Digital or Paper: What's Your Preference?

There's a storm on the horizon of the publishing world - though some would say it's a lot closer than that. What's it about? The impact of digital publishing on the traditionally paper-dominated publishing industry.

Writers, agents and publishers are all angsting about it, tweeting about it and crystal ball gazing about it. As indeed they might, because it's their livelihoods at stake. Will e-publishing be the death knell for paper books? Or is it just a fad, a bit player in a mammoth market?

One thing's certain: nobody knows.

But everyone's got an opinion. And it seems to me (if I didn't already know it) I must be nuts to want a career in writing right now. Not only do I have to overcome my own inferiority complex, the futility of the slushpile, the multiple (read: hundreds of) rejections, the need to be a marketing expert - now I'm not even sure what 'publishing' means any more.

I always hoped I'd be published one day, that I'd hold my book, see my name on the spine. E-publishing didn't even cross my mind. It doesn't really count as 'published', right?

Wrong. E-published equals published. But - and here's the thing - e-publishing makes it easy for people to self-publish. Anyone can do it. I could upload my manuscript to Kindle and start selling it tomorrow if I wanted. Do I want to? Um... I'm not sure. There are lots of factors to consider - some I'm already aware of, but plenty of others I'm not, I bet. So, for now, I'm going to play a fence-sitting game.

Which probably means, as with most decisions I make, it's the wrong decision and I should've leapt onto the self-publishing train before it gathered speed and left me behind.

Seriously, folks, I was not meant to be rich. I'm not complaining - well, okay, maybe I'm whinging a little - it's just the way it is. Whatever I decide, you should do the opposite and, trust me, you'll be loaded in no time!

Anyway, enough about me and my bank overdraft. What I want to know is this: do you read books in digital format? Leave a comment and tell me yes or no, because I'm keen to see how many of you would currently choose to read e-pubbed books.

Want To Know Why I Haven't Posted Anything Recently?

You’d think God would be kinder to me. I mean, s/he’s thrown half a dozen significant earthquakes at me in the past nine months (hell, by comparison even pregnancy’s fun), and we’re being put through thousands of aftershocks, not to mention the loss of job security. Our city’s broken. Isn’t that enough?

I took on a part-time job. Just a little one. Hell, it barely even counts as a job! But it’s enough to let us have takeaways on a Friday night without a dose of the guilts – and that, folks, is a Big Deal for us just now.

A real job! Excellent idea, I thought. Beloved agreed. The cosmos, apparently, did not.

Within days (it felt like hours), our home turned into a House Of Ill. Drop the ‘Repute’ bit at the end – we’ve been so ill we haven’t had the energy for anything that exciting!

Little Miss Two – croup. Deduct one week.

Little Miss Two – gastro virus. Deduct two days.

Little Miss Two – croup (again). Deduct one week.

Master Seven – croup. Deduct four days.

Me – gastro virus. Deduct two days.

Little Miss Two – bronchio-freakin’-litis, for crying out loud! Deduct one looooong week.

Beloved – sprained ankle. Deduct zero days. No time for sympathy pampering, because…

Master Seven – serious infection. Hospitalisation. Deduct one night’s sleep.

Master Seven – severe nausea, vomiting and diarrhoea brought on by vicious, kill-the-bug-and-you-with-it antibiotics. Deduct five days.

And somewhere in the middle of all that I have to meet a major deadline in my new job and find time to write.

Guess what fell off the list? (Sigh.)

Post-script. Oh. My. God. Little Miss Two has come down with another cold. If it turns into croup, so help me, I’ll turn to drugs. For me, not her.

Am I the only one this kind of stuff happens to? Please, if life does this to you too - share it with me! Let me know I'm not the only one the cosmos is punishing. Give me permission to overdose on chocolate - or suggest an even better way of drowning my sorrows. :)

Tea Lovers Be Warned!

I felt so loved – better, understood – when Beloved gave me the ultimate tea-lover’s gift: a fancy glass teapot (you know, with the thingy in the middle for the tea leaves so you’ll never have to catch them between your teeth again) and a selection of very cool, very expensive teas to sample. Perfect! Now I could upgrade to gourmet tea guzzler while I slaved over my hot keyboard.

