Kristin Butcher... has novel ideas

Well, it's official ... I'm going to Quebec for Book Week in November. I couldn't be happier. Quebec is a richly historic part of Canada and I am finally going to get to see it! I won't have my itinerary until the end of October, but if it's anything like the last time I toured, it is going to be intense -- a week of days brimming with school and library talks. It will be exhausting but ever so rewarding. I am thrilled!

Now where's that suitcase?

The myth lives on.

"What myth is that?" you ask.

Why, the one that puts writers in the same category as doctors, lawyers, professional athletes, movie stars, Oprah, and the Queen! Namely, financially well-off.

Granted, there are some writers who can afford to fly first class, but most of us are seat sale seekers, bus riders, and car poolers. Unless writers hold down other jobs besides writing -- and many do -- they are probably living at the poverty level. Ah, yes, it's glamorous to be a writer, folks. Think about it. Aside from book advances (which are generally 4-figures tops! -- and how far does that stretch?), those of us who earn our living writing books get paid twice a year. You want to try budgeting that -- especially when you don't know what the paycheque will be until it arrives. And don't forget, you have to pay income tax and CPP (as the employer AND the employee) out of that too.

Of course, you do get to write a lot of stuff off, which is a good thing, albeit a tad demoralizing when your expenses repeatedly outweigh your income. The really bizarre thing is the fact that writers often get audited. I guess the government really does think it can get blood from a stone.

My point?

Writing isn't a lucrative career. It has it's rewards, but money isn't one of them. As a means of supplementing our meagre incomes, many of us take on speaking engagements. We talk to writing groups, schools, and conferences; we give workshops, become mentors, and teach classes. All these activities help to keep the wolf from the door, but they don't get us rich.

And yet there are still many people out there -- people who would seek our services, who expect us to provide it free of charge. It boggles my mind. Do teachers work for free? Principals? College deans? Company CEOs? Of course they don't! So why would these same people assume that writers are willing to do so?

In less than two weeks I am heading off to Winnipeg for a mini-book tour, which just got minier. (I don't care if that's not a word.) When presented with the invoice for the presentations they wanted me to make, two of the schools claimed they hadn't realized there was going to be a fee and promptly cancelled their bookings. Come on, People! Think! The thing is that my fees aren't hidden. I always direct inquiries to my website, where my fees are clearly stated.

This new development poses a great loss of income for me, especially considering my flight is already booked and paid for. Needless to say, I am not a happy camper.

Actually, no -- it's more than that. I'm insulted, and I'm angry. I spend a lot of time, energy and money developing my talks, and I'm good at what I do. I hold the attention of large audiences of young people for a solid hour so that their teachers seldom have to even shush anyone. So ... those teachers are sitting on their behinds doing nothing for an hour and getting paid for it, while I'm expected to perform a razzmatazz song-and-dance routine for an hour free of charge.

Is it just me, or is there something wrong with this picture?

I'm jealous -- hence the greenish title for this blog. It seems everyone has a To-Be-Read pile except me. I have a nebulous To-Be-Read wishlist somewhere in the back of my brain, but it's pretty vague. I have books I would like to read, which are probably still at the library waiting for me to live out my fantasy about having time to read. I also have several books stashed at various locations around my house -- and in my car, in case I need to pass the time while I'm at a doctor's appointment, etc.

But I've got nothing on the night stand. Of course, I don't own a night stand, so that might be part of the problem. I've got nothing on the piano either. Like the night stand, I don't have a piano, but a friend has her To-Be-Read stack on a piano, so I'm thinking that must be a good place. Would things change if I acquired a piano? Since I have no space for a piano, I probably shouldn't even venture down that road.

In recent years, reading adult stuff has been tough going because of the time thing, but I have still made room for reading YA and kidlit -- mostly because I was reviewing it. But even that has come to a standstill. I'm telling you, people -- I don't got no time!!

I keep thinking I'm going to have time -- after I finish the next manuscript. But lately there's always another manuscript after that, and the deadlines are so close, I have to write for my life in order to meet them.

My first novel was published two-and-one-half years after I submitted it. These days I'm lucky to have six months from start to finish.

But if I had time to read. if I ever GET time to read, I think I'd like to curl up with Out of Order by Robin Stevenson, Winter Girls by Laurie Halse Anderson, Twilight by Stephenie Meyer -- not because I'm convinced it's great, but because the reviews are so varied I need to decide for myself, The Pilot's Wife by Anita Shreve-- I've been meaning to read that one for years, The Soloist by Steve Lopez, another Jodi Procult title just to see if My Sister's Keeper was for real or just a lucky fluke, ... and the list goes on. Unfortunately the actual To-Be Read pile is nowhere to be found.

