Barnes & Noble, What Are You Thinking?

I found yet another of my galleys - advance copies, in paperback, with errors - for sale on eBay (I keep watch, because, heck, my publisher is running short of galleys, and every one I have can mean sales for me - I can hand it to an independent bookstore owner, who may read it and fall in love with it and carry it and hand-sell it to all their customers ... or offer to throw me a launch party. Don't laugh - it happened. Or I can send it off to a blogger to review and maybe fall in love with and recommend to all their readers).

So I try to get galleys wherever and however I can. I recycle them, picking them up from store owners who have finished and handing them off to other owners or to a traveling writer friend who can wave it under the noses of the stores she visits. This one, oddly, was very near my home town in Tennessee, so I asked the seller where he/she got it: a Barnes & Noble store in Knoxville gives them to their customers, he/she replied..

So my publisher pays to print this advance copy, which is perhaps handed off to the store by a sales rep (I don't think my publisher sent out copies to chain bookstores) and this store then gives it away (which, if it were to a huge fan who reads voraciously and then would recommend it to tons of people, might not be a bad thing) to a customer who then sells it on eBay. Marked "unread."

I don't get it.

Yes, galleys say NOT FOR SALE on the cover, but that seems to be a generic phrase interpreted quite loosely. Like the publisher who claimed that the contractual 40,000-copy limit for reproducing photographs was not intended to actually mean 40,000 copies and the photographers should know they're going to print, say, a million, without compensating them more.

But all this puzzles me. The store, which passes out an advance reader's copy. The recipient, who thinks nothing is wrong with selling something marked NOT FOR SALE that they were given as a gift, to read, presumably.

And, well, maybe me, who is just dopey enough to try to make sense of all this.

Publishers Weekly Speaks Up

A friend just sent me this review of my novel from Publishers Weekly (I've left out several sentences in the middle that tell some pivotal details, and a confusing one at the end, for those who prefer to find out things as they read):

Sara J. Henry, Crown, $24 (304p) ISBN 978-0-307-71838-9
Freelance writer Troy Chance, the protagonist of Henry's impressive first novel, impulsively, and literally, dives into trouble when she sees a youngster fall from a ferry boat on Lake Champlain. Troy manages to rescue the boy, discovers that his fall was no accident, and after brief, anonymous reports to the police, embarks on an ill-conceived attempt to become the boy's protector. ... Henry adroitly handles Troy's exposure to new emotions as she re-examines her life and relationships .... (Feb.)

I'll admit I'm somewhat amazed that people are "getting" this book, which I think is a bit quirky and in a sense straddles genres - sort of suspense, sort of thriller, sort of, well, just a novel. And PS, no, the journey's not over - a sequel comes out in 2012.

One of the Things I Like About Vermont

... is that events are posted as occurring in places like: The Little Stone Church, Chester, Vermont. That's it - no street address, no route number, no clues. Some Googling lets you know that there's a cluster of stone buildings in Chester, or, as you discover later after you've set forth on your quest, in the area sort of outside of Chester known as Chester Depot. Because, perhaps, it's on or near Depot Road, which is perhaps also 103 or perhaps 11.

But you find it. And you get to hear writer friends read from their books as you sit on what are perhaps the world's most uncomfortable church pews, and later chat with the writers and the husband-and-wife bookseller and her mother, and when you cast about a look that somehow signals you are searching for a restroom, someone nods toward a tiny narrow staircase and says It's behind the furnace, and you follow the sound of the furnace through a labyrinth of rooms to find the restroom. And you discover from your chat with writers and booksellers that there was a huge ice storm near you yesterday, with multiple accidents and turned-over firetrucks, that somehow completely missed your little enclave. And the bookseller wife says that the advance copy of your novel is on her nightstand waiting to be read and that she'll pass it on to her mother when she's done, and then you find a shortcut home and drive down your little dirt road and to your house, where you left the wood stove nicely banked, so all you have to do is open the damper and vent so it bursts into flame to drive away the late afternoon chill that's crept into the house.

And then you go back to work on your second novel.

And this is one of the reasons you love Vermont.

Signed Copy of Todd Ritter's DEATH NOTICE - Free!

