By: Bella Stander,
on 6/14/2009
I got all choked up reading this piece in today's LA Times by YA author Kerry Madden, who's spoken at my workshops:
By: Bella Stander,
on 5/27/2009
BEA checklist:
1) Get teeth cleaned at dentist.
2) Do laundry.
3) Get online boarding pass.
4) Dither over what outfits to pack.
5) Print out "Polish Your Pitch" workshop program.
6) Confirm party & dinner dates.
7) 9:15 pm - Plant sunflower & morning glory seeds outside in the dark.
Maybe, just maybe, I'll find time to do some blog posts from BEA. Then again, maybe not...
By: Bella Stander,
on 5/27/2009
Snowball the trespasser beats a slow-motion retreat from Max the Mauler.
While I was making sales calls for Bella Terra Maps this afternoon, some high drama was playing out next to the house. Next-door neighbor Snowball came over, and as usual, had a faceoff with Max.
We can't figure out whether Snowy is really stupid or just stubborn. Max almost always beats up on him when he comes over, and Jenny almost always barks at him and chases him away. (She didn't today only because she was napping.) Still, he's constantly in our yard, and sometimes even sits on a kitchen windowsill and peers inside.
We have feline rock-paper-scissors going in the neighborhood: Max clobbers Snowy, Snowy clobbers the black cat across the alley, and that cat clobbers Max.
By: Bella Stander,
on 5/23/2009
My one and only child was born at 12:26pm on May 23, 1989. He was due on May 13, but--setting a pattern for later life--arrived in his own time, well after I was completely exasperated. (That's him at left, age 5, styled by himself, down to the sticker on his right shin.)
Those last 10 days were the longest in my life. I lay like a beached whale, reading a one-volume collection of Jane Austen, interrupted by phone calls from family and friends to see whether I'd given birth yet. I got so fed up that I started responding, "Yeah, I had the baby and didn't tell you," or "I decided not to have the baby, and just stay pregnant forever."
I went into labor around 6:00am on May 22. It felt like mild menstrual cramps. Wow, I thought, this is going to be easy! How wrong I was. After 30 hours of fruitless and often agonizing labor, I had a caesarean section, and the Boy Wonder was pulled squalling into the world. At 9 lbs, 12 oz, he was 50% bigger than the next-largest baby of the 6 in the nursery at Wayne County General Hospital, in Honesdale, PA (best known as the home of Highlights for Children). Those 10 extra days in utero gave him a roll of fat at the back of his neck as thick as my pinky, huge round cheeks and a crease in his chubby chin. The discharging doctor called him "Moose."
That was the last time the Boy Wonder was fat. As I've often joked over the years, my plump little dumpling stretched out to be a long piece of spaghetti. More like capellini, as he's now 6'4" and 132 lbs. I call him "the human hummingbird," because he has to eat his weight daily to stay alive. Well, almost: 4 meals, plus big snacks. When he was with the Obama campaign, he managed to lose weight while having 2 super-sized Big Macs and a milkshake for lunch, plus an equally big breakfast and dinner.
Now my little baby is an Economics major. Today I was working in the garden, dressed in the Carhartt men's overalls (women's pants are never long enough) I bought as my first maternity outfit. And tonight I'll continue rereading Pride and Prejudice, from the same volume I read in what was truly a lifetime ago.
The Boy Wonder at Obama's acceptance speech in Denver (detail of photo that ran in NYT 8/30/08).
By: Bella Stander,
on 5/17/2009
A couple of years ago I planted a Stayman Winesap apple tree in my backyard. I since found out that it's self-unfruitful, meaning it needs another variety to pollinate it. Yesterday I bought two Cortland apple trees at Home Depot, instead of a Cortland and a Jonagold, (mis)remembering that they were good pollinators for Stayman. I just did some online research and found out that Cortland and Jonagold are the absolute wrong trees to plant with Stayman, as they won't cross-pollinate. Not that the Stayman has produced any flowers to date. But, ever the eternal optimistic (or deluded) gardener, I want to be ready for next year.
