Managing POV

Jul6

Years ago, I was lucky enough to have Jo Beverley judge one of my manuscripts in a contest. Her one comment stuck with me–learn to control viewpoint and you’ll sell. She was right. Now, I’d already tightened up a lot of other craft technique, but viewpoint was a place where I went a bit fuzzy. I wasn’t even aware how much it slipped, but it made me take a really hard look at viewpoint—and to start practicing the habit of only changing viewpoint when I absolutely needed to be in someone else’s POV. This let me cut a lot of the deadwood out of my stories, making them tighter and stronger.

Since then, I’ve since seen a lot of the same old habit I had in contests entries. It’s like something most writers have to go through. And I’ve noticed that viewpoint control actually impacts a whole bunch of other things.

Tighter viewpoint control picks up the pacing. It forces you to show more and tell less (you can’t keep slipping in and out of omniscient POV). Tight control improves characterization, brings in more emotion, and you get a much better story. The reader also tends to be less confused, and becomes more engaged by the character—spending time with anyone (even a character) is a good way to get to know and like that person.

Yet, this is a place where a lot of folks seem to want to be a little loosey-goosey. Folks will say, “But I like to switch POV.” And, yes, switching is fine, but if you’re not doing it for a reason, you may be killing the best parts of your scene. This is where a little more discipline and a little less seat of the pants can help.

And first person viewpoint can help a writer lean a lot. I’ve written a lot of stories in first person, and I still use this technique for scenes that are giving me trouble. Don’t get me wrong, I love third person, but first person is a great way to learn more control. It’s also sometimes the best way to tell a story. But watch using several first persons in a story, that can be tiresome and confusing to a reader unless there are large chunks of time with each character.

With the contest entries I read, I also sometimes get the feeling that some writers may not be aware of what are the viewpoint options. And how do they tighten their control of these.  Managing POV is an important technique to learn, and master.

Viewpoint control is like any other writing technique.  It’s one you have to think about, study, and practice. Once you get really good at it, you can put it in your hip pocket and forget about it—until it comes time to edit and fix problems. And then you need to get back to basics.

I’m doing a workshop on Managing Viewpoint with Savvy Authors this month. Hopefully, this will help folks pick up a few more tips and techniques to bring out the best in their scenes, stories, and characters.  There are techniques that can help you smooth viewpoint transitions. And there are exercises that will strengthen your control of viewpoint.

Even with first person POV, there are ways to improve your control—you can still slip into omniscient from first person if you’re not careful.

And I’m hoping the workshop will remind me, too, of the basics that I always have to keep in mind to tell a good story.

Titles — What’s in a Name?

Jun26

For some reason known only to the muse of impulses, I stuck up my hand to chair the Orange Rose contest for the Orange County Chapter of RWA when they were looking for such unwise fools as me. Well, it’s turned out to be quite interesting, and a ton of work. As a friend of mine used to say, an experience not to be missed or repeated.

Anyway, I’ve had a lot of titles to view and it’s occurred to me more than once that folks need some help here. A title sets the reader’s expectation. It’s like the first light of dawn–it sets the tone for the rest of the day. It needs to be easy to remember–marketing counts. And it needs to be something to spur the reader to either click on a link/cover or pick up the book off a shelf. (Yes, the cover will help, but the title is part of that cover.)

So it makes sense that you want a catchy title that also intrigues. It’s really nice, too, if the title fits into the theme of a book.

Now, you may say, oh, pish-tosh, the publisher will change the title anyway. Possibly. But a good title is still going to be a good hook into a book (I’ve gotten so I can just about tell from the title alone if a manuscript is going to be good and almost ready for publication, or is going to be one of those manuscript that needs a ton of work ). And if you’ve got a great title, you won’t need to change it.

So, what should be in a title? Here’s my receipe:

It has to evoke the genre. This is critical. For my Regency romances I kept almost all my original titles, such as: A Compromising Situation, and A Proper Mistress. I wanted titles that let the reader know at a glance what kind of book this was.

It has to carry some hint of the theme. Think of titles like Silence of the Lambs. Not only a good hook, but also works into the book when it’s talked about the silence of the lambs before they’re slaughtered.

It has to easy to remember. Mission critical, this one. I recently read a contest entry and I can’t even remember the entry name, except to say it was one I looked at and thought, “How do you even write this one down to remember it?” This is where you can get just too clever.

