business

Fragmented thoughts on a busy Monday

I’m living in a world of post-it notes. Almost every available space on my computer hutch has a note plastered to it. I have notes pasted to a copy-edited version of RMS, which I need to enter into InDesign. I have notes about Penguicon, and Balticon, and GenCon. I’m starting to acquire notes about events in the fall. The notes are really helpful, because my brain is too full. I can only keep track of things if they are written down and stuck somewhere I’ll see them again.

Around noon I washed up on the couch in our front room. I was not done with work for the day. Not by a long shot. But I sat there, drifting inside my own head, waiting for some thought to feel urgent enough to make me get up. It took awhile. It was only when Howard came upstairs that I was washed out of my repose and back into work.

I think dinner tonight will be something easy, like frozen pizza. I need my creative energy for book layout and homework management and family home evening. I feel a little bad that so many of our dinners have been easy ones lately. But I don’t want to spend emotional energy on food. Not when so many other things I enjoy are getting shoved to the edges.

We could be done with the book this week if we push. I’m aiming for April 10th which gives us two weeks. Every day we add a new piece. Every day it gets that much closer. Almost done. Almost done. Almost done. I have to keep reminding myself when I get tired.

Sets and Eras

The first five Schlock Mercenary books are a set. We even sell them as one. They represent the early years of the comic when Howard was still figuring out how to draw, and script, and who his characters really were. They also represent our early years in publishing when we were figuring out how to design books and arrange for the printing of them. It is interesting to note that final book of the set ended just a few weeks prior to the day when Howard quit his corporate job to be a cartoonist. So that first set of books also represents an era in our lives, the years when Howard split his time between day job and comic.

The book we are working on now, Resident Mad Scientist, will be the first book in a new set. This set will be much more uniform in size and content. It will contain six books, starting with RMS and ending with the book which is currently airing on the web, Family Anti-Matter. The set will span the era of our lives when we were scrambling to make cartooning work, and the beginning of when it finally did. It is going to take a couple of years before we have the set in our hands, but I am looking forward to that day.

This morning Howard and I spent an hour talking about design changes for RMS. We want to get it right because the decisions we make on this book need to be carried through the five that will follow. Howard sketched out the things he wants to be different. I countered with alternate proposals. Then I came away with a list of changes to make so that we can see what they will look like. I walked down the stairs excited and interested, but not afraid. I spent most of the 8 months we worked on Teraport Wars terrified that I would accidentally break the book. It is nice to feel confident in my ability to tackle what must be done.

Next week will be full of lay out. I’ll be executing the design changes, placing margin art, and fixing typos. I look forward to this work because when we reach this stage the book is almost done. It starts being something we can see, touch, and anticipate rather than just a looming task which much get done.

Joy in Mixing the Colors

We are approximately two months away from 4 convention appearances. This means email has been flying fast and furious. I’m answering email about panel scheduling from Penguicon at the end of April. I’m discussing art for the Balticon program at the end of May. I’m throwing panel suggestions into consideration for CONduit which is also at the end of May. And I’m realizing that I really need to email the bookstore contact for a lecture Howard will be giving at LDS Storymakers mid-May. So far I’ve only messed up and sent information to the wrong place once.

I handle this kind of organization for Howard regularly. In theory this allows him to focus on writing a funny comic and creating bonus materials for the books. The reality is that the administrative tasks spill all over everything. We are constantly asking each other opinions and making sure we agree on how to handle the crisis of the moment. Yes, there is pretty much always a crisis. There is always some thing that we really should have gotten done several weeks ago.

This is supposed to be our year of settling in and smoothing out our process. We’re supposed to be balancing periods of calm with periods of stress. I pictured us alternating between the two, rather like people who have a regular home and a vacation home. Instead it is much more like two puddles of paint. The more we move around, the more the red gets tracked into the green and it all gets mixed up together until everything is greyish brown. Then I want to wash the plate and start over. If only I could find the time to wash a plate.

This year does feel more balanced. It is a little hard to see it at the moment because this month is really lopsided and work heavy. But I still believe the year will be good. I also have to remember that this mixing of work and family is actually one of the benefits of the kind of work that we do. Many people around the world would love to able to work from home simply so that they can be available for more family events. So instead of washing the plate clean, I need to be finding joy in the swirls of mixed colors.

A Kitchen Business Meeting

Howard and I were standing in the kitchen having one of our frequent meetings where we discuss tasks accomplished and tasks yet to do.

Me: So tomorrow and Wednesday are going to be focused on the bonus story rather than the buffer.

Howard: Yes.

Me: Okay.

Howard looks at me and I feel a need to justify my response.

Me: I’m just trying to figure out how to arrange my day to best support your efforts. (pause) Also I want to know what the shape of next week’s depression will be.

