Hedanicreations

As I’ve mentioned before, I write with the G10 Writers, and on several occasions during the last year, we’ve gotten into discussions about ebooks – specifically, the quality. There is an argument out there about how independent publishing, although a wonderful thing for many authors, has led to a decline in the quality of books in the area of editing and formatting. I feel, in a lot of cases, it is a fair assessment but that’s a negative take on something far more complex.

In the world of independent publishing, the author wears every hat in the publishing process. They are no longer just the writer, but the editor, the marketing director, and the illustrator – and that is just to name a few. Because they are wearing so many hats, it is inevitable things fall through the cracks, which is why you end up with formatting issues in the e-edition or blatant typos in the story.

For those reasons, the saying “every great writer, needs a great editor” has never applied more. For a writer, mistakes are made and often overlooked because he or she is too busy typing and then has read through the copy too many times. It helps to have that second set of eyes that can pinpoint what the author has missed.

That leads to a secondary issue: How do you find an editor you can trust?

First, there are issues in finding an editor. Every person with an English degree in need of money thinks they have the skill to hunt those typos, when that isn’t the case. At the same time, independent authors do not have the backing of publishing houses, which means, if they are going to fork over the money for an editor, they want someone they can trust.

For many authors, it is easier to hand the manuscript to a friend with some skill or a critiquing group in the hopes that they will find as many as possible – but it isn’t 100 percent. Because it isn’t full-proof, those typos are added to the evidence column against independent publishing.

The second issue is that not every author/editor relationship is harmonious. A good editor should not only adapt to the writer’s needs, but understand and be able to pinpoint the style the writer is using, their error quirks, and get the story. Not all editors and writers are good matches, and sometimes the time to find that editor isn’t worth the effort. So, again, you end up with manuscripts that aren’t edited to the same standard as traditionally published books.

So, my advice to authors as a writer and an editor is this: Find the middle ground. Don’t just ignore the need for an editor because of trust issues. Reputable editors are willing to take a “proof test” so that the writer can see their editing style, and editors are also willing to discuss the needs of a writer to make sure they are a good match. They should not take an editing job if they do not feel they can be of benefit to the author. And authors, talk to your friends and writing circles, get some recommendations, and go from there.

There is no reason independent authors shouldn’t enjoy the same quality and perks as they would from major publishers. You just have to know where to look.

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Some people might think that my choice to move on from journalism was spontaneous, when in fact it was a year of careful consideration and job hunting in San Diego before I ever moved. At the end of that year, in September of 2011, I made a choice to brave the unknown of unemployment and take a chance.

Four months later, I am still job hunting. I get a lot of feed back and have a lot of great interviews, but nothing has clicked in the traditional job front as of yet. Part of the reason is that I have always had a passion for journalism, but had reached a point where I felt burnt out. Because of it, I have felt directionless since I moved – knowing I have plenty of talent to share, but not necessarily sure where I fit. So, the fact that no job has clicked is probably for the best right now.

Then, I had an idea.

It started as a spark, a passing fancy. No way could I possibly try it. So, I put the idea on the back burner for a time, letting it simmer. It sat there brewing until one day I received an email from an author asking me for my help.

Now, I have only been acquainted with this author through her books, through Facebook, and through emails, but I have always enjoyed our interactions. I was surprised to receive her message, but when I read it, I remembered my idea that I had left to simmer.

So, here I am a month later setting myself up as a freelance editor for independent, self-publishing authors. It’s a move that feels right – a fitting match for the work I’m passionate about. Not only am I crafting a position for myself that feeds my addiction to words, but I also get to help authors who are carving out a corner of the publishing world for themselves. And that feels pretty great to me.

Check out the freelance editor page on my website, www.hedanicreations.net, for more information or email me at hdaniellecrabtree@gmail.com for full prices and details.

Oh, and I just wanted to thank Scott, who always supports me; Genevieve for helping me get my idea off the back burner; and Mark, for your reminder awhile back about how the right job would come around to fit my unique talents. Thanks, guys.

