Lovestories.com and Publishing Today
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Lovestories.com and Publishing Today

Publishing Today

This is a fascinating and adventurous time to be an author. We are in the midst of the biggest shift in publishing since the invention of the Gutenberg Press. It’s the wild west of publishing right now, which is way cool for fast-writing, pathologically persistent, independent-minded, iconoclastic authors like me. The old “rules” and algorithms of legacy publishing are crumbling to dust–as they should.

The old gate-keeper mentality is withering, thank heaven. This revolution will benefit both authors and readers. ePublishing serves the demotic.

How boring is the old publishing way of being? Boring and pitiful.

I personally am sick of the anti-hero, “God is dead,” the post-modernist, ironic bent of it all. Most “literary” traditional publishing today is vomit-worthy, with boring plots, unlikeable protagonists, and a jaded sensibility that is supposed to be elite, educated, and intelligent.

Most popular publishing is worse.

Before I started Parvati Press, my indie publishing company, I worked with the incredibly good-natured and helpful people at Telemachus Press.

I recommend them highly. If you want to get published, and you have good ideas and a strong self-esteem, DO NOT wait for the old legacy publishers to give you their stamp of approval. Take a page from Walt Whitman’s career and publish yourself… with Telemachus.

So it was Telemachus that mentioned me to Lovestories.com, and here’s the page. Telemachus is publicizing their author services. I’m promoting my books.

Go for it!

Lovestories.com

 

 

Sexy

Sexy

Some people have given me grief because I don’t like 50 Shades of Silliness.

I have a different sense of eros, evidently.

So to those who scoff, I say: here is sexy.


i know what love is from Geoffo on Vimeo.

Loving 24 on Netflix
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Loving 24 on Netflix

24 on Netflix

My husband Sabin is sculpting a bust of me.

Posing is not glamorous. It is work. It consists of being perched on a high, uncushioned ladder so I’m at his eye level. It’s necessary to maintain a certain tilt of my head and drop of one shoulder, and to wear a consistent expression. It’s cold because I’m tucked into a lacy brassiere and yoga pants, and this is one winter that doesn’t want to end.

Periodically Sabin shakes his head, grimaces, and moans. Then he squints in disgust at me. I’m not overly self-conscious but I wonder, at those moments, if I have a lumpy pickle-nose like the Wicked Witch of the West.
I also wish that dark chocolate didn’t strike at the heart of my frailty as a human being. “Frailties,” rather, because there are many of them, too many. He’s already muttering about me posing for a full figure, and then every imperfection of flesh will be immortalized in bronze.
More yoga, less Vosges.
Meantime, as a distraction, 24. We started with Season 1, Episode 1, and now we’re well into Season 3.
This series is enthralling! I watched the show when it aired, years ago, but I had forgotten how well-written, tightly plotted, and suspenseful the show was. It puts to shame all the current TV. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I agreed to pose for my husband in the evenings: TV is so lame right now that I can’t bear to watch most of it.
24 is anything but lame. It’s not perfect. Some of the seasons are stronger than others, and some of the plot lines are better than others.
But for intensity, intricacy of plot building, and multi-dimensional character development, 24 rocks.
Let’s start with David Palmer, who’s one of the greatest fictional presidents ever. His moral center, personal integrity, trustworthiness, thoughtfulness, and charisma are compelling. I find myself wishing he was actually the president. He commands respect in every way.
I often wonder how much that character paved the way for Obama. For an hour every week for 24 weeks, for over 3 years, everyone in America had a magnificent, awe-inspiring, African-American president in their homes. We all got used to the possibility of having such a man lead our country. Unfortunately, Obama is no Palmer.
Then there are those great slimy villains, Nina Meyers and Sherry Palmer. Sherry is one of the most interesting nefarious creatures ever to grace the world of television. She is mesmerizing in her manipulativeness. Nina Meyers holds her own, with her constant betrayals and double-crosses. She has the cunning self-possession of a gutter rat, though less empathy. For all this, Meyers was no caricature. She was a believable reptile. Her murder of Terri Bauer at the end of the first season was just as shocking all these years later as it was when it first aired. I almost couldn’t believe it!
I haven’t gotten to the season with the sniveling cowardly president, yet, but I can’t wait!
Tony and Michelle. I remember having such affection for them that when Tony appeared on the final season, I applauded. Watching the show this way, one episode after another, I see why. Tony is a kind of ultimate soft-voiced good guy, always coming through for Jack. He’s tough when he needs to be and he’s competent and focused. He’s just so appealing. I love that he and Michelle get married….
Chloe. She didn’t show up until the season I’m watching now, season 3. If memory serves, she appears in the rest of the seasons. I was delighted to see her again, and love her nerdy, snippy, grumpy, awkwardness.
Last but not least, Jack Bauer. A latter day GI Joe, or Superman without the cape, or Batman without the mask. I’m struck by how respectful he is, when he’s not shooting, punching, or torturing people. He’s the Great Iconic American, the noble loner driven to get results by any means necessary. He’s tough, independent-minded, and nearly Christ-like in his willingness to sacrifice himself. For all that, he’s got a tender side, with his daughter Kim and various others.
Fantastic show. Makes me forget when my tushie falls asleep on the plastic ladder rung. Passes the time  delightfully. A treat every bit as good as a truffle, and longer lasting.

New Favorite Show: BBC’s SHERLOCK
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New Favorite Show: BBC’s SHERLOCK

(BBC’s SHERLOCK)

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill….

         Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
William Butler Yeats, Leda and the Swan

I love sonnets. They are the most passionate of poems: convex with energy pushing out, straining against form. A sonnet possesses 14 lines only, to say everything.

And when the valence shatters–O.

In my own experience, poetry comes from the inarticulate place. It is an Orphic activity, because the poet descends into hell and looks back and leaves language behind, and brings back things that can not be said any other way.

So, sonnets, so exquisite because of their restraint.

I read Yeats when my soul is hungry and predatory like a vampire and wants to feast. I read Rumi when my heart is sick and I founder, when despair threatens everything. I read sonnets to feel amorous. It’s all that restraint and boundedness–a big turn on.

Because when the restraint breaks–the sublime sweeps in.

But I think few Americans get it about restraint and how sexy it is. Our culture is so boringly obvious.

A friend of mine in the TV & movie industry recommended the British show Sherlock, saying, “It’s by smart people, about smart people, for smart people–and they don’t care who doesn’t get it.”

That was a kind of challenge. Naturally, I soon logged into Neflix to find out for myself.

Sherlock exceeded my expectations. The plots are intricate and interwoven, juicy and satisfying. They’re just so darn intelligent.

Enlivening the whole hour and a half is restraint: the restraint on which is founded the curious, brilliant character of Sherlock Holmes, played superbly by Benedict Cumberbatch. The restraint of Martin Freeman’s grounded, likable, heterosexual Dr. John Watson, who is constantly mistaken for Sherlock’s better half. Andrew Scott plays a chilling and unexpected Moriarty, not at all obvious. Louise Brealey plays a hapless but good-hearted pathologist who assists Sherlock in the laboratory. Mark Gatiss ably and well plays Mycroft Holmes.

A whole cast of intelligent, restrained actors bringing vivid yet thoughtful life to their characters.

When I wax rhapsodic about intelligence and restraint, some readers may incorrectly think, “lacking suspense.” To the contrary, each episode is breathtakingly taut and absorbing. Each episode flies by, holding the viewer rapt.

What a treat! Don’t restrain yourself, go immediately to Netflix and see firsthand what I mean.

Listen to this blogpost as a podcast in iTunes here.