Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Royalties Sans Tiaras

I mentioned two different e-mails that sparked the grinding of my mental wheels. One from a novelist friend who shared the tale of two checks. Let me share a bit before telling you about the second e-mail.

In the past few years I've read hundreds of books. All kinds and all across the spectrum of literary merit. Some I couldn't review because I feel a review needs to be able to offer something good to say, or at least one type of people group to steer that direction. (If you hate selfish, whiny main characters make sure you pick up this book!) But some.

Sigh.

Some books are transcendent. They move me, transport me and delight me. Oh, it is a rare and delicious experience to find a book that connects with my senses and my soul. Sigh.

Then there is the middle ground. Some really nice people tell some really adequate and entertaining and even thought-provoking stories. Some folks have buckled down, studied the market and decided that they WOULD be published. And whatever road that ended up being on, they'd go for it. So with a twist to their writing they coalesce their research, their training and their talent into a book that will sell. Right now, in the Christian fiction market, Amish is big. And there are a load of Amish themed books to choose from. I don't have a single issue with any of these hardworking folks (remember my post...the likelihood that a novelist makes pathetically less than minimum wage.) Actually, I admire them. They are the true worker bees, the reliable, the hard-working, the ones who are making their dreams happen.

But. I can't find that drive within. I don't want to write just to say I have. I don't want to be published just to hold a book in my hand and see my name on the glossy cover. I don't want to spin word webs unless I have something to say, and I want to be able to say it transcendentally. If I create, I want word tapestries that make readers laugh, think, sigh or weep.

And I just don't have that story within me. I can't find that character who screams to be fleshed out. I can't feel that situation that compels me to grasp at solutions and forces me to lose sleep.

Enter the second e-mail.

Within my critique group was a woman who masterfully spun words. I walked with her characters. And she kept refining and rewriting, always working on bettering her craft. And she was the one who's praise and critiques I coveted. A "well-done" from her was rare and a cause for celebration. And I collected those comments and stuck them away for encouragement on dark days. She didn't toss out "good" lightly and she critiqued word by word, thought by thought and ruthlessly. We've both stepped away from actively critiquing. But occasionally keep in touch.

She e-mailed me out of the blue. The Subject line said. "Good book." She tossed out the title and author and simply wrote.

"You must read it. She writes fiction in a style not unlike your own."

What she was saying, was that this author's voice was similar to mine. Voice is basically who you are leeching out into your life, into all that you do, all that you touch. It's your personality, your experiences, your passions, your dreams, your very soul combined and flavoring what you do and say. We all have a voice. The thing that causes people to say. "This is so you!" or "I knew you'd love it!" It is the perfume of me that I leave behind when I step out of a room.

Hmmm. How could I pass up this suggestion? She was telling me that she knew me and that she saw a like-minded person out there who processed like me and sent out a similar scent. After wondering if I could get it at the library or if I should just go ahead and order it, I put the thoughts aside and started organizing the book stacks in my bedroom and realized I actually had the book in my possession. (Sometimes I get books I've not agreed to read and review and sometimes they are far outside of my interest area and I'll not ever get to it. Usually these are pre-release copies with errors and not even something I can give to someone and pretend I purchased it. : ) ) This book was one of those and it sat at the bottom of the stack. The stinking thing was Sci-Fi/Fantasy. My heart sunk. Sci-Fi/Fantasy only ranks slightly above romance in my preferences. But her suggestion, and her likening the author's voice to my style/voice was too much to ignore.
Six chapters into this book I'm floored. The story has grabbed me and the voice has wrapped around me like a cozy, old-friend sweater. I know it's going to continue to pull at me and may very well end up breaking my heart. And I see a little of myself in the Pauline sentences, the cadence, the thoughts of the hero and heroine. There is quirk and there is an underlying theme of sadness.

Now. What does this mean for me? I don't know. I guess I'll continue to process and absorb, attempt to stretch and grow, and wait for my story, the one that can only be written by me, the one that clutches me by the throat and won't let me go. I am not inspired to mediocrity or just producing for the audience. And I'm definitely not inspired by money. : ).

Help for Haiti

Three different links to help with Haiti relief.



Click on the picture and be forwarded to the sites.



I personally know the CMA (Christian and Missionary Alliance - my denomination.) and Samaritan's Purse.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Royalty, Shouldn't that Come with a Tiara?

I've told you all how I feel and where I'm at with writing "The Novel," specifically burned-out and not that interested anymore. I'm just going to write about what I feel like writing about and read and review what I want to read and review and see what the future holds.

