Is Amazon Big Brother?

I know I am just about the last person on the planet to write anything on the Kindle-1984 controversy which has, momentarily, shifted the internet's focus off Michael Jackson. In fact, by the time I finish posting this, I'm sure everyone will be back to speculating about the King of Pop's untimely death. However, as a Kindle owner, Orwell reader, and prospective author, I do have thoughts on this topic.

I read 1984 in high school and subsequently made a video for our class in which I recited Hamlet's to-be-or-not-to-be soliloquy until the thought police, wearing silver ski jackets, abducted me to Room 101 (i.e. a dark basement) and threw white teddy bears at me until I confessed to...huh, that's the only part I don't remember. What did I confess? Anyway, because I have gotten together with my high school classmates several times since then and watched the video, I remember 1984 quite well. The story is about a totalitarian government state that monitors its citizens' every thought and move via the Thought Police. Just think Big Brother, since 1984 is the origin of the phrase.

Several days ago, Amazon removed copies of 1984 from Kindle, Amazon's e-reader, leaving only a cryptic message behind. In place of 1984, Kindle owners had a mysterious message that something had been removed from their archived items and that they would be refunded money for their purchase. For more information, Kindle owners scoured the internet to learn that copies of 1984 had been sold illegally, and consequently Amazon redacted the copies.

Although Amazon seems to be standing by its decision, Kindle owners are outraged. Orwell's 1984 is creepy enough without it being mysteriously removed from your Kindle with only a confusing note that some items (which will remain nameless) have been removed. The removal would have been outrageous enough, but the fact that the book removed was 1984 is just too ironic for words.

All Kindle owners are now wondering if the books they download to their Kindle are really theirs. After all, if I had ordered a paper copy of 1984 from Amazon, I doubt Jeff Bezos would be outside my house in the middle of the night trying to figure out how to get it off my bookshelf without triggering my alarm system. And if he was, well, I would just have to stop shopping at Amazon altogether. Here's the thing, Amazon: we either own the books or we don't. Either the books I downloaded to my Kindle are mine forever and ever or they aren't. Which is it, because it can't be both?

It's a new world we are living in, and I think this story is another reminder that, to some extent, you give up your privacy when you choose to go electronic. Putting 4,000 photos of your kids on Facebook is not the same as putting them in a photo album on your coffee table. Ads in a magazine, aimed at people who read magazines, are not the same as targeted Google ads. And books downloaded onto your Kindle are not the same as books bought at your local Barnes & Noble.

For Better Or Worse (Also: Why is there aluminum foil in my freezer?)

Keep in mind that I am a neat and organized person when you read what I am about to write. It will frame how confusing the events of the past day have been for me. In a matter of less than twenty-four hours, I put cinnamon in our chicken dinner instead of chili powder, I found the aluminum foil in the freezer, and I found leftover pizza in a Tupperware container in a cabinet. I don't know what to make of these events.

In light of that, you shouldn't be surprised to learn that my daily writing goals are not coming to me as easily as I would like. I'm not sure how, but in the last five months of editing and minimal writing I seemed to have completely forgotten what a taxing, frustrating, overwhelming experience writing can be at times. These past few days, meeting my daily writing goal of 3,000 words has been about as simple as, well, keeping my kitchen organized, apparently.

Nonetheless, I am wed to the craft. And like all marriages, I will stick out the rough patches because I know the best parts are worth the worst parts. I will meet my writing goals knowing that next week might be easier (or it might not), but it will always be rewarding.

Write-Brain

Five more queries down... I hope I am doing something right.

I like writing exercises even when I'm not experiencing writer's block because I start thinking in new directions. I am working through The Write-Brain Workbook right now. I just started a few days ago, and I like it. I didn't think I would because it is colorful and clever, and I thought it looked like too much fun to be taken seriously. And, to be honest, I'm actually having fun with it. And I'm taking it seriously.

I'm not going to spend too much time writing on here today because the day has slipped past me too quickly (because I stayed up past midnight watching our DVDs of The Office, and slept in until 7, which caused me to skip the gym to stay home and work on my query letters, but somehow it still ended up 1:30 in the afternoon with a whole lot of writing goals left in the day). Don't you hate days that go by so fast you feel like you missed them completely?

