One of my commitments for this year is to blog regularly, rather than simply peeing my thoughts away on Facebook and Twitter.

To that end, I am stepping over the sleeping rhino in the room, which is the obligatory description of my wedding, along with a photo gallery of same. This will come, but at the moment it’s occurring in my mind as a big task, and big tasks are easy to put off in the face of more pressing, immediate demands.

So, for now, a few stray thoughts related to the wedding:

Being married is not a compromise, not “settling,” not being boring and conformist. It’s an adventure that takes maturity, commitment, and true resolve — not the silly, flitty “hat over the fence” kind of impulses of my youth, but a true desire to make a good life.

This morning I went to see a doctor here for the first time (nothing serious.) I mention her because she, like everyone else I’ve encountered here, was so kind and open-minded when the specifics of my “lifestyle” came out.

Craig, too, said he’d “outed” himself to several people at work when they asked if he’d been anywhere or done anything interesting over the holidays; he felt it would be wrong not to answer the question truthfully. In a few cases, telling others about the wedding created a new level of openness with that person, who then shared specifics about their life.

I’m not so naïve as to assume there’s no one in this town who would object, but when I look at my own experience (versus the hate-baiting that happens in the news), I’ve never directly encountered nastiness about this in my adult life. So at what point do we stop projecting distrust onto others and start assuming the best of them?

My mum asked who carried whom over the threshold. In answer, no one, because Craig wouldn’t let me!

P.S. Completing my registration yesterday for the medical practice here, I had my first opportunity to fill in the status “Married”. I smiled to myself at that.

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A lot of people are excitedly claiming that e-books will spell the death of paper books. I think they’re wrong — and hope they’re wrong, for the sake of our culture.

One of my readers regularly sends me articles about e-books and on-screen reading, and at least once a week I see an article claiming that paper books are dying and will go away.

The link he sent me today was to an article about a “new species of book” — an iPad app from publisher Canongate. Ironically, the piece contained a Flash-based demonstration of the book that I couldn’t see on my iOS device.

This book app is referred to as a random-access “argument.” Essentially, it’s a collection of articles whose inline graphics just happen to be animated or virtually tiltable. Of course, though, this was heralded as a revolution that will change everything about books and publishing forever! And paper books will die!

Speaking of death, I downloaded The Book of the Dead yesterday as research for something I’m thinking of writing. The Book of the Dead is a long and rambling text; there’s no way I want to read it on-screen. That’s not me being philosophical or political; I just find it really difficult to concentrate on on-screen text, and it wearies my eyes.

The folks who write these “Books will die!” pieces are like sailors justifying why it’s good they’re navigating toward the sirens’ song. Personally, I’m sick to bloody death of how frail these gadgets are, how quickly their batteries get depleted, and how very rapidly they’re obsoleted by their manufacturers.

Lovers of e-reading have Stockholm Syndrome.

Personally, I’m happy to have the real-world ability to turn these texts into physical books. Take away all the technological aides in some kind of End Times scenario, and I’d still be able to print and draw and bind a book. I’m proud of this, but it’s also not that difficult a task, versus being beholden to giant media/hardware corporations that get to shape and control what’s said and how you get to experience it.

New inventions are exciting. I can understand why people want e-books to wipe out books: it somehow justifies their interest in this new form, like a born-again friend who can’t simply rest in his faith; he needs everybody else to be converted, too. It’s unnecessarily binary, dualistic thinking.

Leave me alone with my books. When your iThingy has particles of dust glowing under its screen (because every one of my pocket devices over the last decade has had this flaw), or when it gets scratched or cracked and can’t carry out the digital gymnastics this quarter’s new model does, you won’t be so happy to have your facts and stories trapped inside it.

Fans of the digital random access model, or of community co-creation, are being wilfully ignorant of the quality of coherent thought and authorship. Here’s an exercise:

• Choose a project you want to work on.
• First use the web. Browse around for ideas about the topic and how to get this project done.
• Then turn off all your tech, take out a piece of paper, and ask yourself what you want to do, why you want to do it, and how you could do it.

