The Great Why

I grew up in a very practical family. A father and a brother who both work a trade, a mother and two sisters all in nursing. In a climate like that, more often than not the desire to squirrel away in a book seemed -- and still does, sometimes, if I'm honest -- just the teensiest bit preposterous. What matter words and letters when the people around you have good, respectable jobs, when they do important things like install and maintain your water supply and stand strong between life and death?

Which is not to say that my family wasn't supportive, or that they didn't encourage the writing, because they did. At every available opportunity.You could argue that they even supported me to my detriment, in some ways -- someone who chooses to spend a lot of money on a fancy foreign degree with no guarantee of a job at the close of it might not deserve as much support as I received. But I was stubborn. I was certain of my future. I knew what I wanted. Yadda yadda. And so I went. I took out those loans, and I went. And I had a wonderful time. And eventually that time came to an end, and now I'm home, jobless, and trying every day not to cave under the weight of these impossible loans. You could argue, I suppose, that if my parents really wanted to support me they would have cautioned me against going in the first place. To save me the struggles of now, they might have argued against the "headstrongness" of then. Perhaps.

To Self Publish, or not to Self Publish?

Those of you who read this blog will know that for me, the above is now a bit of a moot question. I have self published, and I am also (hurray!) now in the process of having a book come out with an independent literary press. Months ago, in response to an entry that I'd written full of fear and despair about the current publishing climate, a friend of mine said, "Some authors will continue to fit into the traditional model and some will fit very well into the hyper-technological era. Many will fall in between, which is where I see you. You have a traditional publishing deal but you also self-published your first book online. What are you afraid of?"

She's a smart gal, this friend. So smart that I wish I had her near me all the time -- it would buck up my spirits in a huge way, especially in the face of what seems to be terminal unemployment on my end of things.

But! I'm not here today to talk about being funemployed. Instead, I'm here to rave about this article, which I read first thing this morning, and which -- as usually happens -- seems to have expressed all of my complicated feelings regarding the self-publishing machine in an infinitely more eloquent, intelligent manner.

Read the article, folks. And keep an eye out for Edan Lepucki in the years to come. Something tells me she's just getting warmed up.

The Book Club Virgin Weighs In

Confession: up until last night, I had never been to a book club.

I know.

I know.

Isn't this my life? Isn't everything I do about books? Why, then, in heaven's name, has it taken until now for me to find my way to a book club?

I don't know. I just haven't sought them out. Maybe because reading has been such a solitary, sacred experience for me, perhaps because writing has been much the same. But, as I've talked about before, even the solitary nature of writing bleeds into something participatory, in the end. So when the invitation came, I figured, "Amanda, it's about time," and off I went, to book club.

We read The Book Thief, which was lovely in many ways. You know what else was lovely? Everybody brought food.

On Place

As per usual, I am behind the bandwagon on this. But thought I'd take today to give my two cents (worth much less than two cents, but whatever) into this whole Is CanLit Canadian enough debate. Jian Ghomeshi spoke about all of this on the CBC's Q last week, and while I confess I have yet to listen to the podcast, the Twitter maelstorm that whipped up following the debate was most interesting to follow.

Giller Glitz

So just over a week ago, now, I decided to take the plunge and get a ticket to the Scotiabank Giller Light Bash event. Plunge, of course, because attending ritzy events in Toronto (never mind the travel to and from) is somewhat risqué business when one is funemployed, but as I thought more and more about it (and got some encouragement from lovely Twitter friends), I got, well, more and more excited. So plunge ahead I did. Off to TO last night for Miss Amanda, to meet Twitter pals and publishing whizzes and peek into the exciting life of literary TO.

I'm so glad I went.

NaNoWriMo Love

Hello, kiddies. A whole week! A whole week of no blogging. Please forgive. (Again, she says.) And I really have no excuse, except to say that blogging requires the moving of my laptop into the bedroom, and the hooking up of my computer to that terribly old-fashioned blue ethernet cable sticking out from beside the bed. Not such a huge endeavour in and of itself, I suppose, but when one is hunkered down at a desk in front of the sunshine, scribbling away, it is surprisingly hard to tear oneself away and get to blogging.

I'm sorry. A little. I do apologize.