Deep into my Google search, I found this tidbit on a website about old apple varieties:
During the American Revolution, captured Hessian soldiers held near Winchester VA planted an orchard with Fameuse (aka Snow) apples.
My curiosity piqued, I did a search for Hessian soldiers Virginia, and found some fascinating--and appalling--stuff.
In a Wikipedia article on Winchester:
Hessian soldiers were known for walking to the high ridge north and west of town and purchasing and eating apple pies from the Quakers. Thus, this ridge west of town became affectionately known as Apple Pie Ridge and the Ridge Road built before 1709 leading north from town was renamed Apple Pie Ridge Road.In the New York Times there is a March 31, 1912, article with the innocuous headline Virginia Mountains Shelter Colony of Lost Hessians.
Descendants of Hirelings in Revolutionary War Who After Their Release Took Refuge in Gloomy Hills Near Charlottesville, Live There in Rude Huts, A Law to Themselves and a Forgotten Band.Those would be the same hills that visitors ooh and aah over when I take them for drives around C'ville.
As we have recently learned, the Blue Ridge mountaineers are a fearless, lawless folk of the purest Anglo-Saxon blood. They have a native intelligence and furnish the best kind of material for a civilization to be built upon. A good citizen can be made out of a Blue Ridge dweller when put in the right environment....Wow! It gets even better:
The Hessians are quite different. They have little if any understanding of modern morality. Marriage is a luxury, which has seldom lingered at their doors.
There is hardly a cabin in these mountains which does not harbor an idiot, the result of atrocious family relations.
When neighbourly quarrels arise they usually fight it out with sticks and stones and their big bony fists. Firearms are reserved for the wild turkeys and quail.The reporter supposedly heard a woman being beaten by her husband. Next day the reporter asked her brother what he was going to do about it. The supposed reply?
The Hessian women do most of the heavy work. The men cut a little wood and train the coon dogs. If the women become unruly they are whipped by their husbands.
"Well, I reckon I can't do much. Fact is, I was a beatin' my own wife last night."In the Good Old Days at the Newspaper of Record, I guess reporters weren't required to actually report and cite sources if unsubstantiated opinions and vaudeville jokes would do just as well.
By: Bella Stander,
on 5/5/2009
Glenda Jackson in Marat/Sade.
By: Bella Stander,
on 5/1/2009
So yesterday I went to see neurosurgeon "Dr B" (actually Dr L, but he was B in The Circle Game and so he shall remain), for the first time since November.
Within 30 seconds, the truth was revealed to me in a blinding flash: Most surgeons are arrogant boors.
I told Dr B that I'd been passed along from one crony to another in his medical center, with no resolution.
"Why do you think that is?" he shot back.
"Because they don't have any answers, so they send me along to the next guy?"
"Why do you think that is?" he said again.
"Um...because they can't figure it out?"
"Did you ever think that maybe it's because your case is very complicated, and there are no easy answers?"
He had the same patronizing tone as Dr Schmuck. What the hell is it with these guys?
"So you're saying that nothing can be done?"
"No, I'm not saying that. Surgery can be done, but I'm not waving any magic lollipops. So if you're in horrible pain afterwards, don't say I made you any promises. And don't call me begging for more pain medicine, because I won't prescribe any."
(Note: Back in November, Dr B insisted that I take Elavil, "whether you want to or not!" I lasted all of a day on it.)
Let us draw a discreet veil over the rest of Dr B's speechifying, which brought me to tears yet again.
In summary:
By: Bella Stander,
on 5/1/2009
The glasses I was wearing on May 1, 2006.
By: Bella Stander,
on 4/26/2009
When I pick up a new poetry book
I always glance first at the biographical note
If the poet has children I don't read the book
--Bill Knott
By: Bella Stander,
on 4/25/2009
Look what some of my YA clients have been up to!
