SO WRITE A BOOK ABOUT IT - YOU NEVER KNOW…..IT MIGHT BE A BEST SELLER, OR NOT - CAUSE THEN IT WOULD BE SOMETHING TO TOSS INTO THE FIRE
I HATE BEING BOXED IN - BY AN EDITOR - OR DICTATED TO, BY A SNOTTY-NOSED PUBLISHER
A HALF DOZEN OF MY REGULAR READERS, OF THIS DAILY BLOG, ASKED ME OVER THE CHRISTMAS SEASON, IF I WOULD EVER CONTEMPLATE WRITING A BOOK ABOUT MUSKOKA HISTORY. I MUMBLED THE TITLES I'VE ALREADY WRITTEN; NONE OF WHICH HAVE NOTCHED ANY MAJOR SALES' RECORDS,…..OR HAVE BEEN SO MEMORABLE THAT THE TITLES ARE ON THE TIPS OF THEIR TONGUES. THEY SUGGEST I KNOW A LOT ABOUT MUSKOKA HISTORY, SO THEREFORE, I SHOULD BE SETTING TO PRINT, REIMS OF HARD COPY; CRADLED INTO NICELY PACKAGED BOOKS, TO LINE THE SHELVES OF BOOK STORES IN OUR REGION…..WHICH BY THE WAY, ARE A LOT FEWER THESE DAYS. BRACEBRIDGE USED TO HAVE THREE BOOK STORES, AND NOW THEY ONLY HAVE ONE, AND IT'S MORE OF A LIQUIDATION, BOOK CLEARANCE OPERATION. GEEZ, IF I DID WRITE A NEW BRACEBRIDGE HISTORY, WHERE WOULD THEY SELL IT? FUNNY THING THAT. MY HISTORIAN COLLEAGUE, GARY DENNISS, HAS JUST RECENTLY PUBLISHED A NEAT BOOK, DETAILING THE PROVENANCE OF STREET NAMES IN THE TOWN. IT'S ON SALE AT THE GRAVENHURST BOOK STORE ON MUSKOKA ROAD, BUT NOT IN AN ACTUAL BRACEBRIDGE "NEW" BOOK SHOP. WE LOST OUR NEWSPAPER OFFICE, HERE IN GRAVENHURST, AND THEY LOST THEIR NEW BOOK SHOPS. WHAT'S GOING ON AROUND HERE? WE'RE GOING TO HAVE TO BE GOOD NEIGHBORS AND SHARE.
I LIKE BOOKS, AND I COLLECT AND SELL THEM. BUT AS FAR AS WRITING ANY MORE, I DON'T THINK SO. I LIKE THIS INDEPENDENCE. I DON'T ANSWER TO A BLOW-HARD EDITOR, OR A PERSNICKETY PUBLISHER, WHO LIKE TO LORD IT OVER UNDERLINGS, THE TRUE EXTENT OF THEIR GOD-GIVEN AUTHORITY AND PRIVILEGE. I JUST DON'T CONFORM, ESPECIALLY AS AN ELDER STATESMAN. I CAN REMEMBER MY MOTHER, READING AND RE-READING THE COMMENTS MY PUBLIC SCHOOL TEACHER, HAD ADDED TO THE BOTTOM OF MY REPORT CARD. "DOESN'T GET ALONG WITH OTHER CHILDREN." MERLE FLEW INTO A RAGE, AND DEMANDED OF ME, JUST WHAT THAT STATEMENT MEANT……SENSING, TO GET SUCH A COMMENT, I HAD BEEN CAUGHT, FOR EXAMPLE, STUFFING SOMEBODY DOWN THE COAL-CHUTE; WHICH WAS TRUE, BUT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS OVERVIEW, ON MY REPORT CARD. BEFORE I COULD ANSWER, SHE ALREADY HAD HER COAT ON, AND WAS HALFWAY OUT THE DOOR, WITH ONE HAND CLUTCHING THE REPORT CARD, THE OTHER ON MY SHIRT COLLAR. MERLE, YOU SEE, WAS ONE OF THOSE SELF RIGHTEOUS INDIVIDUALS, WHO TOOK EVERYTHING PERSONAL, EVEN IF IT WAS AN OFFHAND, OBTUSE COMMENT ABOUT HER KID. SHE WASN'T BLAMING ME, BUT SHE WAS GOING TO BLAME THE TEACHER. IT WAS THE SAME WHEN ANOTHER GRADE SCHOOL INSTRUCTOR, SUGGESTED MY "SHYNESS" WAS HOLDING ME BACK FROM BEING AN "A" STUDENT. IF IT HAD ONLY BEEN THAT SIMPLE….I WOULD HAVE HAD STRAIGHT "A'S."
