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Book Pirates Suck

The book pirates have arrived.

What is a book pirate?

Someone who illegally downloads a book. It’s happening to me and lots of other authors. Same thing as the music industry.

NOT COOL, book pirates. NOT COOL AT ALL.

I can hear a few voices in the back of the room shouting, "But I can’t afford books! And it’s the publishers that get all the money anyway. Why do you care if I steal your book on the internet? Don’t you want me to read it?"

Dude. I know where you can read all the books you want – for free. It’s called "a library." Check it out. Free books! Amazing!

I am a full-time writer. All of my bills are paid for by the money I earn from my books. (I earn enough to get by, but am not rich, not by a long shot.) If you steal my book, I can’t buy groceries or take my dog to the vet. If this keeps up, I’ll have to quit writing, because I enjoy eating and my dog is a high-maintenance nutbag who needs to go to the vet constantly.

This is my dog taking a nap. Isn’t she the sweetest thing ever? You wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, right?

Aside from book pirating being lame and possibly forcing your favorite writers to stop writing, it is ILLEGAL. As in, cops and handcuffs and courtrooms and lawsuits that will force you or your family to sell the house. If I got to pick the punishment for book piraters, I would make them pull rocks from my back meadow so I could expand the vegetable garden this year. But I don’t get to choose. The publishers are the ones with the army of scary zombie-lawyers who want your flesh. 

And trust me, they are hungry.

A typical zombie lawyer preparing to ruin a book pirate’s life.

Book pirates beware. They are coming for you. They will sue you up, down, and sideways. Your grandmother will pretend she doesn’t know you because she doesn’t want them coming after her. And she will be ashamed of you because book pirates suck.

You want a free book? Go to the library.

You want your favorite authors to keep writing? Buy their books.

Any questions?

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In which I relive Valley Forge – briefly!

I am just about finished with FORGE (well, this draft, at least). A small part of my lifestyle already mimics the late 18th century: heating my cottage (and our house) with wood instead of electricity or fossil fuel. I grow a lot of food in the garden. I have been known to scratch out pages of notes with a quill and ink. (However I am not crazy enough to give up my computer for writing.)

Last fall I cooked a squash over an open fire for a scene in my book that is based on one of the experiences of Private Joseph Plumb Martin. Performing the task as he did was really important for getting the scene right. I’ve tried to do that with a number of scenes in the book.

(Remind me, please, to write a book about an upper glass girl who lives in Paris in 1910. No risk of frostbite researching that one!)

Most of FORGE takes place in Valley Forge; my story does not shy away from the physical challenges of that encampment. That winter (1777-1778) was not the coldest winter of the war, not at all. But the department of the Commissary was in total disarray, the supply lines were nonexistent, and the Congress – which had been formed to fight a war which everyone thought would take a few months at best – was unprepared to coordinate the purchase and delivery of food, clothing, blankets, soap, and medical supplies for 11,000 soldiers.

Which is why Valley Forge was hell. The soldiers went through several periods of having little or nothing to eat. Many of them were wearing rags. Some lacked shirts. Others lacked jackets. Some had to wear blankets because their pants had fallen apart. Many had no shoes or boots.

Which brings me to this morning’s experiment. It was 13 degrees outside. We had a fresh couple of inches of snow two days ago. It was time for me to step back into time.

 I am wearing garb that is as close to Rev War-era as my closet would allow: a linen shirt that I wear to Renaissance Faires, my husband’s Renn Faire britches, hand-knit wool stockings, a scarf, knit cap, knit gloves and a thin wool blanket. No boots. The fact that my clothing was not torn, muddied, or crawling with various insect life, makes this barely authentic, but I didn’t want anyone calling the authorities because a half-dressed crazy woman was walking in the snow.

It sure felt authentic to my feet. I walked up to the cottage to get my hatchet. I planned on then walking to the mailbox (a little more than a tenth of a mile), get the mail, head back to the house and split some wood (with an axe, not the hatchet) because I needed the wood anyway.

Ha. I am a weenie. I have cowardly feet.

After fetching the hatchet, I managed a couple hundred paces and then my feet quit in protest. At first they went numb, which wasn’t so bad, but then they were in wicked pain. I knew if I kept going they would go numb again, which made the prospect tempting, but I figured my health insurance company would deny my claim for frostbite treatment on account of stupidity. We bagged the mailbox walk and the wood chopping and settled for a few paces in the snow for the benefit of the camera.

