On Blogging

It has occurred to me that I am not a good blogger.
Not that I don't have plenty to say in a BLOG, as those who know me can attest, it's just that I can't figure out why anyone would bother to read it.
After all, don't we have enough Internet in our lives? What with uTube, email, websites galore, shopping, banking, and on and on, who has time to read my BLOG?
Perhaps that's the reason I so seldom BLOG.
Oh, I have been told by those who know that I have to BLOG. Sort of a publish or perish kind of thing.
I also (according to those who know) need book trailer (SEE uTube), an agent, a literary lawyer, and a publicity agent. Of course, I will have to keep in touch (e-mail again) with that agent, literary lawyer, and publicity agent.
All that said, just when am I supposed to write books???? By the time I check all my e-mail, update my website, network with new readers via scads of loop groups, pay my bills, and all that, I am tired. All my creativity if gone, out into the ether.
For that reason, I have a new plan. I will BLOG once a month, just to let anyone who cares know I am alive and well.
Have a great holiday season and a greater New Year! jinx

Does size really matter?

Call me neurotic, but lately I find myself looking at the end of books. No, I’m not one of those who read the ending first, I look at the number of pages.

I am happiest when I score a three-inch thick paperback with minuscule print (Pillars of Fire, anyone? According to Amazon.com it has a whopping 976 pages!) thereby insuring a novel to cozy up with in bed for, like, ever.

Okay, so I know the cost of printing, paper, shipping, etc. escalate daily, so just how far down the line is the fifty dollar paperback? Is Kindle reading inevitable? After a day of my laptop, telephone, TV, iPod, GPS, and (some days on the boat) RADAR screens, am I doomed to yet another?

But back to those pages.

Novels seem to be shrinking. Not only that, they contain suspiciously large print and lots of extra whiteness. One novel actually began numbering the pages before the copyright page, just to mess with me. Are there still approximately four hundred words per page? I am not obsessed enough to scan and count a popular novel, but I have a solution for us getting my money’s worth; instead pages, Amazon.com and others should report a book’s word count.

Of course, not all words are equal. Not that I would ever read something that contains antiestablishmentarianism, or the new longest word, pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, but should the word, THE, carry the same weight? My computer thinks so.

Or maybe someone should just invent a new green car that runs on old books. That way, I can afford that expensive paperback, then brag at a cocktail party that my new Bookmobile gets a thousand miles to the galley.

Jinx Schwartz, who is 35,000 words into her seventh novel, but who’s counting?

On being a CLOD again

After three months on the boat, I am suddenly at 5,000 feet, and sea sick. Or more likely, homesick for the sea.
My bed doesn't move. Who can sleep like that?
My house doesn't suddenly start pitching in the middle of the night. Where's the fun in that?
I can put toilet paper in the toilet, use all the water I want, someone actually picks up the trash, I have a telephone, TV, and a dishwasher. Where's the adventure?
Let's face it, I am not meant to be a Cruiser Living On Dirt.

I write better on the boat, and that is a fact. Well, maybe not better, but more.

My thought for the day? I am probably more Hetta Coffey than Jinx Schwartz. How scary is that?

It's snowing; let's play golf

We are in Arizona right now and as I write this, I am looking out my window at golfers--my hubby included--playing in a snow/rain/wind storm.
A non-golfer (I tell people I have way too much self-respect to take up the game) I sat here, shaking my head and passing judgement on their lack of, well, judgement, when I had a light bulb over the head moment: writing and golf have a great deal in common.
With the exception of the Tigers of the world, most golfers never get any monetary reward. With the exception of the Steven Kings of the world, neither do writers.
Golfers spend long hours chasing their dream. Writers spend long hours doing the same.
Golf is not a hobby, it is an addiction. Ditto writing.
Golfers repeatedly face disappointment and rejection. Ever seen my stack of reject letters?
Both golfers and writers strive for the elusive hole-in-one, and both remain optimistic it will happen. However, that does not preclude the occasional temper tantrum. Or, in my case, a Texas hissy fit.
We both work hard to improve our craft and we both get better with practice.
So, what is the difference between golfers and writers? Well, for one thing we do NOT write out in the snow!

Swap meet and Barry Goldwater

Today we went to a cruisers' swap meet in San Carlos, Mexico, and ended up on the front porch of 1st Mate (http://blissbloggin.blogspot.com/)
Bliss and I have been trading e-mails and blogs, but had never met until today, when I ended up selling books off her front porch.
"Hold ye hardy, mate," you might say, "wasn't this a boaters' swapmeet?"
Yep, and it was my hubby who suggested I thrown out a few books, along with an inverter we no longer need, some shaft zincs for a boat that sunk, and other bilge-ish treasures. I actually sold two books, which almost offset a set of plastic glasses, flag holder, and altimeter I bought.
"Just one minute," you might ask, "what's an altimeter doing at a boaters' swap meet, and what would ever possess you to buy it? Hell, the only boat that might need an altimeter is a submarine."
I can justify my purchase, even though finding an altimeter at this type of tiangus (Spanish for swap meet) was totally unexpected. Let's face it, an altimeter on a boat is about as useful as teats on a boar. I mean, we know we are at sea level, which is at zero feet.
The seller was slightly astonished to sell this instrument. He'd brought it along for a touch of humor, and was hawking it loudly over derisive comments from his fellow swappers. When I made the purchase (and his day) the derison was turned on me.
So I explained, several times: Years ago, I saw a picture of Barry Goldwater's desk in Arizona, and tore out the page. His desk, custom made, was fashioned to look like an airplane instrument panel, complete with, you guessed it, an altimeter. I plan to do the same with mine, which will also house my ham radio--as did his.
I actually talked to him on ham radio eons ago, and when I saw that photo of where he sat while chatting with me, I kept it.
Laugh you may, but one of these days I'll post a picture of my Barry Goldwater desk, and you will all be green with envy!

Missing in Action

No, not lazy, just very busy.
Moved, had open house (complete with Mariachi band), final edit of Just Add Trouble, then debut book signing for same.
But now I am on the boat in San Carlos, and getting ready to write my little heart out.
Problem is, Hetta is nagging me to do another Just Add ??? immediately, if not sooner, but my muse (or whatever lofty term writers use for inspiration) is singing a siren's song, pulling me in a different direction.
For years I have been contemplating another Texas saga; not a sequel to The Texicans, but a turn-of-century epic set in the Texas Hill Country. I swore I would never do another historical (WAY to much research) but I just re-read Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove. It struck me that he captured an era, and he did it all from the hip. At least I lived some of the story I have in mind and, like my Land of Mountains, I have a hankering to write it down with great embellishments.
Anyhow, as I bounce back and forth, making outlines for both books, I figure my muse has been nipping Tequila down at the cantina and is not thinking straight.
I wait, impatiently, for an epiphany.

The characters and events...

Living in a small town has its advantages, but when tragedy strikes, it literally hits very close to home. Over the past few monthse, five young lives were wiped out in my town due to traffic accidents, suicide, and a flash flood. Of the five, I know the parents of two.

Then we had this weird attempted kidnapping of three teens...I know two of them.

As a writer, I create crimes, scenarios and tragedies from my own imagination, fueled by experience. When the actual events happen to people I know, some of it will eventually end up in a book I'm working on, which brings me to the point of this blog (I knew you were wondering): how much of real life worms its way into my books?

The answer is, A LOT. So, with apologies to anyone who thinks I may be writing about them...I probably am, but read this on my copyright page: The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to person, whether living or dead, is strictly coincidental.