I’ll bet you a donut that the first method leaves you feeling informed, but frazzled, disjointed, unsure. You may even decide not to do it after all (“There’s too much involved”, “Somebody else has already done something like it”, &c.).

With the second method, though, you gain access to your mind, your imagination, your values, and your skills.

Lord, it’s like people are queueing up to sell every part of themselves to the machine.

Toys are fun, but they can break or be taken away…

Unless you know how to make your own toys.

Gosh, time is running out: I leave for Canada next week.

I’ve been off work since Tuesday, trying to use up my leftover vacation time for this year, but I’ve spent the whole whole week working, just on different stuff. I’m scrambling to get things made, because I need to have a stash of wee gifties when I travel at Christmas — in case I get ambushed with surprise gifts.

I know, that sounds crappy, but I find it stressy, this externally mandated giving-time. I prefer to give things all year long as ideas and people connect in my brain. I wish we used Christmas as an occasion to just be with each other, which is far more important.

I’d love to show you what I’ve made, but… they’re gifts.

In related news, the fella and I triumphed at jewellery-making class last night: We made our wedding rings!

This is a breakthrough, because, while I’ve been enjoying the class, the things I’ve produced in it so far have been a cavalcade of horrors.

This is unusual for me, because I’m accustomed to being able to think of something and, most of the time, create it.

But jewellery-making involves blowing torches, melting metals, and talc-like glass powder that has to be melted in an 800-degree oven, so it’s much harder to get the right hands-on result.

So, phew, one more piece falls into place for the wedding. And I’m excited about the idea that we didn’t buy these, we made them for each other. (I also referred to this when writing our ceremony, so, like I said, phew!)

Right. I’ve got a complicated book to make. The last present.

A look at what’s involved in creating a website — to serve as a platform for you as an author and your books.

Phew! I finished writing the first draft of my wedding ceremony yesterday. This piece was a real challenge for several reasons:

• My partner is Scottish, and Scots are not big on “American”-style cheese. Oh, sure, X-Factor and dancing shows and drama in the news — that’s all fine. But they don’t go for the gooshy stuff in real life. So I had to fully express the right sentiments, but keep someone else’s very finely attuned cheese-o-meter in mind, too.
• “Oh, but you’re a writer.” Yeah, that’s actually a problem. Writers seize up when they start thinking about impressing people. That’s not what this was about. Also, in writing for a public event (even if it’s just family), it’s nearly impossible to not get preoccupied with “What will they think?”, which I contend is the question behind every instance of writer’s block.

So I endeavoured to keep remembering what the purpose of this was, yet still be true to what I wanted it to be about — which, happily, Craig agreed with.

In the end, I think it’s pretty natural and straightforward, which is consistent with who we are, and hopefully leaves room for it to be a relaxed event about what it’s about, rather than exploding into some trying-too-hard magical Cinderella production number.

Unless, of course, my family forego doing readings and decide to burst into song and dance. Which is fine; I’d like to see that.

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Craig and I did some grocery-shopping this morning, took the recycling to the tip, then came home and had a nice afternoon breakfast.

I should make dinner soon. Craig keeps teaching me bits of Scottish culture, so tonight I’m going to “treat” him to a North American classic: the chilli-cheese dog.

(In other words, I’m being lazy and adding a veggie-protein tube to some leftovers and dressing it up as a cross-cultural treat.)

But that’s later. For the moment, I suspect we’re both still full, and we’re both working on our own projects.

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I had a huge success this morning: I made a stand for holding a book open so I could take a picture of it. I had no idea how I could do this, then this morning I woke up and just knew how. As soon as I heard Craig was awake and listening to the radio in the next room (and thus it was okay to make noise), I got to work, sawing and hand-drilling.

So thanks, once again, to Dad for buying me a hacksaw, which I used in this project, and which started me on this path of being able to provide exactly what I need for myself rather than having to search around for it — which is particularly helpful now that I live in a small town where there are fewer places to look for things.