It needs to fit on a book cover. Yes, the hard fact is that there’s only so much space — in print, or even if you’re going to make a legible image for online. The shorter the title, the bigger a font you can use–hence, the numerous one-word titles around. (Such as Twilight.)

I also like it if I’m not overusing a title that’s been used. Let’s face it, if your book is one of a hundred titled, Passion, how will anyone know to buy your book? (Meaning, when looking for titles, go check Amazon and Google the titles you have in mind.)

Finally, I like a title that doesn’t get too clever with the spelling or the words–this, to me, is just shooting yourself in the foot. A lot of folks do find books on Amazon, or Barnes and Noble, or Google, or other websites. And if the reader can remember the title but the spelling or the words are too weird, a search may turn up nothing.

Which brings us to, does the title look good? Yes, there are attractive words, and words that just make you stumble. You want to look at your title in print and see if it’s balanced or not. If I were to change any titles I’ve done it would be A Much Compromised Lady. It’s a clunky title and never did look that good in print, but I was stuck on the idea of a series with compromise in the title, and I should have listened to wiser council there.

Finally, I just like a title that makes me want to settle down with just that type of book.  If I have a book titled, Space Monkeys from Planet Ten, I expect that book to be fun and silly, and not to be a tragic romance. Likewise, with a book titled, The Moorish Prince, I’m looking for some adventure in there. Because the title gives me that first taste of the story.

So give thought to your titles. Spent time with them. Ask your friends what they think–what kind of book would this set their teeth for? And keep in mind that even if you’re not yet published, you’re marketing your book. Editors and agents get their expectations set by titles, too.

Easy Stuff to Fix – Past Perfect and Dialogue Punctuation

Jun25

It’s contest judging season again — seems to come along every year with baseball and summer and picnics. And I’m seeing some of the same mistakes I always see. Now some stuff is tough to fix — as in you have a plot that’s not plausible, or wooden characters, or an idea that’s just too tired and cliche. That’s throw out the baby and the bathwater time. But some of this is easy to fix, and folks, you do need to fix the basics. What I’m seeing….

Tense issues. As in past tense, present tense, and past perfect tense (there are others, but these are the three you really need to nail).

Past tense works for most fiction. This is where you write: “He went to the store.” (Went being the past tense verb.)

Present tense is needed for a synopsis (it’s more dynamic), and you can also use it in a story. This is action happening now, as in: “He goes to the store.” (The verb become goes, or is going for present tense.)

Past perfect is where folks seem to really trip up. If you’re in the past tense and you want to write about the past (further in the past that is), you have to switch to past perfect.  As in: “He went to the store, and since he had been given a shopping list by his mother, he knew what to buy.”  Notice the switch to “had been” instead of “was” — that’s past perfect.

(And if you’re still confused, go and buy a copy of Strunk & White’s Element’s of Style. It’s a thin book, easily read in an hour and even easier to keep by your keyboard to sort out this stuff.)

The other thing that crops up a lot is weird uses of commas — commas put in where they are not needed or left out in other spots. That’s not too bad, but you do have to get this right around dialogue.

You use a comma to separate words spoken by a character from any action when (and only when) that action influences what is being said.

So these are all correct:

“You’re wrong,” she said.

“I can’t win,” he told her.

She cleared her throat, and said, “I love you.”

The action here is called an “action tag” by some and notice how these all form one sentence, and therefore use a comma.

The period is used when the action is NOT influencing what is said–when that is a separate thought and therefore should be a separate sentence. As in:

“You’re wrong.” She slammed her hand down on the table.

“I can’t win.” He let out a breath and shook his head.

She cleared her throat.  “I love you.”

Notice a couple of things. First, if you have action, you generally don’t need to attribute the dialogue (as in he said, she said). The reader knows who is speaking because there is action around the dialogue. Second, he said and she said are valid ways to attribute dialogue. It’s the mark of a beginning writer to go crazy with the adverbs and have folks chuckle, laugh, cry out and otherwise try to talk while they are doing something else.

In other words, rewrite when you put down stuff like:

“You’re wrong,” she yelled at him loudly. (If she’s yelling, then loudly is redundant, and the yelled is not letting the dialogue be strong.)

“I can’t win,” he chuckled sadly. (Try chuckling a word and see if you can do it — I dare you.)