Howard, without even a pause for thought, says matter of factly: The depression will probably hit Thursday and it will be me stressing over the fact that I’ve lost a week of buffer and I haven’t even written scripts yet.

Me: Good to know.

One of the nice things about being married for this long and working together creatively for at least half of that time, we can now predict some of the inevitable emotional dips both his and mine. Then we plan around them. We can’t skip them but at least when it hits we be able to say “Ah yes, we knew this would happen.” Then we can just weather it knowing that the dip is not forever.

Finding and Fixing

Howard sat on the couch and I lounged in the comfy chair across from him. We were having a meeting to figure out the shape of today. The original plan for the day had to be altered because Howard’s drawing hand is hurting. It is hurting a lot and therefore needs to rest. This rules out drawing, painting, playing video games, using a mouse, and typing. It didn’t take long to decide that he needs to go see a movie and then write up a review for the blog. It resembles productivity at least.

As we were talking over the things which are not an option for today, my eyes began to well up with tears.
“You’re crying.” Howard said. “Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know.” I answered. I didn’t know. But I suspected that it was the same reason I was feeling sad yesterday and the day before. The same reason that I’ve been doing a lot of reading and video game playing this week. The same reason I’ve had trouble finding the desire to write. Three days is enough, so I sat for a moment, digging to see if I could find an answer which explained the sadness. The search didn’t take long.

I am sad this week because I can’t fix it. “It” has many definitions, but there has been a lot of powerlessness. I can’t make Howard’s hand stop hurting. I can’t make him have to draw less. I can’t force my kids to make good decisions. I can’t do their homework for them. I can’t do anything today which will make money arrive today. I want to be able to fix it. I want Howard to be less stressed. I want to be less stressed. An essential part of that is the influx of money from the next book release.

Howard interrupted my list. “You do understand that most of the money we have is because of you? I made a fun comic, but you’re the one who did all the work to make it support us.”
“Some days I know that. Today it is hard to see.” I answer.

This makes me ponder why today is different from last week when I was filled with optimism and energy. The list has not changed at all. There are always things that I have limited influence over. There are always things that I can’t change or that I can only change very slowly. So I dug into my brain again.

Today, and this week, is different because we have reached the end of February and the book is not done. I understand why. I helped make all the choices and schedule adjustments. It will be done soon and everything will be fine, but it isn’t done today. And the part of me, which in January looked forward to being done today, has to grieve a little bit. Emotional processes can not be trumped or eliminated by logical processes. Which stinks. But there it is. Also affecting me is the lack of sleep I’ve been having due to extra early days paired with up-too-late nights.

On top of all that, I’ve been playing several rounds of Bad News, Good News with our tax accountant. I think we’re going to end the game on Good News which makes everyone glad. It turns out that when you use income to buy inventory, that inventory still counts as business growth. If you then (thoughtlessly) record royalties as part of inventory cost, it looks like your inventory is twice as valuable as it really is. Which then makes you look like you made lots more money. Which leads to large tax bills. Also, when making boxed sets, it is important to deduct the books used for the sets from the inventory counts for the individual books. It is all sorted out now, but staring at a big bill instead of a small return made for a really unpleasant 24 hours. I figured it all out when I dragged myself out to the storage unit to physically count all the books and do some math.

So maybe I’m due some emotional aftermath. It still feels silly for me to be sitting inside my comfortable house, surrounded by amazing things, across from the wonderful man I married, and be feeling sad.

Howard moved over to where he could give me a hug. “This is a good place.”

Yes it is. Our home is a good place. My marriage is a good place. Our family is a good place. Our creative business is a good place. All of these things are good because of the work I’ve done to make them so. I’m not alone in this work by a long shot, but I am essential in all of it. Building these things has taken years of slow, often invisible, effort. And so my tears dry up because the things over which I have no power will be gone shortly. My power is in the long haul not the quick fix.

LTUE a success, but now I am tired

Conventions are wonderful and exhausting. I always come home thrumming with thoughts to process. So much is packed into such a short span of time that it is a bit overwhelming. To give you an idea, I present this incomplete description pulled from the experiences of the last two days.

Attending a convention is:

Carting piles of stuff into the building and setting up a table and trying to arrange merchandise attractively.

Greeting friends I haven’t seen in months (or years) and being greeted in return with hugs.

Explaining the process of printing things in China and handing out contact information for our printer.

Sitting on a panel and feeling unqualified, but talking anyway because I’m already in front of people with a microphone in my hand.

Sitting behind a table while no one comes by or stops to talk.

Scrambling to cashier for a line of people who all want to come to our table to buy our books or Brandon Sanderson’s books, or Dan Wells’ books.

Making conversation with people who stop by the table. Talking with friends who sit down to keep us company.

