Being Practical

I'm annoyed.

We were away all weekend—first at a special Kung Fu retreat and then today we golfed this morning and then hung out at a friend's all afternoon. So I got home and thought I'd just make myself a cup of tea, wrap myself in my blanket, and read. Doesn't that sound so good? But as I was walking up the stairs to our place, I remembered I had to write the blog.

Sigh.

I'm just stating right now that I'd rather be reading instead of writing this, but I know how much some of you enjoy reading this so I've set aside my wants and desires. Just for you.

And why is it that you guys love my blog so much anyway?? Don't get me wrong—I'm thrilled y'all do. I just don't get it. You have realized that week after week I don't really write about anything, right?

But, heck, why mess with a good thing? I'm happy not writing about anything.

Except—and I'm warning you now—as my next book comes out, I think I'm going to do a series of posts on what happens in the months after a book gets bought and before it comes out on the shelves. In other words, I'm going to be practical.

Are you laughing? I feel like I hear you laughing. I can be practical. I can. Really. Kind of.

Show Us Yer Bits!

Okay, not like that. Wink. (In British slang, bits are a man's dangly parts, in case you didn't know.)

Ahem.

Anyway, this week I'm taking care of business. Translation: my mind is jumping from topic to topic and, instead of picking one, I'm going to blab on about all of them.

First order of business.

Some of you are worried about my sister receiving her just desserts (as it were). Don't worry—she's not as underappreciated and neglected as she seems. Rest assured she'll get her cupcakes.

Tutus abound.

Yesterday was the Bay to Breakers, a 12k foot race in San Francisco. You picture a bunch of runners trekking up and down hilly streets, don't you? Wrong image. 60,000 people participate in what becomes an all-day costume party and beerfest. And the insanity takes place on our doorstep.

But it's hard to get too annoyed, especially at the people wearing tutus. There were lots of them this year—all sorts of colors and sizes. It warmed the heart, let me tell you.

Mission Impossible: 3 anyone?

I'm setting a third of the book I'm starting in China. I started out thinking it was going to be set in Hong Kong, but I'm thinking of shifting it to Shanghai. Why? Because I don't have time to schlep off to China in the next few weeks for research, and movies set in Shanghai are easier to come by.

Yes, I'm using movies as my research material (Wikipedia too—it rocks). It's more entertaining than reading a boring travel book, and it gives me an excuse to rent Kung Fu movies.

Speaking of the new book...

I need a soundtrack for it. I started it using the soundtrack I've been using for the last book and it's not working for me. Except I can't pinpoint the flavor of music I want. Any suggestions? My heroine is perky, my hero is uncompromising and hard, and it's set in China and San Francisco.

The Receiving End... by Parisa Zolfaghari

My arm flew out, almost knocking my phone off the table before I grabbed a hold of it. "Mm-lo?"

"Which element should Gabe's scroll represent?"

"Huh?" I pulled the phone away from my ear and squinted at the bright screen. "Kate? What time is it?"

"Uh... Two? That's beside the point. Should she be earth? What do you think the manifestation of earth would be?"

I rolled over in bed and screwed my eyes shut. "Why are you asking me questions at two in the morning?"

My sister, the author, sighed. "Because the powers that Gabe controls will determine the whole series. This is important."

I sat up against my headboard, still not willing to open my eyes—yes, I was in denial. "Growing. I'm going back to bed now."

"That's so good but—"

Click.

How to Talk to an Author

The majority of people don't know how to talk to an author when they meet one. Authors, while they appear to be very similar to the rest of the human species, are rather different in many respects and need to be approached in a thoughtful manner. I've put together some tips that will hopefully help you if you ever find yourself in this situation.

Be aware of timing.

Going up to an author at the wrong time (ie: while her head is bent and she's furiously typing) could result in being stabbed by a pen. Where do you think the expression the pen is mightier than the sword came from?

Once you've initiated contact, make sure the author is amenable to conversation. If she grunts a lot and looks somewhat constipated, back away slowly. If she smiles and replies nicely, feel free to proceed.

What you say to an author is key.

Particularly the questions you ask. You know how in school your teacher said there was no such thing as a stupid question? That rule doesn't apply to authors.

Don't ask stupid questions. The author may politely answer them, but you're irritating her nonetheless. Unless you'd like to show up as a hapless character who gets crucified in one of her future works. Feel free to spew away in that case.

A sampling of those questions...

Where do you get your ideas?
Sigh.

These days, I just reply IdeasRUs.com. Surprisingly, people believe me. You'd think they'd realize I make shit up for a living.

Do you make money?
Growing up, I was taught there were two things you shouldn't discuss with someone you don't know: their age and their income.

But because we live in the United States and money shows a person's worth we feel inclined to know. But look at it this way: if an author goes to the café everyday, orders at least a $4 latte, and sports a high-end laptop, she's probably not doing too poorly.

Where can I buy your books?
Duh.

What to ask, then?

When you meet an author, ask her something interesting. Like what she loves to read. Or who her favorite character is. Or if writing is peaceful to her or a violent process. Be creative—authors respect that sort of thing. She'll be much more intrigued by you and, therefore, more inclined to interact.

If all else fails...

Buy her a latte or, better yet, a glass of wine. She'll be like putty in your hands.