She cleared her throat and breathed sexily, “I love you.”   (When in doubt read something aloud — if you cringe or someone laughs, you know you’ve hit melodrama. )

If you feel as if you need to add an adverb to any dialogue before you do this try rewriting the dialogue — dialogue that needs a crutch needs to be stronger so that it stands on its own.

And that’s my rant for the week. Or at least until the next contest I judge.

Book View Cafe

Jun15

Book View Cafe

Today I’m bringing some of my older Regency romances over to Book View Cafe. It’s a great place to be, plenty of other authors, and it’ll provide me a platform to bring out some new fiction, too.  And I’m hoping to do some more anthologies–I love novellas. There’s no room for mistakes, so the story has to be solid.

Wednesday will be a regular blog day for me at the Book View Cafe blog–I’ve a post live today.

So keep an eye out for more news — as with any new venture, there’s great possibilities, and lots of learning opportunities (that means changes for stuff to go wrong).

 

It’ Don’t Mean A Thing…

Jun6

First published at Savvy Authors as “Emotional Writing”. Now revised and update.

As the song goes, “It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing”…meaning you have to have more than words on a page.

There’s a tension in every story between what’s logical and what’s going to get the reader emotionally invested. That can be a good thing in that tension always adds to a story—if you can get that tension you’re feeling onto the page, you’re ahead of the game. But that’s the art of writing, too. Getting the feeling onto the page. And the truth is, no one can teach you this.

The good news is that you can learn everything else. Structure is structure, be it a short story or a novel. You can learn pacing, scene structure, putting together chapters, building a story, how to add conflict, how to create a character arc, all about plotting and subplots. All of that is technique that can be taught, and all that will serve you well. With that you can move into becoming an excellent wordsmith.

This logical part is also the easy part for some writers—some folks just love making puzzles and putting them together. And, if you do this brilliantly, you can get away with only doing this. The characters and the emotions take a backseat to the intricate plot. If you’re not utterly brilliant, however, this doesn’t work because most folks read for characters. And emotion.

Getting the emotion on the page is where you’re on your own as a writer. It has to come from within you—and it has to be real and honest. This is where that saying comes from that writing is easy—you just have to sit down and open up a vein. If you don’t feel the emotion, the reader’s not going to either. If it doesn’t cut into you, it’s not going to touch a reader.  It don’t mean a thing, if it ain’t got that swing—and you can’t fake it. Because the fake always shows up as fake—the reader always catches you out on the inauthentic.

This is where, too, I see most young (in experience, not age) writers having trouble. They either have not mastered the technique, so they’re tripping over their words—you can sense great stuff, but it’s a stumbling effort. Or they have great technique, but haven’t found a story that strikes their heart—they’re writing a story similar to what they’ve read, not their own stories.

Technique does need to be mastered—an awkward sentence or an unclear paragraph will get in the way of the emotion. It’s like watching an actor trip on the stage and forget his lines—you’re immediately pulled out of the fiction. There’s no faster way to lose the emotional moment. The technique has to flow. But once it’s out of the way, it’s time to invest yourself in the story.

And the story telling has to be there, meaning pace control, scenes that build conflict and characters that come across as living, breathing, irritating, vibrant folks.

Sometimes I wish this was extra “something” that a story needs could be taught. I’ve seen work from very good wordsmiths which just lacks this magical something—this emotion. And it’s something I struggle with in every book. It’s too easy to get caught up with the clever phrase, or the scene I “think” is good because it’s such a great twist. And I forget, once again, that it’s not about me being oh so smart. It’s about me needing to be honest, and digging down in my own emotions. It’s about making myself laugh and cry over the scenes I’m writing. It’s about being true to my characters and getting as deep into them as I can—it’s cutting open that vein.

I struggle not to be a clever writer, or a smart one. I’d rather be someone who opens up my own heart so that maybe the writing will touch someone else. And that’s where it is an art. That’s where you have to practice your craft and practice and practice—and then let go and take a flying leap into what matters most to you. When you write from your own heart, you start to be a writer, not just a wordsmith. That’s when you start to learn how to get emotion into your stories.

And now I need to go off and practice what I blog.

Writing Workshops – How to ?

May11

A friend recently asked about how to do online writing workshops.  So it seemed a good idea to put down what I’ve learned from teaching writing for about ten years now online.

