The writing proceeds. Making good progress. Although, really, it helps to put the blog on the back-burner for the moment. Not that I don't miss it. I do. And I'll be back. But right now, I want. to. finish. this. book.

Did I mention that we're also remodeling our kitchen at the moment? And a bathroom? We are. So my other chore at the moment is to learn how to cook on electricity (we set up a temporary kitchen in the basement, and I'm cooking on a two-burner  hotplate). I figure I'll get proficient at cooking with electricity just about the time the kitchen is finished and I can get back to my beloved gas cooktop.

(Photos of remodeling at my Facebook page, if you're interested.) Anyway . .  .

Astute Reader Dexter sent me this link. And now I KNOW he's astute, because he knew I'd appreciate it, because he gets what I do for a living and he realized that this would ring true. (Big round of applause for Dexter, please.)

This essay is hilarious. Why? Because it completely nails, and I mean perfectly, totally, completely nails why authors have to work so hard to promote their books: 'cause the publisher prolly isn't gonna do much because, well, read the essay.

Although: I was  fortunate with the beer book. The publicist originally assigned to it left for another job a month or so before the book came out. Which left me and my book, well, stranded. (Because everyone else in the department was already working on other authors' books and publishing PR departments are chronically understaffed. It's the nature of the beast.) (*1)

So then a new guy came on board and, uh, did, um, well, nothing. (Nice guy but worthless.) No surprise, he wasn't around long.

But about a year six months after the book came out, one of the department's underlings got promoted and took over my book and he did more for it  than anyone had prior to that. He was amazing. Wonderful. Heroic. I wanted to mother his children. He was everything any author could want.

And, yes, you can see this coming: He left to take another job. 'Cause that's how it goes in the wonderful world of publishing.

And that's why writers like me bust our asses to blog, use Twitter, write op-ed pieces (see the "Other Projects"  link at the top of the page), blog some more, etc.  Because we've got to promote our books, because, say it with me, no one else is gonna do it.

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*1: This, by the way, is not a criticism. Shit happens. Plus, I LOVE my editor and therefore I LOVE my publishing house. It was my choice to publish the meat book with them. I will stay with them as along as they'll have me. Unless my editor goes to another house. Then, hmmm . . . I might change my mind.

Forget the e-book, e-readers, the dying word, and all that crap. Here's where the action is: Use Twitter to bash a critic, and bingo! Tons o' free publicity. That, my friends, is the brave new world of publishing. H

ere's the backstory (it's short and sweet): Novelist Alice Hoffman recently published a new novel. A couple of days ago, a reviewer for the Boston Globe panned the book.

(Or so Hoffman believes. Frankly, the review isn't that bad, and at least it's a review, for god's sake. Do you know how hard it is to get a book reviewed? Take my word for it: it's hard. HARD.)

Upon reading the review, Hoffman logged onto her Twitter account and, in a serious of increasingly snarky 140-character messages, proceeded to trash the reviewer (a "moron," according to Hoffman), the Globe, and anything in her line of site. (She also tweeted the reviewer's phone number, a move that was tacky beyond words.)

Unfortunately, you can't read all of the tweets because about 30 hours later, she shut down that Tweet account and  issued a formal apology. (You can read some of them here.)

But  --- and this is the punch line --- the controversy landed her, more or less instantly, in the "Media Decoder" column of the New York Times, whose website's readers number in the millions. All in the space of a few hours.

Sweet! Truly, truly, sweet. I've published three books, and I'm here to tell you that you can't pay for that kind of publicity.

So, okay, maybe I exaggerate a bit. Maybe she won't end up on the bestseller list, but Hoffman is certain to sell a hell of a lot more books than she would have otherwise. (It's worth noting that, as of this writing, 3:31 pm Central Time, her book is ranked 489 at Amazon.)

(Not, mind you, that Amazon numbers are a pure indicator of sales, but a number that low means the book is definitely moving.)

Friends, I have seen the future of publishing and it tweets, man, it tweets. I'm already composing my 140-character snark attack. I'll launch it when my next book comes out.

As regular readers have noticed, the blogging is slooooow at the moment. Slow. Because I’m deep into the new book and it’s hard to work on it and muster the creative energy necessary for the blog.

Truth be told, I’ve finally landed in the place I always know I’ll find (and that I’m guessing every writer lives for): The moment when frustration and confusion give way to clarity; when interest and attraction become . . . passion.

This is my fourth book and it’s always like this. I come up with the book idea. Think it through. Decide it’s viable. Spend months and months and months (and yes, it takes that long) wading through (literally) millions of words of primary and secondary materials, teaching myself the basics of the topic.

