Author: Linda M. Au

BookFest coming soon … and other fun along the way!

Hey gang!

I’m not usually one for blatant self-promotion, but … well, okay, yes I am …

Anyway, the annual Bridgewater BookFest here in western Pennsylvania is coming up soon, in just a few weeks! If you’re a local author (or artist) and haven’t registered for a spot yet, do so quickly. The author registration deadline has been extended until August 31! (Go to the BookFest Web site for a registration form and instructions.)

I’ll be there again this year, selling copies of Head in the Sand  and handing out pathetic promotional bookmarks for Fork in the Road, which doesn’t look like it’ll be quite ready for sale by the BookFest.

I tried, dear readers, I really tried.

But, to have had copies in hand by mid-September, I would have had to cut corners quite a bit—making the book shorter than I would have liked, less funny than I would have liked, and with more typos or layout glitches than I would have been able to handle emotionally. (I’m a fragile flower, dear reader. No, seriously. I am. Fragile. Flower. Blossoming. All that crap. That’s all me.)

We’re still hip-deep in major bathroom renovations here at the new house—meaning we’re still driving the mile back to the old house to take a shower every day (and let me tell you, the fun goes out of that after several months)—and all summer I’ve gone from one major event to another: the St. Davids conference in June (for which I had to prepare a few speeches and talks and lead a few meetings), the RPCNA international conference in July (for which I played office manager and generally had an awesome time), then the first family reunion we’ve had in years (for which we played hosts at the new house, which wasn’t quite ready) in mid-August…

…and two separate “bat” incidents in the new house in between the RPCNA conference and the family reunion. (We’re still holding our breath for a third, hoping the first two were merely flukes.)

So, the fun just never stops here in western Pennsylvania! Next we’ll find piranhas have taken up residence in the new copper plumbing.

Up next then is the aforementioned Bridgewater BookFest (for which I am author liaison this year—and that’ll teach the steering committee to put someone like me in charge of something this important on a year that has just screamed “transition!” for me since January) … and then in early October a St. Davids board meeting, followed in late October by a publication committee board meeting for my denomination.

If I can keep breathing in and out properly (without hyperventilating) between now and November, then everything should settle down … just in time for the first holiday season in our new house.

Oh, good grief. I’m so doomed.

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Head in the Sand Gets Good Review in Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Awards!

I entered Head in the Sand … and other unpopular positions in the Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Awards sometime last year. Granted, I didn’t win anything. I expected that, since I assume tons of people enter this contest now. But, today I received in the mail a review of the book by the judge (the esteemed judge #57). I hadn’t realized I’d get a written review. Very cool!

I also got a certificate of “recognition of participation.” Feels a lot like getting a trophy for good attendance in kindergarten. (Yay me! I can write a check and send things in the MAIL!)

All in all, I’m extremely pleased with the results, except for that pesky “4” under “Grammar.” (Seriously? The judge didn’t even use a proper em-dash in his/her comments. But I digress.) But, why quibble when even the paragraph on what can be improved has more positive than negative in it?

This is precisely the impetus I need to get Fork in the Road … and other pointless discussions  finished, since I believe it’s much more solid and consistently funny (so far).

I’ve typed up the judge’s review here:

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Category: Nonfiction

On a scale of 1 to 5, with 1 meaning “poor” and 5 meaning “excellent,” please evaluate the following:

Structure and organization: 4

Grammar: 4

Production quality and cover design: 4

 

Judge’s commentary:

What did you like best about this book?

Cute cover! Your style is very punchy and fresh. Some excellent bon mots (Unitarian Jesus – ha!). The Hoss Burger has me drooling. I like the brevity of the pieces – get in, get out, deliver the message. Very good. You have developed a very personable style, and you write very conversationally; you’d be surprised how rare this quality is. I can almost hear you telling these stories as I read them on the page. You have a great sense for human nature and foibles. You also have a sense for very direct, plain English, and the strategic twist of a word that can really deliver a laugh. Good job!

How can the author improve this book?

