As with birdwatching, so it is with authors.  Oh, I've seen Stephen King stepping into his big black SUV at the Publix, but most writers are drab birds, well camouflaged and not terribly showy in the wild. 

Until they gather in flocks. ​

When USF used to host the Suncoast Writers Conference, it was a bit of amusement for my sister and me to play "Spot the Oddity."

For instance, the guy in the brown wool cloak and Gandalf staff? On a hot Florida afternoon, btw. Def a fantasy novelist.
10 points to Gryffindor!

Oh, and that lady with the Crocodile Dundee hat who thrust a photo at Connie May Fowler in the signing line. Connie May, a charming and delicate woman, looking up at the Dundeehatter with a look of horror. "It's the trailer park where you grew up!" the woman said. Then she added, in case we had doubts, "I'm a writer too!"

I went to a reading in maybe 2013 where the poet—lovely writing, by the way—was sporting a leather jacket and lace spats (like Madonna circa "Lucky Star"), but NOT ironically...  We listen, and we DON——oh, I do so judge.

Mostly, even as I judge, I'm curious about why. Perhaps the choice is driven by the panicked thought of so many watching eyes, when many writers spend their days deep, deep within the safe snail-shell of their skulls.  

PS: If you're in Gainesville, swing by the Sunshine State Book Festival. It's excellent people-watching. I'll be there, trying to sell some books and meet up with my flock.  

​https://guides.fscj.edu/writers/ConnieMayFowler
​https://writersalliance.org/event/2025-sunshine-state-book-festival/

​​

It's quite possible to use a pencil and a pack of cocktail napkins to write a novel. Allen Ginsberg famously used toilet paper when writing "Poem from Jail." 

Bruce Chatwin is a Moleskine notebook fancier, while William Carlos Williams used the backs of envelopes. (Don't get me started on WCW and his poems. Not a fan.)

Between interruptions, Jane Austen filled thin cream paper to the edges using a quill pen and oak-gall ink. Marilynne Robinson's first drafts are in ball-point in college-ruled spiral notebooks. 

Not putting myself into that elevated league, but I prefer the smooth slide of graphite across paper when emptying my bony cauldron of thoughts.

When it comes time to organize these pencilings, I use my laptop and Scrivener, a word-processing/organizational software that has a bunch of helpful tricks not available to cocktail napkins.  

With Scrivener, ​I can make chapters and then shuffle them around without the sort of cut-and-paste formatting consequence that can drive a person to drink.

Scrivener gives me a list of chapters so I can navigate quickly—plus it builds in handy spots to stow research and background material.  I'll pop an interesting phrase or scene into "Extra words," or take notes on a character in the section "Characters,"  or add a cool website to Notes.

Scrivener also composes a de facto outline of the story as it gets written, which can prove handy if—ahem—a person neither plans nor outlines her story ahead of time.  

Of course I could make a nested folder of Word files.

I could also improvise finger-paint in the style of the Marquis de Sade. ​

But the lingua franca for the industry, and what my editor uses is Microsoft Word.  

So the time comes when one must bid a fond adieu to clever and kindly Scrivener. Instead, I wince under the brutal overhead light of Word.  A software that does count up my words on this project, along with offering the odd bone-headed grammar suggestion and—IRONY!—refusing to accept the existence of new words.

Sidebar: Even now, in 2024, editing and proofreading seem to come easier for me on paper: not for the use of a colorful pen and the elegant symbols of the copyeditor, there's science that suggests we slow down and read more carefully when it's on paper.  Which tracks for me.

Science behind the paper v. screen rivalry
https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC7510370/

​This study on the same topic has some flaws, and is focused on non-fiction and study, but it's interesting:
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1747938X18300101?via%3Dihub

And yes, for those of you dear readers following along: a morning spent on Pass-A-Grille—that generational home-beach— brought the name for this second book a little bit closer.  

I circle it like a moth hoping to touch flame.

