In this post about the realities of being a published author, there are some lovely suggestions for what to say to said author.
NOTE: I LOVE being an author. I feel like the luckiest THING ever. This post is not a sign of my unhumbleness.
…However, since the wonder of being published, I’ve got one niggle. Whenever I talk to anyone about my books, people say the same things to me. Over and over. There are obviously a lot of myths out there about authors, so I’d thought I’d answer the main ones here, all in one go.
Myth one: Authors are all filthy rich…like JK Rowling
What not to say: “Wow, you’re an author? So, where’s your castle then, JK Rowling?”
The reality: Honestly, I’d make more money if I was paid a pound for every time someone brings up JK Rowling when talking to me about my career, then I’d ever make from selling books.
Here is the basic maths…
An average book costs, say, £7.99.
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My mother once huffed, “We gave you a perfectly good name.” She was right, they did. I have always thought the name Susan, means “Star,” but when I look up its etymology, I find that it comes from the Hebrew and means “Graceful Lily.” So why, with such a lovely name (whether Star or Lily) would I go by a Sanskrit name? It’s because I get asked some version of this question so often that I write this post. It’s a valid question. I’m a WASP, not a Hindu. But then again, I’m not Hebrew either. Continue reading
Today, in Sue Reynold’s divine Sanctuary Sunday – a full day to dive deep into words, to come at ideas, images, and stories in fresh ways – she offered up as a prompt Thomas R. Smith’s poem, Baby Wrens’ Voices. With the invitation to use the first line of the poem, “I am a student of wrens,” as a jumping off point, I took the cue and wrote this poem: Continue reading
Here is another piece from Touched, a narrative non-fiction story about learning the art of Osho Rebalancing in Pune, India.
The blue Nivea bottle is slick and warm. Just a drop, said Komala, displaying a nickel-sized dollop at the base of her palm. Just go slow, and you’ll be fine.
My partner is Jivan from Germany. He has short copper-coloured hair and constellations of matching freckles all over his long body. I think his eyes are green but he’s already taken off his glasses, closed his eyes, and turned his head away. He lies like a gift on the table before me, his hands palms-up at his hips. Continue reading
Last night I danced in the summer with a handful of women and one brave man. The music was good, the energy light and uncomplicated. I danced into, through, for and by myself for the first long while, only vaguely aware of the others. And then, as the evening sun outshone the murky clouds that had permeated the day and the light sparked red and gold through the windows, I became aware of the tribe.
Silhouetted against the soft light their forms danced, each to their own rhythm, and for a moment I was breathless with wonder. Continue reading
Last week I posted the first part of the first day of Rebalancing training in Pune India, 1988. Here is a continuation of that first day.
Amrita stands facing the group with her eyes closed, arms loose at her sides. Sats gently lifts her hand. “We’re going to explore each other’s arms as if we’ve never seen such an amazing thing before. How does it move? How does it feel? Its weight, its texture, its ability to articulate…” As he speaks, Sats first lets her hand rest in his palm and then slowly begins to move and stroke each of her fingers, the wrist, the palm. “All the while, the receptive partner focuses on letting the active one have the full weight of their arm, surrendering it totally.” Almost imperceptibly, Amrita’s slim shoulder drops. She’s wearing loose blue and green cotton pants bunched with ribbon along the sides.
He’s sliding the wrist in delicate half-circles while cradling her elbow with the other hand. “There are so many possibilities for movement and stillness. Be innocent. Be curious.” Continue reading
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