And, of course, being able to DIY something you’ve imagined is the best thing of all!

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I was in a bit of a panic yesterday with all the things I wanted to do, but, sure enough, bit by bit they’re getting done — like making this stand so I can take proper pictures of all my hardcover journals and get them back in my website’s bookshop.

Everything doesn’t get done at once like my brain wants it to, but incremental progress kinda turns a fire-hose on my flaming amygdala, at least temporarily.

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So the latest social media meme is to wear purple or turn your profile avatar purple today to support lesbian, gay, and transgender people, or to stop them being bullied, or to campaign against hate-based legislation, or… something.

Thank you — honestly — but I’m not doing it.

I know that seems like ingratitude in the face of massive goodwill. And I, too, feel endless compassion for people who are suffering. But I think this — like so many other Web-based campaigns — is pointless. It makes people feel good, like they’re doing something, but it’s an empty gesture, particularly on the Internet, where daily we face these endless, awful Facebook trends to “spam everyone with this message if you know anyone who’s had [insert dread disease]”. What bloody good does that do? (And don’t get me started on charity consumerism.)

I know the incredible pressure of being hated for being different in school. Those were years of psychological torture. And, like so many young gay people, I went through a period of suicidal depression because of it.

But here I am, and I am not going to be anyone’s victim. It helps no one.

• I survived, and I went on to have a happy, successful adult life. I’m surrounded by bright, open-minded people who love and respect me. Some of these I was blessed to have as my family, but I found the rest.
• I’ve found a wonderful partner whom I love, and I’m going to marry him. That’s the only item in my gay agenda (which has bugger-all to do with anyone else).
• In writing books, I’m trying to create pieces of culture to make people like me visible and relevant — the books I wish I’d had.

This is what I’m doing to make things different. I’m living. I am the person I hoped it was possible to be. When I was younger, I didn’t need pity; I needed to see this.

Focusing on being a victim, on people who hate us, on people who didn’t make it — that entrenches the reality we want to see disappear.

I’m not putting on a costume.

I am me. I am this person every day.

That is my triumph.

If you can be an example, be that. If you can love someone for who they are, do that.

Gradually, like rocks over water, our individual lives will change everything.

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My darling is so patient: Tonight I experimented with a new recipe, a rice bowl with wasabi-dill dressing, snow peas, red pepper, avacado, chopped chives, and toasted pumpkin seeds.

It sounds great. The reality was… crunchy. In a not-good way.

He still said he liked it, and that’s why I love him.

~

Late this afternoon, I sat down to work on the wedding, outlining the different sections that are traditionally included in the ceremony. I got a thumbnail sketch put together, but there was something else going on that I felt I had to get to the bottom of before I went any further.

My heart felt a bit like it was going to explode.

After asking myself some questions, it turned out I was someplace I recognise from my writing — that place where you’re overly concerned with product, with “What will the neighbours think?”, and disconnected from the creation itself.

I probed a bit further, past the worry and the pressure — which of course weren’t doing anything to get the thing planned properly, but just made me fear and avoid it.

On the other side of that I got a glimpse of what the character of this relationship is — surely what this event should be based on, if anything. And that’s play. So much of the time Craig and I are together it just feels like we’re playing.

Two years on (oops, we missed our anniversary!), we’ve still never fought, because we just don’t want to. We’ve been there before in our lives, and it’s just no fun. So why would we, when we have a choice? I’d never want to do anything to hurt him.

I’m not sure “play” that looks like in a ceremony — particularly a very small one (in numbers, though not in importance to me), but that’s my commitment now, to tie the reverential, out-of-the-everyday part of the occasion to a big balloon of play.

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In-between the three dozen other things I’ve been trying to do this week, I’ve been doodling with an ink pen then painting over it with a water-brush, something I’d seen online somewhere and wondered about trying.

To me, painting is to doodling what poetry is to writing — a refined skill I’ve never mastered — but I actually found this quite fun and expressive.

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Two weekends ago, I went down to Edinburgh to attend the Scottish Poetry Library‘s annual small press fair, By Leaves We Live.