Katie Alender, BAD GIRLS DON'T DIE
Tanya Egan Gibson, HOW TO BUY A LOVE OF READING
Fran Cannon Slayton, WHEN THE WHISTLE BLOWS
By: Bella Stander,
on 4/19/2009
“People think it’s so hard to leave New York, but it’s easy. You just pack up all your stuff in boxes and call a truck.”That's what The Ex and I did 20 years ago (to our friends' horror), only we had our own truck so didn't even have to make a call.
--Garth Stein (THE ART OF RACING IN THE RAIN), quoted in NYT State of the Unions
By: Bella Stander,
on 4/1/2009
Much-needed laughs for April Fool's Day:
Twitter switch for Guardian, after 188 years of ink
• Newspaper to be available only on messaging service
• Experts say any story can be told in 140 characters
If the Dogs Had Twitter (ROFBOL!)
Some jokes just write themselves:
Sebelius admits errors, pays $7,000 in back taxes
By: Bella Stander,
on 3/25/2009
When in New York two weeks ago, I went to the musical revue, "Brother Can You Spare a Dime?" at The Triad on W 72nd St. (More about that in another post.)
Afterwards when I congratulated the show's director (and tenor) Bill Daugherty, he gave me a CD of his previous production, "When the Lights Go On Again." It's a lovely compilation of WWII songs, some of them little-known, with fantastic harmonies.
I was listening to the CD in the car this morning and this song wrung my heart--so much that I listened to it twice. Change just a few details and it could apply to many refugees today.
My Sister and I
Lyrics by Joan Whitney Kramer & Hy Zaret
Music by Alex Kramer
My sister and I remember still
A tulip garden by an old Dutch mill,
And the home that was all our own until ...
But we don't talk about that.
My sister and I recall once more
The fishing schooners pulling into shore,
And the dog-cart we drove in days before ...
But we don't talk about that.
We're learning to forget the fear
That came from a troubled sky.
We're almost happy over here,
But sometimes we wake at night and cry.
My sister and I recall the day
We said goodbye, then we sailed away.
And we think of our friends that had to stay,
But we don't talk about that.
By: Bella Stander,
on 3/18/2009
"It's been a long time. How are you doing?" my old (actually young) osteopath in Charlottesville asked me at his office this morning. He hadn't seen me in more than three years.
"I'm alive," I said.
He chuckled. A few minutes later, after he'd looked over the many pages of reports detailing the injuries I suffered in May 2006 and the many surgeries since, he said, "You're lucky to be alive."
"Yes," I answered. "It's been bad, but at least I'm here."
A few minutes ago, I read the news that 45-year-old actress Natasha Richardson died today from an unspecified head injury suffered when she fell during a ski lesson on Monday. According to the Quebec ski resort's spokeswoman, quoted in the NYT, “It was a normal fall; she didn’t hit anyone or anything. She didn’t show any signs of injury. She was talking and she seemed all right.”
In early August of 2005, I was in London and went to the theater with my long-lost cousin Larry. I'd gotten tickets to see "The Home Place" with Tom Courtenay, who'd acted with my father in the mid-1960s. I'd bought the cheapest tickets, but through some fluke was upgraded to mezzanine seats.
There were very few people in the mezzanine, so Larry and I moved up to the first row, by the railing. A couple of minutes later, he nudged me and gestured to the section to our right.
"Who are they?" he whispered.
I looked over to see a very glamorous couple getting seated. He was tall and craggy-handsome, with light-brown hair. She was gorgeous: blonde, tan, impossibly thin and dressed in impossibly spotless white from head to toe. Very L.A., I thought.
"You can tell they didn't take public transportation to get here," I muttered. (Larry and I had arrived via Tube.)
Then I looked a little harder.
"Oh, my God," I said. "That's Natasha Richardson and Liam Neeson. Her father Tony directed my dad in 'St. Joan of the Stockyards' in this theatre--or one just like it--in 1964, and in 'The Loved One' in 1965."
"Wow," breathed Larry.
