PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A SENIOR CITIZEN by Victoria Chatham

Book 1 of The Buxton Chronicles

(with apologies to James Joyce)

I was asked for bio notes and a photograph.

Photograph? Of me? I have always considered myself totally unphotogenic and really dislike having my photograph taken, so such a thing is like hens’ teeth. It doesn't exist. But, the project in which I became involved required it. I thought I might just be able to get something a bit better than my driver’s licence or passport picture by playing around with my webcam - if only I could find it.

Now, I’m not the smartest when it comes to using my laptop for anything but writing, simple spread sheets, emailing and searching the Internet. However, I had managed to take a photo with my webcam once before. Surely it couldn’t be so hard? I thought I could use the search feature to find the webcam, but have you noticed that computers will only find what you are looking for when you input the correctly worded query? Find webcam, how to use the webcam, open the webcam – none of these had the desired effect. I finally searched All Programs. Voila!

However, once I had opened the webcam, the screen was like snow. Panic set in. What could be wrong? Nothing as it turned out. I simply switched the light in my office on and bingo, could see myself on my computer screen. I thought about all the hints and tips about taking photographs that I’d ever heard or read. In profile is often better than full face. Look up into the camera. Try smiling naturally rather than the ‘big cheese’ grin. And then there was the color aspect.

Having been professionally color coded at some sales presentation many years ago, I knew which colors enhanced my natural coloring. Only trouble was, back then my hair was dark brown, almost black in fact. Now it iwas grey going on white. Does that make a difference? I thought not, so pulled shirts, blouses and tops from my wardrobe, all with appropriate accessories.

I still had a dog when this palaver took place. The activity totally confused him as he sat watching these quick changes. He was smart. He knew the difference between going-to-work clothes and going-to-the-park clothes. After my third change of top and jewelery he gave up and went to bed, curling up on his feather pillow (he wasn’t at all spoiled) in a disgusted ball.

My first outfit was a powder blue blouse. When I bought it I thought it was smart but, with or without the string of pearls around my neck, it made me feel like a positive dowager. At what point had I started to regress to a more youthful image? I missed that moment altogether. Next I went for a dark blue shirt. I didn’t like that either. Finally I tried a never-been-worn white shirt. Now, I was told on more than one occasion that white is my color, but not when I owned a black dog that shed hair like a frightened cat.

Next was to arrange a back drop that did not include books growing out the top of my head. I cleared my desk and moved my laptop around so that I just had the wall behind me. That was great, except for the fact there was hardly any room for me between the end of the desk and the wall. I turned the laptop around and perched it on the opposite end of the desk, but then I got a corner of the door in the picture and for the life of me could not find an angle to exclude it.

Back to the narrow spot. I might add here that moving my desk was not an option. By now the dog had left his bed and was sat in the middle of the floor watching me and no doubt wondering what the hell his idiot person was up to. Now to practice a natural smile. Have you ever wondered what a natural smile looks like? No? Me neither. I tried to think of something funny, but where do the jokes go when you want them? My brain was dead and I wasn’t getting any inspiration from the picture that gazed back at me from my screen.

I leaned in closer to the camera, but this did not achieve the look I wanted. I turned slightly sideways and found it was not easy to look out the corner of my eye and have my hands on the keyboard ready to take a picture. I tipped my head up, then down and then remembered that looking up into a camera is supposed to produce the best picture.

So now I tried sitting lower than my laptop and looked up into it. I looked like Oliver, asking for more. Not a good look. By now I was giggling like a teenager at this performance. Oh, the things we do in the privacy of our own homes! At least my laughter produced the more natural look the pundits recommended. I returned to my spot between the desk and the wall, still laughing at myself for my stupid antics. Said dog had by now retired once more to his bed, having given up on his lunatic human.

I tried a few more poses, altered the angle of my desk lamp, and finally got a shot that I could live with. Those are the pictures gracing my Facebook pages. The pictures that a friend of my daughter’s recently mentioned make me look old and advised me to ‘sharpen them up’.

I still don’t like having my photograph taken but I’ve moved beyond using my webcam. I don’t have a smartphone or iphone, so taking a selfie is out of the question. Who coined that word anyway? Is it really a word?

Recently I had pictures taken by a professional photographer. Very soon I’ll be updating my Facebook and web site pictures and hopefully, I won’t have to go through that process again for a very long time.

