We can set aside for a future post this mythical notion of a “normal” anything. However, I do admit that I’m a romantic. Entertainment in my opinion is all about escaping into, if not fantasy, a heightened reality. Real life is full of rejection, suffering, and unexpected blows. Sure, there’s plenty of good stuff, too. But it’s the painful moments that really burn themselves into the memory.  Who wouldn’t avoid this pain if they could? Then is it really so odd that I don’t want to spend two hours sitting through a movie or half a day reading a book only to have my heart ripped out at the end?

This doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy a good tear jerker. The Hours by Michael Cunningham is a sad book. People misunderstand and disappoint one another. People die. I love this book and the movie version, which I’ve seen three times.

I also read (and re-read) Thomas Hardy, that British master of the nineteenth-century pastoral tragedy. I read him in small doses and over long periods of time.  Hardy’s Jude the Obscure was the first book I ever threw across a room. Apparently I wasn’t the only one. Back when it was first published, public reaction to the horrific scene that ended the epic romance between Jude and his lady love caused such an uproar, Hardy gave up writing novels and turned to poetry.

Later, after I picked up Jude the Obscure from the floor and examined the nick it had made in the paint where it hit the wall, I vowed to never read another novel without first knowing exactly what I was getting myself into.

I’m aware that unhappiness is part of life. And I believe that the great tragedies of literature, like the small, personal sorrows that permeate real life, enlarge our understanding of ourselves and of humanity.

I don’t deny the value of sadness.

But at least in my choice of books and movies, I can be ready for it.

I’d like to tell you about two of my most recent armchair excursions over the pond. These adventures couldn’t be more different–we’re talking cozy refinement versus raunchy hilarity–but I loved them both. Probably best start off at an easy pace: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows is a novel-in-letters set just after the end of WW II. The main character, Juliet Ashton is a writer who spent the war penning humorous newspaper columns and now wants to take on a more serious project. Through a fortunate accident she begins corresponding with a farmer (Dawsey) from Guernsey, one of the channel islands located between England and France. For a good chunk of the war Guernsey was occupied by the Germans and cut off from the rest of England. The literary society in the title of this book came about when a group of islanders caught outside after curfew needed a cover story to stay out of prison. Juliet begins trading letters with other members of the society–a varied and eccentric bunch eager to talk about themselves, their favorite books, and life during the war.  It isn’t long before she realizes that these people–their stories, their island–is just the subject she’s been looking for.  She travels to Guernsey to meet everyone and that’s when the fun really begins.

Of the many different kinds of fun, Little Britain is of the pee-in-your-pants variety. Mega-talents Matt Lucas and David Williams created this comedy sketch show, exaggerated parodies of Brits from all walks of life. These guys play the parts themselves and, believe me, they’ve never heard the term “politically correct.” There’s urban school-girl Vicky Pollard, with her fast talk and slutty ways.  Young Welsh lad Daffyd Thomas is fresh out of the closet and eager to talk about it…to everyone.  Former movie queen (now queen-sized) Bubbles DeVere is my personal favorite. Somehow she always ends up naked in the middle of large public gatherings. These are only three of many great characters developed by Lucas and Williams.  The guest stars are amazing, too.  Dawn French from The Vicar of Dibley makes an appearance as Vicky Pollard’s mother. Anthony Head (remember Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer?) has a recurring rose as the Prime Minister. Five series (seasons) of Little Britain are available on DVD. The last one, Little Britain USA, had me rolling…I watched it at my mom’s house and she thought I was going into convulsions.

A recent news item predicted that the gap between the dollar and the pound is going to narrow, maybe even vanish. It didn’t mention how soon this might happen. All I can do is keep my fingers crossed and my bags packed. Luckily there are a lot of British-themed books and movies out there to help pass the time.

As much as a critic may declare his intention to be objective, this really is not possible. A person can’t remove his likes, dislikes, prejudices, and intellectual and social histories the way he removes a jacket when the weather gets warm.

This is not to say that literary or art criticism is of no use. It’s a very human impulse to want to pass on something we found meaningful or to explain–to ourselves as much as to others–why something failed to move us. The problem is when our reaction to a book, movie, or play is presented as some sort of final verdict, when “This is what I thought of  X…” becomes “This is X.”

The best critics don’t just state what they like or don’t like about a work of art. They extend themselves enough to try to identify the artist’s intention (to entertain? to shock? to look at something old in a new way?) and then discuss whether that intension was realized. Good critics talk about what works AND what doesn’t work. They don’t deny the reality of subjectivity. They embrace it and use it to engage their readers in a conversation.

