by Bob Grant

The Little Site that thought they could,

went online to do some good.

Started out with ups and downs,

got some smiles – got some frowns.

Writers came and writers went,

Some to speak and some to vent.

Limits none on what to post,

Theory was we’d get [...]]]> The Little Site

by Bob Grant

The Little Site that thought they could,

went online to do some good.

Started out with ups and downs,

got some smiles – got some frowns.

Writers came and writers went,

Some to speak and some to vent.

Limits none on what to post,

Theory was we’d get the most.

Doubts are none for what’s been done,

Not for profit – just for fun.

We’re here for one – we’re here for all,

We’re in it for the really long haul.

Robert W. Walker is a graduate of Chicago’s Wells High School, Northwestern University, and the NU’s Graduate Masters in English Education program.  Rob has taught writing in all its permutations (“All writing is creative writing but not all writing sings,” he says.) from composition and developmental [...]]]> Weighing Up Traditional Publishing & Ebook Publishing

Robert W. Walker is a graduate of Chicago’s Wells High School, Northwestern University, and the NU’s Graduate Masters in English Education program.  Rob has taught writing in all its permutations (“All writing is creative writing but not all writing sings,” he says.) from composition and developmental to a study of the literary masters to creative and advanced creative writing.  His first novel was one only an arrogant youth could have conceived — a sequel to Huckleberry Finn (now published as Daniel & The Wrongway Railway, Royal Fireworks Press, NY), but his first suspense-techno-thriller-sf-mystery came in 1979, after college, a novel that won no awards entitled SUB-ZERO.
 
In any non-traditional publishing as in ebook publication, there is no such thing as “an advance against royalties”.  In Traditional Publishing as we know, now often termed DTB’s by our younger generations, ie. Dead Tree Books the “advance” has always been there. This is a significant difference. For the older generation, my generation, the first phrase that comes to mind for the author is “an advance against royalties” and what this means is the author gets a lump sum “loan payment” to start work on the process of crafting a book or novel. However, in ebook non-traditional publishing wherein everything is lower case, there are NO advances. In fact, in “non-publishing” as some like to call it, there are a lot of “NO’s” to the traditional model.
However, before we get too far afield, an advance against a royalty of a $100, 000 is a thing of beauty on the surface. No doubt about that. A writer can rejoice. However if it is for four books to be written over four years, that’s pretty much slave wages or $25,000 a year, which if one is independently wealthy makes for nice pen money. Not so with most people who are attempting to make a living (no joke) at writing.
To the midlist author who wins this arrangement or spin of the publishing wheel, 25,000 a year does not go far. It’s about minimum wage if that. Whereas in ebook publishing, there are NO advances and no paying back of that 25,000 a year either. On the one hand, your publisher grants you a “loan” to be paid back via your royalties (if royalties even occur); on the other hand, every cent of an advance must be paid back to the publisher via your royalties, and until that hundred thousand is worked off by your royalties (if at all) you see no additional funds from royalties. Should your sales be too low to return that advance to your publisher, you are both left with a bad business loan, and your name or reputation as a writer is mud thereafter.
 
The above is one area where traditional and non-traditional publishing go in very different directions. But there are far more differences for the writer as businessman as well. Below are some of the glaring differences other than no advances.
 
Traditional Publishing — Ebook Publishing

They contract for all rights including ebook — You are in a partnership with Kindle/other
Your royalty rate for paper is 10 percent/12 hardcover — Your royalty rate is 70 percent
Your chance of having returns is 100% & remainders too — So few returns, negligible/no remainders
Your chance of getting a rejection letter 90 to 100% — No rejection letters
Professional, topnotch editorial help at no charge — Editorial help at your expense
Author pockets 10-12% of a $25 book — Author pockets 70% of 2.99/3.99

(* This means an author makes more on each 2.99 ebook than each 25 traditional book)
9 months to 2 yrs. from acceptance final MS til pub date — Author publishes when s/he wishes
Publisher determines everything on cover — Author decides all cover art matters
Publisher writes copy/description of book — Author writes copy/description
Publisher can/often does change title — Author determines title
Publisher determines price of book — Author determines price
Publisher dictates/curtails length of book — Author determines length
Publisher’s royalty statement routinely confusing — Ebook gives clear daily sales report
Publisher’s royalty statement not seen for 6-12 months — Ebook statement daily report
Royalty statement/payment confusing 90% of the time — Payout arrangement clear