You can find out more about Victoria (with or without pictures) at:

www.bookswelove.com/chatham.php
www.amazon.com/author/victoriachatham
www.facebook.com/AuthorVictoriaChatham

Muses, Wine-making and the Art of Automotive Maintenance by Frank Talaber

Purchase Raven's Lament from Amazon

Yeah okay some of this title you read before, most likely back in the weed induced seventies but Robert M. Pirsig did make a fortune off that book, Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

So I swore I'd never twitter, eat toast upside down while making a phone call or do a blog. So here I am. Well the digital era happened and if it wasn't for ebooks, I'd still be sending out letters to publishers. Current total before my first book was accepted 398 rejections. So if I hear one more person saying, oh I'm one of the lucky ones, got accepted on my first send out. GRRR, she'll be wearing my glass of red wine down the front of her dress, don't care if it's Donna Karan or Walmart. Speaking of Walmart, ever seen any of those Walmartians? Wow, what kind of bad Rice Krispies did these people eat to think that looks good in public. Wouldn't dress my 1991 Honda Civic in those clothes and I buried that thirty years ago.

            Yes, I've had many short stories accepted over the years or short-listed, can check a few out a readwave.com. My first novel I entered into anything was Raven's Lament, back in Jan/2000. Yup, virtually pre-internet. I entered it into the Chapters novel contest. I needed 5,000 words, and had 8,000 written and thought what the heck, give it a go, wasn't working at the time and if pushed could crank it out over a month. Hey, people crash write novels over a long weekend here in Canada. Yes, cold, long winters and nothing else to do. Hence the popularity of Tim Horton's, you should see the lineups at those places. So I go to a job interview Jan 10th for a automotive technicians job and get two phonecalls that afternoon. One to say I've got the job, start tomorrow, full time and second to say I've made the semi-finals of the contest. Need to submit, by the 31st of the month at least a 50,000 word manuscript.

            After banging my head against the wall several times and jumping up and down in glee, I told my former wife (could be what lead to the end, don't know) leave me alone for the next 21 days, I need to pound out a novel. At the time I met a lady in one of my writing groups, who was an editor, she was bored and living in Toronto, and I was in Chilliwack, British Columbia. So, I'd send her emails at night, read the edits the next morning and on the way to work, scribble deliriously. Didn't have a car at the time, rode public transit, although I've been known to bomb down highway one and pencil thoughts as they came to me. Yes, distracted driving, I know, fine me now officer.

            I did manage to make the dead line, didn't get any further, but it was by far one of the most exciting writing experiences of my life. On the edge of the muse. I've always told writers you need to get into the flow. It was something I learned back in a creative writing course I took in high school. I remember the first day of class and the teacher plunking a writing book on each desk and saying "this is your manual for this course." I naively stuck up my hand and said, "yes, but its blank. Nothing but blank lined pages." "Your job is to fill it." My first thought was, should have joined the typing class instead, easier credits and way more females in the group. We had to sit for the first half of the class and write. I remember the first few days about the girl in front of me, how boring the white walls were and by the end of the class pounding several pages and taking the writing pad home and pounding out several more.

Okay I've exposed verbally too much now and need to save something for next months blog, titled: How Do I get the monkey out of the tree and drinking lattes Instead.

OH, I forgot, Automotive tip. The reason the dashlights are called idiot lights are this. The oil light on most cars, are fed off of mainline oil pressure, so when the pressure has dropped below a set value, the light comes on. By this time you usually have about one or two cups of oil in the oilpan instead of five liters (or pints) depending on where you live. The damage is already done about two weeks before this, so check the oil regularily or give me a call at work and I'll gladly give you a quote on a new engine.

And as for Robert's Book, he sold 5 million copies to 121 publishers and I got bored after about page 50 or so. So there's no telling what people will buy these days, hey ask what's her name with the several colors of overcast sky. Man, why didn't I think of that book?

PS. Next month I'll give you a few wine making tips, I've run out of time here and Jude is giving me the evil eye, I'm well past the allotted two paragraphs. Wait until next month. Okay I change my mind; blogging is kinda cool, like verbose writing without the pencil.