At this immediate moment, I am taking a break -- nothing big, just a little suck-back-and-reload moment before steam-rolling on to the next chapter. I have given myself until Friday to finish this book, because I absolutely HAVE TO, HAVE TO, HAVE TO move on to the next project. That's the thing about over-committing myself. I run the very real risk of being committed -- if you get my drift.

But the need to earn a living -- which isn't all that easy when you're a writer, and the fear of falling by the way if I slow down, compel me to push on. Thank goodness I've recently received some positive acknowledgment for my latest books, because that spurs me on to make sure my current efforts are up to par, even if they are more hurried than I would like.

Last week I received an advance review for Pharaohs and Foot Soldiers. The review is every writer's dream -- a rave! -- and the fact that it is written by a highly regarded voice in kids' literature adds even more to my elation. I can hardly wait for others to read it.

Then yesterday I learned that both Pharaohs and Foot Soldiers and Return to Bone Tree Hill have been included in the spring book collections compiled by CanLit for Kids, a company well-respected for choosing quality titles for school libraries.

It would be lovely to bask in the sunshine of these accolades, but I can't afford to. So I'll just wrap myself in the warmth of them and press on, thankful that I have things to move on to. 

When I first started writing full-time, it was a matter of write a book and try to get it published. Upon rereading that sentence, I realize the concept sounds pretty simple. It it were, a lot more people would be doing it. In a way, however, it was simple. I had one thing on my plate, and that was all I had to concern myself with.

As my writing career has progressed, the process has become more complicated, and writing sometimes seems like the least of my challenges. No matter how wonderful the book I write might be, without promotion, it might be read by very few people. Publishers definitely help in that regard. They send books out to reviewers and submit them for book prizes. They advertise them in periodicals and push them on their websites. They pursue foreign exposure. But as a writer, I can contribute on that front too. I can announce new books to my network of friends and peers. I can submit blurbs to periodicals and writing associations, and I can push books on my website, facebook, jacketflap, etc. I can do school visits and other speaking presentations. I can distribute bookmarks and stickers, and I can arrange launches for new books. I can apply for writer in residence programs and sponsored book tours. I can pursue television, radio, and newspaper coverage.

On the writing front, I can also capitalize on the fact that my writing history provides me with a ticket through the front door to publishers. No longer do I have to sit in the slush pile, waiting for a hired reader to eventually read my submission. Now I am not only able to contact editors directly, but I even have publishers contacting me sometimes. It's wonderful, but it still feels a bit weird. In addition, I find that some of my writing projects get contracted before I've even written them.

It's all good, right? Absolutely. However, all of these new avenues suck up a huge amount of my time, and I sometimes find myself chasing my tail.

Like right now. Granted, there are a whole lot of other things sucking up my time at the moment, but I am so busy 'arranging things' that I find myself strapped for time to actually write. There are a number of fabulous opportunities sitting in my lap, but I may lose any or all of them for want of writing time.

Can there be too much of a good thing? Perhaps.

Sadly, I'm not personally off to Sweden, but The Trouble with Liberty is. Orca News popped up in my emailbox yesterday, and there was the announcement. It seems Orca -- through the Transatlantic Literary Agency -- has sold the book to the Swedish publisher, Hagas. Yippee!

This is sweet news, epecially since the original book was published in 2003. That means that six years later it's still doing well. It's always exciting to hear one of my titles has been picked up by a foreign publisher. But I'm really going to have to start studying languages. I currently have novels kicking around my house in Dutch, Slovenian, Spanish, German -- and soon -- in Swedish! It would be nice to be able to read them. 

I am not a morbid person, and I have no plans to kick the bucket in the near future. In fact, I always tell people I can't die while I'm in the middle of writing a story, and since I generally have several stories on the go at any time and more percolating in my brain, I don't see how I can hang it up for a very long time.

So it was quite helpful when a friend emailed a link to a website called Life Expectancy Calculator. Here's the link. http://www.sonnyradio.com/realage3.swf. The site has a quiz that takes your present age and by asking questions about health, lifestyle, habits, family background, etc., it works out what your actual age is, as well as how long you might be expected to live. The neat thing is that it shows how your age is affected by the answer to each question. Being happily married really adds years onto your life, as does not doing a lot of driving. Drinking alcohol and eating refined foods -- not so much.