I've ended up with an extra copy of Todd Ritter's intriguing debut mystery DEATH NOTICE (Minotaur), signed by the author - and it's yours for the taking - suitable for gift-giving! Just leave a comment below and a way for me to contact you, and I'll either choose at random or pick the comment I like the best. US only, please - I'm on an austerity budget that doesn't allow for shipping overseas. Er, except when I'm swapping books with pals in the UK or Australia, and then not often. Contest ends Thursday, or when I get 15 entries. Here's what Publishers Weekly says:

Unusually interesting people encounter unusually ghastly murders in New Jersey journalist Ritter's engaging debut. Single-mom police chief Kat Campbell of peaceful Perry Hollow, Pa., is shocked to find a local farmer's corpse left by the side of the road in a homemade coffin, his lips sewn together and his veins pumped full of formaldehyde. Meanwhile, Henry Goll, reclusive obituary writer for the Perry Hollow Gazette, is startled to realize that the man's death notice was faxed to him before the murder ... The murderer keeps nimbly ahead of his pursuers, even after Nick Donnelly, a state cop obsessed with serial killers, arrives on the scene. The action verges on pulp fiction melodrama, until a fiery conclusion ... Even then, however, Ritter treats his main characters - sympathetic, believably vulnerable people - with respect.

If I Had Been Only Half This Wise at 16 ...

I'm lifting this wholesale from my Aussie friend Steph's blog - now you have an inkling of why I started reading this kid's blog, devoured her novel in manuscript form, and uttered (okay, emailed) those apocryphal words Have you thought about getting an agent? And why I love this kid and think of her as the kid I would love to have had, and part of the reason I'm busting with pride that she got a book deal at age 15 with a damn fine novel with quirky characters that resonate (and no vampires). And yes, I want to know what the hell octopus ink jelly is, although I think it's self-evident why she tasted it (who could resist?)

Dear Young Steph,

1. External circumstances don't make people happy. Nobody ever reaches a particular weight or gets a book published or some other goal and instantaneously has inner peace. There's always something else.
2. Octopus ink jelly is really awful. Just don't go there. (Source: An unfortunate yum-cha experience.)
3. Everything you fear - apart from rational things, like fear of the zombie apocalypse - is not half as scary as you might expect. Get on public transport, kid.
4. Everything will be worthwhile. Everybody has a different path in life. Feel free to rebel against norms and be yourself, and never feel regretful or as if you're missing out.
5. Being a vegetarian is not as crazy and difficult as everyone makes out. You'll feel better about yourself.
6. Happiness and family and love and being a good person are all far more important than money, though it helps if you have a roof over your head and food in the fridge.
7. It isn't the end of the world, ever. It doesn't matter what it is, or how big and impossible it feels, everything keeps going and it'll get better. But 2012 might be the end of the world. I'll keep you posted on that.
8. I know you like thinking about stuff. And that's okay. But sometimes you have to actually go out in the world and live life. You can only do so much living in your head before you start getting a bit stir-crazy in there.
9. Treat other people the way you want to be treated. And treat yourself the way you treat the people you care about - with love and kindness. You're kind of stuck with yourself for life, and you're better off thinking good things about yourself. There's more than enough people in the world who'll tear you down without you helping out.
10. Don't be so sarcastic. Laugh more, even when people say 'You laugh too much' (and they will, because people are no fun!). Give everybody a hug. Be yourself, but a bit more confident. It helps.

Love,
Slightly Less Young Steph

I can't think of a better Thanksgiving day post. Thank you, Steph.

Not Quite a Voice from the Grave

One of the things that makes me ache is that my dad's not here for me to tell him I have a novel coming out - he died way too soon, some 18 years ago. I got advance notice of my first review yesterday, and it's a good one, and I was sitting yesterday evening trying to get my head around the fact that I have a novel coming out from a major publisher, that five book clubs will be featuring it, that a reviewer I don't know read my book and liked it and well, got it, and understood the main character and what I was trying to achieve on the page, and I thought about my dad and all the books he brought home and how he let me read his Travis McGee series when I was barely in my teens (there's a reason for certain scenes in my book - John D. McDonald's writing stuck with me), and I was wishing he knew that I'd finally done it, finally written a novel, finally done something I barely even dreamed of doing.

And today I'm on the phone discussing a friend's writing, jotting notes on the back of a used sheet of paper on a pad (because when you're a writer without a steady source of income, or shoot, when you're me, you use the back side of pieces of paper, and then you use the wadded-up piece to start the next fire in your wood stove) and as I got to the end of the sheet of paper I saw some pencilled numbers jotted down on the bottom of the cardboard back of the pad.