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Day Ten: If you’re wondering what happened to days one through nine, they were about the same as today. I unpacked, I cleaned, I job hunted, I played music to break the silence or played Netflix just to hear another voice. Yes, I’m going stir-CRAZY. Yes, all caps.

I’m the type of person that has to have something to do. Too many days of isolation really does drive me nuts. I want to interact, I want to edit and write, and I want to communicate with the outside world and not just via the internet. Yet, until someone decides I’m worth employing in a tough job market, I have a feeling that I’m going to continue to go stir-CRAZY.

I applaud housewives, but this no work existence really is not for me.

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I’m having one of those days. You know the kind where you don’t get any sleep, it’s busy, you feel like the world doesn’t have a single intelligent person left, and then you have to work with no downtime to catch a nap so that you can make it through to midnight? Yes, my day is full of newspaper thief neighbors (no joke), frustrating people and lots of things that make me want to swear profusely and forget the manners my mother taught me.

Deep breath.

I guess the fortunate thing about today is that, now that I’m at work, I’m around the coworkers that actually make work-life enjoyable. And, it does make me sad to know that I’ll no longer have their fun, off-beat conversation to help turn around my day. But, I have them for two more weeks, and that counts for something. I guess it goes to show, though, that no matter how many lemons you start the day off with, you can always stop to make lemonade.

No matter how frustrated I get at times, I hope they know how much I appreciate them.

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I’ve been avoiding Facebook, Yahoo, pretty much anywhere on the Web that would throw Sept. 11th coverage in my face. Even more so since, as a page editor, I’ve had to get all the coverage in the print edition this weekend, and it’s just too much. It isn’t that I’m trying to forget; I just don’t really want to read the ‘this is where I was’ posts or view photos from ten years ago. I don’t need to see it; I don’t need to relive it. I know it happened. I remember it just like everyone else and will for the rest of my life – the same way my aunts remember Kennedy’s assassination and the same way my grandparents remember Pearl Harbor. There are just somethings that remain.

Although my way of remembering is decidedly different than most today, it isn’t a bad thing to reflect on the past or what matters the most to you. I had a kick today from a friend of mine in the ‘reminder’ area for what matters. We were discussing my stress and worries about relocating to San Diego in two weeks, and he, in turn, was sharing similar worries regarding his significant other.

What about a job? What about cost of living? What about health care and job benefits? What about whatever else I could possibly think of to worry about?

I guess the correct question for the day and to put it all in perspective is: What about happiness?

Happiness isn’t something you can put a price tag on. Happiness doesn’t come in the form of a paycheck, or how many weeks of vacation you get per year, or even how much you earn. Happiness is the joy of being with the person you love, with being with family and friends. Happiness is created in family picnics, days at the beach, hikes through the forest, or curling up with a good book. Happiness is your creation and it cannot be bought. And when you really think about it, all the stress, all the worry, all the ways we make ourselves unhappy are trivial next to the one state that makes life worthwhile.

Often, we forget about what matters and instead worry about the future. We fail to live our lives for happiness, when it’s something more of us need to do. After all, everyone who died on September 11, 2001, didn’t wake up that morning thinking ‘today, I’m going to die.’ None of us really do. And when I die, I want to leave this world without regret, without stress, and with memories of the things that made me happy. Otherwise, what is the purpose of life, of sacrifice or in taking the time to reflect? We are but hollow shells when we forget what matters most in life.

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I can say without a doubt that I’ve seen good, innocent people suffer at the hands of people who, for the sake of this blog, I’ll call evil. I won’t even naively say that I don’t understand why good people are hurt by these evil people. I know exactly why the good are preyed upon. It’s basic: They are good. For that reason alone, they attract people who would betray their trust and go out of their way to make them feel like they don’t deserve happiness or love.

What disturbs me most when I hear stories from the past or when I think about the things that I’ve witnessed first hand is when the good people actually start to believe they are less than what they are. How is it that the evil can convince a good, thoughtful and kind human being that they are less than the dirt beneath our feet? Why does the darkness infect the good people, leaving them jaded, and then lost in that gray area between the two? It saddens me when I hear stories from the people I love, some of the stories good examples of the horrible things we inflict upon our own kind, and they believe that they somehow deserved to be treated like they were less than they are worth.