Getting Enough Done?

I am reading David Allen's Getting Things Done. I started reading it last night after spending the day getting a whole lot of things done. The reason I ordered it from Amazon is because I got an iPhone several weeks ago, and my husband, who knows my obsession with organization and could be mistaken for an iPhone salesman if you didn't know he wasn't, suggested Omnifocus, which is an organizational app. I love it because I can check things off a list, which is one of my favorite things to do. I will make lists just so I can check things off them. It works for me. Now my husband, whenever he needs something, tells me to put in in my Omnifocus. He knows I can't stand things moving from the "Due Soon" folder to the "Overdue" folder. He knows I will lose sleep to complete items on a list.

Omnifocus is based on David Allen's book, so I decided to read the book (as if I needed an excuse to read). I made it through to the first exercise which asks you to name the project on your mind the most. I, of course, wrote: Sell my manuscript. The next question asked what my intended successful outcome was, to which I wrote: I sell my novel to a publisher and establish a successful, profitable writing career. Last, Allen asks what my next physical action to move forward is. I wrote: Find an agent by sending out query letters.

I'm already sending out query letters, but should I be sending out more than five a week? I have already gone through the entirety of Jeff Herman's Guide to Book Publishers, Editors, & Literary Agents 2009 (Who they are! What they want! How to win them over!) with an orange highlighter of people who may be interested in my work. I have already gone through Publisher's Marketplace looking for the agents of all my favorite authors. And I already have a spreadsheet of my options started. So I could pump out more queries each week. The question is: How much rejection can I really handle in one week?

Back In The Saddle

I finished my manuscript in February, and although I have an idea for another novel, I've put little time into it for multiple reasons. In order, here are my excuses why I haven't been fully committed to writing a new novel:

1. Let's face it: A finished draft means almost nothing. When I finished my manuscript, I naively thought I was sort-of finished. And then I realized it was 200,000 words long, confusing at times, and full of pointless stories and reduntant adjectives. Editing, I realized, was a whole new, long process that involved hours of printing drafts at FedEx Kinkos, multi-colored highlighters, and strong coffee.

2. What woman, who has just given birth to the most beautiful thing she has ever seen, wants to go straight back into the delivery room? Writing my novel was a mentally exhausting years-long challenge, and when I got to the end of it, I looked at a blank page the same way I would look at Mt. Everest. The task seemed too daunting. My brain didn't feel ready for it. I was exhausted.

I thought I would come up with more excuses than that, but I guess those are the two main ones. To be fair to myself, I have been writing. As I mentioned, I've been doing hours upon hours of editing. And I've been doing writing exercises, and as you can see, I took an online writing class. And I've been reading a lot (if you are a writer in need of an ego check, reading Anne Tyler and David Foster Wallace is one way to lower your self-esteem in a matter of a page). So I haven't been a complete slacker. But the thought of starting another novel, well, it just felt like too much.

This week, however, after sending out my five query letters and signing up for LinkedIn and Twitter, I hopped back into my writing full-force, which is why I didn't go to the gym yesterday and I'm not going out with my friends tonight. I'm climbing back on the daily-writing-comes-first horse. Second manuscript...here we come!

Creative Writing: Rocky Mountain High

Online Creative Writing Assignment: Write a 250-word description of a place with "character," revealing the elements that suggest its history.

Rocky Mountain High

When the rest of the country left the sixties, Boulder stayed behind in its tie-dyed, rocky-mountain-high world.

Boulder’s backdrop is the jagged, white Rocky Mountains. This picket fence separates it from the rest of the world on three sides. On the fourth side is Denver, and those in Denver think of Boulder as their slightly-crazy, still-trendy little sister. Those of us who live in Boulder know better. Denver sold its soul for stadiums and sprawling mansions and spendy restaurants.

The residents are nicknamed yuppie hippies because of their designer dreadlocks and high-priced, eco-friendly clothes. They eat organic food and smoke hydroponic weed. All real estate in Boulder is expensive because no one is allowed to build. A lifestyle of simplicity very few could afford.

We eat at The Kitchen, a restaurant whose practices embody everything the town lives for: locally grown food, wind-powered energy, and a compost pile for the uneaten table scraps. The lower level is a sunny restaurant; the small menu comprised of meals like organic beef risotto with haystack chevre and saba for $24. Upstairs is a dark, hip wine lounge.

