In my never-ending quest to shed light on the disrespect writers face in the work force, check out this little gem, poached off craigslist.
Looking for writers who can commit to writing at least 10 how-to articles every month. Basically, these articles are based on "how to" do anything; instructions, tutorials, in other words. A good example may be: "How to decorate your house for Christmas". -
These need to be original.
I will be checking them for legitimacy or copyright issues. -
They need to be at least 250 to 400 words. -
Clean articles, free of grammatical errors, bad words, etc. -
Does NOT need to be overly-professional, but rather casual, as long as they deliver its instructional purpose in the end. -
Preferably needed between the 1st and 15th of each month. - Will pay $1.5 per article, and increase the pay by .25 cents every three months.
Let me re-quote that for those who missed it:
Will pay $1.5 per article, and increase the pay by .25 cents every three months.
Really? I think I'll apply for that "how-to" writing job publicly right here:
How To Pay A Writer What He/She Is Worth:
1) Advertise job on craigslist.
2) Sift through desperate recession responses. Choose one at random. (We know you're going to do that. You're not fooling us -- at least, you're not fooling us fiction writers.)
3) Read writer's sample copy. Really READ it. Don't admire font size, don't sit and count words on the screen with your finger to make sure it's not 401 words.
4) DO finish reading the piece and wonder how long it would take you to write two and a half pages of creative, engaging, intelligent copy. You haven't written anything since that last term paper in college, so you'll have to give it a guess.
5) Realize it's at least an hour.
6) Go to Google and search "minimum wage." Note that the minimum wage in the United States is $7.25 an hour.
7) Consider that I was a 7-11 clerk for $8 an hour.
8) Then consider that according to a report published today by the U.N. Office for the Cooperation of Humanitarian Affairs, they've just increased minimum wage in Beirut to $300 a month. Assuming that the average Lebanese worker does a 40-hour work week, that comes to $1.90 an hour.
9) Be embarrassed for a very, very long time.
10) Offer writer a living wage. Apologize on behalf of all employers like you who force writers to live on Ramen noodles. Do you have any idea how much sodium is in that stuff? And $1.50 an hour ain't gonna pay medical bills, and it ain't gonna pay for the health insurance costs you're saving by hiring writers as contract-only positions.
11) This How-To article took me about a half-hour to write and is around 300 words. Realize that at your proposed compensation, this work -- which included a bit of research -- earned me 75 cents.
12) Be embarrassed again.
13) Send a decent sum to my Paypal account. Didn't I earn it?
Friday, October 16, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Be Kind to Writers and Editors Month
I'm both!
And I know everyone out there is kind to the writer(s) and editor(s) in your lives, but here's a little link to make it extra special.
Writers and editors get lonely at their desks all day. We need love.
http://writesense.wordpress.com/2008/09/24/10-ways-to-show-kindness-to-writers-and-editors/
And I know everyone out there is kind to the writer(s) and editor(s) in your lives, but here's a little link to make it extra special.
Writers and editors get lonely at their desks all day. We need love.
http://writesense.wordpress.com/2008/09/24/10-ways-to-show-kindness-to-writers-and-editors/
Saturday, August 29, 2009
So Many Books, So Little Space
This is a kind of "duh" blog post, I know, but I think it bears reminding.
If you're a writer, you're probably amassing more books than you can handle. When you change apartments, you feel sorry for the movers who have to pick up your 23 packed boxes of books alone. You have to dust every day. You feel personally guilty for the deforestation of our natural environment.
Do what you CAN do: Share the books with others.
1) Find a great bookstore near you that either buys used books for cash or gives you store credit for them. You have to give over the books in salable condition, but that's easy for me because I treat books like others would treat Hummel figurines. I have a great store near me (I'm talking about you, Books and More in Plymouth) that gives me store credit when I pack up a nice bag of books and audiobooks and fork them over. I leave with more books, sure, but I didn't have to pay for them, and instead of amassing, I'm exchanging.
2) Donate books to the library. Libraries don't have unlimited funding for books, as far as I know. They've always been grateful when I bring in a bag of books that I've read but don't need to keep. This goes particularly for Harlequin/Silhouette category romance readers: The Boston Public Library told me once that they can't get enough of them -- they fly off the shelves! You don't get paid for this, but you get to share books you've enjoyed with so many others. And if you really want to, I think you can use it as a tax write-off.