I guess what is key to remember for everyone who has faced someone who wanted to tear them down and hurt them is that we are not the sum of the evil done to us. Instead, how we should measure our worth is based upon the good things we do and the selfless kindness we show to others.

A few years ago, a good friend posted a quote from Gandhi on his blog. The quote was: “Be the change that you want to see in the world.” I thought it was a good reminder for all of us who have been hurt horribly to not take the actions of others and let it dictate who we are. Instead, it is a reminder that no matter what evil is done to us, that we are still defined by our actions and changing the world for the better means not letting the evil influence us away from the acts that do make us good, kind people.

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I’m a writer; I’ve known that since I was a kid and would make up stories to tell myself at bedtime. I love poetry, prose, short stories, novels. I love to read them; I love to dream up my own. But, I’ve been in a jam the last year and half.

I haven’t written more than a handful of poems or short-snippets of things for the G10 group. In fact, the latest G10 project is only a specific-themed short story, but four pages in, I find the copy Gothic and dark instead of the humorous turn it’s suppose to take. I groan every time I open the document and am giving myself another week before I will be forced to gracefully bow out of the project. The thought irks me, but at the same time, I don’t feel like incurring a migraine from constantly butting my head against the wall.

This stall I’ve been experiencing is really driving me nuts. There are plenty of stories rolling around in my brain — the G10 project, a short story and even a series of novels. The stories play like a movie and I hear the words, but when I open up my laptop to put the visual into print, it slips away and I cannot find them. The brain-to-fingertip communication feels jumbled, and because of it, the staring contest with the blank page has turned into a test of wills. The blank page has won each and every session, and I have to wonder if the program is plotting world domination or at least domination of my laptop. It has taken over my world.

Blogging comes easier; I guess because it’s a free-flow of words. I’m writing as they come, and I seem to have no issue getting my brain-to-fingertip connection to work properly. So, what’s the difference? Blogging doesn’t challenge me. It’s not an alternate universe that I love and that feels like it lives and breathes. Blogging — there is no danger of people telling you that your creativity has fizzled and died — the criticism of original work feels like they’ve murder a dear child. Characters live and breathe for a writer, and I guess my disconnect is partly a way to keep them sheltered from the world at large. Creative writing also takes much more because you want their world to be perfect, for your character and your audience. And therein lies my problem.

I really need to let it go and just let the words come like they do when I’m blogging, but I find myself just staring at the blank page willing the words to appear as if magic. It would be nice to someday share the magic of my mind with the blank page, and someday, the world.

Until that day, I’ll continue my war with my blank page and keep telling myself: It’s time to write.

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This morning I woke up in a horrible mood. I work swing shift so I sleep later into the morning than the average person, and my neighbors, who know this, are usually pretty good about leaving me in peace, not turning up their stereos or generally not being unreasonably loud.

However, the pounding began at 7:45 a.m. and continued until 10. The pounding has occurred every day since Monday (all day long the prior three days) because my apartment complex is repairing all of the decks — so sleep deprivation has hit day four. It’s been annoying, but for the most part, I tried my best to sleep through the noise, which woke me up every time I would drift off. My added bonus today, though, was that when they final finished the last deck for my building and moved on to another building, my downstairs neighbor decided it was time for rehearsal.

This neighbor is the exception to the rule for any common courtesy, although I cannot fault her for practicing her instrument at 10 a.m. To be fair, it WAS 10 a.m. However, she has decided to practice the very same instrument at 5 a.m. and 1 a.m. and various other hours of the day and night; there’s also the issue that she is the only neighbor that the other neighbors are privy to every phone conversation she has, because you can hear her word for word and my apartment has some pretty sound-proof walls. She’s just loud in general, much to the cringe of every neighbor who borders her apartment. And hence why I find myself annoyed every time she makes her presence known.

There was lots of swearing when I finally decided to get up off the couch, where I had fallen asleep the night before watching a movie. My significant other can attest to what a grouch I am when I’m woke up before I’m ready. I haven’t used an alarm clock in three years, aside from when I have to get up to catch a flight or something along those lines. Just call me Oscar. I think I learned all my grouching from Sesame Street as a kid, because everyone else in my family is an early riser (no matter when they go to bed).