MY MOTHER WAS WELL SPOKEN AND COULD BE A PADDLE-WHEEL OF RHYTHMIC RETORTS, SUCH THAT THE ONLY THING THE TEACHER COULD SAY WAS, "BUT TEDDY……," OVER AND OVER. YOU KNOW, WHETHER SHE WAS RIGHT OR WRONG WITH HER APPROACH, ESPECIALLY AS PARENT-TEACHER PROTOCOLS WENT, I HAD A RESPECT FOR THE WAY SHE WOULD DEFEND MY HONOR…..REFUSING TO LET EVEN A SINGLE OFFHAND, OR DISRESPECTFUL OVERVIEW PASS, WITHOUT RETALIATION. OR HEARTY EXPLANATION, MAY BE THE BEST WAY TO DESCRIBE HER PRESENTATIONS. WE DID THE SAME FOR OUR BOYS, AND IT WASN'T ALWAYS THE EASIEST THING TO DO…..WHEN THEIR MOTHER WAS A TEACHER……REPRIMANDING ANOTHER TEACHER. POINT IS, THE BOYS COULDN'T PROPERLY REPRESENT THEMSELVES, WHEN ILL-FOUNDED ALLEGATIONS WERE MADE…..AND THERE WERE A FEW DANDIES, SO WE HAD TO INTERVENE. I'M SURE WE WERE CONSIDERED THE PARENTS FROM HELL, JUST AS MY MOTHER WAS, IN MY SCHOOL DAYS; BUT IT'S TRUE, OUR FAMILY HAS ALWAYS HAD THE "SHANE" PERSPECTIVE, OF WHAT IS ACCEPTABLE COMMENT, AND RESPONSIBLE ACTION…..AND WHAT IS JUST PLAINLY, MEAN-SPIRITED. I DO GIVE THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT. AFTER THREE STRIKES, IT'S "GO-TIME!"
I GET ALONG WITH PUBLISHERS TODAY, WHO ARE REASONABLE HUMAN BEINGS, AND TREAT ME WITH RESPECT. I ASK VERY LITTLE IN RETURN, AND I'VE NEVER EVEN ASKED FOR A RAISE. THAT'S BECAUSE I GIVE THEM THE EDITORIAL COPY FOR FREE. I GET HUGE MILEAGE BEING PART OF THEIR HIGHLY SUCCESSFUL PUBLICATIONS, AND THEY HAVE AN EXPERIENCE WRITER WHO IS ALWAYS GOOD AT PLUGGING THE WHITE SPACES BETWEEN THE ADS. IN MY NEWSPAPER DAYS, WELL, THERE WERE FEW DAYS WHEN DOORS WEREN'T SLAMMING AND ACCUSATIONS BEING LEVELED, AND HASTILY CALLED MEETINGS ARRANGED, TO STRAIGHTEN OUT THE STAFFERS GOING ROGUE. THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN STRAIGHTEN ME OUT TODAY, IS MY CHARMING WIFE, WHO HAS BEEN MY BUSINESS MANAGER SINCE WE MARRIED. QUITE A FEW PEOPLE HAVE ASKED HER, WHY I DON'T SIMPLY WRITE A BOOK, INSTEAD OF PREPARING THIS BLOG EVERY DAY. "HE LOVES HIS FREEDOM," SHE'LL ANSWER, TIME AND AGAIN. "A BOOK WOULD JUST FENCE HIM IN…..AND I COULDN'T STAND LIVING WITH THIS GUY HAVING RIGID BOUNDARIES. HE STARTS CLAWING AT THE DOOR TO GET OUT!"
I HAD MY DAY OF BEING AGREEABLE FOR A PAY CHEQUE
When son Robert first introduced me to blog-writing, it was after an incident with a new publisher, of a former trade magazine I'd been writing for, published in Southern Ontario. The former publisher was a great guy and we got along famously. He'd often send me some suggestions for columns, and he was always so enormously encouraging, when I'd submit the monthly editorial copy. He was truly a gentleman, and I would have worked for him forever, if that had been an option. The new publisher started off fine. Then after awhile, I started getting some unwelcome editing, and suggestions that I needed to pare down the word count. Like Shane, I can withstand three or four slaps on the cheek, before I become the proverbial "tempest" outside the tea pot. I can remember, writing a multi-part series, that was a sea to sea heritage piece, about an historian friend of mine, who had just written a new book. I had the exclusive for the paper. The only payment I received, was a copy of the book for review purposes. But I had written a hugely thorough profile of the book, much more substantial than the paltry reviews offered by others in the print industry, at around the same time.