Sincerely

Frank Talaber

http://about.me/ftalaber

https://www.facebook.com/ftalaber/author

http://www.readwave.com/frank.talaber/stories/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8092362.Frank_Talaber

https://www.authonomy.com/user/34247e0c-bcc7-4cfc-8d5a-41ab1b79532e/

http://bcbooklook.com/about/whos-who/

http://www.cyclamensandswords.com/frank_talaber_aug_2012.php

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Frank-Talaber/805296946204873

How does an author hook readers in today’s fickle world? by Sandy Semerad

 The great writer John Steinbeck has been quoted as saying, “If there is a magic in story writing, and I am convinced that there is, no one has ever been able to reduce it to a recipe that can be passed from one person to another. The formula seems to lie solely in the aching urge of the writer to convey something he feels important to the reader. If the writer has that urge, he may sometimes but by no means always find the way to do it.”

            Steinbeck’s eloquent quote explains why I write. I have an aching urge to communicate.

But is my aching urge a formula for success in today’s fickle world with its fierce competition?

Book marketers say no. They say there are too many books vying for attention. Authors can’t afford to wax poetic for pages and pages, painting the scene, stroke by stroke, as Steinbeck did, and expect to hold a reader’s attention.

Readers are not only fickle but impatient, they say. Today’s writer must hook the reader from the first sentence. Writing a great book, doesn’t equal a best seller anymore. 

Whenever I’m in a book store, I try to observe and learn. I want to know what makes a reader buy.

I’ve learned most consumers examine the front cover, read the blurb to see if the story sounds interesting and then turn to the first chapter to read the first sentence or two.

I’m no marketing expert, but they claim author popularity is the number one reason why a book sells. Also the first sentence must hook the reader.

So I thought it might be fun to see if you’d buy the following books after reading their first sentences.

“To the red country and part of the grey country of Oklahoma, the last rains came gently, and they did not cut the scarred earth.” (From John Steinbeck’s masterpiece, Grapes of Wrath, published in 1939).

“The Santa Anas blew in hot from the desert, shriveling the last of the spring grass into whiskers of pale straw.” (From White Oleander, by Janet Finch, published in 1999).

“On a chilly morning in February with a misty rain shuttering the windows, Devin and Rosie Cauldwell made slow, sleepy love.” (From The Search by Nora Roberts).

“Barry Fairbrother did not want to go out to dinner.” (From The Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling).

“The tumor in my father’s pancreas was removed last week in an operation that lasted five hours and was more difficult than his surgeons had expected.” (From Calico Joe by John Grisham).

“Deputy Keith Clayton hadn’t heard them approach, and up close, he didn’t like the looks of them any more than he had the first time he’d seen them.” (The Lucky One by Nicholas Sparks).

“Fiona Carson left her office with the perfect amount of time to get to the boardroom for an important meeting.” (Power Play by Danielle Steele).

“The first hail of bullets was fired from the house shortly after daybreak at six fifty-seven.” (Deadline by Sandra Brown).

“In those days cheap apartments were almost impossible to find in Manhattan, so I had to move to Brooklyn.” (Sophie’s Choice by William Styron.)

“There are four acknowledged ways of meeting your maker.” (Simple Genius by David Baldacci).

“When he was nearly thirteen, my bother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.” (To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee).

“I’ve always wondered what people felt in the final few hours of their lives.” (The Neighbor by Lisa Gardner).

To play fair, I have included the following first sentences from my books:

 “On a snowy morning in Atlanta, Carrie Sue rummaged through an old cedar chest, searching for a journal.” (A Message in the Roses).

“My heart hammered a warning when I opened the door to leave the beach house.” (Hurricane House).

“If you had seen me on that day you would have said I was a hyper child, not the mother of a teenager.” (Sex, Love & Murder, previously Mardi Gravestone).

I must confess, I don’t worry too much about perfecting a first sentence until I’ve finished the first draft. 
     Writing a story is more fun when I can write freely, get the story out, before I have to go back, edit and rewrite.

     As to hooking a magnitude of readers in today’s fickle world, that’s my dream. 
     Although I kind of like what Steinbeck advised: “Forget your generalized audience. In the first place, the nameless, faceless audience will scare you to death and in the second place, unlike the theater, it doesn't exist. In writing, your audience is one single reader. I have found that sometimes it helps to pick out one person—a real person you know, or an imagined person and write to that one.”

I’m trying to follow his advice.

To learn more about me and my writing, please visit my website: www.sandysemerad.com

Or my publisher’s site: http://bookswelove.net/authors/semerad-sandy/

To buy, go here: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_13?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=sandy+semerad&sprefix=sandy+semerad%2Caps%2C236

click here to purchase from Amazon