I was moved to write this essay after reading a review of the movie Letters to Juliet in the May 14th online issue of the NY Post. The critic panned the romantic comedy because it was too “simple.” The hero and heroine were too nice. Tuscany was too beautiful. He actually stated that he would’ve liked the movie better if the elderly lady looking for her lost love after 50 years had been abducted by revolutionaries. In short, the critic’s biggest problem with this light romantic comedy was that it was not a serious drama. He completely ignored the movie maker’s intentions and the target audience–people who like beautiful scenery and happy endings–and eviscerated the film.

So what’s the big deal? Isn’t even a lousy critic entitled to his opinion? Sure, when he evaluates the movie he viewed, not some other movie he wanted to see. You don’t criticize your cat because she isn’t a dog. Why pan a romantic comedy because it isn’t a drama?

If you still don’t see what damage this reviewer did consider one of the comments submitted–someone planning to see the movie thanked this guy for keeping her from wasting her money. Too bad. I went to see Letters to Juliet and loved it. No, it’s doesn’t carry the moral heft of  Schindler’s List, but that was never the movie maker’s intention. Far from lacking subtext, all of the major characters had back stories which haunted the events in the movie. It was well acted, beautifully shot, and emotionally moving.

So, yes, every one is entitled to an opinion. Expressing our opinion about a work of art can help others understand and evaluate it. Where critics go wrong is when they forget that the work under consideration exists apart from opinions about it. A book, a movie, an opera is something wholly and completely itself. And, when it comes to a work of art, there is no such thing as a final verdict.

Well, technology has moved far beyond my old 12” black and white with rabbit ears teetering on top. These days I can watch one show while recording two others on my handy-dandy DVR. That’s if I even bother with my television now that the internet has become a one-stop shop for my communication, consumer, and entertainment needs.

I’ve always been a voracious reader…the sort who’ll scan the back of a shampoo bottle when I’m stuck in a friend’s bathroom with nothing better to read. Despite Mr. Wallach’s passionate and repeated warnings, television never interfered with my appetite for a good book. Or even a so-so book. In fact, as long as it was printed in English and contained no violence to any furred or feathered creature, I’d read it.

At the same time, I now prefer to peruse current headlines on AOL and Yahoo rather than watch the news or read newspapers. I prefer Facebook messages to writing letters and email to using the telephone–even my fancy cell phone.

I haven’t yet purchased an e-book reader. I didn’t get the point of e-books at first. Who wants to spend six hours staring at a computer screen? You can’t take an e-book into the tub with you. You can’t argue with the author by scribbling in the margins. Whenever information I needed came in e-book form, I’d actually print out the whole thing, thus defeating the one positive about the medium that even I could recognize–it saves trees and the chemicals/energy resources that go into turning trees into paper and paper into books.

On the other hand, the new e-readers are so compact. If I had one, I would no longer need to bring a second suitcase on trips just for the books I wanted to take along. To e-read or not to e-read?  I still haven’t decided.

Nevertheless, I have noticed a recent change in my reading habits. I find it harder to settle down to a printed book than I used to. Once I’m in, I’m in, but it takes longer to become invested in the story. Also, because I now notice how long it take me to become engaged, I’m far less forgiving of mediocre books.

So, Mr. Wallach, it’s true that I’m probably reading fewer books overall since joining the 21st Century, but the books I do read are much better than they used to be. And didn’t you always promote quality over quantity?

It was a rough transition. Where we came from, we were never more than 30 minutes from a beach and could take day trips as far north as Boston and as far south as Washington DC. Each season had its own distinct character. Our senses moved in concert with spring’s first green smells, the heat and sun of summer, autumn’s explosion of color, and the icy bareness of winter.

My first sight of the desert southwest set off a panic attack. It was the nothing that did it. Miles and Miles of nothing.  What few scrubby plants there were seemed like they were clinging for their lives to the sandy soil and rocky outcroppings. The wide blue sky and red-gold mountains were awesome, sure, but it was the awesomeness of the hand of God rushing down to smite me. I have never felt so small, so inconsequential as I did that day.

I’m glad to say familiarity does bring a certain degree of contentment.  Familiarity and facts. Like a child, I learned the names of the strange things around me–bursage, creosote, Joshua tree, beaver-tail cactus–and by doing so made them my own. I learned that the red rocks got their color from the oxidized iron they contained, and that these soaring mountain ranges once rested at the bottom of an ancient sea.   I saw my first coyote, long-eared owl, and non-cartoon road runner.

Some things I will never be comfortable with. Unlike back East, there’s little if any transition from inner city to suburb to rural to wilderness. Densely organized housing developments just end at the desert, and it’s three or four hundred miles to the next closest metropolitan areas–Reno, Phoenix, Los Angeles.

