by
Janis Patterson
I grew up in a do-it-yourself
family. Okay, I grew up poor, where if you didn’t do it yourself, it probably
didn’t get done. Money was to be used only if you couldn’t cobble whatever it
was together at all. My mother made both hers and my clothes and even my
father’s dress shirts for a while. Going out to eat was silly, since we could
cook better food cheaper at home. It was almost a dictum in our house that just
about anything could be fixed with duct tape, bailing wire and determination.
Our fortunes changed, of course,
and money became more plentiful. We went out to eat occasionally and my dad
bought store-made shirts. As an adult I am fortunate enough to be able to live
comfortably and even buy all my clothes. (Which is a blessing, because though
Mother was a gifted seamstress, I am a total klutz. No one in their right mind
would wear what I can sew!) Still, however, the we-can-do-it-ourselves
mentality was so deeply ingrained that to this day I call a repairman only when
I know I cannot fix it myself. (This is written as I wait for the refrigerator
serviceman.)
So what does this have to do with
writing?
I am in the process of bringing out
a few more books of my backlist to which I have just had the rights reverted.
Since they were professionally edited at major houses back when major houses
really edited, there’s little I have to do about that. I am tweaking somewhat,
as I hope I am a better writer now than I was then, but nothing major enough to
justify paying for the services of an editor.
But then there is the process of
converting my newly-vetted document into a book. Now there are simplified
processes for ebooks, one that even a complete techno-naif such as I can do,
but when I began there were sheets and sheets of instructions written in a
techno-speak only slightly less incomprehensible than Urdu. While now I can
click a few buttons and some kind electronic server somewhere does the work for
me, there is the terra incognita of
print awaiting me.
Sigh.
So – where this long and convoluted
post is going is that I am going to – gasp – hire the conversions done, as I
did when first dipping my toe into the epublishing pond. Yes, there are those
technologically gifted who sail through formatting et al and who look askance when I announce I am hiring it done, all
the while telling me how simple the process is. I can only say ‘joy go with
them.’ If it could be done with duct tape and bailing wire I might fare better.
I also send my apologies to the
self-sufficient, do-it-yourself stalwarts of my ancestry, even as their shades
look down with disapproval. “There are instructions right there!” they shout.
“All you have to do is read them and follow them!”
Yeah. Right.
Both my parents (the greatest
do-it-yourselfers ever born) passed away before the computer-in-every-room era,
so their ghosts have no idea of what is necessary, or how much time it would
take to learn what all those odd words and acronyms mean, to say nothing of
what to do with them.
Yes, I could learn everything in
those instructions and do it myself. For that matter, I could learn how to
repair my ailing refrigerator, and, given enough time, probably learn how to
build a more efficient jet engine or CAT machine. There is nothing wrong with
my brain-box and I am considered to be reasonably intelligent. On the other
hand, I have come to believe in the law of diminishing returns. While I could
learn these things, doing so would take time, time that would be better spent
writing and caring for my family.
All of life is a trade-off, so I
trade money for formatting skills that I have neither time nor desire to learn
and spend that time gained doing what is better for me, my career and my
family. It works – even if I doubt my parents would have approved.