Next comes the getting-off-the-ground process: An even longer slog in which I gather unto myself my newly accumlated knowledge and begin writing.

Or try to. “Slog” hardly describes it. Trying to match that research to words is, at first, like wandering through the murkiest, most pestilential, swampiest swamp imaginable. The journey makes the hobbits’ trek in Lord of the Rings seem like a backyard romp. I wonder if I’ll ever find the other side. Wonder if I’ll ever make sense of the material.

And then . . .  Finally!

The moment I long for (and, truth be told, know will come eventually): I reach the edge of the swamp. I understand the research. I’ve found my “characters” (because although it’s non-fiction, I’m dealing with human beings). I know my theme and my argument.

What had been a getting-to-know-you series of dates turns into all-consuming passion and I’m hooked. No. I’m intoxicated and all I want to do is write so that I can tell the rest of the world about this amazing piece of human history.

So. At the moment, I’m . . . in love. Devoured by my “work.” And blogging is slow.

Wait. “Work”? This is . . . work? Give me more!

How classy does THAT sound? My buddy David Nygren, who blogs as/at The Urban Elitist, runs an occasional series of interviews with writers (of which he is himself one).

A few weeks ago, he asked if I'd answer a few questions. I said yes, and he posted the results of our e-interview today. This seems to be my week for baring my soul: first my detailed excursion into my drinking-and-drugging past, and now, the ugly facts of my so-called life as a writer.

[WARNING: what follows is digression into the politics of writing/publishing. a topic I rarely discuss here because, frankly, it's boring as hell.]

Because I used David's interview as a vehicle for violating the Great Taboo of the writing world: I talked numbers. (*2)

Among writers, numbers are the great unmentionable.  That's because some writers --- not all of them, but some --- love to play "Mine's Bigger." The "mine" in this case being the royalty statement (number of books sold) or bank account. They follow other writers' Amazon ranking (which, I'm here to tell you, don't mean much) or other publishing numbers, watching, vulture-like, for evidence that a book has "failed."

(This, by the way, is a game based on speculation, rather than fact, because none of the "public" numbers mean much of anything.)

"Failure" meaning it's not on a "bestseller" list of one kind or another. (Never mind that of the hundreds of thousands of books sold every year, only a few dozen land on a "bestseller" list. And never mind that most of those lists are representative of not much of anything.)

And when they have enough "evidence" in hand, it's pounce time: "HA HA HAAAAAAAAA! His/Her book FAILED!" Which is followed by :"He/She is a LOSER!"

Because, sadly, many writers confuse the content of one's character with the content of one's checkbook. (Apologies to Dr. King.)

I'm here to tell you: I'm not a "successful" writer. I've not made much money, or sold many books.

But if we're measuring "success" in terms of moral character or integrity, or peace of heart and mind, or "happiness," by fucking god, I'm a success.

So, long-winded way of explaining one reason why I don't hang out much with other writers, or spend time at writers' forums. (The other reason being, as I noted in the interview, that it's counter-productive. Makes more sense to hang out with the general public. That's where the action is.)

End of boring digression.

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*1: With a nod to an essay I wrote a couple of years ago whose subtitle was "My Life As A Loser."

*2: If I could do it over, I'dve added another number: 18,000. That's the number of copies sold of Ambitious Brew, through December 31, 2008. Copies sold, not copies read --- because as I noted in the interview, many, many readers read used copies. Not sure how to calculate the number of copies read (including library copies). Triple the number sold? Quadruple?

"Dear sir or madam will you take a look?" (Headline to this blog entry my attempt to write the chorus the way it's sung.)

David Nygren came up with what he calls a nutty idea a few weeks ago: Writing a novel using an excel spreadsheet. But the more he thought about it and the more other, equally nutty people thought about it, the better it sounded. So he created a system for doing so. You can see it here.

As McCartney and Lennon said: It's a thousand pages, give or take a few, I'll be writing more in a week or two. I can make it longer if you like the style, I can change it round but I want to be a paperback writer, Paperback writer.

David Nygren of the Urban Elitist continues his analysis of the e-book. (Yes, I know: Why is a middle-aged Iowan is reading the blog of a Brooklyn hipster? What can I say? Good ideas transcend age and geography.)

His current blog entry is a delight: an idea-packed stroll through the possibilities of promoting/selling a self-published e-book. There's much to consider in his post, but I especially like his idea of serialization. As he notes, serialization was once a common mode of delivering books to readers.