Looking out over the audience as I speak and realizing that I have exactly the right words to say, words which are important and may make a difference for others.

Shuffling merchandise on the table so that Howard has room to draw.

Shuffling things back so that I have room to cashier.

Pulling books from boxes under the table to restock the arrangements on the table.

Eating dinner with friends and laughing until I nearly fall out of my chair.

Fielding phone calls from kids during dinner and trying to talk them into going to bed nicely.

Being glad when Howard volunteers to be at home so I can stay out a little later.

Driving home very carefully because I am aware how tired I am.

Finding my six year old still awake when I come home and listening to him as he tells all about his valentine’s party.

Hugging my little boy tight when he says he wishes I did not have to be gone the next day too.

Laying awake in bed unable to fall asleep because my brain will not stop thinking loudly.

Getting up in the morning and really wanting to just stay home while also wanting to go back to the event.

Having my two youngest kids wish that everyone could just stay home. Especially me. They want me at home.

Hugging them tight and sending them off to have fun at the neighbor’s house while I’m gone.

Knowing that they did have fun and that three days of mixed up schedule will not hurt them, but still feeling a bit guilty about leaving.

Walking into the dealer room to discover that Howard bought me a flower and put it on our table.

Howard coming in after his panel is over and asking me “So do I win at husband?” Yes he does.

Stumbling over my own words in front of an audience because my brain is so tired I can hardly put sentences together.

Having people come up to me and thank me for things I said on panels, I’m glad I said good things. I’m too tired to remember what they were anymore.

Introducing my oldest daughter to many of my friends because she came along for Saturday.

Having hundreds of brief conversations, being introduced to dozens of people, trying to remember names, being grateful for name badges.

Not being able to talk to all of the people I want to have time to talk to, not being able to attend all the events I wished to attend.

Packing up the table and hauling everything out to the car while Howard is busy podcasting.

Having people volunteer to help with the packing and the hauling.

Fielding phone calls from my six year old during dinner wherein he tells me small things about his day just because he wants to hear the reassurance of my voice and because he wants to know when I will be home.

Listening during dinner because I am too tired to actively participate.

Being one of the first to leave because I am tired and my kids at home need me.

Driving home carefully while trying to mentally sort all the conversations which need follow-up email or phone calls.

Pulling off my high-heeled boots and feeling my feet creak as my heels sink into the softness of the carpet. Shedding the nice clothes for shapeless comfortable pajamas.

Blogging because so much happened and I don’t want to lose any of it. Knowing that I already have forgotten things because my brain was too tired to retain them all.

Leaving LTUE for the day

It was time for me to go home, but I did not want to leave. The day’s symposium schedule was only half complete. I had half a dozen conversations begun and interrupted. I wanted to stay. I wanted to visit with my friends and meet new people. But the school day was ending and I needed to be there to pick up my kids and take them home. Then I needed to remain home to provide normality. The kids can handle a couple of days with the schedule skewed around business, but four days running was a bit much. So I opted to miss Thursday afternoon rather than Friday or Saturday. These are the compromises I must make between my mother role and just about every other role in my life.

I was just beginning to pack away things and arrange for our table full of books to be watched by a friend, when Brandon Sanderson walked into the room trailing a dozen people. Apparently Brandon had ended his last panel by announcing that he would be hanging out next to our table for an hour and people could come chat. This is something that Brandon and Howard frequently do. We enjoy having our table be a gathering place and we try to plan so that we have enough space to share. I quickly scooted our merchandise over to make room for stacks of Brandon’s books. Then I spent a few minutes cashiering for Brandon and his assistant Peter.

Brandon sat on a chair and the fans sat on the floor around him. The question and answer session became something of an impromptu panel as Dan Wells, Bob Defendi, Jessica Douglas, and I all chimed in with thoughts on the topic of the moment. Mostly we all listened to Brandon, because he was the one people were there to hear and because he knows a lot about how to help writers who are just getting started. Gradually the room filled up. I kept watching the clock, calculating the very last minute I could spend before I had to leave. The minutes fled far too quickly.

I maneuvered my way from behind the table, past Brandon, and through the crowd which now extended all the way to the door. I bid farewell to a couple of friends in the hall and began the trek to the parking lot. The chilly walk and 20 minute drive were just about long enough for me to fold away my writer thoughts, convention thoughts, and business thoughts, while also unfolding all the mother thoughts. Tomorrow morning I will reverse the process as I drop the kids at school and drive to the symposium again.

The packing and unpacking of thoughts is necessary because I can not best fulfill a role if I am distracted by thoughts that belong to a different role. This is often hard. The writer in me grieves when I walk away from an event to go be a mother instead. I grieve when I must leave conversations so that I can go be alone with my kids. But the mother and introvert in me rejoice to be home where I am needed and where there is quiet. Practice makes all things easier. This has become easier, but it is still hard.