I am typing this an hour and a half after I came back inside. My feet still hurt.

I continue to be in awe of the soldiers and the women (and children) who survived that winter at Valley Forge.

Off to heap more wood on the fire now!

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I need a math geek who likes books

We are still slogging through all of last year’s math. (In addition to doing our taxes – always fun for two self-employed people – we are doing one of those Analyze Ever Blasted Penny We Spent Last Year things, in the hopes that maybe we won’t have to live in our grandchildren’s tree house in forty years.)

Oh, yeah. Party time in the Forest. ::serious sarcasm::

But I know it will eventually be all good, because I am something of a fiend for details and I like it when things add up properly on both sides of a balance sheet. It just takes me longer than other people because numbers are a bit of a problem for me. And yes, I do have an accountant. The thing is, if I show up with a suitcase worth of receipts and pay him to sort it out, I will have to go back to milking cows to pay that bill. So I try to do as much of the tallying as possible, then I sent the numbers to him (with the receipts to back them up) to properly crunch.

::sends sympathy to all the math teachers who turned to drink in despair when I was their student::

I have written a fair number of books in the past ten years and a couple of them have actually earned out their advances (for those of you who care about these things, the real number is three), so I am a delighted novice in this esoteric practice known as "having sold enough books to actually make it worthwhile to develop a royalty-tracking spreadsheet."

Only I don’t know how to make a spreadsheet. And Numbers does not have a template called "Lame Author Royalty Accounting."

Can anyone point me in the right direction?

Specifically, I am looking for a way to track advances, returns, royalties that comes in at different percentages ::shakes fist at the obscene deep-discount clause::, gross sales, and net sales.

I am hoping that one of you guys out there has already done this.

Second best scenario: someone directs me to a spreadsheet design and formula tutorial that will spell it out at the complexity level of a fourth grader, so I can have a little kid at the library explain it to me.

Can you help me?

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Confetti!

Congratulations to all of the ALA Youth Award winners!!!

I am ESPECIALLY happy for Deb Heiligman (Charles & Emma) and Tanya Lee Stone (Almost Astronauts)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Congratulations everyone!

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Life-Changing Brussels Sprouts

Last week on my Twitter feed, I raved about a Brussels sprouts recipe that Bookavore made for me. I am trying to be guided by Michael Pollan’s Food Rules guidelines ("Eat food. Not too much. Mostly vegetables."), and finding a Brussels sprouts recipe that would allow me to enjoy the slimy little suckers amazing cruciferous joys was a very exciting thing. Many of you requested the recipe, hence today’s post.

You know you lead a tame life when you get excited about Brussels sprouts.

The recipe comes from Bookavore’s friend, Ami Greko. I was hoping that Ami was a Dallas Cowboys fan, because then I could name them "Greko-Romo Brussels Sprouts."

Alas, she is not. (Which show good sense and humanity, IMHO. Since the Eagles have been bounced, I am rooting for the Saints.)

So we decided to call these, It’s All Greko To Me Brussels Sprouts.

"Take like ten brussels sprouts (if you’re just cooking them for yourself) and clean all the gross leaves off. Cut off the bottoms and cut them in half (helps to cut along the line of the leaves, but not necessary at all).

Put them in a bowl and give a couple good klunks of olive oil. While they’re sitting, heat up a frying pan and add enough oil to just coat the bottom. You can also use cooking spray for the pan, but it’s less delicious. When the pan is at like medium heat (before the oil starts to pop) use your fingers to mix the brussels sprouts into the olive oil and then put them all cut-side-down in the pan. Use the brussels sprouts to spread the oil evenly around the pan. Do a couple cranks of pepper and cover with a tight-fitting lid.

You’re basically steaming the brussels sprouts this way. Don’t test too much, because when you take off the lid you let all the steam out–after about five minutes, open and poke the top of one of the bigger sprouts to see if it’s soft. It will probably take more like 8-10 minutes. When they’re soft, take off the lid and flip a sprout over to see if the bottom is browned. It probably will be, but if not just turn up the heat and let them cook for another couple of minutes. You’re going for golden brown, but some dark-brown-kind-of-burned ones are also delicious. When the bottoms are browned, turn off the heat but leave the pan on the stove and flip the sprouts over to brown the other side. After a minute or two, add more pepper and some salt and toss in the pan. Move to a plate and put some parmesan or asiago cheese on them.  They are now perfect and totally ready for eating."

Enjoy!