 
Allow me to add some other hard-won lessons regarding the above points. Publisher determines design matters such as single or multiple volumes or a series, and in ebook publishing, the author has control over such issues as series, stand-alone, or three volumes in one.
These differences are due in large part to the medium.  The medium is the message. What I can add is that with traditional publishing comes “traditional” notions of prestige, as in “real book publication” grants a writer a certain prestige among readers, critics, and other writers. However, a new attitude is being seen, an attitude among readers and writers that says the text is of tantamount importance, not the way a book is delivered. While this notion and ebook publishing have been around now for approximately thirty to forty years, young people, new generations, are embracing it completely. The idea that a book delivered in sixty seconds on a Kindle reader is as viable a piece of writing as if it is delivered between the covers of a hardbound book—or can be. This is something of a radical shift not in publishing but in readers.
 
Many traditional publishers either do not get this or simply wish to fight for the old standards of ‘proper’ format and delivery of books. In the past and now, many people believe that a book showing up in hardcover is a better book, better vetted, better edited and certainly written better. However, we have all encountered hardbound books riddled with problems from grammar to concept. More and more, readers are learning about the struggle that goes on behind the writing of a novel, the research, the rewrites, the editing, vetting and more rewrites that go into the creation of an ebook by a writer, and while some ebooks display a lack of talent, nowadays more and more display genius “outside the bun” or in this case “outside the covers”. Never judge a book by its cover takes on a whole new meaning, despite the fact ebook cover graphics has spawned a whole  new ‘industry’ as has ebook digital platform and editing services.
Publishing with a major traditional publisher certainly can win one respect and sometimes critical acclaim, neither of which are automatically going to increase sales, but awards and accolades are a wonderful thing. However, the drawbacks can be many for the author, not the least being a far smaller percentage (12 vs. 70).  Notably, traditional publishers, since the state-of-the-art Kindle device has skyrocketed in sales are suddenly insisting contractually that authors turn over their electronic rights to the publisher. Some authors have been savvy to maintain their ebook rights regardless. However, traditional publishers holding your ebook rights—especially the majors—as a rule will set your ebook price far too high to the detriment of ebook sales.
E-readers are savvy and will turn away in droves if an ebook is priced too high. Several of my books are saddled with this problem as the publisher set the price, while ebooks priced by me are selling a thousand books a month nowadays. In short, the e-reading public will seldom to never purchase a e-novel or e-book priced at the same or nearly the same as the paper or hardbound book. Not to mention that an author will always make more money putting his ebook rights to work on his own rather than through a publisher.
Working directly with Amazon.com, the author is basically given—at no charge—the opportunity to become a franchise. Most midlist authors are given no advertising budget, no coop monies, nothing as any ad dollars go for the stars alone. With Amazon/Kindle and other ebook publishers, every ebook an author places on digital platform gains instant distribution (distribution with traditional publishers presents both publisher and author with stripped, returned books, a nightmare in bookkeeping, and a sure path to remainders). Reading a royalty statement from a traditional publisher is always a guessing game; reading the daily ‘ticker’ on each ebook with your name on it is as easy as reading the stock market and about as addictive. Going back to Ebook distribution. Distribution is advertising is distribution in the ebook world. It is entirely virtual and online. With Kindle ads going out on national TV and Kindles being used as props in major motion pictures, the author can only benefit more.
There are no doubt many other comparison points between traditional and non-traditional publishing but you know what?  Non-traditional modes of publication are getting to be part of the mainstream and hardly ‘non’ anymore.  Many authors are going the Indie Author/Publisher route as it makes perfect economical sense to do so. This is especially true for authors with large backlists of otherwise dead books known as out of prints. Already edited and vetted books that have seen returns, remainder days, used bookstore days—all of which pulls money from the pocket of authors. Now such lost titles are working for authors to the tune of thousands going back into the author’s pocket.
 