I look forward to tomorrow.

Two points about being a talent wrangler

Yesterday I wrote a post in which I put on my Talent Wrangler hat and discussed how I intend to spend the next month aiding and abetting Howard’s creativity so that we can get the next book done. I got a couple of responses to that post which essentially said “I wish I had someone like that.” My first response was “Who wouldn’t?” We would all love to have someone devoting themselves to making our lives easier and our creative pursuits more enjoyable. But before anyone goes misty-eyed and tries to find their perfect creative-supporter/soul mate, or worse, tries to remake their current mate by pointing at my post and saying “why don’t you that for me?” I need to make a couple of things clear.

1. Healthy relationships require balance. I am willing to devote a large part of my energy this month toward assisting Howard because on endless occasions he has dropped all of his tasks to assist me. I am also willing to do it because it is truly necessary. Howard is truly buried and needs help digging out. It is wrong for a creative person to expect this level of devotion and support without giving in return.

2. Ask what it costs, because nothing is free. My efforts to talent wrangle Howard are going to exhaust me. There will be days when I will hardly be able to see straight, but I will still need to get things done. I will be putting Howard’s work ahead of my own aspirations. Even on a temporary basis, that can be emotionally draining. These are all costs that I am very willing to pay. I love the work Howard does and I can see that this is necessary to getting the next book out on schedule. Thinking about the costs of dreams is part of moving carefully and safely toward reaching them without going bankrupt.

In which I put on my Talent Wrangler hat

I came home from my vacation trip relaxed, confident, and ready to tackle all the work ahead of me. Then I stood in the kitchen with Howard, one of our many quick meetings where we discuss business and schedule, and I realized that he hadn’t been on vacation. He was not feeling ready and excited for new challenges. He was feeling buried under work. That was the moment when I dusted off my Talent Wrangler hat and declared it the most important hat I own for the month of February.

We really need the next Schlock book (Resident Mad Scientist, or RMS) to be ready for print by the end of February. For that to happen, Howard needs to script and draw the bonus story, create margin art, and put together a cover. That is a huge amount of work, especially when we add in the work necessary to keep the comic updating regularly. Howard can do it, but only if he has my active support.

There is a difference between active support and passive support. Passive support says “Good idea honey. You should do that.” Active support says “How can I help you? Let me manage this boring bit.” Passive support is when I listen to Howard talk about his schedule for the day, but I don’t really track it because I am tracking my schedule instead. Active support is when I hear his proposed schedule and then shape my day so that his work flow is uninterrupted. Passive support is sometimes the correct response, It has been for us for a long time, but the time has come for me to switch over to active.

I informed Howard of my decision this morning. I told him that I intended to function as a Talent Wrangler for him. He agreed that was a good idea.

The title “Talent Wrangler” is one I’ve often heard applied to the Guest Liaisons for conventions. The job of the Talent Wrangler is to make sure that the special guests are where they need to be on schedule. The Wrangler makes sure that the guests get breaks and food at appropriate intervals. If the guest gets stressed or nervous, it is the Wrangler’s job to be soothing and to solve the problems. It is a lot of work to be a Talent Wrangler, particularly since the Wrangler is also supposed to be as unobtrusive as possible.

The risk of me taking on an active Talent Wrangler role for Howard this month is that I could turn into the ultimate nag. He can’t easily hide from me, and I don’t want him to. So I must find a careful balance between the role of Wife, who must sympathize and love no matter what, and the Talent Wrangler whose primary goal is to prod the artist to high productivity. If I am doing my Talent Wrangling right, then Howard will only be aware that work is being easier and more energizing.

I really feel like we can get this mountain of work done on schedule. February is going to be a good month.

Life the Universe and Everything Symposium at BYU

The Life the Universe and Everything The Doc Smith Science Fiction and Fantasy Symposium is an annual event held on BYU campus in Provo UT. This year it will be held Feb 11-13. It is Free to attend. I highly recommend it to anyone who lives nearby and has an interest in genre fiction. I know most of the people who will be presenting and they are all highly skilled professionals who are happy to share what they’ve learned.

Howard and I will both be there for most of the symposium. Howard is on 9 panels, so there will be plenty of opportunities to hear him speak. You can check the schedule online for details. I wasn’t put on any panels this year, but I’ll still be around talking to people. I can’t stay away from such a large gathering of people with whom I love to hang out. Howard may drag me up to participate in the Making a Living as an Artist panel at 5 PM on Saturday, but that panel is already heavy with qualified people, so time will tell. I should note that most of the panel topics tend to serve as jumping off points for fascinating and nuance conversations about various subjects.

Come by and say hello.