If I had to choose my favorite thing about Las Vegas, it would be the sunlight. It’s sunny nearly every day, a clear and intense light unmitigated by clouds or tree canopies. And it falls everywhere equally. Whether you live in a gated community surrounded by golf courses or a trailer park along the edge of Boulder Highway, that light is yours.

We’re not going to be here in Vegas forever. Despite the diversions offered by the city and the beauty of the surrounding landscape, we miss the changing seasons and being close to a large body of water. And yet, I’m glad that we’ve had the chance to spend time in this part of the country. I’ve had to work at it–meet the place halfway–but in return I get so much. The people I’ve met. The plants and animals I’ve learned to name. The light that showers southern Nevada almost every day. I enjoy it all now. And, when I do get to Seattle, I will carry the memory of it with me.

Well I watch television. Oh, I’m picky. The writing has to be superior. Characters have to be memorable. Not just the leads, but also the supporting characters and the one-time bit players. I told you, I’m picky. I want a show that makes me laugh, cry, cringe.

BONES (FOX, Thurs. 8pm) is a quirky procedural that I have come to adore. It’s about a gang of brainy crime solvers led by a beautiful genius and a haunted FBI agent. Week after week they face the most gruesome murders and, with humor and heart, wrestle order out of chaos. The writing is stellar, the acting amazing.

On one hand Bones helps me escape when my own projects weigh too heavily on me. And yet when I watch it, I always find things to energize my work. Never mind that I don’t write crime fiction or screenplays. Genre is beside the point. Writer/Creator/Executive Producer Hart Hanson and his team of writer-magicians offer a weekly master class in character building, conflict creation, story development and pacing.  And it’s fun! I never miss it. NEVER.

If you haven’t had the chance to see Bones, tonight’s episode is a great place to start. “The Witch in the Wardrobe” was written by mystery writer Kathy Reichs. She’s the real life forensic genius behind the original Dr. Temperance Brennan.

Murder. Witches. Forensic Science.

To all my friends, family, readers…DO NOT call me between eight and nine tonight.

There’s someplace I have to be.

This April I attended the 2010 Las Vegas Writers Conference. There were lots of writers there looking to improve their craft and make connections. What stands out for me, though, were those times between workshops and pitch sessions when strangers sitting at the same dining table or perusing the bookstall at the same time just started talking. We discussed our projects, certainly, but the talk invariably turned to life back home, to the activities and people and places that sustained us.

Behind the written word is everything that inspires and supports it. Books. Music. Best friends. Mornings spent sitting out on the patio with a really good cup of coffee. The impulse to create comes about when we’re so filled up by what’s around us we just brim over. This excess of feeling…of life…generates stories, songs, paintings, even fabulous new recipes.

I decided to relaunch This Literary Life because I believe artists more than most people need to realize that their “work” is a by-product of their day-to-day lives. It’s so easy for writers to get caught up in the pressure to “publish, publish, publish, market, market, market.” And, of course, we want to get our work out into the world. We want it to find its own special audience. But it’s important to remember that whether a given project succeeds or fails, we can still enjoy being artists. We can still enjoy our lives.

Sickness, death, divorce, and job loss can transform a world in an instant, demoting a little thing like drafting a new story or novel chapter to the same category as cleaning the toilet bowl.

 I experienced this firsthand this past September when a pivotal member of an organization I devote a lot of time to quit with no notice.  The next eight weeks were like a National Lampoon movie turned inside out . . . a tragedy of effort and errors as myself and one other brave soul struggled to carry on while new managers were solicited and interviewed.  Time to write?  I didn’t have time to pee!  Meals consisted of fastfood breakfast sandwiches and microwavable popcorn eaten at our desks, often with one hand on a computer keyboard and a phone receiver squeezed between shoulder and ear. 

By the end of the first month, my husband didn’t recognize me and my dog and cat were threatening to move in with the lady next door. 

I guess I should be grateful it wasn’t the other way around. 

I remember the first sign of a break in this fever of activity.  After an exhaustive review process we finally settled on a new management firm.  I still spent several hours in the office that day answering phones and gathering records for the new company, but I got home by four and waiting for me on my coffee table were three manuscripts I had to review for my writer’s group that weekend.

I collapsed on my sofa and, pen in hand, started reading.  Three hours passed in a breath. Lolling in that happy-dazed feeling I get whenever I resurface from the creative depths, I grabbed a clean sheet of paper and outlined a new story.  It wasn’t much.  A situation.  Two or three character descriptions.  The whole process couldn’t have taken more than fifteen minutes, but when I finished something inside me had shifted back into alignment.

That night I smiled through two loads of laundry and a sadly neglected litter box.

Life is better when I write.  I eat better.  I sleep better.  Writing make me a better person.  So I make writing appointments.  I set page quotas.  And when the worst happens, I yield to it as best I can.  I know my writing is waiting for me on the other side.