Along the Pearl Street Mall, we peruse the eco-this, natural-that shops. Between shops, we wind our way through the homeless and street performers and college students. We are handed a brochure detailing how 9/11 was an inside job.

A ticket for our expired parking meter flaps from our windshield wiper. Seated on the curb next to our car are two college students, stoned. They hold joints in their fingers with the same carelessness people elsewhere hold cigarettes.

“Only in Boulder,” Dave mumbles.

Creative Writing: Long-Stemmed Shoes

Online Writing Class Assignment: Write a 250-word description of a person - real or fictional - built around a single hyperbole. As always, I have not changed anything from the original assignment. Nothing has been edited based on comment or critique.

Long-Stemmed Shoes

Emily is as vain as a peacock. She doesn’t have to be. She has black hair, green eyes, and the body of a Victoria’s Secret model. She was given that body by God, not a plastic surgeon; I know because I’m her sister and I’ve watched it develop since preschool. She doesn’t see it that way, and going anywhere with her requires a two-hour notice…one hour if we go to the gym, and I promise that isn’t a second hyperbole.

We bought the same pair of five-inch heels. I wore mine to a trendy tapas bar for a birthday party. I wobbled from the parking garage into the restaurant, and I only had to stop twice along the way to prevent myself from tipping forward into the pavement. When I got inside, I found a chair and vowed not to leave it. My friend wanted a photo of the attendees, and I made them all crowd around me.

Emily wore the shoes to our uncle’s funeral. She was late, and when she saw everyone waiting for her, she sprinted to us. When it was time for her speech, she wound her way through the pew of relatives and glided to the podium. How easily she walked across the stage in those long-stemmed shoes! I wouldn’t walk across the street in them; you couldn’t pay me to walk across a stage.

I decided I should start practicing walking in those shoes. Just in case we ever wear them at the same time, I don’t want it to look like Ugly Betty meeting Carrie Bradshaw. Maybe vanity does pay off sometimes.

Creative Writing: Greener Grass

Online Descriptive Writing Class Assignment: Write a 250-word description of a natural object, idea, or emotion using animism or personification. Again, this assignment has been left in its original state. I have not changed anything based on comment or critique.

Greener Grass

I wish I were Lauren because she is brilliant. I wish I were Nick because he is kind. I wish I were Jenny because she attracts friends so easily. I wish I were Lisa because she attracts men so easily. I wish I were Mike because he is rich. I wish I were Mary because she is good. I wish I were Scott because he is wise.

When I hear her good fortune, his good luck, their hard work finally paying off, I nod and my eyes fall to the floor. When I look back up - it’s a mere moment I glance away - I smile with false alacrity and chirp a congratulations.

“I would love to do something like that, but I never could,” I say. “I just don’t have the money.”

I’m just not that lucky. I don’t have the time. My father is too sick. My husband would never go for it. My kids come first. Whatever excuse is handy, I use.

At least she’s fat. At least he has a stupid haircut. At least they drive a piece-of-crap car. At least I don’t look like I just walked off the set of The Addams Family. At least I don’t drink so much. At least I don’t start projects I never finish.

I am burning. I am tight-necked and stiff. I am clench-fisted. My legs and arms are crossed, my lips are pursed, and my eyes are narrow. I am cold and mean and distant. I cheer when you fall and grumble when you win. I am anger at its worst. I am jealousy.

Creative Writing: Drunken Sailor Walking

Another assignment from my online descriptive writing class. Unedited again.

Drunken Sailor Walking

Faith twists to the green chair and reaches her hands to hinge onto its seat. Squaring her feet on either side of her hips, she unbends her legs to standing. Her neck pivots to see my reaction. I smile. She is encouraged and turns toward me, freeing her hands from their grip on the chair. Barely navigating the landmines of toys, she makes her way across the rug toward me. She learned to walk two weeks ago, and she swerves like a drunken sailor. Her gaze is on me, not the floor, and she doesn’t pay attention when she reaches the end of the rug and starts on the polished wood floors. I pay attention. She’s wearing socks: pink and cuffed above the ankle. From drunken sailor to uncertain ice skater, I know she is going to fall. She is four steps off the carpet when it happens. She lands on her left side, and her head hits the rug. She looks at me, waits for my reaction to decide whether or not she should cry. I turn away; if she hasn’t cried yet, she’s fine. But I held eye contact too long, and she registered concern in it. Stilted at first, she finds a full wail after a moment. I kneel next to her and pull her into my arms. Silence is instant. I pull off her socks and stand her on the floor again. She falls forward into me. That’s just about enough walking for tonight, her sleepy sigh and heavy head say.

