a little rant

You’re (Not) Doing It Wrong

This rambling post is one I’d been meaning to write for a while, and then I read Katy Upperman’s fabulous post On Insanity last week,* which made me want to post it even more. One of the hardest things about being a writer is quashing the impulse to compare your trajectory with everyone else’s. Or what you think everyone else’s is. And on social media, we typically see mostly the big milestones that people reach: finishing a draft, getting an agent, winning a contest, selling a book. There’s a constant chanting of good news and big news for other people through blogs and Twitter and Tumblr. Well, yay! That is awesome. Good news for one is sort of good news for all, because it means that our industry is thriving and authors are creating and readers are buying. But the steady stream of “NEWS!” also presents an illusion, one that things are happening faster, or easier, or more frequently for other people.

The thing that I’m feeling all compare-y about lately is speed, or the lack thereof (in terms of how quickly I can finish a project). The more I tune into Twitter, the more I start to think that everyone else is writing perfect first drafts in four weeks, and still blogging, tweeting, and tumblring regularly. Meanwhile I am revising . . . and revising . . . and revising the same old WIPs. Which has been driving me slightly nuts. Honestly, I am kind of a slow writer, and I’m not a full-time one. That’s right–I know that the limitations on my writing speed are understandable–it’s not like I’m slow because I keep choosing to binge-watch Nashville instead of revise a chapter.** I get that I should feel good about myself for the solid progress I am making, at a pace that works for me. The fact that I’m steadily working and meeting actual deadlines is what’s important, right? Sure. But when I dip into my Twitter feed and the blogosphere, I kind of lose that perspective. I find myself thinking, You’re doing it wrong, slowpoke.

Writing’s not easy, and everyone’s struggling with something. Comparison is an unnecessary problem, but a difficult one to fix. Is the solution to avoid social media? I don’t think so: It can be a great, beneficial, stimulating, supportive place. If there’s a solution, I think it’s to remind ourselves that there is no right way to do this–write, tell stories, create. Or, if there is a “right” way, it is whichever way is working for you. Slow and steady can win the race. So can fast and frenzied. I love this post from The Kindness Project on making time, and this line stuck with me: “Kindness, like most things, starts with yourself.” Letting go of the need to compare–that’s also an act of kindness toward yourself.

From now on, I’ll ask myself: Are you doing what works for you, right now (while still keeping yourself accountable)?
Great. Then you’re not doing it wrong.

*Uh, at the beginning of May, actually. See? I am slow (and that’s . . . okay).
**Not that there is anything wrong with binge-watching TV once in a while, or specifically watching Nashville, which is a delightful show. Please do not tell me what happened in the finale because I haven’t watched it yet. 🙂

On Moving and Books

I’m currently packing up my apartment. In the process, I’ve determined that books comprise about 40% of what I own. (Sorry, robbers. If you don’t want paperbacks or old T-shirts or shoes with an odd wear pattern because apparently I walk funny–you’re out of luck.) Right now they are strewn across the floor of our living room/office/storage area/guest room (life in small spaces, yo) and slowly making their way into poorly packed boxes.

A poorly packed box.

I think books might actually be the Very Worst Thing to Pack. Worse than glassware. Hear me out: books are heavy, they come in wildly variant trim sizes, and they are dusty (at least if they belong to someone who hates dusting, like me). Putting them into boxes feels like the world’s most frustrating game of Tetris. There’s always ONE art book that is super long and won’t fit in the box and screws everything up, so another box full of tcotchkes that normally could live in the back of a closet in the new place (never to be unpacked–almost as good as actually dealing with the clutter) now contains a book and therefore has to get unpacked and dealt with.

Anyway. Can you tell that I’m at the point of moving at which I wish someone would hit me over the head with one of my rarely used kitchen appliances, or the copy of Benet’s Reader’s Encyclopedia that I haven’t opened since college, and I could wake up once we’re settled again?

I love print books. Always have, probably always will. Given the choice, I will opt to read in print form as opposed to on my iPad. But damn it if moving doesn’t make me want to bring my entire collection to the Strand and go digital. To think I could have every book in the mountain of brown boxes that currently prevents me from walking from my desk to the closet door on my 0.68-pound tablet . . .

What about you? Does moving (or dealing with piles of books in your home on a regular basis) make you want to convert to e-reading?

Where we buy our books

I don’t care where people buy their books–indies or B&N or Half Price or online or Urban Outfitters or Target or the airport or your neighbor’s stoop–I just like it when people buy books. Yay, books!
With one exception: buy it where you found it.

If you discover a book in a bookstore, buy it there.

There have been a lot of trend pieces lately (and this article) about people using bookshops as showrooms–browsing the display tables and staff picks, then jotting down or taking pics of the titles to remember to buy them from an online retailer. I say: that sucks! Somebody working at that bookstore decided to stock the book, and liked it enough to put it out for you to find it. If you wouldn’t have known or thought to order it online without seeing it in the brick & mortar store, that store (and its helpful curators, the employees) deserves for you to buy the book there. Even if it costs a dollar or several more than online.
By the same measure: if you discover a title from an online giant’s email or newsletter or algorithm, great! Go ahead and buy it from them.

But a store is a store, not a showroom. It’s there to sell things and if it doesn’t, it will go away. Now that we have online retailers with no physical presence and mobile shopping apps up the wazoo, we have to protect the brick & mortar stores that help make our towns and neighborhoods vibrant places. Unless, of course, you want all the businesses around you to be banks and cell-phone stores. Nothing against them, but personally, I’d prefer a few bookshops in the mix.

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