After the play, we went backstage to see Courtenay, whom I'd been in touch with beforehand. Who else should be there but Richardson and Neeson, so I had a little chat with her. When I approached, she looked grim, probably thinking I was a fan, but warmed up when I told her of our connection. We exchanged names and everyone shook hands all around, greatly impressing Larry.
I then had a little chat with Courtenay, especially admiring the kiddie-print pirate sheets on the twin bed in his dressing room. Then the three famous people got into waiting limousines, and Larry and I walked to the Palms of Goa restaurant, where we ate cheap (for London), spicy food and marveled at our brush with the stars.
And now today Natasha Richardson is dead from a seemingly minor head injury, and I'm alive after a major one that left me with a concussion, PTSD, broken facial bones and nerve damage. The "family statement" to the news media from Liam Neeson came via Hollywood publicist Alan Nierob, who announced my father's death nearly 15 years ago.
It's all too close for comfort. But at least I'm here.
By: Bella Stander,
on 3/16/2009
By: Bella Stander,
on 3/16/2009
Kassia Kroszer at Booksquare offers a devastating critique in New Think? Not So Much, beginning with:
Nutshell analysis of the “New Think for Old Publishers” panel at South by Southwest 2009: there was a not a single new think in the room.She ends with advice for publishers that works just as well for authors seeking to promote their books:
Might as well address the blogger question. It’s quite simple. Find the bloggers big and small in your various genres, develop a relationship with them, understand their tastes, like, dislikes, deadlines, lead time, preferred method of communication, preferred formats for books.... Treat the bloggers with respect — you need them more than they need you. And note, the publishers [and authors!] who are already doing this well are leaps and bounds ahead of you.
By: Bella Stander,
on 3/9/2009
Darling Husband got a Blackberry and yesterday sent his first message--to the Boy Wonder, in real English, with whole words & punctuation--saying that he was no longer a dinosaur.
BW's response, from his cell phone:
OMG lrn2txt :(
After DH & I nearly died laughing, he answered:
K
By: Bella Stander,
on 3/5/2009
Too occupied with consulting, editorial work (I'm done with Maine & on to editing the Mid-Atlantic Lighthouses Map now), sore arm (don't ask) & being knocked out at dentist today (ditto) to write any coherent blog posts.
So here are some tidbits I picked up during free moments at Twitter, plus a BONUS! photo.
By: Bella Stander,
on 2/26/2009
Agent Kristin Nelson, author Jamie Ford & yours truly, channeling Jack Bruce, Eric Clapton & Ginger Baker (at bottom).
Jamie Ford, author of the new bestseller HOTEL ON THE CORNER OF BITTER AND SWEET, had a reading at Denver's Tattered Cover on Tuesday evening. His agent, Kristin Nelson, hosted a reception beforehand at Encore Restaurant next door.
Naturally I was at both events, because:
By: Bella Stander,
on 2/20/2009
The Boy Wonder turned me on to Яolcats, billed as "English Translations of Eastern Bloc Lolcats."
Not only can those kitties spell better than their Amerikanski counterparts, but they have a deep understanding of poetry and political dialectic. For example, there's this post from February 15:
"Your inactivity is criminal, porcine gastropod…
Go back to Oklahoma!"
By: Bella Stander,
on 2/20/2009
Last summer, Darling Husband confided that his dream was to someday own a little publishing company. Being a good, supportive wife who has learned much in therapy, I said, oh so supportively, "Is there any way to make that happen?"
He said, "Well, as a matter of fact, I happen to know of a little publishing company that's for sale right now."
"Well," I replied even more supportively, "why don't you look into it?"
So DH did, and as of late December we became the owners of the newly renamed Bella Terra Publishing LLC, with the eponymous yours truly as publisher, editor, website designer, salesperson, order shipper, etc. DH, who has a day job that enables me to support the Denver medical community, is the silent partner and chief financial officer.
I've learned just enough HTML to be dangerous, and today posted the new website: Bella Terra Maps. The product line at present consists of illustrated guide maps to lighthouses and covered bridges.