But, while I was busy grumping about the noise, the Obo and generally having to get up with no sleep, I missed my favorite part of the morning.

On an average morning, I’m in my bed — not the couch, for starters — and my Border Collie is waiting patiently, guarding the door to my bedroom. I’ve had Bandit since he was three months old and he just turned eleven two weeks ago. As much as people joke about their dog children, he really is my baby.

He waits patiently for me; he doesn’t make noise or play with his squeaky chicken toy; he doesn’t come and poke the bed to see if I’m ready to get up. He simply waits until he sees my eyes blink open and then he comes over to share his own brand of “sunshine” — which entails him crawling into bed with me to cuddle, to get his belly rubbed and give me puppy kisses.

This morning ritual stems from when he was a puppy. Border Collies are notoriously hyperactive, and when he was small, I would make him lay on his back in my lap and rub his belly until he fell asleep. It was one of a handful of ways that worked best to get him to calm down. His hyperactivity was overwhelming at times when he was younger, and now, it’s about right. He outruns most puppies still, but without all the crazy hyperactivity that usually drives people to drop this breed off at the Humane Society. (My boss’ Border went through the local Humane Society three times for just such a reason before she found a good fit with him.)

It’s this ritual, though, that really makes for a good start to my day, because shortly there after, I get out of bed, feed him and then we go and play in the woods behind my complex. My dog is a happy dog, nothing seems to get him down. He’s playful and loves life, people and being outside. He’s a joy to be around and makes me smile just watching him play and explore. More people should have his love for life — there’d be less depression in the world.

However, with all the grumping I did this morning, he never did come over for our morning ritual. He stayed on his pillow, just letting me be in a bad mood, cautious not to get caught in my negative-energy crossfire.

What saddens me about this is that my grumpiness cost me the best part of my day. It’s the little things in life that make it worth living, and I guess it goes to show that one bad attitude can cost you the things you love the most.

I gave him an extra dog biscuit for good measure.

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Osama bin Laden is dead. Yes, for those that were actually asleep when the announcement came Sunday night, you missed out on the blow up of Facebook and Twitter with posts celebrating the death of the Al-Qaida leader.

Outside of a sense of relief and a feeling of justice that the man who had killed so many had finally been tracked down after almost a decade, I felt no joy in his death. What I did feel was shock over some of the social media comments; comments that were so entirely callous, they made me stop and question the humanity of the poster.

Is it right to feel relief? Is it right to feel as if justice has been served? Yes, I will give anyone that. But is it also right to rejoice in a death, any death?

Life is precious. Sept. 11 proves how quickly lives can be taken from those who love them. And anyone who has lost someone close to them unexpectedly can vouch that it is a struggle to find reason and meaning, or even accept that they are gone. Having lost a brother at a young age, I have developed a deep respect for life. I can never rejoice in a death, even if I do understand the feeling of relief that justice has been served.

But, consider what it means for a moment when you rejoice in a death (no matter who has died). Bin Laden and Al-Qaida murdered almost 3,000 people on Sept. 11. They rejoiced in our suffering; they rejoiced in our demise; they rejoiced knowing that they had struck at our heart; they rejoiced in death.

Now, knowing their reaction to our suffering, what does it say about us when we take to the streets rejoicing yet another death? We rejoice the way they did when they killed so many. How does that make us better? How does it make our actions justified and right? Didn’t bin Laden and Al-Qaida think that their actions were justified and right?

My point is not to argue who is right or wrong. I think anyone with a shred of humanity or respect for life would agree that murdering people the way bin Laden did was about as far from right as it gets. However, I would ask you to consider the value of life and what it says about us as people if we rejoice in death, any death. If we lose our respect for life, then where is our humanity?

So, whether you are a person of faith or an atheist, a conservative or liberal, I hope you will consider the value of a life. Until the day that we all do, senseless death will continue. People like bin Laden will continue to crop up, and in their wake, the rest of humanity will define themselves.

Death should never be rejoiced.

AP story: Americans gather joyfully to mark bin Laden’s death

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