The Challenge of Self-publishing

So I took the plunge. After long resistance, I signed on with Booksurge to self-publish a novel.  That means Crossovers should be available by Christmas after languishing for years in the proverbial drawer, rejected by publishers who don’t think they can sell a book about a boy who figure skates.

Why did I resist?

Self-publishing means the author takes on not only the financial responsibility of printing the book, but also the roles of editor, book designer, and distributor.

It can be a shortcut to avoid polishing a manuscript to the level a commercial publisher requires.  But I already have five commercially published titles and have actually been paid for editing other people’s work.  The Crossovers manuscript has been read by several critics—writers, figure skaters and even a former hockey commissioner.  My daughter who used to keep the typists of an insurance company in proper grammatical form is currently going over it.  Her father has instructed her to be brutal.  (I think that is revenge for my editing of his self-published book, Excellence in Theological Education.)

The book design problem will be handled by Booksurge’s templates.  I need only slot my information into their templates, and out pops a book cover.  Of course, that means choices are very limited.  The Booksurge people assured me that there are literally millions of stock photos available on the Internet.  Unfortunately I haven’t found anything appropriate for a juvenile novel about a hockey player who wants to learn to figure skate.  An enthusiastic adult skater has lined me up with a photographer.  We have an appointment to meet at the rink with a pile of skates right after they finish giving the ice its highest shine.  We shall see how realistic my cover dreams are.

The biggest problem in self-publishing is usually distribution.  Bookstores avoid self-published books like a first-time goalie scared of the puck.  A public speaker has a built-in audience that heads straight for the book table after the meeting.  Fiction is more problematic.  Too often the author ends up with a garage full of unsold books.  In this day of print-on-demand I don’t risk a garage full of books—just a lot of money spent and nothing to show for it.

The way I figure it, Crossovers will appeal to the niche market of figure skaters and hockey players.  They all hang out at the same place—the ice rink.  And they shop at the same places—the skate shops.  My marketing plan is to drive from ice rink to skate shop with a trunk full of books.  Whitepages.com lists 27 within ten miles of my daughter’s house.  I can do this.  It’s an Olympic year with an American men’s World Champion.  What better time to try?

Skating Values or Kingdom Values?

Every culture has its core values, standards and expectations. Those values need to be examined and not just assumed, especially by those of us whose first loyalty is to the Kingdom of God. Last weekend I plunged again into the figure skating world I talked about a couple weeks ago when I attended my first camp—two and a half intensive days of on-ice and off-ice classes that left me both invigorated and exhausted.

I am the only adult skater at my usual rink, so the first day I entered the locker room with the same feeling in my stomach as an outsider approaching an unknown culture. What will be expected of me? Am I going to make a fool of myself? When I arrived, everyone was dressed in black lycra stretch pants. I had brought nothing but practice skirts and dresses. “You goofed! You’re going to look foolish!” my brain screamed at me. I was relieved when a handful of other skirts appeared.

I won’t deny that to be slender (my husband would say ‘skinny’) is a value of the skating world. We almost all fit that mold, and those who didn’t were still on the lower levels of the sport. Outsiders might say we have an ‘unhealthy obsession with an unrealistic ideal of beauty’. Personally I think the sport attracts people with the body shape that can best handle the jumps and spins. Skating requires so much energy that if you are obsessive/compulsive enough to advance through the test levels, you will inevitably consume so many calories that you can’t help but be thin.

And we are ALL obsessive/compulsive. You don’t spend that many hours on the ice if you don’t have the drive to be perfect.

Being female is not a core value. Although only one man joined us for the camp, we all envied the woman whose husband skates pairs with her.

Youth is not a cultural value either—at least not of adult skaters. We admire the achievements of the elite skaters vying for national and Olympic medals, but we know that will never be us. Longevity and perseverance are stronger values. Although most camp participants were in their 30s and 40s and the Gold Level skaters were all in their twenties, I was not the oldest. Marcie was 64, and I only saw her sit out for one session—the off-ice jumping class.