And they were in my dad's writing.

I flipped the pad over and saw the orange 39-cent price tag that said he probably bought it at Big Lot's, where he liked to shop because, well, he survived growing up hungry and with holes in his shoes, and he was going to make damned that didn't happen to his kids ... I must have salvaged the pad when I helped clean his office and put it into a stack of paper to be used, and out it came nearly two decades later to be used and flipped over, on a day when his daughter most needed to see a bit of her beloved father. Who, I know, would have been proud of her.

It's as close to a message from the grave as I'm going to get.

Thank you, Dad.

I've Found Heaven ... and It's Called Northshire Bookstore

Last night I went to visit a bookstore a few towns over. It's in a small area I've never been in, because, well, the road doesn't go anywhere I go, but when I head to northern Vermont I pass within a few miles of it.

To say I was gobsmacked was putting it lightly. This wasn't just a bookstore - it's the FAO Schwartz of bookstores, the Disneyland of bookstores. The died-and-gone-to-heaven of bookstores ... a bookstore I didn't think could exist in this day of chain stores and online shopping and instant downloads.

Photo lifted from Northshire Bookstore site

It is incredible. It's big, but doesn't seem big. It's multi-level. It's filled with nooks and crannies, with comfortable chairs and sofas, giant wood beams holding up the walls, new books and old, a cafe, a print-on-demand machine (the first I've actually seen), an expansive children's section with gorgeous games and toys, hand-written recommendations from staff members lining the shelves. Books - did I mention books? What an amazing selection. Oh, yeah, music and gifts and everything else, too.

It's a family-owned business, started small and in the mid-1980s moved into a renovated inn and restaurant. Apparently people come from miles around to shop here - and, oh, how I understand. I didn't want to leave. I wandered through it like a kid visiting Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.

And this mecca is a mere 35 miles from my house. It's Northshire Bookstore, in Manchester Center, Vermont. You know where I'll be hanging out.

Note: Photos don't do this place justice, but run through some of this video, and you'll see what I mean. 

Coming Soon, to a Book Club Near You ...

LEARNING TO SWIM, my debut novel, which comes out Feb. 22 from Crown, has been selected as featured alternate in Doubleday Book Club, Literary Guild, Book of the Month Club, Mystery Guild and Doubleday Large Print.

Why I Love Getting Packages from England

Books I can't find here - a Michael Robotham I missed and an RJ Ellory. (I have a nice book-trading system set up!)

"Look, MFA Programs, Stop Being So Snobbish"

Look, MFA programs, stop being so snobbish. You’re not making your students better artists by sending them out into their fields with NO KNOWLEDGE of the business side of things. You’re leaving them vulnerable to bad deals, and putting them into a position where they can be taken advantage of. You set up the conditions in which your artists end up slaving away because they didn’t know any better than to sign on the dotted line. You make this James Frey situation possible. Devote a few weeks to teaching your students some survival skills. After all the money you’ve taken from them, they’re going to need to know how to make some more. - Maureen Johnson, "The James Frey Problem"

The "problem," which has been covered this week in multiple outlets, including New York and The Wall Street Journal, involves MFA students leaping at the chance to write books for the James Frey "book factory," for payments of $250 (yes, you read that right) and a share of potential profits - but with contracts regarded as quite problematic on many counts.

Am I Nuts That I Find This Hilarious?

Or just a besotted dog owner? Thanks, Gale Malesky, for posting this on Facebook.



And yikes, there are more videos of Ginger. (I really admire a person who can make a sandwich without looking.)

Because Quoting Other Blogs Is More Fun Than Blogging Myself ...

Back in the 80's, someone had decided to make her male loved one a sweater of the sort Bill Cosby wore on his show. She bought herself a book; she bought herself needles; she bought yarn. And then she bought some more yarn. And then, because buying yarn is possibly the most fun you have with yarn, she bought some more yarn. On cold winter nights, she'd eat some soup or some chili and, flipping through the knitting book, dream of putting all the men in her life in matching sweaters of great comfort and no particular color. - from The QC Report, "Silent Night"

Only Quinn can create an entire history around an unwanted basket of yarn at a silent auction.

Have You Backed Up Your Blog Lately?

Think about it - you have a lot of good stuff on your blog. If your account gets pirated (it happens) or something goes wrong, all that good stuff has evaporated into the ether.