It’s really tough to develop your own path in humor, and some of this travels along subjects that are well-worn. (The toilet seat joke in the first paragraph.) But you have a natural sense for “funny,” so I get the feeling the less you try to be funny, the funnier you will naturally be. You might even delve into subject matter that’s more serious, and find humor rising out of it as if by magic. You’d be surprised, and this is a really good way to “stretch” your talents. Go in unexpected ways, and you may surprise yourself.

2011, We Hardly Knew Ye…

If I blink one more time, 2011 will be over. Seems I only blinked a few other times this year and it just whisked right by at lightning speed.

It’s been a year of ups and downs, highs and lows—you know, the usual stuff of life that happens to everyone. Our year was fraught with some health concerns (all resolved now, praise God!), some fun vacationing (we’re one of those old cruisin’ couples now), and a lot of house hunting and mountains of paperwork. Not the kind of stuff that’s always conducive to good writing … or any writing at all.

And yet, I managed to successfully complete my eighth year of NaNoWriMo in November. This one’s probably salvageable (not all of them are), although not for a while. The front-burner writing project is again Fork in the Road … and other pointless discussions. The new target date for release is a very specific and pinpointed “Spring 2012.” Hey, as long as I get it done before the world ends a year from now, it’s all good, right?

And remember, if you have a Kindle or get a Kindle from Santa this year (or even just use the Kindle app on another device), my first book, Head in the Sand … and other unpopular positions, is available in Kindle format for a paltry $2.99.

Oh, and those of you with Amazon Prime memberships, be aware: The Kindle Lending Library program now includes Head in the Sand as well! That means that it can be your “borrowed” book for any given month. Read it for free! I’ll worry about getting the royalties squeezed out of Jeff Bezos. You just enjoy the ride!

And in the meantime, I continue to collect mental snippets for Fork in the Road, which is coming along nicely. (Some days lately, I don’t find anything funny at all, but then someone in my life does something boneheaded and it’s all good again!)

Have a blessed Christmas, and we’ll see you in print in 2012!

Linda

 

 

NaNoWriMo is calling my name … again

In about thirteen hours, I’ll be officially going insane. Again.

I know, I know. If you already know me, you’re thinking, “Wait, didn’t that happen sometime around 1981?”

Sure, the first time. But I’m talking about that temporary insanity, that yearly foray into crazyhood known as National Novel Writing Month (known to the rest of the normal world as “November”).  (See nanowrimo.org for more information or to join in the insanity.) November starts in thirteen hours, and although other folks are trick-or-treating and dressing up as clowns or princesses or Barack Obama or other equally frightening things, I’ll spend part of the day polishing my minimal planning for this year’s novel, waiting for the imaginary starting gun at the stroke of midnight. It’ll mean typing 50,000 words on a new fiction project sometime between Nov. 1 and Nov. 30. That’s about 1,667 words per day, every day, if you write the same amount every day. Which I don’t. I tend to skip a few days out of distraction and then scurry to catch up by hooking up an I.V. of essential fluids and a catheter to release those fluids and writing for hours on end while family members whisper behind my back and plot to have me committed.

I’ve participated in this yearly ritual every November since 2004 … and I’ve “won” every year too. If you think that makes me over-confident, though, you’re wrong. If anything, it feels like a whole lotta pressure. Will this be the year that beats me to a pulp? Will this be the one time I can’t keep up? Will I sprain a pinky folding laundry on Day Two and not be able to type properly for three weeks? You know: the obvious questions at a time like this.

Does it help that I have a ton of freelance projects staring me in the face right now (and I usually don’t)? No.

Does it help that I have a bunch of engagements outside the house this first two weeks that will interrupt my alone-time? No.

Does it help that hubby has a routine screening procedure tomorrow morning (known to me as Day One, the Day of Momentum) that will mean both of us being out of the house for hours? No.

Does it help that we are in the throes of perhaps the biggest house move either of us has ever made, with paperwork and phone calls and inspections coming out our ears this month? No.

Does any of this deter me from attempting the impossible for an eighth year in a row?

NO.

The word processor is ready. The AlphaSmart Neo is ready. The Acer netbook is ready. The two desktop computers are ready. Even the IBM Selectric typewriter is ready. Year Eight will not beat me.