​That faint tang of singed Lepidoptera? Impending good news. 

I'm both wracked with doubt about the current project and also passionately loving it, which seems to be the writerly condition in a nutshell.

​That cognitive dissonance of huge self-confidence (it's brilliant! I really got it this time!) pairs well with a deep, DEEP anxiety about how the project will appear to other people (ain't nobody, no how, no where, EVER gonna like this steaming hot mess I have created).

But, as with so many worries in this world, one must look away from the void and carry on. So while the project is getting edited (squeee! it's with the editor!), it's time to move on to book design.

This is a fairy-tale inspired short novel. Think The Last Unicorn, Greenwillow, The Princess Bride, Thomas the Rhymer by Ellen Kushner. All of which one can judge by the cover...

On She Taught Me Everything, I calibrated the book interior design from the cover. I commissioned an artist to make the cover and then coordinated the font and spacing to that and the general literary genre.  As someone described the job of book design, "You want your book to stand out, but not too much."

Overall, I want this new creation to feel pretty—bougie even—intriguing, consciously a touch old-fashioned. I do NOT want readers to expect a spicy-romantasy (be still my beating loins!), even though it's about true love. 

Look how a font sets the stage, even with place-holder Latin instead of content for the chapter:

That first, swirly font tells me to expect either a breezy self-help book or, possibly, a romance set in some retail world. So no.

And the second, hmmm, maybe a gritty speculative fiction? Something urban? Also no.

The chapters in novel #2 have text titles, not just numbers (see also "consciously old-fashioned"), which affords a chance to make the chapter openings a little extra.  

I am not a designer, but I do have opinions. Here's a chaotic look at how I'm shopping fonts:

The choice really sets the stage, I think.

Plus, get this, turns out it's the work of a few keystrokes to insert a bit of graphic art into a wordy document. Which translates into interesting chapter openings!—at least for the paperback book version. The ebooks, well, it's more of a hit-and-miss situation for artwork.

We'll cross that bridge when we get there.

First steps:

Nothing is set in stone, but I am liking this experiment so far.  

Like a Balrog, the thought reaches me from the void: But What About That Title?

Sigh.  Yes.
​It's still between titles. I'll be going to the beach to think about it soon.

"Mathy Math, Math-Math."  That's how one of my friends hears any discussion of numbers: "Mathy-mathetty-math-math."

But even the most innumerate of us have landmark numbers.  These are the numbers that maybe we learned to count by (5-10-15-20, for instance) or numbers that just feel less challenging to keep in mind (100 vs 97, or a dozen vs 13).

I'm approaching a landmark number as an author—a fact that is truly of interest to nobody but me. Has that yet stopped me from writing about anything? No.
​

During my feverish rush last year to get current in my understanding of modern publishing, I gathered some depressing facts. About half of the US population does't read even a single book a year. Not a surprise, but oh! poor creatures!

Also, most books will sell less than 300 copies in the US (1000 copies factoring in all formats across the world). Not just in the first year, btw, but ever.  So if, let's say, you just so happened to be pouring your life-force into the creation of a book, this base truth is helpful for framing one's expectations.

Joyfully for me, I have at least 300 friends kind enough to buy my book. I am grateful for each one. It's a deep thrill every time someone tells me they have read it.

Which brings us to the wonderful-to-me landmark number: 1000.  On Goodreads.com, a website helps 150 million readers track and rate books, She Taught Me Everything is inching closer and closer to the 1000 mark.  

​Meaning that nearly 1000 readers on that site—mostly strangers! people who love to read and who judge by covers!—have either already read or plan to read the book. 
​

They might be getting it from the library (ooh! If you use the library, consider requesting STME), or from a bookstore, iTunes or Kobo, Barnes & Noble or Amazon...

But 1000. Whatever expectations I had six months ago, this number feels a lot bigger than 999. ​

I spent most of the school year when I was 10 hiding out at the school library. Not really hiding out: my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Jarosz and I had what my mom described as a "personality difference." 