On Blogger (Blogspot) it's easy  - go to Design/Settings/Basic and click on Export blog - and then Download Blog, click on Save File and OK. (You may get to choose where you want it to download to, or it may automatically download to a default place, sometimes your desktop.) That's it. It saves as an XML file you can access your posts from or import to a blog if needed. Easy, free, fast. Just, er, don't save it only to your hard drive, because hard drives fail (it's not a question of if, but when) and computers get stolen.

Sometimes I Get Tired of Playing Pioneer Woman

Sometimes, it gets old.

It gets old keeping a battery-powered lantern beside the bed and a flashlight in every room for when the power goes out. It gets old making sure you have plenty of used paper and twigs and dry logs for your wood stove. It gets old rationing water and counting the number of flushes you have available before the water stored in your pump runs out. It gets old remembering to keep your teapot full of tea and coffee pre-made so you can heat it on the wood stove (and to figure out just how long to leave it before it turns to sludge) and to keep plenty of food on hand that can be consumed without cooking and doesn't taste too bad cold (tricky when you can't eat wheat or much sugar: normal snack and quick-meal foods = wheat, wheat, wheat + sugar, sugar, sugar).

You get tired of typing frantically in the dark until your laptop battery runs down, and then sitting in your running car to plug your computer into a Rube Goldberg contraption that hooks to your cigarette lighter. Of cursing yourself because you didn't bathe the night before or and print your mailing labels or wash that last load of laundry when you had the chance - when you had power. Of hunkering over your laptop in the parking lot of the local tavern, parked close to the building so you can cadge their wi-fi to check your email and voice mails (because, well, your broadband phone doesn't work when the power is out). Cell phone? That works only if you drive down past the covered bridge nearly to the nearest largish town. You keep a bare-bones landline phone, because you're not an idiot, but few people know or use that phone number.

Vermont is a lovely state, with many lovely trees. But during storms (of which there are also many),  these trees frequently hurl themselves with wild abandon across power lines. And when trees hit power lines, the power goes out. For a few hours ... or a few days.

I know the routine. Find the nearest flashlight, trek to the kitchen and the hard-wired phone, call the power company and wait on hold. After reporting the outage to the woman on the other end of the phone (Can you see any power lines down? she asks merrily. It is 6.30 am, dark and pouring buckets, but you refrain from pointing out that you're not going to go for a hike to find out). But when she says cheerily Well, you're all set then, meaning she has your information - you cannot stop yourself from saying sardonically Actually, I'm not - I don't have any electricity or water and I haven't been able to start a fire in the wood stove because I've been on hold for 15 minutes and I'm cold and hungry.

The cold leftover stew I had for breakfast did not improve my spirits much. Things did get better once I got a fire going, and had some tea left in the pot from yesterday.

But I think it's time to buy a generator.

Note: It's a sign of the sort of friends I have that the first two people I mention this to - one a Vermonter, one a Pennsylvanian - not only don't say What are you talking about? but tell me how much I will love a generator and describe what features to look for.

Now Officially the Most Viewed Quinn Cummings Video

It was a long time coming (no pun intended) but the video Quinn Cummings did about my books (then just in manuscript format) has now beaten out her other videos - with 1,422 viewings.

You can watch the whole video - she starts talking about LEARNING TO SWIM at around the 1.40 mark. Yep, there's a reason I love Quinn. PS - She likes the next novel too - she's one of the very few who has gotten to read a few chapters. PPS - If you haven't bought Quinn's book NOTES FROM THE UNDERWIRE yet and I haven't given you a copy, get one.

The book will be available Feb. 22. Hey, it's sooner than you think! You can tell your local bookstore you'd like them to carry it.

The Awesome A.S. King Signs at Clinton Book Shop

If you haven't bought a copy of PLEASE IGNORE VERA DIETZ by A.S. King yet, get yours now. It's getting astounding and well-deserved reviews (I did a brief review back when I read an advance copy). This book is destined to be a classic - you heard it here.

And I won't talk here about the incredibly great visit I had with Amy and her family, the wonderful Mr. King and their daughters, the famous chicken and black bean enchiladas, and all the rest.

Wherein VodkaMom Meets LEARNING TO SWIM

Meeting VodkaMom at a top-secret, undisclosed location

On my recent travels, I met up with VodkaMom, a wonderful writer and very cool person (who remains incognito, because she's a kindergarten teacher by day) - who was delighted to see an advance copy of my novel.