At the end of the series, which may have been two or three insertions, the publisher let me know, I was crowding her paper; and, with emphasis, using punctuation to sting the rebuke, it was made clear to me I had to cut my words down by at least a third. Not once, did the publisher offer thanks, for the fact I'd given the paper a major story, and many more readers for those issues. It hadn't been the first time, my word count had become a source of irritation, so on the third strike, I sent in my refusal to slash my word count, which was adequate to my editorial purpose. She insisted, in a second email, that I must conform, because she was boss, and I resigned from further involvement with the publication; all within two minutes of angry contemplation. The publisher owned the product. I wasn't a shareholder and there was no editorial board to back me up. Truth is, I don't deny the publisher's right to trim copy……just not mine. It happened recently, with a local publication, and it ended after only one column. I have never been very good with protocols, when a publisher or editor feels compelled to explain how the positions, at the paper, put them at the top, and a writer like me, at the musty bottom. I've told quite a few publishers to "bite me," and I've never made a mistake in judgement. There are certain personality types I can't get along with in the writing industry. Some times, I foolishly think I can, because I might like the exposure, or the style of the publication. But as soon as management feels it's necessary to let me know the full monty on the pecking order, I know I've made an error in judgement. I've worked in the print media long enough, to know how it all works, without having to be told the same, by a publisher or editor, who has only been in the business a few years or maybe just a few months.
The reason I got into this diatribe today, is because of the number of people lately, who think I should be working for someone else…..making money for a publisher…..making an editor look good, for the product they can present to the public…..bragging, "Hey, everybody, we've got Currie on our side." No, I'm not full of myself. Working for free, you see, is a humbling experience, especially over many decades. I have no regrets whatsoever, about writing for the love of the craft……and for the joy of being communicative, and wishing the same in response…..which is what I get from readers, on all publications I write for; even from this little spitfire of a blog. No one can accuse me of being a sell out, or toeing the company line. No one watches over my shoulder, telling me how to write, and what to write, and if something was looking over my shoulder, it would only be one of our curious cats, who dwell here at Birch Hollow. Suzanne never looks over my shoulder, because I growl. That's correct. It's a warning growl. I've never actually had to bite anyone, but that's because the growl is an adequate warning. Step back, "oh thee editorial embezzler, who might steal my thunder."
I will never get rich as a writer, and I'm pretty sure that the only way I would get a Pulitzer, is to swipe one, or buy a replica online. I don't belong to a writer's guild or union, and I don't work for the kind of publications, that have offices full of newspaper association awards (been there, done that), and I have never won an award for writing prowess in over thirty-five years. I always wanted a Gold Quill Award, because I saw another veteran writer getting one….but it just isn't in the cards. I got an award once as a volunteer with the Town of Bracebridge, but it didn't have anything to do with writing. I've been shunned for so long, it's the one book I could write, all from personal experience. I'd call it, "That bridge-burning son-of-a-bitch…..rides again!!!!"
The real reward, for a lifetime spent living and working as a writer, has been this achievement at present. I can't tell you honestly, because I'm not that proficient a word-smith, (obviously, having no awards on my office wall) just how liberating it is, to be able to sit down here, after a day of working at our antique shop, here in Gravenhurst, and having no rigid editorial plan, before hitting the first key, for the first letter of the opening headline. I am free enough, to be inspired by the moment. I am not tethered or fettered by those who believe themselves superior. Truthfully, I don't write with political bias. I don't belong to any political party. I similarly don't belong to any club or fraternal organization. They wouldn't want me anyway. I don't conform and I certainly don't sing for my dinner. I was a goaltender, in hockey, a center, in football, and a left fielder in baseball. I can be a team player, but not if my individuality is impaired by too many conformist policies. I had a mens recreational baseball coach once, who hated that I wasn't "one of the gang," who partied together, after games……and shared imitate thoughts over many beers at the local tavern. I always played hard for the team, and up to that point in the season, I'd hit well and fielded even better. They guy wouldn't stop nagging at me, to join-in more. Gads, it always comes back to my mother Merle, and how much she hated it when folks made personal comments, about stuff they didn't understand. I sat out eight innings of the the final game of that season, because this jerk had an attitude. He was going to win me over, even if it meant benching me. It was the last game as a playoff qualifier. It was the ninth inning, and we were down by two runs. I'm not making this up. There were three runners on base, with two out. There was an injury. Can you believe this? It's like I'm writing a movie script. The coach looked down at me, and waved me off the bench. He told me I was going in for the injured player, and if I screwed up, I was going to be off the team for good. I looked at the guy, and honestly, if I had been two feet taller, and much meaner, I'd have pulled that hat down over his head, to about his waist…..and kicked him in the ass.