It's happened several times since: I meet someone and, AbracaBADra: I'm unable to say anything without offense; my attempts to reverse course only make it worse, and--ugh. It's weird. It seems chemical. It's inexplicable and powerful. 

​But the fifth grade, a person has fewer options.

So my love for libraries runs deep. And part of my lifetime writing dream has been to see my own book on those shelves.  

​I do understand, with the perspective of decades of library visits under my belt, that the shelves of a library are not immortal. Titles churn through and are lost to library fundraising sales.

​But then again: a book in the library...that's something. 

I dutifully submitted a copy of She Taught Me Everything to the local county public library system, but while awaiting the thumb up or down, I noticed this...

Looks like the system has already purchased an e-book copy, and THERE ARE SIX PEOPLE IN LINE to get it!

Well, how about that? I wish I could share this joy with the librarians who helped me through 5th grade. 

I wasn't a theater kid. I DID play the vamp in my high school play –– let's go ahead and blame the hair for that one –– but I'm not usually one to muscle my way to center stage. 

As for my novel, it would be pretty to think a book will simply find its readers by the quality of existing –– like the movie starlet perched on a stool at a soda fountain. 

...But the trick is that she must be SEEN perching. The Hollywood fantasy persists in our screen-heavy world long after soda fountains have faded into history. Hence my flurry of Instagram and TikTok activity.

Since I don't have the budget of a big publishing firm, here I am, adding my voice to the democratic chorus of social media.

One excellent piece of advice I heard was "don't be spammy." So instead of incessantly jabbering on about me-me-my-my book, I'm on one of those other topics I can piffle cheerfully: other books I think people will love.  

Shocking as it is to hear my own voice and get the visual (again, blame the hair), I'm embracing the experience.

And from time to time channeling my inner Sophia Coppola...

It's all an experiment, really.

October finished up with me working the phone banks and hitting a few of my favorite bookstores.  Publicity is always a challenge, never mind whether it's a busy newsday or a slow one. 
​
But here are a few mentions.

Feel free to pop by and give them a thumbs up if you feel like it. It's kind of amazing how mashing that "like" button makes the almighty algorithms pay attention to a thing...It's Matrixy, but hello 21st Century capitalism --!

Here' the book featured on a blog (oooh!)
https://proofpositive.com/great-books/she-taught-me-everything/

And here's a quick interview with the author...
https://digitalbooknook.com/2023/11/01/interview-with-amy-smith-linton-author-of-she-taught-me-everything/?fbclid=IwAR1zU-IgZzBToK-HuAuwejyn0k2iMLsRpudCltscY3GtRmLP01sJ6j9e72Q

And, oy, even on Pinterest...
https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/486318459776918697/

Scroll down to see tweets (or are they exes?) at
​https://twitter.com/BackyardBooks
https://twitter.com/dgtservices/status/1719685939990343998/photo/1

I don't spend a lot of time perusing the good and not-good reviews on Amazon and Goodreads. It's not why I write. But again, it's a kindness to the book if you'd like to react to online reviews.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/195660796-she-taught-me-everything

https://www.amazon.com/She-Taught-Everything-Smith-Linton/dp/B0CJDJVWXK/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1X7NKI8CF1V9&keywords=she+taught+me+everything&qid=1698893395&sprefix=she+taught+me+everything%2Caps%2C156&sr=8-1


And ooh...world-famous in the vest-pocket world of the Would-Be Farm.

When building a book, there's a fussy little formula to keep in mind to place typeset pages in the correct order for "imposition."  

To produce a book, commercial printers started with a very large piece of paper. They'd lay out 8 or 16 seemingly random book pages on one side of the big piece, and then also on the opposite side.  After both sides got printed, and after being folded just so, when three sides of the folded paper were trimmed, the result is a "signature."  