Creative Writing: Yoga Class

My husband suggested last night that I start adding some creative writing to this blog to give people a sense of my true passion, which is not writing information blog updates. I thought it was a good idea, so I am starting with some exercises I did for an online writing class. The purpose of the class was to learn how to write descriptively. I haven't made any changes to what I handed in to the teacher of the class, so these pieces are unedited me.

Yoga Class

Like laying a rainbow onto the wooden floorboards, I unroll my bright yoga mat. Against my turquoise water bottle, a violet golf towel my husband was given in Cabo San Lucas leans. Water in, sweat out.

Mirrors and other students, the things by which I judge my performance, surround me. Two women whisper about The Bachelor, open palms rested on crooked legs. Others lay flat, and still others stretch and move and awake. I observe, elbows on bent knees and palms on cheeks. Music imported from Asia quiets us, signaling the beginning of class.

I am armed with a spring green and winter white block, a thick blue strap, and a vocabulary acquired through years of classes. Down dog, up dog, crow, happy baby, warrior three. These words have all come to define different shapes and postures of my body - asanas. I perform them without much thought now, as one responds to a traffic signal without consideration.

I am only missing one tool: flexibility. I will never grace dancer’s pose or ease into a headstand. A tall, curveless basketball-player frame and lean, long-distance-runner legs are my God-given athletic gifts. Advanced yogi I will never be. Namaste.

Going Public

Writing is inherently a solitary act. I spend all day by myself in my office writing. And when I have free time, I sit by myself and read a book. I shun plans with friends to do this, only sometimes reminding myself that people were created to be in community with each other and that I should really get out and do something with someone who isn't the figment of another author's imagination. I enjoy being alone, and I don't think I'm the only writer who would write that.

Well, enjoying the solitary life is all good until you are on the road to trying to publish a book, and you are suddenly supposed to be accessible to all sorts of people and like to do readings and book signings and tours. Well, I don't know that. It's only what I've heard so far.

I took the first step to marketing myself today by joining LinkedIn and Twitter. I have avoided Twitter despite reading about it nearly every day for the past year. It just has absolutely no appeal to me whatsoever. But then an article from Writer's Digest spurred me to join not only Twitter, but LinkedIn. Both are supposed to make you more accessible both to the publishing industry and potential readership. I figured I would be proactive, and despite that I do not have any publishing contacts or potential readership (sorry, Dad, you don't count), I would sign up for both. I will keep you posted if either of these things assist me in my path to publication. You can follow me on Twitter, although I'm not sure if anything of merit can be said in under 140 characters.

Getting Over Him

It's been thirty-eight days since I sent off my query letter to Mr. S. Since I sent it, I've been to New York and Ecuador, and my parents have come to visit. It's been a busy thirty-eight days. I've held out hope that Mr. S's letter was on its way to my house, but I haven't heard anything yet, so today I got smart. I moved on. Instead of waiting by my mailbox for his letter, I decided to explore other options. I sent five more query letters today.

I suppose finding an agent is a little bit like dating. I started like the big-eyed young girl who fell head over heels for the football quarterback who dates the shiny-haired cheerleaders. Because he dates the type of girls she wants to be, she wants to date him. But he looks past her because there is someone pretty, popular, and outgoing that catches his attention. Eventually, of course, she moves on. Maybe to another football player or maybe to someone who will admire her back.

Well, maybe there is someone out there for Mr. S. with an MFA or a reputation at The New Yorker. And today I decided I'm not waiting around any longer. I sent out five more query letters, which is five agents I can cross of my list. Five down...well, who knows how many more to go. Stay posted. I trust that there is someone out there who will find my voice unique and fresh and beautiful. Someone will admire me back.