics against creative pudginess. They prevent us — all of us who read, anyway – from becoming lock-step thinkers, monochromatic mentalists. 

To me, that's the reason to buy books, to make them presents. By doing so, we're giving the gift of imagination.

Imagination is the heartbeat of change.
Without it, no innovation is possible.

Books save the world.

Discussion:
1. Am I making any sense here? Do we not talk about books and imagination because the link is so obvious?
2. What did you picture in that story?