For years I went to this event as an observer, looking around at the tables of poetry chapbooks, small press publications, and one-of-a-kind hand-crafted books, and I’d think, “I should be in this!”

Of course, as with so many things, it’s not that I wasn’t welcome, it’s that I wasn’t invited — a subtle and important distinction. The organisers simply didn’t know about me. So in advance of last year’s event I let them know, and was welcomed to participate.

I had a blast, and I gave a talk about DIY publishing to an overflowing roomful of people who seemed to get something out of it.

When an invitation for the event came around this year, I made sure I would be part of it. I bound all sorts of new books — better than last year’s, because I’d had another year of learning, experimentation, and refinement under my belt. And I decided to make my talk much more focused: rather than try again to cover everything to do with indie publishing, I chose one aspect: “How to Make a Paperback Book”.

The challenge this year was that I’ve moved so far from Edinburgh. So I packed my books into an old suitcase and I took the train south.

Happily, despite the weight of my case, the journey was straightforward and easy. Unlike airports, the train station didn’t require me to take off clothes, empty my pockets, or wait in long queues; I just sat in my seat on one train then the other, read, worked, and enjoyed the scenery. So civilised! And it proved that getting back Edinburgh is not a big deal.

The book fair was a thrill. The staff at the Poetry Library are a passionate, committed, helpful, and fun group of people, and I was in heaven getting to talk to so many people who understood and were excited about what I’m doing, many of whom wanted to do something like it themselves. (More on this in a moment.)

I also sold nearly three times what I did last year, so I figured I should consider what might have contributed to this result.

Vivisecting my shop.
Here’s what the whole table looked like (click to see a larger version).

It starts with a wooden display — a friend’s unwanted Ikea dresser drawer insert — and spreads out from there.

1. Little books. I made one of these last year and people went mad for it, so this year I made a handful. Unfortunately, someone early in the day wanted to buy them all! I asked to keep one to show.
2. Novels to flip through. I figured that if one copy of each novel was loose on the table, people would be more inclined to pick them up and browse through them. I was right.
3. Impulse items. I had lots of neat, little, inexpensive things on the table that people could buy without a second thought — like magnetic bookmarks and wallets made from a single sheet of waterproof paper printed with a map. Those little sales add up over the span of a day, and are a great way to engage with lots of people and leave them with a little morsel of what you do.
4. Business cards. Sometimes people liked the idea of what I was doing but were non-committal about buying anything. Nae bother: they could take a business card. Who knows?
5. Changeable price-tags. I made tiny clothes-peg-and-chalkboard price tags to clip to the different sections of my display. I’d read that it’s better to let people see the price clearly rather than making them ask, and this did seem to work well. Plus I could change them throughout the day as I felt out what the crowd was willing to pay.
6. Blank books. I love making these, and figure they’re less subjective than deciding to buy a novel or not. “Fill this with you” is sometimes easier to take than “This is full of me“. The little books sold well, as did some fun softcover notebooks made with cardboard packaging covers, which were a last-minute addition and very easy to make. The larger books, however, didn’t sell. (More on that below.)
7. DIY Book Press: My talk was about making a paperback book, and — whaddya know? — I happened to be selling perfect-binding presses. I’d also provided instructions, which I think helped make people feel like they stood a better chance of using it successfully when they got home. Talking about the projects people wanted to finish with these led to some of my most exciting conversations of the day.
8. DIY guides. Some time ago, I’d made a Quick-n-Dirty Bookbinding Guide (downloadable from my Links page). I’d printed a number of them for a course I didn’t end up teaching, so it occurred to me to sell them here. I displayed them with a little hardcover book — exactly the sort of thing one could make using this guide — and they sold out.
9. Float & receipts. For weeks, I saved all my coins and £5 notes, so come the day I was ready to make change. Good thing, too, because everyone came armed with £20 bills! I also had a book of home-made receipts, which let me keep track of what I sold, and in one case allowed me to sell an order for a book rather than my last copy. Now I just have to add all these to my tax database! “But couldn’t you just take the money without claiming it?” Yeah, I could, but this justifies the endless amount of paper and bookbinding tools I claim! (Oh yeah, and I had a coffee to kick-start my day, but, of course, travel-coffee always ends up being more of a mess than it’s worth.)
10. Price/description cards. In addition to giving people examples of things to play with, I also printed up little display cards with a description and price on them. That helped when I was already engaged in a conversation with someone else, and again lowered the “approach pressure” of the display. (There’s a forcefield bubble of social pressure around a table manned by the person who created the stuff, isn’t there?)
11. Free podcast information. The DIY Book podcast is the best resource I have on offer for people who want to learn how to do what I’m doing. I was going to make up little cards with the podcast’s information, but then it occurred to me that, no, I should give out my business card, since the original point of the thing was to raise my public profile and sell more books by being helpful.

