When is a book no longer yours?

I did an author appearance last week at a summer school class (hi girls!) and one of the questions that came up - as it often does - was "how do you pick the titles for your books?" In explaining that I have (thus far) been extremely lucky, and had the full support of my editor on all of my titles, we then got into a discussion about the editorial process, and the types of changes that happen throughout. My experiences with editing have ranged from the painless (Can we change "my parents will kill me" to "I'll be grounded for life"?) to gut-wrenching (No. Because of x, y and z, you absolutely can not include that plot element)...and, I suspect from reading other author's blogs that my experiences are not unique. And yet, the girls at summer school were - as most people outside of the publishing industry tend to be - absolutely SHOCKED that ANYONE besides an author should get any say in what gets written. Even when I got my first contract, I didn't yet understand that like a close friend who will be totally honest when you shop for bathing suits, a brilliant editor (and I have had them) will point out all of the opportunities for improvement, as well as the things that are already strong. Authors tend to get the credit for successful books, but good editors go a long way towards getting them there.

And then, there are ghost writers. The other night I was in a large chain bookstore in downtown Toronto, and found myself beside a huge line-up of book buyers all waiting for the "author" to sign their purchases. I put "author" in quotes because the person whose name appeared on the book - the person who was doing the autographs -- is actually the former drummer of a very popular 80's rock band. (Yes, I have their greatest hits, no, I'm not naming names). And maybe he did write his own memoirs - Jimmy Buffet has actually carved out quite a nice little fiction empire for himself - but I'll be honest: I wondered. Did this guy actually sit down at a keyboard and TYPE? Or did he do some interviews, and just approve the copy that came back to him? Is he still the author, if it's his life story but he didn't write a word? And more importantly, if it's a compelling story, does anybody actually care? Last January, The New York Times published this fascinating piece about author James Patterson's stable of ghost writers. And I've been thinking about it ever since. Then, today, I read this little blurb about creativity, which suggests, of all things, that group brainstorming DOES NOT WORK, and the theory that it does was actually disproved in 1958!!! So take that, army of ghost writers - James Patterson might be richer, but I can be more creative without you!

Swimming at sunset

Me, a pool noodle, a warm night, and the sun setting over the lake.

Summer really doesn't get any better than this.

Unless there's chocolate.

Look! I caught a sunset!

Book trailer for Maybe Never, Maybe Now

Watch this space for a contest related to this trailer!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hEYoVpmH5p4

I Write Like...

I Write like Lewis Carroll!

...or, at least, I did in my earler blog post "Me, the Cat Lady", which was the sample text I inserted HERE, on the "I Write Like..." text analyzer.

But when I insert the edited opening paragraphs of my new novel, Maybe Never, Maybe Now I write like J. K. Rowling.

The opening paragraphs of Definitely Not Camelot link me to Vladimir Nabokov (whom I only know of through the old Police song, "Don't Stand so Close to Me" in which Sting sings: "It's no use/he sees her/he starts to shake and cough/just like the/old man in/that book by Nabokov."

And a paragraph I wrote for the first draft Definitely Not Camelot - a paragraph my editor cut - apparently resembles the style of Stephen King.

Huh.

Me, the Frog Lady

...and this afternoon, I have nine froglets in total peeking up at me out of the pond. These three were very cozy.

Me, the Cat Lady

Oliver-Henry (missing since July 26, 2009)

Majik (adopted through Toronto Cat Rescue, December 30, 2009)

Oscar (my mom's cat, who often visits, brought to me as a stray kitten in August, 1995)


The neighbour's cat. I call him Sylvester. Isn't his goatee great?

The neighbour's other cat. I call him Tweety. He is a polydactyl, with extra toes.