In the 19th century, for example, writers routinely published their work as serials, with installments appearing on a regular basis in a specific magazine or newspaper. Many were authors no one has heard of since then, but among the better-known who published this way were Anthony Trollope (one of my favorite writers) and Charles Dickens. (Film studios, by the way, adopted the model in the 1920s: those "shorts" the preceded the main movie were short serial films whose plot continued from week to week.)

So why not bring back the serialized book? Have it delivered in chunks to your email inbox or Ipod or Kindle? Great idea! (The folks at dailylit.com are doing something similar with books in the public domain.)

David also points out that writers who go the way of self-pubbed e-books will need a "hook," something that will grab the reader fast so he/she will decide to buy the entire work (delivered in one piece or serially).

Here's one way to do that: writers could cooperate in operating a communal "storefront." The would-be reader visits the site, and "grabs" for free maybe the first five hundred or a thousand words of the book. If the buyer likes what she's read, she can then pay for the entire book. The money would go directly into the writer's account.

Anyway, as David notes, once writers AND readers get past the idea of the conventional publishing model (agents and publishing houses and physical objects sold in "real" stores), there's no limit to where creativity can take the new e-model for publishing and reading.

Again, there's plenty there for both readers and writers. Take a look.

There's an essay worth reading in the 5-13-2007 issue of the New York Times Magazine: "Sex, Drugs, and Updating Your Blog," by Clive Thompson.

Here's the link. If you don't want to register at the Times in order to read it, here's the gist: Some young musicians today are using the internet to build their fanbase by blogging, posting music for free, and building a presence at MySpace and other internet sites.

That's obviously not news. What sets this essay apart is Thompson's focus on the flip side of that self-promotional coin: when the strategy succeeds, it becomes a double-edge sword, and the fame a burden: Too many people demanding too much of one's time. Hundreds of emails that the musician feels obliged to respond to, a task that devours his or her day. Too much closeness ("intimacy") with fans, who assume and expect you will respond to their every suggestion, every demand, every email.

It's an unusually thoughtful piece and it affirms my belief that this blogging/MySpace thing ain't all it's cracked up to be. And that they're deadly traps that can ensnare the unwary.

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE hearing from people who've read my work. I.m nearly ecstatic when I hear from a reader who has taken the time to read one of my books. I enjoy using this space to spout off about whatever bug I currently have up my ass.

But there's a limit to how much time I can spend online. Why? Because I have work to do. I have a book to write. And it's not clear to me how anyone can spend hours answering email, finding "friends" at MySpace (yes, even this old fogie knows what MySpace is); trying to get noticed at YouTube, etc. -- and still get any work done. Or, more accurately, I COULD spend part of the day working and the rest building a "fan base" -- but if I do, then what happens to my "life"? I have a husband, two fabulous stepdaughters, an amazing son-in-law. A mother. Friends (the 3-D kind, not the online kind) (although I have some of those, too).

So let's say I spend part of the day working on my new book and the rest online trying to become both rich and famous. (Because let's be honest: musicians, writers, and others cultivate their online presence so that they can sell whatever it is they have to offer so they can make dough and become famous-in-their-field and sell even more of whatever it is they have to offer and make even more dough.)

But where would I find time for the rest of my life? For walking. Talking with my husband. Hanging with friends. Enjoying my family. Watching old movies and "The Sopranos" (which is crucial to my quality of life). Making love. Eating. Cooking. Sitting in a quiet place.

Answer: I wouldn't. My life would consist of a keyboard and monitor. A younger person, one more attuned to the virtual world, would say "So what's the problem? Being online IS life." And that's a legitimate response. But it's not the response I choose.

It comes down to this: I can write books and have the kind of life I want. Or I can write books and try to become famous by cultivating an online life, spending hours each day in frantic self-promotion (again, let's be honest)

Again, don't get me wrong. Self-promotion is utterly crucial to success in publishing. Utterly and totally crucial. I've promoted the hell out of the beer book. But eventually I stopped because I had to get on with my work: I need to -- want to -- write another book. And the only way that will happen is if I disengage from a large part of the world around me, deposit my ass in a chair, usually at a library or archive, and get busy.

I spent five years working on the beer book. My new project, a history of meat in America, will take about as long. And that's me working more or less fulltime on it, with "time off" to spend with family, friends, and myself. (Which is why my blogging borders on the non-existent). (Indeed, I'm posting this piece today only because I'm about to go on vacation and am taking the day off to prepare.)

So yes, "fame" and "success" represent a trade-off. If you do what you love, and become "successful," you run the risk that you won't have time to do what you love because you'll be too busy being successful. This has happened to several writers I know: they self-promote because they want to make money, achieve some kind of "success," only to discover that, well, they're making money but no art. Or thanks to the random churns of the universe, their book hits a bestseller list (and most bestsellers are flukes) and are inundated with demands on their time and frustrated because those demands cut into their workday.

