Eileen Cook Author, Writing Consultant, Editor

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Random Monday- the boxed set edition

Did you know that I’m a part of a box set coming out in September? Well, get ready to get giddy. My book, DO OR DI, is a part of the Sassy Seven. You get seven full length novels for 99 cents. Do yourself a favour and pre-order a copy for yourself on Amazon, or iTunes Books, or very soon on Barnes and Noble. Do me a favour and tell your friends to order it too.

In other non-selling you things news- we have hope that our window is finally in and they will be able to fix the giant hole in our house. I look forward to the day when my dining room isn’t separated from the outdoors by mere plywood. This desire is not just based on how it looks, but also because there have been bears spotted in our neighbourhood and I am not keen for one of them to smell something tasty in our house and discover that we’re just a piece of flimsy wood away.

That’s pretty much the only excitement around here. I’m working on a new book so that means the majority of my time is spent with my imaginary friends.

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Random Monday

How is it possible that it is already the middle of August? What happened to all the time I planned to have to get random things done? I haven’t even made a dent in my to-be-read pile. (Although this may be slightly my own fault as I keep adding to it.)

I’ve been busy with unexpected home repairs (yes, our place is still sporting what we call Detroit chic), edits, conferences and work. In case you are feeling too sorry for me it has also included lots of time with friends, wine on the patio and long walks with the dog. Cairo likes to think of these walks as “patrols” and himself as the unofficial sheriff of our neighbourhood. I think he wishes for spurs and a white hat. Never fear we will not arm him.

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I’m BAAAAACK

Spent last weekend in Portland for the Willamette Writer’s Conference. There are few things better than large groups of a writers in one space. So much book talk it made my heart grow three sizes.

However, I could have done without the getting there. Someone really needs to develop a transporter. DH and I decided to ride the rails on the way down. With the train no one had the hassle of driving, there was free wifi, a bar car, beautiful scenery- what could go wrong? Everything. It took HOURS longer both going and returning. DH declared that Big Bang Theory and Sheldon had led him to believe trains were cool, but they clearly lied.

In addition to all the writer fun I also snuck away to spend time with family. We found a restaurant- Swank- and had one of the best meals ever. If you are in Portland you should eat there.

Now to attack my mile high to-do list……

And for those of you still wondering- we still don’t have a new window so the house still looks “Detroit chic.”

The importance of being humble

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Random Monday- On Negative Book Reviews

Someone asked me this week why my Goodreads account didn’t have any negative book reviews of other authors. She stated that she didn’t believe that it was possible that I liked everything I read.

She’s right. I don’t. I read a lot. I am one of those people who starts having a low grade anxiety attacks unless I am surrounded at all times by reading material. Given the sheer volume of stuff I read of course I come across things I don’t like. However I don’t feel the need to share that with the larger world.

This is for two reasons:

1) Writing a book is hard. Not like working in a sub-standard coal mine with no safety features or a chicken processing plant kind of hard, but not easy either. I’m not sure if it takes bravery and commitment to finish an entire novel or simply being on the border of insane, but either way it can be a hard slog. Putting your words out for people to see requires an element of bravery. At the core writing is about having a story that you feel compelled to share. If someone took the time and energy to do that I appreciate that effort even if I don’t appreciate the outcome. I won’t write a nice review just to be kind, but I will use my grandma’s advice that if you don’t have anything nice to say maybe you should just shut up.

There are individuals who write great reviews. They put a lot of thought and effort into detailing what is working for a book or not. I don’t have the time to do that so simply saying “I think this book sucked sweaty donkey balls” or even the more bland and somehow more cutting “I just didn’t find this book interesting enough to finish” doesn’t really add anything to the discussion. It doesn’t help the writer and I’m not sure it helps other readers. If I’m honest my tastes are pretty weird. Once I didn’t like a book simply because the main character had the same name as a guy who once broke the heart of a close friend and therefore every time I read his name I thought “you douche-bag” and that was getting in the way of the plot. I think it would be asking a lot to request that authors run the names of their characters past me for approval.

2) Spreading the Joy. There are a lot of books that I love. Books I want other people to get excited about too. For me I would rather spend my time sharing that with others versus telling them what I didn’t like. Is that overly perky? Maybe. I do know there’s a lot of negativity in the world and I don’t feel compelled to add to it.

People like a range of things. Sometimes I think people should like the same books I do and I am at a loss as to why they would spend their time on a book ghost written for a vapid celebrity when I could list ten books that are lightyears better without even thinking hard. But it’s not up to me to vet everyone else’s tastes. They read what they want. I’m pretty sure a review from me isn’t going to change that. I’d rather spend my energy telling you about books I think are worthwhile.