So it has been 366 days since Oliver-Henry disappeared from my mom's backyard in Kitchener, Ontario, during a light rainfall, after slipping out of her back door. As many of you know, I searched for him desperately, and grieved his loss powerfully. But little by little, I've had to let go. Among the things I tried:

- Kijiji, Craigslist, and other internet classified ads
- begging for his return on Facebook, on my website, and on television when I appeared on What's Your Point? in December
- a Google alert that searched the internet every day for blogs and other postings for "found cats", and then sent that information to my inbox. I can now say, after a year of reading the results, that Michigan and Las Vegas sure have a lot of homelss kitties!
- hand delivering 1000 flyers to homes in my mom's neighbourhood
- asking employees of two of Kitchener's biggest employers (RIM and Manulife) to watch for him
- using regular mail to send colour posters and descriptions to every veterinarian's office in Kitchener-Waterloo
- enlisting the help of the local KW cat rescue organizations
- having my mom visit the Humane Society every other day for six months (after three days in the HS, the pound act says they can be put down or adopted out, so you have to check frequently. I hadn't been aware of this before).
- writing to several local churches, asking them to post his info in their bulletins-- offering author readings and rewards to nearby schools if they would share his description with their students
- maintaining a list of rescue organizations both in and outside KW and checking it regularly for updates

Despite all of my efforts, I did not find him. And that pisses me off! But I do feel that I made every reasonable effort, so although I will probably still be unable to stop myself from popping into Kijiji every once in a while, today I cancelled the Google alerts.


And it wasn't in vain. I do feel that I tried (no more goldfish-type dreams over this loss). I reunited a few other cats with their families, just by cross-referncing "lost cat" ads in one place with "found cat" ads in others. And also by searching someone out on Facebook. I experienced small-world coincidences, such as when I was contacted with a possible lead by author Marianne Paul, who I had never met, but who lives in my mom's neighbourhood and coincidentally had done an author reading one time with my fellow Lobster Press author, Christina Kilbourne.

And I got Majik (aka The Great Catsby)into my life.

When Oliver-Henry went missing, I kept saying that when the time was right, a new cat would come into my life. Lately, I've also been "parenting" several others. My neighbour decided in May that he would let his cats out. He then began using his house more as a cottage, and as far as I can tell, he is home only on Saturday nights. The rest of the time, his cats live in and around my garage. He does seem to leave a bowl of food out on Sunday afternoons, but the squirrels, raccons and skunks clean it out pretty quickly. I didn't start feeding "Sylvester" and "Tweety" (as I call them) until they began tearing open my garbage bags, but now they (and another, seemingly feral cat who won't let me near him) come regularly to dine. Add to that Taz, the cat from down the street, and my mom's cat, Oscar, who is visiting, and one would think that it would be cat-fight city out in my driveway, but so far, everyone seems to get along just beautifully, and I often find them sitting out there contentedly, together.

I've always loved cats. When I nine, I spent a week on my aunt's farm. First place I went every morning was out to the barn to feed the barn cats, even though most of them were wild and untouchable.

Before that, I'd fostered a batch of kittens with their mama cat, whom I'd found out in the woods while raspberry picking one summer.

I like to think that what goes around comes around, and if I love and take care of Majik, plus the brood outside, someone, somewhere, is loving and taking care of Oliver-Henry.

Why Jon Bon Jovi is my Edward Cullen

1. The dazzling smile.
2. The superhuman powers (he can get 40,000 fans to sing, wave their arms, or freeze to listen in total silence, without saying a word).
3. He's been around forever, yet...
4. He doesn't seem to age
5. He has a way with words. ("You wanna make a memory..." Wow. So simple. And so much more romantic than most of the propositions I've heard over the years. )
6. He's loyal. Jon Bon Jovi -- one of the biggest rock stars ever -- is still married to his high school sweetheart. And I think that's the true appeal of both Edward and Jon - everyone wants to believe that there is one person out there who will be devoted to them forever.

Thanks to Samantha for this great site with footage of the July 21st concert at Rogers Centre in Toronto!

http://www.youtube.com/user/fictionmistress#p/u/0/jBmjloLLzyU