I hope this little compare/contrast blog has been of help to you personally if not professionally. Hope to see you on facebook, twitter, and elsewhere online –
 
Robert W. Walker
Children of Salem, Killer Instinct, Cutting Edge, and soon at a Kindle near you, Titanic 2012
www.robertwalkerbooks.com – Free first 14 chapters of Titanic 2012 available here

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One

One morning when grandfather and grandmother were visiting his younger brother on the family farm, grandfather looked out the window and said:

“Look, brother, there is a deer in the yard.”

And grandfather’s younger brother, Yojiro replied; “There are often deer in the yard, brother. Have you been [...]]]>  

One

One morning when grandfather and grandmother were visiting his younger brother on the family farm, grandfather looked out the window and said:

“Look, brother, there is a deer in the yard.”

And grandfather’s younger brother, Yojiro replied; “There are often deer in the yard, brother. Have you been gone so long that you’ve forgotten?”

“No,” said grandfather, “but this deer is different. This deer is leaning against that tree.”

This brought Yojiro, his wife and grandmother to the window, where they looked out at the yard, where a fresh fall of snow covered the trees, barn and other buildings. Sure enough, a young female deer was leaning up against a tree, as if resting.

“Hadn’t we best go out and check on the poor thing?” grandmother asked, moving to put on her coat; “She looks as if she might be injured. From the looks of her, she surely is tired.”

“Yes,” Yojiro’s wife said, “we should. We can’t just let her stand there like that. Remember, Yo-chan, there are wolves about!”

“Of course,” he replied like a good-and-sensible husband, “we will check on her.” And he put on his coat, and together they went out into the snow-covered yard and made their way toward the deer, who stood where she was, her head lowered, and looked at them as they walked toward her.

“She isn’t injured,” grandmother said, touching the deer’s ice-cold haunches; “She must have fallen through the ice, because she’s frozen half to death! Just feel of her,” she said, turning to her sister-in-law and the others; “feel how cold she is.”

“We need to get her inside the barn,” grandfather’s brother said; “That way she’ll have a safe place to rest in the straw, and the wolves can’t bother her.”

“Won’t she be frightened of Petunia?” grandmother wanted to know, referring to her in-law’s giant white Pyrenean Mountain Dog. “She is so huge.”

“She is also very friendly and very calm,” Yojiro replied.

“And she will warm the deer,” his wife, Yasuko said; “just watch when we take her inside.”

Skeptical, grandmother and grandfather walked along beside the exhausted deer. When they got to the barn and Yojiro opened the door, the deer looked up and stopped. Standing in the distance was Petunia like a big white bear, looking at them and slowly wagging her tail in greeting.

Grandmother thought: “Well, she certainly frightened me the first time I saw her.”

Grandfather, smiling, nodded his head and patted the deer’s muzzle. “She will do just fine,” he said, looking into the deer’s tired eyes. “She will keep you safe and warm as you thaw out and rest.  You will see, young one. You will see.”

Ten minutes later the deer was lying in a bed of straw, with Petunia draped across her half-frozen haunches, sound asleep. At first, as everyone but grandfather expected, the deer was quite frightened of the huge dog. But Petunia, as only she could do it, approached the deer calmly and slowly wagging her tail, her head bowed. Then, as she stood in front of the deer, she raised her head and the two touched noses. At that, the deer lay down, rested her head on the straw and closed her eyes. Licking her muzzle, the big dog walked to where the deer’s body was the coldest, draped herself across the deer’s body, and promptly went to sleep.

“Well, that was certainly much easier than I imagined it was going to be,” grandmother said, receiving nods of agreement from everyone but grandfather, who simply smiled and nodded his head.

“Will she be safe in there?” Yasuko asked her husband. “If the wolves come around, won’t they smell her and try to get in.”

“Of course they will,” her husband replied; “but we have our three Irish wolfhounds who will chase them away.”

“But they are only three,” she said, imagining a pack of six or seven wolves and only their three  big dogs, plus Petunia, who would be inside the barn. “As big as they are, will they be enough?

“More than enough, Yat-chan,” he replied, patting her arm; “Way more than enough; you’ll see.”

And early that evening, they did.

