Perfect red hearts
The hallmark holiday was just about done when I realized I had missed it. Seeing the decorations at the grocery store, the pinks and reds in advertisements, I was aware that it was close. But the day of held no specific focus for me.
However I did receive an email that the second book was finally available for print orders. I say finally because an additional wrinkle appeared this go round. I spoke earlier on the exact nature of the measurements: that the trim and border and gutter are all measured down to the thousandth of an inch. This time I also learned that another important measurement is the distance between the edge of the spine and the text of the spine. It took me a moment to even conceptualize why that mattered. The email was a shock because I had already approved of the cover, already submitted the product, the pricing, the distribution, walked away and happily forgot. And then the notification that something had gone wrong. However I did do less staring, less pondering, less gnashing of teeth overall. There are eight books in the series I'm currently putting out. I wonder if there are that many lessons, that many tiny, easily overlooked considerations, or if there are many, if there are dozens.
I swelled in relief though, when I finally got the email of confirmation. It was the height of the week. I also got word from my cover artist that he is moving in to the last phases of the art for the third book, whose final edits are coming along well. I threw him a bit of a curve ball this time, asking for a kind of light show effect. I continue to be thankful that he is willing to work with my requests. Just the other morning, a flash of insight occurred to me for the next cover. I don't know how difficult any of these requests are, ultimately, but thinking back to my other interactions with other artists, I don't seem to be asking for small things.
Which prompts even more thinking about the bygone holiday. Love is described in many psychology textbooks as an obsession. An all-consuming neurosis. In truth, it wasn't my focusing on stories and covers and edits and reviews that kept my attention away from the matters of roses and thorns, but I was definitely otherwise mentally engaged. When it was all done, and I was lying myself to bed after midnight, only then did I have the fleeting thought of what I had missed, and maybe what I would be missing.
I had an impromptu conference with a student last week, about what all people seemed to want, and how schooling and classes fit into that idea in a western world concept. I told him everyone was just trying to be happy, and working, performing a duty, providing a service, was part of that. So, we were all searching for a way to be satisfied with how we expended ourselves, that such contentment was a method for achieving joy on a day to day basis, to put ourselves to rest soundly every night. It was one of those situations where I was talking to someone else, but I was also speaking to myself.
I love this, but happy is a work in progress.
However I did receive an email that the second book was finally available for print orders. I say finally because an additional wrinkle appeared this go round. I spoke earlier on the exact nature of the measurements: that the trim and border and gutter are all measured down to the thousandth of an inch. This time I also learned that another important measurement is the distance between the edge of the spine and the text of the spine. It took me a moment to even conceptualize why that mattered. The email was a shock because I had already approved of the cover, already submitted the product, the pricing, the distribution, walked away and happily forgot. And then the notification that something had gone wrong. However I did do less staring, less pondering, less gnashing of teeth overall. There are eight books in the series I'm currently putting out. I wonder if there are that many lessons, that many tiny, easily overlooked considerations, or if there are many, if there are dozens.
I swelled in relief though, when I finally got the email of confirmation. It was the height of the week. I also got word from my cover artist that he is moving in to the last phases of the art for the third book, whose final edits are coming along well. I threw him a bit of a curve ball this time, asking for a kind of light show effect. I continue to be thankful that he is willing to work with my requests. Just the other morning, a flash of insight occurred to me for the next cover. I don't know how difficult any of these requests are, ultimately, but thinking back to my other interactions with other artists, I don't seem to be asking for small things.
Which prompts even more thinking about the bygone holiday. Love is described in many psychology textbooks as an obsession. An all-consuming neurosis. In truth, it wasn't my focusing on stories and covers and edits and reviews that kept my attention away from the matters of roses and thorns, but I was definitely otherwise mentally engaged. When it was all done, and I was lying myself to bed after midnight, only then did I have the fleeting thought of what I had missed, and maybe what I would be missing.
I had an impromptu conference with a student last week, about what all people seemed to want, and how schooling and classes fit into that idea in a western world concept. I told him everyone was just trying to be happy, and working, performing a duty, providing a service, was part of that. So, we were all searching for a way to be satisfied with how we expended ourselves, that such contentment was a method for achieving joy on a day to day basis, to put ourselves to rest soundly every night. It was one of those situations where I was talking to someone else, but I was also speaking to myself.
I love this, but happy is a work in progress.
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