So. Two extreme opposite e-mails came last week. One, my very, very, very good friend from my critique group who has clawed, edited, wept, nose-to-the-grindstone worked-for-it got her first royalty check. Royalty checks are lump sums of the author's portion of the contracted percentage of book cover price. I think most companies send one out quarterly. I believe she gets 7% from each book sold. An advance comes out of the perceived royalties. My friend went with a small company with a small advance.

The day before she got her royalty check she received a check for an article she wrote. Now, an article, no matter how detailed, how fact-filled, how carefully written, probably took her 1/10,000th of what she put into her book. An article takes days, maybe weeks. The novel took years. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that I probably invested 300 hours in her novel. Me. I critiqued it, suggested, edited, led cheers, discussed the pros and cons of where to attempt to sell her novel and built her back up rejection after rejection. Once she had interest, her publisher wanted her to cut 5,000 words, I was there for that, then came the marketing push. Yep. So if I spent 300 hours with her book, I know she invested thousands. This is a woman who doesn't scan words when she reads. Trust me, she's particular about each word.

Bottom line. Her royalty check was two dollars less than her check for her article. Really. In case you actually still have a "I want to be a WEALTHY or FULL TIME novelist someday" bubble, sorry I just popped it.

Flip sided e-mail tomorrow.

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Poetry and Photos by Pat

Yes. That Pat. My poet papa.





God can make the weeds in your life a magnificent testimony of His grace.


God's reminder that the canes of life's punishments and hardships are trumped by His all-atoning work. He turns the cursed into crowning glory. Amen.

Serials and Scenarios ~ Bonnie Grove's Talking to the Dead ~ Reviewed

This was one of those books. In the pile of books I wanted/needed to read. It was right up my alley. See my review below.

Talking to the Dead

In her first novel, author Bonnie Grove offers readers a tender, quirky story about grief—and second chances

“Kevin was dead and the people in my house wouldn’t go home. They mingled after the funeral, eating sandwiches, drinking tea, and speaking in muffled tones. I didn’t feel grateful for their presence. I felt exactly nothing,” writes Bonnie Grove in Talking to the Dead (David C Cook, June 2009). “Funerals exist so we can close doors we’d rather leave open. But where did we get the idea that the best approach to facing death is to eat Bundt cake?”

In her first novel, beloved author Bonnie Grove pens a poignantly realistic and uplifting story of hope, grace, and recovery from grief. Grove’s main character, twenty-something Kate Davis, can’t seem to get the grieving widow thing right. She’s supposed to put on a brave face and get on with her life, right? Instead, she’s camped out on her living room floor, unwashed, unkempt, and unable to sleep—because her husband Kevin keeps talking to her.

Is she losing her mind? Kate’s attempts to find the source of the voice she hears are both humorous and humiliating, as she turns first to an “eclectically spiritual” counselor, then a shrink with a bad toupee, an exorcist, and finally group therapy. There she meets Jack, the warmhearted, unconventional pastor of a ramshackle church, and at last the voice subsides. But when she stumbles upon a secret Kevin was keeping, Kate’s fragile hold on the present threatens to implode under the weight of the past…and Kevin begins to shout. Will the voice ever stop?

In this tender, quirky novel about embracing life, Grove patiently walks readers through the depths and mysteries of extreme sorrow after the death of a loved one. As she takes an unflinching look at the mental health industry, Grove’s training in counseling and psychology brings realism and empathy to grief and mental breakdown. While Kate must confront her own loss to find the grace to go on, readers will be led to the God who is always willing and able to comfort hearts in pain.


My Review:


One of my favorite discoveries is a great book. Sometimes a great book makes me laugh, sometimes it makes me cry, sometimes it makes me jealous because of the wordsmithery of the author, and sometimes it penetrates my mind and makes me think and rethink.

When I open the cover of a book I'm not sure what I'm going to find. A rare book will grab me from the first sentence and hang onto me through to the end. But occasionally the first paragraph or even the first chapter will fool me into thinking I've got a great book, but sometimes the great fizzles into mediocre or even just entertaining. Those novels always leave me disappointed and sad over the lost potential.

I am shocked that Talking to the Dead is Bonnie Grove's first novel. From the moment I began reading, I was in the story, compelled to learn the details of Kate's spiral into the depths of grief and her attempts to claw her way out of her pain. Grove writes with a sensitivity and depth that is rare. Her background in psychology and her spiritual experiences gave a richness to this novel that is both fascinating and hopeful. Grove's lyrical voice, her humor, her descriptions added layers of reality to Kate and her friends and family.