Two

Early that afternoon, grandfather called the local veterinarian and asked him to come and check on the deer’s condition, wanting to take every precaution to make sure the deer would recover from its near freezing, and from the several wounds on her head made by ravens pecking at her as she struggled in the water. Grandfather decided that he would have to chide Sir Raven about that kind of behavior when he and grandmother returned home. He knew in advance what the big raven would do, he would make his creaking hinge sound, wag his beak and look at him before saying “That’s what we do” and flying off to sit in a nearby tree to sulk about how ignorant humans are about a ravens needs, even humans like grandfather.

When the veterinarian arrived, grandfather, grandmother, Yojiro and Yasuko walked with him out to the barn and went inside. Petunia looked up from where she was standing next to the deer’s head, licking its wounds and wagged her tail.

“I see your resident veterinarian has already begun treatment,” the veterinarian said, scratching the big dog’s ears. “Yes, Petunia, I see she has several nasty-looking pecks right above her eyes. Do you mind if I take over now and add some of my medication now that you’ve cleaned her wounds?”

The big white dog backed several steps away and watched as the veterinarian got out some disinfecting salve and applied it to the deer’s wounds. When the deer tried to raise her head, she licked her muzzle reassuringly, and the deer laid her head back down on the straw, sighed and let the veterinarian do his job. When he was finished, Petunia lay down with her head under the deer’s chin and wagged her tail.

“I ought to add Petunia to my nursing staff,” said the veterinarian with a laugh. “She knows what to do and when, she is always comforting; and I’ll bet if someone tried to harm that deer, she would turn into a bear.”

Yojiro looked down at the big white dog and smiled. “She does that, Dr. Fujiwara. We had a big husky a few years ago that constantly harassed her. One day she’d had enough. She picked him up by the scruff of his neck and shook him until he peed and dropped him. Then she lay down, yawned and went to sleep. He never bothered her again.”

Everyone laughed, including Petunia, who flump-flumped her tail and seemed to smile.

After the veterinarian left, grandfather and his brother went to the big room at the back of the house that served as the Irish wolfhounds kennel.

“Good afternoon, Ichi, good afternoon, Ni; good afternoon, San!” he said, scratching each dogs ears and receiving huge wet kisses in return.

“Why did you give them numbers for names, brother?” grandfather asked, laughing.

“Because,” he replied, laughing; “I like the names. Yat-chan like them. She says it makes it sound like I’m counting whenever I call them. ‘What will people think when they hear you shouting “One, Two, Three” like that?’ she says.” They were both laughing when they opened the door and were greeted by the three big dogs, one grey, one brindle, and one white.

Three

That evening, Yojiro put Ichi, Ni and San in the yard. “Won’t they run off, like dogs do?” grandmother wanted to know, looking worried.

“No,” Yasuko said, reassuringly. “They always stay right around the house. Unless there are wolves to chase. The one thing in this world those three do not like are wolves. It’s a wonder wolves ever come near here anymore, but they still occasionally do. And with a deer in our barn, well,” looking affectionately at the three wolfhounds, “it’s a pretty good chance that we’ll see some wolves as soon as the sun goes down.”

“What about Petunia,” grandmother asked, still looking worried.

“If a wolf happened to get into the barn, he will be one sorry wolf!” Yojiro said from his place in front of the window. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh,” said grandmother.

One hour later, with the moon shining a bright white light on the snow, six big wolves crept through the open gate and into the yard. And as they did, three huge four-legged figures stood up and silently swept toward them. Too late the wolves saw them coming. The wolfhounds were on them before the wolves had time to react, and when they did, three of them lay dead in the snow. Grandfather watched in astonishment as each wolfhound grabbed a wolf by the back of the neck, bit down, dropped the wolf, then took out after another as the three remaining wolves hightailed it out through the gate and headed for the forest. None of them made it.

As the three wolfhounds trotted back toward the house, Yojiro looked at his brother and said: “Time to go check those wolves and make sure they’re dead. I’ll let the veterinarian know in the morning so he can check Ichi, Ni and San out and notify the authorities about the deaths of the wolves, since they’re a protected species. I’d love to have one of these pelts,” he said, reaching down and lifting one of the wolves by its ears. “These three didn’t know what hit them. The others,” he shook his head; “I’m just glad I’m not a wolf and that those three love humans.” Ichi, Ni and San stood back and watched with slowly wagging tails.