I was asked if I get angry at negative reviews of my own books. Not really. That’s not to be confused with liking it. It hurts when someone says something you worked hard on is a waste of paper. I have to fight the urge to explain why they’re wrong and why they should give me and my books another chance. But be honest- is there anything more pathetic than someone begging for love and affection from someone else who clearly isn’t feeling it? You have to walk away. People are entitled to their opinion. Maybe I’ll learn something from it. Maybe I’ll ignore it. Either way I know I have to keep writing. That’s what I do.

GCC Welcome Judith Tewes

Judith’s new YA, My Soon To Be Sex-Life is now available. I was offered a chance to read an early version, but due to deadlines I couldn’t get the chance. Now that it is out in the world I plan to settle into a patio chair and enjoy.

Judith has some giveaways and book trailers so be sure to check it all out on her blog

Things I learned at camp- then and now

photo When I was around twelve I pleaded with my parents to send me to camp. Begged. Cajoled. Led them to believe my very future happiness was at stake. I’d never been to camp before, but I’d seen pictures, read books, and had a clear mental image of the concept. Tanned confident kids leaping from rope swings into lakes, hair blowing back in the wind as they rode horses, laughing around campfires with friends they would have for a lifetime while singing goofy camp songs.

What I failed to understand was that going to camp was not going to turn me into one of those kids. I would still be the socially awkward, pale skinned, least coordinated human on the planet, only now I would be at a camp away from everything I actually loved.

I knew when I arrived it wasn’t going to work. I dragged my mom’s white hard shelled Samsonite suitcase into our cabin. The other girls looked up at me and declared: “Who brings a suitcase to camp?! Everyone knows you have a trunk.” It was implied that only a loser would be so lame as to bring a suitcase. I’d barely crossed the threshold and I’d already screwed it up. While I am sure reality was different, the way I remember it, everyone in my bunk had been going to camp for years. They all had nicknames, already knew how to canoe and could whip together a popsicle stick yarn coated dream catcher in less than a minute.

When I called our counsellor Sara I was roundly mocked. All the counsellors had nicknames, Bear, Radar, Mushy. No one called them by their real names. No one. Except dorky kids like me who didn’t get it. I also didn’t understand why we called the Kool-aide “bug juice,” but everyone did so I did too.

They may have been lying, but they told me the lake had leaches. I never saw a bloodsucker on me, but I lived in a near constant state of terror. The water was also apparently directly piped in from the arctic circle. I would stand on the dock shaking while everyone else splashed around having fun.

I’d dreamed of horseback riding, but the horses could apparently smell fear coming off me in waves. I was on the horse for less than a second when it threw me. I lay in the dirt, the wind knocked out of me certain I was going to die. I remember the counsellor telling me I had to get back on right away so that I wouldn’t be scared. Too fucking late, I thought, I’m already terrified. That horse hated me. It threw me over and over. Several times into fresh steaming piles of horse shit. This did little to improve my status with my bunkmates. I refused to get back on after it finally threw me onto the water tub and I was almost 100% certain I’d broken my spine. I’d already shed my dignity, it didn’t seem fair to also expect me to be paralyzed from the ordeal.

The camp had rules that stated you weren’t allowed to call home. They finally let me. I’m guessing they didn’t want me to hurl myself into the leach filled lake. Suicide reflects badly on a camp. I begged my parents to come and get me. People in third world prisons haven’t begged as hard as I did for release. My parents came. I’m pretty sure they were disappointed. Not just because they had thrown away the cash to send me, but also because who wants to be the parents of the misfit kid who can’t hack it at camp? Oh the shame.

Camp made me realize at a young age that you can’t just reinvent yourself by pretending to be something you’re not. Going to camp didn’t suddenly make me out-going, or coordinated, or someone who actually liked the great outdoors. The truth is that I’m an introvert who likes books and has no affection for creepy crawly things that live outside.

This week I went back to camp. I’d been asked to speak at Camp Goodtimes, a camp for kids with cancer and their families. When kids with cancer want to hear you talk about writing you risk a little camp PTSD, pull up your big girl panties and go. The whole bumpy trip down the endless logging road I kept second guessing the plan. I should have just sent bookmarks.

When I got there the co-ordinator warned me it had been quite buggy this year. There was a can of Off outside where I was going to speak. I went to spray myself down and one of the kids said: “You better be careful, that stuff can cause cancer.” Then they all laughed. Dark humour? Sarcasm? These were my people!

After my talk one of the campers made me a friendship bracelet because I was an inspiration to her. To her. Talk about humbling. They invited me to stay for lunch. There was an elaborate game that resulted in some people having to eat with their hands or while blind folded. I didn’t get all the rules, but they were having an awesome time. Some were in wheelchairs (cancer or horseback riding accidents- I never asked.) A couple had hearing issues, there was a girl who was now blind due to her cancer. (“You guys didn’t put hot sauce on my lunch again, did you?”) They were all there having a great time, telling cancer to screw off for awhile.

It made me realize maybe camp had a good side. Maybe you can’t reinvent yourself by going somewhere else and pretending, but you can choose to embrace the experience. Plus, you can learn to make a kick ass friendship bracelet.

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