3) Give them to people you know and love. When I read books, I often think, "So-and-so would really like this book," or "I know someone who has this same crazy sense of humor," or "I know someone who's an expert on this subject who might want to take a look at it from another perspective." Give them the book when you're done. Don't lend it; give it. It's a gift. Tell them you don't need it back and to keep it to themselves or pass it on when they're done.
I have different bags in my home office of books I'm bringing to Books and More, and books that are going to the library, and books with Post-Its on them reminding me who I want to give them to when I next see them. You'll feel good doing this. Reading is the best thing you can do, but I think sharing what you read is a close second.
If you're a writer, you're probably amassing more books than you can handle. When you change apartments, you feel sorry for the movers who have to pick up your 23 packed boxes of books alone. You have to dust every day. You feel personally guilty for the deforestation of our natural environment.
Do what you CAN do: Share the books with others.
1) Find a great bookstore near you that either buys used books for cash or gives you store credit for them. You have to give over the books in salable condition, but that's easy for me because I treat books like others would treat Hummel figurines. I have a great store near me (I'm talking about you, Books and More in Plymouth) that gives me store credit when I pack up a nice bag of books and audiobooks and fork them over. I leave with more books, sure, but I didn't have to pay for them, and instead of amassing, I'm exchanging.
2) Donate books to the library. Libraries don't have unlimited funding for books, as far as I know. They've always been grateful when I bring in a bag of books that I've read but don't need to keep. This goes particularly for Harlequin/Silhouette category romance readers: The Boston Public Library told me once that they can't get enough of them -- they fly off the shelves! You don't get paid for this, but you get to share books you've enjoyed with so many others. And if you really want to, I think you can use it as a tax write-off.
3) Give them to people you know and love. When I read books, I often think, "So-and-so would really like this book," or "I know someone who has this same crazy sense of humor," or "I know someone who's an expert on this subject who might want to take a look at it from another perspective." Give them the book when you're done. Don't lend it; give it. It's a gift. Tell them you don't need it back and to keep it to themselves or pass it on when they're done.
I have different bags in my home office of books I'm bringing to Books and More, and books that are going to the library, and books with Post-Its on them reminding me who I want to give them to when I next see them. You'll feel good doing this. Reading is the best thing you can do, but I think sharing what you read is a close second.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Double-Take
Not all that long ago, I was writing a scene, a sort of internal-dialogue thing, and I wrote two sentences, and then I sat back and looked at them. I thought two things:
1) Damn, these are good sentences.
2) I've seen these sentences before.
So I immediately got all in a panic. I thought, well, I read 100 books a year. Did I just write something someone else did? But I'd die a billion violent deaths before I did that. Besides, the last plagiarist I read about in the papers used the handy excuse (I'm paraphrasing), "Well, I liked the other author's book so much and read it so many times that I must have internalized her words." And I'd thought at the time, what a bunch of sh*t.
So where did these two brilliant sentences I just wrote come from? I thought and thought, then narrowed my eyes, then grabbed a book off my desk shelf and flipped around until I found the scene, then the page, the paragraph. The sentences.
My sentences. In my own previously published novel.
I plagiarized MYSELF.
I had a character in a comparable setting, looking at similar stuff, and musing the same thing about it. Not word for word, because unless you're trying to be a plagiarist on purpose, that's not going to happen -- but it was pretty damn close.
Nice. That meant one of two things:
1) I'd exceeded my destined word count and I was finished forever ... or
2) I needed to change my thinking
No matter what you observe, you can turn it over and observe it another way. Writers -- no one, really, but especially writers -- can't afford to take a position and stick to it, like dig-in-our-heels politicians. When we write, we're observing and expressing the new. The moment.
You look at a tree in your back yard, you might think, nice tree. The next day, you might look at it and say, hey, look at that squirrel running all over it. He's going nuts. (Ha, get it?) The next day, you might look at it and think, you know, I remember when I had a tire swing. And my best friends were Karen and Erin, and we drank Kool-Aid and played with sparklers on July Fourth. And the next day you might look at the tree and think, why do I keep parking under that thing, because there's so much bird crap, I have to make a stop at the car wash today.
