Why The Wordsmiths Project Journal Is Not A Blog

Posted on April 20th, 2008 in Wordsmiths Project, Mollie Glick, Blogging, Writing, Ernest Lilley by Sally

The renown litblogger Michael Allen (aka “The Grumpy Old Bookman”) announced last year that he would be retiring from frequent 5-day-a-week blogging. He had calculated that since he had started the site back in March, 2004, he had probably written about 1,000,000 words in his blog. (See “Change of Policy“)

1,000,000 words!

In other words, if The Grumpy Old Bookman hadn’t been blogging every weekday for three years, he could have conceivably spent that time and creative energy writing several books or hundreds of articles – presumably with some financial remuneration associated with the endeavor.

For several months, I haven’t posted anything in The Wordsmiths Project Journal. Instead, I’ve done the following things:

  • Helped care for ill family members.
  • Finished my novel “The Winter Boy” and delivered it to my agent, Mollie Glick, who is currently showing it around to possible publishers.
  • Completed and sent in my first ever grant application.
  • Received my first ever grant – from the Lackawanna County Council of the Arts – for another exhibit of The Wordsmiths Project.
  • Created and exhibited more of my fine art photo images (and made a nice number of sales).
  • Finished my novel “Jo Joe” which I recently sent to my agent to read.
  • Trained our two year-old Golden Retriever – Watson – to be a therapy dog.
  • Took Watson on our first visit to an assisted living facility and loved the smiles he gave the residents.
  • Given various talks, lectures and seminars on The Wordsmiths Project, the publishing industry, writing as a career, photography, Photoshop, digital imaging and so forth.
  • Launched an Internet radio show – The Photo Gurus – with Daniel.
  • Started work on my third novel “Crossing the Line.”
  • Helped Daniel and his staff at DigitalBenchmarks Lab, with various testing of imaging and photography hardware and software for clients, including my personal specialty of image quality analysis.
  • And, as always, written a number of articles on assignment.

When I started The Wordsmiths Project Journal, I made a conscious choice to call it a journal and not a blog. That’s because my plan was to write in it when I had something to say and when I had time to do it.

My friend Ernest Lilly – the editor of TechRevu and SFRevu – told me that it wouldn’t be my decision what it would be called. That would be up to the blogosphere. But I think that those of you who do read this Journal will agree that it isn’t a blog, for the simple reason that I don’t have the time or temperament to keep up regular entries. Besides, I have more novels and articles to write, and new pictures to create.

However, I do promise that I will be writing a bit more frequently, when I have something to say that I feel would be useful and entertaining for folks interested in the publishing world, writing and writers.

And, yes, I will be getting back to doing more portraits for The Wordsmiths Project, so I continue to welcome nominations.

Literary Memory

Frank Wilson: Click to see more portraitsI just started reading “The Thirteenth Tale,” by Diane Setterfield. I’ve been curious about it ever since my photo shoot and interview with Frank Wilson, the books editor of The Philadelphia Inquirer. Frank had told me that he was enjoying the controversy of having given a good review of a novel that his respected peer, Laurie Muchnick (the books editor of Newsday), definitely didn’t like. Using it as an example of how the Internet now gives readers the opportunity for greater dialog, Frank said, “I’m hoping that Laurie writes a review of The Thirteenth Tale that I liked so much and she didn’t. Because the minute that she does, I’m going to link to it and mine [from his blog], so that people can have both points of view. Remember the ‘Life of Brian,’ when he tells people ‘You’re all individuals, you can think for yourselves?’ Well, people can, and it’s very good for their minds to think for themselves.”

But what the first few pages of “The Thirteenth Tale” sparked for me was a very different controversy – the current obsession with memoirs that contain inaccurate, often invented accounts. After all, aren’t memoirs, and their literary cousins, biographies, supposed to give us the facts about a life?