“Good boys!” Yojiro said; “Good boys!” The dogs looked happy, expecting a favorite treat as their reward.

In the morning when they checked out Petunia and her charge, they were standing just inside the barn door, waiting to be let out. The deer trotted out into the bright sunlight, followed by Petunia a step or two behind. The deer, still a bit wobbly, walked a few steps, then stopped and pricked up her ears.

“She smells the wolves,” Yojiro said, pointing in the direction she was looking. “She’ll probably be reluctant to leave the yard for a few days until she feels sure of herself and certain they’re not coming back. So we’ll let her sleep in the barn at night, and give her free reign here in the yard.”

“What about Ichi, Ni and San?” grandmother wanted to know. “Won’t they frighten her?”

“Oh, probably,” Yojiro replied; “We’ll let them see each other so she’ll know they won’t bother her, and they’ll know she’s here. They wouldn’t harm a field mouse, sister-in-law. They only attack wolves. You’ll see.”

And, sure enough, as Petunia and the deer were standing there in the bright sun, the three big Irish wolfhounds appeared around the corner of the house, where they stopped, sat on their haunches, and watched. Momentarily startle, the deer looked as if she might bolt out of the yard and flee. But Petunia moved in front of her, looked up at her and wagged her tail, calming her.

Four

Three months later when grandfather and grandmother returned for a visit, they found the deer still in the yard, surrounded by the four giant wolfhounds. Grandmother chuckled, and said: “Grandfather, there isn’t a dog or a wolf in the world that would dare come near that deer with those four around her.”

“Not a chance, my love,” grandfather said, laughing; “Not a chance in the world.”

Two months later, the deer returned to the forest, where she lives with her family. Once she ventured into the yard, leading two small spotted fawns. After that, she did not return.

“You know, Yo-chan, I feel kind of sad that she doesn’t visit,” Yat-chan said one warm summer afternoon as they worked together in their daikon field.  “I miss her.”

“Yes, Yat-chan, so do I,” Yojiro said, leaning on his hoe and looking off toward the forest. “And so does Petunia. And I think Ichi, Ni and San do, too. But,” patting his wife affectionately on the shoulder, “such is the way with wild things. She is where she belongs.”

“Thank you, Yo-chan,” she said, giving him an affectionate look as she touched his arm “for taking care of her and letting her as long as she wished. I wonder how those fawns of hers are?”

“Such is the way with mothers, isn’t that so?” he said, smiling as he did whenever his wife sat looking at the photos of their three children, wondering in her mother’s heart how they were.

“Yes,” she replied, “ yes it is.”

1

One bright sunny day, a grandfather sat eating his lunch on a long bench when a group of about twelve young wolves came up, sat down on both sides of him and began talking, laughing and enjoying themselves. Since there was not enough room on the bench for all of them, one [...]]]>  

1

One bright sunny day, a grandfather sat eating his lunch on a long bench when a group of about twelve young wolves came up, sat down on both sides of him and began talking, laughing and enjoying themselves. Since there was not enough room on the bench for all of them, one young wolf remained standing a short distance away, eyeballing the grand-father.

“Grandfather!” the young wolf said, looking sharply at the old man who sat peacefully eating his lunch.

“Yes, I am a grandfather,” replied the old man. Since the young wolf didn’t say anything back, the grandfather went on enjoying his lunch in the sun and ignored the young wolf, who stared at him from where he stood nearby, shifting from one foot to another.

Finally finished with his lunch, the grandfather put the wrappings into a paper bag and stood up. The young wolf came up next to him and gave him a long, hard stare. The grandfather looked long into the young wolf’s eyes; then, smiling gently, inclined his head to the young wolf and walked away with the slow dignity that grandfathers have.

Behind him, the young wolves went on talking and laughing amongst each other, being themselves.

The young wolf that had spoken to the grandfather and stared him down was satisfied that he had stood his ground, which enabled him to maintain his place in the pack of his peers. It was a good resolution in which both sides won, though the young wolf would never admit that to anyone, even to himself.

And the grandfather, remembering his own days as a young wolf, smiled to himself as he walked away.

“Such is the way with wolves,” he said to his wife later that afternoon as he recounted the story to her.

“At least with the male ones,” she replied, smiling as she touched him on the end of his nose with a finger.