I quickly learned my caffeine lesson when I tried Vanilla Black Tea. I whipped up a pot, slurped down a first cup, loved it, and went back for seconds. Then thirds. (Well, it was delicious.) Imagine my consternation when, come midnight, I was more awake than I’d felt in weeks. 1 am and I was rearing to do an all-nighter. That’s when I knew Vanilla Black was not a good option after dark. Not unless I wanted to be very energetic – and before you start sniggering, folks, let me tell you those days are few and far between now there’s Master Seven and The Destroyer to contend with.

Romantic Rose Tea was delicious - though I did begin to worry about my sanity when I caught myself eating it straight from the packet.

But the tea that most upset my equilibrium was Coffee-Flavoured Tea. I love tea and I love coffee, so coffee-flavoured tea sounded like the best of both worlds. I brewed it with love, hovered over the teapot to savour the aroma, and poured my first cup with anticipation. It all went downhill from there. Until that moment I hadn’t realised that part of the coffee experience is texture. Coffee – even black coffee – has a more oily consistency than tea. As in, coffee’s not quite as - well, watery.

I know, I know, sounds nuts, right? But I was drinking something that tasted, to all intents and purposes, just like coffee – but in my mouth it felt all wrong.

Needless to say, the Coffee-Flavoured Tea isn’t in very high demand at our place. Any takers? Ooh! Let’s do a poll! E-mail me (visit my website) and I’ll post out samples.

How about you? Have you ever tried a specialty tea that left you begging for more – or wishing you’d brewed your old socks instead?

Who said Blogger was easy?

I'm fighting with Blogger - and losing. Definitely losing.

I've built my own website, for crying out loud! You'd think I'd be able to figure out a way to make my Blogger page look consistent with my website. But no. It's beyond me. How to get my banner across the full width of the page? Or, if I can't do that, how to shift my "About Me" box up, so that hideous blob of white space is made use of? And why won't my "GirlTalk" title change to the font and font size I've requested?

What I need is a computer genie to whoosh out of a bottle and fix it for me, but the only bottles close to hand are of the milk and tomato sauce variety.

The good news is I'm here, and planning to post my blogs on Blogger from now on. I hope you'll be able to live with the inconsistent look of my Blogger page (I'm not sure I will). And if you have any suggestions for helping me tame my Blogger monster, I'm all ears!

(Postscript: Ooh! Excitement! I've managed to tame the "GirlTalk" title! Oh ye-ah, oh ye-ah...)

Maggie's Attempt At The Good Life

We leapt at the chance. A week of The Good Life? Perfect! Fresh air, peace and quiet, and a brief escape from the lingering stresses of QuakeZone. Exactly what we needed.

Bursting with anticipation, we shoved a few clothes in a bag, grabbed the portacot, strapped in the kids, and headed for the wop-wops.

Our destination: Motukarara. (Try saying that after a couple of wines.) Far enough from town that we wouldn't hear the constant thrum of traffic, streetlights wouldn't mar our view of the Milky Way each night, and we'd feel the tranquillity seeping into our bones.

The daily trips into town were a drag - school runs twice a day (not to mention swimming lessons, soccer practice, and weekend soccer game), a couple of pre-school sessions, Beloved had to work in town, and I had several appointments that couldn't be missed. Aside from that, though, we had a fair taste of The Good Life. Here's how it panned out:

Day 0 - turn off TV, can't get it working again. Not a biggie for me - but major for the kids.
Day 1 - pre-dawn wake-up by three cats scratching furniture and demanding food. Hens produce very first egg, just in time for Master Seven to discover. This is indeed The Good Life. :)
Day 2 - Magnitude 5.3 earthquake at 3am. Kids upset. Rest of night a write-off.
Day 3 - OMG one dog looks dead! (False alarm. Whew.) Miss Nearly-Two locks herself in bathroom. (Not a false alarm.) Shrieking gale-force winds all night. Sleep impossible. Convinced roof will fly off. (It doesn't.)
Day 4 - Hint of cat pee in living room. Magpies attack one of their own in field. Shrieking gale-force winds all night again. Sleep deprivation takes its toll.
Day 5 - Tyre blowout. No cellphone reception. Master Seven waiting at school... and waiting... Screaming kid in back of car. The Good Life sucks.
Day 6 - No internet access. Feel like I've lost limb. Miss Nearly-Two poos on kitchen freaking floor.
Day 7 - Fantail flies into house (death omen according to Maori superstition). Fan-freaking-tastic. Chirps merrily, has to be shooed out. Miss Nearly-Two enchanted. I'm filled with dread. Fine. Take my damn internet access. Just keep my loved ones safe.