Figure skating is addictive. During one of our (very brief) breaks someone commented, “It could be worse! I could be addicted to cocaine.” How much can I indulge my delight in the joy of physical exercise and artistic expression, without slipping over the line into unhealthy addiction? As a child of God, I should be asking how he wants me to spend my time and finances. That will undoubtedly include enjoying the body he created, but my identity needs to come from what he says is true of me and not from my failure to skate as well as the next person. My love for skating shouldn’t interfere with my God-given responsibilities to those around me. It comes down to the challenging question: What do I do when Kingdom values conflict with Skating values?

Another culture

A few days after leaving the sci-fi/fantasy world of Convergence I plunged into yet another “world within a world”. I skated my Adult Bronze tests that qualify me for the Adult Nationals figure skating competition in Bloomington, Minnesota, next spring.

No torn fishnet stocking or flowing wizard capes here. I saw more blue velvet and silver sequins. The hairstyles were less diverse as well. Everyone with hair longer than her chin wore a ponytail since hair in the face gets in the way of jumps and spins. No visible tattoos or body piercings. Figure skating judges tend to come from a generation that frowns on that kind of thing.

The hang-loose attitude of a crowd of gamers having a good time was missing in the silent, near-empty arena where judges sat with their clipboards, writing neat comments and scores that would determine whether or not I passed or needed to ‘retry’ the test at a later date. (There are no failures in skating, only the need to 'retry'.)

I passed—even though I found out twenty-four hours earlier that the rules have changed and the Preliminary moves-in-the-field test that I took years ago did not qualify me to take the new Adult Bronze Freestyle test. I tend to be obsessive/compulsive and have run through a version of those moves every warm up since 2003. So I had an hour lesson on Wednesday afternoon and tested in the evening. I even earned a few extra tenths of a point for ‘grade of execution’ before taking my sit spin all the way to the ice and having to ‘retry’ it.

After more than ten years, my family still stands politely on the outside of this skating world, wondering what on earth gets me up before dawn to skate around a chilly arena, obsessively practicing tricks that have no use in the ‘real world’ off-ice. There is certainly no Olympics in this old lady’s future. Those outside a world don’t share its values or partake of its worldview.

I participate in several other ‘worlds’—the world of children’s writers, the world of international missions, even my evangelical subculture. Each has its own customs, core values and standards that seem obscure to those outside.

What worlds do you move in that others in the mainstream culture might miss?

So what is J. S. Bach writing these days?

I have long lamented the lack of time for all the things I would like to do. I once took Betty Edward's Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain onto the hills of Mpumulunga and spent enough time to know that I didn't have the patience. But photography! If I had another lifetime... If I could take pictures like the ones in National Geographic...

I was somewhat disappointed when our daughter did not go into architectural conservation and restoration since it is a field that has long fascinated me. I will be refinishing an antique dresser in the next couple weeks (if it ever stops raining), and a friend has assured me that reupholstering is "easy." There are quilts and calligraphy, wood carving and cabinetry, all skills I would love to pursue, not to mention all the books I haven't read and story ideas I would like to develop. Don't get me started on what I would do on the ice if I had the time and money to skate every day and take multiple lessons per week. If only reincarnation were true, I might have the time to develop a different skill in each lifetime.

A couple years ago it hit me like a speeding semi that God is Creator. Duh. What I mean is that it is part of his basic character. He created me in his image. Why do I assume that all that will end in eternity? God can't change who he is. Surely creativity will go on.

Last night I finished reading Andy Crouch's Culture Making: Recovering our Creative Calling. This evening I plan to start again at the beginning. There is too much meat for one reading. This book belongs on my shelf next to the writing books and Madeleine L'Engle's Walking on Water. It is about culture defining the limits of what is, and is not, possible, and about changing culture through circles of influence that start as small as two or three creative people thinking and acting together. Even the founders of MySpace couldn't guarantee the impact it would have on society. But as they created and their friends caught their enthusiasm and told their friends, the world has changed. As Christians, we want to change the world, but changes always start small with people in community thinking beyond their horizons of possibility. Culture Making maintains that creativity is a ministry as divine as preaching. Crouch tells us to examine whatever we are doing and ask, is this good enough for the New Jerusalem?