We are in the midst of producing an updated and redesigned version of the Illustrated Map & Guide to Maine Lighthouses, due to go to press next month. I am editing and rewriting descriptions of each of the 60+ standing lighthouses in Maine, plus 2 each in New Hampshire and Campobello Island, Canada. Hence the recent posts on Maine lighthouses.
Now I'm having second thoughts about wifely supportiveness. But the work keeps me off the streets and out of the pool halls--and drinking tanks of coffee.
By: Bella Stander,
on 2/18/2009
Ed Champion (aka Bat Segundo) channels my experience as a book reviewer in a video that had me laughing out loud: The Occupational Hazards of Book Critics.
I'm still groaning about the 900-page piece o' crap I reviewed for People in 2001. The book's bestselling author was so incensed at my unflattering assessment that she exhorted her legions of fans to bombard the People books editor with nasty emails. Then she got a multi-million-dollar, multi-book deal--further proof (as if any was needed) that my opinion didn't matter a damn.
This should be screened at next month's NBCC members meeting--or better yet, at the book awards ceremony.
By: Bella Stander,
on 2/18/2009
According to an author I consulted with today, her agent is saying that EVERY author should consider hiring an outside publicist.
"Yeah," I replied. "Especially if it's your publisher. Sorry to say, but that was true even before the meltdown. I've heard stories."
But how do you find a book publicist to hire?
Funny you should ask...
I have a selective listing of publicists here (people get delisted if I get bad feedback from authors I've referred). And inhouse pub Yen just posted a lengthy list (in a handy spreadsheet!) on The Book Publicity Blog.
By: Bella Stander,
on 2/11/2009
My friend Stefanie, the artistic, social & culinary doyenne of Schuyler, VA, sends this update on Onslow (at right above) and best pal Snickers (left), who despite all appearances does not officially live at her Gracious Home.
Whether it was the therapy sessions or the sudden realization that there is no "I" in "Dog," our favorite duo has a more harmonious relationship than ever.
By: Bella Stander,
on 2/9/2009
In brief, it hasn't affected me. Here's the situation: Decided a few months back to pitch the "Writers 365" book I've been posting at my blog. Prepared a proposal, sent it out to about 40 agents. An agent at a respected agency thought it wasn't for him, but thought it was salable. Two agents called, and I signed a contract with one of them after rewriting the proposal three times with her suggestions.As of last week, the proposal is in the hands of two editors, both at reasonably large publishing houses. So it's good news, but I guess the real answer comes when:a) we hear back from them; and
But so far, it's been good. And as Lauren Baratz-Logsted commented, the only thing you can control is writing the best book possible.
b) what, if anything, will they offer.
There's a great lesson that I'm trying to learn about control and worry. The philosophy is to not worry. Period. If you're doing the best with what you can control, what is there to worry about? And for those things you can't control, why worry about them? So why worry at all?
The "don't worry" philosophy is one that took me a long time to understand, and even now I still fret. But I'm getting better. Last week, I received a poisonous e-mail from someone objecting to an essay I posted. Years ago, it would have left me a puddle on the floor. Now, hardly mild irritation.
Age probably has a lot to do with it. I'm just too tired to deal with other people's nonsense when I have so much nonsense riling me already.
Did you attend the Writers Digest Conference Pitch Slam? It was my first time with such a "speed dating" setup. What are your thoughts?
I'm not involved with Writers Digest; I taught a "Polish Your Pitch" workshop at Backspace Writers Conference. I have a dim view of pitch slams, which are stressful to all participants--agents AND writers. I think slams are mostly a way for their sponsors to make money, and guess that they result in precious few book deals. However, you can see whether your pitch is working if you slam it around. But even if an agent likes your pitch, you're still going to have to write a query letter--the same as if you'd stayed home.
So, how was Backspace? Bigger crowds, more complex topics? I'd be fascinated to hear your thoughts of a BEA vs. Backspace comparsion. More agents to authors ratio? Hope your travels were trouble-free!
I'd be interested in hearing what topics people were discussing in the halls and what trends people were seeing.