Can't believe the whole month of March flew past and we're into April, the IRS dread hanging over my head, and I haven't blogged once.
But I do have some good news to share with my senior citizens friends who probably know nothing about blogging. A dormant brain can be awakened! Now, that not may sound impressive to the younger crowd whose brain is still firing on all cylinders, but to the age advanced, that's good news. Example:
I've been tediously translating Cuba on My Mind (Secuestro will be next, hopefully, if I live that long).  First, I roughly translate a page from English to Spanish and type it into the computer. Then I check out the translation word for word using a program called Google Translate and the Chicago English-Spanish dictionary, best of its kind. Frequently what sounds okay in English makes absolutely no sense in Spanish. There's my friend Pattie who told a Panamanian she was 'muy embarazado' thinking she was saying she was very embarrased, when she was actually saying she was very pregnant. Little errors like that can make a big difference in a translated manuscript. Then there is the gender business and the accents to deal with. Everything in Spanish is either male or female and there is no in-between. Perro is a dog and perra is a bitch, and believe me this translation has been one big perra.
It takes a good 20-30 minutes per page.
After a week or ten days of this struggle (I hadn't written in Spanish since I was 15 years old) something in the back of my brain unlocked--literally. All the rules I'd learned came back: i before o takes an accent; but o at the end of the word gets the accent; stress on the third syllable gets an accent; months are not capitized; an inverted question or exclamation mark goes at the beginning and also a righted one at the end of a sentence, and on and on and on. I had a sense of opening Pandora's box.
I was discussing this with #2 son David in Chicago and by coincidence he'd just read an article on brain functions that delved into brain usage and how the brain stores away information for a long, long time, but if it is never retrieved, it disappears. Research was being done on the connection between this diminished usage and Altzheimers. It appears that the more you use your brain, the less likely a person is to lapse into forgetfulness.  
I am now looking for a piano. I used to play years and years ago. I've stored that knowledge in a closed file and the notes are gone. That section of my brain needs to be activated again.
Now my only big problem is: When would I ever find time to play the piano?

A Gregarious Afternoon at BAM

I have set a goal of becoming gregarious. I looked up the word in the dictionary. The first definition was living in herds or flocks and that certainly didn't apply. The second was fond of the company of others; sociable. Aha! That's the one.
The reason for my gregariousness is the book signings. Up to now, I've sat quietly hiding behind my stacks of books, shy and self-conscious. Me, of all people! A crackerjack real estate saleswoman! Except in that case I was dealing with other people's property. Pushing my own stuff is truly difficult. Makes me uncomfortable and self-conscious. I'm a good observer/learner. I've been watching others. One fellow shook everybody's hand within reach. Another author did everything but tap-dance on the table. Both attracted due attention.
Using this new-found system of expression, Secuestro signing at Books-a-Million, Hammond, was considered by all involved a successful afternoon. Tristan Gill, the manager, couldn't have been more helpful. He set a Secuestro poster outside and one inside, and placed me at a table right by the door, a stack of books before me. Michelle, Jason, and Elena, the clerks, kept stopping by to check on our progress. The coffee bar is excellent. The young lady there drew a book from under the counter and said, "Mr. DiMaio said be sure to get you to sign this for him." That was a nice start to the afternoon. Mary P. was by my side. It's hard to brag on your own work, y'know? Better if somebody else does it.
For three hours, we had a solid stream of visitors. Some bought books, some already had books they wanted signed, and others just stopped to chat. Some strangers told stories that touched my heart. Without exception, everyone wants to visit Cuba.
Book signings can either be successful or big flops. I've had both, but I'm learning the system. You don't want to be pushy, but you can't be a shrinking violet, either. For those in my same situation, here
is what I've learned:
1) A month or two in advance call the bookstore. Ask for the manager. Ask for a book signing. (they're usually very agreeable). Set the date.
2) A week before check make sure they have books. In my case sometimes this has been problematic, as the bookstores have had problems getting books from the distributors who say they have problems getting them from the university press.
3) A week before start e-mailing your list with the place, date and time. Ask any club you belong to, to please mail the members. Most are really nice about doing this for you. Use the media: Facebook; Twitter; whatever.
4) Arrive 15 minutes prior to the hour. Set up posters. Spread the paraphenalia: book markers, calling cards, flyers, whatever you have.
Fill a bowl with candy mints for the kids. Have a good ink pen handy.
5) Always ask how they spell their name: there's Catherine, Katherine; Ann, Anne; Mary, Marie. Get it wrong and the purchaser is not happy.
6) When the time is up, gather your stuff; thank the managers and helpers. Later, I e-mail or slo-mail a thank you. People like to be appreciated for their efforts.