So, sure, I could go the self-promotion- internet route, blogging constantly, working the virtual halls of MySpace, chat rooms, writers' forums, Gather.com, whatever. I'd probably be better-known than I am now and would certainly sell more books. (Although even that's a crapshoot: the average Jane on the street doesn't realize that writers earn money from sales of new books.) Instead, I choose to do what I love. Fame will have to wait.

Okay, this is what's bugging me about blogs and blogging (and let me say at the outset that I'm not an expert on blogs, bloggers, or blogging. Mostly I'm fascinated by the enthusiasm that blogging generates: What compels an ordinary schmo to set out his/her thoughts for the world at large??):

The standard rap on blogging is that blogs provide two things (well, probably more than two, but two MAIN things): First, they provide an alternative viewpoint, alternative, that is, to "mainstream" media coverage of people, places, and events. Eg, an erudite blogger with a purple mohawk (or whatever hairdo passes for hip-chic these days) and seventeen tattoos dishes up a perspective on the war in Iraq, the economy, Democratic party politics, etc., that diverges from the view presented in the New York Times or on CNN.

Second, blogs create links between and among ideas and "dialogues" that might not otherwise be connected out in the "real" world. The resulting ideas and dialogues are layered with texture, text, and heft that they would otherwise lack.

But I wonder: are either of those assumptions accurate?

Take writers' blogs. As near as I can tell, MOST (not all) writers' blogs are about -- writing! Now I don't know about you, but if I weren't a writer, I would find a writer's blog to be dull, dull, and still more dull. Or, to put it a bit more grandiosely, a writer's blog about writing is self-referential. Which is not surprising, but it's also, well, hardly novel (no pun intended) or particularly exciting.

Similarly, if you look at the links listed alongside most writers' blogs, those links lead to other writers' blogs, or to blogs produced by editors, agents, and booksellers.

In short, most writers' blogs exist to link to other writers' blogs and thereby generate more name recognition for all concerned. (In the political world, say the one that revolves around Capitol Hill and The Beltway, this is known as back-scratching.) Meaning that most writers' blogs exist within a web of insularity and self-reference that can't possibly be interesting to anyone but the initiated (other writers......)

(I should also add that M. J. Rose made this same point in a blog entry in April, a blog that was pointed out to me by an editor. Rose's blog that day was about a more important topic: namely, writers need to think twice before they waste their time blogging if the only point of the blog is to link to other writers' blogs. A point with which I whole-heartedly agree.)

Now it's POSSIBLE (and even likely) that there are some bloggers who link to bloggers beyond their own worlds. Eg, a blogger interested in the wired world links to or comments about neuroscience or quantum mechanics. And the person who originally read that particular blog in order to keep up on events/ideas in the world of cyber-politics ends up learning about the ways in which neuroscience influences and affects the creation and design of computers and the internet.

But I'm guessing that those kinds of blogs are the exception rather than the rule. (I'd be happy to be proved wrong.) If you read an article somewhere about some buzz-generating blog, it's likely only generating buzz amongst an insular group. The choir preaching to the choir, as it were.

Which brings me (finally!!) to my point: What IS the point of blogging? Especially for writers.

Frankly, I don't wanna waste my time blogging away in hopes that my blog will be linked to that of other (better-known) writers. I belong to two online writing groups and get all the writerly chat I need from them. And frankly, I don't want to spend ALL MY TIME hanging out with a bunch of people who are just like me! I need some variety, if you know what I mean.

The problem, of course, is that if someone blogs about what's on her mind, well, the human mind being what it is, the content of the blog will be all over the place. Point in case: my own blog -- which so far has discussed beer, conferences of brainy people, and proofreading. Hardly the sorts of topics that are gonna get me far on technorati's search engine (I kinda doubt there's a search term for "musings on the human condition").

And the things I'm writing about are certainly not going to bring me to the attention of people who might read my blog and then, GASP!, buy my books........ (Because let's be honest: the other reason writers take up blogging is so that they can grab the attention of the book-buying public. But of course that almost never happens because, well, see my point several paragraphs above.....)

So at this particular moment (early July 2006), I'm not convinced that blogging is the Next Great Thing in human interaction. I suspect that mostly, it's the Next Great Thing destined to push our society to the next level of bowling alone: namely, a place where we think about bowling alone, rather than actually getting out there in the lanes and knocking down pins, alone or otherwise! Indeed, here I am, blogging for an audience of one!