What worked:

• Standing up. People wanted to talk about the things on my table, and when I stood it became a conversation rather than a transaction. I could explain how things worked or what a book was about, and that seem to make people feel more engaged with what I was offering, and inclined to buy it.
• Doing a tie-in. My talk was about making a paperback book, and I happened to be selling perfect-binding presses. But I also had instructions for making them and talked about other ways to do the same thing, so I felt like it was genuine information, not just a sales pitch.
• Conversations. I had lots of great chats throughout the day with browsers and with the other vendors, too. It’s pretty neat to hear yourself described as “The MacGyver of book publishing” or your process as “the future of publishing”.
• Leave-behinds. At my talk, I gave handouts that listed the free and commercial imposition software that’s available, since this is a vital part of being able to make a paperback book. So rather than making the attendees take notes, I gave them the name, price, and URL for these products… on a little slip of paper with my logo and URL on them, of course, so people could ask questions or look into my work after the talk.

What didn’t work (or was difficult):

1. Running out. Oops! I didn’t have many copies of my second and third novels, which sold more copies than last year. I also ran out of the guidebooks, which were new, so I didn’t know how many to have. “More”, apparently.
2. Pricing one-off items. I didn’t have prices for everything on the table. Some of the things were just experiments, or I really didn’t know what to charge. But I should have done that work if I was going to show them.
3. Pricing handmade goods like commodities. I also didn’t know what to charge for my blank hardcover journals. Each of them involves more work than I could justify charging for, and there are equivalent things widely available for a low price. Of course, those aren’t hand-made, and several people told me I should charge a lot more, since they’re unique “artist’s books” rather than just store-bought notebooks. The thing is, even at the lower price they didn’t sell. I don’t understand why, because they’re what I sold the most of last year, and this year’s books are tidier and of better quality. People oohed and ahhed, and the little journals sold, but not the full-size ones, and I erred on the side of pricing them cheap, which wasn’t really fair to me, but my decision on the day was to try to sell everything so I could make more! Perhaps it’s because they were in the middle of the box and harder to get to. I know I’m disinclined to riffle through people’s displays. Also, for much of the day the expensive ones were at the front; I switched that around, though the more expensive ones are more of a draw because they’re nicer to look at. I’m not sure about how this should be done better.

The upshot?

I declare that the day was a success — not because of the money, but because I had a chance to connect with my ‘tribe’, people who are into this thing I’m passionate about.

I loved having specific conversations about the books they could make or the groups they could do this with — like the education officer who works with teachers who lead poetry classes for children. She was all lit up about the possibility of the kids finishing their poetry class with a bound book of their work, which would be too prohibitively expensive to produce commercially, but would be easy to put out in a DIY Book form. And this would add another dimension to what they’ve learned, letting them know they can not only write poetry, they can publish it, too.

If there was a single thing that distinguished my display from the other tables — if I’m allowed to say this — it would be that they were selling a finished product, but I was selling a possibility (“You can make books”), along with products that are an expression of that possibility. It’s much more open-ended, less of an ask than an offering.

Of course, not everyone will be interested in doing that, which is fine. But it worked for me, and I like being the guy who says, “You can do it. Nothing is stopping you.”

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