BRING.  IT.  ON.

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No sense of humor

So, we’re apparently house-hunting now. Wayne and I are so different in so many ways (he’s an electrical engineer and I’m a writer—’nuf said) that I figure I should ask him what kinds of things he’ll be looking for in a new house.

“Well, I like a two-story house.”

Meanwhile, I was thinking a ranch house since we both just hit 50 and we ain’t gettin’ any younger.

“Okay, I suppose we could always install one of those chair-lift thingies when we get older,” I say in a spirit of compromise. “What else?”

“And, I think it should be on a level lot.”

“Aha, so it’ll be easier to mow and take care of?”

“No, there’s always a riding mower. I just thought you could do more with a level lot.”

“Such as…?”

“…Like, you know, parking junked-up cars there.”

Silence.

More silence.

I look over and after what is an agonizing ten more seconds, the dimples show up and he cracks a smile. I relax my tightened forehead and sphincter and breathe freely. You see, I’ve lived with this man for nearly twelve years now. He could’ve been dead serious. I’m just relieved he sees fit to laugh at his own jokes, even if he never laughs at mine.

It’s going to be a longggggg house hunt.

New and improved! Now with more Vitamin B!

Hello again, from cyberspace. I’m pulling myself away from the lure that is the Wii in order to keep writing essays for Fork in the Road. The artwork is done and the book designer now has it. I’ll be writing the back cover blurb today and settling on a subtitle. Once I can get my daughter the photographer to take some lovely snaps of me with her pricey Nikon, we’ll be all set.

The trick will be having the book written by the time the cover is done. Yeah, um … just look at the time, will ya?

You’re getting sleeeeeepy…

Now that I freelance completely and don’t have to commute to a daily job (thanks to my hard-working, nuclear-power-plant-employed engineer-husband), I find that I’ve turned into a sort of sleep-chameleon, adapting to his ever-changing schedule. He does what’s called “shift work,” meaning that he’ll work a semi-normal day shift for a few weeks and then has to work a middle shift for a week, and then an overnight shift for another week.

I don’t know how he does it, but he seems to adapt easily, a quality I wish I possessed in greater amounts. He’s very laid back about most things, including whether he gets enough sleep and when that sleep happens. How he can fall into a deep sleep in our sun-laden bedroom during the day while construction workers, loud children, and garbage trucks are all zipping around outside is beyond me. Yet another reason I adore the guy: He rolls with the punches.

And me? By the end of his overnight shift week, I’m staying up till four in the morning myself, tweaking something on my computer till it bleeds while watching a marathon of “Storage Wars” on A&E in the background, volume up to ear-splitting decibels just because nobody’s home and I can.

Murray, the guinea pig, hasn’t complained yet. Then again, I bribe him with celery and carrots and he doesn’t speak good English, so perhaps he’s royally peeved at me and I just can’t tell with that blank stare of his.

At any rate, last night was one of those nights. I revamped my entire Web site and blog all day and long into the night, gulping down glass after glass of sugar-free lemonade and yelling at the television for Darrell to just buy the stupid storage locker for $500 and take his chances already.

It was glorious fun for a night owl, and I love that I get a week like this every month or so, when I can indulge my inner college student. I’ll be sad to see it go after tonight, with hubby back on early-morning duty on Saturday. I’ll get up, bleary-eyed, and make him breakfast before he leaves, with the sky still dark outside, but then I’ll head straight back to bed for a few hours, zonking into oblivion until the sun comes up and the sleep hours add up to something a lot closer to eight than he usually gets.

Some of us are just more adaptable than others.

O, the Shame!

I’m sitting in a class on blogging at my favorite writers’ conference here in Grove City, Pennsylvania. And I’m feeling horribly guilty for not having kept this place tidy and neat and updated.

So, Susan’s class has inspired me to get back here to be good blogger. The second book is well underway and the cover art and design are in the works even as I type this. It’s time to put on the big-girl pants and be a grown-up writer. Grown-up writers have deadlines. And I promise to stop letting self-imposed deadlines slip by because they are merely self-imposed.

I am writer; hear me roar. Bring it on!