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).

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?

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.

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

I’m back from holidays, I had a wonderful time, it was great to be away, and, in truth, it’s even better to be back.

Since my return, Jane (my editor) has kept me hopping working on what I’ll call the book’s add-ons.

You know what I mean, right? The acknowledgements, bios, references, back-cover blurb—you know that kind of stuff.

In some ways, I find preparing all of that even harder than writing a book. I mean, have you ever tried putting together a compelling, eye-catching synopsis? Pretty difficult—isn’t it?—having to encapsulate a 300-page document into a few riveting , memorable paragraphs.

And so, the good news—at least for me—is that the add-ons are done (I just finished them today). The next step, per Jane, is design, and I’m not sure myself how involved I’ll be in that department; being a rookie at this book publishing thing, I’m finding the whole process to be an interesting—not to mention, fun—learning experience.

Oh, and for those of you anticipating the book’s release (well, including my mom, there might be one of you), I have news on that front too. The publisher’s told me he wants to avoid being anywhere near the Christmas season and is thus slotting it in for February 2010. That makes it—what?—a scant four months away, right?

So stay tuned ‘cause I’ve got a bunch of other stuff to tell you over these next four months. I may have been on holiday, but you know, I kept myself busy—writing stuff down.

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.

________________________________________________________

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.

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.

But I love what he’s done.

Keith has created a software application called Scrivener, which is, sort of, an amalgam of a word processor and a project management tool.

Why is that important?

Because I used Microsoft Word to write The Net Present Value of Life and, as I was writing it, a few things came to mind.

The first was, no one writes a novel chronologically. At least I didn’t. No, the  fact is I jumped around a lot, writing a chapter that gave me an idea for another chapter. I’d then create a draft, based on that idea, that I’d later squeeze in somewhere between the book’s beginning and end.

Did I mention revisions?

I often made changes in one part of the manuscript (keeping a backup of the original file, in case I changed my mind), only to find, soon after, that my changes impacted on a later chapter that I had written much earlier.

Confused? Well, so was I, all because it really wasn’t an efficient way to work. Even worse, it was a process rife with minefields—I was always afraid, as I searched and edited blocks of text, that I’d delete, unnoticed, some crucial dialog, some character development, or something else entirely.

Which is why I kept backups. Lots and lots of backups.

The other thing I noticed? I was accumulating a big pile of supporting files containing research, weblinks, story-development ideas, statistical information, outlines, notions, mindless ramblings, and the occasional grocery list.

I kept backups of all that too.

It was, at times, hard to manage. And, as I look back, I’m puzzled that I never wondered whether there was a better way.

Which is why I’m thrilled to have, only recently, discovered exactly that—a better way. Scrivener truly is a one-stop, no-fuss-no-muss software application devoted to one simple task—writing.

Not only am I over the moon about Scrivener, but I’m equally impressed by Literature & Latte, the company that publishes it.

First off, let’s face it, Literature & Latte is an intriguing name for a software company. Turns out that Keith chose that name because he always wanted a bookshop/cafe. Hey! I love coffee. And I love books too. You see? A connection…

But that’s not the real reason I’m intrigued by the company.

What intrigues me (and what I identify with) is their history, and their philosophy.

The company’s history is right there, on their website. As it happens, Keith was (is) a writer who (like me) wasn’t thrilled with the available crop of word processors. Unlike me, though, he did something about it. He created Scrivener.

Now that’s what I call innovation in action.

As regards philosophy, they programmed Scrivener to work on Macs. Not Windows, just Macs. Why? Because the folk that work at Literature & Latte (both of them) prefer Macs. That’s it. No other reason. They like Macs.

Now how refreshing is that? A company creating something because that’s what they felt like creating? And not because some business metric like ROI (return on investment) or market capitalization suggested they do it. And certainly not because some focus group, or strategic-planning consultant, or leading-edge indicator implied that’s what they should be doing.

Then there’s the price point, which is much too reasonable—a steal in fact. Why is Scrivener priced so low? Because, as stated on their website, they “didn’t want to price out struggling writers.”

C’mon, how can you not be a fan of such a company?

There you have it. Scrivener. I’m a fan and I bet you will be too. So go ahead and try it. Right now.

But remember, you’ll need a Mac. Now how great is that?