Writing workshop

I’ve taught both workshop classes and online workshops, and there are some big differences. In person workshops give everyone a lot more interaction—you get to see the faces of the people in the workshop, so you can see if there are blank stares, or if folks are getting it. And those taking the workshop can direct some of the information with immediate questions.

This is not to say you can’t ask questions in an online workshop, but so often the question you send in an email or post to the workshop group might not actually be the question you need answered. Communication is an art. But that’s one of the advantages of online—you have to write down your questions, and your assignments.

I’m a big believer in assignments, or exercises. I like the interaction it spawns—when you’re teaching, you get to see if folks are really getting the information, or not. And there’s nothing like practical application to stretch your writing skills.

I also think it’s great to try new things—I like to do that with my own writing skills, just to keep them sharp, and to make sure I keep learning.

Which is a big part of teaching workshops—everyone learns, the instructor included, in a great workshop. There’s an exchange of ideas, approaches, and information. To me, a bad workshop—either online or in person—is one where that exchange, for whatever reason, doesn’t happen.  If students don’t put in, or give back, to the workshop, the whole thing becomes a dull experience—for everyone.

This means the best online workshops have a mix of participants—a few who ask tons of questions, do every exercise several times, and basically throw themselves into it, a few who do some of the assignements, but basically absorb the information, and then a few who lurk, pulling in the bits of information they need.  In person, you often have this same mix, but online, it’s somehow stands out more.

As to structure, the beauty of online is the flexibility. With an in-person workshop, there’s always the limitation of distance and time—the workshop has to be close enough to get to, and it can only last for as long as the room is available. While online workshops always have some time element to them—as in they might last a week, or two, or even a month—that’s more than enough time to cover the subject matter and allow for lots of participation. Time is extended, and since the room is a virtual one, there’s no worrying about ‘driving’ to get to the workshop—or about being late. That’s a luxury for me, too, since I can logon at any time to see questions, post a lecture, or add notes.

I’m also now developing books to go with the workshops—one of the things I’ve found is that folks want to keep and refer back to the material, and with ebooks becoming so popular, it’s going to be easy enough to have ebooks with the material available for those who would like them.  I know I’ve several writing books on my shelves and I refer back to them when I need a refresher course back—that’s what the books will do, and they’ll be a logical extension of the course.

The one thing I’m always trying to get write, too, is the amount of information taught. It’s great to have a workshop with lots of great info, but I’ve taken ones where the information is just too much—I can’t absorb it. Too little information and I start to wonder what I’m doing in that workshop. But the balance is a tricky issue in that what’s too much for one person might be just right for the next. And there’s always the experience issue.

When I taught horseback riding, you’d find great teachers who had gone past the ability to teach beginners. They no longer had the patience for beginners—and they also had been doing this for so long that what seemed obvious to them wasn’t obvious.  The level of experience a writer has can be a big impact in any class—online or in person.  A workshop has to be able to bring the least experienced writer forward with the class—but it cannot drag so much that the most experienced writer is bored. That’s a difficult task.

A range of information can help with this—as can good explanations that more experienced writers can skip past but which will help the less experienced writer keep up.

But I’m always looking for ways to improve the workshops I give—I’ve several set up for the rest of this year, and some already booked for next year, too.

So what do you like most in the workshops you’ve taken online? And what could you live without?

The Dicipline of Time

Apr27

We’re always stuck with one fact — there’s only so much time. And it’s too damn easy to waste what we have, because, let’s face it, goofing around it easier than writing.

Heck, blogging is easier than facing the blank page.

But, the good news, it’s a habit. Or it can be.

Dawn

Dawn on the ranch

My current habit is two hours every morning.  I’m up with dawn (and my coffee), and even with the move I made recently, the two hours get done because that’s my habit. I used to be a night owl, and I’d do two to four hours, but these days I find I’m fresher in the morning. I do take some time to do edits instead of fresh draft — you have to ease into writing. But no email is allowed until the hours are spent.

There are distractions — the dogs must go out, these days the horses want to be fed. And yet, I get itchy if I don’t get my hours in.

Two hours can go into revisions — such as on getting my books into e-book format (and I’ve just finished up A Dangerous Compromise, so I need a cover now).  If I’m on a roll, and the time allows, it might be more like six hours (or even more). I do like those sprints to the finish. But I don’t think I could do those without the habit.

However, there’s still only so much time and so many ideas, and there are times I just want more time. In truth, I think if I had too much time I’d fritter it, the same way one dollar bills spend easier than hundreds. And I still have other things to do — tend solar panels, these days, and walk to the well for the water.