One object. A billion ways to see it and think about it and retell it. Don't be so in love with your one savvy observation about something that you put your all writing in danger of becoming nothing more than variations on a theme.
See things. See more things. Then write them down. That's our job.
1) Damn, these are good sentences.
2) I've seen these sentences before.
So I immediately got all in a panic. I thought, well, I read 100 books a year. Did I just write something someone else did? But I'd die a billion violent deaths before I did that. Besides, the last plagiarist I read about in the papers used the handy excuse (I'm paraphrasing), "Well, I liked the other author's book so much and read it so many times that I must have internalized her words." And I'd thought at the time, what a bunch of sh*t.
So where did these two brilliant sentences I just wrote come from? I thought and thought, then narrowed my eyes, then grabbed a book off my desk shelf and flipped around until I found the scene, then the page, the paragraph. The sentences.
My sentences. In my own previously published novel.
I plagiarized MYSELF.
I had a character in a comparable setting, looking at similar stuff, and musing the same thing about it. Not word for word, because unless you're trying to be a plagiarist on purpose, that's not going to happen -- but it was pretty damn close.
Nice. That meant one of two things:
1) I'd exceeded my destined word count and I was finished forever ... or
2) I needed to change my thinking
No matter what you observe, you can turn it over and observe it another way. Writers -- no one, really, but especially writers -- can't afford to take a position and stick to it, like dig-in-our-heels politicians. When we write, we're observing and expressing the new. The moment.
You look at a tree in your back yard, you might think, nice tree. The next day, you might look at it and say, hey, look at that squirrel running all over it. He's going nuts. (Ha, get it?) The next day, you might look at it and think, you know, I remember when I had a tire swing. And my best friends were Karen and Erin, and we drank Kool-Aid and played with sparklers on July Fourth. And the next day you might look at the tree and think, why do I keep parking under that thing, because there's so much bird crap, I have to make a stop at the car wash today.
One object. A billion ways to see it and think about it and retell it. Don't be so in love with your one savvy observation about something that you put your all writing in danger of becoming nothing more than variations on a theme.
See things. See more things. Then write them down. That's our job.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
A-B-C and Beyond
I was at Borders Books and Music yesterday and they asked me if I'd like to buy a children's book for a program they're participating in called Reach Out and Read. I did, because I always try to do something like that, and they gave me a bookmark about the program.
Today I sat down and took a look at it, and was surprised and inspired.
This program combines early childhood literacy with pediatric care. At participating clinics and doctor's offices, doctors and nurses speak with parents about the importance of reading aloud to their children. Then with every routine check-up the child gets from age six months to five years, the child gets a free book to take home. Also, there are volunteers in clinic waiting rooms that read aloud to the kids.
The idea of incorporating intellectual health with physical makes me so happy. I learned to read when I was two years old...that's not a brag, that was the influence of my mother, who put so much importance on reading to me and encouraging me to learn. I, in turn, taught my sister to read before she entered kindergarten. Now I read every spare minute; I write novels; I don't know what I'd do without books in my life.
As writers, I truly believe we have a responsibility to promote literacy. I'm not a parent, but I still encourage all parents to do the same. When a child reads, it expands not only the intellect, but the imagination, and will spawn the kind of next generation of which we can be proud.
If you go to http://www.reachoutandread.org/, you can learn how to donate money or gently used children's books, conduct a book drive -- or become a reading volunteer, which I've applied for myself. There are also myriad literacy programs -- for kids and adults -- out there and I ask you to find something you can do to help.
Or, just read a book to a child today.
Today I sat down and took a look at it, and was surprised and inspired.
This program combines early childhood literacy with pediatric care. At participating clinics and doctor's offices, doctors and nurses speak with parents about the importance of reading aloud to their children. Then with every routine check-up the child gets from age six months to five years, the child gets a free book to take home. Also, there are volunteers in clinic waiting rooms that read aloud to the kids.
The idea of incorporating intellectual health with physical makes me so happy. I learned to read when I was two years old...that's not a brag, that was the influence of my mother, who put so much importance on reading to me and encouraging me to learn. I, in turn, taught my sister to read before she entered kindergarten. Now I read every spare minute; I write novels; I don't know what I'd do without books in my life.