I've decided the only solution is not to think about the sale of the book or you'll get terribly frustrated. Think about the joy of writing it.

Say What?

Translation continued.

Someone asked me why I didn't translate my own book. I'll tell you why. Because even though I know the language I'm rusty. Just how rusty?
After Katrina Attorney Gary's translator disappeared, the federal judge wouldn't pospone the case, so in a terrible pinch, I was asked to be the accused's translator. The proper papers were submitted, the judge approved, and I found myself in the Federal courthouse Campt St? in New Orleans, sitting next to a handcuffed fellow wearing an orange jumpsuit and shackles. The accuser had his translator, the judge had a translator and I'm so nervous I can barely mumble. By the time the two hours went by, I was sweating more than the accused. At one point, he turned to me and asked,"What did the judge say?"  "I'm not quiet sure," I replied. "But I think they're going to hang you."
So much for my translating.....

TRANSLATION

Both Cuba on My Mind and Secuestro are about Cuba, the island where I was born. Cuba on My Mind is before Castro when sugar was king and Las Vegas and Chicago mobsters ran the casinos in Havana. Secuestro takes place during the revolution. The third and final book will be about the exodus.
So where did all the Cubans go? Mostly Miami. They took over the place.
The biggest international book fair takes place in Miami in November. I
want my books there in Spanish. No point taking them in English, when most of the population no speeky de Ingles. 
Because I'm under contract to Livingston Press, a small university outfit, I get to do most everything myself with their blessing. I start looking for a translator, talking to people who know people, and get prices ranging from $10,000 to $5 per page, way out of my SS check range.
Livingston Press informs me translators don't get paid, they share in the royalties. My royalty is approximatly $1.44 a book, and it seems a sin to split that, plus no one volunteers to step up to the plate on those terms.  
Herta, a Chilean, is on her way to Valdivia near the Antartic, and she'll have time on her hands and offers to take Cuba on My Mind and translate it. My options are limited. I accept.
A year later she returns with six notebooks written in long hand. Never look a gift horse in the face.
Carmena, a Panamanian offers to type the long hand and I'm truly grateful. It's Thanksgiving, Christmas and everybody's got stuff to do and the handwriting isn't that easy to read and I'm imposing on this nice woman and that's not fair. I get the notebooks back. She's typed two chapters and January is gone tomorrow.
I solve any problem by going out to lunch and if the problem is really problematic I do breakfast, lunch, and supper. Eating somehow helps, ask us fat people. I drive to Berry Town to get one of their great lunches for $6.95, entree and two sides, enough for two meals, and I see down the block there's a place called My Tierra, obviously a Latin outfit.
What harm can it do to duck in there and ask if they know a translator. That's when I met
Nancy, the Mexican. Nancy says no problem she can do it in a couple of days and gives me her card. She's a disenadora, ilustradora and traductora, all the bases covered. By now, I'm leery. We agree she'll do a chapter and see how it works out. I'm now anxiously awaiting the results.
This endeavor has become international in scope, a Cuban, Chilean, Panamanian and Mexican co-op, and all I want, as Miss Universe contestants say, is World Peace.