​A signature is a nested, ordered set of pages that pops right into a binding.   One signature is followed by another and another, until the whole book had been laid out, printed, folded, trimmed, and gathered for binding.

That imposition was critical: one misstep and page 12 goes in upside-down on the back of page 3. Misplace a signature, and whole chapters end up in the wrong place or backwards. Quality control was always an issue.

These days, we generally rely on the unimaginative brains of computers to calculate our impositions. They do a good job of counting and placing and calculating cut margins.

More binding? Sure: we got spiral bound (with metal or plastic like datebooks and notebooks), and perfect bound that goes into a chip wood case (modern casebound hard-cover books).

​Binding less often used for fiction, but worth noting: what looks like staples (like on class newsletters) is called saddle-stitch.

Handmade, coolio craft binding, like stab or Coptic binding, joins each signature in a daisy chain to the next with often decorative stitches along the spine and the front and back boards.
​

So long story longer, imposition and the requirements of printers is why picture books are traditionally 32 pages long (including title page, copyright notices, etc.). And why, if you should find yourself in a library, you can win a bet that those fat volumes contain a number of pages divisible by 8 for sure,  and by 32 more often than you might think. 

In figuring out my own book in 2023, the math is SO much simpler. The physical book needs only have an even number of pages. The ebook does not. 

I won't deny I spent a great deal of time gazing into the soft glow of my monitor trying to make pages look good. There are things I like and don't like in my physical books, though to be honest, I rarely think about them. But this summer, I thought about them. A lot. ​

In a physical book, the pages on either side of the spine are referred to as recto and verso (right and left in fancy book-person talk). 

In my world, recto pages need to have the heading and the page number out on the right side and additional margin on the left to make room for the "gutter."  The gutter of course is the page-side of the spine. Mirror these elements across the gutter: verso type need to slide out left, with the page numbering and header also at the left side of the page. 

That way when a reader thumbs the pages, the numbers flicker along front and back on the lower outside corner of the page, and when the book is open, nobody needs pry at the book to read words near the gutter.

To make my book design unified, I picked the same display font (Instrument Sans) for the chapter headings as the artist had used on the cover. That meant importing the font (hi dafont.com) and checking to be sure I was using it legally. Then embedding it and Linux Libertine (a snappy font for the text NOT the same old Times New Roman by way of Microsoft) into the document.

After long consideration, I made the Instrument Sans headings a couple of degrees less black than the text, since that font is fairly heavy, and I liked it to look a bit more subtle.

I decided whereabouts to position the start of a chapter on the page (165 points from the top margin, I think is the measurement. Point? Yeah: it's 1/72nd of an inch. 12 points makes a pica. 6 picas are an inch.  When are we going metric again?).  

​Why 165 points? Because, frankly, I trial-and-errored that margin until I got the least number of wonky-looking last pages of the chapters. To check this, I zoomed out and scanned the document 46 pages at a time.  There's no getting away from those darned multiples of 8.

I added and subtracted and modified the Chapter Heading style until the least number of lost last lines of the chapter hung solo on the page like laundry flapping in the breeze. The things we do for love. ​

Before Gutenberg,  when scholars spent hour after hour hand-copying books to make a library, they sometimes kept themselves entertained by making fancy initial letters. We call them "drop caps."  I find them a bit distracting, but I DO like a bit of ceremony at the start of a new chapter. So instead of trying to find a handsome big first letter, I put the first word or two of each chapter into capital letters. Only instead of garden-variety capitals, I picked "small caps." which look like this:

 When there's a break in the story––less than a chapter break, but more than simply the next paragraph––there's often a line or two of extra space. Some designers chose to put in a tiny design element, like a leaf or an asterisk, known as a "dingbat."  Again, I find these elements both charming and distracting, so I decided instead  to use those same fancy small caps on the initial words instead.