But it’s still a good question to ask each day — what did I do with my day, and do I have pages to show for my progress? And can I get my hours in tomorrow for sure?

Workshops – Teaching and Taking

Mar21

I’ve been teaching online workshops now for a few years, and I’ve one coming up for the Show and Tell: An Interactive Workshop course with the Lowcountry Romance Writers, and every one of these is a different beast from the others. There are advantages to online workshops, the best being that you don’t have to drive, and with winter still hanging around, that’s a huge plus. But the other big plus is that, for writing, it’s all about the writing and getting the words down and communicating. That’s a challenge with just text, and so it’s why I’m always adjusting these workshops, and adding new things I’ve learned from my own writing.

Up, up and awayThere are times I feel a lot like a balloon — filled with hot air and not much else, something worth a glance. But the view is always better from up in the balloon. And while maybe I’ve covered the same material before, it only takes one questions that puts everything into a new light and makes it all fresh again.

I’m also a believer in covering the basics over and over again — you do the same thing in dance, you drill. It’s the repetition that actually leads to strong technical skills. That’s true for writing too — you really cannot cover the basics enough.

But all this leads me to think about what someone should expect from an online workshop — what is it possible to get and what is it possible to give. And since I’ve taken a few courses I have opinions about both sides of workshops.

The first job of any teacher is to engage. This means workshops shouldn’t bore. This one can be tricky online because you’re trying to balance conveying a lot of great information with trying not to overload the workshop participants — and everyone has different levels of processing. “The mind can’t absorb what the butt can’t endure” — in a classroom, you can only keeps folks sitting for so long unless you are utterly fascinating. Online that changes. Some folks read faster and some don’t; some folks retain more from what they read, some don’t. So there has to be a fair bit of repeating, balanced with the new information.

And sometimes it just takes saying the same thing several times to make it click. Short sentences help. A lot.

The second job is to inform — and my own criteria is if I get one gem, one golden nugget out of any workshop, it’s worth the price of admission. (And, yes, I’ve had a few workshops where that was missing, but almost every workshop will give you one good bit of advice — everything after that is gravy.)

With the entertaining, and the information snuck in, that covers the basic for any workshop for me. But I do think the best workshops have one more vital element — they’re fully interactive. Teaching has to be a dialogue.

I’ve lurked in workshops and I’ve participated — I always get more from the ones where I dive in and try out new things. I have more fun if I get my hands dirty. And workshops should be a place to fool around and try new things.

I also like teaching workshops more when those taking the workshop are willing to play — give and take is always more fun that either just giving, or just taking.

Which, actually, leads us back to the “show and tell” workshop — fancy that — because stories that both show and tell are also more fun that stories that just show or just tell. It’s all about balance really — in a workshop, or a story. A balance of information and engagement. A balance of give and take. A balance between showing folks how it’s done and telling. And that’s the thing about balance — it’s something that must be maintained. And I think that’s what I’m always looking for in a workshop — a well balanced flow of information.

But what’s your criteria for a great workshop?

Persistence, Polish and Promo Copy

Mar19

There are two things I regularly forget — just how much a tattoo hurts to get, and just how really difficult it is to get a book done and out the door.

Lady Scandal is now out for Kindle, Nook and on Smashwords. And somehow this ended up taking more time and effort than I thought it would. But it always does.

Lady ScandalThere’s the copy to get right–even though the book has been edited, you can always use yet another edit. And then there’s the cover, and the text formatting. And the promo copy to revise.

I’ve a love/hate relationship to promo copy. Short is much harder to write than long where you can wander. That’s why songs and poems are so damn difficult. And promo copy to encapsulate a book–you try to distill the story down to the core elements, to intrigue without giving too much away. Of course, the good thing about digital is that you can keep fussing with this.

And the bad thing about digital is that you can keep fussing with this.

Years ago, when oil painting, I got a great lesson about that. Unlike with watercolors, where each stroke must be right, with oils you can layer and build textures. I was doing this — until I put that one-too-many brush stroke on the canvas. My persistence for perfection killed that painting. That’s the writer’s dilemma.

What’s enough persistence to get the work done? What’s so much that you’re now going past the point of putting the thing down and getting it out the door? What’s so much polish that you’ve edited the life from the work–what’s needed to get it to the stage that it’s a smooth, easy read?