I went to the plate being totally pissed-off. Even my team-mates were starting off their yells of support, with "Don't screw this up Currie…..but we love you!" What confidence building that was, in front of a large gallery, including Suzanne….who hated baseball, and didn't want me to play anyway. I had a lot of experience playing ball, from novice-up, and had hit well against some of the best pitchers in the league, and a little beyond. I stared down the great John Young, once, a legend in Canadian fastball, who used to live here on Segwun Boulevard. I crowded the plate, so he hit me, in order, I suppose, to set a few early innings' ground rules. I was good with that! I didn't crowd the plate after that incident, which imprinted the ball and stitching as a bruise on my thigh. So I wasn't really too worried about taking my best shot, this particular night, even with the prevailing negativity. I just couldn't believe the adversarial send-off to the plate. I think I fouled-off twice, into left field, so I knew my swing was too far ahead of the pitch. With no balls, and two strikes, and the game winning runs on base, I didn't feel I had much of a choice, other than to swing-away. In other words, I could not, under any circumstance, on heaven and earth, go down without swinging the bat at the next pitch…..unless it was wild. Yup, it was right out of Hollywood. I smashed the crap out of the incoming curve ball, and it was a grounder that blew past the short-stop, and between left and centre field, hitting the fence, and taking an odd roll, buying me a little extra time to round the bases. I made it to third easily. Three runs came home, and we won the game. I was cheered for ten seconds. The biggest reception was for the three runners I'd knocked in. When I walked to the bench to take off my ball shoes, the coach took his time getting through the players down to me……at the end. I borrowed a gesture from Babe Ruth, in one of this famous final moves, in leaving a team he disliked. As the coach reached for my hand, to shake it, I handed him my ball cap. It was the last game I ever played. I wasn't a sore loser, because we won the game, and the team got to play in the finals that year. I took myself out of the line-up for being a non-conformist. I just couldn't play for a coach or team-mates who treated fellow players in this fashion. I'm not a quitter. But I am steadfast in my rules of conduct, and my loyalty must be repaid by sincere and honest commitment.
I have crossed a lot of publishers in my day, and I couldn't care less. I have won the affections of those who count, and truthfully, because of this, I have the largest monthly circulation, I've ever had…..and even this blog, has now surpassed 41,000 hits, in just over a year. I'm still averaging between two and three hundred readers daily……not to mention work I do for other publications, at least one other, being online. I could never brag about something like this, because it has taken too much work, commitment, and understanding of my readership, to get cocky about any of the steps to this point….honestly. In case you're wondering, one of the nicest realities, is that I don't get that call anymore……from a publisher telling me my editorial wasn't hard hitting enough…..or that my copy was four hundred words too long……or I didn't do the story the way they had intended it…..according to their bias, not mine. For a writer, artist, musician, philosopher, there is nothing finer in creative enterprise, than freedom of expression. Maybe one day, I will have some kindly publisher approach me, with an idea for a book. I will say "Thanks but no thanks. I'm good."
I still work, from time to time, on editorial projects that suit me…..and work with people who are respectful of experience…….and never need, once, in our relationship, to remind me that I'm just a lowly writer, in an empire of higher-ups.
I work better and more creatively, when there are no fences to keep me in…..editorial meetings, with the bosses, to put me in my place….or snooty greenhorns, who think a title on an office door will scare a chap as roguish as me. This blog affords me a wide open world to explore, and I can't tell you, how wonderful it feels, to sit at this keyboard, and know there is no editor breathing down my neck…..or a publisher trying to figure out how much money they're going to make off my productivity. It's a pretty basic freedom…..that I will never allow myself to take for granted.
I suppose, that I'm still a slave, by true definition of the word, to these cats, and dog, that are just now, letting me know, I have been typing rudely, well past their dinner hour. I guess I'm not as liberated as I thought I was. Thanks for taking the time out of your busy schedule to visit with a rogue like me. Please consider dropping by again, soon. I enjoy when we can spend time together. And you know, I'm not kidding about this. I value ever reader…..all of the time. Thanks again. Goodnight John-Boy!
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