I answered as honestly as I could, fully expecting that I should already be dead by the time I finished the quiz, but to my surprise, my actual age is younger than what it says on my birth certificate (a lady doesn't tell), and apparently I'm going to live to be 83.9 years old.

This is very helpful information, because it allows me to set up a writing schedule. If I want to finish all stories before I die I should probably give myself at least 6 months of undivided writing time before noon of March 18, 2034.

And then I'm good to go -- in a manner of speaking -- unless I get another really good idea. Maybe, if I went to the gym one more time a week, I could squeeze out a little extra time ...

I was flipping channels the other evening and stopped on whatever network has Nightline, because it dangled a book-associated carrot under my nose. So I stayed put through the commercials, a news segment on something else I've already forgotten, and then another series of commercials, and then FINALLY they did the book story.

It turns out that in these economically tough times, there is a facet of the book industry that is doing better than ever. In fact, sales are up 32% this past year. We're talking romance novels, Harlequin Canada to be precise. The publisher puts out 1200 new books a year in a number of different imprints (ie -- types of romances) from mystery to the supernatural. Readers can have innocent romance or raucous sex. Since romance and/or sex are part of most everybody's actual lives or fantasies, I guess I can understand the draw.

The thing is that after reading one or three, that's enough. You don't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out the pattern, and any reader with half a brain knows how the story is going to turn out. It goes something like this. Girl meets boy. There is instant attraction, but a misunderstanding sets the would-be lovers at odds. The remainder of the novel pits the lovers' irresistable attraction for one another against their principles and their ever spiraling misunderstanding until they simply can't keep their hands off one another another second. Whilst tearing at each other's clothing and bruising their lips, they confess their worst thoughts and SURPRISE! discover they've been celebate all this time for nothing!

Be still my beating heart. Not because I'm somehow titilated or even entertained by the genre, but because it's a lucrative market and I'm not writing for it. Moreover, I can't even entertain the thought of writing for it. It just isn't right for me. It's not my idea of a good read. Sorry -- I know this sounds snotty -- but it's not up to my standard, and I would never be able to write at that level, even for the money. 

Too bad for me, and bravo to the writers who can. They're laughing all the way to the bank. 

The last year and a half has been very good to me in terms of my writing. Actually -- when you get right down to it -- it's been good to me on all fronts. I feel truly blessed. On the other hand, I am also tuckered out. I had no idea how exhausting success could be.

Other more consistently-busy people might better withstand the hectic pace, but I'm accustommed to a good deal of down time between activities, and I'm just not getting it. My usual routine is to write a book, send it it out, and while it makes the round of rejections, I write something else. Eventually the first book gets picked up, I start sending out the second one, and begin writing a third. Throw some reviews and award nominations into the mix, as well as the occasional speaking engagement, and I'm happy. It's not exactly a whirlwind life, but it's comfortable and regular, and it works for me.

Lately, though, somebody has turned up the speed of my treadmill, and I am constantly on the run. Not only are the books I've written getting snapped up by various publishers -- setting me spinning on the editorial merry-go-round, but I find myself with contracts for books that have yet to be written. It's simultaneously wonderful and terrifying -- and exhausting. Did I mention the exhausting bit?

In addition, I've had several speaking engagements to prepare for and deliver, a couple of book launches to plan, a Manitoba book tour to arrange, and numerous other major non-writing related obligations to attend to. I'm so busy I don't have time to write anything that isn't actually already in the works. The music keeps playing, so I keep dancing.

Most of me knows this is a very good thing -- not to mention good for me, but the more laid-back part of me yearns for a few days in which I have to do absolutely nothing. I think it's called laziness. You see, I'm not so naive as to think that success comes without hard work. And I'm not afraid of work. It's just that I'm used to setting the pace. (My head is so full of things I have to do that this morning when I woke up, it took me a good thirty seconds to remember what day it was.)

And now the stakes have been raised again. Today I learned that my application to tour for TD Canadian Children's Book Week has been successful. I am one of the lucky writers, illustrators and performers who will be visiting schools and libraries somewhere in Canada in November of 2009. I am thrilled! I toured once before -- about five years ago -- and I know what a fabulous opportunity this is. I also know it is exhausting. (There's that word again.)

This is the part where I say, "I'm not complaining." And believe me, I'm not. I just wish I was better at keeping up. They say if you want something done, give the job to a busy person. I understand the logic, and I concur. But as my grandson, Brock, said when he was two and trying to keep up with his amazingly busy mother, "I need faster running shoes!"