Persistence means not just doing, but also rechecking yourself at every phase –writing, editing, revising, and yes even putting the book out there. At least with digital you get immediate feedback (you see it selling or not, you get emails or not).

And I think, for writers, it means a pathological optimism to start with–you really do have to start off thinking it won’t be that much work. Now, excuse me, I’ve got some edits to do on the new book, and another digital copy to get out–shouldn’t take me more than a week or two to get it all done, right?

Sustainable…worlds, careers, businesses, lives, arts, etc.

Feb19

So, I’ve been thinking — a sometimes dangerous thing (yes, I once thought tuna and PB sandwiches would be a good thing — on a hike…I am surprised at times that I made it home from summer camp). But thoughts of late are of how do you keep things sustainable — worlds, careers, lives, etc, etc, etc.

The works usually applied to green living these days — a very cool, hip in-thing, and let us hope it stays cool and hip and in long enough to make a dent in changing excessive living habits. But even this seems difficult when you have folks wanting to gut the EPA which cleaned up the air, and BP trying to pretend all that oil has magically gone away. It can be difficult, too, to sustain your art…sustain a writing career…which is always a struggle, since need books must be thought of and marketing a book is as vital as writing it. And the current publishing model is not sustainable.

Fellow author Stephanie Laurens has come up with a blog Of Dinosaurs and Daffodils which speaks to this same point, with publishers taking the dino part of the analogy. And we all know what happened to them — some of them became birds. More of them wound up creatures no longer able to sustain themselves. This is very bad for writers whose work is attached to those bones.

And the main thing is, a writer used to be able to make enough from a few books to keep writing books, to keep improving craft. A writer could start out and work a career path. Publishers could and would work with writers, grow talent, help writers get past that occasional stumble. I’ve known writers who did this–heck I’ve watched Stephanie grow as a writer. But I don’t know anyone who has done this of late with a NY publisher. It seems more like authors hit, or the starve. And the middle ground is what’s fading into memory.

I know a lot of midlist author friends who can’t even think about writing for a living–and they are getting what’s considered a decent advances. But that’s all they get. The print runs are shrinking, and with Borders on the edge of dino-land, that’s going to get worse. There’s no real promotion for a book that’s expected to do okay. And with distributors ordering based on an author’s name and waht the last book did, good luck getting growth in that career.  It’s just about getting the next book out–oh, and keep them coming.

Now it’s true that not everyone can be a bestseller. There are factors that have nothing to do with talent–and sometimes nothing to do with the book. Sometimes things just hit. But the publishing business is starting to look like one that only wants the hits–and doesn’t want to spend money building its future (and future talent). This may well be due to the debt conglomerates carry–or it may be that the world is changing too fast for them. Adapt or die still holds true.

And one thing the Internet does really, really well is to satisfy niche markets. (Yes, there are horse shows for folks who customize model horses and take pictures of the outfits and settings and compete with these — something I find fascinating, and no way would this happen without the Internet since how else would you find a fellow horse model shower?) So, actually, the Internet does better with niche books — and it doesn’t do so badly with mass market either. This gives it an evolutionary edge.

There’s another big advantage to digital publishing — we’re coming back to the author being in full control of the publishing.

Back in the day…way, way, way back, before New York publishing became mega corporations, publishing started off a much more intimate affair. Someone put money on the line to print and publish books–that someone might be the author, or it might be the individual printing the books (the publisher), or it might even be fifty-fifty for them, and they’d split the money. I’m not advocating we go back to that model — I’m not even sure that’s possible. But it shows that change comes to every business. So what you have to look at is what’s sustainable and what’s not.

And what sustains your own self and craft.

I’m biased here. I think artists need to step out on edges, to be daring, and sometimes stupid (see earlier note re tuna and pb — which has since evolved to a much better, and more sustainable tuna curry). One thing that sustains art is trying new things — coming up with new things. That’s not something big corporations do very well, not unless they’ve structured and built themselves around the idea that their job is to innovate.

The next big thing to hit publishing already has hit — Kindle and Nook and they didn’t come from publishing houses or New York. The next ones after that aren’t going to either. Meaning time for authors to look at all options for what really does sustain a career, or a life, or your art.

What gets you going and keeps you going?

And what puts food on the table and a roof overhead and a computer, or pencil and paper, in your hands to give you time to keep writing?