Conclusion: The Good Life is over-rated. Or maybe bad things just happen to me more than anyone else. What's your take on it?

A Life Less Duckey?

Okay, I admit it. I'm useless. I haven't posted here for ages. The shame is killing me. No, really, it is. I know some of you need a dose of GirlTalk every now and then, if for no other reason than to remind you that your life is so much more sane than it could be. Because, let's face it, my life is worse. It's full of cringe-factor moments, weirder-than-fiction moments, so-stupid-she-doesn't-deserve-to-live moments. I don't know how, I don't know why - it just is.

Which makes me wonder - is this my lot in life? Am I really going to go through life making blooper after laughable blooper, year in year out, until I drop dead with the exhaustion (or embarrassment) of it all?

When I was a kid I had this image of a grown-up me, poised and elegant and sophisticated, able to handle every type of situation with ease. All I had to do was get through my ugly-duckling teens and I'd metamorphose into this magnificent swan-like creature.

I'm still waiting.

I still have a startling ability to embarrass myself in public. I still feel awkward and clumsy in people-heavy situations. Bizarre things, I'm-sure-I'll-laugh-about-this-one-day things, still happen to me.

I keep reminding myself that ducklings get a bad rap. They're not really ugly - forget the swan comparison and all you see is cute fluff. Besides, ducks have plenty going for them. Like... um... well, they don't need fertility drugs to produce a whole family in one hit. And... (gosh, this is hard)... they're not too proud to quack for their food... Um... Their feathers are a versatile shade of brown that can be dressed up or down for any occasion? (Is it just me or am I going quackers?)... Ooh! Donald! He's a great duck! And Uncle Scrooge - now, there's a duck who can survive a recession. Ducks... what's good about them... um... paté?

Oh, hell, who am I kidding? Deep down inside, I'm still longing to be the swan I always imagined. But, you know what, duck or swan, it's kind-of irrelevant. We both swim in the same pond, see the same view, get our feet chomped by the same eel, and do the same feather-cleaning routine. It's how well we share the pond that's important. (Now I've just got to remind myself of that every time I look in the mirror, go to a party, take a customer complaint, reverse into a tree...)

Heroine Envy

I love movies. They're all about escapism and, let's face it, we all want to escape every now and then. (If you don't want to escape - ie you love everything about your sweet little life just the way it is - then you're an anomaly. You shouldn't be reading this. And BTW, don't even THINK about e-mailing me how sweet your life is, because I might be tempted to send hate mail.)

The best thing about seeing a movie is that I get to escape "me" for a while. No kids, no mortgage, no messy chaotic frenetic life, no panda eyes because I fell into bed without removing my mascara, no clothes that are four seasons out of date… When I immerse myself in a movie I'm able to be, for a fleeting couple of hours, a hot sexy mama with street savvy and an interesting life.

Oh, come on. You know it's true. Every movie you've loved featured a heroine who was young and slim and cool and had a don't-mess-with-me attitude (or grew one), right? And even if they were made-up to look ugly or fat or frumpy or old or whatever, they weren't even close to any of those things because Hollywood doesn't really do ugly/fat/frumpy/old. It wouldn't sell. It's not our dream.

And the heroes? (Speaking of dreams...) Mmm…

Where was I? Oh. Right. Bottom line: Hollywood produces what we (I use "we" in a broad sense) want to see. And we want to see hot-sexy-mama heroines with kick-arse attitude, not grumpy-frumpy-ugly old tarts with lemon-sucking skills. We want to see heart-stoppingly gorgeous men with you'll-only-cross-me-once determination, not wimpy weedy guys with inferiority complexes. Movies = escapism, remember?

Movie heroines always get their guy, and he's always hot. Movie heroines always save the day, or at least help save the day, and they don't get blown up in the attempt. They always have great shoes and even better one-liners. And they always end the movie looking like… well, heroines.

But movies aren't real. Sometimes it's easy to forget that and get caught up in the why-can't-I-be-more-like-her sulks - when what we should really be doing is celebrating. Because we're the real heroines and heroes. We're living it, doing it, solving it, feeling it. Every day. Bad hair, cranky mood, mismatched socks and all.

So if your made-for-the-big-screen life is looking a little less than perfect today - don't worry. You're in good company. And we my not be on a Jolie-type wage, but we're all doing star performances. (Pass the popcorn, someone!)