27 October 2005
About face...
Earlier this month, after much deliberation on my part--and talking to my fiancee and my best friend--I had made the decision to take my new YA series to the streets. Sort of. Instead of self-publishing the series like I had originally planned, I was going to go the traditional route. My New Years Res was to snag an agent. A meeting I went to made me do a COMPLETE 180. I'm a member of NAWW (www.naww.org) -- National Association of Women's Writers--and went to my first meeting with the local chapter last night. Our speaker was Jerry (I forgot his last name), former VP of Time Warner Books. He was there to talk about what goes on behind the scenes of the major publishers. Stuff that authors should know, but don't. Needless to say, it was very enlightening. Since his contract terminated in May of this year, he's made a point of talking with writing groups to inform authors of what they're getting into with the bigger publishers. He was in no way discouraging writers from getting an agent or getting their work published. However, my view of the more popular publishing houses has been...tainted, I guess is the word I'm looking for. They can end your career as a writer forever. They can turn you into a one-book or two-book wonder, never to be seen or heard from again. He suggested that writers start with the small and/or independent pressess--sell about 2,000-3,000 copies (more if possible)--and have the bigger houses come chase you. And I thought, "What a novel idea". No pun intended. At least, not on purpose. To have some big, bad-ass NY publishing house pursue me like a man desperate for a booty call is a picture that makes me smile. From ear to ear.
I'm thinking this is a sign. A sign that I should stand by my company, publish my own books, and find better ways to get my name out there. It's the reason I started my own company in the first place and the meeting last night seemed to validate my decision. Truth be known, I had doubts. Ok, not doubts, really, more like reservations. I don't know how other writers envision their covers, but halfway thru my novels--sometimes even before I write them--I know what my covers are going to look like. Or I have a pretty good idea, anyway. After talking to some authors, I know now that as a new, unknown author, I wouldn't have much say in the creation of my book covers with the bigger publishers. I was told I could make suggestions, but in the end, the publisher would have the final say. (FYI: publishers like it when you get involved in the book creating process). Maybe when I'd sold more copies, become a little bit more well-known, would I then have more say. I didn't--don't--like that too much. I had considered it a sacrifce--a sacrifice for the greater good, that is--and I didn't know if I could go thru with it. True, they could make it better, incorporate some of my ideas, but it would be second best. Because it wasn't what I wanted. It wouldn't be my creation.
So. From now on, I'm doing it my way. Until I get another sign.
26 October 2005
Getting out...
I was on Myspace.com for approximately a week before deleting my account. I figured, how bad could it be? My niece is on here and she has, like 38 friends. Granted, they're people from her other schools, but still...Without my knowledge, I had "Please add me to your booty call/possible hook-up list" written on my forehead. For reals. When I posted this very same picture on there, I didn't notice anything. I mean, my forehead maybe a little shiny in the pic, but I don't see any writing in black Sharpie. During the course of the week, I added my fantabulous niece to my Friends list and a nice guy named Sagres who helped me personalize my page. Here comes the highlight of my experience.
I got an email from some 16-yr-old twerp going by the username ZACK DA MACK asking me if I like to "f*** because he could f*** me all day." At first, I just shook my head and rolled my eyes because, really, has that line worked on any female? I found it laughable that those words would be coming from a BOY who looked like a thug in training. Then I got pissed because I know he just saw the picture and didn't even bother to check out the rest of my profile. If he had, he would've known that I WAS MARRIED (okay, not until next year, but in my heart we're married) AND LOOKING TO MAKE FRIENDS AND NETWORK. Not network and make "booty call" friends. Not network and make "internet sex" friends. And not network and hook up with a potentially freaky-deaky stalker. I was just wanting to meet regular folk. Regular folk who want to meet other regular folk. Regular folk who have a business of their own and want to meet other regular folk who have a business of their own. Creative-minded regular folk who want to meet other creative-minded regular folk. I guess it was just too much to ask for. Maybe females like to be spoken to like that. I'm not one of them. So what did you do, you may ask? Well, I deleted his email. But not before I kindly told him that he'd been reported and to not contact me again. At that moment, I was totally feelin' OutKast: "I know you like to think your shit don't stick, but lean a little bit closer." Zack's roses really did smell like poo-poo.
Three other guys contacted me, wanting to be added to my Friends list. When I went to check out their profiles (one of whom didn't even have a picture--which makes me leery anyway) and found their Friend's list contained nothing but pictures of females--females who appeared to be auditioning for Playboy or the next porn flick--I knew I needed to remove myself from that site. After some deliberation, my pissed-offness faded to understanding. Understanding that some ignorant, disrespectful and immature young African-American boys grow up to be ignorant, disrespectful and immature African-American men. Notice I said some, not all. I'd like to think their mothers--or fathers-would beat it out of them by the time they hit puberty, but well, if wishes were horses...you know the deal. I understand that men don't read. They just like to look at pictures. I understand that that site is treated more like an online meat market than anything else, so I shouldn't expect any miracles.
Now before I offend someone, let me explain something. I have nothing against African-American men. There are some good ones--some fine-lookin' ones--out there, but this experience has once again colored (no pun intended) my view of them. Could it be that, all my life, I've been a black dot in a sea of white ones, didn't have much exposure to the black ones and therefore became more attracted to the white ones? Possibly. Could it be that by the time I reached high school, the black dots I knew were dating white dots themselves or stuckup athletes? Getting warmer. Could it be that by the time I was ready and willing to date, I only encountered black thug-like and player dots? That'd be an affirmative. Could it be that I have a fascination with dots? Yeah, uh, that would be a negative. I just liked the analogy.
For the record, I met my fiancee on Matchmaker.com. I went thru some duds--and a freaky-deaky that gave me the wiggins--before I found him. He's white.