My only complaint was that I didn't feel clarity and closure within a few of Kate's relationships. But that leaves room for a follow-up novel and I'd be very okay with that.

Upon closing the book after the last words I was able to sigh wistfully, the ultimate book experience.

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ A Headache Induced Twist of a Profound Concept

I've been pondering a conversation for several hours.

Of course that contemplation has been interrupted a few dozen times by random and bizarre things so my mind is pretty much an-end-of-a-long-day-sieve right now, but I'm going to attempt to share it with you, too.

My friend mentioned that she'd had a conversation with a relative about the family tree.

We all have nuts in our family trees, or bad apples, if you'd prefer.

The person my friend chatted with complained about the way a parent behaved.

She said she understood and could see where that situation/quirk would be difficult. But then she went on to share the thought that stuck with me.

The attempts made at healthy correction were likely the best that person could do given what they had to work with.

I won't use the example she shared but I'll make one up. Great Grandma A's father was a gambler. The household was never secure, her mother scrambled to save every penny and then hide them. Great Grandma A willingly chose to never be controlled by an out-of-control husband. She married a workaholic with the tendency to throw money at problems. Great Grandma A made a better choice, in her opinion, because her life bettered from what she grew up in, insecurity.

Great Grandma A's daughter, Grandma B, considered her parents materialistic and shallow. Problems were "solved" by her money flinging father and a mother who accepted this wealth band-aid. So Grandma B would choose differently. Instead she would not marry at all. What was the point in having a shadow of a father and a marriage based on money's fleeting affections? She bought a slice of land and created a world untainted by the world. Living completely off the land, she kept money at a distance, and men as well. Except for one. But just for procreation. She and her daughter,Mom C, were just fine, the two of them living in a man-free and untainted-by-money-nirvana. However, Mom C hungered for a father figure and married young. He was charming and affectionate and met her needs. However, he was a bit of a dreamer.

Then comes the current generation with 20/20 hindsight. The here and now. The mini or major corrections that each generation made to compensate for the unmet needs they had in their home of origin has shaped the entire family tree.

My friend's profound point was that most of us do what we do with good intentions and out of our warped reality. And maybe, if we just took responsibility for our choices and let go of perfectionistic expectations of others, maybe, just maybe, we'd have better relationships.

What do you think?

Serials and Scenarios ~ Blind Sight And Terror by Night Reviewed

A few weeks ago I posted this.


I finished reading both books very quickly because they are page-turners. Here are my reviews.


Blind Sight



This novel is a page-turner with a unique secondary story.

Thomas Kent made a promise to his buddies in his college Bible study. He couldn't imagine that years later, after he'd lost all he loved and his faith, he'd be called upon to keep that promise.

Kent receives the coded message to pick up a package, and the garbled answering machine plea, "save my children," and his life changes once again. Can he save the Bishop children, Justine Bishop, and the United States of America from the evil cult intent on ruling the world one person at a time? Can Thomas Kent find his lost and bruised faith?

Though not perfectly written, this is a suspenseful and compelling read. Kent's anger at God and the struggle to forgive God are mostly realistic and thoughtful. A few timing issues or rapid mood swings slowed down the page turning every once in awhile but overall, this was a fascinating story with a strong message.

As far as the unique secondary story goes, a man found one burned, weathered Blind Sight page lying against a tree. The location of that tree was the former site of his razed home after the burning of his house and the horrific murder of his family. James Pence went on to co-author Terror by Night with Terry Caffey and Blind Sight was re-released.


Terror by Night

Terror by Night is chilling.

The author, the only survivor of a horrific triple murder and house fire, tells a story that is unimaginable.

The Caffey family was living the classic nuclear family existence. The only sign of trouble with their 16-year-old daughter was her boyfriend and some choices she was making. The events that unfolded are nauseating. Not that the author shares gory details to the point that the reader feels the need to take a shower. There was very little gore. But the horror that a seemingly well-adjusted young woman could make the decisions to help/plan/participate in the death of her family rocked me to the core.

As horrifying as this story is, there is a fascinating secondary story of Caffey's faith jolt/jostle and his journey to peace and forgiveness.

Not for the weak-kneed. This story is very disturbing so be warned. However, the cloud is silver-lined and a thing of beauty once the sun begins to come rise.