“The Thirteenth Tale” centers on an aged best-selling author, Vida Winter, who would invent different histories for herself, whenever she was interviewed. At various times, she was “the secret daughter of a priest and a schoolmistress… the runaway child of a Parisian courtesan… an orphan raised in a Swiss convent, a street child from the backstreets of the East End….” Now, at the end of her life, she summons a biographer, Margaret Lea, and promises to tell her “the truth.” The novel slowly unfolds the story of Vida Winter’s childhood, through her storytelling and Margaret Lea’s investigations.

But what are the facts of a life fully lived, though not documented minute by minute, recording every day’s events and encounters until later – if at all? And what is the truth contained in those half-remembered facts? (I’m not talking about inventions or out-and-out lies. Those belong in a different discussion about why people choose to distort or completely make up their stories rather than try to recount what they remember.)

Vida Winter, in “The Thirteenth Tale,” says, “All children mythologize their birth.” But I would go further than that. I consider my own memory, and I can’t help but reflect that it is a personal mythology of my life – the moments I have chosen to remember because, in hindsight, they have become meaningful to me, to the person I have become since then. Are they accurate memories? Of course not. I’ve filtered them, filled in what I’ve forgotten with what might have been, and embellished them with each retelling.

However, should I choose to write a memoir – something I certainly don’t expect to tackle in this or the next decade – I can’t help but feel that the facts wouldn’t matter so much as what I choose to tell. That’s where the truth of me would be, in the telling. Not necessarily the truth of who I was when whatever event I would be relating occurred, but who I am when I would recount it.

I must admit that I haven’t read the memoirs that stirred the recent controversies. So, I can only speak in general terms. But I know from my own family and friendships, that even when memories are shared, they are seldom the same. Of course, the classic example of this is Akira Kurosawa’s movie “Rashomon,” in which the witnesses of a murder (including the ghost of the victim) all give conflicting versions of the murder.

But what about verifiable facts? I have made my living as a non-fiction writer for two decades. As such I’ve had to check any fact I’ve written, making sure it came from more than one source. If that weren’t possible, and the story still required that I include the information, I would use modifiers such as “he says,” “she claimed,” “the indications are,” etc. I would struggle with all the details, information and facts I could find and try to prove, until I would end up with a story that I felt told the truth of the matter – not my personal truth, but, hopefully, a neutral, unbiased truth.

However, as a photographer, I know that every story and every picture interprets the facts, presenting them in one manner or another. One example I often give is taking the photograph of an island resort hotel. If I angle my camera in one way, I will show you an idyllic, pristine beach with charming bungalows, and a beautiful couple sharing a delicious breakfast on their patio table. But if I angle my camera so you can see the trash dumpster and the shanty town in the distance, the story becomes something completely different.

Is it any wonder that I now prefer to write fiction? When I strip my tales of facts, then I can finally tell my own truths, rather than other people’s truths.

Book Reviews: Finding the Needle in the Haystack

Frank Wilson, Books Editor of The Philadelphia InquirerWalk into any good bookstore, and the realities of being an author hit you right in the face – you’re confronted by a vast volume of recently published books. About 175,000 new titles were released this past year. For writers, that’s a daunting number; we can only hope that critics and readers will discover our one book from among the many thousands vying for attention.

But look at it from the point of view of book critics. It can be a Herculean effort to sift through the avalanche of books and bound galleys they receive daily from publishers and publicists, to select the handful worthy of review. Consider the picture above, of Frank Wilson, the influential books editor at The Philadelphia Inquirer. He’s practically buried by the piles of books that arrive daily in the mail. He told me that he had just unpacked 150-200 books – in one day.

However, Frank loves his work, it’s the job he dreamed of when he was in college. His passion is evident when he speaks about reading, in his eloquent, resonant voice, emphatically gesturing with his hands, warming quickly to the subject. “I’ve never read more in my life than I’ve had to read since getting this job, obviously. One of the things that I would not have anticipated as a consequence of that is the fact that I find it very difficult to endure passive entertainment. If I go to a film, the film has to grab me pretty quickly or I begin to think about something I ought to be reading and wish that I were home reading instead of watching this movie.” He likens reading a book to a musical score, because it plays out in your head. “It’s an interactive, participatory experience. You’re a co-creator.”