First drafts are messy, unweildly creatures. You can outline and map your plots all you want.  Such advance planning comes from the organized, rational side of the brain, while actual literary composition comes from the highly associative creative side.  This free spirit may glance at your outline to take note of where you are and where you think you’re going, but it makes its own itinerary.  It will roam all sorts of side roads, get lost, back track.  If you know what’s good for you (and your work) you’ll just hang on and enjoy the ride. 

Okay, you may be saying, I want to let my creative brain have its way, but I’ve got to show these pages to my critique group in two days. The way things look now, the response won’t be pretty. 

It’s true that displaying portions of a first draft in public can be rough.  Your characters won’t be fully realized.  The plot may seem to meander or vanish completely.  You have two options.  One is not to show your first drafts to anyone.  The other is to show them but keep the comments you receive in perspective.  Don’t ignore critiques all together.  Every so often they will help you to catch problems early on.  Passages suffocating in passive voice, for instance.  Or a grossly overpopulated first chapter.  Overall, though, accept comments about your draft with a polite thank you and file them away to use during the revision process.   In the meantime, your rational brain will be hard at work in the background assimilating this feedback and preparing for its turn with your project.

I do have a sneaky way to get around the worst of this “showing a first draft” dilemma.  I draft my work longhand.  Typing it for submission to my writers group actually serves as mini-revision.  My colleagues aren’t getting a polished piece of writing by any means, but the most glaring kinks are smoothed out.

Another middle-of-the-road option is to work a little ahead of yourself.  Draft chapters one through three, then go back and let your editor brain loose on chapter one so you can feel comfortable submitting it to your group.  Keep in mind, though, that you’ll probably have to alter these polished pages yet again as the rest of the book unfolds.

Each writer has her own way of getting a project from idea to polished manuscript. Twists and turns are a natural part of the creative process.  By entering into this adventure rather than fighting against it, we give our work the space it needs to fully develop.  The reward for such unmitigated trust in ourselves is a one-of-a-kind creation that expresses our individual voice and unique vision.

Well, things are changing.  With the path to traditional publication littered with more obstacles than ever, and the phenomenal growth in the number of quality independent publishers and print-on-demand services, self-publishing has become a viable path to success for some writers. Modern technology has made it easier and cheaper than ever for an individual author to produce an attractive product and then market it. 

As an “independent” author, you have complete artistic control over the content and appearance of your work.  Self-publishing allows you to skip the torturous process of getting an agent or publishing house to recognize your project’s potential.  And, since most traditionally published books get a minimal marketing budget anyway, you don’t even suffer much by having to promote your work yourself.  There are plenty of ways to use websites, social networking, reading groups and cultural events to build your audience and sell your books.  All of this should give independent authors a sense of empowerment.  Your future as a writer does not have to be in the hands of conglomerate publishers and mammoth bookstore chains.

There are, however, some points to consider before taking the plunge into self-publishing:

1. You’ll still need a publishable book.  If you’re going to spend upwards of five grand producing a few hundred paperback copies of your masterpiece, invest five hundred and hire a professional editor.  Every writer on the New York Times bestseller list has an editor and you should too. A good editor will save you time, money and embarrassment.

2. Listing a self-published book as a writing credit many not carry much weight with those in commercial and even small-press publishing.  Keep this in mind if your reason for self-publishing is to have something “solid” to show agents and editors.  The lack of a review process in self-publishing can, rightly or wrongly, taint you and your book as being not quite up to professional standards.

3. Independent authors must become marketing pros.  There’s no way around it.  You will not have the same marketing and distribution opportunities available to a writer published by Random House.   You will have to create your own buzz through smart use of the Internet and a lot of personal effort.  Play it smart and have a marketing plan in place before you take delivery of five hundred copies of Conversations with My Pomeranian: One Dog’s View on Life, Love and Rawhide Chew Toys.

3. Independent publishing is still a rough road for fiction writers, especially for those of us working in mainstream or literary fiction.  If you write genre fiction, you can go online and find many many forums and chatrooms catering to people interested in vampires, werewolves, elves, dragons, carnivorous space aliens, cowboys and serial killers.  Even so, a non-fiction writer will still have an easier time finding people to buy her book on horse training, go-cart maintenance, cooking with olives, or travels in Latvia.

So where does this leave the author eager to see her work in print?  It leaves her with a lot of work to do.  Evaluate your manuscript.  Is it really so well written that a person not related to you by blood or marriage would plunk down good money for it?   Who are these people?  How much will it cost you to produce your book and get it into the their hands?   Are you best off with printed books that you may have to store in your garage?  An e-book that you can deliver via e-mail or on CD?  A print-on-demand title?  To succeed in self-publishing, you need to ask these questions and lots more and then take your time getting the answers.