As writers, I truly believe we have a responsibility to promote literacy. I'm not a parent, but I still encourage all parents to do the same. When a child reads, it expands not only the intellect, but the imagination, and will spawn the kind of next generation of which we can be proud.
If you go to http://www.reachoutandread.org/, you can learn how to donate money or gently used children's books, conduct a book drive -- or become a reading volunteer, which I've applied for myself. There are also myriad literacy programs -- for kids and adults -- out there and I ask you to find something you can do to help.
Or, just read a book to a child today.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Meat My Sister
My sister, Liz, told me today that there was something wrong with her refrigerator and she gave me a few details (she can tell a good story about the most mundane things; it's like Seinfeld with her) and the best, funniest line was about what her husband was doing during the refrigerator catastrophe:
"He was running around with armfuls of meat."
Tell me that's not a hilarious sentence. I need to get it in a book.
"He was running around with armfuls of meat."
Tell me that's not a hilarious sentence. I need to get it in a book.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Lighting Up the Night
Last week, I parked in my driveway at that interesting moment when day is night and night is day, and you're not really sure whether or not to put your headlights on.
Anyway, I parked and looked out over my lawn. Which I have, now that I'm renting a home in the suburbs. In the city, I'd be lucky to get a spot anywhere, much less a spot that I can actually call mine.
I looked out over my lawn and saw the strangest thing: A firefly.
A dash of greeny-yellow light, dipping down and disappearing.
I thought I didn't see it. I thought it was a trick of the twilight. I thought maybe it was my memory of fireflies resurfacing to mess with my mind a little.
I stood still. My eyes scanned the yard. But there was another one, zigzagging up from my bistro table. I blinked. There was another one, streaking over the big rock. And another one, in my neighbor's flower patch. And another, and another, and another.
It grew darker. They grew brighter. I grew amazed.
I haven't seen a firefly since I was a kid. I remember one summer a few years ago when I remarked that I hadn't seen one in years. Maybe I thought they were extinct, or that they only lived in New York suburbs where I was a child. I don't know. Either way, they hadn't crossed my mind in such a long time and now here they were, crossing my yard. Blinking in that way they call to each other, or see in the dark, or for whatever reason they blink.
If you have an idea, blink and you might forget it.
If you have a success, blink with a failure and you might forget it.
If you have a dream of your art, and what you want your art to mean, blink and it's gone.
But if you widen your eyes enough, if you stand still, that idea, that success, that dream is there, burning, elusive. It's not gone, though you hadn't thought of it in years. It's there, hovering at the edge of your memory, at the edge of your eyesight, even at dusk when it's hardest to see.
Don't forget the fireflies. I guess they've always been there. I just forgot how to see.
Anyway, I parked and looked out over my lawn. Which I have, now that I'm renting a home in the suburbs. In the city, I'd be lucky to get a spot anywhere, much less a spot that I can actually call mine.
I looked out over my lawn and saw the strangest thing: A firefly.
A dash of greeny-yellow light, dipping down and disappearing.
I thought I didn't see it. I thought it was a trick of the twilight. I thought maybe it was my memory of fireflies resurfacing to mess with my mind a little.
I stood still. My eyes scanned the yard. But there was another one, zigzagging up from my bistro table. I blinked. There was another one, streaking over the big rock. And another one, in my neighbor's flower patch. And another, and another, and another.
It grew darker. They grew brighter. I grew amazed.
I haven't seen a firefly since I was a kid. I remember one summer a few years ago when I remarked that I hadn't seen one in years. Maybe I thought they were extinct, or that they only lived in New York suburbs where I was a child. I don't know. Either way, they hadn't crossed my mind in such a long time and now here they were, crossing my yard. Blinking in that way they call to each other, or see in the dark, or for whatever reason they blink.
If you have an idea, blink and you might forget it.
If you have a success, blink with a failure and you might forget it.
If you have a dream of your art, and what you want your art to mean, blink and it's gone.
But if you widen your eyes enough, if you stand still, that idea, that success, that dream is there, burning, elusive. It's not gone, though you hadn't thought of it in years. It's there, hovering at the edge of your memory, at the edge of your eyesight, even at dusk when it's hardest to see.
Don't forget the fireflies. I guess they've always been there. I just forgot how to see.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)