The problem is that no matter how many books Frank receives at his office, his newspaper can review only about 400 titles a year. So how does he select which ones The Inquirer will review?

Books by the big-name authors, such as John Updike or Philip Roth, will be reviewed because they can’t be ignored. But if a book is being reviewed everywhere else, Frank would rather not follow the crowd. Instead, he enjoys finding the quirky, offbeat book “Finding a book like Jane Gardam’s ‘Old Filth,’ that Michael Orthofer reviewed for me. That was really neat. Finding John Scalzi’s ‘The Ghost Brigade’ was really neat.” An avid and very successful blogger, Frank pays attention to what the buzz is among his fellow bloggers, in search of the little known gem of a book.

Certain small publishers will often get a second glance from Frank, especially when the house has “a single, controlling intelligence, a genuine intelligence, a discerning intelligence.” Then, their catalogs are “like an art collection.” For example, he mentioned George Gibson of Walker and Company, and Kent Carol of Europa Editions, both of whom he feels are personally reading and choosing the books they will publish, “which is why they tend to be of high quality.”

But given the odds, most of his unpacking of the daily pallet-full of books involves a filtering out, rejecting the books he knows he doesn’t want covered. The Inquirer doesn’t have a paperback column, so the vast majority of them go, with the exception of the rare paperback original that might catch his interest. Self-published books are almost always ignored. “There may be a masterpiece in there, but probably not, and we’re probably not going to find it.” Nor will he review self-help books, such as ones that tell you how to improve your business or alter your outlook on life. Publishers tend to have a “herd mentality” when putting out political books, so Frank often ignores them, even if they are by a “name” author, unless they have something really new and interesting to say.

Mystery and crime fiction are also hard sells, and he’s particularlyy not interested in any DaVinci look-alikes. First of all, he has no respect for “The DaVinci Code.” But more importantly, the competition in the mystery field is brutal. “Which would you rather read,” he asked. “This rather pedestrian medieval mystery or Andrew Klavan’s ‘Damnation Street,’ which is one of the creepiest crime novels I’ve read in a long time? My eyes wouldn’t move fast enough to read the last few pages on that one. If you want to get into writing a crime novel, you better realize that there are some pretty heavy hitters in that field. And good just won’t cut it. ”

Of course, every author wants to be reviewed, to have her book noticed. Otherwise, why write it? But with so much competition is there anything that an author can do to get a major book editor’s attention? For instance, I asked Frank, is there value in hiring a freelance publicist (someone who works for the writer rather than for the publisher)?

He acknowledged that there are publicists whose recommendations he trusts, but he wouldn’t mention names. As he explained, “If a publicist will tell you, as a publicist once did, ‘I actually don’t know why they spent the money to print this book,’ I trust a person like that.” And when that person turns around and tells him that a book is really good, he’ll tend to believe her (or maybe, it was a him). But hiring a freelance publicist is tricky. Some don’t even read the books they are pitching, and it’s obvious in their press releases. So, if you’re going to spend some of your hard-earned advance, you’ll want to be sure that the publicist you hire really knows your book, and believes in it wholeheartedly. And it must be someone reviewers trust.

However, instead of hiring a publicist who may or may not be able to garner attention for your book, Frank recommends that writers blog. I have my doubts about the value of blogging; it’s certainly not for everyone. But I’ll go further into that subject in another journal entry I’m planning to write within the next couple of weeks, called “Blogging: Is It a Good Career Choice?”

Frank is quite aware of the dreams that each book he discards represents. “The fantasy that everyone has is that ‘I’m going to write a book, it’s going to be a best seller, and I’m going to retire.’ No,” he said, “You’re going to write a book, and you’re lucky if it’s published, and if it is, it is probably going to be remaindered.” He told me about his interview with John Jakes years ago, when Jakes wrote ‘The Bastard,’ which was a best seller and became part of the miniseries that made Nick Nolte’s career. Jakes told Frank that everyone thought “The Bastard” was his first novel, when it was his 26th. ”If you’re going to be a writer,” Frank advises, “You better realize that it’s a marathon, not a sprint”