2

It was several days after the grandfather’s confrontation with the young wolf that he was walking through the same area thinking about nothing in particular, when the young wolf who had confronted him stepped out from behind a tree and said in a low, angry voice:

“I am angry with you, old man? Why did you make me stand while my friends sat? That was not right!”

Taken aback by the sudden appearance of this angry-looking young wolf, the grandfather wondered who the young wolf was, and why was he upset with him. Then he remembered the situation of a few days earlier, smiled and said:

“I am sorry, my young friend…”

The young wolf growled, cutting him off: “You are not my friend, so don’t pretend!”

Smiling, the grandfather replied: “True enough. I am sorry for what happened. I should have known better. I was so focused on enjoying my meal, that I didn’t think how uncomfortable you must have felt in front of your friends when I didn’t make a place for you.” He bowed respectfully to the young wolf, remembering his own days as a young wolf among his pack-mates.

“Hmmph!” the young wolf snorted, curling his lip in a sneer. “Why should I believe you?”

The grandfather thought for a moment. Hmmm. Thinking back, he recalled a time when he was embarrassed by an older male in front of his friends. The experience, at the time, had been very painful; remembering it brought back painful memories from his own life as a young wolf.

“Well,” he said, looking into the young wolf’s eyes, “what do you suggest?”

The young wolf looked thoughtful: “The next time you’re eating your lunch on that bench and we come along, you could get up and offer the bench to us. There are other places where you can sit and eat!”

“Ah,” the grandfather replied, “that is a good idea; in fact, it is a very good idea. That is what I shall do!” He smiled broadly at the young wolf. “When…?”

“We go there every Saturday before our soccer game. You could be there then. If you get up when you see us, then I will believe you. But not before.” The young wolf’s lip curled in a sneer to show that he was not so easily bought off by the smooth talk of someone like this grandfather.

“I will be there!” the grandfather replied, looking delighted. “I will have my wife pack me a lunch, and I will be there, waiting for you and your friends. And when you arrive…”

“You will get up,” the young wolf replied, cutting him off; “We shall see…”

“Yes,” nodding his head, “so you shall.” And he bowed to the young wolf again. When he straightened himself, he saw that the young wolf had gone.

“So you have a chance to redeem yourself,” his wife said to him after he told her of his latest encounter with the young wolf.

“Yes; and to redeem him in his own eyes.”

“Oh, men!” his wife replied, turning back to her work; “You are such a curious lot.”

The grandfather smiled. It is sometimes difficult being a young wolf among one’s peers. He had thoughtlessly embarrassed the young wolf; now he had the opportunity to redeem both the young wolf’s reputation and his own.

“Soccer,” he said out loud to himself later that afternoon; “that is my favorite game!”

3

When Saturday arrived, the grandfather’s wife prepared him a lunch, which she wrapped carefully and gave him to put in his shoulder bag. Then she put some small mochi rice balls with sweet red bean filling into a separate bag, telling her husband to give them to young wolves to enjoy as they sat talking amongst themselves. Knowing her husband very well, she told him that she had put two of the rice balls into his lunch, so he wouldn’t be tempted to eat any of the ones she intended for the young wolves. Then she sent him on his way, wishing him well.

As planned, the grandfather reached the long bench before the young wolf and his friends arrived. He sat down, took his lunch from his shoulder bag, unwrapped it, and began to eat. Soon, almost as if they had waited for him to begin his lunch, he heard the talking and laughing of the young wolves as they approached dressed in bright electric blue soccer uniforms, and carrying sports bags. Drawing near, the young wolf addressed him.

“Grandfather!” he said.

“Yes, I am he,” he replied, smiling as the young wolves sat down around him on the long bench. “Please sit down,” standing up and putting his lunch back in its bag; “I have saved this place for you.”

“Thank you,” the young wolf replied, bowing slightly.

As the grandfather started to walk away, he heard the young wolf calling to him.

“Grandfather!” the young wolf said. Turning around, the grandfather saw that the young wolf had made a space beside him on the bench. “This place is for you; please join us.”

“Thank you,” the grandfather replied, bowing; “I will do that.” And he sat down next to the young wolf and unwrapped his lunch again. Then he took the package of mochi rice balls from his shoulder bag and gave it to the young wolf. “These are for you and your friends,” he said. “My wife made them and asked me to give them to you.”

