Certain people I know continually suggest that I “need” to write a book. They may or may not be right about this. See, I have worked on books in some capacity or other. I wrote a guidebook, something I’d rather not do again (though I wouldn’t mind writing front matter, it’s the details I couldn’t stand). I fact checked a second guidebook, oh, the horrors and embarrassment of discovering that my\u00a0 predecessor did not do a good job. Though I’d been hired as a fact checker, I actually rewrote great portions of that book. A friend wrote a cookbook; husband and I were test cooks during the process and as such, got a lot of insight into how that went. It seemed, well, un-fun, though much hilarity was had over things like “Surely, they don’t mean us to put an entire pound of butter in that,” or “Yes, actually, it is supposed to taste just like this. It’s just not very good.” And “Really? In this day and age you’re shipping a crate of paper manuscripts back and forth across the country? What is up with that?”<\/p>\n
I did self publish a collection of essays, culled from this site, a few years back, it’s called Baked Insanity<\/a> and you can still get it in its inglorious splendor from Lulu. It’s badly in need of an update. I liked it rather a lot at the time, in spite of my sloppy editing, but when I ran out of copies, I did not order more. I’m compiling a newer, shinier version with glossy full page photos, but I wanted to wait until I’d had a chance to mentally process the wonders of my trip to Antarctica — it seemed wrong to drop an update without including writing and photos from the last continent. I’m giving myself a month or two, then I’ll update the manuscript (which has been edited extensively) and call it good. I also self published a less than perfect but still quite nice compilation of photos from Hawaii via Blurb<\/a>. It is very pretty, but only includes one essay.<\/p>\n If I rationalize, I can tell myself that actually, I am<\/em> writing a book. You’re reading it right now. I’ve been writing a book for ten years. It’s a collection of essays. Maybe some day I’ll be inspired to write something very long, but for now, I like 1200 word bites. 1600 word bites. I have a piece I’m trying to place right now that for me is long, I think it runs about 2400 words — two and a half pages. “You’re writing a book about Antarctica, right?” folks ask me and I think, “Uh, no.” I was there for a week. Don’t get me wrong, it was amazing<\/a>. But I was on a cruise ship. I didn’t get frozen in the icepack and have to winter over, I didn’t get tossed overboard and left behind at a remote abandoned Chilean station, I didn’t fall in love with the life and sign on as crew. I got a little bit seasick, and I saw wildlife and landscape and it was a damn fine experience, but there’s not a book’s worth of words in nine day tour. Not for me, anyway.<\/p>\n I envy people who have a whole book in them. I remember chatting with a novelist at a party once — I told her that I wrote essays and couldn’t imagine writing a novel’s worth of story. I asked her how she did it. “Well, I just kind of keep writing,” she said. I shook my head and went to get another beer. A year on Moloka’i might allow me to write a book about that island, though I’d have to move at publication, I’m sure. A season at Port Lockroy surely has a book’s worth of tales, not all of them about penguins, but I was there only for a few hours. My experience with expat life is summed up in a essay<\/a>. Hawaii\u00a0 doesn’t need another guide book. I didn’t walk from Capetown to Cairo, I didn’t restore a farmhouse in the Alps. I’ve joked about writing fiction<\/a>, but the real world is a much more compelling and crazy place. (Sidenote: Sometime back I took a class in fiction writing. I greatly enjoyed it, plus, it taught me that I did not want to write fiction.)<\/p>\n I’m a visitor, a tourist. I skitter in and out of places, taking snapshots, collecting impressions, and that’s what I love to write, snapshots and impressions of places rather than lengthy stories. I’m a journal-ist, not in the newsy sense of the word, no, rather, in that I write a journal<\/em>. That’s what blogs are, after all. “Captain’s log, star date 43198.7. We have entered the Ushuaia sector. We are in standard orbit for 48 hours pending clearance for our away party from the local research station…” Or, “Captain’s log, supplemental. The first mate and I are taking some much needed R&R on the planet Vancouver…”<\/p>\n Perhaps there’s some value in compiling the more interesting of these episodes, but is that the same as writing a book? I’m not sure why, but I don’t think so. Do I “have” to write a whole, standalone book to be taken seriously as a writer? Really? I hope not.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Certain people I know continually suggest that I “need” to write a book. They may or may not be right about this. See, I have worked on books in some capacity or other. I wrote a guidebook, something I’d rather not do again (though I wouldn’t mind writing front matter, it’s the details I couldn’t … <\/p>\n