April 4, 2010

Findependence Day – a review



There’s some curiosity about my one-word book review on Twitter.


“Why soulful?” people have asked.

Well, two reasons.

First, there’s music.

While Jonathan Chevreau, the financial reporter and National Post columnist who wrote Findependence Day, is known for his investment acumen, it was, to me, something of a surprise to learn of his affinity for music.

Music references abound—many of them serving as memory-jogs from the good old days of rock and roll. In fact, I burst out laughing—during one reading session—as I came across a reference to Uriah Heep’s Look at Yourself album—an LP I had once owned and had long since forgotten about.

But there’s something deeper, more reflective, about the book—something that didn’t, for me, come up often enough. Maybe it’s better to call it something of a contrast, some kind of push-pull disparity that I can’t quite put my finger on.

You see, to me, it felt as though Jonathan Chevreau wrote the book with two voices—one of them, logical, rational, and strictly by-the-numbers. The other, somewhat more thoughtful, absorbed—almost spiritual—as it mused about careers, retirement, and the meaning of it all.

And it’s that second voice that resonated with me—that led me to realize I was reading something soulful.

And yet, I couldn’t help but wish there was more of the latter (the reflective musing) and less of the former (the financial planning/investment stuff).

But, hey, that’s just me, and I recognize that other readers will take away an altogether different set of messages after reading Findependence Day.

And isn’t that what books are supposed to be about?

Ideas? Suggestions? Questions? Please leave a comment.


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October 20, 2009

The view from there

Those who know me know I love Italy. The people, the atmosphere, the vistas, the food, the wine, the caffè cappucino, lungo, macchiato. I love it all.

On my last trip, though—the one I got back from but two weeks ago—I discovered something entirely new to love.

Before leaving for my all-too-brief Italian adventure, my editor asked me to prepare some ancillary stuff—pages of addenda, acknowledgements and references that I described in a prior post called The view from here.

Eager to get to it, I imagined having time, during my travels, to get some ideas down. What I didn’t relish though was the thought of dragging a computer along, nor was I keen about writing for hours on my mobile phone’s diminutive screen. The solution? An old fashioned one of ballpoint pens and a notebook—the kind made from paper and cardboard (screen and keyboard definitely not included).

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Let’s face it, I’m old enough to remember an epoch when no one had computers. But that was  decades ago, and I now approached the thought of writing on paper—no built-in formatting? No editing tools? No spell-checker or thesaurus? How prehistoric!—with some trepidation.

And yet, as it turned, out, writing on paper was a kind of cool, retro experience, like listening to Aqualung on vinyl.

Or… Perhaps it wasn’t so much how I was writing as it was where I was writing.

What I mean is, how could low-rent writing tools in any way temper breathtaking million-dollar views?

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Hard to grumble about anything when sitting there, right?

Being an early riser, it took me no time to settle into an easy routine of writing first thing in the morning, usually from that balcony overlooking the bay of Naples and the historic town of Sorrento.

The crisp breezy winds, the fragrant air, the melodic intonation of the Italian language and, of course, that incredible view—what a view!—inspired me, every morning, to scratch away with my ballpoint pen until a pronounced blister appeared on my middle finger (yeah, I hold my pen kinda funny).

But that didn’t deter me either.

Because I knew another inspiration awaited me.

After putting in my hour or two, an easy stroll to the hotel’s dining room rewarded me with breakfast of un caffè e cornetto, and basket upon basket of fresh delectable fruit.

Is there a better way to start the day?

Or end it, for that matter.

Because, I’d finish the day off pretty much the way it had begun; sitting, late at night, savouring, and recording to memory, the sights and sounds of that magical experience.

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Ah, Italy. The perfect place for lovers of history, romanticism, la dolce vita and, as I recently discovered, writing.


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September 9, 2009

a BIG thank you

I don’t want to water down this post’s intent.

Ramble on, get too wordy—that kind of stuff.

I don’t want to do that.

All I want is to offer up a BIG THANK YOU to Daniel Peters of Hal-Leonard Corporation.

At Hal-Leonard, Daniel represents song composers and publishers, and he administers the rights for lyrics reprints. I contacted Daniel in February for permission to use certain song lyrics in my book. His response was immediate, efficient and, best of all, positive.

One of those “Sure we can do that,” type of responses.

Over the ensuing months, I became, let’s say, a little frustrated with the delays and complexity associated with obtaining permissions from other publishers. It was then that Daniel showed his professionalism—not to mention, for someone so detached from my writing project, his enthusiasm. He suggested catalogs I might want to browse, he outlined some of the composers and publishers his firm represented, and he offered his thoughts about the likelihood of obtaining lyrics permission for the songs I had in mind.

All to say, not only did he save me time and frustration but, by pointing me in the right direction, Daniel helped me select compositions that were more simpatico to the book’s premise.

Now, that’s what I call above and beyond.

And so, once again, with gusto, thank you Daniel. You, sir, are the man.

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I’m leaving town tomorrow and will be out and about, with neither cellphone nor computer, until September 24th. Unless I come across a web-enabled machine during my travels, you’ll see no update on this blog ‘till I’m back.

In the meantime, thanks for reading my posts. I truly appreciate it.

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August 31, 2009

Another step closer

It’s kind of like building a house.

A book, I mean.

Publishing a book is like building a house.

When I was writing The Net Present Value of Life, it was a lonely and solitary existence. There was me, and there was my computer screen. And there was no need for anything, or anyone, else.

Publishing a book, though. That’s different.

That takes people—an actual team of people, I suppose.

And now, so contrary to the solitary experience I described earlier, I find myself working with those other people, each one an expert interested in one thing; the production of a completed item, an item called a novel.

Wait a minute, maybe a book’s not like a house at all. Maybe it’s more like a manufacturing process.  A process that saw me provide the raw materials, that I then gave to others, who are now providing—you know—other stuff.

There’s publishing, there’s design, there’s promotion, there’s legal—and I guess later on, there will be printing and distribution and sales and… uh, I don’t know what else, actually.

Exotic travel and fancy meals maybe? Hmm, that would be nice…

For now though, I’d like to tell you about one person who has been helping me develop this production object of mine—this unit, this inventory item, this SKU. This thing called my novel.

Her name is Jane and she’s my editor. We’ve been working together for over a month, and, just two days ago, Jane sent me her final edits.

It was a weird feeling, getting those last few chapters. To be honest, while there may have been some excitement, there was a scary feeling there too. I don’t know if it was scary because the book was that much closer to public scrutiny (scary enough of a thought, isn’t it?). Or maybe it was scary because, after almost three years of writing and revising and tinkering and tweaking, it was now time to, as they say, put it to bed.

Whatever.

Want I want to relate, though, is that Jane’s editing (which I was worried about, to be honest) has brought out.. Oh, let me put it this way. If I had a restaurant and Jane were a chef, then the book would be a meal. And what Jane has done is expose hidden flavours and textures, and lingering tastes on the palette.

Good stuff. All of it good stuff.

So, as the book moves along the manufacturing process, it will soon leave Jane’s wonderful care (once I get my butt in gear and comment on Jane’s final edits), and it will move on to someone else.

And, before it does that, all that’s left to say is, thank you Jane, a million times over.

It really couldn’t have been in better hands.

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