Classy

I always feel a bit cornered at cocktail parties or "industry" mixers when I'm asked: What do you do?

There's not an easy answer for that (and I long for the day when it will be a simple, non-hyphenated, direct reply). I'm a writer with a day job who started her own imprint to publish her first book. I do explain that with more eloquence on the spot. The overpriced martini in my hand assists. But, once I get on the subject of "independent" publishing, I find that will be the topic for the remainder of the night. It seems that most every writer I've talked to has had a self-publishing fantasy or two. As I've mentioned before, the first book was a fluke and putting it out there on my own was more accident than grand plan. It all just sort of happened. And, because of that, I learned most things about the process the hard way.

After many of these conversations, and emails from other authors asking about my experience, I got it in my head that a seminar on the subject might prove to be fun. So, if you are in the LA area on September 17th and would like to get to know a bit more on the subject, please join me for a little class: http://commed.smc.edu/index.cfm?fuseaction=1013&courseid=1000

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The Big Delete

I always get this way before I kill someone. Moody. Restless. Slightly self-loathing. Staring at the same words on the screen, or suddenly going Martha Stewart on my apartment. I avoid the task as long as possible before finally mustering up the guts to get the job done. Sometimes a character just has to go. Their removal will heighten the drama, pull a heart-string or add to the dark comedy. No matter what the cause, it's never an easy task. These are people we are talking about. Fictitious people, but very real in the faux universe created for the story. For the entertainment of someone somewhere down the line. All for the sake of art. Commercial art, anyway.

With a few keystrokes, it's done. The words are written and a character's make-believe life comes to an end. Hopefully a poetic end, or a funny one, depending on the needs of the plot twist. It's over. He/She/They are gone, and all the Apple Key+Z's in the world won't set it right.

There's a peculiar melancholia that comes right before the scene is written and lingers a tad too long after. The rational brain realizes this emotion boarders on goofy, but the emotional brain is busy festering guilt. Personal morals are questioned. Karma becomes a concern. There's a desire for absolution but, when called upon, the scribe gods offer little solace. You wanted to be a writer, they seem to scold. It's just part of the job.

Still, it's not a good feeling to bring about anyone's abrupt end. And it seems I can't put this one off any longer. Time to send a really nice lady to the Big Delete. Please forgive me.

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So BEA It

This was my first foray into Book Expo America. I'm still a rookie. Although, with my book's second anniversary fast approaching, I don't know how much longer I'll be able to use that excuse.

There was no way I wouldn't go; not with it being in my own backyard. How often does the publishing world pay a visit to Los Angeles? It's as though no one believes there are authors here. Screenwriters, sure. Television writers in slews. But, serious authors reside in Manhattan or quaint hamlets, not in the smoggy-hazed City of Angels. It seems Los Angeles is never taken seriously. Sigh. That's okay, I suppose. There's so much make-believe going on around here, I do understand it. But, I digress...

So BEA was brought to town. And it couldn't have come at a worst weekend. Thursday was a full work day. No way out of that. Friday, "Sex and the City" opened, and I had tickets to the first show and plans for a three-martini lunch to follow. Even skipping the lunch, the desire to avoid Friday traffic is huge. Saturday, I had a long-booked hair appointment right in the middle of the afternoon, which left me no opportunity to go before or after, and re-booking was out of the question. So, that left Sunday. The last day. But I was going to make the most of it. And, after spending $100 to attend, I had damned well better.

A trade show is a trade show is a trade show. Sorry, but it's true. And I have a bit of Clark Griswold in me. Remember Chevy Chase bopping his head at the Grand Canyon? That's me walking into the West Hall of the Convention Center. However, there was no turning back. Armed with my handy list of booths to visit, and a need to learn more about the industry I've fallen into (yes, I'm also a screenwriter, and former slave of Hollywood), I hit the floor, stumbling onto the over-plush carpeting of some exhibitors, I scanned the row with an eagle eye. Who was offering lanyards? God bless Lightning Source, yet again. (In full disclosure, they are the printers and distributors of my book. They also had the lanyards at the ready.)

Being both an author and independent publisher, I found myself a bit fractured. Where exactly did I fit in? How will I present myself next year when I show at Javitz? Would it be on Authors Row, or within the block of booths of one of the independent publisher associations I'm considering aligning with? Truth be told, I hope it's with a major publisher who will soon nab my novel, because being an independent publisher is hard work, and I am exhausted by it. See, where exactly do I fit in?

It's really a buyers market. Perhaps that's why I felt more like a writer out of ink than a proper attendee. I was certainly there on a reconnaissance mission but, after an hour, I pretty much was done. I did my best to stretch it out. I further familiarized myself with publishers more up my alley. Paid sad homage to the Authors Row, where several were desperate for any attention, clad in costume and wanting to give away their wares so as not to have to lug them back home. Sigh. Next year, that could be me. Sans costume, of course. Took cards, gave cards, ignored most of the freebies, and made a few attempts at small talk. But, by Sunday, the exhibitors appeared worn (those that actually bothered to show up, anyway).

All in all, the most enlightening experience I had was the fifteen-minute teeth whitening offered in the South Hall. Yes, I was one of those there, perching a Cheshire Cat smile and wearing orange goggles as a blue light made my smile more brilliant. Like I said, I was trying to stretch out my time. In the end, I made it for just shy of four hours. That makes it about twenty-five dollars an hour, plus parking, plus dental beautification...I think it would have almost been cheaper to exhibit. Lesson learned.

Next year will be an adventure. New York. Good times to be had, bunking on a good friend's sofa in order to save a grand's worth of hotel bills. Scurrying through New York traffic while my body will still be on Pacific Time. Having to be charming for four days straight. I can hardly wait. Seriously.

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Sandra Ann Miller is an author and independent publisher living in Venice, California. A native of Los Angeles (they do exist) and graduate of the California Institute of the Arts, Sandra toiled in the film industry for over a decade, and the stories she could tell were it not for the confidentiality agreements. Working on everything from Pumpkinhead II to Alien Resurrection, and as executive assistant to actors, producers and company chiefs, she left the trenches of Hollywood to write and consult for small businesses and non-profits, and "work" on her novel.

Sandra's first book, A SASSY LITTLE GUIDE TO GETTING OVER HIM - 10 STEPS TO HEAL YOUR HEART AFTER AN UNHAPPY ENDING, happened as a fluke when she witnessed a friend suffer a sneak-attack breakup. She released the book her own imprint, SAME Ink, and it was available on Amazon 16 weeks after the day her friend got dumped. She recently completed her first novel, CHAIN-SMOKING VEGETARIANS AND OTHER ANNOYANCES IN L.A.