Long ago I asked the Lord to make my room in heaven a two-story paneled library with a fireplace, a teapot, and French windows opening onto a garden terrace. One of these days in eternity, I'm going to ask him to freeze over that Crystal Sea in front of his throne and let us do an ice show for his glory to the live music of Michael W. Smith and the heavenly choirs. Maybe my resurrected body will even be able to do a triple Axel. Who needs reincarnation when you have all of eternity to plumb the depths of his gift of creativity?

Psalm of My Life

Writers are famous for contemplating the "meaning of life." I wrote this psalm several years ago as I thought about mine. You may want to adapt it or add verses that reflect your own work and hobbies.

 

Psalm of My Life

Praise God with your pen.
Praise Him with the creativity of your mind.
Let stories well up which glorify His name;
Choose words that guide children in ways of truth.
The Lord is your Theme and Climax,
Your Beginning and your End.
Give Him praise as you sit at your keyboard.

Praise God on the ice.
Praise Him with movement and grace.
Praise Him with your blades and with the discipline of skill.
It is He who made your body
And planted the thrill of music in your soul.
All beauty comes from the Lord,
the Creator of heaven and earth.
Give Him praise as you glide and spring.

Praise God with your wealth.
Praise Him with offerings and wise spending.
Use His gifts on what will last,
Your riches to bring Good News
To the homeless and women in crisis,
African scholars and Asian evangelists.
Praise God for His goodness and delight in passing it on.

Praise God in your home.
Praise Him at the sink and with the mop.
Open your home to His servants
And to those who hunger to know Him.
Make it comfortable for your family,
A safe place for those you love.
This house is but a building God has entrusted to your care,
Its rooms and its lawn to be kept for His use.
Your family is His gift to love and enjoy.
Together you are a team to give Him glory in your neighborhood.
Praise God in your home.
Let all of life praise the Lord.

Figure Skates and Hockey Players

Life was a lot simpler when I was a little kid. There was family and hockey and school and hockey, and in summer there was hockey camp and my paper route and mowing lawns to get money for hockey equipment.

So what happens when thirteen-year-old Ben Bradley decides he wants to learn to jump and spin? With a dad who went through the U on a full hockey scholarship and high school cousins already watched by the talent scouts, there’s a lot of pressure to follow where they lead. What will they think if they find out what Ben is doing at the ice rink in the early mornings? And what will the other guys on the hockey team say?

So far my manuscript, Crossovers, about Ben and his sister Denise (who wants to be the first girl in Rum River to make the varsity hockey team) has not found a publisher. “Boys won’t buy a book about a figure skater.” “Stand alone titles lack visibility.” It’s frustrating to think that the need for a book about being artistic and male, is the very reason it won’t sell. But since I know Ben’s whole life down to what his kids did when they grew up, turning it into a series seems to be the way to go.

Consequently, I have spent this week volunteering at the U.S. Figure Skating Championships in Saint Paul, Minnesota, to get a behind-the-scenes view of what Ben will encounter when he makes the big-time. My assignment was transportation at the gate where the skaters, families and coaches entered the arena. I held the door for Johnny Weir and his coach, Victor Petrinko. I answered a question about the bus schedule for Tannith Belbin. I found a newspaper clipping with her son’s picture for Charlie White’s mom. The mother of one of the skaters (who shall remain un-named, but you saw her on the medal podium) apologized to me for the rude behavior of her daughter’s coach. I bought tickets for the last event so I could sit in the arena and watch my man, Evan Lysacek, get his gold medal in a tie-breaker finish. All the while I made notes on 3 by 5 cards of the kinds of details that will make Ben’s trip to Nationals feel real.

The monitors over the bar next to the gate showed far more of the competition than I could have seen at home on TV, and I had the fun of being in the middle of the excitement. When Ben goes to Nationals, he will definitely encounter a rude coach who says he’s nothing more than a hockey player in figure skates. Who knows? There may even be a tie-breaker finish.

Ben, I mean, Evan, gets his gold medal