Amazon Contest

I'm a deadline person. I don't make Thanksgiving stuffing in October; shop for Christmas gifts in July or pay the IRS one day before April 15th. In writing when I reach the deadline date, I go berserk, knuckle down, ignore the phone, don't eat and as happened Friday night, don't sleep, either.
My entry for the Amazon contest (which I told you yesterday I have no expectations of winning) only doing it for the exposure, Publishers Weekly is involved in the judging and I'm told that's good.
I start working away a 9 pm. on the computer, cleaning up the little words, I hate little words: an, of, out, up, I mean, how many people stand down? and making sure every character keeps the same color hair and eyes all the way through, etc. etc. "The Azaleas," a Southern plantation real estate mystery features an African-American tap-dancing little boy called Louie.
My friend Pattie read the manuscript. "You have to change the name Louie."
"Why?"
"Because this is a Sandra Bullock movie and she has a little boy she adopted in New Orleans called Louie. It might offend her and she may refuse to star in the movie."
I love my friends. They have such grandiose ideas, they keep me floating.
Who knows what to change Louie to, so we go to the internet and look up most popular African American names and come up with LeBron. I'm moaning about finding each Louie and changing it to Lebron, when Pattie gives me an incredible stare, punches two buttons on my computer and says, "There. It's done."
That's what good friends are for.
I'm working away, 350 pages to check, that's a helluva lot of typing and when I finish and look up it's 6 a.m. too late to go to sleep. I have half a mind to call Randy Howes who has just told me he gets "zoned out" and loses track of time and his wife pushes trays of food under the door for him and sometimes it's days before he surfaces. He wrote 16 books last year, that's better than one a month. He's not human. He's a genuis machine.
I take a shower and begin my day (Saturday) at sunup which is not my favorite time. Deadline is midnight and since I'm such a computer klutz Pattie has offered to upload the manuscript for me. Yesterday we filled out Amazon's complicated entry form. We clicked through it without having to find a lawyer to explain all the wherases and wherifes. She sets up something called a Drop Box, so she can access the manuscript from her computer.
All Saturday I can't find Pattie. Friends come over for supper and I'm all smiles like a an adequate hostess should be and all the time I'm having internal frenzy because now it's 9 p.m. and still no Pattie.
 Maybe she forgot.
"I know where she is," somebody said. "She's gone to take a rescue dog to New Orleans." Pattie's into that.
One great blessing comes with being old and on your way out. Nothing much matters. If it happens, it happens, if not, it was a good exercise in whatever. The midnight deadline is fast approaching.
I wash the dishes, clean the kitchen and crawl into bed. So be it.
At 11:30 the phone rings. Phone rings at that time I think somebody is having an emergency and my hearts skips a couple of beats.
"Okay," the voice says at the other end. "You're in. Check your e-mail in the morning. You'll have a confimation number."
 A good friend never lets you down. Thanks, Pattie.
On the other hand, let me tell you about my problems with the Spanish translator--

My Writing Day/Night

      Writing a book is soooo much fun! I'm sitting there all by myself in my spare bedroom turned office, typing away on my keyboard, making up these characters, setting them in a real background which takes a lot of research, finding the right words, thank goodness for the inbuilt Thesaurus, my backside stuck to the bottom of the chair and I can feel it spreading. Ever noticed a truck driver's flat bottom? I'm worried.
     Then there's the interruptions: the phone rings, time to go out to lunch, one's gotta eat, then take a little nap, pay a few bills, put in the wash, etc. etc. and before you know it, it's dinner and a show or an art opening and it's 10 p.m. When I had a real job I put in 8 to 10 hours every day and when I retired and started the writing gig, I set a goal of at least 8 hrs a day, like a workday, then it came to 6, and now its 4, usually from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m.
     You can't imagine how quiet it is at that time: no phone, no one knocks at the door, not even the dogs bark that late. Everybody is asleep and the world is silent. In the country where I lived before moving to town,  nighttime had it's symphony, frogs croaking, crickets chirping, but these little creatures don't like to live on concrete, so their music is missing in town. It took me a while to get accustomed to no night sounds, except the choo-choo train that rattles through at 2 p.m. and that took a little adjusting, but now I don't even hear it.
       Last Friday, however, I had a deadline to enter the Amazon novel contest, which I know I won't win because it's one of those popularity robo-voting things and my computer savvy friends are limited, but Cuba on My Mind got published because I entered a contest I didn't win, so what the heck, and I stayed up and....

Happy New Year!

After taking a few weeks off to enjoy Christmas with friends and family, a new shipment of Secuestro paperbacks has arrived and the scheduling for bookstores and book clubs is in process. Hardbacks are on their way from the publisher, Livingston Press.
Hope everyone had a blessed Christmas and that 2013 will be a happy and prosperous year.