Rewind...dingbat? I love English. So many odd words with odder etymologies. It's not a very clear story, but "ding" probably comes from the Dutch for "thing."  So a dingbat is a thingamabob.  It also, separately, means a foolish or useless person, and a sort of visual, verbal riddle. ​

Then, to save myself extra misery, I made an entirely new Word document into which I poured the formatted manuscript.  It's very important, by the way, to set the document up as the size you want. For instance 5x8 inches versus 5x7.

Just sayin.

Because who is going to forget something basic like that?  <raises hand shyly>

​Then cross fingers and toes and save it all as a PDF (Printer Document Format) file. The printers at Kindle Direct and at IngramSpark both read the PDF and use it to make a book.

And with the snap of a finger (plus a week or more waiting for the UPS truck and the application of some money), a proof copy shows up, and you find out if it looks the way you hoped it would. Go back and forth a few times, getting that margin right (5 by EIGHT, 5 by EIGHT).

​Approve the draft on IngramSpark and re-cross fingers it will show up on their catalogue in two weeks and be available for libraries and booksellers to order in October. Approve the other draft and it too will be available in October.

October! Dang! Already?!

​
For the ebook, I copied that same formatted document and stripped out nearly all of those careful stylistic choices. There are no recto-verso conventions for an e-book. There are no page numbers and no headers. The font is an either/or: either serif or sans serif, and individual readers have pre-set that choice already, at least on Kindle.  Any blank pages get ditched in the interest of electronic reading.

I saved the barer-boned document as an EPUB (electronic publication file), uploaded it it Kindle, and quadruple-checked it on the preview to be sure nothing had gone pear-shaped.  

I approved the changes, took a very deep breath, and poured myself a small libation. May the gods of printing presses look kindly on me and my offering. 

Apple Books, Kobo, and Nook will wait for another day, but as of now...the book is really, truly, for sure, actually on its way. 

Publication date is October 15. ​​

Book reviews. 

How often has a person's opinion hitched you up with a book? Not just the professional sources, like NPR's "All Books Considered," The New York Times Review of Books, Publisher's Weekly, but also your friend Fran who ADORED something and insists you MUST read it.

So you do.

As an independent publisher, I don't, as the Brits say, pull––not the household book reviewing names, anyhow.

Lucky for me it's a brave new world. 

Instead of sending my book baby out to work the streets without any bona fides, I have options.  

For instance, NetGalley. This is a service that hooks up reviewers, librarians, booksellers with Advance Readers Copies (ARCs or electronic e-ARCs). The publisher pays for the service and the reader gets a free copy in exchange for an unbiased review. 

​There are some hundreds of thousands of readers on the site, and if we know nothing else, we are sure that FREE is a magic word.

Anne of Victory Editing recommended being brutally ruthless in sorting the asks. Go with your gut, she said. 

Heard and acknowledged!  If anything felt suss or sketch, I clicked "no."

​So Madam Butterfly with 27K+ Instagram followers requested the book, and I notice that her Insty posts are focused on beauty care products?  Nope.

Mr. Mixalot has over 5000 titles downloaded, but only 4 reviews posted in the last year? Nope.  

Lady Snippet's reviews are unkind and brutal? Uh, no. 

Prince Agu says he makes all the purchasing decisions at a bookstore and sets up monthly book clubs? Well, let's see. That would be a bookstore specializing in anime and used books in rural Pennsylvania, and his name is nowhere on the website? I think not. 

For every yes, there was about one and a quarter no. 

The results: according to the stats, 1700 or so people stopped to look at the title. Around 120 people downloaded the book to read.  Reactions to the book, I'm very happy to say, are trickling in.

Reviewers post to the NetGalley site, but also cross-post with Goodreads, Amazon (after publication), Insty, TikTok, the X formerly known as Twitter, and their own reading blogs.

Here are a few of the early reactions. Squeeeeee.

I know the metaphor has flaws, but baby book can strut those streets a little prouder now, with a few references in her back pocket. 
​