The young wolf unwrapped the package and looked inside. “Oh, wow!” he exclaimed; “Guys, look what we’ve got!” popping one into his mouth. “Mochi with sweet red bean filling!”

“Hey, save some for us!” his friends shouted, jumping up and surrounding him, hands clutching at the bag of mochi balls. “Don’t eat them all yourself!”

Soon, all the young wolves were enjoying the treats that the grandfather’s wife had prepared for them, and talking about the soccer game they were playing that afternoon.

“What do you know about soccer, grandfather?” they all asked at once. “Were you a soccer player when you were a young wolf?”

“No,” the grandfather replied, “I wasn’t. We didn’t have soccer where I grew up. But,” noticing the disappointed looks on their faces, “soccer is the game I watch the most on TV. I love the excitement, the movement, the skill it takes to move the ball and to score.”

“Would you like to join us?” they all said at once; “Would you like to watch our game?”

“Oh,” the grandfather said, smiling broadly, “I would love to do that! It would be a great honor to watch your game! Thank you so much for inviting me.”

As he sat along the sidelines watching their game, he thought to himself how much of a person’s experiences depend on how his perceptions influence the way he responds to situations. It was one of the most valuable lessons he had learned in his long life.

A baby enters as a warm bundle into a sometimes wet world. Especially in Britain, we know that that the sun doesn’t always shine. We are realists.

The growing child should be loved and cherished, and allowed to run free (and safely).

At [...]]]> We mostly have the same script about how childhood should be.

A baby enters as a warm bundle into a sometimes wet world. Especially in Britain, we know that that the sun doesn’t always shine. We are realists.

The growing child should be loved and cherished, and allowed to run free (and safely).

At a certain point, school, friendships and romance flow through to a young adult’s triumphal entry onto the world stage as a happy, balanced and generous human being ready to contribute fully towards society, not least by repeating this cycle.

Sometimes this happens.

Sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes it so doesn’t happen that it rips you apart.

Sometimes this ripping apart isn’t academic.

Stacey Danson started being taught to pleasure men at the age of three. Yeah, yeah, I know, I think that is too early too. By five, she was swallowing them, and by six she had lost her virginity. No, no, no, silly, she didn’t get pregnant. And don’t worry, there was always a family doctor on hand to assist Stacey. He was on top of her illnesses and then he was on top of her.

Whatever would they think up next?

That is just a little part of the first chapter of Stacey Danson’s ‘Empty Chairs’, a book she wrote because she felt she must more than because she felt a compulsion to write it. She hated writing it; she hated reliving what had happened to her. She had to get very, very drunk to get started (it didn’t help).

The book is called ‘Empty Chairs’ as a reference to the group therapy sessions Stacey attended where fellow victims of child abuse sat on those chairs around her screaming and sobbing out their tales. Many of those chairs are empty now and not because their occupants have come to terms with what has happened to them. Sometimes it seems wiser to call it quits.

‘Empty Chairs’ will be published later this year by Night Publishing as part of a series of books on child abuse, another being Kat Ward’s ‘Being Sick Is Wicked’. We have already published Charles Huxford’s ‘Run, rabbit, run’ account of the systematic rape of children in a North Wales orphanage c. 1980 by a group of well-connected people, including a UK Government Minister, as a short story in the Speak Without Interruption collection ‘….at last!’.

Perhaps the most astonishing thing about ‘Empty Chairs’ is that it is beautifully, beautifully written. The next most astonishing thing is that Stacey ever lived to write it.

You can read an interview between T.L. Tyson and Stacey here, and the first precisely graphic and strangely uplifting chapter of ‘Empty Chairs’ on Night Reading here. The horror is the horror. The miracle is what you read.

Thank you, Stacey. You may not have been lucky, but you have been beyond brave.

We salute you, but now we must run off to save the others.

Links:

TL Tyson interview: http://tltyson.weebly.com/stacey-danson-interview.html

Chapter 1 of ‘Empty Chairs’ by Stacey Danson: http://nightreading.ning.com/profiles/blogs/empty-chairs

‘….at last!’: http://www.nightpublishing.com/id4.html

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